The next morning, Harry was perfectly fine, his stomach was back to normal, and he was raring to go outside and fly some more. He woke up his poor father twice asking if it was time to go flying yet, until the exasperated Severus threatened to take the broomstick away and not return it until Harry was fifteen if he didn't quite waking him up at six AM on one of the rare days Severus had where he could sleep a bit later than usual.

Today was Wednesday, and on Wednesday he didn't have office hours, but had brewing hours instead. This was the day he brewed up prescriptions for patients if he didn't have them or made new batches of common healing potions for St. Mungos, like Pain Relievers, Stomach Soothers, Calming Draughts, Anti-Nausea Drafts, Fever Reducers, and Muscle Relievers. Today he was making up a Stress Relieving Elixir for Mrs. Barnes, a lady who suffered from anxiety attacks, and a Rash Away Salve for another patient with eczema, and a batch of dandelion-chamomile tea for several of his new mothers who had colicky babies or babies with chronic diarrhea. All of that would take half of a day to brew, but afterwards Severus would be able to take Harry outside and fly with him for a while before supper and bathtime and bed.

He allowed himself to sleep in until nine, which was as late as he could permit, given the potions he had to brew. Luckily none of them were all that difficult, simply a bit time consuming, especially the tea, which had to steep for several hours in order to gain the full effectiveness. He would start that one first, and then begin brewing the others according to the length of time they needed to simmer or steep.

When he rose and dressed, putting on his black Potion Master's robes, since he would be working in the lab and needed the protection spells that were woven into that particular set of robes, Harry came and tapped on his door. "D-a-a-d! Are you up yet? I'm hungry!"

"Give me a minute, Mr. Impatience and I'll be right out." Severus ordered, doing up the last set of buttons.

When emerged from the bedroom, he found his son in the hallway, dressed in his favorite pair of blue denims and a shirt with a picture of a silver snake on it that said Snakes Rule! His little trainers were untied and Severus knelt to tie them before his son tripped and ended up face first on the ground. "Come on, brat," he teased. "Let's comb that mop of yours and then we can have some breakfast."

Harry pouted, his lower lip sticking out adorably. "Don' wanna comb my hair."

"I wasn't asking." Severus stated firmly, familiar with his son's dislikes, and at the top of that list was having his hair cut and combed. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and steered the sulky boy into the bathroom, set him on the counter, and began the arduous process of trying to bring order to Harry's hair, which was wild and forever getting tangled and sticking up all over. Even trimmed, it refused to behave.

The five-year-old squirmed. "Ow, Daddy! You're pulling!"

"Harry, sit still." Sev ordered, trying to untangle a clump of hair at the back of his son's head that looked like it had gotten frosting in it.

Harry wriggled, wincing. "Daddy, oww!" he cried as Severus dragged the comb through a rather knotted part. "I hate getting my hair combed! I hate it!" He kicked the counter angrily.

"Harry James Severus, that's enough!" Severus snapped. "If you'd quit fussing, I'd be done already." He caught his son's foot as Harry started to swing it again. "Stop it, young man, or else you'll get fifteen minutes in time out." He resumed the dreaded chore, wetting his son's unruly hair with water in a vain attempt to make it lie flat.

Harry sulked and sniffled, muttering something about his father being mean. Severus ignored him, finally succeeding in taming the wayward ebony locks somewhat, enough so Harry didn't look like he'd gotten electrocuted. "There! Done." He set Harry on his feet. "What would you like for breakfast, scamp?"

Harry shrugged. "Umm . . .bacon and pancakes, I guess. Then can we go flying, Daddy? Please? Please?"

"We'll discuss the rules for flying after breakfast," Severus said, shepherding his son into the kitchen.

Harry quickly got the silverware and the plates while Sev cooked the bacon and the pancakes. The little boy carefully set the table, putting out the butter and syrup as well as the container of milk. Severus insisted Harry drink plenty of milk, and he usually had tea in the morning.

Severus levitated the plate of pancakes to the table and then the bacon. He cut up Harry's food, poured the child a glass of milk, and then fixed his own plate. He ate leisurely, not having to rush for once.

In contrast, his son practically inhaled his food, eating so quickly that Severus had to tell him to slow down. "Chew and swallow, Harry, before you choke."

"I am, sir," his son muttered through a mouthful of pancake.

"No talking with your mouth full either." Sev reprimanded, resuming his own breakfast. He knew quite well why Harry was speed eating, and was determined that his son learn that rushing wouldn't get him anywhere.

Once breakfast was done and the dishes washed, dried, and put away, Sev and Harry went into the den, where Sev proceeded to explain the rules for broomsticks, which he had invented just last night.

"Rule number one, you never ever go flying without an adult-specifically an adult you know, like me, Uncle Sirius, or Uncle Remus.

"Rule number two, you never leave the yard while flying.

"Rule number three, no tricks or fooling around while you're on the broom. You fly safely and sitting up straight.

"Rule number four, no friends are allowed to fly or borrow your broom unless I allow it.

"Are you clear on all those rules, Harry James Severus?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll have you repeat them for me in a minute. Now then, the consequences for breaking those rules are as follows: For breaking rules number three and four, you'll get your broom taken away for a weekend at least, plus a twenty minute time-out. For breaking rules number one and two, you'll get your broom taken away for a week at least, be grounded, and get a spanking."

Harry gaped at him. "You'd really spank me?" he repeated, for spankings were rare in his house. The last time he could recall getting spanked he had been three.

"I would, because if you leave the yard or fly without an adult, you're risking your life, and that is not going to be tolerated by me, little boy." Severus said sternly. "And here's my rule for a spanking, no more than six swats with my hand only. Except if you fight me, I'll add another one. I'll probably never spank you on your bare behind either," the Healer added, recalling the awful days of his childhood, when his drunken father had whipped his bare backside with a belt for just about everything. He had vowed when he became Harry's father that his son would never know the pain and abuse he had growing up, and so he was wary of using physical chastisement, and in fact almost never did so.

However, he fixed his son with a stern glare and said, "So do yourself a favor, Harry, and don't break any of those rules. I want you to enjoy your broom, but I also want you to be safe, scamp. Too many little children get hurt because they don't follow safety rules and I don't want you to end up in the hospital. Understand?"

"Yes, Daddy. I get it." He gazed at Severus hopefully. "Now can we go flying, Dad?"

Severus considered. He really ought to start his brewing now, so he wasn't up all night, but Harry had a way of using his eyes-eyes that were reminiscent of his late wife-that always tugged at the Healer's heartstrings, and Severus found it very hard to resist them. "Very well, scamp. We'll go for a short flight, only fifteen minutes, though, because then I have to get busy making potions. Go get your broom."

Harry practically leaped off the couch, yelling, "Yippee, we're going flying!"

Severus just shook his head, for it seemed that Harry had been bitten by the flying bug. He wondered how long it was going to last, and feared that if he were anything like James, it would never leave, and he would be obsessed with flying forever.

Severus enjoyed a good flight himself, but it was not paramount he be on his broom night and day, the way it had been with James Potter, who flew everyday, rain or shine, unless he was too badly injured to get out of bed. James had intended to try out for the national Quidditch team once Voldemort had been defeated, but unfortunately, he had died before he could realize that dream.

Harry returned a few minutes later, smirking like the Chesire Cat and holding his Jetstream. "Okay, Daddy, I'm ready!" he was practically walking on air.

Severus gave him a smile and summoned his own broom, a classic Lightningstreak, from the closet by the door. "Let's go, imp."

Harry bolted out the back door, yelling like a banshee.

By the time Severus got outside, Harry was holding the broom horizontally and looking up impatiently at the house. "Can I get on, Dad?"

"Yes." Severus said, watching as the little boy threw a leg over the broom and sat down easily. Ah, Padfoot was right. He's a natural born flyer, Merlin help us all. Now I'll have to watch him like a hawk, because he'll be wanting to fly night and day. The Healer mounted his own broom, then told Harry to hover, watching how the Jetstream behaved until he was satisfied the broom had the regulation safety charms upon it-meaning it would never go higher than ten feet and no faster than a golf cart, and if a child fell off, it would create a protective bubble about the child and the broomstick to prevent serious injury.

"Okay, Harry. Let's see some nice circles." Severus ordered, and began flying slowly in a large loop about the yard, Harry flying next to him.

The little boy was not the slightest bit nervous or afraid, Severus noted with a flash of pride. He handled the broom as if he'd been flying since he was born, and Severus allowed him to go a bit faster than he normally would with a first time flyer, and also showed him how to do small corkscrew spirals.

"Whee! This is so much fun!" Harry cried, spiraling up and down and then circling. He loved the feel of the wind in his hair and all around him, and the sensation of being above the earth and able to see for miles. Well, he could see four houses down the end of Aspen Avenue.

But all too soon, the fifteen minutes Severus had allotted were up and Harry had to land and put his broom away, since his father had potions to brew for his patients. The youngster dragged his feet as they headed inside, for the last thing he wanted to do was to quit flying, but he knew that if he made a fuss, Severus wouldn't take him flying again this afternoon.

Severus paused at the door to his lab, which Harry was forbidden to enter unless Severus allowed him inside, and almost never when the Healer brewed potions, since some of the fumes could be toxic to a child's lungs and trachea. "Now, I'm going to be in here for a few hours, Harry, though I'll take a break for lunch, so I want you to promise me you'll be good and amuse yourself quietly until I'm done in here. After that, we can have supper and then I'll take you on a longer flight before your bath. How does that sound?"

"Good. I wish you were done now," Harry sighed in longing.

"Time flies when you're busy, scamp." His father smirked, and ruffled his hair. "Now get, and leave me in peace."

Harry obeyed, going into his room to get his favorite stuffed panther, Inky, and climbing onto his bed and reading one of the new books Uncle Al had sent from Hogwarts for a present. It was called The Tales of Beedle the Bard and though some of the stories were a bit beyond Harry's five-year-old comprehension, he found he could read the beginning tales without too much trouble.

He read happily for about an hour and a half, then set the book aside for Severus to read later at bedtime-it was a long book-and went to play with his new toys and Inky for a bit. Then when he grew tired of that, he opened his new art set and proceeded to draw a bunch of pictures for both his uncles and his father.

Yet all the time he was doing so, he felt the urge to run to the closet and get on the Jetstream. His first taste of flying had been wonderful and he couldn't wait for more. His palms itched to hold the handle of a broomstick instead of a crayon and he wondered how much longer it was going to be before lunch.

Finally, lunchtime arrived, and Severus came out of his lab to eat something and fix his son something as well. "I see you've been busy drawing, son." He said upon seeing the stack of drawings beside his plate. "All these, for me?" There were six pictures, some of Harry and himself and some with Padfoot and Moony, but the common theme in all of them was that they were all flying. "Thank you, Harry. They're excellent. Maybe you ought to become an artist when you grow up."

"Nope. I wanna play Quidditch, so then I could fly all I want." Harry disagreed.

Severus bit back a groan and prayed that Harry would change his mind once he was older. He'd patched up James from far too many injuries to ever encourage Harry to take up Quidditch as a profession. He quickly fixed the new pictures to the "art wall" which was a big wall in the kitchen where Harry posted all of his art work, then said, "Any requests for lunch?"

"Yeah, I want peanut butter and grape jam, Daddy. And apples too."

After lunch, Severus returned to his lab for the final stages of the brewing process, which was crucial to the potions, and Harry was told to play for another two hours and then Severus would take him flying.

Harry shuffled his feet impatiently. Two hours was so long! Practically forever! And he didn't want to draw, or read, or do anything like that any longer. What he really wanted to do was fly.

He resisted the lure of the broomstick for as long as he could, then he gave in when he saw some kids a little older than he was flying as he watched through the kitchen window. Tempted, he fell and went and got the broom from the closet.

Bad idea, Harry. Bad idea, his conscience scolded, but Harry ignored it and caressed the handle reverently. All he had intended to do was hold the broom, but once more temptation reared its head and suddenly he found himself outside in the backyard, the broom tucked under an arm.

He stood there, looking around and spotting the same group of youngsters, they looked to be about seven and eight, flying casually on their brooms.

"Hey, kid!" said one, flying down and hovering just above Harry's head. "Where'd you get the Jetstream? That's prime, that is!" The speaker was a blond haired boy around eight, and he was eyeing the Jetstream longingly.

"My uncle gave it to me for my birthday," Harry answered. "My name's Harry."

"Jasper Malone. The blond haired little girl off to the right's my sister Jenny and the other two kids are Ollie, he's got dark brown hair and Mark, he's the one in the red T-shirt." Jasper introduced the others, then looked at Harry and said, "You're Healer Sev's kid, aintcha?"

"Yeah, that's right. Why?"

Jasper shrugged. "No reason. "Cept your dad's my Healer. He fixed me after I crashed my broom six months ago. So, d'you want to come flying with us, Harry?"

"I . . .uh . . ."Harry bit his lip, for he wanted to go flying more than anything. "I promised my dad I wouldn't fly without him."

"Oh, too bad then." Jasper shrugged.

Then one of the other boys chimed in, "Aww, poor little baby. You have to hold your daddy's hand."

Harry felt himself flush. "I'm not a baby."

"No?" taunted the dark-haired boy. "Then why dontcha come flying with us? I'll tell you why, ‘cause you're too much of a coward. Coward crybaby!"

"Stop it, Ollie! He doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to." Jenny cried.

Harry was struggling to keep his temper.

"Aww, does the wittle baby want his baba?" laughed the other boy.

That did it. No one called Harry Potter a coward crybaby. "Shut up!" he yelled, hopping on his broom. "I can too fly with you! Just watch me." He kicked off from the ground and hovered beside Jasper. He was so mad that he totally forgot Severus's rules and quickly followed the older boy when he departed. He was determined to prove to these big kids that he too could fly just as good as they could, maybe better.

The Jetstream glided up about ten feet and then would go no further.

Jasper raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Safety charms, eh? Well, that figures, you're only little."

"I'm five!" Harry snapped, indignant. "I go to school, I'm not a little baby."

"We're seven and Jazz is eight," said Jenny, smiling. "Come on, Harry, let's go for a flight ‘round the block."

"Okay," Harry agreed. He prayed Severus just kept brewing and didn't check up on him the way he usually did.

Then he turned about and followed the other kids, their brooms might be able to go farther and faster, but his was a rare breed, and expensive and without the safety charms the Jetstream could outfly any of their brooms any day of the week. They were just jealous they weren't flying a Jetstream, Harry thought, flying next to Jenny, who seemed nicer than the other two boys.

"Where are we going?" he asked her.

"Around. We can't leave the neighborhood, but we're allowed to go through it," she explained. She gazed at Harry's broom in longing. "Race ya?"

Harry nodded, and soon the two were engaged in a playful race, chasing each other through the clouds and laughing at the way the wind tickled their cheeks. It was great fun.

The boys soon caught on and insisted on racing too, but after twenty minutes, they tired of that game and went looking for something else to amuse themselves. Below them in a yard was an old woman, hanging out laundry on a clothesline.

"Let's play a prank on that old witch," suggested Mark. "She's always yelling at us to keep off her grass and not trample her petunias, the dried up old stick."

"What did ya have in mind?" asked Jasper.

"Just stealing some of her panties," snickered Mark, pointing to some rosebud ones flapping in the breeze.

"Capital, mate!" cheered Ollie.

"I don't understand. What do you want an old lady's panties for?" Harry asked, confused.

"For the prank, silly! Duh!" snorted Ollie. "We'll ditch ‘em when we come to a pool of water or whatever and throw ‘em in."

"But how will she find them?"

"Who cares, that's not our problem." Jasper shrugged. "You in or out?"

"Umm . . ." Harry thought and wished that he could say no and not be thought a coward. But the other boys were looking at him and Harry knew that he would never live it down if he said no. "Okay, I'm in."

"Good. Now, you go down and snatch the panties from the line, you're the smallest and probably the fastest as well," ordered Jasper.

Harry gulped and prayed that he wouldn't be arrested for stealing. Except it wasn't stealing since they were going to give it back, Harry rationalized. Or leave it where she could find it. His hands tightened on the handle of the mahogany broom. Then he waited till the woman was gone before he darted over there and snatched a pair of rosebud panties from the line and flew up waving it triumphantly in the air.

"Yes! I got it!"

The old woman came out of the house, shaking a fist at them and calling them all kinds of rude names. They ignored her and flew away, laughing.

A few feet further on they came to a small fountain, a birdbath really, in someone else's yard.

Jasper directed Harry to let the panties go into the water, and Harry did so. Luckily, they floated around. "You done good, kid," he said approvingly. "C'mon, let's beat it, before somebody notices us."

They flew several loops and spirals, and then had fun flying inbetween the trees and over people's houses, though Harry couldn't go that high and had to circle around. They went down by the old hermit, Mr. Pritchard and made his stupid rat terrier go nuts when they swooped over it.

Ollie had a package of dungbombs and they tossed them in old man Spinner's yard, he had some nasty big dogs and had once beaten Jasper with a stick for trespassing on his property. "Payback, ya bloody old fart!" the boys cheered when the bombs went off, though they made a terrible stench and Harry thought he was going to barf right there. He quickly flew out of range, accompanied by Jenny, who also was a bit green. The dogs whined and rolled in the dirt, plainly affected by the horrid smell.

The wizard himself came out, all hunchbacked, wearing a tattered old robe, shaking his staff at them and yelling, "Clear off, ye hooligans, afore I tan yore hides, ye bloody nuisances!"

The boys jeered at him and then flew off, laughing.

Next they visited Meliora the Mystic's house, it was a tall blue building with white trim and had windchimes all over that tinkled sweet and eerie melodies and crystals and feathers hung in the trees.

"She talks to dead people," Jasper told Harry in a hushed tone. "Can see spirits n'stuff. She can tell when you're about to die."

"An' her cat can walk through walls," Jenny added, shivering dramatically.

"Are you gonna prank her?" Harry asked uneasily.

All of them shook their head. "No way! She could set her haunts on us if we did that!" Mark hissed.

""Sides, she's nice, she gives us sweets and cookies," added Ollie. "Though she looks kinda weird, like she ain't all there. Wears a long blue dress like they did in the Middle Ages and her hair's long too, blond and wispy and she's got a big joo-wel on a chain round her neck so's she can talk to the spirits."

They flew twice round her house and tried to peek in the windows, hoping to see some ghosts, but they were all covered by beaded curtains and lace drapes.

Harry had never known there were so many interesting people in his neighborhood, for he had never roamed around it without an adult.

Harry was having the time of his life, hanging out with the big kids, and had quite forgotten the time and the fact that Severus would be boiling mad when he discovered his son missing. He had never been invited to follow the older kids before, and found it a once in a lifetime opportunity. He felt extremely grown-up and happy that they allowed him to stay, until they came to a large grassy area which Harry recognized as the park he and his dad sometimes went to.

Suddenly, Jenny looked up and cried, "What's that big black thing coming at us?" She pointed to the sky.

Harry squinted and could just make out the familiar figure, still wearing his Potion Master's robe, and Harry felt his heart plummet to his shoes. "That's my father," he told his new friends, swallowing hard.

"Uh oh. He looks mad enough to spit fire, Harry," Jenny said, trembling a little.

"Yeah, bloody hell, but you're dead, Snape," Jasper said commiseratingly.

Harry said nothing, he wanted to turn around and fly away as fast as he could, but he was too afraid to move, so all he could do was watch as the dark figure of his very irate father zoomed toward him, looking as if he was going to strangle his son.