~~~~HP~~~~

Friday 22nd, August 1997

How hard is it to open a folded up piece of parchment?

That question rang over and over in Harry's head since he woke up an hour ago, just before five in the morning. Assuming the young wizard passed his morning diagnostic scan from Snape, the two of them would be heading off to France for Bill and Fleur's wedding, and he hadn't forgotten Hermione mentioning the small detail of Draco being in attendance tomorrow night. So once again, he sat on his bed watching the sun crest over the industrial landscape from his bedroom window, with both of the blonde Slytherin's letters sitting on top of his bedspread, letting his anxiety of dealing with Draco overshadow the excitement of attending the wedding.

It all started after he had another dream - not exactly a nightmare, yet not necessarily something good - last night about his time at Malfoy Manor, locked in the room with Draco. This time, against all odds, he'd managed to find a connection between the Celestial Room they were locked in and Draco's bedroom through a well hidden passage in their large en suite lavatory. After taking the secret passage - which wasn't much more than a tunnel of dirt no wider than their shoulders - into the Malfoy heir's bedroom, they found Buckbeak sitting in his pristine bed and rode him out the window. All would have been fine, except Harry remembered he'd forgotten Snape halfway across the expansive front garden, but when he tried to get Buckbeak to turn around, he was bitten on his left forearm, and as a result, a large bruise started rapidly taking over his arm. Harry woke up with a startle right as he'd fallen from Buckbeak and was rushing towards the ground. Covered in sweat, when he awoke he knew he had to try to open the letters; it seemed like a very logical thing to do, especially if he'd promised Hermione not to put her in the middle. An hour later, though, they still sat untouched in front of him and, realistically, no closer to getting opened.

This is ridiculous, the Gryffindor thought to himself, you already know what's in them! Somehow, knowing they each contained a letter Harry was supposed to forward over didn't prevent him from questioning what else the blonde had written. Did he pretend as if nothing had happened; simply inquiring about his holiday and hoped to see him at school next term? Or was the other teen honest about how awkward he felt? While Harry preferred, and expected, the first option, his paralyzing fear of the second - of Draco handling the situation better than him - prevented him from opening either letter.

The knock on his door didn't alarm Harry at all. As promised, starting Wednesday morning - plus last night - Snape had come in first thing to run a diagnostic scan on the Gryffindor. So far, his medications had cooperated and his scans had satisfied the professor each morning. Harry thought the process was a little nebulous as they couldn't actually detect his blood counts, but it served his purpose in the end - plus he was sure Snape hadn't overlooked that fact - and therefore he didn't mention anything about it.

"All packed?" The professor asked as he entered Harry's room; the one that had been his own back when he lived in the tiny house.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, quickly stuffing the letters from Draco under his pillow, knowing Snape didn't miss the gesture.

"Including your dress robes?"

Giving his head a nod, Harry laughed, "Of course that includes my dress robes."

"I have to ask," the professor said and withdrew his wand in the same manner he did each morning before running it from Harry's head to his bare feet. The Gryffindor grinned from the tickle as the magic combined with his own to give them some kind of idea - though not as detailed as Harry's unique situation would require - of his overall health.

"Satisfied?" Harry smugly asked knowing Snape did not particularly want to attend the wedding the next day, yet also not wanting any harm to come to Harry to get out of it. "Are we good to go?"

"Get dressed," Snape curtly replied; it was the closest the young wizard knew he would get to a 'you were right' from the man, "our portkey isn't scheduled until after breakfast, and I expect you to eat this morning."

With more energy than he'd had in a long time, Harry jumped up from the bed, still in his green flannel pyjamas, pulled the letters from under his pillow and placed them back into the top desk drawer. He wouldn't let them dampen his spirits and decided he would deal with them when he returned from France on Sunday afternoon; an empty promise, he knew, but a battle for another day.

Harry had just pulled his packed bag out from where he'd stored it under his bed, and about to pick out a nice jumper to wear when he heard Snape remind him, "Don't forget to pack your wand, just in case."

He froze; his hands holding onto a pair of jeans, midway through their journey out of the bag. How could he forget to pack his wand? Sensing Harry's own anxiety over the situation, the professor causally reached over, plucked the wand from its dedicated space on the bedside table, and held it out for Harry. Just like in the dream, it hadn't crossed his mind to include it. The wand held between his hands felt foreign to him in a way it never had before, and he simply stared at the stick of holly wood containing a Phoenix feather within it that he couldn't use even if he wanted to.

A battle for another day, the young wizard told himself, tucking the wand into his bag.

By the time Harry made it down for breakfast, after a quick shower and dressing in a green jumper over a navy blue plain tee-shirt and jeans, his thoughts were consumed by not only completely forgetting his wand, but how strange it had felt in his hands.

"Do you think I need a new wand?" Harry sadly questioned out loud when he entered the kitchen where Snape stood at the counter drinking a cup of coffee.

To his credit, the professor gave the inquiry its due diligence - by slowly finishing his sip - before starting, "I don't see why you would, but we can certainly ask Alton next week when we're back at the castle. Why do you ask?"

Harry passed the professor, grabbed a bowl from the open shelves, and poured himself a helping of cold cereal, which he took to his seat at the small table where his morning tablets were sitting waiting for him, showcasing yet another thing Harry hadn't even thought about bringing.

"When you handed me my wand upstairs," he tentatively began, not wanting to draw too much attention to the issue, "it felt different to me. And in my dream the other night, I completely forgot about grabbing my wand before I left my room to find you. In fact, it didn't even cross my mind until I was standing in front of Voldemort and I didn't have it."

Snape joined the Gryffindor at the table and watched him intently. "I wouldn't put any significance on your nightmare," he confidently stated. "The wand feeling different could simply mean your new magic isn't used to it yet, and as you start training next week it will adjust. Let's wait to hold judgement until you start using it again and we see the outcome."

In theory, that sounded all fine and good, except Harry didn't exactly have the best track record for being patient. Plus, next week would answer so many of his questions, and at the same time create a dozen more.

"Do you think I'll be able to do any magic?" Harry tried not to feel guilty for all of the questions he'd been asking that morning.

"Eat," Snape prompted, to which Harry took a small spoonful, "and yes, you absolutely will be able to do magic. You are still a wizard, after all."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice not to betray the doubt growing inside of him.

"Today and tomorrow," the professor continued, "enjoy the time with your friends, the Weasleys, and Miss Delacor… though I guess she'll be Mrs Weasley after tomorrow.

"Next week we return to Hogwarts-" he raised his right pointer finger to silence Harry's expected question, "-where your cousin should already be settled and preparing for the year ahead, so you will not be alone. I've arranged Alton to come by on Tuesday for testing and Wednesday you have an appointment with Dr Snyder, the mind healer from Dr Swanson."

Harry felt his face instantly flush. While he'd been the one to request seeing the mind doctor - psychologist - the stigma surrounding the idea made him uncomfortable. Snape had done more than enough to help him through his struggles lately, and he should trust his mentor and his two doctors about his prognosis, but for some reason he was having a difficult time accepting that things were alright; that his body would continue to be Leukemia-free. That's what he hoped to gain from seeing this… Dr Snyder.

Before he knew it, September would be here and Harry hoped he'd be in a position to finally put the last year behind him. Having gotten the approval from Dr Swanson, or as close to an approval as he would get, to return to Gryffindor tower with his dormmates, he was determined to make this year - the last one with his friends - the best one yet; even if he were stuck in lower level classes than the rest of them.

The portkey from their home in Cokeworth to Brantôme, France reminded Harry how much he hated wizarding transportation, and how much he legitimately missed traveling by car. No matter how awful they felt at the time, remembering the trips to King's Cross Station with Uncle Vernon in his company vehicle every 1st of September, filled Harry with happiness. Those days were his escape, his reward for surviving the hard summer months, and the young wizard wondered if his counterpart in Snape's old world felt the same way about going back to school. He certainly never drove in a car to the train station, but did he feel the excitement in the freedom to come in the upcoming school year? Or did that get overshadowed by leaving a place he could finally call home and having his father living at the school with him? Harry supposed he'd find out next week once he returned to the castle.

A part of wizarding transportation most of the magical world overlooked was the jarring feeling of going from one environment to another in a matter of seconds. Magical people didn't get to watch from a car, bus, or train window as the landscape raced by, subtly changing, for example, from the industrial, damp, smoggy street of Spinner's End to the lush green pastures surrounding The Abbey - Snape quickly provided Harry with the English version of the hotel's name after his first awful attempt to say it in French. Instead, when Harry's feet finally hit the ground on the loose gravel road, supported by the professor's grip on his upper arm, he instantly knew they were somewhere new. Gone were the smells of the old mill - mostly sulfur - and polluted river he hadn't realized he'd gotten so used to, and in their place was the crisp smell of clean, fresh water coming from the beautiful river winding across the hotel grounds in front of him, and the aromas of pastries wafting over from the bistro he would soon find over the hill to his left.

"We're lucky we didn't land in the water," the young wizard commented with a smirk.

"It's not luck," Snape replied, guiding them over a long stone bridge with arches spanning over the small waterfalls beneath, creating a very picturesque scene from the river which Harry knew Hermione - and pretty much any of the girls at school - would instantly swoon over, "it's called skill."

With his bag slung over his shoulder, Harry followed the professor over the bridge towards their final destination for the night and hopefully where his friends were already checked in. The Gryffindor paused in awe when the first view of the hotel came into view. Outside of the Leaky Cauldron and the Railview, he'd never stayed at a hotel before, wizarding or muggle. The Abbey couldn't be any further from either of those establishments and it fulfilled every image he'd had about being in France. The main building was made of an ivory stone with bright blue shutters, clashing and complementing the exterior at the same time, with equally bright red doors. Deep green ivy - Harry was sure Neville could identify in a second - scaled the corners and side of the building so tightly only the blue shutters could be seen along the other wall, giving the hotel a feeling of almost being directly connected to the environment around it. Standing on the bridge overlooking the place he was lucky enough to be staying at for the next two nights, combined with the sound from the waterfall to his left, all of Harry's worries from the morning melted away; he couldn't think of his magic, his Leukemia, or even care about seeing Draco the next day.

"Are you coming?" Snape called to him from the other side of the bridge, causing Harry to startle back to reality and run - more characteristically of his pre-cancer self - up to the other wizard.

Checking in couldn't be simpler, though they did need to register both Harry's and Snape's wand to the room they'd be staying in. The French woman working at the front desk did her best to speak English, however eventually - or maybe reluctantly, Harry couldn't be sure - Snape put them all out of their misery and finished the process in what sounded like almost perfect French. There had been a lot of new things Harry had learned about his former evil Potions Professor and new mentor, but the ability to speak perfect French, a skill that surely would have spanned across both realities, had to be high on the list of things he would never have expected; second only to the man's close childhood friendship with Harry's mother.

"When did you learn French?" Harry questioned as they were being led to their room by a witch not much older than the Gryffindor.

Snape gave a small smile and said, "As I started importing ingredients from around the continent, I found the ability to speak their language quite useful in verifying I requested, and subsequently received, the correct substance."

Harry chewed on the answer, "So you did it to make sure you didn't get ripped off?"

"Precisely."

The reasoning was so mundane, and yet so… Snape… that Harry couldn't help chuckling. At this point, almost nothing would surprise him about the man.

As they continued to walk through the property, meandering passed the tables out on the patio overlooking the water and the city across from it, Harry realized they were getting an unofficial tour from their French hostess on their way to the room. Taking in all the sights around him, the young wizard continued to be amazed at not only the incorporation of magic into the quintessential structures, but how it had to be the most stunning place he'd been to. Ironically, the hotel used to be an old mill and had three buildings holding the twenty rooms available: The Mill - where their room was located and the largest of the three - The Miller's House and The Abbey House. Harry wanted to make a comment about how they couldn't seem to get away from milling, but one look at Snape's face while they were being led into The Mill, said it wouldn't be appreciated at that exact moment.

Harry was happy to find their room located on the ground floor because he found himself more tired than he wanted to admit from their travels. He didn't understand how he could spend a month running each morning and now after only taking a portkey, then a tour around the small hotel grounds he could be exhausted.

Immediately walking into their room, he was greeted by the soft light streaming in from two floor to ceiling windows in the far corner of the room. The walls were painted an almost shining white - though Harry didn't think white could necessarily get brighter - and the windows had silver curtains lining either side with a sheer panel covering the center. A small sofa, no wider than Harry's thin waist, sat in front of the windows and when he peeked through the sheer curtain, a beautiful view of the lake greeted him.

Their hostess speaking French drew the young wizards attention away from the scenery outside back into their room. She was pointing to the single, king sized bed on the wall across from his small sofa and asking Snape something Harry couldn't understand, while pointing between the two wizard's. Without missing a beat, Snape answered - again in seemingly perfect French - and the hostess nodded, pulling out her wand at the same time. Harry's green eyes widened as the single King bed separated into two twins and the light green linens instantly transfigured for the new sleeping arrangements.

Overall, the room was what Aunt Petunia would have called "quaint" in that its small size would only be overlooked by the rich design filling it. Coming from living most of his life in a cupboard under the stairs, and now in a far more comfortable, yet still small bedroom, Harry felt relaxed in the space.

"Good enough?" Snape asked, after taking a sweep across the room, looking into the closet and the door Harry assumed led to their lavatory.

"It's brilliant!" Harry answered, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. He moved onto the bed furthest from the door, laying on his back, relishing the soft mattress and bedding beneath him. His pre-five AM wake up call quickly caught up to him, and without planning Harry found himself fast asleep in his jeans and jumper on the bed.

"I don't see why the wedding has to be all the way in France," Ron once again complained while the three Gryffindors walked over the old stone bridge on their way to check out the town on the other side.

"It's beautiful, for one," Hermione lectured, "and it's where Fleur grew up."

"Well, what about where Bill grew up?" The redhead retorted. "We could've had a nice wedding at home without any need for all this…"

"Culture?" Harry offered with a smile. "Sorry, but I get it Ron. If you and Lavender were getting married, would you give two licks on half of the decisions needed for a wedding?"

"Blimey, no" Ron laughed, "I'm not picking out flowers, table cloths and matching chair covers," he gave a shiver at what Harry knew the youngest brother had obviously seen Bill just go through, "she could do all of that!"

"Exactly," Harry responded, "which is why we're now walking in France and not in your back garden."

"I guess," Ron shrugged. The two wizards continued their banter about wedding details Mrs Weasley - and by extension the rest of the Weasley family - had been hearing about for months as they made their way through the cobblestone streets of Brantôme. The further they got from the hotel, and into things like dancing lessons and dress robes requirements, the more hilarious their conversation became, until Ron finally announced, "gonna be honest, not sure I understand the big deal in the first place. I mean, they should just go to the Ministry and be done with it, that's what I'd want to do, after all."

Harry didn't exactly believe his friend. It was something Harry would have liked more than Ron, as they all knew how much the redhead loved standing out in his family, and what better occasion than a wedding to do just that. He was about to say something akin to the sentiment, but stopped when Hermione finally spoke, for the first time since they started discussing tomorrow's upcoming nuptials.

"It's a statement," Hermione harshly answered, unintentionally slowing her gait and falling two steps behind them, "it's a way for parents to show off their children and their accomplishments."

Hermione turned away and walked across the street to the grassy river bank where she sat down under a large shade tree with her knees drawn up as far as her blue sun dress would allow. Harry and Ron exchanged a look between them, neither having a clue as to what was going on with their friends or how to help her. Ron gave his head an awkward shake, so Harry took the lead in following the same path the Gryffindor witch had taken and sat down on her right. Wrapping his left arm around her shoulder, wincing from the still healing bruise caused when the wizard grabbed him in Diagon Alley, he pulled Hermione into a side hug. In their six years of friendship, Harry never had romantic feelings for the witch, and with her noticeably less bushy hair falling right under his chin, he imagined this would be how he'd feel if his parents had lived and he'd had a sister.

"How did meeting the parents go?" Harry instinctually asked. It made the most sense that her animosity to the wedding conversation had to do with Draco's parents.

Hermione lifted her head, her eyebrows furrowed and she thought back to what had happened only four days ago, and suddenly Harry felt like a total git for not asking about it sooner.

"It went well, actually," she replied.

"If they so much as-" Ron started, plopping himself down on her other side.

"They were fine," Hermione interrupted, "just… his mum, his mother did a lot of… talking about weddings and getting married."

"Are you afraid it will scare Draco off?" Harry quickly asked before Ron could jump in with something potentially insensitive about her Slytherin boyfriend.

"No!" She vehemently replied, her cheeks flushing as she thought back to a moment Harry didn't want any details to. "He handled it amazingly. But from his mother, I got the impression all I am is a means to an end. A way to… I don't know, get their family back in the good graces of the wizarding world."

"Gits," Ron said under his breath, and Harry shot him a look behind Hermione's back. "I mean, I guess it could have been worse? They didn't harp on you for being muggleborn, did they?"

"No, in fact, it was quite the opposite."

"They celebrated you being muggleborn?" Ron jested, unfortunately being halfway serious.

"Not exactly," Hermione giggled, "Lucius tried to convince me they found some connection to a family of Purebloods, the Dagworth-Grangers."

Ron's eyes widened, "Seriously?! That would explain-"

Harry reached around Hermione's shoulders and gave Ron's arm a small punch.

"No, Ronald," Hermione lectured, "it's not true. No one in my family has magic in their blood. Draco says the Malfoys are notorious for creating false family blood lines. Something about allowing them to stay true to their Pureblood beliefs while staying away from inbreeding."

As Harry sat on the river bank, the long grass tickling his ankles beneath his jeans and the cool breeze rustling through his messy black hair, he considered what she'd said. It made sense. By definition there were only so many Pureblood families left and therefore either they married each other - which Harry knew happened more often than the wizarding world liked to talk about - or things had to be fibbed along the way. He wasn't about to say any of that to his friend, and, for once, Ron didn't either. Harry knew far too well what it felt like to be lied to about your family history; to be told you were something you aren't, or worse to have the people you wanted to like you wish you were something you weren't.

"And things with Draco?" Harry suggested. "How did everything go with him?"

"He took me to Disneyland," Hermione laughed, as if that explained everything, and for someone like Draco it probably could stand as a testament to his feelings for his girlfriend.

"Very impressive," the raven-haired wizard said. Then, seeing Ron's confused face he went into what should have been a quick explanation of the muggle amusement park, but as his friend's freckled face fell with each awkward description of the rides and characters, Harry found himself needing to go deeper into his limited knowledge of mechanics.

"Alright, I think I get the point," Ron finally stopped Harry by waving his hands throughout the air, horrified. "Just based off of that, he must really like you, 'Mione. Seriously, my dad's all about everything muggle, but there's no way I'm getting in a metal box and trusting it's not going to plummet me to the ground without at least a backup arresto momento possible."

Harry laughed, "This coming from the person who flew to Hogwarts with me in an enchanted car."

"Hey, now!" Ron called out, pretending to be offended. "That car worked out just fine."

"Until it didn't," Harry countered. Turning back to Hermione, who had moved off Harry's shoulder and now the three of them laid in the grass staring up at the bright blue, cloudless sky, "So where did that leave things between you and the Malfoys?"

"Cautiously optimistic?" Hermione guessed, not sounding anymore sure of herself than she had when they started this conversation. Leaning up onto her elbows, she elaborated, "It wasn't exactly awful, and I can't say they were devastated to hear Draco and I are getting close to a year of dating, so as good as I could have hoped for."

"Well," Ron boisterously said, "I'm pretty sure my parents hate Lav, and they haven't even really met her, so you're doing better than I am."

The comment worked as intended and the three of them burst out laughing, causing the couples and families surrounding them to turn. And for once, Harry didn't mind the people surrounding them watching as the three friends joked around. Being outside of wizarding Britain meant these people probably didn't know anything about him being The Chosen One or The Boy-Who-Lived - once or twice -, and with his hair fully grown back and the small circle of his port half hidden by the hem of his t-shirt, they wouldn't know he had cancer. Right then, they were three normal seventeen year olds relaxing in the grass on the riverbed overlooking the waterfalls catching up on their summer; not three war survivors who were desperate for at least a single normal year of school.

"Did I tell you guys I'll be back in the Tower this year?" Harry interrupted the quiet that had fallen over them after their laughing fit. "Severus got it worked out with McGonagall and I'm assuming Dumbledore, and because I'll technically be a student again, I'm offered room and board."

"That's great!" Ron practically yelled out at the same time Hermione cautiously said, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Seriously, Hermione," Ron bellowed, "let the man enjoy our last year! Although on second thought, maybe we should have this conversation outside of the Head Girl's earshot?"

Hermione's face immediately flushed as she turned to Harry, "I should have told you-"

"Don't worry about it. Seriously, no one deserves it more than you do. Congratulations," Harry genuinely said, rolling onto his stomach, not caring about the grass now smeared across his back. "And besides, it's only your last year, who knows where I'll be next year."

"I dunno," Ron warily answered, "I might prefer staying at school. Mum - and dad, but mostly mum - has been all over me about picking a career."

"What about the Auror program?" Harry suggested. The last he knew, Ron still wanted to join the aurors.

"Let's be honest," the redhead smirked, "I'm not passing the Potions N.E.W.T.s. As much as I'd like to blame Snape for it, I didn't do much better last year with Slughorn. And now mum's refusing to let me even consider working with Fred and George-"

"She wants you to actually sit your N.E.W.T.s," Hermione reprimanded. "Someday, those two will regret not taking their exams."

"Hardly! They are wicked successful," Ron gave Harry a smile. "Seriously though, Harry, you're going to be with us next year in the dorm, right? They're not like, separating you out?"

Harry stood. The sun was getting lower in the sky, causing the cool breeze to now leave a chill in his bones.

"Let's head back," he suggested, reaching his hand down to help Hermione up. Once they started back towards the bridge, Harry nodded, "Yeah, I'll be back with you guys. Severus is going to teach Dean the new sanitizing charm he's been using to help keep the dorm clean. The only time I won't be there is after treatment, and trust me you wouldn't want me there anyway. So, only like... two nights a month I'll be gone."

Ron clasped his hands on Harry's shoulders practically dancing around him. "This is going to be the best year ever. Seriously, mate, no more Voldemort, you're not sick anymore, and you don't even have to study for your N.E.W.T.s…. Plus you've already done all these classes once, it should be a breeze!"

Hermione shook her head disappointedly and Harry didn't add anything to his friend's assumptions. On the one hand, Ron's enthusiasm felt encouraging - like he could have a carefree last year with his friends - but on the other hand it showed how little his best friend understood his situation. Having treatments once a month didn't mean he wasn't sick anymore; the dozen or so tablets he took everyday constantly reminded him of that fact. He could pretend though, and for that he was grateful to have a friend like Ron by his side. With a new determination flooding his insides, Harry turned his attention back to rejoin the conversation his friends were having about Quidditch this year, and the raven-haired wizard couldn't wait to sit in the stands cheering on his friends.

Saturday 23rd August, 1997

His throat was sore and scratchy. No matter how many times Harry took a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table, the scratchiness wouldn't go away. Dread immediately filled every centimeter of his body as he thought about the irony of how careful he'd been not to get sick, only to wake up the morning of the wedding with a sore, scratchy throat. He tried to convince himself it had to do with the drier air in the hotel, and therefore it wouldn't require telling Snape, but he knew better; every single doctor or healer he saw emphasized the importance of saying if he felt ill.

But I don't feel sick, the young wizard rationalized to himself. He didn't have a cough, his body didn't ache - at least no more than usual - and he didn't feel feverish, so did a sore throat alone really constitute as "sick"?

He turned over in his plush twin bed, not surprised to see Snape's bed not only empty, but the pastel green bedding so expertly made, had Harry not seen the other wizard in it before falling asleep last night, he'd assume it hadn't been used. Although they'd been living together for a year now, last night had been the first time the wizards had slept in the same room. Suddenly Harry felt very self-conscious; what if he talked in his sleep? Or had a nightmare and didn't remember waking the professor up?

"Sleep well?" Snape's baritone voice coming from the doorway leading to their lavatory startled him from his anxious thoughts. Harry groaned. Now that the professor had seen him awake, the daily diagnostic scan would be coming any minute and he'd be rushed off to Dr Swanson's office, completely missing the wedding.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, justifying to himself that he didn't lie; he really had slept well, waking up seemed to be the issue. "You?"

"Sufficient," Snape cryptically answered, drawing his wand and gesturing towards the side of Harry's bed, before sitting down next to him.

With a swift nod, Harry held his breath nervously when he felt the tickle run from his head all the way to his toes, then out to the tips of each finger. His emerald eyes shifted around the room, not wanting to see the sympathy - and probably panic - sure to be on Snape's facial features when the results came back.

"Everything looks good," the professor declared, causing Harry's head to shoot around too quickly to hide his surprise. Snape's black eyes narrowed, "Were you expecting otherwise?"

"No," Harry lied, and without trying to draw too much attention to his situation, he took another painful sip of water, then proceeded to get up and ready for the day, "of course not. Just excited, is all."

Having never been to a magical or muggle wedding, the young wizard had no idea what to expect, but an expansive white tent set up in the courtyard of a castle rivaling Hogwarts in both its size and age was far from it. Most of the weddings he'd seen on the telly we're done in stuffy looking churches with an after party - known as a reception, as Hermione eventually corrected him - at some equally suffocating banquet hall decked out in flowers. The hotel had a prearranged portkey for them and Hermione - the Weasleys having gone well before lunchtime to spend some time with Bill before his big day - taking them directly outside the castle in Brittany; although Snape promptly explained they would be apparating back and Harry couldn't decide which was worse.

The ceremony was being conducted in the gardens to the left side of the stone courtyard. Wooden chairs decorated in purple and white lace were placed on the grassy area in two columns with the traditional aisle between them covered in a white fabric runner. Balls of purple, light blue, and pink small flowers levitated at the start of the rows, alternating with a tall white candle - its flame flickering with the cadence of the soft, warm wind - creating almost a runway for the wedding party to enter when the time came. The aisle led to a raised white dais, reminding Harry too much of his visions of Voldemort for his liking, only this one had an arch completely covered in purple and white satin braided up and around it. He guessed Bill and Fleur would exchange their vows to each other underneath it. Looking around, even he could admit to the beauty of the landscape.

Before arriving at the castle, Harry was worried he and Snape would be out of place in their extremely formal dress robes, however that was far from the case. As they were escorted by Ron - whose job before the ceremony was to seat the guests - to their chairs on the side designated for the groom's family, Harry almost questioned if they were too underdressed compared to the French side filled with ball gowns in every hue of the rainbow and dress robes consisting of more parts than Harry could name. Glancing at Snape seated to his left, Harry thought, strictly to himself, the man appeared dressed more for a funeral than for a wedding.

The Weasley family all sat in the front row, three in front of Harry and Snape. As the music started, signifying the beginning of the ceremony, the Gryffindor urgently looked around for Hermione, who had left them the second they landed at the castle from the portkey. Craning his neck every which way, he finally caught a glimpse of her soft buttery yellow gown tucked in the second to last row, with Draco Malfoy sitting formally beside her. The Slytherin didn't seem uncomfortable in the slightest, except for choosing to sit in the back, dressed in a set of exquisite robes as equally dark as Snape's, but with a light blue tie complementing perfectly with the color of Hermione's dress. Catching Hermione's brown eyes, he lifted his hand, giving her a small wave right as the ceremony officially started. Sitting out in the sun, the ceremony felt long and sweltering hot- which Harry almost welcomed, but he imagined Snape being absolutely miserable between his fully black robes and long black hair - and the young wizard breathed a sigh of relief when it finally ended.

Luck was on Harry's side and by the time the wedding guests were moved from the garden ceremony to the tent in the courtyard just before dinnertime, his sore throat was nothing more than a horrible memory. Soft classical music welcomed them from a stringed quartet set up in the back of the room, and once again Harry found himself in awe at the endless possibilities of magic. He'd obviously known about extension charms after staying at the Quidditch World Cup, but the elaborately decorated room he walked into challenged all those previous notions as it appeared to have no end.

In addition to the tent being physically bigger on the inside, the ceiling had been charmed with twinkling lights running up the angles of the otherwise dark blue canvas making it appear as if the guests were dancing under the stars. A sea of round tables covered in white tablecloths with light and dark purple decorated chairs were scattered to the left and right of a wooden dance floor constructed in the center. Above each table, a golden sphere - not too different from the one Harry used to alert Snape when he felt ill - let out a soft yellow glow in just the right amount of illumination for the table below to see.

"Woah," Harry said, unable to keep his amazement contained as they walked through the tables in search of theirs. Snape smiled and gave his head a small shake at Harry's almost juvenile reaction. "Do you think my parents' wedding looked half as nice as this?"

He asked the question a split second before realizing how it would sound to the other wizard.

"I didn't-" Harry started to apologize, but Snape stopped him.

"As the sole heir in the Potter family, I have no doubt that no expense was spared in their wedding preparations, and had the Potter's been left to plan the event, it would have been an overtly lavish affair," Snape detailed, pointing to an empty table close to where the bride and groom would be seated, and where small pieces of folded parchment sat with their names elegant scripted in shimmering silver ink. "However, given their quick engagement, and subsequent wedding, the raging war going on across the country, and your mother's more subtle - yet pronounced - nature, I imagine it was a more subdued occasion."

People started to crowd around them looking at the cards placed in front of the six other place settings at their table. Harry flushed, realizing people wanted to sit with them; the two wizards - but technically only one of them - who rid Voldemort from Britain's clutches forever. Suddenly, Harry questioned if attending the wedding was a good idea after all.

Turning his attention back to Snape and the explanation he'd just received about his parents, Harry replied "Thank you. I know it has to be hard for you to talk about them."

"You are entitled to hear about your parents, Harry," Snape told him, finally picking up the name card to his right and peeking at who would be sitting beside him, "and you should know, I have long put the animosity between your father and I behind me. I won't say it was easy, but it's done."

"Well the other you certainly hadn't," Harry laughed, hoping to ease the situation a little more. Motioning his head to the name card Snape still held in his hand, he asked, "So who's sitting next to you?"

Without a single word, the professor passed the parchment to Harry, who almost burst out laughing when the name Xenophilius Lovegood sparkled before him.

"Well, this is bound to be an interesting night," the Gryffindor smirked.

Dinner had been as extravagant as Harry expected given the rest of the wedding atmosphere. Each course brought out was more impressive than the next, leading up to the main course of roasted duck with a side made from zucchini, pumpkins, dates and pears. In addition to the Lovegoods seated to Snape's right, they also had Ginny - sitting next to Luna, with Dean Thomas as her date - and finally a couple by the surname of Beaufort; an aunt and uncle from Fleur's side who, by the end of dinner, Harry doubted spoke a word of English and looked bored out of their minds. Harry would almost say they were the most miserable among them, except Snape sat stoically - and uncomfortably - at the table half filled with his students, and one visibly anxious editor not hiding his attempt to try and pry some kind of information from the Slytherin to use in the next edition of The Quibbler.

"Did I hear you're coming back to the Tower this year, Harry?" Dean asked across the table from him.

The raven-haired Gryffindor glanced over to Ginny, the only source that particular information could have come from, "Yeah, at least most of the time, anyway."

"That's great!" The other Gryffindor wizard exclaimed, making Harry feel good inside for being missed by his dormmates, "the room felt empty last year without you, though I'm not about to complain about the extra space without your bed there."

Harry laughed. All this time, he assumed the castle would have adjusted the size of their room down to accommodate only four boys. Turns out, they all just got to enjoy some extra breathing room.

"Sorry to disappoint you guys then," Harry joked as the French couple started speaking rapidly - in French, he assumed - to each other. Harry turned towards Snape, remembering the man spoke the language fluently, but either the professor didn't seem to notice them or they weren't speaking French after all, because he hardly reacted to their conversation.

"Trust me," Dean spoke up loudly, "I'd give up the space to stop Ron's sulking!"

"I didn't sulk," Ron's offended voice called out as he walked up from behind Dean and then mumbled, "I just missed my friend, is all."

"I'm sure Neville would have stepped right in," Ginny added, and Harry knew he missed an inside joke when the three other Gryffindor's started to rambunctiously laugh.

"Hey Gin," Ron said once they finally calmed down, "we're needed for family pictures."

"Perfect," Ginny answered so excitedly, Harry almost physically recoiled. The last he'd heard, Ginny still referred to the newest Mrs Weasley as phlegm and so her newfound energy confused him.

"That's my cue," Xenophilius randomly said, looking torn between trying to stay and continue his failure to gain any kind of information from Snape or go to capture this momentous occasion of the new families joining. Deciding he wouldn't get any further at their dinner table, the eccentric wizard stood and pulled a small notebook of parchment and a quill from his pocket.

"She spent last weekend with Fleur and Gabrielle," Luna whimsically announced about her friend after the brother and sister had left. "They went to the hot springs in Fontpédrouse. I don't exactly think I'd want to sit in a pond of boiling water, but she sounded like she had a good time. She mentioned something about Fairies… did you know they can be feisty creatures? People think they only like to hide in witches' hair-'' the Ravenclaw then leaned in closely towards Snape and Harry and said in a low whisper, "-but they actually take the hair back and use it in very complicated Elixirs."

That certainly got Snape's attention, and the Potions Master's head turned inquisitively while his black eyes narrowed.

"Luna?" Harry quickly asked before Snape could get into a theoretical discussion on the supposed Fairy Potions that surely would lead nowhere good, "Would you like to dance?"

"Oh!" The blonde acted surprised, but Harry recognized it as her normal tone, "I'd love to Harry. Did you know the earliest origins of organized dancing is said to be from India over 9,000 years ago?"

"No," Harry smiled as he walked around the two chairs separating them and held his hand out for her, "I didn't know that."

Luna took his hand graciously and stood, showcasing off her eclectic green and gold sparkled gown, cut in a fashion to make it seem like each layer flowed down almost independently. To Harry, he thought maybe the dress had a bad run in with a centaur, but he knew better than to comment on it.

The moment before he could walk away towards the dance floor, Snape's hand grasped Harry's left forearm. The Gryffindor turned, expecting a lecture from his mentor about how he's still immunocompromised - not that he could forget after the scare with his sore throat only that morning - and his green eyes widened in surprise when the professor said, "Thank you."

With another smile, Harry nodded and replied, "Anytime, Severus."

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus hadn't slept well the night before the wedding. Most of the time he tossed and turned in the lush bedding listening to Harry cough more often than he wanted to admit. Sometime around two in the morning, he got up and silently casted a diagnostic spell on the young wizard, perplexed but satisfied to see there were no ailments currently within him. Severus was well aware of the limitations on the diagnostic spells, choosing to let Harry believe he didn't take those into account, however any infections from his low blood counts would show up from the complicated diagnostic charm he'd been using. By the time the professor finally decided to get up for the day, he'd gotten, at most, three hours of sleep.

Throughout the day, he'd kept a close eye on Harry and while it had been obvious the Gryffindor woke up with a sore throat on top of - or perhaps due to - coughing most of the night, as the day went on it seemed to clear up. Equally alarming was Harry's lack of notification over his ill feelings that morning. He'd hoped after the rapport they'd managed to build, the young wizard would have felt comfortable coming to him with the suspicion. When they got back home, it would be something for them to discuss because he needed to be able to trust Harry to tell him the truth about how he felt, even if it would ruin an event he'd been looking forward to.

No matter how little sleep he'd gotten and dour he normally felt, Severus had to admit the wedding ceremony itself had been beautiful. Bill and Fleur really did complement each other well and he found himself truly hoping the couple would find happiness together.

Severus watched as Harry danced with Luna Lovegood on the dark wooden dance floor in what started as a way to give him just a moment of peace from the constant badgering of the Lovegoods, his current students, and the French couple he did not trust. For starters, their French had been sloppy enough for him to recognize they likely spoke English and yet chose to pretend they didn't understand a word around them. Then there was simply his intuition telling him they should be watched as the night went on. Perhaps he was being paranoid, nevertheless he'd prefer that over any harm come to Harry or himself. As one dance turned into two, then four, and the other teens joined in, Severus's mind went back to watching his son - his first son - dance at the Yule Ball. Here, Harry looked just as carefree and happy as he had back in the old reality, before the cancer diagnosis literally tore their life apart. Maybe they could end up healing their wounds throughout this year, assuming things managed to stay just that: manageable.

Opting not to sit alone at the table, Severus eventually made his way over to the bar on the far side of the room, choosing to stand in a position where he could continue to watch Harry with his friends on the dance floor, as well as keep a close watch on the Beauforts, just in case. With a glass of French wizarding champagne, he watched the sea of guests who clearly had already partaken in too many alcoholic beverages frantically dance around the floor.

After his own first glass had emptied and he was nursing his second, Severus started to question if he should have explicitly told Harry about the dangers of consuming alcohol while on his medications; one of which was tucked in the professor's robe pocket waiting for the young wizard to take later. Unlike when the teen had gone to Hogsmeade and Slughorn's ridiculous Christmas party, the tablets he currently took weren't only prophylactic - used to prevent infection or other secondary diseases - but instead full chemotherapy medications. He was being over protective, he knew, and Harry likely would feel embarrassed with the intrusion and reminder of his cancer at a time he could forget about it, yet the risk outweighed the reward. And so leaving his half finished glass on the bar top, Severus went to make his way over to the teen until a voice called to him from a small way down the bar.

"Talk of the table," Draco's over confident voice called out to him over the loud music, "is questioning why Severus Snape is escorting Harry Potter to the Weasley wedding."

Turning around to greet his Slytherin student - who smoothly held two glasses of champagne in his hands, likely for himself and Hermione - he intently watched the blonde's face for any sign to tell if the statement was meant as a friend or foe. With Draco, it could go either way. Naturally, in his observation of the group of his students, he'd noticed Harry and Draco eye one another cautiously, however neither took the initiative to approach the other, and the Slytherin had stealthily moved - to the loo, the bar for drinks, or back to their table - whenever his date approached her friend. While for the best, given a wedding was hardly the place to air out one's differences, the professor couldn't help feeling a nervous energy build inside of him knowing at some point these two boys would need to face each other and sooner rather than later. Harry may not have any classes with the seventh years, but they would surely cross paths while at school.

"People love to gossip," he neutrally replied.

"It's odd, you see," Draco's eyes held within them a mysterious knowledge Severus had no chance of uncovering. Even though he could nonverbally use legilimency, he'd personally trained Draco in Occlumency during his spy training last year, and therefore he knew he had no chance of the act going undetected, "the more I think about it, I, too, start to question why Potter's living with you instead of McGonagall this summer. Sure, it partially made sense when we were at school and he couldn't go anywhere near another soul without potentially killing himself, but what's his excuse now? Not only is he a full-fledged adult wizard, you're not his guardian."

"What are you insinuating?"

"All I'm saying is if it weren't you and Potter, I'd think something a little more… inappropriate were going on."

Anger as Severus had never known before filled almost every cell in his body. If anyone dared to make an accusation like that - and braved doing so to his face - he'd have no problems telling them where to shove it. The conversation had taken a turn Severus not only wasn't prepared for, but he had no intentions of getting into with the teen. Deciding not to give him the satisfaction, Severus did what Slytherins do best: he ignored the Malfoy heir's questions and countered with his own statement, one he expected would throw Draco off his axis and hopefully distract him.

"I've heard from your father you've decided to accept the Headmaster's living arrangements to allow you to safely return to school." He knew it had its intended effect when he saw Draco's jaw clench tight.

"So what if I have?" Draco sneered back at him, causing the champagne in the glasses to teeter and threaten to spill over the edge, "I'm entitled to finish my education just as anyone else."

"You have my apologies for your misunderstanding," the professor explained, narrowing his eyes slightly, "I think it's highly beneficial for you to come back to the school in as normal of a capacity as possible. I'm merely satisfied we could find a way which met your standards."

Draco paused as he thought about how to answer. Standing before the seventeen year old, Severus found himself thinking that, similar to last year, if only Harry and Draco could get past their mutual discomfort from their time imprisoned together, they could benefit from a continued friendship. They had each seen the other - a usually guarded child - at his lowest point; they needed to build on that bond, not tear it down.

"While I don't expect any issues, I do hope you know you can confide in me should any arise," Severus added, once it became apparent Draco wouldn't be responding. "As your Head of House, I also think it prudent we set up time to check in periodically. I know things when we were all last at school together were… strained… however I will take whatever initiative you need to feel comfortable during your final year."

"Isn't that a small piece of irony," Draco taunted, "I'm surprised you're willing to take on Slytherin house when you're responsible for putting away how many of your students' relatives? Let's just go with the generic 'a lot'."

"Know thy enemy, Draco," he answered rather flatly for the amount of anger stirring beneath the surface, "and as you are well aware, sometimes the best way to stay ahead is to go straight to them. Furthermore, I hope they'll understand I am not personally responsible for their parents' abhorrent choices in life."

"I doubt it will be seen like that," Draco retorted.

"I guess we'll find out next month."

Before the blonde could come up with what was sure to be another excuse, Hermione walked up behind him so quickly he almost dropped the two drinks in his hand.

"You coming back?" She asked, taking a delicate sip from the offered glass. Then, as if she'd just noticed his presence, sheepishly nodded her head and said, "Hi Professor Snape. Lovely party isn't it?"

Every fiber in his body wanted to walk away without honoring her with a response. She was one of Harry's best friends, though, and as such, he knew it would behoove him not to cause any ripples between them.

"Very much so," he curtly answered and then left back towards the bar; the opposite direction the couple was surely headed, having no intentions on following them at the moment.

With Draco's words - or more accurately, warning - weighing heavily on his mind, he took a seat at an open bar stool on the opposite end of the bar, sandwiched between two sets of French speaking couples, where he could still see Harry on the dance floor with his friends. With a drink in his hand - a tumbler of Firewhiskey this round - he started working through all the scenarios where being the Head of Slytherin could go wrong. Unfortunately, by the time he'd made it to the bottom of the glass, and promptly ordered another, disastrous outcomes triumphed over any other four to one.

"I hope you are aware," the voice of Minerva brought him back to the present, "seeing Severus Snape at a wedding won't take long to circulate the school?"

"Certainly not after it's on the front page of the bloody Prophet tomorrow," he dourly answered, secretly hoping the headline was somewhat in his favor. "I'd almost prefer the damn Quibbler. At least no one takes that rubbish seriously."

"No one should take the Prophet seriously either," she admonished.

"What one should do and the reality of a situation are, unfortunately, very different things."

Minerva raised her glass in a mock toast to his sentiment. A far-off expression crossed her face, and Severus followed her gaze to Bill and Fleur dancing, both of them not paying a bit of attention to anyone besides the other.

"Isn't it hard to believe only three years ago, that same young witch competed in one of the fiercest tournaments of the Wizarding World?" She remembered, still lost in the memories from that awful year. "Who would have thought we'd be here now?"

"Certainly not I," he admitted and based on the sympathy in his colleague's eyes, he knew she picked up on his double meaning. This wasn't the life he'd expected in either reality. If he'd been back in his old world, Harry would have likely attended the wedding alone - or with a date of his own - and here, his counterpart not only wouldn't have been invited, he wouldn't dare step foot anywhere near an event with as many flowers and satin. Yet somehow, this felt right to him. No one could truly understand his unique position, nevertheless he found that knowing Minerva knew about it and could reference it calmed the consternation Draco managed to stir up far better than the Firewhiskey had.

The pair of professors continued to watch the couple, who were lucky enough to start their life together without the threat of Voldemort looming over them like an ugly black cloud waiting to pour. They'd be able to build their life and their family together, as young newlyweds expect to do without worrying one - or both - of them would be killed in battle. This was exactly how life should be, and what the Order worked so hard to protect; to give them a chance to live freely. Had Lily and James lived that fateful Halloween night, and Voldemort not been killed, what would life have been like? Awful. It didn't take Trelawney to predict that much.

Severus and Minerva chatted about the new school year, the basic outline for Harry's course schedule, along with a healthy dose of friendly banter over their upcoming Quidditch matches and how without Draco as seeker against Ginny Weasley, Slytherin stood little chance. Severus didn't even attempt to argue against it, there were few of his students that would be a match for the Gryffindor witch, who he would bet a large sum of galleons would go professional some day. Midway through some slow song Severus didn't recognize, and noticeably Harry didn't continue dancing to, a small vibration went off in the inner pocket of the Defense Professor's dress robes; the alarm for Harry's dose of daily chemotherapy medication to be taken an hour after the young wizard finished dinner. Pulling open his robe he discreetly slipped his hand into the inner pocket, furrowing his dark eyebrows in confusion as his hand came out with more than just the small bottle carrying the tablets.

"Everything alright, Severus?" Minerva asked, equally confused and a little alarmed by his reaction.

Giving his head a small nod, he moved the bottle to his left hand for safe holding while he examined the slip of folded paper - not parchment - also stored in the pocket of his brand new, never worn before dress robes. He knew the contents immediately, however to be sure he carefully opened the paper and as expected, he'd been correct. Staring back at him was Mae's phone number. He hadn't the slightest clue as to how it made its way from his bedside table - where he'd placed it after he got home from the hospital last Monday - to his dress robe pocket. In that moment, as he got up to go give Harry his medication and, surrounded by the contagious atmosphere of the wedding around him, he thought calling the number might not necessarily be the worst idea in the world.