Much to Harry's relief, nothing important went wrong until the day they planned to leave.

Harry didn't think the shouting row he and Malfoy had in the afternoon in the library was anything important.

It was stupid, though. Harry refused to read the books Malfoy had got for him, Malfoy called him selfish and backed it up using the argument they had last night.

Harry shouted that he was being unfair.

Malfoy retorted, equally loud, that his mother was dying, stopping Harry from leaving by barricading the door with his body.

"Oh, really? Well my mother is dead so excuse me, your pompous prince-ness if I would rather not get reminded that I don't have any family left!"

Harry left Malfoy with a hard kick to his leg. Malfoy left Harry with a dark bruise to his cheek.

Nothing important. White and Snape, who had found them, were both exaggerating with their lectures on how it was 'unbecoming of a Malfoy heir.'

Nothing important.

Snape made some derogatory statements on Mr Malfoy's stubbornness when he felt the need to release his rage, and asked Harry and Malfoy both on why they were so intent on ignoring each other each day after dinner and retreated to his room without conviction when he only got excuses for why they had the argument.

Nothing important.

Until the day they planned to leave.

Harry hadn't gone back to the drawing room after the day he caught Mr Malfoy there. He had no reason to. However, since he had trouble sleeping, he stayed up through the night, sitting close to the door while he restarted to read Alice's beloved tales.

Like clockwork, every single night at midnight, a pair of fast, nervous feet slammed down the marble, continued by a silence of fifteen minutes before another much more relaxed pair of feet climbed back up the stairs.

Harry didn't want to ask what it was Mr Malfoy was doing down there on routine, lest Snape had questions on how Harry knew what Mr Malfoy was doing. So he responded by giving Mr Malfoy (or White) no opportunity to interact with him. No questions, no small talk, no catching him alone in any part of the house.

It all worked.

Of course, until the day they planned to leave.

Harry choked on the piece of bread, hitting his chest repeatedly and swallowing down the glass of water Snape pushed his way, beside the glass jar Snape had brought down with him for some reason and filled with water.

"Excited, Potter?" Malfoy said with a smirk, sipping his own water, "I might teach you a few things too, with me in your company."

Harry rubbed his throat, curling his hand into a fist to stop him from glaring, "Who wouldn't be at an opportunity to spend some time with their friend."

"I'm sure Mr Patel learns enough under Severus, Draco," Mr Malfoy added in an airy, obnoxious sort of way, watching Harry as he attempted to wipe his watering eye. So what if the prat was coming back to the apothecary with them? Harry didn't care. It was the twentieth of August today, leaving only 11 days until the end of the month. Malfoy would be gone, Snape would follow after him and Harry…

Well, Harry pretended he didn't care much about what was going to happen to him. It was easier, that way, and didn't feel like he was being abandoned.

After breakfast, as usual, Harry waited until an impatient Malfoy was ready to leave with Snape before stepping towards the door.

"And I suppose you'll be returning the borrowed books before you leave?"

Harry closed his eyes, the world disappearing. He turned around, meeting White's gaze, "That's right, Mr White."

"Borrowed books, I hear?"

Cursing his luck, Harry turned to look at Mr Malfoy, glancing up and down his length before squaring his shoulders. He hadn't seen Mrs Malfoy's height, but even if she wasn't tall, it was no question where Malfoy had gotten his height.

"Hasn't the young master told you, sire?" White asked, gesturing at Harry loosely, "Young Mr Malfoy requested some books on the boy's behalf."

"I say it must have slipped his mind to mention, as things often do."

Harry turned to face the two men, keeping his chin up, "They're in the room. I stacked them on the table."

Mr Malfoy ran a finger over his cane. Harry wondered if he always carried it with him, a ritual like the one that carried him down to the drawing room every night. The finger stopped right above the beak of the bird, tapping loosely as Mr Malfoy continued, "And were the books to your liking?"

No. Harry hadn't given himself the opportunity to read them, between working on his make-shift diary and procrastinating by rereading Alice.

"They all sounded very interesting, sir. I didn't know which one to pick."

"An avid reader, are you?" Mr Malfoy asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Harry winced, trying to step back. The cane caught him by the arm, steering him back into the room.

"Not to worry," Mr Malfoy failed at assuring him, a bad interpretation of a smile on his lips, "I merely want to discuss a few, ah, delicate matters."

"I didn't break- I didn't rip any of your pages, Mr Malfoy," Harry said, then looking up into the eyes of White, "Or steal, if that's what you want to know."

White narrowed his eyes, but said nothing in reply, speaking only when Mr Malfoy turned his way, both brows raised in question, "I caught the boy exiting the young Master's room. I had his best interest in mind, as you know Master Malfoy."

The way White's voice could go from sour to sweet was sickening. Harry shook his arm free of Mr Malfoy's cane, rubbing the spot where the beak had dug in, "I don't steal, Mr Malfoy. I'd hate to break the trust Professor Snape has placed in me."

"Regardless, that is not what I wish to talk about."

"There's not much I can provide you with, Mr Malfoy."

"Then let's start with a simple one. Why have you fought with my son? Oh yes, Mr Patel. I know everything that happens under this roof. And while Draco's actions were unbecoming-" his eyes flickered to the bruise on Harry's cheek, "-I feel the need to know the reason."

Harry looked at White, "Haven't you learned the reason from your son and Mr White?"

"Unfortunately, he merely said it was a foolish argument, even at the end of my hand."

Harry shuddered, thinking of Malfoy with his cheeks red in the shape of a hand.

"What has Snape deemed as your punishment?"

Harry toed the carpet, "Cleaning medicine jars."

Harry heard an amused scoffed, eyes still pinned on his toes, shrugging when Mr Malfoy asked a second question.

"And do you believe that is sufficient punishment, Mr Patel? I can never understand that… man, nor can I understand why he brought you with him."

Harry furrowed his brows, "Hasn't Professor Snape explained this already?"

The tip of the cane touched the ground with unnecessary force. Harry dropped his eyes to the ground only to find Mr Malfoy bent over him, keen eyes pinned to his own when he looked up, "Try again."

"My-" Harry tried to remember if Snape had called Professor Patel or her mother Ali's aunt, the word getting lodged on his tongue, unmoving. When it was clear the memory wasn't fronting, Harry cleared his throat, and lifted his head, "-Aunt Aisha, I call her aunt because she's a lot older than me, and Uncle Ahmed were preoccupied. Professor Snape agreed to take me with him. I think he secretly thought it was a learning experience."

"Aren't you meant to be with him, if this is such a learning experience?"

Harry shrugged, a forced grin on his face, "I get enough lessons in the apothecary. For example, did you know there's a difference between, uh- Western and Eastern medicine, I think-"

Mr Malfoy scoffed, stepping back with both hands on the cane, "And what would that be, Mr Patel?"

"One is useful and the other is worthless."

Mr Malfoy frowned, "Do enlighten me on which is which."

"That's where Professor Snape fooled me," Harry said proudly, pleased where he was steering the conversation, "It depends on which side of the world you live in."

Mr Malfoy chuckled heartily, shaking his head. White, of course, didn't so much as smile, keeping his lips thin and his eyes unamused. That was alright with Harry. If Mr Malfoy was in a good enough mood, that might just-

"Are you intentionally distracting me, Mr Patel?" Mr Malfoy said, sharply cutting off his laugh.

Harry swallowed, "I don't think I'm smart enough to do that, sir."

"I didn't keep you behind just to hear Snape's petty jokes."

"You laughed, Mr Malfoy," Harry said, tilting his head to the side, "And so did I, the first time. Does that make us both petty?"

Mr Malofy was about to respond when his eyes looked above Harry's head, pinned to a spot. Harry didn't need to look to know who the thin fingered hand on his shoulder belonged to.

"Having fun, Ali?" Snape said while looking at Mr Malfoy, squeezing his shoulder each time he spoke, "If you wished to talk to my apprentice, Lucius, some warning in advance would be appreciated."

"Why, if I didn't know any better, I would have said you have some things to hide, Severus."

"I always have things to hide. However, climbing the whole staircase only to realise your apprentice has not followed you isn't very responsible of me."

Harry looked up. Snape's lips were curled into an amused smile to rival the irritation on Mr Malfoy's face, a single brow arched cleanly in question, "Or are we to pretend I'm the only one with secrets?"

Mr Malfoy suddenly became very red in the cheeks, which Harry always found amusing with pale faced people - how any change in colour was instantly recognizable.

At least, if that person wasn't Snape. Harry didn't remember ever seeing Snape show an emotion other than anger, humour or the always ill-timed desire to be an annoyance. This was a mixture of the latter two.

Snape looked like he was having too good a time.

"I can go on," he added, one hand behind his back, "Or I can tend to the lady one last time and assist my Godson in packing."

"You do that," Mr Malfoy said, the colour in his cheeks still not leaving, eyes dropping down to bore into Harry's, "You've always had a lean in with the mudbloods, Tobias."

The hand on Harry's shoulder dug in like sharp nails. Harry almost shouted out in pain, his eyes wrenched shut in a wince. Snape turned around, steering Harry with him, the response Harry was expecting to hear from Snape not coming out of his mouth.

Once out of the room, Snape instantly loosened his hold, though he still marched him up the steps. Harry would have preferred to talk with him before he left for Mrs Malfoy, at least to learn what the word mudblood meant, or why Mr Malfoy had called Snape Tobias.

But Snape didn't stick around. He just thrust the jar he had filled with water at breakfast into Harry's hands, muttering something about 'flowers dying' before he was gone once again.

Harry sighed. Was this going to be his life now? Ups and downs and people being a hindrance and refusing to be transparent in what they wanted and needed? Random increases and decreases in relationships Harry felt he had no say in?

Everyone and everything was slowly driving him mad.

Lifting up the flowers, which really were starting to wilt, he put them into the jar. Breaking off a petal, he carried it to his desk, where he opened to the middle of Alice in Wonderland, placed the flower on top of the page and closed it, pushing the book down so the flower would be truly flattened.

That brought comfort, somehow. Somewhat.

He spent the rest of the morning going through his diary, looking up when Snape entered the room and told him they would be leaving at noon. Harry went around the room and collected his things, folding them and carrying them to Snape's room where he piled them neatly in the shared luggage, mind wandering in and out through his notes.

Because Harry had noticed a pattern.

A few patterns, actually. The patterns occıpied his thoughts even after they were standing outside, bidding farewell to Mr Malfoy, sitting in the carriage and having to ignore the (one-sided) animated conversation between Snape and Malfoy.

That is why he didn't hear they were talking to him until Snape waved a hand in front of his face, pulling him back.

"What?" Harry asked hazily, looking between the two, "Have I missed something?"

"Only the whole conversation since we've left. I'm sure you'll be alright," Malfoy dismissed him with a hand, "Your water is spilling, by the way."

Harry tilted the jar up, looking down to see some water stains on his shirt, "Is that all?"

"I've asked Draco the reason you two fought. I'd like to hear your side of the story," Snape said, leaning back on the seat.

"And what was Malfoy's side of the story?"

"Silence, if I'm being generous."

"Good," Harry said, leaning his elbow on the window sill and placing his chin on his hand, "You won't find me being more charitable."

Then they left him alone. Harry knew Snape didn't enjoy being left in the dark, but also looked like he didn't want to push things between the two, as if he wanted Malfoy and Harry to get along, or at least talk to each other.

Odd. He'd have to write the last couple of days into the back of his book.

Speaking of.

"What does mudblood mean?"

Malfoy's words caught in his mouth, both his and Snape's eyes flicking to look at him. Harry frowned, furrowing his brows, "What?"

Snape with his wide eyes recovered first, possibly due to him hearing it for the second time that morning. Malfoy, however, didn't regain much of his composure after losing it, mouth still parted after doing a double take.

"It's a derogatory term," Snape explained, voice on edge, "Used by people like Lucius Malfoy."

"I think that is the given," Harry said loosely, like he was pointing out the obvious, "I just want to know what made Mr Malfoy use it with me."

"Because he has no regard for human life," it was Malfoy who spoke, running a hand down his face, avoiding Harry's eye, "To him, you have dirty blood. Everyone who is different does."

Harry stared between the two, a question springing to mind, "Don't take offence, Malfoy, but I don't know why you're surprised. You're his son."

"Just because I look like him I don't go around spitting racial terms do I, Patel?"

"The reason which I was curious about exactly."

Malfoy turned to face him. Harry lifted his chin, shrugging, "I've been called worse. I didn't exactly enjoy it, but I still was. I just want to know what made you so different from your father, when you talk so highly of him."

Snape placed a hand over Malfoy's arm when it looked like he was about to explode with a number of cruel, incomprehensible sentences.

Malfoy took a deep breath, "It's called acting, Patel. Heard of it? If my father found out I was friends with- well, close friends with. I consider Hermione and Ron close, but then again I wasn't-"

"You're confusing him, Draco," said Snape, brows lifted in amusement at the shock on Harry's face, "Too much information, too little contextual reference"

"You're friends with Ron Weasley?" Harry asked, balancing the jar between his thighs, "I don't believe it."

Malfoy looked pleased, his nose lifted up in pride, "Well, not everyone deserved to be my friend, so they are the lucky ones, really."

Snape hummed behind him sarcastically, igniting an argument which Snape participated in with a mere smirk.

"It's true!" Malfoy shouted while Snape nodded, "Sure, we had some arguments and all, but Mrs Weasley still sent me the sweater. It's not my fault I was obsessed with ferrets at the time."

"Wait wait wait," Harry waved his hands, still trying to make sense of the conversation, "Having two friends doesn't make you any better, Malfoy."

"No, Patel, you don't understand. It's because I am better that I have them as friends," Malfoy said, turning his whole body to face Harry, "Do you think I'm still not embarrassed about calling Hermione... that word in first year?"

"I'm sure you are," Harry said, backing away, planting both hands behind him as support.

"Yes, exactly!" Malfoy said, putting both hands on Harry's shoulder and shaking him, "I did some wrong things. But I listened! So everything turned out alright."

"Draco, mind the jar," Snape warned behind him, trying to pull him back from the shoulder, "I don't want to-

"Do you understand, now, Patel?" Malfoy asked, still shaking Harry, "Don't compare me to my father ever again because-"

"YES NOW GET OFF!" Harry shouted, trying to push Malfoy. When that didn't work, he attempted to break his balance with his foot, which only resulted in him, well, falling. As previously wanted, but without taking the water with him.

Malfoy fell down, hitting Harry's leg, shaking the water filled jar. Snape shouted, "Draco the jar!" at the same time Harry shouted, "MY FLOWERS!" but both their efforts weren't enough to stop Harry from toppling over Malfoy, the jar tilting in such a way that it splashed right above them, catching Harry down the head, continuing right below the torso.

Needless to say, Harry wasn't entirely pleased at having to change his clothes behind the bushes on the side of the road, grumply snatching Malfoy's sweater -as his coat was put up to dry for the second time that week- constantly pulling the sleeves of the fabric that pooled around his body.

Even Snape didn't find a reason to annoy him, careful in handing him a fresh pair from their bag.

"I'm sorry abıut the jar," Harry said under his breath, handing him the folded pile of wet clothes.

"I'll take you to purchase lily seeds, back in the city."

Harry looked up, trying to lock eyes with Snape, who was clearly trying to do the opposite, "You don't have to do that."

"Flowers in pots last remarkably longer than those placed in water," Snape muttered without a hint of snide, "Children need to take continuous responsibilities in their lives, and plants may be great enforcement in that regard.

"I'm drying one," Harry said, Snape ushering him forward with his hands brushing Harry's back, "In the memory of ma."

Snape paused when he opened the door, his lips parted. Harry nodded reluctantly for him to continue. Taking a deep breath, Snape motioned for him to get in, speaking as he followed after, "She would be honoured."

Snape sat between them the rest of the journey, squashed between two young boys and their irregular sleeping patterns, which often meant they used his bony body as a pillow, much to his disdain.

For once, it looked like he didn't have the heart to disturb them.

Harry hadn't known how much he'd missed the apothecary until they were inside, the smell of herbs a comforting blanket wrapping around him. Snape put them both to work at once, from cleaning and unpacking to starting the fireplace while he went out to run some errands.

"Do leave some fragments of the house habitable," he warned just as he left, holding up a finger and pointing at them both, "I don't want to treat you like small children."

"Then you should stop seeing us as small children, Uncle," Malfoy said, crossing his arms.

"I cannot avoid the impossible, Draco."

Malfoy chuckled after him, leaving Harry alone in the entrance to tend to his chores upstairs.

Other than cooking, the two did everything, Harry going a step beyond what was necessary to tending to the garden like he used to before leaving for Malfoy Manor. The windows were washed, the weeds were plucked and the water closet was in the exact condition they had left it in. The cutting of the grass took the most effort, but even that task was going well when Snape arrived -

With a man Harry didn't recognise.

Malfoy had called him mid-way into cutting the edges of the vegetable patch, claiming Snape asked for him. Harry washed his hands, drying them by rubbing them over his pants, not putting effort into looking presentable.

He wished he at least had a better shirt on when he stepped upstairs to see someone sitting with his back turned to Harry and in conversation with Snape. When Harry entered the room, he turned around, and Harry saw a man - tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.

He was smiling. A smile which widened noticeably when his eyes found Harry, bones creaking when he stood up from his chair.

"And if my eyes don't deceive me, this is who I think it is."

"Draco, will you leave us? This is a delicate matter, and having outside contribution isn't necessary."

Judging from the way Malfoy looked at Snape, he really didn't want to leave. Regardless, he nodded, closing the door behind him as he left. When his footsteps could no longer be heard, the man walked towards him, extending a wrinkled hand.

"Albus Dumbledore."

Harry took it with a lopsided smile, his small hand lost in Dumbledore's grip, "Al- Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you sir."

Dumbledore took his hand back, but continued to look at him, smile not faltering. Harry looked around awkwardly, when he felt the staring had continued for far too long, his discomfort turning into panic when he noticed tears sliding down the old man's cheeks, getting lost in the hair of his beard.

"Um, sir, would you like a, um..."

Dumbledore shook his hand, pulling a very colorful looking handkerchief from his dark blue coat, dabbing his eyes. While he did that, Snape motioned for him to sit down, coming from the counter to help Dumbledore to the sofa as well.

"Would the Headmaster like some tea?" he asked, pulling his hand back.

Dumbledore chuckled, folding his handkerchief and sliding it back into his coat, "Come now, Severus. Surely after years of knowing each other, you can drop the formalities."

"You mention this every time. And no, I won't. It's my respect for you. Tea?"

"Would you happen to have some lemon?"

Snape stared at him without a word.

"Perhaps not. I'll have what you're having, my boy."

He nodded, and left for the counter to resume making a late breakfast and the tea.

"I apologise, Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to him, still smiling, "I had given up hope many years ago, and hearing the news of your existence came as a great shock, followed by joy."

"Thank...you?" Harry said hesitantly, rubbing his arm, "I, uh, I had some questions."

"I believe we both have a great deal of questions. But if you'd do an old man the courtesy, I'd like to go first, so that I can answer yours with better clarity."

Dumbledore did go first, with questions that often made Harry uncomfortable. Where his family currently lived, had he been aware of his history and what had brought him to Snape's door? Once Dumbledore had run out of questions and was sipping his tea, Harry waited until his body eased and his eyes fluttered closed to ask his question, and even then needing to force his words out.

"Um, Sir Dumbledore, sir..."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore put down his cup, balancing the saucer on his lap, "Would you like to ask me questions now, or receive them after I explain what happened that night?"

Harry glanced at Snape for an answer, but he wasn't looking their way, occupied with aggressively cutting the carrots he'd bought that morning.

"I'd like to know what happened first," he said, turning to face Dumbledore, chin raised and chest puffed, before he thought that must have looked rude, and hunched in on himself with embarrassment, "...Please."

Dumbledore took another sip, a long one. Harry heard the clank of the glass meeting the saucer, and looked up to find the smile on Dumbledore's lips had sagged into a painful frown.

"I found Tom Marvolo Riddle in an orphanage. A terrible place, children covered in bruises and treated no better than objects to exploit. The ideal that could not be further from what I wanted to make Hogwarts one day: Safe, welcoming, unthreatening."

Behind them, the knife slammed down with a shocking amount of force. Harry peered around to see what had happened, but Snape wasn't looking at their direction, abandoning the cutting board and reaching for the cabinets.

"Severus?"

"Nicked my finger," Snape said, wrapping something around his hand, "Please continue, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded, facing Harry once again, "As you might have guessed, he changed."

"Changed?"

"My mission during my years as a professor was to make an environment where students could enjoy each other's presence, and get past their prejudices. This, mind you, was a time the former Headmaster didn't admit anyone other than the sons of prominent families, or at least those that promised greatness."

"I heard a girl called Hermione goes there, and a boy called Ron, who's poor. So something changed, didn't it?"

Dumbledore confirmed with a nod, "My influence in the community allowed me to accept students from all sorts of backgrounds when I became Headmaster. However, during my professor years, there was vile hatred among the students. Vile, Harry. That, in addition to the influence of Gel- Grindelwald, created an environment of dedicated, pure loathing for anyone they didn't consider a 'pure-blood'."

"Mudbloods," Harry asked, frowning at the flinch of Snape, "Mr Malfoy called me that."

Snape turned around, eyes wide and shaking his head. Harry's lips parted, averting his eyes from Snape to Dumbledore when the headmaster glanced behind him.

"Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked with a genuine air of confusion and worry, looking at the back of Snape, "When on Earth did Lucius Malfoy call you that?"

"Uh," Harry dragged, diving around his head for an excuse, "I mean, Malfoy had to come here somehow, yes?"

"Lucius Malfoy wouldn't come to London just to leave his son here," Dumbledore said, the crinkle in his eyes disappearing when they opened wide, "Has the boy been taken to Malfoy Manor."

Snape's shoulder dropped in defeat, his head hanging down. A low mumble came from his direction. Harry interpreted it as a crushed, hopeless way of saying, "Yes, Headmaster."

"Severus!"

"I wasn't left with a choice, Headmaster!" Snape said, whirling around to face them, one hand clutching a handkerchief, "Professor Patel was occupied, and there wasn't anyone I could involve in the matter without the secret being exposed."

Harry shrunk away on the sofa when Dumbledore's back straightened, hoping this wouldn't turn into a shouting row.

Adults shouting at children, he could understand. Adults shouting at other adults rarely turned out to be good, he could remember from the many times Uncle V-

His hand clutched down his arm, digging into his skin.

Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it!

"Remus Lupin lives close to Diagon Alley."

"Remus Lupin," Snape spat the word like venom, his brows crinkled and nose scrunched, "Lives in Diagon Alley. An ally of a convict. That man is homeless."

"No proof of his involvement. And not anymore, as you are well aware of."

Snape scoffed, crossing his arms, "Painfully."

Dumbledore sighed, "Severus-"

"I think Ali- Potter would appreciate it if you continued, Headmaster," Snape intervened, "I will leave once the broth is simmering."

Harry's heart caught in his throat, "Uh, Professor Snape?" Both men turned to face Harry when he spoke, expressions of curiosity very similar. Harry swallowed, scratching his wrist, "If you don't mind, that is if it's- I'd like you to stay. Please."

Snape paused, like he didn't want to believe what he was hearing, "You want me to stay?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore glanced back at Snape, eyes twinkling, "If our Professor would do us the favor."

Snape looked between the two, glaring in response to the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes, "I suppose a reliable narrator to Potter's tale would do no harm."

"I completely agree, Severus."

The knife was picked up once more, and Snape continued to cut in a calmer, more rational manner. Dumbledore cleared his throat, "Now, where were we? Ah yes. During Tom's years at Hogwarts, he-"

A knock interrupted him, making Snape slam the knife down and Harry rub his face with both hands. Snape walked towards the door, rigid and terrifying, pulling the door open with enough force to rattle the walls.

"If it's a customer that doesn't know how to read-" Snape's rigid posture eased, his shoulders dropping, voice shifting from dangerous to the usual monotone drawl as he moved to the side, gesturing for the newcomer to enter, "Professor Patel. What do we owe the visit?"

"That would be my request, Severus."

"I apologise for interrupting, and being late, Headmaster," she said, eyes cast to the ground, voice a little shaken (Harry could guess why) while she entered, "Draco engaged me in conversation. Oh. Here you are-" she handed him a small brown bag, the paper crinkling in the exchange, "Three lemons, as you've requested earlier. Would you like me to take my leave?"

"Are you aware of the circumstances?" Dumbledore asked, weighing a lemon in his hands.

Professor Patel turned to face Harry, a smile on her face, earning a smile from Harry as well, "The scar isn't what I quite imagined."

"Quite. Please join us, so we may continue without further interruption. Oh, and please take this to the counter. Tea was delicious, Severus. Thank you."

Snape hummed in return, accepting the empty cup. Professor Patel then came back, sitting on one of the armchairs, straightening her skirt. Once she was comfortable, Dumbledore placed the lemons back in the bag, and looked Harry right in the eye.

"Where- Oh, yes. When Tom Riddle was a student at Hogwarts..."