Harry woke with a start. “What time is it?” he asked. As memory flooded back, he was glad for the darkness because if the burn in his cheeks was any indication, he was blushing pretty badly.

“Ten to four,” came the groggy reply.

Harry forced his heart to slow down. Snape would probably not be in before breakfast, or much before. Tonks shifted closer and Harry started yet again at the feel of so much of someone else’s skin. From the sound of her sigh, he assumed she intended to simply fall back to sleep. Harry was wide awake and almost in panic. He lay in the darkness listening to her breathe and dwelling in memory until grey dawn lit the flat’s single window.

In the eye-straining light, Harry sat up, rousing Tonks from sleep. “I should go,” he said. “I really don’t know what Severus will think if I’m not there.” Harry had left a note, but it just seemed much simpler to avoid any conversation at all on the topic of his evening out.

She stretched and sat up, uncaring apparently about covers or not. “I can’t imagine he’d care, but who knows,” she said, yawning. “I couldn’t imagine him as the father type, either.”

She rubbed her eyes and pushed her rampantly blue hair back. Harry thought that she looked pretty nice. When she stood up with a mumble about making breakfast, he thought that even more so. He also thought that looking closely, in the long run, wasn’t going to do him much good.

He sat down at the small table by the stove as she plunked down toast and hazelnut butter. She was only wearing a fuzzy pink robe. Harry, on the other hand, had got completely dressed before daring to emerge from the covers.

Tonks sat across from Harry and sipped a steaming hot mug of tea. She put her hand on her forehead and considered him in depth. “I keep trying to regret what I did, but I can’t.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. He certainly didn’t regret beyond the ongoing embarrassment that he could not shake. In this, he apparently could not avoid learning about himself without whomever he was with learning it too. That had not occurred to him before. Nor had it ever occurred to him that Tonks may have been named appropriately.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Good,” Harry replied with certainty, making her laugh.

“I stretched a few Ministry rules, I’m sure.” She sighed. “Good thing your application hasn’t been accepted yet. Once it has, I’m essentially your boss, or one of them.”

She sipped her tea again. “We can’t repeat this,” she said, sounding like she was talking to herself more than to Harry.

Harry had a feeling, in a week or so, that was going to seem more cruel than it did at this moment. “Yup,” he said in agreement.

Harry was sitting, studying diligently, at the dining room table when Snape appeared from the Floo around ten in the morning. Harry managed a casual greeting, although he was Occluding his mind when he lifted his gaze from his book.

Snape seemed distracted, so it probably didn’t matter. He said, “I need to visit Diagon Alley for some supplies, if you would like to accompany me.”

Eager for a break, Harry put his books aside and stood to fetch his cloak. As he returned and hooked it around his collar, he was amazed that there was not some blatantly obvious difference in him announcing what had happened to the world. Snape seemed completely oblivious, which wouldn’t be like him at all. Fighting a blush, Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder and ducked into the hearth to hide his complexion.

They walked along Diagon Alley away from Gringott’s, where Harry had withdrawn what now seemed like an exorbitant number of Galleons. Good thing he didn’t go out for dinner at nice restaurants regularly, he thought with some stress.

“I need to get something from a shop down this way,” Snape said, indicating Knockturn Alley. When Harry hesitated, looking down the street with sharp eyes, Snape said, “Never been?”

“Uh, once…accidentally. Hagrid rescued me, fortunately.” Harry still did not like the looks of the place.

“I truly do not think you will have a problem, O, Destroyer of Voldemort.”

Harry frowned at him. “Well, go on then,” Harry urged with stung pride while indicating that Snape should lead the way.

Far from having a problem, Harry seemed to be upsetting the economy of the place. Many grimy witches and wizards ducked out of the way or Disapparated when their startled gaze fell upon him. A few remained as they were, giving Harry a measuring look as though wondering how much he really could do.

“Far less crowded than expected,” Snape stated airily, when they reached a shop called Fiddlesticks and Sone. Snape stood outside and waited for the proprietor to appear. An extremely thin, old man with a hump and sparse straggly red hair eventually emerged from the dark interior. Snape handed him a list. The man squinted at it with a foul expression before approximately smiling and shuffling back inside.

“It is best to remain on the street,” Snape said as they waited.

Harry rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Late night?” Snape asked as a pair of hunched-over hags spotted Harry and promptly turned around and walked the other way.

“Loads of clubs in London, it turns out,” Harry explained, avoiding Snape’s gaze as he remembered the whole night yet again. This led to his limbs going tingly even through his tiredness. He leaned on a barrel of Black Cat syrup and closed his eyes to rest them. He opened them when he heard the voice of the shopkeeper. The shriveled old man handed over a ratty basket and Snape handed him some coins. Harry watched this in a daze.

“Let’s go,” Snape said easily. He stepped past Harry who followed automatically.

As he turned with another yawn, Harry realized with a jolt that there was one dark shape in his mind ahead of him, and one dark shape behind him. He grabbed a handful of the back of Snape’s cloak and pulled. His heart was racing as he responded to Snape’s questioning look.

“Shadow,” Harry breathed.

Snape went instantly on alert. He grabbed Harry’s upper arm and demanded, “Where?”

“Behind me,” Harry whispered.

Snape peered sharply over Harry’s shoulder as he surreptitiously pulled out his wand. His eyes moved avidly back and forth along the alley. Harry turned slowly around as well, trying not to attract attention as he did it. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and into his sleeve, holding it where it wasn’t visible. He didn’t see anyone he recognized among the black robed figures standing in small clusters talking or moving with laden baskets and cauldrons among the shops.

“I assume you are certain about what you sense,” Snape queried.

“Yes.”

“Which one do you sense?”

“Did. I’m fully awake now. And I can’t tell who it is anyway.” He almost pointed out that all the shadows in his vision were alike, but censored it.

“Go inside,” Snape said. “Call the Auror’s office.”

Harry obeyed. Inside the shop, he discovered that the bent-over man who had come out earlier was the son. An incredibly wizened old wizard sat at a counter logging the latest sale.

“I need to use your Floo,” Harry said.

The son shuffled over to him, his eye twitching. “You are the Boy Who Lived?”

“Uh, yeah.” Harry decided not to quibble about the term ‘boy’ just now.

A little peeved the man said, “Go on, then,” as he gestured at the small hearth. “Who’s to stop ya?”

Harry dashed over to the aged marble hearth and took out his pocket canister of Floo Powder and tossed some in. When he announced that he wanted the Ministry Auror office, the proprietor gagged in surprise behind him. Rogan’s head appeared and Harry explained that he’d seen one of the remaining Death Eaters on Knockturn Alley.

By the time Harry stood up, four Aurors had Apparated into the shop. Tonks stepped over to Harry, who noticed that the shopkeepers had vanished along with half the contents of the shelves.

“Whom did you see?” she asked him. Nothing but professional focus showed in her posture, stabilizing Harry’s heart rate. On the other hand, Harry resisted explaining his Voldemort inherited vision to her or anyone connected to the Ministry.

Considering that a fifty-fifty chance was a pretty good one, Harry randomly said, “Jugson, I think. It was pretty quick though,” he added to try to insure they considered either possibility.

The Aurors went out to the alley. Harry’s gaze raised to Snape’s just inside the doorway of the shop. He didn’t react at all to Harry’s lie.

Harry approached him slowly, and when he came aside, Snape commanded, “Stay in here while they sweep the alley.”

Presently, the Aurors returned and reentered the shop. The section of alley Harry could see through the grimy window was now utterly deserted.

Rogan said, “I didn’t like the answers Burke gave. Really didn’t.”

The others hadn’t turned up anything. “We’ll set up a stakeout then,” one of the others said. Harry didn’t know his name, he looked a lot older than the others. “You are certain you saw one of them, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, comfortable being certain with that answer.

No one argued with him or expressed any doubt.

Uneasiness haunted Harry that evening at the house. His emotions teetered between feeling euphoric and feeling cheated out of having his life to himself again.

During dinner, Snape stated, “I am quite certain you are safe here, now. The spells will hold against even three or four attacking together.”

“It isn’t that.” Harry tore his bread into many small pieces as he collected his thoughts. “I don’t want this vision anymore,” he complained. “I’m tired of it.” As he painstakingly buttered the many chunks of squashed bread he wondered if that were really true. He didn’t mind, really, sensing that Snape was nearby.

Snape put down his utensils and held his mug without drinking from it. In a low voice he said, “I don’t believe anything can be done.”

“I didn’t think so. And I wasn’t asking you to try, just…wish things were different,” he said wryly. “I’ve been doing less of that lately,” he added, “which is good.”

Snape topped up his mug of mead from the bottle on the table and sat back, cradling it in his long hands. “You really wish none of it had happened?”

Harry poked at his roast ox and Yorkshire pudding with his fork. “I don’t know. Mostly. Though I’d be someone else in that case, which might not be better.”

“You would still be with your parents, presumably,” Snape observed levelly.

The comment felt a bit like bait, since Harry didn’t know what Snape was getting at. With honesty he said, “I can’t imagine that anymore—haven’t been able to for some time.” He felt a little guilty at that notion but couldn’t resolve it with a daydream that had drifted too far into fantasy. “It’s the killing and fighting I could have skipped.”

Snape returned to eating, appearing more relaxed. “And becoming an Auror will certainly isolate you from more of that,” he stated with his classic snarkiness.

“I’ll be old enough to deal with it and trained to,” Harry pointed out. “I expect that will make a difference.”

Snape nodded sideways, his way of acknowledging a point, but also doubting it.

After dinner they settled into the library. Harry had no desire to study so he pulled a book off the shelf on Muggle-safe illusion spells instead.

The library was silent beyond the turning of pages, the lamp flames still and tall. Harry’s mind wandered back to last night. He marveled at how much he had learned, too much to absorb it all at once, apparently, because the knowledge would sneak up on him at random times, as it did now.

Harry stood up and changed books even though he wasn’t finished with the one he was reading, simply needed the distraction.

Snape sat at his desk in the drawing room. It was Wednesday, which meant half of the holiday had gone already. He sorted through his old files, tossing things he didn’t need into the hearth and a summer fire he had started just for that purpose. The window was wide open and a pleasant breeze carried away the extra heat.

Harry knocked on the doorframe. “There’s a picnic this afternoon at the Burrow. I told Ron I’d come. Did you want to go?”

Snape considered Harry as he stood in his doorway in old jeans and a Chudley Cannons t-shirt. While every Weasley offspring strongly disliked him, Harry’s presence would most likely negate a great deal of it. “I am enjoying the quiet,” he replied.

“That’s true. It probably won’t be quiet there. All right then,” Harry said. His tone almost could have been considered disappointed.

“I assume it goes without saying, remain with the group at all times.”

“Yep. I will. I’ll be back late, I think.” He added over his shoulder as he departed, “So you know.”

Snape just barely heard the flare of the Floo Powder over the wind in the trees across the street. He pulled out another stack of files and sorted through them. In the last file he found the old letter from Dumbledore that had been left for him after the wizard’s death. The flap was open now. Snape set it aside until he had finished sorting through the entire drawer and had closed it with a satisfying thud. He leaned back in his chair and reluctantly pulled out the missive. The yellowing on the envelope made him expect that the letter would contain old notions. Within the envelope was a note card, with writing only on the inside, although the text was small and cramped as though the words had been forced to make space for each other.

Dearest Severus,

I would firstly like to thank you for your years of service. Once you came to me, you were the most faithful of servants, in all ways. Perhaps because your choices were so clear to you. Secondly, I want to express my gratitude again for your taking on my last unfinished task.

Snape stopped there and huffed as he changed his understanding of the letter. The old wizard had charmed the entire message, not just the envelope. The envelope might very well have been sealed ten years previously as the color indicated.

By now his presence is most likely a given. It has been a year, and that can seem a very long time.

Snape blinked at that. A year? he wondered, before he understood Dumbledore meant a year from rescuing the boy from the Forbidden Forest. He felt consternation that the old wizard would have considered that so significant. On the other hand it did seem in retrospect an incredibly long time. Literally everything had changed in the interim.

Harry is incredibly special, although I suspect you still will not admit that. All the more reason to remind you once again. For him to be more than a vehicle of all our freedom, he needed more than he was getting. Understanding. Loyalty. Security. Consideration. By now you realize, I’m sure, how straightforward these things are to provide. You’ve already commented to me about his fierce loyalty and I know firsthand your own capacity for it. A good match, I’ll always believe strongly, for that and other reasons. Learn how to receive these things in return, Severus, and I will truly feel I have tied up every loose end.

It was signed neatly below. Snape closed the card, feeling a little annoyed with the dead wizard, which even he could not be for long. He opened the card again to glance over it and noticed that a postscript had magically appeared at the bottom:

“Loyalty” was always a safe euphemism to use with you.

Snape slapped the card closed, now definitely annoyed. He re-filed it with his other old letters from the former headmaster and found something to read to force it out of his mind.

Harry did return very late. It was almost two, a whole twelve hours after he had left. Snape was reading with a pot of tea at the dining room table.

“You’re still awake,” Harry said. “I didn’t realize you were going to wait up for me.”

“I wasn’t precisely.”

“Oh, good.” Harry took a seat across from his parent. His head pounded a bit, so he rubbed his temples. “It was a big party,” he said. “A bunch of Ministry people and some from Gringott’s, although no goblins. All the neighbors. Actually had enough for a real Quidditch match. You’ll be pleased to hear I was at Chaser this time. Lots of younger kids wanted to play, so there were three Seekers per side.”

“And you were the main attraction?” Snape prompted dryly.

“For a little while,” he admitted with a frown, remembering autographing odd things people happened to have on hand, like Muggle money or even clothing. “And the kids were scared of me at first—I really hate that.”

Snape put down his book. “They assume that since you did the impossible that you can do anything. Children are wary of that kind of power, for good reason, frankly.”

Harry looked at him closely. “Have you been drinking some of the weird things they were serving tonight?”

“As someone who knows intimately what can go wrong with bad brewing, I assiduously avoid unknown concoctions.” Snape squinted at Harry as he rubbed his temple again. “Were you not avoiding them?”

Reluctantly, Harry admitted, “I tried a few. Nothing that was on fire permanently. That was my rule.”

“Pity. All kinds of intoxicating things burn off very easily.” Snape stood and leaned over the table to look closely into Harry eyes. “At least your pupils are equally dilated and not excessively so. Want something for that headache?”

“You have something?”

Snape looked insulted. “Of course.”

“I guess I shouldn’t doubt you.”

“I should say not.” Snape left the room. He returned a few minutes later with three bottles of liquid. He poured a splash of each of them into a teacup. The result fizzed bright pink. He pushed it over to Harry.

“Thanks.” Harry drank it down, swallowing bubbles to do so. His head cleared instantly. “You really are very good at those,” he said honestly. “If that could be made into a sweet, you could license it to Fred and George.” He held the teacup up. “Professor Snape’s Plain-thinking Pop-ups.”

“And clearly you spent far too much time speaking with those two this evening.”

“About two hours. More. You wouldn’t believe the stuff they have going on. Scares me. Doesn’t scare Ron or Ginny though. They just come back with some idea even more frightening.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Really much better,” he said. “What is in Absinthe anyway?” he asked in distracted curiosity.

Snape actually laughed. “Perhaps I should accompany you next time,” he said, shaking his head.

Harry’s sleep degraded that night making him decide that Snape’s remedy hadn’t completely cleared up everything he had experimented with drinking.

The next day the weather grew warmer yet and the lure of fresh air drew Harry outside. There was a very old stone seat in the garden beside the door. He took his History of Magic textbook out there and set about clearing aside the ivy that had grown over the bench. As he did this, he noticed that roses grew beside it, nearly choked out. The yellow buds were tiny as a result. With hands on hips, Harry surveyed the small area. At one point it had been laid out in a fairly organized manner.

With an eye toward putting off studying, Harry took his book inside and grabbed a pair of old dragonhide gloves that sat on the shelf above the coats. He also grabbed the orange Cannon’s hat Ron had given him at the party the night before. It was a Muggle-safe hat that only showed a player on a broomstick when one was actually at a match, otherwise it was blank.

With his eyes and hands protected, Harry attacked the ivy, tossing the yanked strands into the center of the bricked path from the gate. The dragonhide gloves made it easy to work around the roses and soon they were looking much happier and unencumbered.

Harry became so engrossed in the weeding that he didn’t notice the door open. “What are you doing?” Snape asked.

Harry looked up from his kneeling position in the grass as he carefully pulled up something that was crowding out some bulbs that had emerged. He thought over his response. “Avoiding studying?” he replied.

Snape shot him a dubious look. “You are not a servant, Potter.”

“I know that,” Harry answered sharply. “I like doing this,” he added as he pulled up a long runner root of a small poplar that needed to come out. Indeed, yard chores were the few tasks the Dursleys had made him do that he hadn’t abhorred. He had always thought it was because it let him spend time away from them, but it felt like more than that now. “You’re not worried about what the neighbors’ll think, are you?” Harry asked challengingly.

“Certainly not,” Snape huffed and went back inside with a swish of his robe.

Harry grinned as he easily pulled up the poplar now that its roots were exposed.

He weeded the house side of the garden before stepping back and reassessing. It occurred to him only now that there most likely were spells to accomplish this in a matter of minutes or seconds. Snape probably thought he was being the nutter Muggle for doing it by hand. It felt more satisfying this way, and it passed more time he would otherwise be reading History of Magic.

Someone had rather carefully laid out the garden long ago. Surrounding the bench were roses and some other small-leafed shrub he didn’t recognize and beside that was a low bed of bulbs and in the corner, ivy emerged, meant to cover just the stone wall. He tapped his finger on his leg—he needed mulch to really finish the job by covering the newly exposed ground.

As he wondered where he would get some, light footsteps came along the road and stopped beside the gate. Harry turned and found himself face to face with the girl he had been watching every day from his window over the previous summer. Bit of a shock really, seeing her so close, where she could see him too.

“Hi,” Harry said. She was not wearing the slicker today, but a short woolen cloak.

“Hello,” she replied with a hint of uncertainty. “Do you live here?” she asked, eyes glancing down to his clay-clumped gloves, then his green and brown stained knees.

“Yes,” Harry replied as he stooped to toss some stray strands of ivy onto the pile.

“Hm. I didn’t realize there was anyone else in the Snape household,” she said, sounding concerned to not be up on this. “This is still Severus Snape’s house, correct?”

“Yes,” Harry replied. He was taking advantage of the close proximity to fill in his understanding of her looks. Her skin was almost too smooth, and transparent, and her nose definitely too pert, especially in view of the very proper accent. He pulled his hand, still clean, out of his glove and offered it. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Oh,” she said as though realizing her manners had been set aside. “Elizabeth. Peterson. My house is down the road two hundred meters or so past the station.”

“Yes, I’ve seen you walking by a few times.”

This appeared to unnerve her a bit. She blinked and recovered with ease and said, “I go to my lessons every day, almost, over the holidays. Piano and harp from Mrs. Blithewell, just around the corner.” She pointed as she said this.

Harry, wondering fiercely if she were a witch or not and, thinking that he had little to lose, said, “Would you like to come in for tea?”

“Oh,” she said in vaguely pleasant surprise. “My lesson is in five minutes, so I really can’t. Perhaps another time.”

“Sure,” Harry said with no expectation.

She bade him a pleasant day and went on her way. He watched her back as it disappeared around the gentle bend in the road. He suspected he may have spent too much time wondering about her—she seemed downright ordinary, really. Or maybe he was comparing her to Tonks. The latter seemed more likely, as he warmed at thinking of the Auror. He really needed to avoid making that a habit.

Just before noon, when Harry was finally settling in for a good long read of Astronomy, a knock sounded on the door. A little mystified, Harry went to open it.

Ginny stood in the garden, looking rosy as though from a brisk walk. “’Ello,” she said.

“Hi,” Harry returned. “Come in,” he invited, scratching his head idly. “Just wake up from the party?”

She hesitated. “Yeah,” she admitted. “You left early, you know.”

Harry shrugged, thinking he had been finished hours before he had actually left, and most of it was a blur.

“Did you get in trouble for being out so late?” she asked as she stepped in and eyed the entryway keenly.

“No.” At her surprised look he shrugged as though not understanding her disbelief.

Harry led her into the main hall and wondered if he should force her to say hello to Snape. His guardian saved him the decision as he stepped out of the library with a book under his arm.

“Ms. Weasley,” Snape said in a manner of greeting.

“Sir,” she replied, straightening as she did so. She gave Harry an uncomfortable look when Snape disappeared into the drawing room.

Harry gestured toward the dining room. Once there, they sat down across from each other at the table. He assumed Winky would bring tea.

“Enjoying the holiday?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” she replied forcefully. “One more term ’til summer,” she added in a mantra-like way.

“Don’t like school?”

“I dislike the book work. Well, and the assignments.” She sniffed. “And sitting in classes.”

Winky came in with a tea set, startling Ginny severely. “You have a house-elf?” she asked in complete shock.

“Yes,” Harry answered, intentionally in a tone that indicated he thought it the most normal thing in the world. He wanted to see how she reacted. She looked confused. After Winky shifted everything from her tray, he thanked her and poured for Ginny. Winky gave them a little curtsy, which wasn’t normal, and departed. Harry tried not to appear too mystified by that, since it dismayed Ginny more.

Ginny sipped her tea. “So how is your holiday going?” she asked in a normal chummy voice.

I got shagged, so it is going pretty well, Harry considered saying, then almost laughed. “Good. Fun party last night,” he said quickly to cover after a long throat clearing. “And I’m finally meeting the neighbors here a bit.”

Ginny sipped her tea before setting it down on the saucer and straightening both with unusual precision. “Do you like me?” she asked suddenly.

“Uh, you’re nice,” Harry replied.

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. Harry avoided smiling with some effort. Ginny ate a biscuit and glanced around the room with interest. “Nice house,” she said.

“Thanks. It’s nice to have one.”

“Oh yeah. I ’spose it would be. Hope I’m not keeping you from something by being here.”

Harry shook his head. “I have studying to do. Take your time.”

She chuckled at that. “You have been a real bookworm. Don’t know what happened to the fun Harry.”

“I wasn’t fun at the party?” Harry asked.

“I didn’t get to talk to you much—you were always surrounded, either by the kids or my brothers.” She took another biscuit. “Well, one term more,” she said again, sounding glum.

As though mention of school had conjured him, Snape stepped in. He poured himself a cup and held it. “Revising hard this break, Ms. Weasley?”

“Trying to, sir. My brothers—who don’t have any school assignments hanging over them—like to throw big parties.”

“Poor dear,” Snape said in a classically snide tone.

Harry gave him a warning look.

Looking uncomfortable in Snape’s presence, Ginny drank her tea quickly. Harry poured her more and took another biscuit so that she would take another. She smiled, apparently noticing his urging her to stay a while.

An awkward minute later, Snape set his cup down and rolled up one sleeve, presumably since it was warming up in the house. “Staying for lunch, Ms. Weasley?” he asked, making it sound less like an invitation than a point of interest.

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.” She swigged the last of her tea and stood up. “Nice to visit a bit, Harry,” she said quickly.

Harry showed her to the door and waved her out of the garden. She gave him a fleeting glance over the shoulder that had more furrow to the brow than expected. Back in the drawing room, Harry said to Snape, “Did you chase her off on purpose?”

“No Weasley was ever chased off that easily,” Snape replied as he looked for something in the little drawer of the desk.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry agreed and stepped away.

When Harry slept badly the second night after the party, he wasn’t so certain that his alcohol and potion consumption was the culprit. Saturday morning, after another poor night, he mentioned it at breakfast.

“The Ministry hasn’t caught the Death Eaters you ‘saw.’ Are shadows involved in your dreams?” Snape asked.

“I’m not sure. Possibly,” he answered with a frown. He had grown accustomed to not being harassed this way and hated to imagine it was happening again. Plates with extra bacon appeared, spurring Harry to take up his fork.

“Need potion?”

Harry shook his head. “I have some.”

After a moment Snape added, “You may wake me in the night if you need someone to talk to.”

“I appreciate that,” Harry said, with a twinge of gratitude as he wrapped a long greasy strip around his fork.

That afternoon, Harry again grew bored of doing assignments. Thinking about the unfinished garden made him eager to continue on it. He decided to check the back garden where an old wardrobe, charmed to resist the rain, stood in for a shed. He found a claw shaped tool that would be good for loosening the hard soil and fertilizer in the form of a large woven sack of dragon dung—so old, it smelled fresh—so old, it would stand in for mulch in a pinch.

Harry carried his haul back around to the front and arranged it all before starting in. He used the claw tool around the plants and pulled up stray weeds he had missed last time, after deciding that they weren’t magically growing back that quickly. He considered that would be a rather cruel way to curse a garden.

Footsteps came along the brick walk. Harry sat back from crawling around the shrubs to use the claw along the edge of the wall.

“I have a few errands on Diagon Alley,” Snape said. “I assume you are safe to leave for an hour or so. I am certain you would render either Jugson or Avery helpless with laughter were they to approach while you’re are doing that.” Harry tried to give him a dark look, but failed. Snape went on, in the same tone of dry, airy disbelief, “Barring that, I am certain you could beat them off with that thing you are holding.”

Chuckling, Harry said, “Too bad if you don’t like it. I’m doing it anyway.”

“Hm,” Snape muttered before disappearing back into the house.

Harry was just finishing mulching and was pretty happy with the way it all looked, when he turned and eyed the other tangled half. He thought maybe he should have had Snape buy a book of gardening spells while he was out.

“Hello again,” Elizabeth said from just the other side of the low wall by the road.

Harry spun around and adjusted his cap as he greeted her. He realized that because if it, she didn’t know who he was. “How does it look?”

“Vastly improved,” she stated.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry said happily, surveying it again.

“You must really dislike studying,” she commented, looking around.

“History, yes,” Harry said. “Boring as it gets.”

“I like history,” she said. “Classes at Malvern are always at least somewhat interesting.”

“Where’s that?” Harry asked, never having heard of it. It didn’t sound magical.

“Worcestershire.” She pulled off her white gloves and put them in her pocket. “Where do you go to school?”

Harry grinned as he thought of replying St. Brutus’. “A boarding school in Scotland,” he said with a shrug.

“With a boring History class,” she added for him.

Harry considered that if he explained that it was boring because the professor was dead, that might not go over so well. “Yes,” he replied simply. “Would you like tea?” he asked, sensing that she was impatient about something.

“Yes, please,” she replied eagerly, taking Harry by surprise, mostly because he had not imagined he had pinned her motivations correctly.

Harry led the way inside, dropping his gloves just inside the door and intentionally forgetting to remove his cap. In the hall, while she looked around, he leaned down the steps to the kitchen and asked Winky for afternoon tea. Winky came over to the bottom of the steps and actually gave him a wink, which she had never done before.

Shaking off the confusion from that, Harry turned back to Elizabeth. “Dining room,” he said gesturing at the nearby door.

With a smile she followed his gesture, glancing at his cap as she passed him. Harry pretended not to notice.

“This is nice,” she said of the wooden-walled room. She glanced down and studied the patterned rug. It was Harry’s favorite room as well, so he smiled at that as he sat down across from her. “Is the rug Belgian?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied.

“You only know plants,” she suggested in a level tone.

Harry, accustomed to harmless snideness, was nonetheless a little taken aback. “Actually, I don’t know plants really, either.”

Winky arrived with the tea in that instant. She set the table and poured two cups.

“I wouldn’t have expected a house-elf,” Elizabeth said, clearly pleasantly surprised. She seemed to have a special tone of voice just for conveying that.

“So you are Harry Snape? Or is your name something more formal, like Harold?”

Harry almost inhaled his tea. He cleared his throat as gently as possible. “No, just Harry,” he managed hoarsely.

The Floo flared and Elizabeth calmly put her cup down and watched as Snape bent under the mantel. Snape’s eyes moved between them with a slightly suggestive expression.

Elizabeth stood and held out her hand out. “Elizabeth Peterson, sir. We’ve met, but several years ago.”

“Ah, yes,” Snape said, shaking her hand.

“Rather surprised to find you have an addition to the household,” she said pleasantly.

Snape swung his cloak off and draped it over his arm. “He is a recent addition,” he stated helpfully.

“Surprising that no one knows,” she went on insistently.

Snape seemed to search for a reply. As he did so, his eyes glanced over Harry’s orange cap. “It didn’t seem to warrant a formal announcement to those in the area,” he stated, matching her formal tone and almost matching her accent. Harry had to fight a grin. “I’ll leave you two to your tea,” he said politely, sounding very odd as a result.

As he turned to the hall, Harry had the distinct impression that Snape was trying to tell him something. At the doorway, Snape glanced back one last time and Harry realized he was telling him he could remove the cap since his back was to the bright window.

As Elizabeth sat back down, Harry pulled off his cap and fluffed his fringe to hide his scar. She smiled when she saw he had removed it. They chatted for a half hour or so about the village. Harry learned a lot of things he had wondered about at one point before forgetting when he got used to the place, such as how long wizards had lived here in the relative open: 300 years, and what the resident Muggles thought of witches and wizards: they were mostly relatives of magical people who found it nice to easily have either kind of visitor. Most households had a signal, a certain figure in the window or door decoration that indicated they needed a magical free zone for a little while due to Muggle visitors.

Snape wandered back in after Winky had brought them a fresh pot. He poured himself a cup and stood sipping it.

“Do you want to join us, sir?” Harry asked. Snape shook his head and took another sip.

Elizabeth said, “You should both come for dinner some evening. Mother would be most interested to meet you.” For an instant, Harry thought she had recognized him without giving any indication, until she said, “Another Snape, how interesting,” in a gossipy sort of way.

Snape gulped and jerked his cup away from himself. He looked like he may have burned his mouth.

Harry cringed. He really should have corrected her immediately. His guardian looked about as amused as Harry had ever seen him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he fought to keep from laughing.

Elizabeth, uninterrupted, went on blithely, “Really surprising, you adopting a Muggle and all.”

“What?” Harry blurted. Snape lowered his hand to give him a very odd expression. “What makes you think I’m a Muggle?” Harry asked her, stunned by the notion.

“Well, you were doing the gardening by hand,” she said, as though that covered it completely.

“Oh.” Harry thought of saying that he didn’t know how to do it any other way. Instead, he said, “I prefer doing it by hand. I was killing time.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding completely mystified.

Harry decided she must be a witch. “Why do you go to Malvern instead of Hogwarts?” he asked.

She sat back and crossed her legs, picked some lint off her lap. “Father doesn’t believe in magical education. He’s a Muggle. Mother tried to explain, but he insists I go to Oxford like himself.” She ended with a shrug. “I prefer it now. Before, when I first started, I wasn’t very happy about it. My mother has taught me some useful spells and she bought me a wand. I have it at home,” she added proudly.

Harry stared at her, trying to take that all in.

“So you probably know lots of spells,” she said, apparently to fill the silence.

“Hundreds,” Harry replied.

“Well,” she waved her hand in the air, vaguely in Snape’s direction. “You have a teacher for a father,” she said dismissively.

Harry nodded, “True.”

“Besides, things must have been simply dreadful there last year with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named visiting and all.”

“Voldemort,” Harry supplied flatly. “But still true.”

“Much better to be away from things. Safer that way,” she asserted in a different, flatter, tone.

“Not everyone in Shrewsthorpe was safe,” Snape stated in one of his talking-to-a-dim-student voices.

“They were safe-er,” she replied firmly, sounding like she was quoting someone else.

“Ah, yes, Mrs. Thrimbol would definitely agree and Horis Jourhart and Sora Dreamham,” Snape stated, sounding a little relentless.

Elizabeth looked away. Harry did not recognize any of the names. “Who are they?” he asked.

Snape appeared reluctant to explain. As he considered a response, Elizabeth said, “I was walking home the night the Mark floated over Trudy Thrimbol’s house. What the hell did they want with her anyway?” she snapped in frustration, then flushed, apparently at her language.

Harry dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. He listened as Snape said, “She worked in the records department at the Ministry part time even though she was retired. That made her extremely useful.” After a pause, he said, “Harry?” a bit sharply.

Harry raised his eyes as he frowned.

Snape put down his cup and stridently said, “You did everything you could have possibly done. Sooner than anyone expected you to.”

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth asked.

Snape crossed his arms and huffed. “His capacity for guilt is phenomenal,” he snapped with a hint of anger. “I am attempting to persuade him to not take on any more. Especially any not his to bear.”

She looked very confused. “Why would you be responsible?” she asked.

Harry sighed. “Because killing Voldemort was my task. Maybe I could have done it sooner.”

“What?” Elizabeth uttered.

Snape scoffed. “Have you forgotten already how you did it?”

“No,” Harry admitted in a difficult tone.

The night in the abandoned manor had been key, Harry knew all too well. Only a month had passed after that. How much difference had that made? It probably made a difference to someone, another gnawing voice in his head said. But he couldn’t have hunted Voldemort down himself, hauled his friends off again somewhere unsafe, and he had needed them too, just as much. Snape was closely watching him think this over.

“Um…” Elizabeth interrupted his thoughts. She started to speak, then stopped, twice.

Snape put his hands down to lean over the table and said to her. “Yes, he is Harry Potter. Not Harry Snape,” he barely managed the last, having to swallow a laugh to get it out.

It bothered Harry rather a lot that his parent was finding this so amusing, especially since he only ever found the darkest irony amusing.

At Elizabeth’s disbelieving look, Snape wanded the lamp up and came around behind Harry to pull his hair back. “See?”

“G’off,” Harry protested, pushing his hand away.

“The Hero of Wizardry himself,” Snape went on in an odd tone. Harry shot him a narrow look over his shoulder. Snape added, “Of course, he does not think that is a positive thing.”

“Why not?” Elizabeth asked, sounding stunned in general.

“A very good question,” Snape said, sounding too much like a teacher. He stepped back to the head of the table and crossed his arms. “Perhaps ask him. I’d be curious to hear the answer myself.”

“Were you hiding?” she asked, amazed.

“No. I just—” he gestured at the cap. “Well, maybe,” he conceded in a low tone. “It is hard to get to know someone that way.”

“Really?” she asked doubtfully. “I would have talked to you longer the other day, had I known.”

“Yes, but that wouldn’t have been talking to me,” Harry insisted. “Just someone you thought you knew from the Prophet.”

“No,” she insisted, “I would have been talking to a wizard—I thought you were a Muggle.”

Harry sighed and gave up trying to explain.

Elizabeth sat straighter. “In any event, you are very welcome to the village, hero or not,” she said, now all primness. “I think I must be going, now,” she added suddenly and stood up.

Harry showed her to the door, where she shook his hand and gazed in amazement at his scar before stepping out.

“Very nice to have met you,” she turned and said in an almost comically proper voice.

Harry waved her off, hoping he didn’t wear too dismayed an expression. Back in the dining room, Snape was in her chair, having another spot of tea.

“Now everyone will know I’m here—won’t they?” he said dully as he sat down.

“Within minutes, I believe,” Snape stated. After a long pause, he added, “You are who you are. There is no sense running from that.”

Harry stared into his cold teacup. “She bothered me,” he said.

“And why shouldn’t she?” Snape asked.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied in a annoyed tone, not wanting to voice the reasons for his disappointment since they were things he’d apparently invented in his own head.

Later, as he was finally reading a bit in in his Astronomy text, a post owl arrived, flitting straight in the open window. Harry accepted the letter and noticed the return address of Switzerland. He opened it as he nibbled on the last chocolate biscuit.

There was a letter as well as a copy of the photo Opus took. The photo took him by surprise--his eyes were brighter and happier than he imagined they looked most of the time. He set it aside. When Snape raised his chin to look over at it, Harry pushed it around to his parent, who lifted it to examine it more closely. Snape raised a brow and placed it back on the table.

Dear Harry, Hope you are having a fine holiday. Currently we are visiting my grandparents in Geneva. My mother and father were rather stunned by the photograph. They insist I invite you to come visit during the summer, so I am doing so, even though I am certain you are much too busy. I am looking forward to returning to Hogwarts and am very glad to be there rather than Durmstrang even though I miss many friends terribly. I have not been studying as much as I should be. I hope you are having this problem too so that it will not be as noticeable. See you very soon, Penelope.

That evening, many visitors came to the door to say hello as though the two of them had just moved in or something. They were all very pleased to meet Harry. All wanted the two of them to come for dinner very soon. Harry was glad they were due to leave for Hogwarts too soon to accept any invitations.

Elizabeth returned with her mother who actually patted Harry on the head with her white gloved hand, pushing the control of his annoyance to the limit. Elizabeth gave him a apologetic wince that balanced out some of it.

As he closed the door when they had finally said goodbye for the last time, he exhaled in relief and leaned back against it. “Maybe we should leave first thing tomorrow,” he muttered.