Harry didn't like the fire safety officer from the island. He placed back and forth in the charred remains of what had become home to Harry, hmming and sighing and not saying anything useful as Harry's dread got worse. What he was waiting—and fearing—to hear, that there was a possibility of arson (and thus some sort of attack), seemed imminent.

"It was an electrical fire," the man finally declared.

The officer was a pretty great guy. Harry perked up immediately. Snape slowly uncrossed his arms, and although most people wouldn't have been able to read the minute changes in his face, Harry could tell that he was just as relieved.

"The wiring in this place hadn't been updated in decades," he continued, "likely not since it was built. When was that?"

"1949," Malcolm said. As owners of the cottage, he and Amy were also there to hear the officer's report.

The officer sneered slightly. "Backwater villages like this never seem to have any regard for fire safety."

Harry scowled. He hated the officer.

Amy didn't need any help from Harry, however, to defend herself and the village. She said pointedly, "If that’s true, it's the fault of negligent officials who are supposed to make sure their entire jurisdiction is up to code."

The man cleared his throat, and Snape had a viciously pleased look on his face from hearing her setdown. To prevent a full incident from his caustic professor, Harry tapped his arm and moved to search the ashes for anything salvageable as the officer stepped over the charred threshold to go toe-to-toe with Amy.

Harry walked carefully through the ashes, casting around for anything metal and more likely to withstand the flames. With this in mind, he headed for where he knew the kitchen to be. "You ran back inside for Dumbledore's parchment, didn't you," he asked quietly.

Snape nodded once, also beginning to search for something they could recover.

Harry spotted what he thought might be their kettle. He reached his hand down into the ashes, only to draw it up and cradle it to his chest with a hiss as he sliced his palm on something sharp.

Snape was there a moment later. "Let me see it."

Harry fought the instinct to shy away and held out his hand. Snape inspected it carefully. "It does not look deep. You will need to wash it out, however." He released Harry's hand. "It is times like these that I sorely regret being unable to cast magic," he muttered quietly.

"Sorry," Harry said, even though he wasn't quite sure what, exactly, he was apologizing for.

Snape gave him a look, and he shrugged and glanced away, heart stinging more than his hand as he refocused on the ruins around them. Keeping his right hand close, he walked over to what had once been his practice corner.

Using his foot to brush aside the ashes (and any sharp debris), he unveiled the case holding his practice chanter. It had cracked under the heat, and another tiny tear opened in his chest as he reached cautiously in with his left hand, pulling out his ruined practice chanter.

"There's nothing more I can do here," the officer said abruptly, evidently growing tired of their spat. Snape immediately ceased searching and walked back to the small group. Harry wandered over at a slower place, chanter still held loosely at his side.

"Is it irreparable?" Amy asked sympathetically, one of the few villagers who completely supported his efforts to learn from McAuliffe.

Harry held up the blackened and warped chanter, staring at it numbly.

"That is a shame. Elegant instrument, the bagpipes," the officer nodded to Harry, then took his leave.

The officer was alright, really.

"I still say we wait for Dumbledore," Molly argued.

Sirius slumped down in his chair, sighing dramatically. "We don't need his express permission for every little thing," he griped.

"We can argue this around and around for hours. The unavoidable point, that we don't know when he'll be back, and can't afford to lose any more potential allies, isn't going to change," Remus said. Sirius had rarely seen him so assertive at Order meetings, and certainly not since after Azkaban.

"If he's an ally," Moody said. "So far, all you've told us is that he fought off some werewolves that had attacked him."

"Or her," Tonks shot from the corner.

"The man who captured him said it was a male of apparently capable physical and magical years, who had been fair to him. The fact that he didn't just kill him or call the ministry, I hope, indicates someone more interested in doing the right thing than blindly following the law."

"Whoever he is, he should have called the ministry," Moody said. "He's a wild card."

Sirius snorted. When everyone looked at him, he shrugged. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just the Azkaban escapee in your midst, enjoying the irony. Let's listen to what else our resident werewolf has to suggest. Unless, of course, our Death Eater spy should finally come back from whatever hole he’s crawled into with another idea. We're none of us the world's first picks for heroes. We're in the Order because Dumbledore asked us to be, and he did that because he trusts us and wants our help. Do you think he'd have asked a single person in this room to be here if he didn't think they could handle themselves? I say Remus goes on his bloody mission."

Everyone started talking at once. Finally, Minerva yelled for quiet, and everyone stilled. She turned to Remus.

"Do you feel ready to find this person and talk to them?"

He nodded.

"Then I say we take a vote."

Everyone agreed to that. Minerva called for those for, and Sirius was one of the first to raise his hand, along with many others. He couldn't tell if it was a majority, however, until she asked for those against, and there were enough fewer people that it was obvious which side had won.

Remus was going on a mission.

"Fine," Moody growled. "But if you're going, you’ll need to be prepared. Let's draw up a plan."

Sirius internally groaned. "Drawing up a plan" was Moodese for spending hours discussing increasingly unlikely scenarios.

Evidently, Remus didn't share in Sirius' feelings, as he pulled a map from his pocket and spread it out flat across the table.

"Where's this?"

"The west coast of Scotland. The easiest access point is by boat from this island, here." He pointed at a point on the map, and Sirius pulled himself to his feet, not liking the way his joints creaked with the movement. He moved closer to stand next to his old friend, following his finger as it pointed at a small dot of a village on the map. "That is where our new ally may be found."

Harry might have grown some these past few months, but he was still a bit small for his age. Callum brought over a box of clothes that he had grown out of, but which fit Harry perfectly. Embarrassed at having to wear his friend’s own clothes, he had still thanked him sincerely.

Snape was also the benefactor of the villagers’ generosity. Francis, in particular, had loaned him various clothes for the time being.

There hadn’t been much to salvage from the ruins of the cottage. They had been able to prevent the fire from spreading to nearby homes, but had not managed to save much of anything of the cottage itself. What they had pulled out of the ruins—their kettle, some silverware, and a couple of mugs—weren’t even their own belongings. They were furnishings of the cottage, and had been there when they arrived. Even as much as the place had become home to Harry, and he had felt a sort of ownership over everything within, the only items that had truly been his were the bed, some books, the chanter, and the clothes Snape had bought him. All of these were gone.

With his hand cleaned and bandaged, Harry sat on the couch next to Snape in Amy and Malcolm Duncan’s living room. “Hey, Dad.”

As owners of the cottage, the Duncans held themselves responsible for the fire and had offered to share their own home free of charge until Harry and Snape could find new lodgings. Snape slept in the guestroom, while Harry used a cot that had been squeezed into the office. While they weren’t sure who might be nearby, they had decided to use their fake names on a semi-permanent basis.

“Hello, Henry,” Snape said flatly. He was staring at the opposite wall, an uncharacteristic, slight slump to his shoulders.

Harry knew exactly how he felt. They had come here with almost nothing, but had managed to build a life for themselves. Now, they really had nothing at all except for each other. Not even the clothes on their backs were their own. He was lucky that Snape had instructed him to keep his wand on him at all times, or that would have been lost as well.

“What are we going to do?” he whispered.

Snape closed his eyes. “For now? Get our bearings.”

Harry slid his feet out of their shoes and tucked them up under himself, wrapping his arms around his chest and twisting to lean sideways against the back of the couch. He faced away from Snape to shield his tortured expression from view.

Why did it have to end? Things had been good.

“At least we have a real bathroom to use now. No more brushing our teeth at the kitchen sink,” he tried to joke. The attempt didn’t work.

“Indeed.” Snape said disinterestedly.

Harry hunched a little further in on himself as everything became just a little bit heavier inside. “Every time I gain something worth having, it gets taken away, and it’s just like before, except now I know what I’m missing,” he said.

There was silence, and then a hand touched his shoulder. Harry clenched his jaw, not moving, afraid that if he did the burning in his eyes would win.

But Snape had decided to give one of his rare offers of comfort, and wasn’t about to let Harry refuse it from shattered pride. He gently pulled on Harry’s shoulder, turning him around to face him. Harry didn’t resist, but the burning in his eyes did get worse, so he pressed his face into Snape’s side to hide it. While he sat there and pretended he hadn’t lost the battle with his emotion, Snape spoke.

“Not everything has been taken away.”

Harry could feel the vibrations of his professor’s speech rumble in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “Oh, really?” he asked, with a choked laugh that sounded more like a sob. “What’s that, then?”

“The skills and knowledge that you’ve gained remain with you. Every book you read, every meditation session you completed, has helped you and will continue to do so.” It was a vague response, in keeping with their caution of being overheard, but Harry knew what he meant.

“I guess,” he said. “That doesn’t make the rest hurt any less.”

“No, it does not,” Snape sighed, and Harry hated the defeated tone he heard.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Stop apologizing,” Snape said, wrapping his arm tighter around Harry.

As they sat there in silence, Harry realized that there was one other thing he had gained since they came here, which had not been taken away by the fire. He hesitantly wrapped an arm around Snape’s torso. The man stiffened slightly, but didn’t pull away, so Harry allowed himself to close his eyes and pretend, for once, that their cover story wasn’t really a story after all.

That was the scene Amy walked into a few minutes later. She didn’t comment on the embrace, nor the way Harry hastily scrubbed at his face when he sat up. “Dinner will be in a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Snape said, standing up.

“Of course. We’re having lamb and rice.”

At that, Harry felt a smile on his face despite everything. She gave him a sad smile in return and left. Harry turned to Snape.

“Did you hear that?”

“Dinner?” Snape asked.

“Lamb. Not fish, lamb.

Snape’s lips twitched. “Perhaps, things are starting to look up?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but a bit of the heaviness in his chest had lightened.