Harry Potter walked towards St. Mungo’s Hospital. It was a beautiful summer's day but the sun didn’t cheer Harry up at all. The closer he got the slower he walked, and he once again asked himself where the famous Gryffindor courage, that reckless trait in him which helped him to succeed against Voldemort, was hiding. Maybe it hadn’t been Gryffindor courage all along. Maybe that fearlessness was the bit of Voldemort in him that was now dead.

He had been avoiding this visit for weeks. A rather large lady on the receptio greeted him. She regarded him suspiciously before her gaze fell on the scar. A hasty smile appeared on her face. “What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?” she asked with an accent that he couldn’t quite place.

Harry took a deep breath. “P-Professor Snape please.” Her face darkened.

“Fourth floor. Ask for Poppy, she’s here today.” Harry gulped and nodded.

When the lift reached the fourth floor, he walked immediately towards the staff room and gently knocked the door.

Madame Pomfrey appeared immediately, looking more exhausted than ever. So many were killed and wounded in the war, and Pomfrey looked as if she hadn’t slept for weeks. St. Mungo’s was busy.

“Mr. Potter. I have expected you all summer.” Pomfrey said quietly and Harry blushed, feeling guilty about having avoided the visit for so long.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I- well, I’m here now.” Pomfrey gave him a curt nod and brushed past him, gesturing Harry to follow her. Harry threw a glance at Lockhart, Umbridge and the Longbottoms and wondered again why Snape was in this ward. He couldn’t help but throw Umbridge a nasty glare. For Lockhart he just felt pity, and the Longbottoms… Harry knew that he could have shared Neville’s burden easily and Neville, in return, could have been the Chosen One.

Harry shuddered and tried to shrug those thoughts off. He did not wish to swap with Neville and ever since he knew about his parents, he wondered which destiny would be worse. Dead parents or ones who had been tortured into insanity and would never, ever recover. Never recognise their own son.

“How is Professor Snape?” Harry asked, trying not to sound scared.

Pomfrey halted and turned to Harry. She scrutinised him from top to bottom and seemed to realise that Harry genuinely didn’t know anything about the man’s condition.

Suddenly, George ran towards him, stopping so close that he invaded his private space. Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. Then, a large grin appeared on the freckled face and he said “Hi Harry!” Harry smiled back, but felt as if there was something wrong.

“Hi George.”

“I’m Fred,” he exclaimed mischieviously. “No no, I’m George. That’s Fred.” and he pointed at a spot next to him. Harry closed his eyes and his body stiffened. He wanted to get out of here.

“See you around, George,” he muttered, forcing a smile onto his face. George grinned again and ran back to his room. Harry thought he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Weasley in there and quickly walked past. He couldn’t face her just yet.

A tiny woman with mousy brown hair and huge grey eyes shuffled towards them. She stared at Harry, her eyes wide open and showing no expression. “Where is Colin?” she asked Harry. “Have you seen Colin? I can’t find him anywhere, he was supposed to come home for summer…” she shuffled away, repeating the same sentence to the next visitors.

Harry felt as if he would pass out any minute, but he kept walking. Finally, they reached the corridor and Madame Pomfrey gently pushed him into a chair and closed a curtain.

Harry just stared at her. “I can’t do this…” he whispered.

Pomfrey cocked her head slightly and patted his arm a little. “We have been expecting you for weeks Mr. Potter.” she said in an expressionless voice.

“I’m sorry. I already said…”

Pomfrey shook her head. “I didn’t mean as a visitor.”

Harry stared at her and his eyes widened in shock. “I’m fine. Honestly. It’s just… it’s all because of me…”

Pomfrey rested both her hands on her hips and stared at him. “That is exactly why you should think about staying for a while. Or get some…”

Harry shook his head violently. “I’m fine. Really. Just tell me what’s wrong with Snape before I go in…”

Pomfrey sighed, but didn’t discuss any further. “You left him in the Shack… thinking that he was dead. Technically he was. Miss Lovegood walked in after you came out and recuscitated him, administering anti-venom-potions and several blood repleneshing potions. She even managed to heal the wounds on his neck where that snake bit him. Well…” Pomfrey trailed off and Harry knew that he didn’t to hear what she was about to say. “He regained consciousness quite quickly. Then he heard how You-Know-Who killed you. And heard the proclamation of your death minutes later. He slipped out of consciousness and we haven’t been able to… to reach him.”

“Oh,” was all Harry could say. He felt so stupid. Maybe, if he had plucked up the courage to come here a few weeks ago it would have been easier.

“Can I go in now, please?”

Pomfrey smiled and Harry could see hope flickering in her eyes. He had no idea how he was going to help, but he had to give it a try. But the idea of - yet again - people expecting him to fix things, to save people, made him feel nauseous. It was luck, unbelievable luck that destroyed Voldemort and no one could expect this luck to go on forever.

Pomfrey opened the door to Snape’s room and Harry entered. She left, but not without giving him that hopeful glance again.

Harry wasn’t prepared at all for the sight that was greeting him. His former Potions Master, his arch enemy was lying on his back, his cheeks sunken in, his breathing so steady that Harry thought it must be supported by magic.

Harry had a quick look around the room. It was completely empty, even Umbridge seemed to have gotten more visitors and stupid presents than Snape did. He quickly pulled a chair out from under the table. The screeching noise made him cringe, it seemed too loud. Snape didn’t react at all.

Harry sat down and felt unbelievably uncomfortable. He knew that if Snape was conscious he would never have wanted him, of all people, to sit next to his bed and scrutinise him.

“H-Hello Professor…” he said quietly, but to him, it sounded as if he was shouting.

He winced at the sound of his own voice and suddenly felt panicky. Since when was he scared of his own voice? And when exactly had he become such a coward? Snape was lying there unconscious because of him. He hadn’t called help fast enough and he… hadn’t gone to the hospital fast enough. Nobody had told him. He hadn’t listened. He had shut himself off in the past few weeks, grieving and… hiding. He couldn’t face any of the Weasleys, not even Ginny. It was his fault that Fred was dead. And Colin. Tonks. Remus. Sirius. Cedric. He shouldn’t have allowed everyone to protect him from Voldemort.

Harry closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his temples.

“Professor. It’s me. Harry. I- well… I made it. Voldemort is dead and I was, too, but then I came back.” No reaction. The breathing was just as deep, the rhythm so steady that it gave him the creeps. Harry brought his hand forward to touch Snape’s, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He put it quickly into his pocket and took a deep breath.

The door opened and startled Harry. Madame Pomfrey stuck her head in. “Everything alright, Mr. Potter?” Harry gazed at her and then slowly shook his head. “I have no idea what to do,” he admitted. He took his glasses off and tiredly rubbed his eyes, but quickly stopped when he saw Pomfrey’s suspicious glance resting on him.

He had to get out of here. He’d go mad if he stayed any longer and then they would keep him here too, along with George who told everyone he was Fred, grinning happily. Along with Mrs. Creevey who still thought that Colin would turn up any minute.

Cold sweat appeared on his forehead and he slowly raised from his seat. “I can’t do this. Please let me go…” He pushed passed her and stormed out the building.

Harry felt completely and totally lost. He hated the hospital, watching the suffering, all because of him. If he hadn’t waited so long maybe… just maybe not half the wizarding world would be dead. Almost every family had lost someone and was mourning and Harry couldn’t help but feel responsible.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed and wrapped her arms around him. “What are you doing here?”

Harry hung his head a little. “Erm... I wanted to see how Snape was doing, thought I could maybe…” Hermione gave him a pitiful look.

“And who are you seeing?” he asked uncomfortably. He was sure he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Well, my parents are in there. It takes a while for the memory to be restored… But they’ll be okay. They recognise me at least…” She trailed off and Harry thought about Neville’s parents.

He nodded slowly. Hermione looked worried. He wanted to ask her if she could tell him what to do… maybe she’d read it in a book or something.

“Harry,” she started, “I know what happened to Snape. I think you should maybe see Slughorn, maybe a potion would help… Or Dumbledore’s portrait?”

Suddenly, a small smile appeared on his face and he gave her grateful hug and apparated away.

He had to see Slughorn and get Felix Felicis, the liquid luck. It had helped him before. And Slughorn would do him any favour. Of that, Harry was sure.

As soon as the thought had formed in his head, he apparated to Hogsmeade and made his way to Hogwarts. He was convinced that Slughorn would still be there, now that he’d made himself comfortable in the castle.

“Ah, m’boy, so nice that you came to see me,” the rotund Professor exclaimed happily and poured some mead into a glass. “What can I do for you?”

Harry cleared his throat. This was promising. “Actually, I came to ask you for a favour…”

Slughorn smiled. “Anything, m’boy, anything.”

“I need some Felix Felicis. It’s really important.”

Slughorn's smile didn’t waver and Harry interpreted that as a good sign. However, Felix was a rather valuable potion, so he did decide to keep going.

“I have money, I can pay you. I need it for Professor Snape, I’m afraid I need to somehow get through to him and…”

Slughorn nodded sadly and peeked at the full bag of gold. “Keep your money. But if your plan works, maybe you can mention this to the right people. Poor Severus, he surely didn’t deserve that.” Harry nodded in agreement and took a sip from from his mead. He still  had the feeling that he had to insist on paying for the potion, so fumbled around in his bag until he saw the hundred galleon coin.

Slughorn raised his hand as if to deny, but Harry insisted. “This is just for the effort to make a new one. I insist.”

Slughorn was too much of a Slytherin to keep arguing. He walked over to his shelves, muttering to himself until he found the small vial with the golden liquid in it.

“There you go m’boy, good luck. And if it does work…”

“I’ll mention it, Professor. Thank you very much.”

“Ah…” Slughorn said with an excited voice, as he pulled out a second vial. “You may take that with you, too. It’s a very interesting little potion, that one…” Harry gave him a questioning look before he continued. “I invented it myself. If anything can force a wizard to give up his occlumency shields, it’s that.”

Harry was a little confused. “Why would he need that? He doesn’t need to use occlumency against Vol-“

Slughorn raised his hand in a theatrical manner and said: “The art of occlumency is primarily that of self-discipline. Any wizard who masters it, and Severus mastered it like no other, is able to hide behind shields and stay in a comatose condition for the rest of their life. Some shields can be so strong, that willpower alone will not break through. ”

Harry frowned a little. “Will it work?”

Now Slughorn looked a little impatient. “If it works on Dumbledore, it will on Severus.”

“Is there an antidote?”

“Not exactly, but… take this.” And out of Slughorn's robe appeared a bottle of Scotch Whiskey. “It’s not an antidote, but it’s as close as you can get. Calming, you know…”

Harry opened his mouth to ask another question, but saw that Slughorn wasn’t willing to give any further information. He suddenly felt his conscience nagging.

“Professor… I think I have to tell you something…”

“Yes?”

“I’m… not good at Potions at all. All through my sixth year, I cheated.”

A small smile appeared on Slughorn’s face. It looked a little too knowing for Harry’s taste.

“Hmmm,” he said, indicating for Harry to continue.

“My Potions book had different instructions in it, it used to be someone else’s and I, well, I followed the alternative instructions and it was brilliant. But I shouldn’t take the credit.”

Slughorn raised his eyebrows. “Did you really think that I didn’t know?”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“I recognised that book the day you got it. And let you keep it, hoping that it would give you a boost in potions. And… you brewed the potions yourself. A Slytherin wouldn’t call that cheating, but you are very Gryffindor. Thanks for telling me, my boy.”

He felt himself dismissed, thanked the Professor again and left the room.

He quickly checked the amount of Felix Felicis Slughorn had gave him and saw that he hadn’t been conned. This would last at least six hours. He felt that he had no time to lose and emptied the vial in one gulp.

After a few seconds, the potion started working and he knew exactly where he had to go. The Headmaster’s Office. Harry almost felt like whistling, but he was able to stop himself. Everything seemed so clear and straightforward.

“Dumbledore,” he said to the Gargoyle and it was still the same password.

Dumbledore, still present in his portrait, smiled at him and came so close, that Harry thought he would pop through any minute.

“Harry. What a pleasure to see you. I knew you would want to come back…”

“Hello Professor. I don’t have much time but… I really need the wand.” Dumbledore nodded and seemed to be deep in thought. “I wondered when you would change your mind. Is it for Severus?”

After all the things Dumbledore had known and foreseen in the past few years, Harry wasn’t at all surprised about his knowledge.

“I need it only once and then… I will destroy it.”

“A wise decision, Harry. I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you.”

Dumbledore gave him a warm smile and Harry knew he could gain access now. He stepped closer to the portrait and gently took it off. With a satisfied look, he saw that it was still where he had placed it. Anyone who wanted it, would have to ask for Dumbledore’s permission, even if they had disarmed Harry before and became the true owner.

Harry slipped it into his robe. The potion nudged him to hurry, so he quickly left Hogwarts at the point where once Snape disapparated to escape after he had killed Dumbledore. No. Not killed. Saved him from either a slow and painful death or dying at the hands of a boy whose soul would then be damaged forever. Or tortured to death by Greyback or Lestrange.

He found himself in Diagon Alley and quickly headed to Gringotts. There was something in his vault that would help. He had no idea what it was, but he knew he had to go.

Lucky again. The goblin who greeted him seemed to have waited for him already and showed no sign of surprise. The last time he was here, he had broken in Lestrange’s vault and made the narrowest escape he’d ever made. It felt like it anyway.

“Mr. Potter. I have been wondering when you would come and get your parent’s portrait. It has been activated. It will have to stay here for another 40 hours, but you might want to go and see it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who has activated it? And why did it take so long?”

The goblin cast an ugly smile. “The minister himself, Mr. Potter. It was long overdue. Anything that has been placed in a vault, has to stay for inspection for 48 hours before given out to the recipient.”

Harry nodded. That meant it had only been placed there eight hours ago. He handed over his key and said: “Thank you. I am really in a hurry.”

After the goblin opened his vault, Harry waved him away with his hand. He needed to be alone. And fast. A small note was attached to the portrait.

It was an honour. KS.

Harry made a quick note to himself to thank Shacklebolt for this. His parents both smiled at him and Harry, who felt that his legs may give in, sat down in front of it.

The potion nudged him to make his matters clear and not spent too much time with pleasantries, but he knew they would understand. “Mum… Dad…” the words felt so unfamiliar to him. He knew they were dead, he knew they were portraits, but still, a bit of them was alive.

“Harry,” his mum exclaimed, “we are so proud of you.” Harry smiled and wished that his mum could just hug him or his dad could place his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m here because… well… I’ll get you out when the 40 hours are over, but just now I want to try and get Snape back. He’s… erm… unconscious and still thinks I’m dead. I’m not even sure why I had to come here but it somehow felt like the right thing…”

Lily’s face turned a shade darker. “Harry. Tell Severus how very sorry I am for not having been a good friend. I was so very righteous… And tell him I forgave him many years ago.”

Harry nodded and turned towards his dad. “You know…,” James started, looking a bit uncomfortable, “it was partially our fault that he turned dark. We never made him feel welcome in the Order. Tried everything to keep him out of there.” James shook his head sadly before he continued. “And something else Harry… Tell him to grow the heck up. If he is still, after everything he has done for you and the Order, and with the danger he placed himself under, beating himself up about the things that happened twenty years ago, you hex him for me.”

Lily threw him a surprised look before she smiled at Harry again.

“But…” Harry hesitated. He did agree with his parents, but one question was still open. “He only asked for you to be saved, mum. Not for dad or me.”

His father raised his eyebrows and he looked as if she was about to scold him. “Well, Harry, if twenty years ago the greasy git-“

“Don’t call him that!“ his mother interrupted.

“-if twenty years ago he had married Lily and had a greasy little son with her… and I was in his shoes, I would have asked Voldemort to spare her, too. If there was any chance. And there was.”

Harry understood. For the first time. He really did. The potion nudged him to go to Snape as fast as he could, but his mother wanted to say one more thing.

“Tell him… Tell him I haven’t forgotten.” she said quietly and her eyes were glittering with tears.

“What does that mean?” James asked curiously.

“He’ll know,” Lily smiled and Harry rushed off.

In front of him was St. Mungo’s and this time Harry felt no resentment or fear. Not even guilt. Just hope.

He took a deep breath and paced up to the fourth floor. It was obviously lunch break, so no patients walked towards him, disturbing him. Poppy Pomfrey came running out of the staff room. “I knew you would come back. You always do.” Her smile was appreciative and she opened Snape’s door.

The potion told Harry to insist on privacy this time. “Give me three hours. I think I can get him back.” Pomfrey nodded and closed the door. Harry pointed the Elder Wand at it and locked it. “Impenetrabilis” he muttered, and although he had never even heard of the spell,  it felt right.

He rushed to Snape’s bed and pulled his chair close to it. Remembering the potion Slughorn gave him, he grabbed Snape’s chin and poured it down his throat. Snape swallowed it, but apart from that he showed no other reaction.

The Elder wand pointed to Snape’s temple, he whispered, “Legilimens,” and entered.

At first he saw nothing but blackness and felt lost, but something told him to keep moving until he was stopped abprubtly by a wall. Still not seeing anything, he felt it and it was cold and metallic. Maybe he had to wait for the potion to work and soften them? Felix told him to be patient, so he waited. After a while, it felt as if the material of the wall was deteriorating. The surface wasn’t quite as smooth anymore and felt a little brittle.

“Bombarda” he thought and before he knew he had cast a spell, the wall crumpled and then fell apart. Harry concentrated hard and suddenly knew which memories to show Snape.

He showed him how he watched Snape’s last memories in the Pensieve and then walked, his heart pounding hard against his chest, into Voldemort’s hands. He showed him his conversation with Dumbledore in King’s Cross. He showed him how he came back. How Narcissa proclaimed his death. Showed him the battle. And his final words to Voldemort. Showed him Voldemorts death. The destrucion of all the Horcruxes. And then he tried to show him his last memory in Gringotts. But as soon as the memory had gotten to the point where Harry reached the portrait, he felt himself pushed out. Finally, Snape showed a reaction, but Harry wasn’t able to show him what his parents had said. Even though Snape wasn’t in control as usual and Harry could have kept going, he accepted and left Snape’s mind.

His head was hurting as the memories were dissipating, not the piercing pain he had experienced when his scar hurt, but thumping, as if someone was trying to hammer it open.

Harry let out a groan of pain and fell on the floor. Desperately massaging his temples, he looked up to Snape who was staring at him furiously.

“Potter. Why did you do that?” he demanded. His voice sounded hoarse and Harry wondered if Nagini had damaged the Potion Master’s vocal cords.

Before he could indulge in these thoughts any further, he felt himself pinned against the wall. Snape’s glare was almost murderous.

“I-I tried to get you back…” Harry muttered and blinked confused. Felix didn’t tell him to do anything.

“Why? To help you cope?”

Harry tried to shake his head, but the potion didn’t let him. It was, after all, one of the reasons why he had agreed. Luckily, Felix gave another nudge and Harry knew which direction to go.

“P-Professor…” he stuttered. It was hard to breathe, because Snape grabbed his collar so hard. “You don’t want to die,” he said a little more confidently. “You might have noticed that my parents will still be married in the afterlife. Either you watch them snog into eternity or you come back.”

Snape turned even paler and his mask was expressionless. The black orbs were glaring at him with a now unfathomable expression and Harry wondered if Snape was even more dangerous without his occlumency shields. “Too far, Potter,” he hissed and the grip tightened, but Harry thought he could see a moment of doubt in his Professor’s eyes. That was enough to encourage him to keep going.

He licked his lips nervously and continued. “I think you might have missed the last memory I was going to show you… My dad said that he would have done the same if he was in your shoes. You were forced in a position where you had to trade lives… and my mum said sorry for not being a good friend and that she forgives you and…”

Harry searched for something in the older man’s eyes when he felt the grip around his collar loosening. Snape seemed to be trying to find out if Harry was speaking the truth. The weight distribution oddly changed and for a moment it seemed as if Snape used him to keep himself from falling. “And” Harry continued, “she said that… she hasn’t forgotten.”

Snape drew in a sharp breath and broke the eye contact. Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable again.

“Get out.”

What should probably have sounded like a command came out like a plea.

Harry felt Snape’s hands tremble on his neck and for a moment he feared that the Professor’s knees would give way underneath him. As if in slow motion, Harry removed them from his collar and slowly placed his own on the man’s shoulder and squeezed it slightly. It was painful watching him to try and regain his composure, but Harry knew he couldn’t yet leave.

The man’s whole body and everything around him was shaking so violently that Harry’s teeth clattered and the room started rattling. Harry was sorely reminded of one of his childhood outbreaks that caused windows to smash and books fly out of shelves. Harry quickly conjured a chair and pushed Snape into it. He wasn’t exactly sure if the Professor’s reaction was a good sign or not, but Harry thought it must be better than nothing at all.

Harry felt the lucky potion wear off and wondered how long this had taken. It must have been hours. His formerly loathed Professor, the person he used to hate most, right after Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew, was slumped forward in that cold, grey hospital chair, shaking uncontrollably.

He held his stomach and before Harry could worry if he was going to vomit, he was sick all over the floor. Harry cast a quick scourgify to clean up the mess and noticed that Snape flinched… flinched from that spell.

Harry got the other chair and sat down opposite to him. He rummaged for something in his bag, conjured two glasses and filled them with the Muggle Whiskey Slughorn had given him. Harry didn’t really like alcohol, apart from the occasional butterbeer, but he gathered this was an appropriate occasion and it was supposed to act like an antidote.

“Hey,” he said and it seemed to take a lifetime before Snape reacted and looked up, his black eyes bloodshot. But completely dry. “Want some?”

The Potions Master lowered his head again and supported it with his hands as if it was too heavy. His black hair covered his face completely.

“That potion…” Snape’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Erm,” Harry started, “Slughorn gave me it today. He said he invented it himself and it worked on Dumbledore…”

After several minutes, and without looking up, Snape held out one hand to accept the glass. He drank it in one gulp and Harry quickly refilled. The second one disappeared just as fast, but Harry refilled it again.

“Just go, Potter,” Snape slurred. “It’s about time you make a life for yourself.”

Harry peered uncomfortably at the bottle. Half of it was already gone, but it seemed to have worked a little.

“Same goes for you, sir.”

Harry seemed to see Snape shaking his head slightly, but he wasn’t sure. He waited patiently. Words seemed to take a while to reach the usually quick-witted professor.

With a sigh, he refilled both glasses and passed one over to Snape who emptied it just as fast as he had the others.

“Sir, I’m sorry about breaking into the Pensieve. Back in my fifth year I mean. I thought you were keeping information from me about Voldemort, you know and I... I kept seeing that door in my dreams and wanted to know what was behind it…” he trailed off. “I reckon I wasn’t quite myself. I also… well… I realised that it was your job to protect me and I didn’t make it easy…”

Snape didn’t show any reaction and Harry wasn’t even sure if he had heard him.

“I wish I had known more… you know, maybe…” Harry didn’t know what to say.

“Maybe what?” Snape demanded and Harry startled a little in his seat.

“I don’t know.”

“You, Potter… You are the personification of all my failures and miseries. You look so much like your father. But seeing those eyes every single day… and the scar… and everything you stand for. Your presence is almost physically painful.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I know.”

Snape threw his arms up in resignation. Or surrender. It was a completely unfamiliar gesture.

“Potter’s son, Lily’s son… apologising. It is so absurd, I cannot…”

“I know.”

Snape glared at him, but then his distant gaze fell on the wand.

“I wanted to destroy it…” Harry said hastily.

The Potions Master snorted and a sarcastic smile appeared on his face.

“That is the first sensible thing I have heard you say in a long time.”

“I think I should leave now,” Harry said nervously.

“Yes,” was Snape’s only remark.

“I’ll send Madame Pomfrey in." Snape didn’t react, or even look up to him. He just sat back down on the chair, supporting his head with his hands.

He wasn’t able to open the door. The locking charm he had performed with the Elder Wand came as a quick idea to him. Felix Felicis had completely worn off by now. Snape pointed his wand at the door and it flew open. Harry left without another word.

Suddenly feeling very tired, he approached the staff room and knocked. Madame Pomfrey opened.

“He’s awake,” was the only thing Harry could think of. Pomfrey beamed.

“Well done Mr. Potter. We knew you would be able to…”

Harry brushed her comment off tiredly and said: “It was pure luck. Professor Slughorn gave me a couple of potions so that I could get through.”

“You never take credit for anything, do you?”

“Not when I don’t deserve it, no.”

Madame Pomfrey shook her head, gave him a huge smile and hurried towards Snape’s door.

Harry was exhausted and just wanted to go home, but he didn’t have a home. Grimmauld Place depressed him. He wanted to see Ginny or Ron, but just wasn’t able to face any of the Weasleys. He wanted to be alone and yet... he longed for his friends. Or a family. He looked to the left and saw a young blond man lying on a hospital bed. He couldn’t place him and frowned a little, but kept going, just not knowing where. Normally, he should be going home to his family, but he didn’t have one. The Dursleys never counted as a family for him, never. Harry stopped in his tracks and wondered why he suddenly thought of them. He hadn’t seen them in a year and didn’t even know if they were still alive. The young blond man… Harry’s mouth formed an astounded ‘O’ and he ran back. The young man on the bed was Dudley. He had lost at least two stone, that’s why Harry hadn’t recognised him.

Why was he here?

Harry opened the door and entered the room. It was definitely Dudley. He looked pale and slim and his breath was unaturally steady, just like Snape’s had been.

Before he could get any closer to him, he felt hands grabbing violently and a deep and familiar voice snarled into his ear.

“Don’t you dare touch him, freak.”

It was Uncle Vernon. Harry swore loudly and tried to break free. Tried to draw his wand.

“Don’t. Even. Try.”

Vernon roughly went through Harry’s robes, holding both his arms with one hand. When he found the Elder Wand, he roared triumphantly and threw it to the other end of the room. The holly wand fell out of his pocket and he kicked it away.

Vernon grabbed Harry’s messy mop of hair and dragged him, until Harry was standing up right. His scalp burnt like fire. For the second time in one day, Harry felt himself pinned against a wall.

“He was attacked,” Vernon spat. Literally. “By your kind. One of those freaks got to us and she started with Dudley. She pointed that thing at him and said crucify or something like that.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Bellatrix Lestrange?”

“Is she a friend of yours then?”

Harry shook his head, but Vernon didn’t seem to notice.

“We were lucky that her arm hurt or something like that, she hurried off. And Dudley… he might not wake up. And if he does, he might be a loony.”

Harry’s felt all the blood leaving his face.

“So you’re happy now, are you?”

Harry tried to negate that absurd statement, but Vernon suddenly held his mouth shut. He was obviously scared that Harry would scream and give him away.

Vernon threw him on the floor with all his strength and started kicking him in the face, his back and his belly. Harry looked up at his bright red face, his eyes wide open and knew that Vernon would go too far this time. He somehow had to escape or he would die at the hands of a muggle. But he was unable to move. He heard his nose break. One rib on his left side. His arm.

Vernon’s eyes were mad now, almost inhuman with rage.

“You… BOY… have ruined our lives from the moment you were brought to us.”

Every word was accompanied with a punch or a kick. Harry was in so much pain, he just wanted it to end. There was nothing to stay alive for anyway, he had served his one purpose. Maybe, if he died on Vernon’s hands, everyone would see that he wasn’t the hero they all expected him to be and leave him alone for good. Harry smiled at that thought.

“You’re laughing at me?”

Vernon kicked his lower stomach so hard that it took Harry’s breath away. He felt his bladder empty itself and wanted to die of shame. The door opened, and his aunt Petunia appeared with two cups of coffee which immediately fell on the floor when she saw Harry. She let out a piercing scream and behind her appeared Poppy Pomfrey.

Vernon didn’t notice it, and before Poppy could reach him, or her wand, he pulled both of Harry’s ears, raised his head and smashed it hard… hard against the floor.

That was the moment Harry heard a crack in his head and slipped gratefully into unconsciousness.

He woke up in the dark and for a moment thought that he was in his cupboard. As soon as he tried to sit up, he felt a hand pushing him back down. Everything was blurry.

“My glasses,” he whispered and a felt a something warm in his mouth. The metallic taste told him it was blood.

“Please, my glasses. I can’t see.”

Big, rough hands put his glasses on and after his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that they were Snape’s. He was in his hospital room. It was the same as he had left it, just a few moments ago, only that there was a second bed in it now and the whiskey was empty.

Harry tried to sit up again, but was unable to do so. A groan, that sounded like a whimper escaped his mouth and Harry cursed himself for his weakness in front of Snape.

Every limb in his body felt tender and bruised, his head hurt badly.

When he remembered what had happened, he turned his turned his head away so that Snape wouldn’t be able to see the embarrassment that Harry felt.

“Dursley has been arrested,” Snape said with a stern voice. Harry could hear a hint of disgust in it, but wasn’t sure who that would be addressed to. Probably to him.

“He was right,” Harry croaked. “I did ruin his life. Everyone’s.”

“Your relatives…,” Snape said with an expressionless voice, “have they always been-“

“Don’t even try and pretend that you didn’t know, Snape.” Harry felt yet again, anger consume him but was somehow thankful for it. “They kept me in a cupboard for ten years and my first Hogwarts letter was addressed to it. Hardly any food. Chores. Beatings. Don’t tell me that you didn’t know.”

Snape’s eyes widened in shock, but Harry wasn’t finished. Ignoring the pains all over his body, he sat up in bed, and glared at Snape.

“I was the Chosen One. So I’m sure that every summer you… whose job it was to protect me, watched me being treated like a bloody house elf and did nothing about it. Did you enjoy yourself, eh?”

Harry knew that he was going too far, that he was being unfair, but he wasn’t able to stop himself.

“There were so many signs that I don’t believe that… that a man who acts as if he is more intelligent than anyone else around him… didn’t spot them. I’m sure you were glad to see that the Boy-You-Hate having the crap beaten out of him. And as a punishment you took points and gave detentions and tried everything to make my life at Hogwarts hellish, too.”

Harry was shocked at the words which escaped his own mouth. Every single one seemed to come from a further distance than the previous one. He felt as if the Harry he knew was escaping and something else took over. It was frightening and Harry again wondered when he had become such a coward. But he wasn’t yet finished.

“You know… I think if you’d loved her… really loved her, you would have made sure that her son had a half-decent home.”

Harry stopped abruptly, astounded by his own cruelty and vehemence and stared down at his trembling hands. He wasn’t able to face his former Potions Master as he didn’t want to see what his words had done to him.

He took his glasses off, threw them away, drew his knees close to his body and buried his face in his arms. All the anger was gone and he was shattered and just wanted to be left alone.

Harry wanted to apologise but felt so desperately stupid. Grief and sadness overwhelmed him and he started to cry. Raw, painful sobs escaped his throat and his hand flew to his mouth to stop them. He felt a stinging pain from his ribs, but he couldn’t control it. Then he heard a loud scream from somewhere and it took him a while to realise that it came from inside himself. It was as if he was standing aside, watching. Something exploded in his chest, something that had wanted to escape for years, and that was the moment Harry completely lost it, started thrashing and kicking and howling like a little child.

He felt someone trying to constrict him, but he had no idea who it was anymore and managed to break free.

From a now even longer distance he heard himself beg for it to stop, for someone to make it stop. By now, the hysteria that he had always feared was taking charge.

“Listen to me.” He could hear. But was unable to listen. Words didn’t make any sense. Two hands grabbed his cheeks and turned his head. Black eyes stared into the green.

Harry heard himself weeping… and the other person in the room repeating something in a soothing but increasingly breaking voice.

“It will stop eventually.” said the voice, and in an even gentler tone that seemed to be inside his head it added: “It always does.” Before Harry could move or thrash anything else, he felt strong arms encircle him, holding him so tight that he was unable to move. The noises came closer, as he forced himself back to reality.

Harry, now a little more aware of what was going on and who was with him, told himself that Snape was holding him to keep him from smashing any more things or killing himself, but didn’t feel like it. It felt as if he was trying to comfort him.

It will stop. It always does, Harry thought desperately as he tried to regain some control, but he wasn’t able yet. It always does.

It took him a while to grasp the whole meaning of the sentence, but repeating it over and over again worked. After a few more minutes, Harry said: “I’m alright” and pushed Snape away, feeling deeply ashamed.

“You need to rest,” he said, but sounding so very different that Harry focused on the man’s angular face, as if to check if it really was Snape. He thought he could see tears glittering in his eyes and was so surprised, that he didn’t look away. They disappeared and Harry thought he had been mistaken.

“I’m sorry,” muttered Harry. “I really didn’t mean what I said, it was just…” he didn’t know what to say. The awkward silence that followed, didn’t help at all. Tiredness and exhaustion came over him, but he felt that he owed Snape an apology. The man sat down on the chair that was already standing beside his bed. Harry wondered how long Snape had sat there, after Vernon attacked him and felt even more embarrassed.

“Any of the staff would have been happy to raise you, Potter.” Snape pointed his wand at the glasses on the floor, repared them with an occulus reparo and handed them back to Harry, who wanted to say something, but felt that the Professor wasn’t finished and therefore waited patiently.

“Dumbledore insisted that the only place where you are safe is with those muggles. Your mother… died to protect you, and only because of that were you safe until you became of age. No one was ready to throw away what she had given you.”

“But-“

“But. No one knew just exactly how severe the mistreatment was. If you had ever spoken up, things could have been different.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?”

“Absolutely not, Potter. Your behaviour was… typical. The fault was ours.”

Harry thought about Snape’s words for a while, then remembered that on a number of occasions he had begged Dumbledore to not send him back to the Dursleys.

“I tried to tell him. I asked Professor Dumbledore to stay, but his decision always seemed so final. You know what he’s like once he made a decision.”

Snape snorted sarcastically and ran his hands through the greasy hair.

“I do. I really do.”

“I know.”

The man stood up and walked over to the sink, as gracefully as he possibly could, to splash some cold water into his face. He staggered a little and Harry’s eyes fell on the empty whiskey bottle and wondered if he had only been so… civil because he was drunk.

When Snape came back, he sat down on the chair and clutched his head.

“Hangover?” Harry smirked. He suddenly felt cheery. Relieved. As if some ugly spot inside him, full of of pus had finally burst.

“It was an antidote.”

“Of course.”

Snape pressed a button next to his bed and a few moments later, Madame Pomfrey rushed in.

“I thought I heard something,” she said and then pointed a finger at Snape. “Have you put up silencing charms again, Severus?” she asked when she saw how shaken Harry looked.

Snape didn’t answer and Harry remembered that he started to put up silencing charms around his bed in sixth year so that nobody was able to hear him talk in his nightmares or cry out.

“This is a hospital. We need to be able to hear our patients. Do that one more time and I’ll keep your wand until the day of your release.”

Snape still didn’t respond, but scowled at her instead. Pomfrey looked as if she had the two men exactly where she wanted to have them. Defenseless. With a satisfied look, she turned around to Harry.

“Mr. Potter, you need to lie down.” She pulled out a few vials. “Take them.”

The tastes were familiar. Painkilling potion, Skele-Gro, Dreamless Sleep Potion. Then she passed him another vial that contained a brown, unfamiliar liquid.

“What is that?”

“Antidepressant potion.”

“I don’t need it.” Harry pushed her hand away and lied down. He was so tired.

“Are we going to have a problem?” she asked annoyed. Harry sighed. “I don’t need it, really.”

“Well, it is not your choice at the moment, Mr. Potter.” Harry looked over to Snape who still sat in the chair, glaring at him.

“I am sure that Professor Snape would assist me and…”

“Fine, fine.” Harry gave up and took the vial out her hand. It was almost tasteless.

She regarded him for a moment, then pointed her wand at him to give him a check.

“Better?” she asked tentatively, now pointing her wand at his lower stomach, where Vernon had kicked him so hard.

Harry, not wanting to make a fuss, or getting more questionable medication, nodded.

Madame Pomfrey turned towards Snape and gestured for him to lie down, too. Harry saw, that apart from the Skele-Gro, he got the same potions.

She bent over to him and scrutinised the wound on his neck, which had almost completely healed over. With a satisfied look, she pointed her wand at him and with a flick, removed Snape’s shirt to look at his back. It was covered in scars. Some looked decades old. One deep gash seemed to be fresh. Shocked, Harry turned away and pretended not to have seen anything.

“Nox” was the last thing he heard and then he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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.”

Over the next two weeks, Harry learnt what rest actually meant. He wasn’t anyone’s house-elf, his scar didn’t hurt and he wasn’t busy thinking about having to kill Voldemort. He still wasn’t ready to receive visitors, but that would come, he was sure.

Harry spent most of the days talking to a guy called Mikas, a psychologist. It had been weird at the beginning, but after a while Harry enjoyed the feeling that someone was actually listening to him. Without assuming, without interrupting, but simply validating what he had said. Every day he felt a bit better and truly felt that he was finally on the mend.

He understood that he was not responsible for anyone's death. And he was able to talk about Sirius again. It was difficult, because he had never before allowed himself to grieve. But it was even more difficult not to talk about him. Not speaking of a deceased loved one was like denying that they ever existed.

Snape, however, had unfortunaly decided that his idea of recovery was to become the same angry and bitter man that he had been before Nagini bit him. Maybe a little less bitter. A little less angry. But still, it was sad to watch. Harry had hoped that Snape would also let the past be the past and start to look forward to life, but instead the Potions Master had decided to spend hours every day on rebuilding his occlumency shields and tucking everything away that threatened to eat him up. His “therapy” sessions were surprisingly short and the staff were increasingly impatient with him.

Harry wondered how long they would keep him him here, until one day, two weeks after Vernon had attacked him, he was taken by surprise.

Coming in the room after a bland hospital lunch, he saw Snape sitting cross-legged on his bed. Next to him was an almost empty bottle of wine that McGonnagal had brought him a few days ago when she had told him he was freed of all charges. In front of him was a large file. Harry was taken aback. He recognised that this was Snape’s file; he had seen it every morning. The patients didn’t get access to their files until the day they were released. When he realised what that meant, he was so shocked that he had to sit down.

“They are letting you out?” he demanded, unable to banish the astonishment from his voice.

“Yes,” said Snape simply, after not reacting at first. He was in one of those moods that Harry didn’t like at all. Words took ages to reach him and he was unpredictable.

“I don’t believe it. How can they honestly think that I’m even more messed up than you are?”

“Jealous, Potter? Got that trait from your father.”

“Oh, come on, when will you stop comparing me to my parents? I’m more than my father’s appearance and my mother’s eyes.”

“Correct,” answered Snape sarcastically. “You forgot the scar.”

“Why are you still doing that?” Harry asked in a tone of resignation.

“Are you scared I could start liking you or something?”

Harry saw how Snape clutched the file and his knuckles went white.

“Or do you think that everyone you may get attached to will end up dead? Do you still believe that?”

Harry sighed. “Voldemort is gone. He and his Death Eater pals killed everyone, you did not. You were on the good side. Stop blaming yourself for things you didn’t do. Honestly, it’s ridiculous. You just stay in the past and relive your sandpit arguments over and over again.”

Harry fell silent. He didn’t know what else to say. Snape was back to reading his file. Some pages he just flicked through, others he read a few times. Without looking, he cast a refilling charm to the wine and poured another glass.

Snape’s face was bare of any expression, but with every page he got paler. Then he kept going back to the same one to stare at a picture. Finally, he shut the file and glared at Harry.

“Hold on…” Harry’s eyes fell on the file and then back to Snape’s face. “They gave you your file and they let you out today?” Harry looked around the room and saw that everything was packed. It looked empty.

“Is that so difficult to comprehend?”

“It is actually. No one believes that you are any better, am I right?”

“What makes you think that, Potter?”

“What are your plans… for the future I mean?”

“None of your concern.”

“Oh yes, like you loving my mum was none of my concern, either?” Harry felt anger boiling up in him and he didn’t even know why. Harry stood up and towered over Snape.

“You don’t have any plans… And you didn’t even try to cooperate. I thought you were brave…”

“Are you calling me a coward?” He spat the word and Harry remembered how furious Snape had gotten when he was called that.

“What is it about that word that gets you so angry?”

“Shut up! You have no idea-”

“THEN TALK TO ME!”

Snape grimaced and and rested his head on his hand. Harry wasn’t finished.

“You know why you are being discharged? Not because they think you are fit for the world but because THEY HAVE GIVEN YOU UP!”

Finally, Harry had managed to get Snape out his reserve. The former Potions Master smashed his glass against the wall and jumped up.

“Why do YOU care?” he shouted and Harry saw the same pain flicker in his eyes.

Harry raised his hands, hoping for that to have some kind of calming effect.

“I just do. I care. Is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s not hard to believe, no. But it is the wrong thing to do, do you understand that?”

Harry shook his head in confusion. “No I don’t, but I really want to. You just want me to give you up, like everyone else always does.”

“Quit your sentimental blabbering,” he snapped angrily but then sat down and fell silent for a while. Harry knew that something important would follow. He was also sure that he didn’t want to hear it.

“Listen, Potter, and I will only say this once,” Snape started and his body stiffened as he tried to regain some control, “I know what you are doing. You are making an honourable attempt. Gryffindor-worthy. You are the first one who ever did, but even you will not succeed. You are not chosen for everything and I am not the good person you believe me to be.” He took a deep breath.

“You are trying to find a strong and responsible adult, in muggle words, a father figure, who will help you to overcome the true horrors you have experienced since you were fifteen months old. And… do not take this personally, but you see, even now I-“ His voice broke and he had to pause and swallow before he could finished the sentence. “Even now, I am unable to bring myself to speak out your first name. Whatever you are seeking… “ Another pause. “Whoever you are looking for, it cannot be me.”

Snape rose from his bed, put a shrinking charm on his belongings and tucked them in his robe. He left the file.

When he walked past Harry, who was still dumbstruck, he put a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed it. Then he turned around one last time.

“Good luck in becoming an auror.”

Harry pushed away the tears that were threatening to fall.

“Goodbye, Severus,” Harry said quietly and he saw the slightest tremble in the man's scrawny figure.

“You will do well. Don’t go looking for me.”

Those were the last words Harry heard from him for a long time.

Harry Potter was not nervous. He was a brave man and had been through worse. Much worse. And everything was fine. He was not scared. Who was he trying to kid? He had never been so scared in his entire life and that meant a lot. Though he'd thought that last time, too. The difference was that last time he was allowed to be in the room.

I'm sorry Harry, but you make me nervous...

He ruffled through his hair which was messier than it had ever been and looked at his bruised arms. She really was strong. Pacing up and down, praying, actually praying, even though he was not religious.

It wasn't fair. Hermione was allowed to be with her, he was not. He grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and pulled them to keep himself from screaming. Then glanced at the clock. It must have stopped. No it hadn't. It must be slow. He showed no signs of tiredness even though he hadn't slept for 48 hours.

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Now he felt dizzy. Those exercises were meant for women anyway. Tea. Yes, tea would be good. It could calm his nerves.

He walked to the Cafeteria only to be greeted by men who looked far worse then he did. Really. Twitching wrecks with bitten nails and trembling hands, unable to hold their cups properly. It took a little while to get the coin into the machine. It was slightly too big - it wasn't his fault, really.

He grabbed his tea and spilt a little on the floor. Because it was too hot. No matter.

Someone was watching him from behind. He turned around. The nurse behind the desk. What did that mean? Did something go wrong? He decided that it was time to ask how she was doing. When he walked over to her, spilling more tea and having trouble to keep his balance, he saw her sigh. How dare she?

"H-h-h-how is, uh, uh, uh..." What was her name again? "G-G-G..."

"We have no news yet, Mr. Potter, since you last asked. About three minutes ago."

Oh. Harry had been convinced that it was hours since he last asked her.

Shakily, he sat back down. Next to the other guys. One particularly edgy one kept muttering to himself and slightly rocking back and forward. Idiot. Didn't he realise that he made everyone nervous? Then the door opened and someone ran towards him. Harry jumped up, spilling the rest of his undrunk tea over himself. Must be an emergency. Something bad.

But no. This baboon Harry had never met flung himself at Harry.

"Sevenpoundsevenouncenineteenpointfiveinch. Thank you Harry Potter. You made it all possible."

Harry was slightly uncomfortable. He was sure that this man would kiss him any minute. And why would Harry be interested in those details?

"Congratulations," he muttered absently. "What is it?"

The man looked a little puzzled, then remembered. "It's a girl!"

Harry decided to go for a walk. Not too far away, but he had to do something. In front of the house were desperate-looking chaps, puffing away on cigarettes. They weren't talking. He didn't look like them. No, no. Not at all. 

He walked around the building once, then decided that it was time to check what the nurse had to say. It had been quite a while since he last asked. More than five minutes, surely. A lot of things can happen in five minutes.

She greeted him with a smile. "You may go in, Mr. Potter." Harry whirled so fast he lost his balance, fell, scrambled back up and ran towards the birthing room.

Slow motion. Nothing felt right. Severus glanced over to his Potions shelf and rose stiffly from his bed. It was 4pm in the afternoon and it was first time that he'd gotten up today. He could feel his unused muscles protest, his joints crack.

The Potions. The bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion was actually stuck to the wood. The cork had opened on its own under the pressure. Some liquids tended to expand after years of being off. Draught of Living Death used to be clear, but had now taken an ugly shade of misty grey. The Calming Draught had come alive again and was trying to escape the small glass bottle.

The shelf itself was sticky and dusty, but Severus did not clean it. What was the point.

Slytherins were famous for their survival instincts and for the vehemence they fought death with. For their ability to cope, to adjust, to change loyalties whenever it was convenient. But maybe Dumbledore had been right. Perhaps, we Sort too soon.

The Slytherin in the back of his head, that icy cold voice which scolded him whenever he didn't get up, didn't pay his bills, didn't fulfill even the simplest of duties was fading rapidly. Depression had taken over, swallowed him whole. Dullness, inerta, fogginess had grabbed him by the feet and pulled him down. Slowly, but a little bit more each day.

The only people who knew about his whereabouts were the parole officers. Yes, he had been cleared of most of the charges, but not all of them. Thanks to Judge Gregory Burbage, he was not allowed to leave the country and had to report to the Ministry about his doings every six months. The man he reported to, what was his name, was clearly half-Dementor.

Solemnly, Severus filled an old, grubby bowl with the Potions and cast a weak heating charm. They started to bubble and mix. With curiosity, Severus cocked his head and watched the slimy brown and ill-smelling liquid that did not deserve the label 'Potion' any more.

The voice in the back of his head started to snarl and yell abuse as usual, demanding to get a grip of himself, to stop this stupid experiment and get out and make himself useful. He owed it to the world.

With little effort, and because it was fading anyway, he silenced it. No, and Severus was completely unable to live up to his own standards. He cleared his mind for one last time, then brought the deadly brewage to his mouth and gulped it down. All of it.

His hands clung to the shelf before he fell and then there was nothing.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Professor! PROFESSOR!"

Whose voice is that? He couldn't make it out. Definitely a woman though. Lily? No, she wouldn't call him Professor.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Harry. Bring him upstairs. Now. Go. GO!"

Damn it. Potter was here. He was alive. NO! The stench made his eyes water and without being able to help it, his body convulsed. Bitter, dark green bile ran along his cheek, into his hair.

A baby cried upstairs.

Painfully aware of the smell, of the fact that his last shred of dignity, if he ever possessed any, had been taken from him, he quickly threw his arm up and grabbed the girl's head. He pulled her close, until hear ear nearly touched his lips, wanted to scream in it, but all he managed was a hoarse croak. "Fuck off."

He glared at her, then let go.

Tears pooling in her eyes, she shook her head and apologised. Then she cast more spells at him that his insides burn like hell, where he belonged, his stomach and bowel protest audibly and as he was about to lose control of both of them, she cast elimination spells, never stopping with her useless apologies.

"Tergeo. Scourgify." She even tried cheering charms, but those had stopped working on him a long time ago. And frankly, his body could not take any more magic.

"You'll pay for this, Granger."

She hurried over to the fire place and got something. Then came back and thrust a bezoar down his throat and held his nose shut so that he had no choice but swallow if he wanted to breathe. But he didn't want to breathe.

The baby upstairs cried again. There hadn't been any hallucinogenic Potions. Maybe the Draught of Living Death did have the tendency to go that way after years of standing around. Who knows. Who cares.

Granger shouted into the fireplace again. A few seconds later, a cup of some hot, steaming liquid was lifted to his mouth. It smelled like a cocktail of many Potions, Severus could definitely make out Anti Nausea, Pain Relieving and Calming Potions. And something else that he couldn't quite identify.

His stomach wanted to revolt again.

"Take it. It will make you feel better. Please."

He opened his eyes to see the girl, his former student. Granger looked frantic, her frizzy hair flying around wildly and the widened brown eyes were full of worry, full of pity. He looked away, grabbed the cup from her. He wasn't going to be fed. Against his will, driven by that damn survival instinct, he gulped the concoction down in one go.

The nausea, the pain, the fogginess disappeared after only seconds. A strange sensation of reality washed over him, something he hadn't experienced in years. His previously blurry vision cleared and he felt like someone had thrown him out of a black and white movie and into real life.

With less effort than it taken him for a long time, he sat up and looked down onto his robes. He was utterly disgusted with himself.

"Excuse me," he managed to croak before he disappeared into the bathroom. Her eyes followed him, he could feel them in the back of his neck.

He turned the shower on and stood there for ages, letting the scolding hot water finish the job of bringing him back to his senses. When he was finished, new robes appeared right in front of him. Calmly, he dressed himself, then cast a daring look into the mirror. Only to punch it until it shattered. Good riddance.

Someone walked downstairs and into the living room. There was talking. Cleaning and tidying spells. He cringed when he remembered what the house had looked like upon their entrance. And how on earth did they get in here? Spinner's End was more secure now than it had ever been during Voldemort's time. Now they whispered.

He took a deep breath and decided he couldn't stay in the bathroom forever. He could banish them from his house. Where was his wand? Not that it could do much damage anyway. The Ministry had secured it after he walked out of St Mungo's six years ago.

Feeling self-conscious and terribly exposed, he stalked over to the sofa and sat down. They'd even lit a fire. Two pairs of eyes were regarding him suspiciously.

Granger rose, explained that she had to go an organise something and stepped into the fireplace. She cast a doubting look to Potter, who nodded in agreement and mumbled something about being fine. Then Granger disappeared. Good for her not to use his floo powder, or she would have ended up in ten fireplaces at once.

He glared at Potter, who was cradling a newborn baby in his arms. This house was not a good place for infants.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised that his voice did actually work, after not having been used for a while. After those Potions...

The young man looked healthier and better cared for than Severus had ever seen him. The uncoordinated, insecure and lanky boy was replaced by confident and content grown-up.

"I just felt the urge go and look for you. It was instinct. I brought Albus Severus because... well... I wanted to ask you if you want to become his Godfather. And I needed to give Ginny a break, she is shattered. I'm... glad we found you."

I'm not, he thought.

Severus snorted and shook his head. It felt utterly surreal to him that he was sitting in his own Living Room with Harry Potter whose son was named after him, Merlin knew why, having a conversation after he'd just tried to... He shrugged the thoughts off, thankful that Potter had as much tact not to mention it.

Potter walked over to him, sat down right next to him. Close, too close. Without a warning, he handed over the infant and said: "Look."

Severus, who felt awkward and insecure around little ones, gazed down at the infant. The smell from the baby's head was a welcome change to the stench he still felt tingling in his nose. The boy had Lily's high cheekbones and her pointy chin.

Emerald eyes, dazzling and overly large, opened and looked at him. Into him. Lily's eyes had often looked at him with doubt and indifference, Potter's with resentment and hatred. Those eyes held nothing but trust and sincere interest. A single tear dropped on the baby's forehead and when he wanted to wipe it away, annoyed at his own sentimentality and softness, the tiny boy grabbed his finger and didn't let go.

The omniscient eyes closed and a small smile appeared on the tiny face and he fell asleep.

Severus tried to disappear behind his hair and master his breathing, but he did not succeed. Potter's hand was on his shoulder and he didn't want to jerk it away in case he woke the boy.

"You'll be alright... I'm sorry we couldn't find you sooner. There were all sorts of protections... The Ministry... We'll take you to another hospital and you can -" Potter stopped babbling when the baby made a small noise, as if telling him to shut up.