Post HPB - this story contains spoiler for the sixth HP book!

Disclaimer: Not mine - just borrowing them

Beta'd by the magicalirisgirl12000

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Sitting on his bed in the sixth year dorm, Harry looked around the room carefully, taking in every detail. He would like to come back fort his seventh year, and hoped that the fates would eventually allow him to do so. In the meantime, he had to complete the quest Professor Dumbledore had started, and ensure that he could kill Voldemort when the time came. The Horcruxes were his first priority, along with the destruction of Voldemort, but running a close third on his list was the tracking down and execution of Severus Snape.

Shaking off the heavy feeling that had once more descended on him, Harry stood up and closed his trunk. His wand lay on the bed, along side a full black knapsack, and he patted his pocket to ensure that the invisibility cloak he had finally retrieved from the Astronomy Tower was secure.

“Kreacher! Dobby!”

The two house-elves popped into existence next to where Harry was standing. Kreacher, the same foul-looking thing with his dirty rags even filthier than usual, and Dobby, dressed in clean, bright layers of clothing and hats, glared at each other. Harry had no time for their disputes now, and cut across the two squeaky, indignant voices.

“Dobby, I think the Headmaster would have liked me to employ you now that he is…no longer around to do so. Is that alright with you?”

Mournful green tennis-ball eyes looked up at him for a moment, and then the elf nodded, a tear slipping slowly down one cheek. “It is being what the Professor Dumbledore wished, Harry Potter.”

“Good,” Harry said with an attempt at a smile. “I need my trunk taken to Grimmauld Place and then I want you to find Professor Snape for me, Dobby. Secretly, of course.”

With another nod and a loud crack, Dobby and his trunk disappeared. Kreacher muttered under his breath, thankfully too low for Harry to hear him.

“Kreacher, where is Draco Malfoy now?” Harry stood over the diminutive creature, a perverse satisfaction at knowing he had turned the disgusting creature into an unwitting spy against the pure-blood family he wished were his masters.

“Young Master Malfoy, proper young wizard he is, enjoys the solitude of his room at the Malfoy Manor.”

“Very well, you will continue with the orders I gave you and monitor his every move, and report it to me. Is Snape still at the Manor with Malfoy?”

“No, the traitorous half-blood left this morning, to accompany He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed and rage surged through him at the house-elf’s bizarre phrasing. “Imagine that. Go back to Malfoy, Kreacher, and do not let him out of your sight.”

With a low bow, Kreacher disappeared with a crack, and Harry grabbed his wand off the bed. Stowing it in the holster that rested along his right forearm, he slung the knapsack over his shoulder and hurried to join the last of the students who were filing out of the castle towards the thestral-drawn carriages. Headmistress McGonagall stood at the top of the stone steps leading down from the great oak entrance doors, a look of sadness on her sharp features.

“Potter,” she called, stepping out to stop him as Harry attempted to speed by. Her dark eyes took in his knapsack and Muggle clothing. “I am sorry you must return to your relatives again, but I assure you it will be a short visit. I will owl you with arrangements within a fortnight.”

Harry met the dark eyes and nodded, knowing full well he would not be anywhere near Privet Drive in two weeks. “I left Hedwig in the Owlery, Professor. You may use her if you would like to.”

A thin hand patted him on the shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring, then Harry turned and continued on his way. He knew that the new Headmistress was still upset that he would not discuss with her what he and Professor Dumbledore had been doing on the night of the older wizard’s death. A mixture of sadness and rage flared in his chest, as the scene in the Astronomy Tower played again in his mind for the thousandth time, the merciless black eyes, the flash of green, and Dumbledore slowly falling. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he dove into an empty carriage, struggling to control the anger that he felt. He was quickly joined by Ron and Hermione, who didn’t disturb him while he tried to subdue his emotions. A small hand found its way into his, which was clenched at his side, and warmed him with just a touch.

“Ginny,” Harry said with a smile, her closeness a comfort to his jangled emotions.

Snuggling against his side, they sat in silence, absorbing the strength each gave freely to the other. A special bond had been forged between the two in the Chamber of Secrets four years before, and Harry knew that he would always love the ginger-haired young woman. Whether he was in love with Ginny, Harry did not know, but he had decided now was not the time for such distraction. Ginny seemed to understand, and he knew that she would always be there when he needed her support and comfort.

The train ride to King’s Cross Station was a quiet one. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had already worked out their plans, and had no intentions of discussing them in the open. Only the three of them knew of the mission Albus Dumbledore had been on at the time of his death, only the three of them could finish what the Headmaster had started before Snape and Malfoy had conspired to murder him. After much discussion, Ron and Hermione had agreed they would each go to their respective homes for the first week of the summer holidays to tie up loose ends, and would then meet at Grimmauld Place. Harry felt guilty about dragging the others into the life and death struggle he knew this search would entail, but he also knew deep down that it was not a task he could accomplish on his own.

The parting hugs at King’s Cross were fierce; the three of them remained wrapped in each other’s arms until Harry’s uncle grabbed him by the arm and dragged him across the pavement towards the car park. The ride from London was accomplished in silence. Harry felt no obligation to speak to the Dursleys, and sat in the back of the late model sedan immersed in his own thoughts. He was not sure how long Headmaster Dumbledore had originally wanted him to stay this summer, but if two weeks did it last summer, one week should be enough for this final visit.

Standing in the sitting room of the comfortable home, Harry looked around, his face expressionless, before turning and walking toward the stairs.

“You get back here, boy!” Vernon Dursley boomed, his ruddy complexion going purple around the edges. “I think you have some explaining to do!”

Harry rounded on him, an expression of contempt on his face, and his uncle took a step back towards his wife and son, who were seated on the couch.

“I do not have to explain anything to you,” the young wizard spat at him. “As Professor Dumbledore told you last summer, this is the last time we have to put up with each other. I don’t expect to be here more than a week, and will provide for myself. Leave me alone, and I will leave you alone.”

Turning, he started for the stairs, only to hear Dudley question his father.

“What about all that money he has, Dad, don’t we get any of that?”

Pointedly ignoring them, Harry made his way upstairs, and stepped into the musty room. Opening the window to allow some fresh air in to circulate, he decided that he was lucky it was warm today. There had been much speculation in the Daily Prophet in the past few months about the perpetual mist which had covered much of the country side for the past year, and the suggestion that it was the results of the Dementors breeding sent chills down Harry’s spine. Methodically, the teenager began to dust the shelves of broken toys and discarded books, making up the small cot with clean sheets, and generally making the room inhabitable.

Although it was barely six in the evening, Harry toed off his trainers, whipped his shirt over his head, and dropped onto the bed clad only in a pair of shorts. A trip into Hogsmeade the last weekend of term had given him the opportunity to buy clothing that actually fit him, and he had gleefully binned all of Dudley’s old clothing. His relatives already knew he had a fortune, so there was no longer any reason to hide it, and Harry refused to be forced to wear the hideous, huge discards. Closing his eyes, his mind turned towards the two wizards that he hated above anyone else, Tom Riddle and Severus Snape.

One thing that Dumbledore had managed to teach him in the last year was that the bastard could be killed, despite the extreme lengths he had gone to in order to ensure immortality. Harry knew that he would have to locate the other items that held portions of Voldemort’s soul, and Hermione had already deciphered the note he had found in the fake locket. Remembering the tapestry on the drawing room wall of Grimmauld Place, Harry was sure R.A.B was Sirius’ brother, Regulus. Harry had realized that the best place to start looking for the locket of Slytherin was in the Black family home.

The thought of Snape was enough to start the churning of acids in his stomach, and to send many emotions swirling. When he closed his eyes, Harry could see again the moment that his lank-haired former professor had leveled his wand at Albus Dumbledore and killed him with no hesitation. Yet that same man was the one that Dumbledore had trusted above anyone else, maybe even more so than Harry himself. As far as the Headmaster had indicated, Snape was the only other one who knew about the Horcruxes; Snape had saved the elderly wizard’s life after he had found Gaunt’s ring, and was prepared to save it again when they returned with the locket. It was Snape that the Headmaster kept asking for until the end. Dumbledore had loved the man like a son, for Merlin’s sake!

Harry rolled over and buried his face in the flat pillow as he thought of how he had chased Malfoy and Snape out of the Astronomy Tower, and across the grounds. The Slytherin bastard had had plenty of opportunity to kill or at least seriously hurt him during his wild pursuit. Why hadn’t Snape killed him? He snorted, remembering the man’s insane insistence that HE was the Half-Blood Prince! If that were true, then Snape had known for months that he had that textbook, knew that it was the reason he had been doing so well at Potions year. Why had he not been persistent in confiscating it? That very book still lay hidden in the Room of Requirement, waiting for Harry to retrieve it.

At some point, Harry drifted into a restless sleep, and nightmares plagued him as they had for years, generally consisting of jets of green spell-light killing someone he loved. It was in the steely gray light of pre-dawn that he awoke, stomach gnawing on itself with hunger. Sliding out of bed, Harry moved silently to the bathroom, where he showered quickly, brushed his teeth, and ran a hand over the faint stubble on his chin. It was not much, but each of the scraggily whiskers was his and he was proud of each one. Making his way back to his room, Harry dug out a nutrition potion that Hermione had brewed for him before they left Hogwarts, knowing the one thing that his relatives had complete control over was how much food he was allowed.

Taking advantage of the peaceful calm the dawn brought, Harry practiced clearing his mind and Occluding it, as he had learned from the books he had read obsessively over the past few weeks. The sudden quiet in his mind that had begun last June had relieved him at first, but as time went on, he had realized that Voldemort could invade it at any time he chose, unless Harry learned to protect himself. While even Dumbledore considered him a lost cause at shielding his mind, he knew he had never truly given it the practice it required. When he came face to face with the evil wizard, or Snape for that matter, Harry needed to be able to protect himself from invasion.

A flash of golden flame startled Harry, and he rolled off the bed, wand jumping into his hand from the concealed holster. Soft notes of phoenix song reassured him, and Harry looked up to see Albus Dumbledore’s familiar on the rail at the end of the bed. The usually brilliant feathers were graying around the edges and Harry recognized that the bird was close to a burning day. Sliding back onto the bed, Harry was relieved when Fawkes fluttered down on to his shoulder, his fingers reaching to stroke the warm feathers. A piece of parchment dropped into Harry’s lap, and he stared at it until the Phoenix nudged him with his head. His fingers trembled as he picked up the paper and unsealed it, and his breath caught in his throat when he recognized the thin, slanting writing.

Dear Harry,

I have just sent you to your dormitory for your invisibility cloak so that we may proceed with our mission. I do not believe that I will survive the gathering of this Horcrux tonight, Harry, and do not want you to blame yourself, no matter what happens in our search tonight. I am dying already from the effects of finding Gaunt’s ring. Had it not been for Professor Snape, I would have died that night. My death does not frighten me, Harry, nor does it mean you will be beyond the realm of my assistance in your mission. If everything goes according to my plans, I will die quickly, and at the hands on the one who has my absolute trust. I know you will have difficulty believing me, but I have left proof for you.

You should be at Privet Drive when you receive this, and have fulfilled the terms I set for your protection.

I have named you and one other as my heirs, and Fawkes has been instructed to take you directly to my home, which is now partly yours. There you will find the explanations that you seek, my boy, and I ask you to look at the proof before you take any action. I have also left you what information I have been able to gather on the locations of the remaining Horcruxes. It is my wish, if he allows it, that Fawkes become yours as well.

Do you remember, Harry, after your second year when we spoke about the Sorting Hat’s wish to place you in Slytherin House? I told you then that it was the choices you made that defined your life. You are again facing some critical choices now, Harry. Please choose carefully.

I am yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Hot, silent tears ran down his face as Harry folded the parchment and secured it in his knapsack, slinging one strap over his shoulder and hefting it onto his back. Grasping his wand tightly in his right hand, he reached up to stroke the phoenix with his left.

“Take us to our new home, Fawkes,” he said quietly, his stomach clenching at the thought of who might be waiting.

A low trill of song filled the air, and a flash of fire and the feeling of flying washed over him. In seconds, Harry stood in the darkened entry of a large house. Fawkes released his shoulder and flew further down the hallway. Following the large bird, Harry passed through an archway into a large sitting room. A small fire burned in the fireplace, providing the only light in the room, and a figure sat hidden in the depths of a large leather wing-backed chair. Fawkes landed on his golden perch beside the chair and burst into flame, illuminating the pale face of the man sitting there.

Severus Snape.