Desperate for a smoke and a little solitude, Harry stepped out onto the rooftop verandah of the Ministry of Magic. It had been six long, arduous months of fighting - hour after hour, day after day, against his friends, foes and fans but he had finally managed to bring the truth about his courage and sacrifice to the fore and to get him absolved.
Earlier that evening, the Wizengamot had unanimously acquitted the man. They had even declared him to be a hero and nominated him for the Order of Merlin in a rather antipodal denouement of a case that had incited extreme passions in all those involved. The parade of witnesses had formed the who-is-who list of the British Wizarding World, from incarcerated death eaters to the decorated aurors.
Tales long forgotten of people long buried and love everlasting, of treachery and friendship and heart-wrenching promises, of tragedies averted and lives aborted had come tumbling out. Two crafty men, working from a centuries-old children's school in a remote part of Scotland had woven a complex tapestry of schemes and plots and secrets and intrigue. Individually, all the tales had only spun a noose around his neck and yet together, they had shifted the paradigm to one of sacrifices and heartbreaks and courage and redemption.
Surely, the sky should have been bleeding after all that but even the sun seemed done and tired, barely managing to smudge the horizon with muted colours. He wished he could set with the sun and rise only after the night was over because he knew that the closed-door hearing had been just the first phase. The public trial, as conducted by the media, in the media and for the media would begin only the next day, when the details of the hearing would be released. By the day after, the entire Wizarding Britain would be drawn into a public debate and it would not limit itself to the man whose trial it had been. No. Every one of the heroes and villains of modern Britain would be exhumed to be scrutinized - their actions analysed and their motivations, real or attributed, dissected. Questions would be raised, accusations and recriminations made, conclusions drawn and finally, judgement on all of them would be pronounced. All of this would be in accordance with their own preconceived notions and of course, guided by the opinions of reporters such as Rita Skeeter.
He snorted. If nothing else, it would most definitely serve to single-handedly launch a hundred careers in writing and reporting. It would be in the speeches and campaigns of political leaders to come, in the musings of philosophers and poets as they debated on morality and ethics. They would edify him and damn him in the same breath.
He himself found it difficult to forgive the man despite all that he knew. How did one go about forgiving someone, of whom you had nothing but sour memories, steeped in pain, hatred, scorn and sorrow? The man might have protected him, assisted him and guided him from behind the curtain but he had also bullied him, ridiculed him and hated him with all his heart. How could one forgive that acidic tongue that had only ever heaped scorn on him? How did one stop resenting someone who had taunted and prodded to death the one man who had promised to give you, a neglected orphan, a proper family? However justified his hatred for Sirius might have been, it could never assuage the pain of the death of an orphan's dream of a home. How did one forgive someone when forgiveness seemed like disrespect to the man, who had been the closest thing to a father to you? How did you forgive a man whom you had hated since you were eleven; who had forced your mentor and favourite teacher into resigning; who had killed Albus Dumbledore; who had denigrated you and your father at every opportunity he got; who had deprived you of any memories of your mother?
He had such a long history of hatred, a lineage even, that it was impossible to forget and forgive it all despite all the evidence. He wanted to rant and rail, to proclaim that the witnesses had been all confounded and the evidence all lies. But who was there who would forge evidence for Snape?
Harry smiled grimly. The one person who would have given a damn was long dead – his mother. To the world it might all be another chapter in the history of magic but to him it had been a comprehensive lesson on his personal history. Worst of it all had been the memories shown by Narcissa Malfoy of his mother and the love that had shone in her eyes for him - how could he forgive him for betraying that love - no, even more pressing was - how could he forgive him for evoking a love that was to be meant only for his father? It would be a betrayal of his father.
If only he could remember one look from Snape that had not been a scornful dismissal or unfettered anger; if only he could remember one word from him that had not been delicately and painstakingly formed to ridicule and burn him! He might have been a hero, but he had also been an unfair bastard. Looking objectively from the point of view of justice, he might not have deserved the lot that had fell him, but how did one remain objective when faced with something so personal? He would still remember Sirius and James and Remus and Dumbledore and would wish to blast his greasy head. How could he not?
He had won and yet, standing there, that day, with the sun setting on the horizon and a cigarette stump burning in his fingers, instead of feeling victorious, free of all debts and obligations, all he felt was bone deep tiredness. He had never understood inner conflict before this day- not truly. He had never understood before today how the man could have hated James, who had saved his life. But as he stood there, gathering his courage to face the questions and scandals that would erupt when the details of the months' long, strictly closed-door trial would be made public, he knew exactly how to hate the man who had saved his life umpteen times, the man for the honour of whose name he had fought against the entire Wizengamot and would continue to fight the entire world till everyone accepted him as a hero.
He had come a full circle. What did innocence or redemption or true character have to do with forgiveness? It would have been a lot easier to give up his life for him than to forgive him and try as he might, he had not, as yet, reached the point where he could let go of that hatred, Snape's legacy.