“…it may have escaped your notice, but life isn’t fair. Even your blessed father knew that…”

Harry shook his head, leaning forward as he worked, his muscles straining as he continued to shovel out the stall. He hadn’t heard that voice in three years: even longer if you took into account the tone. Yet it still haunted his dreams--waking and sleeping.

He finished mucking out the pen, the smell of manure mingled with fresh hay and leather. It was a unique scent, one he’d only become accustomed to well after Hogwarts. It was one of the few things that still brought him a measure of comfort, bittersweet as it was.

Sighing, he finished his barn chores, checking to see that Penny was happily and safety grazing in the pasture. The chicken coop had been cleaned, eggs collected, and waiting in a basket to be taken up to the manor. Bessie had been milked and fed. He stopped by to visit Sir Francis Bacon (aka Francie), scratching her behind the ears as she snorted at him before rolling over for a belly rub.

Picking up the basket of eggs and the pail of fresh milk, he headed back up the path. His morning routine gave him purpose--a purpose he otherwise seemed to lack. He’d long since gotten the old manor house in shape. It hadn’t needed that much work anyway; the older couple who’d sold it to him had kept it up relatively well.

He’d never imagined owning a hobby farm. It hadn’t been a dream of his by any means. He knew nothing about farm animals, hadn’t seen them but in books or powdered as potions ingredients. But he’d fallen in love with the estate--the rolling hills, the stream that bisected the property, the lovely manor house. It had been Sev who’d finally convinced him to buy it. “After all you’ve done, Potter, you’re afraid of a few chickens, a pig, and a horse?”

And so, Harry had seen the aging witch and wizard off with promises to care for their animals, and assurances they could visit anytime. He got to work updating the manor to his tastes, inviting his friends to visit--and to live at times when they were between places of their own.

It had been quite fun entertaining the friends of his who had come and gone. Luna, with her eccentric flair for decorating: the strange talking goat paintings still lined his halls and her tinkling laughter echoed in the chaos of their arrangement. Dean, who, along with his Muggle girlfriend and his grandmother, had lived there for a time. Neville, ever helpful in getting his vegetable gardens started and fruit trees planted. Severus had planted his own gardens for potions ingredients. Harry hadn’t touched those in all the time Sev had been gone, afraid he’d make some mistake with the plants that had since gone wild.

Then there were the more constant boarders--Ron and Hermione, of course. Harry knew that they stayed not because they couldn’t get a place of their own, but because they worried about him. They moved in after Sev had gone missing and hadn’t left since. He was immensely grateful for them. He didn’t know if he’d have made it through Severus’s disappearance without them. They’d pulled him back from the brink several times, even if they didn’t know it.

Draco Malfoy stopped by about once or twice a week now--bringing wines from around the world, and gracing them all with his acerbic wit and tall tales. Draco had been the biggest surprise of all, switching sides a few years after school and coming over to their side, picking up where Sev had left off after he was no longer able to act the spy. And Draco had sat vigil with Harry the first few months after Severus’s disappearance, along with Ron and Hermione. They’d all come to a sort of understanding in that time, as they all had the same objective--finding Snape, for Snape’s sake, as well as for Harry’s.

Hannah Abbott lived here as well, along with her younger sister, Calista. She and her sister had been orphaned in the war. Calista, at age 10, was full of a love for life, having been too young to remember much about the war. She’d be heading off to Hogwarts in the fall and she was beyond excited. Ernie McMillian and Hannah had become an item and so Ernie was at the manor more often than not as well, becoming a surrogate big brother/father figure to Calista, along with Harry himself.

The other Weasleys stopped by at regular, though unpredictable, intervals. Headmaster McGonagall and Professor Flitwick visited often, along with Professor Hooch on occasion, who never missed an opportunity to challenge him to a quick pick-up match of Quidditch.

And then there was Hagrid, Harry thought with a smile. Harry’d had to enchant his furniture especially to handle the half-giant’s bulk, which seemed to triple when the man had been drinking. As a housewarming gift, Hagrid had brought him a cow. A cow, of all things! “Yer can’t have a farm without a cow!” he had informed Harry. “All the milk ya could ever want, see?” he had said, squirting the cream-colored liquid all over Harry’s shoes. Harry shook his head at the memory of having to come up with housing for the beast with no notice. Now “Bessie,” as Sev had fondly named her, was one more member of the family, and Harry had indeed become grateful for the daily doses of fresh milk and cream.

The animals and the house guests all made for a routine that kept Harry’s mind off other, more depressing thoughts. At least, most of the time.

Harry made his way inside, set down the eggs and milk, and started breakfast. He could have done it using magic, but there was something to be said for using one’s hands instead of a wand. And so he cracked eggs and whisked them. He chopped onions, peppers, mushrooms, and chives and added them to the glass bowl. He took down the spices and, as he added them, their scent went straight from his nose to his heart, which clenched in memory.

Sev, standing beside him at the counter, using a mortar and pestle to grind the herbs that would become Harry’s cooking spices. Harry took a deep breath, pushing the memory aside. He set the oven and slid the dish inside. Then he went about setting the table for breakfast.

“Morning,” Hermione said, stepping inside the cavernous room, stretching and yawning simultaneously. “Sleep well?” She took the silverware from him and began laying out the place settings. Harry went back to the cupboard to get the glasses.

Harry shrugged. “The usual.”

Hermione paused, looking at him more closely. “Bad dreams?” she asked.

“Bad memories, more like,” Harry muttered. Seeing her brow furrow, and knowing a lecture would follow on how he needed to take better care of himself, he interjected, “What are your plans for the day?”

“Thought we might go into Hogsmeade for our anniversary,” Ron said, sidling up to Hermione and kissing her on the cheek. Hermione smiled and leaned into him.

“Ah,” Harry said, happy for them. “One year, right?”

“Yep,” Ron said, helping himself to a piece of toast.

“Ron,” Hermione scolded. “Wait for breakfast!”

Ron shrugged. “Harry,” he said, and Harry stilled, knowing that tone of voice. The tone that meant Ron was going to say something Harry probably wouldn’t like. “Ginny’s gonna be in town next week. The Holyhead Harpies are playing in England. I thought maybe…”

“Ron,” Harry said, exasperation thick in his voice. “She’s dating Victor Krum, remember?”

“Well, I know, but…” Ron began.

“We tried,” Harry said. “We really did,” Harry picked up a cloth and started scrubbing at the counter unnecessarily. “We just weren’t meant to be, I guess.” Harry knew from experience that they were exchanging a glance behind his back.

“We just want you to be happy, mate,” Ron said.

“Yeah, well,” Harry spat, “unless you can bring back the dead…”

“Harry,” Hermione beseeched, “we don’t know that he’s dead.”

“We don’t know that he isn‘t,” Harry said, throwing the rag in the sink and turning around, his hands fisted at his side. “He would have contacted someone if he was alive. He wouldn’t have left us all hanging, left us--ME--to wonder if he…”

Harry turned away, bracing his arms on the sink, looking out over land that stretched endlessly before him.

He felt an arm snake around his waist and a bushy head come to rest on his shoulder. “He wouldn’t have wanted this for you, Harry. He would have wanted…”

“Who knows what he would have wanted, Hermione,” Harry snapped, shrugging her off. “He’s not here to tell us.” Harry spun on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

“Harry…” Hermione called after his retreating back.

“Let him go, ’mione,” Ron said.

Harry made his way to the paddock, where Penny, seeing him there, nickered and headed his way.

“Sorry, girl, I don’t have anything for you,” Harry said, reaching out to stroke her neck.

Penny nudged him with her muzzle, sniffing. He raised his other hand, showing her it was empty. She lipped it anyway. Harry laughed despite himself.

“That tickles,” he breathed.

He scratched her behind the ear, one of her favorite spots, and she tilted her head, leaning into his touch.

Harry closed his eyes, tipping his face back to absorb the sun.

“She’s an overgrown pony,” Sev had said with mocking derision.

“Well,” Harry had replied, “she’s MY overgrown pony.”

Sev had chuckled. “That she is,” the older man had observed as Penny had tossed her tail and cantered in a circle, Harry perched atop her, learning how to sit in a saddle and ride.

Harry shook himself, blinking away the wetness in his eyes. He bounced his fist on the split rail fence, chagrined. Three years. It had been three years and still he mourned for the man as if it was yesterday.

Hannah, who was already a healer at St. Mungo’s, and was training to be a mind healer as well, said that cases like this were the hardest because there was no closure. No answers. No resolution. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Harry didn’t know what had happened to the man. All evidence pointed toward a kidnapping. What few witnesses there were had reported shouts, a scuffle, some popping noises, and then… nothing. Nothing but Severus’s cloak, which had been found torn, bloodied, and crumpled on the ground.

The only reasonable explanation was that Severus had been abducted by rogue Death Eaters, left over after the battle had been won, seeking revenge for their lost loved ones, or perhaps hoping to continue the campaign of terror, even in Voldemort’s absence.

In some ways, Harry hoped the wizard was dead. Because the alternative, the alternative… Harry put his fist in his mouth, biting down. The alternative was unbearable.

The alternative was the images that kept Harry awake at night: visions of Severus locked in a dungeon somewhere, beaten, bloodied, cursed, starving. The thought of such a strong proud man being broken was more than Harry could take. He swore, turned away, and walked blindly into a wall of muscle.

“What the…” Harry cursed, stumbling backward.

“Feeling sorry for yourself, Potter?” Draco drawled.

“Bugger off,” Harry cursed.

“Some respect, Potter, is due to the name of Malf…”

Potter shoved Draco backward, hard, and made to stalk off.

 “Whoa,” Draco called, running backward to keep in front of Potter, finally putting a hand out to stop him.

Harry raised his head, finally meeting Draco’s gaze.

“Merlin,” Draco breathed. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Harry spat out. “Nothing at all.”

He tried to step around Draco, but the man stepped in front of him again.

“Unless you have news, Draco, now is not a good time.”

“I can see that,” the blond wizard said.

The two stood, not moving. Harry’s head was bowed, his breathing ragged.

Finally, Draco spoke. “Listen,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life…”

“No, it isn’t,” Harry said, stepping around him.

Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t approve, you know. He had no tolerance for…” Draco swept his other hand in a wide arc, “this kind of thing. Waiting. Pining.”

Harry snorted. He knew that much to be true.

“We are still looking, you know,” Draco said, dropping his hand. “The Aurors’ office hasn’t given up.”

“It’s been three years,” Harry said scornfully. “If they haven’t found him by now, they aren’t going to.”

“There’s no body, Potter. And until there is, we’ll keep looking.” Draco cleared his throat. “I will keep looking.” Draco’s gaze hardened. “He meant something to me, too,” he added quietly.

Harry turned away. Sev hadn’t just meant something to Harry, he’d meant everything to him. Without replying, Harry nodded.

“Come on,” Draco said, “they’re waiting for us at breakfast.”

Harry had long since lost his appetite, but he followed Draco anyway. He was, after all, the host of the manor.