Author's Notes: This one is dedicated to Ataea, in apology because she doesn't like the Pomfrey/Snape hints. It won't get much worse (I use the term relatively) than this chapter, though, and if you choose, you can read it as implicit Harry/Snape.

And thanks, Kim32, for all the support and lovely reviews.

Severus tossed and turned in his bed that night. Whenever his eyes closed, he would see the Potter brat standing up to his own father in the daydream, to protect him. Why it should warm him he had no idea. And that Weasley boy ought to patent that healing power of his – for Heaven's sake, his cheek still tingled pleasantly from Weasley's incorporeal 'hand' pulling his face into his chest. He was too honest not to admit the warm glow of comfort he now felt at his very core, just because of a psychic hug from an unworthy yob and a few words of absolution. That power was probably one reason, he mused analytically, why the whole bloody family was so fertile. That explained a lot – the yob was the heart to Granger's head and Potter's body. Ancient magic, formed unwittingly, and probably the reason why they worked as a team despite their comparative lack of skill.

He groaned as Poppy called him over the Floo. At least this time he didn't have to dress; mental disciplines were some of the most taxing in the repertoire, and he'd staggered back from the ward and fallen into bed last night fully clothed. "Morning, Poppy," he burbled, staggering over to the Floo to talk face-to-face. He ran a hand through his hair. He must look as though someone had mistaken him for a Quaffle, he thought ruefully, feeling his scratchy stubble and grimacing.

At least Poppy didn't look much better. Insomnia was a common complaint among St. Mungo's staff these days. Her hair was back to normal, and she looked well. Still, her face was redder than usual. "Good-morning, Severus," the mediwitch began, then fell silent.

Severus was on the alert at once, though he felt, in his bones, that nothing serious was the matter. "Is everything all right, Poppy?" he asked carefully, settling into a chair by the fireplace.

"Oh, yes."

"Nothing the matter? No relapses or anything of the sort?"

"Oh, no no."

"Fuchsia Fever all gone?"

"Hm? Oh, yes."

"Well, is…there any new information on anything?" he fished.

"Information? Er…" Poppy seemed to be, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words. "Severus," she finally faltered, "I'm not quite sure how to put this, but… would you like to join me in a cup of tea sometime?"

What? Momentarily at a loss, Severus finally said, "But we meet every day for breakfast, and lunch, and sometimes for dinner as well."

"Oh…" Looking flustered, the mediwitch finally said, "I mean… socially, Severus."

He frowned. It was just too early in the morning for this. "What's the difference?"

Women are insane! was his next thought when she suddenly threw back her head and laughed. "O, Severus! Should have known I'd have to talk to you about the birds and the bees! How you became a Death Eater I'll never know," Poppy giggled. She said slowly, as though speaking to a child, "I'm propositioning you, Severus. That is, if you'll have me," she added hastily, her smile disappearing.

"Prop…" He discovered, to his chagrin, that he was stuttering. He'd rather face a Basilisk than a woman any day. "Poppy, I… am somewhat out of practice. I haven't had tea with a woman since…"

"Since you joined You-Know-Who, yes, I can't imagine they're much for tea-parties," she snorted. "Bellatrix Lestrange probably knocked back a glass of AB positive every morning." Poppy's eyes turned serious. "I'm not looking for experience, Severus, I'm looking for you."

Severus reeled. Poppy Pomfrey was considering him as a … a man? "Er…ah…" Oh, wonderful. Stuttering like a schoolboy, saving Ronald Weasley, interior decoration à la Alfie Prince… was there any indignity he had yet to suffer this week?

Poppy's face fell. "If you don't find me attractive," she said carefully, "I understand…"

"Oh, no!" In point of fact, Severus had always thought her a fine figure of a woman, but the crux of the matter was that he had closed the door to considering any female attractive years ago. "You are… any man would be honoured to have you as his consort."

"Consort! You are so Victorian!" The laugh was back in her eyes and voice. "So you will take tea with me, Severus? One old warhorse to another?"

"That's very flattering, Poppy, but I…er…" Was there some excuse he could give her? Say he'd think about it? Think about it? She's not proposing, man, his mind sneered, she asked you to join her in a cuppa! What's there to think about? Earl Grey or English Breakfast?

"I wouldn't normally be so forward," she interrupted his furious internal monologue, "but I wanted to – what is the Americanism? – stake my claim before your door is beaten down by hordes of females, after that article in the Prophet."

"Oh, you don't have t…" He froze.

"Severus?"

"What," he said dangerously, "what article in the Prophet?"

"Oh, you don't know?" she asked, much too innocently for his liking. "They interviewed Harry late yesterday afternoon, when he was conscious for a couple of hours…"

He rose from his chair, looming over her menacingly. "What article in the Prophet?"

"…There was this quite impossibly persistent reporter, she turned out to be a Herbimagus, transformed into a dandelion-seed and floated in, and funnily enough, Harry was quite eager to give her an interview. He usually loathes the press, you know. I'd have thought you…"

Severus growled like a dog about to bite. "What. Article. In The. Prophet?"

For answer, she reached backwards into the fireplace, pulling out a well-thumbed newspaper from the room behind her and handing it to him. He palmed it and stared in horror at the headline, eyes popping out of his head.

BOY-WHO-LIVED HAILS EX-SPY AS LIFESAVER

Exclusive Interview by Aspidistra Blossom

BREAKING NEWS – The Boy-Who-Lived, fresh from the epic Final Battle with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, ("Hyphenation mania," snorted Snape) has named Severus Snape, the notorious double agent convicted and later cleared of the murder of Wizarding legend Albus Dumbledore, ("What atrocious editing!") as his saviour. "I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for him," the Boy-Who-Lived declared as he lay in his hospital bed, recuperating from the powerful, draining curse that finally killed the famous Dark wizard. ("More like dumb luck.")

Alongside the Boy-Who-Lived ("Bah!") were his comrades in arms, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, whose lives, Potter has revealed, were also saved by none other than the reclusive hero ("Reclusive fiddlesticks!") Severus Snape. "We Apparated into the hospital in a bad way, and he saved us all," Potter revealed. In an astonishing turn of events, Potter has also revealed that a great deal of the work that enabled the Light Side's victory was done by the Reclusive Hero, who, Potter has revealed, ("Potter has revealed, Potter has revealed. You'd think he was doing a striptease.") is intensely shy and prefers to stay out of the limelight. ("Poppycock!")

"Professor Snape deserves a lot more credit than we've been giving him," Potter was quoted as saying. "He's been unfairly treated like a pariah, just for doing his duty. I think it's finally time that the Wizarding community at large started to give Professor Snape a bit of what he deserves." ("I'll give you what you deserve, Potter. You mark my words.") Snape, forced to live beyond the pale of Wizarding society for months, currently languishes ("What balderdash!") in a menial job ("What?") at St. Mungo's Hospital for Medical Maladies and Injuries, and the grapevine whispers that he is looking for feminine companionship to wash away the pain of his lonely nights. ("THAT'S LIBEL! THEY SHOULD BE HAD UP BY THE POLICE!")

For a full story of Snape's tragic, misunderstood childhood, turn to Page 7.

For detailed information on what happened the fateful night of Dumbledore's death, turn to Page 8.

Severus lowered the newspaper in horror, noticing for the first time the sound of high-pitched screaming outside his door. His hand shot out, grabbed Pomfrey's arm, and pulled her bodily out of the Floo. "What," he hissed through clenched teeth, "is that?"

"Why don't you open the door and find out?" she giggled. Giggled!

Bracing himself, Severus pulled a chair up to the door, stood up onto it and whispered "Permeo" to the section of wood closest to his face. He set his teeth and stuck his face out through the solid oak into the corridor.

"Great Scott!"

From his high vantage point, he found himself gazing down onto a sea of females. There were at least thirty witches out there, shrieking in various stages of what looked like hormone-induced insanity. One or two of them were wearing robes that were falling open to reveal the most indecent, scandalous—

"EEEEE! THERE HE IS!"

An ear-splitting scream rent the air as the mad females saw him. "Oh my GOD! It's HIM! It's HIM!"

"It's the RECLUSIVE HERO!"

The tide of witches surged up to the door and the raucous noise doubled in volume. Severus was reminded of the Beatles' arrival in America.

"Ah! I can die now! I've SEEN him!"

"Ooh, Sev! I love you, Sev!"

"Sev?!" he repeated in outrage. "SEV?" His fingers itched to grab his wand and…

"Severus, darling!" called out one of the witches. "I always knew you were innocent! A face like that can't lie!"

"You'd be surprised," Severus spat, shaking his head in disbelief. What on Earth had possessed the female population…

A reporter brandished her Quick-Quotes Quill. "Is it true you're secretly having a torrid homosexual romance with Harry Potter?"

"WHAT?"

"Open up, Sevvie love!" screeched a witch with a ridiculously obvious Bleaching Charm on her hair and a pink frilly something – he averted his eyes hastily – under her robe. "I want to have your BABIE-E-E-S!"

Toying with the idea of hitting the demented female with a Sterilizing Curse immediately to save the world from her offspring, he looked beyond the witches. Four or five Ministry officials were standing there, the posse headed up by a jovial-looking bald wizard, florid and flamboyant, and damned if that wasn't the Order of Merlin he was clutching in his left hand. "Open up, war hero!" he bellowed heartily.

"Sweet Slytherin's spectre," Severus bleated. "All this because of a few words from a silly little…"

"Let's see how you like it."

Severus whirled, nearly falling off his chair. Potter lounged smugly against the mantelpiece, looking for a moment so like his detested father that… But no, the burn still disfigured his scalp, and his nose was different, and those eyes were Lily's – "Haven't your dim-witted friends cried yet?" he snapped, stepping down off his perch.

"What? Oh, this," Potter raised a hand to his scorched head, still wearing that infuriating smirk. "I'll get it healed in a bit. Couldn't miss your first meeting with your fans."

"Get your head healed, Potter," Snape said tightly, "so that I can strangle you."

"Temper, temper," Potter said. "Why, Professor, you've always said how much I enjoyed my fame. I thought it was high time you got a little of your own. A bit of what you deserve."

Poppy placed a restraining hand on his shoulder; Severus realized he was growling like a dog, and controlled himself with an effort. "How dare you, Potter?"

"How dare I what? All I told them was the truth." The face grew serious. "You've suffered for ages for something that was never your fault. These idiots take the word of the ruddy Boy-Who-Lived as gospel. I just gave you a bit of the credit you deserve. I know I don't deserve their fawning or the stupid fame, but at least let it be good for something."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You say "The Boy Who Lived" as though he is someone apart from you."

"Well, he is," Harry stated simply. "I don't know who he is. Do you? I never knew, till I came to the Wizarding world, that he even existed. He's something they made up, a – I dunno, a fiction. He's not me, I can't be him. I can only pretend for a while, because it's what they want. Oh, I won't deny it's convenient sometimes – like today, when the only way to get you the credit that's your due is to use the stupid fame. But most of the time it's a right pain in the backside. Sorry." The boy grinned ruefully. "People love the Boy Who Lived, or they hate him, or whatever, but all I want is to be with my friends, the people who like me, you know, just Harry."

"Like Granger and Weasley," Severus said, understanding, the puzzle pieces falling into place at last.

"Right."

Severus hesitated a moment. "Dumbledore had no business showing you what he did."

Harry visibly deflated, then squared his shoulders. "S'pose not, but I would never have trusted you otherwise, and if I hadn't, Ron and Hermione…" He swallowed. "I never thanked you for that. I could never thank you enough for that."

Severus grunted, unsure what to say. "You've got a funny way of showing it, Potter, setting the press on me like that."

"It's not all bad," the brat said, and Severus knew he was speaking of the fame. "It—it opens doors. I know. It's a pain in the neck, but it can help you—do things."

"Such as?" Severus intended the question to be rhetorical.

The boy's mouth quirked. "Well, such as publishing in Potions Quarterly under your own name instead of that German fellow's."

Severus gaped. "You knew about that?" Then another thought occurred to him. "Since when do you read Potions Quarterly?"

The half-smile became a full-fledged grin. "Oh, not me, I'd never understand it. Hermione does, and she said she recognized your style."

The potions master could do nothing but shake his head ruefully. He noticed he was smiling.

"So, Professor." Harry extended a hand. "Truce?"

Stunned, Severus stared at Potter's outstretched hand as though it were going to bite him. Potter was battle-scarred and standing in his own room, but all Severus could see was the boy who'd stood against his own father to protect him, extending a hand to help him up. Coming back to the present, Severus wondered if he should flat-out refuse to shake the hand anyway, just on general principle. A world where he and Potter were friends made him glad he hadn't had any breakfast to puke up all over the boy's shoes. Then again, he thought, warming to the mental image, perhaps he should have had breakfast.

Remaining motionless, Severus sneered out of habit, "You Gryffindors are like over-friendly dogs, aren't you? You just want to be friends with everyone." Couldn't make it too easy for him, after all.

"Pretty much." Potter raised his eyebrows. "What's wrong? Afraid to be friends or something?"

"Afraid indeed," Severus snorted.

"You are, aren't you? You're afraid that I might actually be different from my father and that you might have been wrong about me!"

"I know you are not your father, Potter, but I am not wrong about you. You are a spoilt, silly brat!" The brat was congenitally incapable of being polite to his elders and betters for a fraction of a second!

"Severus," Poppy murmured, but he ignored her. This was between him and Potter.

"If you say so." Potter's smile didn't waver – in fact, it looked infuriatingly smug. "You just saved the dearest people in my life, Professor, you can spout insults till tomorrow and I won't get angry."

He took a step back, wondering. "You have the whole world's friendship, why would you want mine?"

"Fame isn't the same as friendship," Potter said flatly. "They're fickle. You're their darling now, you'll find out first-hand soon enough what they're like." The Gryffindor quirked an eyebrow; "To answer your question, it's because you've got integrity. Yeah, you treat me like shit, and Hermione says a good therapist would work wonders with that anger of yours…"

"How dare she…"

"…but you helped when it counted. You've always done your best, you've put up with a hell of a lot to win this war, you've lost more than anybody has, I think."

Severus stared at the smug brat. How dare he speak to him like an equal? He represented everything Severus had ever hated, he… he… he'd stood up to the dead father he'd idolized for him, he'd defended him in his daydreams… what was he thinking? Had he gone mad? He remembered the crazy reporters. 'Secret homosexual romance.' Good Lord. He shuddered. He'd as soon have a secret homosexual romance with the Giant Squid.

The pounding on his door began again. "Come on, old boy, open up!" the florid wizard yelled through the delicately carved wood. Severus grimaced. He'd have to see them soon, or risk having the priceless door damaged.

"Aren't you going to let them in?" Harry grinned, a twinkle in his eye. "That wizard who wants to give you the Order of Merlin, he just won't give up. He had Hermione's house connected to the Floo Network, but somehow mucked it up and popped up through the heating duct into the middle of her mother's bath."

"So we are to swap stories of fame now, are we, Potter?" Severus sneered. He did intend to forgive the boy, but he didn't see why he should make it easy for him.

But Harry regarded him with serious eyes. "I think this is where we came in." He turned away. "It's all right if you don't like me, I can't force you to," he said with his back turned, "but I don't mind admitting I was wrong about you, and I am sorry. I owe you Ron's and Hermione's lives – and mine," he added, almost as an afterthought. "You'll always have my respect and my gratitude. I'll always be at your service. Anything you need I'll do everything in my power to give. Thank you, Professor."

Severus opened his mouth to say something, his hand half-raised, but Harry had already Disapparated, leaving Severus alone with the pounding on the door.

No, not alone. "That was a very ungracious thing to do, Severus," came Poppy's voice, gently chiding.

"What, just because I won't subscribe to the Potter mania?"

"You know that's not the reason, you obstinate boy. Honestly, Severus, sometimes I just want to spank you."

"I trust you will restrain yourself."

Poppy giggled. "For now."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't even want to think about that meant.