Coming Back Home by CleganeSnape

Feeling the energy flowing from his right hand to the wand, Harry opened his eyes. A stag made of pure light stood in front of him, connected to his wand by a silver-blue strand. The animal trotted across the field in front of him, illuminating the grass and the insects that fluttered in it. Then, he walked over to the two figures standing on the bench and raised his head, watching them and shaking his ears.

Harry took a deep breath, feeling how the air around them was already warmer than a few seconds ago, and how his heart also weighed less in the presence of the Patronus. Waiting for the professor to be ready to speak, he looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Snape was staring at the stag intently, studying it, and his eyes were shining.

"It's... different." He said suddenly, so low that Harry almost thought he had imagined it.

"Sorry?"

Snape looked away, but, despite that, answered his question.

"Your stag." He said. "It looks a lot like your father's, but, at the same time..."

He didn't finish the sentence and Harry stared at him, holding his breath. But the seconds passed, and Snape said nothing more, until something bright moved, approaching him. The Patronus placed himself right in front of the man, the animal's snout in front of the Potions Master's hooked nose. Snape raised his left arm, the one on which the Dark Mark had been burned on, all those years ago, and his hand trembled slightly as it landed on the creature's fur. When his fingers felt the brush of the Patronus light, Harry heard a sigh come out between Snape's lips, and his shoulders relaxed, letting go of the tension that had built up in them.

"It's different." He repeated, in a trembling voice. "I feel... a familiarity that I don't know how to explain."

Harry didn't say anything for fear of breaking up that moment. He just stared at him in silence, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw the moisture in Snape's eyes.

"What were you thinking about when you conjured him?"

"Sorry?"

"Patronus usually reflect the memories used to create them." Snape said, blinking rapidly, trying to hide the emotion in his voice. "I can tell that yours recognizes me. And I recognize him too, somehow. Were you thinking about your parents?"

Harry stirred, somewhat uncomfortably.

"No..."

Snape pressed on.

"Your friends, then?"

"No."

Snape's eyes met his and something stirred in the depths of the man's.

"What were you thinking about, Potter?

Harry looked away.

"Are you really going to make me say it out loud?" He muttered.

Snape stared at him, while the Patronus rested his head in his hands, illuminating them.

"I need to hear it." He confessed in a low voice.

The expression on his face caused Harry's defensive attitude to disappear. That's what we're here for, the boy said to himself. To talk a. To bout things. To put the cards on the table. His heartbeat quickened, but Harry focused his gaze on the Patronus, remembering the feelings that had allowed him to create it. He sighed, bracing himself and gathering his courage. Then he squared his shoulders and, raising his head, looked Snape in the eyes.

"I was thinking about you." He said. "I know that will probably make you uncomfortable. But I don't want to lie to you."

Snape didn't avoid his gaze, though there was confusion on his face.

"I don't understand..."

"I know it may seem ridiculous," Harry replied, "after our story, after what you did yesterday. But... the fact that you are here, trying... It means a lot. It means that... that you think it's worth it, fixing things. And that I..." He averted his gaze and suddenly fell silent, as courage left him, and shame took its place.

For a moment, Harry feared that he had gone too far. That this demonstration of sentimentality had exceeded the limit of man. But, to his surprise, Snape leaned back, resting his head against the back of the bench, looking at the dark sky, and said something Harry would never have expected.

"Of course it's worth it, Potter." He told him. "Just because I'm a complete idiot doesn't mean it's not true."

Harry just stared at him.

"Listen…" Snape sighed, still with his gaze on the stars. "This is partly what I wanted to talk about earlier. One of the reasons I acted the way I did yesterday."

"What do you mean?"

Snape's eyes were still fixed high above, on the dark vault above their heads, but he replied to him.

"I mean that, what made me react that way, it wasn't just about…. About not wanting you to help me, or about my inability to open up to others. The reason, Potter, was... you."

That caused Harry to frown.

"I don't understand. I'm the problem, then?"

"No. You're not the problem, Potter. I am. I thought this was clear."

Harry's expression showed that this was not the case and, upon seeing it, Snape sighed wearily. He leaned forward again, sitting upright and then brought his hands closer to the Patronus once more. The warmth of the deer warmed him up and Snape took a deep breath several times, gathering strength before continuing to speak. When he did, his discomfort was evident, but also the determination in his features.

"Listen…" He began, and Harry prepared himself for another trip into the man's brain.

The thoroughness with which Snape expressed his thoughts (whenever he wanted) was amazing and, although it was sometimes exhausting to follow the explanation to the end, Harry appreciated it. Such conversations helped him understand his former teacher better.

"This... relationship we've formed." Snape continued. "This... friendship. It's a strange thing for me." He acknowledged, averting his gaze. "I haven't had too many friends in my life, Potter. The Malfoys are a different, complicated thing... And, after everything that's happened... I don't even know what I think about them. Or them about me." Pain appeared in his eyes and Snape shook his head. "Leaving them aside, only two other people could fall into that category." He held up one finger and then another. "Albus. And your mother. As you can see, Potter, it doesn't take a genius to realize that I've caused the death of both of them. The most important people in my life... and I've killed them both."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Snape was faster.

"No. It's not a debate, Potter. It's a reality. And I say it for you to contradict me. I told you so that you'd understand my point of view. If things have ended up like this in both cases... it's only a matter of time before something similar happens to you."

"Sir..."

"Don't interrupt me, Potter." Snape replied angrily, trying to hide his vulnerability. "Maybe you won't die, but I know that somehow I will manage to hurt you. In fact, I've already done that. And you deserve better." He acknowledged, pushed by the rage he felt towards himself.

"But-"

"I am a cruel, lonely, bitter man, Potter." Snape cut him off. "I don't want you to waste your life trying to fix mine. Because you probably won't get be able to, and besides, it's not even worth it."

Silence fell between them, as Harry took in those words. When he did, anger filled his features and the Patronus flickered for a second, decreasing the intensity of its light.

"But that's completely stupid!" He shouted. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions. Besides, no one can know what is going to happen. Not even you. To ruin this" He made a gesture pointing to himself and then to Snape, "to try to prevent a possible situation in the future or because you think you don't deserve it... It doesn't make any sense."

"It does to me." Stated Snape. "Not to mention..." He didn't continue the sentence and his cheeks became an ugly pink color.

Harry watched him and, when it was clear that he was not going to keep talking, he sighed impatiently.

"What?" He said, irritated. "'Not to mention', what?"

The blush on Snape's face, as well as the obvious discomfort on the man, should have been enough of a warning to Harry. But the boy was too angry with this ridiculous situation to put two and two together so, ignoring the teacher's reaction, he asked:

"What's the matter?"

Snape sighed and then looked at any spot around him that wasn't Harry, before saying:

"What I said yesterday. About... uh... your need for a figure..." Snape swallowed hard, as if he had something stuck in his throat. "A... father figure. Someone to fill the gap that your... that your father and Black-"

"Oh, for Merlin." Muttered Harry, his cheeks burning. "We don't have to talk about it. Seriously, sir, I..."

Snape shook his head, although it was clear that he didn't want to touch the subject either.

"No, Potter." He insisted. Harry's embarrassment seemed to have helped him regain some control over himself. "It's normal that you feel that need." He said, using his most clinical tone. "I don't have to be a healer or a psychologist to know that, given your history and... well, the fact that you're still very young. You still need someone to fill that gap in your life."

Harry, trying to find something to do with his hands, retrieved the glass containing the fire whiskey, the one he had left on the floor at the beginning of his conversation with Snape and had forgotten until that moment. He took the last sips of liquor, feeling the heat on his cheeks expand to his throat and then to the rest his body. Avoiding Snape's dark eyes, he said:

"Look... I'm not saying that you're right. But, even if you were... I don't understand why that would have anything to do with your reaction of yesterday."

Snape continued to stare at him, provoking a rush of irritation in Harry. It was obvious that seeing him as uncomfortable as he had been all night had given the professor a new self-confidence.

"Oh, it has a lot to do with it, Potter. Your need for a father figure-"

"Can we not call it that, please?" Interrupted Harry with a grimace.

"Fine" Snape said, and his lips curved for a split second, in a hint of a smile. "Your need for an adult. For a... mentor, perhaps? Is that better?"

"I suppose…" Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders, as if that topic wasn't so important. Although he wanted to retort, biting his tongue might make that torture end faster.

"Alright." The Potions Master continued. "That need, as I've said before, is completely normal and natural, given your circumstances. The problem..." The security he had shown during the last few minutes was replaced again by that discomfort so uncharacteristic of Snape. "The problem..."

He didn't finish the sentence and Harry couldn't help himself. Despite the embarrassment, he asked:

"The problem, what?"

Snape swallowed hard. Then he passed a hand over his face wearily.

"Nothing would make me happier than not having to talk about this subject, Potter. But since yesterday..." He sighed, leaving the sentence in the air. "I can't ignore it. Because I know that my words are still there, in your head. And I know you need an explanation. So... here it is." Snape exhaled deeply and then looked into his eyes, piercing them with his own. "The problem is that... it shouldn't be me. Lupin, Black, Albus, your father." He enunciated each of the names slowly and clearly, and with each word their faces appeared in Harry's mind, hurting like a knife to the chest. "Even now, Arthur Weasley... They should be the ones to help you deal with what happened. They should be the ones playing this…role. Everyone. Every single one of them would be a better choice than me."

Harry swallowed and looked down. Snape was right. The Potions professor was the last person anyone in their right mind would consider to fill that void. But, even so, the man had protected him for almost two decades and, despite his brusqueness and his many flaws, had helped him when he needed it most. Maybe it was because there was no one else, or maybe it would have happened anyway, even if Sirius and Remus were still alive, but Harry couldn't help but feel that connection. If in some impossible way, Snape could fill some of that horrible hole in his life, then he wasn't going to give him up. Even if it was difficult for Harry himself to understand.

"I'm not saying I don't want to try." Snape added, replying to the boy's silence. "But I am aware that it is unfair."

That caused Harry to frown.

"Unfair?"

"Yes." Snape nodded. "Believe me, Potter. I'm no martyr and I still hate your father, Black... but, at this point, if I could... I would exchange my situation with theirs without a second's hesitation. The war is over and, with it, my usefulness. Black and your father, even Dumbledore. Any one of them would do a better job than me. And it would be much more fair if they had survived and I had died. That's the reality."

Harry opened his mouth to protest. Although a part of him understood what Snape was saying, he didn't like it at all that he thought about himself like that. The fact that he gave so little importance to his own life and that his value as a person depended on his role as a spy, on the benefits he could bring in the war against Voldemort.

"Sir, of course I wish they were alive," he began, "but you-"

"Don't argue with me about this." Snape cut him off. "You know it's true, Potter. It doesn't make sense that I, who have only made mistakes in my life, am still here. While, the others, instead-".

"Sir." Harry tried again, causing a flash of anger to cross Snape's face.

"I told you I'm not going to argue about this, Potter." He said, raising his voice. "Right now, Lupin and Tonks are rotting under the grass and the dirt, while I'm still here, living the same despicable life and continuing on the same old path." Snape turned, pointing towards the front of the house, towards the graves of Remus and Tonks, and, although he couldn't see them from there, his face contracted into a grimace of sadness and anger. "Do you really think it's better for this world, for their infant son, that it's me who is still breathing, instead of them?"

Harry swallowed, surprised by the intensity and saddened to hear how little Snape valued his own existence.

"Sir..."

"All these people who came to the funeral today, Potter…" Snape cut him again "it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Everyone was thinking the same thing. That I shouldn't be here. That I should have died instead. And, honestly, they are right."

A flash of pain crossed his face and, when he saw it, guilt filled Harry's chest.

"I didn't mean it." He muttered, suddenly remembering, feeling an urgent need to apologize.

Snape seemed to wake up from the trance of self-deprecation into which he had fallen. He turned to Harry, not understanding.

"Excuse me?"

"Leaving you in the Shrieking Shack. What I said yesterday. I didn't mean it."

It took Snape a few seconds to understand why Harry was so distressed. When he did, he clicked his tongue and then waved a hand dismissively.

"I know, Potter." He said. "It's all right."

"No, it isn't." Harry insisted. "I shouldn't have said it. It doesn't matter how angry I was."

Snape looked at him for a few moments, in silence.

"I said it first." He reminded him. "And I wanted you to agree with me. In fact, I manipulated you to do so. You just reacted the way I expected you to."

Harry shook his head.

"Even so. There are some things that should never be said. No matter what. I'm sorry."

The guilt was still present in the boy's eyes, so Snape raised a hand, trying to reassure him.

"It's okay, Potter."

"No." Replied Harry. "It's not."

"Potter."

"If you had died... Then all of this…" He said, pointing to himself and then to Snape. "It wouldn't have happened. Did you stop to think about it? Because I did."

The professor opened his mouth and then immediately closed it, pressing his lips together until they formed a thin line.

"I understand what you mean, okay?" Harry continued. "About feeling guilty for surviving when so many people didn't. But, for a few hours I thought you had died in the Shrieking Shack. And I can assure you that it wasn't justice what I felt."

Snape looked into his eyes and could see pain and fear in them. He had not considered how the boy had felt during his supposed death. But then he remembered what Poppy had said, how Potter and his friends had taken turns to sit next to him, on the infirmary's gurney. He remembered the relief in the boy's eyes when he had opened his. His smile and his tears of joy, the boy's backpack leaning against the chair in which he had watched over him for so many hours, while he was recovering from Nagini's attack... Severus felt a tug on his chest. An unusual feeling in him.

"Your story could not end like this." Said Harry. "After so many years working to defeat Voldemort... You couldn't die right in front of the finish line."

Snape tilted his head, indicating that he was right. The relief and satisfaction he felt knowing that the Dark Lord had been defeated, this time definitively, had made all the fear, anxiety, sleepless nights, doubts, lies and planning of his almost twenty years as a spy worth it.

"And that wasn't the only thing." Harry was saying now. "I had just found out the truth about you. If you had died... I would have lost the opportunity to get to know you better, to talk to you and to understand you. After so many years of fighting and hating each other over stupid stuff... It would have been unfair not to be able to fix things, not to be able to thank you for everything you had done."

Harry's voice trailed off and the echo of his words remained in the air. Snape looked away and swallowed, trying to undo the lump in his throat.

"Potter..."

"I was exhausted, you know? After the battle, I mean. I just wanted to sleep." Harry said. "I didn't want to think about the people who had died. I couldn't. I just wanted to lie down. Close my eyes and feel nothing for a few hours. But I couldn't leave you there." He muttered and his voice shook. "You deserved to be at home, at Hogwarts, surrounded by the people you had helped save. Not alone in that horrible place." Tears had appeared in his eyes as he remembered, and Harry blinked to hold them back. "It was the only thing I could do if you were already gone. My way of... of trying to make things right."

"Potter." Snape's hand on his shoulder surprised him. "I... it's still hard for me to understand that I survived. That we both did, actually. During this last year I never thought it possible. But, I'm glad you're still here. And... despite what I've said before. Despite... the way I am. I'm glad I'm still here too. Even if I don't have a purpose, even if I don't understand it. I'm glad I've been able to get to know you better these weeks."

Harry watched him and saw that Snape's dark eyes were shining. He felt the warmth of the hand on his shoulder, and it spread all over his body, filling him with affection for the man. He was about to open his mouth to respond when the soft, deep voice sounded again, surprising him.

"And, Potter... I'm really sorry about what happened yesterday. I've said it before, but I'm saying it again. I shouldn't have said all those things. No matter how... scared I was. No matter." He repeated, withdrawing his hand from his shoulder and joining it with the other that rested on Snape's lap.

Harry watched him in silence, feeling how those words increased the warmth in his chest even more. It was amazing how, with each new explanation that Snape had given him throughout the night, the boy could understand more and more the reasoning behind his reaction from the day before. Fear, anger, exhaustion, the feeling of not being enough, the need to defend himself... Snape had mixed those emotions and used fragments of the truth to build weapons that could hurt Harry deeply, pushing him away from him. If it hadn't hurt so much, he would have been fascinated by the Potions Master's ability to make others hate him. And, now that he understood why, he could almost accept the professor's apology. Only one piece was missing to complete the puzzle.

"I want to forgive you." He told him. "But I need to know, sir, why did you change your mind? Yesterday you seemed ready to keep me out of your life forever. And today you are here, apologizing. I don't understand."

Snape sighed, looking back at the Patronus, gathering strength once more.

"I regretted it the moment you walked out the door." He admitted. "It wasn't easy to say all those things. Believe me, I didn't enjoy them. But it wasn't until you left... until I realized that my words had had the desired effect..." Snape gave a sarcastic smile, full of self-deprecation. "It wasn't until then that... that it really hit me what I had done. And the consequences of it."

Harry held his breath, waiting for Snape to continue talking.

"And then... tonight... let's just say it wasn't the best night of my life. I've been thinking a lot. Reflecting on every path I could take. About whether I should leave things as they were, or if, instead, I should try to apologize and fix the problem that I, myself, had created... It would have been easier to do nothing. But... but I couldn't..."

Snape didn't finish the sentence and, instead, he sighed once more. Then he closed his dark eyes and massaged his temples, trying to reduce the headache that had been accompanying him since he had arrived at the funeral. It had only increased, fueled by alcohol and emotions, and Snape was sure that it was not going to disappear any time soon.

"Sir?" Harry asked gently, after a few long seconds of silence.

The Potions Master pulled his hands away from his face and slowly opened his eyes.

"This is exhausting." He muttered. "How do people do it?"

Harry didn't know what to answer to that, so he just shrugged and kept silent. The seconds passed, but Snape continued without saying anything, without finishing that sentence he had started. Suddenly, his frown deepened even more and his thin lips curled into a grimace.

"Okay, Potter." He murmured. "Do you want to know why? Why I couldn't just leave things like that?"

His dark eyes searched for the green ones and Harry felt the anticipation beating in his chest. He nodded, his heart pounding, and Snape began to speak.

"I couldn't leave things like that because... Because I imagined my life without you, Potter. And... And I didn't like it. Even with your incessant chatter and your questions and your need to come knocking on my door to annoy me every single second of the day..." Snape looked away. "Not having the possibility to help you or protect you. Not knowing what you were doing, if you were safe or not..." He swallowed hard. "It's not an option for me."

Harry looked at him, speechless. He had not expected Snape to confess those things.

"So... now you see." The man continued. "That's why I had to come today. I knew that the more time passed, the more difficult it would be to fix things. And this morning, when Minerva told me that she was coming to the funeral... Let's just say that it didn't take much for her to convince me to come. Oh, I played my part, she had to insist a lot, almost forced me to be here, she will say… But she didn't. Not really. I had already decided what I wanted to do."

The soft voice died away and Harry took a deep breath. Snape's explanations had drawn the answer to all his questions, filling in the gaps in the puzzle and writing yet another chapter in the book of things he had learned from the man over the past few weeks. The only thing left was to decide whether to forgive him or not, if it was enough to understand the reason behind his actions and accept his apology.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the wounds in his heart, those caused by Snape's hurtful words, in their argument the day before. The boy had plenty of experience in forgiving. He had done it months ago, when Ron had returned, helping him destroy the Slytherin locket, restoring balance and joy to his life, to the trio that he, Hermione and Harry himself formed. He had also done it when he learned the whole truth about Dumbledore, despite the mistakes of the old wizard, his lies, his manipulation, despite knowing that he had to die... Harry had forgiven him.

He had also forgiven Kreacher, for having lied to him, for having partly caused the death of his godfather. And, speaking of Sirius, Harry had forgiven even him. Him and Remus, for leaving him alone for ten long years, with the Dursleys, while the werewolf hid from his past and his godfather rotted in prison because of it, too selfish and impulsive to put Harry's own good before his revenge against Pettigrew...

All of them, Harry had forgiven. And he'd done it with Snape, too. He had accepted his truth, presented in the form of memories, his past as a death eater, his role in the death of his parents, his stinging sarcasm, his hurtful and bitter personality... But could he forgive him for that last slight too?

Harry opened his eyes again and saw that Snape was still there, patient, waiting. The boy swallowed hard.

"You have to promise me something." He finally told him. "I can't be a part of your life if I'm always going to be wondering whether you are going to kick me out of it. I need you to promise me that you will try. That you'll talk to me. That if you need space, if you feel the old parts of you resurfacing, that if you are angry or upset with me for any reason... Promise me you'll let me know. I don't need a full explanation. Just a heads up. Just to understand what's going on."

Snape stared at him for a long time, his face the mask of impassivity it used to be. Before he started to show his emotions more or, actually, before Harry knew how to read them better in his eyes.

"That is a reasonable request." He said at last. "I... I promise I will try."

Harry nodded, satisfied.

"Thank you." He told him. "But, considering that you are not good at using the right words when you feel vulnerable... We need a code."

"A code?" Snape asked, probably wondering if he had made a mistake accepting that condition.

"Yes. A key word. Something that, if you tell me, I can know that you need space, that things are not right, without you having to explain yourself."

"Mm..."

"Yes." Harry insisted. "Something like... I don't know. The bat is taking over. Or something like that."

Snape stared at him as if another head had popped out from his neck.

"I think you've had too much Fire Whiskey, Potter." He said raising an eyebrow.

"But it makes sense." The boy insisted. "The bat of the dungeons is the old Snape. The one that all the Gryffindors hate. The most sarcastic and cruel. So, if you are getting back into old habits, you just have to use that phrase and I will understand perfectly what you mean."

Snape rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers.

"Merlin, give me patience..." He sighed. "Okay, Potter. I'll use your ridiculous code. At least until I think of a better one..."

Harry ignored that last sentence and smiled at him, glad that he had gotten away with it. That stupid smile made him wonder if maybe Snape was right. Perhaps he had drunk too much Fire Whiskey. He could feel the liquor in his body, warming him up and causing his head to weigh less and function slower than usual. But there was something else running through his veins too. Harry swallowed, suddenly emotional. He checked the wounds of his heart and, with surprise, he realized that they had closed. During the night, throughout his conversation with Snape, they had stopped bleeding and, instead, some scars had formed, reminding him of what happened. Maybe they would never disappear completely, but it was a step forward. One that he wouldn't have thought possible only twenty-four hours ago. And Snape had promised him that he would try to be better, to do things right, to never hurt him again.

"Potter?" Snape was watching him with a look of concern. "Are you alright?"

"I forgive you." Harry said suddenly. "I understand why you did what you did and, although what you said doesn't just disappear... I want to try to move on. Move forward. So... yeah. I forgive you, sir." He nodded, looking into his eyes. "But remember what I said. And your promise. Don't ever do that again. Because I probably won't be able to forgive you next time."

Snape looked at him, first with surprise, then with emotion, and finally with a new respect in his eyes.

"I understand." He told him. He stretched out his left arm to Harry, the one where, hidden under the robes, the Dark Mark was engraved with fire, and held out his hand to him. "Here's to new beginnings."

Harry looked at the outstretched palm. Years ago, at the Dursleys' house, her aunt had watched a TV program in which a woman claimed that she could read the hands of anyone who showed them to her. Apparently, she could read the line of life, wealth and love, and tell you when you were going to die, who you were going to marry or if you would earn a lot of money. Aunt Petunia had tried to do the same with Dudley, holding her son's hand over hers and proclaiming that he would live a long and happy life, full of love and riches. Harry had rolled his eyes and shook his head. But now, looking at Snape's palm, he could clearly see the line that represented life. It went down, in one direction and, halfway through it, it stopped and started going the opposite way, upwards. Harry blinked, wondering for a moment if that meant anything, and if that old lady from the TV show had been right after all.

Snape was still looking at him, his hand still raised between them, his black eyes studying him.

In the midst of a silence broken only by the soft singing of the cicadas and the whisper of the wind through the grass, Harry raised his own hand. His heart was pounding, as it had done so many times during that afternoon, but it was not fear, anger or anxiety that was pumping through his veins, it was affection for the man and, also, a small spark of something that he had not felt for a long time: excitement for the future, which no longer seemed as uncertain or dark as before.

The black eyes met the green ones, like that night in the Shrieking Shack, like that day in the infirmary, when Snape had woken up, like so many times over the years, and the boy couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. With the Patronus shining as bright as the moon and stars in the sky, Harry shook his teacher's hand.

"To new beginnings." He said.