Hermione loitered in the hallway outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She was early, and Ron had said they needed to talk. Since Potions always ran until the last possible minute, Hermione suspected she had at least ten minutes before Harry arrived. Deep in some conversation with Malfoy, she added to herself.

Ron ran up a few minutes later. "Glad you're here," he said.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"A few things. First, I asked Harry, straight out, about the potions, last night."

"And?"

"He said he was making it up to distract you."

"What?"

"He said he thought you'd ask fewer questions if you thought you were figuring stuff out on your own."

"That's insane!" Hermione said incredulously.

"That's about what I said."

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know. Anyway, I think I should act like it's true. It makes it easier to do what Professor Lupin wants, doesn't it?"

"I suppose." Hermione sighed. "And he and I made a bargain, yesterday."

"That being?"

"Neither of us will mention anything the other has done, unless it happens again."

Ron considered this and nodded. "I suppose," he said neutrally, as Ernie Macmillan walked by. He looked at Hermione. "So, should we try to get him to sit with us, today?"

"He'll be with Draco."

"I know. Should we try?"

"He won't."

"He was friendly with me, last night."

"Lucky you."

Ron hesitated. "I think I'm-- I'm less pushy. He talks when it's just me, 'cause he knows I don't argue much. When we fight, it's terrible, but usually, we don't."

"Do you think he'll sit with you if I'm not there?"

"Could be."

"Fine." Hermione tried not to sound upset, but she could hear that it hadn't worked. "I'll sit with Padma, and you try to get Harry to sit with you."

"Okay." Ron took a deep breath and waited for Hannah Abbot to pass them and go into the classroom. "When do we confess about the map?"

"You want to actually tell him what it was for?"

"I think we might as well get it over with."

Hermione hesitated. She knew that Ron was right. Attempting to tell Harry only half of the story of the map would only prolong the time he was angry with them for it.

"Perhaps after Care of Magical Creatures?"

"While Hagrid's still close enough to keep him from killing us?" Ron joked.

Hermione laughed weakly. "Um... right."

Severus was not at the staff table at breakfast. Harry was terrified something had happened on his day working for Voldemort. Logically, he thought Professor Dumbledore would have told him, had anything gone wrong, but he rushed anxiously down to the Potions classroom, nonetheless. He was relieved to see Severus enter, looking as exhausted as Remus, but unharmed. Potions was an unusually quiet class.

When Harry and Draco entered Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hermione was sitting with Padma, and Ron was sitting alone. Harry wondered if they had fought, and if it had been about him. Ron motioned him over.

"What?" Harry asked, pausing in the aisle.

"Sit with me?" Ron asked.

Harry grinned, but shook his head. "What, Hermione won't share her notes? I'll sit with you at lunch, okay?"

Ron looked down. "Fine," he agreed.

Harry sat with Draco. While they were settling in, Professor Lupin entered. He walked to his place at the front of the class.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry glanced up from peering over at Draco's notes. Professor Lupin was regarding him grimly. Of course, this close to the moon, Lupin either looked grim or on the verge of collapse.

"Yes sir?"

"Please come see me in my office at four o'clock."

Harry looked apprehensively at Draco.

"And you are not to associate with that evil boy!" Draco whispered imperiously.

Harry muffled a laugh.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

Lunch was pleasant. Hermione was true to her word, and did not pester Harry about anything, though that seemed, sometimes, to leave her at a loss for words. It didn't help her, Harry thought, that Ron had decided to fill the space by talking about Quidditch. Finally, Harry cut him off.

"When do you think we'll have a Hogsmeade weekend?" he asked.

"This weekend, I expect," Hermione said.

"Vector tell you?" Ron asked.

"No, but it can't be the next one, right? Because of the Quidditch game. And the one after that is a bit late."

"Well that's good!" Harry said. "I've run out of Chocolate Frogs."

"We used to eat them all the first day," Ron reminded him. He sounded almost wistful.

"You still do," Hermione said loftily.

"I now prefer having a supply to eating them until I feel sick," Harry commented. "I think it's one of those 'growing up' things."

After Care of Magical Creatures, Harry started up to school, only to find himself between Ron and Hermione. Hermione caught at his arm and Ron at his shoulder. Instinctively, Harry backed up a pace, so they were both in front of him, rather than one on each side.

"What?" he demanded.

"We need to talk to you," Ron said seriously.

"Oh no! You promised--"

"Not to ask you anything," Hermione said quickly. "We have something to confess."

Harry sighed. Well, this, at least, he could tolerate, he decided. "Let me guess," he said, rolling his eyes, "you're going out again, right? I haven't been losing any sleep over it, but I'm not particularly surprised, and I just wish--"

"No," Hermione interrupted. "We're not."

"Yeah?" Harry challenged. "Then what's all the skulking around?"

Ron and Hermione looked nervously at each other for a minute.

"We've been working on a new map of Hogwarts--" Hermione began.

"Like the Marauder's Map."

"We were planning to give it to you when we were done."

Harry felt like he'd been plunged into ice. He could only think of one reason why they would not have asked him to help. "And until then?"

"We thought we might be able to find out where you went."

Harry heard his voice come out flat and cold. "You goddamned, fucking traitors."

"We wouldn't have told--"

"We just wanted to handle it ourselves--"

"I DON'T CARE!!" He was screaming now. It was just as unreal.

Hermione rummaged frantically in her bag. She pulled out a roll of parchment and thrust it at him.

"It's a wonderful project," she said, her words tumbling over each other in her hurry. 'I realized that was why I couldn't stop. You can hold onto it, so you know we're not using it, but I'd like to continue --"

"GET AWAY FROM ME! I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT!"

"Harry--" Ron tried.

Instantly, the searing rage was gone. Harry was trapped in ice. "I don't care," he said, a third time, coldly. "Don't ever speak to me again."

Without looking at the roll of parchment, he took it and stalked off. Ron and Hermione did not follow.

It was still an hour until Harry was supposed to meet Remus. He went to Remus's office anyway. Remus was not there, yet; he was probably still in class with younger kids. His office was unlocked. Harry sat on the worn couch, fuming. Remus must have helped them. Hermione would never have ignored such a valuable resource. The two-faced, sneaking bastard! I'll kill him.

He finally unrolled the map and looked at it, and cold fear began to undermine his fury. They'd got close. The spotty areas of mapping showed how they had concentrated their efforts to match his movements. Severus's parlor showed, along with the doors to the kitchen and bathroom. Harry wondered when they had seen him there. The lab was not mapped, but a faint mark was at the door.

He saw a little dot labeled "Draco Malfoy" appear at Severus's door. A little dot labeled "Severus Snape" let it in. Embarrassed, Harry rolled up the map. Knowing that he would have watched, fascinated and guessing frantically, a year ago, did not help his mood in the slightest. He was certain that Hermione and Ron would have watched, and had the frightened thought that perhaps he had become older than they had. Hermione had always been the oldest of them, before.

At three-thirty, Remus came in. He started at the sight of Harry on his couch.

"Did you know?" Harry demanded.

"Excuse me?" Remus asked tentatively.

"About the map! The one Ron and Hermione were making?"

Remus looked confused. "They asked me how the map was made...."

"Did you know they were using it to spy on me?"

Remus's eyes widened. "Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry! I had no idea." When Harry continued to glare at him, he sat down at the other end of the couch and sunk his head in his hands. "Harry, please! I didn't know. I understand how you feel."

"Do you?"

Remus bit his lip. "Sirius and James did that to me...."

Curiosity cut through Harry's anger. He twisted to face Remus. "When you were seeing Severus?"

Remus looked startled. Slowly he nodded.

"Did Severus know? That they did that to you?"

Remus laughed slightly. "Of course. I went running to him and wept. And then he told me he was a much better friend to me, and then I wanted to defend them. It was horrible." He hesitated. "I don't know how much you know...."

"He's told me about some of it."

"Told you!" Remus laughed again, even more falsely. "I didn't think he would admit to that."

"Sorry," Harry said. "He seems to be mellowing on you, though.'

"Yes." Remus shuddered. "Well, that's not likely to last long."

"Does he know where I am?" Harry asked.

"As you are a half-hour early, no. But we know who he'd come after if you disappeared, so you had better stay."

"Sorry."

"It's perfectly all right, Harry. Sometimes it's even a convenience -- to say I am being watched."

"Father's right then."

Remus flinched, and Harry realized what he had said. Perhaps it was easier, now that he listened to Draco frequently -- Draco said "Father" as naturally as Ron said "Dad." Still, he knew he had never referred to anyone that way, before. He ignored the growing heat in his cheeks.

"Yes," Remus said, not commenting on the title. "I'm not embroiled, as he is, but it still helps."

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

Remus suddenly looked sad, as well as tired. "No," he admitted. "But I won't hurt you, Harry. You are as dear to me as my own child."

Harry found the promise of a trust he had taken for granted frightening. "Thanks," he managed.

"But Severus is right. If you don't trust me, it is all much easier. And I'm tired. The approach of the wolf makes me ill."

"I know that."

"Good." Remus traced a finger along the weave of the couch back. "Do not be alone with me, in secret, this week."

"Remus?" Harry asked, panicked.

"He's a clever one," Remus said idly. "Oh -- a message. Severus wants you to come and see him on Tuesday night. I've persuaded him that the addiction scheme is a bad idea -- it is, you know -- so he says to come when your roommates are all asleep."

"I didn't expect such trouble."

"Obviously." Remus grinned. "You're hopeless as a Muggle, you know."

Harry slouched back into the cushions. "But I'm not any better as a wizard."

Remus looked serious. "Harry -- on Saturday -- were you upset?"

"What do you think?"

"Before you saw Hermione, I mean. Severus says you fought...."

"Oh! No, we'd had a wonderful day. I think I was too relaxed, really." Harry pulled his fingers through his hair. "Though perhaps not as much as I managed to think I was. The thought of him leaving...." He hesitated. "You know, right?

"Where he disappeared to, yesterday? Yes. I know."

"That was hanging over everything." Harry twisted the ring on his finger. The green stone sparkled as it shifted in the light. "But yesterday wasn't as bad as the time before. I had my little fits, but I mostly managed to ignore it. I didn't panic until this morning, when he wasn't at breakfast." Harry wanted to pull his legs up and curl into them. He straightened and moved his hands apart.

"Will I get used to that?" he asked desperately. "Did you? When people go away, like that, and they might...?"

Remus shivered. "It never feels like it," he murmured. He focus grew distant. "Then one day, someone doesn't come home, and you find that you had done." He looked up with a start, guilt adding tension to his worn face. "I'm sorry, Harry! That was a horrible thing to say."

"Don't -- you can tell me these things."

Remus stood up and took a step away. He looked down at his desk. "You're too young."

"That doesn't keep me from these problems," Harry pointed out. "Anyway, Severus came home, this time."

Remus turned to smile affectionately at him. "I wish we could protect you," he said sadly. He leaned back against the desk. "How is the rest of your life?" he asked, with a trace of irony.

"Just ... surreal. I feel so schizo. I need to be someone entirely different when I'm in Gryffindor."

"That's not good."

"No, it isn't," Harry agreed. He pushed the hair out of his face and wondered if it was long enough to tie back.

"Is it an act? The other things, I mean -- your Gryffindor personality."

"Not entirely." Harry thought. "No," he said, more confidently. "But it's edited. Severus accepts that I'm a Gryffindor, really. It's all teasing and sly insults, but not badly meant. I don't edit much, for him. Ron and Hermione would never accept the extent to which I'm also a Slytherin."

Remus came back and sat down, again, in the chair, this time. He gave Harry a wry smile. "Have I mentioned that I dislike the house system increasingly, the older I get?"

"No, but I'm glad. It makes me feel less crazy."

"Harry..." Remus leaned forward, elbows on knees, and seemed to pour all the energy he could muster into sincerity. "The Sorting Hat is pieces of the founders' thoughts. If two of the founders liked you enough to claim you, that's a good thing, not a bad one. You have a breadth of talent. Be proud of that."

Harry was feeling calmer, by the time he went back to Gryffindor. He glanced around the common room as he entered it. Hermione was not there. Ron was sitting, hunched over, near the fireplace, speaking to Ginny and Zoë. Harry went to a chair on the other side of the room and started unpacking his bags. He felt somebody watching him, and looked up to see Zoë. Her straight hair was pulled to one side in a glossy, walnut braid. With the robes, it gave her, to Harry, the look of a maiden in a tapestry.

"Do you do archery?" he asked.

"What?"

"You'd make a lovely Maid Marian." Harry took his school bag off the adjoining chair. "Here. Sit."

Zoë giggled and sat. "You're so sweet."

Harry looked doubtfully at her, causing another giggle. He found himself wondering why he had ever hated girls giggling.

"So," Zoë said, timidly.

"You've been listening to Ron," Harry guessed.

"Yes. He says that you fought and you hate him."

"He and Hermione have been using a magical device to spy on me."

"Oh, Harry!" Zoë exclaimed sympathetically. "That's awful."

"They've been driving me completely crazy! I don't know how I could ever trust them, after this."

Zoë sighed. "Ginny wanted me to tell you something."

"Ginny can't talk to me herself?" Harry asked sharply.

"She's busy with her brother, at the moment," Zoë pointed out. "Anyway, she wants you to know that she knew what was going on, last week, and she didn't tell you, because she thought it was distracting them, and making you fight less."

Harry twitched. "Well, screw her!" he managed finally.

Zoë shrugged. It was a tight, nervous motion. "She just wanted me to tell you."

"I'm not mad at you."

"I know."

"But I'm not going to be pleasant, right now, either," Harry admitted. "I think I'll just bury myself in school work until dinner time, okay?"

"Okay." Zoë looked timidly at him. "Later?"

"'Course."

Tuesday was horrible. Harry spent most of it avoiding Ron and Hermione. He finished the first draft of his essay on Voldemort's rise to power, because he was entirely in the mood to write about manipulative politics: the way Voldemort united oppressed groups, had enough admirable ideas to divide his opposition, and organized groups of violent supporters, while distancing himself from them in public; and how thoroughly suckered the majority of British society had been, until the body count, rather than the injustice, got too high to ignore.

Harry reread the essay, frowning at the mentions of werewolves. That was happening again. He snorted. Trust Voldemort to try to use the same script a second time. He frowned more deeply as he realized it was still working, though not the way it had, the first time. This time, the government was cracking down. Voldemort might be unimaginative, but he was still clever. Against the backdrop of the Ministry repression, the same technique might be working better, in some ways.

He scribbled a note to himself -- Ask Remus about Voldemort's first courting of the werewolves -- and stuck it in his Defense text, so he would see it in class.

On Tuesday evening, he needed to get through Quidditch practice with both Ron and Ginny. He gave no advice, for once, merely shouted orders, then ignored everyone. He felt a bit guilty when he saw Ginny picking up the slack, coaching Iggy on a coordinated pass sequence, but his anger was stronger, and he remained high above the rest of the team, as if they were in a game. Ginny had still made no attempt to talk to him since her relayed message, the previous night.

After practice, he showered and went straight back to Gryffindor and to bed. He set his wand to replay a silent alarm, in case he actually slept. Neville looked up from the dormitory desk as Harry settled in his bed.

"Should I go, Harry?"

"No, I'll just draw my curtains," Harry said. Perfect, he thought. "I don't mind having you here."

He did sleep. He woke briefly to the sound of others moving around, then slept again, until his wand heated and twitched beneath his pillow, to wake him. Then he cautiously checked outside the curtains.

The nearly-full moon spilled light in the window -- enough that he could see without wandlight. Harry was grateful for that. The other boys were all in their beds and asleep. Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out from under his covers and put it on over his pajamas, then padded quietly from the room and down to the dungeons.

Harry entered Severus's rooms quietly, but Severus, his wand out, appeared almost instantly in the kitchen door.

"Just me."

"So I see." Severus pocketed the wand. "Take the rest of that cloak off -- I hate speaking to your floating head, it feels like an uninspired nightmare -- and come join me."

When Harry got to the kitchen, Severus pushed a cup of tea at him and sat back to study him.

"You've changed again."

"I have?"

"Not fond of mirrors, are you?"

"Not really, no," Harry admitted.

"Come here."

Severus led Harry into his summer bedroom, where the wardrobe mirror greeted him sleepily.

"Growing the hair out, dearie?"

"I haven't decided," Harry said automatically. He stared at his reflection.

The scar was still there. It was clearer than ever, now that he had no fringe to hide it. The long strands that fell to either side of his face were certainly not a fringe, anymore. His face had changed. The chin, he thought, was still the same, but the cheekbones and length of his face were closer to Severus's than they had been before. He scowled experimentally, and the expression reminded him eerily of an annoyed Professor Snape, with more shallow lines at the mouth and brow, and far more expressive eyes. He smiled cheerfully, and that expression did not resemble anything familiar. His default expression, he noted, had less receptiveness to it.

Harry reached up to pull the hair back, and noticed his hands -- long-fingered and gracefully slender. The lady's ring did not look out of place on them, now, any more than it would on Malfoy's hands.

With his hair back, he looked less like Severus and more like a stranger. He suspected he'd also look a bit silly, as the front hair was only just long enough to gather, leaving a tuft that would stick straight out in back. He released the bundle.

Severus's hands slid through his hair, pulling the front sections up and back. "You could wear it as Lucius did," he said slyly.

Fortunately, Harry thought, studying himself that way, he looked nothing like Lucius Malfoy. To his surprise, Harry liked the way he looked with his hair like that, even though it displayed his scar even more plainly. He decided he was as tired of hiding his scar as he had been of avoiding snakes. Perhaps people will get over it faster, if it's right out there. Yes, he decided, his hair looked good this way, and it might mislead observers about the change in facial shape. Anybody's face would look different with that drastic a change. He wouldn't wear it that way in Muggle territory, or he'd be a target for every local boy looking for a scrap, but it was perfectly fine for a wizard. He chuckled.

"Hm?"

"Oh, I was just thinking a Muggle would find that feminine, but I don't, particularly. I've seen too many men walking around like that to retain the association."

"But you notice."

"As 'must not go into Muggle London looking like that,'" Harry said.

"Huhn." Severus released the hair, causing it to tumble down in feathered sprays. "Well, you're not old enough to grow your hair, anyway."

"But shouldn't I?" Harry asked. "No one knows about you. The people who know about Sirius know that he's died. The Dursleys are dead. Shouldn't I be growing my hair?"

Severus shivered. "I suppose. It makes me feel unreal, though, or rejected, or doomed."

"Oh. Well, I'll cut it, then."

"No -- no, leave it. You're right, and I'm being foolish. But pull it back in some way -- you look too much like me with it falling around your face."

"Shouldn't Draco be growing his hair, too?" Harry asked.

Severus frowned. "Draco is in denial. He cuts his hair in acknowledgment of his father, believing Lucius will secure a release, somehow. It will not happen."

Harry returned to studying his own face. He peered down at his feet and realized the pajamas, although he had extended them three weeks ago, left his ankles bare.

"I'm sure I've changed since last week."

"This," Severus said dryly, "is one of the many problems with splitting your skull on the slates."

"Oh no!" Harry's eyes widened. Blood loss. "I swear, I didn't mean to. I hadn't realized it would be harder to control the fall when I was casting."

"Why did you do that, though? What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"I wasn't; I just panicked. I hadn't expected them to have noticed I was gone, and wasn't prepared to put on an act. I'd been so open, all day, with the adder, and with you, and I was just ... I couldn't hurt her, that way."

Severus's expression soured. "You're going to plead with me for permission to tell them, again, aren't you?"

Harry shook his head. "No. At the moment, I wouldn't trust them with that." He sighed and told Severus about the map, including that one of the rooms on it was Severus's parlor. Severus, as Harry expected, went tight-lipped with offense at this news. Harry thought Ron was lucky to not be taking Potions. Whatever Hermione did on Thursday was certain to be found to be wrong.

"Hermione had the gall to tell me she wants to finish it," Harry finished bitterly. "'It's such an interesting project!'" he mimicked. "I half want to burn the thing."

"I recall," Severus said slowly, "seeing Remus on the original map, going down to the Shrieking Shack."

Harry closed his eyes. Of all things he did not want to remember.... He found a core of anger, still, at Snape's behavior, that evening.

"Sorry to remind you. But I know the usefulness of it."

Harry forced a nod. "It is very useful," he agreed. I miss you, Sirius. You could be here, making my life even more of a divided mess, and I wouldn't mind at all.

"I think you should complete it."

"What? Why?" Indignation brought Harry's eyes open. "So I can spy on people?"

"So you can see if enemies are approaching the school. Even if you do no more in the castle, map the gardens by the entrance, the track from Hogsmeade, the secret tunnel, and the grounds between the Forbidden Forest and the school. Do that, and check it regularly for intruders, especially at sunset and lights out."

Harry hissed out a breath. "I don't want to work with them. Could I ask Remus to help me?"

Severus shook his head. "Harry, Lupin is a teacher. Don't lead him into things he cannot justify. Work with Weasley and Granger, but don't concede anything. Tell them they owe you."

"I suppose." Harry didn't want to do that, either, but his opposition to that would be harder to explain.

They moved back to the kitchen. Severus warmed his tea with a spell.

"How are the spy devices coming?" Harry asked.

"Not well."

"How about the Squib drug?"

"The what?"

"The stuff you were giving to Avery?"

"Oh, yes. I told him I'd needed some for a project, and asked if he wanted the extra. He jumped at it. I was careful, though, to be slightly concerned and ask if he was sure he could handle it. I thought the amount I gave him would last two weeks if he was restless, five or more if he was careful. On Sunday, he came to see me and ask if I would make him more."

"Did you?"

"No. I was quite shocked, of course. I reminded him of the possible danger of becoming a squib, and said perhaps I better not. He offered me quite a lot of money, some interesting artifacts, and one of his house-elves, in turn. I told him perhaps, for the artifacts. I needed to consider. He is coming to see me tomorrow night."

"I see."

They moved on to discussing Remus's insight into their failed drug deception. Harry acknowledged that parts of Muggle society were automatic to him, but others perplexed him.

"Rather like Wizarding society. The problem is," he said, "I'm not likely to become any better at that until I'm out of school. What I really need is to be in it, and school is such a controlled segment of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, clothes, for example. I'm used to school robes, now. But the things wizards and witches wear in Hogsmeade still make me want to stare. I only see them a few times a year. And I can't look at a wizard and say anything about his style.... If I look at a Muggle, I might think "businessman" or "artist" or "rebellious teenager" or "perfect Mummy's boy," but I have no idea of those things with wizards. I mean -- Malfoy, even I can tell Malfoy is money, but anything more subtle than that and I'm lost."

"Obviously, the answer is to spend more time in mainstream society," Severus commented. "Just as obviously, that would be, at this time, suicidal."

"Right. And then there are social customs. Hermione read somewhere, recently, that short hair on a unmarried witch means she doesn't want to marry."

"Not necessarily that she is opposed," Severus warned. "Just that she is not soliciting offers."

"Which means all the rest are?" Harry yelped.

"Women need husbands," Severus said complacently.

"No they don't!" Harry objected.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Harry, really! If only long enough to have a child or two."

"See, this is the weird thing. In some ways, Wizarding society seems really sexist. But in others -- I mean, I can tell from history, or even Chocolate Frogs cards, that more witches have been recognized for their abilities and contributions than Muggle women, and for longer, so, in that way, it is less sexist. I don't know what to make of it."

"Wizarding society is more family-oriented than Muggle society," Severus said pedantically. "It is important to have children. But we also live longer, so the part of your life devoted to having and raising children is less of a sacrifice. There is plenty of time later to be a scholar, a hunter, a merchant, an alchemist, a poet. Most reputable people have their family first."

"See, that didn't even occur to me. If I survive Voldemort, I could live into my hundreds, couldn't I?"

"It is not only possible, but likely."

"But how do I learn these things? Other than one at a time, by making some embarrassing mistake? Hermione gets a bit from books, but I don't have the patience."

Severus thought. "Remus felt your lack of Muggle socialization had as much to do with your lack of exposure to stories as to your lack of interaction with non-kinsmen."

"Perhaps."

"Then perhaps you should read -- not sociology, but stories. Novels. Adventures, romances, stories of growing up. This will show you what these things mean to us."

Harry considered that. He felt a flash of excitement. He had never seen a wizarding story -- he wondered what they were like. He had enjoyed Muggle books when he was in Muggle school -- the library was one of the few places Dudley did not dare attack him.

Severus, meanwhile, was developing a noticeable smirk. "I suggest you avoid any comedies of manners," he noted slyly. "You would miss the humor and be further confused."

"Is there anything like that in the library?" Harry asked.

Severus gave a dismissive wave. "A few dull classics and morality tales. No, ask at the bookstore on Saturday."

Harry nodded. As Hermione had predicted, a Hogsmeade weekend had been announced Monday evening. He decided it would be fun to go into the bookstore for stories. In his own mind, it felt delightfully decadent and liberating.

"I'll do that," he said aloud.

They talked a while longer, until Harry began to yawn, despite the tea. Severus drew a box about the size of a walnut from an inner pocket in his robes and handed it to Harry.

"It contains a portkey," he said, "which will bring you here. That will be safer than walking down, but, as you won't be able to look ahead, use it only when we have arranged a time, or in the sort of emergency that obviously overrides such a restriction."

Harry nodded. "Thanks!"

"I intend to ask Dumbledore for a second, limited, portkey that will take you from here to your dormitory. I'd ask for floo access to your common room, but your head of house would need to be informed. For now, however, I'm afraid you will need to walk, and risk the doors and other portals."

"And Mrs. Norris."

"And Mrs. Norris."

Severus rose from his chair and stretched. Something in his back clicked audibly.

"Sitting hunched over, again," he said. "Augustus would have scolded me."

"And Lucius?"

"Lucius lived long enough to give up."

Harry rose also, compelled to his feet by Severus standing.

"We both need some sleep," Severus said seriously.

"Should I go now, then?"

"In a moment. I have one more thing to give you, but it's in the parlor."

Curious, Harry followed his father back into the front room, and over to his desk. Severus pointed his wand at a small drawer and muttered a password, then reached over to open it. He drew out a folded parchment. Awkwardly, he thrust it toward Harry.

"A copy of Lily's letter." His hands clenched. "I know you can bespell it to appear blank, but with such clever friends as you have, I would rather you left it in your room, here, if you wish to keep it." He stepped back. "I am... am going to get ready for bed. Perhaps you would like to take it to your room?"

Harry nodded. He couldn't think of any words. He wanted desperately to open the letter and read it on the spot, but he forced himself to walk calmly back to the kitchen and through it.

In his room, a silver patch of moonlight shone on the wall beside the window. Harry sat down in the cool glow before calling light to the wall torches. Curled into the corner made by soft, warm drapes and hard, cold glass, he opened the letter and read.

The first few paragraphs contained nothing he had not known, but all presented quickly, to someone to whom nothing need be explained. Then, his mother mentioned Sirius.

I request two things: first, do not separate him from his godfather, if they are now fond of each other. I know you do not approve of Sirius, but we chose him, in part, to be your balance.

Ouch. It's nice to know that they had a plan, but he wouldn't have liked reading that. 'Incidentally, we made someone you hate your son's godfather. We think he needs that.'

Second, I earnestly hope you do not regret a half-blood child, but if you do, send him from you quickly rather than subjecting him to the slow poison of your bile. Our Harry does not deserve that for your choice of women.

And that request, and the memories behind it, would have been far worse. Still, he can't blame her. I wish I could tell her how good he's been about it.

Farewell, my beloved. It hurt to deceive you in this, which should have been my greatest gift to you. Cherish our son, and hold none of what I spun with James against him.

Oh! Harry felt himself redden. Well, that made up for the last two items, I expect. I wonder if he would have tried as much without that?

I love you always, my obsidian blade, my shadow prince, my first love. If you love me still, treat Harry kindly.

Charms draw the shades of night around our kisses
and the wind bear our amorous cries unheard to heaven

Lily

The letter ended with a little sketch of a daylily, like the one on Harry's own. And she did love him. Somehow, that made a difference. Harry felt as much relief as embarrassment flood through him at the intimacy of the last lines.

He stared at the paper a while, until he noticed that he was denting the edges with his grip. He knew it was just a copy, but still, he smoothed out the paper, and stroked it against his cheek.

"Love you, Mum," he whispered.

He opened the drawer on his bedside table and put away the letter. The sight of four vials of bubble stuff reminded him that he might have need for a couple of Calming Draughts soon, and he pocketed two of them before closing the drawer.

Severus was in the bathroom when Harry got out to the parlor. Harry suspected that his father would be as awkward attempting to say good night as he would be, after he had read that letter. He called the words softly, at a volume Severus could claim not to have heard, threw on his cloak, and left.