-Harry-

Harry gratefully accepted the cup of tea Minerva handed him. His hand shook slightly as he raised it to his lips. Minerva had just put him through a grueling sequence of transformations. He'd insisted he was up to it, though he'd just returned to classes yesterday. He'd been successful, maintaining his Animagus form for more than an hour and transforming back at her cue easily when sufficient time had passed. Walking around Minerva's office for an hour in his doe form left a lot to be desired. He wanted to run and kick up his feet, roll in the grass, taste shoots of grass and acorns and not gaze out a window high in the castle wall, eying the Forbidden Forest and the surrounding grounds longingly.

"You did well, Harry. Well enough to have an outing with Severus this weekend." She smiled and scooted the plate of biscuits across the desk. "Have a biscuit or two. You've hardly eaten these past few days."

"Throat," he muttered, taking a ginger snap and dunking it in his tea to soften it a bit. "Hurt to swallow."

He smiled slightly, remembering all the things he'd been forced to swallow over the last few days—bitter-tasting potions, pudding, juices, ice cream—first by Severus and then, when Severus had become too ill to deny it any longer, by Poppy or Minerva on their regular check-up visits.

He remembered waking up that first time, late into the night on Sunday, or perhaps very early Monday morning, before the sun rose, and finding himself in a strange bed, in a strange room, and buried under a mound of heavy blankets. He turned over with difficulty to try to better see his surroundings, his face burrowing in the pillow as he did so. It was the smell of the bedclothes, and of the room, that put him at ease and told him he was home. The door to the bedroom was open and a faint, dancing light from the fireplace in the sitting room illuminated the walls of the short hallway.

Harry closed his eyes and listened. He always listened better with his eyes shut, even in the dark.

In Gryffindor Tower, he could hear the wind whistling outside the castle turret windows. But the dungeon walls in Snape's quarters were silent. In Gryffindor Tower, four other boys made so many noises at night that it all blended together and made it hard to tell who was talking in his sleep, who was snoring, who was thrashing around in the throes of a bad dream. In Snape's quarters, if he listened very intently, with his eyes squeezed shut, he could barely make out the sound of Severus' soft snores coming from the other room.

It occurred to him then that he was in Severus' bed and that Severus must be sleeping on the couch. He'd only be in Severus' bed if Severus had put him there.

Severus had put him in his own bed, not on the couch where a guest would sleep.

He turned that over in his mind a few times as he drifted back to sleep.

/

24 January, 1997

Friday

Dear Severus:

How are you feeling? You managed to act like your normal self in class today—disgusted with all of humanity, condescending and superior—even though I bet you're still sick and probably are already in bed (it's only 9 p.m. in Gryffindor Tower and by my Gryffindor reckoning, the same down in the dungeons). Did Poppy bring you some of that special hot tea with lemon? I'm thinking that what makes it "special" is a strong calming drought. I felt half loopy for several days—why else would I have put on those ridiculous pajamas Minerva brought down for me? I remember sitting down on the toilet seat Monday evening to get undressed to take a shower and pulling off that pajama shirt and vaguely wondering why I was wearing blue fleece pajamas with cat paws printed all over them. It's a testament to how sick I was that I actually put them back on when I got out of the shower. Those and that pair of slippers she gave me. I know they were yours—plain, black, about three sizes too large and smelling vaguely of formaldehyde.

Listen, I'm really sorry for ending up sick and for you having to keep me for three days. I didn't plan that when I showed up in the infirmary Sunday night. I just wanted something to clear up my congestion so I could get some sleep. Minerva told me last night that there were so many students sick that they had to eventually open up the visitors' quarters and put patients in there. Even though I know it had to be a bother for you to have me disrupting your schedule, I'm glad I got to stay in your quarters with you. I know we couldn't do much talking—which is a shame, since there's a lot I want to talk to you about—but we did get to share drugged tea, that huge box of facial tissues and Mrs. Willowbee's Eucalyptus Throat Soothers. And we got to listen to each other breathe. I know this sounds ridiculous, but sometimes just hearing the sounds someone makes while sleeping makes you feel less alone.

I had a good session with Minerva earlier tonight. I know you'll already know this by the time you read this letter, since she was going to go talk to you to tell you I was ready for the "little adventure" (her words, not mine) that you have planned for me this weekend. I was hoping we could do it tomorrow, but she's all for delaying until Sunday and me "taking it easy" tomorrow. She banned me from Quidditch practice this weekend. That would have hurt more if our practice session hadn't been cancelled since half our team is either sick or just getting well enough to go down to the Great Hall for meals again. Ron and Ginny aren't sick—they tell me the Weasleys are a "resilient lot"—something about having lots of immunities after being exposed to each other so much when growing up.

So, I've been ordered to stay in Gryffindor Tower tomorrow except at mealtimes, to wrap up in a blanket and sit on the sofa or one of the armchairs in the common room in front of the fire catching up on my missed work. Hermione gave me a book to read if I get bored. Ha ha. IF! She's given up on our Shakespeare book club, mainly because she's spending a lot of time in the library trying to keep up with her homework. Anyway, the book she gave me is The Return of Tarzan.She saw my copy of Tarzan of the Apes from Christmas and when I told her how much I liked it, she wrote to her parents and had the dig up this one from her dad's old books. Apparently, her dad owns the whole series. I didn't even know there was a whole series. The next books are The Beasts of Tarzan and The Son of Tarzan. Hey, nothing like giving away the plot, is there?

Minerva said you'd "contact me" to let me know what the plans are if we're able to go out on Sunday. Still waiting patiently. OK, not so patiently, but then again, you probably drank Poppy's tea and now you're in la-la land dreaming of taking points from foolish Gryffindors for disrupting class by breathing too loudly. My lesson with her tonight was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I stayed in my Animagus form for more than an hour and was able to change right back when she signaled. She had me do a quick series of changes at the beginning, and again at the end. I'm getting better at the transformation—it's really hard to go from a human standing on two legs to a deer trying to get its footing on smooth floors. My legs always seem to want to slide out from under me so I do better if I'm actually in motion—walking—when I start to transform.

Half-way through one of the transformations tonight I suddenly thought about my clothing and what happens to it when I transform and ended up as a deer wearing boxer shorts. Well, kind of wearing them, anyway. They ended up stuck around my neck and Minerva had to pull them off over my head. It's kind of embarrassing now, but you know what? As a deer, I didn't feel embarrassed at all.

I had to go back and read your last letter again. It seems like a long time since I read it the first time. I like your answer about the island—Aunt Petunia and the giant spider. You probably don't know this but Aunt Petunia is terrified of spiders. One dropped on her head once in the kitchen while the Dursleys were eating breakfast. Dudley saw it fall and screamed "Spider! Spider on Mum's head!" and tried to climb on his chair while pointing at it and hyperventilating. Aunt Petunia started hopping around screaming and she actually hit herself in the head with a dinner plate trying to squash it. She used to wear her hair all poofed up—she went to the hair dresser's every Wednesday to have it washed and set. If you don't know what that means—they'd roll up her hair then poof it all up and set it in place with loads of hair spray. Anyway, she thought the spider had gotten inside her hair and was crawling around on her scalp. She kept running around the table pulling at her hair until Uncle Vernon grabbed her, dragged her into the kitchen and stuck her head under the kitchen faucet to try to drown the poor thing (I mean the spider, not Aunt Petunia. I guess I wouldn't have cared much if he'd drowned her…). So….good choice, all around.

Guess that's as good a lead-in as any to your question—what I'd change about my life at the Dursley's if I could change any one thing. You know that's a REALLY hard question—coming up with the ONE thing I'd change about my life there. I wouldn't want to be like them, to turn out like Dudley did. If they'd loved me (or even liked me) I think there would have been a good chance that I'd be as mean and as spoiled as Dudley. The worse part of my life when I was younger wasn't my clothes or the cupboard under the stairs or all the chores or getting treated like dog crap on the bottom of your shoe. The worst part was the loneliness. Dudley and I were in the same form at school and he made sure I didn't have friends. He was a bully and all the kids who might have been my friends were scared of him. You have to realize I was only 10 when I finished my non-magical education. Ten is not an age when most kids stand up against tyrants. So I guess I'd change something about Dudley—maybe make him a couple years younger than me, or totally uninterested in me, or heck, since this is essentially a game, how about a one-armed mute with a limp?

You know…I changed my mind. I thought that would be the best thing to make my life at the Dursleys better. But there's actually something much better—and really much more realistic.

I wish I would have known about Magic. That I wasn't a freak. That magic was REAL. That there was this REAL place in Scotland called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and that my name, MY name, Harry Potter, was on the registry since I was born, and that I'd get to go there when I was eleven. If I would have had that—that one little thing—even if everything else was exactly the same all those years at the Dursleys…my life would have been so much better. I would have had a calendar on the wall in my cupboard and I'd have counted out the days until my eleventh birthday—even if there were more than a thousand of them—and I'd have been crossing them off, one by one, all those years.

I would have had hope.

And that makes me really angry. Why NOT? Why couldn't I have known? Not all the details…not a wand or an owl or even a visit to Diagon Alley but just a visit from Dumbledore, maybe in the middle of the night when everyone else was sleeping so he wouldn't be seen. Or while I was at Mrs. Figg's while the Dursleys were on holiday. Why couldn't it have been HIM to tell me what Hagrid had to? "Harry, you're a wizard." Four words. I can't even imagine how different my life would have been if I'd known that all my life.

But if there's nothing else I've learned these last few years, it's to look forward, not backward. The past is done and it is what it is. It's made me who I am, flaws and all. I've got to keep looking forward and try to have no regrets.

I'm sending this letter down to you with Mac since I expect to see you on Sunday and kind of hope you'll read it before then.

I'll change the tone of the questions. Here's a good one. If you could have one of the following jobs, which would you choose and why? Headmaster of Hogwarts, Minister of Magic, Professional Quidditch Player, bass player for a rock band, Auror, Healer or Motivational Speaker?

I'm really looking forward to our day out on Sunday. See you then?

Regards,

Harry

/

"What time is it?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Fifteen 'til ten," she answered, closing her Ancient Runes textbook and glancing over at the table in the corner where Ron and Lavender were studying. From the looks of it, they were actually studying. At least Ron was paying more attention to the essay spread out in front of him than he was to Lavender. Harry and Hermione could clearly see her running her foot up the side of his leg beneath the table. Ron pushed it away distractedly as he sighed, picked up his quill and began writing.

Harry rolled his head backward, forward and sideways, stretching his neck. His shoulders still ached considerably.

"Want to come to the owlery with me?" he asked as he stood up. "I need to get this letter sent off before curfew."

Hermione stood up and stretched. "Sure, I'll come along."

They walked slowly together, Harry still not back to snuff after his bout with the flu. He was panting a bit when they reached the owlery, and sat down on the ledge as Hermione called down Mac and attached the scroll to its leg. "It's for Professor Snape," she told Mac as Hedwig flew down to Harry and watched suspiciously as Mac flew off.

"Can't use you this time, girl," explained Harry as he scratched her head and offered her one of the owl treats he kept in his robe pockets. "You just stand out too much. If the Slytherins saw you flying down the dungeon hallways they'd be suspicious."

Hermione offered Harry a hand and pulled him to his feet. They stood for a minute looking out the high castle window into the dark winter sky. The moon was low on the horizon, but the dog star—Sirius—was bright enough to be seen despite the glow from the moon. Together, the two celestial bodies bathed the castle grounds in soft light. Harry gazed out toward the Forbidden Forest. Dark shapes silhouetted near the edge of the forest caught his eye and he leaned forward, watching in fascination as a group of deer foraged quietly. Their movements were slight, shadowy and their forms blended in nearly seamlessly with the shadows of the trees.

Alert and invisible. Watchful. Silent. A howl in the forest behind them and as one they were gone, slipping into the shadows. Harry turned toward Hermione to find her watching him. She smiled and grabbed his hand.

"Come on, let's get back," she said and the two slipped away as quietly as the deer, blending in with the shadows along the moonlit corridor as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower.

-Severus-

Severus waited until morning to answer the boy's letter, putting Mac up in his cage after opening the door to his incessant pecking. The content of the letter was somewhat disturbing, particularly the parts about the Dursleys. It did relieve him somewhat, at least, that Harry was finally beginning to show some anger at his treatment instead of only resigned acceptance of the ten years he had spent as the Dursley's house elf.

He leaned back in his chair, his mind going back to the summer day so many years ago when he'd hidden on the edge of the wooded plot by the playground, watchful and silent, his eyes on the pretty girl on the swing as she pumped higher and higher then launched herself off and sailed through the air, unnaturally slowly, coming to rest lightly on the packed dirt, her green skirt settling below her skinned knees.

She's a witch…she's a witch just like I'm a wizard, Severus had thought, feeling a kinship with the girl and daring to approach her.

What a difference that had made to Lily…knowing what she was several years before her Hogwarts letter came.

What a difference it had made to him.

/

25 January, 1997

Saturday

Dear Harry:

In answer to your question, I am feeling much better. Fortunately, I was awake last night when Mac arrived and tapped frantically at my door. I admit I was a bit flummoxed to find my familiar outside my door, clutching a parchment scroll and imitating a bat, flapping his wings wildly.

I hope you went directly to bed after sending that late-night letter, Harry. I believe you stated that Minerva directed you to take it easy this weekend and I trust that now you are sitting on your very squashy sofa, knees drawn up to your chin, reading Tarzan or working on that Transfiguration essay Minerva set for you on Thurday (yes, we professors do talk…). You'd best be keeping warm. I could always send up one of these crocheted afghans I brought back from Shell Cottage for you. I'm particularly fond of the one in Minerva's tartan—I am sure it would be a "hit" in Gryffindor Tower.

Now that I've properly chastised you for being out and about at curfew last night, up in the cold owlery (what would Poppy say if she found out? She'd probably be up there right now with a double dose of Pepper-Up—enough to have steam coming out orifices other than your ears), I'll address the content of your letter.

Put your mind at ease, Harry. Providing you follow Minerva's directive today and spend the day resting, and are feeling well enough in the morning, we will indeed have our day out tomorrow. We will be apparating to the location I mentioned earlier to give you the opportunity to experience your Animagus form in a more natural setting than Minerva's office. Please arrive at the Great Hall by 8 a.m. for breakfast. Afterward, report to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey will assess your physical condition and release you for our outing. You will be met in Madam Pomfrey's office by a visitor who will bring you to the aforementioned location, where I will be waiting. Please dress appropriately for winter weather in Scotland—or Northern England—and be sure to complete all of your homework today as you will likely have only an hour or two do wrap it up when you return tomorrow. The blue cat paw pajamas, worn beneath your school robes, will keep you warm and toasty during your travels.

I must admit something to you—I did in fact know about your aunt's fear of arachnids. You do remember that I knew your mother when we were children, so of course I knew your aunt as well. Her fear of spiders was well-known among the neighborhood children and we often used it to our advantage. If she was monopolizing the playground swing, one had only to locate a small spider and toss it her way to send her flying home. If a boy wanted to get a glimpse of a girls' chest, he had only to drop a spider down Petunia's shirt and off it would come, ripped from her body with a piercing scream, followed by amazing gyrations as she attempted to shake the offending creature from her body.

Now that I have scarred you for life, I'll continue in a more serious vein.

I thought your answer to my question—both of your answers, actually—to be appropriate and well-thought out. I must agree with you and share your frustration—no, your anger—at crucial information being kept from you. However, you are right to look forward instead of backward. I will tell you that the Headmaster believed he was protecting you—keeping you totally separate from the magical world to keep you safe from those among us who would have harmed you (by excessive love or blatant hatred). What he failed to do was to protect you from those outside the magical world who would harm you, by neglect and rejection.

Had you only known what was waiting for you just beyond your reach.

Had I only known how Lily's child was being treated.

We will have ample time for discussion tomorrow, but I will answer your question nonetheless.

You gave me the choice of several stimulating and demanding careers. I noted that my actual careers (neither one of them) were in the list of choices. I am quite tempted to choose the exalted career of motivational speaker. You didn't include it for a lark, did you? Or because you thought I would be particularly ill-suited for such an occupation? I can well imagine myself standing before a crowd of Death Eater wannabes, telling my sordid tale, and bringing the lot of them to tears before sending them all to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix instead of to the Dark Lord's lair. But as there's really not much future in such a career, I shall choose another instead. While playing Quidditch professionally has its appeal—broken bones, a sore tailbone, skull fractures from errant bludgers—I fear I'm a bit too advanced in years to take it up. I'd much rather watch you play professionally, Harry, and help you spend all those galleons our world bestows upon its star athletes. Now, while being a bass player for a rock band would be right up my alley, I suppose one would actually have to play the bass to excel in that career path. Auror? Not likely. Healer? Only for you. Minister of Magic? Please. Which leaves me with only one option—Headmaster of Hogwarts it is. I promise I will wait until you are gone from Hogwarts to take up the job, however. Perhaps I will be here as Headmaster when your children attend Hogwarts, all messy-haired and green-eyed and hiding under their dad's invisibility cloak to nick food from the kitchens after curfew. How I will enjoy catching them at it and calling in their father to Hogwarts to deal with the wretches!

I have a few arrangements to make for our day out tomorrow, Harry. I'll end it here with a question for you.

Back on the island—you now get to choose two people to bring with you. Who will it be?

Regards,

Severus

/

Severus blew on the letter to dry the ink then rolled it up and checked the clock on his desk. It was early still, and the hand on his Harry clock still pointed to Gryffindor Tower. He stooped to put on his boots then began the trek up to the owlery to find Hedwig.

He was almost back to his quarters when his Dark Mark began to burn. He uttered an unseemly expletive as he hurried his pace, entered his quarters and grabbed his robes and mask. He quickly sent his Patronus to Minerva and left the castle, headed for the gates and the edge of the apparition zone.

He was back two hours later after a very brief—and very private—meeting with the Dark Lord. He hurried to the Headmaster's office, stumbling inside at Dumbledore's call and dropping into a chair in front of his mentor.

"He's chosen your replacement," he panted as Dumbledore calmly pushed a cup of hot tea across the desk to him. Severus picked up the tea, his hands shaking. "He's…he's chosen me."

He closed his eyes as he sipped the hot liquid, missing the flash of triumph in the old man's eyes.