DISCLAIMER: All HP characters are the property of JKR, the WB, and respective publishing companies - this is nothing more than a simple FanFiction that I have written. I have made no money from this or any of the other stories I have posted on this or other sites.

Lesson 12 – Final Confrontations

Harry reached the gates leading out of the school as a series of colorful flashes lit the up grounds – he knew it was the pathetic duel between his younger self and Snape. A brighter light bloomed against the night sky as Hagrid's hut went up in flames, Hagrid's angry holler floating out into the night as he lamented the fact that Fang and Trelawney were trapped inside the burning building.

A small shadow was heading towards Harry, a deeper black against the disrupted night. He knew it had to be Malfoy, but he didn't give his former rival a second thought as Snape's voice grew louder – his taunts hitting Harry twofold as his memory merged with the present. An angry screech sliced through the grounds as Buckbeak attacked Snape in defense of his younger self and Harry pushed all emotions from his thoughts as he raised his wand and waited for the moment Snape would flee the school grounds. Fleeing from him – only to flee towards him.

Poised, and completely unexpected, Harry hit Snape the moment his former Potions Master stepped through the gates with a solid upper cut. The already winded and wounded man crumpled at the contact and as his body dropped towards the ground Harry reached out and grabbed hold of Snape's arm and apparated blindly away from the school before his younger self looked up from the ground.

He crashed to the ground nearly a minute later, letting Snape's unconscious form flop unceremoniously onto the floor while he made a quick search of their surroundings to make certain they hadn't been followed. His eyes took in the handful of thin, brittle bones that were scattered about the floor and the rough hewn walls without recognizing his location right away. It wasn't until he spotted a few pale gray feathers that had been windswept into the furthest corner that he began to dimly recall visiting this cave many years ago.

With memory came grief though, for the last time Harry had entered the tiny stone pocket was during his fourth year at Hogwarts when he'd slipped away from Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione to visit Sirius during the Triwizard Tournament. Shaking back the distracting glimpses of his past, he made his way to the entrance and searched for signs of recent visitors.

Completely satisfied that they would not be found anytime soon, Harry returned to where he'd left Snape and retrieved Snape's wand while at the same time pocketing his own. Retreating several steps, he dropped down into a crouch and spent a few minutes wrestling his raging emotions back into some semblance of control while he waited for Severus to regain consciousness.

It was several hours before Snape showed any signs of moving, and Harry shifted his weight slightly to the left as his tightly coiled muscles protested the prolonged strain of holding the position. He refused to acknowledge his discomfort though, his attention focused completely on the man stirring just a few feet away, his hands twirling Snape's wand back and forth. The silence finally broken by muttered groans and curses as Snape became aware of his various injuries.

"Have any pleasant dreams, Snivellus?" Harry asked in a deceptively calm voice.

Snape froze for a split second at the sound of Harry's voice, and then leapt into action as he fumbled for his wand, his movements stiff and uncoordinated from both his injuries and the fog that clouded his mind.

"Looking for something?" Harry inquired with solicitous sarcasm, a hard edge cutting through in spite of his tight control on his emotions.

"Give me my wand, Harrison," Snape demanded as he faced Harry and caught sight of the object that Harry was rolling back and forth between his palms.

"Is this your wand? I didn't know," Harry stated slowly, holding the wand out between his two hands so he could look at both Snape and the wand simultaneously. He waited until Snape reached out a hand towards him and then he jerked both hands down with as much force as he could muster, effectively snapping the wand in half as it came into contact with his knee. "You won't need a wand where you are going, Snivellus."

Harry passively watched as Snape's face contorted with uncontrolled rage, waiting to see if the man would charge him physically. Like watching a Quidditch play in slow motion through a set of Omnioculars, Harry knew what Snape would do before it happened and he was ready for the desperate lunge that Snape attempted. Rolling almost lazily to his left as Severus flailed wildly past him; Harry twisted around so that he faced Snape once more.

Again Snape charged blindly at Harry. This time, Harry remained where he was until the last minute when he pushed up hard. He felt his head connect with Snape's chest and felt the other man's breath knocked out from the force of the impact. Grunting at the backlash of pain, Harry wrapped his left arm around Snape and gave Snape's side three quick jabs with his right before planting his foot in the other man's stomach and shoving his away.

Assuming a boxer's stance, Harry waited while Snape recovered from the attack. This time, Snape used a touch of caution when he closed with Harry, and the two of them traded a dozen or more blows before Harry managed to flip Snape over his back and into a table the nearest wall.

Blood trickled from a gash on Harry's cheek and from several scraps on his hands and arms. Snape looked just as bad with a bloody nose, black eye, and split lip. The Slytherin was not one to give up though, and Harry barely dodged his next attack by spinning on his heel and dropping down to one knee.

Throwing out his hands, he captured Snape's left ankle and the Potion's Master crashed face first onto the floor. Jumping up to his feet once more, Harry felt his left knee give with a burst of pain that destroyed his concentration. He tried to recover, but Snape was on him before he could compensate for his damaged leg and this time Harry crashed to the floor with Snape landing on top of him.

He felt Snape's fist connect with his face twice before he felt the man's hands encircle his neck and begin pressing down with deadly intent. Struggling against the rushing darkness, Harry dug the fingers of one hand under the lower ridge of Snape's ribs, jabbing deeply with stiffened fingers three times in rapid succession. The moment Snape's fingers loosened in surprise and pain, Harry twisted around and bucked Snape off of him in the blink of an eye and brought his wand out of his pocket and into play in the same smooth motion – a trick he'd learned during his years in the academy.

"Losing your touch, aren't you Snivellus?" Harry taunted ruthlessly, his throat throbbing painfully, as he fired the Levicorpus spell at Snape and watched as his body was flipped upside down and dangled several feet above the ground. Deep inside, a small part of him was shocked and appalled at his cruel treatment of the man before him. The voice that said it was wrong was drowned out though, by the grief, anger, and hatred that had festered for twelve years while Harry had hunted down the man responsible for Dumbledore's death. It didn't help that the unhealed emotional wounds had been torn asunder once more by living through the heart wrenching event a second time. There was also guilt raging through Harry, guilt at failing to prevent Dumbledore's death when he had the chance.

"I will kill you for this!" Snape roared violently as he twisted madly within the invisible bonds that held him suspended in the air. "I will make you scream until you can hear it echoing in your ears. I will give you such pain that you will beg me to kill you, and then I will give you more pain! I will –"

"Such viciousness from a reformed Death Eater," Harry sneered as he waggled his wand hand, causing Snape to bob up and down several times. "So full of wounded dignity, one could almost forget that you were a cold blooded murderer."

"You know nothing!" Snape hissed.

"Wrong, Snivellus," Harry countered tightly as he rose to his feet and stepped closer to Snape. "I know exactly what you did, you murdered Albus Dumbledore. You betrayed his trust when he needed you most. You stared at him in cold blood as you fired the killing curse that blasted him from the roof of that tower tonight."

"You grasp at straws in hopes of fumbling upon the truth," Snape growled, only the slight tell-tale presence of sweat trickling down his brow betrayed his lie. "There were no witnesses to what occurred up in the tower, Dumbledore was already dead when Malfoy threw his body over the side."

"Malfoy didn't have the guts to follow through with his orders," Harry stated with certainty. "You fired the curse that took Dumbledore's life when Draco's resolve failed him."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Harry explained hoarsely as his whole body began trembling with suppressed rage. "Draco was on the verge of accepting Dumbledore's offer of protection for him and his family, his nerves frayed beyond recovery. It was at that point that you bounded out through the door with a small group of fellow Death Eaters. With one sweeping glance you knew what had taken place on the tower, and as Dumbledore begged for your help, you cut him down heartlessly."

"There was no one else on that roof!" Snape ground out desperately.

"That is where you were wrong. Dumbledore was not alone when he landed on that rooftop, there was one other person who witnessed everything," Harry quietly revealed as he lost control of his emotions. "I. Was. There. I saw the whole thing, and you never knew I was there. Not the first time, and not this time!"

Snape recoiled as if he'd been physically hit by Harry's admission, his face a sickly shade of gray.

"You will not live to harm another," Harry yelled as he raised his wand and pointed it at Snape's heart. "For twelve years I have hunted for you so that you could be punished for your actions. Twelve long years I dreamt of having you at my mercy for once as you begged for your life and freedom. You should have been given to the dementors when you handed my parents over to Voldemort on that fateful night!"

Harry ignored the confusion that warred with the fear that he saw in Snape's eyes, too many years of suppressed emotions were tearing at him and all he cared about was revenge. He didn't even care that he'd all but revealed his true identity to the man dangling before him, what did it matter any way? Snape was going to die.

"Harry, lower your wand," a man ordered as he hobbled out from the shadows at the back of the room. "You don't want to do this thing, no matter how much your anger cries for vengeance. It is not your way."

Both Harry and Snape flinched at the site of the old man who had seemingly appeared out of thin air. Harry didn't lower his wand though, and it took all of his strength not to turn away so that he could finish what he started. Twice he tried to fire the spell that was sitting on the tip of his tongue, and twice his conscience cut the words off before they'd made it past his lips. His arm trembled and tears of grief and frustration pooled in his emerald eyes as his anger turned brittle and shattered.

"It is over, Harry," the man repeated. Harry offered no resistance as the man gently forced his arm down and took his wand out of his hand. "It's over."

Harry turned his back on Snape then and walked away, temporarily letting go of his burning hatred. Without his anger the grief he'd been holding back rushed up and overwhelmed him, drowning out everything else. Strength gone, he dropped to his knees and let his tears flow freely as he'd not done since he'd been a small boy. He cried for his parents, whom he never really knew. He cried for his lost godfather, lost so suddenly when he'd just begun to know him. He cried for his missing friends, those brave souls who had not survived the second war and those he left behind in the far distant future. He cried for his lost love, Ginny, and he cried for himself. And he cried over what he'd almost become in his quest for vengeance.

He cried until his tears no longer flowed, and then he cried still – his soul awash in an unending flood of remembered loss and pain. On and on the tide carried him, freeing him of burdens he hadn't even realized he carried. Until at last he fell, exhausted, into a deep sleep; a soul healing sleep without dreams and nightmare's to trouble him.

When he woke, he found himself tucked securely beneath a light blanket in a vaguely familiar room. He felt weak and empty – completely wrung out – his body aching and throbbing painfully from the wounds received during his fist fight with Snape. Turning his head to one side, he could make out a three paneled screen, the kind used in the Hospital Ward to provide patients with a semblance of privacy, though he couldn't remember how he had gotten there.

Frowning he rolled his head back to the other side, only to discover a second screen on that side. Shaking his head to clear the fog, he attempted to push himself up on one elbow. The effort it took dragged a tortured moan from his lips as a fresh wave of pain. Only sheer determination prevented him from sinking back into the darkness from which he'd woken. Eventually the dizziness retreated and he could make out the soft murmur of voices rising and falling from just beyond his tiny world inside the screens.

"Wh... who's there?" he croaked out as loud as he could.

"Professor Harrison?" a young lady's tear filled voice replied tremulously.

The mumbling voices grew louder, accompanied by the sound of hard soled shoes tapping on a tile or stone floor. A moment later Hermione slipped between the frames and offered him a friendly, if sad, smile that ended in a gasp as she caught sight of his bruised face.

"Professor!?"

"That good, huh?" Harry asked dryly, his voice rasping slightly from the dryness and tenderness in his throat.

"I didn't mean... it's just that your face... and your neck… what I mean is..." Hermione hesitated between apologizing and explaining, her face reddening with embarrassment over her desire to be truthful and fear of offending.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed as he peered around Hermione to see who she'd been talking to. "What happened to your –"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed angrily while shushing him with a sharp cut of her hand.

"I'm quite aware of how I must look, Her... Ms. Granger," Harry stated with a grim chuckle.

"Where were you?" younger Harry demanded as he pushed in past Ron and glared unknowingly at his older self. "Why weren't you helping to fight the Death Eaters?"

Harry matched his younger self's glare with a cool stare as he awkwardly attempted to sit up – his muscles protesting each inch gained. A flicker of movement off to his right, showed Ron and Hermione both shrinking back, as if they didn't want to be noticed or caught up in what looked to develop into an argument or worse, but eagerly waiting to hear his answer.

"I owe you no answer, Mr. Potter," Harry answered calmly, leaning forward and rushing on when the younger Harry opened his mouth to interrupt. "However, I also have nothing to hide and will, this once, willingly answer your questions." Taking a deep, steadying breath, Harry changed positions in order to ease the physical strain of supporting himself before continuing. "Where was I? I was with Hagrid and Trelawney, down at Hagrid's hut. We didn't even know there was trouble up at the castle until we saw the Dark Mark floating above the castle."

"How'd you get hurt then?" Ron wondered aloud before younger Harry could ask another question.

Harry knew he couldn't mention Snape and the fact that he had caught the man fleeing from the school. He wasn't to know the traitor's fate until he himself discovered it when he came back. A fine kettle of stew I've allowed myself to be dropped into. Harry grumbled to himself as he sought a reasonable answer that held enough truth to be believable.

"Fighting for my life," Harry replied simply.

"Professor Dumbl... Dumbledore said I could trust you with my life," the younger Harry admitted a touch sullenly as he let his gaze drop to the floor. "He thought Snape could be trusted, too."

Harry closed his eyes and fought back the wave of grief that threatened to drown him as memories crashed through his mind's eye.

He'd abandoned Professor Trelawney after learning that it had been Snape that had overheard her giving that wretched prophecy. He'd run away from her, his anger swelling inside him, and ran towards Dumbledore's office intent upon confronting the Headmaster to discover the truth. Hate lurked just behind his anger too, hate towards Snape for the part he played in his parents' death. Knowing the man willingly turned his mother and father over to Lord Voldemort when he passed on the information to his lord and master. It galled that this information had been withheld from him at the end of last year.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head to rid his mind of the terrible memory, but all he had succeeded in doing was jumping forward to the next memory.

"How could you trust Snape after he handed my parents to Voldemort?" Harry roared as he stood before Dumbledore with his fists clenched.

"He didn't know who the prophecy pointed to, didn't know who would end up murdered for half a prophecy," Dumbledore calmly countered.

"He hated my parents though, he hated Sirius and Remus too," Harry countered heatedly. "He would have been thrilled to destroy any of them given the chance!"

"He regretted his part in their deaths," Dumbledore soothed, "he knew it had been a mistake, which is why he came to me."

"A mistake? A MISTAKE?" Harry roared back, desperately struggling to control his anger as it overwhelmed the excitement he felt over the fact that Dumbledore had discovered the location of one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"I trust him Harry," Dumbledore sternly stated as he met Harry's glare with calm regard. "You can not go you're your entire life without trusting it to someone at some point. Without trust you stand alone, always and forever. You know you can trust your friends, you know you can trust the Order, and you should trust know that you can trust both Professor Snape and Professor Harrison with your life."

"How do you know I can trust either of them? One's a hypocritical, petty brute and the other can't possibly be who he says he is, and even if he was, how can you compare him to Snape? Snape's half the reason my parent's are dead! He's still plotting even now!"

"Still plotting," Harry growled under his breath as he jerked his mind away from the memories once more. Anger boiled forth as he remembered that he'd had Snape right where he'd wanted him, had been a breath away from dispensing long awaited justice when he'd been interrupted by that old man. "Where are they? What happened to Snivellus?"

"He got away," younger Harry wailed angrily, "I let him get away."

Harry flinched; he hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud until his younger self had replied to his questions. Pushing away his own guilt and anger Harry looked closer at the three standing rigidly before him and he felt protectiveness well up inside him. He felt his responsibilities weighing down on him for the first time in a long time and he pressed both hands to his face briefly before addressing those standing near him.

"It was no fault of yours, Harry," Harry told himself gently. "You did your best to hold him. I saw parts of your duel, but was unable to help as I was battling myself at that point. Justice will find him though, wherever he ran to, justice will follow and he will pay for his crimes."

"You don't really like him do you?" Hermione inquired in a soft whisper, he face filled with concern as she took a single step forward.

"We hated each other from the moment we first saw each other," Harry answered truthfully with a weak laugh. "Did you think otherwise?"

Both Ron and young Harry had the grace to blush and Harry chuckled at them before sinking back onto the bed with a small sigh. "Would you like further proof?" he asked lightly. Holding up his left arm he rolled his shirt sleeve down to bare his arm to just above the elbow, revealing several bruises and scraps on otherwise unmarred flesh. "I'd never sink low enough to wear the mark of a man I hate more then Severus Snape."

"Why do you hate Voldemort so much?" young Harry asked as he focused on his arm.

"I see you are awake, Professor Harrison," Madam Pomfrey announced briskly as she strode past the screens with a tray of potions. "What are you three doing out of bed?" she demanded when she caught sight of the trio standing within the dividers. "And pestering the good Professor when he needs his rest as well! Shoo, be off with you!"

Harry was torn at the interruption, he wanted to answer the questions but at the same time he was glad he didn't have to. Instead he watched the three teens filtered out of the private bubble around his bed and listened to the rattle of bottles as Pomfrey mixed a potion for him to take.

Five minutes later Harry was choking down a thick greenish liquid that tasted like stewed cucumbers, frog legs, and cabbage. He was wondering if the woody after taste might be beetle eyes when he was given a second glass filled with a rich red potion. Tossing the second one back was much easier then the first and within seconds he was slipping back down into a deep sleep as he felt his aches and pains fading.

When he woke up next the divider screens were gone and so was the intense pain he'd had upon waking the first time. Sitting up slowly he still felt a bit weak, though he didn't let that stop him from looking around the ward. Across from him he could see Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour holding hands and talking softly to each other. In another bed Neville was sitting up pointedly not looking at a bed on the far end of the ward that was covered with screen similar to those that had previously surrounded Harry.

Harry didn't want to think about who was lying behind those screens either, instead he let his gaze wander over to a few beds off to his right and discovered Flitwick smiling sadly back at him as their eyes met across the empty beds in between.

Harry offered a tight grin in return before he closed his eyes and leaned back with a heartfelt sigh. Even what anger remained at Snape didn't compare to the grief he felt each time he remembered failing to save Dumbledore. Shifting left and right he tried to get comfortable once more but each turn only intensified the stiffness of the sheets, the solidness of the mattress under his body, and the mustiness of each ragged breath he took. Each texture offensive to his senses as he dwelled on the fact that the man laid out on the bed behind the screen would never have another opportunity to feel the same.

With a bitter choked out roar Harry thrust his covers away and rolled out of bed only to stumble as his feet lagged a heartbeat behind. Not caring if he fell on his face – not noticing the worried frowns of the other patients – he pushed away from the bed and strode toward the exit as best he could.

"Where do you think you are going?" Madam Pomfrey demanded as she rushed out of her office to find the cause of the disturbance.

Harry glanced over his shoulder but didn't answer her as he tore open the door and left the ward. He was hunting answers and nothing was going to stand in his way – not even the weakness that threatened to bring him to his knees.

AN: Only one more chapter left to post now. Final chapter should be up sometime before this coming weekend.