The Burrow was almost the same as the last time Harry had visited: ghoul in the attic, gnomes in the garden and Quidditch in the orchard. The house was, perhaps, a little more chaotic than last summer and Mrs Weasley looked tired but, on the whole, it was the same cozy place.

There was that bit of weirdness when they first got there. When Snape had walked into the kitchen and one of the twins jumped up to get the man tea, Harry had been convinced that some prank or another was in the offing. He couldn’t believe the twins would be bold enough to do it right in front of Mrs. Weasley.

“Is he mental?” Harry mouthed to Ron as George (he was the one in the “F” sweater, but they hardly ever wore the right sweater) went to pour the man a cup of tea. The red-headed boy shook his head, with a definite “we’ll talk later” look on his face.

Nothing had happened except that Harry’s overstrung nerves finally snapped in a fit of giggles that ended in his spitting his tea all over Snape.

With that kind of provocation, Harry reckoned he deserved a clip around the ear at the very least. Instead, the man had just laughed. Suddenly Harry understood what Lupin must have meant about “profound changes.”

When Mrs. Weasley sent them all out to the orchard to play Quidditch, Harry was able to ask the twins, “What the hell was that? I thought the teacup was going to turn into a rat or something.”

Ron and the twins exchanged uneasy looks. “Mum would’ve had our guts for garters if we did that,” Fred said gloomily.

“Well yes, but you were… I don’t know… like you were trying to impress him or something,” Harry said, hefting his broom over his shoulder.

George shrugged uncomfortably. “Dad said that Snape’s part of the family now.” He was unwontedly serious. “He’s on the clock and everything.”

“So’s Harry,” Fred pointed out.

“I am?” asked Harry, astonished. “Why am I on the clock?” He felt a warm little glow settle into his stomach, and he smiled properly for the first time in what seemed like forever. “Did your parents put me on there?”

Ron shook his head. “No, the hand just appeared there.”

“We reckoned maybe ‘cause Mum and Dad put in to adopt you,” said Fred. “I dunno how that works, but that’s bound to be it.”

That made sense. Perhaps just putting in the paperwork or whatever made it happen. The little glow in his stomach became brighter. Maybe that would mean he could leave Spinner’s End and move into the Burrow until Hogwarts’ wards were reset. Maybe he should ask Mr. and Mrs. Weasley what was going on. Perhaps he could come here for Christmas.

That thought had an oddly melancholy feel. Harry wondered how Spinner’s End would look, all decorated for Christmas. For some reason, Harry was sure that Snape would let him put up whatever he liked, if he asked, and Mrs. Cook would come over to ooh and ahh.

“So has Snape been all right to you?” Ron asked as the twins walked a little ahead.

Had he? It was so complicated. The last four weeks were a blur and Harry didn’t want to talk about it. Was giving him truth serum “being all right”? He’d sat with Harry all that dreadful night telling him kids’ stories and holding his hand. He came in and checked on Harry every single night and carried him to bed last night (was it only last night?).

A dreamlike memory drifted to the forefront of Harry’s mind; sometime last night he had woken, or half woken, into a horrible state where he could neither move nor cry out. He had known that Vernon or Voldemort (more likely both) must be in the room with him, but he could do nothing to defend himself. He wanted to scream or lash out with his fists, but he was held tightly in his paralysis, the only sound from him was high-pitched whimpers.

How long he had lain like this was impossible to tell; it felt like forever. Even the dog had disappeared.

Then, miraculously, the scent of ginger and allspice announced the presence of the potions master. “Sssh.” The man’s hand went to his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Harry, love, you’re dreaming.” The sleep-blurred voice of the potion master was rough. “It’s all right.”

He remembered opening his eyes; Snape’s tired black eyes were filled with concern, and then the bed was jarred when Snuffles had leapt back onto it.

“Go back to sleep, son.” Snape smiled at him, gently.

Harry had closed his eyes, reassured by the sounds of the chair being dragged across the room and the creak as the man sat down in it. He’d drifted into a deeper, more tranquil sleep, secure in the knowledge that nothing bad would happen to him while Snape sat there.

“Yeah,” Harry told Ron, trying to puzzle out whether that had really happened or if he’d just dreamed it. It had seemed real, but how likely was that? “He’s been mostly all right.” The truth serum thing had been a bit evil though, “He’s still a bloody bastard sometimes,” Harry finished.

The three other boys looked uneasy again, Fred and George stopping to turn and look at Harry and Ron. Harry was reminded of the times when he’d said “Voldemort” out loud.

Ron opened his mouth and then closed it.

“Erm… ” said George. Fred shifted nervously.

“What?” demanded Harry.

Ron finally broke the silence. “Er… Don’t… you know… call him names in our house. I mean… ” Ron held his free hand up palm out in a sort of surrender gesture. “He’s your guardian and all, you… ” Ron hestitated, looked at the twins. “We ought to show him… some respect.”

“You what?” Harry looked incredulously around at the other boys’ dead serious faces, “Where’s this coming from? Last time we talked you were quite happy to call him all sorts of things.”

“Yeah, but that was before Ginny,” Fred said quietly, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

Seeing that Harry still didn’t understand, Ron took a deep breath. “That spell. It’s pretty dark, according to Bill.”

“How can a healing spell be dark?” asked Harry, not following.

“It means that he’s got a serious claim on Ginny, so he’s got the whole family by the balls,” George said bluntly, “See, the casters give a piece of their soul to Death. That’s more than a life debt. That’s like… I don’t know… about as indebted as you can get.”

“Well, what about Pomfrey and McGonagall?” Harry asked.

Ron shook his head, “McGonagall’s Mum’s fourth or fifth cousin and Dad’s I don’t know, related somehow. Anyway, she’s blood related. That means she’s got right-of-kin and she’s Ginny’s head of house. It means that the spell knows she’s already bound to us. Pomfrey’s a healer. They take all those oaths to negate life debts.”

“Soooo...?” Harry hated it when he had to ask someone to spell out some aspect of the magical world.

“So,” said Fred gloomily. “It means that just like we have Auntie Muriel, we now have Snape.”

“And according to Bill,” George picked up, “Since Snape was the incantor and put the most power into it, the spell recognizes him as the Master Wizard. That means… ” George trailed off, having a hard time putting whatever it was into words.

“That means,” Fred jumped in, “that Snape can marry Ginny, or adopt her, or take her on as an apprentice or even a fill-in for his house-elf if he wants.”

Harry’s mind reeled. “Snape doesn’t keep house-elves.” He said numbly, “But that’s horrible!” There was a burst of something hot in his chest; he felt it warm his cheeks. Snape adopt Ginny? That would leave Harry out in the cold again. Startled, he realized he didn’t want to have to share Snape’s attention.

“But, he’s been all right to you, has he?” Fred asked worriedly. “He’s not got you slaving over his house or anything?”

“No, he’s been fine.” Harry thought about the Storyteller. “He’s been really good, actually.”

“Well, he hasn’t been starving you,” said Ron. “You look like you’ve put some weight on.”

Harry nodded. “Snape goes mad if I miss meals.”

They didn’t talk about Ginny or Snape any more, although Harry felt sure they had a million questions they wanted to ask.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of Snitches and Bludgers. After a while, Bill came out with his broom to play with them.

The only hitch to the day was when Bill hit a Bludger at Fred, who dodged it instead of hitting it back. Harry was in just the wrong place at the time.

Harry had been chasing the Snitch and didn’t see the Bludger until he ran into it.

Shit, Harry thought the next time he opened his eyes. He was lying on his back with a blurry circle of redheads surrounding him. His face felt mangled and he wasn’t entirely sure he understood how he got here.

“My glasses?” Harry choked out, and then started coughing as something dripped down his throat. He sat up on his hands and turned over so he could spit onto the grass. Thick globs of red appeared. He really hoped he hadn’t completely destroyed his glasses. The red kept dripping onto the grass.

His nose throbbed and every throb felt like it was making his nose expand. His cheek was so swollen that his left eye couldn’t open.

“Well done, Fred,” remarked Bill, sitting on the grass to have a proper look at Harry’s face. “Broke his nose. And one of his cheekbones, I think. Harry, let me look into your mouth.”

Obediently Harry opened his mouth.

“Oh good, all your teeth are still there. Mum hates putting those back,” Bill said cheerfully, “Do you think you can walk?”

Harry nodded. Bill helped him shakily stand, but didn’t let go of him. Ron handed him his glasses. Instead of the twisted pieces of wire Harry had been expecting, they were whole and unmarked. Right, Snape had gotten him glasses with a self-repairing charm. He’d also gotten him an extra pair, just in case he lost the first. For no other reason than to make Harry’s life easier.

Harry’s glasses had always been a sore point with Petunia. “Don’t you break those,” she’d say. “You can go about blind if you do. I’ll not pay for another pair.” Of course, now Harry wasn’t sure that she’d actually had to pay for the first pair. Snape seemed to imply that the NHS should have paid for them.

Tears joined the blood dripping from his face.

“Here ya go, Harry.” George handed him a handkerchief. “Pinch your nose with that so you don’t bleed out before we get you back to the house.” Harry was glad he had the excuse of blood dripping down his face to explain away the tears. It did hurt, but he’d had much worse. He didn’t want the Weasleys to think he was a baby.

Snape was going to be so worried when he saw this mess. That simple thought seemed to hit Harry’s unstable emotional equilibrium like a hammer blow. Snape was going to be angry with Harry, not because it was an inconvenience to him, but because it was his job to make sure Harry was safe. Because he’d be scared.

Scared. For Harry.

Harry’s breath hitched a little.

Mistaking his idiotic crying for a gasp of pain, Bill said, “Take it slow, Harry. You fell off your broom, too.”

Remembering the conversation with he’d had with Snape, Harry realized that the man would think he’d done it on purpose. It would hurt him, “Don’t… don’t let Snape see me like this,” he gasped. “He’ll be so upset.”

Bill stiffened. “All right, Harry,” he growled softly. “Fred, run and get Mum. Tell her what happened. We’ll bring up Harry.” Wasting no more time, Bill simply scooped Harry up and carried him, leaving Ron and George to follow.

“Will he punish you, Harry?” Bill asked in a low voice.

“I expect so,” said Harry miserably.

“How?” Bill asked fiercely, surprising the boy with his tone.

“Most likely take my broom away,” muttered Harry, “And he’ll have me writing long essays about broom safety or something.”

Bill’s arms relaxed a little. “I’ll tell him it was Fred’s fault. He should have gotten that Bludger.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, relieved. “He’s been so tired. I don’t want to worry him.”

Something in Bill’s face softened.

“Sit him down here,” said Mrs. Weasley, indicating a chair facing the door as Bill carried him in. “Let me have a look, then, Harry.” She waved her wand and took the handkerchief away. No more blood dripped down his chin.

Bill whispered something into Molly’s ear as she worked, then he moved away.

“How ever did you fall off your broom?” she asked, calmly.

Harry hastened to correct her, “I didn’t fall… ”

Mrs. Weasley looked at something behind him. "Oh, Severus," she said, and smiled gently. "Ron, get the professor a chair and a cup of tea." She looked back down at Harry. "Now hold still dear, I'm rather good at this." She waved her wand in front of his eyes and things shifted painfully in his face.

Harry didn’t cry out, though; he didn’t want Snape to come around and look at him. His eyes dripped tears.

"There, all done. How does that feel?"

"Better, thank you," Harry replied. She gave another little wave and his face was suddenly clean and dry.

"What happened, Harry?" Snape said loudly.

Harry reckoned he could turn to look at his guardian now. "I… er… " He realized that there was blood all down his jumper.

"He fell off his broom," Fred said.

"I did not," Harry retorted, turning glaring at Fred. "You missed that Bludger and it knocked me off." Snape sat stiffly, and Harry could tell that the man was grinding his teeth. "It was an accident," he said more quietly, turning back to his guardian. "I swear." He met Snape’s eyes, willing him to understand that Harry hadn’t broken their agreement.

"And all this blood?" asked Severus tightly.

"Bloody nose," Ron said casually. "He always bleeds like that when he gets one." Harry could have kissed Ron in that moment. Snape relaxed minutely, even sighing.

Mrs. Weasley muttered something and all the blood disappeared from Harry’s jumper. “Go get cleaned up for dinner,” she said, shooing them out of the kitchen.

Harry was seized with the sudden mad impulse to give Snape a hug. For no other reason than he’d come running the instant he’d heard that Harry hurt himself.

Of course, Harry didn’t. Snape would have probably hexed him. When they all got back to the kitchen, Snape had already gone back to bed.

Harry followed suit, going to bed far earlier than he normally would. Mrs. Weasley came to his rescue when the twins started teasing him. “You go on, love,” she said. “Bludgers to the face take it out of you.”

That was two “loves” from two different people in twenty-four hours. That had to be a record. That thought seemed to warm him right through.