Chapter 20 – Back To Hogwarts

Chapter 20 – Back To Hogwarts

Harry squinted up in the bright, late February sunlight at the imposing gates that guarded the path that led to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It had been many years since he'd seen them, yet they were just as he'd always remembered: magnificent wrought iron, flanked by two columns topped with statues of ugly, winged boars. As he drew closer, the gates opened, charmed by the headmistress to expect his arrival.

Making his way up the path and towards the huge oak doors, he couldn't deny that it felt somewhat surreal coming back. He could have easily Floo'd directly into the headmistress's office, but the nostalgic part of him wanted to see the old castle once more and retrace his footsteps down the long corridors, taking a trip down memory lane in the process.

The Entrance Hall, with its grand marble staircase and hourglasses full of precious gems, which kept track of House points for the four Houses, took him right back to being a student. He even felt a flash of indignation that Ravenclaw were in the lead, the blue sapphires winking almost mockingly at him.

It was half term and so the school was deserted, which gave Harry plenty of time to meander, gazing fondly at the old portraits he passed on the way. It was incredible to think that after all the damage the castle had sustained during the final battle with Voldemort, it now looked as if none of it ever happened. Loitering at the bottom of the stairwell, he was hoping he'd get a chance to see Nearly-Headless Nick and even wouldn't have minded a run-in with Peeves, for old time's sake. But unfortunately, it was not to be.

Eventually, via the various moving staircases, Harry reached the seventh floor and the gargoyle which guarded the entrance to the headmistress' office.

'Mimblewimble,' he muttered, and the gargoyle leapt aside as the wall behind it split in two to reveal a spiral stone staircase that moved like an escalator as soon as Harry put his foot on it. Round and round the stairs went, and Harry thought back on all the times he'd been summoned to this office. He thought of Dumbledore, and he could not help but smile. He still missed the old wizard, even after all these years. Then he remembered that his portrait would be in the office; maybe he'd get a chance to speak to him. But the thought of portraits reminded him again of the real reason he was here today, and his stomach clenched in anticipation.

Once at the top of the staircase, he was faced with a highly polished oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Taking a steadying breath, he knocked twice on the door.

'Enter,' a familiar Scottish brogue replied.

Harry pushed the door open and was greeted by his former professor and Head of House, Minerva McGonagall, who was beaming at him.

'Ah, Harry, it's lovely to see you,' she said, standing up to take his hand. 'I can't believe how quickly the time has flown. It seems like only yesterday that I'd caught you with Longbottom's Remembrall and persuaded Wood to take you on to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Now look at you! Head Auror!'

Harry smiled, shaking the old witch's hand in return. 'Thank you for agreeing to see me at such short notice, Headmistress.'

But at this, she clucked her tongue and looked over her steel-framed spectacles. 'Spare me the formalities, dear. I won't deduct House points from you for using my first name.'

Harry laughed. 'Sorry, Minerva. Force of habit.'

'That's better.' She smiled at the young wizard, admiring what a handsome and successful man he'd turned in to. He had a loving wife, a young family and a blossoming career now, and to think he came from such humble beginnings and heartache. She could not help but feel a flash of maternal pride.

'How's the wee boy? Albus?' she asked with concern, remembering how the Potter family's tragedy was splashed across the Prophet before Christmas.

'He's just great, thanks,' Harry replied. 'He's not quite as boisterous as James, but he's a good kid. It's like the Augurey Flu never happened.'

Minerva nodded, and once more she felt a swell of happiness that everything seemed to have turned out well for Harry and his family.

After busying herself with offering Harry tea and shortbread and engaging in more small talk about Hagrid's latest wildlife project and Gryffindor's chances of winning the Quidditch Cup this year, they could no longer avoid the topic of why Harry had come back to his old school.

'So tell me, Harry, what can I do for you today?' Minerva asked eventually, taking a sip from her teacup.

Harry took a deep breath before answering. 'I've come to ask you about Severus Snape.'

Minerva's eyebrow's shot up, and she set her teacup down on its saucer with a melodic tinkle. 'Severus...' she said, her voice a little shaky with shock. 'What do you want to know?'

Harry scanned the wall behind her which was crammed with the portraits of all the former head teachers. All except for one, that was.

'I want to know why Severus Snape does not have a Headmaster's portrait here at Hogwarts.'

Minerva blinked rapidly and breathed through her nose. 'Well, no one knows for sure...' she started, aware that she would be unable to pull the wool over the young Auror's eyes. 'I have my own suspicions, however.'

'Do you think he's alive?' Harry asked quickly, cutting to the chase, and Minerva studied him carefully before responding. How much should she tell him? Should she mention how she found Severus clinging to life in the Shrieking Shack? Or should she keep Snape's secret, just like he'd kept secrets his whole life?

'Yes, I do,' she said quietly.

Harry felt a thrill of dread run down his spine. 'Have you seen him?' he demanded, just a little brusquer than he'd intended.

Minerva shook her head slowly. 'No. I haven't had any contact with him at all. But the only conclusion I can reach for his portrait not appearing here, no matter how unlikely it may seem, is that he is indeed alive.' She paused, watching Harry's jaw clench at the news. 'Harry, I know you must have lots you want to say to him, just as I do. But you should not try to find him... I believe he does not want to be found. He's not part of our world anymore.' Minerva looked down, and Harry noticed with surprise the sadness in her eyes, as if this was a fact she had a hard time processing.

Harry didn't know what to say. He certainly wasn't going to tell her his theory about Snape's double identity or air his views about his wife's potential affair. He could see she had her own issues with Snape; most probably, she felt guilty, as they all had, about the way Snape had been treated and all he'd sacrificed to bring Voldemort down. She probably wanted to apologise to Snape and make it up to him somehow and assumed that's what he, Harry, wanted too.

'Have you tried contacting him?' he asked after a while.

'I tried to send letters,' Minerva admitted. 'He never responded.' She sighed, before threading her fingers together and peering over her spectacles. 'Harry, promise me you won't try to find him? If Severus does not want to be found, we should respect his wishes. It's the least we can do for him, to let him live out a quiet, undisturbed life. I have no doubt that his portrait will appear when his life comes to a natural end. But until that time...'

'You're hoping that no one else notices his missing portrait and realises he's alive?' Harry finished dully.

Minerva's lips twitched uncomfortably. 'Please, Harry? Will you promise me?'

Harry looked back at his former headmistress and reluctantly nodded his agreement, and Minerva's relief was almost palpable. He thanked her for being honest with him, and after they talked some more about his life after Hogwarts, he asked her if she minded if he took a walk around the grounds before leaving. Minerva assented, telling him the gates were charmed to open for him whenever he decided to leave.

As he strolled around the Quidditch Pitch and took in the brisk Scottish air, Harry tried to process exactly what he'd discovered. Things were not always clear cut, especially when it came to Severus Snape. Shielding his eyes against the sunshine and peering up at the stands, he was reminded of the time during his very first Quidditch match against Slytherin when it looked as though Snape had been jinxing Harry's broom, but in fact had actually been saving his life by uttering a counter-curse to Quirrell's spell...

He'd thought of the duplicity of his former Potions master often after the war, and how easily Snape had fooled people into believing his actions were bad. There was no denying he had been a cruel, vindictive and unapproachable man, but how much of that was really him and how much of that was caused by the pressures he's had to bear in order to serve two masters and keep him, Harry, safe? Harry thought Snape must have been punished enough in his life by experiencing unrequited love for Harry's mother and the mistakes he'd made by ruining his friendship with her and then going on to join Voldemort. Yet without his efforts for the Order of the Phoenix, the outcome of the war could have been very different indeed...

Harry wandered onwards with his thoughts, around the back of the castle. In the distance, the imposing dark treetops of the Forbidden Forest towered over Hagrid's little gamekeeper's hut. Smoke curled out of the stone chimney in a familiar, comforting way. Again, Harry's mind was instantly taken back to a memory, this time from his sixth year, when he'd chased Snape across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest after the death of Dumbledore. He'd desperately fired spell after spell at the former Death Eater, who had deflected them with as much ease as swatting a fly. Harry, angry and hurting, screamed at Snape to fight back, calling him a coward and attempting to strike him with Sectumsempra, Snape's own spell... He'd never seen Snape so incandescent with rage, and he had never forgotten the words Snape roared at him before he made his escape.

'You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them ... I, the Half-Blood Prince!'

Half-Blood Prince. It was a strange title indeed that Snape had given himself and potentially dangerous as a member of Slytherin House. Snape was, in one way, disassociating himself from his Muggle roots by aligning himself with his mother's maiden name, yet at the same time highlighting the fact he was a half-blood and therefore half-Muggle. Harry supposed he'd never know the true reasoning behind the nickname; it was just another enigma and secret that Snape had hidden behind.

Harry had reached the Black Lake now, and he sat on a tree stump, considering its murky depths as the sunlight played across the still surface. Snape had no portrait at Hogwarts, just as he'd suspected, and even Minerva McGonagall herself believed Snape to be alive. Could Snape really be the man that had saved his son, and was the Half-Blood Prince having an affair with his wife?

Half-Blood Prince.

Suddenly, with a prickle of inspiration, Harry had an idea. Urgently, he pulled his wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, spelling out the letters of Snape's self-styled nickname. The words manifested in slashes of amber flame, just like the spell the young Tom Riddle had performed in front of him many years ago in the Chamber of Secrets.

HALF BLOOD PRINCE

Harry felt as if he'd been doused with water as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. He waved his wand once and his stomach plummeted as the letters rearranged themselves in front of his astonished eyes.

ALFRIC O NOBEL PHD

Author's note: I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed and for your patience with this WIP. I am afraid I need to ask you for yet more patience; I am moving and changing jobs over the space of the next two months, so it may be some time before I can update again. But fear not, I have not abandoned this story and as soon as real life calms down a bit I will be back to complete this story.