When Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, he only just managed to avoid the ignominy of falling flat on his face. He was especially glad that he managed not to look so totally useless when Ginny rushed into the living room from the kitchen. Her face split into a wide smile of delight and she would have launched herself at him if it hadn’t been for the fact that her mother joined Harry within moments of his gaining his feet.

Molly noted the looks of ill-suppressed longing on both the teen’s faces and deciding to let them have their reunion, she hooked her handbag over her arm and swung her cloak from her shoulders before striding towards the kitchen. “When you have finished saying ‘hello’, Ginny, you might want to let Ron and Hermione know that Harry is here,” she said briskly. She was thankful to see that her daughter was no longer looking at her as if she was a monster.

Ginny joined Harry where he still stood on the edge of the hearthrug. She raked her eyes over his face and the bitterness that had suffused Harry’s features when he had stepped into the Floo in Dumbledore’s office had been erased and replaced by pleasure at the sight of his girlfriend. Ginny reached out a tentative hand and ran a light finger down the back of Harry’s wrist.

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly. Her exuberance of a few seconds ago seemed to have dissipated now that she and Harry were alone, and her voice was a little hesitant. Though things had seemed fine with them last night in the midst of all the turmoil, Ginny could not forget that she had stormed off in a fit of pique earlier in the day because she had not gotten her own way.

She had been a controlling wench, trying to make Harry see things her way, trying to talk him into something that he was obviously not comfortable with. He had been thinking of her and her parents, rather than of himself, and she had berated him for that. She should have been pleased that he wasn’t rushing her into something that she might ultimately have been uncomfortable with.

“I'm sorry about yesterday morning,” she whispered.

“Come here,” said Harry. He pulled her willing body into his arms and kissed her. Ginny wound her arms around Harry’s neck and he tightened his embrace even further, fusing the two of them together from lips to knees.

Harry marvelled at how well they fit together, just as perfectly standing as lying in the little copse on the spongy moss. He had never been so pleased that he wasn’t especially tall. What did height matter when the top of Ginny Weasley’s head came level with his mouth; when he only had to bend his neck a little to touch her lips with his when she tilted her head back? Why would he want to be taller when the curves of her body fit perfectly into the dips and hollows of his?

And what delicious curves they were!

Even their mouths were a perfect fit; their lips meshed together as if God had made them as a pair, though Harry knew that Ginny’s tasted infinitely more delicious than his own did. Their teeth clicked together, but not as much as they had done the first time they had kissed; they were both quick learners. And as their tongues tentatively touched and tasted and circled each other, there moist lips slid over each other as they changed the angle of their heads, as one responded to the other’s demands.

Both now knew that more than kissing, and more than gentle petting would come; it would come easily and they would both accept the pace that they set together. There would be no more hesitation on the part of one, nor aggression on the part of the other. Harry and Ginny knew what they wanted and they would get there in their own time; Ginny knew she did not have to push, and Harry now knew that the only people he had to consider ultimately, were his girlfriend and himself. They would battle the adults together if and when they had to, like young couples had always done down through the ages.

They were so caught up in each other, they did not hear the roar of the Floo. What made that so amazing was that Ginny had heard the flames roar to life from the kitchen earlier. But, perhaps it wasn’t so very amazing, as she had been listening carefully for that sound earlier, and now, she was blissfully occupied doing what she had wanted to do since five minutes after she had run out on Harry yesterday morning.

“As much as you might think you are alone at any given time in a room that generally sees a lot of traffic, it is wise to assume that you will not remain so for long.”

Harry and Ginny jumped apart so violently, their noses bumped painfully. Both their faces were magenta when they spun to face the man who had just stepped out of the fireplace and addressed them in an amused drawl.

Harry gaped like a landed fish and Ginny stammered, “Pro…Professor Snape…”

Severus made a supreme effort not to smirk at their combined looks of mortification. Interrupting student trysts was something he took great delight in at Hogwarts, but Severus did not feel his usual spiteful condescension upon finding his son wrapped in the arms of his girlfriend and attempting to remove her tonsils with his tongue. The looks on their faces were priceless, but Severus could see that Harry’s embarrassment was rapidly turning to anger.

“Yeah, well…if I had known that you were coming, I would have taken Ginny and hidden well away from your prying eyes!”

Severus raised an eyebrow in clear disapproval of Harry’s belligerent tone, and when Harry reached for Ginny’s hand and pulled her to him so that he could defiantly sling an arm around her shoulders, the other eyebrow rose to join the first.

The two wizards glared at each other for several long, uncomfortable seconds, so that Ginny began to feel a little like the meat in the sandwich. When Severus addressed Ginny, her head snapped up. She had been looking at his shiny black boots—anywhere but at his face—where they rested on the faded hearth rug.

“Miss Weasley, w…”

“Her name is Ginny! She—is—my—girlfriend! How long are you going to keep calling her Miss Weasley?”

Ginny squirmed uncomfortably, hoping that Harry would let her go, but he just drew her closer. Severus narrowed his eyes and pinned Harry with his deadliest glare, daring him to say anything else, or to continue to defy him.

“Harry, I’ll just go so…”

“No! I don’t want you to go.”

But Ginny took matters into her own hands by grabbing Harry’s hand where it rested near her shoulder and lifting it slightly so that she could duck out from underneath.

“The Profess…err, your father wants to talk to you Harry. I’ll wait in the kitchen.” She shot Severus a nervous, close-mouthed smile before she hurried across the room. She knew Harry wasn’t happy with her defection, but she wasn’t going to let him use her as a weapon in whatever was going on between him and his father at the moment. She had no idea what could have happened between last night and this morning; they had been united against the world last night.

“Miss Weasley…” Ginny looked back at Severus just before she left the room.

“Sir?”

“Thank you,” said Severus. “For being the sensible one.”

Ginny blushed and offered another tight little smile in acknowledgement of Severus’s words, and after an apologetic glance at a clearly irate Harry, she disappeared, shutting the door behind her.

Harry launched into a tirade as soon as the door shut. “What’s your problem? You were happy to see me go ten minutes ago, but you follow me here and then send my girlfriend packing. This is her house in case you’ve forgotten, and it’s the holidays and you have no authority over her.”

“But I do have authority over you!” was the deadly retort.

“You think?” said Harry with foolish bravado, before he could think better of the words. As soon as they were uttered, he wanted to call them back. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights as he stared into his father’s cold narrowed eyes.

Severus knew he should ignore the words. Responding was a very bad idea. But Severus, it seemed, could be equally as impulsive as Harry. Well, of course he could! It was certain that Harry had inherited his nasty temper.

When Severus spoke, it was with a return to the sneering coldness that Harry knew all too well. “I think it would be a wise move if you shut your runaway mouth before you say anything else that you’ll be sorry for.”

The mixture of horror and embarrassment on Harry’s face was gratifying, but it was not enough to appease Severus. Not after he had followed Harry here to set things straight, when he had realised that Harry had been under the foolish misapprehension that it was a matter of total indifference to Severus whether he came back to the dungeon quarters that night, or stayed at the Burrow.

He had been going to assure Harry that he wanted him to come home to spend the night. But now…

Severus took two steps closer to Harry and stuck his face close to his son’s. “I came here to tell you to come back to the dungeons for dinner and to spend the night. But I think it would be a better idea for you to stay here until you decide that your input as far as this arrangement goes, needs to improve substantially, because far too often, up till now, it has been drastically lacking.”

Harry’s Adam’s Apple bobbed up and down and his eyes were still wide and distressed. He tried to croak out an ‘I’m sorry’, but Severus held up his hand and straightened to his full height.

“It’s not enough, Harry. Sorry does not seem to mean much to you. I did what you wanted last night, against my better judgement, and again this morning by accepting the offered olive branch from Molly Weasley. But even after those examples of my commitment, you still left my presence under a foolish misapprehension and in an extremely irate mood.”

Severus reached up to the mantel to grab some Floo powder, and Harry, desperate, stepped forward and grabbed his forearm. “Pease…Dad. Don’t leave! I am truly sorry. I’ll try to address my temper…”

“I think a few days without my presence will do you good.”

“Like at the Dursleys?” said Harry, flaring up again in his panic, though not as badly as earlier.

Severus shook his head, whether to indicate a negative or to indicate just how hopeless he was, Harry didn’t know. “No, not like at the Dursleys.” Severus said, “You’re with people who care for you here.”

Harry nearly said, ‘and you don’t?’, but he managed to bite the words back, even though they nearly choked him. He had to stop making negative assumptions, and thinking that Snape didn’t care. He had to learn to trust that bad moods and even harsh words did not mean that he and Snape were going to go back to the way they had always been before the happenings of the last month.

As Severus stepped into the fireplace, Harry stepped back. “Right,” he said, trying to sound accepting as opposed to panicked. What if Snape decided that he would much prefer to go back to his solitary existence, that this being a parent lark was just too hard? And he, Harry, was making that an easy choice. If he kept on going the way he was going, he would push Snape right away.

“Umm, I guess I’ll see you sometime,” said Harry in the same forced tone. He looked at Severus and though he tried to prevent it, he knew that there was a plea in his eyes.

Severus, the man who had always been unable to cope with the various expressions in those amazing eyes because they had reminded him so much of Lily, and so had avoided looking into them as much as possible, now found himself softening under their pleading look. Dragging his own eyes away from the green orbs, Severus took in the rest of the anxious young face, so decidedly not Lily, but James, and now that he knew to look, a little of himself.

Severus took a deep breath. He wouldn’t leave Harry with nothing, despite how angry he was. “I will see you shortly,” he said, knowing that the statement was pathetically inadequate, but unable to get past his own pettiness and then, unprepared to cave further, he threw down the powder and called out, “Dumbledore’s office.”

8888

Harry stood and watched the fluorescent green flames die down to nothing but some sparkling grains of Floo powder on the brick base of the fireplace. Then with a sigh, he turned towards the kitchen with the intention of going to find Ginny. But two steps into his journey, Harry came to a halt.

He didn’t think that he could appear as though everything was fine between himself and Snape, and he certainly didn't want to let on that there was a major problem. Not after last night…not after everyone now thought that he and Severus had moved past their renowned differences and had settled into an easy relationship. Although, if Ginny hadn’t picked up on the tension between the two of them, then he was a flobberworm.

Harry turned around and headed towards the stairs. He needed some time alone. He needed to get his head around exactly what had happened today. Why couldn’t he control his temper anymore? He never used to have a bad temper. He had lived with the Dursleys forever and had managed not to retaliate against their unreasonable and harsh treatment; he had not even really retaliated against Dudley on the few occasions when he might have been able to get the better of him. Not with the same vindictive pleasure that Dudley had always attacked him with, anyway.

And as much as Harry thought himself justified to have been in a shitty mood, he had usually been able to control himself before last year. With all the terrible stuff that had happened after Voldemort had come back, Harry had found himself losing his temper all the time. There had been all of the secrets kept from him throughout the year. He had been attacked by bloody Dementors and Umbridge and Fudge had been on his case all year, making him out to be an attention-seeking liar. Then there had been Snape, before his transformation into a human being, raping his mind twice a week.

Mixed in with the anger, he had been worried all the time that Sirius would do something stupid. And just to bind the whole lot together in one simmering, foul stew there had been the constant pain in his scar and head, and his unknowing connection to Voldemort, causing the incessant dreams about the Department of Mysteries.

And Sirius had done something stupid, hadn’t he? But only after he, Harry had done something infinitely more stupid. No…he was not going to go there! He wasn’t going to think about his idiocy and the terrible price that had been extracted for that idiocy. There was too much else on his mind, and though Sirius was there all the time, so was the guilt he, Harry felt for leading him to his death. And as if all of that guilt wasn’t enough, there was now the added guilt he felt for pushing Sirius so much futher into the background because of everything that had happened with Snape—Harry didn’t want to think about it at the moment. Thinking about that, on top of everything else would really do his head in.

Harry reached for the knob to open the door to Ron’s room, only to have it yanked out of his grasp. He found himself nose to…well, nose to neck with Ron; Ron was still quite a bit taller than him.

“Oh, you’re back,” said Ron, unenthusiastically. He stepped back to allow Harry entrance.

“Obviously,” said Harry, peeved, his anger surging to the fore again at Ron’s tone. He looked at the space where his camp bed usually stood, but it wasn’t there. He looked back at Ron with his left eyebrow raised. “Did your mum move me to the twin’s room, or something?” he asked in a carefully controlled tone.

Ron threw himself down on his bed, lying back with his hands behind his head. “No,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be back, so I packed the camp-bed away. I thought you’d be staying with your new dad.”

“Well, you thought wrong, didn’t you?” bit out Harry, ignoring the fact that he would probably still have been at Hogwarts if he hadn’t been pushed back here. “So, where did you put my trunk and my broom?” The bulky trunk was nowhere to be seen either.

There was an uncomfortable, slightly guilty silence for the space of about three heartbeats, and when Ron spoke, he kept his gaze fixed on a patch of sunlight on the wall above his bed. “They are in the twin’s room. I thought they should be Flooed back to Hogwarts for you.”

Harry seethed. He leaned back against the closed door, hooking his thumbs into his jean’s pockets. “So, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me then? Why didn’t you just drag the trunk all the way down to the living room?”

Silence.

“I’ll tell you why! Because you knew your mum or dad would ask you what the hell you were doing! I never said I wasn’t coming back, Ron.”

Ron sprang into a sitting position, and Harry noted that his ears were beginning to glow. “You never said that you were either!” he yelled.

“When did you do the rearranging? Last night, or this morning after your mum and dad left for Hogwarts?”

“I thought Snape wouldn’t let you come back,” said Ron, in a more temperate tone.”

Harry glared at him. “Or you hoped?” He walked across to glare malevolently out of the window at the unsuspecting garden. Ron looked down at his hands, and shook his head.

“You’re my best mate, Harry. You’re like a brother to me, but this is really hard for me to get my head around, ya know?”

Harry turned back and perched his butt on the windowsill. “And you think it was easy for me?” He was too worked up to have registered what Ron had said about him being a brother.

“You don’t seem to mind, though,” said Ron, shaking his head again and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the worn rug under his feet. “That’s the bit that I can’t get my head around. After everything he’s done to you, you actually seem to have forgotten the last five years.”

Harry’s first instinct was to start yelling again. Ron had no idea how agonising this whole thing had been for him. He has no bloody idea! But suddenly, Harry seemed to wilt. How much more could he take?

He looked at Ron. “I’m sorry if this is all to much for you, Ron. I know you hate Snape, but the facts are the facts, regardless of whether you approve of them or not. I can’t make you accept things. I am still the same person; I just have a slightly different history now.”

Harry pushed himself to his feet again and crossed the small space to the door. If you’re willing to let our friendship go because of something that I have no control over and which you refuse to accept…”

“Help me accept it then. Explain it to me. I was in shock last night and most of what was said went right over my head. Tell me how Snape even came to suspect that you…that you and he…”

Harry leaned his forehead on the door and closed his eyes. Ron couldn’t even say the bloody words! Could he explain it all to Ron? Could he explain it so that Ron, or anyone, come to that, would understand the incredible upheaval his emotions had been through over the last three weeks or so?

Three weeks! Was that all it was? Three weeks since he had found out that he was Snape’s cousin, and nearly a fortnight since that day in his bedroom at Privet Drive when Snape had told him that they were father and son. It seemed like a lifetime had passed.

He had to try. Harry didn’t want to have gained a parent only to lose his best friend. He hadn't had a parent since he was a year old, but he had never had a friend before he had met Ron either. He didn’t want to sacrifice one for the other.

As Harry straightened, there was a knock on the door and he pulled it open. It was, as he suspected, Ginny and Hermione. Ginny smiled at him and entered the room with a large tray of breakfast. “Mum didn’t know whether you had eaten or not, so she told me to bring this to you. Move your stuff Ron,” she ordered. Ron removed his Quidditch magazine, sweet wrappers and wand from the rickety bedside table so that Ginny could put the laden tray down.

“How are you feeling?” asked Hermione quietly and when Harry answered with his ubiquitous ‘fine’, she rolled her eyes.

“You always say you’re fine, even when it is quite obvious that you’re not,” she chided.

“Then why ask?” countered Harry, but then he relented under her worried gaze.

“Look, I really am okay.” Harry crossed to the bed and sat down on the end of it, ignoring the food. “Mr and Mrs Weasley came to Hogwarts this morning and set everything straight.”

“Are you angry with Mum?” asked Ginny, settling herself next to Harry and taking his hand.

Harry looked down at their clasped hands and took a deep breath. “I was. I was furious. Even if I still really hated Snape, that was a terrible thing to accuse him of.”

No-one had anything to say to that. Harry could tell that they all privately agreed with him, even Ron.

“So, you really don’t hate him anymore?” asked Ron, and Harry was relieved that there didn’t appear to be anger in his tone, just curiosity.

Harry shook his head. “I feel a lot of things—confusion mainly—but hate isn’t one of them. Not anymore.” He looked up to find three pairs of eyes fixed on him as if they were magnets. Suddenly he felt claustrophobic and he jumped up.

“Look, lets go outside…” he waved a hand towards the window. “It’s a nice day for a change and…and I’ll need to move around while I talk.”

“Are you going to eat this food?” asked Ron.

Suddenly, Harry felt ravenous. “I had breakfast but I’m hungry again.” With Ron’s help, Harry made short work of the bacon, eggs and toast while the two girls watched with identical looks of disgust, the rapid disposal of enough food to feed a pride of lions, eaten with about as much finesse. Finesse or not, Harry felt better able to endure the coming exposure now that he had some of Mrs Weasley’s wonderful food in his stomach.

Within minutes, the tray had been denuded of its edible contents and the four teens headed outside where Harry reluctantly spent the next hour walking up and down and talking himself hoarse about how his and Severus Snape’s lives had changed so profoundly over the last month.

He hated having to do it, but he knew that Ron, Hermione and Ginny needed to understand about the journey he had been on. He had to get across, that though he had always wished he wasn’t an orphan, his life was actually far from being a bed of roses now that he had discovered that he had a real parent. He tried to convey the confusion that he often still felt, and the guilt that consumed him when he thought about his ‘other’ father, James Potter. He was so worried that he would forget about James because Severus was the one who was here and the one he was interacting with.

But Harry also emphasized that Snape had assured him that he did not want him to forget James…that he had no intention of usurping James’ position in his heart, despite Severus and James’ less than friendly relations during James’ lifetime.

Harry told his friends these facts and more, and in the telling, he felt freed from the weight that seemed to have been pressing down on his chest ever since Snape’s revelation. They were all still in shock to think that anyone could have two biological fathers, but then again, so was Harry. He didn’t think that he would ever be able to get his head around that. But hey, that was magic.

They knew now, and even Ron was trying really hard to hide his distaste of the fact that this newly discovered father of Harry’s was Severus Snape. After Ron’s precipitate actions of distancing himself from Harry by packing his gear and removing his bed, he had decided to back up several paces and actually listen to what Harry had to say. And now he seemed to understand how much Harry was torn.

Ron no longer looked sick when he thought of Harry’s changed feelings for their git of a Potions teacher; he could see that Harry was just as confused as they all were with the incomprehensible happenings that had besieged him since the holidays had started. Ron could tell that Harry’s emotions were all over the place. He could really see, now that he had calmed down enough to actually look, that Harry was far from resolved to the idea of having a hated enemy suddenly morph into a father.

Ron had only ever known life with a decent father; a good man he knew loved him and his siblings without thought; that love was instinctual. And though he never really thought about it, Ron did love his father, and that love too was instinctual. He did not envy Harry, nor Snape (he painfully conceded) having to learn how to interact with each other as parent and child.

He would try really hard not to begrudge Harry’s new found feelings of tolerance towards Snape. He could only be there for him and support him as much as possible, because even though Harry might now have a father, Severus Snape was no Arthur Weasley.

They all sat in silence under the big oak tree when Harry finished unburdening himself and Hermione finished asking her inevitable questions about the scientific facts. Harry could not really appease his friend’s overwhelming curiosity; his knowledge of his mother’s theories concerning magical blood was limited to what he had been told, and that was very little.

Hermione’s frustration was palpable, but after a steely-eyed glare from Ginny, the older girl desisted, realising belatedly that the purpose of Harry’s unburdening was not to enlighten her about scientific principles, but to share with them the roller-coaster he had been on for the last four weeks.

Ron broke the silence. “Come on, Harry. You can help me put the camp bed back up.”

Ginny stood up and taking Harry’s hand, she dragged him to his feet. She pinned her brother with a gimlet eye that was very reminiscent of her mother. “No, Ron, you can do that yourself. After all, you were capable enough to dismantle it by yourself. Harry and I are going for a walk.”

When Ron opened his mouth to say that he and Hermione would walk with them and that he could put the bed up later, Ginny snapped, “Alone!”

She pulled on Harry’s hand and he tripped after her, grinning at Ron and Hermione over his shoulder, and waggling his eyebrows. Hermione grinned back and when Ron looked decidedly put out, Hermione whacked the back of her hand into his chest. “They are a couple, Ron,” she said with barely restrained exasperation.

“Yeah, but hell, he’s our mate too, Hermione.”

“So we should be happy that Ginny can make him happy. And vice-versa. If she can make him put his very mixed-up life on the back burners for even five minutes, then we should be grateful.

And then, much to Ron’s consternation and confusion, Hermione grabbed his hand and dragged him off in the opposite direction to the one Harry and Ginny had taken. “Come on, let’s go for our own walk.”

Much like Harry had done with Ginny, Ron trotted after Hermione obediently, but unlike Harry, his expression wasn’t smug, it was nervous.

8888

Severus had plenty to do at Hogwarts to prepare for the new school year, but he did not brew his potions or prepare for his new classes with the degree of absolute concentration that he usually brought to the tasks. Thoughts of Harry kept breaking his concentration.

For thirteen odd years, Severus’s summers had been peaceful times mostly spent at Hogwarts partaking of his favourite pastime…brewing. The potions brewed for the school hospital-wing’s stocks did not tax his mind, but Severus found the routine of chopping, dicing, mincing, mixing and stirring infinitely soothing. He also had time to indulge his creative side by experimenting, occasionally coming up with a new mixture that could be put to practical use. If he wasn’t brewing, he was studying his potions manuals or books on exotic plants or magical beasts that potion ingredients could be extracted from.

The downside of his summers had been planning the curriculum for all the year levels, but this was mostly a matter of routine. He and Dumbledore would occasionally decide that a certain potion should be removed from the curriculum and then they would decide on a replacement. Severus didn’t find any of this preparation stimulating, but it was necessary. Necessary but mostly pointless because only about two in ten of the little darlings passing through his potions classroom had any kind of aptitude for the subject, and only one in forty actually had any real talent.

Last summer, the Dark Lord had returned, and Severus had found his time split between his two masters and their demands, and the rest of his time was spent racing around trying to get his routine work done. When he had thought of Harry last summer, it was to curse him roundly and fulsomely. It had not mattered that he knew that Harry had been controlled all year by a master puppeteer and that he had nearly lost his life for the second time at the hands of the Dark Lord…Severus had been too angry about having to return to the Death Eater fold to think too much about Harry’s suffering.

But now, his life had been turned on its head and Harry was at the centre of this upheaval. There was none of the anger, nor bitterness, nor spitefulness whirling around in his brain for James’s son this summer; there was guilt and self doubt.

Severus was not used to second guessing his decisions. He was a clever and confident man who was always sure of where he was going and what he was doing. But not when it came to being a father. If all men felt as wrong-footed as he did when it came to fathering, then no male would voluntarily sire more than one child.

Even Dumbledore was a little put out with Severus over his handling of Harry’s little tantrum. When Severus had stepped out of the Floo after he had left a devastated looking Harry at the Burrow, the old man had naturally enquired about the outcome of Severus and Harry’s confrontation.

When Severus had explained with self-justifying pique that he had left Harry to stew in his bad attitude, Dumbledore had looked at him over the top of those bloody glasses and there had been a decided lack of twinkle in his eyes.

Severus swore now as he sprinkled too much ground Harlequin Beetle carapace into his latest experiment, causing the gently simmering golden brew to hiss and spit angrily, and froth up to the very lip of the pewter cauldron. He stepped back a pace, his wand already in his hand ready to vanish the contents of the cauldron at a moment’s notice.

Damn Dumbledore and his gentle admonitions, and damn Harry and those expressive green eyes. Severus still wasn’t used to looking into Lily’s eyes when they gazed at him out of Harry’s face. Those eyes should be gazing at him from Lily’s beautiful face, surrounded by her dark red hair.

But Severus couldn’t deny that Harry could put as much emotion into those eyes as his mother had been able to. And Severus found himself just as affected by the expressions in Harry’s eyes—now that he allowed himself to actually look into them—as he had been by Lily’s.

“Severus, are you here?”

Severus shut his eyes and allowed his head to fall back on his neck, his sigh long and loud. Dumbledore.

The brew had settled back to a gentle simmer, and amazingly, it had gained the viscosity and colour that he had been aiming for. It was ready for the addition of the Knarl quills, but Severus waved his wand and placed a stasis charm over the brew instead.

“Severus!”

“Coming,” yelled Severus, but before he left his lab, he picked up his quill and made an amendment to his notes.

Dumbledore’s head, surrounded by its flickering green curtain smiled at Severus from the fireplace. “Perhaps you could join us for dinner in the Great Hall, my boy. Filius and Poppy have returned and we can eat together.”

“Albus, as much as I crave the company of the all you delightful people, I have a potion…”

“Come, Severus. You have to eat, and no-one casts a more effective stasis charm than you do.”

Severus rolled his eyes.

“Well, if our company isn’t enough to lure you out of your den, then perhaps the news that there is a very persistent owl with a delivery for you that he will not relinquish into anyone else’s hands might do it.”

“An owl? For me?”

Albus smiled. “We’ll see you in a few minutes.” And with that, he was gone.

Severus stood and stared at the empty grate for several seconds before snapping into action and removing his brewing robe and replacing it with the more formal robe he wore within Hogwarts. He let himself out of his rooms and strode along the familiar corridors of the dungeons.

He had avoided dining with Dumbledore and Minerva for two days, resentful as he was towards Dumbledore after the bloody old goat’s concise words of advice after he had left Harry at the Burrow.

You do not teach a lesson to your child by withholding your affection, Severus.

More was said, but not much, because Severus had removed himself before he lost his temper entirely. Dumbledore’s obvious disapproval on top of his own disquiet had managed to put Severus in such a foul mood, he had ruined five different potions. This evening’s little blunder turning out to have a positive effect was definitely more good luck than good management.

Severus had found himself on the verge of contacting Harry several times over the last thirty-six hours, but then he had reminded himself just how insolent and smart-mouthed the boy had been, and his original decision to distance himself so that Harry could ponder his attitude had conquered his temporary weakness.

And is your attitude any better, Severus? Is your silence just another way of emphasising your authority over a boy that you are far too used to lording it over?

As Severus strode across the marble-floored Entrance Hall, he thrust these unhelpful thoughts aside. Tomorrow morning he would…what the…

Severus ducked as a noisy missile shot straight at his head, and failing to make contact, it commenced a noisy orbit around it. The high pitched twittering told a slightly shell-shocked Severus that this thing was a bird and not something one of his high-spirited colleagues had launched at him as a joke. And now that he was not fearing for his life, he could see that this must be the owl that Dumbledore had told him about, although ‘owl’ seemed too grand a title for the miniscule anomaly.

Severus reached out an arm for the owl to land on, but it failed to take the hint, continuing its erratic flight around his head and upper torso, all the while making that infernal noise. When the sound of laughter reached his ears above the high pitched assault on his auditory nerve, Severus glared darkly at his dinner companions. He wanted to pull out his wand and stun them first, and then the bloody annoying bird that was no more than the size of a sparrow. He wondered viciously if owl tasted anything like chicken.

“You mail, Severus.” said Albus with a chuckle.

Oh, very amusing!

Severus seated himself with as much dignity as a man with his own personal satellite could muster, reaching for the glass jug of mead and pouring himself a decent slug.

“Will you kill the bloody thing, or shall I?” asked Severus in a perfectly serious voice.

Dumbledore and Flitwick were hard-pressed to contain their amusement, but Minerva had pressed her lips together in a less than effective way to try and contain her mirth, and Poppy’s elbow rested on the table with her hand supporting her forehead whilst she gazed down at the tablecloth. But Severus could see her thin shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Now, now Severus,” said Dumbledore, wiping tears from his eyes with the corner of his napkin, “I am sure there has to be a way to still the creature so that you can retrieve your mail. It is just a little excited.”

“Who would have guessed?” Severus drawled. “I think the thing is somewhat deficient of brainpower and whoever sent it with a mail delivery must also be greatly lacking in grey matter.” And though he had never seen the bird before in the Great Hall, Severus was sure he knew who its owner was, and that knowledge did not make him want to retract his statement.

“It knew enough not to deliver your letter to any but yourself, my boy. He just could not get down to the dungeons to give it to you down there.”

Severus growled and slammed his goblet down on the table after the owl passed particularly close to his hand when it had raised his goblet to his mouth, nearly making him drop it. On its next circuit, and with reflexes that would have done Harry proud, Severus snatched the bird out of midair. His instinct was to squeeze the life out of it but he didn’t want blood and guts all over his letter.

“Bravo!” squeaked Filius, clapping along with Dumbledore at their dour colleague’s prowess.

Severus ignored them and opened his hand just enough to untie the thin ribbon attaching the parchment to the owl’s tiny leg. He then raised the bird to his face and spoke very quietly, rubbing a thumb over the small, feathered head. “Don’t go until I see if I need to reply to this.”

The bird twittered excitedly but when he opened his hand, instead of taking off and flying around dementedly, it fluttered onto his shoulder and began to nibble on several strands of Severus’s long hair.

“There,” said Dumbledore, quite impressed at Severus’s gentleness with the tiny Scops owl in the face of his obvious impatience and irritation. “He is yours to do with as you command.”

Severus just shot a withering look at his friend and pointedly turned his back on the others and opened the parchment. He was sure he knew who the letter was from, and sure enough, Harry’s small writing greeted his eyes and Severus scanned the missive greedily.

Hi!

I hope you don’t mind that I have sent you this letter, but I didn’t want to disturb you and maybe make you even more angry with me than you already are if I Floo-called you..

I just want you to know that I have been thinking about what you said, and that I realise that you were right (as usual), and that I do need to make more of an effort so that your efforts to include me in your life are not a useless waste of time.

I know we have spoken of this before and that I keep on blowing up in your face, but I promise I will make more of an effort. And I know I have said that before, but I really mean it this time.

Everything is fine here and I am enjoying the time with my friends (Ron and I are fine, by the way), but I would like to hear from you as soon as you think you can tolerate my company again.

Even if it is just to touch base and say ‘hi’.

Sorry about Pig. [Pigwidgeon] I know he will annoy the crap out of you, but Ron said I could borrow him, and Hedwig is at Hogwarts and Errol (the Weasley’s old owl) is too feeble to make the journey.

Pig’s gaga, but he’s enthusiastic. Try not to curse him into oblivion…Ron would be really upset.

Harry.

Long after he finished reading, Severus continued to stare fixedly at the writing. He thought inconsequentially that over the five years of Harry’s education, his writing had gradually changed from the juvenile ‘joined up printing’ that he had written his early schoolwork in, to this much more mature sloping handwriting that was distinctively Harry’s. It still wasn’t the greatest penmanship Severus had ever come across, but it was easily legible, unlike many of his classmates’ writing. He also pondered the fact that Harry had failed to say 'Hi, Dad', in his opening salutation.

A gentle cough behind him brought Severus back to the present. He rolled up the scroll of parchment and placed it beside his plate. When he sat straight in his chair again, he glanced at Dumbledore, who raised his sliver eyebrows in question. Severus knew he was asking if the letter was from Harry, and Severus gave a curt nod before starting to fill his plate from the serving platters where the food still steamed gently under the influence of a warming charm.

No-one within the school other than Albus and Minerva knew that Harry was Severus’s son, and that was the way it was going to stay. Severus was on friendly enough terms with Flitwick and Poppy, and he trusted implicitly that they were in no way connected to the Dark Lord, but apart from not wishing to advertise his private business, the less people who knew the secret, the safer he and Harry would be.

Before Severus started eating, he finely shredded some meat from a pork chop and placed it on a bread and butter plate for the tiny owl. He had to lift Pig down from his shoulder because he was sleeping with his head under his wing. The transfer woke the bird and Severus held a bit of meat up for him. Pig attacked the rest of the small serve with gusto.

“Beneath that black façade, you’re really a big softy aren’t you, Severus?” said Minerva, smirking behind her cup of tea. When Severus cast her a scathing look, she was supremely unconcerned. “Who would have believed that you were an animal lover?”

“I find that I can easily take to a creature that does not constantly assail my ears with inane chatter,” returned Severus. If he wanted to insult the deputy headmistress, he fell short of the mark; Minerva just smirked some more and Albus laughed outright. The other two staff members had been holding their own conversation and so missed the exchange.

Fifteen minutes later, Severus, with Pig enclosed within his fisted hand, left the Great Hall ahead of the others. But instead of taking the stairs down to the dungeons, he crossed to the open front door and waited for Albus to join him.

“Let us hope that the evening is just as beautiful in Devon, Severus,” the old wizard said. Severus rolled his eyes.

“I couldn’t just be standing here to admire the Scottish sunset?” he asked blandly. Dumbledore smiled and shook his head.

“Sunsets are not your thing, my boy,” he said confidently. “You have been itching to return to the Burrow since you left your son there in a less than positive frame of mind. But you are a very stubborn man.”

“He needed to learn a lesson.”

“Perhaps. What lesson did you learn, Severus?”

Severus glared at his mentor. “Stop trying to get inside my head, old man.” He quickly crossed the wide stone landing, but before he could begin to descend the steps, Dumbledore called after him.

“Please bring Harry back with you, Severus. I have matters to discuss with him.”

Severus turned around. “What matters?”

Dumbledore paused for a moment, but when he spoke, his voice was matter-of-fact. “Sirius’s will has been released. Harry is, of course, the main beneficiary.

Severus’s hand tightened around the bird that he still held in his fist until it twittered frantically to remind him that he still had a hold of it.

Albus watched as the angry young man turned in a swirl of his black robes to continue his journey along the gravel drive to the school boundary, thrusting Pigwidgeon into his pocket to keep him safe while Severus Apparated to Devon.