-Harry-

After the longest weekend in the world, it was finally Sunday night. Harry had spent quite a bit of time that day finishing his homework, since Saturday had been filled with their first apparition lesson followed by a seemingly endless detention with Snape. He'd served detention with Dean, of course, which meant that he'd had the "pleasure" of spending nearly three hours with "Snape" instead of "Severus," being subjected to the kind of Snape-like treatment he got in Defense Class. He'd come terribly close to earning another detention by kicking the door frame in frustration just when Severus had opened it to admit them. The glare Severus had given him, after the verbal warning, had its own message in it. He had more of those glares as the weekend progressed, mainly from Ginny whenever they happened to be in the same room. Hermione had taken him aside to find out what exactly happened with Dean, and seemed almost amused after listening to his explanation. Girls!

Now he was stretched out on his bed. It was already nearly 10 p.m., past curfew, and he was itching to get out of the confines of the castle. He tamped down the urge and picked up the letter Severus had handed him in class on Friday. He'd been angrier than he should have been at the time and had stuffed it in his bag with a glare and without reading it. He'd skimmed it quickly yesterday and now carefully unrolled it, said the spell to reveal Severus' words and leaned back to read it again.

He closed his eyes when he was finished. His wand hovered above him, lit with a Lumos and shedding soft reading light in the confines of his curtained four-poster. So much had happened since Severus had written that letter—the letter that contained all the cautionary advice about a certain "Miss Weasley," the words of encouragement regarding her relationship with "Mr. Thomas." Incredibly, unbelievably, Severus was trying to help him. Give him hope.

But the hopeless, nervous bludger in his gut right now outweighed the fluttery snitch of hope Severus' words gave him. He was going to have to talk to Ginny and apologize—for what, he didn't yet know.

/

2 February, 1997

Sunday

Dear Severus:

She hates me. She really hates me. I swear girls are so complicated! Ever since Thursday night she's avoided me and when we do cross paths, she just glares at me and then looks away. She's been hanging out with Luna and this other Ravenclaw fifth year—Estelle something or other—and Luna keeps giving me this look…like she's totally exasperated with my stupidity or something. But Ginny…she looks hurt! I don't understand girls, Severus. I didn't even do anything. Well, not to her anyway. I just tried to get Dean to shut up about her. He came into our dorm room mad about something and started kicking things around. One of my shoes was on the floor and he kicked it under his bed. I asked him to get it back out and he just kind of glared at me and flopped on his bed. Then I heard him muttering something about Ginny. Seamus called out from his bed something like "What's wrong, Dean? She still not putting out for you?" And Dean said (not his exact words, but damn close) "What do you think? She's becoming a damn prude!"

I don't know what happened to me. I should have been thrilled that she was pulling back from him—it confirmed what I'd been noticing myself, anyway. But instead I got up and got in his face and told him not to call Ginny names like that. And he said "What's it to you, Harry?" Then he got this look on his face and it was like the penny dropped. He figured it out—that I liked her. I didn't say anything else but he punched me right in the nose and knocked me back on the floor. I went for my wand but he was on me before I could get it out. We knocked each other around before Seamus and Neville managed to pull us apart. He got in a parting shot and broke my glasses—and, it turns out, my nose too.

Unfortunately, Minerva was down in the common room talking with the fifth years—including Ginny—about their OWLs. She showed up in our room within a minute and made us follow her to her office—right through the middle of the OWL group. I saw Ginny pull Seamus aside to find out what happened. Then YOU show up when we're in her office! I'd like to think that was just coincidence but I suspect a certain tattle-tale clock.

Thanks, by the way, for the great detention Saturday. The rest of the team really laid into me—well, to both Dean and me, actually—for getting detention. It wasn't such a big deal that I wasn't there since I'm the Seeker and you can always practice without a Seeker. But not having Dean hurt. They pulled in Cormac to fly with them but that seemed to set Ron off even more. He didn't talk to me at all Saturday after practice. He acted like I missed practice on purpose—like me and Dean having detention with you was a PICNIC or something. I'm still half nauseous just THINKING about working with those dragon bogeys. Who even knew that dragons HAD bogeys? But at least now I know EVERYTHING there is to know about them, and how they're collected, and how they're used in potions ingredients, thanks to that 2 foot essay you set us. It wasn't enough, was it, that I already knew how they feel when you have to pick them up with you bare hands and separate them into individual "portions" of EXACTLY 10cc and then try to force them into miniscule little potions vials? That was absolutely the grossest thing I've ever had to do—except possibly get my wand out of that troll's nose…

OK, calming down. I'm calming down. I know you got a huge kick out of having me and Dean do that, and staying in the room the whole time marking essays and watching us glare at each other and gag. You probably gave a very detailed report to Minerva and the two of you got together Saturday night in your office and giggled like teenagers while you drank some "adult beverages" and planned your next attack.

Since I spent most of today doing homework, and groveling to the Quidditch team to get them to forgive me, and trying to write an apology note to Ginny (I just wished I knew what I was apologizing for), I guess the ONLY bright spot this whole weekend was the apparition lesson on Saturday. Since you were there, I don't have to go into details about the Ministry instructor and the wooden hoops that strongly resemble another kind of recreational hoop. Really, though—who would want to keep going on with this when we might lose a leg? And what if no one's around to help sort it out when it happens? And why wasn't there blood spurting out? I'm thinking that brooms are a perfectly fine way to travel. Anyway, since I called the lesson a bright spot…I suppose I should be more upbeat about it. Well, honestly, it was a riot to watch everyone (and yes, I know I should have been paying more attention to the instructor and really concentrating on the three Ds). No one had a CLUE what to do—not even Hermione—but Twytcross (that was his name, wasn't it) didn't seem the least bit concerned. It's like he expected us to fail and to splinch ourselves.

Well, I'm not going to bother much about responding to your talk about abstinence and the "youngest Weasley" and procreation and stuff. After Thursday night, the chances of me having any red-headed part-Weasley children (SOME day, Severus, SOME day…) seem to have plummeted. I don't get it! I was just trying to get Dean to stop talking about her like that!

I really shouldn't have written this letter when I was still so upset about the fight with Dean and how Ginny is dealing with it.

Sorry sorry sorry. I'm stopping here and going for a walk. Yes, I know it's past curfew. Turn your clock around to face the wall and pretend I'm in bed!

…

Hi Severus—I went up to the owlery. Not sure what your clock would have said as I wasn't "in trouble" but I wasn't "in Gryffindor Tower" either. No one saw me and it calmed me down so just give me this one, OK? Mac and Hedwig were nestled up together back in a corner—not sure if they'd already gotten back from hunting or what. I'm beginning to think those two are up to something. Something that DOESN'T involve abstinence and contraception potions, if you know what I mean, and might result in little McHedwigs. Even though I helped Hagrid raise the owlets last fall, I don't really know anything about owls nesting. Who sits on the eggs? For how long? Will the owlets belong to the school or to the owners of the owls themselves? This has got to be the wrong time of the year for eggs, but spring will be here before you know it so I'm keeping my eyes on them.

Back to your letter. Bill is a great choice for a second guardian, but he's not a replacement for you. But at least now I know what was in your mind when you chose him. He's about as different from Minerva as you can get, so when you add Bill up with Minerva, you get about half a Severus. You're going to have to get me a couple of other guardians if you're really looking for a replacement for yourself, and you'd better be sure one of them likes the Beatles. I don't know how I could possible trust a mentor if their favorite Beatle wasn't John.

I tried again with Slughorn on Friday after class. I tried to suck up to him and asked him if he would tell me something about my mum. I think I should have asked him that first, before I asked him about the memory, because he said that my mum would never have asked a professor to talk about such an abhorrent (did I spell that right?) and despicable subject. He then claimed (liar) that he knew nothing about Horcruxes (so why did he spit the word out in a whisper, then?) and then said that he should have guessed what Dumbledore was after when he asked him to come back to Hogwarts. I'm really going to have to think of a different way to approach him. I don't want to mess up my chances of getting an O in Potions this year (yes, REALLY). I do have one more idea but if it doesn't work I'm going to just have to tell the Headmaster that I can't do it.

Are you sure you want me to answer your question?

The thing is, I already know the answer, because I had to argue with the Sorting Hat a bit when I was being sorted.

You are sitting down, aren't you?

The hat said I could be great…that I had a thirst to prove myself…and suggested that Slytherin house would "help me on the way to greatness." But I didn't care what house it put me in as long as it wasn't Slytherin. After meeting Malfoy in Diagon Alley and hearing about Slytherin from Hagrid (he said something like "better Hufflepuff than Slytherin"), all I knew for sure is that I didn't want to go to Slytherin.

Listen, I know I sound awful, considering you're head of Slytherin, and you were in Slytherin when you were a student here. And I've never told anyone this before, what the Sorting Hat wanted to do with me, that is. I'm glad I ended up where I did but now that I know more about Slytherin, and more about you, I kind of see a little bit of what the hat saw. I wonder what else it saw inside me besides a "thirst to prove myself."

I'm almost too tired to get into what happened the other night that caused that limp you had on Friday. "Brawling stragglers?" I know there's a lot in there you're not telling me, so let me just remind you to be more careful, since we've already determined it will take at least four people to even BEGIN to "replace" you. And just to put your mind at ease, I transformed into Lightfoot as soon as I felt you get summoned, right there on my bed on top of the covers. And I was almost late to Defense because I spent the whole night sleeping in my Animagus form and Ron found me like that about fifteen minutes before class started. I didn't feel a thing while I was sleeping, though, so I doubt there's any way in the world Voldemort could have seen into my mind. If he did, he'd have just seen visions of running through fields, leaping over streams and eating acorns.

A question for you—

Where are my parents buried?

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry re-read his letter, not overly pleased with it. It was jumpier than usual, and he wondered if the question he'd included at the end was appropriate and fair. He was pretty sure his parents were buried together—and not on a mythical island—and that Severus wouldn't be visiting Lily's grave if he had to see James' too. He wondered if they were buried at Godric's Hollow somewhere, and if so, how close they had been to the cemetery last weekend when he'd gone to Dumbledore's place with Severus and Bill. Then he began to wonder about wizard funerals, and burials, and whether wizards were buried or cremated, and what they did at their funerals that was different than at Muggle funerals.

He'd actually been to a Muggle funeral, once. He didn't remember much about it—he'd only been four or five when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge's mother had died. She was incredibly old, or so he thought at the time, but really she probably wasn't much older than 65 or so. He sat in the back of the church with old Mrs. Figg while the preacher droned on about eternal salvation and the soul leaving the body.

He hadn't known much about souls back when he was five. He'd been more interested in the paper fan the man in black had given Mrs. Figg to cool herself in the church. Would he have been surprised, then, when he was barely tall enough to see over the pew in front of him, that a soul could be fragmented by an act of evil? That a soul could be sucked out of a person by a lifeless Dementor, leaving the Dementor just as lifeless and the person as good as dead?

Harry sighed and put away his homework and stuck his Defense essay and letter into the side pocket of his book bag. He cancelled the Lumos on his wand which had been lighting up the space inside his four-poster's curtains and listened. Ron's light snores from the bed closest to him and Neville's heavy but regular breathing from the bed across from his own somehow comforted him, despite his restlessness. He knew where it was coming from at least—he didn't know exactly how he felt about admitting to Severus that the Sorting Hat had suggested he'd do well in Slytherin. Did putting it down like that, with quill and ink, make him stronger…or weaker? Why did it matter so much to him what Severus thought?

-Severus-

Severus collapsed on the sofa in front of his fireplace, his head thrown back on a seemingly boneless neck, resting nearly horizontally on the top of the sofa cushion. He stared at the ceiling of his sitting room, noting a larger-than-normal giant house spider waiting placidly in the corner. Not even remotely alarmed, but thinking immediately of an adolescent Petunia Evans running screaming (and topless) from the playground, he closed his eyes.

Another two hours spent with Albus, trying to coax the curse into submission, both of them fully cognizant that it was ultimately a futile effort, which would do nothing but buy them time. It was the most they could hope for and indeed, all that they really could expect given the nature of the curse. Afterward, Albus sat at his desk, occasionally flexing his blackened fingers and almost successfully masking the wince he could not hide, and brought up the subject of Harry.

"Has he told you about the task I have set for him?" asked Albus, temporarily pushing aside the pain reduction potion Severus had placed before him.

Severus met his eye, considering. Honesty, then. "Yes, he has. He is becoming concerned he will not be successful."

Albus sighed. "It has been a month now. I know he has made some attempts, but had hoped…"

"Considering the subject matter," cut in Severus, "it is not surprising that Horace is not yet budging. Is it so important that Harry himself obtain this memory? Could you not coerce Horace in some way?"

Dumbledore did not consider before answering. "It is important, Severus. Harry must succeed, and we are losing time." He looked again at his hand, turning it over to examine the withered wrist.

Severus opened his eyes again. The spider had not moved from its guardian spot in the corner. All his marking was completed, yet he still owed Harry a letter, and an answer to his remarkably simple and direct question. No islands, no hypothetical situations, no "what ifs." Just a real-life question, a fact, a piece of concrete information requested by an orphaned child seeking closure. Why the hell hadn't someone thought to take him there in the six years he'd lived in the Wizarding world? Why the hell hadn't he?

/

5 February, 1997

Wednesday

Dear Harry:

Teenagers brawling over girls is nothing new at Hogwarts, Harry. Girls being hard to understand? Also not news. You're going to have to ride it out. My advice to you is to go to Miss Granger or Miss Lovegood for assistance before approaching Miss Weasley directly. They should be able to help you out—whether they will be inclined to do so I cannot say. As you have already determined, girls are a mystery. You certainly feel as if you are defending Miss Weasley's honor. But recall that Mr. Thomas said she was a "prude," implying that she was NOT (as Mr. Finnigan so crudely put it) "putting out." I imagine that this specific term did not upset you particularly (indeed, you should have been rejoicing inside) but that instead you resented your dorm mates talking about Miss Weasley in general. Since you will have to be in daily close proximity to Mr. Thomas for the next year and a half, I suggest that you have a discussion of sorts with him. Do not try to bend the truth and tell him that Ginny is like a sister to you and you were acting as a "brother" when you took issue with his language. A statement such as that may easily come back to bite you in the future and you would not want to be accused of "incestuous" behavior should your dreams eventually actually materialize.

As for the dragon bogeys…recall that a detention is a punishment. They are intended to be abhorrent enough to encourage detainees not to repeat the behavior that earned them the detention. I hope that you will always recall the feel of those dragon bogeys, their consistency, slickness and the difficulty of forcing them into small vials and having to scrape off the excess from the sides of the bottles—that you will remember all of this when you next consider throwing a punch at another wizard.

On to the more genial things in your letter. The owls. I must admit being intrigued at this possible turn of events. Hedwig and McKenzie? You know, of course, that Hagrid knows all there is to know about magical creatures of every sort, including owls, and he will be your best resource in this matter. I doubt that egg laying will occur before spring, as the owlets will do best when born when the weather is a bit warmer and it is easier for the parents to find rodents and such to bring back for the babies. Alas, even though the owls themselves may be our familiars, I have a feeling that it will be the parents—our own Hedwig and McKenzie if you are correct in your guess about their intentions—that ultimately decide the fate of the young. If they nest in the owlery, we may have a chance at taming them. If they nest in the forest, the owlets will likely fly off and do what most owls do—sleep all day and hunt all night.

Yes, you would do well to concentrate on the 3 Ds of apparition, but I will say that the minor splinching of a single leg on Saturday was among the less dramatic of the occurrences during this event over the past years. Indeed, only two years ago, the Weasley twins managed to attempt apparition out of the Great Hall, resulting in becoming embedded in the exterior walls of the castle. I imagine they are still picking pebbles out of their derrieres.

I believe I could spend the rest of this letter, and the next, and some of the following, writing about your answer to my question. I will assume, as I am wont to do, that you are indeed telling the truth. I do not know if it is common for the Sorting Hat to have "discussions" or "arguments" with the students it is about to sort. Indeed, I remember my own sorting clearly. Your mother, of course, had already been sorted into Gryffindor, breaking my young heart, for I already knew that I could not—and would not—be going to the lions. I picked up the ratty old thing, sat on the stool, placed it on my head and heard nothing but a brief chuckle before the hat sang out "Slytherin!" I remember looking over to the Slytherin table and hearing their cheers and clapping. For me. I forgot about Lily in that moment and found welcome amid the snakes.

I expect you had a similar experience on your own sorting night, when you took your place among the lions. I admit I watched the entire thing with trepidation, for the head of the house that received Harry Potter would indeed have his—or her—job cut out for them. It was generally assumed you would go to Gryffindor, as both your parents had been Gryffindors, but no one quite knew the kind of childhood you had had, and occasionally the hat surprises us. No one thought there was a chance in hell that you would become a Slytherin, but I think that both Flitwick and Sprout were prepared to receive you. The hat did take its time deciding. At the staff table, we had the chance to exchange more than one look as you sat there, so much smaller than I had expected to see you, looking so much more like James Potter than I had hoped.

And now you tell me that you came within a hairsbreadth of being sorted into Slytherin.

I will state here that I am glad you became a Gryffindor, Harry, though had you gone to Slytherin perhaps we would have sorted out our "issues" much earlier.

I believe I should enlighten you, as I should have done months ago, on the better points of Slytherin House.

Slytherins, Harry, take care of their own. They do not rely on support from any other house or indeed ever expect it will come. While many come from wealthy homes they do not typically come from happy homes or close families. Marriages, especially among the "purest" of the purebloods, are typically arranged while they are mere infants (and in some cases before they are born) and are business arrangements to unite empires and merge bloodlines. While not every Slytherin is from a wealthy, pureblood family, at least half of the incoming first years each year fit this mold, and the other half, ah, the other half…an occasional Muggleborn with a particularly difficult home life who has had to develop certain talents in order to survive, more than a few "seconds"—the illegitimate children of purebloods, "love children" as they are called in some societies, and always some half-bloods, like myself, embittered at being kept away from the magical world by a parent who hated magic. Children of many backgrounds, united by not just the thirst to prove themselves, but the necessity of doing so. My job as their head of house is not one envied by the other professors here.

You had the unfortunate luck (or perhaps fortunate?) that the first Slytherin you met was the icon of all Slytherins, the heir to the Malfoy empire, a child born with the weight of ancestry, of fortune, pressed upon his insubstantial shoulders. Do not judge all Slytherins by Draco Malfoy.

While suicide is not common at all in the wizarding world, and less common even among the young, the vast majority of suicides in wizarding Britain are Slytherins. Chew on that one for a while.

Now I would like you to think about what the hat "said" to you, at least as you report it. "A thirst to prove yourself." "Slytherin could help you on your way to greatness." Before I answer your question, I'll set one for you. You've had five and a half years now to think about what those words might mean for you, in your life, Harry. Can you imagine Tom Riddle sitting on the same stool, with the same hat on his head and hearing those same words? Imagine what his reaction might have been.

My question. What did the hat see inside your head that day, Harry? What was that thirst to prove yourself?

Now, finally, let me address your question.

Your parents are buried in Godric's Hollow, in the cemetery beside the town's only church. I did not attend the funeral but visited the gravesite once during the year that followed their burial. It is an appropriate final resting place, peaceful and quiet, with climbing multiflora roses on trellises surrounding the churchyard. Lily and James are buried together, side by side, as they lived.

I will take you to see them, Harry, this summer, if you would like to go.

Regards,

Severus

/

Lily died on October 31st, 1981, but it wasn't until June of 1982 that Severus visited the churchyard where she was buried and placed a wreath of calla lilies against her headstone. He'd known precisely where she was buried, as he'd been there for the funeral, but watching from outside the gates, hidden under a disillusionment spell, a voyeur, mourning in his own way from afar.

On that summer day in 1982, he'd traced the letters of her name with his finger, pretending it was the only name on the monument, the only life lost that day.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

He remembered that now, sitting on his comfortable sofa, watching the dying embers in the fire grate before him. A phrase from the Bible, appropriate in more than one way, for Lily had grown up in a church-going family and had been destroyed by the would-be destroyer of death.

As on the other occasions when melancholy threatened to weigh him down, pressing heavily on his shoulders until he sagged and wept, he poured himself a double shot of firewhiskey. He downed it quickly then pulled on his robes and prepared to leave his quarters, giving a final glance at Harry's clock on his desk.

He was greatly surprised to see that it read "Somewhere Safe."

-Harry-

He'd read Severus' response and had immediately taken matters into his own hands. Deciding that Luna was the better option, he made his was, under his invisibility cloak, to the library. He really didn't know where the common room was, as he'd only ever seen the spiral staircase that the Ravenclaws climbed to reach it. It was 8 p.m. on Friday so he simply went to the library, waited for a group of Ravenclaw third-years to leave and followed them all the way back and up the spiral staircase. He stayed a safe distance behind them and they were gone when he reached the top. He didn't even see a door off of the small room he had entered. Sighing, he considered then pulled out his wand and cast his Patronus, sending it to Luna with a message. He was surprised to see the stag go down the staircase instead of through the walls and realized that Luna must be out too.

He went back down the staircase, pulled off his cloak and sat on the bottom stair, prepared to wait. He didn't expect to look up a few minutes later to find Ginny, not Luna, staring at him. He stood up quickly.

"I sent Luna to the library," said Ginny. "I'm guessing you wanted to talk about me."

Harry's cheeks reddened. Gryffindor bravery kicked in before he could slip on the invisibility cloak and run back to his bedroom.

"I'd rather talk to you," he said. "I was going to ask her how to manage that."

Ginny looked him over, then motioned for him to follow her.

"Come on," she said, turning to move back into the hallway. "I know somewhere safe we can go to talk."

/

8 February, 1997

Saturday

Dear Severus:

I've set things right with Ginny. I mean, we're at least friends again. She's going to break up "officially" with Dean tomorrow, but she's rather warned me off, saying she's looking forward to getting through her OWLs and having time to spend with her girlfriends once she's "free."

We talked for a long time, though, and she helped me with your question. I'd never told anyone else, ever, about what the hat said, not until I told you, anyway. But she seemed to understand and didn't call me a Slytherin scumbag or a traitor to Gryffindor or a Malfoy wannabe or anything like that.

The hat said, as near as I can remember, anyway, "There's talent and a thirst to prove yourself—that's interesting—so where should I put you?"

I knew almost nothing about myself back then, so I didn't understand, not really, what it meant to be The Boy Who Lived. All I had to go by up to that point was my life at the Dursleys, and all I wanted to prove was that I was worth something. I remember really really wanting to belong somewhere. Until I got sorted, no one had ever clapped for me like that, like they wanted me, like they were welcoming me. But still, that thirst to prove myself didn't mean I was going to change how I behaved—always thinking I needed to do things on my own, not thinking about asking for help or going to adults when things got hairy. No need to talk more about that—we talked plenty about that trust issue this summer, didn't we?

I wanted to tell you too that I never stopped to think about the job you have as Head of Slytherin.

Ginny's a really good listener, it turns out.

About going to see my mum and dad…yeah, I want you to take me. I think I'll be ready enough to go by this summer. No rush, I guess. They've been there all these years and I never went to see them. They know about my life, I guess, and they'll understand. They came to me in the graveyard, you know, after the third task in the Triwizard Tournament. I imagine Dumbledore's told you all about it, or someone else has…someone who was there, maybe.

I talked to Hagrid about the owls. He was more than interested. He told me a lot more than I think I need to know at this point, but he also said it would be unusual for Hedwig to accept McKenzie's "advances," since he's so young and inexperienced, but I have a feeling about it. It's a couple months off yet, according to Hagrid, but he gave me a book (yeah, Hagrid had a book!) and told me to watch for certain nesting behaviors.

I'm not sure what happened with you this morning, pretty early, because I don't remember much at all, just a pretty intense burst of pain in my scar about the time it was just beginning to get light out. I woke up again as Lightfoot, and I was totally under the covers. Ron woke me up for breakfast before the others saw me and I was able to change back but he practically had to cut the covers off me I was so tangled up in them. I think my hoof put a small hole in my mattress, because I ended up soaking wet which of course made the others think I'd wet myself. Can you believe 16 and 17-year old boys can giggle like girls when they think their dormmate wet the bed?

Maybe it was a fluke, or a dream, or maybe he wasn't calling you. That would mean that I was feeling him directly through my scar again, though, and I hope that's not happening. But if I am, I thought you should know. I was really worried when you weren't at apparition lessons this morning, but was relieved to see you after Quidditch Practice.

Apparition this morning was a riot. Hermione had to go to the hospital wing because she started hyperventilating when she wasn't able to apparate. I think she thought she was a failure and the thought was so foreign to her that she couldn't breathe. Lavender laughed at her and Ron gave Lavender the death glare. Then Crabbe apparated right into Twyttcross' hoop—but only his head made it. His torso was left standing there and without its head it just fell forward right on top of Malfoy. All the girls were screaming while the teachers put him back together again and Malfoy got knocked out and I think…I think his BOOTS GOT SCUFFED! He's probably in therapy now learning to deal with it.

Minerva had a house meeting yesterday and told us we get three days off in late March at half-term. It's right at Easter time this year so almost everyone says they're going to go home. They're setting up special floo connections again to get everyone out of here safely. Ron's invited me to the Burrow but I thought I'd find out first if you had any plans. Maybe I could hang around and help you or we could take a short trip to a dragon preserve to collect dragon snot.

Just realized that you're a head of house so of course you know about half term break. Sorry.

Can't go without another question for you.

If you weren't a wizard, what would you be doing for a living?

Regards,

Harry

/

On Sunday evening, Harry re-read the letter he had written the night before. He still had a vaguely warm and fuzzy feeling inside, slightly mudding his thought process and making studying difficult. It was two whole days since Ginny had taken him to an old and unused classroom that obviously had once been used for divination, given the number of dusty crystal balls and padded poufs in the room. It was off the third floor corridor, close to where "Fluffy" the three-headed dog had been housed, and to get in you had to allow a very dispirited-looking seer on a faded tapestry read your palm. Harry had been told that he would meet his true love "in the springtime of life" and that he would make a great fortune, but "not measured in gold." He looked at his own palm curiously as Ginny offered hers and the witch studied it closely, gazed curiously over at Harry, then told Ginny that she too, would meet her true love in the springtime of life and that she would be thrice blessed with life's true reward.

"Odd," said Ginny as they squeezed in through the small opening the witch allowed them, "last time I was here with Luna and Estelle she told me my hands would be calloused with my life's work. She never mentioned love of any kind."

He'd left all the details of his conversation with Ginny—and with the seer—out of his letter to Severus. As much as he enjoyed his correspondence with Severus, and as much as he enjoyed having an adult who truly cared about his welfare, he still needed his friends and some things, some things like how her hand—so calloused from playing Quidditch—fit so perfectly with his own, were best kept buttoned up inside his heart.