While Snape went downstairs to sort out the pizza dinner, Harry wrapped his bed sheet around himself like a toga and stood gingerly, stretching and testing each of his limbs to see if he'd lost much in the way of motor control.  Everything seemed to be fine, and after a quick glance under the sheet, he was glad to see that all parts of him came through the re-ageing unharmed. Harry walked with light feet out of his room and into the bathroom, running the water hot for a nice well-deserved shower.  He flexed his muscles in the mirror, dropping the towel and checking out his reflection.  Maybe a shave later, or on second thought he might actually try growing his facial fuzz. Maybe.  He got into the shower, whistling rather tunelessly to Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.

Twenty minutes later, Harry entered the living room, wearing a very old and faded pair of jeans that were rolled up at the ankles.  They didn't quite hang right, the material obviously cut for someone with longer legs, but they had a comfortable look to them and the stone blue colour went well with the crimson red The Cure shirt that accompanied the look.  The watch on his right wrist complimented the mix, its worn brown leather band looking scuffed and faded in all the right spots. The feather tattoo, which Snape hadn't seen in a while due to the glamours at school, stuck out on the pale inner left forearm.

"You better have stopped with the outer garments." Snape warned from his chair, recognising his old clothes of youth.

"All my stuff's in baby size."  Harry replied nonchalantly, raking his hands through his hair as he plunked down on the settee.  Snape noted that though they were the same size and style, the damn socks still did not match.

"Need I remind you that you are a wizard?"  Snape replied, marking a spot in the recipe book he was looking at.

"Noooo you need not. But I'm not at the zoo. Warthogs. Hogwarts." Harry said, annoyed.  "So I can't do magic."

Snape looked up with a contemplative glance.  "Watch the attitude.  Though the Zoo is a rather fitting substitution.  And I don't recall that particular rule ever stopped you from using magic in the summer."

"Maybe I like the clothes."  Harry mumbled, picking at the hem of the shirt.  He suddenly sat up again, as if he'd remembered what he'd come into the room for.  "Can Hermione and Weasley come to the castle for feasts?"

Snape blinked and kept his face neutral.

"Try that again."

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to think first about what he wanted to ask.  English hadn't been this difficult previously, and though Snape had explained the paraphasia and how it would be random, Harry was finding it exceedingly annoying.

"Can Hermione and Ron come over to the...to...here for meal. Lunch. Tomorrow?"

"I suppose that is acceptable.  You may tell them to arrive via Professor McGonagall's floo around eleven."

Harry flicked his eyes to his watch instinctively, and Snape caught the minute twitch of disappointment that flittered across Harry's face.

"What time is it now?"  Snape asked nonchalantly, marking another page of the book.

"It's tea time."  Harry answered confidently, and Snape raised his eyebrow.  Gryffindor confidence.

"Is it? I usually partake of afternoon tea at three thirty."  Snape sounded disinterested in the real answer, but Harry had spent enough time with the man to know that he was being tested.

"Yes, it is." Green eyes stared boldly at black, before they flickered toward the cold kettle sitting on the stove in the kitchen.

"You don't remember how to tell time."  Snape stated, his voice soft.

"I can read."  Harry retorted defensively.

"What does the watch say?"  Snape asked.

"It says fifteen. Well, the shorter hand is pointing to fifteen. The bigger hand is pointing to the ten."  Harry had originally liked the sleek watch, despite its tattletale actions when he got into a bind.  Once past noon, the numbers on the watch reverted to the later half of the twenty-four hour clock. 

"Very well. So it is ten past fifteen. And what is fifteen minus twelve?"

Harry looked at the useless watch, as if it would suddenly pop up with the answer.

"I don't know."  Harry slumped back against the couch.

"Three." Snape answered, standing and going to the sink to fill the kettle.  "You discovered that you couldn't tell time when you put the watch on?"

"Yes." Harry muttered.

"And why did you not come and ask me for help?"  Snape clanged the kettle down on the metal stove coils and turned on the element.

"Because you've just spent a day wiping my arse, I didn't think you wanted to know that I couldn't count to ten anymore."  Harry shot back.

"I will not put up with that attitude, Elliot Snape, vanquished Dark Lord or not." Snape pointed a long spoon at him, which he then carefully used to measure tealeaves. 

Harry looked down at his feet and ran a socked toe along the seam of the wooden floor.

"Sorry, sir."

"How are you ever going to function in society if you do not realise that you need to ask for help when you require it?"

"I'll just buy a bloody digital watch." Harry groused, standing up and moving into the kitchen to get their mugs.

"You will not. Pure laziness, and insignificant as the exercise is, I will not have you forgetting how to read a proper timepiece over some muggle digital display."

"It's not lazy." Harry argued, bumping against Snape's arm accidentally as he pulled the carton of milk from the fridge.  "It's just faster, and then I don't have to bother learning to subtract twelve from whatever when I want to find out if it's time for mugs. Tea."

"Acedia is a sin, Potter."  Snape countered, leaning against the back garden door.

"Don't call me Potter."  Harry glared. The kettle started to boil and the steam curled up around Harry's shoulder like some mad sort of demon. "And what the hell is aca..aceda..whatever."

"Acedia. Apathy, listlessness. Not being particularly bothered to do something."

"Isn't that laziness? Don't they say ‘laziness is a sin'?"  Harry asked, flipping off the stove and pouring the tea into the teapot.

"Dante Alighieri refers to it as acedia in The Divine Comedy, but essentially it is the same, and one of the seven deadly sins."

"Be interesting to go for the set."  Harry mused, taking a two-pound coin out of the change dish on the counter and spinning it as they waited for the tea to steep a few more seconds.

"I believe I have a head start over you, Mr. Gryffindor."  Snape stated smugly from where he was leaning against the door.

"Which one are you missing?  It can't be wrath."  Harry grinned, pouring Snape a mug.

Snape leaned forward with an answering smirk on his face, which immediately put Harry on guard.

"Luxuria.  Lust."  Snape said, taking a long drink of tea.

"Lust!" Harry snorted, putting his own tea down as the mug was too hot for his hands.  "Didn't get a moment, no a chance, hanging around the death eaters and all?"  Harry joked, not seeing the gleam in Snape's eyes until it was too late.

"One should never assume, Elliot.  Your mother always had a rather delectable look about her whilst at Hogwarts."

"DAD!" Harry sputtered, the horrified look in his face reminiscent of Munch's The Scream.   "That's...just...no...unpopular. No. Wrong! Wrong is what it is."

"Ah, but a good thing to remember when you're feeling a tad overwhelmed with your heroism. Whether prince or pauper, everyone at some point came into being by the messy carnal relations of their parents."

Snape smiled around the rim of his mug as he took another sip of tea. This flavour was rather strong and fresh; he'd have to remember to visit that particular market stall again.  Harry was in between imitating a floundering fish and struggling not to say anything he'd regret.  It was a most peculiar sight, and Snape found he was rather amused by it. It only took another ten seconds before Harry stomped out of the kitchen, taking his tea up to his bedroom.

Really, Snape thought as he headed back towards his chair and the recipe book.  Having a son wasn't nearly as bad as he'd initially feared.  Not if his son was that easy to tease.

.......

Harry's window was cracked slightly open, the cold and wet air from outside providing enough moisture and chill in the room to make sleeping under the warm duvet rather comfortable.  He drifted in and out of sleep for the next hour, finally giving in to his bladder.  Stepping out into the hallway, Harry shivered at the drop of temperature and noticed that Snape's bedroom door was open.  Harry stepped into the washroom and snorted to himself as he took care of his morning duties.  Everyone thought Snape was so meticulous at school, demanding and prim and proper the way he kept his old fashion robes done up so modestly.  Meanwhile at home, the man often walked around in just a dress shirt and trousers, and he didn't bother making his bed till noon. Some rubbish about airing out the sheets, Harry recalled as he went back to his own room and pulled on some socks.  The floors, even though they were a rather worn and warm wood, weren't the nicest in the morning. Opening the closet, Harry decided to go with one of Snape's old black jumpers atop his grey and green plaid pyjama pants. He took a glance at the bed sheets and grimaced before gathering them up.  Just yesterday he'd been wearing ruddy diapers, and now he was making a different sort of mess of his bed.

Downstairs there was still no sign of Snape, but the house had a rather sleepy feeling to it.  The neighbourhood hadn't quite woken yet, and there was still the quiet hum of the refrigerator that fought for dominance with the ticking of the library clock.  Harry glanced up at it out of habit, refusing to acknowledge his annoyance at not being able to properly read it.   There was a smell of coffee lingering in the air, and Harry touched the pot, noting that it was still rather hot. Snape must be around somewhere. The cribbage board still sat on the kitchen table, from the six games they'd had the night before in the effort to re-teach basic math to Harry.

Taking advantage of the empty first floor, Harry walked up to the fireplace and quickly threw some powder in.

"Pain in the Warse Laundry" Harry stated clearly, reading it off a slip of parchment in his hand and thanking whatever deity let him get it out without substituting words.

Thirty seconds later a rather disgruntled looking Twinky appeared in the flames.

"Greetings, Half Wit Snape. Twinky is overjoyed to see you on his Sunday morning."

"I thought my dad spoke to you about that."  Harry said, narrowing his eyes.

"Hmmph. Twinky is not treating his most famous family any different. Respect by normal treatment."

It was at that moment that Harry discovered he could actually count. It was in Dutch, but he was still able to count to ten to calm himself down.  He just couldn't add or subtract.

"I necessitate the ocean linens bathed. No. I need the ocean -blue- linens to be washed. Today."  Harry said, his mouth set in fierce determination as he willed his brain to release the correct words.

Twinky gave him a crude knowing look before accepting the shopping bag of sheets and few random items of clothing through the fire.

"Twinky will be putting it on Master Snape's bill."  He said, handling the bag with distaste and then disappearing.

Harry dropped the parchment into the fire and wandered into the kitchen, cursing the stupid elf.  He poured himself a cup of coffee and stared at it, knowing he was missing something but not being able to figure it out.  He'd been in a rather good mood that morning, extremely grateful that he could wake up properly and not need help getting changed.  There had been a pleasant feeling of giddiness when he'd woken feeling like he had for the past five years and then remembering that Voldemort was truly gone. It was like the weight had been lifted off his chest yet again with the memory.

Now, however, he was sorely tempted to draw his wand and curse the coffee cup. Something was missing, and Harry couldn't figure out what it was. Snape had left his spoon in the sink though, and as a last resort Harry picked it up to look at it.  There was the residue of coffee on there, but it was lighter than Harry's cup.  On impulse, Harry went to the fridge and swung it open, smiling as his eyes fell on the carton of milk.  Just as Harry had made his proper morning wake up, he noticed dark movement outside the back kitchen door. Seemed like he'd found Snape.

"Mum would say you'd catch your death out here."  Harry murmured, standing at the door and blowing over the top of his mug.  It was around the freezing mark according to the little muggle thermometer on the library window beside him, and Snape had been sitting on the back step for god knew how long, in house pants, his nightshirt, and a simple robe.  The coffee cup in his hand was no longer steaming, and beyond his gaze was a stone in the side garden wall with similar scratchings to the ones Harry had seen in the tree shelter.

"Would she?"  Snape asked, his cold white knuckled hand gripping the mug strongly.  "Do you remember her at all?"

It was an honest question, but it hit Harry's stomach like a precisely delivered punch.  No, he probably never would remember his mother, or his father, in a real memory.

"Only when there's a dementor around. Then I hear her scream. And his cold laughter."

If Harry had expected a response to that, he was disappointed. Snape sat stiller than before, glaring at the stone wall in front of him and only moving after a moment, his left hand ghosting up to his shoulder to massage the top.  It seemed to be sore, and Harry thought at first that it was soreness from the water in the air mixed with the cold.  As Snape massaged though, his hair moved to the side and Harry drew in a sharp breath.  Running down the side of Snape's neck, from the back of his ear to the shoulder and down under his collar, was a rather thick white scar discoloured from the rest of his skin and jagged edged, as if it had been left to heal on its own.

"Sir, your neck."  Harry mumbled.  "It's broken...the skin is marked. Scarred."  Harry finally finished properly.

"Yes." Snape grunted, pulling his hair forward to cover the scar.  It was one that Harry knew could have been fixed by magic by now, as he'd seen Madame Pomfrey work ...well...magic with some of the scars he and his friends obtained roughhousing at school.  This, however, looked like it had been made with a serrated knife or a curse.

"How length have you possession?"  Harry asked, wincing at the words that escaped. "How long have you poss...had it?"

"Fifteen years, three months, and two days."  Snape answered, his tone cold and his eyes still not looking at Harry.

"But, you can..."

"Elliot." Snape said, holding up his hand and finally standing up.  Harry could tell that he was shivering, but Snape still stood stiffly and finally looked at him with a guarded expression.

"Every request comes with a price. Even the failed ones."

Snape opened the door, dumping the cold coffee off to the side of the wet step.

"What -" Harry tried again but Snape shook his head and pushed Harry into the kitchen with a firm hand across Harry's shoulder.

"Leave it."

.....

Harry paced back and forth in the library after breakfast, glancing to the clock and feeling out of sorts because he wasn't completely sure if it was really close to eleven am or if there was still quite a bit of time until Ron and Hermione got there.  Snape was coming upstairs from the lab; his stained canvas potions smock covering a plain white dress shirt and black trousers.

"Have you returned the toys and baby items to the box?"  Snape asked, nodding towards the large cardboard box on the floor.

"Yeah. Think I got everything."  Harry answered checking his watch again.  Neither he nor Snape made any mention of the stuffed platypus that was missing from the box.

"What time is it?"  Snape asked, closing the lid and placing a sticking charm on the box to keep it closed. 

"Ten and twenty. Ten twenty."  Harry answered, sounding a bit unsure at first, but glad Snape had made him repeatedly go over the numbers at breakfast.

"Very good."  Snape summoned a marker from the office and picked up the box, thinking for a moment.  He seemed to decide on something, and then scratched out his own name from the box.  Just below his name, he wrote "Elliot" in big black letters.

"These came for you, a few minutes ago."  Snape said in his bored voice, and Harry glanced to see that he was holding a set of freshly laundered bed sheets that looked identical to the ones that were normally on his bed.  Harry's cheeks blushed a bright red as he held his hand out to collect them. Instead, Snape banished them, hopefully to Harry's room.

"The horcrux removal did not cause any physical deformities?" Snape asked.

"No!" Harry squeaked, sounding like he was going through puberty again. "I mean, no."  Harry finished in his regular voice.

"Perhaps you should purchase a second set of sheets."  Snape finished, smirking a little.

"Right." Harry coughed, desperate to change the subject. 

Snape opened up the cellar door again and picked up the box, ready to return it to one of the shelves downstairs.

Harry walked to the fireplace, fighting the slow grin that was taking over his face.  Harry picked up the jar of floo powder and turned to face Snape, his expression innocent and forlorn.

"Dad? Can I take a special food high sun? You know, as a salutation?"

Snape stopped, one foot at the top step of the cellar stairs, and waited.

"Can I order lunch today. As a thank you."  Harry corrected.

"That would be appreciated."

"But I don't have any coloured paper. Pounds. I'll have to spark..no..yell. Order from the marble hut. The Roman square, white block...Gringotts.  I have to firecall Gringotts."

Snape waved his hand towards the fireplace in invitation, not reacting to the vocabulary substitutions.

"Yeah. But I don't reckon the watchword. The gremlin commands decoding during flames."  Harry clenched his hands, hating how the paraphasia was worse whenever he was nervous. Or up to something.

"You don't remember your password." Snape commented, shifting the box in his hands.

"No. Yes. Gone."

"Ah. Then I believe, Mr. Snape, that you are what the muggles call: shit out of luck."

Harry's eyes widened instantly as he tried to look insulted.  Snape turned and looked directly at him, and his expression spoke of amusement.

"Because I think you do know the password. And it'll be a cold day in hell before you ever hear me singing."  Snape finished, walking downstairs to the basement.

"Bollocks."  Harry said, getting the word right without a thought.

.....

Ron and Hermione arrived right on time and Harry ushered them up to his room, feeling stupidly proud over his ability to do so. Certainly the Dursleys had never made it possible for him to have friends in Little Whinging, Merlin forbid if he'd ever asked to invite someone over.  Snape stayed downstairs, however, and took care of the food ordering while Harry explained to his friends what they'd discovered had been the after effects of killing the horcrux.

"So, yeah."  Harry summarized.  "Sometimes I substitute words in sentences, and I've forgotten some things. Fifth year is a bit of a blur." 

Ron sat at Harry's desk, playing with one of Harry's carving tools.  Hermione was over by the bookcase, arms crossed and with a fretful expression on her face.  Harry glanced between them a few times, waiting for it to all sink in.

"No wonder you've been moody sometimes."  Ron finally said staring at Harry's forehead where the scar used to be.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "Harry's just told us he had part of a soul removed from his brain, and you're complaining that he's been moody?"

"Well, but I was, Hermione.  Did you know I apparently blew up my Aunt Marge?"  Harry asked, unsure why she was annoyed with Ron's comment.  Hermione looked as if she wanted to smack both of them.

They spent the next twenty minutes discussing Hogwarts, and Harry was filled in to the reaction of his fellow classmates to the events of Friday.  One of the students, a Hufflepuff, had a muggle sister with a peanut allergy, which she'd told the class about when she'd recognised the epi-pen. Harry found that rather lucky, as instead of the class thinking Snape had kidnapped Harry for some sort of nefarious means, they'd all assumed he'd been whisked off to the infirmary after having a bad allergic reaction.  Not too far from the truth, which Harry was fine with.  Classes were temporarily suspended, Dumbledore's funeral was still scheduled for Monday, even though his body would not be recovered, and Ron warned Harry that there was a celebratory feast for him and Snape later that evening, with reporters.

"Yeah, we know. Snape's carving through his letters in the descent."  Harry answered grimly.  "Ugh. He's carving the words downstairs.  His speech."

"Well, that's ... reassuring." Hermione offered.  Neither Ron nor Hermione tried to help Harry with the words he was aiming for, for which he was inexplicably grateful. Harry leaned over towards his pillow and pulled the platypus out from the folded knit blanket there.

"Are you going to tell people that you're a Snape? Now that the war is over and all." Ron asked, propping his feet up on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Is it safe to?" Hermione asked from the bookshelf, where she was flipping through Snape's old copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"I dunno.  There's still quite a few death eaters out there, plus some aurors who don't like Snape very much." Harry leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, absentmindedly flopping the platypus' flippers.

"That wasn't the real Moody though, Harry." Hermione pointed out.

"And really, it's Snape.  Not a lot of people like him." Ron added helpfully.

"Ron!  He's still my dad."  Harry laughed.

"Believe me, it's still weird to hear you say that.  I can't believe he didn't kill you for getting that tattoo."  Ron nodded towards Harry's arm. 

Harry smiled and fished his wand out of his pocket.  Downstairs he heard banging as Snape brought something up from the cellar.  "Accio feather." Harry commanded, watching as Hedwig's old feather popped out of the desk drawer and floated over to him.

"Harry! You're not supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts!"  Hermione admonished.

"Technically, it is the school year." Ron pointed out, but he looked unsure as well.

"Relax." Harry grinned, holding the feather up to his arm in comparison. "Snape's an adult, and this is registered as a wizard's house. They can't tell if it's him or me doing the magic."

"Are you sure, mate? I mean, there's five adults at the Burrow sometimes, and I still can't do magic at home."  Ron said, looking at the window as if he was afraid an owl would apparate to the skies outside.

"I'm sure. I did magic here over the summer a few times, in front of Snape. Not one single letter."

"Had I known over the hols." Ron muttered, no doubt thinking of the revenge he could have wrought on his twin brothers.

"Harry, who is Eileen Prince?"  Hermione asked, inspecting his books again.

"Snape's mum."  Harry answered, sticking the feather randomly into his messy hair. "The ones that say Tobias belonged to his dad."

"Really? I wonder what his parents were like."  Hermione pondered with a glint in her eye.  "You never really picture your teachers as regular people, with parents and brothers and sisters."

"Yeah, especially not the vampire-like ones."  Ron smirked.

Harry kicked his leg out and hit Ron's foot.  "I can verify that there is no coffin in his room."

"Are they alive? Has he ever said anything about this family? Does he have any siblings?"  Hermione continued, her curiosity piqued.

"Hmm. No siblings, and I think both of his parents are dead. He never says much about them."

"I wouldn't either, if they were like him." Ron pointed out.

Harry remembered the memory that had escaped during the occlumency lesson the year before at school.  "They didn't seem to be pleasant."  He agreed.  "The one thing he says about them is ‘whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.'"

"Euripides."  Hermione said thoughtfully.  "The Greek gods did have a mean streak to them."

Harry shrugged and played with the platypus some more as Ron poked at Snape's animated drawings on the corkboard.

"Are you actually allergic to bees?"  Ron asked randomly.

"Yeah. I uncovered last garden hot day."  Harry said, before wincing.  "Last summer."

"But why was there a bee in the box anyway?"  Hermione asked slowly, studying Harry.

"My map from pumpkin hour."  Hermione was watching him with great interest, while Ron was merely blank.  "My idea.  Before Christmas."

"We were very worried."  Ron said, very quietly.

Harry held up his hand and closed his eyes, counting slowly to himself under his breath.

"Één, twee, drie, vier, vijf..."

He kept his eyes closed and thought the words in his mind.

"The danger was full. Snape was grey spot...he was in cover. Undercover. Voldemort would have abra cadabra him."

"Just speak how you can, mate."  Ron said, no pity in his voice. Just understanding.

"That was high risk to both of you to keep secret though."  Hermione pointed out, her fingers nervously twitching over a bag of gobstones that Harry had on his bookshelf.

"No."  Harry shook his head, hoping the next bit came out somewhat as intended. "I don't memory James Potter. With the Dudleys, no the Dursleys, I grew up without a father. Now..." Harry waved his hand around his room, at the postcards on his bulletin board, the books on his bookshelf, his clothes in the open wardrobe, and finally at the open door. 

"Now I would know what it's really like to not have a dad."

Hermione's lip trembled and Ron looked rather uneasy. 

"Oh Harry.  But how could you just go alone? The two of you? Not even Professor McGonagall knew where you were and she's part of the Order." Hermione answered, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed.

Harry just shrugged, looking uncomfortable.  He flicked his wand at the window, letting more cool air in the room.

"Logic says I should have died two years ago."

"What?"  Ron tilted his head up to the side and Harry knew he was counting.  "At the tournament?"

"The graveyard."  Harry fiddled with the watch on his wrist, pretty sure that it was approaching noon, but he was too distracted to be certain.  "Voldemort cast the green spotlight. The killing curse at me."

From the door came a small squeak of the floor, a patch of wood that Harry knew was just beyond the threshold to the hallway on the hinge side.

"It seems," came a rather deep voice, "that I will need to have yet another chat with the headmaster this evening." 

Snape was leaning against the doorframe, expression tight but posture of his body rather relaxed. 

"Lunch has arrived."

.......

The last time Harry felt this tired had been last June, after Sirius had been killed.  It wasn't just a physical exhaustion; it was a mental drain from trying to fool everyone into believing that he was fine and handling things well.   He heard a faint buzzing sound as a strong hand on his shoulder steered him down the narrow stone corridor, leading away from the loud cheering and laughter in the Great Hall.  The welcome back party continued, but Harry had had enough. He was halfway into the room before he realised that Snape had brought him to the staffroom, and that it was not empty.

"Good evening, Baron."  Snape greeted, dumping Harry into one of the plush chairs around the conference table in the centre of the room.

"Professor." 

Harry blinked, having never heard the Bloody Baron really speak before.  Snape removed a pensieve from the cabinet at the far end of the room, placing it on the table.  Harry stared at it miserably, his head resting in his hands on the table and his eyes flickering with whatever was fluttering near the sconce above his head.

"This is not necessary."  Snape warned, putting the pensieve in front of Harry.

"Yes it is." Harry growled.  "How else am I supposed to see what the damage is?"

"I'm sure whatever it is, you'll weather the storm like usual."  Snape observed.

"Yeah, right. Not this time."  Harry answered, not looking up.

Snape put his wand to his head and drew out his memory of the party.  He put it in the basin and gestured in invitation to Harry.

"I don't desire...want...people's pity."  Harry mumbled, thrusting his finger into the shimmering liquid and giving a yelp as he was sucked in.

Snape landed beside him not a moment later and they walked through the filled Great Hall, amazed at the excited and such young faces there.   At the front of the room they heard McGonagall's introduction, and then came the roar of applause. Even now Harry blushed upon hearing it.  He still felt like he'd done only what was required, and nothing more.  It was apparent that Snape had similar feelings, as his scowl matched the one that he'd worn earlier in the evening.  They watched as the Minister of Magic walked across the stage and lied to everyone in the hall, congratulating Harry and Snape for working so closely to imbue an old and forgotten spell into a potion and rid the world of Voldemort for good.

"You barely substituted words."  Snape pointed out, watching Harry thank the minister and the headmistress.

"I fumbled the champagne glass."  Harry grumbled.

"They'll think it's nerves."  Snape answered.  "Quite a few people seem to be interested in that ridiculous tattoo of yours."

"You have an even dumber one."  Harry mumbled, not quite quiet enough.

"Excuse me?"  Snape growled, turning to glare seemingly through him.

"Involuntary verbal tic."  Harry explained, keeping his gaze straight ahead to the podium where the older version of himself was standing. Younger version? Whichever.

"I wasn't able to do this solitary.  Alone," started the memory version of Harry, beginning his speech.  After a moment the real Snape stopped trying to hex him via a look and watched the front as well.

"No matter what any...crystal ball says, it takes a village strong to accomplish what we've done. My friends, my teachers, the DA...thank you."

Cameras clicked madly at the front of the room amongst the cheers of the students and staff.

"That was a ridiculously short speech."  Snape said, standing beside Harry and watching the proceedings.

"What was I supposed to say? I killed a man today, Gryffindor wins the house cup."  Harry responded sarcastically.

"You have a macabre sense of humour, Harry Potter."  Snape responded.  Up on the stage memory Snape stood in front of the microphone.

"I have no desire to be standing up here and talking to you all, so I shall make this short." Memory Snape started, earning a few snorts form the crowd and one from memory Harry.

"You ruined the effect of my speech."  Snape stated, smacking Harry lightly across the back of his head.

"I did no such thing!"  Harry blurted, grinning.  "Look, some first years over there still think you're a vampire."  Harry pointed at a group of kids sitting right up near the front podium, eyes wide.

"Freedom is defined as the quality or state of being free.  It is the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action and the liberation from slavery or restraint or from the power of another."  Memory Snape continued, glaring at the audience in general and making Harry have a flashback to his first ever potions class.

"Because I am a Slytherin, and I do not take my freedom for granted, I decided to collaborate with Potter and create a plan to ensure the defeat of the Dark Lord. While the rest of you were content to allow a runty sixteen year old boy face the biggest threat to the wizarding world since witch burning, I was not."

"Ticely Altum, Wizarding World Weekly.  Are you saying that you acted because you didn't think anyone else would?"  The interruption came from a short and stick thin wizard who had a bush of curly hair almost bigger than his waist. He looked rather young and green behind the ears.

"That is exactly what I'm saying."  Snape deadpanned.

"Iorwen Quinly, Highland Post. Are you calling us cowards?"

"Semantics. If ‘woefully complacent' helps you sleep at night, think of it that way instead."  Snape responded.  Quinly looked affronted, clearly not use to conversing with Snape.

"Mr. Potter! Erika Watson, Daily Prophet.  Your mutual hatred of Severus Snape is well known throughout this school. Did he really offer to help you with no strings attached?"

Her expression was partial curiosity and partial disbelief, as if she was just itching to find out what Snape was benefitting from his part in the defeat of Voldemort.  Memory Harry took a deep breath and held his hand up, which Harry could see now was trembling slightly. It did quieten the crowd, however.

"Professor Snape has pretty much always hated me."  Memory Harry admitted, giving a small smile.  Beside him memory Snape slowly crossed his arms across his chest. 

"But I've lost colour...count, of how many times he's cap...saved my life. So when he offered to ai...aid me, I trusted him to save my life again."  Memory Harry fiddled with his tie, a black one with four very thin stripes in the Hogwarts house colours with the school crest on it.

"It was reported that you were only pretending to be sick in order to trap He Who Must Not be Named."  Ticely Altum blurted. "Was that a lie? Why did you need him to save you again?"

A hum filled the room as whispered shot back and forth between the students and reporters.

"No."  Memory Harry shook his head.  "Trust.  I was in a cu...cubicle at a hospital with just Voldemort and Professor Snape. Tiny room."  Harry could see that the memory version of himself had started flexing his fingers against his thighs subconsciously to calm down, to keep his concentration and not let the wrong words out. 

"Close enough to not need wands." Memory Harry finished with a grim smile. 

Watching from the back of the room and unnoticeable by anyone in the memory, Snape didn't keep his comments to himself.

"Pompous arse would wet his pants if he were standing within fifty feet of the Dark Lord."

The room turned fuzzy as the real Snape and Harry were vacuumed up out of the memory and landed back in the staffroom, Snape landing with grace in his chair and Harry slumping into his, a bit motion sick from the memory travelling.  When he looked up and cleared his eyes, he saw Minerva McGonagall sitting at the other end of the table, a tray of hot chocolate in mugs beside her.

"It went well, I think."  She said, eyeing them carefully.  "Just tomorrow to get through."

Harry sat and sipped his hot chocolate, wondering if he could attend Dumbledore's funeral without having to give a speech.  He barely registered the small thunk as an energetic beetle tried to fly out the room and misjudged the open windowpane.