Love Looks With The Heart

by spinner

1

"What are you writing?"

"My book."

Septima hustled across the hardwood floor, her bath slippers clacking noisily. She encountered an area rug, which dimmed her footsteps for a few seconds.  Then, back on the hardwood, she stepped even louder.  She was making as much sound as possible, pantomiming her steps broadly in order to give Severus time to hide the four inch by four inch black book over which he was hunched.  Severus watched her over one shoulder, knew from her faint smile that she was in a good mood.  The holidays always made her act silly.  He closed his tiny book and put it in the top drawer of the small desk, and stacked his quill in the cup in the corner.  He was standing and facing her before she reached his workspace.

"No snooping.  It's private," he explained, holding the drawer closed and leaning back on his hands against the desk itself.   Septima was towering over him one second and huffily pulling back the next.  Her long hair was unwound, swinging down her back and flowing over her shoulder.  She was wearing a heavy winter robe and the plaid pajamas that he had given her as a birthday present in November.  Septima was holding back a smile as she put her hands on her hips.  She was a tall, affronted scarecrow, and she smelled of vanilla, roses, and spices.  He stared down at her long pointed toes and red painted toenails peeking out of the end of her slippers.  Usually she wore heavy socks with her slippers because their own house was too cold.  But Grandfather Orpheus always kept his house much warmer, and hence, there was no need for heavy socks.  

"Mummy's not a snoop.  I've finished all the books I brought along, and I thought you might have one I could read."

"My book isn't done yet," he declared.

"Can I read it when you're done?" she asked, using one long nail to lift the strands of hair off his face.

"It may take a while."

"What's it called?"

"Unpleasant Things."

She smiled cautiously, her dark eyes analyzing him to see if he was kidding with her.  His serious demeanor told her otherwise.  Severus lifted his chin, worried she was about to tease him.  Mesarik would have called him a pompous pipsqueak by this point.  Severus frankly didn't like his father much, and the feeling was clearly mutual.  Septima wasn't that way though. She knew what a strange boy he was, but never made any attempts to correct his weird habits.  Apparently she liked him the way he was, which he found very reassuring. 

"It's certainly an intriguing title, I'll give you that.  A trifle vague perhaps.  Is it a mystery?  A comedy?  A tragedy?" she wondered.

"It's a memoir."

"Dearest, you're five.  Don't you believe writing a memoir at your age might be a tad premature?"

"Not at all.  I should write about interesting things now, before I forget.  It's in poem form."

"I adore poetry!  Read to me!" she pleaded, tugging on his shoulders to pretend she wanted to move him away from the desk and the book.

"It's not done!" he wailed, standing firm.

"All right then," she relented, letting go of his shoulders.  "After your bath, you can hurry and finish it.  I'm very anxious to hear."

"Bath?  I wasn't planning on….don't I get to open a present or two before bed?  What if I'm in the bath while everyone else is opening presents downstairs?"

"Grandfather Orpheus has to be here before we open presents.  It's nearly midnight.  When he's back, you'll open one present, one was our agreement, and then it's off to bed with you.  Shouldn't be up this late as it is.  Granny's been asleep for hours."

"Which granny?"

"Have you more than one?"

 

"Apparently, yes," he replied tartly. 

"Oh no.  Was Granny Agnes back again?"

"Yes.  Last night she moved my bed while I was in it."

"Try your best to ignore her.  She's unhappy about Granny Shannon.  Wave hello to her, blow her a kiss, roll over, go back to sleep."

"Why does she have to haunt me?  Can't she haunt Grandfather instead?"

"Severus, she haunts you because she likes you, and it's time for your bath."

"Is Grandfather bringing Cousin Roger with him?  Is he back from his expedition?"

"Is that where they told you he was?" Septima wondered.

"What was he exploring?"

"He wasn't exploring anything.  Severus, no more delay tactics," she warned with a sudden frown.

"All right."

"Your tub awaits," Septima pointed upstairs.  If he listened closely, Severus could hear water plunging into the depths of the huge tub in the bath suite overhead.  She must have come from there.  That must be the source of the scents whirling around her.  Had she poured vanilla and spicy roses bubble bath in his tub?! 

"I'm not done writing yet," he sulked, annoyed at the thought of a bubble bath.  Septima thought about the situation for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder.

"Very well.  I suppose one's mother shouldn't stand in the way of a challenging ambition like a memoir.  I'll have the first bath.  You can have one after me. How's that suit you?"

"Fine.  Good."

"But I'm warning you, no weaseling out of your bath."

"I won't," he promised.  Septima swooped down and tickled his sides, and he batted her hands away violently.  "NO TICKLING!" he exclaimed.  She bounced a kiss off the top of his head, another off his cheek, and clattered away with her loud slippers on the floor.  The scent of vanilla and spicy roses lingered behind her before it too was gone. 

2

"They're schoolgirls, Harry.  Nothing to be afraid of," Remus smiled most persuasively.  "While they have been known to bite when provoked, it hardly ever proves fatal."

"I have to stay here.  I have biscuits in the oven.  I'm making pie next," Harry offered meekly the first and most logical excuse that sprang to mind.   

"Take off that apron and come be a gracious host."

"It's not a party.  Doesn't need a host," Harry mumbled, eyes low on the table between himself and Lupin.  The expanse was covered with flour and sugar and egg shells, half-used sticks of butter, the odd raisin and chocolate chip or two.  Remy came around the table and stood next to Harry.

"There's no reason to be nervous.  Teddy and Volkova are out there at the front door, inspecting everyone coming in.  Modesto is pacing in the rafters.  Stoneburne is….well….I'm not sure where he's at, but he's around.  No one is going to pounce on you.  I'll be right beside you, if you stand at the main desk and help me catalogue the new arrivals.  I promise not a soul will cross the counter at you.  If they do, I'll prod them back with the end of my wand. How's that sound?"

"I'm not nervous," Harry whispered, staring down.  He felt his face growing pink and hot, and realized he was wrinkling the edges of his sugar and egg stiffened apron in between nervous fingers. 

Lupin gingerly grasped one of Potter's shoulders and rubbed for a moment.  He searched Harry's lowered face, wishing he knew what to say to reassure Potter.  Putting all the cook books along the walls of the kitchen had been a brilliant idea that had somehow backfired on Lupin.  He never thought Harry would hide himself away in here.  It had been the last place he thought to look when Potter vanished from the main room.  Getting Harry out of hiding and back in the public eye was the best thing for him—the sooner the better. The only problem was how to convince Harry of this.

"Wash your hands.  There's plenty of biscuits out there already."

In retrospect, advertising the grand opening of the Grimwood Library in the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler might have been a bad idea.  Harry had hoped for a good turnout, that's all.  He expected a couple hundred die-hard bookworms, tops. 

He could count on Hermione to be there, naturally.  Even if she had had no interest in books, the building itself had become her lair away from home.  Harry had encouraged her by giving her the pick of the choicest upstairs bedrooms on the hidden top floor.  He had showered her with spare keys until she had taken the hint that perhaps he wasn't comfortable being alone. Lucius Malfoy's ghost was a short float away, and although Bellatrix's spirit hadn't manifest anywhere near Harry, she had left her lasting impression on Potter as much as Lucius had.  Hermione was only too happy to make a small nest for herself at the library, and she was glad that it made Harry feel better to have someone around when he was at Grimwood and not at Hogwarts or Ravensrood. Harry glanced upwards to the gallery and balcony that overlooked the main central floor. Hermione was rushing past, a wide smile on her face as she ported an armload of books to a new location. 

Harry had known Professor Volkova would be here too, although he had expected she would be reading in a shadowed corner, chuckling wickedly to herself.  The first week of September, when she had been supervising the preparations for opening the library, she had found an entire box of Jonas Boneshaft's juicy, dark, delicious, naughty books.  Prying them from her greedy fingertips was proving a difficult task indeed.  Harry had tried to tempt her with a pristine copy of The Compendium of Silence and a slightly-more-used Super-Effective Methods of Annoyance, but she had turned up her nose at both offers.  As for her illicit stash, rather than put all of the tomes in the proper room, she had squirreled away the Boneshaft books in secret locations in and around the library.  It was taking Harry forever to find them!

The Dark Arts instructor was at the front doors with Teddy Morgenrot, and they were giving everyone who came through the opened double doors a brusque examination including pat-down and wand-scan.  Volkova was absolutely giddy at the prospect of so many people to examine for potential danger.  Harry wasn't at all surprised how well the two women worked together.  He found it ironic that outwardly, Teddy was everything soft and kind that Ron had always wanted to find somewhere in Volkova.  Of course, that meant Teddy was probably hiding the end-all-be-all of violent tempers under that sweet exterior, but she had yet to lose her patience with him, and that's what mattered to Harry. 

Yes, the usual people had come to the grand opening, all except for Severus, who was busy this morning at the preliminary start of his father's trial for his mother's murder.  It was a wicked twist of fate that today of all days would be when the high court would call for Severus's testimony against Mesarik Snape.  Potter had wanted to be by his side, but Snape had dismissed that notion at breakfast this morning with a very curt "Absolutely not!".  Harry had reluctantly accepted that edict, but it hadn't kept him from watching the doors all day in hopes that Severus would return quickly. 

Harry had not expected that upwards of five thousand people would pass through Hogsmeade Village and through the library doors before 9 a.m.  Some wanted a glimpse at the new library and the rebuilt streets and houses.  Most of them wanted a glimpse of the famous wizard who had given the money for the reconstruction and also a home to Madam Grimwood's famous book collection.  Harry was glad the general public was staring at him for some reason other than lurid fascination with his latest misfortunes, but he wished they'd do it from a safe distance.

"Is he really unattached?"

"Only because he hasn't met me."

Harry had heard the tantalizing whispers as he stood by Lupin and helped with the incoming books.  It had not escaped his attention that most of the earliest visitors had been of the female persuasion.   Lupin had commented with a wry note of irony and lamentation in his voice that the place was fairly swimming in estrogen.  Harry decided to concentrate on the books.  Yes, that was his plan.  He would concentrate on the books.

Harry had wisely kept many of Madam Grimwood's tried and true policies: bring a book to take a book; come and read any book you want; stay as long as you like; help yourself to piping-hot tea and fresh biscuits.  Harry had been making the biscuits himself, testing out recipes on unsuspecting victims.  No one had died yet, so he was doing all right, as far as he was concerned. 

Well, he had been doing all right until around 9:30, when a bevy of hopeful young medi-witches in training from M & M University (open for its very first semester ever) had come into the library.  It must have been half the student body!  Between the lot of them, they were exuding more Potter Lust per square foot than he could possibly support.  They followed Harry around like little clusters of bees wherever he went, until Harry ran and hid away from them.  He didn't actually sprint, but it was awfully close.  First there was the business of opening the sarcophagus in the Egypt Room, where an intrepid child had locked himself, and that took nearly five minutes.  Then he spell-locked himself in the kitchen and made tray after tray of delicious treats.  Unfortunately Remy had discovered he had slipped away and had come to collect him.  Here it was, half ten, and he was back in the main room, feeling all eyes on him as he accepted the next book, and wrote its title and author and condition on the cards that Hermione had provided.

Another glance upwards revealed that Hermione was busy rushing more new books to their proper rooms.  She caught his eye and grinned at him, waving another Boneshaft book at him.  Then she bounced on her heels and hurried away.  Trailing behind her was a whole host of Gryffindor students  who had been promised extra points by Professor McGonagall if they should help out here today.  Very few of them would meet Harry's gaze.  They weren't here out of loyalty or friendship, of that Harry was sure.  Many of them refused to speak to Harry at all, owing to the death of the entire Weasley Family, for which Harry was being held accountable by the majority of the student population at Hogwarts.  It had been a quiet year at school thus far. Maybe today would bring a sense of friendliness back to them, least ways.  He hoped it would, but he wasn't holding his breath.

Professor McGonagall was near the door, talking with Sister Silverthorne, who carried an armload of books with her.  Silverthorne was supervising the rear of a long line of primary school girls and the under-five group from the orphanage who were queuing up to the drop-off desk where Harry and Lupin were quickly disappearing behind stacks of books.  Many of the CeeBees children grinned and waved to Harry, and he made sure he waved back to them all individually.  McGonagall was supervising the next line, which was filled with younger students from Hogwarts.  Sister Sylvia paused in her talk with Minerva in order to poke her wand between two girls who were squabbling. 

"Peabody!  Pickering!"

Harry wondered where the girls were from, and wondered perhaps if it was Barksdale and Fishpaws.  They all wore the same blue, yellow and green plaid uniforms and were carrying matching totes.  Silverthorne must have been minding them as some sort of surrogate, because she had gone to the same primary school when she was a girl, as had Minister Wickerwell. Harry watched as Silverthorne and McGonagall continued their friendly chat.  Their eyes rose to him off and on, often enough that he decided he must be the topic of their conversation. If there was any consolation to the fact that they too were talking about him, they both were in pleasant moods, constantly smiling at him, so they weren't unhappy with him, he decided. 

Sister Silverthorne stopped talking long enough to poke the bickering girls again.   One girl unhitched the second girl's tie from behind, and the victim whirled on the attacker and flared up like an angry raptor.  The first girl could not have been more pleased with her response, for her face showed great amusement.

"Peabody, straighten your tie!  Pickering, come to the end of the line!"

Grinning wickedly from ear to ear, Pickering, the blonde girl with a bow on her head, made a rude gesture at Peabody, the brown-haired girl, who was straightening her tie and blushing vibrantly.  The blonde departed for the end of the line.  She stood right in front of the CeeBees Head Witch, whom she stared up at with the wide eyes and pale face of an innocent saint.  Sister Sylvia, Harry knew, was not fooled for one second. 

"Pickering, stand there.  Not a word out of you," Silverthorne pointed to the scarlet tile directly in front of herself.  Minerva gave Pickering a frown of disapproval.  Harry glanced back over at Peabody, who ducked to the side and peered at him around the head of the tall girl in front of her.  Their eyes met, and she went white with nervousness, ducking out of sight again. 

Harry heard a soft sound come from Remus—as if Lupin had cleared his throat to get Harry's attention.  Harry snapped his head towards Lupin.  Remus smiled at him reassuringly, and steadied the young man's trembling hands. 

The witch who stood before the main desk handed in six books, beaming at Harry the entire time.  She smelled of melons and berries—Harry wasn't sure if she had had fruit salad for breakfast or if she was wearing an expensive and hunger-inducing perfume.  Her dark eyes never left Harry's face.  It was more than a little creepy.  Lupin could have been in full-blown werewolf form, and she wouldn't have noticed.  Having nervously engaged his clairvoyant magic, Harry was now privy to the illicit fantasies the woman was having about licking the curve of his neck and the shells of his ears.  Looking at her lipstick-reddened lips, Harry had a sudden fear that she could eat him alive, like a frightening crone from a fairy tale.  He sincerely hoped Remus was telling the truth when he said he'd put his wand to anyone who came over the counter at Harry.  Lupin thanked the witch for her books, blithely complimented her on her perfume, and bid her have a happy day.  Harry catalogued the titles and authors and conditions on the cards, and carefully set the books to his left, waiting for the carnivorous woman to move along.  But she lingered. 

"Which way to the gardening books?" the witch asked Harry breathlessly.  He dipped his eyes and searched the crisp new map on the counter.  The parchment was sharp around the edges, and he was careful not to smear the delicate writing with his exceptionally-sweaty hands.  The lettering was large enough that she could have seen for herself where the gardening books were, but Harry decided she had wanted a reason to talk to him, and that he should politely play along, even if she was fantasizing about his neck again, while licking her red, red lips.   

"Corridor B, third floor, room 22.  The Longbottom Room," Harry replied in a business-like tone.  She continued to smile at him, and Harry smiled back timidly, hoping she did not take that as an invitation to leap over the counter at him. 

"Thank you, Mr. Potter.  By the way, you have sugar in your hair."

She reached over and fluffed delicately at the edges of his locks sticking up over his right ear.  It was all Harry could do not to recoil from her touch. 

"Thanks," he croaked.

"My pleasure, love," she purred huskily.

Remus was biting back discrete laughter at Harry's expense.  The witch winked at Harry, and skipped off as energized and happy as the long line of little children waiting behind her. 

"Do you smell something burning?" Harry stiffened, starting to move away from his spot.  Lupin put a hand on his arm and held him in place.

"Yes, but it's not biscuits," Remy whispered, nudging Harry in the side and giving him back the quill he had put down.  Anticipating Harry's plans, Lupin was preventing another bolting incident.

Someone bumped Silverthorne from behind.  Her face darkened, and she turned with a scowl.  The scowl instantly vanished, replaced by a warm, friendly smile that lit up her face like a full moon.   She motioned for her charges to step aside.  Harry blinked in surprise as four musicians entered, dressed in golden robes, and carrying, respectively, two violins, a cello, a viola. 

Orpheus Snape was hurrying in behind the musicians, carrying sheaves of music.  He was wearing the same sparkling gold dress robes, and he was wearing a brilliant green bowtie that was threatening to pop open at any second.  He apologized profusely to the two women, kissed Silverthorne with one turn and McGonagall with another, and bowed to them before passing between them. 

Gently patting the school girls and orphans on the head as he went past them, Orpheus made his way up to the counter where Lupin was gaping and Harry was smiling in greeting.  Once reaching the counter, the ancient sorcerer gave the men a dramatic bow, and motioned to the musicians, who also bowed.

"Good morning, Mr. Lupin.  Good morning again, Mr. Potter."

"Good morning, Mr. Snape."

Their shared breakfast early this morning was a distant affair, Harry hoped.  Potter wasn't even supposed to be at Ravensrood, and had crept in quietly shortly after dawn while Fyodor grumbled about having to set another place. Severus had snapped at Harry, had quarreled with Orpheus, and had mumbled his way through a barely-civil greeting for Mrs. Dalrymple when she arrived with Galfridus on her hip.  The Potions Master had even managed to make Mordred cry just by looking at him, and then had complained copiously when the nanny could not silence the sobbing child. 

Severus had finally stormed out minutes later, leaving everyone else to stare at each other in mute apology for his dark mood.  Mordred stopped crying when Harry picked him up and walked around the dining room, humming funny music and dancing with him.  Phillippa drank her tea through poorly-hidden tears, whispering to Orpheus that she didn't know what it was about her that made Severus so very uncomfortable. Orpheus had had no quick, reassuring answer for her, and had settled for holding her hand and kissing her fingers while refilling her tea.  Galfridus sat in his high chair and nibbled on the food that his mother handed to him in tidbits and morsels.  Harry shook the dismal thoughts from his head. 

"These illustrious, wonderful players are the Golden Crickets," Orpheus said, indicating the four musicians.  "I'm not sure how many wizards have told you this, but it's customary to present someone with a gift when they open their doors to you for the first time."

Harry wondered for a moment if he was being scolded, but decided not, because Orpheus was in very high spirits indeed. 

"That's very thoughtful of you, but you shouldn't have," Harry insisted politely.

"Nonsense.  Of course I should.  I was going to bring the Odelide Sisters too, but we're not exactly on speaking terms these days.  Tiny misunderstanding. I didn't bring any books, but I have brought something sublime, something elegant, something almost as necessary to the continuance of the species as the written word."

Harry couldn't seem to stop smiling, and Orpheus decided that was his cue to continue speaking.  For his part, Harry was trying to imagine what Orpheus had done to offend the Odelide Sisters. 

"We are going to take advantage of this vast ceiling and wide-spaced walls, and give you all a small preview of heaven to accompany your books.  With your kind permission, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, absolutely," Harry replied, suddenly understanding why so many people (okay….mostly women) were so very fond of the charming, soothing old scoundrel.  

3

Twenty minutes spent vomiting in the men's room at the Wizards High Court in Edinburgh had done nothing to improve Severus' outlook on the day's events.  If anything, it made him that much more sour about the ghastly proceedings he had been forced to endure.  He washed his face, rinsed his mouth, and scowled at his reflection, berating himself for his idiotic, sentimental weaknesses.  Not for having them so much as for showing them. Had he cried on the witness stand?  Surely he had teared up.  Yes, that's all. He had teared up.  His eyes had misted.  Nothing more.  Thankfully, court had been called for the day.  He would be notified over the weekend if they needed him again on Monday morning.  Have a nice afternoon, sorry for the trouble.  That was it.

"Now you understand why I so desperately need your help."

The voice made Severus jolt around.  Wartsilla Wickerwell stood next to the doorway.   She was covering her eyes with both hands in a gesture Snape found odd and amusing as well.

"Are we decent?" she asked. 

"Yes," Severus growled.  Wickerwell relaxed and let go of her eyes. 

"The Veritaserum that St. Mungo's provides for official criminal proceedings is rather sub-par, honestly, and it makes everyone who takes it queasy for several hours.  Yours is the cream of the crop.  You must promise me you'll provide me with a purer product."

"As you wish."

"Thank you.  How are you? Under the circumstances?"

Severus gave her an icy frown and rinsed his mouth again with a handful of water from the sink.

"I have a fresh pot of licorice tea in my office at the ministry.  We could pop over there."

"Am I on duty for you today?"

"No," she promised.  "Lovely hot tea?"

"I'm not in the mood for tea," Severus lied.

"In that case, I have an unopened case of Glen Fidditch whiskey that's absolutely begging for attention," she added.  Snape contemplated the combustible properties of such alcohol and decided self-immolation would be a quick way to die, except that it was so very over dramatic, and if there was anything he wanted to avoid today, it was more drama.

"Aren't you going to need to question Grandfather next?" Severus asked.

"He's already finished."

 

"Already?"

"We only asked him three questions."

"I spent six hours on that stand, and you asked him three questions?!" Severus snarled.

"Come to my office," Wartsilla offered again.  "Montgomery will see Mr. Orpheus home again."

Minutes later, over a tumbler of shockingly-delicious whiskey, Severus couldn't stop thinking about his mother's toes and her long feet.  He stared down at the floor, at his own shoes, and again pondered the mystery of why, of all of her personality and talents and magical skills, the only thing he was positive he had inherited from his mother was her long pointed feet.  Why her feet?  What good were her feet when compared with her other wonderful attributes?

He was occupying the 'comfy' chair in the Minister's office in London.  Marmalade walked back and forth around his feet.  Maybe she was trying to figure out what he was staring at so intensely.  Bored with the ground, she  negotiated her way onto his lap.  She nosed around his drink and washed a drop or two off his fingers, then bathed her face and sat down. There was something undeniably soothing about Marmalade and Wickerwell both.  The cat was purring, and her mistress was humming.  On the bright side, at least only one of them insisted on sitting on his lap.

Snape had been developing an uneasy rapport with the Minister of Magic ever since he had agreed to offer her his services for a year and a day if she would put his name on the list of people Harry would choose from for a bodyguard.  Thus far, in a little over one month, he had helped her by providing various potions, giving her information on people he knew that she was investigating, and overall making himself useful from a distance.  His position was strictly off the record, except that she insisted on paying him a small stipend for expenses, and she had assigned him a pair of drivers and a car whenever he should need them.  It was something like working for Voldemort, he mused, minus the pain and torture and spine-chilling fear that his smallest action or word would mean the death of an innocent person somewhere in the world.  Having drivers was nice too.  He consoled himself that there might come a day when having even an uneasy rapport with the Minister of Magic could come in handy, and so, all in all, how much trouble was it to have a quick shot or two or three of whiskey in her office?

Wickerwell was fussing over paperwork piling up on her desk.  Her assistant was to be commended for keeping it all in tidy stacks.  Even on this gloomy day, her office was undeniably warm and bright and homey.  Wartsilla wasn't talking yet, but Severus knew she was working up to the task, and signing the mounds of paperwork was a delay tactic on her part.  She continued to encourage him to call her 'Welly' as most of her familiars did, but he wasn't sure if he should take such liberties with her as of yet.  And to him, a welly was a rubber boot, not this intimidating broad before him.

"I haven't spoken to my father since my mother's funeral," she said. 

The ice had been broken.  Wickerwell took a sip of her tea and pronounced it quite good.  When Snape did not reply, she continued speaking, though she didn't look up from her work.

"I hadn't seen him for at least a decade before that.  Hardly knew him when I saw him.  He'd gone all gray, and he'd gained weight, and his forehead was taller than the last time.   But when I saw him, all those old feelings came back at me."

"Do spare me your poisonous sentimentalities," Severus complained.

"You misunderstand, I assure you," she defended.  "It was all I could do not to take out my wand and Avada the old bastard on the spot.  You could never know the fury I hold for that man.  You could not count how many nights I lay awake, thinking of ways to kill him, wondering what I had ever done to make him hate me so, treat me so, loathe me as he did.  Then to have to see him at her funeral?  Pitiful, moaning wretch, leaning on friends and gazing down into her coffin.  I despised him for his tears, for his overt display of sorrow.  When I think of all those years, and how he treated her, of how he hurt her, and for him to carry on as though the love of his life had been torn from his arms in the bud of youth.  It sickened me.  I wanted to claw his face off.  I wanted to call him out for the sham that he was."

This was not where Snape had thought the conversation was going, and he remained uncomfortably silent.

"The worst part for me was when he took my hand, told me how much he loved me, how much I was like her, and how he was sorry for all the horrible things he'd ever done to me."

"That must have been awkward," Snape managed to say.  He didn't dare ask to which horrible things she was referring, because it was more than he wanted to know.  But he considered there might be dark days in her past, might be reasons a woman would be in her fifties and never married, might be a reason she preferred the company of tubby cats and very young men she could easily control to that of a husband and an equal.  And it occurred to him that she was very much like Minerva McGonagall, who had turned her undeniable drive to show maternal attention towards the neglected children who came across her path.  It made Severus very sad down inside to think that maybe the reason Minerva had never married was because she too was hiding dark days that he had never suspected could exist in the life of a woman so very structured and tidy and in-control. 

"I probably mumbled something clever and witty like 'apology accepted'.  I was always the good little girl.  But it was infuriating, and I was sickened, and I wanted to kill him, right there.  I couldn't get away from him fast enough.  He made me feel small again, powerless.  He made me angry, and he made me powerless, and I hated him.  Still hate him.  And love him.  And hate him double for that."

"I….I….don't know what to say."

"Did he actually believe that his stupid little words mattered, that his whiny apology was supposed to make it all better?  Do you see what I'm saying?"

"No," Severus admitted in a small voice. 

"I'm glad you said nothing when Mesarik opened his official testimony by apologizing to you.  I'm proud of you that you said nothing to him.  There's nothing he's ever going to be able to say that will bring your mother back, and you shouldn't let him try and apologize for how he's destroyed your life. Be polite, but be distant.  Don't let him earn your trust, or think his apology made a difference, because he will only disappoint you again.  He'll only hurt you again."

"Will you and your father ever make up?"

"There's no peace to be had which he can give me.  There is only the peace I can give myself.   What's in the past cannot be undone.  You have to protect yourself, your own sanity.  Once the trial is done and settled, let it go.  Think on the future, not the past."

"The future?" Snape gargled a laugh that startled the drowsy cat in his lap. 

"You have an enviable future, Mr. Snape," she assured him.

"I spent a lot of years waiting for the chance to watch him squirm, to watch him pay for what he did to my mother."

"Did you enjoy yourself today?"

"Not in the slightest, strangely enough."

"The past is settled, or soon will be.  Think then on the future," she encouraged again. 

"In what sense?"

Wickerwell paused for a smile and seemed to search for a way to steer the conversation where she had been aiming in the first place without offending him.  She was dancing through a mine field wearing heavy boots.  She glanced up from her paperwork, and quickly back down. 

"Why isn't Harry with you today?" she wondered casually.

"I forbade it."

"But he wanted to be there with you when you confronted your father.  He mentioned it to Sylvie, and she mentioned it to me."

"It would have been inappropriate for him to be there."

"Mr. Snape, it's good you're trying to observe the social and, dare I say it, legal niceties, but your relationship with Harry is not what one would call a well-kept secret."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"You, sir, on this very spot, made the single most romantic gesture that I have ever seen in my life.  A year and a day of service for the one you love. Come now, let's be honest with one another.  You are utterly besotted of the boy, and I can't blame you.  Why, if he were ten years older, and I were twenty years younger, I'd give you a challenge, you can bet," she mused. 

"We're not……" Severus squirmed, feeling the nauseating pull of the low-rate Veritaserum still churning around his stomach, or perhaps it was the whiskey by this point.  "It's not what you think," he added lamely.

"Albus told me he's made you promise not to be alone together this year, ever, or you'll lose your position at the school."

"Yes.  Exactly so."

"He wouldn't take such precautions if nothing was going on between the two of you.  Is Volkova under the same promise concerning her relationship with young Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"Dumbledore is a clever man, but he doesn't see what he doesn't want to see.  You are exactly what Harry needs!"

"There are those who disagree with you, and for perfectly valid reasons."

"Did you know that I've been privately petitioned by no fewer than sixteen people to have you arrested for indecency?"

"Have you?"

"The Minister of Morality would be leading the charge himself, except that his daughter and Mr. Potter had a small dalliance, and it might look to other people as though he were attempting to get you out of her way, you see?"

"They fornicated in a broom closet in a public bar in a drunken haze.  I'd hardly call that a traditional proposal and bonding."

"Nor would I, and yet, it's enough of a connection to Harry that Arch can't be seen to be moving politically or socially against Mr. Potter, or against you.  You don't know how that pains him.  Do you understand what I'm saying?  I mean, technically speaking, from a purely legal standpoint, Harry will be considered in mourning and ineligible for marriage until next August.  But you can bet your last bit of scratch that the day he's no longer considered legally in mourning, he'll be flooded with proposals again.  The first person who has a right to stand up and seek his hand in marriage is Arch Hawkins' daughter."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm stunned you didn't research the matter yourself."

"It was a meaningless dalliance for both of them."

"Are you so sure?"

"Yes."

"Nevertheless, you should cover all bases.  Don't think it hasn't occurred to Hawkins what a social and political catch Mr. Potter would be for his daughter, even if he doesn't approve of Mr. Potter's person.  You need to be plain about your connection with Harry, or other people with fewer manners and even less scruples will pounce on the opportunity.  If I may be so bold as to caution you, if there's one thing Arch Hawkins is not long on, it's scruples."

"Yet I cannot be as plain as I might like about my relationship with Harry, owing to the legalities of the situation," Severus answered. 

"What you need to do is not so much make it clear that Harry is taken, but make sure that you place a goodly number of very respectable bachelors in the path of Miss Hawkins, and with some alacrity."

"Indeed?"

"Or spoil her in a scandal so enormous that Harry could never think of marrying such a disgraced girl.  I leave the decision entirely to you," Wickerwell said, her eyes never leaving her paperwork.  Snape studied her with a reptilian coolness for a space of time. 

"I can see right through you.  You're attempting to mollify my misery by permitting me the treat of performing a small treachery.  I won't do it," he sniffed disdainfully.  "Harry would be upset with me.  Besides, do you think I give that girl one moment's thought in the average day?"

"If you don't, you should."

"Maybe I should be encouraging her.  I'm all wrong for Harry.  I can't tell you the guilt I feel, knowing that this is inevitably going to lead to me having to break his heart for his own good.  I should have known better.  I should have known not to get too involved.  It can lead to nothing but ruin."

"Why should it be so inevitable?  Why should there be such objections?  If Harry were five years older, no, even two years older, no one would be raising objections to your age difference."

"Of course they would.  It's not about the age difference, don't you see?  It's about me, and him, and who he is, and what I am.  Don't you believe for one minute that the wizarding world is going to stand still for Severus Snape having Harry Potter all to himself.  I'm being a selfish bastard by tying him to myself.  Selfish and cruel."

"I am beginning to understand why Albus orders his lemon drops by the case," Wickerwell chuckled.  "I am so depending on you.  Don't disappoint me.  What the boy needs is someone who will be sound and firm with him, and if necessary, unpleasant.  He doesn't need someone who is going to stuff him full of sedative-laced candy when he gets angry or upset.  You know how much I like Albus, and I'm not one to criticize him.  He's a wise and good man.  But he likes a smooth lake, undisturbed waters, easy sailing. I disagree fundamentally.  I say that life needs a few splashes and rocks and dips and mackerel flipping around on the deck before you can appreciate the truest calm sailing."

"I suppose."

"Harry needs you.  Don't push him away if he gets too close for comfort."

"Mr. Potter will always land on his feet.  He doesn't need me."

"But he wants you."

"He's a foolish whelp who doesn't know what's best for himself."

"What did you do with that snake?"

"Snake?"

"He was in here teasing you with that stuffed snake.  It was cute.  It was disturbing.  I couldn't believe my own eyes!"

"That wasn't for me.  It was for Mordred.  Harry has had so little proper conditioning as to what is correct or incorrect behavior for a wizard.  It's not his fault if he doesn't know which foot to put forward first."

"He's desperate for attention.  I know.  I know.  Good or bad, he wants you to notice him, to pay attention to him, and he'll do whatever it takes until you react to him.  Oh, how well I know!  If only the Weasleys were still here. Arthur was a good influence on Harry.  I liked Arthur."

"A good man," Snape agreed without speaking his entire mind. 

"Molly could be a trifle cloying," Wartsilla whispered.  Severus smiled up one side of his mouth.  Wartsilla glanced up again and dropped her voice.  "We shouldn't speak ill of the dead.  It's bad manners. But she could get on my nerves.  I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have said that.  But it's true.  She made the rest of us who were not wives and mothers and sweet and kind to our cores look terribly unfit to be considered women alongside her."

Wickerwell shuffled more pages around.  There was a never ending supply of things to sign, and it was clear she was at least reading some of each of the pages before putting her signature to them. 

"Could you please promise me, Mr. Snape, that you will give the lad some idea what's expected of a proper wizard?  He's crying out for guidance.  He needs to be exposed to all those things he missed growing up with those wretched Muggles.  But when I say exposed, I mean gradually, slowly, surreptitiously, sneakily teased into wanting to be shown more and more and more of what he's missed all these years.  Don't rub his nose in it like it's something unpleasant that he must endure.  Make him want more, slowly.  Am I making sense?"

"No."

"I'll be plain then.  I want you to make a proper wizard of Harry.  He needs a semblance of normalcy to his life.  Think of him as a flighty boy in search of a solid place to land."

"Do I look like a Quidditch pitch to you, Madam?"

"If you were, perhaps you'd have a moat and a drawbridge between the two goals.  Dragons would be roaming the grass.  Parched and scorched skeletons would be lying about in bits and pieces.  Crusty, decimated shields and armor helms would be rolling about." 

"No, Harry doesn't need me.  What Harry needs is a proper family.  I should put my pride away, and find him a wife.  Maybe Miss Hawkins is just what this boy needs to stabilize his life."

"After the way Bellatrix mistreated Harry, I believe you'd find that a terribly hard sell with him.   He doesn't need a wife.  He needs a family. He's taken with your family.  He's rather taken with you."

"Which should only further demonstrate to you what a truly troubled boy he is," Severus scoffed.  The fine whiskey was beginning to talk through him.

"I do wish you wouldn't be so rough on yourself."

"Yes, I'm such a beacon of morality and upstanding citizenship."

"You're in a need of a good hug."

"You hug me, and I'll bite you," he threatened.

"Those could be the makings of a beautiful friendship!  I'd take my chances if I didn't fear it might involve a tetanus shot," Wickerwell chuckled.  "Maybe you shouldn't go home for a few hours.  Give Orpheus time to settle his feelings about this afternoon?  Monty will have surely seen Orpheus home by now.  Why don't you scuttle over to the library and see how Harry's grand opening is going?"

"You're probably right.  Perhaps I will go to the library, after I nap in my office at Hogwarts.  I was up too early, and will probably snap at Harry in my current mood."

"I do confess that I had ulterior motives for asking you here.  I wanted to know if you had given my offer any further consideration?"

"Which offer was that?"

"Last week?  Remember?  I wanted you to consider a position on the Dark Force Defense League."

"I had pondered the possibility, but my hands are rather full momentarily.  Classes to teach.  A child to raise.  My grandfather to watch over."

"You won't find us tasking at all, I promise.  Join us for a meeting sometime.  I'll see that you receive an invitation.  I do so want you there.  Don't think of it as a task force.  Think of it as a social club with a hero complex."

"I can't imagine why you should want me there."

"You'll find the company diverting.  Bring Harry, if it pleases you."

"Is Lockhart still a member?"

"Honorary.  He served a vital function when he had his wits about him."

"Comic relief?" Severus questioned archly.

"Bartender.  He was brilliant!  It's a pity he's gone round the bend, really."

"Bartender?"

"It was he who sent me the case of Glen Fidditch.  Charming man.  He could make a great cocktail."

"You surprise me."

"Come to a meeting.  I promise you'll have a grand time."

"Will I have to make cocktails?"

"No, no.  I'll prod the executive secretary to send you an invitation.  If a strange owl should perch on your window, don't turn it away.  And by strange, I do mean strange."

"As you wish."

"Bring Harry.  We'll do our best to amuse him too."

"As you wish."

"Are you off to your office?"

"If I can stand."

"Would you like a sobering spell?" she asked, patting her side in search of her wand.  She patted her other side, and finally found it. 

"No.  I'd like to enjoy this.  It's fun.  It's colorful.  It's dizzying.  I may be happy for a second or two."

"Don't overdo it.  You aren't accustomed to being happy.  You might hurt yourself.  Do be careful in the Floo."

"I'll be cautious," Severus promised.

"Marmalade, come here, love."

The cat shifted off Severus's lap and slid to the floor.  She swished her tail at Snape, and hurried over to Wickerwell's desk.  She leapt gracefully up onto the surface and slid unexpectedly on an unfurled scroll.  Wickerwell's florid signature on the document she was signing wound up with a blotchy uneven line through it.  She looked at the embarrassed feline, who righted herself with not a little dignity.  Wickerwell made a small, shocked face.

"Oh dear.  Perhaps they'll think it's a forgery."

She laughed high and quick, and sprinkled sand on the ink, leaving the signature alone.

"Let them wonder," she mused, stroking Marmalade's fur. 

"Good day, madam, and thank you for the whiskey," Snape bowed to her.

"You're most welcome.  See you soon.  Have a lovely evening."

"Good day," Snape bowed again then strode from the office with more grace than she expected from someone who had consumed so much liquor at one setting.

"We shall have to mail him a few bottles for Christmas," Wickerwell said to Marmalade.

"Mrrreow?" the feline replied.

4

"A string quartet?" Severus paled, simply mortified. 

"I swear to you, yes.  A string quartet.  He had the students from Barksdale and Fishpaws dancing in line.  He tangoed with Sister Silverthorne and Professor McGonagall as well, carrying his baton in his teeth.  They were taking turns whirling around with him.  He had the whole place dancing."

"Oh, Merlin."

"He was wonderful.  Just the thing we needed.  Harry was much more relaxed after that.  It really took the pressure off," Lupin laughed. 

"I'm afraid he can be impulsive sometimes without thinking about how foolish he appears."

"On the contrary, it was very thoughtful of him."

"I can't seem to talk sense to him." 

"Thank goodness he's got Mrs. Dalrymple around when you're not home."

"Yes.  I suppose."

"And Whisper."

"Whisper is a life saver.  I don't know what I'd do without her," Severus admitted. 

"She came to collect him around one.  Told him he was urgently needed in Edinburgh.  Orpheus followed her away like a lost lamb to the slaughter."

"Dear Whisper," Severus agreed.

"Where have you been?  Harry was watching the front door all morning.  He was waiting for you.  Late in the afternoon, he got mopey and disappeared upstairs for a nap."

"I was detained longer than expected."

"When you say you were 'detained'…?  Have you been drinking?"

"No," Severus growled. 

Remus cut off his line of questions when the door to the upstairs appeared from a sheer wall, and Harry stepped out.  Potter's grim face lit up with a grin, and he hurried towards them.  Lupin peeled out his wand and quickly closed the concealed entrance away again.  Behind him, Harry was wrapping his arms around Severus.

"I was just thinking about you," Potter whispered huskily as he raced for his Potions Master.  Severus gave him a quick embrace and then set him carefully away from himself.  Harry was hurt at first, but seemed to understand when several small girls crept past, eyes wide with surprise.  Lupin was leaning against the wall, trying not to intrude. 

A piercing scream sounded from the floor below.  Nearly everyone down in the main area chorused "shhhh" in one breath.  Harry raced down one flight of steps and pounded in the direction of a second, more urgent scream.  Two young girls were standing outside a closed, darkened door at the very very end of the junction between corridor A and corridor B, one of the furthest points from the well-lit, central, open area.  The screaming girl was Pickering, and her companion was Peabody.

"But what are they doing in there?!" Pickering screamed. 

"Didn't you read the door, Druscilla?  It says right there 'Vampire Reading Room'," Peabody answered calmly.  It did indeed.  Harry had hung that plaque himself.

"But there weren't any werewolves in the Werewolf Reading Room!" Pickering wailed. 

"It's not a full moon yet," Peabody replied, not even fighting the urge to smirk.  Pickering made a sour face, turned around, and stalked away, somehow blaming Peabody for the entire affair.  Peabody's smirk mutated into a grin that wrapped around her face, showing off her sharp teeth. 

Harry stood behind the remaining girl and tapped on the door.  Peabody's shark grin vanished, to be replaced by starry eyes and a giddy smile.  The door opened a small crack to reveal a pitch black room.

"Everyone okay in there?" Harry asked the red eyes that appeared. 

"That depends.  Are any more tiny girls going to erupt into shrill screams when I answer the door?"  Henri Le Clair asked.  Harry glanced downward, and saw that Peabody was staring into the artificially-darkened room in wonder, not in fear. 

"Miss Peabody, would you care for a proper introduction?" Harry asked her.

"I don't think Father would approve," she gulped excitedly.  Clearly that was all the more reason she wanted to be introduced.  Le Clair gave Harry a threatening glance.   Would Potter insist on this??

"Illumina wants to know if Severus is back yet," Henri stalled.

"He's right out here," Harry answered, motioning to Snape and Lupin as the two approached the darkened area.  Another set of eyes appeared at the doorway, and the door parted just a little wider.

"Tell him to get in here and be sociable.  How did the trial go?  What did they do to him?  Why did it take so long?" Illumina grumbled.   Her advancing pregnancy was the only part of her Harry could see, except for her red eyes. She had spent the last couple weeks in a particularly foul mood, which Severus had told her was a sure sign she would deliver soon. 

"Anyone need more tea and biscuits?" Harry asked, ushering Severus into the dark room where his ex-wife was waiting to speak with him.  Harry would have to get filled in on the details later, it seemed.  He didn't mind being second to her, although he was a bit jealous of the rapport that Snape continued to share with her above all people. 

"No, quite filled up, thank you," Le Clair whispered.  "Those quote, unquote jam prints were delicious.  Whose blood did you- - -"

"Shh shhhhhh shhhh," Harry cautioned, glancing down at Peabody and quickly back up.  Lupin entered the room as well, exchanging hellos and hugs with Illumina. 

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Henri asked Harry, pointing to Peabody again.

"Henri Le Clair, Miss….um…what's your first name, dear?"

"I'm Mirabelle Peabody," she replied, sticking a small hand at Le Clair.  Henri bowed to her, took her fingers and dotted a kiss on her knuckles. 

"Madamemoiselle, a pleasure, I'm sure."

"Enchanté, monsieur," Miss Peabody answered with a quick curtsey.  

"What a civilized child—a rare bird indeed.  Is your father Percival Peabody, the shipping baron?" Le Clair asked.

"Yes," Mirabelle replied, blushing miserably.  Henri was still clutching her fingertips. 

"I haven't had such a bumpy ride since my wedding night with Marguerite," Henri confided to Harry.  "Are you having a nice day, Miss Peabody?" he asked the small girl as Harry chortled. 

"Yes," she smiled. 

"Find any good books?"

"A few," she said evasively, clutching her tote a bit tighter.   

"Mr. Le Clair very kindly donated quite a lot of the historical pieces around the library," Harry told Mirabelle, who nodded politely. 

"Things that were lying about," Le Clair shrugged off the compliment.

"It's very nice," Peabody said.  "I particularly enjoyed the Versailles Room."

"Appreciative of the French culture?  I like you better and better.  Well, carry on.  Nice to meet you.  Bye now," Henri said, letting go of her fingers and reaching out to pat her on top of the head. The door closed again without another word.

"He's very strange," Peabody whispered to Harry.

"Eccentric, perhaps," Potter agreed. 

"He has cold hands," she whispered even more softly.

"He's been undead a very long time," Harry said.  "I didn't realize you were the Mirabelle Peabody.  Your father really is Percival Peabody?"

"The one and only," she replied gloomily. 

"I thought you would be at Hogwarts this year," Harry continued.

"Oh, no.  Not until next year.  Late birthday and all."

"We almost met in February, you and I."

"Yes, sorry about that," Peabody winced.  "My dad….how embarrassing.  Bidding for that valentine auction was not my idea.  He was trying to make me happy."

"The situation was somewhat out of my hands as well," Harry confided.  Mirabelle smiled again timidly.  "But it meant another dorm at the university, so…what's one small dinner, right?  I might make a yearly habit of it!" 

"I do believe he'd buy you for me if he could," she whispered.  "Is Mister Le Clair the vampire you were dancing with at the brothel?" she asked Harry. Potter nearly tripped over his feet in the hallway, leading her back to the main stairs.

"Er….um…."

"I saw the picture in the Prophet.  Dad wouldn't let me read the article, but I did see the picture."

"Um…." Harry stammered. 

Mirabelle gazed at him.  She was waiting for him to concoct a lie to avoid telling her the truth.  She was very accustomed, it seemed, to adults who prevaricated their way around the cold, hard facts.  She was fully prepared to be extremely disappointed in him.  Harry decided he'd better take a different tactic.    

"Yes.  Entirely true.  We were dancing.  It was in a brothel.  He is a vampire."

"What about the other man?"

"We were dancing.  It was in a brothel.  But he is not a vampire.  Yet."

"Mr. Le Clair received the Order of Merlin with you?"

"Yes.  Tea and biscuits?" Harry offered.

"Yes, please," she squeaked. 

Harry led Miss Peabody quietly down the steps towards the downstairs kitchen.   Mirabelle carefully set her tote up on the counter when they entered. At least two books were visible.  Harry read the titles out of the corner of his eyes while filling a large silver ball with tea leaves.   She had chosen Everyday Etiquette for Well-bred Witches and a Nancy Drew mystery. She had also managed to find a Jonas Boneshaft book—one of the ones that Harry hadn't read yet!  There it was, glittering at him from the hollows of her blue and yellow plaid tote: Sinister Tales for Impressionable People.  She was staring at the cookbooks on the far wall, reading the titles as she tilted her head to one side.  Harry surreptitiously let his fingers rest on the handle of her tote, and images flashed through his mind.

A somber thin man who must be Mr. Peabody was leaning down into an expensive, gorgeous coffin to kiss the cheek of the pale woman bound up inside.  Mirabelle had taken her mother's death hard, but her father had taken it even harder.  Mirabelle watched him, noticing gray hairs among the brown for the first time in her life.  Her father was getting older.  Seeing his grief-filled gray eyes made her wonder how she would feel when she would be leaning over his coffin, giving him one last kiss goodbye on the cheek. Mirabelle hadn't wanted to touch her mother's body in the coffin.  She hadn't looked at all like herself.  The undertaker had done an incredible job making Mrs. Peabody's features lifelike in appearance, not an easy task when one's working canvas had collided with a tree going sixty miles an hour.  But Mirabelle couldn't bear the feel of cold, dead flesh. 

The next image that flashed in Harry's mind was that of a large bed covered with a blue and green plaid quilt.  Beside the bed was a small table, and on that table was a framed picture of Harry himself with Wartsilla Wickerwell.  It was a bad picture at that, taken from a downward angle, all blurry with movement. Where had that been taken?  Perhaps it was from the parade the day after he had received the Order of Merlin?  Wickerwell had dressed Harry up and shown him off for everyone to see.  She had been inordinately proud of him. Mirabelle must have been in the crowd that day.  Was she riding on her father's shoulders, perhaps?  Waving arms blocked her view until there was a three second glimpse of Harry.  It made Potter shudder to think she had been less than five feet from him.  What if she had been wielding more than a camera?

Harry let his hand slid off of the tote and he shook the images from his mind. He was awash with guilt suddenly, wondering if Mirabelle would suspect that while her back was turned he had contemplated nicking one of her books.  If she had an inkling, she didn't appear upset.  She drew a cookbook off the wall and hugged it to her chest. 

"My mum was a great cook," Mirabelle said.  She caressed the cookbook for a moment before putting it away, happy memories lingering on her features. Harry read the title—it was an instruction book about creating French pastries. Was Mirabelle's mother French, Harry wondered.  "Mr. Potter, do you cook?" she asked suddenly. 

"Now and then," Harry admitted, worried he was shattering her every exalted illusion about him.  Maybe that wasn't a bad thing, after all.  Would she mock him for wanting to learn how to cook?  He wanted to grill her about where she had managed to secure the Boneshaft book.  But now wasn't the time or place, he supposed. 

"It's very useful for a man to know how to cook," Mirabelle complimented him.  "What if you never get married?  You want to be able to fend for yourself, don't you?  We have cooking classes at school.  I'm very surprised that you don't have any house elves around here to help.  I mean, not a one!  That's rather shocking for a wizard's home."

"You think I should have…..don't know if Hermione would approve of….how exactly does one acquire house elves?" Harry asked, bouncing through several incomplete sentences. 

"You summon them," Mirabelle answered, her brow furrowing.  He was apparently asking a very foolish question. 

"But where do you summon them from?" he pressed her.  "Do you have house elves at home?"

"Several," she nodded.

"Where did they come from?"

"My father summoned them.  He lets me name them."

"Where do house elves come from?" Harry wondered to himself, bringing a hot pot of tea to the heavy table, which had been cleared of all evidence of biscuit ingredients and was instead stacked with several trays of completed treats.  Who had Lupin found to complete Harry's cooking, and with such style?  These were gorgeous cookies and tiny cakes.  Potter felt rather guilty for tucking into the piles and stacks of tasties. 

The door to the kitchen opened as both Harry and Mirabelle were taking a careful sips from their brimming cups.  Owen Stoneburne bolted inside, snapped the door closed, and locked it in a rush.  He stood panting against the portal, clearly seeking to keep something or someone out.  Mirabelle stared up at him with large eyes, momentarily concerned, but more than that, intrigued to her very core.  Her ears perked up and her eyes lit up with excitement.  Harry motioned to the empty seat at the table. 

"Everything all right?" Harry asked.  Owen mimed a happy face that vanished the second he was done with it. 

"Oh.  Yeah.  Sure.  You?" Stoneburne panted out the lies, plotting his next move between each breath. 

"Okay," Harry said suspiciously.

"You haven't seen Anna, have you?" Owen asked, whipping himself off the door in order to begin pacing back and forth.  He picked up a handful of oatmeal raisin cookies from one of the trays and devoured them ravenously. 

"She and Teddy were at the front door frisking people when last I saw her, but that was at least a couple hours ago," Harry answered.   "They went off in search of a late lunch, I think."

"Have you seen that Malfoy boy around?"  Every ounce of disdain and mistrust Stoneburne had for Draco was voiced in the tone he used when he said the young man's name.  Of course, if someone had pulled your leg bones out, Harry imagined disdain and mistrust were the tip of the iceberg when it came to how you felt about them. 

"He's down the street, ordering the sign for his apothecary shop.  I'll bet he puts an extra 'e' on the end.  It'll be a 'shoppe'  not a 'shop',  He's the sort who would do that kind of thing," Harry chuckled to himself. 

"I have to find Volkova and warn her that Havoc is coming back.  You stay here at the library.  Don't go wandering about until I’m back.  And if you see Malfoy, try to keep him someplace safe, for Anna's sake."

Owen ate another cookie in transit out the door, which he left open.  Harry stared at Mirabelle.  Mirabelle stared at Harry.  Potter gave a mild shrug.

"Is he one of your bodyguards?  I read in the Prophet that Minister Wickerwell assigned you an entire legion of guards."

"Not true," Harry frowned.  He did wonder how many guards would be in a legion though.

"She should.  She needs to protect you.  There are dangerous people on the loose, Mr. Potter, and not all of them have your best interests in mind."

"Thanks for the tip," Harry mused.  They both sipped from their cups as Mirabelle wondered if she should have said as much, and in such a tone! "You shouldn't be reading the Daily Prophet," Harry cautioned with a bit of friendly tease in his voice.  "It'll rot your brain."

"It's often quite amusing," Mirabelle protested.  "You can't believe everything you read there, surely, but that doesn't mean you shouldn’t read it.  By the way, who is Havoc?" she added quietly.

"No idea," Harry shrugged.

"Shouldn't we have asked him?" Peabody wondered.  Potter finished his tea and refreshed both their cups. 

"Sometimes, if you wait a minute, the answers will present themselves," Harry told her, hoping he sounded a little like Dumbledore.  He picked up a tray of biscuits and pushed them invitingly towards Mirabelle.  She picked up two more biscuits, and had more tea.  

The ajar kitchen door swung open to the tempo of running feet.  Teddy and Guido hurried in.  Harry winked at Mirabelle as if their appearance confirmed what he had said. 

"Havoc is back.  Have you seen Owen?" Teddy whispered, obviously worried. 

"More importantly, have you seen Malfoy?" Guido asked.  Harry and Mirabelle pointed back out the door from where they had appeared.

"Owen went that way.  Who is Havoc, and what does this have to do with Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Didn't you read the announcements in last week's paper?  There it was, large as life.  What were they thinking? I mean, Havoc probably saw the article about their engagement and came back here at once," Teddy whispered.

"Who's Havoc?" Mirabelle asked. 

"A friend of ours," Teddy replied offhandedly.  "No problem.  Nothing to worry about, really, I'm sure." 

"Nothing to worry about?" Guido frowned.   The kitchen door opened again. Owen entered, closed, and locked it behind himself.

"Havoc is back," he gulped to the others. 

"We've heard," Harry nodded, but Stoneburne ignored him.  Clearly, he was only talking to Teddy and Guido. 

"This is no reason to panic.  We find Draco first and hide him until Anna has a chance to talk to Havoc and clear up any confusion," Teddy suggested, doing her best to put a happy face on the situation.

"You don't understand.  I promised him I'd look after her," Owen protested.

"Of all the people in the world who are a danger to Anna Volkova, I'd rate Draco Malfoy pretty far down the list," Teddy murmured.

"Havoc is going to kill me," Owen fretted.  "I've got kids to feed, you know."

"Have you told La Lupa about Havoc?" Guido asked Owen.

"Yes, maybe, sort of," Owen answered shiftily.  "We talked about him.  She knows he's been on assignment in Mongolia."

"Did you tell her everything about Havoc?" Teddy demanded.

"Not everything.  There wasn't time."

"There wasn't time?!" Guido almost laughed.  "She's going to hit the ceiling when she finds out what you're keeping from her."

 

"I was working up to it, gentle like.  It's not something one springs on a person without advance notice."

Someone knocked on the kitchen door.  Harry got up and unlocked the portal, allowing Lupin inside.  Remus glared at Harry and voiced his disappointment. 

"I see you're hiding again."

"No.  I'm having tea.  With guests.  Care to join us?" Harry offered.  Remy didn't appear at all convinced. 

"You may hide in here if you like, but this might be important.  There's a very large fellow out here, dragging around the unconscious body of Draco Malfoy, bellowing for Volkova.  Have you seen her?"

Owen, Teddy, and Guido winced in unison as if squished together by a giant hand.  They raced out of the kitchen in a flurry of movement that left Remus plastered against the wall for his own safety.  Mirabelle Peabody climbed out of her chair and picked up her tote and books from the counter.

"Thank you for the tea, Mr. Potter," she said, giving Harry a quick curtsey before darting away.  If Harry's suspicions were correct, she was following his knights-errant in order to find out more about the situation. 

"Any time," Harry promised, waving to her.

"Aren't you going to find out what's going on out there?" Lupin asked, pointing towards the main area where bellowing could indeed be heard.

"Havoc!  Put him down!" Owen ordered.

"Anna!" 

Harry peered around Lupin, alight with curiosity.

"I think it might be better to go find Volkova first," Harry decided.

5

"Hagrid puts steaks on black eyes.  He says it gives a uniform coldness that soothes the bruises much better than a Frigidarium spell."

"Shut up, Potter."

"How are you feeling?"

Draco's reply was a morbid groan of pain.  Harry ventured closer to Malfoy's prone form on his unmade bed, holding out his offering.

"I brought you dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Draco haughtily insisted. 

"Good.  I was hoping you'd say that, because I'm famished.  If you don't care, I'll sit over here and dive into this," Harry chuckled, racing over to the large table and nosing through the parchments and textbooks in order to make a spot on Draco's side of the mess.  He had no more than lifted the silver lid from the plate of cold chicken sandwiches before Draco got out of bed and staggered over to the table.  Malfoy picked up a thick sandwich and was eating before he was seated in his chair.

"Thanks," Draco mumbled between bites.

"Severus's idea," Harry dismissed Draco's uncomfortable gratitude, wolfing his way through his first sandwich just to make sure Draco took another. 

"You have the table manners of a wild dog, but that's not a surprise, considering the company you keep.  Was Professor Volkova at dinner?"

"My, you are so formal," Harry teased.  He whipped the lid of another plate to reveal carrots, celery, and other raw vegetables and such.  Potter made a disappointed face, but Draco picked up a carrot stick.

"I know when and where it's appropriate to be familiar with her.  Something you clearly haven't learned yet with Professor Snape."

"La Lupa was not at dinner.  I think she's in her office."

"With that beast?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.  "Give her time to sort this through with him, and I'm sure he won't pummel you into bone dust every time you meet."

"He tried to kill me," Draco reminded Harry, crunching down several snaps of carrot before taking the lid off another plate to reveal two small bowls of steaming hot soup.  Malfoy very nearly smiled.  He picked up one of the containers and sipped from it as he cradled it close.  He was nearly hunched around it, Harry observed. 

"I'm sure it's a simple misunderstanding," Harry shrugged.  "I often want to kill you, and then think better of it."

"How reassuring," Draco grumbled, sipping from his soup bowl.  "Why didn't she tell me she had a psychopathic older brother?"

"I suspect because she didn't know either," Harry shrugged again.  "They weren't told about their parents in that cult.  I'm sure they weren't told if they had siblings either."

"He's massive."

"Yes, he's GINORMOUS, I saw," Harry chuckled.  He sniffed around the other steaming bowl and decided it was egg-drop soup.  

"Is that even a real word?" Draco complained.  He rubbed the hot soup bowl against his sore head.

"Don't worry.  Professor Volkova will convince Havoc you aren't some evil, dastardly villain pressuring her into marriage in order to take advantage of her innocent naiveté."  Harry paused, savoring some amusing mental image, and centered his teasing gaze on Malfoy once more.  Draco, for his part, wasn't smiling. 

"Is Havoc his real name?"

"No, it's Gunnar."

"Why do those guards of yours call him 'Havoc'?"

"Going out on a limb, because he creates chaos wherever he goes.  How's the shop?"

"He smashed half my stock."

"How?"

"He was chasing me around the aisles."

"You were running from him?"

"He was CHASING me," Draco stressed, narrowing his eyes at Harry.  Harry was smiling again, thinking wicked thoughts if his face was any indication.  Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know what thoughts were flittering behind that lopsided smile.   Potter rose to his feet from the table, and finished his soup with a noisy slurp. 

"I hate to eat and run."

"No, please, go," Malfoy growled.  "I'd like some peace and quiet."

Harry put down the still-warm soup cup, and picked up one of the two red apples on the tray. 

"I could ask Teddy to hang around, in case you feel a bit nervous about being alone," Potter suggested delicately.  Malfoy glared at him and snatched up the second apple. 

"Go.  Away."

"Suit yourself," Harry grinned, snapping off a bite of apple and practically sprinting from the tower room.  He closed the door and waited outside.  Teddy was there.  She moved towards the staircase, puzzled when Harry waited still at the door.  Potter tilted an ear towards the portal.  Draco was dragging furniture over.  Seconds later, a heavy object was pushed into place against the door.  Harry suspected it was the big table.  He smiled at Teddy, and skipped along as he followed her down the stairs.

"Where are we going, Master?"

"Dark Arts office," Harry chuckled. 

6

"So you put our blood in those vials, and then what?"

"Particular elements in the solution already in the vials will adhere to certain elements in your blood," Snape explained calmly. 

"And?" the deep voice questioned.

"If you and Professor Volkova are closely related, your solutions should be close to the same color.  If you are not related, the results should be completely dissimilar."

"How long will it take?"

"Two to three minutes."

 

"How much blood do you need?"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, you big baby," Volkova said impatiently, taking the large man's left hand and sticking one finger with the sharp needle.  She dropped several scarlet tears into the vial that Snape was holding, and then released his hand.  Havoc stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked on it while giving her a wounded frown.  She was taking turns glaring at Owen Stoneburne and Guido Modesto, and then at Havoc. 

Anna had known the truth the second she had rushed into the main area of the library.  Havoc's resemblance to her father had taken her breath away.  Like Owen, Guido, and Teddy, she hadn't seen him since they had all left the Deusredeti, when their favorite mentor Prospero DeFoe had been banished.  Havoc had been in his late teens at the time.  Now he was in his mid thirties perhaps, and the family link was irrefutable.  He didn't have a shaggy blond-gray beard or long hair, but he was a towering man with her father's face, her own face, her father's build, her father's eyes.  She didn't need Severus Snape's curious blood potions to tell her she was staring into the past when she stared at Gunnar's woeful face. 

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" he asked timidly.

"The lot of you have some explaining to do, but I expect you already know that, hmm?" Volkova scolded without answering Havoc's question.  She picked at the small plaster on her index finger.  Owen avoided her eyes, and Modesto grinned sheepishly at her.  Snape shook the vials and waited, biting back a small smile.

"We can explain," Guido began. 

"Can you?" Volkova demanded deeply and with much skepticism.

"We were going to tell you," Owen summoned up the words.  Volkova growled at him and advanced with tightened fists. 

"When, exactly?"

"I was working up to it," Stoneburne retorted.

"How long have you known?" Volkova demanded. 

"Well, um,  the older Havoc got, it became more and more clear what we were dealing with," Guido rambled. 

"He's got your face," Stoneburne said.

"Yes, I can see that."

"I mean, we knew that Old Master Vasili was Volkovi, and we knew Young Master Vasili, your father, was Volkovi.  We figured out you were one because…well….it was pretty evident from a young age," Guido went on. 

"How did you know Havoc was one?"

"The older I got, even I knew whose face was staring back at me in the mirror."

"But it can't be.  I was always told that I was the last Volkovi, and that that was the only reason Rubrica wanted my son when he was born.  That's the only reason the Elders let me come back after Master Sergei died and after my son Sergei was born.  The only reason.  We were the last of the Volkovi, and they needed our skills."

"Technically speaking," Severus interrupted.  Volkova turned her frightful glower on him.  Snape decided basilisks must have had friendlier eyes than she had.  "If they had already left your cult by that point, what the elders told you was the truth, in a manner of speaking."

"Thanks for clarifying," Volkova muttered, glaring back at Stoneburne and Havoc. 

"Technically speaking, "Havoc echoed Snape.  "You two are the last of the Volkovi.  I'm a Halvorsen." 

"Your mother's family name," Stoneburne explained.

"I know what her name was," Anna growled.  "Why would Papa never tell me I had a brother?" Volkova demanded. 

"Old Vasili never liked me.  He wasn't supposed to tell you who he was."

"No one was supposed to know you were siblings."

Owen hissed at Guido, and Modesto shut up quickly.  Havoc stared at Volkova with big eyes for a moment before he looked away as well.  Anna didn't know what they were keeping from her, but she was quickly getting a sickening, horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Well, well, well," Snape said softly, holding his two vials up to the light.   They were nearly identical shades of ice-cold blue.

"Yes?" Volkova rasped, her stomach turning more sour by the second.  "Are we related then?"

"Judging by my initial examination, I would agree that you and Mr. Halvorsen are related.  How deeply related, I couldn't tell you without more in-depth study, of course.  But judging by these, and by your striking resemblance to one another, it might be safe to say you could be brother and sister.  I would be surprised if you're not even more closely related than siblings," Snape responded, examining the vials in the light and squinting at them.  "I haven't seen vials this similar since I tested the Weasley Twins."

"What are you saying?"

"Carita, if you two were any more closely related, you'd have six fingers," Guido revealed.  Owen growled at him, and he shrugged helplessly. 

"But we….." Anna started to say, broke off, and stared sheepishly back at Havoc.  He looked away again.  "Why did they give you a different last name than I have?"

"Master DeFoe always speculates that the elders were probably going to marry you two when you were of age, in order to make even more Volkovi. That's why Gunnar's got a different last name," Owen added.

"Oh hell," Anna gulped. 

"Sorry to have to tell you this way," Havoc murmured. 

"Those sick, creepy bastards!" Harry exclaimed from the open doorway.  The group whirled on him in surprise.  Teddy lurked on the landing behind Harry, chiding the group with one shake of her head. 

"Why didn't you lock this door?  I could have been a Death Eater," Teddy scolded, shaking her staff at them. 

"I could be too!" Harry echoed cheekily.  He snapped off the last bite of apple and vanished the core into thin air. 

"How long have you been standing there?" Severus demanded. 

"Long enough," Harry replied, rubbing sticky fingers together. 

"You shouldn't be intruding, Mr. Potter.  This is what some might consider a private matter," Snape stressed, hoping Harry might take a hint. 

"I'd like a little space to think about all this," Volkova said, ushering everyone towards the door. "Honestly.  Go."

"We understand completely," Snape said, taking Harry by the arm and guiding him back out of the Dark Arts office. 

"Are you sure you wouldn't like someone to talk to?  I can be very supportive," Guido offered hopefully.  Volkova gave him a non-too-subtle shove out of the office and pushed the door closed.  Stoneburne, Modesto, and Havoc milled around on the landing that led down into the classroom, whispering to each other.  Harry and Severus hurried down the steps on quick feet.  Teddy crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the three clustered on the small perch. 

"I see you finally explained she and Havoc were being maneuvered towards their very own Greek tragedy?"

"Sorta," Owen nodded.

"With all your usual finesse."

"It was really, bloody awkward," Modesto admitted.

"Insensitive bastards.  I ought to knock your heads off," Morgenrot growled, pushing her way through while threatening them with her staff.  Havoc ducked aside while shielding his head with both hands.  Teddy tapped gently on the door and called out.  "Anna?  May I come in?" 

She didn't get a response, but Teddy turned the knob anyway.  Quiet crying could be heard.  She slipped inside the door and pulled it closed.  Havoc moped about, hanging his head and wringing his hands.  Owen and Guido shrugged to one another and found immediate logic in the situation.

"On the bright side," Modesto began, "this means it might not be too late to talk her out of marrying that Malfoy prat."

"She's going to put a stake in you if you aren't careful," Harry warned. 

"I suppose you think they're a perfect match?" Owen asked with a dark frown. 

"None of my business," Harry answered quickly.  "None of your business either," he added bravely.  Snape noted that Potter didn't flinch when all three of them glared back at him. 

"He's an evil wizard, from a long line of evil wizards, which you of all people ought to know better than anyone!" Havoc exploded his fury at Harry, who lifted his chin and stepped closer, almost inviting the large man to charge at him. 

"It's still none of your business," Harry retorted.  "Maybe she likes evil wizards."

"Then she doesn't know what she's doing, clearly," Havoc insisted. 

"I wouldn't let her hear you say that if I were you," Harry cautioned. 

"What are we going to do?" Owen asked Havoc, who lowered his shoulders and shook his head. 

"I'm not sure," the larger man answered truthfully.  The three of them formed a small huddle to discuss the situation.  With their attentions turned elsewhere, Harry made his move. 

"Could I tempt you with dessert?" Harry whispered one word to Severus, who gazed down at him in surprise at the non-sequitur.    

"I should check on my apprentice first," Snape murmured.  Potter was undeterred.  

"You know where to find me.  I'll keep a light on for you."

"I'll check on Draco first," Snape repeated. 

7

The scent of hot apple pie drifted over the rooftop of Grimwood Library, as did the sound of several familiar voices. 

"That is just not normal.  How did Volkova take the news?"

"Very hard."

Harry and Hermione were lounging inside the black and white striped tent whose broad bands were barely visible in the coming twilight.  There was a small torch burning inside the tent, swinging from the chains descending from the frame that held the tent aloft.  Potted plants and trees of all shapes and sizes encircled the tent, and a fountain sprinkled droplets that cooled the air and the surroundings, adding to the oasis atmosphere of the roof-top hideaway.  There was another face visible in the tent, but it would have been exceedingly-hard to hide such shocking-pink hair as that. 

"It's no more weird than her and Captain Hook," Tonks commented.  "But there's a bright side, I'm sure.  This is going to make them having children a pretty dicey proposition."

"How so?"

"Malfoy is pretty much related to himself as well, isn't he?  A lot of the pure bloods are,"  Tonks went on.  She was seated on the carpeted ground, putting a forkful of pie into her mouth.  "This is very good, Harry.  You may have a future as a pie-maker-wizard-savior."

"I may indeed," Harry laughed. 

"Do you think those Deusredeti elders could have gotten away with what they were planning?" Hermione asked.

"I suspect they can do just about whatever they want to do.  Do I need to remind you how close they came to European domination?  Need I mention the Hapsburgs?" Tonks said.  She stopped when she heard approaching footsteps. Snape appeared from the shadows beyond the faint torch.  The smile that sprang to Harry's face made the whole day worth  it.  He rose to his feet off of his cushioned chaise. 

"Good evening, Professor," Hermione waved. 

"Decided you wanted a piece after all?" Tonks grinned wickedly as Severus stepped into the wings of the tent opening.  Harry gave her a small gouge in the side on his way to greeting the newest arrival.

"How is Malfoy?" Harry asked.  "When I left, he was pushing furniture against the door."

"He's more embarrassed than anything else.  Young Mr. Volkov was with him.  Sergei has taken a complete dislike for his new uncle.  Mr. Halvorsen did the two things that were guaranteed to win Sergei's immediate displeasure."

"He attacked Draco and upset Professor Volkova," Harry understood.  Pity fleeted across Harry's face.  If there was anyone who could sympathize with strained family relations, it was Potter.   

"It's very good pie," Hermione said, rising up and offering her chaise to Professor Snape.  She took Tonks by the arm, dragging her and her pie plate to the far side of the roof, where they could look out over the small village and still protest that they hadn't left Harry and Snape alone together. 

Severus watched them leaning close to each other and talking, their slender silhouettes dark against the twilight sky.  Tonks's rough laughter stung.  He wasn't entirely sure she approved of his relationship with Harry.  Perhaps he put her in the same category as Remus Lupin.  They were willing to allow Harry to make a fool of himself for love as long as he didn't get too deeply hurt.  They both held to the belief that one day, Harry would realize what a mistake he was making and come to his senses and leave Snape for someone more appropriate.  Snape stared back at Harry and watched Potter spooning up apples and crust onto a small plate for him. 

It was no wonder to Snape that Harry was defending Volkova's right to choose Malfoy if she wanted him.  By defending their relationship and right to choose, he hoped everyone around him would do the same regarding his liaison with Severus.  Was he aware of what he was doing?  Was it so very obvious to everyone that they were in a relationship, even if it was not allowed, even if it had to go unspoken, unseen, unheard? 

Perhaps he should apologize about the scene his grandfather had made this morning with the Golden Crickets?  Perhaps he should apologize about being rude at breakfast?  He should be very grateful Harry wasn't listening to all the people around him who were saying what a stupid mistake he was making, devoting himself to the one man who was entirely and completely wrong for him in so many ways.   His stomach ached with dread.  Why was he pushing Harry away?  What would happen when the day came that Harry wasn't pushing back again?

"These apples are from that tree, right there.  It's the tallest, gets the best light, and has the sweetest apples.   Someone asked me this morning about the underground spring, if it's under the building somewhere.  To which I asked, what bloody spring?  Then it occurs to me that the water that's pumped up to the top here for all of Neville's plants must be coming from somewhere, right?  And what about the fountain?  It's not coming out of the tap, is it?  Guess I'm going to have to go under the library and find out.  I went light on the nutmeg and cinnamon, but you will find the results much improved since the last time you tried my pie," Harry rambled when he felt Snape's intense eyes remain centered on him. 

"You don't really believe I came here for your cooking, do you?" Severus asked in a quiet whisper.

"Why else would you be here?  If I know you, you haven't eaten since breakfast.  Not that you ate much at breakfast.  And you've been drinking."

"I have not been drinking," Severus lied.  Harry handed him the plate and wiggled a fork at him playfully. 

"Mornings don't suit you."

"I was not myself," Severus offered weakly.  He was absolutely no good at apologies.  Harry teased the fork closer, and pulled it out of reach again when Severus tried to grasp the silver tines.

"You were nervous about appearing before the court against Mesarik.  I do understand," Harry said, dangling the fork within reach once more.   Snape snatched it from him, and Potter turned to pick up a small bowl.  He whirled around and dropped a spoonful of whipped cream on top of the pie crust before Snape could stop him.  As Severus sampled the sugary, syrupy filling, Harry began eating the remaining fluffy cream.

"I am in no mood to talk about it," Snape murmured between bites.  It was good pie, actually. 

"Maybe later.  Sit down.  Be comfy," Harry mumbled, not bringing up the fact Snape had been all too happy to talk to Illumina about the day's events. Perhaps it was easier to talk to her because they were friends more than anything else, and Snape had known her for so long.  Knowing why Severus could talk to her and not him did not make Harry any less jealous. 

" 'Comfy'.  There's another word I completely despise," Severus said moodily, sitting on the edge of the chaise and taking another bite.  Harry sat opposite him on his own chaise, and filled his spoon with more cream.  He brazenly studied Severus, waited for him to put a spoonful of pie in his mouth, and then spoke.   

"At what temperature does Veritaserum lose its magical properties?  At what point does it become the result of its components, but magically incapable of producing the truth with the merest drop?" Harry asked pointedly.  Snape chewed and swallowed, annoyed and amused. 

"Long before your pie would have been cooked, I assure you," Severus replied with a short laugh, picking up another bite.

"Pity.  I shall have to resort to torture to get you to talk," Harry whispered.  He levered up an overlarge spoon of whipped cream and struggled to swallow it all.  He practically had to unhinge his jaw to put it all in his mouth at once, and he wasn't entirely successful.  Snape watched the trail of white trickling teasingly down Harry's chin, and raised a brow at the young man. 

"I believe you'll find I can resist torture longer than most can," Snape replied coolly. 

"Can you?" Potter tested, licking his lips and devouring the fluffy whiteness.

This was meant to be torture, wasn't it?  Or was Harry being silly because, well, he was of an age where silly was perfectly acceptable under the right circumstance? Say for example, bringing a large stuffed snake to the Minister of Magic's office and teasing your lover with it in front of said Minister? 

Wickerwell was right.  This young man was desperately in need of some stern discipline and guidance, someone to teach him how mature wizards should act if they want to be respected.  Potter wasn't going to take that sort of advice from just anyone.  It would have to be from someone Harry respected, someone he trusted.  This kind of behavior was what happened when you left a young wizard without proper direction for too many years, abandoning him to the likes of all those Weasleys, or, Severus shuddered, the indubitable but quirky wisdom of Albus Dumbledore.  This left unsaid everything that was wrong about Sirius Black as a godfather for the boy.  What the hell was Lily thinking when she agreed to that?! 

Slightly unnerved, Severus watched Harry scoop out another huge spoon of cream. No doubt about it.  The young man needed help.   

"I can," Snape declared.  He was not prepared when a white dollop pelted him unexpectedly in the chest.  He gaped at Harry.  For a second, part of his mind erupted into rage.  This was a clean outfit!  It would take days to get all these flecks of white off of him.  After the morning he had had, he was in no mood for this sort of vapid stupidity. 

But another part of him went in the opposite direction, caught up in the infectious grin on Harry's face.  Potter was waiting hopefully for him to explode.  Maybe he wanted to get Severus to expel some of the anger that was burning inside him.  Merlin, but the boy was becoming a quick study!  He had finally figured out why Doctor McGonagall kept making him cry—because she knew he needed to expel all the sorrow he was carrying inside if he was ever going to heal.  Harry was applying that theory to Snape, who was desperately in need of expelling all the anger he was carrying around. 

Severus wasn't quite ready to let go of his anger though, not just yet.  He was going to need that anger, because he wasn't yet finished dealing with Mesarik Snape.  Potter threw another large dollop at him, raising the stakes. Severus stared blandly at the cream as it trickled down his chest, towards his stomach.  He should make Potter lick this outfit clean.  He really should.  There was really only one way he could respond to such torment. 

Snape ran silver tines over his own chest and picked up a forkful of cream, which he promptly threw back at Harry.  Potter squeaked with excitement at the reaction.  The flood gates had been opened, one way or the other.  Harry refilled his bowl with a quick spell and began chucking odd-sized dollops of whipped cream at Snape left and right.  Severus calmly returned them in Potter's direction with a repulsion spell.  It was, literally, child's play.  Spots of white spattered Potter, but he wasn't flinching or ducking.  Instead, he whipped the bowl downward and then tossed the entire contents at Snape. 

Whipped cream floated like a fluffy snowball, paused midair by Severus's magic, and came back at Harry with a suddenness that made Potter catch his breath. His gasp was half-choked with specks of white, as was the resulting, surprised laughter that erupted from his open mouth.  The whipped cream bomb had caught him in the chin, and was dripping from his neck and jaw, and it was clogging his nose.  He coughed and shook away the mess.  Severus set down his empty plate, and carefully put the fork out of the way.

"What are they doing over there?" Tonks wondered when the tent flaps fell in and the torch went dark.  Harry's rising squeals of laughter and exclamations of excitement were making Hermione smile.  There was a wild scuffle of boots across carpeting.  The table was shifted aside with a tinkling of dishes and silverware.

"No tickling!  No tickling!" Harry screamed and gasped, laughing still.

"I'm sure it's nothing to be worried about," Hermione said, taking Tonks by the shoulders and making her face forward again out into the city.  The situation under the tent got quickly quieter.  A soft moan or two drifted upwards. Tonks glanced cautiously over one shoulder, and her eyes went wide with shock and embarrassment. 

"Get a room!" she blurted, facing forward once more. 

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