Harry greatly enjoyed his visit with the Weasleys, though from time to time he found himself missing his father and the quiet of their quarters. Such brooding didn’t last long, however, as one or another of the redheaded clan would quickly interrupt him with offers of various activities. Harry began to realize that being in the middle of a large family made it hard to be bored for long, though sometimes his ears rang from all the noise.

Having Bill and Charlie at home was great fun, and Harry grew to adore both young men, but his first few days at the Burrow were a bit challenging. All the roughhousing that occurred, seemingly without end, was at first a little too reminiscent of Dudley's Harry-hunting or Vernon's angry shouts, but Harry quickly realized that none of the Weasleys were actually being hurt. Of course, his initial confusion was understandable, given the yells and shrieks that usually accompanied such activities. When Bill - still shedding yellow feathers from one of the twins' latest pranks - grabbed each one by an arm and dragged them, still in pajamas and bare feet, outside out to scrub their faces with snow, the windows trembled with the force of their howls. When Molly realized what had occurred, her own shouts made it clear that such healthy lungs were a maternal inheritance.

Even after it became clear that the tussles were nothing more than good fun and noisy play, Harry still hung back, uncertain of both his welcome in such activities and his willingness to risk Molly's wrath. That lasted all of 48 hours, when a monster snowball fight spilled into the house and even Arthur and Molly forgot their adult dignity and joined in. No one was spared and Harry - and even Percy - were swept up in the battle. Harry's speed and agility made him a difficult target, but Charlie finally eschewed all subtlety and simply engulfed him in a surprisingly gentle tackle. Ginny promptly leapt to his rescue, her hero worship of The Boy Who Lived having long since transformed into a more realistic and genuine affection for her brother's friend, and stuffed several handfuls of snow down Charlie's back before he could grab her in turn. Now with one squirming, kicking, pinching child tucked under each arm, Charlie rose and - with a gleam in his eye - headed for a particularly deep snow drift.

"Nooooo! Charlie, don't!" Ginny shrieked, seeing their doom approach. Harry looked around frantically for allies, but Ron and Percy were blitzing Arthur's position with snowballs while the twins desperately tried to wreak vengeance on Bill for their earlier snowy face washing.

Charlie gave an evil chuckle as he stopped, swinging from side to side as he worked up momentum to toss his two unwilling passengers into the snowbank ahead of him. Harry and Ginny tried to wiggle free of his grip, but Charlie was used to wrestling baby dragons and was oblivious to the children's efforts. Just as Harry knew they were about to be airborne, Molly sweetly called, "Oh, Charlie, dear!"

All three heads turned in surprise to see Molly smiling at them from a few yards away. She pointed upwards and they followed her gaze to discover an enormous clump of snow hovering just above Charlie's head. The instant their eyes widened, Molly canceled her hover charm and had the great satisfaction of seeing all three disappear underneath a mountain of snow.

It took them a moment to dig themselves out - spitting snow and with eyes newly shining in glee - and then all previous hostilities were forgotten as the three turned on their mutual foe. "Get her!" Charlie roared, and Ginny and Harry let out shrill war whoops as they chased after the big redhead and the fleeing, laughing Molly.

That more or less removed the last of Harry's inhibitions and he slowly relaxed and enjoyed all the mayhem as it swirled around him, occasionally breaking over his head as well. He still tensed a bit when one of the older boys took off after the twins - who were, as usual, using the holidays as an excuse to test their latest gags and driving everyone mad in the process - but he could be confident the resulting screams were due to a tickling hex and not a brutal beating. Even when Charlie or, more often, Bill finally lost his temper and held the two teens down for a few resounding whacks on the rear, it was clear the twins' loud yelps and dancing about clutching their bums owed more to their love of attention than any real distress. Harry also noticed their antics tended to mollify their older brothers, and he grinned at this further evidence that the twins were rather more Slytherin than anyone realized.

What Harry didn't notice was how carefully all of the Weasley children avoided pouncing on him from behind or doing anything that might take him by surprise. Though only Ron had been privvy to Harry's confidences, Snape had made it clear to Molly and Arthur that Harry was still struggling to overcome his time with the Dursleys, and they had, in turn, shared enough with their older children to make it clear that Harry was not to be ambushed or forced into anything. Even the twins understood that Harry was off limits, and though they didn't know all the details, they knew enough to realize that (a) they could seriously upset the boy with unthinking pranks and (b) their parents would murder them if they did. Arthur's pointed reference to the aftermath of their attempt to get a young Ronnie to make an Unbreakable Vow had been more than enough to convince them that this was one parental stricture to be obeyed without question.

Only Ron and Ginny had been spared the parental briefing, but Ron had - unbeknownst to the adults - told his sister that Harry's home life had hardly been the idyllic fairy tale of The Boy Who Lived and that if she insisted on treating him like an icon, she'd embarrass both herself and Harry. Ginny was bright enough to fill in the gaps of what Ron didn't say, and her awe and shyness was transformed into a fierce protectiveness that at first startled both her brothers and Harry. As a result, between Molly and Arthur's stern directives and Ginny's eagle eyed vigilance, the Weasley boys took great care not to alarm Harry with their exuberance.

The object of all this solicitude was blissfully unaware of it, and Harry slipped happily into life among the Weasleys, experiencing for the first time the chaos and joy of a large, happy family.

--##--

Though Harry managed to avoid any major trouble during his time at the Weasleys, he did not escape completely scot-free. Towards the end of his visit, he demonstrated his comfort at the Burrow by joining Ron and Ginny in a heated battle with the twins, prompted by the twins attempting to prank Ron with a rather realistic-looking toy spider. Fred and George found to their dismay that their youngest brother now had formidable allies in both Harry and Ginny (who had been privately tutored by Bill in some particularly nasty hexes). The living room was reduced to rubble in the ensuing hostilities, and all five children were banished to bed right after supper.

“The twins also ended up with sore backsides, both for starting it and for being old enough to know better,” Molly explained over a cup of tea when Snape came to collect Harry two days later, “but since Ron and Ginny were only punished with an early bedtime, I felt it appropriate to treat Harry the same way and saw no need to inform you.”

“And the twins did not attempt further retaliation?” Snape asked, frowning. He would have expected Fred and George to be more than a little angry at receiving such a humiliating, not to mention painful, punishment. Taking that resentment out on the younger children would have been understandable.

“If we held a grudge –“ Fred piped up, unexpectedly entering the kitchen with his twin at his side.

“- each time we got whacked –“

“- we would have run out of siblings – “

“- a long time ago, Professor.”

“Besides, to be completely fair –“

“ – we did start it. We just hadn’t expected –“

“- Harry and Ginny to jump in like that.”

“But once they did – “

“ – we kind of got carried away –“

“ – and we pretty much knew – “

“ – when the tree caught fire – “

“ – that we were in for it.”

“You burned down your Christmas tree?” Snape echoed incredulously.

George grinned as he poured two glasses of pumpkin juice. “Not intentionally.”

“And Christmas was technically over,” Fred pointed out, grabbing a handful of Christmas cookies from a jar on the counter.

“That was the worst of the damage,” Molly intervened hastily. “Everything else just required a good cleaning, which the children provided. Without the help of magic.”

Snape scowled. After Harry’s house elf-like upbringing, he did not want the boy subjected to further cleaning duties.

“We actually had – “

“ – a pretty good time with it,” the twins admitted in between cookies.

“By then we weren’t mad at each other any more – “

“ – Mum’s yells had deafened us all equally – “

“ – and the littlies had heard us getting walloped – “

“ – so Ron figured we were even for the spider – “

“ – so there was no point in fighting further and we – “

“ – just made a game out of it.”

Snape was surprised by how philosophically the twins had accepted their smacking, though he reflected that, given their fondness for pranks, it was likely a routine occurrence.

“Boys, go let Harry know Professor Snape is waiting for him,” Molly instructed and the twins obligingly raced out. “They’re really getting too old to spank,” she said, reading Snape’s mind with an ease that startled the Occlumens, “but it was either that or bar them from going to Featherbee’s flying arena yesterday, and they would have been devastated to have missed a treat like that. I gave them the option, in fact, and they just ran down to get my wooden spoon.” She chuckled, remembering how George had presented the spoon with a flourish, while Fred bent over and wiggled his bum invitingly. A half-dozen swats later, their jollity had become rather forced, but they hadn’t objected once.

Their reentry to the living room, where the younger three were already engaged in cleaning duties, had been accomplished with a minimum of awkwardness. Fred and George had entered, moving stiffly and with their faces rather more flushed than usual. “I’m sorry, Ron,” George had offered immediately, for once fairly serious.

“Me too,” his twin had echoed.

“You okay?” Harry asked in concern. The Burrow was anything but soundproof, and those whacks had sounded awfully hard, to say nothing of the concomitant yelps. Of course, the twins were practically as tall as Molly now, but if the grimaces on their faces were anything to go by, the walloping had not been a token punishment.

Harry’s rear tingled in sympathy. It hadn’t been so long since his time at the Dursleys, and he well recalled how much even a few hard whacks could hurt. He felt a rush of love for his Da at the thought that he never had to worry about getting smacked like that again, not even if he had been the one to burn down the Christmas tree.

His Da wouldn’t let anyone else hit Harry, not Auntie Molly or Padfoot or anyone, and his own light swats were nothing to fear. Of course, Harry did fear disappointing his father, and he was very very glad that the twins had admitted it had been their spell which had led to the incineration of the tree. He’d been pretty certain that in the absence of that confession, Auntie Molly would have felt compelled to punish all the children equally, and while he knew she wouldn’t smack him, she would floo his Da. That would have meant an abrupt end to Harry ‘s visit, and though returning home to Hogwarts was hardly an onerous penalty, Harry had no desire to return in disgrace.

Having to clean up the living room alongside the Weasley children was only fair – after all, he and the others had made the mess in the first place – and being sent to bed right after supper wasn’t that awful a punishment either. He and Ron were sharing a room, and he suspected they’d just talk until they eventually fell asleep. Oh, Ron was complaining bitterly, but Harry knew it was just for show and that the redhead was just as relieved as he that the twins had accepted the bulk of the blame. After all, if they had all continued squabbling and really gotten Auntie Molly upset, she might have canceled tomorrow’s outing, and that was too horrible a scenario to contemplate.

“Yeah,” Ginny echoed his question to the twins. “Are you all right? Mum sounded pretty angry.”

“Our arses would say otherwise –“

“- but we’re all right,” they reassured the younger children.

“But we are sorry, Ron – “

“ – the spider thing really wasn’t funny.”

Ron chewed his lip for a minute then shrugged. “Show me your special Beater move when we’re at the arena tomorrow, and we’ll call it even,” he offered generously.

“You are still coming, right?” Ginny asked anxiously. The twins might be incredibly annoying, but they were still part of the family, and the trip to the arena wouldn’t be the same without them.

Fred rubbed his rear and groaned. “Why do you think we got the dreaded spoon?”

“It was that or stay home tomorrow, and we’d have taken two dozen swats apiece rather than miss the flying,” George explained, though he too let out a whimper as he gently massaged his smarting behind.

“How many did you get?” Ron asked curiously.

“Six each,” George sighed. “Enough to hurt like crazy today but still be fine for flying tomorrow.”

Ron scoffed. “You’ll be fine by dinner.”

“Oh, really? Just – “

“- you wait until you’ve felt – “

“ – the dreaded spoon, little brother.”

“Then you can tell us how long – “

“ – it lasts.”

Ron looked nonplused. “Really? But I mean, the spider thing wasn’t that bad.”

George just pointed to the charred stump in the corner of the room.

“Oh. Right.” Ron blushed.

“What else are we going to do at the arena tomorrow?” Ginny said eagerly. “Besides the Quidditch moves, I mean.”

And that was all it took. Animated discussions about the highly anticipated treat erased any lingering ill will, and in fact the trip to Featherbee’s was every bit as wonderful as the children had anticipated. There were helpful staff to coach Hermione and Neville, and so many non-flying activities that the children ran out of energy long before they had exhausted all the arena’s attractions. Harry and his friends had a wonderful time, and the older children did as well. Even Bill and Charlie found a surprising number of activities to enjoy, as well as plenty of attractive witches to chat up.

There was only one minor crisis when the twins, intoxicated by conversation with two pretty American teens, decided that impressing their new acquaintances took precendence over fair play. Ron, Harry, and Draco wanted to try the "Fly Through A Hurricane!" ride, in which you attempted to pilot your broom through a simulated windstorm, but the twins were blocking the ride's entrance, too occupied with their conversation to notice anyone else.

"Oi, George, Fred! Shove over. It's our turn!" Ron demanded, pushing at the nearest twin. He stepped back in surprise at the angry glares that were instantly turned his way.

"Children!" Fred said with an overly casual laugh as he turned back to the American girls. "Such little pests."

"Get lost," George snarled through gritted teeth before returning to the witches with a bright smile. "So - where were we?"

One of the girls, a blonde, giggled. "We were just saying how much we're enjoying our trip here."

"We just love your accents," gushed the other. "Say something for us!"

"Well, we think your accents are rather cute too," Fred said, trying to drop his voice into a deeper register.

"Silly! We don't have an accent!" one told him, batting playfully at his arm.

"So, erm, where do you go to school? We go to Hogwarts - best in Europe, you know," George offered, flexing his shoulders and edging closer to the blonde.

"Oooooh. We've heard of that. It's in, like, a castle, isn't it?" They squealed in excitement at the twins' nods. "That's so cool! What's it like? Do you have lots of ghosts?"

"Oh, sure," Fred said carelessly. "You practically can't go down the hall without walking through a few. And we've got poltergeists too."

"We only have one old ghost," the brunette pouted prettily. "She was killed in the Salem witch trials and she just complains about how much she misses her cat. She's no fun."

"So are you, like, twins or something?" the blonde asked, pointing from one to the other. "Because you, like, really look similar."

"We're twins," the boys said in unison, wiggling their eyebrows in an imitation of Sirius Black.

"Oooooooh! We're sisters too!" the girls squealed excitedly.

Ron, Harry, and Draco blinked at each other, nonplused by the exchange.

"Why are they talking funny?" Draco asked Ron.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "They're just talking normally."

"That's what I mean. Usually they interrupt each other and finish each other's sentences, but now they're talking like regular people."

Ron shrugged. "Must be the girls, I guess." The other two shared his look of disgust.

"Come on, George! Let us past!" Ron decided to try again. "I'll tell Mum," he whined, tugging at one brother's robe.

The twins didn't even glance at him, though the closer of the two caught his arm in a nasty, but discreet, pinch. Ron yelped and hastily withdrew.

The younger boys unhappily plodded back to the main floor, Ron blinking back tears as he rubbed his arm. "There's still plenty of other rides," Harry tried gamely to lift their spirits, but he too was disappointed.

"What's wrong, kids?" Percy and Jones, arm in arm, strolled up behind them. "You're looking pretty miserable for being in the middle of an amusement park."

Ron sniffled and Percy bent closer. "What happened to your arm?"

"One of your brothers hit him," Draco announced angrily. "And they're hogging the ride over there! Just because they want to impress some stupid slag- erm, some nice young ladies from America," he rapidly amended his words at the sight of Jones' expression. "Sorry!" he added for good measure.

"It was more a pinch than a hit," Harry clarified, "but it was really hard, and all we wanted to do was to go on the ride."

Percy scowled, but Jones patted his arm. "How about if I take on the twins while you fix up your brother here? Not that he really needs it - after taking on a troll, he's got to be made of pretty strong stuff, right?" she winked at Ron.

Ron perked up at her words, and his tears magically dried. Jones was right - it's not like the twins had ever faced down a troll! They were the babies, not him.

Jones strolled over to where the twins and the American sisters were still deep in conversation. "Oi, fellows - why don't you head over to the snack bar with the ladies?" she suggested amiably. "Let some of the firsties have a chance at the ride?"

Motivated by equal parts adolescent male bravado and testosterone-fuelled stupidity, the twins ignored this face-saving opportunity to withdraw. "Push off, Jones," Fred said, his success with the Americans making him disastrously overconfident. "We're not at school now - you can't tell us what to do."

"Does your school have prefects too?" George asked the Americans with a rather rude glance at Jones. "Ours are just awful - bossy and full of themselves."

Jones' eyes narrowed, but her voice remained even. "Did you know that Professor Snape classified this as a school outing? That means I'm authorized to use my prefect authority outside of Hogwarts."

George rolled his eyes, encouraged by the American girls' giggles. "Oooooh, 'prefect authority'. I'm shaking in my shoes!"

"Go snog Percy, Jones - we're busy here. We'll move when we bloody well want to," Fred declared grandly, carried away by the Americans' admiring glances. Both twins turned their backs to her in an unmistakable gesture of defiance and disrespect.

Jones didn't bother to reply. She just drew her wand and gave it a flick while murmuring a spell, then walked away.

"Is she gone yet?" Fred whispered to George.

George sneaked a quick look over his shoulder. "She's walking back to Percy and the kids," he whispered in tones of ineffable relief, and the two exchanged a look of triumph. They had vanquished Jones! This would make them legends at Hogwarts!

"So, erm, how long are you in England for?" George asked hopefully.

"Yeah, maybe we could get together and - hic!" Fred jerked with an unexpected hiccup and was flustered when the Americans stared at him in amazement then burst into loud laughter. He turned to his brother, only to find George gazing at him in dismay.

"You're bright blue!" George hissed at him, and Fred looked down, realizing that he had, in fact, turned a particularly fluorescent shade of blue.

"What the -" Fred spun to stare after Jones, then at a hic! from behind him, he turned back to find a bright green George staring miserably down at himself. The American girls were leaning against the wall, shrieking with glee.

"Well," Fred struggled to smile, "it could have been worse. For Jones, this isn't such a bad - hic!" Worriedly, he looked down, but to his surprise he found that he was restored to normal. He sighed in relief. For Jones that was indeed a very gentle warning.

Seeing him returned to normal, the Americans' giggles began to resolve. "Did it hurt?" the blonde asked curiously. "You looked really funny!"

"Nah," Fred said with what he hoped was a devil-may-care laugh. "All in good fun."

The Americans began to burble on about some sightseeing they had done, and Fred listened politely at first, but then became aware of a nagging itch on his bum. He squirmed as discreetly as he could, but the itch just worsened. And worsened. "Erm, George, I think we need to go to the loo," he said, signaling frantically to his brother.

George gave him an annoyed look. "If you need to go, then go already," he hissed. "I'm busy talking!" He smilingly turned back to the brunette. "You were saying that you really liked the Tower?"

"Sure! All those jewels? And the ghosts were so... ghostly!" she shuddered dramatically, and George's eyes snapped to her chest.

"I - erm - " He was saved having to think of a reply by a hic! And then he too was back to his normal color. "There!" he beamed. "That's better! Now, how about Harrod's? Have you been there? The magical wing, I mean."

Fred, now dancing from foot to foot, waited and sure enough, within about 10 seconds, George's animated conversation dimmed and a look of distraction appeared on his face. Then a horrified expression of understanding dawned and he looked frantically at his brother. "Erm, we've got to go!" he blurted. "Be right back!"

Leaving the surprised girls behind, the twins ran for the nearest loo, both hands clutched to their bums. Once inside the thankfully empty toilet, they tore down their trousers and pants, only to discover there was nothing visible on their backsides. "But it itches!" Fred wailed, scratching madly.

"It's worse than dragon pox," George agreed mournfully, scratching and wiggling in his turn.

"What - hic! - are we gonna do? I mean, we can't go out in public scratching at our arses like this!" Fred said, then paused. "Hey. It's gone."

"Yeah, but now you're yellow." George's gloom was unrelieved as he kept scratching at the infernal itching that still tormented him.

Fred paled as much as his brightly colored complexion would allow. "You don't suppose we're just going to keep on like this, cycling between being some ridiculous color or clawing at our arses?"

George just looked at him. "This is - hic! - Jones, remember?"

Fred groaned. And hiccuped.

Eventually, they were forced to leave the sanctuary of the toilet by an influx of older boys who greeted their appearance with sniggers and coarse remarks. The twins fled, unhappily reflecting on how unpleasant it felt to be run off by bullies who were older than you. They tried to find an inconspicuous corner, but their flashing colors and socially unacceptable scratching guaranteed that they attracted unwanted attention.

"Mummy! Look at those funny boys! Are they clowns?" one four year old piped shrilly, pointing at them.

"They're scratching themselves like the monkeys in the zoo!" Another urchin observed loudly.

The twins cast agonized looks over the rapidly gathering crowd, but if they had hoped for fraternal solidarity, they were sadly disappointed. Charlie and Bill were helpless with laughter, while Harry and his friends were howling in delight. Percy looked insufferably smug and Jones - oh, Merlin, no! - Jones had a camera.

A wordless glance passed between them, and then the twins were darting through the crowd and falling on their knees before Jones. "Please, please," they begged, abasing themselves before her. "We apologize!"

Jones smiled brightly and glanced at the clock. "You lasted 23 minutes. That's pretty good," she complimented them, then turned to the rest of the party. "Well, fellows, what do you think? Should I release them or do you think they deserve a little longer as the center of attention? After all," she nudged the twins with the toe of her boot, "you do like being noticed, right?"

"Oh, please, Jones," Fred pleaded, one hand snaking back to scrub at his buttocks. "We're sorry."

"We bow to your greater evilness and cunning," George - now a solid fuschia - groveled abjectly.

"I do think they've learned their lesson," Bill managed to gasp. "I've never seen them quite this cowed before."

"Oh, all right," she yawned, then leaned over to meet their wide eyed gaze. "But this is just a taste of what I've got in store for you the next time you provoke me. Got it?" she told them icily.

"Yes, Jones," they squeaked, nodding frantically.

And a second later they were back to normal.

The twins sighed in relief, sagging to the ground in limp puddles. The crowd quickly dispersed, now that the show was over, and Harry and his friends happily headed off to the hurricane ride. A sympathetic Charlie bundled the twins off to the snack bar for restorative milkshakes, and there they met a group of French schoolgirls from a witches' lycee outside Orleans. The twins promptly forgot the American sisters and with the resilience of youth spent the rest of the day practicing their French.

By the end of the day, all grudges were long forgotten and the entire party agreed the day had been a huge success. “This was the best present ever,” Ron told Harry. “Your Da is brilliant.”

“I’m going to ask my father for this for my birthday,” Draco announced, then frowned. “But he’ll probably make me invite people like Crabbe and Goyle and Parkinson.”

“I’ll ask my Da for this for my birthday too,” Harry said comfortingly. “So we’ll all be together again in July anyway.”

“Hey, we have the same birthday, right?” Neville exclaimed. “So maybe we could have a double party here!” He grinned. “My gran will be proud of me when she sees how much my flying has improved.”

-##-

“… So you see, Severus, you’re quite the hero among the children,” Molly smiled as she finished the story. To her immense satisfaction, she had managed to surprise a laugh out of Snape with the story of Jones' treatment of the twins, though he had quickly pretended it had merely been a cough.

"I am pleased that Miss Jones was able to compel appropriate behavior," he observed, feeling quite smug that, even vastly outnumbered by Gryffindors, his snakes had still held their own.

"Oh, that she did," Molly agreed, her eyes dancing. "The poor boys' behinds were so marked from all their frantic scratching that they could barely sit down to dinner that night. It's a good thing I had a large tub of healing balm. And I rather imagine they'll think twice about risking much mischief next term." Both adults paused, wistfully contemplating the prospect of an entire term free of the twins' more egregious pranks.

“Da!” Harry yelled in delight, bursting into the room. He grabbed his guardian around the neck in a hug. “I missed you!”

Snape fought off the stranglehold. “Yes, yes, compose yourself, young man!” he scolded, even as he pulled the boy close to his side.

Harry was, unsurprisingly after a week among Weasleys, wholly unsquelched. “Did you miss me?” he demanded.

“What do you think?” his guardian grumbled. “Would I miss such a noisy, messy, naughty child?”

Harry grinned. “Yes!”

Snape huffed and muttered to himself, but everyone noted that he didn’t actually disagree.

Then they had taken their leave of the Weasleys, with as many hugs and goodbyes as if it would be years before they would next see each other, and Harry and his professor winked away via portkey.

To Snape’s disgust there were nearly as many hugs and exclamations of delight when they arrived at Black’s, not to mention extra Christmas presents that he and Lupin had “forgotten” to send to Hogwarts.

The visit was actually quite tame, compared to Snape’s dark imaginings. Black refrained from orgies or other debaucherie and seemed quite content merely to spend hours with Harry, roughhousing or playing or showing him all the local sites that might be of interest to an 11 year old. Lupin usually joined them, but occasionally remained behind to keep the Potion Master company. Snape did not find it necessary to supervise Black every second, but he did insist on knowing exactly where Harry would be going and what he would be doing. To his surprise, Black made no demur at this restriction, and Snape could only assume that Lupin had sternly ordered the mutt to be on his best behavior in the hopes of proving that they could be trusted to entertain Harry on their own.

Still, while Snape had been pleasantly surprised at how well both men tolerated his presence, he was completely astonished when Sirius broached the subject of a double date one evening.

“Don’t you think Harry is a bit young?” Snape said forbiddingly.

“Da!” Harry laughed, nearly choking on his dinner. “Don’t be so silly. I’m not going.”

Before he could register either his annoyance at being called “silly” or his disappointment that Black and Lupin remained untroubled by Harry’s calling him “Da”, Snape was flabbergasted to hear Black say, “I’m asking you, Snape. I have a date for you and everything. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Snape eyed him suspiciously. There had to be a trap. “Why would you invite me?” he demanded. “Take the werewolf.”

Lupin sighed at his use of the term but made no other complaint. “Severus, it’s only two days to the full moon. I can’t go.”

“Besides, I didn’t get this girl for Moony. I picked her for you,” Sirius argued. “Come on.”

“What’s wrong with her?” he inquired distrustfully.

“Nothing!” Sirius yelled in exasperation. “Snape, for Merlin’s sake! It’s just a date. Why are you making such a big deal about it?”

“And what is Harry to be doing when we are out on this date?”

“I’ll stay here with Moony,” Harry answered. “Or we might go see a Muggle movie. Neither of us has ever gone, but Hermione owled me about a really cool one called –“

“Snape! Come on – he’ll be fine. You’ll have some fun, meet a good looking bird, maybe get – “ Sirius caught himself with a glance at Harry. “Erm, have a good conversation, I mean.”

“Why would you want to double date?” Snape was still wary.

“Well, this witch that I’m seeing has her sister visiting from Basel, and she asked me if I could find her a date –“

“Hmf,” Snape said sourly.

“But I saw pictures of the sister! She’s gorgeous, with dark hair and – “ Sirius again broke off abruptly. “Ah, well, she’s what you might call pleasantly shaped.”

“You mean she’s got big ti– “ Harry began unwisely.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER!” Snape and Lupin both thundered at him while Sirius broke into hysterical laughter.

“He’s his father’s son all right!” Sirius choked out.

“You are to speak of witches with respect, young man!” Snape scolded him sharply.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Harry protested, seeing his chances of dessert that night rapidly vanishing.

“But you were about to,” Snape pointed out, unmollified.

Harry grumpily stared at his plate. “Fine,” he huffed. “Be that way, mean ol’…”

Lupin hastily intervened before further indiscretions could occur. “So, Severus, will you be going or not?”

Snape paused, thinking. It had been an appallingly long time since his last date, with a witch to whom Lucius Malfoy had introduced him. The best thing about her, as he recalled, was that she was slightly less insane than Bellatrix LeStrange. He saw Harry stealing a sidelong glance at him, still too cross to show his interest, but too curious not to care.

“I suppose I could go,” he said, elaborately casual. “As a favor to the mutt, I mean.”

“Great!” Sirius clapped his hands together in delight. “We pick them up in an hour!”

“Tonight!” Snape squawked. “You didn’t say it was tonight! What am I supposed to wear? What –“

“Merlin’s shorts, Snape, stop acting like a girl. You look fine,” Sirius waved a hand dismissively.

Snape glared at him as he hurriedly left the table. Harry brightened up at his departure and looked hopefully at the cake sitting on the counter. “May I please have my pudding now?”

“Before your da returns and says you can’t?” Remus asked drily. But he took pity on Harry’s pleading expression and cut him a large slice.

One hour later, Snape fidgeted nervously behind Black as the other man knocked briskly on a door. He must have been insane to agree to come along. This was Black, for Merlin’s sake! How could he have been so stupid as to assume the man was sincere. The witch in question probably had a squint and a hunchback and a personality like a basilisk. That would be exactly the kind of joke Black would find hilarious, and the best part was that he had gotten Snape to come along of his own free will. He would never live this down.

He took a step back, in preparation for Apparating away, but before he could, the door opened and a tall blonde witch with big blue eyes peered out. “Oooooooh, Siri! I’ve missed you soooooooo much!” she squealed, then proved her claim by grabbing Black in a manner that Snape found frankly pornographic.

He struggled to tear his eyes away so he could make his escape, but the pair’s activities were… hypnotic.

“Oh for pity’s sake, Ursi! Either get a room or I’ll douse you both with Aguamenti!” An exasperated voice snapped from behind the blonde.

“Er, ah, er…” Sirius gasped dazedly as he came up for air, but then managed to recall his manners. “Ah, Ursula Zeeman, may I present Professor Severus Snape?”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” the blonde cooed, fluttering her eyelashes at a distinctly unnerved Snape. “And this is my sister Hildy.”

“Brunhilde.” The adamant voice spoke again from the house’s interior.

Ursi pouted prettily, but agreed, “Brunhilde.”

A brisk shove in Ursula’s back finally prompted her to move aside, and a tall, dark haired, and curvaceous witch stepped into view. “It’s a shocking name,” Brunhilde said calmly, “but trying to hide the truth simply makes it worse. I take it you are Sirius Black?” She held out her hand to Sirius who gallantly kissed it.

To Snape’s surprise, Brunhilde appeared immune to Black’s charm. “I’ve read your interviews with interest,” she told him drily. “Shall I assume that my sister is one of the women whose talents with chocolate you find so impressive?”

Black – to Severus’ eternal delight – blushed to the tips of his ears and stammered like a schoolboy. Burnhilde regarded him steadily, then shook her head. “Oh, Ursi. What would Papa say?”

“I don’t care!” her sister retorted. “But Mama would say he’s dreamy!” And she took Black’s hand in a proprietary grip.

“Professor Snape?” Brunhilde held out her hand again, and Snape, with a gulp he hoped went unnoticed, gingerly shook it.

“My pleasure, Madame,” he replied stiffly.

Sirius smiled hopefully. “Well, er, let’s go. I have reservations for us at the Rothschilde restaurant and then we’re headed to the local production of The Magic Flute – the magical version, of course.”

“Oooooooh, Siri!” Snape suspected that those two words represented a significant chunk of Ursula’s vocabulary, and he was heartened to see Brunhilde roll her eyes in disdain.

Sirius and Ursula walked ahead of the other two. Ursula’s robes were… unusually well-fitted, providing Snape with a view that was quite distracting. He averted his eyes and tried desperately to come up with a suitable topic of conversation. “Erm, are you visiting your sister for long?” he finally managed.

“A few weeks,” Brunhilde replied. “She’s a silly cow, but there’s no malice in her. Ursi just decided at an early age it was easier to use her looks than her mind. I think her brain went on holiday shortly thereafter and never saw the need to return.”

Snape blinked. Such devastating candor was… rather like something he would say. “Ah. Well. Yes…”

To be fair, while Brunhilde did not ooze “sex kitten” the way her sister did, she was still extremely attractive in her own right, and more than capable of relying on her own appearance to get through life. Snape wondered what had made this sister decide against such a course of action, but even his stunted social skills knew that would be an unwise question to ask. “Erm, I take it you hadn’t had the opportunity to meet Sirius before tonight?”

“Not really, though he and my sister have been joined at the hip – or another nearby body part – for the last month or so. I’m sure it won’t last much longer; Ursi’s flings never do, but he seems nice enough.”

“Mm.” Snape decided it was safer not to comment. “Then you’ve not been on double dates with them before?”

Brunhilde quirked an eyebrow at him, a move that reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t recall whom. “Do I look like a slut to you?”

Snape choked and stumbled. Brunhilde caught him by the arm and dragged him upright, then thumped him on the back. “Oh, come on then. It wasn’t that hard a question.”

“I – Madame – You – “ Snape trailed off, utterly shaken. He began to wish he’d stayed at the Weasleys after all. At least he could speak to Molly in a coherent fashion. This woman was not only breathtakingly attractive, she was intelligent and brutally candid, a combination which seemed to short-circuit his brain.

Brunhilde took pity on him. “I only meant that Ursi and I don’t share the same taste in men, and with all due respect to your friend, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who has too many intellectual friends.”

Snape snorted despite himself. This witch obviously had Black well-pegged! “Then why did you agree to come on this date?” he asked, curious despite himself.

“Ursi likes to double date, so she kept bugging Sirius to find a man I’d go out with. He must have come up with every wizard within a fifty mile radius, but I couldn’t be bothered. Then Ursi said that Sirius claimed he knew Severus Snape, youngest Potion Master in a century, and I became interested,” Brunhilde said matter-of-factly. Snape choked again. “Of course, knowing Ursi, I wasn’t about to take the claim at face value. I figured Sirius was more than capable of finding some hedge row apothecary and trying to foist him off as a Potion Master if he thought he could get away with it. So I did some research and confirmed that the two of you had been in the same class at Hogwarts. It seemed possible that you would actually show up, so I told Ursi I’d come along.”

“And would you care to examine me on potion related questions to ensure I am who I’m purported to be?” Snape asked in amusement, too stunned by events to take offense.

She regarded him steadily for a moment. “What would happen if I used star anise in place of wormswood while brewing Veritaserum?”

He returned the look. “Absolutely nothing, since neither ingredient is used in that potion.”

“Who perfected the long term storage of Wolfsbane?”

Snape blinked. “The long term storage of Wolfsbane has been perfected? According to whom?”

Brunhilde grinned and took his arm. “You pass. Besides, you look exactly like your picture.”

“My picture?” he echoed in astonishment.

“Well, sure. Ursi showed me the one of you with Harry Potter.”

“The one of Harry and – What picture is that?” Snape asked blankly.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure when it was taken, but it’s awfully cute. You’re both sleeping and Harry’s snuggled up in your arms. Sirius keeps a copy in his wallet, and he let Ursi borrow it to prove he knew you. He said he got it from your former headmaster.”

And while Snape was still processing this revelation, she calmly continued, “But enough about that. What do you think of Seidelhoff’s latest claim that using a copper cauldron can stabilize the brewing of the Draught of the Living Death sufficiently to enable mass production? Do you think such a feat – if independently confirmed – could be the first step in weaponization of the potion?”

Snape opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Who – who are you?” he finally gasped.

“Brunhilde Zeeman, senior editor, Potions Weekly, European Edition,” she said calmly, offering her hand again.

Snape blinked rapidly. Gorgeous. Smart. Acerbic. Potions expert. Perhaps Black really was trying to make up for his past behavior.

And even better, while social small talk frightened him nearly as much as a Dementor, when it came to potions, his confidence was unshakeable. He took a deep breath and felt his nervousness melt away. “Well, Madame Zeeman,” he said, tucking her arm into his elbow and continuing to stroll after Sirius and Ursula, “I suppose if Seidelhoff could be trusted to know the difference between a copper cauldron and a pewter one, his theory might be intriguing, but as he has the brewing skills of a blast ended skrewt, it’s somewhat difficult to believe he can successfully concoct the Draught of Living Death, let alone modify it.”

“Ah, but he’s been working with Ramirez for the last three months,” she countered swiftly.

“My dear woman, he could have been working with Salazar Slytherin for the last three months and his brewing skills would still have to improve to be considered execrable!” Snape retorted impatiently.

“So you don’t believe that Ethlegren’s postulate can be disproven?”

“By Seidelhoff, with or without Ramirez’s assistance? Absolutely not!”

“But what about –“

Their animated argument continued through dinner and the opera. Sirius and Ursula initially attempted to turn the conversation to less contentious topics, but they quickly realized that the two were extremely happy exchanging insults and abstruse references, and they left them to it.

The end of the evening came as a surprise to Snape. He had been thoroughly enjoying the repartee with Brunhilde, and he was rather dismayed when Sirius finally began tugging on his arm. “Come on, Snape. We need to get back to Harry and Remus. It’s not fair to leave Remus alone all night with Harry. Not right now.”

Snape caught the veiled reference to the rapidly approaching full moon. While Lupin wouldn’t transform for another 36 hours, he tended to become extremely fatigued and distracted as the time approached, and it was neither safe nor fair to leave him alone for an extended period of time. Not when his charge was a curious 11 year old who was also the target of Death Eaters. “Yes,” he agreed regretfully. “Ah, erm, thank you for a lovely evening, Madame Zeeman,” he said, his awkwardness returning as he sought to make his farewell to Brunhilde.

“It was my pleasure, Potion Master Snape,” she replied gravely, but the twinkle in her eye rivaled Albus’.

“Er, perhaps I could see you again?” he asked hopefully.

She gave him a genuine smile. “I’d like that. And perhaps next time we won’t need to be accompanied by the traveling snogfest?” she suggested, glancing over to where Ursi was giving Sirius a very passionate good night kiss.

“Erm, yes,” he coughed, redfaced. He hastily looked away from the groping hands and wished he could cast a Muffliato to silence the loud groaning and moaning.

“I had a very nice time,” Brunhilde continued. And suddenly her hand was on the back of his neck and her lips were coming up to meet his own and… Snape’s world disappeared in a blaze of lights and sensation.

When he came back to himself, it was to find Sirius’ arm around his shoulder, propelling his stumbling feet down the boulevard. “Urgle. Glip,” he gasped to Black.

“Yeah, they’re some kissers, those Zeeman girls,” Sirius agreed happily, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “So you liked her, right?”

“Smlpff. Grxnl.” Snape’s eyes were still slightly crossed.

Black grinned. “Happy Christmas, Snape.”