Courage Does Not Always Roar

Chapter 1

The young man sighed as he strode leisurely up a sweeping green bank towards an impossibly large, imposing, historic building, wrought iron gates swinging shut seemingly of their own accord behind him.

The castle stood proudly against the scorching late August sun, the contrast against the burning blue sky imprinting itself on to the back of his eyes, bright shapes dancing as he turned to saviour the warmth before climbing the steps to be engulfed by his familiar, unchanged home.

"Mr. Potter…" a well-known, clipped Scottish brogue reached his ears as he crossed the threshold. The young man felt his heart surge with fondness at the voice and allowed the smile of familiarity to wash across his features.

"Minerva." he acknowledged, squinting through the cool, dim interior of the large entrance hall.

Crossing to him with a speed and elegance that belied her considerable age, the headmistress of Hogwarts swept across the stone floor, coming to rest in front of him. A kind smile lit her features, her eyes crinkling as they took in the appearance of her former pupil.

"I trust you had a good summer break?" Minerva McGonagall enquired, eyeing Harry intensely, her newly-acquired square spectacles only slightly diverting her piercing gaze.

"Yes," came Harry's reply "Though it was over too quickly." he added, smiling ruefully.

"Ah, the curse of the Teacher," Minerva sniffed "Never free from our charges for long…" the professor gestured to the corridor in front of them, and they started down it, falling in to companionable silence as they walked.

"This place never seems to change," Harry mused, his tone calm but a slight edge to it nonetheless, as he observed the quiet, well known halls with an appraising gaze "it's almost as if nothing has ever happened here."

"The magic of Hogwarts…" Minerva replied "Keeping its occupants' secrets long after they have been forgotten." sounding more like the school's former Head than Harry was really comfortable with.

"Its latest secrets will not be forgotten in a hurry." Harry added with a frown, observing the woman striding confidently beside him.

They stopped in front of a seemingly lifeless stone Gargoyle. Harry felt a light pressure on his shoulder as Minerva placed her warm palm upon it, removing it gently but efficiently a few seconds later.

"Indeed they won't, Harry; by the walls, or the residents."

The continued up as the staircase slowly rotated, settling in to the circular office as Minerva surveyed Harry over her spectacles, as he had once been observed by the Headmaster who was now immortalised in a portrait to the right of Minerva, a painted set of twinkling eyes that were now also watching him intently. Harry squirmed slightly under the scrutiny. He may have survived a war and aged since then, but his two former professors seemed to know just how to make Harry feel every inch the bewildered school boy he wasn't sure he had completely left behind.

"What did you get up this summer then, Minerva?" Harry asked rather abruptly, attempting to break the sudden tension.

"Oh, this and that…" Minerva replied after a moment, moving her hand in a sweeping motion "A large part of the past few weeks have been swallowed up by the seemingly endless task of renewing the castle wards…" a click of her tongue alerted Harry to the small amount of irritation Minerva must have felt at this time-consuming task "If it hadn't been for Severus and his considerable skill in assisting me, I dare say I'd still be out there, burning to a crisp."

Harry inclined his head, his interest piqued "Snape spent the summer here…?"

"Yes, ," her brow furrowed in annoyance "Deputy Headmaster Snape is committed to upholding the security of the castle, as all senior staff are."

Harry huffed silently, feeling the prickle of his own irritation. He didn't appreciate the insinuation that it was only senior faculty memberswho cared about the overall safety of the school. Hadn't he proven that when he fought for it, died for it, just three years ago?

He forced his rearing anger back with practised effort. This was his boss, after all, as well as one of his trusted friends.

"Now Mr Potter," Minerva continued with the formality, letting Harry know he was not yet forgiven for his momentary lack of respect "Regarding your teaching responsibilities this year…"

Minerva explained with a practised, business-like tone that as Harry had completed his first year of teaching, he would now be taking on a heavier class workload, namely, the teaching of OWL and NEWT level students. Harry felt the nervous shift of his insides at this. He wasn't much older than NEWT students- how would he teach them effectively?

Harry listened silently as Minerva outlined the second-year Apprentice Teacher programme, detailing his need for regular reviews of his ability to give appropriate grades, and the timetabled observation of his practical abilities in action.

"Now, in relation to your supervisor, you must report to Severus by the middle of next week…."

"Severus?" Harry interrupted, incredulous "Snape?"

"Well yes, Potter, how many other Severus's do you know?" replied Minerva, annoyance colouring her tone.

"As I was saying, by the middle of next week you should have your plans together for a rough outline of the curriculum for your OWL and NEWT level students; they will be subjected to review and approval by your named supervisor before you are to consider using them…"

Minerva continued, stoically ignoring Harry's scowl, until he finally spoke in the quiet that followed her stern speech.

"Any forced contact between Severus Snape and I is going to end badly," Harry stated, stiffly "We don't have the best history in this arena- in fact, it's pretty disastrous."

"Be that as it may, Potter, you will report to him regardless." replied Minerva, in a tone that left no room for argument.

"But why?" Harry asked hotly, thoroughly irritated by the woman's ignorance of his obvious discomfort. How was he going to work with Snape, of all people, especially after what had happened? He'd rather date the Giant Squid.

"Because Severus is the only one in this school with experience of teaching in your chosen area, Potter, he is ideally placed to support you. Need I remind you that you are here on an apprenticeship basis and as such do not have the foundation of previous study the other professors possess; you require his guidance and expertise, and you will be grateful for it."

"I thought his expertise was in Potions." Harry ground out, thoroughly aware of how juvenile he sounded, but unable to stop himself regardless.

"Enough, Harry," Minerva implored, looking very much like the strict grandmother figure he remembered. He wilted under her chilly gaze. "Do not waste this opportunity. I am fully aware of the animosity between you two and think it is high time you both grew out of it- you are an adult, and you are a colleague. Please act like it." Harry felt the tendrils of a blush creeping in to his cheeks, and a slight feeling of shame bubbled somewhere near his rib cage. Ofcourse he was being ridiculous. He'd survived a war. He was relatively sure he could handle working in close proximity to a man who had never reacted to him in any way other way than intense dislike. Relatively.

Harry sighed. Being answerable to Snape, having him scrutinise his work and judge his abilities- again. It really did feel like nothing had changed.

"Alright." Harry conceded, receiving the file of parchment Minerva had levitated towards him.

"Good." Minerva replied, already beginning to rifle through an enormous pile of paperwork. Harry understood that he was being dismissed and left the office with considerably less spring in his step.

Harry wondered the castle, travelling down two floors and coming to rest in front of an unusual portrait in a quiet corner of the castle- an area which, thanks to a mild discomfort charm, caused any wayward pupil who wondered near it to have a sudden need to empty their bladder. Harry smiled slightly when he remembered this, musing as to whether any previous teacher living in some of the various quarters housed in this area had drawn inspiration from the likes of the Weasley twins.

Harry gazed at the portrait, unable to stop the grin breaking out as a small figure swooped in to the frame riding a mahogany broomstick, his seemingly over-large ears flapping in the magically-appearing breeze.

"Harry Potter Sir!" Squeaked the figure as he spotted Harry waiting patiently in front of the golden frame "Dobby has missed his friend very much! Has Harry Potter had a good summer?!" asked the house elf, dismounting the broom and flashing Harry a toothy smile.

"Yeah, thanks Dobby. How about you?" Harry questioned, still awed at how he could have a conversation with a face he thought he would never look upon again.

"Oh, yes Harry Potter Sir, Dobby has had lots of time to explore the castle waiting for Harry Potter to return. Dobby has made good friends with the kind Mermaid in the prefects' bathroom Sir, she has been helping Dobby to find his way through the many secret floors of Hogwarts!"

"I reckon you should watch out for that Mermaid Dobby!" Harry laughed, watching the elf as he tried to hide the pink spots appearing on his cheeks "I hear she's quite the devious antique…" Harry winked at him and was rewarded by the elf's shy smile.

"What is Harry Potter choosing as a password this year…?"

"Um, I'm not sure yet," Harry answered, thoughtfully "I'll get back to you, but for now I'll keep the old one. Expelliarmus!" Harry muttered and Dobby nodded, bowing so low his long nose was temporarily kinked at the end, as the frame swung forward, revealing a small archway that was becoming larger by the split-second. By the time Harry had blinked twice, a large stone entrance faced him, a medium-sized room extending beyond it.

Harry remembered when he had received his portrait, just over a year ago, a congratulations present from Hermione for obtaining his position as Hogwarts' latest Defence Against The Dark Arts professor. When she had presented it to him, he had cut her off mid-excited explanation of how she had taken it to the best wizard-painter she could find, extracting every memory of their lost friend for the painter to peruse and wind in to his magical masterpiece. Harry had enveloped her in a tight hug, barely containing his emotions at such a thoughtful and poignant gift. Hermione had looked positively delighted as she'd rushed off to tell Ron of Harry's reaction, leaving him to one of the most memorable conversations of his life. He treasured it.

Harry's quarters were cosy, worn, comfortable and, for the moment, impeccably tidy. He had emerged in to a round sitting room, a comfortable-looking wine-coloured leather sofa and chair set to his right facing the dominating stone fireplace, a large strip of oak lay in-set on the stone, below a shelf that held various photographs and a single golden snitch at one end. The oak had been a gift from Hagrid, and it was exquisite. Harry felt himself becoming emotional again as his finger traced over the beautiful carvings, hand crafted lovingly by his friend- an intricate design of tribal markings, woodland leaves, and small flowers, all woven around the wonderfully detailed faces of a lion, snake, eagle and badger.

To his left sat a large desk, compartments and small shelves crowded with parchment, old quills and ink bottles. Next to the desk extended a large book-case, crammed with various titles and trinkets. The edge of the shelving reached the threshold of a small kitchen area, which Harry barely used except to make much-required caffeinated morning drinks after a late night of essay-marking.

The circular room converged in to small, single hallway, in which two doors led off- one to a decent sized bathroom which held a large walk-in shower at one end, and the other to Harry's single bed chamber. The bedroom held a double four-poster bed with cream netted hangings adorned with blood-red ties, and midnight-blue cotton sheets. At the foot of the bed lay a warm patchwork quilt in muted maroon and wine coloured squares and octagons of fabric. This quilt had been gifted to him from the skilled hands of Mrs Weasley, who had used his old school and Quidditch robes, as well as hand-knitted jumpers he'd grown out of to weave a wonderful memento to the Gryffindor identity he'd been so very proud of. The bed was the centre piece, with muted furnishings; a large wardrobe, dressing table, and end tables going with the neatly positioned and newly-returned luggage trunk at the foot of the bed, completing the room. An ornate window with a large windowsill perfect for sitting and gazing out over the surrounding lake and hills spilt light over the room, preventing it from looking cramped.

As Harry began the motions of unpacking, he tried not to consider the year ahead, and specifically the ill-tempered, grudging professor who was supposed to help guide him in to a solo career. Harry groaned as he recalled their interactions during the last school year, which were few, rarely isolated with just the two of them and mostly wholly uncomfortable to think about, usually resolving in Harry trying (but mostly failing) not to storm off after a well-aimed, acidic insult in his general direction.

Indeed, the only person who did not really seem to rejoice in the peace that had settled over the wizarding community was Severus Snape, who once again took up his position of Potions Master gladly once his name had been cleared, also undertaking the role of Deputy Headmaster and relinquishing the role of Head of Slytherin to Professor Vector. With his spare time, Harry knew via the rest of the staff body, he researched and studied and kept to himself, rarely engaging with the faculty except when absolutely necessary. He certainly had no time for the newest Professor Potter and his tentative attempts at building a reasonable acquaintance between the two of them.

If Snape was at all cheered by the now non-existent threat of being called to the side of a psychopath at any moment to do his bidding, observe unspeakable cruelty and devastating violence, whilst also carrying out a flawless impression of a double agent, he did not show it.

It was almost as if he lived as though none of it had happened, Harry mused. The only visible sign Snape had even suffered a whisper of war were the raised, angry scars spidering almost the entire side of his neck; a remainder of the almost-fatal snake bite he had sustained during the historic battle. Though Harry knew it would have been easy for Snape to do so, he never sought to hide the scars with magic, instead wearing a collar that, though high, only covered a small portion of the damage, and scowling furiously at anyone who dared to stare too long.

Ever close to the surface, Harry allowed the familiar scenes to swim in his mind. The noise, the absolute cacophony of chaos, the bloodshed and grief that littered these very halls in the hours during and after the final battle, echoed in his head as his eyes shuttered closed at the vivid flashback.

He remembered the feel of the dusty floor, his knees grinding in to the grit of the Shrieking Shack as he desperately returned to the bundle on the floor, a sickening flood of red spread out around it. He had turned Snape over, his trembling hands slipping on the red, sticky ooze as he desperately tried to hold the frighteningly-open wound together. He was eternally glad that he had Hermione by his side, who calmly began passing him supplies from her newly-collected, invaluable beaded bag. Harry had fought hard against the bubble of hysteria that had formed in his chest when he realised that they probably owed all of their lives to the contents of that magically-extended piece of material. He poured blood-replenishing potion down the dangerously-white lips of his former-professor, followed by the vial of specific snake antidote that Hermione had somehow possessed the infallible intellect to collect from Snape's private stores on her travels through a warring castle.

Harry was simply too weary and too afraid to even attempt to discover if there was still a heartbeat flickering in Severus Snape, too sickened to discover yet more death on this day that he knew he would never fully recover from.

They transferred him as quickly and efficiently as they could manage, picking their way as discreetly as possible through the devastation, shuffling their injured bodies through an injured castle. They had brought him to the hospital wing, and sought out Madame Pomfrey, who was working desperately with a volunteer team from St'Mungo's Hospital to treat the injured and respect and identify the dead. She surveyed Snape with a pale face and thin lips, beginning to work immediately. Harry had walked away, knowing that he could not stand to watch, could not stand such uncertainty.

He had gone to find his friends, clinging to those he still had whilst desperately trying to hold his aching heart together as they mourned those they had lost.

It was some hours later when Harry had returned, taking in the deathly sight of Snape- as pale as the sheet he laid on, gauze completely obscuring his neck as it traversed his wound. Harry had known that Snape had died then, that all of his efforts had not been enough, again.

It took Madame Pomfrey's gentle but firm insistence, pressing Harry's hand to Snape's gowned chest so he could feel the rapid stuttering of a shocked but fighting heart, for him to believe that, for the moment, life flickered through that icy man.

Snape's recovery had been a long one, but to everyone's surprise, he made a seemingly full recovery, continuing his position as soon as he was able, acting as he always had done before, resentfully accepting Harry's testimony on his behalf- a major contributing factor in his full pardon and Order of Merlin, First Class.

On some level though, Harry knew that Snape was perhaps not quite as fine as he seemed. How could he, when the world had tilted so utterly on its own axis, with its occupants only just beginning to find their feet.

Harry sat on his windowsill, drawing his knees up and resting his chin on his knees, a reflexive movement when his memories pulled him in to a darkness he only just managed to keep at bay most of the time, and gazed with unseeing eyes over the glittering lake, roaring orange in the dying sun.

Just as every moment since his choice to return to the land of the living had been, Harry knew that this would also be a challenging year.