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Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.
—Søren Kierkegaard

Harry Potter stopped outside the door of the interrogation room and drew a deep breath. It wouldn't be good to have his prisoner see how nervous he felt. A million butterflies fluttered in his gut the moment he received the owl that their quarry had been Apparated back to Great Britain.

This was the moment he had been waiting seven long years for; the opportunity he had been dreaming about since that dreadful, awful night at Hogwarts in Dumbledore's office. Every challenge Auror training put him through, every sore muscle, every broken bone caused by physical combat; every torturous hour spent reading procedures and policies and counterattack scenarios; every busted potion or spell gone awry—everything in the past seven years of his life had led him to this moment. And he would be goddamned if he was going to fuck it up now.

Still, the moment of coming face to face with Severus Snape, and telling him "Thank you" was going to be pretty damn tough.

He gripped the knob of the door abnormally hard and pushed against it. It caught. "Fuck," he muttered. "Why can't someone fix the fucking door to Interrogation 1?" Having to kick at a stuck door didn't do much to convince your prisoner that you're in a position of power over them. It made you appear weak, and perception was everything going into the first crucial interview.

Harry kicked savagely at the door and it flew open, banging into a chair that had been placed too close to it. He kept his head down, trying to look busy consulting the parchment pages in his hand, and staring at the name at the top: "Severus Snape."

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, you still feel the need to make a grand entrance? How predictable."

Same old drawling sneer.

"And some things haven't changed about you either, Snape," Harry replied, not daring to look at him just yet. "Welcome back to England."

"The weather is atrocious, and the Ministry is just as hell-bent on destroying itself as always, hiring the likes of you and Weasley as Aurors."

So this was how it was going to be. Right. "Seems no one else wanted the job," Harry said, finally looking up and giving Snape a hard stare. "Not with half the division Imperiused by Death Eaters, or dead."

Allowing himself to take a good look at the man he'd presumed had died the night he brought down Voldemort, he was shocked at what he saw. From what the Aurors who transported him back from eastern Europe had said, Harry had expected him to be looking the worse for wear, but instead, Snape actually looked...relaxed. And well-fed, in a vulture-sort of way. The black hair was shot through with silver, and shorter than it had been at Hogwarts, and it... suited him? Maybe didn't look quite as bad. But, Harry thought with some smugness, it was still sort of greasy. His face held deeper lines, but his skin was less sallow, less vampire-like. That last thought caused him to grin, remembering a diatribe Seamus Finnigan delivered one night in the common room after a particularly rough Potions essay: "The git, I'm tellin' ye, he's not o' this earth! The man looks like a fookin' vampire. I swear on me gran's grave, I saw a bit o' red in his eyes this morning. It wouldn'ae take much to imagine the fangs in his mouth," Seamus had shouted, complete with dramatic wild arm-waving.

"Aw, Seamus, that's just crazy," Dean had counseled. "You're just upset because he breathed down your neck. You told me at lunch you were afraid he was going to kiss you."

"Bite me, you arse! Bite me!"

"Well, if you insist..."

"Reading something amusing in my arrest report, are you?" The sneering voice brought Harry back to reality. "I'm so pleased my impending incarceration is bringing you rapturous joy."

"Oh, shut it," Harry muttered, mentally kicking himself for not keeping focused. "Not everything is about you."

"Really? And here I thought it was. I'm sitting in this disgusting room, with the Auror in charge of European affairs who engineered the—what did that dunderhead Gilwood call my arrest?—Yes, 'the one sure to make Harry Potter Auror of the Year.' They actually have an 'Auror of the Year' contest?" Snape rolled his eyes. "How utterly pedestrian. That the Aurors have to have a contest to assert their..."

"It says here they found you at a Muggle school near Dubrovnik," Harry cut in, now wondering why on earth he'd ever looked forward to seeing the man again. "What kind of school was it?"

Snape sniffed. "It is a seminary."

"A what?

"A seminary. Do you need me to spell it for you?"

"What kind of seminary?"

"What other kind is there?"

"You actually voluntarily sought employment as a teacher?" Harry hoped the contempt showed through in his voice, hoping it would bite back just a bit. "You were the worst teacher I ever had at Hogwarts."

"So nice to know my efforts were appreciated by students who now hold positions of authority in Wizarding Britain and elsewhere," Snape said.

Harry backtracked. "No, what I meant to say was—"

"What you meant to say is that you have no ability to discern what is and is not good education." He turned in his chair.

Harry sighed. "I meant you never gave the impression you enjoyed teaching. You were always so contemptuous of us students."

"That's because you were snot-nosed little miscreants who never used the brains in your head for what they were intended."

Harry waited several heartbeats, allowing that last insult to roll off him. He was in charge; this was his interview. The first rule of interrogation: "Never let the prisoner take away your power". He allowed Snape to take a breath. "Be that as it may, why did you choose to teach in a seminary, a religious school?"

"Ah, very good, Potter, you actually know what a seminary is." Snape looked at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "Saint Brigid's is one of the finest schools for females in eastern Europe. "

Harry nearly laughed. "Females? You taught girls? How did that work out?"

Snape's dark eyes settled on him, staring at him with intent. "The best and oldest families of the region send their daughters to St. Brigid's. As students, they are modest, polite and, for the most part, obedient."

"An entire school full of girls PMSing at the same time was loads of fun, I'm sure."

"The infirmary staff at St. Brigid's took care of those . . . issues quite effectively. I was able to assist in that with some modified medicinal potions." Snape quirked an eyebrow at him.

"And that's what they hired you to do—concoct wizarding potions for them? Last I checked, it was illegal to give magical substances to Muggles."

"Of course I didn't make magical medicines for Muggles. I am not stupid," Snape scoffed. "They had need of an herbalist who was also conversant in the art of making homeopathic remedies. I possess the knowledge and training of those sub-specialties."

"Really? I thought Madam Sprout grew everything," Harry said, trying not to appear surprised or interested, but he was.

"While Madam Sprout grew most of the botanics and fresh vegetables for Hogwarts, there were many plants I needed for the making of potions which required very specific cultivation conditions. I assisted her or grew my own," Snape replied.

"Oh."

"I am pleased I have added something valuable to your knowledge about potions-making, seeing as I was such a poor teacher, never pointing out that herbs were the main ingredients for most of the potions you made in my classes." Severus shifted in his chair suddenly, placing his elbows on the table. "Anything else?"

"Why Croatia?"

"I have a family connection to the region," Snape answered. Then, he sneered. "Did you not do your research?"

"Actually, we did," Harry replied, not taking the bait. "I just wanted to confirm it. We discovered your mother's family is from Serbia, which ultimately is how we found you. But only after we had a tip that you had been spotted in Orásác Square. Why'd you go there and not to the main Wizarding community in Dubrovnik?"

"The Wizarding community there is not as connected to the international federation. And, the shop for potions supplies is far superior to the one in the city."

"Well, unfortunately for you, someone who admired your skills as a potions master recognized you and happened to mention it to someone in the Croatian Ministry for Magic. They were asking them to locate you so they could retain your services."

"Ah. The curse of fame."

"Tell me about it." Harry and Snape caught the other's eye, and looked away quickly.

Severus rubbed his hand across his eyes. "Potter, cut to the chase. I'm tired. And in the twelve hours I've been in the delightful company of your division, I have been offered neither food nor drink nor the chance to visit the lavatory. However, I'm sure Ministry food is as horrendous as it always was, so I hesitate to even bring it up."

Harry was brought up short. "Oh. I apologize. I didn't know you hadn't been fed or tended to." He stood and yanked viciously on the sticking door. "I'll be back."

Harry stepped out into the quiet hallway, and allowed himself to take a deep breath. This wasn't going exactly according to plan, but so far he had managed to not fall prey to Snape's caustic attitude, just a few insults to let the man know he remembered how badly he'd been treated as a student. He ran through his favourite relaxation exercise, the one he discovered made Occlumency possible. Why the hell didn't Snape, didn't anyone, instruct him in how to clear his thoughts? Why didn't Snape or Dumbledore give him practical exercises that made sense? It made him angry every time he thought about it. All that wasted time. All those headaches and horrors. Harry walked in a tight circle in the hallway, feeling the familiar burn of anger and frustration welling up inside. He caught himself: now was not the time for this old, old grievance. It was over and done with. Voldemort was dead and gone; the fragment of soul connecting Harry to him destroyed. Harry's mind and soul were his own. He knew how to defend himself against the few persons who practiced Legilimency, including the man sitting in his interrogation room. And for the moment, Snape was disarmed, not a threat.

He needed to remain calm, detached, focused. The extra study he'd taken in psychology and criminal behaviour to prepare him to conduct interrogations had always served him well. Unlike some Aurors, and Muggle detectives, who took the 'bad cop' approach to an interview, Harry preferred, when time was not of the essence, to try to learn as much about a subject as he could. He tried to project a calm, professional demeanor rather than one that was overpowering and confrontational. He conducted the interrogation like a conversation open and listening to the subtext of what the suspect was saying, removing the emotion from the situation by remaining neutral and detached. Get the subject to trust him, to develop a rapport with him, then slowly winding them up so that they exploded or broke down into confessing. Criminals were notoriously stupid, and could be trusted to hang themselves on their own petard or overblown ego, sooner or later.

However, Severus Snape was not the typical prisoner. Harry knew the man was intelligent and clever, and was cool as an iceberg. Winding him up slowly like an old clock probably wouldn't work either. Snape would keep his head no matter how hard Harry pushed. No, this required him to employ a much different tack. The burden would lie with Harry himself.

He walked to the main office of the Auror Division and told one of the assistants, a first-year trainee, to pick up sandwiches from the Muggle pub up the street from the Ministry. He pulled several Muggle notes from his billfold and threw them on the assistant's desk. "And get a couple of bottles of ale," he said, as the young man stood to put his jacket on. "Still capped."

"You, and you"—Harry pointed to two of the junior members of the Magical Law Enforcement squad, who took care of the Ministry's internal security and handpicked by Hermione for this assignment—"transport the prisoner to the lavatory." As the young women rose, he said, "Remember to keep watch on your wands. He's unarmed, but could very easily try to use yours. Do not engage in any conversation with him. Take him to the staff lav across the hall."

"Sir? You don't want us to Bind him?"

"No. I want to show him that we trust in him."

They exchanged a glance. "That's against division policy, sir," one stated bluntly. "'Prisoners transported between rooms within the division are required to be Bound with a. . . ."

"I know the sodding policy, Officer Mitchell," Harry said, suddenly angry. "He is my prisoner and I am ordering you to simply keep a close eye on him. I do not believe he'll try anything physically or magically. He was given the Dampening Potion right before he was brought up from the holding area."

"Oh." That seemed to mollify them, and they walked briskly out the door.

Harry followed them, but turned in the opposite direction, entering the observation room beside Interrogation 1. Through the Invisibility Wall, he saw and heard the young women prepare Snape for the very short trip to the lav. They appeared somewhat nervous; Harry saw one of their hands shake as she pointed her wand at him. Snape stood slowly, he hands crossed plainly in front of him. One of the women took his arm, which he did not attempt to break free of. Harry observed an eye roll from the man. Though he was silent, Harry could feel the contemptuous amusement rolling off him.

While waiting for Snape to return and for the food to arrive, Harry thought hard about what he had learned about this older Severus Snape. He was definitely the Snape he knew from his years at Hogwarts: snarky, condescending, insulting. But there was something else, or rather, something missing. Thinking hard about the Severus Snape of his teenage years and the one sitting before him now, Harry ran through several of their more memorable encounters: the time Snape nearly took the Marauders' Map from him third year; the Pensieve incident fifth year; all the 'Occlumency' lessons; watching him heal Draco Malfoy in the boys' bathroom; that horrible, horrible night on top of Astronomy Tower. He shivered as he recalled each one, cringing at the man's towering anger.

His thoughts froze. That was it. The revelation gave Harry profound pause: What was missing was the heart of every exchange he'd had with Severus Snape--the anger. The heat. The fear that set up in Harry's gut at each meeting. All of it was not present here; there was no fire in the man's words or intent. Was Snape really that. . . cowed by being in custody?

Absolutely not, Harry decided. Severus Snape was one of the bravest men he'd ever known. He'd faced down Voldemort for years in his role as a spy and came out of it...alive, despite the attack by Nagini in the Shrieking Shack. He coolly and convincingly played the hardened Death Eater, observing and sometimes participating in heinous acts of vicious cruelty. Certainly Snape wouldn't be feeling threatened by him, Harry.

Or was he? Harry took off his glasses and scrubbed his hands over his eyes and face. In his mind's eye he reviewed again more of his schoolboy encounters with his former teacher. Most all of them had been cringe-worthy, or frightening, if Harry was honest with himself. Though, sixth year, as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Snape had seemed more . . . in control? A better teacher? Harry got the distinct impression that he seemed more—what? Would 'enthusiastic' be the correct word? Harry tried to recall his time in DADA sixth year: He remembered Snape being no less confrontational and insulting. Did they actually learn anything? Anything was better than DADA under Umbridge. He shook slightly just thinking her name. His marks were definitely better than those he'd received in Potions, though with the cancellation of exams at the end of the year, Harry wasn't sure how he would have fared in the end.

Just then, the door opened and Snape walked back into the room. The two women with him, still pointing their wands at him, stood on either side of the door. Harry watched as Snape walked to the rear of the room and leaned against the wall.

"Sit down," one of the women said.

Snape gave her a look, shook his head, and sighed. He stood behind the chair, his hands on the frame. "May I stand for a moment?" he asked neutrally. "I've been sitting for a while and my leg is cramping."

That surprised Harry, Snape admitting anything that smacked of weakness. "I have no wand," Snape continued. "I'm deep within the Auror Division of the Ministry of Magic. I haven't been in this building for nearly ten years. I have no idea where I am. Do you really expect me to go haring off in a desperate bid for freedom?"

The two guards looked at each other, then lowered their wands. "Well, we're to stay here until Auror Potter returns."

"And when, pray tell, will that blessed event occur?"

Officer Brown started to laugh, but cut it off with a cough. "I don't know. I think I saw him going to his office."

"Great Merlin. Harry Potter in charge of law enforcement." He shook his head, and laughed.

Harry watched in amazement. This hard, cold man was laughing. Oh, it was certainly at Harry's expense, but to watch Severus Snape pulling back his lips, revealing yellowed teeth was a revelation. It was then he noticed how his former teacher was dressed. He didn't know why he hadn't noticed earlier, but Snape was not wearing robes, nor his preferred all-encompassing black. His blazer was black, but sported a small, colourful crest on the pocket, similar to the ones schoolboys attending London's posh public schools wore. The trousers were a dark grey, the shirt, white. Around his neck was a dark red tie. He looked exactly like the school teacher he claimed to be. With a start, Harry realized the International Federation of Wizards Aurors must have arrested him at the school, possibly taken him from class.

He searched through the numerous sheets of parchment in his hand, turning each one over, discovering the report of the arresting Auror, and quickly read through the details of Snape's incarceration: Prisoner was detained during a break in classes. Other teachers expressed great surprise that the prisoner was not who he appeared to be. He had been using the name 'Tómas Seric' and produced papers listing that name. . . . At first Snape refused to admit to his true identity, but was not belligerent . . . .He requested that he be allowed to exit the building accompanied by just one officer, explaining that he did not wish to upset the staff and students any more than was necessary . . .Several students approached him as we left and asked if he was returning. Prisoner spoke to them in a quiet manner.

What was going on? Could the man have changed so drastically in the seven years he'd been gone? Could his final encounter with the most evil wizard in history, a wizard who used and used up people as if they were nothing, have altered his own perceptions? Could his brush with death by the snake's bite have caused Severus Snape to have a new view of the world?

Well, why not? Harry mused. He'd certainly changed after the war. At base, he grew up, accepted responsibility for his actions in all things and in every way. He learnt to be honest with himself and with others, learnt that trust was a two-way street, learnt to stop and think rather than go haring off at the first sign of trouble. But he also learnt that honesty, especially involving another, had to be tempered with gentleness and told with precise timing. Telling Ginny Weasley that he had tried his best to love her, but that he just couldn't, especially after she had just found out she didn't make the All-England Quidditch team, won him not understanding but a hexing that still made him wince. And telling her in the next moment that he had concluded he was gay earned him a bare-fisted beating.

He had learnt that his best guide in all things was his inner voice, the one that more often than not guided him to the best outcome. It occasionally got him into a spot of bother with authority figures, and yes, it did not serve well with his 'total honesty policy' with Ginny. He nearly always avoided total disaster. Nearly. It was those near misses that he tried to learn from, tried to use to become a better Auror and a better person. That was the person he needed to show Severus Snape right now.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. "Come!" he called.

The young intern entered the room. "There you are, Auror Potter. The food is here," he said. "I got you two roast beef sandwiches and chips."

"Thanks, that'll do," Harry replied, taking the bag from him. "I'll be with the prisoner while he eats."

"Yes, sir."

Harry entered Interrogation 1 again, and dismissed the two officers. "I got you a sandwich," he said to Snape, who was still leaning against the wall. "You're absolutely right about the Ministry dining room having terrible food, so I ordered take-away from the Muggle pub. I hope you don't mind, but I ordered us both the same thing."

Snape quirked an eyebrow. "Us? We're dining in? How wonderful." He sat and opened the container, and evaluated the contents. "This is quite acceptable, Potter."

Harry smiled, despite everything. "When you mentioned you hadn't eaten, I realized I had skipped dinner as well. The pub makes excellent sandwiches." He took a bottled ale from the bag and waved his wand over it; the lid popped off. "I hope you like this style."

Snape gave him only a passing glance as he bit into the sandwich. A brief look of bliss crossed his severe features. Apparently, the man truly was hungry.

Harry finished off his sandwich in record time as well. Sitting back, he swallowed the last of the ale. Snape closed his eyes as he ate his; Harry was somehow pleased he'd met his former professor's needs. It somehow placed him on a—what? equal footing, perhaps? Just two blokes sharing a meal and a beer?

Focus! Harry sternly brought himself back to the task at hand. It was time to start asking questions.

Harry folded his paper serviette into the take-away box and put it into the sack. He held out his hand silently to Severus, who pushed his empty box and bottle towards him. The trash disposed of, Harry spread the arrest report in front of him.

"Let's go through this point by point," Harry began, in his best calm, professional voice. "There are some questions of law the International Federation has raised."

And so Harry asked detailed questions about Severus's time in Croatia, the legality of his documents, his registry with the Muggle authorities—all points needing clarification for Harry's final reports to all the agencies involved.

The one question Harry wanted to ask kept popping into his head throughout the interview, the one question that would explain how this entire affair came to be. He nodded his head as he made the final note on the parchment and then blurted out, "How did you survive that night? I watched you die!"

Snape gave him a sardonic smile. "I was wondering when you were going to get around to that question."

"Well, it really is the beginning, yes?"

"Yes, it is." Severus squared himself in his chair. "You saw the exchange with the Dark Lord, yes? So you know why he killed me?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"I did die, Potter. I not only lost a tremendous amount of blood from a bite from a magical, venomous snake, but I was poisoned by it. Arthur Weasley very nearly lost his life by the same means and would have had you not seen the attack that night at the Ministry and alerted Dumbledore."

Harry nodded.

"As foolish and dangerous as it was, your connection to the Dark Lord's mind did save many lives. You had a unique perspective, one that even the closest of the Death Eaters could have only on rare occasions. Knowing that he used Nagini to do his dirty work at times, I prepared myself to withstand a bite, though I always knew it could ultimately prove fruitless. There is nothing that can heal one from a poisonous bite, especially one so close to the brain, without immediate, proper medical intervention."

He sighed. "I used a bit of Nagini's venom over time in a potion that would staunch the flow of blood, a kind of inoculation against it to buy me some time, should it come to pass. But, as I said, I would still need to be attended to immediately. And that wasn't likely that night."

Harry immediately felt guilty. "But...there was no way I..."

Snape waved his hand. "Of course not. It played out precisely as it should have. I should have rightly died in that place, and at the Dark Lord's hand."

"But you didn't."

"No, I did not."

"Well, clearly. So how . . ."

Snape stared off into the room, his eyes unfocused as he spoke. "When I was in that deathly twilight, I heard many voices, far-off and indistinct, and saw a light that grew ever brighter. I remember telling myself that people, both Muggle and wizarding, had said about the moment of death was true, how oddly comforting. And then I was wrenched back from that state."

Harry was watching him carefully, riveted to the man's tale. When silence ensued, he said, "And?"

"I cannot explain it. I was fully restored, if not a bit sore and maimed." He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and pulled the collar away from his neck, revealing a large, jagged scar. He muttered a few words under his breath, and a glamour dissolved: another deep, twisted scar appeared. "I can only surmise that a phoenix, Fawkes most likely though I cannot say, appeared to me, healed my wounds and restored my life. Phoenix tears are the most potent antidote to poison on earth. I was still in the Shrieking Shack, but I used my wand to Disapparate to an Unplottable Death Eater compound, and from there, I made my escape. I had prepared for such a possibility many years before at Dumbledore's insistence. I had identity papers drawn up, money set aside, a plan in place for continuing my life outside of England, if not the entire Wizarding world. My mother's family was useful. 'Tómas Seric' was born from the ashes of Severus Snape's unfortunate existence."

He said all of this in a low, unemotional tone. Harry watched him carefully. "Why didn't you stay to help?"

Severus gave Harry a hard look, then he exploded. "Oh, yes, because it was all about you, wasn't it? Because you deserved to have everyone help YOU, didn't you?"

Harry tried to wave it off. "No! That's not what—"

"Well, let me tell you, Potter, I had a great many things on my mind at the moment I returned from the dead. And unfortunately, YOU were not amongst those thoughts."

Harry leapt up. "You weren't the only one who died that night! Imagine how I felt when I fell into the Pensieve holding all your thoughts. Imagine finding out that for months Dumbledore knew I had to die and that he didn't have the guts to come out and tell me. Imagine how I felt knowing that I had to face that son of a bitch with all his precious minions around him, knowing that I ..."

He stopped, banging his fist to the table. "No. I will not do this with you." Harry looked at Snape, whose mutinous glare had softened. "I'm . . . sorry." He took a deep breath, and as he did, he turned and walked to the Invisibility Wall, where he paused, then closed his eyes.

"I think I always knew, deep down," Harry said slowly, "that I was going die. Hearing it ... hearing it come from the mouth of the man I saw as my ... well, really, the only father I'd ever known, was so hard to understand." He turned to look at Snape again. "Why didn't he explain? Why didn't he tell me—why didn't you tell me—that I had a piece of that bastard in me? Would it have been so hard just to come out and tell me?"

Snape's face instantly clouded once again. "Did you ever stop to think that Headmaster Dumbledore, who had far more experience at living and knowing what is appropriate for children, did act in your best interests?"

"Of course I did! It's just that I deserved to know! It was my life!"

"Potter, this has always been your problem: You think the world owes you because—"

"I do not."

"You always thought you knew what was best for you; you never listened to any adult, especially the ones who gave a damn about your existence."

Harry said nothing in response. He had closed his eyes, unwilling to be drawn any further into Snape's tirade. It was the old, old argument all over again. How like your father. He, too, strutted about the castle . . . When ten heartbeats had passed, Harry opened his eyes.

Severus was staring at him, like he'd grown an extra head. Then, Severus said slowly, "I . . . apologize for my outburst. It is clear you have learned some things in your later years."

"I was thinking you had changed as well. I was wrong. You hate my father as much as ever. Not that I can't blame you. He was a prat. He was awful to you. But I," Harry said, stepping closer to him, "am not my father. I never knew my father because he's been dead for 24 of my 25 years. What would Lily say if she knew?"

With that, Harry picked up the sheets of parchment and noisily stacked them.

"Potter, I —"

"Don't. Just don't say anything else."

They stood in the middle of the room, the silence bearing down on them. Then, Harry sighed, pulling one of the parchment pieces from the pile.

"There are no formal charges pending against you from Magical Law Enforcement, Professor Snape. I had the memories you gave me, the ones showing the relationship between you and Albus Dumbledore, verified as accurate and true. Documents found in the Headmaster's office after the war exonerated you. Neville Longbottom and several members of the D.A. gave testimony on how you helped them, or at least turned a blind eye to their activities at Hogwarts during the war."

"Then why--?"

"However," Harry continued, "the Iternational Fderation has charged you with falsifying records, despite your best efforts to protect yourself. Secondly, your name has remained on the list of known Death Eaters. I know"— he held up his hands in acknowledgement —"I know, even though I and many others have tried for the past seven years to have it removed, we have not been successful. It seems some wizards are not terribly forgiving."

Severus's mouth opened and shut rapidly several times. "I am . . . most grateful."

Harry tried to ignore the look of amazement on Severus Snape's hard face, and his own surprise at the words. "You're not out of the woods yet. Hermione Granger has sought an injunction against your being incarcerated at Azkaban prior to your appearance before the Wizengamot. My division will see to your protection. And it is my personal duty to accompany you to the division safe house. It's just for the next week. I won't be there all the time, but someone from my division will. They are under strict orders to respect your privacy. Officially, you are a prisoner of the Ministry, but as far as I'm concerned, you are here to clear you name."

Again, Severus Snape looked like he was going to say something, but couldn't. He nodded his head. "I understand."

"I hope you don't mind, but when we were notified by the Federation that you had been found over a week ago, I asked Hermione to find you a barrister to represent you. She'd do it, but since it's Ministry business . . . anyway, she's engaged Arturo Greengrass, though he is one of the Ravenclaw Greengrasses, not the Slytherin ones. As you might suspect, not many Slytherins want to have anything to do with you."

Snape nodded hesitantly. "When am I to meet with him?"

"Day after tomorrow. He's already reviewed the case file, and he's certain the hearing next week will be a mere formality. He already has witnesses lined up on your behalf. Hermione's office has filed friendly briefs in support of you. You'll have to file some papers to restore your citizenship and to allow you access to your vault and property. Once that's done, you'll be free to resume your life.

"However, in the meantime, we need to get to the Apparation point here in the Ministry so I can take you to the safe house," Harry said. "Will you trust me to Side-Along Apparate?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"

Harry tried not to show his irritation. "Actually, yes, you do. However, flying on a broomstick in the cold isn't fun, and going by Muggle transportation will take too long. Apparation minimizes the security risk."

"I see. Then I have no option but to trust you, Potter."

"Good. Wait here. I'll assemble everyone."

Harry walked out of the room, and shut the door behind him, heaving a great sigh of relief. He was quite pleased with himself for not allowing his anger to show. Or his growing attraction.

Now is not the time, he told himself sternly.

Harry strode into the administration office across the way. Ron Weasley was there, as were several other younger Aurors. "Hey, Harry," Ron said in greeting. "You ready to transfer him?"

He nodded. "Just finished up."

"You gonna tell me where the safe house is?"

"Not just yet, sorry. It's on a need-to-know basis."

Ron grinned, well acquainted with Harry's wide paranoia streak about security. "This is your gig. Whatever you say. This lot is ready."

Harry surveyed the young men and women from the Auror and MLE divisions, eight in all, including the two females who had attended Severus earlier. "All right. I don't anticipate any trouble, but he is a high-profile prisoner. Do the job you were trained for, people."

They all stood and formed a double line down the hall to the common Apparation point. Harry and Ron returned to Interrogation 1; the door stuck as Ron tried to open it. He kicked at it forcefully with his large foot, cursing. Harry tried to bite back the grin.

"Welcome back, Professor Snape," Ron said, holding the door open. "Good to see you."

"Weasley," Severus drawled in reply. "You never could lie convincingly."

Ron led him out of the room, with Harry behind. As they reached the security teams down the hallway, they moved out in front, forming a phalanx of sorts, to the wide common area where the Auror division maintained a secure Apparation point.

As the hallway widened, the final security team cut off Harry's direct access to Snape. He panicked momentarily as two more MLE officers, both of whom were much larger than Harry, stepped in front of him.

"Out of the way!" he shouted. "Get out of my way. Ron! Secure the area!"

There was a scrabble in front of him. The two larger men rushed into the common area, while Harry spotted Ron pushing two of his fellow Aurors in front of Snape. A jet of red light exploded above him.

"Harry! Get down!" he heard Ron shout.

The scene deteriorated into confusion. A black robed figure came running from the other end of the room; the Auror poised in front of Snape briefly engaged him, but then she went down. The robed figure raised a wand at Snape, who was now standing alone. Harry dived for him, just as Ron reached the intruder.

"Sectumsempra!

"Protego!!" Harry bellowed, colliding with Severus. He felt a hot, burning down the right side of his body and arm. "Oh shit! I think I've been hit," he said.

Severus pushed Harry off his legs, gathered him into his arms, and took his wand. As Harry blacked out, he felt the familiar smothering feeling of Apparation, and then knew no more.

Harry awoke with a slight start. Years of training and behaviour modifiction had taught him how to wake up without anyone knowing he had. This ability had scared the hell out of several lovers, the few who had spent the whole night with him. They'd lie awake, thinking he was still deeply asleep, only to be surprised when Harry spoke to them, or grabbed them. That never went over well, though Harry always thought it was sort of funny.

The philosophy of constant vigilance ingrained into every Auror taught them to be aware of their surroundings, no matter what the situation or their physical condition. Even returning to consciousness after being hexed, cursed or injured, Harry had been trained to remain as still and silent as possible, conducting an evaluation of his body before moving, beginning from the bottom. Okay. Well, I can feel my toes, always a good sign. They're warm, but no shoes. And no socks. Interesting. Legs? Both still attached and warm. Good. No trousers. Hmm. That's weird. St. Mungo's, then? He paused to inhale quietly, but could not smell that odour only found in hospitals. Instead, he smelled a dank mustiness associated with old buildings, closed-up buildings. Right. So. Not a medical facility. Brilliant.

The thought he might have been taken prisoner crept into his mind for a moment, but he set it aside as that would interfere with the first level of constant vigilance. He concentrated on feeling his fingers, arms, shoulders. Check. All were warm, and covered with the same soft cotton sheet. Plus, the weight of a blanket or a duvet.

That was something of a relief to him. Wherever he was he was reasonably well cared for, warm, and most importantly, not being tortured. Heartbeat: fluttery; breathing shallower than I'd like; head—whoa, dizzy, bad ache. Not bad but a potential problem.. He tried to draw a deeper breath, but a sharp pain prevented it.

For the next several moments he catalogued the pain areas: some sort of injury across the chest and right side, right arm hurt like a son of a bitch, left arm ached, but not as badly. But then his attention reached his head: cradled in a pillow that was reasonably soft, and overall fairly comfortable. The only sound was someone else's breathing nearby, the steady breathing of someone asleep. He hazarded a look through one slitted eye. He was in room with low light, nothing distinguishing about it, the wall painted a nondescript gray or white. He opened the other eye and was quite taken aback at what he saw.

Illuminated in the light of a single candle was Severus Snape. His head drooped into the wing of a dark green high-backed chair. He had removed his blazer, but had draped it across his chest. Intertwined in the long, elegant fingers, though, was a thick string of what appeared to be ebony beads, which ended in a small black geometrical shape. Harry thought it might have been a cross, but he wasn't sure, not without his glasses.

And since when were Snape's fingers 'elegant'? Get a grip!

Harry tried to raise his head but felt something constricting his chest. Pain bloomed through his body, and he quickly dropped back into the pillow.

"Potter, please do not ruin my hard work," came Severus's rough voice. He rose from the chair, pocketing the beads. The blazer slid off his chest, and Harry saw the blood.

Severus's white shirt was saturated deep red. Harry shuddered. "Merlin! Are you hurt? Where'd all that blood—"

"Calm yourself!" Severus ordered weakly. "Most of it is yours, so you can blame yourself for the sorry state of my appearance. Although," he winced as he moved his right arm, "some small amount is my own. Let me examine you."

Harry shifted as much as possible without it hurting him, as Severus untucked the sheeting. "We were both hit with the Septumsempra?" Harry asked. He saw white spots as he tried to sit up, and felt what little warmth he had in his face drain; the dizziness returned full force. He thought it was from trying hard to not think about the man who was hovering but a few inches from his face, trying very hard not to think the silver in Severus's hair made him much more distinguished looking. "How is that? I only saw one attacker. Oh, bollocks, I don't feel very good."

"It may very well be there were more than just the one we saw." Severus gently lifted the edge of the bands around Harry's chest. "You, however, took the brunt of the spell. I believe I caught part of one, or your protection spell didn't quite deflect the other." As he examined the wound on Harry's chest his eyes conveyed concern. "It's a deep wound, Potter. You've lost a great deal of blood which is why you're feeling nauseous. Lie still and breathe deeply and slowly."

Severus's hand was a pleasant weight on Harry's shoulder. Harry followed the sound of the older man's low, dulcet tone; his breathing grew easier and deeper, and soon he drifted off again.

When he awoke, Harry immediately sought out the high-backed chair, but was disappointed Severus wasn't in it keeping watch over him.

Since when did you want Severus Snape to watch over you?

Since you were eleven; he's always watched out for you. Since you found out he loved your mother—

He shook his head, clearing the one thought he didn't want to have. Not now, not yet, he told himself fiercely.

"Good, you're awake. Finally," Severus said. He sat beside Harry's bed. "I found some rudimentary means of sustenance for us, as well as the ingredients for a Blood Replenishing potion. They are a bit out of date, which has compromised the effectiveness of the potion. It is most unfortunate there do not appear to be any ingredients for a Strengthening Solution, which would be appropriate, given your current state. But this will have to do for the moment."

Harry sniffed appreciatively at the bowl of soup Severus placed beside his bed. "Where are we, anyway?"

Severus hesitated. "We are at a place that is safe for both of us." He stopped. "Actually, I was not certain it would be safe. It was simply the first place that came to mind when I took your wand."

"You used my wand?"

"Seeing as I do not possess one at the moment, yes, I had to use yours."

"Hang on, you took the magic dampening potion."

"Potter, what does the word 'dampening' mean?"

"Well, it's...."

Severus sighed. "It dampens one's magical flow; it does not block it completely. Fortunately for you."

"For both of us.

"I was able to generate enough magic to Disapparate from the Ministry in the heat of the moment—my flight instinct was quite strong. That we could travel such a distance surprises me even more than yourself," Severus said. "The potion was made correctly as at the moment, I cannot perform any magic, even with your wand. I daresay my magic will not be at full strength for the better part of a week."

The soup smelled delicious enough to make Harry's dry mouth water. "So back to my question: Where are we?"

Severus's face remained impassive. "It is a place I used to come to when I needed respite."

Harry stared. "Please don't tell me this is a Death Eater hideout."

"No, it is not a Death Eater hideout," Severus said, picking at the seam on his trousers, "so much as a holiday place for some of us who became Death Eaters."

That made Harry blanche. "Brilliant. A Death Eater holiday place. I suppose the semantics is supposed to make me feel better?"

"Must you see the world so black and white?"

"Where Death Eaters are concerned? Yes. Absolutely!" Harry said. But he stopped, winded. He thought carefully, deciding he'd test the issue with Snape, just to see how it would be between them. "But you haven't been a Death Eater for quite some time. Have you?"

Severus Snape met Harry's gaze directly. "No."

"Well, then. So who knows about this place?"

Severus cleared his throat. "Lucius Malfoy."

"Lucius Malfoy is dead."

Severus's eyes widened. "I did not know that. How?"

"Some who had a huge grudge against a 'reformed' Death Eater," Harry said. "Malfoy served a couple of years in Azkaban, but was released early for good behaviour. He'd barely made it back to shore when he was hit with the Killing Curse."

"Typical," Severus sniffed. "The life of a Death Eater isn't worth—"

"Two Aurors were injured in the attack. They fought hard to protect him, but the attack came out of nowhere," Harry replied. "The Ministry thought they had kept his release under wraps, but someone leaked it. It was only later that we found out who told the press about it."

"And who was that?"

"It doesn't matter. Just a low-level clerk." Severus said nothing, just staring at the bowl of soup. Harry cleared his throat. "So, why did you bring us here?"

"You kept saying 'safe house', and when I caught your wand as you fell, I thought of the house where I've always felt safest. And this was it." He shook his head. "It's time for you to eat something so you can take the Blood Replenishing Potion, such as it is. Your stomach will tolerate it better if it's not completely empty."

A wave of warmth crested within Harry. Severus Snape was being ... well, maybe nice was too optimistic a word, but definitely concerned, civil definitely. There might be some hope after all. That thought, plus the smell of food, cheered him a little.

Severus returned with a cup of slightly steaming liquid. "This will not be my best effort. I had to make some adjustments since there was no pomegranate juice."

"I'm sure it's better than nothing," Harry said eyeing the cup. "Say, when can we leave here? I'm sure my division is out looking for us. I really should send word—"

"About that," Severus said, as he slowly pulled the high-backed chair to Harry's bedside. "You are far too fragile to move at this moment. Apparation is tricky at best, and with the magic dampening potion still in my system, I cannot muster the magic required."

"But I can."

"No, you cannot, not in your condition." Severus said firmly. "Besides, our exit is blocked."

"Blocked? Magically?"

"Yes."

Harry made a "Hmph" sound. "Who the hell puts a one-way anti-Apparation spell on a house?"

Severus quirked one ironic eyebrow. "True," Harry sighed. "Do you know the password or whatever to break the spell?"

Severus shook his head. "The one I know did not work."

"So can I go outside to send a Patronus?"

"The house is sealed physically as well."

"For you maybe. Hand me my wand and my glasses." Severus put the items in Harry's outstretched hand. "I'm sure it's just a simple locking charm to keep curious Muggles out," he said confidently, putting on his glasses. He pointed it at the window on the opposite wall and said, "Alohomora!

Severus tried to push it up, but it didn't budge, so Harry tried three different unlocking and unsticking charms, but the window remained closed.

"I'll send a Patronus message." He conjured his large silver stag and gave a message to Ron to find Draco and send him to the cottage. "Where is the cottage?"

"On St. Ninian's Isle. We're in the Shetlands. And the house itself is Unplottable."

"Jesus, isn't making a house Unplottable on a barely habitated island overkill? And who the hell goes on holiday in the Shetlands willingly?" Harry said. He sent the Patronus, but it merely butted up against the wall. After several minutes Harry dissolved it in disgust.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Harry exclaimed. "Malfoy was a paranoid son of a bitch."

"Indeed." Severus favoured him with the hint of a smile.

Harry thought. "So he blocks the house physically and magically to, what, protect the property against rogue, holiday-going wizards? Do you suppose he used an alert spell in the off-chance like ours that someone got in?"

"Lucius always had one."

"I wonder if or when Draco will notice, if he even still owns this place."

"Draco is alive?" Severus asked, surprised.

"Yeah. He's still a fucking narcissistic git, but he's all right," Harry said.

That smile was back. "How is it that you can have such a contradictory assessment of Draco?"

"Oh, it's not difficult. You've met him, right?" Harry asked sardonically. "A bit too stuck on himself, but funny how having your life saved by your supposed mortal enemy will give you a new perspective on things," Harry said. He related the story of how he, Ron and Hermione had rescued Draco and Gregory Goyle from the Room of Requirement's place of hidden things.

"Poor bastard, Crabbe," Severus said with a shake of his head. "Thick as the proverbial plank. And yet he came from such a talented magical family."

"Of fucking Death Eaters," Harry retorted. "Crabbe tried to kill us, including Malfoy, with Fiendfyre. Forgive me if I don't share your admiration of his brilliant magical heritage."

Severus's face went hard. "Your self-righteousness cannot change historical or genealogical fact. No, it doesn't make it right. I tried to get them to see how foolish it was to join the Dark Lord, in my own fashion. I tried to —"

Harry was instantly sorry. "You're right," he said. "I wasn't blaming you. I'm sure you did everything you could to prevent them from getting the Dark Mark. And I know it was difficult for you to walk in both worlds."

He desperately wanted to say "Thank you"; he desperately wanted to ask the questions he'd been burning to ask all these years. But hunger, fatigue, frustration and an instinctive feeling that the time wasn't right overwhelmed his impulsivity. He'd just spent his anger on the man. Another time, another opportunity will come again, he told himself.

Harry took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The bands across his chest were hurting now, making it difficult to breathe. The ache radiated to all points of his body, but his growling stomach reminded him that basic needs had to be addressed. His mind calmer, he asked, "So, what have you made for us to eat?"

"Do not get your hopes up too high. There were some tins of basic soups and vegetables in the cupboard. Judging from the thickness of the dust on them, they are rather old. Still, it's better than nothing."

Harry struggled to sit upright. "Ow!" he cried. "Shit!"

"Stop! Don't move so quickly," Severus said sharply.

"Oh, fuck, I'm bleeding," Harry said, as two red spots bloomed through the white bandages.

Severus swore under his breath. "I cannot do anything more than staunch the flow physically until the dampening potion wears off." He pressed firmly on Harry's chest with a rolled towel for several minutes. "This is not doing much good. Do you think you can concentrate well enough to do the counterspell?"

"I'm going to have to," Harry wheezed, feeling woozy. He focused as intently as he could on Severus's unfathomable dark eyes. "Show me."

Severus showed him the wand pattern, slowly explaining how to do the intricate moves and where to twist his wrist, just so. Then he told him the words. "You have to concentrate, Harry. I'll assist you."

With Snape's hand on his, Harry pointed his wand over the largest of the bleeders. Together they moved the wand and repeated the sing-songy words of the spell.

"That's it," Severus breathed. The wound was sealing well enough to stop the blood loss. He guided Harry's hand to the other open wound, and they closed it off as well, though imperfectly, as Harry's concentration wavered.

Harry's head drooped. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Drink this." Severus cradled his head, and touched his lips to the glass. "It will help with your strength."

Harry's throat contracted, once, twice, three times. After a few moments, he felt warmer, and the ache in his head abated somewhat. "Hey, that's not too bad," he said, trying to give Severus a smile.

Severus checked his chest again, nodding. "It's holding. There's something else that's preventing the wound from healing completely. I cannot determine if it's a spell or something in the food we ingested."

"That's a thought, but I didn't taste anything funny in the food, and the beer was still fizzy."

"Hmm. I shall have to think about it." He tucked the covers in around Harry's waist. "We can do this again after you've had something to eat and have rested. Would you like to take some of the soup?"

Harry nodded. "I think so."

Severus put his hands under Harry's shoulders and carefully, slowly lifted him up; then he piled two more pillows behind him. "Do not move around. I hope the healing holds. You should rest before trying to do anything else."

Harry nodded. "Believe me, I'm not moving until you say I can."

Severus smirked. "If only you were this compliant when you were my student."

"If you'd been this nice to me, maybe I would have been."

"Hm."

Severus tried to hand Harry the bowl but his right arm refused to cooperate, making him growl in frustration. "It's all right, Harry," Severus said. "I will assist you."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, wiggling his fingers slowly. "I don't have much feeling in my arm."

"Not to worry. As soon as your wound heals, the feeling will return." Severus held the bowl to Harry's mouth and tipped it. The warm soup dribbled in, and Harry swallowed. "It's not much, but it's something."

"Thank you."

Harry was able to eat about half of the soup before he began to feel profoundly sleepy. Severus placed the bowl on the side table and removed Harry's glasses. He touched the younger man's hairline with the tips of his fingers. "Rest now."

When Harry awoke, he noticed Severus was seated again in the high-backed chair. He was still, head bowed, but the thick string of black beads was slowly moving through the elegant fingers Why do I keep calling them elegant? he thought in some amusement through the haze of pain.

He thought about a time when he had detention with Severus (He was only Snape back then.) It had been during sixth year, on a Quidditch Saturday. He'd been furious, having to copy those ridiculous detention cards that documented each infraction of the Marauders. Harry had read a particularly inventive prank involving "Snivellus", and snorted.

"Find something funny, Potter?" Snape had said, standing over him.

Harry had looked up, Snape's hands at eye-level. They were covered in a sparkling dust and moving so that they glittered. That was when Harry had first noticed Snape had impossibly long, slender fingers with impeccably trimmed nails. He'd sat transfixed by the combined wonder of the glitter on fingers.

The fingers curled into fists. "When I ask you a question, Potter," Snape had said in a menacing tone, "do not ignore me."

"Oh, erm. . . " he'd answered. "No, nothing funny, Professor."

From then on Harry had noticed Snape's hands: how his wand was held just so when casting a defensive spell; when he lectured on wand movement, he often held his wand with just the tips of those immaculate fingers. Several times Ron had caught him in a worshipful moment and had poked him. On one occasion Snape had called him out on it during class.

"Potter! What is so fascinating?"

"Erm . . .nothing," Harry had answered, and added quickly, "Professor."

"Nothing," Snape had replied with contempt. "How typical. The leader of the DA knows everything I have just lectured on. We'll see just how much you know. Get up, Potter."

And of course, Harry had had his arse handed to him by a manoeuvre he'd never see before and lost 20 points. The Gryffindors had grumbled about Snape's unfairness.

"You gotta be on guard around Snape," Ron had said.

"Yeah, constant vigilance."

That had been one of the last encounters with his professor before that horrible night on the Astronomy Tower, though now that he knew the details, Harry had a completely different view of that night. He'd always considered it from his point of view: what he had lost. In the intervening years Harry had thought deeply about that final scene, about the memory in the Pensieve, when Dumbledore asked Severus to promise to kill him: And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine? Harry had watched it over and over—the anguish in Severus's face, the agony in his voice, the angry hand pounding on hischest, as if Dumbledore had reached in and ripped out his beating heart. Harry understood.

And now as he watched Severus Snape, seven years older, the impossible and improbable took root. There was no doubt about the feelings he held for this man upon whom the fate of so many lives had been heaped, some without his knowledge or consent. The surety flooded him, took root in every cell of his body, and it made him strong.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked softly.

Severus raised his head, but his eyes remained closed for a few seconds longer, his lips moving. Then he opened them.

In the split second between opening his eyes and answering, Harry thought he'd glimpsed peace in the lined face and dark eyes. Just for the briefest of moments, Severus Snape seemed to have transcended this earthly torment and achieved a serenity he rarely allowed himself to experience.

But only in that instant.

He quickly scooped the thick string of beads up into one hand. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. Long enough to realize that whatever you were doing was good for you. You looked . . . at ease," Harry said.

Severus looked away, then sighed. "I was praying."

Harry was surprised. Instantly, he wanted to ask a hundred questions at once, but he held back. "What is that in your hand?"

"It is a prayer rope"—Severus let it fall from his hand again. "The knots guide me through various aspects of . . . prayer." Harry could now see that the larger beads weren't beads at all, but knots in the cord.

"When I first arrived at the school," Severus said, his fingers twining through the rope, "I found it difficult to assimilate. Most of the teachers were female and married. But a few years later I became . . . friends with the new chaplain who was also the new priest at the church in the village. He was my age, educated here in England at Oxford. We shared a love of botanicals and literature. It is — was the most satisfying relationship I've had with a Muggle in years."

Harry watched him carefully, tamping down the minute flare of jealousy. He wished he had that kind of friendship with him.

Maybe you can. Maybe you will.

"I'm glad you found a good friend."

"Yes, and now that's been taken away."

Harry shook his head. "Not necessarily."

"Of course it has," Snape replied wearily. "How can I ever face them again?"

"You will face him with the same dignity you faced Albus Dumbledore every day of your adult life. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Once we get this whole thing sorted with the Ministry and the Federation, and your name cleared once and for all, there won't be any reason for you . . . not to return to the school, or to do anything you want without fear of being arrested or hassled. I don't think you can return to Hogwarts, not yet anyway, but you will be able to make a living at potions or whatever you'd like."

For a long while, Snape said nothing, then rose and left the room.

Harry did not expect Severus to listen to him. Why should he? He had much to prove to the man himself, and several hours with him, locked away in an old cabin, wasn't going to do much to change years of animosity and regret. This was going to take some time. And he, Harry, had to remain patient.

"Time is all we've got," Harry muttered.

Severus returned, carrying a bowl and a cup. "You need more nourishment. Now that you seem stronger, I've added some meat to the soup. It's just some tinned product, but the protein will be good for you."

"Thank you."

Harry tried to catch his eye, but the man refused to look at him directly as he assisted Harry in sitting up in the bed. Silently, he handed Harry his glasses, and he took the soup in their odd arrangement: Severus sitting on the bed next to him, holding the bowl as Harry sipped. The soup and the Blood Replenishing Potion worked to give him a huge boost in energy and spirits.

When Severus left to return the crockery, Harry slowly moved towards the edge of the bed, working his legs around and from under the covers. He held his injured arm tightly to his chest.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

"Loo."

Without a word, Severus took his left arm. Harry leaned on him heavily as his body adjusted to being upright fully for the first time in . . .

"How long have we been here?" Harry asked.

"Two days."

"Oh, fuck. You missed your meeting."

Severus gave a mirthless chuckle. "I believe we have bigger things to worry about than missed appointments with solicitors."

"True." Harry's biggest worry at this moment wasn't how badly injured he was nor how much blood he'd lost; it was much more primal and immediate: how to will his erection away. Well, half-erection. His thin boxers gaped slightly, but there wasn't anything he could do about modesty. Then, as if providential, he bumped into the doorjamb with his injured shoulder. The pain flared and his cock fell.

"Fuck."

"Careful," Severus said in a low voice. "Are you hurt?"

Severus halted their progress while Harry assessed the pain. "No, I think I'm okay."

They moved forward. Reaching the doorway to the loo, Severus hesitated. "Do I need to—"

"Erm . . . I think I can do it alone," Harry said.

Wriggling his boxers down with one hand, Harry then sat heavily on the toilet. Finishing, he found wriggling the boxers up wasn't as easy as he couldn't bend over, nor could he lift them with his foot. He tried, but saw stars.

"Severus." Snape was by his side instantly. "Sorry, but I was afraid I was going to pass out."

"Not to worry." He gently raised Harry's boxers up his hips to his waist.

Before Harry got back in bed, Severus asked him, "Would you mind clearing off the blood from the linens? It would make them fresher."

"Not at all," Harry replied, relieved to be of some assistance. He cast "Tergeo on the sheets and pillows. He looked at Severus. "Your shirt?"

At his nod, Harry cast the blood siphoning spell at him. It was only then Harry noticed the large gash in the shirt.

"Shit! You were hit, too!" he said, alarmed. "Are you injured?"

Severus frowned. "Not too badly, though I think it nicked my lung. I've been coughing up a bit of blood."

Harry was appalled. "Please, come lie down."

"No, no. My injury is nothing compared to—"

"Bullshit. Get over here. Take your shirt off," Harry ordered.

"Potter--"

"Harry, you called me Harry earlier," Harry said automatically. "Please let me help you."

Severus slowly walked to the other side of the bed and sat with his back to Harry. He carefully unbuttoned his shirt, but stopped as he began to shrug out of it.

Harry knelt behind him and with his left hand, took the collar, easing the shirt down one arm, and then the other of his former teacher. He noticed with an audible gasp the white lines of scars marring the pale back. Some were thin and hardly visible, but others were quite deep. In the center of his shoulder blades one looked as though an incendiary spell had exploded; it was round with jagged spindles radiating from the center crater.

"My god, Severus, what happened to you?" He touched the worst of the scars with a finger tip.

"A lifetime of bad decisions."

Harry grew angry. "No one deserves this kind of treatment. Ever. From anyone."

He stilled as Harry touched him, tracing one line from the tip of his shoulder, crossing his back to the bottom of his rib cage. "Have you seen your own back lately?"

Harry stopped. "My scars are nothing like this."

"I'll bet you can tell me how you came by every one."

"No," Harry said in the low voice, "I forgot the moment I became a wizard."

Severus turned and met his eyes. "I've spent a lifetime trying to forget."

Harry nodded. "Please lie back." Harry peeled back the bandages surrounding Severus's torso, and shivered. "Fuck, Severus. Why didn't you say something?" The wound was a single, wide line, circling from halfway around his back to the middle of his abdomen; it was surrounded by angry, red tissue. "It's infected, you know," Harry said. "Should I even attempt to heal it?"

Severus grunted. "Damn. I thought that might be the case. Do a cleansing spell, except move your wand like this." He traced a pattern in the air with this finger, three times, until Harry nodded.

Harry sat very close to him, concentrating with all his might as he chanted the words under his breath and moved the wand in the precise pattern. The wound looked some better; the flesh was no longer hot to the touch. He sighed, satisfied he had cleansed it well enough to start the healing. He glanced at Severus, who had closed his eyes and was breathing easier. Harry then centered himself, then started the healing spell for the Sectumsempra damage. It took many passes over it for the wound to begin to seal under his magic. He was quickly growing tired and dizzy. He slumped into the pillows, but raised up, feeling something unfamiliar under his thigh. He reached down and pulled up the black prayer rope. "Must have fallen out of Severus's trousers," he murmured. He took Severus's limp hand, and wrapped the black cord loosely about his wrist, placing the woven cross in the palm, then closed the long fingers around it.

"Rest well," Harry whispered. Then, he eased Severus into a deeper sleep with the Soporiferous spell, before succumbing himself.

Harry awoke in the dark, the candle having burnt out as they slept. He conjured a handful of bluebell flames and set it beside him on the bedside table. After checking his wounds carefully and resealing a short opening, he was feeling somewhat better. His head was clearer than it had been; his arm was still stiff and very sore, but his hands and fingers were tingling, indicating that feeling was returning to them. Harry realized with a start that he was not alone in the bed, then he remembered, and grinned.

"I can feel you grinning," came Severus's low voice from the dark.

Harry chuckled. "I'll grin less noisily. How are you feeling?"

There was a pause. "Better. The pain has abated somewhat." He sounded relaxed but sleepy. "Thank you for the sleeping spell. I must confess I needed it."

"Of course you did. We both did." Harry was practically giddy the man wasn't angry with him. "What can I get for you?"

"Just some water, and some of the replenishing potion."

Sharing the cups of liquid, they both settled back under the covers to escape the chill in the air. Harry cast a warming spell over the bed, which helped immensely. The bed was small, but he and Severus were able to lie side by side, barely touching. He rolled toward him.

"Before you say a word," Severus warned, "I refuse to engage in pillow talk with you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I don't know what that is, so I'll just ask you one of the many questions I've wanted to ask for years. All off the record, of course. This is just me, Harry, not Harry the Auror."

"No matter how many times you say it, I simply cannot conceive how you became an Auror." It was said without ire, but it hit Harry hard.

"Let's start there," Harry said. "Why do you hate me so?"

"I don't hate you," Severus replied. "I didn't hate you when you were a student. I was . . . disappointed in you. You exasperated me. You never applied yourself."

"Look," Harry said, "I know I wasn't the best student. Compared to Hermione I probably couldn't even properly call myself a student. But I did well enough in my classes, on my own even, without Hermione's, or anyone's, help. In the classes I liked, I did pretty good."

"If you can call it that."

Harry snorted. "Fine, whatever. I want to know why you were so damn unfair and . . . and mean to me. I know I look just like my father. Fuck, man, if I had a Knut for every time I heard that I wouldn't have to work for a living. But I am not my father. James Potter was a shit to you. When he was a teenager. He was arrogant, and he and Sirius tormented you. I see that now. But there are two things you need to realize: one, I cannot do anything about what my father did to you except apologize for his sins, and two, I never knew my father so I can't help who I am. It's not like I made a conscious decision to be like him."

He waited a moment, but when Severus didn't reply, he continued. "Like you said, we can't change historical or genealogical fact. I can no more escape being James Potter's son than Crabbe could from his father. In fact, when I think about it, I'm surprised I turned out as well as I did, given my relatives. Despite what you may think you know about me, I did not grow up in a loving home; I was not privileged, I didn't receive anything from them except abuse, or at best, benign neglect. And if you think it was easy for me to admit all that, you're wrong. It's taken years for me to sort all that out."

Harry said all that in a rush, and was breathing hard. It was difficult even now for him to talk about his past. He simply didn't dwell on it, didn't want to ever think about it. He'd done the therapeutic work with a psychologist, and then moved on. But it was a part of his life he needed Severus Snape to know so that they could understand each other.

"I know," Harry continued, "that you had a hard childhood as well. You cannot escape that fact either. At least you knew your father, knew you didn't want to be like him. I didn't have that chance, or that choice. "

"Potter, it's not necessary to—"

"Wait! Just let me finish." Harry gestured with his left hand. "I need you to know this. I've been wanting to say it for a long time.

"I am this person, the one I have become. I've worked hard to become a good Auror. I've worked even harder "—Harry took a deep breath—"I've worked hard to get over all the anger I've carried around: anger at being raised by abusive relatives, anger at not having parents, anger at not having any control over my life."

"You had more control—"

Harry ignored him, plowing on. "The fact that I can sustain friendships, appreciate my friends, want and need their love, well, I can only believe that came from my mother. Remus told me once that my mother was an extraordinary woman who loved without hesitation and could see the beauty in others, especially when they could not see it in themselves."

He sat up suddenly, grimacing as he did. He turned stiffly to look at the other man. "She saw something in you, Severus, that made her your friend, even when you treated her like shite. Why is it so difficult for you to see her in me?"

Severus was now staring at him, his eyes wide open, the blue flames dancing within the dark shine. He blinked. "I—I cannot . . .explain myself." He closed his eyes, obviously searching for words. "At the time, I didn't want to give you special treatment because of who you were, to make sure you knew you were just an ordinary child—"

"But I wasn't 'ordinary', was I?" Harry cut in. "And that wasn't my doing, was it? I didn't ask for Voldemort to bring me into his sordid, twisted drama. I never sought fame; I never wanted attention. Do you know how desperately I wanted to be ordinary? God, all I wanted to do was go to school, play Quidditch, have friends—that's ordinary!"

He clutched his side, breathing hard. Snape sat up, looking concerned. "Harry, perhaps you should—"

He shook his head. "You know, I think the really disappointing thing about my . . . relationship, but not relationship, with you—you can't call it a relationship proper—my association with you, besides your being unfairly nasty to me, is that you never told me you knew my mother, probably better than most. And you never said anything."

"I couldn't."

"Oh, hang it! That's a shitty excuse," Harry spat. "During the hundreds of hours of detention I spent with you, you could've said, 'I was a friend of your mother's. Let me tell you about her.' You could've said she lived down the street from you. You could've said she was very kind to you. I just wanted to know someone who knew her!"

"You had Lupin and Black to tell you those tales."

"But you had a very different relationship with her than Remus or Sirius had, or anyone else. You knew her from before Hogwarts. She knew your family. She stood by you when no one else did."

"It wouldn't have changed anything between us."

"It didn't have to. You didn't have to adopt me! But fuck, man, it would've been nice for you to tell me anything about her."

Harry was dismayed at the desperate tone of his voice. He was trying hard to stay unemotional, but confronting the man who'd had a unique insight into who his mother was after seven years of yearning to ask gave him so much hope, hope for understanding her, her marriage, Snape. . . but mostly especially, himself.

"Pot—Harry, do you think we could have been pals, compatriots, bed buddies?" Snape said with a touch of acid. "Not only were you a student, and an annoying one at that, but I had a façade to maintain. I had to not just play a role, I had to be utterly convincing as a sadistic Death Eater. Could you have handled the truth of my friendship with your mother, words of love and affection dripping from the mouth of a conniving, tainted Death Eater? Had I revealed even one sentence of information about my true feelings, we might both have ended up dead in the end."

It was Harry's turn to stare. For several moments, he allowed the import of Severus's words to sink in, to chew on the truth of them. Finally, he lay back down beside the man who had protected them all and realized he had asked the impossible.

"Goddamn. You're right," Harry conceded. "You couldn't have told me the truth. It would have been dangerous for not just you and me, but for everyone, everyone in the Order, all of us."

"And the fog clears."

Harry snorted. "Y'know. I have to tell you, some of the insults you came up with, especially the ones not aimed at me, were pretty damn funny."

"I'm pleased I could provide you with entertainment, then."

Harry chuckled. After several moments of listening to Severus breathe, Harry said, "Look, I know I had my rebellious moments as a kid, and maybe I was annoying. But I am not that kid anymore. I've seen too much death and destruction. Life isn't about Quidditch and pranks. Here I am, now, as a man, and I really want to know how you saw her."

As he said those words he reached out and took Severus's hand, gripping it tightly. Severus's face, once frozen in a scowl, relaxed. He cleared his throat and, as he did, he closed his eyes. "First, to answer your original question, yes, I was harder on you than most, and maybe I was a bit unfair."

Harry's insides leapt in triumph, but he remained silent. He waited patiently as Severus took a deep breath in, swallowed noisily, and continued, slowly. "I think also I expected you to act like your father because you do look like him, uncannily so. So when you didn't act like him, I wanted to goad you into it. I wanted you to be like him because it was the only way I could deal with the fact that you are Lily's son. And I could not allow the feelings I had for her to colour how I felt about you. So I projected my negative feelings for your father."

"So you were just covering up what you may have truly felt for me, meaning we could have avoided six years of animosity and been, well, not friends, really, but at least had some kind of normal student/teacher relationship?" Harry asked, amazed.

"I don't know if I'd go that far," Severus said, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Harry nodded his head in understanding. "I can live with that. Oh, and I sort of understand the psychology, even if it is really fucked up." He gave Severus a wide smile. "So, tell me about you and Lily."

After over an hour of non-stop talking, Severus begged to be released to visit the loo and refresh their water and potions cups. They both got out of bed, albeit very slowly and carefully. Harry leaned on Severus once again after taking a few steps, and they made it to the small kitchen area. Harry had to tend to their wounds again, as they had opened up and seeped blood. Taking stock of the larder, they discovered they were down to a small number of tins of soup and vegetables, and some useless items such as caviar and pimentos. ("Pimentos? Who the hell buys five cans of pimentos?" Harry asked in mock outrage.) On the other hand, Harry discovered several bottles of fine port. ("No, you cannot drink with a bleeding wound," Severus said as Harry scowled.) They agreed for the need to conserve their foodstuffs and decided to split tins instead of consuming one each.

"I really hope Malfoy gets a clue about this place," said Harry, frustrated that his unlocking charms didn't work on the doors. "I'd really hate to have to burn the place down with us in it just to get out."

They returned to the bed, shivering, and crawled into it together without hesitation or embarrassment. Harry lay very close to Severus, who was on his back. Severus made a 'hrumph' sound. "I hope you don't come to regard me as a. . . snuggle buddy."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said, glowing from the stories of his mother's friendship with not only Severus, but students from all four houses. She was just as he'd heard: a top student, a dab hand at Charms and Potions; she loved the out-of-doors and taking long walks around the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade; she had a passion for justice and for what was right, which she demonstrated time and again in defending misfits and unpopular students. Harry was thrilled to learn she knew the rules of Quidditch better than anyone at the school during her time, and though she did not play, she enjoyed the game.

"She would've been very impressed with your Quidditch skills," Severus had said.

After warming up again, they both fell asleep, content in each other's company.

When Harry awoke, he found Severus watching him. He grinned.

"You really must stop that exasperating habit," Severus said.

"What? Smiling?" Harry said, laughing. "In my line of work, I take every opportunity I can to laugh. It's an evil, slimy world out there; good will is in very short supply."

"No doubt," Severus replied.

Harry thought about the complex relationship between Severus and Lily. It had not been easy much of the time. Then his thoughts turned to Severus's sacrifice and the extremely dangerous double life he'd led. And then there was the stress of teaching on top of that. Harry himself had taught several times at Hogwarts after becoming an Auror. Despite his knowledge and fame, it was very hard to keep teenagers'attention. All of a sudden, a new appreciation for Severus's abilities formed in his mind. It wasn't just luck that Snape survived all those years. He did it brilliantly! And all while teaching.

"I need to apologize to you," Harry blurted out suddenly. "I know you protected me, at the Quidditch game first year, and from Quirrell. And I know you helped me out in fifth year again when I went off to London to search for Sirius, by alerting the Order, and even holding off Umbridge. And. . . and I am very sorry I tried to hex you after you . . . killed Dumbledore. I know . . . I know how much that cost you personally. To have been forced to do that by the one person . . . the one man who believed in you, in your goodness, and your integrity. I'm very sorry for my behaviour towards you."

Severus was silent for a few moments. Then he said gruffly, "Thank you." Several heartbeats later, he added, "But, in truth, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn't know the context for my actions. That part was quite intentional, though I disagreed with the Headmaster about his withholding information that concerned you directly."

"And for that, I thank you," Harry said fervently. "Thank you for your honesty."

Without another thought Harry leant in a kissed Severus Snape fully on the lips. It was quick and heartfelt, and when he realised what he was doing, Harry drew back.

"Umm. . .oh, shit. Sorry about that." He bit his lip worriedly.

"Something else you need to confess to me?" Severus asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Erm. . .well, yes, you see, I'm, uh. . ."

"Yes, I can see that you are. As am I."

Harry's face lit up. "Truly?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, but I prefer to not have in announced in the Daily Prophet."

"Oh, I'm with you there."

Harry felt the happiest he had in quite some time, despite being caged up in a cabin, far from civilization, not knowing if the owner would ever come along to let them out.

The day passed by quickly. They dozed and talked. Harry had to perform the healing spell on them both several more times. Together, they brewed up another batch of the Blood Replenishing Potion with the last of the ingredients.

"To your health, Severus," Harry said, tapping his glass to Severus's.

"And to yours," he replied.

As Severus drank, he coughed, and he patted his chest. "I'm—that was—" He coughed several more times.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm—not sure." Severus coughed some more, deeper, and then all at once, the potion and a large quantity of blood came up.

As he did, the wound came open again, and blood poured out. "Fuck!" Harry cried, leaping to Severus's aid. "Severus!"

Harry laid him on the cold floor, and pressed a tea towel to the gaping wound. He frantically chanted the healing spell over and over.

"The spell isn't working, is it?" Severus said weakly

At that moment, the door burst open, and through it came Draco Malfoy. "Well, well, well," he drawled. "What is going on—"

"Malfoy!" Harry cried, frantic, "get some help, will you? Severus is bleeding out."

Without a word Draco Disapparated. Harry continued to chant the healing spell for what seemed like forever; finally, Draco returned with a man wearing the distinctive robes of a Healer.

"Let me see him, Auror Potter," the man said. A quick check and he pulled out his wand. The spell he used bound the wound up in a tight bandage. "This will hold until I get him to St. Mungo's. I'm going to Apparate him there now."

Harry slid off onto the floor. "Please. Please save him."

As the Healer and Severus winked out of existence, Harry looked up at Draco, dazed. "At least he'll be safe."

And then the world around Harry Potter spun out of control, and he knew no more.

Harry awoke to the sunlight streaming through the small window of his room at St. Mungo's. He sat up quickly, looking around.

Severus was sitting up in the next bed. His eyes were closed as he rubbed the knots on the prayer rope. Harry watched him for a little while, enjoying the peace that seemed to radiate from his entire body. The sunlight caught the silver in his hair, make it shine, creating something of a halo.

Harry closed his eyes too. In the three days they had been rescued and taken to St. Mungo's, the Healers had done an excellent job of curing their injuries. It was good to be rid of the persistent agony of the Sectumsempra attack. The Healers had had trouble identifying the dark curse that had accompanying the slashing spell, but in the end, Draco Malfoy had come through with the countercurse, and their wounds had healed.

"Yeah, Malfoy's the hero of the day," Ron had said, visiting Harry the day before. "He went straight to the holding cell at the Ministry and threatened all sorts of mayhem on the girl who had Polyjuiced into Mitchell if she didn't reveal the curse. He really can play dirty."

Harry had spoken with the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Jeremiah Elkins, about the attack: The members of the Aurors Division had captured the two assailants very quickly. The mysterious man in the black cloak was the brother of Yaxley, who had been captured during the Battle of Hogwarts. The other attacker was his daughter, who had taken Polyjuice to take Officer Mitchell's place. The real Officer Mitchell had been discovered tied up in a closet at her flat. Then Harry told Elkins about Severus's heroic efforts to save them both. He assured Harry that all would be taken under advisement and that he should rest easy. "I feel quite certain, Mr. Potter, that Professor Snape will find a suitable outcome in our deliberations." He patted Harry's knee. "All will be well."

Elkins and several other members of the Wizengamot set up court in a conference room at St. Mungo's so that Severus would not have to be moved. After several hours of meeting with them, Severus emerged, shaking hands with all of them.

"So how'd it go?" Harry had asked.

"They were quite accommodating and agreeable," he'd said. "It seems the persistent and resourceful Ms. Granger has found a way for all of this to be resolved without involving the entire Wizengamot. I have just given my testimony and been absolved."

Harry had whooped and jumped up to throw his arms around Severus. A Healer had appeared at the precise moment and sternly warned both of them that boisterous behaviour at this point in their recovery could have serious consequences. After she left, Harry still favoured Severus with a gentle hug, which, to Harry's delight, he returned.

Life was beginning to indeed look a bit more rosy. Severus had been quiet since the meeting with the Wizengamot, while Harry had cheerfully visited with friends who stopped by to visit. Several of them, including Ron and Hermione, and Luna Lovegood had chatted briefly with Severus, too. Draco had even come by to say hello, but left quickly.

Finally, Severus came to the end of the prayer rope. He breathed in deeply, and let out the breath slowly.

"You need to do that more often," Harry said, getting up from his bed. He walked over to Severus's bed and sat beside him. "You look so peaceful."

Severus gave him a wan smile. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. And no, I haven't been staring at you all this time," Harry said, scooting up closer. "I've been thinking . . ."

"Always a dangerous pursuit."

"Oh, ha-ha, too funny." Harry looked down at his hands, rubbing a scab. "What I've been thinking about is. . . well, what are you going to do once you're released from here? Are you going back to St. Brigid's?"

Severus hesitated. "I need to go back, if nothing more than to retrieve my belongings. And I need to . . . resolve my relationships there."

Harry nodded. "Yes, that's good. You need to do that. Do you think they'll accept you back?"

"Even if they did, I would not take it. I'm a wizard. I belong in the Wizarding world. If anything, these past several days have shown me that. I-I have missed this life."

Harry clasped his hands to Severus's. "I'm very happy to hear that."

"But," Severus said, carefully removing his hands, and folding them in his lap, "that doesn't mean I'm returning for any other reason than to take up a life within the magical community. While I have been absolved by the legal entities, I know I am still very much a pariah."

"Well, fuck the arses!" Harry said emphatically. "Look, I live in a rural village—"

"You live on your father's ancestral lands in Godric's Hollow."

"Yes, I do. No one bothers me in the least. You can stay with me as long as you like. Forever, if that's what it ends up. I'm lonely. I'd love your company. You won't have to want for anything. It'll all be fine—"

"Harry, Harry, stop. You're babbling."

"Oh, erm. . .sorry." He looked sheepish. "But I just want you to know you have a home. I swear it."

"I-I will take it under advisement. Permit me to put my affairs in order in Croatia, and then we'll see. Does that sound logical?"

"Yeah, fine. It's good." Harry lay beside him in the narrow bed. "I just wish this was all over."

Severus kissed the top of Harry's messy-haired head. "It will be fine."

Harry was bored. He straightened the books on the shelves for the sixth time that day. He checked the state of the refrigerator, took a bottle of butterbeer out, but put it back, deciding he really wasn't thirsty, having had two already.

He walked outside, scuffing along the stone path to the gazebo overlooking a pond. He walked out onto the deck, the setting sun to the west cast the just greening hills and trees in a soft golden glow.

In the month that he'd been home, Harry had not heard one word from Severus. Well, besides the note that had come by owl the day after he'd returned to Croatia. All it said was I have arrived safely. Will be staying with Father Goran in the village. Severus Snape. They had parted with their lives at loose ends; nothing had been decided officially.

Harry was beginning to get antsy. Enforced medical leave had lost its appeal two weeks earlier. Hermione had threatened him with severe bodily harm if he'd so much as thought about going to work. He'd been to the Burrow, where he'd been greeted merrily by Arthur and Molly, and loaded down with more food than he could eat in a week. Ron and he had gone to The Leaky Cauldron for lunch several times. They'd even taken in the cinema in Muggle London one evening. He slept, he ate, he read books. He ran the two kilometres into Godric's Hollow every morning for the newspaper, even though it could have easily been delivered to him. In short, he was going stir-crazy.

He was looking forward to getting back into action. Strictly speaking, he wasn't supposed to be doing any work But Ron had surreptitiously sent him reports from field agents and missions two days ago, and Harry had devoured them, eager to reply with detailed messages and orders. He was thinking about a message he needed to send to his second when he was interrupted.

"One might wonder if you have given up the working world for the life of a country gentleman," a voice said from behind him.

Harry whirled around. "Severus," Harry said smiling. Nervously.

They walked towards each other, then stopped. "How—how are you?" Severus asked. He, too, looked ill at ease.

"I'm great. Yeah, medical leave is almost up. I've been doing some paperwork here. Ron's been keeping me up with all the happenings, and it's been really quiet lately." Harry licked his lips uneasily. "Erm . . .have a seat?" He gestured to the gazebo behind him.

Severus nodded. They settled on the wooden bench, and watched several ducks land in the water, quacking loudly.

"Harry," Severus began, "before anything else, I want to tell you something." He sat up straighter and looked directly at him. "I-I am grateful to you. For everything. Your advocacy before the Wizengamot. Your efforts to clear my name, to get the charges for murder and treason dropped. Everything I have today, in this moment, I owe to your hard work, and . . . I thank you."

"You're welcome, but it's really —"

Severus held up his hand. "Please, allow me to finish. I spent several weeks with my friend, Goran, the chaplain. He is the only other person who knows the truth about my life, my entire life story. And it is because of him that I have returned here.

"You see, I wasn't entirely truthful when you asked me the question about why I was so unfair to you when you were a student. Yes, I was truthful when I said that I was covering up my feelings for your mother by focusing only on my hatred for your father. Because I saw all the best qualities of Lily, everything I loved about her, in you—your curiosity, your sense of fairness, even your sense of humour. You're very much like her. And your eyes are extraordinarily like hers. It was. . . unnerving sometimes to see yours, and I would automatically think of her . . . and what I had lost.

"Now, I knew who I was from the time I was a young teenager. I knew I would never be with Lily romantically, and more importantly, she did too. But I valued her friendship beyond gold. She was the singularly most important person in my life. And to have betrayed her like I did—"

Severus stood suddenly and looked off into the coming twilight. "I cannot forgive myself for what I did to her, to you, and yes, to your father, by telling the Dark Lord about the prophecy. For not doing more to prevent him from finding them that night. For not stopping him."

"But Severus, there was nothing—"

"I could have stopped him," Severus said, angry. "I could've killed him. My cowardice and inability to make my own decisions prevented me from saving the only person on earth who truly loved me for who I was. I let her down, Harry. I let myself down. I let Dumbledore down.

"And then you came to Hogwarts, The Boy Who Lived. Except you had no idea what that meant. You didn't know who you were, how the rest of the Wizarding world regarded you. And I ignored the truth of that. I chose to listen instead to the voices of discord and hatred in my own head. Instead of nurturing Lily's son, I made him the object of my scorn so that I could assuage the guilt for letting her down. Instead of taking you under my tutelage, to prepare you for what you needed to know to fulfill your destiny, I treated you with vitriol and disdain."

Harry watched Severus, his heart open to the painful honesty in the words. "And I've hated myself for it. And then, here you are, helping me. Putting your professional and personal reputation on the line to get my name cleared. " Severus turned to him. "I am undone. I am in . . . awe of what you have done for me."

Harry joined him, apart, at the railing, leaning on his forearms. "The thing about forgiveness, Severus, is that it is given freely. I forgave you for all of it, everything, all the mistakes, all the deaths, all the harsh words, years ago, when you sent, your Patronus, the Silver Doe, to me that night in the Forest of Dean. I didn't know it at the time, but I did. And when I saw your memory in the Pensieve, I—"

Harry bowed his head, unable to continue for several minutes. Then, he wiped his face with his sleeve, and stood straight, walked over to Severus and took his hand. Wrapped in his hand was the prayer rope; he wove his fingers through its loops, binding their palms together. "I forgive you. We cannot change history, but we can learn from it, and live our lives better because of its lessons. Don't you think it's time for you to forgive yourself?"

They watched the three-quarter moon rise over the eastern hills, and the shadows deepen. Somewhere, a nightingale sang. A stag appeared at the edge of the woods, and drank from the pond.

"Perhaps," Severus said, "it is time." He leant over and gently placed a kiss on Harry's lips.

And in the newly born night, they walked to the house together.

THE END