Monday dawned grey and windy, much to the chagrin of the students who had hoped for a late summer. The weather was reflected on the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, thick clouds churning menacingly above their heads.
Harry looked down into his bowl of porridge, mashing it violently with his spoon and glaring at it with enough force to repel a Dementor.
Sighing loudly, he silently vowed to stop taking his foul moods out on inanimate objects, and chanced a glance up to the head table. McGonagall was busy shuffling through a high stack of parchment, her glasses perched precariously on her nose whilst she bit into a piece of toast with her spare hand. Flitwick gazed intently over her shoulder from his chair, gesticulating wildly and offering what appeared to be murmured words of wisdom.
Next to them Slughorn was busy devouring a plate of stacked pancakes, appearing in a dreamy stupor as he upended a pot of honey over the top. Sprout sat at his elbow, trying and failing to hide a look of annoyance as he scraped the last of the honey out with his knife, her own pancakes sitting dry on her breakfast plate.
However, there was no sign of their wayward Defence professor.
Dropping his spoon with a clatter and shoving himself away from the table, Harry stood with little grace and stomped out of the Great Hall, ignoring the curious glances and whispers on the way. He stopped reluctantly in the Entrance Hall when a familiar voice called after him, one he knew wasn't wise to ignore.
"Mr Potter, you're yet to get your timetable!" McGonagall called, waving a sheet at him from the threshold of the hall. Students walking past stared curiously, unabashed in their rudeness. She approached him quickly and slapped the rolled-up parchment into his awaiting hand, raising an inquiring brow at him. Harry huffed out the breath he'd been holding and smiled weakly at the headmistress.
"Thanks, I forgot," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
Eying him shrewdly, McGonagall sighed as her features softened fractionally. "Then it's a good thing that somebody has their head screwed on this morning, isn't it Potter? I can't imagine what you presumed to do with your day."
Harry met her eyes and saw a question there, but he shook his head minutely. "I… I'm not really sure, but thanks for this," he waved the parchment at McGonagall in a little salute, turning on his heel to leave.
Before he could walk away, McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. He stopped and glanced curiously over his shoulder.
"We'll talk later, Potter. Meet me at my office after dinner tonight," she said sternly. Harry started, about to ask what for, before he caught her eyes. They were sharply remorseful above her high, wrinkled cheek bones, and he suddenly knew what she wanted to discuss. He nodded, his fists clenching against the memory of yesterday. He held her eyes for a beat longer, shooting her another weak, wobbling smile before pivoting away and marching up the grand staircase.
By the time he came to the moving staircases, he realised he didn't even know where he was supposed to be going. Pressing himself against the wall to let other students past and rolling open the parchment in his fist, he scanned his lessons for the day.
Harry recognised many of the classes he had taken in his sixth year, all reflecting his choice to become an Auror. He wasn't sure whether that was the path in life he wanted to take any more, all things considered, but decided that getting N.E. in the subjects he'd already chosen might open up the field anyway.
Advanced Potions was scheduled as the first lesson of the morning, and Harry's stomach leapt sickly in anticipation before he remembered that Snape was no longer their potions master. It was so easy to imagine Snape as he always used to be; potion stained fingers hovering over a glowing cauldron, eyes like chipped flint as he sneered at any student unfortunate enough to be in his class.
Pulling in a steadying breath, Harry folded his timetable and shoved it into his school bag, then started back down the grand staircase. After weaving through the throngs of students rushing to classes and reluctantly helping a lost first year find her way to Transfiguration, the archway to the dungeons loomed into view. Harry stopped briefly, looking down into the torch-lit tunnels and shivering at the chill that always seemed to emanate from there.
He certainly was not shivering in any sort of anticipation. Snape was probably in the hospital wing after last night.
Pull it together... Harry scolded, forcing his feet to move into the dungeons beyond, his old trainers squeaking noisily against the buffed stone.
Even down here, in Slytherin territory, people still stared. They whispered and tried to attract his attention, pushing friends to approach him and tripping over themselves to get the first word in. One boy stumbled into his path and grinned nervously, holding a wizarding camera to his chest.
"Harry Potter, can I take your picture?" the first year boy asked in a polite voice, smiling up toothily. He had a shock of white-blonde hair and reminded Harry of a pleasant Draco Malfoy, also noting with surprise that the boy was a Slytherin.
The war really had changed everyone, or at least changed everyone's perspective.
Just as Harry opened his mouth to decline, someone bustled behind him and clapped a hand onto his shoulder merrily, causing his legs to buckle slightly with the enthusiasm of the movement.
"Harry m'boy, just who I wanted to see! Ah yes, we'd love a photo, wouldn't we? Yes, lovely," Slughorn chattered happily, steering Harry into position and grasping his hand in an imitation of a handshake.
Harry stuttered in response, turning his head just as the blinding flash and puff of smoke went off, feeling about ninety per cent sure that he looked like an utter prat for the photo. The small boy squeaked in pleasure, running back to his group of friends and telling them that he was going to get it signed and sent to his parents.
Before anyone could get any more ideas, Harry slunk away from Slughorn while he was bathing happily in the crowd Harry's presence had drawn into the dungeons. But his solitude was short lived when Slughorn noticed his absence and came jogging after him, puffing all the way.
"Harry, slow down would you? I'm not as young as I once was!" Slughorn said as he levelled with Harry, smiling eagerly. The door to their potions class loomed, and Harry slowed down reluctantly to listen to his professor.
"Sorry sir, it's just... the crowds,"
"No need to explain, I understand! They can't get enough can they?" he chuckled, throwing a glance over his shoulder to where the students were watching their exchange.
Harry laughed dismissively, shuffling his feet and wanting nothing other than to get into class and blend in with the furniture. Slughorn beheld him curiously for a second, before barrelling on.
"Well I'm not here to talk about them in any case. I was wondering if you'd come to our first Slug Club meeting this Saturday – we're going all out this weekend m'boy, a celebration of sorts!"
Harry winced, meeting Slughorn's expectant eyes. "Uh, a celebration of what?" he asked, fearing the worst.
"Our victory of course! Your victory, The Saviour of the Wizarding World! We're yet to celebrate you, Harry, and I'd love it if you'd join us. I shall invite all of your friends, Ginevra included!" Slughorn winked, and stared at Harry with barely disguised desperation.
It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, after all the last thing he wanted was to draw even more attention to himself, and the last time he and Ginny saw one another they'd called an end to their relationship. But the look on Slughorn's face stopped him. This man had helped in the war, he'd helped protect the students and he'd helped in the fight, even going as far to face Voldemort directly.
Harry owed Slughorn the courtesy of attending his party, even if just this once. Scrubbing his hand back through his already unruly hair, he maintained eye contact with his professor and smiled.
"I'd like that Professor. What time on Saturday?" Harry asked politely, not surprised when Slughorn's expectancy turned into barely restrained joy on his round face.
"Excellent, just excellent! I'll have an invite sent to you by owl in the week! Now come on, we'll be late for our own class – don't want that do we?"
Harry followed the over-joyed Slughorn down the hall and into the small potions class, feeling stupid when everyone was already sat at their desks with their quills and books out, waiting for them patiently. Neville caught his gaze and Harry shrugged, slinging his bag off his shoulder and dropping onto the stool next him.
The lesson eventually began after much fussing, and Slughorn enthused at the front of the class about the coming year, going over the N.E.W.T prospectus for everyone to take note of. Neville kept glancing worriedly at Harry over his notes, but Harry smiled faintly and ignored it in favour for twirling his wand idly between his fingers, lost in thought.
Should I go to find him? Apologise for everything? Or will that just make everything worse than it already is? Bloody hell, this is a mess… Harry mused, pinching the bridge of his nose with his spare hand. The inside of his head was a frenzied mess, spinning with plans and apologies and eyes like cracked black ice, staring at him in disgust.
"Uh, Harry…" Neville whispered desperately, nudging his stack of notes into Harry's hand as he dropped it back down to the table. Harry looked up at Neville just as he began to realise something smelt faintly of burnt hair.
Neville pointed above Harry's head, seeming torn between anxious and amused. Harry looked up just in time to dodge a swirling piece of ignited ash as it spewed from the tip of his wand, cursing while he did.
Twirling his wand absentmindedly as he had been, he'd created a flurry of ember to rain down around him, singing his hair and his robes. Swearing out loud again, Harry jumped up and dropped his wand to the table, angrily patting his head and shoulders to extinguish any lingering embers.
"Harry, what's the matter my dear boy – oh Merlin," Slughorn approached from the front of the class, his brow puckering in concern and unhelpfully patting and brushing at Harry's shoulders to rid him of the ash that had collected there.
"Blimey Harry! It's usually me startin' fires!" Seamus called, snickering again at Harry's continued misfortune. Harry sneered in Seamus' direction, earning him a raised pair of eyebrows and hands held up in a placating gesture.
"Bloody hell, keep your socks on," he murmured, a look of concern crossing his face. Harry just turned away from him, looking to Slughorn.
"May I be excused for a moment, Professor?" Harry asked, willing a pleading look into being on his face; he knew he could play on Slughorn's soft side.
Slughorn dusted some more ash from his shoulders, before looking into his eyes. Harry felt himself squirm at the scrutiny, but after a moment he nodded.
"Yes. Take a moment Harry. Maybe you'd be so kind as to take a trip to the Hospital Wing? I find myself in need of Goosegrass for our class today – Madam Pomfrey should be in receipt of some," Slughorn offered kindly, his large hand still resting on Harry's shoulder.
Harry couldn't feel the panic begin to constrict his chest until after it had shown on his face, the very thought of facing who might be waiting for him in the Hospital Wing hitting him like a curse, and Slughorn suddenly looked taken aback. "M'boy, are you quite alright—"
"Yes – no that would be fine, thanks Professor." Harry stumbled over his words, backing away from Slughorn and bending to pick up his wand, blushing madly. "I'll get your – um, Goosegrass. Back in a bit."
He fled from the room then, away from the curious stares and concerned faces. He shut the classroom door smartly behind him stumbled up the corridor, willing himself not to look for the section of wall that had opened at his touch just last night.
By the time he had travelled the length of the dungeon and stalked up the grand staircase, Harry fled to the first bathroom he found and shut himself in, only after he'd locked the door noticing that he was in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the first floor.
No one ever went in there anyway.
Walking over to the sinks with their ornate, snake-shaped faucets, Harry filled his hands with a small amount of water then threw it over his face, his breath hitching as the cold splash ran down his cheeks and neck.
Poised over the sink he stared back at his ragged reflection, reminded of a sobbing Malfoy back in sixth year. He let his gaze linger for a beat longer before squeezing his eyes closed, willing his frayed nerves into submission.
Life had been difficult, after the war. He found himself on edge more times than not, and had a difficult time maintaining composure in large crowds, unable to quell the feeling that he always had to be alert, no matter how many people told him he was finally free. Before Hermione had left for Australia she had told him it could be post-traumatic stress, and to consult a Healer so it didn't progress into something worse.
Harry had placated her with promises that he'd talk to someone, that he'd see someone and get it sorted, but he had done no such thing. Without her there to nag him into doing something about it, he'd let it stew over the past weeks, the feeling gradually getting heavier by the day.
The business with Snape had not helped in the slightest.
Cupping another handful of water, he splashed it over his face a second time and sighed, relishing the calming and clearing effect the water had on his mind.
Harry pulled in a large breath, letting his chest puff out and exhaling slowly, counting to ten in his head and opening his eyes to stare back at himself again. He looked calmer then, the muscles in his face relaxed.
Relishing in the feeling of taking control of his emotions, Harry pushed away from the sink and walked to entrance to the bathroom, silently grateful that Moaning Myrtle was blissfully absent in his time of emotional duress.
A quick alohomora and Harry was back through the bathroom door, this time walking at a leisurely pace as he steeled himself for the visit ahead.
I'll be in and out. I don't even need to speak to Snape, it can wait until he's better. I'll ask Madam Pomfrey for the Goosegrass and be gone... Harry thought, making his way over to the Hospital Wing, traversing the first floor corridors even more slowly as to delay the inevitable.
The Hospital Wing slid into view all too soon, and Harry swallowed against the familiar feeling of constriction in his throat. Stamping the feeling into submission for a second time, he reached the entrance to the hospital and leaned in close, quietly cracking open one of the doors enough to peek through.
"Poppy, I absolutely insist. I am of no use to anyone locked up in here – I am more than capable of looking after myself!" the impatient retort reached Harry's ears the moment he pushed the door, and his nerves renewed as he listened from the doorway. The only thing he could see from his vantage point was a bed with the curtains drawn at the far side of the room.
"Severus, you are under my care and I will dismiss you when I see fit. In fact you are still under my care until Christmas, so you and I will be seeing a lot more of each other before the school term is up."
"Yes but I can consult you from my rooms if necessary—"
"I am not your House-elf, Severus!"
"I don't mean to imply—"
"Don't you trust my word as a healer? You are weak, and you need rest. It'll do you to stay for one more night while I assess you!"
"Poppy, I trust you with my health more than anyone. But I have lessons to plan and students to teach. I will not be an invalid!"
Harry heard Madam Pomfrey make a frustrated noise, sounding as though she was ready to go back on her healer's oath and throttle Snape in his bed.
"Fine, you will stay here until after dinner, and I will then allow you back to your chambers to sleep—"
"Poppy—"
"No, I have made a compromise and I expect you to do the same!" Madam Pomfrey shouted, as Harry listened to her foot tapping impatiently on the polished marble of the Hospital Wing.
He listened to their argument for a while, hovering nervously on the threshold. Finally, feeling obligated to save Madam Pomfrey from further dispute, he stepped firmly into the Hospital Wing and walked slowly up the middle of the aisle, hoping beyond hope that Snape would pay him no mind.
Coming level with where he could hear Snape and Madam Pomfrey arguing heatedly, Harry startled when the curtain surrounding the bed was suddenly jerked back and Madam Pomfrey stepped out primly, staring straight at him. He heard Snape sigh loudly in disdain from behind the curtain as she approached.
"Harry, how are we dear? Not feeling under the weather are we?" Pomfrey fussed, approaching him and running a critical eye over his face. "You are looking a bit peaky; do you need a Pepper Up potion?" she asked before Harry could collect himself enough to respond, already turning to her trolley supply standing a little way away.
"No – Madam Pomfrey, I'm fine. I'm here for Professor Slughorn actually, he sent me to ask if you had any, uh, Goosegrass—"
"Whatever does he need some for?" Pomfrey quipped, turning back around and facing Harry with her hands planted on her hips.
Shuffling uncomfortably, Harry began to approach her. "Well, we're starting our N.E.W.T study, and I think our first module has something to do with medicinal brewing... I offered to get some for him." he tapered off, looking at her expectantly. She looked back but didn't seem convinced, concern wrinkling her forehead.
Harry felt his skin crawl at the implication in her eyes, annoyed that she was even considering him a liar. He knew that she was only ever critical because she cared, but it still made him feel like an unruly eleven-year-old all over again.
"I'm sure he could've retrieved some himself, but you're here now. Give me a second Harry, I need to nip to my office," she walked right past him and he followed without thinking about it, watching the swishing hem of her healer's robes as she retreated.
By the time her office door shut with a resounding click, he snapped himself out of his absentminded wandering, stopping and leaning heavily against the closest wrought metal bedframe. He dropped his gaze to a loose thread on his sleeve and began picking at it, lost to his thoughts.
"Why in Merlin's name does Slughorn need Goosegrass? Aren't the stocks I left him with sufficient?!" was sneered loudly, and it was all Harry could do but jump violently at the voice, whipping his head upright so quickly his neck cracked.
Snape was speaking to him from a few rows down, still in his bed with the curtains drawn. Harry stared for a second longer, aghast that Snape was even addressing him, before walking with what he hoped was casual ease and stopping at the front of the bed, his fingers still picking at the wayward thread.
Snape sat directly parallel to Harry, the curtains just open at the front of his bed. Dark eyes glared at him from the recesses within, the man fully dressed atop the bed with his long, trouser-clad legs crossed casually at the ankle.
"Well, boy? If that intemperate fool can't even keep fair order of the stock cupboard while teaching years through one to seven, Merlin help us all!" Snape snapped, his eyes angry and vicious. He looked restless and offended, scouring Harry on the spot.
"Uh—" Harry mumbled ineloquently, unsure how to respond. Which he knew was exactly the way to wind Snape up even more.
"Don't strain yourself Potter! If you could be so kind as to endeavour to use your brain—"
"He didn't tell me! He just asked me to get some, that's it." Harry snapped back, refusing to be insulted.
Snape's eyes were beseeching as he stared, then he looked away, sighing derisively. "Honestly, I don't expect any more from our current Potions Master. During my tenure, the stores were arranged and maintained alphabetically, I wager that the room looks more like the Quidditch broomshed now!" He seethed, looking ready to get and up and inspect the cupboard himself.
"I remember," Harry offered tentatively, drawing Snape's eyes to him again. "You had me sorting everything in there every time you gave me detention.."
Snape's eyebrows shot up and he let out a short, amused snort. "Ah, yes. We have our fun, don't we Potter?" he snarked, but without his usual dose of malice, so Harry took it as a win.
Without thinking about it, Harry approached the end of Snape's bed and gripped the railing, his mind home to a million different thoughts, all vying for room in his head.
Snape was talking again, the condescending tone of it brushing over him like an icy breeze. But he wasn't really listening, because he could feel compulsion overriding sense and he suddenly felt himself talking in a rush –
"I'm sorry – I didn't mean for anything bad to happen last night – please—"
"Silence!" came the retort, cutting Harry off completely. He sealed his lips tightly and nodded his head in acquiesce, feeling stupid again. Snape sat up in the bed, meeting his eyes lividly and breathing a calming breath.
"Yes, you were a self-righteous, arrogant fool, but I concede that I was a fool for letting you in there in the first place. So for once we stand on even footing." He finished, rolling his shoulders against the pillows and maintaining his gaze.
Harry gripped the rails harder, surprised even though the not-apology was backhanded. "Thanks – I guess? Are you OK—'
"Perfectly well, I'm sure you heard my dispute with Madam Pomfrey," he gritted out, his jaw sharp with obvious restraint. That Snape was even attempting to be civil was a huge feat, and an even bigger mystery.
"So—" Harry started reluctantly.
"So, it's water under the bridge, as they say. Drop it Potter, lest we get back to our miserable lives." Snape grated out, seeming close to his tether. Harry nodded, quirking his brow in confusion but choosing not to argue it further.
Snape nodded back curtly, his lank hair moving around his face before he brushed it back impatiently. He seemed to think on something for a moment, before addressing Harry again.
"Potter, do make yourself useful and—"
"—Do you need me to help you with anything at all? I know I offered before but you look like you need it and I… oh, um…" Harry cut across again, blushing and grimacing simultaneously when he realised his rudeness. He gathered himself visibly when Snape turned a ferocious glare on him, his mouth gaping like a fish in his outrage.
Harry took a step back from the foot of the bed, cursing his wayward tongue as Snape sat bolt upright on the bed, all towering fury.
Shit… you've done it this time…
Before Snape could utter a single syllable, however, Pomfrey came bustling up to them with a look of enlightenment on her face, beholding Harry as if he was a beacon of glorious light.
"Harry! What a brilliant, gracious offer!" she gushed happily, beaming at him. "If you could keep a seeker's eye on our Professor here, it would give me more time to attend to other things and he wouldn't have to be up here as often. The first years get themselves into all sorts of trouble; the start of the year is always the busiest," she turned to Snape, looking as if she'd found the solution to both of their problems.
"Absolutely not!" Snape all but screeched, and Harry took another step away from the man in front of him. Pomfrey, however, walked closer, her face moulding into one of exasperation and scolding.
"There is a solution for us both here Severus – Harry keeps an eye on your progress and informs me of any problems if necessary – we both know he did a good enough job of that last night – and you get your freedom from my ward!" She cried, a note of frustration evident in her voice.
"And leave my wellbeing to this, this boy? Ever our gracious saviour!" Snape spat, black with malice, and Harry felt an angry flush colour his neck at the slight, his fists tensing convulsively.
"This boy saved your life! You would do well to remember that!" Pomfrey shouted back, the sound echoing all around the sconce-lit infirmary.
Everything descended into eerie silence then, Snape's dark eyes wide with surprise and Pomfrey's shoulders rising and lowering on calming breaths.
Harry swallowed against the tension, making a decision and walking towards the bed.
"If he doesn't want my help, Madam Pomfrey, I can't force it," Harry murmured, meeting Snape's still surprised eyes firmly. "I should get back to my lesson. Do you have the Goosegrass, please?" he finished politely, dropping the ex-Potion Master's stare and looking to Pomfrey expectantly.
Blowing out a hard breath and making the stray hairs falling from her healer's hat dance, Pomfrey dipped her hand into her apron pocket and pulled out a squat phial, full of what appeared to be thick, red-tinged reeds.
"Here. Should our Professor change his mind, I shall let you know. Now off you go!" Pomfrey exclaimed, giving him another warm look and moving him along with a flap of her hand.
Harry caught Snape's gaze one last time; he looked calculating, fingers steepled in his lap and eyes fiery but considering. He raised an eyebrow at Harry's staring, but Harry just bit his lip nervously and turned away.
"Thanks for this," Harry shook the phial. "See you around," he called over his shoulder, striding away as Pomfrey threw up a hand in a friendly goodbye wave.
As Harry reached the door, he heard Pomfrey and Snape begin their argument again, and slowed down a little to listen.
"I have saved that boy's life more times than I can count!"
"I'm not disputing that Severus, but you must trust him by now! No Ministry-issued healer or healer's assistant will keep an eye on you for me; he's the best thing you've got and the only other person willing to do it - "
"Minerva -"
"Our headmistress has too much to be getting on with, don't you think?!"
The noise of their argument followed him out of the Hospital Wing, and Harry couldn't help a small smile as they continued to bicker over him.
Harry tucked the phial of Goosegrass into the pocket of his school robe and made his way back to his potions class, feeling lighter for the trip despite his original reluctance and Snape's snide insults. He made it back to the grand staircase, the wizards and witches in their portraits along the walls failing to look discreet as they followed him from frame to frame, speaking in excited murmurs.
He found that he didn't mind as much as he had earlier.
Harry considered his plate of corned beef hash and carrots at tea time that night, for once not glaring it into submission. He let out a quiet laugh at the thought, happily tucking into his dinner and ignoring the never-ending stares he seemed to be on the receiving end of at all hours of the day.
He felt more than saw Neville collapse down next to him, looking exhausted and muddy, but content. Harry looked away from his food and smiled, deciding that it was about time he talked to his friend instead of maintaining his dour silence.
"Everything OK?" he asked, giving Neville a friendly shoulder-shove. His face lit up as he turned to face Harry, looking relieved by the change in Harry's tone.
"Great! I've been down the greenhouses with Professor Spout all evening - she's been showing me how to cultivate Venomous Tentacula!" Neville enthused, looking positively thrilled for a person dealing with mobile and highly venomous plants. He turned away from Harry for a moment, scooping a liberal amount of Shepard's pie onto his dinner plate.
"That sounds… highly dangerous and a little bit terrifying. What's the occasion?" Harry teased well humouredly.
"Well, Professor Sprout is going to be taking on an apprentice! So she offered to help me with some extra revision before I apply for it after our N.E. . Isn't that bloody brilliant, Harry?" Neville practically vibrated with excitement, and then enthusiastically ate a forkful of his pie. Harry beheld him proudly, finishing a mouthful of his own food before speaking.
"Definitely, and you'll smash it! No one else is as good at Herbology as you, Neville, Sprout wouldn't even think about picking someone else—"
"Picking who for what now?" a familiar voice chimed in, and Harry turned to see Ron drop into the seat opposite, just catching the end of their conversation and grinning in all his freckly-brilliance.
"Ron! You prat, what took you so long? Dinner is almost bloody over!" Harry exclaimed, grinning in poorly disguised relief. He reached across the table to grip Ron's hand where it rested on the table top, the gesture intimate, but like something only brothers would share. Ron squeezed back and met his eyes happily, so Harry dropped his hand and leaned back, quirking an eyebrow as to usher along his explanation.
"Got held up mate. George wanted the shop to be finished by tonight, so I had to stay late. It'll be open by tomorrow – we should stick our heads in when we get the chance!" Ron finished, beginning to pile food from golden platters onto his own plate. He quirked his own eyebrow and nodded at his food in request, and Harry laughed and nodded back.
After that he began to tuck in, shoving a chicken leg in his mouth with such vigour that a part Harry feared he'd choke. But he'd known Ron long enough to know that he had a voracious appetite and a very large mouth to go along with it; he needn't worry, that was Hermione's job.
Harry watched both him and Neville with a slight smile on his face, nodding in the appropriate places as they chattered and bathed in the golden complacency they brought; he felt at home between them, in this magical hall, surrounded by delicious food and people who loved him.
He suddenly felt bad for acting like such a miserable git over the past couple of days. He knew he'd been insufferable, but spending time without Ron and Hermione had been difficult. They were like the glue that held him together; the stitching that kept his grief from spilling out.
Hermione was right. He needed to speak to someone. But for now, he felt content in the company of his friends.
Suddenly, he realised that Ron couldn't know about Snape yet, since he'd been out of school until now.
"You know Snape's alive, don't you?" Harry cut in, interrupting his story of George spiking him with a tweaked love potion that resulted in him being enamoured with the kitchen clock for a day.
"Everyone needs an outlet for their grief, you know, but I'm not sure if – you what, Harry!?" Ron spluttered, almost dropping the bread roll he'd been about to take a bite out of.
"Snape. He's alive. And he's going to be teaching Defence..."
"I... what!?" Ron deadpanned, the roll falling out of his hand this time, bouncing and rolling down the table. Neville caught it before it rolled off the edge, tentatively pushing it back towards Ron's limp hand.
Ron took the offering but instantly put it beside his plate, his eyes wide and his food forgotten. "But he – I thought it didn't work!?"
"So did I. Imagine my surprise..." Harry murmured sullenly, meeting Ron's shocked blue eyes.
"How – what happened?!" Ron demanded, looking wildly to the head table. When he didn't find who Harry knew he was looking for, his hands lowered and gripped the edge of the table top, and he looked like he was anchoring himself for the explanation to follow.
Harry sighed hugely, and then started from the beginning. He explained the evening of the Sorting Ceremony, then his trip that same night. He even deigned to tell Ron about what happened in the Hospital Wing, describing the argument Snape and Pomfrey had, but missing out the part where he'd offered to help their professor; he decided to have that conversation with Ron another time.
Through his admission, Ron's expression was locked in place; shock and awe shaping his features. He let his food go cold and kept gripping the table, listening with rapt attention. If he looked a little pallid, Harry wasn't going to mention it.
"Wow, Harry.. I didn't know you did that.." Neville piped up, looking solemn but proud. Harry nodded back, considering Neville's expression.
"Yeah, well I didn't even know it worked. It was as much of a surprise for me as it was for you when he turned up here." Harry admitted, looking back to Ron. He was looking down at his plate of unfinished food, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Fucking hell..." Ron murmured, seemingly lost to himself.
Suddenly, all of the plates disappeared from the table, signalling the end of dinner. Ron blinked rapidly, then his eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
"I wasn't bloody finished with that!" he exclaimed, as if the house elves could even hear him. Harry couldn't help let out an amused laugh, despite the low mood that had fallen over their gathering.
Ron smiled slightly, meeting Harry's eyes again. "That isn't the first time Snape has made me miss food, but it's usually because he has me in detention!"
Neville laughed with them, looking a little lighter. "Well, they left your roll!" he pointed out, and sure enough, the bread roll sat alone by Ron's elbow.
Ron eyed it, his gaze incredulous, before he shrugged, picking it up and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. His cheeks puffed out like a hamster, and Harry rolled his eyes fondly.
"C'mon, I need to meet McGongall, she wants to speak to me in her office – and you need your timetable," Harry offered, stretching then standing up.
"Alright," Ron agreed, swallowing the food in his mouth then getting up as well, looking in question at Neville.
"I'll see you guys tomorrow I suppose, I'm going to bed and I'll probably be asleep when you get back," Neville said, covering his mouth to yawn. He got up, smiled at both of them then strode away, his muddy robes swishing as he walked out of the hall.
Harry looked at Ron, nodding in the direction of the head table. McGonagall was still there, looking at them over the top of her glasses expectantly.
They walked slowly, on opposite sides of the Gryffindor table. Harry discreetly observed his friend; he still looked a little shell-shocked, but had recovered somewhat since, seeming to be deep in thought.
Ron turned his head as if he noticed Harry's stare. "You think he'll be alright? Not that I care about the greasy git…"
"Ron…" Harry admonished, his brow furrowing.
"Force of habit mate." Ron admitted, looking a little sheepish. Harry huffed loudly, shaking his head as they approached the head table and catching McGonagall's stern eyes.
"Yeah, he'll be OK." He murmured, not sure if he was telling himself, Ron or McGonagall.
Sipping a cup over over-brewed tea, Harry looked over the desk at McGonagall calmly, waiting for her to compose herself. It was so out of character for her to fuss as she was, that Harry felt himself begin to grow a little nervous, but maintained a patient posture.
"Potter – Harry. Firstly, I want to apologise," McGonagall started finally, sitting back against her chair and cupping her own tea between her thin hands.
"Professor, there's no need—"
"There is every need. I should have told you that Professor Snape was alive, I'm very sorry that I didn't," she interrupted firmly, her gaze searching. Harry nodded reluctantly, waiting for her to continue.
"Between ensuring Professor Snape's survival, rebuilding the school and obtaining the various permissions for him to be allowed to teach here again, it left me with little time for talking to the people I wanted to be talking to. Namely yourself," McGonagall finished, taking a quick sip of her tea, her face uncharacteristically soft.
Harry considered her for a while, sipping his own tea before placing it onto the desk between them. "How is Snape teaching here? Did you want him back?" he asked, looking up in that moment to Dumbledore's portrait. The man in question stared back, his eyes twinkling characteristically, but he remained silent.
"Yes, I did. It was difficult to obtain him as our Defence Professor, but Mr Shacklebolt's advance to Minster for Magic was a huge help, if I must say so myself. He granted Professor Snape the permission to retain a teaching position here until his trial—"
"His trial? They're trying him, after everything?!" Harry exclaimed, feeling something vicious unfurl in his chest. McGonagall looked back at him sadly and nodded, taking another sip of her tea before continuing.
"Yes Potter. He is to be tried for his part in the war. Professor Snape committed a series of atrocities – in the name of the greater good, of course!" she finished firmly when Harry looked like he was about to protest.
"That is no way to treat a war hero! What about his memories, the ones I left for you to see?" Harry pleaded. He grabbed for his tea again to have something to occupy his hands with, lest he punch the table in anger, or something equally irrational.
"I agree. But this is what we're left with. I viewed the memories Harry, as have many people, all with Professor Snape's permission of course. This evidence will be used in his trial, and we hope it'll be enough to clear him."
"It will. He will be cleared," Harry said firmly, injecting his voice with a confidence that he didn't feel.
McGongall looked at him, her forefinger swirling around the rim of her cup in idle movement. "We hope. The odds are in our favour, I admit. Professor Snape will teach at Hogwarts in a well-deserved position until the trial, and if he is found to be innocent, he shall resume teaching for the foreseeable future."
"And if he isn't?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.
"He will be incarcerated," McGonagall finished simply, finally dropping her cup to the desk and visibly reigning in her solemnness.
"But we mustn't give that any thought at the moment. We must work to bring Professor Snape back to full health, and we must make him feel welcome. I will be speaking to all of the students in my class, and I will ask them to treat him with respect. Merlin knows he deserves as much!" She exclaimed firmly, her no-nonsense attitude rubbing off on Harry.
"I'll tell everyone I know that Snape deserves our support, anyone who'll listen," he said, meeting and holding McGonagall's proud stare. He quirked a small smile and she smiled back, closed-mouthed and admiring.
"That would be most appreciated Harry. Still, I am sorry that I wasn't able to tell you about Professor Snape prior to your arrival. I can't begin to imagine your shock…" she trailed off, her sharp eyes searching his face and her smile turning into a hard line.
"It was a shock. But I'll get over it," Harry advised simply, lowering his tea cup back to the desk for the last time and standing, looking down at McGonagall. "I have to go Professor. I promised I'd meet Ron in the common room before bed."
"Of course Harry. Do look after yourself, and don't hesitate to pop in for if you need anything," McGonagall stood as well, her wand sliding out of her sleeve. With a quick flick, their tea was banished and the door to her office creaked open slowly.
He smiled at her one last time before turning away, but found himself rooted to the spot as something crossed his mind.
"I offered him help, but he doesn't seem very keen on taking it." Harry admitted, not bothering to look back at the headmistress.
He heard her sigh in what sounded like an amused way. "I very much suspect that our Professor Snape has too much pride. I tried to offer the same thing."
Harry laughed then, the sound peeling from his chest. He shook his head and started towards the door.
"Professor Snape doesn't hate you Harry," he heard just as he made it over the threshold. This time he did turn, his eyes beseeching and hopeful, betraying him. McGonagall settled herself back behind her desk and rested her arms upon the polished oak.
His chest aching, he found her eyes. She betrayed a rare softness there once again, the warm glow from the ignited candles in the room glinting off the grey strands in her hair and the metal of her spectacles.
"Give it time," she told him, her voice quiet as it carried over the office.
He continued to stare at her, his gaze portraying a subtle sort of longing. Then he turned again, beginning his decent down the tight spiral staircase that led into the office just as they ground to life and began to carry him forward.
"Goodnight Professor," Harry called back, and heard her wish him the same in return before her office door clicked shut with surety. He reached the end of the staircase and pushed past the statue, listening to it slide back into place as he stopped in the quiet night-time corridor.
He couldn't bring himself to move for a second, finding himself staring through the closest window at the night lit by a full moon, the lake's surface a mass of rippling silver. His thoughts were twisting rapidly through his head, blinding him to the present as he sorted through the mess.
"Ah, Mr Potter. Already causing innumerable problems for our headmistress?" Someone commented smartly, and despite his shock Harry couldn't help but laugh low in his throat at the comment as he turned.
Snape strode slowly towards him from the darkness beside the window, seemingly part of the shadows as his long black robes trailed out behind him. He stopped a few steps away from Harry, a faint sneer accompanying his sallow features. Harry turned around fully and met the sneer, feeling curious despite his weariness.
Coincidences like this were part and parcel of his life now, so he just accepted them as they came.
"On your way back to the dungeons, sir?" he asked tentatively, feeling himself begin to fidget as he looked up at Snape, the man's taller height giving him the advantage in their exchange.
"Yes. Our infamously stubborn healer has released me after much protest," Snape advised simply, looking down his nose at Harry. He seemed to consider something for a moment, before sniffing in obvious disdain and stepping to move around Harry. He strode away down the corridor, a small limp accompanying his gait and the blackness of his robes vanishing him into the gloom.
Without giving it much thought, Harry made after him, jogging until he came level with the ex-Potions Master. He slowed down and matched the man's pace, looking to the side at his companion's unwelcoming expression.
"Something you need? It can wait," Snape deadpanned, sparing him a measly glance before looking away again, his jaw set in an agitated line.
"Nothing. I just—"
"I don't have all night." Snape cut across, looking straight ahead. Harry looked ahead too, the corridor lit by the moon in stretched squares of light.
"How are you feeling?" Harry tried, catching glimpses of Snape as his figure flashed in an out of the darkness as they walked.
Another frustrated sigh filled the silence, and Snape graced him with an annoyed flick of his gunmetal eyes. "I hardly believe that's any of your business. I hoped you'd have realised that much by now, Potter."
Snape was always difficult, Harry had known this from the start but he couldn't help but pry. He briefly thought that it would be wise to ask himself why, but he chose to ignore that and barrelled on anyway as the moving staircases came into view.
"It's my fault that you—"
"I thought we agreed to look past our little tiff, but since you are so insistent, I am fine. Now do leave me alone, you are being insufferable!" Snape snapped, trying and failing to pick up a faster pace.
Harry felt an age-old anger flare up in response, but he choked it back with much effort and reminded himself of McGonagall's advice to give it time. Before he could think of a response, Snape paused suddenly on the step to the first moving staircase, falling a few paces back and gasping down a quiet grunt of pain.
Harry doubled back and searched the man urgently, stopping a step away as Snape gingerly cupped his bandage-swathed neck in a long-fingered hand. Harry watched as he slumped against the banister, breath sharp as it whistled from his nose. He was prodding gently at the dressing, his head hanging low and his hair obscuring his eyes as he gripped the banister in a bid to remain upright.
Fuck it Harry thought then, approaching Snape and sliding his hand over the man's knuckles where they lay on the wood. He looked up under Snape's hair and felt panic constrict his chest at the pained look on his professor's face.
Harry smoothed his forefinger over Snape's rough knuckle, and in that moment his eyes opened, meeting Harry's in a way that was neither angry or in agony. He simply looked mildly curious, and he turned minutely too look at their joined hands, his plain expression belaying no outright emotion.
"What's wrong, should I call Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked in a quite murmur, striving not to startle the man into anger. He idly ran his finger over the knuckles under his hand again, quietly relishing Snape's moment of calm.
Then Snape seemed to snap out of it, pulling his hand out from under Harry's and standing straighter, his other hand falling from the bandages on his neck and down to his side. But the mild look remained, a curious thing without any heat.
"No need, the pain will pass. A situational hazard," was murmured back, the hand that Harry had touched flexing as he held it close to his body. Harry made to protest, but Snape silenced him with a finger to his lips, his features turning stern.
"I will not repeat myself," he finished quietly, dropping Harry's eyes and suddenly making his way around him, taking the stairs even more carefully this time and showing Harry his back. Harry made to follow but paused when Snape looked back at him, his foot hovering in mid-air at the irritated look that was fired in his direction.
"You will soon be breaking curfew. Do make your way back to your dorm, Potter, and endeavour to keep yourself out of trouble… as difficult for you as that may be."
Harry lowered his leg and looked on desperately as Snape walked away from him, torn between listening and making sure he got back to the dungeons OK, despite the wrath that would surely befall him. Snape seemed to sense his internal battle, because he turned again and sneered, raising a sceptical brow.
"I will be fine. As much as you've always believed it in your conceited arrogance, you are not an exception to the rules!" was snapped at Harry, then Snape gave him one last condescending glance before walking away, the shadows swallowing him up again as he walked.
Harry hugged his arms around himself then, listening to the witches and wizards as they snored in their frames and staring balefully at the spot where Snape had disappeared into the darkness. Fleetingly, he realised that he hasn't once bothered to cast a Lumos during their whole exchange, but knew from experience that the portraits would gripe at him if he had.
Then he turned, exiting the staircases and walking the moonlit corridors that lead to Gryffindor common room, these hallways lit by bracketed candles as to usher the last of the students to bed. He was eventually met by the Fat Lady staring down at him, her expression fond as he murmured the password and clambered through the entrance, a bone-deep sort of tired weighing him down as he straightened on the other side.
He saw Ron sat by the fire, cradling what looked like a Chudley Cannons magazine in his hands and enjoying the heat of the fire. As Harry made his way over, a small smile curling his lips at the sight of his best friend, he cast his mind back to his and Snape's exchange.
He felt hopeful about it, remembering the man's curiously thoughtful look as he stared at their interlocked hands. Maybe, eventually, Snape would accept his help.
Suddenly the week ahead looked much brighter.
TBC