Author: Mosh
Fandom: Harry Potter

Title: Through the Trees
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG
Summary: Snape doesn't know how to wake Harry up.
Disclaimer: These boys belong to J.K Rowling. No money being made, no copyright or trademark infringement intended.
A/N: Written for Teka Lynn as a gift fic. It's terrifying writing for one of your favourite authors! But I'm happy she liked it. :) With thanks to Lise for the fantastic beta. 2000 words.

Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks!

He had always hated the sharp luminous lights of St. Mungos' corridors. They were too bright, too sterile - how on earth could the ill get better in a place so anaemic in colour and with such a thoroughly oppressive atmosphere?

People passed him, Mediwitches and patients alike, dodging out of his way as if avoiding walking through a ghost. If it had been darker, they might have only seen a man dressed in dark robes with a covering of black hair shrouding his face. But under the humming firefly lamps they met a pallid ghoul with melancholy black eyes and a tight, angry mouth, set in a hard line of determination. A man made of duelling shadow and white.

A door clicked shut on the third floor.

"Damn it, Potter."

The room was equally as sterile, with its white-washed walls and pale green bed screens and a pale young man standing at a frost-caked window.

"God damn you, boy."

Fingers curled in hopeless frustration, then clutched a young, bony shoulder. A shoulder that didn't flinch or pull away under the graze of sharp, potion-yellowed fingernails.

"Potter. Harry."

A brief shake, like the thousand other brief shakes that had tried in vain before it.

Nothing.

* * * * * * * * * *

"There's a boy not unlike Longbottom, unfortunately, in my first year class this year. He cannot grasp the most simple... this is pointless. Grape?"

Snape pushed a fat green berry against Harry's dry lips, and, after a moment, Harry obediently opened his mouth and took it in. He chewed delicately, his eyes wide and unfocused as if tasting delicious food for the first time.

"If Lupin insists on sending these stupid grapes, you might as well eat the bloody things before they go off."

The shuffle of soft shoes on the floor announced the nurse's arrival - Kelly, her name was - as the straining winter sun faded behind the clouds outside. "Mr Snape, are you-"

"Yes, yes, I'm staying."

"I'll turn down the bed."

There really was no point, as Snape never bothered sleeping in it. He preferred the chair next to Harry's bed. It was hard and uncomfortable, like Harry, but it was the closest Snape could get without climbing in next to him at night.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Hello, Professor."

"I'm not your professor any more."

"I know. Would you prefer Severus?"

"No."

"Professor will have to do, then."

"Granger-"

"How is he?"

"The same."

She stayed for an hour, and neither of them spoke, only stared at the young man with two very different degrees of want. Harry wandered around the room, eventually touching the window with his lovely, searching fingers. His scar had faded to almost non-existence, apart from the faintest silver line that was only visible under direct light, unlike before, when it had been bleeding and warning them that the time had come and Harry had been screaming the Dark Lord's name and then grabbed his wand and Apparated, face red with anger and eyelids heavy with exhaustion and he had said-

"Goodbye."

Snape almost jumped at the sound of her voice. He nodded as she rose. I'll see you tomorrow, no doubt, he thought. Hermione went to Harry and kissed him gently on the cheek, murmuring: "Ron sends his love," before bursting into tears and leaving, like she always did.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Come out. I dare you, you arrogant little bastard. Come out and face me."

Harry pressed his forehead against the bright glass, staring out with a vacant gaze.

Snape tried another approach.

"Harry? This is ridiculous. This is just fuc... fucking stupid. If you were still my student, I would rip all of Gryffindor's points from them, and then what would they think of you?"

A hand came up to the window and drew four finger-streaks through the condensation, from top to sill.

Snape watched the chilled rivulets of moisture sliding slowly down the glass, then said, quietly, doubting Harry could hear from across the room:

"Please."

* * * * * * * * * *

This had gone on long enough! Day after day, night after night after day after night and Harry was only getting worse. It was time to do something - anything - to get him away from all the stifling sickness.

* * * * * * * * * * *

" Sir! Sir, wait! What are you-"

"I'm taking him out of here. Get out of our way or I'll hex you into next fucking-god-damned week!"

Harry's feet slithered across the shiny tiles, a soft swish as his shoes scuffed against the grey, veneered clay. Snape held Harry so close, moved so quickly that Harry seemed to float alongside him, wrapped in his arms.

"Sir - Mr Snape, please! You can't. He's experiencing-"

"Don't you dare tell me what he's experiencing. Get out of our way. Now!"

"You cannot take patients out on a whim. He's not well-"

"He's dying in here," Snape spat at the Mediwitches. "At least let him die with dignity. Where are his clothes?"

A warm woollen grey jumper and black denim jeans were handed to Snape to replace the aquamarine smock. Snape moulded the clothes to Harry's skinny body as if dressing were an art form; he took the utmost care, draping it here, and there.

A crowd had gathered, gazes a mixture of fear and disapproval, but none stopped Snape as he dragged the rag-doll boy through the swinging double doors and into the lift.

"Potter," Snape murmured, breathing the boy's hair in as they descended. Harry's head was nestled under his chin, his hair a silky oil against Snape's face. His arms grew slack around Snape's shoulders. "Damn you, Harry."

* * * * * * * * * *

They had been wracking their brains for nigh on twenty years, Dumbledore and his Order. Although Dumbledore had never admitted it - and undoubtedly never would - Snape wondered if the old coot had known that by killing the Dark Lord Harry would also be killing himself. James and Lily Potter's love be damned; it was now nothing but a faded memory, dust and bones. With those disgraceful Muggles the Dursleys dead, there wasn't even a drop of blood-magic left for Harry. Nothing to anchor him.

In the Hospital foyer, Snape pulled Harry into the fireplace before the wardens could reach them. "Where, where? Oh god damn it all! Hogwarts!" And stepped out in a familiar room that made his heart beat that little bit faster than it already was.

"Hello Severus. I knew I'd be seeing you today. Harry," Dumbledore greeted, as he rose from behind his desk.

"I..."

"I know. Now get going, the both of you."

"But, Headmaster-"

"Severus. Where do you think he would want to be for this?"

Snape swallowed, blinked, squeezed Harry's shoulder. "With..."

Dumbledore nodded once. "With you. Now go." He was smiling sadly, a strange gleam in his eyes that Snape couldn't place; he wasn't sure he wanted to. "Make haste. And don't, whatever you do, stop until you are there."

Where, Snape wanted to say.

Fawkes cawed softly from his perch, eyes dry. Snape dragged Harry under him, but Fawkes didn't seem to have tears enough to make things right, only turned his head away with another faint, melodic call, staring at Dumbledore.

"Get going," Dumbledore repeated, leaning across on his desk.

Snape choked out a "Damn," and steered Harry towards the spiral staircase, the boy now practically a bag of bones in his grasp.

* * * * * * * * * *

The dungeons... no, Potter hated the dungeons. And Snape was loath to lug him up to Gryffindor Tower, the threat of students too much to bear. It would only cause unnecessary chaos.

The Great Hall... oh, what a comfortable place to go. Snape inwardly scolded himself, about to drop to his knees, Harry now hanging off him.

Where, where, where?

"Severus Snape," said a deep voice, as Snape drew Harry into the Entrance Hall, at a complete loss.

He looked out through the open doors and saw the large flakes of winter snow spiralling quickly down towards earth, the trees of the Forbidden Forest a great brown and white wall in the distance, holding the castle in its arms - safe.

"Yes," Snape whispered.

"The stars never lie." Firenze cast his huge silver eyes on Harry's sagging form as Snape and Harry passed by. The centaur stretched out his marble-hard arm, holding the heavy doors open for them. "They never lie, Severus..."

Snape pressed his cheek to Harry's head, stumbling down the steps and onto the crackling, frozen grass of the Hogwarts grounds. Harry's feet scuffed through the frost. "You said this was home once, didn't you?" he asked, labouring to manoeuvre the boy across the short expanse of time. Snow fell into his eyes and down his throat as he drew in deep, gasping breaths. "You said this had been more of a home for you than anywhere else." He struggled on towards the trees. "I hate you for this, Potter. For not waking up when you know you should." On towards the trees they went until Harry finally - after what seemed like a lifetime - grew too heavy to drag.

Where a set of footprints accompanied by two wavering lines drawn in the snow stopped, a single set of footprints continued solitary on its way.

"Almost there," Snape said, hitching Harry up in his arms. "Almost." Past Hagrid's hut. Past the Whomping Willow. Past memories. Past hatred. Past want. Past more.

Into the woods they went, Harry and Snape, two men on the tail end of a terrible war. One man's life was fading fast, and the other was desperate to see that the remnants of a boy's life ended somewhere he called home, somewhere still and quiet.

An owl crooned softly, dismally, and Snape cursed, veering off path to escape Hedwig's lament.

And then he stopped, and turned, and met her large, solemn eyes.

She swooped from her perch on a tree branch nearby and landed heavily on his shoulder, accepting without hesitation, cooing in thanks.

"I suppose you should be here for this," Snape managed, now lugging two beings through the twisting dark of the trees. "Just keep quiet."

She did, except to tug ever so gently on his hair.

How long could he go on? How long could he walk with a full grown man in his arms and an old owl on his back?

He walked until no snow reached the ground and his legs buckled. Harry fell in a spill of limbs onto the cold grass, and all Snape could do was lie down over him and kiss him, offering all he could. Hedwig fluttered to the forest floor and clucked desperately in time to his kisses.

Hooves sounded in the distance and bushes rustled and tree branches groaned. Snape barely registered it; he kissed and kissed Harry until his lips were frozen and sore and a hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him away and the kisses were no more and.

Harry gasped.

And the skin of Snape's fingers tore as he ripped at the mud and rocks, to hold on.

And then, with a flinch, Harry gasped again.

A bead of light sparked and sprang and burned fire-hot in Harry's cheeks. His skin steadily grew less pallid and his black, dewy eyelashes fluttered as his throat contracted and he coughed.

"Severus Snape."

Snape let out a cry.

"Severus Snape, he is not dead."

"No-?" The earth seemed eerily silent.

"No. Without magic, but not dead." The hooves thumped, the strong hand held him down. Firenze's voice spoke diamond sharp among the creaking branches of weathered forest, seemed to vibrate up through the ground. "The life you see leaving him is only the magic he was given, sacrificed for his life. He will not die today."

Hedwig cooed, and Snape closed his eyes.

And then, a heartbeat, Harry woke up, a breath rustling through the trees.

~Fin~