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The Stone

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Somehow, after nineteen years of moving on and letting go and getting on with the life he'd earned, Harry Potter always knew he'd find himself here, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest when the sun was at its highest, holding the Resurrection Stone again.

The only thing that sped up the inevitable was looking into his youngest son's eyes and divulging the secret of where he would have ben sorted had he not asked for different. The moment the train had gone out of sight, he made a vow to visit. By May, he had made a well-publicized appearance in the Great Hall; all the children clamored to get a good look at him chatting with Headmistress McGonagall at the teacher's table. Luckily, no cameras were allowed on the grounds, which made it easier for him to slip away into the Forest he'd once cursed as a child.

He'd almost given up; his memory wasn't as good as it used to be, and it took a few tries to get to exactly where he'd been standing nineteen years before, and then he'd had to drop to his knees and brush off a layer of soil to find it. But find it he did; stained with the earth, but otherwise well-preserved.

With a deep breath, he turned the stone over three times in his palm, feeling only a twinge of nerves as he waited with closed eyes for something to happen.

"Mister Potter," said a familiar silky voice, "How nice of you to visit. Care to explain why your hands and knees are soiled like a toddler?"

A wide smile cracked Harry's face as he slowly opened his eyes. He couldn't help it in the face of such irony: being delighted by a voice that had repulsed him as a child. "Alright, Professor?"

"Quit grinning," Severus snapped, unable to hide his own smirk. "You look like the court jester."

Harry snorted. "I thought you were going to say I look like my arrogant father."

Something softened in the older man's eyes. "I've learned. . .that's not the worst thing in the world."

Harry's own smile faded in curiosity. "What?"

"It seems," Snape sighed, "That the man who was your father is a far cry from the insufferable toe rag I had to to go school with."

"Really." Harry couldn't help but feel proud, not of Snape, but of his father; the memories from the Pensive were one of those things he couldn't forget, one of those things he

d never forgiven his father for. Age was not an excuse-Harry wasn't always the nicest kid to others but he certainly knew better than to torment students who he thought were weird.

"That's because you were weird, Potter," Snape replied, startling Harry. "Yes, I can hear you rambling on in that messy-haired head of yours."

"Oh-er-" Harry stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I-sorry-I just wondered-"

"Whether or not I've forgiven him? Or why he was a bully at all?"

Harry shrugged. "Both?"

Snape tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, looking almost the same as he was in life, but without the underlying agony. "I am many things, Potter, but I've learned not to be a hypocrite. Your father was an ass. Was. As a student. As most of my own students were. Hormones are wretched things," he shook his head, "But at least he had the excuse of age."

"No he doesn't!" Harry dissented. "I was his age and I knew better!"

"You were a boy tortured by your relatives, fears by your peers and tormented by anyone who felt you were outside of the norm. You had no choice but to know better." Snape scrunched his mouth up suddenly, as if he was struggling with his next words. "Don't be too hard on the man. At least he had the excuse. What did I have when I tormented you?"

Harry gaped. It's not as if he didn't remember the animosity his teacher showed him since the first day of Hogwarts, but after learning the story of his pain, he couldn't help but understand just why.

"It doesn't matter why," Snape hissed, looking disgusted. "There is no sin greater than cruelty to a child. Being blinded by the past is not a get-out-of-Azkaban-free card."

"But-but-I wasn't nice to you either! I thought you were trying to kill me in first year! I created that diversion to steal your ingredients in second year! I knocked you out in third year-"

"Are we really going to go over everything you did wrong as a child trying to protect himself and his friends?" Snape cut off in a bored voice, looking at his nails.

"Dammit," Harry gritted through his teeth, "Everyone thought I was the good guy and you were the the villain!"

"That. Was. The point," Snape enunciated clearly. "You were supposed to be the Hero with all the adoration. I was supposed to be the slime that no one cared for. You were never supposed to like me. I was never supposed to support you. If I had, the return of Voldemort would have meant my demise. That is still no excuse for the levels of hatred I showed you. I crossed the line too many times. You were justified in not trusting me. For heaven's sake, I was only fighting to save the child of the woman I loved. I am no hero. I was not a good man. Certainly not to you. You deserved one." Snape sucked in his teeth. "You always deserved better."

Harry blinked. "Is. . .is this an apology?"

Snape gave him a deadpan stare. "Do you need one?"

Silence.

"No," Harry said. "I know you're sorry."

"Then what do you want from me, Potter?" Snape straightened up, his robes swishing at his feet. " I won't accept an apology; there's nothing to be sorry for. So why am I here?"

With a deep breath, Harry said, "So I can thank you. For everything. This world is a better place because of you. I'm a better person because of you. And I-"he coughed"-I am most fond of you. I don't know how you lived through all of it, but you did, and I. . .thank you."

Snape breathed slowly, looking his former student with something akin to wonder. Harry waited, feeling like a child caught in the corridors again, waiting for his punishment.

"You are so like your mother," he finally said, his voice tender and quiet. "May that never change."

Tears pricked in the corners of Harry's eyes, and he forced a small smile at Snape. They stood there in the dimly lit forest, an accumulation of all their past misdeeds and good intentions, both strengthened by death, from death in different ways.

To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

Despite how happy his life was, Harry thought he'd rather like the afterlife. Especially if Snape was in it.

"I've learned Occlumency," Harry finally spoke up, wiping his eyes. "I kept thinking about your lessons. You were right; my mind was all over the place, I needed control. I've got it now."

Snape smiled warmly; the expression looked beautifully foreign on him. "Your parents are proud of you, you know."

Harry hesitated. "Are you?" His voice sounded small, like the eleven year old he once was, unsure and eager.

Snape cocked his head to the side, rolling his eyes. "Of course, I am, you silly boy. Now. . .are we done here? I have a cards game with Sirius to attend to."

"Do you?!"

"Don't look so surprised, Potter," Snape said slyly. "After death, grudges seem so petty."

"Yeah!" Harry nodded quickly. "Yeah!. . .Wow."

"Wow, indeed, Potter."

And then Harry had saw in his mind a vision of the Master and the Pupil, poring over a cauldron with intent stares and smiling when the potion turned a cool grey, the master awarding high marks and pupil smiling through his lopsided glasses. Friendly and positive. The kind of relationship they could have had if the world hadn't been so unkind to them. If he thought about it too much, Harry could start to suspect he was more like Snape than his own father. Maybe. . .

The stone was hot in his hand. The sun was warm on his neck. The forest was cool around them.

"One more thing," Harry said soberly.

"Just the one."

"Are you at peace now?"

Snape looked pleasantly surprised at the question, and Harry once again cursed himself and the world for denying the man his props when he was alive.

In a low, calm voice, Snape answered, "Yes."

Harry's chest tightened. "After all this time."

The Potions Master's lips curved upward. He remembered too. "Always."

And that was about it. He'd almost considered asking about Lily, but some things weren't his business to know. He'd gotten what he came for, at any rate, and asking for more would be overreaching. Harry raised his hand, knowing they could not touch, but Snape's fingers hovered with his as if they could, for a moment, shake hands the way they never did before.

Just before he turned his palm over, Harry remembered something. "I have a kid who goes here. It's his first year. His name is Albus Severus."

Snape's annoyed expression held no conviction as he crossed his arms. "Typical Potter, always paying homage. What a ridiculous name. Why not something simple and distinguished like, 'Alan?'"

Harry let out a bark of laughter. "Maybe next time."

Snape's faint chuckle held a wistful air. "Yes. . .next time. . .such a beautiful thing, is it not? The potential of next time?"

A sigh of regret and understanding. "Yes, Professor."

". . .Until next time, Potter."

"Until next time."

And Harry dropped the stone.

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A/N: For Alan. Until next time.