There were times when he couldn’t believe such a long time had passed. But given his change in relationship with the people that surrounded him, he could tell that it had.

As he stared at the thousand headstones before him, he remembered how war had changed everything. He couldn’t wear ties as he remembered how people had tortured him with them. He could not be in crowded spaces for long before he started having flashbacks and his survival instinct would scream at him to flee. He couldn’t tolerate the smell of barbecue or roasted pork because then he would remember the smell of burnt flesh and all the memories that came along with the disgusting smell.

He walked through the dilapidated cemetery and wondered when the last time he had been there was. He only went to pay respects to the ones who sacrificed their lives so that he could live; the ones who had been lost in battle, never to return.

–Was it June or July ten years ago? – He wondered out loud as he dodged an old piece of newspaper that flew towards him due to the strong wind. The wind picked up even more lifting a great number of dry leaves and he arranged his cloak so he wouldn’t lose any more warmth. Finally, he came across the graves he was looking for and stopped. He did not cry. He learned many years past not to weep, given the amount of losses he experienced before he could finally defeat the monster who not only robbed him of a normal childhood, but the bastard who left him bereft of friends and companionship.

He remembered clearly how on March the 9th the golden trio had been studying for their tests to come when a sudden noise outside had caught their attention. The Dark lord and the death eaters had had been rising steadily in numbers, but their counterparts weren’t far behind. The Lord and his servants had decided to attack Hogwarts in an effort to bring Great Britain to its knees after the death of the youth of the country. Little did they know how highly it would backfire on them.

The three sides of the war had fought evenly and the outcome had been predictable. Both Dumbledore, who had surprisingly allied with part of the ministry, and Voldemort had died, as had the majority of the inner circle of both armies including the Lestranges, the Longbottoms, the Digorys, the Carrows and many more.

The students had been reunited by the golden trio after the incident of the department of mysteries. And every student, of every house was united against the tyranny that represented not only the Dark Lord, but also the Light. Harry, Hermione, and Ron formed an army whose actions where planned by a group of strategist but where every decision was made by concession from everyone. All the students and their families, and even some of their teachers, where tired of being pawns in the war. So, they had all decided to unite in an effort to preserve the liberty to choose not only the type of magic they would perform but the authorities who represented them in government. He remembered clearly those times of uncertainty where everyone was prepared to perish without a moment’s notice, where letters where stored just in case, the fragility of the human being was acknowledged, and final dispositions where always made in preparation of the unthinkable.

That night would stay embedded in every mind of all present because of its brutality but also for the lesson it taught the magical community as a whole. Many people had died, most from the army of the Dark Lord because of the violence and the evilness they embraced. But the light and the “gray”, as they would refer to themselves, also suffered great losses. Harry remembered the body of his best friend Hermione being lifted up by a group of students from the charms division of the army. He remembered how they carried out the bodies of Minerva McGonagall and Ginny Weasley, followed by a procession of more than a 1000 people mourning the old and the young who had died.

In the end they had learned that unity prevailed over all, and that liberties could not be sacrificed from some people in order for others benefit from it. But still there were some things they couldn’t change. And war sometimes leaves more questions than answers to all the people involved.

He remembered the last time he saw his last remaining best friend after the battle of Hogwarts.

Ron was standing on the stairs outside Grimmauld Place, his eyes red rimmed from the tears and lack of sleep. The burn on his left hand had almost completely healed, but his face had been disfigured not on the literal sense but psychologically. There was not a sign of the innocence and boldness the Gryffindor used to possess. He had told Harry that he was stopping to say goodbye before his family left from England to the States. He had given Harry a Chudley Cannons shirt. When Harry had asked Ron why he was giving away his favorite shirt, Ron had shrugged and had said to Harry:

“I love you man, and you know that you and Hermione where the best friends I could hope for. So I’m giving you this, so you remember our friendship at its best, when no worry could tarnish our spirit.”

 And that had been all. Ron and Harry said their goodbyes and Harry thought he would never hear from him again. He was proved wrong when the very next day he had received the worst news of all. Ron had stayed in the war; his mind just couldn’t cope with the things he had seen. Ron had ended his life.

After that, Harry had decided to stay in seclusion and study, he had received his masteries in DADA and in honor of his best friends he had pursued the masteries of mediwizardry (accompanied by a minor in potions as Hermione said she would do) and curse breaking (as Ron had expressed he would do in his last years). Still, he worked the odd jobs from each of his masteries, but he wouldn’t stay in the outside world long enough to be noticed by the wizarding community and he stayed secluded in his own home, out in the woods where he could spend most of his time outside, gathering herbs for mailed potions and experiment with the dissipation of magic of certain magical objects.

Back in the present, he regarded the headstones for a long time trying to control the turmoil inside him, speaking in low tones and talking to his best friends who were buried side by side and a plate with the last words Hermione had written in her goodbye letter:

“ … and I know you’ll miss me my dearest friends, but don’t forget we will meet in another life, when we become cats. Or maybe someday we will reunite under the rising sun in a metaphysical plane where our souls never perish.

And so I don’t fall into sentimentality about death and beyond, I leave you with the words of Thomas Hardy and my wish, should something happen to me,

'That ... be not told of my death. Or made to grieve on account of me, And that I be not buried in consecrated ground, And that no sexton be asked to toll the bell, And that nobody is wished to see my dead body, And that no mourners walk behind me at my funeral, And that no flowers be planted on my grave, And that no man remember me. To this I put my name.'

I love you guys, do not worry about me,

Hermione Granger“

He said goodbye in low tones and with great effort he moved on to the end of the graveyard.

 As darkness fell through the sky, he approached the monument, an statue of a couple –his mum and dad he supposed- holding a baby and a mural depicting a battle were the faces blurred by time were no less fierce, and the bodies in the field represented the cruelty and reality of every war. He brushed some dry leaves from the headstones lying next to them, removing dirt from the name Potter on his father’s tombstone and traced lovingly, yet with sorrow, the name of his mother.

He heard the crunching of the leaves and he sensed a magical presence as it approached the monument slowly, and he knew who it was as the newcomers aura surrounded him with the warmth he used to associate with the serenity, knowledge, and companionship that his best friends had exuded. He felt a little comfort in knowing that he was no longer alone in his pilgrimage. Nevertheless after four years of relative silence between the two, the first thing that Harry asked him was.

“What are you doing here?”

Harry’s first impression was that Professor Snape had aged: his hair had some white mixed with his midnight black, the lines around his eyes were more pronounced. Most of all, he looked tired, exhausted to be more specific, which told Harry that the professor hadn’t given up the projects he had had before. One of them, the most ambitious one, thought Harry, was to seek the meaning and workings of the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. The other ones, such as modifying the wolfsbane potion to reduce lycanthropy to a shapeshifting ability, and the improvement of the nerve regenerating potion to treat comatose patients at St. Mungos were well within Harry’s own ambitions (with only partial success in his case). 

“I didn’t know this was a restricted area, Raven,” answered the older man caustically yet he used the nickname Harry had earned after his animagus training.

“Oh, well… it’s not restricted, Icarus, but you are evidently one of the least expected people I imagined would come here.”

Responded Harry smiling a little at the codename they used to use to the spy. To close to the fire and he would plummet towards death, but without flying he had no hope to be free

“Well, you wouldn’t be surprised if you had come regularly during the last three years,” Snape said with cautiousness as if saying the wrong thing would cause Harry to leave.

“How so?”

“I’ve been paying my respects weekly to them since then.”

Harry observed his former professor.

“It does no good to grieve and hold guilt for that long, Severus,” Harry said seriously, remembering how his teacher had admitted, after allying with him, how guilty he used to hold himself for the death of the Potters.

“Well Harry, it does not good not to mourn them at all,” black eyes regarded Harry, searching for his thoughts or any clue of them passing through his eyes.

“I have mourned my family, professor, and I have moved on, I only came here to remember,” Harry answered a little piked at the professor’s audacity.

“I don’t think so, friend. I think you haven’t mourned anything in your life, otherwise you would have come out of your imprisonment, you would have helped to rebuild the wizarding community, you would have tried harder to live the life you were granted by your parents, and you would have worked for the future you and your friends and all of us worked so hard to get. What amazes me is your denial, why do you think living is that half existence you endure?”

“Spare me, Severus. I didn’t come here to be criticized about my choices…”

“Oh, pardon me, Harry, but these words, you need to hear. You, and in some measure me, we are the product of various violent generations. But this violence, this violence is a vicious circle, perpetuated by incompetence, leniency, indifference, and resignation of all the people who can’t come up with the energy to not give up, to act and to work for the humanity, only for the sake of the people, and not expecting something in return.”

Harry watched his professor with his eyebrows raised in surprise, but he didn’t interrupt him.

“And I know you worked really hard all those years ago, but now is not the time to stop. And you, Harry, you have something that many do not have. You not only have the strength that many people have come to envy in the past, but you also have this enormous ability to unite people. Because contrary to the leaders who ruled us before, you don’t want to command a society. But you have forgotten that. You allowed your spirit to perish all those years ago when Russel and Otter died. And so, it has fallen upon my shoulders to remind you of that phrase you gave when you spoke to the army.”

Here Severus paused and regarded Harry. The younger man said in barely a whisper,

“Go on.”

“The bird struggles out of the egg. The egg is the world. Whoever wants to be born must destroy a world. It’s as simple as that. If you want some change in the world, you have to destroy the old ways. But not by violence in this case, but by actions, by strength of character and in some measure leadership to unite all the voices in one whole scream. And then, change will come.”

Severus regarded Harry after he finished that small speech and noticed the way Harry’s hand trembled and he instinctively knew it wasn’t due to the cold. Harry watched the soil as he thought of those years he normally wouldn’t allow himself to think of and he answered to his professor and comrade in arms:

“I don’t know how to do what you said.”

Harry didn’t elaborate, but Severus understood what he meant

“Mourn Harry, and learn to rely on all of us who fought with you. Remus, Pomfrey, Miss Lovegood… we all want change to happen and we are willing to wait for you.”

Then Severus went quiet. No more words were exchanged and the two of them stayed put. If Severus saw the tears that started pouring out of Harry’s eyes, no one could tell. But, as the moonlight bathed the stones filled with names of many people’s loved ones, Severus saw the revolution start.

And he rather thought he liked it

And I ride the winds of a brand new day, High where mountain's stand. Found my hope and pride again. Rebirth of a man!