Chapter 1
"Have you grown fond of the boy, Severus?"
"The boy?" Snape looked at Dumbledore disdainfully. "Lily was my best friend!"
"Or perhaps you haven't gotten over her yet..."
"Not gotten over her, Albus? Expecto Patronum!"
The silver snake Harry had seen in the forest emerged from the wand, slithering through the air before fading away. Dumbledore looked at him perplexed.
"So, it was true; you no longer conjure a doe..." he spoke surprised.
The headmaster's office suddenly vanished, giving way to the drawing-room of Malfoy Manor, where none other than Lucius Malfoy lounged on a luxurious individual sofa. Harry turned several times, looking for any familiar Death Eaters or, worst case scenario, Voldemort himself.
But he found none of that. The room remained eerily tranquil, with no signs of pursuit or Death Eaters gathering; the only things breaking the silence were a soft, very old melody that Harry couldn't quite place, and the gently crackling flames.
The now more intense sound of the flames interrupted the tranquility, alarming Harry, who thought pursuit was imminent.
But what he saw surprised him; it wasn't a Death Eater, but his Potions professor, entering through the Floo Network, wearing the same robe he typically wore for class. He looked worn-out.
Snape slumped into the larger sofa next to Lucius.
"Good afternoon, Lu..." the professor sighed wearily. Harry still didn't know what time they were supposed to be in.
"Good afternoon, darling," Lucius smiled at Snape, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Now Harry was even more confused. "How are things at Hogwarts? Have they caught the culprit?"
Oh...
Harry knew what time they were in now, and he almost gave in to the urge to curse the blond, even though it would be futile.
"No. Not yet. The council wants to strip Dumbledore of his position as headmaster; it's scandalous," Lucius looked at him as if he cared a lot, even though Harry knew he was the one who had initiated it. "I hope you know that if Albus vacates the position of headmaster, someone could die."
Lucius nodded as he glanced towards the record player—Harry was surprised he kept a Muggle object—, getting up and changing the record.
Snape looked puzzled, but Lucius simply operated the device, causing a Muggle song to start playing.
The blond extended a hand to Snape.
"May I have this dance, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked with a smile.
Harry watched as Snape hesitated for a moment, but then took Malfoy's hand and stood up with a small smile. He stored that moment in his mind; it wasn't every day (and even less so now that he was dead) that you saw Severus Snape smiling.
Mr. Malfoy took one of his hands and placed the other on his waist, while Snape rested his free hand on his shoulder. They danced slowly and very differently from the rhythm of the song, but it was beautiful nonetheless.
"I steal a few breaths from the world for a minute..." Harry heard Lucius murmur.
"And then I'll be nothing forever..." Snape continued.
"And all of my memories..."
"And all of the things I have seen..."
"Will be gone..."
"With my eyes, with my body, with me..."
"But me and my husband we're doing better, it's always been just him and me together..." they hummed together.
"So I bet all I have on that furrowed brow," Mr. Malfoy sang.
The scene probably continued, but Harry could never corroborate it, as the drawing-room of Malfoy Manor changed rapidly; the lighting was dimmer and the floor was dusty. Lucius Malfoy lay on the sofa looking haggard, his left arm sleeve rolled up, showing his Dark Mark, which looked fiery and marked with a vivid black color. He had paled, and an expression of pure terror adorned his face. Snape, on the other hand, seemed paler than usual, but if he had any fear, he disguised it very well. He was slowly wiping the somewhat scraped cheeks of his... Friend? Partner? Spouse? Harry didn't know.
Mr. Malfoy's hand trembled slightly on the back of the sofa.
"He... he's back, Severus..." Snape simply nodded. Lucius looked at him more worriedly. "Run," he suddenly blurted out. Snape looked at him puzzled. "He'll come after you, Sev. You didn't show up at the meeting, he'll look for you and..."
"I didn't go to the meeting because he ordered me to spy at Hogwarts. I have information that will satisfy him," Snape explained seriously. "Right now, your injuries seem more worrying to me. Now, are you going to explain to me properly the cause of the burns on your cheeks?"
"Bella," he scoffed annoyed. Snape chuckled bitterly.
The scene changed again. They were in the headmaster's office.
"Well, Severus. I suppose, in that case, you'll know that Mr. Malfoy was involved in the disappearance of Miss Weasley, won't you?"
Snape's eyes widened slightly in surprise. Harry could swear he saw a flicker of disappointment on his face.
"No, Albus. I wasn't aware," he admitted dryly.
"And that he was part of the masked ones during the Quidditch World Cup?"
That flicker of disappointment intensified.
"No."
Dumbledore looked at him with pity.
"Do you think it's fair that you don't...?"
"Yes," Snape interrupted. "I think it's fair. After all, who was the one who first lied, who protects Potter, who is a spy for the light? Tell me, Albus; if you were in my place, what would you do?"
Dumbledore looked at him wistfully.
"Fair enough, Severus. But you must know that at some point..."
"And the longer it can be postponed, the better, Albus. Goodbye."
Snape left the office without saying more, his cloak billowing behind him.
Harry pulled his head out of the Pensieve and fell to the floor of the office. He got up with difficulty and leaned on the desk, where a texture different from wood greeted his hand. He looked at the table. Surprised, he saw a letter written in neat emerald-green handwriting.
"For Lucius Abraxas Malfoy."
[...]
"Guys, I... I'm happy for you, but I don't think it's the right time..."
Yes, Harry was still somewhat sad about the Potions professor's love situation, and although he was also happy that his friends finally accepted the feelings that had been evident for miles since fourth year, he didn't think a war was the best time to be kissing.
Ron and Hermione regained their composure and quickly got up, basilisk fangs still in hand. They ran outside to search for Voldemort's snake; after all, the diadem had been destroyed by Fiendfyre. Harry stopped abruptly, warning that he had to go to the Forbidden Forest, not without receiving persistent "you won't go alone" from his friends, whom he managed to persuade with great effort.
[...]
King's Cross Station was completely bathed in angelic white. Harry walked slowly through the place, full of doubts.
Every single one of them vanished—or intensified—when he saw the former headmaster sitting on a silver bench.
"Professor Dumbledore!" he called out desperately. The headmaster simply looked at him with guilt. "Why...?" He interrupted himself when he saw Professor Snape a few meters away. "Professor...?"
"I don't think he can hear us, Harry," Dumbledore spoke calmly. "Where are you?"
Harry looked at him confused.
"Shouldn't you know?" Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Um... it seems like King's Cross..."
"King's Cross!" the old man repeated enthusiastically. "I think, after what you witnessed in his memories, you can have an idea of where Severus is."
Something clicked in Harry's brain.
"In Malfoy Manor?" he asked hesitantly. Dumbledore nodded.
"Possibly."
They engaged in a peaceful conversation where they clarified things, and Harry got to know the elderly man he thought he knew better than anyone else. After a few minutes, Harry asked.
"Sir, you said that if I didn't want to come back, I could take a train..." Dumbledore looked at him attentively. "Why don't you or Professor Snape take one?"
The headmaster looked at him with a kind smile.
"I'm afraid I can't give you a concrete answer about Severus, Harry. And I fear much more that my answer is brief: trains don't run in a summer field in eighteen ninety-eight."
Harry eyes widened in surprise; why would Dumbledore want to go back to the place that had caused a war, that had caused his sister's death? But he didn't have time to retort; in seconds, he was in the world, alive, but lying on the floor like a corpse.
Narcissa—Malfoy? Or should he call her Black?—approached him slowly. She crouched down and asked in a barely audible whisper:
"Is Draco alive?"
"Yes."
Harry waited for them to betray him.
That never happened.
"Dead."
The woman exclaimed, affirming a big lie. The Death Eaters erupted into cheers.
[...]
The war was over. Although they suffered many losses, Voldemort was dead. Off to the side, inert, ignored amidst the cheers of joy and the cries of sadness and helplessness.
The Malfoys—and Narcissa—were mourned in a corner. Harry remembered the letter and approached Lucius.
"Mr. Malfoy," he called as kindly as he could, although the name didn't generate much respect. "Take this."
He handed him the letter he had taken from his coat, watching as his eyes widened with astonishment and then welled up with tears.
He walked away, preferring to leave him alone to read the letter, which would surely bring some tears with it.
[...]
10 years later.
Lucius Abraxas Malfoy had died. His family and friends mourned at his grave, next to the grave of Severus Tobias Snape.
Because that's what he had dictated in his will.