The owl's feathers kept changing colors as it circled within the towering rafters of the Great Hall, causing students and staff alike to tilt their heads back in an attempt not to miss a single shift in hue. Fuchsia to periwinkle, emerald to tangerine, the owl sailed merrily about beneath the enchanted ceiling, which showed a clear blue morning sky washed golden in the east.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Ron Weasley, pointing as the owl began its dramatic delivery dive. "George finally got the charm to work! Look!"

As the owl zeroed in on the Gryffindor table, its feathers began flashing like spotlit gold sequins, and a trail of red sparks fanned out from beneath the bird's tail. Swiftly, it descended, straight as an arrow, while it seemed to brake in midair just before landing next to the platter of sausages. Eyeing the fried meat in anticipation, the owl stepped daintily past the toast rack and held out its leg toward Ron, who swiftly removed a rolled letter from his older brother. "Thanks, buddy," he said to the owl, rewarding it with most of a sausage – the part that was left after he'd bitten off a substantial amount from one end for himself.

The owl glowered at the red-haired student, since it had hoped for a full sausage link, but decided in the end that something was better than nothing, and the bird snapped up the meat offering before turning a violent shade of purple and launching itself off the Seventh Years' section of the table.

Harry Potter stared admiringly after the owl as it rose toward the high windows in the steeply-pitched ceiling of the Great Hall. The owl's feathers flashed cyan and peach before it finally exited Hogwarts castle for its return trip to Diagon Alley.

"That's amazing!" he said, turning his attention back to his best friend. "How did George come up with that?"

Ron didn't reply for a few moments, as he was busy reading George's letter, but he finally sighed, folded the parchment into a square, and sat tapping it on the edge of the table. "Hmm? Oh, the feathers, you mean?"

Harry nodded, his mouth full of toast.

"Actually, I think it was Fred's idea to begin with. They did a lot of the preliminary work before Fred … before he died … and George has kept working on it ever since the Final Battle. They wanted their Owl Order deliveries to arrive with "flash and pizzazz', as Fred used to say. But George had a hard time ironing out the wrinkles in the charm's practical application to the live owl. In the earlier stages, they were just working with a fake owl model."

"Looks like he succeeded, though," Harry commented, waving to Hermione Granger as she finally put in an appearance at breakfast, her bushy brown hair bobbing between the House tables as she approached.

Ron frowned. "Yeah. But Fred was always the leader, even if he did claim that two heads were better than one."

"You missed the owl," Harry said to Hermione as she sat down and swung her legs over the bench.

"Owl?"

"From Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he explained. "George had it charmed to turn all different colors and shoot off sparks."

Hermione almost laughed until she saw the expression on Ron's face. "Is something wrong, Ron?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

The redhead shrugged, sighed, then held up George's letter. "He just sounds … so depressed, I guess. He and Fred were inseparable, and now George is all alone."

"How's the store going?" Hermione asked somewhat reticently, while sliding a fried egg onto a slice of buttered toast. She added salt, pepper, and minced chives before she began to quickly and methodically cut up the open-faced sandwich. Her precise motions reminded Harry of her work in the Potions classroom.

"Well, the store's okay for now," Ron told her. "They had plenty of stuff planned before – well, while Fred was still around. It was all tested and set for production, so George can eke that out to augment regular business for a bit longer, while he restocks the current inventory selection. But he has to come up with additional new stuff before Christmas, or he's afraid business will fall off."

"Well, it's just the beginning of October," Harry tried to reassure him. "Christmas is more than two months away."

Ron shook his head. "Not in retail, mate. The Christmas items need to be coming out NOW, not in December."

Harry stared at his friend in dismay. "Really?"

"It's the same in the Muggle world," Hermione commented, quickly peeling a banana. "People want to see what's out there, so they can decide early where to spend their holiday money."

Frowning, Harry realized he'd never really paid attention to retail holiday sales, even in the Muggle world. Ever since his First Year at Hogwarts, Harry had been able to avoid Christmas with the Dursleys, so he hadn't even had to put up with Dudley's annual whine-fest for the past few years. But come to think of it, back during their childhood, his spoiled cousin's pre-Christmas tantrums often HAD begun in October, accompanied by weak pleas from Aunt Petunia for her precious Diddykins "not to rush the holidays" because, after all, "it wasn't even Halloween yet." No matter – Dudley had continued to whine and shout for every new toy he saw advertised on the telly, for well over two months before Christmas morning.

Harry dropped the remains of his toast on his plate, a knot beginning to form in his stomach. He wished he could think of a way to help George, who had always treated him like a brother – maybe even better, when he considered how the twins had always treated Ron. "What do you think he'll do?"

Hermione's brow furrowed as she studied Ron's sad face, but she kept plowing through her breakfast.

Ron tapped the parchment on the table again. "He keeps saying … he wishes … that Fred were still alive." His eyes glistened and he clenched his jaw to try to control his emotions. "George says they had TONS of projects planned, but they're still in the experimental stage right now. He says he believes that he can succeed on his own, but it was always so much faster when the two of them worked on stuff together. Plus, Fred was so good at troubleshooting – he had an instinct for working out solutions to their problems. George might come up with a cool idea, but he says it was often Fred who figured out how to make it work. With Fred … gone … I think George is losing heart in the store."

Ron's fist suddenly slammed down on the burnished oak table, causing several other nearby Gryffindors to jump and drawing attention from the other House tables. "I wish I hadn't come back to school this year!" he burst out angrily. "I could be there in Diagon Alley, helping him."

Reaching across the table, Hermione covered his fist with her hand. "What exactly could you do for him, Ron?" she asked gently. "What's your specialty field?"

The redhead spluttered, then blustered, "I could BE there, Hermione. I could BE there – because Fred ISN'T. George NEEDS someone to bounce ideas off of. He NEEDS Fred's expertise…" His voice trailed off miserably. "And I'm not Fred." He sighed shakily. "I know I'm not Fred. George needs FRED, but I could still BE there," he finished plaintively.

"Oh, Ron." Hermione pried open his fist and entwined her fingers with his. "I know all of you miss him. So much."

Ron scowled. "But he's gone, right?" he said flatly. "And he's not coming back."

He jerked his hand away, pushing back from the table. "I'll – I'll see you guys in Transfiguration. I need some time alone." Ron yanked up his bulging school bag and headed for the marble staircase.

Back at the table, Harry and Hermione stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Harry asked, "What do you think?"

Hermione shook her head despondently. "He's going to drop out of school. He'll sacrifice his N.E.W.T.'s for George."

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

-:- -:- -:-

All through Transfiguration, Ron's friends kept shooting worried looks at him, which he studiously ignored. In between, they exchanged worried glances.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione jumped guiltily. "Yes, Professor?"

The new Transfiguration teacher descended abruptly upon Hermione's lab table. Professor Henry Lampwick's naturally-squinty eyes nearly disappeared into veritable slits as he narrowed them even further in disapproval of the haphazard conglomeration poised before the cringing Gryffindor. At such a moment, Hermione fervently wished that Minerva McGonagall had not accepted the position of Headmistress of Hogwarts following the Final Battle. This new professor, somewhere in his mid-twenties, lacked the practiced dry humor to which the Transfiguration students had become accustomed during their past half-dozen years in McGonagall's class.

"Miss Granger," Lampwick repeated unnecessarily, placing weighty emphasis upon each syllable, "Your assignment was to Transfigure a lump of coal into a usable quill. What – precisely – do you call THAT?" He pointed a spatulate finger accusingly.

Hermione's eyes fell to the mass upon her table. The lump of coal had sprouted actual wings, which kept flapping erratically, as if the coal intended to take to unsteady flight at any moment. "A work in progress, sir," she responded quietly. "I'll try to – to tone it down."

"See that you do." The man sniffed ostentatiously. "Your reputation precedes you, Miss Granger. I sincerely hope that it doesn't EXCEED you." The scrawny professor turned on his narrow heel and resumed his position upon the elevated dais at the front of the classroom.

"Git," muttered Ron, sounding much like his old self. "Wonder how long he rehearsed THAT putdown?"

"Well, his timing was spot on this time, but the delivery sounded a bit brittle," Harry murmured back, prodding his lump of coal unhappily. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the theory behind transfiguring a mineral into a highly-modified animalian scale.

Ron snorted in quiet disgust. "You can tell he was a Slytherin, but he's flat failing at playing the Snape card."

On Ron's other side, Hermione's wand flittered this way and that, trying to revise her earlier efforts of transfiguring the coal into a quill. The wings disappeared, but with the next jab of her wand, the black lump suddenly sprouted an ostrich plume.

"'Mione!" Harry gasped quietly. "If Lampwick sees – "

"Where's your HEAD?" muttered Ron, his eyes widening in disbelief at Hermione's fluffy white feather. How could Hermione, the class GENIUS, possibly become so inept?

"Oh, Merlin's beard!" crabbed the bushy-haired witch, glancing warily toward the front of the classroom. Lampwick had been writing on the blackboard, but he was just beginning to turn…

Frantically, Hermione Vanished the coal with a quick downstroke, and on the upstroke, the ostrich feather gained a neatly-cut tip, just right for dipping into an inkpot…

Her companions gaped at her.

"You CHEATED!" hissed Ron from the corner of his mouth, while Harry continued to stare at her speechlessly. This was absolutely unprecedented…

"Miss Granger!"

"Yes, Professor," she responded in a leaden voice, waiting for him to dock points from Gryffindor for both her ineptness and dishonesty.

"Is an OWL feather not good enough for you?" Lampwick demanded snidely, attempting to dramatically sweep his black robes the length of the classroom, but he snagged them rather badly on the second seat from the front. Impatiently, he jerked them free as the students all craned their necks to see what Hermione had produced in lieu of the requisite owl feather.

"I just thought I'd try for variety, Professor," she said quietly. "To – er – challenge the limits of my abilities, sir."

Despite emulating the trailing robes and tight-lipped scowl, young Lampwick obviously lacked his fearsome Slytherin role model's ability to produce a crushing rejoinder without missing a beat. As he hovered, trying to come up with something suitable, Hermione waved her wand and Transfigured the ostrich quill into an owl quill.

Wordlessly, Lampwick whirled to return to his dais, but his shoes tangled in the voluminous folds of his robes, nearly sending him sprawling.

The large class of Gryffindors fought to keep their laughter silent as the flushing professor regained his balance and stalked forward, chin determinedly in the air. Though fall term had begun barely a month ago, the students had quickly learned that the one quality which Lampwick unfortunately shared with the late Severus Snape was his overblown ability to dock points from virtually every House but Slytherin.

During the end-of-class chaos, with hundreds of students pouring into the corridors, Ron waited until they were well beyond earshot of Lampwick's classroom before demanding, "What's WRONG with you, 'Mione?"

She whirled upon him. "Don't you KNOW? Can't you GUESS?"

Ron shot a quizzical glance at Harry before taking a wild stab. "Hormones?"

"WHAT!" Hermione gasped loudly in disbelief.

His face going the same shade as his hair, Ron muttered, "You know – Ginny calls it by letters, sort of like S.P.M. – like you've got the spams?

Harry let out a helpless shout of laughter before burying his face in the cold corner of a corridor window overlooking the Forbidden Forest.

"RONALD WEASLEY!" Hermione slugged him in the chest with a furious fist.

"WHAT? You ASKED!"

"I'm WORRIED about you! That's why I was so distracted in class."

Ron frowned, finding the change of subject difficult to assimilate. "So, it's not the – er – wrong time of the month?"

"I thought you were going to DROP OUT!" Hermione ground out angrily. "That you would sacrifice your N.E.W.T.'s to help George. Don't you DARE! Don't even THINK of it!"

"Well, I – "

"FRED would never forgive you if you dropped out," she insisted.

"But George – "

"Can get BY, Ron. He'll make it or not, depending on his own skills. And as much as he loves you, George would want you to earn every N.E.W.T. you can, believe me."

Ron stared at her silently.

Huffing, Hermione said, "Before you do something REALLY STUPID, Ron, WRITE to George. ASK him if he'd like for you to leave school and help him in the store. Let it be HIS decision, okay?"

A long moment later, Ron nodded his head. "Right. I'll do that."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Hermione gathered up her school bag and turned to her other companion. "Coming, Harry?"

But Harry continued to stare out the window. He'd had an idea.

-:- -:- -:-

The late afternoon wind had risen by the time Harry managed to put his plan into action. Unfortunately, the easy solution failed to work, but he should have realized that in advance, given what had happened in Hogsmeade. The easy solution would have simply involved Summoning the Resurrection Stone from the Forbidden Forest. When the Gaunt Ring failed to sail toward his perch on the front steps of Hogwarts, Harry suddenly remembered Death Eaters attempting to Summon his Invisibility Cloak when he, Ron, and Hermione had Apparated into Hogsmeade. The Cloak, as it turned out, could not be Summoned; quite likely, the same held true of the Resurrection Stone mounted in the ring. The Elder Wand, too, when one thought about it. Dumbledore had been disarmed atop the Astronomy Tower, but he'd simply lost possession of the wand. Harry could not believe that anyone would have been able to simply Summon the most powerful wand in the world, especially since its origin was supernatural.

Falling back on Plan B, as it were, Harry now headed into the Forbidden Forest on foot, wand at the ready in his right hand, and a Niffler straining eagerly at the leash wrapped securely around his left hand. A preliminary Point-Me Charm had failed to disclose the direction in which the Stone was located, so Harry had borrowed "Cinder" from Hagrid and was counting on her to locate the heavy gold ring bearing the Stone.

Overhead, autumn leaves had begun to color the swaying canopy, and golden sunlight filtered all the way down to the forest floor. Harry walked steadily, remembering his last journey along this path, when midnight blackened the forest, and the only flickers of light came from distant fires and battle explosions. He'd carried the Golden Snitch, kissed it open, and held the Resurrection Stone in his cold hands. Upon his turning it three times over, the shades of his parents had come, along with Sirius and Remus, all offering encouragement and strength when his own will could have failed him. They had accompanied him, unseen by others, as he approached his appointment with Voldemort.

At some point, he had dropped the ring, but it mattered little, since he could still sense the presence of his supporters. Secure within their unseen aura, he took step after step after steady step along the path which he could not see under the black cloak of night but could feel beneath his trainers.

How different it felt to walk this same path in the angled light of an autumn afternoon. But how disorienting, at the same time. When he'd started out, Harry was convinced that he'd be able to pinpoint the general location of where he'd dropped the ring, and then the Niffler would need only to locate the gold by its unique scent. But now…

Harry's heart sank as he stared ahead of him down the path. They were fast approaching that particular clearing where Voldemort had awaited his arrival, surrounded by his faithful Death Eaters.

"Hold up, Cinder," he said quietly, and the Niffler turned her head at the sound of her name.

Harry peered intently ahead, then behind, as the October wind rustled the forest leaves. "I think we came too far." He studied the path ahead once more. "Or maybe not." He sighed, and Cinder sat down to scratch vigorously behind her ear. "I know where I was when I opened the Snitch. Just past that fallen lightning-struck tree that partly blocks the path. I'd just come around the end of the log. But where did I actually DROP the ring?"

As Harry continued to pause in uncertainty, Cinder rolled over on the path to give her back a good scratching amongst the broken twigs. She grunted in pleasure, twisting her body this way and that as she rolled and rubbed against the roughness of the forest floor.

"Right, then," said Harry, a decision made. "We'll go all the way to the clearing, then work our way back on the other side of the path. If we get back to the lightning-struck tree without finding the ring, we'll come back toward the clearing along this side of the path. How's that?"

Cinder lumbered to her feet, her furry back coated with crushed leaf debris and other dirt. A crooked twig dangled from her tail, but a quick body-shake dislodged most of the forest litter as Harry laughed at her fondly. "Okay, girl – let's go! We might as well search this side of the path before we get to the clearing. It could save us from having to come ALL the way back later."

Harry led the Niffler off the right side of the path by several feet and issued the command. "Cinder – SEEK! Seek GOLD! Seek GOLD!"

Immediately, the Niffler put her nose to the forest floor and began running a routine search pattern, her sensitive nostrils twitching as she sought to discern the metallic scent of gold buried beneath the surface of the soil. Harry followed quickly, his hand firm upon the leash. He didn't allow Cinder to go more than about fifteen feet off the path, since he doubted that the ring could have been knocked or kicked farther than that by Death Eaters traipsing after their Dark Lord as the villain and his entourage had proceeded from the clearing toward Hogwarts through the dark of night. More than likely, the ring had simply been trampled into the earth by the edge of the path – unless a Death Eater had spotted a glint of gold by wandlight and taken time to investigate its source.

Back and forth, back and forth, Cinder ranged to the full length of her leash, eagerly snuffling through last year's fallen leaves. Harry could tell that they were nearing Aragog's glen, and he kept pointing his wand in every direction, including up into the tree canopy. Once they'd reached the clearing, Harry immediately directed Cinder to seek on the opposite side of the path, and he was startled when the Niffler stopped within seconds to root into the soft loam. Surely, he couldn't have dropped the ring so close to the clearing!

Keeping a constant eye trained on his surroundings in case Acromantulas suddenly approached, Harry leaned forward to investigate the source of Cinder's eager whine.

She presented him with a broken gold chain, and after giving it a quick scan for Dark curses, Harry was happy to accept it with a handkerchief, which he had quickly transfigured from a fiery-red leaf. After the incident involving Katie Bell and the cursed necklace, he would take no chances, given that this trinket had almost certainly been dropped by a Death Eater on that fateful night. Harry did feel concerned for Cinder's safety, but so far, she seemed to be doing just fine. The Gryffindor wracked his brains, but he couldn't recall if Hagrid had ever informed the Magical Creatures class whether Nifflers could sense Dark curses on the objects they searched for; Harry would have to remind himself to ask about that.

"Good girl!" he praised her, rubbing behind her ears. "Let's keep going. Cinder, SEEK! Seek GOLD! Seek GOLD!"

Obediently, Cinder recommenced her search pattern, and Harry followed, still wary of Acromantulas. Their absence puzzled him, but perhaps they had decided to relocate after many of their number had been slaughtered during the Final Battle. Maybe they'd decided they'd be better off living farther away from wizards, especially if the rumors were true that Voldemort had compelled the gigantic spiders to attack Hogwarts via the Imperius Curse. Once freed, the survivors of the battle might have made a run for the deepest part of the forest, well beyond wizard encroachment. Still, Harry refused to risk complacency in regard to the Acromantulas' absence. He could almost hear Mad-Eye Moody's admonition of "Constant Vigilance!" ringing in his ears.

Just over halfway back to the lightning-struck log, Cinder stopped and looked up at Harry enquiringly.

"What is it, girl?" Did you find something? RETRIEVE, Cinder!"

From beneath a thick layer of leaves and about a foot of dirt, the Niffler quickly unearthed a hefty leather satchel, whining at it eagerly.

"Stand back, girl. Let's see what you found." Harry quickly scanned the satchel for Curses and Dark objects, but nothing registered. Still, he exerted extreme caution in opening it, using a variation of Alohomora intended for unfastening buckled straps. With a long stick, he eased open the damp flap and –

"WOW!"

Not gold, which explained why Cinder had hesitated, but silver, another precious metal with a distinctive scent all its own, and for which Nifflers were trained to search. Though tarnished with disuse, the cache of silver knives, forks, spoons, small goblets, and ornate plates still managed to impress Harry. Honestly, it looked as though Mundungus Fletcher had dropped a satchel full of stolen silver from a broomstick!

"Good girl!" Cinder squirmed appreciatively as Harry rubbed behind her ears again. "I think I'll just levitate this to follow us, hmm? I'll ask Professor McGonagall what should be done with it. I'll bet it was stolen from someone, and if we can track down the owners, I'm sure they'd be glad to have it back."

After giving Cinder another order to seek gold, Harry followed the Niffler once again, still glancing back toward the clearing on a regular basis. When they'd reached the log blocking part of the path, Harry redirected Cinder to the original side of the path, and she happily continued to seek. In less than ten minutes, she whined and began to rummage through the leaves about four feet off the edge of the trodden path.

This time, Cinder succeeded in uprooting the Gaunt ring, with the cracked Resurrection Stone still firmly mounted, the sign of the Deathly Hallows faintly scratched into the Stone's surface.

"Excellent!"

Harry hugged the Niffler and praised her greatly. He had really feared that one of Voldemort's followers might have made off with the ring, and felt quite relieved to discover that it had lain, undisturbed, since the night he'd originally dropped it.

Transfiguring a twig into a sizable bowl, Harry filled it to the brim with water by using Aguamenti and encouraged Cinder to take a well-deserved drink while he sat down on the path to contemplate the ring.

The Resurrection Stone.

Harry had never thought to see it again.

But now he sensed a purpose. If he gave it to George, Fred might be persuaded to visit his twin, at least for a while. To offer comfort, at the very least, for they actually hadn't had a chance to say good-bye. And perhaps Fred might be able to offer George pointers on their inventory situation. Harry didn't know how these supernatural things worked, but he suspected that the bond between Fred and George was far stronger than the bond had been between that Peverell brother and his dearly-departed bride-to-be.

Maybe that girl hadn't really wanted to marry her Peverell fiancé. Maybe their engagement had been an arrangement made by their parents. Maybe her death had delivered the girl from what would have been a bad marriage, and that's why she wasn't happy at being forced to return from the afterlife.

Harry's parents and friends had come willingly back to help him that night as he walked toward his impending death. If the situation had been entirely different when he summoned them via the Resurrection Stone, would they have objected to staying in this world for an extended time, provided that he truly needed them for some other reason? Harry didn't think so.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to let George try. If Fred wanted – truly wanted – to go back to the afterlife, Harry was certain George would respect his twin's wishes. In the meantime, however, it might help both George and Ron adjust to the current situation at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Harry sat on the path, listening to Cinder slurping up water, staring at the ring. James and Lily had come. Sirius had come. Remus had come. He'd had the chance to talk to them, however briefly. To tell them what was in his heart … his soul … his mind… He closed his eyes, remembering. The weight of the gold ring lay heavily between his fingertips. He hadn't realized it at the time, but one person had been missing. One person he'd never had the chance to speak to, and he'd had many months since that night to regret it. Although, at that moment in time, he'd assumed – quite naturally – that he'd be WITH everyone beyond the Veil in just a few more minutes anyway. They'd all be there when he crossed over. Except, he'd ended up in that in-between place, with Dumbledore…

"Potter."

Harry jumped a mile, his feet flailing amongst the leaves, his heart pounding with a burst of adrenaline like he hadn't felt since those moments when he'd dueled Voldemort for the final time in the Great Hall.

And the spectre smirked.

"You!"

"Indeed."

He must have turned the Stone over three times while he was thinking of…

"Snape."

"Redundant, as usual, Potter."

Harry stared at the surreal visage of Severus Snape.

The man looked so YOUNG! Gone were the frowning lines which had habitually creased his brow and cheeks during Harry's years at Hogwarts. The spectre's shining raven hair floated lightly upon a breeze far gentler than the wind rushing through the Forbidden Forest. Rather than stark black robes, his swirling cape appeared light blue, but a restful shade far too sedate to appeal to Gilderoy Lockhart. No longer did Snape wear his traditional knee-length, many-buttoned coat. Instead, he sported a loosely-laced, ruffled white shirt with full sleeves above fitted broad cuffs. And was that LACE adorning the bottom edge of his sleeve cuffs? Harry's eyes goggled when his gaze moved downward past darker blue leggings – LEGGINGS! – tucked into rumpled black suede boots.

"Sir…" He honestly didn't know what to say. Was this the REAL Severus Snape? The wizard he COULD have been, had his life played out differently? Harry tried to imagine this swashbuckling figure cutting a dramatic path through Diagon Alley as he headed for the Apothecary's shop. Or was this Harry's fantasy of Snape – like, if Snape hadn't been a black bat, would this be the figure standing at the front of the Potions classroom at Hogwarts? Would he have given points to Gryffindor? Would he have awarded points to Harry himself … if Harry had actually deserved them, that is? Or, was this Snape's fantasy of himself? The Snape he wished he could have been, if only he hadn't needed to armor himself behind all of those buttons? If he could have just let himself go…

Slowly, Harry pushed himself to his feet, staring at the spectre all the while. One thing was certain – NO ONE would ever have believed this man could possibly be a Death Eater. Or a spy. His face was too open and honest to hide secrets. He GLOWED with a positive light. THIS man would have stood side-by-side with Harry to face down legions of evil. Harry would gladly have fought back-to-back with this Severus Snape.

"Oh, sir… I'm so sorry, truly I am."

The spectre quirked an eyebrow. "Why should you be sorry?"

"Because of the way your life was. Because of Voldemort. Because of my mum. Because of Dumbledore and Nagini. Because I never understood until it was too late."

"But it wasn't too late, Potter. That was the point. There was time for you."

The spectre smiled then.

"You did it, Potter. You defeated Voldemort and sent him straight to hell."

Harry swallowed hard. "But you died, sir. And you shouldn't have had to. It was so senseless."

"It was long overdue, Potter. My life actually ended the day I took the Dark Mark. It took too many years for Death to catch up to me."

Harry's eyes widened in emerald disbelief. "You don't really mean that!"

"I do."

"Why?"

The spectre sighed ruefully. "You need to ask?"

"I need to know."

"Why?"

"Because I couldn't save you."

"I wasn't yours to save," said Snape's image. "Your mission was to save the world. And you did."

"But you died. I saw you die. I FELT you leave. You were there, on the floor of the Shrieking Shack … and then … there was just your body. You'd … left it behind."

"I'd gone on, Potter. I had fulfilled my purpose in life. And I was ready to go. In a sense, life is little more than a relay race, and I had just passed the baton to you."

Harry thought about that.

"What if…"

The spectre waited while the Forbidden Forest rustled in the wind. Cinder sat alertly, staring toward the spectre, curious but not alarmed. Harry wondered if animals, magical or not, could see spirits, or whether she simply sensed what humans, magical or not, might not be aware of, unless they could actually see.

Harry tried to form his thoughts. Did he dare ask? And if he did not, how would he ever know? The worst Snape could do was refuse to answer. Harry took a deep breath.

"Sir, what if you hadn't died? What if I defeated Voldemort and you were still alive? Would you – would we – would things have been … different? Between us, I mean? Would you still have despised me for being James Potter's son? Or despised me for being myself and a Gryffindor? Would we – COULD we ever have had a … NORMAL … relationship?"

The spectre LAUGHED!

"NORMAL? With YOU, Potter?" The spectre looked him up and down. "Can you honestly say that you wouldn't be breaking a school rule every seventeen minutes and perpetually gadding about under your father's Invisibility Cloak? That you would address your elders respectfully, using appropriate titles and other respectful forms of address at all times? That you wouldn't be plagiarizing Miss Granger's essays or sneaking off to the kitchens at 2 a.m.? That you would resist getting involved with Hagrid's highly-dangerous magical creatures or stealing ingredients from my personal stores? That you would refrain from poking your nose into everything that does NOT concern you, and stop trying to save people from themselves and each other and the world in general every ten seconds? Can you honestly answer YES to any of those questions, Potter?"

"Cinder isn't dangerous. And I never stole anything from you."

Snape's image ignored the second statement and frowned over the first. "Cinder?"

"The Niffler. She's sweet. And dead useful."

"And why, exactly, do you have a Niffler in the FORBIDDEN Forest, Potter?"

"Um … she was helping me find something."

"Something?"

"Yeah. Something I'd dropped."

"And what, pray tell, might that be?" The spectre crossed his arms over his ruffled chest, waiting.

"Um … the … um … Gaunt ring." For some reason, Harry could not bring himself to prevaricate for long, much less lie outright, to the image of this Severus Snape.

"The what?"

"Dumbledore never told you?" asked Harry, surprised. He'd had the impression that Dumbledore, in portrait form, had probably finally spilled his guts to Headmaster Snape while Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on the run, hunting Horcruxes all last year.

The spectre frowned. "Apparently not. But then, he did play many cards quite close to his gaudy robes."

Harry snickered. "Well, it was the ring that cursed Dumbledore's hand. To begin with, it was one of the Horcruxes, but it's safe now. Dumbledore killed it with the Sword of Gryffindor. The ring was damaged when the Horcrux was destroyed, but it still worked to fulfill its original purpose."

"Purpose, you say? I do not understand." The spectre continued to frown. "I am aware of the ring's existence and that it was a Horcrux, but you called it the Gaunt ring?"

Nodding, Harry continued. "It belonged to Marvolo Gaunt, then passed to his son Morfin. Tom Riddle stole it from his uncle, Morfin."

Snape's glowing face began to clear. "And you dropped it here in the Forest?"

"Yes. That night after you'd given me your memories. I was on my way to meet Voldemort. To let him kill me. Dumbledore had left me the ring. It was hidden in the Snitch – the one from my first Quidditch match. He'd left them to me in his Will, you see."

The spectre stared into his eyes for a long moment, and Harry had to wonder whether Snape could still perform Legilimency from the Beyond, or if he was just discovering that he couldn't.

"And why did you choose to come back for the Gaunt ring?"

"Dumbledore didn't tell you about the Stone?"

"Apparently not," replied the spectre, sounding decidedly miffed. The man muttered something that sounded sort of like "the twinkling manipulator", but Harry decided he'd better ignore that.

"Well, it's like this, sir. Way before the Gaunts possessed it, the ring was inset with the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows. The Stone given to one of the three Peverell brothers by Death. Dumbledore had left the ring to me to give me the chance to bring back Mum and Dad, and Sirius and Remus. They walked with me that night. Their presence kept me going, on my way to meet Death. But somewhere between the edge of the Forest and the clearing where Voldemort was waiting, I dropped it." Harry shrugged. "I never thought to see it again."

"And, I assume, it is the Resurrection Stone which is responsible for bringing me back at this moment in time?"

"Well, I guess so. I didn't intend to bring you back, not really, but I was sitting here thinking about you and I must have turned the ring three times over without really meaning to, and here you are. Sir."

The spectre rolled his eyes. "Leave it to you, Potter."

Harry grinned a bit sheepishly and shrugged again.

"Whom DID you intend to Resurrect, then? That IS why you came hunting the ring with a Niffler, is it not?"

"Um – I wasn't planning to Resurrect anyone myself, sir. I'm going to give the ring to George Weasley so he can bring Fred back, at least for a while, because George is having problems without Fred, and it might keep Ron from dropping out of school to help George, because Fred wouldn't want Ron to sacrifice his N.E.W.T.'s on his account."

"What did I just say about not trying to save people from themselves and each other?"

"Well, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes might go under – "

"A severe loss to the wizarding world, to be sure."

THAT sounded like Snape!

"Well, it would! And I guess I've answered your question about saving people, because I HAVE to try to help because that's what friends DO!"

The spectre studied him for a long moment, and Harry realized that the Forest had grown markedly darker. Now, more than ever, Snape's image glowed with an otherworldly light.

"Indeed, they do," the spectre replied softly. "Your mother tried so often to save me. But I was too late to save her…"

"Sir … you saved me. Over and over. I know now that you did it for her. I'm sure she'll forgive you for the other."

"She already has."

Harry smiled. "I'm glad."

"But my errors in judgment cost you your family," the spectre said quietly. "I am the reason you grew up an orphan, Potter. I am the reason you suffered living with those monstrous Muggles you had to call relatives."

"Dumbledore told you about them?"

"No." The spectre tightened his jaw. "I made it my business to find out."

"Really?"

"Yes. But Dumbledore refused to allow you to live elsewhere."

"I see."

"No. You don't. But I shall tell you this, Potter. I did not despise you for being the son of James Potter. I did not despise you for being Harry Potter or a Gryffindor. Instead, I despised myself for wrecking your life so thoroughly. The very sight of you was a constant reminder of all of my own failings. I'd helped to orphan an innocent child, and then had to watch helplessly as that same child suffered an unhappy home life with a family who had never wanted him. I was under Dumbledore's stern orders to never interfere with your home situation, and only his conviction that Voldemort would return someday persuaded me to follow those orders, for – above all – I knew that Voldemort MUST be defeated. The Headmaster truly believed that your Muggle upbringing would be paramount to your ability to defeat Evil incarnate."

Harry regarded the spectre quite seriously. "Sir, in retrospect, I can see why Dumbledore would believe that, and he turned out to be right, in the end. However, I know that Wormtail was responsible for my family's betrayal to Voldemort, and Voldemort was directly responsible for my parents' deaths. On the other hand, Dumbledore himself condemned me to life with the Dursleys. I don't hold any anger against you for any of it. Not anymore. Not now that I can see the whole picture."

"Believe what you choose, Potter, but I accept responsibility for my actions."

Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore always said we were a lot alike. I'm beginning to see what he meant."

The spectre snorted.

"So, sir, your treatment of me at school was … what? And why?"

"I had to maintain a distance from you, in view of spies among Hogwarts students, particularly the Slytherins, but they also existed in other Houses. Even had I wished for a different … teacher/student relationship … it would not have been possible. Not under the circumstances governing our world at that time."

"So you just – BLASTED – me every chance you got?"

"You made it too easy, Potter. However, I do admit to directing my own self-hatred to transpose onto you, further compounding the misery of your life. And you ask now if we could have had a NORMAL relationship?"

The spectre's glow dimmed for a long moment.

Harry's own shoulders slumped.

At length, the spectre spoke softly.

"No, Harry, we would never have had a normal relationship, neither then, nor now. It simply wasn't possible."

Their eyes met, and Harry slowly nodded. Even if he could now better comprehend Severus Snape – the man he'd been, and the spirit he currently exhibited via this spectral image – the old Snape had seen himself as too damaged to forge and maintain a relationship with a person for whom he had assumed the responsibility of guilt. Harry wished it could have been otherwise. He could have learned so much from this new version of Snape, but then, if Snape had not died, the former version would still have been in Harry's world. Slytherin Snape, not swashbuckling Snape. Therein lay the impossible.

Harry sighed. The Forest had gone nearly dark.

The supernatural glow brightened, causing Harry to look up at Snape's spectre.

"Before I go, I should like to tell you something, Potter."

"Okay."

"I have no children. That was my choice. I refused to risk ruining – or endangering – another child's life." The spectre looked at him intently.

Harry nodded his understanding.

"But if I had a son, I would be proud if he had your good qualities, Potter."

"Good qualities, sir?"

The spectre lifted his chin. Harry thought all he needed was a dashing hat with a plumy feather to complete the image of a true buccaneer.

"Gryffindor bravery, Hufflepuff loyalty, Slytherin deviousness." The spectre quirked an eyebrow. "Sometimes, you have to be devious to survive."

"You left out Ravenclaw."

"None of us is perfect, Potter. Besides … you still have Miss Granger to fall back on, don't you?"

Harry laughed. "Hey! I do okay, you know. Hermione's just … well, she's … so, okay – I do have her for backup. You know me too well, sir."

"I'm proud of you … Harry. As are your parents. And the mangy mutt. And the werewolf. And all of those who have gone ahead. I can no longer give points, but I will freely admit that you far exceeded my wildest expectations during last year."

"So, I get an 'E' for offing Voldemort?"

The spectre laughed, glowing brightly. "Of course not! You get an 'O'!"

Harry laughed, too, his emerald eyes dancing, reflecting the spectre's luminescence. "I quite like you as you are now, sir. I suppose it's just as well I'm giving the Resurrection Stone to George, or I might be tempted to keep calling you back for an occasional chat."

The spectre snorted. "Don't even think about it!" Snape's image narrowed his black eyes at Harry. "You truly intend to have him call back his brother?"

"I'll leave that up to George, sir. Just because I'm giving him the Stone doesn't meant that he'd be obligated to use it."

"But he will."

"Probably. He'll have that option, but he'll also have the choice. And I trust George not to hold Fred here against his will. George loves him enough to let him go."

"You have grown up, Potter."

"Thank you, sir."

"I shall accompany you to the edge of the Forest. You may have been the Chosen One, but that doesn't mean you are impervious to threats posed by the creatures which live within these woods. Follow me."

"Yes, sir."

Harry and Cinder followed silently in the wake of the glowing spectre, the levitating satchel of silver bobbing along behind them. At length, they reached the edge of the cleared Hogwarts grounds. High above, the castle windows gleamed brightly in the darkness, with stars twinkling over the highest towers. Off to the side, they could hear the unseen waters of the Black Lake quietly slapping against the deserted shore.

Snape's spectre gazed longingly at the castle. "I had not realized how much I missed seeing it…"

"Do you… Would you want to stay, sir? It's all in the ring. The Stone, I mean."

The spectre smiled wistfully, but he shook his head. "Don't tempt me, Potter. I'll admit that I wouldn't mind brewing the odd potion every now and then, but I'm better off in the next world. Hogwarts WAS my home – my true home – but the castle is now merely a fond remembrance."

"Well, if you should change your mind, you might mention as much to Fred, if you see him."

The spectre chuckled. "I'll take that under advisement."

"Shall I let you go?"

"If you please."

Harry drew a breath. "May I say, sir, that I think you are the bravest man I have ever known. When I think about your life – I don't know how you did it, sir."

"And when I think about your death, I don't know how you did that, Potter."

"All I had to do was stand there … while you – "

"While I got snakebit."

Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. "When you put it that way…"

"Enough of this mutual admiration, Potter. I'm ready to go now."

"Okay, sir. But I might just mention – have you ever considered wearing a hat? To go with the rest of your outfit? A nice BIG hat, with a lovely, fluffy feather to top it off?"

"Good-BYE, Potter."

"Farewell, Professor Snape. I sincerely hope your next life will be better."

"It already is. You'll see for yourself someday."

Harry held out his hand, and the spectre of Severus Snape took it briefly, just solid enough to touch. The spectre nodded, and Harry tossed the ring a few inches into the air and caught it again.

Between the toss and the catch, the spectre disappeared.

The Niffler squeaked in surprise and ducked behind Harry's legs.

Harry sighed deeply, feeling unaccountably let down for some reason. "Let's get you back to Hagrid, eh?" he said to Cinder. "You did such a good job today, old girl." And tugging a bit on the leash, Harry led the Niffler off toward Hagrid's hut.

-:- -:- -:-

"So, George says they're already in production, thanks to Fred's input. That was a stroke of genius, mate, giving the Resurrection Stone to George. Looks like Wheezes will be ready for the Christmas rush, after all."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances over the top of Ron's bowl of popcorn. All three of the Gryffindors were sitting on their favorite squashy sofa before the fire in their Common Room.

"What about Fred?" Hermione asked cautiously. "Did he object to being brought back by George using the Stone?"

"Heck, no!" asserted Ron, stretching his feet out toward the warm hearth. "He loves being back in the shop. He told Ginny so, when she and Mum stopped in last weekend. George promised to let Fred go whenever he wanted, so it's working out great. Mind you, Fred does ask to pop in and out, but he keeps wanting to come back to help George. Sometimes, he even brings a friend along to give advice, particularly when they have a question about some of the potions they're experimenting with. "

"A friend?" Harry's eyes grew round. "From … beyond the Veil?"

"Yep," nodded Ron. "Tell them, Gin."

"It's true," Ginny affirmed. "I saw him myself the last time I was in the shop. From a distance, that is, because I was out front, but I clearly saw George when he went into the back room. He took the ring and turned it over three times, just like you told him to, and here pops Fred and this other guy. I only saw him from the back, for the most part, but he was dressed like a Muggle pirate captain, complete with a billowing blue cape, black boots, and a huge hat with a purple ostrich feather…"

-:- -:- -:-