WEDNESDAY, 11 MAY
Cheerful morning sunlight streamed across the room, warming his face. He grabbed the duvet and pulled it over his head, groaning.
A mountain troll had been tap-dancing on his head last night, and stuffed cotton in his brain before it left. Or so he felt. He probably should have stopped after the third or so glass, but having never made any real attempt at getting drunk before, maybe he'd... underestimated.
At least he hadn't thrown up. Madame Rosmerta had been sympathetic the night before, shuffling him upstairs and decanting him into a bed when he'd clearly had (more than) enough, but he didn't think she'd appreciate The Boy Who Lived decorating the floor of the Three Broomstick's guest rooms.
"Oh god... I'm never touching firewhisky again as long as I live."
An hour or so later, he was at least upright and somewhat mobile, although his head still pounded fiercely. His glasses and wand had been placed neatly on the bedside table and his boots left near the door. It only took him a couple of tries to get the shoes onto the correct feet and his glasses on as straight as they ever were these days.
He wandered down the narrow, uneven staircase and found the innkeeper cleaning and straightening mugs and bottles behind the bar. He managed to carefully balance himself on a stool, leaning over the bar on his elbows.
Madame Rosemerta reached into a cabinet and pulled three small glass bottles out, setting them on the counter. She grabbed a pint glass and filled it with water, then uncorked the potions, letting a few drops of each splash into the glass. It turned a muddy brown color at first, then a deep maroon, and finally an alarming fluorescent orange. She set it in front of Harry without a word and turned back to her chores.
"On the house, Mr Potter."
He squinted into the eye-searing depths of the liquid, fighting the nausea that rose up in his throat and obeyed. The pain in his head lifted a few moments later, although he still felt like a large merino sheep had taken the place of his brain.
"Two galleons and three sickles for the room, though, if you please."
Harry groped around in his pocket and produced the coins.
"A young lady came by looking for you earlier this morning. Pretty. Red hair."
Harry rubbed his sore eyes, which still felt full of grit.
"That'll be Ginny, probably."
"Weasley? Hm, yes, I thought I recognized her. Been a while. I told her I'd send you along later."
Harry slumped over, leaning his head on the weathered wood. He heard footsteps coming down the stairwell and across the room. Coins jangled on the bar next to him. "Ta," said Rosmerta.
The footsteps began moving away, then paused.
"Izzat Harry Potter?"
"Just you move along, Albert."
"Eh, sure, sure. Guess I'd be in a pisser of a mood meself, if I'da just found out, eh..."
The footsteps finally went on their way and the bell over the door signaled his exit. Harry lifted his head, glancing back toward the door. So much for his metamorphosis being a blessing in disguise... or any kind of disguise at all. Damn that Rita Skeeter .
Harry slid off the stool and pulled at his rumpled, slept-in clothing until it was somewhat straightened. He really probably should have gone straight back to the Burrow last night, but somehow the idea of having to talk, to answer questions...
They all just cared so much. So much, in fact, that it almost burned, sometimes, in a way, like standing too close to a furnace, or trying to look into the sun. And then there were those times he felt like he was burning from the inside, because he cared so much too, and the heat of his own heart ate him up like a fire within.
Of course his father hadn't cared at all.
Well, that's not entirely accurate, is it? He'd cared enough to shout a load of nonsense and insults and all but chuck Harry out on his ear and tell him not to let the door hit him in the arse. You don't get that angry about something you simply don't care at all about, do you? Harry's head started to ache all over again.
"Feel free to use the floo if you need to, dear."
Madame Rosemerta turned and disappeared back into the kitchens or somewhere. Ginny had probably already returned home and informed her mother that he wasn't dead, but he still felt like he ought to head back soon and make his apologies.
Snape sat at the Headmaster's place at the staff table, despite all his earlier objections. If nothing else, it would shut Minerva up about it and gain him some peace. He touched neither food nor drink, not trusting his unsteady hands with an audience, even in the morning directly after his dose of nerve potion. He looked out across the small crowd of students clustered, as they now apparently preferred, in two mixed groups at the ends of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, all past notions of house loyalties and divisions discarded.
Horace mentioned something in passing earlier about Slytherin's dormitory being more or less empty at the moment, with the handful of remaining Slytherins mostly sleeping in abandoned beds in Ravenclaw's tower or Hufflepuff's basement. The were avoiding their common room even during the day. When Horace had asked some of them about it, they'd complained of their old rooms feeling haunted in a way that had nothing to do with the Bloody Baron.
Horace had informed the other house heads of his students' self-made alternative arrangements and they'd collectively decided to allow it, for the moment. Come September if the behavior continued, they'd have to intervene, but with most of the students already gone (home, or in some cases, to tragically early graves), it didn't really harm anything.
Shattered stones and broken statues were easily mended; the torched Quidditch pitch would be rebuilt before September to look as though nothing had happened. Severus watched them, talking still in hushed tones to one another, picking at their food. A few had books or notes out, revising as they swallowed their breakfast without tasting it. Even those students who had not directly witnessed their friends falling, nor even much participated in the battle, looked as haunted as his old refuge in the dungeons now, apparently, felt.
Minerva refilled her tea and leaned back in her seat beside him.
"It will get better, Severus. Give it time."
"Perhaps."
"The summer holiday is coming up soon. I think some time away from here will help them all get used to things."
He did not share her optimism, but did not have the energy to argue.
"I suppose you might need to get used to a few things, yourself."
He did not deign to answer that.
"Honestly, Severus, you could have at least attempted to talk to the boy last night. And by talking, I don't mean shouting."
"I have nothing to say to that... runt of a boy."
Minerva choked on her tea, stifling a laugh.
"'Runt' now, is it? That's a new one, and not a very creative one I must say. I'm disappointed, you're losing your touch, Severus."
Feeling trapped, he picked up a piece of bread and slowly tore it into pieces, needing some sort of activity to dispel some of the restless energy that itched under his skin.
"Even his mother was taller at seventeen."
"I hardly see how it matters, but for what it is worth, I suppose you may be right." Minerva paused to sip at her tea.
He knew it was a petty thing to fixate on, but it suddenly bothered him, and for no reason. He didn't even care about the brat, why did it annoy him all of a sudden that this boy who apparently shared his blood barely came past his chin? It was like finding a loose thread begging to be pulled.
Minerva set her teacup back in its saucer and rubbed at her bottom lip with the tip of an index finger, considering her former student. "He has always been among the shortest of his class, even compared to the girls. I remember his Sorting, he was the shortest first-year in the whole batch that year, and rather thin... I told Albus those Muggles were the worst sort... I know now that he had a reason for leaving the poor child there, but I've never stopped regretting it. I don't think they even bothered to feed him properly, to be frank; it's clearly stunted his growth."
Severus pushed away the small pile of savaged breadcrumbs he'd made and tried not to think about all those flashes of memory that he had so easily plundered from the boy's soft mind during those failed Occlumency lessons. The aggressive bulldog egged on by an aunt, the overweight and overbearing cousin, Lily's harridan of a sister wielding a frying pan that was barely dodged, a door closing on somewhere small and tight and dark, like a closet or broom cupboard... They'd been meaningless, just scraps of childhood memories, disconnected events that signified nothing in the life of a spoiled, nasty little boy who had been just like his spoiled, nasty fa...
He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. If he could just last through the end of term, he could put all of this behind him, maybe forever.
It was nearly lunchtime when Harry returned to the Burrow, slipping in with his tail between his legs and begging pardon. Mrs. Weasley didn't lay into him like he'd expected her to, which just made him feel even more guilty for making her worry all night.
He sat at the table between Ginny and her mother and ate his lunch in near-silence, still feeling fuzzy-headed and tired. George and Ron had returned to Diagon Alley to work on the Wheezes shop that morning and Percy and Mr Weasley were both at work at the Ministry.
"I suppose you made a visit to Hogwarts last night, then?"
Harry nodded, taking another bite of his bacon sandwich to avoid having to elaborate.
"Didn't go too well, I suppose? Just keep trying, he's bound to come round eventually."
Harry finished chewing and washed it down with his pumpkin juice, rubbing at his temple as whatever Madame Rosemerta had given him began wearing off, his headache returning somewhat.
"Well I might run into him in Hogsmeade someday I suppose."
Mrs Weasley set her own sandwich down instead of taking another bite.
"I'm sure you can catch him at Hogwarts at least one more time before the term is over?"
Harry laughed humorlessly
"He's banned me from the grounds. Says I'm not a student anymore and have no right to be there."
"He did what—? That miserable little... Hmph. I'll just have to have a talk with him."
Mrs Weasley tore at her sandwich like a tiger. Harry smiled at the thought of Mrs Weasley having a go at Severus Snape, a mental image of the tall, thin man backed into a corner by the short, plump witch. After all, even Bellatrix Lestrange had been no match for her.
He laughed, giving Ginny a knowing look. She smiled in return, but he turned back to Mrs Weasley and shook his head.
"I, er... appreciate the offer, Mrs Weasley. But, um, I think I'd better just deal with him on my own."
"Are you sure, dear? Well he is your father, I suppose, not that he seems to realize it. Honestly, though, who wouldn't be thrilled to pieces to have you for a son? He's just an ungrateful wretch, that man!"
Harry blushed to the tips of his ears.
Harry sat on the wall in the back garden watching the frogs again. He and Ginny had de-gnomed the garden earlier for lack of anything better to do, and half of them had already sneaked back in, their potato-like heads occasionally peaking out of the shrubbery at him, as if to taunt him.
He was waiting for Mr. Weasley to return from work. He'd promised to ask around at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement about their plans for maybe relaxing the requirements for the training program for new Aurors in the fall.
If they didn't waive the requirement for N.E.W.T.s he wasn't sure what he would do. Snape had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't welcome at Hogwarts any longer. He supposed if he tried to return as a student, the man wouldn't actually bar him from doing so, as it would require a lot of messy paperwork and explanation to the board of governors, but that didn't mean he couldn't make Harry's life a hell for the duration.
Maybe he could just study on his own and sit the exams without going back? Ginny would probably be willing to owl him copies of her notes. Hermione might do also, but more likely she'd just insist he come back with her. And then, he didn't know if they allowed just anyone to take them. Maybe you had to be a student. Or maybe Snape would quit.
The back door swung open and Ginny glanced around the yard til she sighted him. "Harry, dad's home!"
"Well, Harry, you'll be happy to know I ran into Gawain Robards himself, he's standing in for head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for now, you know."
Finally, some news he actually wanted to hear.
"So what did he say?"
"Eh, well, he wouldn't exactly commit to anything, but—"
Harry deflated slightly.
"Of course, I shouldn't have expected them to bend the rules, wouldn't be fair I guess..."
"Now, Harry, he didn't rule it out, you know. I think they just haven't made a decision yet, but the fact that they're even considering it at all probably means they will. Everything is still sort of a mess, to be honest. I think they're a bit busy lately, er, cleaning house as it were. They finally arrested Dolores Umbridge yesterday, did you know? She seemed genuinely surprised, although I don't know why, given her involvement with... well, you know."
"Can't say I feel sorry for her. D'you really think they'll let me in?"
Mr Weasley smiled and sat down, finally, in the living room. Harry sat down across from him.
"Well, do you?"
He shrugged as Mrs Weasley came in, leaning over to kiss her husband and sitting beside him on the sofa.
"Harry, I really can't see them refusing you anything at this point, within reason. Although I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to just skip your final year of school. Nobody blames you, of course. This last year... well. Don't you want to return to Hogwarts? I always got the impression you considered it your home, I know you didn't much like living with your aunt and uncle..."
Ginny returned with a pot of tea and mugs for everyone and Harry distracted himself with that for a moment, trying to think of a way to explain without sounding pathetic.
"I did, but..."
Harry drank the tea Ginny had brought. It tasted like something herbal rather than the usual sort and he sniffed at it, delaying more.
"I think I've sort of outgrown it, I guess? I can't imagine, after everything, going back to being a student and being told what to do all the time."
Mr Weasley looked at him in an appraising manner.
"Harry, you do realize that if you go into training as an Auror, you'll spend quite a lot of time being told what to do? And the consequences of disobeying are rather different when you're an adult, I'm afraid. It's not going to be scrubbing out cauldrons when you slip up anymore. Do you think you can handle that?"
Harry took a gulp of the herbal tea. Hibiscus and something else. Lemongrass or verbena, maybe.
"Yeah, I guess I'll have to. But that's different... somehow. I guess going from hunting horcruxes and Voldemort to hunting other dark wizards just makes more sense to me than going from all that back to worrying about dodging Peeves and Filch if I feel like taking a walk after curfew, if that makes sense?"
Mr Weasley smiled at him, nodding. He also felt that being confined in the same place as Snape was possibly the most unappealing idea he could think of right now, but decided not to mention it. Ginny was watching him, but her expression was odd and he couldn't quite make out her mood.
Mrs Weasley refilled Harry's mug. "Harry, I do hope you don't feel you're too old to enjoy yourself anymore? I do remember being seventeen, believe it or not. I know you want to hurry along, but don't wish your life away. Time has a way of getting ahead of you on its own, you know."
Mr Weasley set his mug aside, thankfully changing the subject.
"Well, it's going to be a little while before the Ministry makes up its mind about the Auror training program. I don't suppose you have any other plans for this summer?"
Harry stared into his mug, watching a couple stray bits of herb floating about. Trelawny would probably use them to predict his doom (again).
"Er, not really. I guess I could help George and Ron out at Wheezes. And I probably should start looking for a flat somewhere."
Mrs Weasley smiled and patted his knee.
"I'm sure George wouldn't mind a bit of help, but you needn't rush out the door. We don't mind you staying on for a while, just 'til you sort out your plans and get your feet on the ground, of course."
SUNDAY, 28 JUNE
Severus chucked the last of his personal effects into a wizardspace-charmed bag without ceremony. He took one last walk through the private rooms he'd occupied for nearly a year now. They had never felt like his, though. The rooms still felt like Albus Dumbledore, even smelled like Albus Dumbledore.
He couldn't wait to see the back of it.
Not that he relished returning to the old house in Cokeworth, filled up to the rafters with old books and bad memories. He ought to sell the place and rent a flat somewhere, just make a clean break of it, but he'd yet to make any long-term decisions about his future and it seemed imprudent to offload what little real property he possessed. We must ever be practical, of course, no matter how uncomfortable; after all we've made our bed to sleep in .. . oh sweet Merlin, I'm turning into my mother...
He'd completed as much of the necessary end-of-term paperwork as he could manage since seeing the last of the students off on the Express on Friday evening and had packed the rest. It's not as though he wouldn't have time, now.
No more searing pain waking him and sending him apparating into the night on some stomach-turning errand. Now if he could just escape before she caught up to him...
He came down the spiral staircase into the Headmaster's office and, of course, she was there, standing between him and the tin of floo powder on the mantel.
"Severus, we really do need to talk before you swan off into the blue."
"I've already said everything I intend to, Minerva."
"You really have improved significantly over the last month, Severus, I don't see any Earthly reason why you couldn't return in September—"
"Because, Minerva, you and I both know this school would be better served with you in this position; there are still numerous families that do not relish the idea of sending their precious spawn to an institution where a Death Eater is still running the joint. They have not forgotten that I was put in this position through unscrupulous means, and I can hardly blame them for their perfectly reasonable objections."
"Oh, honestly, Severus, it was one howler. That hardly counts as 'numerous' by any stretch of the imagination!"
"So only one woman had the balls to stand up to me in a semi-public fashion! She no doubt has plenty of support from more prudent corners. I do not doubt for a moment that there are plenty who think I am just itching to take up where Voldemort left off, whatever the Ministry has decided. Shacklebolt is well liked, but his favor does not cover all sins."
Minerva stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head at him in that obstinate way he knew meant he would not be getting away until she'd said her piece.
"Since when have you ever cared a fig about public opinion, Severus Snape?"
"Since it is negatively affecting the ability of this school to carry out its function, which is to ensure that Wizarding Britain isn't churning out wizards and witches that are completely ignorant. During the war, and while I was merely a teacher under Albus Dumbledore's eye, certain allowances could be made, but now? You know I am right, Minerva, I am a distinct liability here and you are all vastly better off with me elsewhere."
"You are running away, Severus. Don't pretend otherwise, I am neither stupid nor blind as you seem to think I am!"
Severus narrowed his eyes at the witch, and lifted his hands, which still trembled.
"Improvement is not a cure, Minerva. If nothing else, I tire easily, still. And despite your feeble attempts at misdirection, I know exactly how much of my duties as Headmaster you have taken upon yourself these last weeks. I am simply not fit for the job, and that is the end of the matter."
"Then come back and teach again, Severus. If you don't think potions suits you, we still need someone for the Defense position."
"Oh, so I can misfire hexes at students instead? One poorly-timed spasm and you'll be scraping some unfortunate Hufflepuff off the walls, and you know it."
Minerva huffed at him but her posture slackened and he knew he'd won.
"It's not September yet, Severus. You've been steadily regaining your strength, there's no reason to believe you won't continue to heal. Just promise me that you will think about it? We can discuss it again in August."
"Fine, Minerva, I will think about it. Now will you step aside, please? I'd like to get home before the shops close, at least, or I will have nothing to eat in the morning."
She looked ready to relent, but then apparently changed her mind.
"One last thing, Severus. Have you given any more thought to speaking to Harry again?"
Now he sneered for real. The woman was relentless!
"No, I most certainly have not."
"Severus, he is your son and you have known this for nearly two months, now! How can you just go on pretending you don't?!"
"I am not pretending anything, Minerva. There is simply nothing left to be said between us, regardless of any happenstance of shared blood, and you damned well know it. He's not a child in need of shelter any longer, and if he does by some chance come into such need, I have no doubt there will be a very long line of volunteers that he would much prefer anyhow. He's practically a Weasley already, and I daresay he's far happier with that arrangement than he would with being a Snape."
He pushed his way around Minerva this time to grab a handful of floo powder while she groped for some sort of response.
He threw the powder into the fire and shouted "Number Two, Spinner's End" and green fire filled the fireplace.
"He's better off without me, Minerva, and we all know it."
He stepped into the wall of green and disappeared.
Minerva stared into the hearth as the green faded and the flames died down to a gentle crackling.
"I don't know that he is, Severus, and you most certainly are not better off without him," she said to the empty space he'd recently vacated.
She glanced up at the portrait of Albus, who was sitting quietly in his frame.
"I suppose I'll be sitting in that chair come September? I hope I can do it justice."
"You'll make a fine Headmistress, Minerva, I have no doubt. But I do not think this school has seen the last of Severus Snape."
"I wish I had your confidence, but I do not see how I could possibly convince him. He's simply too stubborn to listen to reason!"
She wandered over to the desk and slumped into the chair, looking about the familiar room that would soon be hers, unless something drastically changed.
"He does not see his own worth, Albus, not where it matters. I don't think he ever has. For much of his life, I fear very few ever have, other than yourself, perhaps. He was my student for seven years, and and a colleague for many more than that, and I certainly had not—not until I stuck my head into that thrice-damned pensieve last month. If only he weren't such a bloody pissant half the time..."
"Do not indulge in too much self-flagellation, Minerva. I had not spared him much thought, either, when he was a student here. I recognized his brilliant mind, perhaps, but in the end he was just one more troubled Slytherin that I could not keep away from a dangerous path. When he returned, I saw only an opportunity to make use of him; understanding came much later. Too much later, really. But in the end he made his own choices, and he has accepted all of the consequences with surprisingly few complaints, all considered. He has certainly never expected pity, and I would not indulge in too much of that, either – I assure you he will not thank you for it."
Minerva stood and straightened her robes.
"Oh, I am sure you are right, Albus. As usual. It is really quite annoying, you know. Well, I have a few things to finish up myself."
With one last glance across the room, she strode through the door and down the spiral steps.
