The 25th of December

19 December

"Potter, stay awake."

Harry blinks several times as he tries to make Snape's face come back into focus. He is too tired.

He doesn't want to stay awake.

"Potter," Snape says, a little more sharply. Snape shakes his shoulder, and Harry's eyes slide open once more.

He focuses on the dark purple bruise covering almost half of Snape's face; the place where Voldemort struck him. It is difficult to see it in the dim light from Snape's wand.

Harry shivers.

"Cold..." he chatters. His own voice is unfamiliar to him.

Snape nods. "The Dark Lord is intensifying the cold," he explains, and Harry thinks he remember a similar interplay of words. "My Warming Charms are useless." Harry imagines regret in Snape's voice.

Voldemort is trying to freeze him to death.

"I could not heal your chest," Snape continues as Harry shakes. The regret seems like an echo now.

"It doesn't hurt," Harry says in a low rasp. It isn't a lie. Harry feels nothing; not anymore.

Snape frowns down at him; shadows flicker across his face as he leans closer to Harry. "Three times," he murmurs. Harry feels a pressure against his chest, but no sharp sensations like he felt in the cemetery. "The Headmaster said you could not be killed--not if I did not wish it," Snape whispers; Snape's hand is flat against Harry's chest now.

Harry wants to ask him to wish it, but even death is too much effort. He doesn't care why he can't die.

But Snape continues on, as if he cannot bear the silence which has stretched between them for days. Even the Death Eaters who enter the cell do not speak as much as they used to. Perhaps they are too afraid. Harry marvels that he was ever fearful of dying.

"That potion was dark magic," Snape rambles, and Harry hears without listening. "But even the Dark Lord did not understand the ramifications of the potion. He only wanted to get you away from Albus. He trusted me to know the details..."

The words drift in and out. Sleep is the only thing Harry wants.

"Potter, look at me."

The harsh command snaps Harry's eyes open. Snape is glaring down at him.

"Do not close your eyes again, Potter," he says, his voice quiet and furious. "The temperature is too low. You might not wake up again. Do you understand me?" he demands when Harry does not acknowledge the command. Snape shakes his shoulder again. "Potter!"

Harry gazes blearily up at Snape. "You said I can't die," he mumbles. "Not unless you..." Speaking uses energy which Harry doesn't have. So he closes his mouth and watches the wand light reflect in Snape's eyes.

"What if he is wrong?" Snape demands; the words burst out in a rush of breath. Harry says nothing. It doesn't matter if Dumbledore is wrong.

Snape's eyes suddenly narrow.

"You have given up," he accuses.

The wand light is dancing erratically in Snape's eyes now.

"How dare you believe you have the right to give up?" Snape's fingers curl suddenly against Harry's chest. It reminds Harry that he was pierced three times...he cannot remember exactly when.

"I'll wait as long as I can...'til the...twenty-fifth..." Harry whispers. His throat is too dry to say anything more, but he hopes Snape will understand that he will not be selfish, so that the professor will let go of his chest; it is beginning to pulse uncomfortably.

It does not work. Snape's fingers tighten.

Harry wishes he would let go.

"Wait?" Snape breathes feverishly. "What do you mean, Potter? Wait for what?"

Harry's vision blurs as the pain becomes unbearable. Wet warmth pools around Snape's fingernails.

Snape's eyes widen. He snatches his hand away. He cradles it to his chest as he stares down at Harry.

Harry blinks away the disorientation.

Snape's hands are moving quickly now.

He lifts Harry's jumper and presses the edge of his robe into the re-opened wounds. He utters a spell that Pomfrey uses to stop bleeding.

There is only a slight buzz of pain now.

Harry gasps quietly as Snape's hand rests on his chest; Snape's hand is cold.

Snape is staring intently at his chest. One of his fingers brushes the wound that he himself created.

He looks like he might sick up.

He doesn't. He tugs Harry's jumper back into place with two fingers.

"What did you mean?"

Snape's voice is gruff.

"Prophecy...kill him..." Harry grimaces as he tries to swallow.

"Aguamenti," Snape says impatiently. The water soothes Harry's throat.

"Then it...won't matter..." he manages. He waits for Snape's nod.

Snape doesn't nod.

"Won't matter?" he echoes derisively. "How do you plan to end your life, then, Potter?" he inquires sarcastically.

Harry doesn't understand the question. It isn't his plan. Nor his choice. He will not survive his encounter with Voldemort; it was decided many years ago.

"First Prophecy...both of us die...or neither of us..." Harry says roughly as his throat scratches painfully.

He understands what Dumbledore would not explain. He accepts what must be.

Snape is silent as he stares at Harry.

Harry watches as Snape moistens his lips.

"I only heard the first part," he says quietly.

His face is blank.

He gazes at Harry for a long time.

"I will keep you alive until then," he says finally; his voice is flat.

Harry can't nod, so he says nothing. Snape doesn't seem to expect a response; he is gazing toward the door.

Harry's chest no longer feels so tight.

Perhaps his friends will survive this.