Sunday, Harry put on the nicest non-dressy clothes he owned. He had first tried on his Muggle suit, but that looked inappropriate for Sunday dinner at a friend’s mum’s house. He wondered how it was that no matter how many clothes he bought, nothing in his cupboard ever seemed quite appropriate.

He met Aaron at the underground stop, the last one on the line. His fellow Auror trainee looked a little nervous. “Thanks for coming. I told my mum I’d invited you but didn’t tell her you’d agreed. I didn’t know if you’d come to your senses at the last and back out.”

“I really don’t mind,” Harry insisted, still not understanding how anyone could not appreciate Sunday dinners with his mum if they were a nice mum.

Aaron carried a narrow sack which might contain a wine bottle and his other hand held a bundle of bright yellow flowers.

Concerned, Harry asked, “Should I have brought something?”

Aaron held out the flowers. “You did bring these,” he said.

Harry took them in hand. “Cheers then.”

They walked through the village and out the other side before reaching a nice house before the fields started up again. A white enamel cast iron fence ran around the property and one very old tree shaded things nicely. On the broad porch Aaron used the door-knocker, looking pensive. Harry, not used to holding bunches of flowers, held them behind his back because he felt like a bride holding them in front of himself.

The door swung open and a plump, dark haired woman in a flowered muumuu greeted them with a broad smile. “Oh, my! Look who it is.” She tore her gaze from Harry over to her son. “Aaron, my dear boy, good to see you. And in such esteemed company, no less.”

She held out a hand, not so much to be shaken but palm down, fingers half-curled. Unsure what that meant, Harry freed a hand from the flowers and managed a strange handshake. Her gaze was affectionately intent, and she smiled as though nearly crying.

“Where are my manners?” she proclaimed loudly. “Come in. Come in. Please!”She hadn’t let go of Harry’s hand, so he had no choice but to follow.

In the beautiful front hall with its glowing marble floor and bright rugs she stopped and said, “You are much taller than I imagined, Mr. Potter. You don’t mind if I call you Harry do you?”

“Not at all,” Harry replied, getting a hand squeeze and an extra affectionate smile in return. “These are for you,” Harry remembered the flowers in his other hand.

Surprisingly, this didn’t get his hand freed when she accepted them. “Oh, my dear boy, how sweet. Mr. Plumley!” she called out.

A dour man in a tuxedo with a pointed nose and disproportionately heavy face stepped in as though just waiting to be summoned and accepted the flowers with a very small bow. In a formal tone he said, “I shall retire these to a nice vase for you, madam.”

Mrs. Wickem turned Harry toward her for further inspection, and patted his captive hand with her now free one. “Well, you have turned out rather handsomely, haven’t you?” she asked, looking him over with an appraising eye. To Harry’s utter amazement, she reached up and patted him on the cheek as she said, “But you certainly look like you need a good meal, you poor thing. Come. Come.” She finally released his hand but this was only to better wrap him up bodily and lead him away to the next room as one might an invalid.

They entered a parlor with high windows and a marble and iron table set with a staggering array of glass and tableware, like nothing Harry had seen before. The yellow flowers were already in a blue and gold Asian vase in the center.

Harry turned back to shoot a teasing look at Aaron and found his companion pale and horrified. Harry gave him a questioning look to no avail. The parlor was huge and it was a long walk to the table in the center. Mrs. Wickem took it with a slow stride, soft, broad arm firmly around Harry.

“You know, Harry,” she said in a soft voice. “I so clearly remember that fateful day seventeen years ago when the papers declared that evil had been banished. They seemed quite unable to explain exactly how that had come to be. The only possible explanation was that an infant somehow defeated him.” She paused and hummed in memory.

They had reached the table. Harry was beginning to anticipate being bodily moved around, so when she turned him to face her, with her soft cheeks reminding him only vaguely of Aunt Marge, he didn’t resist.

She went on, “I thought to myself, that must be one strange boy. And one so simultaneously fortunate and unfortunate.” She gestured and graciously said, “Please have a seat, and I will see what the progress is on lunch.”

Harry thanked her and pulled out a surprisingly heavy iron chair. Aaron took a seat beside him, adjusting the beaded cushion a little impatiently. He still appeared mortified. When they were alone, he put his head in his hand and said, “Ugh. She’s worse than I could have imagined—and I thought I could imagine a lot.”

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

Aaron gaped at him. “What’s wrong? You just went through that, and you ask what’s wrong?”

“I don’t mind,” Harry laughed. Which was the truth, though more than an afternoon of it would be a different thing. At Aaron’s gaping shock, Harry tried to explain. “I can take being doted on. Really. I had a dearth of doting in my life.”

Aaron seemed to accept that, but he still looked strained.

Harry, wanting to reassure him more, went on, “My Aunt Petunia used to dote on my cousin Dudley all the time when we were little. Kind of like that,” he said, gesturing at the door Aaron’s mum had disappeared through. “Made a point of doing it right in front of me all the time. All the while telling me how useless I was, and not feeding me enough, and pretending I didn’t exist at all whenever they could get away with it. So really, I don’t mind a little make-up doting.”

Aaron sat back, looking vaguely sympathetic. “I’m still going to need a bracer,” he said and reached for a crystal decanter full of a dark red liquid that was just one of a veritable forest of fancy containers taking up the fourth place setting at the table. “Want some?”

“No. Thanks though.”

“Pour out the Sauternes instead, my dear boy,” Mrs. Wickem chided brightly as she swept back into the room followed closely by Plumley carrying plates.

“Oh boy,” Aaron murmured, as a plate was placed before Harry. “Goose liver paté. My favorite. You’ve outdone yourself, my man.”

The butler opened a bottle of peach -colored wine and poured a splash out for each of them. Before he could turn completely away, Mrs. Wickem said, “Plumley, did you see whom dearest Aaron has brought for luncheon?”

Plumley, looking drawn and bored, glanced around the table as though noticing for the first time that people were actually sitting at it. He blinked several times at Harry.

Mrs. Wickem prodded, “Surely you recognize Mr. Potter?”

Plumley’s face underwent a sort of distorted metamorphosis, or perhaps it simply was too unaccustomed to holding any expression. Stunned, he held out his hand and Harry shook it. “Most…thrilled to meet you, sir,” Plumley breathed. He clasped his hands before himself formally and stood straight, gazing around the table as though he had just woken up. A bit unsteadily he announced, “Yes. Perhaps, I shall go prepare the next course, then.”

When the door had swung itself closed, Aaron said in awed tones, “That’s a first. I don’t think he’s ever been thrilled about anything.” He and his mother shared a shocked look before they started eating, and

Harry followed suit, immediately thinking that he could put up with lots more doting for food like this. Winky cooked well but this was something else. There were soft warm browned onions draped over the cold paté and a streak of something fruity and red beside it for dipping and the wine, while almost sickly sweet, went down brightly between bites.

Harry must have been making unconscious noises of appreciation because Aaron broke out laughing. “Enjoying it?” he asked.

“It’s really good,” Harry insisted, wishing the plate were a little fuller. He ate slowly to savor it.

Harry soon learned why the first plate had seemed sparse. Uncountable courses followed that first one and he fast filled up.

During a pause, Mrs. Wickem asked with great feeling, “Harry, I am curious about something and perhaps you will be able to answer this for me.”

Harry adjusted the linen in his lap and gave her his attention. The sunlight had shifted so it now sliced in through the top of the window, sending shattered beams off the crystal on the table. “Of course,” he replied, expecting some difficult question about Voldemort or Ministry politics.

She put a broad hand on Harry’s arm and asked, “How is my dear Aaron doing in his apprenticeship?”

Harry smiled and suppressed a laugh. “He’s doing fine. Why do you ask?” He looked between them. Aaron had sunk back into the mortification of someone much younger.

She replied, “I can never know what his answers mean. In school, he always said he was doing fine, always seemed happy, but he was not, in fact, doing so well at all.”

“He is doing fine,” Harry repeated, feeling odd assessing someone five years older than himself.

Aaron began fiddling with one of the oddly shaped spoons above his plate whose function Harry had no clue about. Aaron was biting his lip awfully hard too.

“Well, that is good to know.” She gave her son a soft look before standing with unexpected lightness for her size. “I’ll just see to the pastries.”

The door swung closed behind her. Aaron was still biting his lip and slouching as though to examine the spoon better.

Harry asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I’m not doing that well,” he pointed out, sounding peevish.

“What makes you say that?” Harry thought over their training. “You do fine on all the spells. You did fine on the review examination.”

“I stink on readings. You always know the answers.”

“No, I don’t. Vineet always does, and then Kerry Ann. You and I are in the bottom half of that.”

Aaron huffed and confessed, “It’s so hard for me to do the readings. Ten minutes into it and I’m totally bored and going off my rocker. It’s like torture. No, actually, I would take a Crucio most days rather than finish the readings.”

“Well, why don’t you have someone read them out to you. A girlfriend or something. Get quizzed that way, like a party conversation. Make a game of it.”

Aaron’s face twisted in thought. Harry considered that Aaron was like Ron in that his mental impressions went right to his features. “That’s a thought,” he said, sounding upbeat. He arranged his silver more neatly and said, “How did you get through everything you’ve faced being so damn nice, Potter? I would spit spells in every direction I’d have been so angry.”

“I had moments like that, believe me.”

With a half grin Aaron asked, “Similar to the time you took Rodgers down a few? More than a few…”

“A bit like that. Not as articulate. I trashed Dumbledore’s office, for example.” Harry’s heart rate picked up a bit. He had never told anyone that.

“You what?” Aaron was stunned, and exceedingly impressed, most likely.

“All those little machines and balanced globes and things? Threw ’em everywhere.” The memory made Harry’s hands clammy.

Aaron made a noise of surprise and put his hands on his head. “I so haven’t sussed you, Potter. I can’t even picture it. What did he do?”

More quietly, Harry said, “Nothing. He just sat there, said he didn’t care about any of the things.”

“Wow.”

“I’d had a very bad day. The worst day of my life, I think. Or close to it.”

A long pause ensued where the sound of organizing small plates could be heard just outside the door. Aaron said, “If you’re trying to make me feel better, Potter, you’re succeeding.”

Their hostess returned with the butler, carrying stacks of pastries that made Harry’s stomach feel like it might split just from looking at them.

An hour and numerous bear hugs later, Harry was allowed to depart. Aaron walked him back to the station.

“Thanks. You really made her day,” Aaron said, rocking on his toes with his hands in his pockets, looking oddly shy.

“It was nice. And the food was great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aaron gave him a wave before walking away.

At home, Harry settled in to read but ended up napping on the library lounger instead. He hadn’t eaten so much since the last Halloween feast at Hogwarts.

Later as he settled in with a pot of tea to try his readings, Harry wished more acutely that his guardian were there. Harry pulled a sheet of parchment across his book and wrote out a note asking Snape if he thought there were only two revelation spells for charmed animals, like his text said, because it seemed like there ought to be more. It was a silly question, but Harry needed an excuse to write yet again. At the bottom he almost added that he missed him, but didn’t.

Harry brought one of Snape’s letters with him to training on Monday. In it, he stated that Sinistra had in the past taught attenuation and was more than willing to assist Vineet. Since her classes were in the evening, she suggested that afternoons were better for tutoring.

Rodgers perused the note and said, “Ask if you can bring him up sometime this week, then. Tomorrow, if possible.”

Harry wrote two letters at lunch, one to Professor Sinistra about Vineet and one to Snape about arranging a visit for dinner at his relatives. Even though he himself had reservations about the plan, he presented it as something foregone. Upon rereading it, he wondered if Snape would see through that, even though his words covered his uneasiness pretty well.

When he arrived home, Harry had two replies waiting in the window box. Sinistra was indeed willing to begin tutoring Vineet tomorrow, making Harry think his description of the Indian’s current magic must have alarmed her. The other was from Snape, in it he said, After dragging you to the coven enough times, it cannot be within my rights to decline.

Harry wrote to Polly right then and even stepped out into the fast-cooling evening with Kali on his shoulder to post it at the train station. He dropped it into the cold steel mouth of the post box and looked around the quiet village. As awkward as he imagined it would be to have Snape and himself at dinner with Pamela, Polly, Patricia and family, he found he really wanted it to happen, ached a little for it even.

Kali sniffed the air when the breeze came up. Harry, with no cloak, found it chilling and quickly walked home. In the garden he paused and listened but no unnatural sounds emanated from amongst the last of the flowers.

After lunch the next day, Harry took Vineet by Floo into Hogsmeade. “Britain’s only all-Wizarding village,” Harry announced as they stepped into the street, which unfortunately had a row of thick clouds hanging just above it. He had to pull his cloak over his shoulders for warmth against a sudden wind.

“Hello, Harry!” Someone said as they passed. Harry recognized the shop clerk from Gladrags and greeted her back. The next person they passed greeted him as well.

“You have many friends,” Vineet observed as they walked out of town.

“I guess,” Harry admitted. The castle came into full view almost immediately. “Hogwarts Castle,” he announced, hoping he didn’t sound the way Mr. Weasley did the other day.

They walked up the lawn, which Harry had remembered as being smaller than it was today, and up the front steps. Since it was during class time, the Entrance Hall was deserted. Harry wondered if this place would ever feel unfamiliar.

“Professor Sinistra’s letter said to come up to her office,” Harry explained as he headed for the staircase. “Oh, but you have to see this,” he said, diverting to the Great Hall. Just inside the doors he gestured at the ceiling. “Charmed to show the sky outside,” Harry explained. Some older students working on assignments looked up at them curiously from the other end of the long tables.

“Ah, I thought you would be showing me something else.”

Harry let the Great Hall door close. “What do you want to see?” he asked.

“The place where the Unnamed One fell.”

“You’re standing on it,” Harry pointed out and then added a grin.

Unusually startled, Vineet looked down and stepped quickly off the spot he had been on. “Here?” he asked, looking around the floor. “Not there?” he asked in confusion.

Harry followed where he pointed and saw that a brass plaque had replaced one of the stones. He bent over to read it. “Here Voldemort perished,” he read. The date was printed around the edge in flowing longhand. “Hm.” Harry backed up and surveyed the scene. “No, definitely where you are standing,” he said to Vineet.

“Such few feet hold little meaning,” Vineet intoned, also bowing to read the plaque. When his eyes came up they held that reverence that they had lost of late.

“Sinistra’s waiting,” Harry said to get them moving on.

Professor Sinistra walked them down to the Defense classroom for tutoring. “Professor Snape has taken his class outside today. Wanted to show them a few nasty creatures Hagrid collected from the forest.”

She pushed a few desks aside with a wave of her wand and clasped her hands before her. Her complicated earrings caught the light as she looked Vineet over. “Well, Mr. Abhayananda, I have been given some background details. You have been using a mismatched wand, correct?”

“I have been using an old village wand,” he conceded. “No others worked at all. But yes. Mismatched it seems.”

“That is the usual way one ends up requiring such tutoring. Let me see your old and new wands.”

Harry sat in one of the front desks and observed. He had been given loose instructions about escorting Vineet here, so he used the lack of clear orders to return as an excuse to stay.

“There are many ways of reducing magic when one is too old to learn by instinct. One is by narrowing.” She moved a stout granite monolith away from the wall into the middle of the floor. “But,” she held up a finger, “one must do so without focusing one’s power. Otherwise even harmless spells can become dangerous.”

She demonstrated a simple torch spell, then a narrow unfocused casting of it that produced a very useless little spot of light on the granite, and then a narrow focused version that left a waft of smoke and a small dark spot on the stone.

“Give it a try.”

Vineet produced far more than a waft of smoke on his first attempt, and his second. After many attempts and a little progress on reducing his power, he said in frustration, “That is harder than one expects.”

Lecturing now, she said firmly, “Everything we are going to work on requires a great deal of practice. Gaining the feel for it is the only way to truly learn it.”

Vineet nodded and concentrated harder. After another long round of attempts the air had grown hazy with smoke. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

Harry was about to get up and offer encouragement but Sinistra stepped in before he had the chance and put her hands on the Indian’s upper arms. “Mr. Abhayananda…we have many, many, techniques we can try. We are just getting started.” Her tone was compassionate, unlike anything Harry had heard from her as a student. It got through to Vineet and he straightened and returned to himself.

An hour later the door opened and students began to step in. Harry stood and watched for his guardian.

Ginny came in and gave him a wave and a smile. Snape entered last, with a student in tow, who was summarily told to sit rather forcefully. “And you as well,” he said to a nearby Slytherin. “Detention, both of you.” He looked up and said calmly, “Hello, Harry. Chapter 18 for next class and a short essay on…” He looked to be considering a topic appropriate to bad behavior. “…hazardous magical tree dwellers.”

The bell rang then and most of the students departed, murmuring to each other about various topics. Nott and the other Slytherin sat sulkily in their desks, eyeing the rest of them darkly. Snape stepped over to Harry after dropping his books on a side table.

“How is the tutoring progressing?” he asked.

“We are making fine headway,” Sinistra responded pleasantly. “A combination of folding and irising seems to be the technique of choice in Mr. Abhayananda’s case. But I should start preparing for evening classes, if you’ll excuse me.” To Vineet, she said, “Practice that on your own and come back perhaps on Thursday?” When he nodded gratefully, she departed with a small smile.

“And how are you?” Snape asked Harry, sounding unlike himself for this environment. Vineet wandered over to the windows and peered out with interest.

“Good,” Harry assured him.

“Training going well?”

“Training is going fine,” Harry said, amused by the outpouring. “You haven’t been away from home that long, have you?” he teased.

Snape smiled lightly and patted him on the arm. “True, and I will join you this weekend. Come with me to my office a minute while I put my papers away.”

“Vineet,” Harry said, to pull his companion along.

With a glance at the surly Slytherins, Vineet followed.

In Snape’s office, Harry asked, “What’d they do to get detention?”

The sunlight was just right for the windows on this side of the castle, and everything in the office, from the tall stacks of parchment to the empty cage on top of the shelves, glowed with light.

Snape frowned. “Wandered off during class and then pretended they had been there the whole time. I must wonder that they think I have got that easy to fool.” He sat down and tilted his head back, apparently to rest it. “A few students have been exceptionally troublesome lately. But onto this weekend, how do you intend to travel? It is getting a little cold for the bike. And I need to know what time we should depart on Saturday.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He hadn’t thought about this. “It is a little cold for the bike,” he agreed to stall. “I don’t suppose there’s a Floo node. But I think I can Apparate that far now. Although I haven’t tried it.” Vineet moved to examine the bookshelves, giving them space.

Snape scratched his cheek. “That isn’t the problem, Harry. Your relatives will expect to see Muggle transport, will they not?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry had been looking forward to the visit that he had let that detail slip by him. “We’ll have to work something out. Too bad we don’t have a car.”

Snidely, Snape said, “I don’t think so. Noisy miserable contraptions and if I’m not mistaken it is many hours drive by ground means and would require an entire day there and back.”

Harry thought hard. “What if we Apparate nearby and take a cab? Except we should take a cab from a nearby town…one with a train station. No one would believe we took a cab all that way, but I’ve never been to the nearby towns to Apparate into. Oh. Well, my mum’s cousin’s sister knows we’re wizards. She’ll cover for us.”

“That is good, otherwise it is possibly not workable. Does she have a car?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I’ll ask although Muggle post won’t get there and back in time. Guess I’ll telephone from the Ministry. I have her number.”

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Do let me know what time I need to be home on Saturday to depart.”

Harry adjusted his cloak. He had forgotten how cold the castle could get. “Thanks for agreeing to come along.”

Snape gave him a wry smile. “I could do no different. You should probably return to the Ministry.”

The box knocked around in Harry’s pocket and he withdrew it. “I almost forgot. Can you give these to Suze for me?” he asked, holding out the sunglasses in their nice, hard-sided case. “I think they’ll stay on during a match, even the way she flies.”

Snape opened the case and carefully unfolded and held the shiny, Muggle, plastic sunglasses to the light. He raised a brow at Harry. “Certainly.” His lips twitched slightly as he said it, Harry was certain.

“Thanks. It was good to see you,” Harry insisted, generating another wry but different smile. “Ready to go, Vineet?”

On the walk back down the lawn, Harry asked, “Did Professor Sinistra help at all?”

Vineet replied, “I am hopeful now. I could feel some measure of control beginning at the end of the lesson.”

Harry hadn’t noticed this from what they had been doing, but he was willing to trust the other’s judgment and his own anxiety eased. “That’s good to hear. Hey, shall we stop for a butterbeer?”

Inside the Three Broomsticks it was relatively quiet. Madam Rosmerta came over as soon as they entered. “Harry, my Harry,” she said affectionately. “Oh, who is your friend?” she backed off to ask in a low tone. Harry introduced them and Rosmerta put an arm around Vineet’s shoulder to lead him to the best table. “My but you are a handsome one…but handsome ones are always taken, right?”

“I am assuming you are inquiring if I am married,” Vineet said, appearing perplexed by this rather outgoing woman. She tweaked him on the chin.

“She likes you,” Harry said and pulled out a chair for himself.

“I have a wife already, yes,” Vineet stated, making Harry look up in surprise.

“Ach! Of course,” Rosmerta sighed theatrically and brushed her forehead with her bar rag. “Your free butterbeer, Harry, I will fetch it,” she added in a tragic tone.

Vineet sat down beside Harry and looked at him in consternation. “What?” Harry asked.

“Your free butterbeer. It is going well with your free sundaes.”

“I…They…” Harry tried and failed to come up with words. “People like to give me things,” he finally said in exasperation.

“Hm,” Vineet muttered but was interrupted by their warm mugs arriving.

“So, a wife?” Harry prompted to change the subject.

“Of course. You do not have one?”

“Well… no,” Harry replied and then laughed. He couldn’t even picture being married, or to whom. “So when do we meet her?”

“If I gain some more confidence in my attenuation, I will send for her. She is living with my mother in India. She did not want to journey until the stay was for certain. It is often this way.”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling sympathetic. “But she has your mother for company,” he observed.

Vineet shifted his mug on the table without picking it up. “I am thinking that my wife is getting eager to move now.”

He had stated this flatly, without humor, but Harry smiled into his mug. “That works.”

Vineet finally drank some of his butterbeer. “In a way. It does not generate happiness, however.”

On Saturday, Snape arrived home as Harry stood by the mantel shouldering his cloak. “Sorry, Harry, rather a day, and more student difficulties on top. I see you are ready to depart.”

Snape sounded slightly frazzled, so Harry said, “Do you want to rest up a bit? We are supposedly coming from Highbury on Wye so we could believably be late.”

Snape removed his soot-dusted gloves and rubbed his hands together. “Let me wash up at least.”

Harry waited in the dining room, feeling more anticipation than a simple dinner warranted. Snape finally returned, looking better than his average, which Harry felt grateful for.

“Ready?” Harry asked.

Scrutinizing Harry like a teacher would, Snape said, “You are certain you can take us both?”

Harry nodded. “Yep. I practiced this morning a few trips back and forth.”

Snape held out his arm, Harry put his hand firmly around it and forcing himself not to think too hard, scrunched down a large paper ball and imagined the deeply shady area under the willow in Godric’s Hollow. Harry opened his eyes when he heard a bird scolding above him. The wind moved the long grass of the graveyard and made Harry tighten his cloak and wish for gloves himself.

Snape stepped out from under the low branches and looked about with his usual piercing gaze. Harry followed, detouring over to his parent’s marker. The glass egg didn’t have any flowers now and the remaining silvering had corroded from the mirror, leaving it a jagged-faced dark square framed by tarnished metal. Snape stood a few rows off at the crux of two aisles, waiting with his head down.

Feeling heavy in his chest, Harry finally stepped away toward the gate. Snape joined him in silence and they walked that way through the village, down the narrow lane and finally along the grass path to the house. The wind grew stronger as they struggled uphill, channeled by the adjoining hills that gave the place its name.

Harry knocked at the side door where the brightest light emanated and it opened immediately. “Come in, come in,” Polly welcomed, gesturing with a kitchen mitt.

Harry led the way into the kitchen where many things were cooking on the stove, and the counters—which were usually crowded anyway—were packed tight with dishes and more pots balanced on trivets. When Harry reached the stove he received a firm, one-armed hug.

“Just a moment,” Polly said and turned off a burner while stirring another pot. She finally put the spoon aside and rubbed her hands on her apron. “Well, this must be…” Her face changed a bit as she looked at Snape. “…your adoptive father.” Her eyes went to Harry as though to verify what should have been obvious.

“Yes,” Harry confirmed pleasantly, unfazed. “This is Severus Snape.”

“Ah. Well…” She reached out a hand and shook Snape’s. “Welcome to the Evans’ place.” Snape bowed at that, looking stern. Polly frowned lightly before going on with oddly measured speech, “Harry, we are ready to eat. Would you be a dear and fetch the children? They are out in the neighboring field looking for four-leaf clovers.”

“Sure,” Harry said and aborted removing his cloak. He stepped back out and looked either way before moving out of view.

Polly gave Snape a much longer look. Farther inside the house other voices rose in laughter. “I don’t know quite what I was expecting, Mr. Snape, but you are not it.”

Snape folded his cloak and placed it over the chair by the door beside a pair of muddy boots.

She took a pie crust out of the oven and poured filling from a pan on top of the fridge into it. “Your name is actually familiar. Is it possible James Potter would have spoken of you?”

“Not unlikely,” Snape replied.

She put the pie pan back in the oven and set the loudly clicking dial. Her speech was slower, as if finding her way through something unseen. “Yes, I’m quite certain I’ve heard that name. An odd sort of name, isn’t it?” When Snape merely shrugged, she said, “Yes, Snape… I’m quite certain, in fact, that James rather disliked you.”

“The feeling was mutual,” Snape stated calmly. “Whatever it is you are getting at, you may go at it directly. I expect Harry will return presently.”

She uncovered a roasting pan on the small table and prodded it with a long fork. “Now, give a person time to put old memories together.”

She took out a carving knife and long fork, prompting Snape to say, “May I assist?” She shrugged and held out the utensils, but Snape had his wand in his hand and after waving a general Disillusionment Charm in a dome over that half of the kitchen, reduced the roast to neat slices on the plate.

She looked between the empty pan and the full plate before saying, “You do a lot of cooking, then?”

“I have an elf for that. But I do a great deal of potion brewing and ingredient preparation, which is rather similar.”

She set the pan aside on the floor between the stove and cupboard. “You are a dry one, aren’t you? Harry does speak of you fondly though. I do wonder what his father would think of that?”

“I do not know, nor care, frankly.” Snape, having spent the week resisting replying in kind to any of Candide’s letters, added, “I rarely find it worthwhile to justify myself to anyone.”

She put the long fork aside and looked at him hard.

When she didn’t speak, Snape said in a low voice, “Yes, the worst you can remember James Potter saying of me is most likely true. Or was at that time. You must have sent Harry on a rather roundabout errand.”

“If he knew exactly where to go, it wouldn’t have been. The children do like their hiding places.”

Snape shook his head and after a gap said in a neutral tone, “Harry also speaks fondly of you and your daughters. And he is in need of relatives who understand him rather than vilify him. It is one of the things I cannot heal on my own.”

The voices from the other side of the house rose and fell in boisterous conversation. He had caught her off-guard with that comment and she was now equally thoughtful and suspicious.

She asked, “Does Harry know that his father hated you so?”

“Yes, quite. And Harry in the past has despised me just as much although he is not as good at it, since what he inherited of his father’s personality is tempered by Lily’s disposition.”

Polly smiled in memory. “Yes, a lovely woman. Very sad what happened.”

Snape looked across the kitchen through the glass on the door in anticipation, but there was no sign of Harry.

Polly wasn’t finished. “The worst James ever accused you of…is rather terrible,” she stated while fishing for string beans in boiling water. “And all true?” she asked, sounding amused which may have been a measure of her befuddlement.

“Likely. The worst he would have known to accuse me of certainly was.”

This set her into another kind of confusion and she dropped the string bean she was testing for doneness onto the floor.

“James included you in with those trying to hunt them down.” She resumed stirring a pot on the far back of the stove. “I remember him warning Ed and me to be on the lookout for odd visitors…characters in black hooded robes with masks, that sort of thing. Seemed like a bit of a game, really. Until that night.” She sounded unseated and only side glanced at him warily now, which gave him no opening for Legilimency. Not that he needed it. She tossed a pot of fried onions to loosen them. “And now you have Harry.”

“Yes,” he replied mildly. “Officially.”

“You wizards always did seem an odd lot. Medieval ideas and then some. But even so. It does make one wonder. And worry.”

The pot of mashed potatoes she’d stopped stirring began to bubble violently. Snape took up his wand again and charmed the wooden spoon in the potatoes to stir on its own. She watched the spoon in surprise for a few turns

“And you with that wand of yours, not much the likes me could do about any of it, I expect,” she said. Boldness made her face him.

Snape looked at his wand and put it away. “You misunderstand the situation,” he said.

Her eyes sought reassurance of that, but looked doubtful of getting it.

Trying to sound like he was conceding, Snape said, “I could hardly wish Harry any harm. Or you for that matter, given that also seems a concern.” Snape sighed lightly. “Harry dearly needs generous people in his life who understand him. I have no need for you to understand me beyond that I intend that for him. That should be sufficient.”

She pulled out a serving platter and arranged the beans and potatoes on it in a ring and turned off the burners. “None of this is that simple, Mr. Snape,” she said. “Especially with evil magic in the mix. We non-magical folk are nothing to some of you. Lower than field mice.” She put down the spoon. “And Harry…well, he’s still young… and what I really can’t understand is why no one in your world is looking after him.”

Snape stared her down. “You cannot comprehend me, or frankly our world. My words will never make a difference in that.” Seeing movement outside, Snape went to the door to peer around a cinched flowered curtain. Harry was at the far side of the field, approaching with two children, one on his hip, one led by the hand. He appeared sturdily unfamiliar, awkwardly earnest, and entirely himself.

Snape quietly said, “The Harry I adopted wasn’t this one. He’d been used up by the task he’d been put to. His concerns were always disregarded and he was not given help when he most needed it. Even now it is difficult to get him to understand that he has unwavering help at hand.” Snape exhaled, wishing he hadn’t made this attempt at explaining. “I gave him a home—something he had never had. But I can only do so much. He needs your trust and understanding as blood relatives. Mine does not suffice. For you that unfortunately means trusting me because Harry will leap to my defense if you do otherwise.”

She covered the platter with the plate she had warmed in the oven for this. “So this is about redemption for you, is it?”

“No.” With a frown Snape reached for the doorknob. Quietly, he added, “There is no redemption for me.” He pulled open the door just as a small boy, running full tilt, loped up the single step and through the kitchen and into the next room.

Harry was carrying the girl. “You’re heavier than you look,” Harry breathed as he put her down. “Hey Severus, getting to know Mrs. Evans?”

“Yes, of course,” Snape replied evenly with no hint of the seriousness of the conversation.

“Why don’t you head on in and sit down? And say hello.” Polly invited warmly, arranging other things quickly in the small available spaces.

Harry noticed the self-stirring spoon still in the leftover potatoes and gave Snape a shake of the head before leading the way through the house to where the voices emanated. Snape fixed Polly with a steady look while pulling his wand and canceling the spoon behind him.

“Harry!” Pamela exclaimed, jumping up from her chair and coming around to greet him as he entered. “And…this must be your father, adoptive father. No family resemblance there, is there?” she teased.

“This is Severus,” Harry said, and introduced everyone except Patricia’s husband who stood to shake Snape’s hand and introduced himself.

“Let’s go to the table. We’ve been famished waiting for you,” Patricia complained with a wide grin.

Dishes began arriving and the others delayed sitting to help ferry them in. Chairs squeaked against the floor. The chatter grew louder. Harry tucked into a huge pile of everything, wrapped in the cheery house and relatives.

“So, Mr. Snape,” Pamela asked, “What do you teach?”

Snape, who had been monitoring Mrs. Evans’ scrutiny of himself, took a moment to formulate a reply. “A diverse course covering various topics in what you might call, folklore and European myths.” Harry’s brow started to knit in confusion, but it faded quickly. Snape went on, “It is a new topic for me, I previously taught chemistry.”

“That’s a change,” Patricia’s husband exclaimed, one of his few contributions.

“So what kinds of myths?” Patricia asked curiously.

“Mythical creatures, for example,” Snape said. “Basilisks, sirens, things of that nature.”

“That’s very interesting. Did you like his class?” Pamela teased Harry.

Harry grinned, “Yeah, except that he marked me really hard so no one could think he was playing favorites.”

“Did you really?” Pamela asked and the sisters laughed.

Hours later, when they finally donned their cloaks and braved the wind again, Snape pulled Mrs. Evans aside and let the door close to the outside so they were alone. The rest had insisted on escorting the visitors to the center of the village, which had necessitated calling an actual cab to pick them up.

Snape said quickly, “I am considering suggesting to Harry that he apply for a dispensation to be allowed to reveal his wizardry to his blood relatives, your two daughters. If you have reservations, however, I won’t.”

Her eyes widened and went from exhausted wary to curious. “Is that how it works?”

“The approval will not be automatic given the blood distance, but given who he is and his lack of closer friendly blood family, I expect the Ministry will accept it.”

She put one hand on her hip and untied her apron, which she’d worn through dinner. “You are a puzzle, Mr. Snape.”

Dryly, he said, “I have no desire to be easily understood, really.”

“Well, I think Pammy and Patty would be thrilled to hear that magic is real.”

Someone knocked on the door from the outside. “They couldn’t tell anyone.”

“They can keep a secret,” she assured him. “As can I,” she added, meeting his gaze levelly.

Snape bowed faintly, opened the door and stepped out. Harry brightly asked, “Ready to go?”

At the end of the lane they had no choice but to get in the cab. They rode in the direction of Highbury on Wye for a few miles before asking the cabby to drop them off at a dreary little pub at an unmarked crossroads. They tipped him well and Disapparated when the cab disappeared over the next rise.