Chapter Text
After the war, Harry turned inward. He didn’t become an Auror. He didn’t marry Ginny Weasley. He left Grimmauld Place, bought a cosy cottage in Devonshire, and kept to himself.
There was a lot he had to think about. Process, as Hermione called it. During the war, everything had been go, go, go. And now he finally had the ability to consider what it all meant. And, well, it wasn’t a quick thing. He had no revelations. He just lived his quiet life and … reflected.
It was the middle of December, and Harry was wandering about Cokeworth. It was a bit of a habit of his. He liked exploring the old manufacturing city. Seeing where his mum grew up. It made him feel closer to her, somehow. He didn’t feel that way in Godric’s Hollow. He didn’t really know why. Cokeworth just felt more … authentic. It was no fantasy village.
Harry also found himself thinking about Severus Snape. A lot.
The man had virtually disappeared off the face of the Earth.
Harry had attended the ceremony where Snape had received the Order of Merlin. It had made Harry beam to see Snape’s sacrifices—his bravery—acknowledged in such a public way. But Snape had looked surly throughout the event, and he had snarled, Fuck off, when Harry’d tried to talk to him.
As the months passed, those two words echoed in Harry’s head, over and over. They were revealing. And caustic. And … a tad hot.
Fuck off.
Fuck off.
He wondered about the other times his former professor said the word, fuck.
Fuck you.
Fucking hell!
I’m going to fuck your brains out.
Harry began thinking about Snape as a sexual being. He wondered if he was managing to date anyone. A woman. Had his love for Harry’s mum ruined intimacy and romance for him entirely?
Had it?
“Not that it matters,” Harry muttered to himself now, growing hot beneath his coat.
It was beginning to snow in Cokeworth, just a little, and the evening twilight was turning the sky a bruised violet.
Harry buried his fists in his coat and wandered on. He was in a bad part of the city, all the shops boarded up, and he could smell the dirty river in the cold air.
He half-considered sneakily returning in the middle of the night to Spell up Christmas lights amongst the shattered streetlights … just to make the place more festive for the season … But the Ministry would have his arse for it, no doubt …
There was a groan of pain.
Harry’s feet came to a stop. He turned toward the sound, which had come from a rubbish-strewn alley.
“Hello?” Harry said.
Some rustling came from the back of the alley. There was another groan.
Harry stumbled forward, not sure what he was about to discover. He expected to see liquor bottles or even drug paraphernalia, but instead he saw blood—
“Oh my God,” Harry breathed, plunging his hand into his pocket for his wand.
There was a man at the end of the alley, injured. He was sprawled out in the rubbish like an angel.
Harry fell to his knees before him. “Sir, are you all right?”
It was a stupid thing to ask someone so obviously hurt, but Harry was in shock.
Two black eyes blinked up at him. The world went sideways. It felt as if Harry had been transported back to the Shrieking Shack, back to the night of the Final Battle—
“Snape?” Harry gasped.
Those black eyes lost their focus.
“Help me,” whispered the broken man.