Half an hour before the start of his sixteenth birthday, Harry sat looking at two letters, contemplating his last year.

It had been horrible. From the dementor attack that had made a bad end to his summer of isolation, through the death of his godfather, in which Harry himself had not been blameless, straight through to the letter he had received from Hermione, only a week after the end of term, being fifteen had been horrible.

Harry picked up the folded letter from Hermione and fingered it. He didn't open it -- he didn't need to. Most of the words were burned into his mind. Hermione had taken him to task for his attitude about certain events of their fifth year.

She had been kind enough to say that didn't hold him solely, or even primarily, to blame for his godfather's death, which she had been dreading as near-inevitable since Sirius came with Harry to Kings Cross Station, but she told him, in no uncertain terms, that he had no right to blame Snape, Dumbledore, or anyone else for his failure to learn Occlumency. The letter was long, detailed, and well-argued, but the gist of it was in one paragraph:

That it is your teacher's job to teach makes it no less your job to learn. I saw no indication that you made any attempt to learn while you were receiving Occlumency lessons. Furthermore, when you drove off Professor Snape (and I don't know how, but I did hear your lessons ended because of a fight, not because he thought you were ready) you made no attempt to win him back as a teacher, to acquire another teacher, or to learn on your own. Understand that I'm not telling you this because I'm angry at you, Harry. I'm telling you this because I know you can do better, and you need to do better, but as long as you keep blaming your lack of responsibility on other people, you're not going to do it.

Harry had flown into a fury about the whole thing, and sent Hermione an angry three-page reply describing exactly how everything was someone else's fault, and how Hermione didn't understand how normal people couldn't learn everything at a glance, like she could. He had fumed for days, got into a fight with Dudley, from which he naturally came off the worse, and in doing so focused his aunt and uncle's general dislike of him into immediate animosity. While locked in his room, he had found a draft of the letter he sent Hermione less than a week earlier, and been dismayed at how whiny it seemed. Checking back to compare points to her letter had driven him to the depressing conclusion that she was right. He really never had tried, and it wasn't anyone's fault but his own. He'd sent her a short note ("Ignore my earlier ravings -- summer makes me stupid. I'll try to do better.") and set about trying to live up to it.

For the past two weeks, he had ended every day by turning off his light, sitting on his bed, and saying, "I will not avoid lessons that I do not like. It is not Snape's fault I would not learn from him. It is not Dumbledore's fault I would not talk to him." After this, he practiced clearing his mind, as he should have done that spring. He did this grimly, as a penance offered to Sirius. It was not pleasant, but clearing his mind, at least, became easier.

Yesterday, he had awoken thinking that he needed to mark the end of the year and move on. He had started to write a letter to Hermione, telling her what he was intending to do, but after agonizing over it for several hours, he had decided it would sound much more sincere if he could actually say he had done things. Gritting his teeth, he had written a short note to Professor Snape, formally apologizing for intruding on the professor's memories. After three minutely different versions, he had realized that it didn't really matter what he said -- Snape was never going to forgive him and couldn't possibly hate him any more, so he was really just doing this for Hermione, or perhaps himself. He had taken his last draft and sent it off with Hedwig.

With his owl gone, he had not been able to send a letter Hermione right away. For marking the end of the year, he decided he needed some sort of ritual at the turn of his birthday, and he would write Hermione at the end of that. He had taken Hermione's letter, as a symbol of the end of the year, and the first disciplinary notice from the Ministry of Magic, as a symbol of the beginning of the year, and bound them together with a ribbon from a present Sirius had given him. They were now on the floor in front of him, set on the emptied drop pan from Hedwig's cage. It felt like an elaborate spell, Harry thought, as he fumbled with a match. He broke it in his nervousness, and had to start again with another.

"Miss you, Sirius," he whispered, as he held the match to the two letters. The paper smoldered and caught, and Harry fanned the smoke towards the open window, thinking fiercely:

The fire went out twice and needed to be restarted, but the smoke wafted outside, and neither the smoke detector nor his relatives noticed. When the letters had been turned to ash, Harry carried the drop pan to the window, slid it through the narrow opening, and blew the ash out into the night.

Go. You are the past.

Afterwards, he returned the drop pan to Hedwig's cage, then went and lay down on his bed. He kept his eyes on the display on the small digital alarm clock. When it reached midnight, he would say his new sentences, write a new letter to Hermione, do his exercises, then go to sleep. He looked at the paper on which he had written the new sentences. He had wanted positive statements, but the last one was still clearly reactive:

I am responsible for my actions.
I will learn what I need to learn to protect myself and my friends.
I will ask for help when I need it and accept help from qualified people, even if I don't personally like them.

Harry shrugged. He couldn't think of any better way to say what he meant. Maybe a month or two of this would make it clearer what was important. He returned his attention to the clock.

Harry lay on his side in the dark bedroom and watched the clock display as it changed from 11:58 to 11:59. He hadn't waited so for a birthday in years, but this time it seemed vitally important to put an end to the last year and begin again.

Suddenly, something blocked his view of the red numbers. Harry pushed up from the bed in a flash of panic, only to see a thick envelope fall from its edge to lie flat on the bed.

Harry picked up the envelope. It was very thick -- thicker than his yearly missive from Hogwarts -- and closed with a pressed wax seal. The paper of the envelope was dark, but Harry could not determine, in the light that sifted in from the street lamp outside, what color it was.

Harry grabbed the torch from his bedside table. As he did so, he noticed the clock was now displaying 12:00. He felt a flash of annoyance.

I missed it! I hope that's not a bad omen. He thought about it, and decided it depended on whether or not what was in the letter was important to the year ahead.

"Finish the ritual," he muttered.

Quickly and solemnly, he said his new sentences, then worked on clearing his mind. It was harder with something to be curious about. He managed five minutes of near-stillness, then gave up, turned on the torch, and shone the beam on the mysterious missive.

In the light, the envelope was a rich, warm red. The wax seal shone gold, and sparkled slightly around the raised lines of an ornate "P". When Harry broke the seal, it glowed briefly, bathing his hands in a beautiful golden light. Awestruck, Harry slipped the folded sheets of parchment from the envelope. As he had expected from the envelope's thickness, there were a lot of them. He unfolded the lot, and looked nervously at the top sheet.

My dear son,

Harry gasped. He shut his eyes for a moment and found his heart had sped up from just those words. This can't ... A letter from my dad or mum? How? Harry opened his eyes and looked at the parchment. It seemed new. I've got someone else's mail, that's what! he thought crossly. Nonetheless, it was with considerable apprehension that he looked again at the first sheet.

My dear son,

This letter is bespelled to go to the date of your sixteenth birthday, appearing to me, if I am still alive, or you, if I am not. If I get it, you will doubtless know much of the information it contains, but I will come read it to you, to explain some of the parts that would not be appropriate for a younger child. Actually, it's bespelled to appear an instant before your sixteenth birthday, because of the blood magic -- more on that later.

First, let me tell you that I love you very much. I hope this is unnecessary sentimentality, and that I lived long enough for you to know that, heart and soul, but the assurance arm of Gringotts has doubtless made clear to you the propensity of Potters to die in messy glory at a young age.

This paragraph ended with a little smiley face, complete with messy hair. Harry could not restrain a strangled laugh. I didn't know, he thought, but I'm not surprised.

Second (and the reason this letter is necessary), I am not your biological father.

Harry stared at the words. The warmth he had felt from the previous words started to ebb away. Desperately, he went back and read them again. My dear son ... I love you very much. That was the reason for the "sentimentality," he realized. That was why it was first. Because James Potter (Harry took a quick glance at the last page to confirm the letter was indeed from James Potter) had wanted him to understand that although he was not Harry's biological father, he was still his father.

Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. It stayed flat a full two seconds before springing back into its chosen disheveled form. How could James not be his father? Everyone said he looked just like James. Perhaps his real -- Harry caught himself. Biological, he thought firmly. Perhaps his biological father was a relative of James Potter?

The whole situation got completely ballsed up. (There, see -- I'm trying to imagine you as a teenager, rather than the sweet little baby your mother is currently trying to scrape strained peas off of -- you're having none of them. You are quite certain strained peas are an artistic medium, not, as Lily believes, a food. Clever boy!) I think the best thing to do is to present you with an overview of what happened, then include separate sheets on your father (and our complicated and often painful relationships with him) ...

... and the spell. Lily says I'm turning this into a pamphlet, but she knew of my inability to be brief when she gave me the job. Besides, if I died when you were young -- and it doesn't look unlikely -- I want to put as much of myself and her, and even him, into this as possible.

Your biological father is a friend of ours and an ex-lover of Lily's -- don't worry, it wasn't an affair, you were quite intentional -- named Severus Snape.

Harry dropped the letter and the torch. The latter hit him on the knee, and he yelped and grabbed it. Severus Snape? Professor Snape? But I don't look anything like him! And everyone says I'm just like James. Harry worked on steadying his breathing. They made a mistake, then. That must be it. Gingerly, he picked up the letter again, and resumed reading.

...Severus Snape. He's most likely dead by your "now" -- I don't expect him to last more than a year or two, at this rate. He has a very dangerous life, and has had a death wish since -- well, see the sheet titled "Severus and the Marauders: or, What the Hell Were We Thinking?" (My first draft said something other than "Hell," but Lily objected. Despite my arguments as to the daily language of sixteen year old boys, she says that as your father, I must set you a good example. I think that would require you never meeting anyone who knew me as a teenager!)

Anyway, Severus. The full history is on that sheet, but in brief: Severus and I were bitter enemies, and Lily and I were friends. Severus and Lily became friends, I learned to be civil to him, and then Lily dated him. He became a Death Eater and broke up with Lily. Lily and I were enemies of Severus. Lily started going out with me. Severus left the Death Eaters. Lily and I began to work with him. Lily and I got married. Lily and I became friends with Sev again. (Oh, if he is alive, don't call him "Sev." He hates that. Forewarned is forearmed.) (It is my earnest wish that by your time, "Death Eater" is an historical term. Suffice to say that Severus was certainly not the only one in our Hogwarts class. Contrary to popular belief, not all of them were in Slytherin, either.)

Shortly after we married, Lily became pregnant. She miscarried. Several months later, she became pregnant again, but we decided not to tell anybody until she was showing. It was at that time that Severus came to see us. He was, by that point, working for Dumbledore in a very dangerous capacity. (I don't expect any of the political information I include will be sensitive in fifteen years, but if I am wrong, please safeguard it and contact Dumbledore immediately. It is all relevant to your position.) He said there was a major Death Eater offensive in the works, and he was not sure he would survive it. As he was without issue, he asked my permission to perform Herem with Lily, my wife.

I don't know if you are familiar with Herem. It is a moderately complicated spell by which a man may ... er ... (If I'm still alive, I need to remember to have "the talk" with you before reading you this. On the other hand, considering what I was up to my fifth year, if I don't do it before then, you could have much worse problems than embarrassment. Anyway -- a warning, in case you are not as precocious: The following paragraph is about s e x.)

Using Herem, a man has sex with a woman, but time-locks his seed, so that she may release it later. This is generally used by men leaving for war. In the most common variant (which we used) the woman may not end the time lock unless the man is dead or near death. It is most commonly used between a man and his wife, but, traditionally, an unmarried man with no heirs may ask a close friend for his wife or kin for this purpose.

Harry paused at the bottom of the second page. Perhaps Lily had miscarried again, then got pregnant, and they had somehow mistakenly believed it was from this?

As you might expect, this sort of request is not granted or refused lightly. Lily was willing, if I would not be hurt by it. My deepest misgiving was that I knew they still loved each other -- they do even now -- and while I knew she loved me as deeply, I was afraid to increase her sadness at the losses of her past. What decided me was this: Severus had broken off his engagement with Lily because she was Muggle-born, and, in his view at the time, not suitable to bear children to a pureblood man. That he asked for Lily, rather than going to one of his Death Eater companions for a pureblood broodmare of a woman (Lucius Malfoy, I believe, had two cousins who qualified nicely) was the most sincere apology he could ever have made to her, and we both wanted her to accept this gesture from him, to finalize the peace between us. Of course, we all hoped it was a needless precaution.

Severus left. A few days later, Lily miscarried again. This time, a mediwitch analyzed the miscarriage, and both of us, and told me that Lily would be unable to carry most pregnancies by me. If we were willing to continue trying, we might eventually have a child. We wanted a child, but I did not want to put her through that again. Neither of us wanted to go through that again.

While we were still reeling from this, we heard the news of the Death Eater attack. Hundreds of people were dead, and scores missing. We waited for news from Severus. A month later, the investigating committee declared they expected no further survivors to be located. We waited another month. At the next time Lily was fertile, she released the time lock of the Herem. She conceived, strengthening our belief that Severus was dead.

We kept the pregnancy quiet, in case there was some additional reason for Lily's miscarriages. Then, Severus returned. He must have been very near death for the release to work, but, by his later account, he had been near death for several weeks. We invited him over for a private dinner, planning to tell him that Lily was pregnant with his child, but when he arrived, everything changed.

He broke down almost as soon as he saw her. He told her he had met with a French lover (not even in serious intent) a few times, and that Voldemort had found the woman unacceptable. He had ordered her kidnapped, then presented her to Severus and demanded Severus kill her. Severus had done so.

(This is a way in which Severus is very different from me. He can, in this situation, do his sums, evaluate the deaths that would be caused by his failure, and murder a single innocent to save others. I could never do this. I can't comprehend how anyone with feelings can turn his soul to steel and do the mathematically reasonable thing, when the mathematically reasonable thing is so repugnant.)

Severus was damaged by the action, or perhaps by one of the other things he had done or observed during the massacre. His bitterness had grown and hardened. After he pulled back from Lily, that evening, I never saw him touch anyone in affection again Nor did I ever again see him express any regret.

Lily and I decided we must not tell him. We were not afraid he would kill his own child (even our obsidian blade, as we sometimes called him, has his limits), but it was clear he could not protect you from Voldemort. When Lily reached the fourth month of her pregnancy, we began the spells that would overlay any physical characteristics you gained from him with ones from me. (See the "Paternity Charm" sheet for details.)

Harry put down the letter again and rubbed at his temples. Perhaps they were not mistaken, then. He was glad it was late at night, and that he had eaten very little during the day. It helped make all of this seem a little less real. He had a feeling the letter would seem more frightfully real in the bright light of day. Then, fortunately, he would not be reading it for the first time. Severus Snape? Because he and my dad -- James -- were both traditional enough for some weird pureblood custom involving loaning out one's wife as a breeding prospect?

He looked over the remaining sheets. There was only one more page to the main letter, and the Paternity Charm explanation was a single page. "Severus and the Marauders" was as long as the main letter. Harry hugged his knees into his chest. Well, he had wanted more details on what happened between Snape and James. Now he could have James's own account of why Snape hated his dad -- Harry shook his head. "Why my father hates my dad so much," he said aloud, and laughed hysterically. He muffled the sound with his hands, afraid his uncle would wake, but the house was silent when he finished.

Harry felt cold. He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and returned to the letter.

We were not as close to him, after that -- no one was. Lily's pregnancy, and your birth, kept us occupied. Now you are sleeping through the night (usually), and we are not. Someone near us is a spy.

Sev is convinced it is Sirius. His hate and distrust of Sirius is, unfortunately, not unfounded (See SvtM:WtHWWT?), but it has nothing to do with me. I am certain Padfoot would never betray me. However, the arguments with Severus have become longer and more acrimonious. He rails against my arrogant trust -- without that, would I talk to him? I retorted, and that pulled the bulk of his guilt between us. He will not visit for long, because he cannot stand to see you in Lily's arms -- in one picture, demonstrating everything he can no longer obtain. Oddly, he now talks to me more than her, but only of politics and strategy. I'm rambling -- sorry. So many parts of this are such a waste. If I could go back to first year and be kind to him.... Don't indulge yourself in the joy of retaliation. It's not worth it. There -- that's my fatherly advice for you.

Severus is probably dead, and if he is alive, may not be safe for you to approach. Please ask Albus Dumbledore, or, if Dumbledore is no longer alive, Molly or Arthur Weasley, if Severus is alive and approachable. Severus will find out about you -- Lily has written a similar letter (obviously much shorter, as little needs to be explained) to him, and three days from when you receive this, it will appear to him, if she is dead, or, if he is also dead, to you. If you have not heard of Severus Snape, you must be prepared by then, as you could be in danger if he has returned to Voldemort's fold.

To complicate (or perhaps simplify) matters, the Paternity Charm is not permanent. In the usual cases (covert adoption, etc.) it would be renewed every ten years, but it must be renewed with the blood of both fathers, or by the mother with the blood of the adoptive father (me, in this case). Obviously, this is not possible if Lily and Severus are dead, or if I am dead. Lily and I extended the spell as much as we felt possible. In the most significant change, she added in some arithmancy elements, and she believes they will maintain the charm fully until your sixteenth birthday. At that time, the imposition of my physical characteristics will start to leave you. Since the spell is blood-based, it will not happen overnight. (Massive blood loss will speed the change. I recommend avoiding that. Not fun, believe me.)

Harry shivered. Does that mean I'm going to start looking like Snape? he wondered. Eeuch!

I wish I could say everything I want to say. The longer I work on this, the more certain I am I will die, and soon. I want you to know me. I want you to know I love you. I want you to know how I walked with you and sang to you when you could not sleep. I want you to be mine, but it hurts me to have stolen you from him. My stolen child. Be his, as well, if you can.

Your loving home-father,

James Potter

Harry rubbed at an uncomfortable wetness in his eyes. He put the letter down and stood up. Unsteadily, he paced between the window and the bed.

Why Snape? I wouldn't mind if it was Sirius or Remus. Even.... Harry thought about people who had known his father. Peter, he decided would be worse than Snape. That was about it. Snape hated him; he hated Snape. Snape had been gleefully cruel to him from the first moment they met, and.... Harry gritted his teeth and admitted it: he had responded by being nearly as unfair. Only his relative lack of power kept him from being nearly as awful to Snape as Snape was to him. (Don't indulge yourself in the joy of retaliation.)

He wanted desperately to go look in a mirror, to see if his face had changed, but his door was padlocked from the outside. He felt his nose carefully. It felt like a nose. He realized he wasn't quite certain what his nose felt like normally. He smoothed his hair down. Had it stayed that way, briefly?

I suppose it doesn't matter that much to me, he thought. Not in any real way. James obviously loved me, so it's like finding out I was adopted. Actually, I sort of was, I guess.

I wonder what Snape will do, though?! He'll probably kill me, or kill somebody, anyway! The last thing he'd want is to be associated with me.

Harry turned back to his parchment and quill. He really needed to send two quick letters, to Ron and Hermione, saying enough that they could help, but not too much. Composing them took hours, and during that time it occurred to Harry that the entire thing could be an elaborate joke. After all, what proof did he have that his letter was from James Potter and not Fred and George Weasley? That thought required a complete rewrite of his letter to Ron, and to drop the subject completely from his letter to Hermione. A line of pale light edged the eastern sky by the time Harry had finished the notes:

Dear Ron,

My birthday is only a few hours along, and it's already the second weirdest in my life! Tell Fred and George they had me going for a bit. The gold seal was an especially nice touch. Is there really a Paternity Charm?

Happy Birthday to me!

Harry

Dear Hermione,

I've been thinking a lot about what you said. You were right, and I'm sorry I was so rude about it. I suppose I rather proved your point, didn't I? I want you to know I have been working on my exercises, and doing all the homework I can (I can't get materials for the practical Potions assignment). I have sent a letter apologizing to Professor Snape, and when school starts, I will ask Dumbledore if he or Snape will teach me. If you see me being an idiot again, you have my permission to tell me that I owe it to Sirius to be reasonable.

Harry rubbed at his eyes. He wondered if he would ever be able to mention Sirius again without feeling abandoned and guilty and stupid. Hedwig returned, to his relief, without an answer, and Harry occupied himself with stroking her soft feathers and telling her how beautiful and smart and fast she was. It occurred to him that apologizing to Snape might be more complicated, now. He was glad he had already sent the letter; he wouldn't want Snape to think he was apologizing just because they were related, if they actually were.

Harry gave the new letters to Hedwig, before he lost his nerve, but told her to rest at the Burrow. A few hours later, he would regret that decision.

Harry was woken from a short sleep by a pecking at his window. Uncle Vernon had put a block above the window so it opened only enough for Hedwig to be slipped in and out. Harry had to stick his arm out, allow her to land on that, then help her in. Today, however, the owl that woke him was carrying a large package which made this harder. He managed to rest the package on the windowsill, so the owl could let go of it, get the package in before it fell, and coax the unfamiliar owl through the narrow space under the window.

Because it was nearing the time that Aunt Petunia would come wake him, Harry concealed the package beneath the loose floorboard without even examining it. When it was safely stashed for a safer time, he opened the letter.

To our most illustrious partner, Greetings!

The real world is treating us well! We have not yet made money, but we haven't yet used all our reserves, which our fellow merchants tell us is stunningly good for a first-year business. One of those fellows, the manager at Zonko's, is eager to carry some of our product line, and we are negotiating a mutually agreeable deal with him. Call us about your first Quidditch game, and we'll arrange to make a delivery to Hogsmeade that weekend!

The majority of our business is currently by owl, but we have rented some space in Diagon Alley. (No, nothing Mum would be ashamed of. We were finally able to explore Knockturn Alley, of course -- a disappointment, really. None of it was truly bril, though bits were rather disgusting.) It's mostly production, with a tiny retail section -- little more than a cupboard with a window to the production area. Floo over or call by "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" (no stuttering!) and we'll give you a tour.

(and hit you for more money had been written and crossed out after this.)

We enclose a few experimental items, with mostly accurate explanations, for your enjoyment. Perhaps your sweet cousin would like some! (We recommend those labeled in green.) As always, any encouragement you can give your [mindless fans crossed out] schoolmates to order more is greatly appreciated.

Your faithful servants,

Gred and Forge Weasley

Harry frowned. It seemed unlikely the twins would go to all that trouble while playing a joke on him, especially considering that they were asking him for favors and seemed nervous that they would need to ask him for more.

He was distracted from this thought by the arrival of Pig. Pig brought a card, present, and homemade shortbread from Ron. Harry stashed the present, still wrapped, but he had not been allowed to eat dinner the day before, and the smell of shortbread teamed up with his hunger to get the better of his caution. He managed two pieces before he heard his sound of his locks being undone.

Harry thought quickly. He did not have time to get the shortbread under the floor safely, and his aunt was almost certain to smell that he had food. He left half the shortbread out for a sacrifice, and shoved the rest under his blankets. It was painful to watch his aunt take the shortbread he still had out, and worse yet to be told he didn't need breakfast, but she did not look for more. Perhaps she wouldn't think of it. Harry took the list of today's tasks from his angry aunt, and fled to the bathroom.

He washed his face (twice, in a doomed attempt to feel more alert) and combed his hair.

It stayed in place.

Harry stared into the mirror. His hair was black and fine, with a slight wave to the longer locks. It didn't look any different ... except that none of it was sticking up. He shook his head. His hair flew up in the usual way ... then settled, almost, as if requesting a bit of help with the last bit. He ran a comb over it. It stayed down.

"Oh shit," he whispered.

It was then he regretted the early-morning letter to Ron.

Severus Snape watched the burbling grey mass intently, waiting to see what the addition of powdered amethyst would do to the mass. If he was correct, it would clarify the potion and add the attribute of clear-headedness to the shielding draught, and possibly guard against brain-damage from the necessary quantity of lead. Even so, he reflected, the lead must be drawn out at the end. It will be a painful draught, at best. Of course, if he were incorrect, the goo might simply explode from the incompatibility of elements.

While he was watching, something materialized in the air to his side and fell into his arm. Severus recognized the object was an envelope and snorted. Someone is a bit of a show-off, aren't they? he thought contemptuously, and continued to watch the potion. Slowly, a fringed circle of deep purple appeared in the center. Millimeter by millimeter it spread, until the entire potion was a rich, dark violet. Not a trace of opacity remained. With a fierce smile, Severus levitated the cauldron from the fire to a cooling stand.

It was then he turned his attention to the envelope, and nearly fell over from shock. That rich, red parchment and golden "P" seal had not been used for fifteen years.

"James?" he breathed.

At the sound of the name leaving his lips, with such affectionate softness yet, he cursed. "Someone has stolen your stationary, ghost," he sneered. The taunt made him feel a bit better, but not much. He felt betrayed by how his heart had sped up at the sight. A letter from James -- or James and Lily.... Even if such a thing were possible, he should not want it.

Deliberately, he slid a long-nailed finger under the flap of the envelope and broke the seal. He was unprepared for the brief golden glow that enveloped the letter and his hand and briefly superimposed the Potter family crest on the raised "P". The stationary was easy to duplicate. That charm should be impossible for anyone not of Potter blood.

"And did it well," he breathed, but his voice was not mocking, now. His mouth was too dry for that.

My dear Severus,

This letter is bespelled to go to you three days after Harry's sixteenth birthday, if I am dead. If you are also dead, it will go to Harry. He will have received a letter from James on his birthday....

Harry? James? Severus flipped over the letter and looked at the signature. "Lily" the letter ended, in her exuberant swooping signature, complete with the free sketch of a daylily at its end. He had seen her make that little picture in under five seconds. It was probably harder to duplicate than her script.

Snape let his hands, still gripping the letter, sink to the table top. He closed his eyes. Lily.... A letter from Lily....

"Which makes her none the less dead," he forced out fiercely. Dead girls are not supposed to write me, dearest ghost, he thought. And why about Harry? I won't let your precious son be killed -- don't ask any more of me.

He almost set the letter down and walked away.

He almost threw it on the fire he had not yet extinguished.

The first lines came back to him. James has already written to Harry. About what? I need to know what James told Potter about me. "Potter." That used to mean James. Damn them both.

He opened his eyes and resumed reading.

My dear Severus,

This letter is bespelled to go to you three days after Harry's sixteenth birthday, if I am dead. If you are also dead, it will go to Harry. He will have received a letter from James on his birthday.

In brief, Harry is your son.

"He is not!" Severus snapped out loud. "All gods, Lily, when did you become delusional?! The brat is the image of your arrogant husband."

With distaste, he forced himself to resume reading.

When you did not return, I completed the Herem ritual, and conceived. Do you recall the dinner we invited you to when you returned? We had intended to tell you that evening, but your story about your French lover convinced us it would be unsafe for him, and you, were anyone to know. We used a Paternity Charm, started prenatally to increase potency, so the child would look like James. Considering how much Harry looks like James, I think it likely he will be recognizably yours when that wears off, which it will have started to do three days ago, if my charm modifications were successful.

"Of course they were successful!" Severus raged. "When did any charm of yours ever fail?" He shuddered. That ... spoiled, self-centered, arrogant boy is mine? The implications of a previous statement struck him. And he knows?

We told no one of this, not even Professor Dumbledore. However, we thought it important that you and Harry both know before the charm wears off enough to make your kinship apparent. We told him earlier, in case you had returned to Voldemort, or gone mad, or otherwise become unsafe for him to approach. He has instructions to request advice from Dumbledore if he has never heard of you.

I request two things: first, do not separate him from his godfather, if they are now fond of each other. I know you do not approve of Sirius, but we chose him, in part, to be your balance. Second, I earnestly hope you do not regret a half-blood child, but if you do, send him from you quickly rather than subjecting him to the slow poison of your bile. Our Harry does not deserve that for your choice of women.

Farewell, my beloved. It hurt to deceive you in this, which should have been my greatest gift to you. Cherish our son, and hold none of what I spun with James against him.

I love you always, my obsidian blade, my shadow prince, my first love. If you love me still, treat Harry kindly.

Charms draw the shades of night around our kisses
and the wind bear our amorous cries unheard to heaven

Lily

Severus closed his eyes.

An hour later, Severus slipped into Dumbledore's office like a storm cloud sliding over the sun.

"We have," he said, "an urgent problem."

Dumbledore looked at him curiously. "Yes, Severus? Pixies in the Charms storeroom, again?"

"Be serious!" Severus snapped. He thrust Lily's letter at Dumbledore. "Read this!" He hesitated. "Just the first side," he added, with a trace of awkwardness.

Dumbledore lifted his eyebrows in amusement, then lowered his gaze to the paper. His amusement faded quickly as he read.

After he had read the first side of the paper several times, he handed it back to Severus and folded his hands on the desk.

"I can see that it has worrisome ramifications, Severus, but might you, perhaps, be allowing your personal feelings to exaggerate the more far-reaching ones?

"I killed that French woman, Dumbledore! Killed her because my lord told me to. I cannot do that to Harry Potter -- as much as I sometimes might want to. And you know the strength of blood magic -- you have used it to keep the boy safe these sixteen years. Now I can be used against him, as soon as anyone knows." Severus began to pace. "What do you do now? Do you kill me to save him? Do I stop spying and hide from the Dark Lord to save him? My arm burning constantly? I don't even like the boy!"

"We will do the second, if it becomes necessary," Dumbledore said firmly. "However, the Paternity Charm wears off very slowly -- it is blood based, and some of it becomes embedded in organs of the body. It may be six months or more before his changes become obviously unnatural. You and James were both tall, skinny, and dark-haired -- that works in our favor."

Severus closed his eyes, trying to picture Harry as accurately as possible. To his surprise, his clearest image was of a small first-year boy, staring at him in angry defiance. Beyond that, he kept seeing James, instead.

"He has Lily's nose, I think," he said, still detached in trying to picture an older Harry Potter. Surely he ought to be able to picture Harry Potter! The boy was a thorn in his side.

"Yes. That's helpful," Dumbledore agreed. "He's always had James's mouth and facial shape, however, though the eyes are clearly Lily's. That's what makes his expressions so like those of James. When he scowls, I recall James's fiery anger, though Harry's is much darker. When he laughs, I remember James's jokes, though Harry is much more reserved."

"Don't start confusing him with memories of me."

"There is no need to worry, Severus. I cannot avoid these associations, but I am skilled at remaining aware of the individuality of my students -- better than many of their professors."

Snape gritted his teeth at the subtle barb. Dumbledore knew exactly who was worst at it, he was sure.

"So, you believe we have several months."

"Were our only concern Harry's appearance, we would have several months."

Severus waited. "But?" he asked finally.

"I heard from Molly Weasley, today. She had been rather shocked to have Ron ask her about the Paternity Charm. She said he said that Harry had asked him --"

"That brainless simpleton!"

Dumbledore looked at him in silent reproof. When Severus eased his glare, the headmaster continued mildly:

"According to Ron, Harry did not mention why he was asking. If we explain the problem to him, I'm sure he can find some alternative explanation to provide to his friend."

Severus ground his teeth. "Lies very well for a noble Gryffindor, does he not?

Dumbledore sighed, but his mouth curved in an unmistakable smile as he turned from Severus to Fawkes. He stroked the phoenix's brilliant plumage.

"With how many Gryffindors were you involved, Severus?"

"Just the two," Severus answered irritably. "Unless, of course, you are asking how many --"

Dumbledore held up a hand for silence. "No, Severus. I am merely interested in romantic involvements."

"Two."

"And at least two more were friends. Yet you hate the house."

"The first relationship ended badly, and the second --" Severus stopped suddenly. "That ended badly too, but by my hand, my words. She is dead, and I hate him. James is dead by the Dark Lord's hand, and Augustus in his service. What from that house did not turn bitter at my lips?" He turned and sneered at Dumbledore. "Very fair on the outside, your lot are, but it makes the inner bite but more galling." He picked up the letter. For a moment, he hesitated. "I will speak to him."

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore asked.

"Don't you trust me?" Severus mocked. "I hate the boy; I will not deny it. But this is my problem as much as his, and I need to talk to him, eventually. Before school starts would be preferable." A savage flash of pleasure shot through him. "And if anyone can terrify the brat into silence, it is I."

"Of course I trust you, Severus," Dumbledore returned, with aggravating mildness, as if Severus had been perfectly pleasant. "If you wish to bring him back here to live with you, I have no objection, provided he consents."

Severus goggled at the headmaster.

"Did you hear me? I hate the boy."

"As you wish." Dumbledore smiled. "Please don't harm him in your zeal to protect him, then."

"I will do what is effective," Severus hissed through clenched teeth.

"Very well. Good night, Severus."

Severus whirled, taking comfort in the sound and feel of his robes swirling about him. He was halfway to the dungeons before he realized he had forgotten to return the headmaster's good wishes.

Severus looked disdainfully at the beefy man who opened the door. The man looked equally disdainfully at him, or at least attempted to. His face was more adapted to crude hate than any haughtier mien.

"I have come to speak to Harry Potter," Severus said clearly, in the voice that indicated he suspected his listener was an idiot.

The man's piggy eyes widened as much as they could. "Wrong house," he snarled, and he attempted to slam the door shut. Severus, with well-honed reflexes, caught the door and forced it back open.

"I do not make mistakes," Severus sneered. "I kill far too many people for that."

The man fell back. "Look here," he blustered. "He's a worthless freak, but he's my wife's blood. I won't have you killing him in my house!"

Severus smiled slightly at the phrasing. And if I took him outside first? he wanted to ask, but he restrained himself.

"I am not here to kill Potter," he said. "Show me to him."

"He's not here," the man said stubbornly, "and freaks like you are not welcome here. Get off my property, or I'll call the police!"

Severus drew out his wand and held it loosely between thumb and forefinger. "Indicare," he commanded.

"No! That! I won't--! That -- perversion!"

Severus looked from the wand, now pointing to the second floor, slightly to the left of the staircase, to the raving man, who was becoming a very unhealthy shade of crimson and brandishing massive fists in a threatening manner. He took a firm hold of the wand and pointed it at the man.

"Stupefy," he said. The man fell with a house-jarring crash. A bony woman and an enormously fat adolescent boy came running from the kitchen. To his distaste, Severus recognized the woman as Lily's horrible Muggle sister.

"Ah, Petunia," he said, with malicious politeness. "I am looking for Harry. Please escort me." He leveled the wand at her. He was not sure if Lily had ever told Petunia the circumstances of their break up, or what he had taken to doing to Muggles thereafter, but she certainly looked as terrified as if she had.

"Who are you?" she demanded. So much for that sweet thought. Of course, Severus realized, the years had changed him considerably.

"Why Petunia," he said silkily. "Don't you remember? Lily's first fiancé. The one who detests Muggles."

She remembered. Lily had told her. Severus took a perverse satisfaction in seeing the horror cross her face.

"Upstairs," she babbled. "It's not my fault. He's lazy, impudent. We can't be wasting--"

"I am aware of Mr. Potter's failings, Petunia. Do not remind me of your own. Escort me."

From Petunia's words, Severus expected Harry to be lolling about, surrounded by luxury. That was, after all, what he always had expected. He was surprised to find himself led to a door with five separate padlocks sealing it shut.

"Oh!" Petunia brought her hand to her mouth. "Vernon has the keys! I'll go get--"

"Alohamora!" Severus commanded repeatedly, and each lock, in turn, fell open. He pulled them out and dropped them on the floor, then threw open the door.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, by then. Something as nice as the rest of the house, still, and perhaps a little better. Instead, he found himself looking at a nearly bare, underlit room, which smelled badly of confined owl and inadequately washed teenaged boy. On the bed, shirtless, and in trousers so enormous that they were almost indecent, sat Potter. Severus had never realized how skinny the boy was. Both he and James had been thin, but neither had looked like a starved refugee, as this boy did. His startling green eyes, more prominent in his thin, bespectacled face then in Lily's well-formed one, were underscored with dark bags. He had been reading a book that Severus recognized at a glance as Foreign Influences on Modern European Potions, but he had let it fall to his knees at Severus's entrance.

"Professor?"

Severus bit back an impulse to order the boy to Madam Pomfrey -- hell, to scoop him up and take him. The boy doesn't need rescue, he told himself angrily -- no one does -- he needs to learn to take care of himself.

"Potter," he said sarcastically.

Potter looked back at him with those unreal green eyes, without blame, or hurt, or hope, or any emotion at all. For one relieved moment, Severus hated him without reservation.

"Well?" Potter asked.

"Stand up, boy!"

Potter had to catch his trousers when he stood. He pulled in the belt he was wearing as tight as it went, and the trousers blossomed out beneath them like a cavalier's breeches. He swayed slightly, then steadied.

The hatred had swung to other targets, and a black anger was growing in the back of Severus's mind. My son -- Lily's son! How dare they treat him this way! He kept his voice cold. There was nothing to be gained from encouraging weakness in the boy. He did not have the leeway for weakness.

"You mentioned the Paternity Charm to Mr. Weasley," he snarled.

"I wanted to know--"

"You fool! Is it worth your life to know? Mine? Anyone's? Keep your questions to yourself. If anyone dies because the Dark Lord discovered our -- because of that, it will be on your head!"

Potter shrunk. He didn't pull back or noticeably slouch down, he just became smaller, or appeared to.

"Yes, sir," he said.

A roaring at the back of Snape's mind threatened to engulf him. He held his wand tightly, afraid he would turn and start firing Cruciatus curses at Lily's worthless sister and her waste of a family.

"I won't rescue you, Potter," he sneered.

Potter shrugged slightly. His entire bearing conveyed that he had not expected it. Snape wondered that he could ever have taken that diffident fatalism for impertinence.

"But I will offer you this," Snape heard himself say. "Get out of here -- on your own, mind -- and make it to Hogwarts, and I'll see to it that Dumbledore allows you to stay."

A flash of hope brought painfully familiar life to those emerald eyes. "You will? But how can I.... The locks ...."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that 'how' is your problem." Snape sent him a tight-lipped smirk. "You have never shown an inability to evade your guardians before."

He closed the door. The harsh click over his own words left him feeling sick, and the woman peering from a room at the end of the hall did nothing to improve his mood. He threw open the door across the hallway, just because it was there. A large room crowded with thing upon thing, mostly in garish Muggle "plastic," assaulted his eyes.

"That's Dudley's!" the woman shrilled. "You have no right to be in there! My Dudley is a good, normal boy!"

Severus stared at the huge, quivering lump she clutched to her side, and found himself without words. The woman scuttled close and began replacing padlocks on Potter's door. Severus listened to them clacking shut -- one, two, three.... Unable to stand any more, he turned on his heel and swooped down the stairs, the hem of his cape billowing out to rustle against the walls. At the front door he turned.

"Ennervate," he said grudgingly at the woman's husband, and he was gone.

For a while after Professor Snape (Harry just couldn't manage to think of the man as his father) left, Harry sat staring at the door. The locks and hinges were both on the other side of it. He wondered if he could cut through the hasps from this side, if he had a plumber's saw. Finally, he got up and looked. The doorjamb had an inset that made the hasps unreachable. Harry wandered over to the windows. Getting out that way would be easy -- he could pry off the blocks, or just break the glass, and drop. That left him outside, though, without access to his trunk, and Harry knew he could not leave his trunk at the Dursleys, even for a day. Once they knew he was gone, they might throw it out, or even destroy everything in it. Besides, he'd need his wand to call the Knight Bus, unless whoever was guarding him these days intervened.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a furious Uncle Vernon. Apparently, it was all Harry's fault that wizard freaks showed up to berate him. Actually, Harry supposed it was, in a way. After ten minutes of Harry mildly agreeing to every insult his uncle could derive for Snape, and most of those his uncle produced for him, Uncle Vernon finally gave up, slammed the door, set the locks, and informed Harry, through the cat flap, that he was not getting any dinner, and he would not get to use the bathroom, that evening. Nodding numbly, Harry lay down. Hunger and emotional unrest had nothing on sheer lack of energy. He slept.

Harry awoke with an idea. The hasps, even if he could reach them, would take painful hours to cut through, and he would almost certainly be caught. The door around them, on the other hand, was a modern, hollow core piece -- a quick hole and less than an hour with a saw would cut most of the door free of the part that was locked and bolted.

This wasn't an idea he could use immediately. He needed to smuggle two or three tools up to his room, and he needed a few hours when the Dursleys would be out of the house, so he could make the cut, then break into the cupboard and get his trunk, then get the trunk out to the curb, then call the Knight Bus, all without being caught. Still, it was an idea. Harry knew it was time to prepare and wait.

Severus Snape's visit, Harry mused, two days later, had made an already bad summer worse. The Dursleys had kept him confined for most of July, and had fed him even less than previous years, but he had been pretty much left to his books and letters. Now, however, Vernon was angry at the intrusion by a wizard, and Petunia angry at the reminder of her dead sister, and Dudley angry that the man had looked in his room. They were too cautious to hurt Harry directly, but Snape's indifference to Harry had bolstered their courage for indirect harm. Aunt Petunia reverted to her usual methods of torturing Harry: she gave him lists of tasks too long to finish, so she could tell him he was lazy and punish him for his failure by withholding the following meals, and she gave him tasks that he was likely to hurt himself doing. After a day of weeding that Harry was sure she had planned so he could never be in the shade, Harry found himself severely sunburned and contemplating today's job -- pruning heavy overhead branches from a tree.

Harry gazed up at the first marked branch and thoughtlessly rubbed the back of his sunburned neck. The resultant slash of hot pain stopped him instantly. Harry put his hands down by his sides and looked back at the branch. He hadn't eaten since lunch, yesterday, and was feeling rather dim.

If I cut there, and jump to the left ... assuming I move in time ... if I can.... He stared at it a while longer. Aunt Petunia leaned her head out the kitchen door.

"If you don't get it done by lunch time, you'll be going without!" she called out to him, in gleeful malice.

Harry slouched wearily off to the garden shed.

In the blessedly cool darkness, he collected the saw and pruning shears. He nicked a cigarette from the stash Dudley kept behind the flower pots and pulled down the smoke as quickly as possible. He was relieved to feel the wooziness recede slightly.

"A little more alert, anyway," he muttered. "Food would be better." He wondered vaguely if his cousin ever noticed that he went through more of the things than he should.

Harry upended a bucket near the tree and stood on it to make his cuts. He set the lower cut at an angle, so the branch (he hoped) would fall to the right, where it had a low side branch. When the upper cut started to creak dangerously, he jumped from the bucket and ran to the left. He successfully avoided both the first fall, to the right, and the subsequent roll to the left. It was strangely exhilarating. He smiled for what felt like the first time in days.

"One down, one to go!"

When he came in for lunch, the Dursleys were nearly finished.

"We've already started," Aunt Petunia informed him nastily.

"But you're not finished," Harry pleaded. "Please may I have some?" He felt himself swaying, but tried to look politely focused.

Aunt Petunia frowned at him, then sneered in disgust. "If you must. Take the rest of the chicken and eat it outside. You're too dirty to sit in my kitchen."

Amazed at his good fortune, Harry took the remaining chicken (three limp, cold, wings and a lump of skin) outside, and ate it as slowly as he could manage. Then he put away the shears and saw. For once it was an advantage that his trousers were ridiculously big. In the cover of the shed, he strapped a smaller, covered saw to his thigh, and walked with it toward his room. The Dursleys were still at the table, talking about a movie that Dudley wanted to see.

"And then the guy's friend gets killed, see?" Dudley said. "But he's got to carry the body, because --"

Harry walked up the stairs as quickly as possible, remembering Cedric's corpse heavy in his arms, but not so heavy as his guilt and his fear and his horror -- sadness and regret like a blanket of lead....

"Big thrill," he muttered.

He hid the saw under the floor. Mission accomplished. Now he just needed a hammer and awl, or hammer and screwdriver, or, in a pinch, just a hammer, and he was ready when his chance came.

"Tomorrow, a hammer," he muttered absently. He heard himself and grinned. "The next day, the world!"

On Friday, nearly a week after Professor Snape's visit, Harry got his chance. He had just finished doing the lunch dishes, when his aunt ordered him up to his room.

"We'll be going to a movie this evening," she said, "and I want to make sure you stay out of trouble."

"Could I get another one of my school books?" Harry asked. He thought it best not to look too enthusiastic about being locked in his room.

"I'm not letting you near your ... things. Not without Vernon here to help me."

"The newspaper, then?"

"Why would you want the newspaper?"

"It has a crossword puzzle."

"Oh, very well!" Aunt Petunia let Harry grab the paper from the table in the living room, then escorted him up to his room. Harry listened to the padlocks snapping shut, then waited for the sounds of the front door, and the car starting. Nothing happened. Apparently, they were not leaving immediately. Harry began to assemble the items to pack once he got his trunk. He set out his birthday gifts, Fred and George's tricks, and the two school books he had up in his room. When he neatened the pile of summer letters, the thick red envelope caught his eye. He'd read the main letter many times, and the description of the Paternity charm twice, but had not been able to bring himself to read "Severus and the Marauders". He better, he decided, if he was going to face Snape in a few hours. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened his eyes again, and picked up the letter.

To start out with, a bit about me. As you know, the Potters are a pureblood family dating back to the fifteenth century, however, my parents were liberal sorts. They had, in theory, nothing against Muggle-borns and mixed-bloods, they just happened not to know any, not being in those sorts of circles. (I'm sorry you won't ever get to meet them -- they really were wonderful people. Your grandfather died in the Rowensley Massacre, and your grandmother was killed in a targeted Death Eater attack, two months later.) We had a lot of money and beautiful ancestral lands and homes. (I'm down to one, now, having donated Calbright Manor, which we hardly ever used, for refugee resettlement, last year. They're turning the estate into a village, with the manor house as a meeting hall. You should go visit.) Anything I wanted, I got. In return, I had obligations of time and behavior. I could greet and converse with adult guests properly by the age of seven, and was adept at assuming leadership of the children they brought with them. My mother imbued me with two balanced passions, flying and singing, so that I had admirable skills both in the house and out of it.

Harry found he was picturing a sort of dark-haired Draco Malfoy. It was rather disturbing. He shook his head and continued.

When I went to Hogwarts, it was something of a shock for me. I had never before been in the company of children substantially less privileged than myself, except for deferential servants' children. Suddenly I was in a noisy crowd of wild boys and girls, many of them, crude, ill-dressed, or outlandish, and none of them deferring to me at all. And I was lost, but not about to ask any of these ... hooligans for help. While I was searching through the train for someone I knew, or a place to sit that wasn't near someone objectionable, I came across a boy who was in a compartment all by himself. He was tiny and skinny and hunched over, his clothes were dirty and patched, and he looked like he hadn't bathed all week. When he looked up, I saw that his face had a foreign look -- vaguely Arabic -- and that he had been crying.

I hated him immediately. I walked in and ordered him to leave. "Why?" he asked me, and I told him I wanted this compartment. He pointed out there was plenty of room, and I told him he stank, and I needed him out so I could clean his stench from the place. At that point, someone laughed, and I turned to see Sirius Black in the doorway. I'd only met Sirius twice, and that over the previous four years, but I felt rescued. Here was someone I knew, who was properly dressed, who was civilized. I was afraid he would try to defend the waif, but he just sauntered in and said, "James told you to get out, Snivellus." They'd already encountered each other, you see. The boy stood up, stared at us for a moment, then ran away, crying again.

This was not as hard to imagine as Harry would have liked. He had an image of a younger Severus crying, from when he invaded Snape's mind during practice, and one of a slightly older James and Sirius, tormenting Severus, from the memory Snape put in the pensieve to keep from him. He could picture James, poised and carelessly cruel, with Sirius taking up a stance slightly behind him, as muscle and back-up and audience.

We were pleased with ourselves, getting this fine, private compartment, and we sat down and got better acquainted, talking mostly about Quidditch, and rumors we'd heard about the Sorting. (My family was mostly Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, his mostly Slytherin and Ravenclaw.) Remus Lupin came by and introduced himself. He wasn't well-dressed, but he was clean, well-mannered, and politely deferential (just enough -- not some disgusting amount) when he asked if we would mind him sitting with us. We gave him permission, and his few, quiet contributions to the conversation were intelligent and humorous. I decided I liked him. When the tea trolley came around, we bought far too many sweets (as first years often do) and ate all of it. An hour later, the boy (Severus, as you have certainly guessed) came back, opened the door, and leveled his wand at Sirius. He said something, and Sirius doubled up. I had just got out of my seat when he did the same to me. "I hope you ruin your fancy clothes with your fancy shit," he said, and left. (And yes, that's exactly what he said. At eleven years old.)

We were so sick. He'd given us squitters like you wouldn't believe, and Sirius did end up washing his pants in the bathroom sink, while I stood guard for him. Remus got all wide-eyed and said that was Dark Arts, and Sirius growled that he'd seen plenty of Dark Arts and that was a stupid baby trick. Everything was out by the time we got to Hogwarts, so we were at least able to go through our own Sorting without embarrassing ourselves, but neither of us dared eat. Sirius was rather surprised (and I think a bit frightened) when he was sorted into Gryffindor, but I was pleased. I was rather less pleased when the hat tried to say something about where I belonged. With the confidence of the utterly spoiled, I told it I belonged in Gryffindor, and it would not be impudent with me. I was sorted into Gryffindor, with Sirius and Remus, and all was well, but I do wonder, sometimes, what the hat would have said, had I let it.

For his part, Harry, wondered how often the hat actually put people where it thought best.

Over the next few months, I learned that not everybody was able to buy nice clothes. (Imagine that!) Remus, for example, was relieved to be in school robes, constantly, so his poor wardrobe would not be noticed. It took a while to get my head around this idea, but once I did, I learned to be gracious about it. Sirius and I figured out ways to buy Remus things without it being obvious we were always paying.

Sirius got a Howler (!) for being placed in Gryffindor. He responded by becoming almost embarrassingly anti-Slytherin. (I visited his home a few times -- scary place.) He learned not to mention Dark Arts that he had seen at home, or some of the things his family owned. He, Remus, and I were all stunningly good students. We played many pranks, but most of them were harmless (making the Slytherin Quidditch robes flash a gold lion biting a serpent, for example), and the teachers generally liked us. We got away with things, perhaps more than we should have.

You might think that when I had socialized to this wider range of people that I would feel sorry about how I treated Severus. What you may not understand is that Severus made himself stunningly easy to hate. He was so dirty and ill-mannered as to be practically feral, and so foul-mouthed as to get stares from the seventh years. He knew more about Dark Arts than Sirius, and derided the idea of eschewing them. He threw screaming tantrums in classes, and if you were nasty enough to him, you could get him to cry, though it was half rage. And he knew a hundred ways to hex you in revenge.

Our feud ramped gradually through our first year, but was still in normal school proportions at the end of it. We generally came out the better in direct conflicts, being three against one (Remus wouldn't help, except on a few special occasions of direct vengeance or protection, but another boy, Peter, had joined us by then), but Severus often got us on the sneak attacks.

Second year started off much the same, but then we had a scuffle in the Entrance Hall, on Halloween. Severus got off a nasty hex at me, and Sirius was pounding him when we got caught by the Head Boy, Lucius Malfoy. Now, Lucius was someone both Sirius and I knew through our parents -- his family was the equal of ours, and he was a cousin of Sirius -- but he was five years older, and very scary. Everyone was certain he practiced Dark Arts. He apparently liked Severus's talent, because after he sent me and Sirius and Peter off with detention (with Peter whining that he had just been watching), he took Severus on as a sort of personal servant. For the rest of the year, Severus was almost constantly with the seventh-year Slytherin boys. They treated him horribly, but let no one else at him, and he seemed to take it as a fair exchange. Severus took advantage of the situation to attack us at every opportunity. We had to learn to be sneakier to get him back even part of the time.

Third year, after Malfoy graduated, was much like the first, only more so, as was the fourth, except that Severus became a Slytherin Chaser (I had made it on the Gryffindor team my second year) giving us another area of rivalry. I was better than him, of course. I was better than everybody, on the pitch. (I am not being arrogant, or sarcastic, this time. It's just true.)

At the beginning of fifth year, something happened. I was walking with Remus, who had been made a prefect, down the aisle of the Hogwarts Express, and we came across three first-year boys who were jeering and howling about another's worn clothes and home-cut hair. Remus stepped in, practically shaking with fury, and told all of them off. ("As difficult as you may find this to believe, most people do not wear patched clothes in order to offend you, and it is not your virtue that your parents have money. You are going to school, where you will be judged on your intelligence, your willingness to work, and your ability to adapt to changing demands...." and so on.) I was redder than the first-years by the time he had finished. I continued to walk along with Remus, listening to him talk, and thinking dear, sweet, mischievous Remus would never have given me the time of day if he'd met me half-an-hour earlier.

That made me want to go apologize to Severus, and I actually tried. When I found him, though, he had a box full of mice (wild ones -- I think he'd caught them himself) and was demonstrating spells to take out their eyes and other horrible things. When he saw me, he picked one up and threw it, and made it explode in the air in front of me. I ended up in the toilet washing mouse guts off my clothes, which effectively destroyed any desire I had to apologize to him.

I'd always been popular, but became even more so, that year. That was when girls started to notice me, or perhaps when I started to notice them noticing. I thought your mother was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, but she, of all of them, treated me like an annoyance, and the more I showed off for her, the more she disliked me. I found it completely incomprehensible, that this one girl -- Muggle born, yet, which I was completely willing to overlook -- didn't want to be the girlfriend of the handsome, talented, well-born, powerful Quidditch star that most of her girlfriends couldn't keep their eyes (and sometimes hands) off of. Sirius said it was because she thought I was conceited. (What? You think? Damn!) Remus said that perhaps if I was nicer, the girl would like me better. (Now that might have been worth considering too.) Peter said she was too stupid to know a good thing when she saw it. I went with Peter's explanation, basked in everyone else's attention, and occasionally attacked Severus, just to show I could still beat him. After all, you need someone to show off on, and no one I cared about liked Severus, so he was a good target.

In our sixth year, Remus gave up on getting me and Sirius to not torment Severus. Instead, he took another tack and made friends with Severus himself. I think he had some logical, but mistaken, idea that if Severus were cleaner and better dressed, Sirius and I would go easier on him. Of course, this just meant we had to find other things to attack him for, which was fairly easy. He and Remus, however (with Lily, who was Remus's best friend, then), spent quite a bit of time together, much to our distress. Severus and Lily even started to get close, though Severus was no less hostile to Muggle-born students in general. I was attempting a "friends" approach with her at that point, and told her I thought he would revert to form, but she said she could be a 'good influence' on him. We agreed that eventually he would either need to stop being friends with her, or to drop some of his bigotry.

The latter wasn't likely, considering some of his other friends. Lucius Malfoy came back for a weekend visit, that year, and apparently decided, much like Remus, that his former servant needed raising up in the world. Lucius seemed to be embarrassed to have a pureblood advocate of such low class. From what we could deduce, Severus provided Lucius with potions (the Potions master was so impressed with Severus that Severus was allowed unsupervised lab time, starting that year. He brewed some interesting things), and Lucius provided with Severus with clothes, money, and lessons in how to sneer politely.

Severus's knowledge of Dark Arts had already attracted the attention of the circle of Voldemort-supports at Hogwarts -- Nott, Avery, McNair, Goyle (Slytherin), Maitland, Holt (Gryffindor), LeStrange (Ravenclaw), and Crabbe (Hufflepuff). (There were more Slytherins and Ravenclaws than that, but those are the ones whose names I remember.) However, Lucius's blessing increased his status in that group tremendously. Sirius and Peter and I were horrified to watch Remus waiting on the sidelines of the "Future Death Eaters" (as we called them) for Severus to have time for him, and to hear Lily saying that of course she didn't approve of Severus studying Dark Arts, but some of the theories, especially of the Steering Curses (a class of spells of emotional manipulation) were fascinating. (Mind you, Lily didn't say this to me; Lily still didn't really talk to me in those days. I heard her say that to Sabrina Leott.)

I tried every sane thing I could think of to get Remus away from Severus. Sirius and I went so far as to try to get them to suspect each other of tricks we played on one or the other of them. I went into Slytherin in my invisibility cloak, and stole Dark artifacts and books from his room and brought them back to show Remus. He turned very pale, returned them, and didn't talk to me for days. (I had stolen Severus's journal, as well, but I had looked at it, to see if it could properly be used against him -- or so I told myself. It was a mess of potions theories, bigoted crap ("Lily is a Mudblood, how can she be beautiful and intelligent, sometimes I want her, but she's dirty with Muggle blood, she must have some sort of mutation, because Mudbloods are just animals, maybe her mother had an affair with a wizard and she's really a half-blood, but doesn't know..."), and "Remus is sweet and Remus is wonderful and Remus is perfect," and after reading enough of it to start feeling sick, I broke into Slytherin again and put it back.)

Sirius went further. Severus always got very jealous when Remus wouldn't see him (I'd warned Remus this was a bad sign) and sometimes spied on him. He saw Madam Pomfrey leading Remus to the Shrieking Shack, and demanded that Sirius tell him what was wrong. Sirius told him how to get past the Whomping Willow, so he could see.

Fortunately, Sirius thought this had been impressively sly, and bragged about it to me and Peter. I was horrified. I pointed out that Remus, not being in his right mind, that night, would likely kill Severus, and Sirius just nodded and said that would solve our problem, wouldn't it?

I didn't want to solve 'our problem' by killing somebody, and certainly not by making Remus a murderer -- Remus was sweeter than the rest of us put together, even counting Lily -- kind and gentle and forgiving -- to anyone but himself. If he killed his friend it would destroy him. I ran down to the Shrieking Shack and just managed to pull Severus out.

Severus, as you can imagine, hated Sirius even more, after that. I finally had to admit he had cause. I was angry at Sirius, as well, and we were barely talking for months. That had a silver lining -- Lily began to treat me like a worthwhile person ... partially for saving Severus, but more for admitting that Sirius had done something horrible. Sirius sulked and acted like it was just another prank and we were all being unfair.

Less reasonably, Severus hated Remus after that, and Remus was miserable. He lived in the library the rest of the spring, coming back exactly at curfew and speaking to me rarely and Sirius not at all. Sirius complained, and I told him this would have been much worse if he'd caused Remus to kill. Months later, Sirius finally got it through his head that driving Severus away had not brought Remus back, and he began to try to make amends. Neither of us could ever withstand Sirius when he was remorseful, so we were all friends, again, by the end of term.

Lily, meanwhile, had tried to patch things up between Severus and Remus, but failed miserably. Severus didn't reject her, though, and they began to date. I tried to argue with her, pointing out that Severus was deeply prejudiced against Muggle-borns, but she pointed out that he was unlikely to get any better about it if they all avoided him. I had to agree, though I still thought the odds were against her. Between that and being ashamed of what Sirius had done, I started trying to be civil to Severus when I encountered him with Lily. Soon, I started to see why Remus and Lily liked him. He was tremendously intelligent, creative, and driven. In ways, he was a lot like Sirius, but with foresight. I still thought he was kind of creepy, but I sometimes enjoyed listening to him expound on this or that, as long as this or that wasn't inherently offensive.

Still, he was ever more in the Death Eater's club, and I could see, though Lily didn't agree, that he was becoming less open about his affection for her. His friends treated her like dirt. In June, she fought with him, and he countered by proposing to her. She came back to Gryffindor with a ring that he could only have bought with Malfoy's money, or Augustus's, and she yelled at me when I told her that. When we all went home, the Marauders were reunited, albeit on somewhat shaky terms; Lily was again not speaking to any of us, even Remus; Lily was engaged to Severus; and Severus was on his way to Malfoy manor. Repeat after me: "incipient disaster."

Of course, it didn't feel like a disaster to me, when it happened. Severus fulfilled my expectations by becoming a Death Eater. (There, didn't I tell you? I despised him because I was perceptive, not because I was a conceited git. (Your mother is editing again.)) He dumped her on the Hogwarts Express in September, telling her she wasn't worthy of him, and he'd as soon marry a monkey. It took all of us to calm her down, and it reaffirmed our shaky bonds to do so. Late in the trip, I left her with the others, and went and attacked Severus, leaving him petrified and covered in tentacles. It was worth starting the school with a week of detentions. McGonagall went easier on me than she could have, once she heard what had happened.

So, in my self-centered little view, my seventh year was fine. Sirius, Remus, Peter, and I were again inseparable; Lily finally began to return my affections, and, by year's end, had agreed to marry me; and I could once again torment Severus with impunity (though I was more discreet than I had been, for fear of antagonizing Lily), which I usually did in tandem with Sirius. We always enjoyed it more together. I suppose, alone, I had time to recognize that I was being hateful and cruel as he was, but when Sirius was with me, it was all just one grand joke.

Severus just got stranger and darker and more haunted as the year went on. By winter, the younger Slytherins were in terror of him, and the classmates who had tormented him in earlier years regarded him with nothing short of awe. It was rumored that he, Lucius, and Augustus had a running contest for number of kills. Some people claimed there were bonus points for things like getting an entire family. Looking in his eyes, you could believe it. He stalked about the school in a cloud of power and death. By January, Sirius and I had had enough close calls that we were very careful about how we went after him. Clearly, living meant nothing to him.

All the Marauders, and Lily, joined a secret order that Dumbledore had formed to fight Voldemort. (I don't want to tell you more, in case it is still relevant. Ask Dumbledore if you want to know.) A few months after school ended, Severus showed up at one of these meetings. I still don't know what had happened, but he was quiet, almost cowed. He had come to Dumbledore to turn himself in, and Dumbledore had asked him to become our spy, instead. He had agreed.

It took a couple of meetings before Lily and I managed to interact with him, even in that formal context, but it became easier as time went on. Shortly after Lily and I married, Lily announced that she wanted to invite him over for dinner. I didn't like the idea. We argued. In the end, Lily got her way. (Lily always gets her way, when she actually cares.)

Severus came over, we all behaved like mature adults, and the evening was not a disaster. I was astonished. Out of curiosity, I agreed to repeat the experiment. Eventually, I became accustomed to the idea of Severus as a regular guest. By now, I count him as a friend, though, to be completely honest, I can still find him rather creepy, at times.

I wonder, sometimes, what would have happened had I walked into that train compartment and said "What's wrong? Would you like a toffee?" but, honestly, I wasn't capable of it. Nothing in my life had prepared me for the chaos of the Hogwarts Express, and I was overwhelmed and frightened and disgusted by everything, and he was the worst of it. More realistically, I wonder about the other times I could have stopped the conflict, or at least stopped contributing to it. How much did I push him to become what I despised? But that's all water under the bridge, now.

Reading over this account, I am frightened by what a horrible view it gives you of all of us (well, at least him, and me, and Sirius, who may well be your guardian, now, if you got this letter directly). Please understand that this is all of us at our worst, that Sirius and I, at least, treated no one else so badly. I can't speak for Severus, who I am certain did (and does) terrible things in service to Voldemort, but I think this should at least make you understand that he never had much of a chance to be better, and that he is now allied with us is more improvement then I ever expected.

Lily has read this over too, and says she would like to say more about Severus (good things), but she is uneasy, and would like to send these letters now, just in case. She will write another when she has time, and you should get them at the same time.

The last page ended with the little messy-haired smiley face and a little sketch of a daylily.

For a few minutes, Harry sat and stared at the sheets of paper. He wished Lily had been able to write her letter -- the two images of Severus that stayed with him were the one of a dirty child being bullied out his refuge on the train, and the one of a deliberately cruel teenager blowing up a mouse. He needed some balance for those. He also wished Lupin were there, to tell him good things about James and Sirius. He spent a while deliberately remembering Sirius's cheer and affection.

Finally, he heard the front door open and close. His aunt and cousin were on their way to the movies. As soon as he heard the car engine start, Harry took out his hammer.

"Nonetheless, Headmaster, we must take this seriously!" Severus insisted. "Yes, the Dark Lord is paranoid in all things, but this time, he singled me out. I may be this week's suspect, or he may have real evidence of my treachery."

Severus sighed, as Dumbledore bent again to the pensieve. Surely there could be nothing he had not noticed before. While the headmaster re-examined Severus's memory of the Death Eater meeting, Severus looked idly around the room. The gold thing on the mantel was still blinking green, as it had been when they entered the room. Severus wondered if the headmaster had noticed, distracted as he was with Severus's injuries, a physical base to prolong the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Severus reminded himself to mention the light when the headmaster emerged.

While he waited, Severus let himself reflect on his schedule for the next few days. Tomorrow night, it would be a week since he had visited the Potter b-- the boy. Probably if he was going to make it out on his own, he would have done so by now. Severus scowled as he recalled the boy's state of malnutrition. He would need to fetch him out, after all. Severus's lip curled in a contemptuous smile. I'll rescue him. And I'll take it out of his pride, tenfold. This incompetent child, the savior of the wizarding world? We are doomed.

Dumbledore emerged from the pensieve. The look he gave Severus was grave.

"He does imply knowledge," he allowed. "Still, that is his way, is it not? To imply sight and let other people's panic show him the truth?"

"It is," Severus agreed. He planned a slight frown. "Headmaster, what is that blinking thing?"

He had hoped to take the unflappable wizard by surprise. He was not pleased to have produced fear, even briefly. Albus Dumbledore feared almost nothing. The second of panic that crossed his face shook Severus to his barely-healed core.

"That would be ... your son's home," Dumbledore said softly. "The wards are down."

"What!"

The street they materialized on smelled of dirty smoke. Regular pulses of color lit the space around them; after a moment of disorientation, Severus realized that these pulses came from rotating lights on the tops of Muggle vehicles, some of which were quite large. Beyond the vehicles was a Muggle house with noticeable fire damage. A cloud of green sparks, still recognizably the Dark Mark, hung in the sky above it, slowly losing form to the light breeze. As one, Severus, McGonagall and Dumbledore us walked towards the house.

"Oh, dear God," McGonagall breathed. Severus said nothing.

A man in a dark uniform attempted to stop them at the door. Dumbledore did something that made the man ignore them. They stepped inside. A body lay on the living room floor. It was being photographed, and the distances to it measured. From the look on Vernon Dursley's face, Severus would have been willing to bet that the last thing he had seen had been a flash of green light.

Suddenly panicked, Severus broke for the stairs. He was aware of Dumbledore doing damage control for this behind him, but had no attention to spare for it. He stopped wildly where the padlocked door should have been.

The door had been blown off its hinges and was lying inside the small room. The area around the locks was smashed. There was no body in the room -- for a fraction of a second, Severus was relieved, then he began to imagine Harry being taken -- hadn't Voldemort wanted the honor of killing The-Boy-Who-Lived?

The horrible, acrid, unmistakable smell of burned house surged. Severus dropped to his knees. He was suddenly back at Godric's Hollow, reeling with pain at the sight of Lily's rigid body, as people around him measured and cast and preserved evidence, and whispered about the boy.

The boy! His boy. Missing again, but this time not whisked to safety by Dumbledore's plans. Severus's throat tightened, and a distressingly weak sound escaped.

I could have taken him. I could have kept him safe, but I needed to make it a contest, to make him prove himself again. Bloody hell, will I ever stop being such an idiot! The room spun. One more chance -- I swear next time I will not be such an idiot.

He was not sure how long he knelt there, confused memories and nightmares and near-incoherent prayers vying for space in his mind. His thoughts gained coherence when he tried to resolve who he was praying to. Hecate for wizards and choices and a youth without a mother, Nemesis in contrition for my pride, damn it, should it be some domestic goddess for a lost child or someone for a young warrior? Ganesha? There must be some Hindu god specifically for protecting lost sons. Not that any of them have any reason to listen to me. What do I offer? He was pulled back to the present by a light touch on his shoulder.

"Severus?" a voice said gently. Albus Dumbledore. "Severus, I need you to find out what happened. Find out if he is still alive, and who has him."

"It's been an hour, at least!" Severus screamed. "What do you think, Albus? Do you think my lord has patience?"

"Severus. Go back to Hogwarts and initiate contact. We must know. I will start back in a few minutes."

"How could this happen?" Severus demanded. "You said he was safe. Blood magic -- we have never been able to break it!"

"His aunt and cousin died a few hours ago," Dumbledore said quietly. "Their car crashed. With his blood kin dead, the wards failed."

"Did you know that this could happen?!" Severus was screaming so loudly that his throat hurt. Dumbledore stretched a hand over his face. Against his will, Severus quieted. Like a brainless budgerigar put under a blanket, he thought angrily, but he quieted just the same.

"Hogwarts," the headmaster said gently. "Contact whom you must."

Severus nodded and rose. Wordlessly, he stepped back out of the room. Before walking to the corner, he realized that with the wards down, he could apparate from wherever he stood. Drawing his cloak about him, he apparated back to Hogsmeade, and began to jog up the path to the school.

With a long and rapid stride, Severus passed the Potions Lab and turned toward his rooms. Next, he must contact Pettigrew or Avery, while appearing no more than curious, or perhaps annoyed that he was not informed that his schedule was to be so disrupted. In the meantime, every second lost diminished the already slight chance that the boy might be found alive and sane. He whirled around the last corner so fiercely that his cape floated up past his waist, and stumbled to a stop, just short of the entrance to his room. There, sitting on his worn trunk, was a tired, but very much alive, Harry Potter.

"There you are--" Harry began, but Snape seized him by the shoulders, cutting off the words.

"Harry!" Suddenly aware that he had called the boy by his first name, as well as touching him in a way that might, perhaps, be interpreted as affectionate, or at least possessive, Snape shoved the boy roughly away. "Everyone has been frantic!" he snapped.

"You told me to," Harry retorted angrily. "Did you think I couldn't?"

Snape grabbed Harry's near shoulder, causing the boy to gasp with pain, and growled the password at his door. What was I thinking?! The door opened, and he pulled Harry inside, then went to the fire and tossed down a pinch of powder. "Albus Dumbledore's office," he commanded.

Harry waited for Snape to put his head into the flames, but instead, the professor pointed his wand at the fire. Something that looked like a large bubble or crystal ball glided from it into the flames and appeared to flatten. In its place, Harry saw a view of the headmaster's office appear in the fire. He wondered if Dumbledore saw the full room he was in with Snape, or just Snape.

"Yes, Severus?"

Harry was amazed at how weary the headmaster looked. Surely summers shouldn't be that exhausting? He wondered if Voldemort had been more active than the Daily Prophet indicated.

"I have Harry ... Potter, headmaster. He left the house early this evening, and he is unharmed."

Relief flooded Dumbledore's features. After a few seconds, he became more guarded. "Are you certain, Severus? It's not someone using Polyjuice Potion?"

Severus frowned. Appraisingly, he looked at Harry. A sly look crossed his sallow face.

"Potter," he barked. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?

Harry's remaining control vanished. "A question no Muggle-raised child could hope to answer, so some arsehole teacher could humiliate me for no reason!" he shrieked.

Snape smiled coldly and returned his attention to the fireplace.

"I am certain, headmaster. Could the inquiry wait an hour or two?"

Harry didn't listen to Dumbledore's reply. He rested his head on his knees and shut his eyes against Snape's sour countenance. What had ever possessed him to leave the crude, predictable malice of the Dursleys for Snape's vindictive cleverness?

"I hate you," he murmured. The noise of the flames died as he spoke, leaving his words audible in the silence.

Harry decided there was no point in opening his eyes. He'd just stay here, until Snape threw him out, and then he would go to Dumbledore and do whatever the headmaster told him to. Eventually, Harry heard the click of Snape's boots retreating into an adjoining room. He remained still. A few minutes later, the footsteps returned, passed him, and stopped somewhere to his left. The soft sound of paper brushing against paper followed.

Harry opened his eyes and lifted his head enough to turn it. Snape was sitting at one end of the green couch, reading what looked like a thin newspaper, and sipping a pale green liquid that looked ... well, more like a potion than a drink.

Harry forced himself to stand up and walk over. "I apologize, sir," he said quietly. "That was rude."

Snape looked at him quizzically.

"I... I've had a horrible day, sir. And when I got here, I couldn't find anyone but Filch, who gleefully predicted that you'd eviscerate me, but made me carry my trunk down anyway, and ... and honestly, that was the second worst thing you ever did to me. That was when I knew that people hated me here, too."

Snape, his face expressionless, evaluated him for a moment, then replied:

"I'm afraid your day is not about to get any better, Mr. Potter."

Harry kept himself from looking down. Snape is going to throw me out, he thought, and not help with Dumbledore, like he promised, or they've already discussed it, and Dumbledore said no....

"Perhaps I could make you a drink?"

Harry stared. "A drink?" he asked incredulously. Does he remember I'm sixteen?

Snape looked uncharacteristically flustered. "I'm afraid that is the only thing I recall how to do for someone who is upset. You don't seem to require a Calming Potion."

"Sure," Harry responded, amused. "I'll have whatever you're having."

Snape looked at the drink in his hand, then back at Harry. "No," he said firmly. He took a sip of the green concoction. "One drug at a time."

"Excuse me, sir?"

Snape smirked at him. "What would I get if I added sugar solution to a tincture of wormwood?"

"Um... Some sort of poison, sir?"

The answer seemed to amuse Snape. "As with most so-called poisons," he said smoothly, "it depends on the dosage." He held out the drink to Harry. "You may try a sip."

Harry wasn't too sure about sampling something Snape had been drinking from, but when he raised the glass to his lips, the aroma was so enticing that it overcame his distaste. A small sip overwhelmed his mouth with a clean, full, almost licorice-like taste, and he spent a while holding the liquid his tongue, before he could bring himself to end the experience by swallowing.

"Wow." Reverentially, he handed the glass back.

Snape shook his head. "I see you're one of those unusual people who likes the taste at first exposure. That would be from me. Lily always said she couldn't understand why I would consume 'an addictive psychotic that tastes like cauldron residue.' I never did manage to persuade her that I liked it."

"What is that?"

"It is absinthe, Mr. Potter. The taste is from wormwood, among other things."

"You're serious."

"It has a worse reputation in the Muggle world than it deserves. It is really not much more of a psychotic than the alcohol it contains, although the stimulants allow you to function much further into drunkenness than with other alcoholic beverages. That is not always a feature." Snape set the drink aside and stood up. "Do you like almond?"

"If I say yes, are you going to give me cyanide?"

Snape stared at him for a moment before a flicker of amusement crossed his features. "I was considering almond liqueur in hot chocolate."

"Well, yes then."

Snape crossed to the fireplace. "Anything else from the kitchens? I haven't had dinner, myself."

"I haven't eaten in a while," Harry confessed.

"What? Why didn't you say so?"

"It's ... I expect dinner is over with, by now."

Snape stared at him again, evaluating, with a vaguely sneering look. "P-- When did you last eat?"

"I ordered some hot chocolate on the Knight Bus, though I think at least half of it ended up on the floor."

"When did you last eat?" Snape repeated.

"I had an apple at lunchtime."

"Breakfast?"

Harry shook his head. "Look, I'm--"

"The day before?"

"I had dinner," Harry said angrily.

"Anything else?"

Harry looked down. He felt himself growing hot with embarrassment.

"That would mean 'no,' I gather," Snape said. Again, he threw a handful of powder on the fire. "Kitchens."

A house elf's face appeared in the fire. "Yes, Master Snape, sir?"

"I would like two dinners, two very specific dinners."

"Yes sir!"

"One is to be a light meal. I would like a grilled fillet of fish, white rice, and whatever vegetable you wish to add. The other is to be an even lighter meal --- gruel -- beef-based, I think, and white rice. That rice must be cooked with no butter or other fat, though it may have a bit of salt, and may be cooked in a broth."

The house elf looked unhappy, but nodded. "May we add saffron to the rice, sir?" it asked, brightening slightly.

Snape looked questioningly at Harry, who nodded. "Saffron is acceptable," Snape relayed. "Also, we will probably want additional food in a few hours."

This cheered the elf considerably. "Any time, sir!" he said brightly, and promptly vanished.

"I take it I'm not getting hot chocolate with almond liqueur?"

"No, Potter, you are not." Snape stopped in mid-sneer and stared at him. Harry's family name stayed almost palpably between them. "Keep that down," he added more quietly, "and you may have poached fish or chicken, and some form of yogurt, in a few hours. In the morning, you will see Madam Pomfrey, and get her recommendations. I expect you will be back on normal food in two or three days."

Harry nodded.

"I know what I am doing, Potter. It won't do you any good to eat more and throw it all up."

"Could you please stop calling me that?"

Snape froze. Harry saw his jaw clench for a minute before he replied.

"What would you like me to call you?"

"Harry, please."

Snape nodded. "Harry," he repeated, almost threateningly. "Regardless, I know what I am doing."

"I believe you sir."

Dinner arrived, complete with a table and chairs. The rice seemed to have been cooked in chicken broth, although there could not possibly have been time, and it was lightly floral and brilliantly yellow from sparse orange threads of saffron. Harry drank his gruel and ate about half his rice, which was as much as he could manage.

"Not so hungry?" Snape mocked.

Harry conceded with the slightest of nods. He sat back and tried to relax as he watched Snape continue with his fish and brussel sprouts.

"Earlier...." he began hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I thought you said my day wasn't going to get any better." Harry met Snape's startled look. "So, what is it? What's going to happen once I'm fed and presented to Professor Dumbledore? I thought I'd get sent back, after all, but you said I need to see Pomfrey tomorrow."

Snape pushed at his remaining fish with his fork. "You will stay, of course...." he began. He looked up. "There was an accident, Pot-- Harry--"

Harry tensed with fear. Someone had been hurt, perhaps died! His mind began racing through all the people he could not stand to loose -- Hermione, Ron, Ron's family....

"--earlier this evening. Your aunt and cousin died in a car crash."

Harry's first reaction was relief. Everyone he cared about was okay. Then he found himself off-balance. He couldn't absorb the idea of Aunt Petunia and Dudley being gone. They were constants in his life. He couldn't manage to feel sad, but it felt ... strange.

"With no blood relatives left to reside at the house, the wards failed."

Harry understood that. Implications immediately began racing through his mind.

"The Death Eaters noticed before Dumbledore did." Snape raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps the Dark Lord had deduced the effect and had the crash arranged. The house was attacked. Your uncle was killed. They sent up the Dark Mark and set the house on fire. We arrived to find your door smashed in and your room empty."

"Good thing I left when I did," Harry said numbly.

"I should not have told you to leave. It was idiotic, even though you are watched. You were vulnerable every second between there and here. You could have been killed." Snape smiled thinly. "But my luck went the other way. You survived, despite my idiocy."

"Due to, it sounds like."

"The intelligent thing, Po- Harry, would have been to take you out of there at the start."

"But you don't rescue people."

"You shouldn't be rescued. We need you to be capable, not coddled."

Harry looked down at the lovingly prepared rice on the fine china. "Perhaps you should give me a hunting knife and send me out into the Forbidden Forest to catch my own damn dinner."

"Don't give me ideas. I'm perfectly capable of being that spitefully consistent."

Snape ate a final bisected sprout and pushed his plate away. "I take it I have not worsened your day?"

Harry thought about it. Slowly, he began to grin. "No one," he said fiercely, "can ever send me back there. I'm delighted. Horribly guilty about it, but delighted."

"You'd rather deal with me?" Snape prodded, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"At least you'll feed me," Harry pointed out. "Or someone will. You're cruel and derisive and vengeful, but no worse than Uncle Vernon, except for being intelligent. I have some hope you'll finally stop confusing me with my- James, which might not make you kinder, but might make you go after me for my actual faults, rather than his."

"Dangerously honest, boy," Snape growled.

"That's why the Sorting Hat settled for Gryffindor." Harry set the statement out as bait. Snape took it.

"Settled?"

"It wanted me in Slytherin." Harry stared intently at Snape. "Would you have been kinder to me?"

Snape shook his head, but not in negation. "I did not drink enough for this," he muttered. He looked at Harry. "I ... You look so like James...."

"James felt you were friends, at the time he wrote me the letter. That was after I was born. He admitted you were enemies most of your time at school, and that it was mostly his and Sirius's fault...."

"May I see that letter?"

"Did you think you were friends, then?"

Snape's lip curled into a cold sneer. "'Friends' is a bit much. We were on civil terms."

"So what happened?"

"Lily died! I had told him and told him not to trust Sirius -- an arrogant, vicious liar, a pureblood of the sort the Dark Lord would recruit -- what could he expect? And he ignored me, and Lily died for his arrogance."

"But it wasn't Sirius."

"I know that now. But I did not believe it until I saw Pettigrew by the Dark Lord's side."

"So last year, and the year before, you knew," Harry pressed recklessly.

"Do you think twelve years of hate can be brushed away by a single truth, Potter? Do you think I could uproot this dark and sprawling tangle from that? From that, when I now share the guilt -- what if he listened to me, after all? My only solace is that I'm certain I did not sway him. James Potter did not listen to the likes of me, ever."

Harry looked down. There was a time when he would have argued with that, on general principles, but he was now willing to allow that perhaps Professor Snape knew better than he did.

He was saved from the awkward silence by a sputtering from the fire.

"Severus!" a voice called. Snape went to stand by the fire as Dumbledore's head appeared in the flames.

"We have just finished dinner, Headmaster," he said. "Shall I bring the boy to your office?"

"Yes, Severus. And expect to stay yourself."

"I intended to go to Avery...."

"After our meeting, Severus. Not before."

"While Harry is at Hogwarts, he is obviously well protected. However, I no longer have any way to protect him beyond that." They were all seated in Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore looked grim. Harry reflected that he was almost accustomed to the previously merry headmaster looking weighed down with the cares of the world.

"I am also a blood relative," Snape said.

"But not of Lily. It is to her sacrifice that we need a binding."

Snape scowled. Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "You still..." he hesitated. "When Lily died, you were still much in love with her, were you not?"

For a moment, Snape looked as if he would deny it, but then he nodded jerkily.

"And you love her still?"

"She is dead, Dumbledore!"

"Nonetheless."

Snape growled softly. "Yes."

Dumbledore sat back, his eyes distant. His lips moved slightly.

"Have you a love token from her? Anything?"

Snape closed his eyes. An expression of terrible pain crossed his features. "Nothing," he whispered.

"Might she have had anything from you? I have charge of Harry's inheritance, which includes many little items that survived the attack."

That was news to Harry. He sat bolt upright and stared at the headmaster, who ignored him. Harry glanced over at Snape. Snape's eyes were still closed. Harry watched him bring his hands up to cover most of his face.

"A ... ring. White gold, with a pentagon step-cut emerald. I ... I gave it to her as an engagement ring, she gave it back to me when I ... broke it off, and I gave it to her again, after ... after the Herem ritual. For the child, if...." Snape's halting account ended entirely. His normally sallow face was dark with blood. A flash of pleasure on Dumbledore's face was quickly replaced by sympathy, although the Potion Master's eyes remained closed.

"If we have a chance at all, that will do it." Dumbledore stood up and came around the desk. "I would like to clarify some aspects of this."

Harry nodded automatically. He saw Snape, also, straighten and nod, his eyes opening and his hands returning to his lap, but the Potions master looked numb.

"The new wards will continue Harry's protection, but they will also have dangers for both of you. If Harry is ever captured, and Voldemort thinks to look--" (A contemptuous snort from Snape attested to both his opinion of Voldemort's intelligence and the return of his emotional control.) "--he could determine how the wards were constructed. That would put you, Severus, in danger. Similarly, if Voldemort discovers your relationship, he may be able to guess how the wards are constructed, and be able to use you to gain access to Harry. In this case, however, since the focus is a token that you intended for him, simply killing you will not work. That is the strength of a physical focus." Dumbledore looked intently at Harry. "The weakness of a physical focus, is that the focus is integral to the spell. You must wear or carry that ring at all times, is that clear?"

Harry hoped the ring wasn't too feminine. He supposed he could wear it on a chain, like Tobias had done with his Muggle girlfriend's ring, last year ... Thinking about it, Harry realized he had never worn any jewelry at all, and did not know how either a ring or a chain would feel.

"Harry?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Sorry, sir. Yes, that's clear."

Snape snorted. "Do you even know what he said?"

"That I must wear or carry the ring at all times." Harry shrugged. "I've never had any jewelry. I was just wondering how awkward it would be."

Dumbledore smiled. "It will become automatic, like your glasses, but not so uncomfortable to sleep in.

"I will find the ring, Severus, and I will inform both of you when the wards are cast." Dumbledore sat back down. "Now, perhaps we should discuss living arrangements."

"Please," Severus said. "He cannot stay in my rooms all August."

"On the contrary," Dumbledore said, with a reassuring smile at Harry, "that is just what I was going to suggest."

Harry restrained himself from protesting. Snape did not.

"Are you insane, Dumbledore? First, I don't have an extra room. Second, I have visitors who would be glad to take Harry home in pieces! Third, I like my privacy, and fourth, I hate the boy!"

Harry winced at the force of Snape's last yell, but looked over at him curiously. Snape hadn't seemed to hate him too much, an hour ago. The professor had his hands gripped tightly together, and was staring down at them, his face again darkening at the tops of his high cheekbones.

"And that is much of the reason," Dumbledore said gently. "You have always hated the boy for being James's son, but as we now know, he is not. Perhaps now that you can see beyond that, you will find he is not as objectionable as you have believed."

"I don't like people," Snape said sulkily.

Dumbledore ignored the childish comment. "Furthermore, your mutual dislike and distrust have been detrimental to the Order. Even if you cannot establish any familial affection, I would like you to at least attain an effective working relationship."

"I've no room--"

"There is an empty room adjacent to yours, Severus. I will move the entrance so it goes to your kitchen, rather than the hallway. We will hide that entrance from your side. Your visitors, I expect, are seldom in your kitchen?"

Harry blinked. "You have a kitchen?" he asked.

Snape sneered at him. "Had you a modicum of observational skill, Po-- ... boy, you would have noticed the room. You looked in that direction several times."

"I was a bit preoccupied!"

"That is no excuse."

Harry stared. "I don't need to know what rooms you have!"

"You need to pay attention to what is around you! Do you think the Dark Lord will make allowances when you are having a bad day?"

"We're not talking about Voldemort, we're talk—"

"Do not say his name!" Snape roared, standing abruptly, and towering menacingly over Harry.

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly. "It is always best to give things their proper--"

"I say," Snape hissed icily, "that until the boy has succeeded in mastering Occlumency, he must not use the Dark Lord's name!"

Dumbledore considered this. Harry hoped he would not agree. He had always admired Dumbledore's insistence on referring to Voldemort by name.

"In Harry's case, you may have a point," Dumbledore conceded. Harry's heart sank. "Only until he learns, however. He is, on a very real level, Voldemort's peer, Severus. Voldemort has made him so, however inadvertently."

"May I call him Tom, then?" Harry asked. Dumbledore laughed. Snape made a harsh noise that was not recognizably either a laugh or a scream, and which degenerated into a fit of choking.

"Congratulations, Severus -- you have a cheeky teenager, without having to go through any of those awkward affectionate years," Dumbledore announced. He winked at Harry.

"Don't forget cynical," Harry added lightly. "And moody, and distrustful--" He stopped suddenly. "I've been trying to work on that last one," he offered, feeling suddenly miserable.

"Have you?" Dumbledore questioned.

Harry shrugged slightly. "I figure I owe it to Sirius to at least act like I trust you."

"Trust me?" Snape asked, startled.

"No, trust Professor Dumbledore." Harry answered firmly. Snape looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Dumbledore merely looked sad.

"And why do you not trust me, Harry?" he asked.

"I barely trust anybody," Harry answered flippantly. He caught himself. He should try, he decided, not to give way to either anger or guilt, but keep his response measured and informative. They needed to discuss this sometime, at less than a scream. "You, in particular are powerful and undependable," he continued evenly. "Sometimes you let me do what I need to, and other times you would rather protect me, even if it's not the right thing. Sometimes you act like I'm special to you, and sometimes you act like I don't exist. And it was clear, long before you said, that you had plans for me that I wasn't to know." He shrugged, and spread his palms out in gesture of surrender. "Still, there are times I clearly would have done better to tell you my secret plans, and I can't expect you to initiate all contact between us, then be angry when you don't." He met Dumbledore's eyes. "I should probably tell you when I'm angry at you. It might shock you into revealing something."

The last comment was purely spiteful. Harry had not intended to say it. He sat still, waiting to be reprimanded, but refusing to show fear. The sorrow on Dumbledore's face became deep and distant, and his eyes lost focus, as if he was looking at something deep within Harry.

"What's that look?" Harry prodded, trying to goad him back. "What do you see in me?"

"Many people."

"Both my fathers?"

"Among others."

"Tom?" Harry challenged.

Snape hissed, but Dumbledore nodded, very slightly.

"None of Tom's insincere charm, of course, but the largely undirected anger is the same." He peered over his glasses at Harry. "I hope you learn to dissipate some of that before finding something to focus it on."

Harry looked down, chastened. "Yes, sir."

"Which is not to say all of what I see in you is bad," Dumbledore continued. "You have a great deal of integrity, energy, and valor. I must remember that you do best when I work with that, rather than attempting to dampen it." He glanced over at Snape. "That is a lesson for you, as well."

"Why should it matter to me?" Snape asked unpleasantly.

"As the boy's father, you are his proper guardian, as far as I am concerned. We cannot make that legal, now, of course, but I will grant you the measure of control I gave Sirius, and I expect you, considering your geographic proximity, to be more of a day-to-day influence on Harry."

Harry and Snape eyed each other apprehensively. Harry thought Snape looked as distressed as he felt.

"Have you gone mad?" Snape hissed. Harry had to admit to a similar thought. "I am totally unsuited to the keeping of a pet rat, never mind a boy!"

"Severus, Harry is sixteen. He is largely self-sufficient."

"Just think," Harry contributed perversely. "You can't be worse than my last guardians."

"Can't I?" Snape threatened.

Harry refused to be intimidated. "You won't be," he said. "I have people to go to, here." He shrugged. "If you let me have food and decent clothes and don't force me to do dangerous things, you're one up on the Dursleys. I'm not expecting affection, or anything."

And that, he thought, was painfully true. The older he got, the more clearly he understood that, at some point in his life, he should have been able to expect that.

Snape nodded curtly. "Certainly, I can provide you with acceptable shelter and regular meals, as could anyone at Hogwarts. However, you are right not to expect any significant interaction. I can assure you that I have neither the capability nor the will to act either as a parent or as a companion."

Harry nodded acquiescence, and Snape, apparently satisfied, turned away.

In the privacy of his own mind, Severus admitted that it had been rather interesting to watch Harry and Dumbledore arrange Harry's room. They had walked into the dusty, unused chamber from the hallway, and Dumbledore had scoured it with a bracing wind. When the room was clean, he closed the door, and it had rippled like a swimming ray along the walls to the other side, and opened upon Severus's kitchen.

Next, the old wizard had asked Harry what sort of furniture he would like -- what colors, what types of wood. Severus had expected the boy to go with Gryffindor house colors, but, after a moment's thought, Harry had announced he would like furnishings in green, gold, and blue, with golden woods. Dumbledore had looked as surprised as Severus felt, but a moment later, the furnishings had started to materialize from other parts of the castle. A blue-canopied bed of yellow oak had appeared from a Ravenclaw dormitory, and was settled with a Slytherin-green comforter. Beside it had alighted a Turkish carpet whose green base bore designs in gold, navy, and darker green. A forest tapestry of Narcissus and Echo adorned one wall, and an ocean one of the failed rape of Bacchus, the other. The drowning pirates seemed delighted rather than terrified as they turned to dolphins at the young god's mercy, while Bacchus himself, one arm draped over a panther, smiled benevolently over the rail of the magnificent ship, an anachronistic four-master, which was starting to twine with laden grape vines.

Severus snorted to himself as he reached for the floo powder.

"You'll give the boy a complex, Albus," he muttered.

The dresser and tables in warm, light oak had arrived bearing green candles in gold candelabras, and a gilded green velvet chair had settled in the corner, beneath a gilt wall sconce. Cloth the brilliant blue of a fair autumn sky had draped itself about a magical window, which looked out on the grounds as you would see them from Gryffindor tower (though only the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut were visible now) and cushions of a matching blue padded the window seat. The view was the only bit of Gryffindor in the entire room. Harry had declared the ensemble brilliant. Severus had settled him with the promised meal of poached chicken, accompanied by a rosewater lassi, then headed out to the living room and his fireplace.

Severus exited a far grander fireplace in Avery's entrance hall. A house-elf bobbed nervously in front of him.

"Mr. Snape, sir! The master is not expecting you."

"More fool him," Severus snarled. The house elf wrung its hands. "Well?" Snape stormed. "Correct this problem before I give you some help!"" He drew a booted foot threateningly back, as if preparing for a good kick, and the house elf, with a squeal of fear, disapparated to inform his master of the guest.

"Aristocrats' folly," Snape muttered angrily, as he strode across the dark marble floor. "Strand the bloody lot of us in well-stocked London flats for a month, and Pettigrew, Luther, and I would be the only survivors."

He had to admit, he enjoyed not needing to cook, clean, or forage, or to mend cloth, wood, or metal, but he felt it was important not to forget how to do these things. Dependency was never good.

Severus did not know where Avery was, so he headed for the study. He found himself regretting the loss of Lucius to Azkaban. Their painful intimacy had been useful. In the study, he sat and waited, his thoughts suddenly on Draco. Would the boy be improved by the separation from his Machiavellian father, or would his mind-blurring rage have continued through the summer?

A house-elf came and offered him brandy. Severus accepted, then, once the creature had left, reluctantly transmuted the drink to have little more alcohol than butterbeer. That Avery wanted him provided with drink while he waited might indicated merely proper hospitality, or it might have a deeper purpose.

"Severus," a voice said heartily, as Avery finally entered, a refill later.

"Don't be cozy, Avery," Severus replied. "I want to know what's going on."

"Going on?"

"Potter's house was attacked, this evening, haven't you heard?" Snape stood, stepping close to Avery to make his several inches advantage in height clear. "I am supposed to be informed of any attack that may cause me to be summoned by Dumbledore!"

Avery dropped his welcoming manner. "Perhaps our Lord has changed the rules, Snape. He made it clear, last night, that he did not trust you."

"I am at Hogwarts! I was fetched away to some Muggle warren of identical homes to search for the child ...."

"Perhaps it is time that you stopped trying to serve two masters, then."

Snape felt as if he had been hit in the gut. He tried to keep his panic from showing.

"Dumbledore is all that kept me from Azkaban."

"An unworthy goal, in our master's eyes."

"Had I gone, I would not now be sane to serve him."

"Ah," Avery's voice took on a sly tone, "but do you, Severus?"

Severus whipped out his wand. "Crucio!"

He kept the man writhing under the curse for a good two minutes, then ended it. He walked towards Avery, who was still on the ground and still twitching with residual flickers of agony.

"Our master," Severus said softly, his voice lingering on the word, "may say to me what he wills. Do not presume to take the same liberty, slave of servants." With that reminder of Avery's subservience to those Severus considered his peers, Severus turned and left as he had come. As his own fireplace was blocked to incoming visitors, he flooed to the secure room next to Albus's office. After a few minutes, the door opened, though only Fawkes was present to greet him. Severus returned to the dungeons.

Harry awoke in a comfortable bed in a beautiful room, with every inch of his body aching. He got up and tried to appreciate his lovely surroundings, but the pain in his muscles overwhelmed that pleasure, as did the worrying thought of Snape, possibly just on the far side of the door. Slowly, he dressed, choosing clothing he had inherited from Ron, when Ron had hit a growth spurt, rather than the ridiculously baggy clothing that had belonged to his cousin Dudley. He walked out to Snape's rooms.

Snape was sitting at the kitchen table (which, unlike the table they had eaten at the night before, seemed to be a permanent fixture.) He had porridge in front of him, and there was more in the middle of the table, along with a covered dish that Harry suspected held sausages. The combined smells made Harry feel ill.

"Breakfast," Snape muttered, not looking up. He had a length of parchment out, and seemed to be writing out a potion formula, except he was currently scribbling out one ingredient and writing in another.

"I don't think I can eat," Harry said. He noticed a headache and wondered if it had just started.

"Porridge, Harry, at a minimum," Snape said, in the voice he might have used to say "slice the shrivelfigs, Potter."

"Really, professor," Harry protested. "I feel ill. My back hurts and my legs hurt and my head hurts, and the smell of food...." Harry made a face.

"You can go to Madam Pomfrey in an hour. At this time, she will only be available for emergencies."

"Probably be just as well if I walked, first. Some of this may just be from hauling my trunk around, yesterday, and might work out."

Snape glanced up at him, then went back to his writing. "Put on some decent clothes, first," he commented absently.

Harry, who had been about to leave, turned back in surprise. "What?"

Snape glared at him. "Put on some decent clothes. You can't mean to go outside in that."

Harry looked down at his shirt and slightly worn jeans. "These are the best clothes I've got," he protested. "I'm not going to wear my school robes, and everything else is too big for me."

"As opposed to those Muggle obscenities?" Snape sneered. "You do not need to display your arse all over Hogwarts, Potter -- Harry. There's no one here you'd want to impress. Now, go put on something less tight."

"They're not tight! And these were Ron's! He's not a Muggle."

"Having met a large number of Weasley children, I am confident in saying that Molly and Arthur allow many things I would not."

"But all I have is--"

"Don't argue!"

Harry stormed back into his room, his initial amusement changed to fury. He pulled out the worst of Dudley's old clothes, then, thinking better of it, the best of them.

"Trust Snape to make me wear them," he muttered. By the time he got dressed, he had once again decided the situation was funny, though he felt he would appreciate it more if everything didn't hurt. He grabbed the cigarettes he had taken from the toolshed and shoved them into his pocket, just in case, then he went back out to the kitchen.

"How's this?" he asked.

Snape glanced up, then the glance turned to an incredulous stare. "I am not amused," he said.

"Well good, because this is my second best set of clothes."

"Into your robes, then."

"No!" Harry shouted. "I'm only going for a frigging walk around the lake. As you said, there's no one here but a few professors. Why does it matter what I wear?"

"I will not have you leaving here looking like a tart or a vagabond!"

Harry pulled his temper in, and attempted an amused look. "You said you wouldn't get parental on me," he goaded.

Snape looked shocked. No, Harry decided, horrified.

"Very well." Snape waved a hand dismissively as he bent back over his parchment. "Wear anything you wish. Prance around the lake naked, if you like. Now, GET OUT!"

Harry started off with an angry stride, but the ramps and stairs up diminished his energy somewhat. By the time he had reached the Entrance Hall, his sense of indignation had gone. He looked around for a bit, hoping to run into Dumbledore, or even Professor McGonagall, but didn't see so much a ghost. Eventually, he stepped outside and looked at the lake from the top of the stairs. It seemed impossibly large. Harry looked over at Hagrid's hut, but could see no smoke coming from the chimney. He walked down the stairs and hesitated. After a moment, he turned and walked along the base of the stairs, looking for a good place to settle in the shade.

Severus stared angrily at the paper and willed himself to remember the modification of an identification potion that had come to him in his dreams last night. He had scribbled some notes that had obviously seemed sufficient to him at the time, but he now had no idea of their significance.

"Agitation," he muttered. "What? More? Less? And what did I mean by 'R. scales?'"

He glanced up and saw that the new door in his kitchen was still open onto Harry's room.

"One would think you had not an ounce of experience in concealment," he sneered. He pointed his wand at the door. "Occultio." The door clicked closed and faded into the wall. "Idiot Muggle-raised child!" He sighed and rubbed up the bridge of his nose and along his eyebrows, where a headache was threatening to take hold. "I never change, do I?"

Severus cursed at the memory, and threw his quill at the unfinished potion formula. "Fine, then. I'll try. But he's--" His eyes widened. "Walk around the lake! Alone? Now?" Severus sprung to his feet. At the door, he swung on his cloak. "Damn the boy for a reckless fool, and me for a dream-addled idiot!" He left the room rapidly, his wand already out.

"I thought you were going for a walk."

The comment was dry, rather than biting. Harry exhaled smoke slowly, trying not to look guilty. "In a few minutes," he said.

Professor Snape stopped right in front of him. That much towering black, Harry thought, was rather difficult to ignore, but when he tried to look up, his neck hurt. "Ow," he said, stretching it out.

"What is that?" Severus asked.

Harry restrained himself from some cheeky request for clarification. "Cigarette," he said.

"What..." Snape exhaled in a little growl -- "plant?"

"Oh! Er... tobacco."

"Tobacco," Snape repeated mockingly. "You are smoking a garden pesticide?"

"What?"

"I believe an infusion of tobacco is what Sprout uses to control aphids."

"Oh."

To Harry's surprise, Snape lowered himself slowly to the ground, and sat beside Harry, also leaning back against the base of the steps. "Let's see..." he muttered. "Toxic when eaten, a mild, but addictive, stimulant when smoked, hallucinogenic at near-fatal quantities...."

"Hadn't heard that last one."

"The line between 'hallucinogenic' and 'fatal' is too fine and too unpredictable for that to have ever made it into recreational use," Snape elaborated. "There was a native tribe in North America that used it that way ceremonially to chose wizard applicants." Harry dared a glance over. Snape responded with a taunting smile. "The tribe wizard -- I've forgotten the title -- would chew some, then insert it into the applicant's arse."

Harry choked and went into a coughing fit. Snape ignored this.

"The applicant would go into a coma. If he died, he would, obviously, not be trained. If he regained consciousness, usually a few days later, it would be with fantastic visions, which the tribe wizard could then interpret to determine the applicant's fate."

Harry realized he was staring at what was left of his cigarette. "Er... harsh." He forced himself to take another draw off it, but it had become short enough to have a rather nasty taste, and he stubbed it out afterwards. "You're having me on, right?"

"Quite serious. I was doing a paper on real and perceived magic in primitive societies. Many of these tribal wizards were real, you know. Now they are fake, or else, in most of the world, in violation of international treaties. Muggle-Wizard segregation is to the benefit of European Muggles and some others, but in the third world, the places that were then being taken as colonies, it fueled a horrible dependency on the more developed nations."

"I hadn't really thought about magic other places."

"Most European wizards and witches don't."

"What's with this 'European' stuff?" Harry teased. "We're British."

Snape raised black eyebrows at him. "Are we?"

Harry looked curiously back at him. "Well, are we? I mean, I suppose I am, at any rate."

Snape nodded. "As am I. Half my grandparents, however, were not."

Harry hesitated, wondering what to ask. Before he had decided, Snape spoke.

"The ... cigarettes."

"Huh?"

"How often?"

"Oh." Harry thought. "I'm not sure, actually. Not much. Probably one or two a day, last week, because I was so hungry, but much less often before that. I thought the headache might be connected, but it didn't help in the least."

"A stimulant will not make you less hungry."

"No, but it made me less stupid when I hadn't eaten, and thus less likely to mess up with whatever Aunt Petunia had me doing, and so sometimes able to get her to give me some food afterwards."

"If you could obtain those, could you not obtain food?"

"Food was in the kitchen, which was well-guarded. Dudley hid his cigarettes in the tool shed, which was otherwise my territory."

"I see." Snape plucked a plant from the ground and turned it over and over in his hands, apparently examining it. I wonder if my hands will get that precise, Harry thought, or if that is learned? He looked down at his own comparatively stubby fingers.

"How many do you have?"

"Eight or nine, I think. I took what was left before I called the bus. It seemed about half. I haven't counted."

"You may finish that, as long as it is before the start of term." Snape looked up from the plant, meeting Harry's study with a predatory smile. "If I catch you after term starts, I will dock Gryffindor House Points, give you detention, and generally make your life miserable."

Harry smiled slightly. "And I'll notice?" he asked.

"You will notice," Snape retorted harshly.

"Okay," Harry said. He cast about for something less awkward to say, thought about what Snape had described early, and smiled in embarrassment.

"Is that amusing, Potter?" Snape challenged.

"Just ... how does anyone ever figured out that a ... paste of some leaf, taken ... er, up the arse...?" He laughed tightly, unable to finish.

"A bit of a stretch," Snape allowed, "but it was, at least, already established as a ceremonial plant. I wonder more about things such as tapioca."

"Tapioca?"

"Yes. Derived from cassava roots, which are poisonous when fresh. Who thought of grating them up, then baking the fermented residue? Why did they think the result would not also be poisonous?"

"Maybe someone was trying to kill himself," Harry suggested. "'Hey, I'll have some of this poisonous root! That should do it!'"

"That doesn't explain why it was grated in the first place."

"Perhaps it was also used as a pesticide? 'I'll have some of this poisonous root that's been scattered around the vegetable beds.'"

"Ah!" Snape's eyes took on a triumphant gleam. "Perhaps someone wished to poison someone else. They baked it into a casserole."

"Yes, it did come out beautifully thick, today, dear, didn't it?" Harry improvised, pitching his voice high. "No, go ahead and eat, I'll just put the baby down."

"No, nothing's wrong with my stomach," Snape growled. "Why do you ask?"

They both chuckled.

"And you'll never guess the secret ingredient," Harry effused, and was treated to the sight of Snape actually laughing. He was half-covering his face with his hand, as if trying to hide it, and gasping slightly, but it was definitely a laugh, nonetheless.

"Now there's a laugh I haven't heard in years," remarked a mild voice from above them. Harry twisted to look up. Snape, with remarkable speed and grace, was on his feet in an instant. Remus Lupin smiled down at them over the edge of the stairs. "What got that out of you, Severus?"

"Tasteless jokes about murder and suicide," Snape snapped. "Nothing you want to hear."

"Professor Lupin!" Harry exclaimed. "Hi!"

"Harry?!" Lupin had apparently not noticed Harry's identity, earlier. Harry suspected the angle was bad. He, too, stood up. Lupin, to his surprise, looked concerned.

"Well, I suppose I can cross the first item off my list of questions for Dumbledore," he said lightly.

"Yes, Harry survived," Snape said dryly. "Is that all you came here for?"

"No, actually I'm back for the year," Lupin admitted. "For my own protection, mostly," he added quickly.

"Finally killed someone in your carelessness?" Snape goaded.

"No," Lupin snapped. He sighed. "Voldemort has been courting the werewolves, you know, promising an end to the recent restrictions, as well as ... other freedoms."

"And?"

"This has become popular. It has given rise to the first werewolf political leader in centuries. I am ... known to be in opposition to the alliance. I have spoken, perhaps too eloquently, in a public forum. He has declared me a traitor to my people." He shivered. "Dumbledore offered me protection ... in return for teaching Defense Against Dark Arts, again, of course."

"Yes!" Harry crowed, punching a fist into the air. "A decent Defense Against Dark Arts teacher! You were the best we ever had, Professor Lupin!"

"Not that that is saying much," Snape sneered. "A possessed fool, a primping fake, an escaped Death Eater, and a Ministry plant."

"We at least learned something from the Death Eater," Harry pointed out.

"All three Unforgivables, as I understand it," Snape sneered.

"He only demonstrated them. Except for the Imperius Curse, which he made us throw off."

"A professor cast the Imperius Curse on you?" Lupin gasped.

"And just as well," Harry argued. "I resisted his right away, but I'm certain that I wouldn't have been able to throw off Voldemort's if that had been my first time." He smiled at Lupin. "But you were better -- and not just because you never tried to kill me!"

Snape choked slightly, as if he had started to laugh again, but stopped himself. "Such devotion," he commented slyly. "Very well, Lupin -- on your way."

Lupin, however, came down the stairs. "Harry," he asked, "what happened, yesterday?"

"What, the Dursleys being attacked? I missed it. I'd just run away."

"Ah." Lupin looked grave. "Do you realize you are suspected of murder?"

"What?" Harry yelled, outraged.

Snape scowled. "Some bloody fool thinks that Harry Potter killed his uncle with an Unforgivable, torched the house, cast the Dark Mark above the mess, and then ran to Albus Dumbledore?"

"Well, he's listed as 'whereabouts unknown,' actually, but the general theme is that the Boy-Who-Lived may have finally turned on his abusive Muggle relatives, and possibly on Muggles in general. And it seems to be more than one bloody fool, although the chief one is probably Fudge, hiding behind more expendable officials." Lupin pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet and held it uncertainly. He smiled kindly at Harry. "Do you want to actually read this libelous rot, or should I give you a summary later?"

Snape reached out a hand. "I'll give it to him once he's eaten," he said, snatching the paper before Harry could decide whether or not to take it. "For now, we were going to take a walk."

"We?" Harry asked pointedly.

"You should not be alone, outside the school. Not now." Snape's lips curled up slightly, but Harry couldn't decide if the effect was intended to be friendly or derisive. "That's why I came looking for you. Do you still want to walk, or have you decided your Muggle drugs were sufficient?"

Harry hesitated. He actually had intended to take a walk, but he felt less in need of it, now. And the gnawing dread at the thought of the unread paper was probably worse than the anger he'd feel after reading it. He took a deep breath.

"Actually, I have become sort of hungry. What if I have breakfast, then you let me read the paper, then I walk or something? I probably won't be good for much else, after reading it." Harry tried to smile, but didn't think the effect was convincing. He hadn't expected to be accused of killing his uncle.

Snape nodded. "Very well. Though I insist on a visit to Madam Pomfrey, somewhere in there. And you should eat lightly."

"Lightly?" Lupin growled. "You're far too thin, Harry."

"He's been starved, Lupin," Snape retorted. "It will be a few days before his body readjusts to food."

They decided to stop at the Hospital Wing first, and Madam Pomfrey examined Harry with her usual air of concerned disapproval. When he said that he felt like he'd been playing Quidditch in a high wind for several hours, she pointed her wand at him, muttered a bit, and said he had minor muscle strain at most major joints and along his spine. She obviously didn't believe him when he said he had no idea why.

"What you children get up to!" she huffed.

After further examination, she recommended he eat a small amount of food six times a day for the next few days, then resume normal meals, avoiding very rich foods for a few days more. Finally, she gave him a foul-tasting nutritive draught, and sent him on his way, with strict orders to return the following morning.

Back in Snape's kitchen, Harry had a bowl of porridge with milk and bananas, which the house elves sent up from the kitchen, and tea, from a pot Snape made himself. Snape drank a cup of the tea and read the Daily Prophet, looking increasingly more angry.

"Am I back to being mentally unbalanced?" Harry asked finally, making the question light.

"What? Oh, yes." Snape scowled. "This time, of course, it is all in the most revoltingly maudlin terms, with ridiculous details on how you have been treated and the observation that it is no wonder you finally cracked." He stood up and tossed the paper down on the table. "Read it. Stay here. I need to speak to the headmaster."

"Doesn't it concern me?"

In the doorway to the front room, Snape whirled back. "We will be talking about you, Harry. When we wish to talk with you, we will let you know. For now, read the paper, and stay here."

Harry Potter: Muggle killer? read the headline. Underneath, an article outlined the case:

Harry Potter, long identified as the savior of Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards, may finally have turned on the Muggle world. Yesterday evening, Ministry officials were horrified to hear that the home of Potter's only living relatives, the Dursleys, hung under the Dark Mark. Horror turned to shock when Auror arrived at the scene to find Potter's uncle dead, the victim of a Killing Curse, but Potter himself missing. All his belongings were gone, as well, leading to speculation that the Boy-Who-Lived departed voluntarily.

"Harry Potter's aunt and cousin died in a traffic accident only a few minutes before the attack," said Ministry spokesperson Percy Weasley. "Under the circumstances, we will need to classify those deaths as suspicious." Mr. Weasley went on to say that it was well known that Potter's Muggle relatives mistreated him shamefully. The Daily Prophet must assume it was "well known" in quite limited circles.

A Daily Prophet reporter had apparently been inspired to do some honest investigating. The article briefly outlined alleged abuse of Harry by the Dursleys, then referred readers to a second article on page 2 for more details.

That article had a byline (Kynthia Bayer) and details gleaned from interviews with neighbors and observations of the house. The Aurors had apparently magically identified the cupboard under the stairs, as well as the upstairs room, as Harry's bedrooms, and been able to determine that the cupboard had been used as such for longer. The reporter had noticed that both had doors that locked from the outside, and, in talking with the neighbors had discovered that they believed Harry to be a dangerous juvenile offender who spent most of the year at a reform school. The article tone varied between shock and maudlin sympathy, but Harry had to admit the facts were, for once, largely accurate. That, he reflected, made it no less embarrassing, especially when Ms. Bayer went on for a full paragraph about this "shocking, systematic abuse that went unchecked by the child's wizarding protectors..."

"Oh hell!" Harry folded up the paper and chucked it across the room. "They're going to go after Dumbledore. Or the Weasleys. Anyone who ever tried to help me is going to get treated as a fucking accessory!"

Though Snape was only gone for a bit longer than it took Harry to read the articles that concerned him, by the time he returned, Harry was in a simmering rage. He wanted to do something, anything, so long as it was exhausting, and preferably violent.

"What did Professor Dumbledore say?" he asked.

"He was unavailable. Did you finish your reading?"

"Yes."

"And?" Snape asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Maudlin crap, like you said. I don't know if it's better or worse that they got their facts right, for once."

"Did they?" Snape asked.

"About life with the Dursleys, pretty much. All the 'horrific abuse' stuff is absurd, though. I was miserable, but it wasn't like they whipped me or anything."

"They locked you up."

"Sometimes. And sometimes they didn't feed me much, and they worked me like a house-elf when I was allowed out, but it wasn't intolerable. I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me."

Snape frowned. "It may not have been intolerable -- to you, but it was nonetheless abuse." He waved down Harry's protest. "I understand your objection to the pity, and your meaning. Certainly there are children who endure worse -- I did -- but for you to say it is not abuse, is as if I said it was not torture to bind a man until he soiled himself, when I might have pulled off his fingernails, instead. That worse things could be done does not make an action right."

"Look, that's just how things were!" Harry snarled. He stood and paced for a moment. He needed to do something, something active, and Snape would not let him go walking alone. "Can we duel?" he asked suddenly.

Snape's eyebrows rose. "Duel?"

"Yeah."

"Why, may I ask?"

Harry balled his hands to fists. Anger was moving through him in little electric flashes, both painful and enticing.

"I want to blast something," he said. "I recall you defend pretty well, and give as good as you get."

"I see. And do you think that would wise, with both of us furious?"

"No." Harry stared at him and smiled fiercely. "But we'd both enjoy it, wouldn't we?"

A cruel delight spread across Snape's features. Harry had the odd thought that he was seeing the Death Eater, right now, and at this moment, he could deal with that.

"Let's find an empty room," Snape said silkily. "I don't want all my things destroyed."

Harry led Snape to the Room of Requirement, and it was ready for dueling, with mats on the floor, small objects to use as missiles, and things to roll or duck behind. There were even fragile, wooden things that would break satisfyingly without leaving dangerous debris. The duel started off deliberate and intense, and quickly grew furious. Afterwards, Harry rolled from the mats and lay panting on the cool stone floor, unable to recall the curses he had cast himself, never mind the ones that Snape had cast at him. He didn't mind that Snape had won. He'd got in some good attacks, and, most importantly, had bled off the edgy energy that had been consuming him all morning.

"Do you intend to get up?" Snape asked condescendingly.

"Mmm. Good floor," Harry said. "Nice, cool, smooth floor."

With an exasperated sigh, Snape reached a hand down to him. Harry let himself be helped up.

"Thanks," he said. "That was fun."

"I shouldn't be pandering to this you know. You'd be better served learning occlumency than indulging your passions in destruction."

Harry yawned. "Let's do a session now," he suggested.

"Now?"

"Yes. I have a bit of an advantage, being worn out from fighting, but I could certainly use one."

Snape nodded. "Very well."

With no more warning than that, Snape attacked. Harry was suddenly lying in his cupboard, the only light shining through the slat that Uncle Vernon had opened to scream through. Snape. Harry forced himself to see Snape. The cupboard was still there, superimposed over the sneering Potions master. It does not matter. Snape was back fully now. The cupboard faded away. Harry stepped forward.

"Do I attack you?"

"It is not necessary. Again."

Snape attacked again, harder this time. He was asking a first-year Harry about asphodel and wormwood. He was pulling Harry away from the pensieve, and screaming in rage and humiliation. Sirius was falling backwards... It is over. Harry chose his own, linked memory, caught at it. He was blowing ashes from Hedwig's drop tray out the window, whispering "you are the past." The visions dropped away with the ash. Snape was back, standing before him in the Room of Requirement, surrounded by the debris of their duel. His expression was no longer sneering, but studying.

"Well," he commented. "I think you have actually done your homework."

Harry hung his head. "Yes, sir."

"Better late than never, I suppose." At the wry words, Harry looked up into a similarly bitter smile. "Though that is sometimes hard to believe," Snape added. "Still, we must tell ourselves that. It would be fatal to believe anything less."

Harry nodded, afraid to speak.

"Let's go, then. You should eat more."

Snape said nothing on the walk down to the dungeons, for which Harry was thankful.

Back in the kitchen, Snape called down the kitchens for light sandwiches and milk. He didn't eat himself, but sat briefly.

"You will be on your own this afternoon. I have work to do. Please make some attempt to stay out of trouble."

Harry nodded. "About leaving the castle...."

"No."

"Just down to Hagrid's?"

"He is away." Snape growled with exasperation. "It is only until the ring is ready, Harry. When we have new wards on you, you can walk -- perhaps not around the lake, but certainly down to Hagrid's."

"Or the pitch?"

Snape snorted. "Could I prevent it?"

"Probably not," Harry admitted. He bit his lip. "What if Professor Lupin will go with me?" he asked.

"No."

Harry was taken back by the sudden return of the familiar loathing to Snape's voice.

"But he--"

"He is an untrustworthy, irresponsible, lying, careless fool! You will not go anywhere with him, outside the castle or in it!"

"Lupin is wonderful! He is a kind, caring--"

"Lupin was a Marauder," Snape hissed. "I remember his kindness. I know what he will countenance."

"What did Lupin ever do to you? Even James said--"

"Nothing!" Snape snarled. "Remus did nothing! He was always there, standing and watching--"

"The only thing wrong with Lupin," Harry said firmly, "is that he lacks moral courage. So do most people; Lupin just has enough of a conscience that you can tell he wants to do the right thing."

Severus's face tightened; the anger drained to an unreadable expression. "So he won't hurt you," Snape said coldly, "unless it is incidental to whatever he wants to do, and protecting you would inconvenience or embarrass him."

"He won't hurt me," Harry retorted fiercely.

"Only let you get hurt?"

"I..." Harry tried to get his anger under control. Snape had a reason to say what he did. "I don't believe he would do that, either. He likes me. There is a difference between acting on convictions and protecting someone you like."

A familiar flash of hatred crossed Snape's features. "And you know best, as always," he sneered.

Harry shook. "I just said 'I believe,'" he answered. "You may not trust him, but Dumbledore does. I get to have an opinion." He looked desperately for any sign of concession on Snape's stony face. "I'll be careful around him," he said earnestly. "I promise."

"No secret meetings in hidden places," Snape pressed. "I want to know when you will be with Lupin and where you will be, and you will not allow him to change times or locations without informing me."

"He's in the Order!"

"So was Pettigrew."

"Lupin is not Pettigrew!"

"No. Lupin is a werewolf."

"That only matters near the full moon!" Harry caught himself. He had his concession, and he was wasting it in argument. "Look, I'll do what you say, all right? I will always tell you where and when I will be with Lupin, unless he just happens upon me while I'm out--"

"In which case, you will return immediately to my rooms or to Dumbledore's office. If he accompanies you, you may speak to him while you walk, but you may not let him lead you anywhere."

"Fine!" Harry snapped, not at all as if it was. "But I really think this is unnecessary. Lupin is fond of me."

"Lupin is fond of James's son," Snape returned harshly. He let that sink in for a moment. "Or perhaps just of handsome, dark-haired boys," he added, with no more mercy. His eyes locked onto Harry's. "You accept my terms?"

Harry, confused, just nodded. Handsome, dark-haired boys?

"Then you may speak with the werewolf," Severus said, "on those terms."

With that, he turned and glided off, robes billowing about him in a black cloud. Harry stared after him, only partially seeing. Handsome, dark-haired boys.... That's ridiculous! he chided mentally. I know Dumbledore is desperate for a good Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, but he wouldn't appoint anyone who might molest the students!

A new thought suddenly occurred to him. Snape's not worried Lupin will kill me; he's worried that he'll ... come on to me, or something. He laughed out loud. The sound was odd and wavering in the low-ceilinged room. Professor Lupin! That's just too strange!

After Harry had finished his light lunch (first lunch? he wondered), he decided to make some tea. He took the kettle from its hook in the hearth, refilled and replaced it, and lit the fire with Incendio. As he watched the crackling flames, it occurred to him that, unlike the duel, that was unsupervised magic, and therefore illegal.

He found the tea and put two spoonfuls in the pot, then poked around the kitchen a bit. The cabinet with the tea also had a small, but odd collection of spices: whole cloves and allspice; nutmegs; two types of cinnamon bark, curled into irregular straws; beautiful star anise; thin fennel seeds; some seeds that were oily, segmented, and black, looking rather like mouse droppings, but smelling bright and sweet and intense; little round seeds that smelled like some part of curry; littler round seeds that smelled like mustard... No herbs, Harry noticed. Next to the spices was a black ceramic mortar and pestle, and kitchen muslin. Harry took a few of the fennel seeds to munch on, and went on to the next cabinet.

This had a few grains -- barley, millet, rice, oats, and something Harry thought was wheat -- two kinds of flour, sugar cubes, treacle, and some unlabelled powders. The next cabinet contained small amounts of a few potions ingredients, some of them poisonous, measuring scales and droppers, and several bottled potions. Harry was glad he'd taken the fennel, which he could identify, not the enticingly fragrant black stuff that looked like mouse droppings. The next, magically cooled, cabinet contained an unopened pint of milk, clotted cream, and five dead, gutted moles, neatly laid out in a row on their backs.

"I don't want to know," Harry muttered, and went on to the last cabinet, which had two small, covered cauldrons (empty, to Harry's relief); three plates, four bowls, and some cups, saucers, and glasses; and skewers, tongs, spoons, and some other cooking implements.

"Okay, so he cooks," Harry murmured to himself, "but not much. Maybe only when he wants to poison somebody." Harry thought about the muslin. "He may do his own mulling."

Harry poured the now-boiling water into the teapot, cleared his dishes from the heavy, age-darkened table, and was half-way through washing them before he realized that he could have just left them for the house elves.

"Bet they'll be offended," he muttered, rinsing the plate. He dried his hands, poured himself some tea, and, and added some of the milk, while willfully ignoring the dead moles. He took the tea out to the living room, and sat at the end of the sofa. As he drank it, he surveyed the room.

The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar. Harry had been in it, but only as long as necessary. "That next, then. I need a bath, anyway." Harry felt his neck for the state of the sunburn. It had gone down to itchy, and while it was still too tender to scratch, he thought he could endure warm water, as long as it wasn't too warm.

He had just finished his tea when he heard a strange noise at the door. It sounded less like someone knocking than like someone bumping into the door several times, or perhaps dumping a pile of books against the door. He hurried over.

"Hello?" he called. He couldn't hear anything. A movement to the side caught his eye, and he noticed a small mirror, hung by the door, was not reflecting the room, but rather showing the hallway. An owl was crashing into the door, bouncing off, and doing it again. Harry had a panicked moment of thinking the Ministry had noticed his spell and he was about to get expelled, before realizing that the owl was Pigwidgeon. He opened the door, and was hit in the forehead by a chirruping ball of feathers.

"Hello, Pig."

He coaxed Pig back into the kitchen, which had fewer breakable objects, got the little owl some water, and settled down at the table to read Ron's letter.

Dear Harry,

I'm hoping Pig can find you. What happened with the Dursleys? I don't for a moment believe you killed them. (Not that I'd blame you if you had, mate!) If I see Percy, I'll hit him with everything we've ever used on Malfoy, and then some! You should have seen Mum -- she was a terror, this morning. She made him a Howler like you wouldn't believe, then didn't send it. Instead she wrote him a second, polite letter saying she understood that he no longer wished to be part of the family, and she accepted his decision. (When Mum gets that sort of polite, it's much worse than yelling.) She sent it off and has been bawling ever since. Ginny just went down to make her some tea and rub her shoulders and such, until Dad gets home.

Is all that stuff about how the Dursleys treated you true? You only told me about some of it, but then, you never told me about the bars on your window, which I saw, so I guess you don't tell me everything. I know you don't like to talk about that place. Still, I know better than to believe what I read in that paper!

If you can, send back a note so that we know you're safe. That would make Mum feel better too.

Does this have anything to do with the question you asked me last week? I'm afraid Mum talked to Dumbledore about it, but he told her he's quite sure of your parentage.

Take care,

Ron

Harry frowned. After Snape's visit to the Dursley's, he had forgotten his father's stated reason for the appearance. He also hated to think that he was making Mrs. Weasley unhappy, even if it wasn't really his fault. After thinking for a while, hampered by the distraction of Pig zooming about the room twittering, he composed a reply:

Ron,

Of course I didn't kill the Dursleys! I'd just run away, and didn't hear about it until later. I suppose it does look suspicious though. I am safe (well, as safe as I ever am) and have been in touch with Dumbledore.

I'm sorry to be causing problems in your family, though maybe it's for the best that your Mum finally give up on Percy. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why he wasn't in Slytherin. Talk about unfettered ambition!

Give her my love, please, and tell her I'll talk to her when I can.

The Paternity Charm thing wasn't about me. Some git prankster decided to write me a letter claiming that Malfoy was my bastard half-brother, saying that he wouldn't look so much like his father unless his mother had imposed the look using the Paternity Charm. I've looked it up, though, and it doesn't work like that. Only the traits of the biological father are replaced, so the extent of resemblance (or at least, inherited traits -- I suppose they could be recessives (things that don't show, but get passed on)) would be the same. Of course, I immediately suspected your brothers, but I realized I was wrong and have tracked down the actual perpetrator. I'm not going to give you the name, as I have already extracted appropriate vengeance. ("Appropriate", note! Nothing awful.)

I'll send more information on my whereabouts when I can. Don't write me again until I write to you. Both our owls are pretty distinctive.

Harry

Harry gave Pig the reply. "Go home, now," he said. "No stopping for anyone else, and don't give this to anyone but Ron."

The next morning, Harry found woke to find himself alone in the rooms, though he thought he had heard Snape come in, just as he was dropping off to sleep. A house elf appeared out of nowhere and asked him what he would like for breakfast. Harry had shrugged and said "whatever." That, he thought a few minutes later, as he surveyed the laden table, had been a mistake. He now had porridge, dry cereal, milk, cream, fried eggs, fried bread, grilled tomatoes, two kinds of sausage, bacon, kippers, mushrooms, a rack of toast, butter, clotted cream, marmalade, jam, and chutney arrayed in intimidating ranks before him. While Harry was wondering what bits of it to attempt, he heard the door to the hall open and close. Snape walked into the kitchen a moment later, and stopped to gawk.

"You are not eating that," he declared.

"I just asked for breakfast," Harry explained, letting his dismay and amusement show. Snape snorted.

"The house elves are bored," he explained. "It happens every summer. They'll give you a seven-course luncheon, if you're not specific." He went to the cabinet and took out two plates and a bowl. "We'll consider it breakfast for two, then."

"Two?" Harry questioned incredulously. "Sure you wouldn't like to invite a few friends?"

He regretted the words immediately. There was a moment of very tense silence, then Snape said:

"I don't believe you'd survive most of my friends, Harry."

"Or they wouldn't survive me," Harry countered.

"Possibly," Snape acknowledged.

Harry wondered to what extent Snape actually considered those people friends, but he did not dare ask.

"Did anything happen yesterday?" Snape asked.

"I got a letter from Ron in the afternoon, and Hermione at night. I sent them both about the same reply, saying that of course I didn't do it, and that I had run away before it happened, and that I'd been in touch with Dumbledore. Oh -- and I told both of them not to write me again unless I wrote first."

"Good." Snape topped a slice of dry toast with ginger marmalade. "Did you have owl treats?"

"No -- I'd run out before I left the Dursleys."

"Ah. Well, I keep some dead rodents in the fourth cabinet." Snape gestured. "The owls, especially the bigger ones, hate flying so far through the corridors. Rewarding them promptly encourages quicker delivery of the post."

"So that what those are for!" Harry exclaimed. He hoped he didn't sound as relieved as he felt. Snape looked amused. "I didn't dare give one to Pig. I was afraid they might be poisoned, or something."

"No. Anything you might want to drop in someone's tea is in the third cabinet." Snape smiled unpleasantly. "Don't touch anything in there. Some of the labels are ... erroneous."

"I'll keep that in mind. Is everything that looks like food, food?"

"Yes." Snape looked at him curiously. "Can you cook?"

"Of course I can cook! You think the Dursleys had a house elf? Other than me, I mean?"

"I won't pity you for that, Harry." Snape commented coldly. "Too many wizards lack basic skills."

Harry nodded. "All right. Yes, I know how to cook," he said. "And I can clean without magic, and garden. Oh! I wasn't thinking, and lit the fire with a spell, yesterday, when I was making tea. Will I get in trouble?"

Snape sighed. "No one is likely to notice, but you should not have. Perhaps you should leave your wand in your room, except when you will be going outside."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense."

Snape ate some of the toast, then volunteered a comment. "I saw this morning's paper."

"Was that why you were out?"

"Yes. That and to speak to Dumbledore."

"Well?"

"There were many letters to the editor, of course -- vilifying you, defending you, demanding that it be made legal to kill any Muggle that intentionally harms a wizard -- all manner of things. The front page article, however, had two new data points. First, the Aurors have determined that your aunt's car was magically interfered with."

"What?!" Harry yelled.

"This means to me, though the Daily Prophet did not see things as clearly, that the Dark Lord deduced the effect of killing your remaining relatives. The attack was planned to follow the 'accident,' which was also planned."

"But that.... Shouldn't you have known?"

"Yes." Snape grimaced. "And that is disturbing. When I thought the attack may have been opportunistic, I was not as worried that I was not informed. However, if the Dark Lord so deeply distrusts me that I was not informed of a plotted attack, I have a serious problem."

Harry frowned at his toast. "Maybe not," he said. Snape's eyebrows lifted enquiringly. "Now, I mean. Vold-- er, Tom didn't tell you, but I found out anyway, right? Or so it would seem. I left minutes before the attack -- probably we were both waiting for dark. That would suggest that the security breach was someone other than you."

Snape gave a nod of approval. "Yes." He nodded again, to himself. "Dumbledore -- I will advise him that we say he summoned you. I will rail to the Dark Lord about being kept in the dark, and say I could have watched for such a move." He smiled slightly. "Very good, Harry. I have been too distracted...."

"Where were you, yesterday?"

"Working on Potions, mainly. Ah. The news."

"There's more?"

"Yes. A better item, for you. Stan and Ernie, of the Knight Bus, told the paper that you were on their bus at the time of the murder, somewhere over Cumbria. There's a rather lengthy interview with them. The paper even tracked down one of the other riders, an old witch from some unpronounceable Welsh town, who said you helped her with her Kneazle's traveling carrier."

Harry nodded. "It barely fit through the door. She just needed it steadied, really."

"Yes, well, I expect they're all talking to Aurors, now. By this time tomorrow, everyone should be blathering about how they knew all along that it wasn't you."

They finished their respective portions of the breakfast in silence. Harry poured himself more tea.

"Would you like more, sir?" he asked automatically. Snape nodded consent.

"I ..." Snape frowned at the cup. "I'll be busy most of the day, again. Is there anything you need before I leave?"

Harry felt very odd. The question seemed both too general and too unexpected to answer.

"Well?" Snape demanded. "What is that look for?"

"I.... You've no idea how strange it is to be asked that. I've no idea. Why would you care? I mean, people don't ask that, unless they're selling you something." Harry wondered briefly if Dumbledore was paying Snape to look after him, but decided that neither man would play his part in that.

Snape looked coldly at him. "Considering you appear to know the complete contents of my kitchen already, I would rather you not feel the need to forage for whatever you may feel necessary."

"Oh. Sorry." Harry looked down. "I stayed out of your bedroom."

"Believe me," Snape sneered, "I would know, had you not."

"Ah." Harry thought. "Well, I still need to do the practical Potions assignment."

"Procrastination, Harry?"

"I couldn't figure out how to get the components," Harry explained. "The Dursleys weren't about to buy them for me, and I couldn't risk them finding out I had money in the wizarding world. I'd dropped a hint to Hermione, and hoped she'd send them as a present, but she didn't."

"So you want to know if you can raid the school stores," Snape guessed.

"Or if I could go into Diagon Alley early."

"You can get potions ingredients in Hogsmeade, you know."

"Can I get money, though?"

Snape stared. "Of course you can get money!"

"Really? I've always been to my vault."

"Gringotts prefers it, but if you go to another branch, they can have the adjustments made." Snape looked back at the paper. "We'll take a trip into Hogsmeade, but I am not helping you once I've shown you to the apothecary. Part of the assignment is seeing if you can acquire the correct components."

"Today?" Harry was excited about the prospect of going into the wizarding village. Even with Snape along, he ought to be able to enjoy it, he reasoned.

"In case you have forgotten, Mr-- Harry, you stand accused of murder. You will attract unwelcome attention. Furthermore, I do not have time, today, as I have already told you. If your reputation continues to improve, we will go tomorrow. In addition to the apothecary visit, I would like to get you some acceptable clothing as soon as possible."

Harry felt at once annoyed that Snape would interfere with what he wore and strangely pleased that he thought it mattered.

"May I have trousers, at least?" he demanded

"I have no objection to decent trousers."

"Good." Harry bit his lip. "You know, you don't seem too bad, as a guardian. Sirius would have been more...."

"Indulgent?" Snape suggested.

"Sort of. And affectionate. But he.... Well, nevermind." Harry didn't want to talk about Sirius to someone who had hated him -- certainly not when what he had to say was less than fully complimentary. Harry pressed his thumb into a leftover crust of toast, crushing it into crumbs. "What do think it takes to be a good father?"

Even in its neutral phrasing, the question made him wince as soon as it left his mouth. Snape considered it impassively.

"I expect," he said, "that it would require being a good person, which I am not." His face was slightly scornful as he looked at Harry. "Of course, your expectations are so low as to be virtually non-existent."

Harry laughed. "You know," he confided, "I agreed to go live with Sirius half-an-hour after meeting him, though I'd had him at wand-point most of that. Being convinced he wasn't a mass murderer was enough for me. If you hadn't let Pettigrew escape...."

Snape stood up. "You must understand, Harry, that it was scarcely credible Pettigrew could manage such a thing, while Black customarily charmed people into believing the most ridiculous tales. Certainly he could hoodwink three children and his pet werewolf."

Snape looked almost sympathetic as he nodded. "Yes." He looked appraisingly at Harry. "You might want to consider...."

"What?"

"I am a mass murderer." With that, Snape turned and left, his boots clicking sharply against the stone floor, muting over the carpet, then clicking again as he left it. The outer door closed behind him with a muted clunk of wood against stone. Harry sat quietly in the kitchen while he waited for his heart to stop racing.

"Okay, James," he murmured. "Still kind of creepy. Agreed."

After finishing his tea, Harry decided to distract himself by perfecting his other homework. He spent some time in the library, adding additional information and references to his summer Transfiguration essay. Madam Pince was able to teach him a spell that created a copy of James's letter, as well. Afterwards, he prowled around the empty classrooms on the second floor. Everything looked very still and old in the summer silence. He stared out a dusty window at the bright summer day. His attention moved to the distant pennants of the Quidditch stands. He wished he could fly. He decided to go see if Dumbledore was available, so he could ask him if he had found the ring, yet.

On the stairs, he met Remus Lupin.

"Harry!" Lupin said brightly. "Good to see you. I've been busy settling in, but I think I'm nearly through it."

"Good."

"I've reviewed what you learned last year...."

"Useless propaganda."

"To put it rudely, yes," Lupin agreed. He sighed. "I recall you taught some students supplemental lessons...."

Harry shuddered. He had, and then led some of them off on wild goose chase that had cost Sirius his life.

Remus seemed to understand what Harry was thinking. "The lessons themselves, Harry, were a good idea. I'd like to know who was in the group and what they learned, so they can possibly help me with coaching, to bring the others up to speed as quickly as possible."

Numbly, Harry nodded.

"I was just heading back to my rooms for some lunch. Perhaps you could come with me and discuss it now?"

Harry hesitated. What he really wanted to talk about was Sirius, and Lupin was possibly the only person in the world he could talk to about Sirius. On the other hand, the sudden revival of his guilt had taken him by surprise -- he supposed he simply hadn't had the energy for it, before -- and he didn't want to break down in front of Lupin. He was strongly aware of the contents of his schoolbag -- in with the books and essays was James's letter, and the copy of it that Madam Pince had just shown him how to make. He wanted to show the letter to Lupin, as desperately as he had on the day he read the section on Severus and the Marauders, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't tell Lupin about his parentage. Not only had he promised to keep it a secret, for now, but ... Harry suspected he was being foolish, but couldn't quite get past the idea that Lupin might not bother with him, anymore. Lupin likes James's son.

"Would another time be better?" Lupin asked gently.

Harry suddenly remembered his promise to Snape. "No, it's.... This is silly, but I promised Professor Snape I wouldn't visit you without telling him first. He says he won't bother me about visiting you, but only if I tell him where and when. I think he's in his lab, now...."

"Honestly!" Lupin rolled his eyes. The gesture did not quite cover his hurt look. He raised a hand to forestall Harry's attempted response. "Very well, I rescind the invitation. Really, Harry -- I know you've braved dragons and basilisks and all number of things, but you don't want to disturb Severus Snape while he's brewing!" Lupin smiled engagingly. "Instead, I invite you to come with me to the Three Broomsticks, noon tomorrow. I have errands to run in Hogsmeade, and I've heard you do, as well." He smiled mischievously. "Tell him that, and let me know what he says."

During the afternoon, Harry was summoned to Dumbledore's office, where two Aurors -- one of them, reassuringly, Tonks -- took his testimony on what he had done the day the Dursley's were attacked. Tonks performed Priori Incantantum on Harry's wand, and Harry, who had forgotten about the duel, had to explain the huge number of hexes he had cast the previous day. He was never questioned about Incendio.

"Well, whatever else you may have been up to," Tonks teased, after getting back to spells Harry had cast during spring term, "you didn't hex your aunt's car."

"With this wand," her partner amended. He smiled apologetically at Tonks's indignant glare. "No offense, Tonks, but we've got to be precise for the report." He glanced over at Harry. "I don't think he did it either."

Harry was dismissed without a chance to socialize, though Tonks gave him a wink as he was leaving.

Snape showed up at the end of the afternoon, looking pleased.

"Nothing exploded, I take it?" Harry asked.

"Nothing exploded," Snape agreed. "In fact, my new compound seems to work as I predicted, though I will need further testing to be completely certain." He shrugged. Harry thought he looked uncommonly relaxed. "For once, I found myself at a good stopping point near a meal time. How was your day?"

"Mostly boring," Harry replied. "I went up to the library to add some things to my essays -- I've spent so much time on my summer work this year that Hermione would probably approve of it. On the way back, I ran into Professor Lupin, and he invited me back to his rooms for lunch, which probably would have been the highlight of my day, but I told him I'd promised you I'd tell you if I was going to visit him, and then he looked hurt. I might have gone anyway, but I'd been brooding about things, and knew if I went somewhere alone with him I'd want to tell him everything."

Snape nodded. "Secrecy is important right now."

"You'd think Dumbledore would want the Order to know."

Snape shook his head. "Your parentage has nothing to do with what makes you significant, in this game. And don't say 'the Order.'"

"What do I say?" Harry asked sarcastically. "'You-Know-What?'"

"Say, 'the old crowd' or 'his old crowd,' or whatever form blends best with the context."

"Not your old crowd."

"No. My old crowd is mostly dead, or in Azkaban. Of course, his old crowd is mostly dead."

Harry stared at Snape. The man's face was lined, but his hair was black. He did some quick arithmetic in his head.

"You're still in your thirties, aren't you? You and Lupin and Peter and most of the Death Eaters...."

Snape's face twisted unpleasantly. "Yes." He surveyed Harry with something between scorn and pity. "You will be old even younger, I fear."

Harry snickered. "Should I live so long."

"Don't fall into that."

"Into what?"

"Plan to live. It encourages you to make choices you can live with."

The comment reminded Harry of James writing that Severus had a death wish. He glanced toward his room, where he had put his schoolbag.

"Point taken. Um ... two quick things?"

"Go ahead."

"Lupin invited me to meet him in the Three Broomsticks at noon, tomorrow. He said he knew I had shopping to do."

Snape frowned. For a moment his mouth stayed tightly closed, then he said, "I can't object to that, I suppose. And I'd been wondering how to bring you into Hogsmeade without it being obvious I could easily kidnap you. If Lupin walks there with us, and then the two of you go off," Snape grimaced, "it will seem as if he is to watch me. He can bring you to Gladrags at one o'clock, and I'll arrange cover for the return. Sufficient?"

Harry nodded, pleased. "The other thing is that I was called into Dumbledore's office, and interrogated by a couple of Aurors."

"What?"

"Well, it wasn't a big deal. I mean, one of them was Tonks, right? But they performed Priori Incantantum on my wand, so I had to explain all the hexes from yesterday."

"Oh hell!" Despite the annoyed exclamation, Snape looked rather amused.

"So Dumbledore may ask you why we were dueling. You can tell him I was just in a bad mood, or that we decided to try Occlumency after I was emotionally burned out, or whatever you like. I just told them it was a practice duel."

"Still, the headmaster should have warned me they were here! Anything else?"

Harry looked down, feeling suddenly shy. "Um... the letter?"

"What letter?"

"The one I got from James. Do you still want to read it?"

When Snape did not reply, Harry forced himself to look up. Snape was staring at him, fear and longing surprisingly plain on his usually wry or angry face.

"When I was up at the library, I asked Madam Pince to show me how to copy a manuscript. She taught me a charm, and I copied the letter for you." Harry stood up. "I'll go get it. Just one thing...."

"What?"

"You can't make fun of anything he said, or use it against me. It's a personal letter, and I can't cut out the personal parts, because they're too interwoven."

Snape looked down. "Agreed."

"May I see her letter to you?"

"Is that a condition?"

"No."

"I will consider it."

When Harry handed the letter to Snape, Snape's hands were shaking, but, to Harry's surprise, he tucked the letter into an inner pocket of his robes.

"I suspect that if I want to eat dinner, I will need to do it first. Have you spoken to the kitchen elves, yet?"

"Well." Lupin looked intently at Harry across a table in the Three Broomsticks. Harry wasn't sure what he was expected to say. The walk in had been awkward. The night before, Snape had retreated to his room with the letter and not re-emerged. He had been gone when Harry woke up, and returned to the room just in time to leave for Hogsmeade. His one comment on the matter, just as they were coming up the stairs, was that the history was truthful, but with interesting omissions. He also remarked that he had forgotten about the mice. Of course, once they had met up with Lupin, he had just made growling comments whenever Lupin tried to start a conversation with Harry.

Harry realized Lupin was still waiting. "Well what?" he prompted.

"Has Professor Snape persuaded you to distrust me, or are you merely humoring him? You don't smell at all frightened."

Harry twitched slightly at the comment about his scent. Lupin seemed almost to be deliberately reminding him what he was. He decided that was probably a test, and relaxed. "I'm just humoring him," he said.

"Why?"

The question was blatantly aggressive. Harry began to feel slightly annoyed.

"Because he's my host. He wanted me not to see you at all. I wanted to see you whenever I liked. We compromised."

"What do you mean, your host?"

"I'm staying in his rooms. Dumbledore wanted me with a staff member."

"Staff, fine, but Severus?!" Lupin's eyes were wide with astonishment. "I'll talk to the headmaster, Harry. I'm sure he'll let you stay with me, instead."

"No."

At Harry's quiet answer, Lupin shrank back. "Surely...." he began. He stopped. Harry's refusal had obviously wounded him. "Harry," he tried, his voice shaky, "I... you used to...."

"Professor Lupin, please! I do like you better than Snape, and I trust you more, as well. I trust you about as much as I trust anybody, so please don't look at me like that. It's just ... Dumbledore has asked Professor Snape and me to learn to get along. I'm trying." Harry swallowed. "If I'd tried last year, Sirius might still be alive."

Lupin sat silently for a minute, his face a blank mask. Finally, he nodded. "I understand, Harry. I will respect that." A quick grimace crossed his features. "Nonetheless, whatever you promised, if Severus gives you any trouble, you are always welcome to come to me."

"Because I'm James's son." Harry couldn't keep the cynical response back.

Lupin looked startled. "James and Lily's child would be dear to me, in any case, Harry. But I know you, now, and you are dear to me as yourself. Don't ever think otherwise."

Harry felt a block of tension loosen in his mind. "Thank you, professor," he said quietly. "I think I needed to hear that."

Lupin reached across the table and laid his hand briefly on Harry's arm. "Too many people love you for what you are, rather than who you are. I know this. I am not one of them."

"Thanks." Harry slumped over the table. "I miss Sirius so much."

Lupin nodded. "I do too."

"If I wasn't so reckless!"

"If he wasn't as much so!" Lupin chided. "Harry, listen to me. I will not say none of it was your fault. Clearly some part was. I will say that every trait of yours that made you susceptible to such folly had been, to some extent, encouraged by him, and was present in him to at least as great a degree. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded silently, afraid of losing control if he spoke.

"I admire how you are trying to correct the situation with Severus. Certainly if any of us had paid such attention to our weaknesses when we were your age, many things might have been different."

Harry nodded again. "Thank you, professor," he managed.

"Harry..." Lupin hesitated. "At Hogwarts, during the school term," he said firmly, "I am Professor Lupin. The rest of the time ... I would be pleased to have you call me Remus."

Harry felt a smile moving his cheeks, though his eyes still stung with trapped sorrow.

"Thank you ... Remus," he said. The name felt odd in his mouth. "Remus," he tried again. He looked anxiously at Lupin. "I better not mess up and call you that in class!" The image of that helped break his grief, slightly. He smiled.

"I promise I won't take too many points from Gryffindor," Lupin laughed. "I will, however, look frightfully shocked at your impertinence."

Madam Rosmerta came over to their table with two butterbeers and some bread and cheese.

"Why Remus Lupin!" she exclaimed. "Harry didn't warn me!"

"You know I like to arrive unexpected, Rosmerta," Lupin teased. "Nothing enhances your beautiful face so much as a blush of surprise."

"Which is the only kind of blush you'll bring to it," Madam Rosmerta returned tartly, but she followed the retort with a kind smile. "Are you back at the school, Remus?"

"For the year." Lupin winked at her. "So I will be able to enjoy your dazzling company whenever the mood strikes me."

"As long as it's between dinner and two AM on a day that you don't have office hours."

Lupin sighed. "Always the literalist."

Madam Rosmerta smiled as she unloaded their drinks and food. "Well, make it soon, then!" With that, she tripped off to serve someone at the bar.

Lupin turned back to Harry. "Really, it ... it was starting to bother me, last spring, that he was Sirius, and I was 'Professor Lupin'. Of course, this doesn't mean I will forget that I am the adult, as he often did. You may consider me as an uncle, not a peer."

Harry looked down. "He got angry at me for refusing to meet him in Hogsmeade, last year," he confessed.

"What?!" Lupin roared in astonishment.

"He said James would have done it."

Lupin looked indignant. "And James would have done. He was a brave, foolish child with none of your experience. He had no concept of loss or death as anything but a story in the Daily Prophet, and had everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter. He'd go out of his way for trouble." Lupin shook his head sadly. "Dear, friendly, clever Sirius. And temperamental, foolhardy, willful..." He sighed. "Everyone has their good points and their bad. I miss him terribly."

"What are my bad points?" Harry asked outright.

Lupin sighed, but gave the matter serious thought. At last, he said:

"You are reckless and moody. You have a bad temper, though you usually control it enough to not pass from yelling to irrevocable actions. You have a unique combination of too much confidence and too little. You are secretive and distrustful. You hate, to a frightening degree, although not readily. You procrastinate." He looked inquisitively at Harry. "Did I get them all?"

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't have thought of the 'hate' bit, though I suppose you're right. You forgot overly proud and stubborn."

Lupin shrugged. "Both of which are the negative manifestations of a strength. As is recklessness. You know the saying that a weed is a plant in the wrong place? A character flaw is a virtue in the wrong place. Bravery at the wrong time is recklessness. Independence at the wrong time is pride or arrogance or reclusiveness."

Harry nodded understanding.

"Here's an exercise," Lupin said, tearing a piece off the bread. "List all the virtues of someone you hate." He took a bite. "Draco Malfoy," he suggested.

"Well, he's... clever?"

"As his former teacher, I can confirm this. Go on."

"Er... creative."

"Yes."

"Determined?"

"Yes."

Lupin continued to look expectantly at Harry. Harry finally shrugged. "That's all I can think of."

"Hm. Well, let's look at this another way. What are young Mr. Malfoy's faults?"

"He's spoiled, and arrogant, and cruel. He's a bigot, and a sycophant--"

"Really? I'd always seen him in charge of his own little group."

"Yes, but put him with anyone more powerful and he's at their feet."

"Not anyone, clearly. He's barely respectful of Dumbledore."

"Anyone who will give him power in return."

"Ah. So he is adaptable, resourceful, and perceptive?"

Harry grimaced. "I suppose."

"So let's go over the rest of your list. Can you find the positive components of 'spoiled' and 'arrogant?'"

Harry chewed on some bread and cheese and thought for a bit. "Confident and poised?" he said finally.

"Apt," Lupin agreed. "We'll skip 'cruel' -- even I can't get anything out of.... No, of course I can. James and Sirius were often cruel. He is focused, energetic, forceful ... all the things that kept me with James and Sirius at the worst of their other expressions of it." He hesitated. "'Bigot,' I think, is our hardest one. Don't try to think of a good side to that, by itself, just to Draco's form of it."

Harry stared at his butterbeer as if it were a crystal ball. He didn't see that there was anything good he say about Draco calling Hermione a mudblood and hoping she would be killed. The Slytherin was the crudest expression of all his father's veiled hate ... Suddenly, he had it.

"Draco is loyal to his family and to the principles he was raised to value."

"Exactly." Lupin finished his butterbeer. "Draco is amazingly principled, in his own twisted way. He has as much honor as any Gryffindor -- it has just all been directed from anything you would recognize to maintaining the importance of his family. I find him very disturbing, really. I've occasionally found myself hoping teenage rebellion would rescue him from his past. Has he improved any?"

"He was worse, last year."

"Perhaps having his father in jail will help. It is unlikely, but with Lucius gone, better influences may emerge in the family."

"Or it will just cement his hatred."

"That is more likely," Lupin conceded.

At five of one, they left for Gladrags. Snape was not yet there, so Remus picked out a few robes for Harry to try while they were waiting.

"You don't need to stay," Harry called from the changing room.

"Of course I do. You're not supposed to be left unprotected. Besides, I want to see how you look in that green and gold one."

Harry looked at himself in the mirror. He was still recognizable as Harry Potter, but he could detect slight changes in his appearance. Standing next to Remus had made it clear he had grown in the last month. Other changes confronted him from his reflection. His hair had flattened out on the top, though it retained a wave further down. Bits of the fringe were in his eyes. Harry pushed them aside, and they stayed, but they also felt heavy.

"I washed it yesterday afternoon," he muttered. "Am I going to have to shower every morning?" He looked again, and decided his hair didn't look dirty. Maybe it was supposed to feel like that. A bit of fringe fell forward again. He shook it back. His face looked about the same, so far.

He pulled off his shirt, stepped back from the mirror and surveyed his body. I might look a bit different, but I can't be sure. I don't usually look at myself, like this. Is my torso longer? I look so starved, it's hard to tell.

He twisted in the jeans, trying to see himself from behind. It was the pair from Ron, despite Snape's disapproval, so it wasn't hanging grotesquely off him, but it didn't really fit, either, and was threadbare in places. Sighing, Harry slipped out of the jeans and reached for the green robe.

"Remus?" he called.

"Still here. Do you need something else?"

"I was just wondering ... Snape says Muggle clothing is obscene."

To Harry's relief, Remus laughed. Harry hadn't thought Snape's attitude could be commonplace among wizards of that age. The Weasley kids all have some Muggle clothing, and their parents are even older. And Remus wears trousers, himself. "So, you don't think I'm 'displaying myself' in jeans?" he teased.

"Dear child, you have a lovely arse and gorgeous eyes, and will no doubt be stunning in five or ten years. Now, please tell your overly domineering host that I have not been interested in boys your age since I was one, will you?"

Harry was tremendously grateful that he was in the changing room, where Remus could see neither his changing expressions, nor the hot red that was sweeping his face. When he thought he could make his voice light, he called back, "That was a 'yes.'"

"What?"

Harry arranged the robe. It did look good, but he wasn't sure he could bear anything that made his already conspicuous eyes so much more dramatic. "You do think I'm displaying myself in jeans."

"Absolutely. I'm not convinced that's a bad thing -- you should be old enough to sort through any offers you get from your peers."

Harry stepped out. Remus made him walk across the shop and back. "Sev had best give it up," he teased. "You'll have admirers no matter what you wear."

"I'm not sure...." Harry muttered.

"Harry, do you have any idea what that does to your eyes? I could pick you out as Lily's son from the length of the Quidditch pitch."

"I won't be wearing green on the Quidditch pitch," Harry said sharply.

"Ah, I see. House colors?" Remus smiled sadly. "The association does fade, in time. Still, wear some green -- it would be a waste not to." A serious look settled on his face. "Harry ..." he began hesitantly.

Both looked over at a cricket-like chirp from the creature guarding the shop door. Severus Snape was slipping through the narrow entrance. "Later," Remus muttered.

Snape saw them immediately. He walked over to Harry, as if Remus did not exist.

"That's very attractive, Harry. It goes well with your eyes."

Harry tried not to think about Snape having just commented, positively yet, on his appearance. "Yeah," he muttered. "We were just talking about that."

His father shot Remus a glare that made Harry cringe. Remus seemed immune to it.

"Look," Harry said. "If you can tell me it goes with my eyes, he can tell me it goes with my eyes, okay? It's not a problem."

"Then why are you upset?" Snape demanded, rounding on him.

"I ..." Harry gave up on inventing anything. "I don't like people noticing my eyes."

"What?" Snape was obviously astonished by this. Remus nodded thoughtfully to himself.

"I don't like people noticing my eyes, or my scar, or ... or me, really. I look weird. When people look at me, they know who I am, and then they think they know if they like me or not, and ...." Harry swallowed. "I just want to be anonymous."

The two men were silent for a minute.

"Well," said Snape finally. "Perhaps we can find you something in mouse-brown."

"Lovely idea," Remus agreed, with only a trace less sarcasm. "Wait here, Harry -- I think I saw something likely back in work robes."

For five minutes, Harry got to watch his father and Remus Lupin cooperating, united by the common goal of dressing Harry in the most hideous robes available. As he edged out in the third one -- a kind of dirty beige thing with numerous pleats that seemed designed to accommodate a wearer with the girth of Uncle Vernon, Remus sighed.

"It's no use, Harry," he said glumly.

Snape smirked. "Professor Lupin is correct. You are still recognizably Harry Potter." He lifted his eyebrows as he perused offending robes once more. "You might as well submit to decent clothing."

Harry laughed and went back to trying on his and Remus's original selections. He ended up with the green robes, and another set in a red so dark it was almost black, except for folds that the light hit directly, which shone like glowing coals. Remus found him some black trousers and grey trousers that Snape decreed to be acceptable, and white and black shirts, then waved to Harry and headed out the door. Snape added some socks and some undergarments that reminded Harry of the sort of things bicycle racers wore, except these were made of knit natural fabrics -- some cotton, some silk. After paying for it, Snape requested their purchases be sent to Hogwarts, then took Harry next door to buy boots and walking shoes.

In the apothecary, Harry bought the necessary potions components and a selection of toiletries. He expected they would head back to school afterwards, but Snape led him back down the street.

"Shouldn't we get back for dinner?" Harry asked.

"We have plenty of time for a drink," Snape replied.

"I really think--"

"Not frightened to head back in the twilight, Potter, are you?"

Harry was about to object to the "Potter" when he remembered they were in public. Snape might have some reason to take them to a spot with more witnesses.

Outside the Three Broomsticks, they met Professor McGonagall, who was looking rather irritated.

"There you are! Professor Dumbledore seemed to believe you needed an escort back to Hogwarts. Come along, now."

"I am quite competent to protect the boy without assistance, McGonagall. We will back before the start of dinner."

"Professor Snape," McGonagall said tightly, "The headmaster has given me an order. We are returning now."

Snape harumphed, but turned down the road towards Hogwarts. Harry wondered if the entire encounter had been scripted for an unseen audience -- someone that might expect Snape to turn Harry over to them, for example. McGonagall turned her attention to Harry.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. I hear you will be staying at Hogwarts for the rest of the summer."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "I haven't seen you--"

"I'm afraid I am not at the school often, during the summer months. I will be leaving again tomorrow, and will not return until a week before the start of classes. I hope Professor Snape is treating you adequately?"

She shot a disapproving glance at Snape as she said this. Harry felt obliged to defend him.

"Oh, yes. He's been fine."

"Well, you have friends around the school, Harry, even during the summer."

"Yes, professor." Harry lowered his voice. "Professor Lupin has noted that already." He was sure the Potions master could hear, but Snape gave no indication. They walked, mostly in silence, until the reached the castle. In the Entrance Hall, Harry nodded to McGonagall.

"See you at dinner, Professor."

Snape nodded more curtly. "Minerva."

He swept down to the dungeons, with Harry following. Down a flight of stairs, Snape spoke.

"Lupin told you he would protect you, did he?"

"From you, anyway," Harry replied. "Don't tell me you're surprised."

"'Surprised' would be if he did anything."

Harry washed his hair with things he had bought at the apothecary and dressed in the green robes. He emerged to find Snape waiting for him. Snape stood up. He walked once around Harry and nodded.

"Much better." He gestured to the door. "Now, recall that this is summer. This is a staff dinner. I would like to say that people will be on their best behavior with a student present, but I hardly think it likely. However, I do expect an acceptable standard of behavior from you. Is that clear?"

"Fine," Harry said, rolling his eyes at the back of Snape's cloak. Snape turned.

"What?"

"Yes, that's clear, sir," Harry said.

Snape looked him over. "Better," he said shortly. "Though I still don't like that tone."

Harry ignored him.

Harry was expecting dinner to be either a stodgy affair or a confusing muddle of adult in-jokes, but the moment he entered, a familiar figure with unnaturally scarlet hair ran over to great him.

"Harry!"

Harry found he didn't at all mind a hug from Tonks, even though she stepped on his foot.

"Sorry, Harry! How are you doing? You're pretty much set with the Ministry. I'm sorry it was all business, yesterday, but that is part of my job." She stepped back and grinned at him. "You look stunning! What're you all dressed up for?"

"Dinner," Snape interjected coldly. "Some people do that, Miss Tonks. Sit down, Mr. Potter."

Harry dared a wink at Tonks, who grinned at him reply, then sat compliantly at the single table, near the foot. Tonks sat on the other side of the table, a few chairs up, near Dumbledore. Over dinner, she assured them that the Ministry had cleared Harry as a suspect, though he might still be required to give formal testimony.

"When does our minister plan to convey this to the Muggle minister?" Snape asked.

Tonks looked worried. "He claims that's underway ... the problem is, no one knows anyone who has it as an assignment, so it's got to still be at the negotiation level."

"You said you were bored, yesterday."

Harry looked suspiciously at Snape. He had been bored every day but the one he had gone to Hogsmeade, two days earlier. Boredom wasn't his favorite thing, but there were things he liked less.

"Do you feel capable of assisting me in the brewing of some simple potions?" Snape prodded.

"Like what?"

"Healing potions, Pepper-Up potions, Calming Draughts ... I'll handle the sleeping potions and pain-killing potions myself."

"What for?" Can I have some? I'm tired of everything hurting.

Snape snorted. "In slightly over two weeks, the student population descends on this school in an unruly swarm, busily renewing old friendships and enmities -- especially enmities. First week of school is one of the top three weeks of the year for fights. Poppy likes to have her stores ready."

"Is that what you're so busy with?"

"That and a few special projects." Snape's face, which had been, until now, surprising relaxed, twisted into a bitter sneer. "One for each of my masters."

"Yes. They always are." Snape stood. "But you need not bother with that, Harry. Experimental potions work is far beyond your abilities. Furthermore, I trust no one's discretion but my own."

Harry sat back. "Look," he said harshly. "If you want me to help, drop it on the insults. You don't have a clue how good I am at Potions." Snape glared warningly in response, but Harry continued, while he had the nerve. "I don't have a clue how good I am at Potions, honestly. You're always letting the Slytherin students sabotage my stuff, you never tell Muggle-raised students half of what they need to know, and half the time I'm in your class I'm too angry to remember anything."

Snape scowled. He leaned over the table, his face coming threateningly close. "Then learn to keep your temper," he hissed. At a shout, he continued, "If you are only competent when things are going well, you are NOT COMPETENT!"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't you talk to me about temper."

"I can do my work when I'm angry!"

"Fine. Go do it, then." Harry got up and strode over to his door.

"And what will you do? Sulk in your room all day?"

Harry turned in the door. "Go up to the astronomy tower, smoke Muggle drugs, and practice aeromancy."

Snape smirked as if he had won. "You'll be bored out of your mind in ten minutes."

"Better that than listen to you," Harry retorted, digging furiously through his trunk. He hadn't had any more of the cigarettes since his first day here, and they had drifted towards the bottom.

"Well, when you get desperate, it's the second left past the classroom," Snape volunteered. He seemed to have regained his control now that Harry had lost his. "And Harry -- there are only five students here that I consider competent to assist in a serious experiment," he said awkwardly. "It's not much of an insult."

Harry found the pack, finally, and sat back on his heels, ignoring the mess he had caused. "All seventh-year Slytherins?" he challenged.

"Mr. Malfoy of Slytherin, two of the Ravenclaw seventh years, one of the Ravenclaw fifth years, and ... Miss Granger." Snape said the last name as if it tasted sour.

Harry was incensed. Snape thought Hermione was one of his top five students? "I dare you to tell her that!" he shouted.

"I don't need to tell her anything. She knows quite well."

Harry stalked close. Snape was not as intimidatingly tall as he remembered him being. Harry pushed into the man's personal space, as Snape had often done to him, stretching up so that he had to tilt his head back as little as possible to look Snape in the eyes.

"You coward!" he spat. "You're still afraid to admire the Mudblood girl." He whirled quickly and strode for the door, hoping his difficulty in getting the slur out had not been as apparent to Snape as to him. He made it out into the hallway without Snape returning a word. As soon as he turned the corner, he ran.

Ten minutes, he thought later, as he stared at the wispy clouds, had been an optimistic estimate. He'd smoked two cigarettes, determined he had six left, and was not the least bit interested in trying to read his future from the sky. He wondered if he could remember all the ingredients in a basic Calming Draught. He wondered if he smelled as bad as he thought he did. He wondered what Snape actually thought of him.

Severus couldn't manage to say anything, or even to move, as the boy left. "You're still afraid to admire the Mudblood girl." And it was true, he admitted silently, with the vague stirring of shame that always filled him when he spoke to her, belittling her considerable accomplishments, or berating her interference in the work of her less competent classmates. He admired her command of the materials, the sureness of her hands, the accuracy of her eye, the way she continued to perform with precision, even under his derision. She wasn't beautiful, as Lily had been, and her spirit was demeaned by a fussiness that was all too easy to ridicule. He was in no danger of an inappropriate attraction. He could pause by her desk, some day, and say "well done."

It was easy to claim he did not do this because it would jeopardize his standing with the Death Eaters through the children they had in that class, but that had not been a real issue until Voldemort's return. With a little more honesty, he could claim that he did not do so because she needed the praise too much. She received it, in quantity, from other teachers, and she was addicted to it. The girl was too eager to please. Although somewhat true, that was also not the reason. Such talent in a Muggle-born girl angered him, and that this plain, fussy creature reminded him of Lily angered him still more.

Severus closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, where a headache was gathering. He doubted there was any point in hiking up to the Astronomy Tower, just to rediscover that he was incapable of apologizing. Besides, he needed to work on healing potions.

Severus had just started adding mistletoe berries to the second cauldron when he felt someone come to the door behind him. He glanced down at the polished silver cauldron and was able to make out enough of the reflected form to see that it was Harry, standing in the doorway in trousers and a shirt, rather than robes. He felt a curious lightening in his heart. I will not gloat.

"You were wrong you know," Harry remarked idly.

Severus didn't look up. "Oh?"

"It didn't take nearly ten minutes."

"Stir that first cauldron then. I can start a third, that way."

Harry approached slowly. "Which way?"

"It's Camilla's Bruise Salve."

Harry snorted. "Like that tells me anything."

"Mistletoe berries are a primary ingredient," Severus hinted.

"So?" Harry sounded belligerent as well as annoyed. "Does that have anything to do with the stirring?"

Severus was startled enough to turn. "Don't you have any idea why things are stirred counterclockwise?" he asked.

"I thought it was just ... random."

"Counterclockwise stirring weakens the mundane properties of the ingredients -- for example, the toxicity of mistletoe, or the antipathy of oil and water -- and strengthens the magical properties. Since mistletoe is very toxic, you must stir it vigorously counterclockwise, for a rather long time, but a number of stirs divisible by nine, because it is a northern plant associated with life, death, and the divine."

"You are shitting me," Harry said incredulously.

"This is very basic --"

"Great. Ever consider telling us?"

"Any eleven year-old should already know --"

"Who was going to tell me this? Uncle Vernon?!"

"I'm sure it was in one of your texts --"

"If it was in a text, Hermione would know it! She memorizes them, just like I do -- just like I try to, anyway."

"Harry, please stir the potion counterclockwise, counting to nine repeatedly, before the mixture is ruined." Severus flipped over a sandglass. "Continue for at least this long. We will discuss it when we are not both keeping count."

By the time the sands had run through, Severus was a little calmer. "It had never occurred to me to explain that principle, Harry. I will add it to the review curriculum."

Harry snorted. "Better late than never," he quoted.

"So, now that you understand it," Snape pressed quickly, ignoring the comment, "tell me which direction I should stir an Ignatios Pain Killing Potion."

"Er ... counterclockwise? Because of the bitter almond?"

"Close, but it was a trick question. Can you answer completely?"

Harry frowned, then suddenly perked up. "Clockwise for the first set of ingredients," he said, "then counterclockwise after adding the bitter almond."

"Exactly. Exact count does not matter -- the potion has a target consistency. Help me with the preparation."

"Give me some when it's done?"

Severus twitched. He looked back at Harry, who appeared anxious, but sincere.

"Why on earth would you need a pain killer?

"I don't know! I just know everything hurts. I've had a headache for over a week, now. I'm sick of it!"

"None."

"Were you taking any other Muggle drugs?"

"No," Harry growled. He pulled the echinacea stalks into place in front of him. "Quarter inch slices, isn't it?"

"Or slightly smaller."

"It started a few days after you came to the Dursleys. I thought it wasn't getting enough food, at first. Then when I came here I though maybe I'd picked up enough of an addiction to the cigarettes that I needed them. But they don't make any difference. It's not lack of water either, and more tea doesn't help."

Severus glanced over.

"I do not dispense medicines. You'll need to talk to Madam Pomfrey."

"Who won't believe that I don't know."

"Nonetheless, I suggest you speak to her. If you are in constant pain, she should be told."

"But what if it's related to ...."

"To what?" Severus snapped.

"To us being related. To the spell wearing off. I've been under a spell for over sixteen years, and it's ending. Could that hurt?"

Severus had to consider that. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Not only was sixteen years a long time to be enchanted, but it was an enchantment affecting the body. Appraisingly, he looked at Harry. Hadn't the boy seemed taller this morning?

"Stand up," he said.

Slowly, Harry stood. Severus looked at his feet. The new grey trousers just brushed the tops of his shoes, though Severus was quite sure he had requested they be hemmed a bit long. Severus looked up at his face, and tried to decide if it was more angular than it had been, or if it just seemed that way because the boy was too thin. He was still recognizably Harry Potter, with a strong resemblance to James, if one could imagine an undernourished James with neatly combed hair. As Severus reached that conclusion, Harry, apparently tired of being examined, gave him back an inquiring, sarcastic look that was like nothing that had ever crossed James Potter's face.

"You ...." Severus had to sit down.

"Are you done staring at me? I what?"

"Get out," he managed.

"What?"

"Get OUT!" And that hurt, frightened look -- he'll either scream at me or run.... "Come back in an hour," Severus managed to force out, before Harry did anything. "It's not you." Harry nodded wordlessly, and retreated quickly. Severus had no doubt he had learned young how to make himself scarce. Bugger all, hadn't I believed it? I thought that I had believed it. Lily, what do I do?

Harry returned exactly an hour later, being unsure whether it was the greater offense to be late or to be early. He stood hesitantly in the doorway. Snape was stirring a cauldron with visible concentration. Harry thought he might be counting.

"Sir?"

Snape held up a hand for silence. Harry moved quietly into the room and sat down. He waited.

A few minutes later, Snape stopped stirring and moved the cauldron from the fire.

"I ... Sorry I screamed," he muttered quickly.

He was barely audible. With difficulty, Harry repressed the impulse to ask Snape to repeat that. It was enough of a miracle for Snape to apologize to him once. Harry wasn't going to complain that he did it like a reluctant six-year-old.

"Can you tell me what I did?" Harry asked ruefully. "So I can not do it again?"

"It won't matter if you do it again," Snape said cryptically. "It was just the first time."

"So?"

"I.... You looked like me," Snape answered. "You don't -- not now! It was a particular expression that crossed your face, just as I'd decided you hadn't changed. I'd believed you were mine, but that was the first time I saw it." He let his breath out in something close to a growl. "I panicked," he said, with visible distaste.

Harry was too disturbed to worry about Snape's reaction. "I thought this was supposed to take months," he protested. "It's only been two weeks!"

"The facial changes are slight. They only showed with that particular expression." Snape shook his head. "But you are more than an inch taller. You're taller than you were two days ago, if they hemmed those trousers correctly." He sat back, a self-satisfied sneer back in place of his earlier anxiety. "So, child, tell me why it hurts."

Harry understood almost immediately. His eyes widened. "Er ... because I'm growing too quickly?"

"Precisely. Remember how Madam Pomfrey said you showed strain at your joints? This is the cause of the strain."

"Why should I be growing, though?" Harry frowned at Snape. "Weren't you and James about the same height?"

Snape rubbed his forehead. "I was shorter much of the time, though slightly taller by the time we graduated." He frowned. "You'd always seemed oddly small for James's son. Recently, I'd decided it was malnourishment."

"So, whenever it was my body was supposed to gain James's height, it couldn't."

"Most likely, yes. You didn't have the resources. Either that or you inherited height from his mother, or some other of his ancestors through him. However, as the charm wears off, your body is getting a new command to grow. And now, you have the resources to manage it." He looked appraisingly at Harry, then gestured him back. "Up against the wall."

Harry laughed. "For growing?"

"You know very well what I mean. We need to track how much you are growing. And this is a good place." Snape smirked. "No one else ventures in here if they can avoid it."

Grinning, Harry stood against the wall. Severus took a sharp stone and marked the line his head came up to. Harry remembered how Aunt Petunia used to do this to Dudley when he was young. It felt rather silly and childish, but in a good kind of way.

"So how about the headache?" Harry asked, as he stepped away, afterwards. "Why should my head hurt, if my face isn't changing much?"

"Where is the headache?"

Harry traced around his eye sockets and at his temples. Snape looked thoughtful.

"Take off your glasses, Harry." he suggested.

Harry took off his glasses and looked at Snape. "Well? Is my face different?"

"Look around. Do things look as you expect?"

"What do you mean?" Snape didn't answer, so Harry looked around the room, squinting and frowning. Without his glasses, things looked like blobs, he thought glumly. He scanned over a multicolored tower that he knew to be a pile of books, then... "Hey! That-- I can tell that's a quill."

"Normally, you could not?"

"No. Normally it would just be a white blur. Now it's a white blur with a sort of a shape."

"Very good. Your eyesight is improving. Your glasses are wrong for you. Thus the headache."

Harry shoved the glasses back on. Now that he thought about it, everything was a bit blurry. "But I still can't see without them!"

"We'll need to correct the lenses." Snape frowned. "That will require consulting with Pomfrey." He growled. "I was hoping to avoid that."

"Well, we don't have to tell her why they're wrong, do we?"

"Harry, sixteen year-old boys do not suddenly become less nearsighted."

"But Madam Pomfrey doesn't know how nearsighted I am. I'll tell her I broke my lenses and seem to have fixed them wrong."

Snape raised his eyebrows. He looked almost amused. Harry did not get to hear his response, however, because a flash of color in the doorway caught his attention. He twisted his head. Dumbledore was watching them.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Dumbledore said pleasantly.

"Not at all," Snape sneered. "We've just finished three potions, concluded our second fight of the day, and reached an agreement on what is wrong with Harry. Your timing is excellent."

With a dismissive scowl, Snape turned away and began to gather dirty tools from his work area. Dumbledore gave Harry a quick, private smile and a wink.

"Could Harry do that, Severus? I would like to confer with you, briefly."

Snape twisted back. His robes furled momentarily about his calves, then settled in a neat drape. Harry wondered if he could devise a scale of Snape irritation based on the swirling of the man's robes. I would need to factor in both maximum height off the floor and degree of wrap, he mused.

"Very well. Harry, please clean these. Recall we have been dealing with highly poisonous, as well as magically potent, substances. Start with a manual cleaning, then purify with salt."

"Yes, professor."

Snape followed Dumbledore from the room, and Harry set to work on the various utensils Snape had used for the bruise salve.

When Snape returned from his conference with Dumbledore, he looked shaken. His lips were set in a thin line, and he avoided Harry's eyes.

"I.... Follow me."

Harry followed Snape from the room. He wanted to ask what Dumbledore had said, but from Snape's manner, felt it was best to keep quiet. Snape began to mutter to himself, too indistinctly for Harry to catch any words. They went up to the Entrance Hall, then, to Harry's surprise, outside into the bright sunshine.

Snape led Harry down the stairs, then back alongside them, to the sheltered place between the holly bushes and the base of the stairs where they had sat several days before. Snape turned and faced him, but remained standing.

"I don't know how much of what Dumbledore says to take seriously," he said, almost to himself. "I learned from the Dark Lord not to trust people with visions. But...." His eyes met Harry's, at last. "Hold out your hand," he said.

Harry, not knowing what was wanted, held out his hand slightly, in a neutral orientation. Snape grasped his wrist and twisted his hand gently, so the palm faced up, then let it go. He drew a little bundle of white silk from his pocket, and unwrapped it cautiously to show a small ring with a large green stone. He closed his eyes a moment, and his lips moved again, though this time there was no sound at all. At last, he took the ring and placed it in Harry's palm, then curled Harry's fingers closed over it.

"I gave this to your mother for you," he whispered, "now, I give it to you for her."

He stood a moment, perfectly still, a strangely fearful expression on his face. Harry's heart hammered in his chest. He heard Snape's breath catch. Snape let it out in a slow hiss.

"I am glad you lived," he said.

The words were flat and quick as his six-year-old's apology, earlier in the day. As soon as they were out, he loosed Harry's hand, turned away, and began walking back to the base of the steps.

"Dumbledore wants to see you in his office," he said, without turning. His tone was now clipped and efficient. "I would like to spend the afternoon alone. Amuse yourself as you wish."

He went rapidly up the stairs. Harry followed more slowly, the ring still clutched in his hand.

It was not until he had ridden the moving stairs up to the antechamber of Dumbledore's office that Harry paused to examine the ring. The band was narrow, but that was, to Harry's relief, the most feminine thing about it. There were no embellishments to the band or mounting, and no other stones than the emerald. He had not know what Snape had meant by "pentagon step-cut emerald," but it was clear from looking at the ring. The stone was cut with five even sides, and each side angled in from near the top. It was a simple, solid cut that let the green stone glow, rather than flash, in the caught light. Hesitantly, Harry tried putting the ring on. It just fit onto his little finger. The pentagon pointed towards his fingertip. Harry wondered if it would look better the other way, and panicked when he realized it was too tight to slide back over his knuckles. After a minute of frantic twisting and pulling, he managed to get the ring off. His finger hurt from the effort. Harry held the ring up both ways, decided it was better the way he'd had it, and with some trepidation, pushed it back on.

"At least I know it won't fall off," he muttered. With that settled, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," Dumbledore called. His voice was cheery, but the smile he gave Harry never reached his eyes.

"Your father gave you my message, I presume?"

Harry was slightly taken aback to hear Snape referred to as his father, but he nodded. "And the ring," he added, holding up his hand to show the green stone. This won him a brief, but more sincere smile from the headmaster. "That is assuming that your message was 'come see me.'"

"It was." Dumbledore extracted an envelope from an unusually large pile on his desk and leaned forward to push it towards Harry.

"Miss Granger wrote me with a letter for you. She said you had told her not to contact you directly?" Dumbledore looked politely inquiring. Harry smacked himself in the forehead.

"Because I'd just found out that I was a suspect in Uncle Vernon's death. I'd forgotten it. I should contact Ron, too, because I told him the same thing."

Harry felt a little queasy at the thought of Uncle Vernon. He wondered if he'd forgotten as part of forgetting the attack had happened.

"Understandable," Dumbledore said. He motioned for Harry to pick up the letter. "Read it here, please. I already have done, as she included permission, and I need to discuss it with you."

Dear Harry,

What is happening? The Daily Prophet says you have been cleared of your family's deaths, but the Muggle press seems certain that you are responsible. They don't have any actual information to add, so they've been branching out; the Sunday paper had an "In Depth" section on psychotic responses to long-term abuse. Fortunately, the most recent picture they've been able to produce of you was from your last class picture in Muggle school, so it's not very recognizable. Mum and Dad were trying to get me to send one of mine, but I wouldn't. I only have wizard pictures of you, anyway.

Shouldn't the Ministry of Magic be able to plant a few memories to clear you? I've shown my parents the wizarding news, but they're nearly hysterical, and are threatening to not let me go back. Of course, even if I get them to believe that you didn't have anything to do with it, they still understand that it happens now. I think they may realize it wasn't you, really, and just be trying not to think about the alternative. I've told them before that there are wizards who would like to kill me, and them, but I don't think they believed it. The longer this stays in the news, the more it will frighten them.

I do hope you mean it about "appropriate vengeance." A day or two of uncertainty and a research project?

Love,

Hermione

Harry looked up.

"The last bit is that I came up with an excuse about having asked Ron about the Paternity Charm. Of course, he asked Hermione, as well as his Mum. I told them both that someone had told me that someone I don't like is a half-brother of mine, but I'd looked up what they said about how the charm worked and it was wrong, so I'd tracked the sender and extracted 'appropriate vengeance -- nothing awful.'"

Dumbledore nodded. "On to the main problem, then."

"Well, she's right, isn't she? The Ministry should be able to do something. Don't they usually?

"Yes, they usually do." Dumbledore looked grim. "Fudge, I believe, is sitting on this just to inconvenience us. It limits your movements, and thus your potential for power. I will push him on it privately. If that is ineffective, I will try a more public forum."

"Is there anything I can do?" Harry asked.

"Not with the Minister," Dumbledore acknowledged. "However, I intend to invite the Grangers here for a conference. I would like you to come and speak to them." Amusement brightened Dumbledore's weary eyes. "The point, of course, is for you to be sane, friendly, and courteous. If you are at all angry, please clear up the matter beforehand, or conceal it well until they have gone."

Harry looked down, both abashed and amused. He scuffed a toe against the dark boards of floor, but largely for effect. "Yes, sir," he said in exaggerated submission.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well taken. That's all for now. Please remember to write to your friends."

Harry returned to Snape's kitchen, and sent a quick reply to Hermione, and a letter to Ron saying that Ron could write to him now. He didn't have any news that he felt he could relate, so he said nothing of what he was doing, other than that he was back at Hogwarts. Afterwards, he wandered into the living room. Out of boredom, he began looking through the bookshelves. The books were about half Potions texts; many of the rest were Dark Arts, in Harry's estimation, or borderline.

He pulled out a moderately-thin, brightly-colored volume entitled Not Bad Enough: The Historical Origins of the Unforgivables, and began to flip through it. To his surprise, it was a chatty, readable survey of curses that had preceded the modern Unforgivables, with examples of usage, and a few casting notes that would definitely have kept the book in the restricted section of the school library. Intrigued, Harry curled up at the end of the couch, and began to read.

Not Bad Enough had four sections -- an overview of the history of legal classifications of curses, and a section each on pain curses, command curses, and death curses. There were apparently many of the former two, but very few of the latter, with the Killing Curse being the only unblockable and instantaneous one. Harry enjoyed the overview chapters, but found the details on early pain curses disturbing. He skipped ahead to the command curses that preceded the Imperius Curse. Harry had always thought that all command curses were legally classified as Dark Arts, but the book outlined two that remained in restricted public use: the Binding Oath, itself a descendent of the Fealty Spell; and the Testimony Spell. One legally distinguishing aspect to both these spells (never, Harry noted, classified as either curses or charms) was that both left the subject aware of the effect.

When the book got to casting specifics for the Fealty Spell (as compared to casting specifics for the Binding Oath), Harry found himself listening anxiously for Snape's return. He wasn't sure he was supposed to be reading books with details on Dark Arts, however engaging and historically informative. Guiltily, he took the book and moved into his bedroom, where he would have plenty of warning if Snape returned.

The enchanted window was displaying a red and purple sunset when Harry heard the outer door open and close. Harry tucked the book behind the cushions of his window seat, and rubbed at his eyes. His room had grown dark since he started reading. After a minute of trying unsuccessfully to make the room come into focus, Harry remembered he had taken off his glasses to read. His headache was gone. Reluctantly, Harry put the glasses on again, and the room became somewhat less blurry.

Harry poked his head into the kitchen just in time to see Snape scanning the room from the parlor door.

"I'm here," Harry volunteered.

"Good. Have you had dinner?"

"Not yet."

"We were supposed to eat with the others, you know." Snape smirked. "Good to know I wasn't the only one who missed it. I'll call the kitchens."

Then talked over dinner, but of simple things: Snape told Harry that he had adequate stores of Camilla's Bruise Salve and the Ignatios Pain Killing Potion and was hoping to make some progress on Calming Draughts, which were fairly quick, that evening, so he could work on Dreamless Sleep, which was quite complicated, the next day. He did not mention what he had said to Harry while they were outside. Harry told Severus that if he removed his glasses for reading, his headache went away. He did not mention that he had been reading one of Snape's books. At several points during the dinner, when Harry was lifting his fork or his glass, he saw Snape's eyes dart to the flash of torchlight caught by a pentagon-cut emerald, but neither of them ever mentioned the ring.

After dinner, Snape stood up and stretched. It was an unguarded motion, perhaps the first, Harry reflected, that he had ever seen from the Potions master. He felt oddly honored. Perhaps I am just ignored. Perhaps he is just treating me as if I am not here.

"Would you be interested in helping again?" Snape asked, disinterestedly. "For the benefit of that mangy wolf, perhaps? I need to finish these in time to do the Wolfsbane Potion."

"I wouldn't mind helping again," Harry answered, ignoring the cut at Remus. He stood also, and followed Snape to the door. "I like having something to do."

"Really? I never would have guessed, from the state of your homework."

"Ah, but during the school year, there's so much to do. I can rather pick and choose, can't I?"

"You're lucky I let you into Potions this year, Potter. Your O.W.L.s were borderline."

"But you needed someone to insult. I understand."

When Snape whirled on him, Harry grinned disarmingly, and Snape, with a satisfied smirk, turned away and lengthened his stride.

And for the first time, Harry thought, we did that without malice.

So it was that Harry was in Snape's lab tending one potion competently, and watching Snape tend two, when the summons came. Snape twitched and hitched out a breath. His right hand went halfway to the opposite arm, then stopped, fingers clenched into a fist. It occurred to Harry that they had never talked about this. Snape had hinted, and Harry had hinted that he knew, and of course, it had been in James's letter that Severus had been a Death Eater, and had been a spy. Harry noticed suddenly that Snape was eyeing him with trepidation.

"Need to run?" Harry asked casually. "Go on, then. I'll salvage what I can, here."

Snape nodded curtly, and strode quickly from the room, his hand now firmly clasped to his left forearm. Harry didn't have any time to appreciate the moment of trust. He had three cauldrons to tend.

At the end of the evening, Harry was pretty sure that two of the potions were fine, though he planned to have Snape test them, to be safe. The third was an obvious loss. He dumped it and cleaned all the equipment before heading to bed. He was woken by Dumbledore, calling from his fireplace. The sky outside the window was slightly more blue than black.

"Harry?"

"Here." Harry sat up in bed. If I'm ever ... doing something I wouldn't want to be seen at, I draw the curtains, he told himself emphatically.

"Severus returned, then collapsed. He is in the hospital wing. I thought you might like to know."

Harry was already scrambling out of the bed and pulling his green robes on over his pajamas.

"Is it bad?"

"I've seen him in worse condition," Dumbledore began. He stopped. "Yes. He will recover, but ... it is bad."

By the time Harry got to the Hospital wing, the eastern horizon was pale. He found Snape at the back of the main room, near Madam Pomfrey's office. Harry moved as quietly as possible to the chair by the bed.

Snape showed signs of a beating, and his right arm had been immobilized all the way from his shoulder to the fingertips. His breath rasped. On one of his cheeks was a distinctly hand-shaped darkening bruise, which Harry found distantly amusing, despite his sympathy. It was odd to think that some Death Eater had slapped Snape like an offended lady might. On the other side of his face was a long knife cut. Smaller cuts and bruises were scattered about.

Snape's hair had fallen across one side of his face. Harry reached over and pushed it aside, then grimaced at the feel of it.

"How do you stand being so dirty?" he whispered. "Doesn't that itch?"

Snape twitched, then shifted. His left arm came up by his pillow. Harry had a sudden urge to push Snape's sleeve down so he could see the Mark. He shuddered, and kept his hands in his lap. I don't know why I want to see it. I know it's there, and looking at it would only hurt.

Harry was tired, but Snape's rasping breaths kept him too fretfully aware of the man's condition to sleep. He found himself wishing he had brought his book, then suddenly imagined trying to explain it to Dumbledore. Perhaps he should select one of the more neutral Potions texts if he wanted public reading material. He wondered how Snape would react. After all, he had clearly thought enough of the book to buy it. Did that mean he wouldn't mind Harry reading it? Harry decided he would let Snape see him with the book, but not until he had finished reading the parts that interested him.

Harry dozed off. A twitch from Snape brought him wide awake. From the look of the sky, he could not have slept more than a few minutes. Harry peered through his glasses at the blurry sky. He could just see a few grey clouds at the horizon. Aeromancy! No point, really. I know what my future will be like. There'll be lots of screaming, and people will die.

For the first time, he found himself wondering about Aunt Petunia's and Dudley's deaths. They had died in an automobile accident, he knew. Had it been fast? Had they been in pain? Did they know they had been murdered just to clear a path to him? In the dim light of dawn, exhausted and alone, it was all too easy for his brain to seize on the thought, and picture his aunt and cousin mangled and bloody, picture them screaming, picture him dead first, and her crying as she died.

Harry forced his attention to the sky outside the eastern windows. A band of white. Orange tints above the hidden sun. The sky above the darkest of blues. He stood up and walked to window.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry whirled. Madam Pomfrey was standing in the door to her office, robes open over a loose nightgown.

"I came to see Professor Snape," Harry explained.

"I'm afraid he won't be conscious for a few hours, yet. I cast a sleeping charm on him, so he wouldn't disturb that hand while the bones mend." Pomfrey shook her head. "He needs the use of that hand, but that won't make him treat it properly while it's healing." She looked questioningly at Harry. "You should be in bed yourself, young man."

Harry could see her wondering why he was bothering to visit Snape, who was not only a staff member, but one with whom Harry was on famously bad terms.

"I finished up some of his potions after he was called," Harry offered. It didn't really make any sense, as a statement, but Harry suspected that Pomfrey was accustomed to irrelevant babbling from visitors, for she only nodded.

"Come back after breakfast," Pomfrey said gently. "You can tell him about it then. He's not in any danger, and he needs to sleep."

Harry saw the sense in this, and the lighter it got outside, the easier it was to be logical about it. He went back to his room, and fell quickly to sleep.

When Harry returned the next morning, Madam Pomfrey was awake and bustling about the room. Her mediwitch robes whispered against the beds as she crossed the room to greet Harry.

"He should be awake any time, now," she told him. "He is recovering nicely."

"Good," Harry said. He rubbed at his forehead.

"And how are you?" Madam Pomfrey asked sharply. "Perhaps we should follow up on your progress while we are waiting." She pointed to a nearby bed. "Sit."

Madam Pomfrey was pleased with Harry's general condition, although she expressed surprise that he remained as thin. She made Harry describe his last six meals to her, and seemed reassured. She frowned as she moved her wand over him.

"You still have that strain at the joints."

Harry shrugged. Now that he knew what was causing that, he was less bothered by it. Pain was just pain. It was unexplained pain which worried him.

"Actually, that's not bothering me much. But my head...."

As he had hoped, that distracted her from her contemplation of his left elbow.

"Your head, dear?"

"It hurts constantly. Well, except when I read. I broke my glasses my first day back and fixed them, and I think I did it wrong. Everything is blurry."

Pomfrey immediately pointed her wand at Harry's left eye. She frowned. "The curvature is a bit strong, I believe." She shifted to one side, then the other. "And it is uneven, as if to correct an astigmatism, but none is present." She looked evaluatingly at Harry. "Are you good at transfiguration?"

"Okay, I guess," Harry answered. "Why?"

"It takes a good deal of specialized training to adjust someone else's lenses correctly," Pomfrey explained. "However, many witches and wizards find it easy enough to do for themselves. Focus on something across the room and slowly alter the curve of the glass while looking for the right point, as if you were adjusting the focus on omnioculars."

"Slowly alter..."

"I'll get you something to practice on, first. You don't want the lenses shattering in your eyes."

Good advice, Harry thought, as his third practice lens merely cracked, rather than crumbling into shards, as the first had done, or turning into a flat sheet, as the second one had.

"Harry?" a dry voice rasped. Snape coughed.

Harry bounced. He caught himself before exclaiming "Severus!" and realized he no longer knew what to call the man. In public, he realized belated, the question was not open.

"Welcome back, Professor Snape," he said formally. He looked mischievously at Snape's confused stare. "Your companions gave you a rough time of it, I gather?"

"Urg." Snape lay back and tossed his free arm across his eyes. The hospital robes were shorter and looser than the man's usual garb. Harry could see the bottom of the Dark Mark -- just a curve of the snake -- below the edge of the sleeve. "Is anyone here but Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head.

"I've been here for hours. It's just the three of us. Professor Dumbledore has been in and out, a few times."

"Very well." Snape's voice dropped so it would not carry so far as the door. There might be more than one reason, Harry realized, why Pomfrey put this patient at the very back of the room. "I failed to turn you in, I delayed telling him you were here. That was unintentional -- I had meant to inform Avery the first night, but lost my temper too thoroughly. After he had finished with me, he let Avery hurt me in more primitive ways, as an additional punishment. For my pride." Snape grimaced. "Damn, that hurts."

He shifted to a sitting position, wincing with every movement, but waving Harry away when he tried to help.

"During the school year..."

"What?"

"You will not risk sitting with me, like this."

Harry sighed. "Agreed," he said reluctantly. He sat in the chair and frowned thoughtfully at Snape. Snape looked away.

"I ... I lost one of the potions."

"Only one?"

"I think so. I mean, you should probably test them, but the other two looked fine."

Snape appraised him slowly, as if judging the truth of his words. Harry wondered if the man were subtly pushing into his mind. He concentrated on picturing the two good cauldrons of the Calming Draught, focusing on their color and consistency.

"Good job," Snape said coolly.

Harry glowed.

That was all they said on the matter. Madam Pomfrey noticed that Snape was awake and came over to administer him potions, one of which he refused to take, and to check his arm and hand. Harry pushed his chair back a couple of feet and resumed work on the lenses. When Pomfrey left, Snape fell back to sleep.

Harry had successfully adjusted his glasses and started reading Magical Traditions of the Ivory Coast when he became aware of a change in the room. He looked up. Snape was still sleeping and he seemed fine. His breathing was normal, now, and his cuts were mostly healed. Harry looked around the room. Remus Lupin was standing motionless in the doorway. Harry put down the book and walked over to the werewolf.

"Are you looking for me, or him?"

"You. Professor Dumbledore wants you to come to his office at noon. He said to make sure you're presentable."

Harry reached up to his hair. It was uncombed and slightly oily to his touch. He had come straight to the hospital wing that morning, neglecting a shower, and now that he thought about it, he had spent most of the previous day in the questionable fumes of Snape's potions lab.

"Do I have time for a shower?" he asked ruefully.

"Yes. You have an hour, so with drying spells, you should be fine." Remus gestured towards the door, and Harry nodded and started outside. Remus, to his surprise, walked beside him. Harry wondered if this was permissible by Snape's rules. He supposed he was walking to Snape's rooms, but he knew quite well that Snape was not there.

Harry didn't know what to say. Neither, apparently, did Remus. It wasn't until they were down the last set of stairs and walking along the dungeon-level corridors that the werewolf spoke.

"Harry ... were all those things in the paper true?"

"Which things?"

"The things about your relatives -- the Dursleys. How they treated you."

Harry let out a harsh sigh. "It's not important," he said. "It's not such a big deal. I was never in any danger."

"That," Remus said softly, "was a yes."

Harry scowled and walked faster. "Fine, yes, but people don't need to be so melodramatic about it!"

"No need to be melodramatic about being locked in a boot cupboard for ten years," Remus said tonelessly.

Harry tried to explain. "Look, it's not like they didn't let me out for the day, most days. Even when I was being punished, I'd get let out twice to use the bathroom. And it was a fairly large cupboard. Big enough for a mattress. My cot fit there when I was little." They had reached Snape's door. Harry stopped and looked at Remus. The werewolf seemed, if anything, angrier than before. "I could stand up straight in it when I was seven," Harry tried.

"Bloody hell!" Remus roared. He growled. "If Dumbledore knew, I swear I will rip that man's throat out!"

"You will do no such thing!" Harry yelled. "Dumbledore was protecting me from Voldemort the only way he could. Besides, where would we be without him?" He looked anxiously at Remus. He had only seen the werewolf murderous once before. The anger was more frightening from this usually gentle man than it had been from Sirius.

"Harry, that doesn't even meet Muggle law for treatment of prisoners of war!"

"Well, I survived it, okay?"

"Don't you ever dare have children."

"What?"

"If you can consider that not important...." The animal growl was back. The back of Harry's neck prickled. Harry whispered Snape's password, and the door opened. Remus moved forward, and before Harry could recover from his surprise, was inside Snape's rooms.

"Get out!" Harry snapped.

"We, dear child, are still talking. I'll wait. Go clean yourself up, and think about what I've said."

"Well, wait out in the hall! These are Snape's rooms. He wouldn't want you here!"

Remus shrugged. Harry saw a sparkle of mischief compete with the anger and sadness in his eyes. "He won't smell me, Harry. Take your shower, now. I promise not to cause any mayhem."

"No," Harry said angrily. "You are not welcome here, Remus." Remus flinched, but Harry ignored it. "You know it. I know it. Snape is a very private person. I am not going to leave you to poke around his things while I take a shower. Now stop being an utter prick and go away."

Remus took a couple of deep breaths. "Harry," he said seriously, "we need to talk."

"No we don't. You need to talk. You want to tell me how frightfully shocked you are and ask if you can do anything, now that everything is okay."

"I don't think everything is okay," Remus said gently.

"Well it is!" Harry insisted. He sighed. "Look, I'll talk with you, all right? Later. I'll arrange a time soon. But not here."

Remus's jaw clenched. "Agreed," he said, with obvious reluctance. "Don't forget dinner tomorrow." With that, he went to the door and let himself out. Harry waited for the footsteps to turn the corner before whispering a new password to the door. He was certain a werewolf's ears were good enough to have overheard his earlier whisper.

After Harry had showered and combed his hair, he went and looked at his limited selection of clothes. On Severus's suggestion, he had thrown out everything of Dudley's, except for a fuzzy flannel shirt which he particularly liked. He still had Ron's jeans, which he had reluctantly agreed not to wear out of the room, except for possibly while visiting the Weasleys -- Harry thought that part of the argument had ended without a resolution. He looked at the red robes, which he had not yet worn, but decided the garment was too flashy for a conference with the headmaster. "For dinner tomorrow," he murmured, and drew on the green robes, instead. It was too hot to wear both robes and trousers, but Harry had never been able to bring himself to wear nothing under his robes, though he knew his wizard-born dormitory-mates often did just that, in the warm months. He pulled on one of the undergarments that resembled cotton biking shorts, and then high socks, so his bare legs would not be obvious, then finished off with the walking shoes, which were still so new as to be shiny. When he checked the time, he saw he had ten minutes, which was just about what he'd need to get to the headmaster's office without getting sweaty on the way.

A minute before the appointed time, he was stepping off the spiral staircase into Dumbledore's antechamber. He lifted a hand to knock, then paused at the sound of voices.

"Headmaster, no offense, but a face in your fireplace is not the same as a person!"

"I could bring you to the Ministry offices, if you would rather," Dumbledore's pleasant voice replied, "but you might find the journey unnerving. I would like you to speak to Harry, first --"

Harry forced himself to knock. He realized, now, that it would be Mr. and Mrs. -- No, he reminded himself, Dr. and Dr. -- Granger in the office. He would have been better off in trousers and a shirt. Shrugging, he pushed open the door in response to Dumbledore's invitation.

"You wanted to see me, headmaster?" he said politely.

Dumbledore, with a slight smile, gestured to his Muggle guests. "Harry, I believe you know the Grangers?"

"We've met," Harry said neutrally. He reached out a hand to Hermione's mother, who, judging by Hermione's stories, was the decision-maker of the house. "Hello, Dr. Granger." She shook his hand perfunctorily, and Harry did the same with Hermione's father. "Dr. Granger."

He scanned them quickly and thought he had won some points with Hermione's mother. She looked slightly more open. Probably she got demoted to "Mrs." a lot.

"The Grangers are concerned, Harry, over rumors about you in the Muggle press."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't you mean libel, headmaster?" he said sharply. He forced himself to soften his expression and tone, and smiled at Hermione's mother. "I suppose it's not their fault, really. I can't go and tell them what actually happened, so it's just people jumping to conclusions."

"Why don't you tell the Grangers what did happen, Harry?" the headmaster suggested. Harry nodded.

"Well, Hermione's probably told you about --" He stopped and looked at Dumbledore. "This will be confusing if I can't use his name."

"In my office, you may use his name."

Harry nodded and looked back to the Grangers, deliberately making eye contact with each of them. "There's a wizard who calls himself 'Lord Voldemort.' His real name was Tom Riddle. He wants to kill me. He wants to kill a lot of people, actually, but me more than most."

The Grangers were listening, if a bit tensely. Harry glanced over at the headmaster. "My mother gave me protection from Voldemort by dying to save me, when I was a baby. Dying for someone is a very strong, natural magic -- I don't need to explain that to you, right? Old stories are full of it. Everything from the Bible to 'Beauty and the Beast.'"

Hermione's father nodded. He looked intrigued. Harry wondered if he was the origin of Hermione's passion for research.

"Professor Dumbledore had used more formal magic to extend that protection to my mother's blood relatives, so I was safe in my aunt's home over the summer. Apparently Voldemort finally sussed that. He had my aunt and cousin killed, so that the Death Eaters -- his followers -- could attack me in the house."

"But you weren't killed."

"No. I ... I'd just run away. They'd got worse. I was locked up most of the time and they wouldn't even let me finish my homework. I decided to come here and just tell Dumbledore that I couldn't stand it anymore."

Hermione's mother gave him a warning look that Harry recognized immediately. It was the look Hermione got when she wanted to be nice, but felt obligated to chastise him.

"The timing is what concerns me," she said. "Why should you decide this just at that hour? Isn't that a bit of a coincidence?"

"It's not a coincidence at all. The Death Eaters needed my blood relatives clear of the house to attack them. I needed them clear of the house to break out. I'd smuggled up some tools before, when they'd had me do some gardening, but it wasn't until everyone was out of the house that I could do something so noisy as bash a hole in the door and saw clear the section with the locks."

Harry was suddenly overtaken by the memory of breaking the starter hole in the door. He had hit it repeatedly with a hammer, and the splintering of the wood had been so fiercely satisfying that he had almost decided to forgo using the saw. Involuntarily, he curled his arms around his chest and tried not to tremble. He couldn't manage to summon any mourning for the Dursleys, but somehow the memory of destroying that door, with its five padlocks, made him more angry and frightened than any thought of attacking Death Eaters. Now, he wanted Remus's quiet concern. He could rage at Remus, he knew. Remus would never hold it against him. And Remus, even if Harry completely lost control, would be safe.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry wanted to scream. Of course I'm not all right, you blind old fool! I've spent more than half my life being locked up and insulted and treated like some dangerous animal. He choked down the thoughts. Remus. I'll go find Remus. Sod Snape's stupid rules. He took a deep breath. Be sane, friendly, and courteous.

"Sorry, sir." Harry looked up. "It's still too close." That implied it was Uncle Vernon's death that upset him, he knew. The problem wasn't that the attack was too close, it was that life at the Dursley's was starting to get far enough away. Still, both the headmaster and Hermione's parents seemed to find the statement reassuring. "May I go, now?" Harry asked pleadingly.

The headmaster looked enquiringly at the Grangers. "Have you any further questions for Harry?" he asked.

Hermione's father looked at Hermione's mother. She shook her head. "No." She offered her hand to Harry. "Thank you for speaking to us, Harry."

"No problem. Tell Hermione I say hi, okay? And thanks for the food."

Hermione's mother nodded pleasantly.

"What food?" Dumbledore asked. Harry turned to see the headmaster frowning at him. He felt like he'd been caught stealing from the kitchens.

Harry looked down at the floor. His shoes were really very shiny. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had new shoes.

"Hermione and Ron sent me food over the summer, professor. They always do that."

"And nobody mentioned this?" Professor Dumbledore pressed. His voice was low and angry. Harry stepped back, surprised and a little alarmed.

"Well, you knew they didn't feed me much. You said so yourself."

"That they didn't feed you enough was obvious from looking at you every September. That you've required outside assistance to maintain that unsatisfactory level was not."

Dumbledore's voice was a low thunder, now. Harry stepped back, again, and found he was almost touching the door. He looked up in time to see the headmaster rub at his forehead. When the old man looked up, his anger was gone, replaced by sad concern.

"It's not your fault, Harry, but ... why don't you ever tell anybody when something is wrong?"

Harry flooded with embarrassment, betrayal, and fury. He had said he was miserable. He had asked to stay here. No one had ever asked for details; no one had ever wanted to hear about it.

"There was never any point!" he bellowed. "No one ever wanted to do anything. No one ever wanted to know!" He wrenched the door open and fled outside, sending the heavy slab of oak crashing shut behind him.

He had the regretful thought that he had not managed to act as reasonable as he should have, but he knew he couldn't do any better, now. He fled down the corridor and halfway up the stairs, stopping at a window alcove on the landing. There, he sat, shoulder pressed against the corner of glass and stone, his knees up to his chest, and struggled against the press of sobs collecting like rocks in his throat.

He let the hard lump of distress come up. The sound was frighteningly loud in the empty stairway, and immediately followed by a rush of tears that, once started, seemed unstoppable. Alarmed, Harry got up and ran, looking for someplace more private. His recently corrected vision was blurry again, but he realized he was by the Defense against Dark Arts teacher's office, and stumbled to the door, then, when it opened, inside. Remus was not in the room. Harry collapsed face down on the worn brown couch and let the storm take him.

He was nearly done, only hiccuping slightly, when the door opened. Harry pressed his face into the cushions. Footsteps hurried towards him.

"Harry?"

He felt Remus sit on the edge of the couch, beside him. Tentatively, one of Remus's slender hands settled between his shoulder blades. Remus thumped him helpfully a few times after the next hiccup, then let the hand just rest on him again, with comforting weight. It felt almost feverishly hot. Harry wondered if that was from the lycanthropy.

"Harry?" Remus asked gently. "Are you all right?"

"No," Harry said defiantly, turning over. "I'm not all right. Why does everybody care now? They're dead now, and it doesn't matter. They didn't have to die, you know. Someone could have let me leave, and they'd have been fine, and I'd have been better, and I might feel like someone actually cared, rather than everyone pretending they care once there's nothing for them to do."

He pushed himself back into the corner of the couch to sit with his knees drawn up. Remus looked at him sadly.

"I wish I'd known."

"You knew I didn't want to go back there! What did you think that meant? Have I ever been fussy? You knew I was ready to run off with Sirius when I didn't even know him!"

"I thought it was just that they hated your parents, Harry. You'd told me that. And didn't approve of magic."

"And hated me."

"Harry...."

"What did you think I meant?" Harry screamed. "That they wouldn't buy me sweets?"

His throat hurt. He buried his face in his knees and tried to stay completely still. He heard Remus shift on the couch.

"Nobody expects that, Harry. Decent people don't --"

"What did I ever say to make you think my relatives were decent people?" Harry asked indistinctly.

Remus sighed. "One tends -- most of us tend, Harry -- to assume it of people, at least when dealing with their own blood." The couch softened as Remus's weight left it. "Rest a moment. I'll get us both a cup of tea."

Remus came back a few minutes later with sweetened tea and a damp washcloth for Harry's face.

"My eyes hurt," Harry grumbled, as he rubbed white spots of salt from his glasses.

"I know a spell for that," Remus said cheerfully. He pulled out his wand and tapped it a few inches in front of each of Harry's eyes. "There," he said. "Better?"

"Much," Harry admitted, drinking the warm tea gratefully. The burning feeling in his eyes had gone away, and his vision was clear again.

"Of course," Remus said wryly, "now no one can tell you've been crying. That's not always the best thing."

"I hate crying. It just lets people know they've won."

"Harry..." Remus sighed. "Harry, love, you are far too good at acting like nothing's wrong."

"I'm not going to whine!"

"But you see why no one suspected? Yes, you said you were unhappy, but you never seemed depressed. You were no more insecure or violent than many boys your age. On the whole, you've always seemed quite normal, and we assumed your problems at home were similarly normal." Remus sighed. "Of course, one of us should have realized that your idea of 'normal' trouble was bound to be skewed by a mile."

The rest of Harry's visit with Remus was fairly peaceful. Remus apologized for pushing his way into Snape's apartments that morning. He seemed to want to say more, after that, but Harry was fairly sure he didn't want to hear it. He hurriedly asked Remus how he was settling in, and when the next full moon was, and they talked pleasantly about Remus's lesson plans and more seriously about what Harry had already taught the members of Dumbledore's Army. When Remus realized that Harry had not had lunch, he invited him to stay, but Harry, with a sudden twinge of guilt, declined.

"I'm not even supposed to be here. Snape will be furious as it is."

"This is what makes me worry!" Remus exclaimed. Harry looked at him, confused, and the werewolf continued, almost plaintively:

"You don't respect rules, Harry. You don't go and do things you think are stupid just because someone tells you to. You would have made a much better Marauder than I did. Now, suddenly, Dumbledore puts you in that man's care and you are doing anything he says, even things you say you don't believe in, like avoiding me--"

"I'm not avoiding you!"

"Very well. Getting explicit permission to--"

"I came and saw you when I needed to, didn't I?"

Remus was silent for a minute. "Yes," he conceded finally.

"Well, there you go. Don't worry."

Remus's kindly eyes narrowed and darkened. "Why did you leave?"

"When?"

"The Dursleys. Why did you leave? Why now? What changed?"

"I don't want to talk about the Dursleys anymore, today."

"You're avoiding the question," Remus snarled.

"I need to go. I'm here without permission."

Remus jumped up, teeth bared and eyes feral. "What made you care about permission?" he bellowed.

For the second time that afternoon, Harry found himself backing towards the door, only this time, it was deliberate.

"You," Remus snarled, "are frightening me."

"Well, it's mutual, Professor," Harry dared, taking another two steps back and feeling for the door handle.

Remus's face went blank and his eyes closed. He swayed slightly. For a moment, Harry thought he would fall. When he opened his eyes, he focused on Harry with his usual gentle intensity.

"I'm sorry," Remus said sincerely. "I am frightened, Harry."

"Snape is not the Dursleys."

"He's telling you what to wear!"

"Yes. And he cares enough to get me something he approves of. And let me pick things out, actually."

Remus snorted. "Don't tell me Severus paid for those red robes."

"Yes, he did." Harry felt a formless unease creeping through his stomach. "Why?"

"Fire-dyed raw silk! Severus can't afford that!" Remus exclaimed.

"You picked them out."

"Yes, and you're James's son. I know what sort of money you have. Good lord, Harry, Malfoy would respect those robes!"

"I've got to go," Harry said. He left.

Harry settled in the living room with Not Bad Enough and some spiced pumpkin juice. He had nearly finished the short section on death curses. In general, it was far less interesting than the section on command curses. Where he had read about those out of curiosity, he pushed through this section with a grim need to know as much as possible about the origins of the curse to which he had lost so much. He was just looking at a table comparing the limitations and requirements of the Killing Curse, the Curse of Painful Death, and the Curse of Sleeping Death, when there came a pounding at the door.

"Harry!" Snape screamed. Before Harry could reply, Snape yelled his name again. "Open the sodding door this instant! You had damned well better be in there!"

Harry ran over and opened the door. "Sorr-"

"What in bloody Hades do you think you're doing? Some kind of frigging joke, ch-"

"Remus followed me down here, this afternoon," Harry said angrily, over Snape's words.. "I'm sure he heard me give the password. I thought you wouldn't want him having the password to your rooms, so I changed it."

"You could have told me," Snape snapped, but he was obviously mollified.

"You could have knocked politely and waited a moment, then asked me what had happened," Harry countered. "Anyway, the new password is 'Aconitum.' Change it if you like."

Snape snorted in amusement. "'Aconitum?' You mean Wolfsbane?"

"I was a bit annoyed at him," Harry admitted. "Anyway, we made up later." He bit his lip. "I was in his rooms, by the way. Yell at me, if you like, but I needed to see him."

"Why?"

"Because I'd just screamed at Professor Dumbledore over something Remus had done too. Screaming at Remus seemed safer."

"This close to the dark of the moon, perhaps." Snape frowned. "What did they do?"

"They wanted to know why I hadn't 'told them' about the Dursleys. Except I did. Not details, because no one ever asked, but they knew I was miserable there, and they didn't want details. Remus says he assumed I had 'normal problems' with them, whatever those are. And Remus got mad at me because I said it wasn't such a big deal. He said I better never have children. But it isn't that I think the way they treated me was right, just that it was manageable. He doesn't get that."

"Normal," Snape said carefully, "is, by definition, a relative term." He looked seriously at Harry. "Remus's idea of a normal childhood has nothing to do with yours, or mine."

"Which have nothing to do with each other's," Harry pointed out.

"In many ways not," Snape agreed. "However, I had an abusive father, who damaged and left my mother, and I ended up living with relatives who hated me for being his. So I was also the unwelcome other child." Snape looked down briefly. "What did you do in Remus's rooms?"

"I was only in his office, really. I went there terribly upset, and he calmed me down and made me tea, then he tried to talk to me and we fought, then we calmed down again, then I said I shouldn't be there and he got upset again, or something like that. I think we were on okay terms when I left, but I wouldn't swear to it."

"Remus is customarily so soft-spoken that his pig-headed stubbornness goes unnoticed."

"The problem was, I couldn't argue properly without telling him you're my father, so nothing got resolved."

"We are not telling anybody," Snape said threateningly.

"I know! I was just saying it made things difficult. He's worried about how much I'm obeying you, and I can understand why. If you were some random staff member that Dumbledore had put me with, I'd let you tell me what to do in your rooms, and I'd help you with your work, but I wouldn't let you tell me what to wear or who to talk to when I wasn't in your rooms."

"Obviously you're not obeying me too well on that last point."

"I pointed that out -- that when I needed to talk to him, I did it anyway. He was reassured, but not much. It basically fell apart when I said I wasn't supposed to be there and insisted on leaving, rather than staying for lunch."

"That's something, I suppose."

"The problem is he's just baffled. So he's decided I must have been damaged by the Dursleys, somehow, this summer and become..." Harry waved his hands around -- "I don't know ... unable to stand up to you? I'm glad that he wants to protect me, but there's really nothing for him to protect me from, at the moment, and it's annoying to have him hovering about looking concerned." Harry sat back down on the couch, and idly picked up his book. "May I work in the lab, tomorrow? I still need to finish my summer assignment."

"Of course. Don't expect any help with it."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not a complete idiot, you know." He looked down at the book, and slid a finger in beside the bookmark, but did not open it. "How are you feeling?"

"My arm is a bit stiff, and the fingers hurt. Pomfrey says I can go back to my lab work tomorrow, as--" Snape's eyes widened suddenly, then narrowed. "Harry... What are you reading?"

Harry cheerfully held up the book. "It's a history of the origins of the Unforgivable Curses."

Snape covered his face with one hand. "Whatever possessed you to pick that? I have hundreds of books here! At least a third of which wouldn't give the headmaster fits."

"Honestly," Harry admitted, "I think it had the brightest cover. It's pretty good, though. I enjoyed the general parts and the section on command curses, anyway. I had to slog through the one on death curses, and I couldn't manage to read the section on pain curses at all."

"The brightest cover?"

"Well, I still would have picked something else if it looked boring when I started leafing through it."

Snape sighed. "Very well. What have you learned? As I recall, that author does not adequately describe the distinction between Dark Arts and spells that are unethical."

"Really?" Harry was confused. "That was part of what I liked. In the command section, he had--"

"She."

"Oh. She had this section on the Binding Oath, the Fealty Spell, and the Masters Spell, explaining why the Binding Oath was legal--"

"Legal, yes. However, that it is entered into consensually, and that the subject can describe the influence they are under, makes it no less Dark Arts, thaumaturgicly." Snape scowled. "A sixth year student should know this!"

"Well, as we've discussed, I had only two years of Defense Against the Dark Arts that were worth anything, and our third year was entirely Dark creatures," Harry protested. He looked up at Snape, who was still standing. "So explain it to me."

"Let me get some wine."

"Should you be drinking, now?"

"Don't start that! I was quite careful to refuse the pain-blocking potion. Pomfrey only tries to give it to me so that I can't drink. She knows I can tolerate the pain. It's one of her pet theories that alcohol inhibits healing."

"I think it does."

"In reasonable quantities, the effect should be minimal."

Snape came back with a goblet of dark red wine, and sat down in the armchair, at a corner to Harry.

"Dark Arts," he said formally, settling back in the chair and fixing his gaze on Harry. "First, being harmful does not make a spell Dark Arts. If it did, all you horrid little brats cursing each other in the hallways would create far more of a problem than it does."

Harry grinned.

"Second, not all Dark Arts spells are harmful. There are healing spells that are Dark Arts." He raised an eyebrow at Harry's look of surprise. "I assure you, Harry, this is quite true. The majority of Dark Arts spells in common use are harmful, because a person who wants to cause harm is far more likely to be willing to take the risk.

"And here we get to the distinctive nature of Dark Arts. Any work in the Dark Arts opens your soul in way that can be dangerous. The likely nature of the danger depends in part -- but only in part -- upon the nature of the spell."

Snape was silent for a moment. He looked meditatively off into the air beyond Harry's shoulder while he stroked the stem of his goblet of still-untouched wine.

"There is an ethical distinction I would like to be sure you understand," he said. He frowned. "That Muggle drug, the tobacco cigarettes -- is it bad of you to smoke them?"

Harry blinked. He was uncertain what he was expected to answer. He was certain Snape disliked him smoking, though he had never figured out whether this was because it was harmful, or because it was a Muggle behavior. He decided to just consider the question.

"Well... no," he ventured. "I mean, there are any number of reasons why I shouldn't, but it's not immoral."

"Correct. It is bad for your body, it gives you a potentially exploitable weakness -- actually more than one, because in addition to the considerable potential for addiction, there are also short-term effects, such as a scent that would make it difficult for you to hide with just invisibility -- but none of that makes it immoral, just foolish and self-destructive. It is a vice, not an evil. The Dark Arts, for all the fuss, are, similarly, a vice."

Harry found that he had edged to the front of his seat, and forced himself to sit back. Snape had paused to take a sip of the wine, and was again running his fingertips absently along the stem of the goblet. Harry found himself wishing he had something to do with his hands, which still held the book, with one finger of his right hand between pages, holding his place.

"That doesn't mean the 'fuss' is undeserved. They are a very powerful vice, and like many vices, provide convenient pathways to evil. As an example, consider the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry, as Snape seemed to be waiting for some response, nodded. "Cruciatus," he affirmed. He frowned. "Except I do consider that evil."

Snape inclined his head slightly. "We will get back to more ambiguous magics later." Contempt crept into his distant look. "I understand you attempted to cast Cruciatus on LeStrange?"

Harry bit back an impulse to bring up the circumstances of that event. He looked down. I will not defend the indefensible. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Despite the fact you consider it evil? Well, no matter."

Harry looked up to see Snape smiling slyly at him. "In any case," Snape continued, "you failed to cast it effectively. Why was that?"

Harry remembered what Bellatrix LeStrange had told him and what he had read in the beginning of the book's section on pain curses. He looked down at the book.

"Many of the more advanced pain curses require that the caster truly desire the subject to be in pain. The Cruciatus Curse, in particular, requires that the caster enjoy causing pain." Harry swallowed. "I really don't like hurting people. I can do it in a fight, but...."

"But you were unable to do it," Snape finished succinctly. He looked evaluatingly at Harry, but the contempt, at least, was gone. "So, imagine you decided that you were going to cast the Cruciatus Curse, and you were willing to meet this prerequisite. What could you do? You could incline yourself towards sadism by mental preparation -- reading materials that arouse that inclination, talking with friends who were more so inclined, casting immisericors on yourself to restrain any counter--"

"Immisericors?"

"The Merciless Heart Curse. It is occasionally useful, self-inflicted, though you must remember to give it an end-trigger, so--" Snape stopped, suddenly. His face spasmed as he shuddered. "What am I-- Forget I said that! If I ever catch you using that curse, which is, in itself, Dark Arts, I will demonstrate far more of the use of it than you ever wish to see."

"It doesn't really sound like my kind of thing," Harry pointed out. "And I can't imagine wanting to cast the Cruciatus Curse in any premeditated way."

"Understood. That is one reason I picked it as an example. The chances you will run out and try this are minuscule."

"Oh. I see."

"So. Were you to do this, and cast Cruciatus, the casting, itself, would have an effect on you."

"Opening my soul, you said."

"Yes. And opening it to that casting. So your induced pleasure in your victim's pain would be enhanced. The experience is exquisite. Were you to need to cast Cruciatus again an hour later, it would come quite easily. And each time, this feeling becomes a little more your own. Eventually, you would become unable to imagine not enjoying causing pain."

Snape's voice was as soft as silk. Harry could see his hand trembling where it stroked the stem of his goblet, and he found that even more disturbing than the man's words.

"That is the corruption caused by an 'evil' spell in the Dark Arts. The evil of it becomes enmeshed in your soul." Snape's voice lightened slightly. "So, let's take a more ambiguous example. You were reading about the Binding Oath?"

"Yes. The book says it's still a prerequisite for certain government positions."

"Correct. Even more of them, in recent years. And it is consensual, and the victim -- sorry, 'subject' -- can describe the effects he or she is subject to. It is still Dark Arts." Snape paused. "Another error in this book -- the Binding Oath, Fealty Spell, etc., are not closely related to the Imperius Curse. They are far closer to another spell in the Dark Lord's arsenal. Do you know which?"

Harry shook his head. Snape fumbled with the cufflinks at his left wrist. A moment later, he had pushed the sleeve up to the elbow, and sat holding out his left arm so Harry could clearly see the Dark Mark. The skin about it was still reddened with the aftereffects of Voldemort's displeasure, making an angry aura about the hideous design. Involuntarily, Harry caught his breath in a sharp inward hiss.

"This," Snape snarled, thrusting the arm still closer, "was consensual. That is a requirement of the spell; it cannot be otherwise. That is why a spy cannot be moved into my place. Receiving the Mark requires your sincere oath of loyalty. A spy cannot become a Death Eater. They must wait for a Death Eater to become a spy." He met Harry's eyes again. "I gave my consent, I know the effects, and I can talk about them as much as I wish, just like the Binding Oath. Does that make it right?"

Harry could not have said a word, even if he had known what to say. He sat staring at the mark of his father's servitude, his eyes drawn to the snake emerging from the skull until he was afraid it would speak to him. His scar hurt, so he concentrated on not thinking anything.

"Harry?" With a sharp tug, Snape covered the Mark with his sleeve. "Harry? You did know, didn't you?"

Harry nodded dizzily. It helped when Snape covered the Mark. "Sorry, I.... My scar started hurting, so I was working on not thinking anything."

"Ah."

"Go on, anyway. Did you have something to say about the Binding Oath?"

"It is still Dark Magic. It still endangers the mental and emotional state of the caster." Snape shook his head and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. "I don't recall where I was going with this, I'm afraid. Sorry."

"That's fine." Harry looked down at the book. "May I finish this, then?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. Just come and discuss it with me afterward. You can read most of what I have here; just let me know. Some works I will want to discuss with you, before or after you read them -- possibly both."

"Okay."

The next morning, they went to Snape's lab -- Snape to work on the Dreamless Sleep Potion, and Harry to finish his summer homework.

"Let's see if you've grown in the last two days, shall we?" Snape suggested wryly. He marked where Harry stood against the wall. "I'm not sure that's significant -- you may just be standing straighter. How do you feel?

Harry shrugged. "Same soreness. I can stand it during the day, but it's hard to sleep."

"Headache?"

"While you were in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey showed me how to fix my glasses."

"Good."

Snape put a ladleful of viscous silver glop into his cauldron. "I was thinking about the muscle pain."

"And?"

"This could go on for half a year, perhaps a bit more. You can't take painkillers for that long."

"Oh."

"However, I could give you a potion that relaxes the muscles and tendons, and that should reduce the pain. It will increase your chances of injury from any physical mishap, so you had best not take it during the day, but if you take it every night, I expect it will help."

Harry, surprised, looked up at Snape, who raised his eyebrows.

"Well?"

"Thanks!"

"Just don't tell Madam Pomfrey."

Harry spent most of the morning doing his homework assignment, then most of the afternoon doing it again. The second time seemed to work, and when he called Snape over, his father gave him nine of ten for it.

"Ideally, it would be completely clear," he said, explaining the missed point. "I'd guess that you neglected to tap the dust out of your chopped dry vervain."

"Was I supposed to?"

"Yes."

"The instructions don't say that!"

"If you are supposed to add an ingredient chopped coarsely, does it not make sense that you should add only that of the ingredient which is coarsely chopped?"

"I suppose, but...."

"Hermione will tap off the dust, because she is meticulous. Draco will do it, because he can't stand anything less than perfection. If one other person remembers, I will be impressed."

"So part of this exercise was to see if we knew that."

"No. Part of this exercise was to see if you could figure that out." Snape glared at Harry. "I do not always give full instruction. Nor does the world. If you can't think, this is all useless."

When Snape finished his second batch of Dreamless Sleep, Harry reminded him that they had a group dinner that night. Snape looked vexed, but immediately began cleaning up.

Back in his room, Harry combed out his hair and put on clean trousers. He looked at the red robes and was reminded of what Remus had said. Thoughtfully, he drew them on, and checked his appearance in the mirror. After some consideration, he put on a black shirt and opened the robes, slightly. Another look in the mirror showed him that he looked like an affluent, perhaps rather flashy, young wizard. He wondered if he liked that.

"You do look sharp, dearie," the mirror affirmed. "Is it a date, or a chic business engagement?"

"Just a dinner," Harry said.

"They'll be intrigued," the mirror promised him. "So proper, yet with hints of untapped strength. And it suits you, dearie."

Harry grinned, and then went out to the living room, where Snape was reading by the fire. Snape looked up as soon as he entered.

"How do I look?"

Snape smiled with obvious satisfaction. "If you weren't you," he declared, "I could take you to Malfoy Manor."

"Oh." Harry walked into the room. He sat balancing on the arm of the couch. "Remus said you couldn't afford these. He'd assumed I'd paid for them."

Snape looked curiously at him. "What odd conversations you have with Remus."

"So?"

"Were I restricted to a teacher's salary," Snape said, "he'd be right. However, I am professionally rather well known and occasionally freelance for certain difficult potions, such as the Wolfsbane, and working for the Dark Lord," he smirked, "is not without recompense."

"And here I thought people did it all for thrills," Harry said dryly.

"Some do it on principle," Snape said coldly.

"Now there's a scary thought."

"How so?"

"Because I'd rather deal with an amoral opportunist than someone who fully believes in Tom's sort of hate."

"Why?"

"The opportunist is more predictable."

Snape snorted. "It's a pity you didn't take Slytherin. I suspect I would have got over your resemblance to James." He stood. "Remember, of course, that the ones who do it for thrills are much more unpredictable than either."

"Right." Harry watched Snape stand. The man was dressed in his usual black robes. Although Harry remembered hearing him in the bath the previous evening, his dark hair was still hanging in clumped, greasy locks.

"What does your hair look like clean?" Harry asked impulsively. Snape turned on him quickly, his expression unpleasant, but Harry refused to be cowed. "Next time you wash it, could you use my shampoo? Yours is horrid. I thought it was going to burn my scalp off the time I tried it."

"That shampoo is specifically for neutralizing the aftermath of certain potions accidents. It is extremely harsh."

"You only wash your hair if you have a potions accident?" Harry said incredulously.

"I rinse it whenever I bathe," Snape answered. He sneered at Harry. "Unlike some people, I have no interest in my appearance."

"Well, you have enough of an interest in mine!" Harry exclaimed. "I'll go back to jeans, if you don't care."

"There is a difference between vanity and propriety," Snape said contemptuously.

"Keeping adequately clean is propriety," Harry retorted, imitating Snape's tone. He smiled disarmingly at Snape's glare. "Anyway, I have an ulterior motive. I'm fairly sure I'm going to end up with your hair. I'd like some indication of what it will be like. Could you try a wash with my shampoo? Please?"

Snape sighed. "You're an irritating boy. And I'm busy."

"I know. But I'll help you with brewing, tomorrow. I must be saving you enough time for that."

"All right! Next time I bathe. But don't expect much. It only stays clean for about twelve hours, when I'm working."

"That's okay. Do it before the next dinner then."

"Now you want me to show off?" Snape asked caustically.

"If you're going to the trouble, you might as well."

Snape scowled. "I don't like looking attractive."

"Why not?"

"It reminds me of a time in my life that I would much rather forget." Snape glowered at Harry. "Come along now. We'll be late."

When they got to the Great Hall, Professors Dumbledore, Lupin, Vector, and Flitwick were already present, as were Madam Hooch and Madam Pomfrey. Of the people who usually attended, Harry thought, only Professor Sprout was missing. He wondered when Hagrid would return. He hoped Hagrid wasn't bringing back any more giants.

As they crossed the hall to the single table of diners, everybody watched them intently.

"Good evening, Severus!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "We wondered if we would see you, this evening."

"Mr. Potter," Professor Vector interrupted, "those robes are stunning!" She smiled slyly at him. "Please assure me that you will be wearing your school robes in September, or I will need to update my wardrobe."

"Of course I'll be wearing school robes!" Harry exclaimed. He sent a nervous look at the headmaster. "Unless I manage to get myself kicked out."

"You have done nothing to merit that recently," Dumbledore responded.

Snape snorted. "And this definition of 'recently?' In the last day, perhaps?"

Harry shot him a quick grin as they sat, Harry next to Madam Hooch. Remus, on Hooch's other side, bent forward.

"How did you afford those robes, Severus? Sorry to put you on the spot, the other day -- I had thought Harry was paying."

Harry stiffened, as, he realized, did Snape, beside him. Snape either had to admit he paid for the robes, causing everyone to wonder why Snape was buying such an expensive item for his least favorite student, or deny it, making Remus suspect that Harry had lied to him. Dumbledore stepped in.

"Why, I gave him an allowance for Harry's clothes, Remus. He may, perhaps, have exceeded it, slightly...."

Everybody laughed.

This was the safest story for Snape, but Harry could tell he was humiliated by it. Eyes on Remus, Snape said caustically:

"Not that paying for it would have been a problem, Lupin. Thanks to my experience with you, I am now the primary provider of Wolfsbane Potion to several apothecaries." He smirked at the werewolf. "Those who need it pay quite well."

Remus glared.

"You are the sort of parasite Randolph rails against, Severus."

"Parasite? Watch your tongue, Lupin! That potion takes most of a day, and you know not many can brew it."

"But you receive far more than a day's pay, do you not?"

"Does this 'Randolph' wish to nationalize my services?"

"No," Remus said flatly. "He wishes us to hunt humans 'as nature intended.' That is the only way, he says, to regain control of our lives."

Harry looked at Dumbledore. The headmaster was attending to the conversation and people's reactions, but he did not seem inclined to intervene. Harry spoke above the whisperings from the other end of the table. "Some control," he said.

"Yes, well, some people ignore that," Remus said lightly.

"You'd spend the rest of your short lives being hunted!" Madam Hooch exclaimed.

"Ah," Remus said, smiling slightly. "But Voldemort has promised --" he lifted his gaze and looked straight into Harry's eyes -- "that we shall be allowed to hunt Muggles, when he rules the world."

"And the point to displaying this savagery, Lupin?" Snape sneered.

"The point," Remus returned softly, "is that extremism does not arise in a vacuum. There is a better solution for us, but most of us cannot afford it. I cannot afford it. When I am not at Hogwarts, I buy the Wolfsbane potion as often as I can, which is about every three or four months. I get through my other moons the old fashioned way. And I am not surprised that many of my kindred, set upon by society as we are, have started to think that they would prefer tearing someone else up to tearing themselves up."

"Would you rather I did not make the Wolfsbane Potion?" Snape asked caustically. "That would only decrease the supply. No matter what I charge, the apothecaries will charge what the market will bear."

"And the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures -- you will note we are not human, anymore -- will continue to prosecute anybody -- like that poor girl in Canterbury who killed a wizard who broke into her apartment, past locks and wards -- while not doing a thing to put a viable solution within the means of people like her -- and me."

Harry interrupted before Snape could respond. "Can werewolves -- during the moon, that is -- actually tell the difference between a Muggle and a wizard?

"Of course not. He proposes to designate hunting areas, that witches and wizards will be warned to avoid."

"How would you feel about killing Hermione's parents?" Harry asked coldly. Remus closed his eyes for a moment.

"Horrible," he said. "The whole idea is sick. But ..." He pushed up his sleeve, well past the elbow. Harry was horribly reminded of Snape, displaying Voldemort's Mark. There was no tattoo, here, but scars marked every inch of the werewolf's skin. One bite mark was still red and swollen. "Three hundred and nine times, I have done this. How many more can I stand? How many would stand even that? But every month, it is this: I kill myself, I kill someone else, or I mutilate myself, yet again." His eyes met Harry's with renewed intensity, the flecked brown shifted nearly to lupine gold. "I am a very patient man, Harry. I cannot endure to cause harm; I would kill myself before willingly killing another. But I cannot stand this. I was embarrassed at my relief to be trapped here once again, with my most beloved enemy," -- here he nodded at Severus -- "to brew my salvation." Those intense eyes fluttered closed, then open again. "For another eleven moons, I need not make my choice, and I rage for those who are less fortunate."

The arrival of food was a relief to all of them, Harry thought. Snape and Lupin continued to snipe at each other, but the volleys were almost pro forma, as if both were too preoccupied to launch another dedicated attack. Dumbledore sat back and watched with less than his usual amusement.

When they got back to the dungeons, Snape gave Harry some of a muscle-relaxing potion to have before bed, and promised to make more the next day. He warned that it would be more effective as a preventative than a cure, but even so, Harry found the effects immediately helpful. He slept better than he had any night since he had returned to Hogwarts.

Harry woke late, to a dimly lit room. The sky outside his magic window was grey. He felt disoriented at being alone and indoors, and remembered that he had been dreaming. He had been lost in a strangely non-urgent nightmare in which he had stood wandless in the gardens on Magnolia Crescent and attempted to convince a werewolf that he was a half-blood, not a Muggle, and therefore unlawful prey. Emotionally, it had felt more like trying to correct a clerical error than trying to preserve his life.

After dressing absently in trousers and a shirt, Harry stared out the tower window. It was odd to look down on land he knew was a story above him, and probably in some other direction. The day was overcast, not rainy. It looked like the sort of day that might stay that way for hours. Suddenly, Harry wanted to fly.

He went out to the kitchen. Snape wasn't there, or in the living room. Harry called down to the main kitchens for eggs, bacon, toast, and marmalade. He made his own tea while he waited.

After eating, Harry collected his Firebolt, and walked down to Snape's lab. As he expected, Snape was brewing. Harry entered carefully, sat down a table away from Snape's cauldrons, and waited to be noticed.

"What is it?" Snape asked, finally.

"I wanted to go down to the pitch and get in some flying. May I? Now that I have the ring?"

Snape, frowning, considered the matter. Harry suspected that frowning was a natural part of Snape's thought process.

"Your last two Occlumency sessions have been acceptable," he admitted.

"So? Is that yes?"

"You need to pay attention to your surroundings, and you need to have someone with you."

"Okay."

"Someone other than Lupin."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know he'd be the easiest."

"And I know he'd be useless, at best."

Harry looked down. He wanted to ask what the big deal was about Remus, but he suspected such a general question would get him an equally general answer.

"You heard him last night," Snape said, sounding suddenly angry. "He'd betray us if he dared."

"No. I heard him last night, and I think he is unhappy that no side has offered an acceptable solution to the problems of the werewolves."

"Believe what you wish. I say if you were attacked by his own kind, he would stand aside."

Harry bit his lip. He was stung by the contempt in Snape's voice. More abstractly, it bothered him that he and Snape managed to get such different meanings from Lupin's words. When Snape talked about Remus, he often seemed to be talking about someone Harry had never met. Conversations such as this made him wonder if Snape's Remus actually existed, or if he was a creation of Snape's hatred of werewolves and Marauders.

"About what you said," he forced out. "About Lupin liking dark-haired boys.... Did you mean that?"

"Yes. You're as much that as James's son." Snape smirked. "More."

"When I told him you said I was 'displaying myself' in jeans, he said to tell you he hasn't liked boys my age since he was my age."

Snape waved a hand in dismissal. "Perhaps. I don't keep track of what the werewolf plays with."

Harry blinked. "But you just said you meant it! Now it's something you made up!"

Snape looked at him curiously. "I don't know what Lupin pursues now," he elaborated. "When we were your age, you would have been very much to his taste. I consider that as likely to be relevant to his treatment of you as any residual loyalty he may feel to James. Neither bond is one I trust to keep you safe."

"That is an entirely different thing!" Harry raged. He wondered suddenly if Snape meant that Lupin and James.... He didn't want to think about it.

Snape stared at him in perplexity for a moment, then his face suddenly cleared. He laughed.

"Had I worried you? Were you frightened at the thought he might want you?" He smirked. "This is Lupin, Harry. If he did, he'd probably give you roses, not bind you to his bed."

Harry could feel that he was burning with embarrassment. Snape surveyed him with contemptuous satisfaction.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" he asked mockingly. "A silly little Gryffindor virgin."

"I'm barely sixteen," Harry choked out. He didn't think most of his classmates had done much more than kiss, yet, but he was suddenly aware that he wasn't sure.

Snape's mocking look faded suddenly. He turned back to his cauldron and started ladling the grey solution into a funnel-topped decanter. "Don't be insulted, Harry," he said distantly. "I'm jealous, really. I haven't had a good chance to be envious of you all month."

"Would you like to be a virgin?" Harry taunted.

"I would have liked to have known what sex was before I had it."

Snape's voice was distant, and his attention fixed on the liquid in the utilitarian decanter, but Harry flinched. He wasn't sure he wanted to know any more about this, but he knew his mind would persist in trying to fill in the blanks until he at least knew who and when. Harry took a quick breath. "Anyone I know?" he asked.

"You've met." Snape turned his head to answer the question coolly, through a faint, mocking smile. "Or so I've heard."

Harry glared. He was not certain he wanted to know, but he was certain that he did not want to play a guessing game.

"Lucius," Snape whispered, his voice almost sultry. "Who else?"

"But you were friends!"

"Later, yes. By sixteen, I was too old for him. Lucius does not do men, and I was approaching that. We started over." Snape stepped over to another stretch of table and picked up a set of three vials. "Here. Enough for the next three nights, and I've customized it for growing pains."

Automatically, Harry took the potion vials Snape handed him. If Lucius had had sex with Snape when he was still at school, Snape would have been thirteen years old, at most. He was still staring, he realized, as he noticed Snape's irritated expression.

"He didn't force me, Harry," Snape said sharply. "It was a bargain, and he upheld his end of it."

"Still!" Harry choked. He was too indignant to speak properly.

"Go flying," Snape said suddenly. "Go with anyone, I don't care. But if Death Eaters come out of the Forbidden Forest, and Remus can't be bothered to help you, don't blame me." Harry started to leave. As he was in the door, Snape added:

"And be back in two hours. If I need to find you, I won't be responsible for what I do to anyone in your presence."

Remus Lupin's office door was not latched, but it was closed so that only a crack of space showed. Harry rapped sharply on it and waited for response. The door opened.

"Harry?" Remus brightened. "Would you like to come in?"

"Actually, I wanted to go flying." Harry raised his Firebolt slightly. "Snape says I need someone with me. Do you have time?"

"Professor Snape considers me suitable protection for you?" Remus said, in pleased surprise.

"Not really. But we fought about it, and he got so annoyed he said he didn't care who I went with. So I thought I'd take advantage of his temper and ask you."

Remus looked slightly less happy, but he nodded.

"I'd enjoy that. I should get out a bit, while I'm still feeling well enough. By this time next week, the moon will be too close." He yawned. "Let me get on some shoes, and we can go."

While they walked through the castle and down over the grounds, Remus asked Harry for more specifics about Harry's study group of the previous year. They discussed learning methods that worked for specific students, and Remus, to Harry's surprise, remarked that he had the makings of a good teacher.

"Individual style is an important thing to understand," he commented. "Some people never do get it."

"Like Snape?" Harry asked wryly.

Remus sighed. "Professor Snape understands it perfectly well. He willfully disregards it because he will not 'coddle' his students. There, if you like, is an example of where I do not want you to be in twenty years."

Harry's immediate thought was that Remus had somehow found out -- or guessed-- about his parentage. He tried to sound politely confused as he asked:

"What do you mean? Why would I be?"

"I know you don't like me bothering you about the Dursleys, and you don't see what use it is, now. However, I think it has affected you, and I would like you to determine how it has affected you and deal with that soon, while you are still young enough to recover."

Harry considered this. He understood what Remus meant, but he thought it was an oversimplification.

"Suppose I'd had a perfectly comfortable childhood," he said. "I could still behave badly because of it. Think of James, going after Snape because he was poorly dressed and not deferential."

Remus glared. "Is that what Professor Snape says happened?"

"No, that's what James said happened."

Remus looked at Harry as if he Harry had lost his mind. Harry realized he couldn't say he had received a letter from James, because Remus would want to read it. "I read a letter from him," he said vaguely.

"Harry!" Remus was horrified. "You can't poke about in Professor Snape's private things. He'll murder you!"

Harry ducked his head. Remus, he noted, did not disbelieve that James might have said such a thing to Snape. "Fortunately, he caught me in the books," he said. "It wasn't too bad. I just got a fascinating lecture on Dark Arts, and a new set of rules about what I could touch and when."

Remus groaned. "Oh, and do be careful with his 'fascinating' lectures on Dark Arts. He nearly had your mother into that."

"I thought they didn't get along." Harry waited. Will he tell me?

Remus considered this. "For the most part," he answered carefully, "they did not. As you have probably noticed, Professor Snape is not fond of Muggle-born witches and wizards. However, they were briefly friends -- my fault, I'm afraid. I was trying establish less hostile relations with Severus, and I took Lily along with me."

Harry thought about that as they walked. All the adults he knew seemed to edit the histories they would relate to him. Remus, obviously, was not going to volunteer that Harry's biological parents had ever been more than "friends." It made him wonder what else Remus wasn't telling him. They had reached the pitch. Harry watched without comment as Remus picked out a school broom that had probably been current in his own school days. When they emerged back into the sunlight, Harry made a decision.

"Remus?" Harry asked uncomfortably. "Can I ask you a terribly rude, personal question?"

Remus sighed and rolled his eyes. "No," he said, "I have never killed or infected another person." He looked at Harry with a mixture of amusement and irritation. "Was that it?"

"No, actually."

Remus's eyes widened briefly. He looked abashed. "Sorry -- that's the standard one. Ask, then."

"Er... did you and James ever...?"

"Ever what?"

"Er... have it off, or um...? Harry was absolutely unable to get out another word. He had the background thought that he might kill Snape for making him need to ask this.

Remus blinked. He choked out a small laugh. "If we did, would you really want to know?"

"Well, normally, no," Harry said. His face still burned with embarrassment, but Remus's reply enabled him to speak, again. "But Snape implied... You know how I get obsessed with things. I'll just keep worrying at it until I know."

Remus shook his head. "And there, you are like Severus. Which is why he knows how to take advantage of someone who can't keep his nose out of things that shouldn't concern him."

By sheer force of will, Harry kept his head up and his eyes locked on Remus's. "Should I put all this down as a yes?"

Remus rubbed his forehead, and sighed again. "Yes," he said precisely, "all of once, and it was explicitly experimentation on your father's part. In part, because he was curious as to what I had been doing, and in part because he was angry at Sirius. Had he enjoyed it, he no doubt would have used me to give Sirius fits."

"So, he didn't?"

"No. He said it 'felt like wanking, not sex.' Not very introspective, James. Fortunately, I had a recent experience with a female friend to draw on, and I told him I had found that similarly disturbing, because she did not smell like a potential mate. He agreed that it was probably something like that, at some subconscious level, and the attempt didn't come between us." Remus looked coolly at Harry. "There. Was that sufficiently more than you wanted to know?"

"I suppose." Harry drew a deep breath. "This 'female friend....'"

"Harry -- don't ask."

"Okay!" Harry said quickly. "Shall we fly, then?"

Remus mounted the school broom, an old Shooting Star. "I should warn you, I am not in your class on a broom."

"That's okay," Harry returned. "Your broom isn't in my broom's class, either. Viktor Krum couldn't keep up with me on that broom."

Harry mounted his Firebolt. His pleasure at being about to fly again was immediately overridden by concern as he felt the vials Snape had given him clink together in his pocket.

"Everything all right?" Remus called down, concerned, as Harry dismounted without ever leaving the ground.

"Fine," Harry called back. He took the vials out of his pocket and laid them carefully on the lowest bench of the stands. "Be up in a minute."

It was only a few seconds later that was he was hovering by Remus, but Remus was still looking down at the bench, his brows furrowed in concern.

"What are those, Harry?"

"Just some potions. Snape handed--"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Professor Snape handed them to me when I was on my way out here. I don't want to drop them."

"This is for ... study?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Something to relax my muscles, okay? I strained some joints."

"Shouldn't you get those from Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry ignored the warning in Remus's tone. "It seems rather silly when I'm staying with the Potions Master, doesn't it?"

"Madam Pomfrey, not geographical convenience, should determine whether or not you need the potions," Remus said severely.

"You just don't like Snape."

"Ignoring the last few weeks, Snape has always hated you, and you are his only path to vengeance on the dead. Are you quite certain you should be drinking whatever he hands you?"

"I had about the same reaction when I saw you getting the wolfsbane potion, remember? I was sure he was poisoning you."

Remus smiled, but very briefly. "I remember. You were hinting broadly, and I had such trouble ignoring it with a straight face."

Harry nodded. "Well, I need this. I can't tell you specifically why, just yet, and I can't tell Madam Pomfrey, either. Professor Dumbledore knows. Trust me, okay?"

Remus looked down through the air under their feet to the distant lines of the vials.

"Harry ... I wish you had told me about the Dursleys."

"I tried to!"

"I know. And I made assumptions." Light brown eyes looked up and into Harry's own. "So if anything is wrong now, promise that you'll tell me?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"But you strained some joints, badly enough to need muscle relaxants, but not badly enough to keep from flying, and you cannot tell Madam Pomfrey what happened?"

Harry growled. "Okay, some things are a bit ... strange right now. But I can't tell you about them, either."

"Why not?"

"It would be too dangerous. Dumbledore knows. He agreed. And I didn't do anything wrong."

The name of Dumbledore failed to work its usual magic on Remus. He looked, if anything, angry.

"Dumbledore is a brilliant man, but I sometimes wonder about his priorities. Actually, no. I don't wonder. I know. He has the priorities of a leader. You have enough of that, Harry. You need someone with the priorities of a father."

Harry scowled. "Don't tell me what I need, Remus."

He shot off and up, before Remus could reply. Remus's school broom was no match for the Firebolt, and their conversation was not one that could be continued in brief shouts. Harry did his best to replace the subject with "over here!" and "beat you to the hoops" until it would sound awkward to pick up the talk where they had left it.

After an hour, Harry decided he had had enough of flying. Remus was not much of a flyer and could not handle the hands-free flying necessary to throw or catch a quaffle, so Harry couldn't start up any sort of a Quidditch drill with him. Harry, under Remus's disapproving glare, retrieved his potion vials, and Remus locked up the school broom. They headed back to the castle. The day was still overcast, with an unpleasant, heavy warmth.

"I bet you're looking forward to the start of term," Remus offered, as they walked across the lawns. "Your teammates will be much more fun than some old professor."

Harry, not wanting to criticize Remus's flying, made a non-committal noise.

"Aren't you looking forward to the start of term?" Remus pressed.

"I suppose." Harry shrugged. "It will be nice to have my friends back, and such. Even just other students who aren't friends. It's too quiet around here."

"And you'll be back in Gryffindor."

Harry thought about his room in the dungeons, then his shared room in Gryffindor tower. He decided it was about an even trade, with certain things, such as roommates, coming in equally on pros and cons.

"And Snape will be publicly torturing me again," he said irritably, "for the benefit of Crabbe and Goyle and Malfoy, and that ilk."

"Will he?"

Harry nodded. "It's politically important," he said. "We've discussed it." Harry stopped suddenly. They were still far enough from the stairs that no one could be eavesdropping on them.

"You should not have gone after him, last night," he said fiercely. "We are not maintaining a pretense of animosity for the staff, but they are not members of the Order, and you should not draw their attention to behaviors that may endanger him."

Remus looked uncertain for a moment, then shrugged.

"If questioned, I'm sure he will tell Voldemort that he is attempting to lull you into a false sense of security -- as he well may be."

Harry growled. "I feel like the two of you don't know each other at all!" he exclaimed in annoyance.

"I assure you, we know each other quite well."

"But you don't! He obviously knows some other Remus Lupin from some magically linked world -- some faithless, amoral beast who will lead me someplace dangerous and abandon me to my enemies, if he doesn't attack me himself. And you think he is so obsessed with hating James that he will kill me with art rather than expediency -- you don't have his personality as horribly wrong as he has yours -- I will admit he is vengeful -- but you have mine wrong, which is almost worse."

"How so?"

"You think I'm some gullible, delicate child who can't stand up to a willful adult for four weeks."

"I've seen no sign of you standing up to Professor Snape."

"Just because we don't air our arguments at the dinner table doesn't mean I do everything he says. I do have opinions, you know." With an aggravated sigh, Harry pushed his hair back from his face. Remus jerked backward, as suddenly as if Harry had pulled a wand on him.

"Remus?" Harry asked.

For a moment, Remus just stared at him, his mouth slightly open. Finally, he swallowed and licked his lips nervously. When he spoke, his voice was strained.

"Where did you get that ring, Harry?"

Harry looked at his hands. In just a few days, he had grown sufficiently accustomed to the little emerald ring that he often forgot he was wearing it. He expected he would be conscious of it when school started -- it was more showy than he was comfortable with.

"Snape gave it to me," Harry said nervously. "He said it was my mum's." He realized suddenly that Remus knew that -- his reaction was not to Harry having a ring, but to Harry having this ring.

"It was not," Remus said tightly. "It is Severus's ring; your mother wore it, for a time."

"Well, it is mine now!" Harry snapped. Damn it, I should have said Dumbledore gave it to me....

"Severus is not someone you want to accept presents from, Harry," Remus warned, his voice a low growl. "He does not give anything."

"Remus...." Harry began.

"Severus is a very possessive man," Remus said. "Don't cede him too much authority. He is your host and an adult, but he is not your guardian, your owner, or your lord, and he has no right to tell you what you may wear, or with whom you may speak."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Will you do anything about it?" Remus demanded.

"Professor Lupin," Harry said intently, "one of the things I've learned -- almost -- is that not everything you believe is worth fighting about. I am not you. I don't need to try to fight -- I need to try not to fight." He focused on Remus, trying to sway him with pure sincerity. "If I'm letting these things go, I have my reasons."

Remus stared at him. "Do you." The tone didn't make it a question to answer. Harry stared back. "Well, good luck, Harry. Remember that I'm here for you, always. If Severus gives you any trouble, come to me."

With that, Remus turned and strode across the lawn towards the door. When he was halfway there, he paused and looked back.

"I'm expected to see you inside, I believe."

Harry marched over, past Remus and up to the doors. In the open doorway, he turned and looked back. Remus was still standing where he had stopped, staring after him. Harry slipped inside and let the door swing shut behind him.

This time, Snape looked up immediately when Harry entered the lab.

"I see I don't need to hunt you down."

"No."

Snape smiled slightly as he turned away. "You're annoyed," he observed.

"Some, yeah."

"Why?"

"Everybody tells me these little self-serving half-truths, then expects me to tell them my innermost thoughts. I'm sick of it."

"Would this 'everybody' be Lupin, or Dumbledore?"

"Lupin, this time, though Dumbledore has done the same. Sirius did too, and Mrs. Weasley does. I suspect you and James, as well. You never have told me what you thought of his account of things."

"It had a certain number of half-truths, but they were not self-serving."

"Do you care to elaborate?" Harry asked coldly.

"No. I don't. Our personal lives of twenty years ago are none of your business."

Harry sighed and pulled himself up onto a stool. "I suppose. But when Remus says you and Lily were 'friends, briefly,' it makes me wonder what the other things he says mean. 'Friends' don't produce children."

Severus shrugged. "They can. Lily had one potentially child-producing act with Lupin, and they were certainly no more than friends."

Harry buried his face in his hands in dismay that was only half affected. "Aaargh!"

"You didn't want to hear that, did you?" Snape said slyly. "So do you want me to edit, or not? At the moment, you look like you do."

"No." Harry looked up seriously. "No, I don't. Don't dwell on it, but don't edit."

Snape frowned. "I will ... re-evaluate," he said.

"Thanks."

"I don't know that you'll say that for long." Snape hesitated. "About what I told you earlier...."

"About Lucius?"

"That ... conversation. My reaction was entirely inappropriate. Don't go running out and shag someone just to prove you can." He looked uneasily at Harry. "You have me thinking too much of that year. From time to time, when I have been alone, I find myself feeling like I did then, and I catch myself cursing or taunting you like some lawless child." He pulled his fingers absently through his hair, separating it into thin black strands, and grimaced. "It wasn't a very fatherly response."

"No, it wasn't," Harry agreed, but he found he was amused by the observation. "Would you like an assistant, this afternoon? So you don't think too much?"

"I think an Occlumency session, first."

"All right."

For the next two days, Harry stayed down in the dungeons, alternately reading and helping Snape with some antidotes the Potions master expected to need for the first week of classes. They skipped the Wednesday staff dinner by both conveniently pretending to forget it.

Thursday evening, Harry was by himself, reading Blood Magic, which focused on the theory of spells and potions using bodily components, with numerous examples for healing and battle potions and spells, including, intriguingly, both the Paternity Charm and Herem. Snape had pointed out that two-thirds of the examples were actually Dark Arts, and more than that would be illegal, due to their use of human blood, but he had approved of Harry reading the book, which he described as "sensible and unbiased."

Harry was just starting the chapter on disguise spells (including the Paternity Charm), when he heard a light thump on the door. It was followed by others, irregularly spaced. He opened the door to find Pigwidgeon bouncing around the hallway. This time, he took the little owl to the kitchen and offered it a dead mole. He then opened the letter.

Harry,

Mum's talked to Professor Dumbledore, and he reckons you can go to Diagon Alley, this year. We'll be doing our shopping this Saturday. I hope you can meet us! I've heard you're fine and that Hermione's parents saw you, but it's not the same as seeing you myself.

Did I tell you Hermione and I were seeing each other? Well, we broke up. It seemed like it would be perfect until we made it formal, and then it was just a disaster. She wanted me to be entirely different, and I guess I wanted the same from her, too. We spent a few weekends together and broke up the last one. I guess we weren't too serious, because we're already laughing about it -- it's kind of a relief to have it done. So if Fred and George start teasing me about my "summer fling," that's what they're on about.

We need to go see their shop, of course -- that's where my family will be flooing into. Mum says Professor Dumbledore might like that for you, too, as it will be a bit more private than the Leaky Cauldron.

Hope to see you!

Ron

Harry composed a reply immediately:

Ron,

After years of build-up, you went out with Hermione for a few weeks? During summer? You prat! Well, as long as you're okay with each other now, I'm okay with it.

I would love to meet you in Diagon Alley. Will Hermione be there, too? I'll ask Dumbledore, and you'll have a more definite reply from him, probably via your mum.

Living at school is pretty good, but some of the teachers fight with each other a lot. I think they need students around to make them behave!

Definitely hope to see you soon!

Harry

Harry sent Pig off with the reply, but was still cleaning owl pellets off the table when Snape arrived.

"Accident?"

"Owl."

"Ah. What about?"

"The Weasleys invited me to meet them in Diagon Alley on Saturday. Can I?

"You probably could. You are dangerously resourceful."

Harry gave an aggravated sigh. "May I?" he clarified. "Please, sir?"

"If Dumbledore approves it. I still expect you to dress properly."

Harry grinned. "You are so much better than the Dursleys."

"Should I be insulted?"

The next day, Dumbledore stopped by the lab while Harry was chopping witch burr for one of the potions Snape was preparing.

"Good afternoon!" said the headmaster's cheery voice. "And what are we working on today?"

"I," Snape said pointedly, "am brewing several antidotes that the incompetence and carelessness of my students will no doubt make essential in the coming month, and Harry is helping me with preparing components. You are standing in the doorway, distracting me, perhaps dooming some third-year to a week of boils."

Dumbledore's mouth quirked into an amused smile. "I will be quick, then," he said pleasantly. "First, the Grangers have agreed to Hermione's return, but I am still receiving other worried queries. I have sent a letter to Fudge requesting that he speed up negotiations with the Muggle Prime Minister, or allow a team to modify the correct memories, so that Harry may be exonerated in the Muggle world. I have also sent a letter to the parents of all Muggle-born students, to explain Harry's situation and refer them to the relevant Wizarding publications."

"I suppose you could not have allowed a few of them to be frightened off?" Snape asked sourly.

"Of course not," Dumbledore said cheerily. "Who can say which of them might be the next Lily Evans?" He winked at Harry. "I also wished to remind you, as you both seem prone to forgetting, that I expect your presence at dinner tonight."

"Will your werewolf be leashed?" Snape inquired bitingly.

"I have reminded Remus of his duties in courtesy and discretion." Dumbledore nodded his farewell. "At seven this evening, then." They listened to his footsteps recede.

"I guess we better go," Harry offered, as he brushed the chopped witch burr into a waiting bowl.

"Hand me the cuttlefish ink, unsealed."

In light of that response, Harry was rather surprised when Snape actually did stop working at five-thirty, and more so when Snape spent longer than usual in the bath. When the door to the bathroom opened, Harry was engrossed in Blood Magic. He looked up only when he caught a whiff of his own shampoo. Snape had used a drying spell on himself, as he usually did before emerging. His hair was a single sheet of smooth, glossy black. Harry goggled.

"Acceptable?" Snape asked wryly.

"Um... yeah," Harry said. "I can deal with that." He grinned. "Wow."

"You have seen me with clean hair before, you know," Snape said dryly.

"Mm." Harry stood. "I might not have noticed, if I wasn't really looking at you. It's so shiny. I'd fill in what I expected to see." Tentatively, he reached a finger out and ran it down the fall of Snape's hair.

"Harry," Snape said warningly.

"Just curious what it felt like. Does this mean it's time for me to throw robes on over this?" Harry gestured down at his own clothes.

Snape nodded. "And comb your hair," he added, smirking. "It's a mess."

"It is not!" Harry retorted, but he went off to his room, anyway, determined that he was not going to look less presentable than Snape, however much his opinion of him may have improved.

Harry decided to try the green robes, open, over his trousers and shirt. Remus often did that. Harry checked in the mirror and decided that the look worked well, with better clothes to base it on.

"Suits you, dearie," the mirror said cheerily. "Tasteful, yet casual."

"Thanks," Harry said, privately agreeing. He looked well-dressed, but not overdone or contrived. He wondered if Hermione would like it. It was a wizarding outfit, but not aggressively so.

"Try it with the boots," the mirror suggested.

Harry did that. It didn't look much different, as the boots were mostly hidden by the slacks, but they gave him a little more height, and he noticed he stood differently in them. He walked back and forth a few times, and decided yes, he looked subtly better in the boots.

"Okay?" he asked the mirror.

"Just lovely," the mirror said. "Run along, now."

As quietly as the boots would permit, Harry crossed to the door of the kitchen and peered into the living room. Snape was standing by the fire, frowning down at it. He had exchanged his dressing gown for his usual full black robes, which obscured his thinness. His hooked nose showed in profile against the light of a torch on the far wall. Harry stepped a little closer, until he could see that glossy sheet of hair, again.

"So," he asked. "What is your ancestry?"

Snape shot him a sharp look. "Witches and wizards," he said coolly. "For at least five generations."

"I'm talking about that hair, not what you can do with a wand." Harry sat down in the armchair by the fire. "And don't tell me it's not my business, because it is."

"Very well." Snape glanced at him momentarily, then went back to looking at the fire. "In that sense, I am a mixed blood on both sides. My father was the son of an Arab man and a Scottish woman, and my mother the daughter of an English man and an Indian woman."

Harry felt uncomfortable. "Parts of the world that I know next to nothing about," he admitted.

Snape shrugged. "Anything I know is from books. Neither of my foreign grandparents passed down any cultural details, except for a few recipes from my Indian grandmother. Even that was no more than most people would find familiar. Since my grandmother died when I was young, my tastes were still childish, and I remember only sweets." He frowned thoughtfully. "Except for a warm drink I make sometimes."

"What?"

"I don't know a name. It's milk, with saffron, pistachios, cardamom, and sugar, beaten or poured to a froth." He returned Harry's confused look with amused superiority. "I'll make it for you tomorrow morning, if you like."

"Not tonight?"

"No. It's a morning drink." Snape turned from the fire. "Now, we are going to dinner."

Harry sighed. "Okay," he said.

They arrived slightly late, again. Harry found himself unable to restrain a grin at the double-takes that Snape got from various faculty members. He dared a glance at Remus. To his surprise, the werewolf was staring at Snape with undisguised hatred.

"Company seems to agree with you, Severus," Professor McGonagall commented dryly, attracting Harry's attention. He wondered when she had returned.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall."

"Good evening, Harry. Have you had a productive summer?"

Harry smiled. "If nothing else, my Potions grades should improve."

"Really?" Remus asked mildly. "Why is that?"

"Practice, Lupin," Snape answered mockingly. "You were familiar with the notion at some point in your life."

Remus opened his mouth to answer, but Harry frowned at him and shook his head. While he was hesitating, Dumbledore intervened.

"When I want to find you, now, I check Severus's lab." He smiled slightly at Harry. "Not a development I expected."

"He is merely bored," Severus stated. "The moment his friends return, I'm sure he will drop all productive activity in favor of causing trouble on a daily basis."

"Much of your youthful trouble, Severus, was caused in the Potions lab, as I recall."

Snape looked archly at the headmaster. "More than you know," he said.

Dumbledore's silver eyebrows rose. "Oh, do you think so, Mr. Snape?"

"Your reputation for omniscience is overstated."

"I admit I don't know everything, but I may know a bit more than certain young people think."

Dumbledore and Snape continued to banter in this vein for some time, neither revealing what "trouble" they were referring to. Harry, after deciding nothing of substance would be said, returned his attentions to Remus. When Remus noticed, he responded first with a furious glare, then a pleading look. Harry attempted to convey, with expression alone, that he had no idea what Remus wanted.

"Have you finished your summer Transfiguration essay, Harry?" McGonagall asked.

"A few weeks ago. Would you like it now?"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "It would be one less thing to grade the first week of term." She looked thoughtfully at Harry. "We could discuss career planning, as well. Are you still interested in becoming an Auror?"

Harry was suddenly aware that Snape and Dumbledore were no longer talking. In fact, no one else was. He suspected Snape did not think much of Aurors.

"Yes ... that is, I think so," he said, stumbling over the words. He felt his face heat.

"It is a difficult path, Mr. Potter. I think you had better be sure."

"Perhaps we should discuss it on Monday."

Professor McGonagall looked puzzled. "If you wish. Come by my office at noon, then."

"Thank you, professor."

Harry looked nervously at Snape. His father was regarding him with a frown, but it seemed to be the frown that meant he was thinking through something, rather than the one that meant he was about to launch into insults.

Remus leaned forward slightly. "Harry?" To Harry's relief, Remus spoke in his normal mild tone.

"Yes?"

"I have a number of arguments for and against you becoming an Auror -- things you may not have considered. If you have time, perhaps we could talk before your conference with Professor McGonagall?

Harry hesitated. At the moment, he didn't want to talk to Remus; were it possible, he would avoid any further private meetings with Remus until he could tell him about his parentage.

"Lupin, the boy does not need you to choose a career for him," Snape said contemptuously.

"Am I supposed to leave that up to you?" Remus retorted. "Anyway, I don't want to choose for him, I just want to point out some --"

"Fill his head with muddled ideas of righteous glory --"

"Severus, I don't want him to become an Auror any more than you do!" Remus snapped.

"Remus," Dumbledore warned.

"Excuse me."

"Does this mean we don't need a conference?" Harry asked.

"I want you to understand why," Remus said intently. "And also that I recognize there are reasons to do it -- I will respect that decision if that is what you make, but I want you to hear me out."

Harry sighed. "Fine. Monday at eleven."

Remus shook his head. "That doesn't give you time to process what I say. How about tea, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Dumbledore contributed, "Harry will be going to Diagon Alley."

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed, delighted. "Thank you!"

"Tea Sunday, then," Remus said doggedly.

Harry looked at Severus, who muttered "you may," as if the words were physically painful. Relieved, Harry nodded at Remus.

"Sunday, then." He saw McGonagall open her mouth, then shut it without saying anything. She sat back and looked curiously at Snape, then at Harry. Harry quickly shifted his attention to his dinner.

When the pudding arrived, Remus excused himself, but did not leave immediately. He walked to the head of the table and bent to speak quietly to Dumbledore. Dumbledore questioned him, then nodded. After a final look at Harry, Remus left.

At the end of dinner, Dumbledore asked Snape and Harry to come to his office. "I've promised to speak to Remus, first," he said. "Give me ten minutes -- Remus is usually concise."

Five minutes later, Snape stood.

"Come with me," he said to Harry. "We have a few things to discuss."

Harry followed him willingly, but Snape did not stop to talk. He led Harry to Dumbledore's office, and they rode the spiral stairs up to the small anteroom. Harry could hear Remus yelling before they stepped out onto the floor.

"Believe what you want; I demand you remove Harry from that man's care!"

Snape held a finger to his lips and motioned Harry to the side. Harry gave him an amused look, but remained compliantly silent.

"You cannot demand, Remus --"

"Then I will contest this!"

"Remus, you cannot get custody of Harry -- or anyone. You are a werewolf. You know what --"

"Severus doesn't have custody either, nor, I believe, could he get it. Take Harry out of there! He can live with me. You know I would take good care of him."

"When you are well enough, yes."

"That would still be an improvement! Albus, listen to me! Harry is vulnerable, right now. You cannot continue to leave him with the most manipulative, unprincipled, vengeful person at Hogwarts!"

"Harry seems to be thriving."

"Thriving! Have you been paying any attention at all? Harry is following him around like a cowed stray. He's wearing Lily's -- Oh, don't give me that look! I know his personal history far better than you do."

"I am not sure that is true."

"It had better be. Because if you knew, you should have done something."

Harry glanced at Snape. Snape was stepping anxiously towards the door. He stopped, one hand raised, when Remus continued.

"Never mind -- I don't want to hear it. However he may be doing it, Severus has Harry completely under his thumb!"

"I understand that you have personal difficulties with Severus --"

"I loved Severus!" Remus bellowed. "That is not the point. If you had cared when he was in school, it might matter. If I had been braver, it might matter. But I will not lose Harry because you cannot admit that you lost Severus Snape twenty years ago."

Snape brought down his hand and rapped sharply on the heavy door. Harry could see the bright touch of blood at the top of his father's cheeks. When the door opened, Remus first paled, then turned far redder than Snape. Harry decided he was the most capable of speech.

"You wished to see us, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore nodded. "A moment, Harry." He turned to Remus. "Thank you for your observations, Remus. Good day."

Remus nodded a coldly polite farewell. "And good day to you, Headmaster." For a moment, his eyes locked on Harry's. The look was feral, warning. A second nod. "Harry." With a bitter smile, Remus nodded a third time. "Severus." The werewolf left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"It was unkind of you to listen, Severus," the headmaster reproved.

"We were only there for a moment," Snape returned angrily. "It is not my fault if the werewolf must shout his complaints."

"You realize, of course, that it is highly unusual for Remus to raise his voice. He is very concerned about Harry."

"I take no responsibility for the beast's fits of hysteria. Now, why did you summon us here?"

Dumbledore sighed. He walked back behind his desk, but did not sit. "You know I have pressed Fudge on the matter of clearing Harry in the Muggle world?"

"He refuses," Snape guessed.

"He claims that, as Harry is a minor, he cannot authorize any action until it is approved by Harry's legal guardian. At the moment, Harry does not have a legal guardian. Fudge would like him to become a ward of the Ministry. He says if I promise not to challenge, he will start the proceedings immediately."

Harry was gripped by terror at the thought of being directly under the control of the Minister of Magic. "You can't!" he blurted out.

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "It would be most unsafe. Severus?"

"We cannot, of course," Snape agreed slowly. "However, I had hoped that I could maintain my position as a spy at least until Halloween...."

"Then we are in agreement!" Dumbledore, who had looked relieved at Snape's statement, finally sat down. "I will apply to be Harry's guardian."

"Will that change anything?" Harry asked. I hate being bounced around like this, he thought. It isn't as if I wanted to live with Snape, but I'm used to him, now. I know what he expects.

"Other than legally, Harry? No."

Harry nodded. "I suppose you've been running my life for years, anyway," he said flippantly.

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry...."

"He will continue to be under my care?" Snape interrupted.

"Covertly, yes."

"Then I agree. Harry?"

"As far as I can tell, I'm just the bloody quaffle."

"If that were true, Harry," Snape said tightly, "I would not be asking for your opinion. Both of us have asked for your opinion. Now stop sulking like a spoiled child and reply."

"I don't --" Harry stopped before saying he didn't care. He tried to figure out what he was thinking. Finally, he said:

"Whatever happens, Professor Dumbledore will continue to manage my life, or as much of it as he feels politically necessary, and Professor Snape, you'll still be my father. I've never thought about what I want, because it just doesn't matter. Of course I can't go to the Ministry, and of course we can't give up our spy any earlier than we need to, so there's no choice to be made." He turned to Dumbledore. "You will become my guardian. That's fine with me. I'll try not to be rude about it, but don't pretend we have options."

"We understand your position, now, Harry," Snape said coldly. "Now, apologize to the headmaster for being rude -- respectfully."

Harry glowered briefly at Snape, who looked contemptuously back at him. Sighing, Harry turned to Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry I was rude, sir." At Dumbledore's unhappy expression, Harry found himself more sincerely contrite. "I like you, and, under other circumstances, would have been happy to have you as a guardian." Harry thought for a moment. "Although I think you'd be a bit weird and difficult to figure out," he added honestly. He looked back at Snape.

"I apologize for sulking, sir. Is that better?"

"Much," Snape said, with arrogant satisfaction. "You are not an adult, Harry. If you want to be treated as a mature young man, you must remember to act like one." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "So, you become his guardian," he said to Dumbledore. "That will work while he is perceived as an orphan. What do we do when the inevitable happens?"

Professor Dumbledore looked searchingly at Harry. "Perhaps it will not," he said. "He may not look as much like you as we fear he will."

To Harry's surprise, the headmaster's words filled him with dread. I couldn't take that, he thought. I don't want to spend the rest of my life lying to everybody.

"I expect he will," Snape countered. "I have seen subtle resemblances already."

Dumbledore sighed. "The change will be complete by the end of January, but identifiable resemblance, if it is present, may come earlier. How long will it take you to implement the contingency plans we discussed?"

"It depends on who I see and when. Six to eight weeks will probably suffice for distributing the devices, but I need them to be available, first. Flitwick is still uncertain of his results. It would help if I could tell him more of our intent."

"I cannot expect him to risk --"

"Of course," Severus interrupted dryly. "But the fact is, the information we can provide to him is limited. And even if everything works, this will still cost us. Passive monitoring is never as effective as being able direct a conversation towards potentially valuable information."

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "How would you feel about being acknowledged, if it came to that?"

Harry looked uneasily between the two men. Both looked anxious.

"It will eventually happen, whatever we do, right? I mean, even if he doesn't acknowledge me, people will probably know."

Dumbledore nodded slightly. "It may become obvious. It will almost certainly be obvious that your former resemblance to James was contrived."

"So all right then." Harry shrugged. "Some people will be a pain about it, but that will happen anyway." He thought about Ron's possible reactions and tried not to shudder. "Actually, if we could get a month into term, that would help."

"Understood." Dumbledore smiled sympathetically at Harry, and pushed back from his desk. "Very well. Fudge has allowed me a week to decide. I will take all of that." Amusement lightened his weary features. "We will drag every stage of this out as long as possible. At worst case, Severus, that should give you your two months, and Harry, you should have more than a month of school behind you." He stood, and moved over to Fawkes's perch. One hand stroking the bird's brilliant plumage, he said:

"It may be time to tell the Order."

"No." Snape's reply was immediate, and almost angry. Harry shrank back in his seat.

"Remus, at least."

"No. It is my personal business, and I will not have anyone's stupidity or sentimentality endangering my last efforts. We will tell them when we need to, not before."

Harry wanted to protest, just to end the fights with Remus, but then he thought about who else was in the Order: pretty much all the Weasleys, except Ron and Ginny, and Fred and George would tell Ron. On the whole, he would much rather tell Ron himself, though he wasn't sure how he would do it.

"Harry?"

Harry shrugged, then pressed back in his chair again. "I want to tell Remus. Everybody else can wait."

"We are not telling Remus!" Snape shouted.

Harry felt a bit safer now that Snape was yelling. He sat straighter. "Now who can be heard from the anteroom?" he asked bitingly. Snape twitched, then, to Harry's surprise, nodded slightly.

"Good point."

"Well then," Dumbledore said, leaving the phoenix, "are we done for the night?"

Harry nodded and stood. Snape stood also.

"Should you have any concerns, Harry," Dumbledore offered, "you are always welcome to come speak to me."

Harry nodded. "I know."

"And Severus?"

"Should I have anything of significance to say," Snape said coldly, "I will come speak to you."

"By then, it is often too late." Dumbledore smiled at the potions master with evident fondness. "You are too practiced in ignoring the stirrings of your heart, Severus."

And that, Harry knew, was intended for him as well. Snape snorted contemptuously, much as Harry wanted to, and bid the headmaster goodnight.

They walked to the dungeons in silence. As soon as the door of Snape's quarters closed on them, Harry turned on Snape. "I want to tell Remus," he said fiercely.

"I have told you before," Snape said, in a threatening low voice, "and I tell you again, no."

"What is your problem with Remus?" Harry demanded. "Don't tell me he's a werewolf -- that doesn't half explain it. You can brew the wolfsbane potion, so you know that's a disease, not an indication of character."

"I have sufficient experience with Remus's character to know you should not trust him."

"What?" Harry screamed. "Don't tell me he can't be trusted, give me a frigging example, okay?"

"Language, Harry."

"Fuck my language!" Harry shrieked. He stopped suddenly and giggled. "Um...."

"You were saying?"

Harry took a deep breath. Evenly, he said, "I want to know why you don't trust Remus."

"He spent his school years leading his friends into danger --"

"And you spent yours practicing Dark Arts. I don't believe that's why you distrust him!"

Snape glared at Harry. Harry sat deliberately in the center of the couch and stared back. He waited.

"Very well," Snape said icily. "Be it on your head. In our sixth year, Remus decided to come apologize to me for his friends' behavior, and his inability to control it. He thought that if I was better groomed that James and Sirius might not give me such trouble, so he made my ... socialization a project. This, of course, made no difference to Sirius and James, but Remus and I ... courted."

"What?" Harry asked, astounded.

"He was my boyfriend for nearly three months. You can imagine, of course, Sirius's reaction when he found out. Remus, who had previously given all his attention to Sirius and James, now had a lover -- not only that, but another boy -- not only that, but the boy they hated most in all the school. When Sirius failed to break us up by persuasion or verbal trickery, he decided that having Remus kill me would do the job nicely."

Harry looked at the hate on Snape's face with confusion. "But that was Sirius. Remus didn't know."

"Remus never told me!" Snape bellowed. "Three months I was with him. I was far more precocious than he, and had him in bed by the end of that. Yet he never told me he was a werewolf."

"What does it matter?"

"That I was doing that with an animal?" Snape said in disgust.

"Remus is not an animal! He is a person -- ninety-nine percent of the time, anyway."

"Closer to ninety-seven point nine, if you are counting only the physical time as a wolf, but he is affected far more than that."

"But a person, still."

"Even if I accept that," Snape said contemptuously, "he would still be a person with a very dangerous disease."

"Is that relevant? I thought it could only be spread by a bite in the wolf form."

Snape shivered. He looked off into empty air as he mused:

"There was a slight risk. A bite the other way can provide a transmission avenue during the days of the full moon. He had told me not to bite him, but I would have had his blood eventually. He had scars, and frequently fresh wounds, and no plausible explanation of why. I had guessed that he enjoyed ... either inflicting them or receiving them, and was afraid to admit it. It wasn't an unreasonable theory - he was the sort who would not say what he wanted, if he thought he shouldn't want it."

"So you were at risk."

"Not much. He avoided being near me the days that it might have mattered." Snape slumped back. He looked oddly drained. "It was more ...." He took an audible breath. "I had told him things I had never told anyone. Things about my family, and how I grew up, and surviving in Slytherin without physical power." Snape met Harry's eyes. His own were a shadowed, bottomless black. "He told me nothing, not even the secrets he had shared with them."

Harry sat for a moment, frozen by the despair in Snape's face. Suddenly, he remembered something. "But he didn't tell them."

"Don't be ridiculous --"

"He didn't! I remember him telling me about it, after I found out. He didn't tell them; they figured it out and confronted him. As far as I know, Remus has never told anybody."

An odd expression crossed Snape's face, then resolved into a sneer. "Pathetic."

"Yes, well we have discussed Remus's character flaw," Harry retorted. "And we might be able to find one or two more, but it could take us ten minutes to list each other's. I admire Remus, and I still see no reason to distrust him."

It was a measure of his father's distress that the other stayed silent. Harry looked at him and sighed. "Still..." he said. "How you feel makes a bit more sense to me, now." Harry sat back. "Was this before or after my mum?"

Snape snorted. "Do you honestly think Remus would have so much as spoken to me after I discarded Lily as an unworthy mudblood?"

Harry flinched slightly at the epithet. "I suppose not," he agreed. Absently, he looked down at the ring on his finger and twisted it back and forth in the light from the fireplace.

Snape sighed and sat down in the armchair. "Lily was Remus's best friend," he continued, "and the only one of Remus's friends who accepted me. She and I had a certain ... intellectual compatibility. While I was with Remus, we became close. Unlike Remus, who was moderately clever and very studious, Lily was my intellectual equal. While she did not approve of my fascination with Dark Arts, she was capable of understanding the theories I explained to her. I told my friends in the Dark Lord's camp -- I was just starting to enter that set, at that point -- that she was different from other Muggle-born witches. She was brilliant, powerful -- perhaps some sort of sport."

"Genetically, you mean?"

"Yes." Snape thought for a moment. "My justification for her, of course. Lily attempted to intervene on Remus's behalf. Neither of us was precisely sure when we switched to talking about ourselves. I asked her out before the month was over. Remus and I avoided each other as much as possible -- he got top marks, that term. Sirius was as awful as ever, but James ... James had finally seen Sirius do more than he was willing to go along with. He kept Sirius in line, and was actually civil in his interactions with me. Peter followed the lead of the most powerful one present, whether that was Sirius or James."

"You weren't with her for very long, though."

"No. It had been four months when term was over."

"But you proposed to her." Harry looked down at the ring, again. He and Remus ... Does Remus think he gave me this because I have taken her place? He winced. Oh hell. That's exactly what he thinks. "I know more of his history than you do..." Himself? No, Dumbledore seemed to know about that. Oh -- Lucius. Hell!

"... impetuous." Snape was saying. "She didn't think we were old enough, but she loved me -- and perhaps hoped to bind me to her, to temper my prejudice. She accepted on the basis of long engagement -- we would not marry until we graduated. I gave her the ring. She went home to her Muggle family, but I ... I did not want to go home, no more than you did. I split my summer between Augustus's house and Lucius's."

"And became a Death Eater."

Snape clasped his hands before his face and nodded. "Yes. I did not take the Mark until Halloween, but I ... I made my first kill in August. I broke up with her on the train in September, and I was back to outright war with James before we set foot in school." Snape grimaced. "And he had her by October."

Harry rested his chin in his hands. "And I thought my personal life was complicated."

"Don't speak too soon. Your sixth year hasn't started."

Harry nodded. "Severus," he said earnestly.

"What did you just call me?"

"Severus. Is there something you would rather I called you?" Harry bit his lip. "'Professor' seems a bit distant, and you're not a 'Dad' sort."

Snape thought about this for a while. "You may refer to me by my given name," he decided, "since you refer to James, that way. I still do not want to be addressed that way. I would not object to 'Father' in absolute private, though I do not expect it." He snorted. "On the whole, I think you would be foolish to become accustomed to anything you cannot use in front of your fellow students."

"Father," Harry started again. The word sounded odd, coming from his lips. For a moment, he felt as if he were in a play, and then he felt very emotional. He tried to ignore both feelings and plowed on. "Remus is very worried about me."

"I have noticed that," Snape said dryly.

"He has warned me you are possessive, sometimes unreasonable."

"He is correct."

"Fine, but..."

"I do not want Remus Lupin informed of any further details of my private life!" Snape bellowed.

Harry flinched. He recalled noting that when he was ordering Remus out of the Snape's rooms.

"Go to bed," Snape ordered. "It's late."

"Oh, fine," Harry muttered. Ordering Remus out.... In the door to the kitchen, he turned back. "Where do you think Remus thinks I sleep?" he asked. The words out, he fled.

Harry considered his own words while getting ready for bed. Perhaps it would help matters with Remus if he simply talked about his bedroom, and how much he would miss the privacy when term started. It's a plan, he decided. I'll base my teatime conversation on why I'm not completely thrilled about returning to the dormitory. Neither of us has to admit to thinking anything improper. That settled, he fell into bed, and, immediately, asleep.

The next morning, Harry initially dressed in the grey trousers, a white shirt, and the green robes. After examining this in the mirror, he decided the grey combined with the green made the outfit far too Slytherin. He switched to the black trousers, and decided the same of the white and green. He changed to a black shirt, as well. Finally, he closed the robes, so that it no longer mattered -- except, he thought, that I'm wearing green.

The robes, he discovered, now showed a half-inch of his trousers below them. He seemed to have grown taller, again, but apparently in the torso. Harry looked closely at his face. He thought his lips might be thinner, and his face, as a whole, slightly more elongated, but he wasn't sure. He wondered if he could surreptitiously get an old picture of himself from one of his friends.

Snape banged on the door.

"The Weasleys are expecting us in twenty minutes! If you want breakfast, you need to get out here, now!"

Harry came out quickly.

"Sorry. I was trying to decide if I look different."

"Of course you look different," Snape said sarcastically. "You look like a wizard, not a Muggle refugee. Eat, now. I'll be back in time to floo ahead of you to ... that joke shop.

Snape preceded Harry to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, with instructions to Harry to wait two minutes before following. Harry complied. When he arrived, Snape had already left. Harry supposed that avoided certain awkward issues, such as whether or not to say goodbye, but he felt rather abandoned.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, drawing him into a hug, then brushing ash off his robes. Her own were grey where they had touched his in the brief embrace. "So sorry, dear! Fred and George simply don't think to clean the grate for company."

"That's fine," Harry said.

"Well, look at you!" she exclaimed. "Such fine robes, and you've done something with your hair! You'll have girls at your feet."

Harry could not keep himself from scanning for Hermione. She was at the edge of the room, studying him with a puzzled frown.

"At the moment, the girl seems to be as far away from me as she can get," he commented, grinning at her.

An annoyed snort came from somewhere to his left. Harry turned and saw Ginny glaring at him.

"Sorry --"

"Oh, that's all right! I know I'm not a girl; I'm a little sister."

"I hadn't seen you, Ginny, that's all."

"Well, I need to get going," Ginny said loftily. "I'm meeting Dean at Florish and Blotts." To Harry's surprise, she winked at him. Perhaps, he reflected, she wasn't as annoyed as she seemed.

After multiple rounds of instructions as to where they were to meet, and warnings not to go down Knockturn Alley, Mrs. Weasley left to do her own shopping, leaving Harry with Ron, Hermione, and the twins. Ron came forward, grasped Harry's hand, and thumped him companionably on the shoulder.

"Always wondered what would happen if you got away from the Dursleys! You've grown! Were they feeding you shortness potion, or something?"

"They just weren't feeding me. We think this may be my first growth spurt that came when I was getting food."

Harry looked past Ron at Hermione, who was hovering just out of reach. "Some welcome!" he said. "Since when is Ron's mother the only person who gives me a hug?"

Hermione smiled, then looked down. She stepped up to him and hugged him. Harry put his arms around her and pulled her close. He hadn't remembered it feeling like this. He breathed in the scent of her hair and tried to memorize it. When she shifted slightly, he released her, and glanced nervously at Ron, who rolled his eyes, then gave him a thumbs up.

Ron doesn't want her! Harry found he was grinning so broadly that he could feel it in his cheeks. He was amazed to discover he cared. Well, she's always been for Ron -- I mean, since she's been for anybody. I guess I knew not to care.

"Such a touching display," one of the twins commented. Harry turned and looked. He thought it was Fred. Fred had a slightly different way of standing when he was being dramatic.

"Nice to see you, too," Harry returned. "How's business?"

"Still growing," Fred said cheerfully.

"Did you like the samples?" George asked.

"Honestly," Harry said, "I haven't been able to try them. I didn't have any time I could during my last week at the Dursleys, and at Hogwarts ... It didn't seem like a good idea, with the professors checking on me as often as they did." He smiled encouragingly at them. "I have plans to go at them the first few weekends of term, though."

"We have something you should try now," George confided.

"A perfect trick --"

" -- or treat -- "

" -- for an overly-famous --"

" -- retiring wizard."

Fred pulled out a small box from his inner pocket, opened it, and took out a reddish-brown candy, which he handed to Harry with a flourish. Harry examined it suspiciously.

"This isn't going to make me invisible, is it?" he asked. "Or tiny? Or otherwise unable to buy my school supplies?"

"Not at all!" Fred assured him. "You will be perfectly visible and mobile."

"Human?"

"Yes."

Harry eyed the twins suspiciously for a moment, then, with a shrug, popped the candy into his mouth. It had a strong chocolate taste, but that didn't manage to cover something unpleasant beneath that. It melted almost immediately in his mouth.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, apparently surprised at his acquiescence.

Harry felt a slow blossom of heat at his navel. The heat flowed over his skin, outward in all directions, until his fingers, toes, and the top of his head all felt like the most extreme blush he could imagine. Slowly the feeling faded. "Wow," he said.

Ron giggled. Harry looked at him, and Ron choked. Suddenly, the redhead looked very alarmed.

"Told you it would look better with that black hair," Fred commented.

Harry looked down at his hands. They were brown. Not paint-brown, but a natural-looking dark skin brown, lighter on the palms. He looked up again. Hermione was staring.

"Uh... Got a mirror?" he asked.

George pointed his wand at the window between this room and something that looked, from Harry's brief glance, like an office, and the window became a mirror. Harry stepped up to it.

"This is great!" he exclaimed, examining his reflection. His skin was dark, but his features were unaffected. Chocolate brown skin combined oddly, but attractively, with his slightly wavy black hair. It made his scar even more noticeable, but if he covered that somehow, no one would recognize him.

"I dunno, mate," Ron said.

"But I wanted to go into Muggle London!" Harry explained. "I can do it like this." Harry turned to Fred and George. "How long does it last?"

"Not long ..."

"...just a month or two."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't dare. Not to your partner. How long, really?"

"About two hours."

"Great! That's perfect." Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was surveying him with evident fascination, and Ron, who still looked alarmed. "But I need to talk to you for a few minutes, first. In private, as your partner."

Fred moved to one side and with a sweeping bow motioned Harry towards the office door. "We are at your service, Mr. Potter. Please enter."

Once Fred and George were in the office with him, Harry cast Secretus across the door. When he turned back to Fred and George, they were exchanging a questioning look. Well, it's not like we learn that one in school, Harry reasoned.

"Harry?"

"You used Lee Jordan," Harry stated. "This is exactly his color of brown."

"Well, yes."

"But he thinks --"

"Is it blood-based?"

Fred and George looked guiltily at each other.

"It's not as bad as people say, really," Fred began.

"But you can't sell it," Harry pointed out. They shouldn't even be showing it to anyone! "You'll get in trouble -- it's illegal. If I was an Auror, and I saw this trick, that's the first thing I'd check for. Because you had to have used a bodily component, and blood is the most potent one."

George stared. "Where did you learn this?"

Harry smirked at him. "I've had access to Professor Snape's private library, this summer." He hesitated. "How much do you know about bodily components?" he asked.

"Er... not much. We haven't been able to get it to work with spit, or a scraping of the skin, itself."

"Concentrate on fluids," Harry advised. He thought back to the first chapters of Blood Magic. As if in a class, he recited the basics. "Urine and pus are not usable for general applications. Of the common bodily components, the order of effectiveness, least to most, is sweat, saliva, vaginal fluids, semen, menstrual blood, and finally, venous blood." He was pleased with how smoothly he managed to say all of that. "There are some odd things, like cranial fluid, that are as effective as blood for some applications, but dangerous to extract. I will presume you don't want to risk Lee's sanity."

"Right on that, mate," Fred said faintly. George was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Harry discovered that shocking the twins was a bracing, possibly addictive, experience. He forced his tone to remain coolly casual as he added:

"I'd suggest semen, if you can get Lee to wank for the cause. You still wouldn't want your customers to find out how it's done, but it wouldn't be illegal."

"Er...."

"Harry?" George choked out.

Fred struck a tragic pose. "Ah ... innocence is so fleeting!"

"You've been in Snape's library?" George asked, recovering a portion of his composure. His voice held a trace of admiration. "Is it better than the Restricted Section?"

Harry shrugged. "I've always been looking for something specific in the restricted section, so I can't really compare."

"You're not studying Dark Arts, are you, mate?" Fred asked anxiously.

"Some of the books have some Dark Arts," Harry admitted, "but I haven't been trying any of it. It's useful to know the theory, right?"

"Well, right, but Harry --"

"I just gave you a less dangerous way to achieve your ends, didn't I? I couldn't have done that if I didn't know the theory. And not all blood magic is Dark Arts, either -- it's all illegal, but that's recent. And if you're actually using human blood, you've no grounds to go after me for just knowing how to use it."

George shivered. "True enough."

"You two be careful, all right? If you get in trouble for illegal components, I'll be implicated, too. And it could ruin your father."

Even Fred looked embarrassed. "It was just too good not to show someone."

"It's great!" Harry agreed. "Look, I better get going before this wears off. I'll send you a list of titles you might want to look for, okay?"

"Absolutely."

Harry grinned. "Oh -- loan me some money?"

"Loan you...?"

"I'll pay you back this afternoon, but I can't go to Gringotts like this."

"'Course you can."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Changing your skin color won't fool a goblin."

"Okay. Later then!"

"Wait!"

Harry turned back. He wasn't sure which twin had hailed him.
"What?"

George held out another sweet to him. "Take an extra. Just in case you're delayed."

Back in the main room, Harry went back to Hermione and Ron.

"We couldn't hear a thing," Ron complained.

"And you didn't want to," Harry informed him smugly. "Let's go. I have an errand to run in Muggle London."

"With you dressed like that?" Hermione chided. "Harry, I've never seen you look like such a wizard."

"I've got normal clothes on, underneath the robes. I can just duck into the first doorway, and move the robes into my bag." Harry grinned at Ron. "Come on! It'll be fun. Gringotts, first."

Ron nodded, but anxiously, as they headed out onto the street.

"You look really odd, Harry," Hermione said, matching his pace at his side.

"You think? I thought I looked pretty good."

"Those green eyes...."

"Do they clash?"

"Not clash, exactly, but they don't look natural."

Harry shrugged. "So people think I have special contacts. Oh -- my scar! I need a headband, or a low hat."

"In here." Hermione pivoted and led them across the street and into a narrow boutique with a sign that said "Miss Trotter's Accessory Emporium." There, she selected a thin gold scarf, which she rolled and tied around Harry's head. "Stunning," she said teasingly.

Harry checked the mirror. The gold headband gave his startling mix of features an exotic flair. Not at all my style, he thought, but that's good for a disguise. Between the dark skin and the changes he had been going through already, covering his scar made him unrecognizable. "Brilliant!" he said.

"You look right peculiar, if you ask me," Ron said darkly.

"But we didn't," Hermione pointed out. "Let's go."

Thirty minutes later, Ron was staring around a small Muggle shop with something akin to panic. "What are we doing here?" he asked.

"I need leather jeans for Halloween, and I won't be able to buy them once we're off at school," Harry replied, perhaps a bit more loudly than necessary.

"Is there a costume to go with that?" Hermione asked tartly.

"Well," Harry said, dropping his voice considerably. "One of the teachers was going about how obscene Muggle clothing is...."

"What!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Because it shows off my bum."

"Oh, honestly!"

"Well, she has a point," Ron contributed. "I mean, jeans and tight trousers and such are practical, but I wouldn't wear them anyplace nice ... or too seedy, you know. Not without robes over them."

"So I want to show him what Muggles consider sexy, in a setting where he cannot discipline me for it." Harry wasn't sure why the idea of horrifying Snape this way appealed to him, but it did. Perhaps because it's such a harmless thing. He pulled out a pair with side lacings. "What about these?"

"Try them on," Hermione challenged.

Harry did. When he stepped out of the fitting room, Hermione turned very pink and told him they were sexy, but should probably be tighter, and the sales clerk jumped in to agree.

Harry argued that he had been sick and expected to gain some weight back. After a bit of debating the matter, he tried on a tighter pair. Hermione expressed approval, but it was the way her voice squeaked when she said it, and the way her eyes followed him when he was making sure he could walk in something this tight, that convinced him to take them. They were still not as tight as the clerk advised, but she didn't push the matter.

"If you have any problems with fit," the girl said, accompanying her words with a mischievous leer, "get them wet, then wear them until they dry. They'll shape to your body that way. Sure you don't want them hemmed here?"

Harry smiled back at her as he took the sack. "Certain," he said. "Thanks for the help." Hermione and Ron tugged him towards the door.

"Honestly!" Ron said, grimacing, once they were on the street. "And Mum thinks Bill is weird! What's with having a metal stick in your lip?"

"And eyebrow, and nostril, and who knows where else!" Hermione contributed disdainfully, though without Ron's genuine shock.

"I thought she was pretty," Harry said. "She had a great smile." He grinned. "And I loved those blue stripes in her hair!"

"Yes, well you think Tonks is hot, too," Ron said dismissively.

'Do you?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "I suppose so. I mean, it's half personality, right? I don't fancy her, or anything." Not much.

Halfway back to Diagon Alley, Ron pulled them into a corner shop to look at Muggle sweets. He got a selection of ones he had never seen before, and Hermione got fruit drink. Harry got two packs of ten of Silk Cut and a glare from Hermione.

"Harry!" she scolded. "When did you start that?"

Harry shrugged. "Over the summer?"

"Well, obviously!"

"What are they?" Ron asked curiously, looking at the packs of cigarettes Harry was hurriedly tucking into his sack.

"Drugs," said Hermione disapprovingly.

"Muggle drugs," laughed Harry, thinking of Snape's ambiguous disapproval, "but a legal sort, like alcohol."

"You won't be able to get those in Hogsmeade," Hermione said, with evident satisfaction, as they stepped back out on the pavement.

"Yeah." Harry looked back at the shop. "I'm kind of tempted to get more." He looked at her and smiled disarmingly. "But I don't do it much. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, right," Hermione snorted. "Tell me when you run out. I'll just study in my room, that week."

"Problem?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Addictive drugs," Hermione said pointedly.

Ron looked uncertainly at Harry. Harry shrugged, and looked away, as if he were intrigued by the customers at the cafe they were passing. A man's eyes met his, and he hurriedly switched to looking ahead.

"I don't do it much," he repeated.

They crossed back through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley. Harry, quite suddenly, desperately wanted a cigarette, but was now too embarrassed to have one in front of Hermione. He suggested they split up for getting supplies not all of them needed, but Ron was having none of it. Harry wondered if Ron was uncertain about being alone with Hermione. Harry found himself in Madam Malkin's being measured for new school robes, with Ron and Hermione still along, chatting with him.

"Did you honestly think that girl was pretty, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Very," Harry said. He looked at Hermione's distress and relented. "Okay -- She would have been more so without the lip piercing. I didn't mind any of the rest of it, and I really liked the hair." He grinned. "And she had an excellent smile. Almost as fetching as yours."

Hermione blushed. It occurred to Harry that he was learning different things from Remus now than he had at thirteen. Suddenly, he was distracted by a rush of heat which moved from his stomach outwards, covering his body, then fading. Hermione gasped.

"Oh!" Ron exclaimed.

"What?"

"You're white, again."

Harry looked down at his hands and found his normal skin color had returned. He wondered if Madam Malkin would be confused when she got back.

After getting Harry new robes, they three continued on from shop to shop, buying school supplies. When they had everything they needed, and a bit more, they walked back to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

"My treat," Harry said. "Since I've been dragging you both on side trips." He ordered a large sundae, to show they could get anything. Ron followed suit, while Hermione got a small dish of chocolate ice cream, and they claimed a table outside.

"So ... what's it like, being at Hogwarts over the summer?" Hermione asked, once they were all lazily picking at the soupy remains of their ice creams.

"Good," Harry said. "I can study when I want, and laze about when I want -- " he smiled wryly -- "I can eat when I want, and I've even got to go into Hogsmeade once." This could be dangerous -- I better keep it all light, so they don't realize I'm leaving things out.

"Are you living in Gryffindor Tower?" Ron asked.

"No..." Harry grinned. "That would be awful, wouldn't it? Alone? No, I'm downstairs. Dumbledore wanted me near teachers." Like that -- inconspicuously vague.

"How do they do meals?"

"Everybody eats in their rooms, mostly, though Dumbledore insists on everyone attending a scheduled group dinner three times a week."

"Isn't that a lot of work for the house elves?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"A lot of work? Hermione, they're practically on vacation! They have only about a dozen people to look after, and you know how many elves there are! They're desperate for work, by now. They started pestering me for things they could do for me -- I finally got the idea of asking for elaborate foods like Black Forest cake and Beef Wellington, and they're thrilled! The more complicated, the better."

Hermione shook her head. "I suppose after eight weeks...." she said doubtfully.

"Done any exploring?" Ron asked quickly.

"A bit."

"Have you finished your summer assignments?" Hermione asked.

"Weeks ago," Harry said, interrupting Ron's attempt to deflect the question for him. Ron looked put out.

"I told you!" Hermione said triumphantly to Ron.

"Well, I'm sure Ron has other things to do," Harry pointed out. "I'm at school, with only teachers for company."

"Do you get any extra lessons?" Hermione asked eagerly. "Or practice?"

"A lot of Potions," Harry admitted. "I've been helping Snape get Madam Pomfrey's stocks ready for the start of term."

"That's awful!" Ron said. "Hermione, how can you worry about house elves when Harry has to work with Snape?"

"It's okay," Harry protested. "He's a lot more relaxed during the summer. Even if he weren't, it would still be better than the Dursleys."

They were all silent for a bit. Harry thought he must be expected to be sad, and felt rather guilty that he couldn't manage it.

"So, how's your family, Ron?" Harry asked, after the silence started to feel awkward.

"Okay, I guess." Ron chuckled. "Mum flipped when I asked her about the Paternity Charm, you know. She thought I was asking if I was adopted. Like she'd need another kid!"

"You'd think if she was choosing, she'd pick a girl."

"Well, yeah. It's pretty obvious they kept going till they got one. I was probably a big disappointment."

"Ron ..." Hermione reproved him. "You know your parents love you."

"Of course they do. But that's not the same as being what they wanted."

Again, there was silence. Harry tried to think of something to keep his friends from bringing up the Paternity Charm or the Dursleys, again. "Oh! I know who the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher is! Want to know, or would you rather be surprised?"

"Not Snape," Ron pleaded.

"Not Snape."

"Is it someone we know?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Yes."

"Someone competent?"

"Yes."

They both thought earnestly. Harry supposed that did narrow it down considerably.

"Someone from the Ministry?" Ron asked.

"No."

"Someone we knew as a student?" Hermione asked.

"No."

Hermione bit her lip. "Someone who's done it before?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes."

"Professor Lupin?" A wide smile lit her face, then faded. "He couldn't, could he? I mean..."

"Yes," Harry said, grinning. "Moony's back!"

Hermione and Ron both cheered. A few people turned to look at them. Harry was surprised at how pleased he was, again, now that he was thinking of Remus as Professor Lupin, the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.

"That's great!" Hermione crowed. "He's intelligent, he's nice, he's..." she blushed -- "hot." She covered her mouth. "Oh my God!"

"Mmm." Harry looked at her slyly, remembering how she had looked at Remus when he was saying goodbye to them in the spring. "And bent."

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed, looking simultaneously shocked and fascinated. "Honestly?"

"Honestly. Give it up now." Harry narrowly restrained himself from revealing that Remus had gone out with Snape in school. If any gossip about that surfaced, Snape would never tell him anything again.

They fell silent again. After a moment, Ron sighed and rested his chin on one hand. "We're not kids anymore, are we?" he asked gloomily.

"What?" Hermione returned, confused.

"Well, you're both talking about who's cute and who likes ...er, what, Harry's buying sexy clothes to irritate a teacher and would rather have drugs than sweets, and I ...." Ron hesitated. "I," he admitted, "just looked across the room at some disgusting little boy who's talking with his mouth full and thought he really ought to learn some manners."

"Bad sign," Harry said sympathetically. "Tragic."

"Is that a problem?" Hermione said testily. "I thought it might be rather nice if the two of you finally caught up with me. Not that I consider Harry's behavior mature."

Glad of an excuse, Harry took out a cigarette and lit it, as if to tease her. She glared. Harry took a deep drag, then quickly another, and felt himself starting to relax, despite his embarrassment. Ron looked at him oddly for a moment, then went back to his sulk.

"Well, what do we do if you end up with someone who isn't one of us?" Ron asked gloomily. Harry now wondered if Ron was regretting breaking up with Hermione. "No one who isn't me is going to put up with Harry, and no one who isn't Harry is going to put up with me, and it will all just be over."

"I'm not going out with anyone who won't put up with you and Harry," Hermione said firmly.

"You don't understand men, Hermione," Ron protested. "Even if you say it's platonic, they just won't allow--"

"It's not all men, Ron," Harry countered. "If I were seeing Hermione, I wouldn't mind if she had a male friend who wasn't you. Being someone's boyfriend doesn't give you the power of veto over their friendships."

"Thank you," said Hermione. She glared at him again. "Not that I'd go out with someone who smokes."

"Hermione--" Harry said desperately.

"I mean, that's disgusting. And stupid. And it's got to taste awful--"

Harry interrupted the words by leaning over and kissing her. When she didn't pull away, he twisted and got an arm behind her, then pulled her as close as their separate chairs would allow. He was dimly aware that he was still holding the cigarette, and probably filling her thick hair with the smell of smoke, but mostly he concentrated on her mouth, all cold and sweet from ice cream, and the softness of the skin on her cheeks. When he finally let her go, they were both breathless.

"Well, I...." she said shakily.

"All right!" Ron exclaimed cheerfully. "That's settled, then."

They both glared at him.

The three of them were arguing over the history of their relationships when someone came up the steps to the terrace. Harry looked over, saw Snape approaching, and caught himself on the verge of a smile and a cheery hello. Uncertain how he ought to react to Snape's approach, he looked at his friends. Ron was scowling, and Hermione had become deeply interested in her empty ice cream dish.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said as he approached, sneering, "the headmaster feels that you need an nursemaid for your return." He might have continued, but on stopping next to Harry, glanced down, and saw the cigarette end in his ice cream dish. Harry saw his sneer break, then return.

"Who gave you that?" he snarled. His eyes moved to Hermione. Harry supposed that might make sense from Snape's point of view. Hermione was from a Muggle family.

"No one."

"Has Florean taken to offering sundaes with a side order of imported poisons? I find that difficult to believe, Mr. Potter."

"We took a little detour into Muggle London--"

"What? You brainless, reckless--"

"I was well disguised."

"I don't care if you were transfigured!" Snape screamed. He caught himself. His face twisted into an expression of pure contempt. "We will discuss it later -- with the headmaster. Now...."

Snape held out a hand. Harry decided that faking ignorance was not worth getting himself further into trouble. Reluctantly, he handed over the open pack of of cigarettes. Snape responded with a satisfied smile that promised further penalties later.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed at him.

"Let's go, then," Harry said. He stood up.

"Harry!" Hermione insisted.

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Snape asked acidly.

"He has a second pack."

"Hermione!" Harry snapped.

"Well, he's right!" Hermione said defensively. "You shouldn't."

Snape snorted. "The dangers of Gryffindor friends have not changed much since my time, I see." He held out his hand again. "The rest of them, Mr. Potter."

"What would you know about Gryffindor friends?" Ron said angrily.

Snape favored him with a hard stare. "I had several, Mr. Weasley. And I could never depend on them. They'd back me in a lie only if they agreed with my reason for lying." Ron looked furious, but Hermione seemed to accept Snape's words as a compliment. He looked down and across the table at her, his eyes narrowed in evaluation.

"I accept you as a temporary ally, Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley, you may want to look up a Gryffindor named Augustus Maitland. I am certain you would find his history educational. Mr. Potter?"

Harry fished his other packages out of the bag from the Muggle shop. "Hold on a moment," he said. "I put my stuff in with some of Hermione's ...." He looked up at her as he handed over the cigarettes, to confirm she would not betray him about the leather trousers. She nodded slightly.

"Thanks for your help with my shopping," she said, her voice quavering slightly. "See you on the second of September."

"Right." Harry nodded, but couldn't manage to smile at her. In consideration of her current discretion, he managed not to glare. He said a brief goodbye to Ron, and followed Snape down the stairs. Minutes later, he was stepping out of the grate in the bare room next to Dumbledore's office.

Severus turned on Harry as soon as he was clear of the hearth.

"What did I tell you about the Muggle drugs?" he hissed.

"That I couldn't have any after term started."

"That you could finish what you had," Severus corrected fiercely, "on the information that was ten or less of them, before term started." Whatever possessed me to allow that? I ... he was so edgy. He'd had enough sudden changes.

"I'd forgotten that part."

"Even so, what was the point of buying more, now? Term starts in eight days. You'd only be making it harder on yourself. You're bright enough to know that!"

"Look, it was an impulse thing, okay? Ron wanted to try some Muggle sweets, so we went into a shop, and they were just there."

"But you bought two packs."

Harry ducked his head. "I ... er, reckoned you'd catch me and take one?"

Severus shook his head. "You are far too clever an idiot, you know."

Harry shrugged. "Perhaps I'm lucky I have Gryffindor friends, then."

Severus restrained a smile. He brought his focus back to the problem at hand. "You should not have been in Muggle London to begin with," he said. He had no trouble getting angry, again. That had been far too risky. "You're wanted for murder, there, in case you've forgotten."

"I didn't look much like me."

Harry laughed. "Fred and George gave me something that made my skin turn brown -- African brown -- and I put on a headband to cover the scar. If I'd talked to a classmate, they would have figured it out, but no one was going to recognize me from a six year old picture."

Something about Harry's knowing smile caught Severus's attention. He caught Harry by the shoulders and pulled him closer to the wall-torch. He examined Harry's face closely. He was almost certain that the boy had changed from that morning.

"Don't do that again," he said sharply. "The Weasleys' whatever."

"Why not?"

"Switching back could accelerate the changes. I think it has."

"Oh." The boy's eyes widened. "Sorry."

"It could happen with any transfiguration. When your body reconstructs itself, it tries to get it right."

Severus opened the door and gestured for Harry to follow him. They walked in silence down to the ground floor. I need to ask him about Remus, Severus thought. I won't be able to have a normal conversation with him until I do. On the stairs to the dungeon, Severus began to speak.

"About ... last night," he asked hesitantly.

"What?"

"Do you believe Remus thinks I'm ...." Severus trailed off, again. How do I phrase this?

"Yes," Harry answered, not waiting for the continuation. "Or he at least thinks it's likely. If I have to hear one more thing about how I can always come talk to him if I need help, I am going to scream."

"I don't think I've been --"

"I don't think he was suspecting that. He had decided I'd been so damaged by the Dursleys that I'd become neurotically submissive. Then he saw me with my mum's engagement ring. Probably no one else will recognize it, but Remus does. He asked where I'd got it, and I wasn't thinking and told him you'd given it to me. Then he got very strange. I didn't put it together until I last night, when you were talking and I was looking at the ring. Then I remembered how he mentioned it in Professor Dumbledore's office, and Professor Dumbledore cut him off as if he'd brought it up before, so he thinks it's important, somehow...."

"And ... I see." Severus's mouth quirked. "I suppose that would seem odd, at best."

"Please may I tell him? He won't tell. You know he won't."

Severus clenched his jaw. He won't volunteer it, but if threatened.... On the other hand, he had spent most of the last day running through Remus's behavior, and his conversation with Dumbledore, and had to agree with Harry's conclusion. Better this slight risk than to have him think I've taken a student as my lover. He won't accuse me directly, but he could make my life very difficult.

"Very well," he forced out. "You may tell him. But be back here in an hour." And if Remus rejects you for not being James's child, I swear I will make an error in his Wolfsbane Potion. Something that might be an accident.... I'll need to review the literature....

They had stopped in front of Severus's rooms. Harry nodded eagerly.

"Thank you!" He stopped only long enough to drop his shopping in his room, then bolted for Remus's office.

By the time he had reached the right floor, Harry was less enthusiastic. Telling Remus that Snape was his father meant telling him that James wasn't his father. Despite what Remus had said in the Three Broomsticks, Harry wasn't sure it wouldn't change their relationship. He liked being special to Remus, as aggravating as the last few weeks had been, and he was afraid he would be giving that up.

Remus's office door was ajar, but Harry knocked anyway.

"Come in," Remus called absently.

Harry entered the room. Remus's head snapped up instantly. He looked tired and worn, but also unnaturally alert. Harry thought it must be less than a week until the full moon. Hadn't Snape said something about working on the Wolfsbane Potion?

"Harry?"

Quietly, Harry closed the door behind him. He looked back at Remus, and saw the werewolf's eyes narrow. I must smell frightened. Harry's stomach clenched as he hesitantly approached Remus's desk.

"I... I have something to tell you." His throat was suddenly dry, making his voice come out as little more than a whisper, and he found himself looking down at the desk, rather than at Remus. He was embarrassed to feel so terrified. I fought for this! he chided himself. I want to tell him. Why do I feel like I'd rather be facing him down as a wolf?

A hand touched his arm. Harry had been staring so hard at the desktop that he had not noticed Remus rising from his chair.

"Come sit down, Harry." Harry found himself led over to the shabby, comfortable armchairs that faced the hearth in Remus's office. There was no fire, now, but at least he could tuck his feet up and lean over into the protective corner of the chair back. "Harry?" Remus queried.

"I ..." Harry realized he had no idea how to start this. I got a letter from James? I've been put with Severus because? You know how my hair stays in place, now? He covered his face. "Damn it, I don't know what to say!"

"It's all right, Harry. You can tell me anything. You know that."

"No, I don't!" Harry snapped. He forced himself to sit straight and tried to collect his thoughts. "I ... Would you still like me if I ... if I wasn't James's son?"

Remus frowned. "You have asked me this before, Harry," he said patiently, "and I have answered you before. Yes. I like you." His eyes narrowed. "Why do you need to be told that?"

Harry steeled himself. "Because I'm not." Deliberately, he summoned the sarcastic expression that he knew emphasized his nascent resemblance to Severus. "Lily and James cast a Paternity Charm on me, to make me look like James. Now it's wearing off."

The momentary confusion on Remus's face was replaced by anger. "Who told you this?" he demanded.

"James," Harry shot back. Before Remus could protest, he added quickly:

"He used a time spell to send a letter to my sixteenth birthday. They hadn't told anybody -- not even Dumbledore -- and he wanted me to know what was happening if he and Lily had died when I was too young to tell."

"It was a fake," Remus said angrily. "Lily would never have been unfaithful to James. There was no one else --"

"She didn't. He knew. It was arranged."

"What was arranged?" Remus snarled.

"It was for Herem -- Severus asked, and they thought he was dead--"

"Severus would never have asked for a Muggle-born girl for Herem!" Remus snapped.

Harry stared back at him. Slowly, the werewolf got his fury under control. Harry watched his breathing steady. Remus closed his eyes. Harry thought he must be remembering Lily -- perhaps after Snape had broken up with her. He appeared to be preparing to speak.

"That was why James said yes," Harry said softly.

"Harry ... This cannot be true," Remus said. "It can't ... it...."

"Look at me," Harry said. He stood up and walked over to Remus's chair and stood, arms crossed, a few feet away from Remus. "Look at me. You saw me in June. Do I look like I did then? Like I did three weeks ago?"

Remus licked his lips nervously. "What about the potions?" he asked suddenly. "Professor Snape could be--"

"He is giving me those potions because I was changing so fast that it hurt. They make it hurt less. But I had already started to change before he came up with that. Beside, he doesn't want -- well, didn't want...." Harry sighed. Remus was still regarding him in stunned disbelief. "Would you like to see the letter?" Harry offered. "I made you a copy."

"I would rather see the original."

Harry shrugged. "You can't keep it, but okay."

He had taken the letter from his room, and stopped into an empty classroom to make a copy. Now he took both out of his otherwise empty school bag and handed the original to Remus.

Remus stared at the red parchment. "Looks like Potter stationary," he muttered. To Harry's surprise, he did not unfold the letter immediately. Instead, he raised it to his face and inhaled the scent of it. His entire body twitched. He sniffed it again, all along the edges.

"James and Lily both touched this," he said. His tongue glanced nervously along his lips. "Three or four weeks ago. That would be right if it was sent by a time spell. Three weeks and a few days, right?"

"Right."

"You have touched it. I don't believe anyone else has, though it has been near Professor Snape and Madam Pince."

"Again, right. I made a copy under Madam Pince's instruction, and I gave the copy to Severus. I didn't show him the original, but it's been in his rooms, though mostly in my room, which shouldn't have much of his scent in it."

"But you have a bit of his scent on you, as you always do, now." Remus's eyes suddenly widened. He got unsteadily up from the chair. "Stay still," he ordered, as he approached Harry. "Excuse me." He leaned over Harry and sniffed the top of his head. Harry froze. Remus lifted his hair and sniffed the back of his neck. He stumbled back and to the hearth, where he leaned against the mantle.

"Remus?"

"Your scent's changed. Not a lot, just .... That's disturbing. That's not supposed to happen." Remus focused directly on Harry. "Professor Snape is your father, then?"

"Yes. You might want to read the letter."

"Oh." Remus looked down at the red parchment, which he seemed surprised to still be holding. He returned to his chair and lowered himself carefully into it. At last, he unfolded the papers and began to read.

Harry watched anxiously. Remus smiled almost immediately, then chuckled. Expressions moved unrestrained across his face -- disturbed, wistful, amused, sorrowful. At one point he looked a thought away from crying.

At the end, he stared a long time at the same place on the red paper. He lifted his fingers to his lips, kissed them lightly, then pressed to the kiss to the page. When he handed it back to Harry, his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You would think," he said in a strained voice, "that one would stop missing people. Sometime. Certainly in so many years, but it smells like they were just here." He rose unsteadily. "Here. Put the copy on the table, please. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thanks. Though I should probably head back after that."

Remus whipped around. His first flash of annoyance changed quickly to a shrewd look. "You are trying to be a good son to him."

"Yes, in part. And I'm going to try to end my petty feuds. Those are the only things James asked of me, aren't they?"

Remus nodded, and disappeared through the door from his office to his private rooms. Harry heard running water. A minute later, Remus returned with a tray holding a teapot, milk jug, sugar cubes, and two cups.

"Good tea, this time," he said, "but it will need to steep a bit. I can bring the water to an immediate boil, but magic cannot extract the flavor from the leaves any faster."

At that, Remus seemed to run out of words. He looked silently at Harry until Harry began to panic. "Tell me you still like me," he pleaded.

"Harry!" Remus shook himself from his reverie and reached out to grasp Harry's forearm. "Harry, lamb, of course I still love you." Harry nodded and took two deep breaths, to try and steady himself. "Don't ever doubt that," Remus soothed. "Have you been afraid to tell me?"

"No -- well, yes, but it didn't matter, because Severus wouldn't agree to it. Dumbledore is the only other person who knows, but you were making such a fuss...."

Remus laughed nervously. "I wish you had told me. I'd given up on the explanation of simple dominance, and moved to wondering if he was blackmailing you or poisoning you, and then ... then ...."

"And then I showed up wearing my mum's engagement ring."

"Well... yes."

"Yeah, I figured out what your problem was with that, last night. That's how I got him to let me tell you. He gave it to her again, after the Herem ... thing ... to give to the child, if there was one. So it's mine. Dumbledore had had it. He did something to it -- I shouldn't take it off, ever, so get used to seeing it."

Remus thought that over.

"So, Professor Dumbledore is trying to become your guardian so he can continue to cede supervising you to Severus?"

"Yes." Harry grinned suddenly. "And it doesn't suck."

Remus chuckled. "Well. That's a surprise."

Harry laughed. "Yes!"

"So, what's it like?" Remus asked.

Harry looked at the mantle while he thought.

"About like it's supposed to be," he concluded finally, "oddly. I mean, the first day I was here, he was on me about my clothes, and smoking, right? This less than twelve hours after saying I could sleep in his rooms, but I was not to expect any interaction, that he was completely incapable of acting either as a parent or as a companion... Suddenly, bamm! it's, 'you can't go outside wearing that!' and 'you're smoking a garden pesticide?'"

"Dear Merlin! You've nearly got his voice!"

"Well, I can imitate it pretty well, now." Harry shook some errant locks of hair back from his face. "He's very relaxed about some things, and bizarrely conservative about others. This aversion to jeans is very odd to me."

"A lot of the old families feel that way."

"Maybe, but I was raised by Muggles."

"That's different."

"Yeah and... Well, he admits he's deeply prejudiced, but I'm a half-blood -- who was raised by Muggles! He has trouble dealing with that sometimes, I think. But on the whole, it's much better than I would have expected." Harry looked down. "It ... it feels nice that it matters to him? And he seems, happy, almost? Relatively speaking, anyway. Maybe that's stupid."

Remus shook his head. "No, he has seemed happy, at times." He smiled mischievously. "The returning students are going to wonder who hexed him. It certainly had me terrified." He laughed. "And last night, he came in all cleaned up ... I haven't seen him look like that since ... since Augustus died, I suppose."

"Were they lovers?" Harry managed to restrain a "too," but Remus still looked at him oddly.

"No. Augustus expected even his friends to be presentable."

"Oh. Well, it will be strange when the students are here. He's going to have to go back to treating me like he always did."

"Why?"

"Because no one can find out. Once Voldemort finds out, we're both in danger. Eventually, I'll look too much like him, we think, and then he'll need to stop spying. Dumbledore is trying to decide when to tell the Order."

"Ah. Did he know you planned to tell me?"

"No, but he'd asked us to. He won't mind."

Remus nodded and poured the tea. "May I see the other document?"

"Severus versus the Marauders?"

"That one."

"You might not like it."

"Harry," Remus said firmly, "I am the only remaining Marauder. I deserve to know what he has told you about us."

"All right. Just warning you. Shall I bring it tomorrow?"

"Please."

On Monday morning, Harry was woken by a knock on his bedroom door. He sat up in an immediate panic and grabbed for his wand. "What is it?" he called.

"Classes start in a week; you need to start getting up earlier," Snape called. "Come have breakfast with me."

Harry groaned. He supposed he had got used to sleeping late. "Give me a minute," he called.

It was actually several minutes later that he went through the kitchen to the bathroom, and a few minutes after that when he got back, feeling only semi-competent. He sat down at the table and rubbed his eyes.

"Tea?" Snape asked.

"Yes, thanks."

Snape poured him a cup and pushed the milk at him. "Better this week than next," he said.

"I suppose. Aunt Petunia always got me up at seven, even in the summer. When did I start sleeping late?"

"Oh, about your fourth day here. I thought you probably needed it."

"Probably."

Snape smirked. "You know, I think you're probably going through body changes at about the level of a pregnant woman."

Harry forced down the tea that was in his mouth. "I did not need that image."

Severus chuckled. "Yet I didn't get you to spew the tea." He shook his head. "My timing is off."

Harry attempted to glare at him. "You're evil, you know."

Snape choked on his tea. Harry grinned.

"And my timing is pretty good."

Breakfast appeared. They ate for a few minutes in silence.

"How did things go with Remus?" Snape asked, as he cut a sausage into precise slices.

"Okay, I suppose. It was calmer than telling him about you, but just as emotionally draining, what with going over James's history -- Remus described that as 'portrait of the author as a bullying git.' He wanted to tell me things he liked about James -- that he was a devoted friend and a generous companion, and protective within his own society, which at school he defined as Gryffindor. We talked a lot about cliques and other subdivisions of the world, and how various people define which people matter to them -- humans, or purebloods, or people of their class, or their house, or their politics, or their field, or whatever." Harry paused. "With or without magic," he added. "That's really the biggest one around here, isn't it?"

"It does make a genuine difference."

Harry shrugged. "They all do. The question is whether the difference in treatment is appropriate or useful or fair." He thought a moment. "One problem with Hermione is that she only sees the 'fair' part. She tries to give house elves freedom, which most of them don't want, rather than settling for more appropriate, but less fair, protections, to keep them from being mistreated."

Snape made a sound of contemptuous amusement. Harry shrugged.

"So there was that. Then we talked about the Auror thing. I had already considered most of what he wanted to say."

"Ah." Snape looked serious again. "I would like to discuss that with you, also, but perhaps after you have spoken to Professor McGonagall?"

"That's fine."

"Why McGonagall?"

Harry stared incredulously at Snape. "Because she's my head of house?"

"Ah." Snape looked embarrassed. "Yes, I suppose it's her job, isn't it?"

"I brought it up in careers advice, last year."

"Becoming an Auror?"

"Well, it's that or professional Quidditch. I mean, there's nothing else I'm outstanding at, really. And Quidditch isn't much of a career."

"Not to mention you couldn't do it."

"Why not?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "Think, Harry. At a Quidditch game, you need to be in the line of sight of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of wizards and witches."

"Someone would kill me, you think."

"Yes."

"What if Vo- the Dark Lord were dead?"

"It would depend on how many of his followers were still active, and who, and what power they had."

They had pretty much finished with the food when they were interrupted by a thumping from the hall entrance. This time, Harry recognized it as an owl, and guessed it to be a larger one than Pig.

The arrival, a strikingly marked barn owl with a wizard post leg band, dropped a letter in front of Harry and gratefully accepted a dead mole and a drink of water from Snape. Harry glanced at the letter and recognized it was from Hermione. He set it aside and watched Snape, who was absently stroking the smooth back feathers of the bird while it tore bloody chunks from the mole.

"Lovely bird," Snape said lazily, as it finished. "Do you need it for a reply?"

"No thanks. I'll use Hedwig, when I have one written."

"Who's it from?"

"Hermione."

"So soon? What does she have to say?"

"I don't know. I haven't read it, yet."

Snape looked at Harry with quizzical amusement. "That's rather diffident, considering that you had your arm around her on Saturday."

"She ratted on me to you, Saturday. And that would be one thing if she knew we'd become closer, or that you were my virtual guardian, but she doesn't."

Snape nodded at the letter. "She may have something to say for herself."

"Oh, I expect she does. And I know how well I respond to Hermione's lectures. I'll read it after I've talked to McGonagall, thanks."

"You don't think you'll work yourself into a fury thinking about it?"

"I was hoping not to think about it. Come and watch me fly?"

Flying was exhilarating. Harry was feeling tired and happy when he pulled on a clean shirt, picked up his Transfiguration essay, and went to meet with McGonagall. Her office was spartan, but somehow calming. He knew he was protected here, even when he was in trouble.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," she said properly, but with a subtly affectionate tone, or so Harry imagined. He put his essay down on her desk.

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall. Here's my summer work."

She glanced at it, then set it to the side. "Very well. I will look at it this week. Have a seat. Now, I believe we were to discuss whether or not you intend to become an Auror?"

Harry nodded. "I ... It seems to be what I do," he said, "fighting Dark wizards, that is, and I like solving mysteries, and figuring things out and finding people."

"You do have a reputation for being terribly nosy, Mr. Potter," she said, by way of agreement. "This career might make an asset of that trait."

Harry turned his face down to hide a smile. "Well, that would be good. Also, I know a number of Aurors whom I admire."

"So, what has given you second thoughts? Her lips pinched together in distaste. "Not your association with Professor Snape, I hope?"

"He's never mentioned it," Harry said, with a slight shake of his head. "Well, not until this morning. No, it's more what Re- Professor Lupin wanted to point out to me."

"Which was?"

"The Minister of Magic has a great deal of influence, not just in how the law will be applied, but in the details of what the law forbids and requires. By working for the Ministry, I could find myself enforcing things I know to be wrong, pursuing people I consider blameless, and otherwise..." Harry thought -- "terrorizing the innocent in the name of justice."

"I see." McGonagall frowned. "That was not an objection I had considered. Are you, perhaps, influenced by your godfather's life as a fugitive?"

Harry nodded. "A bit. More by what happened here, last year, and by what could happen to Remus. You've seen how the werewolf edicts have been getting increasingly stringent. If he neglected to register his whereabouts on Wednesday, that would be enough to have an Auror after him. I don't want to be chasing someone down for that."

"Still, Aurors have a great deal of leeway, once appointed. You may even be able to lessen the impact of unjust laws by laxity in enforcement -- not that I would condone such a thing," she added quickly.

"But I shouldn't spend five years working to get a job that I intend to do wrong," Harry argued.

"Yet, if you do not, who else will have that job?" McGonagall countered. "We need Aurors who understand the difference between right and wrong, Mr. Potter, not just the difference between legal and illegal." She smiled fondly at him. "And you are certainly stronger on the former than the latter."

"I think I'm going to need to think about it more," Harry said. "Maybe talk to some people who work for the Ministry. I should probably plan my schedule, though, as if it's my goal. That should be adequate for anything else I want to do."

"Quite. I took a look at your OWLs, Mr. Potter. You failed History of Magic, Divination, and the Astronomy practical."

"Sorry. Hagrid --"

"I understand there were extenuating circumstances for the Astronomy practical. The examiner noted that the scores should be interpreted liberally. Even so, that is eleven OWLs, which is not bad. Of those, you barely passed Herbology and the Charms practical, but you achieved Outstandings in the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical and Care of Magical Creatures, and Exceeds Expectations in all other subjects. Normally, Professor Snape will not take advanced students who acheived less than Outstanding, but in your case, your marks were so close, and so unexpectedly good, that the headmaster and I have ... persuaded him to allow you to continue on a probationary basis. He has assured me he will drop you at the end of term if you cannot keep up with the class, so you must give it your best effort.

"I suggest you take Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology (though you are not strong in it), and Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Just that?"

"The upper-level classes are longer, and the homework loads higher. You may continue with Care of Magical Creatures, if you like, but I would not recommend a second non-essential course."

When Harry headed back to his room, his schedule was set. He had refused to continue with Herbology, suggesting, instead, an independent study in wizard law. McGonagall had been intrigued by the idea, and suggested Professors Flitwick, Dumbledore, and Lupin as people Harry might ask to advise him, or set projects for him. She had been somewhat taken aback when Harry suggested adding Professor Snape to the list.

"Whatever you may think of Professor Snape's history," Harry had said, "he has a very strong understanding of what magics are restricted and when they became restricted. Also, he's the logical person to teach me about restrictions in potions components."

"Very well," she had agreed. "Write up a proposal, and return it to me by Thursday."

So now, Harry thought, he had a new assignment, and it was time to go to talk to the proposed professors, and figure out what he wanted to learn. He decided to read the letter from Hermione first.

Dear Harry,

I hope that you did not get into too much trouble with Snape. If it makes you feel any better, I got into trouble with my parents for showing up smelling of smoke. My father thinks I should spend less time with you.

Please don't be upset with me. Kiss or no, I really hated watching you smoking, and watching you be sneaky about it was worse. Ron called me a rat, and isn't speaking to me, but he doesn't really understand. You're a wonderful person, and you're important to me (and a lot of other people!), and you shouldn't hurt yourself just for ... for whatever you get out of that. Certainly you could give me that sly little look about dozens of things that would do you less damage, and would be easier to stop doing when you're bored with them.

I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not. I'd do the same thing again. I just want you not to be angry with me, like Ron is, or at least to say you understand why I did it, even if you are angry. It's not as bad as telling Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt, is it? Please write back.

love,

Hermione

Harry forgot about his research project and set about writing a series of replies that ranged from "go away and leave me alone" to "I love you too," and tore most of them into increasingly tiny pieces. Finally, he decided to sleep on it and write a reply in the morning.

He took some parchment, quill, and ink, and went looking for Professors Flitwick, Dumbledore, Lupin, and Snape.

Dinner, that night, was an improvement over all previous staff dinners Harry had attended since his return. Snape and Remus behaved civilly towards each other, and Harry, Remus, and Professor Flitwick had an interesting discussing about dueling hexes. Snape even contributed some observations on aggressive versus defensive magics, and Dumbledore some vaguely related and scarcely credible anecdotes about amusing duels in his younger years. Harry enjoyed all of it.

Snape woke Harry up again, the next day, but did not stay to have breakfast with him.

"I have an all-morning staff meeting, today," he said, scowling. "You can imagine how delightful those are. I'll be making more of the Wolfsbane Potion, this afternoon. Will you assist?"

"I'd love to," Harry said promptly, rather to his surprise.

"Good. See you at one o'clock, in the lab."

Snape swept out in a cloud of back robes, leaving Harry staring at the empty doorway, still musing over his reply. He was usually willing to help, certainly, but did he actually like it, now?

After breakfast, he wrote a reply to Hermione's letter.

Dear Hermione,

No, I'm not angry with you. I'm sorry I upset your parents, again. They must think I'm a horrible companion for you! Professor Snape wasn't too bad, but he has threatened dire consequences if he catches me once term starts. He'd done that before, actually. I suppose that was part of why I did it -- I mean, beyond standing there staring at the cigarettes for fifteen minutes while Ron tried to figure out if a Lion bar contained any actual lion bits -- it was sort of the last time I could without costing Gryffindor house points.

It does bother me a bit that so much of our relationship seems to consist of you trying to scold me into doing what I ought to do anyway. I think you do that as much as you help me with research. I don't think I should need so much of it, and hope I wouldn't if you held off a bit. (But perhaps I'd just get into more scrapes.)

See you soon!

Love,

Harry

He put the letter aside to send in the evening, when Hedwig would be more alert and less conspicuous. He spent the morning finishing Blood Magic, had the fanciest lunch he could think up, and then went to Severus's lab to help with the Wolfsbane Potion.

Harry arrived at Severus's lab to find a gold cauldron set out at the second bench. Slowly, he walked forward and touched the gleaming metal reverentially. "Wow," he breathed.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Severus said, as he emerged from the storeroom.

"I wanted to buy one when I was eleven," Harry confessed, "but Hagrid wouldn't let me."

Severus choked. "A gold -- Oh, Merlin, I would have hated you even more!"

"I suppose it's rather a waste," Harry said wistfully. "But you have one?"

"Gold is necessary for certain very delicate potions," Severus said. "The school has several gold cauldrons, which I occasionally use in my sixth and seventh year classes. Up until now, everything you have brewed has been standardized for pewter. Some of those potions would change slightly if you brewed them in gold, or iron, or copper, or brass. Others would be the same if you brewed them in a turtle shell." He shrugged. "There are only certain stages of making the Wolfsbane Potion where your help will be needed, or welcome. I thought that, in between, you might like to experiment with making a simple potion in the gold cauldron. If you choose something safe, you can try a minor ingredient change, as well."

"Brilliant!" Harry was already running through possible potions in his mind. Simple and harmless... "How about a Calming Draught?"

Severus's eyes half-closed while he silently thought. "A fine choice," he said. "I see no way a single ingredient alteration could be harmful, unless the ingredient added was harmful in itself."

"I was thinking of catnip."

"Acceptable." Severus motioned him over. "Now help me prepare, here, before you get too distracted."

Several hours later, the material in Harry's cauldron had clarified and turned an iridescent pink. Weird, Harry thought. Wonder what made it that color? He pulled out the spoon to check for consistency. The liquid cohered to itself and the spoon, and slid off in a single thin stream. It looked to Harry like nothing so much as a strong soap solution. Like a soap solution, it remained stretched across the holes in the bowl of the gold spoon. Impulsively, Harry lifted the spoon up and blew on it. Twelve tiny bubbles shimmered in the air like floating jewels. Harry reached out to catch one and it broke at his touch, as did another, beside it. He giggled.

"Look what I made!" he crowed.

Severus did not turn. Harry touched more bubbles out of the air, then blew another batch. They were beautiful! He laughed again.

"Look, Severus -- Father, look!"

Severus turned, and frowned slightly. "Harry, I --"

He stepped forward. Harry blew a spoonful of bubbles into his face. Severus snorted, then laughed.

"You impossible child!" he growled in mock anger. He took the spoon from Harry and blew bubbles back at him. His face scrunched up with concentration, making Harry laugh again. Severus stepped back, still grinning unnaturally, but handed the spoon back to Harry.

"What is this?"

"Calming potion, made with all gold utensils, and catnip substituted for valerian. Catnip should just make it milder, right?" Harry attempted a little meowing noise as he swatted at some lingering bubbles. Severus choked.

"Stay right here." Severus went back to the other cauldrons.

"You're running away," Harry sang at him. "You're afraid of pretty bubbles!"

"I am securing everything so we don't have an accident. And getting my transcriber."

Severus doused the remaining cauldron fire, and put away two of the five ingredient jars that were out. He then unlocked one of his desk drawers and pulled out something that looked like a crystal ball with a quill hanging from it. He set this up in the center of the room with the quill on a long roll of parchment. It started writing immediately.

"Now," he said lazily, as he came back to where Harry was sitting. Harry was sending short, uneasy glances at the quill.

"What's it doing?" he asked plaintively.

Severus slipped the spoon from his fingers, dipped it, and blew more bubbles at Harry. Harry thought this was immensely funny, especially combined with Severus's serious demeanor. "Taking notes," Severus answered. "Detailed, impartial notes."

"Gimme that!" Harry said, grabbing at the spoon. He dipped it and quickly blew as many bubbles as he could straight into Severus's dour face, and Severus laughed like he was being tickled, causing Harry to do it again. After Severus had been thoroughly bubbled, Harry tried to keep aloft the bubbles that remained in the air, by blowing at them from below. Severus sat cross-legged on the table and watched.

"To your left!" he directed. "Blow! No, softer, it's going to --" Severus blew the bubble back into Harry's range. "More light!" He pointed his wand dramatically at the nearest wall sconces, setting them to burning cobalt blue. The pink bubbles reflected the blue lights in myriad little points.

"Half gold!" Harry exclaimed. Severus complied readily, turning two of the four blue flames to bright gold. "Yes!"

There was a distinct sound of someone clearing his throat.

Harry looked around wildly before noticing Remus Lupin at the door. "Remus! Come see!"

Remus entered the room slowly, looking cautiously amused. "You seem to have ... bubble soap."

"But come look," Harry coaxed, reaching out to grasp the spoon handle. "It's so pretty in the gold cauldron."

Remus looked nervously at Severus, who sat up very straight, looking down his long nose so his hair fell to either side of his face. Severus crooked a long finger at him.

"Closer, little Gryffindor," he crooned. "Come, now."

Remus edged closer, keeping Harry between himself and Severus. Severus smirked knowingly. Remus peered into the cauldron.

"Er, yes. Very pretty. What is it?"

Harry pulled out the spoon, turned it so that it shimmered in the light. "Look!" he urged. When Remus was looking, Harry blew a cloud of bubbles into his face. Remus jumped back, spluttering, but the splutter turned to a laugh. Harry cocked his head to the side.

"What a gorgeous laugh you have!"

"Oh, do I?"

"Mm. You look so weak, this close to the moon -- all pale and breakable, but your laugh is rich and deep as the forest."

"Ooo," Severus said suddenly. "That was dangerous!"

"I don't mind," Remus said carelessly.

"No -- it could be different for werewolves. It could interact with wolfsbane. It could have made you psychotic, or paranoid, or --"

Harry dipped the spoon and handed it to Remus. Remus took it solemnly and blew bubbles at Severus.

"Hey!" Severus swatted at the cloud, then shook his head into it and laughed. "Ridiculous boy."

Remus kissed the crook of Severus's nose, where a bubble had landed. "Silly hawk," he crooned.

Severus swooped out his cloak like wings and caught Remus in it, then pulled him tight against the table. He bit at Remus's hair and Remus pretended to struggle. Harry intervened when Severus mouthed at Remus's ear.

"No biting!" he chided urgently.

Severus let go immediately, and Remus darted away. They turned and grinned at each other. Remus licked up a finger suggestively.

"Argh!" Harry covered his eyes. "Remus, stop it!"

"Aw, is the baby gryffy embarrassed?" Severus purred. Harry decided not to look at what he was doing, especially as a quick glance at Remus showed him writhing on the spot, and alternately panting and laughing.

"Oh shit, they're going to kill me," Harry muttered, but he couldn't summon any real sense of urgency about it. He did get out a handful of vials and start bottling the pink stuff. He filled six of the vials, pocketing one and setting five in the rack before he looked back at Remus and Severus. They had stopped being obscene at each other. Remus had lain down on the table with his head in Severus's lap, and Severus was stroking his hair gently.

"So much grey," Severus murmured. "Still so soft."

"Such a lovely voice," Remus murmured. "I could listen to you all day."

"Mmm." Severus's voice deepened to a seductive purr. "Shall I tell you about the restorative properties of carnelian and salamander liver?"

"Anything."

"Mmm. Well, first you slice open the wriggling salamander --" Severus trailed a fingernail down the center of Remus's chest. Remus giggled.

"Er..." Harry approached them cautiously.

"Yes, Harry?" Severus asked absently, his voice as gentle as Remus's usually would be. Harry felt awkward.

"I feel obliged to point out," Harry said quietly, "that you two hate each other."

"Not true," Remus complained. "I have never, ever hated him. I've never even been angry, except about Lily. It was all my fault, or Sirius's fault."

"Then say so," Severus said, a trace less gently.

"I just did. I have a hundred times, for all the good it's done me." Remus sat up. "It was my fault; I should have told you; I'm ever so sorry, dear hawk."

Severus stared at him for a full minute. The wistful look slowly faded from his face, and his eyes shifted to impenetrable darkness.

"Well, this has been an interesting experiment," he said, still rather distantly. "Harry, we will dine in my quarters, tonight, and review the transcript. Be prepared to make intelligent contributions to the analysis."

His voice had no bite, but no warmth, either. Harry moved closer to him, as if feeling for heat from a dying fire.

"Did you...." he asked, "Remus, did you come down here for something?"

"My potion. It can wait an hour or two, if that is better."

Severus smiled slightly, his voice gentle again. "No ... we finished it before Harry produced his invention. Let me get it for you."

He moved to the covered cauldron at the front of the room and ladled out a goblet full of the steaming contents. Harry remembered how that potion had frightened him when first he saw it, and wondered why it was worrying him now. He knew what it was, now. He'd helped make it, but it still seemed dangerous.

Severus brought the goblet forward. Remus was just reaching out his hand when Harry figured out why he was afraid.

"Interactions?" Harry asked.

Severus frowned at him. "Damn." He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. "You're right. How did you...?"

"I'm about five minutes ahead of you, I think. This stuff seems to have a very quick cycle."

"Hm." Severus set down the goblet. "Come back in an hour, I think, Remus, or I'll send Harry to you. Harry?"

"I don't mind."

"Harry will bring it to you in your rooms, then." Severus focused on Remus. "Leave, now. We need to clean up."

Remus nodded silently. Harry thought the shimmer in his eyes might be unfallen tears. The werewolf turned and left without a word.

When Harry brought Remus his potion, the werewolf was pacing.

"I was afraid you had forgotten," he said. Quickly, he downed the draught, his face contorting from the taste.

"No," Harry said. "I wouldn't."

"I couldn't be sure, with the state I'd left you in. What was that stuff?"

Harry ducked his head. "Er ... something I'd just invented? If I hadn't accidentally had some, I probably wouldn't have been so reckless as to start blowing it at everyone else."

Remus, to Harry's relief, chuckled. "How very like your father!" He grinned. "And I do not mean James."

"Severus gave experimental potions to anyone who happened to be around?"

"Severus invented things. If they turned out to be of purely recreational use, he would pass them around and observe what they did." Remus winked. "It vastly increased his popularity, especially in his own house."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "My father supplied Slytherin with, er ... potions?"

Remus coughed. "In a haphazard manner, yes. Once he got bored with something, though, or, rather, was done observing its effects, he wouldn't make it again, which often annoyed people. And he didn't come up with anything that ... sweet, that I recall."

"I wasn't intending to invent anything. I'd started out with a Calming Draught. He said I could experiment, but I needed to stick to harmless ingredient changes."

"Ah."

"Um... I hope you're not upset."

"Do I look upset?" Remus asked calmly.

"You did when you left."

"Ah." Remus grimaced. "A taste of honey..." He shook his head. "If you don't mind, Harry, I need to sleep. This close to the moon...."

"Oh! Sorry. I'll get going."

As Harry walked down the empty corridor, he wondered if Remus really needed to sleep, or if he just wanted to avoid talking about Snape. It would be best, Harry decided, if he restrained his curiosity, for once, and just let the matter go.

Severus reviewed the transcript while waiting to for Harry to return from Remus's rooms. Parts of it were a bit embarrassing, but he'd certainly endured worse. He wondered if Harry were correct about his changes. Catnip for valerian was a fairly common substitution in Calming Draughts, but it was a robust potion; not the sort of thing one would brew in gold.

Harry returned rather later than Severus expected.

"Did Lupin wish to talk?" Severus asked casually, as Harry sat at the table.

"Not at all. I stopped at the library to check an almanac to see when the actual full moon is. It's Wednesday."

"I am quite aware of that," Severus said dryly. Harry took a bite of his roast lamb. Severus tapped the transcript. "You are sure of your changes?"

"Pretty much."

"Meaning, no, you are not," Severus retorted, disapprovingly. "You should see if you can duplicate it, tomorrow, then." Harry stared at him incredulously. Snape glared back at him. "To confirm your procedure. There is no point in experimenting if you have no idea what you found."

"Okay," Harry agreed, but he didn't look as if he actually understood. Severus sighed. He picked up his wine and twisted the glass idly, looking into the red-black liquid.

"What you produced," he said, "caused a brief surge of silly cheer, followed by roughly five minutes of unconcerned benevolence, both accompanied by a heightened awareness of some physical senses, at least sight and touch. After that, it faded off into an effect reasonably like a mild Calming Draught, but of shorter duration. The catnip might explain the short duration, but it is a fairly common substitution that certainly would not cause the silliness, benevolence, or heightened sensitivity. It seems unlikely that gold, which is extremely non-reactive, would do this, either."

Harry appeared to be thinking. "You said gold is used for delicate potions."

"Yes. And the Calming Draught is fairly robust." Severus took a sip of the wine and put it down, again.

"Are you sure? Perhaps the standard Calming Draught actually relies on some interaction of the ingredients being hampered or altered by pewter, or perhaps the tin in the pewter, which would make a bronze cauldron do the same."

Severus permitted himself a slight smile. He had not expected the boy to understand the implications of cauldron material so well.

"Very good, Harry. Here is what you will do. After breakfast tomorrow, I will bring out a second gold cauldron. I would like you to try duplicating today's procedure in one, making a standard formulation of Calming Draught in the other, and making your formulation of the Calming Draught a second time, but in a standard, pewter cauldron. I will watch to see if there are any errors in your procedure that might explain some portion of the change."

"Then what?" Harry asked. He looked rather amused. "We test them?"

Severus looked disdainfully back at him. "Testing is a requisite part of the procedure, Mr. --" He stopped himself. Potter? Snape? What do I call him when I'm sneering? "Whoever you are," he finished, with a trace of irony.

Harry snorted. "Whatever. I think perhaps I should keep Potter. James more or less adopted me. And there's no sense confusing the Daily Prophet as much as I've confused myself. Besides, that's what you'll be calling me in class, isn't it?"

"It is."

"There you go." Harry rolled his eyes. "You have my permission to call me 'Mr. Potter,' when you're looking for that tone."

Severus snorted in amusement. "Perceptive, Mr. Potter." Harry, to his satisfaction, responded with a grin.

"However," Severus added, "you should not be so reckless about trying a new potion. Had something undesirable happened to you, I would not have known how the substance was created, which would make counteracting it more complex."

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking about it as a potion, anymore, just bubbles." Harry grimaced. "That was kind of stupid, actually, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Don't do it again."

They ate in silence for a while. Harry became noticeably more preoccupied. Severus ate his own dinner almost without tasting it, dreading the near-inevitable questions about his response to Remus.

"I seem to get potions better than I did," Harry said finally. Severus looked at him curiously. This had not been the tack he was expecting. "Do you suppose that's you being actually informative, or do you think it's genetic?"

Severus bit back an impulse to claim he was always informative. He knew that he had made more of an effort to deride Harry than he ever had to teach him, in class.

"Both, probably," he admitted. "Many people in my family had a facility with Potions, but you have never had close instruction."

For a moment, he saw a flash of that hurt, resentful look he had come to dread, but then it was gone.

"That's good," Harry said, "but I keep worrying ... what if I'm not good at Quidditch any more?"

"I was rather good at Quidditch myself, you know," Severus huffed. He nearly winced at the sound of the words leaving his mouth.

"But not like James," Harry said flatly. "Right? And everyone says what a 'natural' I am. What if I'm just ... okay?"

Severus thought about this for a moment. He took a swallow of his wine, then summoned another goblet from his shelf, and poured Harry a half-sized glass. Harry tasted it and grimaced, then tried a second sip and looked puzzled. Severus reflected that it was probably an overly complex wine for someone who was not used to the style -- or, for that matter, wine of any sort.

"I suspect you will still be good, in any case," Severus said, returning to the question of Quidditch. "You may have started from some innate talent, but you have built knowledge on that. Were you going the other way, I do not believe you would lose what understanding of Potions you already had."

"But my body --"

"Yes." Severus nodded. "For that, there is only one way to find out."

Harry understood. He nodded, and to Severus's surprise, looked almost relieved. "After we're done with the lab work, tomorrow...." he began tentatively.

Severus looked at him questioningly.

"Would you... play with me, for a bit? We can trade off Chaser and Keeper, or something, so I can see how it goes?" Harry bit his lip. "I'd like to know before the other students come back."

Severus found himself taken aback by the request. He tried to recall when he had last had anything to do with Quidditch. A pick-up game at Malfoy Manor, he thought, when Harry was still a baby.

"I suppose," he agreed, his mind still picturing Crabbe slamming a bludger at a laughing Augustus. "Expect me to be a bit rusty, however."

When Harry went into his room, at bedtime, he found the letter to Hermione sitting forgotten on his window seat. He picked it up, reread it, and with a sudden smile, added a postscript.

P.S: Would you do me a favor? I'd really like one of those bubble blowing things on a string -- the sort you can wear around your neck? If you can find a glass one, please bring it for me.

-HP

If nothing else, he thought, playing with it in front of Severus would be amusing -- even without replacing the Muggle bubble stuff. Grinning, Harry took the letter and headed up to the Owlry.

Harry was having trouble with the Quidditch drill. He thought it might be that he was thinking about it too much, or that he was too conscious of Snape being there, but he couldn't seem to adequately maneuver his broom while concentrating on the Quaffle. Furthermore, he frequently missed it. Finally, he stopped, frustrated, and hovered in mid-air. The day was unseasonable cool, and a light drizzle was not improving his mood.

"Let's just stop. This isn't working."

Snape eyed him unsympathetically. "It is not working because you are too tense to allow it to work. You remind me of that Weasley friend of yours, last year. Every now and then, you have a few minutes where you are coordinated, then you think about it, and you fail."

"I've completely missed the Quaffle five times!"

Snape smirked. "Well, you are also unused to your current proportions. You've overreached, each time." He looked contemplatively at the stands. "Perhaps I shouldn't practice with you," he suggested slyly. "You might maintain this incompetence a game or two into the season."

Harry let out a long breath. "All right. Let's try it again."

They returned to throwing the Quaffle back and forth, while flying up and down the field. Harry was still having problems with it. Snape threw wide, and Harry reached. The wet Quaffle slipped from his fingers. Certain that he would not get a purchase on it, Harry instead used the loose contact to fling it towards Snape. As the ball went flying, he saw something else come off his finger and fall in a flash of green. He had a panicked thought of: The ring! We'll never find it in that thick grass! Unthinking, Harry dove.

A yard above the ground, he snatched up the tiny thing. Once he had bled off enough momentum in an upward arc, he stopped to pant in relief, and heard Snape laughing.

It was a more direct, unabashed laugh than he had previously heard from Snape, except for under the influence of the pink bubble stuff. Harry looked over. Snape was doubled over the Quaffle, nearly falling off his broom.

"What?"

"Oh, you can't fly, you think," Snape said mockingly. "Can't catch a Quaffle. Obviously, you needed a shot of panic, and a small enough target to be worth your while." Snape tossed the Quaffle in the air and caught it. "Let's get out of the rain, boy. There is nothing wrong with your flying!"

Remus was not at dinner that night, as it was a full moon. Harry wondered what the house elves brought him to eat, when he was a wolf. Steak Tartare? Kitfo? Dog food? Though the staff members discussed timetables, enrollments and lesson plans for an hour, the absence of the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor was conspicuously unmentioned.

On Thursday morning, Harry came out to the kitchen to find Snape sitting at the table and spreading ginger marmalade on toast as he looked at the paper. As soon as Harry had sat down, Snape tossed the front section of the Daily Prophet at him. The top headline read:

Ministry Official Savaged by Werewolf

"I hope he didn't know," Snape said. Harry judged this was about as close to a supportive statement as his father was likely to make.

"I'm sure he didn't," Harry said, scanning enough of the first paragraph to see that the attack appeared to be deliberate. "Remus wouldn't --"

"Don't assume that!" Snape snarled. "I consider myself in truce with him, now, but you are still not to trust him! Lupin does not merit trust; you will only be putting yourself at risk if you forget that."

Harry sighed. It had been a pleasant four days, he reflected. He added sugar and milk to the tea Snape poured for him, and set to reading the article.

Ministry Official Savaged by Werewolf

Rumored unrest among the werewolf population of Britain came to a head, last night, with a savage, and undeniably deliberate, attack on Mr. Hereward Keyne, an under-secretary in the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures. Mr. Keyne, currently at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, is likely to have contracted lycanthropy as a result of the attack.

"This was a deliberate, premeditated assault," Mr. Chester Stuart, also of the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures, informed the Daily Prophet. "Natural werewolves could not have planned or executed such an attack, which required going into a crowded area, targeting one person among many, and biting to infect, but not kill. This attack could only have been carried out with the benefit of the Wolfsbane Potion." The attack, in Mr. Stuart's opinion, supports what his department has been claiming all along: the Wolfsbane Potion gives a werewolf control, but does not override his elemental savagery.

A letter purporting to be from the WFU (Wolven Freedom Union) claimed WFU responsibility for the attack. The WFU is headed by Randolph Liber (born Ian McAndrew), a werewolf who has recently been preaching violent resistance to the new werewolf edicts.

"For too long we have argued our case to the willfully deaf," stated the letter. "Now we shall give our persecutors hearing so sharp they cannot but hear us. For as long as you hurt us, we will give you our pain. For as long as you confine us with laws, we will confine you with fear. For as long as you treat us as your hunters, we will treat you as our prey. Liberete Lupis!"

The attack and statement mark a worrying trend in non-human unrest since the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge stated that werewolves who had defied the Full Moon Registration Edict would be rounded up for questioning by Ministry Aurors.

Harry tossed the paper down the table.

"And that," he said, "is why I worry about becoming an Auror."

"You would rather have werewolves attacking people."

"They're not right," Harry replied, "but the wrong they are doing is in return for a wrong done to them. And in any case, not everyone who failed to comply with that offensive edict should be regarded as a suspect. I don't want in on either side of this fight."

"But Mr. Stuart is right. A werewolf can still be savage on the Wolfsbane Potion."

"And a human can be savage without being a werewolf at all. The Potion does not change one's human nature -- it only gives the human control of the wolf. I have seen humans kill and torture without any magical excuse. A human that is a werewolf will be no better."

Harry looked down at the paper. The Full Moon Registration Edict. "Remus wouldn't do this," he said softly. "But if I was a werewolf, I might."

"Deliberately maul people?" Snape exclaimed.

"Deliberately maul people from the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures." Harry glowered at the folded paper. "Ministry Official Sava" still showed. "Fudge, if I could get to him." He smiled slightly. "Definitely Fudge."

"Harry," Snape said fiercely, "don't give them sympathy. They are just the new Death Eaters. They are torturing for a cause, and in time they will forget the cause in the delight of torture, of power, of wielding fear." He tapped the headline and the moving picture of a panicked crowd outside Mr. Keyne's garden. "They have already gone beyond the point where their motives might have held pure."

"I still sympathize."

Snape stood. "They have put a death sentence on Lupin," he said. "Remember that."

At Friday night's dinner, Severus seemed unwilling to talk to Remus. He was not the only staff member who avoided it. Remus himself was withdrawn, and did not attempt to initiate conversation with anybody. He responded only briefly to Harry's queries about his plans for the upcoming term. Harry was relieved to realize this was their last such dinner; on Monday, the students would return, and he would be back to sitting at the Gryffindor table with his friends. On the other hand, he thought, with a glance at Snape, he would also be back to having breakfast at the Gryffindor table, with his friends, rather than in Snape's kitchen, with Snape sarcastically reviewing the news or the day's schedule.

"You think I should be kinder to Lupin," Snape said contemptuously, as they were walking back to the dungeons.

"Yes, but ...." Harry shrugged. "I wasn't particularly thinking about it."

"What are you sulking for, then?"

"Sulking?"

"That look you had through dinner."

"Oh." Harry ducked his head nervously. "I was thinking I'd miss having breakfast with you, actually."

Snape stopped so suddenly that Harry took a step past him before noticing. "What?" he said.

"I'll miss having breakfast with you. It followed thinking that I won't miss these dinners at all."

Snape smiled slyly. "Dumbledore," he said, "is the only person who could possibly miss these dinners." They continued on their way.

In Snape's quarters, Snape poured himself some wine. With his back still to Harry, he asked:

"Would you like to visit, occasionally?"

The question was casual; Harry kept his voice equally so.

"Yeah." He saw Snape's back stiffen. "I mean, 'yes, sir,'" he tried, though lightly.

Snape turned back, looking amused. "You won't get through the first week of term without getting in trouble for failing to address Lupin or me properly."

"Ten galleons I will," Harry countered, "but you have to be fair."

"Accepted." Snape sat down in the armchair and leaned back. "Ugh. I should be reviewing supply lists and class rolls."

Harry sat at the near end of the couch. "You have everything," he said; "you hate all the students. There. All set."

Snape let out a bark of laughter. "Not all of them," he said. "Merely most." He sighed. "But at least I no longer have Neville Longbottom."

"For which you are both grateful, I'm sure," Harry observed. Cautiously, he added, "Still, I think it's too bad you weren't nicer to him. He's so good at Herbology that he should have been a natural at potions. If you'd been gentler with him, he'd have learned more."

"I am aware of that, Potter," Snape said sharply. "I see no use in competency that only exists when not under pressure."

"Potter?" Harry repeated incredulously.

"I'm getting ready for term."

"Oh. Well, if he had been able to learn in a supportive environment, he might have been able to do things under pressure, later. I don't think people always need to learn both at once. Some people can't learn both at once."

"Longbottom was an unmitigated disaster in the Potions classroom. I would have dropped him the first year, had I been allowed to."

Harry shrugged. It seemed useless to repeat that Neville might have done better if Snape didn't scare him. Snape obviously considered this Neville's problem, not his.

"I like Neville," he said instead. "He's a nice kid."

Snape smiled slightly, his attention seemingly on his wine. "But even you say 'kid.' He is your age, is he not?

"Almost to the day." Harry felt a surge of wistfulness at the thought. If Voldemort had only attacked Neville, he thought, instead of me, my life might be more normal. He thought of Neville trying to face down Voldemort, and laughed.

"What?"

"Oh, just imagining Neville trying to survive the Dark Lord. It's probably just as well it ended up being me, even if it sucks."

Snape shuddered, then suddenly straightened. "Is this ... that prophecy of Dumbledore's?"

"Right. I either kill him -- Tom, or I die."

"I did not know it was that explicit."

"You didn't?" Harry puzzled over this for a moment. "He didn't tell me not to say." He shrugged. "I figured all of his old crowd had heard it."

"And it could have been Neville Longbottom?"

"He met the original requirements."

Snape grimaced. "My opinion of you as the savior of the wizarding world has suddenly vastly improved."

"Should I be insulted?"

"If you like." Snape looked at him intently. His eyes narrowed. "You will miss having breakfast with me?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah." Harry shrugged. "Oh, you never made me that saffron milk thing."

"On Sunday, perhaps. I need to be up early, tomorrow."

Hagrid returned on Saturday morning, and Harry spent much of the day following him about the grounds, talking and helping him. Sunday he spent entirely with Snape, though neither of them mentioned it.

On Monday, Harry found himself waiting anxiously for the arrival of the train. In mid-afternoon, he went up to Gryffindor tower, which he had been avoiding since his return. The fat lady looked startled.

"A bit early, aren't you?"

"I've been living downstairs all August," Harry told her. "Just thought I'd come up before everyone else got here."

"Very well. Password?"

"Gloria."

The fat lady nodded. "Go on in, then." The portrait hole swung open.

Harry had become accustomed to the dark colors of Snape's rooms and lab, and the sylvan ones of his own private room. Gryffindor's explosion of red and gold caught him as if he was seeing for the first time. The common room was clean and quiet, and the grate unlit, but even so, the room shone with riotous life about to wake.

"Glory," Harry murmured. "Every bit." He walked through the common room and up the stairs, to the dormitory at the top of the boys' tower. The room was just as he remembered, only cleaner and lacking personal items. One trunk, his own, was the only student property visible. Harry wondered when the house elves had moved it up. It had been in his room in Snape's quarters this morning. He wondered if his room was empty, now. Suddenly, he pictured it with the furniture gone, and the door moved back to the hallway. He felt a surge of panic. Without even opening his trunk or looking out the window, he turned and left for the dungeons.

Snape looked up from Alchemical Review as Harry entered. "I thought you were going to survey your golden tower," he said sourly.

"Is my room still here?"

Snape looked puzzled. "I don't think it would have gone anywhere."

"Why not? It wasn't here a month ago." Harry crossed the room and went into the kitchen. By concentrating on the right section of wall, he could dimly see the door to his room. Quickly, he darted over and opened it. He stood in the doorway and looked around. Everything was in place, except for his trunk. He relaxed, and felt suddenly exhausted. He was aware of Snape walking up behind him, but that didn't seem to require him to move.

"Harry? Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just ... my trunk was in Gryffindor, and I thought, what if he'd moved everything back? The door, even? I had to see if it was still here."

Snape's hands gripped his shoulders. It reminded Harry of the night he had arrived, except Snape wasn't shaking him now. He froze, waiting for Snape to start yelling at him.

"You will have a room here for as long as I am here, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, glad he was facing away from Snape, and his dizzying relief would not show.

"Thank you, sir -- Father."

Snape's grip tightened briefly, then he let go and backed away. "It's not going to be an easy year, is it?" he asked wryly.

"It never is," Harry returned. Content with the room, he stepped back out of it and looked aimlessly around at the kitchen. "But, yes, this one is starting in a mess. Usually it's at least November before things are this complicated."

"You're a very cynical young man, you know."

"Practice," Harry returned, with amusement. He looked wryly at Snape. "I'd claim it's genetic, but I think we both earned it."

"Are you dreading telling your schoolmates of our kinship?"

"Not really. There'll be some trouble, but I can get through that. No, what I'm dreading is lying to people for months."

"Gryffindor," Snape sniffed.

"'Fraid so."

"You will lie to them, though."

"Oh yes. Though Ron and Hermione will figure it out, probably before you would like them to."

Snape snorted contemptuously. He leaned against the counter, his attention seemingly on his fingernails. "I would rather they never found out."

"Oh." Harry's throat had turned into one big lump, making it difficult to say anything. "Sorry."

"It's hardly your fault."

"Well, bye, then." Harry edged toward the door. "You can move it back if you like."

"Harry!" Snape bellowed. "Get back here!"

Since Harry was only two steps into the living room, the volume was hardly necessary. He returned quickly.

"That was not what I meant." Snape glared at him a moment, then sighed. "Do you have any idea what this will be like?"

"Yes. First, it will be my yearly press scandal -- well, my second one, I guess. I hate those, but I'm getting used to them. All of Slytherin and all of Gryffindor and some of the other students will be offended. Some of them will be mad at me, some at you, and some at both of us."

"What will young Mr. Weasley say?"

"Oh, he'll be fine -- at first. Sympathetic. When I finally manage to convince him I don't mind, he'll be awful. We may end up not speaking to each other, again."

"What do you mean, you 'don't mind?'"

"I mean you're okay, as a father. If I was miserable, he'd be fine with it. Like you say, that's not my fault, but liking you...." Harry shrugged. "Maybe I'm being too cynical, again. Ron does care about me, you know. He'll adjust, eventually, I'm just not sure whether it will be in a week or in several months."

Snape considered him thoughtfully. "And Miss Granger?" he asked.

"She'll get hysterical, then be over it."

"Despite the way I treat her?"

Harry glowered. "I am not responsible for your behavior."

"Good." Snape nodded. "That is an important thing for you to remember."

Harry grinned at him. "Yes, Father," he said demurely.

When Snape went back to his work, Harry went back into his room and looked at himself in the mirror on the wardrobe. His hair, like his body, had been growing fast, thought not unbelievably so, and he might be able to claim that it was straighter and better behaved due to being longer. His fringe had grown down past his eyes, but would stay to the side for a little while, if combed there. He wondered if there was a spell which would help. Cutting it would keep it out of his eyes, but make the change in the hair itself more pronounced, as it was completely straight near the roots.

He was back in school robes, though better dressed beneath them than he used to be. He took off his glasses and looked around. He still couldn't read a class blackboard without them, he was pretty sure, but he would probably be able to recognize most of the people in the classroom.

"Back to school, dearie?" the mirror asked.

"Well, this is school. The term is starting, though. I guess school is back to me. I'll be living upstairs."

"Well, remember I'm here. And stop worrying; you're furrowing your brow."

"Thanks. I'll try."

On the way out, Harry stopped to look at the bookcases. He picked up The Limits of Control: Legal, Ethical, and Magical Considerations of Spells of Compulsion, which he had looked at before, but never read.

"May I borrow a book, sir?" he asked cautiously.

"What for?"

"Because the train won't be here for hours."

"Couldn't you find something more suitable in the library?" Snape asked sourly. He looked over to read the cover of the book Harry was holding. "I warn you," he said, "the text is almost as unwieldy as the title."

"Any other warnings?"

"Just the usual -- don't try any of it, and come and discuss it with me, afterwards."

"Okay." Harry decided not to ask when and how he was supposed to come to talk to Severus. Without instructions, he was free to improvise as he saw fit.

"Here." Snape scanned the shelves, picked out another book, and handed it to Harry. "Take something you can read in public, too."

Harry looked down. The book was titled Freed or Abandoned? The Influence of Wizard/Muggle Segregation on the Native Muggles of East Africa.

"Since you seemed interested," Snape commented.

Harry nodded. "Thanks."

Harry fretted about whether or not to go down to the train. He saw the thestrals, in a rangy herd, coming up from the forest to the forest side of the castle. Curious, he went out to see what was drawing them, and found Hagrid with a staggered line of dead cattle, standing in front of a carriage house built against the castle wall.

"Hello, Harry!" Hagrid boomed. "Will yeh want a ride down ter the station?"

"That would be great," Harry said.

"Don' suppose yeh'd want ter help me harness this lot?" Hagrid said questioningly.

Harry smiled bravely. "Of course I will," he said.

Two hours later, Harry was riding in the lead carriage down to the train station. Hagrid was fetching the boats, but had said he would meet him on the platform. As promised, he arrived only a few minutes after Harry and the carriages.

"Ready ter have your friends back, are yeh?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry admitted. Despite his reservations of the last few days, he found himself eagerly straining to see the first puffs of steam down the track.

"Heard from Minerva that yeh'll still be takin' Care o' Magical Creatures."

"I wouldn't miss it."

"And yeh shouldn', Harry. I've got some interestin' creatures lined up fer the advanced classes, I do."

Harry repressed a reflexive surge of foreboding. "That's great, Hagrid," he said cheerfully. "I'm sure it will be an exciting class."

He was saved from continuing in this vein by the distant wail of a train whistle. He and Hagrid both jumped, then smiled at each other.

"Tha's it, then," Hagrid said. "Got ter lead in the firs' years. See yeh at the feast, Harry."

"See you," Harry echoed. Hagrid began to stride nervously up and down the platform. Harry stood by the steps and waited.

He saw Ron, first. The redhead was climbing down from the train a step behind Andrew Kirke, one of last year's new Beaters. Jack Sloper, the other Gryffindor Beater followed, with Neville behind him. Harry hurried up to them.

"Hi Ron, everybody," he said. "Where's Hermione?"

"I don't know," Ron said. "I don't care, either."

"But...." Harry remembered suddenly that Hermione had said Ron was angry with her on his behalf. Obviously Ron was still angry. He should have written to Ron, as well..... Harry dug his fingers into his hair and tugged on it. "Ron," he said, "you shouldn't--" He spotted her then, getting off the train a car further down, in the company of Ginny, Dean, and Seamus. He waved an arm up in the air. "Hermione!"

She started toward him enthusiastically, then slowed at the sight of Ron by his side. Harry turned to Ron, who was scowling darkly.

"You shouldn't let her treat you like that, Harry," Ron said. "She's pretty enough, but you could do better."

"Look," Harry said, "Let's get a carriage together -- the three of us -- and talk it out, okay? I'm not upset with her."

"Well you should be." Ron turned away. "Ride with her, then. I don't intend to ruin my evening. I'll catch you later."

Ron walked off with the Gryffindor Beaters trailing him. Neville, who had been watching the exchange in confusion, paused a moment.

"Good to see you, Harry," he said. "Later?"

"Sure, Neville. Later."

Harry wove his way through the students to where Hermione was standing. Ginny, Dean, and Seamus had joined her, now. Harry stopped in front of them, feeling awkward.

"Er ... hi."

Hermione smiled, dimpling her cheeks. "Hi, yourself."

Harry reached out and managed to catch her hand without fumbling too much. Hermione's hand squeezed his confirmingly. He smiled at her, then looked around at the others, being sure to make eye contact with each of them, so they'd know they were not excluded. "Let's get a carriage, then, shall we?"

"All right, Harry," Seamus agreed amicably. They moved as a group down the steps. "Any particular identical carriage you like best?" he asked.

"Pick one of the ones I harnessed," Harry replied cheerfully.

"You harnessed?"

"I was bored."

Seamus shuddered. "Better you than me. I wouldn't be touching a thestral for that."

Ron met up with them inside the Great Hall. He ignored Hermione completely, but sat on Harry's other side at the Gryffindor table. Harry managed not to roll his eyes. I need to fix this quickly, he thought. As soon as we're in the dormitory, I'll talk to him. Andrew and Jack sat on the other side of Ron, with Neville across from him. They waited for the milling crowd to settle.

Hermione leaned over and nudged Harry. "Look at Snape," she whispered. Harry looked. Snape looked perfectly normal, he thought.

"What?"

"He's not glaring at Professor Lupin. Do you think he's given up on the Defense post?"

"I think he wants someone competent in the Defense post," Harry answered.

"He didn't think Lupin was competent last time."

"The last several years have lowered his expectations. He had to agree when I said Lupin was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher I had ever had. He thought it was pathetic, but he agreed."

"You were chatting with Snape?" Ron interjected.

"I lived here for a month, Ron, with no other students. I talked with all the professors, at some point."

"All right, but that greasy git?"

Harry was suddenly annoyed. "Snape's okay, Ron. Stop acting like a first year."

Ron's mouth fell open. Before he could think of a retort, they were distracted by Lavender, several seats down, snapping:

"Colin, either go away or shut up! I am not interested in how you plan to photograph the squid."

Dean, who was closer to the disturbance, leaned in front of Ginny to confide:

"I think our little shutterbug has a crush on Lavender, this year. Poor thing."

"Which?" asked Seamus.

"Both," Dean replied. They snickered, as did Harry. Even Hermione covered a smile. "What?" Ron asked. Harry had to relay the comment to him. It got a laugh out of Ron, too. The conversation did not return to Snape.

Harry was reluctant to enter the sixth-year Gryffindor boys dormitory, but once he did, he found it was home-like, again, now that it had five trunks and five people in it, with all of them unpacking things and setting them up on night tables or putting them in drawers.

"Ron!" Dean called, past Seamus. "Who was that black nob you were with in Diagon Alley?"

"What?"

"Er ... that was me," Harry answered. A chorus of tight laughter greeted this statement. "Really," Harry said. "I ate something Fred and George offered me."

At that, the laughter turned to hilarity. "Get me some!" Dean exclaimed. "I need to slip that to a few blokes!"

"Once they manage to make it with legal ingredients, sure," Harry said. "It's still very experimental, at the moment."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "With friends like that...." he commented.

"Eh, well, Fred and George and I ...." Harry let the statement trail off with a shrug and a smile.

"They'd tried it on each other, first," Ron contributed. "You looked a bit odd, Harry, but you should have seen it with blue eyes and Weasley hair!" He grinned. "Came out of some drunken bet with Lee, I heard."

"I'd like to see it on Katie Bell."

Seamus whooped. "That would be a sight!" He grinned suddenly. "Lavender!" he suggested.

"So what was that gold sash around your head?" Dean pressed. "Bit showier than how you usually dress."

"Well, since I had such a good start on a disguise, I decided to cover my scar." Harry blushed. "Hermione picked it."

"Fooled me!" Dean said cheerfully. "Of course I only saw you from the second-floor window of Flourish and Blotts, as you were all walking past. I was expecting some new face, and wondering how he'd got so thick with Harry's best friends."

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, remembering his birthday present from Fred and George. "I have a sack of experimental Fred'n'George things to try. Anybody for a slightly random testing party on Sunday, in the common room?"

"Are these things labeled, at all?" Seamus asked.

"Oh yes. And they assured me labels were mostly accurate."

"I'm in!" Dean exclaimed.

"Me too," Seamus added. He sighed. "Mad, I am."

"I'm just so glad to be back to magic," Dean confided.

"Like I don't get enough of this already?" Ron asked, scowling. He shook his head. "I'll watch. Maybe I'll recognize something."

"Okay. How about you, Neville?"

Neville looked worried. "Come on," Harry wheedled. "If anything goes wrong, Ron'll take us to the Hospital Wing, right Ron?"

"Yeah sure," Ron agreed. "If Hermione doesn't beat me there."

"Okay," Neville agreed nervously.

"Want to check the labels, beforehand?" Harry asked, in general. "They said not to eat anything labeled in green, so I think those are the nasty ones. They recommended those for Dudley."

"And I reckon they'd do anything short of kill --" Ron stopped suddenly. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. "I forgot."

There was a moment of silence.

"I don't care about the Dursleys, Ron," Harry said harshly. He realized he pretty much meant it, too, which he found, as before, slightly unnerving. "I feel bad that they were killed to get at me, but it's not my fault. And I never have to go back there again, and that evens it out."

"You never told me," Ron said, "was all that stuff true?"

Everyone else was quiet. Harry hesitated. "Yeah, but ... when you're brought up that way, it isn't such a big deal." He shrugged slightly. "I never knew people would get so upset."

"Why shouldn't we get upset?!"

"Because it's annoying. It's over. Shut up about it." Harry scowled at Ron. He was suddenly angry. "When I leave Hogwarts, I will get my own place, with my own bedroom, and I will eat whenever I please, and have piles of clothes that fit me. I already have enough food and clothes that fit. I have loads of money, which I can actually spend, now, because I don't have guardians who will steal it from me. I'm fine!"

There was an awkward silence.

"Do we all have timetable meetings in the morning?" Neville asked, bravely trying to change the subject.

"I do," Seamus said, and Ron and Dean chorused agreement.

"My timetable was worked out last week," Harry said conversationally. His heart was still hammering madly. "Since I was here."

"What are you taking?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and Potions. Professor McGonagall wanted me to take Herbology, but I'm just too bored by it. I've designed an independent study in wizard law, instead."

"You're voluntarily taking Potions?" Ron exclaimed. "I was so relieved I'd failed that OWL. I mean, except for having to listen to Mum talk about her Potions Outstanding."

"I got an Outstanding in Herbology," Neville said proudly.

"And I got one in Defense," Harry said. "Everyone is stunned, I'm sure."

"I barely passed that," Seamus contributed.

"Did you fail anything, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Divination, History of Magic, and the Astronomy practical. Of course, the Astronomy practical was the one Hagrid got attacked during, so a lot of people did badly in it. I think I could have passed it, normally."

"So you passed Herbology."

"Barely."

"I got an Exceeds Expectations," Dean volunteered. "Mostly because of studying with you, Neville."

Harry sat back while everyone else continued to discuss their OWLs. He wondered how different sixth-year classes would be.

"Harry?" Ron asked, in a low voice.

"Hmm?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"What's wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "What? Nothing, Ron."

"You look upset."

Harry sent him another quizzical look. "Do I? I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Wondering how different this year's classes would be. McGonagall says they're a lot harder."

"Well, don't worry about it, alright? I'm sure you'll do fine."

"I'm not worried."

Ron frowned again, then smiled coaxingly. "Here, Harry -- got something for you."

"Oh?" Harry followed Ron over to the space between their beds, away from the discussion of O.W.L.s and timetables. Ron grinned, took something from his pocket, and tossed it at Harry. Harry caught it reflexively before realizing it was a pack of cigarettes.

"Uh...."

"Isn't that the right thing?" Ron asked, crestfallen. "It looked the same. I got Muggle money from Dean --"

Harry handed the pack back to Ron. Ron made no move to take it. I could just keep it, Harry thought. Just in case. "That was really thoughtful," he said sincerely. "Hermione's right though. Get rid of those for me, will you? I'll pay you back; I just don't want them."

Ron took the pack, but looked annoyed. "You're going to let her bully you."

"Ron, does the word 'addictive' mean anything to you?" Harry snapped.

Ron looked puzzled. "Er ... no. Muggle term, you reckon?"

"Oh." Harry thought. "It's er ... if you have something and it makes you need more of it, or want more of it, even if you don't like it, particularly, or if it would cause you problems."

"Oh." Ron's eyes widened. "We say "habit-forming" for that."

"Right. Muggles say that too, but less often. These are that, and also very unhealthy -- I mean, a 'kill you' sort of unhealthy. Except not quickly, and not everybody, and it probably won't matter, because I'm not likely to live into my twenties, much less past them, but someone told me, once, that's it important to plan to live. I'm trying to do that, okay?"

"Okay." Ron frowned down at the pack of cigarettes. "Just throw them out, then?"

"Please? Before I tell you to give them to me, or to keep them for me for later, or exam week perhaps, or let's just take my broom and go sit on the roof and no one will catch me, right?" Gimme now, dammit, it couldn't hurt, one more, ten more at worst....

Ron looked shrewdly at Harry. Harry tried to lighten his expression. He opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn't sure what.

"Right, then," Ron said decisively. "Loan me your cloak." He reached past Harry and flipped open Harry's trunk. Harry found he had a few things in it that he had not been expecting, such as the red robes, loosely folded on the very top. Embarrassed, he dug quickly down and found the invisibility cloak, which he handed to Ron.

"Don't get caught."

"Course not." Ron grinned at him, then flipped the cloak on, vanishing under it. The door opened. "And get some sleep," Ron's voice called back. "You look as though you need it." The door closed.

Neville turned from his conversation with Dean, and gestured angrily at Harry and the door. "You two will be costing us points before classes even start!"

"Not as badly as if he stayed," Harry assured him. He felt a knowing smile trying to assert itself, and restrained it as much as he could. "Trust me on this one."

Ron returned just as Harry was settling into bed. Harry watched sleepily as Ron tossed the cloak back into Harry's trunk.

"How did it go?" Harry asked. He was rather curious as to what Ron had done that would take half an hour. Of course, Ron might not have come straight back.

Ron bent close. "Fifty points if you get it through her head," he whispered wickedly. Harry sniggered. As Ron looked haphazardly through his own messy trunk for pajamas, Harry curled up and closed his eyes. He could still identify everyone's breathing -- Neville's was a little bit wuffly, and Seamus's quicker and lighter than Dean's. Ron settled in the nearest bed and sounded -- well, like Ron. Like safe, crowded places. Harry smiled, his eyes still shut. Being back in the dormitory wasn't so bad, after all.

The next morning, in the Common Room, Harry caught Ron and pulled him over to Hermione.

"Okay," he said, "listen. I don't want you two to apologize to each other, or anything, because you were both doing what you thought was right. I do want you to go back to being friends." Ron and Hermione eyed each other doubtfully. Harry growled slightly. "And if you're stupid about it," he said, "I'm not above resorting to emotional blackmail and telling you that I've had an insane summer, and I desperately need a familiar, supportive environment."

He assumed a tragic pose worthy of Fred. Hermione choked on a laugh. Ron snorted.

"Well, there," said Harry brightly. "Instead of going on about how horrible my life is, you can do something to make it better, okay? Now shake hands and say you still like each other."

Hermione, smiling nervously, held out her hand. "I ... I still like you, Ron," she said shyly.

Ron rolled his eyes and shifted nervously on his feet. He glanced furtively around to see who was looking at them. Not many people, Harry thought. Finally, he took Hermione's hand and shook it quickly.

"You're all right," he said grudgingly. He grinned. "For a fussy swot."

"Well!" Hermione tossed her head. "Someone won't be getting to look at my notes, this year."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron pleaded. Harry decided they were back to normal, and headed for the portrait hole and breakfast. Hermione and Ron followed, still bickering amicably.

The sixth years had timetable meetings, not classes, the first day of school. At midmorning, Neville was at his meeting, and Seamus preparing for his. Harry, Ron, and Dean sat on the Harry's bed, sorting the twins' samples into three piles: "known (try)," "unknown (try)" and "don't try."

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "They gave you all four flavors of ventriloquism drops -- two each!"

"Ventriloquism drops?"

Ron held up a packet of large hard sweets in white, red, yellow, and purple. "All of them let you throw your voice where you like. The colored ones change your voice, as well." He grinned. "I've got an idea. Can I have one? A purple?"

"Will you give me a demonstration?"

Ron nodded eagerly. "This weekend. And I'll tell you right before I do it, okay?"

Harry grinned. "Okay." He fished out one of the purple sweets and gave it to Ron, who wrapped it in his handkerchief. "Brilliant!"

"What about me?" Dean asked.

"I'll tell you when to watch," Ron promised.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Neville. "We don't have classes by house!" he exclaimed, as he burst through the door.

"What?" Dean and Harry responded, shocked.

"Oh, right," Ron said. "You didn't know that? The classes are more exclusive, and since not all of us are taking the same things, we get mixed up more. Snape is the pickiest. Bill says he only has two sessions for sixth years, small ones, and one for seventh years. McGonagall has two sessions for sixth years and two or three for seventh years, because she doesn't have as many people drop out or fail, and she likes her seventh year classes with no more than five people. Charms is still four sessions, because so many people take it, but not by house, because our timetables will all be different."

"Oh." Harry frowned at Ron. "Want my timetable? In case you get to pick?"

Ron looked relieved. "That would be great!"

Before dinner, Harry got Andrew, Jack, Ron, and Ginny together in the Common Room. This wasn't terribly difficult, as Andrew and Jack seemed pleased to have a sixth-year friend, and were, in Harry's estimation, with Ron as often as not.

"We're the team," Harry said, "and yes, I can play again. I checked with Dumbledore. I think we'd be best off with me as Seeker and Ginny as a Chaser. We need two more Chasers, and we need to elect a Captain --"

"You," Ginny said, yawning.

"Second," Ron said.

"How about Ron?" Andrew objected.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"Well," Ron said, "considering I've been on the team one year, and Harry most of five..."

"We didn't play, in my fourth year."

"Fine -- four! I think he will have better perspective."

Harry nodded. "For once, I'll agree. Jack?"

Jack shrugged. "I'm fine with that. Wish I'd played with you before, though."

Harry nodded. "That's unfortunate. We'll need to get in a lot of practice to pull together as a team. That's why I want to have tryouts this Saturday. Yes, Ginny?"

"I think I should have to try out for the Chaser position," Ginny said bravely.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Want me to try out for Seeker, too?"

"You've played Seeker, Harry. I haven't played Chaser."

Harry nodded. "Fine," he agreed, with only a slight touch of exasperation. "You can try out. Still, once we accept you -- and I'll be shocked if we don't -- you get a say in the other two Chasers, because you have team seniority. So don't think this gets you out of judging."

"Okay."

"All right, then. Am I officially captain?"

A chorus of "yea"s replied. Harry ignored Ron's and Ginny's matching elaborately bored tone. "Good. That means I can book the pitch. I'll go see Madam Hooch before dinner. Keep Saturday open -- this could take a while. Who wants to draw up the tryouts notice?"

"I will," Ginny volunteered.

"Great." Harry stood up. "This meeting is dismissed. See you all at dinner."

Severus sat at the staff table and toyed with his glass. He tried not to let his attention settle at the Gryffindor table, though it returned there often. Harry, rather than being seated with Hermione and the boys of his year, was seated with Hermione, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnegan and Neville Longbottom were a bit further down. Snape imagined that Finnegan looked a bit put out, though from this distance, he could not tell conclusively. Longbottom, of course, was a boy who knew his rank, and submitted to any social change without offense.

Severus did not turn his head when Madam Hooch told Professor McGonagall that Harry was the new Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, or that the team had booked the pitch for tryouts on Saturday. He expected Harry to be captain, of course. Who else could be? And certainly, they needed to construct a new team as soon as possible. That was probably what they were talking about now, with their heads bent together. Indeed, Granger and Thomas seemed to be having a separate conversation.

Severus glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was sitting with Gregory Goyle and a fifth year girl who seemed to be constantly with Gregory, for the last two days. Draco was looking absently off into the distance. Severus had found Lucius's son a bit sullen in his tutorial, that morning, and the boy was clearly missing his former perception of power, but he did not yet bear the Dark Lord's Mark, for which Severus was grateful. He had tried to put it in the boy's head that his cleverness and wit was his best path to maintaining power in his house through the current political fluctuations. He had even suggested, concealing his anxiety, that Draco cultivate younger students from an assortment of backgrounds, ensuring that he would have allies in any eventuality. As he could not openly doubt the Dark Lord's future victory, this had required very careful phrasing. Draco had seemed to understand, but he was currently showing no inclination to act on the advice.

Severus finished his soup and had just started on a piece of salmon when his arm burned with a summoning so fierce that he twitched and nearly dropped his fork. Quickly he put down his knife and fork and excused himself with a murmur. Unbidden, his eyes went to Harry. The boy was watching him anxiously. Severus was certain he understood that flinch -- possibly he had felt a twinge of it in his scar. He wished he could acknowledge Harry's concern with a nod, but even that slight gesture might be noticed and wondered about. Severus let his eyes scan once across the hall, then pivoted and swept to the door and out into the hall. Once shielded from those hundreds of eyes, he broke into a run.

As soon as Severus had collected needed items from his room, he flooed to Crabbe's manor, and, from there, apparated to the summoning site, following the burning pull of the Dark Mark. He found himself in an unfamiliar room, with exposed, smoke-darkened beams and a high roof. He had arrived late, as usual, so he had no time to observe more. Only two people were still on the ground before the Dark Lord. Severus found his place in the circle, then fell to his knees. For just a moment, he felt a flood of relief at the surrender, then, reluctantly, remembered it was not genuine. He still had decisions to make.

The Dark Lord turned to him. Severus crawled forward, pushing his own agenda deep inside himself, and pulling over it his submission to his lord. "Master," he murmured, as he kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. He let himself be dizzy with the honor of touching the least part of his master's garments. Lesser servants might never lay eyes on him, but the Dark Lord himself spoke his will to Severus.

"Severus, my clever brewer," the Dark Lord hissed, "have your duties to Dumbledore delayed you again?"

"Your summons came during dinner," Severus murmured, "but I left immediately. Only the school's Apparation block delayed me, my lord."

"I do not doubt your enthusiasm, Severus," the Dark Lord said, in a voice replete with the doubt he denied. "I hoped, perhaps, you might explain a matter to me? From your ... advantageous? ... connections in Hogwarts."

"Ask, my lord," Severus urged.

"It is Potter, Severus," his master hissed. "I have heard he ventured unguarded from Diagon Alley into Muggle London, but this was not detected until too late. How is the boy warded, now that his mother's kin are dead?"

Severus hoped his master would take his fear wrongly.

"I do not know, my lord," he lied, believing the lie as deeply as he could. "I will ask Dumbledore. He will dissemble, at first, but the fool is proud, and may tell me in time, if properly encouraged."

"I expect results," the Dark Lord said threateningly. "We should have had Potter a month ago."

"Had I been warned --" Severus dared, but his master hissed him to silence.

"Do not speak of it! I do not want to be told what should have been done, only that next time, it will be done correctly!"

"You are wise, master," Severus lied ecstatically, drawing the robe's hem to his lips, once more. "I will find this path for your glorious vengeance."

The meeting was short. Severus was not one of those tortured, this time. When they were dismissed, he was able to turn to the windows, and apparate to a sheltered grove in the distance. Once there, he put a few trees between himself and the summoning place, then looked around.

To his dismay, he recognized the little village at the base of the hill he was on. It was Hogsmeade. He was far too close to the school, and to Harry, for his comfort. The walk home took less than an hour. Severus spent it wondering how to appease the Dark Lord without endangering Harry.

When he got back to his rooms, he found Harry there, sitting by the fire, reading a Transfiguration text. The boy looked up, relief turning almost instantly to alarm at whatever it was he saw on Severus's face. Severus was not sure what his face showed. The sight of Harry, sitting in his living room as if he belonged there, had caused a chaotic flood of feelings: security, affection, exasperation, fear, anger. Harry was here; he was safe. Harry was here; he cared. Harry was here, like a bloody idiot; two days into school and already he was acting suspicious.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for being out past curfew."

"I was worried about you."

"Harry, I have taking care of myself for longer than you have been alive."

"Yes, but ..."

Severus fixed him with a contemptuous stare.

"It's more dangerous for you, with me alive." Harry tried to make the observation sound witty, but failed. Severus was relieved to conclude that he still had some powers of intimidation.

"And more still if you come here," he hissed.

"I wore the cloak. No one saw me."

"On the evening of a meeting, it is not unusual for one of two of my associates to contact me. I usually open the floo for a few hours."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You will stay where you belong!" Severus screamed, lunging at Harry. He stopped himself a mere foot short of the boy's face. It had gone pale, but was quickly darkening. Severus did not want to know whether that color was from embarrassment or anger. He knew it was shame that was flooding his own with hot blood. With all the control he had in front of the Dark Lord, he still could not keep his temper when not in danger. It made no sense to him.

"Go," he said. He wished that he had Albus's trick of putting warmth in his voice, but he had only taught himself steel and ice, and it was ice, now, with the effort of not screaming, again.

Harry stood, not looking at him. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

"Later, Harry," Severus said harshly, hoping Harry understood that was a promise. Harry had slipped the invisibility cloak over himself, hiding his face. There was a pause -- Severus hoped Harry was checking the hallway with the magic mirror -- then the door opened, then closed.

Severus stared at it. A score of things he might have said jammed in his throat and blocked it painfully.

"Dear child," he whispered.

He kept the floo warded, after all, and made himself a cup of hot whisky. He was on his fourth before he dared attempt sleep.

Harry slunk back to Gryffindor. He had brief impulses to storm down the empty halls, instead, but told himself firmly that he did not need to be penalized twice in one night. His mood was such that he was not at all surprised to come in the portrait hole and find Hermione waiting for him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Have fun?" she asked bitingly.

"No. I was utterly bored."

"I'm tempted to report you to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione said shrilly. She looked genuinely upset.

Harry forced a smile. "Don't bother. I already got caught by Snape. He only took twenty points, though."

"Only!" Hermione exclaimed. "Harry, it's only the second day of term!"

"Sorry. I had something I had to do, that's all."

She bit her lip. "Were you out smoking?" she asked quickly.

Harry laughed, despite himself, at an unbidden image of smoking in Severus's rooms. "That would have been much worse than twenty points."

"Was that what you were out for?" Hermione asked stubbornly.

Harry closed the distance between them. "No," he said seriously. He leaned his face close to hers, and breathed gently into her mouth. While she was still frozen in surprise, Harry brushed his lips softly against hers. They felt lovely. Panic surged through him, and he stepped back.

"Believe me?"

Hermione nodded and stared at him. She wasn't saying anything. Harry knew that had been one of his goals, but it was still unnerving.

"Will you stop being cross, then?" he coaxed.

"You still cost Gryffindor twenty points. You still can't follow rules for two days." Hermione sounded more frustrated than angry, now. "And I know that Ron was out last night, with your cloak."

"But you approve of that," Harry told her teasingly.

"I do?"

Harry blushed. "He'd brought me cigarettes, to replace what you'd managed to get confiscated. I told him to get rid of them, and he did."

"Oh."

Harry was glad he'd been able to give her details on something, especially something that should please her. It seemed to have distracted her, at least. "Er... suppose we'd both better get to bed," he suggested awkwardly.

Hermione focused. "Yes. Definitely." She gave a little squeak of dismay. "I have Arithmancy first thing tomorrow, and I'll be tired, thanks to you, Harry Potter!"

"Plead Prefect duties. It's such a burden, keeping those uncontrollable Gryffindors in hand. Professor Vector will understand."

"That won't make me study any better."

"So you might be merely above average," Harry responded dryly. "Meanwhile, I'll be in Potions, being tortured."

"You will?" Hermione sounded disappointed. "I'd hoped we'd have it together."

"Apparently not."

Hermione frowned. "He did that on purpose, I bet." She looked at Harry and scowled. "And stop giving me that sly look!"

"What sly look?"

"That ... that "oh, I'm so clever" thing, as though running around at night makes you special!"

"Hermione, I don't think --"

"Go to bed," Hermione snapped. "I don't have time for this."

On Wednesday, the sixth years' classes finally started. When Harry started down to Potions, the familiarity of the descent unnerved him. He was heading into the dungeons, and that felt safe, now, but it wasn't, anymore. He wondered if his father was still angry at him. He supposed it didn't matter -- Severus would treat him horribly whether he meant it or not -- but Harry wanted to know whether or not he would mean it.

He arrived early, and the only other student present was Terry Boot of Ravenclaw, who was seated near the back. Harry selected a seat near the front, but to the side. He wondered if there would be any other Gryffindors in the class. Harry was just starting to take out his supplies when a slight figure appeared near his side.

"Well, if it isn't the Junior Auror," drawled a familiar voice. "Where's your Mudblood girlfriend, Auror?

Harry looked up. He repressed an angry response to the slur on Hermione and answered:

"She's in another session. I suppose I'll have to make it on my own, this year."

"I thought you were in Remedial Potions."

Harry shrugged, partially to settle his shoulders. He wondered if he could turn this into an actual conversation, rather than a string of insults. "I was. I was left with Muggles, you know, when my parents died, so I missed some basic stuff. Learning that helped, and got me through the OWL."

"Too bad you didn't have any decent wizarding friends to help you earlier," Malfoy goaded.

Harry repressed a grin. Now that, he thought, is an opening. "I suppose so," he said seriously. "Ron hardly knew more than I do -- well, about Potions. I learned lots about Quidditch."

"It's a fun game, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "It's not something you can base your life on."

"I'm aware of that, Malfoy, or I wouldn't be subjecting myself to this class," Harry returned steadily. They both tensed at the sound of boot heels in the corridor floor. Harry waited until Malfoy turned away, then added:

"Welcome back."

Malfoy tensed, but did not pause in his return to his seat. He had his hand on his chair when Snape swept in the door.

"Sit down, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said testily, as he glided up the center aisle. He pivoted neatly at the top of the room, sending his robes swirling out around him in an ominous black cloud, but Harry thought he looked more worn and even paler than usual. "Let me make one thing clear, without delay. This is an advanced Potions class. the materials covered will be complex and rigorous. We do not have time to waste on idle chit-chat, lost quills, or frivolous questions. When I arrive, I expect all students to be in their seats, quills and paper out and ready, and all prerequisite materials in their places. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," came a small chorus of voices. Snape responded with a thin-lipped smile.

"Good. Are we all ready now? Mr. Malfoy? Mr. ... Potter? Very good. Mr. Potter --" Snape fixed Harry with a predatory stare -- "what materials are required for the Wolfsbane Potion, and how are they prepared?"

Harry could have sworn he remembered the Wolfsbane potion fairly well. Apparently, he didn't. He got to hear his incompetence gleefully derided, while Malfoy and Bulstrode snickered, and Parvati and Justin looked angry, and Terry Boot looked nervous. That was the entire class. All work was to be done individually, Professor Snape told them, so that acceptable students did not carry through their less competent partners. He looked pointedly at Harry as he said this, implying that Harry had come to this class under false pretenses. Harry felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry froze in the middle of collecting his supplies. "Yes, sir?" he said carefully.

"We need to meet to discuss this ... "independent project" you and Professor McGonagall devised. Come to my office, today at 3:30."

"Yes, sir."

"Despite what you and your head of House may think," Snape added caustically, "my time is not an unlimited resource. I suggest that you be prompt."

Harry was angry enough to look up. "Of course, sir," he said furiously.

"Five points from Gryffindor for impudence. Get out of here."

This time, Harry did storm down the hallway, though he knew he looked a bit ridiculous. At the base of the stairs he met a small gaggle of Hufflepuff first years. One opened her mouth to speak, and Harry swept them all with such a glare that two of them collided in their hurry to get away. He started up the steps in grim cheer. He was embarrassed to hear, below him, one of the children nervously asking someone else how to get to the Potions classroom. Apparently, that had been all they wanted.

By the time Harry reached the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom, he was not so much angry as depressed. Five points for tone of voice was a bit over the top, even for Professor Snape. If Severus was actually angry at him, wouldn't he be more creative, rather than acting like a parody of himself? On the other hand, Harry couldn't forget how cold Severus had been the night before. They had been in private, he was sure. Harry hoped he could get some sincere answers out of his father at their meeting. He wasn't sure he could endure another scripted conversation, today.

Due to his anger-spurred pace, he was the first student to arrive for his session. Remus looked up and smiled as he entered the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," he said warmly. "I'm glad to see one of my students so enthusiastic."

Harry plopped his books down at the desk nearest Remus's desk and sighed. "Last class was Potions," he said. "I practically ran here." He looked fiercely at Remus. "Snape is a bullying git."

Remus frowned. "Harry -- You will not be disrespectful to Professor Snape."

"Fine! Professor Snape is a bullying git," Harry snarled.

"That is not acceptable either, and you know it," Remus said severely. His expression softened slightly. "Harry ... this is nothing new. You knew it would be like this."

"But he goes out his way to go after me!" Harry complained. "He was asking me about the Wolfsbane Potion, which wasn't even in the reading, then making fun of me because I didn't completely know how to make it."

Remus twitched. Harry saw his throat move in an involuntary swallow.

"Perhaps he thinks you should know," Remus said, almost absently.

Harry had to think about that. Perhaps Severus was worried that something would happen to him. Perhaps he'd shown Harry the potion so someone else at Hogwarts would know how to make it. He considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "If that's it, he should have told me."

Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan arrived, preventing further conversation. Hannah Abbot came in a minute later with Terry Boot. Ron, to Harry's relief, entered next, with Neville, but after an odd look in Harry's direction, Ron chose a seat with Neville, behind and to the side of Harry's.

The next arrival did not make Harry feel any better. It was Draco Malfoy, whom Harry would have bet a thousand galleons would not take Defense Against the Dark Arts now that it was optional. Probably an easy pass for him, he thought darkly, with as much as he knows of Dark Arts, or perhaps he want to keep an eye on who does well in it. Malfoy sat directly behind Harry. Finally, Hermione and Padma came in. They sat together, leaving Harry conspicuously by himself, and right in front of the instructor. He could not see anyone else's reactions to this, as they were all behind him. He got a brief sympathetic look from Remus, then the professor cleared his throat and started class.

"I am very pleased to see Defense Against the Dark Arts so well attended by the upper-level students," he said sincerely. "I believe we are all here -- except for Susan Bones?"

Hannah raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Abbot?"

"Her mother wouldn't let her," Hannah said. Her voice was almost too quiet to hear. "She got the owl this morning."

"Ah." Harry could see the pain that crossed Remus's face, but he doubted the brief twitch was obvious to the people who did not know him well. It was quite clear to all of them that Susan Bones' mother would not have objected to the subject, and her objection must therefore have been to the instructor. "Well, that is unfortunate," Remus said quietly. "She has, however, kept up on her own before."

With that, Remus smiled at all of them again. "A number of you," he said, "I believe most, studied counter-hexes and dueling on your own, last year, in an unauthorized club."

Harry was at last glad he was facing away from the others, for he could not repress a smirk. All of the fifth-year members of Dumbledore's Army had received at least an Exceeds Expectations on their Defense practicals. Behind him, he heard Malfoy snort contemptuously. Remus gave both of them an unreadable look.

"While I cannot condone the breaking of school rules," Remus said placidly, "I admire your initiative. It is always encouraging to see students who want to study. However, the .... strong viewpoints ... of your last teacher --" several people snickered openly at this, including, to Harry's surprise, Malfoy "-- leave me with only the OWL as an evaluation of your skills. Therefore, I would like to spend our first class in practice duels, so that I can evaluate your strengths and weaknesses. Here are the limits of these duels ...."

They spent the rest of the class dueling, which suited Harry down to the ground. To his relief (and, he admitted, quite possibly due to Professor Lupin's good sense), he was never paired with Malfoy. Harry acquitted himself well, and ended the lesson tired and satisfied.

Ron joined him on the way to lunch, and all Harry's ill-feeling came flooding back immediately.

"I'm so glad I gave you my schedule," Harry said coldly. "It was pleasant to have the company."

"Well, I thought you'd like Hermione sitting next to you," Ron protested.

"What, you expected me to leave Padma by herself?" Hermione asked, coming into step at Harry's other side.

"So, it's not that you're still mad at me?" Harry asked pointedly.

Hermione smiled. "I expect you suffered enough in Potions," she said primly.

Harry stormed off. He sat with the Creevey brothers during lunch. It was a peculiar form of self-torture, he knew, but it let Hermione and Ron know just where they ranked with him, at the moment, and that made it worth it. By the end of lunch, he'd decided he rather liked Colin being obsessed with Lavender. For one thing, it gave them something trivial to talk about. For another, it made Colin far less obsessed with him.

In the afternoon, Harry had his short sessions in Charms and Transfiguration. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, these would be long morning classes, like his Monday, Wednesday, and Friday Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. On all afternoons other than Wednesday, the afternoon would be a single long class period. Two of those would be Care of Magical Creatures. The other two, Harry would have free for work on his independent study project. He already suspected that when he did that work would vary considerably.

After Transfiguration, Harry went to see Snape. He had worked himself back into a temper, by now, and was holding himself barely in check when he entered the office.

Snape was sitting behind his desk. He glanced up briefly when Harry entered.

"Close the door, Potter."

Harry closed the door and stood just inside it. He found himself staring down Snape's wand.

"Well?" Snape said irritably. "Stand aside."

Harry, with a flood of relief that he was embarrassed to realize indicated that he had been afraid Snape would hurt him, stepped aside.

"Secretus," Snape said firmly. There was a brief wash of shadow over the door. "Sit down, Harry."

Harry approached the desk, but did not sit. He glared at Snape, and Snape, for a full minute, looked curiously back at him, as if Harry's anger was some interesting peculiarity. Finally he sighed.

"Sit," he said again. He took a noticeable breath, then said, "I'm sorry about last night."

"Were we alone?" Harry demanded.

'Yes."

"Then why were you like that?"

"First," Snape said coldly, "I dislike being endangered. I dislike you endangering yourself." He scowled. "However, I could have said that more clearly. I am afraid that when I return from a ... meeting, my emotional range is somewhat limited."

"Limited," Harry repeated.

"After an evening on my knees before the Dark Lord, I will attack anything so unlucky as to draw my attention. If a possible response is anger, that is what you will get."

Harry could almost understand this. Voldemort didn't leave him feeling particularly in control, either. He relaxed. "Fortunately, that passes for your normal behavior," he returned.

Snape's eyebrows rose. He coughed on a caught laugh. "Fortunately. Or someone might map the evenings that I stride through the halls, handing out detentions like the headmaster hands out lemon sherbets."

Harry did laugh. "You should have seen me leaving Potions. The first year Hufflepuffs will never dare come near me again."

"What did you do to them?" Snape asked curiously.

"I looked at them." At Snape's incredulous stare, Harry ducked his head. "Okay -- glared, maybe."

"Do you think they were actually frightened?"

"They scattered so fast that two of them ran into each other, so hard that one fell down."

Snape burst out laughing. "Did you pick them up and dust them off?"

"No, I barreled on upstairs so I could rant at Remus about you, before class started."

Snape fixed him with a hard look. "Professor Lupin, Harry."

"We're in a closed office with a warded door!"

"Nonetheless, he is now your teacher. Refer to him like that again, and I will dock Gryffindor points and claim my ten Galleons."

"Oh, all right," Harry said. He felt cross again. "Why did you ask me about the Wolfsbane potion?" he asked angrily.

"Think, Harry. Why? There was a reason."

"To make fun of me, because you know I couldn't answer half that."

Snape sighed. "You might as well say I did it so you could show off."

"What!"

"Yes, I knew you couldn't answer half that. I doubt any of your classmates would have been able to answer any of it." Snape smiled with cold satisfaction. "I got to deride you for your stupidity and ignorance, while the rest of the class watched paralyzed with the knowledge they would have done far worse."

"Malfoy wasn't paralyzed."

"Malfoy knows when to put on an act. I assure you, Harry, he is now frantically searching through the supplemental readings, trying to find out how you knew that the Wolfsbane should be harvested at the dark of the moon for greatest potency."

"And when it's not there?"

"Malfoy is a perceptive boy. It will doubtless occur to him that Professor Lupin was notably fond of you, and that this affection is, perhaps, returned. He will decide that you studied it on your own."

"And you asked me about it because?"

"Either to demonstrate that I expected independent initiative and a following of current hot topics in the field, or to point up the dangerous side of your egalitarian tendencies." Snape smiled slyly. "Draco is clever. Both will occur to him. I have not yet decided which answer to give him when he asks."

"Did you know he's taking Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Yes. He asked me to arrange for him to be in the same session as you. It wasn't difficult. I had merely to put you in the same Potions session."

"So he is keeping an eye on me," Harry said boldly.

Snape nodded. "Yes. He is."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. He supposed it might make a truce with Malfoy easier, but it would also make it less real.

He realized they had both been silent for a while when Snape shifted in his seat.

"Harry..." he began awkwardly. Harry looked at him, and found Snape's face was tinged with red. He didn't appear to be angry. Harry wondered if he might actually be embarrassed.

"I ... I am ... fond of you," Snape said, as if he were admitting to some peculiarity of taste. "I will still be horrible to you in class. Please try to ...."

"Consider it a game?" Harry suggested.

"Or an exercise." Snape's mouth quirked slightly before pulling down into a disapproving frown. "Whatever gets you through my class without terrorizing the first years." He smirked. "And here I thought they were just afraid of me!"

Harry ducked his head. It was funny, but he knew he had behaved badly.

"Sir?" He waited until he had Snape's attention before continuing. "I ... I think I'll need some private time with you to not go mad by the end of next week, never mind next month. I've got the independent study, and I've got the invisibility cloak, and you implied I could visit. Could we work out something that won't make you yell at me?"

Snape frowned. "I'll need to think about it -- yes, we can," he added hurriedly, "but how...." He looked sharply at Harry. "It will not be after curfew."

Harry nodded. "That would probably improve things with Hermione, too. She was waiting to lay into me when I got back, last night."

Snape snorted. "Another matter about last night...."

"Yeah?"

"The Dark Lord has heard that you left Diagon Alley for Muggle London, undetected. He wants me to find out how you are warded."

Harry froze. Snape's face took on that mocking look that Harry dreaded more than his scowls. "Your capricious little excursion has put both of us in greater danger."

"I ... Sorry! I thought if they didn't catch me, that would be it."

"No." A flash of anger darkened Snape's face, but passed. "If they had caught you," he noted, "you would not be the only one dead. In fact, with the wards, it is not unlikely that you could have survived an attack that killed your friends."

Harry flushed. "I get the point," he said angrily.

"Do you?" Snape sneered. "I'll believe that when I see some change in your behavior."

Harry looked down at the floor. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Harry?" Snape questioned.

"Now I'm as miserable as when I came in."

"But for much better reasons."

Harry decided that wasn't funny and shrugged. He knew quite well he was too reckless; it just never seemed applicable to what he was doing at the time. He thought of the discussion he'd had with Remus about faults.

"It's because I'm brave," he said suddenly. He was a bit surprised to realize he had spoken out loud, and looked up in alarm.

"What is?" Snape asked.

"I'm brave, therefore I'm reckless."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Do you know the difference?" he asked. Harry nodded automatically. "Then what is it?" Snape demanded.

Harry, though he knew the difference, had to think a moment about how to explain it. Finally, he looked back at his father again.

"Brave is when the risk you are taking is worth it."

"A good explanation." Snape seemed mollified by Harry's consideration of the matter. "When you left Diagon Alley, was that brave, or reckless?"

Harry thought. After a moment he answered, very quietly, "neither, sir." He bit his lip. "It was just ... thoughtless. I didn't understand what the risks were."

Snape nodded. His black eyes focused intensely on Harry. "Yes," he said quietly. "Exactly."

Hermione made a point of sitting next to Harry in Transfiguration, but she wasn't able to speak to him. She had come from Ancient Runes, which was up in one of the towers, and made it to her seat just as class was about to start. She expected Harry to wait for her at the end of class, but he vanished while she was asking Professor McGonagall a question. Hermione returned quickly to Gryffindor tower. She hoped she would overtake him on the way, but she did not. Harry was not in the common room. When Hermione saw Dean and Seamus talking to Parvati Patil, she walked over to them.

"Dean, Seamus?" She tried to keep her voice businesslike, but she was afraid it sounded a bit strained. "Have you seen Harry?"

Both boys shook their heads.

"He has a meeting with Professor Snape," Parvati volunteered. She frowned. "Snape was so awful to him! And Harry was answering questions I'd have no clue about -- it was really scary."

Hermione thought that sounded normal -- except for the part about Harry answering questions. She excused herself and went upstairs, leaving the others exchanging horror stories about the day's classes. She was starting to feel annoyed at Harry again. "How dare he not be around for me to make up with," she muttered sarcastically to herself, but recognizing the absurdity of her irritation did not defuse it.

She had hardly been in her room five minutes before she heard a soft knock at the door. She hoped it wasn't someone who needed a prefect -- she didn't feel capable of solving her own problems, right now, much less someone else's. For a moment, she was tempted to pretend to be asleep. The knock repeated.

"Who is it?"

"Me," Ginny's voice called back. "May I come in?"

"Of course."

Ginny opened the door, stepped in, and shut it behind her. Hermione wanted to groan. This was the behavior of someone who needed a prefect. Instead, she schooled her face into a neutral smile. "Hello, Ginny. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," Ginny said, shrugging. She crossed the room and sat down on Hermione's bed. "You looked upset, downstairs, and Dean said you'd asked about Harry. The two of you haven't fought already, have you?"

"Does it matter?" Hermione challenged.

"Yes," Ginny answered promptly. "You were absolutely darling with him two days ago, and you looked happy, except when my brother was being a git. I like you being happy."

Hermione bit her lip. "Harry stayed out till past midnight, last night."

"Oh!" Ginny's eyes widened. "And came back uninjured, I assume?"

"Unless Professor Snape had taken a chunk out of him with the house points."

"You think he's got another girl?"

Hermione threw her hands up. She'd actually managed not to think of that explanation.

"Who knows? It's Harry! He's more likely to be out tracking down something dangerous, except he'd usually tell me about that."

"He wouldn't tell you where he was?"

"No -- just that there was something he 'had to do.'" Feeling obligated to be honest, Hermione added: "I only asked him once. He may have told me if I'd pushed, but we started fighting about other things."

"Like what?"

"Like how he couldn't go two days without costing Gryffindor points!" Hermione snapped.

"Your boyfriend was out till midnight, and you're worried about house points?"

"Harry is not my boyfriend!"

Ginny blinked. She raised her eyebrows significantly. "Well, he certainly looked like he was, on Monday. I've never seen you walk along holding hands, before. And Ron says you kissed at Diagon Alley. In public and everything!"

Hermione snorted. "Yes, and that's another thing. This kissing business. He did it again, last night!"

"Hermione, he is your boyfriend," Ginny protested. "Or at least, he wants to be. Considering what boys are like, he probably just assumes he is, if you've kissed him twice."

"Well, last night, I didn't really kiss him back -- I didn't have time, honestly." Hermione scowled. "One minute he's arguing with me, the next his lips are brushing mine very lightly and deliberately, just ... oh! ...and before I can move, he's two steps away saying we better get to sleep."

Ginny grinned. "Is he good?"

"Ginny! He's ... Well, yes, he's good." Hermione scowled. "Unfortunately, he seems to know it."

"So?"

"He only kisses me when I'm saying something he doesn't want to hear. Last night, he was smirking, afterwards, as if he thought he had got away with something. I felt like I had to keep fighting with him, just to show him that I wasn't going to forget the argument just because he ... he...."

"Just because he's hot, and wonderful, and terribly important to you?" Ginny suggested, a bit sharply.

"Yes," Hermione said defiantly. "He's not manipulating me that way." She bit her lip. "If I let him get away with that, he'll be unbearable. Besides, I don't even know if he wants me, or if he even cares." She snorted contemptuously. "This is just his new technique for Hermione-management."

Ginny shook her head. "Harry's not like that."

"Oh really? Weren't you the one talking about he'd taken over the Quidditch team without a blink?"

"But he was the only one qualified."

"Still, wouldn't you and Ron have had to talk him into it, last year? He just acts like he's in charge, now. I was watching him at dinner, yesterday, when the rest of you got to discussing the Ravenclaw team. He was looking around with this calculating ... sneer, almost, like he was evaluating the worth of each of you, and all the other players...."

"That's what the captain is supposed to do, Hermione!"

"But that look!" Hermione clenched her hands into fists, welcoming the distracting pain of uneven nails biting into her palms. "I don't want him to look at me like that ... 'Hm... could help me with my homework, and she kisses okay. Not too pretty, but she dresses up well. Ron approves, so that's all right...'" She laughed.

"Hermione!" Ginny chided. "I'm sure it's not like that! Look, I'll see Harry a lot, if I stay on the Quidditch team. Want me to sound him out about you? When I get a chance to talk to him without everyone else around?"

"Don't let him know it bothers me."

"Of course not! I'll just ask him about the Diagon Alley kiss, or whether or not you're his girl." Ginny grinned. "I know how to talk to boys."

When Harry got back to Gryffindor, he was still feeling rather subdued. He settled down in the common room to do homework. Perhaps Hermione will come by and see I'm behaving, he thought. He didn't know if that would fix anything, but he expected it would help.

He decided to begin with the Wolfsbane Potion. If Severus was right about him knowing far more than the other students, he should be able to write an exemplary essay on it. He was almost certainly the only member of class who had ever seen it brewed.

Instead of just starting straight in on the text, as usual, Harry found himself writing out notes on how he wanted to structure the essay -- a discussion of uses, then history, then the ingredients and their preparation, then the brewing process. He frowned at that, and added a note to end with a short analysis of the current debate on the sufficiency of Wolfsbane potion as a control for werewolves. He looked at the parchment for a moment, feeling rather proud of having thought of the word "sufficiency" and hoping Hermione would stop by to talk to him just then.

Instead, Colin did.

"Harry!" he exclaimed. He sat down, and some of his enthusiasm changed to edgy anxiety. "Can I ask you a favor? Something important? I don't think it will be any trouble, but I--"

"What?" Harry asked, breaking the flow.

"Well, could I photograph the Gryffindor tryouts? I'd like to get some practice in sports photography. Lavender was asking me what good it was to be good at taking pictures, and I was trying to explain what photographers do, and I thought that if I worked on sports photography, I might be able to sell match photos to Quidditch Weekly, or to--"

"Colin," Harry interrupted, pushing gently down at the air between them in a quelling gesture, "you may photograph the tryouts, for practice. You may not sell pictures from the tryouts, and your photography should not be distracting to the players. Okay?"

"But sometimes a good shot--"

"You'd have the same restrictions in professional photography," Harry said sharply. "Did you hear, last year, about how some photographer got permanently banned from the World Cup for interference and endangering the players?"

"Yeah. That was really--"

"So you need to learn to do it properly, right?"

"Oh." Colin actually stopped talking for a second, while he considered the merits of this. "Right!"

"So if I feel you are interfering, or endangering the players, I will ban you from the tryouts and the next month of practices. Behave, and you can practice on us all you like."

"Really? Thanks, Harry! You're the best!"

"Photos of practices are also not for sale," Harry warned.

This damped Colin's ecstasy to mere delight.

"That's still great! Thanks, Harry!" Colin rushed off. Harry barely had time to pick up his quill before people settled on either side of him -- Ron to his left, on the couch arm, and Andrew to his right, on the couch. Harry glanced around for Jack and saw him hovering uneasily a bit to the side.

"Did I just hear you tell that prat he can photograph all our practices?" Ron hissed.

"Absolutely," Harry replied, dipping his quill in ink.

"You want some bloody mayfly buzzing around setting off flashing lights while we're trying to play Quidditch?"

"Not really, no." Harry looked up at Ron and smiled conspiratorially. "But when he starts doing it at games, Gryffindor will be used to it."

Ron stared at Harry in astonishment. Jack chuckled. "Good enough for me, Captain," Jack said cheerily. He tugged at Andrew's arm. "Let's go, then."

Andrew resisted. "What if he doesn't get permission to photograph games?" he asked.

"I expect he will," Harry answered. "Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Hooch won't object, because they support any promotion of Hogwarts Quidditch. I won't object, because it gives us an advantage now, and Malfoy won't, because he's vain. At least one other team is bound to have someone who hopes to go professional, and has some sad idea this will help. I think Dumbledore will find that sufficient." He looked at Andrew, a bit coldly. "May I work on my Potions essay, now? I won't have any time for this on Saturday, recall."

"Er ... of course," Ron said quickly. He hesitated. "See you at dinner, Harry?"

"Sounds good," Harry answered absently. Powdered moonstone -- oh, I forgot about soaking it and retaining the water! Wait, isn't that like part of the antidote for Vampire's Death poison? The one that makes sunlight set you on fire? There's a name for the effect....

"Harry? Are you even listening?"

Harry growled. "Dinner, tonight. Yes!" he snapped. "Now unless you remember the name of the effect given by a lunar charge on the solution holding a gemstone component, go away until dinnertime!"

"Er... right, mate," Ron muttered. He sounded a bit put out, but Harry didn't have the concentration free to worry about it. He continued to try puzzle over what he remembered. While he was thinking, someone leaned over his head, dangling straight, seal-brown hair between his eyes and the text.

"It's the Crystal Radiosis Effect," a voice confided. "Don't ask me how to spell it."

Harry looked up. A dark-haired girl with hazel eyes was smiling cheerily upside-down at him. He thought she was in Ginny's class, but did not know her name.

"Thanks," he said, twisting around to look at her right-side up. "And you are ...?"

"Zoë."

"Pleased to meet you Zoë. Do you like Potions?"

Zoë wrinkled her nose in a way that Harry thought rather cute. "Except for the professor," she said. "Weren't you busy?"

"Yes, but you've just saved me a trip to the library and twenty minutes of research. That should give me a few minutes to chat."

Zoë sat down on the couch where Andrew had been and talked cheerfully about potions that made use of the Crystal Radiosis Effect. She was impressed that Harry knew so much about the Wolfsbane Potion. Harry was impressed that she could reel off a list of potions that used the liquid in which a gemstone had been moon-charged or sun-charged. He might have forgotten to go back to his essay, had he not seen Hermione walking towards the portrait hole.

"Oh -- I better get back to work on this essay," he said, perhaps a little too loudly. "Thanks for your help, Zoë."

Harry had dinner with Ron, who had, to Harry's relief, actually showed up without his fifth-year shadows. Hermione seemed to be avoiding him. Harry decided to let her -- she'd either get over it, or she'd work herself into a frenzy and come tell him what he had done wrong. If she hadn't talked to him by the end of tryouts, he decided, he would go hunt her down.

He spent a pleasant evening with Ron, during which they managed some progress on their Charms homework. The next morning, Hermione was back to eating breakfast with them, though she seemed a bit standoffish. Harry continued not to push her. She ate lunch with them, but not dinner, and she was not in the common room that night. Harry wondered if she was still angry about the points, or if she was upset about him trying to kiss her.

In Friday Potions, Harry worked on not taking Snape's insults personally. It helped to have some insight into how Snape used attacks on him. Surreptitious observation of his classmates showed that, indeed, as many quailed at the things he got right as at the ones he got wrong. Malfoy made no further move to talk to him, or to interact with him in any way, good or bad, in either Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The last class of the day was their first Care of Magical Creatures class of the year. Hermione, though she had not been at lunch, walked down with Harry and Ron. Harry thought she was being a little more friendly, now.

Hagrid told them that due to the "more challengin'" nature of the creatures covered in advanced classes (Harry thought some people went a bit pale, at this), he planned to have a lecture class and a short essay assignment before the introduction of each creature, to check that everyone knew what they had to do to 'not lose any fingers or toes or bigger bits' to the introduced creature. Next week, for example, they would be meeting wyverns, and Hagrid wanted everybody to write fifteen inches on the wyvern's natural defenses, which he then listed in detail.

"The wyvern is a lesser cousin of the dragon, so it has strong jaws and sharp teeth. He can' snap his tail around quite as well, as he needs it more for balance, havin' only two feet, but he can still use it. His wings can wallop a small man flat, and he has talons like an eagle's, but longer. Griffin's talons, if you will. But those are just physical defenses. Anybody know what else the wyvern can do?"

Hermione raised her hand, and Hagrid beamed at her. "Go ahead, Hermione!"

"The wyvern can create a sense of fear to repel potential attackers. If the wyvern panics, this can overflow into augmenting fears or insecurities of people nearby, sometimes fostering violent conflict."

"Good girl, Hermione! Ten points to Gryffindor. So, what do we need to do?"

Harry raised his hand.

"Yes, Harry?"

"We should all come to class as calm as possible."

"Right, again! Five more points for Griffindor! For that, I'll be starting class fifteen minutes late, so anyone who wants to listen to some music, or take a walk by the lake, has a little extra time to do that. I'll have a few vials of Calming Draught on hand, in case anyone needs it, and brushin' up on Cheering Charms wouldn' be amiss."

The lecture continued, guaranteeing that anyone who was listening could write the essay without ever glancing at a book. Hermione sent Harry a few smiles that he found encouraging. At the end of class, he was gearing himself up to ask her what he had done to upset her, but Hagrid interposed.

"Harry? Professor Dumbledore sent word that he wants to see yeh as soon as class gets out. Yeh should head up there, now."

"Thanks, Hagrid."

Hermione and Ron walked beside him up the long green.

"Are you in trouble? Hermione demanded.

Harry shrugged. "Don't think so."

"Maybe it's something for the Order!" Ron exclaimed at a whisper. Harry glared at him.

"Don't say that," he returned, in an equally urgent whisper. "You don't call 'the old crowd,' that, here." He gestured at the space around them, and the students a few yards in front of them. "Not secure."

"Better yet, don't mention it at all," Hermione opined. Harry nodded, and Ron looked a bit put out.

"It's probably something boring, like my project," Harry said, more loudly, laughing. "I'll see you two later, okay?"

Harry went up to the headmaster's office, and got admitted on his third try. He wondered if it was coincidental that this was "Lion Bar" or if Dumbledore just knew way too much about his life. At the top of the stairs, the inner door was open, waiting for him. Dumbledore waved it shut as he entered. Snape was already there. Harry wondered what that signified.

"Thank you for being so prompt, Harry. How was Hagrid's class?"

"Oddly theoretical, but that's probably a good idea."

Dumbledore smiled. "I insisted he put some safeguard in place, and he devised this plan. A good one, I believe. Are you excited about the wyverns?"

"Sort of. I think my Occlumency practice will help. I'm a bit worried about some of the Slytherins. Blaise is quiet, but in that sort of 'held in check' way. Ron might be a problem, too, if he has a bad morning."

"I plan to offer a Calming Draught to any of my house who want it," Snape said. He looked disapproving. "You, too, Harry. Even professionals use them for wyverns."

"I'm set," Harry said cheerfully. He shifted slightly, feeling the weight of the bubble-soap necklace that Hermione had brought him against his chest. He hadn't replaced the Muggle bubble soap, yet, but he planned to before Monday. Unconcerned benevolence might be just the thing, provided he could remember not to pet the pretty wyverns.

Snape looked suspiciously at him. Dumbledore brought his hands together.

"Well, then. Shall we get down to business?" The office door swung closed and flared. The headmaster sat behind his desk. "Sherbet lemon, Harry? No? Ah well. Today's agenda is a single item -- the Ministry has contested my request to be Harry's guardian."

For a moment, Harry couldn't think. Contested? Contested Dumbledore? But then he recalled that Fudge was afraid of Dumbledore. Certainly, Fudge would rather have Harry under direct control.

"I was afraid of this," Snape said, echoing Harry's feelings. "Minister Fudge sees this as his opportunity to control Harry Potter, a most important symbol."

"Yes. I will, of course, defend my position at the hearing. It is scheduled for Friday, October 4, so, again, it buys us time."

"The Minister will fight, Headmaster." Snape said calmly. "He can reasonably say you have no right."

"Yes. If he is successful, we will need to produce you earlier, at the appeal. He cannot contest a blood relative, despite your history, unless Harry himself objects."

"Can we afford to lose my information?" Severus challenged.

" Better than we can afford to lose Harry." Dumbledore sighed. "You have been worrying, recently, Severus, as to the accuracy of what you are told. With the suspicion you have been under, I have wondered if continuing was worth the risk. Your value to us is not entirely in the field, you realize."

"That is certainly not what the Dark Lord keeps me for."

Despite Snape's self-satisfied smirk, Harry thought he looked anxious while they reviewed possible schedules of hearings. Snape's eyes kept following the headmaster when Dumbledore wasn't looking, and now and then they would stray to Fawkes. Although Snape knew his value as Potions Master, Harry suspected he felt that would not be adequate to justify his place with the Order.

Dumbledore was looking at his desk, as if studying an invisible document. "It is easy enough to prove kinship," he said slowly. "I ran a test for that, myself, and suspect you did as well." At Severus's nod, he sighed. "I believe it would be best if we could also prove Herem. Did you keep your copy of the contract?"

Severus hissed air out through his teeth. "I destroyed it when Lily died."

A hint of amusement crossed Dumbledore's features, at that. Harry suspected he was imagining, as Harry himself was, how completely Severus might destroy a thing. The old wizard sighed. "Do you know where James kept his copy?"

"In his vault, I would expect."

"But in what?"

"Oh." Severus seemed to understand what Dumbledore meant. Harry wished he did. "Yes. It was a brooch. A griffin -- just to irritate me."

Dumbledore nodded. "I will look for it."

"Do you have a key to the vault?" Harry blurted out.

"Oh, not that vault," Dumbledore said. "Another one. Unlike the money vault, I have no indication of when you are to get access to it. Considering the family nature of ... This would be much easier if we had ever found James's will."

"Am I likely to lose the money, then?"

"Not that." Dumbledore stood. "James died and his wife inherited -- for a few seconds. Her child, then, inherits, at least for standard property. But with the Potter family heirlooms -- a cousin might make some sort of case. I will continue to look. If I do not find anything, your letter shows intent, I believe."

He looked firmly at Harry. "Now, I have some matters I need to discuss with your father in private."

Harry bit back an objection. He nodded tightly. "Good day, headmaster. Thank you for your time."

When he emerged into the corridor, Harry realized he didn't want to go back to Gryffindor. Since he had come straight from class, he had his school bag with him, with his Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creature texts. He worked in the library, quickly finishing the essay for Hagrid. Since he was in the library, he even looked up and added a few details, such as the use of Wyvern bile in hysteria potions, and the infamous "wyvern defense" in the Mansfield scythe murders. When he was done, he went back to The Limits of Control. It was just as unreadable as Snape had said. Harry was determined to finish it, just to show he could.

He was eventually interrupted by Madam Pince asking if he planned to attend dinner. He ran down quickly. All of the staff and most of the students were already seated. He had to walk across a whispering hall to get to the Gryffindor table, but at least Hermione had saved him a seat. Ron was nearby, but with Andrew and Jack. Ginny and Dean were on the other side of Hermione.

"Where were you?" she asked anxiously.

"Just the library."

"Are you in trouble?"

"No." Harry grinned. "It was just about my independent study. He has a few recommended books for me, that's all, and I was looking things up and got distracted. I didn't mean to worry you."

Hermione looked uncertain. Harry nudged her.

"Wyverns!" he commented quietly. "Isn't that brilliant? You think we can get him to bring in a griffin?

"Harry...." Hermione said despairingly. Harry grinned at her, and she sighed. "I don't even know why I'm taking this class," she admitted. "Everything else I'm studying has professional value, but I think this one is just because I'm afraid someone will get killed if I'm not there."

Harry looked at her.

"What?" she demanded.

"You know how you said I have a 'saving people thing?'" he said, trying not to think of the circumstances of that. "You have a 'keeping people out of trouble' thing. And we both need to learn how to tell when it's useful, and when it's just us being obsessive. If you're taking this class because it's fun, that's fine. You don't need to take it to protect us."

Hermione looked even more tense. "And with you?" she asked. "Are you staying out of trouble?"

Harry smiled slightly. "I have half of Monday's assignments done. I've barely had time for anything else."

"That's wonderful!" Hermione looked suddenly suspicious. "What prompted this?"

"Well, Saturday is lost to Quidditch, so I thought I should go into that with as little outstanding as possible."

"Let me guess," Hermione said, "you haven't touched Potions or Charms."

Harry sniffed. "I did Potions first," he said loftily. "It's about the Wolfsbane Potion, which I know rather well."

"And Zoë was helping you," Hermione said coldly -- "I forgot."

"I couldn't remember the name of the Crystal Radiosis effect, and she answered when I asked Ron -- not that I expected him to answer; I just wanted him to be quiet so I could think." Does she actually know Zoë? I guess if Zoë is Ginny's dormmate, she would. "I also did my Care of Magical Creatures essay, and figured out what to say in the Charms one, when I was studying with Ron. My Defense work is mostly practical, and I already know it. I've ignored Transfiguration, because I think I can do it over the weekend."

Hermione nodded acknowledgment, but didn't say anything. They both ate, Harry with the distinct feeling that she was studying him. He tried to eat politely, and let his attention wander here and there. Malfoy, he noted, was sitting with Goyle and a girl who seemed to be Goyle's. Harry looked for Crabbe and found him further down the table. That seemed odd. Thinking back, Harry couldn't remember seeing Malfoy with Crabbe, this year. A girl further down the Slytherin table had apparently fought with someone. She stood abruptly, picked up her plate, and strode to Malfoy's other side, where there was a bit of space. He appeared to give her leave to sit, and began talking to her almost immediately. She was rather pretty, with short, honey-brown hair. Short hair was odd for a wizarding girl -- Harry scanned the Slytherin table and didn't see any other short-haired girls except for Bulstrode, whom he wouldn't have recognized as a girl if he didn't know.

He looked back at Hermione. She was staring at him, though she quickly tried to hide it. "Help me with something?" he asked.

"What?"

"Is it odd for a wizarding girl to have short hair? It seems to be."

Hermione relaxed as she went into lecture mode. "In a conservative family, adults will have long hair, to the extent permitted by their activities," she explained. "Very long hair, like the Malfoys have, usually indicates a life of leisure. Bill has his hair quite long for a working wizard, and too long for a man from a modern-thinking family -- that's part of what his mum dislikes about it -- he has his hair like an idle aristocrat, then works a dangerous job and dresses in clothes she considers disreputable -- almost too Muggle. Of course, that's more common in other parts of the world -- he's really just cosmopolitan.

"Girls have long hair, usually. Girls only cut their hair if they don't intend to marry, or don't care whether or not they do. Boys always have short hair, unless, somehow, they become the male head of a named family -- Malfoy could grow his hair, now, I suppose, and you could." This thought distracted her, and she looked at him questioningly. "Are you?"

"I don't think I'll grow it much longer," Harry returned. "It is better behaved this way, though."

Hermione snorted. "Honestly, Harry! Everybody knows you're straightening it."

Harry glared at her in indignation. "I am not!"

"I'm not stupid, Harry," Hermione said angrily. "Some hair gets straighter as it lengthens, but not that much, not for an extra two inches."

"I --" Harry caught himself. He couldn't afford to deny the most plausible explanation for the change people seemed to notice most. He let himself look embarrassed. "Oh, all right," he grumbled, ducking his head. "Do you like it?"

"No," Hermione said plainly. She softened it with a slightly apologetic look as she added. "It's attractive enough. Altogether, you've got quite a look, this year, but I wish you were still willing to be you." She gave him a wry little smile as she drew out one of her own unruly locks. "Besides, if you thought your hair was too curly from that tiny wave, what must you think of mine?"

Harry smiled. "I think it's a glorious, willful mane to suit a brave, strong-minded girl." He stroked gently down her hair. "And beautiful. You'd look just wrong with straight hair."

"So do you."

Harry sighed. "Well, it will stay this way for a while," he demurred. He looked down at his hands and twisted the ring on his finger nervously. "We're not eating," he said, looking up at her. "Shall we go for a walk?" Hermione bit her lip. She looked like she wanted to do that, with all it implied. Harry leaned closer. "I could play with your curls," he coaxed, "and tell you how lovely they are -- how beautifully they frame your face --"

"Oh, stop it!" Hermione shouted. She stood up and tossed her napkin down on the table. Half of it fell in her mashed swede. "Just -- you think you're so --!" She lost the words in indignation, and settled for storming off. Harry sat and stared after her. Well, he thought, maybe it was the kiss she was upset about then. But she was looking at me like she wanted to do it again. He suddenly decided that he ought to talk to her. After all, she's a girl, he reasoned. I'm probably missing something that she thinks is obvious -- like that she'd be offended at the thought I'm straightening my hair.

Although somewhat embarrassed to be noticeably following her, Harry got up and left the hall, leaving a wake of whispers. Once outside, he ran, but he didn't manage to catch Hermione. Her bag was in the Gryffindor common room when he got there, so he assumed she was up in the girls' dormitories, but yelling for her from the bottom of the stairs produced no response. No one else seemed to be in the tower.

Harry wandered up the boys' staircase, and poked his head in the first room. It was empty. He went to the window and looked out. The view was a little bit different from his one up at the top of the tower, or the magical one in his dungeon room. Harry walked in and out of the boys' dormitories, and around the common room, trying to find his window, but did not. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard people entering the common room from dinner. Harry decided he didn't want to talk to any of them. He went to his room, grabbed his cloak, and slipped back down the stairs and out through the briefly open portrait hole.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was walking in the dungeons, through increasingly ill-lit corridors. His heart quickened at the sight of a line of light coming out of Snape's lab and glinting off the stones of the floor. He slowed down and lightened his footsteps. The door was ajar, but not by much. He wasn't sure if he could slide through without moving it. He peered inside. Snape was stirring something and muttering under his breath. While Harry watched, he switched to left-handed stirring and pulled out his wand, focusing it on the cauldron as he stirred.

Harry stood outside the doorway for five minutes, watching what was obviously some very complicated brewing augmented by charms work. Finally, Snape took the cauldron off the flame, set it on a cooling rack, and stretched his back and wrists. When he turned back to the ingredients, Harry decided to try the opening. He thought he made it without touching anything, but Snape's head immediately snapped up.

"Who's there?" he called, reaching for his wand, again. Quickly, Harry reached up and pushed his hood back.

"Just me."

"Don't sneak in here like that! I could have dropped something, or --"

"I waited. You were doing something complicated when I got here, and I waited until you weren't stirring anything or holding anything."

"Appreciated," Snape said tightly. "However, next time, please remove your cloak in the hallway before entering. I still could have hexed you; I am rather paranoid and prize it as a survival skill."

"Okay." Harry pulled himself up onto a stool and looked around the lab. "Anything you want help with?"

"Don't you have work to do?"

"I've mostly finished it." Harry looked down. "If you want me to go, I will," he said quietly. "Say that, though."

Snape looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "I'm not sure how much you can help, but stay until curfew, if it won't bore you."

Harry shook his head. "It won't."

"Very well. Go shut the door and throw up a silencing spell."

When Harry returned, Snape's attention was focused on a selection of square jars. Harry watched him run his hand slowly through the air an inch over the row. At the fourth jar, his hand paused, then descended. He opened the container and shook some butterfly wings from it into a mortar, which he handed to Harry. "Grind these to an even dust, and measure out a small scoop."

"Okay."

Snape took something slimy from another jar and began to slice it. "How's your term going?" he asked.

"All right," Harry said, with a shrug. "Gryffindor seems really noisy, now, but I'm sure I'll get used to it, again. Ron keeps asking what I'm upset about when I'm not upset. I think it's facial changes, but I can't tell him that. It's annoying, so then I am upset. Hermione is ... well, Hermione." He discovered he didn't want to talk about how he felt about Hermione, especially as he wasn't really sure. "Colin has a crush on Lavender. It's the first time I've ever felt sorry for Lavender about anything."

Snape coughed. "I see."

"Colin can be very annoying when he likes you. He's nicer than she is, though, so I feel sorry for him, too, in a way, but he's asking for it."

"How are classes?"

"Okay, mostly. My Potions professor still treats me like pond scum."

Snape flinched. "Harry...."

"I know." Harry grinned at him. "You're supposed to tell me that pond scum is a necessary component of the blahblah potion, and therefore far more useful than I am."

Snape smiled slightly and shook his head. "But I'm tired of it." He examined Harry's butterfly wings, which had been reduced to a lovely iridescent blue powder. "That's fine."

"V-- Tom keeps you as a potions maker, right?"

"Mostly," Snape answered, frowning at Harry's name for Voldemort. "I also am expected to spy on Dumbledore, to the extent that is possible. It is widely understood that Dumbledore's barmy conversation is a smokescreen for his tremendous subtlety, so I have somewhat of an excuse for my inefficiency."

"But you didn't seem sure Dumbledore would want you for potions work."

"Dumbledore will keep me here because he has promised me protection. However, I am not sure I will be worth the trouble as a brewer of potions. The Order has far less need than the Dark Lord for potions that cannot be bought, and I dislike the thought of being a charity case."

"I'd think the Order might not want to buy their potions, if they can avoid it. Doesn't that give people a clue about what they are planning, or expect?"

"There is that," Snape admitted. He looked down at his pile of diced slimy stuff. "And I can make some rather unusual potions, and have invented things for him, before."

"There you go," Harry said encouragingly.

"But no one actually trusts me," Snape said intently, still looking at the dice. "And I am not a good instructor for the lower levels -- even I know that." He frowned, finally looking up. "And then, there is Slytherin."

"What about Slytherin?"

"The way I currently run my house presumes that I am trying to maintain relationships with some of the Death Eater parents, and their associates. I have been considering how to handle that when we are discovered. Those children will hate me, or least feel they should, but they may still be the ones I should cultivate, the ones someone needs to cultivate. I may no longer be able to do that."

"I suppose I won't enhance your reputation."

"Simply having a half-blood child -- bypassing the matter of you and your history -- would cause me some trouble."

Harry tensed. "How ideologically impure of you."

"Precisely." Snape stood and wrapped his robes about himself, as if he were suddenly cold. "It will be scandalous. I'm afraid of what the distrust will cause certain of the students to do. Young Malfoy, for example, if he is angered at my betrayal...."

"This is a lot more complicated for you than for me, isn't it?"

Hermione ignored Harry yelling for her, and he did not attempt to come up into the girls' dormitories. She stayed in her room, listening to the silence, then to the sound of people returning. After a while, Lavender came in.

"Ron's looking for you," she announced. "He said he wants to talk."

"Is Harry with him?"

"No -- no one's seen him since he went after you." Lavender's voice went breathy and tender. "Did he hurt you badly, dear? I saw the way he was looking at that Slytherin tart."

What Slytherin tart? Hermione wondered. Trust Lavender to invent a superfluous drama. She hoped she hadn't noticeably flinched. "No," she mumbled, "it was just...." She didn't think she could explain it to Lavender. Fortunately, she didn't need to, as Lavender was all too eager to assure Hermione that she understood.

"Clever of her. I wish I did," Hermione muttered to herself as she picked her way downstairs, after escaping from her effusively understanding roommate.

Ron was waiting for her impatiently. "Let's go for a walk," he said.

Hermione nodded and followed him outside. They walked a while in silence, to ensure no one was near. Finally, Ron stopped at a corner alcove where they could see both approaching corridors, hoisted himself up next to a bust of Thalia the Capricious, and said:

"Spill."

Hermione sighed and pulled herself up on the other side of the bust. "I don't understand him," she said.

Ron punched both fists in the air and crowed. "Yes! We have vengeance!"

Hermione giggled. "Ron, seriously!"

"Well, seriously, I never understood you." Ron looked at her affectionately and smiled. "Okay. What's he doing?"

"Okay. First there's this kissing me thing. He's done that twice, but it seems to just be a way to shut me up. I mean he only kisses me if I'm saying something he doesn't want me to say."

"Have you tried saying something he does want you to say? I mean, no offense, Hermione, but you've been fighting a lot."

"Not all the time. And I was trying to talk to him at dinner today, and he started going off about how beautiful my hair is."

Ron blinked. "Is that bad? I thought girls liked that sort of thing."

"Well I would if he meant it, but I don't think he does."

"Why not?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"Because it was just convenient -- another way to distract me. And he's straightened his -- I got him to admit that." Hermione felt miserable. "And my hair is not beautiful."

"Hermione! Look, if you won't trust anyone who tells you you're beautiful, you'll end up with someone who doesn't appreciate you." Ron reached over and squeezed her hand. "You're beautiful, okay? I know it, and he knows it, and he ought to be able to tell you that."

"But..." Hermione felt frustrated, even as Ron's praise warmed her. "Ron, he's just being strange. He looks at me in this odd, calculating way. And he's even more temperamental than he used to be. And there's that ring...."

Ron snorted. "Oh, the ring," he said loftily. "And he has robes to match," he confided. "Fancier stuff than he wore to Diagon Alley -- I saw when I was getting his cloak from his trunk."

"It doesn't seem like his style," Hermione said miserably. And I want to know who gave it to him, she thought.

Ron hesitated. "Yeah," he said, "I thought that." He shrugged. "But then, you've seen what Fred and George wear, these days, and I wouldn't have expected that, either. Harry was talking about how he could spend his money, now, because he didn't have guardians who would steal it if they found out about it, so I reckon he's been doing just that." Ron shrugged again, shrinking down so he seemed smaller at the end of it. "If I had that much money, perhaps I'd surprise people too. Perhaps I'd surprise myself. I mean, I don't go in those sorts of shops...."

"What sort?" Hermione asked curiously.

"The sort with nothing I can afford," Ron retorted, reddening. "So if I did, and I could just pull out a fistful of galleons for anything that took my fancy, I have no idea what I'd dress like."

Hermione thought about that. Harry had money for real, now, rather than just in theory. She nodded. That could change a number of things. Finally, she managed to force out her objection. "It's a girl's ring, though."

"So a Muggle can tell that too?" Ron said. "I thought he might just not know." He shrugged. "Whatever. Seamus ragged him about it and called him a ponce -- just in a teasing way, of course, so Harry got that cool look he does now and said, 'so you certainly won't mind dueling me,' and you've never seen anyone scramble back so quick!"

Hermione found both Seamus's insult and Harry's response upsetting, so this did not amuse her as much as Ron obviously hoped it would, but she managed a smile. Ron frowned at her.

"It's just a ring, Hermione."

"But where did he get it?"

Ron shrugged. "Somewhere in Hogsmeade, I expect." His brow furrowed. "Wait, you mean.... Oh, really, Hermione, you don't think it's from a girl!"

"Well, it seems more likely than he bought it."

"So you think...." Ron looked offended. "You can't think he's got some secret girlfriend, then is running about with that on! I mean, that's not very secret, is it? And he wouldn't, anyway."

"I don't know! Maybe he had a girl over the summer and she died. I mean wouldn't that just be the sort of thing that happens to Harry?"

"Well, look.... If this is getting in the way, we'd better ask him about it."

"Could you?" Hermione asked timidly.

"Why don't you?"

"He'll think I'm jealous."

"Well, you are!" Ron rolled his eyes. "All right. I'll ask. You have to be there, though."

Harry slipped into Gryffindor tower a few minutes before curfew. He had to look around the crowded room for a moment before he spotted Ron and Hermione beckoning him over to a place in the corner.

"Oy, Harry, where've you been?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged and sat in the free chair. "Just walking."

"All evening?"

"It was only a couple of hours." Harry looked at Ron's and Hermione's anxious expressions and rolled his eyes. "Honestly! I just wanted to be alone."

"Well, we're not forcing you to sit with us," Hermione said sharply.

"I don't mind you." Harry looked at her pleadingly, and gestured at the noisy common room. "It's just all this ... noise and people. I'm not used to it. It was quiet, in the summer." He bit his lip.

"I didn't mean to offend you, Hermione. I'll back off, if that's what you want."

"It's not --" Hermione reddened. "You just sound so insincere."

"I do?" Harry wondered if he really did. "How?"

"I can't explain it, just ... it was contrived."

"No." Harry shook his head. "That was just what I wanted to do."

Ron cleared his throat. "Before this goes any further...."

"Yes?" Harry challenged.

"Where did you get that ring?" Ron pointed. "Dean thinks it's from a girl, and if it is...."

Harry stared at him for a moment. A girl? Oh, he means.... Has one of them been warning her off me? Dean, perhaps, or Ginny? He managed not to snigger. "Oh, it is," he said innocently.

Hermione flinched. Ron's mouth dropped open. Harry laughed.

"Well, not directly. But it was my mother's. Professor Dumbledore found it, and asked if I'd like to have it." Harry smiled. "I doubt I'll have any use for an engagement ring for quite a while, so I decided just to wear it, in the meantime. I'm told it matches my eyes." Harry looked down. "Which makes sense," he said more quietly, "as it was meant to match hers."

"Oh," Hermione said.

"Don't tell me you've all been fretting about that!"

"Well, not just that," Ron said. "I mean, you've been a bit odd, this year. Rather tetchy, and a bit ... overly wizardly? I mean, if that makes sense. Old blood, I suppose. Neville thinks it's getting away from the Muggles, but your new robes seem a bit much for just hanging out here, by yourself, and ...."

"Oh!" Harry realized he was blushing, and decided that wasn't bad. "Er ... I went shopping with Remus."

"And?"

"Yes, well.... Apparently, he used to do this for James. I mean, James had more money than taste, and Remus more taste than money, so Remus would buy his clothes and enjoy having an unlimited budget."

Hermione was giggling. Harry liked that.

"So yes, those robes. Snape looked at the red ones and told me I could visit Malfoy Manor in those, if I wasn't me."

Even Ron laughed at that.

"Where did you wear them?"

"Oh, just to dinner."

"And the green ones? Why green?"

"Remus says they show off my eyes."

"Ooo, la!" Ron said. "Perhaps you should keep an eye on Professor Lupin, Hermione. I mean, we shouldn't go leaving Harry alone with him."

"Don't joke," Harry said fiercely. "Remus wouldn't do that."

"Well I shouldn't think so!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Good. I don't want anything of the sort getting talked around. He has problems enough with being a werewolf, and it won't be funny if someone takes it seriously."

"Won't mention it again," Ron promised, wide-eyed.

"Thanks. Sorry about ... being tetchy." Harry rubbed his forehead. "I had a strange summer. All ready for Quidditch tryouts, tomorrow?"

Harry stretched experimentally as he surveyed the cluster of Gryffindors who had showed up for tryouts. Snape had told him to skip the muscle relaxants the night before any game or practice, and he was trying to decided if he felt sore from that, or if he was just normally tense and abnormally aware of it. Maybe I should schedule practices so I still have the potion every other night.

The Gryffindor hopefuls ranged from a determined-looking second year girl to a fifth-year boy who seemed to regard the team as Andrew and Jack's new social club. Harry caught himself mentally discounting both, then had to remind himself that he had joined the team his first year. He looked at the second-year girl again, and shook his head in amazement. I was even younger than that, he thought. A little kid, really. And Fred and George and Alicia and Angelina and Katie put up with me? But they were only a year older than this girl, themselves. How strange!

He decided to make sure she had a fair chance to show her stuff.

Harry had the prospective Chasers first try goals against Ron, then passes among themselves. After that, he chose the top four and had them play two-on-two, with a beater on each side. He drafted Dean, who was watching, into guarding the second goal.

"But I've never even tried that!" Dean protested.

Harry handed him a school broom and shooed him towards the pitch. "Just think of it as football," he said. "Except you mostly use your hands. And you're flying on a broomstick." When Dean looked incredulously back at him, he said, "Dean, you don't have to be any good at it. Just get up there."

Ron came by and hovered near him.

"I'm going to use the candy."

"Don't make anyone fall," Harry warned.

"I won't."

"And nothing insulting."

Ron rolled his eyes. "All right, then," he said. "Any other rules?"

"Just be sensible, all right?"

Ron nodded and flew off, ignoring a wave from Colin, who was flying about the perimeter of the pitch with his cameras, diligently photographing everything.

Ginny, as Harry had expected, was easily the best available Chaser. After that, he had picked a fifth-year boy named Martin Glen, a third-year named Ignatius Ingham (who seemed to go by Iggy), and the second-year girl, Teresa Emmet. He teamed Martin with Teresa and Ginny with Iggy, then, as Martin and Teresa seemed to be playing against each other, rather than with each other, Martin with Iggy and Ginny with Teresa. He had just decided that it was Martin who was the problem, as he and Iggy were now failing to work in concert, when he heard a sudden, deep "Yeow!" from the bludger, just as Andrew hit it. Andrew flew straight backwards, yelping. The bludger howled and shrieked and swore its way across the field to Teresa, who ducked, looped it once to draw it near Martin, then caught a toss from Ginny. She easily got the quaffle past Ron, who was laughing too hard to guard. The Bludger had stopped vocalizing -- for, Harry suspected, the same reason. Colin's camera flashed constantly through the whole scene.

Harry let them play for a few more minutes, switched Ginny to playing with Martin, as she hadn't got a chance to watch him, then called them down a few minutes later.

"All right," he said. "Thank you all for showing up -- that was some great playing. Ginny, you're in." He looked around at the other three. Teresa, who had landed looking flushed and elated, now looked nervous. Martin looked haughty. Iggy was staring at his toes. "The team needs to talk about who else to take on. Ginny was a special case, as she was just doing a position change. We'll let you know when we have a decision -- before dinner, probably."

Harry led the team into the changing rooms, and sat down on a bench. "Iggy and Teresa," he said.

"Yes," Ginny agreed.

"Teresa!" Andrew protested. "But she's only twelve!"

"Yes. And she's that good at twelve. As good as Iggy, and better than Martin."

Ron shook his head. "Martin has a much stronger throw."

"Martin wants to be the only Chaser," Ginny said contemptuously. "He wouldn't work with me at all."

"He didn't work with anybody," Harry confirmed. "That's why I kept switching the combinations around -- to make sure it was him."

"I still say twelve is too young," Andrew said.

"It's older than I was," Harry pointed out.

For a moment, everyone was silent.

"Wow," Ron said finally.

"Yeah. That was my feeling. I didn't think of myself as that young when I was."

"There's another advantage to her," Jack said thoughtfully.

"What?"

"It staggers the team ages, right? We won't have this huge turnover, again. I mean, that's our biggest problem for this season, isn't it? Even if we're all good, we still need to learn to work together."

"So not Martin," Ginny said emphatically.

Andrew reluctantly conceded, and the decision was made. Still, as they were leaving, he commented to Ron:

"It won't be as much fun, will it? I mean, with a little kid around."

Ron shrugged. Harry interrupted.

"If you can't have fun just playing Quidditch, go somewhere else. This is not a social club for upperclassmen. We certainly don't need to do anything you can't do in front of a second-year."

"So," Hermione said over dinner, in the businesslike manner that indicated an incipient project. "We have a job for tomorrow."

"We do?" Ron asked, looking up from his plate in bewilderment.

"I have a three o'clock meeting with Snape," Harry said firmly.

"You do?" Ron repeated. "But, Harry, we have plans."

"We do?" Harry asked. At the significant look he was receiving from Ron, he suddenly remembered -- the WWW tricks testing party. "Oh, hell. We do. Well, we'll have to start early, then. Snape should understand if I show up green." Ron looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Harry grinned. "Might even make him laugh."

"Snape? Laugh? This isn't any Snape I've met," Ron snorted.

Harry smiled. "No, probably not."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," Hermione said icily, "perhaps you could tell me what you'll be busy with Sunday?"

"You don't really want to know, Hermione," Ron answered.

Hermione looked at Harry, who shrugged. "He's probably right. I mean, you'll find out, but you don't want to know ahead of time."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, "You're a prefect."

"Yeah. Isn't that grand?"

"Hermione," Harry said firmly, "we will not be breaking any school rules. We will be in Gryffindor tower. It's okay."

"You know I'm going to imagine the most horrible, dangerous things," Hermione said pleadingly. "Tell me, please?"

Harry looked around. He thought a few nearby people, though not looking at them, were suspiciously quiet. "Okay, we'll tell you. But not here. After dinner."

"Could this whatever be rescheduled?"

"No. Other people are involved."

"Very well." Hermione sighed. "We'll need to start the library work tonight, then."

"Library work?" Ron said. "What library work?"

"Researching Augustus Maitland, of course! How long did you intend to put it off?"

"Who's Augustus Maitland?"

"Remember? Snape said you would find his history educational?"

"So? I don't take extra assignments from Snape! He's not even one of my instructors, anymore."

"Still! Don't you want to know?"

"I don't," Harry said decisively. I don't want them poking around in the history of my parents' class -- in all the meanings of 'my parents'. Hermione will find something incriminating -- I know she will.

"But why would Snape mention him?" Hermione asked insistently. "It could be important! Come help me, at least. I have a new spell that I've been meaning to show you -- it will make your schoolwork easier."

So it was that after dinner, Harry found himself reluctantly accompanying Hermione and Ron to the library. She selected a few texts and took them back to the tables. The top one was a basic potions text -- Harry was certain she knew everything in it. Hell, Ron probably knows everything in it.

"Now, suppose I want to find all the spells that require sea serpent scales --" Hermione began.

"Why?" Ron interrupted.

"Well, maybe I have some and want to sell them."

"Maybe someone has been buying them and I want to know what he might be doing," Harry suggested.

Ron grinned. "Maybe they're all over the floor of Snape's lab, and I want to know what blew up."

"Fine," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, you want to find them all. Watch."

She placed a blank piece of parchment on the table, the book on the parchment, and another blank piece of parchment on the book. On the top parchment she wrote "sea serpent". Then she took out her wand and tapped the stack firmly. "Indicio!"

A ripple of light and darkness moved through the pages, then stilled. Hermione lifted the book. The lower parchment now had a list of pages numbers corresponding to lines containing the words "sea serpent."

"Clever," Harry admitted.

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "No more paging through everything! How long have you known this, Hermione?"

"I just learned it this summer." Hermione flushed with pride. "I'll be able to write much better essays, now, I'm sure."

She took the next book, which was titled "A Survey of Notable Hogwarts Graduates, 1960 to 1980." She repeated the spell, this time writing "Augustus Mayland" on the top sheet. Harry frowned for a moment, then found himself smiling. He covered it by sitting down and pulling out a book. He had seen Maitland's name written in the front of one of Severus's books, and he was sure it had a silent "t" in it.

When the library closed, two hours later, Hermione had still not found a reference for Mayland, Mailand, Maeland, Maland, or Meiland in any of two dozen references. She was not discouraged.

"He may be much further back -- I started with modern references -- or he may have died before graduation. If I don't find anything in historical references, I'll start working back through periodicals. Of course, I could have the final vowel wrong. Perhaps it's an e, or an i, or a y. A u, even."

Hermione, still walking, looked around hurriedly to check that no one was near. "Now," she said firmly, "why is it that you two can't help me, tomorrow?

Harry slowed in his pace to look over at her. "We're having a testing party with some stuff Fred and George sent me," he told her.

"What?!"

"Except me," Ron said hurriedly. "I'm just watching in case somebody needs a charm, or an escort to the Hospital wing."

"So 'we' is?"

"All the sixth year boys, except Ron."

"I thought we were done with this when they left!"

"Hermione, look -- I'm not paying first years to do it, okay? And this is all stuff they thought I'd find funny -- Ron recognized about half of it."

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I want you in the common room," she said. "So I'm there if anything goes wrong."

"You're not worried about it being a bad influence on the younger kids?"

Hermione snorted. "As if I could prevent that! You know perfectly well they did this for the advertising."

"Well, it was my birthday present, really. It's just, most of this stuff is no fun alone, or with people who won't laugh when you've suddenly got a tail, or rainbow-striped hair, or everything you say coming out backwards, or rhyming."

Hermione giggled, then clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'm not amused!" she squeaked.

Harry put an arm around her and pulled her close. He realized he was now tall enough to kiss her forehead comfortably, so he did. "Of course you're not," he said affably. "And you won't have any fun watching us, either." That struck him as odd, when he said it. Of course Hermione would not participate, but perhaps she would like to be invited? "You're welcome to play, too, you know," he said seriously.

"I'm not a sixth-year boy," Hermione said flatly.

Harry shrugged. Ah! So she would like to be invited. "So you weren't around for the planning, which was up in our dormitory. You can still play. Just come by and sit down if you want to."

The trick testing was rather fun. After some discussion, the Gryffindor boys decided on a procedure to keep things from being too chaotic. They sat in a circle, with each person, in turn, selecting something and trying it. They waited for each item to take effect before progressing to the next person's turn. Some things took effect immediately, and about as many with a five minute delay. Now and then, something took longer, and they talked while waiting.

It wasn't until the third item, which made Seamus's hair grow all the way down to his feet in a matter of two or three minutes, that other people in the common room noticed what was going on. They had quite an audience when Harry started his turn.

He pulled a packet out of the pile in the middle of the circle and looked at the label.

"What does it say?" Dean asked.

"Mood Wings," Harry read.

Hermione made the undignified sound of attempting to repress a laugh. Dean sniggered. Harry stuck his tongue out him.

The packet contained a lot of tiny little sweets. Harry looked nervously at them. "Should I start with just one?"

Everybody nodded. Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Ginny said "yes," simultaneously, causing more laughter.

Harry nodded and popped one of the sweets into his mouth. It tasted like butterscotch. He quite liked it. "Yum," he said. Everybody watched him expectantly. Ron set his watch.

The sweet was gone, and Harry was starting to think he should try another, when his shoulders suddenly began to itch. He squirmed uncomfortably.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Nothing, it just -- it itches, sort of."

"Where?"

"My shoulders. It feels like--"

Harry never got to tell them what it felt like. With a sudden "thwip!" the itching stopped, and Hermione yipped and jumped back. A pleasant breeze and soft hum filled the air at both sides of Harry. People around him were beginning to laugh. Harry looked to his right and saw a blur of silver. At his left, it was the same. Pretty much everyone was laughing, now. Ron was down on the floor, pounding it with his fists.

Harry suddenly realized that his shoulders were spasming. He tried very hard to keep them still, and was suddenly rewarded by the blurs of silver resolving into wings. Silver wings. Snitch wings, Harry realized, and joined the others in laughing.

"Oh, let me try!" Dean exclaimed. Five minutes later, Dean had iridescent dragonfly wings netted with black. Neville reached out a hand.

"Here, me too!" Ron said. Harry turned at a motion to his right, and found Hermione had sat down between him and Seamus. She smiled at him, her eyes glowing with mischief.

"Play?" she whispered.

He handed her one out of turn.

Neville got slender, curved bird's wings, like those of a swift or a falcon. Ron got the brightly colored wings of a tropical bird. Seamus had brilliant butterfly's wings that reminded Harry uncomfortably of the ones he had ground in Snape's mortar. Hermione got lacy, elaborate, fairy wings, that made her "Ooo!" in delight. Ginny asked to try as well, and got huge, brown bat wings. Rather than being disappointed, as Harry had feared she would be when he first saw them, she used them to full advantage, first swooping at her brother like an attacking demon, then posing with coy innocence for Dean. Colin started taking pictures, which lessened Harry's disappointment when his own twitchy snitch's wings vanished.

The Gryffindors went down to lunch looking like the survivors of some deranged duel. Half of them had oddly colored hair, or invisible or extraneous body parts. Ginny, who had taken several more of the Mood Wings sweets, still had her bat wings. Hermione had a fluffy tail that she could twitch into elegant curves or bring over to tickle Harry's neck. Neville had eyebrows of large, curved, iridescent feathers in every color of the rainbow. Anything Seamus attempted to say came out in rhyme. Jack was hopping like a kangaroo. Iggy needed to be led, because he saw two of everyone. He told Harry that the voice bounced between the two apparent people, changing at every phrase, "rather," he said, "like listening to the twins." Colin, who had been, with great effort, swimming through the air, dropped to the floor about halfway to the Gryffindor table. His "Oof!" and "Ow," were lost in the general hubbub of comments, questions, and laughter.

Harry looked quite normal. After the snitch wings, his shirt had fit oddly, and he had remembered Snape's warning against any form of Transfiguration. After that, he had avoided anything that might have a transfiguring effect. He sat next to Hermione and glanced up at the head table. Snape was looking down at him with an enigmatic expression. Professor McGonagall, he realized suddenly, was striding towards their table, her face red. He wasn't sure if that was from anger, or from trying not to laugh.

McGonagall stopped directly in front of Harry, or rather, he realized, the point midway between Ron and Hermione. She looked at Hermione.

"Miss Granger. What is the meaning of this display?"

Hermione seemed frozen. McGonagall looked at Ron, who was also silent. Harry, studying the assistant headmistress from the perspective of summer staff dinners, thought she was actually more amused than angry. A bit worried, perhaps.

"Fred and George sent me some samples," he volunteered. Neville's feather eyebrows turned to tiny birds and flew between them, chirping wildly. McGonagall's mouth twitched.

"Samples?"

"New things Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is selling, or plans to sell soon. It's just joke shop stuff. There's not a rule against that, is there?"

McGonagall pursed her lips in a vain attempt not to smile. "No, Mr. Potter, there is not. I just wanted to be certain that you had not all been hexing each other." She scanned the table and increased the volume of her voice. "Anyone who is not back to normal by the end of dinner tonight is to go to the hospital wing. Is that clear?"

There was a low murmur of "yes, professor." McGonagall smiled at Harry.

"Did you just receive these?"

"No, it was a while ago."

Her head inclined in a slight nod. "Thank you for waiting for the weekend, Mr. Potter." With that, she returned to the head table.

With the trick testing over so early, Harry actually had some free time before his meeting with Snape. He decided to finish The Limits of Control. And next time, he thought, I pick something that isn't quite so brain-numbing.

He was six pages away from the end of the book when Hermione sat down near him. He looked up, about to tell her to go away for five minutes, but was stopped by the serious look on her face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Is this a bad time?"

Harry looked down at the book, then shook his head. "No. This is fine."

"Is the book good?"

"It's awful, actually. The author manages to make everything boring. He must be related to Professor Binns. I can't wait to finish it."

"Oh. Well, I just wanted to ask what was wrong. You've been scowling since we got back from lunch. Is it just the book?"

"I suppose. I'm not upset about anything. I hadn't realized I looked upset."

"You've been looking that way a lot."

"Ah." Harry shrugged. "Maybe it's just that my face is thinner?"

Hermione did not look convinced, but she shrugged.

"About this morning...." she said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

In a rush, Hermione continued. "I had a good time being with you. I haven't felt that comfortable with you since school started. Now, I...." she blushed. "I just wanted to know ... why did you kiss me, before?"

Harry looked down, reddening. "Why do you think?" he muttered.

"Well, that's the thing. I.... When we were at Diagon Alley, it was fine." Harry looked up. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, after all. Hermione was biting her lower lip. Harry thought it was darling. "Then afterwards, I thought that you'd just kissed me to shut me up...."

"No! I mean ... well, I suppose, but to dispute it, really. I think you're pretty and clever and sweet, and I didn't want to be discounted like that, over some stupid thing."

"But the other one was to keep me from talking, too. And you never say anything nice afterwards."

Harry held out a hand to her, and Hermione took it and let him pull her closer on the couch. He turned and kissed her slowly and sweetly, brushing over her soft lips, then pressing urgently, then parting her lips with his tongue and teasing around the tip of her own. She adapted to everything, returning his attentions in kind, until the kiss had become a frantic dance of tongues and lips in sinuous motion.

He pulled back, breathless.

"Dear Hermione. Do you know how wonderfully you kiss?"

"Do I?"

"Oh, yes."

"You too. Quite the best kisser of any boy I've ever tried," Hermione whispered. Harry smirked, aware of Ron standing over by the fire.

"Sit with me," Harry pleaded. "Until I need to go." He looked at the clock and sighed. "Soon."

"Why do you need to see Professor Snape, again?" she asked, cuddling up against him. Harry sighed contentedly and moved an arm to rest across her shoulders and pull her slightly closer.

"It's more of the project," he answered.

"He and Dumbledore are alternating teaching you?"

"No, actually Flitwick and Remus are in on the act, too. But everyone won't be teaching me at once, or necessarily even amounts." Harry hesitated. He would be seeing Snape far more than the others. "Actually, Snape's the only one who wants frequent meetings -- I don't think he trust me to work on my own."

"I can see why he might not," Hermione said timidly.

"Unfortunately, so can I. So, I'm agreeing to all the meetings."

Hermione reached across his lap and gently took the book from his other hand. She brought it over, looked at the title, and frowned.

"This is Dark Arts," she said incredulously. She shifted slightly away from Harry to bend over the book in her lap. She flicked through the pages, scanning some.

"It doesn't have much in the way of casting notes," Harry said defensively. "It's more a theoretical and legal overview. What's illegal. Why. When it became illegal."

"Harry -- Why are you reading this?"

"It's for my project."

On Monday, Malfoy was still ignoring Harry in Potions lesson. That was fine with Harry. The lesson itself was okay. Having spent several hours with Snape the day before, Harry found himself much more able to take his insults in stride. He wondered if he could manage to consider it entertaining, with practice.

No one got detention or was kept after class, so the students all left the Potions lab in a group. Bulstrode took off quickly, as if her next class was at a distance, but the others walked in a clump, Parvati and Boot chatting. Harry looked sidelong at Finch-Fletchley, to see if he could start up a conversation there, but the Hufflepuff was lost in thought. Parvati left them at the second floor. Harry was still walking near Malfoy, Finch-Fletchley, and Boot when they approached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Ron and Hermione were waiting at the corner.

Hermione smiled at Harry, but Ron stepped forward with a less friendly grin.

"Hey look -- it's the Amazing Bouncing Ferret!," he jeered. "Been quiet, this year, fer—"

"Ron," Harry warned ominously.

The intensity of his voice surprised even him. Everybody froze. Harry took a step toward Ron. "Lay off."

Both Ron and Malfoy stared at him in amazement. Hermione bit her lip. Terry edged closer to the classroom door. Harry thought Justin had already gone inside, but he didn't dare look around and take his eyes off Malfoy and Ron to check.

"What, are you defending Malfoy, now?" Ron asked incredulously.

"He didn't do anything."

"Oh, well, not just now," Ron said angrily. "For all that matters."

"That matters." Harry glared at Ron. "I am not playing this game anymore, and neither should you. If he's leaving you alone, don't start anything."

For a moment, Ron stared, open-mouthed, at Harry. Malfoy had leaned back against the wall and was watching them studiously. Hermione backed up a pace and crossed her arms over her chest.

Harry advanced a step on Ron. He wasn't actually sure he could get Ron to obey him. He wanted Ron uncertain enough to back down, but he didn't want Ron to feel threatened. To balance the aggression of his advance, he tried to keep the anger from his face.

"We will discuss this later," he said. "For now, do not bait Malfoy."

Ron frowned. He looked at Harry closely, then, to Harry's dismay, he began to get the satisfied look that indicated Ron had a good next move.

"You know, Harry," he said, "You really shouldn't straighten your hair. It's too much like Snape's."

Harry flinched. One hand went immediately to his hair, and he pulled his fingers through it. Belatedly, he realized that he had seen Snape make the same motion, many times. Malfoy gave a soft snort of amusement.

"Why I see what you mean, Weasley," he commented. "Rather like someone subjected Professor Snape to shampoo." He stepped away from the wall to look more directly at Harry's face. Harry felt a brief flicker of foreboding. Uniting Ron and Malfoy against him had not been the point! Drawing their attention to his growing resemblance to Snape was even worse. He was fairly sure that Ron had not noticed how accurate his own comment was, but Malfoy was approaching with more critical regard. Harry held his ground to Malfoy's advance. Malfoy passed Ron as if he wasn't there, but stopped uncertainly when he was in arm's reach of Harry. Harry looked down at him.

"Yes," he said, guessing the reason. "I've grown."

Malfoy looked him up and down with a dismissive flick of his eyes. "Still not much to you," he commented. He shifted back and looked cockily at Harry. "The sneer is quite good -- very like -- but really, Potter, I don't think you can carry the look. Though it would be quite amusing to see you try."

Harry stepped back. Was I sneering?

"Better," Malfoy commented loftily. He strode to the classroom door, then looked back. "Time for class, Harry," he said carelessly, then disappeared inside.

Harry had to grab Ron to keep his friend from pursuing the Slytherin. After a brief scuffle, they ended up on the floor, with Harry atop Ron. Harry was certain that Remus wasn't in the classroom, yet -- he would have come out to investigate the commotion, by now.

"Ron!"

"Let me go! I'll kill him!"

"For what?" Harry demanded. "He didn't do anything."

"He called you Harry!"

Hermione giggled. Harry looked down at Ron, who was starting to quiet.

"I don't think familiarity is a capital offense, Ron," Harry commented dryly.

"Get off me," Ron growled. Harry figured Malfoy had settled by now, and was probably prepared to defend himself, if Remus wasn't present. Obligingly, he got off Ron. Ron stood and glared at him. "Did you tell him he could call you Harry?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head. "We don't really talk."

"Well, are you going to tell him not to?"

Harry grinned. "No way. I'll call him Draco and see what he does."

Ron took a swing at Harry, and Harry dodged.

"No!" Hermione yelled. Both boys scrambled back and drew their wands.

"Harry! Ron!"

Professor Lupin had arrived. He came running down the corridor, looking extremely displeased.

"What do you think you are doing?" A few heads poked out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to watch. Lupin frowned. "Harry, you know better! Mr. Weasley, you are a prefect. You are supposed to enforce school rules, not break them." Lupin glanced up at Hermione. "Miss Granger, something more effective than yelling 'no!' would be appreciated. A Disarming Charm would have been an appropriate action."

"But I'd have to get one wand first," Hermione protested. "Then the other might...."

Professor Lupin nodded wearily. "We will be learning how to affect a group of people or things, this term. I'm certain you will find it useful." He looked back at Harry and Ron, again, and sighed. "Twenty-five points each from Gryffindor for the two of you."

Ron's jaw dropped. Harry shrugged as if he didn't care.

"But...!" Ron said.

"You were fighting in the halls," Lupin said angrily, "and obviously prepared to escalate to hexes. That is a major infraction of a rule of safety. If I see either of you do it again, it will be more points and detention. Is that clear?"

Ron nodded. Harry said "yes, sir," but accompanied it with his most defiant glare. Remus responded with an exasperated look that immediately made Harry feel his response had been shamefully childish. He dropped his gaze contritely. "Sorry," he added.

Remus sighed. "Let's go inside," he said. "You will not partner for dueling, today."

"Professor Lupin?" Hermione said. "Ron shouldn't partner with Malfoy, either."

Remus almost smiled. "That, Miss Granger, is assumed at all times."

When they got into the classroom, Ron marched directly over to a single seat between Terry Boot and the wall. Harry sighed and moved to a free pair of seats. He glanced back at Hermione to see if she would follow and found her regarding him uncertainly. He smiled at her and indicated the desks with a jerk of his head. She came and sat with him.

Ron strode past them on his way to lunch and told Harry to piss off when he tried to sit near Ron's place. Ron spent the meal next to Andrew and Jack, but mostly glowered at his food in silence. After forcing down a modest amount of food, Harry got up.

"I need to talk to Ron, now," he said to Hermione.

"He's not going to listen now," Hermione said. "You need to give him a day or two."

"Hermione, we have wyverns this afternoon. I need to talk to him now!"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh no! I'd forgotten. Harry, that's really bad! Do you think Madam Pomfrey will give you Calming Draughts? Him, at least?"

"I'll take care of it."

Harry stood up and walked down the table to Ron's seat. Ron ignored him.

"Ron."

"Didn't I tell you to piss off?"

"We need to talk."

"I don't see that we have anything to talk about," Ron said icily. He started to turn his back to Harry, but Harry grabbed his shoulder.

"We need to talk about surviving wyverns. This is no way to meet a wyvern."

"If you want to apologize, go ahead."

"No. Let's go outside where we can discuss this in private."

For a moment, Ron looked like he might refuse, then an apprehensive look crossed his face. Without a nod or word to Harry, he stood and walked out of the hall. Harry followed.

They went through the Entrance Hall, and into the bright sunlight of a breezy autumn afternoon. Harry stopped when they reached the grass, and Ron turned to face him.

"So," Ron said sharply, "you want to be friends with Malfoy."

"I want a truce with Malfoy. He doesn't seem like friend material."

"But you're on a first name basis now."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I expect he just did that to goad you. Malfoy's always known how to put your back up."

"But I can't do it to him."

"Not start it, no. I don't like a friend of mine being a bully."

Ron stood very still for a moment, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides, and his face growing red. "This is not," he spat finally, "calming me down!"

"Sorry." Harry pulled out the necklace Hermione had brought him. It was a red globe (she'd told him it had taken her a while to find one that wasn't heart-shaped) on a black string. He grinned as he unscrewed the top and lifted it with the attached double-circle bubble-wand dripping pink liquid.

"Try this."

"Harry...!" Ron's annoyed complaint was cut off by a spontaneous giggle as the cloud of bubbles broke on his face and the hand he lifted to brush them away. He stood in bewildered delight for a moment, then stuck his tongue out at Harry. "You're awful. You do know that, don't you?"

"Uh-huh. Are you calm enough to talk about how to survive the wyvern, now?"

Ron grinned. "More?" he suggested.

"It has a very short duration. I don't know how Hagrid would take me blowing bubbles at you every fifteen minutes, and I don't want to know what our classmates would think. You also might do something stupid when everything looked pretty."

Ron tumbled down to the grass and lay on his back looking up at the sky. "Like this?" he asked cheerfully. "Here, little wyvern!"

Harry sat down next to him. "Like that. Sit up a moment."

"Hrmph. Okay."

Ron sat up. Harry took a vial from his pocket. "Drink this."

"What is it?"

"The same thing I blew at you. But if you swallow it, it's a lot more like a standard Calming Draught and lasts for two hours or more, which should get us through Care of Magical Creatures alive." Harry shrugged. "Not as much fun, but probably safer, and I'll still have the bubbles for emergencies."

Ron took the vial and frowned at it. "But can I trust you?" he asked coyly.

"Of course you can. Drink up." Harry watched Ron drink what was in the vial and nodded.

Ron handed the vial back to him and lay down again. "You should look at the clouds," he suggested. "They have all this amazing light around the edges."

"Hm." Harry glanced up at the clouds, which were rather pretty, fluffy white ones, against a vivid blue sky, then looked back down at Ron. "You realize this doesn't change anything. Really, you're still mad at me --"

"I know." Ron smiled beatifically at him. "Arrogant sod."

"-- and we still need to fight it out so we can make up."

"Wednesday evening good?"

"No. I've got a meeting."

"Imagine that. With the greasy Death Eater snake?"

Ron's almost dreamy tone kept the insult from bothering Harry as much as it might have. "Shush," he chided.

"You reckon you should take some, too?"

Harry shook his head. "I know Occlumency." He smiled sourly at the redhead. "I could hide everything I feel so deep you'd never catch a glimpse of it."

"No offense, Harry, but that sounds bad."

Harry shrugged. "It's better than being possessed by the Dark Lord, isn't it?"

Ron frowned for a moment, then the expression passed.

"S'pose so."

"I know what you mean, though. Snape is too good at it. I think that's why he's so horrible when he can lose control. He wants to."

"I think he's just a sadistic bastard."

Harry considered. "At times. Let's go, okay?"

They were the first members of the Care of Magical Creatures class to arrive. Hagrid greeted them enthusiastically. To Harry's relief, he seemed too intent on his wyverns to notice Ron's dreamy air. A huge wrought iron aviary had sprung up next to the paddock, appearing overnight, like an ornate filigree mushroom. In it were three wyverns, one green, one blue, and one blue with a purple sheen fading down from its head.

If Harry had seen the wyverns in an illustration, he might have thought they were the artist's conception of dragons, based on an inadequate description -- perhaps one neglecting to say "lizard". The scaled bodies had two legs, beaklike snouts, and the stance of fighting cocks. If a dragon looks like a lizard with bits added, Harry thought, these look like snakes with bits added. He studied them a moment longer. I wonder if they would understand parseltongue?

"Greetings," he hissed experimentally.

Hagrid jerked back from the enclosure. Ron looked oddly at Harry. The wyverns raised their heads and twisted their necks, looking around for the source of the sound.

"Here," Harry said, walking a bit around the aviary, so he was farther from Ron. "I am the one who speaks. Do you understand?"

The heads nodded and wove, but the wyvern's voices came out in harsh, birdlike bursts of sound. Harry could not distinguish any words.

The wyverns's heads dipped and rose and dipped again. The purple-headed one approached him, while the blue and green twisted their tails together in a slow, ceaseless spiraling motion.

"Yesssss," said a lazy voice near his feet. "I think that, also."

"Uh, Harry?" Ron said distantly. "You've got an adder next to you."

Harry had already spotted the adder. It was an attractive tan one, with impressive darker points on its brown zigzag pattern. It had risen half up, almost as if it was going to strike, but he could tell it was not hostile.

"S'okay," he called back to Ron. "Hello," he said to the adder.

"Hello." The snake sounded amused. She -- Harry decided it was a female -- settled slightly as Harry squatted down so they could eye each other more easily. "How can you speak, when even those creatures cannot?"

Harry shrugged. "I just can. Occasionally, a wizard can. Other wizards think it's bad."

The adder hissed and twisted angrily about herself. "And break our nests and kill our babies!"

"Yeah, probably those ones," Harry agreed. "I wouldn't." He decided not to say that he had killed the very big snake in the castle. He wasn't sure how that would go over.

"Harry!" Hagrid said urgently.

"It's okay. She's not upset at me."

"We got other kids comin', now, Harry. Yeh should stop."

"Oh." Harry frowned at the snake. "I can't talk to you any more, now. Other people are coming. Later?"

The adder hissed. "It would not help against one your size."

"It kills one of us occasionally, though not fast. They need to look at the wyverns, and they need to feel safe, for that." ("Wyverns," Harry noticed, came out more like "snake-birds".) Harry nodded at the adder. "Be safe."

"Thank you, speaking man. Good hunting." The adder dropped down and slithered off into some bushes. Harry saw Hagrid's eyes following it, and reminded himself to tell Hagrid, later, that the adder and its home were not to be harmed.

The rest of the class arrived in a clump. The Slytherins looked rather sedated. There were two Slytherins in this class, Blaise Zabini and Radiana Nott, a girl Harry had seen before, but never before caught the name of. Harry wondered how she was related to the Death Eater Nott. He thought about Sirius's family, and decided not to make assumptions about her.

For today, they were merely observing the wyverns. The class, after all of Harry's worry, passed without the need for his intervention. He found himself recalling what he had said to Hermione about how they didn't need her to keep them out of trouble. Hagrid did have a couple backup vials of Calming Draught, which he used when Parvati and Susan Bones began to fight. During the note-taking section, Harry managed to get Hagrid's assurances that he wouldn't hurt the adders. When class was over, Harry walked back to the castle alongside Ron, which made him feel curiously wistful.

"Have that fight soon?" he suggested.

Ron shrugged. The potion, Harry guessed, had largely worn off.

"Well, see you around," Harry said awkwardly. He increased his pace, overtaking the other students, and headed up to Gryffindor to get his books. He decided he would be studying in the library, for a few hours. He groaned at the thought of Ron's shrug, and wondered if a few days would be better.

That evening, Harry slipped into Snape's office. Snape looked at him questioningly as he closed the door.

"I thought it was two days until our next meeting."

Harry cast a silencing spell on the door, then turned back to his father. "It was. And I shouldn't stay long, tonight. I just wanted to tell you about my day before someone else did."

Snape leaned his head against one hand, a single finger extended to his temple. "Just what I wanted to hear," he said sarcastically.

"Ron and I had a fight this morning," Harry said quickly, "outside Defense, and Professor Lupin showed up just when we'd pulled wands on each other."

Snape looked at him incredulously. "You were intending to hex Weasley?"

"No, I just ... It's a reflex. Someone tries to hit me; I get my wand out. It just happened."

"A useful reflex. I may even approve. Why did he try to hit you?"

"For defending Malfoy."

"For what?" Snape shrieked. Harry was glad he'd put up the silencing spell.

"Ron was just after him for no reason. And I'm trying to get a truce with him."

Snape stared for a moment, then waved off the matter as inconsequential. "Perhaps we should save the tangled workings of your Gryffindor mind for a longer evening. So Lupin will come and tell me you were fighting in the halls. Anything else?"

"Well, we were going to the wyvern class angry at each other. So I gave Ron some of the pink bubble stuff."

"That? Are you insane? What did he do?"

"Oh, not as bubbles. To drink. Well, once as bubbles to get him to drink it. He was obviously a little sedated, but about a third of the class was, so you might never have heard about that. I just thought you should know."

Snape studied him for a long time.

"Very well," he said finally. "Thank you for telling me. Now, you should probably go."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Hermione and Ron are getting a bit suspicious." He hesitated. "Er... good night."

"Good night, Harry," Snape returned. He sounded almost affectionate, Harry thought. "We can talk more on Wednesday." He waved a hand at Harry in a shooing motion. "Now go back to Gryffindor tower and challenge people to duels, or whatever your sort does."

"My sort?" Harry asked in mock indignation.

"Senseless Gryffindor brats."

"Oh, that sort." Harry removed the spell on the door and opened it, but turned in the doorway. "We do homework, mostly," he said.

"Out, Potter!" Snape bellowed suddenly. "I am not interested in why you cannot understand hex absorption in asafoetida! We have a room called a library. Perhaps Miss Granger can show you how to find it."

"Oh yeah, she's mentioned that library thing," Harry returned. Snape grinned at him as he tossed an ink bottle in the air and caught it, and Harry ducked out of the doorway in time to avoid being hit by the hurled bottle. It broke on the stones, spattering red ink in a loose V that spanned the corridor. Harry sniggered and jogged cheerily back to the stairs.

Hermione crossed the common room and stood near Ron, who was studying with unusual concentration.

"Ron?" she asked timidly. At a grunt from Ron, she asked "Do you know where Harry is?"

"I don't know, and I don't care."

"Well, I care. Please?"

Ron looked up. "Look," he said, "what do you expect me to do? Harry disappears. Often. As far as I know, he's off courting Malfoy."

Hermione coughed. "That hardly seems likely."

"Giving people potions he doesn't know anything about, then. Chatting up poisonous snakes. Whatever it is Harry does."

"Ron?"

"What?"

"Care to explain any of that?"

Ron sighed. He rested his chin on his hands and looked morosely at the table next to his parchment.

"Well, he took me outside before the wyvern class, and he gave me a potion."

"Go on."

"He said it was like a mild Calming Draught. It was -- just a bit more pleasant. But while we were observing, when it was just starting to wear off, I asked him if it was safe, and he shrugged and said 'hasn't done me any harm.' So I pressed him on it, and he doesn't know exactly what this stuff is -- he just lifted it, one day, when he was working for Snape."

Hermione thought about this for a while. She looked increasingly displeased.

"If I report him," she asked cautiously, "will you be mad at me?"

"Yes. And I'll deny everything I just told you."

Hermione sighed. "Well, then. And the snakes?"

Ron shrugged. "He was talking to an adder, before class. No big deal, I suppose, just kind of creepy." Ron slouched down in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Damn, I wish we had the Marauders' Map, still."

Hermione nodded. "I'd like to know where he is, too."

"And who he's with," Ron added. "I mean, not... You know."

"Yeah." Hermione sat down next to him. She frowned thoughtfully off into the air. "You know ... Lupin's back."

"I doubt he'd make us a new one. If he did, he'd give it to Harry, not us."

Hermione shook her head. "He wouldn't make one." She smiled. "But I bet he'd tell us how they did it!" She jumped up. "Come on. Let's go see Mooney!"

Ron started to get to his feet, then shook his head. "Behind you!" he whispered.

Hermione turned. Harry was coming across the room, headed straight for them. He was holding a small basket.

"Hi!" he said, when he reached them. Ron bent over his homework. "I brought creampuffs," Harry said coaxingly. "And butterbeer."

"Ooo!" Hermione squealed. She took a creampuff.

"Here, Hermione, pass Ron one, will you?" Harry said. "He might take it that way."

Ron glared briefly at Harry, then returned to his work, but his concentration wavered noticeably when Hermione put a creampuff on a napkin and placed it next to his parchment.

Harry sighed and sat down. "Do all best friends take this much work?" he asked. "Or is it just us?"

Ron let out a bark of laughter and looked up. "Just us," he said. "We're impossible, all three of us."

"Huh. Good thing we're not torturing anyone normal then," Harry observed.

"We still need to have that fight," Ron warned. "I'm only delaying it so I can eat this creampuff and write my Transfiguration essay."

"Morphological facility," Harry said.

"Huh?"

"Use the phrase 'morphological facility' somewhere in your essay. I'm trying to get everyone in the class to do it. It will drive her crazy, trying to figure out where we all read that."

Hermione giggled.

The next day, Professor Lupin caught Harry in the corridor as he was leaving Transfiguration.

"Mr. Potter," he said formally, "I'd like you to come to my office, directly after classes, if you can."

"Sure," Harry agreed. He looked nervously at Lupin, who was currently very much the professor in both voice and bearing. "Er ... about yesterday?"

"In part. I also thought it was time we had a meeting about your independent study. I've been working on a reading list for you."

"Oh. Okay. I'll be there when your class gets out."

Harry finished Wednesday's Potions homework during his free afternoon time. After a short, fruitless attempt to find a library reference for wyverns understanding Parseltongue, he left for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He only had to wait a short while. Eventually, the door opened and a hoard of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor second years came out. Teresa paused to call over a shy, "hi, Harry," which Harry returned with a wave.

"Hi, Teresa. See you tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow?" Lupin questioned, as Harry entered the now-empty classroom.

"She's on the Quidditch team. We have a short afternoon practice. It's really just an intro, to make the new kids comfortable. I'll be working them for real, Friday night." He grinned. "By next Monday, she'll hate me."

Lupin smiled back and led Harry through the classroom and back into his office. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing at the couch. Harry sat, and Lupin brought them tea and wholemeal biscuits, with and without chocolate. He fetched a parchment from his desk.

"Here is a list of books that might interest you, Harry. I'm not expecting you to read all of them, but I'd like you to find them all, look them over, and pick four or five. From that, we can work out a research project or two. If you're interested, we could also work in some analysis of current events."

"Like the werewolves?" Harry asked curiously.

Lupin, to Harry's surprise, visibly tensed. "I might have difficulty with maintaining objectivity," he said lightly. "If you want to cover current werewolf issues, you should do it for someone else -- Dumbledore, perhaps -- and use me as a source, only."

"All right."

Lupin sighed and looked down at his teacup. He rotated it ninety degrees in its saucer, then back again. "Harry ... why were you fighting with Ron?"

Harry sighed.

"Ron went after Malfoy -- just verbally, you know, but there was no reason for it. He was just walking to class, like I was. So I told Ron to back down, and he got upset. Malfoy had to throw fuel on the fire by calling me "Harry" as he left, and Ron flipped out about it. I had to sit on him to keep him from charging after Malfoy. Then when he got up, he wanted my assurances I wouldn't let Malfoy do it again. I said I'd rather call him Draco and see what he did, and Ron attacked me. I hadn't pulled out my wand to hex him, really -- it's just a reflex to pull my wand out, when someone tries to punch me."

Lupin closed his eyes. Harry could see him pushing down a tangled complexity of emotions. Was he thinking of James and Sirius, of Severus, of himself? Finally, he opened his eyes and his expression settled into a slight frown.

"I can see where you might have such a reflex, Harry, but you should understand that it is not always the safest thing to do." The tone was academic, official, an adult's lecture. Harry fumed. "There are times and places where drawing your wand may get you killed or arrested, while ducking a punch, or even taking it, will get you through danger quickly, and may give you a legal advantage."

Harry glowered. "I understand all about protective submission, Remus. I've also had enough of it. I won't take attacks from Ron."

"Forget Ron!" Lupin snapped. "If you pulled your wand in the corridors of the Ministry building, you could legally be killed by any Auror in sight. Not doing it here, where it is also a rule infraction, is good practice in control."

"I can do it when I need to. I will not do it for Ron," Harry repeated stubbornly.

Lupin made a sound that was half-sigh, half-growl. "I'd have some hope you'd improve, if Severus wasn't just as much a prideful, pigheaded idiot as James."

Harry chuckled. He was relieved they were back on personal ground. "I'm doomed," he said lightly.

For a moment, they were both silent. Harry suspected Remus was trying to decide whether or not to push the issue. "Look," Harry said, forestalling any further comments, "would you do me a favor?"

Lupin raised an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps. What favor?"

"Would you let me pair with Malfoy, in class? I'm trying to truce with him, and we seem not to be at each other's throats, any more. It's painfully obvious you don't trust us together, and I'd like to give it a try."

They were talking comfortably about Malfoy, Ron, and the art of pairing students for dueling when Lupin glanced at the wall clock and twitched. He shifted in his seat.

"It's pleasant to talk with you, Harry, and I would love to continue this, but I have a visitor arriving at the hour. Perhaps we could meet for tea, this weekend?"

"All right." Harry frowned as Lupin stood. It was still fifteen minutes before six. "Can't I stay until he gets here?"

"I'm afraid not." Lupin's face was drawn with anxiety, though his smile remained pleasant. "Please understand, Harry -- there are some people I would rather you not meet."

"Oh." Harry tried to puzzle that out. Remus had a lover, perhaps?

"Go along, now," Lupin said, urging him toward the door. "We've plenty of time to talk, later."

In the doorway, Harry hesitated again. A flash of anger crossed Lupin's face.

"Harry, I have asked you politely, several times, to leave my rooms. I do not owe you an explanation. Go!"

Harry left.

Once he was safely around the corner, Harry stopped and thought. A visitor for Remus would be coming either from the Entrance Hall or from Dumbledore's office. If he went back past Remus's office and waited around the corner, he might be able to catch a glimpse of Remus's visitor. Of course, if he went back past Remus's office, Remus would notice.

After some deliberation, Harry went up a floor, to the other end of the corridor, and down again. He crept to the corner and peered around. He wished he had his invisibility cloak, or even a Muggle toy periscope. The thought gave him an idea. He took his smallest book and transfigured it into a smaller mirror, then carefully floated that out into the corridor, near the knees of a suit of armor. With the dim light, here, it was unlikely to be noticed. He positioned the mirror until he could see the hallway outside Remus's door in it. He waited.

It was more than five minutes later, but still, Harry estimated, short of six, when a stranger came into the hallway. She was a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with short, light brown hair. She knocked lightly at Remus's door.

"Selena," he greeted her, "please come in."

Lupin's tone was warm, but Harry noticed the sparseness of the greeting. He did not say, "a pleasure to see you," or "welcome," or even "hello." Harry wondered what kind of terms the two were on.

After giving them a moment to get talking, Harry decided to try and hear a bit of their conversation. He started towards the door, then stopped. He was aware that a werewolf's hearing was sharper than a normal human's. He could walk more quietly with his shoes off, but what if someone saw him? He would be obviously sneaking around. Harry looked at the door, halfway down the hall, then listened a moment to the late afternoon silence. Finally, he took off his shoes and walked towards the door.

Once there, he could hear nothing. Not nothing intelligible, but nothing at all. Either the door was magically warded, or Remus had taken the woman back into his private rooms. Frowning, Harry walked to the staircase and put his shoes back on. Perhaps he could coax information out of Remus over the weekend.

Hermione was working on her Arithmancy homework when Ron came up behind her chair and leaned close to her ear.

"This a good time?" he asked.

"Gah!" Hermione dumped her book on the floor as she attempted to jump from a sitting position.

"Sorry," Ron said unconvincingly. "I thought you'd heard me."

"Like I'd believe that. Ouch. My toe hurts where that book hit it." Hermione glared at him. "A good time for what?"

"Talking to Professor Lupin."

"Oh!" Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, of course. Let me just pile this stuff and move it, so someone else can sit here while I'm gone...."

"Hey!" Ginny called over, as Hermione stood up.

"What?"

"I was sketching you."

Hermione glanced at Ginny, who was sitting by the windows with a tablet on her raised knees.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm sure I'll be in the same position later."

"Probably," Ginny agreed. "Oh well -- I'll do Dean, then. He won't dare move."

Hermione and Ron climbed through the portrait hole and headed down the stairs. Halfway down, they heard the sound of someone coming up. Ron peered down a level and stepped back.

"It's Harry," he whispered, as he took Hermione's arm and steered her back up to the next landing, and from there into a small room.

"So?"

"So, we don't want him to know what we're doing, right?"

They waited for the footsteps to near, then pass. When all had been quiet for a while, they reemerged and continued down to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

The door, to their surprise, was closed. Hermione knocked. When their was no answer, she knocked again. They waited a minute, and were just about to leave when the door opened. Lupin was standing there, rather red in the face, with a scowling young woman behind him.

"Ron, Hermione!" he exclaimed. "How pleasant. Please come in -- Miss Forest was just leaving."

The scowling woman put on a superficial smile. Even that made her quite pretty, Hermione decided. Her short hair was worn in an easy-care Muggle style, and her robes were a sedate medium blue that set off her golden-brown hair nicely.

"But surely you'll introduce me, Remus," she said chidingly.

Lupin did not look pleased. "Selena," he said politely, "this is Miss Granger, a Muggle-born student, and her friend, Mr. Weasley, the sixth son of a minor official of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department." Hermione could see Ron building up a head of steam at that. She was not pleased with being introduced by her parentage, either. "Neither of them is of any use to you," Lupin concluded firmly. "Children, this is Miss Forest."

"But the Weasleys are friendly with Harry Potter, are they not?" Selena asked, extending her hand to Ron. Lupin caught at her wrist.

"You are welcome to speak to me, Selena," Remus said harshly. "That welcome does not extend to my students. Go, or I will tell Albus Dumbledore that you have overstepped your bounds."

"I am a grown woman, Remus. I do not answer to professors, nor to eccentric, ineffective bumblers of any sort."

Lupin's eyes narrowed. "Now," he said angrily.

Selena sniffed. "I'm going. I liked you better as a free agent, Remus. That conniving old man hasn't done you any good." With that, she left.

Lupin leaned against the door frame. He looked exhausted. "I apologize for that terrible introduction," he said sincerely, "but she is not someone you want to take notice of you. The more inconsequential she believes you to be, the better."

"Should we leave, Professor?" Hermione asked. "Do you need to follow her?

Lupin shook his head. "No. There were conditions on her entrance here, and now that she is out of my room, she will be compelled to walk straight to the gates." He straightened, teetering slightly. "Come in."

"Is it near the full moon, sir?" Ron asked cautiously.

Lupin shook his head. "Do I look that bad? No, it's the dark of the moon tomorrow. I just need some sleep. Please sit down."

When they were settled on the couch, Lupin collapsed immediately into the chair. He did not offer them anything, nor even clear away the remains of a recent tea. "Pardon the mess," he said. "I haven't had a moment since classes started this morning, but I don't mind you, if you can stand me on family manners. What can I do for you?"

"Well...." Hermione looked at Ron. He looked back at her.

"We were wondering about the Marauder's Map," Hermione said hurriedly.

"How it was made, and that sort of thing," Ron added helpfully. Hermione shot him a glare. She was hoping to have some information out of Lupin before they got to questions he might feel obligated to refuse to answer.

Lupin shook his head and laughed softly.

"Ah, even you won't be easy, today, will you? Harry wasn't either."

"Professor Lupin," Hermione said formally. "We realize we can't expect you to make another one --"

"I could not make another one," Lupin interrupted. "It was very complex and time-consuming magic. Two people are needed at minimum. It took the four of us over a month, and I don't think we could have finished without Peter." Pain tightened his face at the memory of the fourth Marauder. Hermione thought that his betrayal must be worse than the deaths, in some ways.

"But we could make one?" Ron asked eagerly.

Lupin sighed. "I am not surprised that you miss the map, however, I know just how useful that map is, and how we tended to use it."

"But you wouldn't have found out about Peter without it," Hermione pressed, though she felt guilty at using what was obviously a painful memory. "You might never have discovered Sirius's innocence. And we don't cause much trouble, really."

"Hermione, I am a professor, here," Lupin said reasonably. "I cannot tutor you through making a device optimized for the breaking of rules."

"Could you give us any information, though? Research hints? It would be a good project for us, wouldn't it?"

Lupin rose wearily to his feet. "I will give you a pass to the restricted section," he said firmly. "That is all."

Hermione nodded glumly as she watched Lupin write out the pass. Any of her professors would have given her that, except possibly Snape. Still, she thanked Professor Lupin kindly for the folded strip of paper he pressed into her hand, and she and Ron left promptly, as the professor appeared to be in need of a nap before dinner.

"What now?" Ron asked glumly, when they were a decent distance from Lupin's door.

"Now we go to the library," Hermione said firmly.

"Before dinner?"

"It will give us some time to narrow down our search."

"We don't even know what we're looking for!" Ron complained.

"Of course we do," Hermione retorted, with more confidence than she felt. "A Mapping Charm. A spell to identify people. A Writing Charm. If the Marauders could do it, so can we."

"I dunno," Ron said. "With Harry, I might agree, but without.... And what was that thing about Peter? It never sounded like he was all that useful, before."

"I don't know," Hermione admitted.

At the door to the library, she stopped to survey the note. Her eyes widened. "Oh my!" she whispered.

"What?"

Hermione threw her arms around Ron in sheer delight. "Moony gets thank yous and chocolate and .... oh! Look!" She showed him Lupin's note. It was not a general pass to the restricted section. It was a pass allowing her to borrow three specific books.

Ron blinked for a moment.

"But this only -- oh!" He got it too. His eyes widened. "After all those protests...!"

Hermione grinned. "Plenty of time before dinner!"

"Harry?"

Harry looked up at the unfamiliar voice. Zoe, he realized.

"Hi, Zoe," he said.

"Are you going to dinner? Most people have left."

Harry looked around. He hadn't noticed the common room slowly emptying, but yes, he and Zoe were now the only people in it.

"Wow," he said. "I guess I was sort of lost in my work."

He knew he had done that intentionally. He had wanted to find Ron or Hermione, or both, and when he could not, set himself to thinking about his Defense essay instead. He realized he still hadn't answered Zoe, and nodded.

"Yes, I do want dinner. Will you wait while I pack this stuff up?"

"No problem!" Zoe said brightly.

They walked cheerfully down the stairs together all the way to the ground floor, discussing combat use of hexes. Outside the Great Hall, Harry turned at a flicker of motion, and saw Snape advancing on them from the shadows, in full, intimidating stalk, with his black robes billowing about him. He felt, rather than saw, Zoe's sudden tension.

"Potter," Snape spat, from far too close.

Harry froze. He would have liked to think it was good acting, but really, he knew it he did it out of habit, or possibly just from Snape's skill at projecting menace.

"Yes, sir?"

"I am warning you, Potter," Snape whispered threateningly, "that you had better be in your own room tonight -- there are werewolves about." The whisper dropped, but lost no malice to add:

"Your father would want you in sight."

Snape stepped back, pivoted with an intensity that brushed the hem of his robes across the back of Harry's knees, and strode into the Great Hall.

Harry waited nervously at the door to Snape's rooms. He hoped Severus would answer before one of the Slytherins wandered by and saw him (or, rather, his floating head) here. When the door opened, Severus looked at him with an impressively blank expression, considering Harry's appearance, or lack thereof. He stepped to the side and let Harry in.

"I did get your message right?" Harry asked, as Snape closed the door.

"Yes." Snape's face relaxed and he closed his eyes for a moment. Harry thought he looked as tired as Lupin. "I'm glad you came. Did anyone see you?"

"I wore the cloak." That, Harry thought, was rather obvious, as he was still wearing it, mostly. He swung it off and put down his bag.

"Came prepared?" Snape said, with some amusement.

"I wasn't sure, from what you said, what you wanted me here for, or for how long, so I thought I'd bring my schoolwork."

"Good. Leave it for the moment." Snape walked over to the fire. "I ... I'm having a drink. Would you like anything?"

"Hot chocolate?"

Snape turned around and slowly smiled. "With almond liqueur?" he asked archly.

"Please," Harry said. He almost laughed, remembering how abruptly that promised beverage had been replaced by gruel and white rice.

"Very well." Snape relayed the request down to the kitchens, then walked over to the cabinet and poured himself some wine. "You do realize," he said dryly, "that the overall alcohol content will be low -- perhaps a little more than two butterbeers."

Harry shrugged. "So it may actually taste as good as it sounds like it should."

"Hmm." Snape sat down by the fire. "Yes, I'd forgotten how strong that taste seems." He looked grimly at Harry. "So."

"So?" Harry asked.

Snape grimaced. "We're back to--" He took a deep breath and started again. "Lupin had a visitor today."

"I saw. Small, pretty woman, light brown hair.... He made me leave, but he wouldn't say why."

"She saw you?" Snape sounded horrified.

"No, he made me leave before."

"So you spied on him?" Snape asked sharply.

"Well, yes. Wouldn't you?"

Snape ignored the question. "I saw this woman as she was leaving. I have met her before." Snape caught Harry's gaze and made certain he had his complete attention before continuing.

"She was part of Randolph's delegation to the Dark Lord."

Harry sat silent, shocked at this revelation. He knew, of course, that Voldemort had some sort of alliance with the WFU werewolves, a fact he had conveniently forgotten when approving of their tactics. That he had been carelessly spying on one of Voldemort's allies brought the matter into sharper focus.

His father was watching him with steady interest that was starting to border on disdain. Harry tried to pull himself together enough to ask an intelligent question.

"Do the werewolves take orders from him?"

Snape smirked. "They don't think so. They will learn their error the first time they try to part ways."

Harry's hot chocolate appeared on the table next to Snape. He pushed it over to Harry. The spiraled pile of whipped cream on it tilted precariously, and Harry slurped the top off of it to keep it from falling. Snape winced.

"Sorry. Was that rude?"

"No," Snape said dryly. "That was indecent. Please try to avoid that until you intend the image."

Harry stared at him. Snape waved the matter away as inconsequential. "We were talking about werewolves."

"Werewolves who work with the Dark Lord."

"In part." A bitter look crossed Snape's face. "I'm putting you under restrictions, again."

"What?"

"I don't know how Remus is involved with Miss Forest, or what influence she might have with him, or over him. It is clear he is in some sort of negotiations with Randolph's organization. It is also clear that the thing at Hogwarts they would most want is you."

"Me?" Harry wasn't sure he followed that last claim. He tried the hot chocolate. It had a slight taste of alcohol, but was delicious, anyway. The almond flavor was stronger.

"You, Harry. The ultimate treaty price to Voldemort."

"Remus wouldn't give me to them."

"He might not have a choice." Snape scowled. "Or he might not make his choice in time. Or it might not be you." He straightened. "So, again, you will not be alone with him unless I know the time and place. Schedule your meetings with a classmate, or tell me about them, and let him know you have told me. Is that clear?"

"Quite," Harry answered coldly.

"Harry, please."

Harry was startled by the desperation in Severus's voice. He thought the restriction through. "I don't think it's necessary."

"If he is under some coercion, he may be grateful for the excuse." Snape scowled. "I, you understand, am magically prevented from causing physical harm to a pupil at this school." His face hardened with distaste. "I begged the headmaster for this curse. It saves me from undue expectations on the part of my lord."

Harry, reluctantly, understood. "I'll let him know."

"Thank you."

The unaccustomed words came awkwardly from Snape's tongue. His skin darkened with blood. Harry looked down, to give him time to recover, and sipped his hot chocolate.

"Now that we have more time," Snape said finally, "explain this situation with Mr. Weasley and Draco."

Harry told Snape about Ron's verbal attack on Draco, and his own intervention, and how Ron had said his hair looked like Snape's.

"That's not so bad, though. I mean, he said it, but I think he just thought he was making it up. The problem is Malfoy. He actually looked. I think Malfoy thinks I'm trying to look like you, though, because he warned me I couldn't really carry it off."

Snape snorted with amusement.

"Ron might have dealt with all that, but when Malfoy walked off, he decided to get cheeky and call me Harry, and then Ron flipped. We still need to sit down and fight, I think. We talked about it a bit when he was on the bubble stuff, and that may have helped, but now he's upset about the bubble stuff, itself, so I think it's a wash." He scowled. "Which is unfortunate, because I was figuring I'd use that when I told them."

"Perhaps," Snape said acidly, "if you told him what it was and asked him, rather than simply subjecting him to it, as I imagine you did...."

"Saying what? 'Ron I'm going to really upset you in the next few minutes -- could you please take some of this stuff that will make you calmer before I start?'"

"Something like that, yes. Or if that's too honest for you --" Snape paused, Harry imagined to give him time to appreciate the irony of Snape, Death Eater spy and the Head of Slytherin, lecturing him on honesty -- "Would you like more of this? Oh, incidentally, have I mentioned Professor Snape is my father?"

Harry choked on his hot chocolate, but managed not to spray much of it.

"I have a little more subtlety than that!" he exclaimed.

"Rather a hard subject to lead into, though, isn't it?"

"I'll start with confessing that I lied about why I asked about the Paternity Charm. That will at least give him a minute's warning while he mentally catalogs every male over the age of thirty that he knows."

"Thirty?" Snape said incredulously.

"All right. Thirty-two. How's that?"

"A bit better." Snape frowned at him. "Remember, it would need to be someone your mother was willing to have sex with, not just someone physically capable of the act."

Harry shrugged. "She wouldn't have to be willing."

Snape now looked more amused than annoyed. "So we are now postulating -- excuse me, Weasley is postulating -- either a thirteen-year-old rapist, or that your mother liked--?"

"Fourteen," Harry interrupted, heating. "Sixteen, because I already changed --"

"Harry, your age is measured from birth, not conception."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oops. Um -- thirty-three, then? That would make it sixteen. Anyway, he won't do all this math."

"No more than you did." Snape smirked. "Typical shoddy reasoning."

"So," Harry plowed on quickly, "he'll be thinking through all the vaguely old-enough men who might have known my mother--"

"Intimately."

"Will you stop being vulgar?"

"Probably not."

"Whatever! It will give him a moment to know it's got to be somebody--"

"Ah. I always wanted to be somebody."

Harry stopped, stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly laughed. He was surprised to hear his father laugh as well. Severus looked at him afterwards, smiling. It pulled his face in unaccustomed directions. Harry wondered when the anger had etched into his face, and what he had looked like before that, when he smiled like this.

The look faded slowly. Snape picked up his wine and swirled it absently. "I had forgotten it could be fun," he commented quietly, "having someone to talk to, that is. And I take back anything I said about you being an idiot. You are quite often a fool, but a sufficiently intelligent one for good conversation."

"Hmph!" Harry pouted briefly, but Snape ignored it, in favor of finishing his wine. "If you were anyone else," Harry conceded, "I'd be insulted, but considering what you usually say about me, I'll take that as extravagant flattery."

"Good." Snape went to the cabinet to refill his glass. "Perhaps you can acquire some sense, after all." Harry watched him pour the wine with the same precision that he poured dragon's blood. Harry suspected that he always added exactly the same amount to his glass, without any conscious effort.

"This isn't really working, you know, with Ron and Hermione," Harry volunteered. "They suspect something, and eventually, they'll hit on the right thing. And I hate keeping secrets from them."

"Is there some way you could mislead them?"

"Hm...." Harry pretended to consider the matter. "I could take up smoking again," he offered. "It would give me an excuse to sneak off and lie to her, and she'd suss it in days."

Snape gave him a withering look as he returned with the wine and sat down again. "I'm afraid the closest you'll find in Hogsmeade is a pipe mixture with some tobacco in it, and no one at that apothecary would actually sell such a thing to an underage wizard."

"Ah-ha! So wizards do smoke tobacco."

"Occasionally. Coltsfoot and marshmallow are more common, and all are usually smoked as part of a mixture with some magical properties -- a type of potion, in a way. To have it habitually is extremely vulgar, and more common among certain of the non-humans."

"But you don't disapprove just because it's a Muggle thing."

"No." Snape considered. "Though these disposable means of smoking -- the cigarettes, for example -- those are a Muggle thing, and that bothers me separately from the component plant, which you are having just as a drug. It's like watching you drink distilled spirits straight from the bottle."

"So I can't ask Fred and George to send me some?" Harry teased.

"No."

"Oh, all right. Any other ideas?"

"You know them much better than I do." Snape looked intently at his hands for a moment, and sighed. "Let's start with current status. Details, please, on everything Weasley and Draco said about you looking like me."

Harry woke earlier than usual the next morning. He was too thirsty to get back to sleep, so he dressed quickly, with the intention of heading down to breakfast.

"Harry?" Ron said blearily from the next bed.

"Hi."

"You just get in?"

"No, I just woke up."

"Oh. Later, then." Ron yawned and fell back to sleep.

Ron had been asleep when he got back, Harry remembered, as he started down the stairs. Snape had noticed the time long past curfew, and insisted on accompanying Harry back to the tower, ostensibily to protect him from punishment. Harry could not decide if this was unexpectedly kind, or merely patronizing. Snape had made light of the matter.

"Knowing you," he had said mockingly, "you would stumble across some previously undetected manticore and arouse it from a thousand-year nap. After several student maulings, months of terror, and untold thousands of galleons of property damage, you would slay it gloriously, and Gryffindor would win the House Cup. I'd rather walk you back. I'm usually out terrorizing the careless at this hour, in any case. Near Gryffindor seems a good place to start."

Harry had a few handfuls of water from the tap, and went down to breakfast. He paused at the Gryffindor table, surveying the students present. It was an entirely different group from the one he usually ate breakfast with. This must be the early shift, he thought.

This group did not seem to be especially talkative. Harry found himself at Potions class early, again. Malfoy was already there, and seated. Harry felt a smile pulling at his face.

"Good morning, Draco," he said casually, in passing. Malfoy twitched. Harry grinned. Call me Harry, will he?

Malfoy came up beside Harry as Harry was unpacking needed items from his bag.

"Are you being impertinent, Potter?"

Harry blinked innocently at him. "You called me Harry on Monday, remember?" He grinned. "Caused me a lot of trouble, too. Ron's still mad at me."

Malfoy smirked. "I have to wonder about your behavior, Potter. Having regrets?"

Harry thought Malfoy probably meant regrets about choosing Ron over him. He set his quill, ink, and parchment on the table while he got his thoughts in order.

"I don't regret staying friends with Ron," he said seriously. "He's really a very good friend, most of the time. I'm sorry you and I ended up enemies. It wasn't really a necessary side-effect. If either of us had had the slightest bit of tact...." Harry let the sentence trail off. Malfoy snorted.

"We were eleven. What would we have been doing with tact?" He looked searchingly at Harry for a moment, then frowned. "However foolishly this may have started, Potter, you put my father in Azkaban. I don't precisely feel friendly towards you. Please return to using my surname."

With that rather formal request, he turned quickly and went back to his desk. For a moment, Harry was too indignant to do anything but stare after him. Suddenly, he found himself on his feet, and a moment later he was leaning forward over Malfoy's table whispering furiously:

"I did? I did? It was your father's master who put images in my head to lure me there and sent your father and his lot to ambush me. Is it my fault he underestimated my backup? Again? All I did was try to not die! I wasn't even there when your father was captured -- I was chasing Lestrange."

"It's easy for you to say," Malfoy spat back. His pale cheeks were spotted with pink. "Whatever you get into, you always get out of. Always."

"My godfather died in that fight, Draco! And that was my fault. And I loved him! There's no way to get him back, now -- no breakout, no deal, no pardon can bring him back to me!"

Harry stopped, panting. He'd said "Draco" again, he realized.

"Sorry, Malfoy."

Malfoy was staring at him, brows drawn.

"No one died in that fight."

"We were in the Department of Mysteries. There wasn't a body."

"Wouldn't someone have said something? Wouldn't he have been reported missing, at some point? This mysterious godfather of yours?"

"Sirius Black." Harry wished he felt well enough to appreciate the shock on Malfoy's face. "He'd been missing a long time."

"You were in touch with Black?" At Harry's small nod, Malfoy's eyes widened yet further. "A Muggle-killer? Who betrayed your parents?"

"He did not!" Harry stopped to steady his breathing. He wondered how best to explain Sirius to Malfoy. He couldn't say anything that would implicate Professor Dumbledore, or Remus.

He had barely registered the approaching footsteps before a mass of black swirled through the doorway and the Potions Master stalked past them.

"Mr. Potter," came his biting voice. "When I arrive, you are to be at your seat, not harassing better pupils. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry darted to his seat. Fortunately, his supplies were all ready, so Snape could not dock him more points for needing to set up. A minute later, he had no worry to spare for anything but the safe handling of Lobalug venom.

Malfoy caught Harry up on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Hang back a bit, Potter."

Harry slowed down and let their classmates get ahead of him. Malfoy walked beside him.

"You knew Sirius Black?"

"A bit. We met the year he escaped. I stayed with him for a few weeks, last winter."

"Where?"

"Some family property. I don't know where -- we portkeyed, and he wouldn't let me leave. Safer all around."

"What makes you think he was innocent? I mean, other than that he didn't kill you. He could have other reasons not to."

"Ever heard of Wormtail?"

Malfoy was silent for a minute. Harry suspected he was trying to decide how much of an answer was prudent.

"I've heard of someone with that name."

"Yes -- that one. His real name is Peter Pettigrew. He's the wizard that Sirius supposedly killed. Peter caused the explosion and killed all those Muggles to escape Sirius, after he -- Peter -- betrayed my parents."

They were climbing slowly up the stairs. Harry looked over at Malfoy's uncertain expression and snorted. "Really -- don't your parents tell you anything? It was your father who realized Sirius was back, and your mother who figured out how to use him as bait for me." Harry felt a quick rise of hatred at the thought. He worked at holding it in its proper place. "To be honest," he said, as calmly as possible, "I hate both your parents. They've both messed up my life -- mine personally -- in big ways, and I could never forgive your father for what he did to Ginny."

Malfoy's jaw was clamped tight, but he hadn't started yelling, yet. Harry figured that was as good as he could expect.

"I'm willing to not hold them against you," he said, "and I can even accept that you care about them. They're your family, after all. But I could never be less than glad that your father got caught."

"Potter, give me any more of your opinion and I'll blast you into the wall."

"I'm finished."

"Good." Malfoy quickened his pace. Harry let him gain some distance before starting to move again. Today probably wasn't the day to try pairing with Malfoy in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Hermione sighed and looked, again, at the note from Ron.

Hermione,

Walk after classes? I'll meet you in the trophy room.

Ron

They had taken advantage of Harry's absence the night before, as unwelcome as it was, to start on the map. It required a potion, but a very simple one that Hermione had made in forty minutes from ingredients in the student store cupboards. That was good, because they were going to need a lot of it.

The procedure, as Hermione deduced it from spells in the two of the three books, was simple, but time consuming. They needed to walk through all the areas they wanted to map, while carrying the potion, which, when a little common mugwort was crumbled into it, bubbled and gave off slightly fragrant fumes for several minutes. The fumes seemed to be important to determining the dimensions of the room -- Hermione suspected that large rooms would require them to walk back and forth a bit. The trophy room would be a good place to test that. While one person carried the potion, the other carried the parchment and, when each room or section of corridor was prepared, used a spell to capture the space onto the map. One person then needed to detect the name of the other, put that on the map, and set the map to continually renew the detection. Again, this needed to repeated, though not quite as frequently. It seemed to have a greater range than the mapping spell itself.

They had tested the potion and spell in the room where Hermione had brewed the potion and the corridor outside, and it had worked well. Conveniently, the rooms mapped seemed to arrange themselves on the parchment to allow room for additions. They had set aside a parchment for each floor. Later they would use a spell from the third book to combine them into one, and another spell from the same book to make the map invisible.

When they had returned to the tower, just at curfew, Harry had still been out. Nearly two hours later, they had given up on waiting and had decided to head up to their dormitories. Hermione had said that she should tell McGonagall, but Ron had tapped the parchment significantly.

"Better to handle it ourselves," he had said confidently.

It was a large family attitude, Hermione expected. Difficult as she found it to accept, sometimes, it was one of the things she liked about Ron. When he was handling a problem, he involved the necessary people, and no one else, and when he was angry at someone, he let them know directly. She thought they made a good team, as prefects, though Ron appeared lacksidasical. For the most part, he took care of it when someone needed a good private talking to, and she took care of it when McGonagall or the headmaster needed to be informed of someone's behavior. She had asked Ginny, who was desperately working on an Ancient Runes assignment that was due in the morning, to wake her if Harry did not return that evening, and then she had gone to bed.

It was twenty minutes after the end of classes, and Hermione was wondering if Ron had forgotten his suggestion, or if there was, perhaps, a second trophy room, when Ron finally arrived.

"Sorry I'm late -- I wanted to give something to Andrew and I couldn't find him."

"Well, we have a couple hours. Should we start here?"

"I thought we should start with the main classrooms, the library, and Dumbledore's office, if there's some way to manage that."

"I've been thinking about that. They can't have got into everywhere. If we get the fumes into a room, can we map it from the outside?"

"We'll need to try. How about here?"

They discovered they could map the inside of a broom cupboard from outside it, if they magically pushed the fumes in. Further experimentation showed this only worked for a limited distance, and they could not map a second room deep, no matter how Hermione charmed the fumes into it.

"How did they manage to break into everywhere?" Hermione wondered. "Even with Harry, we couldn't do that."

"Peter!" Ron said suddenly. "That's why they needed Peter."

She frowned at him a moment, then her eyes widened. "Oh. As a rat!"

Now it was Ron's turn to look confused. "But that wouldn't work, would it? A rat couldn't cast the spell."

"So he probably dragged the parchment in, turned back, and then cast the spell. I bet there are areas the identification charm fails, because they couldn't get a second person close enough."

They walked in and out of each of the classrooms, even the unused ones, with Ron censing, and Hermione casting. It was tedious, but they enjoyed seeing the map grow. Ron cheered the first time someone else walked on to it.

"Look! Lupin's just come into his office!" His face fell. "How are we ever going to do his rooms?"

"I'm more worried about how to do the library. We can't just walk in with this smelly stuff."

"Maybe we can persuade Lavender it will improve the aura of the room, then sneak in after her."

Hermione giggled. "How about the cloak?"

"Not unless we bring Harry in. If he's away, he has the cloak with him, and if he's not, I can't lift it and disappear with you for hours."

"Could we bring him in?" Hermione asked. "I feel guilty doing this without him."

"No! If he knows we've made a map, he'll take it every time he leaves, and we'll never be able to use it to find him."

"But what are we going to tell him if he finds out?"

Ron shook his head and shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe we should ask Ginny. She's an expert at excuses -- better than the twins, even."

Harry was waiting for them at dinner. He glowered at them. Hermione was just about to tell him he had no right to feel snubbed when Harry finally spoke. "Ron," he snapped, "you missed practice."

"I...." Ron smacked himself in the forehead. "Damn! I forgot."

"Well, don't forget Friday evening. At least this was a short one, but I wanted it for people to get comfortable with each other." He frowned at Hermione. "Where were you two? Any time I'm around, you're gone."

"And any time we're around, you're gone," Ron retorted.

"I haven't been gone much! I've only missed curfew twice."

"Twice in a week and a half. Where were you, last night?"

"Oh... I was practicing in the Room of Requirement, and I knocked myself out with a reflected sleep spell. I shouldn't try that sort of thing alone." Harry smiled contritely at Hermione. "How about studying together, tonight? I have a few things I need to find in the library...."

"I'd like that," Hermione said immediately. "I have a Charms paper that could use a few more references."

"Well, you two are welcome to it," Ron said cheerfully. "I'll study in the common room, where I can have some fun as well, and I'll see you when you get back."

Hermione sent Ron a grateful smile. It wasn't the first time he had arranged his schedule to see that she got private time with Harry. Ron nodded back at her, biting his lip slightly. Have fun, he mouthed silently.

Studying in the library with Hermione might not be the most romantic way to spend an evening, Harry thought, but it was enjoyable, in a quiet way. Most of their attention was going to their studies, but he still found it pleasant to look up, now and then, and see her next to him, flipping frantically through a book, or chewing thoughtfully on her quill. It felt warm and nice to have her close. He settled an arm around her and went back to making notes on the 1981 laws restricting items "commonly associated" with Dark Arts.

"Harry?"

"Hm?" Harry answered.

"Am I your girlfriend?"

Harry looked up at that. He'd been trying to figure that out himself. Everyone else seemed sure, but he wasn't. The last week had not clarified his feelings at all. He pulled her closer. "Do you want to be?" he asked.

"Well, that depends," Hermione blushed, but her voice did not waver as she continued. "Who else are you spending time with, when you disappear?"

Harry was immediately annoyed. He let go of her. "Hermione ... When I go away... I'm not with a girl, okay?"

"Fine. Who else are you spending time with?"

"It is not romantic, and it's not really your business."

"Fine. That's okay." Hermione shrugged. "I guess I don't want to be your girlfriend, then."

Harry felt the same flush of desperate urgency that had prompted him to kiss her in Diagon Alley. "Hermione, really!" he pleaded. Madam Pince glared over at him, and he dropped his voice to a whisper. "It isn't. I swear."

"Look, you were right about not having veto power over the friends of someone you're seeing -- but you ought to at least know who those friends are. From the way you answered, I can tell you haven't been alone, and I don't want to go out with somebody who won't tell me who he spends his time with."

This is going all wrong. I should have stayed around more; I should have set up an alibi when I went out. I can do it better; I just wasn't expecting them to be so suspicious. "Hermione," he said intently, "Don't you think you're over-reacting to two evenings of --"

"Three. I don't believe that thing about last night."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because you obviously can't tell anybody when you're in trouble!"

Harry hid his face in his hands for a minute. Not the stupid Dursleys, again! "Hermione," he said seriously, "I love you."

A flash of anger crossed her face. "That is not what we are talking about."

"That may not be what you're talking about, but if you're going to ask me if we're you're my girlfriend, I think I can talk about it!"

"Because you're certainly not going to talk about what you do with your evenings, now, are you?"

"I CAN'T!" Harry yelled. He looked over at Madam Pince and gestured an apology. "Okay, you're right," he whispered. "I've met somebody a couple times. It's nothing bad. I'd like to tell you about it, but it's not safe for the other person. It's not my secret, I've promised, and I cannot tell you, okay? I can't."

"Harry -- If you can't tell me, I understand," Hermione soothed. "I'm not upset. I just can't be your girlfriend, if that's what it's going to be like."

"Fine!" Harry raged. He forced himself to repeat the word like he meant it. "Fine. You're not my girlfriend. I still love you."

Hermione's hand covered his briefly. Her own was unaccountably warm for the cool room.

"I love you too," she said, matter-of-factly, and went back to her reading. Harry stared at his book for a long time before remembering to resolve it into words.

They left the library when it closed. Hermione walked as close to Harry as possible without touching him. He badly wanted to put an arm around her, but thought that would probably be at odds with her current status as officially not his girlfriend.

"Harry?" she said seriously.

"What?" To Harry's dismay, his voice came out angry. He tried to calm himself.

"I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"You look grim all the time. Well, not all the time. You look intense all the time and grim a lot of it. And you disappear."

"Look, I've had a really stressful summer, okay? And things aren't exactly back to normal."

"When aren't you under stress?" she shot back. "Harry, I know you said you couldn't tell me, but I.... You worry me."

"Why? What on earth could you be worried about?"

"Let's see.... With your illegal potions, and your Dark Arts books, and your generally cold attitude--"

"I do not have any illegal potions, I have never done Dark Arts--" Harry stopped. "Except for a failed attempt to cast Cruciatus, last spring--"

"What!"

"On Lestrange. It didn't work. Apparently you need to enjoy causing pain to cast it. I'm just too nice, or something." Harry smiled slyly at her. "So there, see -- I can't run off and become a Death Eater."

Hermione snorted. Harry paused, distracted by his own words. "I wonder if that's what it's like," he murmured pensively. "I should ask...."

Hermione looked sharply at him.

"Ask who? You know anyone who could tell you?"

Harry snorted. "Perhaps I should ask Professor Snape. 'Excuse me, professor; what was it like becoming a Death Eater? Did you have any friends you couldn't tell?'" He made his voice rather like Colin Creevey's -- excited and fast. "'Where did you tell them you were going? Did they ask why you'd started wearing long sleeves, all the time, or did everyone just know what that meant?'" He looked ingenuously at Hermione, who bit her lip. He thought it was in part to restrain a smile.

"Harry, please don't. He'd kill you. And Gryffindor would be so far into negative numbers that you couldn't make it up to us if you single-handedly defeated Voldemort in front of the entire school."

Harry grinned. "The Dark Lord would not be interested in facing me at Hogwarts. He doesn't like risks."

"What did you say?" Hermione stopped and whirled to face him. Harry glanced back at her in confusion.

"The Da-" Harry winced. "Er.... Tom doesn't like risks." Slowly, he turned to face Hermione. She had her hands on her hips and her brows drawn down, but still looked more horrified than angry.

"Since when do you give Voldemort a title, Harry?" she asked sharply. It was anger, as soon as the words started.

"I didn't ... I didn't mean anything by it." Damn it, where did that come from? Have I said that before?

"Say 'Voldemort.'"

Harry closed his eyes briefly. "I'm not allowed at the moment," he whispered. Nervously, he met her eyes.

"Not allowed?!"

"Snape went to Dumbledore and told him that until I was better at Occlumency, I shouldn't say that. It might give him a way in." Harry bit his lip. "Dumbledore agreed, and you know what he thinks of that! My Occlumency is lot better now, though. I should ask the headmaster if I can, now...."

"'But 'Lord?!'" Hermione fumed, "Why that, of everything he's called?!"

It's just what I'm used to hear---" Harry broke off in mid-word, feeling heat flood his face. Great job, Harry. That's reassuring.

"Who are your friends now?" she asked coldly.

"You and Ron, mostly."

"Who are you with when you go 'walking?'"

Harry was silent.

"Say 'Voldemort.'"

Harry bit his lip.

"Say it!"

"I'll ask if...."

"Good night, Harry." Hermione turned on her heel and hurried away. Harry watched her ascend the staircase, her pace fast and her back rigid. Of all the stupid...!

"Voldemort," he called out after her, loudly, but quickly, to get the name out before he changed his mind.

She turned. Her face looked pale and strained, even in the torchlight. "Thank you, Harry," she said. Her voice had softened, but she did not return. "Good night."

Hermione was in no mood to socialize. She went straight through the common room, past Ron, who looked like he wanted to ask her something, past Ginny, who was sketching her housemates again, and up to her dormitory.

Harry had said "the Dark Lord." Harry did not call Voldemort the Dark Lord; Death Eaters called him that. Harry called Voldemort "Voldemort." But not tonight.

She did not, of course, need to worry about Harry becoming a Death Eater, as he had joked. She was quite sure both that he would never support Voldemort, and that Voldemort wouldn't have him as a servant. Still, Harry's deliberately cheeky "Tom" did not make up for him dignifying Voldemort with his self-proclaimed title.

She was still in a deep funk twenty minutes later, when the door opened, and Ginny came in, looking far worse.

Hermione was on her feet in an instant. "Ginny? What's wrong?"

She was terrified of the answer. Ginny looked like someone had died. Hermione found herself hoping that Dean had dumped her. As much as she did not want that, it could produced this look of glazed anguish with less lasting harm than any other cause she could imagine.

"That boy ...." Ginny choked.

Dean, then. Hermione took a deep breath and prepared to be sympathetic.

"That boy we've been treating as Harry. He's not."

Hermione tried to make some sense of this. Not what? Finally she gave up and asked, "What?"

"He's not Harry," Ginny said emphatically. "I've tried to sketch him four times, this week, and it kept coming out wrong. Finally, I decided to do him as a stranger, and I realized it was wrong because his facial structure is different. I used to sketch him all the time, third year, and when I thought I knew what his face was like, I got it wrong."

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. "Ginny, he's grown up a bit, that's all."

"That wouldn't change his cheekbones, or the shape of his mouth."

"Ginny, you're imaging things. He's older, he's skinnier, and ..." Hermione hesitated, then steeled herself, "and you're not infatuated with him, anymore. You're a better artist than you used to be, especially after those games with Dean, last spring -- perhaps you see more accurately."

"I know what I see, and what I've seen. That is not Harry!"

"Ginny, please!" Hermione said desperately. "I cannot take this, right now! If you have some sort of real evidence -- not your subjective observations from now compared to your subjective observations from two years ago, let me know. Right now, I want to go to sleep."

Ginny's mouth hardened in the grim determination of a child who has learned to find her own way.

"All right," she said. "I'll get it." With that, she turned and marched out of Hermione's room.

Hermione woke, gasping. It was the middle of the night. She had fallen asleep in her clothes, on top of her still-made bed. Her eyes itched and her teeth felt fuzzy. She could still picture the dream-Harry's mocking smile and the Dark Mark on his arm.

"Stupid," she muttered. "Stupid dream. All Ginny's fault."

But Ginny had not mentioned Death Eaters.

Hermione got up and went through her usual going to bed routine. When she was in soft pajamas, with her teeth clean, the dream seemed rather silly, though she didn't think she'd dare confess it to anyone. Her subconscious should not be so foolish. Perhaps I can dream about Voldemort joining S.P.E.W., she thought, as she went, yawning, to her bed. She lay down and slept soundly.

"So, mate," Ron said, as they left the Great Hall to go to Charms, "you set to tell me about Hermione, now?"

"Honestly, I'm still not really sure what happened."

"Well, I know about that. Still...."

"She said she wouldn't be my girlfriend if I wouldn't tell her where I've been and who with, and those things." Harry looked at Ron and frowned. "Don't you think that's kind of over-reacting? I mean, I've wandered off a few times. What business of it is hers?"

Ron looked uneasy. "Well, I would say yes, but, Harry...."

"But what?"

"Well, we were talking, and we both knew that the Dursleys were awful to you..."

"And?" Harry asked sharply. If Ron, of all people, dares tell me I'm emotionally incompetent....

"But you never told us about the boot cupboard. Or them telling all the neighbors you were some kind of criminal...."

"You didn't need to know that! What does it matter?"

Ron dropped his gaze to the stone stairs. "Well, we reckon if you're wandering off saying you need time alone, that could mean anything from you need time alone to you hate all of us."

"Ron! Look, I can't imagine not being friends with you. I know we've fought, now and then, but we're always miserable about it, right? And with Hermione, too."

Ron shrugged slightly. "About Hermione -- I haven't seen her all morning. Are you two okay with each other? At all? She was glaring daggers when she came in."

Harry groaned. "Oh, you wouldn't believe how stupid I was! She's probably not speaking to me."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I was talking about ..." Harry hesitated -- "er, Voldemort." Nothing bad happened when he said the name. His scar didn't even twinge. Harry wondered when he had started expecting something bad to happen. Right, he thought. I don't care what Dumbledore says; I'm going back to saying Voldemort. I'll warn him, though, and ask him what the risks are. Today. "Except I wasn't allowed to say that over the summer. And you know how I hate the 'you-know-who' business. So I've mostly been saying 'Tom.' Except last night, I wasn't thinking, and I said..." He ducked his head. "Er, I said 'the Dark Lord.'" Harry could feel his face heating at even quoting the phrase. "She was so angry."

Ron frowned. "I... You've said that before. I remember thinking it was odd."

"I have? Oh, crap. I have no idea when I started that."

"I remember! You said it after you'd given me that potion. 'It's better than being possessed by the Dark Lord.' Does it matter?"

Harry noticed he was pulling his fingers absently through his hair and forced himself to stop. That's it! I'm cutting it. He looked around. They were momentarily clear of the other clusters of students. "It's what the Death Eaters call him, mostly," he answered quietly.

"Oh." Ron looked at the abashed expression on Harry's face and laughed. "Where did you pick that up?" He scowled suddenly. "Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Harry returned incredulously. "We're barely speaking. Actually, I think he's back to snubbing me. We certainly haven't been chatting about ... him, er, Voldemort. Professor Snape says that, though."

"I wonder why?" Ron said sarcastically. "Anyway, why is Snape talking to you about You-Know-Who?"

"Well, after his -- Tom Riddle's -- first fall, a lot of laws changed. Professor Snape has been talking to me about that. So it's a lot of--" Harry heard footsteps behind them. Other students were drawing near. "Uh.... Later, I think. Someplace more private."

Hermione went up to Gryffindor after classes. She planned to go to her room to exchange her books, then go to the library. Harry was waiting for her in the common room. He walked over to intercept her and stopped in front of her.

"Excuse me, please," Hermione said frostily.

"I just wanted to tell you something."

She stared back at him, trying to look as aloof as he did. After a few seconds, he took this as permission to continue.

"I told Professor Dumbledore that I'm going back to saying Voldemort's name. He says that should be fine, at my current proficiency, as long as I don't forget my exercises, at night."

A trace of hurt showed through at that. Hermione couldn't help but feel sympathetic.

"Good," she said. "I... It's part of you, you know, that you'll say his name."

Harry brightened at this slight sign of approval. "Hermione... when I can tell you what's been happening, if I can explain why I couldn't, could we, perhaps, try again?"

He reached out and took her hands, and despite herself, she smiled.

"Depends on what you tell me, now, doesn't it?" she said tartly. She expected Harry to smile, but he bit his lip apprehensively. Although the observation did not seem to encourage him, he nodded acceptance.

"Can the three of us do something together, this weekend?" he asked quickly. "Ron and I were talking, and I don't think we've been spending enough time all together. You know how bad we can get."

"I was planning more research into the mysterious Augustus Maitland."

"Oh, not that!" Harry dropped her hands. "Snape's sent you on a fool's errand. He just wants to waste your time."

"No. He was annoyed -- and distracted. It meant something to him."

"How about a walk round the lake, instead?"

"We'll see what the weather's like."

"A visit with Hagrid?"

"Perhaps." Hermione shifted uneasily. "Could I ... go upstairs, now?"

"Oh -- of course." Harry hastily stepped to the side. "Later, then."

Hermione continued upstairs, feeling a little more cheerful. At this rate, things should be back to normal with Harry in a week or two. Perhaps, she thought, the way to protect their friendship was to firmly decide they would not date; that seemed to have worked with Ron. It might also lessen his disturbing new arrogance.

In her room, Hermione found Ginny sitting on one of the window seats, waiting for her.

"Ginny?"

"I have your proof," Ginny said. "Come look."

"Ginny," Hermione sighed. "Please...."

"Come look! You told to get evidence, and I did. Here!" Ginny flipped over a pile of photographs. Hermione came closer. On the top one, Harry was in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, leaning back against the staff box and critically watching something ahead of him. Hermione thought the picture must be from the tryouts. As she peered more closely at the photograph, the picture Harry glanced up at her and Ginny. He gave them a sly smile, then went back to surveying the unshown pitch.

Ginny placed the picture carefully on the table. Under it, she placed one of Harry flying, also from this year. Next to that, she placed an older one of him flying. In all, she set out eight pictures on the table, in pairs, each having one current picture, and one from the year before.

"Look," she said. She drew Hermione's attention to two pictures of Harry sitting quietly in the Gryffindor common room. Both were from the front, and both mostly Harry's face. "See the mouth?"

"It looks thinner," Hermione admitted. "But perhaps that's just expression?"

"Wait," Ginny said. "He smiles, now and then." Indeed, as she finished speaking, last week's Harry gave a little smile. Hermione thought it looked rather superior. She looked at the other picture, in which last year's Harry had a slight, absent pout, which, now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen on him recently. He also gave a little smile, which looked charmingly shy.

"It's the relative width of the lower lip, and the curve of the upper one. That's changed. Yes, the overall effect is that his mouth seems thinner. It makes him look more reserved, I think, especially when he's not smiling, or smiling just slightly. If you look at the flying pictures, it's mostly an intense look, but you'll occasionally see a big grin. Those are both different, too. It's partially in the mouth and partially in the cheeks. Look here." Ginny pointed to this or that of Harry's features in the paired pictures as she spoke.

Hermione looked, while Ginny continued to point and compare. The differences were subtle, but they were there, and Ginny was right -- they could not be accounted for by age or weight. The more she looked, the more convinced she became -- she was, indeed, looking at pictures of two different people.

"Oh my god," Hermione murmured. She felt numb. She looked up at Ginny. For the first time, she noticed that the girl, whose voice had been devoid of anything but an artist's enthusiasm for form, looked even worse than the day before. Her eyes were pink, and the lids puffy from crying. "What do you think...."

"I think he died," Ginny said flatly. "I think he died in the Death Eater attack, and they don't dare let anyone know." She swallowed. "Which is right, you know," she continued, her voice very high and tight with tension, "because people would give up hope, but I don't know how I'll ever manage to talk to -- to that boy."

Hermione looked back at the photos. "I wonder who he is?" A thought hit her suddenly, and she swayed.

"He believed all that nonsense about being in love with me ... but no one ever told him he says 'Voldemort' without batting an eye."

The idea was starting to get through her shock. She reached out to the picture of last year's Harry sitting in the common room. "Harry?" Her voice caught. The picture Harry gave a slight, shy smile. "Oh, god."

Ginny's wrapped an arm around her waist. "Would you like me to stay?"

Hermione, unable to speak, nodded.

Hermione stayed up in her room for hours. Ginny wanted her to go to dinner, but she refused, because she would not be able to explain why she kept breaking into tears. Ginny nodded and left. Hermione was surprised when she came back twenty minutes later with food from the kitchens.

After eating, Hermione felt a bit better. It was possible Harry was dead, she thought, but it was also possible he had just been injured and was being hidden someplace safe. She tried to keep herself from thinking of all the other ways such a problem might have been handled with less risk. Perhaps it was a special injury, from an attack that Voldemort could not find out had worked.

She had just tried a spell to make her eyes less red when Lavender Brown came up to the room.

"Ron wants to see you," she said. "Will you come down, or shall I tell him you're sleeping?"

"Is Harry there?" Hermione was embarrassed at how her voice wavered.

"He just left for the library." Lavender gave her a look of deepest sympathy. "Poor dear. Sometimes it's the boys you'd never suspect."

Hermione walked down and met Ron. He surveyed her a moment, then frowned.

"Let go someplace more private," Hermione suggested nervously. "I think we need to talk."

"Are you going to get our work things?" Ron asked, puzzled. Hermione knew he meant the things for the map spell.

"No. I just want to talk."

Ron shrugged. "Let's go, then."

They walked quietly down the first corridor branching off from the stairs. Ron led Hermione from there to a small room with two doors. Several desks were stored there, conveniently blocking parts of the room from view of anyone in either doorway. They settled on the dusty floor behind one such desk. Hermione tried to think what to say.

"I've talked to Harry," Ron volunteered. "I don't think you should be so upset at him."

"That's not it," Hermione answered. She paused, uncertain how to explain the situation so that Ron would listen. Ron was not likely to take Ginny's news well.

"Than what is it?" Ron challenged.

Hermione swallowed. "That's not Harry," she said timidly.

"What?"

"That ... that boy's not Harry. Ginny realized. I wouldn't believe her at --"

"Are you mental?" Ron screamed.

"Ginny had photographs. His mouth is different. That's probably why he looks annoyed, so often. And his face is shaped differently. He looks a lot like Harry, but he's not Harry!"

"You are mental."

Hermione took a deep breath and tried not to take Ron's reaction personally. She had looked much the same way at Ginny. "Look, Ron, I didn't want to believe it either, but when I looked at the photos, I had to agree. Ginny thinks he probably died in the Death Eater attack, and they don't dare let anyone find out. That's why it took so long for--"

"I am not listening to any more of this ..." Ron flailed his arms around as if trying to grab a word from the air -- "codswallop!"

"Codswallop?" Hermione repeated, distantly amused.

"Shit!" Ron shrieked. He scrambled to his feet and stood staring at her for a moment, breathing heavily. "Do you want to finish the map?"

Hermione pulled her legs in tight to her body and tried not to shake. "I don't see any point, now."

"Then send me the parts, and the books and what we've got of the potion. I'll finish it."

"You need someone to help you."

"I'll have Harry help me."

"That's not Harry."

"Just send it over with Ginny, or something." Ron turned to the door, then paused. "No -- Lavender." He opened the door. "Oh, and Hermione?"

"I know. You think I'm mental."

"You're okay as a friend. Don't date anyone else I like."

Ron left, slamming the door behind him so hard that it bounced back open. He stormed off down the hallway.

Hermione spent a while curled up under the desk, trying to cry. It was no use; she had run out of tears in her dormitory. She thought that she would gladly survive the humiliation of being wrong just to have Ron be right, but when she remembered those pictures, she knew he couldn't be. When she finally felt like she could survive the dash through the common room, she climbed to her feet and headed back to Gryffindor.

In her room, she got together the spell books and potions book that she and Ron had been using to make the map, and put next to them the leftover potion and potions components, the parchments, and the special ink. She wondered if she had some sort of bag she could put them in -- not her school bag -- something disposable.

A thought occurred to her, and she went to her trunk. Under her spare robes and dress robes was a black plastic bag with handles, and in that a pair of black leather trousers that had been subtly scenting all her school clothes since the trip to Diagon Alley. Slowly, she took them out and stroked the soft leather. She smiled slightly, remembering Harry as the African prince, his head wrapped in gold -- but that had already not been Harry, she realized. It had been a charming, maddening, half-familiar boy who gossiped and smoked cigarettes and kissed her passionately and without warning.

Trembling, Hermione slipped the leather back into the bag. She set the bag on the floor and added to it the books and parchment, the potions things, and the ink. She then slid the collection under her bed, telling herself she would give it to Ron in the morning.

She was crying again.

Breakfast had been weird, Harry thought. Hermione was avoiding him, again, though she looked more hurt than angry, and Ron was almost too friendly and shooting dark looks at her -- obviously they had fought about him, again.

Potions was no better -- Malfoy sniggered whenever Harry talked, and bumped Harry's table hard enough to spill things on his way to the supply closet. Harry, of course, lost points for making a mess, but that didn't bother him so much as the sheer childishness of Malfoy's spite.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ron had saved a seat for him. Hermione was sitting with Padma. When Malfoy came in, he sat with Hannah, who immediately turned pink and started subtly rearranging her robes. Harry thought it was rather disgusting.

Professor Lupin entered a step behind Neville.

"For the next week," he said, "we are going to be working on an understanding of what makes something Dark Arts, and how we define, detect, and restrict Dark Arts. Today's class, I'm afraid, will be entirely theory, but I hope to have a few engaging demonstrations for next week, to break the monotony, a bit."

Harry glanced surreptitiously over at Malfoy. The Death Eater's son already looked contemptuous.

"First," Lupin said, "can anyone give me a definition of Dark Arts?" He managed not to look at Malfoy as he asked. Harry was impressed.

Ernie Macmillan raised his hand. At Lupin's nod, he said:

"Harmful or coercive magic?"

"No, although the expression is sometimes used loosely to cover that. Neville?

"Spells cast by hate?"

"Closer. Anyone else?"

Harry raised his hand. When Lupin nodded at him, he began.

"Dark Arts spells require part of the caster's soul to augment and direct the magic used in casting. Emotion is often required, but it doesn't need to be hate. It doesn't even need to be negative, though negative emotions are more frequently used. The danger of this is—"

Lupin cut him off. "We'll come back to risks later, Harry. There's actually a classification division, here. Some systems class all the magic Harry described as Dark; others reserve that label for only those cast using negative emotions as Dark Arts, and refer to the entire class as Soul Arts. In Britain, at least, the entire class is proscribed--"

Harry, who was already annoyed at not being allowed to finish his description, tensed at this oft-repeated falsehood. He raised his hand. "That's not true!" he said, without waiting to be acknowledged. "There are at least three Dark Arts spells in controlled use -- the Binding Oath, in government, and two healing--"

"Harry!" Lupin snapped. "Please wait to be called on. Yes, there are a very few exceptions, but in general--"

"We are not a lot of second-years that require simplification!" Harry shot back. "If you are going to talk about this, Remus, do it honestly!"

Lupin stared at him. "What did you call me?"

"'Re-' Oh." Harry reddened. "Sorry, sir."

A few people snickered.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." Lupin softened the punishment with a slight, amused smile. "And please wait your turn to speak. Had you let me finish my sentence, I might have mentioned exceptions -- you don't know, now, do you?"

"No, sir. Sorry, sir." Harry glanced over at Malfoy, and found the Slytherin watching him in a amusement. When their eyes met, Malfoy raised his eyebrows in an expression of astonishment. Harry watched him slowly raise his hand.

Remus finished what he was saying about the Binding Oath, and called on Malfoy. Malfoy settled back in his chair, and his eyes again locked on Harry's.

"Harry," he drawled, making Ron tense at Harry's side, "described that surprisingly well, but with one omission -- a rather interesting one, I think, for him." He smirked. "Many Dark Arts spells also use part of the soul of the victim -- sorry, subject. This is true of all those that leave a permanent mark." His eyes flicked up significantly, though at his distance there would be no difference in focus for Harry's eyes and Harry's scar. Harry brought his brows down in question. Malfoy nodded seriously.

Lupin seemed rather taken aback. After a moment of awkward silence he said:

"Er... Thank you for that contribution, Mr. Malfoy. I had heard that of binding spells, but not of ... er, curse scars."

Privately, Harry thought that, considering the effects of his scar, it could probably be classified as a malfunctioning binding spell, however unintentional. He gave Malfoy an evaluating look. Malfoy smirked.

The rest of the class was somewhat better. Harry waited his turn, and Lupin did allow him to say his piece on the risks of Dark Arts, which brought him satisfyingly incredulous looks from Malfoy, even if it did make Lupin seem a bit uncomfortable. Ron shook his head, but didn't seem quite as disturbed as the professor.

"Well, that will be all," Professor Lupin said brightly. "I'd like ten inches from each of you on Monday -- just a short review of what we covered today, so that I can be sure everyone understood it. Harry, could you stay after, please?"

Harry looked at Ron. "Wait for me?" he asked in an urgent whisper. Ron nodded. He stood by the door while Harry walked up to Remus's desk.

"About the scar...." Remus began.

"I bet he's right. It behaves like a binding spell, just one with no focus."

"Those are called linking spells, Harry."

"Fine, but they're in the same class."

Remus nodded. "Could you, perhaps, ask your friend to wait outside for a moment?" he suggested.

Harry stepped back. "Sorry." He could feel himself reddening. Remus's entire face tightened.

"Back to that, are we?" he asked. If Harry had not known him well, he would have called Remus's words light, but he could hear the touch of tension in the familiar voice.

"Sorry," he repeated sincerely. "Want to schedule a meeting?"

"That is acceptable?"

"Yes. Oh, absolutely. I'd like to talk."

"Tomorrow afternoon, then."

"Sounds good. Time?"

"Three-thirty. My office."

Harry nodded and smiled as warmly as he could. "I'll see you then, Professor Lupin."

Care of Magical Creatures passed without major incident, although Hermione, this time, requested a Calming Draught. She looked on the verge of tears most of class, but Ron restrained Harry from approaching her.

"You'll just upset her more, mate. Come on, now. Parvati will take care of her."

Quidditch practice was odd. Ginny and Ron seemed to have fought, as well, and Ginny was twitchy whenever Harry tried to talk to her. She, also, appeared to have been crying. Harry decided there must be something up with the girls other than Hermione's argument with him -- that could not possibly have upset Ginny so much.

After dinner, Ron suggested they go right up to the sixth-year boys dormitory.

"The girls have some sort of drama going on. Let's give it a miss. We've hardly spent any time together since first night back."

Harry shrugged and followed Ron upstairs. For a while, they sat and talked about classes and Quidditch, but the conversation was oddly strained. After a while, Harry began to wonder why Ron was keeping him in the room. He stopped pacing, which made him wonder when he had started, and looked over at his friend.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked. "You look upset."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not upset. Just thinking."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Just ... wondering what's going on. I mean, you've just spent all day with me. You don't do that, anymore. Now you seem set to spend all evening with me. What's up?"

Ron looked embarrassed. He stretched back on his bed, rummaged in his bedside drawer for a moment, and pulled out a chocolate frog, which he tossed at Harry. "Here. Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Thinking."

Harry put down the sweet, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against his bed. "All right. What's going on downstairs that I'm not supposed to know about?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are we here?" Harry growled.

"Because I miss you."

The reply was short, cross, and utterly sincere. Harry didn't know how to respond to it. He sat down. Ron sat up and crossed his legs in front of him, but looked down at his calves.

"What do you remember about when we met?" Ron asked. Harry hesitated, wondering what was wanted of him, then finally shrugged, and began to talk.

"It was your family first. I was all alone, with no idea how to get to the platform, and terrified I'd miss the train. Then this family came by -- with an owl! And your mother helped me. She was very kind, and didn't make me feel stupid." He looked appraisingly at Ron, who was still looking down, but now smiling slightly. Harry continued.

"You came to sit with me on the train, and you stared at me at first, but you caught yourself and were nice enough to try not to, and you got over my name pretty quickly. You told me about your family, and I told you a bit about mine.

"When the trolley came by, it had nothing I'd seen before, so I bought some of everything and shared it all with you. I'd never had money before. It was fun, and the sweets were better than Muggle ones. My first Chocolate Frog had Dumbledore's card, and it was the first time I'd seen a wizard picture. You thought it was strange that people in Muggle pictures stayed put. You explained to me about houses and Quidditch -- oh, and Hermione brought Neville by; that was how we started talking about houses -- and Malfoy came by and was a conceited ass, then left when Scabbers bit Goyle."

He stopped, feeling odd at the thought of Scabbers, back when he'd just been Ron's rat.

"But you're nice to Malfoy, now," Ron said bitterly.

"Ron! That was years ago! We were little kids! And the start of it was him trying to make friends with me --"

"By attacking me."

"Oh, yes!" Harry gave him a wry smile. "He obviously had no idea how to make friends with someone who wasn't already eager to be in with a Malfoy." He thought about James's description of the Hogwarts Express. "Rather sad, if you think about it."

"Sad?"

"He'd probably never met anyone who hadn't been ordered to be nice to him. I must have been a shock."

"It would never occur to me to feel sympathy for the overprivileged."

Harry didn't want to argue the point. He shrugged. "Honestly, Ron, you're much better at justice than mercy. Hermione even more so."

"And you?" Ron challenged.

"And me. It's a Gryffindor trait, I think." Harry frowned thoughtfully. "I spent a lot of my summer thinking about this -- the good and bad sides of our traits, I mean. Not just as right and wrong, but as productive and not productive."

"Sounds rather Slytherin."

"Does it? I mean, something can be morally right, but still not useful or kind -- freeing house elves, for example."

"Oh." Ron chewed at his lower lip a moment. "Okay. I see what you mean."

"Treating Malfoy as my enemy hasn't got me anything but trouble, and it certainly hasn't improved him, any. I'd like to see what treating him as an intelligent acquaintance does."

"And the Dark Arts stuff?"

"Came rather out of the same thing. I was interested in where the line is drawn -- especially between legal and illegal, or between levels of punishment. It's a bit inconsistent, actually, when you start looking too closely. Scary, when you start thinking about people like Lupin, or even Hagrid -- there's talk about mandating registration of part-humans, now."

Ron frowned. "But ... it shouldn't be any problem if they don't do anything wrong, right? A lot of the werewolves can't be trusted -- Lupin even says so. Registration is for his protection, as well, so he can't get in trouble for something he didn't do."

"It doesn't protect him at all, Ron! If a werewolf attacks in the area he was known to be in, they'll round him up. Say something happens in Hogsmeade, and it's done by an unregistered werewolf, or a werewolf who claimed to be somewhere else. They'll bring in Lupin for questioning, and they have the right to give him veritaserum, rather than getting testimony, because it's quick. So even if people saw him in his room, he'll be questioned."

"But questioning will show he didn't do it. So what's the problem?"

"What if questioning also shows he knows about a werewolf who didn't register? Or that he lied, some previous time, about where he would be? Or anything else? Helping Sirius? Then he can be jailed for that. Even if it shows nothing, he's had his privacy ripped away, and we've had days of Snape as a substitute."

"Now, that's a scary thought." Ron smiled wanly at Harry. "Of course, now you're back to championing morally right, and I'm defending useful."

"People should be treated decently," Harry said stubbornly. "Not just wizards, and not just humans, either. All people."

"What do you consider a person, though?"

They talked for hours about everything from the line between people and creatures to favorite sweets. Neville came in and went to bed, then Dean, then Seamus. After several complaints, Harry and Ron ended up on Harry's bed with the curtains drawn to protect the others from whispered stories and spelled light. In the middle of a very funny story about Fred and George charming their mum's broom to go into long speeches, whenever she tried to sweep with it, about how it was going to run away and become a Quidditch star, Harry realized he couldn't stop yawning.

"Am I boring you?" Ron asked, and promptly yawned himself.

"No, it's funny. I'm just exhausted. What time is it?"

Ron poked his face and wand out of the curtains. "Oh no!"

"What?"

"It's three o'clock. A little past."

"Oh. No wonder." Harry had been feeling achy, as well as tired, and realized now that it was past time for him to take his potion. He usually did that before the others were up in the room, or while they were out getting ready for bed, and he'd skipped it the night before.

"Better go brush our teeth, and stuff," he said, pushing the curtain open.

"You can," Ron yawned. "I'm too tired." He crossed to his bed and lay down. "G'night, Harry."

"Good night." Harry decided to do his usual bedtime things. Ron should be asleep when he got back.

"Harry?"

Harry stopped with his hand on the door. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad we're friends."

Harry smiled. "Me too," he said.

When he got back, the room was full of peaceful breathing. He went straight to the drawer of his bedside table, opened it with a muttered spell, and took out a vial of the muscle-relaxing potion. Quickly, he shook it, opened it, and downed it while it was still fizzing.

"Harry?"

Only exhaustion kept Harry from flinching. "Still awake?"

"What was that?"

"Just something I take for muscle pain. I'm supposed to have it every other day, at least."

"Muscle pain?" Ron repeated questioningly.

"It's ..." Harry thought quickly. He certainly hadn't shown any signs of pain, and if Ron went and talked to Madam Pomfrey, he'd find out that she had not given any potions to Harry. He decided to borrow liberally from the truth.

"Since the Death Eater attack. It had some ... complications."

"You weren't there." Ron sounded strangely panicked.

"No, but I was affected by the wards coming down." That, Harry thought, was pretty good. Even other members of the Order didn't really understand Dumbledore's wards. "So I need this potion," he said. "I will for a few months. Snape makes it for me directly. Talk to Dumbledore if you like, but not Pomfrey. She doesn't know."

"Shouldn't she, though?" Again, Ron sounded more distressed than Harry thought reasonable. Honestly! I've just given him permission to talk to Dumbledore about it. He can't think it's anything bad.

"No. He'd need to tell her too much about what happened to the wards, and what happened to me. He hasn't even told his old crowd that. It's strictly for people who need to know."

When Hermione came back from a late Saturday breakfast, the common room was empty except for Ron. His red hair was as disheveled as Harry's used to be, and his eyes were bleary from lack of sleep.

"Where's Harry?" she asked. The words came out sharp and spiteful, with more than a little jealousy behind them. Hermione was immediately ashamed. Sorrow and fear had kept her from sleeping; her emotions were showing before she saw them herself. "Sorry," she said, just as Ron said:

"Still in bed."

"I really am sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that."

Ron pushed a hand through his hair and looked about him as if he might find a large package labeled "The Answer" floating about somewhere.

"Ron?" Hermione asked gently. "What's wrong?"

"I spent last night talking to Harry."

He didn't seem able to continue beyond that. Hermione looked beyond his general exhaustion and saw the anxiety underlying it.

"And now you wonder," she suggested gently.

"Not because of what he said. He's so ... him. Or, at least, he's different, but no more than someone might be after all their remaining family was killed off, and--"

The portrait hole opened, and Lavender and Parvati climbed in.

"Can we go someplace private?" Ron asked Hermione.

"Of course," she answered. "Is it okay if Ginny comes?"

Ron nodded. "Probably best," he said wryly. "I wouldn't want people to think I'm moving in on Harry Potter's girlfriend. Witch Weekly will pick it up, and I'll be getting Howlers from middle-aged housewives all over Britain."

Hearing Ron use Harry's full name unsettled Hermione. "I'm not his girlfriend," she managed.

"Oh -- then you'll open the Howlers for me?"

"Oh -- " Hermione growled with exasperation -- "wait here!"

When she came back down with Ginny and the pictures, the latter safely stored in a crease-proof envelope, Ron was slumped against the wall. He straightened slowly as she and Ginny approached. They had just turned to open the portrait hole when a voice came from behind them.

"Hi! Wait up!"

Hermione felt an involuntary twitch jerk through her at the sound. Harry was already halfway towards them when she turned.

"Heading out?" It was innocently asked, and addressed primarily to Ron.

"Yeah ... I need to talk to the girls a bit, Harry." More than a trace of guilt came through in Ron's voice. "Meet you later?" he asked weakly.

Harry's face tightened with hurt, then anger. "So I'm not welcome."

"Harry ... look, mate, it's just...."

"It's just that you're bloody hypocrites, the both of you. If I go off on my own, that's a problem. If you go off together, that's just how it is. You won't ever tell me where you go or what you do either, will you?"

You started it! Hermione wanted to yell, but just the desire to attack showed that he was right. She had to remind herself that this was not Harry she was abandoning. She focused on his face. Harry had never had that faint sneer in his anger; he had more of a sullen look, or an indignant one, when he was furious.

"We're going for a walk by the lake," Ron said.

"Really?" The sneer became more pronounced, but also cooler. Harry stepped back. "With your sister, Ron? Kinky. Are you just sharing with her?"

Harry ducked Ron's first punch and danced back with a shout of harsh laughter. The ferocity and speed of Ron's second attack took him by surprise. They grappled for a moment, then Ron took him down with a sweep of his foot, straddled him, and began punching him. "Ron!" Harry yelled, trying to buck him off. He tried to block the blows, with limited success.

"Stop it!" Hermione screamed. Ron ignored her. Ginny tried to haul him off. Hermione whipped out her wand. "Stupefy!" she shouted. Ron collapsed. Harry wriggled out from underneath him.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked. The boy's face was red, his lip bleeding slightly, and one of his eyes was starting to swell. He nodded gingerly.

"I'll live. I deserved that, really." He smiled tentatively at Ginny. "Sorry, Ginny." He touched his lip tenderly. "Ow."

Ginny looked down. She didn't say anything. The Boy-Who-Looked-Like-Harry sucked a spot of blood from his lip and turned away.

"Go on, then," he said. "I'll go for a walk of my own."

Hermione waited until he was out of sight before reviving Ron.

"That arsehole!" he screamed.

Ginny giggled. Hermione thought she sounded a bit hysterical. "Good one, though," she said shakily. "I mean, he managed to insult all of us in one insinuation. That's talent."

"Let's go," said Hermione.

Harry took off his invisibility cloak just outside Snape's lab. He walked in, waved, and automatically locked and warded the door.

"Good morning," Severus said, without looking up from his cauldron. "I was wondering if I'd see you, today."

Harry came by and sat on a nearby stool. "I have a confession," he said.

"Confessions are the headmaster's department," Severus commented dryly, as he measured out beetle eyes. When Harry didn't respond, he looked up. After a moment of surprise, he frowned.

"And would this confession have anything to do with fighting in the hallways?"

"No," Harry said flatly, "we fought quite decently in the Gryffindor common room, and that's not it."

Severus looked away. Harry could see a trace of a smile at the edge of his mouth. "Is it true that the Gryffindor common room is red to hide all the blood?"

Harry snorted. "You know perfectly well that red only hides blood for a few minutes. We'd need to do it in brown, which would tarnish the heroic luster of our house."

Severus stopped adding components to stare at him. "In a bit of a mood, today?"

Harry, suddenly no longer amused, shrugged. Severus put out the fire under his cauldron. "Sitting won't hurt this. What is the confession, then?" He looked pointedly at Harry's bruised face. "You told young Weasley?"

"No, but I think I probably should."

"Explain."

Harry sighed. "Okay. My confession is that I have been insufficiently cautious."

Severus scowled. "And you think he suspects."

"They suspect something. I don't know if they have a what, yet, but they think my behavior is odd."

"Is it odd?"

"Perhaps a little. I didn't take great pains to hide leaving, at first, because last year, that wouldn't have bothered them. Apparently they've decided I need a closer eye kept on me this year, though, so they have noticed. Also, Ron saw me taking the potion, last night --- I had thought he was asleep."

Severus looked displeased. Harry squared his shoulders. "I could just tell them the truth. I'm sure I can trust them not to tell, whatever else they may do."

"You must be able to find a less revealing way to allay their suspicions."

"If I need to, I have a couple of ideas, but they're both difficult ... and embarrassing. Telling the truth would work better."

"Harry, no. I won't negotiate. You are not telling them anything until my plans are in place."

"They wouldn't endanger me."

"Perhaps," Severus sneered, his voice full of doubt. "Not intentionally, at any rate. But they have no such qualms about me, I am sure, and that Weasley boy is careless, and his emotions too readable, whether he tries to keep the secret or not."

Harry looked down at the floor. It was stained, here and there, by fire in some places, and unknown substances in others. One spot glittered slightly. Ron, he had to admit, would love to cause trouble for Snape, but he thought that loyalty to the Order would override that.

"I'll accept that about Ron's transparency, anyway. But they are suspicious, and they will eventually notice that whatever's up with me involves you. Ron is intuitive, Hermione is knowledgeable, and they are good at finding things out. They don't have me, this time, but Ginny seems to be working with them. If I'm not going to tell them the truth, I need a specific lie to pretend to hide from them, so they feel like they're getting somewhere when they nose around."

Severus considered this a moment, then nodded. "And?" he prompted.

"I've thought of two workable scenarios." Harry reddened, but continued. "I can pretend to be having an affair with you, as Remus suspected, or I can pretend to be dependent on something you are giving me. I'd find the second one less disturbing, and it would fit in well with the things that seem to make Ron nervous."

His father's face went through some weird contortions before settling on a bland expression. Harry couldn't decide if the intermediate phase had indicated disgust, amusement, or both.

"Of the two," he said smoothly, "I am uncertain which I would prefer to be thought of me, but the second would probably be safer, if my lord were to hear of it."

"It seems like the most plausible explanation, at this point, for the things they've noticed," Harry said. He tried not to think about the reference to Voldemort.

"And what, precisely, would this substance be?"

Harry smiled disarmingly. "I'd hoped you could help me with that. Remus said...." he trailed off.

Severus rested his forehead on his fingertips, hiding most of his face. After a few seconds, he peered up through his fingers. "Oh," he said.

"Well, I don't know much about that sort of thing in either the Muggle or wizarding worlds. What suits my behavior?"

The Potions master sighed and straightened on his stool. "What behavior are we attempting to match?"

"Er ... There have been three times I've disappeared on them -- four, if you count right now -- about three days apart. I expect I've been edgy before disappearing, and rather mellow when I've come back. I brought them treats from the kitchen, once -- no, I guess that was the next day."

"So you're not trying to relate this to the muscle relaxant?"

"Oh no. I already told Ron he could talk to Dumbledore about that, so he knows it's legitimate. But it made him nervous -- I think because of the bubble stuff. Last night he was my best mate. This morning, he was heading off with the girls, obviously to talk about me, and could barely manage a 'meet you later.'"

Snape surveyed the bruises again, but he did not ask about the fight. "Three days. That's a fairly long time, as such things go."

"That's what we have to work with."

"Huhn." Snape frowned. "There is ... something I made...." He laughed dryly. "It took Avery months to get over...."

"What is it?"

"I never named it, as it was not a successful experiment." Black eyes flickered as Severus scanned over to his cauldron and back to Harry. "It would be the perfect thing to make you vulnerable." He smiled predatorily. "Not only would you be almost completely useless for three or four hours, but for an hour beyond that, you would have no magic."

"What?!"

"That was what I wanted. I was trying to create something that would suppress magical abilities, so I could slip it to James and Black, preferably right before Transfiguration, and embarrass them. I came out with two formulas that worked, but both, unfortunately, had such severe emotional effects that it was evident both to the subject and to most witnesses that the subject was under the effects of something. Neither suited my purposes."

"And Avery?"

"Once I had determined the formula was unsuitable, I made the rest available. Most people were deterred by the magic loss, but Avery would sneak off every few days and get more from me. He was uncharacteristically pleasant on it, too. I might have made him more -- he certainly would have paid well -- but I was almost certain that long-term use would make him a Squib, and I was afraid his family would have me murdered, for that."

Harry stared. He found the idea of living permanently without magic surprisingly horrifying. "Well, that would be a hideously dumb thing for me to do!" he exclaimed. "For anyone, but me, especially!"

"I even told Avery that it would probably make him a Squib. It still didn't keep him from attacking me, when I refused to make it again. He would have killed me if Rookwood and Lestrange hadn't stepped in."

Harry remembered Avery as a name, as the Death Eater who collapsed at Voldemort's feet, begging for forgiveness for his lack of faith. He had been at the Department of Mysteries, also. Harry chuckled slightly. "Do you suppose he'd go for it, if you made it for him again? Send him a little -- 'hey, remember this?'"

Snape's eyes widened as his eyebrows rose. "You," he said, "are evil."

"Is that a compliment?" Harry teased.

"Child, I've been brooding over ways to sabotage potions, damage the effects, the longevity... and you just hand me that!" Snape grinned ferally. "And he's so agreeable on it, too. Let me find some old notes. Avery is going to spend the rest of his life in a charming fog."

"But wait!"

"Don't go all noble on me," Snape growled.

"Forget that -- what about my story? Will anyone recognize this stuff?"

"No, but that doesn't matter. You need an image in your head to keep your behavior consistent. This one will do. I just need to mix some up."

"Wait a minute -- you want me to actually take this?"

Severus was silent for a moment. He sighed. "I hate the idea -- but you should have it once. It is easier to be consistent to an experience than an imagining -- something I appreciate, as a spy." His frown curled into a sneer. "No more than once, understood? But I think it's no more likely to appeal to you than the Cruciatus Curse. I found it deadly dull, myself."

Ron was silent all the way to the lake. When they stopped by some rocks at the edge, he said:

"Well, that was stupid."

"Punching him?"

"After spending all yesterday getting close to him, again."

"Or maybe for the first time," Ginny put in. Ron shook his head.

"I don't think it's like that. He remembers everything. He thinks the right way, just more. But something did happen to him during the attack, and most of the ... the old crowd doesn't know. He told me that. Can I see the pictures?"

Ron examined the pictures silently, while Ginny went through her talk. Hermione watched his face drain of color as he looked. When he spoke again, his voice was higher than it should have been.

"All right. I agree the face is different."

"But?" Hermione asked wryly.

"But the person I spoke to last night was Harry." Ron cut off her attempt at argument. "No, listen! When Harry 'destroyed' Voldemort the first time, Voldemort didn't die, right? His body was destroyed, mostly, but just enough survived to keep his soul here, and intact. At least, that's how Harry explained it to me."

"But that's Voldemort!" Hermione returned, exasperated. "That's because he had protected himself from death with all sorts of Dark magic."

"But Harry's linked to Voldemort. And he has protections of his own. What if the same thing happened to him? Then, somehow, they got his spirit into another body?"

"That would be Dark Arts. And what about the person who was in the body?" Ginny protested.

Hermione found herself considering the idea. "Maybe he had a brain injury, or had been kissed by a Dementor." she said. She focused on Ron. "You said Harry told you something had happened to him during the attack. What?"

"He was very vague about it," Ron said. "I caught him taking a potion -- he'd thought I was asleep -- and asked him what it was. He said it was to deal with a side-effect of the wards coming down -- that he wasn't at the house, but the wards failing had still affected him. I think he thought I was afraid he shouldn't be taking this stuff, so he told me I could talk to Dumbledore, but not Pomfrey. He said Pomfrey doesn't know about it. Snape makes the potion for him directly, I guess, but he only knows because he needs to -- Dumbledore hasn't told the old crowd, he said, because it would be too much information 'on the wards, and on what happened to me.' That was when I decided I needed to see what you two had found."

"It was Ginny, really," Hermione said. She wondered what the potion did. "How often does he need this potion?"

"Every other day, he said," Ron answered.

"Can't be polyjuice, then. Not unless they've got something with a subtler effect that lasts longer." She frowned. "Can you get me a sample?"

"Probably. I'll try. Shall I go back now, and see if he's out?"

Ron went back to his and Harry's dormitory, while Hermione went to the library. She told Ron to meet her there. Ginny stayed outside; Hermione suspected she wanted to be alone.

At the library, Hermione pulled out her first selection of books, again. She had looked everywhere, over the last week, for all the likely spellings of "Mayland," and had worked her way further and further back in time, even looking for a bit in legends. She decided it was time to go back to the obvious books and try some less likely spellings.

She had just finished with the "lund" variations when Ron came in. He looked annoyed.

"Harry's got his drawer locked," he said. "Magically. I can't get in without the countercharm, and it may well let him know that someone tried."

Harry looked dubiously at the ingredients the Potions master was gathering for the "squib drug," as Harry had named it in his mind. It included Dementor's claws, and belladonna berries, among other things. Harry watched Severus measure out a tiny amount of some dark, thick syrup.

"What's that?"

"Glumbumble treacle."

"Avery liked this stuff?"

"De gustibus non disputandum est."

"What?"

"Roughly, 'taste bears no argument.'"

"Oh." Harry handed over a small spice grinder full of Chizpurfle fangs. "I honestly don't know how I'll manage to swallow this stuff. It's more disgusting than the Polyjuice Potion, and that had Goyle's hair in it."

Severus froze. His head slowly turned to stare at Harry. The motion reminded Harry of a bird of prey. "You stole Goyle's form?" he asked threateningly.

"It was a long time ago," Harry said hurriedly. The stare did not let up. "My second year. During the Chamber of Secrets thing. Ron and Hermione and I were convinced it was Malfoy, so Ron and I disguised ourselves as Crabbe and Goyle to pump him for information."

A flicker of amusement lessened Severus's disapproval. "And what did you learn?"

"That Malfoy wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, and that the Slytherin common room is creepy."

"Creepy?" Severus said frostily.

"Well, wondering if we'd be caught and killed probably had something to do with that."

"That can affect perceptions," Severus acknowledged.

"How close are you to ready with your plans?" Harry asked, hoping to turn the conversation from old offenses. "I'm just wondering how long I might need to string them along. It affects what I let them see."

"My plans vary. Some are nearly ready to implement, some nearly theoretical. I still hope to have spy devices, but Flitwick has yet to manage the improvements I hope for."

"Are you safe, for now?"

"I'm never safe," Snape said bitterly.

"But?"

"The Dark Lord's suspicions have moved to other targets, for the moment. The meeting place near Hogwarts disturbs me."

"Won't the closeness make them easier to spy on, though?"

"It could. Of course, that site may also be intentionally insecure. We may be meant to see what they do there." Severus lit the flame below the ready cauldron. "How are your Gryffindor friends?"

"Difficult."

"I had guessed that from the bruises."

Harry reddened. "I sort of deserved that."

"Oh?"

"I insinuated that Ron was sharing Hermione with his sister."

Severus coughed and broke into tight laughter.

"Well, he said they were going walking by the lake, and a lot of the time, people say that when they... um...."

"In my day, as well."

Harry hesitated. Quickly, he forced out the other recent problem. "And Hermione's said she's not my girlfriend."

Severus flinched. He looked at Harry uncertainly. "Had she been?"

"Not quite. We'd kissed...."

Severus relaxed. "Then she chose Weasley, I take it?"

"No ... it was because I won't tell her where I get off to. But she was still willing to be friends. Then I made things worse by saying 'the Dark Lord.'"

Severus looked uncertain what to think of this. "You attacked me for that, last year."

"I remember. Now, I apparently say it without noticing." Harry slouched down on his stool. "It scares me."

Several hours after lunch, Hermione still had not found any mention of her target, even with Ron's help. It reminded her of the search for Nicolas Flamel, their first year. While Ron was off fetching more books, Hermione became aware of the feeling of being watched. She looked up. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, was Draco Malfoy, smirking.

"Having fun?" he taunted.

"Well, I'm not doing schoolwork. What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy pushed off from the wall and took a step towards her. "Oh, I just saw your missing friend -- ex-friend, perhaps? -- and I wondered if you knew where he gets to, these days."

Hermione bit back a plea for information. Malfoy was unlikely to give her anything he knew she wanted, even information.

"No idea," she said, as if she didn't care.

"He was going into Professor Snape's lab," Draco told her. He looked delighted with this tidbit. "Not the classroom -- his private lab. And Snape was in there. I watched for an hour, and neither one came out. What do you think of that?"

"Honestly, Malfoy," said Hermione, through clenched teeth. "I think you know more than we do."

"Does the Boy-Who-Muddles-Through need some special lessons?" Malfoy drawled. "Or is it more personal than that? He's learned a bit of Dark Arts theory, at least, hasn't he?"

"Listen to me, Malfoy. I don't know."

Malfoy backed up a step and frowned. He studied her. "You'd like to, though, wouldn't you?" he asked coldly.

Hermione hesitated, then acknowledged with a nod.

"Well, how about a deal, Granger? Quid pro quo on information. I'll tell you what I see, if you provide me the same in return."

"If I find out anything about Harry, you are the last person I'd tell!"

A spark of interest lit his eyes, and she realized she had revealed more than she intended. He knew she was worried, now. His response, however, was careless and light. "The last, Granger? Really, you should be able to think of worse enemies."

"I won't bargain!"

"I will," Ron volunteered.

Malfoy looked as shocked as Hermione felt. They both looked over at the aisle through the stacks, where Ron, his face pale, was standing.

"You, Weasley? I thought Granger was the keeper of your occasional stray thought."

Ron's face contorted with anger, but he kept his voice level. "One type of information only -- I'll let you know when he's missing from Gryffindor, if you let me know if he shows up in the dungeons, and where."

Malfoy was over to Ron in two quick steps. He held out his hand. "Let's make it a deal, Weasley." Hermione watched Ron hesitate, then grasp the extended hand. They shook quickly. Ron surreptitiously rubbed his palm against the side of his robe afterwards, as if Malfoy's touch was dirty.

"Well, I'll be on my way," Malfoy drawled. "Owl me any time." He looked over at Hermione again. "Not schoolwork?"

"Ever heard the name 'Augustus Mayland?'"

Malfoy's eyes opened wide in shock. He stepped closer and looked down at her list of spellings. The smirk came back.

"Why would you want to know about him?"

"None of your business."

"Oh?" Malfoy looked disdainfully at her. "I can tell you about Maitland -- enough so you can find him in this library. What's in it for me?"

"Enough to find him?"

"And a bit more. Information you won't find here."

"What do you want?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "He's gone missing on you -- don't deny it; you gave that much away. Tell me which days, and I'll tell you about Maitland."

Hermione thought. She didn't see how this information could hurt Harry -- it was certainly far less dangerous to him than what Ron had promised -- but Malfoy wanted it, and that made her nervous. Malfoy shifted with exaggerated impatience.

"Well, Granger? I find your existence unpleasant, never mind your presence. Don't expect me to wait here while you dither."

"The first day," she said reluctantly, "Tuesday, that is, that Friday, this Tuesday ...."

"And now."

Hermione nodded. What have I done? She tried to conceal the panic at her small betrayal. Whathaveidone?

"Any others?"

"I'm not sure."

Malfoy nodded. "Good enough. Mr. Maitland was a friend of Father's. I never met him, to remember. He died when I was a baby. I remember Father saying he was in Harry's father's year at Hogwarts. They had hoped he would be able to persuade James Potter to support the Dark Lord."

"As if!" Ron said contemptuously. Malfoy stared back at him with evident disdain.

"The Potters were an old, wealthy, pureblooded family ... prior to Harry's mother. It was not unreasonable to expect their heir to have some measure of pride in his heritage."

"Perhaps he had sufficient pride in his heritage to not feel the need to put down everyone else," Hermione said sharply.

Malfoy sneered. "Perhaps he was enthralled by a scheming Mudblood beauty who tried to use him as her ticket to wizard society," he retorted.

"How dare you talk about Harry's mum like that!" Ron whispered furiously. "I'll tell him!"

"I merely said," Malfoy hissed, "that it is an equally valid view of what happened. I expect that Harry will understand that."

Once Malfoy was gone, Hermione went to speak to Madam Pince. She asked if there was a way to find information on students of a particular year.

"Every fifty years," the librarian said precisely, "the Hogwarts class lists are collected, together with some notes and pictures. Did the person you are looking for attend Hogwarts before 1949?"

"No," Hermione answered. "He'd be class of seventy-seven."

"You'd have to speak to Professor McGonagall, then." Madam Pince waved impatiently to the side. "Or you could try the news archives. We also have --" her mouth scrunched in distaste -- "surplus photographs in the archive room. They are boxed by decade, and shelved above bound periodicals."

Hermione relayed this news to Ron, and they immediately went to the archive room, to check photographs from the seventies. It took them a while to find the boxes, which were hidden behind bound years of Changes in Transfiguration, and almost as long to find the one labeled "Photos -- 1970-1979". Hermione got it off the shelf with Leviosa, and moved it over to the archive room table. A fine mist of dust fell slowly in its wake.

Within the box, the photographs were not in any order, and only a few were labeled with either a date or names. They also came in several different sizes, making them difficult to organize. Hermione finally took out an inch-high stack for herself, and another for Ron.

"We're just going to have to slog through them," she said. She pointed to her first photograph. "Titilio," she commanded. A label appeared briefly at the bottom of the photo, listing two names. Ron peered over her shoulder to look at it.

"Fitzy and Grace?"

"The Label Charm is vaguer than a true Identification Charm, but it's easier. Those names are how those people thought of themselves when this was taken."

"Should I do that to all of them?"

"Just the ones that have an older, male student you haven't seen yet."

They spent a long time searching through photographs. After about half an hour, Ron exclaimed:

"Look -- doesn't he look like Harry?"

He showed Hermione a picture of a fourth or fifth-year boy with messy dark hair and dark eyes. As they watched, the boy ruffled up his hair, then took a snitch from his pocket and began playing with it. A larger boy moved into place at his right shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest. Another, smaller boy mimicked the motion to the boy's left. A fourth boy shifted restlessly as he spoke to the first one.

"Titilio," Hermione commanded, with an absent flick of her wand. A label appeared.

Ron chuckled. "I think this may be better than the Identification Charm."

"James Potter," Hermione said out loud. She frowned as he backed up a step to speak over his shoulder to Sirius. She snorted "And doesn't he think he's king of the world?" she said sarcastically. The arrogant look on James's face bothered her, not just because of what it revealed about him, but because it did not match Harry's arrogant look. After a minute of observing James Potter, she decided it was a different sort of arrogance. James Potter had total confidence in his importance and always had. He expected to be deferred to. She frowned. Like Malfoy, in a way.

Remus shifted over beside Sirius and looked forward, smiling now, but with eager excitement rather than good humor. Hermione realized she had been looking at the picture for long enough that her label had vanished. She recast the spell. A different label appeared:

They found a picture of a Professor McGonagall (looking much younger) and Professor Dumbledore (looking about the same) pelting each other with snowballs. Occasionally, they showed each other pictures of James Potter or Lily Evans. Temporarily empty photos, they piled to the side.

"Ew!" Ron said suddenly. "Two blokes kissing!" He put the picture aside quickly.

"Let me see!" Hermione said, reaching across him.

"Hermione!" Ron put his hand over the picture, although he'd put it face-down on the table. "Why would you want to see that?"

Hermione thought. "Well, what would you say if I said 'oh -- two girls kissing!'"

"Er... 'Let me see?'" Ron admitted, reddening.

"Well, there you go. Now let me see, okay?"

When they turned over the picture, however, it was empty.

"Uh... They probably wanted some privacy," Ron muttered. Hermione rolled her eyes and set the photo to one side.

"I'm bored already," Harry said dully. His mouth felt too thick and unwieldy to continue, though he wanted to say that the cauldron side he had been staring at was not interesting, merely in front of his eyes.

"I'm not surprised. It's been three hours."

"What? Ah, fuck."

"Language, Potter." Severus's dry laugh came from a distance. "But under the circumstances, I won't take points."

It was purely Ron's Quidditch obsession that prompted him to cast the label spell on the Gryffindor Quidditch team picture, but he could not have missed the Beater who thought of himself by his full name: Augustus Maitland.

"Hermione?"

"Not Quidditch!"

"No -- I think I found him."

"Do me a favor?" Harry managed, some unknown time after thinking he should ask.

"If you want the lights off, no. I'm working."

"Floo Remus and tell him I'll be ... late?"

"So he was a Gryffindor." Hermione frowned at the picture. "Do you suppose he was a friend of Professor Snape's? I mean, when Snape was a student?"

"I can't image anyone being friends with Snape. Certainly not a Gryffindor."

"But that's what he said -- 'Gryffindor friends.'" Hermione brought the picture closer and peered at the label. "It has a silent 't?' No wonder I couldn't find him!"

"I want this to be over, now." There was a long pause. "I really want this to be over, now."

"I would guess you have another hour, at least. But it gets pleasanter after that -- as long as you don't need magic."

"Avery was insane, wasn't he?"

Now that Ron and Hermione knew what Augustus Maitland looked like, they set to scanning quickly through the pictures, looking for more photographs of him. Hermione had gone through three inches of the photographs before she looked over and noticed the male couple was back in the photograph that had disturbed Ron.

"They're back!" she exclaimed, and picked up the photo. Two slender boys, one with light brown hair, one with black, were whispering and kissing. The activity was effectively hiding their features. Finally, the smaller, brown-haired boy turned his back to the other, and leaned rapturously into a hug from behind. Hermione gasped.

"Take it back to your room, then," Ron hissed.

"No, look! It's Professor Lupin!"

Ron looked, then hid his eyes. He looked again. "Blimey!" The dark-haired boy was kissing a young Remus Lupin's neck, and Lupin, his head tilted back, was alternately gasping and giggling. Finally he pushed the other boy's face away from him and said something, smiling. For a bare second, the black-haired boy was looking out at them, a sly smile on his face, then took his companion's hand and tugged him gently out of the photograph.

"He looked familiar, too," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I should have cast the charm."

"Did you see what house he was in?"

"No -- Lupin was always blocking it the crest." she sighed. "Oh well -- he'll come back. Should we check the news archives, now that we know how the name is spelled? We probably have time before dinner." She sighed. "After that, I need to get back to my school work."

Hermione suggested they start with the Daily Prophet issues from 1977, when Augustus would have graduated. It was more tedious than either of them expected. The old Daily Prophets were bound by month, and each month had many occurrences of "Maitland." Augustus, it seemed, was from a large family, with at least two members in the Ministry of Magic, and more mentioned on the society pages. They found one picture from a charity dinner for "Unplottable Ever," a land preservation society, which showed Augustus, a handsome, broad-shouldered young man with golden blond hair, standing next to wiry, dark-haired James Potter. The two had their hands on each other's near shoulders, but the pose seemed artificial -- they never looked at each other or bent towards each other, but looked straight forward, or off to the side. The caption read, "Eligible bachelors Augustus Maitland and James Potter study and play Quidditch together at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Looks like somebody paired an Abraxan and a Granian, doesn't it?" Ron asked.

"I was thinking a tiger and a cheetah," Hermione answered. "But yes. Don't they get tired of smiling like that?"

Dinner time came before they had made it to September.

"We're going about this wrong," Ron said, as they headed down to the Great Hall.

"Oh?"

"We should look for his obituary, shouldn't we? We know about when he died. That should give us an idea if and when he did thing anything else that would have made the paper."

At the Gryffindor table, they saw Harry. Hermione was uneasy about the fight that morning, but Harry just looked up at them and smiled absently. He apparently hadn't gone to Madam Pomfrey, and now had a black eye and some visible bruising. Ron squeezed in next to him, leaving Hermione to sit across the table.

"Look, Harry," Ron said, nudging Harry to try to get his friend to look at him. "I'm sorry about this morning."

"Hm?" Harry responded. He looked at Ron and blinked, then smiled warmly. "Er ... not to worry. I was worse, wasn't I?"

"You all right, mate?"

Hermione wasn't surprised Ron had asked. She would have expected Harry to be angry or apologetic, but he just sounded preoccupied.

Harry shrugged. "I just need a good night's sleep." His voice strengthened as he turned the smile on her. It was disturbingly bland. His voice had no hidden nuances as he asked sincerely, "How about you? Did you two have a good day?"

"Oh, loads of fun," Ron said sarcastically. "She's kept me in the library running books for hours."

"We found Augustus Maitland!" Hermione announced triumphantly.

"Congratulations." Harry's smile grew a little broader as he inclined his head. "Did someone tell you how to spell it?" he asked.

Hermione stared. He couldn't have known... "You knew," she accused.

Harry nodded. "Silent 'T.'" He yawned.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shrugged. "You didn't ask." He smiled again, engagingly.

"I asked you to help! We've spent hours on this!"

"Sorry, Hermione. I did tell you I wasn't helping."

Hermione got up and walked to the other end of the table. Harry did not follow her. Ron, though he looked at her often, remained with Harry.

Harry was still feeling slightly disconnected when he left dinner. He still needed to talk to Professor Lupin. Severus had rescheduled the meeting to evening for him. Harry wished it had been changed to the next day. He had stayed with his father until the magic came back, and he felt perfectly capable of thinking and talking, but he knew he was not really feeling correctly. Hermione's anger and Ron's contrition both seemed equally unimportant. Intellectually, he realized that his indifference would have consequences, later.

He checked the time and discovered he had half an hour before meeting Remus. He decided he would go outside for a walk, then, if he still felt this unsure of himself when he returned, he would tell Remus the truth -- or, at least, part of it.

It was a crisp, pleasant evening. Harry found himself by the lake, looking at the water. He levitated a dead branch over the water, skimming its shriveled leaves across the surface, here and there, until a tentacle reached up and snatched it in a contracting coil. The little twigs broke in a rapid series of crunches. Harry smiled.

"I could never, ever, give this up."

He sighed. "I think I can play normal for Remus," he said quietly, then evaluated the statement. Yes. I'm close enough. He headed back inside.

At the door of Lupin's office, he paused, then knocked.

"Come in," Lupin called.

Harry pushed the door open. He bit back Remus's first name -- that was part of how he had got in trouble in class. "Hello, Professor Lupin," he said politely.

"Hello Mr. Potter. Sit down, please."

Harry sat down. Lupin was sitting behind his desk, his hands clasped before him. He surveyed Harry unhappily. "You've been fighting."

Harry looked down and nodded.

"Is that why you couldn't come this afternoon?"

Harry thought. "No. I ... I was working with F- Severus, and I had a lab accident. I wasn't in any shape to --"

"Harry," Lupin warned. Harry stopped, puzzled.

Lupin unclasped his hands. He lifted in his fingers a small orb that swirled with black and grey, and he looked past it into Harry's eyes.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"A simple Verifier. It turns black when the person touching it, or someone speaking to them, lies." As Lupin spoke, the swirls of black lightened to grey, and the grey to white.

"That's not fair!" Harry burst out.

Lupin looked startled. "That you not be able to lie to me?"

"Yes!"

"I hadn't realized it was a necessary part of surviving our conversations," Lupin said coldly.

"Well, it's not usually, but.... Look, it's not your business. You can't give me veritaserum --"

"Veritaserum compels you to tell the truth. This does not. You can still look at me and say 'I won't tell you that.'"

"How reassuring." Harry sat back sullenly. The orb was white, now. "Why did you decide you needed this for our conference?"

"I hadn't thought I did." Remus shook his head slightly. "I have it for next week's lessons, and was just running some tests on it when you came in."

The orb stayed white. That was reassuring. Harry considered it thoughtfully. "Leave it out where I can see it," he said.

"Oh?"

"If I can't lie to you, you can't lie to me. Fair?"

Remus nodded. "Fair." He let his hand rest on the desk, but continued to hold the Verifier. He looked very tired.

"How's the map coming?" he asked lightly.

"The what?"

"The --" Remus looked up at Harry. He seemed startled. A wisp of grey shot through the verifier. "Never mind. Er... How are things with Ron and Hermione?"

"Lousy."

They both, Harry noticed, glanced at the Verifier, which stayed white.

"All right," Professor Lupin straightened. "Why didn't you come this afternoon?"

"None of your business."

"You disrupted my schedule. That is my business."

The Verifier accepted both this statements. Harry nodded at it. "It evaluates honesty," he noted, "not truth."

"Yes. Now don't change the subject."

"I stand by my original answer."

"And I by mine." Lupin leaned forward threateningly. "If you won't answer me, I will give you detention and speak to your father."

Harry burst out laughing.

"What?" Lupin demanded.

"I've never had someone threaten to speak to my father, before." Harry smirked. "Considering he was involved, I think it unlikely he will give you any satisfaction."

Remus shook his head and sighed. "Harry... Is there some portion of an answer you could give me?"

Harry thought. Finally, he said, "I was incompetent due to a potion which I took intentionally, but not for fun. That's as much as I can tell you."

"Did you need to take it this afternoon?"

"No, but we hadn't realized how long it would incapacitate me. I'm apparently more sensitive to it than Severus expected. He said it was lack of previous exposure to some of the components."

Remus looked down at still-white globe and nodded slightly. "All right, then." He rolled the ball contemplatively over his fingers. "Has Severus been teaching you Dark Arts?"

Harry started to say "No," then caught himself, remembering his father explaining how he could cast the Cruciatus Curse. "He has not given me any practical lessons in Dark Arts," he said precisely.

Remus responded with an incredulous look. "But?" he asked weakly.

"He's let me read whatever I want of his books, provided I discuss them with him. Clarifying materials in those has included explaining some Dark Arts theory. He has been quite clear that I am not to try to do any of it." Harry hesitated. "I haven't wanted to do any of it, so far," he said. The Verifier accepted that, as well.

Remus nodded. He looked a bit happier. "Just Sev being Sev, then," he murmured. He looked at the orb, again. Harry had the sudden feeling he might be about to put it down.

"Why didn't you tell me about the werewolf?" he asked quickly.

"What?"

Wisps of grey. Remus understood, but was pretending to not to. Harry pushed. "Your werewolf friend."

"Because it wasn't your business."

Harry glared. Remus looked back at him nearly as angrily. He gripped the orb tightly, aware, Harry thought, of how it would look if he put it down, now.

"She hasn't done anything. She's not guilty just because she's a werewolf. You have no right to know who is and who isn't, just so you can distrust them, or treat them badly!"

"She's met with Voldemort."

Remus flinched, then glanced at the orb. He hadn't known -- or perhaps hadn't wanted to.

"She can speak to anyone she pleases. She hasn't done anything!"

"Yet."

The answering flash of pain on Remus's face told Harry more than enough. He pressed. "But you stand by your friends, don't you, Remus? Whatever they do." He sneered. "Loyal as a Hufflepuff."

Remus looked down. "She hasn't done anything," he repeated. "She could still get out."

Wisps of grey indicated his doubts. Harry pushed back a feeling of sympathy.

"How did you end up in Gryffindor?" he asked contemptuously.

Remus twitched. He looked nervously up at Harry. "Honestly?" he said bitterly. "I wouldn't let the hat put me in Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. Sirius had already been sorted into Gryffindor, and James was sure he would be. It said, 'Gryffindor, eh?'" Remus imitated the hat's odd tone rather well, Harry thought. "'Well, you have physical courage in plenty, and a strong sense of honor, though all turned in -- rather odd. You could do. I think you'd be happier in Hufflepuff, though, or even Ravenclaw. More people you'd like, there.' But I kept pleading 'Gryffindor, please!' and it relented."

"Ah." Harry smiled slightly at Remus's discomfort. He inclined his head toward the white orb. "It wanted Slytherin for me," he offered, in a subtle apology for pushing.

"What?" Remus said in astonishment.

"It said 'You could be great, you know' and 'Slytherin will help you achieve greatness,' and I said 'not Slytherin, not Slytherin,' until it relented and said 'well then -- better be Gryffindor,' and there I was." He looked pointedly at the orb in Remus's hand. "Dumbledore said it was because of my link to Voldemort, but I don't think so, anymore. I think it's that I'm kind of sneaky." He thought. "Also, I'd probably make a very powerful Dark wizard. I've got that horrible temper and flashes of ordering people around. Slytherin would have let me get away with that, more."

"Yes."

"Someday, I'd like to do a poll of the entire school -- anonymous of course -- and see how many members of each house are in the Hat's first choice of house. We place such importance on house, and it does indicate something, but not, I think, always the things we think it does."

Remus smiled at him, and put down the Verifier. "I suspect you're right." He sighed and looked down at his desk. Absently, he shifted some papers to the side. "How is Severus?"

Harry shrugged. "About the same. He was actually sort of cheerful, today -- until I showed up with a black eye and problems, anyway."

"He's been glaring at me at the staff table."

"Over the woman-werewolf he saw speak to Voldemort, I bet. That's why I have restrictions with you, again."

"You'd think he'd never known me."

"He said if you were ... being coerced, somehow, knowing you were under watch might give you an excuse. It's not completely distrust."

"So he's looking out for my interests, is he?" Remus looked bitter. "I don't believe him."

After he left Lupin's office, Harry went straight to bed, and he slept late into Sunday morning. He woke with his mouth dry and a strange unfocused feeling. He decided to assume both were side effects of the potion, and memorize them for faking later. This, unfortunately, kept him focused on his discomfort. He spent what was left of the morning regarding his untouched assignments with dismay, but not feeling up to starting any of them.

He went down to lunch as early as possible. He felt better after the first glass of pumpkin juice, and normal by time he had finished a few slices of bread. Of course, he realized, he still had unstarted assignments in both his Monday morning classes, Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. If he'd gone down to the kitchen when he woke, he might have made some progress by now, he thought glumly.

"Harry?"

Ron was standing on the far side of the table. Harry felt himself blushing when he met his friend's eyes. Does he have any idea how gone I was last night?

"Uh... hi." Harry thought frantically. "Sit with me?"

Ron bit his lip. "Yeah," he said. He slid into the seat across from Harry. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

An awkward silence descended.

"Is ... is Hermione really mad at me?" Harry tried. Ron nodded. Harry looked down at his plate. "Find out anything more about Augustus?"

Ron looked confused for a moment before replying, "Maitland? No, we both had too much schoolwork we hadn't touched. We're supposed to go back to it after lunch. Want to come and sit with us?"

"I guess I could. Will Hermione let me?"

"She might."

An hour later, Harry found himself sitting in the archive room of the Hogwarts library, trying to research a Potions essay while Hermione and Ron checked the indexed pages of January and February issues of the Daily Prophet. Ron occasionally spoke to him. Hermione was pretending he didn't exist.

Halfway through March, Hermione gasped.

"What?" Harry said, forgetting that he wasn't interested.

"He was a Death Eater!" Hermione replied, obviously forgetting that Harry didn't exist.

"Well, I knew that!" The words were out before Harry could stop them, and Hermione looked up at him with deep reproach.

"He can't have been!" Ron exclaimed. "I mean, he was a Gryffindor!"

Harry's incredulity met Hermione's exasperation, and they shared a brief moment of connection.

"Ron, does the name 'Peter Pettigrew' mean anything to you?" Harry said sharply.

"Well, yeah but he was... he was weak, or something. This guy seems...."

"Peter was a whiny sycophant who liked watching his clever, powerful friends bully people, and Voldemort was even more clever and powerful than Sirius and James, and far more of a bully," Harry said coldly. Hermione goggled at his description of the Marauders. Harry pressed on before she could say anything. "I suspect Augustus was a true believer, proud to be protecting the wizarding world from the Muggle menace."

"By murdering children?" Hermione said sharply.

Harry closed his eyes. "Extra points," he said dully.

"What?"

Harry opened his eyes again. "Ja-- Forget it! I heard some of them -- the Death Eaters -- scored kills. I don't know if it's true. The person who told me didn't know either -- just stupid gossip." He looked nervously at Hermione. "Can I see it?"

"Wait," Hermione said. Harry waited while she read. Finally, she pushed the open volume across the table to him. Harry bent over the article, and Ron leaned in beside him. A photograph showed a country cottage with the Dark Mark hanging over it. Two hysterical children were being restrained by men with Ministry badges. One of them was holding on to the reins of a winged horse, despite the efforts of another Ministry man to prise them from his fingers. A covered lump that may have been a body lay behind them. Another was being carried off on a stretcher. To the side, a portrait of a handsome, blond man looked disinterestedly to the side. Beneath that, a heavy-built, cheerful-looking woman looked straight forward out of her portrait and nodded. Beneath the three pictures, a headline blared:

DE Maitland Kills Auror Taylor, Children; Dies

Auror Gwendolyn Taylor and two of her four children were murdered early this morning in a suspected Death Eater attack. Their apparent killer, Augustus Maitland (son of Marcus Maitland and Precious Brown) was in turn trampled to death by the family's Granian after being petrified by Taylor's oldest child, thirteen-year-old Samantha. Taylor's Muggle husband, the stated reason for her target status, was away on business at the time of the attack.

Though several of the Maitlands have been accused of ties to You-Know-Who, the discovery of the Dark Mark on Augustus Maitland's body came as a surprise to Ministry officials. Mr. Marcus Maitland, a prominent member of the Wizengamot, stated that he was shocked to be told his son....

"Yeah, I bet," Harry muttered. "No idea what half of Hogwarts had known years earlier...." He caught himself. Maybe the man had had no idea. He suspected he might know more about many of his classmates than their parents did. He had known more about Fred and George's sixth and seventh year activities than Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had, and the elder Weasleys were both intelligent and caring. He had no idea if Marcus Maitland had been either.

After that, the article went into the details of the murders, which left Harry feeling slightly sick. The youngest child had been with his mother and was killed with her. The oldest two had told their younger sister to run, while the boy had tried to summon their Granian. Augustus had hit the fleeing child with the Killing Curse when she was halfway across the garden, and her older sister had fired a Petrifaction Hex at the source of the green light. There was some suspicion that the boy may have intentionally had the horse trample the petrified attacker, though the children claimed the Granian attacked spontaneously. Quoted experts on Granian behavior took both sides of the issue.

Finally, the article ended. Harry put the collection aside, determined not to look at the obituary of Auror Gwendolyn Taylor, or the article on her Muggle husband.

"What do you think?" Ron pressed.

Harry couldn't think of anything to say. He had plenty of thoughts, all racing uneasily around in his head: That was what Augustus did -- what did my father do? Why was he alone? Was he supposed to have a partner? Was it Severus? Was he alone because of the game? Was there a game? Did they get extra points for full families? Did he really feel he was doing the right thing? Did Severus mourn him?

"I just..." Ron slouched down to rest his chin on his clasped hands. "I don't understand."

Harry shook his head and tried to sort something out of the muddle of his thoughts. "Death Eaters usually work in pairs or groups, don't they? Where was his partner?"

Ron grabbed his wrist and Harry found himself looking into a disbelieving stare. "What?" Ron demanded.

Harry scowled. "Look, Ron, it was horrible, and sick, and all that, and what can I say? Those poor kids, having to watch their mother and younger brother and sister die, and to be killers themselves, at thirteen and eleven. But it was a typical attack, except for one thing -- Maitland didn't have backup, and that's odd."

Ron shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure it was, back then."

"It was! Remember what your father said, after the World Cup -- "Death Eaters hunt like wolves?"

"Why did Snape have us look this up, though?" Hermione complained. "There must be something else...."

"No," Harry said emphatically. "This is it. He just knew that Ron -- and he was addressing Ron, recall -- didn't believe he couldn't trust a fellow Gryffindor. Probably there was more to it than that -- times that Snape couldn't trust Maitland, because Maitland had that honor thing going -- but they're nothing you'll find in the paper, I'm sure." He met Hermione's eyes, then Ron's. Still holding Ron's gaze, he said:

"Augustus Maitland was a Gryffindor. Augustus Maitland was a Death Eater, who murdered for Voldemort. That is all you need to know." Harry shuddered. "No -- more than that. You cannot assume by other houses, either -- a Slytherin might be your ally, a Hufflepuff might stand by you to the death." He frowned. "A Ravenclaw might cry on you at every opportunity."

Hermione choked and covered her mouth. Harry flashed her an uneasy smile. She looked down and pretended to be engrossed in her reading.

Harry went back to his Potions essay. Now and then, Ron or Hermione would comment on some information on Augustus which one of them had found. Hermione did not speak to Harry of her own accord, but she did not return to ignoring his existence. He finished his Potions essay and started on his Defense Against the Dark Arts work.

"Dinner?" Ron asked, looking at Hermione, then Harry. Both nodded, and they went down to the Great Hall together.

Ron sat between Hermione and Harry, but none of them talked, much. Harry was relieved when Teresa sat on his other side. They chatted about Quidditch for most of the meal. He decided, again, that she was a good kid.

After dinner, Harry, Ron and Hermione went back to the library. Harry resumed work on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, and Ron and Hermione went back to looking at news articles. Eventually, they got bored of that.

"Shall we look at the photographs, again?" Hermione suggested. "We might be able to find out if he and Professor Snape were friends."

Harry clamped his mouth shut. He heard Ron answer reluctantly:

"I suppose. Look, we're not going to be able to spend as much time on this as we have done...."

"I know. I think the pictures are only for weekends. Let's look, though. We've got another hour."

"What pictures?" Harry asked.

"Oh -- there are boxes of photographs, in here."

"We found lots of your dad, Harry!" Ron said cheerily. "Come look."

"And one of Professor Lupin kissing another boy," Hermione confided. "When he was a student, I mean -- about our age."

Harry narrowly bit back a question as to who Remus had been kissing. Instead, he said:

"I wonder if he knows that's here. I'd guess not, wouldn't you?" He looked severely at Hermione, who blushed.

"Maybe not. People don't usually look at these, though -- they were almost hidden."

Harry held his hand out.

"Give me the photo. I'll take it to him."

"You can't do that!" Hermione said, shocked. "It's library property!"

"It's Remus. Give it to me."

"He has a point, Hermione," Ron contributed. "I mean, that might be kind of embarrassing for him, especially where he's a professor, and all. Even if it was a girl, it's really not -- I mean, you wouldn't want the younger students seeing that."

"They're just kissing and talking," Hermione protested. She pulled out the picture and showed it to Harry. He took one look at the dark-haired boy behind Remus, and tried to snatch the photograph from her hand. She kept a tight hold on it, though, and he was unwilling to tear it.

"Harry!" she protested.

"Give it to me. I'll take it to Remus."

"At least let me run a Label Charm on it first."

"It's none of your business," Harry flinched at the hysterical tightness in his own voice. Let it go, let it go....

"Oy, mate!" Ron reached over to lay a hand on Harry's arm. "It's not that racy. He may get a bit of ragging over it, but it's only kissing, like Hermione says."

Harry released the photo. Hermione pointed her wand at it and said, "Titilio."

"What does it say?" asked Ron. Hermione held the picture out to him. At the bottom, it was labeled "Sev & Remus."

"Sev?" Ron asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Now can I take it to Remus?" Harry pleaded.

Hermione sighed and handed him the picture. "All right."

Remus was slow to answer the door, and he looked more worn than he had the night before. Harry thought the moon must be close.

"Harry?" he asked.

Harry slipped inside and took his Potions text from his bag. "Did you know there were student photographs in the library?" he asked.

"No. Does it matter?"

Harry took the photo out of the book, where he had put it to protect it from bending. "Hermione and Ron found this."

Remus took the photograph and looked at it. A small intake of breath was his first reaction. Harry watched Remus's eyes sadden, even as he smiled slightly.

"He never shows his face, does he?" he said softly.

"Scarcely ever. They didn't figure out who it was, even after the Labeling Charm said 'Sev.'"

"Severus, of course, would object to this far more than I do."

"Yes, but I persuaded them to let me give it to you, and I thought they might ask you about it." Harry smiled wryly. "I'm lying to them about too many things, already -- no need to add unnecessary ones." He met Remus's eyes. "And he'd scream and burn it, or something. It's a nice picture; someone should have it."

"Thank you, Harry."

"No blackmailing him, now."

"Of course not." Remus smiled. "One, I wouldn't be so cruel, and two, I wouldn't dare. Go to bed, now."

Harry could not go to bed -- he had four more inches to do on his essay. When it was very late, and the common room was quiet, Ron came and sat next to him. Harry finished his sentence and looked up.

"Yes?"

"I was thinking about Voldemort," Ron began, "and this trying to live forever thing, and I wondered ... can you transfer your self to another body?"

"Yes," Harry answered. Must he ask this now? It has to be past midnight. "It wouldn't help, though. The receiving body is too strained by it, and will die within a year."

"Oh." Ron looked down. "How do you know these things?"

"It was in some of my law reading. Transference used to be applied in cases where one person had given another a fatal injury. The dying party was sometimes given the body of his killer, so that he would have time to order his affairs. The last use of the practice was in the fifties, I think. Since it had to be done quickly, there were known cases where the killer was wrongly identified, and the practice fell out of favor. The transferred person sometimes goes a bit mad, as well." He looked down at his paper.

"Listen, Ron, could this wait? I don't want to start thinking about more murders, and I need to finish this paper before I go to bed."

"Sure. Um... Thanks." Ron shifted. "Well, good night, then."

"Good night, Ron," Harry said firmly.

Ron left.

Monday morning, Harry woke up late, again, and had barely time to grab some toast and jam before the end of breakfast. He hurried off to Potions. Malfoy caught his eye when he entered and nodded to the seat beside his own. Harry, with a slight twinge of apprehension, sat beside the Slytherin.

He had not quite got all his things out and ready before Snape came in. The professor reprimanded him for his laziness and took ten points from Gryffindor. He also looked distrustfully between him and Malfoy. Harry gave the barest shrug, and Snape pivoted and glided off to the front of the room.

"This week," he said, "we are starting concealment potions. Today we will do the simplest of these, the Hunter's Stealth Ointment, which prevents the leaving of any scent. As those of you with any facility in Herbology will recall, the leaves of Diana's Treasure will do this, to some extent, when simply rubbed on the body and the soles of the shoes. The Ointment, however, combines this natural masking ability with several magical agents of occlusion, producing a far more powerful...."

By the end of class, Harry knew quite a lot about masking agents. Malfoy had not interfered with him in any way. However, as he was packing up, Malfoy said:

"Walk with me."

Again, they let the rest of the class get a bit ahead. Harry was expecting something about Malfoy's father, or perhaps an attack, or a question about Dark Arts. He was taken by surprise when Malfoy asked:

"Why are your friends -- or former friends, as it may be -- interested in Augustus Maitland?"

Harry tossed up his hands in exasperation. "Professor Snape mentioned him!" he said. "That's it -- just 'you would find his history educational' to Ron, when Ron was being House-blinded about something. Except he did it when Hermione was there, and she latched on."

"Why would Snape mention him, though?" Malfoy asked, as they started up the stairs. "Was he important?"

"I think just as a Gryffindor Death Eater," Harry explained. "Not like they haven't already met a Gryffindor Death Eater, but Ron managed to be shocked, anyway."

Malfoy looked thoughtful. A landing further up, he said. "All right. I give. Who?"

"What? Oh, Pettigrew ... Wormtail. A Marauder, no less."

"Marauder! How would you know that?"

Harry looked curiously at Malfoy. "Er ... other Marauders told me?"

Malfoy looked puzzled. "We must be talking about different groups. The Marauders I've heard of were a group of clever, aggressive Gryffindors about twenty years ago--"

"Headed by James Potter."

Malfoy stopped short. "Your father was a Marauder?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, that James Potter."

"Do you know who the others were?"

"Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin."

Malfoy stared. "Professor Lupin doesn't strike me as the sort."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Malfoy! You must know the difference between someone who'll cause trouble on his own, and someone who'll go along when his best friends are cajoling and teasing and saying it will be fun."

"Oh." Malfoy considered this for a moment, then smirked. "Yes, I do." He raised his eyebrows. "And your father?"

"Oh, absolute trouble. Even the people who loved him say so."

Harry and Malfoy walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts together. Harry looked for Ron and saw he was already seated with Hermione. There were no free seats adjacent to theirs. Harry spotted a free seat next to Neville, up at the front of the room. As he approached it, he was aware of his classmates watching him walk beside Malfoy. Harry rather expected Ron to glare at the Slytherin, but Ron seemed to be avoiding looking at Malfoy, at all. Harry sat by Neville, and Malfoy sat down across the aisle, next to Terry Boot, whom he made shift over.

At the front of the room, Professor Lupin was fiddling with an odd looking piece of equipment. It had a long, grey cylinder, about the height and width of a cat, but twice as long, set on a wooden base with two dials on it. Harry was close enough to see him set one of the dials as low as it would go. When everyone was seated, Lupin set his wand to the device, causing a quick rising scale to emit from it. The scale changed to a steady, quiet tone, which stilled as Lupin stepped to the side. He turned to the class.

"Good morning, everyone. This week, and the next, I plan to review a number of devices commonly used in detecting Dark Arts, enemies, danger, and deceit. I'm sure all of you have encountered some such device -- a Sneakascope, or a Foe Glass. There are many of them, and all have their uses -- also their limitations. Today's device is a Dark Detector of the Kerner design. It emits a tone in the presence of Dark energies, with the tone and volume varying by the type and intensity of the energy."

Ernie Macmillan raised his hand.

"Yes, Ernie?"

"Do you set it off?"

Lupin smiled slightly. "A good question. It depends on the phase of the moon. As I expect you noticed, the device now emits a slight tone when I am close to it." He stepped towards the Dark Detector, causing it to produce a quiet, high tone, then stepped away again. "This is really the most spectacular of the devices I will show you, and normally I would save it for the end of the session, however, by next Friday, which is the day of the full moon, I would need to shout to be heard over the alarm my disease would evoke."

He scanned across all of them. "With this information, you should be able to determine the chief limitation of this device, explain why it is not admissible as evidence of any wrongdoing, and identify one of your classmates who will set it off dramatically. Anyone?"

An awkward silence descended on the class. Neville glanced past Harry at Malfoy. Harry looked at Remus's tranquil smile, and decided the professor couldn't be referring to Malfoy. Remus saw this demonstration as harmless. Sighing, Harry raised his hand.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Me, sir?"

"Quite right. Ten points to Gryffindor. Please come demonstrate."

Reluctantly, Harry stood up. Everyone was staring at him. He decided he would not be embarrassed. He drew himself up straight, and walked proudly to the front of the room, turning in front of Lupin to face the Kerner Dark Detector. A step towards it, and it emitted a loud, deep scream. Despite his resolve, Harry jumped back. Someone giggled nervously.

More cautiously, Harry stepped forward again. While Remus's presence had caused only a high, quiet, wail, Harry's provoked a deafening, strident roar, which continued without break or modulation. This time he was ready for the racket, and stood still until Remus motioned him back.

"There," said Lupin. He rubbed slightly at the ear that had been closest to the alarm. "Now, you will recall that I said you should all know one of your classmates would do this. Can any of you tell me what limitation of the Kerner Dark Detector we have just witnessed? Padma?"

"The Kerner Dark Detector cannot distinguish between someone who has been cursed with Dark Arts and someone who has been using Dark Arts."

"Exactly! Ten points to Ravenclaw." Lupin gestured at Harry. Harry wondered if he was ever to be invited to sit down again, or if he should just slink back to his seat undismissed. "However, Harry is not merely cursed, as I am. I spent some of my weekend investigating curse scars, and Draco's assertion is correct -- the scar maintains a link, of sorts, to the caster. Thus the effect we get from Harry is a small portion of the effect we would get from Voldemort, himself."

He smiled reassuringly at the class, several of whom had twitched at his use of the name. "Now, anyone who wishes to is welcome to come up and attempt the Dark Detector. I will not assume anything from a positive response."

Malfoy, to Harry's surprise, stood.

"May I, sir?"

Lupin hesitated only slightly. "If you wish, Draco."

With a smirk, Malfoy walked up to the front of the class. A few feet away from the device, he stopped. His smirk vanished, and his eyes fell closed. Slowly and deliberately, he stepped forward until he was in arm's reach of the device. It remained silent. Everyone stared.

Slowly, Malfoy opened his eyes. He still looked oddly placid, Harry thought. "It has another limitation, sir," he said quietly. "If you know how, it can be manipulated."

Suddenly, his face was alight with mischief and malice. The Dark Detector erupted into a multi-toned keening. Malfoy laughed viciously, then took a step back. The noise decreased with the distance, then dropped further as Malfoy did something less visible.

Occlumency, Harry thought. It's got to be. "Let me try!" he said eagerly.

"You need to know how, Potter," Malfoy said derisively, but Harry, not waiting for permission, stepped forward. The low, loud roar began again. Carefully, Harry worked on clearing his mind, dampening his emotions, and with them, his link to Voldemort. The wail shifted higher in tone and dropped dramatically in volume, until it was only slightly louder than Remus's alarm. Harry let his eyes open and found himself looking over the device into uncharacteristically wide grey eyes.

"I'm pretty good at improvising," Harry commented.

Draco smirked and stepped forward. The multi-toned wail returned. Harry leaned his head back and let his control erode slowly, adding a lowering crescendo to Draco's clamor. He flashed a smile at the other boy, whose face was now in an ecstasy of power.

Harry tried maintaining his emotional openness, but concentrating on happy, generous, loved feelings, like when Ron had made up with him during the Tri-Wizard tournament. This left his volume unabated, but caused a shift in his tone. Draco's face calmed as he did something similar, cutting his mix of tones down to two, and matching the volume to Harry's. Harry tried to shift his tone enough to bring it into harmony with Draco's.

The effort was exhausting, but also consuming. It wasn't until his eyes began to sting that Harry realized he was dripping with sweat. He looked across at his counterpart and saw the blond's face also had a feverish sheen. He stepped back. "Draco?" he asked uncertainly.

Suddenly, he was aware of the classroom, again. Draco jerked back, cutting the noise to nothing. Harry felt himself redden. He looked apologetically at Remus, who was plainly horrified.

"Sorry, sir." His voice came out shaky and weak. "May I sit down, now?"

"Please do."

At the end of the lesson, Harry still felt weak. He realized he'd hardly eaten breakfast, which probably had worsened the strain of manipulating the Dark Detector, and he was afraid his activities might have piqued Voldemort's interest.

While he was messily shoving his book and parchment into his bag, he became aware of someone standing in the aisle and blocking some of his light. With trepidation, he looked up. It was Draco, watching him.

Harry didn't know what to say. The Slytherin's expression was unreadable -- the same vaguely disdainful look that his father had when evaluating something. Harry looked down at his hands, where they were clenched around the handles of his bag. After a moment, he heard Draco leave.

He took the time to steady his breathing before he stood up.

The other sixth-years had all left. Remus was leaning against his desk, watching Harry thoughtfully.

"Harry..."

"Don't," Harry said fiercely.

"I'm not angry at you."

"Fine, but I'm exhausted, and I need food, and whatever you want to say, I don't want to hear it."

"Don't trust Malfoy."

"Weren't you the one talking about how everyone has their good points?"

"Not exactly, and even if that is true, in theory, I am not thinking about theory, now. I'm thinking about a young man whom I love very much, and who is, as far as I can tell, estranged from his friends, and might, perhaps, be inclined to make inadvisable new ones?"

"Remus, please. I'm fine." Harry hesitated. "And I might like to make friends of a sort with Malfoy, but trust would be a bit much. I promise I'll be careful."

The werewolf looked down. "I worry about you," he said softly. "Perhaps it's unreasonable -- but you're all that's left. Would you give me a regular social visit? Say, Sunday afternoon, from four to six? It would give me time to talk to you -- to let me know I haven't lost you."

"You haven't lost me." On the contrary.

"But will you?"

Harry nodded. "I'd like that." He looked severely at Remus. "No more truth magic, though. It makes me feel like I'm being interrogated. Let's just visit."

"Of course."

Hermione fumed on the way down the stairs. "That ... brat! I can't believe Harry would take a complicated piece of Auror equipment and start playing it like some sort of badly-tuned theramin!

"I can't believe he'd do something like that with Malfoy!" Ron returned.

"He's been strange about Malfoy since school started."

"Perhaps it's--" Ron stopped speaking. A moment later, Hermione realized he was no longer walking beside her. She turned around and looked back. Ron was still standing on the stairs, looking like a dragon was coming up at him.

"Ron?" She took a few steps back up towards him.

"Hermione." Ron was still looking like something terrifying was approaching them. Hermione glanced down the stairs, but saw only the backs of descending students. "I need to go find Ginny," Ron said quickly. "Meet us in the Transfiguration classroom." With that, he started off.

"But...." Hermione began, but Ron was already a flight down. With a gesture of surrender, she followed.

She saw Ron catch Ginny in the corridor, and lead her back into McGonagall's empty classroom. Hermione joined them and shut the door.

"She's here," Ginny said sharply to Ron. "Now tell me what's so important."

Ron looked at Hermione. "I was thinking about why he might be different about Malfoy. And first I thought maybe it wasn't a joke, and they really are brothers...."

It took Hermione a moment to remember what Ron was referring to. "You mean the Paternity--" she stopped, as he had on the stairs. "Oh."

"Right. We've been total idiots." He glanced at his sister. "Not you, Ginny; you didn't know. You were clever -- too clever -- and we should have known better."

"Ron! What are you talking about?" Ginny demanded.

"This summer," Hermione explained, "Harry was asking about something called the Paternity Charm. It's a spell to make someone look like another father. I didn't have anything on it at home, and never looked it up here, because he said it had just been a joke someone played on him...." She looked despairingly at Ron.

"Utter prats!" he said furiously. He hit the wall with the side of his fist, then spent a while jumping up and down swearing silently.

"I don't understand," Ginny said.

"I ... we need to find details," Ron managed, clutching his hand, "but Mum said something about the Paternity Charm not being permanent. Harry probably looks different because it's wearing off, not because he's a different person."

"You mean James Potter wasn't really his dad?" Ginny exclaimed.

"He's been saying 'James,' more," Hermione interjected. "Did you notice? When he was saying that Peter liked watching James and Sirius bully people?"

"I noticed it was an odd thing for him to say about his dad," Ron replied. He was still clutching his hand.

"And that would be political," Ginny said, finally catching up. "I mean, it isn't something he could tell anyone, now, is it?"

"But why should it matter?" Hermione argued. "He's not famous for being James Potter's son; he's famous for surviving the Killing Curse and destroying Voldemort's power."

"But his dad matters," Ginny explained. "His mum and dad matter as a couple, too. I mean, they got a lot of attention from the papers, like Harry does. The well-born Wizard and the Muggle-born girl, you know -- like a fairy tale. It was very romantic -- my Mum's talked about it, and she says they actually were that darling, together."

"Right. So, if she was unfaithful to him--" Ron stopped speaking, though his mouth stayed open. His eyes widened. As on the stairs, Hermione actually glanced behind her to see if anything had come at them.

"What?" she urged.

"Well... What if she wasn't?" Ron said, in horrified tones. "What if his mum was raped -- by a Death Eater? They were captured, once, and escaped. Or if it was...."

"Voldemort," Ginny completed, in hushed tones.

Ron twitched. "Right!" he exclaimed. "If Harry is You-Know-Who's bastard, they couldn't risk anyone finding out."

"Especially if Voldemort doesn't know," Ginny added.

Ron shivered and sunk back in contemplation of this horrible thought. Hermione considered it as well.

She decided she liked the theory. She found she didn't really care who had fathered Harry. Whether he was biologically James Potter's son, or Voldemort's, or some random Death Eater's, might matter to wizard genealogists, but she felt that it was hardly anyone else's concern. She could understand, however, with the import that wizards placed on bloodline, that such a revelation would require major secrecy. Harry probably would be prohibited from telling them, even if his unknown father were someone of equal rank and similar politics, like Sirius.

"So his behavior...." she said, musing out loud.

"Well, I know I'd be knocked sideways if I suddenly found out I wasn't a Weasley."

Hermione tried to imagine being told that her dad wasn't her father, possibly that her father was someone her mother had hated or feared, who had taken her by force. What would she do? Go find Ron, she thought, or Harry, or Ginny, and.... "Especially if you couldn't tell anyone about it," Hermione said, aghast. She reddened. Ron glared at her.

"Especially, if one of your best friends wouldn't talk to you at all," he said nastily.

"Well, it's not like you've been dependable either," Hermione said defensively. She bit her lip. "But ... yes."

"I've only fought with him about Malfoy!" Ron snapped. They both fell silent. Hermione could still picture Harry looking up and uncertainly meeting Malfoy's eyes across the Dark Detector. The sudden flash of a smile across his face had been matched by a knowledgeable smirk from Malfoy, and they had connected. She had seen Remus, on the far side of them, shiver when it happened.

"If he becomes friends with Malfoy...." Hermione said slowly.

Ron groaned. "It will be our fault, won't it?" he said.

Hermione was grateful to him for not saying "your fault." He could certainly argue that it was more hers. "Mine more than yours," she confessed. "But...."

"Let's get to lunch," Ron said, a trace of panic in his voice.

"Wait!" Ginny exclaimed. "First, none of this leaves this room, right?"

"Right!" Ron answered.

Hermione nodded. "Right."

"Okay. Let's go."

Harry stumbled downstairs. When he saw the entrance to the Great Hall, he paused. The sound of conversation made his stomach turn. He continued down to the kitchens. The house elves would give him food without awkward questions.

He got in and out of the kitchens quickly, as Dobby was elsewhere, and took his packet of food outside. Of their own accord, his steps led him to the Quidditch pitch. He took a school broom, flew up to a goal ring, and settled there to eat his lunch.

Harry had finished his sandwich and was halfway through a slice of lemon cake when he started to feel uneasy. He sat up, one leg on either side of the hoop, and looked around. The stands were empty and the sky clear. Finally, he looked down into the shadowed aisle that led to the changing rooms, and saw Draco Malfoy standing there, leaning back against the wall and watching him. Harry wrapped up the remaining food and flew down.

"Strange place to eat," Draco commented.

"I wanted to be alone."

"That would do it. I wouldn't dine on a perch like some wayward falcon. You're over that now, I presume?"

"For the moment."

Draco motioned to the stands, and then climbed up to the first benches and sat down. Harry joined him, unwrapped his food, and had another bite of the lemon cake. He finished chewing it and swallowed. Draco had not yet volunteered anything.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked.

"I'm watching you." Draco smiled, and it was almost charming. "It's my new hobby."

"Hobby."

"You've become intriguingly unpredictable." Draco regarded him with a shadow of his usual disdain. "I would never have believed you capable of that."

"What did you do in Defense?"

"What did you do?" Draco countered. They looked at each other distrustfully.

"Perhaps we should write down our answers and pass them to each other," Harry said.

Draco nodded, although Harry had been joking. He gestured to Harry's school bag. "Do you have writing things?"

Harry pulled out parchment, quill, ink, and a book to use as a flat surface. Draco took the parchment, folded it, tore it in half, and handed one half to Harry, who wrote. Harry picked up his paper and blew on it, while Draco took a second piece, and Harry's quill and book.

He stared at the book for a moment. "A Guide to Restricted Potions Ingredients?" he read questioningly.

"I'm doing a report on the Dark Arts Components Decree of 1981."

"Oh." Draco still looked curious, but he shrugged, wrote out his answer, and picked it up. "Ready?" In a single move, he and Harry switched papers. Harry looked down to see that he had traded a paper with his messy scrawl saying "Occlumency" for a paper with Draco's elegant script saying "Occlumency." They both grinned.

Draco reached over and tore a piece off Harry's cake. "Who taught you that?" he asked, then popped the cake in his mouth.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry replied.

Draco looked astonished. "Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Because the Dark Lord is a Legilimens?

"First try. Good job."

"But why does it matter?"

"The scar. You were right about it."

"Oh. Yes, that would be a problem. I think of Occlumency as Dark Arts, though. That's not supposed to be the headmaster's specialty."

"Isn't it really the opposite?"

"How so?"

"Well, Dark Arts involve use of the emotions. Occlumency is a dropping of emotions."

"Isn't that a sort of use, though?"

"Use by non-use?" Harry teased.

"Yes."

"Oh don't. That sort of thing makes me dizzy."

"Doesn't it matter, though, if you're doing it?"

"No. It's non-optional."

"How pragmatic."

"That was just volume, though," Harry persisted. "How did you do tone? You managed it much better than I did."

"How did you?"

"I just ... I kept my emotions in certain ranges, with my mind open or turned outward."

Draco considered. "That could do it." He smirked at Harry's impatient look. "I pulled together the energy for particular Dark spells -- not casting them, but as if I was preparing to do."

"Oh."

"That high-pitched sound that the werewolf caused -- you could tell there was no intent, just a massing of incidental energy."

"I see." Harry sat back. "At least, I think I do. I need to think it over for a while."

"Let me know if you want to know more."

Harry shot Draco a curious look. "It's odd," he said. "Having you be civil, I mean."

"It's odd having you be civil," Draco retorted. His eyes narrowed. "And I won't drive you off until I find out what you're after."

"I'm just ..." Harry shook his head. "Just tired of fighting. That's all."

"Is it?" Draco eyed him speculatively. "That doesn't nearly explain your behavior, you know. Your behavior to me, perhaps, but not Ron and Hermione, and not ... other things."

"I don't want to talk about Ron and Hermione."

"Really? I was hoping you'd give me some dirt on the Weasel."

"Why don't you just make it up, like you usually do?" Harry asked bitingly.

Draco leaned back. "I'm bored with that. It's too easy." He smiled again, not so charmingly. "Tell me. Why don't they sit with you?"

Harry scowled. "What happened to your bodyguards, Malfoy? They always used to sit with you."

Draco flinched. Harry felt a burst of simultaneous regret and triumph.

"They are no longer required to stay with me." At Harry's politely inquiring look, Draco's haughty look twisted with a bitter smile. "Since my father is, apparently, fallen from favor."

"I've seen Goyle with you, though."

"Gregory's my friend."

"Really?" Harry taunted. "I'd never have known."

Draco looked down, his pale face turning pink. "I wouldn't have done, either."

Suddenly, Harry understood. Crabbe and Goyle had previously been told, by their parents, presumably, to suck up to the Malfoy boy. Draco had always known that, and treated them with familiar scorn. Now they had been released from their obligation, and Crabbe no longer bothered with him. Goyle did.

"How embarrassing," Harry said, trying not to sound too amused or too sympathetic. He did feel sorry for Draco, who was looking unusually cowed.

"Truly," Draco responded. "No telling why he likes me. I always treated him like a servant."

Harry shrugged. "Most people put up with a certain amount of shit from the people they like."

"So you put up with Weasley's stupid jokes and Granger's pedantry."

"And they put up with my screaming fits and sulks," Harry offered.

"So what don't they put up with?" Draco pressed.

Harry rolled his eyes, but felt more generous now that Draco had told him something about his own life. "Over the summer, I discovered I like ... being on my own, sometimes."

"Sounds reasonable."

"They don't like that I won't tell them where I go."

"That doesn't."

"They ... I had an odd summer. They worry about me being alone, or something. I don't get it either, but it is -- or was -- kindly meant."

Draco looked off at the empty pitch. "Does that help?" he asked.

"Not really. It only means I can't be as angry at them as I'd like to be."

Draco snorted. "It seems to me," he said, "if the papers were correct, that your summer wasn't any worse than the rest of your life at home."

"Well, that's it," Harry replied. "It wasn't. The worst part was --" He stopped.

"Well, Harry?" Draco drawled.

"That when I heard they'd died," Harry confessed, "I was ... happy, more than anything. Relieved, I guess."

"And the problem is?"

"They were my relatives. And even if I couldn't love them, I should have mourned them, at least a little. And I should not feel delight at someone dying."

"Why not?"

"Because it's wrong." Harry hesitated. "And Professor Dumbledore says my greatest strength is my ability to love."

Draco laughed. "Even if that's true, you don't need to love people that don't deserve it," he said. He lifted his head with a haughty sneer. "If Dumbledore wanted you to be merciful and loving, perhaps he should have left you with someone kind, who would be good to you."

"He was afraid I'd become spoiled and self-centered."

"Well, he could have given you to the Weasleys, then. They wouldn't have the money or the time, would they?" Draco smirked. "Too late now. Cheer up! It could be worse; you could be under a prophecy."

"What?"

"It's a wizard saying, Potter. 'It could be worse; you could be under a prophecy.'"

"But I am," Harry returned. "Under a prophecy, I mean."

Draco blinked. "Oh. My condolences."

"That was what the mess at the Ministry was, last spring. Voldemort sent me to get the prophecy and your father to take it from me."

"He sent you?"

"With Legilimency. Through the scar."

"Oh." Draco's eyes narrowed as he studied at Harry. "And Occlumency is non-optional. It comes together. He didn't get it, I presume?"

"No. I smashed it."

Draco stared, then slowly smiled. "Good for you. Screw fate." He took the last bit of lemon cake and stood up. "Show me something interesting," he commanded.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. Can you do it?" Draco challenged.

Harry stood up. He let an answering arrogance show through. "Come with me, then." Harry led Draco out of the pitch and down towards the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's hut.

"I've seen the wyverns, Potter."

"This isn't a wyvern. It isn't anything of Hagrid's, but it's near there."

Harry led him down to the wyvern cage and around it, to the bushes where he had twice seen the adder. "Snake?" he asked. "Hello. Are you near?" After a moment, he heard a rustling. The adder emerged from the bushes and raised its head to catch their scent on its tongue. Draco jumped in the air and landed a pace back.

"Oh, come off it," Harry said, kneeling and holding his hand out to the adder. "Don't tell me a Slytherin is afraid of snakes."

"I am not! It just startled me, that's all." For all that, Harry noticed, Draco didn't come any closer. The adder did.

"Hello, speaking man," she said.

"Hello, snake. Are you well?"

"Yes. It is still sunny in the afternoon."

"Good."

Harry sat down and the adder zipped over to him. Again, it raised its head and flicked its tongue out for a few seconds, then poked its head, and several inches of its body up the sleeve of Harry's robe. Harry glanced up at Draco as the adder doubled back and poked its head out again. Draco was staring wide-eyed and slack jawed.

Harry spread the front of his robe between his knees. "Bask here. It is sunny, and I will protect you."

The adder consented with a hiss, and flowed out onto Harry's lap, with every inch of it taking the turn in and out of Harry's sleeve. Harry looked back at Draco.

"Sit down, then," he suggested. "Does my little friend qualify as something interesting?"

Draco considered. "No," he decided, "but your conversation does." He sat down, a bit abruptly. "What is it saying?"

"Not much. We both went through variations of 'hi, how are you? I'm fine.' She said the afternoon sun was pleasant and I invited her to bask." Harry looked at Draco. "Now tell me how you heard of the Marauders."

Draco laughed shakily. "Oh, it's not much. But Slytherin House has something they made. House legend is we stole it from them. It's just a slip of paper that displays one's distance to Professor Snape on one side, and is signed "The Marauders" on the other. It's very useful to us, of course. I don't know what they wanted with such a thing. He would have been a student, then."

Harry tried to relax his now clenched jaw.

"They hated him," he forced out. "He hated them. That's all. A quick way to find your enemy." The snake hissed and twisted with his agitation. Harry stroked a hand down its smooth scales and forced himself to relax.

"I suppose that explains why we stole it, then," Draco said lightly. "At any rate, a brief explanation of the name has been passed down with the item itself."

Their conversation grew lighter, and Draco appeared to grow more comfortable with the snake, which settled down in loose, thick coils on the warmth of Harry's black robe.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny did not find Harry at lunch, so they ate quickly, and then went searching for him. When they still had not found him fifteen minutes before the start of class, Ron and Hermione decided to go to Care of Magical Creatures early, in case he was visiting Hagrid, but Hagrid did not answer the door. They decided to look out back, in hopes he and Harry were with the wyverns.

When they came around the hut, Hagrid was not there. Harry was. He was sitting next to Draco Malfoy, almost on the other side of the aviary, and the two of them were talking quietly and intently. Harry was sitting cross-legged and seemed to be holding something in his lap.

Almost against her will, Hermione walked closer. The thing in Harry's lap resolved into the coils of a large, brown adder, resting with apparent contentment in the hammock formed by Harry's school robes. He was stroking absently down its scaled back, as if it was a kitten, rather than a sizable, poisonous snake. Malfoy was reclined back on a rounded rock, a slightly amused expression on his face and his attention shifting between Harry's face and Harry's lap.

Malfoy looked up. Hermione was certain her expression displayed her horror plainly. She was not at all surprised when Malfoy's gaze glanced disdainfully over her and settled on her companion. Malfoy's refined contempt expanded into a superior smirk.

"Still trailing around after the Mudblood girl, Weasley?" he taunted.

"Draco!" Harry snapped. He looked angry. It was the first encouraging thing Hermione had noticed. His hand had stopped moving.

Malfoy looked innocently back to him. "What?"

"Don't call her that." Harry absently resumed stroking the snake in his lap, but it shifted restlessly, raised up its head, and hissed, first at Malfoy, then at Ron and Hermione. Malfoy pushed back out of striking distance.

"What did it say?" he asked, getting casually to his feet.

"No words," Harry responded. "Snakes pick up what I feel, sometimes, like I pick up what they feel. She can tell I'm upset at all of you." He looked at Malfoy's sullen offense and smiled. "And they have even less tact than an eleven-year-old boy."

Malfoy, to Hermione's surprise, laughed.

"All right, then. I won't promise to play nice, but I'll clear out, for now, with no offense. Later?"

Harry nodded. The eager smile he gave Malfoy hit Hermione like a slap in the face. "Later, then," he affirmed. Still grinning, he leaned down to the snake and hissed at it. Slowly it stilled. Malfoy walked towards Hermione and Ron. As he passed near them, he said quietly:

"Does he know how little you'll sell him for?"

Hermione stumbled. Ron whirled on Malfoy.

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"You want to have this out in front of him, then?" Malfoy drawled, his voice still quiet. "I can say it louder, if you want." Harry started to set the snake on Malfoy's sunny rock. Hermione guessed he was preparing to come over and intervene.

"Later," Hermione hissed. If Malfoy left, she and Ron could confess to Harry and take the consequences, but if Malfoy told him, they would be in far worse shape. It occurred to her, as she watched the malicious triumph on Malfoy's face, that this had been his intent all along. It was not that he needed such an odd little bit of information, but that he needed a way to blackmail them, or a way to put them down in front of Harry.

"Later then," he purred. He stepped a little closer. "Mudblood," he whispered. Hermione threw an arm out to block Ron's attack.

"Let him go, Ron."

Ron heard the urgency in her voice and fell back. Malfoy gave them a dangerous smile, turned, and swaggered away.

Harry was approaching now. Hermione turned to face him without any chance to speak to Ron.

"What was that about?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "He was threatening to blackmail us."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he took on a condescending look. "And what have you done?" he asked pointedly.

"We ... He offered me information for something about you that seemed insignificant...."

"And you gave it to him."

Hermione felt herself heat with shame. "Yes."

"What? For what?"

The clipped questions were frightening in their starkness. Hermione looked as apologetic as she could. "What nights you'd been gone -- I didn't see that it could matter, but that's what he asked for --"

"What if it did matter?! What if something was happening those nights and he knew?" Green eyes burned with fury. "You have no idea what trouble you could be causing!"

"It wasn't like -- you weren't there. He was casting around for something to demand. I thought that he'd asked for some random thing just to avoid giving me anything for free." She bit her lip. "Now I realize he asked so he had something to hold over me."

Harry let out a hissing breath, then nodded curtly. "Probably. Just so you know, that information is probably harmless. What did you get?"

Hermione looked down. "Enough information to find Maitland in the library," she whispered.

"Just for your curiosity," Harry said bitingly.

"Yes." Sometimes, Hermione reflected, there was no point in trying to make excuses.

Harry rounded on Ron. "And you?" he asked.

"Oh, I promised him something far more valuable, but I've been intending to tell you." Ron, on the other hand, did not sound the least bit contrite.

"Really?"

"I've promised I'll tell him when you go missing." Ron stepped forward. "So don't, because I will do."

"You wouldn't."

"I will. He says he's seen you in the dungeons."

Harry turned his back on them. "Go away."

"Look, mate --"

Harry whirled back, furious. "Don't you dare!" he screamed. "I am not your mate, I am not your property, and you are not my friend. Go!"

"Class is starting soon," Hermione said timidly.

Harry looked her up and down in a way that made her feel like running. "Soon," he repeated.

"In about ten minutes. We were looking for you." Hermione swallowed. "We wanted to say we're sorry."

"You're not sorry," Harry spat. "You're jealous. Afraid, perhaps. Not sorry."

"Harry, look --" Ron tried.

"Shut up! Just shut up, both of you!" Harry stormed back to the rock and the snake slid back into his lap. When Hermione tried to approach him, he ignored her, and the snake reared up and hissed threateningly. When Ron began to rant and threaten her, she remembered the wyverns and pulled him away to get calming potions for both of them.

Severus had not consciously noticed the sound of approaching footsteps, but he looked up when they stopped at the door to his office. Remus Lupin was standing in his doorway, looking ill and harried. Severus tensed at the sight. He did not speak, but glowered pointedly at his unwelcome visitor.

"I know you dislike my presence," Remus said, his voice low and tense, "but we need to discuss Harry."

"Potter?" Severus answered. His reaction heightened, but he put on an air of slight confusion. "Why would that concern me?"

Remus's face contorted in a quick snarl of rage. He slammed the door shut. "Sonitus Claudere, Odoros Claudere," he chanted quickly, wand out and pointed at the door. He looked back, the rage already under control, but his jaw clenched tight.

"That still falls from your mouth as one spell," Severus noted acerbically. "I'm surprised you even remember it."

Remus scowled. "You may have been my first lover, Severus, but you were certainly not my last. I have used it since I was seventeen."

Severus had not expected Remus to acknowledge the reference. He found himself off balance. "I don't know why you are bothering to block scent now."

"Do you think, if I were walking by this room, I could not tell that you and I were in here, and angry?"

"And what does that mean? That you and I are in this room," Severus sneered, confident again.

"Odd as the thought may be to you," Remus said tightly, "I am often in your presence without anger."

"I am not in yours without it."

That seemed to have struck on target. Remus looked down a moment and swallowed. "Could we ... please? ... restrict this conversation to Harry?"

"And why would I want to talk to you about Harry?"

"Because I am one of his professors, and I am demanding a parent conference!" Remus snarled. "Is that clear?"

Severus sat back and stared at him in astonishment. After a moment, he felt his mouth moving in a smile, and struggled to restrict it to a possibly contemptuous curl of his lip.

"Well then, Professor Lupin -- what have you to say about my son?"

Remus plunged right in. "Harry has been disruptive in my Defense Against--"

"I am aware what you teach, Lupin."

"He interrupted my introduction of how we define Dark Arts several times, to--"

"If you are unable to maintain discipline in your class, I fail to see how this is my concern."

"My concern, which should be yours, is that he does it for Mr. Malfoy's attention."

Remus had not advanced, but he had also not backed off. Severus found himself slightly impressed.

"Your imagination is running away with you, Lupin. Young Malfoy hates Potter, and Potter largely ignores him."

"Oh does he? Let me tell you about this morning's class. I had a Kerner Dark Detector--"

"And Harry set it off?"

"As I expected he would do. In fact, I had called him up to demonstrate that limitation. Then Mr. Malfoy asked if he could try. He stepped forward, slowly, but all the way up to it, without it making a sound."

Severus tried not to show his surprise or his pleasure. He would not have thought Draco had the control.

"He said this was another limitation. The he smiled, and it began to scream--"

"So your complaint is about Malfoy's skill?"

"No. Then Harry said, 'let me try!' and he managed to cut his alarm down to almost nothing, and he looked at Malfoy and waited for the smile. Then the two of them began doing it together -- they changed tone, of all things! -- and Malfoy was impressed, and Harry delighted."

"Delighted in his own skill, perhaps." Severus paused. Reducing volume was a good use of Occlumency, but tone.... He probably just used mood, and managed to approximate. "I'm pleased."

"But Friday, it was all for Malfoy as well," Remus persisted. "Say something, look to see if he gets that little smile, or a nod...."

"You are imagining things."

"No. I saw them walking together after class, when they should have been at lunch. They were headed down towards the forest."

That worried Severus. He tried not to show it. "Perhaps you should talk to Harry."

"I have. He said he wouldn't mind being friends with Draco, but of course he'd be careful.... You know he won't." An impassive stare from Severus made Remus twitch. He looked back in appeal. "It was bad enough watching a peer -- you -- being twisted by Lucius," he said passionately. "Harry is ... well, not like my own child, but the closest thing I will ever have to a young kinsman, and I cannot stand to watch him playing up his darkness for that Malfoy boy!"

"First, Draco is not Lucius--"

"He is just as bad!"

"He is nowhere near as bad. Not much to his credit -- he hasn't the will, or the imagination. Draco is a petty, spoiled child, and if Harry chooses to associate with him, he will grow tired of him quickly. Second, Harry is not me -- again, not near it. Third, were they just like us, Draco would still lack the history that gave Lucius the deepest of his hooks into me. Fourth--" A rising anger spilled over -- "Harry is NONE OF YOUR KIN!" Severus found he had screamed the last, loudly and roughly enough to hurt his throat.

"I won't have children, Severus," Remus said, keeping his voice nearly steady. "With one of my sisters dead and the other estranged from me, I won't have nephews and nieces. As Lily's child -- as James's fostered child -- Harry holds that place in my heart." Remus shuddered visibly. "Even as yours," he added hesitantly. "Don't you know any child of yours would be dear to me?"

Severus wanted nothing so much as to kill the man where he stood.

"Get out!" he screamed. "OUT!"

Remus backed up to the door and opened it, breaking the wards, but to his credit, did not run. "Talk to him," he said stiffly. "He listens to you." With that, he left.

Severus knew he found Remus's affection offensive, and his statement that Harry listened to him, voiced almost as an accusation, frightening. He did not want to think beyond that. Quickly, he resumed reviewing fourth year essays, then, when that did not adequately consume his attention, to read them aloud at a low mutter. They were not nearly good enough to withstand it.

Ginny, her knees pulled up to her chest, listened quietly to Ron and Hermione's increasingly strained description of the afternoon's events.

"We need to go back to the map," Ron said. "I can't deal with Malfoy, now."

"May I make a suggestion?" Ginny said.

"Go ahead, Ginny," Hermione answered.

"I know he's your friend, much more than mine, but I think you should just let him keep his secrets."

"What!"

"He's not going to tell you anything until he feels comfortable with you, again, and he's never going to feel comfortable if you spy on him and demand answers from him. Give him a month or two. We know why he looks different, now, and perhaps why he's moody. It even seems likely that he's been prohibited from telling you things, and you know what that's like. You can wait." Ginny fanned a clump of her hair between her fingers and peered at the ends. "I'm sorry I made this messier, but I can't fix it for you. You need to do that."

"He had a snake! He was talking to Malfoy!"

"So? He has to talk to someone, doesn't he? And I've never understood why he didn't keep snakes, Slytherin symbol or not. If I was a Parselmouth, I'd have snakes escort me through the halls and guard my things in class and ride on my broom during practice." Ginny paused. "Well, perhaps not that last one. I bet snakes hate flying."

Harry deliberately arrived late to dinner, so he could avoid Ron and Hermione, who were, as he had hoped, already seated. Ginny was with them and Dean, so he sat with Zoë, and they made light conversation, mostly about Quidditch. The schedule of autumn games had been announced right before Harry arrived, so Zoë filled him in. Gryffindor was playing Ravenclaw on the first weekend in October, which was sooner than Harry would have liked. Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff a few weeks later. The rest of the games were scheduled for spring, with the Gryffindor/Slytherin game scheduled for early May. Despite his current resolve to avoid Draco, Harry found himself relieved that they wouldn't be meeting each other on the pitch any time soon. Now that he thought about it, he wondered how that would work with the head of the rival house being his father. It was likely to be odd.

Quidditch practice was more strained, as Harry could not avoid the two Weasley team members. Everyone noticed the tension between Harry and Ron. Andrew was angry with Harry on Ron's behalf, though Ron told him not to be, and Teresa was angry with Ron on Harry's behalf, though Harry told her not to be. Jack and Iggy attempted to ignore the whole thing.

"At least talk to me," Ron said pleadingly, on the way back to the dormitory. Harry ignored him. "Please? Two weeks ago, we were friends."

"If it makes you feel any better," Harry said shortly, "I don't think I'm speaking to Draco, either. Now sod off!"

Harry continued to snub Ron and Hermione throughout Tuesday. His mood was not improved by a short note from his father, delivered at lunchtime by school owl, which said "I have rescheduled our Tuesday evening conference to Wednesday. I expect you to be prompt." The moment of amusement he gleaned from the perfect Professor Snape tone of it was followed almost immediately by disappointment and annoyance. He was anxious to talk to his father about the Kerner Dark Detector and Draco.

Wednesday morning, Harry sat with Teresa and one of her classmates. He felt like an older brother, and tremendously enjoyed mixing casual advice with light teasing. He left for Potions in a better mood than he had been in since Monday.

When he entered the classroom, Draco nonchalantly waved him toward the seat beside him. Harry froze in the aisle.

"Sit," Draco said, clearly tapping the chair next to him. The other students present, Boot and Finch-Fletchley, were staring. Harry stepped close enough to speak quietly.

"I'm not sure I'm speaking to you."

Draco looked at him in innocent astonishment. "What did I do?" he asked.

"Ron and Hermione fessed up about their deals with you. I suspect you coaxed them into it just for blackmail purposes."

"They did it," Draco said indignantly.

"I know, and I'm not speaking to them, either."

"Really, Harry, I was curious. I'd seen you --" Draco stopped abruptly. "I don't think we should have this conversation with an audience. Will you let me tell you about it, after class?"

Harry decided it wasn't fair to listen to Ron and Hermione's side of the story and not Draco's. He nodded. Draco smiled and nudged the chair. "Sit down," he urged. Harry sat, then remembered he hadn't been going to do that. Draco looked at him and smirked.

When Professor Snape entered, he looked surprised and displeased to see Harry sitting with Draco. Throughout the class, his attention continued to return to them. Harry was confused by the disapproval in those looks. Snape liked Draco, as far as he could tell. Shouldn't he like them to get along?

While he was considering the matter, Draco nudged him. "Should I drop some extra Shrake spines in Boot's cauldron?" he suggested in a low voice. Harry snorted in amused disbelief.

"Isn't that a bit childish?" he whispered back.

"Potter!" Snape barked, gliding down to their table. "Ten points from Gryffindor for disrupting another student's work." He leaned over the table, his best sneer fixed on Harry. "This is a class, Potter, not a social event."

"Excuse me, er, sir?" Draco said quietly. "I'd asked him a question."

Snape's glittering eyes shifted to Draco and held there for a moment while Draco smiled placidly. "Did you?" Snape whispered threateningly. "Very well, then. Ten points from Slytherin, as well." Draco blinked in surprise. "And I think the two of you should sit at separate tables, since you seem unable to control yourselves in a serious environment. Potter! Move!" Snape inclined his head as Harry began piling items for transport. He waited until Harry had half of them on the neighboring table, then said:

"To the table in front of my desk, Potter."

Harry spent the next half-hour trying to fix the damage caused by having moved his cauldron in mid-brew. He ended up with a potion that masked the scent of some of their test objects -- rotten beans, and fresh lime zest, for example, but not thestral manure or crushed cloves.

"Pathetic, Potter," Snape sneered over his shoulder. Harry looked around angrily.

"If you hadn't made me move it after I added the fairy cocoon silk --!"

"Then it would be just as pathetic," Snape said sharply, as he shifted around to Harry's side, causing Harry to turn to track him. "I am quite familiar with your ability to mangle even the simplest formula."

Harry glared and was surprised by a quick smirk and wink from Severus, who now had his back to the rest of the room.

"At least I know I am at no risk of being poisoned by you."

Harry bit his lip and looked down to hide his amusement. He heard Snape praise Draco's potion and grudgingly acknowledge Parvati's to be "effective." On the way back to his desk, Snape paused to sneer at his potion again, and to whisper, "Tonight, my apartments."

Draco was waiting for Harry just outside the classroom door.

"I don't believe that man!" he fumed.

"He's always like that to me," Harry pointed out.

"I know, but I didn't think he'd be unfair to me, just to continue going after you." Draco sighed. "Let's find an empty room, shall we?"

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprised inquiry. "This isn't even a hallway discussion?"

"No."

Draco led Harry into a small room under the stairs, which held boxes and cleaning supplies to one side, but still had a clear space at the tall end. It was roomy enough that Harry could stand two paces back from Draco, and thought he would have a little room to maneuver if they fought. Draco closed the door. Harry wasn't surprised when he warded it, as well, but he found his hand moving nervously to his wand. Draco made a show of putting his own wand in an inner pocket and moving his hands to his hips.

"In my opinion, Harry, you've been acting rather oddly. It started with talking to me, and telling Ron not to attack me, but then there's this cool look you've acquired, and contradicting Professor Lupin -- sorry, Remus -- in class. Last weekend, I saw you go into Professor Snape's private laboratory -- when he was there -- and stay. There was absolutely no sound at the door, so I believe one of you warded it.

"That was curious enough that I went poking around for more information -- any information -- on you. It was clear enough that you'd been fighting with your dear friends, Granger and Weasley, so when I found them in the library, I decided to draw them out. I gave them the information about seeing you in the dungeons, as a taunt. I tried hinting at some things, hoping for a response that would tell me something, but they genuinely seemed to not know what you were up to -- but I could tell that they thought you were up to something, and they were angry and frightened not to know what.

"I offered Granger a deal -- I'd tell her everything I found out about you if she told me everything she found out about you. She refused, as I expected, but then Weasley stepped in. He said he'd tell me whenever you disappeared, if I'd tell him whenever I saw you in the dungeons. I was shocked, but I accepted before he had time to reconsider. Then, on my way out, I saw what she was doing, with a list of dozens of misspellings of Maitland. She'd been so insistent that she wouldn't deal with me that I was determined I would have a price out of her for that one, and, after a few exchanges, she agreed to tell me which days you had been missing."

Harry growled. "I bet she told you the truth, too."

"Tuesday, Friday, Tuesday, Saturday?"

"I refuse to confirm or deny."

Draco smirked. "Good for you." He looked coolly at Harry. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"No."

"Let's walk, then."

Draco canceled the privacy spell on the door, and they walked out into the now empty corridor. "Will you let it go?" he asked.

Harry scowled. "I'm not sure. I still think you're trying to cause trouble."

"If you can't trust them," Draco said, starting up the stairs, "isn't it better to find out this way, than when it really matters?"

"But maybe it does matter. Honestly, Draco, you're a Voldemort supporter! It's not like I can trust you, in any case."

Draco shrugged. "I'm not quite thrilled with the Dark Lord, these days."

"Oh really? Why is that?"

Draco glared. "Father is clever, magically powerful, and influential, and of one of the twelve purest family lines in Britain. The Dark Lord could have him out of Azkaban in a week, if he chose."

"The Dark Lord takes no responsibility for failure. That all needs to be pushed on to someone else."

"My father is a brilliant strategist," Draco said angrily. "If that ambush could work, he would have made it work."

"Oh, I agree," Harry said slyly. "Your parents, however much I may hate them, seem quite intelligent. Compared to Crabbe, or Nott, or MacNair, they're absolute geniuses. The majority of the Death Eaters seem a bit ... simple? I think that Voldemort likes servility too much to endure intelligence."

They had reached the second floor landing. Draco grimaced. "Either way, he's not a good leader, is he?"

"No. He's not. Of course, I'm biased, aren't I?"

"Couldn't be more so, I expect," Draco agreed. "So, doesn't it worry you, what Weasley agreed to?"

"Well, he said the point was to tell me."

"So?"

"He thought it would dissuade me from leaving if I knew he'd tell you when I did."

"And if it didn't?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps he thought that I'd be okay, if forewarned. Perhaps he wouldn't have actually told you."

"He promised me."

"So?" Harry was amused at Draco's shocked tone.

"So, Gryffindors are supposed to be honorable."

Harry shrugged. "In our way. We still lie, though. Even Hermione lies -- and steals. We just need to believe we're doing the right thing when we do it."

"Thus you were not surprised by Gryffindor Death Eaters."

"Right."

They quietly opened the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and slipped inside. Everyone turned and looked at them. Professor Lupin eyed them coolly.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy -- please sit down. As you are less than five minutes late, I will not take points for this first offense in tardiness. Next time, I will. Is that clear?"

"Yes, professor," both said.

Without consultation they walked up near the front of the room and over to the left where there were two seats together. People stared. Harry caught Draco sending a haughty sneer back at Ron's angry look.

"Don't taunt him," he whispered.

"Why not?" Draco asked innocently.

"Because it's unkind."

Draco snickered.

"If I could have your attention?" Professor Lupin asked bitingly. He held aloft the Verifier. A few minutes later, he was demonstrating it on Hermione, asking innocuous questions, such as "do you play violin?" "do you speak French?" and others of that sort. Ron's attention never left Harry. Harry watched his expression change from angry to hurt to wistful.

"I'm going to have to forgive him, now," he whispered to Draco.

"Who?"

"Ron."

"Why?"

"Well, I've forgiven you, right? And we've only not been enemies a week. He was worse, but he's been my best friend for years."

"Wait," Draco hissed.

"Why?"

"Disappear for an evening, and I'll tell you if he tells me."

Harry thought about that while Lupin called for another volunteer. "All right," he said.

At the end of class, Harry went up to talk to Professor Lupin. He turned and watched as the other students filed out.

"I thought you weren't allowed to be alone with me," Remus said mildly.

Harry shrugged. "Oh well." He looked pleadingly at Remus. "Could I borrow the Verifier? I'll give it back to you on Friday."

"And why would I loan you a Verifier?" Remus sounded more amused than offended.

"I've agreed to let Draco investigate something for me," Harry explained. "I need to know if what he tells me is true, or not."

"Draco."

"It's that, or just act as if I trust him, and see if anything breaks."

"Well, I can see why you might not want to do that."

"Please?"

Remus sighed. "I need it for my afternoon classes. Can you drop into my office at four?"

"That would be great. Thanks."

"Harry?"

Harry turned back. "Yes?"

"I ... I still don't like you with Malfoy."

Harry shrugged slightly. "I know."

"Be careful what you tell him. He's clever, and perceptive. If he figures out anything about you and --" Lupin stopped suddenly, a frustrated look crossing his face. Harry could see him trying to find a name that was safe.

"Your hawk," he suggested.

Lupin laughed nervously. "Not mine! But yes -- no telling whom he would tell. And it need only be that you have been at his mercy, in some way, but are still alive."

Harry looked down. "He already knows a lot, unfortunately. None of it from anything I told him, but ... word gets around the dungeons."

"That's very dangerous."

"I understand that. If I avoid talking to him, it isn't less so."

"Depending on what you say."

"Yes."

"Very well, then. Shall we go to lunch?"

Harry waited impatiently for his time with Severus. He was not as cheerful about it as he might have been. He needed to ask about Malfoy's intentions and was afraid he would not like the answer, and he felt he ought to ask about Maitland, and if there had been a game, as James had heard. He knew that would be an unpleasant conversation, whether the rumor had been true or not. The thought of James's letter reminded him he had never seen the one from Lily. He wondered if it had been long enough that he could safely ask again.

Then, there was the matter of Ron and Malfoy. He had the Verifier in his pocket, and had spent a while before the mirror, practicing ways to look at it surreptitiously, but it reminded him of the reason he had it. If Ron didn't contact Draco, and Draco told him so, all was well. He wasn't sure what he would do if Ron did contact Draco, or if Draco lied about it, in either direction.

Still, worrying about things was always worse than doing them. He would see Severus, soon, and probably some of it, at least, would be pleasant. Whether it was or not, he would at least not be pestered by so many mysteries.

It was no trouble at all to act agitated for Ron and Hermione's benefit.

Harry had just tasted his trifle when it happened: Snape was summoned. Harry saw the slight twitch and the rapid exit. He thought it must be clear to anyone who knew. Dumbledore, of course, continued to placidly converse with Professor Sprout. At all the staff table, only Remus and Professor McGonagall glanced after the sweep of black robes through the door.

Harry looked down at his plate and tried not to panic, or at least not to show it. What if Malfoy had figured it out? Or, as Remus had implied, merely reported that Harry Potter had been alone with Severus Snape in a warded room. Severus had said, though, that Dumbledore had bespelled him to be unable to harm a student, and Voldemort knew that.

Harry looked down at his plate and poked at his trifle, separating the bits of fruit out from the rest of the mush. Severus had said that Voldemort had a new meeting place, near here. Perhaps he could find it. He glanced over at the Slytherin table. Draco was eating studiously, his focus never leaving his spoon. Draco had said that Slytherin had an item which displayed your distance to Snape. With that, he could find the Death Eaters. He could watch, and make sure Voldemort didn't kill his father. He could --

Harry stopped the thought there. I could get killed, he told himself angrily. Besides, how would I get Draco to give me this item? Oy, Draco, I want to find the DE meeting. Loan me the Severus Snape finder? No reason, just curious.... And what if he was the one who betrayed him in the first place? And even if he didn't, why not follow me and betray me? Ask for his father's freedom as a reward, even.

Harry stopped the thought there. Nothing is wrong. Probably, nothing is wrong. It's just a summoning. He probably gets summoned all the time, I just don't usually see.

Still, Harry thought, it wouldn't do any harm to try to find the meeting. Perhaps he could use a location charm, if it was close enough.

He stopped that line of thought, again. Desperately, he looked around for Ron or Hermione. They had both left. He abandoned his flattened trifle, and set out for Gryffindor tower.

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room. After a moment of looking frantically about, he saw Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Dean sitting near a window. He went over to them and stood awkwardly by their shared table.

"Harry?" Ron said in surprise.

"I want a favor." Harry heard his voice come out cold, almost harsh, with tension. He tried to smile apologetically, but could not manage it.

"Anything I can do for you," Ron said sincerely.

"Don't let me leave, tonight." The four stared at him in silence. Harry hugged his arms tight over his body. "I mean -- we could walk around the castle. And don't try to keep me tomorrow. This isn't my usual.... But if I leave here alone tonight, I'm going to do something really stupid."

He watched the four exchange glances. Timidly, Hermione looked up at him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Again, there were uneasy glances all around, but then Ron shifted to the side, creating space between himself and Hermione.

"Well, sit down and talk about Defense Against the Dark Arts, then."

For a while, they did homework together. It began to seem almost as if they were all comfortably friends, again. Harry felt vaguely like he'd dropped into an alternate universe where the last two weeks of fights had never happened. He looked down at his hands. His fingers were longer than they used to be, and he was wearing an emerald ring.

Ginny saw the look. "That's a spectacular ring," she said. "Where did you get it?"

"It was my mum's," Harry answered absently.

"May I try it on?"

"No!" Harry winced at how fiercely the response came out. He smiled apologetically at her. "Sorry. It's charmed. I'm the only one who can wear it -- until I decide to marry."

"Oh." Ginny gave first him, then the ring, an exaggerated wary look. "I'll pass, then."

Harry pulled out his Transfiguration book and tried to read. He wasn't sure if Transfiguration was harder than it used to be because he was loosing James's native talent, or because he couldn't look at Professor McGonagall without imaging how upset she was going to be. He made it through half a chapter before the words began to blur.

A pale figure, dressed in black, was standing motionless in a large, high-ceilinged room. Another figure in black crawled forward and began to kiss the hem of the first's robe. Despite the black cloak and hood and the mask, even whiter than the Dark Lord's face, Harry knew who it was. He could feel it, feel his skin crawl as his father murmured "Master."

"So late," Voldemort hissed. "Again."

"I beseech your indulgence, my lord," Severus whined. "I cannot depart the great hall at a run."

"My indulgence you shall have," Voldemort replied. His red eyes narrowed. "Crucio!" He smiled thinly as the Death Eater twitched at his feet. "And you shall indulge me, also, laggard," he hissed. It was at least another ten seconds before he lowered his wand. He looked down. "Take your place in the circle, Severus."

"Thank you, Master," Severus panted. He crawled backward to the spot between two others before attempting to stand. Voldemort looked pleased.

"Next week, it begins," he hissed. "We will start with our allies -- all expendable -- then continue the offensive on our own. I want everyone ready. All of you have six potential targets. Study them. When the night comes, I will tell you which to take. I will tolerate no failures. If your assigned targets do not die, you will die in their place."

"Yes, my lord."

"As you will, master."

"They are as dead already, lord."

The murmurs of assent swelled and abated. The tall figure stopped in front of Severus. ""Except you."

"My lord?" Mild surprise. A touch of disappointment, perhaps.

"You are too valuable to permit such sport. You will make me weapons."

"Master."

"You will be here, Sunday, not at Hogwarts. I will not have your work monitored or compromised."

"Wise, my master." Severus bowed.

"I will give you a list of the things I require before you leave. Have any needed components delivered to Avery."

"My lord --"

"Enough!" Voldemort said curtly. He moved on. In front of the next person, he paused and turned back. His red eyes narrowed to slits. "And Severus? Your work for me will be monitored."

"I am loyal only to you, my lord."

"Perhaps."

Harry screamed.

He was on the floor of the Gryffindor common room with three people holding him down. Someone was saying "shit, oh shit, oh shit," and it took him a while to realize that was his own voice and stop. He took a deep breath, cut off what remained of the link, and focused. It was Hermione, Ron, and Dean restraining him, he realized. He cleared his throat.

"Okay -- you can let me up, now."

They released him slowly.

"I thought this didn't happen anymore!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice nearly hysterical. Harry concentrated on breathing. "You said you knew Occlumency!"

"I do know Occlumency, but I generally only do it before bed. I can't walk around in that state all the time!" Harry sat and sagged back again the skirt of the couch. "He's very close."

"What!" Ron yelped.

"It was a vision. A real --" Harry stopped himself. "It felt real," he clarified. "I have ways to check, but not immediately. I need to talk to Dumbledore before breakfast, but there's no point in doing it now." He had a sudden surge of panic for Severus. No. He'll be fine. He's to come back Sunday. His eyes focused on Hermione's concerned face. "Don't let me leave," he pleaded.

"S'all right, mate," Ron said firmly. "We won't let you leave."

Harry looked nervously around. He could focus beyond his helpers, now, and he could see the other people in the room staring at him.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

"Harry," Hermione began.

"Just -- our old place to meet. That's all. Nowhere dangerous. Ginny and Dean can come." Harry laughed, a trifle hysterically. "I'm sure the four of you can handle me."

"This is fine."

"No it's not! There are too many people!"

Ron took his wrist. "Come on, then. Let's go."

In the corridor, Harry clarified that he had meant the Room of Requirement, when he said "our old place to meet." He did the walking up and down while his friends waited suspiciously, two at either end of the corridor. He waited politely for them at the door.

He wasn't sure what they had been expecting -- portkeys or weapons, perhaps -- but clearly not a warm, cozy room with low couches and heaps of pillows, all dimly lit by scattered multi-colored fairy lights, floating in mid-air. There was music -- some sort of innocuous classical piece that Harry could not put a name to -- and the whole place smelled faintly of warm milk and cardamom.

Odd touch, that, Harry reflected. My subconscious is stranger than I thought. He settled down on one of the low couches and pulled out his necklace. "Ron?" he asked, holding up the bubble wand. Ron looked uncertain. Harry shrugged, blew a stream of bubbles in the air, and caught as many as he could. He didn't quite laugh, but he smiled brightly, and was suddenly amused by the nervous looks on the others' faces. He stood up and stalked Hermione.

"Come here, little student," he said intently. The words reminded him of Severus and Remus, which also made him smile. "Call it an experiment." Hermione backed up, shaking her head. Harry, laughing, turned from her, and immediately blew the potion at Ginny, who giggled.

"Oy!" Ron exclaimed.

"No harm done," Harry soothed. He blew more of the bubbles into the air between himself and Ron. "Come on, now. Touch. We'll all be much more reasonable." He popped one of the bubbles as he spoke. Nervously, Ron reached out and popped one, then smiled and did another.

"Er... what is that?" Dean asked.

Harry laughed. "A purely recreational potion, courtesy of yours truly." He laughed again. The bubbles were very pretty in the fairy lights. "My own invention."

"You didn't tell me!" Ron said.

"But true. That's why I can't tell you about long term effects. This didn't exist until August." Harry blew more bubbles at Ginny, then some at an advancing Dean, then more back at Ron. He smiled at Hermione.

"Come on, now. You're the only one left."

"I'll watch, thanks."

"As you wish." Harry stretched out on the couch. "What a boring life you must have." Ginny sat on the floor near him, and he played with her hair. It was lovely and shiny, and intensely red. Such a pity only one of the boys wears his long, he thought. "So, tell me what you've all been doing," he suggested. "Ginny?"

"Enjoying my boyfriend!" Ginny said promptly. Harry blew another round of bubbles at Dean, as he sat next to Ginny. Harry touched his hair, too. It was springy and strange. Harry patted it and felt it bounce back. He patted it again.

"Worrying about you," Ron sighed, lying on the facing couch.

Harry giggled. "Such a waste of energy. You, Hermione?"

"Researching Augustus Maitland and worrying about you," Hermione said. She sighed. "Loads," she added. "What about you?"

"Mmm. Learning subterfuge; befriending Malfoy, who's such a poor lost boy, some moments, and such a delightful devil others; overcoming my prejudices; playing the Kerner theramin; running from the past; looking for the past; watching the mangled remains of a romance that crashed before I was born; reflecting on love and hate and kinship, and whether or not I am a bad person to welcome my aunt's death." Harry leaned his head back onto the arm rest. He felt nearly content. "Damn. Should've asked it for cigarettes."

Hermione frowned in disapproval. Dean twisted to look back at him in surprise. Harry blew more bubbles up in the air and watched them glitter with myriad reflected colors. He let them drift down onto him, and they broke one by one, suspending him in the spot he had already reached. He caught one on his finger and it stayed whole.

"Hermione?" he asked. She stared at him. He blew the bubble at her and she let it hit. She smiled slightly. "More?" he asked.

"No, really. I'll just watch. Some other time, perhaps." Ginny and Dean had fallen down on the futon between the couches and were kissing languorously. Hermione moved into their former place, with her head near Harry's chest. Harry played with the curls of her hair.

"How did you play the Dark detector?" she asked.

"Occlumency. I closed off pieces of my link to Tom."

"Oh. Do you like my hair?

"It's as beautiful as Ginny's and as interesting as Dean's," Harry answered. Hermione giggled. A laugh from Dean was muffled by Ginny's mouth.

"Why Draco?"

"I feel sorry for him. And he needs to learn to make friends. And he's trying. And he's funny. And James said to eschew retaliation."

The last reason slipped out before Harry could stop it. He had the simultaneous thoughts of I felt like I still had more control than that, and unedited, I use words like "eschew?"

"James?" Hermione questioned sharply. Harry decided she was taking advantage of being the only unaffected person in the room, and he definitely should not have more bubbles.

"I found some old letters my dad wrote," Harry explained solemnly. He managed a sigh. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Could I have more?" Ron interrupted. "What Ginny and Dean are doing is starting to bother me."

Harry looked down. Ginny had straddled Dean. Her robes were open and he had his hands up her shirt.

"Course." Harry blew some bubbles across to Ron, then had to flap a pillow at them to get them all the way across. Ron caught all the ones that made it and lay back down. "Blow more," he said. "Just for the lights." Harry blew another batch.

"Can you do something about this music?" Hermione asked, sounding annoyed. Harry listened for a moment. It was still some vaguely familiar somnolent piece with woodwinds and strings. "Don't know," he said. "What would you rather?"

"Something jazzy," Hermione suggested. Harry thought that he'd asked for an assortment of music. Jazzy, he thought firmly. The music changed, causing everyone else to twitch.

"Okay." Hermione grinned. "The Maple Leaf Rag wasn't what I had in mind, but it will do."

Ginny looked over and giggled. Harry suspected the "just for the lights" bubbles had mostly landed on her and Dean. "How am I supposed to snog to this?" she complained.

"You're not. Get off the boy and pull down your shirt," Harry ordered. "You can come back here with him on your own, rather than embarrassing your poor brother."

"Who looks just crushed," Ginny said sarcastically, but she did get off Dean, who sat next to her, with one arm around her waist.

"Did you say Malfoy is a lost little boy?" she asked, "or is this stuff hallucinogenic, too?"

"He is, sometimes," Harry said defensively. "Just in little bits. His father's fallen from grace, both in the Dark Lord's circle and without it, and it's done odd things to his life. He finally gets to see who he has for friends."

"Like no one?" Ron suggested.

"No, it's the other way round," Harry explained. "He always assumed he didn't have any real friends, and now it turns out some people truly like him. He's a bit embarrassed." He sat up and yawned. "But it's made him start trying, and I don't think he's ever done that before."

He decided he'd reached the mild calming potion stage, and it was time to take advantage of Ron's more open state.

"Would you really betray me to him?"

"I don't know," Ron replied. "I don't think so. Perhaps if I was really pissed off at you, and had worked myself into a state over it."

"Do you still want to be an Auror?"

"I didn't have the O.W.L.s for it, remember?"

"But if you could be? What if they sent you after Remus?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Because he's a werewolf."

"That's not illegal."

"Two months ago, not reporting his full moon location was not illegal. Who's to say?"

Hermione frowned. "Does that worry you?"

"That the government seems stuffed with hysterical, corrupt, unjust idiots? Yes." Harry sighed. "But I really admire a lot of the Aurors I know, and somebody has to do the job they ought to do. I don't know what to do about it."

"You should talk to Bill," Ron volunteered.

"Bill?"

"Right. Mum and Dad wanted him to join the Ministry, of course, but Bill spent a long time thinking about it -- even had an internship in the Department of Mysteries -- then decided he couldn't support it. Dad didn't agree, of course. Talk to both of them, and you'll get both sides of it."

They talked long after any lingering affects of bubble potion had faded, but in the cozy, dim room, everyone stayed peaceful, Hermione as much as the rest of them. She made a soft, pleased noise when Harry kissed her hair.

"Love you," he said. He chanted it softly in her ear. "Love you, love you, love you."

"But are you in love with me?" she asked coyly.

"Damned if I know," Harry confessed. "How can I tell when you're so pretty?"

"You're such a darling, foolish boy," Hermione reproved gently.

"And you're so too worried. It will be all right."

"And if it's not?"

He slid an arm around her, carefully staying above her breasts, and held her tight. "Then two targets like us will likely not be around to care."

Harry was woken by Ron in the morning.

"Hm?"

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Suppose." Harry sat up and yawned. "Let me get dressed."

It wasn't that he felt any better about what Ron had done, he thought; it just seemed too awkward to go back to avoiding social contact with him. He was still musing about how he should treat Ron when they arrived in the common room. Hermione was waiting for them, or perhaps just for Ron. She turned a bit red when she saw Harry.

"Hi," Harry said.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. I still need--" Harry stopped himself. "I need to talk to Dumbledore," he said.

"May I walk with you?" Hermione asked. The request had a "we need to talk" tone to it. Harry hesitated a moment before consenting.

They left the room in silence, and went down the stairs likewise. It wasn't until they turned down the corridor to Dumbledore's office that Hermione spoke.

"I didn't get anything done, last night."

"Of course you did," Harry answered.

"Not really."

"You kept me from getting myself killed. That's something."

"You wouldn't really have--"

Harry stopped and turned to face her. "Voldemort was within walking distance of Hogwarts!" he said emphatically. "He summoned the Death Eaters. I wanted to go and spy, because there are people I want to keep safe. I kept nearly convincing myself it was a good idea." Harry took a deep breath and looked seriously at Hermione, who was now wide-eyed with fear. "You did a lot last night, just by being there and not scolding too much."

"Oh," Hermione managed. She forced a shaky smile. "A particular blond went too far, perhaps?"

Harry gave a short laugh. "Ask me no questions; I'll tell you no lies."

"I see," said Hermione grimly. Harry was confident she didn't. She let out a long breath. "That-- last night.... Do you do that often?"

Harry's desire to be reassuring was in conflict with the knowledge her concern was useful, and he should lead her on. After hesitating for an awkward length of time, he said:

"Of course not." He waited for her nod to start, then added, "it's no fun alone."

Her head whipped back up to stare at him, and he felt his smile grow broader. He lifted his eyebrows at her. "Yes?" he inquired mockingly.

She looked at him angrily. "How are you supposed to save the world if you're so high that you have to stop and play with everyone's hair?"

His amusement died instantly. "I'm not supposed to save the world," he said grimly; "I'm supposed to kill Voldemort. I have no idea how I'll do that. I don't want to kill."

Hermione looked stunned. "Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed in sympathy, and she embraced him. He submitted to the touch and tried not to let the comfort remind him of things that hurt.

"Anyway," he said to her softly, while nuzzling at her hair, "I expect that something that lasts fifteen minutes, with only five of that really affecting competence, is unlikely to damage my chances much. Now, go to breakfast. I really do need to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

"Harry! What an unexpected pleasure," Professor Dumbledore said cordially. "Please sit down."

Harry eyed him uncertainly as he sat. "Do you mean that?" he asked.

"Unexpected, a pleasure, or sit down?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully.

"Well, I'm confident of the 'sit down' part.

"Perhaps not completely unexpected," Dumbledore admitted, with a slight smile, "but I was not certain you would come, either." He nodded his head. 'And, you may be assured, I am always pleased to see you."

"Thank you," Harry said politely. "I wanted-- Is Severus back?"

"Yes. He returned before midnight."

"Does he need to go back on Sunday?

Dumbledore looked startled, then disappointed. "Your father told me you had enough control to stop the visions."

"They don't seem to come on while I'm awake, anymore," Harry explained hastily. "And before I go to sleep at night, I make sure to clear my mind as much as possible, so I haven't had any during the night, either. But this-- I dozed off during my Transfiguration reading. I was completely unprepared."

"And what did you do?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I'd already told some of my friends not to let me leave, so I was pretty well taken care of."

Dumbledore nodded. "A wise precaution." He smiled. "And so you were not unprepared, after all. Still, you should be able to break the connection after the vision starts. Could you do that?"

"No. Once I'm in it, I want to see everything."

"Perhaps you should have a few lessons with me, as well."

"That might help. Oh -- I told Draco -- Malfoy -- that I'd studied Occlumency with you."

"Should young Mr. Malfoy be informed of your skills?" the old wizard asked mildly.

"I'd already rather displayed them, unfortunately. He was asking who taught me. He knows how to do it too! We used it to get weird noise changes out of a Kerner Dark Detector. No one else seemed to understand how we did it, though, so I think no one else knew Occlumency."

Dumbledore laughed. "I haven't seen that done in many decades!" His smile grew distant for a moment. "One of my companions in the fight against Grindewald could play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' that way. Rather slurred, but recognizable." The headmaster looked sharply at Harry. "Did you do this during class?"

Harry nodded. "Looking back at it, it was rather rude."

"Professor Lupin will not be able to complain, you know," Dumbledore confided with merry cheer. "If he does, Professor McGonagall will be smiling behind her hand, and Professor Flitwick will tell him it's no more than he deserves."

"Impudence and disruption?"

"Of the cleverest sort, and from a student who charms him."

Harry looked down. "And one who doesn't. He's worried that I'm talking to Draco, now."

"Ah." Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Do you feel the association will do you any harm?"

"No."

"In that case, I would advise -- as you might expect -- that you continue it. I have never allowed others' opinions to dissuade me from alliances of any sort."

"Such as my father."

"Yes," Dumbledore admitted. "Speaking of which," he added, pushing aside some things on his desk, "he left a message for you." He handed Harry a folded note. "He suggested you read it here and not take it with you, as a precaution."

The note, on the outside, was addressed to "Harry." Inside, the text started without any salutation:

Thank you for your forbearance; I was relieved not to find you in my rooms, last night. I have rescheduled our meeting to tonight, although I may not be free until after student curfew. Please come down before then and let yourself in -- I will leave the floo blocked -- and I will join you when I am able to do so.

Harry tried to restrain a smile. "I'm invited down after curfew."

"Yes, we discussed this, and he has my approval." Dumbledore looked warningly at Harry. "I will not protect you from punishment if you are caught, however."

"Obviously," Harry agreed. For a moment, both were silent.

"Is that all?" Dumbledore asked gently. "Or is there something else you wish to ask me?"

Harry paused a moment, preparing himself. "What's the state of the guardianship question?" he asked.

"There will be no substantial news until the hearing, in fifteen days. In all honesty, I expect my plea to be rejected. The leader of those deciding wants me to lose, and my claim is not substantial. He can even note that I was given leeway the last time you required a guardian, and the decision I made then did not turn out to be in your best interests."

"So what will happen?"

"The Ministry will claim custody of you, and they must allow four weeks for that claim to be appealed. That gives us until All Souls Day."'

"But won't Fudge have control over me for those four weeks?"

"Yes, but he is unlikely to do anything that might make observers uneasy. I suspect you will remain here, living much as you have. He may send you gifts, or visit, but perhaps not."

"What about Severus's history? Won't people object to me going to someone who was a confessed Death Eater?"

"Certainly they will object, but it will not matter. He is your father. An objection from you would be the only one taken as valid." Dumbledore hesitated. "In fact, as you were conceived with Herem, you are entirely his child. If Lily were still alive, even she would have no legal right to you."

"What?"

"Lily and James went to great lengths to protect you, Harry. They could have gone to Azkaban for keeping you from him."

Harry looked down, both horrified and awed.

"James," he said slowly, remembering, "called me his stolen child."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Herem is the Heir Spell, and performing it is a contract both legal and, to many, sacred. You were conceived to be Severus Snape's heir."

Harry thought. "Will this damage their reputations?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked surprised at the question. "Perhaps a bit," he conceded. He smiled warmly at Harry. "But mostly among those who already hate them. Don't worry about it. In general, it will be seen as a romantic tragedy of honor and love. The populace at large will readily forgive them."

"Do you think they were right to do what they did?" Harry asked tentatively. He felt a stab of fear, and realized he had never allowed himself to think otherwise.

Dumbledore sighed. "I have considered that for many hours since Severus first came to me with his letter from Lily. I am not sure. He does, indeed, have more control than he did, then -- both self-control and resistance to Voldemort. They were certainly better suited to raise a child, and, despite their deaths, more likely to live. He was terribly reckless in the days before Voldemort's first fall. After it, he was bitter and melancholy, but stopped, for the most part, deliberately endangering himself." Dumbledore sat back and stroked his beard.

"You have been good for him," he declared. "I have caught glimpses in him of a humor I had thought long dead. I think he has, perhaps, even been good for you." Dumbledore smiled. "Now, would a baby have improved his disposition then? I don't know. Perhaps it would have made it worse. He certainly could not have spied for me, once it was known he deliberately had fathered a child upon a Muggle-born witch." Dumbledore rose. "It is useless to speculate. What is done, is done. They meant well, I am certain." He glanced at the clock. "You have just enough time to run down to the Great Hall, take food from the table, and eat it on your way to class, I think."

Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. "Good day, professor," he said, and he ran.

Harry he remembered he would need to start preparing his "squib drug" cover for tonight's absence, and did his best to act out the irritability of a withdrawal he had never experienced. To this end, he spent much of the day putting off Hermione, who wanted to talk to him about the problem of killing Voldemort, and being friendly to her and Ron for short periods, then snubbing them. He hoped Hermione did not link his behavior to the bubble potion, which had never caused any ill effects. By the time classes got out, Hermione had given up on him for the day, and left to study in the library. Ron accepted Harry's behavior with deliberate humility, but Harry could tell he was becoming increasingly irritated, and only tolerated it as penance. Forty minutes before the library closed and the students were supposed to be back in their houses, Harry declared that he needed to get a book. He picked up his bag and left Ron in the common room.

When he reached the ground floor of the castle, Harry ducked into an alcove, donned his invisibility cloak, and quietly headed for the dungeons. He reached Snape's rooms without incident, brewed some tea, and sat at the kitchen table to resume work on his Transfiguration essay.

He'd written nine inches to a required seven and was working on his conclusion before he heard the door open and close. There was a muttered word, too far away to identify, then a quick call of "Harry?"

"In here," Harry called back.

Snape swept into the doorway in a swirl of black. He stood there a moment, looking haughty and stern, then suddenly collapsed into a chair and leaned his head into his hands.

"Tea?" Harry asked.

"Please," Severus muttered.

"What was it?" Harry asked. "Three-headed dogs? Exploding potions? Your old crowd?"

"Worse," Severus growled. "Parents."

Harry laughed.

"Oh, you laugh," Severus said in a wounded tone. "You haven't spent the last two hours trying to explain to the Warringtons that while I might make an exception to my general policy had their precious heir managed an Exceeds Expectations in his Potions O.W.L.s, two Satisfactories is not sufficient to admit him to Advanced Potions to the detriment of other students. And if I won't lower my standards for him, the Head of Gryffindor House is certainly not going to do so for Transfiguration. And so on." He took the cup of tea that Harry put in front of him and warmed it with a spell. "Anyway, it's done, and I believe they are the last for this year."

He looked up and took a sip of the tea. "How has your week been?"

"Horrible," Harry answered. "Ron and Hermione were worse until Monday afternoon, when I went off with Malfoy, then suddenly they decided to apologize. They admitted they had traded information on me to him, but I think just because he'd threatened to blackmail them. Last night, I desperately wanted to follow you, so I stopped snubbing them and told them to keep me here. Then I dozed off while doing my homework, and the link opened, because I wasn't prepared, and I had to watch you, there--"

"You should not need to be prepared. If your response to seeing me had showed him anything--"

"He didn't become aware of me, I think. That's usually obvious. But yes, I've talked to Dumbledore, and he wants to give me additional lessons. I can do more with you too, if you'd like."

"Yes," Snape said emphatically. "We'll discuss it later. What did you see?"

Harry related the vision, trying to conceal his horror at his father's obeisance to Voldemort, while covering strategic matters with precision. He deliberately glossed over the more humiliating details of the exchange, but he could see Severus's face darken as his account continued past each elision. "He expressed distrust of you several times," Harry said awkwardly, "and you averred your loyalty."

"And?" Snape asked.

"It ended there. He looked at you, there was a great deal of pain, and I was on the floor of the common room with Ron, Hermione, and Dean holding me down."

"Ah. He hit me with Cruciatus, again, while using Legilimency. This, of course, causes some of the pain to rebound on him, but can create exploitable mental openings."

"Oh. So I got more backlash, I suppose."

"And what then?"

"Well, I'd told them to keep me from leaving, so there was no point in trying to find you. I did say I needed to be somewhere quieter, though, so we went to an empty room and I dispensed lots of bubble stuff, until even Hermione, who wouldn't touch any, was relaxed, just because everyone else was. After that, it was a pretty good evening, but now Hermione's really worried about me, again, and I can't dissuade her, because that's useful." He shrugged. "So you do need to go back Sunday."

"Yes. That will be from before dawn until well after dark."

"Does that worry you?"

"No, really. He's demanded that before." Severus hesitated. "The attack worries me more -- the attack, and that I have not heard more details on it. I do not even know which 'allies' are involved."

"Do the others?"

"Some, I believe. Not many." Dark eyes glittered as Severus looked up suddenly. "It is not all suspicion of me. The Dark Lord has been more close with his plans since Rookwood gave testimony, after his capture last spring."

"Shouldn't we try to do something?"

"Without knowing the nature of the attacks, it is difficult to say what. Dumbledore is arranging some level of protection for Hogsmeade. The Dark Lord's new preferred meeting place is on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, on some property recently purchased by one of Goyle's cousins. The positioning may indicate targets there."

Severus shifted, and pushed his empty cup away. "Is that essay due tomorrow?"

"Yes, but I'm on the concluding paragraph."

Severus stood. "Finish, then -- take your time -- and meet me in the sitting room when done." With that, he left, in another swirl of robes. Harry looked back at his paper and tried to remember what he had been thinking about quality transference.

When Harry went into the sitting room, Severus had undone the collar buttons on his formal robes, and was sitting in his usual chair and contemplating a still-full glass of dark red wine. Harry studied him for a moment.

"Elegantly melancholy," he announced, "in a sort of nineteenth-century way. Eighteenth, perhaps. I'm not too clear on these things."

"What?" Severus responded, choking back a laugh.

"You." Harry sat down at the near end of the couch, and tucked his feet up to the side. "I'm not sure about the wine though," he continued. "The absinthe would suit the look better, though opium would be best."

Severus did laugh, at that. "Should I ever want a drug to match my demeanor, I will be certain not to ask you."

Harry nodded cheerfully. "It's a rather Muggle interpretation, I expect. So," he asked, "what were you so pensive about?"

Severus shot him an intent look, then turned his attention back to his wine. "Professor Lupin," he said formally, "came to speak to me about you."

"Oh."

"It was rather odd. Only one active professor knows that I am your father, and he shows up in my office, demanding a word with me about my son." He looked askance at Harry's snigger. "He was surprisingly forceful."

"So what did he say? I interrupt and I know too much about Dark Arts?"

"I told him that his inability to keep discipline was not my concern. His primary worry seemed to be not your conduct in class, but your association with young Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh." Harry wondered how much Severus shared that concern.

"I dismissed the matter as his imagination. I was much displeased, this morning, to find you sitting next to him, talking."

"Why?" Harry asked. "You like Draco, don't you?"

"I do, but you should not trust him."

"I don't!" Harry protested. "I've been waiting for a chance to talk to you, so I could ask you what was up with him. He's been decent to me, mostly."

"If he's been 'decent' to you, then he's setting up some plan."

"Perhaps he's just lonely."

"Malfoys do not get 'lonely.'"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Is the problem that he's Draco, or that he's a Malfoy?"

"The problem is that he is a vicious, manipulative, avid supporter of the Dark Lord! Make some attempt to think, boy!"

"I know all of that," Harry said coldly. "Though the last may be shifting. He seems -- and yes, I did hear 'manipulative' -- seems quite resentful that the Dark Lord has not rescued his father."

"How much time have you spent with him?"

"Not much. We talk before Potions, usually, and walking from there to Defense. The day we played with Occlumency, he caught me out by the pitch, and I took him over to Hagrid's to show him an adder I've been chatting with --"

Harry watched Severus lock his jaw and swallow, then clear his throat. He had the amused suspicion he'd nearly made the man spray his wine. "Excuse me," Severus gasped, and blew his nose.

"My point!" declared Harry triumphantly. Severus ignored him.

"Do you often chat with adders?"

"Now I do." Harry shifted to straighten his legs out and crossed his arms over his chest. "So I'm a parselmouth. Big deal."

"Well, yes, it is, actually. There hasn't been a parselmouth in my family in three hundred years." Snape thought for a moment. "Reputedly less on the Indian side, but we don't have accurate records of that."

"Aha! So I don't necessarily get it from Voldemort."

"But you do. If you got it from me, it would not have manifested until this year. And don't say his name!"

"Oh. Right." Harry shrugged. "Even so, it seems stupid to be ashamed of it. The normal snakes I've met have been okay."

"Normal?"

"As opposed to the basilisk and Nagini." Harry shrugged. "The snake Draco sent after me was narky, but who wouldn't be after being shot out of a wand, then dropped on their head by Lockhart?"

Severus snorted. "What else have you done with Draco?"

"That's about it. We had a talk this morning about Ron. He's going to tell me what Ron does when I'm not around --"

"And do you believe he will tell you the truth?" Severus asked bitingly.

"Not half. I borrowed Remus's Verifier. I'm as interested in what Draco tells me as in what Ron does."

Severus conceded with a nod. "Continue to talk to the boy, then, but continue to approach it sensibly. I'll ask him what he intends for you, as it is clear I have noticed your association."

"Rather. He was terribly indignant that you took points from Slytherin!" Harry thought for a moment. "Was yesterday's lesson really something used for poisoning?"

"Yes. Of course, it's also used to make medicines that don't taste bad."

"Why don't you, then?"

"In my circles," Severus said, making the phrase threatening, "it is considered impolite to mask the taste of a potion. If it could have something harmful hidden in it, the assumption is that it does."

"But the kids don't care!"

"Some do." Severus's black eyes glittered like hard coal. "None should be led to trust tasteless and odorless solutions."

Harry shivered. "So, what did you tell Professor Lupin?" he asked hastily.

Severus had to think about that for a minute. Harry saw his face tighten, but he could not map an emotion to the reaction.

"I didn't," he said finally. "We fought, and I ordered him out." He took a swallow of his wine, then stared at it moodily. "Do you think Lupin is changing?" he asked absently.

"He's quicker-tempered," Harry replied, after a moment's thought. "He seems tired even when it's not near the moon. I think it may be losing Sirius, again."

"He's become stronger, in a way," Severus mused. "He needs the anger to support it, but he stood up to me for longer than I expected." He took another sip of the wine. "You seem to bring this out in him, now. I don't know that I like that."

"He wants me to visit him weekly," Harry said tentatively.

"Visit?" Severus growled.

"He says he doesn't want to lose me." Harry grinned. "I think he's afraid of me falling into bad habits, from your influence, or Draco's. May I? I don't see him enough, privately, now that term's started."

"When?"

"Sunday, four to six?"

"Make it Saturday, this week. I want to be at the school whenever you are with him. And show up to dinner, or I will be attacking him with likely false accusations."

"Though you know it."

"I will believe all of them, if I do not see you."

Their conversation turned to lighter things: Brazilian snakes, Quidditch, and Weasleys on bubble potion -- and Harry relaxed. The fire-lit room was familiar and safe, and his father's occasional sly digs led to comfortable banter. When Severus quizzed Harry about his games with the Kerner Dark Detector, Harry was exacting in his account of the logistics of it and Draco's later analysis, but did not hesitate to include the impact of Draco's cool boldness and the exhilaration of interweaving his manipulations with Draco's in a strange dance of music. Severus was amused, and clearly pleased by his ability, but warned him to be more discreet.

"Which reminds me," Harry said, deflecting the matter, "that you said too much, yourself, a few weeks ago."

"What?"

"That jibe to Ron about Augustus Maitland? It set Hermione to investigating."

"I don't care if she knows who Augustus was. It is public information."

"But she's found all sorts of things about your class. She even found a picture of you and Remus, though she didn't recognize you. If she'd found a picture of you and my mum...."

Severus grasped the implications quickly. "That had not occurred to me."

"She found the stories about his death." Harry watched his father closely. Severus shuddered, but didn't say anything. Harry braced himself. "Why was he alone?"

"Because I was not with him." When Harry did not ask anything more, Severus elaborated. "It was not my choice. I had expressed some regrets to him about these targets, and either he decided to humor me, or he did not trust me. He lied to me about the time. When I apparated into our meeting point in the barn, the yard was already swarming with Aurors. I managed to get out, again. It wasn't until morning that I found out he had died."

Severus's voice was steady, but his hand trembled, sending ripples across the wine. He noticed and put it down, then clasped his hands together at his chest.

"If you had been there, would you have killed the other children?"

Severus bent his head forward, hiding much of his face behind a fall of dirty hair. "Yes," he whispered.

"Was there a game, like James heard?"

Severus shuddered. "Yes, but...." He took a shaky breath. "It was just winter holidays, my seventh year. Lucius started it. In retrospect, I believe it was a deliberate invention -- he wanted both of us more ruthless -- but at the time, it seemed a moment's whimsy. Augustus and I were discussing which of a couple was more dangerous, and he came in, all sly humor and grace, to say 'twenty points for him, twenty-five for her, and ten points bonus if you get both.' He ended the game when term started, graciously noting that would give him an unfair advantage. It never started up again."

"What was the final score?" Harry asked bitingly.

Severus raised his head and looked at Harry for the first time Harry had asked about Augustus's death. Harry was not sure how his own face looked, but considering his horror at the account, it could not have been good. Severus bared his teeth in a vicious sneer.

"I told you I was a killer," he spat. "Don't sit there and look surprised."

"I'm not, but ... a six-year-old?" Harry said plaintively. "In front of her family? What purpose does that serve?"

Severus looked down, again, resting his forehead on interlaced fingers, so that his face was completely hidden.

"They weren't real people, you know," he said, quickly and breathlessly, "real children." He hesitated. "Just half-bloods."

"Like me."

"Yes."

Severus's voice was flat. Harry watched him intently for a while, but he showed no sign of looking up. Cautiously, Harry stood, and took the two steps to the side of Severus's chair. The man still did not look up. From here, Harry could see that his eyes were scrunched closed behind his hands.

Carefully, he knelt beside the chair and rested his elbow on its arm.

"Father?"

In hesitant twitches, his father's fingers disentangled, and the far hand moved to clasp Harry's. Severus still kept most of his face covered with the other hand, and his eyes remained closed, but his fingers interwove with Harry's and grasped tight. Harry had to bite his lip to keep from gasping at the pressure, but he stayed still, though the hold hurt and the stone floor was hard under his knees, and returned the grip firmly.

He thought it was about ten minutes, though it could have been fewer -- or more -- before Severus spoke.

"It was harder, after you were born," he said. He had uncovered his face, now, but still did not look at Harry. "I had -- regretted it, already, but not in this close, personal way. I would look at Lily, holding you in her arms and cooing, and imagine being sent to kill her, and you. It wasn't just that you were what I couldn't have, as James thought; you were what I destroyed." His voice grew bitter and tight. "A Mudblood girl and her half-blood child -- shall we say ten points? Fifteen if she's got her wand."

Harry looked away. The hold on his hand tightened again.

"I'm sorry," Severus whispered. "But there's nothing I can do."

"Except going to meetings and abasing yourself and getting tortured and making them weapons and hoping what you find out balances out the harm you need to do?"

"Yes." His voice was still a whisper, despite Harry's challenging tone.

"How about staying here and making things for Dumbledore's old crowd, and listening to me and making sure I don't go too crazy, and not dying on me!"

"But if I die, it will be over," Severus said, his lips moving in the ghost of a smile. "At last."

"Not for me it won't. Please? I never got to know any of the others." The hysteria Harry had been fighting down since mentioning Maitland rose up at the thought of Sirius, of James, of his Mum, all dead. "I want you to still be here when I'm really grown up. I want to come and visit you. I want to bring you grandchildren and let you hold them." He looked desperately at Severus. "Please? I'll let you name one, if you live."

Severus disentangled his hand quickly, then stood up and turned away. "I have work I need to do," he said harshly. "You are welcome to stay here for a while longer. I should be back in an hour, perhaps two."

Before he finished speaking, he had reached the door to the hallway. It closed behind him with a heavy clack.

Harry realized he had been asleep. This wasn't too surprising, as he had dowsed all the lights but the fire and lain down on the couch, to surrender to sheer emotional exhaustion. The fire had burned down to embers, which now cast only the faintest shifting light. He lay still, trying to determine what had woken him. He wondered if Severus was still out, and if he could creep off to his bed, unseen. He pretended to still be asleep while he listened. It wasn't hard to feign sleep. He was nearly there.

He heard quiet steps approaching and pretended harder, hoping Severus would not wake him to make him leave. The footsteps stopped, and he heard the movement of heavy robes as a figure knelt beside him. He had a moment's panicked thought: what if it's someone else? but the newcomer had the changing mix of strange scents that clung to someone who had just been working on potions. Harry prepared to be woken.

A hand that smelt of cloves and dragon's blood, like acrid christmas cakes, brushed hair back from his brow. The next feeling was odd, and it took the following warmth of breath for Harry to realize that Severus had just kissed his forehead.

"My dear child," the man whispered hoarsely. "Lily's dear child." His voice lowered still further, until it was almost inaudibly light. "I love you," he breathed. His fingers brushed Harry's hair once more, and he stood and walked away.

Harry listened, now far from sleep, his heart beating as frantically as if he had just fought a duel, while his father crossed the room occasionally, in preparations for bed. Finally, Severus retreated to his bedroom. When all had been quiet for a bit, Harry got up, and went through the kitchen to his own bed. There, he slept again.

Harry was woken by a flare of lights.

"Get up," ordered a biting voice. Harry focused through the glare at his window.

"Still dark out," he complained sleepily.

"And you need to be back before anyone wakes." Severus gave his shoulder a quick shove. "Up, now." Harry sat and rubbed his eyes, then got out of bed. He had slept in his shirt and underwear, but the rest of his clothes were in a tangle on the floor. He could only find one sock.

Severus had crossed to the window and was looking out at the darkness. "What you said, last night, about leaving the Dark Lord...."

Harry pulled up his trousers. "Yes?"

"It is ... not that easy. I'm not certain what I will do when I must. He can make my Mark burn whenever he has one of us to signal through -- or without, with more effort. He could keep me from functioning. He might be able to drive me insane."

A flash of panic brought Harry thoroughly awake. He hadn't thought about the Dark Mark at all, but now he remembered how edgy Severus and Karkaroff had been when Voldemort first started to return -- before any summoning -- and how even the rigidly controlled Potions master would flinch when summoned. He watched Severus pulled his black robes in tight around him.

"I could have the arm removed, of course," he continued bitterly, "but without two hands, I'm rather useless."

Harry tried to force his just-woken mind to think. "I know oath marks are supposed to be permanent," he said, as he drew on his robe, "but what would happen if you removed just the skin?"

Then the mark would be gone --until the skin grew back."

"Oh." The panic was turning to horror now. Being unable to brew potions would drive Severus mad as inevitably as persistent physical torture. He would be trapped with his thoughts and his memories, and no sense of worth to balance them.

"I could have a magical arm attached, of course -- but I'm not sure the Mark wouldn't manifest on that, as well. It is in my soul, you see. It can overcome any surgical procedure." The sock fell out of somewhere in Harry's robe. Harry ignored it and walked over to his father. He shivered as his bare feet left the carpet for the cold stone floor. He stopped a pace behind and to the side of Severus, where he could just see his face.

"I suppose I'll just have to kill him for you, then," he said casually. His heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to calculate how much time he had. Six weeks? A bit less. Why didn't he mention this sooner?

Severus whipped around. He glared.

"That is not your job."

"But it is. I kill him or he kills me." Harry tried to regain his previous light tone. My destiny, and all that. He tried to imagine how Fred would pose, just to make it less real. He shrugged. "Might as well get it over with."

"If you attempt it now, he will kill you." Severus scowled at Harry. "You will stay out of the war until you are an adult."

"You didn't."

"No. I did not. Which rather proves my point, does it not?" Severus gave Harry one of his most vicious looks, and, despite himself, Harry backed up a pace.

"I'm not you," he complained.

"And you're not going to be. Now finish getting dressed."

Harry hurriedly pulled on his socks, and then his shoes. That was all he had in the bedroom. He followed Severus out to the kitchen and picked up his school bag. "So," he asked, "will I be trained?"

"In what?"

"Anything. Anything you think may help. I should be able to kill him by the time I leave here, shouldn't I? Because I will try."

Severus whirled (twelve inches up, three-quarters wrap, Harry noted absently) and stalked into the sitting room.

"We don't have time to discuss this now."

"You mean you're afraid to!" Harry challenged.

"My reluctance to discuss this does not make it less true that we do NOT HAVE TIME!" Severus stopped next to Harry's invisibility cloak, which was hanging by the door, and visibly worked at pulling his temper under control. "I will speak with Dumbledore about the prophecy," he said tightly, "and any plans he may have. We will discuss it next time we meet."

"Agreed. When?"

"Saturday, after lunch, my lab. You can help me with some work. Now get to bed while everyone's asleep."

Harry nodded, but did not move. He found himself wanting to touch his father, but he couldn't work out how to do it. A hug would definitely be too much, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to try it, anyway.

"Well?" Severus demanded.

Nervously, Harry reached out a hand and touched the other's arm, just below the shoulder. Severus jerked back.

"Sorry!" Harry said quickly.

"What was that about?"

"I didn't -- I hate to leave after a fight. I just -- I'm sorry, I know you don't like me being affectionate." Harry reddened at the sound of his own babble. He looked down. For a moment he heard his own breath in the silence.

"But I do," Severus confessed softly. He touched the outside of Harry's arm lightly, in an echo of Harry's gesture. "I just don't know what to do about it." His voice grew stronger and harsher. "I'm not certain I approve. I certainly don't deserve such a thing, and you should be more judicious in your affection."

"Some things are just free," Harry said fiercely. "I do not owe you anything for having conceived me -- not affection, or obedience, or gratitude, or any of those things -- and you do not need some banking of favors or virtue for me to love you. That just is." Frightened at having said so much, Harry smiled and added quickly, "and we're fighting, again."

"Of course we're fighting," his father answered dryly, picking up the way out. "We always fight." To Harry's surprise, he did not fully retreat. "So why do you obey me?" he pressed, "If you don't feel I'm owed that? You have ceded to things you consider unreasonable."

"I said I don't owe you anything for conceiving me. I do owe you something for taking care of me -- more than you're required to, I mean. The Dursley's never took care of me more than they were required to."

"A good deal less, I would say."

"And I'm not that obedient. I stayed a few minutes after Defense, yesterday, because I needed to speak privately to Professor Lupin."

"Harry...."

"You know, I better get back to my dormitory. People will start waking up, soon!" Harry said brightly.

Severus snorted in amusement. "Very well. Make your escape. It merely gives me longer to think about my response."

Harry, feigning panic, flipped on his cloak and ducked out the door.

On his way through the empty corridors, Harry thought about what he had said. To his relief, he did not regret any of it. It occurred to him that if affection did not need to be deserved, he had an easy solution to the problem of Ron and Hermione. He liked them -- loved them, in their own ways, really -- and though they were not, under current circumstances, fully trustworthy, he could still feel that and express it.

In a glow of contentment, Harry hurried back to Gryffindor tower.

When he entered the common room, there was a sudden movement on one of the couches by the fire.

"Who's there?!" Ron called wildly, with the artificial alertness of someone who has been suddenly woken. Harry could just see him in the glow of the low fire. He wondered if he could get up the stairs and into bed before Ron came looking for him.

"Harry?" Ron called.

Harry looked at the windows. From the barely lit room, the dark sky had a subtle blue tint. He judged it to be past five o'clock. He sighed to himself. He wouldn't have to fake a morning-after fog, at all. Or should he still be affected?

"Fuck," Ron said to himself.

Harry pushed back his hood.

"Sorry to wake you," he said. "Let's get up to bed, shall we?"

Ron stumbled to his feet. "What time is it?"

"Dunno." Harry grinned. "Still night, though."

"I stayed up till two!"

"Sorry. I fell asleep." Harry nudged him amicably, pushing him off-balance. "You know better than to wait up for me!"

Ron looked at the clock, then at Harry. He smiled slightly. "Who's the girl?" he asked.

"What girl?" Harry countered, amused. I suppose that would be the easiest way to accidentally fall asleep, he mused.

"Give over, Harry! I can see you not wanting to let Hermione know, so soon after she dumped you, but you're obviously in love!"

"I am not!" Harry retorted.

"I have never before seen you all smiles before six a.m."

Harry rolled his eyes. Ron did not think the way Hermione did. "Well, there are all sorts of love," he demurred. "Nothing romantic going on with me."

"Well, whose bed did you sleep in, then?"

"No bed, no girl," Harry said airily. He yawned. "I fell asleep on a sofa. Alone."

"Well, what do you mean about sorts of love, then?"

Harry tried to recall how he'd sorted things out on his walk upstairs. Exhaustion made it difficult to think clearly, and he knew he shouldn't speak clearly, anyway, as he wasn't supposed to be capable of that, right after returning. He decided a semi-coherent ramble was fine.

"Well, look," he said. "There's the way I love Hermione, and that might be romantic, or it might just be that I love her in a simple way, and then think she's pretty, on top of that. I'm not sure. There's the way I love you, and that is simple, and I know it's not romantic, but then I don't think you're pretty, so no complications." Harry grinned at Ron, who gave him an uncertain half-smile in return. "There's the way I love your mother," Harry continued, deciding he should make the separation from sex clearer, "which is an uncertain sort of love that's half-gratitude."

Harry looked around the familiar common room, with its comfortable chairs, grouped for talking, and its bright colors, the red now muted by the dark, but bits of gold still glimmering. He loved Gryffindor, too, as a concept as much as a place, but he thought that saying so would muddy his point still further. He wasn't quite sure what his point was, for all that. His eyes were drawn to the glowing embers of the fire, and he remembered another low fire in the dark common room, where he had crouched to talk to Sirius, so Sirius could advise him on dragons.

"There's the way I loved Sirius," he said, a familiar stab of pain cutting even through his new joy, "which was supposed to be one thing, but ended up being another, because he was supposed to be my guardian and look after me, but he always seemed to be the one who needed protection and reassurance." He couldn't mention his father, so he chose the next closest adult for comparison. "Remus is closer to what Sirius should have been -- a sort of mentor." He looked uncertainly at Ron. "Does this make any sense to you?"

"No."

Ron looked not only confused, but anxious. Harry sighed. He really should have kept his mouth shut at the start.

"I'm not explaining well. I'm really tired. Look, there's romantic love, like boyfriend/girlfriend love, and then there's friends love, and then the love for older people who take care of you, and the love for people you take care of, and all of those can overlap, and they can all be enhanced by other things, like trust or shared interests, but those other things are still other."

For a moment, Ron just blinked at him. Finally, he spoke. "I think we both need more sleep," he said.

Harry nodded. He thought he was running on about three hours of interrupted sleep, himself. He followed Ron quietly up the spiraling stairs, but at the dormitory door, he caught Ron's sleeve. "About all that babble -- one thing?"

"What?"

"That you betrayed me to Malfoy? It's-- You're still my friend, even if I don't trust you, right now."

"I did not betray you to Malfoy!" Ron snapped. Even in the dim, bluish wandlight, Harry could see his face darkening, and knew it must be red. "I said I would, but I didn't. I went back on it, okay? I do know how to do that, when I've promised something stupid. I hate it, but I did get that from years of Fred and George tricking me into things. It wasn't like I took a vow over it, or anything." His voice lowered. "Will you please shut up about it? I feel completely miserable, already."

"All right, then," Harry said, feeling rather a bully himself. "Let's just forget it ever happened."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Harry smiled to himself as he followed Ron into the darkness of their dormitory. "I've forgiven worse," he whispered, restraining a laugh. He stripped down to his shirt, and tumbled into bed.

Harry was glad it was a Friday, and his first morning class was not with Ron and Hermione. Eventually, he would need to spend a Charms class looking dim, but the longer he could put that off, the better. He and Ron had dashed down to breakfast late. For the second day in a row, Harry wrapped sausages and toast in a napkin, so it wouldn't vanish with the plates at the end of the meal, and ate as he walked to class. The one advantage to this was that Hermione had no chance to speak to him, though she shot him a sharp look as he entered the Great Hall and she left it.

Snape wasn't in the classroom when Harry arrived, but Draco looked with distaste at the scrap of toast that Harry put down to unpack his bag. With a flick of his wand and a murmured charm, he sent it to the rubbish.

"That was my breakfast!" Harry complained.

"If you want breakfast, Potter, get up in time to eat it at the table, like a civilized wizard."

"But you didn't have to throw it out!"

"Harry, think about what sits on these tables!" Draco snapped. "You cannot put food on them, then eat it."

Harry went rather green at the thought of Wednesday's Potions components. "Point taken," he admitted, as he trued his scales.

"How can you go out like that?" Draco chided. "Did you just roll out of bed?"

"Yes."

Draco gagged, pointed his wand at Harry, and let off another spell before Harry could do more than turn. Justin and Parvati jumped up in alarm, then froze as Professor Snape entered.

"What is going on here?" he hissed. Harry saw now that Justin had his wand out. He realized his own hand was in his wand pocket and discreetly eased it out. Whatever Draco had done had no effects that he could detect.

"Malfoy hexed Potter, sir!" Justin exclaimed.

Snape's black eyes turned on Harry. He examined him with apparent scorn. "Potter looks no worse than usual to me, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," he sneered.

Draco hrumphed. "He walked in looking as if he had been pulled off the street by some charity. I was just arranging his hair, as he apparently can't be bothered. I suppose I should just have ordered him to move."

Harry's face was burning. He looked down at the worktable. "Stop it," he muttered to Draco. "I promise I'll comb my hair--"

"Perhaps you could share your explanation, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up. "I promised him I would comb my hair in future," he said furiously. "Could we please get on with class?"

Snape looked amused, but the look turned grim as he stopped near them in the aisle and said bitingly:

"Prepare to spend far more time on your appearance, Potter, if you wish to associate with a Malfoy."

The remark had the sound of a sly cut, but Harry knew it was a warning: This is what Malfoys value, and a Malfoy will make you into whatever he wants. Harry returned his attention to the tabletop. He refused to speak. After a moment, his father moved on.

During class, Draco surreptitiously unwrinkled Harry's clothes and magically cleaned his few areas of exposed skin, which Harry found disturbingly intimate, though he could not decide why. Draco appeared more irritated than anything else, and Harry was mortified by the whole experience. When class was finally, dismissed, they turned to each other and launched immediately into complaints:

"If you ever sit near me again--"

"I am not your doll--!"

"-- looking like that--!"

"-- and I did not give you permission--"

They stared at each other for a moment. "Wait your turn, Harry," Draco scolded.

"Who says you get to rant first?" Harry protested.

"I do," said Draco coolly, "and we are in the dungeons, so I win. Now listen. If you want to come to class looking like a tinker, that's your affair, but you will not sit next to me unless you have, at minimum, used a freshening charm, dressed in clean clothes, and brushed your hair. Is that clear?"

"Quite," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Your turn."

"You will not cast spells on me without my permission. You didn't even tell me what you were doing! If I was more awake, I could have hexed you before I figured it out!"

Draco shrugged. "I'll take those odds. Shall we go, now?" He shouldered his bag and left the room. Harry felt a bit ridiculous following him, but thought hanging back waiting until Draco had got ahead of him would feel even more so.

"I don't know how you can bear to walk about like that," Draco remarked, as they reached the stairs.

"I was up very late," Harry replied, "and I overslept. Incidentally, I don't know any 'freshening charms,' and I did not have time to shower."

"You don't know any freshening charms?" Draco repeated, aghast.

"Draco, I was raised by Muggles."

"Oh."

"And it's not like I'm really dirty, or anything. I showered yesterday, and I will after practice tonight."

"But your clothes were wrinkled, and your hair was worse than it used to be."

"Still, you don't need to humiliate me like that."

"How do you think I feel, being seen with you?" Draco exclaimed indignantly.

Harry choked back a laugh. "All right, Draco. If I roll out of bed and run to class, I'll pretend we've never met, okay?"

"That will do," Draco replied arrogantly. "As long as you don't do it too often."

They got to class a few minutes early, and were able to get seats near the back, for once. Ron and Hermione hadn't showed up yet, which suited Harry's purposes perfectly fine. He pulled the Verifier from his pocket and started to rummage through his bag with the Verifier still in his hand.

"Ever hear from Ron?" he asked.

"One owl," Draco said, carefully selecting some books from his own bag. Harry looked at the verifier. It was white. "He said he was going back on our arrangement. We'll see. Have you been out?"

To Harry's relief, the Verifier was still white. "Yes," he answered.

Draco snorted. "Not going to tell me much, are you?"

"Believe me, I'm not telling them much, either," Harry answered. He set an ink jar on the desk with his left hand. "Did Ron say why?"

"He said he had decided it was too dangerous for you. I sent him a reply promising not to tell anybody while you were out, but I haven't heard back."

"Would you tell?" Harry asked, following the ink with his book and notebook.

"Probably not," Draco said airily.

Harry decided more rummaging would be suspicious. He dropped the still-white Verifier and took out his quill.

"Have your supplies got a bit disorganized?" Draco asked pointedly.

"I was hoping I had another quill," Harry returned. "The point on this one is crunched."

Draco took the quill and looked at the tip critically. "A bit," he agreed. A moment later, he had drawn a small knife from a low pocket or a boot sheath, and was using to make a practiced, angled cut on the quill. From the ease with which he did this, the knife was quite sharp. "There you go," he said, pushing it back.

"Thanks!" said Harry in surprise. He filled the inkwell and tried the quill. It did, in fact, write more neatly. "I never knew you had practical skills," he commented, without thinking.

Draco tensed. "Excuse me?" he asked, with brittle precision.

"I -- Oh, hell! I mean, you have servants and things...."

Draco looked disgusted. "And you expect me to wait for one every time I stab my quill into something?" He looked contemptuously at Harry. "I can also," he said pointedly, "brush my own hair."

"Yes, mother," Harry growled, but he kept it to a whisper. Draco snickered, then nudged Harry.

"The Weasel's here."

"Stuff it, or I'll start calling you 'Ferret,'" Harry whispered back.

Draco rolled his eyes, but said nothing more. Harry smiled at Ron and Hermione, and motioned to the desks across the aisle from him, on the far side from Draco. "Sit?" he asked.

"I don't like sitting at the back," Hermione complained, while taking the nearer seat. Draco gave a contemptuous snort that she and Harry ignored. Ron narrowed his eyes, and Harry shook his head at him. To his surprise, Ron looked down immediately, his face flushing. He sat beside Hermione, who whispered something to him.

Throughout the lesson, Draco nudged Harry and whispered comments about the Foe-Glass Lupin was showing to the class. Harry could tell he did it to annoy Ron and Hermione, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. Often he whispered back. It kept his mind off memories of Barty Crouch, Jr., and the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

After class, Harry leaned towards Ron and Hermione, who looked ready to bolt. "Wait for me?" he asked. They glanced at each other for a moment.

"'Course," Ron said.

Harry nodded to Draco. "See you on Monday."

"If not before," Draco returned, a bit testily.

"Okay, then," Harry replied.

Draco began to clear his desk. Harry went up to the front of the room and stood waiting for Professor Lupin to finish talking to Hannah Abbot. When she had left, he stepped forward.

"Thank you for the loan, professor," he said quietly. He dug in his bag and pulled out the Verifier. He was careful to block Ron and Hermione's view of it with his body.

"You're welcome," Lupin said lightly. "Was it useful?"

Harry nodded. "He didn't lie to me. On the other hand, he didn't answer everything."

"Be careful."

"I will. I promise." Harry shifted. "About Sunday...."

"Yes?"

"That's okay, but it will need to be Saturday, instead, this week."

Lupin hesitated. "I can't do four to six, this Saturday. Would after dinner work for you?"

Harry nodded. "That's fine."

"Good, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione and Ron stood at the back of the room, waiting for Harry. Draco was collecting his things very slowly and arranging them neatly in his bag. Hermione wished he would hurry it up and leave. She wondered if he was lingering just to spy. When he finally sauntered out after Hannah Abbot, Ron leaned close.

"I need to talk to you without Harry," he whispered. "Meet at Thalia's alcove straight after afternoon classes?"

"Right," she said. "When did he--" But Harry was turning. She smiled at him as he approached, and he grinned back at her, but sailed past before she had time to speak. In the hallway, he moved forward quickly to join the back of a crowd of third years. She and Ron had to hurry to catch up. Once he was with other people, Harry slowed down and walked companionably from there to lunch with her and Ron, but he stayed with the crowd, so they had no chance to question him. He sat with them at lunch, just like he used to do every day, but again, their conversation was restrained to public matters. For all that, he was cheerful and animated. Hermione didn't think she'd seen him so happy all term.

When Hermione was ready to leave, she invited Harry along, but he smiled innocently, and said he needed to talk to Teresa about tonight's practice. Fifteen minutes later, she and Ron were waiting for him on the steps outside the Entrance Hall.

"He has to come out soon," Ron said, looking nervously at the time. Most of their classmates from Care of Magical Creature had already passed them. "Unless he went down early to see his snake."

"Isn't it too cold, today?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. "Beats me. All I know about snakes is how to tell the poisonous ones from the non-poisonous ones. And how to whack them with sticks."

They stood a moment in silence.

"Could we talk here?" Hermione asked Ron.

Ron looked at the heavy door behind them as if it might suddenly disappear, then scuffed at the stone landing with the toe of one shoe. "I suppose," he said.

"Do you know when he came in?" Hermione prompted.

"Yeah," Ron answered. "Just a bit before six."

"Oh. Did he say where he'd been?"

"Just that he'd fallen asleep." Ron twisted a section of his robe between his hands. "And he was smiling like an idiot the whole time."

"Oh," Hermione said again. Drugs -- not the bubble stuff, but whatever he was on that night at dinner.

"I think I know what's up with him," Ron stated.

"Fairly obvious, really," Hermione said absently. Let's see ... every three or four nights --

"I think he's having it off with Malfoy."

"WHAT?"

"Shhh!"

"You can't be serious!"

"Well, think!" Ron said earnestly. "Who else wouldn't he tell us about?"

"What makes you think he's off ... seeing someone?"

"Why else would he fall asleep?" Ron asked, a bit impatiently. "Besides, people only have that sort of smile when they're in love -- or roundly shagged, at least, and--"

"What would you know about that?"

"I have five older brothers! I'm not completely oblivious, you know!" Ron waved down her attempt at interrupting. "So I asked him who the girl was, and he said there wasn't any girl, and I told him he looked like he was in love, and he laughed and said there were all sorts of love, and this was nothing romantic. So I figure it's a boy, and they're just ... just doing it, and clearly it's not a Gryffindor, right?" Ron paused for a moment, and Hermione interrupted.

"Ron, I think you're entirely off on the wrong track, here. I don't think he's in love, or lust, or anything like that. I don't think there's another person involved at all."

"People don't just wander off and fall asleep, Hermione. People fall asleep when they've got too cozy."

"I suspect this is more a matter of passing out -- if any loss of consciousness is actually involved."

Ron looked puzzled. "You think he's dueling? Practicing?"

"I think he's drugged out of his mind!" Hermione snapped. "You remember last Saturday, when we'd talked to Malfoy, and Malfoy said he'd been with Snape?"

"Unfortunately," Ron said gloomily.

"Well, do you remember how he was acting at dinner? Those weird smiles and strange responses?"

"You think he's seeing Snape?" Ron yelped.

Hermione pulled her hair in frustration. "Ron, will you listen? No! I think he's getting some drug -- potion -- from Snape, and it knocks him out for a bit, then makes him stupid and happy for a bit longer." Ron stared at her for a minute, then the idea got through. She could see him turning it around in his mind, linking it to various events, and making connections to behaviors. Probably still adding two and two to make six and a half, she thought fondly.

"Could be," he said slowly.

"He disappears every three or four days. And he's tetchy before, then friendly afterwards. He's avoiding being alone with us today, but I think that's just because he knows I'll want answers. He seems relaxed, today, don't you think?"

Ron chewed at his lip as he nodded thoughtfully.

"We know of three things he's been taking in the last month," Hermione elaborated, "-- the cigarettes, the bubble stuff, and this 'counters a side effect of the wards failing' stuff that he told you he took every other day. And he sees Professor Snape a lot."

"But that last thing -- he said I could talk to Dumbledore about that."

"And I'm sure you can. It's legitimate, or he wouldn't say that." Hermione hesitated. "But Professor Snape may be giving him something else, or he may be stealing something else."

Ron's eyes widened. "That's got to be it! Not the stealing-- Look! Snape has been giving him harmless potions so Harry will get him used to coming to him. The greasy git has probably been setting this up since Harry came here in August. I bet it's doing something horrible to him." He hesitated. "Bastard," he muttered.

"Ron!"

Ron glared at her. "Are you arguing? If he's hurting Harry?"

"But that's the part I don't understand," Hermione said. "Snape can't harm Harry. He's an Ord- part of the old crowd."

"So was Pettigrew," Ron said grimly.

"So what do we do?" Hermione sighed. "Talk to Dumbledore? I hate getting Harry into trouble."

"I think we should confront him," Ron said firmly. "Except, let's make sure this is right, first, okay? Not another 'Harry died in August and this is an impostor' mess. We need to go back to the map, but now that we know what we're looking for, we don't need to map the whole castle, just the dungeons and the Room of Requirement. If we explain why, I bet we can get Ginny to help. We could have it done by next Tuesday, I bet. He's disappeared every Tuesday, right?"

"Except this one." Hermione nodded, attempting to look brisk. She felt a little better, now that they had a plan. "So we watch and see if he goes to Snape...."

"Then when Snape leaves wherever they meet, we go loom over him," Ron confirmed.

Hermione could imagine Harry on the couch in his indulgent Room of Requirement, smiling vaguely up at them and saying a dreamy hello. If they stayed, though, he wouldn't be able to say he didn't know what they were talking about, once he was over it.

"Shall we start after dinner? I need to finish my Arithmancy work."

"I won't have much time after Quidditch practice. I'll talk to Ginny, though. If we get together for a bit after practice, perhaps we can start straight in tomorrow."

Harry showed up to Care of Magical Creatures a few minutes late.

"Yeh missed the start o' class, Harry," Hagrid warned.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I lost track of time."

"I was jus' tellin' everybody that this is our last day wi' the wyverns. They'll be headin' off to the Ural Dragon Preserve in the mornin'."

"Is that where they're from?" Ron asked.

Hagrid's cheery face grew grim. "Nah. These three came from the Shetlands. Poachers killed the third female, and made off with what eggs they didn' trample in their rush." Hagrid was visibly distressed by this tragedy. "Some people think interestin' creatures are just fer their personal money-makin'. No consideration fer them at all."

Nott snickered. Hermione glared at her. Before that could escalate, Harry interrupted.

"If this is the last day, may I try talking to them, Hagrid? I can tell them what's going to happen."

"Well...." Hagrid said uncertainly. He brightened. "Yeah, yeh do that, Harry. Still a bit hard ter manage, these ones are."

Which, Harry thought, was an understatement. None of the students had been able to get in beak's reach of the aviary during their two weeks of study. On the other hand, if the wyverns' previous experience with humans was an encounter with some poachers who killed their mate and young, that wasn't surprising.

Cautiously, Harry approached the cage.

"Hello," he hissed. Behind him, people flinched. Susan Bones let out a little yelp of fear. Harry looked back and saw Ron standing casually, a bored look on his face, as if Harry did this all the time and it was hardly worth noticing. Nott, on the other hand, had gone pale, while Zabini looked eager and intrigued. Parvati looked like Harry had just done something disgusting.

The wyverns responded to his greeting with defiant birdlike screeches. "I can't understand you," Harry said carefully. Parseltongue didn't seem to have the concept of "sorry." Harry thought this difficult, but a bit funny.

The wyverns grew agitated. The male reared up and flapped his wings like a crowing rooster while he screeched.

"I know what happened to you," Harry hissed above the din. "I am sad for your eggs." The wyverns quieted at this. The male and the blue female hunched down and looked miserable. The other female stretched up and gave a single, sad screech.

"After next dawn, people will come to take you to a safe place, where egg-crushers are kept away."

The male became very agitated and flew in circles at the edge of the cage. The green female slithered like a snake towards Harry, her upper body erect, so her wings did not catch on the ground, and her taloned feet held comically out to the side. Someone giggled nervously.

"It is not a cage, like this," Harry told them. "It is a part of the world, with big spaces of no people and many high crags."

The green wyvern came all the way to the bars. She stood up like a bird, cocked her head to the side, and made a sad, inquiring noise. Harry thought it was a heartbreaking sound. He stepped towards her, and put his hands on one iron bar. "I promise."

"Harry!" Hagrid called warningly.

Harry reached through the bars and scritched the side of the wyvern's scaly face. "It will be a good place," he told her. "I wish you many children, there."

The wyvern trilled.

Harry and Ron said goodbye to Hermione after class, and headed straight down to the pitch. It was a little while before the rest of the team was due to arrive, but not enough time to do more than walk to the tower and back. Harry sat in the stands, roughly where he had sat with Draco, and braced himself for the inevitable interrogation, but Ron didn't seem to know how to start it. After a few throat-clearings and strangled sounds, he finally said:

"It's weird to sit this low. And to be here with the place empty."

Harry nodded. He would never have chosen these seats for a game; they were too far down. "I ate lunch with Draco here, once," he commented. "Actually, I'd been eating up there --" he pointed at the goal rings -- "but Draco came, and we sat here to talk. He kept snitching pieces of my cake." Harry thought. "I guess that was just this Monday. We were talking about the Kerner Dark Detector. God, that seems like months ago!"

Ron hunched up a bit. He looked miserable.

"Would you rather I didn't talk about him?" Harry asked. "Look," he said, "considering last practice, I think it's important that you and I be on great terms -- genuinely, if possible, but if not we should fake it -- or we're going to tear the team apart."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I was thinking the same thing." He took an audible breath. "Um... Harry, I have to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"Malfoy ... Is he, y'know ... your boyfriendorsomething?"

"WHAT?" Harry yelped, his voice cracking at the end of it. He cleared his throat. "Ron!"

"Oh, good!" said Ron, with a sigh of relief. "Because I was going to have to tell you I could handle that, and I don't think I could have, really."

Harry laughed. "Well, thank you for your unnecessary support, I suppose. Now you just need to handle him being my sort-of friend."

"In comparison, that doesn't seem so bad," Ron observed. He appeared to be too relieved to be embarrassed. "So, about these night wanderings--"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry interrupted firmly.

"Well, I wish you would. But talk or not, you can't keep doing this."

"It's none of your business, Ron."

"What?" Ron said indignantly. "Excuse me, Harry, but I happen to be a Gryffindor prefect! If someone doesn't come back by ten, I'm supposed to report them directly to McGonagall. I can't keep ignoring this because it's you!"

"Oh." Harry considered that. It would be a problem for Ron and Hermione, he realized belatedly. "Sorry, then. I'll try to be more discreet."

"I don't want you to be discreet, I want you to stop doing it!" Ron snapped.

Harry bit back an angry yell. "I understand your position," he said coldly. "Now, I think we'd better discuss something less volatile, if we wish to be on amicable terms when the others arrive." He paused for a moment. "What on earth made you think I was involved with Malfoy?" he asked incredulously

"That-- This morning, when I asked who you were with, and you started babbling about different sorts of love, and...."

Harry laughed. "We were both far too tired for a meaningful conversation," he noted.

"Well, now that we're awake," Ron pressed, "What was it you were you trying to say?"

Harry tried to remember what he had said and why. In retrospect, it hadn't had much to do with what Ron had asked.

"Mainly, that you're still important to me," he said carefully, "even if we have been treating each other like crap for most of the past two weeks. But I'd been walking back to Gryffindor thinking about family and friends and love and trust and emotional courage, and my mind was all still lost in that, so I'm not surprised if what I said didn't make sense." Harry grinned. "The word "love," for example, would never have come into it without that."

"I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend, recently."

"Me too," Harry shrugged. "But I'm sort of stuck."

"Please tell me what's wrong?" Ron begged.

"Nothing's wrong."

"And I'm the Minister of Magic!"

Harry grinned. "Well, he's frequently wrong, but that's beside the point."

"Harry!"

"Look, there's nothing wrong that you could possibly help me with, okay? Come on, now, people are arriving -- I can hear Jack's laugh. We're best friends, right?"

"Right," Ron said dully.

"And nothing is wrong. Remember that."

Ron came back from Quidditch practice flushed and smiling, though Ginny, at his side, looked less happy. Hermione, waiting at the bust of Thalia the Capricious, was pleased to note that the corridor was long enough that she could see their approach before she could hear their voices. Ron had chosen the place well.

Ginny stopped in front of Hermione and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why," she demanded, "are you going back to this surveillance scheme?"

"Harry was out until just before dawn, this morning. He's coming back ... well, under the influence of something. Malfoy saw him with Snape, so I think it's a potion, not a Muggle drug."

"We want to catch him at it, so we can sit on him and make him talk to us," Ron interrupted.

Ginny gave an exasperated sigh. "So you want to map the dungeons?"

"So we can see when he meets Snape and where he goes."

"We should map the Room of Requirement, too," Hermione added.

"I'm not even sure that will work," Ginny said. "I mean, if you map the DA meeting place, will Harry show if he's in his little lounge?"

"A ten minute experiment will determine that," Hermione said primly.

"Well, let's do that now," Ron suggested. "That way, Ginny can see how it works, and we can figure out how this job divides with three." He moaned. "I still don't know what I'll say if Harry catches us!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You tell him it was going to be his Christmas present, of course. Honestly!"

They had a bit of trouble with the experiment. Hermione had said they should map the smaller space, then see what happened in the big one. She tried to get it first, walking up and down and thinking intently that she needed Harry's private room. To her surprise, she had opened the door on a spacious and welcoming bedroom, decorated mostly in green and blue, with golden woods and gilt flourishes. It had a single window, hung with a cerulean drape.

"What is this?" Ron asked, entering behind her.

"I don't know. I asked it for Harry's private room."

Ginny looked around in wonder. "This isn't like his bedroom at the Dursley's is it?" she asked.

Ron snorted. "Not even close."

Hermione closed the door and crossed to the window, then put her face to the glass and her hands up to block the light from eyes. "It's in the castle, somewhere. I can see Hagrid's."

"Wait!" Ron exclaimed. "Did you ask in words?"

"Of course."

"I've never tried that. What did you say?"

"I thought," Hermione corrected, "'Harry's private room.'"

"So, do you think Harry does have a secret private room?" Ron asked. "I mean, I could fall asleep here." He vaulted on to the high, canopied bed and flopped down on it, then settled his hands behind his head. He stared up at the blue canopy. "Except I might have nightmares I'd been sorted into Ravenclaw."

"Would that be horrible?" Hermione asked scathingly.

"Yes! In Ravenclaw, I'd be like Neville."

"Perhaps Harry is going to stay and be a teacher," Ginny suggested. "Perhaps this will be his room."

"Why would Harry be a teacher?" Ron asked, mystified.

Ginny shrugged. "He's good at it. Zoë says he talks about it."

Hermione felt an unjustifiable flash of jealousy. Harry had never talked about that with her. She looked out the window while she examined the feeling. Harry and I don't talk any more, do we? I ask him where he's been and he refuses to answer me. I have no idea what's going on in the parts of his life he might be willing to share. The jealousy was replaced by a pang of guilt, and longing. I could be with him, now, instead of plotting how to track him down next week. I wonder if he's studying with Zoë?

"This is so weird," Ron commented, getting out of the bed and starting to prowl around. He opened the wardrobe. "Look! It's got his dress robes!" He ran a hand down the spectacular red one. "I caught a glimpse of this our first night back. I wonder what would happen if I tried to take it out of here?"

"It vanishes as soon as you leave," Hermione commented absently. "I tried that with some of the books, last year."

"Well, if it's his room, now," Ron said, "we should search the towers to find it. We have the window view to help."

"Perhaps it was his room over the summer!" Hermione exclaimed.

"That's an idea," Ron said approvingly.

"We're getting distracted," Ginny said sharply.

"I suppose," Hermione agreed reluctantly.

"Uh, Hermione?" Ron asked. She looked over. He was standing by the bedside table, and looking down into the open drawer.

"Yes?"

"Look at this."

Hermione came up and looked in the drawer. It contained Harry's Sneakascope, Omnioculars, and lock-pick set, and ten potion vials, six dark, and four light. Ron picked up one of the light ones. Held up, it was clearly pink. He tipped it slowly back and forth. "Bubble stuff," he decided. He put that back and picked up a dark one. This was a green potion. Tipped, it did not look at all viscous. Ron shook it, and it fizzed. Quickly, he popped the top off and downed it.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed in alarm.

"I'm pretty certain this is the muscle relaxant," Ron answered, coughing slightly on the froth. "That's how he took it."

"You don't need a muscle relaxant!"

"No, I don't. I want to know what this feels like, though." He looked questioningly at Hermione. "If I leave the room, does this all vanish from my body?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"Let's hang out here a bit, then."

Ginny sat in the window seat. "We'll miss dinner," she complained.

"A true Weasley," Ron said, with mocking pride.

"Well, we will! This was supposed to be quick, remember? And I've been flying for two hours. I'm starving!"

"She's got a point, Ron," Hermione said, noting Ginny's edgy tone and judging the younger girl genuinely needed food. "Let's wait ten minutes more to see what you feel, then go get dinner, then come back and do the mapping test. Is that all right, Ginny?"

"I suppose," Ginny said moodily. "Hand me my bag -- I'll sketch the view while we're waiting. That will at least be useful."

After dinner, Ron and Hermione disappeared off somewhere. Harry, who was expecting to be questioned more, felt unexpectedly put out at the reprieve. After noting that Seamus, Dean, and Neville were all in the Common room, he went up to their dormitory to work on his independent study and appreciate having the room to himself. The afternoon mist had settled in to a steady rain, and the soft patter of raindrops against the windows sounded pleasant from the cozy, warm room. He had finished his factual part of the paper on the Dark Arts Components Act of 1981, and had reached the point at which he should discuss the messy ethical considerations. He really felt he'd had enough of messy ethical considerations for a while. His other independent study paper was one on changes in Wizarding law in Britain during Voldemort's first rise to power. Many of the names were disturbingly familiar, but the history was mostly new to him. He hadn't realized how mainstream support for Voldemort had been. That was no less disturbing than reading about the Longbottoms, the Figgs, and the Potters, or the Malfoys, the Blacks, and the Notts. Frowning, Harry pushed his books aside, and picked up a fresh piece of parchment. He began to write.

Dear Fred and George,

How the shop? School is okay, but I have been fighting with Ron and Hermione. They seem to think it their business where I go without them. Ron waited up for me, last night, or tried to, and ended up falling asleep in the common room. How do you stop him from scolding? He's acting like Percy did, at his age.

We had wonderful fun with my birthday present. The Mood Wings were a big hit -- Hermione even tried them! Certain people (okay, he's not quite like Percy was) made good use of the ventriloquism drops, as well.

The Quidditch schedule came out this week, and our first game (and only Autumn game) is on Saturday,the fifth of October, against Ravenclaw. I'd be happy to have you visit. (It makes me look so well-behaved!) Our new team members are young, but working out well. How did you manage with me as a first year? That seems so young, now. We have Teresa, a second-year, and Iggy, a third-year, both as Chasers. I think staggering the team ages will be beneficial in the long run, but we're having a bit of trouble melding, which is not made better by my fights with Ron.

Also, could I send you on a trip to Muggle London? I know there will be a Halloween ball, this year, though it hasn't been announced yet. (I was at dinner when the professors agreed on it, during the summer.) I bought some sexy Muggle trousers, but neglected to get an appropriate shirt. Perhaps we could consult on it while you're here, and you could send me something by owl post, later?

Harry added a request for Muggle cigarettes, erased it, added it again, and erased it again. He eventually sighed and signed off on the letter, and sealed it to take up to the Owlery. Now, he decided, was as good a time as any. Perhaps the walk would clear his head for writing. He headed out.

Saturday morning, Harry walked down to breakfast with Ron and Hermione. Hermione sat in the middle, so Ron could talk to Andrew.

"So," she said awkwardly, "how have you been?"

"Fine," Harry answered, reaching for the toast.

"I realized we don't talk much, anymore."

Harry rolled his eyes. "And why ever would that be?" he asked sarcastically.

"I ... I miss being friends," Hermione said.

Harry looked at her. "I've tried," he said seriously. "I really have. You mean a lot to me. But when I talk to you, all you do is interrogate me and scold." He hesitated. "I think perhaps we should pick it up later, when my life is ... more.... When I can...."

"May I sit here?" asked a small, high voice. Harry turned, smiling, to see Teresa.

"Go right ahead," he said. Teresa smiled broadly and settled next to him.

"Practice was great fun, yesterday," she said brightly. "I think I'm becoming a better Chaser."

"It's always good to work with new players," Harry agreed amiably. "Especially ones with a different experience level, whether they have more experience or less. You learn things, that way." He grinned. "I think you're really coming along. Iggy, too."

Teresa beamed. She babbled happily at him throughout the meal. Harry didn't mind. He remembered how much fun it was to have older friends -- and it kept him from the awkward conversation with Hermione. Teresa was very admiring, but at least it was over something he did -- Quidditch -- rather than who he was.

"And that maneuver you suggested was perfect!" Teresa said, almost bouncing with enthusiasm.

Harry glanced past her and found himself looking at Colin Creevey. Colin gave him an embarrassed grin and made a show of hiding his face. Harry choked trying not to laugh.

"Are you okay?" Teresa asked.

"Um, yeah. Just coughed when I should have been swallowing. What about that drill with Ginny? Was that helpful?"

Hermione, he noticed, had left.

Harry went down to see the wyverns off. It was a very warm day, for late September, and he opened his robes, in front.

To Harry's surprise, the first thing he saw when he rounded Hagrid's hut was Charlie Weasley. Before Harry could call over a greeting, a large, burly man further around the cage caught sight of him. "Hey!" he called. "Sorry, lad -- no student audience."

Charlie looked up. "That's Harry," he shouted back. "He can be here. Come here, Harry. Hagrid says you can talk to these beasties."

"Sort of. They seem to understand Parseltongue, but I can't understand them, at all." Harry walked up to Charlie. The wyverns were in a state, flapping and screeching. Occasionally one would fly up to the top of the aviary to dive down at the door, talons outstretched. "What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you work in Romania? I thought they were going to Russia."

"Yeah, but Harry, dragon people all know each other. And everyone knows my family knows Albus Dumbledore, so I was asked to come along. Professional courtesy." He frowned at the angry wyverns. "Reckon you can calm them down?"

"Tell me where you're taking them, and I'll try to describe it."

"Well, ultimately, they're going to the Ural Dragon Preserve. There are a few single females, there, and we're hoping they pick up one as their fourth -- you know wyverns always nest in groups of four, right?

Harry nodded. "One male, three females, each with particular child-rearing roles -- Hagrid has been teaching us, not just admiring them."

"Okay. Russia though, has quarantine, so before that, they'll be in an enclosure -- a lot larger and more natural than this, but still enclosed -- so they can observe them for three weeks. They'll be looking for scale rot, and such things, but also to be sure they're not too domesticated, and can hunt their own food, and such. When that's over, they'll be released through the roof, and herded by Hippogriff to the area the wyvern experts think they'll like best."

"Okay," Harry said. He turned to the cage and concentrated on seeing the wyverns as winged snakes. "This man has come to move you to your new home," he began.

Harry explained the procedure to the wyverns, and told them Charlie was a friend (at least, he tried to say "friend" -- he thought the word may actually have meant something more intimately familial) and could be trusted. The burly man stared with frozen terror as he listened to the sounds coming out of Harry's mouth. Eventually, the green female came over to have her face scratched again. At Charlie's request, Harry relayed that Charlie needed to cast a Sleep Charm on each of them for transport. After confirming with Charlie, Harry assured them they would be together in quarantine. ("'Course they will!" Charlie had answered. "They need to see how they work as a family.") Harry added that they weren't getting out of this cage any other way, and the wyverns finally decided to risk it. They came down, but flapped back up when Charlie pulled out his wand.

"Show them on me," Harry offered.

"What?"

"I'll tell them what you're doing, then you cast a Sleep Charm on me, then wake me up."

Charlie, after thinking the plan over, agreed. After seeing Harry fall, then wake unharmed, the wyverns cooperated. Charlie put them all under, then he and his companion went into the aviary.

"We'll be portkeying right out, now," Charlie said. "Tell Ron I said hello!"

A moment later, Harry was alone.

Or not, he thought, as a voice as his feet asked:

"Will the flying snakes return?"

Harry looked down. "No," he said. "Something else will come." He squatted to get closer to the adder. "Could I show you to a friend of mine?"

"Like before?"

"Yes."

"Is the one warm?"

"I don't know," Harry answered.

"If the one is not warm, I will sleep on you."

"Good. I'd like that."

After some experimentation, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny discovered that mapping the Room of Requirement was a bit chancy. Ron, who asked in images, rather than words, managed to get something that looked like the room Harry had taken them to a few days earlier, but they were not sure it was really the same. They mapped that, then Hermione called up the room used by Dumbledore's Army. Ron and Ginny watch her go into the mapped room, but once she was inside it, she was visible in some places, but not others. The mapped area was not all in one patch. Next, they tried mapping the room used by Dumbledore's Army. When Hermione left it, then called it up again, she was visible in the room. However, when Ron called up what he considered to be the same room, Hermione was, again, only visible in some places, although more of them. Next, Ginny tried to call up the room, but could not.

"Why won't the door appear?" Hermione asked. "Ginny, get the D. A. room!"

Ginny shrugged. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess I don't believe I need it." Ginny pushed her hair back and smiled. "This is the Room of Requirement, you know, not the Room of Vague Interest."

"But we need another data point--"

"No. You need another data point. Personally, I think Harry will be fine if you just leave him alone."

"Then why are you helping?" Ron asked pointedly.

"Because I think you and Hermione need to be doing something, and maybe you'll harass him less if you feel you're taking some action."

Hermione couldn't decide whether this was offensive or sweet. While she was mulling it over, Ron sighed. "Let's try a smaller room." Hermione called up "Harry's Private Room" again, and she was visible in more than half of it from the mapped Dumbledore's Army training room.

"Let me do another quick sketch," Ginny said, joining her in Harry's room, "now that it's light outside."

Ron and Hermione agreed. Out of curiosity, Ron looked at the store of potions and found it again contained six green ones.

"You know, I'm less sure about this drug theory, after last night," Ron commented.

"Why?"

"Well, the fizzy potion wasn't anything special. I mean I didn't feel anything. I have no interest in taking it again."

"But that's the legitimate one, remember?"

"I guess."

Ron picked up one of the pink vials. "This stuff, on the other hand, was fun, but it seemed harmless." He frowned. "I suppose I should try this, too, to make certain the ones here are the same."

"Ron!" Hermione protested, but Ron already had one of the vials open. He couldn't find anything to blow bubbles with, so he held his thumb and first finger together and spilled a bit on the crack between them. A flush of quiet pleasure overtook him before he could try to blow a bubble, and that shifted to amused delight when he managed to blow one and pop it.

"Oooo," he said happily. "Same thing. It works on skin, but better in bubbles." He reached over to rub his fingers clean on Hermione, then thought better of it, and did it on his sister, instead. She giggled and swatted at him.

"Stop that!" Hermione snapped. She bit her lip. "Please?"

Ron laughed. "Wait a few minutes," he advised, but didn't manage to sound serious. He recapped the vial and put it back.

Fifteen minutes later, they left the mysterious room, and began to walk downstairs. They mapped the stairs leading from the Entrance Hall to the dungeons, then started mapping the dungeon corridors. At the first door, they stopped. Ron opened the door. An empty, square, room confronted them.

"Let's just mark it on the map," Hermione said, "and come back and do it later."

They followed that plan for the next six rooms that they encountered. Some were empty and others storerooms, but none had comfortable places to sit or lie down. The seventh door was locked.

"Should we do this one now?" Ron asked.

"What if there's someone inside it?" Hermione worried. She barely managed to stop Ginny from knocking.

"Maybe we should mark this one, as well, and come back during classes, when we know Snape is teaching, and most of the Slytherins are upstairs," Ron suggested, at a whisper.

Ginny got down on the floor, to see if she could see anything under the door. She reported that the room was dark, then tried poking her wand in. Wand light did not help, other than showing her that the first foot of floor was stone, like the hallway.

"It's a frequently used room, though," Hermione noted, as Ginny got to her feet. "You can see how the stone is worn in front of this door."

"Oy!" called a young, but confident voice from down the hall. A short Slytherin, possibly a third-year, came trotting towards them. He stopped several paces away. "What are you lot doing down here? Get away from Professor Snape's lab before I scream for my mates, and we turn you into Gryffindor paste."

Ron stepped forward angrily, but Hermione pulled him back.

"We're lost," Ginny said, gesturing at the map. "Which way to the stairs back to the Entrance Hall?"

The kid pointed. "That way, turn right, then go till you see them. Now go!"

They went.

Harry glanced up to the staff table, during lunch, and was surprised to see his father silently studying Remus. Remus did not appear to have noticed. He was eating moodily, with much poking of his food, and seemed to have edged his chair closer to Professor Dumbledore's. Harry wondered if he was having problems with parents.

Severus slipped out of lunch early, and Harry followed a few minutes later.

"Hello," Severus said, when Harry entered his lab. "Are you ready to do some actual work?"

"Before that?" Harry began. He waited for the lift of eyebrows that indicated some curiosity before continuing. "We won't have many more warm days, like this. Would you like to meet the adder, before she starts sleeping?"

"You think I can walk with you in the gardens?"

Harry nodded. "If you wear my cloak. Then I'm just taking a stroll by myself. And when we're there, there are bushes between the good sitting places and the school. If we're careful about choosing a spot, you could take the hood down."

The adder was near where Harry had left her, sunning herself on a rock. Harry went a little past her, into a horseshoe of bushes open on the side of the Forbidden Forest, then called her over. The snake zipped through the thin, shaded grass, then reared up to flick her tongue rapidly through the air. She looked dangerously beautiful, with her soft brown back marked with dark zigzag warning, each point tipped in black.

"I can smell your nestmate, but I cannot see him. Can you see him?" the adder asked anxiously. "He is on that rock, or behind it."

"I can't see him at the moment," Harry assured her. "He is wearing something that keeps him from being seen." ...but will apparently not, he added to himself, hide me from Nagini.

A brief flicker of blue wandlight betrayed the casting of a spell towards the distant trees, then Snape's head appeared. Harry looked anew at the greasy lanks of hair, and wondered if Lucius had tsked and spelled it clean -- and perhaps scented, while he was at it.

The adder reared back at the sudden apparition, then settled lower again. "He has a body, but it cannot be seen?" she asked curiously.

"Right."

"Are you introducing me?" Severus asked, a bit testily.

"No -- she was wondering about not being able to see you," Harry said. "I don't think names translate, anyway." He gestured at the adder. "Father, here is the-snake-who-lives-near-where-the-wyverns-used-to-be." He sat down on a low rock and looked at the snake. "This man is very important to me."

"He cannot speak?"

"No, that's very rare." Harry had a sudden frightened thought. What if Voldemort spoke to all the local snakes? He could not see Voldemort, though, or even Nagini, getting this far onto Hogwarts grounds. "If you meet another human that does, or a snake bigger than the flying ones, do not mention me to them. The man is my enemy."

"I will not speak of you," the snake assured him. "I sleep soon, anyway," she added, as an afterthought.

She and Harry chatted for a few minutes. Harry translated some of it, including some amusing comments about the wyverns. After this, she smelled Snape a final time. "He smells a bit like you," she observed, "but more fragrant." Harry laughed so hard that he was obliged to translate, much to his embarrassment. The snake, when Harry had stopped moving, slid up the sleeve of his robes and settled contentedly in the warm darkness.

"Does that tickle?" Severus asked.

"Not really." Harry thought. "I can feel her contentment. It's pleasant."

"Ah."

For a few minutes, they were both silent. It felt like having summer back, Harry thought happily. Like the end of August, when things were safer -- why didn't we come outside, more?

"About the other night...." Severus said awkwardly. He managed a quick look at Harry, then focused on the distant forest, again. Absently, he sent another spell at it. "Thank you," he said.

Harry flushed with embarrassment and joy. "I didn't do anything," he said lightly.

Severus turned to him at that, scowling. "You know what you did," he said fiercely. He hesitated. "Dumbledore used to ramble on in meetings -- old crowd -- about what a 'loving child' you were. It always sounded so vapid. I never realized what balls that took."

Harry managed a timid nod of acceptance. It was his turn to look away, now. He watched thin clouds creeping in over the treetops and tried to breath normally.

"Who would you love, if you dared?" he asked.

"Besides you?" Severus asked.

Harry kept watching the clouds. "Do you love me?"

In the silence that followed, he watched one thin line of a herringbone cloud cross into the clear sky in front of the trees, and another move to take its place.

"Yes," Severus said flatly.

Harry's eyes closed involuntarily. He forced them open. "Good," he said. "And you can be brave too. Who else?"

There was another, even longer silence.

"I don't think anyone else -- no one still alive, anyway."

Harry managed to look at him, then. "Everyone should love more than one person," he said seriously, "and in more than one way."

"It is probably correct that one should," Severus allowed, "but I do not. Nor is it advisable, in my position." He paused. "Whom do you love, then?"

Harry bit his lip, thinking. "You," he said, "Ron and Hermione. Mrs. Weasley. Dumbledore in a sort of resentful way, and Remus, I think, in a tentative one. I'm not sure exactly who he is, sometimes, but that's the nature of the moon, isn't it? He was more contained, when I was younger. Now he shows me enough of himself to confuse me."

He dared a glance at Severus, to see if the mention of Remus had made him angry, but the floating head was staring at the forest, again, watching something very far away.

"Yes," he said absently. "There is more to Remus than he allows most people to see." The lines around his eyes hardened. "Docility is crucial to his survival."

"Do you still love him?" Harry asked frankly.

"I do not love animals," Severus answered harshly.

Harry flinched. He wondered if Severus understood how deep that cut went, and for how many people. He found himself trembling with anger and hurt, and his words came out fast with the effort of speaking evenly:

"Remus is no more an animal than my mother was, and you know it."

The snake woke from her doze and stirred sluggishly, making his sleeve wobble and distort. She poked her head out and hissed threateningly at the air in front of her, then, after a quick scan of the area, at Severus, who had turned angrily to answer, but now froze.

"I am safe," Harry assured her, stroking a finger down the flat top of her head and the pliant body behind it. "It is -- a fighting that happens without damage."

Such a lie, he thought. There is only no blood.

"Are you making her do that?" Severus asked, staring at the adder.

"No -- she just acts like that when I'm upset. I don't know how to prevent it. I told her I'm safe, though." Harry smiled. "You should have heard her when Hermione and Ron found me with Draco, and Draco called Hermione--" He reddened.

"I see," Severus said dryly. "Occlumency would do it, I suspect."

"In the middle of a conversation?"

"That is how I use it."

"Oh."

"Now, we will try this again," Severus said precisely. "You work on control, and I will tell you --" a familiar malice grew in his voice and face -- "that Remus is no more than an animal, and I am ashamed that I ever--" His voice weakened and stopped. Harry watched his eyes close and his jaw clench.

The snake started to stir, and Harry hurriedly pushed all thoughts away. There was only warmth, air....

"I think we should go in, now," Severus said flatly. "Make the experiment when next you have a natural occurrence. I can't do this."

The floating head moved up several feet, then vanished.

"I need to leave," Harry told the snake. "If I do not see you again this year, will you remember me in spring?"

"When you wake in the morning, do you remember the sunset?" the snake asked, amused, as she slithered from his sleeve to the rock.

"That is what it is like?"

"Almost."

"Good. I will see you later."

Ron glanced around the common room around one more time, to make certain no one had come close to them. He needs to stop doing that, Hermione thought. It looks suspicious.

They were seated in a dark section of the room that was not near either the fire, or any windows. The closest other people were two fourth years who were playing chess out of casual listening distance.

"We need to map the lab," Hermione said. "We know he's been in there."

"No," Ron protested. "We know Malfoy said that he's been in there."

"True, but it's the only lead we've got." Hermione frowned. "Now, the problem with mapping Snape's lab is that the lab may contain Professor Snape."

"Who would dock Gryffindor hundreds of points and string us up by our thumbs."