After a day spent feeding disgusting things to unappreciative, poisonous plants, all Harry wanted to do was sleep. Well, have a bath and then sleep; despite Neville's best efforts, they both left smelling like things best left unidentified, and sweaty besides. They trudged up to the tower together and Harry was kind enough to levitate two sets of clean clothes into the boys' bath ahead of them. One long, grateful shower later and he felt nearly human and willing to delay his imminent collapse until after dinner.

"I know you didn't want to, but thanks for helping anyway," said Neville, smiling shyly as he slipped into his trousers.

Harry smiled back and pointedly did not eye Neville up, though he'd been long enough without that he was rather tempted. "It wasn't so bad, with you there," he replied, giving Neville's hair an extra rub with a clean towel. "At least I wasn't revising."

Neville laughed and shoved him away, and they horsed around until they were both panting and laughing. After they'd straightened themselves up and finished dressing, Harry shot Neville a shy look of his own and said, "Thanks. For, you know, not minding about me."

Neville looked confused, and then he flushed. "Well, mostly I forget, but I also trust you not to, er, y'know."

Harry laughed and gave him a very manly punch in the shoulder and said, "I know. Let's go get dinner."

Harry rummaged through the pile of dirty clothes for his watch and wand, using a quick spell to get most of the muck off. The house elves would take care of the rest, so they headed downstairs, Neville's wand tucked safely away in his robes and Harry's shoved carelessly into his back pocket. Harry flipped open the watch and stared at it, trying to make out a rhyme or reason for any of it. The door with the owl was closed, and the number fluctuated with every step Harry took, the little colour dial slowly going black as the numbers climbed. Harry clicked the switch and got the usual muddy mishmash of colour he always got when he was at Hogwarts, the whole background bright enough to make him squint and overlaid with dozens if not hundreds of those little pools of colour, some of which drifted in and out of existence, while others were only quick bursts.

He flipped it again, past the one he was pretty sure said something about the weather, to the fourth setting. It had always had some dim shapes in it, but now they were sharper, clearer, and Harry gasped to recognise the Voldemort's unmistakable silhouette, backed by a crowd of people Harry thought might be Death Eaters. He clicked again and the figures faded away into a red mist with a glowing golden rune floating in the centre and, as usual, not meaning anything to Harry.

"Did you ever figure that thing out?" asked Neville, pulling Harry back from stepping onto a staircase that had already moved away from their landing.

Harry gave him a sheepish smile. "Not really, no," he said, clicking again. This one held a number of hands pointing in impossible directions, up and down and straight back through the watch, each a different length. The shortest glowed brightly and pointed right behind them, so Harry turned around and tried to figure out what it was pointing to. "C'mon, want to see what this one is?"

"Sure, it's early still. Um, I think, anyway," said Neville, squinting out a window, where the sun was just starting to be dimmed by an oncoming storm.

Harry dragged him off in the direction his watch was pointing, following it like a compass even as it grew shorter, fatter, and brighter. The others began to disappear one by one, until Harry found himself standing right in front of a very familiar door with a rather battered 'Out of Order' sign. "Oh, it's Myrtle's loo!" said Harry, surprised.

"Who?" asked Neville, looking nervous.

Harry put the watch away; the hand had disappeared when Harry touched the door, and the watch had reverted back to the first setting with a soft chime. "Moaning Myrtle, she's the ghost of that girl, the one the basilisk killed the first time around," explained Harry. A feeling of unease prickled up his spine, all the way to his scar, and Harry pulled out his wand. "Look sharp, something's in there," he said, more quietly this time.

Neville went serious and still, pulling out his wand. "I've got your back, Harry."

Harry nodded and swung open the door, expecting to see the old sinks and cracked mirrors, the disused stalls and possibly even the ghost. What he hadn't been expecting to see was Voldemort, whispering to the sink or possibly the snake twirled around his body, eyes red in the mirror, inhuman in his bone-white face.

Harry froze, casting the first spell that came to mind, one he'd only just begun to learn. "Legilimens," he said, voice quiet and tight.

Voldemort laughed, thin and high, easily pushing Harry out and away, following him back until the girls' bathroom faded away and there was nothing at all but sun and sky and clouds, and Harry flying on his broom with Voldemort floating in front of him like some sort of macabre bird. "Pathetic," said Voldemort, flicking his hand.

Irritation crossed Voldemort's features when his wand failed to appear. "Not as pathetic as you think," said Harry, and then he swallowed and tried to do the one trick he'd yet to manage with Snape even once. He faded out and left the blue, leaving Voldemort in there, trapped in the timeless, endless bubble of sunshine and sky.

Harry blinked and gasped, grateful for Neville's steady hand on his back as he oriented himself to reality, to Voldemort still there in front of them with glazed eyes and, as far as Harry could tell, no one home inside his misshapen skull. Nagini lay stunned at his feet, obviously Neville's doing while Harry had been occupied for who knew how long inside his own mind.

Silvery ropes came from Neville's wand to bind Voldemort, spinning out and around him until he was covered in a cocoon of them. Harry stood and watched, trying to hold that infinite bubble in his mind without getting drawn back inside, staring at those blank eyes and wondering what on earth he was supposed to do now. Snape had never covered this in any of his classes.

Myrtle chose that moment to come floating up out of the drain and coo at him. "Aren't you two just a pair of heroes!" she said, drifting toward them. "Would you like a kiss from the rescued maiden?"

Harry blinked and wobbled, feeling the pressure inside him increasing with Voldemort's trapped rage. "Get Snape," he gasped, grabbing the doorway for support. "Now, Myrtle, now!"

"Spoilsport," she said, sulking for just a moment before letting herself be drawn back into the plumbing.

Harry could only hope that someone had noticed what was going on, that help was on its way, because Harry wasn't going to be able to hold in all that was Lord Voldemort for much longer.

"I'm here, Harry," said Neville, hand warm on his back, voice steady and his presence solid. He lent Harry that extra determination he'd always shown, and Harry used that strength to expand the space inside him, making it more vast, nearly infinite, taking away all sense of time passing until the pressure faded just a little. "What should we do?"

"I don't know," said Harry, thinking of all the spells he'd learned thanks to Hermione. "I don't know what would kill him, and I... I have to kill him."

Neville's eyes went wide but he didn't show a moment of doubt. "I guess it always was your task," he said, hand tightening on his wand until the knuckles went white.

Harry nodded, leaning into Neville just a little. "I need you to help me, I always have," he said hoarsely, a thin sliver of hate lashing him in places he didn't know could feel pain, trying to break him apart from the inside out.

Running footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Snape arrived breathless with Myrtle floating after. "I did as you said, can I have my kiss now?" she said sweetly.

"He's going to break me apart," said Harry with a little moan of pain, leaning more heavily into Neville, who only held on more firmly.

Snape turned and saw the bound form on the floor and seemed to understand what was happening. He strode over to Voldemort and took the wand from his limp white hand, then brought it to Harry. "This will kill him," he said, wrapping Harry's hand around both of the wands. Harry felt them thrum with power, brought together like this rather than pitted against one another, and he gasped as the presence inside him grew closer, pressing against Harry's mind despite its confinement. "Hurry, Harry! Use his hate against him."

Harry understood all of a sudden -- he'd never once managed even a single Unforgivable, not that Snape had ever encouraged him to try, but he finally had inside him the one thing that would fuel a curse powerful enough to kill Voldemort once and for all. Harry caught onto the next lash of burning hate inside him instead of passively resisting it, then sent it through him, out toward the two wands. They recognised the magic and welcomed it, growing hot in Harry's hand as he pulled Voldemort's power into them along with his own. "Incendio!" he yelled, feeling the hot rage and bitter hate spool out of him, through both wands and into the body of its originator.

Voldemort's body didn't catch flame like a bit of paper; instead the heat coalesced at the very core of him, growing hotter and hotter until cracks formed on the surface of his skin, his own hate burning him from the inside out. At the very last moment Harry gave a mental shove with everything he had left, pushing Voldemort out completely and back into his own body. Harry's scar flared white-hot and painful, but his gaze never wavered as Voldemort's glowing eyes grew wide, just before a final burst of heat flared through him and he exploded into a cloud of hot ash.

"Bloody hell," came a voice behind him, and Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione arriving with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and a whole host of other students and teachers trailing along behind. "You did it, Harry!"

"We shall see," said Snape, moving into the room with his wand drawn, followed closely by the Headmaster.

Harry decided that was his cue to collapse, and he slid down the wall and blinked eyes gone dry and hot, too busy searching inside himself for any traces of Voldemort's evil presence. He felt exhausted, but also lighter, as though he'd finally shed some weight from his soul. "I think he's gone," said Harry, voice thin and hoarse.

"I think you were brilliant," said Myrtle dreamily, head poking out of the stone above Harry.

"I believe he is finally destroyed," said Dumbledore, turning to Harry with an expression of profound sadness. "I am sorry that you had to do what you did, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "I'm sorry, too, but I'm not sorry it's over," he said. His eyes found Snape's and saw approval there, and something like affection, though it might have been Harry's wishful thinking.

Then, reassured of his safety and surrounded by friends, he passed out cold.

---

When Harry awoke in the infirmary some hours later, he wasn't alone. Snape was sitting on the bed next to him while Madam Pomfrey spread salve on a nasty burn on his arm, one in a suspiciously familiar location.

"Will it scar?" asked Harry, the blackened skin fading to an angry red while he watched.

"If it does, it won't be recognisable as what it used to be," said Snape, sounding tired but satisfied. "That should be enough, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey gave him a look that suggested she knew quite well when it was enough, but she left them alone nonetheless, though she did get in a parting shot of, "Don't cover it until it's fully healed." As she moved away, Harry became aware that there were occupied beds around him, some hidden by screens, a few with nothing more than still shapes under sheets.

Snape rolled his eyes, but made no move to hide the swiftly-healing patch of skin. "While you were busy in your bathroom," said Snape amusedly, "the school was infiltrated by Death Eaters, who attacked in the Great Hall, presumably as a distraction from the- from Voldemort's true purpose."

"Did anyone... I mean, the students..." Harry tried to gather his thoughts, which still seemed to be shot through with clouds and a sense of endless sky.

"There were a few casualties, but more on their side than ours," said Snape darkly. "Voldemort tried to spread out the effects of your curse amongst his followers, but it was too strong in the end. Pettigrew was immolated along with him, and several lost arms or more to the fire."

"Why not you?" asked Harry, glancing down at the shiny-new patch of skin on Snape's forearm, barely larger than the Mark itself had been.

Snape shrugged eloquently and said, "I have a theory that it has to do with the extent to which the individuals allowed the Dark Lord into themselves." There was a pause. "Lucius Malfoy is hardly more burned than me, but Bellatrix is nothing but a pair of smoking boots at this point."

Harry felt a certain vicious satisfaction rise up in him, knowing he'd destroyed Sirius' killer, but it was swept away by a wave of sadness. "I've killed a lot of people now, haven't I?"

"Yes," said Snape, and something like pride shone in his eyes as he looked at Harry. "At least five, and the sixth will likely die within the day. Your curse is proving difficult to reverse, past a certain stage."

"Malfoy will scar," said Harry, with a sudden certainty. "He was mostly loyal to himself, but he has too much Darkness inside of him to fully heal."

"The same could be said of me," said Snape, sweeping a finger down over the smooth skin of his forearm, barely pinker than the rest now.

Harry shrugged. "I could never hurt you," he said, trying to pass it off as a joke, though again he felt the truth of it. "Who else?"

"Those not on your conscience include Justin Finch-Fletchley and Alvin Chippens, both of whom perished in the first wave of attack," said Snape, with an absolute conviction that Harry felt imprinting on him in his open, floaty state of mind. "There are other injuries, but none that will be fatal. Marietta Edgecombe may not recover her sanity, Bellatrix seemed to find her disfigurement amusing." Snape nodded toward one of those still, sheet-draped forms. "She's been sedated, for now."

"Oh," said Harry, more sadness suffusing him, the clouds darkening inside him as though heavy with rain. "Will I? Recover, I mean," he asked, eyes guileless and trusting as he looked to Snape.

Snape blinked, then smoothed one salve-coated finger over Harry's scar, slipping into his mind with the ease of long practice. "He did some damage, as a parting gift," said Snape, voice like a cool wind blowing through Harry's head. "You should recover, though I doubt you'll ever manage Occlumency like that again."

"Oh," said Harry, closing his eyes, nestling up to the feeling of Snape inside of him, even if it wasn't the way he longed for. Images welled up of his fantasies, and Snape gently pushed them back down, ghostly fingers in Harry's head rebuilding something indefinable, until Harry felt almost normal again. "Thank you," he said, blinking as he felt Snape withdraw, both mentally and physically.

"You're stronger than you think," said Snape, busying himself with wiping the salve off his hand and arm with the sheet. The skin was perfect, as though there had never been an injury or a Mark either, smooth but not unnaturally so. "I simply accelerated the process already in motion."

"Thank you anyway," said Harry, feeling exasperation well up through the fog, dissipating it further. "I couldn't have done it without you, you know. Any of it."

Snape looked up, black eyes meeting Harry's, though without the push he'd come to expect, simple contact free of any magic besides the love Harry still felt for him, and the unfathomable emotion swimming in Snape's eyes. "You are welcome, Harry. Now, try to get some sleep while there is still peace to be had."

Harry's eyes dropped to Snape's mouth briefly, and when he dragged them back up he saw amusement in Snape's. "Yes, sir," said Harry in a slightly singsong voice, snuggling back up into the blankets after a sip of water. He paused, then added quietly, "No kiss goodnight?"

Snape chuckled and smoothed back Harry's fringe. "Perhaps next time."

Harry felt that it must have been his imagination that supplied, moments later, the sensation of soft lips against his forehead.

---

The infirmary was emptier the next time Harry woke, most of the still forms gone and only a few screens still up. Harry's bed was festooned with more cards and presents than the first time he'd awakened here, and when he sat up a tray appeared at his side bearing a covered plate, a pitcher of juice, and an envelope. Harry poured himself some juice and uncovered the food, finding mashed potatoes and beef in warm gravy with a side of green beans, a meal so typically Hogwarts that he felt an odd tugging of nostalgia as he nibbled at a bean.

The envelope contained a letter from the Ministry, congratulating him on his achievements and offering both to waive his DADA NEWT and give him an Order of Merlin, and a note from Dumbledore advising him to take them up on both offers, and to come see him in his office after he finished eating and dressing. Harry fell to, and it wasn't until his second glass of pumpkin juice that he noticed the third bit of parchment someone had slipped under the edge of his plate.

He smiled when he opened it, recognising the handwriting at once.

Harry, I have been advised that we will be discontinuing your Occlumency lessons at once, as I implied earlier. You need the time for your NEWT studies anyway, I suppose, and thus anyone poking about in your skull will have to be content with its actual emptiness rather than our false construct of such. See me after you've seen the Headmaster. I have those biscuits you like. Severus

Harry tucked it away with the other two in his robes, and smiled his way through the rest of his potatoes, though a bit sadly. He'd miss that chance to be intimate with Snape, at least mentally, one less connection in a time when he was already feeling adrift. But that was for tomorrow, for another day. Today, he'd signed the note 'Severus', and that was enough to fan the spark of hope inside Harry back into a flame.

---

Harry came away from his meeting with Dumbledore feeling as though he'd narrowly missed being taken to task for something, though he couldn't put his finger on what. Or even why. Though, really, having both his Occlumency lessons and his officially sanctioned time with the twins brought to an end did feel a bit like punishment. He had been forced to agree that he needed the time to revise for his NEWTs -- thankfully minus the DADA one, now -- but at the same time, he'd miss those extra evenings in Snape's quarters.

His feet had brought him to Snape's office door before his brain had finished mulling over the rest of Dumbledore's lecture, about remorse and forgiveness, and he looked up with surprise when Snape opened the door. "Were you going to stand there all day?"

"Apparently," said Harry with a shrug, pushing past Snape and into the office, then on through to his neat parlour. "Sorry."

"I doubt that," said Snape, the doors closing after him as he followed Harry into the room. Snape went to the sideboard while Harry settled in his usual chair by the fire, and Harry heard clinking and pouring before Snape turned back with two foaming mugs. "Butterbeer, I think, to celebrate."

"Brilliant!" said Harry, a grin finally finding its way to his face as one fact began to push the rest of his troubles away, at least for now. He'd actually killed Voldemort and ended the war, with far less casualties than he'd had any hope for. "It's really over," he said after a long moment, taking the drink Snape proffered.

"Yes," said Snape, taking a deep swig from his own mug, "It is really over." There was something guarded in his tone, and Harry cocked his head to one side and tried to hear the whisper of his thoughts, as he'd just begun to learn.

"None of that," said Snape sharply, and Harry sat back with a little start. His head was feeling floaty again, and Snape looked annoyed. "You must not attempt any Legilimency or Occlumency until your mind has healed, and possibly not even then."

"Sorry," said Harry with a flush, taking a sip of his own drink and letting the warmth of it ground him. "But, what aren't you saying, then?"

Snape laughed. "Gryffindor directness is, I suppose, the quickest way in these situations," he said, relaxing just enough to give Harry a glimpse of the familiar, warm man beneath Snape's cold exterior. "I am simply concerned that you will find my appeal has dimmed, now that you are no longer relying on me to survive."

"There's still Etiquette," said Harry quickly, desperate not to lose those lessons, too. "And... you must know it was never really about that." Harry glanced up, happy to see Austereus was absent from his frame. "I don't love you because I can hide behind you. I want to be by your side, and in your bed."

Snape's cheeks pinked. "Direct indeed," he said, taking another gulp of butterbeer. "For now we must remain teacher and student, and you must allow yourself to finally believe you will live past your eighteenth birthday." He gave Harry a dark, intent look. "You must become certain of what you wish to do with your future, and unafraid of finding out that what you thought you wanted isn't the same thing."

"Yes, sir," Harry, deflating a little. Maybe it was a message after all, hidden like all the others in their lessons, telling Harry that he wasn't what Snape wanted, now that they both had a proper future ahead of them. "I promise to go talk to Professor McGonagall about my career again, after I've taken my NEWTs."

"Good," said Snape, his tone dismissing the subject completely. "Now," he said, taking another sip, "why don't you tell me about your meeting with our esteemed Headmaster?"

Harry took a deep breath and let it out, then launched into the short version, hoping Snape might have some insight into the rest of the lecture, as well as advice on the Order of Merlin ceremony. This sort of conversation, where they were almost equals, was as engaging as the other had been frustrating, and Harry lost himself in it for as long as Snape would allow. They had moved on to a discussion of magical and moral theory and gone through a second butterbeer each.

"So why is it Unforgivable to use the Killing Curse, but not to, I dunno, Transfigure someone's head into pudding and have them die that way?" asked Harry, curious.

Snape's reply was interrupted by a loud growling from Harry's stomach, and they both laughed. "I believe that is a subject for much further thought, and another day," said Snape, glancing up at the clock. "We'll just make dinner if we hurry."

"All right," said Harry, albeit reluctantly. He stood up and brushed off the biscuit crumbs and then said shyly. "Thank you, by the way. This was... Really nice."

"You are welcome," said Snape. "I thought you might like an afternoon away from the school, before you resume your celebrity status."

Harry froze, then let out a groan. "Oh, god, it's going to be ten times worse now!"

"It will not be any better for being delayed," said Snape, waving the door open. "You go on, I'll be along soon enough.

Harry sighed, but headed out anyway, knowing Snape was right. "See you later," he said shyly from the doorway, then ducked out before Snape could respond. He hadn't mentioned cancelling Harry's Etiquette lessons, and Harry wasn't going to give him the chance today. He'd had too many other things come to an end today, good and bad, to lose those, too.

Harry entered the Great Hall to silence, followed by a standing ovation from everyone, even the Slytherins. Well, most of them, anyway. He sat between Ron and Neville with Hermione on Ron's other side, and grinned and ate and traded stories, of the battle in the Great Hall and his own internal struggles. By the time the meal was done, he'd nearly forgotten his promise to Snape and his worries for the future.

A Question of Etiquette XXIV: Between Friends