I own nothing but my own soul and all JK's books.

A Thorn By Any Other Name

Dedicated to veelasiren since her wise words encouraged this.

The three of them had graduated a year later than they should have. Ron now had a job as a clerk helping to order the new Ministry. Hermione had accepted the position as junior librarian to the Wizengamot. She was also a full-time student at a Muggle university in her 'free' time.

All his roads seemed to lead back to Hogwarts, Harry thought. Staring through the window of the Hogwarts Express at the flying countryside he tried to conjure up the thrill of his very first journey to Hogwarts or even that fleeting pleasure that had raised the corners of his lips when McGonagall had offered him the Defense position: "Mr. Potter, you have experience preparing the DA for war, assisted in Defense your last year here, and faced Voldemort as a baby, a child, and a young adult. Then you defeated him. I am only asking because you are by far the best qualified candidate I can find to fill the position." He shouldn't feel so blasé having accepted nor so empty on the inside while returning to his childhood home.

Unfortunately, Hogwarts isn't his Hogwarts anymore. Even last year, it didn't feel like home. Being a student there, except for last year, felt like it had happened to someone else entirely or to him but a lifetime ago. Last year, there was no Dumbledore, no yearmates except for Ron and Hermione, no Snape, no Hagrid since he'd left to join his wife in France, and as odd as it would sound to anyone else, no Voldemort. Harry hadn't realized how much of his 'Hogwarts experience' had revolved around Voldemort until Voldemort was gone. Not that he missed Tom personally, he didn't. He certainly couldn't say the same for Hagrid, or for Dumbledore and Snape. But they were gone. Life went on. Or did it?

The summer looked to be great at first- no reporters, no Dursleys, no boring or awkward awards presentations, and no constraints on using his magic, well, besides his own common sense. He could have travelled anywhere, done anything at all.

Instead, he, Hermione, and Ron had let a flat together. They had planned to spend the days sunbathing, watching Muggle movies, playing endless games of chess, throwing parties and inviting close friends. They could afford to spend a summer doing nothing at all except enjoying themselves and eachother, knowing they would likely never have that chance again.

After the first three days, Hermione got bored with them both and opened the first in a summer-long series of books. Ron transformed into an unbelievable pest right after, focusing all his energies, attentions, pranks, and comments upon Harry, since he knew better than to pester Hermione. At night, when Hermione and Ron had sex to occupy them, Harry, per usual, refought the war in his waking thoughts criticizing his every decision in hindsight, questioning every action and inaction. That was when he couldn't sleep. As bad as the real events, his dreams were always a hundred times worse. At least Hogwarts, even if it weren't really his Hogwarts, would give him enough to do to occupy his waking mind and would wear him out enough so that he could sleep at night.

Even before Voldemort's defeat he'd realized that becoming an Auror wasn't his cup of tea. Voldemort was the last criminal wizard he ever wanted to face, and would be, if Harry could help it. He had spent part of last year thinking that a career as a healer might suit him. The more he had read the more interested in the field he'd become. Then Madame Pomfrey generously took him under her wing. Unfortunately for Harry, he had too much residual Dark in him left over from the war. He simply couldn't cast the strong, pure Light healing spells necessary for successful Mediwizardry.

What had he been thinking throwing Unforgivables at innocent Goblins? That was the trouble. He hadn't been thinking, just doing, just getting the job done, charging ahead with blinders on like the stupid, reckless Gryffindor that Snape always accused him of being.

His year away searching for Horcruxes had all but ruined his Quidditch game too. He played last year of course, but more for grins than wins. Even though Gryffindor had won most of their matches, his edge, that need to risk life and limb for a snitch, had completely deserted him. Maybe that was partly a consequence of the war too. He'd seen far too much wasted life to want to throw his own away by playing an insane flying game professionally.

He'd had plenty of offers of all sorts from all over the world. Owls brought ridiculous proposals of marriage, requests for courting, and offers less wholesome, and tons of employment opportunities that he was either under-qualified or over-qualified to choose. Mostly, he had employment offers wanting to overpay the famous Harry Potter, certified celebrity, whether he'd be a genuine asset or not, which was a good enough reason for his refusals.

So, teaching Defense at Hogwarts seemed to be his best bet for now. Helping children learn to defend themselves was worthwhile, rather than just a means of wearing himself out enough to sleep at night. He knew he wouldn't be pants at teaching Defense either since he'd already done it. Maybe taking this job and doing it well would pay back some of what he owed to people like Dumbledore, Lupin, Snape, and his mum. Maybe it would have made them all a bit proud of him too.

Suddenly, the door to his compartment slid open a few inches. Wand in hand instinctively, Harry only relaxed when Dennis Creevey poked his head into the compartment. "Harry! Heard you were coming back. Have a good summer?"

Harry plastered on his friendly but incredibly busy smile and opened the book on his lap to somewhere near the end. "Oh, well, what could be bad about summer? It's Professor Potter now though."

Dennis laughed like Harry had made a really witty joke. Harry wished the kid didn't look and act so much like Colin.

"Oh! Mind if I take a photo?"

"No don't."

Click. "It'll be worth it to you! We'll split the galleons, Harry!"

"Colin, it's Professor Potter. The next photo is going to cost you more in detentions than you'll ever make up for in galleons."

The kid went ghostly pale.

Harry realized his mistake immediately. "Sorry. I meant to say Dennis. Um, you see, I'd just been thinking about your brother and the others."

"It's okay. I miss him too. He'd be happy that you're thinking about him! So then, see you later, Ha- um, Professor P?"

"See you at the feast, Dennis."

When his compartment door closed again, Harry put a Locking Charm on it, then returned his gaze to the window.

Harry left his luggage for the House-elves. He helped McGonagall, who looked every bit as spry and severe as ever, and a couple of other professors overseeing the students as they made their way to the carriages. Once all the student were accounted for and Thestral-bound for the castle, he and McGonagall shared a carriage ride.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Harry."

"Thanks for having me back, Headmistress."

"You should start calling me Minerva, since I'm only going to answer to that."

''I should get it right by the time all those kids are calling me Professor."

They passed the ride with all the usual pleasantries, gossip about his yearmates, complaints about the ministry, and a bit of chat about the coming year. When they arrived at the Castle, Harry helped Minerva out the carriage then offered her his arm. "May I escort you into the feast, Minerva?"

"Why Harry Potter, you've turned yourself into a gentleman."

"That would be Hermione's doing. She rather insisted that Ron and I take notice of her gender before agreeing to move in with us over the summer."

"I believe Mr. Weasley worked that out for himself a couple of years back, much later than any of his brothers would have, mind you. Now how you've managed to stay unattached is a feat that rivals stopping Voldemort."

"I thought I'd try to mature a bit before I go inflicting myself on some poor unsuspecting person."

"You can save that excuse for Molly Weasley. She's a more dedicated match-maker than I ever was. Not to worry. I'm too happy to have you here at Hogwarts to chase you off by introducing you to everyone eligible on the floo network."

"I appreciate the opportunity, Minerva. Thank you for this."

"Not a poorly changed topic; but I'm not so dottery as all that yet. I know very well that this was hardly your only offer for employment. You do a great service for Hogwarts, Harry, as well as for every one of these children you see before you."

"I'll do my best not to disappoint."

"You will do very well here. You always have. After the feast, I'll show you where you can get settled. Then you can shock me with the sorted details about your shamelessly Bohemian summer with Ron and Hermione."

"I'm afraid I'll have to make up something just to be interesting."

"Fine, you have all feast long to do so!"

Harry left Minerva at the podium and went to find his own seat, walking directly into Severus Snape.

Snape shook his head nearly imperceptively. Harry closed his mouth, swallowed down his utter shock, and had no idea what else to do. Clearly Snape didn't want him making a scene. How was it possible Harry hadn't heard that the man was alive and still at Hogwarts?

"I do not believe that we have met. I am Marcus Thorne, the new Potions professor." His voice was different, more- ordinary. Snape extended his hand. Harry took it. He felt Snape press something tiny into his hand. Harry palmed it into his pocket.

"Um, Harry Potter, Defense. Very nice to meet you- Professor?"

"Thorne, Marcus Thorne. Welcome to Hogwarts. I look forward to working with you." Then the man smiled at him. This couldn't be Snape! Smiling? Not wrapped head to toe in black? He really couldn't be here? Could he? Who else could this be then?

Sitting there at the Head Table that night would probably have been an odd enough experience for Harry, even without a super nice imposter masquerading as Snape sitting right there next to him. Harry remembered to applaud the Sorting, remembered to stand when Minerva introduced him, remembered to chew his food and swallow, remembered to listen and participate in polite conversation with the teachers all around him, and thought overall that he had done a fine job doing all that. All he really wanted to do was to find out why Hooch, who had known Snape for years, honestly believed that he was someone else named Thorne and what that small object was that Snape gave him that was now in his pocket. The feast crawled by. Suddenly, Harry decided he'd had all he could stand.

"Excuse me," Harry said to no one in particular. He stood and walked behind Minerva's chair.

"Minerva, I have a terrible headache. Do you think we could catch up later in the week?"

"Of course, Harry. Do you need Poppy to get you a potion?"

"Professor Thorne kindly volunteered. Where am I staying?"

"Behind the portrait of the Wizard George battling the Dragon. Do you know it?"

"I'll consult a house-elf. Goodnight, Minerva."

Then he rested his hand on Snape's shoulder and said for the benefit of anyone else listening, "Professor Thorne, do you think I could trouble you for the headache potion that you offered? I was wrong; eating didn't seem to help at all."

"Of course, Professor Potter, right this way."

Snape led him directly to the dungeons. When they were very close to the Potion's classroom, Snape took his wand and tapped on the wall. A door appeared. Snape walked in and held the door wide. "You may enter."

It was a nice room, cosy with comfortable looking furniture and lots of book shelves that were sparsely filled. Harry noticed there was little in the way of anything remotely personal in the room, no art, no photos or knick-knacks. When Snape finished casting a truly paranoid number of warding and silencing spells, he turned to Harry and said, "Have you a headache?"

"No. Who are you?"

"You know very well who I am."

"I buried you myself!"

"Ah, that explains much. Contrary to your best efforts to ensure otherwise, here I am in the flesh."

"How? Oh Merlin! You really are a vampire!"

"Potter, I am not a vampire. After Nagini bit me, before you found me, I was able to self-administer an anti-venin and a stasis potion. Had Poppy, a Ministry Fieldwizard, had just about anyone other than you checked on me, I might have received the proper attention at St. Mungos instead of a coffin transfigured from a pinecone and coming to three days later buried alive. At least you were thoughtful enough to inter my wand along with the rest of me, or, my skills at wandless magic aside, I do not believe we would be having this conversation."

"Gods, I nearly killed you!" Harry said, sinking into the closest chair.

"Yes, you nearly did. Would you care for a drink?"

"Um, I really don't drink much. What were you having?"

"Fire-whiskey."

"Well, okay then. Thank you." He accepted a glass from Snape and took a sip. "So why can't they see you?"

"Because I wear a Glamour. I also use a potion to alter my voice. That should be wearing off soon," said Snape, taking his own glass to the seat across from him.

"But you're not wearing a Glamour."

"Yes, Potter. I am."

"Why can't I see it then?"

"I would assume that like Albus, you have a talent for seeing through them, and are more powerful than the Glamour I erected. Had I known that you or anyone else extremely powerful were coming to Hogwarts today I would have used Polyjuice Potion."

Harry thought about all the arguing he'd done with Ron over the years about which girls were using beauty Glamours. Suddenly all Ron's comments about the Patil twins finally made sense. "But you'd need someone's hair or toenails or something. Wouldn't you?"

Snape rose. "Should I be flattered that you have managed to retain some small knowledge of Potions?"

"Um. Well, sort of. I learned that from Hermione, though."

Snape opened a closet and pulled out a human scalp with light brown hair attached.

"Whose was that?"

"Meet the real Marcus Thorne."

"What happened to him?"

"Voldemort happened. I merely scalped him after his death."

"So no one else even knows that you're alive?"

"Why should they?"

"Professor-"

"Marcus."

"I prefer your real name, Marcus. What about the people who care about you? Minerva? Hooch, the other staff?"

"They had their moment of mourning. I'm certain that was well in the past by the time I had resurrected myself."

"How did you manage to survive and heal, all by yourself?"

"I've done more difficult things, Potter. So have you."

"Can I- do you need any help at all?"

"Yes, next time you imagine that I am dead, use Avada Kedavra on me to make certain."

"I'd rather just take you to Poppy."

"Suit yourself."

"I'm glad that you loved my mother. Well, it kind of made me ill at first. I'm glad that you and I were on the same side though. I do think she could have been nicer about things."

"Potter, there were other reasons for my allegiance to the Light. I gave that part to you- so that you could remember your mother."

"That was kind of you. I still have them, you know, if you want your memories back."

"Those were copies. Foolishly, I did not expect a premature burial."

"No. But you lived anyway. Congratulations."

Snape snorted.

"Well, people always congratulated me for living after Voldemort tried to kill me. I didn't have work at that like you did either. Besides, you outlived all of them- all the Marauders, Voldemort, Dumbledore. You won. I guess in a way it makes sense for you to want to start a new life now. So why are you still here at Hogwarts?"

"Dead men are not burdened with heavy purses. I never had much in the way of financial resources before I died. However I did have some measures in place for such an eventuality. I had access to several alternative identities due to my various extra-curricular activities. I required some form of employment. Conveniently Hogwarts had recently lost yet another competent Potions professor. Slughorn's temporary replacement was a complete dunderhead."

"He was, too. Thank Gods for Hermione, or no one in that class would have passed NEWTS. So what did you do all last year?"

"As I said, I resurrected. I was physically weakened and magically depleted by my injury. It took nearly everything I had left of my magic just to get out of that hole in the ground. The anti-venin saved my life, but not by much. The venom still caused extensive physical damage. I had to reverse that with potions and rest."

"I'm sorry that I made things worse. What about now? Are you still suffering ill effects? Do you need money?"

"No, but I thank you for the offer. I am as you see me."

"And your magic, it's okay now?"

"I am well, Potter. If you feel compelled to rush to my aid, inherit my property so that I may retrieve my books from Spinner's End."

"I can do that?"

"By Wizarding Law, the Ministry can seize property after two years should no heir come forth. You would need proof of adoption, marriage, magical bonding, or for a Muggle will to appear. I'd say the Muggle will is our best option. It won't even seem all that odd as we are both Half-bloods. The legal manuevering may be an inconvenience to you. Any costs that you may incur will be covered by the money and property you inherent. As I said, I only want my books."

"Have you thought about breaking in and just stealing them?"

"That is how I reunited with the my books from my old rooms here at Hogwarts. Unfortunately the Ministry has added its owns wards on the Spinner's End property. I do not know why they bothered with that pittance."

Harry couldn't help but smile when the unfamiliar voice wore off in the middle of Snape's last sentence. The difference was astounding. He wanted to hear a lot more of Snape's voice too.

"You can't just break their wards?"

"No. If I wanted Marcus Thorne arrested, I would assault the Minister of Magic directly."

"What if I broke into your house for you?"

"Potter, are you twelve? Do you still break rules just for the sake of it?"

"But it's your property!"

"And I am dead. It is not worth the risk to you or to me. If you do not care to go about this endeavor via the bureaucratic route, I will understand that you can not help me. These are just books. Most can be replaced with time."

"No! I will help you. I don't want your money or your possessions though. I do want you to have your books. Professor, this really is the least I can do considering that I nearly murdered you with my own stupidity."

Snape smiled. It wasn't the big fake smile of Marcus Thorne. It was that strange half smirk Harry remembered usually to be followed by one of Snape's nasty comments. "I would have to agree with you there."

"Great, so how do we go about forging a Muggle will?"

"I shall take care of that part. When you receive official Muggle notification, you need to hire a Wizarding barrister to process your claim as my heir. I can make you a list of some capable ones. I warn you, Potter, this undertaking may draw unfavorable press."

"Why? You do realize that your name has been cleared posthumously?"

"For whom I have you to thank."

"No. The debt of thanks is all mine. I only realized after you- after I thought you'd died. I realized that I'd never thanked you for any of it, not for saving me first year, not for protecting me or teaching me, not for spying and lying to Vol- uh-"

"Voldemort, Potter. He is dead. If you are becoming maudlin about thanking me, I shall not offer you more alcohol."

"Your Dark Mark, can I see it?"

"I don't imagine that you can, given that my sleeve is not a Glamour."

"May I see it?"

Snape bared his left forearm and held it out for Harry's inspection. What was once the Dark Mark now looked like normal, healthy scar tissue in the shape of the Dark Mark.

"Will it fade?"

"I could rid myself of it tomorrow with the right potion."

"Why don't you?"

"What would be the point?"

"To get rid of it!"

"The scar is unimportant. If I removed it, I would not forget what was there in its place."

Harry put his right hand over the scar to cover it. "You should forget, though. You made that mistake when you were a kid. You paid for it. You also did a lot of good that you couldn't have done otherwise. You tipped the scales in the other direction, Professor."

"You should get into the habit of using the name Marcus, Potter."

"It's just- the Thorn part I can buy. I have trouble thinking of you as a Mark-us." When Harry removed his hand to reach for the last sip of his fire-whiskey, the skin underneath was perfectly healed, "Oh! I-"

"How dare you!"

"I didn't do that on purpose! I can't heal! Look, I tried to learn last year. I thought I might want to be a Mediwizard; but pure Light healing spells never have worked for me before now. I apologize. I didn't think that would happen. Truly, I'm sorry."

Snape huffed out a breath. Remarkably, anger in Snape's eyes seemed to fade. "Accepted. As I said before, the scar did not matter. Now would be as good a time as any to say goodnight."

"Professor-"

"Go, Potter."

"Of course. Thank you for the drink, and for everything. Goodnight Pro- goodnight Marcus."

Following a house-elf to his own quarters, Harry suddenly remembered something that he couldn't believe he had forgotten. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny scroll of parchment. He carefully rolled it open. The charmed message read, "Yes Potter, all your worst nightmares have come true. Here is your proof: stay out of my Pensieve." It burst into flames burning his fingers when he failed to drop it quickly enough.

There were three things Harry knew for certain: the man was nothing if not dramatic; a 'Thorne' by any other name really is a complete prick; and Hogwarts, well Hogwarts was feeling a lot more like home again.

Thanks for reading A Thorn By Any Other Name. My eternal admiration to all willing to take the time to review.