Dead or Alive

6: Dead or Alive

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Snape didn't even scream when the sword stabbed into his shoulder. He just gave a soft, surprised Oof and sunk to the floor. Blood spurted out of the wound, mingled with dust and dirt, and soaked his shirt from collar to belt.

"Bastard," Harry whispered and staggered back to the wall, where he lost his footing and landed hard on his bottom. "Worthless piece of shit. You are dead. You will die here like your master, and I have killed him and you and... and I did it for Hermione... Hermione..." He couldn't finish the sentence. The words stuck in his dry, aching throat. Before his inner eye, he saw her again on the ground, her face nearly unrecognisable after the beating Snape had given her. Dropping the sword, he had to press his fists into his mouth, or he would have thrown up.

"Idiot," Snape murmured, kneeling on the floor. Slowly, he brought one hand to his bleeding shoulder. His face turned ashen, and his fingers trembled when he examined them, dripping with blood. "Stupid. Typical... ty... pical Gryff... Gryffindor." He was stuttering. Soon, he would be unconscious. And then, dead.

Good. On all fours. Harry crawled towards his former teacher. Nothing made sense here, but he didn't care anymore. "Fry in hell, Snape," he whispered and got up. "I'll go now. You'll die alone."

"Wards," Snape whispered and sunk over. Stretched out on the floor, it was obvious that he maybe had a few minutes to live, but not more.

"What?" Harry said and was at the door in an instant. It didn't open. Wards. Fucking, blasted wards. He was trapped. And from far away, he could hear footsteps. The remaining Death Eaters were coming.

Fear and panic, overlaid by icy determination. Harry's stomach clenched as his eyes darted from Snape's shallowly breathing form to the door to the pile of dirt and back to Snape. There must be a way out, he thought desperately. There must.

An idea managed to sparkle in his mind. "Where's your wand, Snape?" he demanded to know and jumped next to Snape, slamming to his knees and grabbing the Potions master's collar. "Where's your fucking wand?! I need it – I can break the wards with it, so tell me where it is!"

Snape's head lolled helplessly when Harry shook him. "Table. Under... under the table." Barely audible, he bit the words out, clearly halfway through the veil already. Harry let go of him and wiped the remnants of the table cloth away, tossed the worm-eaten fabric through the room, and was under the ugly table with a Quidditch-trained move of his hips. His hands patted the floor, searching for Snape's wand, hoping against all odds that he would find it when a Petrificus Totalus hit him squarely in the chest.

His muscles went limp. His arms and legs became uncontrollable, and he felt like a rag doll as he slowly sank to the ground. His head, no longer obeying his orders, touched the planks, and he saw, as he was now at eye level with Snape, that the man had lied once more, that Snape's elegant black wand was in his bloody hands, and that he had managed to hex him despite the fact that he should be too weak to as much as pick it up.

"Bastard," Harry wanted to yell, but his lips wouldn't move.

Snape's did. Silently, he cast another spell, and Harry felt magic surrounding him. Not a Killing Curse. Nothing to harm him. He felt warm and safe all of a sudden and would have shuddered with disgust and fear at the fact that he felt good after something Snape had done to him if only he had been able to do so.

Snape's head fell back to the ground. His wand slipped out of his fingers the very moment when the door burst open and a Death Eater stormed in. Only one, but Harry could hear others behind him.

The man knelt next to Snape and took his mask off. Lucius Malfoy, for once not perfectly dressed and neatly groomed, stared down at the bleeding wizard. Sweating, he wiped a strand of blond hair from his face. "What the fuck happened here, Severus?" he asked and looked round, took in the empty throne and the fallen goblet. "Where's the Dark Lord?"

Snape moved his lips, but no words came out. Lucius bent lower. He will see me now, Harry thought and hated himself because he couldn't blink back the tears. Ginny, his wonderful, pregnant Ginny jumped into his mind, and his heart broke at the thought that he wouldn't see his child.

Lucius Malfoy looked up and right into Harry's eyes. But instead of grabbing his wand, instead of killing Harry, he didn't even seem to see him. Instead, Malfoy put a hand on the Potions master's bleeding shoulder and murmured a spell.

Snape yelped with pain. An acid smell filled the air, and blue sparks seemed to penetrate the wound. The Potions master's legs flailed uncontrollably; his fingers carved deep scratches into the planks. A strangled cry, and he lay still.

"Severus! Do you hear me?" Malfoy urged. "I put a stasis field around your shoulder; you may have an hour or so, and I promise I'll get you a mediwitch, but you need to tell me what happened here!"

Snape gulped visibly, then cleared his throat. "Dead," he managed. "Dark Lord... 's dead. Potter... killed him. Fled. Gone. Find him."

Now those were words Harry simply couldn't believe. True, he had killed Voldemort, and yes, the dark wizard was absolutely and entirely dead. But he hadn't fled, for Merlin's sake! He was here, at arm's length, and why the hell didn't Malfoy see him?

Come to think of it, why had Snape said he had fled?

Malfoy got up and looked around once more as if he had never before been in this room. Disgusted at the decay, he turned without another look back. "I'll come and get you, Severus, as soon as we have found the boy," he called over his shoulder, and Harry could see Snape's attempted snort at those words. It was much more likely that Malfoy would flee to his mansion, where it was safer than here and a lot cleaner and where no one could bring him into contact with this place.

The door fell closed. Silence rang, louder than anything Harry had ever experienced before. He was still alive; Voldemort was, quite unexpectedly, very dead.

And Snape was dying.

And Hermione had been raped. What shall I do? Harry thought, still immobilised. Gods, please, someone needs to tell me what to do!

Hoarse words ended his Petrificus Totalus. Snape only touched his wand with his fingertips, unable to pick it up. When life and movement streamed back into Harry's body, he crawled out from under the table and, without thinking, snatched up Snape's wand. Hastily, he pointed it at his former teacher, ready to shout an Avada Kedavra... and hesitated.

No. The Killing Curse didn't make it out of his mouth. He had never managed this task, had never been able to kill like that. Not in battles, not in war.

Not now, standing above a barely breathing man, his feet slipping in Snape's blood, armed with Snape's wand.

Lucius Malfoy's Death Eater mask was still lying on the table. He had put it there, inches away from Harry, but not seeing him.

Harry's eyes widened in shock when he finally came to a few conclusions. "You've hexed me to protect me," he managed. "And you've cast a Shield Charm. Malfoy wasn't able to see me. And you told him I was gone. You... but... You saved my life!"

Snape glared at him. "Take the mask. Get out. Go home." Few words, but they shredded Harry's reality to pieces. For so long he had thought that Snape was the enemy. For so many years he had hated him with all his might. When he had tried to kill Dumbledore some years back, right at the beginning of the war, Harry had known that Snape truly was a Death Eater. That Dumbledore had assured him it had been a necessary move to solidify Snape's position amongst Voldemort's followers hadn't been reason enough for him. Dumbledore was a fool, still trusting Snape.

And now Snape wanted him to go? Just like that?

"You've raped... her?" Harry croaked, unable to say Hermione's name.

Snape closed his eyes in agreement. "He forced me. The Dark Lord. Imperius. I'm sorry," he whispered. "Needed you to get angry. To hate him enough to wield the sword. Go!"

"Fuck," Harry whispered and dropped the weapon. "I'll go, but you will come with me. I need to know the whole story. And I will talk to Hermione before I judge you. Get up; we'll leave before Malfoy comes back."

Snape, too weak to move a finger, cast Harry a sarcastic smile. "I'm not really... in the best condition, Potter," he managed. "Can't breathe; can't talk... anymore. Can't walk."

Harry grabbed the wand harder. The footsteps had vanished for the moment, but Merlin knew when Malfoy or someone else would come back. A levitation spell wouldn't work with the stasis field in place, and besides, someone could see them and ask questions. They needed to get out of here on their own feet, Harry realised. Waiting a heartbeat or two, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he looked at Snape and firmly said, "Imperio."

As if a big fist had hit Snape right into his stomach, he cramped over and gave a low howl when the curse hit him that put him under Harry's will. Trying to get away on all fours he didn't stand a chance, of course.

"Get up," Harry ordered, and Snape obeyed. Or rather, his body obeyed, heaving itself into a standing position. The Potions master looked like a puppet on strings. A broken puppet, destroyed by a cruel child.

"Walk. Take us out of here," Harry said and grabbed the mask, shoving it over his face. This was madness, of course. Utter, complete madness. On the other hand, he had often been successful when trying mad things. Had always survived mainly because of sheer luck. And he needed to know what was behind all this. He wanted to see Ginny again, and he had to talk to Hermione, and naturally, it was imperative that he tell someone that Voldemort was dead. The war was finally over, and yet no one knew it.

Snape took one staggering step and steadied himself against the wall. He was impossibly pale, and with each step he left a bloody footprint on the floor. Harry's will drove him, his own wish to get out of there came on top of it, and he took them out, out of the room and out of the mansion.

Behind them, the pile of dirt was stirred and blown apart by the wind that came through the open door. A broken window increased the effect. After a few moments, nothing was left of Lord Voldemort but nasty memories.

Harry and Snape left an entirely empty room behind.

*****

The house wasn't as big as Harry had thought initially, but then, his head was clear now and his veins flooded with adrenalin. He controlled his former professor with Snape's wand in hand, staying two steps behind him. He could see the Potions master shuffle on unsteady feet; checking, Harry went round the next corner, relieved to see that all Death Eaters seemed to be looking for him elsewhere.

"You brought me here to kill Voldemort," he muttered under his breath and took Snape's arm in order to prevent him from falling. It wasn't enough – Snape was swaying like a tree in a storm – and so he wrapped his arm round the waist of the older man. Both of them smelled of blood and sweat and fear; Harry dragged his enemy along, out of the house, to the dry, dead grass in front of it.

"You gave me Gryffindor's sword. You first made Voldemort think I was your prisoner, then you cleared my head, then you made me furious with hate so I was able to kill him. Why the bloody hell didn't you do it yourself?"

Imperius Curse or not, Snape couldn't stand on his feet any longer: he broke to his knees, clutching both arms around his middle as if he were trying to hold himself together. "Prophecy," he murmured. "Only you could kill him." He would have hit the ground face first if Harry hadn't caught him.

Narrow-eyed, Harry checked once more to see if they were alone and was about to tell Snape to Disapparate to Hogwarts when he realised that Snape wouldn't be able to do so. The Potions master's head dropped to his chest, he shook violently, and then it occurred to Harry that more than likely the way to Hogwarts was blocked anyway. Everyone knew that he would go there for help, that he would try to seek out Dumbledore. Even a Death Eater would be clever enough to set a trap. And with Snape to protect, Harry wasn't in any condition to fight.

A safe place. He needed a place where he could hide, a place no one would ever think of checking for either of them. Somewhere outside the magical world, a house where he could take Snape and take care of him, at least until he found out whether what he had said was true.

"Damn," Harry muttered and nearly ripped a fistful of hair from his head in frustration. "Where to go? Where to take him?"

"Cold," Snape murmured and went limp in Harry's arms.

Cold? Harry wondered. Hmm. And instantly, he thought of the long winter nights he had spent under his uncle's staircase with only one moth-eaten woollen blanket to cover his body. A second later the idea struck. "Holy shit!" Harry shouted and ripped Snape to his feet only to find he would have to carry him. Scooping the Potions master into his arms and vaguely wondering why the man was not as heavy as he should be, he Apparated right into his Uncle Vernon's front garden.

*****

As it was an ordinary Tuesday evening, the Dursleys were at home. It was a few minutes before dinner time, and Harry would have sworn on Snape's wand that Vernon and Petunia would be sitting in the kitchen. Or rather, Vernon would be sitting; Petunia would be preparing dinner. Dudley, if he still lived at home, would be watching the telly.

Unceremoniously, Harry kicked at the door, desperately trying not to lose his balance. Snape hung in his arms like a dead man, and despite Malfoy's spell, the young man felt blood ooze on his shirt from Snape's wound.

A second kick nearly broke the door. An irritated voice shouted indignant words, heavy footsteps approached the door, the handle moved, and finally, Uncle Vernon opened the door at Number Four Privet Drive. "I demand to know who makes such noise..." he began, but Harry shoved him aside and shouldered the door closed instantly. He hoped his Apparition hadn't been traced; otherwise there would be Death Eaters in Little Whinging any moment now.

"Hi, Vernon," he gasped, the weight in his arms getting heavier by the second. "Thought I'd come by and say hello. I need a bed. My... he... Professor Snape is wounded. Hope you don't mind." With that, he dragged Snape upstairs towards his uncle's bedroom, dimly aware of Vernon's red, shocked face and of Petunia scurrying out of the kitchen.

"You!" Vernon shouted after several attempts. "Boy, get down here immediately! I... You! Get down!"

Harry ignored him. He was upstairs already, horrified at how familiar all of this felt. The wallpaper was the same, the carpets, even the smell was not a bit different from last time he had been here.

Last time. The night Moody had died.

Harry kicked open a second door and found the big double bed his aunt and uncle slept in. Very carefully, he set Snape down on the duvet and propped him up on one of the snow-white pillows. Snape's facial colour wasn't much darker than the linen. Crimson drops painted a sick pattern onto the floor and the sheets. His breathing was uneven, and under his closed lids, his eyes darted as if seeing horrible nightmares.

A heavy hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and he whirled round, Snape's wand in hand, ready to hex his attacker.

It was Dudley. Large, bulky, but smiling Dudley Dursley. At least a head taller than Harry, he looked like a lorry driver back home after a hard day's work. Behind him, his parents were hiding, Petunia pursing her lips and Vernon still as red as a fire engine. "Man," Dudley said, his voice surprisingly high for a man so large. "You scared the life out of my old folks . Good to see you again, though. Who's that bundle of bones?" He nodded towards the bed.

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again, and gave it some serious thought before answering. They had parted on relatively friendly terms, but being greeted like that, being smiled at by his cousin, was somewhat gut-wrenching. "Dudley," he finally managed and held out his hand. "Good to see you, too. That's Professor Snape, my Potions teacher. Former Potions teacher, that is. He's injured."

Dudley took Harry's hand and shook it, half crunching it during the action. He didn't seem to be scared of the wand, he looked genuinely happy to see his cousin, and he startled Harry by asking Petunia, "Can you make us some tea, mum? Harry looks like a scarecrow. And I guess we need a doctor as well."

Petunia blanched. "But, Dudders, your father doesn't approve of him being in our house, and..." her voice faltered when her son looked at her. "Certainly, love," she stammered and hurried downstairs again.

Vernon, though, didn't give up that easily. "I will call the police," he announced. "This looks as if a crime has taken place, and I won't have criminals in my house. This man is covered in blood! He's bleeding on my bed!"

"Dad," Dudley said, taking a step towards the unconscious man. "The police will report this to the newspaper. Do you want journalists sniffing around? Do you want our family at the centre of gossip?"

Vernon paled. "No, son, of course not, but..."

Dudley ignored him – obviously he had got used to his parents' constant nagging. Carefully, he placed his huge hand on Snape's forehead. "Shit, man, he's burning up!"

Harry sighed and slumped into a chair. "I know. I stabbed him with a sword. It wasn't that clean, as I had killed a madman and a snake with it right before I tried to kill Snape. And... I fear he will die. A doctor would be a great idea, but we can't take him to a hospital. Too dangerous. Death Eaters are looking for us. I can't perform a healing spell either – I'm not good at them in the first place, that's a bad wound, and I don't have my wand. I won't even try to perform a spell that complicated with an unfamiliar wand."

"Shit, man," Dudley said again. He grabbed Harry, pulled him out of the chair, and dragged him into the corner. Vernon, looking mortified at the events happening in his precious house, just stepped aside. "There's Dr Cameron, down the street," the large young man whispered. "He's retired now. Got nothing to do but sit in his living room."

Harry, feeling exhausted and light-headed, nodded. "Get him, would you?" he said and went back to the bed. He expected to see a dead man, but Snape seemed tougher than he looked. He clung to life, took one breath after the other and refused to die.

Dudley grinned, clearly delighted that, for a change, something interesting was happening in his parents' house. "Back in a sec," he said joyfully. His father had to press himself against the wall to let him pass.

"This will have consequences," Vernon snarled when his son was gone.

Harry just looked at him. "I have killed the darkest wizard imaginable today and wounded a former teacher of mine," he said coldly. "Don't mess with me if you want to survive the day."

Vernon gulped heavily and staggered backwards. Harry sat on the bed, looked at Snape, and waited for the Potions master to take his final breath.

*****

"Goodness, young man, this patient belongs in a hospital!" The small, sandy-haired man stared at Snape and instantly bent down to search for his pulse. "I can't believe he isn't dead yet – how on earth did this happen?" Fishing for his bag, he took out a bandage and pressed it to the wound. The stasis field Lucius Malfoy had created over an hour ago had faded, and now Snape was about to bleed to death.

Harry, too tired to lie, answered. "A sword wound. I tried to kill him. If he hadn't turned at the last moment, we wouldn't be here now."

The doctor snorted. "Nice tale. I can totally imagine you with a sword in your hand, my boy. Killed a dragon, have you? The truth, please, young man."

Dudley giggled. Harry, stunned that the doctor didn't believe him, was speechless. "I don't know..." he began, and then Dudley stepped in.

"A car accident. We were about to rob the liquor store, the guy on the bed was in the way, we skidded, and a shard of the broken windscreen went right into him. We pulled it out, and hey, will you do something about it? Don't want to bury him in the garden."

Apparently, Doctor Cameron wasn't interested in details. He had taken off his patient's shirt, had switched on the ceiling light, and was about to examine the wound when Snape stirred, moaned, and opened his eyes.

"Oh, fuck!" Harry exclaimed, which earned him a delighted laugh from Dudley.

Snape, delirious and confused, tried to get up. "Hold him down," the doctor ordered, already searching for a syringe and a sedative.

Determined, Harry jumped onto the bed and pressed one hand on Snape's uninjured shoulder, the other one at his stomach. The Potions master groaned and sunk back; his black eyes, huge in his pale face, focussed on Harry.

"You," he breathed.

"Of course me," Harry snapped. "Did you think I would leave you behind? You've got too much to explain. We are at my uncle's house. The doctor will fix you. Stop wriggling, for Merlin's sake!"

Doctor Cameron found a vein and injected his patient with the sedative. Snape sighed deeply. "You talk too much," he said before he was gone again.

"For Merlin's sake?" the doctor asked, fishing for a scalpel. "Now that's something I haven't heard before. Are you a foreigner, young man?"

Harry paled at the sight of the instruments now laid out on the bedside table. As Snape wouldn't move an inch again in the next few hours, he dashed out of the bedroom and downstairs, into the kitchen, Dudley close behind him.