-Severus-

Thinking of his father, of his life growing up at Spinner's End, had left Severus with more than the need to drown his sorrows with Abeforth Dumbledore. It left him, in fact, with the odd desire to re-read "The Hobbit." It was, in essence, more of a children's book than the later works of Tolkein, but when Severus had read it all those years ago, his only experience with the magical world had come from his mother. He'd flooed over to Spinner's End to pick up the book, an illustrated edition with quite surprisingly accurate representations of dragons.

Why was he already thinking of giving the book to Harry to read when he finished it himself?

However, giving Harry reading material others had written was not his first objective now. He had a letter to write, and he didn't quite know how to go about it. Should he apologize for doing something an adult had every right to do now and then? For not considering, in advance, that something that would cause both his physical and emotional state to swing so radically might indeed affect the boy as well? Who would have thought? From what Minerva and Albus had told him, Harry had not responded to the sobering potion—obviously, he wasn't really intoxicated but rather linked to Severus' own physical being somehow. And he had been fine in the morning until Severus himself had woken up and the hangover had hit him.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to swear off alcohol for life because of this. The boy would simply have to occlude next time, or he'd have to carefully time his nights out for when Harry was safely in bed.

Still, he could not help but chuckle at the boy's predicament. Kissing third years! And not getting to kiss the Weasley girl. When those two did manage to get together—and he was reasonably sure that they would before the year was out—it was bound to be explosive.

/

20 November, 1996

Wednesday

Dear Harry:

I've been thinking about this letter for the better part of two days yet I still do not quite know where to start. I certainly did not intend to take you with me, figuratively or not, while I went out for the evening on Saturday. Though certainly well aware of the connection you have developed to me, I would never have suspected that the link would yield such interesting results. Were it not for the war, and were you not the Boy Who Lived, I would immediately launch a full research project, publish it and stake my claim to fame and fortune. However, we can hardly afford fame or further notoriety now.

I cannot promise to avoid alcohol for the rest of my life—or for however long this connection between us should last—but I will certainly limit my drinking to the hours when you are most likely to be asleep, and will make use of hangover remedies instead of suffering through the aftereffects of drinking as I am more often wont to do as it serves as a reminder that actions have consequences. I believe, though there is no way of proving this, that the connection we share will endure as long as the Dark Lord endures. And if it does endure past his demise, then we shall have to make a practice of drinking together, and carefully occluding if the celebration is of a more "personal" nature.

Your exploits with the female Gryffindor population on Saturday have, indeed, reached my ears (and my eyes) from my Slytherins. I have at least a dozen photos of you which I removed from the Slytherin bathrooms. You may claim them from me at your discretion or give me instructions for their disposal. Most of these were in the girls' bathroom, stuck to the back of the stall doors, and showed you not in compromising positions with various Gryffindorettes but instead gyrating your hips inside that pink hula hoop. I very much hope you are not losing weight, Harry, for you were thin enough to begin with when I took over your care this summer. My concern arises from these photographs, in which the waistband of your jeans is clearly below your hips, inching lower as you gyrate. In fact, it is quite easy to see that your boxers are candy cane. My suggestion—next time you need a hula hoop, transfigure someone else's belt, not your own.

You did ask about my own activities Saturday night. Understand, please, that I am not obliged to share these with you. I owed my friend the barkeep at the Hog's Head a visit and, after answering your questions about my parents, I felt the need for distraction. I engaged in meaningful conversation about our new Minister of Magic with several patrons, played a game of chess with Mundungus Fletcher, which I readily won, and made an absolute fool of myself flirting with Mundungus' sister, who is older than he is and half as attractive. Not much is clear after that point, except that I do remember singing Irish drinking songs, though I cannot at this time say for certain that I actually know any.

I did not recall seeing red polish on your fingernails in class so assume you took care of that problem on your own. I hope you did not try a standard banishing spell, as that may have banished your fingernails along with polish—a most painful experience.

As for your hula hoop lesson payments—consider it required practice for when you have a chance to kiss the girl you really want. She, if what you say is accurate, has had ample experience already. You are young, Harry. Boys your age should not worry about having kissed too many girls, even if some of them were only 13. Think about it from their perspective—all their lives they will be able to say that they received their first kiss from none other than Harry Potter. Let them have that, Harry. It is a selfless gift that does you no long-term harm. This, too, shall pass and soon there will be other exploits for the Gryffindors, and the rest of the houses, to share.

I am interested in your choice of possible careers, though I acknowledge that being an Auror is still your top choice. Playing professional Quidditch may indeed fill a few years, and if you have enough brain cells left following several seasons with the Cannons or the Tornados, you could indeed embark on a long career in education. I think you would be a good teacher, and likely, by that time, Hogwarts will have forgotten all about the night that Harry Potter did the hula hoop with his red boxers exposed. A career working with or training animals is another valid choice, yet not one I anticipated. Still, it makes sense and is a viable option. You could always wrap two career choices together—first an Auror and later on Defense Professor. Or Professor of Care of Magical Creatures and then an owl trainer. Don't limit yourself yet—you are far too young to box yourself in a single career path.

As for my second question to you, I see nothing at all wrong with honoring your parents with a namesake. I must admit that I would not mind so much seeing another Lily Potter (red-headed and green-eyed) in the halls of Hogwarts. If you have a James, though, make sure that he looks like his mother and not like you or that I have retired by the time he is ready for Hogwarts. However, I am not at all sure why you would even consider using Severus as a middle name. Surely you were jesting? What would your father think of a grandchild named "James Severus?" He would be spinning in his grave.

Now, the difficult part of this letter…your questions. Why am I afraid of failure? First, let me state that the fear involved is not akin to terror. It is a different kind of fear—a fear involving the psyche. Simply put, my life is my work. Or perhaps better said, my work is my life. What, indeed, is left for me if I fail at my tasks, self-appointed or consigned to me by others? I suppose that my fear originates from the consequences of failure. If I do not have my work, will I have to acknowledge the aspects of life I do not normally acknowledge?

I suppose you are as confused as I am. However, by now you should be able to guess the answer to your other question. No, I have never wanted to have children. My position in life—and you know what I refer to—would make that inadvisable at best. In addition, I am surrounded by the progeny of others nine months of every year. I fully support others having children—it's a form of job security. But children of my own? I will hope to leave the world a cure for lycanthropy instead of a passel of Snapelets.

And now, I believe, it is time for me to pose my questions of you. I do enjoy this quite as much as pulling up memories of your mother, though that pastime is pleasant as well. You do realize, don't you, that my questions of you will dig as deeply as yours do? So, that being said, where would you live this summer if you were allowed to choose and why? What is your greatest strength and your greatest weakness?

I trust your Animagus studies are still going well. Minerva has told me that she believes you will be ready for your first transformation sometime after Christmas. Your improvement in Defense, and in your other studies, is duly noted. If you continue to spend so much time holed up in your dorm hiding from the rest of the students your grades should show even greater improvement. Don't ask how I know-–I just do.

Regards,

Severus

/

Severus rolled up Harry's homework assignment, placing it with the others on his desk. He was fairly satisfied with his response, but worried somewhat that he had given away a little too much. He hoped Harry would be distracted with all that was going on in his life and wouldn't delve too deeply into the matter.

He went into his small kitchen and made himself some tea. He was stirring in the cream when a knock sounded on his door. He wasn't expecting anyone and was surprised to see Albus in the hallway when he opened the door. When they were both settled in front of the fire, each with a steaming mug of tea, Albus revealed the reason he had sought out Severus.

"Harry and Draco had a minor altercation this evening," he began, his eyes behind his distinctive glasses more serious than usual. "Draco said some disparaging things about his parentage and Harry lost control and punched him in the nose. Draco recovered in time to send a stunner Harry's way. Harry's in the infirmary—he unfortunately hit his head quite hard when he fell after the stunner hit him. Poppy is keeping him for the night."

Dumbledore regarded Severus carefully as his face betrayed his concern.

"I'll go see him this evening, after curfew. Is Poppy keeping him all night?"

"Actually, Severus, I had hoped you would deal first with Draco."

Severus stared at the Headmaster. Of course—he was Draco's head of house. How had he forgotten that in his concern over Harry? What was happening to him to shift his priorities and turn his orderly life upside down?

-Harry-

Madam Pomfrey had kept him in the hospital wing all day on Thursday for observation. He'd ended up with a pretty serious concussion when he'd fallen on a stone plinth holding a suit of armor after Malfoy had hit him with that stunner. At least Harry had gotten in a good punch and Malfoy had a bloody nose to show for it. Since he'd been in bed all day, he'd missed all of his classes. Hermione brought him his homework assignments and his returned homework as well—complete with the anticipated letter from Severus. He sure hope it lived up to his expectations, but he had a feeling that Snape's escapades while drunk were likely much more tame than Harry's had been, and if they weren't, Snape wasn't likely to tell.

The previous night had been spent in fitful sleep as Madam Pomfrey had woken him up every two hours to check his pupils and ask him questions such as "Who am I?" and "Where are you?" The first time she woke him, he was surprised to see Severus sitting on the bed next to his.

"Minerva has assigned both you and Draco detention," Snape said, watching as Madam Pomfrey checked his pupil dilation and asked him when his birthday was. Harry jerked his head over toward Severus.

"Ow!" His head pounded mercilessly with the sudden movement.

"You'll be serving your detention with me," said Severus quietly. "Friday evening."

He'd stayed only long enough to have a quick word with Madam Pomfrey when she finished checking Harry. Still, Harry felt as if he'd been given a gift instead of a punishment.

Late in the evening, after Madam Pomfrey had finally released him and banned him from Quidditch for the weekend, only an hour before curfew, he found a quiet corner in the library and began his response to Severus' latest letter.

/

21 November, 1996

Thursday

Dear Severus:

Yes, I'm feeling much better, thanks for asking. OK, not fair. I know you wrote your letter before I got hurt and you did stop by and see me in the hospital wing last night (even if it was just to tell me that I have detention with you tomorrow night). But you have to believe me—Malfoy is an absolute prat! What he said about my mother…I can't even repeat it. Why is it always up to ME not to let him get under my skin? It doesn't help that he's an absolute prat who is UP TO SOMETHING NO GOOD!

OK, so I have that out of my system. I think. Well, at least for a little while.

You know, you're full of contradictions and I don't think you really know yourself as well as you think you do. You talk as if your only accomplishments in life are "professional." I guess by that you mean the potions you've invented and improved, and your work here at Hogwarts—ALL of it, if you know what I mean.

When I think of my own life (now and in the future), obviously work is a big part of it. But I also think of having a family, and spending time with friends, of travelling to see the world and having hobbies outside of work like playing chess or raising owlets or perfecting the hula hoop. I think it's fair to say (and don't kill me for being honest) that you act like you've given up on those other things. Maybe it's just that you take yourself too seriously, or maybe you've been so burned in the past by your friends that you don't even consider how much they can add to your life.

Honestly, until this summer, I never once thought that there was more to you than an evil git who hated my father and was determined to make me suffer for being his son. But in the last four months (I can't believe it's been so long) I've learned that there's a lot more to you than potions. You're brave, and honorable and smart. OK, you already know all those things, or I hope you do, but I don't think it hurts to hear someone else say it. I just don't think you've had the chance to get away from your "work" long enough to know what else is out there for you. When we're done with this—when the evil git is dead (the other one, not you)—I'll open up that Potter vault I keep hearing about and we can both take off and see what else is out there in the world. Personally, I'd like to go to Egypt or Greece, or maybe to Romania to see the dragons in their natural habitat. I hope you're not tired of insufferable brats by that time, because you're going to have to put up with me for a long time. You may even change your mind about kids some day after you meet that gorgeous Egyptian archaeologist or Romanian dragon handler (for some reason, I keep picturing a female Charlie Weasley, and that's kind of disturbing).

It's kind of hard to think that far ahead, actually, but I figure if I have plans for when this is all over, I'll have hope, something to look forward to.

Which kind of leads me to the answers to your questions. By the way, I'm not forgetting about the stories you promised about my mum.

OK—where would I go this summer if I could live anywhere I wanted? You can eliminate the Dursleys right away. I'm not planning to go back there to live ever again, and maybe not even to visit. Blood relatives or not, they were pathetic guardians. I don't think I'd pick the Weasleys. I love the Burrow, and I love the Weasleys too, and if something every pans out with Ginny, it would be really convenient to live in the same house. But it would be hard to find privacy there, and time to do anything uninterrupted. I'd love to spend a couple weeks there, but only if I have somewhere else to go back to. Grimmauld Place is out too—it reminds me too much of Sirius, and it's depressing. I mean, what kind of family hangs elf heads on the wall? I can see why Sirius hated that place. I wouldn't mind staying here at Hogwarts, though it would be nice to have a change for a couple months since I'm here all year. Yeah, I know, I'm putting off my answer—aren't I? I guess if I got to choose, I'd go back to Shell Cottage, and if Shell Cottage wasn't an option, someplace similar close to the sea. I'd like a hammock on a sun porch, a waterbed, a stretch of sand and some warm water. Is that too much to ask, do you think?

On to my strengths and weaknesses. Or…my greatest strength and my greatest weakness. I suppose I should take more time to think about this before committing, but I kind of know this one already.

On the weakness side, it's my impulsiveness. "Rushing in where angels fear to tred" is what Hermione said once. I let emotion control me and my reactions. I know there's likely another explanation…we talked about that this summer…I rush in because I don't even think about asking adults for help or trusting or relying on them. So maybe the weakness isn't impulsiveness but my inability to trust adults. I've also got really bad hair (if you're looking for something more physical) and my eyesight is pathetic. Oh, and bad taste in girls I kiss.

When I was a fourth year in the Triwizard Tournament, "Professor Moody" gave me some advice for the first task. He said "play to your strengths." That's how I thought about summoning my broom and using it against the dragon. I guess it would be copping out to say that my flying ability is my greatest strength, because you're really wanting me to describe inner qualities, not really skills and abilities. Well, maybe it's my ability to survive. I'm not a quitter, and I have a real knack for living to see another day. I hope that gets me through fulfilling this prophesy and getting on with my life.

I'm in the library now and it's fifteen minutes 'til curfew, so I'd better finish this up and get back o my dorm. Ron's probably up there now with Lavender making all sorts of disgusting noises. I don't think they've gone much pass snogging—he seemed pretty dazed after that talk with Madam Pomfrey and Minerva. He kept muttering things in his sleep and once he screamed, sat up and said "Gotta keep my hands above her waist or they'll send an owl to my mum!" We were all particularly glad he shared that at 2 a.m. I hope they do send an owl to Mrs. Weasley. Can you imagine her howler in return? "Ronald Weasley! What's this about you petting Lavender Brown below the waist?" blasted out for the whole school to hear!

Guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow in detention.

What's Draco's punishment?

Oh—almost forgot my questions.

Who were my mum's friends in school? Who were your best friends?

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry turned his assignment, and his letter, in during Defense Class on Friday. Despite his best intentions, he and Draco got "into it" again in class, beginning when Draco sent a slicing charm at his backpack, causing all his books and supplies to fall all over the floor, including a dozen or more pictures on himself doing the hula hoop which Hermione had taken down from one of the girls' restrooms and given to him after lunch. He hadn't had time to incinerate the yet so had shoved them into his backpack.

Snape made it all worse by ordering them both back in their seats then picking up the spilled items and dumping them on Harry's desk, pausing to gather up the photos and flip through them slowly, commenting to the class as he did so.

"RED underwear, Mr. Potter? Do you have a pair in Gryffindor gold to match or is this particular pair reversible—red on the outside and gold on the inside?

And…

"Who are you kissing in this picture, Mr. Potter? She hardly looks old enough to own a wand."

Harry, livid, earned himself a double detention and was told to report to Snape's office at 5 p.m. instead of 7.

His day went downhill from that point. His non-verbal spell in Charms to change the color of his eyebrows resulted in him changing his eyes to a ghastly yellow color that took most of the day to wear off. He went to the owlery and got pecked by Hedwig for his lack of attention the last few weeks. Hagrid wasn't home when he went to visit after his last class but Fang drooled on him so much it looked like he'd wet his pants. Finally, his best quill broke when he tried to get a head start on his weekend homework. When he showed up at Snape's classroom door at 5 p.m., he was ready to scream.

He would have liked to have cleaned cauldrons, but there was a shocking lack of them in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He wouldn't have minded doing lines to get out some of his anger and frustration. Scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush would actually have been appealing. But what he came in the room, Snape, sitting behind his desk with a pile of essays in front of him, pointed Harry to one of the desks in the front row.

"Sit," he said, hardly looking up as he finished marking the scroll in front of him.

Harry slid into the desk, keeping his eyes on Snape as he dropped his repaired backpack on the floor.

Snape made a show of clearing his desk—pushing scrolls to one side and ink and quill to the other. He then put his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his folded hands.

"You must not continue this antagonism with Draco Malfoy," he said. "It will not end well."

They spent the next hour with Harry prying for more information on what Draco was "up to" and Severus insisting that it was not Harry's problem and instructing Harry to let him handle it. When Harry would not let it drop, Severus opened his desk drawer and pulled out a thick book.

"For the remainder of this detention, you will be reading this book. It is the first volume of the complete works of Arthur Conan Doyle. You have heard of Sherlock Holmes?"

Harry looked at Snape with his mouth open.

"Well? Have you?"

"Yeah. I have. But that's it? My detention? To read?"

"Consider it advance training for your Auror career. If you are not in the mood to read something interesting, you may help me mark these second year essays."

Harry grinned as he opened the book. Snape surveyed him for a moment, then pointed his wand at the classroom door and locked it with a spell. He then stood and raised his wand again, pointing to the corner of his room where a dusty old bench was suddenly transfigured into a hammock, suspended from large hooks in the low ceiling.

"Don't fall asleep," he said. "We will have tea at 7."

Harry's horrible day had suddenly taken a turn for the better. He sat carefully on the edge of the hammock, testing its weight, then settled on it properly, letting it rock him back and forth slowly as he opened his book.

A Scandal in Bohemia. "To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman…"

Snape didn't have to wake Harry up for tea, but he did have to pry the book away.

Maybe Harry was right. Maybe he could leave a legacy that had nothing to do with potions or spells or Dark Lords. Harry may not be able to travel the world yet, but he could still visit it through the pages of the books his father gave him.

It did occur to Severus that it was quite a paternal act, but of late he was feeling oddly paternal toward one Harry James Potter.