~~~~SS~~~~

Saturday 22 November 1997

"I'm concerned about Harry."

The four words left Severus's mouth before he could stop them. Shocked by his unplanned revelation, he plopped straight down in his armchair, instantly regretting his statement and pleading for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

For the third time in as many days, the professor found himself in front of his fireplace in Spinner's End's sitting room, cradling the telephone between his ear and his shoulder, desperate to hear Mae's voice on the other end. Never would he have guessed after the first trip he made on Thursday evening to return her Wednesday call would jump-start a growing daily ritual - one he had zero intentions of breaking. Therefore, despite speaking only twelve hours ago, given his girlfriend's scheduled shift at the clinic and his Quidditch match in the afternoon, they decided on a Saturday morning call. In his mind, there was no better way for him to start his day, and he secretly longed for the time where he could begin each one like this, without the awkward parenting proclamation, of course.

"Oof," Mae dramatically exhaled, "decided to start right out of the gate with the tough issues this morning, huh? I haven't even had my tea yet... haven't even got out of bed."

"I'm sorry." Severus ran his hand embarrassingly down his face while metaphorically scolding himself for crossing the parental line for the first time. "I completely understand if you don't feel comfortable-"

"It's alright, Sev." Her chuckle eased his apprehension in a way he never believed possible from another person; a powerful testament to their relationship entering a new level, and it terrified him if he spent too long analyzing his feelings surrounding it. "So long as you know I am not - by any means - a parenting expert."

"Then that makes two of us," Severus muttered, taking a long sip of his morning coffee - making a note to replenish the cupboard here specifically for these early morning calls - feeling his tension instantaneously release.

"So tell me what's going on with Harry. Why are you concerned?"

"He's been distracted lately." Severus frowned, pulling up the dozen images he had of Harry either sulking around their quarters or too restless to sit still. "More so than usual."

A long pause met him on the other line, followed by a loud rustle of a blanket as Mae moved her position. Right as he was about to fill in the awkward quiet, she cleared her throat. "Listen, Sev, not to get all clinic-y on you-"

"Is that the official medical terminology?"

"Why, yes, it is… it's totally legit," Mae chuckled, lightening her previously timid tone. "Seriously, though, is it possible what you're seeing is lingering brain fog from his chemo? You know… it sometimes affects-"

"This is different," the professor interrupted, feeling bad for his curt reply. They'd been battling Harry's brain fog for weeks now and Severus knew the difference between it and what he'd seen in the young wizard since returning home on Wednesday night. "It's not him forgetting things or struggling with his words… he does that too, but this is being more… internal… quieter… than usual. And trust me, it's odd for him to act so withdrawn."

"Did anything trigger it?" She thoughtfully suggested. "Or was this a subtle change?'

Severus considered the previous two days. "He went out with his friends last -"

"Do you really think that was a good idea?" She blurted out, then immediately added: "I am so sorry! It is absolutely not my place-"

"You're fine." Severus's face flushed at yet another line he was about to cross with her. Since telling her about magic, they had not explicitly spoken about it, leaving it as a topic they merely danced around and he was about to break through that wall. "I have a way to make sure he's safe in his surroundings. I created a… spell… to keep the area around him clean."

"Of course you did," she proudly stated. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"More than you'll ever know." Severus massaged the small muscles of his forehead. It was far too early for them to be aching.

"So…" Mae circled the conversation back to Harry and his recent aloofness, "he went out with his friends and he's been quiet since then?"

"More or less," Severus nodded, although the gesture went unnoticed through the phone. "I can tell something is bothering him, but he refuses to say anything about it to me. Of course, I haven't been the most available this week catching up on my classes and then being in the lab all day tomorrow, so I'm sure he's feeling more isolated than usual."

"It's obviously been a rough month, but remember, you are allowed to have your own life, Severus," she asserted. "Give yourself a break now and then."

Naturally, the professor ignored her comment. "I wish he'd open up a little more so I know if it's something related to his health."

"Would he keep that kind of information from you?" The question came a little more seriously than their previous banter.

"Unfortunately, yes," Severus started, but changed his mind when thinking about their conversation the other night regarding the Gryffindor's nerve pain. "Admittedly, he's been getting better after all the issues during his last inpatient treatment, making this change more concerning."

"Could one of his friends have said something to him? Either good or bad?" Mae offered. Swiftly, her tone changed into one more excited than he thought inappropriate, at least until he heard her next question. "Or could it be a girl?! I don't remember seeing any pictures of a girlfriend in the hospital. Does he fancy anyone at school?"

Severus admired how comfortable he'd become with Mae. When they first started talking, he would've heckled her for the overly personal question. Now, though, he found her curious personality - combined with her extroverted nature - a perfect balance to his logical, more introverted one. The phrase 'opposites attract' had never been more accurate than with them.

Severus slowly shook his head. "Honestly, I hadn't thought to ask."

"You can't just ask him something like that!" She dramatically admonished. "Sheesh, I doubt he'd tell you, for one, plus you'll embarrass him and then he'll never tell you anything ever again."

Severus swallowed back a growing lump climbing up his throat, reminding himself how she had no way of knowing exactly just how much her advice hurt him inside. In his old world, conversations about Harry's dating life mortified his son, but outside of their mutual embarrassment, those conversations always brought them closer together. Here, Mae's statement would probably be more true and this Harry would not appreciate the intrusion of his privacy, especially about a potential girlfriend.

"When do I get to see you again?" As he suspected, she saw right through his diversion.

"I see what you did there," she teased, and it didn't take a vivid imagination to picture her dark eyes narrowing menacingly at him, "and if I remember correctly, it's your schedule keeping us apart, not mine. You know when I'm all available, it never changes. But you, on the other hand, have to give out dozens of detentions. No offense, but I feel like I'd despise having you as a professor."

Severus smiled, not at all offended by her honesty. "Next week," he offered, quickly forming the plan in his head, "I'll allow some of the lesser behavioural issues slide and make sure I'm detention free for one night. You need only tell me when."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Of course not," he sarcastically quipped. "I need to restock supplies for my personal lab and figured if I have to go out anyway, it'd be a perfect opportunity to take you into Diagon Alley… the wizarding marketplace."

The vulnerability he felt during the long silence when he finished speaking left him feeling fileted open. The longer it lingered on, the harder his heart beat against his chest and he wondered if he'd actually misjudged her reaction to magic.

"Mae?" He eventually asked. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," she quietly answered, though sounded distracted. "Sorry about that. Where is this… alley?"

"In London."

"Oh, ok." Her hesitation did nothing to help the escalating situation. "And you're at school in Scotland right now?"

"Yes." Severus took a sweeping glance around his childhood home. She still assumed his number rang to his quarters at the school and he had yet to inform her otherwise. Now certainly was not the time to go through the semantics of his multiple homes and Arthur's paging contraption allowing him to receive her missive in the school. "If you're agreeable, we can either meet there, you taking the bus or train, and me using my methods. However, that would be at least a three-hour round-trip journey for you…"

"O-or?" She filled in where he naturally trailed off.

The professor licked his lips, gaining as much courage as possible to offer the alternate, and realistically preferred, method.

Assuming I don't splinch her or myself.

"Alternatively," he went on feeling cautiously optimistic, "I can meet you in Guildford after work and - for lack of a better word - transport us both to London. Then I'll take you home at the end of the night before I return to the school."

Amazed her usual sense of adventure did not seamlessly extend into his world, the professor tried, to no avail, not to read too much into her second prolonged period of silence.

When she spoke again, her voice sounded distant and quieter than he'd ever heard it. "Will it hurt? Your travel methods, I mean."

Severus's mind jumped back to the last time he splinched himself, when he practically dragged himself up to the gates of Malfoy Manor on the night they received the news of Harry's relapse. This would be different, though. For one, he wouldn't be drinking at all beforehand - let alone an entire bottle, or was it two, of Firewhiskey. He'd also had little regard for his own safety then; something which absolutely did not extend to Mae.

"I won't lie. It's rather uncomfortable the first time," he told her. "But it's the most common method of travel for us, and when done correctly, which I have done on many, many occasions, it should not physically harm you."

"Should not, huh?" She lightly mocked him. "That's not really the most comforting of answers, you know."

"Yes," he sullenly replied, "I am aware of that."

"Can I think about it and let you know later?"

"Of course," he assertively answered, trying his hardest not to show his disappointment in her lack of trust in him. "I plan on talking to you every day until then and will answer whatever you may want to know about it. Ultimately, you need to be comfortable with the transportation, otherwise, it will make it more difficult for me to concentrate which will affect the impact it has on your body."

"Wednesday," she proposed, almost out of nowhere. "Let's go on Wednesday night. It'll give me four days - my favourite number, by the way - to decide if I want to take a ninety-minute ride after work, then back in the middle of the night-" she shuttered on the other end of the phone, "-or do this… thing… with you."

"I promise I will keep you safe," he vowed, and he meant every word, not only in their transport. Deep down, he knew he'd do almost anything to keep her safe; another epiphany terrifying him to his core. "And Wednesday is perfect. I'll make sure I'm free."

"So tell me," Mae enthusiastically transitioned onto a new topic, "what's going on today that managed to convince you to move Harry's chemotherapy? Based on what I've heard Harry say, you're a big stickler about him staying on schedule."

Severus gave a half-grin to the empty room. "I thought you, of all people, would understand my hesitation to make such adjustments, but I can see I'll soon be outnumbered."

Needing to move, he stood and began pacing as much as the limited telephone cord length allowed as he explained Quidditch and his team's unique position in the game this afternoon, given Draco's highly controversial return. Throughout his basic description of the game, his stomach couldn't hide his growing apprehension about their future date. He'd be flat-out lying if he said the idea of introducing her into his world did not excite him. At the same time, the logistics weren't as easy as he made it sound to her. His status as the summer wizarding saviour might wane with each report the Daily Prophet wrote on new potential Death Eater activity, but people continued to pay close attention to his whereabouts. Therefore, selecting a highly public location might not have been the smartest idea for his muggle girlfriend's first foray into magical London. Nor was giving himself only half a week to figure out how to handle the fallout when, inevitably, the news of them seen together stretched across Wizarding Britain.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry sat on his bed, leaning firmly against the headboard with his knees propped up to hold his sketch pad, fighting off his increasing anxiety by trying to stay focused on his drawing of Luna from the Halloween ball. Every so often, when the pressure of the upcoming afternoon overwhelmed him, the Gryffindor closed his eyes to fall back into the memories of his date wearing her unique Halloween dress or the two of them dancing together in the magical atmosphere of the Great Hall; finding more often than not, he placed a significant emphasis on the sensation of his hands resting upon her hips. Using those memories to fuel his creative inspiration, he added every minor detail he could to his picture. Sadly, while it helped enhance his work, it did very little to actually soothe his increasingly fraying nerves.

Harry was very much aware that today should have felt like a cheat day and he should have been ecstatic about it. He'd be doing chemotherapy at home tomorrow rather than in the clinic today, he'd be getting to see the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch game in a matter of hours, and he had actually been sleeping decently over the last few nights - purposefully ignoring how they'd likely be his last for the next fortnight as he restarted his five days of steroid tablets at breakfast and would check into the hospital for his second round of Cycle A on Friday. But even after going through all of those positives, as the time ticked on, his insides continued to tightly knot. It certainly didn't help that, in his mind at least, the reason couldn't be any more ridiculous, making him feel more embarrassed about the entire situation. After all, he fought a basilisk at twelve, faced a dragon at fourteen, and survived all his chemotherapy shite, and yet the prospect of attending the match with Luna Lovegood intimidated him more than all of those combined.

"You're being stupid, Harry," the teen harshly said out loud. He bit his lip while skillfully swiping his pencil slowly down and around the curve of Luna's hip. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Naturally, it had been the exact question weighing heavily on his mind as soon as he gave Luna a definitive 'yes' to go together. Since then, he flip-flopped between telling himself he was overreacting to dooming their friendship when he inevitably messed it up. Currently, his mind decided to focus on the latter. She'd been a good friend to him, one who unexpectedly came into his life right when he needed a friend like her the most, and the idea of losing her friendship all because he had no clue how to date someone bothered him more than he'd like to admit.

Out of nowhere, a sharp electric pain raced down Harry's wrist to his fingers, causing him to drag his pencil straight through Luna's dress, leaving an ugly, stray, jagged line across the entire bottom half of the page, essentially ruining it.

"Dammit!" He a ngrily swore, involuntarily dropping his pencil to clutch his aching hand to his chest.

The pain in his hands had been getting increasingly worse since coming home, and while the cream Snape reminded him about Wednesday night helped a bit, it couldn't dull the pain caused by the constant reminder of slowly losing one more part of his body to his illness. Every time it happened, he was practically forced to watch himself shut down piece by piece and hope the medications would keep enough of him alive in the end. In the case of his neuropathy, as a side effect of his treatment, he was completely powerless to stop it unless he stopped chemotherapy, making it even more difficult to live through.

Infuriated over his ruined work, Harry angrily threw his sketchbook and pencil as hard as he could down to the foot of his bed and, with a disgusted scowl, stared at them as if they'd been the ones to betray him rather than his body. Then, letting out a loud groan at the pains coursing through him whenever he so much as moved, he haphazardly swung his legs off the side of the bed, fully intending to make his way to his lavatory to retrieve the prescription cream. Except he never made it there. No sooner than his bare feet hitting the chilled stone floor, his peripheral vision caught sight of an object racing through the air straight towards his head. In an amazing demonstration of his Seeker skills - proving the cancer hadn't taken that from him too - Harry reacted quickly to catch the object in his outstretched hand seconds before it slammed into the side of his face. The celebratory feeling was short-lived and disappeared as soon as he saw his catch: the tube of cream he'd been on his way to get. He shook his head repeatedly, almost willing the reality of the situation to disappear. Of course, it couldn't because he had no other explanation for it besides his magic summoning the item for him during his moment of need.

"Harry?" At the absolute worst time ever, Snape's concerned voice came from the other side of his closed bedroom door, followed immediately by a loud knock. "Are you alright in there?"

How long had the professor been knocking? Was it possible Snape summoned the cream for him? As far as he knew, Accio did not work like that, no matter how much he desperately wanted it to.

Peering down at his hands, Harry debated how to answer his mentor. No, he was not alright. Although he knew the magical block would eventually break down - and his magic return, which was why he'd need to repeat the ritual - he also knew it should last longer than a month. Telling Snape, though, left him vulnerable to an immediate trip to see Healer Smithe and, no matter his previous wariness over seeing Luna, he wanted to go to the match, and he wanted to attend it with her that afternoon.

"Harry?" Snape's second - or quite possibly his third - call had a much more urgent undertone to it. "May I come in?"

Making a split-second decision, Harry answered, "I'm ok! I just-" he looked around his room to find a suitable explanation for his lack of response, "-Erm… I got distracted."

The stillness on the other side of his door did not go unnoticed by the Gryffindor. It couldn't be any more obvious Snape did not believe him.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of waiting, Snape broke the silence, "I have something for you. May I come in?"

Another groan escaped Harry's lips at the unsurprising request; this one loud enough he had little doubt Snape didn't hear it. He could test his boundaries and say 'no' - tell the professor he was getting dressed and simply ask to meet him out in the sitting room - but he knew being difficult proved he had something to hide. Plus, he'd been actively trying to be better lately and being better started by trusting the man he regarded as his father.

"Yeah," he grudgingly answered, "come on in."

The door opened a second later and Harry couldn't stop his smile at the casual sight of Snape entering his room dressed in a pair of black jeans on top of an older style Slytherin jumper and a Slytherin scarf loosely draped around his neck. In his hands, he held a folded up green and silver scarf and knit hat, exactly what Harry had asked him for the other night. If the man had any suspicion over Harry's wellbeing, he hid it well behind his own joyous expression.

Once a spy, always a spy, Harry carefully reminded himself, and a Slytherin, too.

"I brought these from home for you to wear this afternoon," Snape moved the sketchpad and pencil aside to sit down in his customary place near the foot of Harry's bed. "That is, if you still want to."

"Yeah, I do," Harry replied, rather, unenthusiastically, "thanks."

Unsure of what else to say, and still distracted by his use of accidental magic, Harry hoped Snape would let him be until he left for the pitch. Unfortunately, the man clearly did not agree.

"Does the prospect of wearing my house colours for an afternoon really depress you this much,'' Snape began, voice laced with sarcasm, "or is it their less than ideal condition that bothers you?"

"What?!" Harry offendedly exclaimed, never once considering how he might walk right into whatever plan Snape had to pry information out of him. "No! They're perfect… why would you think that?"

Snape carefully placed the old-looking Slytherin scarf and knit hat off his lap and onto the bed between them.

"For one, you look worse than if you were actually going to chemotherapy today," the professor pointed out, shifting his body so he faced Harry. "And since you made it explicitly clear you needed to see the match today, you've told me you're feeling well, and the weather is perfect outside, unless you are lying about one of those, it's the next semi-logical reason."

"My choice of clothes?" At Snape's small nod, Harry rolled his eyes, fully aware of how much the man hated the gesture. "Not everything in life is about house colours, you know. And besides, I'm not technically a Gryffindor anymore, so does it really matter what colour scarf I wear today?"

"Trust me, no matter your current school status, you will always be a Gryffindor at heart," Snape reached out and rested his hand on Harry's knee. "You cannot not run into danger at every possible moment."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I already agreed not to jump in front of anymore killing curses. What more do you want?"

"Being able to find such a specific example should give you all the reassurance you need," Snape jokingly countered. Gesturing to the dusty scarf and hat, he asked, "So, do you still wish to use my old clothing?"

"Of course I do," Harry mumbled, unaware of Snape eyeing his hands nervously fiddling with the tube of cream, rotating it over and over in them.

Thankfully, Snape eventually broke the uncomfortable silence between them. "If the Quidditch game is not what is plaguing your mind, what is? A girl, perhaps?"

"No!" Harry practically shouted, hoping Snape took his face reddening as the embarrassment of being asked such a question rather than the partial lie. "It's nothing like that… it's… I got angry… because of my hands. I was drawing, and I had this sharp jolt rush down them hurting…"

Harry trailed off, watching Snape's concerned, dark eyes shift down to the cream still clutched in the young wizard's grip.

"Is it no longer working?" Snape smoothly inquired. Harry shrugged - another motion he knew the man despised - at the question. "If not, I can ask Dr Swanson for something stronger-"

"It's not that." Harry felt his face flush at the interjection. Releasing a deep breath, he prayed to any God who might listen for this to not somehow blow up in his face. "I haven't even tried it yet, but I think I-" he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Snape's reaction to his news, then quickly finished, "-I think my magic summoned it here for me."

To Snape's credit, while Harry definitely noticed the air between them thicken, he did not make any outward reaction. In fact, once Harry gained the courage to peek open his eyes, he saw Snape's body language had changed little at all. He simply sat there, deep in thought at the words Harry had said.

"Why do you believe your magic summoned it?"

Unable to contain it, regardless of how inappropriate times it might have been, Harry laughed. "Maybe because the damn bottle almost hit me right in the face and there's no one else here to do it? Unless you randomly summoned it from the corridor."

"There's no need to be sarcastic," Snape admonished. Taking the cream out of the young wizard's grip, he began examining it, as he expected to find some hidden contraption making it move on its own. "Where did you keep it stored? Here in your room?"

"Does it really matter?" Harry frustratedly threw his hands up in the air. He almost preferred the professor had gone on a panicked rampage than asking these simple, logical questions. But whether or not he agreed with them - and based on Snape's face, it did, indeed, matter to him - Harry answered, "No, I kept it by the sink in my lavatory."

"I see."

"You see what?" Harry said through his clenched jaw. "Why aren't you more worried about this?"

"Trust me, Harry, I am extremely worried," Snape corrected him. "As I'm sure you remember, the full moon was last weekend. Therefore, if the ritual needs to be repeated this soon, it will have to wait until next month. I simply do not see where panicking will help either of us."

Shite. He hadn't considered the awful timing of the moon ingredient.

"So what do I do?"

The wheels in Snape's mind were visibly moving - trying to work out every scenario possible to find the best option for him - and, as always, Harry was grateful to have the man helping him through all of this. No one else was better equipped to balance the combination of his muggle medications and magic, especially the darker elements like his magic block.

"Grab your wand." Snape pointed over Harry's shoulder where his wand lay on the bedside table, making Harry feel rather dumb. Why hadn't he thought of testing his magic first?

Nodding his understanding, Harry grabbed for the object which was once his ticket out of the Dursleys and now represented a life he didn't even know he'd ever be able to truly live in.

Don't think about that now.

"Lumos," Harry whispered, more relieved when the tip stayed completely dark.

"Try again," Snape rationally instructed.

Harry did, this time adding more conviction and want behind the word while imagining the light glowing out of his wand. Like before, it did not illuminate.

"What does this mean?" Harry stowed his wand back onto the table for safekeeping and pulled his legs up onto his bed, crossing them at his ankles.

"Your magic hasn't fully returned, which is good, but I'll ask for Alton's opinion when he comes by tomorrow morning for your chemotherapy. He may wish to do a formal test or wait to see how things fall in the coming weeks.

"We knew the ritual would not be a permanent fix and the tomes explaining the process were unclear, at best, on the timing surrounding it," Snape's face scrunched, giving Harry the first glimpse of concern about the incident. "We also know last year you experienced a similar bout of strong accidental magic when the block caused by Voldemort's soul piece broke down during your harsher chemotherapy rounds. So it's not out of the realm of possibility for your magic to be breaking through the current block in a similar manner as I think you'd agree your chemotherapy is stronger now than last year. But should it continue, we may have to repeat the ritual more often than originally planned to be sure your magic remains completely inactive."

Harry swiped his eyes, refusing to allow the overwhelming feeling of dread to push him over the edge. Very few times during this journey did Harry cry. But when he did - the worst nights of chemotherapy where he almost gave in, his relapse, his failed remission - they seemed more validated than his magical block failing early. To complicate things more, unlike his failed remission, this had a very easy fix to it: repeat the ritual. As far as he knew, there wasn't a limit on how many times in the next few years he could be subjected to it. Unfortunately, the vivid memory of the terror on the ritual's final night and the thought of having to endure it more often was almost worse than facing Cycle B two more times - and that was what had him on the brink of tears, doubting if he'd be strong enough to endure it.

"This is not awful news, Harry. I promise we'll get through it as we always do." Snape reached his arm around the young wizard's shoulders, which Harry reciprocated halfheartedly. In the end, those words held zero reassurance within them because no one else had to go through the ritual or relive his most horrifying nightmares. "Do you still feel up to going to the match this afternoon?"

"Yeah," Harry said and gave what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Thank you for these -" he pointed over at Snape's old Slytherin scarf and hat, "- I should get ready. I'm meeting Ron and Hermione outside."

Ironically, the idea of seeing Luna no longer made Harry nearly as nervous as before the incident with the cream. If anything, he figured itmight be exactly what he needed to get his mind off of what tomorrow might bring him.

"Blimey, Harry, that scarf looks ancient!" Ron's exclamation made Harry smile as he ran up to Ron and Lavender waiting for him in the courtyard. Once Harry reached the couple, Ron didn't hesitate to grab a hold of the bottom of the scarf hanging out of the front of Harry's winter cloak and gave him an expression feigning disgust. "Lemme guess, this is Snape's, isn't it?"

Only a year ago, Harry probably would have reacted defensively to Ron's comment and succeeding question; likely enticing him to point out how well versed the Weasleys were in hand-me-downs and used clothing. Back then, Snape - specifically his growing relationship with Harry - was a sore subject between the pair of best friends, nearly tearing them apart. Looking at it from Ron's perspective, Harry now understood how going from hating their former potion's professor to accepting him seemed nearly impossible. Harry couldn't pinpoint exactly when Ron's opinion of Snape changed for the better, but it certainly made things easier between them and testament to his friend's growth.

"Yes, it is," Harry proudly stated, tugging the scarf right out of Ron's hands. "He went home this morning to get it. Have a problem with it, do you?"

"Isn't that the absolute sweetest?" Lavender's sing-song voice, combined with her giddy dancing, soured Harry's stomach. "Maybe it's a family heirloom passed down from generation to generation and Professor Snape has been waiting for someone to give it to? House per-son-alities are genetic, y'know, so I'm sure his parents were Slytherins."

"His mum," Harry quickly corrected, stopping himself short of announcing Snape's half-blood status.

"Close enough," Lavender waved off. "Definitely a family heirloom."

"It's a bit of a stretch, don'cha think?" Ron chuckled. "Snape is as far from the sentimental type as one can get. He probably found the thing hidden away in his attic somewhere. If I were you, Harry, I'd check it for pests."

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Think about it, will you? For someone who can conjure up a scarf without needing to leave the castle, why go searching for this scarf? I don't care what you say or what Professor Snape wants us to believe, he wanted someone to have that scarf. If not Harry, then some other little Snape. I'm willing to bet on writing your next Transfiguration essay on it."

It was a bet Harry wouldn't take for the fear of winning rather than losing. The idea of winning Lavender, of all people, writing any essay for him was more than laughable.

Harry frowned, glancing down at his newest piece of clothing. When Snape first gave him the garment, he hadn't taken the time to appreciate how old it had to be, nor did he think twice about why the professor held onto it. Knowing what he did about Snape's family, the scarf likely belonged to his mother - accounting for the age of it - but he couldn't fathom why Snape still had not in his possession and reasonably accessible. Perhaps Lavender wasn't as crazy as they all secretly said and he did plan on handing it down to his own child someday? He shivered at the image of baby Snapes - a perfect combination of Mae and Snape - running around one day.

"It doesn't really matter," Harry quickly replied. Tying the scarf tighter around his neck to keep out the frigid air, he peered over Ron's shoulder at the door where students by the dozen were pouring out to go to the Quidditch pitch. "Where's Hermione? I thought we were all meeting here before going down."

Lavender spoke up first. "She left right after lunch to go with Draco to the pitch," she put a hard emphasis on the Slytherin's name, "and said she'll meet us in the stands. I heard McGonagall hit her hard for letting her boyfriend into her room, so they're probably looking somewhere else to find a little privacy."

"I highly doubt that," Harry retorted. "Draco's got to have a lot on his mind today. What you're suggesting is probably the last thing on his mind right now."

Ron shrugged. Both wizards had at least a little understanding of what Draco would be feeling coming up to the game. Unless anyone played themselves, they couldn't truly understand the nervous energy fuelling a player for hours, or sometimes days, leading up to the match. For Harry, like clockwork, it always started right after his last class on Friday afternoon. The release of his school obligations gave way to a familiar flood of mixed emotions proceeding Quidditch. Did he practice his drills enough during the week? Does he need to study the opposing seeker's style one more time? Was it better to have a freshly cleaned broom or keep it in the same condition he practiced in? What foods should he eat to give him the most focused energy? All of those would surely go through Draco's mind, but he'd also have to add, 'Can I trust my teammates to have my back up there?' This one Harry never had to question. Even in his fifth year, when everyone thought he'd been lying about Cedric's death and Voldemort's return, during the last game he ever played, his teammates were always on his side. An icy shiver, one not caused by the wind, ran through Harry's body at the thought of what could happen this afternoon if the Slytherin team turned against the Malfoy heir.

Determined not to let any more negativity cloud the day, Harry gestured in the pitch's direction. "C'mon, we should get going."

Ron followed Harry with Lavender by his side, gossiping along the way about things Harry had no chance of following. Halfway to the pitch, Dudley and Susan met up with them, holding hands and neither wearing a hint of green and silver, or blue and bronze.

"I was afraid you weren't going to make it," Dudley wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder and gave him a small squeeze; enough to let Harry know his cousin was there for him. Peering around the others as they continued their way down the familiar grassy path, he frowned and asked Harry, "Where's Luna? I thought you two were going together."

"I'm meeting her in the Gryffindor stands. Professor Flitwick has some tradition… thing… they do before games as an entire house and she thought it'd be better if we met at the pitch," Harry casually explained until an odd observation popped into his head so quickly he abruptly stopped walking, causing Dudley, and by extension Susan, to stumble down the path. "Where did you hear we were going together?"

"Oh," Dudley faltered, looking to Ron and Lavender for support, however, the other two Gryffindors pretended not to be paying attention, even if Harry knew they'd heard him loud and clear. "Erm… I don't know where I heard it, exactly. I think maybe a Ravenclaw in class yesterday?"

"Why were they talking about me and Luna in your class?"

This time it was Ron who stepped forward to answer. "This is Luna we're talking about, mate," he argued. "It's kind of a big deal for her to be going with you… officially, I mean."

"What about when we went to the Halloween ball?" Harry started walking again, but at a much slower pace than before. "No one seemed to care then?"

"That's the thing. No one knew about it until you showed up together. Hell, you didn't even know, right?!" As much as Harry hated to admit it, Ron had a very valid point. "And then there was Draco getting arrested afterwards, so-"

"Don't listen to him, Harry," Lavender cut in, yet his relief would be short-lived, "there was plenty of gossip about you and Luna showing up at the ball together if one knew where to listen."

"Thanks, Lavender, that makes me feel loads better." Harry's sarcasm had obviously been lost on her based on the little proud jump in her step.

Harry chose not to ask Ron and Dudley if there had been as much talk - or gossip, as the girls' called it - surrounding the beginning of their relationships; to see if this was some rite of passage he completely overlooked because he had other things to worry about. At this point, he didn't care much what their answers would be.

Unsurprisingly, the closer the group of five got to the pitch, the more Harry's pace significantly slowed and his gait became erratic. As the good friends they were, no one said a word to him about it. They merely slowed their own paces to match his and helped to make sure he didn't fall flat on his face from the moist grass. By the time they reached the stands, all the Slytherins and Ravenclaws were fully packed opposite each other with a small scattering of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs trickling in to fill the space between them. They climbed the towering stairs, up into the stands, and it didn't take Harry long to find the current subject of his anxiety waiting for him at the edge of the Gryffindor area. In her Ravenclaw gear with a large eagle drawn on both of her rosy cheeks, Luna proudly sat next to Hermione - who naturally dressed in the opposing green and silver - deep in a conversation Harry had no hope of overhearing from the distance.

"Harry! Over here!" Hermione yelled to them. For a split second, Harry couldn't determine if her hand waving high above her head was to get his attention to join them or to save her; he assumed the latter.

"I love your scarf, Harry," Luna greeted him once he casually sat down between her and Hermione - the Gryffindor witch moving swiftly to make room for him. "It's so vintage. Where'd you get it?"

"Snape, of all people," Ron bellowed. He and Lavender sat in the row directly behind Harry and Hermione, leaving Susan beside Luna, followed by Dudley.

Luna's silver eyes beamed. "How exceptional of him to let you use it! The green goes well with your eyes, y'know. They match the Slytherin green exceedingly well. I'm sure you hear that all the time."

"See that, mate!" Ron leaned over to grab a hold of Harry's shoulders, shaking them playfully. "Maybe you are meant to be Snape junior, after all!"

Harry tried to hide the small grin working its way into his face. No one else there - outside of maybe Ron - could understand how much he appreciated the sentiment.

Over the next half an hour - adding Neville and Hannah, Dean and Ginny, and Padma and Parvati to their group - they floated from topic to topic, covering everything from a rumour surrounding a mysterious copy of the N.E.W.T. Charms exam Ron was dying to get his hands on, to the unbelievably even spit of the growing crowd between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Harry hardly paid attention to any of it, and for the first time in a while, the reason had nothing to do with his brain fog. Instead, his mind remained laser-focused on Luna's gloved hand inching closer and closer to his resting on the bench. On two separate occasions, their eyes met and on the second, Harry confidently lifted his hand and positioned it on top of hers, giving her a satisfied smile.

Not more than ten minutes before the start of the match, Seamus came racing up to them, interrupting Neville's thorough explanation of an extensive project above and beyond his normal Herbology lessons; helping Madam Sprout with a new batch of Bubotubers by adding some nutrient derived from another plant Harry had no interest in remembering. Neville hypothesized it'd double the amount of extractable pus, and based on his enthusiasm, this would be beneficial for the Wizarding World.

"I did it, guys! It's on!" Seamus declared, physically buzzing in excitement. "Same time, same place, same code. Everything's ready - food, drinks, music, and a surprise or two to keep things lively."

At the risk of sounding naïve, Harry asked, "What're you going on about?"

The sly grin forming on Seamus's face immediately told Harry there stood a decent chance he'd regret asking.

"Remember the after-hours event from Halloween?" Seamus hinted, his eyebrows jumping exuberantly.

The party! Harry thought, unable to say it out loud because of the Fidelius Charm.

"Yeah? Well," Seamus proudly continued, "I figured what a better time than Quidditch to give it a go again. I will say, it wasn't easy... the last one took a fortnight to plan, but it's all set now."

"You'll come to the party tonight, won't you, Harry?" Luna whispered into Harry's ear while Seamus vibrantly outlined how he resurrected the co-house celebration and then as abruptly as he arrived, he left to finish spreading the news before the game officially started.

"Yeah!" Harry answered. In his mind, he figured as long as the game didn't exhaust him too much, he didn't see any reason he couldn't attend. Then, overtaken by the festive atmosphere around him, Harry wrapped his arm around Luna's shoulder - liking how she snuggled right into him - he asked, "Want to go together?"

"Of course," she whimsically said, as if what he suggested was so unrealistic she'd never even considered not going together. "There's no one else I'd rather go with, silly."

"Draco Malfoy takes a steep dive… hurtling towards the ground… he catches the snitch! Slytherin wins and the crowd goes wild!"

Next to playing Quidditch himself - an urge he now had more than ever - Harry couldn't remember enjoying a Quidditch match nearly as much as he did the Ravenclaw-Slytherin game. And based on the exciting energy whenever the topic arose throughout the night, it was safe to assume everyone at the party felt the same way.

Arm-in-arm, Harry and Luna arrived at the party nearly an hour late - Harry's fault for deciding he needed a nap between dinner and the party. The moment the door appeared on the otherwise blank wall and the loud, beating music poured into the corridor, Harry almost regretted missing the first hour.

This is going to be a bloody awesome night!

Walking into the Room of Requirement sent a familiar wave in Harry over the awe of magic. He'd only been in the Room for DA meetings or his magical testing with Healer Smithe - he didn't count duelling with Draco on the day of Snape's kidnapping, wanting to do everything possible to forget that day. During most of his time here, he'd either been too distracted by trying not to get caught by Umbridge, overwhelmed at the responsibility of training his classmates, or worried about his own magical abilities to really consider the endless possibilities the Room could provide. Even though only fifth years and above were invited, with such a high turnout rate across all four of the houses, they needed a large and lively location, and the Room certainly did not disappoint. Adorned in tapestries representing all four houses, with hundreds of lights and floating pieces of furniture, the space was more welcoming than it ever seemed when it was just a bare space without furniture or walls. With the addition of the dance floor made of ice on which to move about and the tables spread with different foods ranging from sweets to meaty treats to pastries, it had an air about it Harry would have preferred if there weren't so many people in it, but he couldn't deny he enjoyed the view.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Luna leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear. Her arm tightened around his during the exchange.

The young wizard turned to face his date, getting a better look at her exquisite knee-length navy dress covered in twinkling stars dancing in no discernable pattern and a sparkling comet randomly shooting across her bodice. If he watched long enough, the stars eventually lined up perfectly to create a series of constellations Harry didn't recognize, despite five years of Astronomy. Whenever this happened, a golden line shimmered from star to star outlining the shape - a ladle, W, cross, among others Harry couldn't describe - on the dark fabric. Her hair fell down her back in long blonde waves, a stark contrast to her tied up style she sported at the match. Forgetting everything else around him, it was the look on Luna's face and the way she bounced on her feet as she peered around the Room in the same awe as him that made Harry smile.

"It's absolutely amazing," Harry breathlessly responded, the sentiment as much about Luna as the atmosphere.

"Makes you wonder where it all comes from, right?" She asked as they meandered their way through the crowd in search of their group of friends. "If you think about Transfiguration, in general, it's quite astonishing to be able to change the physical property of an object or create a new one out of nothing, but at least then we know the magic comes from within us. Here, the Room of Requirement not only uses Legilimency to identify the needs of the user, but it also uses magic to change its size and contents. What fuels it?"

In his most lucid moments, Harry would have had a difficult time following her logic, meaning he had no hope of it in his current mindset. Thankfully, Luna didn't seem to care if he had anything to add. She simply continued to gaze around, paying no attention to the surrounding people, almost gaping at the odd-looking couple.

"I love how they incorporated all the houses," she went on. "I've always thought we misinterpreted the intention of the Founders' ideals behind them. We need to foster our individual traits, but then use them to work together to create a-"

"Hey, Potter, Lovegood!" A voice to Harry's left yelled to them over the booming music. "Are you going to join us?!"

Instinctively, Harry turned towards the voice - Draco's he quickly learned - smiling at the sight of his friends all laughing around a floating circular sofa, a round of drinks and snacks either on the matching levitating table in front of them or in their hands.

"Whatever they're doing there sure looks like fun." Luna's face flushed briefly peering at the area around them. "We can join them, unless of course, you want to find somewhere a little more private. I don't think that exists right now, but I'm sure the Room can adjust it."

It took all of Harry's might not to react, positively or negatively, to the request. Did he even want that? Did she expect it? And what should he do if she did, and he wasn't sure? Thankfully, Luna saved him from having to answer any of those questions by leading them toward the floating furniture.

Along with Draco and Hermione, the group of teens included Dudley and Susan, Seamus on his own, Ginny and Dean, and Neville with Hannah. As Harry and Luna approached, he curiously watched as Seamus refilled the glasses sitting on the table from a tall bottle of clear liquid, then sprinkled a speck of shimmering powdery dust on the tops.

"Aye, Harry," The Irish wizard announced, "grab a glass for you and Lovegood and you can get in on the next round. They're on the shelf under the table… you have to grab the yellow ones for it to work."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused after sitting down in the spot next to Draco, with Luna settling down closely beside him. Ginny, Dean, and Seamus picked the three recently refilled glasses on the table.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of Frosted Mead?" Seamus loudly exclaimed.

"Let's not forget," Draco jeered, "Potter was raised by muggles. Where do you think he'd learn about this?"

"I dunno," Seamus retorted. "He's lived with Snape for a year. I bet he's got a healthy stash of alcohol hidden away somewhere."

"Ha!" Draco hastily sniggered. "I don't care what all you Gryffindors-" he turned briefly to address Luna, Hannah, and Susan, "-sorry, this is a Gryffindor thing-" he turned back to the rest of them, "-think of Snape, but he's a total hardarse as a Head of House. Why do you think they make the Head of House an alumnus of the House? We can't get away with shite because Snape's either seen it in his own days or is already making plans ten steps ahead of us, giving us no chance to pull one past him.

"Hell, I'd pay some good Galleons to see Sprout or McGonagall spend one day trying to manage the Slytherins. I guarantee you, the first years alone would overrun them in less than an hour, and don't get me started on the seventh years. The only reason I give Flitwick a fighting chance is that he probably has some high-level security charms built, going to waste on the Ravenclaws."

"He has a point," Harry agreed. "Not only that, I'm guessing that's alcohol in the bottle and I can't drink it, anyway."

Seamus's laugh tore right through Harry, making him simultaneously angry and embarrassed.

"You have to try this at least once," Seamus pressured. "What's the worst he's going to do to you, 'eh?"

"I dunno, but I also don't want to find out." Harry shrugged. He figured playing it off as Snape being the reason he couldn't join whatever looked like something he'd otherwise jump into doing, then try to explain the potential interactions it might have with his dozen medications. To push the spotlight away from him, Harry repeated his question. "So what is that stuff?"

"It's Frosted Mead, and made specifically for a drinking game called Wild Burst," Dean kindly explained. "Seamus got it from a friend of his out in Northern Ireland. Think like Christmas Crackers made from drinking the alcohol. First, you use a glass enchanted with a specific charm - that's why they're yellow - then, right before you take a drink, the bartender sprinkles the dust into the glass to trigger the charm to react to the magic in the alcohol. Once you drink the entire glass, anything from an awful taste in your mouth like Bertie Botts to animal features, to changing your hair or eye colour, can happen to you."

"The kicker is," Draco boisterously added, clearly having been celebrating his miraculous win in one way or another since the game, "to end the effect, you have to eat one of those liquorice snaps," the blonde pointed to a black cauldron Harry hadn't previously noticed sitting in the centre of the table. "As you can imagine, the longer the night goes on, the longer it takes to get the snap to stop whatever is happening to you."

"Sounds exciting," Harry halfheartedly murmured with a frown, deep down contemplating how bad one drink might be.

"It is!" Draco held his glass out to Seamus for another pour. "Listen, it's not a strong alcohol by any means - the goal of the game isn't necessarily to get drunk fast… I have a half dozen better ones for that - still, I wouldn't do it if I were you. And I think you know what I'm talking about."

"I didn't say-"

"You didn't have to," the Slytherin cut off his lie. "I can see it on your face and I'm telling you, don't do it. You have a difficult time managing your impulsiveness before adding magical alcohol on top of it."

Harry wanted to argue, except he knew he'd been caught. Besides, given his magic situation, he didn't really want to encourage whatever accidental magic might be breaking through his block.

"Here ya are, Lovegood," Seamus held out a glass filled to the brim with the clear, shimmering liquid. The overwhelmingly powerful scent of lemons wafting close to Harry caused his stomach to clench tightly. "You'll have a little fun with us and give it a go, right?"

"Seamus!" Hermione's admonishment lost most of its meaning with her accompanying smile. "Don't forget Luna's a year behind us... She may not even be seventeen yet and might feel a little-"

"February," Luna offered, not a hint of discomfort in her voice. She confidently took the drink out of Seamus's still outstretched arm, examining the glass. "I turn seventeen in February. But I must warn you, I have an oddly high tolerance to many magical elixirs."

"Doesn't surprise me one bit," Ron muttered, half under his breath. In response, Lavender fell into a giggling fit.

"Are we going to do this or not?!" Draco snidely announced.

Dudley placed his glass on the table upside down. "I'm out. The duckbill last time pushed it a little too far for me." Harry laughed at the sideways glance his cousin sent to him from the other side of the sofa; both boys recalling the pink tail courtesy of Hagrid. "And no one said anything about how the snaps literally bite back. How are you supposed to eat something while it's attacking you? I think I'll be sticking to Butterbeer for the rest of the night."

Seamus lifted his drink in reply, prompting the rest of the group with yellow glasses - Draco, Dean, Neville, Ginny, Hannah, Susan, and Luna - to do the same. Harry held his breath in anticipation, waiting to see how the drink reacted to each person as they drank the shimmering liquid down.

A full thirty seconds went by with no change, and right when Harry opened his mouth to voice his doubt in the product, a thick black smoke accumulated around their heads followed by a series of loud pops sounding like a disapparation gone very, very wrong. For a fleeting moment, Harry panicked, instinctively going to pull for his absent wand, racking his brain for any spells to help his friends; nothing of value came to him even if he could use his magic. The smoke, and Harry's anxiety during the entire event, quickly subsided, leaving behind the most eclectic sight he'd ever seen. Despite her comment warning them of how magical elixirs didn't affect her much, Luna's lips were so twisted together Harry wondered how she'd be able to eat the liquorice snap to undo the spell. And the rest of his friends hadn't gotten off much easier. Draco, Hermione, and Ginny were all proud owners of a new facial feature resembling a wild animal: Ginny sported a pair of rabbit ears, Hermione a tiger's face complete with whiskers sending Harry into the memory of their second year Polyjuice fiasco, and Draco had a large set of gills protruding out of his neck causing him to rush to the bowl of snaps to undo the effect, likely because he couldn't properly breathe. In Harry's option, the others' effects weren't much better. The dark green and blue spots covering every very visible portion of Seamus's body appeared to be the least concerning of the rest and Dean's literal flaming orange hair the most concerning. In comparison, Susan's large ears, Hannah's owl covered hat, and Neville's dozen tattoos were rather preferable.

They did another three rounds of Wild Burst, all equally hilarious, and then moved on to grab some food and a little dancing. For Harry, the most astonishing part of the night was how well the Houses coexisted together. In the final two hours of the night, Daphne Greengrass and her date, Miles Lypus, a sixth year, half-blood Slytherin who hated Harper as much as they did, joined them on what eventually deemed as "their sofa". Harry oddly enjoyed the new couple's company and learning more about the Slytherins opened his eyes to how they all faced similar struggles throughout the school year. Daphne's open-mindedness surprised him the most, and he discovered how few real details the other houses knew of his escapades throughout the years; courtesy of Ron's exuberant retelling of the Basilisk and Philosopher's Stone.

As the night wore on, Harry had to fight harder against his impending exhaustion, unwilling to allow the reminder of his cancer to ruin his night of pretending to be any other seventeen-year-old boy. Around one in the morning, he noticed little things slowly disappearing out of the Room - the food table, the ice dance floor evaporated - and by half one in the morning, the furniture vanished piece by piece.

"I think the Room is kicking us out," Ginny laughed after her section of the sofa randomly disappeared, unexpectedly dropping her to the ground.

Although the entire night - day, really, if he counted all the way to the Quidditch match - worked well to distract Harry away from his turbulent morning and gave him the sense of normalcy he craved so much in these past few weeks, the end completely altered the landscape between himself and Luna. Most of their friends left once their sofa and accompanying table completely disappeared, but Harry and Luna stayed until every object disappeared and the Room started to slowly shrink - literally pushing them out and back into reality - and it happened right outside of the door, as they both hesitated in going their separate ways.

Nervously shifting his weight between his feet, Harry took Luna's delicate hand into his. "I should walk you to your dorm," he offered.

"You really don't have to," Luna insisted. "It's not too far from here. Besides, then you'll have further to go down to the dungeons and more chances for Mr Filch to catch you out after curfew."

"Well, I'm technically not a student here anymore." Harry shrugged. "And Severus already knows I'd be here tonight… I just don't think he realized it'd be this late."

"Follow me." Luna gently pulled Harry into an alcove off to the side of the corridor, tucking them completely out of sight to the students trickling out of the Room of Requirement. "This is better."

Standing there facing Luna, Harry tried to calm his racing heart, thinking if it beat any faster or harder, it'd probably beat right out of his chest. And how did Luna look so relaxed when he felt absolutely terrified? Could she sense his increasing nervousness?

Why do girls have to be so difficult?!

Once again, Luna showed her acceptance of her unique personality by challenging Harry's thought - one he seemed to struggle with since his fourth year - when she slowly leaned forward, her silver eyes moving between his emerald ones and his lips.

"Is this ok?" she breathlessly whispered.

Unable to put together the correct words, even if he trusted his voice to remain steady to say them, the young wizard nodded right before he filled the gap and lightly brushed his lips against hers.

With his head swimming from the feeling of Luna's kiss, he'd never know how he made it back down to the dungeons without getting lost wandering around the corridors. But eventually, Harry ended up in front of the door leading into his and Snape's Hogwarts' home, debating the best way to get inside undetected. Regardless of his conclusion of there being no realistic way Snape wouldn't find out exactly when returned, Harry opened the door as quietly as possible, relieved to see the lanterns lit just enough to allow him to safely make his way to his bedroom. Careful not to make too much noise, he approached the intersection of the bedroom corridor and the sitting room. His relief instantly melted away at the sight of a yellow ball of light floating above Snape's armchair, the professor stoically reading a newspaper, still dressed in his day clothes. Harry paused, all hope of Snape not noticing his entrance lost when the man folded down his paper. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, then Snape peered at the clock on the fireplace mantle. Harry's breathing almost stopped as he waited for Snape to say something, anything, about the late hour, however, Snape never muttered a single word. Instead, he flipped the paper up, the loud crinkling of the worn pages echoing between them, and continued his reading, not acknowledging Harry's presence in any other way.

I'll deal with him tomorrow, Harry thought, entering his bedroom to get ready for bed as quickly as possible with every intention of drifting off to sleep to the memory of Luna and his truly magical night.