(Summer, Two Weeks After Fifth Year Ends)

/Papers, papers, papers,/ Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, thought as he sorted through the rather enormous pile of parchment on his desk, one thumb and finger pressed to his forehead. /It’s a wonder Minerva has not yet gone mad./

Minerva McGonagall was Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Head of Gryffindor House and Transfiguration Professor. Currently, she was on her summer leave, visiting a younger brother and his family in a rather isolated wizarding city somewhere in the Alps. Consequently, he had taken on her workload *plus* his own. And he found himself rather dizzy because of it.

He gave a long sigh, leaning back in his desk chair, and wearily rubbed his face. By Merlin, he needed a break!

Fortunately, by Gandalf’s grace, that break came in the form of a snowy owl, speckled with black spots. The owl, whom Severus caught sight of out of the corner of his eye, swooped in through an open, high, dungeon window. Twilight had fallen out side, and needless to say, the wizard was quite shocked a moment later when the bird, hooting softly, landed on his shoulder.

Recognizing the owl, the man gave a slight scowl. “You’re Potter’s owl, aren’t you? Probably thought up more ways to blame me for the mutt’s death…”

Hedwig hooted indignantly and gave him a sharp nip on the ear for that comment.

“Ow! Knock it off, you bloody bird!” Severus snarled, trying to shoo her off. “I am busy, if you had not *noticed*…”

Hedwig hooted again, angrily, settling back on his shoulder, and held out her leg pointedly to the Professor.

Severus huffed in annoyance. “Fine. Have it your way, then.” The next part was muttered, “Damn boy just could not let me be, could he…” He snatched the letter from Hedwig, trademark sneer firmly in place, and unrolled the parchment. In truth, he was actually quite curious about what drove the Boy-Who-Lived to send a letter to his “git” of a teacher.

He scanned the letter once over…then nearly dropped it as he read a snatch of its contents. Sitting back even more heavily in his chair, he slowly began to read it from the beginning:

Dear Professor Snape (it read),

This is not to spite you. Nor is it meant to rub salt in old wounds. Although I’m sure you think otherwise (“Damn right, I did,” muttered weakly).

I actually want to apologize. I had no right to enter your pensieve and I truly regret ever having done so in the first place, because by doing so, I violated your privacy. I do not, however, regret seeing that memory. It showed me a side of my father and Sirius that, much as I’d prefer not to have found out, is nonetheless the truth. And you were right, Professor, they *were* gits.

I have told no one of what I’ve seen, sir, except for Sirius and Remus, and that only because I was desperately searching for a reason behind their actions. They did not have one, blaming it all on immaturity. Which is a lie if ever I heard one: I am fifteen, and I have never done anything even remotely resembling that type of bullying. But no one else---not about the pensieve, and not about the Occulmency lessons. I do keep my word, Professor.

And I do know what it is like to be tormented for no reason. Very well, in fact. My “family” does it to me all the time, in spite of the Order’s warning. But enough of that.

Sir, whatever happens in these upcoming months, please know that I am truly sorry for what I did. And although it’s probably too late, I’m sorry for what they did, too.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

“Well,” Severus mumbled after reading and re-reading the letter several times, “I certainly was not expecting that.”

He set the letter down carefully on his desk before leaning forward and burying his face in his hands, mind abuzz. Hedwig fluttered down from his shoulder with a rather gentler nip and settled on the desk. He *wanted* to convince himself that it was a hoax, a dirty trick. But he knew Potter---*this* Potter---and at long last could admit to himself that there was, in fact, a difference between father and son.

Harry was Harry. Not James. And Harry would never send something like that letter as a joke.

So that left the hardest question of all: what did he do now?

Later he would question if it was fate, or just coincidence, but in the next moment someone rapped lightly on his office door. “Come in,” he mumbled, head remaining in his hands as he *still* tried to answer the rampant questions running through his mind.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore entered, brow creased with slight concern. “Severus? Child? What is it?”

The Potions Master said nothing, merely waved a hand at the piece of parchment.

Curious, though the creases in his forehead did not disappear, Albus stepped over to his former student’s desk and picked up the paper the younger wizard had indicated. A thoughtful frown marred the venerable Headmaster’s face once he finished reading over the letter.

“I do not like the fact that the Dursleys disregarded what Moody and Arthur said to them on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters that day.” He paused, evidently thinking something over. “Hmm, perhaps we should ‘accost’ Mr. Potter a bit earlier than planned. Grimmauld Place is safe enough. Actually, I do believe I shall Floo Molly about it today. Perhaps have Ms. Granger come, as well.”

When he came out of his reverie, the Headmaster found his Potions Professor scowling darkly at him. He kept his face and tone serene as he inquired, “Yes, Severus?”

The younger man’s scowl deepened. “Am I to simply sit here and berate myself for what happened between us? Moaning over ‘should-have-beens?’ What should I tell Harry?!”

Albus’s eyes crinkled at the corners, blue orbs twinkling madly. A moment later, Severus realized why. He groaned. The older wizard continued, nonplussed, amusement in his voice, “Well, you can always start with that. And I *do* need someone to inform *Harry* about his returning to Grimmauld Place. In fact,” he began rummaging through the nearby shelves for an empty potion phial, surfacing with a small, dusty blue one moments later, “I believe this will serve as a fine Portkey.”

Severus glared petulantly at his mentor. “I hate you.”

Albus merely chuckled and plopped down the empty bottle in front of him. “As you have told me on numerous occasions.”

The Potions Master glowered. “You are infuriating, old man, you know that?”

The Headmaster laughed and leaned down, brushing a quick kiss on his younger friend’s forehead. “Of course!”

Severus blushed brilliantly and quickly ducked his head, starting to hunt through his desk for parchment and a quill, muttering, “That’s *really* not fair, you know.”

Albus simply exited the Potions Master’s office, still laughing.