A/N: Thank you illgirl91 & eyesofhazel (it won't let me put the dots in for some reason, sorry!) for the follows/favorites!
Here's the next chapter - as always, anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. Please R&R, & enjoy! :)
"Harry?" Hermione called. "I just checked with Professor Flitwick and everything seems to be working fine. Are you sure you don't need anything else?"
"Hermione, honestly," he chuckled, "I'm talking to a bunch of teenagers, not giving a formal presentation in front of the Wizengamot." Hermione blushed.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "Bad habit." He laughed aloud at that and gently tugged her ponytail.
"Without your 'bad habits', as you call them, you wouldn't be the Hermione Granger we know and love," he said, tapping her nose. "Let's get in there, shall we?" Hermione answered his question with a small smile – somehow, Harry had a way of always saying exactly what she needed to hear.
After her surprise party, Hermione had been busier than ever, with hardly a spare moment to enjoy the beautiful autumn that had descended upon the castle. Lush greens gave way to vibrant golds, burnt oranges, and deep reds as the trees changed colors, and a chill in the air had students reaching for slightly warmer cloaks. September gave way to October, and before anyone knew it, it was Halloween. Hermione knew, of course, that they'd done everything they could to prepare for Harry's visit and subsequent talk with the school, but she was still nervous – the truths they were about to reveal were so drastically different from what most people believed, and she had no idea what kind of reaction to expect.
Hermione and Harry joined the other eighth years, Ginny, and Luna at their customary table in the Great Hall for the feast. The first part of the meal went smoothly, but whispers started to reach their ears as students nearby realized just who was present.
"Is that who I think it is?"
"The dark-haired guy between Granger and Weasley – you don't think…"
"Oh Merlin, is that really Harry Potter?"
The comments weren't anything the friends weren't used to, of course, but they were still rather annoying. Finally, Professor McGonagall called for their attention, and the chattering ceased.
"Good evening, everyone," she said. "As some of you have no doubt already noticed, we have a special guest with us this evening. He has something he wishes to share with all of you, and I expect nothing less than your utmost respect and attention. Mr. Potter, if you'll come forth, please?"
The whispering immediately quadrupled in magnitude as Harry obliged, but the awestruck students fell silent just as quickly at Professor McGonagall's stern look. Harry settled himself on a stool in front of the teachers' table, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
"Er…hi everyone," he said. "Glad I could be here, and all that. But I really don't want to take up all your time, especially not on a holiday, so I'll get right to the point.
"Halloween's a good time for stories, and I'd like to tell you one, if that's alright with you. It's not a ghost story, but it's the story of a ghost, a man who successfully hid his true self so well for so long that only one other person even knew that self still existed. That 'other person' was Albus Dumbledore, and this is the story of Severus Snape."
A new muttering, a much angrier one rather like disturbed hornets, broke out at Harry's declaration, but he quickly silenced it with a blast from his wand.
"I know many of you feel like you have quite a lot to say at the moment, but don't," he said bluntly. "You lot can go chatter away all you want once I'm done, but don't start until I've said my bit." The murmurs died once more, and Harry continued.
"How many of you know who the Hogwarts ghosts are?" he asked. Most of the students raised their hands, and Harry nodded. "Alright…Jimmy," he called to one of his former Beaters, "who are they?"
"Well," Jimmy replied, ticking them off on his fingers, "there's Nick, of course, and the Fat Friar, and the Baron…"
""You're giving me names," Harry interrupted. "That's not what I asked. I asked, 'Who are they?' Each of those names has a story behind it, if you think to ask. But that's just it, of course – you can't know if you don't ask. Severus Snape had his own story, but of course nobody thought to ask – most of us were too afraid of him. I myself didn't know the truth until it was too late – but then, is it really too late, if I have a chance to pass along that truth?" Harry reached into his pocket and removed a small crystal vial.
"I am going to show you some memories," he said. "Some were given to me by Professor Snape moments before he died, and others are my own." He poured the contents of the vial into his former Headmaster's Pensieve, which sat on a small podium next to his stool. With Professor Flitwick's help, Hermione had charmed the basin so that, rather than require anyone to physically immerse themselves into the substance within, it would project the memories up onto the wall, much like a drive-in movie screen. As soon as the vial was empty, the image of three small children flickered to life, and the gathered students watched Severus Snape as he watched the sisters in the park.
"My mum," Harry said, pointing out the redheaded girl as she swung, a gleeful expression on her face. "Lily Evans Potter, and her sister, my Aunt Petunia. They met Snape before my mum even knew she was a witch – she was Muggle-born, you see. As you can tell, that first meeting went rather badly, but my mum and Snape soon became good friends." He fell silent as the rest of the memories played out.
Hermione watched the memories unfold in silence. Harry had obviously already told her and Ron the whole story, but actually seeing it play out before her brought it into a whole new relief. She felt Lily's anger when Snape called her a Mudblood, but she also felt Snape's pain – one word, just one wrong word, and he'd lost everything that mattered to him. It only got worse as the memories progressed and Snape's despair became more evident – she choked back a sob when Snape told Dumbledore that Lily was dead, and by the time Snape revealed his Patronus, she was openly crying. She didn't think she'd ever witnessed something so heartbreaking.
"Severus Snape – an enigma if there ever was one," Harry said quietly. His voice sounded strained, like he was trying hard not to shed tears himself. "To the world, he was cold, aloof, and at times downright scary…but he was so much more. My first year, the Sorting Hat said this of Slytherins: 'those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends'. We tend to assume that's a bad thing, but it doesn't have to be – there's nothing wrong with ambition or dedication. Snape's 'end', so to speak, was his goal of ensuring that my mum didn't die in vain, and he pursued that goal until the day he died. He'd been a devoted servant of Voldemort, but the instant my mum's life was in danger, that was no longer the case. He became a spy for the Order of the Phoenix and did everything he could to bring down the monster that killed the woman he loved – and he did it so well that no one ever knew the truth.
"I have one more memory to share with you before I go," Harry continued. "This one, however, is not Snape's, but my own." He prodded the silvery substance in the Pensieve, which swirled and began to play once more. The Hogwarts grounds came into view, and many sharp intakes of breath were heard as the Dark Mark became visible, hovering eerily over the Astronomy Tower.
Hermione had barely even heard Harry speak of this moment before, outside necessary testimonies the previous summer, and as the memory unfolded, it became clear as to why. The conversation between Draco and Professor Dumbledore was far more difficult to hear than she'd anticipated – witnessing the normally stoic Slytherin's utter desperation, sensing the fear radiating from him, was awful, and she found herself unconsciously reaching for both Ginny and Draco for comfort, finding their hands under the table. Draco's was trembling uncontrollably as he watched, and Hermione felt fresh tears running down her cheeks. They'd been on opposite sides of the war, but she understood all too well the helplessness of impossible decisions in the name of those you loved. She bit her lip to keep from crying out when Snape cast the Avada, and she couldn't miss the look of complete despair in the Potions Master's dark eyes as he did so – with that curse died the only person who knew him for who he was, the only person who gave him any semblance of hope or redemption.
When the memory finally ended, the Hall was silent save for the excessive sniffling of the many students who were still crying. Taking advantage of the lack of talk, Harry spoke up one final time.
"No one can deny that Severus Snape killed Albus Dumbledore. But there was no murder involved. You all saw it in Snape's memories – Dumbledore was already dying. I'm sure a lot of you remember the mangled hand he had before he died – he'd had a cursed object of Voldemort's backfire on him and had a year to live, at best. Dumbledore wanted to go out on his own terms, and that's exactly what he did – nothing more, nothing less.
"If you only take one thing from what you've seen and heard tonight, let it be this: the Sorting Hat should never be taken literally. By many counts, Severus Snape was the true embodiment of Slytherin House, but he was also insanely smart, loyal to my mum until the end, and one of the bravest people I know. The Sorting Hat places us where it thinks we'll fit in best, but being handed a certain color tie at age eleven hardly cements your destiny – that, you'll find, is entirely up to you. House pride is great, don't get me wrong, but at our cores, we're all a lot more similar than you might think."
Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and squeezed Draco and Ginny's hands. Draco raised an eyebrow at the contact but didn't pull away, and Hermione could see the relief in his gray eyes. Harry's presentation had been better than any of them could have hoped for – what the students did with the information had yet to be seen, but at least she could rest a little easier knowing they'd done their best.