Note: Thank you to whoever has read this, I know its quite a slow starter but I'm getting there. And I am so much of a sap that when I started writing about George I cried. I love the twins so I had to give them a little mention of their tragedy. Its cruel for one of them to have to go on without the other. One of the cruelest things throughout the entire series. Please express all your love or all your hate for the story. Maybe not all your indifference as taking the time to write that would sort of defeat the point of feeling indifferent. The whole point about being indifferent is that you don't care either way, as in at all. Going to stop saying indifferent now. Sorry for any hiccups- I tried to scare them out of the writing but they still prevail. Even so...Enjoy

Chapter Two: Two years ago

It had been nearly a year since the final battle between Evil and Good, Death-Eaters and the Order, dark wizards and couragous students, Voldermort and Harry. Ten months since that fateful night at Hogwarts. He was still unsettled by how quickly people adapted. Or, if he was being honest with himself, it unsettled him how he hadn't whilst everyone around him got on with were back to normal in no time, and although grief still played with their hearts, life moved on.

And yet Harry didn't know where to begin. Those scarce times he dared allow himself to hope for a future, for a life after Voldermort, it had been nothing more than a whisp of a fantasy, like when you had a dream and once you'd woken up, you know you've had one, but you can't remember anything about it. He never thought he'd have a future, not down in his heart of hearts.

It wasn't that he missed Voldermort, of course he didn't, what living thing could? But when the Dark Lord was alive harry knew his purpose in the world, his place. He knew he had to stop Voldermort, at whatever price. Now that it was done he wasn't sure what was left. There was nothing of him left though, that he knew for certain.

And as he buried himself away at Grimwald Place, becoming more and more reclusive, the doubts in the back of his mind grew louder and surer. If it was his fate, his destiny, to kill Voldermort, then surely that meant some part of him, however small that part may be, was inherintely evil. Never mind who it was for just a moment, Harry's very existence was so he could murder someone. How did that make him Good? How did that make him any more than Voldermort?

Of course being the hero of the wizarding wolrd, the saviour of modern magical civilisation even voicing these thoughts sounded ridiculous. No one would ever believe him. They would say it was not an evil act, that Voldermort had caused so much death and misery he wasn't capable of being murdered, he was merely being destoryed. That's how all the papers had phrased it. Every single coverage had said Voldermort was dead or Potter destroyed him at last. Never killed, never murdred. What they forgot, what Voldermort so succesfully made them think, was that he wasn't human. But he was, he was just a man. A cruel, wicked, terrible, evil horrible, unredeemable man. But still, just a man. And Harry killed him. He killed his very reason for existing. He didn't know if that was irony or something else entirely.

He couldn't even talk to Ron and Hermione. Ron would laugh, pat him on the back and say something like he's nuts, or he's always been cracked but now he was well and truly mad. He'd joke about it to distract his discomfort and then change the topic to something else. Hermione would come up with something profound and philosophical, which would sound comforting at first, but the more he'd think about it, the more he'd realise it was as twisted as he was.

She'd say, You know what you're right. You did kill him. But Harry, he was nothing but hate and fear. You had to do a little evil, to do a greater good. But that's how Voldermort had started out, wasn't it? Using his powers of magic and manipulation to protect the weaker children at the orphanage. To right the wrongs he felt his father had done his mother, and in turn, his mother had done him.

So Harry dwelled in his own seclusion, and tried to look interested when Hermione and Ron popped in, which was becoming more and more frequently, and always together, which didn't make Harry feel any better about being trapped in the old world while everyoone grew in the new one. It was like he'd been abandoned. Not on purpose, it wasn't anyone's fault. But he was still left behind. It still added to the hurt.

He tried to join in when Mrs Weasley insisted he join them for dinner. He would sit next to Ron who would always be opposite Hermione. Ginny would sit at the other end of the table with her boyfriend to try and make it less awkward. And the rest of the Weasley family would sit in between with various guests, their love and homliness as bright and vibrant as their trademark red hair. And Harry tried to feel it, he really did. He remembered feeling it, the first time he stayed at the burrow before his second year at Hogwarts when Mrs Weasley, face purple, voice shrill, gave her three youngest boys the scolding of their life after they had snuck away in the middle of the night and flown an illgally magically tampered car halfway across the country just to get Harry, all the while piling their plates high with fat sausages, crispy bacon and eggs that were just right.

Even the Weasleys, as good and as pure as life could be, had been dealt pain and loss. During meals Fred's place was never laid, never sat in. The seat next to George spoke volumes. It was a bittersweet reminder. A reminder of the crazy, funny, warm-hearted, more-than-cheeky boy he was, and that he was never coming back. The emptiness meant he was never coming back, but it also meant he would never be replaced or forgotten.

It ws especially hard for George, who had only just been able to look in the mirror again without falling apart. He had to learn to stop the guilt from overwhelming him whenever he saw his face, Fred's face. The fact that Fred had left him behind, the fact he hadn't gone with him too. It was strange, because George was one of the very few people Harry could be around without his blood boiling and stomach curdling. For all his sorrow George still made jokes, still got people to laugh when it seemed impossible. Still got into a very deep pool of trouble, and still managed to get out of it, the way only the twins could. He would tease Ron, mock his other siblings at the table in between forks of chicken and roast potatos, giggle and wink and be sarcastic bewteen mouthfuls of carrots and brocoli.

It was one such night that a tiny spark of interest ignited in Harry. It was unexpected, and the cause was even more shocking. He'd arrived at the Burrow for a family dinner, under the threat of Hermione dragging him there by his ear if he didn't go willingly, only to find other guests were there. McGonogall and Snape were in the sitting room, looking out of place and uncomfortable with their stiff and cold demenours.

"Potter, its been too long." McGonogall said, her cool persona melting into a slightly warmer one. Harry wasn't fooled, her smile was forced and he could see the worry flickering behind her eyes. Harry hid the anger that flashed through him and tried to smile back.

"Yes, Headmistress." He'd admit to only Ron and Hermione that yes, he meant it as a dig at Snape who Harry knew had taken his old position as Potions Master, reliquisnhing his power of being the Head of Hogwarts to McGonogall. But Snape, perhaps for the first time ever, did not look bothered to see his least favoruite person. He didn't look anything as his eyes slowly trailed over to Harry before looking at the floor again. Harry caught the subtle dig the witch gave the dark-haired man with her elbow, and while her smile brightened through sheer determination, Sanpe's mood only darkened.

Luckily he didn't have to attempt and fail idle chitchat as Hermione poked her head through and announced dinner was ready. She and Molly had been cooking in the kitchen while the Weasley boys and Ginny were engrossed in the radio, listening to every word, informing them of what was happening at the first tournemount of Quidditch since Voldermort's fall. Arthur had been sat in his armchair, babbling on about Muggle computers and how he never knew how complex they were, not minding in the slightest that nobody was actually listening.

Harry was the first to sit down, ignoring the pity glances that kept being sent his way from everyone except Ron and Snape. He was grateful Ron wasn't the kind of person to hover, unless of course it involved Hermione. But it was difficult to watch Snape when everyone was watching him. He couldn't help it. Those black eyes were engraved in his mind's eye. Because they told him that Snape was just as lost and alone as he was. Harry didn't quite understand the alone part. Snape had always been alone. No he hasn't. The one person who truly knew him, the one person who showed any kind of affection for him is dead. By his hand. Dumbledore. Snape always had Dumbledore. Harry shook his head. He didn't want to mention the old man, he didn't even want to think about him.

Harry felt ashamed of himself and remained staring at his gravy-soaked plate for the rest of the meal. His mood hadn't be open or friendly to begin with. And it was slowly but surely declining. People were polite and pretended not to notice. They were kind enough not to take it to heart. It was only when Harry wondered into the kitchen with the task of filling up the waterjug for something to do, he lost it. He'd held out surprisingly well until that point. But he'd heard one of the things he refused to talk about anymore. That, added to Dumbledore thoughts; another thing on his topic-never-to-be-approached-ever-again list was too much for him. McGonogall, Molly and Hermione were all standing by the sink, having a little natter about some ridiculously complicated spell. McGonogall decided to have a moment of nostalgia as she listened to Hermione who was arguing that the spell depending on ceratin variables could be used to produce a a nuemrous set of different outcomes.

"You really do remind me of dear Lily. She would have liked you so mu..." It took a moment for McGonogall to trail off. The sound of glass shattering had come as such a surprise she wasn't quite sure how to stop. Hermione, whose cheeks had been burning with honour and pride, turned darker with humiliation as she closed her eyes.

"Har..." Hermione began, knowing it was too late. She'd promised him she'd get him under control if his temper began to flare. This wasn't just flaring though, it was piercing, blinding white-hot.

"Don't you dare compare Hermione to my mother. She's nothing like her." Harry hadn't realised he was shouting, but he must have been because a crowd of red-heads and one coal-black, came to the doorway, too intruged to even pretend they weren't watching. As well as curious, everyone seemed confused. Why would Harry be so angry at making Hermione a likeness to his mother? They were both muggle-born, both Gryffindors, both extremely clever with a strong moral sense. Both adored by everyone.

"Hermione's loyal. She'd never do to me what Lily did to Snape. Ever."

"Harry. She didn't mean it like th..."

"I don't care how she meant it! My mother was selfish and a coward. She chose the easy way out. She could have fought for Snape, she could have stopped him from ever getting involved with Riddle and the Death-Eaters. But she didn't. She just cut him loose. Because it was easier for her. Because it made her life more simple. She was his best friend and she opted out." Harry could have carried on but the tears stinging behind his eyes were threatning to fall.

"Harry." Hermione said gently, walking over to him, slowly putting her hands on his shoulders and giving them a squeeze. He could see her eyes staring right back at him, shining full of kindness and love and loyalty.

"I will never give up on you." Her words were soft, slow, soothing.
"She was his best friend Hermione. "

"I know you."

"She knew him. She knew he never really believed in all that crap about pure-bloods. And she still let him make that mistake. She practically shoved him into their circle. Don't you ever let anyone think you are anything like her." Then he shrugged her arm off his shoulder and stormed out the back door.

Outside was completely opposite to the wamrth and brightness in the Burrow. It was like the skies were crying for him as they threw down rain and thunder roared in the distance. Once he was in the next field, where he and the Weaselys used to play Quidditch, hidden from view by the surrounding trees, he could finally breathe. He took a long, deep breath and let the cold air swirl in his lungs. He closed his eyes and let the rain drench him.

"One thing, I have learnt over the years is how to stand up for myself, I don't need anyone defending me. Or pirtying me." Harry turned, more out of surprise than anything. He didn't know how long Snape Had been standing there for, but judging by the chattering of his teeth, Sanpe had been there a while.

"One thing, I have yet to master is forgiveness." His voice was gentler. He hadn't finished speaking yet but Harry wasn't paying attention, those words were still swimming in his ears.

"Did you? Ever forgive her?" Harry said quietly, not realisng he'd spoken out loud until he saw Snape's face.

"Yes. And no." Harry scoffed.

"I forgave her for ignoring me. For not believing that whilst I loved her with all my heart, I was never in love with her. But I haven't been able to figure out how to forgive her for dying. For leaving the world before we could resolve everything. It sounds selfish, and saying it you of all people..."

"Did you forgive her for falling in love with my father? For loving your tormentor?" Snape's face moved into a frown, and he seemed unsure of what to say.

"Forgiveness is a strange thing. When someone dies, the world suddenly thinks forgiving them for whatever wrong doings is the appropriate thing to do. Its not as easy as that. I forgave James Potter for all the vile things he done to me when we were at school. If I'd stood up for myself back then he and his friends would have just got bored of me. I fed their bullying. It wasn't my fault they started tormenting me, but by the end, I think I held some blame too. I never forgave Lily for loving him though..." Harry nodded. He understood that completelty.

"Not until their wedding day. James turned up on my doorstep that morning. He invited me. Said he wanetd it to be a surprise for Lily. He apologised, even though he knew it couldn't make for everything, he thought it might be a start. She'd be over the moon. It would make her day perfect. I didn't go. Out of spite, out of a pathetic grudge. I hated you at Hogwarts Harry, because that look you got in your eye... You have your mother's eyes yes, but that look, of kind and empathy and goodness and understanding, that's the same look Potter had when he came to see me. The first time he'd been truly nice to me. And I threw it back in his face."

This was not what Harry expected. Not at all. And he definately didn't understand how Snape could forgive them. Harry didn't think he'd be able to if he was in the same situation.

"Then all the loathing when I was at school, it wasn't because you hated my father..." The next part he did understand.

"Because you reminded me of my choice. Which I've regretted ever since making it. A habbit of mine you see." He said bitterly. He hated himself. He'd focused the hatred on Harry because he didn't know how else to release it.

"I never got to make things right her..." Harry could hear the tightness in Snape's voice.

"She was the sister I never had. Then I thought I hated her. And before I could tell her I didn't, that I never really did, she was gone."

The rain, if possible began to hammer down even harder. They walked back in silence. And as strange as it seemed, Snape's prescence had dissolved Harry's anger. Before they opened the back door Harry had stormed out of earlier, Snape looked to him, taking a moment to choose his words.

"Forgiving other people is difficult. Forgiving yourself is harder. But, if you don't you end up in a... in a bad place. And its extremely hard to find your way out." Harry nodded and hoped he pulled off an expression of determination but if he had been the same Harry he had been a year ago his stomach would have plummeted. Becuase what Snape, like everyone else, failed to seem, was Harry was already there.