1978

“My deepest sympathies, Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Sympathies? Severus wanted to sneer. Sympathies for what, exactly? That my father didn’t die years ago, perhaps before he broke my nose?

“Thank you, sir,” Severus said to the expectant headmaster. Dumbledore smiled kindly.

“As soon as you can gather your things, I will Apparate you home. Your mother is expecting you as soon as possible.”

“That will not be necessary, sir.”

Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow behind his spectacles. “You haven’t yet managed to Apparate as far as Snape Manor, have you?”

“No, sir,” Severus answered, technically in truth. He had never had any reason to Apparate to his father’s home since he’d acquired his license, though he had Apparated distances that would have been equally as far. “I will not be attending the funeral.”

Dumbledore’s expression didn’t change; he folded his aged hands on the desk. Severus stiffened, readying himself for the arguments he knew would be forthcoming.

“I do not blame you for not wanting to attend your father’s funeral,” Dumbledore said with a solemn nod; Severus did not relax his posture. “Among pureblood wizards, it is a grave dishonor for a child to snub his parent’s final parting, is it not?”

Severus said nothing, knowing the headmaster already knew the answer.

“I know there was no love lost between you and your father, and I know you have no wish to see your mother either.” Dumbledore stood up and came to stand in front of his desk—right in front of Severus. “And neither do I disagree that you are right to feel the way you do, Severus,” he said gently. “I have spent the past three years doing all that I could do to help you distance yourself from your father’s influences.”

Severus wished he could turn away from the caring blue eyes.

“I ask you to reconsider, however,” Dumbledore went on quietly. He held up a wizened hand when Severus would have interrupted. “Not for Tobias or Eileen, but for you, Severus.” He placed a hand on Severus’ shoulder, and Severus had to force himself not to flinch away. “You need to allow yourself to grieve, in whatever form it may take—even if only to mourn the father you wish you had had.”

Severus could feel his fingers trembling against his robes. When he didn’t offer a dissent, Dumbledore nodded and let his hand fall.

“I will remain with you through the funeral, of course, as it will no doubt be attended by man y of your father’s associates.” Dumbledore said the word delicately, as if Severus was still as innocent as a first year Hufflepuff.

“Thank you, sir,” Severus said as politely as he could manage, “but I will not be attending.”

“Severus-” Dumbledore began gently.

“I will need to send a reply to my mother immediately,” Severus said, as if that task itself would cause him pain. He looked pointedly at his mother’s letter, still in Dumbledore’s hand.

Dumbledore hesitated before giving it over. Severus tucked it into his pocket without looking at it.

“Perhaps after you’ve had the night to sleep on it,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“No sir,” was all that Severus said, his voice crisp, and probably a tad impatient as well.

Dumbledore stared at him for long minutes, his eyes conveying disappointment as only he could. “I’ll be in my office all morning, should you change your mind,” he finally said.

Severus nodded, not meaning it all; if he could help it, he would never step foot on his family estate again.

Twenty minutes later, Severus was standing on the top step of the Owlery, staring at the sun as it dusted red on the horizon.

He turned his head at the sound of familiar laughter from below. He watched as two forms crested the hill from the gamekeeper’s hut. Unmistakable hair—darkening to crimson in the waning light, alongside the equally unmistakable unkempt black head of hair that could only belong to James Potter. Severus’ jaw tightened as his eyes zeroed in on Lily’s small hand, which was tucked in Potter’s as they navigated the large rocks atop the hill.

Lily looked up as she straightened; their eyes connected and a smile immediately lit Lily’s face. Potter’s head came up as well; his face darkened. Lily tugged her hand from Potter’s, said something which Severus had no hope of hearing. Potter nodded, responded—all while scowling at Severus—and then turned and kept on walking toward the castle. Lily, still smiling, jogged toward the Owlery.

Severus went back to staring toward the horizon, his entire body tense. He didn’t relax, even as Lily’s arms came around his waist.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked softly as she stretched to kiss his neck.

Severus pressed his lips together.

“Sev?”

“Why were you with Potter?” he finally asked; thoughts of his parents were easily pushed aside.

“I wasn’t with James,” Lily said, her lips still against his hair. “He delivered something to Hagrid while I was visiting.” She slipped around so that she was facing him. “Were you sending a letter to someone?” she asked when Severus didn’t move.

The sun was just dipping below the horizon; Severus could see the twinkle of candlelight from Hagrid’s small hut.

“You were holding his hand.” The stiff accusation felt foreign on his lips, but the dull ache of anger in the pit of his stomach was beginning to consume him.

Lily’s hands found his face again; this time they tilted it down so that Severus had no choice but to look at her. The deep emerald of her irises was even more beautiful in the twilight.

“He was helping me over the rocks, Sev,” she said quietly—firmly. “Now, what’s going on?”

Anger he couldn’t place made way for inexplicable betrayal which had nothing to do with the woman in front of him, but the feeling was so raw, Severus didn’t know what to do with it; he could feel his lips scowling—the line of his jaw firming as he gazed down at Lily. Lily frowned as she took in his expression. Her hands dropped.

“I hope you don’t expect me to apologize for being with James,” she told him, anger in her voice now as well. Severus did not expect that, but he said nothing. Lily’s scowl almost certainly matched his by now.

She turned away; the anger slipped silently toward fear.

Severus reached his hand out; his fingers brushed against Lily’s.

“Lily…”

Lily’s fingers tightened in his even before she had fully turned back.

“I-” Severus’ fell silent; unable to apologize, or to explain. He shouldn’t feel anger. Not for his father’s death. There should be no grief. He hated Tobias now—today—as much as he always had.

Lily stepped toward him, her other hand coming up to caress his face; her frown was full of concern now. “What’s wrong?”

Severus closed his eyes at her touch, relief flooding him; he did not deserve to be treated so well.

“Sev?”

Severus drew a long, slow breath through his nostrils; wondering, as he did, if it would have felt different through a nose that had never been broken. He opened his eyes and looked down into Lily’s worried eyes. “My father died.”

Without a word, Lily put her arms around his neck, and tucked herself close. Severus’ eyes opened as his arms came around her, fitting her to his chest as tightly as he could. Lily didn’t offer any inane, meaningless platitudes. She didn’t ask him if he planned to go to the funeral, or insist that he must allow himself to grieve. Instead, she stretched up on her toes and buried her lips against his neck, kissing him tenderly. And then she simply held him, her fingers imparting comfort in his hair, and against his back.

They stayed on the top step of the Owlery long after the sun set.

And they stood there again in the morning, with Lily’s arms securely around him, while Severus’ father was laid to rest, many kilometers away.

--

1997

While things hadn’t exactly been strained between Harry and Severus since yesterday, Harry thought he’d never known his father to be quite this quiet. He’d brewed through most of the previous evening, and as Harry came into the sitting room, well past ten o’clock the next morning—Severus hadn’t woken him—with his hair damp after his morning shower, he could see his father was once again hovering over a misty cauldron; Severus didn’t look up at Harry’s footfalls.

Hesitating only briefly, Harry went to the Floo and ordered breakfast for both of them. The food arrived on the table moments later. Harry stood in the doorway for several silent minutes as he watched his father; he was involved in an extremely complicated series of alternating slicing, plopping and stirring. When Severus finally set the glass stirring rod down, and looked up, he seemed surprised to find Harry watching him.

“Morning,” Harry murmured. “I ordered breakfast for us.”

“Good morning.” Severus glanced over Harry’s shoulder at the clock on the mantel, before taking several vials off the counter and upending them simultaneously into the bubbling cauldron. “I had breakfast several hours ago,” he said as he sent the empty vials to the sink.

“Oh.” He should have realized, since it was so late. But this was the first time since he’d moved into his father’s quarters that they hadn’t shared their morning meal, unless of course they’d both eaten in the Great Hall.

Harry watched Severus stir eleven times clockwise, and four times counter-clockwise before he said, “I guess I’ll go eat then…”

Severus nodded, still concentrating on the potion.

Knowing he was being overly sensitive, and not particularly caring, Harry frowned at the top of his father’s bent head. When no other comments were forthcoming, he turned and went over to the table, ignoring Levi’s curious prods to his neck.

Harry sat there, poking at his crumpet with the knife he’d used to slather it with raspberry preserves. Levi was alternating his gaze between Harry and the lab, where Severus was now pounding something in a mortar.

Harry wanted to bring up his father’s mum again—his own grandmother. What an odd thought…

But when Harry had tried to broach the subject last night, Severus had been unusually curt—again, and since Harry wasn’t anxious to be snapped at for a third time, they’d gone the remainder of the night in near silence. It looked like today was to be more of the same.

He was suddenly at lot lonelier for Ginny. Even Ron in a temper would be welcome. And if Harry hadn’t thought that his father would say no, he would have asked to visit Hermione again. Perhaps he could ask Remus or Dumbledore to Apparate him there. Hermione’s house really needed to be connected to the Floo Network…

Once his crumpet was hacked to pieces by the jam-swathed knife, Harry pushed his chair away from the table. Levi growled in protest when the food was whisked away by the elves—including Levi’s plate of fruit. Harry sighed and ordered another plate for his familiar. This time, Levi secreted away to his cave, carrying as many slices of melon in his claws as he could manage.

Harry went back to his father’s lab, and watched Severus cracking a hawk’s egg into his brew; half the shell followed suit.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly; Severus looked up, once again looking surprised that Harry was standing there.

“Did you eat?” he asked as he stirred the rapidly boiling concoction inside the dark cauldron.

“Yeah.” The two bites of crumpet he’d chewed and swallowed, surely counted. “Will you be ready to work on the inventory soon?” Harry asked. Severus glanced around at the merrily bubbling cauldrons... actually, one of the ones in the back of the room seemed to be hissing…

“I should not leave this one unattended for several more hours,” Severus said. “The inventory will keep until tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Harry tried not to allow his disappointment to show, especially when his father didn’t suggest Harry help him, though Harry knew he could have offered… “I guess I’ll go fly for a bit. Unless… you need help…?”

Severus’ eyes came up again, more swiftly than the last time. He narrowed his eyes, studying Harry. Before he could speak though, the Floo roared. Harry turned. Dumbledore smiled out at him.

“Good morning, Harry,” he said cheerfully. “How are you?”

“Well, sir.” It didn’t much matter that it was a lie.

“Excellent. Is your father available?”

Severus was already stepping around Harry.

“Ah, Severus. Wonderful morning, isn’t it?”

“It is tolerable,” Severus allowed as he stepped to the fireplace; Harry drifted toward the sofa. “Did you wish to step through, Albus?” Severus said impatiently. “I am brewing.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “No, no, that’s all right, Severus. I have a visitor, waiting to speak with you.”

“A visitor?” Severus echoed ominously.

“No need to become anxious,” Dumbledore assured. “Since you declined to see your mother, the Healer assigned to her case has come to call—to discuss your mother’s final wishes.”

Harry noticed the slight stiffening of his father’s spine. It seemed Dumbledore noticed it as well.

“Whether or not you have denounced her,” he said gently, “you are still her last living relative. You have several decisions to make.”

When Severus said nothing, Dumbledore said in a very soft voice—almost too soft for Harry to hear, “It is Margaret Blunt.”

There was another moment of silence, before Severus nodded brusquely. Harry saw Dumbledore smiling—looking vastly relieved and then the old wizard pulled his head back through the flames. Severus waved his wand at the fireplace, and ordered it to allow the healer entrance. Harry stood up, feeling suddenly very nervous to meet the woman who had known his mother so well. And who had been there at his birth—it felt almost as if Harry was as close as he could ever get to meeting his mother.

Without any fanfare or even a crackle from the green flames, a tall woman with short black hair stepped through and onto the hearth rug. Her serious features didn’t change much, even though she immediately smiled when she saw Severus.

“Severus-” Her voice was deeper than Harry would have expected it to be. “-it is good to see you again. How are you?” Her voice was perfectly warm and friendly, but she made no move to shake hands; she didn’t even step off the rug.

Severus inclined his head. “I am well, Healer.” Blunt looked amused at the formal address, but she said nothing. Severus turned to Harry. “This is Harry.”

“Harry,” Blunt said, her light eyes matching the smile now, “I had hoped you would be here.” To Harry, she extended a hand, which Harry took. “I have been looking forward to seeing you again for some time. I was very pleased when I read that you’d been reunited with your father.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”

“Albus removed the charm, I presume?” Severus inquired. When Healer Blunt nodded, Severus said to Harry, “Albus placed Healer Blunt under a charm that would not allow her to speak of what she knew.”

“You would be surprised at how often the subject of Harry Potter came up—even as far removed as I was in the United States,” the healer said. Harry wasn’t particularly surprised. The little group of three turned at an excited squawk from the corner.

Levi soared from his cave in the corner of the room and landed on Harry now-open palm. He was purring loudly as he stretched his neck out toward Blunt. Blunt stroked his neck, just as Harry always did. “Hello again,” she said in a soft voice—soothing in a way that Harry often associated with Pomfrey. “Daniel told me that the kylaria had chosen you,” Blunt said, looking up from Levi.

“He seems to like you well enough,” Severus commented.

Blunt smiled. “He and I got along perfectly well, but without any sort of connection.”

“His name’s Levi,” Harry supplied. Levi turned his head, and as gracefully as always, he hopped onto Harry’s arm and walked up to his favorite perch atop Harry’s shoulder. He curled his tail around his body.

“After the biblical Leviathan,” Blunt surmised, her voice full of approval. “I think you’ll find him an adequate protector.”

Harry didn’t know about that, but he was fond of the kylaria nonetheless. He tickled Levi’s spine before focusing on the healer again. “Daniel said that you and my mum were friends.”

“Yes, we were. I was a year ahead of Lily at Hogwarts, but after my first year, I was the only Gryffindor girl in my year—the other girl transferred to Beauxbatons before our second year. I bunked with Lily for six years.”

“You knew her fairly well, then,” Harry said eagerly. Blunt smiled kindly at him, but Harry couldn’t miss the sadness in her eyes.

“I did. Your mother was a fine woman, Harry. Very warm… she was uncommonly kind. I can’t think of even one person who didn’t like Lily… I have several pictures of her, if you’d like to see them.”

Harry was almost certain his face would crack from the force of his smile. “I would. Thank you, Healer,” he said happily.

“You may call me Margaret,” the healer said. She glanced at Severus. “That is, if your father doesn’t mind the informality.”

“I do not,” Severus said with slight nod. “May I offer you a drink?” Severus inquired as he stepped back to allow the healer access to a seat.

“No, thank you. I’m technically working.”

Severus nodded as he indicated the chair nearest the fireplace. Margaret sat, arranging her light blue healer’s robes neatly around her legs.

“Albus told you I wished to speak with about your mother’s… rather unique case?”

“Yes, he did.” Severus turned to Harry, who was about to take the seat opposite Margaret. “You were about to go flying?” Severus asked, his eyebrow rising pointedly.

Harry blinked. Had he just been dismissed? There was definitely a note of insistence in his father’s tone, even though Margaret didn’t seem to be able to detect it.

“By all means, Harry,” she said. “This will likely be rather boring… administrative details.” She said it as though it was the worst possible way to spend a morning.

Harry straightened, glancing uncertainly at the door.

“We will be a few hours,” Severus said quietly—firmly as far as Harry was concerned.

Since he seemed to have very little choice in the matter, Harry nodded. “It was nice to meet you,” he said to Margaret—reluctantly.

“I will send you the photographs of your mother,” she assured him. She took his hand once more, squeezing the palm comfortingly. “You’ve certainly grown into the Snape features you were meant to have,” she said quietly, and Harry wondered if she was aware of what had gone on beyond the Veil all those months ago. “Lily would be very happy.”

Harry flushed, too pleased to offer any response.

“Enjoy your flying,” Margaret added as she dropped her hand. Harry nodded. He paused on his way to the door as he caught the expression on his father’s face. Or rather, the lack of expression. And Harry realized how shadowed his father’s flame was—it was nearly as stony as his father’s blank features. It reminded him eerily of the days when they were just getting to know one another, but Harry shrugged it off; his dad was obviously much more affected by his mother’s illness than he was willing to admit.

Harry smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. Severus’ features didn’t relax though; his answering smile was thin. So Harry gave up, hoping that Margaret could help—she was a healer, after all. Feeling ridiculously dejected, Harry took his Firebolt and trudged out the door.

“He is a lovely young man, Severus,” he heard Margaret say, just before the door closed. He didn’t hear his father’s response.

An hour later, Harry had decided that flying around the pitch, even with Levi taking every turn by his side, wasn’t nearly as much fun as it had been with Ron. And Ron hadn’t even been particularly good company.

His summer holidays weren’t supposed to be this way, Harry told himself, feeling mildly irritated at the prank that fate was playing on him. Finally, he was free from the Dursleys—free from Dumbledore’s credo that he remain in the protective wards, and free from Voldemort himself, and somehow he was still all alone. Well, if one didn’t count Levi.

Ginny was gone—for how long, Harry hadn’t a clue. But he didn’t want to think about that.

There was no Ron either. Hell, even when he’d stayed with the Dursleys, he had always—after the Dobby incident, anyway— had Ron to look forward to for at least part of the summer. And Hermione. He was really going to have to talk to Remus about Apparating to her house. Though, Remus was probably too busy with little Sirius—too bad his godson wasn’t a few years older—at least he’d have someone to fly with.

Maybe Dumbledore would teach me how to make a Portkey to get Hermione’s house…

Not that Harry couldn’t ask his father, because he knew he could, and his dad would almost certainly agree. But somehow, Harry didn’t think he should ask. His father was much too distracted, and Harry had no idea what he could do to help. Remus would probably know teach him. Not that Harry wanted to bother him either…

Perhaps realizing that Harry was growing restless, Levi began circling farther and farther out, moving faster and maneuvering in odd patterns which Harry followed. Every dip and roll until they were well out of the bounds of the pitch, with Harry frowning as he concentrated and tried to keep up with the tiny speed demon—Levi seemed to enjoy the slightly reckless pace even more than Harry did.

After awhile, he was flying so fast, he was just a black and golden blur, and Harry was having a difficult time keeping up with him. He grinned though as Levi dove sharply and began a tight series of spirals. Harry followed suit. His eyes widened as he saw the leafy treetops spread out below—treetops that looked like part of the Forbidden Forest. How the hell had he come so far from the pitch?

He mimicked Levi’s next complicated set of twists and spins, earning Levi’s version of an approving roar. He grinned, and then called to his familiar, “We’d best head back, Levi!”

Levi zoomed upward and out of sight.

Harry tugged sharply on his broomstick, so that he was facing once more toward the sky. He swung his head to the right, looking for Levi. A sudden pain pierced Harry’s left shoulder blade. “What…” There were several whistling sounds; Harry twisted again, trying to locate the source. He grunted as several more pricks of zinging pain jolted over his back.

There was a roar so loud that Harry flinched, even as he slumped forward over his broom handle. The trees began rushing at him—greens swirling in undignified patterns… wind biting at his cheeks, and then everything was dark.

--

Severus stood stiffly on the Owlery’s top step; staring out over the lake, not really seeing anything. He had no idea how long he’d been standing here, but he couldn’t seem to find the wherewithal to move. He could very nearly feel Lily’s small arms around his waist… her hair tickling his chin as it had done the night his father had died.

Nearly twenty years ago now…

How much simpler his life would life have been had Eileen died with him? How much more fulfilled would he be?

So many empty years wasted.

He’d tried to pay no attention to the voices clamoring for attention—voices of Lily, and more specifically, the shocked and disappointed voice of his son; Harry would not understand.

So Severus had shielded his feelings most carefully since Albus had brought him news of Eileen. Healer Blunt’s visit had brought it all to the fore, though he didn’t exactly regret allowing her to speak with him. It was her duty, after all, and Severus owed the healer a great deal—things he’d never thanked her for. And now that she knew the truth of what Severus had done, he owed her even more. She would not tell his secret—of that he was certain.

And Severus would do as the healer had asked him; it was past time to bury his hatred. And just as Margaret had said, Lily would want him to end it.

Severus closed his eyes. If only he’d had the foresight to kill his mother the first time she’d expressed disdain for Lily. The curse he’d cast on her, all those months ago, had made no difference. Though he certainly felt no remorse over what he’d done—even though his curse was contributing to her failing health. And Albus’ meddling assertions aside, he would not have regretted not seeing her again. He wished her agony until her final breath, even though that was not to be.

Severus’ clear view of the lake was abruptly obstructed by a familiar silver shape. He stepped back as Albus’ Patronus opened its beak. “Harry was flying over the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid just informed me that he crashed… well beyond the boundaries of the-”

Severus stopped listening. His wand was drawn before he’d fully spun around. His rapid footsteps—nearly running—echoed loudly as he flew down the stone steps.

He nearly crashed into both Remus and Albus as he ran toward Hagrid’s hut.

Hagrid, with Fang beside him, was waiting anxiously.

“Where did he go down?” Severus demanded. Hagrid pointed with a shaking finger toward Albus’ invisible boundary line—where the most dangerous beasts were kept at bay, far enough away from the school to keep the children as safe as possible.

“Just beyond the Golden Pool, it looks like,” Remus interjected quickly, having an intimate knowledge of the Dark Forest and its inhabitants. “I’ll Apparate you,” he offered. Severus nodded curtly as he latched onto Remus’ arm. The world turned inside out.

Severus staggered as he and Remus reappeared in the murky forest with a loud pop. Albus and Hagrid appeared right alongside. Birds scattered from the trees at the intrusion.

Severus concentrated as Remus led the way forward; he probed his son’s wisp, nestled safely in his flames’ embrace. Harry was alive, but there was no answering response. The silence stabbed at Severus.

Hagrid and Remus were scanning the dark forest, pink umbrella and wand stretched before them.

A gleaming white unicorn watched them silently, making no move to flee.

Farther on, a Thestral pawed the earth. Severus met the black steed’s eyes. They glittered as the Thestral turned his head to the right.

“Remus, turn to the right,” Albus directed from behind Severus; he dipped his head gratefully to the Thestral, who slipped back into the trees, as if he had never been there at all.

Severus crept forward behind Hagrid and Remus, wanting nothing more than to break out into a frenzied run.

“…careful…” Hagrid’s normally booming voice whispered. There was something in the dense trees ahead…glinting in the strands of sunlight from above.

With Albus at his side, Severus readied his wand. They slipped around the mossy tree trunks. Severus’ heart rate quickened. There was Harry, lying on the soft earth—a giant clawed wing curled around his chest. A black, scaly wing, that shimmered gold in the single shaft of sunlight that shone down on it, and illuminated half of Harry’s pale face.

Behind him, Remus and Hagrid gasped.

The tip of Severus’ wand touched Albus’ as Albus began to utter a Stunning Spell. A pair of radiant golden eyes found Severus’. Gentle eyes which held no malice. The golden gaze shifted to the side, and Severus’ own eyes followed. Sprawled out, its powerful jaws stretched open to attack—his great horns poised to charge— was a Minotaur. Its lower body, below the bare torso was no longer attached.

Severus turned back to Harry, and his mystifying protector. He brought his wand arm down and stepped quickly forward. The golden eyes watched him until he dropped to his knees beside his son. Severus’ fingertips brushed lightly over Harry’s cheeks and neck; he closed his eyes in relief as he found the steady thread of life beneath Harry’s skin.

There were a dozen tiny arrows lying in an untidy heap beside him.

Severus performed a quick diagnostic, and let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Harry’s blood was filled with the toxins of Wood Nymph arrows, but that would do little harm—except to make Harry have a strong desire to frolic more than usual… barefoot, most likely.

The resultant fall from his broom seemed to have caused his concussion, but otherwise, he was unharmed.

Severus looked up again. The golden eyes met his once more. “Thank you,” Severus said quietly. The black head bowed just slightly and then the air around them shivered with magic. Levi, restored to his tiny size, blinked at him several times, before slumping against Harry’s chest, his shimmering wings slack now.

--

Harry’s eyes focused slowly as he felt the brush of a cool flannel against his temple. His father’s face hovered above him.

“What happened?” Harry asked; his voice came out a little gruffly.

“You were shot with the arrows of Wood Nymphs,” Severus explained quietly, still moving the damp flannel carefully over Harry’s cheek. “You lost consciousness. And it seems you were nearly attacked by a Minotaur.”

“What?” Harry croaked. “A Minotaur? Wait… I fell from my broom?” He tried to sit up, but his dad shook his head slightly and Harry stopped moving.

“Yes. You have a concussion.”

Harry tried to take that in. “That’s all?” he finally asked; Severus smiled a little.

“It seems we know very little about your familiar.”

“Levi? Is he all right?” Harry tried to sit up again, but Severus held his arm firmly.

“Harry,” he scolded. “Be still. You have a concussion, and I need to finish cleaning the cuts on your face.” He gestured to the side of Harry’s head once Harry had obeyed. “Levi is asleep on your pillow.”

Harry shifted his eyes to see for himself. “What happened, then?” he asked, relieved that his tiny kylaria was all right.

Harry stared at his father as Severus explained that Levi had been as big as the dragon Harry had fought in his fourth year.

“He broke the Minotaur in half,” Severus said candidly, with a nod for Harry’s disbelief. “Hagrid believes Levi severed him with his tail.”

“And then he just shrunk again?” Harry asked when he finally found his voice.

“Shrink is not an accurate term. He used magic.”

Harry brushed that aside and reached out a finger to gently stroke Levi’s neck; Levi opened a groggy eye. He yawned widely and butted Harry’s fingers, a soft purr issuing from his throat. And then he settled himself back in the downy pillow and closed his eye.

“I wonder what else he can do.” Harry asked, turning his gaze back to his father with a grin. His smile faltered as he met his father’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

Severus continued the gentle ministrations with the flannel before answering. “You should not have been flying over the Forbidden Forest; it is as out of bounds as actually walking along the forest floor.”

“I know,” Harry answered, coloring a bit under his father’s stern gaze. “I didn’t really mean to fly so far out… I lost track of where I was going.”

Severus raised a disbelieving brow. “You lost track?”

“Levi and I were doing stunts… I only noticed a few minutes before the arrows struck me…” His father’s glower was only becoming fiercer.

“And you did not immediately turn back?”

“Almost immediately… after one more turn with Levi,” Harry admitted.

Severus stopped daubing the flannel; his black eyes were very serious as he pinned Harry with them. “Do not go near the Forbidden Forest again.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised quickly. Severus gazed down at him for a moment longer, before shaking his head slightly.

“You could have been killed.”

Harry said nothing, sensing his father’s dire mood.

“You very nearly were,” Severus continued in a dark tone. “Your propensity to find danger seems to be never-ending.”

Harry had no response for that either. Especially as he hadn’t meant to fly over the Forbidden Forest, and he didn’t want to explain that he’d been following Levi. Severus pursed his lips and continued his ministrations with the flannel in silence. Once he’d finished, he uncapped a jar of blue salve.

“You have several gashes,” Severus explained as he spread a thin layer of Harry’s cheeks and forehead. He brushed Harry’s hair away from his scar as he worked. He paused, and Harry studied his father’s face as Severus traced the lightning bolt with his thumb.

“Dad,” Harry interrupted the melancholy inspection quietly, “are you all right?”

Severus pulled his fingers slowly from Harry’s fringe. “No,” he said heavily. Harry’s stomach tightened.

“I really didn’t mean to fly so far out…”

But his father was shaking his head. “I know.” He recapped the jar of salve. “I am not angry,” he explained. “I have been plagued by thoughts of my mother… I did not expect to give the situation much thought.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” Severus said, sounding very old and tired; it made Harry’s heart squeeze painfully. He still didn’t know what to say.

“If you want to talk about her… or anything, I can listen almost as well as you, I should think,” he finally said, smiling a little and hoping he was covering his anxiety well.

A small smile graced his father’s lips. “A trait you inherited from your mother, no doubt,” he murmured, making Harry grin; he relaxed as his father rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “And I do appreciate the offer, but if you would concentrate on confining yourself to safer activities, that would ease my mind greatly.”

The teasing cadence kept Harry from grimacing too much. “I’ll try to be more careful.”

A nudge of agreement tickled his ear; Harry glanced at his drowsy familiar. He growled softly, emphasizing his agreement with Harry’s father.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry muttered, almost reminding the kylaria that it had been his own fault. “Can I get up?”

“If you move slowly,” Severus agreed with a hesitant nod. Levi continued to watch the proceedings with a wary eye.

--

Hours later, with Harry tucked safely in bed—yes, tucked, no matter that he was nearly seventeen and full of protests on the matter—Severus, with Remus beside him, stepped out of the Floo and into the St. Mungo’s reception area.

Healer Blunt was waiting for them.

“Remus,” the healer greeted, in much the same way she had greeted both Harry and Severus earlier—with that same, softly serious look she had worn seventeen years ago. Remus smiled warmly at her, perfectly at ease, even through the decades-gap.

“Hello, Margaret. How are you?” he asked quietly, in the muted tones best suited to libraries and hospital wards.

“Very well, thank you,” Margaret replied, gesturing for both of them to follow. “I hear that congratulations are in order. On at least three fronts.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, his face nearly lighting up, though Severus couldn’t be certain if it was for Tonks or their newborn son. “Albus didn’t have much news of you through the years, but we were all very happy to hear you’d returned.”

“I am glad to be home again as well,” the healer said with her quiet smile. They’d stopped in front of a plain brown door, just like all the other patients’ doors. Healer Blunt raised her wand, and performed a complicated Privacy Charm. “Eileen’s magic is nearly gone now. Several charms have been placed on both her person and the perimeter of the bed.” At Severus’ curt nod, she opened the door and allowed Severus to step through first.

Eileen, frail and almost wraith-like, was lying in the white hospital-issue bed near the window. The curtains were drawn; the only light came from the flickering sconce on the opposite wall.

Blunt moved away from Remus and Severus, to perform a swift diagnostic on her patient. Eileen’s eyes fluttered open.

“Eileen?” the healer questioned. “Can you hear me?”

Eileen didn’t answer, but several muscles in her face twitched.

“Your son is here to see you,” Margaret went on, her solemn tones unchanging.

Eileen’s eyes flicked toward the door; her lip curled, and Severus wished that the staff at St. Mungo’s hadn’t been so proficient in quelling the majority of the pain which Severus had inflicted on her. She should have suffered longer.

“Out,” Eileen rasped, the hatred that Severus had always seen in her eyes not dulled even as she approached her final hours.

Severus’ jaw trembled as he fought to rein in his anger. His own inescapable hatred. He turned away from the bed—from the pair of vitriolic eyes.

As he turned, he caught Margaret’s gaze. There was no judgment in her eyes, not a hint that she believed he’d made the wrong decision. How could she? She had been Lily’s best friend, and she had been with them at Harry’s birth.

Harry’s face crowded Severus’ vision then. Harry’s innocence stabbed him—both seventeen years ago when Healer Blunt had handed him to Lily, and now—more innocent than he had a right to be.

Eileen’s black eyes replaced Margaret’s light blue ones as Severus turned his head. The hatred was still there. And so was the soft warmth from Harry’s wisp. Severus raised his wand.

“Finite Incantatum,” he said quietly. He did not watch to see if Eileen’s expression changed as the curse ended. He turned away.

He did not look at either Remus or Margaret as he stepped out into the corridor.