I'm so sorry for the delay, but the closer and closer I get to Spring Break, the more homework and tests I get slammed with. Plus, this chapter for whatever reason was an absolute beast to write.

Chapter Nineteen: Comfort in Knowledge

It was three days before the Potion master was strong enough to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Each time he woke during that period, he seemed disoriented and confused, barely able to find the strength to answer Madam Pomfrey's questions before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Harry was present during one of these brief moments of consciousness (having made visiting Snape in the Infirmary one of his major priorities in the days following the attack) and found the sight of his feared Potion master laying there so sick and weak he didn't even seem to recognize where he was somehow soul-shakingly disturbing. Madam Pomfrey tried to reassure him that such a reaction was to be expected given what Snape had gone through. But still the image continued to haunt Harry.

Although he'd been brought back from behind the Veil, Madam Pomfrey had said, the Killing Curse had still had an effect on his body. It was a miracle Snape was alive at all, and could not be expected to return to full health so soon. She had never seen a case like this before and could only guess at how to assist the Potion master in his recovery. He remained physically weak and his magical core depleted, she informed Dumbledore once when the old Headmaster accompanied Harry to the Potion master's side during a brief lull in his duties of fending off reporters, Ministry officials, and flocks of owls from worried parents.

Harry had pretended like he wasn't looking at the time, but he swore he saw a lone tear slip down Dumbledore's face at that before being quickly wiped away by the Headmaster's sleeve.

Snape continued to lay there almost comatose until almost a week after the attack when Madam Pomfrey sent Harry a discrete note telling him Snape was finally lucid enough to hold a conversation with someone; and that since he seemed so worried about his professor's health, she'd allow him half an hour or so to visit.

And so, with a twinge of nervous trepidation, Harry made plans to visit his injured Potions master the next day…

Harry nervously eyed the door to one of the school's private infirmary rooms. He'd been standing there for several minutes now. He could only guess what he must look like: standing there in the middle of the hallway like some frightened First Year trying to delay his first detention. But he was nervous. He wasn't going to deny it. It had been over a week now since the attack on Hogwarts. One week and still the events of that fateful night continued to haunt his thoughts like it was only yesterday.

He'd visited Snape several times over the course of that week - once even twice in the same day. But every time he'd gone, Snape had been unconscious and unable to speak.

And now he was finally awake.

A part of Harry was relieved beyond words that Snape was finally awake. But another part of him felt his stomach twist with dread.

Although he'd been practically beside himself with worry ever since Dumbledore had levitated the resurrected man off the battlefield into Madam Pomfrey's care, Harry had been almost grateful his professor wasn't strong enough to speak, because he didn't know what he was going to say to Snape when he finally could.

Snape had given his life - his life! - to save him. Him! Harry Potter! The known bane of his existence inside the classroom and out! The thought still didn't seem possible.

Harry knew the Potion master didn't actually hate him in the sense most people believed: that Snape spent all his free time plotting ways to kill him and make it look like an accident. No, Snape had saved his life too many times over the years for that. He'd even risked his life to help him get his body back last August.

But the way he'd jumped in front of Voldemort's curse like that… Harry didn't know what to think. His Potion master had literally given his life for him without any sort of obligation or bond forcing him to. How was he suppose to talk to Snape after he did such a thing? The only other person to ever do that for him had been his mother. How was he suppose to look Snape in the eye knowing what he owed the man? There was no way he could ever repay Snape for what he did, even if he had saved him by pulling him back from beyond the Veil. What he'd done was nothing but an act of desperation and guilt - not something that bespoke the same self-sacrifice and bravery the Potion master had shown.

He didn't know if he could face Snape. What was he going to say? It was his fault the man had had to sacrifice his life like that at all. If he'd just told someone earlier about what he thought was going on with Snape, then none of this would have even had to happen…

Harry forced himself to abandon such fruitless lines of thoughts however. He'd already gone over them a thousand times and knew they would get him nowhere. Even though he knew some form of guilt would always remain, he knew he couldn't let his guilt stop him from doing what he needed to do. Beyond that door his Potion master lay injured and sick. And while a lingering sense of nervousness made him pause, a stronger more intense instinct somewhere deep inside him was urging him to go to his professor's side.

He couldn't explain it but he felt as though he was being unconsciously pulled towards Snape, drawn there by some force he still didn't fully understand. He suspected it was the bond Dumbledore kept mentioning - the one he'd formed with Snape earlier that year after his Death eater accident. He suspected that was also the reason why he felt so compelled to visit his Potion master everyday. Somewhere deep inside he knew that that was where he was suppose to be: by his professor's side. It was his responsibility and duty to be there. His right.

And so, taking a deep steadying breath, Harry stepped forward and - with a barely audible knock to announce his entrance - slowly inched the door to the Potion master's hospital room open.

The room was dim, the overcast grey sky outside doing little to help dispel the inherent gloom of the castle. Snowflakes drifted lazily past the window. A fire was burning in the hearth, offering a little extra light to the shadowy room, but also keeping the sharp February chill from seeping into the room and affecting the health of its already sick occupant.

Quietly slipping inside, Harry found his Potion master laying under a small mound of blankets, his face slightly turned away from him towards the window. At first Harry thought Snape was sleeping. The Potion master's eyes were closed, his breathing slow and rhythmic. For a moment - with a guilty jolt of gratefulness - Harry thought about leaving. He could come back later or even tomorrow to visit, he told himself. Yes, he would just come back later…

But just as he was about turn and leave, Snape slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to regard the boy standing at the foot of his bed.

"And here I was hoping I was just hallucinating when Pomfrey said you were going to visit today," he rasped in a strangely toneless voice.

At first Harry didn't know how to respond, but somehow the Potion master's offhand, sarcastic words helped ease some of his initial nervousness and give a small sense of normalcy to the otherwise surreal scene. "Er… I just wanted to make sure you were alright, Sir," he lamely murmured.

Snape said nothing and continued to stare at the boy with an unreadable expression. Harry once again felt uneasy under the Potion master's gaze and came round the bed to sit in a chair beside Snape's bed.

As he nervously sat back in the chair, Harry noticed that Snape did not make any move to sit up and address him. Harry felt a pang of unease go through him. Snape did not seem like the type of person that would remain in such a vulnerable position while someone else stood - or sat - at such a higher eye level than him. It didn't seem right to be looking down at his professor like this.

Maybe it's because he still doesn't have the strength to sit up, Harry noted with an even greater niggling of unease.

Harry couldn't help but be taken aback at how frail his feared Potions professor looked. There was something inherently wrong about it. He never would have believed Snape could look so weak. It just wasn't right.

Snape's eyes looked empty and dull, glazed with the lingering ghost of pain. His normally stern façade was passive and blank, betraying none of the Potion master's inner thoughts. His eyes were ringed by two dark circles, his shallow features pinched with illness and fatigue. An aura of sickness seemed to hang over him like an oily mist. Harry wondered if it wasn't some kind of lingering remains of the Killing Curse that had almost permanently claimed his professor's life.

"How- how are you, Sir?" he nervously stammered. "Everyone's been worried about you."

Snape slowly looked away from Harry and back up at the ceiling. "As well as can be expected given the circumstances…"

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that, but didn't get a chance to pry as Snape slowly looked back at him. "Madam Pomfrey tells me you've become something of pest to her the last few days. Says you seem to have developed a sudden affinity for the Hospital wing."

Harry stared at his hands nervously folded in his lap. "I wanted to make sure you were okay…" he murmured, unable to meet the Potion master's gaze. "After you stepped in front of that curse for me, I-"

"I would rather we not speak about that right now," Snape cut him off. Harry could almost imagine he heard the first note of his sour Potion master coming back to life, but the illusion was quickly shattered as Snape slowly turned his head away from Harry and listlessly stared back out the window, watching the snowflakes swirl past.

Harry obediently fell silent, but felt an unexplainable heaviness settle somewhere in the bottom of his stomach. The Potion master's eyes were empty, devoid of all human light. Harry felt tears stinging the back of his eyelids at the sight. Did Snape regret stepping into the path of Voldemort's curse? But he'd brought him back! Why was he acting like this? Wasn't he happy he was alive?

It had to be because he was still sick, Harry told himself. Snape was still recovering from the Curse. He would be alright soon. He just needed time to recover his strength. Then he would be back to his old snarky self. Not this sick parody of the man he once knew.

Groping for something to say, Harry began a rambling account of the past week's events for his professor. He talked about anything that happened to come to mind: classes starting again, the front door of the school being repaired, the hoards of reporters that refused to leave the front gates of the school until McGonagall had finally made good on her threat and sent Fluffy out after them, Dumbledore, the Order - anything to fill the void of silence that seemed stretch like an uncrossable gulf between them. He knew he was probably babbling, but he couldn't stand the empty look in Snape's eyes or his refusal to say anything in response. He just laid there, passively letting Harry speak. The only thing to indicate that Snape was actually listening was the occasional change in the Potion master's face - the subtle, barely noticeable way his jaw seemed to clench at the mention of his godfather, Sirius, or the hollowed look his eyes took on whenever he said the Dark Lord's name.

But that was it. Nothing more. It was like Snape wasn't even there enough to really care.

"They won't tell me much, but I think the Order is worried about another attack," he was saying, desperately trying to get some kind of response from Snape. "Sirius had to go back to Headquarters in case there's another attack somewhere. Remus too. I overheard Dumbledore telling Madam Pomfrey the Ministry is talking about stationing Aurors around the school as extra security. But I don't know if Dumbledore's going to do it or not. A lot of students were saying their parents are talking about pulling them out of school. Dean Thomas said-"

"Potter."

Harry immediately fell silent. Although Snape's voice was weak and held none of its usual strength, something in the Potion master's tone instantly made him stop.

Snape was staring at him again, his dark black eyes unnaturally devoid of light. "I've already heard all of this from Dumbledore and do not need you repeating your scant second-hand knowledge of it to me. Nor do I care what your Gryffindor friends are doing or think about the matter."

Despite his sharp words, Harry detected none of Snape's usual bite. It was like he was merely speaking from rote.

Harry stared at his hands again, unable to stop the overwhelming flood of guilt and dismay from welling up inside him. He felt so helpless. What was wrong with Snape? Why was he acting like this? Was it something he did? He almost wished Snape would just start yelling at him, scream, give him detention! He didn't care. Anything to break Snape out of this dull lethargy.

An uncomfortable silence fell - the sharp snap of exploding embers in the fireplace the only thing to break the oppressive silence of the room - until Snape suddenly gave a disgusted snort and snipped, "Agh! Would you stop that already, Potter? I can't take anymore of this melodramatic guilt of yours. It's disgusting. I feel like you're trying to kill me with all this Gryffindor fluff."

Harry looked up at him in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

Snape speared him with a weakened version of his trademark glare. "Dumbledore has informed me how he believes you were able to… bring me back. He has also informed me that the bond you so indignantly spelled on me last August is still intact, and is somehow even stronger than before. Because of that, ever since waking I have noticed that I can feel whatever strong emotions you are - and right now it is this cloyingly sick sense of guilt."

Harry stared at Snape, unsure of what to say. "Y-you can feel what I am?" he stammered.

Snape gave another snort and turned his face away from Harry. "Don't over-exaggerate the situation, Potter. It's not like I actually feel everything you are. It's more like a… subconscious intuition."

Harry waited in shocked silence for Snape to continue. But when it became apparent the Potion master wasn't going to elaborate anymore on this strange turn of events, Harry hesitantly asked, "If you can feel what I'm feeling, then why can't I feel what you are?"

For a moment Snape didn't answer and continued staring out the window. Finally he spoke. "Because I don't want you to," he softly murmured, his eyes two pools of hollow emptiness. "You don't want to know what I'm feeling…"

Harry felt something cold pass through his heart, like an invisible Dementor. Snape's voice was so lifeless and dull it made his blood run cold.

"But, Sir-"

"I do not want to speak about this anymore," Snape said, refusing to look at the boy. "You are like a spiritual leech." Giving a heavy sigh, Snape closed his eyes and turned his head away, as if suddenly exhausted. "I am tired, Potter. I wish to sleep. I am sure you know the way out."

Harry felt dazed, like he'd just been hit upside the head by a bludger. He didn't know what to think or feel. The emptiness of Snape's voice was frightening. It was like the Potion master wasn't even there…

Reluctantly, Harry got up from the chair. The Potion didn't open his eyes again. Harry couldn't be sure if he had already fallen asleep or was just pretending to make him leave. Whatever the case, Harry had to force himself to walk out the room. Pausing in the doorway, Harry gave one last look over his shoulder at the silent figure on the bed.

From the distance, Harry could no longer detect the subtle rise and fall of the Potion master's chest under all the blankets. Laying there so still and silent, Snape almost looked dead.

But he wasn't dead; he was alive, Harry firmly told himself. He was just sick. Madam Pomfrey said it was going to take a while for Snape to get back on his feet. He just needed time to recover. That was all.

But as he slowly shut the door behind him, Harry couldn't help but feel there was something else significantly wrong with his Potion master. Something no healing spell or potion Madam Pomfrey could ever give him would heal…

Many years had passed since he'd last been able to roam the halls of Hogwarts as freely as he did now. Part of that stemmed from having spent twelve years rotting away in a prison cell for a crime he didn't commit, and then another two on the run as a fugitive from the Ministry of Magic.

But recently the growing threat of war had diverted more of the Ministry's attention away from finding him onto battling the growing hoards of Voldemort's followers. The promised protection from Dumbledore while he remained in school bounds had also given him extra leeway to explore his old childhood stomping grounds.

Hogwarts looked slightly different than how he remembered it in his youth, given he was now seeing it from a perspective four feet below his usual eyelevel. But that hardly bothered Sirius as he padded through the halls in his four-legged Animagus form. No, what really bothered him was the reason for his unwarranted visit to Hogwarts.

In the days following the attack on Hogwarts, Dumbledore and the Order had been in a fantastic state of chaos. No one knew what to make of the attack, especially the Ministry that had just spent the entire last year denying Harry's claim that Lord Voldemort was back. Many were still reeling from shock that Voldemort had actually dared make a strike on Hogwarts, regardless of Dumbledore still recovering from a near-fatal poisoning. All in all, it was a miracle they had beat the Death eaters back with only as many casualties as they did. Three Aurors and five Order members had died in the fight.

That death toll however was not including a certain someone Sirius was still trying to understand why he'd snuck into Hogwarts in his canine form to see - and in broad daylight no less! He knew it was risky him being there, but he had to go. He was just lucky Dumbledore had informed Filtch and the other teachers that any black dog they might see roaming the castle or visiting Gryffindor tower was just the new watch dog he'd decided to add to the school's security patrols. The story seemed to have been accepted because he'd managed to get all the way from the Floo in Dumbledore's office to the Hospital Wing on the other side of the castle without anyone stopping him. He'd run into McGonagall at one point, but she'd just given him a pointed look, then turned and gone on her way. He hadn't met anyone else since.

In a way Sirius was glad no one else knew he was there; everyone thought he was still at Grimmauld Place. He hadn't even told Harry he was coming. The kid had enough on his plate as it was without having to worry about his godfather sneaking into the now heavily patrolled Ministry-watched school.

Although he'd told his godson nothing about him coming, Harry was actually the reason he was there.

Since the attack, Sirius had made a point of keeping in closer contact with his godson than he had all year, which now included frequent late night fire-calls. Although safe and (more importantly) unharmed from battle, every time Sirius talked to Harry through the Floo he detected something off in the boy's demeanor, as if something was bothering him. He knew his godson was trying to hide it, but he would have had to of been blind not to see it: Harry was a nervous wreak.

When asked what was wrong the boy had just shook his head, unwilling to voice his concerns. At first Sirius just thought he was still shaken from the battle. (After all, he'd nearly been killed!) But then Harry had asked him something. Something that made everything fall into place.

Tentatively, as if unsure how his godfather would react, Harry had asked if Sirius heard Dumbledore mention anything about Snape in the last few days, or if there had been any mention of him getting better.

That simple question had opened up a floodgate of questions Sirius would rather have left unopened. But once said, his godson's words continued to haunt him.

He had in fact heard Dumbledore mention Snape during an Order meeting several days after the attack. It seemed the snarky git was taking a long time to recover. Dumbledore hadn't said much on the matter - only that he was still bed-ridden and ill - but Sirius had seen the a worried look pass over the Headmaster's eyes - the exact same one he'd seen in his godson's eyes only several days later.

And he didn't like it. Not one bit.

He'd tried not to think much about Snape in the days following Voldemort's attack. It was just easier not to. Because deep down Sirius still didn't know what to think about the dark haired Slytherin. It was too much for him to handle. Snape had saved Harry by stepping into the path of an oncoming Avada Kedavra. He had protected the boy by sacrificing his own life; and as every Gryffindor knew, that was something a Slytherin just did not do! If anything, that was suppose to have been his - Sirius's!- job to protect Harry. Not the greasy bat of Slytherin!

But he had. And he had died saving Harry.

By some unknown power Harry had managed to bring Snape back from beyond the Veil, but now the man (if the worried look on Dumbledore's face was any indication) was not doing well. Even McGonagall, the stern matron of Gryffindor, had become despondently silent when Snape was mentioned at the meeting.

Something was wrong. And he had to find out what it was even if it meant seeing Snivellus himself. McGonagall was worried. Dumbledore was worried. But more importantly, Harry was worried. And Sirius couldn't let that stand. For whatever reason Snape's convalescence was bothering Harry; and because of that he had to make sure Snape was alright.

He was visiting Snape for Harry, Sirius kept telling himself. Not because of some unspoken debt he felt he owed the man who'd given his life to save his godson. No, certainly not! This was all for Harry…

But somehow those words sounded hollow even to Sirius' ears…

The doors to the Infirmary finally came into sight. Sirius quietly padded past them hoping not to be seen by Madam Pomfrey and made his way to the tiny private room three doors down on the right. The door was slightly ajar. Slipping inside, Sirius transformed back into his human self and carefully shut the door behind him.

The bed was empty - Sirius found as he took stock of the room - its former occupant sitting in a thick chintz armchair beside the window. The chair looked strangely out of place in the Spartan hospital room. It looked like something Dumbledore would Transfigure, Sirius thought, which was probably the case - the Potion master still being too ill to do any magic, but strong enough now to get up out of bed for short periods of time.

Snape was staring out the window. It was snowing outside. Fat snowflakes drifted past the window in their ancient hypnotic dance. Several blankets were draped over the Potion master's shoulders and lap against the cold, making him look strangely frail. In his plain white hospital gown he looked somehow smaller and less intimidating than he did in his flowing black ones. His face was usually blank, no sign of his trademark scowl anywhere to be seen. His eyes were distant and glazed with an unexplainable sadness as they stared into the swirling snow.

For reasons he couldn't quite articulate, Sirius felt a knot of nervousness form in the bottom of his stomach.

With lethargic slowness, Snape looked away from the window to address his unexpected guest. "What do you want, Black?"

Sirius immediately felt the knot of nervousness in his stomach expand, spreading like a cancer until it felt like he was being consumed by the feeling. Snape's greeting was dull. There was no anger or animosity in the Potion master's voice. Not even a hint of curiosity as to why Sirius was there. Nothing… Sirius had never heard Snape sound so lifeless. Whenever they were forced to acknowledge each other's presence, Sirius could always count on a biting comment or two from his childhood enemy accompanied by a derisive sneer. But never anything like this. This… this was just not normal. It was like Snape wasn't even there…

"I asked why you are here, Black," Snape said in the same deadpan tone.

Sirius had to force himself to find his voice. "I… I heard that you're still not feeling well," he lamely replied. Any other time Sirius would have been mad at himself for losing his composure and being reduced to such inarticulate speech in front of his childhood enemy. But somehow seeing Snape so quiet and… distant made Sirius forget all about his pride or their long standing grudge.

"Obviously…" Snape murmured as he slowly turned back to the window. "Otherwise I would not still be here…"

Sirius found it strangely disquieting to hear Snape's usual snark coming in such a toneless voice. It was unnerving.

"People in the Order have been asking about you," Sirius went on, trying to think of something to say to break the thick tension of the room. "Dumbledore keeps telling them you're getting better but he hasn't told any of us when we can expect you back at Headquarters."

Snape continued to stare out the window. "I will return when the time comes."

Sirius was starting to get anxious. Snape's apathy was unnerving. He didn't know how to react. With Snape's usual sarcasm and derisive comments, he knew exactly how he was suppose to react. But this… this was something he didn't know how to deal with.

"I've been talking to Harry lately. He says the substitute they got for Potions is actually giving points to Gryffindor for a change. If you don't get better soon to start dishing out favoritism again, your Snakes might start to fall behind."

He waited for the outburst: the snort, the sneer, the stinging words of disdain denouncing Harry and all that had to do with Gryffindor.

But nothing ever came.

Snape just sat there, staring out the window like Sirius wasn't even there.

Sirius felt something cold settle over him, like a cloak of ice. This wasn't right. Something was definitely wrong. Snape never passed up a chance to bad mouth Gryffindor or his godson. This was just not right!

"What is wrong with you!" Sirius shouted, unable to take Snape's indifference anymore. "Why are you being like this? Answer me!"

Snape slowly looked away from the window and back at Sirius with hollowed eyes. "What are you talking about, Black?" he said.

"This! This- this apathy of yours!" Sirius exclaimed, pointing at Snape almost accusingly. "What's wrong with you? Everyone I talk to is worried about you. Even Harry for Merlin's sake! You're acting like you don't want to be here! Like you don't care what's going on! Don't you know there are people waiting for you to get better? Harry - the boy you've tormented since the first day he stepped foot in this school - has done nothing but ask me every time I see him if Dumbledore's told me anything about you! He's worried sick about you, although I don't know why! He's so worried he comes here everyday to visit you after class! But you never talk to him! It's like you aren't even grateful he saved your life."

For a moment, Snape didn't answer. His dark eyes blank, he slowly looked back out the window. Sirius was almost ready to demand that Snape stop ignoring him, but then the Potion master began to speak.

"You said you don't think I want to be here?" Snape softly asked, his eyes growing (if possible) even duller. "Then this is the first time in my life I will admit that you are right. As you say, I am like this because I no longer want to be here."

Not looking away from the falling snow, Snape went on in an empty voice. "Do you know what it's like beyond the Veil? No… I suppose you wouldn't. At least not yet. I… I'm not quite sure how to describe it. Beyond the Veil there is nothing. No hunger. No pain. No sorrow. No fear. Just unending, blissful peace. I felt like I was in a higher state of being, like I was part of the very fabric of the universe. I was truly… happy… for the first time in my life. But then, Potter brought me back here…"

Snape's eyes became hollow as if he could still remember his painful severance from the afterlife. "I never thought I'd garner an entrance into heaven," he softly went on. "I was almost sure my past life as a Death eater had destroyed all chance of that. That was one of the reasons I returned to the Dark Lord's circle as a spy when he came back to power. I felt it was one of the only things I could do to even try to make up for all the evil things I've done in my life. But somehow I did. I somehow made up for my sins and was allowed a peaceful afterlife. I never thought it would happen. But then…" Snape tightly shut his eyes and turned away from the window, "but then I was brought back here. Back to this world of suffering and pain… And I want to go back… I didn't want to be brought back here."

Slowly, Snape opened his eyes again and looked up at Sirius. "You must never tell Potter what I just told you," he said. "If he ever knew the truth it would tear the damn Gryffindor apart, and I don't want the boy to go through life with that sort of guilt."

Sirius stood there stunned, unsure what to think or how to respond. Everything Snape just said was beyond fantastic, almost unbelievable. He could only think of one thing to say, one question to ask to try and make sense of it all.

"Why?" Sirius stammered. "Why did you step in front of that curse for Harry? Why do you care so much about him that you don't want him to know?"

Snape was silent for a moment, staring out the frost covered glass. Sirius couldn't help but be struck how tired and sick Snape still looked, like he'd only just survived the fatal Killing Curse yesterday instead of almost two weeks ago.

"I have come to an… understanding with the boy," Snape finally replied. "Since the attack on Azkaban and the Dark Lord putting me under an Imperius Curse, I have been aware of the boy's continued efforts to try and help me. He was most persistent, although rather dense at times. When the Dark Lord was going to kill him, I knew I could not let him harm the boy. I would not have been able to live with myself if I'd allowed Potter to be killed. If I had, then I really would have earned myself a fiery afterlife…"

Sirius felt as though a piece of his world had been turned upside down. In the space of barely ten minutes, almost all of Sirius' preconceived notions of Snape and his inner thoughts had not only been proven false, but completely opposite of what would have been expected from the dark, sarcastic man. It was like Snape was a completely different person than who he thought he was. It was a unnerving realization and one that made Sirius feel even more humble to the man who'd given his life to save his godson.

Snape had turned back to stare out the window again, his eyes once again hollow and filled with a longing that seemed to reach down to his very soul.

"You can't live like this," Sirius blurted out before he even realized what he was saying. Snape slowly looked back at Sirius, the first hint of curiosity lighting his eyes. "I know you want to go back to whenever it is you were, but Harry gave you a second chance at life. I cannot imagine what it was like to be pulled back here like you were, but you cannot spend the rest of your life wanting to do nothing more than go back. You have obviously made up for whatever mistakes you made, otherwise you would have never ended up where you did when you stepped in front of that curse. If what you said was true about you earning a place in heaven then you should take comfort in the knowledge that it will still be there whenever it's time for you to actually go. But until then, you should see this as the start of a new life and live it for all its worth."

For a moment, Snape didn't respond. But then with the ghost of a wry smile he turned back towards the window and said, "I do believe that is the most insightful, intelligent thing I've ever heard you say, Black. And for that to be said about an idealistic Gryffindor, that is saying a lot…"

At first Sirius didn't know what to make of such a comment. But then with a faint smile of his own, he replied, "Better to be an idealistic Gryffindor than a slimy Slytherin."

Snape said nothing in reply, but smiled softly out the window towards the falling snow.

Harry wasn't sure when the feeling began, but he felt unexplainably content and warm inside. Not quite happy, per se, but content, which after so many weeks of hopeless emptiness was like a bright ray of sunlight in the dark. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he finally felt complete.
To Be Continued…
Feedback is always appreciated and accepted. Show me an author that doesn't like feedback, and I'll show you a dead author!

Next Time: Epilogue: The War Wages Ever Closer

Special thanks to eyeinthesky for the idea of calling Harry a 'leech' in a past review. After I read that I just knew I had to incorporate that into the dialogue somehow. It made me laugh when I first read it. Thanks a bunch!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: a reader recently made an offer of doing fanart for this story and its predecessor "Kept Behind" which has piqued my interest in the subject. I love to draw, but recently finding time to do so has become something of an issue. I was wondering if anyone else out there has an interest in doing some fanart for "Dark Influences," "Kept Behind," or any of my other stories. If so, let me know! I'd love to see 'em!