“That’s not true! I haven’t known you for a terribly long time Harry, but I do know you’re not a coward.” Erin’s brow furrowed. “But what is the sorting hat and what did you mean by saying that Slytherins are cowards and only look out for themselves? Surely those can’t be the traits that define Slytherins?”

Harry didn’t answer straight away. He continued to stare down into the garden—what there was of a garden anyway—but Erin could tell he wasn’t really seeing anything.

“Harry?”

He shrugged. “At various times, the sorting hat has called them, cunning, power hungry, users of any means to achieve their ends. My personal experience of them is that they’re cowards…well…some of them anyway.” He raised empty eyes to Erin’s face. “But you’ll find out for yourself what Slytherins are like if you’re going to be on staff. Though the only chance you’ll have of a Slytherin being in a Muggle Studies class is if Dumbledore makes the class compulsory.”

Then he raised an eyebrow and put a finger to his lips in a mock thoughtful gesture. “Oh, yeah, I forgot, one of their more endearing traits is that they’re totally prejudiced against muggles and Muggle borns—or as they prefer to dub them—Mudbloods.”

Erin’s lips had parted during this harangue. She was more than a little surprised. She wouldn’t have thought that Harry had the ability to despise something as much as he seemed to despise those in Slytherin house.

“Surely, not all the kids in Slytherin can be like that Harry.” she paraphrased her earlier statement.

Harry looked at her with a little more fire in his eyes. “Slytherin house has produced more dark wizards than the other three houses put together,” he bit out. “Salazar Slytherin was the wizard who only wanted to educate those of pure blood. This was why he argued with the other three founders and eventually left. Voldemort is an ancestor of Slytherin and as far as I know, all of his most trusted Death Eaters are from Slytherin.” Harry didn’t feel like going into the story of the one Death Eater that he knew about who was definitely not from Slytherin.

Erin had to admit that the last was a pretty damning testament. She asked the question that had been on her mind since this particular conversation had started and which she was a little nervous to ask. “Professor Snape is head of Slytherin house, isn’t he?”

Harry turned away from her and leaned his bum on the edge of the window sill. He fought hard to keep his answer to a simple, “yes”. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t launch into a stinging attack on Snape, but somehow, he didn’t want to go there. She would have to be blind and deaf to have missed the fact that Snape hated him.

Thoughts of that unforgettable memory of Snape’s that he had witnessed in the pensieve stilled his tongue, as well as the fact that Snape had saved his life—however reluctantly—on more than one occasion. Then there was the inescapable knowledge that Professor Dumbledore trusted his potions master implicitly. And Harry had long since given up convincing himself that Snape was responsible for Sirius’s death. He knew full well who wore that crown.

He looked down at his trainers which were angled out from the wall…the trainers that Snape had shrunk and cleaned last night. No, he wasn’t going to badmouth Snape to the newest member of the Hogwart’s faculty. He drew his shoulders up around his ears.

Harry felt slightly ashamed of his sweeping generalization of Slytherin house. Everyone in Slytherin couldn’t be like the fifth years he knew: Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy Parkinson or even most of the Slytherin Quidditch team who wouldn’t know a fair tactic if it bit them on the bum. “But having said all of that about the Slytherins…” he began in a slightly guilty tone, “and to be fair, I don’t really know them all.”

Erin got off the bed and crossed to the window herself. She wanted to put her arms around Harry, but she just knew that he was a little too brittle at the moment and he probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. She leaned her shoulder on the wall, taking up the stance he had just abandoned but rather than stare down into the garden, she stared directly at Harry.

“Harry, this isn’t you! I don’t know why you’re being like this. I don’t know enough about what’s happened to you in the past, but whatever it is, I know running away isn’t going to solve anything. It never does. I’m pretty sure that you need those friends that Sev…umm, Professor Snape spoke of.”

Harry raised haunted green eyes to Erin’s face. “You’re right. I do need my friends. But they’re better off without me.” His tone was resolute. “As long as anyone is close to me, they’re in danger. If I disappear, then they’ll be fine.” Even as he tried to justify his stance, he knew how feeble it sounded.

If Erin saw the big gaping maw, in Harry’s theory, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she said, “you can't deny who you are, Harry.”

Harry set his jaw belligerently. “I can try. I'm not that far removed from being a Muggle. I was dragged up a Muggle, my grandparents were muggles.”

“And your other grandparents were magical, Harry. As were your parents. As are you.” Dumbledore had entered the room with Severus. His deep, powerful voice filled the space and infused Harry’s being. He gazed at Harry over the top of his half moon spectacles, his eyes piercing and his face set in serious lines. Harry pulled his feet back under him, and he scrambled to stand. Erin straightened up with much more dignity.

Harry didn’t speak. Though he was always powerfully affected by the headmaster’s presence, he didn’t always like what the old man was going to say. He knew this would be one of those times. He glared at Dumbledore, his face like a thundercloud.

“Miss Hanson is right, my boy. You cannot deny who and what you are.”

Harry crossed his arms and looked down at his feet again. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, sir,” he said mulishly. “My mind’s made up.”

There was a heavy silence that lasted for at least a minute. Harry could feel three pairs of eyes assessing him. He knew Snape’s eyes would be glittering with anger and deep irritation, Erin’s would be full of compassion and worry, and Dumbledore’s would be contemplative and sad.

Finally, Dumbledore sighed. He turned to Severus and said, “Severus, would you and Miss Hanson excuse Harry and I for a short time? I wish to speak to him alone.”

Severus drew himself up. He wanted to argue that as he had been put in nominal charge of the boy, then he should have the right to hear what was said. But one look at his boss’s face told him that though the question had been couched as a request, it was in fact, an order. His face a stiff mask, he nodded curtly to Dumbledore who was staring at Harry again, and then he followed Erin—who had left Harry’s side immediately Dumbledore had requested they leave—out of the room.

Harry had looked apprehensive as Dumbledore had ordered Snape and Erin from the room. He didn’t want to be alone with the headmaster and he watched both the other adults leave with some trepidation. He would have even been willing to put up with Snape’s snarky presence if it meant that he didn’t have to be alone with Dumbledore…Dumbledore who could talk circles around him.

Albus drew his wand and conjured two squashy scarlet velvet covered armchairs with gold piping around the edges. They settled on either side of the fireplace and Dumbledore lowered himself into one with a sigh. Harry thought that the old man didn’t look any more excited about this coming conversation than he did himself.

Harry had been standing in a shaft of sunlight streaming in the window, but now, roiling dark clouds had obscured most of the daylight as a storm front rolled in from the ocean. The room suddenly felt chill and Harry watched as Dumbledore pointed his wand at the grate, which sprang to cheerful life with dancing yellow and orange flames.

“Please sit down, Harry,” said Albus in a tired voice. Harry hesitated for a few seconds, but then he crossed to the other chair and threw himself down into it. Harry didn’t like to see the ancient headmaster looking and sounding so tired. He was sure that the happenings at the end of the school year—Dumbledore’s amazing duel with Voldemort not being the least of it—and the horrors that the dark side were perpetrating upon the Muggle, and no doubt, the wizarding worlds since then, were causing great consternation for the leader of the light.

Harry felt amazingly guilty that he was adding to those worries. He tried to feel angry, rather than guilty, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He hated that Dumbledore ran his life and had decided to lock him away here in the wilds of Scotland, but deep down, Harry knew that the old wizard was doing what he thought was best for him.

Still, despite his guilt, there was enough resentment inside for him not to want to have this private conversation with his headmaster. Harry knew that Dumbledore was going to try very hard to change his mind about leaving the wizarding world. But Harry had his mind made up. He shouldn’t be worried about anything that Dumbledore had to say to him. He had recited over and over, like a mantra, the reasons why he would be better off away from all of this: his friend’s safety being the main one, his own survival, the second.

Harry told himself that he wasn’t worried about letting the wizarding world down by running away. He did know that he would be leaving them to the future tyranny of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but he reasoned that as there was no chance that he was going to defeat the most powerful dark wizard in history, and that Voldemort would be happy with nothing less than his death, then why couldn’t he just disappear and survive, rather than hand himself over to the bastard and die. Either way, Voldemort would win; but this way, he would at least be alive.

He was not even sixteen years old yet, and he had a death sentence hanging over his head. And he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was absolutely terrified of dying.

Was he just supposed to welcome death…hold his head high and present himself to Voldemort and say, here I am? Do what you will. Was that what he was supposed to do because others had dubbed him, ‘the Boy Who Lived’?

Did they all think that he would survive again, just because Voldemort had failed to kill him before? But every time he had escaped, it had been because of someone elses actions, or very good luck.

Harry hated that people celebrated his life because he had survived the Dark Lord and his killing curse as a baby; it had not been his doing, it had been his mother’s sacrifice that had enabled him to survive. She should be the one who was lauded, even if it was posthumously.

And because of that protection, he had been able to hold Quirrell off until Dumbledore had arrived. He had nearly died that time. He had been unconscious for three days.

Fawkes’s timely intervention had been the only reason he had survived the basilisk…the phoenix had brought Gryffindor’s old hat and sword to the Chamber of Secrets, and had healed him when he should have died because the King of Serpents had managed to bite him anyway.

And in that graveyard, the only reason he had escaped was because of the twin cores in his and Voldemort’s wands. And even with that, it had been a close run thing. But someone had died that evening…Cedric had died because of his, Harry’s overdeveloped sense of fairness. That was the first death directly attributable to him.

And a month ago, the second death directly attributable to him had occurred; Sirius had died because of him, and he had survived another close encounter with Voldemort. Dumbledore said he had survived that because of the love he had for his friends, for his dead parents and for Sirius. But Harry was sure it was his mother’s love for him that had saved him again…there was something within his very being since his mother’s sacrifice that Voldemort could not stand coming in contact with.

But Harry didn’t kid himself that he would survive a direct hit with the green light of the Avada Kedavra curse a second time. He knew if Voldemort captured him, he was not going to throw Harry’s wand back to him so that they could duel. He was going to snap that wand in half and he was going to kill him without any fuss at all. Harry had escaped too many times; Voldemort was not going to play with him any more.

“You can defeat him, Harry.” Harry started. Dumbledore was staring at him intently. Harry felt like he was being x-rayed again. And no doubt, he was. Harry now knew that Dumbledore was a legilimens, just like Snape. And Harry had just been sitting there, gazing off into space, giving Dumbledore full access to his thoughts. He was not happy about that and he said so.

“Do you know I can't even daydream when you and Snape are in the same room with me?” he ranted. “Even if I managed to learn occlumency, I’d have to occlude all the time, and not just against Voldemort.”

“I apologise, Harry. But I had to find out exactly what your fears are. I knew you would never tell me,” responded Dumbledore, sounding truly regretful.

Harry pursed his lips and turned his head to stare into the flames. He wasn’t going to leave himself open to legilimency again. “I don’t believe you about being able to defeat him,” he finally said when the silence stretched way beyond what was comfortable. “You’ll say anything to get me to stay.”

“Probably,” admitted Dumbledore, and Harry glanced at him in surprise, before he remembered that he didn’t want the old man to be able to look into his eyes. He looked down and focused on a fraying hole near the inside leg seam of his jeans. He wondered vaguely why the threads of cotton were white and the jeans were faded blue.

“Do you want me to die?” asked Harry with idle cruelty as he poked at the hole with his finger.

He glanced up quickly, in time to see Dumbledore blanche slightly and close his eyes. Harry felt awful, but he couldn’t call the words back. It was a minute before the old man could speak and his voice was little more than a whisper. “I hope that was just an attempt to hurt me, Harry; payback for all the things I have handled wrongly when it comes to you.” Harry blushed.

Why had he said that? It had been very hurtful, and it was a ridiculous thing to say. Dumbledore had told Harry that he cared for him, and Harry had believed him. Anyone would have believed him if they had seen and heard the old man that early morning nearly a month ago. And if he died, then Voldemort had won. Of course Dumbledore didn’t want that.

“Please tell me that you really do not think that I want you to die…that I would not do everything in my power to try to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Harry swallowed around the lump that had developed in his throat. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want me to die,” he said in little more than a whisper. “But I will if I have to face him.

Dumbledore leaned forward and put his long fingered hand on Harry’s knee. “Harry, if you and I work together, I am sure that you can not only survive a confrontation with Tom Riddle, you will be able to defeat him.”

Harry stared, his eyes bright with unshed tears, and forgetting in the emotion of the moment that he had vowed not to give Dumbledore access to his thoughts. “I can't believe that, sir. I just can't.” He jumped out of the chair and began to pace up and down. Dumbledore sat back and watched the distressed boy.

“Harry, you are only thinking about the part of the prophecy that says, ‘and either must die at the hand of the other…’, are you not?”

“Well, as that’s the bit that basically says that he’s going to kill me…”

“That is not what it says my boy. You forget that the beginning of the prophecy says, ‘the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...’.

“But I don’t have any power that can defeat him!’ Harry yelled. “I don’t! You know I don’t.”

“Dumbledore was shaking his white head again. “Harry…Harry, this is part of the power that you have. Your humility. This refusal to see yourself as anything extraordinary is a large part of the power that you possess.”

Harry laughed, but it was obvious that he didn’t think that any of this conversation was funny. “Professor Snape would argue that I'm anything but humble,” he scoffed. “And sir, the only thing about me that might be considered something to boast about is the fact that I’m a halfway decent seeker. Maybe if I challenge him to a race to catch a snitch, I might just defeat him. I’ve never heard anything about whether he was any good on a broom or not. Maybe he was as brilliant at that as he was at everything else.”

“Other than the regular flying lessons for the first years, I cannot recall Tom Riddle having any interest in flying at all, Harry. He certainly had no interest in quidditch. I cannot recall him attending one single match in his senior years. He was too busy gathering his early followers around him and plotting how to take over the wizarding world.”

Harry shrugged. “So quidditch is out then.”

“Being an truly remarkable seeker will not help you defeat Lord Voldemort, Harry. And I know at the moment, everything seems hopeless to you. But I can tell you that running away will not keep you safe, and nor will it keep your friends safe.

“In their cases, quite the contrary, I would imagine.” Harry stared and then slumped down onto his bed, putting his elbows on his knees and bowing his head to grasp handfuls of hair.

Dumbledore went on relentlessly. “He will not stop in his efforts to get to Miss Granger or Ronald, nor indeed, any of the Weasleys to find out where you are. It is common knowledge that you are closer to them than to anyone else now that Sirius is gone. Though perhaps, Remus would become more of a target as well.”

A giant hand squeezed Harry’s heart at the mention of his godfather. He seemed to be shrinking in upon himself. But Dumbledore continued relentlessly. “And no matter where you go, Harry…Australia, New Zealand, the United States or Canada, even Timbuktu, he will never stop looking for you. And as his army grows, which it will at a rapid rate when people realise that there is no hope of the wizarding world remaining free of his tyranny—they will join him to protect themselves and their families—he will be able to use more and more resources to look for you.

“And as his hold increases here in Britain, it is a short step to overthrow the magical communities in the rest of Europe and then the world.

Harry jumped to his feet and stepped up to the side of Dumbledore’s chair. He leaned on the arm. “But if I disguise myself, and live as a Muggle, how will he ever be able to find me?”

“Harry…”

“No,” said Harry, quite lost to all reason. “Listen to me. I can have plastic surgery to change my looks. I can get a false identity…”

“How? Harry, how will you do all of these things? You will need Muggle papers…a birth certificate, a passport if you are going to live overseas. A visa to get into whichever country that you want to live in. But you cannot just say you are going to live in another country and that is the end of it. You will probably not be allowed to take up residence anywhere else, not if you do it the Muggle way.

“And if you do it with the aid of magic, he will probably be able to follow the trail.”

“Not if you help me, sir,” said Harry wildly. “You could hide me better than anyone. Plonk me right down in the middle of suburbia somewhere in Australia.”

“And your friends? Have you forgotten your friends? Did you not hear what I said would await them if you disappeared?”

Harry stared through eyes brightened by feverish enthusiasm. Then fervour died and Harry slumped. He turned away and grabbed his hair again, pulling it hard enough to cause himself pain. “Aaaargh!” The cry was raw frustration.

“Harry, I know you. You would not be able to leave Hermione and Ronald to such an unsure and unsafe future.”

“They could come with me.” The comment was hardly audible, but as soon as he had said it, Harry was glad Dumbledore would not have heard because it was a monumentally stupid thing to say. As if he could drag his best friends away from their families, perhaps never to see them again. He couldn’t do it.

Dumbledore of course had heard but he didn’t refer to the comment. Instead, he said, “And if you think that you will be able to not use magic, if you live in the muggle world, then I am here to disabuse you of that notion.

“If you deny your powers, Harry, they will explode out of you in uncontrollable bursts. Your magic needs an outlet, and the more powerful the wizard—or the witch—the more powerful will be these explosions of wild magic.

“You have already seen what you are capable of when it comes to accidental magic, Harry. A barely thirteen year old wizard would not be capable of such a strong engorgement charm in normal circumstances. Your aunt was well and truly inflated. I have never told you that it took quite a bit of work to be able to reverse your unconscious charm. Just as it is unheard of for a thirteen year wizard to produce a corporeal Patronus. So, you see my boy, you will not be able to stop these outbursts if you do not give your magic its normal outlet.”

Harry had listened miserably, and his feelings of hopelessness seemed to be beating him down. He knew that Dumbledore was not exaggerating. Before Hagrid had tracked him down and told him that he was a wizard five years ago, his episodes of wild magic had become more pronounced and more frequent. Banishing the glass in the reptile house at the zoo had been the last in a long line of magical accidents during that last summer before he had started at Hogwarts. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been at their wits end. The retaliatory hidings had become more frequent too.

The two months break over the summer always made him feel antsy when he wasn’t allowed to use his magic. He had asked Ron and Hermione if they felt the same way, but they had both just looked at him as if he was a little strange. Hermione had said that she was always pleased to be able to use magic again when they got back to school, but she hadn't had any bursts of wild magic for a long, long time, and even then, they hadn't been anything spectacular.

Ron had more or less agreed, but after Hermione had left them, he had sheepishly admitted to Harry that he did use magic during the holidays, but only small things like cleaning out his frog tank and Pigs droppings tray, and only when his mother wasn’t around to know that he had done it. Harry had envied Ron even more, living in a house full of qualified wizards. Any magic performed by anyone underage, would just be put down to one of the adult wizards in the house.

So Harry had spent a long time wondering what the difference between himself and Hermione was. Why did he get more and more agitated over the two month break if he didn’t use his magic, and Hermione didn’t. Harry knew that Hermione was more powerful than he was. Just look at how brilliant she was compared to him.

“A wizard’s or witch’s power isn’t all about his or her study habits and how quickly he manages to learn how to execute a spell, Harry,” said Dumbledore, seeming to read Harry’s thoughts again. You have an incredible amount of innate magic. I sensed it when I held you when you were a baby and when you started at Hogwarts, you shone with your magic.”

Harry looked at him, perplexed. “What do you mean by that? How can someone shine with magic?”

Dumbledore put the tips of his fingers together in front of his face, peering over the top at Harry. “I have an ability to read magical auras, Harry. Every living thing has an aura, but a magical being has an extra layer to their aura. It is always the innermost layer of an aura and varies in colour from the murky mustard of the magically challenged wizard, to a vibrant, pulsing pure gold, in varying degrees, of a powerful witch or wizard Even as a baby, your aura was incandescent. When you started at Hogwarts, you were bathed in the glow of your magical aura.”

Harry’s puzzlement turned to scepticism. “Sir, all that was glowing around me that first evening was fear. I was bathed in an aura of bile, because I was just about ready to hurl.”

Dumbledore chuckled, ignoring Harry’s self effacement. “It had been a long time since I had seen an aura like that, Harry.”

Harry seemed gobsmacked for a moment, but then he rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on Professor. You’re telling me that Hermione’s aura, or any of the Ravenclaw’s auras weren’t as incandescent as you say mine is?”

“I just finished telling you Harry…”

“Yeah, I heard. Ones power isn’t dictated by how fast he or she can learn a spell or…yeah, all of that.”

“Yes, Harry, I said it and I was not lying to you. Few wizards or witches pass under my nose who have an aura as bright as yours. Therefore, I am telling you that you are a powerful wizard and quite capable of defeating Voldemort.

Harry shook his head and then threw himself backwards across his bed. He was silent for a minute. “Who was the last person to have an aura as bright as mine?” he asked the ceiling. He didn’t want to be looking at the old man when he said what Harry was sure he was going to say.”

Sure enough, Dumbledore said, “Tom Riddle.”

Harry threw his arm over his eyes. “Of course,” he said bitterly.

Dumbledore stood and moved to the bed. He sat down next to Harry and patted Harry’s bent knee.

“Harry, I am not trying to lighten the burden you have to bear. It is more than anyone should have in their future, particularly a child who has had to endure the tragedies you have in your short life.

“But Harry, think of what life could be like after your job is done. Happiness can be yours if you stay here with us and allow me to guide you on this most difficult of journeys. I know you will wallow in guilt for the rest of your life if you deny your destiny.”

Harry lay there with the weight of that clever, old hand resting on his knee. He felt comforted by the touch. If he had Dumbledore beside him, then maybe…

“Why didn’t he pick Neville?” he whispered from under his arm. But then he thought of his kind hearted, brave, but occasionally inept friend and knew that he would never wish this terrible fate on anyone. Not even Malfoy.

“I don’t know Harry. But he must have known something, because he had never seen you until the night he tried to kill you.”

“Maybe his aura called out to mine,” said Harry, only half jokingly.

“Perhaps,” said Dumbledore, perfectly serious. Dumbledore took his hand back and the very old and the very young wizard were silent for a time.

Finally, Harry sighed and dragged himself upright. He scrambled to the head of the bed and leaned back against the headboard. He stared at his headmaster. “You’re really good at what you do Professor. Everything you do.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “I’ve had a lot of practice, Harry. I’ve been around a long time.”

“I'm still scared, sir.”

“You wouldn’t be the sensible young man I know you to be if you weren’t.”

But I'm in Gryffindor. I should hold my head high and accept my fate.”

“Gryffindor does not equate with foolish bravado, Harry, no matter what some people have to say on the subject. Fear is healthy. Fear will slow you down. Fear will prevent you from rushing in before you’re ready. Or before the time is right.”

“How will I know when the time is right?”

“We will work it out together. You and I, and Professor Snape.”

When Harry opened his mouth to automatically object to Snape’s inclusion, Dumbledore held up his hand. “We need Professor Snape, Harry. He is a powerful wizard with some very specific skills.”

“Did his aura glow?” asked Harry snidely.

“It did, and it still does. Almost as brightly as your own.” Harry’s jaw set and he looked away. Finally, he sighed and looked back.

“So, what happens now? How long do I have to stay here?”

Ahh,” said Dumbledore. “This…” He indicated the room with a wave of his hand. “This is another of my monumental mistakes Harry. I thought you needed complete peace and quiet, away from the stresses of your life…away from Hogwarts.”

“But I love Hogwarts. And during the summer, where could be more peaceful. I’ve wanted to stay at Hogwarts for the summer since I started there.”

“Harry, since the terrible happenings at Privet Drive and the deaths of your aunt and cousin, the horrors perpetrated by Voldemort’s regime have intensified. And as a result of this upsurge of activity, I have the members of the Order arriving at all times of the day and night, and it would be impossible, if you were living there, for you to miss this grim parade. They rarely bring good news. I didn’t think you needed that. I know you already blame yourself for far too much.

Harry looked down at his fiddling fingers which were poking at the hole in his jeans again. He knew that he wasn’t technically responsible for all those deaths in Privet Drive. Of course he knew that. But, if Voldemort had not been looking for him, the Death Eaters wouldn’t have been at Privet Drive. There was no getting away from that fact.

“I have spoken to Molly and Arthur, Harry and they are eager for you to come to them. The members of the Order and the Ministry together have been working to increase the wards around the Burrow. Bill, has been in charge of the operation. As I need to fix the error of Judgement that I made in incarcerating you here, away from your friends, and if you can promise me that you will not brood over everything that has happened, you can leave for the Burrow tomorrow.”

Harry had leaned forward as soon as the Burrow was mentioned and now he grinned. It was the happiest Dumbledore had seen him look since he had woken up at Hogwarts after his beating.

“You mean it, Sir? I can go to the Burrow?”

“With certain provisos, yes.”

“Anything!”

“No brooding and no leaving the confines of the house and its gardens unless accompanied by a member of the Order. Molly and Arthur have gone to a great deal of trouble and inconvenience so that you can—in their words—come home.”

Harry was nodding in enthusiastic acquiescence. “I promise!”

“And no more talk of leaving Hogwarts.”

Harry’s enthusiasm waned a little but eventually, he gave a curt nod. Dumbledore stood and looked down at the young wizard he had come to love as he would a grandson.

“We will get through this Harry.”

He put his hand on Harry’s head and bent down to his eye level. “I am going to do everything in my power to get you through this.” And then, much to Harry’s shock, Dumbledore kissed him on the top of the head before he headed to the door.

Harry watched with shocked eyes as Dumbledore opened the door, but then paused on the threshold. “Oh,” he said, delving into the deep pocket of his favourite oyster grey coloured robes. He withdrew a dark tapered length of wood and stepped back into the room to place the wand on the bedside table. “Professor Snape hoped you might want this back.”

Harry was too occupied staring at his wand to follow the headmaster’s tall, thin form as he left the room. After several taut seconds, he reached over with a shaking hand and picked up the wand. It felt so familiar in his fingers, and as it had done when he had taken it up in the hospital wing in front of Erin, it emitted a sizzle of red sparks. Harry finally understood why this happened when he had not held his wand for a while. His pent up magic was being siphoned off through his wand.

If he needed any more proof that he could never live as a Muggle, then holding his wand and feeling his fingers tingle as they grasped the magical instrument presented that proof. He should have remembered that when his wand wasn’t about his person, be it in a pocket or in his hand, then he felt incomplete.

He had been a fool. Snape would no doubt say that he had been perfectly in character.

8888

Severus watched Dumbledore disappear behind a wall of green flame. As usual, the bloody old coot had once again taken his life and turned it upside down before he had taken his leave. He turned and spread his arms wide, a look of total incredulity and disgust on his face as he glared at Erin.

Erin watched him from the depths of the armchair in which she had been sitting since she and Severus had descended the stairs together. She would have laughed at his obvious dismay if she had not still been processing everything that Severus had told her before Dumbledore had joined them and told them the results of his talk with Harry.

Earlier, when she and Severus had entered the lounge, Severus had summoned Dobby and ordered coffee for both of them. Erin had been grateful for the diversion, and it wasn’t until Severus had calmed down after summarily being shunted from Harry’s room by Dumbledore that she felt she could broach the subject she was determined to learn about.

Severus had immediately become stony faced and close-mouthed, but Erin had pushed, insisting that if she was to be a part of this operation that was based around Harry, then she needed to know why everything that had happened, had happened!

And so, reluctantly, Severus had told her the story of ‘the Boy Who Lived’. Everything that is, but his own culpability. He was carefully selective of just what he divulged. He didn’t mention, for instance, his love for Lily, nor the fact that it had been he who had heard the first part of the prophecy and reported it to the Dark Lord. He could not bear the thought of her disgust if she was to find out that he had joined the Dark Lord of his own free will—no matter that he had still been a gullible teenager—and that he had happily reported the overheard conversation to his Lord, knowing full well that it would mean the death of some unfortunate infant. He also left out his own less than stellar treatment of the boy over his tenure at Hogwarts, especially the treatment he had meted out during the last years occlumency lessons.

And so Erin had learned about the prophecy, and about the murders of Harry’s parents at the hands of Lord Voldemort. She had learned about Harry’s own miraculous survival of a curse that no-one before or since had survived, and the murderer’s own apparent demise as a result of the curse backfiring. Severus had explained about the magical protection that Lily Potter had bestowed upon her son by dying to protect him when she could have chosen to live.

She now knew why Harry had been sent to live with the family who so obviously despised him—though she couldn’t quite fathom why they had taken the little boy in when their every inclination must have been to throw him to the authorities. Erin had no illusions that Petunia would have taken one look at the small, black haired infant and fallen in love with him. Petunia Dursley would not have spared any of the love she lavished on her own son—a love that had been stifling and detrimental to the boy. But somehow, Dumbledore had convinced Petunia Dursley to become a surrogate mother to her orphaned nephew.

Severus told Erin that Dumbledore had somehow known about the unwitting protection that Lily Potter had left behind for her son. The fact that the killing curse had failed to kill the baby had probably been his only clue. The old man had also known that for that protection to be activated, Harry had to reside where someone with the same blood as his mother lived, and the only blood relative that Lily had was her muggle sister. It obviously had not mattered that Petunia hated Lily; they were of the same blood. By calling number four Privet Drive home, Harry had been hidden and protected from anyone who wished to harm him…anyone magical, that is, because obviously the Dursleys themselves had hurt Harry for most of his childhood.

The charm also worked in reverse and protected the Dursleys from the Death Eaters. So within minutes of Petunia Dursleys and her son dying in a car accident, the protection around the house in privet Drive had dissolved and Lord Voldemort had been able to send his henchmen to collect Harry Potter, ‘the Boy He Was Determine To Kill’.

Then Severus had glossed over Harry’s arrival at Hogwarts and the many close encounters that he had managed to survive until the resurrection of the Dark Lord at the end of Harry’s fourth year.

By this time, Erin was having great difficulty holding back the tears. She had sensed the deep well of sadness in Harry, but she could never have guessed that his past had been so horrifyingly tragic. She could not quite get her head around just how normal a boy Harry was after all that had happened to him in his short life.

Oh, sure, at the moment, he was anyone’s definition of a nightmarish teenager, but Erin could now see that fear was the overriding factor dictating Harry’s current behaviour. He was a child! Now she could see why Dumbledore had been worried enough to isolate Harry away from the troubles that the wizarding world was living through. It seemed that Lord Voldemort was now in full war mode, and though Harry’s capture was central at the moment to his plans, the man, or creature, or whatever he was, did not care how many others he killed or maimed in his bid to take over the wizarding world and ultimately, the whole world.

“I can see that my present travails are of no concern to you, Miss Hanson.” Severus had placed his hands on either arm of the chair and was leaning forward so that his rather prominent nose was inches from her own, much smaller one.” He did not look annoyed, just quietly amused as she had obviously been a thousand miles away while he had railed at Dumbledore.

Erin put up a hand and cupped his cheek. “I'm sorry that you're unhappy Severus, but I fail to see why you are so upset. Your prison sentence has been reduced. You're to take Harry to his friend’ home. Surely that has to be better than staying here for however long Geppetto originally dictated.

Severus snorted at the ridiculous moniker Erin had bestowed upon the old man. Comparing Albus Dumbledore, master wizard and manipulator with a humble wood carver and maker of toys was a joke. There was nothing in the least humble about Dumbledore. He was made of the same stuff of legend as Merlin himself.

“It is not leaving here, per se, that has me upset, it is the means by which the old fool wishes us to do it.”

Erin raised her eyebrows. “Seems like a perfectly fine idea to me. I would much rather travel by car than be rendered unconscious again to be apparated out of here.

“Disapparated,” corrected Severus, bestowing a kiss on her small nose before pushing himself upright again.

“Pardon?”

“Disapparated. You disapparate from, and you apparate to,” he explained.

Erin rolled her eyes and uncurled herself from the chair. “Whatever. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? A feeling I imagine that is reminiscent of being crushed to death by a boa constrictor, whether you’re coming or going.”

Severus grinned and Erin was once again taken by just what a difference a smile made to his face. She ran her hands up over his black robed chest before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet her questing lips. But before Severus could reach his destination, rubber soled feet thumping down the wooden stairs made them both jump.

They had managed to put several inches of space between their two bodies before Harry came into view. Erin knew her face was blazing as she casually crossed to the window where the view was obscured by a steady downpour of rain that had accompanied the storm front.

“Finally decided to grace us with you presence, Potter,” drawled Severus in a steady voice, but Erin could see the twin streaks of red riding high on his high cheekbones.

Harry looked from one to the other and back again, and Erin was convinced that those eyes were shadowed by suspicion.

Finally, Harry spoke, but he looked at his trainers instead of at either of them. “Err…yeah, I'm…I'm sorry about earlier, sir. I know I was living up to your image of me being an arrogant burke, and I apologise.

“Professor Dumbledore and I had a long talk and…well, he made me feel a bit better about…well, about everything. I suppose he’s told you that I won’t be leaving Hogwarts now.”

‘He did,” said Severus in a bored tone. “You can imagine my delight, Potter. Another two years of you, rather than the mere hours I had envisioned.”

“Yeah,” responded Harry without hesitation. “Your delight must be second only to my own, sir.” And with that, he walked past them and entered the dining room to search out some lunch. Erin moved back into severus's orbit and grasped his wrist when it looked as if he was going to verbally flail Harry. He couldn’t keep entirely quiet though, despite her admonishing look.

“You will join me in the basement lab after lunch Potter and you will tackle that homework you neglected this morning.”

Erin just gave him an exasperated look and preceded him into the dining room. But as she sat down at the laden table with the two wizards she had come to care for so strongly, but who looked as if they would always be life long enemies, Erin vowed that she would find out why it was that Severus, was so down on Harry.

They had not had time to explore those murky waters earlier.