Chapter Four

Harry stayed away from the infirmary for a couple of days after the memorial services. He tried imagining what would have been said about Snape had he perished along with so many others - how if anyone dared to try and utter anything less than kind or dignified about the man, he would have stood up on the spot and fiercely defended him.

Ron was ready to return home with his family after the services finished that evening, and Harry didn't blame him in the least. He wondered if Ron had stayed at Hogwarts for him, when really, the red-haired boy should have been with his family during this time of grief. Hermione was torn about what to do, but in the end, she went with Ron.

Harry decided it was better that way. They needed time alone, especially after it being the three of them for the past several months. As much as Harry longed to see Ginny (somewhere away from the funeral), he felt staying at Hogwarts was the most appropriate place to be right now. It had been his home for most of the past seven years, and honestly, where would he go now that he no longer would be living with the Dursleys? He owned Grimmauld Place, but being there only reminded him of another loss, Sirius.

As Harry sat peering out the window next to his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower, he reflected back on how he had imagined the aftermath of the war to be for so long. He had hoped for nothing but joy in the days following Voldemort's demise, but now he knew those were the dreams of a child. There had been too much loss, but he also knew much had been gained. He simply couldn't feel the positive side of the outcome so fresh after the war.

If his thoughts were this low, Harry wondered what Snape was thinking. The man had lived too many years in bitterness to easily embrace any small amount of happiness, yet that was what Harry wanted for the older wizard. His admission to Snape a few days earlier had been honest. If Snape could be happier, anyone could be, Harry figured.

With a sigh, Harry stood and headed for the exit. After descending the stairs, he gazed around the familiar Gryffindor common room. He was now truly alone. Despite the warmth of spring outside, the room felt cold. Finding his resolve and making up his mind, Harry exited the common room without looking back and made his way down the corridor, intent on visiting Snape again. He needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand better than most what he was feeling. Even if Snape couldn't talk, whether because his voice was still missing or simply because of his stubbornness, Harry was determined to tell the man a few things he had swallowed back, choking on his words, earlier in the week.

Upon his arrival, Harry noticed that Snape was sitting up in bed, engrossed in a book. He appeared to be feeling better.

If Harry thought he could enter without drawing attention to himself, he was gravely mistaken.

The trademark sneer was already upon Snape's face the moment Harry took his first step into the room. Putting his book down on his lap, Snape raised an eyebrow in question and rasped, "Potter, what... are... you... doing... here?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Snape regretted speaking. Not only was his throat raw and sore, but he had wasted the energy and time uttering words to Potter!

Harry stopped in his tracks, stunned. "You spoke," he stated stupidly, although clearly in shock.

Snape raised the book, hiding his face from the insolent boy, and decided it best to try and ignore him.

Harry, however, was not cowed. He carefully approached Snape and stopped only when he was uncomfortably close to the foot of the bed.

"Sir, I'm sure I'm the last person you want to see, but have you thought at all about what I said a few days ago? I meant that, Professor. And... and I'm happy to see you have your voice back."

Snape tried to focus on the text of what he was reading, but Potter's voice was making it hard to concentrate. More silence ensued.

"Is having a conversation with me really that horrible?" Harry asked, starting to feel put out.

Snape was irate. He slammed the book shut and lowered it to his lap harshly in one fluid motion. "That... goes without... saying," he spat. "And this," here he pointed at his throat, where the bandages kept Nagini's bite wounds covered, "is... not... my voice." He missed his silky drawl. His temper was flying quickly out of check, and Snape began coughing.

Madam Pomfrey had taken a short break and so was not around, thus leaving Snape to his own devices. He motioned toward a glass sitting nearby, which Harry instantly grabbed and filled with water, handing it to his ex-professor in concern.

Once the hacking subsided, Snape set the glass down with as much dignity as a man in his condition could muster and glared at Harry.

"Are you okay, sir?"

"Fine," Snape muttered. "Never... better."

Despite himself, Harry half-smiled. "I'm glad for it... and that you still have retained your sarcasm. I didn't appreciate it before, but now that I think of it, sir, perhaps it's your own style of humor."

Snape simply glared.

"Okay, fine," Harry sobered. "Let me get to the point, then."

I had been hoping for that small miracle since your arrival, Potter.

"I am sorry for not trusting you before," Harry began emphatically, "and before you argue the point, I'm going to say that it should have been enough that Dumbledore trusted you for me to do likewise. But more than that, sir, I'd like to thank you for everything you've done for me-"

"I didn't... do it... for you... Potter," Snape cut in.

"Okay, okay," Harry back-pedaled. "I know you did it for her, my mum, but still, everything you did was completely selfless. I didn't expect you to reveal your love for her to me, but knowing what I do now, I still wish you had. I would've understood, sir, contrary to what you might have thought. I'm not my father. I felt horrible enough when I saw how my father mistreated you-"

"If this... is supposed to make... me feel better," Snape interrupted, growing tired of Potter's prattle, "you're failing... miserably."

Harry sighed, stopping. In his mind, he had rehearsed a hundred times over what he would say to Snape, but he fell apart in the man's presence. Why did Snape have to make people trip over their words and feel like idiots?

"That wasn't my intention," Harry ground out, hating how difficult this entire situation was. "I guess... I just wanted to talk to someone who might understand."

"Understand?" Snape was puzzled.

"The effects of this whole bloody mess of a war. We both had to sacrifice so much, almost including our lives," Harry blurted. "I thought I'd be happy by this point. Don't get me wrong - I'm glad Voldemort is gone forever, but everything feels so empty now. When I told you I wanted you to be happy, I meant it, but now I'm thinking that maybe I was just being a fool to think that possible, at least anytime soon. If I can't find happy, how could I expect you to be? You- you suffered more than any of us, and no one appreciated anything you did until it was almost too late. If you had died like the rest of them-" Harry choked, missing his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus, Tonks, and Fred... Dobby... so many others... Harry looked up, gazing into Snape's face, hoping for understanding.

Damn it all to hell! Why, why does this boy have to look at me with those eyes?!

"Why... come to me?" Snape asked. "I've never... been a nice... man. If you're looking... for compassion... why not... go to your friends?"

"Because they aren't here now, and besides, no matter how much they were with me through it all, they were never asked to give up what we were, Professor. Dumbledore knew what we were sacrificing. I've lost enough people in my life. Had you died, you would've been among them."

When Snape looked at Harry incredulously, Harry hastily continued, "No, really! Knowing the truth about you changes everything, and I can't go back to thinking about you with loathing. You were a nasty git, don't get me wrong, but I doubt anyone else I know would've been able to do what you did. You're probably the bravest man I've ever known."

Snape wanted to hide. All he could do was shake his hair forward and avert his eyes. His first instinct was to lash out in a cruel, cold, cutting voice and correct any misconceptions the idiot boy had about him, but he was sitting in a hospital bed in a weakened state, could barely utter more than two words at a time without coughing... had lost his beautiful voice, his pride, his modesty, his resolve...

Finally, Snape's black eyes gazed into the desperate green. He wondered if his own eyes had been so filled with emotion when he had pleaded with Lily to forgive him. What he would have given for her forgiveness! And here was this boy who had known so much in his short life, Lily's son, readily and willing to forgive...

"You are... truly... your mother's... son," Snape whispered.