When Ron and Hermione returned to the library, they found McGonagall and Snape sitting at the kitchen table, talking quietly over the sound of rain from outside. The house was still impressively quiet, but Hermione found it a rather pleasant and anonymous quiet. She looked out the small window of the kitchen and saw the murky grey brick out side, and in the foggy distance a number of identical roofs lined up together framed by smoke stacks. They were somewhere in what seemed to be an industrial neighbourhood of England, and Hermione got the distinct impression that this row house, tucked away snugly between a street of all others that appeared the same, gave Harry a comfortable and safe place to not be the famous Harry Potter.

Snape rose as they entered, collecting the papers he and Professor McGonagall had been working on and moving them out of sight. Ron watched from where he stood in the doorway, feeling slightly unbalanced as he stayed put, uninvited to sit down. He felt rather like he was waiting for his detention to start. Beside him, Hermione seemed to be a bit further at ease.

Snape moved with grace in the kitchen, measuring a precise amount of coffee into a filter and flipping the coffee maker on. A rich aroma started to permeate the kitchen, and Hermione noted with slight amusement that when Snape opened the fridge, that in addition to the small carton of milk from the grocery store was a row of tiny potion vials labeled and stoppered with cork. On the fridge door itself seemed to be a Chinese takeaway menu that had been stuck there with a Union Jack flag magnet. She bit her lip trying not to smile.

"Mr. Weasley." Snape said after a moment, pouring his coffee into a small blue mug.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you sufficiently assured that your friend has come to no harm?" Snape still hadn't turned to look at him, and Ron still felt stupid standing uselessly in the doorway.

"Yes, sir."

"I am well aware that Miss Granger is the most level headed out of you three, but do I have your reassurance that you will not continue to ostracize my son due to your idiotic and blind schoolboy hatred of the person you believe me to be?"

The spoon gently clanked against the side of the mug as the coffee was stirred and Ron thought of the best response. His son. Like it or not, Snape was now his best friend's father, and Ron knew that if he wanted to spend time with Harry outside of school, he'd have to interact with Snape. If Harry had spent his summer here and agreed to the adoption, there was obviously something about Snape that Ron was missing. He looked around the kitchen and glanced at the library as well. Snape seemed to be giving him time to think about his answer, and both McGonagall and Hermione were leaving him to think too.

"I've never liked you, sir." Ron answered honestly as he shifted to the side, inspecting the picture on the wall closer. The little boy in the photo had dark hair and a thin face, and while he looked to be only five or six, his expression showed an older age. The green eyes were what spoke loudest to Ron.

"But Harry does. And that will good enough for me." The admission was harder that Ron thought it would be, but Harry was the first friend he'd ever had that was truly his, and not some acquaintance of his other siblings first. Snape seemed to have taken care of Harry, and perhaps in a few months Ron would get to know another side of Snape.

"Your approval has made my life complete, Mr. Weasley." Snape drawled, finally turning and leaning against the counter as he sipped his coffee.

Make that a few years, Ron amended in his mind, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the git.

McGonagall stood up with a smile and ushered them towards the fireplace, promising that Harry would be back to school after the weekend.

.....

When Harry woke up it was past six pm, and he realized groggily that he'd slept for more than five hours. He staggered downstairs, his bare feet cold on the wood floor as he passed into the library. The house smelled delicious: warm, and homey. It wasn't a feeling Harry was used to, but his stomach certainly appreciated it.

Snape was at the table, papers and parchment spread out along the surface, his quill flying across the page as he scribbled down his thoughts. On the stove was a large stockpot filled with something that was simmering, and Harry could discern the scent of beef, onion, and gravy coming from the pot. Snape must be making stew, and on the counter was a fresh loaf of French bread to go along with the dinner.

Harry touched the coffee pot and winced when his finger hit the hot surface. He took a mug from the cupboard; his favourite striped one, and poured himself a drink before sitting down.

Snape angrily struck long scratches into the parchment, wielding his quill as if it were a knife making scars into the paper. Harry watched him from across the table, his feet tucked into the too long pyjama pants he wore, and his hands holding onto his coffee mug like an anchor.

"What did you talk to the headmaster about?" Harry asked, very little emotion in his voice.

"The weather." Snape immediately sneered, not pausing in his writing. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Harry had flinched, but did not wish to lose his train of thought by apologizing yet.

"You used to be better at lying to me."

Snape continued writing in the silence. After another few moments he stopped, holding up the parchment for inspection.

"I never used to care why I was lying to you." Snape answered finally.

"He told me he was going to ask you to kill him." Harry said it in a conversational tone, but he refused to meet Snape's eyes when the older man looked up.

"As tempting as that offer is at times, I do believe I will decline." Snape responded.

"Can you? I've always gotten the frustrating impression that Dumbledore controlled more than I could ever imagine."

Harry sounded defeated, and it was a tone Snape abhorred.

"Giving up that easily? I'd been told that you were almost sorted into Slytherin, but I suppose your survival instincts just aren't up to par." Snape sneered, but the angry tone rolled over Harry like it was nothing.

"Is this what Slytherins do then?" Harry asked, sounding unaffected again. "You yell and rant, and plot your own way of how things will plan out?"

"This is what I do." Snape answered, annoyance in his voice. "Because I do not wish for either of us to become murderers."

A heavy silence fell over the table as Harry took this in.

"But you know I will be a murderer. You've known for years I have to kill Voldemort, so that shouldn't make you this edgy." Harry pondered aloud.

"Are you talking to yourself, or do you require an answer?"

"Who else would he mean then? I won't kill him, he knows that. He knows I won't kill you. Not anymore, anyway. Not my friends...another death eater maybe?"

Snape was staring at him oddly through his monologue, looking up. His dark eyes were not meeting Harry's, but instead were resting on the scar on Harry's forehead.

"He's told you about how horcruxes are made?" Snape asked, his voice very soft.

Harry subconsciously rubbed the scar on his forehead, suddenly feeling sick.

"I'm a horcrux?" Harry asked hoarsely, the coffee in his hands forgotten.

"Your scar."

Harry sat very still as he thought about that. So far, all the horcruxes had been damaged when Voldemort's soul had been torn from them.

"Do you trust me?" Snape asked, staring intently at Harry.

The papers were still scattered around him, the smell of heavy ink over the table and dark lines were around Snape's eyes. He looked like he hadn't rested, and had been burning the candle at both ends while working on his plans.

"I guess so." Harry shrugged, still trying to figure out how he could be a walking horcrux and what the hell that meant in the war.

"No. You either do or you don't. Lupin tells you it's safe to meet him, even though it's the full moon, because he's been taking his potion regularly for the past few months, do you go?

"....Yes." Harry answered, wondering what Snape was getting at.

"If the headmaster told you to follow him to a cave, to retrieve something with him, would you follow?"

"Er..." Harry thought, wondering what the cave could mean.

"Yes or no?" Snape demanded, not giving Harry time to think.

"Yes." Harry blurted.

"Professor McGonagall sends you back to your abusive relatives for the summer, only telling you that you must. No other reason. Do you go?"

"They didn't abuse..." Harry started, puzzled.

"Yes, they did. Answer the question."

"Yes, I guess."

"If I told you to drink a vial of potion that by smell and sight you recognize to be poison, would you do it?"

"I don't...no!" Harry answered, getting frustrated.

"And if the headmaster tells you to sacrifice yourself, because it's the only way to get rid of the horcrux, would you blindly do it?"

"Ye...what?" Harry gasped, fully grasping now why Snape had yelled at Dumbledore that morning.

"No! You will not, Elliot." Snape raised his voice, standing up.

"I don't know what you want me to do!" Harry yelled back, rising as well. "First you shake your head because I'm what, a stupid trusting Gryffindor? Then you get angry because I say no to the poison? I'm supposed to trust you to poison me? And what do you mean about sacrificing for the horcrux?" Harry's head was starting to throb.

"Forget the horcrux. I want you to think before you blindly trust people. I don't want a puppet for a son, I want one who thinks of his own safety first." Snape growled. "Above all, I want you to trust that I have your best interest in mind, no matter what I say."

Harry was standing tense in the kitchen, his shirt half tucked in and his glasses perched at an angle on his nose, with his wand sticking out of the waistband of his pyjama pants. He looked every bit a lost boy, but the resignation and exasperation in his eyes was anything but.

"Come here." Snape finally said, frustrated at not getting his point across. Snape grabbed Harry's shoulders, steering him out of the kitchen and marching him across the library to the hidden staircase to the basement cellar. Before going down, Snape murmured an incantation and plunged the staircase into darkness. Harry turned towards the light in the library and started when he realized that the spell hadn't turned the lights off, it had blinded him. Harry started to step backwards but Snape was taller behind him and clamped both hands under Harry's armpits, holding him tight. Harry could feel Snape's fingers pressing against his ribs as he growled to be let free.

"Breathe." Snape commanded, holding Harry still. Harry could smell the musky air coming up from the basement as they stood at the top, and the scent intermingled with Snape behind him. Old Spice, definitely, though Harry wasn't sure if it was cologne or just deodorant, mixed with the weighted paper of the books lining the shelves behind him. Snape stayed completely still behind Harry, a solid warm wall that kept him calm as he fought his small panic at standing blind at the edge of the stairs.

After a few moments of silence Harry started to shift; the scent of potion ingredients from the cellar starting to bother him. He wasn't afraid of the cellar, not when Snape was down there brewing. It was a creepy place, small and cramped with alcoves seemingly dug out at random and filled with boxes of innocent family heirlooms next to cauldrons filled with disgusting bits of dead things Harry couldn't identify. He wasn't afraid of the cellar. He just didn't like it.

Snape started to move, pushing Harry forward towards the step and keeping his hands tight so he had a strong hold on Harry.

"No! What are you doing?" Harry struggled back, afraid Snape was going to push him down the stairs.

"Put your hands out, and feel the walls."

Harry timidly put his hands out and took a step, feeling both annoyed and comforted by the fact that Snape was not letting him go.

They made very slow progress, Harry taking the slowest steps as he navigated the rickety wooden stairs down into the colder cellar air. He stumbled once, forgetting that there was a sizable chunk in one of the steps where Snape had dropped a set of scales by accident years before. Harry had a fleeting few seconds of panic that he would fall, when the arms instinctively tightened around him and he was kept up. Once he got to the bottom of the steps and felt the cold and slightly damp stone floor under his feet, Harry exhaled a deep breath and slumped back against Snape. He still couldn't see, but he had a temporary reprieve. Snape kept walking though, pushing the still blind Harry more into the middle of the room.

"Why the hell would you make me do that?" Harry asked, his anger held tight like himself.

"Why would I make you walk blind down a set of stairs to the cellar?" Snape asked, his voice close to Harry's ear and sounding much calmer than Harry felt.

"Yes! I could have fallen." Harry struggled to turn around and Snape let him go. Harry hated himself for feeling insecure as he stepped away from Snape.

"You didn't."

"So when we're at war I'm just supposed to trust that you think I can make it down stairs blindly without killing myself? Gee Dad, what a great skill to have."

"Cut the sarcasm. Perhaps I had reason for you to come down the stairs unseen." Snape answered, his voice coming from the left of Harry and catching him off guard. Harry spun around, glaring at black air. He wanted to go back upstairs and forget this stupid lesson.

"In your first year, when your darling bookworm friend set my cloak on fire, what did you think I was doing?" Snape asked, his tone low as he circled Harry.

"Cursing my broom." Harry answered immediately, wishing the man would stay still. He was used to pitch dark from his cupboard, he told himself. This was no different. Except the cellar was quite a bit creepier than the cupboard.

"That's right. Your nasty, vindictive, unfair, evil potions teacher was cursing your broom and trying to kill you in front of the whole school. Make you fall sixty feet and crash to your death."

Harry would have rolled his eyes, but he wasn't sure if Snape could actually see in the dark.

"Alright, I get it. You were trying to save me, even though it looked like you weren't." Harry turned, losing concentration of where he was for a moment. He did not want to put his arms out and admit that he wasn't completely certain of how far from the stairs he was standing.

"Not just last June you thought I was attempting to poison you, or help Umbridge complete that task, did you not?"

Harry huffed his breath and started sliding his feet on the floor. He'd find the damn stairs himself.

"I suppose you're going to gloat and tell me that you followed us to the shrieking shack in third year purely to make sure I was safe." Harry said.

Snape scoffed from behind where he was standing, and Harry jumped out of his skin when Snape's grip clamped down hard on his arm.

"No, I wanted Black caught and Lupin thrown out of Hogwarts. Your safety was secondary that night."

The hands guided Harry in the opposite direction he was originally inching, and after a few feet his foot hit the wood of the bottom step. He still couldn't see, though he figured Snape wouldn't lift the spell until his lecture was done.

"There are times, Elliot, when I will tell you to do something that may seem ridiculous or completely contrary to what you think should happen." Snape nudged him to walk, again letting Harry use his arms as he stumbled blindly up the first few steps.

"It may seem dangerous, it may seem useless, and it may frighten you to your very core." Snape suddenly lifted Harry without warning, grasping his hips and pulling him off the stairs. Harry gave a startled shout and started struggling, scrabbling for purchase in thin air as he hung suspended in the dark, who knows how many steps up an old and unsteady staircase.

" Stop." Snape growled, keeping a tight hold on Harry even though he was squirming dead weight. Harry panted, stilling as he told himself that a fall down stairs wouldn't kill him, he'd survived much worse. Somewhere in the back of his mind a stray thought was nagging at him that even when Snape had hated him, he'd never willingly let Harry come to harm.

"But you will need to trust me."

It took Harry a moment to realize that he had his sight back, and he kept his gaze straight ahead as Snape slowly lowered him back to the wooden stair, which seemed steadfastly solid in Harry's mind. Snape let him go and Harry scrambled up the steps, almost letting his wand slip out of his pyjama pants as he darted into the library and sat on the couch. Snape followed leisurely, closing the little alcove and turning to the kitchen to take the stew off the stove. Harry sat with his head down, his knees spread apart and his elbows resting on them, as Snape took bowls out of the cupboard and ladled the stew out. He placed the French loaf in the oven to warm up and soon the light yeasty aroma filled the air.

"You're cruel and sadistic." Harry muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Yes." Snape answered plainly, retrieving two spoons from the cutlery drawer.

"I am also ill tempered and pessimistic." Snape added, his brutal honesty throwing Harry off. Two small side tables appeared in the library, one at Snape's seat and one beside Harry and the settee. "And very invested in seeing you through this war."

Harry looked up and watched Snape as he floated the stew bowls over to the tables in the library. He removed the bread from the oven after a moment and cut it into small chunks.

"Did you have to scare me half to death to prove your point?"

"Did you trust that I wouldn't drop you?"

Harry didn't answer for a moment as he thought about that. He'd been panicked, he'd been annoyed, and his fight or flight body response had definitely kicked in Throughout the experience though, Snape's strong arms and grip had kept him tight, and Harry admitted to himself that they had grounded him.

"Yes."

Snape came into the living room and handed Harry a small plate of bread, the stew beside him swirling hot steam.

"The only person I've trusted enough with my survival so far has been Dumbledore." Harry muttered, dipping a chunk of bread into the stew and chewing it slowly.

"Professor Dumbledore." Snape corrected, waiting for his own dinner to cool a bit before eating it.

"And now he wants me to kill myself." Harry continued, staring at a spot on the floor. The night before he'd counted how many months he'd been alive, and how many more he figured were left. Sixteen years only equaled 192 months, and when he looked at it that way, that was a startling short amount of time. Snape rapped a book against the side table by his chair, startling Harry out of his thoughts.

"You are now the son of a potions master. Stop being melodramatic, and pay attention." He leveled a glare at Harry, and Harry sat up straighter, pulling his cold feet up on the couch.

"While you were comatose upstairs, your head of house and I had an enlightening conversation." Snape began, summoning the stack of notes he'd been working on earlier. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Harry idly rubbed his feet, before sighing and summoning a pair of woolen socks as well. The socks came sailing into the room as Snape organized his notes, and Harry snatched them out of the air.

"They match. Deal with it." Snape said, not looking up. He finally found what he was looking for, a paper he handed to Harry with the title of "mediaeval horcrux usages." The page was long and written in Snape's spidery writing, mixed with a few sentences of McGonagall's. Harry sat back on the couch with his dinner as Snape started to explain their theories.

.....

For all his years of living in rainy and gloomy England, Harry was not prepared for the bitter wind of Amsterdam in late October. He'd taken the de-aging potion again, as they'd been meeting up with Amy Benson and her family, and though Snape had shrunken a wool pea coat for him, he found himself shivering as they stepped out onto the street.

The apparition point that Snape had chosen landed them in De Kromweg, and Harry marveled at how the sunny and cheery street in the summer had turned into a pleasant and warm autumn lane, coloured leaves blown about viciously from the high winds scattered through the plentiful crevices and gutters, pictures of Hallowe'en decorations in shop windows as owners brought a bit of the English holiday fun to the Netherlands. Pumpkins were stacked in bunches in doorsteps and window displays, and as they passed by the market Harry saw large signs for sales on all sorts of pumpkin juices, pumpkin flavoured coffees, teas, pie, scones, tarts, and as they passed by the little bakery, Harry's mouth watered at the large pumpple pie in the window. A mixture of pumpkin and apple that he'd never considered for a second before, but that his mouth was watering to try now.

Snape led him quickly into De Kinderkamer, narrowly guiding them through the crowd of parents and shrieking children until they got to the boys' section of the store and were able to find a dark green scarf and old fashioned wool cap to match with Harry's jacket. Much warmer, Harry followed Snape silently through the streets and watched with great interest as the Dutch wizard and witches bartered for items with shopkeepers whom they'd been visiting for years. He let the sounds of Dutch wash over him, before tugging on Snape's pocket to ask a question.

"Why do you have one of those talking fish things, and I don't?"

Snape was walking slower to accommodate Harry's smaller legs, and didn't seem to mind that Harry preferred to hook the tiny fingers of his hand on the edge of Snape's coat pocket as they walked.

"Toddlers and small children are statistically proven to be very adept at acquiring a second language by nature of immersion." Snape answered, putting a hand between Harry's shoulders to keep him close as they squeezed through a crowded narrower part of the street. Saturday mornings were always busy market days.

Harry felt warm at the implication that Snape thought he could learn it unaided. Near the end of the street by the stationary shop, Snape knocked on a weathered and plain door next to the shop, which had the name of Wouter Van Bueren in tiny elegant gold letters on it. At the top of the stairs was a rather spacious flat with large windows that overlooked De Kromweg. The interior of the living room was a dimmer grey, the light from the cloudy day outside not quite bright enough to warm the room, and candles floated in thick glass shades throughout the room, the wax shielded from dripping over the worktables. Harry's eyes were wide as they took in the large shelves full of small pieces of rounded wood, the shapes as varied as the type of wood. On another wall of the room were organized boxes of metals, and next to that case were different slabs of marble chunks. In the center of the room stood an old man, hunched over a long work table with a funny light on his forehead as he examined a piece of steel as if it were treasure.

Taking another closer look, Harry saw that the man was carving a small family seal, for use when writing letters or authenticating documents.

"Mr. Snape." The man finally greeted, his voice a bit raspy. The Dutch accent made Snape's name sound almost like it had been pronounced as Sneep.

"Mr. Van Bueren." Snape acknowledged with a nod, stepping forward and taking Harry with him. "This is Elliot, whom I wrote to you about.'

Harry saw with a start that one of the tiny snakes he had carved, one he'd made while bored one weekend at Snape's flat in Hogwarts, sat proudly on Mr. Van Bueren's table.

"Ah." The old man answered, turning and peering at Harry with slightly crossed eyes. He had a few days' stubble on his chin and though his shirt was slightly threadbare, it looked well pressed. His smile was a bit crooked, but he had a kind look about him and appeared to be like a cheerful grandfather figure.

"The very young man with talent. Welcome to my workshop."

Harry and Snape spent more than an hour with Van Bueren, learning about the seal making trade and the intricacies of carving unique crests and designs in mirror image on rings and stamps. Harry was deeply interested, and also very touched that Snape thought he was good enough at carving to consider this as a future career. Snape was not a very demonstrative man, not in positive lights at least. He had no trouble expressing his anger and displeasure at things. However, Harry knew that even after the war was over, Snape would never be the kind of man to carry a picture of Harry capturing the snitch at a game in his wallet and show it off to other parents over casual conversation. That just wasn't who Snape was. He showed his pride in other ways, and Harry was content with that. His report card was displayed on the fridge at home, and Snape believed he was talented enough to become a seal maker, enough to have written and arranged this meeting with Van Bueren.

By the time they'd left, Harry had amassed a small folder full of information of the history of seal making and some of the processes. Van Bueren gave him some small pieces of different metals to try carving with, and made Harry promise to send him his first crest design to have made into a stamper.

Feeling slightly cheerier than he had been in the morning, Harry walked with Snape as they passed through the barrier to Muggle Amsterdam. He latched his fingers to Snape's coat pocket again and followed as they walked along the canal, waited for the long pedestrian light to cross Rokin and wander up Kalverstraat, avoiding the heavy Saturday crowd of Dutch shoppers and browsing tourists. Snape weeded through the oblivious stragglers, leading Harry to the HEMA department store outside of what looked like a small mall. They only waited for a few minutes before Harry saw a tall blond haired man make his way through the crowd, smiling and holding the hand of a young boy about Harry's size.

Jan was wrapped up against the wind, almost as well as Jeroen was, and he seemed to be in a very good mood as they stopped by Harry and Snape.

"Mr. Snape!" He greeted loudly, his accent an odd mixture of Dutch and English. He smiled down at Harry as well.

"And little Elliot again too. Hoe gaat het?" Jan asked cheerfully as he pulled Jeroen instinctively out of the way of a woman walking her bike through the crowds.

Harry regarded him carefully. How were things? Horrible. Gritty, disturbing, suffocating, unfair, and inevitable. Jeroen and Emma had not taught him much Dutch though, and he did not feel like explaining.

"Goed." Harry answered softly.

Jan smiled again and waved behind him, where Harry could see Amy Benson walking slower with Emma. While they waited to arrive, Jan pulled a small bag from his pocket and passed it over.

"I did hope your papa would bring you." Jan said, nodding at the package. Harry carefully opened it, noting that the tiny button shaped cookies were called kruidnoten, and that they smelled like Christmas ginger biscuits. Jan explained that they were his favourite holiday treats as a boy, and that it wouldn't be proper for Harry to visit Holland without trying them.

Their original plan was to go to the Blue café at the top of Kalvertoren, which Harry learned was the name of the four-story mall that they were standing outside of, but they made a small pit stop at a toy store called Bart Smit that was just around the corner first. Emma had apparently had a very bad week at school, and had been promised a small toy, along with her brother, for her good behaviour. Ms. Benson, who'd noted with sharp perception the subdued mood that Harry was in, had written him a note and told him to choose a toy as well. Harry had pretended not to be amused with Ms. Benson had scolded Snape for not offering Harry a toy to cheer him up.

When they'd finally gotten to the café, Harry was taken away by the wide view of Amsterdam that was presented. The café sat at the top of the tower, a round two floor area that had seats right up against the windows so that the entire city of Amsterdam was visible, the jagged lines of rooftops spreading out from the centre of town like bicycle spokes.

He sat at the table opposite Snape, sitting beside Jeroen and staring at the menu while his new wizard action figure and dragon figure stood stoically on the table. Harry had gone for a generic wizard instead of the Merlin one, and chosen a dark purple dragon to go along. He was listening to Jeroen and Emma jabber in Dutch to each other as they tried to decide what milkshake to get when all of a sudden he felt his finger being both nipped and poked at the same time. Harry glanced beside him and dropped his jaw with shock as he watched the wizard walk warily around the stunted dragon, his wand outdrawn. That was what had poked Harry, and it seemed the dragon had nibbled on his finger as well, as it was now licking its lips and hiccupping.

Snape wore a smug smirk on his face as Harry let out an involuntary giggle, completely ignoring the menu to watch his new toys that appeared to the entire Muggle world to just be small and stationary hand sized action figures.

It was the first time he'd seen Harry laugh all weekend, and Snape relaxed a bit in his seat while he waited for Amy Benson to pass her note across the table. The lunch had been ordered, and while Snape didn't need to spend much time with Benson to get his answers, he wanted confirmation for his suspicion about the Dark Lord's habits. He got it as the food arrived, the tall milkshakes frosting the glasses they were delivered in as he read the note.

"Tom's favourite number as a child was four. He was obsessed with collecting things in fours, four bottle caps, four books, four pens, and four post cards. You're right, when he came back from that boarding school every summer he carried himself with a superior air. They made him prefect one year, and he was more arrogant than anyone else in the orphanage that summer."

Snape nodded and made small talk for the rest of the meal. Harry happily ate his dinosaur shaped chicken strips, not even bothered when Snape shoveled part of the vegetables on his plate to Harry's. Dudley had spent years gloating about his meals out at McDonald's and other fast food places, but Harry was smug as he took a sip of his thick banana milkshake and assured himself that this was much better than the fried food that Dudley had had. His dragon, who he'd have to think of a name for soon, seemed to agree because it kept trying to nip at one of the french fries on Harry's plate.