1997

Harry blinked in the near-darkness, grogginess obscuring his vision. Levi was jostled on the pillow as Harry pushed himself to sit; the distinct sound of the Floo had woken him. He fumbled for his wand, and cast a quick Tempus Spell. Wondering who the hell could be calling on them at four in the morning, Harry took a defensive posture and deposited Levi on his shoulder for good measure—anything that could grow to twice the size of a Hippogriff couldn’t hurt.

Harry peered into his father’s room, but found it empty. Maybe someone hadn’t been calling after all? But where would his dad have to go at this hour…

Keeping his wand out, with Levi at attention on his perch, Harry moved quickly but carefully down the corridor. As soon as he stepped into the parlor, he deflated, his wand arm sinking to his side. Severus was sitting on the sofa facing the fireplace. The soft light from the candlelit sconces was dancing in harsh patterns across his skin.

Levi stretched his neck forward, but Harry waved his hand in front of the kylaria’s curious eyes, silently telling him to be quiet. The kylaria obeyed, but remained tense.

Harry moved hesitantly toward the sofa. “Dad?”

A flicker of movement in Severus’ eyes.

Harry shifted a little, but didn’t move closer. “Did you go somewhere?”

His father studied the embers in the grate. “My mother died. Healer Blunt just delivered the news.”

“Oh.” Harry watched his father’s face, but there was absolutely no indication of what Severus was feeling, which was a good indication, Harry knew. He didn’t want to say he was sorry, or offer his condolences, like he would have in a normal situation. “Do you need anything?” he finally asked quietly. “I could get some tea…”

Severus turned his head so that their eyes met. “Thank you, yes.”

Harry nodded and went to the Floo. A tea service quickly appeared on the table. Harry left his father’s black, added sugar to his own and when both of their hands were cradling their cups, he sat gingerly on the empty cushion next to his dad.

He let his body relax against the back of the sofa as he watched his father sipping carefully at the steaming brew.

Severus took a final sip before setting his cup on its saucer and turning to Harry. “There are various details which I will need to tend to before her funeral.”

Harry nodded, though he was more than a little surprised to hear that there would be a funeral—he hadn’t expected as much, since he knew his dad hadn’t attended his own father’s funeral. Unless…

“Are we going to be there?” he asked, hoping it was all right to ask.

“There will be too many questions otherwise,” Severus said quietly. “A traditional wizarding funeral will be expected. Only those who are disowned by their families would not have one. It is a grave dishonor.”

One which Eileen Snape no doubt deserved, but just as with so many other aspects of Harry’s life, it didn’t really make much difference what was right or fair. Harry understood that perfectly well.

“I’ll help however I can.”

“As her grandson-” Severus lip curled in distaste, “-and her youngest living bloodline relative, it is customary for you to perform certain parts of the funeral ritual.”

Harry nodded again, wanting to show his father as much support as he could. Whatever he could do to make this easier.

“We will keep your involvement to a minimum however,” Severus explained. “There will be a number my parents’ associates in attendance—people which I wish to give no opportunity to get close to you.”

“Not Death Eaters?”

“Death Eaters, with Voldemort’s Mark, are actually much rarer than you might believe. Most of these particular associates would have been much too cowardly to align themselves too closely with him. They will most likely be no threat to you… unpleasant, rather.”

“I will notify the Daily Prophet in a few hours,” Severus went on wearily. “The funeral will take place tomorrow… on the grounds of my father’s house. We will have to remove the Fidelius Charm. Albus and I will put several anti-Apparition jinxes over most of the grounds however, as well as protective spells over you and me.”

Harry knew his father had not attended his father’s funeral, and he had a fair idea of how much it galled him to have to do this for his mother. But he knew it was preferable to the inevitable prying which would occur if they were to forgo the traditional funeral.

“There will be a reception to follow the service.” The tight lines around Severus’ eyes indicated just how distasteful that added tradition would be.

“What can I do?”

“There are details to arrange... arrangement for food. It is traditional for the grieving-” Again the curled lip. “-family to either hire someone to see to the details, or to ask friends to assist.”

“Remus or Dumbledore will help,” Harry said quickly, “and Dobby would put himself in charge of the food if I asked him—he could get some of the other elves here to help.” Warming up to the idea of his friends helping, Harry continued, “And Hermione will do whatever we ask her to do. Tonks as well. The Weasleys might not be able to get here in time, but they would help if they can, even if they aren’t so keen on me right now. And you can Floo Daniel. I’m sure he’ll want to come anyway, to support you. And Margaret. Even McGonagall and Pomfrey…”

Harry let his words fade away; his dad was staring at him, his brow puckered as if trying to convince himself that Harry was really there. The expression of bewilderment on his face made a shiver of unease slink down Harry’s spine. And then as quickly as Harry had noticed the baffling expression, Severus’ face cleared. He stood abruptly.

“I have several things to attend to,” he said shortly. “I will return in a few hours.”

“But it’s four o’clock in the morning…”

“It is no matter,” Severus said dismissively. “Go back to bed. You will need your rest.”

“Where are you going?” Harry knew he was too old to be anxious, but that knowledge didn’t seem to make much difference.

“I will be back shortly,” was his father’s curt answer.

“But-”Harry cut off his own objection, the thin set of his father’s lips finally deterring him. Levi made a noise halfway between a growl and a bark. Harry looked at his familiar, surprised at the display of displeasure. Severus raised his eyebrow; he and Levi glared at one another. Severus blinked first.

He closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his nostrils. The sound was extremely loud in the small room.

“Dad, if you-”

Severus opened his eyes. “I need to be alone, Harry.”

Harry noticed the deep circles under his eyes then. Hating the feeling of uselessness, he nodded. He shooed Levi away when the kylaria huffed indignantly at Severus. Severus watched Levi fly with resentful wings to his cave. Then he turned his head back and gazed at Harry for a long minute.

“I will return shortly,” he said again, quietly this time. His hand stretched toward Harry’s fringe, but before he made contact, he turned abruptly away. He fastened his cloak with terse movements. “Sleep,” he ordered softly, in contrast to his severe expression . He glanced once more at Harry, and then he slipped out into the dark corridor.

--

Two hours later, Harry and Levi got out of the bed for the second time—he’d been too restless to fall asleep again anyway. And after listening to every squeak for signs of his father, he gave up. Padding down the corridor and into the sitting room, his stomach twisted with disappointment, even though he knew his dad wasn’t back yet.

He wandered into the lab, peering into cauldrons and taking lids out of flasks to squint at murky liquids. The Repelling Potion that his father had been working on yesterday, sans Harry, was sitting quietly under a Stasis Charm. He and his father had been working on the potion since before Christmas, though they hadn’t quite found the right combination of ingredients to make it effective against anything but the most harmless of hexes.

Harry studied the long list of ingredients, smiling as he remembered the hours he and his dad had spent at this bench, poring over potions texts. The times Severus’ eyes had lit with pleasure at a sound suggestion from Harry—or even a curious question. The moments of shared excitement when the brew reacted just the way they had been hoping it would.

Hoping it would lift his father’s spirits, and needing a distraction, Harry scanned the notes he and his dad had made for the last batch of Repelling Potion. It took a bit of time to figure out which stage his father was at in this particular batch, but once he’d analyzed the contents in the cauldron, he set to work slicing the Asphodel. It looked nearly as good as his father would have done before he poured it carefully into the cauldron and murmured the spell to activate the potion, and set his wand aside to begin the next step. And then the liquid in the cauldron erupted.

“Bloody hell…”

Harry scrambled for his wand, but his fingers slipped and the holly clattered to the floor. “Damn it,” he muttered, bending quickly to retrieve it, and when he straightened up, the dark purple potion was still spilling over the edge of the worktable, pouring in a steady, sticky stream, dripping down walls and from the ceiling.

“Evanesco,” he said quickly, pointing his wand at the largest spot of potion, spilling like a curtain from the edge of the table, but it did very little good; the potion continued to gurgle from the cauldron. “Finite,” he tried next, a bit desperately, trying to cancel the spell that had caused the mess in the first place, but that was no use either, and before Harry could think of another solution, the door was pushed open.

“Harry, I would like…”

Harry grimaced as his father halted abruptly, just over the threshold. “I’m sorry,” Harry said hastily. “I was trying to finish the potion before you came back…”

But Severus paid no mind to Harry’s apology; he was moving quickly around the work table; he opened one of the storage cupboards, and quickly selected a slim vial from the top shelf. Harry moved aside as his father came close, and then he watched with his lip between his teeth as Severus uncorked the small glass container and tipped the green potion into the explosive purple potion. Almost instantly, the out of control potion thickened; the march toward the floor slowing.

Severus and Harry stared at the congealed pool of unfinished Repelling Potion.

“Are you all right?” Severus asked, eying Harry closely. “None of it came in contact with your skin?”

Harry glanced down at his hands, half-expecting to find some of the purplish liquid searing his skin; they were still perfectly clean; he shook his head.

Severus gripped Harry’s shoulder lightly, turning him to the side, and looking him over as though expecting Harry to be at least half melted. His cheeks flushing, Harry twisted, mumbling an almost incoherent, “I’m all right.”

Severus didn’t release him though. Harry looked up; his father was regarding him with one of his more intense gazes. Levi was watching both of them.

“I’ll clean it up,” Harry offered, feeling uncommonly nervous. Severus’ eyebrows lifted. He finally relaxed his hold on Harry’s shoulder as his eyes traveled over the splotches of purple decorating the walls of his previously pristine lab.

“The table and cauldron will be the only difficulty, since magic will interfere with the work surfaces,” Severus reminded him, and then with a few concise arcs with his wand, the walls and floor were spotless once again. Another wave of his wand produced two scouring brushes, the ones Harry had learned to dread over the last several years. But instead of leaving Harry to the task, Severus handed one of the brushes to Harry and picked up the cauldron of congealed potion and began scraping the purplish sludge into one of the sinks.

Harry felt pretty stupid as he stood there, the scrub brush hanging by his side as he watched his father cleaning the cauldron.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he felt compelled to say again, in lieu of an apology for thinking his father was going to glower at him while Harry scrubbed the lab spotless again.

Severus looked up from beginning to scour the cauldron; the sound of the brush scraping against metal grated against Harry’s eardrums. Severus frowned, his eyes narrowed just slightly—the way they always did when he was concerned about Harry’s state of mind.

“Did you crush the Asphodel this time?” he asked quietly; the brush stilled against the pewter.

“It didn’t seem to work any better that way when we tried it last time,” Harry said; he had to use his fingernail to scratch at a particularly stubborn bit of sludge. “So, I diced it this time… to keep the toxins from releasing until I cast the spell over the cauldron.”

“Hmm,” Severus murmured. “Did you cast the spell after all of the slices were submerged?”

“I didn’t remember I was supposed to until it was too late.” Harry flushed again. “I, uh, didn’t read through all your notes before I began…”

“Our notes,” Severus corrected. “You wrote that particular set, I believe.”

Harry shrugged, and focused on the purple mess still adorning his father’s lab bench. There seemed to be much more than Harry had noticed.

“I sent my Patronus to inform the Weasleys of my mother’s passing.”

Harry looked up. Severus had set his brush aside and was turned so that he was facing Harry fully.

“You did?” Harry asked in surprise. He’d assumed his father had been walking aimlessly over the grounds. Though he had said had had ‘several things to attend to’…

“Arthur sent a message back. They will return as soon as they can acquire an international Portkey.”

Harry’s inside danced in nervous excitement at the thought of seeing Ginny. “Thanks,” he said sincerely, the knot in his stomach which had lingered for days now, loosening at the minute softening of Severus’ lips. They tightened briefly though only a second later and he looked as though he might say something, but he only nodded.

But the tension which had overshadowed them since Severus had first heard news of his mother still hovered over the lab, or perhaps it was only Harry’s imagination. “Do you think they’ll make it in time for the funeral?” he asked tentatively as he set his brush to the bench again.

“Albus will hurry the process along, no doubt.”

Harry smiled, mostly because of the slightly amused, sardonic lift of Severus’ lip.

They finished cleaning the lab, and then Severus suggested they begin the Repelling Potion again. Wanting to believe that his father’s spirits were on the mend, Harry agreed readily.

--

Funerals were meant to be rainy, Harry decided as he stood beside his father the next morning; the raindrops beating a steady staccato on the gleaming white casket in front of them. Daniel, who was acting as the head of the Snape family as Severus ‘grieved’ for his mother, had cast a very impressive Umbrella Charm over the gathered mourners themselves.

Harry was very grateful, as he often was, that he no longer wore glasses; they would have fogged up as the humidity increased. Although it really wouldn’t have mattered if he couldn’t see—there was nothing to see except the glistening coffin, since he’d long since given up searching for Ginny, or even Ron, in the crowd.

He was no longer listening to Daniel’s carefully prepared monologue about the rituals which had been passed down for dozens of generations. He wasn’t thinking about Ginny though—not specifically. Hermione had already assured him, very convincingly, that Ginny would have come if they’d been able to secure a Portkey.

His mind was actually stuck on the people standing next to him. Hermione, for one. She was standing on Harry’s other side. Where Harry’s next closest relative should have been standing. She was standing very close to Harry, nearly trodding on his foot actually—because she was trying to stay as far away as possible from Draco, who was standing with his parents, just as if they belonged there.

And Harry knew they did—as far as the rest of the wizarding world was concerned. Eileen Prince had been a well-respected pureblooded witch. And she was not only well-connected to, and a cousin of the Blacks, she and Tobias had apparently been very good friends of Draco’s grandparents. Harry had been more than a little repulsed to realize that he and Draco were nearly as closely related as Draco and Sirius had been. He’d searched the blond Slytherin’s face when Lucius had calmly suggested that he take on the role Daniel currently held.

Both the Black and Malfoy lines intersect with the Snape line more than once, Severus. Surely you must realize the honor should be mine. Your mother would have wanted one of her cousins to do it.

And that had decided it, of course. Severus had smiled thinly and explained that Daniel had already accepted the role. Lucius’ false smile matched Severus’. And through the entire exchange, Draco had chatted with Harry and Hermione about the Canons’ latest match. As if being so closely related to Harry didn’t bother him the slightest bit.

“Harry?”

Harry pulled his eyes from Eileen’s coffin. Daniel was nodding expectantly at him. Oh right. It was time for Harry to present a geneology of the Prince family. He very carefully didn’t look at the Malfoys as he pulled the folded copy of the family tree from his robe pocket—according to tradition, he was supposed to recite it from memory. Draco could have recited it without any preparation at all, Harry thought sourly as he began to read.

He stumbled over a few of the names but nobody seemed to notice.

“Thank you, Harry,” Daniel said formally before directing his gaze to Severus. “And now, Eileen’s son, Severus Tobias Snape, will honor his mother with a eulogy.”

Severus inclined his head in acceptance, just as was expected. Daniel stepped back, near the head of Eileen’s coffin while Severus stepped forward. He met Harry’s gaze, and Harry smiled encouragingly. A quickly-squelched wave of emotions flooded Harry’s storm, but the blank expression on his father’s face remained unchanged, and then he turned to face his mother’s coffin.

“Eileen Sarah Prince was born on March eighteenth in nineteen-forty,” Severus began. His voice was perfectly level, without even a hint of inflection. “She was born in London.”

The history of Eileen Prince, as delivered by Harry’s father, was detailed and rich. And it was absolutely false, as far as Harry was concerned. There was no mention of her abuse toward her son, or a side note that she was an accessory to the murder of two perfectly innocent people. And quite possibly, the indirect cause of several others. Or, that, if not for her, Voldemort wouldn’t have been able to turn her only grandchild into a Horcrux.

There were no indulgences on Severus’ part either; not even to give the impression that he had been fond of her, but that didn’t make it any better. As Harry stood by his father’s side and listened to him eulogize Eileen, he found he wanted to shout the truth to the listening crowd. He wanted to tell them that Eileen Prince was little more than a murderer, and didn’t deserve any of this.

There was a sudden comforting pressure against Harry’s shoulder. He glanced sideways and found Remus smiling gently at him, standing in the spot meant for Severus’ closest family member. Harry nodded a little, thanking his friend for the quiet support—it helped that someone else understood. Remus’ hand fell away—no doubt he was breaking some sort of protocol with the gesture—and Harry faced forward again, really only half-listening to the eulogy and mostly thinking about Ginny again.

He knew they might still make it, but Harry wasn’t counting on it. And even if they did, how was he supposed to talk to her with all these people around? Although, maybe it would be easier to sneak away in the crowd… find somewhere on the manor grounds… Mmm…

Harry closed his eyes, his father’s words drifting aimlessly as he focused the driving rain. Imagining Ginny grinning as she ran toward him, her bright hair darkening as the rain soaked through it. Wrapping his arms around her waist as she pushed herself up to kiss him. And her hands would wind through his own wet hair. The rain would drench her shirt eventually as well, if they stood out in the open for long enough. He smiled as he thought of her shirt clinging to her chest, and what it would feel like to have the wet fabric pressed up against him. What it would be like to peel the wet shirt-

Harry’s eyes snapped open at a tap to his shoulder. He looked at Hermione questioningly. She gestured with a small wave of her fingers toward Eileen’s coffin. Severus and Remus were stepping close to the marble box; he had missed the rest of the eulogy.

Harry shook the lingering images of Ginny from his mind and moved forward as well, taking his place in between his father and Remus. Daniel was already standing at the head of the coffin; the rain was no longer pelting the marble. Severus moved closer to Harry, the urge to protect him coming loudly through their connection. Daniel waved his wand, and the casket opened.

Harry saw his grandmother for the first time.

Her hair was the perfect shade of silver, styled without even one strand out of place. Her eyes were closed, of course, but Harry remembered how cold her black eyes had been in James’ Pensieved memories. And Harry imagined the slight lift of her lips was a sneer.

Harry looked up to find his father gazing at him, as if his mother’s body wasn’t even there. He knew the sorrow in his father’s eyes had nothing to do with Eileen. Harry smiled again, and this time, Severus smiled a bit in return. And then he raised his wand. Harry, Remus and Daniel followed suit.

In one voice, the four men commanded, “Prosecutus,” and the army of flowers surrounding the coffin burst into a cloud of twittering, singing birds.

Every single one of them was black.

Like am angry storm cloud, the birds rose and with another quartet of waved wands, Eileen’s coffin was closed and she and her eternal black companions disappeared; buried beneath the ground beside Tobias. Harry’s arm fell slowly back to his side as the partially-filled headstone began to engrave the date of Eileen’s death. Once completed, the quartet turned to face the gathered crowd of mourners.

“Eileen Sarah Prince Snape,” Daniel said in his strong voice, “is laid to rest beside her husband. May her family find the peace which they deserve, and may her son continue the legacy of the Prince family name, of which Eileen was so proud.”

In keeping with the ceremony of the day, Daniel held out the Prince Crest, which Severus accepted with a nod of his head. Harry stepped forward, as he had practiced and with a silent Sticking Charm, he affixed it to his father’s chest.

“Severus Tobias Snape,” Harry said formally, following the script, “you are now the keeper of the Prince Family Crest. May you give the name the honor it deserves.”

“Thank you,” Severus said. He held Harry’s gaze, both of them full of the irony of Harry’s words. The moment didn’t last however. With the ritual complete, the mourners began to stir, speaking to one another quietly and coming to offer Severus and Harry their condolences, though in several cases, it was to tell Severus how disappointed Eileen would have been in him. Severus accepted all it with a empty face and a nod.

Most of the more disdainful attendees spared only a grimace or scowl for Harry before excusing themselves to pay their final respects to Eileen at her headstone before Disapparating away at the designated point beside the stone. Only one—a man who introduced himself as a long-time friend of Tobias’ bothered to speak to Harry.

“You have your grandfather’s chin,” he said with a severe frown, as if the vague similarity was offensive. “You had best do nothing to disgrace the Snape name,” he added, pointing a gnarled finger at Harry. “It is a name with pride and traditions which have been upheld for generations.”

“For far too long, in many cases,” Severus interjected, his eyes narrowing for the first time since the day began. The aristocratic man sniffed disdainfully at Severus, and pointed his long cane in the direction of Tobias’ grave.

“You dishonored the family name more than once, Severus. A disgrace, your father used to call you. And now you poison the next generation with your misplaced rebellion? Your mother and father would be ashamed.”

“No doubt,” Severus said dryly as if the words had no effect on him. The other man drew himself up and harrumphed at Severus’ impertinence before finally turning away and hobbling toward the headstones. He muttered for a few minutes as he switched his gaze between the headstones, before turning on the spot and vanishing.

By then, the most malignant elements of the crowd had vanished. The Malfoys, Harry supposed, couldn’t really be included in the former group. Lucius and Narcissa took Severus’ attention next, while Draco strolled up to Harry, with Hermione right behind him.

Hermione squeezed past the Slytherin, however and hugged Harry before Draco could speak. “You did wonderfully, Harry,” she told him quietly.

“Thanks,” he whispered back. Hermione squeezed him a little before pulling her head away from his and studying his face. Apparently, she thought he looked all right, because she nodded and stepped back. Draco took the opportunity to extend his pale hand.

“My condolences, Harry,” he said, which as far as Harry had been told, was exactly what he should have said. So Harry thanked him. “You did a fair job of the geneology, especially as you hadn’t had much practice,” Draco added, which was quite the compliment from the Slytherin.

“I read it,” Harry reminded him, hoping to catch the other boy in a sneer, but Draco only shrugged.

“Most pureblooded wizards are given their family trees to memorize, even before they can read. It isn’t your fault that you weren’t.”

Surprised by the sentiment, Harry didn’t respond right away, and before he had a chance, Oliver Wood and Owen August came up behind Draco. Harry had seen them earlier as the guests had assembled, but there had been no chance for him to speak with anyone, save Daniel… Neville and his grandmother were around her somewhere as well.

Oliver and August, who didn’t insist on being called Auggie this time, echoed Draco’s sentiments.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” August then said, and excused himself to greet Severus.

“How are you, Harry?” Oliver asked, after saying hello to Hermione and Draco.

“Doing all right, I suppose, all things considered,” Harry said with a shrug. Oliver nodded sympathetically.

“Are you and Professor Snape going to live here during the summer?” he asked. “There’s enough space to put up a pitch.”

Harry smiled, but Hermione frowned at the former Gryffindor Captain. “We are at a funeral, Oliver,” she scolded quietly.

“It’s all right, Hermione,” Harry assured her. He was in no mood to be sad. And on that note, he added, “Why don’t you come on into the house, Oliver? Dobby made a lot food.” Not wanting to be rude, he nodded at Draco. “Er… you as well, Draco.”

Draco smiled, and didn’t seem to notice the odd look Oliver was favoring Harry with. But nonetheless, both he and Hermione fell in step beside Draco and Harry. August and Severus were walking toward the house as well. Harry spotted Neville standing next to his grandmother and Dumbledore; he waved his friend over. With a quick nod of approval from his grandmother, Neville joined Harry on his free side.

Mrs. Longbottom, Remus and Tonks brought up the rear of the little procession. Daniel and Margaret, Harry noticed, were accompanying the Malfoys up the steps and into the house ahead of all of them. Dumbledore, lingering behind, was shepherding the remaining professors toward the house.

“Thank you, Professor,” August was saying as Harry and his little qroup of friends entered the manor. Severus inclined his head and with another smile, August rejoined Harry’s group. Harry watched his father walk into Tobias’ study—the one with the ruby strap that Harry would have liked to never have seen—with Remus.

“Your friend Dobby never does anything by halves, does he?” Oliver was saying admiringly. Harry pulled his eyes away from the study. He’d already seen the huge banquet of food which had been prepared by Dobby and several other Hogwarts’ house-elves.

“I hope you’re paying them for this extra work, Harry,” Hermione said with a sour twist to her lips. Harry had given Dobby a tiny sweater as a thank you, so he nodded; it was easier than arguing. Hermione smiled as she chose a plate from the stack and made her way down the long table full of food. August picked up a plate for himself and followed behind, keeping up a steady stream of chatter, to which Hermione nodded and occasionally interjected comments.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Neville asked as Harry drifted toward a table.

“Later, maybe.”

Neville nodded in understanding and instead of taking his place in line, he joined Harry at the table. Draco and Oliver collected plates and followed along after Hermione and August, eyeing one another warily the entire time.

“Where are Ron and Ginny?” Neville asked after he’d poured water for both of them, from the pitchers on the table.

“They went to Romania, and couldn’t get a Portkey in time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry,” Neville said sincerely, his kind eyes crinkling with concern. “Your dad must be having a really hard time right now as well.”

For some reason he couldn’t really pinpoint, Harry didn’t relish the idea of lying to Neville, so he simply said, “He and my grandmother weren’t really very close.”

“That’s the case in a lot of pureblood wizarding families, from what my Gran says,” Neville said with a nod.

“Most pureblooded wizards simply exercise more restraint when it comes to family than other wizards. It doesn’t mean we are not as close as any other family.”

Neville and Harry looked up. Draco nodded at them as if that single bob of his head would make his statement inarguable. Neville stared into his water as he took a sip.

“I think he has a point,” August said, gesturing at Neville, as he pulled out Hermione’s chair for her. Hermione looked surprised but didn’t protest.

“His name’s Neville,” Harry supplied quietly. August smiled at Neville.

“Neville has a point then. But so does Draco,” he added. “The majority of Slytherins are purebloods, and not all of them hate their families.”

“I didn’t say my dad hated his mother,” Harry protested. “And neither did Neville.”

“Of course not, Harry,” August said easily. “Your grandmother was probably a fine woman, which is why I said Draco has a point.”

“Where are you playing your next match?” Hermione cut in smoothly, directing her question to Oliver as Harry tried not to scowl at the idea of Eileen being called a ‘fine woman’. Oliver brightened and he, Draco and August—with an occasional contribution by Neville and Harry, began a lively debate about which team had the best chance for the Cup this year.

--

“We’ve got loads of tickets, Harry. And Hermione will only agree if you come.” August smiled sheepishly as Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was chatting with McGonagall. “And of course, Oliver and I—and the rest of team would love to have you there.”

“You’re both welcome as well,” Oliver added to Neville and Draco as he stood.

“It sounds lovely,” Draco said with a smile as he straightened his cloak in preparation to leave. “Perhaps you and I could go together, Harry?”

Lucius, just joining them with his wife, smiled at that.

“Sure,” Harry said, distracted as he watched August walking toward Hermione to take his leave. It was certainly a bad time for Ron to be missing…

“Excellent,” Draco was saying to Harry. “I will Floo you tomorrow and we can settle on a time and a place to meet.”

Harry nodded, not really paying much attention to the fact that he had just agreed to go to the Quidditch World Cup with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

“Have you seen your father, Harry?” Narcissa asked as she straightened her white gloves. “We would like to take our leave.”

Harry shook his head. “Not for awhile…” He turned in the direction of Tobias’ office, wondering if he was still in there. “Pardon me,” he excused himself. “I’ll see if I can find him.”

Harry stopped just outside Tobias’ half-closed office door. Remus was speaking softly.

“He doesn’t need to know, Severus.”

“I know that, Lupin,” Severus said irritably. Harry could hear Remus sighing.

“It’s over now, and there is nothing to be gained by Harry learning what you did,” Margaret added; she was speaking in a tone that sounded much like Pomfrey’s when the Mediwitch was making a professional observation. …what you did… Harry’s heart quickened at the ominous words; he inched toward the door.

“Several of your guests are preparing to leave, Severus.” That was Daniel, still acting his part from earlier. “You can attend to those letters later.”

The door swung open and before Harry could pedal himself backward, he came face to face with Remus.

“Harry?”

Remus stepped back quickly to halt the impending collision. Severus was standing behind his father’s massive oak desk; a scroll was open in his hand, but his eyes were on Harry. The surprised arch of his eyebrows quickly dropped to a low sweep of appraisal. Harry tried not to let his sudden worry over Margaret’s statement show.

“May I speak with you?” he asked quickly before his father could echo that they needed to return to the departing guests.

Pausing only for a split second, Severus nodded. To Margaret, Daniel and Remus he said, “If you will excuse us?”

Margaret glanced at Severus; her eyes were soft even though she didn’t smile. Daniel smiled at Harry, his own expression sad as he turned with Margaret. Remus caught Severus’ gaze before he turned to follow; he closed the door behind him, and Harry could feel the activation of Silencing Spells as the knob clicked.

He tried to make his tone more curious than suspicious when he asked, “What was Margaret talking about?”

“Eavesdropping seems to be becoming a habit with you,” Severus returned, his tone much too bland as he set the re-tied scroll back on the table.

Harry did his best to ignore the understated reprimand. “What was she talking about?” he repeated, unwilling to let this go. Not if it had something to do with him. His father narrowed his eyes.

“It does not concern you,” he said in a voice meant to forestall any arguments. Perhaps to emphasize his dismissal, Severus picked up another of the scrolls and untied it. “Hermione is still here, I believe?”

But Harry didn’t move. For days now, his dad had been acting strangely. Distant. The realization that he was now most definitely hiding something made Harry’s chest tighten. What could his father possibly have to hide? What had happened that Harry couldn’t know? Something to do with Eileen…

Severus looked up from the missive he was reading, his eyebrows raised pointedly. Dismissing him again. Harry curled his fingers at his sides so that his father wouldn’t see that they were shaking. He was having difficulty finding his voice.

“Did you…” Harry faltered, knowing what he was about to say couldn’t possibly be true, but what else could his father have to hide? “You didn’t…”

Severus lowered the parchment; his black eyes narrowed. “Did I what?” he demanded, his voice dropping to one of his more ominous octaves. Far from intimidating him, Harry bristled. He recognized the defensiveness in his father’s tone.

“Something’s going on,” he said, trying not to sound as accusatory as he felt. “You’ve been irritable for days.”

“My mother just died, Harry,” Severus countered in a tone that was much too acerbic for Harry’s tastes. More evasion, as far as Harry was concerned. He knew how much his father hated Eileen.

“And ever since Dumbledore told you, you’ve been secreting around, and making certain I’m not included in whatever you’ve been discussing with Margaret, and now Daniel and Remus. I know you’re not telling me something, Dad, and whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Anger flared within the depths of his father’s dark eyes, but there was regret and remorse echoing in the flames surrounding Harry’s wisp and he knew the anger was a cover. “I have already told you that this does not concern you,” Severus began in a hard tone but Harry cut him off.

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice soft and warbling just slightly as he tried not to let his sudden fear out into the open.

The usually dormant barrier between their minds snapped into place.

“I beg your pardon?”

Harry carefully kept himself from reacting with anger. “Margaret said that I don’t need to know what you did.”

Severus dropped the scroll onto the desk; it rolled and came to a stop beside Tobias’ ruby red strap. “I do not wish to discuss this further,” he said in a low voice.

Harry swallowed as he pulled his gaze from the horrible leather. “Why?”

“Harry-”

“What did you do that was so awful that you can’t even talk about it?” Harry demanded, his voice rising a little. “You did something to your mother, didn’t you?”

And that was it. Harry knew it just from the way his father gazed at him—that gaze as icy has Harry had seen it in almost a year. Severus didn’t answer as he came around the desk. “As you no doubt heard Daniel say,” he said coldly, “we have guests to attend to.”

“Who cares about the guests? Why won’t you tell me?”

Severus spun sharply around; his eyes were blazing now, the calm mask completely gone. “You will cease this line of questioning instantly, Harry,” he growled. “I will not tell you again.”

Harry paid no attention to the way his insides squirmed at the pronouncement, instead allowing his anger to take over. “Fine,” he snapped.

“Mind your tone,” Severus snapped right back.

So Harry did. He minded it so well that he did nothing more than glare as he wrenched the door open to retreat down the long corridor and out onto the grounds, where mercifully, it had stopped raining.

He went right past Moody and another bloke, who had both been charged by Dumbledore to guard the Manor. Knowing they would have put the protective wards back over the grounds after the undesirables had left, Harry walked all the way over to the edge of the property, to the cliff that overlooked the beach where he and his father had come before Christmas.

Harry stared out at the gently cresting water for a long time, glad it was no longer raining. He dug his fists deep into his pockets, and hunched his shoulders against the wind which was just starting to pick up. He didn’t care that he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. He knew his dad could find him if he had wanted to—he obviously didn’t want to. Not that Harry cared about that either, or so he told himself once more as the water crashed over the sand.

It was hours until sunset; he could just stay here until then. No matter how angry his father was, he would notice his absence by then.

Harry kicked a loose stone from the grass where it was half-buried and glared at it as it arced through the air, over the small cliff and plopped into the waving water. A movement in his peripheral vision made him turn his head. And for a moment, every nerve in his body seemed to come alive.

Ginny.

Her pretty nose was wrinkled in concern, and her lips were curved into a soft, sad smile. Without a word, she came forward, or maybe he made the first move; he couldn’t be certain. But an instant later, she was in his arms, her head tucked just beneath his chin, just where it belonged. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him, her grip so tight, there was something desperate about it. Something final in the way she pressed her fingertips against his nape.

But he couldn’t let it matter. He pressed his lips to Ginny’s fiery hair; she trembled, and Harry held her even tighter. Nothing was wrong, he told himself. Nothing could be wrong, as long as he was holding her.