Chapter 2

Harry had ended up playing several games of chess with Snape that day, and was astounded to learn that the Professor was quite capable in the game, winning more than half of the time. Although, Harry conceded, it shouldn't have really shocked him that much; Snape was one of the most cunning people who had ever lived.

They had played, with mild conversation between them, until a soft chime had gone off in Snape's pocket. He had pulled out a watch and apologized for having to leave in the middle of a game, but offered – in a backhanded and convoluted way – to come over again sometime soon, if Harry would allow it. Harry had shrugged in response. Snape's eyes tightened as he measured something in Harry's face, and then left silently, the only sound being the door shut behind him – apparently not insulted that Harry had not walked him to the door.

And so the pattern continued. Once or twice a week, Snape would come over to Harry's house. Eventually, they stopped playing game after game of chess and simply conversed about things – the state of Hogwarts, Harry's two oldest children and their jobs, happenings at the Ministry.

"Have you gone back to work, then?" Severus had asked one evening.

"Yeah," Harry answered, "I started back last week."

"And? How are you finding it? Being back?" Severus prodded.

"About the same as before," Harry conceded.

"Do you enjoy your job?" Severus asked with genuine curiosity.

"I do, actually," Harry replied, "I'm really happy at the Ministry."

Severus snorted softly, "I believe it may be illegal to mention the words 'happy' and 'Ministry' in the same sentence."

Harry's face broke into a wide smile. Severus looked at him curiously, and the smile quickly vanished.

Christmas holidays finally arrived and everyone converged at the Burrow. There was turkey and ham and pie, and a whole host of other delectable treats that Harry felt like he was enjoying for the first time. Over the past several weeks, Harry felt as though he had awakened from a deep slumber. There was still a numbness inside of him, but he felt like he was at least functioning on some level. The entire evening he only felt uncomfortable a few times, when he had noticed Severus watching him from the corner of the room – the usual place the man occupied at gatherings such as these. But Harry had earned some hugs and smiles from everybody else, the most heartfelt being from Hermione, who smiled smugly every time she saw Harry catching Snape looking at him.

The evening had finally ended, and Harry had Floo'd back to his house with Lily, Albus, and James, who were to stay with him a bit longer – Lily, of course, for the entire holidays. He sent Lily to bed soon after they arrived, but had cracked open some Firewhisky for Albus, James, and himself as they sat in front of the fire. It was quiet for a while before James spoke.

"Where are all the pictures, Dad?"

"Pictures?" Harry questioned.

James and Albus exchanged a look. It became evident to Harry that they had discussed having this conversation before coming over.

"Yeah, the pictures. Of Mum. You've still got all ours up, but all the ones with Mum are gone. Where'd they go?"

Harry struggled to remember; he hadn't noticed that they were missing, but as he searched his memory from the haze of days surrounding the accident, he remembered whipping around the house in a frenzy, taking down everything that reminded him directly of Ginny. He realized he had stored them in the attic.

"Up in the attic." He answered.

"Mmm," James made a non-committal sound.

"What do you mean, 'Mmm'?" Harry riled.

"Nothing, Dad, just…wondering what you'd done with them. If you might ever put them back out again."

"Of course I'm going to put them back out," Harry raised his voice. "I've been busy," he rationalized.

"Calm down, Dad," Albus said, "you'll wake Lily."

"I'm not upset," Harry retorted.

"All right," James placated, shifting forward in his seat. "Do you want us to help you do it tomorrow?"

"No," Harry shook his head quickly, "no, not tomorrow. Later. Some other time."

"Fine," James pushed, "we can do it before we leave next week."

"No," Harry said more forcefully, "no…" unable to continue, fury and fear bubbling up inside him.

"Fine," James continued, fully aware that he was on thin ice. "What about her things? Have you gone through them yet? We could help with that – clean up a bit."

Harry felt his chest constrict. It was getting hard to breathe. He bolted up from his chair. "No!" He nearly shouted, "No, I don't want your help! I'll do it!"

Albus made a move to get up, but James gave him a look and he stayed in his seat. "When, Dad? When are you going to do it?" James' voice was calm and measured.

Harry ran his hand through his hair franticly. His palms were sweaty and he was gasping for air. "I…I…" he couldn't form a coherent thought. "Leave me alone!" He shouted, and turned to run up the stairs.

"Dad?" Lily had awoken and was making her way down the stairs in her nightgown. "Is everything all…"

Harry cut her off as he stormed by her, taking the stairs two at a time. He made it into the bedroom and locked the door behind him. Turning, he leaned his back up against the door and took deep gulps of air, finally sliding to the floor and putting his head in his hands, alone in the dark.

James and Albus didn't mention anything about Ginny's things again for the rest of the holidays. The incident blew over and soon the children were gone. Once they had left, though, Harry found himself getting agitated at the smallest things, even breaking a glass once against the wall because he couldn't get it completely clean. It had been a while since he had seen everyone from the party, his only company being his colleagues at work, and he had largely stopped speaking to them unless it was completely necessary. Ron, even, had stopped trying to make pleasant conversation after Harry had snapped at him over something trivial.

He should have been unsurprised when he heard the knock at his door in mid-January. Seeing Snape standing there, face pale despite the biting wind, however, took him aback, although he hid it with an eye roll. Snape didn't wait to be invited in and unceremoniously entered, bumping the door into Harry on his way to the kitchen.

"Hey!" Harry bristled.

"Really, Mr. Potter," Snape said impatiently, "if I wanted the manners and vocabulary of a two-year-old, I would have visited a different household." He hung up his travelling cloak on the nearest wall peg and sat himself down at a chair by the table.

"You can't…this is my…what are you doing here?" Harry finally managed to get out.

"Admirably coherent, as always," Snape condescended as he crossed one ankle over the opposing knee and folded his arms across his chest.

"You can't just barge into my house and sit down in my kitchen like…like you live here or something," Harry shouted.

"Clearly I can, as I have already done so. Incidentally, there is no need to shout – advanced as I may be in years, I assure you I still have full faculty of my sense of hearing. And make no mistake – I have absolutely no desire to live here."

Harry leaned forward, gripping the sides of the table until his knuckles turned white. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" He repeated dangerously.

Snape looked up at him, boredom evident in his black eyes, "Really , Mr. Potter, do you honestly think that after all we have been through that your temper in any way intimidates me?"

Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it at Snape's face.

"Or your wand? We both know I could demolish you with my eyes closed. And both hands tied behind my back."

Harry re-gripped his wand.

"Sit down," Snape rolled his eyes and sighed. When Harry made no move to follow his instructions, he repeated, louder, "I said, sit down, Mr. Potter."

Harry conceded defeat and flopped into the nearest chair, setting his wand on the table. They sat in measurable silence for several minutes, Harry staring at the table.

"How were your Christmas holidays?" Snape finally asked.

Harry looked up, incredulous. "You were there," he remarked.

"As you'll recall," Snape drawled, "I attended the gathering at the Burrow, which, if my memory is correct, lasted a little more than five hours. The Christmas holidays, if I am not mistaken, usually measure in at closer to two weeks."

"They were fine." Harry replied, looking back down at the table.

"Really?" Snape said in a tone that clearly implied he was unconvinced. "I find that strange, given I had a most uninvited visit from your eldest son who regaled me with a tale about how you shouted at him, stomped up the stairs like a four-year-old, and then proceeded to lock yourself in your bedroom."

Harry's head snapped up, eyes tightening. "We had a row."

"Did you now?" Snape goaded. "Do tell."

"They asked me…they wanted me to…I couldn't…we had a row," he repeated emphatically.

"About what, Mr. Potter?"

"Nothing," Harry answered after a pause.

"Don't lie to me, Mr. Potter. Even if I were not a superb Legilimens, and you not a woefully inadequate Occlumens, you are supremely unskilled at lying. About what did you argue?"

"I'm sure James told you." Harry evaded.

"And I am asking you," Snape said pointedly.

"Is that why you're here? To try and get me to…talk about it? Do something about it? Why can't everyone just leave me alone?" Harry stood up again, his hands going to the sides of his head, as though a headache were approaching.

"Because you are an adult, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped, rising fluidly out of his seat and taking a step toward Harry. "A terrible thing has happened to you, and it seems to most of those who are close to you that you are doing little to deal with it."

Harry seethed at him.

"And, incidentally," Snape continued, straightening up and crossing his arms, "I am not here to talk about that. I am here to discuss a certain book, which you hopefully found after Mrs. Weasley visited you a few months ago."

Harry's anger abated instantly, replaced with confusion, "Book? What book?"

"She left it on this table. As it is no longer here, I assume you found it and put it elsewhere. One can only hope it was not the fireplace or the rubbish bin."

"Oh," Harry remembered, "That book."

Snape curved the corners of his mouth in what could only be described as an annoyed grimace.

"How d'you know about that book?"

With an eye roll, Snape sat back down and intimated Harry should do the same, which he did. "Because I gave it to her, in the hope that you would find it useful."

Harry's eyes widened and his brow rose to near his hairline. "You? Why?"

Snape drew in a long breath of practiced patience, "As I have just stated, I had hoped you would find it to be of some use. Really, Mr. Potter, I am distressed that our conversations leave me feeling as though I were spending time with a first year Potions student."

"I heard what you said," Harry was irked. "I meant, why did you even care?"

"First of all," Snape began, "I would have thought that by now, you would have learned to say what you mean, so as to not leave your audience with a flawed impression requiring so much inference." Harry opened his mouth to speak, clearly incensed, but Snape held up a hand to forestall him. "Second, I would have hoped that over the past few years, my interactions with you had convinced you that I have neither a heart of stone nor a one-tracked desire to make your life a living hell anymore. The reports of your actions from those closest to you were distressing. That book has helped me, and many I know. I thought you might benefit from it as well."

"Helped you?" Harry was intrigued.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Snape deliberately kept his voice in 'lecture mode'. "Difficult though it may be to believe, you are not the only one who has suffered such a heart-rendering loss. If you'll recall, in the final battle with the Dark Lord alone, many people lost their lives – I assure you, all of them had family members who were equally as devastated with those losses as you are with yours."

Harry leaned back, appropriately abashed.

Snape continued, "And in accordance with your absurd independent streak that comes with being an insufferable Gryffindor, you have refused the help of those who have reached out to you in your time of need, although they could have been of immeasurable help. I foresaw this, knowing you – if I may be so bold to assume – rather well, and thought you might perhaps choose to use a more private way of overcoming this tragedy. Although it seems as though what the former Ms. Granger has said is quite true. You do not, in fact, read."

"I can read," Harry retorted, although weakly.

"Quite." Was Snape's only reply.

They sat in silence for quite some time before Harry spoke.

"I did read the table of contents."

"Mmm," was Snape's only reply.

"I'll start it tonight," Harry conceded.

"See that you do," Snape ordered. "Now would be preferable," he amended. "Shall I leave you to it, then?"

Harry nodded, feeling like he had just been given homework.

"When I return, I expect to be able to have an intelligent discussion about the first chapter." He directed, rising from his chair, retrieving his cloak, and making his way to the front door.

"When will that be, sir?" Harry reverted into school-boy mode, although he was over 40.

"I am unsure when my schedule will allow. Feel free to read ahead." And with that, he exited and shut the door behind him.