Harry thought of a use for the secret passage. It came to him in the shower that morning as though it were something he had thought of previously and simply forgotten. Grinning, he dressed and got ready for class. Even the prospect of Potions did not diminish his newfound buoyant mood.

At breakfast as the post owls arrived, Pig dropped a letter in Harry’s lap and zipped around Ron’s head a few times until the redhead waved his hand to chase him away as though the small owl were a fly. Harry avoided looking up at Ron as he noticed the return address of the Burrow. As he was opening it, another owl, this one small and dark, dropped another one beside Harry’s breakfast plate. It was from Lupin. After a moment of indecision Harry continued to open the one from Mrs. Weasley.

Dearest Harry,

I do hope you are coping well with the loss of dear Albus. It has been rather glum here at the Burrow since the memorial, I’ll confess, and I do apologize for not finding you afterwards, but it was too crowded to, apparently. We were both concerned that he meant too much to you to take his passing in stride. Ginny owled us with assurances that you are taking it well enough and with the news that you have acquired an adoptive father. I must admit, I felt I needed to confirm this with Prof. McGonagall, given our children’s penchant for practical jokes. Minerva explained that you had not informed anyone of this, which worried me until Ginny explained your apparent reasons.

My dear Harry, I do apologize for the abominable behavior of my youngest son. Would it not have embarrassed you as well, I’d have sent him a howler straight off. Rest assured he has received a sharp missive instead with strict instructions to straighten up.

Harry casually lowered the letter and let his eyes move over the table. Ron was eating with his usual gusto although his eyes looked a little empty as they stared at a spot just above his plate. With a small frown Harry returned to the letter. He sort of wished Mrs. Weasley had let Ron work it out on his own.

I must admit to being surprised by who has taken you on, but I know the choice of accepting was certainly yours alone to make and that no one forced you to make it. Although Minerva tells us that it was Albus’ intent that Severus should do this, I cannot help but imagine what your father, your birth father, that is, would think.

Harry sighed and took a drink of pumpkin juice. His plate had gone cold. He nibbled on some toast as he went back to the letter and avoided Hermione’s gaze, which seemed to be trying to catch his. He reread that last line and thought that his father wasn’t exactly here to complain.

Well, Arthur informs me I should not have written that last part, but I feel it needs saying.

Harry grinned at the notion of them fighting over the letter, even as he felt a twinge at her desire to speak for his parents.

You were viewed as Albus’ protégé, you know.

That startled him. He couldn’t imagine living up to that and willed her to be mistaken.

Ginny believes you still wish to keep the adoption quiet despite your schoolmates knowing. I expect that given your age, fewer in the wizarding world will take an interest than you expect.

Harry hoped that was true. The rest of the letter was wishes that he be happy. He folded it and put it in his pocket. Breakfast was winding down. He stashed Lupin’s away as well and stood up with his friends.

During Transfiguration, Harry considered that McGonagall seemed to be taking Dumbledore’s death rather well, or she was simply too used to functioning normally no matter what else was happening. She had her usual patient smile fixed on her lips as she circled the room, helping students with a three-stage transfiguration. They were supposed to change an onyx crystal into a tulip, which qualified it as a metatranscendant transformation as the two were opposite classes of object. This class had become a bit of a letdown each Monday after the ease and fun of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry watched with interest as McGonagall helped Justin. The Hufflepuff could not do the spell either and Harry was hoping to pick something up before she came around to their table. Beside him, Hermione was trying to figure out how to get a yellow tulip with a red center, rather than just a yellow or just a red one. It was getting harder to not have her success pile onto his own frustration. Worse yet, this was making him understand Ron better.

Ron was still transfiguring the onyx crystal into quartz. Harry had that down at least. Getting the quartz to make it to thistle was proving beyond him. He got something that looked like a glass pine cone tinged green instead. It was pretty, but far from correct.

Justin finally managed the spell, but Harry could not discern exactly how from the other side of the room. Harry tried it again himself, thinking, as he had been instructed, of the natural growth angles of quartz and the branching of the thistle plant. McGonagall had left him with the impression that she thought this an easy step. He thought hard about long spines as he incanted the first two spells. The resulting very spindly pine cone actually collapsed in a shower of quartz needles. Harry could hear the Slytherins laughing at him. He banished the mess and took another crystal from the box provided to each table. He had not failed to notice that McGonagall always stocked their table well.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said as she strode up to them, “that didn’t sound very promising.”

“No, Professor,” Harry agreed. His newest onyx crystal sat before him, looking innocent. When he looked up at the teacher for any advice, he found her eyes tinged with something like regret. He lowered his wand to his lap and slouched a bit. Transfigurations seemed unimportant all of a sudden.

“You are having trouble with the second step, correct?” she asked. At Harry’s nod, she gestured elegantly at the sample. “Study the thistle a bit more.”

Harry did so. It sat in a pot on the table in the middle of the room, looking dangerously beautiful and fragile.

McGonagall gave him a moment to consider it before saying, “It is alive, Harry. You must make it not only a shape transformation in step two, but also a protasmic one. Neither is really hard but both are necessary. Try it again.”

As Harry stared at the chunk of smooth, dark rock before him, he remembered that Transfiguration was Dumbledore’s subject as well. Harry regretted that he had never had a class with him, although it was just as well he couldn’t see his current slow performance. He cast the two spells, the first now quite rote. Before him was…something. It was kind of a plant and it was kind of green. The weight of the long quartz needles on its leaves was making it droop as he studied it.

“Closer,” McGonagall said helpfully. “I think.”

Harry was starting to dislike tulips rather a lot. Ron finally got a quartz crystal, to grand congratulations from Hermione, who was now trying for a purple tulip.

After classes, Harry finally had a chance to open his other letter when he let his friends go on ahead to the tower without him. He stood in a window looking out on a cloudy day and opened it. It was much shorter than Mrs. Weasley’s.

Dear Harry, A great deal of news about you in the last week. Unfortunate that you didn’t feel you could share your new home circumstances, but far be it from me to fault others for keeping secrets. I have been assured that Severus is treating you well, as odd as that notion is. It leads me to believe he must have been under far too much strain these many years. Trust that I and many others share your grief about Dumbledore. He truly had an impact on us all. Please owl if you need to speak of anything at all. -Remus.

Harry folded the letter and put it with Mrs. Weasley’s. Something that had been on his mind for a while came to the fore. He headed to the staircases with purpose.

“Professor?” Harry said as he pushed open the door to the headmistress’s office. It had been left ajar, which would have been unusual before.

McGonagall sat at her desk, concentrating hard on the parchments before her. “Yes, Mr. Potter,” she said in a flat tone.

“This is very quick, Professor,” Harry said apologetically. “I was just wondering when Severus’ birthday is.”

McGonagall raised her eyes at that and grinned a little mischievously. She pulled out a file drawer and flipped through it and parted one of the files to peer at it without pulling it out. “November the twentieth,” she replied with a small crooked grin.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“You are quite welcome, Harry,” she said in a much more amiable tone.

Harry grinned to himself as he left her office and went straight to the kitchens to get what he needed for his prank. He needed a large cork and just the right size jar. Dobby turned out to be a great help, patiently bringing him one empty jar after another until he found one that made exactly the right noise when the cork was pulled. It was a small jar too, which was even better. Contemplating a bit of truly harmless trouble made him feel better than he had in a very long time. He was just a little bothered that he didn’t have Ron in on it, although he imagined he was going to enjoy it.

Late that evening, Snape looked up from the book he was studying when McGonagall entered his office. She had an odd look upon her face, as though reminded of something of that evoked mixed emotion.

“Among Albus’ things I found a collection of these,” she said, holding out a small sealed envelope.

Snape accepted it and examined it. The parchment looked aged, yellowed, especially around the gum seal. His first name was written in Dumbledore’s hand on the front in ink faded to brown. Snape made a noise of conflicting interest.

“You probably won’t be able to open it,” McGonagall commented.

With a doubtful look, Snape tried to slip his thumbnail under the seal—it steadfastly refused to budge or even tear a little.

“Pomona’s and Hagrid’s are that way as well. Mine was open when I found it. Most everyone’s opened when I handed them out. Just as well to put off reading it,” she opined.

He studied the ordinary but unopenable seal again. “Powerful wizards mucking about,” he breathed, annoyed. At McGonagall’s dubious look, he explained, “Potter’s words.”

“Ah. I always thought not much was getting past him.” She adjusted her robes and turned to leave. “There was no letter for him, by the way.”

“Good.”

As students settled in for Defense on Friday, a note was passed surreptitiously. It read, Do not react. Act normal. Used to this sort of thing, they followed it immediately, maybe too much.

Snape took roll call visually, his brow furrowing momentarily as he noticed Harry’s absence. He scratched his brow and started the lecture, determined to give his charge no extra consideration.

“Today we will continue with cutting spells,” he said. As he gave them an overview of what they would cover that day, he noticed that they all seemed somewhat extra attentive, almost innocently so. He shook that off and described the advanced narrow burning spell.

If Snape had turned around, he would have noticed one of the wooden panels behind him swing open. He almost certainly would have seen Harry step silently out from behind it and close it, tapping it once with his wand very lightly. The class obediently kept their eyes on the teacher as Harry pulled the small jar from his pocket and pulled the cork.

A loud pop! made Snape turn around. Harry stood behind him, hands in his pockets, looking inordinately pleased with himself. A few students giggled.

“Potter,” Snape said with his old sneer. “You do not expect me to believe that you have managed to Apparate inside the castle. Or Apparate at all for that matter, since I know for a fact you are not licensed to do so.”

Harry gave him a shrug and stepped around him. “Sorry I’m late, sir,” he said.

Snape looked around behind him, then back at Harry, who was very much Occluding his mind, but made up for it with a very sweet expression of innocence. The class grinned as one now, even Malfoy and the other Slytherins.

“I am sorely tempted to take ten points from Gryffindor for your intentional disruption of class,” Snape said in harder tone.

Neville piped up, “It would be worth it, sir.”

Snape closed his eyes a long moment then managed to glare at the boy. “Ten points from Gryffindor then and stay after class, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said easily.

At the end of what felt like an extra long class Harry did as he was told and hung beside his desk as the room emptied. He received a lot of winks and waves as his fellow students departed. Snape stepped down and over to him. He sighed in dismay and said, “You did not really Apparate, did you, Harry?”

Harry grinned widely. “You really think I could manage that?” he asked, flattered.

Snape glanced around the platform with narrowed eyes before turning back to him. “I am finding myself conditioned to not underestimate you.”

Harry still smiled. “I didn’t Apparate,” he reassured him.

“Good,” Snape said. “Things would have become very complicated had you done so.”

Harry took the bottle and cork out of his pocket and held them up. He then laughed. “The look you gave me was pretty funny,” he said. He set his noisemakers down and reached in his bag for a copy of his Map. He held it out for Snape. It was blank so he tapped it with his wand. The seven floors, the towers and the dungeons appeared. “And don’t tell any students, I showed you this part,” Harry said as he incanted, “Passages,” while tapping the parchment again.

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he looked the page over. “This reminds me of something,” he breathed.

Nervously, Harry said, “Really?”

Snape gave him an intent look and held the parchment out.

“You can keep it,” Harry offered.

“Does it do anything else?” Snape asked. When Harry shook his head, he added, “Pity. I presume you still have the original?” Harry looked away, reluctant to answer. Snape dropped his arm, making the parchment flutter. “Potter, I have no intention of taking it away from you. I suspect you have very few things that belonged to your father.”

Harry relaxed in what felt like overdone relief. “I still have it,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying to figure out how it works, without much luck. Even with some help from Remus.” He shrugged. “I don’t have time to work on it with classes now. Speaking of which, I’m going to get detention from McGonagall for being late again.” He hurriedly packed up his things and slung his bag over his shoulder.

As he motioned a casual goodbye, Snape asked, “You really expect Minerva will do that?”

Harry breathed deeply. “We’ll see.”

Harry didn’t get detention, but he received a very stern talking to in front of the class when he arrived. By the time he walked in the story of his prank had been told and McGonagall was ready for him.

When the admonishment concluded and McGonagall returned to the lesson with a disappointed huff, Neville raised his hand and said, “If you’d seen the look on Professor Snape’s face, Professor, you’d think it worth it.”

She glared at him and said, “Yes, well, I didn’t have the luxury of that, so it does not count in Mr. Potter’s favor.” She turned to stalk to the front of the room and murmured, “Next time, Potter, be sure to invite a few more bystanders.”

Harry shared a look of relieved amusement with his friends.

The weather turned colder, but that didn’t dissuade them from heading into Hogsmeade on Saturday. The crowd in the Three Broomsticks was thinner than the previous visit. Harry and his companions sat at a table by the side wall and Madame Rosmerta brought them a round of butterbeers immediately.

“We get such great service with you here, Harry,” Hermione said. Ron looked like he might be in agreement, but he didn’t speak. Harry shook his head in dismay at both Rosmerta and Ron. They held up their mugs in a silent toast to Dumbledore before sipping the sweet liquid.

“What is this?” Hermione asked the table in general. At their questioning looks, she nodded at a table near the window.

Harry turned and espied an ordinary witch in mauve robes sitting with a man whose back was to them. “That’s Professor Snape, isn’t it?” Hermione asked. Harry squinted and nodded that it probably was. “Who’s the woman?” his friend asked. Harry just shrugged. “Huh,” Hermione huffed suggestively. “Hasn’t said anything?” she went on.

“Why would he?” Harry returned. As they chatted and drank a second round, Hermione’s notion began to gnaw at Harry strangely. He shook it off several times, but his gaze seemed to end up over at the other table without his will.

While the students were gathering for D.A., Harry stood reading sections of the Dragon Lair Book of Dangerous Spells. Neville came over and tipped the front edge down to glance at the page he was on.

“Finding anything good?” Neville asked. “Where’d you get that anyway? The library doesn’t have a copy.”

“Snape,” Harry replied, lost in the description of something called the Cuisinart Spell. It sounded like the kind of thing that would kill a giant spider, if not at least cut its legs off. One would have to be very careful with it, though. Very careful.

“Gosh,” Neville said, reading over Harry’s shoulder now. “Professor Snape really loaned you this, or he just failed to notice you removing it from his shelf?”

Harry laughed lightly. “He really loaned it to me. Just warned me I was personally responsible for anything anyone did with anything they learned here.”

“Still,” Neville said, reaching out and turning the page to read more of the next spell, the Nostrafresca. “Aye!” he said and dropped the page back down. The woodcut illustration was rather gruesome. “Don’t teach anyone that one.”

Harry closed the book, still smiling at Neville’s antics. He put it back in his bag by the wall where Ron, Ginny and Hermione were standing.

“Something wrong, Neville?” Hermione asked.

“Just imagining being turned inside out by my nostrils,” Neville said with a wince. “So nothing is really wrong.”

More students wandered in, Fourth Years, chatting boisterously. Harry still wasn’t accustomed to the fun feeling most members brought to the meetings now. It used to be so strained, almost to the breaking point, with everyone in a near panic that if they didn’t get each spell right, they might not survive.

“Are we going to do any curse detection?” Ernie asked as he, Owen, and Laura wandered over to the four of them.

“I’ll add it to the list,” Hermione said, reaching for her bag, “if it isn’t already on it.”

“My parents owled to say they were thinking of getting rid of an old trunk in the attic that belonged to my great aunt. She always warned us the thing was full of stink cursing, eyeball eating, slime producing objects. As kids we never believed her, but she’s gone now and we kinda want to look through it.”

Harry, sympathetic to this, said, “Star it on the list. It sounds less dangerous than some of the other suggestions.”

“Today we are doing more blocking, though, right?” Ginny asked. “I always get paired with Striver Bletchley during Defense class and I’m tired of landing on my bum.”

“Want me to complain for you?” Harry asked.

“Oh!” Ginny said brightly. “You could do that, couldn’t you? You don’t think Professor would just instead pair me with someone worse, like Mortimer Montague?”

Harry thought that over. “I really don’t know,” he replied. “It would depend on how I asked, I suppose.”

“Maybe not bother,” Ginny said warily. “Just help me out so I can kick anyone’s arse, please.”

Harry grinned. “Sure thing.” He turned to the room, which had about thirty students in it, and got everyone’s attention to start.

Harry spent the week racking his brain for a present idea. He had asked for the date with less than three weeks to spare, making him very glad that he had not put it off any longer. No good ideas came to mind, though. He finally broke down and went down to Hagrid’s cabin to ask his advice.

“Tea,” Hagrid said with authority. “Drinks a lo’ of it, doesn’e?” he added at Harry’s doubtful expression.

“Doesn’t seem very creative or unusual,” Harry commented, as he petted a bright young Fawkes who sat on his perch beside the hearth.

“Don’ try so hard. Trust me. Tha’ll only go wrong in the end. And HOW,” Hagrid said with embarrassment. Harry wondered what brought on that flush of dismay, but held his questions when Hagrid muttered a bit about people who really didn’t want an exotic pet even though they said they might…several times, and how could one not take that as a hint.

The weekend arrived. As Harry sat in the Three Broomsticks, mulling over his dilemma, Hermione nudged him and pointed at the door. Snape and the same woman entered and sat at a table in the corner. Snape seemed too preoccupied to take in the occupants of the room, which wasn’t like him.

“I have to run an errand,” Harry said suddenly, feeling an urgent need to get cracking on the present.

They waved him off, whispering between themselves. Harry pulled his cloak over his shoulders and walked down to the teashop.

As he turned off High Street, he encountered an eager face. Harry wondered why Skeeter seemed to be waiting for him. He shook off his suspicion and gave her a flat hello as he stepped by. She beat him to the shop and put her foot at the edge of the door to hold it closed.

“You are a tough one to get at when you are in school, you know that? I am looking forward to you finishing, just so I can get access to you.”

“What do you want, Ms. Skeeter?” Harry asked, continuing to stare through the glass into the shop.

“A moment of your time,” she said as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

Harry sighed, “What do I get out of it?” When she hesitated replying, he added, “More stupid entries in the Rumors column?”

“I admit, the Dumbledore retrospectives have distracted me from tracking more of that rumor down.” She did make that sound like a confession. Biting her lip, she went on, “How about doing something for me for old-times sake?”

Harry gave her a very doubtful look, then glanced up and down the street to see if anyone was approaching. He released the door handle and stepped around the side of the shop where the wall overlooked nothing but a sheep field back-dropped by the Forest in the distance.

“Look,” Harry said as he crossed his arms and leaned against the peeling paint of the siding, “I’m continually reminded how much I’m owed by everyone. I’ve never called anyone on that, but I’m doing it now. Leave it be.”

“Why? The public deserves to know,” she said, sounding over-rehearsed.

“I don’t ask for much. Actually,” he said, leaning closer to her, “I haven’t asked for anything. All I want is to be left to myself. The public deserves to know that Voldemort is really gone and I’d spend hours helping you convey that. But my life is mine.”

She adjusted her heavy bag on her shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe the rumors flying about you right now: You’re secretly married. You keep illegal pet dragons. You have pregnant girlfriends. Sometimes all of the above in odd combinations.”

Harry shook his head. “Why does anyone care?” he grumbled.

“Their own lives aren’t interesting enough to hold their attention, I guess. Now you may argue that if they paid more attention to their own lives, rather than yours, that their lives might become more interesting.” She shrugged. “It’s the easiest thing to sell papers, so I’m not complaining.” While she studied him, she took out a cigarette and put it between her lips. At his dismayed look, she said, “Yeah, I know. I’m supposed to smoke a pipe like a proper witch. I hear it all the time.”

Harry didn’t know how to tell her that wasn’t at all what he was thinking.

Talking around the cigarette, she said, “Look, I know a nice scoop is staring me in the face, but I can’t get anyone at the Ministry to talk. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She took two long drags, then stamped out the cigarette on the cold ground. “Am I right?”

“Probably,” Harry admitted.

“Help me and I’ll drop it.”

Harry closed his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked warily.

“Dumbledore’s last words. Were you there?”

“Take care of the school,” Harry replied, seeing no harm in that.

Deep in thought, Skeeter took out her pad and a normal quill. “I didn’t buy that from your new headmistress. Serves me right.” She didn’t write anything down, just considered him. Eventually, she asked, “Are you worried about Jugson and Avery? No one else seems to be. I thought Fudge declared victory a little early.”

Harry watched a flock of small birds circle and dive over the field. “I watched Voldemort torture Avery for being disloyal. I don’t think he ever did anything he wasn’t forced to. Jugson I don’t know as much about. I do trust some of the Aurors and they seem to think they are unlikely to come out of hiding.” He shrugged. He no longer had dreams, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “I feel safe,” he added instead.

She made a few short notes. It made Harry wonder if he should be authorized to speak with her. He could mess up a lot of people should he choose to.

She put her pad back away. “I’m thinking that I’d prefer to hold this over you. I’ll keep things quiet, if you answer my questions.”

Harry felt the blanket of blackmail descending. “If that’s what it takes,” he heard himself say.

“So tell me what it is I’m keeping quiet about,” she said as her quill went into her bag and she buckled it.

Harry grinned lightly. “I was adopted.”

Her face twisted and immediately untwisted. “You’re joking.” She laughed, sounding regretful. “Figures. Got a few owls from some old friends saying just that. But it sounded like a diversion, Mr. Seventeen-Year-Old.”

Harry shrugged, feeling sweetly like he had won this round even though it felt an unstable victory.

Skeeter stepped away, shaking her head. Harry followed her to the road and watched her stride slowly to the next street. As he entered Puddifoots, a bell chimed somewhere in the back.

After a long discussion with the teashop proprietress that almost qualified as an educational seminar about rare teas, he ordered a canister of high-altitude Himalayan first flush. Grateful to have that out of the way, but still feeling like he was failing in this task, he went back out to the road. Ron and Hermione were standing outside the Three Broomsticks. Harry caught up to them and they headed toward the castle together.

“They were looking pretty chummy in there,” Hermione teased Harry as they left High Street and headed on the path to school.

“What?” Harry said defensively. He shrugged his cloaked shoulders to indicate he didn’t care, but part of him thought he should have come up with a better present.

Harry arrived early for D.A. to set up some things. He wanted to try a few spells that countered potions, but making his fellow students drink stuff that would make them ill smacked of Fred and George so he wanted to be prepared. The lonely walk through the castle had not felt as uneasy this evening, for which he was grateful. He wondered idly as he set his bag inside whether the castle was adjusting to Dumbledore’s absence or he was.

He glanced around the avocado tile floors and walls. The Room was apparently a little confused about what he wanted. He stepped back out and in a few times, thinking differently about what his real needs were for this session.

“Having fun?” a voice sneered from the shadow of a doorway across the corridor. Draco Malfoy stepped forward into the light of a flickering wall lamp. His face looked its usual condescending.

“Yes, actually,” Harry replied easily. “What is it to you, anyway?”

In a mocking singsong, Malfoy said, “Ah, the famous Harry Potter, playing musical doors.”

Harry shrugged but didn’t open the door again. “Something you want?”

Malfoy pulled his wand out. “Yes, there is.” Harry didn’t move, just glanced at the wand as though it were harmless. “Don’t taunt me, Potter,” Malfoy threatened. “Get yours out.”

“What, you want to duel?” Harry asked in properly sneering disbelief.

Malfoy smiled with pleasure. “Yes,” he drawled.

“Come on in then,” Harry said easily and opened the door. Inside was now a regulation dueling platform. The walls were solid granite all around with no windows.

Malfoy stepped in suspiciously although he let his wand fall. “This is a bloody interesting room, isn’t it?”

As they stepped over to the platform, Harry said, “You must be bored now that you’ve lost your junior Death Eater status. How is your dad, anyway?”

Malfoy’s lips crooked as he huffed. “He chose a losing side,” he commented quietly then smiled a bit more.

Harry stood with his wand out at his side. “You’ve been getting along better than I’d imagined,” he commented, “given how much has changed.”

“I discovered that power vacuums are made to be filled,” the blond young man replied as he raised his wand to ready. Harry matched him. “You are clearly too stupid to do so,” Malfoy went on.

Harry went on mockingly, “I’d have thought you’d miss running around in a dark robe with a mask, dodging in and out of shadows like a cockroach.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how someone as pathetic as you brought down such a great wizard—”

“Don’t worry,” Harry cut him off. “The same thing wouldn’t work on you—you actually have feelings.”

This caught Malfoy off guard and he blinked a moment as he took it in. Then he scoffed, “You’ve been hanging around Snape too long.” With no warning other than the movement of his arm, he fired a blasting curse at Harry who blocked it and sent one back that Malfoy also blocked.

“He’s been teaching me on the side,” Malfoy said maliciously. “Far as I can tell, you only have him for class.” He fired a Figuresempre and got one in return, both of which were blocked easily.

Harry was starting to enjoy this. His heart was pumping nicely rather than panicky and his mind was clearly focused. “I finished seventh-year Defense in one afternoon,” Harry pointed out and cast an unfocused Cutting Curse at the other boy. It wouldn’t have done more than given him a red streak on his skin, but Malfoy ducked and did what Harry’d hoped he would, he got angry and incanted something nasty back. Harry blocked the Hatchet Curse and the following narrow Cutting Curse that would have done real damage.

“Can we do this every week?” Harry asked hopefully as he stepped forward into position after getting knocked back.

Malfoy growled and incanted something Harry didn’t recognize. Harry put up a Titan Block since it was usually a good bet. Part of the spell bounced off, but the air sizzled with red tendrils after the block dissolved. Two of them struck Harry on the arm and chest before he could roll out of the way. From a kneeling position, he sent a very hard Figuresempre back again, knocking Malfoy back, almost off the platform.

Harry’s arm and chest burned as he stood up, wondering fiercely what had hit him.

The door opened at that moment and the two of them froze. Neville and Dean stepped in and looked between them. “Drat,” Neville said, “What are we missing?”

Harry laughed despite the sharp streaks of pain. He didn’t lower his wand. “Draw for now?” Harry asked the other.

Malfoy lowered his wand. “I don’t want an audience,” he said in a spoiled voice and jumped off the platform. After he had stalked out of the room, Harry unhooked his robe and unbuttoned his shirt to look at the damage. Nasty red snaking streaks were on his chest and upper arm.

“What is that?” Dean asked.

Harry winced and headed for the door. “Look up a spell with the incantation Aduroreptum for me, will you?” he said as he left for the Hospital Wing. “Thanks,” he breathed as he closed the door.

Pomfrey was her usual unsympathetic toward him. “And what were you doing, young man?” she challenged him when he showed her the strange welts.

“Practicing spells,” Harry said as though it were obvious and completely normal.

She went to the supplies and brought back a tin of salve. “Try that one.”

Harry rubbed a little on and sighed at the instant relief.

She put her hands on her hips and stared at him. “Do recall that I have someone to report you to now.”

“You may do so, Madam,” Harry said easily. He was feeling cocky after holding up so well against Malfoy in an all-out duel. He grinned widely as he said, “He’d have to take points from Slytherin, so he probably wouldn’t want to hear the whole story.”

McGonagall gave them Hogsmeade privileges again the next weekend. Harry suspected she was trying to balance out losing Dumbledore. The opportunity worked well for Harry, otherwise he would have had to owl for the package from the shop and although it was a short flight, Hedwig wouldn’t like the trip if it was heavy. Hermione and Ron skipped going down because it was very windy. Harry enjoyed the solitary walk down the path to town. Only a few other students were ahead of or behind him and they were a distance away. As he walked, all he heard was the crunch of his boots on the snow and the creak of the thin ice bordering edge of the water. He slowed his pace, despite the biting wind, just to take it in longer.

At the teashop he pulled open the door and pulled off his hat and mittens. As he stepped up to the counter, he heard a gasp from near the window, followed by whispering. Harry stuffed his mittens into his cloak pocket and turned toward the sound. He recognized the violet-robed woman after a moment’s consideration. She was leaning over, talking excitedly to Snape who gave Harry a positively disgusted look.

The shopkeeper came out of the back and, when he saw him, set Harry’s package on the counter in a fancy bag with pink yarn for handles. Harry forced his smile down and put some coins on the counter and took up the bag. When he stepped back toward the door, the woman gave him such a bright look, he almost couldn’t hold back on his grin.

“Sir,” Harry said to Snape.

“Potter,” Snape replied flatly.

“You know him?” the woman asked Snape in delighted surprise, severely testing Harry’s control.

Snape hesitated just an instant. “He is a student at Hogwarts,” he explained with a hint of short patience.

“Ma’am,” Harry said.

She put out her hand. “Candide Breakstone,” she said.

Harry took her hand. “Harry Potter.”

“Wow,” she said gleefully. “You are.”

Harry couldn’t risk a glance at Snape, or he knew he would lose it.

“You must have things to be doing, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked impatiently.

Harry, feeling free since Snape had started the game this time, said conversationally, “Not really, sir.” He turned back to the bright-eyed woman just as she finished giving Snape a critical look. “So, what do you do?” Harry asked her.

“I’m an accountant. It is the end of the fiscal calendar year this month, so I spend all of my time with my firm’s clients here in Hogsmeade.”

Harry blinked at her before saying, “That’s nice,” as levelly as possible.

“Oh!” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a white mug. “Would you mind terribly?” she asked Harry, pleading and holding it out.

Harry accepted it and looked it over. It was some kind of a commemorative mug celebrating the Year of the Dark Lorde’s Demyse. It had a fake seal format to it and lots of gold accent. “Yee,” Harry uttered in dismay.

“Yes, it is rather horrid. I know,” she admitted. “But my boss gave them to all of us. If you signed it, he would be livid with jealousy.”

Harry swallowed hard, mostly because it was his fault this particular encounter had gone this far, and gave her a pleasant smile. He took a quill out of his bag and used the marker pen charm on it. Snape had taken the mug to look at it with an appalled expression. Harry took it back a little impatiently and signed it To Candide, from your friend, Harry Potter. He then sealed the fresh ink with a Permanent Charm.

“You have a spell for every possible autographing circumstance?” Snape asked him in his most snide tone.

“I do try, sir,” Harry said sweetly as he handed the mug over to Candide. She looked at it with a glowing smile before stashing it in her bag. “Thank you,” she said honestly.

“No problem. Nice to have met you.” Harry said. He picked up his package from the floor and said, “Professor,” to Snape in his most formal tone, tapping his heels together.

Later that evening back at the castle, Harry stopped by Snape’s office. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your date,” he said as he stepped in.

Snape gave him a dark look. “I don’t know if one would call it that,” he said as he flipped through a large book on his desk.

Harry waited an appropriate amount of time before saying, “Candy the accountant?”

Snape’s eyes came back up to him. He gave him a slit-eyed glare and said, “Go away, Potter, before I say something I’ll regret.”

Harry frowned a bit and departed in a hard silence.

In the common room most of his friends were enjoying themselves with games or talk. Harry, not feeling sociable, collected his books and took them to the library, which was almost empty. He worked on Potions since he was in a bad mood already anyway and could use sharp phrasing in his essay as an outlet for it.

Harry’s dark mood didn’t abate much by Monday. He was quiet in Defense class, which attracted a few long looks from Snape, especially when Harry couldn’t find any patience for his spelling partner, Lavender.

Snape stepped over and reviewed the Quiescent spell with her. Harry kept his eyes averted, watching Ron and Hermione practice making each other swoon onto large cushions. He rolled his eyes at the appropriateness of that, and waited for the chance to practice more. Finally, when Lavender was ready to try it again, Harry paid attention. Fortunately she still didn’t have it right, and all he received was a dull buzzing in his ears.

Thursday was Snape’s birthday. Harry’s annoyed mood had lightened a bit, but not enough to make him relish the notion of giving a gift to him. He borrowed wrapping paper from another student in the House and wrapped the cylindrical tin when everyone went to breakfast. He dropped it into his bag, thinking that an opportunity would arise to hand it over. He put it off until after the last class of the day. This was usually a good time to catch any teacher in their office, since they were often taking care of things before heading down to dinner.

Snape’s door was closed. Harry knocked on it just in case, but there was no answer. Sighing, mostly because this meant he was going to have to work himself up to this again, he stepped away.

After dinner he came straight back. The door was open this time and Snape was filing things when Harry knocked on the doorframe. This was going to cost him some pride—he could feel it.

“Harry,” Snape said evenly. It was the usual greeting, but Harry felt he could have used a tad more encouragement.

Harry checked the hallway and seeing it empty, stepped farther in, unbuckling his bag as he walked. He set it on the visitor’s chair and took out the lime-green wrapped present. As he placed the package on the desk, he said evenly, “Happy birthday, sir.”

Snape put down the parchment he had in his hand and gave Harry and the gift a stunned look. Holding that gaze cost Harry more pride than he had feared. He hefted his bag and stepped out while he still had a little of it left.

Snape sat in the teashop alone the next Saturday. It occurred to him now that it was the gift Potter was picking up when he had encountered him here. The boy had done a good job of not giving that away.

The proprietress brought him more hot water, turning his thoughts to the time. Candide had made it sound very doubtful that she would make it. But she had done that the weekend before as well. He did believe that she worked every day, including weekends, as the end of November grew closer, but he couldn’t help but suspect that he had botched it somehow. Though tempted to blame the incident with Potter, since she had been mildly upset by his treatment of the boy, it had begun before that. The week before, when her friend had joined them briefly in the Three Broomsticks. After that Candide had insisted on meeting elsewhere with a tone that said, “if at all”.

The door opening interrupted his musings. “Hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Candide greeted him as she stepped over. She set her packages on the floor, took the seat across the small table, and pulled over a cup and poured for herself. Her eyes were much more distracted than usual. He resisted the strong temptation to Legilimize her.

After a long sip she tossed off her cloak and let it fall over the back of her chair. “I don’t think we should meet anymore,” she stated simply.

“May I ask why?” Snape heard himself say.

She shrugged. “You can ask.”

“Your friend Roberta didn’t like me, I assume.”

“She knows you better than I,” Candide said. “She was three years behind you at Hogwarts, but I don’t think you recognized her.”

Snape shook his head.

“Anyway,” Candide murmured, picking at her nails nervously.

“I certainly enjoy having tea with you,” Snape said.

Her eyes darted around the room. “You are interesting to talk to. Most people aren’t, really.”

Snape raised both brows. This was one of the more endearing things she had ever said.

A shadow moved outside the shop window. Snape rapped on the glass, startling Candide. “If you do not wish to have tea with me anymore, or mead, that is your choice,” Snape said to her with a tone of finality.

The shadow outside hesitated then stepped up to the door and opened it. Harry shut the door behind him against the cold wind. “Sir?” he asked.

“Come over here, Harry,” Snape invited.

Harry pulled his hat off and stashed it in his pocket. His cheeks were red from the wind and he was breathing as though he had been walking quickly. He loosened his cloak and coat collar. “Hello again,” he said to the woman. She smiled and returned his greeting.

Snape stood up and took his own cloak down from the hat rack behind him. Harry watched this in confusion. “I’ll head back to the castle with you,” Snape explained to him.

“Okay,” Harry said easily.

“Thank you for the birthday present, by the way. Well chosen.”

Harry smiled at that, forgetting everything he had felt in between. “You’re welcome, sir,” he said brightly.

“It was your birthday?” Candide asked.

Harry rapidly glanced between them, trying to figure out the situation. Snape turned to her, his hair falling into his face as he looked down to get his gloves out of his pockets. He nodded faintly as if it were no matter. He tugged his gloves on, one after the other. “You were not introduced properly last time,” he said as he pulled his cloak around his shoulders. “Harry, this is Candide Breakstone. Candide, this is my son, Harry.”

Harry gave her a normal smile, thinking that Snape must have some reason for going straight at the jugular. Her expression was rather shocked. Her startled eyes gravitated to Harry who gave her a small nod. Snape had been plotting an exit—Harry could go for that. “I have a D.A. meeting to prepare for,” he said to Snape. It was true, inasmuch as it was always true. “Nice meeting you again,” he said to Candide.

On the way down the road, Harry said, “So she broke it off, eh?”

“Yes,” Snape answered in a low tone.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, trying for a teasing voice. “She failed the Harry test.”

“Very true. I would not have imagined such mindlessly adoring behavior from her.”

“I am sorry,” Harry said, minutes later, as they stepped along the path beside the lake. It was true. As odd as the notion had made him feel, he could see the other side of it easily now.

“It wasn’t her—it was her friend,” Snape complained. Something in his tone made Harry think this brought back bad memories, so he let the whole thing drop rather than risk sending Snape into a funk.

The next morning an owl dropped a letter in front of Harry. He opened it, surprised to find it was from Candide.

Was Severus serious? You nodded, but I simply cannot imagine. Please reply to the address below.

The address at the bottom was an in the care of one of the businesses in Hogsmeade.

“Interesting letter?” Hermione asked as Harry stared at it.

“Merlin, don’t ask. Can I borrow a quill?” Harry wrote a reply on the back, explaining that yes, Severus had adopted him and should she care to, she could look up the filing with the Wizard Family Council. As to their odd behavior the first time around, that was a little game they played since the adoption wasn’t general public knowledge. He signed it and folded it to take it to the owlery after breakfast. He gave the quill back and poked at his food again.

Later, as he handed the letter to Hedwig, he realized he was most likely reopening this thing between his guardian and this woman. He would have to try to hold onto the mindset from the day before when he had felt regret as they were walking back to the castle. It wasn’t going to be easy. He could feel it slipping away, even as Hedwig sailed out one of the upper openings.

Harry didn’t want to be seen has having intervened, so when he went down to visit with Snape that evening, he left the topic well alone. He had brought all of his books and assignments to work on. Usually he selected just one to bring in case Snape was busy. This time he found himself settling in for a long evening.

Around the end of the second hour, Harry looked up to find Snape considering him in silence. “Would you like some tea?” his guardian finally asked.

Harry, having much more to finish that evening, said, “Sure.” As tea was being made, he returned to his efforts at describing the origin of wizard community law in the five-hundreds. At least Binns seemed to have realized that something other than Giant wars and Goblin rebellions had happened in the past, though Harry wished it were something more interesting.

Snape set a cup of tea before Harry, who raised it to his nose and hesitated. It smelled of sunshine and fresh herb. Distracted from his reading he took a sip. It wasn’t anything like any tea he had had before. It was earth and enchanted green leaves with a bit of toasted something at the end. He blinked into his cup. “Is this the stuff I got you?” he asked.

Snape sat back, holding his cup with his fingertips. He looked amused. “You didn’t try it first?”

“I got talked into it. It was a special order.” Harry took another sip and marveled all over again. “Wow.” He felt better, realizing that he had managed all right on the gift after all.

Harry made his way to Snape’s rooms more often that week, even though he really didn’t have time. Instead of being there, he should have been finishing research for assignments before Quidditch practice or practicing spells for D.A.

Snape didn’t comment or make an indication that he noticed Harry’s change in visiting habits. Twice, Harry opened his mouth to ask if anything had happened with Candide, but cut himself off at the last instant. The second time he had to scramble for another topic. “Big match this weekend,” Harry said. This at least was true: It was Gryffindor against Slytherin.

“And you are expecting to win?” Snape asked.

“I actually don’t know,” he admitted. They had secretly watched the Slytherins practicing and they had appeared intense and disciplined in a wholly new way. Only Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had played so far, so no one had seen Snape’s house on the pitch. “Your new Seeker is awfully small,” Harry commented thinking of the white-haired girl with nearly matching skin and grey eyes he had seen practicing and since then, noticed in the hallway. Ron had thought her name was Suze Zepher.

“Seekers are supposed to be,” Snape stated rather pointedly.

“You think I’m too tall?”

“You are certainly getting there. But far be it for anyone to suggest you leave the position.” When Harry gave him a dark look, he went on, “Did anyone try out against you?”

“No. That rarely happens though.”

“Not on the Slytherin team. Positions are always in jeopardy,” Snape stated.

“No wonder they all look so intent,” Harry mused.

“I would expect.”

“They don’t look like they are having fun, though,” Harry said as he collected up his books. He needed to get to a meeting.

“Winning is its own reward,” Snape observed.

“It would have to be,” Harry quipped as he went to the door. “Later, sir,” he said as he departed.