The Return of the Prodigal

Chapter 1 - Seventh year

When Harry returned for his seventh year at Hogwarts, he wasn't really sure what was occurring. Dumbledore, who at times could be seen as quite stable and others as madder than a hatter, seemed to be giving him unusually considering looks.

Passing the entire occurrence off to the existence of the emergency Portkey he'd been given at the start of the summer, Harry joined Ron and Hermione in their seats at the Gryffindor table for the sorting.

As he passed, a few of his classmates noted his new look. Over the summer, he'd allowed his messy black hair to grow out. Now that it wasn't cropped short, it stayed in place. That place being a ponytail tied off at the nap of his neck. This, combined with his time outside and heavy tan, made him seem a lot less the neglected orphan and more the secure young man of seventeen, which he was now.

***

Dumbledore had stopped him at the platform for the Hogwarts Express, just before he boarded to return to the Dursleys' for the summer holidays.

"Harry." The voice came from behind and Harry waved Ron and Hermione on to find a seating compartment as he stopped to speak with Dumbledore.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore held out a small ring, and Harry took it with some confusion.

"It is a Portkey, Harry. While I know you still distrust such things, I made this for you personally. Should there be any problems with Voldemort this summer, speak the phrase and it will return you to my office."

Harry looked at the small ring and tried it on. It nestled quick securely at the base of his right pinkie finger.

"Thank you, Headmaster. What's the activation phrase?"

Dumbledore smiled, his expression clearly hinting that he knew things Harry would only find out later. "Love shall save me."

Harry nodded, it was appropriate. Love and loyalty had kept him alive this long. "Thank you. I'll keep it on at all times."

With a pat on the shoulder, Harry was released to the train and he'd joined his friends.

***

Focusing on those same friends now, those friends who seemed to be trying to get his attention, Harry pulled his mind to the present.

"It's our last year and I still don't know what I want to do professionally!" Hermione's complaint, first uttered in the station before they'd boarded the Express, was likely to be heard many, many more times before the year ended.

Ron and Harry had simply smirked at eachother and watched as the scenery rolled past the window. Harry absently played with the ring which was still on his hand, twisting it as he'd done many a time.

"I still say I've seen that ring before, Harry." Hermione had first said this on the trip home last year, and Ron rolled his eyes. Harry decided to give her another chance to tell him where.

"Okay, Hermione, take a good look and tell me where." Harry held out his hand, not taking the ring off, but letting her look at it. It was simply a geometric design, one twisted into a circle with no start and end. The silver ring looked vaguely Celtic in origin.

Hermione sighed. "I still can't remember who, but I know I saw a teacher wearing one just like it."

Ron spoke up. "Well, of course, Hermione. This can't be the first Dumbledore's made to keep someone safe."

They settled into easy conversation for the long trip back to school, the worries of a too quiet summer and the surely tumultuous school year ahead drifting away for the moment.

***

As Harry settled into his seat for the sorting, he noticed that the Professors seemed even more stressed than usual. Dumbledore and McGonagall were starting to look their ages, Snape was glaring at him, wait... Snape was looking at him with something akin to absolute horror.

Harry nudged Ron. "Ron... What's up with Snape?"

Ron off-handedly remarked. "Who cares about the slimy git." He quickly looked over to the teacher's table at Hermione's exclamation of disgust.

"Oi, Harry, he's not glaring at you... He looks... I don't know, he looks like he's just been told Trelawney's his sister."

Harry laughed at the joke, but still didn't understand why Snape seemed to be so off center. Usually the man kept his expressions reserved, all reaction hidden.

Noticing Harry's return gaze, Snape flushed pink... That could hardly have been more a surprise than the fact that the potions master then got up from the staff table and left the Great Hall.

Harry noted McGonagall glaring at Snape's retreating back. But then he saw Dumbledore. The Headmaster had looked from Snape to Harry, shook his head slightly, and laid a restraining arm to prevent his Deputy from following the retreating Professor. The Headmaster looked almost sad.

Not really wanting this much confusion when the school year hadn't even started yet, Harry turned his attentions to his friends and ignored the possibilities occurring around him.

***

Snape had retreated not to his classroom or office, but to his private quarters. When he'd left the Great Hall, all he could focus on was the appearance of that spoiled brat. It wasn't right. There had to be some mistake.

His determined pace and fearsome expression were lost on the empty corridors as he quickly moved through them. Once in his private rooms, he went immediately to his bedside table. There, locked inside the upper drawer, was all that remained to him of the only person he'd ever loved. Harold James.

Remembering the name caused him to pause. "No, dear gods, no," he muttered quietly, whispering the spells which would unlock the drawer.

Ignoring his prayers, the truth inside the drawer could not be ignored. The silver ring... The one on which they'd based so many promises, the one he wore when memory haunted him dearly. The small treasures from their times together. He dug past these all, needing to know if his memory recalled the face of his young lover clearly.

There, at the bottom, he pulled free a wizarding photograph. It had been taken barely a week before his love had left him. A young Severus Snape, smiling in a manner he couldn't even remember crossing his face, arms linked around another young man of seventeen. That other young man smiled out to the camera as well, then they would turn to face eachother sharing a kiss before smiling back out at the world.

Through the jaded eyes of someone twice the age of his self in the photograph, Snape examined the detail. What he found caused him to slide down until he was sitting, leaning against his bed. He dug the heels of his hands into his head and tried to force the impending migraine away from him. But no physical action would spare him the evidence smiling up at him.

He couldn't accept it. The young man in the picture could not be Potter. It was not possible.

***

The empty corridors echoed the scream of rage and pain that streamed forth from the otherwise silent dungeon walls. In the Great Hall, the sound broke in faintly just at that silent break in time before a first year approached the sorting hat. The girl stumbled, obviously surprised and scared.

McGonagall gestured the girl forward and looked to Dumbledore. The Headmaster merely looked as if he was carrying some weighty thought and motioned for the process to continue.

Among the students, there was curiosity and quite a bit of silence.

Harry leaned over to his best friend, Ronald Weasley. "Did that sound like Snape to you?"

The shrug was all he got in answer as the sorting continued.