Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Pride and Prejudice

Spare bit of parchment . . .

Harry glanced up to meet his father's eyes. "Um, so I guess you know already that this is the parchment that . . . um, insulted you that time. And you obviously know who made it . . . I don't actually understand much at all about it. I wish I did, wish I could explain how it could possibly have made Draco look so guilty, or why . . ." Looking away, Harry gave a heavy sigh and adjusted the position of the ice against his sore eye.

Leaning forward, Snape took the map and spread it out on the table, then with a sparse gesture conjured a glass of water and motioned that Harry should drink it. "You're no doubt still a bit woozy from breaking out of Petrificus. I'll give you something to help you sleep in a few moments."

"All right," Harry agreed, draining the glass and setting it down next to the other dishes. He briefly considered banishing them, or levitating them over to the Floo, but his magic still felt so depleted that he decided not to bother.

Snape seemed to realise what he had in mind. "Better all around not to risk staining the map," he murmured, waving his wand to clear away the mess. "I will be in contact with Lupin as soon as Albus can arrange it. For the moment, however, you are my sole source of information. So . . . instead of lamenting what you don't know about this parchment, tell me what you do know."

"Well, I know how to work it, is all." Shrugging, Harry detailed, "You tap it with your wand and say, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' to make it show itself. And then you tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed' to wipe it clean." A sense of how much things had changed suddenly swamped him. Not only was he telling Severus Snape the secrets of the Marauder's Map, it hadn't even occurred to him to hesitate.

Snape 's eyes went dark with remembrance. "Mischief managed . . . now that does sound like something James Potter would have thought amusing."

"I haven't used the map to play any nasty tricks on anyone," Harry objected.

"No? You weren't the miscreant who pelted Draco with mud that time in Hogsmeade and then came back with this in hand?"

"He started it," Harry defended himself. "And as for my . . . er, as for James--"

Snape waved a hand through the air as though to erase something. "I wasn't casting aspersions with my mischief managed remark. Your father liked alliteration; that was all I meant."

"You're my father," Harry retorted, furrowing his brow. "What's alliteration, anyway?"

Snape's dark eyes assessed him in a way they hadn't for some time, leaving Harry feeling like a potion ingredient again. But then Snape seemed to put off whatever he had been going to say in favour of merely explaining, "Alliteration. Repeated sounds. We seem to be drifting from the point." The Potions Master studied the map, checking the position of a few dots, including his and Harry's. "This does seem to be highly accurate . . . have you never seen it err before?"

"Never once," Harry swore.

Snape considered that for a moment, then pressed, "What about the provenance of the map? I recall Lupin saying he would take charge of it; I presume he must have returned it at some point, but how did you come into possession of it in the first place?"

"Fred and George Weasley gave it to me." Harry swallowed, feeling strangely like he was betraying them, though surely now it couldn't matter if Snape found out the truth. "They stole it from Filch's office. I've always assumed that Filch had confiscated it from my . . . er, from one of the Marauders. But that's just a guess. I don't honestly know how he ended up with it, and I've no idea how Fred and George figured out what it was or the incantations . . ."

"What of your own incantations?" the Potions Master asked, and then with a small frown, added, "In the stress of the moment, I confess I can't quite recall . . . did you tap the map with your fingers or your wand to activate it so that we might find Draco?"

That, more than anything else, told Harry how worried Snape had been; it wasn't like the man to overlook any detail, no matter how small. "Um, fingers," he admitted. "Sorry. I know I'm supposed to be concealing that, keep my wand in hand and all that, but it wasn't handy." He decided he'd just as soon not mention that he'd believed Draco had taken his wand out of the dungeons.

Snape sighed. "Harry . . . I do hope you are aware that I have good reasons for the rules I set you. The circumstances surrounding your use of the map were extraordinary, so I certainly understand your not stopping to fetch your wand. But the untested, wanded spell you decided to perform unsupervised so that you could view Draco outside? You simply must use better restraint."

That disappointed tone was more a rebuke than lines or points could ever be. Still, Harry rallied, "I had to know what was going on." When Snape's nostrils flared in irritation, Harry wished he hadn't said that. Because now his father would announce a punishment, surely . . . Except, he didn't. Harry wasn't quite sure why not.

"Back to your current means of manipulating this map," Snape abruptly pronounced. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good does not strike me as the sort of thing one might render into snake language. Can Parseltongue encompass words to conceptualise an oath?"

Harry flushed. "Uh, no, not really. But my spells these days don't always match the original ones so well, you know."

"And so?"

A deeper flush, that time one he could feel emanating from the roots of his hair. "Um. I'm sure it can't possibly matter what I say in Parseltongue," he muttered, chewing a little on his lower lip.

"We are endeavouring to solve a mystery," the Potions Master reminded the boy, his tone a trifle curt. "The more I know about how this parchment responds to stimuli, the better our chances of exonerating Draco. There is no telling where the smallest clue may lead, so oblige me."

Harry sighed, knowing he would have to. What was a little embarrassment against his brother's life? "I tried at first to translate the solemnly swear incantation, saying things like I've got no good plans at all, I just don't, but I couldn't get the map to work for me until I . . ." He drew in a bracing breath. "I have to say what a spell means to me, you know. And when I first got that map --third year, by the way-- um, I guess I was pretty interested in not running into you when I went wandering the hallways at night. So anyway, that was what I was thinking about, mostly, when I would solemnly swear to be up to no good."

Snape's expression by then was a strange blend of impatience and something else, something Harry couldn't identify.

"So now I have to say," he went on, clearing his throat, "Show me everything to help me hide from the greasy git."

The Potions Master stared, his eyebrows raised. "Oh, indeed."

"We didn't get on then," Harry reminded the man, thinking a bit odd he would have to.

"Hmm, I know," Snape mused. "What I find interesting is the degree of intimidation the phrase implies. For when I would encounter you in the halls, you never struck me as particularly cowed. It used to irritate me no end."

"Bravado," Harry explained.

"Hmm," Snape said again. "No wonder you reminded me of James."

"Can you just stop bringing him up?" Harry asked in a desperate tone.

"I see no particular reason to," Snape remarked, again studying Harry with that strange stare. "However, for the moment I think we should finish with the map and all it implies. So . . . your charm. You seriously expect me to believe that Parseltongue has a word for git, do you?"

"Parseltongue is very odd," Harry tried to explain.

"Enlighten me," Snape drawled.

Well, he had asked, Harry reasoned. Besides, he would rather discuss the map than talk about his . . . than talk about James with his father. Of course Snape had implied quite a while back that he'd forgiven James and come to respect him in the end, but that hardly helped. Harry didn't like the feeling that he'd reminded Snape of that younger version of James . . . that he called to mind the boy who had made Snape's life such a misery back in their school days.

So it was actually a relief to direct the conversation back to Parseltongue, even this bit of it. "I was trying to say greasy git," he admitted, "since that is how I thought of you back when I first learned to use the map. I could feel my mouth moving to make those words . . . but they don't exist in snake language, I guess, so what I heard coming out instead was big-nosed horrible oily man."

"Interesting. Normally one would think that git implies nothing whatever about nasal capacity."

"Well, it identifies you all right."

"Yes, though it lacks the alliterative charm of the original," Snape lamented, his dark eyes almost piercing as he said it. When Harry didn't react other than to stiffen, he brusquely questioned, "And your version of 'mischief managed', then?"

"Done being Slytherin."

"Really."

"Yes, really. It felt Slytherin to me, all that sneaking around."

"You weren't, perchance, tapping into some sense of your own future in the house? After all, you do have some seer traits, as we have since learned."

"Oh, I don't know," Harry crossly muttered. "Enough about the incantations, all right? Let's talk strategy. The map could convict Draco, and he's innocent! So what on earth did you mean, agreeing to tell the headmaster everything? You can't possibly intend to let him know what we saw happen, can you?"

Snape gave a sharp nod. "I must. I have no way to contact Lupin. Only Albus does, and he is unlikely to assist us unless he understands the urgency . . . For the moment, though, let us return to the provenance. I presume this is the map Crouch referred to as Potter's Map?"

"Yeah, he borrowed it from me," Harry admitted on a sigh. "Before the Second Task. I didn't get it back until after Voldemort was reborn. Well, you heard. You were there in the headmaster's office when Crouch confessed."

The Potions Master narrowed his eyes. "I was there," he agreed, grimacing. Probably, Harry thought, because he hadn't put it together a lot sooner. "So, this map was in the possession of a crazed supporter of Voldemort for literally months. He could have done anything to it! He could have found a way to confound it; he could have made a copy, or several! Didn't you think of that before you lent it out to all and sundry?"

"I didn't lend it to the whole world, just to the man I thought was Moody!" Harry objected. "I thought he was an ex-Auror, remember? I thought he could use it to prove you were up to no good, and just why did I think you deserved some scrutiny? Because you deliberately misdirected students to think so! And anyway, it's not my fault Crouch 'borrowed' it. He was going to take it away anyway if I hadn't agreed! He knew the map could prove who he really was and ruin his pretence of being a Defence teacher!"

"True," Snape acknowledged, though he still looked a bit as though he thought Harry had been reckless.

"You know," Harry railed, old resentments surging up from some dark place inside him, "if you'd have just let Remus alone the year before, he wouldn't have had to resign and we wouldn't have ended up with a Death Eater in disguise for a professor! So if it's anybody's fault the map fell into nasty hands and got messed with, it's yours!"

"This isn't about finding fault," Snape answered in a level tone, but Harry was hardly mollified.

"You just don't like Remus! You were cruel to him for no better reason than something he couldn't help what happened ages ago!"

"Cruel would be to stop making the Wolfsbane," Snape retorted. "As for the rest, my objections to having a werewolf on staff were perfectly sound, not the least because I knew first hand what it was to encounter one during the full moon."

"You knew he was safe as long as he took his potion--"

"Which he, in fact, forgot to take."

"You've just never forgiven him for being friends with my-- with James!"

Snape held up a hand. "How I treated Lupin years ago is not at issue, Harry. Nor is what I think of him now. Is there anything further you can tell me about this map?"

Forcing himself to calm, Harry searched his memory. "No. Well, just that it hasn't left my possession since I got it back after Crouch had it. And that as useless as Wormtail might have been in school, he probably knows something about how it was put together. He could have helped Crouch figure out how to . . . tamper with it, I suppose. I mean, Wormtail was guarding Crouch's father, so I'm sure they had plenty of contact."

"A pity that Voldemort didn't ever discuss the map in my presence," the Potions Master mused, tapping the side of his face with one long finger.

"I had it back by the time you . . . returned to him," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, but since then he hasn't mentioned it, which means I wasn't as privy to his inner circle as I thought."

"Infighting," the boy surmised. "Like you told the headmaster."

"Perhaps." Snape studied the map for a moment longer, then tapped it with his wand. "Mischief managed."

The Marauder's Map went obediently blank.

"Interesting that it can understand both the old charm and your new Parseltongue one," Snape remarked. "Charmed objects are often a good deal more finicky. Sometimes a mere shift in tone of voice can be enough to throw an incantation off. But the map is able to respond to words not even in English. It's really something quite astounding." The Potions Master turned his gaze on Harry, who only sighed.

"I wonder . . . do you think maybe if I did a wanded spell, it might show us what really happened up in the Owlery?"

"I think the most likely result of that would be to destroy the map."

"Wanded magic didn't destroy the enchanted picture frame--"

"It very well could have," Snape insisted. "Moreover, I cannot undo your wanded magic, as you well know. What if instead of destroying the map, a wanded spell sucked you into it, Harry? Only a Parseltongue incantation could get you out! I rather think Voldemort would refuse the request!"

"I could say the incantation--"

"Once you were in the map, you might not be able to tap the surface any longer!"

Harry blinked, realizing that was a good point. "All right. I was just asking, you know."

"I hope you are done being Gryffindor for the time being. Yes? You aren't going to do something completely mad like try to solve this all on your own?"

"Uh, well I did send Dobby off to try to find Draco's wand . . ."

A flash of green fire in the grate interrupted them. "Severus, I have the Parkinsons in my office. Would you be so good as to join us?"

"Certainly, Headmaster," Snape calmly answered. With a rather telling look at Harry, he folded up the map and tucked it into a trouser pocket as he stood up. Before he went to join Dumbledore, however, he stepped into his own bedroom to don a fresh set of teaching robes. Emerging with a single dose vial of something thin and rose-coloured, he explained, "A very mild sleeping draught. It will do you good to get some worry-free rest. Your temper seems . . . rather frayed."

"Yours too," Harry grumbled, though he took the vial and downed the contents. "After all that's happened, I think we both need some sleep. I wish you didn't have to go--"

The effects of the draught hitting him already, Harry broke off that sentence to widely yawn.

"Into bed with you. No more sleeping on the sofa," Snape gently chided. "And as for Dobby and the wand, I will take care of matters. You're not to meddle again without speaking to me, is that understood?

"Yeah . . ." Harry mumbled. As he stumbled through the open door to his room he heard the sound of his father flooing off.

A few steps more and he collapsed onto his bed to let sleep take him away.

------------------------------------------------------

The ringing of the magic doorbell roused him.

Good thing the draught was so mild, Harry thought when he dragged himself out to the living room to check the door parchment. Otherwise, he might have slept straight through Ron and Hermione's visit. He hated to think what sorts of rumours that might have caused. It was bad enough that they knew about his eye. He hardly wanted them to start thinking he'd gone missing.

He looked about for his cloak, spotting it on the floor beside the couch, the crest facing up. That was enough to help him do the spell to open the door. "Come in," he at once invited, eager to get the door closed again before some passing Slytherin saw his black eye. The fewer people who knew about that, the better.

Hermione and Ron both had their wands out.

"Is he here?" growled Ron before Harry could say anything else.

Harry didn't have to ask who he meant. "No."

"Good," said Ron, glancing around as though to be sure Harry knew what he was talking about. "I didn't think Snape would let Malfoy back in, but with Slytherins you never know."

"Let's sit down," Harry suggested.

"Yes, let's," Hermione agreed, perching herself on the edge of the couch cushions. Ron took a chair, but he didn't flop into it like usual. Watchful, as though expecting Draco to emerge from the shadows at any instant, he sat upright and kept his wand in hand.

Harry almost sighed, but managed to think constructively instead. "Um, so you were up in Dumbledore's office with him when he, um . . . found out about Pansy Parkinson?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, he already knew by the time we got there. Susan Bones was out for a walk and spotted the . . . er, spotted her. Anyway, she's in a bad way, but who wouldn't be, seeing . . . that. Apparently she told a few people, sort of babbling it all out hysterically. Then one of the teachers overheard and informed the headmaster."

Harry tried to take all that in, tried to form a mental timeline that would account for everyone's movements. "Uh, so you went to Dumbledore to tell him about my eye, I guess? You could have left it for my dad to straighten out, you know. I mean, we really don't want another visit from Family Services."

Hermione leaned forward to put a hand on Harry's knee. "I know. When we couldn't find Malfoy anywhere--"

"Yeah, I was going to give him a right good punch in the face, thought I'd see how he liked it!" Ron interrupted, fists clenched, his face flushing with anger.

"Well, he wasn't anywhere around," Hermione went on.

"So there went that plan--"

"Ronald, are you going to let me explain or not?"

Muttering something, Ron finally tucked his wand away and sarcastically gestured that that floor was hers.

Hermione pressed her lips together in irritation for a moment, then continued, "We couldn't find Malfoy, but as we came back down from the Owlery we heard Susan screaming about finding Pansy dead--"

"Wait," Harry said, thinking fast. Wasn't the funeral supposed to be closed-casket because the body was in no fit state to be seen? Maybe things were diverging from his seer dream, because it sounded just like . . . "Susan could tell it was Pansy?"

Hermione grimaced. "Not exactly. Um, her descriptions were pretty awful." Lowering her voice, the girl disclosed, "The way she went on, it sounds a bit as though the . . . er, body . . . practically splashed, Harry. Oh dear, this is horrible to have to say. I can't imagine actually seeing it. Poor Susan. But anyway, she said the body must have landed face-up, though there was not much face left. But that hair . . . Pansy's colour, and sort of floating on top of . . . whatever was left of her, was that locket, you know the gold one she was showing off right after Christmas . . ."

Harry gave her a telling look, at which Hermione sighed, "Oh, right, you don't know. Well, it was inscribed with fancy lettering. Two P's intertwined rather like snakes. But anyway, that was how Susan knew who . . ." Hermione abruptly stopped talking and looked away as she heaved in a couple of bracing breaths.

"Want some Stomach Calming Draught?" Harry offered, deliberately keeping his tone casual, and not just to soothe her. It was strategy, too. "I know where Severus keeps some."

"No, it'll be all right," Hermione whispered, though she did sound a bit ill as she said it. She waited a moment, then resumed. "So we went to the headmaster because we knew full well who must have pushed Pansy off the Owlery. We thought he should know at once, before Malfoy had a chance to hurt anybody else."

"Draco did hit me, but he didn't kill Pansy," Harry said at once, and at their doubtful looks, "It's true. What makes you think he did, anyway? Just because he was out of Severus' quarters right at that same time?"

"It is a pretty big coincidence," Ron pointed out.

"No, it's not. It was planned that way. Deliberate, see? Draco's been framed."

Dead silence greeted that pronouncement.

Hermione was the first to break it. "And you believe that because?"

"It's the only thing that fits the facts." Harry sighed, wondering how much to tell them. Too much information could be just as confusing as too little, in his view. "Listen, you didn't see him afterwards. I mean, Severus went and got him, and flooed back in with him, and Draco was out cold. Comatose, I mean, from a combination of some hex that knocked him out and a dose of Somulus. Somebody . . . Lucius, we think, is determined to get him expelled, even if it means sacrificing another Slytherin so Draco can be blamed for the murder."

Ron snorted. "Mate . . . hate to tell you this, but I think you were sold a bill of goods. Malfoy's smart enough to make it look like he's been framed so he can get away with murder. Very Slytherin, that. Besides which, if it's all just some big scheme of his father's, then why'd he hit you? Sounds to me like he's showing his true colours."

"Draco and I had a disagreement," Harry admitted. "He didn't handle it as well as he should have. That doesn't mean I'm going to turn on him. I'm a better friend than that."

"You're a better friend than he deserves," Hermione quietly insisted.

"I hit Ron, didn't I?" Harry reminded them both, shifting in his seat to challenge first one, then the other, with a hard stare. "We got over it. That's what friends do."

"Yeah, well I was pretty much asking for it, spouting off muck like . . . well, you know what I said," Ron admitted, his skin looking a bit ruddier than usual.

"Right, so you understand." Harry paused a moment, thinking. He didn't like lying to Ron and Hermione, but he couldn't admit to them that Draco had hit him because he was so desperate to go meet Pansy. They were too prone already to think him guilty. But he had to explain that punch somehow . . . "I said something I shouldn't have, too. And Draco couldn't take it. I . . . well, this isn't going to make much sense, but the truth is, I told him about a dream I'd had, about Lucius."

Hermione crossed her arms as she shook her head. "Really, Harry. If Draco Malfoy hit you for badmouthing his horrible father, that ought to be all you need to tell you that he hasn't really changed at all."

Gritting his teeth slightly, Harry levelled a glare at her. "You really shouldn't open your mouth when you don't know anything about the subject, Hermione. I'd told Draco that I dreamed his father was helping Muggleborns and half-bloods escape from Voldemort! And Draco got really upset. Lucius redeemed is something he'd really, really love to see, and he knows deep down that it'll never happen! So he hit me! And you know what? I can't really blame him, considering . . . I'm certainly not prepared to watch the two of you decide he's capable of murder over it!"

Ron and Hermione were staring at him, looking sort of shell-shocked. Hmm, well it was probably an awful lot to take in.

"Why would you tell Malfoy about a dream like that?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Hell, why would you dream that in the first place?" was Ron's question.

"I don't know," Harry answered Ron first. "Look, you haven't been living with Draco for months. This thing with his father really hurts him. How would you feel if your own father had put a price on your head? Maybe I was just feeling bad for him. And as for telling him . . ." Harry sighed. "I shouldn't have, all right? He was getting really depressed about how little he's been able to do to sway Slytherin, and I had dreamed that about Lucius. I guess maybe I thought that it might give Draco something to work towards. But it backfired in a big way. Well, obviously," Harry added, reaching for the ice pack he'd left on the table and putting it over his eye.

"You have some seriously messed up dreams," Ron sighed.

"You're probably feeling conflicted over getting to like Malfoy so much," Hermione said, her expression thoughtful. "You wonder if it's wise, so when you sleep you're inventing fantasies that he doesn't come from such a horrible family."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, nodding for good measure. Thank goodness, neither of his friends had connected the strange dream to his habit of seeing the future while he slept. He'd much rather have Hermione try to analyze him than have to deal with that conversation.

Ron made a face. "Well if you're conflicted over liking Draco Malfoy, then at least you haven't gone completely mental."

"Being conflicted would also explain why you're so reluctant to believe him guilty," Hermione pointed out, her tone almost professorial that time.

"I'm reluctant to believe it because he's not guilty!" Harry exclaimed. "Draco wasn't even awake when Pansy got killed!"

"How would you know that?"

"I saw him when Severus' potion finally made him wake up! He didn't even know Pansy was dead, Hermione! And he didn't take it very well. I mean, when he left he was still protesting that she couldn't be."

"Hmm," Hermione said, her eyes narrowed as she considered that. "What do you mean, when he left? If he's innocent, shouldn't he stay here to tell the Aurors his story?"

"The last time he told the Aurors anything, he got roughed up for his trouble," Harry explained. "He returned my wand and they . . . well, I don't exactly know what they did when they got him alone, but whatever it was, it was cruel and uncalled for. Severus and Dumbledore are determined to control the Aurors' access to him better this time."

"Dumbledore?" Ron questioned, his tone sharp.

"Yeah, he was here. He knows Draco is innocent," Harry exaggerated. Well, it might be true . . . Dumbledore hadn't committed himself to anything, but the way he'd been talking to Draco at the end, with such soft compassion, as though the boy was fragile and one more harsh word might shatter him . . . that had to be a good sign, didn't it? Harry decided it did. "He was here when Draco woke up from the Somulus. And . . . well, I actually think he was using a bit of Legilimency on Draco at times. He was the one who insisted Draco be moved to where he could be kept safe from the Aurors."

"Don't you think Malfoy knows at least the rudiments of Occlumency?" Hermione pressed.

"No. Lucius wouldn't have wanted Draco using it to hide things from him," Harry decided. "And like I said, you weren't here. Draco wasn't in any fit state to even think of it. You have to be calm to Occlude. He was too shocked over Pansy, for one, and that's not even counting the way he woke up screaming--" Harry stopped talking, but he knew he couldn't leave it at that. "Don't let on you know, all right?" he begged. "Draco would be really upset, I think, but he's got this awful burn all over his chest. See, I gave him this amulet that was supposed to heat up when he was in danger, and it ended up really causing him some damage. Severus won't let the burn be healed because it's evidence that Draco spent a long time near people who wanted to do him harm."

"Well, it's either evidence or a clever way to throw you off the scent."

"Hermione--"

"A girl's dead, Harry," she explained in a hard tone, just as if he didn't know that. "I understand that you feel a compulsion to take up for Draco these days, but you can't know for certain that he didn't do it."

"And you can't know for certain that he did!"

"I can know it's highly, highly suspect that he had wandered out of the dungeons just at the right time. And the way you tell it, he was on some sort of . . . rampage, over what you said to him about that dream. Have you thought, Harry . . . maybe your dream made him feel like the Malfoy name was losing some of its evil mystique, and he was determined to reclaim it even at the expense of Pansy Parkinson's life--"

"If he'd wanted to reclaim evil mystique, he'd have tossed a Muggleborn off the Owlery! Somebody like you, Hermione!"

"That's uncalled for!" Ron loudly objected.

"So is her calling Draco a murderer!"

"I didn't say that," Hermione gritted.

"You meant it!"

"Yes," she admitted. "Harry . . . I'm sorry I can't believe in Malfoy goodness as you obviously wish to. But I can't, all right? Do we have to fight about it?"

Harry looked at both his friends for a moment. "I don't want to fight, no. Actually, I need something from you. It's important. It's really important."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I can't let Draco Malfoy get away with murder, so if you're going to ask us to lie then I for one just won't do it."

"I won't, either," Ron said, shaking his head. "I'd lie for you, but see, I'd believe you were innocent. With him . . . well, it's just different."

"You don't have to lie," Harry sighed. "Just don't go talking about things that are really irrelevant to what happened in the Owlery."

"Huh?"

"He means his eye, Ron," Hermione said with a brief glare before she returned her attention to Harry. "It's not completely irrelevant, you know. It establishes the kind of mood Malfoy was in when he stormed out of here."

"Do you want Draco convicted of killing someone because he killed someone, or because you're angry he hit me?" Harry challenged. "I'm just saying, let's allow any evidence of murder to speak for itself, all right? What if he's innocent like I believe, but he gets tossed into Azkaban because the Wizengamot thinks badly of him for hitting the Boy-Who-Lived? Really, it could happen! So promise me, promise, you won't say a word to a soul about my eye!"

Ron looked torn between his sense of Gryffindor fairness and a strong inclination to see Draco Malfoy in Azkaban.

"You owe me!" Harry erupted. "Snape was going to make you do those ten thousand more lines, just like he said! He was going to make your parents make you, and I told him it was stupid and petty and vengeful and made him come up with another way to get you down here so you could see how good a dad he could be! You owe me for giving you an out, for not making you choose between getting expelled and doing another set of lines!"

Ron pressed his lips together, then gave a sharp nod.

Satisfied for the moment, Harry rounded on Hermione. "And you owe me as well! You owe me for that whole Family Services fiasco! You almost lost me my father by jumping to conclusions too fast. So this time, just hold off, all right? Let the Aurors make up their own minds about just what Draco did and didn't do."

Hermione went still. "Oh, very well," she conceded, sounding put out. "I won't tell a soul about your eye, I promise."

Harry started to think strategy, then. "Who knows besides Dumbledore?"

"Nobody . . ."

"You haven't seen Ginny since she alerted Severus that nobody was answering the door?"

"Well, we saw her but not to talk. She was trying to calm Susan down to get her to the infirmary. We didn't want to distract her from that -- Susan really needed help, and nobody else seemed to realise it! So anyway, all we told Ginny was that Professor Snape had come and was taking care of everything. Then we went to tell Dumbledore about Draco hitting you and going up to the Owlery."

"You don't know he went to the Owlery, you just know I was afraid he would," Harry pointed out, slumping back in his chair. He needed more sleep, but it could wait. "Now, think carefully. After you left Dumbledore's office, did you tell anybody about my eye?"

Ron shook his head. "The headmaster told us not to. Told us not to fan the flames of rumour, too. By then, anyway, I'd realised you might not want the whole school to know that Malfoy had decked you. Bit embarrassing, that. And besides, I knew that Snape would take care of everything."

"Has he, though?" Hermione pressed. "Your eye looks just as awful as before . . ."

Harry hurriedly lifted the ice up to cover it.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "If you ask me, it looks a bit too awful. When you opened the door before, you acted like Malfoy had just left, which would mean he'd just hit you, right? But your eye was already black and puffy . . .?"

"Yeah, that's why Severus is a bit leery of jumping right into a treatment without considering everything carefully," Harry invented. "Remember all the magic he poured onto my eyes to heal them? He thinks this early bruising might be a result of that. He's holding off on adding more magic to the mix until he can research the matter and be sure he knows what the results will be."

"In other words," Hermione remarked, her tone sharp, "he's been busy dealing with Malfoy. Has anyone thought of the possibility that without immediate treatment, you might lose your sight in that eye?"

"It's just as likely that not letting the tissues heal before applying magic could have a bad effect," Harry defended his father. "Severus isn't ignoring the issue, Hermione, and I resent your suggesting that he is! He's a good father!"

To both of us, he wanted to add, but decided he'd really better not. It wasn't that he was ashamed to admit that he considered Draco Malfoy his brother . . . it was more that to admit it would do nothing but fan the flames, as Dumbledore had put it. Harry didn't need Ron and Hermione getting even more angry about things, he just didn't.

"Listen," he entreated them both. "We need a cover story and we all need to agree to stick to it. Of course, the two of you probably won't be questioned at all. No reason to involve you as long as you don't go involving yourselves . . . but just in case . . . Let's see, Ginny came down here with you, but you sent her off to find Severus when it seemed like nobody was home. Then you told her that my father was taking care of everything. So . . . when you see her again, just say that Draco and I couldn't answer the door because we'd been experimenting with um . . . deafening potions. And that's what Severus was taking care of, right? He came home to find us in a state . . . he answered the door and told you he would help us brew the counter potion and that everything was going to be fine."

Ron cleared his throat. "That's . . . hmm. That's a pretty good cover story, I guess."

"Yeah, I just have to tell Draco to stick to it, too . . ." Harry sighed. "Though if they put him under Veritaserum I guess the truth about my eye will come out."

"Too bad they can't, then," was Hermione's opinion.

Harry crinkled his forehead, then cut it out when he realised it made his eye ache worse. "Huh?"

"Oh, Harry," she chided. "It's all right there in your potions text. Veritaserum can't be used on wizarding minors--people under seventeen--" she clarified, just as if she thought Harry was completely ignorant, "without parental consent. And as Malfoy's been emancipated, he's his own parent, so to speak. All he has to do is refuse and the Ministry can't do a thing about it."

"Are you sure? Maybe being emancipated will mean he's not really a minor any longer," Harry worried.

"No, he's still a minor. He's just empowered to make his own parenting decisions, including this one," Hermione insisted. "If the Ministry wants to use truth serum, they have to get him to agree or wait until he's seventeen."

Harry's first thought was of Umbridge, and how she certainly hadn't asked the Dursleys if she could slip Veritaserum into Harry's drink, but of course Umbridge was hardly one to respect the laws. Come to think of it, even Snape and Dumbledore had broken that law --when they'd insisted that Draco prove his change of loyalties via truth serum-- but Harry could hardly compare them to Umbridge for that. Or resent them, even.

What he did resent, just a bit, was the fact that his father had never once mentioned that Draco couldn't legally be forced to take Veritaserum. And if Snape and the headmaster weren't going to leave Draco alone with the Aurors, then he wouldn't be illegally forced to take it, either . . . so truth serum just wasn't a danger. Yet Snape had let him believe that it was, had let him believe that they had to go to great lengths to keep Draco from realizing that Harry could break out of Petrificus!

But there was nothing to worry about, right? As long as Draco kept his head and didn't let himself be tricked by clever psychological ploys, Harry's secrets should be safe. All his secrets. His black eye. His dark powers. The prophecy Voldemort still wanted to get his scaly hands on . . .

"You all right there, Harry?" Ron questioned. "You've gone awfully quiet all of a sudden."

"Just thinking," Harry passed it off. "Bit worried about Draco."

He noticed the pitying look Ron and Hermione gave him, but decided to ignore it.

Good thing, too. He wouldn't have wanted his father to floo into the middle of an argument; Severus was already too inclined to think the worst of his Gryffindor friends.

"Mr Weasley, Miss Granger," Snape formally greeted them as he brushed ash from the shoulders of his robes. "Harry. I thought you would be sleeping. Good to see you using the ice, at least."

"I did sleep for a while. Doorbell woke me up . . . um, did you get everything settled with the Parkinsons?"

Hermione flinched a little bit. Harry supposed she was realizing what it would be like for her own parents to hear that their daughter had died.

Snape gave a solemn nod. "They will support an inquest though like most purebloods, they balked at the suggestion of an autopsy. The Aurors are here and have started investigating the scene of the crime as well as the condition of the body, though as I said they will tolerate no physical intrusion into it . . ."

"You seem pretty tired, Dad," Harry softly observed. "Maybe you should get some sleep, too?"

"No, there is much left to be done. The funeral is set for Wednesday, here at Hogwarts. As Head of House I have some responsibilities related to that. And too, I promised to go speak with Draco tonight."

"I'm coming too," Harry promptly announced.

Snape glared. "You need your sleep."

"I can sleep in--" At that, Harry abruptly realised that there was something besides the black eye he had to get Ron and Hermione to keep secret. "You can't tell anybody about Devon," he insisted, knowing they would soon figure out just where Draco must have gone.

"No, we can't," Hermione agreed, her tone strangely dry.

Seeing how puzzled Harry was looking, Ron thought to explain, "She means the Fidelius charm won't let us, Harry. We literally can't tell anybody about Devon. Not even under truth serum, I don't think."

"I thought that just meant you couldn't tell anybody the location?"

"It means," Snape explained, walking to Harry, "that nobody save Albus can so much as reveal the existence of my cottage. The Aurors will not know that Albus and I are hiding him; they will merely know that he is unavailable."

Harry knew a moment's fierce rage at Wormtail. Godric's Hollow should have been so safe! Well, at least the headmaster would be a reliable Secret Keeper. He might not be completely convinced of Draco's innocence yet, but he was getting there. Harry just hoped that telling him about the map wasn't a terrible mistake. "Just as well we have a good place for Draco," he murmured.

Snape's robes rippled as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And you have worked everything out with your friends?" he pressed, the last word half-sneered.

"They weren't here to see what an awful state Draco was in, so they don't have the same kind of confidence in him that you and I have," Harry said, deliberately understating just how hostile towards Draco the Gryffindors were.

Snape curled a disdainful lip, clearly reading between the lines.

"But they won't tell anybody about my black eye," Harry rushed to add. "They promised."

"Oh, Gryffindor promises," the Potions Master scorned. "Obliviate would be a good deal more reliable, you realise. No? Well, then, I'll want a promise of my own, for whatever it's worth," Snape drawled, his dark gaze seeking out and assessing his son's friends. "You two will in no way assist the Aurors in their investigation, is that clear? You will not tell them that Draco was absent from the dungeons at the time of the murder. If you've disclosed that little tidbit to anyone besides the headmaster--"

"They haven't," Harry interrupted.

Snape never stopped speaking. "You will retract it! You will say you misunderstood Harry and you now realise that Draco was here the entire time--"

Harry interrupted again, that time raising his voice. "Look, they're going to say that Ginny had to go get you because Draco and I had been messing around with deafening potions and we didn't hear the door, all right? We already worked it out!"

Snape looked slightly impressed, Harry thought, as the man considered that and finally pronounced, "Very Slytherin."

"I thought so," Ron put in. "Guess you do belong in both houses."

He said it in a neutral tone, not one of disgust or approval, but that was all right with Harry. "I do," he quietly agreed. "I told you that Slytherin didn't mean evil. When you think about Draco, remember that, all right? He's not. I mean, he has issues and he's a long way from perfect, but he's not a murderer."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other again, but had enough sense not to reply to that while Snape was in the room. No doubt about it, if the Potions Master was pushed too far, he might use Obliviate to solve his problem.

"It's almost curfew," Hermione murmured. "We should be going. Harry, are you still going to move back to the Tower on Sunday?"

Harry glanced up at his father. "Um, not sure."

"Assuming I can arrange matters so as to conceal or heal his black eye, yes he will," Snape crisply answered.

"But if Draco has to be in Devon for a long while I think I should go stay with him for moral support--"

"I think you have been out of proper classes for quite long enough."

"But--"

"I also think," Snape interrupted, "that I am your father and you will do as I say. And," he held up a hand to stave off Harry's attempt to speak, "I further think that this is a family matter and you would do well not to argue with me in front of your friends."

Snape had said something like that to him before, Harry remembered. Respect, at least in front of others, really mattered to the man; maybe it had something to do with Slytherin ambition.

"All right," he conceded. "Um, Ron, Hermione. I'll let you know, all right? About moving back. And in the meantime, I think you'd better not come visit again. I don't want the Aurors realizing you're here a lot and that you might have information. It'd just be better for them not to know to ask you anything, right?"

Harry fished Sals from his pocket so he could open the door --though under his father's scrutiny, he was careful to conceal his wandless magic-- then ushered his friends out before Snape could bring up the benefits of Obliviate again.

"So what about Devon?" asked Harry after the door was firmly shut. "Can I come? It's not like you and the headmaster could want to talk to Draco alone, is it? I need to be in on everything so I can be sure to . . . uh, keep all the stories straight in case the Aurors question me . . . say, why didn't you tell me that there wasn't any danger of Draco having to take Veritaserum? Hermione says it requires parental consent."

"Perhaps," Snape coolly informed him, "because I wanted you highly aware of the importance of monitoring what you say to Draco or in front of him."

"Oh, come on, he's not going to break under interrogation. Draco's too tricky for that. So unless they rough him up again --though remember that didn't work last time-- he'll be all right. And anyway you aren't going to let them get violent, I'm sure--"

"Harry," Snape interrupted, his tone so soft that Harry knew to brace himself. "You don't appear to comprehend what sort of state Draco is in at present. Yes, he's possessed of a fine intelligence and an excellent sense of strategy. But learning so abruptly that Miss Parkinson had died . . . it's unbalanced him. When I got him to Devon and the truth began to sink in past his shock and denial . . ." The Potions Master frowned. "I tell you this in confidence; do not repeat it. Not to him or anyone else, not under any circumstances. But you must know, so that you will appreciate the need for caution."

"I won't say a word," Harry swore, realising at once why his father seemed intent on pounding that point home. "I'm sorry I didn't respect your confidence before, back when you mentioned the restrictions on Draco's vault. It won't happen again."

Snape waved a hand as though to say that was all forgotten. "I'm sorry, as well. For what I said at the time. You are a fine son, Harry, and . . ." The Potions Master looked away then back, his gaze meeting Harry's as he said the rest. "I want to be certain you know how very proud I am of you. When you stayed here as I requested and let me be the one to bring your brother back home, you did the right thing. The mature thing."

Harry shuffled his feet nervously. "Thank you," he whispered past a choking, lumpy feeling in his throat.

"Thank you," Snape answered. "You let me concentrate on Draco alone, instead of causing me to be torn by worries about what dangers my other son might encounter. It helped, Harry. You helped."

Harry couldn't help but frown. "That's good, and I like hearing that you're proud of me, but . . . you know, something really bothers me. My first cycle of seer dreams helped give me what I needed to face down Voldemort and survive Samhain. But this latest cycle . . . I just can't see much point in it. What good did it do to know about the Owlery in advance? None! But I can't believe the dreams serve no purpose at all, I just can't! Prophecy is supposed to be good for something, isn't it?"

Snape tilted his head to one side. "I think perhaps your dream did indeed serve a purpose, Harry. The sheer urgency of thinking Draco likely to die is what brought your feelings for him into clear focus."

"Well, yeah," Harry admitted. "But still, I keep thinking I should have been able to do something more than just . . ." For some reason, he couldn't say love him again. Too embarrassing, somehow. He knew it shouldn't be, but it was.

Snape's nod seemed to say he understood the reticence, but that made sense. He'd only ever said that he loved Harry that once, after all. But this last thing, admitting he was proud . . . that was worth just as much. Maybe even more.

It took Harry a minute to remember how they'd got around to talking of love and pride. "Um, you were going to tell me something about my brother?" he prompted.

"Yes," the Potions Master paused as if considering how to phrase it. "When I was alone in Devon with him, Harry, Draco broke down and cried."

Harry felt his eyes go wide. Well, one eye. The other one, he realised, couldn't feel at all. Thinking he'd used the ice pack for long enough, he set it on the table before asking, "Cried? You mean he cried tears? Draco?"

"Harry, the girl he loves is dead."

"But . . . he tried to kill her himself just a few months ago!"

"Believe me, if Draco Malfoy had truly tried to kill her, she would have died then. He was angry and acting on it. Impulse control, as you know. But he never meant to do worse than make certain she would not attack him ever again."

"But . . . how can he love her?" Harry had to ask. "He went months down here without mentioning her at all, and then when he started getting letters from her, he kept them secret-- oh, I get it, I think." Harry sighed. "He didn't know if he could believe her letters at first, he didn't want to be played for a fool, he was going to make sure he didn't end up humiliated or something."

"Yes, so don't humiliate him by letting him realise you know about the tears. I would not have told you, except you need to understand that he is not his usual self at the moment. He may be more vulnerable to the Aurors' machinations than we would like."

"I understand grief," Harry admitted, thinking of Sirius. He'd been beyond depressed all through the previous summer. He'd hid in his room and ignored the Dursleys completely, so much so that he'd never even realised that Aunt Petunia was ill. Of course, they'd told him she was visiting this relative or that to explain her absences, but even so, he'd barely noticed she was gone.

Then again, his grief had been more than sorrow at losing his beloved godfather. He'd felt responsible for Sirius . . . but didn't Draco feel to blame for what had happened to Pansy?

Even counting that, though, there was a crucial difference between the two situations. Sirius had really loved Harry in return, whereas . . .

"Pansy was just leading him on, trying to get him to leave the rooms so she could double-cross him!" Harry erupted. "How can Draco not see that?"

"Love is blind?"

"Yeah, but how could the conspirators have known he was in that closet with Pansy unless it was all part of a bigger plot? Draco's got to realise--"

"Harry," Snape interrupted. "Love is blind."

"All right, I get it," Harry agreed, nodding. "Draco's not going to listen to us, not on that point."

"Not at the moment, certainly. I think we need to let him grieve. Trying to convince him that the girl wasn't worthy of him can only divide him from us at a time when he needs our support."

"Speaking of support, can I come along with you?"

Snape sighed. "At some level I would prefer to keep you out of the fray, but I suppose you are right. You do need to stay apprised of our full strategy for dealing with the crisis. And too, when the Aurors finish with the Owlery and the body, they may well come down here to investigate Draco's living space. The seeds of rumour being planted by the conspirators will already have taken root, I have no doubt. I'd no more wish you to face Aurors alone than I wish Draco to do the same."

"Yeah, and the way you tell it, if I won't let them in then they might just break in." Harry shuddered, wondering more than ever why he'd wanted to be an Auror. Then again, there were some good ones, weren't there? "What about Tonks, or some of the other Order Aurors? Couldn't the headmaster arrange for them to investigate?"

"He is doing his best, but at present, Tonks and the others we might trust are unavailable. Shortly before Miss Parkinson was killed, the Dark Mark appeared over Parliament Square."

Harry felt his heart drop. "Over Parliament Square?"

"Briefly," Snape amended. "Nevertheless, only the most inexperienced and junior of Aurors have been sent to investigate a mere murder. The others are preparing for an attack on London. Possibly, an attack on the Muggle government."

Snape's tone alerted him to the truth. Well, that and the fact that an attack on Parliament struck Harry as completely ludicrous, once he'd got over his initial shock. "Lucius planned all that merely as a diversion . . . so we'd get stuck with the Aurors he's most likely to be able to influence. Green ones."

"Precisely. And so you are right. It is better for me to be here with you, or both of us gone," Snape decided. "Though I would have preferred not to announce the Devon visits to your friends, you understand."

Harry nodded.

"But what's done is done," Snape continued. "So. Go fetch Draco's schoolbooks. He might as well have something to occupy his mind."

Nodding, Harry went and got them. Remembering that he had popped Sals back in his pocket after he'd let Ron and Hermione out, he lay the snake gently down on his bed, sternly cautioning her to stay out of the Floo as he and Severus would be using it. Then he shook out his cloak and ran a quick charm over it to smooth out the worst of the wrinkles. Definitely, tossing the garment on the floor like he'd done more than once today wasn't very good for the fine fabric.

"You're back to hiding your wandless magic. Good," Snape approved as he walked in. "Ready?"

Harry looked about for a moment. "Draco likes reading, but I wish I could think of something more to cheer him up."

"Consider asking Albus. He did Legilimize the boy; he may know what might help."

Harry stiffened at the mention of the headmaster. Legilimency or no, Dumbledore's attitude toward Draco had been awfully harsh. His brother had been right; he was judged on the basis of his name. Harry knew what that was like, but at least he was usually judged kindly. Maybe it wasn't so bad being the Boy-Who-Lived. Better that than have everyone at first acquaintance start thinking of you as the Boy-Who-Probably-Belongs-in-Azkaban-where-His-Lousy-Father-Should-Have-Stayed. Of course Draco had brought a lot of that on himself, but now he was trying to stand up for the Light. Couldn't the headmaster have given him the benefit of the doubt? Given him one second to explain before assuming him guilty?

"The headmaster's in Devon already?" Harry thought to ask.

"No, we will join him at your house and Apparate to Devon together," Snape explained. "We will explain the matter of the map to him and attempt to contact Lupin before we journey on."

"I sure hope we can reach Remus," Harry said, slipping his cloak on. Looking down, he saw that his hands were beginning to shake. What if Remus couldn't tell them anything useful? He might have helped construct the map, but that didn't mean he would know how it had been fooled this time . . . His hands trembling even worse at that thought, Harry was about to shove them out of sight, but his father, noticing his unease, reached out to hold them instead.

Cool hands on his, Snape's long fingers comforting as they wrapped completely around his and squeezed.

"We will solve it, Harry," his father promised. "Whether Lupin can assist us or not, we will find out exactly who has done this horrible thing. And when we do . . ." Those fingers tightened again, though not enough to hurt. "I may end up with blood on my hands, after all."

Harry was about to say that Severus would have to stand in line, but he didn't want to hear another lecture on the dangers of vengeance. "Um, I thought you didn't approve," he ventured, "of taking revenge, of . . ."

"I don't approve of you doing it, certainly," the Potions Master admitted, his features twisting as though in acknowledgment of his own hypocrisy. "But I am hardened already. Beyond all redemption, some would say."

"That's not true. You saved me, took care of me, took me in--"

"I did none of that in search of redemption, I hope you realise."

I hope you realise . . .

That told Harry something; it really did.

"Of course I realise," he exclaimed, moving closer to his father, moving to lean against him while they still held hands. That didn't last long, though. Letting go of Harry's fingers, Snape wrapped his arms about the boy and pulled him close.

"I know you didn't help me after Samhain just to prove to people that you were spying all those years or something," Harry went on, that choking feeling washing back over him. "I know, all right? I know. I never once even thought that was why you started being so good to me."

A low, rumble shook the Potions Master's chest. Harry was slow to recognise it as . . . well, not laughter, not exactly. Some sort of dark chuckle, perhaps.

"To think I gave up my Order of Merlin," Snape softly remarked. "Oh, but that's not quite accurate. I didn't get one to give up. Albus put a stop to it for me before it could get to that stage."

"For you?" Harry blinked, the world sort of going out of focus for a second. "You . . . but I thought you'd always wanted one."

"I can't deny it has a certain . . . appeal," Snape admitted, moving one hand to the back of Harry's head and simply holding him. "But I found out after Samhain that I most definitely did not want one if it came at the price of your believing that was why I saved you, or why I worked so hard to restore your sight."

"I wouldn't have thought that," Harry immediately denied, but then, giving it a bit more thought, realised, "Well, all right, maybe I would have thought that a little. Just a very little, though. We weren't . . . very close yet, back then. I wonder if you can still get your Order. What if I wrote . . . no wait, I don't want to ask Fudge for anything . . ."

"Another reason the Order would have been rather tainted, as Cornelius Fudge has lost what shard of respect I might have once borne him. And too, he only wanted to give it to me as part of his transparent campaign to recoup his own public image after he had vilified you only to be proven wrong about Voldemort's return."

"Well, maybe we can get you onto a Chocolate Frog card instead," Harry lightly joked. "Severus Snape. Worked for years toward the overthrow of the dark wizard Voldemort. Saved Harry Potter's life on multiple occasions . . ."

"Two," Snape corrected, letting him go. "Don't exaggerate."

"More than two, depending on how you count them," Harry rallied, smiling. When he remembered what they were still facing, though, his expression went solemn. "I suppose we'd better get going so we can ask the headmaster to let us talk to Remus."

Snape cast him a sideways glance. "I somehow never thought I'd be so eager to speak with Remus Lupin."

"I'm eager too," Harry admitted, following his father out to the Floo. "Um, and not just because of map. I miss Remus something awful. Does that . . . um, does that bother you?"

The Potions Master gave the question some serious thought. "Yes, it does," he finally admitted. "But not because I suffer some twisted form of jealousy. I simply cannot respect the man much."

"Just because he's a werewolf?" Harry thought that patently unfair. It wasn't like Remus wanted to be a werewolf, or had chosen to be one, even.

"Because he has no strength of character," Snape sighed. "Lupin ignores his own convictions. He takes the path of least resistance rather than the one he believes to be right, simply because it is easier."

"You're judging him by things he did when he was still in school here--"

"He's scarcely distinguished himself since. Recruiting the werewolves," Snape scoffed. "Hardly a dangerous assignment, is it?"

"It could be very important!"

"It could be," Snape agreed. "But my point is this: were it important and dangerous, Lupin would not agree to it. Do you know what he was doing while I spent years risking my life and sanity so that Dumbledore might have a firsthand account of Voldemort's activities? He was working in Muggle London, among Muggles, doing absolutely nothing for the cause of Light!"

"Well, it's hard for him to get work in the wizarding world," Harry pointed out.

"It wasn't then; his affliction was known only to a select few. But the wizarding world was becoming engulfed in war. Lupin made quite certain to stay clear of battle. James and Lily, you understand, did not. Lupin is not a man worthy of your respect."

"You . . ." Harry sighed. "I guess some part of me knew that you would never, ever like him."

"Like him," Snape mocked. "It would be more apropos to speculate on whether I will ever be able to tolerate him."

Something deep inside Harry started hurting, then. "Draco can't stand him either. I'd just hoped . . . no, I didn't really hope. I knew it would be stupid to. Beyond stupid. But . . . I'd have liked it if we could have all been friends, instead of the two of you hating him so much. He's . . . look, he's not anything like what you've become to me. I don't look on him as a father, not at all. But he's really nice! I know you can't see it . . . but he is."

The Potions Master considered that for a moment. "Perhaps you misunderstand. I am not saying you may not see him, Harry."

That certainly came as a shock. "I thought you wouldn't let me," Harry confessed, biting the inside of his cheek, he was so agitated. "I mean, you didn't, for the longest time, and you weren't even really in charge of me, then. Well you were, I guess, but not like you are now. But you will? Let Remus visit?"

"Yes," Snape confirmed, though he didn't look too pleased. "But Harry . . . remember what we have discussed here tonight. Lupin is . . . perhaps not the best choice of friend."

"He's not really the way you make him out," Harry insisted. "He's just . . . got a different way of working for the Light, that's all. Not everybody can do the most dangerous assignments, you know. Everybody's got different strengths."

"Lupin's has been staying safe and warm."

As it turned out though, Snape was wrong.

Remus Lupin had been neither safe nor warm during his time abroad.

Chapter End Notes:
Coming soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Seventy-One: Setting the Stage

~

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