"Checkmate."

Harry groaned. "You'd think playing with Ron would get me used to losing."

Snape smirked. "To know how to win, you must learn how to lose—"

"You just made that up!" Harry accused.

"—again, and again, and again…"

A knock at the door interrupted Snape's crowing, and Harry leapt to his feet. He mouthed, “Slytherin!” at his professor, who snorted, as he went to the door, wondering who it could be on a Friday night. “Oh, hey Callum!”

“Hey, Henry. We’re having a small party tomorrow at my house for my birthday. I was wondering if you want to come.”

“Yeah! Sounds great.” He looked over his shoulder at Snape for confirmation, who nodded. “Thanks!” Harry said, turning back to Callum and wondering what kind of gift he should bring.

“Ace. It starts at one,” Callum said. “See you later.”

“Bye,” Harry said, closing the door as Callum gave a small wave and walked off. He returned to his chair. “Another game?”

“Perhaps later,” Snape said, leaning back in his chair as he lifted his mug of tea from the side table and drew it close.

“You’re sure?” Harry asked.

"Of course. You need a break, to salvage your pride."

Harry made a face at him as he plucked a scone off the plate on the coffee table and settled back into his chair. "Alright, then. What do you want to do?"

Snape seemed to grow more serious. He looked down into his cup, a very faint frown line forming between his eyebrows. It gave the impression of the man aging slightly right before his eyes, the weight of years of responsibility and hardship falling over him like a cloak. "This situation is temporary. Even if we are not discovered, remaining in the village is not a long term solution."

He looked as pained to say it as Harry was to hear it. “So you want to… what? Leave?”

Snape ran a hand through his hair. “I have no plans to do so. However, the search for us continues. To stay on the move may make it more difficult for anyone to track us down.”

“But if no one knows we’re here, and if we leave, someone might see us and recognize us,” Harry argued.

Snape nodded solemnly. “That is true. And yet, if we are found here, and a fight commences, the villagers may be caught in the crossfire. If the Dark Lord were to find us, he would just as soon torch the entire place as draw breath. As for the Ministry, at best, they would interrogate several muggles for information about us.”

Harry blanched. “Okay. Okay, so where are we going?”

Snape held up a hand, amusement flitting across his face, but fleetingly. “As I said, I have no current plans. I merely mean to make you aware of some of my concerns."

“But you said they could get hurt!”

“A lot of people could get hurt,” Snape said. “This is war.”

Harry did not like that answer, so he didn’t respond to it. He stood, taking his cup over the sink.

“The way things are currently, no one stands to lose more than you do,” Snape continued relentlessly. “So, if we may remain here with relative safety for at least some time more, we will do so.”

Harry huffed. “Where else would we go, anyways?” The village was small, and isolated. The technology was dated, and the climate was cold, and he was stuck here with Snape. Besides Hogwarts, there wasn’t a single other place he would rather be.

“I have contingency plans,” Snape said vaguely. “All of which are dependent upon other variables. What concerns me most, however, is whether you will be allowed to return to school at all if the situation does not improve in a timely manner.”

The cup slipped out of Harry’s hands, bouncing crookedly off of the edge of the counter and smashing onto the ground. Shards of pottery skittered across the floor, a sharp crack snapping through the air and making him wince.

“Blast,” he muttered, crouching down and beginning to gingerly pick up the biggest pieces. Youngest seeker in a century, and you can’t even keep hold of a cup.

Snape stood and walked over. “Careful, you are barefoot.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, angry at himself. Snape slowly crossed his arms, unimpressed with his attitude, and Harry sighed as he straightened. “Sorry.”

Snape frowned at him for another minute, then relaxed his posture. “I will get a broom.”

Harry gently cupped his other hand over the broken shards in the other and took an exaggeratedly large step over the rest. The edge of his foot made contact with a shard that had blended in with the floor, poking it. He paused and lifted his foot, but it hadn’t broken skin. Shaking his head, he picked up the piece he had stepped on and dumped it into the bin with the rest.

Snape returned with a broom, handing Harry the dustpan. Five minutes later, they were back in the sitting room, feeling decidedly more ruffled than before.

“They would… what? Expel me for being falsely accused by the Ministry?”

“The Headmaster would do his utmost to ensure that does not happen.” The unspoken, that Dumbledore had done his utmost at Harry’s trial and failed there, hovered in the air between them. Harry thought that he might be able to reach out and physically grab it if he really wanted to. “The decision is not merely his own, however.”

“The Board of Governors.”

Snape nodded.

Harry leaned back against the couch and stared out the window blankly, watching the sun set behind the hills to the west as it set the sky aflame with reds and oranges. “And if they expel me?”

Snape drummed his fingers on his knee. “You will need to remain in the castle. There’s nowhere else in the United Kingdom where you would be so protected. Perhaps you can be given some sort of employment.” He grinned. “I am sure Filch would appreciate some assistance.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the extremely unfunny joke, then straightened. “Maybe I could help Hagrid? He was expelled, and Dumbledore hired him as gamekeeper. I could be hisassistant!”

“Hopefully, you will be no one’s assistant,” Snape said forcibly. “The goal is to ensure your continued education.”

The sun was now halfway past the horizon, and the sky was beginning to take on a slightly purple hue. “No potions class, though,” Harry said. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, determined not to look at Snape’s expression, as he knew he would burst out laughing if he actually saw it. As it was, he could imagine it well enough, and it was all he could manage to keep the contemplative expression on his face.

“That is true,” Snape finally replied, sounding thoughtful. “I had not considered that. Perhaps we ought to aim for your expulsion. I would never have to teach you potions again.”

Harry tossed a pillow at him.

“Thanks, Henry! It’s great.”

Harry rocked on his heels, pleased that Callum liked the sextant he’d gotten him.

“I wonder, what made you think of that?” Mary asked, blinking innocently.

Harry and Callum both shot her a look, at which she smirked. Deigning not to respond verbally, however, she only handed her gift to Callum.

He ripped the paper off and grinned at the box containing a football net.

“It’s a cheap one,” she said, as if not wanting him to get the wrong idea and think that she actually liked him.

“Still, it’s great,” Callum said, setting the sextant on the box and pushing it aside. “Thanks.”

“Don’t look too much into it,” she warned, although the corners of her mouth tugged up in a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to remember that you dislike me every time we use it.”

“Oh, I don’t dislike you,” she said easily as they made their way to the kitchen counter to try some of the cheesecake that had been made for the gathering. “I just think you’re annoying. A little vain, perhaps. Oh, and you aren’t the brightest—”

He objected, “Hey, it’s my birthday! You have to be nice!”

“Your birthday was two days ago,” she pointed out.

“You weren’t nice to me then, either,” Callum said.

Harry grinned as Callum dropped a slice onto a paper plate and slid it over to him. It was moments like this that he missed the most from his life before the village.

It seemed as though his life was divided up into two parts in his mind: before and after the village. Before the village, he was someone who stuck out. Either he was the too-skinny, badly dressed kid that the neighborhood bullies liked to target, or the Boy-Who-Lived, famous for what he could not remember beyond a flash of green and the sounds of his mother’s screams. Here, he was relatively unknown. Innocuous. Interesting in that he was a newcomer, and had a slightly tragic “backstory”, but beyond that? He was just another teenager.

“Well? How is it?”

Harry, lost in his thoughts, had yet to take a bite. He shoved a forkful into his mouth, then slumped as the blueberry and cream cheese hit his tongue. “I’s ‘ea’y goo’,” he said.

“I guess so,” Mary laughed. She accepted the plate Callum handed her and took a bite. "Oh, it is good."

The Duncan brothers came in from another room, in the middle of a conversation about the oncoming winter season.

"Hey, Da," Callum said.

"Call! How's the party coming along?"

"Great." He glanced quickly over at Harry and Mary, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Did they ever find out what left that blood on the beach?"

Harry felt the slight whoosh of air that accompanied Mary's kick, aimed at Callum's shin. She missed as he casually stepped forward to lean his forearms on the counter. He gave her a look, signaling that he knew what she’d tried to do. Before any more silent (or not-so-silent) communication could pass between the three of them, Malcolm Duncan shook his head.

“No one knows. My bet is on a couple of stray dogs getting into a fight.”

“Way out here?” Jack Duncan said, in a belligerent tone that indicated an ongoing argument.

“What do you think it was, Jack? Polar bears?”

They passed out of the room, now cheerfully bickering.

“I’ve been hearing stuff like that all week,” Callum sighed.

“At least you’re alive to hear it,” Mary said, not sounding at all sympathetic.

After they finished eating their cheesecake, the three of them sat around the coffee table in the sitting room and played board games. Harry briefly thought back to hours of playing exploding snap in the Gryffindor common room, then focused on trying to keep his red trouble peg out of range of Mary’s ruthless green one.

Callum’s mum poked her head around the corner. “It’s half five,” she reminded them.

“Oh!” Harry said, glancing at his watch. “I better get going.”

“See you later,” Callum said. “Thanks for the gift.”

“Later,” Harry agreed. “Happy birthday.”

He stepped out of the front door and blinked. The outside world seemed to be unfocused. He plucked his glasses off of his face to check if they were smudged. A quick swipe with the hem of his shirt, however, made no difference.

It took another few seconds of standing in the street, squinting around, for him to realize that there was some kind of haze in the air. Not with the mist that clung to the ground as early morning fog, but more similar to smoke.

People were beginning to shout and run down the main road, and it took Harry a moment to realize they were heading in the direction of the cottage.

It was smoke.

A sudden, dizzying fear gripped his heart, and he began sprinting home.

The smoke grew thicker as he leapt over the stream, stumbling slightly on the opposite bank but unwilling to take the detour to the bridge. Brushing the dirt off of his knees, he veered southeast in the direction of the pillar of dark smoke beginning to climb into the sky, smudging the bright blue a with thick grey.

"Oh, it's Henry!" someone called. He didn't bother to stop and see who it was; the relief in the unknown voice had set the warning bells in his head to full blast.

He rounded the corner, momentarily taken aback at the wave of hot air that hit him in the face as he stared at the burning cottage. When Harry screamed and tried to run inside, strong arms wrapped around his chest and held him back. He strained against his bonds, which suddenly released when Snape came stumbling out of the front door, coughing violently and streaked with soot.

"DAD!" Harry yelled, darting forwards to catch him as he stumbled. Snape’s long-fingered hand gripped his shoulder as the man fought to stay upright, and Harry noticed with alarm that it was trembling.

In Snape’s other hand, a rolled up parchment was crinkled from where he tightly clutched it. As a woman wearing scrubs hurried over, Harry discreetly tugged it out of his hand and slipped it into his own pocket.

“Are you burned?” the woman asked, scanning Snape’s face.

Trying to choke back his cough, Snape shook his head. Harry helped the woman lead him away from the cottage, which was still exuding smoke, although he refused to sit on the ground as she checked him over clinically. Harry realized that it must be the village ANP.

“Henry!”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Callum, who was running up with Jack Duncan. “Oh, thank God you’re alright!”

“It was already…” he choked on his words, “...when I arrived.”

“Come on, boys!” a voice called from several meters away. It was Francis, waving an arm at several men who had brought buckets full of water and started throwing them on the fire. This was, unsurprisingly, not very effective; Francis, dragging a large hose along behind him, quickly gained several helpers.

Harry, torn between helping and staying with Snape, had his decision made for him when Amy grabbed them both by the arm and pulled them away from the scene. Snape was breathing less erratically now, and although the ANP had suggested an oxygen mask, he had waved it off. Still, Harry walked close by his side, resisting the urge to take his arm, knowing Snape would refuse any more help than he’d already been forced to accept.

Amy Duncan led them to her house, where Harry sat numbly at the kitchen table while Snape took a shower to get the soot off. When he returned, wearing borrowed clothes of Malcolm’s that hung loose on his lean frame, Harry looked him over anxiously to make sure he was alright. Snape ignored his scrutiny, pouring a cup of tea from the pot on the table in front of Harry and sitting down across from him in another chair.

“Are you okay?” Harry finally asked, unable to contain his question any more.

“I am fine,” he said shortly. “Where is Mrs. Duncan?”

“She ran out to see if she could help. I would have followed her, but she told me to stay here.” Not that Harry had put up much of a fight. He’d been too worried about Snape to leave him behind. He could still feel the panic coiled in his gut, could sense the band of fear around his heart that made each beat a painful endeavor. For a moment there, when he was restricted in front of their home and Snape was nowhere in sight, he had really thought—

“Do you have the parchment?”

Harry nodded, patting his hoodie pocket. “Yeah. I don’t think anyone saw it in the smoke.”

Snape nodded, taking a long sip of the ginger and thyme tea. “Good.”

“What happened?” Harry asked, a mental image of Death Eaters razing the burrow making itself unwelcome.

“I do not know.”

“Was it an attack?”

“I am not certain, of course, but I do not believe so.”

Harry relaxed back into his chair slightly, although the worry lines didn’t leave his face. “And you’re really alright?”

“I am really alright,” Snape sighed. He then smirked slightly. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Sir?”

“For keeping your head and sticking to our cover story in the face of an emergency. Well done.” Snape lifted his cup in a small toast before taking a sip.

It took a moment to realize that Snape was referencing his shout of “Dad!” when Snape first escaped the cottage. Harry smiled weakly and looked down into his tea.

He hadn’t been thinking of the cover story at all.