Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, the creator of this amazing world.
Harry stood in front of his fireplace, considering. Would he be able to get through to Hogwarts? It was surely worth a try…
"Hogwarts!" he called, throwing in the Floo and standing in the flames. He felt the familiar spinning as he began to travel the network, and for a second he thought he would make it. But then the spinning stopped, and before he had time to register what was happening, he was thrown back into Grimmauld Place with a harsh jab from an enchantment. He fell out, covered in soot and finding his glasses broken.
"Scourgify!" the soot vanished.
"Reparo!" the glasses were fixed.
Harry slouched into the couch. He wouldn't be able to get through the gates, he knew that. So what next? Contact someone from the D.A? That seemed a little unnecessary. He had no sooner addressed this solution when the fireplace became lit with green once more. He waited apprehensively for someone to step through, but no one did. Voices drifted through from the traveler's fire, and Harry listened.
"Look, it's just Grimmauld Place, we don't need to check."
"Protocol is to check. If you can't follow such a simple procedure, I won't allow you to continue under Professor Sprout. Now, just go through the Floo and see who it is."
Interesting. The second voice had been McGonagall's, Harry was sure of that. But who was the first? This question was answered in matter of seconds as a robed figure emerged from the fireplace.
"Hi Harry," said Neville. "They've just closed the Floo yesterday, nearly all the D.A. work is finished. Why were you trying to get through?"
"I forgot to do something on Wednesday," he improvised. "I needed to go back and…" The feeble lie trailed off into silence.
"They've just put up Snape's portrait, if that's what you're on about," said Neville, who hadn't believed Harry's excuse for a minute.
Harry paused. "It is, actually," he said, deciding it better to leave the letter out of the conversation.
"Hey, Neville," Harry said, walking over to where the pictures lay. He held up the one of the cat. "You don't happen to recognize this cat, do you?"
Neville took the picture and examined it. "That looks like my grandma's cat. Her name was Tiara. We had to get of her when I was five. Isn't that your mum in the photo?"
"Yes. My parents used to have Tiara. Your mum named her. Then, when we went into hiding, they had to give her away. So-"
"My mum got her. And when she had to go to St. Mungo's… Harry, could I borrow this?"
"Why don't we just duplicate it? Here," he pointed his wand at the photo. "Geminio!" He handed the second one to Neville.
"Now, can you take me through the Floo?"
"Oh, sure." They turned back to the still-green flames.
"You first," said Neville.
Harry stepped into the flames and soon found himself in Professor McGonagall's office.
"Potter," she said in tight-lipped greeting, though Harry thought he saw a smile threatening to overcome her face.
"Good day, Professor. Sorry for the fuss. I still have minimal knowledge of the wizarding world. Professor Binns can be quite the bore," he added in an undertone.
McGonagall considered for a moment. With no way of taking House points from him, she seemed at loss for a reaction to his words.. "Don't let me hear you insulting my teachers again," she said. "And your predicament can be solved. Seventh year never hurt anyone."
"I was under the impression that years one through six never hurt anyone before me, professor."
"Very well, then. I'll leave you to it." And with that, she left the room, Neville trailing behind her with a look of awe upon his face.
"Professor Snape, sir?" Harry asked tentatively, now turning his attention on the new portrait, whose occupant was sleeping. "Sir, can you hear me?"
"Of course I can hear, Potter. I have, as a matter of fact, heard every word you have said since stepping into this office. And I am entirely surprised Professor McGonagall did not kick you out for the things you said."
Harry shrugged. "I'm rather surprised I was able to even think them. Sir."
"Why is it you are here?"
"I have a message for you."
"From who?"
The next words seemed to stick to the back of Harry's throat. This was much more awkward than he had anticipated. "Lily."
"The dead cannot leave messages, Potter!" Snape was shouting: it seemed even the name stirred memories too painful to bear. "And if you are under such an illusion, I suggest seeking help at St. Mungo's!"
"It was in a letter," whispered Harry.
"A letter?" Snape was no doubt thinking of the one he had ripped.
"She said-" Harry's voice broke uncomfortably. "She said she was sorry."
"She need not be," said Snape solemnly. Tears were welling in the painted eyes.
"Sorry she never gave you a second chance."
"She forgave me?" The words were mere ghosts floating from his lips, spoken so soft Harry could hardly hear him.
"I think, professor, that she might have, if even in her last weeks alive." And Harry, knowing that he shouldn't stay longer, turned his back on the portrait and stepped toward the grate, reaching for the pot of Floo powder sitting on the mantle. As he turned back for one last look, a single tear trickled down the cheek of the old teacher.
Thank you for reading! Cassandra30, thank you for the review. ragsweas, there will be six-eight more chapters (I may break what I plan on having as one chapter into two and could always add one more). I will not be including all the letters in this story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review.