“Although no one can go back and make a brand new start,
anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.”

Carl Bard

PROLOGUE

* * *

2nd of May, Saturday. Hogwarts 

Severus mechanically walked through the darkened empty hallways of Hogwarts at a quick pace, feeling nothing except an urgent need to finish this whole damn mess as quickly as possible.

Harry bloody Potter was here.

The moment he felt the trio breach the wards, relief washed over him, albeit not for very long — his Occlumency got one whiff of a new emotion and immediately pounced at it like a dog onto a bone, tearing at it until nothing was left.

So now Severus mechanically walked through the darkened empty hallways of Hogwarts at a quick pace in search of the brat or, if the worst did come to the worst — one of his shadow-sidekicks, but none were to be found. The castle was of no help either — at that moment, everything was so repressed by Occlumency that Severus barely could feel its presence these days.

He was so tired, though… This he did feel acutely. 

“Bloody fucking teenagers,” he mumbled under his nose, turning yet another corner.

“Watch it!” McGonagall, who was all but running in the opposite direction, snapped, barely managing to stop on time before the two of them collided.

It took Severus a second to recognise an opportunity, about two more to realise the definite futility of the endeavour, and another three to remember how much he did not give a damn about such trivial things anymore. In other words — he had a mission to accomplish, and as of now, McGonagall rather conveniently put herself into the category “means”.

"Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva?" Severus asked.

The woman bristled in indignation and opened her mouth for without a doubt yet another angry tirade (or possibly a killing curse), but was interrupted.

“I know you’re pissed, woman, but I don’t have time for your rants. I have to relay a rather important and time-sensitive message from Albus to Potter, so have you seen him?”

For a few seconds McGonagall was blissfully stunned into silence.

"Excuse me, correct me, if I am wrong: you have a message from Albus Dumbledore? The man you killed? How dare you open your filthy mouth and say his name, you traitor?! Defend yourself or I will curse you where you stand!” the professor hissed menacingly, pointing her wand straight at his throat. But Severus did not care about that either. He pushed forward, feeling the wand’s tip dig into his jugular.

"Don’t be an idiot, Minerva!” he snapped angrily. “Do you want that fucking monster to die or do you not?! I don’t care about games or secrecy or other such nonsense anymore. Potter needs to know the truth about a certain highly important matter and you will tell me where I can find him, or so help me God… There are ways of extracting information. ”

“YOU BASTARD!” McGonagall yelled and prepared to strike.

“Go on,” Severus snapped, “kill me. Kill me right now. I’ll even give you my own wand to do it.” He suddenly took his wand out and dropped it onto the floor behind the witch. “God knows how long I’ve dreamed of this moment… Remember, however, your chances to win this war will rot and burn with me.”

McGonagall hesitated, panting heavily.

“I can give him your message. What is it that’s so urgent?”

For a few seconds the hallway was drowned in tense silence. Severus’ mind raced. It recognised another opportunity and went into overdrive trying to find a way to relay the information through Minerva, but still keeping it a secret, and then it dawned.

“Mimsy!” Severus called quietly. The elf quickly and silently appeared before him.

“Master Severus Headmaster!” she cried out in distress, taking stock of the situation. She magically pushed McGonagall away and stuck her to the wall, instantly incapacitating her. A second wand rolled onto the floor. “I is protecting Master Severus at all costs! No one will harm Master Severus!”

Severus glanced at the two wands, lying peacefully not far from him, but then shifted his gaze to the distraught house-elf. “Let her go, Mimsy. Remember my order.”

The elf sighed but snapped her fingers, undoing the charm. McGonagall stumbled, but managed to keep upright, staring alternately at the elf and at her employer in shock. She even forgot to pick up her wand. 

“Bring me an empty vial,” Severus continued his instructions to the elf, ignoring his deputy. The creature nodded and vanished. A moment later his request appeared on the floor.

Severus summoned both the vial and his wand, and proceeded to extract several memories, placing them inside and sealing the cork. Then he handed both items to his once colleague and maybe even friend.

“I cannot possibly stress the importance of this information enough. Make sure it gets to Potter. ”

McGonagall nodded, looking down at the softly glowing vial and the wand that Severus was holding out to her by its tip. She reached for the memories, but froze just shy of actually taking them.

“Mimsy accepts you as her true master…” she mumbled contemplatively. Seconds ticked by as Minerva thought, staring at the outstretched wand and — most likely —  trying to add this situation to her other memories of his behaviour throughout their whole acquaintance. As she reached some sort of conclusion, her astonished gaze snapped to Severus' face. Apparently, whether deliberately or not, he did just blow up his carefully maintained cover, and had he been more of himself, he would have cared about that a great deal… As things stood — not taking into consideration the acute sense of purpose that overtook him, Severus felt nothing but annoyance at the Gryffindors' general penchant for sluggishness of mind. At this particular instance it was especially detrimental. Severus lived to finish this war, anything beyond that was of no consequence whatsoever. 

Minerva opened her mouth, without a doubt intending to say something incriminating and disgustingly sentimental, but didn't get the chance to do so. A few steps aside from her the air suddenly shimmered, and the next moment Potter revealed himself and Lovegood.

Tense silence returned, while both Severus and Minerva stared at the pair of teens.

"Snape," the brat said surprisingly politely and nodded. 

"Potter," Severus replied. For a moment he was lost for words, but Potter once again saved them all the trouble of deciding what to say.

"I think I can take that." He casually strode forward a few steps and took the vial with memories from Severus' hand. "You wouldn't mind if I borrowed the pensieve, would you?"

The question snapped Severus out of his mindless stupor, and he nodded, immediately starting to walk in the direction of his office. Without another word, Potter fell in step with him. 

"Put on the damn cloak."

The boy complied, and the two of them proceeded down the hallway in almost complete silence.

When the pair stepped over the threshold of the round office, Severus took the pensive out, placing him onto the edge of his desk. Potter dumped the contents of the vial into it, and for an interminable minute they stared at each other, not moving, not talking, not anything. For his part, Severus was making every possible effort to have an even tighter grip on his shields, ridding himself of every single hint of any emotion, because otherwise he knew he wouldn't be able to pull through the looming conversation with the boy. 

As opposed to the halls, the office was warmly lit. It looked just as disgustingly homely as during Dumbledore's tenure, which made Potter's appearance look even more contrasting to what Severus was used to. The boy was thin and dirty as hell, he seemed tired, no — exhausted, and understandably worried, but his gaze was steady. Almost calculating even, though how did he manage to be all of that at once was anybody's guess… Severus definitely did not want to delve into it at the moment. 

With a deep breath, the boy dived into the pensieve. Severus walked around his chair and forced himself to stand there, waiting an eternity for Potter to emerge and preparing himself for the inevitable reaction. If Dumbledore's damn portrait was not feigning sleep, Severus would've yelled at it right now for putting him once again in an impossible situation, but satisfaction was out of reach —  once the blasted man decided to ignore everyone, he would stubbornly do it even if the sky fell down on their heads. It was outrageous, and so unfair. 

Because he was bad at this. He was bad for this: no one in their right mind would think him a good candidate for explaining to a hormonally unstable teenager that he must go and face a madman, and not just face him… Let the madman kill him. It was not simply unfair , it was supremely insane.  

What was he supposed to do? 

A new wave of emotion swept over Severus, and as he tried to repress it, Potter's face reappeared in his line of sight, looking grim. 

"That bloody fool!" the boy mumbled almost inaudibly, and his expression seemed to morph into one of pure fury, which caught Severus off guard, but it flashed so fast, he was not sure it even happened.

"Harry…"

There was something odd and unnatural in using the boy's first name. Severus did not even know what exactly it was that he wanted to say. 

"Harry, I…"

Potter held up a hand and heaved a sigh.

"Professor, I'm really sorry, but there isn't much time for explanations. How much do you know about Horcruxes?" 

Severus could only gape at the sudden change of topic. He knew damn well what Horcruxes were, and has long been suspecting that that's what Potter was for all these years. Everything from his miraculous survival to the mysterious connection between the boy and the Dark Lord's minds pointed at it. 

"Judging by your reaction, I'm presuming, the concept is familiar. Long story short: I've known that I am one for some time, and that's what Dumbledore was telling you in that last memory you showed me." Potter rubbed his forehead. "The point is… I'm not the only Horcrux Riddle created. There were seven of us. Four are destroyed already: the diary from the ordeal with the Chamber of Secrets, that ring with the Nigrum Mortem curse with which Dumbledore so stupidly killed himself, Salazar Slytherin's locket, and Helga Hufflepuff's cup. The fifth is the Room of Requirement. The pattern suggests that it's something that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, her diadem most certainly. And Nagini is the last one."

Potter paused briefly to take a breath, looking at Severus strangely. "It's a lot. I know. No wonder he's so insane."

Severus' mind, however, for a change drew completely blank. He was so shocked, he actually forgot to use Occlumency to control it. Not only Potter was talking to him civilly which has never happened before — let alone was completely unimaginable now, after he killed Albus almost in front of him (which he also turned on its head) — he was telling him that the Dark Lord made multiple Horcruxes. Seven, to be exact. 

Seven.

So that was what Dumbledore sent children to do… To hunt down pieces of the Dark Lord's soul. Bloody old dunderhead! Who makes children do something like that?! CHILDREN, for Merlin's sake! He could've done it much faster himself! But no , when the choice comes down to skill, extensive knowledge and years of experience versus youthful exuberance, sheer dumb luck and danger of the Dark Lord using the direct connection between his and Potter's minds, a bunch of teenagers naturally were preferable!..

What the bloody fuck, Dumbledore!? 

Potter kept on talking — something about the Room of Requirement and offices — but Severus heard maybe a third of it at most. His mind was racing, and his wand hand was itching to destroy something, but through the sheer power of his will, Severus managed to contain his impulses. 

"…this office. Severus! You must not let yourself get killed."

What? 

Severus stared at the boy in disbelief. Did he just say what Severus heard? 

"Potter, what—"

"I told you, I don't have time for more explanations. You'd just have to take my word for it, professor. I'm not asking you to trust me. Trust Dumbledore. I know it's hard, considering the circumstances, but just this once. Do it one more time. This hair-brained scheme — well, most of it — it's his, not mine. And we're so close, professor, so close to whacking that noseless thing for good." Potter pointed his arm in the general direction of the gathering Dark Lord's groupies. 

"And you're willing to die for it."

"Let's not pretend that the fact that Dumbledore was trying to prepare me for exactly this moment is a surprise to either of us. Let's just say I'm at peace with my fate, whatever it will be. Just… Please, kill the bastard for me. Or not for me… for her. Do it for Lily."

Silence stretched. 

The boy had no idea how right he was about their former Headmaster… 

"I'm sorry," Severus whispered. Although, truth be told, he had no idea what exactly he was apologising for, or if he should apologise at all. What do you say to a person you were sending to the gallows? Even if it was Potter… 

What was he thinking? How did it feel? Severus' hold on his shields was apparently slipping, because at this moment, he felt morbid curiosity burning inside of him. He couldn't bring himself to ask, though. But no matter, he was sure he was about to find out for himself, and pretty soon. 

The boy watched him intently for a long moment. Strangely, there wasn't a trace of fear on his face. How could it be? 

First sounds of an inflamed struggle — namely, rustling clatter of broken glass, booming blows of spells against stone walls, and screams, endless screams — came from somewhere outside of the window. In the yellowish semidarkness of the office, though, time was frozen. Silence painfully pressed on the eardrums of the two men in the room who stood looking at each other's equally stony expressions.

"I'm sorry too," Potter said quietly at last, and at the next moment, vanished into thin air. 

Severus blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

Apparitions were impossible inside the school's grounds, they were impossible for everybody, including the Headmaster. But Potter, of course, somehow managed to break even this restriction. 

Severus' anger flared up, the hot tongues of its flame licking away all traces of the previous melancholy. With the new purpose, he marched up to the door, intending to go and find himself a suitable target to vent all his frustrations, secrecy be damned — there was no cover left to maintain anyway — but the door wouldn't budge. No matter what he did, no matter what spells he used, the bloody thing stayed put. 

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" Severus cried out as a last resort. The spell hit its target with all force that he was capable of. It shook the whole tower and bounced back from the wall, sweeping away everything in its path as a tidal wave and crashing into him.

The very last thing that Severus noticed before his world went black was that the blasted door still remained closed.

A little over a week flew by. By courtesy of the magnanimous ever-living cockroach that Harry Potter was, Severus spent it alternately going mad in his silent house or going mad with endless interrogations in one of the DMLE's questioning rooms in preparation for this very moment. And still…

How the fuck did it all happen?.. No, how the fuck did he allow it all to happen? That was a more accurate and important question. Albeit, without an answer. The world tipped over on its head and continued to spin hell-bent into madness, completely out of any remaining shreds of control. Unbelievable.

Severus stood in the middle of the Courtroom Ten, feeling lightheaded to the point of nausea, with his vision mostly blurred and his ears ringing. His mind was racing, but at some point it got stuck on ‘what the fuck?’, couldn’t find an answer to that undeniably valid question, and decided to simply proceed on a loop. People in red puffy cloaks were swarming around doing hell knew what, no doubt casting him glances full of pity, damnable curiosity, or worse — something akin to concern or gratitude. Severus couldn't exactly see all of that clearly, but he felt it. He was smeared from head to toes with pity and compassion of quick prying eyes sliding all over him, and it made his skin crawl. His face formed his usual scowl without any conscious effort on Severus’ part.

It was over, though. It was over and done with, he was done. He was free. 

Free… What a strange word. Four letters on top of a lifetime of painful struggles; a goal, fathomless, so distant and vague, unreachable; a stupid notion, really. To be truly free was plain impossible. And now what? The world as he knew it was dead, people as he knew them — dead, there was no purpose, no meaning, only emptiness. Emptiness, a dark abyss of memories, and god only knew how many years ahead. Oh, and coldness that was still sipping through the sleeves of his robes where the chains had been. Severus doubted he would be able to get rid of it any time soon.

But he was free. Up to a point. Free and acquitted of all his sins, real and imagined. Surely it meant something? What about his promise to himself? 

Suddenly aware that his right shin was still touching the fucking Chair and feeling the creeps that spread from his leg up his spine and to the end of the each fucking nerve like tiny bolts of electricity, Severus jumped. Literally jumped on the spot. The haze instantly cleared, and he darted away toward the exit only to be stopped dead by the loud throat clearing just behind him.

What the fuck did they want now? He did not have anything else. It would’ve been so much better if he was simply sent to Azkaban where he could finally find the peace he was so longing for for years. Didn’t he fucking deserve to have fucking peace? Just this once, goddamnit! 

He was swearing too much. 

But how the fuck did it matter in what way he phrased his inner fucking monologue?

"Uhm, sir?"

Severus froze. Something heavy inside of him broke off and dropped deep down. It took him a moment to make a connection through all that uncontrollable pandemonium of thoughts in his head, but he knew that voice. Hell, he had nightmares, filled with that voice alone, echoing around him endlessly in the dark. And every time he woke up panting like a bloody dog. But not being the one to run away cowardly, Severus turned around with the most vicious of his glares in place and reflexive anger already simmering steadily just under the surface. 

For a few heartbeats, the world around them stood frozen.

"Mr. Potter?" he hissed quietly, looking straight into those damnable green eyes. It seemed that the boy simply was not capable of minding his own business, was he? First he makes him care about his looming murder, then he survives and pokes his nose where it doesn't belong, and now he can't stop himself from gloating. A wave of usual insults rolled up in Severus’ throat ready to sloosh the bloody brat with yet another portion of mud but… the boy was staring right back without a trace of usual arrogance, defiance, hostility, or any other negative (or positive, for that matter) emotion, which was incredibly strange. His face was so neutral, Severus had to blink to check if he was seeing things. But no, those piercing green eyes, shamelessly scanning his face, were still the same… Although, upon closer inspection, they definitely weren't. The brat's gaze was heavy, and old, and tired, and completely devoid of everything beyond that. It seemed, death, or near death — or whatever the hell it was — affected Potter far more than anybody realised. Or maybe not. It instantly reminded Severus of their encounter during the battle, and his anger vanished from sight. 

And, naturally, it made him think about the matter of the boy silently apparating out of the Head office, which made the bloody Potter's spawn an exception yet again . Severus was missing something, definitely. How did the boy do that? How dare he defy the laws of magic? The laws of life itself? And worse — how dare he make Severus curious? 

He just had to know now. What if there was a serious security problem in the school? Minerva must be made aware of it. 

"We need to talk," Severus finally said, looking straight into those still, green eyes.

"Pick a date."

That’s how on Friday evening Severus found himself on the too familiar porch of the 12 Grimmauld Place. In-between his supposed ex-brethren's trials that he was required to attend as it was the Wizengamot's sole stipulation for his acquittal, he spent this entire week debating the wisdom of such an action. After all, suffering through a voluntary visit to Harry Potter — a son of his childhood nemesis and his childhood infatuation; a boy that he spent six years tormenting in a rather childish manner (yes, he could admit it now ) — for the sake of appeasing his curiosity was stupid. Informing McGonagall of those phenomenal incidents and leaving her to deal with the boy would have been far better, yet Severus couldn't do so. For some inexplicable reason, he downright needed to solve this puzzle himself… His instincts screamed that leaving the matter to someone else would be a mistake, and Severus always trusted his instincts.

And as he was getting ready to disapparate this evening, it occurred to him all of a sudden that he now also had a chance to dot the i’s with the boy. At least make an effort. Not that Severus felt all that sorry for anything pertaining to his behaviour towards the boy, not particularly. But he did feel that however it was, he was tired of having arch-nemeses, enemies, foes, ill-wishers, etc. For once in his life Severus wanted to be at least on neutral terms with all his acquaintances, so he could live in peace, not worrying that the next person he met on the street was there out for his blood. An unlikely scenario, he knew, but nonetheless. One could hope.

Besides, just on Monday morning, when he sat down on the Chair and felt the chains tying him in place and blocking his magic, Severus vowed to himself that if he walked out of the courtroom a free man, he would take better care of himself. Rebuild himself anew if need be, preferably living somewhere far far away, of course. If the world would give him another chance, he would take it. The best way to start was to close off everything that tied him to the past. Why not start with Potter? What difference did it make to whom would he apologise first? Even if Severus absolutely hated even thinking of talking to Potter. The boy would definitely ask far too many uncomfortable questions, demand all sorts of explanations that were none of his business. It would be awkward, and it would be painful, and Severus would be a complete mess for days afterwards, probably drinking himself to sleep every night. And here he was anyway. Because, if he was completely honest with himself, there was a difference. If he'd be able to live through this, he'd be able to live through the rest of it. 

As was his habit, Severus quickly glanced around the area with a practised eye, searching for any suspicious activity or individuals, but, aside from some woman going about her business at the far end of the square, it was empty. Severus felt numb. No, he didn’t really know how he felt. The emotional roller-coaster of the trial, Potter’s new inexplicable oddities — don’t even get him started on how the two of them exited the courtroom — and on top of it all seeing this blasted house again created a downright chaos in his already fragile psych. He could’ve occluded, of course, shoved the whole jumble far away and locked it down, but it definitely was not a healthy option, therefore not a preferable one. Occlumency was great as a survival tool, but it was gradually destroying him: his once upon a time perfect memory was a thing of the past, his "wonderful" personality was becoming "fluffier" and "fluffier" over the course of the last twenty-five years, and more importantly, he was becoming more and more detached from himself and from the world around him. That last one was truly disturbing. So Severus forced himself to just breathe and keep it together.

Not wishing to antagonise the boy unnecessarily in order to avoid any additional complications, Severus knocked and waited. The door was opened by that old grumpy house-elf. He slipped outside, softly closing the door behind him.

"Good day, sir Snape. Master's awaites for you," Kreacher rasped and without a warning took hold of Severus' sleeve, immediately apparating him away.

The two of them reappeared in front of some house, surrounded by woods from all sides. Severus opened his mouth to berate Kreacher — or to ask where the hell they were — but the bloody elf already vanished from sight. 

"Brilliant…" Severus mumbled, looking around. As opposed to, for example, the Malfoy Manor, the house was small, but, of course, nothing could be considered "big" when compared to that (except Hogwarts, naturally) but in actuality it wasn't really that tiny either. It was probably thrice bigger than Severus' own house. It had a three-storey cube-shaped central part with a large porch and a balcony on top of it, joined by a graceful colonnade, here and there wrapped in ivy, and had two short symmetrical wings on both sides. The building was painted white, had two rows of large windows, and with the amount of greenery surrounding it, looked overall quite picturesque and inviting. 

Severus waved his wand a couple of times to check for any possible wards on the area, but, to his utter surprise, found none. Not even the clumsy rudimentary wards that the trio used while on the run. It was never a question of whether the boy was foolish — of course he was — but even Severus wouldn't have thought him foolish to that degree… Potter of all people should know better than to live in something less than an impenetrable fortress, especially now, when the war had just ended and tempers were still flying high. 

Severus shook his head in annoyance. The bloody brat was once again tempting fate with his recklessness, with his endless arrogance, and thoughtless attitude towards many people who made various sacrifices for his sake. Who did he think he was?! 

Thus working himself up into quite an angry state, — not that it was particularly difficult, mind you — Severus stomped to the front door and knocked loudly, not caring about the boy's reactions any longer. 

Not two seconds later, the door swung open, revealing… nobody. Severus stepped over the threshold and looked around the spacious entrance hall. The ivory walls were decorated with white stucco, picturing various tropical landscapes with a myriad of different birds, interspersed with white half-columns. The floors were made of grey marble, as were two wide staircases on both sides of the hall with bronze looking wrought iron railings. Transfixed with the simple, yet graceful pattern of it, Severus gradually lifted his eyes — skimming over a large floor-to-ceiling window on the opposite wall — to the second-floor ceiling, which had a mural of a clear blue sky, framed by branches and leaves, once again of tropical origin. On one of the branches sat a cockatoo, looking down on him. Their gazes met, and after a few seconds, the bird took off to the sky. Severus followed its movements with his eyes.

"His name’s Alfred," sounded from above, nearly making Severus jump. He looked towards the sound, ready to give the brat a piece of his mind. 

However… 

All words died on his tongue the moment his gaze landed on Potter. The boy looked… different. He smirked at Severus — actually smirked, the little shit — and leisurely descended the stairs. 

"Apparently, one of my ancestors was in love with all things tropical," he said with no care in the world, coming to a halt two steps away from his former professor. 

Severus, although, could not partake in the good mood. He found himself staring into a much older face than he expected, and did not like the emotional whirlwind this fact aroused in him. Instead of an ungainly teenager in front of him stood a lean stocky young man with a square chin, square shoulders, a number of scars on his face and hands — he was missing a phalanx on his right pinky, for Merlin’s sake — and a tremendously intense, razor-sharp and glasses-free gaze that pinned Severus to the spot like a fly by a fly-swatter. For several seconds that it took him to regain his bearings, his anger deflated, making room for shock.

It could not be. 

It just could not be. 

"What did you do, you foolish boy?" Severus whispered, trying to ignore the insistent ringing in his ears. 

"Hello to you too. I am fine, by the way, it is tremendously kind of you to ask. How are you faring yourself? Welcome to my humble abode, by the way. I believe you wished to discuss something. What can I help you with?" Potter replied, all courtesy and politeness. He sounded somewhat off, but Severus all of a sudden remembered that he was angry and did not pay much attention to this particular oddity. The boy swirled around and headed towards some place at the far end of the entrance hall, resuming to talk when Severus was unable to make any answer:

"You know, I was almost sure you wouldn't show up…"

Potter continued speaking casually, but Severus hadn't heard a thing. It was too much. How he missed Occlumency…that bloody fucking thing. His ears rang louder. After a long deafening moment, he followed Potter, but froze a couple of steps later, unable to make himself move any further. The boy looked back over his shoulder, half-smiling crookedly… And something inside Severus snapped. 

"Stop this foolishness at once, Potter!" he barked. "I asked you a question. What did you do, you imbecilic dunderhead?! Are you really that stupid?! Don't answer, it's a rhetorical question. Of course you are!" 

"Just like my father, I suppose?" Potter interrupted quietly, turning around fully and looking at him with an unreadable expression. Somewhere deep inside Severus' mind, a tiny bell of alarm went off, but was barely noticeable behind the veil of red that clouded his whole being. 

"SILENCE!" Severus roared, then dropped his voice down to his customary threatening soft tones. "Don't give me that cheek. Do you even realise the danger you had placed yourself and no doubt your little gang in too? I don't care how old you are now or how hailed of a hero, you will spend your entire last year of schooling in detention."

"Are you quite finished?" Potter replied calmly. 

"NO, I AM NOT!" Severus bellowed, almost flying up to the idiot boy and looming over him. "I am not. I have not spent seven years dragging your stupid hide out of mortal danger time and again for you to behave in such a foolhardy way, though why did I expect you to become smarter after everything you have gone through I would never know. Because yes, YOU ARE JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER! RECKLESS, PIG-HEADED, UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BRAT!..."

He continued to yell almost at the top of his lungs for some time, berating, cursing, and insulting Potter in every imaginable way, not sure whether because he really was that angry with the dumb boy or because it just felt so damn good. He poured every grievance, every injustice, frustration, all his pain, all his fear — everything negative that accumulated in his soul over many years into it, and it was cathartic…

Until it wasn't. 

"Get. Out," Potter hissed. His face contorted in pure fury, curbing any and every liberating feeling that Severus may have had, turning the tiny alarm-bell into Tocsin, and bringing it to the forefront of his mind in the span of a heartbeat, and it finally gave Severus pause. 

"What?.."

"Are you hard of hearing, professor? I said, get your rational, obliging, and entirely too grateful arse out of my house." Then Potter made a step forward and also dropped his voice to barely above whisper. Their eyes locked. "You seem to suffer under the misapprehension that I will continue tolerating your endless insults. Let me rectify it immediately: I do not partake in a habit of allowing people to practise their wit on my person. That is a rule from which you are no longer an exception, however much of a hero you are. " Severus tried to rearrange his facial expression into something more appropriate, but found that his body was paralysed. His pulse instantly went up and ears started ringing again, but Potter's voice remained clear. It reverberated in his mind as if the boy spoke directly inside it, which was even more terrifying because Severus also found himself incapable of occluding. "If you are not able to behave in a civilised manner, then kindly remove yourself from my presence."

Sudden panic swallowed Severus whole. He tried to tear his gaze away from Potter's sharp eyes and for the first time in his life do exactly as he was told by the boy, but it was impossible. He could barely think, could not move, could not breathe… 

But then Potter blinked, breaking the tension, and the paralysis vanished as if it never happened, leaving Severus panting.

"Penelope." An elf popped up somewhere behind Severus. "Be so kind as to escort our guest to the front door lest he get lost."

The next moment Severus felt a small hand gripping his forearm and, immediately after, a familiar tag of apparition that took him to some clearing, surrounded by dense woods. The elf let go of him, mumbled something about rude men disrespecting her master, and disappeared. Severus was left alone and quite dumbfounded. 

What the fuck was that?

LET BYGONES BE BYGONES… PLEASE?

* * *

The same evening

Severus walked up the path to his dump of a home in Spinner's End, fuming. How dare Potter?! He had every right to be angry with the brat. Of all the stupid, reckless things imaginable, the boy had to go and mess with time! And whatever for?!

Well, that was another question entirely, the answer to which he, admittedly, did not have as of yet due to the fact that he was not able to keep his temper in check. 

But that was of no consequence, Potter had no right to behave in such an abominable way with him. Severus was an adult and his professor, former or not, was irrelevant. But more importantly, in Severus' humble opinion, Potter owed him rather a lot, so the very least he was due was some basic respect from the boy.

Severus reached his front door and removed the wards from it in one swift motion, stepped through, and quickly put them back on. One could not be too careful these days. 

For a while, the only thing Severus could do was pace, feeling too frustrated and too torn to do much of anything else. Now, when the shock had worn off somewhat, Severus — to his utter dismay — realised that out of the two of them, he was the one who acted stupidly. First, it was entirely possible that Potter’s appearance was a consequence of a number of actions not related with time travelling in any way. And even if not, Potter might have had a good reason for using a time turner. Potter's potential use of the time turner might have been directly connected to the other oddities that Severus noticed. Most likely it was the case, and had he not reacted like an impulsive airhead — like a Gryffindor really — he might have held the answers to the myriad of questions galloping in his mind by now. Which made the situation all the more frustrating, because he sincerely doubted that he'd have another chance. To be completely honest, he'd be the first to refuse another meeting with the boy. Seeing him again would be too disconcerting… He strode to the kitchen, found a bottle of Ogden's in his stash, poured himself a shot, and gulped it down in one go. Then repeated the process. Severus was almost one hundred percent sure that whatever that temporary paralysis was, it had nothing to do with Potter, that it was some trick of his Occlumency-addicted mind in the throws of withdrawal. The residue was still there, however, so not exacerbating the already dire situation his sanity was in by not seeing Harry Potter any time soon would be the best course of action. This whole endeavour was a giant mistake that was bound to be doomed from the start anyway.

Upon coming to this conclusion, Severus was finally able to relax. Yes, he would forget about it all and move on. Let Potter be someone else's problem for a change. Satisfied, Severus descended into the lab in the basement and resumed brewing a fresh batch of the Calming Draught that he started this morning, soon getting lost in the peaceful monotony of cutting, crushing, and stirring.

Over two hours flew by while he kept blissfully busy, and it was only as he left the potion (or two) to cool down and was cleaning the workbench, that he felt the ward around his fireplace getting off. Someone was calling. Frowning, Severus hurriedly returned to the living room and found Minerva's head floating in the green flames. 

"Severus! Good evening—" 

"Night, more accurately." 

"Oh, pish-posh! May I step through? I have something I want to talk to you about."

Severus regarded her worriedly. He was so not ready for another turbulent meeting… But McGonagall seemed gravelly serious, so maybe he was mistaken, and it had nothing to do with him. Maybe something happened. Sighing, he waved his hand, dismantling the ward and motioned for the witch to step through. 

Minerva vanished, and a moment later stepped out of the green flames in all her exhausted tartan glory. For a few seconds the two of them simply stood staring at each other without a word. 

"So…" Minerva drawled. 

"So?" Severus replied and a moment later motioned for Minerva to follow him into the kitchen. They sat down at the small wooden table in the centre of the room.

"Whatever is so urgent that you've barged in here this late?"

"I would've barged in earlier, but you weren't home." 

Severus sighed. "What happened?" he asked, ignoring the way McGonagall looked at the bottle in front of her. 

"Nothing happened, Severus."

He raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you here?" 

"Because we need to talk."

"Do we?"

Minerva blew out a deep breath. "Fine." She took her wand out and transfigured a small glass for herself out of a napkin, shoving it towards Severus. He poured her a drink without a comment. " I need to talk to you , whether you even listen is not up to me." She emptied her glass before continuing, "But I dearly hope that you will." 

For a fleeting moment Severus panicked. He had a pretty good idea of what she wanted and almost asked her to leave, but Minerva didn't give him a chance to open his mouth. 

"Severus. First of all… I wanted to apologise to you. I know I'm almost a year late with this, but…" she froze for a second, lost in thoughts, then shook her head slightly. "Anyway, it's not an excuse. You've always been quite skilled at fooling people, but I know you almost your entire life and should've never believed you to be such a monster. I should’ve at the very least questioned it. But I was blinded by my own—”

“Minerva.” Severus looked at her sadly, interrupting. “Don’t.” 

Hearing apologies was unbearable. It stirred so many emotions he was not used to feeling therefore had no idea how to deal with. Fear, anger, shame, nervousness, relief, guilt, and Merlin only knew what else desperately fought for dominance inside of him. Severus forgot how painful it all was, forgot how much he used to crave this, crave being important enough to somebody to apologise. The temptation to occlude almost overwhelmed him. Afraid that he'd snap, Severus poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and gulped it down. It didn't immediately help, so he poured another one. The liquid fire reached his stomach and spread waves of a nice warmth throughout his whole body. 

McGonagall sighed loudly, attracting his attention. She seemed genuinely distraught. And, of course, she didn't give a flying fuck about his wishes. How astonishing. 

“We all betrayed you… I betrayed you. You once told me that I… And I just… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry. But no matter how hard you're trying to hide it, I know you have a big heart, Severus, and hope that one day you’d be able to forgive me and give me a chance to earn your trust back."

Severus turned fully to the table and leaned on his elbows. All of a sudden, the whirlwind of emotions stopped, and he was left with only a feeling of strange detachment. 

"We’re all sorry, madam. I'm sorry too… for so many things done over so many years. I’m so tired of it, I feel like I’m falling apart, Minerva, and find that caring about it takes too much strength, so I mostly don’t. I’d still rather not have this over-emotional conversation right now, if you don’t mind. I barely keep it together as it is these days. 

“I cannot blame you for anything you did or did not do during last year, Minerva. You were meant to believe me a monster, I created that belief with my own hands and diligently encouraged it day in and day out. It's not your fault. Let's leave it at that."

"Yes. Yes, fine. Though, why keep it a secret from all of us? I'll never understand why it needed to be that way."

Severus started to doubt that it was a secret from all of them, in truth, but it was a good question nonetheless. He thought about it for many months now but still couldn't get any closer to the real answer than he was originally. For safety, he was told. For the sake of their cause. For Harry bloody Potter's sake. As if the ruddy shapeshifter would ever appreciate it. Severus did not know what to reply, so he just closed his eyes for a second and shrugged. "Because it just had to," he said quietly. “You were at my trial, woman, you’ve already heard me answer that question. I have nothing more to add.”

McGonagall sighed sadly and turned to look out of the window. Silence fell.

"As if any of you would've believed me anyway…" flew through Severus' mind. 

"What?" 

What? Did he just say it out loud? Severus glanced at the woman. She watched him intently as if daring to repeat his words, and his first instinct was to back down, to avoid breaking his hard won peace, but then Minerva raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, waking Severus' anger up. To hell with peace. Did she really think that any other outcome was possible? Unbelievable. 

"Dumbledore would have never shared such vital information, Minerva," he snapped, not bothering to repeat himself. She obviously heard what he said. He took a deep breath and continued more calmly. "Don't pretend like it's a surprise to you. And even if I wanted to go against the old man's orders and tell somebody, without Albus backing me up, none of you would have believed me. None of you wanted to believe me to start with, whatever the situation was. Even you had your fair share of doubts on an enviably regular basis. I'm a Death Eater. Reformed or not is irrelevant, I'm a Death Eater, and will always be one. Stop deluding yourself. You would have reacted relatively the same way regardless of the amount of available information."

"No," Minerva insisted, softly hitting the table with her fist. "No, Severus, how can you say such a thing?! Of course, I would've believed you if you came to me, especially when this whole craziness had only begun!" 

"Of course, you would've. And then in your righteous anger, you would've stormed into Dumbledore's office to demand an explanation." 

"Damn right I would've!"

"And he would've gladly given you one!" Severus hissed. He forced himself to stop and just breathe for a few moments. "He would've been oh so happy to explain to you how wrong I was, implying — or possibly stating outright — that I've finally lost my marbles from all the Cruciatus I was regularly subjected to, or maybe that he was mistaken and I'm not that trustworthy after all, or any number of other things. Either way, you would've left his office full of doubts about my story and me overall. That's assuming that you wouldn't have simply somehow, entirely by accident, naturally, forgot what you really came to him for. The only thing you would've accomplished by this is making my life even more of a hell than it already was."

Minerva listened in stunned silence. 

"No… Surely you're exaggerating… Albus could be ruthless, but you were one of his men, he would've done everything to protect you."

"If it would've suited him — probably. If not… Well. We were at war, there was always a possibility of becoming collateral damage."

"But—"

"No 'buts'. There's no possible 'but' here, Minerva. Can't you see this? We were all just troopers with varying degrees of significance, and he was our general. And just like any general worth his salt, he was concerned with the big picture, with the fate of the country, not with our separate mostly irrelevant fates." They both were silent for a couple of moments. "Look at Potter, for God's sake," Severus continued in a whisper. 

"What's wrong with Potter? He's made it alive."

Severus sighed deeply. How stupid of him it was to say this…

"Have you seen him recently?" 

"Only at your trial." 

Severus took the bottle, intending to pour himself another shot, but McGonagall grabbed his forearm.

“What happened with Potter, Severus?”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment.

“I don’t know. But nothing good, I presume,” he replied eventually, freeing his arm, and finished what he started.

“What makes you think that something's wrong at all?”

“Because I’ve just seen him, and it was not a pleasant experience.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Severus!” McGonagall snapped, hitting the tabletop again. “Could you be more coherent and specific? No matter what, Harry is still just a boy! And he just went through a very traumatic experience, if he needs help, and you’ve been sitting here knowing and not saying a word about it…”

Severus huffed. “Your precious Potter does not need any help, I assure you, or if he does, he did not deign to inform me about it.”

Minerva relaxed her shoulders. “I’m sorry. What is it then? What makes you think that he was somehow wronged by Albus?”

Severus also relaxed, gulping his almost forgotten drink down. Thoughts slowly and sluggishly drifted inside his mind, lulling him into a sense of security even more. There was no harm in telling her a little, right?

"During the battle, when Potter and I were in my office, I noticed something extraordinarily weird about the boy. At first it was relatively small things like the way he talked and looked, his words themselves were oddly phrased, et cetera. He was the same Potter, only thin and dirty, but at the same time something about him was totally different."

"Have you found out what? I can’t imagine you simply letting it be," Minerva interrupted. Severus shrugged. 

"I didn't even try. At first I was about to tell him that he must go and meet his demise at the tip of the Dark Lord's wand, and after he told me that he already knew it, I was too busy wrapping my mind around it. And what did it matter anyway? I was sending him to his death. The boy was allowed to behave oddly. How would we all behave if put in his shoes? No one ever knows…”

“Indeed…”

“And then he went and told me the Dark Lord’s secret. What the three of them had been doing. It shocked me enough to forget all of the above. And then…” Severus whispered, holding up a hand to prevent Minerva from speaking, and leaned towards her. “And then he apparated right out of the office, somehow blocking me inside.”

“How is that even possible? No one can apparite inside the wards. You were in such a state back then, maybe you’d just imagined it?"

Severus stared at the woman completely unimpressed. "When have I ever ‘imagined’ anything?" he finally said, drawing out the word ‘imagined’ in his customary manner. "I did not imagine , I fucking saw it. He apparated out of the office. And when I attempted to leave and join the battle, every exit out of the tower was blocked. I tried every possible spell I know with only a concussion to show for it. And the most hilarious thing about it all is that apparently the door opened quite effortlessly… From the other side. Otherwise I don't see how Ginevra bloody Weasley had managed it when I fucking didn't!"

McGonagall held her palms up. "Fine. Fine. No need to raise your voice. It is strange, I agree, but it is also entirely possible that at some point over the years Albus invented some sort of trick or two for apparition and whatnot and showed them to Harry. Have you thought of that?" 

Severus froze for a second. His mind frantically thought through the possibility of it all being Dumbledore's fault, but couldn't reach a definite conclusion. Dumbledore was smart and knowledgeable, that wasn't even up for a discussion, and a month ago Severus would have been reasonably satisfied with Minerva's suggestion. Hell, it probably would have been his suggestion to start with. Now, though… Potter's behaviour was too out of the ordinary for it to be a result of a learned trick.

On the other hand, it was Potter, for Merlin’s sake… His arrogance knew no bounds. 

"That's not all," Severus continued, pouring himself another one. He should really eat something. "I went to his house today. At least I assume it was his house."

"Whatever do you mean? As far as I'm aware, he's living at Grimmauld Place," interrupted Minerva, looking at the half-empty bottle disapprovingly. "We really should be eating something…" 

Severus only huffed. "I thought so too. In fact, he told me that himself. But when I apparated there, I was met by that grumpy old little shit Kreacher who didn't even let me set one foot inside.." 

"He kicked you out?! I never liked that elf much." 

"Would you listen? No. He apparated me to another location where, apparently, your Golden boy lives." McGonagall's eyebrows flew up to the hairline, but she remained blissfully silent. "I've never seen that house." 

"It could be one of Albus' safe houses." 

"I doubt it. The place has no wards around it. Not a single one. Not everybody is caught yet, therefore that foolish boy is still in danger, but lives in a completely unprotected house. The idiot. It's not the most important part, however."

"Then what is? Stop beating around the bush, for fuck’s sake."

"He's much older than we thought. Around thirty, seems like. At least he looks like it."

There was a moment of silence. 

"Come again…"

"The Harry Potter I met several hours ago looks about thirty years old. Possibly older. He's covered in scars, and overall seems more like Moody than Potter, despite any possible physical likeness with his dear daddy."

"Impossible…" 

"Nonetheless, it's true." 

Another long moment of silence followed, while McGonagall thought through the latest revelation. Severus drank one more glass of Ogden’s and then tried to wandlessly open the old fridge, but nothing happened. He made two more fruitless attempts, growing more and more frustrated by the second. His control over himself was slipping away with a scary speed. 

"Side-along me there." 

"What?" Severus got so focused on his worries over his drunken state that he almost forgot what he blabbed. Goddamn Potter. 

"No." 

"And why the hell not?"

"I'm half-drunk, can't you see? Besides, going to him today is a very bad idea either way," he mumbled and got up to open the bloody fridge by hand. He must’ve still had something in there.

McGonagall sighed loudly. "Fine. What did you do though? You lost your temper and pissed him off, didn't you?" 

Severus returned to the table, holding a plate with old cheese. He almost started ranting about the arrogant, ungrateful brat being his typical idiotic self again, but remembered his earlier thoughts on the matter and changed his mind. 

"What would you have done in my place?" He sat down heavily. "I did not expect anything even remotely close to that." 

"Who are you trying to fool? You would've reacted the same way even if you were warned beforehand. You always react this way where Potter is concerned, no matter what's going on."

"Yes, because the bloody dunderhead is always trying to undermine me in every possible way."

"Really?" 

"Yes!"

"You're the only one who sees it, Severus, and you know it." 

Severus forced himself not to snap at her. "Do you really think he's twice older than he should be? There's no way it could be true. He has to have been using a time turner for longer than he even knew that magic existed for it to be possible. It must've been some sort of stupid trick of his. There's no other explanation."

Why didn’t he think of that option before?..

Minerva took a deep breath, and then stared at him with a new sort of determination, gleaming in her eyes. It did not promise anything good.

"I don't know. I doubt anyone knows. What you told me is strange, but there has to be an explanation besides ‘it's a stupid trick’. He's not a Weasley-twin, not a prank person. In all six years, I've never seen him involved in one." Severus huffed. "Regardless, if what you saw is not all smoke and mirrors — and you can't deny that where Dumbledore is concerned, nothing is completely impossible — him being older only lends more weight to my words. I have no idea what's going on, but no matter what happened with Harry, he's been acting a perfect picture of maturity these weeks. You know that. You saw it with your own eyes. I think that if you give him a chance, you'll find yourself fairly surprised. Besides," she sighed. "The boy has real influence now, Severus. If anything, he could be a great asset to you."

"What the hell are you leading to, woman?"

McGonagall paused for a few moments and then fired.

"You’re aware, I hope, that technically you still are the Headmaster."

All alcohol-induced warmth instantly evaporated from Severus’ mind. 

"No."

"No… What do you mean 'no'?! Severus! Why?" 

The fuck if he knew. Ever since his trial, he was debating whether to refuse the position or not. He would go mad alone in this house… He would need somebody to constantly tug him out of it, because as the last week showed, otherwise he would hole up in the lab and find a thousand reasons not to move. In the castle, however, he would not be with only McGonagall for company…

"I can do something else." 

Minerva snorted.

"And what would it be, Severus? Lock yourself up in your basement among cauldrons, stirs, and nasty smelling concoctions for the rest of your life? Big fat good it'd do you!"

Damn that woman to hell and back! Maybe she's right… Maybe returning to Hogwarts as a headmaster wouldn't be that bad, after all. He could just bury himself under piles of paperwork in the office and see cheeky stupid faces of students only from afar at dinners. Besides, Severus never really knew life outside of the school. What would he do instead? Brew potions twenty-four-seven at Spinner's End all by himself, like she said? He was so tired of being alone. Hogwarts, though… So many bad memories. And worse. 

"Can you even imagine how hard it would be to walk in those doors again, Minerva? To look at the faces of innocent children and see there only fear and hatred because I spent last year condoning their torture? Or to look at the faces of once colleagues and maybe occasional friends and see only hatred and disgust? Could you do it? Maybe you consider it all good and fun, but I assure you I do not."

“I understand that—”

“Do you?” Severus raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, maybe I can’t imagine how exactly that feels, but I can understand that it must be far, far from pleasant, so don’t you give me that look,” huffed McGonagall. “But you see, Severus, the problem is, I don’t think it’s going to be that way. At least it doesn’t have to, if we do everything right. If you agree to return, you — I mean yourself and the rest of the stuff — will have this whole summer to make amends to each other. I have already spoken with Filius, Pomona, Horace, and Hagrid yesterday, they feel as much hatred towards you as I do. Hagrid couldn’t stop crying for a good hour, the gentle soul. Convincing the rest of them would not be very hard, I’m sure, and even if it would… If somebody doesn't want to work with you, then… well. Nobody is irreplaceable. With stu—”

“Seriously?” Severus couldn’t believe his ears.

“What?”

For a moment Severus considered voicing his thoughts, but quickly changed his mind. It would make him look like a stupid insecure teenager who has difficulties believing that somebody might actually choose him. 

“Nothing,” he shook his head slightly. Minerva sighed, annoyed, but continued.

“As I was saying, with students it would be harder, of course, but when they see how many good changes you no doubt will make in the school, when they’ll feel the other professors’ support of you, they will accept you. I am absolutely convinced of that. You are not a monster, Severus. You can act like one, certainly, but in your heart you are a great man. We all have a lot to learn from you.”

What a pile of nauseatingly sentimental shit… 

“They know me as a dark wizard, Minerva. A dark, cruel, and biased bastard that I am . It’s not going to change.”

“No, it is, Severus. It is going to bloody change. You’ve lived through a biased headmaster and learned your lesson. You’ll just have to make sure that everybody knows it, and I will gladly help you.” McGonagall stated fiercely. “I’ve learned that lesson too.” They were silent for a few moments. “Besides, you’re not the only one who’s thought of this little problem, our previously mentioned now mutual young friend did too, I’m sure, and if you do things right, would do his best to improve the general public’s opinion of you, which will help tremendously.”

“For fuck’s sake, not with Potter again… I've already had enough of that—” Severus cut himself before saying something he would undoubtedly regret later. “…Of him for several lifetimes. And don't you call him my friend… I don't want him involved in this in any way or form.”

“Why not? Don’t be stupid, Severus. I was joking, nobody’s forcing you to befriend the boy or whoever he is and go around holding autograph sessions together. Are you a Slytherin or not, for Merlin's sake? After everything you’ve done for him over the years — I'm sure nobody even knows the real extent of your help — and after all that, it’s high time he started being useful to you as well. The trial was a good start, but only a start. It’s your whole future at stake. Don't let the opportunity of a lifetime slip because of this absolutely ridiculous, childish, pointless, endless, ignominious feud of yours! I swear to you — on anything you want — that he’s not actually that bad. At the end of the day, he’s decent, he’s quick, he’s smart. Yes, not book-smart, like Miss Granger is, but he is smart. Life has taught him a cruel lesson, Severus. Just like it taught you. If Harry Potter finally has opened his eyes on the situation and wants to help, wouldn't it be worth the trouble? Isn't your life worth some fleeting moment of a hurt pride? He has means and power. Let him help. You’re a young and extraordinarily brilliant man, Severus, you need to go out there and live, doing many extraordinarily brilliant things, not hide around mama’s basements.”

"You really do think he'll help me, don't you? Even after today?"

"And how exactly what happened today differs from what was happening for six years almost on a daily basis?" 

"It differs significantly. Back then I treated him badly, I admit, but he wasn't trying to win my approval either. Now he basically offered me a truce, made a real step towards it even, and I basically attempted to rip him a new one as a ‘thank you’."

"Then go back there and apologise. Act like an adult, like you actually deserve the respect that you demanded of him all this time." 

"No."

"Yes." 

"No." 

"Yes.”

“I won’t go there, period.”

“Why are you being such a fool, Severus?! I guarantee you, he’s not going to humiliate you, if that’s what this is about. He’s better than that, better than you think.”

" Stop saying that! I've memorised it already." 

"Then what the heck is the problem?"

Severus inhaled, preparing to declare his excruciatingly long list of what could potentially go wrong with this, but something stopped him. His logical side screamed that it was Potter who made that first step towards the truce, not the other way around. And it wasn't even his help at the trial, as one might think, it was earlier, when, standing in one of the Hogwarts halls under the invisibility cloak and knowing that he was looking at the traitor and murderer, he did nothing. So things might go differently.

Severus sat frozen, staring at McGonagall and thinking hard. She indeed was right, damnit. It was his whole life at stake. Didn’t he promise himself to try and make it worth living? Who cared if he’d have to use Potter in some way to accomplish that… As for the rest of it, she also had a point — for a start, familiarity of the school and the job would make things easier, so why not? Nobody said that he should be shackled in that office till death’s door, right? This whole Potter issue was a setback, certainly… But not so big as to pass up the opportunity to rebuild his life.

“Fine. You win.”

Minerva beamed at him and squeezed his hand.

“Thank you, Severus,” she whispered happily. “You promise to go to Harry tomorrow then?”

“I do.”

And more the fool he was.

“Great. I’m glad to hear it. Do let me know how everything went down, alright?” she asked, standing up. Severus nodded.

“Great. So… I’ll be going then, it’s becoming really late. There are a few things concerning the school that we need to discuss as soon as possible, though, so owl me when you get back tomorrow.”

Severus agreed and walked her back to the fireplace. After a short goodbye,  McGonagall flooed back to her house, but Severus remained where he stood, just staring at the strange dance of the small flames. He felt empty. He looked around the old room which remained almost exactly the same as it was since the day it was built, and the room looked back. Every corner reminded Severus of his childhood. Behind this age-old armchair he used to hide when he was small. On this lumpy couch his father slept when he was too drunk to climb the stairs to his bedroom. This rug was nearly see-through and had an odd brown-ish-grey colour because of how often his mother tried to wash numerous stains of blood and vomit out of it. Mother's favourite curtains, bulky and ancient as life itself, that were hanging on this very spot for as long as he could remember himself, almost always were tightly closed — he didn’t even remember the last time they were open. Probably some time around his mother’s death over twenty years ago. The left one was badly torn when Severus was around five. Father lost yet another job, came back pissed out of his skull, and destroyed half of the room in a fit of violence. The memory of his mother’s silent sobs while she sat hunched on the couch and tried to mend the curtain by hand was forever engraved in Severus’ mind. She used thread of the wrong colour and the uneven stitching was still visible. On this yellowish windowsill he once cracked his skull, trying to get out of the way of his father’s beloved broken broom handle. This tiny side-table was smashed by his own back so many times, it could barely hold its own weight. It stood empty for the last twenty-five or so years. Behind this bookcase was a spot on the wall with torn out wallpaper. This was where his father finally managed to deliver his last and the most damaging blow to his mother’s head… The memory about her slowly sliding down to the floor, about the dark blood trail on the wall, about the accusation and pain forever imprinted in her eyes haunted him still.

Severus didn't know how much time had passed as he stood there frozen, but eventually he jolted awake, picked up the half-finished bottle from the kitchen table, and walked out of the house on some sort of autopilot. He could not breathe in that place.

The streets were dark and somewhat chilly. Severus wandered for quite some time, trying to calm his frenzied mind and return his thoughts to some semblance of order, but without much success. Then he remembered the bottle that still was clutched in his hand and took a swing. It helped a little. He took another swing. It helped a little more. And then he sat down on some bench and didn't get up until the bottle was empty, not particularly caring about the picture he presented to the occasional passersby. Locals were long used to it, and those who weren’t, were not locals, therefore, as a general rule, were somewhere else.

Firewhiskey hit him in the head, really hit him for the first time in many years, and his head said 'thank you'. An indefinite amount of time later — it was dark, that was all Severus knew, — with his mind just as blissfully empty as the bottle, he apparated home, not even bothering to check whether or not he was alone.

A pair of green eyes that watched him from a distance lazily blinked, and then silently disappeared into the night.

* * *

A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING

* * *

16th of May, Saturday. Potter Manor

Harry woke up later than usual, still feeling out of sorts after yesterday’s ‘meeting’ with Snape. His initial curiosity about the professor that he felt when he came to the blasted school all those years ago had long worn off and got replaced by reality, so he knew that the man was a right bastard. To be surprised by that fact one needed to be worse than the dumbest idiot on the planet. That Snape was such an ungrateful bastard was debatable until yesterday. Now, though, Harry wondered what on bleeding earth made him believe that after so many years of mutual hatred (from Snape’s side, quite genuine) one instance of goodwill and one conversation might turn them from enemies to allies. Maybe he really was the aforementioned dumbest idiot on the planet.

No matter, though. Once upon a time, Harry promised to himself that he’d try, he did try, the rest of it — not important. At least that’s what Harry thought while making his way down to the kitchen for a spot of late breakfast. Sun shone through the large windows, leaving rectangular-shaped bright patches on the white marble floor with shadows of leaves dancing inside them merrily. Harry watched them all the way down, not for the first time glad that all those years ago found and renovated this place. With his penchant for gloominess, he needed a home like this: light, airy, and cheery — otherwise he'll drive himself into a deeper and deeper depression, and they would have a new Dark Lord on hands. This time truly unstoppable.

The kitchen was spacious and bright. It was one hundred percent muggle with all the appropriate household appliances present, with a birch kitchen set, and a square white table with four elegant chairs besides the furthest window. It looked like one of the perfect pictures from a household magazine and had everything a chef could dream of, sans house-elves, because this room — it was Harry's paradise. No one other than him was allowed to touch anything in the room. If somebody asked him if he loved anything in the world, he'd name cooking. It was his outlet, his happy place where he could escape no matter what. Dumbledore once again demanded the impossible? Make a Shepherd's pie. Weasley had been sucking Harry's brain out through a narrow tube all day with endless talk about Quidditch? Time for a Sticky Toffee Pudding. Bloody shoulder was burning worse than usual? How about making a Welsh Cawl? And so on, and so forth. In other words, cooking was what kept him sane all these years. 

Therefore when Harry made it to the kitchen, his mood improved somewhat already. Snape turned out to be Snape… So what? It wasn't important all that much really. What was then, you'd ask? Pancakes, naturally. 

Harry pulled eggs and milk out of the fridge, then took the flour and other necessary things from the cabinets, preparing to start on the batter, when he was interrupted by a loud 'pop'. 

"Master Harold," drawled a raspy voice.

"Hello, Kreature," Harry replied, glancing at the old elf for a moment. "Is something the matter at the house?" 

"Everything in order, master." 

"Is. Everything is in order, Kreacher. Don't forget your lessons."

"Kreacher is old, master," the elf bowed, "Tis hard for the old elf…" 

Harry frowned and stopped stirring for a moment, staring the elf down. "We discussed this, Kreacher. Stop whining about your age, you have a good fifty years ahead of you if not more. You're a Potter elf now, you represent my family. And as such, I demand you improve your education as best as you can. At the very least speak proper English and remember to use your manners as any decent sentient being should."

"Of course, master," Kreacher bowed low. "Kreacher—" Harry cleared his throat loudly. "Sorry. I will remember." 

"Good," Harry replied and resumed whisking the batter. "Now, did you want something?"

"Yes, master. There's this Granger-girl, she comed… came to the house and asked to be brought here."

"Bring her then," Harry sighed. "Straight here."

Kreacher bowed once again and vanished.

Harry didn't have to wait long. 

"Hi," Hermione said hesitantly behind his back, and Harry turned around. She stood a couple of paces away from him fidgeting and fiddling with the lowest button of her simple plaid shirt. 

"I hope you don't mind that I'm here. I just… Last time we left things in a bad state and I… Well… At the end of the day, you're still my best friend, no matter what Ron says. I don't care what he does anymore, nor do I care that you're different. We went through hell together. I don't want to lose you, Harry." 

Harry sighed. "At the end of the day, Hermione, I don't want to lose you too."

What a mess… He crossed the remaining distance between them and pulled her into a bear-hug. They stayed like that for a long moment, just enjoying the peace it brought. 

"Care for some pancakes?" Harry asked, finally pulling away. Hermione smiled and nodded. "Take a seat then."

While he cooked, the two of them remained silent, though Harry was acutely aware of Hermione's gaze that tracked his every move. 

"Where did you learn to cook?" she finally asked from her seat at the dining table. 

"From Petunia mostly. I did a lot of things around her house," Harry replied, not even looking up from the frying pan that he was quickly cleaning up the muggle way. "Though I spent many years improving my skills just because I like the process, so…" he turned around, drying his hands with a towel. "Tea?" 

"Yes, please." 

Harry nodded and got his favourite small tea set out of the cupboard. 

"My skills are rudimentary…" Hermione said after a while. "But, you, of course, already know that, sorry." 

"I can help you if you want," Harry replied, ignoring her obvious discomfort, and placed a silver tray with a tea-kettle and two cups on the table. "It's not hard, especially if you cook something that you really like."

"I'll think about it. Thanks, though." Hermione smiled, but Harry noticed that it didn't really reach her eyes. He found himself upset over that fact, which was not all that surprising. Hermione was probably the only person who he'd miss if he lost everyone. Or if everyone lost him, same difference. And then something just clicked in his mind. He sat down at the table opposite her and leaned on his elbows. 

"I'm gonna be honest, Hermione. You're okay with that?" She seemed nervous, but nodded nonetheless. "When we met, I was entirely different from what you saw, more so, I may or may not have changed further since that day in every way you could imagine, but one thing stayed the same all this time: from the moment I set one foot on that train, the only person I truly liked was you." Harry paused. "When I said that I don't want to lose you, I meant it. This whole situation is hard for you, I can see it, it's not easy for me too, therefore I have an obvious, nauseatingly banal suggestion: let's start over. As if we only met five minutes ago. Hello," he held out his hand. "My name is Harold James Potter, but I prefer just Harry." 

Hermione's smile widened as she took the offered hand. "Hi. I'm Hermione Granger, and I hate it when people shorten my name. It's nice to meet you, Harry." 

Harry also smiled the best he could with half of his face not working, which must’ve looked creepy, but Hermione just soldiered on. 

"So… How about that tea and pancakes? And afterwards I can give you a tour of the house and the grounds." 

"Sounds great."

Harry poured them both tea, put a plate with pancakes along with jam, honey, and sour cream onto the table, and they ate, chatting about nothing in particular, and it was great.

For about an hour or so after they finished, Harry showed Hermione around his home and the flower garden nearby, then they returned to the house and made themselves comfortable on one of the benches that stood around a small fountain in the backyard. 

"The house is lovely, Harry. And the garden… I absolutely adore it. If I could stay there forever, I would. When did you buy it?" 

Harry shrugged. "I didn't. We're on the Potter Manor grounds. This was a dowager house, until I remodelled it to suit my needs. It's called the Sun Cottage. The dawns here are magnificent. You should see it. Remember that day when we met the dawn in the forest last winter? It's like that, only better."

"Wow… How long have you been living here?"

"Around a decade, more or less." 

Hermione nodded, absentmindedly looking at the greenery surrounding them, but as Harry's words permeated her mind properly, her eyes snapped to him.

"What about the Dursleys then?" 

"I showed up there from time to time to keep up the ruse and to keep my wards around the property." 

"So there were no blood wards?" 

"They crumbled as soon as I moved out permanently."

"And you put around new wards despite how those awful people treated you?" 

Harry looked at Hermione long and hard. He never told her anything about the way he was treated at that household. He never told anyone… But of course she knew. "Don't tell me that you would've acted differently," he said at last, which made her squirm uncomfortably on her seat.

“I’m not being hypocritical, if that’s what you mean…”

“I know,” Harry smiled a little. “Sorry. You’re an all-around great person. I’m not, though… So it was a valid question. I didn’t do it out of the goodness of my heart, I did it because otherwise it would’ve broken the ruse and complicated the game, that’s all.”

“Would you ever tell me about it?” Hermione asked and Harry opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment he felt a certain someone approaching his house from the other side.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, perplexed a little. He never expected him to return. “I would, of course. Not now, though, it seems someone decided to join our merry party."

Hermione looked around herself, but upon seeing no one, turned back to Harry questioningly. 

"How do you know? Who is it? Is it Ronald?" 

"Oh, so much more interesting… It's none other than our esteemed Severus Snape."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she stood, turning to face the same direction where Harry was looking.

"How can you tell?" she whispered. 

"Firstly, I need you to understand, everything I share with you in regards to my way of doing magic is strictly between us. To do what I'm doing is highly illegal. This art was forgotten like centuries ago, but technically is still illegal." Hermione's eyes widened, but she nodded nonetheless, so Harry continued. "I can feel the source of Snape's magic, ergo — Snape himself, getting closer." 

"How?" 

"I just can, Hermione, sorry, but I can't really explain it without downright teaching you the art, and it won't happen. Like I said, it's illegal, and in your case — unnecessary. You do great the conventional way," he made an attempt at smiling. "Penelope," he called. 

The elf appeared in front of them, dusting off her long tunic-like dress. "Yes, Master Harold." Hermione made some incoherent noise, but thankfully kept her mouth shot. 

"Penelope, would you please escort our new guest here?" 

"Of course, Master. Right away." And she promptly vanished from sight. 

Anticipating a small explosion, Harry turned to his friend. Hermione looked at him, expectantly raising one eyebrow. 

"Do not look at me this way, Hermione. Yes, I employ house elves. Seven of them, to be exact, including Kreacher. But before you trouble yourself with indignation, talk to them . I have no time for this now."

And indeed, the moment he finished the sentence, a black-clad figure of Severus Snape appeared around the corner. Harry relaxed in his seat on the bench, — not that he was particularly  stressed to begin with — and looked at his former teacher (who was looking anywhere but at him). 

Snape stopped just a few steps shy of the circle of the benches and visibly forced himself to take a deep breath and relax. Nobody said a word. 

"Excuse me for the intrusion. Mr Potter, Miss Granger," he inclined his head slightly.

"No worries, sir," Harry replied, standing up, but not moving any closer, nor inviting Snape to do it. "Has something happened? You see, I'm a little busy at the moment."

"Are you?" Snape glanced at Hermione, and Harry saw her stiffen. "Terribly sorry. I'm on a tight schedule myself today, and I was hoping to steal several minutes of your time. In private," he added after a moment of silence, looking meaningfully at Hermione.

She loudly cleared her throat. "Right. Of course. Sorry. Harry, you wouldn't mind if I took a closer look at your library, would you?" 

She turned to him with a silent plea in her eyes. Harry smiled. 

"Sure thing. You're welcome to it any time. Penelope," he called once again, "Hermione would like a tour of the library, if you please." 

The elf bowed. "Of course, miss. I'd be happy to help. Can I take your hand or would you like to walk there?" 

"Er, walk… I guess."

Penelope beamed and the two of them moved towards the back entrance behind the benches.

"So…" Harry drawled as the door closed.

"Are we going to talk here?"

“I’m afraid a portrait of my great-great-great-about-five-more-times-great uncle Frederic is too… um, offended, shall we say. He was most unimpressed with your… unflattering characterisations of his descendants. He told me that back during his days, if a person invited to the Manor allowed themselves to speak of the family using such foul language, they would instantly be kicked out from the grounds by the wards around the property literally without their tongue. Permanently. He advised me strongly to put those wards back.”

A muscle on Snape’s face twitched.

“An unnecessary cruelty, surely…”

Harry strode forward, maintaining eye-contact.

“You think so?”

“I came with peace,” he said forcefully. 

Ugly red blotches began to spread on Snape’s face. Harry knew that the man stopped occluding and, judging by the look of things, was having a hard time dealing with the aftereffects. He obviously tried badly to keep himself in check now, and Harry, despite his initial decision to make Snape squirm, took pity on the man. Besides, they were at it for a couple of minutes at most, but it was Snape, and Harry couldn’t imagine any possible reason for him to still be here. How badly did he want that peace? Or maybe it wasn't the peace that he wanted?

“Follow me then.”

And he led the way to the same door that Hermione and Penelope used what seems like a lifetime ago.

* * *

Potter led him to the kitchen and took a seat at a dining table, inviting Severus to do the same. The table was small and square and stood pushed to the furthest wall under a large window. Potter sat down on the nearest of three chairs around it with his back to the entrance, which allowed Severus to pick the one on the boy’s left and be able to see most of the room. 

Severus sat ramrod straight, carefully stapled his fingers on the table and looked at them, gathering his thoughts. Silence stretched. After several moments, he raised his eyes at the boy and took a deep breath, determined. This strange new Potter with his strangely blank face and a new-found remarkable ability to use what most called a “slytherin-speak” sat a bit too close for comfort, but Severus ignored it too. He would make it through, he had to, no matter how terrified he was (and the fact that he couldn’t even get angry at the brat for his earlier performance was speaking about that so loud, it was deafening).

"Tea?" 

"No, thank you." 

"Alright. Sir—"

"And what, pray tell, happened with 'Severus'?" he shot sharply, defiantly raising an eyebrow. Severus attempted to turn the table and gain the upper hand, compensating for his discomfort, falling back on this usual ironclad tactic of his which was second — although, maybe it had already become first — nature by this point. The fact that Potter dared to call him by his given name once during the battle did annoy him somewhat, but definitely not at the time. Back then he felt too much altogether to discern anything particular, therefore all of it was so repressed by Occlumency, Severus remembered it all as if it was someone else's feelings, not his. And now it was too late to start feeling so wholly wronged by something that happened almost two weeks prior.

Potter fell silent, leaning back, and just watched him calmly. It was unnerving. He felt his face getting hotter again and tried to calm down.

"I’m sorry, sir. It was not said out of lack of respect. There was no time for lengthy explanations or for talking you into things, I needed to shock you enough so you’d snap out of your stupor and do what needed to be done, that’s all. I’m sure you understand."

Severus certainly did. At the time, it was probably the only thing that could quickly reach the intended effect and break through to him. And looking back now, Severus couldn't really find fault with the boy's… or the man’s… Oh, blast it all, his actions.

"Yes, I do, in fact, understand, Mr. Potter. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, however.” Severus took two deep breaths. “I won’t take up much of your time. First and foremost I would like to… apologise for my behaviour yesterday. If I need to also make amends to any portraits, I'm ready. You caught me off guard, and…” He wanted to add a few words about a general mayhem that the lack of Occlumency wrought inside his already fragile psyche, but stopped himself in time. “It will not happen again.” Severus finished instead, looking Potter in the eyes.

“All forgotten,” Potter replied. To his credit, he did not look shocked by the apology (an unheard of thing in and of itself), or indignant, or in any other way Gryffindorishly emotional.

“Secondly, I wanted to thank you for your help during my trial. Without your testimony and the memories you provided, I most likely would’ve spent the rest of my existence as another soulless ornament on an Azkaban wall.”

Silence stretched heavily.

“That’s all I came here to say.” Severus rose from his chair. “Have a good day.” He wanted to know the answers to his real questions, he truly did, but he also played this game many times. Potter acted more like a Slytherin than a Gryffindor, which required small steps, roundabout ways, and a lot of patience. Luckily, Severus was none other than patience personified. In some ways it was even better — it allowed him to return to familiar territory. 

“What a fucked-up sorry-ass bastard you are…” Potter whispered, as if toppling a bucket of ice-cold water on Severus’ head. He froze mid-motion.

“Excuse me?..”

Here goes familiar territory… He started getting nervous all over again and with rapid speed. 

Potter turned his head to look at Severus and sighed.

“You heard me.” He stood up. “Simple tea won’t do it." Potter glanced at Severus. "Sit," he deadpanned, walking into an inconspicuous door on his right. To say that Severus was shocked was… no, he was not shocked, he was… How could a person feel so many things at the same time? It was not normal. All his senses became so highlighted, it made his head spin. 

"I won't offer you alcohol, it wouldn't do any good," Potter's voice continued from the other room as the boy himself rummaged around what sounded like shelves and drawers. "But I have a recipe of a special blend from China." 

Potter fell silent and a couple of moments later emerged, holding a big-ish jar, clearly made of clay. 

"Pottery, Potter?" Severus smirked despite the black spots that danced across his vision. "At long last, something fitting."

"I think I told you to sit down…" the brat said, wandlessly heating up a kettle on a stove. 

Severus didn’t know what had gotten into him at that moment, and doubted sincerely that he ever would, but he did sit back down without a word. Don't get him wrong, he did have several strong expressions on the tip of his tongue just for the occasion, only he seemed to have forgotten how his mouth worked… And then the world stopped. 

Potter returned to the table, carrying a tray with two cups, a small tea-kettle, and a kettle with boiling-hot water. Severus watched the boy's hands deftly make up both cups as if it was in a movie, as if he wasn't in his own body… It wasn't the first time this strange detachment happened, and likely wouldn't be the last, and Severus felt that he should be worrying about it, but couldn't find in himself any strength to even make an effort to remember this thought. 

"Drink." 

That was the next word that found its way through the growing fog in his mind. A pity that Severus could barely understand its meaning.

"Severus…" 

It was his name. He was Severus, right? Right, he was. 

Then a pair of oddly familiar green eyes permeated his line of sight. 

"Severus. I said, drink." 

It sounded like a command. The voice had definite authority that demanded obedience. And the green eyes had a hard and unyielding expression to them—

Soft power enveloped him. 

"Drink," sounded one more time, and Severus found himself picking up a steaming cup and taking a sip. Then another. The taste was quite good. He took two more sips and looked at Potter who sat looking at him with the same unnerving blankness on his face that was the whole reason for Severus' presence here really. 

Nice calming warmth spread in waves from his stomach throughout his whole body, and, strangely, even mind, and Severus dropped his gaze to the tea in his hands. A special blend indeed. 

"Cheers," Potter said, raising his own cup. 

Suddenly realising what had transpired and feeling too embarrassed and too crowded, Severus jumped from his seat. "I need to go." And he practically raced out of the house. Driven by the completely irrational fear that he was being followed, he apparited two steps away from the porch, noticing that he was still clutching Potter's empty cup only when he reappeared in the middle of his own living room with small wet spots sprayed all over his clothes. 

"Fuck," Severus announced to his furniture. 

He almost smashed the cup, but at the last moment changed his mind. Not counting the fact that it was Potter's, he could find no fault with it, it wasn't even disgustingly luxurious. Just a common muggle white cup. 

The moment Severus registered how much attention he was paying to a bloody tea cup, there was a soft knock on his front door. He contemplated ignoring it, but whoever it was, they persisted. 

Sighing, Severus made his way to the front door and tugged it with a little more force than was necessary.

If he would’ve found Voldemort on the other side, he'd be more surprised, though Merlin knew why. 

"Good day, Sir," squeaked a small familiar-looking house elf, bowing respectfully. "Master Harold sent me here to give you this." She held out the same jar Potter used for his 'special Chinese blend'. Severus took it. "And this." It was a simple white envelope. "Have a good day, Sir!" And with another bow, the elf silently snapped out of existence. 

It all happened so fast, for a few seconds Severus continued to stand in front of his opened door, dumbfounded. Bloody Potter and his bloody livestock… Why couldn't they leave him be? 

He finally slammed the poor door shut, returned to the living room, and practically threw himself on the couch. After checking the jar and the envelope for any possible traps and reluctantly deeming it safe, he opened the jar and looked inside. It was full to the brim with the expected tea. Severus put it on the floor nearby and eyed the envelope. What could Potter possibly have to say to him? Sure, what they had, strictly speaking, wasn't a conversation. And, to be completely honest, there were a lot of things that they both could, and maybe should still, say to each other. But right now Severus couldn't stomach any form of contact with the blasted boy-turned-man. And he also had a terrible bout of deja-vu. 

But the envelope didn’t care. 

With a deep breath, Severus decided to just dive in headfirst and tore it open. 

You were right, this piece of pottery is fitting indeed. It fits nicely
on any shelf, you should try it, just to see for yourself. 

P.S.: I included a list of ingredients, but the pot's self-refilling,
so I don't see why anyone would bother getting bored reading it. 

P.P.S.: I'm terribly sorry to say this, but the brain de-mushing
'magic' of the blend works properly only without usual additions
to the tea (like sugar and such) and 2 times per 24 hours at most.

The last one is so important, I can’t stress it enough.

The proper way to brew a cup is also described on a second page.

P.P.P.S.: I heard that writing silly thoughts in silly journals with
silly doodles on the margins goes a long way to reducing the
aforementioned mushiness, but it’s none of my business,
so I better conclude this note until it spontaneously combusted
right in your hands. We wouldn’t want that, would we?

                                            P 

Severus snorted, but quickly took hold of himself again.

There indeed was a second page, where indeed was the description of the brewing process as well as a one hell of a long list of ingredients for the blend. Some of the plants weren't even grown anywhere on the British Isles, even with magic. But, being the potions master of the calibre that he was, Severus knew magical and non-magical properties of every single one of them, and was impressed with whomever put the blend together. It wasn’t only calming, it helped to clear and sharpen the mind, helped to sleep better, helped to strengthen the immune system. This tea was like a muggle potion.

“Incredible.”

Severus leaned back on the couch and quickly thought over the merits of sending Potter a ‘thank you’ note. It would’ve been a proper and polite thing to do, especially knowing the cost of some of the ingredients to which he now had unlimited access.

On the other hand, these thoughts inevitably led to thoughts about his embarrassing episode not an hour ago. It was bad enough when it happened when Severus was alone, now he had a witness. He was going mad. He already knew that. But now his dire situation somehow seemed a thousand times more real. And not because of the witness. Not because of who the witness was. Or maybe just partly. Potter was not his friend. Not an enemy, but still… not a friend either. And the fact that he saw the symptoms, and did not advise to go get help, but became the helping hand himself and so promptly… It meant something. It meant that the situation Severus found himself in when strange newly acquainted ex-enemies hurriedly give away remedies for free was far worse than he was hoping.

He picked the simple ‘piece of pottery’ up and held it in his hands, staring at it for a long time. Normally, the amount of stressful thought process he was undergoing in one go would’ve already caused another episode, but the effects of the tea held, and Severus couldn’t stop marvelling at it. He was starting to regain hope. The tea wasn’t a miraculous treatment, it won’t cure him from the aftereffects of grossly overused Occlumency, he knew. But for the first time he had a hope of it all going easier.

UNIMENCY

* * *

Same day, the Sun Cottage

"Wait… I don't understand. I don't doubt you or think you're lying or anything, but, Harry… Magic doesn't work like that. It just doesn't."

Hermione and Harry loitered about the library a couple of hours after Snape had fled the cottage, while Harry told his friend a few things about his way of doing magic. She seemed uncertain, which was quite insulting in all honesty.

"What are you doing then? If not doubting me." Harry sat down on the armrest of one of the soft plush armchairs in the furthest corner of the library and crossed his arms.

"I'm sorry," Hermione looked apologetic. "I just… I just don't understand. Not a single book I have ever read had even a hint on what you're saying."

"Believe me, I know. I've spent a couple of years in the ministry's restricted archives searching for the lore, and all I've managed to find was a single piece of parchment. An unfinished and barely legible draft of some Ancient bloke's study."

"Where did you get the name of the art then? Whatever it is."

"It doesn't matter. What does, though, is whatever stood for the government at the time forbidding the use and study of this art with the most awful consequences. They basically tortured to death anyone who dared to study it, even those who were just noticed talking or being in a hearing distance from someone who spoke the art's name."

Hermione's eyes widened and she put the mug of freezing cold coffee she was holding onto the small corner-table on her left. "It can't be that bad, cat it?"

Harry measured his friend with a calculating gaze. Should he tell her? It kind of was the whole point of this discussion, but… Something nagged at him. "It's not a great idea. It's not a great idea. It's not a great idea…" Hermione, although, might get it into her head to look for answers by herself if she didn't understand the magnitude of the situation. It was more than likely, actually. Bollocks…

"But it is. It's like a quintessence of all that unforgivables are. There's no defence against it, no way to hide. I can control your magic, your body, and your mind even at great distances. And I can do it without even a conscious thought, let alone lifting a finger. You see that fly over there?" Harry asked, pointing at the nearest bookcase. "What's it doing?" 

"Er… Flying?.."

"And now it drops dead." The poor fly froze in the air and fell on the carpeted floor, dead as a rock. "Imagine it being a human. You see what I mean?"

Hermione stared at the fly, completely horrified. "I do," she whispered and looked up at Harry who continued:

"Promise me that you will never even think of this art again. Promise me that you will never ask me to tell you its name. Promise me that you will never ever again ask me to explain how I do things. This art is not bad in itself. It's just a tool like any other, but in the wrong hands it will be a complete and utter horror. It will be Hell on Earth. Promise me Hermione."

She was gobsmacked, which was what Harry was aiming for. She sat in the opposite armchair, just staring at him for a few moments, and finally nodded. "I understand." She hesitated. "And… And I promise, of course."

Harry nodded.

"So what do you think of my library?"

Hermione beamed and erupted in praise. "It's so great! I love it, Harry! It's not a Hogwarts library, of course, but all the good books that I could think of, I found. You even have a large muggle fiction section! Can I borrow something? I swear, I'll be extremely careful, you know me. Please?"

She looked so hopeful, it made Harry smile fondly. "Of course, you can borrow whatever caught your fancy, I don't mind."

"Thanks!" Hermione jumped out of her seat and shot for the bookcases. Harry didn't follow her. He sat down in the armchair properly, taking out his cigarettes and a lighter. He could use magic instead, but there was something calming in the soft click of the lighter. Harry leaned his head on the backrest and took a long drag, looking at the white ceiling and thinking.

He trusted Hermione. He really did. He could've told her more, there really wasn't such a grave danger of people finding out. The only way for it to happen, besides the obvious one, would be through Legilimency, and in all of magical Britain there wasn't a big number of people who knew of its existence to start with, let alone were capable of successfully using it. But Harry wouldn't have lived that long if were so careless.

He glanced around the room. The library was quiet and warm. Plain beige walls were lined with shelves from top to bottom along the perimeter of the room, interspersed with six windows and two doors. In the centre of the room also stood several three metres high bookcases, forming a large "U". The armchairs and a small table were in the furthest from the main double doors corner and directly across another simpler door that led to Harry's study.

There was a time when Harry thought of magically enlarging the space, because, as it turned out, the Manor's collection combined with his own was quite large, but in the end he decided against it. He divided the collection instead, placing the books on Dark Arts and Defence in the study and everything potions and muggle science related — to the basement where his labs were. A big part of the Manor collection — the more useless one — stayed in the main house and was diligently tended to by Dorothy — the Head Elf of the Potter family.

Harry blinked, tearing himself out of thoughts about books and elves. He had to decide whether to put some protections on what information about Unimency Hermione now had or try to become less paranoid, which did not seem possible in all honesty.

"You're not thinking of obliviating me, are you?" Hermione glided out from behind the nearest bookcase, looking worried. Harry glanced at her, breathing out a wisp of smoke towards the ceiling.

"I'm thinking about putting a shield around the dangerous information in your mind."

"How are you going to do that? The only person I know who knows Occlumency is professor Snape. Are you going to tell him too? Isn't it dangerous?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. 

"Or are you telling me that you've mastered Occlumency and I'm just continuing to think of you as the boy you no longer are? How long have you been smoking, by the way?"

Harry extinguished his cigarette, and, magically vanishing it, got up. "So many questions at once, Hermione," he smirked. "Let's go to the study, I have a book on Occlumency there."

The two of them went to the next room: Harry — leading the way, and Hermione — following, hugging three thick books she'd picked to her chest.

"Frederick, you dead bastard, let the bird go…"

The next morning was cloudy, but thankfully it did not rain. Harry got up at seven, as was his habit, feeling unusually energetic, so after brushing his teeth, he put on some shorts and a t-shirt, and went for a run in the garden. He rarely did it, only when the mood was right, which was the case this day. Like cooking, fresh air did wonders with his equilibrium, and not for the first time, Harry was glad that he lived on a sparsely populated island among trees and hills. His ancestors sure knew how to pick places.

After a quick shower, Harry made himself a cheese omelette, fried some bacon, and had a peaceful breakfast with Penelope, quietly discussing what needed to be done around the house that day. Approximately at nine, he finally sat down at his desk in the study to deal with a large pile of safe mail that made it through the sifting ward around the grounds that didn't allow anything dangerous to get inside. Most of what had gotten through it was complete bullshit: letters from his faithful fans who, naturally, always believed in him without a hint of a doubt, letters from leeches, as Harry called them, who barrelled him with invitations to their numerous social events, job openings, invitations to take him on as an apprentice, love letters, marriage proposals, and so on. His desk was perpetually drowning in scribbles, often perfumed, and it was only two weeks since the battle. Heaving a world-weary sigh, Harry started to sort through the pile, burning everything unimportant and vanishing the ashes before they hit the floor.

It took him forty-five minutes to finish the task. He counted one hundred and thirteen letters total, and only one of them survived. It was an official notice from the Gringotts goblins, who asked him to the bank next Thursday to "reach an agreement concerning the events of the 1st of May to the complete satisfaction of both parties". 

"Satisfaction my arse," Harry mumbled, scanning  the page one more time. Money, that's what those little belligerent wankers wanted.  Money, or everything that was easily converted into money, nothing more. After his stunt with the Lestrange vault that left a giant stain on the bank's otherwise pristine reputation, the goblins definitely were going to ask for a hell of a lot more than Harry was willing to give. He made a mental note to dig up all bank-related information the ministry had before the meeting.

His musings were interrupted — once again — by Kreacher. The elf appeared in front of his desk, pulling at his ear.

"Good morning, Kreacher. What is it?" Harry asked patiently. Kreacher's mood swings were legendary… The elf still wasn't completely recovered from the prolonged contact with Riddle's horcrux, probably never will be, and Harry tried to be mindful of that fact. 

"Good morning, sir. It is the female professor from the Order organisation. McGonagall. She asks Kreacher…" he shook his head slightly. "She asks me to bring her to you, master. Says she has important things to tell."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "She does, doesn't she. Why are all of them apparently unable to leave me be, hm, Kreature?" He got up. "Don't answer that."

Kreature bowed.

"Bring her to the Entrance hall then, I'll get down shortly."

The elf left. Harry put the Gringotts letter into the top drawer of his desk, stretched, and made for the door to the library.

What the hell did she want from him now?

He made his way downstairs. McGonagall was standing near the railing, gripping it and looking at the ceiling. 

"His name's Alfred," Harry said, also shifting his gaze up at the magnificent white cockatoo who curiously watched the newcomer from one of the branches.

"It's good to know, Mr Potter," replied McGonagall, glancing at him briefly.

"Well, I have good news,” she announced cheerfully to the glass back door behind him. So she talked with Snape then. Interesting.

"Let's go to the drawing room," invited Harry and without another word moved deeper into the house.

The drawing room was in the left wing of the ground floor, and was about the same size as the library above it. It had a big ornamented fireplace, two narrow half-empty bookcases in the furthest corners, a large soft couch with two matching armchairs, and a coffee table. The rest of it was just air and light. It looked nice, but for some reason Harry didn't like this room much, so he almost never was here.

When they were seated — Harry on the couch and McGonagall on the armchair on his left — the professor cleared her throat loudly and tried to keep her eyes on Harry's face without staring outright or broadcasting her shock. A truly commendable endeavour…

"So what's the good news, professor?" Harry asked, breaking the silence, but not the tension.

"Yes," McGonagall blinked out of her stupor. "Excuse me, Mr Potter. We'll get to it in a minute." Her gaze turned back to Harry's face. "First, I'd like to hear some sort of explanation from you concerning your older appearance and this place, if you don't mind."

"And if I do mind?"

McGonagall's eyebrows jumped to her hairline, and Harry leaned toward her. 

"What if I do mind sharing my personal business with former teachers for no reason whatsoever, professor?" he repeated calmly. "Why are you asking?"

"Why am I… War hero or not, Mr Potter, this—"

"You people seem to be awfully fixated on my supposed status as a war hero," Harry snapped, interrupting her, and stood up. "If you also came here to berate me for whatever reason, I have no interest in listening to any of it. My elf will see you out."

With one last glance at the professor, Harry started to walk toward the door. 

"I worry about you, Harry, is it so wrong of me?" McGonagall called after him, and he stopped. "You three have been through a lot in recent years, unforgivably more than you should have. I just wish to know what happened to you to make sure you're alright."

Harry turned around.

"I am fine. Although, however it is, professor, no amount of worries on your part gives you a right to demand anything from me, least of all explanations. Regardless of my name or any possible social statuses, I am a grown man. I'm not your student anymore, professor, I don't owe you any answers."

Silence fell again, and with every second McGonagall was becoming more and more visibly angry.

"You're mistaken, Mr Potter. You still are one of my students as you are still enrolled at the school, and you do owe me a lot more than just answers. I have been your teacher for six years, for a start, and I have always helped you."

Harry's calm wavered as well. For a fleeting moment he debated whether or not he should dump on her head some of his thoughts about her helping hand in Albus Dumbledore dumping him on the Dursleys' threshold (because it was the only thing he could blame her for, even if only partially), just to see her reaction, but decided against it. Simultaneously, he decided against having this whole argument altogether, therefore let the silence stretch. He strode leisurely to the window and watched the wind toying with the leaves gently. About five minutes passed.

"Headmaster Snape and I decided to try and reopen the school this September, and if we do, we'll be offering your year an opportunity to properly complete your studies and pass your NEWTs," McGonagall said at last, giving up.

Harry was silent for a moment. "Snape's still the Headmaster then?"

"He's agreed to stay."

"Has the Board agreed too?"

"Oh, they will, don't you worry about that."

Harry smirked, turning back to the professor. "I see. And has he asked you to make house calls to me and my ex-yearmates to share the news?"

"No, Mr Potter. The rest of your class will receive a letter tomorrow, explaining all the details."

"And I won't?"

McGonagall sighed in exasperation. "You will too, naturally."

"Don't bother with it."

"Why the heck not?"”

"Because I will not be returning to your school."

"Why not?!"

So eloquent… She started to really piss him off.

"Because I don’t want to," he drawled. "Is there anything else?"

“YES!”

Harry wanted to sigh — or scream — but didn't. He just watched his guest calmly, waiting. McGonagall looked uncertain all of a sudden, nervous even, which in turn made Harry less certain that allowing her to come here was a good idea.

"Mr Potter, I can see that we had gotten off to a wrong start. If I offended you in any way, accept my apologies. I sincerely do worry about you and wish you nothing short of the best. All my enquiries, however inappropriately you think them phrased, were made to dispel my worries, nothing more. I am your friend, Mr Potter."

"Indeed…" Harry shook his head and returned to the couch.

"Professor. In the interest of speed. I did not mean to imply that I'm offended by your questions. Believe me, I'm not. There was nothing there to feel offended by. Shall we move on? Whatever so outlandish happened that you felt it necessary to make it all the way here?"

"You're not going to answer any of my questions, are you?"

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

"Fine. If you insist. In regards to my appearance: I'm looking older because I am older. I'm twenty-four. I've been using — legally — a… let's call it a kind of time turner I bought in Japan. If you want further explanations, you can ask Shacklebolt for them. As for the scars and what-not, I'm afraid, you'll have to demand explanations from Dumbledore. This cottage is a former dowager house on Potter Manor grounds, so it is (as is everything around it in about ten miles to the east) mine. I will not be returning to the school because, as strange as it may seem to you, I do not want to. Hogwarts gave me nothing but troubles, and the overall level of education there frankly is not worth it. Now, could we please return to the matter at hand?"

McGonagall paled. "Of course. I just…"

"Oh, for god's sake!.. I don't have all day. Leave your shocked sorrowful exclamations to yourself."

"Fine!" McGonagall snapped. "Be it that way. I came to you, Mr Potter, to discuss the state of the school—" Harry opened his mouth to say that he wasn't really interested in it, but wasn't fast enough. "Do not interrupt me, young man! You, after all, are the one who's responsible for it!" she continued in a loud voice, but then her brain seemed to catch up with her mouth, and McGonagall flushed. "At least partially…" she added quietly.

Honestly. Harry wasn't a fan of the house system, but this was the one occasion when he truly wanted to scream, 'Gryffindors!'. She was right, though, damn her. Thinking back, he could've — should've really — taken his confrontation with Tom to some other place that at the very least wasn't swarming with small children. But at that moment he selfishly thought only of his impending death, not giving a flying fuck about potential casualties, be they humans or castles. Flashing news: he was not infallible!

Shocking. Truly.

But the very first thing that he learned about this world over the Dursley’s knee all those years ago was that his every action, even the smallest one, always had consequences. And that thing still held true.

"Alright. Fine. What would you want me to do about the state of the blasted castle?"

"I need you to attend the Board of Governors’ meeting next Tuesday."

It was Harry’s turn to be stunned into silence.

"And I need you to make a donation to the school. If you’re willing, of course, it’s completely up to you…"

"Is it now?"

* * *

TAKE TWO

* * *

May 19th, Tuesday, 9:45 am. Hogwarts

Tuesday morning was even worse. It was so far the worst morning this spring and felt more like late November than mid-May. It was cold, damp, grey and misty, strong wind swept his hair back, and although Harry's magic prevented him from feeling the cold, the pressure that came with the frequent gusts was making his skin, especially the scarred portions of it, very uncomfortable. He hated it. He hated it probably even more than the fact that he was once again strolling up the path from the gates to the Hogwarts front doors. Bloody castle. He really had been hoping to never see it again. 

Although the school did look quite miserable in its current state, providing some small and twisted sense of satisfaction despite the wind, because now Harry did not feel like of the two of them he was the one who always came out the worst. It was downright moronic to compete with the building, and even more so to find out who's most ruined, but Harry could not help it, not that he wanted to. 

He was quite preoccupied as it were, because the moment he crossed the perimeter wall, his whole body almost went into seizure from sudden whiplash as the magic of once carefully layered and structured wards thrashed around in complete disarray. It took Harry several minutes to get a grip on himself once more and force his legs into motion. 

As he went, he carefully scanned the area, attempting to assess the damage. McGonagall's accusations the other day forced him to reevaluate the present situation. He realised that people were very unlikely to leave him be as long as there was even the slightest reason not to, so Harry resolved himself to postpone the peace he was so desperate for and finish what he started. At least the major points, the rest he could easily ignore. He was the root cause of the castle's destruction? He'd put it back together or build it anew if it came down to it. Goblins had their knickers in a twist over a breach of their security system? He wasn't sure yet what to do about it, but would undoubtedly do something nonetheless the moment he discovered what. And so on. It’ll probably take months, but Harry will dispatch all the bothersome ties to the past. He will. 

Starting with the blasted school, which magic was slowly but surely dawdling away, Harry couldn't help but notice. It was only two and a half weeks after the battle, but the difference was noticeable nonetheless. He should warn Snape about it today, although, being the headmaster, he should be able to feel it himself.

The front doors were open. He hated those doors and this sort of gatherings with a passion… Old farts seated around a large round table, basked in their own self proclaimed importance and talked in circles about anything that caught their fancy, but with nothing to show for it as a result. Why did he agree to be a part of this circus?

The meeting was quite strategically held in the Great Hall — it missed a giant chalk of the outer wall as well as two of the stained glass windows behind the dais as far as Harry remembered. About a dozen people were already there. Harry attempted to calm the magic around him enough to be able to sense who was already present before he entered: Snape and McGonagall sat together opposite the door. They were the easiest. Then there was Frederick Brown Sr, a great second uncle of the late Lavender Brown's father, who sat across from the Headmaster and his deputy. A very old, very rich, and mostly senile, but incredibly tempered and opinionated family heirloom. If Dumbledore was to be believed, Mr. Brown sat on the Board for as long as even he could remember, and was an unofficial leader of them all. If one managed to convince Brown, one could count the vast majority of the rest in. On his left and right respectively were Augusta Longbottom and Chadwick Farrington — a ridiculously pompous but largely unimportant old man who spent all his days working in the ministry's archives. Next to him were Grizelda Cooper and Audrey Davidson — just as old but not quite so senile (not that it improved anything much) best friends. As far as Harry could tell, they were at school together, then at the same day married two wizards a couple of years older than them who also happened to be best friends, had children approximately at the same time, always shared opinions, views, etc, and now they sat at the Board in place of their late husbands… together still. Quite revolting. Silvanus Yalden was the youngest member of the Board — sixty-three — and had very little idea of what it meant and even less wish to be here. He sat to Augusta Longbottom’s left. Irwin Nelson — a distant relative of the notorious Preston Nott Senior who starting yesterday joined the ranks of Azkaban braindead zombies — was a little further, closer to McGonagall. And that was it so far. By Harry's estimation, they were missing six remaining members of the Board and one minister of magic. 

“Oh, joy…” he mumbled under his breath and made the final several steps to the Great Hall's entrance. The wait promised to be spectacular. 

The moment he set one foot inside, Snape's eyes snapped to him and the man froze mid-sentence. McGonagall's eyes followed the same path, and the rest of the attendees one by one stopped talking and joined in with the staring. Not one to be deterred by such a thing, though, Harry proceeded further into the room, heading straight to still slightly stunned Snape.

“Headmaster,” he said, holding out his hand.

Snape also stood up and shook it. His magic seemed to be calmer this morning, although it looked like the man was not breathing regardless of that fact… Harry doubted anyone else noticed, and the way Snape continued to react to him was almost funny if nothing else, but come on… It was not the time to have a breakdown. Still, it perked up his mood a little.

“Breathe,” he whispered, looking straight into Snape’s eyes, and took a seat right next to him, as was offered. He nodded politely to McGonagall and turned to look at the rest of the Board members. Everyone seemed… perplexed would be the kindest term. Though why was a great mystery to Harry, it wasn’t like he just came here completely out of the blue. He was practically forced to attend, after all. His newly revealed beauty might be the true culprit, but he didn't care about it one wit, to be honest. Or more precisely he didn't care how everybody else was taking it. 

Finally Snape seemed to push himself out of whatever and cleared his throat loudly.

“Gentlemen, ladies, may I present to you the one and only… Mr Harry Potter.”

Instead of the cheers that Harry half-expected, the room sank into even more deafening silence. For two full minutes the “governors” just continued to stare at him. Not in the eyes, though. None of the old wankers seemed to be able to look at his face. It was becoming ridiculous. 

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Audrey Dumb Davidson asked in her usual manner.

Snape’s and McGonagall’s eyebrows made a perfectly synchronised jump. 

“Mrs. Davidson… Are you asking whether I recognise my own student?”

That was all it took for Snape to regain composure — a dunderhead. Brings a sense of normalcy right home, it does. Hah.

“I’m just saying… He looked different in the photos in the Daily Prophet, that’s all,” the witch drawled apparently a bit too patronisingly for Snape’s liking, and then turned to Harry. “Are you truly Harry Potter?”

“I am,” Harry replied simply.

“I’m just saying… There’s so many lies and imposters these days.” She squinted, leaning forward. “Are you quite sure, my dear?”

Harry raised both eyebrows.

“Yes, he is,” sounded from the entrance. Kingsley walked toward the table, nodding and shaking hands as he went, then took a vacant seat at McGonagall's right. Everyone stared at him now.

“You knew?!” exclaimed McGonagall, turning to look at the new minister.

“Time turners are forbidden, I’ll have you know, minister! ” It was Yalden.

“Relax, all of you. I was the one who signed off an official permission for Potter to have and use a Japanese trinket that he bought there several years ago. It’s not a time turner, though it is rumoured to be able to act like one. Nobody’s ever proved it, so we had no grounds for prohibiting it. I take it, you’ve found the way then?” he asked Harry.

“We did.”

“You are uncharacteristically monosyllabic today, Mr. Potter…” stated McGonagall, looking straight at him. She was clearly annoyed, but Harry had no intention of playing by her rules. He held her gaze steadily.

“Am I?”

Somebody — either Longbottom or Yalden — snorted loudly.

“I fail to see what’s so funny, Augusta!”

“Leave the boy be, Minerva. Minister Shacklebolt already told you that the authorities are aware of this. The rest of us have no right to poke our noses in his personal business. I always teach my Neville: be aware of the goings-on around you, boy, but steer clear of it, unless somebody invites you to poke your nose in it.”

“Yes, it’s all well and good, but this is a serious matter!” Cooper continued digging. Harry leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms on his chest, focusing on why he should keep his temper in check… As the conversation progressed and more people joined in, unable not to add their two cents, the reasons were melting one by one right in front of his eyes, but before the last drop fell and Harry blew up, the rest of the missing governors walked in and took their seats.

Instantly everyone fell quiet, and Snape stood up again.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending this meeting, I understand that it’s not always easy to clear off a morning on such short notice.”

Bullshit. These specimens of a moving mould have nothing but “annoying shuffling” on their schedules.

Snape gestured to Harry. “Some of you already know, but for those who don’t, this is Mr Harry Potter. He is here by my personal invitation. Mr Potter generously agreed to make a donation to the school to help its restoration. Now, we have three topics on our agenda—”

“Right,” interrupted Nelson and every pair of eyes turned to him. “I would presume that the headmaster issue would be the first and foremost to cover,” he said with the sweetest of smiles on his face. A couple of people nodded, listening.

Snape's hand twitched, but with a deep breath, he sat down without another word.

Foolish man. He should be fighting for himself now, not impersonating a sighing wallflower. If Harry were to actually do what he was gearing himself up to, he would've vastly preferred Snape to be in the round office, mostly for convenience's sake, and the stupid man was thwarting his plans before he even started putting anything in motion.

“Really?” Harry said before anybody else had a chance to utter a word. “You guys don’t like Headmaster Snape or something?” He tried to sound somewhat like the Boy-Who-Lived, but without the puppy-dog eyes.

“Now, wait a minute!” McGonagall snapped, glaring daggers at Nelson. “This man here is a national hero!”

“It doesn’t mean that he’ll be good at raising our children,” Brown rasped. It was the first time he opened his mouth.

Harry attended a couple of these meetings in the past, mostly to annoy Dumbledore, which never failed to be fun. He was hidden, of course, but the late headmaster new he was there nonetheless — Harry made sure of it. Mr Frederic Brown seemed like your typical extremely old man, but more often than not he served as the only voice of reason among the governors.

Which was quite sad, if you think of it.

And also not a reason to follow him blindly like a flock of sheep.

“Whyever not? He’s not going to deal with children directly, after all, he’s going to do tons of paperwork and sit at various meetings.”

“Mr Potter, you’re young, you’re yet to start discovering all the intricacies of this life…”

“It’s not about ‘intricacies of life’ though, it’s about administrative work. And about understanding how this school works, understanding the world we’re living in. Severus Snape is the best candidate you have.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do. I also think that discussing it right in front of him is not exactly polite , is it?”

As if on cue, all the puppet heads turned to look at Snape. He was paler than usual and sat, resolutely staring down at the numerous scrolls and papers strewn on the desk. His magic, though… it was doing quite a roller coaster. Another episode was imminent, Harry could tell. 

Just brilliant.

To prevent the show, Harry reached forward with his magic to Snape's, enveloping it from all sides and calming it down. The moment it happened, Snape's gaze snapped to his, although no word was said.

“Maybe so, young man,” said Brown. “But the question must be resolved one way or another and the sooner the better. Let’s get back to the matter at hand, lest we be stuck here until dusk. Why Severus Snape, Mr Potter? Why not Minerva McGonagall, for example?”

Harry sighed and glanced at the two professors, quickly thinking through the merits of several different approaches to the situation.

“Well…" he said at last." I just think that — objectively — Professor Snape would be a better choice for the school. He’s younger, for one.”

“Which makes Professor McGonagall older.”

“So?”

Lady Longbottom huffed. “And wiser, more experienced.”

“Not necessarily,” Harry insisted. “I know quite a few very old but very foolish or immature people in both muggle and magical worlds. Age does not guarantee wisdom, just as it doesn't guarantee extensive life experience. Professor Snape is relatively young, yes, but he has a lot of skills and knowledge that Professor McGonagall doesn’t. Besides, I’ve spent six years with her as my head of a house, and I’m not trying to say that it was bad, but Gryffidnor house was a complete mess during all that time.”

“Really? And you think Slytherin wasn’t?”

“Of course it wasn’t. Slytherin house is a different universe altogether, and Professor Snape ruled it with precision. I’ve heard some stories, I know what I’m talking about. Besides, he was a spy. He knows the dark side. Knows how easy it is to get there and how hard it is to get out, which makes him an expert in how to keep young foolish children from making the worst mistake of their lives. Furthermore, he invested his whole life into this school, into the students' lives. He bled for us more than once, it’s in his best interests to see to it not being in vain. In addition, he knows this place. And he knows people, both here and in general. Knows how to control them, how to make them do their best, how to make them want to do their best. In a tough situation he knows how to find several ways out, how to make the impossible happen. He can think five steps ahead… I can go on for hours. 

“If you'd rather hear analogies, I think, It’s like running,” he continued, glancing at the Cooper-Davidson pair, then gliding his gaze over the rest of the circle. “Have any of you ever run? I did. A lot of time. And I think that there are two types of running: for pleasure, and for your life.

“When you run at your leisure, like a marathon or something, you know that when it gets really hard, you can stop. You can take a break, take a moment to breathe and decide whether you even want to continue. But you have a goal, and you're not a weakling, so of course you decide that you do, and in a moment, or five, or ten you are running again, only this time it’s somehow harder. But you pull it together, and you continue moving through the pain because of your goal, and because you’re not weak, of course, but mostly because deep down you know that you can stop at any moment regardless. And you do stop, this time earlier than before. If you made your first break after fifteen minutes, now you could barely make it to ten, then to six, four, one… In the end, your rest is your only goal, and you can barely move.

“If you’re stubborn enough, eventually you will be able to cover all of the distance in one go, and even take pleasure in the movement itself, in the wind, in a sense of freedom it all gives, but if you decide to suddenly take on a larger distance, you’ll most likely have to learn it anew, gradually increasing it or once again making a lot of stops. That’s how Professor McGonagall, and thousands of others with her, has been living and working.

“Professor Snape, though, he’s been running for his life. And when you run for your life, you’re in a certain mindset. Pain doesn’t matter, your collapsing lungs, your burning throat, your wooden legs… they don't matter. What’s a little discomfort compared to the fact that if you stop, you’ll die? And not just drop dead because your heart stopped, but die a horrible, horrible death when you wish you had an opportunity to die of a heart attack while running. Because no one runs for their life from fluffy kittens or something equally harmless. And when you do that kind of running every day for a very long period of time, everything else is child’s play. Your body learns how to survive on a minimum, your pain tolerance is sky high, your mind can switch off every uncomfortable feeling, allowing you to concentrate solely on your goal, because it knows that your goal, whatever it is, is the most important thing at the moment. All this, it gives you strength, and when you have that kind of strength, you can move a mountain. You can do anything, become anyone, no matter what it takes. Because you have your goal, you've seen the price tag, and it's goddamn worth it.  

“I’ve felt the weight of the world on my shoulders for some time, and I decidedly did not like it. My situation is different, of course, some would argue that it’s nothing compared to Professor Snape's, and maybe it isn't. It doesn’t matter now. What does, though, is if he were to continue in charge of the school, for him it would be restful. He’d be able to run this place for many years nonstop. Add to it his relatively young age, his experience, his skills, his knowledge, his creativity, think of hundreds of ways that he can come up with to improve the students education and life quality, and subsequently our society in general.

“I’m not saying that Professor McGonagall won’t be good. She really is the right person for that kind of job, but in this case, for her it won’t be restful, I think… It would be more work, more responsibility, not less. She’d have to up her game, increase the distance, which means that she’d have to either learn it anew, making a lot of stops, or imagine that there’s a monster behind her back and start running for her life at a neck breaking speed. The problem is — she’s not used to it.” Harry paused and looked right at the red-faced McGonagall. “And it's a bit late to start learning, don’t you think?”

His gaze shifted once again, landing square on Brown. The man seemed shocked, as did the rest of the governors.

“You’re not planning to steal my job, are you, Potter?” Kingsley tried to make a joke, but nobody paid him any mind.

“I think, Mr. Potter, that you’re quite a wise young man yourself,” Brown praised, dragging himself out of his stupor. And Harry went for a kill. The wind outside started blowing with increased force, making something nearby flap maddeningly, annoying Harry to no end.

“And I think that it’s a load of sentimental horseshit. It’s not the time to wax lyrical, Mr Brown. Look at my face. We’re sitting here for almost an hour and you did not look me in the eyes once. ”

“I did not want to seem rude.”

“You did not want to see reality. I said LOOK AT MY FUCKING FACE!” His voice boomed around the Hall coupled with the howling of the wind, turning sixteen pairs of astonished eyes towards Harry as he stood up leaning on the table top. “I’ll tell you what the reality is, you bloody useless gas bags. It’s hundreds of people scarred for life by a war that might have been prevented if not for someone’s overwhelming ambitions. It’s a ministry that does nothing to move the society out of the nineteenth bloody century because it’s clinging to foolish mediaeval traditions that allow them to wield more power and money. It’s a school that doesn’t teach a single fucking thing about the real fucking world to its students! All your persistence in living in a wonderland does is help us crash further down.”

Harry's voice dropped to barely audible soft tones. “Why did this war happen, Mr Brown?”

Flap, flap, flap…

“Because V-Voldemort was a bloodthirsty monster.”

“V-Voldemort,” Harry repeated mockingly. “His name was Tom Riddle, and that’s not the correct answer.”

He waited a little. “Anyone? No?”

He glanced at Snape, but the man was staring down again, and Harry left him be. This tirade wasn't directed at him anyway. He turned his blazing gaze toward the governors, burning each of them one by one. 

“Let me enlighten you then. The war happened because instead of pushing the school and the ministry to live in their own age, to open their eyes and see the prejudice, the corruption, the sheer ignorance that is thriving in this country, you people were sitting here — still are — mimicking bloody ornaments and collecting money. This Board of Governors is a useless organisation with only a nominative function. A bloody joke. ” Harry took a breath and  continued more calmly. 

“Tom Riddle was a muggle-raised halfblood, and yes, he had every reason to hate certain muggles, but that's not why he started this civil war. I can't vouch for whether or not he would’ve killed anyone, because he clearly was mentally unstable, but either way he was far from stupid, Mr Brown. He used the ideas that were already there so readily available to appease his inner demons, getting a lot of followers as went along, which only further inflamed his already enormous ego. ”

“He might've still hated muggles.”

“Have you ever met a single muggle-raised halfblood who hated all muggles just for the heck of it? I sincerely doubt that.

“No, blood purity is a wholly magical highly arrogant idea. We need to raise our children with their eyes wide open. That's why I'm choosing Severus Snape over every person in this room, over every person any of you could bring. He is the only one who is capable of dragging this so-called school out of the shithole that you allowed it to fall into in a timely fashion, more so, he’s the only one who wants to!”

He so wanted a drag.

“Frankly, this whole conversation is highly insulting. Instead of doubting Snape yet again, you should beg him to be here. Humiliating him, making me of all people defend him is not a great way to do so.” Harry was truly seething by this point, not just pretending to, and god how good it felt . “If nothing changes, I don't see any point in wasting my time and my money to rebuild this ruin,” he added as an afterthought, looking at McGonagall. “Polysyllabic enough for you?”

The poor woman gulped and nodded reflexively. Nobody knew what to say or do in this situation. Funny, McGonagall most likely imagined a completely different scenario when she invited Harry here. So did he. 

Such a pity, really.

“I’ll be outside if you decide to talk business after all,” Harry said quietly, and calmly walked out, not looking back. He stopped just outside the front doors, put his hands in his trousers’ pockets, and looked ahead for some time. The castle’s magic still scratched unpleasantly on his nerves (he was long used to it, but come on), and the blasted wind still blew, but overall it was quite a peaceful picture. Almost as peaceful as it felt the first moments after Riddle’s death, when he stood over the ashen corpse and watched that first beam of the rising sun dancing. The peace is always different when it comes after a storm. More deep somehow. 

Feeling restricted all of a sudden, Harry let all of his magic roam free, feeling it entwine with the Hogwarts’ like in the old times. It meant that he was no longer warm and that he once again could sense everything that was going on at the school, but he did not mind it. Lightning up a cigarette he watched over the steep hill and the swaying branches of trees in the Forbidden Forest, glanced at the Quidditch pitch, wanting to catch even a tiny, long lost feeling of nostalgia for the place where he spent so much time, where he lived through so much. He was relatively sure that nostalgia was a good feeling, that it was something light but with a touch of sadness, and wasn’t all that surprised when he couldn’t detect any such thing inside him. In fact, he couldn't detect any remotely warm feeling toward the school. All he felt was a quiet contentment at finally being free of this place, and it was a nice feeling, but not what he was looking for.

Everyone in the Great Hall still stayed put, talking over his little impromptu speech, Harry presumed. He was almost confident in the outcome: all present governors, except maybe Nelson, were easily swayed in needed direction — a weakness often explored in the past by certain Board members which shall remain nameless. Harry decided to give them more time and shifted his attention to the Hogwarts magic. 

“Merlin, it’s freezing out here…” mumbled Snape, when he walked out of the Entrance Hall a couple of minutes later and stopped next to Harry, also looking ahead. “It's supposed to be May.” 

Not changing the direction of his gaze and without a single word Harry took out another cigarette for himself and then held out his pack and a lighter, inviting his companion to do the same. 

Snape took one, ignited it, and for almost a minute they stood in silence. The man's magic felt agitated again. 

“The governors want you to claim one of the vacant seats on the Board.” 

Harry almost choked on his own saliva, but immediately recovered. He knew the risks of doing righteous long-winded speeches in front of these people… And went on anyway. Ugh. He'll deal with it in a moment. The sole point of his presence here today, according to his agreement with McGonagall, was to help her keep Snape in his position if need be. Manipulating the herd of these old goats was kind of fun — to a degree — but did it work? 

He turned to look at Snape. “I hate this place, Severus,” he said simply. Silence fell again. 

“Well, this is a chance to help morph it into something you would be able to like, isn't it?” 

Harry snorted and turned away again, taking another deep drag. 

Peace, he just wanted peace , for God's sake, was it truly so much to ask? 

“Are you going to refuse?”

“Do you want me to?” 

“I'm not going to make a decision for you here, Potter.”

“I have a name. Use it.” 

“I can't call you that…” 

“I'm not asking you to make a decision. I just want to know whether the Headmaster is going to work with me if I agree.”

Silence stretched once more. Judging by the fact that Snape did not deny the title, Harry's speech was a resounding success. Excessively so. What to do with it, however? 

Harry finished the cigarette and was about to vanish the butt when Snape replied softly:

“I don't know…”

Without bothering to reply to this stupidity, Harry turned around and strode back inside the castle, replacing the warmth ‘spells’ on himself. Snape followed shortly, not trying to catch up with him, though. 

The atmosphere of the meeting was a little gloomy and subdued: nobody chirped about the latest nonsense, nobody huffed condescendingly at those who chirped, nobody sat feeling inordinately important or pleased with themselves. All in all — quite nice. 

“Mr Potter!” exclaimed Brown with fake joviality. “We were afraid you wouldn't return.” 

“Well, I'm here. What is it?” Harry said, taking his seat.

“Didn’t the Headmaster explain the matter to you?”

And rob you of an opportunity to do your job? Hardly. 

Harry raised both eyebrows. “He just said you wanted to talk with me.”

“Well, son,” Longbottom drawled. “We were very impressed with your intelligence and the wisdom of your words, well done.”

“Exactly,” Brown continued. “You probably are not aware, but the Potter family always had a seat at this Board until the beginning of this century, and we'd like to offer you an opportunity to reclaim it. We think you would be able to do great things here.”

Harry was aware, and most likely knew even more about the issue than the Board did. However…

“I'd still like to hear all the details first, if you don't mind.”

And stall. He needed time to make this decision…

Brown nodded and droned away about the duties of a member of the Board: the annual donations, the meetings, the responsibility, the paperwork, and so on. Harry nodded in all the right places, but didn’t really listen. He knew all that already. 

He didn't lie when he told Snape that he hated this place. It brought him nothing but pain and misery. And scars. So many scars. 

But he knew it from top to bottom as well as the back of his own hand. Every corridor, passageway, every room, every nook, every statue, painting or person be they dead or alive. He knew this place's magic as intimately as his own. 

Maybe Snape was right, and this was an opportunity to make the castle represent what it should have been representing to him from the very beginning — a second home. A place to feel that pang of nostalgia. And the duties wouldn't be extremely bothersome, not really.

Only what about his wish to get rid of all ties to the school? 

As a member of the Board he'd be able to do it quicker, though… 

He could not believe he seriously contemplated this. 

But. Nobody said he must stay here until the day he died, did they? He would just do what he resolved himself to and then leave. Right? 

“So, Mr Potter,” Brown called, bringing him back to the present. “What do you say?”

Harry took a deep breath and glanced at the faces around.

You're a fool, Potter. Life never teaches you much, does it?

Oh, shut it. 

“Fine,” he said. “I accept the position.”

Brown beamed, Longbottom did too, as well as most of the rest. Nelson was the only one who wasn’t impressed, but Harry didn't expect him to. The man mostly supported his cousin in supporting Riddle’s reign of terror, although he never had the guts to actually join the Death Eaters.

Snape stayed mostly impassive, but McGonagall positively vibrated with joy for whatever reason. Harry decided not to bother with that particular silliness. 

The next couple of minutes were spent battling off congratulations, and then the meeting resumed. 

Same day, 8:40 am

Severus was going through the hallways of Hogwarts at a brisk pace, not wishing to look too closely at the damage done to the school. He was the first one to arrive, because he was the only one who could enter — there weren’t many wards still standing, but those that did needed to be unlocked from inside and only by a headmaster — the castle was completely empty since the 3rd of May, save for the ghosts. Everybody was moved out: the wounded to St. Mungo's, the dead to the cemetery, the Death Eaters to the holding cells, the rest to their homes, and the house-elves to McGonagall's family estate — and the castle was closed until further notice. Some corridors where Argus had time to clean on the 2nd seemed better than the others, but in general the picture was depressing: stone dust, mixed with rubble and in places with dry blood, covered a worrying percentage of every surface Severus had laid eyes on so far, some walls were half ruined, some were missing entirely, two of the hallways he usually took to get to his office were essentially eliminated. The wards informed him that the Astronomy tower was razed to the ground, the Divination tower was on the verge of collapse, part of the outer wall in the Great Hall was destroyed, which placed the roof above in a somewhat precarious position and broke the famous centuries old enchantment on the ceiling, half of the windows in the entire castle were missing… Minerva was right in at least one thing — they did need Potter and the ungodly amount of money he supposedly agreed to donate. Severus could rebuild the towers with magic and ask Minerva, the other professors, and house-elves for help with the interior, but everything else… Only the portraits' restoration would cost a small fortune, furniture — another small fortune, rare plants from the ruined greenhouses — about thrice more, and so on. And they would have to plan the budget very carefully, because he wanted to give the trio’s year students a proper chance to finish their education (the rest of them too, of course), which would increase the number of students in attendance, which would, in turn, increase the expenses. So he really-really needed Potter. 

The only hindrance in this plan was that Severus had to meet with him again and talk with him one on one in order to get it all done, but he wasn't sure how he felt about that prospect.

Finally Severus got to the seventh floor… and found a giant hole, through which he could see the school grounds, where the entrance to his tower used to be. The view was spectacular, as it always had been — if one squinted and ignored the state of the territory — but it did pose a little bit of a problem. It was a miracle the tower was even standing.

Severus hated flying like this, but there was no other way… He had to get inside his office to unlock the wards. So he flew very slowly and carefully through the hole and up along the round staircase. He opened the door to the office with magic, flew in, and extremely carefully landed in the middle, not moving or touching anything for fear of collapsing the tower around him. Time was of essence however, so Severus held out his wand and set to work. 

Ten minutes later he was finished and descended to the Great Hall, because that was where they decided to hold the meeting. Despite its relatively destroyed state, it still was the most clean and usable area in the castle. And it was helpfully illustrative, which, in truth, was his main objective for suggesting it.

Ignoring his raging emotions, Severus set to conjure the usual ring-shaped table and twenty-two chairs around it, then stopped and removed five. There would only be thirteen out of twenty Governors, Potter, Shacklebolt, Minerva, and himself today.

Done with it, Severus sat down on the chair directly opposite the door, stapled his fingers on the table, and waited. 

Fifteen minutes later the first person arrived at the gates, and Severus suddenly felt his guts being tied in knots. What if it was Potter? Would he come as his true self or would he pose as a seventeen-year-old? Would he acknowledge what happened on Saturday? Should Severus do it himself? He felt like a bloody fearful teenager, was pissed at himself for such a stupid reaction, but simultaniously couldn’t imagine reacting any other way in this situation. And thankfully he had the foresight to have a cup of the Japanese tea before coming here, which helped a lot.

The person who entered wasn’t Potter, thank Merlin. It was Minerva. She sat down to Severus’ right and immediately started some benign conversation, distracting him. At some point she extricated several scrolls of parchment with reports and numbers and other numerous useful for the meeting things out of her robes and the two of them became dead to the world as they debated some last-minute changes under a Muffliato. He resolutely ignored the wards that tingled at each newcomer.

The next time Severus raised his eyes, they landed on an angular figure of Harry bloody Potter that stood in the doorway in all his battered glory, watching them all with a neutral expression. His gaze landed first on him, then on Minerva, and then on the gathered governors. Potter just stood there for several endless seconds and without a word walked in, heading — to Severus’ horror — straight to him. Minerva bumped his boot with her own, prompting him to stand up.

“Headmaster,” Potter said calmly, holding out his hand.

Slightly dazed, Severus shook it without a word, feeling his thoughts becoming to swim in his head. His hands moved.

“Breathe,” Potter whispered, sliding out of his line of sight, and Severus inhaled automatically, only belatedly realising that he had stopped doing so at some point. It was probably the reason for dizziness and swimming thoughts…

“So fucking stupid! Pull yourself together, you moron!” flew through Severus’ mind as he was retaking his seat.

For a couple of minutes the Great Hall was deathly silent as every governor present stared at Potter, caught in different degrees of confusion. When Severus regained his composure as best as he could, he cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen, ladies, may I present to you the one and only… Mr Harry Potter.”

What happened next was a blur… Severus was… He had difficulties understanding what exactly he was feeling after hearing all this… whatever it was, and a strong urge to occlude almost devoured him whole. He watched Potter’s calmly retreating figure with rising panic, hearing snatches of the man’s phrases echoing around his long-suffering mind and watching the pack of wolves that surrounded him slowly come out of their stupor. Their reactions could very well be fatal for Severus, and he dreaded it, but mostly he was just in shock of his own over something that occurred to him at that moment clear as day.

He felt safer with Potter’s overwhelming larger than life presence in the room, even knowing that at the same time it made him a nervous wreck.

And as Severus watched him walk out of the door, feeling the rising panic fighting to take hold, feeling so small and so foolish as he didn’t feel in decades, he realised another important thing: at that moment he absolutely loathed Harry fucking Potter.

Not the remainder of his first love-slash-obsession or his school tormentor that he represented to him in the past. At that moment, for the first time ever, Severus hated him.

“Quite an explosive young man he is…” a woman’s voice on his left said.

“He has a point,” Shacklebolt’s booming one replied quietly.

Severus realised that he was staring into nothingness and that Minerva was gripping his forearm tightly and shook her off.

“Does he?” Lady Longbottom piped in.

“Yes.” — Shacklebolt.

“What do you propose then, minister?” 

Kinsley sighed and rubbed his face with both of his large hands. “No idea. I’m just as shocked as you are, Mr Nightingale. But Potter does have a point. This whole blood supremacy ideology stinks to high heaven. Muggles have long ceased to be dimwitted apes from the dark ages. They’ve become so developed that it’s we who are looking like apes now, magic or no magic. Burying our heads in the proverbial sand would not do any good to us. 

“Be grateful that Voldemort was stopped before he was able to truly get his paws onto the muggle world. If he — and this country by extension — were considered to be a real threat to the rest of the planet’s population, our whole island might’ve been erased to the deepest pits of Hell in a few minutes. Our ignorance will get us killed sooner or later. It’s imperative that we don’t give ourselves away. We do need to stop stagnating, accept the fact we are a part of something far larger and finally start acting like it.”

Everyone was silent for a couple of minutes after that. Personally, Severus didn’t think that anyone would dare drop a nuclear bomb or something along those lines on the British Isles because of the Dark Lord’s actions, although if they became truly desperate… Who knows what might’ve happened then.

“Well…” Mr Brown said uneasily. “In that case I think we should start by offering our sincerest apologies to Headmaster Snape for our moment of doubt and hesitation.” He stopped and all faces turned to Severus. It made him highly uncomfortable, and not trusting himself to speak just yet, he just nodded.

“Good. Now, our second step should be, I think, to offer one of the vacant seats to Mr Potter. His family always held one in any case, and this particular young man can be a great asset to the school. He seems like he has a functioning brain and a certain amount of experience in both muggle and magical worlds alike. And he proved to be willing to work in tandem with the current school administration. What do you all think? We’ll still be here to guide him if need be, after all, but a fresh pair of eyes would never be amiss.”

Severus very much doubted that Potter would agree.

He couldn’t decide whether he himself could agree to it.

The discussion went back and forth for several more minutes until Mr Brown worked his way through everyone who disagreed with his point of view. At last, the Board of Governors was ready to welcome a new member into the fold. Minerva already voiced her agreement with the development, and, once again, every fucking person in the room turned their attention on him. Severus hated it. He did not know what to say. He didn’t even know what to think… But judging by how often he kept finding himself on the verge of another episode this morning, it was a good thing that he didn’t.

But everybody was still waiting, and for a lack of a better idea he just got up from his seat.

“I’ll go find him then,” his mouth announced without consulting his brain, and Severus shut it, heading for the exit.

Potter stood a few paces away from the front door, looking at the Forbidden forest. The weather was in agreement with Severus’ mood today. It helped to clear his head a little, but still…

“Merlin, it’s freezing out here… It's supposed to be May.”

Severus stopped at Potter's right, trying to calm down his bleeding nerves that fluttered again at the sight of him. 

Damn that fucking Occlumency to Hell and back.

Quite insultingly, Potter didn't acknowledge him in any way, he just kept staring ahead, which was a relief… In an insulting kind of way.

A minute later Severus somehow found himself taking a deep drag of Potter's cigarette alongside the man himself and wondering what the heck he was doing… He quit smoking five years ago and swore to never start again. 

But bloody Potter screwed things up one more time. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

He wanted to snap, to vent his anger, but remembered the moment of that terrifying paralysis, Potter's soft threatening tone, his eyes full of cold fury, and the feeling of his pulse immediately speeding up changed his mind. So Severus resolved himself to stew in silence. 

Another couple of minutes went by until Severus managed to wrestle his nerves and remember why he was even here. 

“The governors want you to claim one of the vacant seats on the Board.” 

Potter made a strange almost choking noise and sighed as if it was an unpleasant thing that he expected to happen, but hoped it wouldn't, and after a moment turned his intense bone-shattering gaze at him. “I hate this place, Severus,” he said simply. 

Silence fell again.

A flutter of hope and disappointment fought inside Severus. 

“Well, this is a chance to help morph it into something you would be able to like, isn't it?” he once again found himself saying. What the fuck? Where did the bloody filter go? 

Potter snorted and turned away again, taking another deep drag. Severus mirrored the motion. Smoke burned his lungs pleasantly, helping him to maintain a tight grip on his equilibrium. 

Peace, he just wanted peace , for God's sake, was it truly so much to ask? 

“Are you going to refuse?”

“Do you want me to?”

The hell if he knew… 

“I'm not going to make a decision for you here, Potter.”

“I have a name. Use it.”

Pff…

“I can't call you that…” 

He couldn't even think straight when Potter was near, calling him anything other than ‘Potter’ was out of question. 

“I'm not asking you to make a decision. I just want to know whether the Headmaster is going to work with me if I agree.”

Silence stretched once more. Another good bloody question. Everything in Severus screamed to shove Potter as far away as possible and never interact with him again in any way, but there was another small treacherous part of him that was also acutely aware of that strange feeling of safety that Potter aroused in him. He felt it even now. It was so confusing… How could he hate someone who brought such a nice albeit foreign feeling?

“I don't know…” Severus whispered, watching Potter extinguish the butt of his cigarette and vanish it into thin air. Not bothering to reply, he turned around and strode back towards the castle, leaving Severus alone in the wind.

“Right, don't mind me, your highness…” he mumbled under his breath and made to follow. 

Severus made it back to the Great Hall on autopilot, still thinking furiously about this new predicament he had found himself in. With Potter as a member of the Board he'd be answering to him in a sense, which was downright degrading, but at the same time, whether deliberately or not the man demonstrated a remarkable ability to operate these old buffoons, which in theory gave Severus a chance to run the school the way he wanted to. 

If he managed to come to an agreement with Potter first. 

“Mr Potter!” exclaimed Mr Brown. “We were afraid you wouldn't return.” 

“Well, I'm here. What is it?” Potter said, taking his seat.

Severus sat down and glanced at Minerva questioningly. She shook her head. 

“Didn’t the Headmaster explain the matter to you?”

“He just said you wanted to talk with me.”

Well, well… Liar, liar, pants on fire. It was a sure sign that Potter was indeed manipulating these fools however, which boded well in perspective.

“Well, son, we were very impressed with your intelligence and the wisdom of your words, well done,” Augusta piped in, looking somewhat smug, and Severus felt a strange sort of satisfied amusement at her antics, as someone included in a joke usually does.

“Exactly,” Brown continued. “You probably are not aware, but the Potter family always had a seat at this Board until the beginning of this century, and we'd like to offer you an opportunity to reclaim it. We think you would be able to do great things here.”

“I'd still like to hear all the details first, if you don't mind.”

Mr Brown nodded and droned away about the duties of a member of the Board, but Potter clearly didn’t bother listening to him. Severus watched him watching the table intently and wondered what he was thinking. It went on for several minutes — one of the longest waits he had ever experienced — until Mr Brown finished.

“So, Mr Potter, what do you say?”

Potter took a deep breath.

Severus held his own. 

“Fine,” he said. “I accept the position.”

* * *