The commotion from Severus' sitting room carried down the hall to his study, making him close his book sharply. The hallway was short, but seemed longer than necessary just then, and he had his wand out before he rounded the last corner. When he saw one tousled, black head looking adrift amongst a sea of red, he put the wand away just as quickly.

"Harry," he said, catching the boy's eye. He was unprepared to have the boy fling himself into his arms, but he caught Harry nevertheless and held him close. "What's wrong?" he murmured into the boy's hair. "Are you all right?"

"I din't know where you were," Harry blurted. "You said we'd see you, and I din't see you, and . . ."

"Hush, little one. I'm right here." Harry's tumble of words clutched at his heart. How could the boy have missed him so much over just one morning? Not that he had not missed his son, but he expected Harry to be having fun with his new friends.

"Sorry, Father." His words were soft, hard to hear unless he strained. "Sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Severus told him. "I'm right here. Let's have some lunch, all right? The Weasleys are waiting."

Harry nodded against his chest, where his fists were curled into Severus' robes. "Okay." He peeked out shyly and gave Molly a soft smile, but did not look her in the eyes. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley."

Molly's gaze rested on Severus, even as she said, "That's quite all right, dear. We're right as rain." To her children she said, "Washing up time. Ronnie and Ginny, you first." She grasped one ear each of her twins as they attempted to move past her, and held them fast. "I don't know what you two have planned -- you seem more than two steps ahead of me half the time -- but I won't have any pranks in Professor Snape's quarters, is that understood?"

"Yes, Mum," they both said.

"We'd never dream--"

"--of doing anything in here, Mum."

"No worries, honestly. What--"

"--do you take us for?"

"A couple of troublemakers, that's what," she responded, and then gave Severus a wry smile.

He scowled, having not until just that moment realized he had actually let a swarm of Weasleys into his place of peace and respite. He gave one of his best intimidating looks to the two boys, and watched with satisfaction as they gulped simultaneously. If there were pranks . . . well. He had learned quite a lot from his days of going up against the Marauders.

When he stood back up from his crouch, Harry still clung to him, and so he swung the boy up with him, and rested him on one hip. Harry wound his arms around Severus' neck, though not tightly, and rested his head on his father's shoulder. Severus had not expected Harry to be so . . . clingy, and yet, he was loath to let the boy go, either. He patted Harry's back as they made their way to the kitchen, to wash up in there, and talk for a minute in semi-private.

At the sink, Severus settled Harry on the counter just to the right of it, and ran the water till it was warm. "Did you have fun this morning?" he asked in a low voice.

Harry nodded, studying his hands and picking at a small callous on his thumb.

"Harry, please look at me when we're speaking."

Harry did, but his teeth took hold of his lower lip, and he looked very nervous for someone who had enjoyed himself. "Sorry, Father."

"It's all right. Did anything happen today to make you . . . uncomfortable?" He tried not to use the word ‘scared' when referring to Harry's emotions, as the boy clammed up almost immediately whenever he did. It was another legacy of those damned Muggles, the belief that he was not allowed the same range of emotions as everyone else. Severus did not want Harry to be frightened of anything, but neither did he want the boy to think he was not allowed to be if it was warranted.

"No, si- no, Father . . . not really."

Severus lifted one eyebrow and gazed at Harry calmly. "‘Not really' sounds almost like a yes. Would you care to explain?"

"Well . . ." A look of embarrassment crossed Harry's face, and then he shrugged.

"You can tell me," Severus said quietly. "I won't be angry."

"Not even at George?" Once the words were out, Harry's eyes widened in obvious fear, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Severus took a slow breath and reminded himself that Harry was uninjured, and so he had no reason to string the twin up by the thumbs. "Not even at George," he managed to say. "What did he do?"

The lower lip went between the teeth again, and Severus used thumb and index finger to gently pull it out before Harry could bite hard enough to draw blood. Harry closed his eyes briefly and nearly leaned into his hand before he whispered, "Jus . . . Just, he snuck up on me'n grabbed me. I was . . . I mean, I din't expect it, but he said he was sorry."

Severus nodded, and smoothed the boy's hair away from his face. This time, Harry did lean into the touch. "And I'm sure he was. Do you wish for me to speak with him?"

Harry's eyes snapped open and he pulled away. "No, sir, I mean, no, Father. Ron yelled at him already. And Mrs. Weasley said he din't mean to scare me, but I wasn't scared."

"Of course you weren't," Severus said soothingly, and touched Harry's hand now, patting it slowly so as not to spook him. Even if Molly hadn't told him, he would have known how starved for affection the boy was, and any touch that wasn't designed to hurt. Severus was not comfortable, himself, with the touch of others, but he knew Harry needed such reassurance, and so made allowances for the sake of his son. "But, you know, it's all right if something startles you badly, to be frightened by it. Everyone gets frightened sometimes."

"Not you," Harry whispered. His eyes were wide as he looked up into Severus' face, the green so dark it was almost black.

"Even me," Severus said.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." He certainly would not go into details about most of the things that frightened him, but he would say one thing. "I am frightened whenever you are in danger, Harry," he admitted. "Afraid of losing you, who are the best thing in my life. I was very frightened, for instance, when you were hurt by the giant squid."

"You were?" Harry's voice was very small, and his eyes were wider, if it was at all possible.

"I was."

"M'sorry, Father."

"No, Harry, please don't. I didn't say that to make you feel guilty, just so you would know that I do worry. That I, too, feel fear." He quirked his lips a little. "Every time you leave these rooms and I am not with you, I worry. But that's part of being a father, so I'm told. I wouldn't have it any other way."

A tiny smile appeared, and Harry ducked his head, hiding it. The hand Severus was patting snaked out, and then the other, and Harry wrapped both arms around his father's waist. He then rested his head on Severus' chest. Severus cupped the back of his son's small head with one hand, and rubbed gentle circles on the boy's back with the other.

"Are you ready for lunch now?"

Harry nodded against his chest.

"Then it's time to wash your hands. The water should be plenty warm now."

Harry laughed softly, the sound musical to Severus' ears, and did as he was told. The two of them then rejoined the Weasleys, who were at the dining table already. This time, Harry walked by his side, although he did keep a tight hold on Severus' hand, as if he never meant to let go.

After they were seated, with Harry on his immediate right, Severus tapped his wand to the table and the food appeared. He had arranged it earlier with the House Elves, so everything was fresh and hot. Harry gaped at the table, as if he had not seen the same thing happen day after day . . . but Severus knew better than to draw attention to the fact. Besides, it would probably be a long time before Harry took such things as food for granted, no matter how it reached the table. Also, the Weasley children were likewise as open mouthed as fish, that is, until their mother gave them all a Look.

And then, of a sudden, there was much grabbing of food and noisy chatter. Molly watched her brood like a hawk, but let them get away with many things that Severus would not have, though nothing that was actually rude or harmful.

He did notice that Harry fell back on his habit of not taking any food until everyone else had started eating, and even then he looked to Severus first to make sure he was allowed. Severus gave him a tiny nod, knowing they were going to have to deal with this behavior sooner or later, but not wanting to talk with his son about it in front of all his friends. Even with permission granted, Harry took tiny servings of chicken and rice and the mixed vegetable dish, but Severus made sure his cup was full of pumpkin juice. And he would make sure Harry had more to eat if he finished what he had taken.

He glanced up once Harry started eating, and saw Molly watching him with a cool expression. Maybe he and Harry would need to have that discussion sooner rather than later.

The meal proceeded apace, with Molly in the thick of it, cutting chicken for Ginevra, making sure that the twins did nothing terrible to Ron's food, and that they each ate a good portion of vegetables. Her children were loud, with the exception of her youngest, and Harry watched them with wide eyes.

Several times, Ron attempted to bring Harry into the conversation, with questions about Quidditch or Treacle Tart - who was sitting at Harry's feet, gazing up at him with her ice blue eyes - but Harry was having none of it. Just as he had been in the Great Hall, he was shy and almost silent. Severus did not know whether it was the newness of the people he was with, or their numbers, or because he was trying to eat with one arm snaked around his plate, which he had pulled close to the edge of the table and was now hunched over, as if protecting it from everyone else. It was not something Harry did - anymore - when just the two of them ate together.

Finally, lunch was over, and Severus wished he could have a lie down, as he had the beginnings of a headache. Alas, he had two classes this afternoon, and much grading to accomplish . . . plus he needed to have that discussion with Albus about Filch, now that his potion was complete. So he excused himself from the table when the children were still working on pudding, and rose.

Harry watched his movement with scarcely disguised anguish, and the look in his son's eyes twisted something deep in Severus' heart. He reached to touch the boy's head, and Harry leaned into him again, almost like a kneazle. "I'll see you at dinner time," he promised. "I'm sure you'll have a good afternoon with the Weasleys. All right?"

"Yes, Father," came the soft words, and he knew Harry was putting on his brave face.

With a sigh, he smoothed Harry's hair down again, and then patted his back once, still reluctant to leave. "Have you been to visit Hagrid yet?"

"Oh! Oh, no!" Harry looked down at Treacle Tart, and then back at his father. "I forgot, with lessons and all . . . M'sorry, Tree!" The kneazle in question rose onto her back legs and stretched up to put front paws on Harry's leg. He petted her head, and scratched behind her ears, but he still looked stricken.

Severus murmured, "I'm sure she'll be fine for a little bit. She had a good sized breakfast. See if you can't visit Hagrid this afternoon, though."

"Yes, Father. As soon as I can."

"Good." He looked at Molly, and assumed the blankest expression he could muster. "Will you be working in here this afternoon?"

"Oh, no, Severus. Albus has kindly granted us permission to use an empty classroom." She grinned. "Don't worry, your abode will be safe from this horde."

He very much doubted that, but all he said was, "Ah. Good." He really did have to go, though, as those papers would hardly correct themselves, so he told Harry once more that he would see him at dinner, and then left the boy at the table. He could feel Harry's gaze tracking him until the door to their quarters was closed behind him.

---

Mrs. Weasley let everyone finish their pudding and then had them wash faces and hands again before leading them up out of the dungeons to a classroom on the second floor. Harry had never been in this one before - he had done some ‘sploring with Draco, and then with Ron and Charlie, but he hadn't gone into all the classrooms yet. This one had a dozen or more desks with chairs, some of which Mrs. Weasley turned into two wide, low tables with the flick of her wand.

Harry was still not all that used to magic, and so he gaped at the tables, not sure they wouldn't change back immediately.

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. "That's called Transfiguration, Harry dear. You'll learn how to do that when you attend Hogwarts as a student."

"Mum's a whiz at it," Fred said.

"Got top marks at school," added George.

"Just ask her."

"All right, you two," Mrs. Weasley said with a laugh, "that's enough. Come and sit at the tables. Fred and George at one, Ron, Ginny and Harry at the other. We're going to practice writing now. Harry, dear," she started as the children scrambled to obey, though Fred and George seemed to take three times as long to actually sit down, even if they were moving their bodies just as fast as everyone else. Harry ended up on the far end of the table, with Ron in the middle, and Ginny on her brother's other side, next to the twins' table. Mrs. Weasley stood right beside Harry as she continued, "How much writing have you done?"

Harry bit his lip. Father had not had very much time to work on his writing; they were still trying to get him used to using a quill and ink instead of a pencil. And even when he had been in school in Surrey, he had not done very much writing, for the same reasons he hadn't learnt much reading. "I can do my name," he said softly. He probably could.

"Excellent. We'll have you work on that then, dear, and learning other letters today, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good, good." She placed a piece of parchment, which was finer and smoother than any paper, in front of him, along with a small, stoppered bottle of ink and a feathery quill. She did the same for Ginny and Ron, giving them instructions on what they were supposed to write, and then went to the twins' table. They were fiddling with something that vanished in a flash of green and gold when she reached their table.

Harry watched as first one boy then the other grew red about the neck as Mrs. Weasley leaned over to speak to them quietly, and he wondered if she was scolding them. He thought maybe she was, when both of them said, "Sorry, Mum," at the same time, before she handed them parchment, too. "You two will write an essay about the potions ingredients you learned about today. Half a foot. Each. Let me know if you need books to do added research."

"Yes, Mum," said George.

"Whatever you say," added Fred.

"I'm sure," Mrs. Weasley said with a fond smile. "Now get started. The sooner you're done, the sooner we can all go back outside." She glanced at the second table, and Ron and Ginny, and then Harry, who had yet to open his ink bottle.

"Harry dear," she said. "Do you need help?"

What should he say? Father had told him a few times that he was there to help Harry, but Father wasn't here now. And in school, teachers were meant to help the students, weren't they? But the teachers at Harry's old school had not really helped him. They had called him uncooperative, and easily distractible, and Aunt Petunia said he was just stupid and lazy, and didn't deserve help.

"No, ma'am," he lied. "I'm fine."

"But you have not started yet. Do you want me to open the ink bottle for you?"

If he said yes, and then she refused, he would feel even stupider. But if he said no, he would have to open it himself, and the last time he'd done so, he had spilled the ink everywhere. Father had made the mess disappear in a trice, but would Mrs. Weasley do the same, or would she make Harry clean it? And he would still be stupid. Hesitantly, he said, "Yes, please, ma'am."

Beside him, Ron made a soft laughing sound, and Harry felt his face get hot. He should have said no, and then just done the cleaning afterwards. But Mrs. Weasley didn't laugh, or tell him, "tough luck," like Uncle Vernon would have, and she removed the stopper easily, without spilling a drop.

"There you are, dear. Now, put your name on the top of the sheet, if you would, and then we'll see what other letters you know."

Harry nodded, and slid the bottle closer, so it was within easier reach. "Yes, ma'am." He picked up the quill, and dipped it in the bottle, then, when drawing it out, scraped it lightly across the top of the bottle like Father had shown him, ending with a tiny tap. He brought the quill over to parchment, and tried writing his name, but the ink dropped in large, black blobs, and he ran out of ink to actually write with halfway through his "H". He repeated the dip, scrape, tap and brought the quill back to the parchment, but had the same trouble again.

Frustrated, he left off the tap at the end of his third try, but this time he dripped ink on the table as well as the parchment. He knew better than to ask for help, though, and so just tried again. And again. And again.

Now he had a parchment covered with black splotches, making it look like a spotted dog, and his hands were wet with smeared ink, and all he had written was H-A-R and half of a second R. His throat was aching, and his eyes were burning, but he would not cry. Tears never helped anything.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley's voice came from right beside him, and he jumped, almost oversetting the ink bottle. "Please let me help you."

Throat tight, he managed to nod, and just hoped she wouldn't laugh at him or call him stupid. She didn't, and though he could not look her in the face like he did with Father, since she had not given him permission, he could feel her gaze, and it didn't feel like she was angry. "First let's clean up your hands, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, and she waved her wand and made the ink disappear, just like Father had. It didn't even feel sticky anymore. "Thank you, ma'am."

"You're welcome, dear. Now, let's try something else-" Then she was leaning over his shoulder and reaching for his arm . . . and suddenly Aunt Petunia was grabbing for him because he had dropped the forks while setting the table, and she would smash his hand onto the hot stove burner and he could smell the meat of his hand burning and oh, god it hurt . . . and the jolt from the memory was so fierce that the boy scrambled away from the grasping hands, darted under the table and was running, running, till he reached the door, scrabbled at the knob, and was gone.

Before anyone else could move, a streak of white followed him through the door and disappeared, too.