Harry Potter walked alone on a winding path strewn with volcanic pebbles, up a mountain that seemed to reach the sky. The air was hot and humid on this island outside Central America. Harry walked slowly. He was almost at his aim.

A short time later, he was sitting on a rock at the top of the mountain, worn trainees nonchalantly dangling down a steep precipice. Beneath him, the Pacific Ocean stretched out with heavy clouds of humidity that would shortly transform into liquid hanging over the surface. Harry did not mind the rain, as the heat of the air, despite its humidity, was so enveloping, like a whole body wet wrapping that soothed his insatiable yearning for warmth. He had tried the broiling heat of the sun on the African continent, the aggressive heat in Australia and the blazing sun around the Mediterranean but come to the conclusion that the foggy and heavy heat around the equator in South America was what suited him best. 

Only a few seconds later he jumped up restlessly, peered down on the ground and poked a pebble with the tip of his shoe. He frowned to himself and bit his lower lip. A few weeks ago he could have spent hours sitting and rejoicing in the warmth, letting the winds stroke him and the distant murmur from the sea lull him into peacefulness. But sooner or later the beneficial effects always waned. This time rather sooner.

Harry let his fingers explore the small crevices of a porous block of stone in front of him and sighed. He recognised the symptoms all too well. The restlessness, the insensitivity to the heat, then the cold. Tonight he would begin to have chills and tomorrow, the warm climate would have no effect whatsoever on him. He would need to leave in a few days - go back North and desensitise, suffer another period of coldness until, yet again, the yearning for the heat would bring him back to one of these beautiful but lonely places. 

Disillusioned he stared unseeingly out over the dramatic, white and green scenery that the island presented to him.There was a partly resigned look in his eyes with just the little sparkle of challenge in them. He had better get on with what he had come to this deserted island for.

Somewhere down the steep wall of the mountain towards the turquoise water, there was a cave and in that cave, maybe, just maybe, according to Hagrid’s latest letter, a Chimaera - the last exiled specimen of the magical creatures of Greek ancestry - could be found.

Severus Snape pushed the door to the unremarkable entrance of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries with a sigh. With tightly set features he made his way across the reception Hall that was at once a waiting room and an Emergency Ward. He walked fast. Snape hated the smells of disease and the sounds of suffering in the Hall. At this hour of the day, close to midnight, it was relatively calm, however.

Snape made his way to the fifth floor and descended the corridor with heavy steps. He nodded to a couple of medi-witches who recognised him. He had lost track of the number of times he had come to this desolate ward for Permanent Curse Damage. It was an unusual hour for visiting, but it suited him because it allowed him some solitude. 

Not that he met with much people at any hour of the day anymore. Snape’s social life had been greatly reduced when he resigned his post as headmaster after the war and declined to return to his previous post as Potions master at Hogwarts. Nowadays he confined himself to a private laboratory where he produced complex potions for the leading magical apothecaries. Snape’s thin lips formed into a grimace when he realised that his company these days consisted mostly of a moribund young wizard who did not speak and who rarely gave eye contact.

Snape stepped into the chamber where there was only one bed at the centre of the room with an armchair standing beside it. Conveniently, these late hours of the evening,when Snape often visited, were Draco’s best, when he appeared the most lucid. That merely meant that his pale, grey eyes were open and riveted far away.  Draco could move his right hand as well, but seldom did. He sometimes used to nip the blanket spread over his chest between his thumb and index finger and rub it slowly. That was all. The first time Snape had seen that small movement, he had tried to bring other kind of tissues with different textures, even animal furs, and gently eased them between Draco’s fingers, in order to provoke more response from the cursed wizard, but to no effect. Draco just did that small gesture from time to time, automatically. Snape could no longer pretend that it meant anything.

When Snape arrived, he followed the same routine as always when entering that room. He stepped up to Draco, looked down at the expressionless face of the young man, spoke his name, put his own hand over Draco’s for a short while, then sat down in the armchair. He picked up the case parchment that was deposited on a small nightstand and read the latest notations. Snape sighed again. He could not remember how many healers he had shouted at, how many medi-witches he had sent out crying from Draco’s room, in the first few months of Draco’s admittance to the ward. The avoiding answers and the foggy prognostications had been infuriating. The free access to the Draco’s medical records was a result of a deal with one of the most comprehensive and unsentimental healers who had understood that Snape wanted no comforting lies but needed the undisguised truth. Which was that Draco Malfoy was slowly dying.

The memory was still vivid in his mind, of the curse that shot out from Voldemort’s wand and hit Lucius and Draco Malfoy. A killing curse where the impact was shared between the two. Lucius, being older, had not withstood the destroying magic of the curse. Draco, young and resilient, had still appeared lifeless when Snape had arrived at Narcissa’s side and bent over the body. Only in the corner of his eye did Snape notice that Voldemort fell… Voldemort fell! He had lifted his eyes from Draco to Harry for just a second. Harry still had his wand raised. Shock, and disgust over what had just happened stood written in his face, translating into an impression of guilt and despair. How on earth could the boy feel guilty over killing that monument of evilness? Snape remembered thinking, before turning his attention back to Draco. 

Both he and Narcissa had tried to Renervate Draco. It appeared desperate, as if no magic was left in Draco’s body to respond to their efforts. Suddenly Snape had felt Harry’s presence at his side. The conquerer of Voldemort carried two wands, one in each hand. Snape recognised Dumbledore’s wand, the one Voldemort had stolen and tried to use. The Elder wand, Harry had called it. The ornate piece of wood seemed to glow in Harry’s hand. He lifted it. ”Renervate!” he said and Draco had finally responded with that resuscitation flash you needed to obtain in order to keep someone alive. Narcissa had let out a small cry of relief and sank down on her knees next to her son.

Snape sat unmoving by Draco’s side in the hospital room with his eyes riveted far away as he recalled the events of nearly a year ago. He sighed again and rose heavily. He was not at his best, himself. Such constant lassitude. During the stressful months as headmaster, under Voldemort’s orders, the pressure had been severe, but he had at least been alert and fit. After the battle, on the other hand, he felt like he had aged at least twenty years. It was not so much his body as his mind. Snape had concluded that he paid the price for the prolonged self-inflicted mental hardships in the form of Occlumency during his service as a spy. But he knew it was not only that. Harry Potter… Snape closed his eyes for a short while. No, he did not want to think about Harry Potter. He had better give the case parchment back to the medi-witches and then come back and do some quiet reading at Draco’s side before he left for the night. 

The medi-witches had nothing to add about Draco’s condition. Back outside Draco’s room, Snape arrested his hand that was about to grip the handle of the door. Waves and crackles of magic emanated from the room. Snape inhaled sharply. What if Draco had suddenly…? Snape threw the door wide open without further thought and was met by the sight of a well-known, slim silhouette standing by the side of Draco’s bed. Strangely, Draco had his eyes riveted straight at the visitor as if he really could see him, although his mouth was as slack and his face as expression-less as always. 

The face of the dark haired wizard was all the more expressive and it’s dominating emotion was desolation. His lips were slightly parted and he might just have said: ”I’m sorry”. A tanned hand rested on Draco’s shoulder. Snape exhaled in one short, shocked, forced, breath. Conflicting emotions soared through him. The dark head snapped up.

”Potter!” said Snape. 

The green eyes stared at him. Harry Potter no longer wore glasses and his gaze was more striking than ever. His black, unruly hair was longer than he had kept it before. He was as thin as he had always been, wearing discoloured, worn Muggle clothes. Snape could perceive a paleness under the tan, which made a sickly impression and on Harry’s left cheek there was a crusted wound that did not look fresh, but still appeared inflamed. At Snape’s exclamation a flicker of pain reached the green eyes. Before Snape had time to open his mouth to speak again, Harry Potter disappeared from sight. 

”Stay! Potter!” commanded Snape hoarsely.

He took a few quick steps forward as if to try to catch the man hidden under the invisibility cloak, but before he reached the spot where Harry had been standing, Snape heard the crack of Apparition and he could feel the withdrawal of magical energy from the room. Snape swore to himself and rushed to the window. 

Sure enough, in the lane beneath the body of the Hospital wing, a figure appeared and started to move away with hurried steps. Harry Potter did not glance back up at the window where Snape’s silhouette was clearly depicted against the light in the room behind him. 

Harry walked so fast, without actually running, that the soles of his trainees hardly seemed to touch the black asphalt of the road that glistered in the light from the street lamps. His heart raced. Why had he decided to visit Draco tonight? And what was Snape doing at the ward at this hour? He knew Snape cared deeply for Malfoy, but it was past midnight all the same. Snape had a work to go to in the morning, did he not? Harry had deduced from studying the Daily Prophet from time to time, that Snape had left Hogwarts for laboratory research and advanced Potion making. He had not, during any of his visits back in Britain, tried to approach Snape. With good cause, he thought bitterly to himself. The tone of voice when Snape had exclaimed ”Potter” was the same stern intonation he had used during all the years at school when he hated Harry. 

The bitter-sweet memory of those few months when Snape and he worked together to find and destroy the horcruxes, almost overwhelmed Harry. He hunched and hugged himself. He wore a Muggle jacket of duvet but the cold wind of March found its way inside by the collar. Tears prickled behind Harry’s eyes and he felt the prodromes of the chills surge through his body. He forced himself to move quicker. He needed to get back to his tent before the Ague broke out. 

He lived in the same tent that Hermione, Ron and he had used during the hiding from Voldemort. He brought it when he went South and he dressed it under one of the bridges in London when he returned North. He always used disillusionment charms and spells that repelled Muggles. He had managed to go undetected by the wizard world and the media for almost a year now. 

Harry was used to walking. When he was back in London to desensitise from the sun, he always walked. It was the only thing that helped with the cold - to be in constant movement. Up and down the streets of London, from one end of the huge town to the other. He knew every different quarter by heart by now. When he did not walk, he used to sit in a Muggle library and read. He seldom adventured himself into the wizard parts of London. He always avoided the area around the Ministry of Magic and tonight was the first time he had gone to St Mungo’s. A few times he had entered Diagon Allay to retrieve money from Gringott’s and to purchase books at Flourish and Blotts, always under cover of his invisibility cloak.

Harry was too upset to Apparate right now. If he were to try, he might splinch himself. He had not spoken to another wizard in almost a year, but Snape was, strangely enough, the person that used to linger longest in his mind when he thought about his former friends. Although he had known since that day at the battle that the man would not want to see him again, not after he caused that attack on the Malfoys, it had been a shock to meet the wizard in flesh. Harry deeply regretted the loss of his mother’s friend who, for a short time, had been such a support to him during the hard days of the war. 

He had tried. He had really tried, Harry told himself. During the days after the battle he had lent the power of his new wand to healing and to reparations and he had tried to participate in ongoing life. But the world had begun to seem more and more unreal as the hours after Voldemort’s demise passed. He watched Ron and Hermione who were torn between the happiness over being free and having each other, and the sorrow over Ron’s brother’s death. 

Harry had tried to avoid watching Ginny and Neville as it ate his heart to do so. He tried to be generous and comprehensive. He liked Neville and he loved Ginny. He wanted them to be happy. He, Harry, should not even be alive, so how could he object to their union? The Weasley family was absorbed by grief over Fred Weasley’s death and Harry could only stand back with lowered head in respect of their loss. 

What if he had killed Voldemort sooner? Because he did kill him in the end and finally, it had not been so difficult, had it? So why had he not done it before and saved people’s lives? No one seemed to object to the fact that Harry had become a murderer, that he had used an unforgivable. It seemed all natural to them - they did not even consider that Harry might have qualms of conscience because of his deed. He did though. The green light of the Avada Kedavra haunted him in his dreams - the murder of his parents and the killing of Voldemort intermingling in a sickening way.

Harry had become increasingly cold those days after the battle. He had waited for Snape to return from Draco’s side at St Mungo’s. Although he dreaded Snape’s reproaches for his actions during the battle, he still had hope that his mother’s friend might see his needs and help him, as he had done during the previous months. 

They all lived at the castle after the battle and Harry waited for three days for Snape to come back. When Snape finally did, it was only to retrieve some things from his quarters and return to St Mungo’s. Snape had been staggering with exhaustion when Harry crossed him in the Entrance Hall. The man had clearly not slept many hours since the battle. 

Narcissa had been taken to custody, like all the other Death Eaters, except Snape, who quickly had been able to prove his true allegiance. Narcissa Malfoy was broken by the death of her husband and in hysterics from the uncertain fate of her son. Snape tried to help her to his best ability and plead with the authorities that she might stay with her son at St Mungo’s until he was stabilised. They refused however - the woman had been loyal to Voldemort - and Snape had found himself forced to flip back and fro between St Mungo’s and the provisory prison at the Ministry with not very encouraging news about Draco’s health. He told Harry and Minerva McGonagall about his efforts, as he stopped in the Hall on his way to his quarters.

”It would probably have been a more merciful fate for Draco not to be Renervated at all,” he had ended bitterly. ”The effects of the curse seem to be permanent. There is little hope, but we cannot quit on him,” Snape had said. 

Those words had made Harry’s chest constrict and he had had difficulties to breathe. It was his fault that Draco Malfoy had become a target of Voldemort’s, his fault that the young Death Eater had been hit by Voldemort’s curse and his fault, finally, that Draco had not been allowed to die a painless death, but been Renervated back to a half-life. No one had noticed Harry’s angst and Snape had been gone again within an hour. Harry had left, alone, for Mexico within twelve hours. Only Hagrid knew of his destination.

The increasing dampness of the cold air told Harry that he approached the Themes. Shivers were running through him by now and tears were silently falling down his cheeks. He put his hands deep down in the pockets of his worn jeans and crossed the bridge. He longed to be at the other side, descend the stairs and climb into his tent and let himself go into the half-consciousness of the Ague that would no doubt ravage his body until the next morning. 

The irony of fate wanted that Draco Malfoy should die on the Good Friday of Easter one year after his murderer had been killed. Easter was early this year and another hazard made so that the last Malfoy in the wizard world was buried on the anniversary, by exact date, of the battle at Hogwarts and victory over Lord Voldemort.

Maybe, reflected Snape, as he watched the huge crowd pouring out from the ceremony, standing a few steps behind Narcissa, ready to intervene if she needed assistance - maybe this was the reason the funeral was so well-attended. The wizard world had licked their wounds after Voldemort’s demise during an entire year. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Prime Minister, had worked to reorganise the Ministry. Voldemort’s followers had been caught, condemned and sent to Azkaban. People had mourned their dead during most part of the year. Draco Malfoy was Voldemort’s last victim and combined with the anniversary of the fatal day, it was as if the entire wizard community took the opportunity to make a farewell to the dark era, maybe to turn a leaf and start anew.

Among all those people, there were probably only two persons who were there for Draco’s own sake - Snape himself and Narcissa Malfoy. Draco’s personal friends as well as the relations of the Malfoy family were all in Azkaban for having participated in the battle on Voldemort’s side. Only Narcissa had been granted the privilege to leave prison and attend the funeral. 

There was no reception organised, no social event at all, except the ceremony and then the actual burial. Although Snape had taken upon himself to see to all the practical arrangements concerning the funeral, his commitment did not reach beyond that. He was not a part of the Malfoy family, only a godfather of the diseased and as such had no legal rights, neither were there any strict social obligations. He had done as much as his conscience told him to do, more than expected, in most people’s eyes. 

Some of those who lined up to present their condolences to Narcissa, also turned to Snape to acknowledge his contribution to the arrangement and his efforts, for those who knew, in caring for the dying young man. Snape unremittingly declined such attempts and gestured that he wanted no one to approach him. 

The only one who dared defy his dismissing countenance was Minerva McGonagall who walked right up to him and took his hand in hers and then leaned up to let her cheek touch his. For an overwhelming moment, Snape shut his eyes. He felt his legs start to buckle and he tried to gulp down the emotions rising in him, panicking over the difficulties he was having in dressing his Occlumency shields. Those that once had come up so automatically. McGonagall gripped his hand firmer and stroked the upper part of his arm quickly a few times with the other hand. He finally regained control over himself, but it felt like his face was drained of blood. 

”My sincere condolences, Severus. Please come and see me soon, or let me know when I can visit,” Minerva McGonagall said gently and released him. 

Snape could barely bring himself to nod. 

Only a small portion of the persons attending the ceremony, stayed for the burial. Among those who did, Snape recognised the Weasley family, almost complete with Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom at Ron and Ginny Weasley’s sides respectively. 

After the short procedure of lowering the coffin into the ground, people stayed on for a while in small groups on a gravelled round point at the outskirt of the burial area. Everyone went silent and parted way as Narcissa Malfoy walked past them, with aurors from Azkaban at either side. 

The once so elegant woman was a shadow of her former self. Her long blond hair had turned grey and her eyes were dull and full of pain at the same time. Snape wondered how long she would want to live on in that godforsaken place. She had not received a long sentence, but he doubted she would see the end of it. He said goodbye, promised dutifully to visit and saw her off. For just a few seconds her gaze changed and became wild and pleading as if she was going to ask him to liberate her and flee, but the surge subsided quickly and was replaced by the dead look she parted with. 

Snape did not really know where he was going to go or what to do, now that the funeral was over and he moved slowly towards the gate when he heard the indiscreet, rolling voice of Hagrid’s who had joined the Weasleys. 

”’Arry writes to me every fortnight when he’s away on his travels. Then there’re periods when I ’ear nothing from him for a month or two, but then he’ll write to me again and ask about magical creatures and their whereabouts,” said Hagrid. ”Very interested he is, visitin’ a lot of different places in the Southern part of the world.”

”So Harry has parted on a never ending vacation and doesn’t even send us a post-card,” Ron said bitterly. 

”I’m not sure it’s to be considered a vacation, Ron,” objected Hermione. ”And even if it was, he earned it, right? He suffered so much those last few months of the war. He was ill, remember, at the end? It was not only Voldemort’s visions. He had those chills and he often spoke about wanting to go to warm places.”

”That’s right,” said Hagrid. ”The night he parted, he was not well at all. I tried to retain him, because he did not look fit for travelling, but he refused to ’ear reason. Spoke a lot of nonsense, he did, ’bout being a murderer, ’bout having let people down… I tried to set ’im right, of course, but I’m not sure he listened to me.”

”No one thought of asking him how he was, after the battle,” Ginny murmured self-consciously. ”We thought only about ourselves. We were just relieved it was all over.” Neville sighed and put a comforting arm around her. 

Snape listened intently to the conversation and approached a few steps to make himself known and not seem to eavesdrop. The group of people parted slightly to include him in their circle, nodding at him and Arthur Weasley shook his hand. 

”There was something not right going on with Harry after the battle,” said Molly Weasley, ”but I did not realise until later on, as I was so wrapped up in… with Fred you know… There was that strange letter, we received - you remember me showing you, Ron - not long after Fred’s burial. We had a very small, private one, not like this…” she explained for Snape’s benefit. ”Anyway, Harry wrote to say that he would have liked to attend the funeral but that he had not been well. Then there was that strange turn at the end of the letter where he seemed to imply that maybe we would not have wanted him to participate anyhow and that we somehow held him responsible for Fred’s death.”

”I know that he felt bad ’bout Fred and he was goin’ on ’bout Draco too, that night when he left,” said Hagrid. ”Talkin’ a lot ’bout how you would never be able to forgive’im, Sir.” Hagrid addressed Snape who jerked his head up to meet the half-giant’s eyes. 

Snape had begun to breathe quick, shallow breaths and it was not only because of the realisation of what Hagrid said, but because, since a few minutes, he was aware of a magical presence, slight at first, but evident now, at least to him. No one else seemed to notice, though. 

”It’s been a year!” exclaimed Ron. ”Why doesn’t he come back? He should be over it by now, no? He didn’t even come to the Ministry’s ceremony to collect his Order of Merlin!”

”It all depends, doesn’t it, upon how he has been,” said Hermione. ”Maybe it has not been an altogether voluntary exile. And I’m really not sure, Hagrid, that sending him looking for ferocious magical creatures was a good idea.”

”It was the only thing I could think of,” murmured Hagrid. ”He clearly needed somethin’ to take his mind off from everythin’ that had happened and… he’s always been good with the creatures, always showin’ them respect and knowin' how to take’em…”

”What has he reported back to you from his travels?” asked Snape a bit hoarsely, because he was concentrating very hard not to betray his awareness of the familiar presence that he recognised from that night in Draco’s room at St Mungo’s. He was adamant not to scare the invisible wizard away. 

”Well, first there was this Occamy,” muttered Hagrid. ”I reckoned that as it is ’alf snake, it wouldn’t attack ’Arry…”

”Goodness!” exclaimed Hermione. Snape closed his eyes and when he opened them again the dark gaze bore through Hagrid.

”What else?” asked Snape.

”Then there was the Erumpet, in Kenya, and I believe he spotted a Nundu durin’ the same trip,” Hagrid answered reluctantly. ”I told’im specifically not to approach it,” Hagrid defended himself as reproachful gazes were riveted at him. ”He said t’was beautiful,” Hagrid finished lamely. 

Snape shook his head in disbelief. A Nundu! He could not even conceive of the stupidity to go looking for an animal like that. A gigantic leopard whose breath could kill!

”Has Harry not been in contact with you either, Professor Snape?” asked Hermione timidly. ”Harry spoke of you with great… appreciation… towards the end of the war. I had the impression that he and you got to know each other rather well.” 

Snape tried to breathe calmly and chose his words with utmost care.

”We… certainly overcame… our previous animosity towards each other,” he said slowly. ”And I must admit that I felt… betrayed… at first… when he left without a word - like all of you seem to have done in a way,” added Snape looking at Ron whose lips twitched. ”But I agree with Miss Granger - there might be an explanation to Mr Potter’s behaviour. He has not been in contact with me, but if he were to… to turn up at my doorstep, I would most certainly welcome him inside and try to… understand what has happened to him,” said Snape, looking over the top of Molly Weasley’s hat towards the spot behind her that so clearly radiated the characteristic magical power of Harry Potter. 

Snape waited until the set of dawn before he heard a faint knock on his door. He had almost given up hope and settled down in an armchair in front of the fire in his small but comfortable cottage in the countryside far outside London. He jumped up but stopped to compose his features before he slowly opened the door. 

To his relief, Harry stood outside on the doorstep in flesh and fully visible, even if he lowered his gaze almost immediately and said nothing. Snape had dreaded the prospect of coaxing the young wizard to drop his invisibility coat. Like this, Harry seemed prepared to actually stay and talk to him. Snape stepped aside in silence and gestured for Harry to come inside. The young man was jumpy like a shy animal but took courage and got past him.

In the living room, Harry walked over to the fireplace at once, sank down on his knees and stretched his hands towards the flames.

”I’m sorry to intrude upon you on a day like this,” Harry said in an awkward tone, a little hoarsely as if he was unaccustomed to talk. ”I plan to leave again tonight and I wanted to… You seemed to imply… at the burial area…” Snape cleared his throat.

”Yes, it was an invitation. I’m glad that you’re here,” he said but frowned. ”That wound on your cheek,” he continued. ”It was there two weeks ago when I saw you at St Mungo’s. Why hasn’t it closed? Let me examine it.” With a few steps he was at Harrys side and, disregarding the recoiling reflex on Harry’s part, he scrutinised the wound. 

”What animal did this to you?” he asked. 

”It was… er… a Chimaera that I found in a cave on a deserted island in the Pacific Ocean,” said Harry who had stilled and let Snape touch the surrounding skin. ”I have applied some healing salve, that I got hold of in Lima. I actually mixed the ingredients myself at the apothecary. I was suspicious from the start of the powdered moonstone they gave me, as I realised it was weak, but the salve did have some effect and I thought I would buy some potent moonstone here in London, because I still have the base of the salve and… well then I forgot. It’s so cold here that I don’t feel anything and I… forgot about it. It’s not as if I look myself in a mirror very often,” Harry babbled on.

”I have some in stock. Let me fix this for you,” said Snape. ”Sit down here and wait.” 

A quarter of an hour later, Harry had a fresh, potent salve applied to his cheek that tingled in a promising way as it told Harry that the wound was closing up. They were sitting comfortably in armchairs in front of the fire. Harry had relaxed as Snape nursed his wound. Now he was staring deep into the fire. He let out a small chuckle.

”No more pixie chairs,” he said and glanced at Snape. Suddenly Harry’s gaze darkened and he gripped the armrests tightly as if prepared to jump up. ”I’m sorry,” he breathed. ”I should not make jokes on a day like this. Not with you burying Draco and everything. I should not have come at all. I apologise, Professor. I meant no disrespect. Really, I am…”

”Shush, Harry, please. Don’t worry. I appreciate your allusion to our meetings in the Forbidden Forest. And I am still Severus to you, please,” replied Snape.

”Why are you being so nice?” asked Harry in a tight voice. ”When you saw me at St Mungo’s you were angry at me. And I understand, truly I do…” 

Snape frowned his incomprehension.

”You called me Potter,” clarified Harry. ”You always said my name like that when you hated me at school.” 

”I never hated you,” Snape corrected him rapidly. ”And of course I was angry at you - you went away without speaking to me and stayed unreachable for a year! Do you have any idea how many letters I have written? How many owls I have sent? All of them returned with my mail undelivered. You must have put an untraceable spell on yourself!” Snape raised his voice. 

”I needed to get away from the journalists,” muttered Harry. 

”You can do exceptions to those kind of spells,” Snape said stiffly. Harry glanced repentantly at him. 

”I did not think anyone wanted to have anything to do with me,” said Harry. Snape forced himself to stay calm.

”And why on earth did you think that?” he said. Harry winced. 

”I had become a murderer,” he said quietly. Snape shook his head.

”Oh, Harry,” he said. ”I should have known. I too have killed after all. No matter what you tell yourself, the guilt is still there, right? Don’t you think that I know the yoke of murder? Yours was so screamingly justified however that no one but yourself thought of putting any blame on you. Why did you not come to me and talk about it?”

”Draco…” croaked Harry. Snape could not stay seated anymore. He rose and started to pace.

”Let me set this straight with you, Harry. You are not responsible for Draco’s death, nor Fred Weasley’s. That fool Lucius brought Draco forward to Voldemort,” Snape said agitatedly.

”But I told Voldemort about Draco’s involvement in the disarming of Dumbledore…” interrupted Harry.

”Voldemort already knew that. He drew his own distorted conclusions. You said what you had to say. You were brave enough to arrest the battle and draw Voldemort’s attention to yourself. If you did not fire the killing curse right away, it was understandable. Of course it was meaningless to try to reason with that lunatic, but it was common sense from your side to at least make an attempt to throw him off balance. The fact that you dreaded to murder or be murdered by that evil creature, and hesitated before you acted, only shows that you are human, Harry,” said Snape, eager and persuasive. Harry put his face in his hands.

”But you said… you said that it had been better not to Renervate him,” he said in a stifled, anguished voice. ”Not only did I choose to protect you over Draco - and I know you had rather died than to have him injured like that - but then again it was me who Renervated him and made him suffer all those months for nothing. That fate was worse than death… Even if I never got along with Draco, I did not wish that for him. And you had to witness every day of his torment. I know that you cared for him as if for… That you visited him every day at St Mungo’s.” Snape stared at Harry. 

”Did you think that I… that I blamed you for his infirmity? Of course not! Both Narcissa and I tried to Renervate him. At that precise moment we did not know what to expect. We wanted him to live. It wasn’t your fault!” exclaimed Snape. ”You exaggerate your responsibility, Harry. Your feelings of guilt are disproportional. I suppose your condition did this to you…”

”But… but… You tried to save him. Then you mourned him. You still do. You could not possibly want me around when you have him to think about.” Harry spoke rapidly with increasing agitation.

”Harry, don’t…” Snape tried to intervene but Harry went on.

”I’m intruding on your grief. I really should not be here,” said Harry and made an attempt to rise from the armchair. 

Suddenly a surge of desperation seemed to mount in Snape who nailed Harry with his dark gaze, bent over the fretting young wizard,  gripped him by the collar and pushed him against the back of the chair, while he spoke with bared teeth. 

”You. Stay. Here. Until I say you can go!” he hissed.

Harry gasped in shock. Snape released him and stood up again.

”By Merlin, you’re going to give me a heart attack one day!” Snape exclaimed and breathed deeply. ”I have merely done my duty by Draco,” he continued stiffly. ”I take my commitments seriously. I was his godfather.”

Harry still looked dubious but lowered his head.

”You behave as if Draco was the son I never had,” said Snape. 

Harry jerked his head up. 

”He was not,” Snape continued, still breathing heavily from his outbreak earlier.

”He wasn’t?” whispered Harry. Snape shook his head and cleared his throat.

”I won’t deny that there was a time in my life where I would have liked having a son - very much so,” Snape said quietly.

Harry blushed as he realised which period in his life Snape was referring to and who he had wished to form a family with.

”But Draco was never a substitute for what I never had,” said Snape. ”How could he be? I was his godfather. It was a supposed honour forced upon me by the Malfoy family. It was more about social tactics than affection for me as a person or as a friend. The irony was that I was appointed godfather of Draco Malfoy because Voldemort demanded it of the Malfoys. Then, when he disappeared…” Snape sighed. ”To my surprise - because I did not deserve it - I ended up on the winning side twenty years ago, along with Dumbledore. When socialising with the Malfoys, however, I pretended that I still payed allegiance to the Dark Lord. It was to their advantage at the time to be associated with me. I was also a teacher at Hogwarts. Having me as a godfather to their only son was a good investment for said son’s future success at school, wouldn’t you say?” Snape spoke dryly.

”You saw him grow up,” mumbled Harry. 

”Yes, I did, and I became quite fond of him, despite the fact that he was a spoilt child who never endured any hardships in life. Very unlike my own childhood. But he had two overprotective parents who chose to bring him up in a manner that I would never have done if I had…Anyway, the thing was that I had my hands tied. I could never do anything but admire everything that Draco did or said and applaud every little whimsical prank of his. That was what his parents expected me to do. Even when I wanted to speak my mind, I had to hold myself back because of the role that I played.”

”Draco was kind of…” Harry hesitated to go on.

”He was spoilt and arrogant, you’re absolutely right, Harry. I have nothing to say against it. But he was not evil and not unintelligent. If anything, his character tended towards cowardice more than towards cruelty. With a little guidance he could have become… He needn’t have…. I wanted to prevent him from…” Snape’s voice cracked with emotion. 

”You wanted to save him from becoming a Death Eater, like you had once been,” Harry said slowly. Snape shut his eyes and swallowed.

”Becoming a Death Eater was the worst mistake of my life,” said Snape. ”If I had not obeyed my base instincts of anger and revenge when Lily and I parted the first time, maybe everything would have been different… maybe… But wallowing over what might have been is meaningless.”

Harry inclined his head to the side. His gaze at Snape did not waver. There was no accusation in his eyes. If anything, his gaze was tinged with pity.

”I told myself that if I could save at least one person, at least Draco, from the fate of acting out as a Death Eater, it would, perhaps, atone for my own crimes in the past. It was like having a second chance of saving someone… or saving myself - and failing… again… when Draco was cursed,” said Snape.

”I understand,” said Harry, his voice full of concern.

”I won’t deny that it has been a hard year. I was not entirely well myself after the battle and I fought for Draco to have the best possible care. But I did no more than what might have been expected of any godfather with a proper sense of duty. Lucius was gone and Narcissa sent to Azkaban. Draco was completely helpless and had no one but me. Of course I had to take care of him! But I assure you that there is nothing sentimental about my relationship with Draco, nothing overwhelming about it. I admit defeat, that’s all and I am definitely not so overcome with grief that I cannot meet with you, Harry,” said Snape with emphasis. Harry blinked a few times

”I really thought… Honestly, I was convinced that you did not want to hear from me…” he said. Snape shook his head.

”I was vexed. I was angry with you for leaving,” explained Snape. ”Again my petty pride played me up. Otherwise I would have made greater efforts to find you sooner. I thought… I thought that you did not need me anymore, after you killed Voldemort - that you had forgotten about me, engulfed in your travels. Why should you care, after all, about an old friend of your mother’s, a rival of your father’s.”

Harry made a gesture as if to protest, but Snape went on.

”It’s pathetic, maybe, but I cannot help it. You remind me so much of Lily and it made a profound impression on me, getting to know you as I did during those meetings in the forest, trying to save you, hoping that Dumbledore was wrong, that you wouldn’t have to…” Snape’s voice cracked once again.

”You’ve been trying to redeem yourself because of what happened to my mother.” Harry voiced his realisation. ”I’m not the only one engulfed by disproportional guilt here.” 

”My guilt was very real, believe me - very palpable,” Snape said in a tight voice. ”I take it you know of the Prophesy and who reported it to Voldemort?”

”I know,” said Harry simply. ”I know.” He had risen from his armchair and put his hand on Snape’s forearm. Under the thick layers of cloth of Snape’s robe, at the exact spot that Harry touched, was the Dark Mark imprinted in Snape’s skin. Harry did not say anything further but Snape could feel comforting waves of magic transmitting through that light touch. Lily had been a master of Ancient Magic and Snape recognised the skills in her son’s touch of the forgiving and healing magic. Snape closed his eyes and let it surge through him. After a long silence he opened his eyes. 

”Thank you, Harry,” said Snape in a composed voice, recoiling just a little. Harry who had been concentrating on his magic relaxed and removed his hand. ”Have you been studying Ancient Magic?”

”Er, yes… I’ve been reading a lot. The magic came quite naturally to me, once I learnt the basics. Dumbledore said that my mother practiced it,” responded Harry.

”Yes, she did. Ancient Magic is a beautiful branch of magic. Not accessible to many wizards and witches. It is wonderful that you have picked it up. What else have you been reading? What are your plans for the future?” asked Snape. Harry hesitated. 

”I have only vague plans.” He smiled apologetically. ”I have felt rather confused this year. Going from trying to forget the past during my travels in pursuit of magical creatures, to plunging in despair and illness during long periods.” Harry sighed. ”But I have tried to keep up, reading a bit of this and a bit of that. I have considered asking Professor McGonagall permission to pass the NEWT exams in June, but I don’t know if I have covered the subjects sufficiently. My reading has not been organised and then there is…”

”That’s wonderful, Harry!” exclaimed Snape. ”I’m glad to hear that there are some of Lily’s reasonable traits in you that counteracts that reckless, adventurous Potter side of yours.” 

Harry stiffened. 

”I’m just joking,” Snape hastened to retort, ”I told you I’ve gotten over James. I did not mean for it to come out like that.”

”I did not even know him,” Harry muttered with a lowered head. ”I only had this idealised image of him. I’m aware that I have not been very realistic about it. The truth is that James is a blank to me. I feel closer to my mother, discovering common traits and skills. I don’t feel that with James. There was qudditch when I was a child, of course - but then all children love quidditch…” 

”I apologise, Harry. You don’t need to explain yourself. You don’t even remind me very much of James any longer. You are indeed your own person. I seem to fall back into ”Potter-ing” you whenever you upset me or scare me senseless. I’m sorry. I don’t approve of the chase after magical creatures that Hagrid set you up to - but I guess I had better blame him than your father, this once.” Snape spoke tentatively, visibly worried about having offended Harry. 

”Hagrid just wanted to help me,” protested Harry.

”Hmm… I suppose, yes. What I meant to say is that I’m glad that you have studied. I think it is a wise choice to pass your NEWTs. I will tutor you and revise with you for the exams if you like,” offered Snape. Harry’s eyes warmed and his face broke into a wide smile. 

”You would do that for me?” he said, but then, almost immediately, Harry’s countenance darkened and took on such an unhappy look that Snape felt his own chest constrict. ”I’m sorry,” whispered Harry, ”I cannot stay. I need to go away to the South again. Already tonight… Those chills that I told you about towards the end of the war, they’ve worsened and developed into… I’ve researched it and I believe it is the Magical Ague that I’m attained with.”

Snape frowned but stayed composed.

”There is no cure and it is a rather bad form that afflicts me. I’m incapacitated for hours, sometimes for days. The only thing that helps temporarily is the sun and the warmth,” explained Harry sadly. Snape shook his head.

”And you’ve been alone with this, with no one to care for you?” he said with as much sadness in his voice. 

”There is nothing to be done,” said Harry quietly. ”I know that it is a self-limiting condition and that sometimes it wears off - after a decade or two… but that is a long time…” Harry’s voice wavered. 

The Magical Ague was a rare disease that attained wizards, more seldom witches, in their prime of life - that was to say mostly considerably older than Harry. It was the powerful and active wizards that were hit by this disease, which was known to be ferocious in its worst forms. One hypothesis was that it attained those who had been exposed to danger of life and over-traced their magical capacities for a long time. But although the disease was magical in origin, its manifestations were purely physical and the magical powers of the attained wizard were usually intact.

”I have a Potion that might lessen your symptoms, Harry. Please try it before you leave,” said Snape.

”There is no Potion,” protested Harry. ”I have looked it up everywhere. There is no cure, no relief to have. I only have to endure…”

”Believe me, I have a Potion,” said Snape. ”I started to work on it several years ago, because Alastair Moody had the Ague, in a mild form, but enough to incapacitate him from time to time and he asked me to help him. He is gone now, but when you told me of your chills, it reminded me of his symptoms and I have continued the research this year, while you’ve been gone and I think I’ve come up with something.” 

”You did that - for me?” whispered Harry. The green eyes were suddenly brimmed with tears. Harry hid his face in his hands and started to breathe long shaky breaths. 

”I want you to stay, Harry. Will you please stay and let me help you?” asked Snape.

Harry nodded his acceptance with his face still buried in his hands.