Chapter Text
Severus had been inside a hurricane once.
For a month during his potion’s mastery, he had been sent to Anegada in the British Virgin Isles to work with a potions master that specialised in growing ingredients from tropical environments. He had lived, worked, and breathed ingredient farming during that time. Halfway throughout his stay, a storm hurtled in from the Atlantic ocean. He and Master Reyes had barricaded inside and hunkered down as the winds howled past and rain poured from the heavens. Severus had possessed no intention of leaving the house’s safety until he noticed that the rising floodwaters were threatening a patch of plants he had been carefully nurturing that were vital to his thesis. He had torn out of the house and straight into the storm, ignoring Master Reyes’ exclamations that it was not worth it.
The first sensation that had struck him was the noise. The wind, already loud from within the house, increased tenfold in volume until it seemed as though the very air itself was trying to rip his eardrums free. Rain had slapped his face and left him gasping. He'd immediately stumbled and lost his footing, sliding in the soaked grass as his feet failed to find traction. A terrifying, lost, helpless feeling. He had been completely at the mercy of the elements around him. A terror drove him forward, the strength of need and the threat of loss sending him further still.
“...erus.”
He was back in the hurricane.
“Severus.”
Hands tried to pull him away. Only then did he register the people urgently surrounding him. They wanted him to release Harry. He clung tighter with an inarticulate sob. They stopped.
“Did you see that match??”
“Yes, Harry.”
The teen hopped up and down in place as if his body contained too much excitement to stay still. “Wood used to say that I could maybe try that move by the time I was a seventh year. I'm only a fifth year now and I didn't fall! Not even once!”
“I should hope not, considering you were far too high off the ground.”
Harry rolled his eyes lightheartedly. “Not even three stories.”
Severus looked at him incredulously. “How you've survived this long is beyond me,” he muttered. Harry only grinned.
The door crashed open. Four teens skittered inside only to stop when they saw the scene in front of them. The Granger girl let out a wail and the others all stared in horror and grief.
People began apparating into the kitchen. First one, then two, then six, abandoning the fight. The whole purpose of it had been to save Harry. Harry, who was now limp in Severus’ arms.
A sound coming from the other side of the room woke him. He immediately realised what it was: Harry thrashing in the throes of some fresh nightmare. Groaning at the aches in his body, Severus rose and padded over to the other bed.
“Harry. Wake up. It is only a dream.”
The boy’s lids fluttered and then opened. Large green eyes stared up at him, wet and heavy with emotion. Severus sat on the side of the mattress. Harry pulled himself up to a sitting position with a groan. They spoke briefly. Harry leaned against him, body warm from sleep. Severus put an arm around him and wished he had more than words to give.
“The aurors caught some Death Eaters, but most of them fled after Voldemort left.”
Pomona was kneeling beside them, reaching out for Harry. She didn’t try to take him away from Severus, only felt for a pulse at the wrist.
“Not him, too,” Severus caught himself whispering, over and over. “Not Harry.”
Harry stood beside him at the stove, chattering animatedly as they cooked dinner. Severus focused on the vegetables in the pan before him, content to listen. Not too long ago, the whole scene would have had him balking. Now it was normal.
“...which is crazy, if you think about it. Imagine you’re just running down the beach, there’s gunfire and grenades and shouting and everything, and here’s this man walking back and forth, and he’s playing the bagpipes.”
“If it were your playing, I would not fear death as much.”
Harry scrunched his nose at him. “Very funny. Anyway, imagine finding out afterwards that, despite everything, he was alive.”
Harry was dead.
Harry wasn’t dead.
At least, he didn’t think he was dead. If he were dead, he wouldn’t be able to think. Right?
He wouldn’t be able to feel, either, and he was definitely feeling the ground on which he lay. He sat up, blinking his eyes against the soft white light that surrounded him.
The last thing he remembered was the Ministry. Darting around the battle, trying not to get hit by any stray spells and looking for an available Order member or some way to escape on his own. He had watched Bill get hit… Percy’s arrival and subsequent horror… Sirius, full of life in a way he had rarely seen as he battled Lucius Malfoy. Throughout it all, a deep thrum of grief had followed him.
Then Snape had called for him. Snape, alive, standing tall in the midst of spellfire and staring straight at him.
How could he let a killing curse take the man after he’d just gotten him back?
He looked around. (He had to be alive to have eyes to see. Probably.) He was in a neutral, misty non-space. It did not feel empty, but there was nothing around. Was this what Death looked like? He felt suspicious that it might.
The cavernous room seemed vaguely familiar. He was trying to place it when his attention was drawn elsewhere.
A weak cry came from the floor nearby. Having just concluded that he was alone here, Harry was confused as he looked around. Some gross thing lay on the floor nearby. Bending down closer to look at it, he felt twin revulsion and pity for the creature. It seemed as though he ought to reach out to it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Harry Potter. We meet once more.”
Harry stiffened. He recognised that voice. It had been a few years, but…
He turned slowly and stood. “Riddle.”
The teenaged Tom Riddle from the diary stood several paces away, watching him. He looked much the same as he had in the Chamber of Secrets.
“I have to spend eternity with you?” Harry asked, starting to scowl at the thought.
Riddle sneered at him. “Hardly. Fate has spared us that. No, you will not face eternity just yet.”
“I don't understand.”
Riddle walked towards him, eyeing him assessingly. Harry didn't have to crane his neck up as much to look him in the eye as before. It occurred to him that they were the same age now. It set them as equals in a way they had not been when he destroyed the diary. “You face death, but you do not bow to it. That day will come, but it is not today.” He glanced down at the grotesque creature on the ground. “I didn't get better with age, did I?”
Harry frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
Riddle pursed his lips. “I suppose it does not matter if I tell you. Not to me, at least. As for him…” He shrugged. “I no longer care.” He started walking away from the creature. Harry hurried to catch up.
“Does Voldemort know you’re here?”
“No, I should think not.”
“That makes sense. I didn't know memories could… go on.”
“They can't.” Riddle glanced at him sideways. “Souls do.”
Harry considered that. “Are you saying that Voldemort lost his soul when he killed Myrtle? That you're not just his memory, but his soul?”
“How quaint. Lost his soul? Hardly. Losing implies lack of intention. He shattered his soul, on purpose and gladly, to make himself immortal. I am one of those soul shards.”
“One?”
“The first. Apparently the best, I might add.” He scrunched his face.
“Yeah. Right. So what are you doing here?”
A frustrated noise. “To fully continue on, a soul must be weighed in its entirety. I must wait for the rest. Until then, I am in limbo.” The boy beside him gave him an appraising look. “I suppose I should be thankful to you for bringing one of them to me. It is terribly boring here.”
Harry thought of the pitiful thing on the ground. “That’s another soul shard?”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean when you said I brought it here?”
“I can only imagine that it was inside of you and killed along with you.” Riddle examined his nails idly, as if he hadn’t just suggested something life-altering.
"That thing was inside of me?” Harry demanded.
"Clinging onto your soul as a… what is the word? Parasite.”
“That’s disgusting!”
“That’s dark magic.” Riddle shrugged. “If it will ease your little mind, I doubt it had much of an effect. Nothing permanently damaging, at least. Look at it. It is starved and small. I doubt any soul fragment of mine could have thrived off of your disgusting, persistent kindness. If there were more hate in your heart to nurture it, perhaps things would be different. Let me guess: you were disproportionately affected in negative moments because it would have fed on those feelings.”
“I thought that was the childhood trauma,” Harry muttered.
“What of bad dreams?”
“Yeah, you could say that I had a few of those.”
Riddle suddenly looked vindicated. “I bet that was how you could speak parseltongue. Go on, try it now.”
Not feeling any particular desire to perform tricks at Riddle’s whim, Harry refrained. He could test it later. That is, if he had a later.
“And why am I in limbo? I haven’t done any soul-splitting.”
“Are you certain of that?” Riddle asked. Harry took a gamble that he was just being toyed with and glared. He received a cruel smile in return. “Very well. You make it too easy, you know. Your soul is intact, Harry. The killing curse was never meant to destroy more than one soul per body. As the spell leaves no marks and no damage, the act of killing inherently comes from severing the tie between body and soul.”
“You would know all about the killing curse, wouldn't you. Okay, so I survived?”
“Not necessarily.”
Harry growled. “You are not being helpful.”
Riddle was, if anything, amused. “Only one soul may return to the empty body back in the real world. The soul shard will remain here either way; I will not allow it to go back and lengthen my wait.” He cast a merciless look towards the creature. “As a complete soul, you were always the strongest of the two regardless. You can choose to return or go on.”
“You mean, die?”
The boy walking beside him winced. It was slight, a barely noticeable twitch, but it made Harry suddenly wonder how Riddle must be feeling here. Someone who feared death so much that he would shatter his soul to avoid it must be terrified at constantly lingering on the cusp of it. “Yes.”
“Oh.” He stared at his feet as they walked. “What happens if I go back?”
“A party, I would imagine. Perhaps a new nickname. The Boy Who Lived— Twice.”
“Great,” Harry mumbled. He looked up and saw that they stood at a platform. It suddenly hit Harry where their surroundings reminded him of: King’s Cross Station. “What do you see?”
Riddle looked around flatly. “Same as always. A cold, barren plain.”
Harry thought that was rather sad.
A train whistled in the distance. The ground at his feet began to rumble softly, anticipating the engine’s arrival.
“What do you think I should do?”
“Truly, Harry? I could not care less.”
Harry rolled his eyes and sighed at himself for even bothering to ask. “If I return, I go back to my friends. Back to… well, everyone.”
“Back to a war.”
“Full of positivity, aren’t you?” The war was a consideration, though. There was still some unknown prophecy out there that might name Harry as the only one who could destroy Voldemort. If he boarded the express and went on, he would be leaving them all to their fates.
As the train drew closer, Riddle lost a bit of his detachment. “If you do return, make sure you send the rest of my soul back. It is simply so dull here.”
“Why would I do you such a favour?”
Riddle gave him a cold smile. “It is the only way to destroy Voldemort, no?”
“I do that for me, not for you.”
“Do it for whomever. It does not matter as long as it is done.”
The train hissed to a stop beside him. Harry gave it one final glance before taking a decisive step backwards, away. Towards life. He had to face what waited for him back in the real world.
Riddle’s perfectly sculpted face cracked into a sardonic smile as he repeated words that Harry remembered from the Chamber.
“Do you feel brave, Harry Potter?”
It was the last thing he saw before everything faded to black.
Dumbledore arrived. Severus was distantly aware of a circle of space around him and Harry. The Order was standing slightly back from the scene, watching, a vigil. An homage.
“WHERE IS HE? WHERE’S MY GODSON?” Black’s voice boomed from behind the group. Severus assumed from the scuffling that he was fighting to get to the front of the crowd. He couldn’t be bothered to look up and see for himself.
“Be alright, anything, just be alive. Just be alright, please, be alive,” he continued, but the mantra was weaker. More hopeless.
Someone in the crowd gave a long keen of grief. Severus squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, the sight, the loss.
“Er, I’m okay, but I’m kinda hungry?”
He didn’t believe his own ears at first. Then the body in his arms—Harry’s body—Harry—shifted. Severus’ eyes flew open in shock as he stared down at his face.
Green, living eyes stared back up at him.
Severus daren’t draw breath, as if doing so would steal oxygen from the lungs of his boy that were beautifully, impossibly expanding under his hand.
The room around them froze.
Harry’s brow furrowed. He reached a hand up towards Severus’ face. He barely registered that it was happening until the boy’s fingers wiped away some tears that had streaked down his cheek.
The room exploded into chaos.