Entry tags:

fests/challenges, my snarrys, nc-17, slash

FIC: Strong at the Broken Places
Title: Strong at the Broken Places
Author:joanwilder aka RaeWhit
Pairing: Harry/Severus
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 24,000+
Warnings: None
Genres: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: After the war, both Snape and Harry have the chance to start over again…more than once. The choice is whether to go it alone or with each other.

Author's Notes: This story was written for snarry_holidays for veridian_dair, who requested hurt/comfort, angst, Snape saving Harry, plot, and a few other things she wanted that I'll not mention so the reader will be surprised. Some events in this story were inspired by the film, 'An Affair to Remember,' with one dialogue line taken directly from it. My gratitude to my beta reader, Jadzialove, who inspires, exhorts, and gently corrects.

Strong at the Broken Places


"The world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills."
'A Farewell to Arms' ~~Ernest Hemingway


The biggest story had been the death of Voldemort.

In the days that followed, though, the role of Severus Snape in the war had finally come to the light, and the wizarding world was in shock. Any disbelievers had been firmly silenced the very first time Harry Potter gave an interview.

Then had begun the press' vigil at St. Mungo's, waiting for news of the 'Dark Hero,' as they'd so dramatically dubbed him, while he struggled for his very life. Healers were stymied—the man should've been dead, given the size and species of snake that'd bitten him, and the length of time he'd lain in the Shack afterward.

As the weeks went by, the press lost interest, and one by one, they abandoned their watch, all except for a single young, tenacious reporter who even slept in the poorly furnished waiting room, determined to be there if and when there would be news.

He was slouched down in his chair one night when a shadowy figure stole through the swinging doors to the private ward. Shaking off his sleepiness, he moved into position, ready to pounce when the visitor would finally leave.

And this was how his patience and dedication received their just reward: an exclusive opportunity to question Harry Potter about his one-time professor and now friend, it would seem.

"No, I wouldn't say we're friends," Potter objected.

"Then, why're you here, sir?" the journalist asked.

"Let's just say he deserves to have someone checking in on him."

"What've the two of you talked about? What has he had to say about your defeating the Dark Lord?"

Potter scrutinized him for a moment, then said, "We've hardly spoken at all, and as for defeating Voldemort, you and I wouldn't be here talking about that if it weren't for him." With a curt nod, he turned and headed purposely for the door.

"Mr. Potter! Is it true his wounds aren't healing?" But the only answer was the sound of the door as it clicked shut.

***

"HARRY POTTER MAKES DEAD-OF-NIGHT TRYST TO SEE DYING DARK HERO," Severus read aloud with disgust, then threw the Prophet aside.

"You're not dying," said the voice at the end of his bed, making Severus roll his head to look at him. "But you're not making acceptable progress either. As I told you last week, for you to heal fully, we're going to have to go."

Severus was tired, his neck throbbed, and a thin pink fluid seeped continuously through the bandages. He had no strength, no appetite, but even worse, now that the novelty of surviving had worn off, he was finding it hard to make himself care about what was to come: he'd not planned for it, that much was for certain, and now that 'forever' was here, he had no inclination to 'participate.'

Turning his face to the wall, he asked, "When?"

The man walked around the side of the bed and drew up a chair, forcing Severus to look at him. "All the arrangements with the Greek Ministry of Magic have been made. The excavation on Delos is on hiatus, so we'll have the island to ourselves for the most part. In any case, the house is ready, and enchantments are in place, much like those at Hogwarts. The snake-handler will take care of whatever you might need, in addition to the potions."

"And he knows what he's doing, I hope? I wouldn't want to be bitten a second time, although the irony would probably kill me first."

"Severus, you won't have to be anywhere near the snakes, I assure you. Besides, even though they're the same species as Nagini, they're relatively small."

"Such an inconvenience," Severus sighed.

Shaking his head, the man replied, "Fresh-squeezed venom twice a day for six months. Someone to wait on you, hand and foot. The Ministry is sparing no expense for its Dark Hero." He reached out and touched Severus' arm. "Use the time to sort out the rest of your life. And it's beautiful there—the birthplace of Apollo."

Severus looked up at the ceiling. "It's been a long while since I've seen the sea."

"Well, then, so you shall," the man said as he stood.

***

Twice a day, the snake-handler would seek Severus out, carrying one of the small serpents indigenous to the island, wrapped around his dark, muscled forearm. The potion had been prepared in quantity at St. Mungo's and brought along when Severus first came to the island. A pre-measured amount sat ready in the usual silver chalice, waiting for the snake to be milked directly against its rim. Once the venom mixed with the potion, Severus had only seconds to down it before its potency was affected.

Severus flexed his wrist to rotate the chalice and mix its contents, already steeling himself for the foul odor, and a taste even worse. Taking a deep breath, he gulped it in a single swallow, then slammed the chalice down hard onto the table, struggling to keep the vile concoction in his stomach.

"That bad, huh?"

He looked up, his eyes watering, then said, "Perhaps you'd like to try it?" he asked sarcastically, gratified when Potter shook his head quickly.

"Explain again why they can't just pack up a few snakes and haul them off to London?"

"The venom is altered when they're relocated. Whether it’s the water, or what they eat, maybe the climate…." Severus reached out to touch the sliver green snake on Zef's arm before the handler left the porch with a nod towards him and Harry. "Whatever it is, it's enough to render the potion ineffective."

Potter studied him. "So…one month down, and five to go, then?"

"More or less," Severus replied. "I'm hoping more."

They didn't speak for several moments, both of them looking out over the small beach to where the Aegean lay like a glittering sapphire, its small white breakers creating a backdrop of muted sound that was continuous and soothing.

"Not too much of a hardship, though. It's a pretty place," Potter finally broke the silence.

Severus stiffened. "Why are you here? I gave them strict instructions that no one was to know."

Potter smiled. "Ah, but I'm not just any no one, remember?" He leant over and began to untie his shoes. Severus watched, fascinated, as he removed first one, then the other, then both socks at once. As he started to roll up his trouser legs, he said conversationally, as if they'd always been in the habit of discussing mundane matters, "I had to come. I wanted to come," he finished as he stood and towered over Severus.

Severus thought he looked rather silly, with his shirttails un-tucked and hanging down loose over his rolled-up trousers, so it looked as if he didn't have any on at all.

"Walk down to the water with me?" Potter asked as he stepped off the porch, then stopped to wait with a question in his eyes.

Self-conscious in his cut-off trousers and plain white tee shirt, which he knew was so thin his skin poked through in places, Severus stood and shaded his eyes to peer at the water. "Not for long. The sun's at its hottest." He stepped down off the porch, then the two of them took off toward the beach.

"I wanted to see Greece," Potter continued.

"Then you're making a poor start. Technically Greece, but nothing much to see here. Unless you're interested in the digs? They're on the far side of the island, but we're keeping a low profile under enchanted wards, so I'm not certain that'd be a good idea."

Potter stopped at the edge of the sand, his hands shoved in his pockets as he squinted, looking out to sea. "I came to see you, not Greece."

"Then why didn't you bloody well say so?" Severus asked irritably, partially to hide his confusion over what to say to such an admission.

***

Severus never really asked how long Potter intended to stay, but at the end of a week, he was curious. They were sitting under a makeshift umbrella in the sand, only their feet stretched out in the full sun.

"Do you remember me visiting you in St. Mungo's?" Potter asked out of the blue.

"Of course I do. I was ill, not out of my mind," Severus retorted, reaching into the straw bag to pull out another bottle of mineral water. Popping the cap, he took a swig, casting a sideways look at Potter. "Why?"

Potter eyed his bottle until Severus handed it over. "Just wondering if you remembered…all we talked about."

"What do you think? Not only do I remember it as if it were yesterday, I've no desire to speak of it again. Did I not make myself clear the first time?" he asked, trying to retrieve his bottle, and failing.

"Just checking. You were a bit…fuzzy, and I wanted to make sure you knew how…" He stopped at the look on Severus' face. "Water under the bridge," he said instead.

Severus gave up and reached for another bottle. "I was never…how did you say it? Fuzzy," he enunciated the word as if it left a bad taste on his tongue. After drinking most of the bottle, he looked at Potter. "When are you leaving? Don't you have someplace you should be?"

Potter set his empty bottle aside, then picked up a handful of sand and let it sift through his fingers. "You want me to go?"

"Did I say that?"

"No…and no, I don't have anywhere I need to be. In fact, I've decided I like it here. Maybe it's the climate…."

"Or the isolation…"

"Yeah, or how simple and the same every day is. Get up, go for a swim, watch you drink snake shite, eat, go for a swim, lie on the beach…."

"Ah yes, I can see why you'd be loath to leave…never want to go back," Severus mused.

"We could stay here together," Potter said dreamily, a smile in his voice. "I can cook."

"I can clean."

"I have money."

"I don't."

There was a long pause, until Potter broke it. "A match made in heaven," then he guffawed.

Severus stared at him, dumbstruck at the turn the conversation had taken, then his mouth dropped open, when Potter added, almost as an aside, "And you have money, didn't you know? You're Albus' heir, now that the war's over."

***

It was one of the bad days.

One of the days when the ache in his neck was so severe that the only thing in question was in which direction he would rip out his throat. One of those days when he burned with fever, when he became convinced that the bloody cure was ten times worse than what ailed him. One of those days when he lay curled in a ball on his bed, and asked himself serious questions, like why was he going through all of this anyway? What did he have to look forward to, except for spending the rest of his years trying to forget it all?

There wasn't one single thing he wanted to do with his life, although he had to admit it wasn't something he'd ever much thought about; there wasn't anyone who wanted his company, and the feeling was mutual, he thought with bitterness.

It was one of those days when he came to the end of himself and lost that last little veneer of civility that most days made him treat both Zef and Potter with at least token respect.

Zef tutted sympathetically as he helped Severus to sit to drink his potions, hovering anxiously as he waited to see if Severus' stomach would send them back up. He wiped him with cool, moistened flannels, his hands gentle and practiced, and in the middle of the afternoon, well after the second potion, Severus lay and listened to the almost comforting sound of the water from the ewer being poured into the basin.

He felt the shift in the bed as Zef sat, then the cool touch of the cloth on his forehead, then a voice that murmured, "I think he's coming out of it." Potter, not Zef. He wanted to protest, but what was the use? He'd tried for weeks to get Potter to go, tried when he'd been well and had his strength, so what chance of success did he have now?

He kept his eyes closed and relaxed, and let Potter take care of him. It was only fair: he'd taken care of the whelp for years.

***

At the end of the third week, Severus got his wish, when Potter had to leave—it appeared that he did have obligations and people who'd send out a search party if he didn't put in an appearance soon.

Severus would've never admitted it, but it was an adjustment, Potter being gone. Zef was a poor conversant, and in any case, he seemed in awe of Severus and hesitant to relax in his company. So, Severus read the books he'd brought, took walks in the cool of the evening, and he thought…a great deal, at last processing the sum of his life, considering the parts that were choices and alliances, the parts that were plain serendipity and fate. He slowly came to terms with what had gone wrong and what, incredibly, had gone right, and decided in the end that it was far too complicated for even his own analytical mind. He chose, on that day, to put it behind him, and resist the urge to take it out on occasion and look at it ever again. He'd wasted far too much time on it as it was.

Potter returned every weekend, and Severus in no time was looking forward to his visits far more than he let on. The man brought him more books and Prophets¸ wine and chocolates, although Zef tsked furiously and confiscated most of the latter, muttering about 'thinning the blood.'

They spent their two days together like they had the initial weeks, but now Potter had things to talk about. Severus listened to his adventures in courting, mostly disastrous, with Ginny Weasley. He heard accounts of the Death Eater trials, still in progress, and they talked at great length about unimportant things: how olives were harvested and why they thrived in the Mediterranean; Severus taught him about the mythical history of Delos itself, and why the archeological sites were treasure mines; they spent an entire day looking for, then discussing and examining the habits of hermit crabs.

"So, they've never really had their own shell to begin with?" Potter asked as he gingerly touched the edge of a mollusk, and watched as the crab withdrew its legs in even further.

"No, they move from shell to shell as they grow, as their need for a larger one arises," Severus confirmed. "They're quite good at it—adaptable. Nature's very economical, when you come down to it."

Potter, leaning in over the rock pool, pointed to a large group of gastropod shells. "When they can't pull themselves all the way in, that's when they look for a new one?"

"Yes, it's instinctual—finding one large enough to entirely protect them."

"Sort of sad, that. Never having a home you can stick with, get comfy in." He sat back on his heels. "There's a great deal to be said for that." He seemed to suddenly feel self-conscious about what he'd just said. "Not that I've learnt that by experience."

Severus studied him soberly. "Neither have I. But consider the bright side. We never overstay our welcome."

***

At the three-month mark, Potter brought a cake to celebrate. After supper, they sat out on the small porch, Severus whittling away at some driftwood he'd discovered, Potter looking on in amusement. When Severus glanced up at him and caught him smiling, he scowled.

"You do that a lot," Potter told him, pulling his chair closer to watch as he carved.

"Do what a lot?"

"Make a face when you look at me," Potter told him.

Severus shrugged. "Habit, I suppose." He bit the tip of his tongue and held his breath as he dug at a difficult angle.

"What do you see when you look at me?" Potter asked, once Severus had moved on to a smooth plane of the wood.

Thinking about it for a moment, Severus answered without looking up, "An enigma."

Potter thought just as long as Severus had. "Because of my mother?"

Severus looked sideways at him, then remembered he had a knife in his hand, so he stopped whittling to answer. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you liked her, but you hated me. So that would've…been confusing for you."

Severus scoffed, "I was never confused about how I felt about you at all. You asked what I see, if you recall. And I said an enigma, because all things considered…I don't understand why you are here."

"You don't want me to be here? If you don't, I can go."

"No."

"No…you don't want me to go or…"

"No, Potter, I don't want you to go, damn it, I don't know why, I can't explain it."

"Neither can I," Potter said, sounding pleased with himself.

Severus stole a look. "Neither can you what?"

"Explain why I have to come every weekend."

Sighing heavily, Severus opined, "We're both fucked."

"Probably."

They watched the sun set, and so Severus had to set his carving aside. Without really thinking about it, he stretched and laid his arm along the back of Potter's chair, then at the surprised look on Potter's face, he didn't remove it.

He'd been right. They were fucked.

***

A month before the end of his sojourn, Severus awoke in the dead of night, suddenly filled with fear as he realized that someone was standing just beside his bed. Light streamed in through the window, silhouetting the figure as it reached down to touch him.

"Severus?" he heard Potter say as he gently shook his arm.

"Wha'szit?" Severus asked as he came up on his elbow.

"Shhh. Don't wake Zef. Get up, c'mon, you have to see something," Potter whispered.

Grumbling about 'sick wizards needing their sleep,' Severus sat up and pulled on his shirt, but didn't button it, then stood to follow him. Out on the porch, he paused, then bit back a retort when Potter grabbed his hand and pulled him around to the other side of the cottage.

"Look," Potter said, in a normal tone hushed only in awe this time. Severus followed his outstretched arm to the sky, and suddenly realized the source of the light on this moonless night. "Shooting stars," Potter said softly.

They stood side by side, watching as a starburst of silvery white streamers fell to the earth from a point high in the heavens. The breeze blew in off the sea, mingling their hair where they stood watching the fireworks.

"Meteor shower," Severus said as he tilted his head, watching. "The Ursids, I'd imagine, given the time of year.

"Not really stars, then?" Potter asked, tilting his head too.

"Hmmm, not at all. Meteor fragments—bits of cosmic rock and ice enter the atmosphere when the earth happens to orbit through the tail of a comet." He tilted his head to the other side, jerking it back quickly when it connected with a thunk to Potter's.

"See, we're having an early Christmas tree," Potter said as he rubbed the spot on his head, eyes still tracking the meteor shower.

Severus watched the reflection of the shower in Potter's eyes, mingled there with his shining excitement and glittering optimism; he was forced to bite back his sarcastic comment, and instead, looked to the sky again, hoping to catch a bit of the wonder that Potter had.

He waited, watching as the shower showed no signs of stopping, then he felt it arrive—a streak of wonder in his heart as Potter slipped a timid hand into his and squeezed it tightly.

"Worth getting up for, wasn't it?"

"It certainly was."

***

The six months were almost over. Severus was as recovered as he'd ever be, the only residual a raspy quality to his voice that Potter playfully insisted had always been there, but Severus didn't think so. Oh, and his right eyelid drooped, which Potter said made him look exotic.

It was the final day on Delos. The few belongings Severus had were packed and ready; Zef had said his typically Greek goodbye, which involved tears, hearty slaps on the back and a bottle of ouzo.

Potter had shown up just after supper, Severus finally conceding to the Ministry's demand that he have a traveling partner. They'd go by International Floo part of the way, then the remainder by Apparition. But they had this one last evening on the island, and were putting it to good use, walking along the beach until long after sunset.

"Oh, I've seen Albus' cottage once before," Severus told Potter. "What did you think of it?" he asked.

Smiling, Potter said, "It's just what you'd imagine he'd live in over the hols. Not as big as I thought, but…homey, and quirky like he was." He glanced over to Severus. "I think it'll fit you to a T. Plenty of space, a nice garden and your own lane to the beach, and it's private—no neighbors, so far as I could tell."

"The smaller of the Hebrides tend to be sparsely populated," Severus said thoughtfully, "although Castlebay's a good-sized village, and not too far off."

"You get to live by the sea again," Potter said as he stopped to look out over the ocean. "Lucky you."

Severus stood beside him. "Have you decided what you're going to do?" He turned to Potter. "Now that there's no further need to check up on me, since I'll be perfectly fine," he finished emphatically.

"Yeah, I know." Potter turned to him, looking down as he studiously tunneled his toes into the wet sand. "I'll miss this place."

"Don't you have things to do? Your life to get on with?" Severus asked, thinking to himself that if he had a Galleon for every time he'd said the words….

Still not looking up, Potter answered, "Yeah, matter of fact I do. Ginny and me…." He shook his head, then looked up at Severus. "Time for me to get started…."

There was something in his tone of voice that Severus found slightly alarming. He was about to press the issue, when he remembered it was none of his affair. Instead, he said, "I suppose I'll be able to follow your life in the Prophet."

Lifting his chin, Harry's eyes glittered in the moonlight as he grinned. "Don't be so sure."

It was Potter's eyes that made Severus do it.

He thought it over afterward and was almost certain…it had been his eyes, those damnable green eyes…although…he supposed the 'green' part was a bit lame, as he couldn't actually remember being able to see their color as he stepped closer.

But it was partly Potter's fault, he reasoned, because his eyes grew wider as Severus stepped closer, or was that because he'd put his hand on the boy's shoulder? But the eyes almost looked like they were asking him, pleading with him…oh fuck it all, it was his own bloody fault, but surely it was Potter's too! Severus couldn't stop himself at that point, so he slid his hand from Potter's shoulder up into his hair, pulled him close, and then kissed him.

Whoever's fault it is, Severus thought as they frantically tried to devour each other whole, we're now both equally guilty.

They staggered in the sand, struggling to keep their feet as they kissed, as their hands gripped each other and mysteriously worked their way inside clothing to touch bare skin. Severus felt a pain in his neck, and used that as his excuse to push Potter gently but firmly away.

Harry, he thought to himself as he stared at him. He realized he'd been Harry for a while in his mind. They were both leaving this island of mythical beginnings, and there were some things they'd best leave here in the realm of the mythical when they did.

They stood facing each other, regaining their breath—and the mind Severus knew he'd briefly lost—then silently made their way up the path to the porch.

They undressed in the dark, making shadows on the walls as they bent and moved. It was hot and close in the room, so Severus stripped down to his boxers, then slipped between the sheets. He lay on his back, his breathing still slightly rapid and his heart not yet back to normal.

What, he thought, did I do? What in god's name got into me?

He didn't move when he heard the springs of Harry's small cot creak, but when he saw his shadow move along the wall and stop beside his bed, he sighed as he threw the sheet back and reached up to pull him down.

PART TWO