Part 7

Harry's steps were slow as he wandered from Gryffindor tower in silence, desperate to escape the crowded confines of the common room for a few minutes before he was due to see the headmaster. The corridors were mostly empty, and for that he was thankful, frowning slightly as he turned his new wand over in his hand almost absentmindedly as he walked – a habit of his since acquiring it only three weeks before. It obeyed him and fit comfortably between his fingers, the weight just right, but he was loath to admit that he missed the feel and familiarity of its holly predecessor; the pieces of which were still under inspection. He couldn't get a straight answer regarding whether it could be mended, but considering the malevolent manner in which it had been sent it to him, it was too dangerous to use for the moment either way – at least until it was clear that no dormant curse lay upon the fragments.

Dumbledore himself had taken him to get his new wand the day after the threatening gift had arrived at Grimmauld Place, which had surprised Harry. Sure, he had been due to see the man anyway, but the fact that the headmaster had seemed to keep a close watch on him over the past few weeks didn't escape his notice. Not in a restraining way, it was more out of kindness and maybe a little concern? Regardless of the agenda, they met and spoke often, something that he would have given anything for last year.

Sighing heavily, as no one was around to hear him, Harry took a breather at one of the windowed corridors, looking down onto the darkened grounds. It was cold and there was a light mist forming on the grass, curling in eerie white tendrils. The view made him think of dementors and he purposefully turned away.

He was glad to be back at Hogwarts, he really was. His friends, the routine and sense of home were all welcome things, and with his fellow students none the wiser regarding what had transpired with Voldemort less than a month back, he was mostly left alone; the fanfare with the Dursleys having died down a touch. Oh, there were still looks, awkward glances and plenty of whispers, but it seemed so trivial to him now in comparison to his captivity and the events that followed. Colin Creevey had bounced over to him on his first day back and asked if he was feeling better, assuming he had been struck with some sort of sickness in explanation for his sudden absence. The younger boy would never understand that his simple question was like a punch to the gut for Harry, as he mumbled out a series of lies before hurrying away.

But even still, there were more pressing concerns lying on his mind these days than the half-truths he was recklessly weaving amongst his fellow housemates. The word 'horcrux' continued to haunt him, as he constantly pictured the endless possibilities of Voldemort's vessels of immortality. Though, at least, he was no longer one himself…

His stomach clenched in disgust at the thought and he shoved it away.

As normal as everything appeared on the outside, Harry's mind was constantly abuzz, wondering when and how Voldemort's next move was going to play out. Surely it had to be soon. Things had been disturbingly quiet in the news as of late. The frequent disappearances and muggle attacks had all but stopped. And while the general public seemed to rally at the idea that things were calming down, eating up every piece of positive news that could be reported, Harry could feel the tension amongst the staff at Hogwarts, and could see the unease even in Dumbledore's wise face when they met. It wouldn't be long now. Voldemort was not patient, and his silence was not something to celebrate, for it wasn't silence at all. The monster was biding his time and Harry knew it.

Mumbling a Tempus charm, he saw that he had about ten minutes to get to the headmaster's office, deciding to leave now and take it easy.

When he had received the letter of invitation at lunch, the wording seemed more serious than the invites he had grown accustomed to, lending a beat of nervousness to his day.

x

x

The stone gargoyle didn't even wait for the password as Harry approached, the enchanted figure aware that the boy in front of it was invited and now a regular visitor, so he edged forward as it stepped aside, knocking on the heavy wooden door before stepping in.

"Ah, Harry. You're right on time."

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, placing down a quill as Harry ascended the dais. He smiled at the other's approach, summoning a tray laden with hot tea and lemon biscuits, gesturing for the boy in front of him to take a seat.

Harry sat and served himself, taking a biscuit and nibbling on it as the headmaster tidied away the parchment.

He had just picked up his teacup when Dumbledore's movements finally stilled and his intense, though kind, focus was solely on him; ignoring the tea tray despite the fact that lemon biscuits were a favourite of the elderly wizard.

"You look so tired, my boy."

The Gryffindor swallowed a sigh at the familiar topic, having heard it from more than a few mouths lately.

Truthfully, he was exhausted. His infrequent sleeping hours were glaringly obvious by the tired lines under his eyes, but falling asleep and staying that way was still a failing of his no matter how much he desired rest. At this point, he wasn't sure if it was down to a fear of the darkness that came with deep slumber, or if it was general unrest at all that lay ahead of him. Maybe a combination of both.

Hermione had mentioned insomnia and PTSD, but he rebuffed her suggestion to visit Madam Pomphrey for aid. Something in his gut twisted at the idea of taking any potions or medicine that would purposefully put him under. Dying did that to you, unfortunately.

Desperately wanting to get away from the subject, he gave the man an apologetic half-smile and diverted back to the reason he was here.

"What did you want to speak about, sir? Your note seemed a little more, well…"

Mercifully, the older wizard didn't fight him on the subject swap.

"Ah, you picked up on that. Well, I will tell you that there is no need for alarm, but our meeting tonight was not simply a check on your general well-being. I wanted to inform you that the formal investigation into your family is now nearing its end."

Harry was a little stunned.

Admittedly, with everything that had happened, he had forgotten about the legal ramifications of the article that started this entire mess. Rescuing said relatives and dying/resurrecting tended to shift your focus that way.

With his mouth set in a grim line, he placed his cup back down. He couldn't summon any real feelings at the topic that had just resurfaced. It all seemed a little pointless to him, but judging by the seriousness of Dumbledore's expression, the headmaster did not agree. Sure, it was a serious case at the beginning, but with Voldemort at full strength and with the suffering the Dursleys had been subjected to, Harry's home life was hardly an issue. Besides, it's not like his relatives would ever welcome him back considering what had happened to them.

He was about to say as much, but his lips snapped shut, trying to find the right way to put it without sounding flippant – as Snape would accuse him of.

"Sir, to be honest, I'm surprised that was even still going on. Considering everything that's happened."

Dumbledore seemed to see right through him, sighing sadly.

"I thought you might say as much, Harry. It is true, the events of recent weeks have been at the forefront of everyone's concerns. But that does not mean that the original matter of your home life is any less important."

Harry disagreed.

"But, what difference will it make now? My aunt and uncle will never let me near them again after what happened, so isn't the outcome of the investigation sort of pointless?"

"On the contrary, Harry. And this isn't about giving the ministry an official report – though for legal reasons, it's imperative – it's also about validating the wrong that was done to you by the people I deemed fit to entrust you to."

Things fell quiet for a moment. The boy-who-lived-twice didn't know how to respond to that, uncomfortable at the far-off look he could make out in Dumbledore's eyes.

"What are the final findings then, sir? What will be reported to the ministry?"

The headmaster seemed to come back to himself after a moment, straightening in his seat and retrieving several files from an absurdly small drawer to the side of his desk. They gently drifted over to rest besides Harry's tea.

"This is a full report, as conducted by myself," he said softly. "Though, I want to impress upon you and only you, Harry, that it is only the third and final file that will be submitted to the ministry. It is an abridged collection, one that offers a little privacy regarding your own story. Though the child protective services are sworn to secrecy in terms of relaying information to the press or the public, given the precarious times we are in I cannot trust that they won't betray certain details to the wrong people. Thus I have edited accordingly."

Harry blinked in surprise, glancing down at it caution.

"If you are willing, I feel it would be best for you to read everything here and decide for yourself what you are comfortable submitting to the ministry."

The dread at going through such reports was only quashed by the touch of gratitude at being included – for once – in the goings on of his own life.

"So, I can decide? Isn't that a little, um, illegal?"

He tried to keep the accusatory tone from his voice, but judging from the lighter expression that came over the aged face across from him, he failed.

"Oh, highly illegal. Alas, I know my way about the law and sometimes it is best to… tweak the rules just a tad."

Harry picked up the folders. They weren't heavy, which was good. Less to go through. But did he even want to go through that much?

"Uh, sir? What if I don't want to see what's in these?"

His ears burned slightly at the weak admission, but Dumbledore's face remained kind and serious.

"I will understand if that is your choice. In that case, I would simply ask that you read the official statement that must be given. I have drafted it, so you may examine it in your own time and either give me your approval or request alterations."

Dumbledore retrieved the third file and pulled out several pieces of parchment, slipping them inside their own folder and handing it over.

Harry nodded his assent, stowing it in his bag before pushing the remaining paperwork away from him, both relieved and a little ashamed that he wasn't up to it.

"So, what's going to happen once you've submitted this?"

"The simple answer is that the Dursleys have been deemed unfit guardians and shall have no more input into your upbringing."

It was odd to hear those words aloud, even though he had almost expected them. Such a sentence he could have only dreamed of when he was young. But now it rang hollow, riddled with whispers of 'too late', tainting the satisfaction he might have felt once upon a time.

"Where will I go? Until I turn seventeen?"

He was oddly scared asking that question. It was silly, he knew. There were so many people that cared about him, so many supporting him. But he doubted he'd ever shake the feeling of unwantedness that he'd grown accustomed to.

"It's likely that the Ministry of Magic will attempt to influence this decision, however I will ensure that the choice is left to you. You have several options. So many people want you, Harry."

Startled by the warmth in Dumbledore's tone, he couldn't stop the surprise that flooded his face.

If his honest expression upset the headmaster, he hid it well, standing from his seat and walking around, placing a firm hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I have made so many mistakes in the last sixteen years. Too many to ever make up for. Truthfully, I don't feel worthy of the responsibility of placing you where you would be happiest. Which is why I put the following options before you. Naturally, Arthur and Molly Weasley have expressed their desire to have you join their family. I expect this does not surprise you. Alternatively, you are welcome to become a full ward of this school, choosing a guardian amongst the staff to mentor you. You will not be short of volunteers there. Or, lastly, you may take up residence at Grimmauld Place with Remus. He was very clear that you are family to him, though he will respect whatever choice you wish to make."

The words washed over Harry with a pleasant tickle, truly grateful to be wanted. Really wanted. Not for his fame, money or stupid lightning-bolt scar. But just for him, by people who actually knew him – and what he'd been through. It was embarrassing really, but he couldn't quite summon the cynicism to be anything less than touched. Maybe, just maybe, if he didn't end up snapped in two by the Dark Lord and laid to waste in the confines of a silk-lined box, he could have a shot at a real life, with people who didn't outwardly despise him.

"Can I think about it, sir?" he finally said, voice a little thick, hoping Dumbledore wouldn't pass comment.

"Of course, you may take as much time as you need."

x

x

Classes the following day were difficult for him, his mind preoccupied. He desperately tried to focus in Transfiguration, wanting his wits about him in front of McGonagall, and in preparation for Defence Against the Dark Arts that was soon to follow. He managed the tricky conjuration their head of house tasked them with, though his created canary was an unintentional shade of bright purple where Hermione's was an expected sunshine-yellow. But Ron seemed to fare far worse, as his bird was overly large and sporting what looked like cat fur instead of feathers. As if angry for the mistake, it kept pecking viciously at the redhead's fingers every time he went near it. With a grim expression, Ron decided to name it Umbridge.

By the time he stepped through the door to the Defence classroom, Harry felt reasonably confident.

But it was in the quiet of Snape's lesson, when they were tasked with a short quiz for the second half of the class, that his mind began to wander once more, falling on the Dursleys and one of the final mysteries he had yet to solve – that weird moment between his aunt and Snape.

It might seem trivial to continue to pursue an answer for something like that now, but Harry couldn't help it. The mental weight of Voldemort's intentions and the sheer embarrassment of the report in his bag laid heavy on him, so he welcomed the distraction of Snape and Petunia.

He just couldn't puzzle it out. It seemed so impossible that two such people had collided in the past – in any context. Did Petunia meet Snape at the train station when his mother was heading off to school? That seemed like a reasonable possibility. But given the hostility between them, even as loathsome as the two figures could be, a random encounter didn't justify the heated dislike he had witnessed.

Frowning in thought, Harry tried to recall the short conversation between them that day in Dumbledore's office. His aunt had referred to Snape as being a boy from… somewhere. Definitely a place Petunia deemed beneath her. Though, that didn't exactly narrow it down considering the skinny woman's snobbish nature.

Lost as he was in the mystery, Harry jumped slightly when Snape's impatient voice barked out orders for quills to be put aside, green eyes watching with horror as his empty piece of parchment – aside from the damning name he had scrawled on the top – lifted from his desk along with countless others, coming to land in a perfect pile in front of the ill-tempered professor.

The quiz. He hadn't written a thing. Glancing to the questions written on the board in neat lines of chalk, he mentally groaned. Invoking the unpleasant man's wrath was the last thing he needed right now. But, with all he had been through and the reluctant perspective that now scarred his very being, Harry couldn't bring himself to sweat too much over it.

Though, eyeing the scowl on the dark-haired man's face as he flicked through the answers his students had submitted, the Gryffindor couldn't decide if that mindset was reckless or sensible.

He spent the next few moments watching with careful eyes, but the characteristic fury didn't come.

Wholly focused, he caught the moment Snape paused on a particular page – knowing it was his as dark eyes lifted to meet his own instantly. He wanted to look away but didn't.

"See me after class, Potter," was all that was said. And while there was the barest hint of threat in his voice, the subject was simply left there.

No public lecture about his arrogance or gall? Unusual. And with no Malfoy present to fuel the situation, it just fizzled out.

Harry looked over toward the blonde's empty desk – another nasty habit of his recently, finding himself doing it in every lesson he had previously shared with the Slytherin – and met the ugly stare of Goyle. Slightly taken aback at the intensity levelled at him, he raised his eyebrows and looked away.

He had never seen Crabbe or Goyle display any amount of concentration on anything that wasn't food or physical fighting. Reminded of the other's bruising hold that day in the corridor, he decided not to draw further attention and resisted turning back again for the duration of the class.

x

x

Upon promising Ron and Hermione that he wouldn't be long, Harry watched as they reluctantly left the classroom without him. Suddenly on edge, he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, approaching Snape's desk slowly. Oddly, the man said nothing, ignoring his approach in favour of scribbling something harshly on the corner of a piece of parchment.

"Er, sir?"

The fierce scratching of the quill halted and the professor's dark eyes flashed up to him, completely unreadable. A little alarmed, Harry started slightly as the door snapped shut at the other end of the room.

"As busy as you have been lately, Potter, are you suddenly suffering under the misapprehension that your attention is not required in my lessons?" The words were spoken low, almost disinterested.

"No, that wasn't-" He was cut off.

"This is the third time in two weeks that you have been caught lazing about. Too good to partake in academic endeavours now, are we?"

Harry frowned. "No, I just..."

But he faltered, having no real excuse. And not any explanation that he wished to offer freely.

"You just what?" Now there was a bite to the professor's tone, his face turned down in a light scowl.

"Nothing" he murmured.

"No, no. Answer, Potter. I'm sure your excuse is absolutely riveting in its detail. And considering you didn't even attempt to answer a single question, I can only assume it is more than satisfactory."

A spark of annoyance lit up in Harry at the sarcasm.

"I was distracted, okay?" Frustration had edged into his words without intent.

He wasn't sure why Snape's displeasure was bothering him so much all of a sudden; he had lived under it for six years just fine. But maybe a part of him had expected the dour man to be more understanding, or at least aware, that Harry's head might not be entirely focused on studying at the moment. Flashes of the professor's pale face, frozen in horror as Harry clawed his way back to life that day in Grimmauld Place, popped to the forefront of his mind. He desperately tried to shut them out.

He was being stupid. This was Snape. He couldn't expect a shred of leniency just because their interactions were that much more complicated.

It was a long moment before the man spoke.

"If you spend every waking moment idly ruminating on the Dark Lord, he's only going to catch up to you that much faster, Potter."

Taken aback by the words, Harry just stared, suddenly ashamed.

"I wasn't thinking about him," he mumbled, more annoyed at himself that he had been focused on something as trivial as Petunia Dursley's association with the wizarding world.

"Then there can be no excuse!" the man spat. "Your priorities are in serious need of reflection."

Ah, there was the temper back in full form. And for the first time in weeks, Harry's own flared in response and he threw all caution to the wind; tossing any good sense out the window just to get Snape to stop poking holes in him; highlighting every irresponsibility and flaw with maddening ease.

"I was thinking about my aunt, okay!"

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

But it was too late.

It was as if the atmosphere had been doused in icy water, and he watched as Snape's knuckles whitened around the quill still in his hand, his face stony and set; body unmoving where he sat.

"Get out."

He thought he'd misheard at first, the words were hissed so softly.

Whether his brain mistook the quiet delivery for permission to continue speaking or simply decided to disregard the very real threat in front of him, Harry dared to continue pushing – knowing it couldn't be worth it, but needing to do it all the same.

"She recognised you. In Dumbledore's office, you and her-"

That was as far as he got, because as soon as he mentioned the headmaster's office, the greasy-haired professor seemed to snap; slamming the quill down on the desk and standing abruptly, pointing a long and pale finger at the closed door.

"Out!"

But Harry didn't move. He planted his feet firmly on the ground while his mind was screaming at him to leg it.

It was a pointless endeavour to antagonise the man in front of him with questions about, or even mere references to, his relationship with a woman like Petunia. And yet, he was already here, emboldened by his recent experiences to the point of potential madness.

He knew as he watched Snape's face whiten to the point of death that he had crossed some sort of line. A hand shot out from across the desk and latched onto his arm with a bruising hold, pulling him closer even as the professor's lips parted and his teeth bared in fury.

"Listen to me very carefully, Potter. You will turn around and leave this classroom or merlin help you…"

"What are you afraid of?!"

Where those surprisingly honest words had come from, Harry would never know. But somehow, that was the natural response he had, his eyes widening as soon as he processed what he had just said.

Despite his sour, cantankerous disposition, Harry had very rarely witnessed Severus Snape lose control. But now, watching as ugly splotches of red tinted the man's neck in sheer fury, he recalled Snape's response to Sirius' escape from the dementors and the pensieve incident far too clearly. The half-snarl playing about the thin mouth was the same, as if too frozen to fully form. But one thing was certain, he looked about ready to rip something apart.

The grip tightened on his arm and he physically winced.

"Your sense of self-preservation is practically non-existent. It amazes me how you survived the Dark Lord, Potter," came the acidic words, his voice actually shaking slightly in rage.

Swallowing hard at the very clear threat, Harry's confidence stumbled, and he strained against the arm trapping him.

"I didn't exactly survive him though, did I?"

Almost immediately, the painful hold fell away and Harry took a step back; feeling the blood rush to the spots of skin that were almost definitely going to turn purple

Grabbing at the strap of his bookbag where it had slipped in the midst of their standoff, he dared to glance back at his professor.

But Snape wasn't looking at him. He had his eyes closed, mouth set firmly in a severe line; as if it was taking all of his restraint to refrain from coating the walls with Harry's blood.

After a minute, the black orbs were on the Gryffindor once again, fury falling away as a disturbing level of control became discernible in his expression.

He didn't say anything immediately, but when he finally did, Harry was stunned.

"Survive this war, Potter. And then I might deign to speak on this topic."

The Gryffindor stared, completely blindsided at the sudden turnaround and the words thrown at him.

"What if I don't?" he asked, hoping his tone was less croaky than it sounded in his head.

Snape sat back down at the desk, retrieving the quill. He spared Harry once last look, a dismissal in its purest form. His lips curled into something cruel then, but it wasn't a smile. It was almost reminiscent of a mocking look of pity – and yet, Harry felt as if the expression wasn't aimed at him.

The next words were simple, as nonchalant as ever; as if the speaker was purposefully refusing the weight of them.

"Then you don't. Now, get out."