Harry drifted around the aftermath of the battle dazed, wand --his wand, bright and shiny and whole -- clenched in hand. He wasn't sure what to do. It was over. Hogwarts was destroyed. The Dursleys were gone. He wanted desperately to sleep, but had no bed to go to. "C'mon, Harry," a hoarse voice said behind him. He turned to see Ron. "Mum said you could stay with us, and we're headed out." Harry hesitated. He loved the Weasleys, but thought they should have some privacy to grieve over Fred. Ron gave a small smile, seemingly knowing what Harry was thinking. "She's adamant, mate. Probably be better to just do what she says." Harry couldn't argue with that logic. He nodded, and headed off with his friend. --- The Burrow was silent, which Harry had expected. The war was won, but at great cost. Nobody seemed able to sleep, least of all Harry. His mind was buzzing, flashing images and sounds. Memories --some his, some not -- drifted around his head. He groaned frustratedly. Could a person die from lack of sleep? Was that possible? He tossed. He turned. He punched his pillows, kicked his sheets, sprawled out, curled up, all in vain. It wasn't until several hours later, shortly before the sun came up, that his eyes slowly closed. The sound of a distant train forced them back open. --- "Damn," Harry muttered, looking around. He was back at King's Cross. Unlike last time, there was no deformed little creature under the bench. Instead, a small boy, perhaps six or seven, was perched on top of it. The boy was pale, and much too skinny. His clothes were oversized, and somewhat dirty, and his black, greasy hair hung in clumps around his head. His thin face was turned away, but Harry would have bet anything that he had a large, crooked nose and black eyes. "Snape?" Harry asked, feeling confused. The boy looked at him, frowning. Sure enough, it was the same black eyes that Harry had stared into for so many years. Snape didn’t seem to recognize him, at first, but eventually Harry could see recognition light his eyes. “Harry? What are you doing here?” Harry ran his fingers through his hair, feeling odd having heard his first name come out of Snape’s mouth. “I’m, ah, not sure, actually.” He wasn’t dying right? He’d already done this. He’d met with Dumbledore on the platform, and talked, and he’d chosen to live. So why – Oh. OH. “Uh, Sn– Severus”, Severus’s eyes narrowed. ‘Sneverus’ was, after all, dangerously close to ‘Snivilous’. “Severus, what’s the last thing you remember?” Severus wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “I dunno. Um … I was – I was by water, talking to … a man. Lord Voldemort.” His eyes widened. “Oh. I died.” Harry winced. Snape had never been one for subtlety, but hearing the words come out of the mouth of a young boy – young Snape or not – was uncomfortable. “Yes. Yes, you did.” “So, this what? The afterlife?” He looked around distastefully. Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think this is just an in-between place. You come here after you die, and the train takes you to… wherever.” "Where do you think the train will take me?" Severus asked, biting his lip nervously. Harry stared at him. Gone was the bitter man that he had hated for seven long years, who hated him just as equally. In his place was a small boy --dirty and unkempt--that only Lily had ever loved or even cared about. There was a little boy, trying to fight back tears as he awaited a harsh answer, because harshness had been all he'd ever known. Dumbledore had told Harry that the train would take him "on." That answer had been enough for Harry. But Severus deserved more than that. "Somewhere peaceful", Harry said slowly. "somewhere quiet, and bright, with lots of sunshine." "And books?" "And plants. And animals. And a huge, crystal clear lake that's always warm, and filled with brightly colored fish that swim right up to you and let you pet them. And quills of every size. And ink of every color that always smells like berries. And never ending, fresh parchment." Severus' smile was broken by a yawn. "I'm tired," he said, rubbing his eyes with a small fist. "Do you think I could sleep on the train?" Harry smiled. "Of course. Or you could nap here, until the train comes." Severus smiled again, and immediately curled against Harry, just as starved for attention as he had been when he first spoke to Lily. Harry wrapped his arms around his small shoulders. "Could you tell me more about that place? It sounds wonderful." "There's fluffy beds everywhere," Harry said promptly. "And warm baths. And the rooms are never really dark or empty. And there are shelves and shelves of music of every kind . . ." He continued on, making it up as he went, hoping at least some of it were true. As Severus' eyes slowly drifted closed, as his body began to relax, the train's horn sounded louder and more frequently. Just as Severus finally, truly drifted away, there was a one last horn, and a flash of light-- --and Harry awoke, alone, in Ron's bedroom at the Burrow. The sun was shining, and a light, warm breeze drifted through the open window. Harry closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. For the first time in months, he felt at peace.