Harry faced a blurry pile of...something. He'd stopped wearing his glasses, as he kept falling asleep with them on, and there was nothing in this attic room to look at, anyway. His Quidditch posters were locked away in another dimension, being looked at by some other Harry. And he'd never see them again.

He heard a knock at the front door down below, but didn't bother moving. Not-his-father would get it. Or he wouldn't. It made no difference to him.

He squinted at the pile again. Without his glasses, it looked like a deformed troll. In fact, now that he'd thought it, he couldn't imagine it being anything else. But surely it must be. He searched for his glasses.

He'd just put them on when the door burst open. A large red-haired woman entered, surveyed the room, and uttered a loud "Harrumph!"

Harry stared at this strange phenomenon. "What...?" He began.

"Harry," said the woman. "Well, first things first." Hurtling toward him, she pulled him from the bed. The hem of his shirt was up over his head and then peeled from his body before it even occurred to him to put up a fight.

The woman was examining the limp cotton drooping from her fingers. "Completely filthy," she decreed, and squeezed it in her fist as she looked round the room. "Where's the hamper?"

"I don't need one," said Harry. He crossed his arms over his naked chest in embarrassment. "I just have the one set of clothes."

"You just have the one set...?" The woman turned toward the door, where Snape was entering, his body stiff with anger. He looked ready to shout at the woman, but she interrupted before he began.

"Severus Snape," her voice rang out. "Why does this child only have one set of clothes?"

"I...what?" said Snape.

"I moved here suddenly," said Harry. "I didn't pack much. He rubbed at his sides. "Can I have my shirt back now?"

The woman harrumphed again, but performed a cleaning spell on the shirt. "We'll wash them properly once we get you some extra clothes."

Harry reached for the shirt and yelped when she pinched the skin over his ribs. "What was that for? Who are you?"

The woman shook her head. "Poor dear. Lost his head from hunger." She leaned forward and shouted at him. "I'm Molly Weasley, dear! Ron's mother!"

"He hasn't lost his head," Snape said in a long-suffering voice. "He's never met you. He's from another world. Or didn't Dumbledore mention that when he was giving you the passwords to my home?"

"Really, Severus," said Molly, stripping the sheets from the bed. "I'm hardly an enemy combatant."

Snape looked unconvinced.

Molly finished stripping the bed and scanned the room again, her eyes landing on Snape. "Yes, I'll have those too, I think."

Snape glanced from her to the exit as though planning his escape. "You'll have what?"

"Your robes. If you haven't noticed, I'm doing laundry, and I'll wager you haven't had a proper laundry day in ages. Cleaning spells are for basic maintenance, you know." She waved her wand at the pile of sheets on the floor, and they bundled themselves up into a floating ball of linen. She gave Harry a sidelong glance. "And you," she said. "I want you downstairs eating something. I'll cook dinner tonight, but you simply can't wait." She stared at the two of them, tapping her foot. "Well?"

Snape had regained some of his composure. "Do what you like with the child," he said. "But this is my house. You cannot order me about."

An hour later, Snape and Harry were sitting at the kitchen table. Snape wore a Muggle shirt that was an ugly shade of green and had two buttons missing. He picked at a thread where a button was supposed to be.

"You put up a good fight," said Harry.

Snape growled at him.

"Well," said Molly, bustling in. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Soon you'll both have clean sheets and clothes. So what did you two have for lunch?"

Harry started guiltily. "We, er, haven't eaten yet."

Molly muttered something about heads being screwed on and opened the refrigerator door. She stared at its interior for a solid minute, then closed it. "Severus," she said without turning, "why is there only a loaf of bread in there?"

Snape's brows knitted together as though he'd been asked a trick question. "The beans are in the cupboard."

Molly crossed her arms and faced him. "Beans on toast? That's what you were planning on having for lunch?"

Snape rubbed at the back of his neck. "I like beans on toast."

"And what did you make for lunch yesterday?"

Snape glared at Harry as though this conversation were his fault. "He wouldn't eat anything yesterday."

"But if he had eaten? What would you have given him?"

Snape was silent a moment while he stared at his fingers. "Vegetable bullion," he finally answered. "With honey-glazed ham, and a side of...apple..." he trailed off when he caught Molly's eye. She was looking at him like he was one of the Weasley twins, stink-bomb in hand. Snape let his arms fall into his lap. "I like beans on toast," he muttered.

"Well, the boy can't survive with just beans on toast," she said. "I'll make something proper once-oh, there they are," she said as she heard a nervous tapping at the front door. "Come in!" she shouted.

Snape stood up. "You cannot invite-"

But the door had already opened, and Ron popped his head inside. "Is it safe?" he asked. Before anyone could answer him, he was pushed through the door by the twins. All of them were carrying large bags.

"Blimey, so this is what it looks like," said George, surveying the sitting room.

"I told you, there aren't any-" began Fred.

"Oh, yeah."

"And not a single-"

"Right," said George resignedly.

Snape was studying them. "What are you two blathering about?"

"Oh, just a little bet we had going this morning," said George, straightening and carrying his bag into the kitchen. "I'll pay you later," he muttered to Fred.

Ron was still standing in the sitting room, clutching his bag like a lumpy teddy bear. "Come on, then," Fred called to him. "Nothing to be afraid of. No skeletons of missing Hogwarts students hanging from the walls, like you were saying."

"I wasn't!" Ron squeaked, giving Snape a wide berth as he entered the kitchen.

"Yes, that's good," said Molly as the twins emptied out the contents of the bags. There were piles of food and clothes. "Set the clothes over there, that's a dear, and start slicing the meat for the sandwiches." She started passing the sandwiches out as soon as they were made. "The first one's for you Harry, poor thing. And Severus," she said, levitating a plate to where he sat. Snape studied the sandwich like a dissected toad while the rest were passed out. "Now eat up, everyone. Especially you two," she said firmly, glaring at Harry and Snape. Harry bit into his sandwich obediently. Snape pried a piece of crust from his and nibbled at it.

"You'll be leaving, now that you've fulfilled your duty?" he asked.

"There's still dinner to be made. Dumbledore told me to stay as long as Harry needed me."

Snape glared at his sandwich. "I never agreed to that."

Molly studied him carefully. "You know, I never noticed how thin you are. Perhaps it's those Muggle clothes."

Snape stiffened. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Molly sighed. "No clean laundry, beans on toast every day." She shook her head, but her mouth was set. "Well, I'll do what I can before I leave."

"You'll do nothing. I'm perfectly content with my life."

Molly clucked her tongue disbelievingly.

"Uh oh," said Fred. "Someone just got adopted."

"You'll get a jumper this Christmas," George informed Snape. "Big 'S' plastered right across it. She'll check in to see that you wear it, too."

Snape narrowed his eyes at the twins. "It occurs to me that this would be an excellent time to discuss your sons' academic progress. I believe I have my records in my work room downstairs."

The twins went slightly green. "Would you look at the time," said Fred, not even glancing at the clock. "Best dash."

"Now boys," Molly protested. "I could use your help making dinner."

"Ron can do it," called George as the door closed behind them.

"Wait...what?" said Ron, his mouth full of sandwich.

Molly tilted her head at Snape. "How are they doing, anyway?"

Snape took a bite of his sandwich and leaned back. "Terribly, I'm sure."

"And their records?"

"At Hogwarts. Feel free to leave here and retrieve them."

"Really, Severus. I'd think we weren't welcome here."

"You only think it?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a few people over occasionally."

"I prefer a household of two."

Harry looked up. "Two?"

Snape choked on a bit of sandwich. He coughed and stood up. "I have work to do. I'll be downstairs."

Molly's head whipped around to the table. "Did you finish...?"

Snape snatched the half-eaten sandwich from its plate. "I'll take it with me, you blasted woman."

Molly nodded contentedly and resumed her work as Snape stalked out. "Harry, would you like to help Ron and me with dinner?"

Despite their best efforts, Harry and Ron were soon outside, playing one-on-one Quidditch. Mrs. Weasley had chased them out of the kitchen after the third spill, and charmed the back garden with a privacy spell. They did without brooms and kept the snitch low to the ground.

Ron won the first round by catching the Snitch with a slide toward the corner of the garden. He lobbed it toward Harry. The Snitch zipped out of the arc and upward, but Harry scrambled onto the fence and caught it with an outstretched hand.

As the afternoon waned, the smell of roast lamb and carrots wafted out the back door. Molly had propped open the secret passageway in a pique of frustration at using passwords constantly. Snape remained shuttered in his underground workroom.

Throughout the game, Harry found himself watching the back door and sniffing the air, checking for the faint scent of brewing potions.

After a particularly long match between the two of them, Ron leaned forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He examined the back of the house in the slanting sunlight. "I always imagined him living in a mansion on a hill," he said. "With bats, and lightning."

Harry flopped down on a thin patch of grass, letting the slight breeze waft over his sweat-stained shirt. "He doesn't control the weather."

Ron joined him, sitting cross-legged and running his hands through the damp hair at his temples. "Right. But you know, all dark-like."

"Did you also imagine him sleeping in a coffin?"

"I never imagined he slept at all."

"He's just a bloke, Ron."

Ron nodded, and they were silent for several minutes. Ron coughed awkwardly as he reached into an inside pocket of his robes. "I have something. For your birthday."

"Oh." Harry felt his face heat slightly. He hadn't expected this. He didn't even know when Ron's birthday was.

Ron kept his eyes on the envelope he handed over to Harry. "It was really for..."

"Him. Right." Harry turned the envelope over in his hands. "You don't have to give it to me."

"It's nothing. Bill can't make it, so even with you coming we still have an extra...well, open it up and see."

Harry did so, and found a glimmering ticket inside. His heart gave a happy skip. "Quidditch World Cup?"

"Yeah! Dad got tickets for all of us. It'll be brilliant."

Harry nodded, cautiously hopeful. "I'll ask as soon as he comes back up."

"Ask...?" said Ron. Then he groaned, sprawling backwards onto the ground. "Snape. He'll never let you go."

Harry frowned. "He has been hovering a bit since the attack. I've been catching him lurking at my door. He'd call me a lazy child with a martyr complex and stalk off, but then, an hour later...I don't think he likes having me out of his sight."

"He's left you to yourself today, though. That's a good sign."

Harry shook his head. "He popped his head in the kitchen a few times. And out the back door while we were playing."

Ron stiffened. "When? I didn't see him."

Harry grinned. "He prefers it that way." He studied Ron appraisingly. "You said you have an extra ticket?"

"Yeah, we're trying to figure out who to invite." Ron caught Harry's meaning and paled. "No. Absolutely not."

"I'd stand a much better chance of going if he did."

"It's not my decision."

"But you could talk to your mum and dad?"

Ron rubbed at his eyes. "Fine. I'll ask." He raised his head in horror. "I don't have to give him the ticket myself, do I?"

Harry snorted in amusement. "No. It's better if I do it myself. Make him think it's his idea."

"How do you do that?"

Harry cocked his head in thought. "Well, the first step is to live with a Slytherin for thirteen years."

"I'll pass. Just promise he won't make the whole trip miserable. If he turns me against Quidditch, I'll never forgive you."

"It'll take more than a few snide comments to turn you against Quidditch. Just wear an extra-thick skin."

Ron shook his head. "I don't know how you do it. I mean, even with you being his, er, his..."

"Son?" said Harry tiredly.

"Er, yeah. Even with that, he's not exactly cuddly around you, is he? Some of the things he says...our Harry wouldn't have made it five minutes here."

"Huh," said Harry, watching the light play across the ticket. "But...they're just Bludgers, aren't they?"

Ron looked at him blankly.

"Something I figured out about my dad. I think it's true for him, too," he said, nodding at the back door that led to the work room entrance. "I'd watch him with students. They were usually trying to stay out of detention, or avoid points being deducted. And he'd distract them faster than you can say go. They'd lose sight of what they were after-the Snitch, you see-and start flailing around at his insults."

Ron's eyes lit up. "The Bludgers."

Harry nodded, shrugging. "You wouldn't let yourself lose a match because you wanted to turn round and attack a Bludger, would you? Focus on what you want from him. Keep your eye on the Snitch."

Ron gazed at Harry thoughtfully. "What do you want from him?"

Harry shook his head and lay back on the ground, staring at the sky. "I don't know anymore. I...I just want to look into that face and see my dad."

Ron stared at the ground and plucked at a tuft of grass. "My first year at Hogwarts was...tough. Sometimes...I'd pretend my dad was there. Think about what he'd say to me."

Harry rolled onto his side to face him. "What would he say?"

Ron smiled shyly. "Oh, you know. 'Chin up. Be yourself. It'll turn out all right.' Stupid dad things."

Harry smiled back. "Stupid dad things."

"What about yours?"

Harry looked back up at the sky. "He'd threaten to hex my legs off if he caught me climbing one more thing." Harry pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. "And he'd ask me what my heart was telling me."

"Yeah?"

"He'd ask me all the time. I used to take it very seriously. Then I thought he was having me on. Now...now I'm not sure. But whatever I told him, he'd just...listen. Like I was saying the most important thing in the world."

"He never struck me as a bloke who listened to his heart."

Harry shrugged, lost in thought. "Maybe that's why he wanted to listen to mine."

Ron frowned, then shook off whatever he was thinking. "So? What's it telling you now?"

"To keep trying." Harry sighed. "It tells me that a lot."

"You going to listen?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his thumb against the ticket's slick surface. "I don't think I ever stopped."