Hello, readers. I needed to make some changes in these chapters to align with Chapter 36, so please RE-READ chapters 33, 34, and 35 if you read them before August 29th. Chapter 36 will make more sense.

ENJOY! Post a review! - DN

Snape turned his attention to the other matter that had been on his mind of late. He paced his office, pulling Harry's college responses from the other parchments still stacked on the oaken desk, then paced a bit more. He read them over again, though he already knew their content. He reminded himself that threats, arguing, and sarcasm would not be the technique du jour. He needed to take a fatherly approach with Harry, one befitting a godfather. Patient, if possible, kindly, and, in this case, apologetic. It would require a great deal of control on his part, most of these tones being difficult and unfamiliar to him. Harry would see these recent events as a betrayal, as another loss of some part of his parents. He hadn't bled himself since he realized the presence of Lily within him, but wondered if it might be the reason for the success of the antidote.

Fatherly. What he knew of fatherly had come to him mostly from Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy. From Dumbledore, he'd learned both penance and forgiveness, though also unrelenting obligation. From Malfoy, an early hand guiding his towards Dark Magic, but also an example of sacrifice for family. Not the best foundations on which to fashion an image of a father, but it was what he had to work with, his own father having been of no good use in this setting whatsoever. He was pleased that he'd taken the previous week to practice such a tone in Hunter's classes. He no longer felt like a complete impostor now, though he was by no means comfortable inhabiting this role. He meant to consult with Albus on his own evolution from a selfish, rash, and ambitious young wizard to the widely-admired Headmaster he'd become in later life, but then heard the door open and the firm sound of displeased feet mounting the spiral staircase, followed shortly by Harry, looking irritated.

"You sent for me, Headmaster?" he said coldly, his eyes cast elsewhere, a posture of perfect teenage insolence.

Snape heard the edge in the boy's voice, but worked to overlook it. "Indeed, Harry. I've now received responses from all three wizarding colleges. A decision must be made about your future."

Harry moved to sit in the chair opposite Snape's desk, but the Headmaster scooped up the parchments on it and approached instead a pair of comfortable-looking wing chairs off to the side. Harry followed, feeling more irritation than invitation.

"Have you eaten, Harry?" Snape asked, in some kind of strange tone that Harry took to be his attempt at kindness and concern.

Harry was starving, despite having been at breakfast not long before. Lunch always seemed to arrive far too late, in his opinion, though the morning meal had become more hearty of late, with rashers, sausages, and cheeses to accompany the beans and oatmeal that had been a staple this year. This morning, he'd hardly eaten. Despite this, he had no desire to show any weakness or need to Snape.

"Thank you, I'm fine," he said curtly. "I'd like to get on with this, please. I should be studying for exams."

Snape ignored Harry and called for a House Elf, putting in a request for a plate of fruit, cheese, and chocolate biscuits to be sent up with milk and pumpkin juice.

Harry's resolve to show no hunger and accept no kindness faded quickly, once the food arrived. He helped himself to a full plate, taking most of the chocolate biscuits, and a glass of pumpkin juice. Snape took some fruit, cheese, and the milk.

"Helps with my complexion," Snape said casually, not looking at Harry. He took up three scrolls. "It seems you've earned yourself admission to Fellbridge and Covenhall. Admission for you to the Potions program at Cloakreth seems to be beyond both your fame and my magic, though earning a N.E.W.T. next week might allow for that in the following year. This leaves open Auror training and teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, both of which would seem to suit your natural talents better." As Harry stared silently, ignoring purposefully this mix of the expected derision and unusual praise from his godfather, Snape drew out the response cards and handed them to Harry. They were quite simple.

_ I decline this offer.

_ I accept this offer and confirm that I have the funds to support my endeavors for both years.

Harry held them in his hands mutely. He'd been working towards this moment for many years, but now it was here. A full year late, and yet it felt too soon. Despite all he'd been through, he still felt unprepared to leave the warm embrace of Hogwarts and enter the real world. Perhaps warm embrace was too strong a phrase, given the chill between him and the Headmaster. Perhaps that was Snape's motivation; to make it too unpleasant for Harry to stay, to make him glad to leave. If so, it wasn't working.

Both paths were open to him, and probably less boring than a Ministry job. He needed to talk to Ginny, to find out what schools she'd been accepted to. Or if she'd gotten a notice from the Chudley Cannons farm team. And Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Seamus, Romilda, Dean, Cho, Michael, Parvati and Padma, Terry, Hannah, Anthony, all the others. That's where the warm embrace lay, his friends. Some teachers, but mostly his friends. He couldn't imagine making his way in the a Magical world without them nearby. They'd been with him every step since Sorting. And he'd just told them all off in spectacular fashion. The biscuits and fruit did a cartwheel in his stomach.

Snape found sitting next to Harry difficult. As Harry stared silently at the two small cards, he imagined him pondering his future and eventual separation from Hogwarts, the only true home he'd known, outside the Burrow. He knew the feeling well. Then he'd glance at Harry's face, see her eyes, see his face, dredging up the familiar toxic mix of regret, loss, anger, resentment, jealousy. He reminded himself again that he now shared in her blood, and his. They were present within him. As ever, a mixed blessing.

After a few more moments had passed, Snape intoned "You'll have until Thursday to respond, if you need time to think."

Harry did not want to seem indecisive, as though he hadn't been giving this decision careful thought for the past few months, despite the truth of his having put it firmly out of his mind just after his hand had stopped being sore from writing the application essays.

"Fellbridge," he said, looking around for a quill and ink.

"I suggest you take some time, Harry. Discuss it with your friends before you commit. Once you send back the cards, you are indentured to the school for the two years. To leave without completing your course of required service will result in both a fine and a censure from the Office of Higher Magical Education, an office over which I have precious little influence."

"I don't need to discuss this with anyone, Severus," he said hotly. "This was your idea in the first place, so I can't understand why you are objecting now. Isn't it enough for you to get your wish?"

"I wasn't talking about your needing my opinion, Harry," he replied with a measured tone. "Perhaps you may wish to discuss with Miss Weasley…"

Harry cut him off. "Leave Ginny out of this, Severus. I'll let you know if I decide to break up with her, just as you've asked. You are my godfather, after all. It is within your rights."

Snape stared at Harry, resisting the temptation to use Legilimency to try to understand what was going through his mind. He supposed Harry questioned why he'd asked him to be his godfather. Every approach he could conjure up was fraught with controversy, and he didn't trust himself fully not to simply launch into a full-blown lecture on how Harry should be treating his friends, that select, small group that could tolerate him. Instead, he reached for another bit of cheese (a fine Elvish Bleu) and took another sip of milk, wishing it were wine (Goblin, strong, as befit such an encounter).

Harry gritted his teeth a moment longer, then burst out. "Was it another suicide attempt, that lost duel in the alleyway?"

This jolted Snape a bit out of his own thoughts. "It may have been rather messy, but it wasn't a loss. Ethinian Ames was defeated in his attempt to kill Dr. Hunter, as well as Professor Trelawney and myself."

"You were nearly killed!" Harry spat back. "You probably wished you had been."

"No, I wish I had been sharp-witted enough to figure out the it was Dr. Hunter who'd used the third Port-key that had left traces in the street by the Malfoy's. Then fast enough to prevent this outcome for her. I would, indeed, gladly have laid down my life for hers, had it been useful to do so." He paused, looking into the empty fireplace. He hadn't truly saved her. She was living, but nothing more. "As I would for you and any other student in this school. As you would for your friends. Taking risks to defend others is a habit we share."

Harry had difficulty imagining that he and Snape would share any kind of inner motivation, but he admitted to himself that this was true. "Did you feel that way about my mother, too?"

Snape knew this question was coming, but was still surprised by Harry's courage in asking it. "Yes." An odd expression passed over the man's face, one of brief uncertainty. "I have wished many times over the years that I had been given just that chance."

"Why are you so bent on self-destruction now, after surviving so long?"

"Other than for her blood and your sake, why should I endure, Harry? I've been working all my life to be useful in a world that no longer exists. I simply am not needed."

"Hogwash!"

"I lack the skills for success in any other kind of life. You've had advantages I never had, Harry. For once, try to imagine a life different from your own." He could feel his efforts at remaining calm failing.

"I spent my first 11 years despised for reasons I couldn't fathom, living trapped under the stairs and treated like a freak, just like you."

"But you had her fire within you."

"And a piece of Voldemort's soul, too."

"Yes, indeed. Imagine coming to school, with only one friend. No one else knows you, no one thinks you are special. You have no reputation whatsoever, because you come from no one and you have nothing. Once at school, your friends are only interested in what you can do for them, not for who you are. Lucius Malfoy didn't befriend me out of house loyalty or altruism. He saw in me someone who was desperate to fit in, someone who could be manipulated to serve his needs, an opportunity to be taken advantage of. I worked like a three-headed dog to learn and use every last dram of Magic I could conjure up, to be useful to the more powerful ones around me, always hoping to finally fit in and be among the powerful myself, the 'in' crowd. You have little interest in developing your skills and talents, because you know you don't really need to. You'll still have friends, you'll still have your fortune, and you'll always be The Chosen One."

"I was 'Chosen' to fight the Dark Lord to the death. And most likely my own death, as well as his. It's not something I signed up for, you know."

Snape was getting irritated now, despite his attempts to control himself. "And I, too was conscripted to fight with my life, as penance for which there would never be a reward."

"You chose that life!"

"Yes, the mistake for which I've paid with every breath since then. I've lost everything, Harry, everything. Life itself is all I have left to give for release."

"But you won't go, you won't destroy the blood within you."

"You won't allow it, so I am now also indebted to you, perpetually," Snape said, disgustedly. Just as I was to your father.

"How can you not see what you mean to anyone?" Harry replied, equally disgustedly.

"What other see in me is a Death Eater, a murderer, a collaborator, and an opportunist, as it ever will be."

'And a leader, a teacher, a mentor, a guide, and at least to Dr. Hunter, a lover. You would toss all that aside?"

"Dr. Hunter is not my lover. Leave her out of this discussion, Harry."

Harry, irritated to hear and echo of his own words, rose threateningly, as did Snape. "I'll say what I want, Severus," he said angrily, gesturing madly. "You two were obviously in love. Did she dump you once she found out you were once a Death Eater?"

Snape just stared at Harry, fire in his eyes, a Silencio charm forming in his mind, his fingers twitching towards his wand. "I have not told her everything about myself. I have no idea if she knows."

Harry smacked himself on his forehead in disbelief. "You can't let her find out from someone else! If she only gets information from the Daily Prophet, she'll only get a bunch of lies and misrepresentations. That may be why she broke it off with you."

Snape had a strange, stony look to his countenance. "She didn't break it off."

Harry looked at the Headmaster gape-mouthed. "You can't be serious, no. You could not possibly have been so stupid as to break up with her."

"I didn't want to look like a fool, Harry."

"You believed the lies in the Daily Prophet, didn't you? That rag of a scandal sheet. All the lies about you, about me, about the everyone, and still you were willing to believe them about her. Here's my advice to you, Severus. I will not allow your letting a witch of such uncommon distinction, one who is remarkable in her ability to tolerate you, get away without an effort. I insist that you do all within your power to mend whatever rift you've caused."

"I have no such skills, Harry. If love were as simple as mixing a Potion or calling up a Patronus, I would be surrounded by admirers constantly. It may have escaped your notice, but love doesn't work that way. Winning the heart of another takes more than Magical skills, it takes a skill all it's own, one of which I am sorely lacking, obviously."

"Blasting Bowtruckles, Snape, you can learn!"

"How? Reading Lockhart's books? I've already tried. The techniques he suggests would never work on a witch like Morgan, they are insultingly simple. She is beyond me."

Harry had within his mind some scathing retort, ready to fling in the direction of the Headmaster. At this confession, however, Harry stumbled and stopped. He looked at the wizard before him, slackjawed. There was no evidence that he was joking. Try as he might, Harry could stop the laughter that emerged. "Gilderoy Lockhart. Merlin's Beard, you are desperate."

Snape reached for his wand, as Harry turned to grab his own, still grinning uncontrollably. "Please, Severus," he said, holding up a wandless hand to stave off whatever spell might be cast in his direction shortly. "Please, don't." He continued to giggle. "You can't get this from books, you know."

Snape snarled, hand still on his wand. "Yes, I do know that, Harry. I am painfully aware of this fact."

Harry had managed to stop his giggling now, and slowly lowered his rather useless hand as the Headmaster lowered his wand equally slowly. Harry took in a few breaths to be sure he was in control of himself.

"Do you really love her, Severus?"

Snape slumped into his chair. "I do. My driving her away, her being hurt, it's killing me. And I have no idea how to mend this. This is beyond my skills."

"It's not," Harry said, finding himself speaking in the comforting voice he might to Ron about Hermione, or Neville about Potions many years ago. He sat and turned toward Snape.

Snape closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he looked up at last, he seemed very tired for this early in the day. "Harry, I need to get some things. Come with me," he said, rising.

It wasn't exactly a command, but not exactly an invitation that Harry had the right to refuse. Snape rose and went to the door. Harry prepared to trail behind the swirl of black robes when the Headmaster stopped and turned slightly, waiting to Harry to walk next to him. Harry blinked, then walked out of the castle, shoulder to shoulder with his godfather.

As expected, Snape was silent and his feet were directed to the Forbidden Forest, though not at the breakneck speed he usually strode. He seemed more thoughtful, yet still purposeful. Harry stayed close by, knowing getting lost in these thick woods would be easy (and dangerous). Finding his way out on his own would be difficult, if not impossible. It wasn't long before they were in a part of the forest Harry hadn't seen. Snape had yet to collect anything, despite there being any number of useful things along their path. Now that he'd spent the year assisting in the Potions classroom, Harry was able to identify dittany, asphodel, wormwood, deadly nightshade, even a circle of very rare amanita. A rock beneath which he was certain there was a nest of boomslangs was passed by, as well as several buzzing nests surrounded by clouds of lacewing flies. Harry regretted not having a few ready vials himself, knowing how useful lacewing flies were. Snape hadn't brought his sample case.

Not long after he'd completely lost track of where they had gone, they arrived at a clearing. Hyssop grew here in abundance and was in full bloom, pink, blue and white flowers bending with the breezes which carried along their scent of licorice. Snape stood tall and looked out across the field, his nose held high, eyes closed. After a moment, he drew two jars from a pocket inside his robe and handed one to Harry. "What are the most valuable parts of hyssop, Harry? Can you recall?"

Harry racked his brain, thinking. Had they ever dealt with hyssop in class before? What was in Snape's supply closet? Had he seen these flowers before? He closed his eyes and found that the scent in his nostrils took him back to a jar that smelled just like this. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to envision what was in the jar. Flowers, and some green parts. Stems, leaves, roots, or seed pods? He made a guess. "The flower and stem." He opened his eyes and looked for a response.

Snape narrowed his eyes, then nodded slightly. "Partly. Examine the plant and try again."

Harry, long accustomed to castigation, was caught somewhat off guard by this measured response. He bent down and pulled a plant up carefully, keeping the root intact. He held each piece and one by one separated the components. When he pulled off the leaves and broke them open, a scent like anise burst out, bringing him back in an instant to the jar in the store room. "Flowers and leaves, sir."

At this response, Snape's grim expression softened slightly. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Now, collect the flower buds and leaves whole in the jar." He turned without another word and set to collecting.

Harry looked around and began with the plants closest to him. He plucked the leaves and flowers carefully off the stems and dropped them in the jar. His fingers began to turn pink from the stain. As he plucked, he stole occasional glances at his godfather. Ginny's and Hermione's words came back to him, as well as his own. When he himself had come to Hogwarts, he'd already had a reputation, was known everywhere within the Magical world. He hadn't known why, exactly, until later, but it was true that everyone knew him. When she'd first met him, Ginny could barely even speak to him; he'd laughed at her reaction then, but now understood that he had been a kind of mythical figure in her childhood. And he'd always had his parents' fortune. While he hadn't used it as a tool to hold over others, he also hadn't needed to worry about how to buy chocolate frogs on the train, things in Hogsmeade, or gifts for friends. His challenge was in not offending his friends' pride in offering too much. Even now, he wasn't panicked about his future. Maybe he should be, not knowing everything about the cost of living or paying taxes to the Ministry that would soon be his fate.

Snape arrived at school poor, unknown, and unloved, longing for escape from his home life (at least that was something they had in common). His thirst for advancement from poverty and into independence, by any means, was probably why he was sorted into Slytherin, rather than Gryffindor, despite his eventual bravery. Not Ravenclaw, despite his intelligence, not Hufflepuff, despite his loyalty. His most prominent characteristic had been ambition, to rise from where he started. And here he was, still at school, still poor, still alone, after all this time.

What might have become of himself, had he made friends with Draco Malfoy on that first train ride, if he had found himself in a carriage with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini instead of Ron and Hermione? It was only random chance that he'd first befriended Ron. Harry wanted very much to believe that his life course was a destiny, that he would have rejected the Slytherins, regardless. What if Malfoy had been his traveling companion and earned his trust first? Things for him may have been very different. All those terrifying urges to hurt those he cared about might have seemed more reasonable, if he'd developed loyalties and friendship with the Slytherins first, as Snape had done. The Sorting Hat considered Slytherin for him, after all. What had he known about Houses and Sorting then? Only that he had wanted to be in Gryffindor, mostly because Ron was likely to be Sorted there, following his brothers. How easy it might have been for the whole of his life to play out in a different direction, one more like Snape's, had the train ride been different. One chance event, and he might have been set on a very different course. Had Snape found a friend on the train that was interested in a different house, who had been welcoming to a young, strange wizard, what might have become of the Headmaster, of Harry's family? Random chance, not only strength of will, could play such an influential role.

Harry glanced over at his companion. Unlike Harry, Snape's jar was filled, and he now stood still, looking out across the field. He noted how few times he'd seen his godfather in daylight and the effect was odd. The breezes took his robes and hair, his nose seeming larger than usual jutting out from his face; his coloring, ebony hair and eyes and sallow skin, looked otherworldly in a field of flowers surrounded by the forest, now bright green with spring colors. Almost as if he sensed Harry's gaze, he turned. He regarded Harry silently, no chance in his expression, until Harry broke the connection and returned his attention to his task. He recalled Snape's words on the shore after they'd both nearly drowned in the lake. Damaged beyond repair and wanting death. Possibly more now than before. Being unaware that he meant anything more to anyone other than what duties he had. Now committed by the presence of his mother's blood and his own admonition to endure. He considered for the first time what he had asked. A lifetime could be very long for a wizard. Snape's 50 years of probation only covered perhaps the first half of his life. What might that life look like? An endless stream of students, each class more undisciplined than the last; the possibility of changes to the curriculum, improvements in relationships between schools. But if he failed in matters of the heart, what was it all for? He was Snape's only family, his godson.

Harry's jar was now packed leaves and flowers. He stood and closed the lid as Snape began to move toward him. He drew in a nostril full of the smell, enjoying the sun, the winds, and the scents, the feel of the ground beneath his feet. The Forbidden Forest had never felt so welcoming as today. Harry pocketed the jar as Snape had done with his own and silently followed the Headmaster out of the clearing and into the dimness of the forest. As they walked, Harry wondered what was next. He was glad that he had accepted the biscuits and pumpkin juice, as it was now near lunch. They entered by the rear doors into the main corridor, where the sounds of lunch in the Great Hall could be heard. His nose seemed more sensitive than usual, and Harry could almost taste the pea soup and ham that was today's offering. Snape gave a slight shake of his head and instead directed his steps down to the dungeon.

"One last lesson, Harry," he said.

Harry felt a jolt run through him. He was so close to finishing school, but surely this wouldn't be the last? His mind raced, considering all that he still needed to know, not only about potions, but about living in the wizarding world as an adult.

Snape met his gaze. "Before your N.E.W.T. exams. Despite your apprenticeship in my classroom, there is more that would benefit you to know." This did not settle his mind at all.

Arriving in the classroom, Snape waved his wand and a formula appeared on the blackboard. Harry looked at it and got started. It was an extraction, separation, and concentration method. The vessel required was a thick-walled iron cauldron with a sealed top. Snape lectured as Harry put together what was required.

"The essence of hyssop is two-fold. The flowers have a pleasing fragrance, but the power lies within the leaves. Along with the active substance, there is great bitterness. If the Potion is to be effective, that bitterness must be removed, but can only be done under great pressure. Seal the cauldron and connect a condenser and a collection jar. Use high heat."

Once the leaves rested in the liquid in the cauldron and the heat was applied, Harry noted that some lunch had been delivered and he set to it with enthusiasm. The peas for the soup were fresh and the ham delicious. Snape continued to lecture and quiz him through the meal. "How can you tell when the reaction is over?" "How should you go about unsealing the cauldron?"

After the meal, Harry examined the vessels. The jar contained a dark liquid that smelled of the licorice scent he'd noted in the field. The cauldron was coated in a dark, tar-like substance. "Now that they've been separated, what to do with the bitter part, Harry?"

He considered this. Several potions made use of bitter components, and Snape was not one to waste. But this was foul and Harry wanted nothing more than to simply be rid of it. "This fraction lacks the active ingredient, so we should discard it."

Snape took the filthy cauldron in his hand and rolled it, the dark, sticky paste rolling around. He seemed to be seeing something within that Harry hadn't and spoke in a distant voice. "Yes, this has now outlived its purpose." He waved his wand, and the sticky mess vanished, leaving behind a clear cauldron, which he continued to observe as though something further might happen within it.

Nothing did. Harry considered the number of detentions he and Ron had spent cleaning cauldrons and lamented the time spent, when Snape could so easily do the job. This had given Snape more time to observe him, under the guise of punishment, though it could just have easily been a real punishment, given Harry and Ron's habit of not paying attention and generally fouling up the preparations.

Snape's attention turned to the collection jar. "What remains should be treated with care. It must be warmed to improve its power and stability, or it will break and fail."

Harry placed the collection jar within a water bath and applied a small flame. The swirling fumes drifted out as the liquid within grew darker. As this continued, Snape pointed to the flowers. "Press those carefully, then soak them to release their scent." Harry did so, noting the floral and spicy scent, pleasing to his senses. The resultant liquid was iridescent, a rainbow the color of the flowers from which it came. Snape handed him two clear, rounded, cut glass vials, far more decorative than the usual student vials. Harry filled each, then set a stopper. Snape then handed him a ribbon upon which was a label. His attention then returned to the concentrating potion, which now was about half what it had been before.

"Remove the jar from the heat and carefully pour into two portions." Rather than vessels or jars, Snape had brought two cups on saucers. Teacups. Harry gave him a quizzical look which earned him a small nod. He poured out the tea. "Now drink," Snape said.

Harry regarded the liquid suspiciously. He had no knowledge of hyssop or its purposes. Would it sharpen his mind for studying? Cause him to giggle uncontrollably? Cause boils? These seemed unlikely, as there were other potions with those purposes. Also, it was clear Snape intended to drink this, too, so it couldn't be damaging. Unless Snape had taken an antidote or developed a tolerance to it.

"What are you expecting, Harry? That I would poison you? Perhaps if you perform poorly on your exams I'll consider that. For now, enjoy your tea." Snape drew the cup to his own lips and drank, so Harry did the same.

It was like liquid licorice candy, warm and inviting. The classroom, damp and cold, despite the sunny warmth outside, now seemed less so, far more tolerable. The warmth filled him. Harry felt within him a swelling up of forgiveness, of understanding. He could not be angry forever, but would need to forgive. They were bound forever, his debt to Snape as great now as ever. Like leaving behind a heavy pack or casting off a wet woolen traveling cloak, he felt lighter. He couldn't bear so much resentment against someone who had traveled such a difficult road, someone very much like himself at the core, but with such different experiences. What he'd been thinking in the forest now became real.

Harry took another deep sip, while the liquid was still hot enough to be challenging, but before it became cool and flat. Another wave of warmth spread through him. "I'm sorry I was so angry, Severus. I couldn't stand to lose…" He was about to say more of my parents. But that wasn't the full truth. "Another person I care about."

Snape closed his eyes and set down his cup. He opened them again. "You are forgiven, Harry." He looked uncomfortable, then spoke further, with some effort. "I am also sorry, that I misunderstood your purpose in our Binding. I assumed you'd simply run out of options. I see now that I can be of some use to you beyond simply signing forms. And I shall endeavour to be of use to you from now on, as your godfather." This seemed to exhaust him, and he looked away.

"So," Harry said, breaking what was evolving into a rather intense silence. "What is the purpose of the other vials?"

Snape looked up. "Those?" he said, gesturing as Harry nodded. "They are gifts. Hyssop has long been associated with forgiveness and reconciliation."

"So they make the receiver forgive the person that gave it to them? Like this tea?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape said with a small grin. "Forgiveness, much like love, can't be procured artificially from a potion. It must arise naturally. Hyssop perfume is merely symbolic, conveying its meaning, but not having active ingredients."

Harry was reasonably sure he knew the intended recipient. "So you've had me help you make a forgiveness perfume to give to Dr. Hunter when she wakes up, then?"

Now Snape's grin grew. "In part. I plan to offer one to her, yes."

"And the other?"

"It's yours, Harry. In the realm of wizards and witches, it is likely you'll need it for Miss Weasley."