Harry didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this, this…hovel. A place that had a name, even one as unassuming as Kneader’s Point, had to at least be grand enough to deserve being named, right?

Apparently not.

Although, come to think of it, the Burrow wasn’t grand and it had a name. So really, Harry shouldn’t be too surprised.

They had flooed away from Grimmauld Place to a plain, deserted cabin, then taken a Portkey to a sandy beach - something Harry wished he’d been warned about, as now he had shoes full of sand. It was mostly dark, with only the moonlight and the adults’ lit wands to guide them, which made traipsing through the sand even more difficult. But he could still see enough of the house to be unimpressed.

Mrs. Weasley took the lead, marching toward the small, rundown house from their Portkey arrival spot. Ron was floating beside her atop a thin mattress, and Ginny followed close behind in case he needed steadying. Harry and Hermione trailed behind them, supporting a still-weak Remus on either side. Harry had been correct in his guess that Moody was to accompany them to the safe house. The vigilant wizard took up the rear, his wand out and ready in case of any sign of danger.

Even though he couldn’t see every detail, the moonlight was bright enough for him to see that the small house was perched on a bluff overlooking the beach on one side and a rocky meadow on the other. He thought the scenery would probably be beautiful in the daytime…though the rundown mishmash of stone and brick in its midst might prove to be an eyesore. The house was short and squat, not tall and lopsided like the Burrow, and Harry didn’t know how the seven of them would have room to stay there for any length of time. Nine, come to think of it, assuming the mysterious Kneader was there and that Snape would be following soon.

“How’s the arm?” Harry asked Remus softly as they navigated around a particularly large rock. His arm looked okay, so somebody must have tried to heal it, but it had pained the man the whole way here, making it difficult to support him. Unfortunately, his legs were still unsteady, making the support necessary.

Remus gave him a small smile. “Much better than before. Don’t worry yourself about me, Harry. Professor Snape says this Kneader fellow is a decent Healer. Perhaps he can see to it.”

“And look at Ron too?” He voiced the hopes that had been running through his mind since Snape had brought up the idea.

“We’ll make sure of it,” the man said in a tight voice that was probably meant to be reassuring, but he had stumbled over a rock just then, wrenching his arm.

“Sorry!” Hermione cried from his other side. “I didn’t see it in time!”

Remus merely grunted, and they continued toward the house.

As they stepped foot on a crooked stone path leading up to the small house, a man emerged from the front door. He stood in the light of the porch, and Harry could see that he was on the short side, thin, and older than Snape but not nearly so old as Dumbledore. He guessed that he was possibly in his fifties or sixties. As they got closer, he saw hair that was mostly silver but sprinkled here and there with the brown that it used to be. For someone who presumably lived alone in a rundown shack, he was surprisingly fastidiously dressed. Harry could see the shine of his neat shirt buttons and his polished shoes from here.

The man waited calmly on the front stoop for the travelers to reach him, studying each in turn with a keen eye, and at least one piece of the puzzle of this Kneader fellow drifted into place for Harry. It was apparent by this man’s hawk-like gaze that he was both observant and intelligent. Which made sense, as Snape wouldn’t trust anyone he thought was stupid.

“Ephraim Kneader?” asked Mrs. Weasley, stepping up to the porch.

“I am he,” Kneader said politely in a slightly hoarse voice and waited in silence for introductions.

“My name is Molly Weasley.” She said as she climbed the few steps to the porch and extended her hand, which he took. “We’ve come from headquarters. It may have been compromised. Severus Snape suggested that we might be safe here for the time being.”

Kneader’s eyes flickered at the mention of Snape, but he otherwise made no acknowledgment of the man, to Harry’s disappointment. Now that he had a tiny piece of the puzzle, he wanted to put the whole puzzle together. “Weasley, eh? I’ve heard of you and yours,” he said. “Good folk.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled, a tinge of pink coloring her cheeks at the compliment to her family. “Severus asked me to give this to you.” She handed a small white envelope to Kneader, which he took, and then she introduced the other adults, which Harry barely took note of, as he was sorely wishing that he could read the contents of Snape’s letter. “This is Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody.” She gestured to the men toward the rear of the small group.

“Moody,” Kneader nodded as if they’d met before, then shifted his attention to Remus. “Lupin. I’ve heard of you too. Good thinker.”

“Severus didn’t say that, I assume,” Remus said with a faint smirk.

“Not as such, no,” Kneader answered, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But where are my manners?” the man asked and waved them all forward. “Come in, come in. Put the poor lad in the first room there and we’ll see to him first, why don’t we?” He waved Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Ginny ahead of him, then took over the duty of helping Remus stumble into the house.

As soon as Harry was on the porch, he toed off a shoe to knock out all of the sand. As run down as the house was, it would be rude to track all of that dirt in. That was something Dudley might do, but something that Harry had learned to equate with an irate Aunt Petunia. But as soon as he turned the shoe upside-down, he realized there was no sand to speak of. It was all gone. He exchanged a glance with Hermione, who appeared quite pleased at whatever magical spell was in effect. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was going to ask this Kneader wizard how the spell was done first chance she got. At Moody’s impatient huff, he also realized that they were obviously the only two who hadn’t expected some sort of sand evaporating spell. He hurriedly put his shoe back on and they followed the others.

Only, as soon he stepped into the house, Harry found himself with a face full of bushy brown hair. “Oof!”

“Oh. Sorry,” Hermione said distractedly from where she’d ground to a halt. She stepped forward slowly, her mouth agape as she took in their surroundings.

As soon as she moved, he could see why she had stopped, for he stopped in surprise too. The inside of the house was magnificent, nothing like the outside would suggest. They’d stepped from a rickety front porch to a beautiful white marble floor. Beyond the entry way was a large room with numerous comfortable-looking sofas and chairs, a rather impressive fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall that he imagined had an amazing view of the ocean during the day. An archway led to what looked like a kitchen, and while he was almost surprised not to see a grand staircase, there were more doors leading off from the entry way and living room than he could count. He could see right away that his fears of a tiny hovel were unfounded. Thanks to whatever wizard space spells were in this place, they’d each have their own bedroom, with room to spare.

Shaking his head to clear it, he followed Hermione to the first door off the entry way, which was open to reveal a sort of hospital room. Cabinets covered the walls, containing medical supplies and plenty of multi-colored potions. There were three beds against the wall. Mrs. Weasley was settling Ron on one, fussing over him and tucking his still body under the covers, while Kneader helped Remus to another.

Behind Harry, Moody checked the lock on the front door and then headed toward the kitchen, probably to make sure the rest of the house was secure.

“Is anybody else injured?” asked Kneader, giving them another once-over now that they were closer. Harry knew the moment the man noticed his scar, his widened eyes and double take giving him away. He stared at Harry in surprise but didn’t say anything. Harry tried not to fidget under the attention. As much as it should be old hat by now, his fame always took getting used to after a summer of being surrounded by either Muggles who didn’t know he was famous or friends who took his fame for granted.

“The other children and I are fine,” Mrs. Weasley said, sad eyes scanning over Ron once more. She looked up. “Remus was treated, but he could benefit from an actual healer’s eye. My son…he’s…” she sniffed and looked away. “He’s not in need of treatment so much as…care. Perhaps the other children could take to the kitchen for a bite to eat while I explain?”

“Help yourselves to whatever you find,” Kneader nodded without taking his eyes off of Harry, and Harry quickly ducked out of the room to escape the man’s stare.

The kitchen was as magnificent as the rest of the house, and it was so immaculately clean that Harry wondered if Kneader ever actually used it. After they raided the fridge and cupboard for a small snack, it was a relief to finally sit, even if it was at the largest dining table he’d ever seen.

“I wonder how many visitors he gets,” Hermione whispered from across the table. There wasn’t truly a need to whisper, but Harry understood why she did. The huge room they were in, the grand nature of the dark wood furniture and marble floors, inspired a certain amount of awe in all of them.

“I wonder how many house-elves he has,” Ginny said in an equally low tone, and Hermione swiveled to look at the girl next to her.

“You think he has house-elves? Why?”

Ginny stared, then waved her hands about as if to say that it was obvious.

“He’s a wizard,” Hermione sniffed. “He doesn’t need house-elves to keep house, no matter how nice a house it is.”

Ginny made a humming noise, which sounded to Harry like a wordless whatever youuu sa-aaay, then piled some fruit and crackers on a small plate and wandered back to the hospital room. Hermione munched on a cracker, eyeing the kitchen suspiciously, as if watching it long enough would tell her whether or not house-elves were lurking about.

“Hermione,” he said to get her attention. He had been mulling over something, and now that they were alone… “I’ve been thinking…you know, you’re a really good tutor.”

“Oh. Thank you, Harry,” She beamed, though she looked a bit confused by the sudden compliment.

“And I’ve been thinking a lot lately…about NEWT levels.” As soon as he mentioned their NEWTs, her confusion melted away and she sat at full attention. He grinned at her overt willingness to talk about academics. “Do you know if a student can sit a NEWT exam for a class they didn’t actually take?”

Hermione looked taken aback. “Well. Um. I haven’t ever thought to find out.” Harry was certain she hadn’t. When had Hermione ever consider not taking a class? “It is possible…” she said slowly, thinking. “I mean, NEWTs are to test your level of competency in a given subject. Who’s to say one has to learn it in a classroom? I learn more from books than from Professor Binns all the time.” She gave Harry an apologetic look for disrespecting a teacher, though Harry didn’t know why she should bother herself about it. Binns was a pretty awful teacher. “It would definitely be possible, if difficult, for a student to pass the exam from prior knowledge or independent study. Only, I’d need to do some research to find out for certain if Hogwarts rules allow for it. Why do you ask?”

“Potions.”

Hermione understood right away, her face morphing into pure delight. “Snape won’t let you into his class but you want to try for the NEWT anyway,” she stated.

Harry nodded. “I want to be an Auror, Hermione. Now more than ever. I’m sick and tired of sitting on the sidelines, waiting for other people to fight the war or keep things from me even though I’m at the center of what Voldemort’s doing to people. I want to have a say in my own future. The only way to get there is with the right NEWTs, and Potions is one of them.”

“And if you can sit the exam without taking the class, you need a tutor to do it,” Hermione filled in.

Harry nodded again. “I got an Exceeds Expectations on my OWL, so I’m not completely pants at it, but it’s not my best subject either. From what Snape says, sixth year is going to be harder than any year yet. I don’t think I can manage to study it on my own without somebody who’s taking Snape’s class and is willing to share assignments and guide me through the toughest practical bits.”

“I’m in,” Hermione said immediately. She was sitting up straight in her chair, practically bouncing with excitement at the thought of covert studies. “I have my textbook with me, of course.” She patted her pocket where she carried her shrunken trunk. “I’ve already read it and finished the summer assignments. You can look it over if you like, get familiar with it. We probably won’t be able to find out until we’re back at Hogwarts if it’s possible to sit the exam, but if you don’t begin right away, you’ll fall behind.”

Harry gave her a huge grin. “Thanks, Hermione.” He didn’t enjoy the thought of more studying over the following week and a half before they returned to Hogwarts, but he was determined to do it. He’d found the will to get serious about learning Occlumency, and that same will was going to help him to become an Auror.

“You know…” Hermione tempered her excitement to give him a hesitant look. “I hate to even bring this up, I know you hate it, but if it doesn’t work out…the Auror program would probably make an exception for you, of all people.”

“I know.” Harry pulled a face. “But I don’t want to do it that way. I want to earn my way in.”

Hermione nodded with a smile. She’d seemed to expect that. “Another thing. Assuming you even can sit the exam, there’s one more possible hitch in our plan.”

“What’s that?”

“We’d need use of the Potions lab and ingredients outside of class time,” Hermione said rather apologetically. “There are some things we might not be able to buy, not on our own, and supplies for important potions you’ll need to learn. I know he won’t let you into his class, but we’re still going to need Snape’s permission to do this.”

Harry slumped down in his chair. He hadn’t thought of that. He’d imagined that they could study in the common room or in the Room of Requirement. And they still could, some of the time. But if he was to properly learn NEWT-level Potions, and well enough to pass the exams at the end of seventh year, there was no way around it. He’d have to get permission from Snape to use the lab from time to time. Great. Just great. He exhaled, feeling his dream ebbing away with each bit of breath that left his body.

The asking-Snape part wasn’t even the main problem, not since they’d been getting along better. Even though Harry would have to swallow his pride, he knew Snape wouldn’t kill him now just for asking. The permission part was the problem. The chance that the man would ever, ever say yes was next to impossible. Snape was extremely protective of his classroom and ingredients stores. With the exception of detentions, he’d only ever heard of Snape allowing after-hours lab access to his upper level Slytherin students, and even then only when the professor was present. (Not that most people complained about that bit of favoritism. Hardly any non-Slytherin students would care to spend more time with Snape than necessary, after all.) Even Harry’s Remedial Potions lessons had been fake, and probably any students who’d heard about it figured that Dumbledore had forced Snape’s hand. Which, in a way, he had, with the Occlumency lessons…

The salient point was that Snape certainly wouldn’t think of allowing lab access to a Gryffindor who hadn’t earned a satisfactory grade on his OWL and who wasn’t even a student in his regular Potions class. Harry’s stroke of brilliancy had hit a brick wall, and he felt a wave of disappointment crashing over him. It was like getting his OWL results all over again.

Hermione, perceptive as usual, reached across to pat his arm. “It’s always possible that he’ll say yes. I saw how he was with you earlier. When I found Snape and told him you’d collapsed, that I thought it was Voldemort, he dropped everything to get to you. And I mean everything. Didn’t even spell his potion first, or secure his lab, and you know how he is when he has potions brewing. And then you trusted him, let him into your mind without a second thought. Things are different now. He’s obviously changed his mind about you, and I think you have about him as well. I think…I think he even cares about you, Harry. Cares about what happens to you, at any rate, and that’s far more than before, right? Maybe he’ll care about your future too. Enough to say yes.”

Harry was doubtful. He also wasn’t sure if he agreed with all that Hermione had said. There was some truth to it, certainly, but she was seeing that truth with rose-colored glasses. Snape did seem to have overcome some of his hangups, and he didn’t overtly dread Harry’s company anymore. He was also taking his role as Harry’s summer guardian seriously, going to great lengths to see to his safety. But to care care? About Harry himself? That was taking things a bit too far. She looked so hopeful though, and he didn’t really want to talk right then about whatever was going on between him and Snape, so he changed the subject.

And, as anyone even remotely acquainted with Hermione knew, the best way to deflect was to ask her about homework.

Between Charms and Transfiguration, the subjects of Snape and Potions were completely abandoned.

“So. Harry Potter, eh? Never thought I’d be hosting the likes of you here,” were the first words Kneader said when he came into the kitchen after a short while.

Harry couldn’t tell by his words if the man meant to be friendly and welcoming or the exact opposite. If Snape had said those words to someone, it would have meant something along the lines of why in heaven’s name was I cursed with your wretchedly bothersome and undeservedly famous presence? Of course, Snape would have made his meaning clear with a sneer. Kneader’s face was neutral, maybe even calculating, his hawk-eyes still surveying them, no doubt taking everything in. Still, knowing that Kneader and Snape knew each other, that Snape trusted this man, Harry wondered if they also shared a common aversion to all things Harry Potter.

But his uncertainty was no excuse for rudeness. Harry awkwardly stood up to properly greet their host. “It’s, um, nice to meet you, Mr. Kneader, sir,” he said with a polite dip of his head. He couldn’t help that he’d probably come across as both awkward and wary. When Kneader didn’t answer right away, he filled the silence with, “This is my friend, Hermione Granger.”

“Miss Granger,” Kneader said and gave her a smile, which Harry took as an answer to his question. Kneader didn’t like Harry. Or at the very least, he was prepared to not like him, once Harry did or said something to prove himself unlikeable. And all at once, Harry wanted to ask Kneader just how well he knew Snape, how much they might have talked, how much Snape might have told him about his least favorite student, the bane of his Hogwarts existence.

Because if he had to start all over again with another authority figure who hated his guts for no good reason, he was going to go insane by the time this summer officially ended.

“Mimsy!” Kneader called out, and a small house-elf popped into the kitchen, large eyes blinking at the visitors. Harry was so relieved to have Kneader’s eyes off him that he paid no mind to Hermione’s gasp of dismay.

“You must be tired from your journey,” Kneader was saying. “Mimsy will show you to your rooms. If you need anything tonight, let her know. As for tomorrow, the house and grounds are protected. Anti-Apparition wards extend as far as the buoy in the water and the oak tree on the knoll. Don’t go past either one and you’ll be right as rain.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” called Harry and the man looked back around, eyebrows raised in a silent question. “Mr. Kneader, how…how’s Remus? He was sort of…erm, tired, and roughed up…and his arm…” he trailed off lamely. He didn’t know why the man made him quite so nervous, but he sounded like a right idiot. This was not the first impression he’d wanted to make on the man who might be able to tell him things about Snape.

“Ah, yes. Your Mr. Lupin,” answered Kneader calmly. “I’ve healed his injuries. He’ll be out for quite a while after the fairly potent sleeping draught I’ve given him. Best do without him for the time being.” And with that, he retreated from the kitchen.

“Well,” Hermione said after a beat of silence. “Real social fellow, isn’t he?”

“Maybe he’s not used to much company?” Harry asked with a halfhearted shrug.

“With this large house, all set up as an Order safe house?” Hermione asked skeptically. “And space for so many guests to sleep?”

Harry kept any more thoughts to himself, because his intuition was often quite good, and it was saying that the man’s eagerness to avoid them came down to wanting to avoid him in particular. He didn’t know why that bothered him. Usually he’d shrug it off if a random stranger didn’t like him. It came with being famous for nothing he could help, after all. But this wasn’t a random stranger, was it? This was quite possibly an all too rare friend of Snape’s. Or at least an ally. He held some of the clues in the mystery that was Severus Snape, and it was looking very likely that the man wasn’t going to be inclined to share any of them with Harry.

He sighed and turned his attention to the little house-elf.

She was standing still in the center of the kitchen, staring wide-eyed at them, but she didn’t seem worried or afraid. More…curious. And patient. It appeared that she was going to wait quietly for them to indicate when they were ready to leave.

“Um, Mimsy, was it?” Harry ventured. “About those rooms…”

“Yes, sir. Mimsy is happy to show you to your rooms, sir,” she chirped politely and cheerfully led them to rooms around the perimeter of the living room, helpfully unshrinking their trunks in the process. Hermione’s was on the opposite side of the large room from his. He gave her a small wave but didn’t wait to see her settled, didn’t even bother to study his room other than to note that it was decorated in shades of blue and contained a simple bed, dresser, and night stand. He just mumbled his intent to go to bed, closed the door, toed off his shoes, flopped onto his back on the surprisingly comfortable mattress, and stared at the ceiling.

He didn’t intend to sleep yet. Thoughts of Grimmauld Place raced like wildfire through his mind. Was it safe? Would Voldemort breach its walls? Would he try and be unable to make it in? Or was Snape right that he only knew generally where they were, but not about number 12? He wanted to know if Snape and the rest of the Order were going to be safe, if Dobby was still as sad as he’d been when Harry had said goodbye to him, if Mr. Weasley and the twins were being careful for Mrs. Weasley’s sake.

It was killing him not to have the answers to his questions.

He also thought more about his visions, wishing that he hadn’t managed to break himself away from Voldemort’s mind. Maybe they’d have known more about Voldemort’s intentions if he’d stayed longer. Maybe he’d have known if Voldemort knew exactly where they were and how he’d known it.

He sighed miserably. He hated being kept away from the action, forced to hide out and wait for answers while the Order took on the dangerous work of protecting them and fighting Voldemort.

Eager for a distraction, he took the packet of potions from his pocket, studying each in turn before placing them on his nightstand and studying his new ring instead. He hadn’t thought of Snape as thoughtful before, but even if the ring didn’t qualify - it was strategic to have a way to call for help, after all - the headache potion certainly did. Snape had developed a potion just for him, a potion that wasn’t necessary but that helped with the pain. It was a kindness that he hadn’t expected. It occurred to him that he’d better wipe thoughts of gratitude from his mind before their next Occlumency lesson. If Snape knew how much the gift meant to Harry, he’d try to pull away again.

And Harry was willing to admit to himself that he didn’t want Snape to pull away. He didn’t want to lose any more people, even someone he had such a tenuous a bond with as his Occlumency teacher.

His fingers reached into his other pocket, the pads of his thumbs rubbing over the smooth surface of his mum’s stone. It helped, this connection with his mum. It calmed him, if not completely. The photograph he’d found was still in his pocket, and he pulled it out to distract himself from thoughts of Voldemort and losing people. Sirius and James waved out at him in their Quiddditch robes. Sirius playfully shoved James out of the frame and struck a pose. Harry smiled, imagining what their boyhood days would have been like. The days of the Marauders. He’d give about anything to have a time machine. Or maybe to be able to view more memories of what his dad had been like - better memories than that one of Snape’s that he’d seen. He never again wanted to see the shameful way his dad and godfather had picked on their classmate. Maybe Remus had some nicer ones that he’d be willing to share. Harry had no idea how easy it was to find a Pensieve to use though. Were they rare? Would Dumbledore let him use his for something so sentimental and unnecessary?

Probably not. Dumbledore was the one who had warned him that it wasn’t good to dwell on dreams and forget to live. If he asked, he’d probably only be treated to a grandfatherly chat about how it was okay to miss his parents but not healthy to obsess over his loss.

So much for that idea. Pictures would have to be enough. He sighed again and watched as James shoved Sirius back, toppling him over. Both boys started laughing, and Lily rolled her eyes at them in the background. Harry smiled. Pictures would be enough. Not as good as having them here, but it was enough to be able to remember them by. And it was nice to be able to think of them this way, when they were happiest.

Sirius put James into a play choke-hold and they wrestled on the ground. Lily shared an exasperated look with her friend, who sneered at James and Sirius and -

Harry shot up on his bed and held the photograph closer to his eyes. He knew that sneer. He knew that face! He’d seen that scrawny boy in Legilimency lessons - in Snape’s head, in his memories of long ago.

It was Snape!

Snape was sitting on the grass with Harry’s mum. He whispered something into her ear. They started laughing together.

They were interacting as if they were friends. Close friends.

Snape!

With Lily!

He stared at the photograph in stunned disbelief before a random thought had him scrambling for his trunk. He carefully pulled out his mum’s letter from between the pages of a book where he’d stashed it.

He re-read it, poring over possible clues.

…sometimes I wouldn’t mind being an only child like you.

You know you love school as much as I do…

Maybe next time your papa will let you come with us. …you can pretend you’ve been to the beach too.

Your friend…Lily

It wasn’t much to go on, but it could fit with what he knew of Snape. He hadn’t seen any evidence of Snape having siblings. He might be an only child. He certainly wasn’t good at sharing, Harry thought with a smirk. He was intelligent and studious, probably the type to have loved school and learning. And thinking back to what little he’d seen, Harry didn’t think that Snape’s had been a happy childhood. Having a strict father who wouldn’t let him go to the beach fit perfectly with the scenes he’d glimpsed in his mind.

Could Snape have been the recipient of Lily’s letter?

In context, it made so much more sense that they had been friends and that Lily had written to him than that Snape had randomly stumbled upon a letter from Lily and held onto it in case he ever stopped hating Harry enough to pass it on to him. It would also explain why he hadn’t given Harry the first page of the letter, if that page had Snape’s name on it, or other personal details he didn’t want Harry to know.

He wanted to jump up and down like a little kid in excitement at how well it fit together. It occurred to him that finding out Snape and his mum had been friends should have horrified him, but instead he felt such a sense of excitement and nervous anticipation that he couldn’t keep still. He paced back and forth in the room.

Snape knew Lily. They had been friends. They’d laughed together. It was highly possible that they’d exchanged letters. If he was the person she’d written to, then they’d lived close enough to each other to study together during holidays. Finally he knew someone who could tell him more about his mum!

He skidded to a halt, sudden disappointment edging out the excitement. Snape wouldn’t tell him anything about his mum, he realized. The professor was insanely guarded about his personal life. He wouldn’t even tell Harry what books he liked to read or whether he so much as exchanged greetings with other members of the Hogwarts faculty. He’d never so much as hinted that he’d known Lily in school, much less that they’d been close friends. No chance was he going to magically become forthcoming and actually volunteer any details or stories about her.

Harry lowered himself to the floor in dejection. Why couldn’t his parents have been friends with nice, normal people? No, they had to be friends with an emotionally stunted Azkaban prisoner and a traitorous Animagus rat and a reclusive werewolf, and now he could add an emotionally repressed ex-Death Eater spy to the mix.

He threw the photograph and letter across the room in frustration, then immediately thought better of it, retrieving both and checking them for damage. He carefully put both inside his book and then flopped dramatically back onto the bed.

He held up the heart-shaped stone and studied every smooth surface, every worn edge. Whether or not it had been gifted to Snape, this stone had once been carefully selected by Harry’s mum, held in her fingers. And guarded spy or not, Snape held secrets that Harry now desperately wanted to know. It had been a game before, trying to get Snape to admit to friendships or hobbies or anything that didn’t fit Harry’s old view of the man.

The games were over. Now Harry was playing for real. One way or another - even if he had to bide his time and practice his mental skills and eventually Legilimize the memories out of the man - Harry was going to find out about Snape’s friendship with Lily Evans.

He just hoped he could find out what he wanted to know without Snape going back to hating him.