"Why didn't you say anything to Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked, rolling his wand on the table.

Snape scowled at him, and appeared to be considering whether he'd bother answering Harry or not.

"It is usually beneficial to gather as much information as possible before contradicting anything," Snape finally said, slipping to another page of the notes.  He missed Harry gawking.

"Oh that's rich. This from the man who was so quick to jump down my throat whenever something happened at school."

Snape put down the papers and full-on glared at Harry.

"That's because you were usually behind what happened at school."

"I was not! You just had a blind hatred of me and zeroed in whenever convenient. You had a Potter prejudice," Harry accused, pointing his finger on the table in front of Snape to make his point.

"I have a prejudice against morons," Snape corrected, shoving Harry's hand out of his space. Harry shoved back, pushing against Snape's shoulder, and the chairs started to move as they pushed each other.

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore coughed, popping into his portrait.

Harry, who'd twisted his right arm under Snape's left and had a tight grip on Snape's collar, blushed and froze at the headmaster's voice.

Snape didn't seem to have any qualms about seeing his former employer, however, and knocked Harry in the back of the head as he moved his left arm back over their shared side.

"Headmaster," Snape greeted, steeping his fingers together and resting his hands on the table.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry nodded. He wondered how on earth the artist had managed to get the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye painted properly.

"Let me just say, my boys, that I am very pleased to see that both of you made it out of this war relatively unscathed. I spent many sleepless nights fearing you wouldn't."

"You call this unscathed?" Snape said, in a low voice that Harry had heard before in the Order meetings. It was the tone Snape used when he thought a suggested plan of action was particularly stupid.

Dumbledore held up his hand, the one that had been blackened by the curse that had killed him. It was now a pale-ish pink colour, his normal skin tone.

"I would say so, wouldn't you, Severus?"

Chastised, Snape sat back in the chair with a small huff of breath.

Dumbledore smiled again at them, his mauve-coloured robes seeming to shimmer in the painting, as if they'd been recently dry cleaned.

"I want to congratulate you both. It appears that I was very wrong in my assessment of defeating Voldemort, and I am very grateful that you were able to still carry on in spite of my mistakes," Dumbledore said, his tone friendly and fatherly like it had been when Harry had first started at Hogwarts. This time, however, he was addressing Harry as an adult.

There was silence for a moment in the kitchen, as Harry didn't know what to say and Snape appeared to be thinking.

"Err, thank you, sir," Harry finally said, smiling a little.

"How much have you heard of what happened?" Snape commanded, his tone showing respect but his facial expressions piercing.

"Just the basics, as reported by Minerva, Severus. Young Harry cast a supremely strong patronus, which seems to have left Voldemort vulnerable to your curse that followed as you tackled Harry to safety."

"Tripped on the kerb," Severus corrected, at the same time that Harry scratched his head and pointed out that they were actually the same age now.

"None the less," Dumbledore said, fighting a large smile, "what's done is done, and you were both able to work together to accomplish it. I am certain this time spent together now will only serve to strengthen your relationship."

Harry stared at the portrait of Dumbledore, wondering how he could think that being attached to one's enemy was good for one's health.

"Yes, yes. I have already been informed that I may not kill him," Snape said, waving his hand impatiently. "But what do you make of the fact that Voldemort's body cannot be found?"

"As I explained to Miss Granger and Minerva earlier, Severus, I believe the powerful combination of both your spells simply obliterated Tom Riddle's body."

Dumbledore sounded pleased at this, but Harry could tell by Snape's stiff posture that he found the idea preposterous.

"You don't think that something should have been left behind?" Snape ventured calmly.

"Magic is strange sometimes, Severus. I think that the connection shared between Harry and Voldemort only served to ensure that when he was defeated, he was destroyed completely," Dumbledore explained.

Harry could tell that Snape still thought it was rubbish, but Snape didn't say anything else.

"In any event, I must be going. There is a long story to explain to the muggle Prime Minister," Dumbledore smiled.

"Too bad you can't bring him boiled sweets," Harry murmured, wondering how such a powerful wizard like Dumbledore could convince himself so clearly that he had all the right answers.

"I bring the second best thing, a good tale," Dumbledore chuckled. "Harry, I apologize for wasting so much of your time last year. Consider the lessons little insights now, and nothing more. Severus, I shall be forever in your debt. Good evening, gentlemen, and thank you again."

"I think you should be prepared for the possibility that he is not vanquished. He managed to return once before," Snape offered, tapping his wand on the table.

"I am researching the possibilities, Severus, but at the moment it seems that he is finally gone. The Dementors have come under Ministry control again, and the few free remaining Death Eaters have fled."

Snape looked like he wanted to interrupt terribly, but somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut. He was practically vibrating in his seat with annoyance, but Harry felt it safest not to mention that.

"For now, you should recover and stay out of the public," Dumbledore answered, and Harry narrowed his brows at the admonishing tone.

"What do you mean, out of the public?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Stay in the house. It would be dangerous for wizards to know you're at a disadvantage. Most have been detained by now, but as you know, Severus, there are less scrupulous members of our society who would take pleasure in revenge."

Through the attached bit of skin Harry could feel Snape shaking in anger.

"For how long?" Snape asked, growling through his teeth.

"Until we're satisfied that they're all captured, or your bodies heal enough to be separated," Dumbledore answered. "Between the Weasleys and Minerva, someone will ensure that you have what you need to live comfortably."

Harry noted idly that not only had Dumbledore began addressing them with a collective ‘you,' but that Snape had the patience to wait until the portrait was empty before lobbing his cup of tea at it.

The fireplace roared green a few moments later, and Snape sent three rapid-fire hexes at it as the person came through. It was Hanna Prewett, and she managed to dodge the second two, but ended up with glued together fingers due to the first.

"Nice way to greet your doctor, Professor," she said, dusting off her blouse as best she could with mitten hands.

"Standard precautions. And as far as I am concerned, you are merely the sadist whom thought this would be a good idea."

"Need I remind you that without this intervention, you would both be dead?" Hanna deadpanned back, unwilling to cower under Snape's scowl.

"Some of us may have preferred that option," Snape snapped.

Harry stomped on his foot under the table.

"Speak for yourself. I'd rather live, thanks."

Hanna presented her hands to Harry for the counter curse, and placed her doctor's bag on the table. It was an old fashioned black leather one, which Harry had only seen in iconic representations of old doctors.

"There you go then, Harry. You can kill him off once we get you separated. Now, do you want the bandage removed here or upstairs in the loo?"

...

After twenty minutes of arguing, grimacing, and Snape's wand being temporarily confiscated, the bandage was off.  Hanna had dropped off several phials of potions and a special skin rub for the shared skin at their sides.  She left the house rather quickly, leaving Harry and Snape upstairs in the bedroom they'd woken up in that morning.

An intense battle of wills took place while Snape smoked a cigarette, resolved only by the fact that Molly Weasley would be stopping by later to bring dinner. The washroom nearest the bedroom was not overly large, but it was bigger than the downstairs loo at the Dursley's. Harry stared at the shower, clutching his towel and bathing kit in his hands.  Snape stood stiffly beside him, holding his own black kit tightly and trying to look anywhere but at the shower.  Medical toiletry charms took care of their more basic needs privately, but there was no substitute for a proper wash.

"Nothing to it, I guess," Harry finally stammered. "I mean, we're both men, and ... er, you're supposed to be my brother during this whole...thing..."

The shower appeared to get smaller and smaller as they stood there.

"If you dare look at my bits whilst I shower," Snape said, not looking at Harry, "I will hex your eyes out and fix it so not even Moody's magic eyeball will help you."

"Oh right, like I really want to see them," Harry muttered, throwing his shirt off. Snape followed suit and it was an awkward few moments as they tried to undress in the tiny bathroom. Snape kept twisting away, attempting to cover himself with his removed clothing, which caused Harry to crash his ribs against the towel rack.

"Snape, enough!" Harry blustered after the last poke in his side.

Snape stopped moving, one sock off, shirt clutched in front of his chest, and belt undone.

"Look. We're stuck like this for a while. Just...just get it over with."

Snape stared at him through the bathroom mirror, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Harry finally gave up and dropped his clothes.

He stood there in only his pants, staring at his own reflection. He had a splotch of discolouration on his chest leftover from the organ-eating curse, an old scar across his shoulder, an impressive and fading bruise along his upper thigh, and a jagged seven-inch vertical scar on his right side.  The skin there was flushed slightly red still, and the scar was thick and raised like a welt.  Hanna had explained that it needed to heal naturally, as any spell would attempt to separate them. At least the removal of the bandage had proven the area a bit smaller than Harry had first seen.

Snape's gaze was focused on the conjoined bit of skin as well, his eyes tracing the thick veins that could be seen just under the skin connecting their organs like a motorway bypass. He slowly dropped his own shirt, and let his sleep pants fall.

Snape had paler skin than Harry's, but he had the same jagged scar that ran along his left side, from two inches above his hip to just above his nipple. There was a bit more hair on Snape's chest, and he had bruises over his ribs and knee.  Harry noticed a burn mark on Snape's hip above his boxer line, and looked at it in curiosity.

"Muggle firecrackers," Snape offered gruffly, before poking at the scar on Harry's shoulder.

"My cousin stabbed me with a garden hand rake when I was nine," Harry shrugged.

Snape nodded at this, and bent forward a little to put his toiletry bag on the counter. Harry noticed a jagged curve of a faint scar line on the back of Snape's neck.

"What's that?" Harry asked, putting his own toiletries down and sidestepping with Snape to the shower. Harry banished their pants to the bedroom, and Snape immediately covered himself with his hand.

"My father threw a beer bottle at me when I was six," Snape muttered, spelling on the water.

"That's an odd way to teach someone how to play catch," Harry said, well aware that he was pushing dangerous boundaries.

"Shut up, Potter."

The shower was blessedly hot, relaxing, refreshing, and bizarre. Harry tried to look everywhere but down, however it was impossible not to glance at their conjoined side, where six people had spent twelve hours putting them back together.

Snape kept his hand covering his genitals for most of the shower anyway, and Harry inquisitively poked at the skin above their hips.

"This is weird," Harry muttered, surprised to find the attached bits ticklish.

"Just finish up," Snape growled in frustration, trying to wash his hair as fast as possible. "And don't do anything unnatural."

...

It only took ten minutes to get dressed and get downstairs, which Harry considered a small victory. Molly Weasley had arrived with supper, and had brought along Ron, Hermione, and Minerva McGonagall.  Snape had kept silent through most of the meal, his lips pursed and his eyes moving furiously as he listened to everyone's conversation.  Dumbledore's portrait still sat on the table, but remained curiously empty.

"Minerva," Snape said, during a lull in conversation. "You mentioned earlier that one Death Eater was in custody, but Lupin said eleven. Which is correct?"

Professor McGonagall put her utensils down and wiped her mouth with her serviette.  She wore her regular green robes that Harry had seen her in at school on a regular basis, but also had a ruby red broach pinned to her lapel.

"Both. One was arrested in Little Whinging at the train station," she answered, looking between Snape and Harry.  "The rest were arrested late last night, at Privet Drive."

"Wait, at the house?" Harry asked, dropping his spoon into his stew bowl.

"Yes, Mr Potter. You had left, and so had the wards. Charlie Weasley was watching the house, as it was thought they might go there..."

Harry pushed a potato chunk around with the spoon.

"Is the house still standing? Did they destroy it?"

"Why do you care, Potter?" Snape scoffed, breaking off a chunk of bread and soaking up some of his stew with it.

"None of your business, Snape," Harry answered, slouching in the chair and as a result, pulling at Snape's side.

"You know, this is kind of funny. It's like you already know how to hate each other like real brothers," Ron pointed out, sticking his spoon in his mouth upside down and licking it.

"Ron, we will not speak of Percy at dinner," Molly admonished, pouring Ron more stew.

"They are, Ron," Hermione said quietly, and the look on her face is guilty.

"Miss Granger, we did not ask for your opinion," Snape said, and his voice carried finality.

"Well," Hermione flustered, "whether you want it or not, you'll have to re-register yourselves."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, pausing with his juice glass mid-air.

Molly blushed slightly and busied herself with taking the dishes to the sink. Hermione took a dainty bite of her stew, for once not eager to share what she knew. Snape was trying to burn two holes in the table with his eyes, and Ron looked confused.

"Mr Potter, you're aware that Hogwarts keeps a register, every time a magical child is born in Britain?"  McGonagall asked.

"Yes. And call me Harry, I'm apparently twenty-five now."

"That you are, Harry," she smiled.  "In any event, the register tracks when a magical child is born, which the Ministry refers to for tax purposes every year. In the case of yourself and Severus, you are technically no longer two people, you have a new birth year, and thus will need to be re-registered."

"For...for tax purposes?" Harry sputtered, turning it into a laugh. "You're telling me that Voldemort pays his taxes?"

"Potter, stop being an idiot," Snape interjected, crossing his arms.

"Severus, I think you could call him Harry as well," Molly said, sounding as nice about it as she possibly could.

"Yeah, Severus. I think you can call your brother by his first name," Harry said, trying his hardest to look sincere.

"I could write a recommendation letter for Black's skill at becoming an animagus but I'd poison you before that happened."

"Pfft," Harry snorted, "if Voldemort couldn't kill me, what makes you think you'll be able to?"

"Potter," Snape said, looking at him with a malicious smile, "I'm the reason he couldn't kill you a few of those times."

"Yes, well. Be that as it may, there's no reason to threaten him," McGonagall said, sounding far too matter of fact. "You'll still need to re-register, though I think we can keep it out of the Daily Prophet.

"Why, though? Can't we just ignore it for now? Taxes aren't due till, when, February?" Harry asked.

"I don't think it would be a good idea to ignore the goblins, Harry," Hermione answered.

"Goblins collect taxes? I thought they weren't involved in wizarding politics."

"They're not," Ron supplied, grabbing for a hot dinner roll. "But can you imagine sending in an owl with however many galleons you owed in taxes? Much easier to pay the goblins to sort it all out."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and the image of the engraved stone outside of Gringotts flashed through his mind.

"I guess no one really cheats on their taxes, then."

...

Ron offered half-heartedly to stay behind at Grimmauld's with Hermione, just to ensure that they could be extra manpower in case anyone came to attack in the middle of the night. Both Snape and Mrs Weasley quickly vetoed him, and they'd made a quick exit through the floo. McGonagall had stayed for tea, to note down exactly what Harry and Snape remembered of the train station fight, and left shortly after nine.

Having nothing else to do, and feeling extremely exhausted from the long day and the potions they were taking, Harry and Snape returned upstairs.  On the bed was a long parchment listing all the potions they needed to take, and for the first time that day, Harry felt Snape's shoulders sag upon seeing it.

"Every time I think that I've finally gotten used to the magical world, something like this happens," Harry observed, scratching at his side where the newly healed skin was.

"I don't need your empathy, Potter," Snape said, and he sounded tired.

"I don't need your sarcasm, either, but I always get it," Harry muttered, knowing that there was no longer any volume low enough that Snape couldn't hear what he was saying.  "I just think that, with what we have to deal with, it would probably be easiest if we laid off on the loathing."

Harry was fingering his shirt collar and staring down at the parchment list. He didn't dare look at Snape.

"That is a theory I am willing to test," Snape finally said.

Harry waited while Snape folded and put his clothing away before plucking new pajama pants out the armoire. Snape spelled off the lights, and they both changed in the dark.

"What tasks did the Headmaster have you working on last year?" Harry asked, carefully shoving a foot into his pants and trying to keep balance.

"Important ones," Snape replied tersely, concentrating on his own sleepwear.

"Well I figured," Harry responded sarcastically. "He didn't make you do too much else, right? I mean, you already had the most dangerous job."

"Is that compassion I hear from you, Potter?" 

Snape sounded incredulous, and Harry carefully slipped his pants up, avoiding accidentally hitting Snape.

"He made Wormtail cut his own hand off, and I think he even liked Wormtail a little. I'm not stupid. I know you would have probably been tortured if he'd found you out."

They moved towards Snape's side of the bed and threw back the covers.

"One needn't have been a spy to have been tortured," Snape said, levitating them both and twisting them over the bed. "What little insights did the headmaster force upon you?"

Harry smiled in the dark; amused that Snape's curiosity had gotten the best of him. He pulled the blankets up over himself, after rolling a towel and putting it between their legs.

"He had me viewing memories of Tom Riddle as a child.  Had a theory that Voldemort had put bits of his soul into things. You'd have to be mad to do that," Harry answered, fiddling with the sheet and picking up his wand. "Need the washroom spell?"

Snape had pulled himself up as much as he could without wrenching on their shared side.

"What did you say?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the dark shadow beside him.

"Do you need the washroom spell?"

"Not that, you idiot!" Snape hissed. He waved his own wand and an eerie blue-ish white light lit the room. "About the soul."

"Oh," Harry said, blinking away the light spots in his eyes. "Remember how in second year it was the diary of Tom Riddle that possessed Ginny and tried to kill me?"

Harry said this matter of factly, as if it was a normal school experience, and Snape snorted.

"Dumbledore thought from that that Voldemort had made horcruxes of himself. Took me the whole bloody year to get Slughorn's memory to confirm it."

"But that's wrong, Potter," Snape insisted, lowering the light.

"Dumbledore seems to think so now, but you and I know Voldemort isn't dead."

"Not that, Potter.  I mean that he didn't make horcruxes," Snape said impatiently, waving his hand and casting the washroom spell on them wordlessly.

"Agh, Christ Snape! A little more warning next time," Harry complained, feeling tingly in spots he thought should never tingle.

"Man up, Potter. Are you certain that Voldemort's soul was in the diary?"

"It tried to kill me. It was either his soul, or a bloody good hologram."

Harry preferred to have slept on his side, but he couldn't move that way and definitely did not want to get any closer to Snape. It was bad enough that their arms brushed slightly on their shared side.

"This may explain why he's not dead," Snape said, talking more to himself than Harry.

"Didn't you just say that he didn't make horcruxes?" Harry exhaled, dropping his hands down on top of the bed sheets.

"Mind your business, Potter, and leave the thinking to those of us with the power to do so," Snape said, forgetting all about the insult cease-fire they'd mentioned merely ten minutes earlier.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Singultus," Harry whispered, pointing his wand at himself. He was very amused to find that not only did he start hiccupping, but Snape did as well.

"I hope the pillow suffocates you, Potter," Snape said, between hiccups.

...

They'd been staying in a smaller bedroom at Grimmauld's, the one small window behind the headboard had its blinds drawn and the door opposite was mostly closed. Pillows had been tossed on the floor during their sleep, and the nightstands on either side of the bed were littered with potion bottles and jars of salves.

"My kidney is gone, my intestines are mangled, and I'm missing half my right lung," Harry recounted, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yes, Potter. For the third damn time," came Snape's voice, far too close for comfort.

Harry ignored him completely.

"I'm sharing my liver with you, your kidney, and I am stuck permanently to your left side until god knows when."

Snape raised his right arm and made a fist, swinging it slowly towards Harry, who easily blocked it.

"Lets get up, I'm tired of the damn bed," Harry said.

They managed to maneuver their way downstairs after ten minutes, and after a morning cigarette, Snape decided that porridge would be the easiest thing to make.  Harry was tempted to just shove his hands in his pockets, as it was like being in Potions class with Snape constantly watching his every move over his shoulder. Snape's shoulder. Whichever.

They'd just managed to get settled at the table, twisting two of the chairs slightly angled away from each other to make it easier to eat, when the fireplace knocked.  Ginny flooed through, looking disheveled and uneasy.

"Harry. Professor," Ginny said, staring at them. She moved to the teapot to help herself to tea, trying to ignore Snape's narrowed eyes.

"Make yourself at home, Miss Weasley," he commented, in a tone that was anything but welcoming.

"She's my girlfriend, Snape. She can visit whenever she wants," Harry said crossly.

Ginny gave a smile of gratitude.

"I was really worried about you, Harry," Ginny said, stirring sugar into her tea. "Hopefully you'll both be separated soon."

She said the last part of her sentence while looking at Snape, her distrust barely disguised.

"I'm alright, Gin," Harry smiled, taking a sip of his tea. "And this is just a setback," he added, gesturing between him and Snape.  She didn't look as convinced.

There was fluttering at the window as Harry's owl arrived with the morning paper.  She gave Snape a very speculative look, before dropping the paper on the table and stealing some of Harry's breakfast.  Snape took the paper, and Harry continued to assure Ginny that all was well. He knew after years of breakfasting in the Great Hall that Snape was not a morning person and wouldn't be providing any conversational gems.

 "Fuck," Snape swore, nearly tipping his cup of coffee over.

"Pardon?" Harry said, twisting a little to look sideways at Snape. Ginny looked rather surprised as well.

"We have a problem," Snape growled, unfolding the paper.

"You swore," Harry said, still staring at Snape.

"Potter, pay attention. We need to move."

Ginny tried to glance at the paper, but Snape refused to move it any closer for her to see.

"But...you said fuck," Harry continued, fighting back a grin.  Snape finally turned to look at him, his expression one of exasperation.

"Shit, fuck, cock, wanker, piss, bollocks, bitch," Snape reeled off.

Harry's jaw dropped and Ginny gave a slight gasp.

"I'm human, Potter, and I swear. Deal with it or fuck off," Snape finished, jabbing his finger at the paper and drawing Harry's eyes down to where a picture of Grimmauld Place was.

"Mundungus Fletcher seems to have mentioned where Order Headquarters was. We need to move immediately."

"But, he can't have. Isn't it Dumbledore's secret to keep?" Ginny asked, snatching the paper from Snape.

"Hell," Harry exhaled, dropping his toast back onto his plate. 

"Dumbledore is dead. We all become the secret keepers," Snape replied, not quite keeping the scorn from his voice.

"Alright. Alright, well..." Harry started, his breakfast forgotten.

"We're leaving. Weasley, return home and inform your parents that Grimmauld's was breached."

Ginny took offence to being referred to solely as Weasley, and gave Snape an ugly look as she stood.

"And where can I tell them to find you?" she said, crossing her arms.

"Nowhere," Snape tersely said. "That's the point of going into hiding. Leave."

Ginny jumped into the floo, but not before giving Snape a two fingered salute. He'd missed it, having shifted his attention back to scanning the newspaper, but Harry had seen.

"Do you have a place in mind to go? This is the only house I have," Harry said, feeling odd as he said it. He owned a house.

"We're going to my flat," Snape intoned. "And we need to leave before Voldemort finds us."

"Shouldn't we tell the Order that he's not dead?" Harry asked, trying to match Snape's steps as they walked back upstairs.

"I may tell Minerva later, but at the moment, no. It's highly suspicious for a body to just disappear, Potter. They didn't question it, and just assumed he died. I don't trust them," Snape muttered, leading them into the bedroom.

"To be fair, you don't really trust anyone," Harry pointed out, withdrawing his wand.

It was the fastest packing that Harry had ever done. He and Snape shuffled from room to room, casting the same packing spell that Tonks had used at the Dursley's house the summer before. With two space-enhanced trunks packed, they cast strong wards on the house and flooed out.

......

Spinning in the fireplace as a conjoined twin was an experience Harry could do without ever having again. He landed in a darkened rectangular room, with dark furniture and what appeared to be a brick wall in front of him.

Harry barely got his foot inside when Snape had maneuvered his arm around Harry's neck and held his wand to Harry's throat, pressing them back against the wall. There was one thing to be said for side-by-side conjoinment, it made pushing someone against the wall as a threat to be rather difficult.

"This is my private home, Potter," Snape said, his eyes glinting with menace. "You will not breathe a word to anyone about its appearance, content, or location. Not a word."

"Fine," Harry grumbled.

Snape cast a spell to turn on the muggle lights, and Harry blinked as he took in his surroundings. It was a bedsit, about forty feet long by twelve feet wide.  There was a solid brick wall across from the fireplace, a slightly narrower kitchen to Harry's left, and what looked like the washroom door at the back of the kitchen. They were in the living room, which had a curtained wooden poster bed in one corner, a small sofa in another, and a desk against the wall in the middle. Outside one of the windows Harry saw the London Eye off in the distance.

Strangely, there were little piles of paperwork and objects on the floor, seemingly placed in distinct areas for Snape to locate easily.  The table held similar stacks of parchment, and there were a surprising amount of potted plants all over the room.

"It's, er, really neat actually," Harry said, eyeing the old film posters Snape had framed on the walls. "I thought you'd have a crumbly old house for some reason."

"I do," Snape smirked, looking pleased with himself. "To keep up appearances."

Snape pulled them towards the bookcase edge where the trunks were dropped.

"So we're going to hide out in the muggle world, then?" Harry asked, still checking out the window.

"Haven't you ever heard of hiding in plain sight?" Snape gruffed, flipping through a book on the bookcase.

"I hate to break it to you, Snape, but conjoined twins aren't normal in the muggle world either."

"Where we're going, it won't matter," Snape said, snapping the book shut.  "Come, Potter."

"I rather have to," Harry muttered.  They passed through the kitchen and to the front door, which was hidden behind a coat rack.

"Where are we going?"

"We are going to get confirmation on how the Dark Lord keeps surviving."