Harry found him standing out by the Black Lake, a dark silhouette against the growing pink brilliance of the dawn. He could not say in that moment how glad he was that the man hadn't simply disappeared.

He cleared his throat lightly, to make his approach known.

Snape did not turn. He continued to gaze out over the placid lake, stock-still, cloaked in the same torn and dirty robes he'd worn all night.

"They're serving breakfast."

"Marvelous." Still Snape did not move.

"McGonagall wanted to come hunt you down and drag you back, but I told her to give you space."

"Professor McGonagall, Potter. And a pity you could not follow your own advice."

Harry sighed. Of course the man would be difficult as ever. "You're still the headmaster, you know—"

"I abandoned my post."

Harry moved a step closer, and was pleased when Snape did not immediately retreat. In a way, this little dance reminded him of trying to approach a hippogriff. "I don't think you did, really. You were playing a role. And you were always protecting the students."

Snape hmphed.

Harry swallowed thickly. He was exhausted, and bruised and battered from all that had passed the night before. His eyes burned behind his scuffed glasses, almost watering from the brilliance of the growing daylight. And all he wanted was to find some way to fix this—whatever this was.

Snape had been a surly, godawful git throughout the years. He'd been cruel and prejudiced, and on many occasions downright nasty. But he did not deserve to be left out of this celebration. He did not deserve to go without recognition for his dedication to the cause, or the sacrifices he'd made as a spy.

And too, Harry had the feeling now, emotionally drained and numb from grief as he was, that Snape needed support now too, that he was also still grieving his loss. Dumbledore had been his only friend, and his mentor, and Snape had been the one to end his life. And then been forced to celebrate it as his greatest accomplishment with the other Death Eaters and Voldemort. He'd never gotten a chance to mourn.

"I told them what you've done." And he had. Huddled in the darkened Great Hall, caught between ecstasy and deep grief, he'd told the thirty or so gathered around him—Order members, students, professors, Aurors—the barest details of Snape's service. He told them about Dumbledore's plans, and the way the man had continued to consult the late headmaster's portrait for guidance. How he'd protected Harry for years, and how, in the end, he had urged Harry to make the choice for himself rather than simply follow the path that had been laid out before him.

Snape cast a derisive glance over at Harry, one eyebrow arched.

"Um. Mc—Professor McGonagall feels bad for, uh, calling you a coward—"

"A filthy, gutless coward, if memory serves. Is there a point to this, Potter?"

The man was impossible. "Look, we saw all the Death Eaters you rounded up outside, and I know you went around feeding people healing potions and sending them up to the castle. But that's all taken care of now, so you should come back—"

"I would rather not, unless the Aurors have need of me so soon." Snape's sneer twisted into a grimace. "I'd hoped for a few more moments of freedom—"

"That's not at all what I meant!" Harry huffed a little, having a hard time containing his frustration. "Why are you being so… so…."

"Antisocial?"

"You're one of us," Harry stated firmly. "We all know that now, so stop freezing out here and come where back to celebrate. That's where you belong."

"I am not public property, Potter. If I do not wish to go—"

"Why? Why are you hiding out here, all alone? You don't have to hide anymore! It's done! You're free! Yeah, some people might be a little put off, but they have to know you did what you could while hiding your loyalties from Voldemort—"

Snape's lip started to curl in a snarl, and Harry suspected he was about to be admonished for speaking the monster's name, but Snape did not cut him off for that. "I do not care one whit for what they think, and I have no desire to mingle—"

"Professor, you're a huge part of this. You deserve an Order of Merlin. First class, this time." Cautiously, Harry stepped just a hand's breadth closer. Snape remained. "I'd like you to come back."

Snape turned to face Harry, his face twisted in a vicious look of mockery. "And I suppose that you believe your wishes take precedence over all else? That you are the darling savior now, that I should bow down and kiss your feet like the others—"

"No," Harry replied softly. "But I thought we were past this. I thought… I thought you didn't hate me anymore. As much, at least."

Snape's mocking expression faded, and his eyes closed lightly. He turned back away from Harry, eyes still closed, and replied, "I do not hate you. But you do infuriate me, you reckless little twit. Taunting the Dark Lord, inviting him to feel remorse, of all things. Do you know how many years of my life I have wasted protecting your worthless hide? Do you have any idea of how close you came to losing it today thanks to your theatrics? There was nothing left to say, nothing, and yet you lingered, inviting the man to finish you off! I had successfully started verbally sparring with him, and you still did not seize your opportunity. After all this time—"

"It worked, though—"

"I do not care that it worked! I do not care that your nauseating streak of impossible luck won out yet again! I care, Potter, that after all you have lived through, all you have witnessed, you still do not have an ounce of sense in your brain. And you wish to be an Auror? You'll be dead within the year! You'll waste precious moments trying to pry some dark wizard's life story from his lips, and he will finish you off with a curse! I can only hope that it will be slow and lingering, so that you perhaps have time to contemplate the error of your ways before you cross through the Veil—"

"Maybe you could teach me, sir. Common sense and all that."

The earnest, open suggestion seemed to halt Snape in his tracks. The man's eyes flew open, locking on Harry in an expression of disbelief, before rolling in exasperation. "I highly doubt it."

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about keeping me safe anymore—"

Snape whipped over to face him, glaring so fiercely that Harry stopped mid-sentence. "What makes you believe that?"

Now Harry was the speechless one. "Um… well, Voldemort's gone—"

"I did not vow to your mother to protect you until the Dark Lord was vanquished, you imbecile. I vowed to protect you, period, and I am not a man to go back on my word."

That sudden fervent declaration sank deep into Harry, burning through him in a not altogether unpleasant way. "Oh. Well. Well maybe… maybe you should definitely train me, then, so I'll have a better chance of surviving." Harry didn't know why he was suggesting this. It just seemed right. "You know, less work for you down the road."

Snape merely hmphed again. "I somehow doubt I could instruct you to be less reckless."

"Yeah, you're a pretty terrible teacher—"

"Only when I have terrible students."

Harry swallowed thickly and inched a hair closer to his exhausted professor. "Well… maybe I could work at being a less-terrible student. I… I really could use the help. The Half-Blood Prince is the only reason I didn't fail potions last year."

Snape's lip curled in an unfriendly sneer. "I am aware. Though I will admit, it took a great deal of the sting out of Slughorn's bragging about your prowess in potions."

"But that proves I can be instructed, see…." Harry tried to force the hitch down in his voice. It was difficult. It felt as if this—whatever it was, this fine thread of a truce that existed between them, the fiber that had been woven in those moments prior to Voldemort's defeat, could strain and snap at any moment. He desperately wanted to maintain that link, but he didn't know how. He didn't know what he could do or say to dissipate the animosity that was once again crackling off of Snape in waves. "Look, sir—I… I'm sorry I've been so… well, terrible to you. But I was a stupid kid then! I didn't know any better, okay? I thought… I didn't know how much you were doing to protect me. I thought you just hated me because of my father. I never knew…."

Harry tried to find the words, but it was no use. The more he babbled, the more aware he was that there was nothing he could say to salvage the tentative relationship between the two of them. And wasn't that a miserable feeling?

"Never mind, sir," Harry mumbled. "I just want you to know that I wish it had been different. You know, between us." And with that he turned to leave.

Snape surprised him, though. "I do as well."

Harry froze before turning slowly, carefully back to Snape, doing his best not to startle the man.

The potions professor was still gazing out over the lake, his hands clasped before him. "Perhaps if you'd respected me more, you would have been more apt to listen to my instructions rather than asininely risking your life."

Harry flushed a little more this time. "I really am sorry, Professor. I was just doing what I thought was right. I—I didn't mean to disrespect you—"

"Oh, do stop groveling, Potter," the man growled, rolling his eyes. "It ill suits you."

Harry winced. "Sorry. I'll just leave you alone now."

Snape snorted. "The melodrama does not suit you either. I don't know how you ever plan to get anything out of my instruction if you cannot tolerate a bit of ill humor."

Harry's throat suddenly tightened. "You—you mean you'll teach me?"

"Do you plan on completing your seventh year and sitting your NEWTs?"

The question caught Harry off guard. He hadn't thought much past the demise of Voldemort. Hell, he hadn't really planned on surviving this long, self-sacrifice aside. "Um… I don't—"

"The answer to that question, Mr. Potter, had best be an unequivocal and enthusiastic 'yes' if you would like any such arrangement between the two of us to exist."

"You're coming back to Hogwarts then?" Harry asked, barely able to contain the lilt of excitement in his words. He didn't quite know why. Maybe it was because the bond he felt with the man was a hell of a lot deeper and stronger than he'd initially judged it to be. After all, Snape had walked him to his death, hadn't he? Snape had poured out his innermost self into the memories he'd given Harry. Even now, Harry could see beyond the misanthropic exterior to the complicated, often cruel, but essentially good man beneath.

"As I am fairly certain I am actually in the ninth circle of hell, yes, I'm certain I am doomed to return to that godforsaken institution and the cretins we call students."

Harry's eyes widened for a moment, and he almost began to protest before he caught Snape's very-slightly arched brow. And he realized that Snape was joking. Maybe. "As headmaster?"

"Again, this being the ninth circle of hell, I cannot imagine my suffering would be complete without being forced back into a mediocre position. Potions, likely. So no, I am certain Minerva will be relieving me of those duties."

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't truly be hell without the bane of your existence there either, so I'd better plan on attending," Harry murmured, grinning a bit to himself.

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. 'Bane of my existence' is a bit of a stretch. You are hardly so important. Perhaps an enormous and ever-present thorn in my side." Snape reached into his robes for a moment, and withdrew a shimmery wad of folded fabric. "Speaking of thorns… there. So you can sneak about the castle and off the grounds and generally make a nuisance of yourself, all while endangering your life."

"Um… maybe you should keep it for a bit, sir," Harry hedged. "So—see, if you come back and decide that you still hate everyone and want to disappear—"

"I am capable of a simple Disillusionment Charm, Mr. Potter," Snape informed him haughtily.

"Sure, but this is easier and better, right?" Harry bit his lip. "Though actually—I might need that soon…."

"Sick of your adoring fans already?"

Harry snatched the cloak without another word. "Yep. And you will be too."

Snape scoffed. "I doubt I'll have fans."

"Right."

"And while we are on the subject of what a pest you will be next year…."

Harry blinked at the man a few times. "Yes?"

"How do you plan on compensating for the year you've spent out of school?"

Harry just blinked again. "Um. Well, we still had to learn stuff while we were running around—"

"You had no formalized curriculum. Trust me when I say that 'life experience' will not appear in any capacity on the NEWTs."

"Well… I'll just pay really good attention in classes, I suppose. Why?"

"Because I made a vow to your mother, and I can only imagine upholding that vow will be infinitely more difficult if you are an uneducated slouch mooching off of the whole of wizarding society because you never managed to graduate from Hogwarts."

Harry flushed. "Okay, for one, I'm going to graduate—"

"Yes, you will," Snape agreed, "because I will make sure of it. Congratulations, Mr. Potter, you have been signed up for summer classes. I will be certain to inform your relatives once we have finalized our arrangements."

Summer classes? "Do the professors even stick around for summer? Because I really don't need special treatment—"

"Oh, you will receive none from me, I promise," Snape assured him. "And my schedule for the summer is entirely clear."

Harry swallowed thickly. He'd wanted time with Snape, and now he definitely had it. So why did he feel as though he'd eaten a few too many of Hagrid's rock cakes? "I—I really appreciate it, sir, but that's a lot of time for you to give up, especially since you're spending it with me—"

"You think I won't be able to restrain my impulses to strangle you?" Snape questioned flatly. Harry couldn't tell if he was serious or joking.

"N-no, I just mean… you don't want to waste your summer on me—"

"It will not be a waste, Mr. Potter, believe me. I will be able to instill something into that thick skull of yours."

"But you should spend your summer doing something you enjoy. That's what I'm trying to say. After everything—"

"I will certainly enjoy burying you with assignments and knocking you around the practice room for the sake of teaching you Defense. The matter is closed."

"But—"

"Closed, Potter." And then Snape smirked. "Neither of us will have lazy summer days to fritter away. For the best, don't you agree? All the better to start this training that you so desperately want."

Harry sighed. He'd asked for this, hadn't he? And despite everything, he did still want the time to get to know Snape better. The man was willing, at least. He wasn't yelling at Harry about his stupidity anymore, either. "Yes, sir."

"Good. And your relatives will still be able to see you on weekends, don't worry. I'm sure you'll be able to fit enough of their indulgences in on those days to make up for your absence during the week."

Harry couldn't help but color lightly at those words. "Um. Professor… I won't be going back to my relatives. The blood wards were broken."

"So? That does not mean-."

"They were sent into hiding, so they'll probably have a lot to do with getting set back up and settled in. I'd just be in the way."

Snape's narrowed gaze pierced him for a moment, questioning, before it seemed that he was finally able to read the truth behind those words. "You will be able to visit your friends on the weekends, then. But Monday through Friday will be devoted to study."

Harry cracked a small grin at the sheer absurdity of this conversation now—the lake at dawn, Snape and himself looking like the war veterans that they were, Voldemort and so many others dead and in mourning, and here the pair of them were discussing summer school arrangements. "You're going to be a hard taskmaster, aren't you?"

Snape nodded, the corners of his lips just barely upturned. "Very much so. Come along, Potter; you've convinced me. I'll partake of your breakfast."

"You were the one complaining about it," Harry grumbled.

They walked the grounds silently, side by side, picking their way through the rubble in a strange but not unwelcome sort of companionship.

When they neared the castle, Harry spoke up. "Sir…."

"Potter."

"You're technically still the headmaster, you know."

"I am aware." Snape cast a suspicious look toward Harry. "And?"

"Well… I don't know if you're aware of this, sir, but we sort of have this tradition where I do something impressive but colossally stupid near the end of the year, and then Gryffindor gets a bunch of points for it on my behalf. So I'd say defeating Voldemort and his Horcruxes is worth at least a thousand or so. Wouldn't you agree, sir?"

Snape pretended to contemplate the statement for a moment. "Very well. A thousand points to Gryffindor."

"Wait, really?" Harry blurted out. And when Snape nodded once, firmly, he cried, "Ha! We should go get the cup out, just for old times' sakes—wait, why are you smirking? You awarded those points, right? And you meant it?"

"Oh, I meant it," Snape assured him sincerely.

It took Harry a moment to piece it together. "The counters were smashed to bits, weren't they?"

"Only Gryffindor and Hufflepuff's."

"That's really cheap, sir."

"We can still award the cup. I believe Slytherin is in the lead?"

"Oh, go ahead. Slytherin deserves to win at least one year, by my reckoning—"

Harry narrowly managed to dodge Snape's attempt to cuff him. And then, hoping it wouldn't be seen as impertinent or cheeky, Harry flashed a grin at the Potions Master.

The man offered the briefest of smirks in return, just as they reached the Entrance Hall. And for the first time in all the years he'd been alive, and in spite of the heaviness of the grief that was starting to settle into him, Harry felt that everything was going to be all right.

a/n: Possible epilogue to follow. This was originally a one-shot that was never intended to leave my computer, so apologies for its short nature. Thanks for reading!