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She sat by his bedside for hours. She didn’t know what drove her to be there, curled up in an uncomfortable visitor chair, she just felt like she had to be there, until he woke up.
It was nice, in a way.
Peaceful.
People left her alone when she was sitting with him, because a curtain had been erected around his bed to give him some semblance of privacy. The privileges of being the Headmaster, Harriet supposed.
She even managed to doze a little in the chair, despite it being less than comfortable. Any time she’d tried to sleep in her bed in Gryffindor tower, she’d been woken not long later by the nightmares that had long haunted her, so she would take any sleep as a win.
Perhaps it was as simple as her being mostly upright, or that she was always slightly alert being in a public place, but she was managing to rest when she was in the hospital wing with him.
Madam Pomfrey had offered her some Dreamless Sleep, but Harriet had refused it, and continued to do so every time the offer was repeated. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful, but the thought of being reliant on potions for anything wasn’t a comfortable idea for her.
Besides, things could settle down yet. It had only been a few days since the final battle.
Restoration had already begun on the castle. A lot of people had left—most of the students had gone home—but there were still plenty of people in the castle who’d stayed behind to help with the rebuilding.
Harriet hadn’t helped yet. She meant to, she really did, but she was tired. She was tired, and achy, and she just… she just needed a minute.
And Snape’s beside was the best place she’d found to get it.
…
“I sent you to walk to your own death, Potter,” Snape said, his voice rougher than Harriet had ever heard it; likely due to the still healing wound on his throat. “I’m amazed you can even bear to look at me, let alone sit vigil at my bedside.”
Harry tilted her head slightly to the side, considering her answer. She didn’t really feel like explaining that it was the only place she’d found any peace.
“I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, sir. I’ll go now.”
She stood in one fluid movement, untucking her legs as she ignored the pains still left over from the days—weeks, months—previous, and made her way to the double doors of the hospital wing.
Now that he was awake, she wouldn’t be able to come back, she knew. It would be weird, and awkward, and probably no longer peaceful. She’d enjoyed the brief reprieve though.
Before she left, she turned back and found Snape’s eyes on her. “You sent me to the forest, yes, because it was where I needed to be. It was what I needed to do. I don’t blame you for that.”
She left without waiting for, or expecting, a reply. There was rebuilding to do, and though she’d taken a break, it was time that she leant a hand. Her moment of peace was over.
It was time to get back to real life.
Hermione had spoken to Professor McGonagall about being able to sit in for the seventh year that they’d missed, and the Deputy Headmistress had promised that there would be an option for those that hadn’t been there for seventh year—or indeed, had been there—to return.
A year without responsibility—beyond that of homework, or studying for exams—didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world to Harriet.
Not after the year that they’d just had. But first… first, she had to get used to being around people again.
For right now, everybody that had remained at Hogwarts were people that she trusted, but that wouldn’t always be the case.
…
Thunder raged overhead.
Harriet stood by the window, watching as the rain cascaded down over the grounds in sheets, so heavy you could barely see through it. Lightning flashed occasionally, lighting up the sky above the forest trees.
She sighed. She loved storms, but not when they were interrupting her plans.
School had been back in session for a few weeks, and she’d spent a lot of time on the grounds on her own, hidden beneath her invisibility cloak. Especially in the evenings, when people expected her to be social.
As October beckoned, the weather was taking a turn, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to continue doing that for much longer. At least until the spring.
Turning away from the window, Harriet wandered through the halls of Hogwarts, directionless. She had no clear destination in mind—she was just filling the hours that she should be using to sleep, until she was exhausted enough that she wouldn’t dream.
A shiver ran through her, and she pulled her heavy winter cloak tighter around herself, more than glad that she’d thought to put it on before leaving the dorm. She’d found herself in the dungeons, and it was always the coldest part of the castle.
She could see her breath in front of her as she walked.
Shadows played around the corridors, but instead of feeling discomforted by them, they brought an odd sort of peace. Like she could be alone without truly being alone.
The dungeons were the one part of Hogwarts that she’d never really bothered to fully explore. She knew where the Potion’s classrooms were, where Slughorn’s office was, where Snape’s old office was, and where the Slytherin common room was, but that was about it.
She glanced through the doorways as she walked past them, noticing the many empty classrooms, and wondered why they were no longer in use.
If they had ever been in use, and what they had been used for if they had. Hogwarts had once offered other classes, she knew, so maybe these were classrooms for Alchemy, or Elemental studies.
At the end of a dead-end corridor, she found a closed door. Pushing on it, she was a little surprised when the handle turned beneath her hand, and she stepped inside, her eyebrows raising.
Musical instruments lined the walls.
Had Hogwarts ever offered a music class? It hadn’t been on the old syllabus she’d found.
She walked further inside, cautiously, her eyes drifting over a harp, a violin in its case, and a flute lying abandoned on a table. She was drawn to the piano in the corner.
She didn’t know much about musical instruments, not pianos specifically, but this one was beautiful. Ornate and delicate, but sturdy looking, and sizable.
She moved closer to the piano, until she could run her fingers along the ivory keys. She’d played piano years ago, when she was in Primary school. Everyone else seemed to find it difficult, but she’d found it easy—as easy as she’d found flying, in her first year of Hogwarts.
Her music teacher had told her that she would go far if she took proper piano lessons, with a dedicated teacher, but of course, the Dursleys wouldn’t hear of it.
Sitting down on the little bench, she played a little from memory. It came as easily to her as it had when she’d been younger. Her lips tilting up, she played something off the cuff, her fingers flying over the keys in a random, upbeat melody.
It flowed out of her without pause or effort. It was like she didn’t even need to think about it.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, playing random melodies on the piano, but when she stopped, she realised that she felt better than she had in…
Well.
She felt better.
Leaving the room, she looked back over her shoulder into the room, and smiled.
She’d come back.
…
Christmas was upon them.
Severus ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he placed his quill down on the last piece of parchment he’d had to fill in for the night. Being Headmaster was way more paperwork than he’d ever wanted to do.
He’d considered leaving. He truly had. Those hours spent lying in the Hospital Wing had been filled with thoughts of leaving the castle behind for good. He’d thought about spending the remainder of his life in solitude, with perhaps an Owl-Order business to occupy his time.
In the end, it had been Minerva who’d convinced him out of it. She’d sat by his bed and stared at him for a long moment, before she’d begun to talk.
They’d argued for a while, about his actions—and inaction—and the fact that he hadn’t trusted her with the truth the year before.
She’d apologised, and he’d waved her off.
And then, after all of that was hashed out, she’d spoken to him like she used to, when it was just the two of them in the staff room, commiserating over their respective workloads and troublesome students.
She’d spoken to him about getting the castle prepared for the new school year, the influx of Muggleborns they would be receiving, given the year that none were able to attend, and the possibility of the should-have-been seventh years attending as well.
When he’d told her that he wasn’t sure about keeping his position as Headmaster, she’d been surprised that he wanted his legacy at the school to be the last year, and when he’d thought about it, he realised that he agreed with her.
He couldn’t let that one year be the year that defined him as a Headmaster. He’d never wanted the position, but he had it, and he wouldn’t leave a stain like that on his reputation when he could change it.
When he could make it better.
Moments like this, though, when he’d spent four solid hours filling in forms and reading letters from parents, the school board—corrupt menaces, the lot of them—and the Ministry of Magic, made him wonder if any of it was really worth it.
Rubbing his eyes briefly, Severus stood from his desk. He should go straight to bed, he knew, but he also knew that he wasn’t going to. Instead, he would walk the corridors of the school first, to make sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be.
It was a habit, at this point, and it made it easier for him to sleep, if he knew that he had secured the castle himself.
On his way out of his office, he grabbed a winter cloak to cover his shoulders. It was cold in the castle now—winter had fully set in in Scotland—and it would be even more so in the dungeons, which was where he always started his rounds, despite his office now being on the fifth floor.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he walked down the steps into the dimly lit dungeon hallways. This was where he felt most at home in the castle; despite his new lodgings, he often spent time in his old rooms, where he had his cauldrons set up and he could still brew in peace.
While Slughorn could make the potions for the Hospital Wing, he didn’t often. It was a job that Severus still made time for, if only because he still needed time to brew now and then. It was what he enjoyed, above almost everything else in his life.
He walked past the Slytherin Common Room, resisting the urge to check in on his snakes—they were fine, the castle would tell him if they were not. He felt more protective than he ever had though, given the renewed suspicion on them, since Voldemort’s return.
Despite Potter defeating him, all eyes were still on the green and silver wearing house.
He was almost to the dead end when he heard music playing. Frowning slightly, Severus inched closer to the classroom. It had been a long time since he’d heard anybody in there. He didn’t realise that anybody even knew the instruments were there.
The door was open a crack, and Severus looked around the edge of the frame to see who was there.
He was surprised to see Potter sitting at the piano, her hands practically flying across the keys as she played a melancholy piece that seemed to hit Severus right in the gut.
He was shocked that it was her.
Of anything he would ever believe Potter could be good at, the piano would not have even entered his mind. If he wasn’t seeing it for himself, he knew that he would be firmly of the opinion that she didn’t have the discipline to learn an instrument, and yet…
She played beautifully.
It was almost like she was speaking to him through the music she played.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, listening to her, but eventually, her fingers slowed, and the music tapered off to a poignant endnote.
She turned in her seat, and her emerald green eyes—so like her mothers, and yet very much not—landed on him before he could decide whether he wanted to leave without her notice. He noticed her cheeks flush prettily.
He stepped inside. She had seen him now, there was little point pretending that he hadn’t been listening.
“You play well,” he murmured, his voice carrying in the silence. “I didn’t realise that you’d had lessons.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t. Well. Not for a long time.” When he arched his brow in question, she clarified, “I played a little in music class in Primary school. Before I came here.”
Rolling his eyes, Severus replied, “Come, Miss Potter, you must have had some formal training in the art?”
She shook her head again, and he wasn’t really sure what to think about that. She had no reason, no excuses, to lie to him about such a thing, and he couldn’t think of a reason why she would. But the very idea that this was pure natural talent… he’d never heard of such a thing.
“You’re up late,” he said, instead, when the silence grew too loud between them. “You should be asleep.”
The smile that tilted up her lips was not a happy one. “I’m tired, professor, but I’m not tired enough, not yet.”
“For what?”
“For sleep,” she murmured. “Sleep without nightmares.”
“Ah. There are potions to help,” he offered, because he knew, didn’t he, how bad the nightmares could be?
“I know,” she agreed. “But they can be addictive. I don’t need a potion addiction on top of everything else that comes with being… well. Me, I suppose.”
He chuckled at that, surprised by the depreciation in her words. He knew now that she wasn’t who he had always believed her to be, but to hear her say such a thing so plainly, and to him?
It was… strange.
Without a semblance of sanity, he offered her his hand. When she took it, he tugged her gently to her feet, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “You can walk my rounds with me,” he told her, his voice soft. “By the time we reach the tower, you’ll hopefully be tired enough to sleep.”
…
Walking with Snape was… different.
It wasn’t bad. He was even quite funny, in a sarcastic sort of way, at least when it wasn’t aimed in her direction. He kept the conversation flowing as they walked, and Harriet appreciated him for it. Anything to take her mind from things best ignored was a relief to her.
He made a winding trail around the castle, across each floor and then up to the next. He even walked her up to the Astronomy tower, and back down, before finally, they found their way up the many stairs of the Gryffindor tower.
Only when they were outside the Fat Lady’s portrait did she pull her hand from where it rested in the crook of his arm.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”
She yawned, and then smiled sheepishly. “I think so.”
He nodded, and then smiled at her. “Then sleep well, Miss Potter.”
She spoke the password quietly, and then paused when the portrait swung open to allow her entrance. “Goodnight, Sir. I hope you sleep well, too.”
…
With spring came slightly warmer evenings, and Harriet found herself outdoors in the evenings quite often. She still went to the music room occasionally, but she’d found that, lately, she hadn’t felt like she needed it as much.
She still liked to be really tired when she tried to sleep, but the nightmares—the feeling of not being good enough that she carried with her almost all of the time—were easing. She’d found an odd balance, and she liked it.
Often, when she did find her way to the music room, Snape came to listen. He didn’t always make himself known, but she always knew when he was there. She could feel his magic. It was almost as familiar to her as her own, as Ron’s was, and Hermione’s was, the people she held the closest to her in life.
On one such night, still fairly early, she sat by the lake and looked across the water. It was nice out, and there wasn’t even a ripple to disturb the peace. She’d had a good day.
People, it seemed, were finally beginning to accept that the final battle hadn’t changed who she was, and they’d begun to treat her normally again.
She’d enjoyed her classes—even potions—and she’d even managed to snag the last slice of treacle tart at dinner. If only she would have a nightmare free sleep when she climbed into bed, it would practically be a perfect day.
She could only hope.
Smiling slightly to herself, she gathered her things and stood, stretching tall. She made her way back towards the castle doors, only to find Snape on the steps, watching her approach.
“Evening, sir,” she greeted, when she was in speaking distance.
He nodded to her, his lips tilting up a little. When she reached him, he lifted his hand and carefully straightened her red and gold tie.
“Miss Potter.”
“How are you, sir?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
“Tired of paperwork,” he replied, shaking his head.
She laughed.
“Are you about to do your rounds?”
He nodded, and then offered his arm to her. She placed her hand in the crook, and let him lead her inside.
…
He didn’t know why he was doing this. He really shouldn’t. He thought that, perhaps, it was because she had been the one constant in his life for so many years at this point, that he couldn’t quite pull away from her completely.
Now that he was no longer her direct teacher, he’d been given the opportunity—had given himself the opportunity—to get to know her for who she was. Not who she was supposed to be, nor who her parents were.
He liked her. She was cheeky, but not disrespectful, like he’d once fully believed her to be. She was caring, and she had grown into a wonderful young woman.
He could admit, if only to himself, that he would miss her, when she left the school in the summer.
He led her through the castle and told her of the happenings of the day—and made her laugh, when he told her of the latest antics of Minerva and Filius’, as the former attempted to teach the latter to become an animagus.
Why the diminutive professor wanted to try his hand at animal transformation so late in life, Severus didn’t know, but he was thoroughly amused by Minerva’s frustration.
Filius, while a master of both Charms and defensive magic, did not seem to have as much talent when it came to Transfiguration.
When they reached the dungeons, Severus led Harriet down to the music classroom, and shifted her hand from his arm.
“Play for me, Miss Potter.”
She smiled at him. “Of course, sir. Any requests?”
His lips tilted up. “Something that reflects the smile on your face, perhaps.”
He perched himself on a table, and closed his eyes as she began to play. The music started slowly, like hope, and swelled up until there was a happiness in the melody that raised Severus’ lips to match her smile.
When she stopped playing, he opened his eyes and found her watching him. There was curiosity in her eyes, admiration, perhaps even some affection.
He held his hand out for her, and she took it.
He wondered, as they made their way around the rest of the school, how long she would do that for.
And if she would still reach for his offered hand when he could offer her more than a smile and a walk around the castle.