Harry didn't know what to say to Draco after that. Just as well that the other boy was asleep --or pretending to be-- by the time he went into their bedroom. Of course cleaning up after the cocoa hadn't taken long . . . it was the lighted orbs that had delayed him. They refused to be banished. Harry didn't know the right spell to make them turn off, and since he'd never used orbs like that before, he wasn't about to experiment. He was lucky enough that his father hadn't really done anything yet about his stunt with the enchanted picture frame.

Actually, that still surprised him, but he chalked it up to the fact that Severus had been so proud of him for staying in instead of rushing out to help save Draco.

Since he couldn't make the orbs go away or stop glowing, he thought about herding them all into the chimney, but decided that they'd cause a beam of light to stream skywards. The cottage was unplottable and under Fidelius and all that, but Harry still thought it wouldn't be too clever to send out a beacon announcing its presence. In the end, he settled for levitating the orbs over to the couch where he wrapped them over and over in a blanket to dampen their light.

And then he went in to talk to Draco, only to realise when he stepped into the dark bedroom that he still didn't have the faintest idea what to say.

Of course Severus loves you . . . or maybe something more like, Don't be a complete git! You know perfectly well that Severus loves you . . .

Because the Potions Master did. Harry didn't have the slightest doubt. The thought of it used to make him feel a little bit angry inside, but not any longer. Not since he'd realised that sharing his father didn't mean he was being cheated of something.

Draco was the one being cheated, obviously.

No doubt, Snape must have his reasons for never having said I love you out loud to his Slytherin son. Knowing Snape, he probably had several reasons, and Harry wasn't so dim that he didn't know what they were. Some of them, at least. Slytherins weren't known for sentimentality. Look at the way Snape had first expressed love for Harry. I don't hate you at all . . . Even now, he didn't often say the actual word "love." Snape would agree with the old adage that actions speak louder and all that. And then there was the issue of Draco being Slytherin, as well. Maybe Severus thought the words would make him uncomfortable.

As indeed they had, Harry realised with a grimace as he slid between his sheets. Pre-warmed sheets . . . Draco had evidently cast a heating charm when he'd transfigured the big bed in half.

Actions speak louder . . . yeah, that applied to Draco as well.

Severus probably knew that if he talked of love to Draco, the Slytherin boy would suspect at least a shred of manipulation behind the sentiment. So he showed how much he cared, instead, even to the point of resigning if that was what it took to keep his family safe.

It all made sense, but it still left Harry frowning as he lay awake that night.

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

The morning brought him no closer to a solution. Harry honestly didn't know if he should try to talk to Draco, or Severus, or both of them, or leave it to them to work it out on their own. He had told Draco more than once to stay out of his own relationship with his father, so maybe he should follow his own advice.

Or maybe not, since Draco struck Harry as really in need of reassurance.

At any rate, Draco wasn't in the room when Harry finally rolled out of bed to face the day. Harry hurriedly splashed some cold water on his face and pulled on last night's clothes, then opened the door to find his brother.

Draco was sitting at the square dining table, parchment laid out before him, bent over low with a quill in his hand. But there were no books anywhere at hand, so Harry didn't think it was schoolwork that had the other boy occupied.

"I'm pretty sure Severus meant for you to do your lines after dinner," Harry exclaimed. "Not all day long."

Draco leaned back in his chair, shaking his wrist a bit as though to loosen it. "As if I'd spend the whole day writing how I'm not a Gryffindor." Picking up the maple wand laying nearby, he tapped the parchment and whispered a drying spell, then stood up as he brought it over to show Harry. "What do you think?"

Harry stared at the drawing, which showed a bare arm holding a wand. Inked across the back of the wizard's hand was a snake coiled to strike. A rather ugly snake, but of course that wasn't the point. Harry didn't have to ask what was.

"You're thinking of a tattoo?" he asked, feeling a bit sick at the thought. He didn't like being marked. Not by anything, not even his famous scar, but at least that could be hidden behind his hair most of the time. This would be out on display for everyone to see. It would have to be, if it was going to always be in full view for Harry.

Harry shivered. He couldn't help it; the idea, not to mention the image, reminded him too much of the Dark Mark.

The Slytherin boy wasn't slow to pick up on his mood. "I know, it's not your dream come true," he murmured. "But Harry, we have to do something. You're about to go back to classes. Too many people at Hogwarts want you dead, and the way you can't incant unless a snake is in sight . . . it makes you too vulnerable, don't you see?" He shook his head, his eyes deeply troubled. "I don't want anybody else able to get around you the way I did."

It wasn't lost on Harry that this was proof, as if he needed it, that Draco did care about him. Draco just wasn't ready to call it love . . . and for all Harry knew, it wasn't. But it was certainly something.

"Harry?" Draco shifted on his feet.

Right, the snake tattoo . . . "You're one of the privileged few who understand how much I need a snake," Harry pointed out. "I bet everybody else will think I can speak Parseltongue at will."

"I bet," Draco raised his voice, "that in short order, everybody else will realise something odd is going on. Come on, Harry. Like it or not, using Parseltongue in class is going to draw every eye to you! How long is it going to be before the other students notice you glancing at your crest every single time you try to cast a spell? It's going to be pretty obvious how to shut off your magic!"

"You think a snake tattooed on my hand is going to make it less obvious?"

"It's going to be obvious anyway. I think the tattoo will keep you alive. Look, it could be in Gryffindor colours. Like Sals."

"Colours aren't the point." Before the other boy could reply, Harry held up a hand. "I agree that glancing at my crest all the time has its drawbacks, so what about . . . hmm, a ring with a little snake carved in it? Isn't that better? Just like with the tattoo, I'll naturally be looking its way when I want to cast, but a ring would call much less attention to itself."

"A ring can be summoned right off your finger; a tattoo can't."

"I'll ward it with stay-put charms. Wanded ones," Harry insisted. "The thing'll be practically welded to my finger. But see, the thing is, we could come up with a reason why I have the ring. I'll say Severus said I had to wear it to remind me that my father's Head of Slytherin and that I'd better not lose any points from his house, something like that."

"Hmm. You might be right," Draco said. "The tattoo would be a good deal harder to explain. People would probably think of some rather nasty parallels with Severus and his mark, now that his Death Eater past is all out in the open." He abruptly flicked the wand he held and incanted Incendio; the parchment began to burn. "Just make sure you don't set foot outside the dungeons without the ring glued to your finger. Severus has enough to do, trying to get me out of trouble."

"Speaking of which," Harry said, wondering where to start. Getting Draco out of trouble was likely to be quite a feat, considering everything involved. Funny, all that effort to make sure the Petrificus in his wand could be explained as having nothing to do with Pansy . . . and now it was a moot point since nobody could make the wand give up its secrets. But things were better this way. Now, there was no reason to let the Aurors know that Draco had ever hexed him. The fact that Draco couldn't be forced to take truth serum simplified things considerably, not that the situation that remained was simple.

"All right, listen carefully," Harry said after he'd taken a minute to think it through. He wished he could tell Draco the whole truth, but with their father so adamant that Harry's hex-breaking remain a secret . . . "Ron and Hermione came down while I was under Petrificus. They got worried when nobody answered the door, so they sent Ginny off to tell Severus something was wrong. He flooed down at once and broke me out of Petrificus. So far, so good, but this is where it gets complicated. Severus and I answered the door and I sort of . . . um, let it slip that I was afraid you'd run up to the Owlery. Sorry about that. Anyway though, later on we worked out a story which'll cover why we didn't answer the door and they had to send Ginny off. You and I were working on deafening potions, see? And we made them too strong, so we couldn't hear the magic doorbell. Severus found us both down there. That's what Ron and Hermione are going to tell Ginny, so that's the story you and I have to tell, got it? You never left the dungeons at all."

"That's going to make sense, considering my burn," Draco said, frowning. "Or do we not mention that?"

"Well, I thought that this way we could ask Severus to heal it." Harry waited until Draco had nodded to tell him the rest. "There's one thing I'm not so sure about, though. Pansy's letters. Do you think you should mention those? I suppose if you do the Aurors might want to read them . . . but if you say there aren't any and somebody else in Slytherin has already said otherwise, that could be a problem."

"They'll be blank by now, anyway." Draco gave a long, deep sigh, his eyes taking on a dull grey cast. "Her letters always went blank after a few hours . . ."

Personally, Harry thought that made it all the more likely that Pansy had been playing some game of her own, but Draco was upset enough already. "It'll be all right," he said instead.

"She's dead, Harry," Draco countered, blinking as he looked out the window. "How can that be all right?"

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

Snape arrived while they were still eating breakfast, but waved away their offers of tea and toast. He had a decidedly strange look on his face as Harry went over the cover story again, explaining how the situation with Draco's wand meant they could neglect to mention any hex to the Aurors, and how that meant that they didn't have to admit that Draco had ever left the dungeons.

"Just making sure all three of us have our stories straight," Harry finished, just as a horrifying thought occurred to him. "Oh, no. You said last night that the headmaster would decide when to tell the Aurors about the amulet . . . has the headmaster already mentioned it to them? If they know he's been burned from being right with the conspirators then there goes our story about how he never even left the dungeons--"

"Albus Dumbledore is a bit more cagey than that, Harry."

"Well, check with him even so before we get too deep in lies to back out," Harry worried aloud.

"A wise precaution." Snape nodded, then turned to his other son. "Are you feeling better, this morning? No chance you will overdose yourself again?"

Draco bristled. "You can take your Calming Draught away with you for all I care."

"Actually, it's Harry I'll be taking away. That eye needs seeing to. Back at Hogwarts, where my private laboratory is at hand should anything go awry."

Draco gave a shrug as though it was nothing to him if he was left all alone. "You look as if you have news, Severus. Bad news. Any plans to tell me soon?"

"Two young Aurors came by early this morning." Snape's dark eyes were unreadable. "They carefully examined all your shirts and found it quite interesting that one had several missing buttons."

Draco looked puzzled.

"You ripped some of the buttons free when you tore your shirt off yesterday," Harry reminded him.

"Well, it hurt! It stung like you wouldn't believe, rubbing up against the burn."

"The disturbing thing," Snape put in, "is that when I explained that you had disrobed rather carelessly, one of the Aurors cast a localised Accio to summon any strewn buttons. Only three leapt into her hand, though the shirt is clearly missing four."

Draco sucked in a harsh breath. "Don't tell me, let me guess. The fourth button was found in the Owlery to confirm my presence there?"

"The Aurors declined to comment, but one must presume something of that sort. We are dealing with Slytherins, after all. When your wand refused to cooperate they settled on an alternate means of incriminating you."

"I would be wearing the shirt with the diamond ones," Draco groused. "Damned distinctive handmade buttons. Well, if I get through this perhaps it'll teach me to purchase things off the rack." He shuddered at the mere thought.

Harry thought that gemstone buttons were a bit much in any case. On the other hand, if Draco really did lose all his money on account of being expelled, at least he'd have a little laid by in the form of those buttons . . .

"Luck does not seem to be with us," Snape agreed. "Had we realised earlier that a button was missing, I could have removed it from the Owlery before the Aurors found it."

"Maybe they haven't found it," Harry mused. "The house-elves clean the Owlery, don't they? And Dumbledore . . . sorry, Professor Dumbledore said he was with the Aurors when they searched it. He didn't mention them finding anything of note."

"It does not take much sleight of hand to collect surreptitiously something so tiny," Snape pointed out. "And Aurors who are not in the Order have no particular reason to share information freely with Albus, despite his having presided over their education here at Hogwarts. Be that as it may, I feel certain they found it. Their own questions to me were too . . . leading."

A bad feeling began creeping over Harry. "Did you mention the burn at all? I mean, when you had to explain why Draco ripped off his own buttons?"

Snape's lank hair swung as he shook his head.

"Well good, then we can still heal it," Harry said to Draco.

"I think not," Snape said. "I believe a better course would be to let the injury demonstrate that Draco was in metaphorical rather than physical peril. That is, a conspiracy to incriminate him was afoot and the amulet did not know how to interpret the danger. This scenario even accounts for the fact that the amulet behaved atypically, as it should not have produced sufficient heat to burn the wearer."

"What the hell kind of gift was that, that's what I'd like to know," said Draco.

Harry figured that the other boy was cross over having to keep the burn, so he didn't react.

After a moment, Draco seemed to recover his panache. "So where were we? Oh, right. If the Aurors have found a button of mine in the Owlery, they won't believe I was never up there. Why didn't you say something when Harry was explaining his Slytherin little cover-up?" A moment later, the blond boy narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I see. You have a Slytherin cover-up of your own, don't you, Severus?"

Snape shrugged. "As it happens, I did mention a certain house-elf who recently visited us on the pretext of delivering a letter. It's no exaggeration to say that I have been frankly suspicious ever since as to his true motivations for gaining entrance to my quarters. Not that he came to steal a button, but the Aurors needn't know as much. What matters is that my door parchment will confirm Dubby's visit; Dobby can verify that his cousin is in the employ of Narcissa Malfoy. Therefore, the button can be viewed alternately as evidence against you or as one more indication of a conspiracy originating with the Malfoy family."

"That's perfect," Harry said, nodding. "What else would he use to frame Draco except something so tiny it might not be missed, like a button? Though it's a bit odd you'd be wearing that same shirt the day of the murder."

"Mmm, I might have dropped a hint about Dubby also casting an influence charm to that effect, and since a great deal of elf-magic is difficult for wizards to accurately detect . . ." Shrugging, Snape let the boys draw their own conclusions.

Draco's was rather extreme. "This story's getting less and less likely. So are we all leaving Scotland before they can charge me? That is . . . "--he paused, but only for a fraction of a second--"after you see to Harry's eye, of course."

"If Draco's about to be charged with murder my eye can wait," Harry staunchly declared, looking towards his father in hopes of communicating a silent message. Tell him he matters, too. Tell him you love him every bit as much as you love me . . .

If Snape perceived Harry's plea, he ignored it.

"New investigators are due to arrive this afternoon," he informed them both, "including at least one senior Auror who will take charge. Ironic, isn't it? Fudge resisted Albus' every machination, but when the Parkinsons themselves threatened to go to the press to complain that the case hadn't been assigned a single seasoned professional? At the very least, they've bought us some time." The Potions Master paused, then added, "The junior Aurors currently at Hogwarts wanted you questioned this morning, Draco, but Albus and I maintained that you were distraught and should really be interrogated only once. The matter has therefore been deferred."

Draco glanced across the table at Harry. "There, all better? Now we're both known as mental."

"Distraught is hardly a character judgment," Snape chided.

"It is when your name is Malfoy." Draco crossed his arms and scowled, then looked as though he was trying to rise above it. "Enough about my problems. Harry, tell him about your ring."

Snape raised a concerned eyebrow. "Something has happened to your mother's ring?"

It was only then that Harry realised he hadn't thought about it in ages. He still wore it, looped around his neck on the chain Snape had supplied, taking it off only for showers and the like, but he'd grown so used to its constant presence that he didn't clutch it in his hand as he used to. It almost seemed a part of him now.

Shaking his head to answer the question, Harry briefly explained Draco's idea about the tattoo and how they had decided that a ring might be a better solution.

By the time he finished, his father was nodding. "Well-reasoned, all of it," he commended them, his glance encompassing them both. Standing, Snape laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will see to it that Harry acquires a snake-shaped ring before he ventures out into the castle. Draco, you will be all right on your own?"

"Oh, but of course," the Slytherin boy said, eyebrows raised as if the very question had been preposterous. "No need to worry about moi. Malfoys don't curl up and die at the first sign of distress. We have backbone, or failing that, enough good sense to lie our way out of trouble."

Tell him, Severus, Harry thought. Tell him you love him; tell him you do worry.

"Be good," Snape merely admonished.

"Oh, always," Draco gibed. "Though I can't claim to be a perfect little do-gooder like Harry there."

"I do believe I made my opinion of this sibling rivalry perfectly clear," Snape rebuked him. "Harry and you complement one another; haven't you realised as much?"

A long sigh lifted Draco's chest as he nodded.

Snape's eyes were steady as he studied the boy. It seemed to Harry that the Potions Master was on the brink of saying something more, but he evidently thought better of it. Drawing Harry up out of his chair, the man pulled him close to Apparate.

In the instant before the world melted around him, Harry almost thought Draco was going out of his way not to look at the two of them together. But he could have imagined it; he wasn't sure.

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

Once they had flooed from Grimmauld Place back into Snape's quarters, the Potions Master took Harry into his private potions laboratory and with a wave of his wand, cleared off a central counter. "Up," he instructed.

Harry thought it was a bit odd, but he obediently hopped up to sit on the counter.

Snape threw him a wry smile. "Idiot child. On your back, I meant. How else am I going to properly examine that eye?"

Flat on his back, Harry used his one good eye to stare up at the ceiling.

"Lumos," Snape incanted, and shined the light at his face. "Hmm. The swelling is largely reduced though the skin still remains colourful, to say the least. Can you open your eye at all?"

The first few times he'd tried, the attempt had been painful enough that Harry had decided he'd better wait. At his father's urging though, he strained again. "Ow, that really hurts," he groaned.

"Wait," Snape advised, leaning over closely. "I suspect some mucus has more or less glued the tissues together. Possibly a side effect of freeing yourself from Petrificus."

Reflex had Harry closing his other eye as he saw a vial and dropper approaching. Something ice cold and slick was dribbled atop his injured eyelid, and then his father's fingers were very gently massaging the potion into the corners of the eye, working the salve towards the centre.

"Try again now."

It seemed to take a while, but finally Harry found that he could open his eye. Somewhat, at least. "That's bright," he complained when the brilliantly glowing tip of Snape's wand came into view.

Snape moved his wand aside. "Keep your eye open as wide as you can and let it adjust," he instructed. "Can you see colours? Can you focus on objects both near and far? Do you feel you have depth perception--"

"Give me a minute." It seemed like bright light was still flashing inside his eyeball, but as that sensation gradually dissipated, the room came into a hazy sort of focus. It was like looking through a thick film of cobwebs, or perhaps fog. Harry found it disorienting, given that his other eye still had perfect vision. He had to repress a strong urge to snap his weaker eye shut. "Colours, yes. But things are a bit blurry on the left," he said, feeling a bit like someone was sitting on his chest. He could almost hear Severus saying breathe . . . Dragging in a gulp of air, Harry looked up at his father. "Can you make it better?"

"You've been so nonchalant about the whole matter that I'd begun to doubt it worried you."

"Well, I just figured you could fix it!" Now somebody was practically jumping on his chest. "I mean, you got me past everything from Samhain and that was worse. A lot worse. I never really believed you couldn't heal this too--"

"Hold still," Snape interrupted, shining that bright light again as his fingers forcibly pried his son's eye open wide. Harry couldn't help but gasp. At that, the Potions Master moved his hand to the boy's shoulder, his fingers curling snugly. "Memory is a powerful thing," he murmured, his tones smooth. "But I know you can let me do this. You did before, and that was right after Samhain. Very impressive, actually--"

Harry appreciated hearing that, but had to admit, "I'm not spooked. It's just really sore when you yank the eyelids apart, that's all. Go on though, it's all right. I want to know why I can't see. Did my eye just not like getting smashed? I hope that's all."

Snape's touch was more careful that time as he examined the eye. "A significant amount of scarring has returned to your cornea. This is more than one would expect from blunt force trauma . . . Draco's blow has indeed disrupted the delicate balance of magic in your eye. Eyesight Elixir may be of use . . . Regular strength, this time, I should think; we can use what I have on hand." Harry heard the clink of a vial. "Remember, the Elixir must coat the entire surface of your eye before your tears dilute it."

The drops stung oddly, making him desperate to blink, but Harry resisted. Funny, the Eyesight Elixir had never hurt before . . . "That should be sufficient," Snape finally announced.

Harry mashed his eye shut and rolled it around and around inside the socket, creepily reminded of Mad Eye Moody. But he wasn't going to end up like him; Snape would make everything all right.

When he opened his eyes again, he expected to see perfectly. Instead, the world remained half-blurred.

"Shite." Harry groaned out loud. "I really thought you could do it."

"No improvement? Well, the Elixir was far from instantaneous the first time, you will recall."

"Yeah, but this time felt different. It hurt."

Instead of commiserating, Snape gave that some careful thought. "Like salt on a wound?"

"More like vinegar. Sort of an acidic kind of sting," Harry tried to explain. "But sharper."

The Potions Master nodded. "I will research the matter, Harry, but I feel certain now that it will be safe to heal the tissues so that you can return to class."

"I can't return to class half-blind!" Harry stopped grumbling, though, when his father began to smooth bruise salve across his left eye.

"Don't you still have your glasses? Madam Pomfrey may be able to ameliorate the situation through a skilful charm or two."

Strange how Harry hadn't once thought of his glasses. He'd got so used to life without. Too bad he couldn't cast a powerful reparo on his own eye, but considering what had happened to his pillow, he didn't dare risk it. "Can't you charm them?"

"Optics is not my specialty," Snape admitted. "A licensed mediwitch will be a great deal more familiar with ways to assist students with vision problems."

"So, Pomfrey then. Sorry, Madam Pomfrey."

The barest hint of a smile ghosted across his father's features. "It is good to see you making an effort in that regard."

Sitting up, Harry passed that off with a shrug. "I don't think the last name thing is all that disrespectful. It's just how students talk when the teachers aren't around." Hopping down from the counter, he changed the subject. "I know I'm supposed to start classes come Monday, but I was sort of thinking it might be better if I went back to Devon to stay with Draco until he's allowed to come home. I mean, I know he said he was fine, but I think he's just saying that. Actually, I was surprised you left him there alone this morning. What if he panics again?"

The Potions Master slanted Harry a sidelong look. "I quite assure you, I shall know before matters grow too dire."

"Oh, you warded the Calming Draught to tell you if he drinks too much again?" Harry guessed. "Well, no offence but Draco might go a different direction next time. Something you can't predict. He's rattled, remember?"

"He's fine," Snape said in a voice that would be hard to misinterpret. He was saying that the subject was closed. But it wasn't, not as far as Harry was concerned.

"How can you know he's fine?" the boy insisted. "You can't. You're relying on how he was acting this morning, but couldn't you tell that was all an act? A cover? Draco's really upset! There's no telling what he might take it into his head to do--"

"At the moment," Snape interrupted, "he's ignoring his problems in favour of juggling."

Harry thought he'd heard that wrong, it was such a strange comment. "Juggling?"

"The orbs. He spent a while charming them different colours and now he's trying to teach himself to juggle."

Harry glared. It felt a bit odd with only one eye working correctly. "And how exactly do you know that?"

Snape opened his hand and showed Harry a flat glass disc. Harry had to close his injured eye to bring the disc into focus, but when he did, he saw Draco deftly tossing three orbs in a circular pattern. He couldn't keep it up for long; within just a few seconds he missed catching the purple one and all three crashed to the floor.

"Salazar's balls!" the tiny image of Draco exclaimed. Then the boy shook his head, and said in a passable imitation of the Potions Master, "No, I do believe these particular balls would be my balls . . ." Chortling, Draco picked all the orbs up again and began over.

Harry felt himself colouring, though surely it wasn't his fault Draco was talking that way. "I don't think we should be spying on him. He wouldn't like it."

Snape shrugged. "I recommend you never mention it, then."

"It's . . ."

"I believe the phrase you are searching for is regrettable but necessary, Harry. You were quite right that Draco might do something unpredictable. What do you suggest I do? Bring him home before I feel assured of his safety here? I saw no alternative but to leave him in Devon alone, unless you would prefer I ferry Mr Weasley or Miss Granger out there to watch over him?"

"You don't need to get all sarcastic about it, you know."

"Actually, I truly did consider that option."

"Oh," Harry said, a little bit shocked. Not over the concern, of course; he knew that Snape cared about the Slytherin boy. But that he would think about using Ron and Hermione to help? That was sort of interesting, considering Snape's basic opinion of all things Gryffindor. Still, he had to say, "That's not such a good idea. I mean, they agreed to help with the deafening potion story, but for all that they're not exactly convinced of his innocence--"

"Yes, I know." Snape heavily sighed. "I also know that they would go there if you asked them to, though no doubt Miss Granger would complain about missing classes. However, Draco and Mr Weasley would likely come to blows at some point. And as for Miss Granger . . ." A grim expression settled on the Potions Master's face. "That might be even worse."

Harry couldn't think what his father meant by that, unless . . . "Oh, oh no," he murmured. "You've got the wrong end of the stick on this one. I know Draco said a couple of things to us about Hermione being clever, and then he sort of apologised to her that once, but he doesn't like her like her. Unless you're worried that he's going to . . . uh, lose his mind with grief over Pansy and--"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, I didn't mean that," Snape scathed. "He's got his pride, Harry. For the girl who's beaten him academically time and again to come watch over him would wound it inordinately, I've no doubt. He might lose his resolve and start calling her Mudblood again. That's all we need."

"All the more reason for me to go to Devon," Harry argued. "Look, I've been out of classes for forever. What does another week or two matter?"

"For you to be missing from Hogwarts for that long without good excuse will have Lucius pressing for your expulsion, not to mention it will make you look every bit as mental as you claim not to want. No, you'll be in classes on Monday and that is that."

"But--"

"You will return to class."

Harry could tell this was going to be one of those you are my son and you will do as I say times. "All right," he acquiesced. "Just . . . don't hold anything Draco says or does against him. I mean, unless he does something you have to put a stop to." Then, because it seemed like he might have a little bit of influence seeing as he'd just capitulated to his father's demand, he ventured, "Um . . . speaking of Draco, you might also want to consider telling him that you love him, all right? Because . . . well, I'm sure he must know that you do, but the fact you tell me but not him . . . well, it's not even, and you know how important that can be to a Slytherin."

Snape glanced at the glass disk in his hand, then closed his fingers around it, but he said nothing at all.

The silence itself was telling, Harry thought. A vague suspicion began to form inside his mind. "You don't seem surprised that I know you've never told him."

Yet more silence.

Then finally his father spoke. "I suppose you'll resent it if I attempt any misdirection. You've obviously figured matters out."

"Well, it seems pretty bloody obvious that you had that," Harry pointed at Snape's closed fist, "going full blast last night when Draco and I were talking. And this morning too, huh? I thought you looked a bit odd when I was going over the cover story! No wonder, you'd heard the whole thing not ten minutes before!"

"It was interesting to watch it evolve."

"I'll tell you what's interesting," Harry scathed. "How you could listen to all that last night and not rush right back to say that of course you love him! Or at the very least you should have told him this morning! You're the one who goes on about sibling rivalry. Can't you see that this sort of thing will just create it?"

Snape pushed his hair off his face. "I see more than you think, Harry. Come into the living room," he bid, shaking his head.

Harry followed, blinking a bit in hopes that his vision would clear, but things remained horribly blurry on one side.

"Do you recall, Harry," Snape said in serious tones after they had sat in silence for a moment, "I told you that Draco broke down with me and cried? He was . . . I did not know how to help him, so I used a touch of Legilimency--" He held up a hand when Harry would have spoken. "I am aware you disapprove. The point is that I saw what was on his mind, and it wasn't only grief, or the situation with the Aurors, or even the fact that he blames himself. It was also what you had blurted out in your relief. He's my brother and I love him, just like that. You didn't even say it to him, you were talking to Albus and myself. And still, it was enough to . . . Harry, it hurt him to hear that."

"What, just because he couldn't say it back? I mean, sincerely?"

Snape leaned forward. "Obviously he felt you would require that, though that is not what I meant. Harry, think about matters from Draco's point of view." The Potions Master curled his upper lip in disdain. "You cannot imagine what this year has been for him. What has he learned? That those who loved him will see him tortured and killed because he has failed to live up to their demands. That love, in fact, is worth nothing because loyalty will trump it every time."

Harry closed his left eye as the disparity in his vision was starting to give him a headache. "The Malfoys are loyal to Voldemort, not Draco. I see what you mean."

"I hope so, since Draco gave you the highest compliment he can imagine when he declared loyalty to you."

"But . . ." Harry sighed and started over. "I understand your point. Loyalty, yeah . . . and you've declared yours to him on a pretty constant basis, protecting him from Lucius and standing up for him to the headmaster and resigning too if need be. And I'm sure he gets all that. But Dad . . ." Harry tapped his fingers on his knee. "I still think Draco needs to have you tell him that you love him. Out loud, I mean. Even if at first he takes it badly. There's some part of him that wants to hear it even if it hurts."

"I honestly wonder what is best at this juncture. There are already enough parallels between Lucius and myself. I hardly wish to draw more. I want him to think of me as his father, but not as that father, if you see what I mean. And Lucius did say those words quite often, though with him it tended to be I love you but . . ." The Potions Master shook his head. "Narcissa would say it without provisos, but given that she publicly stood with Lucius against her own son, that can be little solace, her letter notwithstanding."

"Sounds like you've given this some thought," Harry said, pushing to his feet. "But I suppose you would have given that you were monitoring us last night. So . . . any plans to spy on me when I'm back in the Tower?"

"Students being so inquisitive," Snape said with a hard glance at Harry, "the castle blocks attempts to see what happens inside its own walls. There is a reason why Draco's picture frame shows only views of the outside. Frankly, it is a complete mystery to me how your father and his friends could have made that map function correctly. It should not be possible, and nothing in Lupin's summary sheds much light on the matter."

At least he'd said the man's name without the customary sneer, Harry thought. It wasn't exactly progress, but he'd take what he could get. Resisting an impulse to worry out loud about the danger Remus might be in, Harry casually asked, "So that came through already? Can I read it?"

"Certainly." Snape waved his wand to summon a parchment from his office, then set the glass disk down on the table between them. Harry knew it was wrong, but he couldn't resist sneaking a peek to see if Draco was still juggling.

The Slytherin boy was in the bedroom, laying on his side, apparently asleep.

Glancing up, Harry caught his father's gaze on him. "You see why I keep the spy-glass active," the Potions Master remarked. "First juggling and now a nap before lunch? Neither one is much like Draco."

He waited a moment, but when Harry gave no reply, not even a nod, the Potions Master passed him the parchment.

After he'd read everything Remus had written, Harry had to sigh. "Nothing about how they got around the castle's wards against this sort of thing. Nothing more about how anybody could have hidden themselves from the map. Looks like you were right, though; it was James who came up with mischief managed as an incantation."

Feeling the weight of Snape's stare, Harry looked up. "What?"

Snape shook his head as though to himself, and picked up the spy-glass. "Your bruising is gone. Find your glasses and we'll see what Madam Pomfrey can do about your vision. I'll go with you."

Harry somehow doubted that was what Snape had been thinking about, but by then he was so tired of his eyes being off-kilter that fixing his glasses sounded simply marvellous. "I can go alone," he thought to say, then bit his lip. "Actually, I suppose I can't. You wanted me to keep my friends close between classes and such . . ."

"I believe the phrase I used was Go nowhere alone. There is simply no sense in inviting a conflict with those who wish to see you dead." The Potions Master suddenly frowned. "I suggest we first see to this ring you mentioned earlier."

When his father glanced about as if searching for something he might transfigure, Harry lifted the chain around his neck and drew out his mother's wedding ring. "Can't we use this?"

Snape moved next to Harry and took it in his hand. "I thought you wanted to keep it the way she had it."

Harry looked down at it. "You know, I did. But that was before . . . it seemed like it was all I had, because I didn't believe I could believe . . . I mean, I knew you were going to do your best to look out for me but I thought there'd always be this distance. Um, teacher-student, something like that. But you really are my father now--"

The Potions Master placed the ring back into Harry's hand and closed the boy's fingers over it. "Keep it, Harry. Something else will serve. You needn't surrender the only thing you have of Lily's."

"It's not like that," Harry said, smiling a little as he met his father's dark gaze. "It's just . . . I used to feel like I didn't have anybody, that's all. And now that I do . . . Besides, I guess I think she'd like it if something of hers was still protecting me. All right?"

Snape studied him. "If you're certain."

His father's voice was serious enough that Harry gave it some thought. Then he drew the chain over his neck and dropped the ring, chain and all, back into Snape's hand. "Yes, use it."

The spy-glass went into his pocket while Snape held the ring between thumb and forefinger and examined it. "I can release the gems or conceal them in the interior of the snake."

"Inside," Harry decided, watching as the Potions Master went to work. A tap of his wand, and the ring split apart and unrolled to become a straight band studded with emeralds. Another tap, this one with a murmured Latin incantation, caused the band to fold in upon itself, wrapping the emeralds inside.

"Now for the tricky part," Snape murmured. "I am no artist, you understand, but a snake is a rather simplistic form."

It took a few minutes for him to shape it, prodding his wand this way and that, Snape muttering when an emerald poked through the soft metal. Soon enough, though, the end of the roll of gold was tapered to resemble a tail while the other end sported a snake's head complete with fangs. Snape had even etched the surface of the tiny snake to mimic scales, and had drawn forth two more emeralds, this time deliberately, to serve as eyes.

"You're no slouch as an artist," Harry had to say when the man had finally convinced the snake to loop itself back into a circle, its head overlapping its tail. Taking it up, the boy slipped it onto his middle finger. The snake slithered a bit, moving to fit him.

"I thought I'd ward it to stay on no matter what," Harry murmured, pulling his own wand out of his pocket. "All right?"

Snape nodded, but his eyes were shadowed. Harry didn't know what that might be about.

He applied his strongest anti-summoning charms, feeling his dark powers flowing through his wand. Afterwards, when he wiggled his finger, it felt like the ring was a part of his hand; he couldn't pull it off no matter how he tugged. But it looked normal enough, so he thought that would do.

"I'll go get my glasses."

Another silent nod, which caused Harry to stop and look back. "What?" he asked again. "Something wrong?"

"It truly is nothing," Snape said, waving him away, but Harry stood his ground.

"Tell me. Please?"

Snape's lips twisted in a wry, bitter smile. A smile without happiness, without warmth. "My father said I had no talent for art." And then, almost as an afterthought, "He was an artist himself . . . among other things."

Harry nodded, this time listening to that inner voice that told him not to press for more. He looked down at his ring, seeing two things all at once. It wasn't just Lily's any longer; it was part and parcel of Severus, too. Two people, who would do anything they could to protect him. He felt loved, truly loved, and he wished more than ever that Draco could know what that was like.

"Go put on some clean clothes," Snape advised, changing the subject as if he regretted letting slip a little of his own childhood pain. "And Saturday or no, don your robes. You might as well look presentable."

"We're just going up to the hospital wing," Harry reminded him.

"There were reporters in the castle earlier."

Harry made a face. "Just what I need."

Sighing, he went to dig through his trunk for his glasses.

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

The halls weren't exactly brimming with students, but neither were they empty. Harry lost track of the number of times he had to stop as an exclamation of "Harry!" was accompanied by running footsteps. Snape was remarkably tolerant about all of it. Once upon a time, he'd have made some scathing remark about famous Harry Potter and his fan club, but now, he just backed up to a castle wall and leaned against it with his arms folded as he watched Harry greet his friends.

Of course, he was doing more than watching, Harry knew. He was assessing the mood of Hogwarts, and listening for any mention of Draco or the murder. Unfortunately, there was no shortage of discussion on that point. "He didn't do it," Harry insisted, over and over. "He couldn't have done it. He was with me the whole time."

And when that drew objections, Harry heard himself asking, "Well, who are you going to believe on that point? Me, or some Slytherins who have it in for Draco because he's on my side? Think about it."

He was frankly grateful when Snape finally rescued him from it all, simply by imperiously stepping into the latest throng surrounding Harry and announcing, "My son and I have some matters to attend to." That was it, just those few words, though of course they were delivered in a voice that demanded instant obedience. The crowd parted almost as though a spell had been cast. His robes swishing majestically, Snape took Harry by the elbow and led him on down the corridor.

"Thanks," Harry murmured. "I hate being the centre of attention like that."

He didn't miss the sardonic look his father gave him, as if to say, I do know, though once upon a time I never would have guessed.

When Madam Pomfrey heard that Harry's left eye had relapsed, she insisted on a full vision exam. Harry had to hold a paddle over his right eye and read a patch of air she filled with indecipherable symbols. Runes he'd never seen before? When the mediwitch demanded he cover his left eye and read with his right, though, he realised the truth.

"Oh. Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw," he groaned, feeling stupid. Well, he hadn't often seen the house emblems in black and white before, and they were rather tiny. "How come there's no Gryffindor?"

"Again, Mr Potter," the mediwitch briskly demanded, flicking her wand to produce a second line below the first.

"Okay, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, Slytherin," he read off. "Still seems like an excessive amount of Hufflepuff," he had to say.

"The right eye needs no correction," she said, just as if they didn't know that already, as if they hadn't told her to begin with. Harry held in his impatience, though, even when she launched into her know-it-all act. "Such a pity the magic in the other one didn't hold true, Severus. I did mention that it was possible to make that Elixir a bit too strong, if you recall?"

Snape said nothing. He didn't even glare. Well, not much.

"We're using the Elixir again, ma'am," Harry said as he set the paddle aside. "The regular kind, though. So . . . I was hoping that you could charm my glasses, maybe copy the good vision on one side over to the other one?"

Sure enough, that got her off the subject of Severus' supposed failings as she prattled on for a while about her own expertise. "You'd have no depth perception, Mr Potter. And a spell like that would induce a fair bit of vertigo; you'd be falling over your own feet."

"Well this way I'm getting one hell of a headache!"

"Harry," Snape said, the single word a warning.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, rubbing his temples as he spoke. "That was rude. I just meant that this vision thing really does give me a headache."

Madam Pomfrey glanced at Snape in some surprise, and then said calmly to Harry, "There are a few complex vision charms that might be of use, Mr Potter, but none of them are indicated for use while that eye is receiving Elixir. The best I can offer you is what amounts to an eye patch."

"An eye patch! I'll look like a ruddy pirate, I will--"

"Nonsense," the mediwitch said, her voice once more taking on its usual preening tone. "A magical eye patch, Mr Potter. We'll affix it to your glasses and make it transparent from one side. It will ease the strain on your eye and keep those headaches at bay, but all anyone else will see is a boy wearing his glasses."

"Oh, all right," Harry said, stepping back as she began to brandish her wand. Even after the complicated spell was cast, and Harry had his hand out for his glasses, the mediwitch kept fussing over them, applying a polishing charm to every surface. At last she handed them over though, and he settled them atop his nose.

The eye patch spell was very odd; he could actually feel something like cloth touching his face. His headache didn't instantly vanish, but it did begin to recede. That was worth something, though Harry didn't like the prospect of going about half-blind, even if nobody else knew about it.

Still, he could always hope that his father might be able to manage a second miracle for him.

Instead, it seemed that Dumbledore was the one who had arranged a miracle . . . the one he'd promised Draco.

"Harry," the headmaster greeted him as he and Snape were walking down a ground-floor corridor on their way back to the dungeons. Dumbledore swept forward, his orange and chartreuse robes swishing madly. "Harry, my boy, so good to see you up and about. You must be feeling better." He motioned to either side of him, to a tall black wizard sporting an earring and a shorter blue-haired witch beaming from ear to ear. "You remember Tonks and Shacklebolt, I'm sure."

Harry's first thought was Order Aurors, that's more like it . . .

His second thought was of the last time he'd seen Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Department of Mysteries. Sirius, falling through the veil. Shacklebolt continuing to battle Bellatrix Lestrange right up until he was wounded himself . . .

The events of that day swept through him all over again, the pain of losing Sirius still fresh and sharp. It might have happened just hours ago, instead of nearly a year past. Harry struggled past it, forcing it down and away as he'd done so many times before. He told himself that it was over and done with, that it was all right, but Draco's words came back to haunt him. How can that be all right?

When he'd first seen the Order Aurors, Harry could have leapt for joy, but now all he felt was numb. "You're here to take over the investigation?" he asked, his voice subdued.

"What sort of way is that to greet an old friend?" Tonks playfully demanded, her hair turning from blue to pink and back as she strode closer.

"Wotcher?" he tried instead, trying to force his thoughts back to the present. He managed a grin, though he was sure it looked strained. But that was all right, considering.

"There you go!" Tonks enthused, doing everything but swinging him around on his feet as she wrapped him in a big hug. "Gosh, you've grown, Harry!"

Kingsley Shacklebolt, not too surprisingly, was more circumspect. "Mr Potter," he greeted him as soon as Tonks had let him go. His voice was low and calming; listening to him was like taking a deep breath. "It's good to see you looking so well."

"You too," he admitted, feeling a little more able to cope. "I don't think I ever got a chance to thank you for helping me out when I was in trouble for having DA meetings."

"My pleasure," Kingsley said, nodding amiably.

Harry remembered something else then. "And for trying to break through to rescue me on Samhain," he added, the comment that time encompassing them both. "Thanks. So, um . . . have you just now arrived?"

"Mmm, time to face the press," Tonks nodded, momentarily sprouting claws as though in unspoken defence of Harry. "The Minister wants us to speak with them straight away to assure the public we're doing everything we can to bring the guilty party to justice."

Harry surmised that was Fudge's way of fighting back against the Parkinsons' threat to use publicity. All at once, he had a better sense than ever of what his father had meant all those months ago when he'd explained that James Potter had done the work of an Auror but had preferred to remain apart from official Ministry politics.

"Or guilty parties," Harry had to chime in, stressing the plural. "Right?"

"That sounds like a rather pointed hint," Shacklebolt commented, his earring glinting in the light as he tilted his head. "Is there something you'd like to tell us?"

Harry raised his chin slightly and just for good measure, Occluded his mind. Not that he thought that Shacklebolt would Legilimize him. He actually didn't think that. But in some strange way, it helped him concentrate. He reminded himself to remember that the next time he had to take a Potions test. "You'll hear it soon enough so you might as well hear it from me," he announced. "Somebody has it in for Draco Malfoy and they're trying to make it look like he's the killer. But he's not. There's a conspiracy against him, people who don't like it any too well that he turned his back on Voldemort. Just keep that in mind, that's all."

"Harry," Snape interrupted. "It's time to let the Aurors do their job."

Harry translated that to mean stop talking before you let slip something best kept secret.

"All right," he easily agreed. "I've got a quite a lot to do, anyway. I'm finally back to classes day after tomorrow. Enjoy your press conference," he added, slanting a tiny grin at Tonks.

"We'll be talking with you later," Shacklebolt nodded, just before the headmaster led them away towards the bailey where, Harry supposed, the reporters were waiting.

"Let's get back home before some bloodsucker from the Daily Prophet spots me," Harry urged, tugging a bit on his father's sleeve. "And speaking of home, you know how you taught the door to recognise me all those month ago? Could you go over again how to open it from the outside? You know, the finger tapping thing . . . oh, and you said you'd tell the door to require magic from me, remember? Unless . . . well, once I'm living in the Tower again would you prefer me to knock when I come visiting? Or, not knock I guess, but stand outside until you hear the--"

He stopped talking when Snape gave him an impatient look. "Does Mr Weasley knock when he goes home to the Burrow? Do you suppose for one second that Draco used to knock for entrance to his family's estate?"

"No," Harry admitted. "Sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. I just thought it might be polite to offer."

The Potions Master glared for a moment longer, then relented. "Well. I haven't forgotten that those Muggles preferred to conceal from you the key to their house."

That time, Harry waited until Snape had taught him the way in, and they were safely behind closed doors, to say, "Could you please not call them Muggles in that . . . awful tone of voice? They were awful, yes. I admit it. But Muggles in general aren't like them. Hermione has a perfectly pleasant family from what I can tell. And I think . . . well, listen. I know you don't think Muggles should all be killed or something, but you make it harder for Draco to get over his prejudice when you . . . uh, display your own."

Snape narrowed his eyes, but all he said was, "I shall take it under advisement."

As far as Harry was concerned, that exchange could have gone a lot worse. Snape was probably trying to reward him for waiting until they were alone. "Speaking of Draco, is he still all right?"

The Potions Master glanced at the spy-glass in his pocket, something he had surreptitiously been doing throughout the day. "He's still asleep."

Harry bit his lip. "Are you sure he hasn't . . . um, taken something to make him sleep so long?"

"The potions in the cottage are now warded, as you surmised earlier," Snape volunteered. "Draco hasn't dosed himself except to deaden the pain of his burn."

"I guess he's just depressed, then. Who wouldn't be? Think we can go have dinner with him?"

"I think," Snape carefully said, "that by then he'll be in the headmaster's office being interrogated. In which case, it's just as well he'll be fully rested. It's likely to be quite a strenuous evening."

Harry couldn't help but stare. "The Aurors won't hurt him, not now that a proper one is in charge. And anyway, you said you wouldn't leave him alone, not after what happened last time. Um . . . what exactly did happen last time?"

"Enough to put you off all notion of becoming an Auror yourself," Snape darkly muttered.

"I think I'm entitled to a little more detail than that--"

"Draco asked me not to speak of it to anyone, particularly you," his father interrupted. "And so I won't. But as for what I meant by strenuous . . . being questioned, even when the exchange remains entirely verbal, can be a singularly unpleasant experience."

Harry thought of Rita Skeeter and winced. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

"I hope to Merlin you never find out what I mean," Snape quietly corrected. "But you might, I suppose, when the Aurors come to question you."

Harry wrinkled his brow. "Well, we're talking Order members now, assuming they come without the other ones. So should I still lie my head off? About Draco never leaving the rooms, and how the burn can prove that? About how Dubby stole the button and planted it and Draco never got a letter from Pansy at all? Oh, those are blank so I guess he can say he got them." Rubbing his head, the Gryffindor boy admitted, "Keeping it all straight is getting to be a strain."

"And imagine, you aren't even being questioned yet," Snape pointed out with a knowing look. "But to answer you: yes. I think we had best all maintain the story we devised this morning. I had an extremely brief firechat with Albus while you were fetching your glasses earlier and he has not in fact alluded to the amulet yet. He liked the misdirection about what caused the burn and agreed that the wisest course would be to insist that Draco was safely ensconced in my quarters throughout the entirety of the murder."

"He doesn't trust Tonks and Shacklebolt? Um, I mean Miss Tonks and Mr Shacklebolt--"

Snape looked amused. "In her case, Harry, I suppose Tonks will do. It is her preferred mode of address. But as to not trusting them, nothing could be further from the case. However, they do have to report through official channels, and Albus would prefer that Draco's name remain completely above suspicion throughout the Ministry. Insisting that Harry Potter himself can vouch for his whereabouts will help with that."

"Only until next time the Minister decides I'm cracking up."

"That's unlikely to recur," Snape demurred. "Harry, Floo the kitchens. You need to eat, and then you should do a bit of reading on deafening potions. I'll direct you to a few articles that should be of use. The whole topic is somewhat obscure so I doubt that Tonks or Shacklebolt will know enough to challenge you, provided you acquire a decent amount of background on their formulation and particularly, how one can get them wrong. Come see me if you have any questions; I'll be in my office researching why the Eyesight Elixir might have stung you so."

Harry appreciated that, all of it, but he still had to say, "You need to eat, too--"

Snape got that look on his face, a look Harry recognised. I hardly need a sixteen-year-old to regulate my mealtimes . . .

What the Potions Master said though, was, "So I do. Order me a sandwich, will you?"