Harry rubbed his sore bum. Seriously, four hours non-stop on a broom should have been illegal. He then snorted. So, maybe he was becoming a little soft or something since he'd had longer Quidditch games before, but his bum really hurt. His dad laughed once, walking parallel with a horse on the other side of a fence that appeared to be escorting them to the main gates.

"Dad, what are we doing here?"

"I would think that's obvious, Harry," his father replied. He then inhaled slowly, stating his name to the woman standing at the gate.

"Dad, tell me. What are we doing here?"

"Have either you went riding before?" the woman asked, handing back his magical card.

"I have, but that was long ago. My son hasn't had the pleasure yet."

"Wait . . . we're going horseback riding? Seriously?" asked Harry, forgetting about his sore bum.

"Well, your son appears to be quite happy about it, sir." The woman then laughed softly as she opened the gate, allowing them in. "There's gear in the changing rooms for you both to borrow." She then raised a hand, calling one of the workers over. "Roger here will make sure everything's snug and on right." She then whispered something in the man's ear before nodding back and motioning for them to go on their way.

"We're riding a horse, a real live horse, Dad?"

"As opposed to a dead one, yes," his father drawled, grimacing at the gear. He then glanced towards Harry's shoes. "Thankfully, you took my advice and decided to wear your boots."

"Why? What'd happen if I didn't?"

"No trainers allowed in the riding area," Roger said, smiling softly. "So, you'd be out of luck when it'd come time to ride one."

"Good thing I listened then," Harry said quietly. He then held something up, staring at it. "What is this, Dad?"

"They're your riding chaps, lad," Roger answered, laughing softly. "You put them on over your trousers to make sure that you don't fall out of the saddle." He then smacked a glove against his. "Granted, they're not going to provide much relief once you finish riding today, but it'll at least make it so you don't scratch your leg all to hell, or even hurt our horse."

Once Harry had finished adjusting his chaps, he stood up with a wide grin. That was until a heavy helmet landed on his head, covering his eyes. He pushed it back immediately to get it out of his eyes so he could see again.

"What's this for?"

"To make sure you don't crack your skull open when the horse bucks you off," Roger answered. "Now, now, don't get all upset. Loads of first-time riders end up on their arses. Think of it as the horse's way of toughing you up." The man then laughed loudly. "Bet old Misty will kick your old man off a couple of times before we're done. She seems to like the tall, dark type, sort of like most women, wouldn't you say, sir?"

Harry glanced at his dad, barely keeping the smirk from his face. His dad merely inclined his head, fastening his own riding helmet on tightly. Once Harry's was on as snug as possible, the trio walked out towards the horses. Harry watched Roger whistle and call a few of the horses over.

"There you are, precious," the handler said, gently rubbing the horse's back. "This here is Treasure." He then pointed at the horse standing next to them. "She's Misty." He smiled softly, rubbing both of them down before gently placing the English saddles one at a time on the horses. "You want to feed Treasure a carrot, son?" He held out the long vegetable, smiling when Harry hesitantly took it. "Approach her slowly. Don't be scared when she takes it. There you go. See, now that wasn't so hard?"

Harry smiled, gently running a hand down the horse's long face. He groaned a moment later when the horse licked his face, turning away and laughing.

"I think she likes you, lad. Now, who wants to go first?"

"Go first?" Harry repeated, glancing at his dad.

"I will," answered his father, striding forward towards Misty and Roger. He inhaled deeply through the nose before pushing himself up, swinging his leg over Misty's back. He winced when he sat on the saddle, quickly readjusting himself into a more comfortable position.

"There's no way I can do that."

"That's why I'm here, son. I'll give you a boost."

Harry glanced from Roger to his dad before shrugging. He watched Roger gently tug on the horse's reigns before motioning towards the saddle.

"No need to be worried, lad. Treasure is rather gentle. Now, you want to put your hands right here. There you go. Now, I'm going to push you up, so swing your leg up and over."

"What if I fall off the other side?" Harry then watched his dad gently tap his boots against Misty's sides, causing the horse to walk sideways towards Treasure. A gap between the horses was left.

"Now, you won't fall off the other side," his dad stated.

Harry smiled slightly, nodding. He felt Roger give him a boost up a moment later, which caused the twelve-year-old to pull himself up. His father grabbed his arm when he couldn't pull himself up all the way. Once the young boy was sitting all the way on the black and silver saddle, he sighed anxiously. He then felt Roger move his foot into the stirrup, causing him to do the same on the other side to help.

"Good, good, now grab the reigns like your father is." Roger nodded after glancing at both of Harry's feet and his hands. "I think we're ready to go." He gently pulled on the ropes that were tied to the reigns, causing the two horses to walk slowly behind him. Roger immediately chuckled as Harry instantly wrapped his arms around his horse's neck to hold on for dear life. "You all right there, lad?" he asked, the smile clearly on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, good," Harry mumbled in response.

"Well, you're not gonna see that much if you have your face buried in her mane the entire time, young man. There we go," he said when Harry lifted his head up slightly. "She's a good natured horse, lad. But like any one, she takes offense to you being scared of her." He continued to lead Misty and Treasure around the pasture in a large circle. "So, just keep getting used to riding her like your dad is doing with Misty. Cause I'll let you in on a little secret, son. Riding a horse is all about trust. You trust your horse, and she'll trust you when you command her."

~FTT~

About forty-five minutes later, Harry smiled widely, watching his dad ride Misty gracefully through the pasture as he and Roger looked on. They had just finished with the basics of horse riding like how to instruct the horse of where you want to go and how fast. His dad, it seemed, had ridden a horse loads of times before, making it look so easy.

"Your dad's pretty good at it," Roger commented softly.

"He is," Harry agreed, nodding softly.

"Your bum still hurting from that fall?" questioned Roger, watching Harry's dad.

"Yeah," answered Harry, rising up slightly to rub his sore bum. "That hurt loads."

"What'd you expect a fall from a horse to feel like, son?" He chuckled softly when Harry rolled his eyes. "Would you say it's worth it, though, lad?"

"Oh yeah, it definitely was, sir," the twelve-year-old said with a wide grin, gently running his hand down Treasure's long neck.

"That's what I like hearing," Roger replied, chuckling. "Seems that Misty warmed up to you rather nicely," he said to Harry's dad when Misty trotted towards them.

"So it would seem."

"All right, sport, your turn," Roger announced happily.

"Um, actually, sir, I'd rather not."

"You sure, son?" he asked, staring at him. "Treasure seems to have taken a likening to you too. I'm sure the old gal would be willing to let you trot her about the pasture."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I've had loads of fun today, and I'm pretty certain Treasure's been eyeing a carrot or two for putting up with me."

"Harry," his dad quietly said, staring at him oddly.

"Well, if I were a horse, I know I wouldn't like someone constantly tugging on my reigns."

"All right, well, remember how to dismount?" Roger asked softly.

"Yes, sir, I do." He slowly dismounted, Roger standing to catch him if need be. He then turned around to watch his dad do the same with Misty. His dad, it seemed, had grown up around horses all his life. Or at the very least knew a lot about riding them if he hadn't.

"Thank you, sir, for the lesson," his father stated, inclining his head respectfully at Roger.

"Anytime you two want to come back, we'd love to have you." Roger then smiled at them, motioning towards the changing rooms a moment later. "Just place your equipment on the benches. I'll come pick them up after I get these two ladies some oats."

Harry and his father walked towards it, quickly removing their helmets and chaps once inside and placing it where they had been instructed to. The young boy then groaned, rubbing his bum. He heard his dad chuckle softly.

"Do you want something for the pain?"

"No, I'm fine," the twelve-year-old replied. "It's a bit like the time Oliver had us doing some moves and I fell onto the ground. It'll go away after a bit." He then sighed. "It's probably also because we've been sitting almost all day." He brushed his long, straight black hair back, frowning.

"Is your hair bothering you now?" The amusement was clearly in his father's voice.

"I'm not used to it being like this. I mean, I'm used to it sticking up, not lying flat."

"Well, thankfully you're pants at Potions so your hair won't be exactly like mine," his dad said, smiling faintly as they walked towards the door to leave the riding centre.

"I'm only bad at it because you're always breathing down my neck, making me nervous," Harry replied, shrugging.

"So, if I left you to your own devices, you believe you'd excel in Potions?"

"I don't know, maybe not excel, but I'd be at least proficient in it I think."

"Hmm," his dad said thoughtfully. "We shall have to try that next term."

"You're joking."

"I rarely joke, Harry. Sarcasm yes, joking hardly," his father spoke. "In any case, your mother excelled at Potions. She frequently surpassed even me brewing. It is therefore . . . unfortunate that you take after neither of us in that subject."

"Yeah, but it's not like you can pass down book smarts onto me."

"Do you remember my speech at the beginning of last term?" his dad softly asked, walking beside him as they headed down the road leading out of what Harry supposed could be a town. He then held a hand out, glancing over his shoulder. He withdrew his wand from his wrist holster, gently tapping it against Harry to cast another Disillusionment charm. He did the same to himself a moment later before they mounted their brooms and zoomed up into the air.

"Where are—?" asked the young boy, wondering where they were headed to next. He winced, repositioning himself when his already sore bum noticed that it was riding yet another thing again.

"Answer me, Harry."

"Um, yeah, you said that you could put a stopper in death."

"Before that," his father interjected quietly.

"To be honest, Dad, I only remember the 'put a stopper in death,' 'brew glory' stuff, since it sounded rather wicked." Harry winced again. This time when he heard his dad exhale loudly.

"I said that there were a select few who possessed the predisposition of Potions."

"Yeah, I remember. You looked at Malfoy."

"I did. He's from a long line of Slytherins on both sides. Excelling in Potions is a trait that all Slytherins, all true Slytherins, have, which they tend to pass onto their children."

"I'm not a Slytherin, though, Dad."

"No. But you are, however, my son."

"Sorry to be a disappointment," the young boy softly said, hanging his head.

"No, Harry, that's not what I meant." He then sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You come from a long line of Slytherins also, but only on your grandmother's side. As I said, though, your mother was amazing, understanding all of the intricacies of proper brewing. I am merely attempting to inform you that I should have looked towards you also. I was aware of you being my son at that time. Granted, I'll admit that I didn't want to believe it. But you likely are predisposed with our tendencies."

Harry smiled softly. Maybe he wasn't that bad at Potions as he thought he was. He did after all pass it. He then followed his father down as they landed in an abandoned alleyway out of Muggle sight. The brooms were once again shrunk and placed into the bag his father slung over his shoulder before they walked down the street.

"Ugh," the young boy said, wrinkling up his nose. "It smells like a dead body here, Dad."

"That would be the river," his father replied quietly. "Years ago, there was a textile mill here. When it closed down, the stench unfortunately remained." He then stopped, pausing for a moment as he noticed the park in front of them.

"Is everything all right, Dad?"

"Yes." He then watched Harry nod his head before walking towards the swings set. His mouth opened, only to close when the young boy sat down on a swing. That was the same swing—well, at the very least same side—that Harry's mother had sat on all those years ago.

"I bet I can go higher than you can, Dad." The green-eyed boy then started to pump his legs, swinging higher and higher with loud laughs bubbling out of him. He seemed so lost in his own enjoyment that he didn't even notice his dad's smile as he watched Harry.

"Your mother loved to swing," his dad said, gaining his attention. "She used to swing so high before jumping off it. She always landed so gracefully, using her magic instinctively to stabilize her. "

"She flew?"

"That's one way of saying it, yes," his dad replied, clearly remembering something. "She taught me how she did it our second year." Slowly, his father started to move back and forth in his swing, pumping his legs to get higher and higher. He then leapt off, seemingly floating back down onto the ground a moment later.

"Whoa! That's wicked, Dad!" Harry exclaimed loudly. "Teach it to me. Teach it to me, Dad!"

"Maybe over the holidays," his dad replied. "We should continue on, though, Harry." He smiled faintly when the young boy groaned in protest but followed.

They walked down the street towards the row houses. Harry said nothing about the stench increasing, which Severus was glad for. He glanced at each house, remembering the times he had to count in order to remember where he lived.

"Where are we going, Dad?"

"Your mother lived on this street," his father answered quietly, stopping in front of it a moment later. The house was exactly how he remembered it. Time had not changed a thing. "She lived in this house," his dad stated, pointing at it. He then sighed, silently walking up to the front door. He caught Harry's hesitation. "The house has been vacant since your grandparents' deaths."

"Oh," the young boy said, slowly following him inside. He grimaced at the spider webs, noticing his dad brushing them aside without a word. "Do you know where Mum's room was?" His eyes narrowed when his dad's shoulders hunched. "Dad, is everything all right?"

"Yes, it's fine." His father then started forward again, heading up the stairs. He stopped a moment later, pointing at an opened room as he hovered near the door. "Lily's room," he merely said, stepping aside to allow Harry to enter it. He remained silent as his son looked around with a ghost of a smile. "She typically had flowers in that vase. I'd bring her occasionally daisies if I could find them."

"She liked daisies?"

"She loved all flowers. Lilies of course were her favorite, but I never had money for that." His eyes then narrowed as Harry opened the drawer to her nightstand and pulled out a tiny journal. He said nothing when his son turned the page and silently read through it.

"Think she'd mind if I kept this?"

"All of this, I'd imagine, should belong to you anyway," his dad replied. "So, no, Harry."

Quietly, they then walked back downstairs. Harry grabbed a family photo hanging on the wall on the way out. His father smiled faintly, steering him out onto the street again a moment later.

"If you met her when you were younger, does that mean you lived here, too?"

"Unfortunately," his father answered glumly. He then glanced down at a pocket watch, frowning. "Regrettably, we have a train to catch, Harry. Let's go."

Harry sighed, but followed again. He wasn't sure, but he swore his dad just lied to him so they'd leave the neighborhood. After all, what train left at that time anyway?