His arm was in a cast laying on his chest and he could see the edge of a bandage around his forehead. He was at St. Mungo's under heavy guard and with a tribunal scheduled to happen in a few hours. Hogwarts was kept closed for another week and all the staff and students left there were sent home. Today – two days after Voldemort's death – a national party was being celebrated that was planned to last a week. The war…was over.

Harry so far had no visitors, but he had plenty of official Ministry people come in. Half of them told him his crime against the population and said he'd spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, and the other half swore his innocence because of a possession. He was saved having to take Veritaserum in interrogation only as an honor for having been so victimized by Voldemort: having his parents murdered, having been imprisoned for three years, having needed to hunt down the horcruxes, and having killed Lord Voldemort; not even eighteen appeals to this honor could get a judge to overrule it.

Harry was the nation's idol; the hero they prayed for, said the judge.

"No one is going to use Veritaserum on him – upon penalty of imprisonment!" the judge declared.

But still, it was like nothing had changed from before the time Merlin first tried to take that horcrux out of him. He had lived with it inside of him his whole life, but it had been buried so deep he didn't even know it was there. He was angry that he had carried something so evil around with him, but he wasn't so angry about what it had done while it was in control. Mostly what had happened could be fixed; there were just a few things that left emotional scars for innocent people, but maybe – Harry reasoned – those scars were less than they might have been if he hadn't traveled through time in the clock.

Harry had been aware only to the point of viewing the carnage. He didn't feel anything – he didn't taste or smell anything. He saw it as if from a great distance. He felt detached as it happened, but he didn't feel so detached once Snape was in the picture. Even the Wizarding World recognized Snape's service to them. Snape had sacrificed himself to save McGonagall and those children, and he had pulled one over against the horcrux, and he had bore witness to the spirit of Merlin infusing itself into Harry and destroying the evil inside of him. Merlin didn't survive the rescue, but that was only testament that not all horcruxes were evil…at least according to Dumbledore's interview.

For whatever reason, Harry felt indebted to that horcrux. Some piece of its red jewel had been left behind in the Hospital Ward, allowing it to transfer down there and do its work. Harry knew Merlin wasn't really destroyed…another red jewel was in Gringotts, hidden away and the proper one for this day and age. The Merlin he had brought back with him had been vanquished, but if he so chose to go looking, he might find it again. That was a strong if.

Though Dumbledore had been in here a few times also, still, Harry didn't consider himself as having any true visitors.

"I'm sure you're very confused," Dumbledore said during that first visit. "But I can tell you anything you want to –"

"Is Snape alright?" Harry asked – as it was his only pressing concern.

"Yes…he is. He's going to be issued an honorary metal for services to wizard-kind. He'll be given it at your own award ceremony."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with pride as he said this, but Harry had yet to believe he might get that award. If the tribunal in a few hours declared him guilty, then he would be going to Azkaban forever. Actually…if they found him guilty and he was sent there, he'd be going to the afterlife.

Harry tossed his pillow across the room for some violent relief.

Even now, as he stared at the wall across his bed from his position in St. Mungo's hospital, Harry was feeling the tension of the wait. There was a strange sound he was hearing…like static and thunder between his ears. He didn't feel quite awake yet; he felt like he was still trapped in the horcrux's grip. He was just waiting for something to wake him up again.

…

A quiet voice said his name by the door, and then someone knocked three times.

Harry opened his eyes and looked. There stood three people – James was one of them. The other two were an elderly couple he had seen in pictures from the photo album Hagrid had given him as a birthday gift. He hadn't seen those photos in four years, but he remembered those faces.

Harry sat up in bed. Still, he had a bandage around his forehead and his arm was held tightly to his chest, also wrapped up. White still surrounded him, but he had color at last in his cheeks.

"You're Harry Potter?" asked the elderly man hesitantly, yet politely

Harry nodded to his grandfather. He, his grandmother, and his father walked into the room.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked quietly, almost not believing these people were.

"We've been trying to see you," Mr. Potter said. "We were only given permission now that the tribunal is over."

Harry nodded. Yes, he was acquitted of the charges. It was small a victory on his road to recovery.

The couple came up to his bed side and stood over him. Harry looked up into their faces and he saw pieces of himself there. He always wondered how this meeting would happen…and how it would turn out. He thought he'd feel more once seeing them, but he was still quite numb.

Suddenly the look on Mrs. Potter's face changed from wonder to sadness, and tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. She seemed helpless suddenly.

"We're so sorry, Harry!" she said wildly, reaching out to him and holding his face tenderly in her hands. Harry was speechless. "What were we supposed to guess? We never knew anything about you…or…."

"We think someone must have wiped our memories," Mr. Potter said, wrapping an arm around Mrs. Potter and reaching out to grasp Harry's good shoulder.

Harry shook his head, unable still to speak. He looked away from them all in shame for making them believe James had a brother. He felt his bed sink. Mrs. Potter looked steadily at him, and that imploring look reminded him very much of Hermione.

"You know we would have taken you in if we'd known about you. We just…didn't know!"

Harry thought for a second that telling the truth would lesson these two people's burden, but to say that now would be like telling the future Severus Snape he had a crush on him in 1977 – well, 1978 now. He just couldn't do it.

"It's okay …" Harry whispered, angry tears coming to his eyes, but he refused to let them out. Behind his parents, James was standing stiffly and looking at him. Harry kept his eyes on James's stern face as he said, "Maybe it has to be this way."

Harry looked at their lightly wrinkled faces again, and it was so wonderful and so horrible all at once to be here, that it was enough to wake up his heart again. His stomach became warm and his skin began to tingle where they touched. Those tears he held in fell from his green eyes.

"Fighting to stop You Know Who is the only life I've ever known for so long," he told them, and he felt so bold and so strong right now that he couldn't stand it; he was going to either sob or…laugh. So he laughed as best he could in his confused state.

Harry continued, "And now it's suddenly all over! And here you are!"

While his grandparents dove in for a tight hug for Harry, James finally had enough, and he asked irritably, "How long have you known about us? Why didn't you ever try and meet us before?"

It was a question Harry already had an answer to – the answer was, of course, a lie.

"I just found out about you these past few weeks…"

James got angrier still, and he demanded, "Why? Why didn't you know about us?"

"James, please!" Mrs. Potter said, but James shook his head and wouldn't stop.

He said, "You know about everything to do with You Know Who, but you don't know anything about us at all? I'm your brother and you don't know anything about me? Where did you come from?!"

Harry was frozen in panic for that brief moment. He felt caught – like James knew his bluff and wouldn't ever let it go. Harry was lying to him – to his own father. He felt so horrible for it.

The moment of silence ended when Mr. Potter said, "Harry's not your brother, James; he's your nephew."

You're brother…is dead. My father is dead. You're dead. Harry's thoughts were going wild.

James looked outraged for a moment, but then his fury quelled into panic.

"I – I know that! I – I –"

Harry was up in a second. He moved around Mrs. Potter and Mr. Potter moved aside, and Harry went with an open arm and gathered James tightly to him, doing his best to wrap even his bandaged arm around him. He knew the feeling James was going through – it was someone who was just on the verge of acceptance, but actually fully accepting would mean taking on the whole of the truth. And that…was very difficult.

James gripped his hospital gown tightly and pressed his face heavily under Harry's chin.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" Harry whispered to him, eyes closed tightly. James's hair was soft against his cheek.

"Maybe he had a memory charm on himself as well," Mrs. Potter said, trying to appease the situation.

"Maybe our…other son did, too…" said Mr. Potter.

Harry's eyes were squinted in pain and he said through tight lips, "Maybe."

James only sniffed loudly and held on. Harry felt like if he'd let go, he just might lose this version of his father forever.

…

"Were you always afraid of him?" the interviewing witch asked Harry. She had ten minutes to get Harry's statement for the morning paper, and she was doing a good job of keeping things dramatic.

"All the time," Harry confessed. "But not as much as some other things…"

The interview encompassed Harry and his family, so Mr. and Mrs. Potter were in chairs right next to them. Rita Skeeter nodded furiously, urging him on. Harry knew she wanted him to just start blabbing – some things never change, even with time – but he wasn't too thrilled with this interview in the first place, so he kept his tempo down.

"Other things?" Mrs. Potter asked wisely.

"Yes – other things?" Rita urged.

Harry looked now at James who was sitting by his side. He knew James wasn't completely over his anger at being left without him all his life; Harry could relate to that feeling.

Harry nodded. "I understood Voldemort. I knew about what drove him since I was a little kid – since even he was a little kid. New things, though – things that I've never known before – those things are scary."

"Ah! I see!" Rita said blissfully, looking over at her Quick Quotes Quill to be sure the paper was getting it all down. She changed the subject then. "And now, tell me about Severus Snape! You're opinion of him; ten words or less!"

Harry huffed, almost amused by this woman with the rainbow assortment of colors and smells. But that subject…Severus…

Severus Snape scared him. Severus was awfully new.

"Snape?" Harry wondered now, his eyes becoming too heavy to look at anyone with.

Snape died in his arms…and helped save his soul.

To Rita, he said, "He sacrificed his whole life to save innocent people. He's probably the bravest person I know."

Of course, Harry was thinking this about Ron and Hermione also. The difference was that they weren't alive…might never be alive, really.

Rita suddenly turned to James and asked, "Some would say you have a different opinion of him. Is that true?"

…

In the language of dragons, the word for fear and the word for love are the same. In many ways the two have the same result anyway. Harry was contemplating that word now as he stood on the stage at his acceptance ceremony for the Order of Merlin. Standing here next to Severus, he was afraid, jittery, his heart pounded like a drum, but this feeling wasn't fear at all. Fear he was very familiar with…this, too, he was familiar with. Feelings were more complex for humans, so they needed different words.

An official was talking to the room of about a hundred people, but Harry wasn't listening. No one would hear him anyway – he knew – and he just had to ask, so he did.

To Severus, he said quietly, "Why did you do it?"

Severus's eyes flicked over to him, and Harry about caught his breath, because once those black eyes landed on his – something he was sure Severus tried not to do in all the time they stood together – he was reminded of how great life was, because once again he was blown away by the fact that this person was alive again. Life was not death; it was dark, yes, and scary, hooded and even snarky, but it was breathing, too.

In those eyes, he was reminded of everything he believed in.

Severus told him then, "There wasn't any other way…it was the only solution."

"I heard your voice in the end," Harry said, wishing they were alone. "I wanted to tell you –"

"That you were sorry," Snape said, and his hushed voice came quickly. "I know."

"No," Harry said, concerned.

Suddenly the room burst into applause, because the speaker was finished and the awards were now presented. Harry took his gingerly and looked down at it, but there was too much commotion to read it now. He looked out on the sea of faces and colors, and he smiled and held the award up in one hand.

Next to him, Severus was quite a bit shyer, and kept his towards his chest.

Harry looked at him and leaned in, grinning, feeling hot and alive and fearless…

He said, "I wanted to tell you thank you…for saving those people."

Severus was obviously surprised by this. Harry thought he would be, but he didn't expect Severus to appear quite so flustered. He reached out his arm and gathered him into a one-armed embrace. The audience clapped, and Harry – with his face blocked from the crowd – kissed Severus lightly on his cheek.

…

Severus looked uncomfortably up at Harry once he pulled away.

Harry's smile faltered a little, but that was it. Severus felt Harry's fingers tight on his shoulder, and his breath was taken away because he saw it in Harry's face: he saw passion.

He was so afraid Harry would lean in to kiss him again – in front of all these people – that he drew away.

It was like there was a spell over the two of them that he didn't even know about, but now it was obviously broken.

Harry looked disappointed but didn't speak, and Severus really didn't know why he did that. He felt so stupid suddenly. Harry had kissed him – he wanted that! So why did he pull away?

I'm sorry! Severus thought, because he wanted Harry to reach out again – try again – because he needed a second chance!

But Harry didn't do it. Instead, he looked out at the crowd, and the night went on, and Severus didn't ever get that chance.