That evening in the library, sleepy from eating too much and feeling unusually secure now that he wasn’t hunted, curiosity overcame Harry’s better sense. “Can I ask you something?” he said to Snape.

“Only if you do not insist upon an answer.”

“Is your mum still alive?”

Snape looked up from the ledger he was filling in. “Yes.”

When nothing else was forthcoming, Harry asked with a shrug, “Where does she live?”

“Quite a distance from here,” came the level reply that sounded unwelcoming of further inquiry.

Harry put his book aside and considered whether this was worth the struggle. He sighed lightly and asked, “Do you see her at all?”

“Not in ten years,” Snape said and this time gave the very distinct impression that the topic had grown unsavory.

Harry sat back and considered that. “I can’t imagine,” he commented.

Snape put his quill down and gave Harry a long look.

“Ron said he didn’t speak to his dad all Easter break. I can’t even imagine that,” Harry marveled. The very thought gave him a stab of jealousy that only faded reluctantly.

“You are thinking you would like to meet her, I assume,” Snape said evenly if not a touch darkly.

Harry shrugged. “I hadn’t thought of it until your dad showed up yesterday.”

Snape closed the ledger and pushed it aside. “She lives in an autonomous coven in the eastern part of the country.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Harry pointed out.

“It is a women-only community. A Muggle might call it a cooperative or even a cult, I suppose.”

After thinking that over, Harry said slowly, “That sorta implies that your dad didn’t treat her very well.” When Snape didn’t respond, Harry asked, “I’m out of line, aren’t I?”

“No. Not if he is not here.”

“So how long has your dad been remarried?” Harry asked, feeling emboldened.

“Almost ten years, to the extreme displeasure of my mother.” Snape sat back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “My mother is not exactly pleased with me, either.”

“A son who’s a teacher doesn’t seem that bad,” Harry opined.

“I believe that she saw only malicious intent in that.”

Harry gave him a startled look. “Huh,” he said, then remembered that he himself had only seen malicious intent in Snape at one point, fairly recently even. After a long pause Harry said, “You really don’t think she’d like to see you again?”

“And I am accused of being blunt,” Snape said. “I really do not know,” he added with a hint of impatience.

“Ten years is a long time,” Harry observed.

“I suppose it is not unreasonable to write her,” Snape stated quietly.

“It is up to you, sir.”

“I think you are badly oversimplifying the situation, but perhaps that is to be expected in your case.” He sounded a little tired as he said this.

Harry got up from the lounger to depart for his room, partly because it was late and partly to give Snape a chance to write.

Snape’s voice halted him in the doorway. “Franklin is away on another errand. May I borrow your owl?”

Harry brought Hedwig downstairs and perched her on the back of Snape’s chair, where she proceeded to preen her wings. “Goodnight, sir,” Harry said as he stepped out again.

Snape pulled a sheet of correspondence parchment out of the bottom drawer of the desk. It had a pleasant faint blue sheen, rather than a yellowed one. Trying hard to hold Potter’s simple notion of familial loyalty in his mind rather than the memory of their previous string of difficult meetings, he wrote out the salutation in neat script.

Each line required lengthy deliberation, especially because he did not want it to seem as if it did. Eventually, he wrote:

I hope this letter finds you well and that you have made a home for yourself at the coven. I assume you have heard news of the Dark Lord’s final demise. This has freed me to consider the future more broadly than I have previously been able. At the beginning of August I adopted a son who, as I expect all orphans do, obsesses over issues of family. He is interested in meeting you, if you are amenable. I as well am curious how you are faring.

He read that over, surprised to find that he was truly curious how she was. Potter was correct, perhaps, that ten years was a long time. He signed with a standard closure imploring a reply, finding that easier than asking for one outright. By the time he had the letter sealed in an envelope and addressed, Hedwig had her head under her wing. She perked up immediately at the sound of her name and took the letter in her claw. Snape stood up, intending to open the window wider, but the white owl swooped cleanly through the narrow opening before he could reach it. He watched her ghostlike form flit away over the trees before turning back to the warm, lamplit room.

Hedwig returned at the end of lunch the next day, a huge, Hogwarts kind of midday meal that made Harry again eat more than he could really fit in his stomach. Snape took the letter from her and she flapped up to Harry’s shoulder and nipped his ear.

Harry turned to stare into her large eyes and gave her a strip of chicken. “Long flight, I guess.” She finished that piece and bobbed her head to request another. Harry fed her a choicer strip.

Snape stood with the letter in hand and quit the room. In the drawing room he closed the door and opened the envelope while sitting at the desk. The first thing he noticed was that the salutation was just his name.

It was rather surprising to find this marvelous white owl delivering a letter from you. First off, let me assure you that I have indeed made a home here at Dreveshire, odd for you to question that might not be true.

Snape flinched and put the letter down. He had forgotten how aggravating her willful penchant for misunderstanding could be. He rubbed his temple and continued.

I have to remind myself that eleven years is a long time and people can change in unlikely ways. Something has apparently changed with you—the Severus I knew would not have had the slightest inclination toward parenting. I suppose he is the child of an associate of yours, many of whom were killed recently, I am told. I am being advised by my Covenelder, against my instinct I might add, to give you another chance. One which you do not deserve but, in the interests of satisfying the curiosity of this boy, and my own, I will grant.

Old arguments and bitter feelings rose up in Snape’s mind much clearer now than they had yesterday when he agreed to pen his letter. They made him feel more angry than he had been in a very long time.

Harry sat alone at the table, feeling pensive. Hedwig sat on the chair back beside him, fluffing herself and preening occasionally. He was starting to regret his suggestion. The dinner plates disappeared. After a while, Winky appeared. She wore a different tea towel now, but still a very bright, clean one.

“Master Harry is liking pudding?” she asked.

“Is it chocolate?”

She thought a moment. “It could be if Master Harry wishes.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Winky returned with a large tray containing one small plate with a slice of chocolate cake. She placed this before Harry and snapped her fingers, sending the tray away somewhere. Her magic amazed him. She did much more than Tidgy ever did, without effort.

“Master is not being happy,” she said, clasping her hands before her and leaning toward him with her large blinking eyes.

“Huh?” Harry uttered. He wasn’t accustomed to getting concern from this quarter. Then with a chill, he realized that she was referring to Snape. Harry frowned and put his fork down, deeply regretting his interference.

“Winky can…calm Master, but does not know. Winky not instructed.”

Harry remembered now how she had kept the Death Eater Barty Junior under her power for years. “No, don’t do that. Master Severus wouldn’t want that.”

She frowned and dropped her eyes. “Is Master being violent when very angry? Winky is not allowing anyone to be hurt…”

“No,” Harry replied, his heart sinking. He hadn’t heard anything and wondered what she had seen. Maybe she just sensed things like that. He was starting to realize that he knew nothing about house-elves and maybe nothing about Snape. “It’s all right, Winky. I don’t think you need to do anything.”

She started to turn away. “Winky will return if needed, Master Harry.”

“Thank you, Winky,” Harry said with forced calm.

Harry poked his fork into his cake and made himself take a bite. The chocolate would make him feel better, he assumed. He did not feel he could move. If he went up to his room, Snape might think he had given up on him. Of course, Snape could not know what Winky just came and told him, either.

Harry was saved from making a decision by Snape’s return. As he took his seat, a fresh hot plate of food appeared before him. He stared at it a moment in a kind of surprised annoyance before he took up his fork.

“I’m sorry, sir. I shou—” Harry started to say.

Snape cut him off. “Don’t, Potter. You apologize too much. It is one of your more annoying habits.”

Harry felt like some kind of spell had passed through his flesh. He waited in stillness for what might come next.

Snape rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “I apologize, Harry. I should not have said that, at least not in that manner.” His eyes roamed over the plate in front of him, unsettled.

“It’s all right, sir,” Harry insisted. Compared to things Snape had said in the past, that was nothing. But the meanings of things had changed. He had let them change, in fact. Harry longed to say something to undo everything, then wondered what it was about him that made him always wish for that. He took a small bite of cake just for an excuse to move.

“You are too concessionary,” Snape said in a rambling way. “You need not be so careful around me. I am concerned you do this because you fear that if you displease me you could be sent away.” In a harder tone, as though this were an old argument he wanted settled, Snape went on. “That won’t happen. You cannot be sent away.”

Searching for a response, Harry stared at his guardian with a pained expression. He had never seen this side of Snape before, had not even thought it existed. The letter had clearly undermined him. “I do appreciate that,” Harry finally said. “And at the risk of conceding, I can certainly get by without meeting your mum.”

Snape pushed his plate away. It disappeared an instant later. “She did agree to see us.”

Harry blinked at that. Clearly this wasn’t something he was going to understand anytime soon. “You told her about me?”

“I knew it was the only way to get her to even consider it.”

“Gee, Mum, Harry Potter and I would like to drop by…” Harry said flippantly.

Snape laughed strangely. “She does not know it is Harry Potter,” he said a little mischievously. “I did not feel I could use you in that way. If the mere fact of my adopting did not pique her curiosity…”

The landscape was becoming a little clearer now. Snape’s tone and mannerisms were giving Harry a sense of underlying damage that was usually kept well masked. Snape was remasking it even as he spoke. Harry hoped this meeting went well, or he was going to have one more thing to deeply regret.

Four days later, they took the Floo from the Shrewsthorpe train station to a pub in a very small village in the East Midlands countryside. They walked from the quiet pub—where no one had paid them any attention when they arrived in the hearth—down a narrow lane that once had been paved with river stone, but now was mostly dirt and dust. A mile along, a gate formed of an elaborate rose bush appeared in the stone wall along the road. Harry marveled at the way the rose wood locked around itself as it met in the middle and came back down the sides, blossoming rampantly.

“I believe they practice a bit of Druidic magic,” Snape said as Harry continued to admire it. He pulled a cord beside the gate and a rusty bell at the top rang dully.

They waited. Eventually, a bent-over old witch appeared beyond the flowered arch. She uttered a spell and gestured for them to enter. “We are here to see—”

“Anita, yes, yes,” the old woman interrupted. “This way,” she said pleasantly, gesturing with her long walking stick. She waited for them to pass, then muttered something at the rose gate. She smiled mildly at them and started to lead the way, then stopped with a startled expression. She stepped up to Harry and gazed quizzically at him.

“Hmm, no more poppy tea before noon, me thinks,” she muttered as she started up the brick path that meandered through a rampant garden. At the first low building, they entered. “Wait here, dears,” she said and went out the far door.

Harry wandered around the room. Books lined low, roughhewn shelves along two walls. Crowded paintings of widely varying skill hung above. The furniture was all composed of antler and bone with needlework pillows. The decor seemed the opposite of comfortable. He stepped back over to the window that looked out over the garden and the roses forming the entrance.

“Severus,” an unfamiliar voice said with mixed emotion. Harry turned slowly and watched as a rail-thin woman with a strong jaw line and cropped grey hair came in the door on the far side. The old woman who had met them at the gate stepped in before her as though on guard. Anita reached out and brushed Snape’s sleeve. “You have literally not changed at all,” she said as though accusing him of something. She collected herself. “Anastasia, this is my son, Severus.”

Snape shook the old witch’s hand. “I have heard quite a lot about you,” she said as though challenging him to try anything.

“Clearly,” Snape said dryly.

Anita took a deep breath and glanced around their side of the room. “Did you bring your son?” she asked.

Snape turned to Harry, gesturing with his arm, and Harry realized it must seem strange, him rooted to this spot way over here. Harry forced his feet to move. He carefully navigated around the prongs of the furniture as he went over to them.

“Ma’am,” Harry said in greeting when he reached them.

She was more than surprised when she recognized him. She appeared to fall into a trance for many breaths. “This is your son?” she breathed. She turned to Snape. “You adopted Harry Potter?”

Snape bowed his head, sending his hair forward. “Yes.”

She put her fingertips to her forehead in a very familiar gesture. “I can’t believe they allowed you to do that. I assumed you had adopted one of your fellow Death Eaters’ children.”

Harry searched in vain for a response since the adoption had taken a bit of arguing on that exact point. Left hanging by the silence, Anita said dazedly, “Well, have a seat.” She moved to one of the antler rocking chairs and gestured for them to take the couch. Snape and Harry sat there. The old witch sat to the side on a stool, her staff between her knees. Harry wondered if the whole thing wasn’t a wand of some kind and how that would work if it were. Their eyes met and, after a moment, she nodded. Harry was certain she was answering his unspoken question. Used to Legilimency, Harry nodded in return and looked back at Anita.

“I need a moment to take this in,” she said, staring at Harry perplexedly. She shook her head, took a deep breath and asked, “So, you are living in the house in Shrewsthorpe?”

Harry answered, “For a few more days until classes begin at Hogwarts.” He wasn’t feeling very generous toward her. He kept remembering what her letter had done to Snape.

She clasped and unclasped her hands as though distressed. “You wanted this?” she asked him.

“To visit? Yes.”

“I mean, to be adopted,” she clarified.

“Yes,” Harry replied evenly. “Very much so.”

She turned to Snape who gave her a look as though, you were saying? “You believe you can find atonement this way?” she asked him bluntly. Snape’s eyes narrowed.

Harry made a noise like a suppressed laugh. “You didn’t tell me your parents were so much alike,” he said.

“What?” Anita asked. Very sharply.

“Shazor accused him of adopting me to protect himself from the Ministry. Actually, I should say, congratulated. You accuse him of having some kind of internal retribution to pay. Neither of you assumes he has altruistic motives.” He could see she did not expect this much from him.

“You imagine he does?” she returned in a mocking tone.

Harry looked at her and thought, if you had seen him stopping me from going after Pettigrew, you wouldn’t doubt it. The old witch cleared her throat, attracting Anita’s attention. She gave Anita a solemn nod. Harry took a deep breath and Occluded his mind. He then intentionally waited for the old witch to look his way. She tilted her head to the side as if to say, ah, well.

“So, three weeks into this, you are still happy?” she asked Harry.

In a purely curious tone Harry said, “May I ask why you are asking me?”

A little uncomfortably, she replied, “Anastasia, my Covenelder, is helping me.”

“I cannot read either of them now. The boy is as good as the other is at hiding his mind once he realizes he needs to.”

Anita looked at Harry a little suspiciously. “He taught you that?”

“Yes.”

“You have something to hide?” Anita asked him.

Harry shrugged lightly. “I think you should trust people and what they tell you voluntarily. Everyone has things they would like to keep to themself. Even from a Covenelder living in the middle of nowhere.”

“Old wounds they would like to continue nursing, for example,” Anastasia said airily.

Harry pushed his glasses up and gave her a long look. She gave him an innocent one in return. “For example,” Harry acknowledged grudgingly.

“Anita,” Anastasia said, “I agree with the boy. You should trust first in this case. Severus could not have brought a more powerful icon of his true self or a better peacemaker. He has met you much farther than halfway.” She waited for Anita to respond. When a time passed, she said, “What is still bothering you?”

Anita’s words were barely audible. “I raised an awful, terrible, dark wizard.”

Harry glanced at Snape, who was staring at the floor before his mother’s chair.

“You would never believe I changed,” Snape said. “Twenty years have gone by and you still refuse.”

Her eyes went dark. “You were a monster—there was no path back for you.”

Harry bit his lip and waited for someone else to speak.

Anita took a deep, calming breath. “I fear now that you have fooled this boy,” she gestured to Harry.

In a level tone, as though he were being extra patient with a student, Snape said, “Even if you have no faith in me, you are seriously underestimating two people, Albus Dumbledore and Harry himself.” Snape stood up and looked back at Harry still on the couch. “Are you ready?” he asked factually.

“To leave?” Harry asked in surprise. “If you really want…” He studied Snape. Whatever had emerged to unhinge him was completely submerged again. Harry wouldn’t have known it was ever there, looking at him now.

Anita stood as well. “We prepared lunch for you,” she said a little strained. “Give us a chance to be decent hosts, at least.”

Snape hesitated several breaths before he bowed acceptance with great reluctance.

Anita led the way out the back to a stone paved area with a wooden table. Harry only now got glimpses of the other inhabitants, working in the gardens, weaving. He thought he heard a fire roaring hot nearby and imagined a kiln or a blacksmith. A wave of Anita’s wand set the table.

A little sheepishly, she said, “I assumed your son would be a little younger, so I invited two of the young girls who live here to join us. They are nine and eleven. I expect they will be thrilled to meet Harry.”

The old witch had stepped away. She returned accompanied by a woman with long blonde hair with two sun-bleached children in tow.

“Severus’ new son is a little older than I imagined, Caroline,” Anita apologized to the woman as they gathered at the table.

Harry held out his hand. Caroline accepted it and said, “Caroline. We only have one name here,” she explained.

“Harry Potter,” Harry said.

The two girls gasped and the woman froze halfway to sitting down. “My!” she said.

“Are you really?” one of the girls asked.

“All my life,” Harry returned.

“I want to sit next to Harry,” one of them insisted and immediately leapt around the table to squeeze between Snape and him. The other, upon seeing this, jumped up as well. “Me too!” She took the short end of the bench. Snape moved down to make more room for them all.

“Hello,” Harry said, feeling strange to be pressed between two glowing children with wide blue eyes of amazement.

“I’m Rattanita,” one of them said. “Call me Ratta.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Harry said lightly, making her giggle.

“I’m called Princess, but that isn’t my real name,” the other one ended in a whisper.

“You have to forgive them,” Caroline said. “They are very sociable, but we get very few visitors. Especially not ones that they already worship.”

“When are you coming out with a poster?” Princess demanded.

Harry gave her an alarmed look in return. “Never, if I have anything to say about it.” When she pouted, looking honestly crushed, Harry said, “You can always magically blow up the chocolate frog card.”

Princess leaned forward to look at her sister in excitement. “Good idea!”

“I didn’t really say that,” Harry said in dismay, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.

Snape said, “Ah, it is good to see how well Potter has adjusted to his fame.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t go there,” he said in mock threat.

Ratta grabbed his arm rather hard and said, “I can’t believe it! Harry Potter,” as she shook him.

“Girls,” Caroline admonished them. “Some decorum now, if you can manage.”

They released him and sat up straight, primly putting their serviettes in their laps. Harry decided he preferred them the other way.

Salad arrived with dark red tomatoes and crisp cucumbers. Then cold soup. Then roasted vegetable sandwiches. “You eat well here,” Harry said to the girls.

They shrugged. “What is your favorite food?” one of them asked.

“Chocolate cake,” Harry replied.

“Birthday cake?” the other asked for confirmation.

“Yep. The first one I ever had was the best one,” he said, falling into a mode of entertaining them. “Even though a giant had squashed it by carrying it in his pocket.”

“No!” Princess insisted. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not,” Harry said.

“How do you remember the first birthday cake you ever had?” Ratta asked in accusation.

“I was eleven. Your age.”

“You didn’t get one before that?” Ratta asked in horror.

“Not a one.”

“We’ll make you one!” They insisted.

“That’s okay, really. I had chocolate cake for pudding last night. Our house-elf makes it all the time,” Harry insisted, only then realizing the oddness of that.

“You still have that house-elf?” Anita asked Snape.

Snape shook his head. “A different one.”

“What happened to Tidgy?” Anita asked suspiciously.

When no one answered, one of the girls parroted while tugging on Harry’s arm, “What happened to him?”

Harry took a deep breath and, knowing the girls would disbelieve him, replied, “He was eaten by a snake. A really big one.”

Anita gave him a disbelieving look at the same time as the girls whined, “Nooooo, silly.”

“I can’t help it if you don’t believe me.”

Princess put her hands on her hips in mock disgust. “What happened to the snake?” she asked as though to test his story.

“I told it to go sleep by the hearth. Then the Ministry took it away.”

Princess eyed him strangely as though realizing he wasn’t playing the game properly. His tall tales were not supposed to be true.

“You told it to go sleep by the hearth?” Anita asked carefully.

Snape said quietly, “You have no sense of when to hide the truth, Potter.” The entire table had frozen, staring warily at Harry. To the table, Snape said, “You have to realize that he was raised as a Muggle. He doesn’t understand the implications of what he is admitting to.”

The girls leaned around Harry and whispered, then slid off the bench and scampered off. Harry felt a little alone on his end of the table now.

“More tea, anyone?” Anastasia brightly asked, her aged hand holding the pot up unsteadily in invitation.

The girls returned, giggling. Harry turned to them in surprise. Princess held up a green garter snake for his inspection.

“Girls,” Caroline said, although it didn’t have the sharp edge it could have.

“We want to see him talk to it,” Ratta insisted. “We’ve never seen anyone talk to a snake before.”

“Because only dark wizards can do that,” Caroline replied slowly, eyeing Harry.

“Mum, don’t be dumb! It’s Harry Potter.” She handed him the snake. It was all of two foot long and as green as grass. It asked to be put down.

“It wants to be left alone.” At their doubtful expressions, he insisted, “That’s what it just said.”

“Oh, you can’t really talk to snakes,” Princess said in disappointment. “I could have told you that.”

Harry sighed. “What do you want me to ask it?”

Caroline sat back with her tea. “Ask it if it ate Peralla’s Crickets. They all disappeared one day.

“Where were they?” Harry asked.

“In a little white box,” Ratta provided.

Harry asked the snake that. Everyone at the table stiffened as he did as though the seats had become electric. “Whoa,” Princess breathed. The snake nodded. “It did! Did you see that mum—it nodded!” she exclaimed. “You really can talk to snakes.” She took the garter back gently and set it down in a patch of tarragon nearby.

“You sound really strange when you do that,” Ratta said.

“I can’t hear it,” Harry said. “I just think I’m talking normally.” Snape gave him a curious look at that and Harry shrugged in return.

Ice cream was served. Harry savored every bite of each of four flavors, thinking with satisfaction that it was probably twice as good as anything Dudley ever ate in front of him. Princess curled up in Caroline’s lap across from him despite being far too big to do so easily. Caroline alternated bites between herself and her daughter. She set the spoon down to wipe her mouth, then ran her fingers through Princess’ hair before kissing her on the top of the head. Princess looked up and got a kiss on the forehead as well. Caroline picked up the spoon again.

Realizing that he was staring, Harry went back to his ice cream, feeling colder inside than the ice cream could account for.

Ratta came up to him and nudged him shyly. “Can you sign this?” she asked, holding his chocolate frog card.

“Oh, get mine too!” Princess said, sitting up suddenly, unbalancing her mother and herself.

“I got it,” Ratta insisted, pulling another roughed up card from her pocket.

Harry borrowed a quill and signed them both personally. With ginger motions they picked the cards up and carried them off, careful not to smudge the ink.

“Thank you,” Caroline said across from him. Harry shrugged that it was no big deal.

The girls returned and now sat more quietly beside him. “Did a giant really squash your birthday cake?” Princess asked.

“Not really,” Harry said. “He was only a half-giant.”

Princess punched him on the arm. “What other funny things have happened to you? Tell us something else.”

Harry gazed at her as though she were crazy. “How much time do you have?”

“Not that long,” Caroline replied for them.

“Awwww,” the girls complained. Princess grabbed his arm yet again. “Tell us something,” she pleaded.

“Uh, about what?”

After a moment’s deliberation, Ratta said, “The Tri-Wizard Tournament on the card. Tell us about that. How did you win it?”

“A dark wizard pretending to be a friendly wizard made sure I won it. I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“Why did they put it down, then?” Ratta demanded, insulted.

“They didn’t ask me before they wrote that. Otherwise I’d have told them to take it off.”

“Did you get the bad wizard in the end?” Princess asked conspiratorially.

“No. The teachers did.” Harry remembered that terrible moment in Moody’s office when he realized the other wizard intended to kill him. He had already been shattered by Cedric’s death and his narrow escape from Voldemort. He had been helpless, in shock. His heart pumped at the memory even two years later.

“Girls,” Caroline said quietly. She gave them a palm down gesture with her hand, and they fell silent.

“I do hope you are helping this boy heal?” Anita demanded of Snape.

Taken aback, Snape didn’t answer immediately. Harry did. “He is,” he said quietly.

“More ice cream? Do you want more ice cream?” Princess tugged on Harry’s sleeve, looking concerned.

“Thanks,” Harry said with a smile that removed her strained look instantly.

They made their goodbyes soon after that, while there was still plenty of daylight left for the walk back to the pub. The train station was quiet as well when arrived there. Traffic on the road in the village was light and soon Harry relaxed as the door closed behind him inside their house.

“I’ll tell Winky that dinner can be late and light.”

“I suspect she already knows,” Harry said.

“She is unusually perceptive,” Snape agreed.

Post had arrived in their absence. Harry picked up two letters and took them up to his room to write replies. He wrote back to Hermione describing the two little girls without saying where he had met them. Neville had been helping him with the parchment spell, even going into the wizard library in London to look for books that might help.

After a small dinner, Harry wrote a long note discussing what he had learned since they had last corresponded and tried out some spells Neville suggested in his letter. He was running out of blank parchment. If he tore a blank sheet off of the writing tablet, it threatened to not give you another. And once a sheet had been enchanted, it never worked quite right for a new spell. He went downstairs and found Snape in the drawing room at the desk, as usual. When he looked up, Harry asked, “Do you have any parchment?”

Snape pulled open a drawer beside him. “It is here. Help yourself.”

Harry came over and pulled out five sheets before shutting the drawer again. He hesitated there. “The visit went all right.”

Snape made an ambivalent motion with his head. Harry could not see him well since he was bent over some kind of form and this made his hair fall over his face. “Sorry about the Parselmouth thing. It just isn’t important to me, so I can’t remember that other people care so much.”

Snape didn’t reply, so Harry stepped away. “Hey, can I go to Diagon Alley now and get my school stuff?”

“I thought we would do that on the way to Hogwarts.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed and realized that Snape was right, he was trying too hard to please him, but doing otherwise wasn’t imaginable.

After playing around with some new parchment spells in his room, Harry grew too tired to continue. He changed into his pyjamas, noting that they seemed too tight, and crawled into bed. He dropped off to sleep after a short while, undisturbed by dreams.

Something touching his hair woke him. Harry, lying on his stomach, turned his head to see what it was. A shadow loomed close in his mind, outlined by the dim light from the hall beyond in his real vision.

“I did not realize you would be so soundly asleep already,” Snape said apologetically.

“Long day,” Harry muttered.

The bed tilted slightly. “I realized something about you today, Harry.”

“So did I,” Harry murmured.

“What was that?”

“You are the only person who understands anything,” Harry said sleepily.

“Hm.”

A long silence ensued. Harry had to fight drifting off again. “Are you going to tell me?”

“I think not, upon further reflection.”

Harry frowned into his pillow. “You are just here to make me nuts?”

“No,” Snape countered softly. Harry started as something brushed his hair again. He opened his eyes to catch the dim silhouette of Snape’s hand. He turned his face into the pillow as he realized that Snape had caught him staring at Princess and her mother.

Snape’s voice said, “If you trust me enough to accept it, that is.”

Flushed with embarrassment, Harry burrowed down under the covers. A hand rested on his covered shoulder a long time before the bed tilted again and Snape departed. A warm anxiety had replaced the cold ache and Harry marveled at how much better that felt.