-Harry & Severus-

Harry had actually succeeded in completing all of his weekend assignments by Saturday night at bedtime. Of course, this accelerated homework schedule had pleased Hermione while annoying Ron, who typically did his homework with Harry and who was not overly interested in spending all day Saturday studying. The day had been unusually pleasant for a January day in Scotland and Ron had suggested a turn on the Quidditch Pitch. Harry had negotiated an hour on the pitch with Ron in return for a three hour study-session to complete both their Potions assignment (identifying a potion that each food item served at dinner on Friday night could be used in) and their Transfiguration essay. They had begun an intensive section on conjuring and Minerva had set them a theoretical essay on the subject which had tied Harry's brain up in knots. If the fundamental law of physics applied—and Minerva taught them that it did—and matter could neither be created nor destroyed—where DID conjured objects come from? If you conjured a camp chair so you could sit on the lake's edge and watch the sunset did a camp chair disappear from a Muggle's garage? Or did "spare" molecules in the environment rearrange themselves and form a blue chair with a Coleman logo on it?

He decided against asking Minerva's or Poppy's permission to play Quidditch with Ron—instead, he dressed appropriately and had Hermione cast a warming charm on him, knowing that hers would likely last longer than his own. He actually felt invigorated when they came in and ate a hearty supper, followed by more study time in the common room. Ginny took the empty spot on the sofa beside him, toeing off her shoes and sitting cross-legged with her Herbology textbook open on her lap.

"What unit are you on in Herbology?" asked Harry. He had been re-reading his Defense essay. He'd done the homework but this time hadn't answered Severus' letter. He figured he'd have more to say after his outing with Severus tomorrow.

"Venomous Tantacula," answered Ginny, shuddering slightly. "Well—the entire unit is on plants that can be used as weapons. Sprout seems to be fixated on that plant, though."

Harry smiled. "I remember that unit." He looked around the common room. "Where's Dean?"

Ginny shrugged without looking up and continued reading her lesson.

Harry bit his bottom lip and stared at Ginny. "You two OK?" he asked, just managing to keep the kernel of hope he felt out of his voice.

Ginny continued to stare at her book. Harry tentatively reached out a hand and squeezed her foot.

"Ginny?"

The gesture made her smile. She closed her book. "Yeah," she said. "Just had a fight is all…rather a loud one." She rolled her eyes. "If we're going to stay together, he's going to have to learn that I make my OWN decisions and can take care of myself."

Harry suppressed a groan. If Ginny and Dean did break up, and he did get a chance to date her, he'd likely have a problem with that "take care of myself" part as well.

He slept soundly that night, and even managed to pull Ron out of bed at 7:30 a.m. so they could breakfast promptly at eight. At 8:30, while Ron struggled back up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower to fall back into bed for another few hours, Harry slipped into the infirmary to get the "green light" from Madam Pomfrey for his adventure today. She took his temperature, weighed him, looked in his ears, mouth and throat and scanned his lungs with her wand. Everything seemed to check out, but she still forced him to drink a Pepper-Up potion.

"Can I go now?" he asked, impatient as she made notes in his chart.

"He's waiting for you in my office," she said, nodding at the closed door at the back of the room.

Harry looked at the door curiously. Severus had said that someone would be here to bring him to the meeting place. He simply hadn't considered it would be anyone other than Minerva. Yet Poppy had said "He's waiting." He walked slowly to the door, turning to wave goodbye to Madam Pomfrey, then pushed it open.

Bill Weasley was sitting at Poppy's desk, both hands around a mug of hot coffee which rested on her blotter.

"Bill!" exclaimed Harry, his face lighting up in a surprised smile. "I didn't expect to see you!"

"I'm doing a six-week stint in London for Gringott's," explained Bill. "Severus told me about your recent success at our last Order meeting and invited me to come along today. You ready?"

"Yeah," answered Harry. "More than ready. Where're we going, anyway? I mean, I know it's to one of Dumbledore's properties…"

"A little place in the West Country," responded Bill, taking a final drink of his coffee before he stood up and moved over to the floo. He reached into the jar of floo powder and took a handful and motioned Harry over. He dropped a generous portion of the powder into Harry's hand.

"You go first—I'll follow right behind. Read this after you throw in the floo powder." He passed Harry a scrap of paper and Harry glanced at it, recognizing the Headmaster's spiky handwriting. He looked at Bill sharply as he read the destination but Bill nodded at him and motioned to the fireplace so Harry threw in the floo powder, stepped in the tall, cool green flames and said "Dumbledore's Cottage, Godric's Hollow." He disappeared from sight and Bill placed his coffee cup on the mantle and followed the boy into the flames.

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace in Dumbledore's cottage and was surprised when he was gripped by the arms and held upright.

"A wizard of your power should be able to remain upright in the floo," said Severus drolly as he used his hand to brush soot and ash off of Harry's shoulders and hair.

Harry grinned as he looked around the cottage. "Dumbledore has a place in Godric's Hollow?"

"Just outside the village, actually," said Severus, letting go of Harry just as Bill stepped out of the floo.

Harry had moved to a window in the front room and was looking out at a quiet cobblestone street. The house they were in seemed to be at the end of the quiet lane. The homes here, though modest in size, had large front gardens and were spaced so far apart that Harry could only get glimpses of three other houses from his vantage point.

"The village is up there," said Severus, standing behind Harry and pointing up the road. "You can put it into perspective by comparing it to Hogsmeade. This cottage is about as far from Godric's Hollow proper as the Shrieking Shack is from Hogsmeade."

Harry stepped away from the window and looked around the cottage. It had an air of disuse and the smell of dust. Old-fashioned photographs sat on top of the upright piano. Several seemed to have fallen over and were lying face-down in their frames. The windows had dusty lace curtains and black draping covered several large paintings on the wall.

Severus' eyes followed Harry's as they scanned the room. He exchanged a quick glance over Harry's head with Bill.

"We'll be out back, I take it?" asked Bill.

"This way," answered Severus, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder and guiding him through the kitchen and to a small room that served as a library. Harry looked at the floor to ceiling shelves—why did he always think of Hermione when he was in a library?—but Severus was leading him to a door at the back of the room that led to an enclosed sun porch.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. The porch looked out over extensive gardens. The gardens opened up to a grassy field edged with a thick wood. Unlike the northern Scottish environs of Hogwarts, it appeared warmer here. The grass didn't have even a trace of snow or frost though the trees were still largely bare. He leaned closer to the large windows to look at the garden paths. They seemed to be earthen paths covered with moss and mulch instead of paving stones.

His legs were itching to run.

He looked over at Severus, a question on his tongue.

"Base rules first," said Snape, moving to stand in front of the door as he correctly interpreted the unasked question. "You will stay within sight of the house at all times. IF you do well with this we will go into the forest after lunch. You will follow any directions we give you, including directions to transform back into your human form."

Harry nodded, his eyes again scanning the gardens and lawn. Behind him, Bill laughed.

"This is torture for him, Severus. Look—his leg is practically twitching."

"To date, he's only transformed in Minerva's office," commented Severus. "Think of the trouble he can get into out there!"

"Can I go then?" asked Harry, turning from the window to Severus. Severus raised an eyebrow. Harry turned to Bill.

"Don't look at me!" Bill said.

"But you're my guardian!" exclaimed Harry. "You can trump him if you want!"

"Oh, let's not go there…" said Bill, smirking.

"Come on then," said Severus, opening the door for Harry and following him out to the closest garden. Bill closed the door behind them and stood on the brick stairs as Harry left them behind and walked purposefully out of the well-planned garden plots onto an open area with aged and gnarled fruit trees. He glanced only once behind him, at Severus who stood with arms crossed on the walkway and at Bill who stood on the stair with his hand on the railing. Severus nodded.

A step forward and he had transformed, tripping over his gangly legs. He wasted no time getting his footing but leapt forward, loping a bit awkwardly toward the trees and slowing to scrape his back against the bark of the first one he reached.

"Wow," said Bill, sitting down on the top stair. "A red. Coloring is off for the season, though. Has he named himself yet?"

"It hasn't come up," said Severus, eyes still trained forward on the doe. It blended in with the morning shadows, with the leaf-bare branches of the trees and shrubs. Even the grass had a washed-out look in the winter. "However, I expect it will be resolved after today."

"He's awfully light on his feet for a newbie," said Bill as Harry the doe gave up scratching her back and ran forward toward the end of the orchard.

"Lightfoot," said Severus. "It has merit, for sure." The doe had now stepped closer to the garden wall where an oak tree branched over from the lawn and a blanket of rotting leaves covered the grass.

"Acorns," laughed Bill as the doe spread her front legs and nuzzled into the leaf mulch.

"I'll wait for lunch, thank you," said Severus with a grin as he took a few steps forward, striving to keep the doe well in his sight.

The doe raised her head, still chewing, and fixed her gaze on the men near the house. Severus locked eyes with her then strode purposefully toward the closed gate. He pushed it open and stood back.

Harry the doe swallowed the acorns and eyed the open gate before her and the expanse of grass and beckoning woods beyond. She watched Bill walk over beside Severus but for some reason held her ground. Bill and Severus exchanged a glance then walked through the gate, leaving it open behind them.

She was out and past them before they knew it, bounding forward and across the winter grass. The muscles in her legs stretched and pulled but didn't tire. The earth, cool and soft, gave slightly beneath her hoofed feet as she ran. She was only vaguely aware of the moment when the gentle loping gave way to coordinated leaps, all four legs off the ground at once, coming down together, followed by the push of her hindquarters to make herself airborne again. The trees were tantalizingly close and the doe pushed toward them while Harry reluctantly reined in the instinctive desire to blend in with the shadows and changed direction, charging back up the gentle slope toward the south wall of the gardens.

As Harry sailed through the air and leapt again, his body airborne more than earthbound, his human mind told him You're flying…it's just like flying…

"He's flying," said Bill softly. "Trust Harry to fly without wings."

They watched together as doe Harry slowed at the garden wall, turned and trotted back out into the sun. She stopped and stood motionless a moment then turned her head slowly to stare back at the two men. After a moment, she flicked her tail and bent again to nibble beneath the turf, raising her head after a moment and staring again at the distant trees.

"He's wanting to go there," said Bill. "How long do you plan to hold him off?"

"Until he is tired of running," said Severus. "Look."

Bill looked up just as the doe started walking forward again, the snack forgotten. She took only a few slow steps before leaping nearly straight up into the air then running again, moving toward the trees at the end of the lawn.

In his human form, Harry loved to run. He'd become quite good at it as a child, when speed and his own two feet were his only defenses against his bully of a cousin and Dudley's oafish friends. He still loved to run, though he didn't run for protection anymore, enjoying the burn and stretch of muscles as his feet flew over the grass, the rapid pumping of his heart, thrumming loudly to remind him of his effort as he reached his destination and slowed to a walk.

Running as a human required conscious thought, the decision to push himself to make it to his destination faster, to not be late to class, to make it back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew, to reach the Headmaster before something or someone hurt Victor Krum.

But running as a deer was as natural as walking, as instinctive as freezing. His human mind was beginning to have less influence the more he ran, though it must have been his human brain that soared along with his body when he leapt forward and sailed to the next landing, front legs hitting the ground a fraction of a moment before the back, then the back pushing back against the earth and launching him up and forward again.

Trees!

He skidded to a shaky halt just inside the forest, turned his head a fraction to see the two human shapes running down the gentle slope toward him.

"Harry!" He could see the darker-haired man trailing the redhead by a few yards, but it was he who had called out to him.

Without a second thought he transformed back to his human self and moved toward the men, out of the shadows.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!"

Bill reached him first and bent down, holding his own knees, laughing through his panting.

Severus had slowed to a jog from a flat out run as soon as he'd seen the mop of black hair. He walked the last few steps and joined Harry and Bill.

"You heard me call?" he asked, looking at Harry and taking in the flushed face and bright eyes.

"Yeah. I heard. I didn't realize I had gotten this far."

"Come back out for a while, then. Let's go have a drink inside and warm up before we have a go at the woods."

"Warm up? I'm burning up already!" protested Harry, but following Severus and Bill nonetheless.

Severus turned to face him, walking backward but keeping up the pace.

"Do you have a name?" he asked, seemingly from left field.

"You mean other than Harry?" quipped Harry.

"You know what I mean," answered Severus, turning around and continuing onward. Harry followed, thinking hard, but no name came to him.

If Harry thought that letting loose in the meadow and sailing over the treeless ground was exhilarating, the second half of his day—after a break more running and a quick lunch—spent grazing in the shadows of the trees, standing motionless behind conifers, oaks and beeches, drinking with splayed front legs from a cool stream, was restorative. Severus and Bill sat on a tarp draped over a thick bed of dry pine needles, warmed by warming charms and the bottom half of a bottle of fire whiskey they'd brought down with them from the cottage. Harry the doe didn't stray too far off, taking time to sniff and smell and taste and listen. She found a branch the perfect height from the ground to walk under to scratch her back and rubbed her flanks against the rough bark of the pine. She was disinterested in the conversation of Severus and Bill, even though she knew they were often speaking of her, analyzing her movements, discussing the logistical benefits of being able to transform into a deer and disappear into the woods. She ambled off to drink again from the stream, wading in it for a distance then standing still and alert before she lowered her head, tasting the new smell on the air. Lifting her head, she connected the new smell with the strangers across the creek—three roe deer, frozen in place, staring at the red, solitary stranger. One of them flicked an ear. In greeting? In warning? Harry's doe thought the latter.

The doe stared at them, fascinated. The smell of the other deer wafted across the water, as strong to her delicate senses as the odor in the Quidditch changing rooms after a long, tough game. These deer were different, yet the same, not like her yet more like her than anything she'd yet encountered in this form. As one, they turned and ran, tails upright, disappearing into the depths of the forest without a sound.

The doe watched them go, her eyes and ears alert, then turned from the stream and picked her way back toward the men on the tarp. She stood listening to them for several moments, cataloging their fire-whisky influenced conversation, then transformed back into Harry, walked out of the shadows and dropped down beside them. He held out his hand toward Bill, who had the nearly-empty bottle cradled in his lap.

"I could use a quick warm-up," he said.

Bill began to hand the bottle to Harry, stopped himself, and glanced over at Severus. Severus rolled his eyes.

"Go ahead. There's not enough left to do him any harm."

Harry grinned and took a swallow, feeling the effects of the liquid warming his extremities. He stared at his hands a moment, at the complexity of ten fingers and 54 bones. He moved his thumb to grip the bottle more tightly.

"What's so fascinating?" asked Severus.

"Opposable thumb," answered Harry. He looked at Severus and grinned broadly. "Maybe that's why animals don't develop drinking habits—no opposable thumbs. Can't pick up the bottles…"

Bill play-cuffed him on the side of the head.

"So, did you enjoy your time in the woods?" Bill checked his wristwatch and shivered. "You've been nosing about for three hours. It's a wonder we didn't completely finish that bottle."

"Yeah, I did. I saw some other deer. Just now, before I came back here."

Severus sat up. "You'll want to be careful with that, Harry, especially early on. There are different deer species in Britain…"

"I know. These were different. Roes, I think. They were across the creek—I saw them while I was drinking and wading."

Severus nodded and stood.

"I expect you'll eventually want to go find more reds. They may accept you over time."

"Will they know….I mean, will they know I'm different?" asked Harry. He didn't understand why he wanted them not to know.

Severus half-smiled. "I don't know. You looked and acted every bit a young deer to me today, but then again, I'm not a deer. Does it matter?"

Bill was looking at him curiously.

"Yeah, it does. But I don't know why. I just kind of want to be…." He shook his head. "I don't know…"

"Anonymous?" supplied Bill.

Harry looked down, trying to hide his smile.

"I heard you talking before," said Harry, still addressing his lap. "Right before I transformed back."

"Spying as a deer is still spying, Harry," commented Severus. Still, he looked intrigued. "You recall all that you heard?"

Harry looked up, a bit sadly. "Yeah, I do. I listened on purpose. I was trying to sneak up on you. My human mind seems to butt in every now and then."

"And spying in the corridor is a very Harry Potter sort of thing to do," offered Severus.

"Hey!" Harry reached out and pushed at Severus boot, then held out his hand to Severus. Severus took it and pulled Harry to his feet. Bill stood as well, then flicked his wand to banish the tarp once they had all stepped off of it.

"You were talking about the Headmaster," said Harry from behind the other two as they made their way out of the woods and onto the lawn, heading up to the cottage.

"We were, indeed," said Snape, not opening any doors.

"And this house," said Harry. "Something about a tragedy."

"That is the Headmaster's story to tell," said Severus, not unkindly. "He offered the house and grounds for our use today; he may not be averse to you asking him some questions about it."

Harry was silent for a few moments.

"He grew up here? In Godric's Hollow?"

"He spent part of his childhood here, yes," answered Severus.

"So did I," said Harry.

"Indeed, you did."

"Funny that he never mentioned that before," said Harry, jogging to keep up with the longer strides of Severus and Bill.

"Let's get in and get warm," said Severus. "We will discuss this more once we have made tea."

"Has a name come to you yet, Harry?" asked Bill. He walked backwards a few strides to converse with Harry.

Harry shook his head. "No idea. Is it supposed to take this long?"

They climbed the stairs to the cottage and settled in the living room while Severus conjured a neat tea tray with chocolate digestive biscuits.

"May I make a suggestion, Harry?" asked Severus, pushing a mug of tea toward him. "About your Animagus name?"

"Sure," answered Harry. He cupped his hands around the cup, absurdly grateful to have fingers instead of hooves, and let it warm them.

"In mythology, the messenger between gods and mortals is depicted with winged feet or sandals. He is Hermes in the Greek and Mercury in the Roman. Either name is fine, though both have other associations, including being protectors of thieves and guides to the underworld, that are less apropos."

"Winged feet," said Harry, considering the image. He smiled. "Yeah, that's what it feels like when I run. I like that."

"The name 'Lightfoot' came to me earlier while you played in the field." He caught Harry's eye. "It seems to suit not only your new form but your mood as well when you are in the form."

Harry considered, turning the word over on his tongue.

Bill spoke up then. "It's a good suggestion, Severus. I can see Lightfoot leaping over the grass and standing perfectly still listening to us in the wood."

"Gender neutral too," mused Harry. He tried the name out loud. "Lightfoot. I like it. It feels right too." He took a long drink of tea. "Lightfoot it is, then. Thanks, Severus."

Severus nodded, acknowledging Harry's gratitude. He felt absurdly proud for having come up with an appropriate name for Harry in his Animagus form. Naming was not something to be taken lightly, not in the wizarding world anyway. Names carried weight and meaning and sometimes, a burden. Names like "The Boy Who Lived," or "The Chosen One." He truly thought Harry could carry this name forward and not be tempted to shake it off and leave it on the roadside for someone else to find and carry.

"You were going to tell me about the Headmaster…" said Harry after a time.

"Harry," said Bill. "Don't assume that Albus has been keeping everything from you deliberately. The wizarding world of Britain is fairly small. There aren't that many villages where wizards and Muggles exist together in large numbers. This is one of them—quite a few wizarding families are from Godric's Hollow."

"Still, it's something we share," said Harry. "And he's never mentioned it. He goes out of his way to show ways that I'm similar to…to…to Voldemort but doesn't even mention that he and I come from the same village."

Severus had involuntarily winced at Harry's uttering of the Dark Lord's name but didn't chastise him for voicing it. He simply could not tell Harry what had happened here at this cottage so many years ago. He couldn't tell him that Dumbledore couldn't bear to mention the cottage by name, calling it "my property." "Take Harry to my property, Severus. He will be safe within the wards there, and there is room for him to run." He dare not lift the photographs that rested face down on the piano, or remove the drapes from the portraits on the wall.

Bill, in his rocking chair, looked thoughtful. Bill knew precisely what most Order members knew. That this was Dumbledore's childhood home. That Dumbledore did not speak of his childhood, but that Abeforth sometimes did. That something tragic had happened here. That the house was an Order Safehouse, but that the furnishings were to be left exactly as they were when it was in use.

Severus, however, knew a bit more.

"If the Headmaster strives to show you how you are similar to the Dark Lord, his intention is certainly to show you how different you are despite having similar backgrounds. Do not forget his message, Harry—that it is your choices that make you different. That being said, you should know that you are the first and only person outside of the Order that has been in this house in more than 90 years."

Harry's mouth dropped open. He looked around the house again.

"Harry, I do not approve of the Headmaster keeping important things from you, things about you or the prophecy that affect you directly. But in inviting you to come here today, he is showing you a great deal of trust—and love. He does not owe you an explanation for not telling you earlier that you and he share this thing. But do ask him, if you'd like—politely, of course."

Harry nodded, mollified.

"How 'bout you tell me about that trip to Liverpool, Harry?" said Bill. "Ron and Ginny came home over the holidays with some very interesting t-shirts."

Harry laughed and launched into the highlights of the trip while Severus sat back and sipped his tea, watching Harry relive a carefree weekend when he wasn't worrying about the Headmaster's secrets, or Severus being called, or his growing feelings for a certain Miss Weasley. Bill was a good age to mentor Harry, he thought, with siblings Harry's age and not too far out of Hogwarts to forget the fun and mischief of being a student at a boarding school. Yet he was an upstanding member of society too, with a secure job, a bright future, a beautiful, smart woman wanting to partner with him in life. He didn't answer to a madman. Wasn't beholden to the greatest wizard of his time, but worked for him freely and willingly. Bill wasn't just a good replacement for Severus should Severus lose his life during this cursed war, he was a good replacement for Severus in general.

Harry liked Bill, it was plain to see. Bill was decidedly cool. Bill was exciting. Bill was a Weasley. But when Harry looked over at Severus while telling Bill about Liverpool, he sought affirmation and confirmation in Severus' eyes. He drew Severus into him, checked to make sure he was present, listening, aware.

Harry liked Bill.

But Harry needed Severus.

Six months ago, he would have felt like a deer caught in the headlights at that realization-frozen in fear, terror-stricken. His instinct would have paralleled the deer's as well-flight as soon as he was able.

But today, when confronted by the reality that he was needed, he entertained the brief hope that he could survive what was ahead.

If he couldn't, if he didn't, there was always Bill.