Harry was quiet and pensive as they left Grimmauld Place. He'd spent his time with Sirius wisely, nonchalantly mentioning that he wanted to compare handwriting, just for fun. A few pages of writing were thusly in his pocket, silly notes and sentences scribbled down by Sirius. Harry had asked for his autograph, a simple drawing, and challenged Sirius to write a small paragraph's worth of a short story. All memories he would keep, no matter what would happen today.

When they were packing up their bag to leave Sirius had casually asked what the day's task was. At Snape's sneered ‘We're off to meet our potential deaths, Black, with a tight schedule to keep,' Sirius had just laughed it off, leaving Harry to wonder if Snape often told the truth in such a blunt way that people didn't believe him.

Snape had a strong grip on Harry's arm as they apparated, keeping him steady as their feet touched down on the front steps of Riddle Manor. It was still dark and steadily raining, and Harry was grateful for the covered porch.

"Safe enough apparition point," Snape lowly said, looking around at the creepy house.

"Nothing about this house is safe," Harry replied, shaking his head. From what he remembered, the Gaunt shack was on the other end of town. Snape withdrew an umbrella from the bag he'd brought, which Harry guessed had the same space enhancing spells on it that Hermione's had.

"We'll be walking through town," Snape announced, flipping and folding the bag in an impressive feat of magic that left it no larger than a Muggle wallet, which Snape placed in his back trouser pocket. His straight laced frock coat was transfigured into a thin Muggle summer jumper, and his outer robe was transfigured into a second umbrella.

The town wasn't that far away, but the downhill road was a bit slippery with rain and weeds had started to grow over the sides of the lane.

"Can't we just apparate?" Harry muttered, just missing a large puddle.

"We could," Snape replied, closer behind Harry than Harry had thought. "But I require lunch first."

Harry's stomach grumbled slightly at the mention of lunch, and he kept silently walking. It was such a dark day out that he'd not realised it was almost noon.

"Do you think the shack's up there?" Harry finally asked, as they reached the main street of the village. There were several little boutiques, a charity shop, a small grocer's, and a pub. One small bank also had a post office attached to it, but both were currently closed. A few people milled about, giving them a curious glance, before hurrying on their way.

Harry was pointing at a hilly embankment at the end of the street, with a rough rocky cliff and what looked like a thin road carved into it. At the top was a thick thatch of gnarled trees, their individuality indistinguishable from below.

"Likely," Snape agreed, pausing by the pub to look at the chalkboard advertisement. It still had a note about a fair at the beginning of June, and the letters were starting to run from the rain.

"I don't know if I can eat right now," Harry honestly said.

"They'll have bread," Snape replied. "Settles the stomach."

Harry looked up at the wooden sign above the pub's door, The Hanged Man Pub, and followed Snape inside.  Appropriate place for the meal before a horcrux destruction, he thought.

...

Snape was an intensely curious man and figured the local pub would be the best place to hear the rumours this town carried. The killing curse left very little for the Muggle police to work with, and he wanted to know what the Muggles had concluded as the cause of death for the Riddles. Not because he wanted to correct things, naturally, but because it was amusing to hear the theories.

"We're going to have a little fun, Harry," Snape said, his voice low as they walked into the dimmed room. "Try to play along."

Snape didn't see the need to explain further, though he did notice Harry's confused look as the barmaid approached.

"We've got a window seat or a booth. Window'll be cold on your kid, the rain gets the sill all damp," she said, looking bored with the job.

"Booth is fine," Snape answered, not correcting her.

Once they'd been seated, and the menu perused, Snape took a quick and covert look around the room to note that they were still the centre of attention. Being a Friday, the town didn't have weekenders passing through yet, and they were the only non-townspeople in the room.

"Did you see enough of the Riddle House?" Snape asked loudly, taking a sip of his water. Harry gave him a reserved look, his eyes easily conveying his reluctance to go back to the house.

"Yeah, I..." Harry started, only to be interrupted by an older man at the bar.

"The Riddle House? No one goes there anymore, no one in their right mind."

"Not unless they enjoy ghost stories," Snape calmly replied, his tone unoffended. Hadn't taken long to catch a fish.

"That's no ghost house," the man answered, snorting once into his drink. The laugh wasn't one of amusement though. He looked to be about seventy, and his face was lined with a rough history.

"It isn't?" Harry asked, catching onto the game and trying to sound disappointed. "I thought you said it was, Dad."

He held Snape's gaze, almost daring Snape to say something about the epithet. Snape didn't mind though, allowing a lazy smirk to flash across his face, that the two men at the bar couldn't see.

"There was a murder there," the man asserted, as if that would wow Harry or Snape. His buddy beside him, who looked as if he was moulded into the bar stool, scoffed.

"Three murders, Dick. No trace of a cause, either. Maybe not ghosts, but something evil was there."

They appeared to be continuing an old argument, and Snape smiled to himself as he sipped his water. As a child, an only child, he'd not had much in the way of entertainment and had found ways of manipulating people into giving him information. That had become a game in itself, and had turned into quite a useful skill.

"Ah, to piss with you, Terry," the first man said. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Oh, I quite disagree," Snape interrupted, easily jumping into the discussion. "My son quite enjoys ghost stories and hauntings, and we've seen plenty of England's most haunted dwellings."

"Not here you haven't," Terry asserted. The barmaid, a woman in her twenties with a frumpy uniform and a permanent scowl, came out from the kitchen of the bar with two hot dishes of shepherd's pie. Harry's was smaller than Snape's, and she fished a ketchup bottle out of a basket behind the bar for him as well.

"Where'd you hear of Riddle house?" Terry asked, once the barmaid had returned to the bar to clean. He was studying Harry and Snape, no doubt judging them by their plain clothes, southern accents, and Snape's long hair.

"Driving through Greater Hangleton," Snape replied, the steam from the pie enveloping his face as he cut into it. "Someone mentioned in passing about the house."

"Figures," Dick muttered. "Passin' us off as the weirder village down the road."

"We are," the barmaid said, giving them a dark look. "My gran's been passing stories down since that night fifty years ago, and she only retired from here last year. You think it didn't get out that something weird happened here?"

Terry shrugged at that, finishing off his pint. Snape glanced covertly around the bar, noting lots of old and yellowed photographs stuck to the bar walls. Apparently Dorothea, the barmaid, was working at the family's business.

"What did happen then?" Harry asked.

Both Dick and Terry ordered another beer, and Snape got the distinct impression that they'd told this story many times before.

"'bout fifty years ago or so it was, a really cool summer. Colder than normal, but none of us cared much ‘cause the second war was on and the town was pretty empty. A few lunches during the weekends, but things were rationed and the town was stringent about blackout curfews. Except this one Saturday, the whole town felt like something was off."

"How can a town feel off?" Dick asked, rolling his eyes. "It was a normal Saturday."

"Don't matter now, do it?" Terry grunted. "We get some passing through here in the summer, so no one took any notice of strangers. They usually stopped by Riddle House, cause in its day it was grand and gorgeous."

"Not like the Riddles themselves," Dick said, swirling the beer in his glass. "Arrogant miserable buggers."

"That's right," Terry agreed. "Their boy Tom went to school with my parents, fancied himself a prince of the town."

"He fell hard though," Dick recalled with a smile, "shamed that who damn family."

"How?" Harry asked. Snape was also curious, having never heard the full story of how the Dark Lord's parents had met. No matter how many times he'd thought on it, he couldn't fathom it.

"Said he was bewitched by the local tramp that lived up the hill there. Taken in, swindled, married, all in a few months. His parents were furious of course, and there was even talk of a baby. But he came running back to Mummy and Daddy, claiming some witch had taken him."

"So maybe it's the tramp's place that's haunted, Dad," Harry said with a knowing smile.

"S'not where the murders were," Dick said, shaking his head. "Things were quiet again for nearly sixteen years after that scandal, though you never saw the Riddles much. They kept locked up in that damn house; even when the war was on Tom didn't go to fight. He would have been about thirty-seven, or thirty-eight."

Dick sounded very bitter at that, and it was then that Snape noticed the cane hooked onto the ledge of the bar beside him. The Riddles had stayed housebound, but Little Hangleton had sent its other sons off to war.

"We reckon the only one to see them was Frank Bryce, their gardener," Terry said, in thought. "I wondered how they got their food, but they had a big garden and I suppose the rest was delivered."

"Doesn't matter," Dick said, cutting him off. "Frank Bryce was the only one to normally see'em, and when that maid that found them dead that Sunday morning, we all knew it had to be him."

"They'd all been killed?" Harry asked, scooping up a bit of mash and gravy with his fork.

"Surely a wartime blackout would be the opportune time for a burglary," Snape mused, his grasping his cup of water. "Perhaps it merely was...interrupted."

"Now see here," Dick said, finishing his beer. "People in those times were good folk, for the most part. None of us really liked 'em, but there wasn't a reason to kill them."

Snape refrained from commenting that psychopaths usually didn't require clear reasoning.

"And that witch's house you say, that's up on the hill?" Snape mildly asked.

"Yeah," Terry hiccupped. "Under the brush by a stone path. If you're not looking carefully, you'll miss it."

"We'll be able to find it," Snape confidently said. He nonchalantly finished his water, and with very little effort, managed to make both Terry and Dick's beer glasses wobble on the table.

"Dad!" Harry hissed, his eyes wide and questioning. Snape said nothing though, finishing off the last bites of his dinner and rattling several of the empty stools at the bar as well. His wand was still in his trouser pocket; as a youngster Snape had learned how to move small things wandlessly. It wasn't very useful, but it was amusing and he'd done it in many pubs with the reputation of being haunted.

"Dick," Terry whispered, grabbing his friend's arm. They watched the chairs continue to move, and jumped as a quick gust of wind blew through the pub, rustling papers and knocking over a stack of paper coasters.

The barmaid came back in to restock some of the liquor, and glared at the two regulars.

"Dick Connelly and Terry Thigslen, you make a mess of my pub again and you'll be cleaning pass closing time."

Before they could answer, she headed down the tiny wooden stairs to the cellar of the pub, likely to fetch more wine.

"Looks like you've your own ghost problems here," Snape observed, using his napkin to wipe his mouth. "Finished, Harry?"

Harry quickly made sure his face was clean and nodded. Snape fished some Muggle money out of his pocket as he stood, and Harry quickly jumped to his feet. Neither Terry nor Dick had moved from the bar.

"Wait a minute!" Dick called, pointing at the stools. "Did you see? You saw that?"

Snape placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, the tip of his wand now protruding very slightly from his sleeve.

"I see everything, Mr Connelly," Snape answered. A horribly chilly sensation went down his spine and across his hand into Harry, as he cast a strong disillusionment spell on them. They disappeared in seconds, shimmering into nothing.

"Fuck me!" Terry yelped, nearly tipping himself out of his chair. Snape had quickly moved to cover Harry's mouth with his hand, which had caught Harry's snort. They stayed in the corner of the pub watching the two men curse and argue with each other, before the barmaid came back up. She originally looked gutted at the mostly empty pub, before she noticed the money Snape had left on the table. Both the regulars were babbling about ghosts and disappearances, but it was evident she didn't care and didn't want to hear it.

"Shut up with you," her crass warning came out. "And stop drinking before two, you ruddy drunks."

...

The sudden squeeze of apparition had caught Harry off guard, but they landed safely up on the craggy hill above the town. Harry saw nothing both ugly trees and overgrown brush, but there did appear to be some sort of stone walkway that they could follow with a bit of effort.

"You are such an arse," Harry said, looking at Snape's amused expression. "They're going to spend the next ten years trying to convince people they saw a ghost."

"Which is inaccurate," Snape said, carefully walking around the path. "Merely some common household items, with a moving charm on them."

"You're still an arse," Harry said, letting a small laugh escape. It was good to see, as he'd not smiled much since they'd come back in time.

"I believe the house is this way," Snape said, leading them down the pathway.

"Are we going to destroy it here?"

Snape forcefully slashed away an overgrown vine that was creeping out over the wall.

"Remember the headmaster's hand?" Snape warned. "We're not touching it, save for with a dagger."

"Right," Harry mumbled, to himself.

They walked for a few more minutes, unable to find any break or crack in the stone wall that encased the hill.

"Do you think...do you know what brought us back in time?" Harry asked, walking closely behind Snape.

"My theory," Snape said, pausing and listening hard for something, "is that you were the master of death, and somehow brought us here."

"What, with the hallows?" Harry asked, accidentally kicking a stone forward with his foot. It glanced off Snape's boot, and skittered into a shrub that seemed to shudder. "I thought you didn't believe in them."

"I know of a lot of things I don't believe," Snape cryptically said. He held his hand up and stared at the shrub, the lower leaves of which were still moving. After a few seconds the sleek brown and yellow head of an adder emerged.

"Don't bite," Harry said, staring at the snake.

"It doesn't understand you," Snape slowly said. Another smaller adder came out, and Snape drew his wand. "I believe we are close to the shack."

They carefully checked around the bushes, and found a small crevice in the wall a few feet further down. The security ward on it had been almost enough to make Snape simply skim over the chunk of missing wall, but he easily broke the enchantment and found a small opening with a path. Where they were standing they could see down into the village below, and had the spot been cleared away, the view would have been spectacular.

Snape entered the garden first, his wand out and his eyes darting about as he checked for any threats. A rather large grass snake was lounging in a small bit of grass that the trees' branches covered from the rain, and gave him a disinterested look. A small bit of rope was hanging from a hook on the side of the shack - likely what was once used to dry laundry - and a very old wooden chair sat on the porch. It was so weather worn that the colour of the wood couldn't be discerned any more, and holes had been eaten through the back of the seat by insects.

"It's inside somewhere," Harry duly said, almost tripping on a garden path stone. The grass in the front garden had grown rather long, and Snape snidely reminded him to watch his step.

"Can you feel it?" Snape asked, walking with his own head down and focused on the path.

"No, I just remember from Dumbledore's lessons."

Snape nodded and pushed open the door, wrinkling his nose at the smell of fifty years of stale air.  The inside of the little house was absolutely disgusting, both in sight and in scent. There were layers of newspaper upon the floor, as if it had been used for insulation, cracked and dusty dishes on the counter, and turned over kitchen chairs by the stove. A rotted out blanket sat on the musty couch, and several glass bottles of alcohol littered the living room floor. Snape could see that there were bedrooms in the loft above, but he hoped he wouldn't need to go near them.

"Could you imagine growing up here?" Harry asked.  Snape looked around the filth and scowled. He remembered the little he'd been able to find about the Gaunt family - a father, a brother, and a frail younger sister who would eventually give birth to the wizarding world's biggest monster in centuries.

"It's even worse than the Dursleys," Harry continued, with a shake of his head.

"Who you no longer need to return to," Snape said, looking about the room to see if the ring was anywhere visible.

"No," Harry said, also searching, but in thought. Snape was wary of Harry Potter in thought, as his train of thought did not always take the standard logical steps, or if it did, he didn't often explain how he'd connected the conversation points. "Would you have been my father? If you hadn't called my mum a mudblood?"

Snape stopped searching and stared at him, processing the question, and still unable to figure out how they'd arrived to that topic.

"What?"

"You wouldn't have lost my mum's friendship. So would you have eventually been my father?" Harry said, reasoning it out.

"No, likely not," Snape answered. He used his wand to move a large bundle of papers, but found nothing useful underneath. "Why?"

"Because you're good at it," Harry answered quietly.

Snape had no answer for that, but felt a small measure of satisfaction inside.

...

Harry was hesitant to move a lot of the piles of rubbish on the floor, as he quite remembered that not only Voldemort had put protective enchantments on the ring, but that the Gaunts had been vindictive and nasty, and had likely done the same with their meagre possessions. Although from the amount of liquor bottles and stains on the floor, it was also possible that Morfin Gaunt hadn't cared enough to.

"Where do you live for the summer?" Harry asked, opening some of the kitchen cabinet doors. A rather large family of spiders had taken up residence in one, and Harry shut the door quickly.

"In my home," Snape answered, his expression puzzled as if he were trying to work out where Harry was taking the conversation.

"Well I figured that," Harry said, with a roll of his eyes. "But when this is over, and if we're still stuck here, can I come visit?"

Snape looked at him as if he were absolutely daft.

"You'll be living with your godfather," Snape answered, leaving the 'why would you ever want to visit me' unsaid.

"Yeah," Harry easily agreed. "But I've had, well not quite fun doing this, but I'd...I'd want to come for tea. Or hot chocolate."

Harry was glad he'd turned to face the couch, because he knew he sounded like an idiot and didn't want Snape staring at him.

"You want to come for tea," Snape repeated. He took a moment to think, and then continued in a more knowing tone. "You've never asked me about your mother, is that your motive?"

Harry bristled, turning to look at Snape.

"I don't have a motive," he asserted, annoyed. "I've learned a lot from you, and it's probably because of the time travel and everything you've done for me, but I feel closer to you than Sirius. And I even had fun earlier today, pretending to be your kid and teasing the Muggles, even though I'm pretty sure that's against our laws. So no, I don't have a motive. I just happen to not hate you anymore."

Harry, in a huff of irritation, looked for a spot to angrily sit down on. Seeing that the chairs were overturned and the couch looked like it held several forms of mould, he resorted to kicking a pile of rags on the floor. A mouse squeaked with the upheaval, and darted off toward the fireplace.

Snape, who was watching him with interest from a spot by a ghastly painting of Salazar Slytherin, crossed his arms in a small measure of self-defence.

"I suppose you may come for tea then," he said, quietly as if he thought Harry would rescind his request. "I find your presence quite tolerable now."

Harry looked up and couldn't help snorting.

"Tolerable? Well, that's better than the Dursleys."

Snape grumbled at that and moved to check a bundle of rags on the fireplace mantel.

"If you ever compare me to them again, you'll spend the entire summer doing chores for me."

He flicked his wand to move the rags, but they glowed a strong green colour and refused to budge.

"Found it," Snape said, certain. There were very strong enchantments surrounding the mantel, and the small smile he noticed on Harry's face slipped off into seriousness.

"Remember not to put it on," Harry needlessly said. "Even though it is the resurrection stone."

"Shut up," Snape said, concentrating on disassembling the protective charms. There was an eerie creak in the mantel, and then a sudden crack as the rags and molted papers burst apart. Snape ducked instinctively and threw up a shield to stop the disgusting bits of material from landing on them as they snowed down. Remaining on the mantel was a carved box, likely the only other possession of the Gaunts that had been worth any value.

"Think it'll work if we stab the box?" Harry asked, dusting off his jeans. At Snape's disgruntled look he gave a sigh.

"Thought I'd ask."

The rain outside started pouring heavier, seeping through a crack in the window frame and puddling onto the floor. More mice skittered about, running along the edge of the wall and staying to the shadows, and a not-so-little garden snake made a strange noise as it slithered across a wooden ceiling beam above them.

"This is a creepy place," Harry muttered, his wand out. Both of them had removed their watches and transformed them to daggers.

"I will remove it from the box," Snape decided, gripping and regripping his wand. "If it stays there, stab it. If it doesn't..."

"Call it," Harry finished.

With less effort than Harry thought it would take, Snape had the box open. Nothing happened right away, and Snape could just see over the lid that the ring was nestled in there. Switching hands, Snape raised the dagger with his right and prepared to strike.

It was Harry who saw them first.

A small brown adder, with yellowed diamond markings on its head and a questioning flick of its tongue, emerged from the fireplace. It was followed by a larger smooth snake, which slithered to the left of Harry, around his boots.

"Snakes," Harry warned, training his wand on them. At the same time, Snape swung his arm down and they both jumped back as the box exploded.

Crashing to the floor, Harry searched frantically through the rubbish piles for the glittery black stone of the ring. Snape was also searching, unconcerned about the progression of thin and short snakes coming from the fireplace.

"I have seen you before, Severus Snape, the man with the intense desire to succeed," the horcrux suddenly proclaimed.

"You missed?!" Harry yelped, searching faster. Unlike the others, this one didn't release any smoky black shadows, likely because it would have been bloody useful to find it.

"It exploded," Snape barked back, whirling his dagger in the direction of the voice.

"All the Dark Arts training in the world, and you couldn't stop my curse from killing him," the horcrux continued, its raspy voice coming from near the fireplace poker. "And the boy you think of your own, how will you ever be able to save him when the time comes?"

Snape growled at that, viciously blasting away bits of fireplace wood and unidentifiable textiles from the floor. He finally hit upon the ring, and they both watched it bounce through the air to land in front of the fireplace.

"Don't listen to it!" Harry shouted, watching Snape ready the dagger. "It's lying, you've already saved my life!"

In one horrible moment Snape destroyed the last horcrux, smashing the stone with such force that the dagger blade cracked as well. The taunting voice stopped immediately, not having enough magic in it from the sixteen year old Riddle to last very long. At the same time, Harry watched in silence as a tiny mouse skeleton dropped out of the fireplace, closely followed by the second biggest snake he'd ever seen. Snape, who was on the floor by the horcrux, right by the hearth, had no time to move.

"DAD!" Harry bellowed, lunging forward just as the snake did, his desire to apparate so strong that he blacked out as he and Snape disappeared.

...

Harry had no idea how long he'd been out for, but one of the first things he realized when he came to was that he was sprawled over Snape. And that his body covered a good portion of his professor's, meaning he'd grown back into his regular size. Sitting up immediately, Harry searched Snape's body for any evidence of a snake's bite, waking the man up as he roughly searched the man's collar. There was blood, not a huge amount, but a steady flow from the scars that Nagini had once left. They looked like they'd been opened again, as if Snape had scratched himself badly.

He also had blood on his right shoulder, and Harry fumbled with the woollen material of Snape's jacket to see how bad the bite marks were.

"Wake up, please wake up," Harry pleaded, sighing in relief as the dark eyes opened a moment later. Snape coughed darkly, some blood appearing in the corner of his mouth as he tried to sit up.

"I have to get you to the infirmary," Harry needlessly said, his arm around Snape's shoulders.

"My..." Snape whispered, and somehow Harry understood. They'd reappeared in the Shrieking Shack, a place Harry had never wanted to return to, and in the village outside he could hear explosions. At first Harry thought the battle was still on, worse carnage than when they'd first gone through it, but then he considered that they sounded like fireworks. Desperate to know if it was safe out, and if what they'd done had killed Voldemort, Harry scrambled as he thought of how to find out.

"Tempus," he finally cast, watching as the date wrote itself in the air. May 3, 1998 4:46 am. "The battle's over," Harry said, his face breaking into an uneasy smile. "I think I went to the forest at four."

Snape raised his hand a little, and Harry grasped it.  Taking a chance than the castle's wards were down, and he wouldn't end up in the future, Harry held tight and apparated them to Snape's flat.

It looked much the same as it had when Harry was last there, with the exception of a lot more books and some unrolled maps on the coffee table. Harry didn't have any time to look that thoroughly though, he simply walked through the living room with Snape to the one room he'd never been in - Snape's bedroom.

Harry managed to ease Snape onto the bed, before running to the lab and fetching the first aid supplies. Snape kept them well marked and on a prominent shelf for ease and speed of retrieval, and Harry was very happy to see a small vial of phoenix tears there still. When he returned to the bedroom he wasn't surprised to see that Snape had done a rudimentary clothing spell to change himself into a nightshirt.

"I'll have to go out soon," Harry said, carefully dripping some tears onto Snape's neck and shoulder. "I need to see Ron and Hermione, I need to know what's happened."

Snape looked exhausted, and Harry wondered if the venom from the snake at the Gaunts' shack was lingering in his body, or if Nagini's bite was still affecting him.  The tears seemed to be working to heal the wounds, though the scars were not diminishing.

"Kreacher!" Harry suddenly called, balling up the towels he'd used to clean Snape's neck. The little house elf appeared with gusto, the locket dangling from his neck and an utterly demented look on his face.

"Master is alive!" Kreacher said, standing up straight and staring at Harry in confusion. A little dagger was in his hand, and it looked sharper than the ones Hary and Snape had been using for the horcruxes.

"What?" Harry asked. "Of course I'm alive."

"Kreacher has just been in the Great Hall. Miss Bella has said that Master Harry is dead."

Kreacher said this blandly, as if he believed Bellatrix over the physical and alive form of Harry standing before him. He wiped the small specks of blood off his knife before tucking it not-so-carefully into the belt of his uniform, and gave Harry a considering look.

"Master is alive."

"Yes, I'd realized that," Harry tiredly said. On the bed, Snape looked drained and amused. "What happened to Voldemort?"

"Miss Bella says that Master Harry and He Who Must Not Be Named died in the forest. Miss Bella is to be leader."

"Oh no," Harry said, a sick feeling in his stomach. "Kreacher, where is she?"

"In the Great Hall," Kreacher answered. He didn't sound overly concerned. "Miss Bella is dead."

"I need to...she's what?" Harry asked, freezing where he stood. He'd pulled his wand out and zipped up his jumper, ready to go out and fight again.

"The blood traitor Wea -"

"Kreacher," Harry warned, his voice deep and stern.

"The Weasley mother killed her," Kreacher corrected, unperturbed by the admonishment.

"Both Voldemort and Bellatrix are dead? Are you absolutely sure, Kreacher?" Harry asked, feeling like it was almost too good to be true.

"Oh yes, Kreacher has seen the bodies," the house elf replied.

"And they think I'm dead too?" Harry asked. He collected the supplies he'd dumped in his haste onto Snape's bed and placed them on the bedside cabinet, noticing a plain labelled bottle beside Snape's reading glasses. Snape had been taking snake antivenin.

"Yes," Kreacher answered. "Master's friends will be most relieved."

"Yeah..." Harry trailed off, suddenly wanting to see his friends so much that it hurt. His two best friends, who were his age and remembered everything they'd gone through together. "I should go. Thanks Kreacher, you can go. But don't tell them I'm back!"

Harry got the last words out just as Kreacher disapparated, likely off to the kitchen to party with the other house elves.

"Go to your friends," Snape said, his voice a mere whisper. "I will watch the events in a pensieve later."

"All right," Harry hesitantly replied, watching over Snape. "It's safe to leave you?"

That got Snape's attention, and he cracked one eye open.

"Potter. They think you're dead."

"Right," Harry said, stepping back from the bed and turning for the door. "I'll be back. I'll bring you some breakfast later."

He'd made it to the door, casting a very light monitoring spell in the room. Hermione had taught it to him, when he himself had been bitten by Nagini. Harry should have asked permission to cast it, but he figured Snape would say no and Harry just wanted to use it to ease his own worries.

"Harry," Snape said, just as Harry had one foot through the doorway. Sure he'd been caught out, Harry looked down at the floor and waited.

"Why did you call me Dad?" Snape asked instead.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't sound stupid or desperate. When he turned to face Snape, he found that the man still had his eyes closed. Lying back on his pillow, in a plain nightshirt and covered by thick wool blankets, Snape looked far less threatening and more human than he normally did.

"Because you've acted like one to me," Harry answered. He didn't wait for a response, partially afraid of what Snape would say, and partially wanting to let the man get his rest.

Harry passed quickly through the flat, stopping at the coffee table where he'd thrown the little rucksack-turned-wallet they had used. His invisibility cloak was folded up neatly inside, and Harry pulled it out to cover himself with. It wouldn't do to run into someone in the halls on the way up to the Great Hall, and Harry wanted the time to think.

It seemed not even the portraits had stayed in their spots though, and all along the way out of the dungeons Harry experienced the castle quieter than it had ever been in the six years he'd lived there. The noise level rose with the stairs, and by the time he'd arrived at the main floor, Harry could hear the cheering and chatter, and what sounded like sporadic toasting of people's names.

Steeling himself to face whatever was on the other side, and hoping that not as many people had died this time around, Harry removed his cloak and carefully folded it to put in his jacket pocket. He put his hand on the door, his fingertips resting in a burn mark leftover from the Weasley twins all those years ago when they'd thrown the spectacular firework display at Umbridge.

"It's over," Harry whispered to himself. "We're alive."

He opened the door, temporarily blinded by the rising sun through the windows of the Great Hall. Thousands of candles hung in the air, the tables had been moved to the sides, and students and parents alike sat haphazardly on benches and the tables. Silence swept through the room at the opening of the door.

"HARRY!"

Hermione's shriek was heard first, closely followed by Ron's, and Harry was suddenly enveloped in his friends' arms. Deafening applause and cheers sounded, startling Harry and making him think for a second that a Death Eater had returned. He was soon surrounded by Hagrid, Arthur, Molly, his dorm mates, and the rest of the Weasleys, all happy to see him once again. Lastly, Harry was given a strong hug from Professor McGonagall, who had a few tears in the corner of her eyes.

"Don't ever scare us like that again, Mr Potter," she gently admonished.

"Yes ma'am," Harry smiled.

"Now, I believe we'd all like to know where you've been hiding," she said, slightly louder. Just by raising her arms, McGonagall managed to quell the noise from the group and make a bit of room so Harry didn't feel as crowded.  Hating the attention, but knowing that if he gave his speech once it'd be over, Harry cast a sonorous charm on his voice.

"I went to the forest to sacrifice myself, so you could all live," Harry bluntly said, holding his hand up when people started to protest his choice. "When I got there, Voldemort wanted to duel. We battled, and one of our spells imploded, causing us both to fall back. I suppose the Death Eaters checked, and thought us both dead."

It was so quiet in the hall that Harry thought he'd hear a pin drop, if there was one.

"Bellatrix came here, and, well I suppose you know better than I what happened next," Harry said. "But the reason I didn't come back first was because I went to find Headmaster Snape."

There were a few titters in the audience, and both McGonagall and Flitwick looked highly sceptical. Harry turned to focus on them, knowing it was them he wanted most to convince.

"He's been Dumbledore's spy ever since Voldemort went after my mother. I know he was mean, and I know he was spiteful and evil and very good at being a double agent. But he's saved my life a few times, and he did it again tonight.  I know a lot of you remember last year, when Professor Snape killed Headmaster Dumbledore, and some of you won't believe me, but I need to say it. Snape did kill Dumbledore, but it was on Dumbledore's orders. He was already dying from a curse, and didn't want another boy, a schoolmate of ours, to become a murderer by order of Voldemort.  Snape's been on our side the entire time."

Harry could tell that they were still doubtful, but he also realised that the shock of the battle was still very fresh and people weren't thinking with clear minds.

"All I can say is that Professor Snape spent the last three years actively trying to sabotage Voldemort, just so he could give me information to help me survive. He was ready to die tonight, just so I would win."

"Oh Severus," McGonagall said, holding up a tattered tartan handkerchief to cover her lips. "I think I will be having a long chat with Professor Dumbledore's portrait, but if what you're saying is true, he shall be remembered for what he was, a hero."

"He's still alive, Professor," Harry corrected, with a small smile. "That's where I've been, making sure Professor Snape survived."

"He's alive?" Flitwick asked, staring at Harry.

"Yeah. Attacked by a snake, twice, but he's survived."

"Are you serious, Harry?" Seamus asked, giving him the same doubtful look he had in fifth year when Harry had told everyone that Voldemort was back.

"Yeah," Harry answered, scratching his arms.  "I know it sounds mental, but it's true."

Harry cancelled the sonorous charm and looked around the room at his friends and acquaintances and colleagues, never more glad to be home at Hogwarts than he was right now. Conversation had started up in the room again as people debated this new development and Harry felt grounded by the touch of Hermione's hand on his back and Ron holding his wrist, almost a desperate measure from them to make sure he couldn't disappear anywhere. Harry looked about and felt the grin on his face slipping into a smaller smile as he started to notice the faces that were still missing. George, standing quietly beside his older brothers, leaning slightly to his right where there was nothing but empty air.  Dennis Creevey clutching tightly to a camera, his two classmates talking in small tones to him. And Harry scanned the room side to side, but still couldn't find either of Remus or Tonks' smiling faces.

"They still died," Harry quietly said, anger and queasiness twisting his stomach.

"For a better future," Ron answered. He and Hermione were giving him very concerned looks, and it was then that Harry realized how damn tired he was.

"I want to go to bed," Harry needlessly said. Professor McGonagall, who'd not gone very far from him, gave him a quick smile.

"Just don't leave the castle, we're rebuilding the safety wards now."

But Harry knew exactly where he was going to sleep. After finding out from Flitwick that there were guest suites in the lower levels of the castle, Harry saw Ron and Hermione off to one of the more secluded ones. He knew they wanted private time, and they looked even worse off than he was.   The only question that Ron had for him was a straight forward one.

"Is it true?"

Harry swallowed loudly and nodded.

"He made a promise the night my mother died, to protect me with his life."

Ron gave a satisfied nod at that, and Hermione smiled. So many people had turned sides over the war; they'd certainly had fierce debates about Snape's loyalty and neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to be overly surprised to hear that Snape turned out to be against Voldemort all along. Harry only wished the rest of his schoolmates and the wizarding world would be as easy to convince.

With the promise of a patronus summons when they awoke, Harry continued further into the dungeons, back to Snape's office. He was only a little surprised that the wards let him in, but gratefully peeled off his jacket to hang on the coat rack in the little hallway, and dropped his shoes by the door. He felt like passing out at any moment, but he wanted to get the grime from the night and the Gaunts' house off his body. The shower in the main washroom was small but serviceable, and Harry had the hottest water he could stand beating down on him. The linen cupboard at the end of the hall had a pair of pyjamas that looked suspiciously like the ones he'd worn before, and after a quick resize spell he slipped into them. Behind the couch was his army cot, folded up against the wall and without bed linens as if it hadn't been used in many years. A quick flick of Harry's wand made the bed and gave him sheets, and just before climbing in, Harry grabbed his familiar blanket from the couch.  Now he could sleep, in the place he'd always felt safe sleeping, knowing the war was done.