-Harry-

Harry put down the homework scroll and stared at it for a long moment. He'd just read Snape's last letter—the one where Snape had managed to perfectly line up the adjectives with the animal categories, and in addition had guessed five of the specific animals correctly. He was so focused on that feat that he almost glazed over the "chocolate on my biscuit" comment near the end. He was never going to live that one down.

He thought back to what Snape had told him about his mother…and about Sirius. He could hardly imagine them as 11-year-olds, 25 years ago or so. He could imagine Sirius not paying attention in class and joking around while his mum worked hard to make the potion perfect. But even easier to imagine, for some reason, was Severus watching the whole event play out, secretly pleased, certainly smug.

It had been a long week. He felt like he finally had eased into a routine, with the right mix of quiet time and time with friends. He sat in the common room now, in that quick and noisy hour between classes and dinner, watching Ginny and Dean sitting together—closely together—in a loveseat near the fire. He'd forgotten that they were officially dating with all that went on this summer, and had taken to watching them—surreptitiously—when they were together.

He'd drawn out a chessboard last night and had made his first move—on paper—after having Ron check to make sure he'd labeled it right. He tucked the paper under his parchment and began to write his letter.

/

20 September, 1996

Friday

Dear Severus:

It's Friday, late afternoon, and classes are over for the day and for the week. I'm sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room waiting for Hermione and Ron so we can go down to dinner together. I'm early—Ron is who knows where but Hermione is still in Arithmancy. The common room is kind of quiet for a change. Our new first years are getting more comfortable with Hogwarts and are starting to make all sorts of noise and trouble. Fortunately, the fist years girls at least are leaving me alone. Too much competition from the second and third years, I guess.

Speaking of that, I found another note in my text book this morning. The poem was worse than the first. Let's just say that it was about a specific part of my body and rhymed it to "A stick of gum," "A Scottish lass" and "A lithe King Tut." This time I was smart and burned it before you could pluck it out of my book.

I had another class with Professor McGonagall last night. It was pretty much the same as the first one—meditating and then transfiguration—but this time she did partial transfiguration only. So, for each category of animal she used last week, I got to experience having the arm of the target animal. That meant I could touch it with my other hand, feel the fur or the feathers or scales, see it with my human eyes. Yes—I know snakes don't have arms but this time she used a turtle for the reptile. This was another fantastic exercise. Even the bee's "arm" was fascinating. It had three claws on the end and a special claw just to clean its antenna. I could extend and retract my claws as a panther, and feel the sinews and muscles in the owl's wing. But it was the rodent's hand that was most interesting and most like my own. That bothered me.

So, you get 100% on the required part of your test. You lined the adjectives up with the animals exactly how I did. You got 5 of the 7 animals right too. Obviously, the panther was one you got wrong. The other was the rodent. Yeah, I can see how you'd think she'd do a mouse, being that she's a cat Animagus and all. But she made me a squirrel! I never even thought of the squirrel being a rodent before. Next time she's just doing heads. I'm not sure that's a good idea. Will the heads be proportional to my body or will I have this giant stag head and a tiny little bumblebee head? Maybe you should talk with Professor McGonagall before she gets too carried away—I'm not sure that partial transformation is exactly healthy. I'll always remember Victor Krum as half shark/half human after the second task in the Triwizard Tournament. He never seemed quite right after that...

We've got our first real Quidditch practice tomorrow morning. I'm hoping we don't have an audience this time—we really need to get down to business and play some serious Quidditch for a change. Minerva (I can call her that outside of classes now since she's my guardian, nyah nyah nyah) bought me Quidditch shoes this summer. I thought they were kind of silly until I tried them out last week. They've got special grips on the top so you can practically lie down on the broom and wrap your feet around it for traction. Anyway, they're perfect but I still like my boots best. Did you mean for me to keep them? The ones I wore on our London holiday? I figure they're too small for you, but wondered if they were yours originally and you down-sized them for me.

I can't believe you gave me another essay! I already wrote the moral discussion part—that was actually fun. Now I'm working on why Wordless Magic is important. Let's see…it would allow me to give Draco Malfoy rabbit ears during class without him ever knowing who did it. I could give Dean bad breath while kissing Ginny without him having any idea what's going on. OK, I'm convinced. Do I still have to write the essay?

I'm sorry I asked about you having a wife and kids because your answer wasn't just about you but about Hogwarts faculty in general and I'm pretty sure you used the word "procreate." Now I've got a picture in my head of Trelawney procreating, or Professors Sprout and Filch. Not TOGETHER. I didn't mean that. Damn. Now I'm going to have to gouge my eyes out.

I've been thinking about the memory you described about my mum and Sirius. First, thanks for giving me one that had Sirius too, even though he was a prat in the memory and covered in boils and purple spots too. I somehow imagine my mum as being smart like Hermione but not so over the top and serious about it, if you know what I mean. I also imagine her being a lot like Ginny—pretty, and funny and brave. But of course she was my mum so I'm likely to think only good things about her—right? I like the potions class memory because it shows she could hold her own and didn't let people take advantage of her. I bet she was brilliant. I know this is stupid, but I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself and thinking that life's really not fair. I bet you can second that one. My mother was this brilliant, beautiful witch. The only unkind thing I've ever heard about her came from my Aunt Petunia and I've heard HER say nasty things about the Queen Mum and Mother Theresa. Yet my only real memory of my mum is of Vold—sorry….Tom…killing her. Green light and screaming.

On to less depressing (slightly less depressing) things. About the other night when you had to leave the castle suddenly—what's the real danger of me NOT occluding? OK—other than the effects of the Cruciatus if it's one of those kinds of nights? Basically, I'm out of commission during those events. Yeah, last time I managed not to pass out completely, but I couldn't do much more than watch Ron and Seamus play chess, and that was in a vague sort of way, like I was only half there. Anyway, I think by now it's obvious that Tom's not trying to possess me or send me false visions so what exactly are we protecting by me occluding whenever you have to "leave suddenly"?

I'm rolling up the post-owl chessboard inside my homework scroll. As you can see, I've made my first move and believe it to be a winner. I await your brilliant return.

Were you in the Slug Club too? If so, why didn't you WARN me about it?

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry re-read his letter and decided then and there to never again write on an empty stomach. Well, he supposed it would have to do, depressing and melancholy as it was. He thought about his mum and how he imagined her as half Hermione, half Ginny. Did that mean that Hermione—and sweet Merlin not Ginny!—were mother figures to him?

He glanced over at Ginny and Dean, still sitting together on the loveseat. They were holding hands and Dean was talking to her, rather earnestly it seemed. Harry waved his wand over the letter he had just written to hide the text and then packed it up to take up to his dorm before dinner.

He didn't look at Ginny and Dean again. Somehow, seeing them together like that gave him a stomachache and he didn't completely understand why.

-Severus-

Monday again. The weeks were really flying by. Severus had just eaten a hasty dinner in the Great Hall and was hurrying down to the Quidditch Pitch to observe the first Slytherin practice of the year. He made it his habit, as Head of House, to address the team at the onset of the season and was always present for the first practice. He typically sat in the stands and marked homework but he was there nonetheless.

Severus watched the practice for a time before beginning to mark. Draco, still Slytherin Seeker, actually appeared to have his mind on the game. He'd been…distracted…of late, but then, Severus could not fault him that. Yet others were beginning to notice and that could cause future problems. He had noticed Harry watching him, and that could not turn out well.

When the team began its routine drills, Severus pulled out Harry's homework scroll, which he had already separated from the rest. He cast the spell to reveal the letter and read it through to the end. He looked up again to watch the team. The reserves were practicing too and it looked like they were about to scrimmage. Severus unrolled the post-owl chess board and studied it a moment before dipping his quill in ink and making his own first move.

He didn't write his reply to Harry's letter until the next evening. He needed time to think before committing words to parchment.

/

24 September, 1996

Tuesday

Dear Harry:

Well, you've managed to earn another story about your mother. I am actually inclined to give you only half a tale, since YOU managed to sheathe your anger but your cohort in crime (Mr. Weasley, lest that not be clear) took the bait. Yes, yes, I know keeping him quiet was not part of the bargain and frankly, I continue to be amazed at the loyalty your friend shows you. The fact that Mr. Weasley reacted as he did today tells me I am doing an adequate job of making my torment of you believable. Please assure him I meant you no lasting harm when I insinuated that you and Ms. Granger are more than friends.

I have indicated black's first move on the enclosed post-owl chess board. I expect good things from this game, Harry, as you will have ample time to consider my move and plan your own. Do try to not let this game interfere with your homework and sleep. I will also know if you consult Mr. Weasley. If he wants to challenge me to a game of chess, ask him to approach me after class some day. I hear Minerva has a special transfigured chess set with which he has played before.

Rest assured that Professor McGonagall is not trying to kill you by her rather unorthodox methods of Animagus studies. In cases of partial transfiguration, the transfigured body part usually stays in proportion to the body to which it is attached. I am sure you already noticed this when she transfigured your arm—or did you indeed have a little wispy bee arm the size of an eyelash sticking out of your shoulder? Be thankful your guardian is such a clever witch. I certainly would not want Sybil Trelawney pointing her wand at my head to transfigure it. Then again, I wouldn't want Sybil as my guardian either. (Please forgive the use of her given name. I simply cannot bring myself to pair "Professor" with "Trelawney," even to adhere to protocol.)

Let me now address your feelings about your mother. Those of us who grew up with mothers, even imperfect ones, often take for granted their very presence and find it difficult to imagine life—especially early life—without them. It distresses me greatly to know that your only memory of your mother—and I might say that it is more the echo of a cruel event imprinted on your mind than a true memory—is of the moments leading up to her death. It would have been better, I believe, to have been left with no memory of her at all. Harry, it is not fair that she died that way—that they died that way. And while your mood when you wrote the letter was justified and can be excused occasionally, do not give in to frequent bouts of self-pity. Instead, be grateful that they loved you enough to protect you to the end, that you have your mother's eyes to remind you daily of the part of her that lives inside you. Be grateful that you have your father's courage (if not his penchant for getting into trouble). Be thankful that they achieved, through their sacrifice, exactly what they hoped—to give you a chance at life. My offering to you now is this, something that I know will mean a lot to you considering its source: your mother loved your father with all her being. Harry, he was a good man who put his wife and child before everything else. He was a better man in the end because of her love. And you will be a better man as well for the same reason.

Please take note—I will not offer such lengthy sentimental treatises often.

As for the Slug Club, yes, I was a member. Horace "collected" me when I showed great prowess in Potions. I know that is hard to believe—surely you thought, as did many others, that he was interested in my family connections and wealth, or simply thought I would succeed thanks to my rakish good looks.

The miraculous Quidditch shoes you describe do NOT give you leave to try new stunts such as flying upside down or hanging from your broom by your shoelaces. As for the boots, they are of course yours to keep. Yes, they were mine, and yes, I resized them to fit you.

Finally, we are NOT going to discuss the need for you to occlude when I have to "leave the castle." If you need convincing, consider all the fun you had at St. Mungo's this summer.

Regards,

Severus

/

Severus considered the hand-created parchment chessboard, checking his move again and wondering how long it would take Harry to see his strategy. No less than two more moves by black, he thought. He had yet to tell Harry that he was absolutely itching to play a game against the youngest Weasley boy. He had barely been able to beat Bill, and Bill had told him that Ron routinely beat him. A good game of chess and a glass of scotch was nearly heaven. Add a pipe and it was nirvana. He didn't indulge in the tobacco habit frequently; rarely enough that it could hardly be called a habit. It was a Muggle artifact, one of the few pleasant memories he retained of his father, who had sat in his corner chair with a pipe and the evening paper in rare peaceful and sober moments.

Smells, Severus knew, were among the most evocative of memories. The half dozen times a year he took up the pipe, he always smoked his father's brand of tobacco.

It was something his father had given him, but he'd be a fool to deny that there were others.

-Harry-

By the time he got back to Gryffindor Tower well after curfew following his Animagus studies with Professor McGonagall, Ron had given up and gone to bed and only Hermione and a few scattered students remained in the common room. Only Ron and Hermione knew what he was really doing on Thursday evenings. The rest of his friends, at least those who bothered to ask like Neville and Ginny, thought he was spending "mentoring" time with his new guardian. He sat down across from Hermione in their usual spot.

"What are you grinning about?" she asked, putting down her Transfiguration textbook. She grasped her hands together behind her head and stretched. Harry gawked. In that pose, he could see why Ron spent so much time with that trance-like stare on his face ogling her.

Hermione didn't seem to notice. "So, how was your lesson with Professor McGonagall?" she persisted. "You know you're going to have to start meeting with Ron and me to pass it all on, don't you?"

"I don't think Minerva knows you as well as she thinks she does," he said with another grin. "She figures you won't ask me to do that because it would be against the rules. She doesn't realize that your desire for knowledge trumps your reluctance to break rules."

Hermione grinned back at him and started packing up her books. She bent to give him a quick goodnight hug before heading off to her dorm. Harry settled back on the sofa and finally took out the scroll Snape had returned to him in class that afternoon. When he unrolled it, the post-owl chess board fell out first. He looked at it for a moment and decided he would consider it in the morning and make his move when he wasn't so tired. Instead, he settled in to read the letter, hardly noticing the "E" at the top of this essay.

/

27 September, 1996

Friday

Dear Severus:

You know, I've been wondering about your name. I think of it every time I write "Dear Severus." Are you named after anyone? What's your middle name? Are most wizarding children given family names? If so, I wonder where "Harry" came from. Ron's middle name is "Bilius" for some uncle or great-uncle. I think Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had so many boys that they ran out of non-embarrassing names.

Anyway...

About ribbing me about Hermione being my girlfriend and Ron's reaction to that. Do you think you could go back to slamming my rule-breaking conceited dad instead? Ron is a little sensitive about Hermione. OK, he's a LOT sensitive about it. He won't make a move to ask her out but he's ridiculously jealous if she gets too close to anyone else. And now you've made it look like we're together TWICE! Today was kind of funny, actually, even though Ron almost punched me out after class. I mean, saying that Hermione was botching her wordless stinging hex because she didn't want to ruin my flawless porcelain complexion and she knew I couldn't do a wordless shield spell to save my sorry…butt. Ron KNOWS I'm not interested in her that way, but for some reason he's not thinking with his head—he's (how does Madam Pomfrey put it?) letting his hormones think for him.

And speaking of Madam Pomfrey…I had my yearly physical yesterday. Thanks so much for getting her to move up the schedule on that. You DO know, don't you, that "protocol dictated" that she have another male in the room when she administered the exam? And WHO do you think is available during the day when the teachers are all in class? Filch! Ick! Thankfully he sat in a chair in the corner grousing and grumbling about having to be there and the only naked buttucks HE wanted to see were those getting beaten by a paddle back in the GOOD ol' days when Umbridge was here or back when Professor Dippet was Headmaster. Wasn't that like 50 years ago?

Anyway, you should be happy to know that I am officially 170 cm tall (St. Mungo's had me at 167.5). Soon I, too, like Ron, Dean and Crabbengoyle, will be taller than you. You'd better owl-order some lifts for those boots.

My class last night with Minerva was eye-opening. I am beginning to get some idea of what kind of animal I might be if I ever manage to transform. Some forms are more natural to me than others, and Minerva has some trouble with a couple of the partial transformations. Now, since we're having such fun playing games, see if you can guess the three categories that are giving her trouble. Two of them give her lots of trouble—my body just doesn't want to take on the shape and doesn't hold it as long. The third transfiguration takes hold right away but never in the exact way she intended. And that's all I'm giving away.

You were right—the animal heads were in proportion to my body. WAY cool seeing out of a bee's eyes, by the way.

We've had two Quidditch practices since I wrote last—Saturday and Wednesday. I'm not having any problems with my arm in case you're wondering. Well, I could blame my arm for how long it took me to catch the snitch in practice Wednesday, but to be honest, I'm just a little rusty after not playing much last year. Don't start doing a victory dance over there in Slytherin. Malfoy isn't exactly at the top of his game either. There's something going on with him—he's acting squirrely and I should know—I've BEEN a squirrel.

Oops, distracted again from Quidditch talk. Last Saturday, we had about 25 girls in the stands watching us practice. They more or less left us alone but Coote and Peakes couldn't help showing off and trying to thread the needle through the goal hoops. Coote nearly decapitated himself and Peakes ran right into Ron and gave him a bloody nose. But the worst part came at the end when we were in the showers. They infiltrated! I didn't hear them until it was too late since I was actually IN the shower. And it's not like there are curtains in there to hide behind! All we could do was try to scare up more suds and hide behind each other. Fortunately, Ginny and Katie showed up and chased them off. Somehow, it didn't seem quite as bad that they saw us starkers as that mob. One thing did come out of it—they're singing "Weasley is our King" again but this time with new lyrics. You've probably already heard it this week. It goes something like:

"He has the cutest freckles

His bum it looks all speckled

That's why Gryffindor girls sing:

Weasley is our King."

I think Ron kind of likes the attention, even though his ears get all red every time someone mentions his freckled bum. I did catch Hermione looking at it though and I assured her that the song is right—his bum DOES have a lot of freckles. She hit me with her arithmancy book when I said that—and that's the biggest book she owns and believe me, she owns some big books!

Saved this bit for last. Even though life IS unfair, I don't spend a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. Nothing is ever going to change the fact that I grew up in the Dursley's house thinking my parents were drunks that got themselves killed in a car crash. (OK, that sounded like I'm feeling sorry for myself, didn't it?) Just like nothing's going to change the fact that my parents gave their lives up to protect me and I need to honor their sacrifice with how I live my own life. Hey—don't make that face! I do have moments of great depth and enlightenment occasionally (and more so since I've been hanging out with you.)

If you and Ron ever do play chess, I want to be there to watch you. He's been wanting to start a Hogwarts chess club but needs a faculty sponsor…

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry quickly finished his letter. It was almost time to go down to breakfast—he could hear Ron's heavy footsteps on the staircase and a chorus of "He has the cutest freckles" started up around him. He threw his quill, ink and homework scroll into his backpack and stood up, grabbed Ron by the arm and pressed through the small hoard of girls, pulling him out the portrait hole behind him.

"Thanks, mate," said Ron. He looked quite disheveled as he looked down over his shoulder at his rear which had been pinched as he pushed through.

"No, thank you," said Harry. "At least they're leaving me along for a while."

"Come on King Tut," said Ron with a laugh. "Let's get some breakfast."