This is a very long chapter. Maybe even a little confusing. But I'm sure you'll be fine. Please enjoy.

A Series of Events

Chapter Thirty - Lost in the Shuffle

Voldemort dropped to the floor without a sound, the last scraps of life in his body burned away by his own Killing Curse. As he fell, a hush fell over the Great Hall. The entire world held its breath. And in that quiet, uncertain pause, Harry felt something wrapped around his heart unclench. The tension between his shoulder blades eased. The weight he had carried for seven years fell away, and for an instant, Harry felt untethered and frighteningly free.

Bet Snape's happy, he thought as he lifted his face above the heads of the crowd rushing towards him. He half-expected to see Snape lurking by the doors, his beetle-black eyes glittering with satisfaction.

But Snape was still up in the Headmaster's office, wasn't he, covered in blood from the neck down, his cigarette case cradled in his long, cold fingers. An icy lump filled Harry's stomach even as Ron and Hermione and dozens of others crashed into him with boisterous joy.

He squirmed under the dozens of hands clapping his back, the arms reaching out to embrace him. He slid out of the growing press of bodies as quickly as he could, his elbows digging into so many sides his Aunt Petunia would have been proud.

"Harry?"

"Harry, mate, what's wrong?"

He ducked under a woman's arm, pushed past a couple snogging, and made a break for it, running out of the Great Hall as if Death Itself was chasing him down.

The cheers died down as they watched Harry rush off. "Where is he going?" someone said in a small voice.

Hermione tugged Ron's sleeve. "Come on," she said before chasing after Harry. Ron blinked, a moment's hesitation, before running after her, followed closely by his siblings, their old classmates, and nearly half of the surviving defenders.

Harry could hear someone shouting after him, the staccato rhythm of dozens of feet pounding against stone, but he could not stop. He jumped over chunks of masonry and raced up the flights of stairs two steps at a time, fear pumping through his veins.

It had been hours since Harry left Snape in the Headmaster's office. The icy lump lodged itself in his throat. He should have told someone Snape was there. His legs burned as he forced himself forward. He should have—

The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office leaned against the wall by the entrance, distinctively out of kilter. It rolled his head away from the wall and gave Harry a crossed, bleary look before glancing past Harry's shoulder. "I'm not letting all you lot in," it rumbled.

"Is he—" Harry gasped out, his own legs threatening to buckle underneath he still up there? Is he still alive?

The gargoyle raised a clawed, broken hand. "Go," it said. Harry didn't need any more persuading. He disappeared up the spiral staircase as Hermione, Ron, and the rest of his pursuers staggered into the corridor.

Professor McGonagall strode through the panting, fatigued crowd, her back straight and her breath steady despite the race up several flights of stairs. The winded witches and wizards, all students of hers at one point or another, stared up at her in frightened awe. "Stay here and catch your breath," she said, the worried pursing of her lips belying the glint in her eye. "I'll see what's wrong." She barely glanced at the gargoyle before climbing up the spiral staircase after Harry.

Ron clutched at his side, half-dizzy, before lurching past the gargoyle after McGonagall. Hermione swayed a bit before joining him up the staircase, followed closely behind by Neville, Ginny, and what sounded like a herd of huffing, heavy-footed Erumpents.

The staircase stayed stationary under their feet as they scaled yet one more flight. Ron all but crawled the entire way, his legs deaden and his hands searching for purchase in the stone walls. He stepped onto the topmost step with a groan, Hermione two steps behind, when the stairs fell away from under their feet.

Hermione cried out and grabbed Ron's arm as her feet slipped out from underneath her, nearly pulling them both down the newly-transformed slide. Behind them, shouts and groans echoed up as others slid back down to the corridor, crashing into the gargoyle and barreling into the crowd below.

Ron swayed and dug his fingers into the gaps between the stones to steady them. "Come on, Hermione," he said through gritted teeth, "you're heavy."

"Oi!" She got a foot on the topmost step and smacked him in the arm before grabbing hold of the wall as well.

Professor McGonagall stood at the open office door, her body tightly wound. Dumbledore's old trinkets sparkled sunlight into her eyes. The office smelled faintly of metal, and in the center of the room sat Severus Snape, covered in blood from the chin down.

Harry was on his knees in front of Severus. His hands pressed down on Snape's shoulder one second and touched the man's ashen face the next. "Please," he hissed at the man, his jaw barely moving. His hands left grimy, rust-colored smudges on Severus's skin. "You promised."

Several questions raced through Minerva's mind. Most started with "why" and "how". She took a step forward, raised her wand, and pointed it at Severus's closed eyes. "What happened to him?"

Harry looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide. "Nagini—the snake—" He pressed down harder on Severus's shoulder, his words rushing out. "She bit him, and we tried healing him, but—he's still—"

Minerva was already in motion. She flicked a spell at the fireplace, stoking the dying embers into a modest fire. "We have to get him to St. Mungo's." She grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the ornate pot on the mantelshelf. "Help him to his feet."

Harry stayed at his Potion Master's feet. "But St. Mungo's isn't safe. Madam Pomfrey can-"

"Do you want him to live or not?" Her voice echoed off the high ceiling. Wild strands of dark hair framed the exasperation on her face. She flung the handful of powder into the fire and stepped through the green flames. "St. Mungo's!"

Harry stared at the flames before jerking into motion. He slipped his arms under Snape's back and legs, hauling the professor's dead weight out of the chair.

Snape weighed much less than he should, Harry thought as he cradled the professor against his chest. He felt Snape's ribs through the man's thick robes, his shallow breaths on Harry's sweaty neck. Snape's head slumped against Harry's shoulder, intimate in a way the man never was, least of all with Harry. Warm blood seeped into his clothes, chilling Harry even as his cheeks started to burn.

He spotted his best friends loitering by the office door. "Ron, the powder," Harry said, wobbling towards the fire.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione stepped in front of Harry, blocking his way. She hooked Snape's arms around Harry's neck. "We'll be right behind you."

Harry took a breath before nodding once, a grim smile on his face. "I know."

Ron nodded back and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire. Harry tightened his grip on the professor and stepped into the flames. "St. Mungo's," he shouted over the roar in his ears. They disappeared in a flash of emerald green.

Even in the secluded hallways of the dungeons, the prolonged battle had left its mark. Scraps of parchment and broken chairs with smashed legs lounged in the corners. Scorch marks blackened the walls near the Slytherin common room. The castle's hum fell silent as Severus unlocked his old office door and let himself inside.

He had stripped the old office room bare long ago. The dust-coated bottles and the shelves that held them, the wide, scarred desk, the books, the hoarded ingredients, he had cleaned up and secreted it all away the summer before. Only a few uneven spots of color on the floor marked where the desk once stood, the soot-blackened gaps in the walls where a decade's worth of cauldron fires burned.

Dried herbs no longer hung over the door to his private chambers, but with a touch. the door still appeared. With a word, it swung open. Candles flickered alight as he stepped inside.

Here, at least, nothing had changed. Unread books and journals still sat in untended stacks by the sofa, waiting for Severus to finally find the time to read them. Ungraded, year-old essays rested unfurled on his table, the ink pot beside them long dried out. Dust filled in the gaps in the bookshelves and obscured the framed photograph on the mantelpiece. A house-elf in a singed Hogwarts tea-towel squatted in front of the fireplace, jabbing the burning logs with a poker. Severus cleared his throat. "Tsukky."

Tsukky bounced to her feet and gave Severus a jerky bob. "Welcome back, Headmaster Snape, sir," she said, her tennis-ball-sized eyes suspiciously bright and red-rimmed. The poker in her hand banged against the sofa and scratched a line in his threadbare rug as she tucked it behind her back. "We are glad you have come back, sir."

Severus placed both hands on the back of the sofa. Now that he was no longer in motion, he could feel his strength flagging. He leaned against it, digging his fingers into the upholstery. "Thank you, Tsukky." There were faint brown flecks along the hem of her tea-towel. "You fought in the battle as well, I take it?"

Tsukky sniffed, her eyes growing brighter. "Of course, Headmaster sir," she said, her chin jutting out. "Hogwarts is our home. We—" She sniffed again, louder this time, her eyes blinking suspiciously fast.

Severus found a paper napkin in his pocket and handed it to her. "Thank you, Headmaster sir," she said, the tears seeping out from the corners of her eyes. She pushed the napkin up her nose and wiped away the snot.

Severus looked away. "When was the last time you rested, Tsukky?" he said.

That stopped the elf mid-sniffle. "Rested, sir? There's no time for Tsukky to rest." She let out a horrified sob. "Nonny and Heeva and Dobby, they rest. There's too much to do to rest!"

Severus sucked in a breath. "So is this how you wish to serve Hogwarts?" he said icily. "Traipsing about in a tattered, stained tea-towel and sobbing at the drop of a wand?"

She wailed, "No, Headmaster sir! But there's less of us now! And there's so much work to do!"

"Tsukky, listen to me very carefully." Her large eyes widened as Severus circled around the sofa to loom over her. She sniffed back another sob. "You and all the other elves will take time tonight to rest. To rest!" he repeated as Tsukky opened her mouth to protest. "You will remember what pride you have for this school and present yourself accordingly when I visit the kitchens at ten a.m. tomorrow." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Unless you wish to exchange those rags for clothing?"

"No, Headmaster sir!" She pulled her ears down, cowering away from him. "Please don't! You wouldn't!"

"Then be sure to be in a clean towel tomorrow morning," Severus said. "Now go."

"Yes, Headmaster sir," she said, head bowed, before sniffling once more and disappearing with a tiny pop.

Severus let out a long sigh and sank into the sofa cushions. The back of his eyes itched; the fire heated his face. He rubbed the smoke out his eyes with the back of his hand.

A tray laden with tea, roast beef, thick pea soup, a mountain of vegetables, and Yorkshire puddings larger than his fist appeared on the seat beside him. The scents of soft bread and rich gravy made Severus's mouth water shamelessly, even as his empty stomach twisted itself into distressed knots. Days of hospital gunk, half-hearted cooking, and soggy takeaway had overtaxed his appetite in ways the time confined in bed had not.

He served himself some tea and picked at his dinner until his stomach settled and the familiar Hogwarts fare coaxed his hunger back.

Harry stomped his feet from the door to the visitor chairs to the window and back to the door, his attention on the curtained-off bed some distance away. The Healers had pulled Snape out of his arms nearly ten minutes ago. Harry's face still burned with embarrassment when he remembered the way he carried Snape into the ward, like a groom carrying his bride. He had blathered nonsense to the Healer who pushed him away from Snape's bedside. Harry's fingers felt ice-cold against his burning cheeks.

Ron and Hermione slumped against each other as they dozed on the hard visitor chairs. Every couple of minutes, Hermione's head jerked up from its perch on Ron's shoulder. She would struggle to blink away the sleep in her eyes, only to fall back to sleep, the pull too strong. Ron snored on, unbothered as Hermione continued to use him as her pillow.

Harry could hear his own body scream for a bit of rest. His friends wouldn't mind if he lay down on top of them both and slept. But then a flutter of the curtains or a harshly-whispered word would catch Harry's attention and he would start pacing again.

Professor McGonagall stood by the door, her eyes following Harry as he finished lap after lap. She took hold of Harry's sleeve as he shuffled past her for the umpteenth time. "You're giving me a headache."

"Sorry," he said. He leaned against the wall by the window and rubbed at the dirt and blood encrusted into his skin.

The curtain around Snape's bed twitched. Harry jumped to attention.

"Potter-"

"Professor McGonagall," one of the Healers, a young woman with dark hair and hard eyes, slipped out from behind the curtain. Flecks of blood decorated the front of her lime green uniform. Harry craned his neck to catch some glimpse of Snape, but the curtain snapped back into place, keeping the man out of sight.

"Healer Fetteridge," McGonagall said, taking a step forward. She clasped her hands together. "How is he?"

"He'll live," Fetteridge said with a scowl. She cleaned away the blood with a flick of her wand. "There was a tooth fragment embedded in the wound, not so small that it's undetectable, but too small for amateurs to notice." She glanced at Harry from the corner of her eye. "If it wasn't for all the Blood-Replenishing Potion in him, he would've most certainly bled to death."

"Can I see him?" Harry said, taking a step towards the Healer.

Fetteridge stared at Harry, the expression on her face turning even cooler, before rolling her eyes and turning her back to him. "We will be keeping him on sleeping potions for the next twenty-four hours to allow his body to recover," she said to Professor McGonagall. "But Healer Smethwyck believes he will make a full recovery." She scowled. "Unfortunately."

"Fetteridge," McGonagall said, her voice pitched low in warning.

"Sorry, Professor," the healer said, the scowl still on her face.

A silvery streak of light zipped through the air. It stopped between the two women. "Minerva," Professor Flitwick's voice began, the sound reed-thin and growing thinner with each word.

Harry sneaked closer to Snape's bed and slipped through a gap between the curtains. An older Healer stood by Snape's bed, his back to Harry. His wand traced glowing green lines over the gauze wrapped around Snape's neck and shoulder.

Snape slept, undisturbed by the Healer's ministrations. His sallow skin looked ghost-white against the pale sheets. They had pulled his hair up and away from his face, the blood-stiffened strands left pointing in jagged directions. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath. Harry drew closer, his hand itching to touch.

"You shouldn't be here," Healer Smethwyck said, not looking up from his wandwork. "Where's Healer Fetteridge?"

Harry jerked his hand away. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. "I wanted to see if he was all right."

Smethwyck huffed. "And now that you have, you can go." He lifted away his wand. The pale green lines dissolved into the gauze, leaving no trace. "He's not in any state right now to see you mooning over him."

"Mooning?" Harry's face and neck grew hotter. "I'm not mooning over him."

Smethwyck gave Harry a long look. He flicked his wand in the air, Summoning a hospital gown and making short work of clothing the unconscious professor. "Why don't you go home and take a bath?" he said. "He'll still be here when you get back."

"Potter, where are you?" McGonagall asked from the other side of the curtain.

"Do you promise?" Harry said, his voice low.

"This is a hospital, Mr Potter," Smethwyck said as he stared straight into Harry's eyes. "Until he's healed, he's as safe as houses."

The curtain rings clanged against each other as Professor McGonagall pulled the curtains out of the way. Behind her, Fetteridge was glaring daggers at Harry. Ron and Hermione hovered behind the two women, sleepily trying to get a glimpse. "Healer Smethwyck, apologies. Mr Potter, I'm returning to the castle. Are you staying here?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"No," Smethwyck said. "Look at him. He's filthy and can barely stand on his feet, he's so exhausted."

Harry bristled. "I'm standing right now."

"The patient needs rest," Smethwyck pushed on. "And no one can rest while Harry Potter is here, hanging around."

"I don't have time to argue," McGonagall said. "Healer Smethwyck, I'll return when I can. Potter, I expect you back at the castle soon." She gave Harry's shoulder a light pat. "Weasley? Granger?"

"We'll wait for Harry," Ron said. Hermione nodded her head. McGonagall patted their shoulders as well before walking quickly out of the ward.

Fetteridge frowned at Harry. She crossed her arms.

Something about her expression rankled Harry. "Severus Snape is a good man," he said, staring the woman down.

"A good man wouldn't have killed Albus Dumbledore," she replied.

"Fetteridge," Smethwyck said. "You have been warned before."

Fetteridge threw her hands in the air. "Does that even matter anymore?" she said. "If Harry Potter is here," she pointed a sharp finger at Harry, "and Severus Snape's there, then that means You-Know-Who is gone!"

Smethwyck corralled Fetteridge away from the bed. "Gone or not," he hissed, one hand on her elbow, "you're a Healer. You cannot let your personal feelings stop you from doing your job." The curtains cut them from view.

Ron and Hermione moved to stand on either side of Harry. The Healers did a good job of cleaning away all the blood. Snape's hand was so clean and white, Harry was wary of touching it.

Hermione nudged Harry with her shoulder. "I think that bath idea's a good one," she said.

"And I think we should go before my mum sends us a Howler," Ron said. He gave a weak shudder.

"I want to take him back to the castle with us," Harry said.

That brought his friends short. "I don't think that's a good idea," Ron said. "Even if you're suddenly all 'Snape's good' doesn't mean everyone's going to agree with you."

Harry frowned. "You're right." Ron and Hermione hadn't see Snape's memories. Only Harry knew not just what Snape had done, but why. So it fell to him to convince the world Severus Snape was the best and the bravest of them all.

He had just accomplished one impossible feat. What's another?

"It's probably safer for him here," Hermione said. "We're the only ones who know he's here."

"Well," Ron said. "Us and the Healers. And McGonagall. Hardly anyone at all."

He clenched his fists. The thought of leaving Snape alone and vulnerable bothered him more than he could say. He needed- "Kreacher."

The old house-elf appeared behind Harry with a heavy pop. Kreacher's rags were grimier and more blood-splattered than usual. The metal skewer in his hand was just as dirty. "Kreacher is here, Master," he said.

"I need you to watch over Professor Snape for me," Harry said, lowering himself on one knee to look at the elf in the eye. "Make sure no one does anything to him while I'm gone and tell me when he wakes up."

"Kreacher will watch over the Headmaster, yes," Kreacher said. He wiped the skewer on his rags and tucked the thin rod under his equally thin arm.

"I don't think he's the Headmaster anymore, Kreacher," Hermione said.

The house-elf narrowed his eyes. "Master's friend thinks she knows everything, but knows nothing. Is that all, Master?"

"Yeah, that's all, Kreacher, thanks."

Kreacher shot Hermione another dark look before disappearing from sight.

"Guess he still doesn't like you," Ron said.

A pouch filled with dried elderflower petals and willow bark bobbed about in the bathwater, giving the water a faintly medicinal smell. It wasn't a true potion, but as Severus plucked the pouch out of the water and squeezed the last drops out of it, he could feel some of the healing properties dribble through his fingers.

Severus scoffed at his own ridiculous thoughts and tossed the pouch into the bathroom sink. This bath was the closest thing he had come to brewing in what felt like ages, and it's a oversized cup of herbal tea.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub and trailed his fingers through the hot water. The water at Spinner's End never felt this inviting, never this perfectly clean and soothing. He worked on the buttons on his sleeve, wearily nudging each one out of their buttonholes.

A knock on his door startled him. He froze, his fingers tangled in the buttonholes, and held his breath. No one should know he was here.

Perhaps, if he pretended to be asleep—

Several more knocks. "Severus Snape, I can see the light shining from underneath the door."

Ah, Minerva. The perfect way to end a day.

Severus let out a hard sigh and got back on his feet. He redid the buttons on his sleeve and shuffled to the door.

Minerva frowned at him as he opened it. A bit of tartan covered her neck, a lonely spot of color against her black mourning robes. "What are you doing, hiding down here?" she said. She craned her head to look past him into the rooms. "You haven't been down here all year."

Severus moved to block her view. "How did you know I was here?"

"The portraits wouldn't stop whispering about it," Minerva said. "At the rate gossip travels here, the whole castle should find out by tomorrow morning."

"Or earlier." He opened the door wide enough to let her pass through. "Since you're here, we can discuss a few things." He turned to find the dinner tray gone and a full tea service with chocolate digestives and its own spindly table placed between his sofa and the fire. "I said, rest!" he said, raising his head to the ceiling. Stubborn, imbecilic elves.

"Well, I was hoping to just talk," Minerva said. "And to see that you're feeling better, of course."

"Of course." He stood by the door, silently praying she would take the hint and not sit down. "I am still planning to step down as Headmaster."

"And I still think that would be a terrible decision." Minerva sat down on his sofa and began pouring out two cups of tea. Severus tried not to think of the lovely, steaming hot, faintly medicinal bath still waiting for him. Minerva placed a biscuit on top of a filled cup and set it close to Severus. "Stop rolling your eyes and sit down."

He crossed his arms, making no move to join her. "I'm still quite full from dinner," he said.

"Suit yourself." She helped herself to a biscuit.

"Whether you think it's a terrible decision or not," he said, "I plan to start the process of stepping down tomorrow morning. I'm certain that you'll be instated as the new Headmistress before the next school year begins, as is your due."

"What makes you believe that I'd want to be Headmistress? The school still has a perfectly capable Headmaster." She took a sip of her tea. "In spite of, well, everything, you did keep the school from falling completely apart this past year." She looked up. "Imagine what you can do now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone."

"I have," Severus said. "And those fantasies never included staying here."

Harry didn't remember much of the way up to Gryffindor Tower. He hadn't even realized that they were even walking in that direction until they stood, arm in arm, in front of the painting of the Fat Lady.

"Harry Potter!" the Fat Lady cried out, throwing her arms out wide. "Good job, my darling boy! We are so very proud of you!"

"Thank you," Harry said. Dumbledore's portrait had said very much the same thing when they sneaked back up to the Headmaster's office for Snape's memories. The gargoyle barely glanced at them when they walked past it.

"We, uh, we don't know the password," Hermione said.

The Fat Lady shook her head. "Oh dear, that is a real shame," she said. "All three of you look so tired out, you must be desperate to crawl right into bed. But I can't let you in unless you say the password, resist."

"Resist?" Ron echoed.

The Fat Lady winked at them and swung open to reveal the entrance to the common room. They hurried inside before the painting changed her mind.

Inside, the rich red and gold decorations welcomed them from their long journey away, but there was an indiscernible sense of neglect in the air. There were no scraps of parchments and forgotten quills littering the tables. No ash lingered in the fireplace. The silence struck Harry as they climbed up to the boys' dormitories.

Their room still had five beds, as if the school had expected all the Seventh Year boys to return. Harry tapped his knuckles against one of the posts of his bed. "Is it silly," he said, "to get a bit teary-eyed over a bed?"

Ron threw himself into his, bouncing once before settling. "You're probably tired, mate."

He probably was. He showered the last several months' worth of dirt and weariness, too worried that he would fall asleep if he had taken a bath instead. He scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed again, washing himself until the water circling the drain ran clear, and then stood under the hot downpour just because he could. He had forgotten how good a hot shower felt.

When he finally emerged from the shower, pink and wrinkly-fingered, he found his moleskin pouch resting on top of a clean set of pyjamas, the filthy clothing he had changed out of nowhere in sight. He touched the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the pyjama top, feeling that same odd rush of emotion he had felt at the sight of his bed, a feeling of homecoming entangled with nostalgia.

He dressed quickly and crawled into his old four-post bed. Ron's snores and Hermione's soft breathing from the next bed over soon lulled Harry to sleep, only for something to shake him awake.

"Wha?" he sat up, disoriented and fumbling for his glasses and his repaired wand. Night had fallen while he had slept. Ron's bed was empty; Neville was in his, curled up in a ball under his duvet and mumbling in his sleep.

Kreacher stood on the bed between Harry's feet. His giant eyes reflected the faint moonlight. "Master," he croaked quietly, "the Headmaster. He's awake."

Harry's heart started racing. "Can you take me to him?" he said without thinking.

Kreacher nodded his head and wrapped his bony hand around Harry's wrist. Harry sucked in a breath as Kreacher Apparated them out of Hogwarts without another word and exhaled as he landed hard on St. Mungo's cold linoleum floor.

The curtains around Snape's bed were parted open. Two people in Auror robes stood around the bed while several other people conversed nearby.

Professor McGonagall drank from a paper cup near the window, her eyes on the bed. She tilted her head slightly towards Healer Smethwyck and Kingsley Shacklebolt, whose bald head shone under the lit crystal bubbles above their heads. "The dampening effect on his healing should be negligble," he said, his low voice a rumble above the clanging of heavy iron chains.

Harry slowly picked himself off from the floor. One of the Aurors flanking Shacklebolt spotted him. Harry's guts twisted; he knew that man.

"Harry Potter," Alphege Hutton said, surprise drawing his lips back in an awkward smile that pulled at the jagged scar on his face. "How did you get in here?"

The adults all turned to look at him. Harry held his head up high even as embarrassment rushed blood to his cheeks. No one looked impressive while barefooted and in schoolboy pyjamas, and Merlin only knew what shape his hair had dried into while he had slept. "What are you doing to Snape?"

Professor McGonagall stepped forward. "We are taking precautions." She nodded at Kingsley before striding towards Harry.

"Precautions against what?" Harry's voice bounced off the walls. "An unconscious man?"

McGonagall herded Harry to the other side of the room. She stared down at him from over the rim of her glasses. "I know you believe that he's good," she said quietly as Kingsley moved to stand just behind her shoulder. "But Severus Snape is still a dangerous man."

"Maybe he is," Harry hissed, "but he doesn't deserve to be in chains."

"Harry," Kingsley said, "Severus Snape is a Death Eater and a murderer. You yourself witnessed what Snape had done. You know where his true allegiances lie."

"Yes, with Dumbledore!" His eyes darted between McGonagall and Shacklebolt, searching for a sign that they were truly listening to him. "He was Dumbledore's man through and through." McGonagall opened her mouth. "Yes, even then," he added before she could speak. "He's always been Dumbledore's man, and it was because of him that I was able to defeat Vold-You-Know-Who in the end."

"Harry, even if what you say is true-"

"Professor," Harry interjected, "these past seven years, how did I feel about Snape?"

Minerva glanced back at Kingsley, who shrugged. "You hated him," she said.

"I hated him," Harry said with a hard nod. "I was always suspicious of him. So were you, and Kingsley, and the whole Order. But that was the point! We weren't supposed to trust him because Dumbledore wanted it that way. He needed Snape to keep spying on Voldem-on him, and if that meant-" Harry's words caught in the back of his throat. "Dumbledore ordered him to do it," he pushed on, his voice dropping, "so that he could stay on Voldemort's good side."

At the sound of You-Know-Who's name, Minerva pushed Harry away from the door and behind her. She and Kingsley both tensed and drew their wands.

They waited, breaths stilled and wands aimed at the ward's sole door. The Aurors by the bed straightened, aware but unsure as to what was happening.

After a long moment, Kingsley let out a long breath and relaxed his stance. "You should know better than to say that name," he said.

"He's gone," Harry said, his own heart beating fast. "And the only reason he's really gone is because Snape helped me."

McGonagall kept her wand at the ready.

"Professor, you trusted me last night when I sneaked back into the castle because I told you I was doing what Dumbledore asked me to do," Harry said, unable to see his Head of House's face. "Please trust me about Snape now."

"Others will need proof," she said, not looking back at him.

"I have that." Harry squared his shoulders. "If I have to convince the entire world, I will."

Minerva set her cup down. "Fantasies," she repeated softly. "Is that how you would describe your plans for the future?"

Severus's spine stiffened. "That is the word I have chosen for them, yes."

"Then, perhaps, it's time not to think of them as fantasies, but as something that can be reality." She brushed the crumbs off her hands. "And that includes continuing on as Headmaster."

Severus's lips curled, a sour feeling bubbling inside him. "I'm starting believe that you do not want the job for yourself."

"To be honest," Minerva said, "I don't."

"Lazy Gryffindor."

"But this is not about what I want," she said, ignoring his jibe. "This is about what is best for the school, and you as Headmaster is just that."

"I hardly think a war criminal is what's best for Hogwarts," Severus said.

"But you are not a war criminal," she said. "You are a hero. You're the bravest man Harry Potter had ever known and an exemplar of the best of Slytherin House."

"Are you quoting directly from the upcoming press release?"

She scowled. "Albus entrusted the school to you."

"To keep Hogwarts safe during the war, and—"

"And now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone," Minerva interrupted, rising to her feet, "you believe that you've done your duty? Did you not see the damage the school has sustained? Do you not feel the tears in the wards? We have worked for days on repairs, but nothing stays mended. We build a wall back up, the next morning, it collapses back to rumble. What wards we try to recast fall apart if you so much as look at them the wrong way."

"Are you implying that it my duty to repair the school as well?" Severus said. "To mend the centuries'-old wards on my own? I'm a potioneer, not a bricklayer."

"I am saying," Minerva said, "that the fight might be over, but there's still work to be done. And the work would go a lot faster if the Head of the bloody school was here to lend a hand." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you not care about the state you will leave the school if you walk away now? Hogwarts is your home—"

"When," he said, a heat rising up his neck as he spoke, "has Hogwarts ever been my home?" Bile coated his tongue. "A prison, a refuge, a place I needed to protect? Certainly, but a home?"

"Severus—"

"Have you even considered that perhaps I'm tired?" Severus's voice grew louder. "That I want a life without all of this hanging above my head? I nearly died. And now, now that I can maybe think of a life outside this place, you demand that I stay?"

"I am not demanding that you stay—"

"Do you prefer the word 'guilting' instead?"

"That is hardly a word."

"But you don't deny that is what you're trying to do."

"Believe it or not—"

"I don't."

"—I want what's best for you, Severus," she said. "Tucking yourself away in that hovel of yours, hiding from the Wizarding World, it's not good for you. Whatever you might think, Hogwarts is your home—do not argue with me about this," she raised her hand, "and you cannot deny that it wants you here."

It chafed him to admit she was right. It didn't stop him from saying, "I hardly think the Wizarding World would let their precious children come to Hogwarts when they learn I am still in charge."

"They did this past year," Minerva said. "And it shouldn't be hard to convince the rest." There was a glint in the old cat's eye. "Once they find out Harry will be returning as well-"

That brought Severus short. "Potter's returning?"

"He wishes to take his N.E.W.T.s," Minerva said.

"Potter wishes to take his N.E.W.T.s," Severus parroted. "Granger, I can understand wanting to return," the perfectionistic little swot, "but Potter's no academic."

Minerva shrugged and helped herself to another biscuit. "He said it's important for his future."

"His future." Severus scoffed. "All the boy has to do is bat his eyes and Kingsley would give him that Auror post he's dreamed of without question." It should be easier than talking his way into winning Severus's freedom, surely.

"You're full of interesting word choices tonight, Severus."

"What is the real reason he's returning?" Severus demanded. Potter had never struck him as someone too cowardly to stand on his own feet. He was too stubborn, too wilful to let such measly things like qualifications and protocol stand in the way of what he wanted. He was an adult. He should be riding the public's wave of adulation and sheer gratitude to whatever cushy job he'd be grievously unfit to perform. It made no sense to Severus for Potter to take that step back into school life.

"Perhaps that's something you should ask him yourself," Minerva said.

The pin of the rose boutonnière kept pricking Harry through the thin suit. The borrowed dress shoes pinching his toes squeaked against the linoleum floor. He swore silently and took slower, more deliberate steps. He should have taken the time to change out of his funeral clothes, traded the oxfords for his trainers. The Invisibility Cloak didn't muffle sounds, after all.

It was long past nine when he sneaked into the hospital. The ward was all but deserted. A candle burned low on a table set up by the door. Muggle playing cards lay face-down, abandoned mid-game. A red cloak was draped over the back of one of the two chairs. Harry pulled his Cloak tighter around himself and tiptoed in.

A draft disturbed the curtains around Snape's bed. A faint Lumos winked to life on the other side of the curtains, throwing shadows against the thin fabric.

Harry rushed forward on his toes, his wand in his hand before he thought to draw it. Through the gaps, he could make out the dark red Auror robes of a large man standing by Snape's bed.

The Auror held his wand high, keeping the magical light on Snape. He moved with deliberate, measured steps. "Severus," he whispered. The fingers of his free hand grazed a line up Snape's chest. "Are you awake?" Harry slipped his hands through the gap in the curtains and drew them apart.

Auror Hutton leaned over the bed, his wand held in a loose grip above the sleeping professor's head. "Still knocked out by the Dreamless Sleep?" The iron chains around Snape's wrists were black against the pale sheets. "Would a kiss wake you up?" the Auror said, his face creeping closer to Snape's. Their noses brushed.

Something in Harry snapped apart, jagged with fury. It bubbled hot against his heart and filled the back of his throat. He cast a hex at the Auror without thinking.

The larger man stumbled away from the bed, his wand falling out of his hand and clattering on the floor. The Lumos died out.

Hutton groaned and clutched his shoulder, where Harry's Stinging Jinx had struck him. Harry held his breath as the Invisibility Cloak slipped off his shoulders and fell to the floor. He kept his wand pointed at Hutton, something akin to panic shaking its way through his limbs. "Stay away from him," he said quietly.

"Harry Potter?" Hutton said, squinting at Harry. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I can say the same to you."

Hutton searched for his wand in the feeble candlelight. "I'm doing my job protecting the professor," he said.

"Don't think harassing him in his sleep counts as protecting," Harry said.

Hutton snatched his wand off the floor. The Lumos flickered back on, dimmer than before. He stared long and hard at Harry's face. A smirk formed on the man's lips. Harry tried not squirm. "Never thought Harry Potter of all people would be the type," he said.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. A shiver of pure mortification ran down his spine. "What are you talking about?" he said, his tone even.

"Sneaking around in the dead of night to attack an injured man?" Hutton shook his head. "Not something I thought a 'hero' would do."

"I could say the same to you, Auror."

"Everything all right here, Hutton?" a woman said. She stood just to the right of Harry, her too-long arms and too-long face reminding Harry of a mantis. She kept her wand aimed at Harry's hand.

"Just someone wishing to pay a visit to the professor, Moss," Hutton said.

"Visiting hours ended ages ago," Moss said.

"What's visiting hours to Harry Potter?" Hutton said in a Snape-like drawl. "Perhaps you should come back in the morning, when it's more appropriate." His gaze raked up and down Harry's body. "And not dressed like you're on your way to a funeral."

"You don't know the first thing about being appropriate," Harry said. "Always trying to kiss Snape when he clearly doesn't want you to."

A thunderous look formed on Hutton's face. His face burned a dark, bruised color in the dim light. "That's none of your business, kid."

"Wait, kiss?" Moss said. "Hutton, did you send me off for coffee so that you could kiss the greasy git?"

"He's not a git," Hutton hissed back. "You Gryffindors always think the same."

"I was a Ravenclaw, you arse!"

Harry grabbed his Cloak off the floor before either Auror could step on it, or worse, tried to touch it. "Do you mind if I had to time alone with the professor?"

"Yes," Hutton said.

"No, of course not," Moss said, giving Hutton a sharp look before focusing her attention on Harry. "But only for a minute. You're not supposed to be here this late."

"All the more reason to send him home," Hutton said but he shuffled around Harry. He dropped himself into one of the chairs by the table and gave Harry a dirty look.

Harry moved to close the curtains. "Leave them open," Hutton barked. Harry glowered back at him and yanked them closed.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Moss hissed at Hutton, her voice perfectly audible from the other side of the curtain.

The little candle by Snape's bedside lit itself with a tiny spark. The light gave Snape's pallid skin a soft, warm glow. Sleep hadn't lightened the deep, dark circles under the man's eyes. It hadn't filled the hollowed-out cheeks, but it had smoothed the lines that wrinkled Snape's brow and gathered in the corners of his eyes. Harry sucked in a breath and drew closer. Snape barely stirred.

"Just because he's Harry Potter, doesn't mean he should be alone with him," Hutton grumbled, almost too low to be heard.

Harry slipped his fingers under the iron shackle around Snape's wrist. He curled them loosely around Snape's hand. It felt warmer than Harry had expected, the skin calloused and dry. He rubbed his thumb across Snape's knuckles, mesmerized as the loose skin folded and smoothed out.

"Weren't you the one praising him yesterday?" Moss said, her voice trailing away. "For saving him?"

Snape would absolutely hate having Harry's hand in his. "If you wake up and tell me to bugger off, I will," he whispered. Snape did not respond.

Hutton grunted but said nothing.

Harry brushed a stray lock of hair away from Snape's nose. He smoothed the hair away from the man's brow. Sleep had given Snape's lips a soft, pinkish color. A wild, insane urge rose up inside Harry, which he hastily squashed down. Shame burned through him as he took a step back.

He was no better than Hutton, trying to steal kisses from a sleeping man.

"I forgot to ask if you liked milk and sugar in your coffee," Moss said, cutting through Harry's thoughts.

Harry struggled with the rose pinned to his lapel, biting back a yelp as the damn pin poked him again. He jerked the pin out, almost dropping the boutonnière onto the floor.

He rubbed the soft petals between his finger and thumb. "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier when you were awake," he said softly. He tucked the boutonnière in Snape's hand, curling the man's long fingers over the flower.

He fastened the long pin back into his lapel, taking care not to poke himself again. "I'll bring proper flowers when I visit tomorrow," he said.

Hutton stood on the other side of the curtains, looming over Harry when he pulled them back. "Visiting time is over."

Harry glared back. "I heard." He looked back at Snape one last time before pushing past the Auror.

Moss gave Harry a limp wave when he walked past her.

"He's an interesting kid, isn't he?" she said as the door to the ward shut behind him. She spotted Hutton's scowl. "Aww, you upset that Snape asks about Harry Potter more than he asks about you?" Her smile widened, flashing sharp teeth. "Or that he caught you kissing the poor professor."

Hutton glowered at Moss. "Mind your own damn business," he said as he checked Snape's chains, deliberately running his hands over Snape's arms as he inspected each loop.

His jaw clenched when he found the rose Potter had put in Snape's hand. He grabbed it with both hands, nearly ripping the boutonnière in two like a Christmas cracker.

He crammed the boutonnière into his pocket instead, crushing the delicate white rose petals. Severus deserved proper flowers, not some funereal rubbish.

The bath had not been as relaxing as Severus had hoped. The warmth sank into his body and melted away the mild aches, but it could not soften his tense muscles or silence the unease in his heart.

To his utter annoyance, the bedroom didn't reek of dust and disuse. Surfaces had been polished clean. A beeswax candle by his bed shone light on the swept corners. The smooth linens all but billowed fresh, clean breezes into the room. A pressed nightshirt sat folded at the foot of the bed, waiting for his approval.

"What is the point," he groused as he dried himself, "of being Headmaster if even the damn house-elves don't obey me?" He shook out the unfamiliar nightshirt and stared at the high collar kept closed by a tight line of pearl-like buttons.

He slipped it on, irritated by how silken the fabric felt against his skin. He tugged at the collar and smoothed it against his neck, ignoring the bumps and ridges underneath.

He crawled into the sheets, irked by how soft and warm and offensively comfortable the bed was. The mattress remembered the curve of his spine. The pillow cooled his cheek. He lay on his back and waited for sleep to overtake him or for the candle to burn itself out.

In the silence, he could almost feel the hum of the castle ebb and flow in time with his breathing. His right hand rubbed at his left forearm, kneading and scratching at a mark that was no longer there. Restlessness gnawed at him, his thoughts turning in tight, unforgiving circles.

Severus tossed the bedclothes aside and pulled on an old dressing gown over his nightshirt. The clock on the mantelpiece said it was very nearly midnight.

He cleaned the dust off the framed photograph with his thumb. She was nowhere in sight.

Harry climbed the stairs up to the first floor two steps at a time, crushing the small bouquet in his hands out of sheer nerves. He didn't know what any of the flowers in the bouquet even were; the florist had explained while she tied them together, but Harry's mind had been elsewhere.

Snape might had been asleep when Harry promised to visit again, but Harry was a man of his word. Yes, a day later than he had intended. Yes, after being chided by Professor McGonagall. The morning visiting hours had just started. Snape was a free man. And Harry-

He hesitated at the door to the ward, his hand on the handle. He took a deep breath before letting himself inside.

The Auror's table was gone, as were the Aurors and the chains and, to Harry's growing unease, Snape. The curtains that had kept him hidden away for the past few days were gone, the bed to which he had been chained freshly made.

"You just missed him," Healer Smethwyck said from his office desk, barely looking up from his paperwork. "He discharged himself this morning. Against his Healer's protests, mind." He jabbed at the parchment, leaving sploshes of ink in his wake. "Thinks that just because he could recreate a few life-saving miracles, he knows what's medically best."

"Do you know where he went?" Harry asked over the sound of his heart beating hard against his chest.

"He went home, didn't he?" Smethwyck said. "Maybe you should look for him there."

"Where's that?" Harry said softly.

Smethwyck looked up from his work. The quill twirled between his thumb and forefinger. "Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you," he said. He waved his hand at Harry, shooing him away. Harry took the hint, taking one last look at the empty bed before leaving.

Shoving the bruised bouquet under his arm, he went to the visitor toilets and locked himself in one of the stalls. He fished out his father's old Map from his moleskin pouch and spread it out over his knees. At a touch of his wand and a rushed vow, the Map opened itself to him, but the happy rush Harry usually felt at the sight of his father's name was dimmed against the knot of worry growing in his stomach.

He sat on the toilet seat, the stems and leaves digging into his armpit, and scanned the Map over and over again, searching for Snape's name. Other names jumped out at him, Hermione's and Ron's, Hagrid's as he walked back and forth across the grounds. Professor McGonagall was in the North Tower. Luna's in the Great Hall.

No one lurked down in the dungeons. No one paced in the Headmaster's office.

Harry stayed in the stall until his eyesight blurred and the Map shook too badly to read properly. "Mischief managed," he mumbled, wand tip to parchment, and tucked the Map away.

His fingers felt icy against his cheeks. The mirror above the sink cooed sympathies as he splashed some cold water on his face. "A little water isn't going to make all that red go away, dearie," it said as Harry wiped his face with the inside of his shirt. "Best to just cry and let it all out in one go,"

"I'm not crying," Harry said.

"There's nothing shameful in it, dear," the mirror said as he stormed out of the toilets, bouquet in hand. He Apparated to Hogwarts from behind a skip and dragged his feet to the school gate, the cold northern winds painfully refreshing against his flushed skin.

Hagrid spotted Harry as he shuffled by the groundkeeper's hut. He waved at Harry with a large, open hand.

Fang tottered up to Harry and licked his hand. He gave the old boarhound a scratch behind the ears.

"Going to check on the beasties," Hagrid said. He had a string of dead rabbits draped over his shoulder. "I could use an extra pair of hands. A few of the Thestrals are still healing from the battle, and I need to check up on them."

Harry shrugged but followed Hagrid into the edge of the Forest. They cut a winding path around uprooted trees and past destroyed paddocks. "Gonna start clearing all this next week," Hagrid said in lieu of an explanation as they moved deeper into the Forest. "Had to get everyone settled into their new homes first."

Hagrid looked down at the bouquet in Harry's hand. "What happened to those?"

"Dunno," Harry said. Most of the flowers had been sliced cleaned off. All that remained were the tissue-wrapped stems and a bit of the tiny white baby's-breath flowers. "I think I Splinched them on my way back." He stared down at the mangled bouquet, unable to let it fall, discarded, from his hand.

The canopy above their heads grew thicker. The forest grew dark and silent around them. A bird sang out, its song cut off mid-warble. Hagrid stopped by an ancient pine tree, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed a shrieking cry.

Fang dropped to his haunches and yawned, lapping at his jowls.

Hagrid started pulling the rabbits off the line. "Do you want to talk about it?" he said.

Harry shook his head. His eyes burned. "It's embarrassing," he said in a quiet voice.

A Thestral slipped out from between the trees, its white eyes glowing in the gloom. Hagrid shook one of the rabbits at it.

"Emotions ain't nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry," he said. The Thestral inched closer. He tossed the dead rabbit at the creature, which caught it with a snap of its teeth. "Especially after the week you've had. No one would think less of you if you cry now and then." He handed Harry a rabbit and nudged him towards the Thestrals slowly gathering around them.

"It's not that," Harry said. He lobbed the rabbit at a trio of Thestrals. They tore the rabbit apart between them. "It's-" One of the smaller Thestrals nudged him with its nose, searching for a treat of its own. He patted it and gently nudged it aside. "I went to see Snape and he wasn't there." He ran a hand over the Thestral's side. "The Healer said he went home."

"That's good," Hagrid said. "Means he's all healed up."

Harry blinked at the wetness in his eyes. "Yeah."

"But," Hagrid said, jerking his hand back before one of the Thestrals took his fingers as well as the rabbit he was feeding it, "I can understand why you're upset. It must have felt like the last drop that spilled the potion."

"I guess," Harry said, his eyes transfixed on the Thestral's glossy coat as he stroked its side. "I meant to see him yesterday. After Remus and Tonk's-" His fingers traced the bumps and ridges of the Thestral's bones. It made a trilling sound and stretched its wings, brushing Harry back.

"And you'll see him again," Hagrid said, tossing the last of the rabbits at the herd. He patted Harry's head, nearly knocking Harry to the ground. "Just wait and see."

Harry sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

The broken furniture clattered itself back together. The scorch marks Vanished off the stones. As he wandered through the halls, Severus charmed and cleaned and mended.

The Slytherin hourglass in the Entrance Hall clinked as the shards slotted back into place, the glass melting and smoothing itself new. "Fifty points to Slytherin," he awarded himself, amused as the emeralds tumbled down to the bottom bulb.

As he traveled up each floor, he prodded stones to slot themselves back into the walls. He pounded out the dents in a battered suit of armor. He cast spells because it was better than lying in the darkness of his bedroom, scratching at his forearm and counting his heartbeats.

He wandered through the halls, clearing away debris and losing himself in the familiar. Severus touched the walls and felt the thrum of the castle against his fingertips. A week had passed since he had last prowled through these corridors; it felt more like a lifetime.

A large section of the third-floor corridor had been destroyed. The outer wall had been blown apart, along with several rooms on either side. As Severus ran his hand along the wreckage, his heart began to palpitate.

He knew this corridor. He could taste the cloying, overripe romanticism soaked into these stones. He drew back as if scalded and wiped his hand on his dressing gown in disgust.

The pound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Severus drew himself into the shadows and held his wand at the ready.

Of course, he thought as Potter dashed around the corner, a bit of magical light on the tip of his wand and a piece of parchment in his hand. He was dressed in a thin t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, hardly the best sartorial choice for a midnight stroll. Severus pulled his dressing gown closed, willfully ignoring his own attire.

The boy stared, his shoulders rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath. The light of the Lumos gave his eyes an eerie glow.

"Snape."

Next time: Wrapping this shit up.