Friday evening arrived, bringing the one-year anniversary party. Harry pulled out his dress robes and held them up. They really weren’t anything special. In fact, they were stained and crumpled, although he could probably ask someone for a spell to tidy them well enough.

“Do you want to borrow my new ones?” Dean asked. “My mum just sent them but she wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.”

At Harry’s indecisive glance, Dean quickly pulled them out of his trunk, still in the Muggle cardboard box. They were a beautiful dark maroon with an accent of gold at the collar, cuff and pockets.

“Wow,” Harry breathed.

“I think they’d fit you,” Dean said. Ron and Neville stepped in as Dean was holding the robes up to Harry’s shoulders for size. “A little broad,” Dean said, “but workable.”

“New robes, Harry?” Neville asked.

“Dean’s offering me his new ones, actually.” He turned to Dean. “Do you have something else to wear?”

“I have my old ones, which are just fine.”

“Wear those, Harry,” Ron said. “You’ll look like Godric himself up there.”

He would be wearing peach, Harry wanted to joke, but held back since he thought he really shouldn’t even hint at what he suspected about Fawkes. “You really don’t mind?” Harry asked his friend.

“No, please. Makes a great statement for the house. And since we aren’t winning the cup…” He shrugged.

The boys passed a pair of Ministry wizards on guard at the end of the corridor as they went down toward to the Great Hall. They nodded them through.

McGonagall waylaid them before they reached the grand stairs. “I think an entrance is in order again, Mr. Potter.”

Harry said, “Then it should be the entire D.A., Professor.”

She hesitated then bowed her head. “Go fetch them from the Hall,” she instructed Harry’s friends. She gestured for Harry to step into the nearest classroom and closed the door. “Speech all ready?”

“I made a few changes, but yes.” He waited for her to ask what changes.

“It is your speech—you may say what you wish,” she said as though reading his thoughts.

A few short minutes later, the D.A. returned, all twenty of those still in school, including the three who had been kept back from joining in the fight that day. Even a year later, they still looked too young to Harry, and he was glad he had held them back during the chaos. He was certain it was saving him now from deep regrets at the memory of that day.

Trebor, now a Second Year, said upon seeing Harry’s expression, “Ron said we should come.”

Harry forced his face to relax. “Yes, of course.” He added a kind smile for good measure, which made Trebor look away with a blush.

McGonagall led the way downstairs, and stopped before the tall closed doors, reminding Harry vividly of his first sorting, so long ago. “Mr. Potter, you last,” she said with a prim smile before she wanded the doors to swing open and led them in.

The conversation in the Hall hushed as the students filed in, walking roughly in lines of two along the aisle open in the center of the large round tables. Harry followed last, feeling the breeze of the doors shutting behind him. The room shuffled to its feet as they passed. It felt more natural this time, Harry found, even when everyone began clapping. At the front, the students split off to their tables, leaving Harry and the headmistress alone. She turned him to the filled hall and patted him on the shoulder. The clapping grew louder, punctuated by cheering that sounded Weasley in origin.

The crowd quieted.

“Thank you all for coming,” McGonagall said to the assembled.

As the headmistress made welcoming remarks, Harry took in the crowd. The students were allocated to the last rows of tables with the front two rows for various Ministry people, reporters, and near the windows, members of the Order. He gave them a smile which they returned.

With a pat on Harry’s back, which he hoped wasn’t to capture his wandering attention, McGonagall said, “With that, let’s eat.”

McGonagall led him onto the platform to stand beside Fudge’s chair. Harry looked around at the other ministers at the table, giving Obolensky an extra nod.

“Good to see you, Mr. Potter,” Obolensky said graciously.

Harry grinned. “Good to see you again too, sir. It’s been a while.”

“Ah, yes. Whell, time is what it is.” He sat back and shifted his patient gaze to Harry’s left. Harry turned to McGonagall as well and found her waiting for him.

“Perhaps a few introductions,” she said.

They went around the table, starting with Conor Mallory, the Irish Minister of Magic and ending with Juba Oni, Priestess of the tribes of the Niger Bend, whose colorful garb made everyone else at the large table look positively staid. Everyone was in a party mood, based on their easy-going greetings. The other tables on the platform contained yet more ministers and the four Heads of House. Introductions were made there as well, before Harry and the headmistress finally sat down back at the center table.

Through dinner Harry managed small talk with everyone at his table. In between interruptions from Fudge, that is. Harry was surprised at the deferential attitude he was receiving from everyone but his own minister.

“Mr. Potter, I hear you will be finishing school soon,” Ms. Oni intoned formally in a rich accent. “Rumor has it you are becoming an Auror.”

“Accepted him already,” Fudge cut in proudly, then put a large bite of meat in his mouth.

“I’ve been accepted for the admittance examinations,” Harry clarified in his Best Boy voice.

Oni went on in her deep melodic speech, “You honor us, young man, by continuing your pursuit of those engaged in the darker magicks.”

Harry would have shrugged before a different audience, but he felt obliged to rise to their deference. “I, uh, I have just always wanted to be one,” he explained soberly.

At a pause Obolensky said with a sly look, “Speaking of dah rhumors, I heared dat you are in a new family circumstance.”

“What is this?” Fudge blurted in surprise, bordering on indignant.

“I’m living with Professor Snape now, sir,” Harry said calmly, wondering which rumor had leapt to the minister’s mind.

“Oh, well. I see,” Fudge hedged before dabbing his mouth with his napkin. His brow furrowed and stayed that way.

Obolensky was watching Harry closely so Harry turned to him in question. “Dis is a change forl you.”

Harry smiled thinking the minister didn’t know the half of it. “Yes, Minister, it is.”

The main meal concluded and the Hall began to hum more loudly with general conversation. McGonagall nudged Harry. “Ready, my boy?”

Harry almost corrected her. “Yes, ma’am.”

She stood, which brought the Hall to a hush. “Mr. Potter is going to say a few words to mark the occasion before we enjoy dessert.” Harry took that as his cue to join her at the edge of the platform and to his dismay, sporadic clapping broke out. McGonagall turned and tapped Harry’s throat with her wand before returning to her seat. Harry experimentally cleared his throat—the sound of it rumbled in his ears like a motorcar.

“Thank you all for coming,” he began.

“Oy, we’ve had this marked on our calendar since last year,” Fred or George commented from the Weasley table.

“So has the headmistress, I think,” Harry rejoined quietly. Many of the assembled chuckled. “It does seem a long time ago, doesn’t it?” Harry continued as he scanned the bright faces at the many tables, all attentively turned to him. “A nice contrast to the preceding year, I think, which is a bit of blur at this point.”

He remembered the parchment in his pocket and reached for it. As he unfolded it, he said in an apologetic tone, “I actually have something prepared….” He scanned the top of it. “Oh, yeah. Welcome the ministers, it says.” He spoke with a tinge of audible regret. The Hall laughed lightly again. Harry half-turned to his table, then the others beside it, and used a sweep of his arm to take them in. “Welcome honored guests,” he said formally. Several of them bowed their heads graciously, nearly all of them smiled in amusement.

Harry turned back to the Hall and glanced at his speech. It didn’t seem quite right now but he tried to follow it anyway. He felt much more confident than he had expected to, buoyed perhaps by the general good mood.

“Hard to believe it has been a year,” he said, which was the next line in the speech.

“Oy, and Voldie hasn’t come back yet,” one of the twins said loudly. “Think ya got it right this time?”

The crowd shifted nervously while Harry fought a grin. He could see that the Weasley parents looked about to get up to go around the table to where their twins sat. Mrs. Weasley did actually get up.

“Good thing I’m not keen on this speech anyway,” Harry said. When he saw she had a hold of her son. “Molly, it’s all right, really,” he insisted.

Molly Weasley froze, suddenly the center of attention of a very large room full of people. Harry held up his parchment. “I do address that point later,” he said in bit of a suffering tone.

Mrs. Weasley slunk back to her chair, sending warning looks at the twins from her seat.

“You have to understand,” Harry said to everyone. “They are the closest thing to brothers I have. Don’t hold it against them. We wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for all of them,” Harry stated with feeling, more grateful for the chance to say it than he would have thought possible.

Most of the redheads bowed them in embarrassment. Harry heard George or Fred defensively say, “See mum.”

Harry glanced at the Order table, which had the most intent expressions in the room. “There are a lot of people whom, if not for them we wouldn’t be here today.” When he found Lupin’s gaze he held it a long moment. “So even though I’m the one up here making this speech, don’t think this anniversary has that much to do with me.”

Harry had wanted to include something to this effect in the notes for this speech, but McGonagall had resisted. Around the room came a few mutterings of denial. He glanced back at McGonagall to see her expression, and found it serene and patient.

With another glance at his parchment, Harry again took in those behind him with an arm gesture. “As the presence of all of the assembled magical leaders attests to, this is an important event to mark. It is important because we need to remember that we have to remain vigilant and cooperative when evil emerges. Otherwise we risk failing to overcome it.”

The crowd fell silent and thoughtful. Harry hoped it wasn’t boredom. He took in the head tables again and found Snape’s intent gaze. The look startled him and he hesitated as he forgot what came next. Quickly, he ducked to review his notes, shaking a bit at his own reaction to that intense look of pride. He had no previous notion how much that could affect him.

Harry found his place only with effort, because continuing with the speech meant shedding the warm emotion that had overtaken him. “The hard struggle against Voldemort should have taught us that every last one of us has an important part to play in resisting evil’s spread. Something Dumbledore always reminded us of.”

Harry remembered the many times he was not believed and spoke the next line with feeling. “But especially important is the role of those in power, as their complacency is the most damaging to collectively understanding the truth when it is an uncomfortable one.” Harry fell silent, as did the room. His notes looked like too much more of the same. He raised his eyes. “Fred, George,” Harry quipped, “Care to lighten this up a bit?”

The room laughed, relieved. One of the twins said sheepishly, “We, uh, would like ta not be disowned. But thanks for thinking of us. Anyway.”

Harry folded the parchment away. The Hall waited with amazing patience while he contrived a conclusion. Finally, he said, “Maybe we should remember Voldemort for what he did not manage to destroy, since that is obviously what we most hold most dear: our connections to our friends and families and community. We should hold onto the new ties that were forged out of necessity.” He resisted turning to Snape. “Then Voldemort will have failed utterly.” He scratched his head and said, “I shouldn’t be talking off the top of my head. That means it’s time for pudding, I think.” Initial noises of denial turned to happier ones. “Enjoy the rest of the evening,” he concluded before stepping back.

The Weasleys started the clapping, Harry saw, before he turned to McGonagall to have the charm removed from his throat. She gave him a soft smile as he stepped by her and returned to his seat. The clapping at his table faded quickly, fortunately.

Fudge leaned in close and said, “You, uh, wouldn’t be considering a career in politics, now would you?”

Harry was sorely tempted to lie and say yes. Only the thought of what the headline in the Prophet might read if he did, kept him in line. “No, sir.”

“Ah, well. Doesn’t seem your type of thing, really,” the man said dismissively.

Fresh plates and cutlery appeared, distracting them all. And Harry was feeling too good to be bothered by this man. He disregarded him and looked for his friends in the far tables. Ron waved which Harry returned. Ron then gave him a thumbs-up which let him relax about his awkward speech.

Their long-distance communication ceased as the Hall fell silent and the lights dimmed. The center doors opened and the most enormous cake Harry had ever imagined was towed in by Dobby, who pulled it across the stone floor by a long wooden handle. Seven layers of luscious frosting and hundreds of sizzling sparklers creaked and bumped its way to the front of the Hall.

Dobby bowed and pointed at the cake. A flash and bang! followed and confetti rained down on the room in pink and silver. Harry at first feared that the entire thing had exploded, but it was just the top layer, which now sprouted the burning image of a phoenix. More house-elves appeared and began serving pieces by hand. Dobby took the first and second layers down with a snap of his fingers and carried it to the head table. Another snap and pieces appeared on each plate. With a wink and a bow he returned to assist in cutting up the rest. The glowing phoenix now served as a centerpiece.

“Thank you, Dobby!” Harry shouted over the excited crowd.

Dobby turned with an exceptional grin and gave him another bow.

Harry took up a fork and paused. The cake was shifting between colors and he assumed flavors. When it was rich brown, he stuck his fork in it and took a bite. It was deliciously rich chocolate with light fluffy frosting. Halfway through his huge serving of cake, Harry turned to his table mates. They all appeared amused again. He gave Obolensky a questioning glance, since he was most likely to explain.

“We are reminded of who you are, Mr. Potter, by your voracious cake eating.”

Harry narrowed his eyes a bit as he puzzled that. Now that he had stopped eating, the remaining cake chunk was cycling through its flavors again. Distracted by stabbing his fork into the cake while it was bright green made Harry slow in responding.

“You are just a boy,” Oni commented in the kind of tone Trelawney used when she pretended to prognosticate.

“Uh, little older than that,” he said with a hint of defensiveness.

Oni grinned faintly. “A little. Do not resist the cake because of us, please.”

Harry glanced at his plate. He did wonder what flavor that could be. With a sideways glance at them all, he took a bite. It was sweet lime, strange but good. At least it wasn’t spinach or something. They were grinning again, most of them. Harry shook his head and decided he was feeling good enough that he didn’t care what they thought, even as important as they all were.

McGonagall patted Harry’s arm when he finally gave up on his dessert then stood and attracted the Hall’s attention. “The fireworks will be starting shortly,” she announced. “If everyone can make their way to the lawn…”

The Great Hall began to empty, with people moving in animated groups to the three sets of doors. Those at the head tables stood as well.

Obolensky stepped around Fudge, who looked a little food-groggy as he ambled away. “Verehly nice speech. Not too long, but important things said.”

This sentiment was repeated by some of the other ministers. Harry chatted amiably with a few of those from the other tables until the Hall was otherwise empty and McGonagall urged them to move on. They followed her slowly out of the Hall, the Heads of House falling in behind.

In the Entrance Hall Harry glanced back at Snape in his flowing emerald dress robes. Snape still fixed him with that intense gaze. Harry slowed and waved the others through the main doors to the outside.

“Severus,” Harry said, forestalling Snape’s stepping through as well. He turned to Harry with a questioning expression. Harry waited for Sinistra and Flitwick to depart and for the doors to boom closed, locking out the lively crowd sounds. “I, uh…” He began but didn’t know where to start. He dropped his gaze and thought fiercely about what he wanted to say.

“Everything all right?” Snape asked, eyes flicking down to where Harry still had a hold of his sleeve.

“Yes. Really all right, actually,” he said with assurance.

In a low voice Snape commented, “You did well up there.”

Harry tilted his head to the side as that overwhelming feeling returned, bringing a painful grin with it. Before he could reconsider himself out of it, he stepped forward and hugged his parent, who stiffened in surprise. “Thank you. For everything,” Harry said with firm sincerity.

Snape’s shoulders fell as he relaxed. He patted Harry’s shoulders and said, “You are quite welcome,” just a little confused.

Harry tightened his arms momentarily before stepping back, at least as far as Snape’s hold would allow. Harry rested his hands on Snape’s arms. Their eyes met an instant before Harry looked away. “Tonight has been easier than I thought it would be.”

“You did make it look easy.”

“Did I?” Harry asked, running his fingertips nervously over the soft fabric of Snape’s sleeve. Something inside of him was straining to be acknowledged, unsettling him.

Snape pulled Harry’s chin up to look him in the eye. After a breath he said, “Any parent would be very proud of you right now.” A bit drier and with a touch of snideness, he added, “You who refuses to take credit for anything.” Harry could not hold back another smile as Snape went on, “On this day, at least, you should be willing to admit that in the end it was you, and only you, who mattered.”

Harry started to protest.

“Uh,” Snape said sharply to cut him off. “Do not argue. I watched you do it, remember?”

The right-hand main door opened and Obolensky leaned in, saw them and stepped in quickly before pushing the door closed behind him. Harry stepped back and dropped his arms.

“I must apologize,” the Bulgarian minister said. “Headmistress McGonagall sent me to see what the delay was.” His eyes moved between them several times. “I did not intend to intehrrupt.”

“It’s all right,” Harry said, heading for the doors, making sure the pair of them followed. “I wasn’t thinking about Headmistress waiting for us.”

“You,” Snape stated as they stepped outside onto the castle’s large porch and into the warm din of happy sound. “She is most certainly waiting for you. Go on.”

Harry pattered down the steps and lightly onto the grass. Overstuffed chairs and couches were arrayed on the lawn for the special guests to sit on. The grounds were crowded with meandering visitors and students and families greeting one another and arranging themselves.

Snape watched Harry lean over to McGonagall and presumably apologize before taking a seat beside her. As Snape moved to follow, Obolensky put a restraining hand on his arm.

The Bulgarian leaned close as the first rockets lit the sky and asked, “I am seeing how it is?”

Snape looked away. White streamers erupted into blue and silver flowers high above the lawn, set off sparkles in the wavelets on the lake. Obolensky had not released him and Snape did not feel like tussling to free himself.

“I am cuhrlious,” the man said in a low voice, barely audible over the crowd. His tone reminded Snape of Malfoy, perhaps because it was loaded with a challenge while his face showed a friendly smile.

Snape reached down and casually peeled the Bulgarian’s fingers from his arm. “What are you curious about, Minister?” he asked easily.

Obolensky waited for the booming explosions and echoes of the next set of fireworks to pass before he spoke low and with a thickening accent. “You werle tormenting Mr. Potter a yearl ago, werle you not?”

“I was pointing out the obvious a year ago,” Snape returned levelly.

Harry turned around to look back at them. His eyes narrowed as he noticed them still standing there.

“Is there some point you are attempting to get to?” Snape asked the Minister beside him as he nodded to Harry that everything was all right.

Harry was resisting though. Snape could feel his charge questioning whether he should return. As with many things surrounding Potter, Snape felt both dismayed and touched simultaneously. He sent a firm denial to the boy and Harry turned around to face the lawn with a quick glance at McGonagall.

“Dat was interlesting,” Obolensky stated.

“He is my son now, Minister Obolensky,” Snape said, warming in anger inside his plush robes. “If I wish to teach and practice Legilimency with him, that is my concern. Trust that I taught him Occlusion first. He is free to block me out as he wishes. Now that he is nearly eighteen, he has been doing that quite a lot.”

Obolensky grinned for real an instant before his darker smile returned. “Trust that I am only concerned how things are for the best of reasons. Especially when Albus Dumbledore is no longer herle to oversee everything. When a forlce for good goes away, other forlces come and settle in.”

“I respect that Albus Dumbledore regarded you highly, Minister, so it would be considerably easier if you stated your concerns outright so I can address them. If possible.”

Obolensky took hold of Snape’s arm again. “Mr. Potter, who has done great things, deserves great consideration. Beyond anything someone like you can prohvide, I believe.”

A yellow and red explosion lit the castle and them both.

“You believe incorrectly. Harry’s needs are easily met.”

Obolensky gave him a strange look. “I do not accept that easily. How is such possible?”

Snape watched the colorful crowd and thought back to the boy he had brought home the previous summer, still dangerously headstrong and independent, but also in total contradiction, emotionally fragile, a veritable minefield of unforeseeable weaknesses. As they had emerged, Snape had managed to deal with them, one at a time, though some had since re-emerged again in altered form. The afterimage of spiraling streamers burned in Snape’s retinas.

“Perhaps they would not seem simple to anyone else. As difficult as it may be for you to believe, Minister, Mr. Potter and I are similar in many ways.”

“I do find that vehrly difficult to believe.”

Snape took a deep breath. His instinct to walk away rose again, but it wouldn’t do. Allies were not something to discard so casually in the environment they were now in.

Obolensky watched the flaring sky. “You have been charlged with him. By your Ministry?”

“By Albus Dumbledore, himself,” Snape replied. He neglected to add that it was certainly not his own idea.

“Interlesting,” Obolensky said, voice easing back to friendly at least on the surface.

Snape crossed his arms and leaned in close to the Bulgarian. In a low tone he said, “Albus could be eccentric and opaque, as you well know, maddeningly so. But in this he communicated directly. Harry required someone who understood what it was to be marked and punished to do the Dark Lord’s bidding. And suffer his whims.”

Obolensky stood straighter, Snape leaned in closer. “Someone for whom the Dark Lord’s death meant the beginning of life.” Snape relented, stood straight again. “To someone else, Harry would be a disturbing enigma, a wounded burden to be withstood or discarded. But to me, his journey is merely a version of my own. I cannot fail him without failing myself.”

Obolensky nodded sideways. Then waited for a pause in the bright, hissing sky. “Therle is reasoning in dat. Regretfully Albus Dumbledorle is not here. All I have confirmed is that you clearly have close familiarity with Mr. Potter.”

Snape turned back to the lawn and found Harry’s eyes on him again. Harry whispered to McGonagall and stood up. Snape clasped his hands behind his back and affected a casual pose. Obolensky almost said more, but his dark brown eyes tracked Harry’s approach.

“You called him herle?” he whispered accusingly.

“By no means,” Snape growled back, also in a whisper.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked when he reached the porch, his eyes studying each of them in turn.

“Just discussing the wohrld as it is, Mr. Potter,” Obolensky said in a patent politician voice.

Harry clearly did not believe this sufficient. He looked to Snape instead, eyes hoping for an explanation.

“It is no matter, Harry,” Snape insisted. He nodded at the couches. “Minerva undoubtedly wishes you to remain with the special guests.”

Harry’s eyes darted between them. “You’re going to make me guess what’s going on…” Harry nodded politely, “Minister?”

“Harry,” Snape said, firmly but also friendly. “Rejoin Minerva. Everything is fine.”

Harry set his mouth. “If you’re sure. Don’t be long, then,” he said before retreating again, posture reluctant about it.

When Harry was out of hearing, Snape said, “What is your real concern, Minister? Being a politician of diplomatic bent I suspect you haven’t actually voiced it yet.”

“I myself am not cerltain. I find things very unexpectedly ahrranged. I find enemies to be intimates. I am not as quick and easy as others at believing everything is good again. So I wonder.”

Snape turned to him. “You and I are similar in that, Minister. I too find the willful assumption that all is well to be unnerving. Hazardous even. It eases my mind to know you are in power and hold that mentality. And I certainly do not wish you to waste your concerns on Harry’s care when it would be better spent elsewhere.”

“I dearily regret that Albus did not communicate to me regarlding this.”

“I would prefer to have your good will in this.” Snape said, managing a mostly equitable tone over his impatience. “I have correspondence from Albus to that effect, that he was pleased with how well I was doing on what he called his last incomplete task. Albeit a letter spontaneously generated months after his death.”

“I see.” Obolensky snorted. “Such a missive is in keeping with Albus.”

Obolensky stared down at the row of seating. “So, O One Charged with This Task. How do you estimate that your task is progressing?”

Snape also peered down at the row of seats, at Harry leaning far over to speak with someone new wearing dark formal ribbed robes and matching tam. More dignitaries were arriving it seemed than had made it to the dinner.

“I think the task of seeing him through has barely begun. That is what I think. And with that, and what I perceive is your improved regard, I need to return to my duties.” With a formal nod Snape turned away from Obolensky and stepped down to the lawn.

Harry eagerly made space beside himself on a flower print couch.

“What did he want?” Harry asked curiously.

Snape glanced over to see Obolensky joining a nearby group, well within earshot. “Nothing worth relating at this moment. Quite a set of robes,” Snape commented levelly, looking Harry up and down.

“Dean loaned them to me,” Harry said.

“That explains the pretentiousness.”

“You think they’re pretentious?” Harry asked in disbelief, glancing down at the rich fabric and sparkling cuffs.

“In those colors, they cannot be anything but,” Snape stated grimly.

McGonagall patted Harry’s arm. “They are lovely robes, Harry,” she assured him.

They sat in silence as the fireworks continued. Harry wished he could join his friends now, but thought it expected that he would stay with the dignitaries longer. Lupin passed by a row away, carrying multiple chalices of mead. Harry waved at him. His former teacher grinned and veered their way.

“Are those spoken for?” Harry asked.

“Not if it is you who is asking,” Lupin teased, holding a chalice out to him when he reached them.

He still had two. “Can Severus have the other?”

Lupin smiled and shook his head as he gave up another one. Harry thought Snape looked like he could use one.

“You are doing well, Harry,” Lupin said after a long swig of mead. “It’s very good to see.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Harry complained. “Was I that messed up before?”

McGonagall looked away, apparently wary of replying. Obolensky turned from his group toward them. Lupin nodded while Snape remained unmoved.

“Guess so,” Harry said with a sigh.

“All that matters is how you are doing now,” Lupin insisted. He held out his chalice to toast it with Harry’s. “To you, Harry,” Lupin said as the crystals clinked.

Harry’s shoulders fell. “I can’t take much more of this,” he breathed.

McGonagall said, “Drink up, my boy. It will help.”

Harry took a swig, nearly wiped his mouth on his sleeve until he remembered that these were not his robes, and instead wiped his lips with his fingers and said, “About this ‘boy’ thing…”

Lupin laughed heartily. Harry glanced up at him and did a double take, as Lupin had his hand out to Snape. “Congratulations, Severus,” Lupin said soberly. A tense moment passed before Snape accepted the offered hand. “You get the lion’s share of the credit, I think,” Lupin went on.

Snape retrieved his hand and shifted uneasily. “You underestimate Potter’s resiliency, Remus. It is little to do with me.”

Harry looked between them, reassessing yet again their apparent view of him. “I am sitting right here,” he pointed out a little sharply.

Others around them turned at this in concern but Obolensky appeared amused.

“I realize that, Harry,” Lupin said apologetically. “Just didn’t think I was going to get another chance. I should probably be apologizing to Severus as well as congratulating him.”

“That is unnecessary,” Snape stated quietly, eyes overhead and distant, as if awaiting the next fireworks.

Another tense moment passed. Harry swigged another gulp of mead and insisted, peeved, “Can we drop all discussions of Harry’s state of mind for the rest of the evening? Please?”

“If you wish,” Snape said, sounding strangely smug.

“You don’t realize, Harry,” Lupin said, a little tipsy, “how your obvious good health has relieved the wizarding world’s collective guilt.”

“What?” Harry blurted.

“Ah uh, Remus,” McGonagall said to cut him off. “I agree with Harry that the topic should be closed.” She conjured another chair in front of their couch, a yellow tulip-patterned one. “Please have a seat and enjoy the rest of the fireworks.”

Remus accepted the seat and gave Harry a broad smile over his shoulder.

Silently, Harry mouthed, “Collective guilt?” at him in question.

Lupin tipped his head to the side and turned away to face the lake, as did the others around them.

“Aye,” Harry breathed before leaning back and drinking another swig of mead.