In spring 1998, the magical world finally got rid of the most powerful and the most evil wizard of all times. There was an excess of witnesses when Harry Potter, in the early dawn after the siege of Hogwarts, overpowered Lord Voldemort, indirectly causing his final and definite demise. Yet, except for the stunned silence right after the dark Lord’s fall, followed by jubilant roars of triumph and sobbing relief - impressions upon which most seemed to agree - the opinions upon what happened the following hours when morning matured into day, diverged substantially. This was especially true where people’s opinions of Harry Potter were concerned. How did he behave, what did he do, and say, and how did he interact with people? Those were all questions that were answered differently depending on the person’s perceptions and preconceptions about the boy-who-lived. 

”I approached him to pay my respects. It meant the world to me when he shook my hand.”

”People crowded around him, pressed upon him and would just not leave him alone. There was no consideration shown what-so-ever for what he had just been through.”

”I couldn’t help but notice that he hesitated to approach the Weasley family. I wonder if he felt guilty about their loss?”

”He behaved like a true hero, with so much grace and dignity. There was no forewarning at all that he would…”

”No one had seen him for the most part of a year, except his close friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, but to me he looked altered. Taller… grown up, I guess, but there was also something changed in his eyes. The smile on his lips did not reach them, and I’m not sure at all that he took in what we were saying. Especially not the amazing news about…”

”I tried to tell him about Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape, but he showed no reaction what-so-ever. No surprise, no joy, nor bewilderment.”

***

To Harry, the hours that followed Voldemort’s demise were but a blur of images and sounds, the passing by of truly or vaguely familiar faces and the pressing of warm, eager, or cold, weak hands. His feet moved by themselves, his lips smiled automatically. Harry felt his friends’ need for celebration, understood the grief manifested around him and wondered at how strangely the two emotions coexisted, but he could not identify one single feeling belonging to himself beyond exhaustion. 

Harry was the impartial observer and the director of himself playing the principal part of War Hero. He realised idly that he would soon have to end the staging if he was to get the rest he needed so much. That was when people around him suddenly started to go on about Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. First, he picked up bribes of conversation, then someone directed a blunt question at his own person.

”I saw him, I tell you!” 

”Do you mean to say that…?”

”Did you hear that Dumbledore…?”

”Amazing, isn’t it?”

”Snape, too - yes, I assure you, of all people, him!”

”Harry, did someone tell you what happened to Dumbledore and Snape…?”

He frowned at first, thinking for himself that of course he knew what happened to Dumbledore and Snape. When people persisted on the topic with distasteful glints of sensationalism in their eyes, Harry bit back with sternness to set people right again. One should let the dead rest in peace was his strong sentiment.

Indeed, he supplied sharply, he had been there when Snape died. When Dumbledore died as well, but that was eleven months ago. No, Snape was definitely dead. Dumbledore was dead and buried - surely they knew that! People gave him strange, mystifying glances.

He did not really catch what they were trying to tell him, but started to feel vaguely disconcerted and strangely agitated. He thought that he glimpsed a figure with white hair and a long silvery beard, far away where people crowded in excitement. He turned his head and was caught by another vision: that profile with the hooked nose, surely… ? But how could that be!? His sight was obscured by passing wizards and witches. He twisted his neck the other way and - there - he met a flash of familiar blue eyes. Gone again, too soon. He squinted in the morning light and rose on the tip of his toes to endeavour to figure out what the tumult was all about. Surely, it could not be…?

Harry had spoken to Dumbledore only a few hours earlier in the dreamland of King’s Cross. Dumbledore was on the other side, damn it! The wise wizard had not with one word hinted at the possibility that he might follow Harry back to the present time. Harry shook his head, blaming the strange hallucinations on the lack of sleep.

Then, all of a sudden, the wizard who had fooled Voldemort and all others along, Severus Snape, manifested right in front of him and all he could do was to blink owlishly at the man. There was no trace of the blood that had covered Snape’s neck a few hours earlier. On the contrary, Snape looked healthy, a slight flush on his cheeks and, if possible, younger than Harry ever remembered him. 

Snape advanced decisively towards Harry, a hand stretched out. Automatically, Harry took a step forward and accepted it. Snape looked pleased and relieved at the same time, and started to speak to Harry in earnest. To Harry’s surprise and befuddlement, however, he could not make out a word of what the Professor was saying, because since he set eyes on Severus Snape, reality seemed to have been robbed of every sound.

Harry watched the Potions Master’s lips moving and leant forward politely in order to at least make a show of attempting to catch the man’s words, because it seemed disrespectful not to pay attention. The Professor appeared surprisingly eager to speak to Harry and there was no trace of the dislike that always used to curl Snape’s mouth, nor the contempt that used to lodge in Snape’s black eyes whenever he faced Harry. On the contrary, there was a tentative smile on the teacher’s thin lips. But Harry was in further trouble now, because he could no longer feel his hand that was still clutching that of Snape’s. The numbness was spreading fast past his shoulder and into his chest. At the same time, the field of vision was narrowing and dizziness flooded his brain, but not a word of complaint passed his lips as he valiantly kept his eyes fixed upon Severus Snape’s black ones, just like when the man had died across from him earlier the same night. The last thing Harry remembered was the flicker of concern then the alarm in the face opposite him, before everything went black.