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Harry groaned as he opened bleary eyes on the familiar stone arches of the infirmary ceiling. An experimental stretch reassured him that nothing was aching any more or any less than usual, and as he touched his wand in its wrist holster, his magic gave a familiar fizzy wriggle. Which was notably more than it had done since the first time he woke after the - after the final battle.
A sigh had him opening his eyes and squinting, trying to bring the person's face into focus.
"Mr. Potter," Poppy murmured. "Awake, are you?"
"Er, yes, thank you."
Her wand moved in a broad complex figure above him. When it stopped, he fumbled his lenses off the bedside table. Once they were firmly in place, he glanced up to see her smiling down at him.
"You're free to go, Mr. Potter," she murmured, and glanced away at a low moan that came from beyond the curtain surrounding his bed. "Don't overstrain yourself, and come straight back here, understand, at the least need. Under usual circumstances, I'd keep you here for another day or two for observation, but..."
"I'm fine, Madame. Er, where should I go?"
Another tired smile, as she glanced at the curtain again. "Your dormitory will suffice, it was not damaged. Be alert in the hallways, please."
"I promise. I - thank you," he said a little shyly.
She waved her hand at him as he slipped out the door, after a long look at the packed ward.
It was a relief to shoulder the weight of his familiar leather pack and walk into his own common room, after being gone for so long. It looked a little shabbier, a little dusty, but the worn treads on the stairs cupped the soles of his trainers comfortably as he headed up to the top of the tower.
The standard six beds stood in the room, and Harry was startled to realize that his own privacy spell still stood on his usual four-poster. He dropped the spell cautiously, and pulled the curtains aside to see his own pyjamas draped over the end of the bed, with the telltale creases of the elves favourite freshening spell across the folds. It stopped his breath for a long moment.
Harry didn't bother with the pyjamas, just flopped down on the bed, closing his eyes. The old feeling of relaxation suffused him, the nearly mindless limp relief of the safest place he'd ever known. The warmth and comfort of his surroundings meant he was asleep within moments.
He wasn't certain how long he'd been asleep, but a very familiar and insistent voice was intruding on his quiet. Reluctantly Harry opened his eyes, wincing as he stretched stiff limbs.
"I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but your presence is required." She waited until he sat up, and looked inquiringly at her, hoping for more information. As he got to his feet, she nodded. "I will wait for you in the common room." Professor McGonagall's voice was a little unsteady, but Harry let that go. He wasn't sure his own voice would be reliable either, so he simply nodded and sat up, straightening his glasses. "There is enough time to wash up and dress properly," she said, nodding at his trunk.
"It's still here," he croaked in surprise, and cleared his throat in case he had to speak again.
"Yes, Mr. Potter. Just one of the many things to be discussed. Up with you, now." She turned and limped from the room, moving slowly. Harry looked around himself to see that the room remained empty of anyone but himself, and fumbled reaching for his wand, attempting to distinguish it from the Elder wand.
He sighed to himself, and leaned over the side of the bed to dig in his pack for a second wand holster he'd acquired over the last long months, and carefully strapped the Elder wand to his left forearm. Clearly he needed to talk to Hermione about that, before making it known that he was still the master of damned thing.
Grasping his own wand, he smiled, enjoying the familiar feeling of it, hoping that the feeling of doubt he harbored when he used it to cast would perhaps fade over time. Harry padded softly into the chill of the lavatory looking about at the familiar drippy atmosphere, almost eerie in it's silence, lacking any other people. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment as he cast his shaving charm, then wondered if he'd made a mistake and should have left himself scruffy.
Professor McGonagall rose stiffly from one of the armchairs before the fire, and nodded at him. He sighed as they exited the portrait, feeling the Tower's protection fade behind himself.
"The Mininstry?" He was afraid to ask for details, though he knew he was likely about to be snowed under with the minutiae the Ministry loved to frolic about. Madame Pomfrey had successfully kept the Ministry officials from speaking to him as he'd recovered for the most part, but he'd had to answer a few... important questions. Like verifying the time, means and method of Voldemort's demise. He winced away from that thought and looked up at his professor, waiting for an answer.
She was watching him closely, and he shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. "No, Mr. Potter," she said slowly, but didn't offer anything more. Harry glanced at her curiously. His Head of House was slightly pale, and he wasn't sure if that was due to how she was feeling after... everything, or if she had concerns regarding the upcoming encounter.
He decided he'd rather think on the fly and not try to figure it out.
They went up the familiar steps to the Headmaster's office, and Harry glanced at her, baffled as he heard the password.
"Fainting fancies," Professor McGonagall stated firmly, and the gargoyles gave their familiar nod as the staircase began to rotate and reveal itself.
Harry expected to enter into the Headmaster's office, belonging to Professor - no, Headmaster McGonagall. Who else would have been made headmaster but her, after Snape's death? He was slightly chilled from the long walk through the echoing, empty corridors, whether from Minerva's silence, or the chill of abandonment from the stones of Hogwarts herself. He was definitely looking forward to seeing the Headmaster's office as hers again, with a bright cheery fire, eye-bleeding tartans everywhere, and a steaming tea service with lovely biscuits waiting.
Harry followed the Headmistress inside -- and stopped dead, staring.
The comfortable castle air with it's tang of dust, stone, damp and student robes refused to enter his lungs. He gaped, jaw slackly unhinged and eyes saucer wide, struggling to do anything more than take in a breath which wouldn't come, no matter how hard he tried. Later, he would remember wishing that a thought would come, any thought, no matter what sort or how dreadful.
For there Dumbledore sat behind the desk, with Snape standing at his left hand shoulder.
"Steady on, Mr. Potter, I know it's a shock. Please, be seated," Professor McGonagall said, as she sat herself in the visitor's chair with a plump of faint dust rising about her crimson robes.
Harry didn't bother to control his response, or to answer her. He simply stared, incredulous and disbelieving, his mind at a complete standstill.
Finally, Dumbledore chuckled, that old familiar sound, which now raised chills along Harry's spine. He held himself rigid, holding on to his shock, not allowing himself to shiver in response.
"Severus' expertly brewed Draught of Living Death, and a quite spectacular cushioning charm."
Harry's eyes immediately went to his Potions professor, who surprisingly made eye contact. There was no impact or shock to that motion which he had unconsciously braced himself for, because Harry was fully occluded. He saw Severus' lips twitch, as if he were repressing a smile. The Professor gave the tiniest of nods, and then-
"Antidotes, Mr. Potter," came the old supercilious sneer. "Please note they can be used as vaccines, as well. Now, I believe you have something belonging to me?"
He did. The vial of memories burned in his pocket. Now he'd never see them again, not outside of his mind's eye, not as richly as he had in the pensieve that Hermione had helped him to enchant. They'd both been dubious about enchanting a precious tiny mortar, one of the few tools they'd brought with them on the run, and in the end they'd eyed one another and destroyed the marble pestle, including it in the potion ingredients. Harry put that thought aside, knowing he needed to respond.
"Snape -"
"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore said with his old familiar twinkle, and the sight of it evoked an uncommon nausea in Harry. Excitement, Harry told himself. Shock. Get on with it.
"Professor Snape," Harry repeated, without hesitating - and hopefully hiding what he felt. "The memories are secured, in my Gringotts vault."
It wasn't exactly a lie. A copy of the memories did reside in his vault, but somehow he sensed that it wasn't the best of ideas to hand the vial over immediately.
"My boys, we will make arrangements for you to visit Gringotts - perhaps later today or tomorrow," Dumbledore said blithely.
Harry thought for a moment he must be hallucinating as he noticed the slight narrowing of Snape's eyes - something the man always did when he was suspicious of something. The... Headmaster seemed to be waiting for a response, so finally, he nodded. "Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, and tried to ignore the odd temptation to direct his words to Snape, and not Dumbledore. And again, not think about it.
"I'm afraid you present somewhat of a problem, Harry," Dumbledore said, his tone kindly and indulgent as it often was, and Harry found he had to steel himself not to turn and bolt from the room. "There is new legislature that has been passed in the Ministry in the last few days, as you recovered in the hospital wing," the Headmaster continued, steepling his fingers in the old familiar gesture.
Harry shook his head, trying to clear it - and then stilled. Snape had shaken his own head just slightly, and at that recognition the shock of one of Snape's memories, of protecting him, of protecting Harry, rushed through him, crippling and painful.
Harry finally had the presence of mind to look up at Dumbledore, eyes shielded. He felt an odd touch on his shoulder, but Professor McGonagall hadn't moved-
"Yes," Dumbledore said with satisfaction. "I am afraid that lacking your Hogwarts diploma, you are no longer of the age of majority in the wizarding world."
Harry leapt to his feet, sucking in a breath - and was thrust back down into his chair by Professor McGonagall's hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly. He wasn't certain if she'd bound his voice, or if Snape had, but he found himself unable to protest aloud, though he fought against the restrictions, vocal and physical.
The Headmaster blithely ignored Harry's dilemma, and continued. "This means that you pose quite a problem - it seems the Dursleys are unwilling to take custody. Therefore, I have conversed with Shacklebolt, and the solution is clear. We'll grant your old wish, Harry," Dumbledore said, leaning forward, his twinkling smile anticipatory.
Harry was struck with the sudden thought of Molly and Arthur Weasley, then recoiled from that in pain. He couldn't possibly, not after the twins... and their house... and- his thoughts scrambled for who else it could possibly be, and he blinked back tears, suddenly drowning in memories of Sirius and Remus, both gone now.
"There isn't anyone," he managed to choke. "I can't go to the Weasleys, I can't, not after-"
"You will not," Dumbleore said gently. "I thought that it would be harmful to place you anywhere other than Hogwarts."
"You mean..." Harry's head snapped up, a blazing streak of hope rushing through him. The, the Headmaster was right, he had always wished for that and now - "I'll be a ward of the castle," he acknowledged, a fast sense of relief suffusing his entire being-
But Dumbledore was shaking his head, and Harry's heart sank low. "No, Harry. Hogwarts has a great deal of work in front of her, to rebuild. She cannot bear another task right now."
That sounded a little odd, but then again things were always a little odd when it came to Hogwarts. He took a deep breath. "Then who," Harry asked, annoyance building. He'd forgotten in his time away, though he wasn't certain just how he'd managed that, just how vague Dumbledore could be.
No one spoke, but Snape walked slowly forward from where he stood, to lean on the front of Dumbledore's desk, smirking down on Harry.
Harry took a breath, bracing himself to argue - but Snape shook his head ever so slightly. He couldn't fathom what the man meant - but something in his gut said that he should trust the caution coming from the double agent. Harry's gaze drifted back to Dumbledore, automatically allowing shock to suffuse his face.
"Excellent. Harry, my boy, I'm afraid that the media are about to descend upon us. Severus will take you down to your new quarters - I must leave the details of the guardianship to him, as much as I would like to have you fully informed."
"I am also available to you, Mr. Potter, should you have the need. I remain your Head of House, after all," came McGonagall's sniff.
Harry rose without thinking, when Snape made an upward gesture with his hand. He caught an odd movement from the potions professor out of the corner of his eye even as a rush of owls swooped in and distracted him. In the few seconds before he looked away, it was clear that Snape was staring directly at Professor McGonagall, whose eyes were fixed on Snape's, and then both of them nodded ever so slightly at the same time.
The moment, which had seemed to be on some sort of time delay, ended. Snape snapped at him. "Move, Mr. Potter. The Headmaster has work to do."
Harry went silently and without protest, though he glanced at Professor McGonagall, whose steely eyes softened a bit. He felt numb with shock again as he preceded Snape out of the study, but even under that onus it was a definite relief to get out of the Headmaster's presence.
He followed Snape, subsumed in the silence created by the maelstrom of his thoughts, as they headed towards the dungeons - until the last corner... Before they turned the last corner to the corridor containing the Slytherin staircases, Harry stopped in his tracks.
"Mr. Potter," Professor Snape snapped in the same tone that had plagued Harry for six years of his Hogwarts career. But this was important, wasn't it? If he was Snape's ward, then-
"My trunk," he managed, with a gasp. Having just been reunited with his meagre possessions, he found he was reluctant to let them go again.
"Will be brought down by the elves. Come along, please."
Harry trailed along, wondering exactly how many different versions of astonishment and stupefaction he might be in for, as well as considering turning tail and running. He knew he could take care of himself outside of Hogwarts... But if he'd learned anything in the last year, it was that sometimes you had to bide your time.
He had a second earth-shattering shock, though, when Snape muttered the password and the portrait swung open. Because Professor McGongagall was seated before the fire in Snape's quarters, looking comfortable in a worn brown leather chair. She smiled at Harry.
"Have a seat, Mr. Potter," Snape intoned. "There is more to discuss. Minerva?"
Snape pulled out his wand, and cast a visible ward around the room itself, and then a second around the chairs and ottomans. Harry stood in bewilderment, as the potions professor held the spell in place, light visibly streaming from his wand.
Minerva raised her wand, and twirled it in a peculiar gesture which connected a spiral of light to Snape's wand.
"Impervia protegat!"
There was a dramatic flash of light, and the visible ward faded into shadows, giving the rest of the room away from the conversation area a sense of eerie darkness in it's aftermath.
Snape exhaled, and sat down heavily in the chair opposite Minerva's. "Mr. Potter, I asked you to have a seat."
Harry dropped down on an ottoman near his Head of House, more because he couldn't think of anything else to do, than of a sense of obedience to his new... to his new guardian. "What..."
"An extremely difficult class of wards, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall sniffed. "Layered, requiring two individuals to cast. The last part of the spell is a transfiguration. It's not visible as anything other than a basic privacy ward."
Harry looked from teacher to teacher, hoping that someone would explain without him having to recite what he'd understood of what they'd said first.
Snape smirked. "I regret to inform you, Mr. Potter, that the war is not yet over."