Rating: M

Warnings: Slash, swearing, infidelity, probably a bit OOC

Pairings: SS/HP and HP/GW

Genres: Romance, Drama, Angst

Summary: Harry's engaged to Ginny, but then along comes Severus Snape. SLASH, SS/HP, POST DH

Chapter Two: Second Meetings

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the – "

Harry stepped out of the lift and into the corridor before the soft, female voice could finish its announcement. Wondering idly, as he always did, about whom that voice actually belonged to, he made his way down the busy, narrow hallway, nodding at the people who greeted him and dodging the many paper aeroplane memo's that swooped passed his head.

The corridor was much different to how it had been the very first time he'd walked down it with Arthur Weasley. Back then it had been a very official-looking place with bare walls and polished doors. Now, the walls were full of large framed pictures of the many people that made up the Law Enforcement Department. It had been Kingsley's idea – an attempt to make the place seem more homely; it was the same on all the floors and everyone was pictured; from the Minister and Heads of Departments, to the witches and wizards who served in the canteen.

Harry smiled as he neared the newest photo of the scarlet-clad Auror's. There he stood, in the middle of the cheerful looking group, dressed smartly in his Head of Office blue robes; he still got to wear the red whilst out on missions, but at the Ministry it had to be blue – something to do with authority. He much preferred wearing the red though – it reminded him of Gryffindor Quidditch.

He averted his eyes and continued down the corridor, striking up a brisk pace. He passed through the double doors and had just managed to take three steps (the record was seven) into the large room when an excitable, blonde-haired man appeared at his side.

"Morning Jeremy," he said automatically, trying hard to keep the sigh out of his voice.

"Good morning, sir!" his assistant greeted him brightly. "Here's your morning coffee, sir." He handed him the steaming cup. "Sir, we've just had word of a robbery going down on Oxford Street. The reports suggest that it's the same man responsible for the other muggle burglaries. The Auror's are – "

"No," Harry cut across, "send the Hit Wizards. I want the Auror's working on the Creswell murder case. Have we got any new leads?"

"Err…" Jeremy ruffled through the parchment on his clipboard. "Yes," he said. "A muggle woman claims to have overheard an exchange between Davidson and McCulloch. Ron Weasley's interrogating her as we speak."

"Good," he said. "Bring me that transcript when he's finished. Do not obliviate her until we're sure we have everything we need – the last thing we need is another one of those incidents. Where do we stand on the Bately case?"

"Oh, erm…" Jeremy consulted his notes again. "Interviews have been done and the trial date has been set. I should have the file on your desk by the end of the day. Sir, are you alright?"

Harry, who had been just about to open his office door, looked up.

"What?"

"Are you alright?" he repeated. "You look a little…" he trailed off, bobbing his head from side to side as if to emphasise something.

Harry was at a loss. "A little what, Mr. Jenkson?"

Jeremy was quiet for a moment, as if casting around for the right word to use. "Tired," he finally decided on.

Harry frowned and decided his assistant was being polite – he looked more than a little tired; he was very well aware of the dark circles beneath his eyes and the paleness of his skin.

"I'm fine," he said with a small smile and he entered his office. "Don't forget – I want that file by the end of the day."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

With one last smile at his assistant, Harry shut the door. All the noise from the other room instantly disappeared.

Monday mornings. Oh, how he hated them.

For a few moments, he just stood with his back against the door, looking over at the window opposite him. From here, all he could see was blue sky.

Shortly after being promoted, Harry had asked the people down in Magical Maintenance very nicely if they could possibly charm the view from his office to be something other than the standard busy London street – being Head Auror was a chaotic job and the last thing he wanted was to look out at more chaos from his office window. Emily Crawshaw, a sweet old lady, had been more than happy to help and had given him a beautiful, calming view of sand and sea.

Harry looked down at the steaming cup of coffee in his hand and set it on the desk. He then pulled out his wand and transfigured a paperweight into a mirror, trying to think of a spell to make himself look more presentable.

There was a very simple explanation for his lack of sleep and that was Ginny, but not for the reasons one would think. As a Quidditch star Ginny did a lot of travelling, especially when there was a tournament coming up. She was currently in Spain with the rest of her team, competing for a place in the European Championships. Being in a different country meant that she needed special permission to come through the floo or use portkeys and so conversation with her over the last few days had been very limited.

At first, Harry had thought that he could handle her absences – after all, he'd grown up practically alone – but he was ashamed to admit that he wasn't finding it any easier; he'd grown so accustomed to sharing his life with her, and a cold bed at night made him feel even worse. He had his friends to keep him company of course, but it just wasn't the same. There was something about going home to an empty house that really struck a painful cord.

Also weighing heavily on his mind was Severus Snape, something which he was even more ashamed to admit. Ever since he'd confronted the man a week ago in The Leaky Cauldron, his mind had been racing with all the unanswered questions he still wanted to ask. He knew the healthy thing to do was to just forget about it and move on – Snape had seemed perfectly fine so there was no need to worry or be suspicious – but there was just something about this whole thing that had Harry feeling rather like a dog with a bone. He may not have liked his professor back at school, but seeing him again had brought back so many memories. A large piece of his past had walked into his life and he was very reluctant to let it go.

But then…it was just Snape. Snape wasn't that important.

Laughing bitterly at the direction his thoughts had taken, he transfigured the mirror back into its original form and walked round his desk. He sat down just as there was a knock on his door.

"Come in," he called, pulling his coffee cup towards him.

Jeremy entered the room.

"Sir, Mr. Weasley's finished questioning the muggle woman. Here's that transcript you wanted."

"Thank you, Jeremy," he said, reaching out for the small file.

After the door had closed, Harry sighed and kicked his feet up onto the desk, leaning back in his chair. He sipped his coffee and opened the file.

The Creswell murder case was a nasty one with very few leads. A few months ago a limbless, headless body had been found in a derelict house in Scarborough. Testing had confirmed that the victim had been killed with Avada Kedavra. During the days that had followed they had managed to track down the remaining limbs by magic, which had been scattered in various parts of Britain. For weeks, the Auror's had kept tabs on anyone and everyone who had reason and opportunity do to Mr. Creswell harm. After months of hard work, they had finally managed to narrow their investigation down to just two main suspects. And then they'd hit a dead end. It was only recently that the Minister had allowed them to go public with the case in the muggle world.

Harry finished reading the transcript and dropped it onto his desk. Not very much, but it was something. The conversation the woman had overheard had included the mention of where Creswell's head had been found. Davidson and McCulloch were both nasty criminals but the Ministry had never been able to pin anything on them other than petty crimes.

With a heavy sigh, Harry swung his legs off the desk and headed out of his office. He was too tired to concentrate on anything new at the moment and so decided the best thing for him to do was to go over the evidence.

He made his away across the busy, cubicle-laden room to where an old wizard sat at a desk. He smiled crookedly at Harry and scribbled his name down on a long scroll. The door behind him clicked open and Harry entered a small room that had bright white walls, ceiling, and floor. A single candle burnt with an almost artificial light in the corner, illuminating the few things in the room – a square glass window that was set in the centre of the left wall, a small metal panel, a silver slot, and a metal tray.

Harry approached the window and looked through it. Unlike the other windows in the building that were charmed to show a view of the outside world, this one revealed a large black room which seemed to be lit with multiple spotlights. Thousands upon thousands of files floated slowly about the room in an orderly fashion, as if dangling from an invisible conveyor belt. The ceiling of the room was just visible, but the floor, which was all the way down on level 10 of the Ministry, was lost in blackness from this height.

This was the File Room and could be accessed from all departments; if Harry were to press his head against the glass he would just be able to make out the light coming from all the other windows down below.

He placed his hand on the cold, metal panel and spoke clearly.

"Derek Creswell."

The effect was instantaneous. Behind the glass, all the files scattered as if a hurricane had just swept through the room. Pieces of parchment flew at the glass before disappearing into the darkness below, whilst files furiously shuffled through themselves, blowing round and round, caught up in a non-existent wind.

It lasted for no longer than ten seconds and when a file appeared in the metal tray, the numerous files in the dark room zoomed back into place, back into order, and resumed their slow motion as if nothing had happened.

Harry picked up the folder and turned to leave when an idea suddenly bounded into his head. He could have kicked himself. He could have done more than that; he could have cursed his ears off!

In the four years and nine months that Severus Snape had been missing, not once had it occurred to Harry to look the man up in the Ministry files! The answers had been here all along!

But, he thought as he turned back to the window, his curiosity hadn't really been this intense until most recently. If truth be told, the professor hadn't even been in his thoughts until he'd seen him in Diagon Alley. Not much anyway.

It still took you a week though, a voice cackled at him. He chose to ignore it.

"Severus Snape," he said, placing his hand on the metal panel, and he watched again as the files scattered and flew back into place.

Harry picked up the folder and headed back to his office.

Once he was sitting comfortably, he opened the file on Snape. A photograph of the professor scowled up at him and he quickly flicked to the next page. Name, birthday, education, jobs, criminal record…it was all here. Quite a lot of the pages were taken up with information on his Death Eater days. In fact, as Harry flicked through the file, he felt he was learning more about Snape than he ever had at Hogwarts. The only thing missing was…

"No known address?" Harry read with a frown. "Well, that can't be right."

He ruffled through the file again, more slowly this time, trying to look for all the things he'd missed. N.E.W.T results, Gringotts vault number…oh! Here was something; Dumbledore had left him a house in his will!

Feeling rather proud of himself, Harry grabbed a quill and a blank piece of parchment to jot down the address – as this was the only address written in the file it had to be worth a look. He glanced back at the file ready to copy it down and his eyes widened.

Harry stood in the village square of Godric's Hollow, shielding his eyes against the sun and staring up at the stone statue of his parents. Their presence wasn't as strong here as it was in the graveyard but he imagined he could still sense them. He knew it wasn't possible – after all, his parents weren't ghosts and it was just a statue – but it was something Harry liked to believe and it made him feel welcome.

Of all the places for the previous Head of Slytherin to live, Godric's Hollow wouldn't have even entered Harry's mind. It went against everything Harry knew about him. He was so dark and miserable – surely he'd stand out like a…well, like a snake amongst the lions really. But then again, Harry was one of those lions and he stood out like a sore thumb.

Ever since the war had ended, Harry had become an annual visitor to this village; every Halloween he would make his way to the graveyard with some flowers to pay his respects to Lily and James Potter on the anniversary of their death. The residents were always the same – as soon as they noticed him they would stop and stare and whisper to their friends. No one ever approached him though; they knew why he was there and always gave him the privacy he wanted.

Today was the same. The only difference was it wasn't Halloween – it was the end of February and Harry Potter hadn't brought flowers to place on a grave.

He looked away from the stone faces of his parents and glanced about the village square. A couple people had already spotted him and were walking by slowing, watching him out of the corners of their eyes. When one of them ducked into a shop, reappearing a few seconds later with two old ladies in tow, Harry decided he'd stood still for long enough. He smiled politely at the small gathering of people and headed down a small lane.

Anywhere else and the constant attention would have annoyed him to no end. When it happened in Godric's Hollow, however, he found it rather amusing. It was such a small village – one of those close communities where everyone knew everyone else's business. It was a quirky quality and one of the reasons why it was so hard to believe that Severus Snape might actually live here.

He continued walking down the lane, suppressing chills as he passed the house that had once belonged to Bathilda Bagshot. Just before he reached the destroyed Potter house, he turned left down a gravel road.

As he walked, he took the time to admire all the large cottages on either side of him; some were stone, some were thatched, but all of them boasted neat gardens and beautiful flowerbeds.

All of them except the one on the end.

White walled and thatched roofed, it stood basking in the sunlight. The grass was overgrown and most of the flowers looked wild. Ivy crept up the sides of the house and bushes obscured most of the small fence, which desperately needed a new coat of paint. But despite all this, there were definite signs of life. For one, the windows were clean and Harry could see a bookcase through them.

Before he could even think or let his nerves get the better of him, he opened the worn gate and made his way up the uneven path towards the door. He knocked three times and stood back, waiting.

The door opened.

"Bet you're surprise to see me this time, right?" Harry grinned.

Snape stood in the entrance, dressed in trousers and shirt and wearing a look of disbelief on his face. It only took a couple of seconds however and his face turned into a scowl as he regarded Harry on the doorstep.

"What the hell are you doing here Potter?" he demanded, looking at him in disgust.

"I wanted to talk to you," he told him politely. "We never did finish our conversation."

Snape clenched his teeth. "I do not remember giving you my address," he said tightly. "Nor do I remember giving you any hint that I wanted to continue our conversation."

Harry snorted. "You didn't give anyone your address," he said to him. "You know, you're not even listed as living here? You're just listed as having possession of it."

Snape's eyes sparkled as he glared at him and stood tall.

"And how would you know that?" he asked in a quiet fury.

"I looked you up at the Ministry," he told him with a shrug.

"That is a blatant misuse of power and I shall be reporting you."

"Report me all you like, Snape," Harry said with a smile. "So…can I come in?"

"No."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please?" he added.

"Potter, I do not want you here, now go away!"

"So you're just going to turn me away after I went through all this trouble of coming here?"

"That's right," Snape said, uncaring. "Good day, Mr. Potter."

"But I – " Harry quickly reached out a hand to stop the door closing. "Snape, please…"

"Potter, remove your hand at once. I won't hesitate to trap it in the door, I assure you."

Harry didn't doubt that. But he wasn't about to falter now, not when he was so close.

The door began to shut again and thought fast.

"Dumbledore!" he shouted out.

The door swung open again.

"What?" Snape demanded, looking down at him as if he were crazy. Harry didn't mind; he felt crazy.

"I…erm…" He wet his lips. "Dumbledore. He lived here, didn't he?"

"So?" Snape said, frowning.

"So…I want to talk about him. With you. Inside?"

Snape seemed to consider him for a moment and Harry gulped as those dark eyes bore into his. He suddenly felt young and naive but he stared back, determined not to show weakness.

Finally, after an agonising few seconds, Snape gave in with a sigh. He stood back to let Harry through and followed him into the room.

The interior was such a huge contrast to the eyesore that was outside; everything was clean and tidy and stored away in its place.

A comfy-looking black sofa sat with its back against the wall, opposite a stone fireplace. A matching black armchair was sat at an angle near the back window, through which Harry could see a well-kept garden.

Behind him, over by the door, was a polished staircase that led to the upstairs landing, which overlooked the living room like a balcony. From where Harry stood, he could only see two doors, but as the cottage was rather big he assumed there were more.

Most of the furniture seemed to be made of oak; a small table in the middle of the room, a couple of cabinets, the bookcase which Harry had spotted from outside, and another low table on which a large television sat. There was no carpet; in fact, the dark, wooden floorboards seemed to be the only traditional part of the room.

"Dumbledore lived here?" he asked stupidly, taking in his surroundings.

"Once," said Snape, "many years ago. He lived at Hogwarts for most of his life, but he still owned the house, sentimental fool that he was; didn't want to sell it, but didn't want to step foot in it again either."

"It's rather modern, isn't it?" Harry noted.

"I have redecorated since. I wasn't going to live amongst squashy armchairs and fluffy cushions and knitted rugs."

That reminded Harry of one of his questions. He turned to look at Snape with a puzzled expression.

"Why do you live in Godric's Hollow anyway?" he asked. "I wouldn't have thought it was your thing."

"Really?" A smirk appeared on Snape's face. "And just what is my 'thing' Mr. Potter?"

"I dunno," Harry muttered with a shrug. "Dungeons and darkness and stuff."

"Oh, of course," Snape said smoothly, "Because all of us Slytherins just love dungeons and darkness. We can't get enough of it."

"Well, that's where you lived at Hogwarts!" Harry argued. "If you didn't like it then why did you live there?"

Snape laughed and shook his head.

"I'm amazed at what passes for an Auror these days."

"There's no need to insult me, Snape," Harry snapped.

"Think, Potter," he said. "I was the potions professor and Head of Slytherin. The potions classroom was in the dungeons, as was the Slytherin common room. I needed to be where my students could find me."

That made sense.

"Oh," Harry said.

Snape snorted.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, coming fully into the room.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "You're offering me a drink? I didn't know you were polite."

Snape's eyes gleamed. "I could always put poison in it," he said.

Harry gulped. "In that case, I'm fine. I'll just, erm…sit."

He sat down on the sofa and Snape seated himself in the armchair.

Harry nervously let his eyes scan the rest of the room. For some reason he felt like a tourist. He knew it was silly but he couldn't help it – this had been Dumbledore's house; the house he'd invited Grindelwald into and the house where his poor sister had been killed. The expression 'if the walls could talk' sprung to mind. There was just so much history here.

And speaking of Dumbledore…

Something above the fireplace caught his eye and he turned. There, hanging on the wall, was a portrait of the Dumbledore family. All four occupants lay snoozing against each other, looking so very peaceful in sleep; the only person missing was Aberforth but as he was still alive, Harry figured it would probably be a long time before he appeared.

"That painting," said Harry, nodding towards it, "Is it like the ones in the Head's office at Hogwarts, where they remember everything? Or is it like the other ones that only know what's happened since they've been a portrait?"

Snape's expression was unreadable as he looked over at the painting.

"It's like the ones in the Headmistress's office," he told him. "That's how Minerva knew I was alright. Albus told her."

Harry took a moment to think on that. The occupants of the paintings in the Head's office could flit in and out of their frames to visit their counterparts. He supposed it made sense that there would be one here, in what had been his family home, although he guessed there were plenty others out there – Albus Dumbledore had been a very popular and very well respected man; he knew for a fact that there was one in the Minister's office.

Back in the picture, a dark haired man that had to be Percival Dumbledore grunted in his sleep. It was strange, he thought, seeing Albus Dumbledore painted looking older than his parents. It was sad that the other three people in the portrait had died so young.

"So…it's like he's alive?" he asked eventually. "He remembers everything that's happened to him and you can have conversations with him?"

"I can talk to him, yes," Snape said, eyes fixed on the portrait, "And he remembers. But it's not like he's alive. Far from it. It just serves as a constant reminder that he isn't."

Harry decided it was best to change the topic. Snape had let him into his home and Harry knew that he'd been thrown out after one wrong word.

Tearing his eyes away from the sleeping Dumbledores, he cleared his throat.

"So why do you live in Godric's Hollow?" he asked again, looking at Snape. "I know Dumbledore left it to you in his will but…"

Snape seemed to come out of a stupor. He looked back at Harry and his face was fixed with unpleasantness once more.

"It's quiet," he told him briskly. "It's peaceful; it's out of the way. It's the last place people would expect me to be."

"But I thought you said you weren't hiding away from society?"

Snape narrowed his eyes at him and Harry had to fight back a grin.

"Why were you staying at The Leaky Cauldron last week?" he asked instead. "Why didn't you just go home?"

"Because I felt like a change of scenery," Snape replied. "You too would get bored if you were cooped up in the same place everyday, listening to Dumbledore witter on."

"You said you had reasons for not telling anyone where you had gone. What were they?"

"I told you that last time, Potter, I wanted to get away."

"And that's it?" he said sceptically. "That's your answer?"

"What do you want me to say?" he asked calmly, though his face looked tense. "That I had some special plan? That I had orders to follow? That I had something to hide? Is that what you're after? Some incredible story?"

"But then why – "

"I wanted to leave," Snape said. "It's as simple as that. I'd spent years at that school, years following orders. And then the war ended and I was free! And all of a sudden people didn't fear me anymore. People wanted to thank me. Thank me for following Dumbledore's orders! Thank me for helping you!"

"Wait a minute," said Harry, staring at him, "You wanted to be feared? You wanted people to hate you?"

"I didn't want to be treated as a hero," he said sternly. "For Merlin's sake, I killed Albus Dumbledore!"

"For a reason!" Harry shouted. "He would have died anyway!"

"And that makes it alright, does it? To kill a dying man?"

"Dumbledore told you to," he pressed. "If you hadn't done it than a Death Eater would have! He wanted you to keep your cover. He trusted you to watch over Hogwarts."

"And what a fantastic job I did!" he laughed bitterly.

"But you did," Harry said strongly. "You gave the students detentions instead of torturing them like the Death Eaters did. You made sure more people didn't die. You –"

"Potter!" he shouted, holding up his hands; his eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily.

Harry felt a stab of guilt. He remembered just how hard things had been for Snape back at Hogwarts. He'd been forced to kill his only friend and forced to work for a Dark Lord he'd absolutely despised. Whereas Harry wanted to hold on to the past, Snape wanted nothing more than to forget it.

Again, Harry's eyes found the portrait above the fire. Dumbledore and Harry were both a huge part of Snape's past. Both of them were the reasons Snape had suffered.

Suddenly, Harry felt ashamed of his own presence.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to go on about it. I'm just trying to make sense of it all."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know you have your questions," he said slowly, "but I assure you, the answers aren't anywhere near as fascinating as you are no doubt hoping for."

"I wasn't hoping for anything spectacular," Harry told him. "Honest. I just wanted to fill in the gaps, that's all."

Snape lowered his hand from his face and surveyed Harry from where he sat. For the first time, Harry realised how much the man had aged. His face looked worn and the sunlight falling through the window made his dark hair look much lighter, almost grey.

"I've lived here since I left the hospital," Snape spoke. "I barely keep in touch with Minerva, and I sell potions via a magazine I write for."

"You write for a magazine?" Harry asked, intrigued. "Which one?"

"Potions Monthly."

"How come I've never heard – "

"I use a different name," Snape answered before he could finish.

"Oh. Well, that's good," he said. "You're keeping busy."

An awkward silence fell between the two and Harry frantically thought of something else to say. He nervously picked at his robe sleeve, amazed at how subdued Snape suddenly seemed. He didn't blame the man for wanting to escape to Diagon Alley for a change of scenery – being stuck in Dumbledore's old house with Dumbledore's portrait couldn't exactly be easy, especially when Dumbledore was connected with so many things Snape wanted to forget.

The man seemed so lonely…he wanted, perhaps needed, to talk but was holding himself back. Maybe Harry bumping into him had been a blessing? Maybe Harry could help? He hated seeing people like this. He knew what it felt like all too well.

"Listen," Harry said, "I have to get back to work but…you're not going to run away again, are you?"

"That depends," Snape said. "Are you going to visit again?"

"Yes," Harry answered straight away. "Look, maybe we could be friends?" he suggested before Snape could get out his retort. "We could get together and talk and stuff. We don't have to talk about…you know…but we could talk about anything. Maybe go for a drink in the village pub? I've always wondered what it was like in there."

Snape pressed his lips together in a thin line. He looked rather sour.

"And what makes you think I would welcome your company?" he asked, sounding more like his old self.

Harry ignored him and stood up. "So I'll see you on Friday, then?" he said. "Outside the pub at 8?"

And before Snape could reply, Harry let himself out.

A/N: Sorry if this chapter wasn't what you were expecting. And sorry if it sucked. But I've read it through so many times that it just stopped making sense lol. It's time like these that I think having a beta for a second opinion would do the world of good! Anyways, the chapter is here so let me know what you think! And thank you for all the reviews of the last chapter! xx