What It Means To Be

by spinner

6

"Kissy-kissy-kissy-yes!" Harry shouted, bending down to let his two wolfhounds slather his face.  When his glasses fell off in the snow, he retrieved them with a gloved hand, trying to keep his balance as Bangers bounced against his legs and Mash pushed at his head with both front paws.  He was going to be lucky if they didn't tip him over.

"Down!  Down!  No!  Sit!"

Harry turned around at the voice shouting behind him.  Severus was hurrying along the stone walkways in the terraced garden, his face filled with concern.  His heavy cloak billowed behind him, and his enormous slippers clung steadfastly as he hurried through the snowfall.  Snape hadn't expected he would be home at Ravensrood last night.  When it was revealed to the Headmaster that Harry's guards were not in residence, Severus had volunteered himself to protect Harry until at least one of them reappeared.  But Albus, with a devilish smile directed entirely at Harry, had said that he would be more than happy to watch over Harry himself, and that Severus should be relaxing at home on holiday, not fretting about phantom Death Eaters and such.  So Harry and Draco had enjoyed/endured the Headmaster's company almost all night. 

"Morning!" Harry shouted to Severus, patting the hounds on the head as they sat at his feet and stared nervously at the approaching man. 

"You must not let them jump on you!" Severus scolded when he was close enough. "Harry, if they believe they are allowed to jump on you, they will jump on the children, and on other adults.  You must learn to discipline them when they misbehave."

"Bad doggies," Harry said, wiggling a finger at them in turn.  Much excited, yip-yipping ensued until Snape snapped at them. 

"Shut it!"

The yapping squeaked out.  The hounds huddled closer to Harry.  Severus reached out to straighten Harry's collar, and both wolfhounds started barking at him.  Severus pulled back, and the barking stopped.  He reached forward again, and the hounds responded with more urgent barking.  Harry smiled indulgently down at them.

"Good doggies," he said with a wicked, teasing smile. 

"Potter," Snape sighed angrily.  "Let them run."

Harry let the wolfhounds off their leash, and they bolted away into the garden, racing each other to the far end of the foreseeable stonework.  Severus looked as if he had only just crawled out of bed.  He was wearing a heavy cloak over a dressing gown over…Harry peered closer….flannel pajamas?  How very unSeverus, he thought to himself.   But the slippers had bottoms covered in ground-hugging rubber.  They were interesting.  They were spanking new.  Someone must have given them to him as a Christmas present.  Harry wished he had thought of something as useful as house slippers!   Instead he had spent two months curing figs with sugar and spices, hoping to hit Severus's sweet tooth if not his heart. 

"Whisper alerted me that you had arrived," Snape explained.   He hadn't even shaved yet, Harry noted. 

"It is seven sharp."

"Where is Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry did a quick impression of sleeping and snoring, arms flung outward, head tilted back, one eye half open in order to gauge Severus's amusement or lack thereof.  It's hard to be amused in the early morning when one is wearing pajamas in a driving snow.  Displeasure ruled Snape's face, and Harry's playfulness withered away.  Potter composed himself and hunched downward slightly. 

"I hid Mordred's presents under the tree in the downstairs sitting room.  Peeked at him, but he was asleep.  I won't stay long," Harry promised, and Severus could feel the cold wall come down between them.  Harry put on an aloof expression, and Severus felt helpless, trapped within his own lacking social skills.  He was trying to make conversation, honestly he was, but he was cold out here, and it was ever-so-early in the morning.  Who got up this early when there wasn't anywhere special to be?  Where to begin opening the door again with Potter?  Harry continued to stare at his slippers, hands pinned together behind his hips. 

"I was nearly certain I would have another half hour, at the very least," Severus hummed.   "Why are you staring at my feet?"

"Neat slippers," Harry smiled. 

"Minerva," Severus complained, annoyed.  He turned around and held up one foot to show Harry the bottom.  "They have a spell to keep you from slipping."

"They're cool.  Green plaid and everything," Harry said.  "They've got spiders on the top!  That's so cool!"

"Alas, not real spiders.  Against the law.  Perhaps if you're very lucky, she will give you a pair as well," Snape murmured, moving one foot to make the fake tarantula bounce.  It was exceptionally convincing, Harry thought.  Severus wondered briefly if Harry was pulling his leg in admiring the footwear at all. 

"Might I tempt you with breakfast?" Snape asked most persuasively.   

"Mmm, no," Harry refused, giving a small, nervous laugh.  He dangled the dog leash like a tail or a whip behind himself, teasing it back and forth.  "I saw Fyodor on the way through the house.  He was mumbling to himself and juggling point things.  Something to do with dinner for sixteen and only twenty four hours, no store in two hundred miles carrying what he's looking for.  I would not get on his bad side today if I were you."

"I was pleased to note you appear to have found at least one of your guards."

"Modesto appeared late last night.   He and Professor Dumbledore were sitting by the fireplace this morning, playing chess and drinking tea."

"Where has he been?  Did he explain his long-delayed return from a simple task?"

"Apparently, when he got bumped from the Express Floo in Tahiti, he got as far as Monte Carlo, and had to wait another go.  I had given him my wallet so he'd have traveling funds while delivering Teddy's luggage.  He spent a few hours in one of the casinos in Monte Carlo, won a few hands, caught the next available Floo, and here he is. That's what it was—Tahiti to Monte Carlo to home."

"He shouldn't have dawdled so."

"He had to wait for the next available Floo to Edinburgh," Harry smiled. 

"Why don't you come up to the house and have a cup of cocoa at least?" Severus tried to persuade, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.  "Mordred will be awake soon."

"I'm not sure I should.  We're not supposed to be alone."

"We're not alone.  Modesto is in the sitting room.  There's more than twenty house elves running around, and Grandfather will be awake soon too."

"Where's Mrs. Dalrymple?"

"Robinsroost," Severus pointed.  "All the step-children are home, and she didn't think it would be seemly to be sleeping here if they were all there.  They will all be joining us for Christmas dinner tomorrow.  I had hoped to squeeze you and Draco around the table as well."

"Maybe a cup of cocoa," Harry agreed hesitantly.  "Has…..has Grandfather Orpheus gotten my present yet?"

"I'll have you know that I haven't been allowed to handle the Christmas shopping since I was twelve and I bought everyone exploding mittens," Snape replied.  Harry gave a piercing whistle, and his hounds raced out of the garden and straight up the terraced yard to the french doors of the sitting room. 

"Darn. I was sure it would get here.  I got lucky at an estate sale.  Shush.  Big surprise.  Wait.  Did you say exploding mittens?"

"What?"

"You haven't received any big packages on the porch?  No visits from elderly widows?" Harry asked.

"Your gift to him?  I thought you were prodding to find out what he had gotten for you.  No, he has not yet received any big packages.  Please do learn the proper use of a few vocabulary words, Potter.  Can't you understand the need for direct and indirect objects in your sentences?  Grandfather would probably have mentioned a strange package, and he would have definitely mentioned an elderly widow.  What are you sending him??"

"I got lucky at an estate sale," Harry answered, trailing behind Severus up to Ravensrood.  He could see movement inside the sitting room even before they entered.  Whisper was hurrying around.  She and two fellow house elves were opening the doors which adjoined with the dining room, letting the fireplace warmth and light spill over the table.  Modesto was asleep in front of the fireplace, and the house elves were working around him. 

"Whisper, has a large package arrived for Grandfather?" Severus asked.  The house elf paused on one foot, nearly smiled, and nodded hello to Harry all in one breath.

"Recently?"

"Christmas present," Harry confided softly. 

"No, but I shall keep my ears open.  Should we alert Mr. Potter when it arrives?"

"No need to alert me, but she promised it would be yesterday or today."

"Not an unpleasant surprise, one hopes?" Severus pestered Harry, removing Potter's cloak and fluffing up the back of his hair before ushering the young man towards the dining table instead of the fireplace. 

Harry looked pained for a second, and Severus wanted to hit him.  Had Potter not considered whether Orpheus might not want strangers delivering a big package in the house today of all days, Christmas Eve?  Why did Potter fear it might be verboten for him to come today, but it would not be so to invite a complete strangers to intrude?

"Hope not," Harry winced.  "Could you help me with finding a particular wine for Malfoy?  He asked for a bottle of Grande Pomme Rouge.  Big Red Apple.  Whatever.  I need to find a bottle of 88 Grande Pomme Rouge for him.  Where do you purchase your wines?  Would it take long to find him one?"

Severus patted him once on the arm and got up to leave the room.  Harry watched him leave, and shrugged mildly.  Whisper and her fellow house elves were fluffing up pillows on the settees and comfy chairs in the sitting room.  Modesto was beginning to snore.  The wolfhounds had their noses deep in food bowls set out on the floor next to the portal into the kitchens.  Harry had chosen their bowls himself, with tiny bones dancing around the outer rims.  Whatever Fyodor had put inside, the hounds were lapping it up greedily.  A heaping bowl of kibble was nearby, as well as a brimming water dish.  The hounds were very well cared-for here, that much was clear. 

Fyodor appeared from the kitchens, steak knife in one hand, carving board filled with hunks of meat in the other.  He was smiling cheerfully.  Harry nearly fell over in surprise.  Fyodor scraped the hunks of freshly-cooked meat into the bowls, and the hounds continued gobbling up breakfast.   Bangers gave the grumpy house elf a lick on the face, a canine slurp of pure love, and Fyodor couldn't help but smile a little wider, at least until he saw Harry.  He put on a sour frown, turned on one heel, and left the dining room.

"What is this, huh?" Harry stammered.  Severus had returned, carrying an oblong, greenish black object that turned out to be a bottle of wine.  The label had a rosy, bright apple on the front. 

"Here."

"What's this?" Harry stammered again.  Severus wiped off the label, and Harry adjusted his glasses.  "What?  You have a case in the basement?  Exactly the brand I had to find?  Did Draco know you had this?"

"No, I doubt it."

"Where did you get it?"

"The ghost of Christmas Past," Snape joked, a sad memory in his dark eyes.  "Draco won't be disappointed with that."

"Is it any good?"

"A fine red with a hardy, delightful bouquet of apples and oak and cinnamon and chocolate."

"Why would you drink something that tasted like wood?" Harry asked.

"When you give it to Draco, demand a glass for yourself."

"Perhaps I will.  Thank you!" Harry said, pecking a small kiss on Severus' nose.  "How much do I owe you?  It can't be cheap if Malfoy likes it."

"You will not insult me with the discussion on money," Snape huffed. 

"Well, no, apparently I won't," Harry said.  "Thank you again."

"Also, you will not focus your clairvoyance on that bottle before you give it to Mr. Malfoy," Severus said, slipping it out of Harry's hands and putting it away from him on the dining table.  "At whom does one have to scream to get a cup of cocoa?!" Snape turned and bellowed into the kitchens.  Fyodor appeared in the portal, frowning.  He was still carrying the steak knife.  His apron was smeared with blood.  Modesto bolted up from his chair to full attention at the sound of Snape's scream. 

"Sorry," Harry whispered towards Modesto, motioning for him to relax.  Modesto blinked, put away his wand, sat back down, and went back to sleep. 

"Marshmallows?" the house elf taunted. 

"You do, and I'll hang you," Severus growled. 

"Would you care for steak and eggs, Mister Potter?" Fyodor asked.

"None please, thanks," Harry whispered.

"Good!  I fed it all to the dogs," Fyodor laughed maliciously, heading back into his shiny, clean domain with bloodied hands and clothes.

"I don't think he likes me," Harry confided to Severus with a wounded frown.  That was Harry to the core, Severus thought, always longing to be liked by everyone. 

"He doesn't like anyone.  Why should you be special?" Snape teased.

"He likes the pups though.  I saw him smile at them," Harry whispered. 

"He is exceptionally fond of your wolfhounds, yes," Snape whispered back.

They straightened up and stopped their conversation when Fyodor returned to the dining table, carrying a tray with heavy mugs filled with dark brown liquid. 

"Smells delicious," Harry commented, attempting a smile.  Fyodor held his grim face steady as he stared down into the cups.

"Whatever did I do wrong?" he said flatly.  Severus snatched the tray from him and gave him a shove in the backside.  Fyodor hurried away, his muted, mocking laughter bringing a smirk to Snape's face. 

"Think I'll head over to the library and watch the desk.  There's clothes still arriving that need sorting, but Spit will undoubtedly have beaten me to that already.  Care to come by later?  When you're free?" Harry asked. 

"Drink your cocoa," Severus answered, giving Harry a steaming mug.  They both sipped, and Harry looked at the third mug, over at the snoring Modesto, and back at the third mug.  "Let him sleep," Snape whispered.  "Perhaps you should stay in.  The snow is falling thicker than before."

"Bit of snow, couple of flakes," Harry shrugged. 

"Witchy Wendy is calling for a foot and a half over most of this area," Whisper tisked.  "I heard it on the wireless earlier."

"Did you hear that?  A foot and a half," Severus repeated.  "No one should be out in this, Potter."

"I can't leave the circulation desk unmanned," Harry protested.  "Hermione is busy.  Remy is hiding in his cottage.  It's my responsibility."

"What makes you think anyone will be at Grimwood today?  It's Christmas Eve," Snape retorted.

"Any number of people might show," Harry offered back. 

The brat was correct, of course, Snape admitted to himself.  One of Severus's favorite places to hide during holidays was at the school library, so it was reasonable that other anti-social sorts might seek the same sort of refuge at the public library if it were available to them. 

"I'll help you for an hour or two," Snape conceded. 

"Oh!  I have to check the post too.  Haven't been there all week," Harry added.

"Why do you keep a post office box when you have a perfectly-capable owl?"

"Because Hedwig can't keep up with all the mail the library receives.  Hermione said I should advertise for a personal assistant."

"Angels and ministers of grace," Severus whispered to himself, rolling his eyes.  He didn't finish the thought, but Harry was left with the impression that the last thing Severus wanted him to do was advertise for help.  "Give me a chance to make myself more presentable, and I shall accompany you to Hogsmeade," Snape said, dodging a chiding glance from Whisper. 

"Do dress warmly, Master Severus," she cautioned. 

"Thank you.  I will.  Can you keep these by the fire?" Severus asked, giving her his spider-slippers. 

Whisper carried said slippers over to the hearth and tucked them into a spot where they were bound to stay warm.  They might even burst into flames.  Perhaps that was Snape's plan, Harry thought to himself while sipping cocoa.  Severus disappeared upstairs with his mug in hand, and Harry sat dutifully at the table, finishing his own.  The wolfhounds trotted past him, giving his hands a lick or two, and settled themselves by the fireplace right beside Modesto's chair.  Guido was fast asleep, chin nearly touching his chest.  Bangers and Mash put themselves on either side of his chair.  Whisper pulled a throw off the settee opposite, and bundled it around Modesto's legs and lap, hiding the hounds except for their wagging tails. 

"How is Mr. Potter adjusting to having his own house elves?" Whisper asked Harry as she fluffed up the curtains and settled them back against the french doors to keep out the cold. 

"Technically not mine," Harry defended.

"Indeed true.  It caused quite the sensation, you giving them a salary, and access to your Gringotts vault."

"They needed access.  How else are they supposed to buy supplies and such for the house?" Harry wondered.

"Still, it caused a stir," Whisper confided. 

"You have access to the Snapes' vault," Harry murmured, smiling.

"As you well know," she whispered back.

"Did that cause a sensation?"

"It did in its time," she nodded.  "It's not the done thing."

"Then it should be done more often," Harry chuckled. 

"Might one ask what package Master Orpheus will be receiving?"

If anyone could be trusted with a secret, it was Whisper, Harry knew.  He leaned closer to her. 

"An old widow a few valleys over," he started, taking a sip from his mug. "She was having an estate sale of odds and ends, and gave me a tour of her house.   It turns out, she's a huge fan of Mr. Snape."

"Oh, dear."

"She knew of my friendship with the family, and she had to show me her phonograph collection before she would let me leave.  She was quite proud of the fact that she had at least two of every recording Grandfather Orpheus had ever made—every performance—every one!  I told her, in confidence of course, that he was beside himself with grief because he had lost his own collection of his works when Tom Riddle and his band of miscreants wrecked Ravensrood.  I persuaded her how happy it might make the idol of her youth if she were willing to part with one half of her collection, for he would be very grateful, you know?  What could I do for her in return?  A favor for a favor for a kindness and all."

"Mr. Potter is becoming quite the skilled negotiator," Whisper complimented with a sideways smile. "Legendary, in fact.  What did he have to promise her in return for this gift for Master Orpheus?"

"She wanted to talk to her husband one last time."

"You contacted her husband for her?  But you said she was a widow, Mr. Potter."

"I did," Harry nodded.  He said nothing else, but stared down into his cocoa cup in meaningful silence.  The tiny house elf stepped closer to Harry, stared at him, and then her face filled with understanding and concern.

"Oh my," she murmured, then patted his hand.   "Do be cautious, Mr. Potter.  It's not the spirits you seek that cause the harm, but the spirits which might seek you.  That is where the worry lies."

"I was very careful," Harry defended. "Perhaps you shouldn't mention this to Severus??" he mumbled, giving her a pleading look. 

"I will be discretion itself," Whisper promised.  "Work to be done.  Guests coming soon.  Rooms to ready.  Be cautious, Master Harry.  Do be cautious.  And thank you for being so kind to an old wizard."

"He has been so very kind to me.  You all have," Harry replied.  Whisper's eyes twinkled.

"But you have been kind to us as well.  Master Orpheus isn't the only one who can see the ways you have changed Master Severus, and all for the better," she nodded. 

Whisper hurried off up the staircase, nearly bowling over another pair of house elves who came downstairs trailing branches of holly and a few stray ornaments.  They smiled at Harry and whispered to themselves as they passed the dining room.  Harry put his empty mug on the tray on the table, cast a cautious glance at Modesto, and went to see what was happening upstairs. 

When he arrived at the top of the stairs, he could hear the sound of running water coming from the direction of Severus's room.  Tiptoeing past Orpheus's suite, he heard the unmistakable melody of breathing and snoring.   From the door, a nose was visible amidst the pillows, like the highest peak of a ragged mountain range.   At the end of the bed, toes poked out of the blankets and duvets, like the farthest foothills that stretched to the sea beyond the bed. 

Whisper had disappeared into a room at the far end of the hall.  She was opening curtains and letting sunlight in.  Someone rushed into the hallway and pulled open the linen closet (which Harry noted was far larger than his own cupboard under the stairs had ever been).  Sheets and pillows and comforters were being passed along a line like water buckets in a fire brigade.   Harry understood what was happening—Whisper was preparing a guest room, Draco's favorite room, if Harry remembered correctly.   Sheets came back up the line, confusing the house elves in the middle.

"Whisper said softer, and fewer flowers," another explained.   The house elf at the door to the linen closet climbed up on the shelves and tossed selections from the highest reaches. 

"Whisper says green," came the next command. 

Harry paused in front of the nursery, and when he went to peek inside, he came face to face with the nanny.   They both dodged back. 

"What's all the fuss?" she asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.   Harry shrugged, pretending he didn't know.  "Going to have breakfast with us, Mr. Harry?" she asked him.  "The wee one will be up soon.  He rarely sleeps this late."

"Oh, no.  Don't wake him.  Severus says he's always so excitable when I visit and go away too soon.  I put some presents downstairs for him.   Hope he likes them."

"He's sure to love them."

"Can I peek at him again?" Harry asked shyly. The nanny opened the door and allowed him in.  Mordred was rolling around in his crib, groggy and dreaming, kicking and moaning.  Harry leaned at the side and refitted the toddler's covers, wondering how a baby that ate so much never managed to gain any respectable weight.   The nanny went into the adjoining restroom in the suite and closed the door.  Harry stayed by Mordred's side, opening his clairvoyance carefully.  What do toddlers dream of?

One glance at the faces leaning over Mordred in his dreaming made Harry pull off the boy's blankets, lift him to his shoulder, and carry him to the window.  Images of red eyes, sneering mouths behind evil masks, and black robed figures were making Harry shudder, let alone the tot in his grip.  Harry pulled the curtains open, and Mordred blinked awake.  One word lingered on his mouth.  One last face vanished from his mind, left his heart hurting, left his throat tight with an unvoiced cry.

"Mummy?"

Harry blinked back his own tears and kissed Mordred's hair. 

"See the snow?  Nice snow, isn't it?" Harry said, pointing outside at the pristine world draped in soft, white flakes.  It was the polar opposite of the dreams Potter had chased away.  In all that glistening purity, there was no hatred, no pain, no screaming, no empty dark rooms, no waiting and waiting.   Mordred had been dreaming about hearing his mother screaming.   Harry's heart throbbed in sympathy.  Mordred put his forehead against Harry's cheek, dizzy from the sudden awakening.  He clung to his protector's neck with both arms.  Harry glanced behind himself into the nursery.  Mordred was searching for her, wasn't he?  He wanted to know where Doctor Timma was.  Harry remembered waking from his own dreams of his dead parents, of holding out his arms in the attempt to pull their fading shadows to himself. 

Harry turned from the window and studied the pictures on the wall.  There were animals and fantastical beasts.  There were knights and ladies.  There were dragons and sorcerers.  Castles and forests.  Vines and flowers.  Swords and stones and an unending supply of trees and leaves and wands and leaping stags.  Some misguided individual had redecorated his room in the Arthurian legend and all its entanglements.  Harry was sure this someone was going to regret that when it came time to explain the origins of the boy's name to him.  There can be only one reason to name your son Mordred—to make his father afraid to harm him.   

It saddened Harry to discover there were no pictures of Doctor Mesarik anywhere in the nursery.  This must be fixed at once, Potter decided.  Harry carried Mordred to the hallway, and happened upon Whisper.  The head house elf smiled and petted the littlest Snape's stockings and feet. 

" 'ber, 'ber, 'ber," Mordred chanted, reaching back at her.  He clutched one of her ears. 

"Where are Doctor Mesarik's things?" Harry asked. 

"Upstairs, right above," Whisper pointed.  "Does Master Harry require anything?"

"No, no," Harry shook his head. 

"No," Mordred echoed.  Harry and Whisper exchanged a smile.

"No," Harry said.

"No," Mordred repeated.

Whisper patted the toddler's foot again and then hurried off on her current task.  Harry noted that the busy house elves had opened another room, his favorite guest room.  They had turned in the opposite direction, and this time scarlet and gold sheets were dropping down out of the linen closet, carried along and determined to be satisfactory by the far end of the line.  Harry stepped quietly and unobtrusively upstairs with Mordred in hand, hoping the door to the room that held Doctor Mesarik's possessions would not be locked or warded.    

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