AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I will post the first few chapters, and the other ones will come later. Please R & R! I will appreciate all feedback. Also, I apologise if Snape's a bicc OOC, I tried to make him as believable as possible.

CH.2 - Home

Harry marched out of the library without a second glance at the greasy git. He had been such a fool for thinking that maybe, just maybe, Snape had had a change of heart. He laughed mirthlessly to himself at his own naivete.

He'd saved the git's life, apologised for doubting his loyalties, and thanked him for his contributions. He had even apologised for his father bullying Snape when they had been students at Hogwarts!

And what did Harry get in return? The same sneering and sarcastic comments he'd gotten throughout the last six years.

For once, Harry had hoped to have a civil conversation with the wizard, to start on a clean slate, but he now supposed that 'civil' and 'git' don't exactly go together. With that, Harry's mind immediately went back to the dispute they'd had in the infirmary

"Surely the Boy-Who-Saved-The-World has better things to do with his time rather than to sit here in my sulking presence?" Snape said smoothly. "Sign autographs, or kiss newborn babies?"

"Don't call me that!" Harry snapped, irritated him beyond anything to be called that. He hated the stupid hero titles everyone had been branding him with.

Snape raised a mocking eyebrow. "Oh? Not so keen on basking in your fame, are you, Mr. Harry Potter? Your father would have been strutting about, signing every autograph possible, so why do you not do so yourself?" he sneered.

Harry Abruptly jumped to his feet, knuckles turning white on his fists. "You know what? You're right, why am I here?" Harry exploded. "Here I thought we could have a normal conversation without you mocking or insulting me for once. Merlin, was I wrong!"

Harry was flailing with his arms to punctuate his words. "I have been nothing but civil to you, and yet you still can't get past some dumb school grudge? For the last time, I am NOT my father!" shouted Harry, feeling his blood boil.

"I've always hated this stupid fame. Why would I want to be famous for Voldemort killing my parents, and later, almost everyone else I knew? It's horrible, when people gawk at your stupid scar!"

The air in the room seemed to have become almost suffocating, but Harry didn't stop there. Somehow, it felt good to finally have a good yelling fit at Severus bloody Snape. As if a huge stone was being lifted off his shoulders.

"I don't know where you got the idea that I was a spoiled and pampered little prince. My so-called 'relatives' treated me like rubbish all those years! I never knew what being spoiled felt like!" he spat. Harry didn't know why he was telling all of this to Snape, but everything was just barreling out of him after years of being stuffed in and withheld.

Harry gritted his teeth. "Sorry to have wasted your time, professor. I was wrong to think you would be less of a git than before. I shouldn't have bothered." He gave Snape a venomous glare, grabbed his wand, turned on his heel and stormed out of the infirmary without as much as a second glance at Snape, muttering under his breath.

Fuming silently, his head in the clouds, Harry wasn't really aware of where his feet were taking him, but he didn't really care. Digging his nails painfully into his palms, he rounded a corner.

THUMP!

The sudden collision would've sent Harry to the floor, had it not been for a pair of warm hands that grasped his arms, steadying him. Harry looked up and found himself staring right into Professor McGonagall's piercing blue eyes.

He quickly recovered, blushing from embarrassment, and straightened himself. "Professor! Sorry, I didn't see you," he apologised sheepishly.

Professor McGonagall released her grip on Harry's arms and tightened her own spectacles, which had slipped a bit from the impact. "Heavens, Mr. Potter, you sometimes move akin to a horde of hippogriffs! Are you quite alright?"

Harry offered her a lopsided smile. "As alright as one would be after talking to that greasy git." He quickly realised what he'd just said in front of his headmistress, but he didn't exactly regret it.

"Language, Mr. Potter!" she chided in her crisp voice, though only halfheartedly. Raising her brows slightly, she asked, "He was released?"

Harry gave her a non-commital shrug. "Yeah, though whatever treatment Madam Pomfrey had been giving him, it didn't seem to have any effect on his starkiness."

McGonagall appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, before looking back at Harry again. Exasperatedly, she inquired, "What happened?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't really want to talk about it, Professor. Not that it would change the git he'd always been."

McGonagall thinned her lips, but gave a small nod, a smirk crossing her wrinkled features. "Ah, yes. Our dear Severus always had a very sharp tongue indeed," she mused. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I suppose I should be on my way, then. I was just enroute to meet with the Minister."

Harry frowned. "How're things at the Ministry?" he asked. He knew that Kingsley, the newly-appointed Minister of Magic, was struggling with restoring everything back to its order.

Sighing, he briefly turned her head to look out one of the tall windows, before answering, "It is rather hectic there at the moment, I'm afraid. The Aurors are busy with either trying to round up the Death Eaters, or participating in their trials. As you may recall, Lucius Malfoy's trial had been most straining." She said this with a bit of a pointed look at Harry.

About a week ago, Harry had vouched for the Malfoys during their trial. The Ministry officials had been ready to chug the two Death Eaters into Azkaban, sparing Narcissia, but upon Harry's insistence, the family was let off with a pardon.

Now, the Malfoys had to be checked up on by Aurors every fortnight. Not many people approve of this, including the headmistress.

McGonagall took a moment to straighten her robes a little. "I'd best hurry. Run along, Mr. Potter- that was a metaphor! Do not even think of running in these halls again!" At Harry's barely-suppressed smile, she turned to leave, but then turned back around. Her voice warmed considerably when she added, "And should you need to talk, well…the password is 'Albus', Mr. Potter." She momentarily gave his shoulder a small squeeze, offering a reassuring smile.

Harry smiled back. "Yeah, thank you, Professor. I will," he replied, knowing full well that he wouldn't be doing that anytime soon. It's not that he didn't like his professor or didn't trust her, he just doubted that she — or anyone else for that matter — would understand him.

Harry watched his professor head in the direction of her office until he couldn't see her. Feeling a little more calm, he took a deep breath and made his way up to Gryffindor Tower.

"Password?" the portrait of the Fat Lady inquired.

Harry rolled his eyes. He was the only student in the castle, and yet the Fat Lady still required the password. "Godric," he muttered, frustrated with the unnecessary security measure.

"Precisely." Satisfied, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open to reveal the cosy-as-ever Gryffindor common room. Harry had to shield his eyes with his hand from the illuminating rays of late morning sunshine flooding in from the window.

He crossed the room to close the curtains, but stopped when he caught sight of the memorial of the fallen fifty-four from the battle. The heroes were respectfully laid to rest on the small island in the distance beside Dumbledore's grave. The sight always pulled at his heartstrings.

Shaking the sad emotions away, Harry pulled the red-gold curtains together with a little more force than necessary.

He made his way over to the sitting area around the fireplace, where he slumped down on the comfortable couch. His back ached satisfyingly from the change between the hard wooden chair and the soft and comfortable couch. Pulling out his wand, he twirled it in his hands, contemplating what he should do, before, "Accio parchment and quill!"

He hadn't heard from either Ron or Hermione for a few days now, and he had to admit that he was starting to miss them. After the grand adventure they'd been on together, it was only natural to miss Hermione's bossy voice and Ron's jokes.

Harry smiled to himself as he remembered first meeting them on the Hogwarts Express. If only they had known what was in store for them. Hermione would have definitely lost consciousness if someone had told her she would be dating Ron. Harry chuckled to himself. Had only they all known what was in store for them.

Picking up his self-inking quill, he started to write a letter to Ron first, asking how they were all holding up and that he would 'consider' their offer for him to stay with them.

After finishing the first letter, Harry set it aside and started writing a letter to Hermione. He asked how she and her parents were doing, expressed how much he missed her and Ron, and inquired if she would be able to visit the Burrow for a short time.

It was somewhere in the afternoon when Harry finished writing the letters. It had taken him a couple of failed pieces of parchment, but he was happy with the end results. Utilising a neat Letter-Sealing charm he'd learned a few days ago, Harry collected his work and made his way out of Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the Fat Lady's grumbling about her beauty sleep being disturbed.

Lost in thought, Harry relied solely on his feet to take him to the Owlery. He was suddenly overcome with memories of Hedwig — the first real birthday gift he'd received and his loyal friend. "Stop it," he told himself firmly. Dwelling on it would not help.

All too soon, Harry found himself entering the Owlery, letters in hand. The tower had been repaired and cleaned a mere week ago, but already the place smelled quite awful, with owl droppings and small vermin skeletons littering the floor.

This was the first time he had been here since it had been repaired and he noticed that there were fewer owls than usual. It was obvious that many of the owls had been frightened out of their feathers during the battle and fled, with some not wishing to return.

Harry couldn't blame them, though. In fact, sometimes he wished he could do just that; simply fly away and never return to this whole nightmare.

Shaking away his mundane thoughts, Harry found two willing owls to deliver the letters. He gingerly tied the letters to either of the owls' legs and stroked their feathers when they affectionately nibbled his fingers. A rare smile crossed his face.

He had always liked owls. They were smart and dead-useful, unlike Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, who did nothing but scratch and hiss at people it didn't like.

Harry watched the two owls fly off into the distance in slightly different directions until they could no longer be seen, and made himself comfortable in a crook of the tower. Having nothing better to do, he chose to practise some of the charms he'd learned recently.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he finally made his way back inside the castle, the sun was starting to slowly set, making the temperature drop a little.

Harry was glad he wore a light jacket. It was definitely an early summer this year, though the castle still somehow managed to maintain its cool temperature, so a light cardigan was preferable.

Harry loved the castle. It was his true home from the moment he'd stepped foot in it. Sure, practically every year an evil Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher would try to kill him, but there were so many good memories as well.

One would only stop to ponder how Harry was still sane after all he'd been through, what with the darkest wizard of all time plotting his demise, teachers after his life every year, Basilisks and tournaments galore, not to mention the constant deaths and the Dursleys. Let's not forget being called a liar in the Daily Prophet and having to write 'I must not tell lies' on your hand with your own blood.

Still, it was his home.

Feeling emotionally drained, Harry decided to head back to his dorm and straight to bed, skipping dinner. These days he would get tired much easier, due to his nightmares haunting him in his sleep. Almost every night Harry would wake up, screaming and sometimes crying.

Luckily, he was the only student there, so he didn't even need to cast a Muffliato spell when he went to bed. He'd tried asking Madame Pomfrey for more Dreamless Sleep, but was deprived of it, as it was highly addictive.

As he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over him. His nightmares had been worsening lately, and he was becoming more and more exhausted with each passing day. He couldn't keep going like this, but he didn't know what to do.

Reaching the entrance, he mumbled the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady and headed straight up to the dormitories. not even bothering to wash or change, he plopped onto his bed, but landed on something hard, and heard a rustle.

Rubbing his side with one hand, Harry turned around to see the books and parchments he'd left in the library earlier. Too tired to care how they'd ended up on his bed, he settled for the thought of a house elf being kind enough to bring it up.

Shoving his things to the other end of the bed, Harry layed back down on his stomach, drawing his pillow closer and burying his face in it. He was asleep within a minute.