A long holiday weekend has given me the chance to get out all these pieces that I have been working on for so long. Now, with the end of this chapter, I am back into otherwise uncharted territory, having to write completely new materials. Please be patient with me.

I'd also like to thank everyone who's written reviews. They are really motivating. Constructive criticism is welcome, too. Its hard as an author to know if the images you have in your head have translated well on the page. Let me know.

And what far-flung readers I have! Hi, Fiji!

ENJOY! DN

Hermione had warned him this wasn't a good time to schedule some time with the Headmaster, given the recent events.

"How do you know they broke up?" Ron asked, chewing on his sandwich at lunch the following weekend. "They were never chatty at meals before anyway."

Ginny rolled her eyes as Hermione continued in a tone that might charitably be described as patient. "Right after those horrible articles were published, suddenly Professor Snape and Dr. Hunter weren't holed up in his office every evening after dinner. I haven't seen them take a walk together or even acknowledge each other. That, at least, they used to do at meals."

One of the sixth-year Gryffindors leaned in, over-hearing. "Do you think that means detentions again in potions? I heard Snape wasn't giving detentions anymore."

Everyone agreed it was a real possibility.

But Harry needed to ask to stay over the holidays. During exams the following week, there wouldn't be any time, then the trains showed up and that was that. People simply vanished right after the last exam on Friday. And Harry was motivated. Time alone, to just think and get away from everyone would be a treat. And few people understood the pleasures of being alone better than Severus Snape. In that light, Harry told himself that this was perhaps the best time to see his godfather.

Harry arrived at the Headmaster's office a full 4 minutes early, hoping to be on his good side when he made his proposal. Snape gestured silently to the chair opposite then sat himself, readying a quill and parchment.

"I assume this is regarding your college applications, of which I have received none to approve."

This wasn't where Harry had hoped to begin. He should have known to have started the conversation himself, but he'd hesitated, which allowed Snape to set the tone and direction of the meeting. Already he was feeling off-balance and defensive, and he hadn't yet uttered a word.

"I'm not sure I'm going to college, sir," he replied.

Snape cast him a withering glare. "With your rather mediocre school performance and lack of ambition, I'm not overly surprised. This won't set a good example for the other students. I'll send an owl to Mrs. Weasley and have her straighten you out over the holidays." Snape began to write, barely looking up at Harry. "I assume you'll be going to the Burrow with your girlfriend and her family."

This last jab riled Harry up. "College is pointless and no, I'm not going to the Burrow. I'd rather spend my holiday here."

"There's no need to keep an old man company. I have a lot of work to do, much of which is writing letters of recommendation for more ambitious students, including friends of yours." Harry repressed a dismissive snort, thinking about how the Headmaster's army of elf scribes would be doing most of that work. "And how will Miss Weasley feel about this?"

"She doesn't know yet. No one does."

"And when you tell her, what pitiful excuse will you give? Your hippogriff ate your gift for her?"

"Stop making jokes. I'm breaking it off with Ginny!"

At this last remark, Snape stopped writing and put down his quill. He eyed Harry across the desk, then spoke quietly. "Really? Why? She had distinguished herself by her unusual ability to tolerate you. You'd do well to bind yourself to someone who's more skilled and more ambitious than you, given your habit of squandering opportunities conveniently available to you, given that you lived."

Harry felt heat rising from his neck. "Don't mock me, Severus," he spat out angrily.

Snape's soft voice turned hard. "Don't mock me and this school by throwing aside your education and a witch of above average distinction."

"What's the point of it all? To get some boring job, a house and mortgage, and just live out my years, with people staring at me everywhere I go?"

"That's your complaint, Harry? You are being inexcusably arrogant, yes arrogant, a trait that I was foolish enough to think you'd outgrown. You've defeated the Dark Lord and now you are upset because still being alive and having those around you alive, not having your lives on the line every day, is BORING? And some people stare?"

Harry cut him off. "Severus, stop."

But Snape didn't stop. Instead he stood and grabbed Harry's robes. "Just what were you fighting for? Ginny and the rest of the students were fighting, too. For you." The Headmaster pulled Harry close enough that he could now feel the impact of his saliva on his face. "Can you imagine how she felt, Potter, not knowing where you were, if you were even alive, the school nearly falling apart around her?"

"Stop, now!"

"No, you are my godson, Harry, and I will not stand idly by and allow you, yes allow, I won't allow you to shame yourself and your parents in this way."

"Don't bring my parents into this!"

"They are in 'this' with your every breath, Harry. She gave her life, he did too. Don't waste yours."

"Stop it, shut up!"

Snape's voice got quiet again, but he didn't release Harry's robes. "When have I EVER given up, Harry? You think I'll do so now, because a young wizard is having a brief bout of insanity?"

Snape suddenly released Harry's robes and he collapsed defeatedly in his chair, holding his head in his hands. Snape eyed him with contempt, then strode back behind his desk. He opened a drawer, fished out several pre-printed parchments, and called for Bina, who appeared instantly beside her small writing desk.

"Yes, Headmaster?" she said expectantly, quill at the ready.

Snape handed her parchments, saying "Fill these out for one Harold James Potter and get owls that can fly to Covenhall, Fellbridge, and Cloakreth." Bina set to work.

"What?" said Harry in a daze.

"You'll be applying for Auror training, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions Master, though I doubt you'll get in to that. Regardless of any recommendations you may get, there is a practical element to the application. You would be unlikely to exceed many others."

"You can't just apply for me!" Harry shot back.

Snape didn't even bother to look up. "You will regain your sanity at some point. And when you do, it is possible that you may even have at least one acceptance." He extended his hand as Bina finished the first form, then presented the application to Harry.

"I won't sign."

"You will." Snape drew his wand smoothly and handed Harry a quill. Involuntarily, Harry's hand clutched the quill. He watched wordlessly as his hand formed his signature on the first, then the second and third applications. Bina accepted the signed parchments and withdrew.

"What about the essays?"

The Headmaster now lowered his wand and walked behind his desk. Harry couldn't believe that he was giving in, and indeed, he was not. He approached a cabinet full of whirring magical instruments and drew out a chain with a small hourglass within it. The Timeturner. Good grief.

Hours later, his wrists aching, Harry handed back the three application essays he'd managed to spew out ("Reflect on your life to date. Of what accomplishment are you most proud and why?" "Think of the witches and wizards in your life. Who has inspired you the most and how?" "Gold, power, happiness, or gold and power?").

"The letters of recommendation, sir?" he asked tiredly.

"I'll send those at a later date when my mood is more favorable toward you. Now, go back to your studying and packing your things for your holiday which will be spent with the Weasleys. You will come to see me before deciding to cut things off with Miss Weasley. I won't have you making rash decisions, Harry. Even if you might later change your mind, she won't. She has already done more waiting around than a young lady should be asked to do. She will move on, and there will be any number of young, talented wizards waiting for their chance."

Harry was now questioning his own sanity for having ever asked Severus Snape to be his godfather. He must have been mad at that moment. Just as he mustered the strength to stand, Snape sat down wearily in his chair, looking pale and worn.

"Sit, Harry," he said. Not as a command, but more as an invitation. Harry was still angry and frustrated, but was tired enough to do so without complaint.

Snape leaned back, holding his forehead as though by pressing his head he might hold back a migraine. He let forth with a strong exhalation, then sat forward again, regarding Harry. Not warmly, exactly, but less aggressively than before.

"Your parents would have liked Ginny very much, Harry. She's no wilting Amanita."

Harry nodded mutely, having no idea how to respond.

"They would want what is best for you. What they wouldn't have given for a boring, long life."

"Yes, sir."

"This is not the time for 'yes, sir' Harry," Snape replied.

Harry was confused. "Alright, alright. Severus."

Snape continued to observe Harry until the silence grew too large, then stood. Harry followed. "Go study for your exams, Harry. I'll send your applications tonight and the letters of recommendation over the holidays. I may not see you outside class, Harry. Happy Christmas." He extended a long, pale hand, which Harry shook.

"Thank you, sir, I mean, Severus. Happy Christmas, to you, as well," he said. He turned away, but not before taking in a note of pain in the Headmaster's countenance. He walked slowly back to the library, where everyone was doing their final cramming before the first exams began the next day, starting with Potions.

The Headmaster sat silently for longer than he'd intended, exhausted from the Timeturner, as well as the rest of the conversation. He held the golden object in his hands and pondered the scope of its power. He rose, and returned the item to its cabinet. Standing before the array of magical instruments, he withdrew a deeply-cut crystal vial with a silver stopper, filled with a swirling blue liquid and tied with a forest green ribbon. Morgan's Christmas gift, now no longer needed or wanted. Not long ago, he'd have smashed the vial against the stone floor, maybe followed by the wave of a wand and some pyrotechnics. He would have been angry then, ready for a duel, ready to destroy a room or even an entire house to manifest his rage and resentment.

Now, though, he rolled the vial between his fingers, considered its contents, then returned it to its cabinet. It would be a shame to waste it. He prepared his exam papers, cleared his desk, and returned to the dungeons, ready for a sufficient rest to ready himself for the final week between him and a quiet holiday. Sleep was elusive, despite his exhaustion. Waking visions of Morgan and their walks around the lake at last faded into dreams haunted by a witch with a long braid, always with her back to him and getting further and further out of reach.

The quiet of the holidays was immense. Once exams were completed and the students departed, the staff was not far behind. Traditionally, the staff left immediately and returned early to grade the exams before students returned in January and this year was no exception. The Headmaster, too, let the exams sit.

As he read and studied, his mind frequently wandered to Hunter. Where had she gone? Home to Sedona to the sun and heat of the desert? To London to enjoy the shops? The snow in the windows and in the stores themselves was charming, as were the glittering trees. He still found feeling these kinds of emotions intriguing, having been blunted for so long by remorse and self-loathing.

He summoned Bina, who had the holiday greetings already written, needing only a signature. As much as he detested such shallow expressions of amity on his own part, he recognized the importance of the formality that ran against the will of Severus Snape, but was important to execute the will of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, to whatever goodwill such a formality might generate on behalf of the school. He continued to sign each parchment with his full signature and a small Beneyule charm well into the night, stopping only for dinner, He looked up at the portrait of Dumbledore, in which Albus was snoring. He resisted the urge to cast a spell in his general direction and wondered yet again what the old Wizard's plan could possibly have been to curse him thus.

Thinking of the Christmases of his childhood did nothing to dispel his sense of desolation. Christmases of his youth were merely a light reprieve of the regular abuse to a kind of more tolerable neglect, at least until his father was in his holiday drink. He spent a lot of time outside, walking aimlessly, underdressed and freezing, but it was better than the alternative.

Once he was older, coming home from Hogwarts for the holidays, he had smuggled home potions from school, sleeping potions. He considered potions to reduce his father's viciousness and anger, but preferred his not being conscious to his company, regardless of the improved mood. His mother, for reasons he never would understand, had never used her magic to bind or control him. Why she stayed, no one would ever now know. Perhaps, like so many deluded witches and Muggle women before her, she labored under the absurd impression that she was at fault, that she brought it on herself; or, more absurd still, that she could change him, if only she tried hard enough, cared enough. Muggle marriages were not a perpetual binding, like Magical ones. She could have sought a divorce, and supported herself in any number of ways. Magical people living in the Muggle world had done so for centuries, though under deep cover. What Magical talent she may have had, she seemed to be utterly unconnected to the Magical world. She never mentioned other witches or wizards that she knew. Other than Lily Evans, he had never met another Magical child before attending Hogwarts.

He recalled again how much he resented his mother for allowing his father to treat both of them like curses on him. The number of times he was prepared to face charges on the Use of Underage Magic was countless, but his need to not be expelled from Hogwarts was so great as to keep him at least partially in line, to keep him from truly lashing out as he was so often tempted to do. Even humiliation at the hands of James Potter and his little gang of thugs wasn't worse than the thought of being expelled and sent back to finish his adolescence at Spinner's End. That was one of the beauties of Potions, the quality that first attracted him to this art of Magic. The use of them didn't register. Only the making. Student potion samples were typically discarded, so it had been easy to pocket a few vials for transport home. You just had to know which student had any talent, if any. And for his father, he didn't particularly care about the toxic side effects of a poorly-executed formulation, only the effectiveness of the stupor. Slughorn never noticed any missing samples of a sleeping draught. Snape wondered if Slughorn would have missed Paralytic solution or any of the number of poisons that contained controlled substances from the locked and charmed cabinet. He hadn't tried at the time, not wanting to risk expulsion from Hogwarts or a trial, either in Magical or Muggle courts. He wondered if his mother would have testified for the prosecution or the defence at such a trial. The fact that this was a question was as much an offence to him as her testifying against him might have been.

After he graduated, he visited once. Now of age and fully qualified, he smashed a few glasses with his wand as a threat and invited his mother to leave and live with him, but she refused. He was incensed at her decision. He had thought to tell his father to never lay a hand on her again under threat of his retaliation, but if she wanted to stay, wanted to stay with that beast of a man instead of her own son, she could face her own fate. He never returned to Spinner's End until his inheritance, pitiful as it was.

Ah, the holidays. So many pleasant memories, thought Snape with a grimace, noting the emptiness of the school around him only mirrored the emptiness within him.