Consciousness returned slowly to Harry Potter. He stretched upon the four-poster bed and grudgingly opened his eyes. The windows of Gryffindor tower revealed a fine, sunny morning, approaching noon.
He reached out of long habit to the small table next to the bed, groping for his glasses and jamming them onto his face. They didn't quite seem to fit right. Perhaps he'd bent the frames during...
Harry scowled, groaning softly. The events of the days before – of the year before – hit him with the force of a bludger. The soft pink fog between the moment of waking and full awareness dissipated completely, destroying the pleasant illusion of waking in his old bed at Hogwarts.
He was no longer a student at Hogwarts, though. Not for nearly a year, now. The room was quiet and empty, save for himself. His friends must have kept the others away, or perhaps they had come and gone already, the last month of classes and exams perhaps abandoned in the chaos of the war's abrupt end.
Harry did not even know whose bed he'd just slept in, although a student trunk sat at its foot and a Puddlemere United Quidditch team poster was tacked up crookedly to the wall nearby. Harry wondered if the owner was still alive to reclaim it. His own former bed, and Ron's, had been absent from the seventh year boys' dormitory room and he'd just gone down a door and collapsed onto the first he'd come to.
He wanted a shower, desperately. Better yet, a long soak. He ached terribly across the shoulders and over his back and felt as though he'd slept crookedly on his neck and a dull pain throbbed in his head. Fresh clothes would not be amiss, either. But there was work to be done. Harry dragged himself onto unsteady feet and stumbled toward the boys' toilets to relieve himself.
He washed his hands after and splashed blessedly cool water over his face. He caught his own reflection in the mirror after, barely, not caring what he looked like, particularly. Except...
He blinked at the image, which seemed... off. He put his glasses back on and nearly stumbled backwards. He looked strangely blurred about the edges, and as he stared, his reflection rippled and shifted almost like something swimming beneath the surface of the lake outside under a gentle breeze.
A stranger looked back at him. The eyes were his, Lily's brilliant green, almond-shaped eyes, as was the lighting-bolt scar and the sleep-mussed black hair, but the nearly bone-white skin, tapered jaw, high cheekbones and long hawk's-beak nose were decidedly not. He stumbled back from the mirror, almost itching with an eerie sense of half-recognition, as if trying to recall a distantly remembered acquaintance.
Harry blinked several times and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses for a long moment, then looked into the mirror again. Everything was as it should be. Well, he looked tired and somewhat underfed and certainly ungroomed. His hair was even messier than usual and, apparently, in need of a trim (a first, as it always seemed to stay the same length, even when his aunt Petunia had hacked at it with scissors in frustration with its untamable appearance during his childhood)... but he was definitely himself.
I must be going funny from stress, he thought.
There was a temptation to linger, to put off the inevitable. To pretend he was just rising late on a weekend morning, some distant lifetime ago, that everyone else was already up and off studying or out practicing on the Qudditch pitch, or wandering about the castle, or loitering over cups of tea and pumpkin juice at the long house tables with their friends. Part of him wanted to believe that nothing had happened, that he'd just awoken from a long nightmare.
He knew he should feel joy this day. Victory. Voldemort was dead! Truly, irrevocably dead.
A leaden weight in his heart would not allow him to feel it just now. Fred Weasley. Remus and Tonks. Little Colin Creevey, who used to drive him half mad following him around with that old Muggle camera. He would even miss Lavender Brown.
There was nothing for it though, but to get on with it. He came down the staircase and crossed the Gryffindor common room. The fireplace was empty, cold ash dusting the stones, no merry fire that he'd half expected, despite the warmth of the season. The house elves must have their hands full enough, he thought. They'd probably begun repairing the damage done to the castle before Voldemort's body was even cold.
The thought steeled him, somehow.
Few people were around to notice him at first when he stepped into the Great Hall. The injured, the dead and the dying were no longer there. He did not see Ron or Hermione, nor any of the teachers, although Argus Filch stood stiffly in a corner near the staff table, holding Mrs. Norris tightly in his arms, petting her almost absentmindedly as he gazed across the room at seemingly nothing in particular.
The four house tables had plates of sandwiches scattered about them, though few people seemed interested in them other than a few lingering students. Harry suddenly felt ravenous, however.
He sat down at the end of the restored Gryffindor table and pulled a plate toward himself, bolting down his late breakfast. Half a sandwich later, however, Luna materialized beside him, looking at him without saying a word for several minutes. After he'd finished chewing a tough bit of corned beef, she finally spoke, softly.
"We found him in the Shrieking Shack early this morning. Professor Snape. We went after you fell asleep. Hermione and Ron and I did, I mean. They explained what happened. He's still alive. He's up in the headmaster's office with Madam Pomfrey and some Aurors. I just thought you'd like to know."
Harry stared at her dumbly as she smiled at him for a moment, and when he failed to respond, stood and wandered off. She'd just told him that—he wasn't sure how to process that bit of information and filed it away for later.
His appetite lost, Harry stepped back out into the hallway. Professor McGonagall approached him oddly, almost hesitantly. He found himself somewhat annoyed for reasons he was not sure of, but pushed the feeling aside, feeling foolish and unlike himself.
"Mr Potter... well I hardly know what to say, really. We're all so proud of you, my boy. So proud."
She blinked at him oddly, then shook her head as though clearing her thoughts.
"This may not be the best time to bring this up, but I must tell you, if you decide to approach the headmaster's office, do not be alarmed-"
She paused, an expression of confusion that lasted only briefly before her grip on his shoulders suddenly brought him forward as she looked over his face intently.
"Potter-"
Harry leaned away from her.
"Er... what?"
She released her grip on him finally.
"Well, now I am not certain... Never mind. I mean to tell you, your friends – Miss Granger, Mr Weasley and Miss Lovegood – they returned early this morning with something of a surprise. A shock, really."
On top of everything else, the usually succinct and well-spoken Professor's sudden dithering was wearing his patience.
"Luna told me just now, if you mean about Snape—"
Professor McGonagall cut off his sentence with a deep sigh.
"Yes, Severus Snape is alive, at least for the moment. He is currently in the headmaster's office under guard by several Aurors."
Harry glanced down the hall as if he were considering bolting off toward the gargoyle, but Professor McGonagall stalled him with a raised hand.
"Professor—they can't—the Aurors don't understand, he's not what he seems, he's—"
"Peace, Harry. Your friends forestalled the Aurors when they returned with him. The Ministry are currently reviewing the contents of the pensieve, in fact."
Harry swallowed against something thick gathering in his throat, an odd panic rising like bile. A strange fear overtook him, an almost childish worry about how Snape would react should he find out that the memories he had entrusted to Harry had been confiscated by the Ministry. Harry nearly laughed at himself, but stopped; he wasn't sure McGonagall would understand.
"I'm afraid I've already had a look myself. I had to know before I allowed him back into Hogwarts. After all, I had believed he'd murdered—"
She paused again, her eyes closing tightly. She turned from him, placing a hand behind his back, barely a touch but enough to move him to follow.
"Let's find somewhere to sit and talk, I think. Your friends are still here, although I believe Ginny Weasley left with her parents this morning."
Harry followed his former transfiguration teacher down the hallway into a disused classroom. Harry recognized it as the one he'd attended Divination in with Firenze the centaur, after Trelawny had been sacked under Dolores Umbridge's reign of terror.
It felt like a lifetime had passed since then. The charmed forest-like interior was gone, at the moment, and a few dusty desks and chairs were pushed against one wall. McGonagall summoned two of the chairs with a flick of her wand.
"I trust you slept well this morning? Your friends were quite adamant that you not be disturbed. Several reporters have just been dismissed from the grounds, although I suppose we'll have to let them return eventually. I don't imagine we can hide you from them forever."
Harry nodded silently. His head felt like it was packed with wool, somehow. Of course they would turn up. The Daily Prophet and probably every other wizarding paper from the continent, possibly beyond. He felt vaguely ill at the thought of speaking to any of them.
"Where is everyone, professor? Everyone that was in the Great Hall... I could not have dreamed all of the last year, I suppose."
"Dreamed? Hardly. I should hope not, or we'll have to do this all over again. Are you feeling unwell? I wouldn't be surprised in the least if you were."
"Er... no, Professor. Well, I feel a bit odd, I suppose, but not exactly unwell."
She paused again and gave him that same piercing, searching look as earlier, before continuing.
"Hmm. I suppose I should fill you in on what has transpired while you slept. The seriously injured have been taken to St. Mungos and the rest are in the hospital wing. The few Death Eaters that fled are unlikely to remain free for long. Miss Granger and Mr Weasley are still here although I have not seen them since breakfast. The rest of Weasley's family left not long after you went to sleep this morning, although I suspect you will hear from them soon."
Harry noticed she did not mention Fred Weasley directly, but he did not need her to tell him. No doubt they left to arrange for his burial. Harry leaned over, his gaze dropping to the flagstones of the floor and the weight of his elbows digging into his knees.
"Yes, they'll take care of—"
Harry lifted his gaze somewhat.
"What of Remus and Tonks?"
"I believe Andromeda Tonks has been contacted. They've been moved. I am not sure, I can find out perhaps."
Harry scratched at the back of his neck, feeling overheated and claustrophobic. They'd probably be setting off fireworks in Hogsmeade after sunset, he thought idly. He remembered someone talking about the fireworks after the first time Voldemort had died (but not really).
"Professor McGonagall... er, Snape..."
He sat up straighter but couldn't quite meet her eyes. His insides felt twisted up, somehow. McGonagall waited a moment for him to finish his thought, but he couldn't find the words. He half expected her to correct him as usual, "Professor Snape, Harry," but the admonishment did not come.
"He may yet survive, it is too early to tell. One of the healers from St. Mungos managed to stabilize him and left a few hours ago. Madam Pomfrey is attending to him in the meantime. I believe Shacklebolt was standing guard over him earlier, but was recalled to the ministry quite suddenly. Proudfoot and Savage remain with him. You must understand, Harry—Severus is in great danger still. I believe he will be cleared in the end, but that will take time. The Ministry is rather chaotic at the moment."
McGonagall suddenly leaned forward and took Harry's hands into her own, gently. She paused a moment, running a thumb over the back of his knuckles and studying his hands much as she had done his face earlier, but continued.
"I imagine the contents of that pensieve were quite a shock to you. They certainly were to me. I had never imagined—"
The woman's voice broke slightly and Harry was momentarily afraid she might begin crying. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand it.
"I always knew Albus had his own plans, but I never fully understood. If you feel ill-used, I cannot fault you. I certainly do, and have much less cause than you or even poor Severus. I misjudged him, badly, but I had no way to know. He was too good at fooling us all, thank Merlin."
The grip on his hands tightened, almost becoming painful. Harry wondered if he should say something, offer some comforting word, but he could think of nothing.
"I do not know how you managed to come back to us, Harry, but I am grateful. You will never know how much."
Harry looked up at her, finally, blinking back the tears that his former teacher now let fall.
"Can I... Can I see him, do you think?"
The words seemed to come from the room itself, he could not believe he had spoken them. Not even a full day before he'd hated the man more than he'd ever hated anyone, possibly more than he'd hated Voldemort himself.
McGonagall finally released her iron grip on his hands and stood as she fished a handkerchief from a pocket, seeming embarrassed as she wiped her face dry and schooled her features back to their normal staid demeanor.
"I'm afraid I do not know. The Aurors have not been allowing any but Madam Pomfrey to see him all morning. I can't imagine they'd deny you anything at this point, though, after all you have done for all of us. He has not truly regained consciousness yet, unless something has changed since I spoke with Madam Pomfrey an hour ago.
"That snake your friend Longbottom beheaded so neatly, I'm afraid, had grown in potency since the time it attacked Arthur Weasley. I believe the healer from St. Mungos who attended Severus earlier this morning took the animal's head with her to see about making a stronger antidote."
Harry stood up, feeling unbalanced. McGonagall began walking toward the door before stopping to give him a look-over again.
"Professor...?"
"There is something odd about you today, I'm afraid. Perhaps... well I do not know. It may be nothing but an after-effect of some sort."
Harry remembered the mirror.
"After-effect? What do you mean?"
"Your face seemed to... change, earlier. It was very brief. I cannot say. There was quite a lot of magic flying about yesterday, some you may understand better than any of us at this point. Well... if you truly wish to visit Severus you will have to ask permission of the Aurors, the matter is out of my hands. I do not know if there is much point yet, either, as he is asleep most of the time and not lucid when he does wake.
"Your friends are somewhere about the castle, no doubt. Hagrid was also looking for you earlier. I think he may be rebuilding his home today. I'm sure he would not mind a bit of company."
Harry's mood brightened a bit at that thought.
–
Harry left the castle and walked across the grounds toward where Hagrid's home once stood. The grass was scorched or browned in places, or churned into mud from passing feet, but nothing else lingered of the battle that had raged the night before.
Hermione and Ron were already with Hagrid. Harry stood at a distance, watching Hermione using her wand to cut and resize the massive timbers that Hagrid had dragged from the forest. Had anyone else attempted to fell a tree in that forest, Harry felt, they would not have survived the first axe blow.
Ron was sitting on a rejected log slowly petting Fang, who lay on the ground looking somewhat the worse for wear with singed fur and both of his front paws bandaged. For that matter, Ron did not look to be in much better spirits.
Well, that should not be surprising, thought Harry. He should have gone with Ginny, Percy, George and his parents, not stayed behind. Harry felt somewhat guilty at the thought that he'd probably stayed behind for him.
Hagrid noticed Harry after a moment and waved at him, smiling crookedly and beckoning him over. Once Harry was within reach, he was swiftly wrapped in a crushing bear-hug that lifted him off his feet. Hagrid sniffled loudly and Harry was briefly afraid he'd start crying in earnest. He wasn't sure he could take tears from a second Hogwarts teacher in one day.
Suddenly the half-giant seemed to remember himself and set Harry down, blushing slightly as he patted down Harry's wrinkled shirt. Hermione was looking at the two of them in a guarded fashion. Ron had glanced up but barely seemed to notice them, his hand still resting on Fang's broad head.
"Er, uh. Sorry 'bout that, Harry. Just, ye know... Thought we'd lost yeh there fer a while last night."
Harry smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. "Oh, uh. Yeah. Don't... don't think on it. It worked out in the end, right?"
"O' course, Harry. Course it did, ye surprised all of us. Quite a lot of surprises lately, er..."
Harry glanced at Ron, who was up looking at him somewhat blankly now. No, not everything had worked out in the end. Hagrid seemed to recover himself, giving Harry a more properly cheerful smile.
"Well, lots o' work to do, things to set to right. Hermione here has been helping me out, but if yeh need her back a' the castle for somethin' I can get along by meself a while."
Harry shrugged and moved to sit beside Ron. Fang huffed and threw Ron's hand off his head to better lick it. Ron pulled his now-drenched hand away with an expression of mild disgust and stood.
"I can come back inside for a while, Harry. I don't think Hermione really needs me for this anyway."
He wasn't looking at her when he said this. Hermione scowled at him and dropped the plank she'd been hovering in the air since Harry had arrived. Harry flinched slightly as it crashed to the newly-laid floor of Hagrid's incomplete hut.
"Ron, what I meant earlier was—"
"It doesn't matter, Hermione, just forget it."
Harry looked between his two friends. Obviously he'd missed an argument of some sort. Hagrid simply shook his head at them and picked up the large piece of timber in one hand.
"Go on, the both of yeh, I'm sure there's plenty enough work to keep everyone busy. I can handle this."
Hermione marched past the boys and strode back toward the castle. After a moment's hesitation, Ron gave in with a roll of his eyes and followed, Harry close behind.