TUESDAY, 10 MAY
Harry walked through Hogsmeade, grateful for the heavy rain that kept all but the most determined indoors and allowed him to wear a cloak with the hood pulled up in May without it drawing undue attention.
He'd all but ordered Hermione, Ron and Ginny not to come. Even Mrs. Weasley had volunteered. This was something he needed to do himself and he'd asked far too much of them lately already. By the time he'd packed a few things in a bag and reached for the floo powder at the Burrow after lunch, Ron and Hermione were arguing again about Hermione's parents. Ron was right, though – there was no reason for her to delay any longer. The last thing he did before shouting his destination into the fireplace was to turn to Hermione and shout at her. Just go already, then at least he'll shut up about it.
He envied her. All she had to do was fetch her mother and father back from the other side of the world and restore their real memories. Harry, on the other hand, now walked in the direction of his... whatever... with all the black resolve with which he'd walked to face Voldemort just one week ago.
Somehow, this frightened him in way which that had not. The worst he'd had to face with Voldemort was the mere surety of death. There was no after to think about, just a job to be done with and a mess that would be someone else's to clean up. That he'd survived at all was a shock he'd not quite recovered from yet. He hadn't expected to be here at all, much less dealing with a... father... that he'd certainly never expected to have.
He was getting ahead of himself, though. There was no guarantee that Snape would even consent to speak to him at all. He wasn't sure why he was even going to make the attempt. Harry didn't want to speak to him. Something in him compelled him forward.
The rain slackened as he passed through the gates at the bottom of the grounds, the deluge becoming a steady, gentle rain. Mud coated his boots and sucked at them as he stepped through the puddles.
It was an obligation, of some sort. This man who had suffered and nearly died keeping him alive, all because he had loved Harry's mother, even past death. And insulted me and my friends the whole damned time he had worked to preserve us.
His mind was as muddy as his boots and the bottom several inches of his trousers and cloak by the time he reached the castle. It would be dinner time, those few students remaining to prepare for exams clustered in the warmth of the great hall as a projection of the angry sky churned above.
Harry paused before the massive doors, hesitating to enter. Snape's exoneration would have been buried somewhere in the middle of the Daily Prophet had it not been for the headline of the day before. As it was, it had been splashed across the front page in the morning with the same stock photo that had been used when he'd been put in the position of Headmaster months ago. The article's description of his... condition... had been alarming, but Harry reserved judgment, knowing the rag's penchant for exaggeration and outright fabrication, even though the byline was not Skeeter's for once.
Would he still be hidden away up in the Headmaster's office? Would he be sitting at the staff table, in the seat where Albus Dumbledore had sat a year ago?
The rain began soaking into his clothing as the water-repelling charm he'd put on his cloak hours earlier began fading. Normally his charm lasted a couple of days, at least, but perhaps he'd been distracted this morning. It was not particularly cold, but between the wind and the dampness, he felt chilled. Steeling himself, he pushed his way inside.
Harry pushed his cloak hood back and stood inside the entrance, dripping muddy water onto the floor for several long minutes, soaking in the warmth and bright torchlight of the castle he had considered his home for six years.
"Evanesco!"
Harry looked up at Terry Boot standing in the hallway just outside the doors of the Great Hall. The mud on Harry's clothing and the growing puddle on the floor disappeared under Boot's banishing charm.
"Hey, Harry. Er... Better not let Filch see you dripping on the floor, he's back to his old miserable self now. Um.. I guess you're here to see your, uh, dad, then?"
Harry goggled at his old classmate. Dad ?! Why would Boot think he'd ever call Snape that ? He felt like he'd just been hit with a langlock curse; his tongue might as well have been glued to the roof of his mouth.
Terry blushed slightly and cast a quick drying charm on Harry's sodden cloak, tilting his head to the side in a slightly bewildered expression that would have been more fitting on Fang the boarhound than on a seventh-year Ravenclaw.
"Sorry, um... bit weird, though, innit? I mean finding out after all these years that... er... well. Nobody's gonna hold it against you though. Well, nobody with half a brain. Can't help who you're related to, after all."
"I never would have been able to defeat Voldemort without him, so if you think I'm ashamed of him, you can stuff it, Boot."
Where the hell did that just come from? Harry stamped down this new, strange desire to defend the man's reputation.
"Look, I'm sorry Terry. Never mind. I don't mean to snap at you. You're right, it is pretty weird. But there's a lot of stuff you don't know about him."
Terry smiled nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"I, er, I didn't mean that you should be ashamed of him, Harry. Just... you always seemed to really hate him, is all. I mean, a lot of people did. Don't think he was ever anyone's favorite teacher, 'cept maybe some of the Slytherins... Blimey, you really do look a bit like him now."
Harry looked past Terry to the Great Hall. This conversation was a waste of time. He didn't know why he even cared what Terry thought anyway. The Ravenclaw boy had been a member of the D.A. and fought in the last battle with him, but they'd never exactly been close friends.
A group of fifth years filed out of the Great Hall, stopping and looking at Harry in a way that reminded him nastily of his second year when everyone had thought he'd opened the Chamber of Secrets. Harry gave Terry one last parting glance and pushed past the goggling fifth years.
He made his way across the Great Hall, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him. Snape was not at the staff table, but Professor McGonagall was seated in her usual place next to the empty Headmaster's seat. Once he reached her, though, he found himself struggling for words. Why did he come back here?
"You asked me last week to return later, Professor. Um, well, I'm here."
Harry stood behind McGonagall as they stopped in front of the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. He felt like a young student again, being brought to Albus Dumbledore to explain some serious infraction.
McGonagall paused and turned back to him without giving the password.
"Harry..."
She looked at him, her face kind but worried. She lifted a hand and brought it briefly under his chin, a thumb tracing over his jaw.
"I want you to understand something, Harry. Severus..."
She sighed, hesitating again. Harry waited patiently this time, his temper and annoyance thankfully dormant at the moment, having already expended itself on Terry Boot and his other former classmates downstairs.
"You need to understand that he is... damaged... in a way. And I do not just mean his recent difficulties from the snake's venom. He may never be able to... Well, what I mean to say is, if he does not behave himself tonight, please do not take it too personally?"
"Yea... I think I do actually understand that."
He felt, perhaps, that he should have understood it years before. At the very least since that last disastrous Occlumency lesson with the pensieve during his fifth year. It wouldn't have changed anything but it might have made some things easier to cope with, maybe.
McGonagall watched him for a moment more, then nodded sharply.
"I will give the two of you some privacy, then. I am afraid he has very little energy, still, so do not be too long if you can help it. I will be in my own office if you would like somebody to talk to, later. You are welcome to borrow a bed in Gryffindor tower tonight, if you wish to stay."
Harry smiled at her. She turned back to the gargoyle and gave it the password before walking off to leave him to his fate.
"Cuckoo's Nest"
Harry tried to collect his thoughts as the spiral staircase raised him up to the door. He swallowed thickly and brought his hand up. He shut his eyes and knocked on the door sharply, twice.
Perhaps he wasn't in. Maybe he'd gone up to his rooms to rest. Maybe he'd left. Maybe—
"Come in."
He pushed the door open and stepped through.
Minerva had spent much of the afternoon trying to badger him into taking meals in the Great Hall again, but he saw no point. There was only a little over a month and a half left of the term, and most of the remaining students would be leaving immediately after their exam results were posted. He saw no use in humiliating himself in front of even a small crowd of students and the rest of the staff. He'd gotten better at making his way through meals, but still ended up spilling or dropping things with greater frequency than he cared to admit. He did not have much appetite lately, anyway.
Minerva had managed to convince Horace Slughorn to come back, at least to the end of the term. He'd agreed to get the last of his students through O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s but they would have to hire another Potions Master before September. And, probably, another D.A.D.A. Instructor along with Muggle Studies, not that anyone would miss the Carrows in the slightest.
Snape tried not to think about his wand stashed away in a sleeve pocket, taunting him. Filius had, as Minerva promised, gone back to the Shrieking Shack to search for it. It had still been there, his old, loyal blackthorn-and-phoenix-feather wand stuck fast to the floor in a pool of his own dried blood. Filius had cleaned it and kept it hidden for him while the Ministry dithered over his fate. He felt a surge of gratitude to the diminutive charms professor, although it remained to be seen whether he'd ever make any real use of the wand again.
The nerve potion that St. Mungos sent over daily calmed the tremors somewhat, but they always returned in force before the next dose. The thought of trying to teach Defense, standing in front of a classroom of young students, where just one errant, unintended flick could—
They might not even want him to stay on as Headmaster next year. He'd leave the post without a shred of regret, anyway. He was hardly up to the task and had never wanted the position. Of course, he'd never wanted to teach, either. But where could he even go? He could not brew when he couldn't even hold a knife straight or stir a cauldron without sloshing it everywhere. He had an account at Gringotts where he'd scrimped and saved as much of his teacher's salary over the years as he could spare, but it was hardly limitless and the thought of eventually having to live off the charity of others stuck in his craw.
Severus leaned over his desk, resting heavily on his elbows. He still struggled to think of it that way, even though the year was nearly over. It was Albus Dumbledore's desk. He was just sitting at it, for now.
A sharp rapping on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Probably Minerva checking up on him, again. The woman had turned into a veritable mother hen, constantly hovering over him since he'd been dragged out of that shack and back into a life he never asked for. Well, if he didn't let her in, she'd probably just sic Pomfrey on him, later.
"Come in."
The stride of the footsteps that walked up to his desk was unfamiliar. He looked up, ready to send off whoever had interrupted him, but the cutting remark died on his lips.
They had been staring at each other in silence for over a minute now. It was unbelievable, really. He'd seen the grainy photograph in the newspaper, taken from some distance. He'd tossed it in the fire without giving it further thought.
Now he sat looking at himself, his own face but twenty years younger with some of the edges rounded off, and Lily's soft, sad green eyes peering at him through crooked, round-framed glasses. The boy did not speak but waited, apparently, for him to make some sort of move first.
"Potter."
A line appeared between the boy's brows, but only for the briefest moment.
"Professor."
Severus forced himself to sit back and sit up straight. He pulled his shaking hands into his lap, hiding them beneath the desk.
"Why are you here?"
The boy quirked an eyebrow at him in an unsettlingly familiar expression. He did not reply immediately, so Severus repeated the question, his tone rather less neutral this time.
"Why are you here?"
Harry didn't know quite what he felt when he walked through the door, finding the man he'd sought out slumped over his desk, dark oily hair trailing over a piece of parchment as he read something.
The man raised his head and froze as fast as if Harry had cast petrificus totalis . He stared at Harry, lips slightly parted. His breath stirred a strand of hair hanging in front of his face and a near-constant tremor in his hands could be seen in a slight movement of his robes despite them being hidden under the desk, but otherwise Severus Snape might as well have been a statue.
Harry stood patiently, waiting for him to say something. Anything . He felt his own pulse beating at his temples; he held his breath, waiting. Just shout, already , he thought. Throw something if you need to, I don't even care . Anything but this dreadful silence.
"Potter."
Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. As greetings go, it was as bland as you please, revealing nothing of the roiling in the mind he could just almost see behind the man's black eyes, glinting in the light of a candle on the desk and the fire in the hearth. How could he have ever thought them to look dead and empty?
"Professor."
"Why are you here?"
Harry stared at the headmaster. At Snape. At his father. How could he even ask that? How could he not know?
"Why are you here?"
Why, indeed?
"I just... I needed to talk to you."
Whatever spell had been hold back Severus Snape was broken, now.
"You needed to talk. Is that it? Well, then talk, and stop wasting my time."
Harry felt like he'd just been slapped, but pushed the feeling aside. I'm not fifteen anymore, he can't hurt me like this , he reminded himself. They're just words.
He's afraid of me. The thought came from nowhere, but he suddenly knew it to be true. Severus Snape feared what he represented, what his presence – his existence meant. Are you that terrified of the thought that there might have been, might be someone who does not hate you?
He returned the man's hard stare, refusing to be cowed.
"I wanted to thank you, sir. For... everything. For keeping me alive all this time. For not lying to me."
The man's look, if anything, hardened further.
"Duly noted, Potter. If that is all—"
Harry could not quite prevent his expression showing his disbelief at this utterly obstinate man before him. In reply all he got was Snape's trademark sneering, that lip curling up at one side like he'd smelled something foul. There's a face that needs a jolly good slap , he thought. He settled for voicing his irritation instead.
"Do you not care at all? They all know about it now, so there's no point in pretending—"
Snape stood suddenly, the heavy chair behind him scratching loudly across the stone floor. He leaned over the desk, thrusting his face forward.
"It means nothing, Potter! I have done what I aimed to do! You are alive, Voldemort is dead, and my task is complete. You are not a child any longer who needs my protection. Whatever it is you think I owe you, the answer is no. Now get out of my sight!"
Harry kept himself steady throughout the man's outburst, ignoring the heat of his breath and the drop of saliva that landed on his shirt. Snape did not immediately return to his seat when he finished, continuing to breath heavily, his face contorted with rage or pain or some mixture of both.
Harry suddenly felt terribly sad, for some reason.
He stepped back slightly and saw that the man was shaking more violently now, his weight barely borne on his large, spider-like hands splayed over the desk, a vein on the side of his neck prominent under the pink, web-like scarring began somewhere beneath his collar. He was briefly afraid that Snape might faint, but the man merely slumped back into his seat and stared down at some middle point on the desk, the wild energy of the previous moment gone.
"Just leave, Potter."
He sounded almost pleading, now. Harry shook his head gently, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting his weight to one foot where he stood.
"You keep calling me that. Potter. Like you don't know it's a lie."
The hawk-like gaze bore into his eyes. He refused to flinch. It was possible the man was trying to Legilimize him on the sly, but Harry didn't care. He pushed his own feelings deliberately forward, daring the man to acknowledge him.
The sneer returned but a hint of doubt muted its efficacy.
"Well, then, Potter, what should I call you? Do you really expect me to believe you are going to happily skip off to the Ministry in the morning and file papers to have your name changed? You think you can get my attention with some cheap stunt like that? Don't make me—"
Harry rolled his eyes, knowing it would only further annoy Snape but not quite able to stop himself.
"No, I don't think I shall. But it hardly matters. It's just a name."
"Oh, you would say something like that. Sentimental as ever, I see. Names have power. They can open doors, or close them. Of course if you'd ever paid the slightest attention in your years at this school you might have learned something, but I guess you always were too busy showing off, just like—"
Harry turned his own now also rather hawk-like gaze back upon Snape, staring at him down the thin line of his own long nose.
"Just like what? Are you really going to sit here, now, and accuse me of being like James Potter? He died when I was still in nappies. Hardly enough time to pick up any of his habits, wouldn't you say, father?"
Harry knew he'd hit a nerve when he saw the vein jumping in the man's forehead as he ground his teeth. Snape stood again, regaining the energy of before in his apoplexy, drawing himself up. His greater height towered over Harry still, but Harry did not flinch. Snape's voice began low and dangerous but gained volume as his outrage built up a head of steam.
"You are not a student here any longer, Potter, and you have absolutely no right to come waltzing in here demanding my time. If I see you set one foot on the grounds of Hogwarts again without expressed invitation I will have you thrown out! GET OUT. NOW!"
Harry stood his ground through Snape's tirade and simply nodded at the end, turning on his heel and marching out through the door.
After reaching the bottom of the spiral staircase, he walked back to the doors of the castle without stopping, without acknowledging the greetings of former classmates, without hesitation. He crossed the grounds without glancing at the black lake, or the forbidden forest, or Hagrid's rebuilt hut. He walked through the gate and on into Hogsmeade without a single glance back.
Only when he'd sat down in the Three Broomsticks did he realize he still hadn't asked Professor McGonagall about Lupin and Tonks, or if the Ministry had retrieved Voldemort's remains yet. He swore under his breath and ordered something rather stronger than butterbeer for once in his life.
Minerva flipped back through the stack of her seventh years' transfiguration essays. They were disappointing, but she found it hard to be angry with them, given the year they'd had. It was a miracle any of them had returned after the Easter holidays. She hoped some of the others might come back in the autumn and complete their schooling, but did not hold out too much hope. She'd put up with the crowding happily, though.
She looked over at an old dusty German cuckoo clock on the wall, charmed never to need winding. It had belonged to her father many years ago, and she had brought it with her. She should probably get up and go check up on her errant children. Not her students, but Severus Snape and Harry Potter. There was something else she held out little hope for.
Harry, bless him, might be willing to forgive quite a lot, in the end. He had his mother's kind heart underneath it all. But Severus...
She'd extended an invitation to Harry to visit her in her office if he needed to talk, but couldn't imagine whatever conversation he might have had with Severus going on this long.
"Hm, I do wonder if they've killed each other yet."
Minerva put the essays to one side and hesitated for a moment. She knew Severus was getting annoyed with her "hovering" as he had put it, but he'd just have to get used to it, perhaps. Albus was no longer here to curb the worst of his self-destructive tendencies and somebody had to do the job. She hardly had a line of volunteers queuing up for the task, although Poppy seemed to genuinely care about his welfare.
The castle was quiet tonight. It was not past curfew, yet, but there were no groups of students milling about, or making detours on their way back from the library. She hoped things would finally be back to normal next year, or she might not be able to stand it. She didn't think the school's reputation was ruined permanently, but once students had taken months or even a full year off, it could be difficult to coax them back into an academic routine, especially if they'd passed the normal age of graduation. She feared another "lost generation" from this second war, but did not know how to fix it.
Minerva gave the gargoyle the ridiculous password Severus had set again and traveled up to the door. No voices could be heard from the other side, so Harry must have left already.
She could go right in, she knew, as the Deputy Headmistress, but gave him the courtesy of knocking first. He did not answer. She gave a second knock and mentally counted to ten before opening the door anyway.
He was slumped over with his face buried in his arms and his hair splayed out like the tentacles of a sad octopus around him.
"I suppose I can assume, then, that things went poorly with Harry?"
Well, at least that got his attention. His head snapped up and he bared his teeth at her.
"You sent him up here?"
"Well what do you expect, Severus? Of course I let him come to speak to you, as you clearly were content to ignore his existence indefinitely otherwise."
Minerva ignored the inkwell he threw just inches off past the side of her head, paying no attention to it as it smashed on the wall behind her, splattering ink and chips of glass over the stone, although a few of the portraits shifted and snuffled in their sleep and one managed a "well, really " before going back to snoozing. After all, if he'd really intended to hit his mark, she'd have had no hope of dodging it in time.
"I do not want him here. He is not welcome and I've informed him of such, he is to be thrown out if he comes back uninvited again and I will thank you not to encourage him."
"As a matter of fact, Severus, he was invited here. By me. I asked him last week to return at his earliest convenience. I had a few things to discuss with him, although I suppose now I should have talked to him before bringing him up here, but I did not realize you had intended to be so utterly puerile about this whole thing. Telling him he could not even visit? Really, Severus—"
"I would remind you, Minerva, that however I came to be in this position, I am still the headmaster and as such, it is my right and privilege to control who has access to this school and its grounds. He is neither student nor staff at Hogwarts and has no right, whatsoever, to just come and go as he pleases!"
Now he was up and pacing back and forth behind the desk and chair, his hair flipping wildly around his face as he gesticulated.
"Oh but then, I suppose it shouldn't surprise me, he's always been so fond of taking liberties. You and Dumbledore always took a lax hand with him regarding rules, letting him do whatever he pleased. Can't deny blessed saint Potter any little thing now, can we? After all, he killed Voldemort and now we should all be kissing his—"
Minerva strode across the room and put herself directly his path, grasping him by the arms with both hands. "ENOUGH, Severus! Have you completely lost your mind? What in Merlin's name is wrong with you!?"
Severus was halted in his path by her presence. He had stopped mere inches from barreling right into her and now looked down at her with a wild expression, as though he'd just realized she was in the room. He was breathing as though he'd just run a mile. As she stood staring at him, he began leaning sideways, the tremors that had briefly stopped in his rage returning.
Minerva put herself underneath his weight, pulling his arm across her shoulders and maneuvering the large man awkwardly back to his chair.
He slumped forward like a puppet who's strings had been suddenly cut and was now back the way he'd been when she'd walked into the room, hiding his face against the desk between his hair and the crook of an arm.
Minerva hovered a chair around the desk to sit beside him. After a moment's hesitation she placed one hand upon his back, moving it in slow circles, trying to pay no mind to the now ever-present trembling of his body. If he noticed her admittedly maudlin gesture at all, he ignored her.
You really are a miserable git . The sad thought occurred to her that he didn't have any clue how to deal with Harry at all, and had reverted to his old habit of spitting insults perhaps merely to have something to say. He didn't even have the absurd comfort of blaming Harry for James Potter anymore.
He was utterly exhausted, as well, she knew. Smethwyck had repeatedly assured her that Nagini's venom was wholly gone from his body, but he seemed terribly tired much of the time. She'd found him just like this more than once over the last couple of days, passed out or nearly so over some or other bit of paperwork. How he'd manage the following year... she had a feeling that she'd be doing most of the duties of Headmaster, if he remained at all.
Several minutes later his breathing slowed and evened out and she thought he'd perhaps fallen asleep. She moved her hand up to press at the tense, hard knots at the back of his neck. He shifted slightly in his sleep but did not wake. He was a complete wreck, really. And she had no idea how to help him.
"I am sorry, Severus. I thought if the two of you could just speak to each other... well, I don't know what I thought."
How dare he. How dare he still walk free . How dare he still wander the halls of that school around children . How dare he have a son . How dare he have that son! How dare he still live at all ! An "ex" Death Eater? No such thing.
The newspapers curled up and turned to ash in the fireplace.