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Chapter Text

"He's still not talking."

"Can't you give him Veritaserum or something?" Harry clenched his jaws.

"Veritaserum is no use," Kingsley replied, shaking his head. "He's an Occlumens. He can evade the truth even under the influence of truth serums."

"How about the Imperius Curse?" Harry asked, keeping his voice down. "Or is that illegal?"

"It is illegal, even for an Auror." Kingsley released a soft chuckle. "I already tried it. He can throw it off."

"Well, bugger," Harry sighed, and glanced around the deserted Ministry corridor. "Now what?"

Kingsley shrugged. "It's his arse on the line, Harry. He goes up for trial, whether he talks or not."

"But he killed him," Harry said as though that explained his quest. It did to him, anyway. "I need to know why."

"We'd all like to know why, but if he's not talking there isn't much we can do for now." Kingsley frowned. "Nothing save for outright torture and I don't think we should ever stoop to that level."

Harry nodded his agreement, though the idea of beating the truth out of that bastard was tempting. "There must be a way to get inside his mind."

Those words hung heavily between them as they stayed silent for a moment. Harry stared at the Ministry crest on Kingsley's Auror robes and thought he was missing something quite obvious.

Of course!

"A Pensieve!" Harry said, and glanced around again to make sure no one had heard him. The corridor was still deserted and he continued in a whisper. "All we need is to take some of his memories, stuff them in a Pensieve, and we can see what really happened."

"Right. There's only one problem with that plan."

"What?"

"You can't forcibly take memories from someone," Kingsley said. "It's impossible. The moment you want to pull it out their head all the person has to do is think of something else and you'll end up with the wrong memory. You'd be emptying their entire mind before you'd get the correct one. I don't think there are enough Pensieves in the world to hold an entire mind."

Harry refused to let the defeat he felt direct his thoughts. "Then he has to give them up voluntarily."

Kingsley snorted. "Easier said than done in this case."

"Yeah, but still... " Harry worried his lip for a moment. "Let me talk to him."

"Why?"

"Maybe I can... convince him to give up some of his memories," Harry said.

Kingsley grinned. "More like harass him."

"Yeah, but it still might work. What other options do we have?"

"I see your point. All right, I'll give you half an hour." Kingsley held out his hand. "I'll need your wand."

Harry looked at him in disbelief.

"Standard safety procedure," Kingsley said. "Even we don't take our wands with us when interrogating a suspect one on one. That way we eliminate the chances of them taking our wands and escaping. If you want to be an Auror, Harry, you'd better get used to such things."

"Fine." Harry handed his wand to Kingsley, who tucked it inside his robes and pulled out his own wand, aiming it at the door behind them.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Harry said, and took a deep breath.

*~*~*~*~*

Seeing Snape, dark and shadowed, sitting at a white table with his back straight and his greasy hair obscuring most of his face, surrounded by beige walls, was surreal. Snape didn't belong in such a light room. He belonged in damp dungeons or dimly-lit classrooms or even at the side of a Dark Lord.

Harry blinked. Reminiscing about Snape's proper place in life wasn't why he was there. He cleared his throat and took a step closer to the table. Snape didn't acknowledge his presence, not that Harry had expected him to.

"Profe -- " Harry snapped his mouth shut. Snape bloody well didn't deserve that title anymore. "Sir," he said. And then was at a complete loss of what to say, because all he really wanted was to scream, "Why?" but he knew Snape, and he knew that would get him nowhere. So he took another step towards the table.

"It's been a while," he said, finally, voice soft and as harmless as he could make it when faced with a murderer.

It had only been ten days since he'd last seen Snape, but when you'd lived one day at a time for over a year, never knowing if you'd see another sunrise or sunset, ten days constituted 'a while'.

"They released me from St Mungo's yesterday," Harry continued, unable to bear the silence between them. "They were able to heal me, though my leg still hurts in the mornings. Nasty curse, that was."

Snape still didn't acknowledge him. In fact, his face was slack, dark eyes fixed on the wall. Not one muscle in his brow or cheeks moved, not one nerve twitched.

He looked dead, and for a moment Harry wanted to poke him to make sure he hadn't suddenly died, but then he noticed the slow, steady rise and fall of Snape's chest.

Not dead, then. Just ignoring Harry.

Taking another step, Harry reached the table and placed one hand on the shiny top. "Kingsley said you weren't talking."

Right. Obviously.

Harry balled his hand into a fist, knuckles turning almost as white as the table. "Why?" he whispered, confusion and anger making his voice tight. "Why did you kill him?"

That got him a response. Snape's eyes, and only his eyes, moved towards Harry, staring at him. Harry stared back, trying not to flinch as he felt those cold, black pools pushing against his mind.

"None of your business," Snape said. His voice sounded hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in days.

"I was there! That makes it my business!" Harry inhaled a deep breath to calm himself. He wanted to punch Snape, kick him, tear him to pieces with his bare hands for all Snape had done to him.

"What happened in that tower is between the headmaster and me."

"I'm not talking about Dumbledore!" Harry yelled, his legs shaking. "Why did you kill Voldemort?"

That got him another response. Snape's eyebrows rose for a second, right before he narrowed his eyes and a familiar sneer tugged on his lips. "I see. You came here to yell at me for stealing your glory, is that it, Potter?"

"No, that's not it, and you know it." Harry had to will himself not to move any closer to Snape and take a swing at him. "I was fighting him. I was -- "

"Losing," Snape said, forcing Harry to swallow his speech on how he'd been that close to killing Voldemort once and for all.

Harry lowered his gaze. "I wasn't losing," he muttered to his shoes. His leg was aching, and it wasn't supposed to ache. It was three in the afternoon. His leg only hurt before ten in the morning. He pushed his foot down hard against the floor. "I'd already killed most of his soul. I was about to kill the rest of it, too."

When Harry looked up again, Snape was back to staring at the wall.

Releasing the table, Harry took a step backwards. He was suddenly exhausted and his leg still hurt and he wanted to get out of there before he did something he was going to regret. He made it to the door, gritting his teeth against the sharp flashes traveling up his thigh, and he banged on it.

"This isn't over," he said, back turned to Snape.

"It never is," he heard Snape say quietly just when the door swung open, revealing Kingsley's imposing body. Harry pushed past him, out into the corridor where he sank onto the first available seat he could find; a rubbish bin.

*~*~*~*~*

"Hullo, sir," Harry said. It felt weird talking to a portrait of someone he'd known so well in life.

Dumbledore blinked his eyes open and offered Harry a cheerful smile. "Harry! How wonderful to see you again."

"Nice to see you, too, sir." Harry forced a smile in return. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Of course. I'm not going anywhere." Dumbledore chuckled.

Harry didn't really appreciate the joke. He still woke up some nights, sweating and shivering, flashes of green light and Dumbledore's frail body tumbling over the edge of the tower burned into his mind.

"It's about Snape. I went to see him yesterday," Harry said, glancing at some of the other portraits but not looking any of them in the eye. "He's being held at the Ministry. He killed Voldemort."

"How delightful!" Dumbledore clapped his hands.

Harry released a soft groan. He knew portraits weren't the same as the people in them had once been. He knew it took portraits a while to regain most of their real personalities. In fact, Phineas Nigellus had told Harry the portrait of Armando Dippet had spent its first seven years telling nothing but crude jokes before it finally came it its senses.

And yet Harry had to try, because Dumbledore might be the only person – or portrait – who knew why Snape had done what he'd done.

"But...er...Snape killed you as well," Harry said, shifting his weight from one foot onto the other. His leg throbbed. "Why did he kill Voldemort, then? It doesn't make any sense."

Dumbledore's eyes lost their focus and stared into the distance. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see what Dumbledore was looking at. It was the large desk.

"I used to keep Sherbet Lemons in the left top drawer. Minerva doesn't like them." Dumbledore sighed. "Ah, I do miss the taste of Sherbet Lemons."

Harry inhaled a shaky breath. He looked around the room and met Phineas' gaze. Phineas gave him a sympathetic shrug and shook his head.

The door to the office banged open and McGonagall walked inside. "Mr Potter, already here. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Professor," Harry said, stepping away from Dumbledore's portrait. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected." McGonagall sat down at the desk – her desk – and looked up at Harry. "What can I do for you?"

Harry cleared his throat and leaned one hand on the back of a chair. "I was wondering if I could borrow the Headmaster's Pensieve."

"The Headmistress' Pensieve I'm sure you mean, Mr Potter," McGonagall said, lips thinning.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Your Pensieve, Headmistress."

"And why do you need a Pensieve?"

Harry tried to shift his weight again, but his leg objected, and he gripped the seat harder.

"Oh, sit down, Harry, before you fall over." McGonagall waved at the chair, sounding impatient.

Nodding, Harry sat down, relieved to take some tension off his leg. "It's for Kingsley, actually."

"And Mr Shacklebolt was unable to ask me for my Pensieve himself?" McGonagall gave Harry an inquisitive look.

"It's for us both. For at the Ministry."

"And the Ministry doesn't have their own Pensieves they can use?"

Harry cleared his throat again, not meeting McGonagall's gaze. "It's for Kingsley and me, yes, but others at the Ministry aren't aware of it. We want to use it for Snape."

McGonagall's eyes widened.

"To help get some answers to all the questions we still have," Harry added quickly, lest McGonagall thought he actually wanted to help a murderer.

"I see," McGonagall said with a sharp nod. "And when will I get my Pensieve back?"

"A few days. It depends, really." Harry gave McGonagall his best innocent look. Not that it had ever worked on her before. "Please, Professor. He's not talking. At all. And we just want some answers. If we can convince him to share a few memories, we might finally -- "

"All right, Potter. You may borrow my Pensieve. But I expect a regular update on your progress with Snape."

Harry nodded. He understood McGonagall might like a few answers herself. "Thank you."

"Well, now that you're here, I thought we could also discuss your education." McGonagall was all business again. "If you want, you can return to Hogwarts. The school year only started three weeks ago."

"I haven't really given it any thought yet, Professor," Harry said, and it was the truth. He'd only defeated – no, Snape had only defeated Voldemort eleven days ago, and Harry had spent nine of those days in a bed at St Mungo's wondering if he'd ever walk properly again.

"Perfectly understandable," McGonagall said with an indulgent smile. "However, I have given it plenty of thought over the last year, while you were away on your quest. If you'd rather not return so quickly after the end of the war, I can also arrange for you to get some private schooling so you'll still be able to take your NEWTs at the end of your school year."

"Private schooling?" Harry asked, uncertain.

"Lupin and Tonks are willing to help you, and I can assist you once or twice a week. Honestly, you have enough experience in magic, Harry. If you can find the discipline to do so, I'm certain you can work through your school books by yourself."

Harry blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. Not going back to Hogwarts? A part of him wanted to go back, because Hogwarts had been his home for so many years. But a larger part didn't feel at all like going back to school and pretending nothing had happened.

"I'd like that," he said, smiling. It was his first honest smile in weeks, or perhaps even months. "I'd like that very much. Thank you, Headmistress."

"I thought so. You can make arrangements with Lupin and Tonks." McGonagall opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out an envelope. "Your list for this year's books," she said, handing it to Harry. "Meet me again next week, same time."

Harry stared at the envelope as McGonagall got up, flicking her wand at one of the cupboards lining the wall. The Pensieve came floating out and settled on the desk in front of Harry. McGonagall flicked her wand again, transfiguring a stack of blank parchment into a wooden box.

"Be careful with it," she said, levitating the Pensieve inside the box.

"Of course." Harry shoved the envelope inside his jacket and picked up the box with care. "I'll see you next week, then."

McGonagall gave him nod and a smile. Harry didn't return it. He was much too nervous. God, he hoped he wouldn't trip over his own feet on his way out of the office.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry looked at the pile of books with both satisfaction and dread. After he'd carefully dropped off the Pensieve at twelve Grimmauld Place, he'd gone straight to Diagon Alley to buy his school books.

He wasn't going back to Hogwarts, but he was going for his NEWTs next year. This still needed to sink in, though Harry did begin to realize he'd have to break that news to Ron and Hermione soon.

They were probably expecting him to go back to Hogwarts with them.

But none of that really mattered now, not when he still had a different task to complete. Harry looked at the wooden box beside the books.

Snape.

He was going to get those memories – any and all memories that answered his questions – from Snape if it was the last thing he did.

"How do you suppose I can get him to talk and donate some of his mind?" Harry asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Hedwig hooted from her spot on the back of a chair in the corner of Harry's bedroom.

"Right." Harry stared at the box again. "I can't very well order him to. He'll never fall for that."

The sound of a clicking beak was the only response Harry got.

"I can get angry all I want, but Snape's far too stubborn to respond to that." Harry kicked open his trunk. He placed his Defense Against the Dark Arts book aside – he'd start with that, as he'd probably be able to breeze through it – and dumped the rest of his books inside his trunk.

"I have to find a way to annoy him. He hates me, but just my presence won't do the trick. I can't very well spend hours talking to him. We'll just end up yelling at each other."

Hedwig ruffled her feathers.

"I have to find a way to wear him down," Harry mused, leaning one hand on the lid of his trunk. "I have to break him without getting physical."

Harry stared into his trunk, as though he'd find an answer there.

After a moment, Harry realized the answer was staring him in the face. He reached inside his trunk, and looked up at Hedwig with a wide grin. "This is perfect! Even Snape won't be able to tolerate this for more than a few days!"

Hedwig had her head tucked under a wing and was fast asleep. Harry didn't even care. Snape was done for. Two weeks at the most, and Harry would have his answers.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry carefully balanced both the box and the book in his arms as he walked inside the Auror Headquarters.

"Kingsley?"

Surprised, Kingsley turned around in his seat. "Harry? Everything all right?"

Harry looked around the many cubicles, making sure they weren't being overheard. "I'd like another go at Snape. I think I've found a way to wear him down. I thought I'd read to him for a bit." He nodded at the book lying on top of the box.

Rising from his seat, Kingsley tilted his head to read the title. He grinned. "Cruel, Harry. Very cruel. What's in the box?"

"Dumble-- McGonagall's Pensieve. So there won't be any mistake as to what I want from Snape."

"All right." Kingsley led Harry down a flight of stairs. Harry refused Kingsley's offer for help, taking one step at a time. His leg was behaving reasonably well and Harry hoped it stayed that way.

"Wait here. I'll transfer Snape from his cell to the interrogation room." Kingsley disappeared through a side door, and Harry waited, glancing around the empty corridor, hoping his plan was going to work.

It had to work.

*~*~*~*~*

If Harry had expected Snape to ignore him again, he was in for a disappointment. The moment the door fell shut behind him as Harry shuffled towards the table, Snape fixed his eyes on Harry.

"Back so soon, Potter? Surely you have more important things to do. Joining your fellow Gryffindors in celebrating your defeat – oh, wait, you didn't defeat the Dark Lord after all."

Harry's leg gave a violent twitch and he stumbled, only just holding onto the box in his arms. His sight blurred, red shadows invading the edges, and for a moment all he wanted was to smash that wooden box against Snape's face, hear his nose crack under the force, watch crimson gush down his pale skin, just like the blood had streamed down his own leg moments before Snape's wand had burst with green.

No. No!

He needed answers and hurting Snape wasn't going to get them. If anything, it was probably exactly what Snape was after. Provoking Harry into doing something that earned him a cell right next to Snape's.

"Careful now," Harry said, his voice giving a tiny crack. "If you make me drop this, McGonagall's going to be very cross with you."

Snape leaned back in his chair with a snort, arms folded over his chest. "Yes, because McGonagall doesn't have anything to be cross with me for already."

Ignore him, Harry thought. He did it to you before, now you can do it to him.

Harry carefully placed the box on the table, put the book down beside it, and flipped the lid open.

"I want answers," he said, finally meeting Snape's hard stare with one of his own. "And since you're not telling us anything, I want to see some of your memories. I want to know exactly what happened between you and Dumbledore, and you and Voldemort."

Reaching inside the box, Harry picked the Pensieve up with careful hands and placed it in front of Snape.

"You always were determined to get inside my mind, weren't you, Potter?" Snape said, not looking at the Pensieve.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"You never felt the need to respect my privacy," Snape continued, "invading my personal thoughts the first opportunity you got -- "

"As if you never invaded mine," Harry muttered, thinking of all the Occlumency lessons where Snape had seen things Harry hadn't wanted to share with anyone.

" -- and now you walk in here, demanding to do it again. What right have you, Potter, to see my memories?"

"I think I've earned that right!" Harry gripped the edges of the box and heard the wood creak under the force of his hands.

"Earned?" Snape snarled, face distorting with anger. "You've earned nothing!"

If I kill him now, Kingsley won't cover for me, Harry told himself, and he spent a whole minute debating whether strangling Snape with his bare hands was worth going to Azkaban for. By the time he looked at Snape again, Snape's expression was impassive and he stared at the wall.

"Fine. Have it your way," Harry said with determination, and sat down in the chair opposite Snape, the table a safe barrier between them. He reached for his old Divination textbook. "I have all the time in the world. And until you're prepared to show me your memories, I'll just provide some entertainment."

Snape raised one eyebrow, and Harry flipped Unfogging the Future open to chapter one.

"Let's start with the fascinating art of reading tea leaves," Harry said in a forcibly cheerful voice, inwardly smirking at his own brilliance.

Snape heaved a sigh, but said nothing.

Harry started reading, and kept reading and reading, even when his tongue felt twice its usual size and the rest of his mouth felt as though he'd been chewing on sand for hours. He kept his eyes on the book, turning pages at slow intervals, his mind hardly connecting with any of the words he said, and he didn't stop reading until he reached the last word of the last chapter.

When he closed the book, he was pleased to note that Snape looked ready to throttle him.

"Want to share some memories yet?" Harry asked, swallowing against the thickness in his throat.

Snape pursed his lips in response.

"It's up to you." Harry placed the Pensieve in the box, closed it, and lifted both box and book in his arms. "I'll see you tomorrow, sir!"

"How did it go?" Kingsley asked the moment he closed the door to the interrogation room behind Harry.

Smacking his lips, Harry heaved a sigh. "I need water."

"I'm not surprised. You were in there for four hours."

"Four hours?" He'd been reading for four hours? Harry felt rather proud of himself.

"Yep. I'm surprised Snape didn't break down yet. I'm not sure I'd have been able to withstand this kind of torture." Kingsley snickered, and then, without asking Harry's permission, he plucked the box and book from Harry's arm. "Come on, let's find you something to hydrate yourself with. What's on the menu for tomorrow?"

Harry smirked. "Something Snape hates even more than Divination."

*~*~*~*~*

The next day, Harry bought a bottle of water at the corner store across from the Ministry of Magic, and as he waited in line to pay for it, he noticed the shop's collection of Muggle magazines lining one wall.

Oh yes. If he ran out of books to read to Snape, he'd still find enough to torture him with in this place. Harry grinned to himself and counted out the right amount of Muggle money.

Kingsley was already waiting for him when Harry reached the Auror Headquarters. Kingsley took one look at the book on top of the box in Harry's arms and laughed for several minutes as they made their way to the interrogation room.

"Good afternoon, sir!" Harry said, his smile so wide and forced it hurt his cheeks. The door fell shut behind him, and Harry strolled towards the table, as though he didn't have a care in the world. Inside he was fuming, though. Just seeing Snape's dark presence still made him see red with hate if he didn't keep a firm lock on his emotions.

"Haven't you got school, Potter?" Snape asked, making it sound like an accusation.

"Nope." Harry took the Pensieve out of its container and placed it on the table. "For the next decade or so I have nothing planned besides visiting you every day and reading you the best literature has to offer us." Harry paused for a few seconds, giving Snape a meaningful look as he gestured towards the Pensieve. "Unless you have something you'd like to share with me?"

Snape said nothing, though his narrowed eyes told Harry Snape didn't like his announcement one bit.

Good.

Sinking down in the chair, Harry positioned his bottle of water within easy reach and picked up Magical Me by Gilderoy Lockhart.

"I thought you'd be interested in hearing about the magical adventures of one of your former colleagues." Harry watched Snape from below his eyelashes. Snape looked tired, his eyes slightly bloodshot, his cheeks even paler than usual. Harry wasn't sure if it was because of his actions, or because living in a cell didn't agree with Snape.

He didn't really care either way. Clearing his throat in a dramatic gesture, Harry turned to chapter one and took great pleasure in mimicking Lockhart's distinctive intonation and pronunciation as he read Lockhart's autobiography to Snape.

*~*~*~*~*

"The Healers did a fantastic job and – sit down, Remus. I can manage." Tonks put the tray holding a steaming pot of tea down on the coffee table as Remus sank back onto the couch beside Harry. "Anyway, I'm going back to work this Monday, and no, that's not up for negotiation," she said, narrowing her eyes.

Harry glanced at Remus, who was shaking his head, an exasperated look on his face. Harry looked down to hide his smile.

"Honestly, I'm as good as new." Tonks busied herself with pouring tea and only managed to tip the sugar bowl over once – a personal record, Harry thought. "How about you, Harry? How's your leg?"

"Fine," Harry mumbled, unwanted memories of excruciating pain and ripping flesh surfacing. He swallowed them back. "Still hurts in the mornings, but nothing I can't handle."

"That's good to hear," Remus said, and sounded like he meant it.

Harry nodded and accepted the cup Tonks offered him. He sipped it and stayed quiet for a few moments. It was strange, sitting in the same room with Remus and Tonks and not knowing what to say. Before, they'd always had so much to talk about. Everything having to do with the Order and the ongoing war, of course, but still, they'd been talking. Now, Harry was at a loss of what to say.

"Professor McGonagall contacted us," Remus said, and Harry was grateful for the new subject. "Tonks and I can help you with Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology."

That last part took Harry by surprise, and he raised an eyebrow at Remus.

"Oh yes, I did quite well on my Herbology NEWT," Remus said with a soft chuckle. "I'll help you work your way through the textbook, and we can plan a few field trips for the practicals."

"That would be great," Harry said, and sipped his tea again.

"Professor McGonagall told us she'll assist you with Transfigurations and Charms," Remus continued. "That only leaves -- "

"Potions," Harry sighed. The subject he needed help with the most.

"I did well in Potions," Tonks said. When both Harry and Remus gave her a dubious look, she huffed. "I passed my Potions NEWT. I couldn't have become an Auror otherwise."

"Of course." Remus didn't sound entirely convinced. "Well, you can help Harry whenever he needs assistance. All right, Harry?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said. He tried not to imagine Tonks working on some of the intricate potions required for the NEWT, because in his imagination Tonks always spilled or knocked something over with disastrous results. Still, it was probably better than no help at all.

"How did Ron and Hermione take the news?" Remus asked. Harry gave him a blank look. "About you not returning to Hogwarts?"

"Oh. I haven't told them yet."

Remus put his cup down and leaned back in the couch, staring at Harry. "Perhaps you shouldn't wait too long. Professor McGonagall told us they stopped by her office yesterday, arranging their own return to Hogwarts."

Harry nodded. He knew he'd have to confront his friends at some point. He'd secretly hoped they'd just return to Hogwarts without wondering what he'd do, but he knew that wasn't very realistic.

"I'm sure they'll understand," Remus offered.

"Really? I'm not sure I even understand," Tonks said. Harry snapped his gaze at her, but Tonks seemed genuinely curious. Harry still didn't know how to explain his decision, though, and he sipped his cup again to buy some time.

"Nymphadora," Remus said, a slight warning tightening his voice. "It's Harry's decision and he'll explain himself when he's ready for it."

"Sorry," Tonks said, offering Harry an apologetic smile. "Didn't mean anything with it, really. I'm just wondering what you'll be doing with your time besides studying. It can't be healthy to be stuck inside that gloomy old house all day long."

"I'm keeping busy," Harry said, searching for words that explained things but didn't give everything away. He didn't want to discuss Snape. "I've been hanging out with Kingsley a bit. He's showing me around his office, what it's like to be an Auror, things like that."

"Ah," Remus said, brow furrowed. "You seem to get along particularly well with Kingsley."

Harry shrugged and gave a half-nod. There was no use denying that. Ever since Kingsley had stepped up as the unofficial new leader of the Order, Harry had got to know him better and they'd worked together often during the past year. Harry liked Kingsley, liked that often Kingsley understood things about him without needing to hear Harry explain it. He appreciated Kingsley's sense of humor. And he respected Kingsley because he was an Auror, and a damned good one at that.

"Kingsley's straight, you know," Tonks blurted.

The cup on Harry's saucer slipped dangerously close to the edge, and Harry caught it just in time. "What? What's that got to do with anything?"

Tonks' cheeks colored red. "Well, you have been following Kingsley around like a love-sick puppy for the last six months or so. Just thought I'd give you a fair warning Kingsley's probably not interested in you like that."

"Nymphadora!"

Glancing from Remus to Harry, Tonks shrugged.

"This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this," Remus said, glaring at Tonks.

"I'll say." Harry didn't dare look at either one of them. "Seeing that I'm straight, too." When no response came, Harry hurried to explain himself. "For God's – I'm not like... like that. There's Ginny. She's... well, she's Ginny. And I like Kingsley because he's an Auror. I want to be an Auror, you know?"

"We know, Harry," Remus said, just a tad too quickly for Harry's liking.

A furious blush heating his cheeks, Harry released a deep, trembling breath and looked around the small living room of Tonks' flat. There stood a large book case against the wall opposite the couch. Harry wondered if Remus kept any of his books there, now that he'd moved in with his girlfriend.

Tonks cleared her throat. "Harry, I know you're not like... that, but if you were, it would be all right. No need to -- "

"Can I borrow some books?" Harry asked, desperate for a change of subject.

"Of course," Remus said, slightly puzzled. "Anything in particular you'd like to read?"

Anything Snape hates, Harry thought as he got up from the couch. "Not really," he said. "Maybe something to go with my studies."

"Help yourself," Remus said, joining Harry in front of the bookcase. "I have a few interesting books on Dark Arts and defensive magic."

"Remus?" Harry asked, suddenly struck with a brilliant idea. "Do you have anything on werewolves?"

*~*~*~*~*

"Potter," Snape said as Harry lowered the box and his new choice of book to the table the next day. "Might I suggest the Cruciatus Curse? I am quite sure it will get me talking a lot faster and it will be less torturous for the both of us."

Harry felt a triumphant grin tugging on his lips. "Sorry, it's illegal. I guess we'll just have to do it the slow way."

"I believe that at this point I even prefer the Killing Curse over having to listen to that drivel all afternoon," Snape said with an indignant huff.

Harry's grin faltered. The memory of a flash of green took hostage of his mind, green light that struck Voldemort in the back while Harry lay on the ground, his leg surrounded by redredred.

"Potter?"

Harry blinked his eyes, realizing he'd lost a few minutes and Snape was trying to get his attention. He stumbled around the table and sank down in the chair.

"St Mungo's has an excellent psychiatric ward," Snape said, eying Harry warily. "It's a complete mystery why they didn't keep you there for a few weeks longer."

"Shut up," Harry muttered. Glancing at Snape, he noticed Snape looked even more tired than the day before. Harry briefly wondered if Snape was getting any sleep in this place, but then quickly decided he didn't care. He took a deep breath and reached for Hairy Snout, Human Heart.

"You've been visiting Lupin, then?" Snape asked.

"Stop trying to distract me. It won't work." Harry flipped the book open, ignoring Snape's glare. He cleared his throat and started reading. Soon Harry discovered that what he was reading was actually quite interesting, much better than the utter codswallop he'd been muddling through the previous days.

By the time Harry reached the last chapter, Snape looked ready to gouge his own eyeballs out and stuff them in his ears to keep from hearing more. It made Harry smile.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was planning for a quiet evening at home. Perhaps get some takeaway, and then curl up in bed with his Defense Against the Dark Arts book to start on his NEWT studies. But as he closed the front door with a sharp click, voices rose up from the kitchen, followed by hurried footsteps.

"There you are!" Hermione was the first to reach him.

Harry had barely enough time to place his box and book on the stairs before he was enveloped in a tearful, bosomy hug from Mrs Weasley.

"Harry! Where were you?" Mrs Weasley muttered against his hair. "We were so worried."

While Harry liked Mrs Weasley a great deal, her concerned voice and tight embrace made him extremely uncomfortable. He tried to pull away, and after a few more moments of motherly attention, Mrs Weasley let him go.

"Well," Mrs Weasley said, straightening her apron. "There's supper in the kitchen."

Harry wondered if he should remind his friends this was his house now, not a place they could congregate whenever it suited them. Harry appreciated his friends coming over, really, but he'd like for them to respect his life, too.

"It's good to get her out of the Burrow for a while," Ron said once Mrs Weasley had disappeared into the kitchen. Harry gaped at Ron, confused for a moment what he was talking about, and then he wanted to kick himself something awful.

How could he have forgotten about Bill? Even though he'd still been in the hospital when the funeral took place didn't give him any right to forget Mr and Mrs Weasley had lost their son, and Ron and Ginny and everyone else has lost their brother. That knowledge made Harry even more miserable and he gave Ron a tight nod.

"Hi," Ginny said. Harry couldn't bring himself to smile at her, so he raised his hand in a vague gesture of greeting.

"Why are you reading this?" Hermione asked, Hairy Snout, Human Heart clutched in her hands. Trust Hermione to find the only book in their immediate vicinity.

"What?" Harry blinked, trying to get thoughts of Bill and funerals out of his mind. "Oh, I was just reading up on werewolves."

Ginny clasped a hand over her mouth, cheeks paling, while Ron looked faintly green all of a sudden.

"That explains your secrecy," Hermione said, head tilted in a sympathetic manner.

"My... what?"

"Your secrecy of the past few weeks. McGonagall wouldn't tell us what had happened since you'd left St Mungo's. It's all right, Harry. We're still your friends. When were you infected? Was it Fenrir Greyback?"

Harry stared at Hermione as though she's just grown batwings, a forked tail and hooves. "You think I'm -- "

"A werewolf," Ginny whispered, but even in her soft voice Harry could hear a decent amount of horror.

"I'm not a werewolf," Harry said. "It's just some extra reading. For Defense Against the Dark Arts. Really."

Hermione's look was even more suspicious now.

"Honestly, can't I borrow a book from Remus to read up on his condition so I might learn from it and understand what he's going through every month?" Harry inhaled a deep breath.

Seemingly chastened, Hermione replaced the book on the stairs. "Sorry. Of course you may read whatever you like. What's in the box?"

"None of your business," Harry said, irritated. When Hermione appeared ready to protest, Harry came very close to losing his temper. "Look. This is my house. You have no right to come in here and question my every move or whatever I keep in here. Because if that's the case, I'm going to ask you to leave. Right now."

"Mate, that's not why we're here," Ron said, casting Hermione a glare. "We were just wondering what you've been up to since your release."

"We were worried, Harry," Ginny said, placing a warm hand on Harry's arm. Harry resisted the urge to shake it off. Why were they suddenly all worried for him? What had he done that warranted such treatment? Granted, he'd almost died, but that was hardly an excuse. He'd been declared healthy when they'd let him go from St Mungo's.

"We're returning to Hogwarts tomorrow," Hermione said, staring at her shoes. "We've been stopping by here every day, but you were never home. We were about to call in the Aurors when McGonagall told us not to worry. Where have you been this week?"

"Hanging out with Kingsley," Harry said with a careless shrug. He didn't want to tell his friends about his project concerning Snape. He didn't think they'd understand.

"Kingsley?" Ginny asked, frowning.

"Wait, you haven't been talking to Tonks recently, have you?" Harry asked, glancing between Ginny and Hermione. They shook their heads. "Good. Yeah, Kingsley. He's been showing me things about Aurors and such."

Ginny smiled and seemed content with that explanation, but Hermione still looked as though she was trying to solve a puzzle and couldn't find the missing piece.

"Just leave it," Ron muttered, elbowing Hermione. "Anyway, Harry, you want to stay at the Burrow tonight, so we can all floo to Hogwarts tomorrow?"

Harry swallowed. This was the moment he'd been dreading ever since his meeting with McGonagall. "I'm not going back," he said as quickly as he could.

"WHAT?" Hermione shrieked, while Ginny's hand clenched around Harry's arm. This time, Harry did pull his arm free.

"But... you've got to come to Hogwarts with us!" Ginny said. "I'm a seventh year now, too. We'll be in the same classes."

"You can't not finish your education, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry feared that was the start of a long monologue on the importance of school. He cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"I'm continuing my education. I'll sit my NEWTs in June. I'm just not going back to Hogwarts. I arranged it all with McGonagall." Harry sighed. His leg was aching and he leaned back against the wall to find additional support.

His friends stared at him, mouths slightly opened.

"But," Ginny started, and then seemed at a loss for words. Hermione appeared too shocked to form coherent sounds.

And then Ron shrugged. "All right. Let's see about supper."

Harry gave him a grateful smile as he followed Ron down to the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*

Ginny still smelled woody like a broomstick handle and sweet like the flowerbeds outside the Burrow. She still felt warm and soft in all the right places, and her lips were eager and moist against his own.

Harry shifted closer to her on the couch, one hand sliding down from Ginny's shoulder to cup her breast.

Everything looked, felt and smelled as before, and somehow, everything was different at the same time. Ginny had insisted she'd stay after supper when Ron and Hermione had taken Mrs Weasley back to the Burrow. And Harry hadn't really minded spending some alone time with his girlfriend.

Well, he supposed Ginny was his girlfriend, even though they'd never got back together officially after he'd broken up with her at the end of his sixth school year. Judging by the way Ginny squirmed against him now, lips and tongue working his mouth, hands pulling at his shirt, Ginny very much wanted to be his girlfriend, and Harry didn't object.

Until Ginny pulled at the buttons of his jeans, popping them open with what could only be practiced ease.

Harry jerked away, falling back against the couch in a helpless sprawl, leaving Ginny frowning at him.

He didn't want her anywhere near his leg. He didn't want her to see. He didn't want anyone to see. His leg looked... Harry didn't think there was a word to describe what his leg looked like, but every time he accidentally saw it in the shower or while he got dressed, he was reminded of this old black-and-white movie he'd once glimpsed on the Dursleys' telly, about this monster that had been pieced together from different corpses by this madman called Frankenstein.

His leg looked exactly like that; as if it had been patched together from bits and pieces that had not always belonged to him.

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, straightening her blouse.

"Nothing," Harry said, while he really wanted to say: everything. He buttoned up his jeans.

Besides his leg, he didn't want Ginny to notice his other problem, either. Though this was a problem that should be solved quickly enough, if Harry believed what one of the Healers had told him during a private moment when his friends had left for the evening. "Nothing to worry about, Mr Potter. You suffered some nerve damage around your privates, but everything should be functioning again within a few more weeks."

But to Harry, this wasn't a huge issue, not really, though he had to admit that every morning when he woke up he peeked under the covers to see if some life had returned to his prick yet. Considering that he'd almost died, and after that, almost lost his leg, he could be patient for a while longer while his penis took the time to heal completely.

Ginny sighed. "I don't understand you. First you don't want to return to school with us, and now you push me away like this."

"I'm not pushing you away," Harry said, even though he realized that he had in fact pushed Ginny away just then.

"Yes, you are." Ginny crossed her arms, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed. "Why won't you come back to Hogwarts with me? What's so terrible that you need to hide in here?"

"I'm not hiding," Harry said, squaring his shoulders, irritation blossoming to life in his chest.

"Yes, you are!" Ginny spat. "You've been hiding in here ever since your release from St Mungo's. And even at the Hospital, you hardly talked to us when we were there."

"I haven't been hiding in here," Harry said, offended by Ginny's accusations. "I've been hanging out with Kingsley, haven't I?"

"What do you want at the Ministry all of a sudden?"

"I've been -- " Harry snapped his mouth shut when he realized what he had been doing over the last few days. He'd been locking himself in a room with Snape. "That doesn't matter, does it? If I want to hang out at the Ministry, I bloody well can!"

"You hate the Ministry!"

"That doesn't matter! And you better get used to it. When I'm an Auror, I'll be at the fucking Ministry all the time!"

"That still doesn't give you an excuse to completely ignore us." Ginny seemed on the verge of tears, which only annoyed Harry more.

Harry threw his hands up in desperation. "I haven't been ignoring you."

"You have! You've been acting like a complete coward!"

Something exploded inside Harry, something that had him off the couch and looming over Ginny in a second. "I'M NOT A COWARD!"

Ginny followed him up. "DON'T YOU DARE SHOUT AT ME!"

"I'LL STOP SHOUTING AT YOU WHEN YOU STOP CALLING ME A COWARD!" Harry clenched his hands to fists, his whole body tight and trembling, ready to do something, though he didn't know what.

Ginny paled, staring at him with wide eyes. "You're right. I'm sorry. You're not a coward. You killed Voldemort, after all."

Harry's heart stopped beating for a few moments, his lungs burning with the need for oxygen. "What?"

"You killed Voldemort, so of course you're not a coward," Ginny said, a small smile curling her lips.

"No," Harry gasped.

"What?"

Harry took a step away from Ginny. "No, I didn't kill Voldemort."

"But... " Ginny's mouth fell open, and she closed it again after a few seconds. "But it was in the Daily Prophet."

Harry snorted. "Since when is anything they write true?" He turned his back on her.

"But then... what happened?" Ginny sounded very small, and Harry thought, very disappointed.

"What happened?" Harry snarled, whirling around, his leg protesting with a sharp flash rocketing up his thigh. "I'll tell you what happened. I was losing! I fought Voldemort, and he was the better, stronger wizard, is what happened! And then he cast that fucking curse at me, at my leg, and all of a sudden I was down, and do you know the Cruciatus Curse, Ginny? Do you? Because I've felt it, and it's nothing compared to feeling your flesh tearing away from your bone, tendons snapping inch by inch, muscles ripping apart, blood everywhere. And I knew I was dying, Ginny! I knew I'd lost! And then that greasy bastard killed Voldemort, that's what happened!"

Ginny hid her face behind her hands, though Harry was sure he could see tears glistening beneath her fingers.

"So you want to call me names, go right ahead. Call me a failure. Call me a fuck up. Call me weak and stupid and pathetic. But don't call me a fucking coward, because I faced him, I fought him, I was the only fucking one who dared confront Voldemort even though I knew I didn't stand a chance against him. That makes me a lot of things, but coward isn't one of them!"

Ginny's shoulders shook, but that only fueled Harry's anger more and more.

"I bet you're disappointed now, aren't you? You were always so taken with the idea of Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world."

Lowering her hands, Ginny glared at him with tear-filled eyes. "No, I wasn't."

"You were! You were infatuated with me before you even met me!"

"That doesn't matter!" Ginny sounded desperate. "I love -- "

"Don't you dare say it," Harry snarled. "You love the Boy Who Lived. Guess what? He doesn't exist, never has. It's the Boy Who Lost now!" He kicked against a side table in sheer frustration and doubled over when blinding pain shot up his leg.

"Harry." Ginny made to touch his shoulder, but Harry glared at her and it was enough to have her take a step away from him.

"Get out," Harry said between clenched teeth. "Just leave me alone. Go back to Hogwarts, and leave me the fuck alone!"

Ginny rushed from the room and a moment later Harry heard the front door slam. He sank down on the couch, anger and frustration seeping away, leaving him empty and drained. He stared at the wall for a long time, feeling nothing at all.

*~*~*~*~*

"He's ill," was the first thing Kingsley said when Harry approached his cubicle the following day. "Nothing life-threatening, just a bout of the flu, but he's running a fever."

"Oh." Harry clutched the box and book to his chest and wondered why he felt so disappointed.

"He just about fell over this morning when we inspected his cell," Kingsley continued. "A Healer's seen him, gave him some potions, and said he should be up and running again in one or two days, but until that time I can't put him in an interrogation room. It's against regulations."

"Okay," Harry said, and bit his lip. This put a damper on his plans. He'd wanted to spend the day reading, just lose himself in mindless words for a few hours, meanwhile pressuring Snape into giving some answers. Last night had been perhaps one of the worst nights in Harry's life and he needed to forget about it, needed this distraction more than anything.

Kingsley looked at Harry for a few moments, brown eyes contemplative, and Harry wondered if Kingsley knew Legilimency. He doubted it. Then he worried if Kingsley had been talking to Tonks recently. God, he hoped not.

"I can get you into his cell, if you want," Kingsley finally said. "But you have to go easy on him today. Just read to him. I don't want to have to explain any abuse on a sick prisoner."

"Of course," Harry said, feeling slightly offended. "That's all I've been doing so far. Reading to him."

"All right." Kingsley gestured for Harry to follow him. "This way."

The cells were located at the very end of the corridor that held the interrogation rooms, hidden behind an inconspicuous door. Harry expected open cells with thick, iron bars, much like you saw in Muggle movies, but he was in for a disappointment. The door opened to a narrow hallway lined with white doors. Kingsley stopped in front of the second door to their right and tapped his wand against it once.

Instead of opening, the door became transparent, and Harry got his first look of a wizarding holding cell. It was small, with a sink and toilet in one corner, a small, wooden table and chair in another corner, and a simple bed against the long wall. A bed which was occupied with a sleeping figure, a brown blanket covering most of his form.

Kingsley tapped against the door again, and it solidified and opened. Harry handed his wand to Kingsley and stepped inside the cell. The door closed behind him with a resounding clang.

"Good afternoon, sir," Harry said, placing box and book on the table. The figure in the bed didn't move. Harry pulled up the chair, positioning it at the head of the bed, and sat down, book in his lap.

"I said, GOOD AFTERNOON, SIR!"

Snape shot up, blanket falling away to reveal a gray nightshirt instead of his black robes. A frantic, dark gaze flew around the room until it found Harry. Snape fell back against the bed, forehead shining with sweat, and released a long, suffering breath.

"Potter." Snape's voice sounded raspy, as though he had sharp pebbles stuck in his throat. "What have you planned for today? The fascinating art of making balloon animals? How to knit socks the Muggle way? Or perhaps your own biography, which I'm sure you must have started writing by now."

Harry snorted, and held up Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland. "Quidditch."

Snape turned his bloodshot eyes on Harry. "I thought the point of these clandestine meetings was to torture me."

"Er..." Harry lowered the book again. "Yeah. To get you to talk or give up your memories."

Releasing a humorless laugh, Snape flung one arm over his eyes. "And it never occurred to you I might actually quite like Quidditch. Oh no, because we couldn't possibly have anything in common. It couldn't possibly be that the great Harry Potter has similar interests as a murderer."

Harry's mouth sank open and he wasn't sure how to feel as contradicting emotions rose inside of him. Snape liked Quidditch? No, it really hadn't occurred to him when he'd selected a book that morning.

"I am honestly not surprised you fail even at this, Potter." Snape dropped his arm, his eyes closed. "Very well. Torture away."

Gritting his teeth, Harry glared at Snape. He knew exactly how he felt now. Angry enough to want to smash Snape's face in with his Quidditch book. He knew he couldn't, he knew Kingsley would hate him for the rest of his life if he did, but the idea sure was tempting.

"Fine." Harry opened the book, his fingers tight and his knuckles pale. He started reading, eyes fixed on the pages, and even though normally Harry quite liked reading about Quidditch, now the words seemed pointless as they fell from his lips.

As he finished the chapter on the Appleby Arrows and was about to continue with the Ballycastle Bats, Harry looked over the book at Snape. Who seemed fast asleep.

Harry raised his foot and kicked against Snape's shoulder. Snape's eyes snapped open, and Harry gave a satisfied chuckle.

"No sleeping during your torture, sir," Harry said, which earned him a snort from Snape.

This continued on. Harry read a few pages, looked at Snape to see he'd closed his eyes, kicked Snape's shoulder until Snape opened his eyes, and read some more. Harry kept his foot balanced on the side of Snape's bed, ready to give him a violent wake-up call when necessary, even though every time he did, his leg protested more and more.

Finally, when Harry was in the middle of the chapter on the Kenmare Kestrels, Snape had enough. Harry kicked him in the shoulder again, but this time Snape caught his ankle and shoved his foot off the bed none too gently.

White, blinding pain shot straight up Harry's spine and he dropped the book as he bent forward, inhaling a hissed breath.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape sounded both exhausted and impatient. His cheeks were flushed with fever, lips ghostly pale, and thick drops of sweat coated his forehead.

"You know what I want," Harry said, straightening in his chair. He carefully stretched his leg to get it to stop spasming. "I want answers."

"And have you ever wondered what I want?" Snape asked, rolling on his side so he could look Harry in the eye.

Harry blinked, confused. "What?"

"Of course you haven't. You barge in here like the Gryffindor you are," Snape said, voice loaded with contempt. "Demanding your pathetic answers, never negotiating, never offering a deal, never realizing your tactics won't ever work on a Slytherin."

Harry was gobsmacked. He didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of knowing he was right, so he tried to keep his face blank. But he had to admit Snape may have a point. A potentially good point.

"What do you want?" Harry whispered.

"I want out of here," Snape said, as though requesting a mere cup of tea. "Once I get out of here, and only then, will I negotiate the terms of you viewing my memories."

Harry leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "You don't ask much, do you? I can't get you out of here, you know that."

"As a matter of fact, you can, Mr Potter." Snape pushed himself up so he sat against the wall, black eyes fixed on Harry. "The only charge they are keeping me here for is murder. And you are their only witness. All you need do is alter your testimony. Perhaps you have now suddenly recalled it wasn't your vile Potions master who cast the Killing Curse at Headmaster Dumbledore, but in fact the convicted Death Eater Amycus Carrow."

Harry stared at Snape, unsure whether he should laugh or punch Snape's face in for daring to suggest that. Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, "Amycus Carrow is dead. Kingsley killed him about four months ago."

"I know," Snape said, voice devoid of any emotion. "Everyone present in that tower that night, save for you and me, is dead, Potter."

"But... Draco Malfoy's dead?" Harry asked, shocked by that revelation, though he didn't understand why.

Snape gave a sharp nod. "The Dark Lord did not take his failure to kill the headmaster kindly."

For what felt like several long minutes, Harry stared at a spot on the wall above Snape's head, his mind recalling odd things Draco Malfoy had ever done or said to him. Malfoy offering his hand. Malfoy breaking his nose. Malfoy unable to kill Dumbledore. Harry didn't know why, but Malfoy's death touched him, made his stomach churn and his chest ache. He didn't like Malfoy, never had, and Malfoy had deserved a lot of things for everything he'd ever done, but death wasn't one of them.

The sound of Snape clearing his throat brought Harry back to the present, and he blinked at Snape, trying to gather his thoughts.

"So you expect me to lie about what happened? You killed Dumbledore, Snape. I know that, everyone knows that."

"It doesn't matter. Once you give a new testimony, they won't be able to hold me here any longer." When Harry didn't respond right away, Snape added in a soft voice, "Ask yourself, Potter, what would you rather get? Answers or justice?"

I don't know, Harry thought, and that confused him as well as chilled him to the bone. He was Harry Potter, for fuck's sake. Shouldn't he always want to see justice served? He didn't have an answer for that.

"I'll think about it," he said, collecting his book from the floor.

"You do that, Mr Potter. I will be here when you have made a decision." Snape lay down again, turning his back to Harry, a dismissal if Harry ever saw one.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry arrived at the Auror Headquarters so early the next morning, Kingsley hadn't even come in for work yet. The only Auror on the job, an older man with graying hair Harry thought he'd heard Kingsley call Christopher once, told Harry to wait in Kingsley's cubicle and even got him a cup of tea.

Sitting at Kingsley's desk, Harry sipped his tea and thought about what he'd say to Kingsley. He'd spent the entire evening at home, thinking about Snape's suggestion, and then he'd spent most of the night awake, twisting and turning, still not having reached a decision.

"Harry? You're early today."

Harry turned and wanted to stand up when he spotted Kingsley behind him, but Kingsley waved him back in his seat, conjuring a second chair for himself.

"Giving up already?" Kingsley asked, obviously noting Harry didn't bring his box and book this time.

"No," Harry said, and heaved a sigh. "Can I ask you some questions? About what will happen with Snape?"

Kingsley leaned back in his seat. "Sure."

"Well, what is going to happen to him? He's facing a trial soon -- "

"The date's been set two weeks from now," Kingsley offered.

"And then? What happens then?"

"He'll be on trial for murdering Dumbledore. Since we have a good witness, and Snape doesn't have a good defense, he'll most likely be found guilty."

Harry nodded. He'd expected that much. "And then what?"

Kingsley looked away, as if to distance himself from his words. "He'll be sentenced to receive the Kiss as soon as possible. Probably the day after the verdict."

Suddenly cold, Harry hunched in his chair, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself. "And what would happen if you didn't have that witness' statement?"

Kingsley looked at Harry, eyes narrowed. "Without that testimony, we don't have a case. He'd be released. He'd be put under house arrest, since he's still suspected of Death Eater activities, and until that investigation is closed, he won't be allowed to do certain types of magic or to leave his house without a Ministry escort."

"Ah." Harry frowned. "And if he's found guilty of Death Eater activities?"

"I doubt he ever will be. We don't have much evidence against him, and he did kill Voldemort. That's hardly proof of his loyalty to the man."

Harry gave a weak chuckle.

"Why are you asking me all this, Harry?" Kingsley sounded rather worried, as though he knew of Harry's dilemma. Harry again wondered if Kingsley knew Legilimency.

This was it. This was the moment Harry had to make a choice. Justice or answers, as Snape had called it. But how could he expect – demand – justice when he didn't have any answers yet? Could he send a man to meet a fate worse than death when he wasn't sure what had happened that night in the tower, and every night after that until Snape raised his wand to kill Voldemort?

Harry knew the answer to that. Had known it all along, perhaps. He gave Kingsley a solemn look. "I want to officially alter my testimony. Snape didn't kill Dumbledore. Amycus Carrow did."

Kingsley whipped out his wand, and a flutter of stinging magic passed over Harry.

"What was that?" Harry rubbed his arms, giving Kingsley an indignant glare.

"A spell to see if you're under the Imperius Curse," Kingsley said, slipping his wand back into his robes.

"I can throw off the Imperius Curse, thanks."

"For a moment you had me fooled with what you just said." Kingsley's voice was deeper than usual. He sounded angry, though not the obvious, raging kind. No, the kind that made Harry want to flinch at the underlying disappointment in it.

Harry swallowed. He supposed he'd better get used to these kind of responses for what he was about to do. "I mean it. I want to change my testimony. Snape didn't kill Dumbledore."

"I can force Veritaserum on you, I hope you realize that, Harry." Kingsley crossed his arms, his foot tapping against the floor.

Harry's eyes widened. "Please don't. Look, I have a plan."

Kingsley's quirked eyebrow told Harry he doubted that.

"Really, I do have a plan. It's the only way to get some answers. Because we don't have any yet. We don't know why he killed him. Them. We don't know what really went on. I want to know before ... before..." Harry couldn't even say it. The mere idea of the Kiss made his throat tight and his skin shiver.

Kingsley nodded. "I understand most people aren't all good or all evil. It's something I have to understand in my line of work. But this is a pretty clear-cut case, however you look at it."

"It isn't. Not until we get some answers. And he's the only one who can give them." Harry inhaled a deep breath. "Trust me. Please. Let me do this. You all trusted me to go after Voldemort, to take out the most powerful wizard in the world. Now trust me to do this."

"I trust you, Harry. I'd trust you at my back during a battle – have trusted you at my back. But there's the law we have to take in account here."

Harry bit his lip, searching for something, anything that would convince Kingsley. "Dumbledore would want answers first. He'd never just allow a man be put on trial without all the evidence. Dumbledore knew there was more to justice than the law."

And then Harry did something he rarely ever did. He leaned forward and reached for Kingsley's hand. It was big and warm and dry, and Harry pressed his own sweaty palm against it and gave it a pleading squeeze. "Please, Kingsley. Trust me. He'll be placed under house arrest. He's not going anywhere. And if it turns out he's a cold-blooded killer, he'll be back here and I'll rectify my testimony at once."

Kingsley shook his head, pursed his lips, and then squeezed Harry's hand back. "All right."

"Thank you," Harry said, followed by a deep, relieved sigh. He released Kingsley's hand, leaned back in his chair and ran both hands through his hair.

"Oh man, you – no, we are going to get so much shit for this," Kingsley said, though his tone betrayed a hint of amusement. He grinned at Harry, and Harry started chuckling.

"Tell me about it. You just already gave me shit for it."

"You think that was shit? That was nothing. You'll be neck-deep in shit before the week is over, stinking so badly people will know you're coming ten miles away." Kingsley shook his head again, as though he couldn't quite believe what they were about to do. "And playing that Dumbledore card at the end there? Smooth, Harry. Bet you practiced that."

"I didn't. I honestly didn't think of it earlier, or else I might have." Harry couldn't stop grinning, even though Kingsley's words did worry him. What kind of shit was he getting into for this? He really didn't want to know.

Altering his testimony was a rather uneventful occurrence. Kingsley got out a stack of parchment, some quills, and then had Harry write down his new version of that night's events. Harry signed it first, Kingsley added his signature, and then Kingsley called over the older Auror as a second witness to Harry's testimony.

"You've got to be kidding me," Christopher said, face paling, as he read the parchment.

"Afraid not," Kingsley said, and thanked his colleague once he'd added his signature. Kingsley tapped the parchment, a few official Auror and Ministry seals appearing beneath their names. He made at least a dozen copies with a flick of his wand, and handed one of them to Harry.

"This is it?" Harry folded the parchment and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans.

"This is it," Kingsley said. He reached inside his drawer and pulled out a file. After a tap from Kingsley's wand, the file copied itself in a whirlwind of parchment and photos.

"When will he be released?" Harry asked.

"After I process your testimony. Sometime this afternoon. I'll escort him back to his house myself." Kingsley handed Harry the copied file. "His address is in here, as is a lot of other information you should read before meeting him again."

"All right. Thanks."

"Harry," Kingsley said, and then seemed to search for words. "I understand why you want to do this. Have to do this. But you're not alone in this. If there's anything, anything at all, you come to me, understand?"

"Yeah, I will," Harry said, and meant it. He considered Kingsley a close friend, someone he could trust. And from that moment on, his co-conspirator in their own little plot to find answers and hopefully the truth. "Thank you," he said, and felt so grateful he choked up.

"Take care, Harry. I'll be dropping by Snape's on a regular basis. Part of my job."

"Well," Harry said, shrugging. "See you there."

*~*~*~*~*

Harry stared at the file on the table. He hadn't opened it yet. As a matter of fact, he hadn't done much of anything since his return from the Ministry a few hours ago. He mostly just sat on the couch, only getting up to make more tea or visit the loo. Though he didn't only stare at the file. He also glanced in the direction of the front door every once in a while, wondering if perhaps the remaining members of the Order would come to break it down and demand answers.

Or perhaps the Minister for Magic himself might come to take Harry to Azkaban for committing perjury.

Hedwig was his only company, and she was good company. The best. She didn't talk. Didn't accuse him of keeping secrets, didn't call him horrible names like coward, didn't display any overbearing behavior.

No, she mostly just sat on the back of a chair, every once in a while ruffling her feathers or clicking her beak when Harry voiced his worries to her.

Harry wasn't sure what time it was when he decided he'd had enough tea and needed something else. Something much stronger. It was a strange feeling, since he'd never had the urge to drink something stronger before, not even when getting ready to face Voldemort.

But he wasn't facing Voldemort now. He was facing the entire wizarding world who were going to accuse him of siding with a piece of Death Eater scum. Harry knew that was what people were going to make of it. Harry Potter preventing a Death Eater from getting what he deserved.

Everyone was going to hate him.

Harry was no stranger to public contempt, people thinking him insane, but he'd always had his friends at his side before. Now his friends were going to hate him, too, most likely.

Not Kingsley. He knew what was going on. Perhaps Remus and Tonk would understand, too. And if he was really lucky, so would McGonagall.

But everyone else? Ron and his entire family, who'd lost Bill to a Death Eater's Killing Curse?

Harry thought they'd probably never want to talk to him again. God, he needed a drink now.

A quick search through some of the cabinets in the drawing room later, Harry found a bottle. He pulled the cork out, sniffed it, and decided it smelled enough like alcohol to serve his purpose. He had one drink, quickly followed by another one, and a third, and after that he wasn't quite sure if he finished his fourth glass before he fell asleep on the couch.

He woke up later, back aching and leg throbbing, and noticed it was dark outside. Hedwig hooted at him, demanding to be let out for the night, and after Harry opened the front door for her, he decided he might as well go to bed, as sleeping on the couch had done him little good.

As he turned off the lights he noticed the file again. It hadn't moved. Not that Harry had expected it to, but somewhere between his third and fourth drink he had secretly hoped it would mysteriously vanish to never be seen again.

Harry hated to admit it, but the file scared him. What if it contained things that spelled out: you're an incompetent fool, Potter, for going along with Snape's plan. Look here, he's guilty, and you're letting him go!

What if he was doing the wrong thing?

There was only one way to find out, Harry knew. So with a sigh, he finally picked up the file and went to bed.

Once tucked under the covers, Harry opened the file in his lap. The first page contained personal data, complete with a black-and-white photograph of a scowling Snape. Name, date of birth, place of residence (a town Harry didn't recognize), and everything else you'd ever want to know about someone, from their height to the making of their wand.

Harry quickly turned to the next page, which was a record of Snape's first trial, dating back to 1981. The verdict was acquittal of all charges based on Dumbledore's testimony Snape had worked for him as a spy.

Snorting, Harry turned to the next page, and then held his breath. Record of Arrest it said at the top of the page, and Harry recognized Kingsley's handwriting on the document.

He quickly glanced over the first part, short facts about the arrest, but dropped the file when he saw Place of arrest: St Mungo's.

St Mungo's?

What the hell had Snape been doing at St Mungo's?

Harry swallowed and skimmed the text for any mention of St Mungo's. He found it in the second paragraph.

...We were fire-called by Healer Brown of St Mungo's, who told us they'd cornered a wanted Death Eater in their lobby. Upon arrival approximately one minute after Healer Brown's call we found the suspect S. Snape in the lobby of St Mungo's, carrying H.J. Potter, who was at the time severely injured. S. Snape voluntarily handed H.J. Potter over to Healer Brown and three of his colleagues...

Harry couldn't breathe. Snape had been arrested at St Mungo's, carrying him? Harry didn't remember any of it. He'd passed out right after Snape had killed Voldemort, but he'd assumed Snape had fled and the Order had found him and taken him to the hospital. No one had told him Snape was the one who had taken him to St Mungo's. It didn't make any sense. Snape must have known they'd --

Inhaling a deep breath, Harry looked down at the text again.

...S. Snape did not resist arrest. His first statement to us was that H.J. Potter had killed 'The Dark Lord' (Lord Voldemort), but had been injured in the battle leading up to 'The Dark Lord's' (Lord Voldemort's) death. S. Snape had then apparated him straight to St Mungo's as he feared for H.J. Potter's life. I suspected S. Snape might have injured H.J. Potter. However, when I performed Priori Incantatum on S. Snape's wand, the last spell he'd cast was a Killing Curse. The ten spells before that were all Stunners. I then examined H.J Potter's wand, and while I found at least a dozen hexes and curses, the Killing Curse was not among them.

I therefore conclude (until H.J. Potter's statement proves differently) that S. Snape has killed Lord Voldemort with a Killing Curse, and has not inflicted the injuries on H.J. Potter. Added September 13: H.J. Potter has confirmed S. Snape killed Lord Voldemort. However, visitors, patients and employees of St Mungo's, who overheard S. Snape's initial statement have at this point publicly stated H.J. Potter killed Lord Voldemort...

"That fucking bastard!" Harry yelled, and threw the file against the wall opposite his bed. Snape had told everyone Harry had killed Voldemort. Why the fuck had he done that? And why the hell had he saved Harry's life while he knew he'd be recognized and arrested on the spot?

Harry stormed out of bed straight to his desk. He jerked the drawer open and pulled out his trusted map of Britain, the one that had helped him on his quest for Voldemort's horcruxes. A quick spell later, Harry had the apparition coordinates to Snape's house. He snatched up the file, and not caring he was dressed only in his flimsiest striped pajamas with no slippers, he grabbed his wand and ran out of the house.

One hurried apparition later, Harry found himself in the most depressing street he'd ever seen. Honestly, compared to this Privet Drive seemed a lush and liberal paradise. Harry ran towards the last house, cobbles cold beneath his bare feet. He didn't worry about Muggles having seen him appear out of nowhere at this hour. All the houses around him were dark, including Snape's.

Harry banged on the front door, and kept banging and banging until finally a light came on behind the curtains. A few seconds later the front door opened a crack and Harry stared at the tip of Snape's wand.

"You bastard!" Harry yelled.

The wand lowered, and Snape's face came into view. "Potter? Are you trying to wake up the whole street?" A pale hand grabbed the front of Harry's pajamas and pulled him inside the house, the door shutting behind him with a sharp click.

Harry glanced around, momentarily disoriented. He was standing in the tiniest sitting room he'd ever seen. It had to be even smaller than the cupboard he'd lived in for all those years. Well, perhaps not smaller, but it certainly looked more cramped.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Harry looked at Snape, and for the first time noticed they were of equal height now. He hadn't really been standing face-to-face with Snape like this for many months and apparently Harry'd grown quite a bit during that time.

"This," Harry spat, and slapped the file against Snape's chest. "St Mungo's. You were arrested at St Mungo's. What the hell were you doing there?"

Snape ignored the file and tilted his chin up, glaring down at Harry over his hooked nose. Suddenly he seemed taller than Harry again. "I'm sure you can find all the details in that file."

"You took me to St Mungo's!" Harry made it sound like an accusation, as though Snape were the one who'd almost killed him. "You knew you'd be arrested and you took me to St Mungo's! You should have fled. Why didn't you? You could have -- " Harry gestured his arms wildly to indicate the whole world. "You could have run and no one would have ever found you," he finished, his voice softer now.

Snape pursed his lips.

"Fucking hell, give me some answers, Snape! At least answer this."

"I believe the answer is obvious. Perhaps you merely wish not to acknowledge it, Mr Potter," Snape said in his best classroom voice. It made Harry flinch.

"If it were obvious I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

Snape snorted. "In my long experience, you have a real talent for missing the obvious."

Frowning, Harry broke eye contact with Snape, looking down first at the file in his hands and then at his bare feet. Snape's feet were bare, too. He had rather slim feet, Harry noticed in a desperate attempt to think of something, anything except --

"I was dying," Harry whispered.

"Correct."

"So you saved my life."

"It certainly seems that way, doesn't it?"

Harry glanced up at Snape. "Why?"

"That, Mr Potter, is an answer you will not get from me this evening." Snape crossed his arms, face blank though his eyes were narrowed and staring at Harry. "Once we have finished our negotiations, you will eventually receive all the answers you seek. Come back tomorrow."

Fumbling with the file in his hands, Harry took a step away from Snape and for the first time recognized the sheer absurdity of the situation. He in his pajamas, Snape in a gray nightshirt, both standing in a tiny room in the middle of the night, arguing why Snape had dared save Harry's life.

Harry turned to open the door behind him, but then he realized something. He glanced at Snape over his shoulder. "Do I owe you a life-debt now?"

Snape gave a sharp nod. "I believe you have started paying it with your actions today."

That made sense. Harry's changed testimony had kept Snape from standing trial and being sentenced to receive the Kiss.

"You knew this," Harry said, voice barely a whisper. "You knew this yesterday when you asked me to alter my testimony. Why didn't you mention it then?"

"Tomorrow, Mr Potter." Snape gave Harry's shoulder a small push.

Harry stumbled, but didn't open the door yet. "Why did you tell the Aurors I killed Voldemort?"

"Tomorrow!" Snape said, sounding impatient now. "Nine o'clock. Don't be late." As Harry opened the door, the night's air chilling him, Snape added, "Oh, and stay away from any whiskey or other liquor before visiting me. I do not take kindly to drunks."

"I'm not drunk," Harry protested. "I just had something to drink earlier."

Snape curved an eyebrow in disbelief. "Good night, Mr Potter." The door slammed shut in Harry's face.

This time, Harry found a dark and deserted spot to disapparate, just in case his earlier rampage had awoken any of Snape's neighbors.