As promised, here's the next chapter! It's only the second week of school, and we already have likke five or six tests planned. Life's been busy, so please don't mind the grammar. Expect ch.23 on the weekend! As always, R&R! Enjoy!

Ch.22 - An Emotional Mess

Harry couldn't help it, he expelled a shrewd laugh. "What is there to talk about? I've already known for a while that it was because of me they all died! It's only that everyone else has always sugar-coated things for me." Harry shook his head disbelievingly. He looked right into Snape's eyes with confidence. "Not you, though, sir. You always speak the blunt truth, and have cleared things up for me quite a bit. So– Thank you."

Snape's expression went from guarded to guilty and perhaps a little pained, which mildly surprised Harry.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said, alright? It was wrong of me. Now, if you don't mind, sir, I will be going." He turned on his heel abruptly to leave. But just as he was stepping over the threshold, Snape's next words made him halt.

"I have your wand."

Harry turned back so abruptly that he heard his neck crack slightly. His wand. He had completely forgotten about his wand. But what was Snape doing with it in the first place?

Then, a terrifying thought occurred to Harry.

Would Snape use his wand as leverage? What right did he have!?

As if reading his thoughts, the man asked calmly "May we sit?"

Harry ignored his request. "I want my wand back."

"And, by all means, you shall receive it back… once we have talked."

A sudden wave of fury coursed through Harry. Damn Slytherin! Well, cunning didn't clash well with stubborness, now did it?

"I've already told you, sir, there's nothing to talk about. I've apologised to you, and — oh! I almost forgot: thank you for rescuing me for the hundredth time in my life," said Harry with strained politeness and mock in his voice, his fingers tightening around the cloak and envelope still in his hands.

Snape looked away for a short moment, as if deep in thought. Then, he closed his eyes and expelled a deep sigh. "Please…" There was that note of desperation and pain in his voice again — it caught Harry off guard; he had never thought he would live to see the day Snape pleaded.

"Just… hear me out at the very least — that is all I ask," he reasoned. "Then you may have your wand back, you have my word." Snape repeated his earlier request. "May we sit?"

A little surprised that Snape was asking him for permission to sit, Harry finally acquiesced, wordlessly sitting on the couch, placing his belongings beside him. Snape took a seat in the chair adjacent to him. Folding his hands neatly in his lap, he was quiet for a moment, studying Harry intently; Harry had never liked this.

"Potter," Snape began heavily, his voice stiff with formality. "...My previous remarks were grossly inappropriate and vulgar. They were not a reflection of the truth, but rather irrationally spoken untruths. I can offer no excuses for my behaviour. I'm afraid the words had just–"

" —Slipped out?" interjected Harry, remembering what Lily had said to Snape when he had tried apologising to her. He knew it was a bit cruel on his part, but he felt no pity.

Snape's expression fell, suddenly closed off, before schooling back into a blank mask. He ducked his head ever-so-slightly, his greasy locks obscuring his face from Harry's view. Harry had to admit that he'd never seen Snape look so open and vulnerable before, except for when he'd cried in the Shrieking Shack.

"I am… not good with terms of endearment," he admitted haltingly, as if it cost him his pride. "It was inexcusable, I'm fully aware. If I could take it back, I wouldn't hesitate to. Unfortunately, all I am able to do is offer my apology, and leave it to your discretion to decide whether to accept it or not. But I meant not what I said. You are most certainly not responsible for ANY deaths or losses, and to think otherwise is deceitful and disgraceful."

Harry could make out the sincerity in Snape's voice, filled with remorse, pain and regret, though he could tell he was struggling with his words.

But Harry didn't know what to believe anymore. He felt conflicted and confused. He yearned to believe Snape that he wasn't responsible for those deaths, but the bitter facts stood. He had been the reason for the war, he'd been the reason for Voldemort's resurrection, he'd been the reason Sirius and Cedric had died…

But, deep down, he wished more than anything that it wasn't true, and perhaps an iota of his conscience knew that he wasn't…

He also wanted to believe that Snape hadn't meant what he'd retorted earlier. It was just like the man's fifth year, Harry thought wryly.

What would his mum have done?

Ironically, Harry was in a similar position as she had been when Snape had called her that unforgivable word. But Lily hadn't been interested in his apologies, even though they had been friends for most of their childhood.

Harry knew how much Snape regretted his words, and how he had been paying dearly for that one slip-up for over two decades. But Harry didn't agree with his mum. She shouldn't have turned her back on her childhood friend so easily. Harry and Ron had had many rows in the past, but they always made up and remained best mates.

And Harry was neither Lily nor James. He was Harry– just Harry; his own person. And he wouldn't turn his back on Snape like his mum had all those years ago, which had led the man further down the dark path. It made him wonder what would have been had his mum forgiven Snape.

Would the man still have become a Death Eater? Would he and Lily — dare he think — have wed? If Lily had given Snape a chance at redemption, maybe he wouldn't have become a Death Eater, and things would have played out a lot differently? Harry mentally shuddered at the realisation of the huge impact that forgiveness could have.

No– he'd forgive Snape. He had promised him that he wouldn't give up on him like his mum had, hadn't he? Neither he nor the man had been speaking irrationally at the time.

Harry fidgeted with his hands, not sure how to start. He hesitated, mouthing silently as he tried to gather his thoughts, but Snape wasn't pressing him. The man sat still, elbows resting on his knees, fingers intertwined. He gazed into the distance with unfocused eyes. Taking a deep breath, Harry finally steeled himself.

"I forgive you, sir. I already told you once that I won't give up on you like my mum had," Harry said, looking down at his hands before continuing. "And I'm also sorry for what I said — I really didn't mean it." He closed his eyes for a moment, taking another breath. "It's just — I feel as if it really is my fault– all those deaths, you know?"

Harry's voice was quiet and hesitant. In his periphery, he saw Snape shake his head vigorously and fix him with a determined look.

Snape sighed mournfully. "Yes, Potter; regrettably, I do know," he admitted quietly. "Listen to me," he said more firmly, leaning forward. "People die in war, and you cannot change that. They did not die for you or because of you. They died at the hand of the Dark Lord and his followers, and they died for a better future — that remains an unchangeable fact."

At Harry's sceptical expression, Snape spoke three words that suddenly had the impact of the Imperius Curse on him.

"Look at me."

Harry's head snapped up, meeting Snape's intense gaze.

"It. Is. Not. Your. Fault!" He enunciated every word clearly and fiercely. "It was a grave mistake on my part to bring it up, and I sincerely regret it. It had been a petty retort, shameful and untrue"

"Well, you're wrong!" Harry exclaimed, straightening and clenching his fists. "Cedric— Sirius— They all died because of me! If it weren't for- If I hadn't- "

Harry stumbled over his words, his heart racing and his palms sweaty with the weight of guilt and uncertainty. There was no denying the truth: he was the one who had told Cedric to grab the Triwizard Cup with him, which turned out to be a portkey that transported them to that graveyard. Harry was the reason that Sirius had been at the ministry that night, because Harry couldn't learn Occlumency and fell for Voldemort's trap! How could Snape not see that?

Sirius, Cerdric, Hedwig, Fred, Dobby, Lupin — all of their deaths were someway or another tied to him, and the weight of it all felt suffocating,

Hot tears began to prickle at the back of Harry's eyes and he despised himself for it. He brought up his knees close to his chest and looked away, ashamed. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he remained quiet. After a moment, Snape cleared his throat softly.

"Mr. Diggory's death is not your fault, Potter." Snape assured him resolutely yet gently, his baritone voice somewhat soothing. "Neither of you could have foreseen that the cup was a portkey. What happened that night was most unfortunate, but Mr. Diggory was simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time."

"How would you know?" whispered Harry, eyes suddenly moist and longing for reassurance from the older wizard. "You weren't there to witness it; how can you be so sure?" How could Snape state something so surely when he didn't even know the whole story?

Snape moistened his lips before responding. "Perhaps not." He conceded softly. "Still, I know for a fact that the situation had been out of your hands, hence why it is not your fault." he finished matter-of-factly.

"But that's just it!" Harry burst out, flailing his hands for emphasis. "In the maze– I told–" Harry struggled to find the right words, and his breathing became more erratic. Could he trust Snape with this information? How much could he trust the man? Would it change his opinion of Harry, if he knew the whole story?

Harry felt sick to the stomach, a hundred thoughts swimming through his head. He tried to get his breathing under his control, he could not bear to look up into the cold' dark depths of his ex-professor. Clenching his hands into tight fists, Harry took a few deep breaths to try to recompose himself.

Snape waited patiently for Harry to speak. "You what, Potter?" prompted the man gently.

The sudden obstruction he felt in his throat made it hard to speak as he struggled to get the words out. "I told Cedric to take the cup with me," Harry shakily whispered, barely audibly. His clenched fists were starting to tremble. "I told him to because– because I thought it was the fair thing to do." His throat painfully clogged up, but he continued.

"He told me to get it myself– had insisted, even…It was because of me that– that he…" He shook his head, trying to get a grip on himself. So many had died because of Harry, and there was nothing he could do about it. Harry hugged his knees closer to his chest, resting the side of his face on them, head turned away from the dark-robed man. He could feel the older wizard's gaze on him, and could only imagine the disgust he was looking at him with now.

He expected some mean, cruel comment, or the trademark sneer of disgust and hatred…But nothing came.

Instead, Harry felt the couch dip beside him, and then a warm hand settle on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. The same hand then snaked around his back and pulled him into a half-embrace, squeezing his other shoulder in the same manner. Harry didn't refuse the comfort and leaned into him gratefully, trying to suppress the sob lodged in his throat as he buried his face in Snape's shoulder.

Suddenly, all past mistakes and hurts on the Snape's part disappeared. Harry didn't care that he was a grown wizard, he didn't care that he should be stronger than this. He simply needed this, this feeling of safety, one of which he had been deprived all his life.

What an emotional mess this was turning out to be…

There was a long moment of silence between them, occasionally interrupted by the chirping of birds outside. The sitting room was bathed in the final rays of golden sunlight, which illuminated small particles of dust floating in the air. The serenity of it was mocking Harry, it felt like.

In Harry's peripheral vision, Snape's gaunt face was slightly obscured by his locks of greasy hair as the man gazed in the direction of the window. He belatedly noted how Snape's eyes weren't the obsidian-black tunnels as he'd always perceived them to be, but they were actually a very dark brown, almost amber in the warm sunlight.

"It was not your fault," Snape assured resolutely, finally speaking, with a soft edge to his voice. "There was no way either of you could have known— no, let me finish, Potter," Snape held up his hand to silence whatever protest Harry had been about to throw at him. Resigned to his fate, Harry smartly shut his mouth with an audible click of his teeth.

"Tell me this," continued Snape, "if the circumstances had been different, and the roles reversed, and it had been Mr. Diggory who had told you to take the cup with him, resulting in you getting — let us say for the sake of theory — gravely injured, would you have blamed him for not being a bloody seer and predicting the future?" Snape half sneered towards the end.

Harry snapped his head back in order to look up at Snape, and could only blink dumbfoundedly at the blunt, yet merited perspective the man had presented. Leave it to Snape to make his whole world turn on its axis, he thought wryly. He desperately wanted to believe Snape's words, but a small part of his mind kept replaying the guilty feeling. The reassurance felt sugarcoated, and, besides, it certainly didn't apply to Sirius.

"But Sirius — if I hadn't gone to the Ministry —" he couldn't continue, for his voice cracked.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed it gently. When Snape spoke, his voice came out a bit strained. "As far as your godfather is concerned, he was a fully grown man, capable of making his own decisions. You did not ask him to go to the Ministry; it had been his choice entirely." Harry could almost sense the sneer on Snape's face as he talked about Sirius, but he could tell that he was trying his best to conceal it for his sake, and that meant a lot.

When Snape continued, his voice was bitter and still strained. "You are more than entitled to blame me for his death, however. I suppose I should have given you a clearer indication that I had understood that Black was in danger. I am less than proud to say that my goading him certainly didn't help matters."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He had blamed Snape for Sirius' death, but not more than he blamed himself. If only he had made a greater effort in Occlumency, maybe Voldemort wouldn't have been able to penetrate his mind and give him that vision. At this point, Harry was so torn that he felt utterly lost.

It made Harry think of Sirius and Lupin, but also of everyone else they'd lost in this war. Unfortunate accidents, one could say, but little difference would it make. A loss was still a loss, and it wouldn't do to dwell on it.

Finally gathering himself, Harry eased away from Snape, mourning the loss of comfort but not wanting to seem like a baby. He reclined back against the couch cushions, fidgeting with his fingers. It was ironic to think how he had never really discussed his guilt with anyone, and the first person he was divulging this to was Severus Snape.

But Harry was also very grateful to him. He was not one to sugarcoat, and always delivered the blunt truth, even if it wasn't pleasant. Strangely, Harry felt a sense of security with him; a growing respect for the man. Who would have thought? He had to admit that after talking to Snape, his chest felt lighter.

And maybe, just maybe, he could believe what the man was saying.

"Thank you, sir," finally said Harry, meeting Snape's eyes. He wanted to say more than just 'thank you', as if it wasn't enough, but Snape seemed to understand him, for he nodded solemnly.

"And I did use to blame you for what happened to Sirius, but I guess I was just looking for someone to blame; like an outlet." he added, rubbing his neck, feeling sheepish. "M' sorry," he mumbled. "I– Dumbledore told me that you couldn't have reacted to me in any other way in Umbridge's presence, but I guess I just refused to see it like that."

Snape held up a hand and gently shook his head. "Be that as it may, I could have done more to instil trust in you, and our massacre Occlumency lessons hadn't been of much help, either."

Harry shrugged and nodded meekly.

"Let us concede that both Mr. Diggory and Black had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time, Potter," offered Snape. "It is futile to blame oneself over the result of unfortunate circumstances and things we had no control over."

As an attempt to lighten the atmosphere with his trademark sarcasm, "We aren't a pair of bloody seers, thank Merlin. If you were, then I would be much more concerned over your mental state."

Despite himself, Harry chuckled and shook his head in amusement. He felt strangely light and less burdened. Snape's expression turned serious again and he shifted in his seat.

"Promise me that you'll consider what I've told you, Potter." Harry was surprised to find a concerned note in Snape's voice. Was he concerned over Harry? No— It wasn't possible. He had no reason to.

Yet there was a small, hopeful part of Harry that almost wished…

"Yes, sir; I will." And he meant it. A pause. "Thank you again, sir," Harry said sincerely. "I've never really told any of this to this extent to anyone…" he added softly.

Snape's expression turned to one of unease, and then something seemed to glimmer in them, before going back to stoicism. He sighed, overlapping one thumb over the other in his lap. "I am not someone you should be confiding in, Potter. I am far from perfect, and I find it quite inappropriate, given my history with… everything…" He shook his head. "I am not a good man."

Harry shrugged, though a little disappointed. "No one is perfect. And… I don't believe there are bad and good people. It all just depends on our actions, doesn't it? And… It's just that — you understand, y'know? You know what it's like to feel remorse. My friends could never understand to the extent that you do." Harry bit his lip, hoping he was making sense. "You also wouldn't lie or sugarcoat," he frowned disdainfully, "something I've always hated to put up with."

"You are correct; I would not lie nor sugarcoat. It is ineffective and a waste of one's breath, Potter." confirmed Snape, nodding.

"Harry."

"Pardon?"

Harry bit his lip. "It's Harry, sir." He fidgeted. "You can call me Harry — not that you have to — I mean, my friends call me Harry, and you're —?, but it's totally up to you — or, you know, Potter's fine, too—"

"Po— Harry!" Snape held up a silencing hand. " I am…not averse to that idea."

Harry smiled. Then, the Potions Master sighed.

"I suppose you would like me to extend the courtesy?" he inferred with a raised eyebrow.

Harry shrugged cheekily. "If you don't mind… Severus?" The name felt so foreign on his tongue, but it sounded less insolent than when he would say 'Snape'. Maybe because all these years, he had only known him as Snape, the Bat of the Dungeons, and not 'Severus Snape,' the epitome of 'never judge a book by its cover'. 'Snape felt tainted with cruel associations, whilst 'Severus was the person beneath the dark armour.''

"I do not mind, no. But if you so much as dare to call me 'Sev' or, Merlin forbid—"

"I know! I know! You'll turn me into potion ingredients," supplied Harry, smirking. "Oh, wait. No potion with me in it would produce potent results, right?" he joked, parroting Sn– Severus' earlier remark.

Harry stood up from the couch and stretched, realising that the room had grown darker. He reached for his wand holster to rectify the matter, but then remembered his wandless predicament.

A soft clearing of the throat sounded to his right.

"Looking for this, Mr. Potter?" Sn– Severus asked silkily, twirling a thin piece of wood in his hands. Harry immediately recognized it as his holy phoenix feather wand and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. He eyed longingly, and then looked at the man questioningly. He made a move to grab his wand, but the dark-cloaked took a step back.

"Oh, no, Mr. Potter. Not quite yet, I'm afraid," he drawled silkily. Harry glared at him.

What!? What was he playing at?

"Relax, P—Harry," he placated. "You will have it back, but not before we discuss a few other things."

"Other things?" Harry deadpanned.

Sna— Severus smirked smugly. "Did you really believe me so ignorant as to drop our topic of your little escapade?"

Harry audibly groaned, causing Severus to roll his eyes. "Sit." He commanded, pointing one long finger at a vacant armchair.

Next chapter on the weekend. R&R!