A bright light hit his face and Harry woke up.

“Do you know where Fenrir is?” The woman showed a slight resemblance with Fenrir Greyback. But Harry didn’t feel that it was on him to tell her that her son had lost his life in the battle. Fighting for the wrong side, if he had been on any side at all.

“I don’t. Sorry.” He could sense no threat from the woman. In fact, he couldn’t sense a glimpse of magic in her.

“They said…” she continued with a low, deep voice, “they said he would never wake up, but I don’t believe that. He didn’t have any serious injuries.”

“He’s dead,” Harry heard Snape say. “I would consider that serious.”

Poppy Pomfrey appeared behind the distraught woman.

“Let’s go back, Mrs. Greyback” she said in a soothing voice, gave Snape an angry glare and gently pulled the woman out.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Harry remarked angrily. He didn’t like the fact that Snape’s humour was as dark as his magic.

He peeked at the window and realised that he must have slept through a whole day. The sky was slowly turning dark blue. And through almost the whole night. The pain was gone. He suddenly felt a burst of energy and swung his legs out of the bed.

“What on earth are you doing, Potter? It’s four in the morning.”

“I want to go home.”

“Oh I see,” Snape said with false curiosity in his voice. “Where would that be?”

“Yeah, rub it in,” was Harry’s angry remark. The professor raised from his bed and sighed in resignation.

“I’ll get coffee. You stay where you are.”

Harry got up and started to wash himself and then pack his clothes. Like a homeless person, he had kept his trunk with him at all times over the past few weeks whenever he left the house. The constant presence had reminded Harry that he didn't feel at home anywhere, but at least he had finally learnt good shrinking charms. He didn’t stop when the heard the door open again.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Packing. I’m leaving.”

Snape snorted and pointed his wand at one of Dudley’s old jumpers. It looked like a tent.

“What are those?”

“My clothes,” Harry answered, unsure if he could take any more mocking.

“Your parents, Potter, have left you a fortune. You are a financially comfortable man, and yet, you choose to wear the old rags that your inane relatives gave to you?”

He stopped for a moment and realised that Snape did have a point.

“Did they belong to that cousin of yours?”

Harry nodded slightly, but kept packing.

Snape pointed his wand at all his clothes and shrunk them until they were so small, they would fit dolls. Then, with a pop, they disappeared.

“Hey!” Anger rushed through him and he had no idea why. Even though, Snape’s words were absolutely correct, Harry didn’t want to hear them.

“Why keep old hand-me-downs, Potter? To remind you of your worthlessness?” Harry could hear the old, familiar sneer in the Potion Master’s voice and turned on his heel to stare him down.

“I am not worthless,” he answered, feeling foolish.

Snape seemed to be searching for something in Harry’s eyes. He had a satisfied look about him that completely confused him. It was as if… as if that had been the statement he had wanted to hear. Then he thrust the coffee in his hand.

“You are not going home for at least six weeks, Potter. Your convalescence needs to be monitored closely. And… it is not your choice.”

“I’m fine.” Harry looked at his wrist and felt the back of his head where Vernon had cracked his skull.

“It might have escaped your notice, but not all scars are visible.”

Harry took a sip and grimaced. Hospital coffee was disgusting. It was like dish water. And yes, Harry knew how dish water tasted.

“Will I have to stay in here?” With you, he added in his head, but didn’t speak it out loud.

“Actually, you can ask to be moved. George Weasley has insisted that the other bed in his room is inhabited by his brother, but I am sure he will give up on that silly theory and share with you.”

Harry put the coffee down and ran his hands through his messy mop of hair.

“So I’m a prisoner?”

“Not quite. Inmate would be more appropriate,” was Snape’s snide remark.

“Great. I promised to look after Teddy this weekend…”

“I am sure that Tonks and her wolf will be able to cope.”

Harry looked up, confused. How was it possible that Snape didn’t know? Obviously no one had told him that Tonks and Lupin had lost their lives in the battle.

“Maybe,” Harry said quietly, “you should stop insulting dead people.”

Snape leaned forward in his chair and gazed at Harry. Disbelief was written all over his face.

“Who else?” he demanded.

Harry sighed. He didn’t really want to go through all the names... again. He picked up an old Daily Prophet that he kept in his trunk and started reading them out anyway. The Prophet hadn’t made a difference between sides, the names were simply written in alphabetical order. “Jim Aarons, Billy Bringall, Christopher Cadwallader, Vincent Crabbe, Colin Creevey, Delora Diggins, Antonin Dolohov, Aberforth Dumbledore, Bellatrix Lestrange, Remus Lupin, Cormac McLaggen, Parvati Patil, Persephone Palmer, Jimema Rogers, Sandy Sirrels, Nymphadora Tonks, …” He looked up at Snape’s expressionless mask and kept reading until he finished with the last name. Blaise Zabini.

The meaning of all those names weighed heavy and neither of them spoke a word for several minutes.

Suddenly, Harry remembered the Elder Wand. His own wand was in his robe, but he had no idea where the deathstick was.

“When my uncle attacked me… the Elder Wand…”

Snape went through his robes and pulled it out. He stared at it for quite a while, but Harry couldn’t see a flicker of longing in the black eyes. After all, Snape nearly got killed because of this desirable object. Harry held out his hand and after a moment of hesitation, he handed it over. It was different. The magic that he usually felt, that overwhelming, somehow dark pulsating that he had last detected when he held it, was away.

Harry’s mouth fell open. His uncle, a muggle, must be its true owner now.

“Well,” Snape said, his voice thick with irony, “I don’t think that Vernon Dursley will be able to ever understand what he is missing out on.”

“How do you destroy it?”

“Fiendfyre. Obviously.”

Harry nodded, again, ignoring the insult. He had no idea how to cast fiendfyre and didn’t think that Snape would create a cursed fire in a hospital room.

“Can you cast one in here?” he asked anyway.

Snape looked down at the floor. “It might damage the linoleum,” he answered dryly. Harry grinned.

“Maybe in the sink?” it felt silly, but Harry wanted to get rid of it. It was unlikely that anyone would ever find out that it now belonged to his uncle, no one would guess, that after Voldemort, who longed for it so badly, a muggle was its true owner.

Harry went ahead and put the wand in the sink. He didn’t feel any regret.

Snape cast a tiny fiendfyre and a protection charm around it. They watched it both burn into ashes. Then Harry turned on the cold water, and the Elder Wand was gone. Such an unworthy death for something that could have done great things if in the right hands. Harry sighed and turned around to Snape.

“You know…” Harry said thoughtfully, pointing at the sink, “I think it’s that what makes you different from them.”

Harry rummaged through his trunk again and after a while, he found what he was looking for. Advanced Potion Making. Harry handed the old, worn book to Snape, who was still deep in thoughts, frowning.

The older man’s eyes fell on the book and he grabbed it, then flicked through the pages.

“It’s yours, Potter,” he finally sighed and handed it back to Harry, “I gave it to your mother many years ago. If I had wanted it back, I would have retrieved it from you or the Room Of Requirement months ago.”

Surprise was written all over Harry’s face. “How did you know?”

“You are sometimes easier to read than that book,” Snape smirked. “However,” and his voice became more serious, “I did not expect you to use unknown spells.”

“I had no idea what it did-“ Harry exclaimed defiantly.

“Precisely,” interrupted Snape.

“Also, Malfoy was about to use the cruciatus curse on me. And he blocked all the other spells I could think of.”

Snape leaned back and regarded him with an unfathomable expression.

Harry suddenly felt curious about certain events.

“See when you were headmaster… Was any of the staff on your side?”

Snape cleared his throat and seemed a little uncomfortable. He folded his arms in front of his chest and Harry was sure that he wasn’t going to answer him.

“None of the staff was informed about my true loyalties, no. The risks were too high.”

“Hmmm.” None of the staff…

“Any of the students?” Harry thought of Luna and how bright she was. And she was the one who rescucitated him. Surely, if she had thought that Snape was a true Death Eater, she wouldn’t have bothered. However, she surely would have told him… Maybe not.

“Did Luna find out?”

“Well deduced, Potter.”

There was a moment of silence again.

“The Lovegood oddity,” Snape said, his voice thick with sarcasm, but it sounded good-humoured, “is not only a Ravenclaw and her intellectual abilities exceed those of most students… she is also so open-mined that we should constantly worry if one day her brains will fall out.”

Harry tried to swallow the coffee, but was unable to do so. He snorted and it came out his nose and covered the table that stood between them. Snape also got some on his robe. Harry found that even funnier, threw his head back and broke out in a relieving, barking laughter. He laughed until his eyes watered and his belly hurt.

It took a few minutes for him to regain control.

“She’s great. I really like her.”

“She has been rather helpful on a number of occasions.” Harry seemed to see a flicker of pain in Snape’s eyes, knew that the professor wouldn’t give him any more information and quickly switched topic.

“I think that potion is already working.”

“Fascinating,” replied Snape dryly, “it usually needs at least five weeks to unfold its capacities, but I am sure you, Potter, are yet again an exception to the rule.”

“Right. Well, I’m going for a bath.”