Longest. Chapter. Ever. 4600 words.

Yeah, it's long(ish). But, I did it with reason, as rushing this (admittedly acidental) conversation would have made it meaningless. I do hope it's understandable.

Thanks again to all the lovely reviewers out there, and the 80+ people that have this story on alert, and the random 4000 hits that seem to mosty come from the States. :D

Enjoy!

O

Chapter Seven: Overcome

...oOo...

The ground-floor classrooms, as Harry understood from snatches of conversation he heard in the Great Hall, had mostly been being used as makeshift dormitories for the few people staying at Hogwarts who did not want to revisit and stay in their House dormitories, but, as most of those few people had already left, Harry figured the rooms would be empty now.

Sure enough, the second room Harry peeked into contained nothing more than desks and an item relative to the subject being taught there; which was Ancient Runes, if the title of the fat, leather-bound book sitting on a nearby desk told him anything... not that he could actually read the title, but the Rune-script gracing its cover was obvious enough to him.

He hadn't put up with Hermione mumbling about the subject incessantly through his third year for nothing after all.

It was odd though; wasn't the Ancient Runes classroom was on the sixth-floor? Maybe the book had just been misplaced.

Oh well.

"So, what did you mean when you said that I'm the center of the universe?" Harry prompted, the moment he shut the door to the empty classroom and locked it. He cast Muffliato on the door as well, as an afterthought. Snape watched his wand movement with the slightest hint of amusement.

Ah... Muffliato was a spell the Half-Blood Prince made-up.

One of Snape's spells.

Harry had forgotten.

"I meant that your ego has become such that it can now be classified as a small sun." Snape deadpanned, amusement gone, "Really, what do you think I meant?"

Harry blinked.

Snape crossed his arms and eyed him with haughty annoyance, "Take my words literally, Potter: you appear to have a small gravitational field surrounding your very being – but I seem to be the only planet being pulled into orbit."

Harry blinked again, "Uh, astronomy wasn't my best subject..."

"The same could be said of many others." Snape sighed, "Must I spell it out for you?- Nevermind! – foolish question – Of course I do..." he uncrossed his arms once more, while Harry contented himself with glaring with enough intent to hopefully burn a hole through the man's see-through skull, "I am, shall we say, drawn to you. You move; I follow. I have no choice but to follow, or be dragged along behind you like a dog on a leash. I gravitate towards, and around you, and cannot stray outside of a certain distance from you. Understand?"

Oh. Harry tried to keep his glare in place, but he could feel the expression sliding off of his face to be replaced by one of dumbstruck confusion.

"Must I say more?"

Harry waved his hands, "No! No, I got it." Hadn't Harry thought that Snape was circling him in the Great Hall before? Snape had just confirmed his hunch.

So why did he feel out of his depth again?

"This doesn't make sense."

"Thank you for making a note of that, Potter." Snape snapped, then his voice took on a tone of relief, "For a moment there, I was under the impression that I was the only one baffled by all of this. Hence why I came to you to discuss the possible ways there may be to resolve the issue..."

Once more, for the third and last time, Harry blinked in confusion.

"... you're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

Snape gave him a flat look, "Yes, Potter." he sighed, the false-relief gone from his voice, "You are certainly not the first person I would choose to brainstorm with, as I wasn't aware you had a brain – let alone one that could storm."

Snape was starting to irk Harry in a way that he hadn't been irked since the man had been booted from teaching Potions, and even after that he had driven Harry to the very limits of his silent annoyance during many a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. He'd almost forgotten how much of a git Snape could be with everything that had happened in the year since his last meeting with him, before he killed Dumbledore and all that had come after.

Why did his emotions have to be conflicted? Harry wanted very much to know why Snape was a ghost, and he absolutely wanted to know why he was tied to Harry so exclusively. He wanted to help him.

He also wanted to shut him up with Snape's own Langlock jinx. It had worked on Peeves, so it must work on Snape. Surely there couldn't be much of a difference between a poltergeist and a ghost.

The man didn't have to make it so god damn difficult, did he?

Or maybe he did... maybe he really did hate Harry that much.

Did that mean Harry had to put up with his constant antagonism?

No.

After all: Harry really was the only person Snape could turn to.

"Then why don't you go talk to someone else?" said Harry, huffing petulantly, "I probably won't be much of a help in any case. As you've been saying; I'm not the brightest spark in the spell, so you'd probably be better-off without me."

Snape cocked an eyebrow, "Potter, I have little choice in the matter. Or have you forgotten already?"

"I haven't forgotten anything."

Now it was Snape's turn to blink in bafflement, head tilting to one side, "What point are you trying to...?" then comprehension dawned and he sighed, looking away.

...oOo...

Severus knew he was being difficult, as he had been during their earlier conversation; Severus almost felt as if he had some control over his predicament while he lapsed into his usual antics, his old habits, and belittled Potter with as much zeal as he could muster.

Before, in life, he had lashed out constantly at anyone who happened to catch him at the wrong moment, regardless of whether or not the person on the receiving-end of his wrath deserved it. He did not always do it strictly to be nasty, quite often it was means to amuse himself; a distraction from his demons, and it also helped him to let off steam from his everyday frustrations (Potter, the loss of Lily, Potter, being alive, Potter, the Dark Lord, and Potter), but it was a deep-set part of his nature that had been ingrained within him since childhood.

But, before, he'd had more than one person to lash out at, other distractions, and more than one way of letting off steam... he had his potions, his books, his studies.

Now he had Potter, and that was all. He had no other options. It made him much more frustrated than he had ever been before, so completely out of control, and because of that he had much more of a need to lash out. And, on top of his insecurities about his lack of control, he still had the lingering sense of loss that had not left him since that miraculous warmth had faded, he could faintly feel the pull toward his physical body from somewhere above, as well as the pull toward Potter himself, and the absolute irritation in the irony that it all had to be linked to the boy that had been the bane of his existence since before he had even been born, who was standing right in front of him with his chin stuck out stubbornly, defiantly, and yet wore a look of patience on his face that was only belied to being strained by the creases at the corners of his emerald-green eyes.

It was an expression that spoke in levels; a look that said I don't want to do it, but if you keep it up, I'll leave.

It was exactly the same expression Lily had worn during Severus' conversations with her through the last few months of their friendship, just before he ruined it all.

He hadn't recognised it all that time ago; he hadn't know what it was. But now it was obvious to him.

And it hurt to see it again.

Now, just as he driven away Lily, Severus would drive away her son.

And then he really would be alone.

On your deathbed, you regretted not getting to know the boy for who he truly is, said the sage-like voice of logic in his sub-conscious, now you have the chance to change that.

Perhaps he did.

Severus took a deep breath.

"My... apologies... Mister Potter." he said, softly, trying to the find the right words and coming up short, and resolutely refusing to look the boy in the eyes while he knew that expression would still be there, "I am not... myself."

"You seem like you to me." said Potter, bluntly, but there was no malice in his tone, just matter-of-fact honesty.

That stung a little, mostly because it was true.

"Yes... yes, I suppose you're right." he admitted, albeit a little grudgingly. He was long out of practice in admitting his shortcomings to others, let alone apologising for them. "I'm not particularly-"

"Look..." said Potter, suddenly, cutting him off, "I get it- actually no, I don't really get it... but I understand? This has got to be difficult for you, but you don't have to do it, do you? Bite my head off, I mean, for every little thing..." he grimaced, "It's like you're in defence-mode, like you expect me to attack you or something and you're just getting-in first. Or is it that you still hate me that much?"

Slowly, Severus turned back to him.

That expression was gone from the boy's face; replaced by one of patience, touched with confusion, a little bit of sadness, and pity- no, not pity – sympathy.

It was even worse than before.

He didn't even care about the question he had been asked; how could the boy look like that? Look at Severus like that? Severus; a man who was fundamentally narcissistic and lacked the ability to exhibit any sort of sympathy himself?

He could not relate sympathy to himself, because no one felt such emotions in relation to him; fear, hate, exasperation, annoyance, anger, pity, maybe a fleeting moment of empathy, but certainly not sympathy. No one but Lily.

He could almost see the synapses firing behind Potter eyes, seemingly mulling over a heavy thought in his mind, one that Severus couldn't quite guess.

"Do you-?" Potter said, hesitating, a deep crease forming in his brow, "Do you blame me?"

Severus froze.

"What?"

Blame him?

He could never have guessed that that was what the boy had been thinking about. Ever.

"Do you blame me?" Potter repeated, "For this." he gestured to Severus in general, referring to his state of presence, "Or for everything else? The prophecy. For Vol- the Dark Lord. For reminding you of my- my dad? Or for the death of-"

"Potter-" he didn't want to talk about that. Not now. Not ever, if he could help it.

"-my mum?"

He stopped short.

Potter was watching him closely, eyes wide. Waiting.

Did Severus blame him?

"Yes." he said, simply.

He did blame the boy. He really did. Because if he had not been born, then the prophecy could never have been traced back to Lily – if the prophecy had existed at all – and she would not have been killed.

But he knew he was lying to himself, because it was easier to fool himself into believing all the fault could be placed solely on Potter's shoulders than to admit his own mistake.

That, had Severus not been so naïve, had he not dabbled in the Dark Arts so willingly, had not joined the Dark Lord. If he hadn't done all of that, then, in all possibility, he would never have heard that damnable prophecy, he would never have misheard it, he would never have passed on that misinformation to the Dark Lord, and he would never have brought that twisted creature down upon Lily – upon her son.

And there was that final 'what-if'. The big one.

What if Severus had never call Lily that unforgivable name on that day all those years ago?

Lily's green eyes were staring at him now, with the same hurt in their depths that had been present that night when she had left him standing in the hall in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady; the night when their friendship had ended.

Just like Lily; you'll drive him away.

Could he blame Potter for something he had no control over?

Yes. He could and he did. It didn't mean it was right, but he had never been particularly keen on being 'right' when it had come to Potter before had he?

"However, I blame myself more."

...oOo...

Harry wished he hadn't asked.

He had been annoyed – absolutely – and he was sure that he would have left Snape to his own devices if the man had kept it up, but he'd been trying to be as accommodating as possible, hoping Snape would meet him half-way, because it wasn't as if he wanted to abandon him.

But the antagonism really was unnecessary.

He just hadn't expected Snape to look so... guilty about it; apologising while refusing to meet Harry's eyes. He almost looked like he was hurting. It was faint, as were all of Snape's nuances of expression, but it was there.

And Harry had instantly relented, feeling sorry that he had managed to evoke that reaction from him.

However, Harry's curiosity had been peaked, and he had a hunch that he was getting close to a nerve that, given one more tiny push, would give Harry an answer for all of Snape's blustering.

Harry never really had learnt when to quit, had he?

So he'd pushed Snape a little more, guessed at the reasons for it all with the hope that Snape would react in a way that gave him the answer... or that the man would just tell him on his own.

A momentary thought crossed his mind, pointing out that he was acting like a Slytherin, before he shoved it away.

When he asked if Snape hated him, and the man turned to look at him finally, Harry willed himself to understand the expression in Snape's eyes. He felt that he'd hit the nail on the head with that question, but there was more to it than that... surely Snape couldn't hate him the way he used to? Apart from looking like his dad, what reason could there be for him to hate Harry any more?

He'd instantly thought that Snape blamed him for his death.

"Do you-?" Harry began, hesitating, a deep crease forming in his brow, "Do you blame me?"

"What?" Snape looked shocked.

"Do you blame me?" Harry repeated, the waved a hand in gesture to Snape himself, "For this."

A thought occurred to Harry then – a realisation that Snape couldn't blame him for his death; he'd been there when he died and Snape hadn't seemed like he wanted to blame Harry for it. He was sure of it.

So, what else could it be?

"Or for everything else? – the prophecy. For Vol- the Dark Lord. For reminding you of my- my dad? Or-"

Snape's eyes widened, "Potter-"

Oh, it's so obvious now. Why didn't I see it before?

Snape had already told him.

'You have your mother's eyes.'

"-my mum?"

Snape paused, mouth snapping shut, and the emotions that had been present in his eyes before faded away into that unfathomable look – the closed-off, guarded one that Harry had grown up with but had never recognised for what it was.

Harry waited.

Did he blame him for his mother? For her death? For haunting him with her eyes? For everything?

"Yes." said Snape, simply.

One word. One little word, and Harry felt his heart sink.

He really wished he hadn't asked.

They'd all died for him or because of him; he'd already thought about that before, but one word from another – from one of the people who had died because of him, no less – that matched up with his self-directed blame and guilt pulled all of it back to the surface once more; all of the emotions that he had been attempting to let out before Snape had spoken with him less than two hours before had seemingly returned and built up without his knowledge, and now they welled in the place that his heart had just vacated, building pressure until he felt might break again-

"However, I blame myself more."

Harry gasped so suddenly he choked, "Wh- What?"

"I said: I blame myself more than I blame you." said Snape slowly, watching Harry intently as he enunciated each syllable so deliberately they hit Harry like blows from a sledgehammer, "As much as I would like to lay the blame on you entirely... I realise that it is not... fair."

Harry couldn't help staring.

"Events may have come to pass because of you," Snape continued, "be it directly, indirectly, or from outside forces . Some of those events definitely may have been made more difficult to manage with your... involvement, but... I cannot rightfully blame you for them, for most of it was not-" he paused, considering something, "... It was never your fault."

Harry's mind went blank.

"It's not... my fault?" he breathed, barely audible to his own ears.

'It was never your fault.' The words echoed in his mind.

All of a sudden, something snapped, and the pressure was gone from his chest once more; a feeling of lightness replacing it.

He sank down onto a nearby desk and dropped his face into his hands.

...oOo...

Severus had spoken the truth – every word of it. He did personally blame Potter for many things that may have been different without his involvement, but, Severus knew that it wasn't a fair judgement to make of him when- really- the boy had little control over those events. Many of which may – or may very well not – have happened, with or without said involvement...

The same could be said of Severus.

They would never know now, would they?

"... It was never your fault."

Just as much as it was yours.

"It's not... my fault?" Potter breathed; Severus had to strain to hear the words. Then Potter crumpled, like his bones had become liquid in his body, sinking on to a nearby desk and curling into himself in such a way that the reason for it became so blatantly clear to Severus that he wondered why the possibility had never occurred to him before...

Severus did not know that the boy had been blaming himself as well.

How long had Potter had those thoughts? All his life? Since he was told the reason for parent's death? When he heard the prophecy?

He was not to be misunderstood: Severus absolutely blamed Potter for so many things, but Potter was never supposed to agree with him! Potter didn't blame himself for anything – Potter was arrogant. An egotist. He was bloody infallible! A legend in his own lunchbox. – Severus had tasked himself with pointing that out to him for years. And all Severus had been doing was add insult to injury- no, he'd been ripping open the injury and pouring salt in the wound.

Why did he care? He blamed Potter as well. Shouldn't he be happy that Potter acknowledged what Severus believed?

And yet he wasn't happy at all.

Severus knew what it was like to bear the burden of self-directed blame. It was not the same as being blamed by someone else.

When somebody else blamed you – whether it was the truth or not – you could simply ignore it if he wanted to, even if the words stung. It was possible to file it away for future reference or throw it all away.

But when it was self-inflicted, and you truly believed it was the truth, and if you could not move past it; all you could do was live with it and let it eat away at your soul until there was nothing left but the guilt that went hand-in-hand with belief that is really was all your fault.

When it was self-blame, all the words of other did was fuel your own self-loathing.

The forgiveness of others did not heal the wounds, unless it was forgiveness from the one you blamed yourself for effecting. Severus knew that very well, because all the moving speeches Severus had received from Dumbledore over the years had never helped a whit in healing the never-healing wound left open by his guilt concerning Lily. All he'd able to do was live with it and wait until it would be over – until he died with it.

He knew what would heal him was forgiveness from Lily herself.

And that could never be possible, especially now that he could not move-on... to wherever she was.

Potter was the same as Severus: he would never get that closure as long as he lived.

So, why would Severus' words have elicited that kind of reaction from Potter, whom almost seemed... relieved?

You're one of those that died, remember?

Ah, so he was...

Severus' words – telling the boy that it wasn't his fault – had been taken as a small bit of forgiveness. Forgiveness from one of the dead that had died whilst trying to protect him, just the same as Lily had. As James had. Even as Black had (as much as it pained Severus to put himself in the same category as James and that mutt).

It may not have been words from any of the others as well, but obviously it was enough just coming from Severus. Despite the fact that he did blame the boy; it didn't matter to Potter, because Severus' truthful acknowledgement of it not being his fault superseded anything else he had admitted he puerilely wanted to believe.

It was not so easy now to damn him for it all.

Now Severus had something else to feel guilty for: tormenting Potter for all those years when the boy had obviously been tormenting himself more than enough for the both of them.

Much the same as Severus had been tormenting himself.

And there was that alien feeling of sympathy...

Potter may have been more like his mother than Severus had ever given him credit for, but he was also very much like himself as well.

That knowledge came as quite an immense surprise to him.

Gathering his composure, Severus leaned against a desk across from Potter and waited.

...oOo...

Just the same as one word bringing down a world of pain upon, one little sentence relieved it.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there for, not a tear on his cheek, just allowing that relief to wash over him.

He was aware that Snape was not forgiving for him anything – that was too much, and Harry didn't expect it – but that little bit of acknowledgement from him, of all people, telling Harry that it wasn't his fault lifted a weight from his heart that he hadn't thought would ever move.

The weight was still there, Harry could feel it's presence, but it was less noticeable now. He felt lighter, somehow.

He now knew why Snape disliked him so, and that was a relief on its own, strangely enough. It wasn't just because of his father, as he had believed was the case for so long. And, really, he'd seen Snape's memories so why hadn't he realise that before? It shouldn't be surprising... but it was.

Hating him because he was like his dad was one thing, but hating him because of his mother and what she meant to Snape was completely different.

And he could live with that.

When he'd composed himself, Harry looked up to find Snape leaning against a desk in front of him, regarding him curiously.

"Potter." he said, inclining his head.

Oh god, he'd just had an almost-meltdown in front of Snape.

"Uh... sorry..." he could feel his face heating, embarrassed, and looked away.

It was a long moment before Snape replied.

"That is... unnecessary. In fact, I should-" he stopped abruptly, and Harry looked back to see Snape chewing over his words. Hesitating, "I did not know."

Harry tilted his head, "Know what?"

"That you- for all this time- held yourself accountable for... the fate that befell your parents."

"And a lot of other things too..." Harry muttered, "Shouldn't I?" A bitter chuckle escaped him, "I thought you agreed with me on that one."

"True." Snape sighed, "But, you have never put much stock in anything I have ever had to say. Why would you begin now?"

"True..." Harry echoed, slightly taken-aback, wondering which way to take that... Did that mean he should disregard Snape's belief that he was blameable? Or should he disregard his statement that it wasn't his fault?

Snape seemed to pick-up on his confusion.

"I'll repeat what I told you before: It is not your fault."

Harry held his gaze for a long moment, considering, then nodded. He may not have entirely agreed, but it was... good to hear it be said.

"If you can say that to me, then you should know that it's not yours either."

Snape guffawed, a short loud bark of a laugh that made Harry jump.

"Potter, I had a choice. You did not. Do not compare the incomparable."

"But, you said-"

"Never mind what I said. It would not be the first time I have been wrong about you... I believe I am beginning to see that clearly now."

Harry stared.

"Oh, do close your mouth, Potter; unless you want to become a human flycatcher."

Harry hadn't been aware he'd opened it, but he snapped his mouth shut with a click!.

It was strange, now that he thought about it, this had to have been the longest conversation the two of them had ever had that had not already ended in shouts, insults, and one of them storming off. Snape was almost being...

"You're being nice," he blurted a second later, before he could stop himself, "Now I know I've gone insane."

Snape snorted, "It is a rare occurrence, I'll give you that."

"Hen's teeth rare." he agreed and Snape cocked an eyebrow.

"Chickens do not have teeth, Potter."

Harry smirked, "Exactly, sir."

He was sure he saw the faintest smile tweaking the corners of Snape's mouth at that.

...oOo...

Hen's teeth.

Smart arse.

Severus filed that line away for future use.

"Now," he said, stepping away from the desk, "I believed we have deviated enough from our original topic of conversation for now. Shall we continue?"

He was quite thankful that Potter did not object to that – who nodded – thankful for the change of topic; it was difficult for him to talk as he did about himself and about the past, just as it was difficult to acknowledge his own guilt once more.

How quickly thing can change.

Lily's- no, Potter's eyes were regarding him expectantly, but patiently.

"Hold out your hand."

...oOo...

O

~P.S~

Have you noticed I leave every chapter on a cliffy-ish hanger? I think I have a problem... lol

Severus had a bit of a lightbulb moment, didn't he?

Just so you know, Severus and Harry are not going to be all bestest friends now. Not by a longshot. Also, I believe that my original chapter count was extremely off. There's absolutely no way that I can finish what I have planned in just five more chapters. Not a chance. So much so that I'm not even going to guess at a new number.

That means you all get more story than I orginally promised. Lucky you.

Maybe I deserve a review to keep me going through the many late nights of typing ahead of me... ;)

Oh! And I got to register for Pottermore! Has anyone else gotten in yet?