It was Hermione, early as always. She was dressed in a dark blue gown that was slimming and made of shiny fabric, and her hair was piled up on her head with little wisps hanging down. Quite a different picture from the frazzled schoolgirl with a dozen books in a pack slung over her shoulder. In one hand, she held a small, wrapped box.

“Harry!” she cried, a grin brightening her face.

She ran up to him, and he suddenly found himself in a warm embrace, smelling her perfumed hair.

When she pulled back, her eyes were dancing. “I was so glad we would have a chance to see each other before school starts. A birthday party – what a grand idea! I was very glad to have a break from all my studying. I’m already half-through all our textbooks for next term. Sixth year is supposed to be the hardest –”

“Miss Granger,” Snape spoke in a low tone, from behind Harry, “so glad you could make it.”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione glanced to him, “lovely to see you.”

Harry blinked, startled. He had expected a torrent of questions from his friends, especially from Hermione who wasn’t one to stand idly by and not ask questions when she thought something was amiss. But instead she stood there with a serene expression as if seeing Snape did not trouble her in the least bit.

That was when Harry realized that he had not asked Snape what they were suppose to tell people. He had thought that Snape considered Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Seamus to be on the right side of the fight against evil, but surely Snape wouldn’t tell them that Harry was staying at his house all summer. After all the precautions the man had made to ensure that no one knew, telling four teenagers seemed definitely out of character for Snape.

Another knock sounded at the door. The house elf reached to open it.

“I see you have house elves, Professor,” Hermione commented, in the same chilled voice she always used when talking about the enslaved creatures to anyone.

“I do,” Snape replied evenly. “And I’ll thank you not to go about setting them free at Mr. Potter’s birthday celebration.”

Fortunately, Hermione could not answer as Seamus came walking up into the house, a box in his own hand.

“Hello,” he greeted the trio standing in the entrance hall. “Sorry I’m late. Is Dean here yet?”

Harry froze. He had completely forgotten about Dean Thomas, Seamus’s best friend. It was understandable; Harry had only shared a dorm room with Dean for five whole school years! So stupid! But Harry had been so busy planning a way to get Neville and Snape to understand each other that he had completely forgotten about Dean.

“Er, no,” Harry blurted out. “We had a – uh, fight before school ended. We’re not speaking.”

It was horrible excuse and a bad lie. Harry could feel Snape’s gaze boring into him for starting his party with a lie, but Harry couldn’t think of another way to explain Dean’s absence.

“Oh, all right, then,” Seamus said, rather taken aback. “Don’t worry about him. He’s always changing his mind – he’ll be all right come September. Oh, here comes Ron.”

Ron was dressed in nicer clothes than usual, though certainly not as fancy as Harry or Seamus, but as Ron trudged into the manor, Harry could not help grinning at his woeful face. An occasion to dress up was for Ron little better than a week’s worth of detention with Filch. His dress clothes, once very nice and proper, now looked worn and tired, as if being past down through six boys had taken all the clothes had to give. In his hand, Ron clutched a gift that was wrapped in brown paper with a messy collection of string and tape holding it together. Harry felt a moment’s twinge of guilt – he should have had Snape put no gifts at the bottom of the invitation. Ron must have worried about how he was going to give his friend a present, a worry that Harry never wanted to place on Ron.

“Hey,” he smiled at Ron. Harry was never sure what to say on these meetings after a long time of separation. It was better at Hogwarts where they saw each other every day, and they could say a lot or nothing, and everything was normal. To hug now would be too weird, to shake hands seemed too formal, but to just stand and say nothing was the worst of all.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron smiled his crooked smile, awkwardly shifting in his old clothes. “Sorry if I was a bit late. Mum couldn’t find the invitation. She says hello, and so does Dad and Ginny.”

“Great,” Harry agreed. He wanted Ron to notice Snape, to notice that they were standing in an entrance way of a large manor, and Ron had seen the house on Privet Drive so he should think something was amiss with Harry being here. Could they see Snape at all? No, Hermione had spoken to him a minute ago, and Ron nodded casually to the man as if nothing were wrong.

A noise sounded outside the closed door, like someone tripping and nearly falling. The house elf hurried to the door and drew it back to reveal Neville in a handsome suit that looked all wrong on him as he struggled up to his feet.

“Sorry,” he said, with the same sheepish expression he wore at Hogwarts when he couldn’t get anything right. “Slipped a bit there. Happy birthday, Harry.” Neville clutched a package that looked like it had gotten squished a bit.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said, casting a quick glance at Snape. The man was frowning, displeasure written in the taunt lines of his forehead.

“Mr. Longbottom,” Snape said tersely, “please come in and try to keep from falling on your face.”

Neville looked at the potions master nervously. “Y-yes, professor,” he stammered.

“Since you all are here, please come into the dining room and place your gifts on the side table.”

“But Dobby hasn’t arrived yet,” Harry objected.

Snape’s frown grew. “I received news from your little elf friend that he would be coming later. Come into the dining room, now.”

They all followed Snape, Hermione chatting with Seamus about a new book she was reading.

Harry didn’t understand why they weren’t reacting more to Snape. Something was wrong, very wrong, especially considering that Neville seemed no more scared or worried about Snape than usual. Harry had expected him to faint or be so agitated that Hermione would take him outside to calm down.

In the dining room, five places had been set, one at the head of the table with a streamer on it. Harry supposed that was his seat, so he took it. Hermione and Ron were on his right, Seamus and Neville on his right.

“Enjoy your evening,” Snape said rather stiffly. He nodded, then went out the door.

“Such a lovely place to have a dinner party,” Hermione observed as she placed her napkin in her lap. “I do love old manor like this. Do you know its name, Harry?”

“Snapdragon Manor,” Harry said, watching her carefully. “It’s Snape’s home.”

“Lovely,” Hermione smiled.

Harry looked around to see if anyone else was shocked. “I’ve been living here for a month. With Snape. Both of us, in this house together.”

“Yes, very nice,” Seamus agreed.

“Ooo! Clam broth, one of my favorite,” Hermione was delighted as bowls of soup materialized at their places.

“Better than Mum makes it,” Ron agreed as he tasted it.

Harry watched them all spooning the soup and nibbling on the round crackers that came beside it.

“Will you excuse me?” he got up from his chair, throwing his cloth napkin on the seat of his chair. Harry went out into the hall where Snape was watching the dinner party.

“What are you doing?” Snape demanded, quite cross.

“What am I doing? What are you doing, spying on us?”

“No, I wanted to make sure everything was in hand. Do you need something?”

“Yeah, I want to talk to you.”

The man sighed. “Potter, I know you show an appalling lack of manners on a regular basis, but it is considered very bad taste to leave your guests in the middle of a party that is, in fact, in your honor.”

Harry waved away manners with a quick motion of his hand. “Forget that. What’s wrong with everyone?”

Snape sighed again, and Harry quickly said,

“No, not like they’re idiots or they’re self-righteous Gryffindors, or there isn’t a whole brain between the four of them. Why aren’t they surprised?”

“Surprised at what?” Snape said, sounding a bit more evasive than Harry thought he should.

“Surprised that, instead of sweating it out at my aunt and uncle’s house, I’m spending the summer with you! And don’t give me any ‘Oh, I would be an excellent person to stay with’ kind of crap –”

“Language, Mr. Potter,” Snape cautioned.

“Come on, why weren’t they shocked or horrified or even taken aback for a second when they saw you here with me? Or rather me here with you!”

“Because I arranged for the portkey to affect their thinking,” Snape replied, very cool and collected. “As soon as they arrived on the doorstep, they would not find it surprising that you were here with me. I didn’t want to deal with any hysterics from you children. And as soon as they return from wherever they came from, they won’t remember seeing me. All they’ll remember is having a good time at your birthday party.”

Harry stared in horror. “You modified their memories?”

Snape glared at him. “How about a ‘Thank you, professor, for arranging for me to have a nice birthday and let all my friends come’ or ‘I understand you must have had your reasons’ or even a ‘Thanks, Snape, I’ll try to be less annoying seeing as how you went out of your way and considering that I’ve been a brat for most of my visit’?”

“I’ve not been a brat,” Harry retorted. “I’ve been very good lately. I just don’t like the ideas of my friends having their heads messed with. Maybe it’s something Slytherins enjoy, but we do not.”

“So help me, Potter,” Snape growled, “you keep this up, and I’ll send everyone home, and no one will remember this party, including you.”

“Fine,” Harry said. He marched back into the dining room and took his seat. Everyone looked at him, but he only smiled.

“Sorry about that. Snape – er, wanted to ask me something. He can’t leave me alone for a single second.”

“Oh,” Hermione nodded reluctantly, “yes, well, as I was telling Neville – you really must read the potions textbook early to get a good grasp on the complexities of the concepts.”

“Hermione,” Ron groaned, but she shot him a look to stay quiet.

“No, really, Neville, this year is not about slacking off. We have to focus very hard, study even more. The O.W.L.s may be over, but we have N.E.W.T.s coming up, and any future employer will look very hard at the last two years at Hogwarts. The first five barely matter.”

“Then why did we study ourselves crazy?” Ron demanded.

“And potions is not a subject to ease through on a whim,” Hermione continued, ignoring Ron. “You really must think about –”

“I’m not taking potions,” Neville interrupted in a small voice. “I didn’t make high enough on the – you know . . .”

Hermione looked away, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

Harry thought about changing the subject. But suddenly, he found himself saying, “You shouldn’t let that stop you if you really want to take potions.”

“What?” Neville looked at him blankly.

“Yeah,” Harry plunged ahead. “Sometimes a professor will take you into their class as an exception. You should talk to Snape about that.”

Neville stared at Harry, eyes unbelieving.

“In fact,” Harry continued, “you should talk to him tonight. Why not? I mean, you’re both here, and I know he wouldn’t mind, considering he thinks he’s such a great professor, a student’s best hope for a teacher.” He hoped Snape was still standing outside the room, listening. “And if he is a great professor, I think he would be happy to talk to you, really listen to you without criticizing.”

The four teenagers looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

“What?” Harry looked right back. “If you see nothing wrong with my being here, at Snape’s manor in the middle of the summer, you can’t see anything wrong with Neville talking to him. You know, you should ask him if he would consider giving you private tutoring lessons so you can be head of your class this year.”

“Harry,” Hermione looked concerned, “are you feeling all right?”

“I feel great.” Harry lifted up his glass of pumpkin juice. “Harry birthday to me, and thank you all for coming. So, Seamus, done anything impressive this summer?"

And the conversation turned to the holidays and what they had done, which didn’t seem like too much more than what they normally did in the summer. Hermione studied, Neville stayed with his grandmother, Seamus went home to his family, and Ron complained.

A cake was brought out at the end of the meal, carefully balanced by the two house elves. It was a gigantic chocolate thing with the words Happy Birthday, Harry Potter sprawled on the top in white piped icing. Sixteen candles circled the top, and then they flared to life, fire sparking out of the wicks. Hermione clapped her hands together in delight and immediately struck up the chorus of “Happy Birthday to You.” Harry waited in silence, wondering what he should do while they sang. He had never had anyone sing the song to him before, and he wondered if he should sing along or just smile as they sang. He settled for smiling, and as soon as it was over, he leaned down and blew out the candles.

“Did you make a wish?” Hermione cheered, looking happy that her friend was having such a good birthday.

“Uh – sure,” Harry lied. What were you supposed to wish for on a birthday? Something big like escaping your destiny, or something silly like a new broomstick?

“Don‘t tell us, or it won’t come true,” Seamus teased, getting caught up in Hermione’s enthusiasm for the party.

One house elf cut into the cake, spoiling the pretty icing. Harry grinned when he saw a piece of the cake plopped down onto a plate. The cake was iced with chocolate frosting, but inside the cake was white vanilla except for the center which was made of chocolate pudding. Harry couldn’t think of a more appeasing cake than the one before him, and he hoped there would be enough left over to last for a week, a piece each night at supper.

Once the plates were all passed out, they began to eat it, savoring each bite.

“I never would have thought of pudding in the middle of a cake,” Seamus observed, “but it goes quite nicely. My mum tried to make me pies for my birthdays, but they were always a flat failure. Once she forgot to add the sugar, and I asked her to let my aunt make it after that. What about you, Neville? Your gran ever make a cake?”

“That’s right,” Ron glanced towards Neville. “Your birthday was last week. You have gotten us all together, mate. Could have had a right proper time.”

“I forgot,” Neville looked down at his plate of cake intensely. “Gran was busy, but we went to see – well, we went to see someone that day.”

Harry felt a righteous throb of angry as he looked at Neville’s woeful face. Why wouldn’t Snape be moved by this? Neville looked miserable.

Once they were finished with their cake, Seamus said, “All right, time for presents.”

Immediately, their plates cleared away, and a pile of gifts appeared in front of Harry on the table.

“Mine first,” Seamus announced, “’cause it was the hardest to find. I couldn’t think what you needed – I mean, you must have everything you could think of at home, right? So I got you the silliest thing I could imagine. I saw them in Diagon Alley a few days ago.”

Harry ripped off the gold wrapping paper. Then he laughed out loud.

“What is it?” Hermione craned her neck to see.

“Little rainbow arcs,” Harry held the gift up so they could all have a look. “It makes a bridge across the water to walk on.”

“This way if you come to a stream or river,” Seamus explained, “and you think ‘Hey, I’m the hero of the wizarding world – I shouldn’t have to get my feet wet,’ you just pull out this baby here, place it on the ground, and voila – you got your own little bridge. Once you’re across, just say the word that printed inside the package, and the arc should jump back in your pocket. Cool, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Thanks, it’s really – cool.”

“Mine next,” Hermione urged. “Something you will not like at first, but you will thank me for later.”

“Always a selling point,” Harry pulled the paper off. All he saw was a small timer in a box with the words Study Time on top.

“A timer?” he asked Hermione.

“A magical study timer,” she explained. “You set the clock for however long you’d like from twenty minutes to two hours. Once the timer starts, you have to study for that long.”

“What do you mean ‘have to’?” Harry asked suspicious.

“I mean you can’t think of anything else other than studying until the timer runs out. I tried it on myself to make sure it works – for twenty minutes I sat reading a magical history book even though I was starving and tired and didn’t want to study at all. I literally could not get up until the timer rang. It is guaranteed to make even the most distracted student study.”

“And I was the first person that came to mind?” Harry questioned, trying not to laugh. Only Hermione would come up with such a gift.

“No, originally it was for Ron,” Hermione replied candidly, making Ron glare at her. “But I thought you could use it this summer.”

“Can you set it for someone else?” Harry suddenly wondered. He had a fearful vision of Snape setting the timer for two hours over and over throughout the day, and Harry helpless to do anything other than study.

“No, it only works for the person who sets it.”

“Meaning, you could trick your enemy into setting it for you, and then he’d have to study while you watched him,” Ron said, sniggering.

“We should take this to Hogwarts,” Seamus suggested. “And get all the Slytherins to set it.”

“It’s for real studying, not pranks,” Hermione insisted, but the boys were not listening to her as they laughed. Even Neville gave a quiet chuckle at the idea.

Harry reached for Ron’s gift, and he noticed that his friend sobered immediately. Ron’s gift was a long, narrow leather pouch. Harry turned it over in his hands several times, trying to guess what it was for.

“It’s a wand holder,” Ron finally pointed out. “It’s made of a special kind of dragon hide that repels the strongest spell. And it’s enchanted too, so that the owner can put his wand in there, and no one else can ever remove it.”

“I’ve read about those,” Hermione nodded. “Supposed to be very strong magic.”

“That’s right,” Seamus spoke up. “Even if you die, no one can open the pouch to get your wand. Not that – you know, we think you’re going to die.”

The group could have lapsed into uncomfortable silence, but Harry lightened the mood by commenting, “Well, if I do, I’ll be sure to put my wand in this case first. And Neville, all I need is a leather case to put myself in so I don’t get hurt. You got one of those in here?”

Harry picked up the package that was about the size of a shoebox. He opened it to reveal three large books tied together with a leather cord.

“Books?” Ron said. “I though only Hermione would give him that.”

“Not just books,” Seamus said. “I’ve seen those before. It’s a three-part journal for you to write in.”

“A diary?” Ron snickered. Neville looked away, embarrassed.

“No,” Seamus insisted, “better than that. The first book is for anything important you want to remember. Whatever you write in the first book, you’ll remember for the rest of your life. The second is for stuff you want to forget. Dumb things you did or said or anything humiliating. You’ll still remember the stuff, but it won’t be as bad as before, and gradually everyone will forget that you fell down the stairs in the middle of your cousin’s wedding ceremony or whatever. The last one – I don’t remember what it does.”

“It’s for spells,” Neville said. “Spells that you can’t remember or can’t get quite right. You write them in here several times, and then you know them.”

“Does it really work?” Hermione questioned, doubtful.

“It’s supposed to,” Seamus replied. “Only you have to keep using them, or they lose their power.”

“Thanks,” Harry said to Neville. “That’s a fantastic gift. All of you – brilliant gifts. I would have never come up with anything as clever. Don’t invite me to any of your parties because I’ll show up with something awful like a gift certificate to Flourishes and Blots.”

“A what?” Ron asked, confused.

“Exactly,” Harry said.

“My cousin once showed up at my greataunt’s party with a tub of balled up tissues,” Seamus remembered. “He was going to bewitch them to float around her like snowballs to scare her or make her laugh, I forget which. He said the wrong spell, and they all formed a snowman that tried to eat her. Yeah – we don’t talk to that cousin anymore.”

“Can’t be worse than my uncle’s family from Scotland,” Hermione interjected. “They hate my family, but they don’t know I’m a witch so they feel perfectly safe in insulting us every Christmas by sending a crate of bats, hoping we’ll swoop around in blind joy or so the card says. My parents never knew what to do with them, but now I use them to study, and once they die, I mix them into potions, just for fun.”

Harry was sure he heard someone fall into the wall out in the hallway, but he said, “You practice potions during the summer?”

“Of course,” Hermione answered in her no-nonsense voice. “It’s good to practice, and I know I won’t blow myself up in the dungeons come fall. I really wish Professor Snape would have us work on potions that are a little more complicated. This mixing two or three ingredients together to make a salve to sooth cuts – child’s play! I mixed up that batch of Polyjuice Potion our second year, and we’ve not done anything that comes near to that in five years’ of lessons.”

Harry could only imagine Snape’s wrathful expression as he listened. Obviously, a part of the mind control of the portkeys included forgetting about Snape as soon as he was out of sight.

“So,” Harry said in a very casual voice, “you don’t think Snape does a good job teaching?”

“He gets students to listen by swooping around and scowling. His actual teaching methods – please! Harry, you did better teaching us in the DA meetings than Professor Snape ever imagined. Neville, what do you think?”

“I think we should go outside and watch the sky,” Harry suggested before Neville could answer. Though he didn’t mind a little Snape-bashing, he did not want Neville to start on how he felt about his potions master. That would not help bring Neville and Snape together or forget their differences. And it was already almost ten – Snape would send everyone home soon.

“Watch the sky?” Ron lifted one eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeah, for falling stars,” Harry said, wishing that did not sound as childish as it did.

“It’s almost dark out. And I bet there’s a great view, being out in the country,” Hermione hurried out of her chair.
They all went out into the hallway where Snape stood with crossed arms and a sour expression.

“Professor,” Hermione smiled, ‘I had completely forgotten that you were here. We’re going out to watch for falling stars.”

“Lovely,” Snape said coldly. “Stand by the lake – you’ll have a better view of the sky. If I could jut borrow your guest of honor for a second.” He clamped a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry knew that it was now or never. “Sure, I’ll stay. Neville, stay too.”

As Seamus, Ron, and Hermione headed outside, Hermione lecturing about what she had read recently on falling stars, Neville walked back towards Snape and Harry, looking as he were about to be tortured. “Yes, Harry?”

“Ask him, Neville,” Harry urged. “Ask him about the class and the tutoring.”

Neville kept watching the floor as if he hoped the ground might open up and swallow him. Snape looked like he was about to spit nails as he watched Neville tremble.

“Neville wants to take potions,” Harry told Snape. “He didn’t get high enough on his O.W.L.s, and he wants you to make an exception for him.”

“The rules stand,” Snape ground out, his eyes hard.

“You said there are ways of getting around the rules,” Harry replied. “You said you could make exceptions. Why for me, and not for Neville? Hasn’t he suffered too? Isn’t he Alice Longbottom’s son?”

Harry didn’t understand exactly what he was saying, nor did he understand the urge he had to make Snape admit that Neville had suffered. Snape had to stop bulling Neville, had to stop blaming him for things that Neville had no control over. Neville had done nothing wrong other than being born who he was.

“Potter,” Snape warned, his grip tight on Harry’s shoulder.

“What? You aren’t going to say anything?” Harry challenged. “You aren’t going to admit that you were wrong all these years, that you were angry about what happened to Alice so you took it out on – omph!”

Harry suddenly found himself staring at the floor. He was tucked against Snape’s side, under one firm arm, when Snape brought his other hand down with a crack against Harry’s backside. Harry heard a gasp from Neville; then all other sounds were lost as Snape’s hand smacked him over and over again. Harry counted sixteen spanks (one for each year, maybe? How embarrassing!), and then Snape released him.

Blinking back tears, Harry straightened, trying not to rub his backside, and turned to face Neville.

Neville’s face was frozen in an expression of horror, fear, and surprise. He could do nothing more than stare at Harry with huge eyes and his mouth open.

“I hope that answers your questions, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, breathing hard. “I trust we’ll hear no more from you. As for you, Mr. Longbottom –”

“I don’t want to take potions,” Neville said in a rush. “I’m no good at potions. I want to concentrate on Herbology. Please don’t make me take potions, sir.”

“Potions is out for you,” Snape said, regaining his composure and straightening his collar. “I am sorry about what happened to your parents, to your mother especially. Along with all the other teachers at Hogwarts, I have tried to treat you fairly and see that you live up to your potential. I hope you will apply yourself to your studies. What happened to your parents – horrible as it may be – is no excuse for you to cower against the odds and perform poorly at school. Remember that. Potter, take your friend outside, and watch for falling stars. Then it’s time for everyone to go home.”

Snape swept away, forebodingly.

Neville stared at Harry, still in shock.

“Oh, come on,” Harry finally scowled, pulling Neville towards the door by the arm.

“But – but he . . . he –” Neville couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

“Yes, he spanked me,” Harry was glad the room was dim enough so Neville couldn’t see his red face.

“He did,” Neville gasped. “Is that what he does now? Is that how he’s going to punish students in class? Oh, I’m so glad I’m not in potions anymore.”

“No, that’s reserved for me alone,” Harry grumbled. “He thinks the old-fashioned discipline works the best.”

“Looks like it hurts,” Neville was sympathetic if still agitated.

“Yeah, it’s no love pats,” Harry dourly agreed. “Don’t tell the others, all right?”

“I’m going to pretend I never saw that,” Neville swore. “I think we should all go home as quickly as possible – no questions asked. Sorry your birthday ended like – like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Harry sighed.

------

“What were you thinking?” Snape bellowed as he stalked into his bedroom.

Harry was already in bed, wishing he had pretended to be asleep. His friends had all gone home, and Dobby had arrived very late with many Happy Birthdays and an assortment of knitted hats for Harry. But then he had left, and now Harry had to face Snape all alone. “I don’t know – I had an idea, sort of.”

“You had an idea, sort of?” Snape thundered, his eyes lit with fire. “You foolish, ridiculous, inept, little brat of boy!”

“Hey, it’s my birthday,” Harry protested pitifully.

“Which is the only reason I don’t have you across my knee now, getting paddled with your hairbrush.”

Harry fell silent, not wanting to wish to incur Snape’s wrath.

“How could you say such things about the Longbottoms with Neville standing right there?” Snape paced up and down in front of Harry’s narrow bed. “Do you know how humiliating that was for him? He can’t do a thing to protect his parents, can’t do anything but stand there and take whatever people say about them. Do you like when people talk about your parents in front of you?”

“You do!” Harry accused.

“Yes, and how does it make you feel?”

“I didn’t want Neville to feel bad,” Harry insisted. “I was hoping you two might get along. You could talk about his mother – you knew her years ago. Neville might like to hear about her.”

Snape stopped pacing, standing still to glare down at his ward. “When I talk about your father, a father that you can’t remember, how do you feel? Do you feel better because I remember him, or do you feel helpless because you can only yell at me to be quiet? Has Neville ever talked about his mother to you?”

Harry felt wave after wave of guilty heat roll across his face. “No,” he confessed in a whisper, “I only knew because I saw the Longbottoms in St. Mungo’s last Christmas. Neville was there with his grandmother. Ron and Hermione were with me.”

“How did he react to seeing the three of you?”

“He was embarrassed. He never talked about it after.” Harry felt his eyes prick painful, but he hastily blinked, refusing to cry. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to upset him. I just thought, maybe, if I could get the both of you to understand, to get him to know why you were so mad at him, I thought it would make everything better. Sorry.”

Snape did not answer. He went around the room, extinguishing candles until the room was almost dark. Harry sunk down on the pillows, wondering how he had managed to ruin such a happy birthday.

“You can’t rescue everyone,” Snape said in a low, slow voice, standing by a bureau of drawers. “Some people don’t want to be saved – they would rather stay in their misery and despair because it’s all they know.”

Harry nodded, even though Snape was not looking at him. The man took something from the top drawer and then approached Harry’s bed.

“You may save the world someday,” Snape said, even lower. “You may become a famous hero, a leader of thousands, but you cannot let yourself have a hero complex then or now because you will never be able to save everyone. If you try, you’ll destroy yourself in the process. You need to do what you can to help whomever you can and serve others to the best of your abilities. If you do that, you’ll be more than a hero. You’ll be a strong, good man who is respected for his courage and his wisdom. I see a glimmer of that man in you already, but you must work harder to become him, a man worth knowing and worth following to very end.”

That did it. Harry closed his eyes as tears spilled down his cheeks. He did not make a sound other than the occasional sniffle, but he could not escape the impact of Snape’s words. They were words that Harry needed to hear, had wanted to hear from anyone in the last five years, but now having heard them, he could only cry.

Fingers brushed under his eyes, wiping away his tears. Then something small and hard was pressed into Harry’s hand.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” Snape said, then walked away.

Harry raised his hand up to look at his gift though blurred vision. It was a gold pocketwatch, old and handsome, with the words To Harry Potter on His 16th Birthday inscribed on the inside of the cover. It ticked a steady tempo that he could feel reverberate through the whole watch.

On the whole, it hadn’t been such a bad birthday – it had been better than he was expecting, and certainly better than birthdays with the Dursleys.

He rolled onto his side, still holding the watch. One candelabra was lit on the far table, near Snape’s bed. Harry watched the small flames flicker, and then the whole candelabra blurred and split into two before his tired eyes as he neared that soft twilight of sleep.

Harry fell asleep with the pocketwatch still in his hand, ticking softly into the night.