-Harry-

Harry ran his hand down the back of Mac's head as he and Hagrid stood in front of the owlets' cages, regarding the almost-grown birds.

"I'll be sendin' 'em off to 'ave their trainin' finished," said Hagrid, watching as Mac flew to Harry's shoulder and began preening his hair.

"All except Mac, right Hagrid?" said Harry. He grimaced as Mac's beak dug a bit too sharply into his scalp.

"Aye, Mac's stayin'," answered Hagrid, smiling. "You're gonna 'ave to read up on owl trainin', Harry," he said, "if you want to make 'im useful to Severus."

Mac was already bringing letters to Harry almost every day. He had a knack for finding him in the castle and Hagrid has recently started sending him off to deliver notes to Severus as well. All part of the training, they explained. Harry hoped Severus wasn't suspicious. Mac seemed to like Severus just fine, and Severus now kept owl treats in his pocket, which made Mac like him all the more. Over the holidays, Hagrid was going to give Mac his first long-distance assignment—a small Christmas package to deliver to Harry all the way at the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole.

"You sure he'll find me at the Burrow, Hagrid?" worried Harry as he placed Mac back in his cage and refilled his water bowl.

"It's what owls do, Harry," answered Hagrid, his black eyes shining as he ruffled the hair on his young friend's head. "He's old enough now to fly that far-he'll be fine."

Harry still planned to give Mac to Severus for Christmas. He wasn't sure how he was going to wrap an owl exactly, but was grateful there'd be one fewer present he'd have to buy. It wasn't the money—it was coming up with ideas. And he really liked the idea of Severus having an owl…and being able to contact him whenever he wanted. No excuses.

/

3 December, 1996

Tuesday

Dear Severus:

The Christmas plans sound great. Well, maybe not that gift you're planning for me, but then again, I shouldn't turn my nose up at new underwear, should I? I mean, a bloke can't have too many pairs of pants, can he? I can always turn around and give them to Dobby—sounds like the perfect kind of gift for him since he's a free elf and all. If I'm going to be at the Burrow for Christmas Eve, I'd best get presents for everyone, then. We get to go to Hogsmeade next weekend but I don't think I can find plugs and batteries there.

Nice to remind me I have Malfoy to thank for me ending up in Gryffindor and not Slytherin. Still, you have a point. The main reason I begged the hat not to put me in Slytherin was because I wanted to stay as far away as possible from the little prat. But I never asked for Gryffindor—I just told it anything but Slytherin. You know, I think I'll write Malfoy a thank-you note. Now if I could only figure out where he spends all his free time so I can deliver it… Any ideas?

Still, I wonder what it would have been like to have not gone back to the Dursleys every summer. Seems like there was one disaster or another every summer, from Dobby causing all that chaos after first year to Ron and the twins pulling the bars off the window with the flying car after second year to blowing up Aunt Marge the next summer. Then of course there were the Dementors and the accident. But if I HAD gone into Slytherin and someone (you, right?) would have figured out then how the Dursleys were treating me, where would I have gone? I mean, I probably wouldn't have been friends with Ron and I can't imagine spending summers at prat camp with Malfoy….

No shortage of Pepperup Potion, by the way. Filch stood at the door in the Entrance Hall as everyone tramped in after playing in the snow and sent us all right up to the hospital wing to get dosed by Madam Pomfrey. Apparently, Professor Slughorn had his seventh years make it in class this past week so there was plenty to go around. I had to wait for my dose while Madam Pomfrey cleaned the walls, though. Crabbe was just ahead of me and when she dosed him these huge plugs of earwax shot out of his ears with the steam and splattered all over the walls. It was at least twice as disgusting as you'd think it would be. Madam Pomfrey gave him a lecture about washing his ears and he was cringing. I thought he was afraid of her but turns out he wasn't used to hearing very well with all that wax and his ears were really sensitive to sound. In his defense, I have to say that Madam Pomfrey's voice can be really sharp when she gets going on one of her tirades.

I had a great time outside anyway. Hagrid and I made a snow owl instead of a snowman. It looked a lot like Hedwig, I thought. Hagrid had the most disgusting snot icicles hanging down the sides of his mustache into his beard. OK, not snot exactly, but whatever was dripping out of his nose. Can't believe Ron didn't make it outside—he had a detention with Minerva that morning. Apparently, he blamed Hermione for his outbreak of spots and swapped out her shampoo for some sort of prank hair removal tonic from the twins' joke shop. Thing is, Lavender borrowed her shampoo and ended up temporarily bald. So Ron took out after Hermione and very stupidly tried to hex her. She was the one that rearranged his spots to spell "arse" (a brilliant piece of spellwork, don't you think?) and his screaming fit in the hall got him the detention. I don't think Minerva likes to be woken up at midnight on a school night. For his detention, she made him spray all the boys' showers in Gryffindor with fungus remover and then check every toilet seat and tighten the bolts up if they were even a little bit loose. I think he's still washing his hands every few minutes.

By the way, thanks for apologizing for taking points when I did that shield spell last week in class. I noticed that you didn't restore those points, though. You must have forgotten (again). I've noticed the same thing you have—that my defensive spells are a lot stronger than my offensive ones and come a lot more naturally to me. The thing is—I don't think I'm going to get rid of Voldemort by doing a Protego. So how do I learn to transfer some of that energy or finesse or whatever it is to my offensive spells? I'm not saying those are really shabby or anything, but they could be stronger. They NEED to be stronger for what I'm going to have to do.

I hate thinking of that. I hate that it's me. I hate that I can't even think about what I want to do later in life—be an Auror, play Quidditch, get married—without thinking that it has to be after I get rid of Voldemort. Then, inevitably, I think "I can be an Auror IF I survive" or "I can get married if I'm alive after it's all over." Damn depressing way to go about life, isn't it?

Why couldn't it have been Neville?

And I'm not going to answer that question about Dumbledore because you didn't really answer my question, did you?

Which one is your choice, Severus? I admit you pretty much nailed it, though I would have used different words to describe what's essentially the same thing.

I wonder if it's his greatest strength or his greatest weakness that he never really seems to think about himself? He doesn't have family, does he? So what does he have? Who does he have?

I'd better end this and get back to work. I have an exam tomorrow in Transfiguration and a new potion to prepare for. It's some sort of antifungal cream. Apparently, athlete's foot is running rampant in the school and Slughorn is having us sixth years brew the remedy. Pretty nice having your students do all your work, isn't it? Do you have any people you'd like to jinx? I'd be happy to step in and help you out. Ginny taught me the bat bogey hex. I think I'll use it on Hagrid next time we play in the snow.

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry studied the end of his quill critically. He used his knife to trim it and picked up his Transfiguration textbook.

"We really should practice on each other, Harry," said Hermione. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, surrounded by books and parchment. "Half the points on the exam are practical, aren't they?"

Harry sighed. They were going to start on human transfiguration, and to help get themselves prepared, they had to transfigure a human-like feature onto an animal. Human hair on a kitten, for example. Hermione didn't even need any more practice, but Harry humored her. In class today, she'd given a coal black kitten a very Snape-like goatee. Harry's orange kitten, in the meantime, sported what looked like a very bad toupee.

While Hermione went off to look for Crookshanks (they hadn't been given practice kittens to take home so Crookshanks was filling in-very reluctantly), Harry tossed Ron the chessboard that he had to include in his return letter.

Ron whistled. He began to study the board, scratching idly at his face. The "R" in "ARSE" now looked like a B as Ron had sprouted a few more spots, and the E was almost gone (hidden, Harry thought, under some skin-colored makeup of Lavender's). Harry thought Ron rather liked having "ABS" written on his face as he seemed to be flexing his pecs and sucking in his abs a lot lately.

Crookshanks shot by Harry's feet, Hermione in hot pursuit. Harry opened his book and referred back to the chapter they had covered today. He very much wanted to give the cat Uncle Vernon's walrus-like mustache.

-Severus-

Severus finished re-reading Harry's letter and then read it again. It was Thursday evening and he'd just spent an hour with the Headmaster getting some answers. Bars on Harry's window? Blowing up Aunt Marge? What was the boy on about? And what was that about the house elf causing chaos on Privet Drive? Why was this the first time he was hearing these things?

Albus had been patient, and had gently reminded Severus that Harry's circumstances were different now. That when these incidents had occurred they had been dealt with by the proper authorities using the proper channels.

"But bars on the window, Albus? Minerva knows about this?"

Albus' look told Severus that she did not.

"If he'd been in Slytherin he'd never have gone back there!" ranted Severus, knowing he was opening up the door to a path he really didn't want to pursue. "I most certainly would have recognized what was going on there."

"If he had been in Slytherin, he may have turned out like another certain orphan we know," commented Dumbledore dryly, stirring his tea and looking up sharply at his Defense Professor.

"Perhaps." Snape's retort was clipped. "Perhaps not. Not all Slytherins are evil. Not all seek immortality. Not all want revenge."

"No, they do not," answered Dumbledore. "But tell me, Severus. Where would he have gone those summers, then? Could you have mentored him then? Indeed, fathered him…?"

"I am not his father," cut in Snape.

Dumbledore continued stirring his tea a moment longer. His eyes, when he looked up at Snape at last, were keen.

"No, you are not," he said. His eyes bore into Severus, then softened. "But you'd like to be."

/

5 December, 1996

Tuesday

Dear Harry:

Plugs and batteries? What are you on about? I assume you mean the Muggle variety that power certain appliances. No, you certainly won't find these in Hogsmeade. It would be quite ridiculous to have a retail shop selling toasters and electric razors and CD players in a wizarding village, would it not? Perhaps you can give me a more clear picture of why these items are needed and I can help out your quest. Of course, I am much more likely to think you insane. No—wait! I smell an Arthur Weasley in this equation. Why don't you have Hermione write her parents and have them send the plugs off of any broken appliances they have about the house?

Harry, please try not to worry about Mr. Malfoy's whereabouts. I am much more concerned about your own well-being. I know your over-developed sense of justice will not let this rest, but you must try. Both Professor Dumbledore and myself are monitoring the situation continuously. If you indeed would like to write Mr. Malfoy a thank-you letter as you propose, deliver it to me and I will make sure he receives it (probably heavily edited but receive it he will).

And thank you ever so much for the image of earwax plugs shooting out of Crabbe's ears and splattering against the wall. I could likely have gone my entire life without having that image implanted permanently in my brain and still remained reasonably content.

And thank you as well for the image of frozen nasal fluid icicles in Hagrid's beard and mustache. Yes, I did see you with Hagrid playing in the snow. I had gone to the Forbidden Forest quite early in search of some potions ingredients that are best collected with the first winter snowfall. While I am not the Potions Professor here, I am still a Potions Master and like to keep stocked up. Your experience with Hagrid—and his beard—might serve as further reasons not to grow a beard of your own. They can be quite unsanitary and tend to collect pieces of scrambled eggs and bits of toast. While you may argue that this could serve as an additional food source in case of famine, it would prolong your life by a day at most.

It is not uncommon for the Potions Professor to help stock the infirmary with potions prepared by his advanced students. And no, I do not have any jinxes I would like you to deliver, unless you want to hex yourself in bed where you belong after curfew instead of wandering about the castle under that infernal invisibility cloak spying on Mr. Malfoy.

Harry, you will always be better at defensive spells than offensive, because you at heart do not really want to hurt your opponent. This is a strength, not a weakness. This is not to say that your offensive spells are weak; they are perfectly adequate for a student of your age.

Now, on to the unjustness of the prophecy, to the unfairness of life and to your desire to have a future that extends past a face to face meeting with the Dark Lord.

You have lived, now, with the knowledge of the prophecy for only six months. Did you have these thoughts seven months ago? When you knew that the Dark Lord had you in his sights, but did not know anything of a prophecy that claimed you were fated to meet and that only one would survive that meeting, were you able to think of having a family without thinking "if I survive?" Were you able to contemplate a career? The same prophecy existed back then, as it exists now and as it has existed since even before you were born. The only thing that has changed is that you now know of its existence. No, let me rephrase that. Two things have changed—you know of its existence AND you have the Headmaster's interpretation of this prophecy as well.

You have little experience with prophecies, Harry. How could you, being as new to the Magical World as you are? Why they arise when they do is not understood, but serious prophecies such as this (and by serious I mean "serious in nature," differentiating this prophecy from one about the size of Hagrid's pumpkins, for example) tend to be made when they are needed and, when heard by the right people, tend to be self-fulfilling.

Patience, please, while I attempt to explain.

Evil arises throughout the world from time to time, and is nearly always defeated. Evil leaders—Muggle and Magical—are selfish by their very nature and crave power as an aphrodisiac, fueling their souls with more and more and more. Many self-destruct, and those that do not are usually brought down by opposing forces around them…eventually.

Someone will defeat the Dark Lord because the world will not put up with him forever. Perhaps you are fated to be the one. Perhaps not. But a prophecy arising foretelling of the birth of one who will defeat him puts him on guard instantly, makes him wary, makes him watchful. It may eventually make him careless, make him take steps to protect himself that actually make him more vulnerable.

Who is to say that Neville is not the one, Harry?

You know, don't you?

You are. You are the one to say "It is me. It is not Neville Longbottom."

Prophecy or no, someone must step forward to end his reign. Remember, if you choose to do this (and by working with the Headmaster you have taken a step in this direction already), you will not be stepping forward alone.

Harry, it is not YOUR fight. It is OUR fight, and you are our general, but only if you choose to be.

That's the thing about prophecies, you see. A great number are made and recorded yet only a tiny fraction are fulfilled.

And this brings me back around to the Headmaster, and your question to me, and my answer (or lack of answer) to you.

I myself believe the following, assuming you must choose one of the choices I gave:

Albus Dumbledore's greatest weakness is his capacity to love. His greatest strength, to sacrifice what he loves for the Greater Good.

I know this belief is controversial, so hear me out before judging.

Albus Dumbledore's true greatness, his true power, comes from his selflessness. He is willing, and able, to work tirelessly and selflessly for the betterment of our world. While I admit that there is a subjective quality to the word "betterment" (who is to say what is better for the world, after all?) the Headmaster is keenly able to walk that fine line, to work both within the system and outside of it, to achieve his ends.

When he focuses on an individual instead of on a cause, his capacity to love said individual may deter him from the larger goal.

I do not advocate this life or this path for all, yet the Headmaster has CHOSEN it for himself.

You get to choose for yourself, Harry. His goals do not have to be your goals.

And in closing, let me say that the Headmaster loves me. And he loves you.

Does that put us both in the line of fire? Yes. Does it guarantee our untimely demise? No, it does not.

Regards,

Severus

/

Severus decided not to reread the letter. He would likely tear it into pieces and fling it into the fire if he did so. It was a study in contradictions, as confusing or more so than the real situation.

How could he love Albus like he did and allow himself to be moved all over the proverbial chessboard, a pawn in the Headmaster's plan?

How could he allow Harry to fall into the same game, working alongside Albus but not really getting to choose for himself?

Albus was honorable. But Harry…Harry was more honorable still. Less selfish even than Albus.

Severus resolved again, as he had so many times already, to give Harry everything he needed to make that choice. He would not let Albus keep the boy in the dark, or even in the semi-dark.

He put this on his mental list of "Christmas Holiday Topics" and rolled up the parchment.

-Harry-

Harry watched Ginny and Dean as they studied together, sitting quite platonically (he was pleased to see) at a study table and not in each others laps on the squishy loveseat. They still spent quite a lot of time together, but was it Harry's imagination or were things cooling off a bit between them?

On the other side of the room, Ron and Lavender were studying as well—well Ron was studying and Lavender was playing spa. Ron looked pained as he tried to read his Defense textbook while Lavender sat on the floor in front of him, apparently giving him a pedicure and pulling out the hair on the top of his big toe with a tweezers as she babbled in baby talk about "Won Won's big hairy toesies."

Hermione, too, was with the one she loved. Why, thought Harry, was she reading Hogwarts, a History again?

He was bored. He was tired of school, of classes, of these silly letters, of not hearing from Dumbledore for another special "session," of not seeing Severus outside of class.

He was tired of Animagus studies and Minerva not letting him try a transformation yet even though he knew he was ready. How many times did he need to transform his feet into hooves until she just accepted he was going to be a stag and they got on with it? He wasn't trying to transform them into hooves—it's just what happened. Was it so horrible that he'd be the same animal as his father? Was it really that unusual? Just because it wasn't original didn't make it wrong, did it?

Why hadn't he told Severus any of this? And why did he care, anyway, what Severus thought about his Animagus form?

/

10 December, 1996

Sunday

Dear Severus:

How about "Albus Dumbledore's greatest strength is his ability to love in spite of the need to sacrifice even what he loves for the greater good?"

If you know you are going to lose something, why let yourself love it? You'll just suffer more in the end.

The fact that the Headmaster allows himself to love shows that he values the emotion for what it is—the greatest human experience—no matter how it turns out in the end.

And no, Hermione didn't help me with this one.

I think his weakness has to do with control or trust. He doesn't ever give me all the information I need. Either he doesn't trust me to do the right thing with it, or his need for ultimate control won't allow it.

He's getting worse, isn't he? I can tell when I look at him in the Great Hall at mealtimes. I know he knows I'm looking at him, too. You never really told me how long he had…do you know? (Would you even tell me if you did?)

I'm going to try to let it all go for a few weeks and enjoy the coming holidays—yes, even the whole Malfoy thing. We went to Hogsmeade yesterday and I managed to shop all day until I got all the gifts I needed. Ginny helped me find something for Mrs. Weasley (nice robes…I felt kind of weird but Ginny swears she'll love them). I got Ginny some really nice earrings. Do you think that's too much? Too forward? I mean, she won't even think the diamonds are real anyway, so it should be fine. Hermione helped pick them out and she looked at me really funny. I think she must suspect I sorta like Ginny.

We saw Tonks when we were in Hogsmeade. She seemed to be hanging around nearly every corner we got to, and I finally figured out she was watching out for me. Some Auror I'll make, huh? Anyway, I couldn't help but think of that nightie thingy that was in the flat in London, and then I pictured her wearing it (a much better image than Minerva in it I might add) but somehow the picture morphed into Ginny. I think I'm obsessed. No, really.

Professor Slughorn's party is coming up and I still haven't asked anyone. Maybe I'll just skip it. Maybe I'll just ask Ron. Oh yeah, right. Then everyone will think that I'm dating him.

I did pretty well on my Transfiguration practical last week. We had to transfigure a kitten's hair into human hair—this is supposed to get us ready for our next section which is on human transfiguration—you know, changing the color of your own eyebrows or the shape of your nose. Minerva has already given us this giant lecture on how that sort of transfiguration is not intended for frivolous purposes and that serious consequences can occur if you try to enhance features that you feel are lacking. It took us a while but we finally figured out what she was talking about—giving ourselves larger "assets." The girls looked quite interested, Pansy in particular—she's flat as a Slytherin pancake. When we learned switching spells she tried to switch her assets for Millicent's. Anyway, not to worry, Minerva. A guy simply wouldn't do something like that, at least not until he had the spell absolutely mastered.

In the end, I got a black and grey striped tabby kitten and I gave it Minerva's bun. She looked rather disapproving (so did the kitten, in fact) but she gave me full marks. Ron did a decent job with his orange tabby. It ended up looking like his dads hair with receding hairline and everything. I won't say what Hermione did with her black kitten. I'm sure you've already heard through the Hogwarts gossip circuit.

I'm so ready for break! It's getting really boring around here. The fan club is still annoying but they pretty much leave me alone now after they all got kissed. Maybe I'm not such a good kisser. No one is using the Levicorpus spell anymore—not since you caught the first person doing it and assigned double detention with Filch—so we don't get to see anyone's underwear. Now they're all using this cool spell Hermione found in your book—the Muffliato. Did you invent that one too? It's dead useful, so much that even Hermione will use it now. Ron and Lavender are old news, and the Hermione/Ron feud has even cooled a bit. I guess he's afraid she'll send more angry birds his way if he steps out of line, or rearrange his spots to spell "pervert" or something. No one's been hurt in a Quidditch or Potions accident, no one's been nearly killed by a cursed necklace and no one's figured out what Malfoy's up to. Oops. Sorry. Letting it go...

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry put away his things, stuffing them messily into his backpack, and trudged upstairs. He tossed the backpack on top of his trunk and sat on his bed, collapsing backwards and letting the waves rock him for a few moments. He felt better already just being on the water bed. Lying back, he remembered the embrace of the water, the pull of the waves, the way the foam pushed up onto the sand, the little bubbles that surfaced from the shellfish beneath it. He tried to let go of the stress, the tension, the unanswered questions, of even Draco Malfoy.

Filling his mind with nothing, letting himself float unhindered in a bubble of tranquility, he slipped into an occluded sleep and fully clothed, robes and all, slept until morning.