Home, sweet home
Two figures stood on the dirt road just outside the iron gates and silently looked ahead of them in a rare moment of nostalgia. The soft warm breeze of mid-June was slightly ruffling their hair and caressing the skin. The sun wasn't very high yet, and its beams lazily enveloped the grounds, begrudgingly helping all inhabitants of Mother-nature live through another day.
"You know, I never wanted to attend this place," said the shorter one quietly as if trying not to disturb the moment and not sparing even a glance at his companion. "You lot were crazy. I received a few hundreds of letters."
The other man smirked.
"Minerva got into a fit when the first letter was destroyed before you got the chance to read it, and decided that she would not give up until you do."
"Yeah… I've figured that much," chuckled the first one, finally moving to open the gates and step through. "Sending Hagrid, though, was a very poor idea. I was a heartbeat away from killing him."
Severus stopped dead. That was not what he expected to hear.
"What?!" exclaimed the man, making Harry turn around.
"A potentially mad tramp-looking giant breaks into your house in the middle of the night, literally ripping the door off its hinges. What would you do?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow questioningly, and making Snape smirk again. Well, looking from that angle… He sighed and nodded curtly, then the pair resumed their walk.
"What stopped you?"
"He placed the door back to its frame and invited himself for a tea… Who does that?" Harry shook his head amusingly. "Besides, I legilimized him, and found out that he was just an errand-boy with yet another bloody letter, not to mention completely harmless."
"I wouldn't say giants are harmless. Even half-giants" drawled Snape.
"Severus. I nearly willed his fucking heart to stop just like this," he scowled and snapped fingers to emphasize the point. "Do you really think he posed any danger to me?"
"Remind me not to cross you, ever," replied Snape after a few seconds.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I very rarely feel murderous these days," smiled Harry sweetly. "And taking into consideration that my 'dear family' is still breathing and with all their limbs attached, you are perfectly safe no matter what you do," waved Harry off halfheartedly. "Your little insults never had any power whatsoever."
Both men continued their way to the castle in silence, while Snape contemplated their conversation and especially the last comment. Potter was… Well, Severus didn't really know what to think of him anymore. On the one hand, the man seemed to genuinely trust him. During those several sessions they had, Harry honestly answered all questions Severus dared to ask (and sometimes even those he didn't), guided him through the exercises, didn't hide his emotions and reactions, had no qualms with demonstrating his power, as he seemed to while the others were around. It was a good sign. It meant that everything Severus couldn't bring himself to fully believe about all the revelations about his past and Potter's involvement in it that were made so far was true. That he actually had someone to stand by him. Someone who saw the worst of him but still remained. A friend.
On the other hand, it all was so fucking confusing. Every answer brought more questions, every attempt to clarify things only tangled them more.
How bloody complicated one person could possibly be?
And that story with Hagrid… From the way the giant spoke of Harry from the moment he delivered the letter and took the boy to his first trip to the Diagon Alley, Severus always presumed that the two of them had a friendly relationship. But judging by the way new Harry speculated about almost killing his Ground-keeper without a care or a second thought as if they were talking about the weather, Severus started to rethink his previous assumption. And then he almost smacked himself on the forehead. Indeed, why did he expect Potter to treat everyone the same and be the same when he most definitely was a completely different person?
He needed a drink.
The entrance hall was quiet and empty. All work for restoration after the battle was finished nearly a week ago, so the only castle occupant was Mr. Filch, and he was nowhere to be seen. Harry silently strode through the corridors toward the headmaster's office with Snape in tow.
But with every step forward Severus less and less wanted to go to that blasted office. Dumbledore's portrait was there.
Last year Severus was spending almost all his time in the round room, simply because it was the only safe place for him in the entire castle. The damn portrait seemed like a lesser of the two evils. Now though…
"You know, you could hold the interviews someplace else," Harry said suddenly.
Snape raised an eyebrow at that.
"You're slowing down more and more the closer we get," explained Potter. "No one would blame you for wishing to be comfortable in your own office, Severus. Dumbledore's portrait definitely isn't helping matters. I would suggest relocating it somewhere you won't go frequently," he said.
They stopped in front of the gargoyle and it instantly jumped aside. Harry moved forward. "I hate passwords," he muttered to the headmaster, answering the unspoken question.
"Where would you suggest I relocate him?" asked Snape quietly, while the two of them stood on the moving staircase.
"Anywhere. To the entrance hall, staffroom, astronomy tower, Myrtle's bathroom, the Chamber of Secrets, forbidden forest, Black lake," chuckled Harry. "Or simply to my office."
Severus froze with his hand on the doorknob and looked at Potter strangely.
"You… Why?"
Harry just shrugged. "It doesn't bother me. Plus the old fool would be under control there. God knows he meddled enough for a few lifetimes already."
They stood in silence for several very long heartbeats, eyeing each other. There it was again. That nice feeling in the chest. "Thank you," all Severus managed to breathe in response, relief barely hidden behind his eyes.
"Don't mention it," smiled Harry warmly and motioned to the door. Snape sighed and nodded, preparing himself. But when the door opened, he was met with the empty wall instead of the usual twinkling wizard.
"That was fast…" commented the headmaster, slowly striding to his desk.
Harry sat at his usual chair and combed his hair with his fingers. An old habit. "Well, why wait? I'm not particularly burning with desire to see him either, you know," he smiled crookedly. "I shudder every time someone mentions those god-awful lemon drops. Or when I see someone's eyes twinkling."
And a wave of shivers ran through Harry's entire body, confirming his words. Severus snickered.
"Completely understandable. I have a similar reaction to these things."
Potter nodded, eyeing the wall behind Snape. "What are you going to put on that wall?"
Severus turned around and looked at the empty space contemplatively. "Don't know. Bookshelves, probably."
"Hah, why am I not surprised?" smiled Harry, shaking his head.
They sat talking for several more minutes until the first candidate for a Muggle studies post knocked at the door. Harry promptly excused himself and went to his own new office to settle before he started working on the anti-magical ward around the perimeter of the grounds, which was the main reason why he went to the castle today instead of going to the ministry archives, as was originally planned. Now he'd have to visit them after the NEWTs next week.
The DADA office now had access from the corridor instead of from the classroom, as it was previously. Harry arrived at the right door and opened it, lost in thoughts. He already started planning the lessons, pondering the possible changes in the curriculum.
"Harry, my boy, what is the meaning of it?" asked a familiar voice.
The man shot his eyes at the portrait on the left wall for a brief moment and shrugged. "I will not let you bother Severus anymore," he replied evenly, not looking at Dumbledore but instead eyeing the empty room, deciding on the furniture.
"Harry," drawled the painting accusingly. "I'll never —"
"I will not let you bother me either," Potter cut him off with a deadly glare. "One more word, and you'll be chatting with the giant squid at the bottom of the Black lake until that portrait of yours is rotten."
That shut the former headmaster up rather quickly to Harry's relief, and he went back to the task at hand.
First, he needed to take care of the anti-magical ward. Harry conjured himself a chair, sat down, and leaned back, stretching his arms. Potter closed his eyes and let himself adjust to the magic of the castle once more, allowing his senses to slowly crawl away from him towards the edges of the grounds, absorbing every inch into his mental map of Hogwarts, pinning the exact location of everyone and everything. It was quite a shock when he felt it for the first time, which resulted in his careless mistake during the very first Welcoming feast. Of course, Harry wasn't able to sense all the perimeter back then, but after years of living in the non-magical environment, suddenly finding himself in a place soaking with magic was overwhelming at the very least. Even Diagon Alley didn't make him feel that dizzy.
After a few minutes, when the map was complete, Harry started working on the ward around the grounds. He created two thin barriers at the very edge of the perimeter, setting them at a distance of about six and a half feet from each other. That should be sufficient enough. Then he cleared the area between them from magic, making it so that the magic of everyone inside would be blocked; straightened both barriers, adding reflecting qualities to them. On the second thought, Harry made the outside barrier send an alarm to him and Severus should any unwelcome guests decide to enter the grounds.
Then he apparited to the new ward to check his creation. A few spells and mental probing later, satisfied, Harry slowly made his way back on the third floor to settle in his office, classroom and quarters. He decided to start with the office.
Half an hour later, professor Potter sat at his new large desk and admired his work. The walls were now light green with dark wooden skirting boards at the top and bottom edges. Two windows behind the desk were framed with also green — though a shade or two darker than the walls — curtains. The wall on Harry's left was lined with bookshelves, empty for now. He will have to sort through his entire collection to decide which books he would need here. The bookcase nearest to the window (and on Harry's immediate left) was reserved for students' essays and already charmed to be accessed only by him. On the right wall near the door hung a sleeping portrait of Albus Dumbledore, and closer to the windows and the desk was a big ornamented fireplace with a pot of floo powder on top of it. By the left side of the wall opposite Harry stood a soft-looking brown couch with a small coffee table. Above it hung a peaceful highland landscape in a thin black frame. On the right side of the wall was a simple wooden door leading to the corridor. The door to the classroom was hidden behind Dumbledore's portrait. The secret door to his quarters was behind the last bookcase beside the couch. Near the desk stood two black chairs opposite each other. On the dark wooden floor near the fireplace lay a big beige rug, decorated with large almost imperceptible geometrical figures.
Peaceful, inviting, but formal enough.
Perfect.
A sudden knock on the door tore him away from musings.
"Enter," Harry called, and the door opened, revealing Severus and a short young woman with short dark brown hair and greyish eyes behind him. She was dressed in jeans and a navy button-down. Harry stood up as they walked in and gestured to the sofa.
Snape looked around the room. "I'm impressed," he said, sitting down. "May I introduce to you our new member of staff, professor Belcher."
She immediately jumped up from her seat and held out a hand. Harry shook it, smiling politely. The woman looked way too enthusiastic for his liking.
"Amanda Belcher, Mr. Potter. It is so nice to meet you! When I went to my interview today I didn't know, I couldn't even dream of making your acquaintance! Oh my God, I feel dizzy," she beamed and shook her head. "When the headmaster told me you're here as well, I couldn't help but ask him to meet you. I hope you do not mind."
"Of course not," nodded Harry. "We'd meet anyway tomorrow at the staff meeting. Would you care for some tea?" he asked, moving one of the chairs closer and sitting down as well.
"Yes, it would be wonderful!" replied Belcher.
"Severus?" Potter looked at the man and smirked at his carefully schooled expression. The man obviously liked the cheerful display of fangirling as much as Harry did. Snape's eyes snapped into Potter's. "Yes, why not." He deliberately sat, slightly turning his back to the still sleeping Dumbledore's portrait, not once looking at his direction.
"Dipsy," called Harry.
With a pop, a house-elf appeared in the room and bowed. "Harry Potter, sir, called Dipsy! What can Dipsy do for Harry Potter?" she asked, grinning happily.
"Could you please bring us tea?"
"Of course, sir! One moment, sir!" cried the elf and popped away. Half a minute later, all three of them sipped their tea, while Amanda chatted non-stop about how she always believed in Harry, how grateful she is to him for saving them all from a madman, and how all her friends would envy her.
Harry only half listened, nodding, and smiling at the right places. He was used to receiving such attention by now but still hoped to be spared from it inside these walls. No luck here.
"Did you attend Hogwarts, professor?" he asked, catching the first opportunity to stop the incessant blabbing.
"Oh, please, call me Amanda," she placed her cup at the table and smiled. "We're colleagues! And yes, I did. I graduated the year before you started. Such a pity."
"You were a Hufflepuff, as far as I remember, were you not?" drawled Snape, leaning to his side, placing his right elbow on the back of the couch, and crossing his legs.
"Yes, sir. How's professor Sprout these days?" she looked at Severus and noticed Dumbledore's portrait on the wall behind him eyeing them carefully.
"She is well, as you will be able to see for yourself tomorrow, Miss Belcher."
The woman nodded, the curious sparkle in her eyes. He glanced back and forth between Potter and Snape, and then asked, seemingly giving up on trying to contain herself, "Why's professor Dumbledore's portrait here and not with the others?"
"Oh, that'd be my fault," said Harry before Severus could utter a word. "We were quite close, you see, and have a lot to catch up with the old man. So I asked Severus — begged almost — to be allowed to have the painting here," Potter smirked and glanced warningly at Albus, while Amanda looked at Snape and that back at him.
"You look different, Harry. May I call you Harry?" Potter nodded. "Older than I thought."
Harry thought for a second. "Well, that's because I am older than you thought," he said. After hours spent debating with himself, he decided to reveal his true age to the world, simply because he was tired of putting on a teenager act. Yesterday he was approached by Kingsley, who wrote to Harry and asked if he would be willing to give a big interview to the Daily Prophet, and Potter agreed on the condition that Rita Skitter would not be allowed anywhere near it and promised that if he'd find even one word changed, all hell will break loose for every person responsible. They (Harry, Kingsley, and some nameless but supposedly trustworthy reporter) agreed to meet at Hogwarts today at noon.
It was quarter to noon.
"Really? How so?" asked Amanda, looking confused.
"Well, I'm about to give a big interview, so you'll find out soon enough," replied Potter with a small smile.
"Yes, about that," intervened Snape, "When they're arriving? I'd like a private word with you before that."
"At noon," said Harry and stood up. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then, Amanda," he smiled at the woman who nodded and also got up.
"Good day to you both, gentlemen. Nice to meet you, Harry. Headmaster," she dipped her head one more time and quietly slipped out of the room. Potter made sure she headed to the exit and then turned his attention to Snape.
"I am not going to reveal anything personal, don't worry. Just general facts, safe for a public ear."
Severus looked at him for a long moment and sighed. "You're way too perceptive for your own good, you know."
Harry laughed. "Just like you?"
"Cheek. Why are you even doing this?" Snape closed his fingers around the long cold cup, turning it back and forth and staring at it.
"People need to know the ugly truth if we want to have a chance for at least a century of peace and quiet," shrugged Harry. "About that. Um… I gave some thought recently and wanted to speak to you about some changes around here if you're willing."
"Yes, of course. We'll discuss it tomorrow after the staff meeting. Have you had time to put some thought into the DADA curriculum?" asked Severus.
"Time traveler, remember?" chuckled Potter, pointing to his chest. "I have all the time in the world. Don't worry about it. I'll be ready to answer any and all your questions tomorrow, headmaster."
Severus nodded and a moment later felt someone enter the grounds. Two someones, to be exact. Snape could not identify them, but judging by Harry's reaction, he supposed the intruders were Shacklebolt and the reporter. He wondered if Harry too felt just the presence of two unnamed persons or if he could tell who it was. Severus was in the middle of the battle with his own curiosity when he heard Potter giggle quietly.
"Just ask," he said. "We've at least ten minutes before they get here."
Snape raked his hair with his fingers and shot the man a stern glare. Bloody embarrassing!
"I was merely wondering if you could identify who just entered the grounds."
"Yes, in part. I know Kingsley, so I can tell it's him when he is nearby. But the one with him I do not know personally, so I can just tell that he or she is magical," explained Harry.
Severus nodded and got up. "I'll leave you to your business, then."
And he started moving toward the door.
"You can stay if you want."
Snape froze midstep, contemplating. He didn't know if he wanted to stay or not. It would definitely be easier to know what they would talk about right away than wait until the article would be released. Yes, he trusted Potter to keep his word and not discuss anything Severus wouldn't want anyone to know, but he was still nervous. He just couldn't help it.
And he was not allowed to occlude emotions at his tutor's order.
Fine, he'll stay.
Severus turned around and glanced at Potter. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am. Sit down, Severus," smirked Harry.
He ordered a fresh pot of tea from the kitchens, and afterwards, they sat in comfortable silence. Harry moved to sit behind his desk again, putting the black chair back in front of it, then he pulled the list of parchment, quill, and ink from one of the drawers and started writing furiously. Severus slowly sipped yet another cup of tea and ate one of the biscuits, provided by elves, and wished he had a book right now. Summoning one from his own office, Snape dove into the words.
The comfortable silence lasted only for a few more minutes until a knock on the door ripped it away from them. They both stood up, and Harry came to the door to let the guests in. After a brief greeting, when everyone was seated, Severus once again found himself admiring Harry's office. He hasn't thought of it at the beginning, but now, when he could see Potter's plan in motion… He couldn't help but be impressed.
The room was simple and functioning, nothing luxurious. The general atmosphere was calm and soothing even. Severus found himself relaxed, despite the presence of a certain portrait. Potter's desk and bookshelves dominated the place, pointing out quite obvious that the owner was smart. Harry sat at the desk, on the comfortable-looking soft chair, big enough to scream 'I'm the boss' but modest enough to not look like a throne. The man didn't seem to have a single worry, confidently looking down at Kingsley and the reporter by the name Smith, both of whom sat on the plain wooden chairs before Harry. No one in their right mind who knew Shacklebolt would say the man was small. He always effortlessly took over any room he walked in, but right now the Minister of bloody magic seemed overshadowed and put down. What to say about the visibly trembling scrawny figure of the reporter… Snape felt a pang of pity for the men.
Harry deliberately did not invite his guests to sit on the couch even knowing that it was big enough for three persons to fit easily.
When Snape and Belcher came in, Harry was the one to sit on the wooden chair, not his guests.
Severus leaned on the back of the couch, relaxing even more, and caught Potter's eyes, smirking. Even the damn Dumbledore was placed near the door strategically. It showed everyone who came in that the owner of this office was important enough to have it, and more importantly, that one of the strongest wizards of their time was beneath Harry. Unlike every other portrait of a former headmaster, Dumbledore's did not hang above Potter, pressing on him with his years, experience, and knowledge. He was just a bloody door here. A piece of furniture.
Harry Potter has built himself a throne-room, and everyone in it felt it, but Severus didn't think Shacklebolt and Smith (and many others afterwards) would ever consciously be able to figure out why.
His thoughts were confirmed a moment later when Harry put the parchment and quill back in the drawer, wandlessly and non-verbally summoned a tray with tea to the table, and started to speak politely.
"May I offer you a cup of tea, gentlemen?" he offered, and after hearing their agreement, filled their cups, not once glancing at them. Then he stood up and looked at Snape. "Severus? Another cup?" he asked, lifting the teapot up, and smiling a bit. Severus didn't want it, but nodded nonetheless, not wishing to break Harry's game.
Potter came closer and poured him a fresh cup of tea, placing a small plate with cookies on the coffee table, then nodded on Snape's quiet 'thank you', and slowly got back to his own seat, leaving Severus to his book.
With this little display, he let everyone know their places on the hierarchy in this room, as if it wasn't obvious before, and identified Snape's special position in it. Sneaky bastard.
Smith put his cup down on the table and took a roll of parchment and a quill out of his bag.
"A self-writing quill?" asked Potter, glancing at the object.
"Yes," replied the reporter, stopping his preparations at once. "Do you mind?"
"No, not at all." Harry steepled his fingers on the desk and continued, "Before we begin though, I want to point out a few conditions."
Smith nodded, confused.
"First of all, I do not know if Kingsley told you, but I would like you to give me a wand oath that not a single word I'm about to say would be altered without my knowledge and permission."
The room was silent for several seconds, while Smith fought with his own astonishment and eyebrows that just didn't want to get back down to their place. Harry waited patiently.
Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "Jim," he called quietly. "It is important."
"Can I refuse?" asked Smith after a long while, looking at Potter.
"Of course, you can."
"But then you'll cancel the interview."
"Yes," said Harry simply. He understood how important this chance was for the reporter. It was his star hour, his whole career depended on today.
That was one of the reasons why Potter asked to be interviewed by someone from the back lines.
"But our readers have to —"
"I do not think you fully comprehend the situation we are in, Mr. Smith," said Harry, leaning forward and looking intently at the man. "I have paid my duties to the wizarding world. I do not think I ever owed anything to it, not when I first got here, and certainly not now. Everything I've ever done was an act of goodwill. I do not have to tell your readers a thing, but I was going to anyway because it's the right thing to do in this situation. And I did not choose your paper because I like it or have some respect for it. I chose it because it has a large audience and because Kingsley assured me that the history of my interactions with the Daily Prophet would not repeat itself this time. While I believe and trust him, I do not know you and forgive me for taking every precaution to ensure that my message would be delivered as I intend it. It is too important."
Smith stared at Harry with wide eyes and then nodded slowly.
"Good. Glad you agree with me," smiled Potter. "Now, condition number two. Whatever questions you're planning to ask, make sure they're not personal. I would not answer them."
The reporter sighed, disappointed a bit, but didn't argue. "Fine. I accept your conditions. Anything else?"
"No."
Smith took his wand out and swore the required oath.
"Thank you," smiled Harry.
"Yes, well, I did not have a choice, did I?" he sighed again. "Now can we begin?"
Potter dipped his head, gestured for Smith to start, and watched as the man's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. Smith tapped at the quill with his wand and it rose above the parchment, ready to write.
"Well, first of all, I want to thank you, Mr. Potter, for finally agreeing to talk to us. You have no idea what an honor it is to be in the same room with you, the Minister of Magic, and Severus Snape, and have the opportunity to at long last ask questions that worry us all."
"Please, Jim, call me Harry. And I think you're exaggerating quite a bit here. We're all only human beings, after all," chuckled Potter.
"Oh no, I don't believe I am," smiled back Smith. "But let me ask you, why are we here? Why at Hogwarts? Do you live here?"
"No, I am not. But I will soon, I hope. I have an announcement to make if the Headmaster allows me…" he glanced at Severus for the confirmation, and Kingsley and Smith followed his gaze. Snape tore his eyes from the page he was pretending to read when he heard the pause and nodded his agreement.
"A remark for our readers," intervened Jim, "professor Snape just nodded, allowing Harry to say whatever it is he was about to say."
"Right. As I'm sure you already know, Hogwarts welcomes back every student this year, including my year mates, allowing them to prepare for the NEWTs properly, without any pressure of the war on our shoulders. But, as I'm sure Kingsly can confirm, I will be taking my NEWTs next week. And as soon as I have the results, Severus invited me to take on the position of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
The stunned silence that followed the statement was broken by Smith. "Such wonderful news!" he exclaimed. "I'm sure every existing and future Hogwarts student would welcome the opportunity to learn from the Harry Potter himself. But aren't you worried about establishing your authority as a professor? I mean you're the same age as your future students, you started Hogwarts with them, shared a common room and dormitory, sat with them at meals and in classes, and I'm sure spent many hours, berating your professors together. Don't you think there's a possibility that they would resent your sudden superiority?"
"First of all, I am not superior to anyone, and never will be. Being a professor does not make one person better or superior. It is simply a good opportunity for one to share their knowledge and experience with others. And I have quite a bit to share."
"You're right, of course. But still —"
"Wait, let me finish, please. You said something about my age."
"Yes, You're about to turn eighteen, as far as I know," drawled Smith, confused again.
"You know wrong. This information is secret, and I am not allowed to divulge a lot, but it's been driving me crazy for several years already. Now I don't have to hide anymore, so here it is," Harry sighed and cleared his throat. "During my entire tenure here as a student, I've been regularly using a Time-turner. I've lived those years twice, living and studying as a regular student, and spending the additional twenty-four hours helping Albus prepare and then fight a certain Dark Lord. I'm becoming twenty-five at the end of July, Jim."
As soon as the self-writing quill finished scratching the last words, the room fell deadly silent. Harry, Kingsley, and Severus, who already knew that particular bit of news, watched the shocked reporter with amusement. Snape could only see Smith's left side but it was enough for him to imagine the rest. And he couldn't really blame the young man for it.
"Well…" Jim drawled, exhaling slowly. "That certainly changes things." He sank lower in his chair.
"Yup, it certainly does. Do you see now why I'm not worried about the age of my future students?"
Smith barked a laugh. "That I do, Mr. Potter."
He rubbed his face and sat straighter again. "I wondered when we entered the office, why Dumbledore's portrait was here and not in the head office. I guess that's why isn't it?"
Harry shrugged and crossed his hands over his chest. "We were quite close with Albus for twelve years, Jim, and have a lot to catch up over the last two. One, in your case. When I agreed to take the position, I asked Severus if he'd allow me to have the portrait in my office, and he said yes. End of story."
"Not to mention, it made things easier for him as well," Smith nodded thoughtfully.
Severus' head shot up at that and he prepared to say something when Harry cut him off with a glare.
"Pardon me?" asked Potter, raising an eyebrow at the red-haired journalist.
He looked up worriedly. "I did not mean to imply anything, Harry, professor," Smith glanced at Snape quickly. "It just crossed my mind that… You know what they say about demons —"
"Do you have demons, Mr. Smith?" Harry leaned forward, his voice barely above whispering.
The man shook his head. "Not really."
"I thought so. Let me enlighten you. Getting your demons out of sight does not automatically get them out of your mind. Nothing ever will. They're always with you, 'till the very end."
"You sound experienced."
"I am," agreed Harry, sitting back again and breaking the tension that filled the room. "But enough about that. Could we move on, please? We all still have work to do."
Jim shook himself out of the daze. "Yes, yes, of course. Let's speak about the war. How much can you tell our readers?"
"It depends on what your readers want to know. It's been six years for me since Tom's return, Jim. You'll have to be more specific."
"Uhh, okay. You said you've been helping Dumbledore since your first year. What did you do?"
"Up 'till the end of my fourth year, I've mostly spent the additional time studying and training, to be honest. I also occasionally ran some errands for Albus and sometimes Severus, though he didn't know about it, of course," Harry smirked. "I gathered information, searched for things, kept an eye on things and certain people. Quite often Albus and I locked ourselves in his office and held long discussions about Riddle and his minions, analyzing events of the wizarding and muggle worlds alike, strategizing. When Tom came back things haven't changed for me much, except during those years I spent a bare minimum of time on training, instead secretly running errands for the Order members all over the globe."
"But you were only a child back then. Surely you weren't involved all that much in the beginning…"
"That is the point, Mr. Smith," Harry gripped the arms of his chair, trying to decide how much he was willing to put out in the open. "I was never a child. The wizarding world, Albus Dumbledore, in particular, made sure of that, dumping me on my muggle relatives, who never understood, supported, or liked me much really. All that just so I'd be prepared to fight from the moment I enter Hogwarts. And I was."
"Forgive me, this is a lot to take in. Were you… Were you mistreated by your relatives?" Jim asked cautiously.
"I never said that," replied Potter, giving Jim a warning glare.
"But wait, how could an eleven-year-old run any errands? You should've had a skill-set quite a bit more extensive than that of a first-year."
Harry smiled at that.
"Oh, that's what you meant, saying that you have a lot to share with students?"
"Yes, that too," confirmed Potter, still smiling.
"Could you give us an example of one of your usual errands?"
Harry inhaled, searching his brain for something suitable. "Hmm, let me think. Um, okay. During my third year, when the DADA professor was Remus Lupin, and Severus was forced to brew a Wolfsbane potion, there was one time when…" he trailed off and looked at Snape who already sat stunned by the realization of what Harry was talking about. "Severus, do you remember when all apothecaries suddenly ran out of powdered dragon claws because of some political misunderstanding with Romania?"
Snape nodded. Kingsley and Jim looked confused though, so Potter explained to them. "Powdered dragon claws is a rare and expensive ingredient because, in order for it to be usable, the claws should be taken from living breathing dragons. If the claws are harvested from dead dragons, they become highly toxic. Do you see the complications here?"
By this moment all three men were pale.
"So when Severus needed the powder for the next Lupin's batch, and the apothecaries did not have it, Albus said to Severus that he has a friend that could help, and the next ten hours I spent in Romania, sneaking around, relieving as many dragons of their claws as I could, unsuspiciously. I was fifteen."
Three astonished gazes shifted to the conveniently sleeping portrait.
"I wrote a letter to that Dumbledore's friend, thanking him for the help," drawled Snape, frowning and looking at Harry.
"Yes, and I received and read it," he smiled in return. "Anyway, I did those kinda things before Tom's resurrection, besides keeping an eye on all Death Eater kids and sometimes their families. In my fourth year, I kept an eye on Karkaroff and his marked mates as well. After the graveyard, I occupied myself mostly with making sure that Severus was alive and well; occasionally attending Death Eater meetings when they went on yet another raid that could not be prevented by the Order or when the Order simply did not have the opportunity to intervene, trying to minimize the damage and help everyone I could; and, of course, I still ran around the globe with the usual small tasks that had to be done in secret for one reason or the other," Harry stopped, looking at the stunned reporter.
"Do you require an example of a normal Death Eater raid, Jim?" he asked.
Smith paled again and his eyes widened. He didn't know what to say.
"I'll give you one. Without explicit details, so your readers wouldn't be too shocked," continued Harry with a calm voice, ignoring Snape's and Shacklebolt's uncomfortable glances and fidgets. "It was the autumn of 1997. September 19th, to be precise. Friday night. The raids always happened at night, you know, so all the ugliness, nakedness, and shame, and terror, and pain, and blood could stay hidden in the darkness. Plus the element of surprise, of course. And waiting. It is always the worst — to wait for everything to crash down to hell. The nagging feeling of inevitability of it.
"I knew that raid was about to happen because since Dumbledore's swan dive I've been attending all Death Eater meetings. Severus didn't have the opportunity to share intelligence with the Order anymore, since he was no longer trusted by them, and he didn't know I was still on his side, so I had to gather all the information by myself."
"So that's how he always knew when and how much I was hurt," flashed through Snape's mind. The new piece of a puzzle clicked in place. Back then Severus thought that he finally got crazy, because of the constant feeling of someone's eyes on him during meetings. It was a relief to know that at least his sanity was intact.
"That time the target was a family of a muggle-born witch. A mother, a father, three children, grandparents, and a small dog. They were on the run, but were tracked down by the ministry because Miranda used a wand for some reason."
Harry rubbed his face.
"It was a second raid of the week. The first one was ambushed by the Order on my tip. I knew the Death Eaters would be extremely vigilant and sadistic that night because of their previous failure. Their punishment was severe, after all. Tom even tortured to death one of his own in a fit of deranged uncontrolled fury. I knew I won't be able to do much if the family got caught, so I decided to risk it and tip them off beforehand. But it didn't work out in the end. They hesitated too long, wasted too much time on pointless bickering, therefore didn't manage to get far away. I followed them closely. Tried to conceal them —"
"But not too hard," said Kingsley suddenly.
Severus watched how Harry's gaze turned cold as he regarded an older wizard, sitting stiffly in front of him. Fool… Didn't he understand?
Potter glared at him for a long moment and turned away, replying to Smith instead.
"Tom Riddle wanted to be immortal. He looked into the Dark arts and found a way to supposedly live forever. I would not tell you what exactly he did, but it drove him insane faster and faster with each day. Ron, Hermione, and I spent the most part of last year working on undoing what Tom had done, so he was mortal again. Yes, I could've easily saved that family, and many others, for that matter, but look at the big picture. What good would it have done? If Tom noticed that someone's constantly one step ahead, he would have panicked. Could you imagine what might've happened then? Riddle wasn't simply unstable, he was downright crazy. How long would it have taken for us to finish our mission then? How many hundreds instead of dozens of innocent people would have been cruelly murdered?"
Smith looked greenish. "What happened to the family?" he whispered. Shacklebolt didn't dare to speak again, sitting silently, scowling at the wall between windows.
"What do you think?" Harry also whispered sadly. "It always started with the same pattern. With the dark mark in the sky, cold, and deadly silence. Then a woman's laugh followed. High and thin voice. They used a spell of their own invention that made identifying the source impossible. It was everywhere, echoing all around. Growing louder, getting closer. Then, and only then when the prey was running around in a frenzied state, did they step up from all sides at once. And when the victims realized they had nowhere to run, they started to beg. Plead for their lives. Which made our dear deranged Bella laugh even harder. And the playtime began.
"This time they crucioed the entire family for a while, then made the older ones watch as they broke every bone one by one in one child's body, who died in the process; cut every inch of the other child, leaving him to bleed out; and then raped and beheaded the third. Grandfather died of a heart attack, grandmother was killed with Avada Kedavra. As were the parents. I suppose they wouldn't have been, if I hadn't spooked the Death Eaters away, feigning the Order attack. After they fled to join their master, I checked the second child. A thirteen-year-old boy. He was still alive but barely. I know some powerful healing magic, so I stabilized him as much as I could and shipped him off to St. Mungo. As far as I know, he lived but was obliviated. In an orphanage now, I presume."
"That was awful. It was worse than awful… I might actually be sick here," mumbled Smith and glanced at Snape, unsure. "Were you there?" he asked in a whisper.
Severus wasn't. He wheedled his way out of it by claiming that he had to be at school at the time. Voldemort expressed his displeasure with him but graciously allowed to skip the raid. "Maybe that was the reason why Harry chose it as an example," he guessed.
"No. No, I was at school at the time," said Snape, openly looking in Smith's eyes.
The man nodded thoughtfully. They sat in silence for a while. Potter sipped his tea.
"I just… I always knew it must have been worse than I could imagine, but I never realized…" the reporter said and trailed off.
"The war is not glorious battles, and shining medals, as it might seem from offices and safe houses, Jim. It is never as simple as black and white, despite our wishes or our beliefs. The real war is ugliness. And struggle. And a lot of pain. And impossible choices. And making wrong things for the right reasons, hoping that it brings the light side one tiny step closer to the victory, to the end of this hell. This is why I agreed to this interview and asked you to not change any of my words. I want people to know the truth and tell it to their kids. I want people to think twice, thrice, before they join the next supposed Dark Lord in the future. Hundreds of lives were ruined, thousands. What for?"
"I agree with you wholeheartedly, Harry, and promise to do my best in raising my future children right."
"Thank you, Jim. Do you have other questions?"
"Ugh, yes, if I may. I know it is the hard topic, but I'm sure it would be prudent if our readers new a little bit more about Headmaster Snape's involvement in all this —"
"If you want Severus' side of the story, you should ask him, Jim. It is not my place to tell it," Harry cut the man off.
"Yes, of course, I'm not asking you to recite the events. It's just… Well, let's say after the professor's trial, there are numerous rumors running around. One of them is that you were aware of Dumbledore's looming death from the beginning. Is that true?"
Harry inhaled loudly. He hated rumors.
"Yes. Albus and I were on one of our trips to the significant locations for Tom's past when the old fool caught the nasty curse, despite his best judgment. It was in the summer of 1996."
"Which curse was it?"
"The old, fast, and incurable one. It is called 'Nigrum Mortem'. The Black Death. If it wasn't for my — and afterwards Severus' — quick actions, Albus Dumbledore would have died on the spot almost a year earlier."
"Well, I suppose we must thank you then."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"For doing all you could to postpone the inevitable, I mean," added Smith hastily.
Potter nodded. "Could we not discuss rumors, Jim? Please. I do not like to participate in such nonsense."
"Right. Of course. No problem. What can you tell us about the last battle?"
"Nothing that wasn't already said by those who also fought it, really," Harry shrugged. "All accounts I've seen so far are truthful."
"So you did die?" the man's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"You could say so, yes. But I'm not going to tell you anything about the afterlife if that's what you intend to ask. I simply didn't reach it. Turned around halfway through the limbo, as one might call it. I don't really understand what happened there, and it's not my place to try. So I won't speculate, sorry," Potter smiled and the disappointment on Jim's face.
"Don't worry, I understand," said the redhead. "Well then, on this mysterious note I must conduct our conversation tonight, Harry. Do you wish to say anything else?"
"No, I said everything I wanted."
"Gentlemen? Any words of wisdom for our readers?" he asked Severus and Kingsley.
"I'm afraid there isn't much to add to what's been already said by Mr. Potter," replied Snape.
"Yes, I agree with Severus on that," said Shacklebolt.
"Fine, as you wish."
He tapped the quill once more, and it dropped dead on the very long roll of parchment. Smith immediately started to gather his things into his bag.
"Thank you. All of you," he said, looking around. "I'll add my farewells to the readers in the end as soon as I get to my office, and send the article to be printed right away. I think I can make it in time for tomorrow's issue. We'll make it a special addition if not, and send them away tomorrow evening."
He stopped his ranting and held out a hand to Harry, who shook it.
"You don't have any idea what an honor it is to meet you. You're an incredible person, Mr. Potter. I hope you will consider me as your friend."
He then shook Snape's and Shacklebolt's hands, bowed his head slightly, and all but bolted through the door, mumbling something unintelligible.
The three men stood in the middle of the office, looking at each other for a long moment.
"I suppose it went as well as it possibly could," boomed Kingsley's voice in the dead silence. "I should go too. Harry, I'll see you in my office tomorrow as planned. Good day to you both. It was nice to see you again, Severus. You should also drop by for tea once in a while."
They said their goodbyes and Kingsley exited the room.
The silence that he left behind was not nearly as comfortable as before.