The Kiss of Life

By CJ

Parties were not a thing that Severus Snape willingly participated in. They came with memories of embarrassment and rejection, and worst of all of simply not being noticed.

They were not to be abided.

So, on the eve of Hogwart's greatest celebration, Severus Snape left the party as soon as Dumbledore's attention was diverted. The antics of the mop headed children who had been allowed to stay up for the special occasion ensured that the opportunity came almost immediately and Snape was certain the Headmaster would be occupied for some time. If Dumbledore should notice the absence of his spy, he'd most likely check the Snape's quarters or his potions lab in the dungeons. Instead, Snape took himself off to one of the many balconies overlooking the snow covered school grounds.

The chill on the balcony suited him well, taking out some of the ache in his left arm.

It shouldn't burn.

There was nothing there now.

Nothing.

"You still feel it, don't you?"

Snape whirled about and scowled at Hogwart's most famous student.

"Mr. Potter, won't you be missed from the celebration? It is your great victory, after all."

"Is it?" The young man that looked at him through thick glasses was not so far from the boy he had taught in potions class. "So many dead, Professor Snape. So many missing at table. Is that victory?"

"Yes!" hissed Snape and clutched at his aching arm, "Did you think it would be easy, Potter? Did you think it would be painless? Triumph requires sacrifice, boy."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Potter was still the original mop headed child, for all that he had graduated this week. Snape remembered when the boy had thought the world was a forgiving place. The wonder in the boy's eyes had been an affront not to be born, but he knew better now, as Snape always had.

Harry stepped to the balcony railing with Snape. They stood for moment in strange companionship, then Harry spoke again, "But there should be something left. It shouldn't take everything."

"Everything, Potter. Burned to ash and gone, boy." The ache became a stabbing pain, up his left arm and through his heart, but Snape would not show weakness now. Now that it was finally over.

"Let me see." Harry's hands were warm on his wrist, tugging gently.

"Get away." Snape tried to shrug the boy off, but realized that despite the black thatch of hair and inch thick lenses being the same, this Harry was a good two feet taller and a half a foot broader in the shoulders than the eleven year old lad that Snape had first protected and bullied. Harry's grip on his arm remained firm and his arm was pulled forward against his best efforts.

Snape gave up the struggle as undignified.

Harry gently pulled up the sleeve to expose the clean white skin of Snape's inner arm.

"It's gone, you see? There's nothing left. Now leave off, you insufferable child."

But Harry didn't let go. His fingers unerringly traced the pattern of the Death Eaters Mark that had been burned into Snape's skin by Voldemort. The mark that had defined his entire adult life. The mark that had made him what he was.

Snape shivered.

"Leave off, Potter."

"There *is* something left at the end of it all, Professor Snape. There's life." Harry looked up and Snape was caught in his green eyes, that blinked owlishly over the rim of his glasses. "We just have to accept it."

And before Snape could even think of an answer, Harry bent his head and laid his lips at the center of where Voldemorte had seared the Mark into his flesh, and as he had so many years ago, Snape burned.

He burned from the inside out as power speared through him, filling him as he had not been filled since - and how had he forgotten this - since as a boy on the first day of spring he had been allowed out to play the fields again after a long winter.

Then there was a cool trail on his arm following the fire, that spread out as a balm on his soul, and he realized that Harry was tracing a new pattern on his arm, the boy's tongue painting a delicate weave of life and warmth and meaning, and - Merlin - Snape was so hard now, as he hadn't been in years, had given up on ever being again, but the life in him, the joy, pressed into his soul by the kiss of a boy was more than he could stand.

More than he could comprehend.

More than he deserved.

And as the pattern closed and a new mark of gold glowed to life on Snape's arm, he felt himself pushed through barriers he hadn't even known were there, and the pleasure was so great that he lost himself in it, clutching at Harry as his only anchor.

He came back to find himself kneeling on the stone tiles of the balcony, clutching Harry's shoulders. Harry was cradling his head whispering over and over again, "There is joy. You see? There truly is."

"You might have found a more comfortable spot for this, Harry." Snape said, almost managing his usual acid tone.

"Yes, I suppose so." Harry agreed, laughing, as he helped Snape to his feet. "Let's go find one shall we?"

Snape gazed up at the stars and heard the music from the party below, and found that he didn't feel empty anymore. Even stranger was to find himself looking at Harry Potter and feeling something altogether different from rage and guilt.

So Snape nodded and said, "I suppose we shall have to. Do try to be better prepared this time, Potter." Because it wouldn't do to change everything all at once, would it?

"Yes, Sir." Harry grinned. "I look forward to it."

The End