It was just Harry's luck that with everything else going on, he would have to start studying again soon.
"It's actually a brilliant idea that another year will be added permanently!" There was that slightly mad glint in Hermione's eyes she only got when thinking about House Elf rights or revising for a dozen subjects at the same time.
"It's a bloody disgrace," Ron said. "And it's your fault, Harry. It's one thing to exonerate Snape, that's just basic decency – but you didn't have to praise him to high heaven in front of The New Coalition, did you? They should've just made him leave Hogwarts, not put him in charge. I mean, bloke was one bad teacher, wasn't he?"
"Well," it has now apparently become Harry's life's mission to defend Snape in front of everyone, "he wasn't the worst."
But no matter how much they grumbled, the truth was inevitable. They would need to return to Hogwarts to finish their education. Even Harry, the Chosen One. Harry the Victorious. Harry the Good. Harry Who Bloody Sacrificed Himself for This Bunch of Ingrates Who Now Wanted Him to Take Comparative Exams So He Would be Even Allowed to Enter the Eighth Year and Wouldn't Be – The Horror – Forced to Repeat the Seventh.
Harry had other things to worry about. Ginny had dumped him for Neville and he had been pretending he was fine with it and understood. Ron and Hermione seemed to have suddenly formed a sub-unit of their own. He himself was an actual Godfather now and he knew nothing about babies. And speaking of babies, Sirius was back from the dead, but seemed to be teetering on the edge of killing himself in some fit of drunken despondency, deprived of his magic and clearly not coping well with it as he was. And having spent many a day at Mrs. Figg's as a young child, Harry was not surprised. Squib life sucked.
But now Harry would have to put all this out of his head and study. In less than two months, he would have to take four exams in order to be admitted to the Eighth Year. This was compulsory for everyone – whoever did not pass would be publicly shamed by having to repeat Year Seven, even those who devoted that year to saving the Wizarding World. The subjects that would be tested were: Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions and, curiously, Muggle Studies. Harry supposed no reasonable examiner would risk his career by allowing the Boy Who Lived Again to fail Defence. And if the exam was designed for people like Malfoy to have a chance of passing, Harry was sure to ace Muggle Studies. Transfiguration would be tricky, but Harry thought that with a bit of luck, he could scrape through. Potions was wherein the problem lay, as always. The Seventh year syllabus included the complex Invisibility Potion (Harry doubted the examiner would be amused if Harry just donned his Cloak – but then again, he could try, people did love him now), antidotes to uncommon poisons which you had to adjust according to what toxin you were trying to neutralize, and there were also the highly specific and complex Potions like Dr Ubbly's Oblivious Unction or Richard the Lizard Wizard's Blizzard, which seemed to have been primarily designed to flunk students.
Any way he looked at it, Harry supposed there was no way this would not end in disastrous embarrassment. Slughorn was certain to have sung Harry's praises to all his Potioneer friends and they would arrive expecting miracles from The Saviour of the Wizarding World. And it was all Snape's fault anyway – if only he had been a better teacher, if only he had not made Harry hate the subject so much … The only time Harry actually enjoyed Potions was when Slughorn taught it and Harry had the Half-Blood Prince's instructions. Too bad the Prince's old textbook had been destroyed by Fiendfyre. Well, it wouldn't be much use for the Seventh year Potions anyway but one could dream...
Wait. Just … WAIT!
Why hasn't he thought of that before? Of course, if Snape had a habit of scribbling notes all over his Sixth Year school books, why would he stop doing that in his Seventh Year? He did finish Hogwarts before joining the Death Eaters as far as Harry knew. Otherwise he couldn't become a teacher there, right? Dumbledore was notoriously lenient when it came to his staff or - as it transpired - the School's finances, but still ... Well, that was not the real question here. The real question was: where was the Half-Blood Prince's Seventh Year Potions book now?
Well, perhaps it was hiding in plain sight in the most obvious place Harry could think of – exactly where the Sixth Year book had been too: gathering dust in some long-forgotten shelf in Snape's old Potions classroom.
The next time Harry traveled to Hogwarts to help with its reconstruction, he was careful to pack the Invisibility Cloak.
"Thanks, but I'll just … have a sandwich and take a walk, I reckon. I want to clear my head," he declined Neville's offer to go to Hogsmeade for lunch.
Excited and even a bit nostalgic at sneaking around Hogwarts again, Harry fastened the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and hurried down the long stairwell to the dungeon, feeling the familiar wave of cool, humid air swallow him as he descended. He didn't even have to bother with the Cloak as the corridors were quite deserted, but he kept it on anyway. He rushed towards the Potions classroom. He pulled open the heavy, creaking door, remembering how much more ominous it had looked and sounded when he were a First Year. It was just a door now.
Once inside, Harry began his search: he rummaged through the drawers, looked through all the shelves, even got a ladder to check the ones that almost touched the ceiling and opened every cabinet. He did find a number of school books, manuals and expensive looking manuscripts, even an encyclopedia on the 1000+1 types of death caps, but nothing with additional notes of any sort. Dust flew up and vials were overturned as he searched and looked, but there was nothing to be found. "Damn it," Harry muttered. "It's not here."
"But the Club was active under the two previous Headmasters," a loud jovial voice sounded from behind Harry, causing his heart to jump into his throat. Though hidden by the Cloak, he ducked instinctively, stepping behind the nearest pillar.
The door grinded open and Slughorn and Snape walked into the classroom. Slughorn, though still perfectly rotund, had slimmed down significantly since he last taught Harry, which made him resemble a cross between a walrus and a basset hound. Snape looked, as ever, like a disgruntled bat, though his still rather short hair failed to frame his face and hide his expression in quite the way Harry had been used to.
"I am aware of that, Horace, but I cannot approve it, not at this point."
"But you'll take all the fun out of teaching!" exclaimed Slughorn. "And how will the students socialize after classes?"
"They are here to study, not to socialize. And this will be a shorter year anyway as I do not believe we will be able to start before November." Clearly once he hit the school grounds, Snape gave up contractions altogether. "Perhaps we will even have to cancel Quidditch-"
"Cancel Quidditch ?" Slughorn looked positively horrified. Harry knew the four Hogwarts Quidditch teams constituted a steady supply of potentially successful individuals, venerated as the sport was across the Wizarding Britain. "My boy, it's one thing that students were tortured during your previous term, but at least you allowed them to toss the Quaffle!"
"Well, perhaps not, then, I have not decided yet," replied Snape dismissively. He looked around the classroom and right through Harry. "Anything here? There has been practically no damage, not even from the flooding."
Slughorn strolled down the aisle between the desks, tapping on them.
"Ah, I suppose not. Just a bit of dust. All ready for future Potions geniuses."
"Splendid. Now, would you please revise the supplies and arrange for replenishments? Most of the healing ingredients will have been exhausted of course."
"Yes, yes, will do as ordered, Headmaster. But Severus, I implore you, reconsider the Club."
Snape opened his mouth to answer, but Slughorn, threw out his hands theatrically and silenced him: "Allow me to make my case. At least grant me that courtesy. Why, you have been a member yourself! Have you not enjoyed the meetings? You especially, Severus, " he added slyly, pointing at Snape. "Houses do not exist there. All the differences between students, all the inequalities – ta daa -" he waved his chubby hand as if performing a complex wand movement, "gone! Won't you at least admit that if it were not for my club, you and Lily, your beautiful friend, your wonderful, beautiful friend, would not have been able to meet?"
As the two teachers walked across the classroom with Slughorn presenting his little pro-VIP club argument – woefully ineffective, if Harry knew Snape at all, which he did – Harry inched away in the opposite direction. He did not know how long they intended to stay and the door had been left slightly ajar … just wide enough for him to slip away.
"I will admit it, Horace," said Snape coldly. "But your club is nothing but exclusive and there is no reason to sow any more seeds of discord among the students. Not now and perhaps not ever. Consider the matter closed and please, do not ask me again."
"But-"
"Subject closed, Horace," Snape repeated. And then, as was his wont, he did something Harry did not expect.
He stopped walking and, noticing something in the area of the cabinets behind Harry, he made a few quick strides towards it, frowning. Harry panicked and, not knowing whether to move forwards or backwards, did a sort of half-turn on the spot as if trying to Apparate and the result was that - "Oof." - Snape bumped into Harry's shoulder, recoiling in shock.
"Yes?" Slughorn spun around too.
Snape eyes flashed with the well-known murderous expression he often wore when catching Harry in trouble. But he settled himself quickly and turned toward Slughorn.
"You know what, Horace, let us reopen the subject after Christmas. Once things have settled."
Slughorn gaped at the abrupt change of gears, but then beamed: "Excellent! I-"
"Now, I was just thinking I will need a moment to check some of the … jars." Snape gestured broadly toward all the pitiful pickled creatures, bleached by the years of floating in the amber liquid. "So that will be all, thank you. And please, close the door."
Clearly used to Snape's volatile changes of mood and opinion and satisfied with the result of their talk, Slughorn shrugged and ambled out of the room.
"Take off the Cloak, Potter," said Snape once the door had scraped closed.
Harry took off the Cloak.
"Well? Care to explain yourself?"
"I have nothing to explain," said Harry, feeling awkward and angry at being caught red handed. "I wasn't doing anything-"
"Potter, it may have escaped your notice," said Snape through gritted teeth, "but just because the Dark Lord has perished due to Dumbledore's trickery involving your sacrifice-" Harry stiffened. It was just like Snape to downplay Harry's contribution- "does not mean you are automatically given free reign to sneak and steal-"
"I wasn't stealing anything!" said Harry. "I was just looking around and yeah, I didn't have to use the Cloak, but-"
"Oh indeed? Not stealing anything? Then why is the place ransacked?" Snape pointed to an open drawer with parchment spilling out, which must have caught his attention in the first place. It was a bit untidy, but ransacked ? Merlin, what a drama Snape could make out of ordinary things.
"You might feel entitled to everything within the reach of your fingertips, Potter, being the Saviour of Hogwarts that you are, but even I would have expected you to show the common courtesy to ask permission. But clearly, common things do not apply to you, do they."
Harry worked hard to control his rising anger, forcing himself to remember everything that Snape had done for him. Unfortunately, Snape's thoughts seemed to have followed the same lines, which only made Harry angrier:
"After everything I have done for you," said Snape. "I would have thought you would be grateful and not -"
"You think I'm being ungrateful?" Harry interrupted him. "Me?"
"Yes, Potter, arrogance and entitlement have always marked your personality." And here Snape went, beating the dead horse of the same topic all over again. Damn, was he unbearable! "But I have to admit I myself have expected at least an inkling of gratitude-"
Harry had heard it all many times, and finally had enough.
"AN INKLING? AN INKLING? Are you insane?" he shouted.
Snape took a step back, startled by Harry's reaction.
"I worked my arse off getting you cleared!" Harry continued, surrendering himself to his anger. "And it's not like you were even innocent! Why do you think you're not in Azkaban? BECAUSE OF ME. Who do you think got you The Order of Merlin? YEAH IT WAS IT THE UNGRATEFUL BRAT Harry Potter. I mean I was crazy to do that! Crazy! You send Voldemort to kill my parents and I get you a bloody ORDER?! And then you dare and lecture me about gratitude?! YOU HAVE NO GRATITUDE !"
"Calm yourself, Potter," said Snape who had grown even stiller and whiter. "It is just like you to think I care about the Order." (That was a joke! Harry knew Snape kept it in his office right next Fawkes's perch.) "Yes, you got me the Order as you so succinctly put it, but in exchange for what? For blathering about my … my … my personal life in front of everyone? For getting me on the front page of the Prophet? I did not ask for that!"
"IT'S NOT LIKE I CONTROL WHAT SKEETER WRITES! And you should get over yourself! Merlin, I did it FOR YOU. The Order, the blathering that bloody kept you of prison, everything!"
"I fail to see how-"
"Yeah," Harry interrupted him. "Yeah! I thought you were dead. Do you understand? I thought you were dead . And I thought – silly me – that you would've wanted Voldemort to know that you had been playing him for the fool the past two decades. THAT'S WHY I SAID IT. I wanted him to know, alright!"
Snape only flinched at the mention of Voldemort's name, but otherwise remained silent, so Harry continued, feeling suddenly free and careless in his rage as if he had just had a drink of a particularly strong Felix Felicis: "And yeah, they did elect you as the Headmaster, but GUESS WHAT: I vouched for you there too and it's not like there was any other choice ! Because if anyone else applied, no way in hell would they appoint a Death Eater !"
"I only took the position out of respect and as a means of restoring my and Hogwarts' reputation after the past-"
"Please!" snorted Harry. He found out Snape was surprisingly easy to shout at. Besides growing livid and placing more distance between himself and Harry, he stood his ground and made no attempt to disengage. "Please! Don't play it as if you had, you had to-" Harry searched for the right word, " concede to become the Headmaster. AGAIN! You bloody love it! Now you showed them, right!" (Harry had been inside Snape's Headmaster's Office and saw how he had redecorated right after his second appointment into the position to be as gloomy and depressing as all his other working spaces.) "My father? DEAD! Lupin? DEAD! Sirius? NO MAGIC! So … WORSE THAN DEAD! They didn't deserve it! You're the one who joined Voldemort! And you came out on top! And thanks to me! So, if you want to talk about being ungrateful, maybe start with yourself."
"Very well, Potter," spat Snape. "You clearly expect it from me so here: thank you. I am grateful for your help following the Dark's Lord demise. Your assistance was quite priceless and I am blessed," there came the sarcasm, "to have been … chosen."
Harry rolled his eyes: "It's like, ARGH, you're so impossible! I don't want some pretend show. Can you not understand it?" And then Harry did something he had vowed to himself not to: he mentioned the memories. "I mean, I have seen your memories! I know that you're - I just – alright." Yes, let's go there , he thought wildly. It is time . "Why the hell didn't you tell me you were friends with my Mum?"
Snape stayed silent, watching Harry, keeping his face inscrutable. But thant only riled Harry: it was so like Snape to start something, open an argument and then retreat into his protective Occlusive shell and watch it all play out. But not this time.
"Well?! Got an answer for me there, Professor? It was always Your father this, Potter, your father that , but never anything about my Mum. I mean you could have known this question was coming, right? I was bound to ask eventually. Didn't you prepare anything to say?"
"Just like you, Potter, to think everything revolves around you." Snape replied finally and Harry smiled: he knew this tactic too – whenever threatened, Snape just reverted the charge back, drawing attention away from himself. "Do you think the Dark Lord would have welcomed me with open arms if I returned with warm memories of being chummy with The Boy Who Lived? There were other things at play, more important things-"
"Oh, right! I forgot! You never hid anything from him!" Neither Harry's smile nor his resolve faltered.
"Besides," Snape continued, though clearly thrown by Harry's smile, "there was no reason for me to – I wasn't about to share personal information with a student. Especially – well, yourself. Clearly we did not get on from the start."
"Yeah! We did not get on from the start because from the start you did not give me a chance! You only ever saw my Dad in me and-"
"But I did, Potter, I did give you a chance and you didn't know anything, you never showed any interest in the subject-"
"BECAUSE I BLOODY DIDN'T KNOW I WAS A WIZARD ALRIGHT!" To be fair to all involved, Harry was never, nor would he ever be, a particularly enthusiastic student, or a bookworm of Snape's or Hermione's caliber. He knew that and he was quite confident in that knowledge, bombarded though he might be from all sides about how James and Sirius were the most gifted students, how his mother was so talented and bright, how Snape made up his own damn spells at an age when Harry still struggled with a non-verbal Protego … But that was not the point. This was the point: "Do you think I had some pampered childhood where they bought buy me all the Wizarding books and a gold cauldron or whatever?"
"Cauldrons are not-"
"I lived in a bloody cupboard alright! I never got anything, no books, no toys, hardly even any clothes. Don't you know that? Haven't you seen that in my memories? Because, wonder of wonders, Aunt Petunia hated everything magic. Not hard to believe given the only other wizard besides Lily she knew was YOU."
"That's ridiculous, Potter, the Evanses knew a number of wizards, they were quite enthusiastic about-"
"Sure, yeah. ANYWAY. I knew nothing when I came to Hogwarts, only barely knew some maniac wanted to kill me again, so excuse me for not living up to your academic standards."
"They're not my standards, Potter, they are generally-" If Harry had not been so unabashedly furious, so damn done with Snape already, he might have found it amusing how Snape's accent started slipping when he was nervous, especially when Harry referred to his mother by her given name.
"Alright, I'm not the best student. Is that the only worth a person has in your eyes? If so, then I feel sorry for you – well, even sorrier than I already do!"
"What do you want from me, Potter? What is the meaning of this? I have already thanked you." Snape's voice sounded forcedly calm and measured, but his eyes flashed and his nostrils flared.
"I WANT YOU TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT IT DIDN'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS! I mean, I had your book, you seemed ok when I didn't know it was you!"
"Yes, I believe it would seem "ok" to you to write down deadly curses and then try them out on unsuspecting victims as you have demonstrated."
Harry ignored him and continued: "You could've said: Hey, Harry, I used to know your mother and I'm sorry I accidentally had her killed by Voldemort, so maybe let me help you with Potions because they're so damn difficult, especially for someone who didn't even know there was a School of Magic like a week ago."
An ugly, joyless smile twisted Snape's thin face and now it was his turn to finally show some emotion: "But I couldn't, Potter, I couldn't just tell you. Do you not understand it? I'm the one who bears the responsibility for you growing up without your mother! It's my fault she had to die. Believe me, it was quite punishment enough to have to look at you and see her eyes, her smile, her expressions. And I will never be free of this guilt, never! I have done enough for you, Potter, believe me, I couldn't do more, I couldn't possible be asked to do more!"
Red blotches stood out on Snape's hollow cheeks. His black eyes glittering, he turned away from Harry and took a step toward one of the stone pillars supporting the dungeon ceiling. He braced his arm against it and, tilting his head, clearly expecting his hair to fall down, which it did not as it was too short, continued speaking in a voice barely more than a whisper: "So no, Potter, I never saw only your father in you, I saw your mother too, of course, perhaps more than anyone else. You have the same laugh, the same look of quiet defiance. But what good would it be to share it with you ? I'm the reason both your parents are dead. You will never forgive me for it – it's not something that can be forgiven. Because it's unforgivable."
With his back still to Harry, Snape hid his face in the crook of the arm and remained completely still, only his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.
Bloody hell, Harry thought, his anger evaporating. This got a bit out of hand. What was he supposed to do now? Was this the end of the argument? Dammit -he had been feeling so liberated getting it all finally off his chest.
But of course, that was just a moment's hesitation on Harry's part. He knew what to do now. Harry was good at this sort of thing; this was his strength and he knew it. He had sacrificed himself for his friends after all – when it came to acting on impulse and showing empathy, there was no beating Harry.
He took a step toward Snape and lightly touched him on the shoulder. Snape flinched as if scorched by a hot poker, but Harry did not take his hand away.
"Listen, er- Voldemort killed my parents. Not you. Sure, you did play a part and that's- that's bad, but I have already forgiven you for that. It was a, well, a terrible thing to do, but you made up for it. More than made up for it. When I found out, I thought I would go on hating you forever. But I don't anymore! And I have forgiven you. I guess what you need to do now is forgive yourself, too."
With his face hidden in his long flapping sleeve, Snape made a tiny sniffing sound.
What is it with those Slytherins crying all the time! Harry thought, dazed. Well, to be fair, Snape tended to cry quite a lot, Harry had seen as much in his memories. Maybe it was the lake which the Slytherins could see from their dormitories, watching its creatures float about through magical glass. Maybe that conditioned them to consider it normal to view the world through the haze of tears. Gryffindor was different, the opposite to water: it was all fire and flames that dried the tears away.
"So," Harry said after a while of watching Snape's back. "I guess that's that, from me. As far as I'm concerned – all – well, all major things – forgiven, let's turn a new leaf. Anyway … Guess I'll go check if they need anything else in the courtyard."
Harry made a few awkward steps in the direction of the door and was just about to mumble a quick "Bye then!" when Snape straightened and seemed to have composed himself somewhat. Still not looking at Harry, he asked: "Wait, Potter. What was it you were looking for here?"
Almost. Harry almost got away without having to give an explanation for the original question.
"Er- just some books."
"What books?"
"Just some books I left here."
Snape turned to look at him. His eyes were shiny and his face still blotchily pink, but otherwise he seemed his usual, though hastily composed self: "Some books? What books? Do you really mean to tell me you came back for my old Potions book? After what happened with Draco?"
"Well, I wouldn't try out any unknown spells of course! But the Potions tips were really useful and I figured – actually, I don't understand why you didn't give them to us."
Snape stared at him as if Harry had suddenly confessed to have joined the Death Eaters in honor of his dead mother. "What are you talking about? I did give them to you of course!"
"Um, what? You did?"
"Yes. I gave you written instructions every lesson!"
"Oh," said Harry, realization dawning on him at last. "I see!"
"Anyway, Potter," Snape shook his head as if trying to chase away some scathing remark. "If my old Advanced Potion Making still remains here, you must give it back. I do not want to see any other student cut open."
"It's been destroyed by Fiendfyre during the battle. So don't worry about that, all burned to dust. Poof." Harry made a gesture with his hand to indicate the textbook bursting into smithereens. "I was, well, actually I was looking – just checking, really, if perhaps, "- he would have to say it now, he's stalled enough- "you didn't leave behind a book for the Seventh Year too?"
(Also, if you just give it to me, I won't tell anyone what happened here, so everyone wins? Harry thought.)
" Even if I still had that book, Potter, I would not – I could not – give it to you. Not to mention that by your Seventh Year, you are supposed to have reached the level of being able to analyze the potion-making process, to consider the ingredients and their interactions on your own and adjust the procedure to the specific conditions you are working under – the dryness of the herbs, the material of the cauldron, the intensity of the effects desired-" counted Snape, clearly glad that they were back on a safe topic.
"I get all that, but I'm not at that level – or nowhere near there."
"So you intend to cheat your way there?" Snape raised his eyebrow.
"Well, no! But I need to at least scrape through those comparative exams. I didn't exactly have time to study last year, did I?"
"No sane examiner will let you fail, Potter, so this is a moot discussion," said Snape, folding his arms and drawing his cloak around him. "You got me the Order of Merlin, after all, you could just ask Robards to enter you and your friends straight into the Auror training and no one would bat an eye."
Snape was right, Harry could do that. But with everything else going on, with his worries about Sirius, the Hogwarts reconstruction, all the lives lost … Harry longed for the sense of stability, of grounding, that life at Hogwarts had given him. And he was only eighteen. He knew that generations of wizards younger than him had left the school as supposed full adults in the past, but that past had also led to the tragic events of the two wars against Voldemort. Perhaps an extra year was not such a bad idea. Wizards lived a long time and it was absurd the Wizarding society still pressured its members to have a career and family by the age of twenty.
"I want to stay the extra year," he informed Snape resolutely. "Anyway, I guess I'll just have to study for the exams the old-fashioned way."
"I suppose you will," said Snape. "Have a good day, Potter."
Harry returned outside to Neville, who had made a significant progress with clearing out the broken broom stands. Together they moved on to the Quidditch pitch where Ginny and Luna had already gathered the burnt flags and decorations. An altogether good day, Harry thought, content to be reunited with his friends and to have finally – and rather accidentally - put the burden of Snape and how the hell to approach him now to rest.
As Harry was getting ready for bed in the Gryffindor dormitory (no point travelling in and out of Hogwarts), there was a tap on the window. Curious, he opened it to an unfamiliar owl which soared in and dropped a small, haphazardly wrapped package onto his bed. Harry knew he should be careful and run a diagnostic spell first (the scattered and scared Voldemort sympathizers were known to send little surprises to the Enemies of Wizards, or EW, for short), but of course there was no doubt about what the package contained.
Harry unwrapped it and sat on his bed, tracing the peeling golden letters of the title with his finger, deep in thought.
It was Libatius Borage's Very Advanced Potion Making, a course book for the Hogwarts 7th year. A well-worn and well-used edition that had once been in the possession of the Half-Blood Prince.