Disclaimer: All intellectual & physical property rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling & Warner Bros.

Course Correction

HP/SS::18+

Chapter 1

Harry Potter stared at the Whomping Willow. The tree that had so much potential for destruction sat unmoving, stilled in the warm night air. Harry was just beyond the boundary that would send it into a frenzy; he was engaging in an internal debate. What would he find there, if he went back now? Should he even go? Why did he feel like he should? The castle stood in the background, battle scarred and jagged, turrets crumbling from the recent assault. He fingered the frayed edge of his shirt, fidgeting under the invisibility cloak. Wand in his right hand, pointed downward, listless at his side, he bit his bottom lip in indecision. Everyone else was back there, up in the castle recovering. Even Ron and Hermione, who had been with him in the Headmaster's office when he talked to Professor Dumbledore's portrait. He'd told them he would be fine, that they could go without him to the Great Hall to be with Ron's family as they grieved over Fred. Hermione's look of concern had almost convinced him to stay, but she'd finally given him a faltering smile and squeezed his hand before letting him leave.

He stared at the tree again. He decided. He was going. He still couldn't articulate why, exactly, but he knew that this was something he had to do. He raised his wand and cast an Immobulus charm on the tree and advanced toward the opening at its base. Crouching in the dark, he made his way along the path, wand lit in front of him. Slowly, the earth began to slope upward, indicating his arrival at the destination, the Shrieking Shack. He listened for a moment before entering, waiting to hear if someone else might be there, but he only heard silence – a deafening, foreboding silence that made him second guess his decision to come.

The scene hadn't changed. Lying on the floor, ghostly white – gray almost – blood drying on his robes, his neck, and the floor, was Severus Snape. Well, his body, anyway; his soul was long since removed. Harry stared without moving. He'd had his opinions changed since last encountering the man – the memories had seen to that. He couldn't help looking at Snape from a different perspective now, seeing the man behind the mask Harry had known for so long. Harry removed the invisibility cloak slowly, kneeling down beside the empty shell of the former Potions Master. He reached his hand out and slowly dragged his fingers down Snape's arm, from shoulder to fingertips – gently, as if trying not to wake a sleeping child. It was unfair, so unfair, the life this man had led. Harry felt the first tear fall from his eye, trickling down his cheek in an uneven line until it came to rest at the crux of his chin. Everything was so unfair. And then the dam burst. Tears began flowing in earnest – tears for Fred, for Lupin, for Tonks, for Sirius, for Dumbledore, for Colin, for Dobby, for himself. So many tears for himself – for the life he'd been forced to lead, for the absence of his parents, of a real family, of being locked in a cupboard for ten years, for having the responsibility of a wizened adult thrust upon his shoulders as a mere child. This man, Severus Snape, had done unspeakable things, things that Harry would never fully understand, but it shouldn't have been that way. None of it should have been that way. Harry found himself gasping for breath as he choked back the sobs, anger rising in place of grief. One man – one evil, evil man – was responsible for all of this terror, death, destruction, and sorrow. How could one man cause so much pain? How? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Harry realized he hadn't removed his hand from Snape's. Snape was cold and stiff, death a startling reality. Harry stared at his hand on Snape's, then moved his eyes up to rest on the face of the man who had made his life a living hell for seven years, only to change everything Harry thought he knew after learning the truth. Change, Harry thought to himself. What could he change? There was nothing he could change. The dead were dead, the past was past, and the future was…painful…empty…uncertain. But what could he change? As if a blinding light had suddenly shone through the cracks in the Shack's decaying walls, Harry had a moment of brilliant clarity.

He could change everything.