Coming Back Home by CleganeSnape

Harry opened his hand and the powder fell into the fireplace, creating a green fire that didn't burn. Then he took a step forward, moving into the flames, and felt the familiar tug in his chest. That meant the network was connected and open. The boy took another step and Grimmauld Place disappeared behind him. The fire danced before his eyes, green, yellow and white, blinding him for a few moments. Finally, everything stopped, and Harry found himself in a fireplace he knew all too well. Shaking the remnants of dust from his clothes, he stepped out of it, walking straight into Severus Snape's living room.

The Potions Master was waiting for him, sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug and a half-eaten piece of toast in front of him.

"Good morning, Potter."

"Good morning, sir."

"You're earlier than usual, today." He said, watching him closely.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I, uh... I couldn't sleep anymore."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask him about it, which Harry was grateful for.

"Have you had breakfast?" He said, instead.

"Yes, sir. In Grimmauld Place, with Kreacher."

Snape nodded slowly.

"Good. Since it will take me a few minutes to finish here, why don't you go ahead and start chopping up today's ingredients? A rather urgent order from St. Mungo's has arrived, so we've got a lot of work to do."

Harry nodded, a small smile in his face. It filled him with pride to know that Snape trusted him enough to leave him alone in his precious lab.

"I left the instructions on how each ingredient is to be cut written on the board." The professor told him, as Harry headed for the door. "Though I doubt you forgot."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, I haven't forgotten."

"Good. Let's hope so." Snape said. Then he focused his attention back to his toast, taking a bite, and Harry took that as a goodbye. He turned around and headed towards the lab, leaving the Potions Master to his breakfast.

After entering the room, a spiced smell greeted him, filling his nose. The boy followed it to a cauldron where an orange potion was gently bubbling. He kept his distance, however, and didn't get too close. Snape had told him a thousand times that a stray hair, a piece of fingernail, or even a breath at the wrong time could ruin a potion completely. So Harry turned his back to the cauldron and walked to his table. The ingredients that he had to chop that day where waiting for him there, as well as the instructions on the board, just as Snape had said. The boy bent down to pick up a clean thin pair of gloves and, after putting them on, began to work.

Seconds tickled by, slowly turning into minutes. As his hands moved automatically, following the now familiar patterns, Harry's mind began to wander. The trip to Diagon Alley was still present in his head, making him anxious, and his thoughts inevitably kept coming back to it. He started thinking about everything that he would have to do once he was there, and he made a mental list of it. He didn't want to forget anything and have to come back again so soon.

What do I need? The boy asked himself, biting his lip in concentration. I've grown a lot in the last few months… Do I have to buy another cloak? Other robes? Or can I hold out with these a little longer? … I've finished reading almost all the books I borrowed from the library and from Hermione. Maybe I should buy some more? What subject? Defense? Herbology? Potions? … I wonder if Snape would let me buy a new knife to cut the ingredients. This one looks older than Hogwarts... I want to send a letter to Andromeda, to see how she and Teddy are doing. Should I buy another owl?

And then, suddenly, his mind took him down a path he never would have wanted to take.

Another owl? To replace Hedwig? Hedwig. My friend. My faithful companion. My dead owl. The one Hagrid gave me when I turned eleven. Do you remember her, Harry? Remember how she died? How the green light of the Avada Kedavra hit her? Remember how still she got?

Harry's heart raced, as memories flooded his mind. He shook his head, trying to push them away from him, but the thoughts kept coming, like a waterfall. And suddenly, Hedwig's death brought him to a new moment he would have preferred to forget, and then another, threading together all the traumatic events he had experienced, creating a web of images and emotions that kept him trapped, standing in the middle of the lab, his hands still moving automatically. His brain was forcing him to relive those instants, without him being able to stop it, they were dancing in front of his eyes, one after the other. Sirius, disappearing behind the veil. His father, lying on the floor, glasses sideways on his face, so still he couldn't be sleeping. His mother screaming, before she died. The cold of the Dementors. The weight of Cedric's body as he fell to the ground. The horror of knowing that Mad-Eye was dead. The chaos and fear of that last year. The strong, deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt saying, "The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming." All those months, running from Voldemort, hiding in the forest. Feeling Ron getting farther and farther away from him. The anger, the sadness, the despair. How small he had felt, with the weight Dumbledore had put on his shoulders...

The thoughts kept coming, as Harry's gaze remained on the wooden board, not seeing the half-cut roots on it, nor the knife he held in his right hand. Instead, he could clearly see Batilda Bagshot's body buckling and splitting open at the same time, as a monstrous snake emerged from it, and the sheer terror of thinking that Voldemort might appear at any moment. Then the memory twisted, and suddenly he was drowning in an icy lake, with the locket choking him, scarring his neck, preventing him from breathing. Harry blinked, trying to get some oxygen, his heart pounding. He knew it wasn't real. It had already happened. But Hermione's screams echoed in his ears, as Bellatrix tortured her, and Ron joined in, his own shrieks making the sound even more horrible somehow. And then, the image changed again, as Dobby's small body began to fill with a dark red, his breathing getting fainter every second. Harry swallowed, realizing how dry his throat was. Where was the heat coming from? His arms were burning, his wrists, his palms, his fingers. He shook his hands, trying to quench that fire and felt something slip from them, though he barely noticed. He couldn't, not when his neck and face were filling with blisters, created by that fake gold. And suddenly he was in the Gringotts vault, feeling that anguish and fear again, thinking that the jewels and coins that continued to replicate would burn and bury him alive. It's not real. He said to himself. I'm at Hogwarts. At Hogwarts, safe. And, yes, it was true that he was in the castle, but that did not bring him relief. Looking around, he could see the Battle in front of him, the flashes of spells and curses, the explosions, the screams of the wounded... He blinked, trying to make them go away, but he only managed to see Fred's lifeless body, lying on the stone floor, and then Tonks', Remus'...

Harry shook his head, trying to fight that unbearable pain in his chest, and though the scene changed, it wasn't for the better. He was in the Shrieking Shack, and Snape was lying in front of him, bleeding, crying, dying, and Harry hated him, but not anymore, not anymore, but he couldn't help him. And his eyes were on his, pleading for something he couldn't understand, and soon they would freeze, and Snape's life would disappear from them. Harry could see the fear in his gaze, and he knew it would happen now, right now, and he would lose him forever, as he had lost everyone else. But Snape's eyes were still fixed on his, black on green, and that glint that indicated life was still present in them and it was becoming sharper, more real. Suddenly, Harry felt strong hands grasping his arms and, for a second, he thought it was the Inferi that had come to drown him, to drag him into those black waters, to hold him forever at the bottom of the cave. But Dumbledore had burned them, he had saved him, he remembered with confusion. And Harry was not in a cold, wet dark hole in the middle of the sea, but in Snape's laboratory, with the man standing in front of him, calling his name, holding his shoulders firmly, but gently at the same time.

"Sir?" Harry's vision began to focus, forming Snape's worried face right before him.

"Potter." The man breathed, relief evident on his features. "Thank Merlin."

"What... what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. But first, come here. Sit down."

Snape moved him gently and Harry followed. The teacher sat him down in a chair and the boy remained there, confused and dizzy, trying to understand what had just happened. He was vaguely aware of Snape moving in front of him, searching inside an open cupboard. After a few seconds, the man turned around and placed something in front of his nose.

"Drink." He said, thrusting a full flask into his hands.

Harry did as he told him, clutching the potion, still lightheaded, and then swallowed with difficulty, feeling the stiffness of his neck muscles. After a few moments, his heart rate slowed down and breathing became easier.

"I'm... I'm better." Said the boy, after a few seconds. "Calmer."

"Obviously, Potter." Snape sighed, though without malice. "That's the purpose of a Calming Draught."

Harry looked at the glass bottle in his hands, now empty, and let out a gasp of surprise.

"Yes." Snape told him. "I was wondering when you were going to notice."

Blood had stained Harry's fingers and palms, coming from an ugly gash on his left hand. He must have pulled off his gloves in the middle of that whirlwind of memories, and then accidentally cut himself with the sharp knife.

Snape walked over to him and, without a word, picked up the vial gently and then set it down on a table, while Harry continued to look at his wound. The cut had started to hurt now that he had seen it. His eyes roamed over it, trying to estimate its depth and whether he would need stitches to close the skin. In the midst of those thoughts, Snape reappeared in his field of vision, carrying a stool with him. He placed it in front of Harry, sat down, and then extended a hand in his direction.

"Show me." He ordered.

Harry looked at him for a few seconds, without understanding. Then he saw the small brown bottle Snape held in his other hand, filled with a substance he recognized immediately, as he and his friends had used it more times than he would have liked in the last year.

"Essence of Dittany." He whispered, remembering how Hermione had fixed Ron after he got splinched, and how the three of them had healed their burns after the escape from Gringotts.

Snape looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"That's right." He said, though he didn't add anything else. Tired of waiting for Harry to do as he had told him, he grabbed his left wrist, albeit gently, and pulled the boy's hand towards him. Then, softly and precisely, he poured a couple of drops over the cut. The boy hissed as the liquid touched his wound, causing a greenish smoke to rise from it, but he stayed as still as he could. He watched in fascination as his skin closed and began to heal, leaving only a scar where before there had been a gash. Once the pain and surprise had subsided, Harry turned his attention to Snape. He looked into his face, trying to understand his mood and decipher if he was angry with him. But the man remained silent and, after checking that the cut had healed satisfactorily, he got up from the stool and went to the cupboard to put the essence of Dittany away.

"Sir?" Asked Harry, after the silence had gone on too long.

Snape sighed, with his back on him, resting his hands on the dark doors of the cupboard he had just closed. Then he turned and sat back down across from Harry, a strange gleam in his eye.

"Well, are you going to tell me what happened?" He asked, piercing him with those black eyes. "Or am I to assume that you lost your mind or were possessed by some kind of demon?"

"I..."

"You were just sitting there, at the desk, with your hand bleeding and staring into nothingness. I called your name several times, Potter, but you wouldn't react. It was as if you couldn't hear me." Snape's voice had been getting louder with each word. The man must have noticed because he let out a long sigh and asked, in a softer tone, "What happened, Potter?"

Harry looked down, absently running a finger over the newly formed scar, trying to gather his thoughts before answering.

"I... I didn't do it on purpose." He said, swallowing hard. "Cutting myself, I mean. I just... I was preparing the ingredients and then I… I…" He hesitated.

"Go on." Snape told him.

Harry took a deep breath.

"I started thinking about unimportant things, normal things, really. But suddenly, my brain led me to... to a bad memory."

Snape looked him in the eye.

"To a bad memory." He repeated.

"Yes..." Harry muttered. "And it's not like I wanted to think about it. Quite the opposite, in fact. But it was like I couldn't stop doing it. And then, my mind kept sending me more horrible memories. One after another. Of things that have happened this past year, mostly, but before that too, and I... I couldn't escape them. And I couldn't stop thinking about them." He added, his voice shaking despite the potion. "It was like I was there once more, living those moments all over again."

"Has anything like that ever happened to you before?" Snape's voice was neutral, trying to sound professional, like a doctor asking questions of his patient, but the boy could detect a hint of concern in it.

"Yes." Harry confessed. "But never this intensely. It usually happens when I'm alone, doing something mechanical. Like when I'm cleaning the dishes or taking a walk. It's like my mind switches off from what I'm doing and starts moving. And I don't know why, but it always comes back to the same themes. To loss, to death... Things like that." Harry shook his head. "I don't know how to stop it. But I don't like it."

"I'd worry if you did, Potter." Snape said, with less sarcasm than usual.

"Sir, is... is this normal?" The boy asked suddenly, quietly, surprising himself. He hadn't meant to say it, but now that he had started, he couldn't stop himself, and the words gushed out of his mouth. "I don't understand... What's happening to me, am I losing my mind? I..."

Snape held up a hand.

"Potter, breathe. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening to you." He assured him, seriousness on his face. "In fact, it's perfectly natural. Perhaps not to the level it's reached today... But when someone experiences a traumatic event, for a while the brain keeps bringing it to the surface. Especially at times when we switch off and relax, letting the mind wander... It's the body's way of trying to make sense of it, of trying to fix it or find a solution to that thing that hurts so much." Snape grimaced, as if he could feel that pain he was talking about. "Though, of course, in most cases there is nothing to be done; the person who has passed away is gone, or the terrifying situation has already happened. But I want you to know this, Potter." He tilted his head to look Harry straight in the eye. "It will pass. It may not seem like it, right now... But, slowly, over time, these memories... These episodes... They will become less and less frequent."

"How do you know?" The boy asked, lowering his gaze. It frightened him that it could keep happening forever.

"Because it did for me."

"Oh."

Snape didn't add anything else, but it was enough. Enough to keep Harry's worry at bay, at least for the moment.

Then, once his anxiety had subsided somewhat, the boy seemed to realize how close he was to Snape. The Potions Master was facing him, sitting on his stool, and their knees were almost touching. That made Harry uncomfortable, the thought that he was invading the professor's personal space, something he knew Snape hated. Avoiding those dark eyes, he swept his gaze around the rest of the lab, and what he saw on the wooden board made his stomach twitch.

"Oh, no..." He muttered, his eyes widening in surprise and fear. "The ingredients, sir... The... The roots. I made a mess, I..."

"Potter."

"And St. Mungo's." He added, his voice shaking slightly, remembering Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's punishments when he didn't do things the way they wanted. "The potions, they need them urgently and they're waiting and-"

"Potter." Snape put a hand on his shoulder, causing Harry to look at him with fear in his eyes. "We're not in the middle of a class. I'm not going to give you a zero or detention because you smashed a couple of Mandrake roots. Not to mention...It wasn't your fault. It didn't happen because of lack of attention or effort."

"But..."

"Besides," Snape cut him off, "I always start brewing potions with plenty of time to spare, in case something goes wrong. So don't worry about the urgency. And, even if another unforeseen event were to happen, it wouldn't be the first time I've stayed up all night to finish a batch. Understood?"

Harry didn't look very convinced but nodded slightly.

"Just forget about the potions, Potter." Snape added, noticing his expression. "That's not important right now."

"No?"

"No." Snape said, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

The boy looked at him blankly, confusion clear on his face.

"You, Potter." Sighed the professor. "After what has happened... I know I've given you the Calming Draught, but still... How are you feeling?"

Harry stirred in his chair, with a mixture of discomfort and satisfaction at seeing that Snape cared about him.

"I'm... I'm fine." He said finally. "Really. I mean, it's been a shit... uh, a bad morning." He corrected himself, seeing the man's expression. "But I'm feeling better."

Snape continued to look at him, still not quite believing his words.

"It's true. Really. I'm here; fully present now." Harry said with a small smile, trying to show reassurance. "My hand doesn't hurt and I'm ready to get back to cutting those roots."

"Maybe we should take a rain check, Potter. Go home and get some rest. I can manage on my own. I've been cutting my own ingredients for over twenty years."

Harry ducked his head. He was about to nod, sad to think that Snape didn't want him there, after the mess he'd made, when the man spoke again.

"I mean, if you want to stay here and continue with your work it's not a problem. But I would understand if you decide to go back to Grimmauld Place."

"No." Harry said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I mean, if it's not a problem, sir, I'd like to stay and do better this time."

Snape watched him for a few seconds, weighing his words, but finally nodded.

"All right, Potter. But if you feel anything like that happening again, let me know."

The boy nodded, though he doubted it. With Snape there, watching him as he knew he would, it would be much harder for his mind to start wandering.

"Yes, sir." He said anyway.

"Good." Snape repeated, ending the conversation. He then stood up and turned to Harry's table, which was full of mandrake roots. He separated the ones that were clean and neatly cut from the blood-stained ones, and others that the boy had chopped up in the middle of his trance, breaking them. Then he waved his wand and whispered:

"Evanesco."

The mangled and dirty roots disappeared in an instant and then Snape turned again to look at him.

"That reminds me..." He walked over to the boy, sat down again, and clasped his hands in his own. Then he repeated the same incantation as before, removing the dried blood from the skin. Harry watched it disappear, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his anxiety. "Good." Snape said when he was done. "Now, is there anything else, or are you ready to get back to work?"

Harry bit his lip, looking at the wooden board and the tiny handful of neatly cut roots left on it.

"I'm... sorry about the ingredients, sir." He told him. "I'll pay for them, I promise."

Snape's lips twisted in amusement, though he tried to hide his smile.

"Oh." He said, with his typical curved eyebrow. "Do you by any chance always carry a bag full of Galleons with you? Or did you bring it on purpose, just in case you messed up any ingredients? Do you have so little faith in your abilities, Potter?

Harry's cheeks reddened.

"No... Actually, I don't have any money on me right now. But I'm going to Diagon Alley this week. To Gringotts." He said, and suddenly an idea popped into his brain. "Maybe you could come with me! If... If you want to, of course, sir. We can go to the apothecary, and you can tell me what ingredients to buy. I don't want to screw up and get the wrong kind. And I could also buy me some nice, sturdy gloves," He looked at the floor next to the table and saw the ones he had used laying there, where they had fallen, "to protect my hands from any more accidents... And, and maybe a new cauldron so I can practice in it and..."

"Potter." Snape had let him speak for a while, but now he had held up a hand, stopping him. "While I appreciate your offer, you needn't worry. I can buy more ingredients with my own money. These things happen, and when I brew a lot of potions, I always keep in mind that some materials, or even some vials, will have to be thrown away or they will break."

"But..."

"Having said that..." He added, seeing that Harry wanted to interrupt. "My inventory stocks are lower than I'd like. Before the war, some apothecaries would ship ingredients directly to your house or, in this case, the school, but nowadays... things are more complicated. Even without the Dark Lord, it will take some time to get back to normal. So... I will also have to go to Diagon Alley, unfortunately. Sooner than I would like, in fact." He sighed. "And, I suppose... We could go together, like you said."

"Really?" The wide grin that appeared on Harry's face, a mixture of happiness and surprise, was so bright that Snape couldn't stop his own lips from curling up.

"Yes, really, Potter. Although... there is one condition."

The smile froze on Harry's lips.

"A condition?"

"Yes." Snape said, drilling him with his gaze. "I want to know where this sudden interest in Potions comes from. I know you told me that you felt out of practice, but after so many days of chopping ingredients and watching me brew, it should be enough by now. Yet you still come here almost every morning, why is that, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, avoiding his gaze. They had established at Remus and Tonks' funeral that they both wanted to be a part of each other's lives, but saying it out loud again, without the emotions of that day, nor the Fire whiskey to help, would be difficult and awkward. Therefore, the boy sought a less intense and vulnerable response, albeit one based in truth.

"I don't know..." He began, quietly. "Being here, with the potions and everything, relaxes me. I like coming to Hogwarts and... and talking to you. And the lab is a halfway point between Grimmauld Place, where it's too quiet, and the Burrow where it's actually the opposite... Besides, coming here almost every day has become some kind of routine and, after everything that's happened, I feel like I need something constant in my life. At least for these first months."

Snape watched him for a few seconds, his dark eyes studying his face.

"I understand. Though I'm surprised that it is precisely potion making what helps you relax. Considering your history with the subject..."

Harry narrowed his eyes, offended.

"I wasn't always bad at it. Only for the first five years. In sixth, under Slughorn, I was top of the class. Even ahead of Hermione." Snape raised an eyebrow, causing Harry to add, "Uh... No offense, sir."

The man's eyes gleamed, with a mixture of wounded pride and humor.

"None taken, Potter. As I recall, that little miracle was not caused by Slughorn's teaching abilities. You were using my book. So it was more my doing than his."

"When you put it like that…" Harry muttered, not knowing how to reply. "Though it's precisely because of my improvement in sixth year that I want to practice and learn more about potions. Besides, I've seen how useful they can be, especially these past few months." The boy's eyes lowered to the newly formed scar on his left hand. "And, considering I haven't been here for my seventh year, I don't want to miss out on important knowledge. Not just Potions, but all subjects, really. Well... maybe History of Magic or Divination not so much. But I don't think it's smart to have gaps in basic concepts that could one day save my life."

"Ah, yes." Snape replied. "Your dream of becoming an Auror. I had forgotten."

Harry didn't like the sarcasm in his voice, but perhaps because he wasn't as sure as he used to be about what he wanted to do with his future.

"Not just because of that." He said, shaking his head. "Maybe I'll change my mind and end up working as something else... What I mean is that we don't know what tomorrow will bring. And there may be peace and quiet forever." Harry's face clearly indicated how much he doubted it. "But, perhaps, a new Dark Lord will appear in a few years and..."

"Don't jinx it, Potter." Snape told him, his expression grim.

"Whatever the case," Harry continued, "I want to be prepared. And, if afterwards, I just end up using this knowledge in my work or day to day life, all the better. But it will be stuff I'll already know and won't have to learn in the future."

Snape watched him, studying his face silently for a few seconds.

"It sounds like a reasonable idea." He said finally. Then he straightened up on the stool and added, "All right, Potter. I have an offer for you. A sort of... job promotion, you might call it."

Harry frowned, confusion in his eyes.

"Sir?"

"These days, setting aside what happened today, you've been working adequately. Therefore, I thought... Given your interest in Potions, and the effort and constancy that, surprisingly, after so many years, you seem to now possess... Perhaps we could move forward and start doing more interesting things."

"You mean...?" Muttered Harry, not quite believing it. "That you'd let me brew potions here, in your lab?"

"Don't get too excited, Potter. First of all, you'll be supervised at all times. I don't want you blowing up my quarters. And, secondly, we will start with the basics, with potions that are taught in first year. It is essential to establish sturdy pillars to build upon. And, considering your past performances, yours are pretty shaky as of now. But, little by little, if you show me that you are capable, we will increase the difficulty. So... What do you say?" The serious, solemn Snape who had been speaking in his professor's voice, soft and deliberately slow, disappeared as he asked that question. "Potions tutoring?" Harry could see the corners of his lips twitch slightly, forming a small smile, so unusual in him. "For real this time?"

The boy's heart fluttered wildly and, for an instant, he remembered the fateful Occlumency lessons he had hidden as remedial potions from Snape. Back then, two years ago, having to spend more time than necessary with the man would have been a horrible thing for Harry. But things had changed, and quite a bit. Despite that, and the differences in their relationship, the boy still found hard to believe what Snape was actually offering him. The fact that he trusted him enough to teach him potions in his own lab, wasting his time, ingredients and energy. It was something he would have wanted but hadn't even thought it was an option.

Harry looked up, smiling back at his former -or future- professor, and realized that the bad memories that had drowned him minutes before were gone, hidden away in some corner of his mind, defeated by the joy he felt in that instant. Aware that Snape required an answer, the boy nodded, looking into those dark eyes that were no longer as empty as they used to be, and said:

"I would like that, sir."