Harry stretched in the bed, a little disoriented when he opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar room. Then he remembered. The nightmare about Darswaithe, the talk with Snape.

Truthful Dreams.

Sitting up, he noticed that he was alone, but before he could so much as reach for the clothes he saw neatly folded on a chair, Snape was walking through the open door to look down at him. "How was your night?"

"Oh, fine."

Snape sat down next to him and raised an eyebrow, his deep voice insistent when he asked, "Would you care to elucidate? I can't in good conscience give you more of the potion unless I know what effect it had on you, although I think it's safe to say you aren't allergic to Loosestrife." He smirked a bit. "If you were, you'd be covered in green boils by now."

"You might have warned me about that," Harry murmured, then yawning, detailed, "Your warnings about the potion . . . er, repressing emotion weren't quite accurate, you know. It only represses negative emotion. I had some nice dreams at first and didn't feel distanced at all." The look of surprise on Snape's face took Harry aback. "You didn't know it worked like that?"

Then he realised the truth.

And what an awful truth it was.

"You've never dreamed of pleasant memories?" And the corollary. "You don't have any?"

"Don't waste sympathy on me," Snape half-snarled, skirting the question even as his non-answer gave a lot away, all the same.

Snape's a private person, Harry remembered telling Darswaithe. Snape would want me to shut up. But he didn't. "That can't be right," he quietly asserted. "You must have had some good things happen in your life."

Snape's black eyes smouldered, but his voice was cool. "I remember feeling enormously happy and proud of myself when I took the Dark Mark," he admitted, snidely adding, "Would that be the sort of memory you had in mind?"

"What about when you were brave and strong enough to leave all that?"

"By then," Snape scathed, "I was a broken man."

Harry closed his eyes to avoid seeing the accusation written on Snape's face. He should have listened to his instincts and halted these questions at the outset. "I'm sorry, sir."

Snape was silent for a moment. "You said you had nice dreams at first," he finally went on, his voice calmer. "Am I right in thinking you also had some species of nightmare?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted, remembering. "Several. The potion does make those easier to bear. I mean, last night when Draco woke me I thought I might actually sick up. But now I feel all right, even though I can remember everything really well." His brow furrowed. "Talk about details. Truthful Dreams must have come in really handy for reporting to the Order."

"Samhain?" Snape tensely questioned.

"No, just the Dursleys," Harry answered, frowning. "Awful stuff. But don't worry. I'm all right. What time is Thistlethorne coming?"

"Ten," Snape gave him a twisted smile. "I had to cancel classes again. If your fellow students knew why, you'd be a hero all over again."

"Good they don't know, then," Harry sighed. "I get enough worshipful blather--" Realizing what he'd said, he quickly amended, "I didn't mean I wanted this to be a secret, sir."

Snape though, didn't appear bothered either way. "Who you tell, and when, and how, is entirely up to you. The staff will all be immediately informed, of course." When Harry nodded, Snape went on, "My understanding is that the casewitch will talk to me first and finish my interview. It was rather abruptly terminated, you realise. After lunch she'll speak with you."

"With us," Harry corrected.

"I do not think that's feasible."

"Well, it had better be--" Harry started to say, only to have Snape cut him off.

"I have, however, found what I believe to be an acceptable solution." Snape paused. "Would you be amenable to Lupin sitting in on your interview?"

"Remus?" Harry thought about that for a minute. Part of him would actually rather have Snape there, but he supposed Remus would be able to protect him well enough if the casewitch tried anything. Actually, that sounded pretty unlikely now; it was probably just his nightmare that had made the whole thing seem so hazardous. On the other hand, he could hardly refuse a chance to see Remus again. "Yeah, all right," he agreed.

"He'll floo in sometime before lunch, then," Snape explained.

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Harry felt kind of awkward around Draco that morning as they did their lessons. It wasn't lost on him that he'd gone to "talk" to Snape and had stayed all night, while Draco had never so much as been allowed to set foot in the man's bedroom. If Draco had been jealous before of Harry getting adopted, he was bound to be sick with it now, wasn't he?

Apparently, he wasn't.

Draco demonstrated a few advanced transfigurations to Harry so he'd know what their class was doing by then, and then worked with him trying to get his first-year magic back in line. Harry frankly wondered how Draco managed to be so patient with him day after day, always trying to get Harry's magic working again . . . and always failing.

Remus Lupin stepped calmly out of the fireplace just before noon.

"Hallo Harry, Dudley . . . Mr Malfoy," he greeted the young people scattered about the room.

"Professor Lupin," Draco said in a voice gone suddenly cold.

"Remus!" Harry jumped up from his chair, almost toppling it. "I've missed you so much! Come in, come in, sit down. How have you been?"

"I believe that should be my question to you," Remus softly observed, his voice amused and pleased all at once. "You're certainly looking well."

"Well, you know Professor Snape and his potions," Harry shrugged, grinning. Then his grin faded a bit. "Er . . . what did he tell you when he asked you to come here?"

"You're being interviewed with an eye toward him adopting you, and wanted an adult with you as the last interview went rather askew." Remus cleared his throat. "Harry, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I thought you said it was good to see me getting along better with Professor Snape."

"An amicable working relationship is certainly a good thing, considering," he admitted, with a glance toward Draco. "But . . . adoption?"

"If you don't like the idea, maybe you shouldn't sit in on my interview," Harry ventured. He didn't want to hurt Remus' feelings, but neither did he want him giving the casewitch reasons to deny the application.

"It's not that I don't like it," Remus said. "It just strikes me as . . . unexpected."

"That's funny; I sort of figured the whole Or-- er, I mean, the 'old crowd,' would have been told all about it by now."

While Remus shook his head, Draco rasped, "You can call it the Order, Potter. You can even call it The Order of the Phoenix. You think I don't know all about it? The way gossip runs through the circles I used to frequent," he snarled with a glance at Dudley, "I just might know more than you!'

"My, don't you take things personally," Harry lightly mocked, refusing to let the comment upset him. "How should I know what you know? It's better to err on the side of caution, that's all."

Draco grimaced, still looking a bit put out as he went to the Floo to arrange something for lunch.

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Remus was a good conversationalist, and managed to include Dudley in their conversation during the meal, but no matter how he tried, Draco remained standoffish, if not downright rude. Harry put up with it as best he could, but finally, even the euphoria of his baby-dream wilted a bit under Draco's persistent jibes at Remus. Exasperated, Harry demanded, "What in hell's your problem? Did Remus fail you in defence, or something?"

Draco's silver eyes glittered with malice. "Oh, he knows enough to recognise talent when he sees it, but we should never have had his type teaching us in the first place!"

"His type?" Dudley asked, his eyes wide. "What does that mean?"

Don't say it, don't you dare say it, Harry warned Draco with his own eyes. Out loud, he answered his cousin, "Remus has a wizard disease. It's not catching or anything, though."

"Not under normal circumstances," Draco darkly added.

"Remus has never hurt anybody, and never will," Harry stressed. "So the only reason you could have to be in a snit is you're not really over your obsession with pure blood. You think his . . . ah, condition, makes his tainted, or something!"

"Harry," Remus quietly broke in, "I don't need a defender. Mr Malfoy's feelings are . . . not uncommon. I'm quite used to this."

"I don't care; it's still unreasonable!" Harry snarled, pushing back from the table to stand up. "If you want me to trust you, Draco, you can't go around antagonizing--"

"Your friends?" Draco sniped. "So you won't trust me as long as I have my own opinions, is that it? Nice! Very Gryffindor, actually, all that camaraderie and esprit de corps!"

"I wasn't going to say that!" Harry objected. "If you're against Voldemort now, you have to be able to work with the rest of us who are, you imbecile! And Remus is, so get over your . . . whatever, will you?"

Draco paused, his golden eyebrows drawing together in one fine line. "Oh. Well. I suppose you might have a point." He drummed his fingers on the table, and looked up at Harry who was standing, glowering down at him. "Does that mean you believe me?"

"I said if," Harry reminded him, face flushed because once upon a time he would never had said even that much. Something in him crumpled. "Oh, shite, I don't know any more. Let me think about it, all right? You still don't make very much sense to me, if you must know. In the meantime, it wouldn't kill you to show a little respect for Remus even if you don't like him."

Draco thought about that, then nodded and put on a smile Harry recognised. It was his being-polite-though-I-hate-it smile. "Professor Lupin, would you care for some dessert?" he inquired, though not sarcastically. That was worth something, at least.

Shaking his head, Remus rose to his feet. "Thank you, but no. I believe Harry and I should take this time to discuss the coming interview. Is there a place where we can speak alone, Harry?"

Harry led the way to Snape's office, while behind him, he heard Dudley pressing, "What disease?"

"Oh, um . . . some really rare condition I er . . . can't remember the name of," Draco lied.

Harry sighed with relief. He really didn't want Dudley in hysterics when the casewitch arrived. Good thing Dudley wasn't quite sharp enough to realise that Draco was a dreadful liar.

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"Do you know what she's going to ask?" Harry wondered, slouching in one of the armchairs. He'd sort of wanted to sit in Snape's chair behind the desk, just for a lark, but decided he'd better not.

"No idea," Remus admitted, crossing an ankle over one knee and leaning back as though exhausted.

"You all right?" Harry frowned. "It's a little while past the last full moon, you should be um . . . recovered, right?"

"Yes, but not having had the Wolfsbane for my change in November . . ." Remus sighed. "It will take several lunar cycles for me to completely recover, I suspect. Of course I used to never have the Wolfsbane," he mused. "And things weren't this hard. I think the potion must produce a sort of dependency. Not that I blame Severus," he was quick to add. "The Wolfsbane is marvellous and even the best Potions Master in the world can't control every incidental effect."

"You think Professor Snape is the best Potions Master in the world?"

Remus tilted his head. "That was rhetorical, but actually . . . yes, I do. At any rate, I shall get stronger each month now that I have the Wolfsbane again."

"I'm sorry," Harry had to say, twisting his hands together. "It's my fault you didn't have it in November. You know he made a batch and it got ruined? Snape's never said, but I think maybe that was because it was right after I'd pried into his . . . um, Death Eater activities, and I think that upset him more than he let on at the time. And anyway, he started making the potion again for you, but that was that day when I finally found Sals. If I hadn't gone after her and left the house, Snape wouldn't have had to drop everything to look for me--"

"No, no," Remus sternly chided. "It is I who am sorry, Harry. My suffering was nothing to yours. When I think of how I led Lucius Malfoy straight to you . . ." He shuddered. "You have always had a kind and gentle spirit, Harry, but even so, I don't know how you can forgive me."

"It was an accident, and anyway, it's over now. And . . ." He gave a strange little half-shrug. "You know, I hadn't thought of it before, but all this, the adoption, everything . . . I don't think it would have happened if I hadn't been hurt at Samhain. I mean, it was Snape taking care of me afterwards that sort of helped us get a lot . . . er, closer. Without that, he'd probably still just want to be my teacher."

Remus slowly nodded. "Odd how things work out, yes. Have you any thoughts on what you'd like me to project during the interview?"

"See, I knew Slytherins weren't the only ones who had heard of strategy. Um, yeah, actually I have. I don't think you're supposed to talk, but your whole attitude sitting there could make a difference. You know how I used to complain about Snape all the time? Well, don't be surprised if I don't mention that. I want this to go through, so I pretty much plan to sugar-coat everything."

"Don't overdo it," Remus warned. "The casewitch will be looking for truth, and she'll know how to recognise a marked lack of it."

"Oh, there're plenty of good things I can say about Snape," Harry returned, nodding. "But yeah, I know what you mean. Say, Remus . . . I'm really glad you're here, and not just because I missed you. Remember how you analyzed those prophetic dreams I used to have?"

Remus had the grace to flush. "Your dreams have since turned out to be quite literal visions of the future."

"But your analysis was really good, Remus," Harry insisted, sitting up and leaning forward. "I've been thinking about it a lot. Well, today anyway," he admitted. "The dreams have come true, some of them, but what you said they meant also made a lot of sense. Everything you said I was feeling, I really was, and it was reflected in the dreams, just as much as the future was. So . . . I wondered if you'd help me unravel a dream I had just recently. Nightmare, I mean. It was really confusing, full of weird shifts and changes and stuff that would just never happen in real life."

A kind smile curled Remus' lips. "This is quite a change, Harry. Back at Grimmauld Place you were eager to stop me from prying into your private feelings."

"I should apologize for being so rude to you," Harry realised. "I'm sorry. Things just . . . got out of hand." He flushed, but met Remus' eyes. "I understand more now, what Sirius meant when he said that lots of people are idiots when they're young. I didn't mean to be such a cheeky little snotrag. I didn't even know I was. But when I think back . . . well, I shouldn't have thrown my shoe at the mirror, for starters."

"It's all right," Remus assured him. "I was young once, too. So, your dream?"

Harry told him the whole thing, sparing no detail, adding, "I figured out already why Snape was like a ghost at first, and then was with Sirius. I'm afraid of getting him killed, and no wonder, after what happened with Sirius. And Uncle Vernon, come to think of it, not that his death breaks me up. But still, he's dead because he was connected to me. I have this nasty habit of endangering people, see."

Thankfully, Remus didn't try to argue with him about that. "Severus is aware of the danger, and very well equipped to handle it," he pointed out.

"Wasn't Sirius?"

"Not to nearly the same degree."

"Yeah," Harry acknowledged. "Well, that still hurts something awful. I usually don't even think about it." He paused a moment, dragging in one deep breath after another, and managed to move on. "So why do you think I dreamed about Snape going past saying all the passwords? It was weird how they worked, too. The first one opened Dumbledore's office; the second one portkeyed me back into it . . ."

"You're subconsciously wondering if Severus has all the answers?" Remus suggested. "But you're realizing that his answers won't always work as you expect."

"Hmm, maybe. Why Portkey me there, though? For my real interview, I was with Darswaithe right here."

"Darswaithe means danger to you. Perhaps you thought you'd be safer in Albus' office. Or it could be a sign that you distrust Professor Dumbledore in some measure, perhaps."

No perhaps about it, Harry thought. "Talk about distrust. His door opened up into the forest. I didn't realise where at first, but it was the forest where I was tortured."

Remus nodded. "Not that the headmaster was in any way complicit, of course."

"No, I didn't mean that," Harry murmured. "What else? Well, the Fat Lady wouldn't let me in, but that just goes back to me feeling sort of insecure, I guess. About Gryffindor. But I asked Snape about moving back and he didn't have any problem with it, as soon as things go back to normal."

"Normal," Remus repeated in an odd tone.

"Normal for me," Harry clarified, smiling.

"Harry," Remus suddenly said, "I don't think I've ever seen you so much at ease."

"Yeah, I feel good," Harry agreed. "Um, happy. You know, it's really a pretty strange feeling for me. I can't think of when I was last happy. The only thing that still bugs me is that I don't have my magic back. But you know what?" He quirked another smile. "It's kind of . . . neat, I guess, that Professor Snape wants to adopt me now, when I'm missing it."

"Because he's adopting you, not some sort of Wizarding saviour."

"Well, he's never really seen me as that," Harry murmured. "But yeah, that's what I meant."

A knock on the door interrupted them, then. Harry had to place his palm on it to make it open. Draco was standing there, the look on his face resigned and resentful all at once, but the expression was wiped clean almost as soon as Harry saw him. "They're here," he quietly said.

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Snape had walked the casewitch down after they'd concluded their interview in the office adjoining his Potions classroom. Now, since the proper formalities had been sidestepped the day before, he introduced her to everyone in the room, then gesturing toward Remus, explaining that given the fiasco with Darswaithe, Harry had expressed a preference to henceforth be chaperoned while with Wizard Family Services staff.

Harry all at once felt about three years old. Chaperoned.

Amaelia Thistlethorne didn't appear to find the request disquieting. "I understand," she merely murmured, casting a sympathetic glance toward the boy. "Would you be able to remain in your quarters until I've finished with Mr Potter, Professor Snape? If possible, I'd like to conclude this business, today."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Draco suddenly cleared his throat, his voice emerging rough with repressed emotion, which seemed rather odd, as what he had to say was, "Please excuse me. I need to finish a . . . an essay, and Floo it to Professor Sprout."

Harry cast him a strange look. "But we haven't had an essay in Herbology in ages."

Draco huffed. "Some of us are taking advanced topics."

It was the first Harry had heard of such a thing, but he just shrugged.

"Shall we?" inquired the casewitch, fussing a bit with her voluminous robes. Purple, today. They still clashed with her awful red hair.

Remembering Draco's perfect manners, Harry thought to offer, "Ah, can I take your robes and get you something to drink, before we begin?" Never mind that when it came to the drink, he'd need to ask for some help.

She shrugged out of her robes to reveal a garish dress, equally purple. Snape took the robes without a word, and draped them over one arm, his face a careful blank though Harry could tell he didn't like touching them.

"Nothing to drink, no thank you," she murmured, but added, looking carefully at Harry, "I thought perhaps you might feel better about the situation if I let Professor Snape have my wand for the duration?"

That was certainly unexpected. "Uh, yeah. Sure," Harry agreed, though his Slytherin side didn't take the offer at face value. How was he to know if she'd given up her real wand? For all that though, he wasn't terribly worried that she would attack him.

Thistlethorne handed a length of pale maple to Snape, and then followed Harry and Remus into the Professor's warded office.

As soon as the door was closed and the three of them were seated, the questions began. Thistlethorne didn't even fetch out a quill and parchment with which to record Harry's answers; she just listened to them.

The first question really threw Harry for a loop. He'd expected some preliminaries, but Hufflepuff or no, the casewitch apparently believed in delving straight to the heart of the matter.

"Why do you wish to be adopted by Professor Snape?"

Harry's mind went almost blank, though he managed to say, "I explained that already on the forms I filled out."

Thistlethorne had done her homework; she didn't need to consult those forms. "Yes. Your answer centred primarily on respect, Mr Potter. But I'm sure you have profound respect for many people. You aren't petitioning that the others adopt you. So think a little more deeply for me, if you would."

Harry did, though it was a little difficult as interlaced into all his thoughts was an awareness that he wanted Snape's quarters warded for his safety. While it might not be terrible to mention that aspect, he remembered Snape saying it wasn't very good for a sole reason to be adopted. "Hmm," he mused, closing his eyes as he considered it. "I haven't analyzed it much myself," he admitted. "It just seems right. But thinking about it now . . . you know, I think it's because he treats me normally."

Harry opened his eyes and saw the casewitch watching him closely, her blue eyes intent. "Is that so unusual, Mr Potter?"

"Yeah, it is. People see the scar on my face and either love me or hate me for it. Just to give you an inkling of what my life is like, not even my adoption interview could go normally. When's the last time a casewizard tried to abduct a child?"

"Point taken," she murmured.

"Imagine a life just stuffed with events like that," Harry added, taking a deep breath. "Then fill in the rest of the days with people fawning over you, practically worshipping you over something that happened when you were a baby. Worse, something that for you is a personal tragedy, nothing to celebrate."

"It must take a toll."

"It does. But from the first, Professor Snape has insisted that I should be treated just like any other student." He laughed. "Now, I haven't always been exactly appreciative of that, mind. I'd go sneaking out after curfew and hope not to get caught, obviously. I'd think it was unfair and all that rot when Professor Snape would assign me a detention. But he was determined that the last thing I needed was special privileges and exceptions. I think he knew from the first that I'd got too many of those from the moment I'd entered the Wizarding world. He knew it wasn't good for me."

Harry couldn't tell what she thought of all that; the woman's expression was absolutely non-committal. Well, so much for the overemotional Hufflepuff theory.

"Has he given you many detentions over the years?" she next asked.

Oooh, dangerous territory. For all Harry knew, she'd seen his records and knew the truth. "Well, quite a few," he temporized. "Like I said, I didn't appreciate them at the time, but I have made . . . uh, almost a habit of breaking the rules."

"What I'm getting at is this," she detailed. "How are you going to handle your father being one of your teachers? Do you foresee any difficulties, there?"

"Hmm. Well, it's not even going to come up for a while, as I'm currently not attending classes. You know about that, I suppose?"

"I've been informed that you're in far more danger than usual and are currently defenceless as your magical abilities have to all intents and purposes, vanished."

So they didn't tell her about the wild magic, Harry realised. Interesting. "Right. You see what I mean about my life never being normal. But even now, Professor Snape's doing his best. He makes Draco and me get up on time and do classes just like always. Anyway, though, you were asking about for later. I think we can work out any problems that arise. You'd have to know how Professor Snape operates to really understand. Like, he really does want what's best for me, so when it comes to marks, say, he's more likely to be harder on me on account of being my . . . um, guardian. I don't think he'd go easy on me because of it."

"You stumble over the word guardian," she softly observed.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure what to call him."

Her eyebrows lifted. "You haven't discussed it?"

Harry thought back. "He said to consider calling him Severus, actually. And I am. Considering it, I mean."

"Would you say you had a positive relationship with your previous guardians?"

Harry's most recent nightmare flashed into his mind, but thanks to Truthful Dreams, he didn't flinch, at least not visibly. He wondered what to say in answer. Should he play the sympathy card and try to get her to think that Snape, unlike the Dursleys, would be a real parent, something he desperately needed? Or would that make him seem too psychologically damaged for Snape to adequately handle? And how much did she know already? What had Snape told her, or Dumbledore? Whatever he said had to coordinate with everybody else's statements.

"The truth, if you would, Mr Potter," she prompted as the silence wore on.

"I was foisted onto them as a baby and they never let me forget it," Harry abruptly announced, taking care not to look at Remus. "Plus, they disapproved of magic, which wizard children can't help doing. I was no different."

"How did they react to your accidental magic?"

Harry frowned. "I thought this interview was supposed to be about Professor Snape and myself?"

"Your experiences in your last family setting are relevant to the prospects for this one," Thistlethorne calmly explained.

"Well, they punished me," he admitted, deciding to downplay just how. "They sent me to bed without dinner, things like that." No need to mention that the bed was in a cupboard, or that he'd often gone without breakfast, lunch, or dinner . . . sometimes, for days at a time. He thought of a way, though, to turn the story to his advantage. "Growing up there was very oppressive, and then I was plunged into this other life where I'm practically hero-worshipped and I'm given too much leeway. I mean, for example, everybody broke all the rules to let me compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I wasn't old enough by any means, but I'm Harry Potter. If anybody else's name had come spinning out of the Goblet, they'd have found a way to get them out of it, for their own safety. But I'm supposed to be this super-wizard, don't you know, so I had to compete, like it or not. Professor Snape argued against that, by the way. But my point is just that: he knows how to strike a balance that nobody else even notices I need."

Thistlethorne nodded, though it looked more like she was indicating she'd heard than she was actually agreeing. "Just a few more questions," she announced. "Has Professor Snape discussed with you why he joined You-Know-Who all those years ago?"

Harry's mouth fell open. Oh, for Merlin's sake, not again . . . "These are just the sorts of questions Darswaithe went on and on about," he complained to Remus, his eyes going wide with anxiety.

The casewitch held up a hand before Remus could speak. "Please, hear me out. I am not asking you to tell me why he once sided with the forces of Darkness. I am asking you if the professor has spoken to you of his decision."

Harry debated with himself what to say. "Well, he doesn't try to justify it, if that's what you mean. And actually, he's talked to me a lot more about just how he realised that Voldemort was wrong about everything, why he left, that sort of thing. But yeah, we have talked about all of that."

"What about his well-known animosity for your father?" she pressed, and at Harry's look of shock, sagely added, "Oh yes, it's no secret to those who were in the Order the first time around."

"Right. Well, he knows I'm not my father," Harry defended Snape. "I mean, he's crystal clear on that." Finally, Harry thought, but didn't say.

"I was asking if the two of you had discussed Professor Snape's antipathy toward your father," she patiently explained.

"Oh. Yeah, we have. Several times. He says that--"

"I don't need to know what he said," the casewitch interrupted. "I would like to know if you are comfortable with it."

"Yes, absolutely," Harry answered, looking her in the eye. "And I understand you don't need to know what he said, but I want to tell you this. I grew up being told that my father was an unemployed drunkard who got himself and his wife killed in a car crash."

Despite her professional demeanour, that tidbit had the casewitch gasping.

"Yeah," Harry acknowledged. "Terrible slander. But I believed it, had no way of knowing differently until Rubeus Hagrid--he's a teacher here, now--collected me so I could attend school. Anyway, though, animosity or no, when Professor Snape found out I'd been told those things about James Potter, he cared enough about me to speak to me in detail about what my father accomplished before he died. And if that doesn't say he'd be a decent parent for me, I don't know what would."

Another rather distant-looking nod. "Has Professor Snape discussed discipline with you?"

"Well, he's a very disciplined person," Harry had to admit. "I'm sure he'd try to raise me to be . . . oh, you mean as in punishment, huh? Oh yeah, we've discussed that."

"This time I do need to know what was discussed," she gently asserted.

"Well, first we talked about rules and decided we'd have to negotiate some we could both live with, you know, 'cause I'm sixteen and not six, as he put it. Then he said that sometimes he'd have to have the final say on matters, and if I disobeyed him he'd give me detentions or extra assignments, that sort of thing."

She cracked a slight smile. "Very teacherish consequences."

Harry smiled, too.

"Is there anything you'd like to ask me, then?" she said, an air of finality hanging over the words.

"When can the adoption be made official?"

"Ah. Well, as you said, it's a rare day when you are treated just as anyone else would be. We've fast-tracked your application as we understand that having Professor Snape as your father will be very useful in preparing certain defences which you urgently need. Therefore, pending my approval--"

"You don't yet approve?" Harry gasped, gripping the arms of his chair.

"I do," she gently put in, and he practically slumped with relief. "There are a few more procedures to get through before I can sign off, however. I will need to speak with Mr Malfoy. He may be emancipated, but he's de facto part of the family dynamic, here. Then I would like to interview you and the professor together, after which the final papers can be prepared for signature. Wizard Family Services will need to emboss the contracts with their seal of approval, of course, and--"

Harry began thinking he might be twenty before all that got done. His despondency must have shown on his face, for she said, "Tomorrow, Mr Potter. With any luck, you'll be his son by tomorrow."

Son . . . The word still gave him a funny feeling, one he wasn't sure he liked, but after the dream about his parents, it wasn't as frightening as before.

"That is fast," Harry admitted. "Thanks."

"I'll see Mr Malfoy now," she said. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd appreciate that cup of tea?"

"Oh, certainly," Harry said, opening the door. "I'll get it for you and send Draco in."

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"Help me get her some tea," Harry said to Snape as he emerged into the living room. "She wants to talk to Draco, now."

"He's in your bedroom," Snape murmured, moving toward the Floo. "You do realise I'll have to completely respell my office wards after all this?"

Draco had a book open and was writing something when Harry walked in. The book definitely looked to be Herbology, but it wasn't their regular text. At any rate, the moment he noticed Harry, he slammed it closed and hid his parchment behind his back. What sort of essay was all that secret?

Pushing the question aside, Harry explained that the casewitch wanted to see Draco.

"I still don't see what I have to say about any of it," the blond boy muttered as he rose from where he'd been sitting on his bed. As though it was second nature to him, he flicked his wand and murmured a straightening spell to the bedcovers, then pulled his curtains closed and said darkly to Harry, "Don't go looking in there."

"I wouldn't," Harry stressed, not sure whether to laugh at the idea or get offended.

"I mean it."

"If I say I won't, then I won't!"

Draco gave him a close look. "Yeah, probably you won't. Gryffindor."

"Why are you so . . . testy?" Harry thought to ask. Although, maybe Draco wasn't any different from usual; maybe, it was just that Harry was more relaxed than he'd been in ages. That nice dream had restored something, something he'd really needed.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. Not like him at all, Harry thought, giving up on the it's-just-me theory. "Come on," he prompted. "What's wrong?"

"Her," Draco all but snarled. "What am I supposed to say to her? What if I fuck this whole thing up? Severus will never forgive me! And you . . ." His sneer faded to pure distress. "You seemed iffy at first, but now I think you really want to be adopted, which means you'll never trust me if I blow this for you!" His voice dropping to an undertone, he muttered, "Though why that should bother me when you don't trust me anyway is a good question."

"Look, I said I didn't know anymore, didn't I? You hated me for five years, Draco. And it's only been a little more than five weeks since Samhain. I can't just trade one for the other, you know."

"Yeah, I know," the other boy glumly admitted. "So, her. What do you want me to say?"

Harry stared at him. "Uh, well, I don't know what she's going to ask. But . . . well, I just wouldn't go into any ancient history, you know. Not mine and Snape's, or mine and yours, either."

"Ancient being anytime prior to this past October." Draco nodded. "Very well, I'll do my Slytherin best."

Harry didn't know what that meant, but strangely enough, he was sure that Draco had meant it in a good way.

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It seemed to Harry that Draco was in there forever. Maybe that had something to do with the mood out in the living room. Snape might have invited Remus here to help out Harry, but he definitely hadn't forgiven the man for his unwitting role in Harry's abduction. About all that kept the atmosphere civil was Dudley's presence. Harry's cousin was sitting at the dining room table, idly doodling on a parchment Draco had spelled to produce animations of anything drawn on it. Dudley laughed uproariously and couldn't get enough of it, even though his artistic talents didn't stretch much beyond stick figures.

Well, they were lively stick figures, now.

Harry tried in vain to remember a time when the wizarding world had seemed so harmlessly magical to him, too.

Snape, meanwhile, was sitting with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He hadn't asked anything about Harry's own interview, which Harry found rather surprising. Remus kept trying to engage him in conversation, but Snape was a taciturn as Draco had been earlier.

Slytherins, Harry thought, shaking his head.

"So, what did she ask you?" Harry tried drawing Snape out a bit.

He got a glare for his trouble. So much for that line of inquiry.

"Do you know what Draco's Herbology project is?" Harry gave it another stab. "He seemed really intent on it, earlier."

Snape laced his fingers together and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I do not live in Professor Sprout's pockets, Potter."

Uh-oh, Potter. Well, Harry didn't need to be told three times to back off. He glanced over at Remus and mouthed the word hopeless. Remus smiled and nodded.

"Stop talking about me," Snape growled, his gaze still fixed to the granite overhead.

Harry couldn't help it; he burst out into giggles. Now Remus was glaring too, telling him to cut it out, but Harry couldn't. The laughter some sort of release valve on all the tension, he began chortling, his sides actually starting to hurt he laughed for so long.

"What's so funny?" Dudley asked, ambling over. He sat on the floor without a qualm, and began to fiddle with the ring he was wearing around his neck. Lily's ring. Harry stared at it, a strange sort of pain enveloping his heart. The dream had helped with some things, but not with that.

Unusually perceptive, Dudley saw his look and quietly said, "You'll get it back, Harry. Soon, huh? No offence, but as soon as that spell gets redone, I'd like to be on my way."

The prospect of Dudley's imminent departure sparked something in Snape. Well, he always had been unfailingly patient and kind with the Muggle boy. It was almost out of character for him, but Harry knew why he was doing it. They needed Dudley to complete the spell, and Snape, Slytherin as they came, was astute enough to realise that Dudley couldn't possibly cope with his usual temperament.

"So, Dudley," Snape drawled, moving to sit in a more normal position, "have you given any thought to your plans?"

Dudley all at once looked rather uncomfortable, his glance at Harry apologetic. "Um, I thought I'd spend Christmas with Aunt Marge, actually. I know Marsha said she might make me backtrack into bad habits with my diet, and um . . . hating your guts, but she's family too, you know, and . . ." He gulped. "She did just lose her brother."

"I know," Harry said. He'd never forgiven Marge for those horrible things she'd said, but that didn't have to involve Dudley. "Say hallo from me," he added, just a touch of malice in his voice. "Tell her I'm sending her a balloon bouquet for Christmas."

Dudley cleared his throat. "Uh, she doesn't remember The Incident."

Harry knew that. "Pity," he said, and Dudley hid a laugh behind his hand.

"After Christmas, I'll look about for a flat and a job," Dudley said, sighing. "Mum and Dad spent most of what Dad brought in, but there's a little money there to tide me over until I find something. Um, there's no phones here, right? So what do I have to do to write you, buy an owl?"

"I'll write you," Harry promised. "Care of Mrs. Figg, who can use Muggle post to get the letters to you. Keep her current on your address, and send her anything you want me to get here. She can take care of owling things to me. How's that sound?"

"Complicated," Dudley sighed. "But maybe as good as it's going to get."

Remus stretched his long legs out before standing up. "Harry. It's been wonderful to see you, and see you doing so well, but I have a number of tasks ongoing for the 'old crowd' which I should really return to."

"I understand," Harry murmured, standing up and walking Remus to the Floo. "Um, when can I see you again, though? Oh . . ." A thought occurred to him. He glanced back to see Snape pointedly ignoring the conversation. Harry wished he knew what that meant. "It's probably up to Professor Snape," he admitted, a little bit glum. It was good, of course, that Snape had let Remus visit finally, but Harry couldn't help but be aware that it had taken a pretty serious need to make his teacher relent. It didn't seem to have thawed the ice any, more's the pity. He didn't want Snape and Remus at odds, he just didn't!

"Actually," Remus volunteered, "I'm shortly off on a trip abroad. You remember Hagrid's mission, recruiting . . . allies? Mine is similar."

Harry got that at once, and knew Remus was speaking cryptically so as not to alarm Dudley. "Oh," he said, disappointed though he knew it might be valuable, having the werewolves on their side. "Well, good luck."

Remus leaned down to speak much more quietly. "The mission is well and good, but I also think the headmaster has another goal in mind."

"What?" Harry whispered back.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Snape erupted. "I can hear you! The other goal is just Albus playing chessmaster as usual. He thinks you and I need time to adjust to our new situation, without other parental influences interfering." He cast a slightly derisive glance towards them. "Enjoy Germany, Lupin."

Remus nodded, and with a last smile at Harry, flooed away.

Harry went to sit back down, and the waiting continued. What is Draco saying in there? he wondered, wishing Snape would cast a listening charm or something. It would be the Slytherin thing to do, wouldn't it?

Draco finally emerged. "She's ready for the two of you," he said without expression, his hand elegantly waving toward Harry and Snape. "Excuse me, I must go finish my project."

"What is this project?" Harry pressed.

"You'll find out. Soon, I think."

Harry didn't know what to make of that. Shrugging, he made his way down the hall after Snape.

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Snape had apparently got the casewitch more than a mere cup of tea; a china pot decorated with animated roaring dragons was sitting on a trivet on his desk. From time to time one of the dragons let loose a volley of fire, after which the pot would steam. It was one of the more clever self-heating spells Harry had seen. Beside the pot sat a little cup frowning indignantly. Harry wondered if that was because it was almost empty and wanted to be refilled.

The other two cups appeared contented enough. Snape poured tea for both himself and Harry, and topped up the casewitch's portion, at which point the little cup brightened considerably.

The casewitch was sitting behind the desk, which Harry thought rather impertinent even if he'd wanted to sit there earlier, himself. Maybe she just needed the space, however. She had most of the surface covered in sheets of parchment. She was filling one out, her script careful, precise, and rather ornate. Harry noticed as he sat down that everything she wrote was being magically transferred onto all the other sheets as well. She glanced at them from time to time, presumably to be sure everything was well in order.

Snape took the other armchair, balancing his saucer on a crossed knee, and waited silently for Amaelia Thistlethorne to speak. It took a while; she was intent on her paperwork. Finally, she looked up. "Everything here appears satisfactory," she said. "However, Professor Snape, I wonder if it has occurred to you how your changed relationship with Mr Potter is likely to affect Mr Malfoy? We emancipated him because it was necessary to ensure his safety, but his having been prematurely made a legal adult does not mean he has the emotional resources of one."

"I'm well aware of his jealousy," Snape coolly admitted. "There's not a great deal I can do about it."

She paused, appearing to delicately balance confidentiality against practical needs. "I'm sure, then, that you've realised he looks on you rather as a father figure? Unsurprising, as you've managed to achieve what he no doubt wishes his own father would."

"Leaving Voldemort," Snape acknowledged. "I understand how he feels, yes."

"Have you not considered then . . . " She paused, clearly at a loss for how to proceed. "That is, at present both young men have fairly equal claims on your time and attention, but the adoption will skew the balance in Mr Potter's favour." She glanced at Harry. "Mr Malfoy would not be normal if that didn't greatly perturb him. I think he'll have a difficult time dealing with the situation."

"What do you suggest I do?" Snape asked, though clearly without meaning it. "Eject him from my quarters if his behaviour troubles myself or Harry? I can't do that, Miss Thistlethorne. His safety, not to mention that of Slytherin in general, depends on him staying here for the time being."

"But Draco seems all right," Harry broke in, though he wasn't completely sure he was supposed to talk. On the other hand, this was their interview, wasn't it? Not Snape's alone. He ignored Snape's warning glance at him and continued, "I mean, when we first decided to do this, he seemed pretty upset, but he got over it. I mean, mostly."

"What caused him to 'mostly' accept the idea?"

"I have no idea," Harry admitted, running one finger along the edge of his teacup. "One day he was sniping at me, and the next he was back to just helping me with my homework and being his regular self."

Thistlethorne levelled her blue gaze at Snape. "You know, though, what occasioned the change."

Snape shrugged. "I told him his attitude had to improve and I'd take a hundred points a day from Slytherin if it didn't."

Harry's whole hand jerked so badly that tea sloshed into his saucer.

Snape gave him a glare. Nothing terribly special about that, of course, but on this occasion, Snape was also on the receiving end of a glare. Thistlethorne's. "Are you quite sure," she said in a high-voiced, smarmy way, "that threatening Mr Malfoy is the best way to address the problem?"

Snape's own voice was cool. "He's a student and he happens to be living in my personal rooms. I will not tolerate blatant rudeness under my own roof."

"Still, to take what is essentially a family matter and make it fodder for points . . ." She sounded hugely disapproving.

"Draco is intent on Slytherin House welcoming him back," Snape mildly replied. "Huge point losses on his account would interfere with that goal. I knew the tactic would be effective."

"Still . . ." she muttered again, auburn eyebrows raised in challenge.

"Rest assured, such measures are not my only strategies for dealing with . . . ah, familial discord. Perhaps you're unaware of this, but I've known Draco Malfoy literally since he was born. I know how he thinks, and I was confident he would respond well to my gambit. As indeed, he did."

Her blue eyes had taken on a rather calculating gleam by the time Snape finished. "Ah. Well, if you're so well-acquainted with Mr Malfoy, and you're aware he looks to you more-or-less as a father already, it occurs to me that a better way to address his jealousy might be simply to adopt both young men?"

Harry's heart dropped straight into his shoes, because he knew exactly what Snape was going to say to that. His dream had laid it all out in vivid colour. So I guess we're brothers, Draco had said, and Harry had laughed in reply. And not a derisive laugh, either. Actually, the feeling that had swamped him in his dream had been relief. Profound, heartfelt relief, like he had never been so glad in his life to hear Draco mention they were brothers!

But he didn't want to be brothers with sodding Draco Malfoy, he just didn't! And if Snape was going to adopt them both, well . . .

All of a sudden, Harry wasn't so sure he wanted to be adopted at all.