Growing Pains

by Tira Nog

The Great Hall sounded as though it were full to bursting. There were the usual childish laughter and shouts, the unceasing susurration of dozens of subdued conversations, the background clatter of utensils and plates being moved, all contained in what amounted to an echoing stone box. It was way too much noise for anyone to have to deal with first thing on a Monday morning.

Severus Snape paused outside the hall entrance, ready to bolt. Two days simply wasn't enough time to reclaim one's life, let alone one's equilibrium. Friday at this very time, he'd been a child, chasing his roommate around the bedroom playing tag instead of getting dressed for school. Now . . . .

Now it was back to normal: no more tag, or quidditch, or even Exploding Snap. He wasn't going to class; he was teaching it. What's more, he had a four-month hiatus for which to make up. He didn't want to think about the state the curriculum was in. There was no way he could correct four months of substandard work in the three that remained to him.

That was really what should be troubling him, Severus thought as he stood paused outside the hall's towering doors. The work missed, the students' that would be ill prepared for their exams - those were the pressing issues, not his emotional problems.

But as he stood there frozen outside the Great Hall, his emotions were the only thing real to him. As soon as he opened that door, he was going to have to face a school full of people who had seen him as a seven-year-old. For some reason, that thought both terrified and shamed him.

It made no sense. He'd faced Voldemort for years while spying without so much as a quiver, but the idea of walking into that hall and feeling all those curious eyes upon him unmanned him. And he didn't know why.

He'd certainly done nothing wrong, nor had he embarrassed himself. Hermione and Ron had seen to it that he was properly dressed and that he behaved well at all times. There had been nothing shameful in any of it, so why was he so sensitive about it? Why did he feel like all his deepest secrets had been paraded in full view?

It was with the thought of Hermione and Ron that he began to understand what was bothering him. The whole school had seen him helpless. He'd been vulnerable and lost, and everyone had known it. They'd seen the Weasleys take him in and give him a home.

A home that was no longer his. That was the root of his problem. Every morning for the last four months when he'd entered the Great Hall, he'd been ensconced between Ron and Harry at the teacher's table. And now that he'd reclaimed his adult life, he was going to have to reclaim his isolated seat down at the end of the table as well. To do anything else would be to reveal a weakness, a need, and Severus was resolved to maintain his dignity at all costs. He'd lost so much; he wasn't about to lose that as well. But . . . .

Severus took a deep breath and tried to relax. He could do this. He'd borne the Cruciatus. He could survive this.

Steeling himself, he opened the door and entered the hall. It was impossible not to notice how all sound seemed to stop at his entrance. He could feel dozens of eyes upon him as he crossed the room to the teacher's table.

He wished that he had his hair to hide behind, but it was still drawn back in that clip Hermione had given him. Startled, he realized that his new hairstyle alone could be reason enough for them to be staring. He'd worn his hair in that same cut for longer than some of his colleagues had been alive. He supposed that the change would be shocking enough. Even so, those stares weighed on his nerves.

"Good morning, Severus," Headmistress McGonagall greeted with a warm smile. "Welcome back again."

She'd been in to see him yesterday. She was the only one of his colleagues other than Harry who had paid him a visit.

"Minerva," he nodded, and then tried to be polite as the others all acknowledged his return.

As he moved down the long table to take his former seat at the secluded far end, he realized that the teachers' table had fallen completely silent around him. The Great Hall as a whole seemed to draw a collective breath, every professor and student seeming to anxiously await his reaction. From the tension in the room, it was clear that no less than a volcanic eruption was anticipated.

Already a nervous wreck, Severus felt his own muscles stiffen up as he prepared for whatever prank awaited him. Damn, couldn't the cretins give him one morning to get his life back in order before once again making him the butt of their brainless jokes? As he turned to deal with whatever ignominy awaited him, Severus promised himself that he'd make the life of whoever had planned this hell.

His steps faltered as he took in the cause of the tension. His normal seat, the chair next to the last at the end of the table, was empty as usual, but it was no longer isolated. Ronald Weasley was sitting in the last chair, next to Severus' empty seat. Harry Potter was in the chair on the opposite side of the chair, with Hermione at Potter's other shoulder - their usual mealtime configuration for the last four months.

As if that weren't shock enough, a terrified looking Neville Longbottom was perched on the edge of the seat next to Hermione, with Blaise Zabini next to him. Merlin knew what they'd done to get Longbottom there. The man appeared on the verge of collapse.

They hadn't left a single empty chair for him to isolate himself behind. His . . . family had set it up so that Severus' only choice was to sit among them. Either that or move to the other end of the table entirely. And the only seat at that end was next to the arrogant Miller. He'd rather eat next to Hagrid's Blast Ended Skrewts.

As he stood there frozen in shock, Severus wondered how he should respond. The absolute silence around him told him that the school as a whole was expecting an amusing spectacle.

He looked at the faces of these people who'd been so kind to him. Hermione's was set with equal degrees of worry and determination. He recognized her hand in this, for only she could manipulate Longbottom into doing something so completely against his nature. Potter appeared nervous, as if he feared this move might damage the uneasy friendship forming between them. Zabini was behaving as a typical Slytherin; the lanky brunette seemed amused by the entire thing.

The only person acting anywhere near normal was Ron. His complete attention was on his bowl as he wolfed down a heaping helping of porridge. As he watched, Ron seemed to become aware of his stare and the silence raging around him. Ron glanced up, scanned down the row of seemingly petrified teachers, gazed out over the equally absorbed House tables, and finally turned to him. Ron rolled his eyes and glared down the teachers' table.

"Enough already! It's not like nobody's ever moved their seats before. Severus, sit down before all the food goes cold!" And with that, Ron went back to his breakfast.

Hermione looked like she wanted to kill Ron. Harry appeared to be waiting to make a decision as to whether to help her or not. Longbottom was attempting to fade into the woodwork. Everyone else was waiting for an entertaining spectacle of Snape proportions.

Severus took his seat.

He gave a droll, "Good morning," as he settled down between Harry and Ron. To his intense relief, conversation started throughout the Great Hall again as though a switch had been flicked.

"Good morning, Severus," Hermione brightly responded, looking as though she might pass out herself from the relief.

Ron's mumbled, "'morning," was lost between chews.

Harry's quiet "Hello," gave him an unexpected shiver. That was not something he'd anticipated having to deal with this morning.

"Hello," he answered, praying that he wasn't blushing as he met Harry's gaze. He'd already made a big enough prat of himself with that entrance.

"How are you today, Severus?" Hermione asked.

Completely too aware of every gaze upon him, Severus shrugged and evaded, "Here," and then silently cursed himself for the concern that filled her gaze.

He reached a shaky hand for the teapot, but a larger one beat him to it. Proving once again that he was nowhere near as oblivious as he let on, Ron poured the tea into Severus' cup, saving him the embarrassment of sloshing it all over the table.

"Harry, what did you think of what Crenshaw and Sinastra did with your classes over the last few months?" Zabini asked from the other side of Longbottom. "They told me they'd dropped by to go over the curriculum they'd covered."

He felt Potter's gaze move from him, the way he'd feel the heat of the summer sun leaving him when he passed into shadow. He was accustomed to controlling his emotions. In his arrogance on Saturday night when he'd told himself he'd be able to maintain the charade of platonic friendship with Harry Potter, he'd assumed that his feelings for Harry would be as simple to ignore as all his other emotions had been. Clearly, he had never had a true test to his controls before.

As Harry answered Zabini's question, Severus drew in a deep breath. His rubbery limbs belonged to a man who'd just fought a life and death battle, not someone who'd simply sat down at the breakfast table. What kind of feckless fool had he become to make such a melodrama out of entering a room? And, obviously, everyone else had expected him to overreact. He was clearly . . . .

His thought broke off as a large, warm hand settled in the middle of his back, Ron's comforting gesture unseen by all. Severus glanced over at Ron.

Weasley was still shovelling porridge into his mouth as fast as he could with his right hand while his left provided that surreptitious comfort, but he met Severus' gaze and gave him a quick wink and a grin before repossessing his left hand. Once he'd swallowed his mouth-load, Ron whispered, "The first step's always the hardest. It will get better."

Had he become that transparent? Was his every thought and fear now on display?

Not knowing how to deal with this, he looked at Ron. His pride was insisting he should snap Weasley's head off for his assumption, but this man had protected him when he was helpless as no one had ever done before. So instead of snarling, he quietly questioned, "Will it?"

"I sure hope so. This morning's been hell," Ron sighed, an uncharacteristic gloom settling over his normally affable features.

Severus gave an enquiring lift of his eyebrow.

Ron took a quick glance at his wife, who was seemingly absorbed in conversation with Zabini and Harry, and explained, "You know how fogged Hermy is first thing. She went to wake you boys for school, only . . . ."

"Ah," Severus nodded, beginning to appreciate that he wasn't the only one for whom this situation was difficult. These people had changed their entire world around to accommodate Harry and him in their time of need. He couldn't imagine what either Ron or Hermione must be going through, to have the children they'd taken into their home and hearts vanish overnight, never to return.

Ron's voice dropped even lower as he leaned in and said, "Thanks for not . . . just thanks. I think it would have killed her if you'd gone over to sit with Miller."

Ron was *thanking* him?

"Hey," Harry's hand landed on Severus' left arm as he interrupted, "no secrets at the breakfast table. Did you ask him yet?" Harry leaned around him to inquire of Ron.

"Ask me what?" Severus uneasily questioned, leaning back in his seat to try to include both Ron and Harry in his line of sight, which was hard as they were on opposite sides of him.

"Well, to reward ourselves for getting through Mondays without using an Unforgivable on any of the little monsters, we usually get together in the evening to grade papers and homework," Harry said.

"We haven't done it since December because everyone was covering so many classes," Ron explained. "But since things are back to normal now, we thought we'd give it a go tonight."

"We'd like you to join us," Hermione said from Harry's other side. "That is, if you don't have too much else to do."

"I was hoping we might fit in a game of chess," Ron added from his other side.

"You don't have to make up your mind right now," Harry quickly interjected.

"Yeah, take some time and think about it," Ron counselled.

All three of them appeared braced for rejection. From their expressions, it was plain that his compliance was very important to them.

Severus knew this wasn't a good idea. He should be cutting ties, not strengthening them, but . . . as hard as it was to let anyone in, it was harder still to refuse these three anything they might require of him. He owed each of them a debt he could never repay. If they wanted to inflict his company upon themselves, he had no right to deny them.

What incredible twaddle, he chided himself. No right to deny them? He didn't want to deny them. He . . . needed them.

And that scared him.

Severus stared down his fear for a long moment before softly replying, "I don't need time to consider. I would be honoured to attend."

His formality didn't appear to affect them, not if their grins were anything to go by.

"Perfect," Hermione beamed, her eyes twinkling bright as Albus'.

"Come on, you lot," Neville called from Hermione's other side. "We're about to be late!"

"What?" Harry, Hermione, and Ron did a classic double take as they gazed around the emptying Great Hall.

"Severus didn't even get breakfast," Hermione protested as they all scrambled to collect their book bags and personal effects.

"He's not seven anymore, Hermy. He knows when to eat," Ron snorted, but he passed Severus a napkin-wrapped muffin on his way to the door all the same.

With a rushed "See you later!" the Weasleys hit the floor running, leaving Severus standing there in bemusement staring at the pastry in his hand.

"It's a little overwhelming, isn't it? Being an adult again, I mean," a familiar, rich tenor said from his side.

Startled, Severus looked over to find Harry Potter still standing there. The green robe Potter was wearing was an exact match with his eyes.

Still uneasy with this grown up version of the boy who'd befriended him, Severus gave a cautious nod.

"I could barely muster the courage to walk into the hall this morning," Potter continued, giving a self-deprecating smile as he admitted, "Hermione had to take me by the arm."

Thinking how strange it was to hear Potter openly admit to any kind of weakness in his presence, Severus slowly said, "It is, as you said, overwhelming."

"You don't have a first period class either?" Harry asked.

"No. My Monday starts with the second period and ends with the ninth. I have two double potions classes today," he answered. With a vague shock, Severus realized that he was actually making 'small talk.'

"I don't start till third. Walk with me?" Harry asked, gesturing at the French doors to their left that led out into the gardens.

Severus knew it wasn't wise to be alone with Potter. He didn't understand how the affection his childhood self had borne Harry had transformed into this totally inappropriate desire. All he knew was that it hurt to be with Potter now. And hurt even more to be without him.

Still, there was no valid reason to refuse the request. To do so would bring undue attention to his reasons for avoiding Harry. And he had given his word to attempt to be his friend.

So, he gave a nod and followed Potter to the doors.

The weather was hardly conducive to walking. The sky overhead was dark and overcast, the grey clouds spitting down a misty rain. The temperature was cold, the damp biting. Although the ground had thawed; the grass hadn't sprung yet. The earth was a muddy mire that squelched unpleasantly under their boots.

But there was something bracing about the chill. It rather suited his mood, Severus decided. And it was fascinating to watch Harry's skin turn pink as the mist soaked his face and hair.

"We would have had a quidditch match this afternoon," Harry said, staring out over the bare, rain-blackened trees. It was still cold enough that his words emerged as puffs of steam.

"If it weren't cancelled," Severus said, wondering how long it would be before his guts stopped lurching every time he thought of what they'd be doing at a particular moment if they hadn't been restored.

"Yeah, there's that. I miss Adam," Harry said suddenly, referring to the redheaded boy who had befriended them both.

I miss you, Severus thought, but he didn't speak the words.

"Isn't that strange?" Harry asked.

What was strange was that Harry could still trust him enough to share that type of confidence. Feeling those troubled eyes upon his face, Severus looked down at the soggy ground.

"I don't know," Severus answered at last. "He was a friend."

"Yes, he was. I thought of going back to see him," Harry said as they walked among the sleeping rosebushes that lined the narrow walk. This time of the year they were nothing but thorns, which somehow struck Severus as being very appropriate. His life often seemed a thin path between thorn thickets, with no haven in sight. He was so absorbed with the play of expression over those familiar, but now compelling features that he was only half-listening as Harry continued with, "But I thought it would only confuse him."

"That's probably wise," Severus said.

"Probably? Do you think I should see him?" Harry jumped at the idea.

"I don't have any answers, Harry. If you recall, it was I who wanted to remain a child," Severus reminded short-temperedly. He wasn't good at this. Potter should know better than to press him.

"So it's my fault, then?" Harry questioned. His words should have been accusative, but they only sounded miserable.

Six months ago Severus would have said *Yes, it's all your fault* and blamed everything from their current situation to his twisted longings on Potter. Now such pettiness seemed pointless.

Taking a deep breath of the earth-scented air, Severus softly answered, "No, I don't believe either of us ever had a choice."

Potter was silent. For a long time the only sounds were their squelching footsteps and the drip of the water off the leafless vegetation around them.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked in a soft tone some time later.

"Let's just say that you're not the only one thinking about missed quidditch games," Severus offered at last, wondering if he were being too honest. But this Harry wasn't really all that dissimilar from the boy he'd known. Potter didn't feel a need to attack a weakness simply because it existed.

"I wish . . . ." Potter began and stopped.

"Yes?"

"I wish I could make things better - for us both," Harry said, still very much the optimist that had wanted to make the world a better place.

"There is no *better*. There is only enduring," Severus replied, voicing the truth of his soul.

"I don't believe that," Harry instantly argued.

"That is your choice. It has, however, been my experience," Severus replied. He didn't want to argue with Potter, but he wasn't going to lie to him, either.

"If that's true, then what's the point in living?" Potter objected, sounding scandalized by the very idea.

Severus shrugged. "Damned if I know."

"Severus!"

"What?" he questioned, his voice as subdued as Potter's had been upset.

"That's not funny!"

"What would you have me say?" he demanded, out of patience already, and he hadn't even faced his first class of dunderheads. "Do you want me to lie to you?"

Harry's stare poked right through his walls.

Severus forced himself to hold that gaze.

"Do you really feel that way?" Harry asked at last.

"I have *always* felt that way. Except for the last four months," Severus admitted, wondering if his honesty would be enough to drive Potter away.

But his honesty wouldn't have scared the boy off, and it didn't scare the man Harry had become either. Harry was still a head shorter than Severus, but he still seemed larger than life as he reached out to grip Severus' left arm and held on tight.

"We haven't lost it all," Harry insisted.

"Haven't we?" They'd had this discussion on Saturday night. Severus wondered how many times it would be repeated before Harry finally realized that he couldn't be the same person he'd been at seven.

"No, we haven't. I know we're not kids anymore, but we're not back where we were five months ago. Things have changed, for the better. It was different at breakfast this morning, wasn't it?" Harry asked.

Severus thought of that warm, supportive hand on his back this morning and gave a cautious nod.

"I know it's hard right now, but it will get easier. I promise."

*I promise*, like Potter would personally guarantee him a rosy future. How often had the seven-year-old Potter made that same vow? And every time he'd listened, things had been all right. Not once had Harry ever misled him. But his seven-year-old self had had more courage than Severus could ever aspire to.

"Class is going to start soon. I must return." Severus looked away, but not fast enough to keep him from catching the disappointment in Harry's face.

Harry gave a dispirited, "Yeah," and turned back towards the school.

Side by side, they walked through the soggy April morning.

"We're soaked," Harry said as they paused on the flagstones in front of the French doors that led back into the Great Hall.

Liking neither the gloom in Harry's expression nor the knowledge that he'd put it there, Severus met Potter's gaze and offered in a dry tone, "Fortunately, I know this really neat drying spell."

Severus held his breath. Humour had never been his forte' and Harry's face was blank as a Goyle's for a moment. But then the reference seemed to click. Severus knew the exact instant that Harry remembered the words Potter had spoken to Minerva on the day they'd built that mud fort in the quidditch pitch.

And, suddenly, the laughter was back. It exploded out of Harry in a heart-warming burst of sound.

His hand settling on the taller man's back as he ushered Severus into the Great Hall, Harry grinned and said, "Neat!"

It didn't change anything, but putting that smile on Harry's face made it all a bit more bearable. Even if he could no longer think with that hand on his back.

"I'll see you later?" Harry checked once Severus had used his *neat* drying spell on them both.

Severus looked down at Potter's cold-reddened face. The man had interesting features. His wide, bespectacled green eyes and slightly upturned nose gave Harry the vulnerable air of a young boy, while his high cheekbones and strong, cleft chin did everything in their power to undo that image.

An enticing sheen of moisture gleamed on Harry's sensual lips. The sight of it twisted something inside Severus. Realizing that he was staring, Severus ripped his gaze away and attempted to get his respiration back under control.

Yes, things had certainly changed.

"Later," he agreed.

Another grin and another purposefully childish "Cool!" and Harry seemed nearly as happy as his seven-year-old self. "I'll see you at dinner. Try not to petrify any of the monsters."

To his surprise, Severus found himself responding to Potter's irrepressible cheek. "A Gryffindor or two less - who would notice the loss?"

"Hermione and Ron, when they're counting them at dinner. You want to explain the service you've done mankind by decreasing the Gryffindor horde to her, then, please, be my guest."

"And they accuse Slytherins of having a cruel streak," Severus lamented.

Harry's laughter followed after him as he took his leave.

The day flew by. He only had double potions with the first and second years today.

To Severus' astonishment, his students proved remarkably up to snuff. They didn't have the polish that they might have gained while learning under a master, but they were adequately trained in the basics. What was astounding was the fact that it was apparently Longbottom who had volunteered to take on Snape's first and second years. Minerva had covered his third through fifth years, while Hermione had handled the sixth and seventh years. Severus had no idea how she'd managed to teach the two hardest grades in what were incontestably the school's two most difficult subjects - Arithmancy and Potions.

He was so occupied trying to decipher the rolls of chicken scrawled notes his stand-ins had left that he missed lunch. He would have skipped dinner, too, if Hermione hadn't come to fetch him.

Now, an hour after the Great Hall had emptied out and the students returned to their common rooms, Severus made his way to Gryffindor Tower with an armload of homework to grade. He still wasn't certain this wasn't a mistake.

The door was opened by a grinning, grey-robed Hermione at his first knock. "Severus! Welcome!"

For a horrible moment, Severus thought that she was going to hug him, but then she took his arm and guided him into the sitting room.

"We're all here now," she announced to the room at large.

*We* turned out to be more than simply the Weasleys, Potter, and himself.

Severus froze.

Clothed in a light blue robe, Neville Longbottom was sitting on the end of the couch with a sheaf of papers in his hands, looking as though he were about to be marched off to Azkaban. Longbottom's presence here really shouldn't have been that much of a shock since the boy had trailed after the famous three since their arrival at Hogwarts.

It was the other Slytherin that surprised him. Blaise Zabini was sprawled at the opposite end of the couch, with his feet drawn up onto the cushion so that they almost touched Longbottom's left leg, test papers in hand, and a goblet of red wine within easy reach. His stockinged feet proclaimed his comfort at the Weasleys'. Zabini's deep red robe was a stark contrast with Longbottom's light blue one.

In his usual brown house robes, Ron was sitting at the table they normally played chess on, working on repairing a school broom. Wearing the same distracting green robe he'd had on this morning, Harry sat across from Ron with another broom in hand. There was a broom repair kit at his elbow on top of a pile of neglected parchments that looked suspiciously like the roll of notes Severus' substitutes had left for him.

Everyone greeted him with some version of hello as Hermione led him to one of the armchairs - which had been turned into the room to face the couch, rather than the hearth.

Feeling intensely out of place amidst his former students, Severus took his seat. He really didn't belong here. Not anymore.

"So, how did it go today?" Hermione asked as she settled into the other armchair. "Harry won't talk about his day at all."

Ron looked up from his broom to shoot what might have been a warning in Hermione's direction, and then returned to polishing the broomstick.

Severus glanced at Potter, who was studiously trimming his broom's errant bristles. Harry's expression was rather tense, and now that he wasn't so absorbed with his own uneasiness, Severus realized that the mood of the room was akin to that of the Great Hall this morning when everyone was waiting for him to explode over the chair incident. Surprised, he recognized that Harry was the source of the tension.

"Oh?" Severus said.

Something in his tone must have challenged Potter, for those green eyes glanced his way, and then Harry encapsulated his day with five truculent words that were enough to chill any teacher's blood, "Trelawney had my third years."

"That's all he'll say," Zabini joked.

"What more need he say?" Severus replied, catching the grateful glance Harry shot him.

"That Miller had his seventh years?" Zabini added with suspect sweetness.

Severus shuddered to think what state Potter's last year students would be in. Miller made Gilderoy Lockhardt seem like a shining example of academia.

"My commiserations," Severus condoled with a nod of his head.

"I don't need your commiserations," Harry said. "I need your help."

The room's other four occupants appeared even more shocked than Severus was by Potter's words.

Severus didn't know how to respond at first, but after a second's thought, he asked, "Do you think it's wise to discuss this in front of four witnesses?"

"What?" Harry blinked, but at least he seemed confused now rather than simmering.

"When Trelawney and Miller are discovered with their throats slit, we will now be the prime suspects," Severus informed.

He was surprised by the reaction his comment received. Even Longbottom was laughing and Harry no longer looked as though his world were ending.

"I don't want you to kill them, you berk," Harry laughed.

"No? Pity, that. What do you want, then?"

"When I left them in December, my seventh years were in fairly decent shape. But now . . . . Shall I show you what I'm dealing with?" Harry asked. At Severus' nod, Harry put the broom down and rose to his feet. "Imagine, if you will, a classroom full of seventeen year olds, most of whom are now sporting wild, shaggy curls like Miller." Harry passed his wand over himself and a fountain of long black ringlets cascaded down his back. Severus was so startled by the effect that he could hardly concentrate on Harry's subsequent words. "I'm one of the lot. My recently returned DADA teacher has just asked me to demonstrate the defensive arts I've learned in his absence. Ron, would you mind being me?"

Ron looked up from his broom. "Only if it's just for the demonstration. I'm all for slitting Miller's throat."

Ron rose to his feet.

"Hermione, would you mediate the duel?" Harry asked.

"Only if I don't have to get up, and if you promise not to break or otherwise demolish anything in the room," Hermione answered, so buried in parchments in the chair beside Severus that it looked like it would take her an hour to clear enough paper away simply to gain her feet.

"Agreed," Harry said.

"Fine, then," Hermione gave in. "Wands out on three, then. One, two, three!"

Ron's wand popped into his hand so quickly that Severus barely caught the movement.

He knew Potter was faster by half, but . . . Harry proceeded to remove his wand from his pocket with a wide, sweeping flourish of a gesture that took up enough time for an opponent to both curse him and dispose of his corpse. Meanwhile, he threw his wild mane of hair back and struck a dramatic pose.

Ron was on the last syllable of "Expelliamus!" before Potter even had his wand pointed in the proper direction.

Harry's wand skittered across the room to land at Longbottom's feet.

"That is what I am dealing with," Harry announced.

Everyone was laughing again. Severus himself was having difficulty maintaining his controls with the lugubrious expression Harry was sporting.

"Surely, they're not all as bad as that," Severus said at last.

"Well, I've one or two Slytherins that are capitalizing on their classmates' stupidity and blasting them silly; figuratively, for the most part, unfortunately. But most are actually worse," Potter said, slumping back down onto his chair, before giving a subdued. "Accio wand . . . and half of them can't do a decent summoning charm, either."

Harry gave a listless wave of his wand once it returned to his hand and his curls disappeared. Staring at his restored hair, Severus decided that he preferred Potter's normal style. The shaggy, just-below-the-ears length suited Harry's rather long, masculine face better.

"So you wish me to murder your students then?" Severus asked, still uncertain what Potter desired of him.

"No, though it's damn tempting. I was hoping you might come in for a demonstration. I thought I might ape their style in a duel with you and let them see you toss me across the room before I've even got my wand out of my pocket."

"Ah, so it is yourself that you are asking me to murder," Severus said with open satisfaction. His uneasiness was fading in spite of himself. He was so accustomed to this room and to gently teasing Harry that this visit was beginning to feel like the many nights he'd spent in these quarters.

He couldn't help but notice how both Longbottom and Zabini were watching the playful exchange between Potter and himself with their jaws practically hanging open. Hermione and Ron were grinning, but seemed unsurprised. After living with him and Potter for four months, the Weasleys were accustomed to their brand of banter, if on a more childish level than tonight's.

"Well, if you put me out of my misery, I won't have to worry about figuring out how to disabuse my third years of the notion that all they have to do to protect themselves against dangerous magical dark creatures is to use their inner eye to psychically make friends with Grindylows and the like," Harry answered.

"What?" Severus couldn't quite conceal his shock at the absurd suggestion.

"Remember," Harry began, the other four joining in like the frog chorus in a Greek comedy, "Trelawney had my/his third years."

While the others erupted into gales of unrepressed laughter, Severus felt his own mouth twitch at the corners.

"So will you do it?" Harry asked with genuine concern while everyone else was still trying to catch their breath.

"Murder you? No. I might finally end up teaching the Dark Arts, and for some reason, my enthusiasm for it has waned this year."

"Severus!" Harry protested.

"What?" he asked, enjoying this.

"Will you?"

"Why should I?" he questioned, fully intending to do it, but wanting to make Harry work for the concession.

"Because you owe me, damn it!" Harry testily responded.

It was true. He did owe Potter. However, it was also not like Harry to rub someone's nose in their indebtedness like this. Abruptly leery, thinking that he might have misjudged everything and made a fool of himself, Severus tightly questioned, "For what?"

Harry's eyes flashed green fire his way. "For the last time I helped you with an experiment when you asked me to."

Hermione and Ron roared with laughter, while Longbottom and Zabini stared at them all in confusion.

Finally, Zabini said, "You've lost Neville and me. What experiment?"

"I helped Severus with a potion last week-" Harry started.

"Last week?" Zabini interrupted. "You were children last week."

Harry nodded. "Yes, but we were doing some potions experimenting and Severus, I mean, we . . . ." Gryffindor to the core, Potter's often incomprehensible sense of honour didn't seem to be able to allow him to reveal any more of the details, all of which would incriminate his companion.

Severus sighed and finished the tale, "I mistook fenwart for fennel. The results were most unfortunate."

"The entire place stank like a rotting corpse for four hours," Ron lamented.

"And we got an hour time out," Harry added. "So you do owe me."

Severus remembered that. Once his mistake had become obvious as the Weasleys' quarters filled with the pungent stench that he hadn't known how to fix, he'd been terrified of the consequences, sure that Ron or Hermione would have to beat him at the very least to punish him for stealing the ingredients from the security cabinet in his former workroom. But all they'd done was tell Harry and him to go sit in chairs in opposite ends of their quarters while the adults dealt with the foul smell. They hadn't even made him miss dinner that night. Severus still couldn't comprehend their forbearance.

Everyone was laughing again at Potter's childish tone.

"I suppose you do have a point," Severus said, forcing his mind back to the present. "I will help you with a demonstration."

"You will?" Potter sounded shocked.

"How could I possibly resist the opportunity to toss you around in front of a room full of people, while safe from all retaliation?" Severus responded

"Who said anything about no retaliation?" Harry challenged.

"That would, of course, be one of the terms of my involvement," Severus said, savouring the interplay.

"It would?" Harry had never sounded so much like his seven-year- old self.

Severus knew he should have jumped right in and confirmed his outrageous demand, but Potter's vulnerable tone completely disarmed him. With the possible exception of Albus Dumbledore, there had never been anyone he couldn't attack once he scented a weakness. For want of a better definition, that malicious streak was as much a part of him as his dark hair. But looking at Harry now, all he wanted to do was reach out and assure his normally optimistic companion that everything would work out. And that was so against his nature that it totally perplexed him.

Feeling all those laughing eyes upon him, and knowing he had to cover his feelings immediately, Severus forced himself to relax and give a droll, "I'm afraid so."

"And your other terms?" Harry questioned, appearing endearingly nervous.

"To be discussed at a later date," Severus decided.

"You're in for it now, Harry," Ron laughed, sitting back down and taking up the broom he was repairing.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, but he didn't seem to be too bothered by the thought. If anything, he looked content.

Severus couldn't remember ever enjoying his co-workers' company as he was doing tonight. He'd feared that his presence would inhibit the proceedings, that he would fall back into being whom he'd been before December to isolate himself. To his shock, that wasn't happening. No one was forcing him to interact or making awkward attempts to include an obvious outsider, yet somehow he was a part of them.

They didn't even seem to mind when he turned his attention to the homework he'd brought when the conversation moved to other topics. One by one, the others picked up their own work, and before long the room was as quiet as the school during finals week.

"It's not Wolfsbane that dispels nervousness, is it?" Zabini asked into the silence.

"Verbaine," Hermione, Longbottom, and he answered in unison and went back to their work.

About an hour later, Hermione said, "My brain hurts. And I'm hungry. Anyone want some tea?"

Digging her way out from under the parchments burying her, Hermione gained her feet, but not before half her papers went scurrying across the rug. As she straightened out her grey robes and knelt down to collect the mess, Ron quickly moved to help her.

For the past two months, any time Ron was on the floor, it was an open invitation to attack. Severus was shocked to find himself seized with the nearly irresistible impulse to wrestle Ronald Weasley to the carpet. Stunned, he looked quickly away . . . to find green eyes watching Ron just as intently.

Seeming to feel his gaze, Harry met his stare.

Severus didn't know how he knew, but he was suddenly certain that Harry was resisting the same inappropriate impulse. It was all he could do to keep from bursting into laughter at Harry's horrified expression.

By the time Hermione's parchments were restored, so was their control. With a last, rueful glance at each other, Harry and he turned back to the room.

Once Ron finished helping Hermione, she moved to the sideboard, while Ron returned to the table. Harry and Ron then stowed their brooms and tack away to make room for the tray she brought over to the table.

Seeing the others occupied, Severus put his own work down on the end table and crossed the room to the other sideboard drawer where the Weasleys stowed their teapot and mugs. The move was automatic, something he would have done on any of the nights they'd spent together in this room.

He was a little self-conscious when he turned to find Hermione beside him. Obviously, she'd come to fetch the pot herself. For a moment, he felt like he'd committed an indiscretion of some kind. After all, he didn't live here anymore. It really wasn't his place to be going into drawers, but the smile she gave him instantly vanished his misgivings.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, giving his arm a soft touch before she moved to the other chest where the plates were stored.

The house elves had outdone themselves in providing snacks, Snape thought as he surveyed their repast. There were the custard tarts that both Ron and Longbottom enjoyed, a small chocolate cake that Harry was currently hungrily eyeing, the cinnamon raisin rolls that Hermione favoured, assorted biscuits . . . and the nut bread for which no one other than Severus himself seemed to care.

Hermione had always made sure that there was some of the nut bread or lemon cake for him as an after-homework treat. That she would remember to include it tonight touched him greatly.

While everyone helped themselves to sweets and tea, he cut a slice of the nut bread and liberally buttered it.

"I was hoping you still liked it," Hermione said beside him, fixing his tea as his adult self preferred - more milk than tea, unsweetened. As a child, he'd liked it milky and sweet.

"Thank you for remembering," Severus murmured, still not entirely easy in either Ron or Hermione's presence. He owed them both so much, but they seemed to want nothing from him, other than his company. Even Albus had always had ulterior motives for befriending him. He didn't know how to deal with people who wanted nothing from him. This was completely outside his experience.

"How could I forget? And you are most welcome." Hermione graced him with one of those blinding smiles he remembered from the past few months, gave him his usual tea mug, and turned to pour Zabini his tea.

A very nervous Neville Longbottom stepped up to the table beside him.

Severus looked at the Herbology teacher, unable to credit how little he'd changed from the boy he'd known. His eyes were still a blue so deep they were nearly violet, and his hair still sported the childish fringe in front. He was still on the plump side, utterly insecure, and visibly terrified of his former Potions teacher. Recognizing that he was in debt to this man as well, Severus cleared his throat and softly said, "Professor Longbottom?"

Longbottom nearly dumped the tarts from his plate, he was so startled. Those deep blue eyes could barely meet his own in their nervousness. "Er . . . yes?"

He'd always found Longbottom's open terror incredibly irritating and was hard pressed to resist the malicious impulse to tell the man to buck up and get a hold of himself. But that wasn't going to aid his purpose. He could hardly malign his co-worker and then thank him for his excellent work, as tempting as the impulse was. And beyond that, he owed Longbottom as well, and not just professionally. During the past four months his former student had had ample opportunity to take his revenge for all the years Snape had terrorized him, but Longbottom had been nothing but kind to his seven-year-old self.

He could feel both Potter and Hermione's worried gazes upon him as he spoke to Longbottom, and knew that he was being closely monitored. Yet another reason for not giving in to his baser instincts.

"I want to thank you for the work you did with my first and second years. I was pleasantly surprised by their level of competence," Severus softly admitted.

"Are - are you being sarcastic?" Longbottom blurted out, apparently so surprised that he forgot his manners.

"Actually, no. You did an excellent job," Severus said, wondering if he'd even be believed.

To his surprise, Longbottom's round cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. "I just followed the work book word by word and step by step."

Severus nearly said, '*Pity you couldn't have done the same while in school,*' but managed to restrain himself. Instead, he offered, "Whatever you did, it was quite effective."

"Er . . . thanks," Longbottom said.

"May I ask a question?" Severus was unable to resist asking the nervous man before him. One of his greatest joys during the last few months had been Harry and his almost daily visits to Hogwarts' greenhouses. They'd spent hours down there, chasing the butterflies and asking a thousand questions of Longbottom.

Still uncertain and obviously wanting to be anywhere else, Longbottom gave an affirmative nod.

Severus tried to find a tactful way to phrase his inquiry, but was unable to do so. There was no polite way to phrase his question, so he just asked it; his confusion was too strong to be denied. "For the past fifteen years, I have been nothing but cruel and scornful of you. Any time the opportunity presented itself, I went out of my way to ridicule you."

Longbottom's milky skin blanched so pale he seemed to have no pigment left at all. "I . . . don't understand what you're asking me."

Severus was extremely conscious of Harry and Hermione hovering beside them. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see that Hermione's mouth was opened, as if to interrupt them. It appeared to be Harry's hand on her arm that had halted her interference.

"Since December, you have had ample opportunity to avenge yourself. You could have made my life miserable, if you'd so chosen." It was only as he finished speaking that Severus realized his words were a statement and not a question at all.

Yet, judging by Longbottom's response, the gist of his inquiry had been understood. His voice dropping and his spine straightening, Longbottom squarely met his eyes and firmly answered, "No, I couldn't have."

"Why not?" Severus questioned, truly at a loss here. "I couldn't have stopped you."

Put on the spot, Longbottom glanced at Hermione, as if for help, but apparently their discussion was not what she'd expected. All she did was give Longbottom an encouraging nod.

After a moment, Longbottom said, "It isn't what a man is capable of doing that tells you his character; it's what he chooses to do."

Severus was hard pressed to keep the sneer out of his voice. "So, it was Gryffindor honour, then?"

To his surprise, Longbottom didn't flinch. Those blue eyes held his own and softly countered, "Not entirely."

"What then?" Severus asked, needing to understand. Hermione and Ron rising above their past differences with their former potions teacher, Severus could almost understand. They were both Gryffindor to the core, and Snape hadn't really treated them any more horribly than he had any other students from their house. But Longbottom . . . he'd gone out of his way to torment the hapless incompetent from day one. He wouldn't have blamed the other man for taking his revenge. But Longbottom hadn't, not once in all the time Severus had spent in the hothouses, even on those rare occasions when Harry hadn't accompanied him down.

"Well, aside from the fact that it wouldn't have been right to punish a little boy for something he hadn't done yet, it would have upset Harry had I been unkind to you," Longbottom answered.

"So you did it for Potter's sake then?" Severus questioned. He could almost accept that. He'd seen what Harry's friends would do for him over the years.

"To some extent," Longbottom responded.

That wasn't the answer he was expecting. Barely masking his irritation, Severus demanded, "Why were you kind to me, if not for Harry's sake?"

The room was too quiet around them. Severus was abruptly aware of the fact that everyone was observing them and waiting for Longbottom's reply. He also belatedly recognized that he'd set the stage for some major payback. Longbottom could disgrace him totally right now and he would have to accept it, because he'd hounded the man for the truth.

But Longbottom didn't seem to be enjoying the situation at all. His corpse pale skin pinking with embarrassment, his former student softly offered, "I wasn't mean to you because I liked you. It's as easy as that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd really rather not discuss this anymore."

With that, Longbottom collected his tea and sweets and returned to his corner of the couch.

Floored, Severus stood frozen by the dessert table, his own plate and mug in danger of dropping to the floor. Neville Longbottom *liked* him?

A hand came out of nowhere and took his dish and mug from him and placed the nut bread on the table. The vibrant green sleeve, fine-boned wrist, and hand told him it was Harry.

"We left a lot of stuff inside. Come help me sort it, Severus," Potter said.

Severus followed the gentle tug on his arm. The next thing he knew, he was back in the bedroom they'd shared. Harry guided him over to his old bed and sat him on its edge. Then Potter placed the tea mug into his hands.

"Drink," Harry urged as he sat down next to him, entirely too close for Severus' peace of mind.

Severus stared down into the pale tan depths for a moment and then took a sip. Tense, he waited for the inevitable lecture, but Harry didn't say a word for the longest time. As he slowly relaxed in the familiar setting, Severus sipped his tea.

"Did I tell you that I'm proud of you?" Harry said suddenly.

"For causing a spectacle at the dessert table?" Severus snorted.

"No. For having the courage to try and meet us half way. Hermione, Ron, and I pretty much expected you to wall yourself away down in the dungeon. I know none of this is easy for you," Harry said, those piercing green eyes way too close.

Everything was too close, not just those eyes. Severus could feel the other man's body heat.

"And you didn't cause a spectacle," Harry added.

"Oh?"

"No, you should hear Ron and Blaise when they get going on house rivalries if you want to see spectacles," Harry said with a laugh.

Severus ignored the change in topic, "Why did you bring me in here if I wasn't making a fool of myself?"

"You just looked like you needed a break. I know I did. It's been a long day," Harry said.

"And you find being trapped alone with me in here relaxing?" Severus gave into his sarcasm, too discomforted by Potter's proximity to care about being nice.

Harry took a deep breath and leaned against the footboard behind him. "To be honest, it's the first time I've felt normal since Saturday."

"What?" Severus searched Potter's face, trying not to get distracted by the peaches and cream complexion and compelling bone structure of the long, quirky face. Harry didn't seem to be lying.

"I've felt like I'm missing an arm or something since Saturday. When we were joking around before was the first time everything felt normal," Harry replied in a low tone. Severus sensed how uncertain the other man was of the sentiment he'd voiced. "Thank you for that, by the way. It's been one hell of a day."

Seeing how utterly drained Harry abruptly appeared, Severus questioned, "Have you been using a glamour? Those circles weren't under your eyes a moment ago."

"Damn." Harry bounced up from the bed and crossed to the mirror above their old dresser. A few muttered words and Severus saw the purple circles in Harry's reflection disappear again. He was rather touched by the fact that Harry hadn't been able to maintain his facade in his presence. The inability to maintain a glamour was normally an indication of absolute trust between wizards.

"Aren't you sleeping?" Severus asked.

Still peering intently at his reflection, Harry snorted. "I haven't slept since I was one. Well, aside from the past few months, that is." Severus wondered if Harry were aware of how much that qualification revealed. The fact that he kept right on speaking indicated he was probably completely unaware of what he'd said. "The last few nights have been rough. I thought that it'd get better once I was teaching again, but . . . ."

"We'll sort the seven years out on Wednesday," Severus offered. "You've got them again that day, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry glumly replied as he slumped back into his spot at the foot of the bed.

"We'll do a demonstration that will make them think twice about their new defence techniques. I think it would be quite entertaining were they to see those precious curls of yours go up in flames a second before your wand goes flying, don't you?" Severus suggested.

Harry grinned. "That might do the trick." Severus was puzzled to see the smile quickly die. "What are your other terms?"

"What?" Severus asked.

"Before you said that I couldn't retaliate. What other conditions are there?"

The glamour might be up again, but Severus could still see how tired Harry's eyes were. He made his decision quickly. "I was joking before about the no-retaliation clause. You may defend yourself as you see fit. The only condition I must insist upon is a small one."

To his satisfaction, suspicion entered Harry's expression. If nothing else, the years had made Harry less blindly trusting. "What condition is that?"

"That you allow me to give you a sleeping draught, which you will solemnly swear to take on any night you experience difficulty sleeping."

"I don't like sleeping potions," Harry protested. "They make me groggy and cranky the next day."

"The one I give you will not. You have my word on that," Severus promised.

"You've taken it yourself, then?" Harry asked.

"You don't think I could have lasted as Albus' spy for as long as I did without some sleeping aid, do you?" Severus questioned. "There were whole stretches of years that I needed something nearly every night. This potion will not stupefy you, nor is it addictive."

"I notice you make no claims about crankiness," Harry pointed out. "Is that your way of warning me that I'll have the same sweet disposition as you if I take it?"

At first he thought Potter was insulting him, but then he saw the light in those mischievous eyes and the too serious tone registered. Harry was joking. He felt his lips twitch and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud.

"Why do you do that?" Harry asked.

"Do what?" Severus questioned, taking another sip of his tea.

"Stop yourself from laughing. You do it all the time. Sometimes I can tell that something someone said really strikes you as funny, and the laughter is there in your eyes, but you never let it out," Harry noted.

Something squeezed his insides at the innocent question. This was how the contention always started in the few friendships he'd attempted. The *Why do you?* inevitably became *Why can't you?*, and the pressure to make him change would begin.

"Does it bother you?" Severus asked tightly, cursing himself as an idiot after the words were out. Of course, it bothered Potter. Why else would he have mentioned it?

Harry's left foot reached out to poke him in the calf, the way Harry would have done last week if he'd said something stupid while they were reading on the same bed. "Don't be a moron. It doesn't bother me. I was just . . . curious, that's all. I mean, you've got a great sense of humour. It just seems strange that you won't let yourself laugh, that's all."

Severus' searching glance could find no traces of subterfuge. "The one thing I have never been accused of is having a sense of humour. *Humourless bastard* is, I believe, one of my more common appellations."

Harry laughed in his face at that. "Whose fault is that? Maybe they do call you a humourless bastard, but the fact of the matter is that you are usually at your funniest when you're ruthlessly insulting people. Most people just can't appreciate it at the time."

"And do you appreciate it?" Severus questioned, unable to credit how important Harry's answer was to him.

"I don't like when you're truly vicious, but I've always liked that you say what you think," Harry replied before returning to his former topic. "So why don't you laugh?"

"It was a habit I developed when young. It's hard to break." Harry didn't say anything, but Severus could almost feel the other man's curiosity. He flinched as a hand settled on his arm.

"Your grandparents," Harry said. It wasn't a question.

His mouth dry despite all the tea, Severus nodded, staring down into the nearly empty cup. Harry wasn't pressuring him for any information, but something in Severus felt compelled to offer the truth, all the same. "Laughter was the surest way to draw attention to myself."

Harry gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I know what you mean. The Dursleys always seemed to go out of their way to kill any laughter, not that there was much cause for it back then. But all that's changed. They can't hurt us anymore. We can't let their cruelty poison our lives."

Such courage. Severus bit his lower lip. He didn't know if he had it in him to match Potter's bravery, but he could at least match him in honesty. After a long pause, he admitted, "I was poisoned before I could walk, but . . . It's not just my grandparents. Laughter gives too much away. It gives others too much control over you."

"How so?" Harry questioned, sounding intrigued, rather than put off.

"It can be taken away so easily," Severus said in a low voice.

"It?" Harry asked.

"Your joy," Severus answered.

Harry was silent for a moment, and then he softly asked, "Do you think that anyone in that room out there would purposefully hurt you if you were to laugh with them?"

Put that way, it did sound absurd. But absurd or not, that was his reality. Feeling cornered, Severus quietly reminded. "I have spent forty-eight years building walls, Harry. I don't know that I can stand without them."

Harry once again surmounted one of his tallest barriers, that of touch. Reaching out, Potter hooked his chin and raised his face until their gazes met, acting as though touching him were no big deal. Severus couldn't help but compare Harry's attitude to the reactions he normally received. Most times when he had accidental physical contact with someone, the person would grimace and pull quickly away, as if they'd touched something slimy and repulsive. But Harry didn't respond that way. If anything, Harry's face was softer than normal, his touch sure and comfortable as he said, "If you can't stand, I'll hold you up. That's what friends do."

Severus gulped. Harry's words sounded like a solemn vow.

Those eyes were utterly bewitching. Severus stared into the green depths, stunned by the emotion reflected in them. They terrified him as deeply as they drew him.

And those burning hot fingers were still gripping his chin.

In a semi-daze, he realized that Harry's head was positioned perfectly for a kiss. All he need do was lean down and cover those enticing lips with his own . . . that's all he'd have to do . . . to lose Harry's trust forever.

Getting a hold of himself, Severus concentrated on the topic at hand. "I don't have much experience with friendship."

"That will change," Harry said.

"Will it?" Severus could barely get the words out; he was so mesmerized by Harry's expression.

"Oh, yes, count on it," Harry assured. Confusion seemed to touch his attractive face for a moment as they looked at each other. Severus tensed as Potter's mouth opened as if to question him, but an abrupt knock on the door broke the moment.

His skin felt strangely cold when Harry's hand released his chin.

They both turned as the door opened and Hermione's head popped in. "Everything all right in here?"

As Severus moved guiltily away, Potter grinned over at her. "Yeah. Don't worry, no stink bombs tonight." Harry turned back to him and gave him an encouraging smile. "I guess we'd better join the crowd."

Severus watched his companion get up from the bed and head for the door as though it were perfectly normal for two grown men to be caught sitting on the side of a bed staring into each other's eyes.

When he moved to follow, Hermione stepped up to him and softly said, "I'm sorry. Did my bad timing interrupt something?"

He could not credit how hopeful she appeared at the thought.

Severus resisted the impulse to snap. What he really wanted was to be seven years old again so that he could crawl into her arms and let her hug all his troubles away.

"No, we were just talking," Severus quickly assured.

"Ah," she said, sounding disappointed. "Come on. You barely touched your nut bread. Ron and Neville finished off their tarts and half of Harry's cake. I think your bread will be next if you don't get back to it."

"I'd best protect it, then," he answered as lightly as he could manage. Inside, he felt like he was falling apart.

But Hermione led him back into the brightly lit sitting room, sat him down in his chair with a fresh mug of tea and his nut bread, and took her seat beside him.

No one commented on his discussion with Longbottom. Ron, Zabini, and Longbottom all appeared to be caught up in a heated quidditch discussion at the table, which Potter was immediately hauled into.

Seeing how Hermione was staring off into space and not even attempting to follow the nearby conversation or pay any attention to the papers in her lap, Severus quietly called, "Hermione?"

It felt strange calling her that. For so many years she'd been either Miss Granger or Professor Weasley. But he couldn't go back to that. The formality would hurt her, he knew. Still, he would forever associate her given name with the woman who'd taken such loving care of him. It was an odd sensation to look at her out of his adult eyes, see her obvious youth, and still have all these filial feelings towards someone who'd been his student. He supposed it must be even more difficult for her.

"Yes?" she asked with a smile.

"Are *you* all right?" Severus softly questioned.

The smile quivered for a moment and then vanished into something sadder. "I miss my boys. I mean, I'm truly happy to have both you and Harry back as adults, but . . . there's a part of me that wishes we could have had it both ways - that your adult selves would be returned, but that we'd have still been able to keep your child selves. I'm just being silly, I suppose."

"It is hardly silly. You spent months caring for us. To have the children to whom you'd devoted all that time simply vanish overnight must have been quite jarring," Severus said in a low tone. He wasn't used to dispensing solace, but he couldn't ignore her pain, not after all she'd done for him. "If it's any consolation, neither Harry nor I were eager for the restoration."

"I know," Hermione said. "I think that makes it even harder. But at least there have been some positive effects." His scepticism must have been obvious, for Hermione asked, "Tonight hasn't been too terrible for you, has it? It seemed like you were enjoying yourself."

After assuring himself that the others were still occupied with their world cup argument, Severus admitted, "I didn't think that I would be comfortable, but . . . it has been most pleasurable."

His words seemed to reassure her. "I was hoping you would like it. Your presence has had a real effect on Harry, thank heavens."

"How so?" he asked as disinterestedly as possible. The expression in her warm brown eyes told him that Hermione had seen right through his feigned indifference.

"Well, six months ago if Harry had been upset like he was when you arrived tonight, he would have spent the entire night brooding while the rest of us tiptoed around on eggshells," Hermione said. "You got him to laugh. That means a lot."

"He's not sleeping again," Severus reported in an even lower tone.

"I know. Can you see through that glamour he wears, too?" she asked.

He nodded. "He's reinforced it now, but when we were alone together before, it slipped."

"That happens when he's really tired."

"He's worn it before, then?" Severus questioned, wondering why he was so startled. If anyone had cause for sleepless nights, it was the young man upon whom so much of their hope had rested during the war.

Hermione snorted. "The real question is 'when doesn't he wear it?'"

"How long has that been going on?"

"Harry started using the glamour after Sirius died. Aside from those months he spent as a seven-year-old, I really can't remember a time since when he didn't use it," she told him, her concern evident.

"It's not healthy to use a glamour that frequently," Severus said. "It puts a constant drain on his powers."

"I know. Ron and I have had this discussion with him a million times. He's always had so much pressure on him that it's hard to press the issue, though."

"A glamour is no substitute for sleep," Severus said.

"I know," Hermione agreed.

"Well, that will change as of tonight, if I have anything to say about it," Severus said with his old determination.

Hermione's smile was back. "See, I told you something positive had come of it."

"Come of what?" a familiar voice asked from his left side.

Severus turned to see Harry, with the heavy sheaf of parchments under his arm, approaching his chair. Behind them, Ron, Zabini, and Longbottom were still absorbed in a hot debate about the aging Victor Krumm's future in quidditch.

After the slightest of hesitations, Harry settled on the thick carpet between Hermione and Severus' chair. For a moment, it had looked like Potter was going to perch on the arm of his chair, as Ron was wont to do with Hermione. He was grateful Harry spared him that trial. It was bad enough gazing down at the unkempt head next to his right knee, without having Harry's thigh within easy reach.

"We were just discussing your sleeping habits, or lack thereof," Severus answered.

"Hermione," Harry began, his anger apparent.

"It's not Hermione's fault," Severus cut him off. "She is concerned about your well-being, as well she should be. You are going to stop using that glamour and get some rest, as of tonight."

The defiant glare was the same one Severus had faced every day as Potter's teacher. "Am I now? Who's going to make me?"

Keeping his calm, for to lose his temper with this man was to lose the fight, Severus replied, "I. You will either accompany me to my lab after we're through here of your own free will or I will petrify you, carry you down the main staircase, and force- feed you the potion like a recalcitrant three year old. The choice is yours."

Severus wondered if he were about to destroy their newfound friendship. The fire blazing in Harry's eyes threatened to carry over into an outburst. Severus knew from his time spent with Potter's child counterpart how close the battle was raging. He could see Hermione bracing herself in the chair across from his.

But after an eternity of glaring up at him out of those enraged green eyes, the ire deflated, replaced by something like amusement. "You would, too, wouldn't you?"

"In a minute," Severus replied, almost weak with relief at the diverted disaster.

"Thought so," Harry said with a self-satisfied smile. Harry turned his attention to the pile of parchments beside him and quietly said a moment later, "Besides, if you recall, I'd already agreed to take your noxious potion - in exchange for your help with my seventh years."

Severus had in fact forgotten.

Hermione shot Severus a grin and went back to her own work. After another moment or two, Severus did the same.

The remainder of the evening passed pleasantly enough.

The high point for Severus was when Harry leaned his back against Snape's chair arm for support.

"Am I bothering you?" Harry looked up and asked when Severus made to shift away to give Potter more room.

Bothering him? He could barely think. Harry's left shoulder was a warm weight against his right knee.

Despite his current problem coping, this wasn't an unfamiliar position. Often during the past four months when Severus would be sitting in this chair at night reading, Harry would come and stretch out on the rug in front of his chair like this and end up leaning against him, most times falling asleep with his head nestled between the chair cushion and Severus' nearest knee. But they weren't seven-year-olds anymore. This wasn't appropriate behaviour for Hogwarts teachers in a semi-public venue.

And yet, there was nothing overtly sexual about their positions. Harry was simply leaning against him. It was the suggested intimacy more than anything that was disturbing.

He opened his mouth to ask Harry to give him some room, but the vulnerable expression in those green eyes stilled his words. He seemed to hear Harry telling him in the bedroom that it was the first time he'd felt normal in days. So he closed his mouth on his protest and attempted to make do.

Lying to Potter for the first time in months, Severus shook his head 'no' and forced his gaze back to the second year homework he was purportedly grading.

At first the contact was distracting and incredibly arousing, but after a time, Severus grew accustomed to that fantastically warm body leaning so trustingly against him.

He couldn't help but note Longbottom and Zabini taking in the unique sight of Harry Potter sprawled at his feet as they returned to the couch and their own work. Severus hoped he'd have some time before the inevitable rumours started to spread and Harry's innocence would be spoilt. Severus knew that he should move away, but right now was the first time he'd felt truly at peace since they'd awoken as adults on Saturday morning. So he stayed put and tolerated the staring.

For his part, Harry seemed oblivious to the attention.

Hours later when they called it a night, Severus was nearly disappointed. There was a part of him that didn't want to leave the Weasleys' comfortable quarters. More than anything, he wanted to follow Harry back to the room they'd shared and fall asleep to the familiar rhythm of Potter's breathing after they'd laughed themselves silly over something inconsequential. But he conducted himself with dignity and managed to bid both Hermione and Ron a gracious farewell as he followed the others out the door.

"I'm glad you came tonight, Professor Snape," Zabini said with what appeared a genuine smile as the Weasleys' door closed behind them. "It was good to have another Slytherin around."

"I guess you guys do feel outnumbered," Potter commented as he struggled to hold onto his parchments and the pile of shrunken clothing he'd reclaimed from the Weasleys' guestroom before leaving.

"Hardly," Severus countered.

"How's that? It was four Gryffindors to two Slytherins tonight," Potter pointed out.

Severus exchanged a glance with Zabini and then drolly replied, "Four Gryffindors aren't any competition for any Slytherin worthy of his house, let alone two of us. I assure you, at no time were Professor Zabini and I outnumbered. Rather, it was the Gryffindors who were outclassed."

Neville Longbottom stiffened on Potter's far side, his fair skin turning pink with either embarrassment or anger. Severus waited for Potter to take issue with his statement, but Harry only shook with laughter and said in a playful, dreadful, fake American accent, "Them's fighting words."

"Perhaps you should wait until you are at less of a disadvantage to make such posturing statements," Severus warned.

"Hmmm?" Harry asked, seemingly undisturbed by the slight that still had Longbottom as scarlet as his house colours.

"Your wand is in your pocket and your hands are occupied at the moment. You're not in a position to fight anyone," Severus noted and then asked, "What are you - three years old?" before he removed his own wand from his pocket and flicked it in the direction of Potter's parchments and clothes, which seemed on the verge of tumbling to the flagstones. "Wingardium leviosa."

Potter's burdens leapt almost gratefully from his arms to float in front of them.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Harry questioned.

"I haven't a clue. Come along. I'll give you that potion we discussed. Goodnight," Severus nodded to the others.

"Goodnight," Zabini's laughing voice responded, echoed by Longbottom's uncertain one. They could hear a still chuckling Zabini say, "Come on, Neville, show me that cutting you were talking about," as they made their way down the hall.

Once he and Potter turned the corridor that took them clear of Gryffindor Tower, the laughter faded.

As they passed the Great Hall on their way to the stairs that would take them down to the Slytherin end of the castle, Harry softly asked, "Did I embarrass you before when I was leaning against your chair? You seemed . . . uneasy."

Uneasy now and unable to explain why, Severus carefully answered, "We aren't seven anymore."

"You keep saying that," Harry complained.

"I keep saying it because it's true," he snapped.

"So what I did was inappropriate because we're not seven?" Harry sounded genuinely confused and more than a little hurt.

Responding to that pain, in spite of himself, Severus replied, "Not inappropriate, as such. But perhaps ill advised."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"Have you never heard of decorum or propriety? We are Hogwarts professors. We must be conscious of our conduct." Severus snapped, despite his best intentions. Harry wasn't a child anymore. He shouldn't have to explain these things to a full- grown man.

"There wasn't anything improper in our behaviour," Harry hotly denied.

"Professors Longbottom and Zabini were both staring at us," Severus said.

"Of course, they were staring at us. They're used to us being at odds as adults. And neither of them have any right to be throwing stones, what with the way Blaise had his feet tucked under Neville's bum to keep them warm while they were staring at us. How is that acceptable and my leaning against your chair unacceptable?"

Severus started. He hadn't realized where Zabini's feet had been during that time. All he'd been aware of was Harry's shoulder pressing against his own knee. Rallying, he shot back with. But, it hardly mattered where the other Slytherin's feet had been. "Blaise Zabini was not a Death Eater."

"Why does it always have to come back to that with you?" Harry asked, seeming more concerned than angry with him at the moment.

"Because Voldemort's mark never leaves a person, not physically or socially. People immediately assume the worst about me because of my past, and my personality doesn't help matters," he honestly added. "The only way I have maintained my position for this long was by remaining free of scandal. I can't jeopardize my place here at Hogwarts, Harry, not for anything." The weight of Harry's stare was unbearable. After a momentary pause, Severus found himself confessing something he wouldn't have told anyone under pain of death six months ago. "It's the only home I've ever known."

But if he were to jeopardize that home, this man would be the temptation that destroyed him, he silently acknowledged.

Harry's hand touched his arm, stopping him at the top of the deserted stairs while Potter's parchments and clothes bobbed patiently at their side.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," Harry softly apologized. "But . . . you don't really think that either Blaise or Neville would spread false rumours about us, do you?"

"Longbottom has no cause to love me and Zabini is a Slytherin. No Slytherin can resist the temptation to stir the pot, as it were," Severus candidly assessed.

"Blaise Zabini is my friend. My secrets are safe with him. And Neville would die before he would do anything to hurt me."

"Such faith," Severus had meant to sneer the comment, but even he could hear the bewilderment in his voice.

"I know them as well as I know you," Harry said.

"You don't know me at all." This time Severus didn't have to work for the sneer. It surfaced quite naturally after so idiotic a statement.

Harry didn't react as if he were insulted, angry, or even particularly surprised by Snape's response. Catching his gaze and holding it, Harry softly questioned, "Don't I?"

His mouth went dry at the gentle inquiry. That stare was digging through his walls, piercing him to the soul. Very aware of his pounding heart, Severus tried to refute the other man's quiet certainty . . . and couldn't. If anyone knew him in this world, it was Harry Potter.

After the silence stretched out for an uncomfortable eon or two, Harry gave him a mischievous smile and said, "Best friends for life, remember? We're still alive."

Severus finally managed to swallow.

"Speak for yourself," he rasped.

"I will, and for you, too. You're alive. You're just too stubborn to admit it."

Or too scared, Severus wanted to counter, because it didn't feel like either stubbornness or pride right now; it felt like terror. But he knew he couldn't admit any of that, so he forced himself to rise to the occasion. Calling on every bit of acting talent he possessed, Severus forced a sardonic flair into his voice and questioned, "Sure of that, are you?"

"Entirely," Harry answered with totally irresistible cheek and started walking again.

Severus fell into step beside him.

After they'd gone down a couple of staircases, whose drowsing portraits never even stirred at their passage, Harry said, "I'll try not to embarrass you in public again. Though, I can't make any promises if it's just the group we were with tonight. I don't have any secrets from them. You're my friend now, so are they. You're going to have to learn to trust them."

"Am I?" Severus didn't have to feign his sarcasm this time.

"Yes, you are," Harry's voice was pure steel. "You're not going away; neither are they. The novelty will fade in a week or two. There will be no more staring. Until then, we'll manage. And I promise to behave in public."

"I will believe that when I see it," Severus said, for want of anything wittier. Harry's confidence in his friends and in his continued relationship with his former teacher was astonishing. If pressed to give his opinion, Severus didn't think their friendship had a chance of surviving the week.

"Actually, I was hoping you would give me the chance to prove it," Harry said as they left the stairs at the dungeon level and made for Snape's workroom where the sleeping draught was stored.

"Oh?" Severus absently questioned and then muttered the words to allow them entrance through his security wards. A softly uttered "Lumos," lit the torches.

Harry followed him into the empty lab. The sinks, worktables, cauldrons, and other potions apparatus were all fastidiously clean. Nevertheless, the place had a feel of neglect and disuse about it, as though this room where he'd spent so much of the last twenty-five years took Severus' absence these last four months as a personal slight. For his part, Severus couldn't swear the room didn't. Hogwarts seemed to have a rudimentary intelligence worked into its very stones.

"Yes," Harry continued. "First off, promise me that you won't say no right away."

Totally on guard now, Severus asked, "No to what?"

"Do you promise?" Harry cajoled.

Severus snapped, "Of course, I don't promise. What kind of fool do you take me for? Well, get on with it. Don't just stand there giving me that injured look."

Because if Harry continued to look at him out of those huge, pleading eyes, Severus knew he'd give Potter anything he asked for.

To his relief, nervousness turned Harry's gaze away from him. As if steeling up his courage - the thought of anything so serious that it gave this utterly fearless war veteran pause chilled Severus - Harry seemed to force himself to meet his gaze again. Nowhere near as self-assured as normal, Potter said, "Every Friday night, we usually go to The Three Broomsticks."

"We being?" Severus quizzed. He wasn't going to go, of course, but he was morbidly curious as to exactly what Potter did do with his free time since he no longer seemed to be actively dating.

"Tonight's group," Harry said, and, at Severus' pointed stare, amended, "And one or two others whom you know: Fred and George Weasley, and maybe Seamus Finnigan, if he can get away from his wife and kids for the night. The only strangers will be Neville's girlfriend and whomever Blaise is seeing this week."

"Longbottom has a girlfriend?" Severus couldn't help but gape.

"Yes. Her name is Melody. You'll despise her. She's fully as nice as Neville," Harry informed. "So will you come?"

"I don't like strangers, crowds, or pubs, nor am I a social drinker," Severus replied.

"You won't be among strangers; you'll be with us. And it's not just a regular drinking night. On Fridays Rosmerta has live music."

"As opposed to dead music?" Severus challenged. "At any rate, I would not call anything I have heard anyone in this school listen to music."

"It's not like the groups that perform at Hogwarts' end of year dances," Harry quickly promised. "This isn't music for kids. It's actually a Squib band that performs the music the Muggles of the Celtic Isles used to use to work magic. You won't believe the power they raise."

"Squibs can't raise magical power. That's what defines them as squibs," Severus spoke as if to a moron.

"They don't raise the energy. The music does. It's traditional Gaelic music. I know it's going to sound absurd, but you can feel the power vibrating through the room when they begin to play," Harry said.

"You're making this up," Severus said, intrigued.

"I'm not. Why don't you come and see if you like it. If it's not to your tastes, we'll leave," Harry promised.

"*We'll* leave?" Severus questioned.

"Yes, *we'll* leave," Harry confirmed. "If we're going to be friends, we have to find some common ground. I think you'll like this. If you don't, we'll tell the others that we only dropped in to say hello and then we can apparate to a Muggle bookstore that I think you'll like. It's open until midnight on weekends and has a caf right in the bookstore."

Harry had obviously been giving this some thought. Severus' stomach fluttered like a battalion of Albus' butterflies had gotten loose in it at the idea of Harry racking his brains to think of things they could do together. And Potter hadn't done a bad job of it. The only thing that might interest him more than power enhancement and unusual books was a new potions apothecary.

"Will you think about it?" Harry asked.

Needing a moment to compose himself, Severus turned to his potions' cabinet without answering. Muttering the unlocking spell, he retrieved a large bottle of his sleeping draught.

"Well, will you?" Harry hounded as Severus rejoined him where he was lurking just inside the doorway.

Rallying his guards, Severus answered, "If you give me your word as a Gryffindor martyr that you'll take three tablespoons of this mixture any night you have difficulty sleeping."

"I already told you I would," Harry groused.

"Yes, but I would feel better about it if I had your word as a Gryffindor. As a Slytherin, I know how malleable promises can be."

"All right," Harry conceded with fire in his eyes. "I give you my solemn word -"

"As a Gryffindor martyr," Severus reminded.

"As a Gryffindor," Harry corrected, "that I will take your nasty potion whenever I can't sleep - providing it doesn't make me sluggish the next day."

"Agreed," Severus said.

"And in turn, you will think about Friday night?"

"If I don't see that glamour again between now and Friday, I will accompany you." He, too, could be gracious when it suited him.

"Just like that? No strings attached?" Harry sounded stunned.

"I told you that I would try to be your friend," Severus reminded, and then gave Harry the full truth. "And both of your suggestions sound intriguing."

The delight in Harry's smile was well worth the chance he took in being so forthright.

"Brilliant!" Potter beamed.

"Hardly. You know I don't react favourably to social situations. It could be a complete disaster," Severus warned.

"Or it could be as much fun as tonight was," his eternal optimist countered.

Severus wished he had the wherewithal to curse him, that damned faith irritated him so much.

"And if it isn't?" Severus questioned.

"Then we'll try something else," Potter said. Seeming to read through his shields, Harry quietly assured, "There's no pressure, Severus. We can go to the pub, or the bookstore, or make more mud castles in the quidditch pitch if we can't think of anything else to do."

Appreciating Harry's encouragement more than he could say, Severus dryly commented, "I'm sure Ron would be delighted by two or three more forts on his field."

"That's the spirit." Harry grinned.

"There's definitely some Slytherin in you somewhere. That was not a kind thought," Severus pointed out, feeling the corners of his lips twitching at Harry's expression.

"Who said Gryffindors have to be kind? We just have to save the world. They're not the same thing. Right now I'm working on saving our world," Harry admitted, something serious lurking beneath his joking facade.

"And if you fail?" Severus questioned, wondering how Harry would react when he finally was forced to recognize that he couldn't teach this old dog new tricks, despite all the good intentions in the world.

"I won't," Harry vowed.

"You realize you're insufferable, don't you?" Severus asked, feeling cornered. It was either strike out or crumble, and striking out had always been easier for him.

Harry simply grinned at him. "Then we're well matched, aren't we?"

Severus wished that he wasn't so weak. More than anything, he wanted to be able to turn away from Potter and have the comfort of his old numb life back, but he was fully addicted to the drug that was Harry Potter. Although he knew this man would be his ruination, he couldn't close Harry out.

After an extended pause during which Severus could find no answer, Harry's grin faded and he softly assured, "It will be all right, Severus." Without waiting for his reply, Potter quickly changed the subject. "Now, tell me again how much of this stuff I have to take."

Severus leapt at the reprieve. "I've written the directions on the label. But in case my suspicions prove correct and you really can't read, it says to take three tablespoons twenty minutes before retiring."

"Very funny," Harry said. "Will I be able to take it tonight? I had a couple of glasses of wine."

"Alcohol won't affect it, within reason," Severus answered.

"Thank you," Harry acknowledged.

"You're welcome. Now, it's late and -"

"We both have class tomorrow. I know. Maybe I won't be such a nuisance when I start sleeping regularly," Harry said.

"Chance would be a fine thing," Severus replied, setting Harry to chuckling again.

"Good night, then," Harry said, seeming reluctant to go.

Severus, whose entire body was aching with the desire to ask this man to stay, recognized the danger of such lingering. It was too late. He was far too exhausted to properly shield his true feelings, and Harry was far too perceptive.

"I trust you'll get some rest tonight," Severus said as he escorted the shorter man to the door.

"Thanks, I'll try. You, too. Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow."

Severus gave a nod and finally shut the door behind his visitor. It was ridiculous, of course, but Harry seemed to have taken all the warmth out of the room with him when he left. With a weary sigh, Severus made his way to his quarters, which could be reached via a secret passage behind the far wall. He couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring.

**********

Tomorrow and the subsequent days proved a blur of activity and trials. Severus found his potions classes surprisingly up to snuff, all seven of them. Even though his fears of having to pound seven months worth of work into the cretins' heads with the three months left in the year were not realized, it was still incredibly taxing to step back into his daily routine. Although his students were proficient in the basics, none of his substitutes had covered exactly what he would have in his classes, and consequently, he kept running into unexpected roadblocks. He'd assume a particular potion or method had been taught, only to find a sea of terrified, bewildered faces staring up at him when he barked out an instruction that should have been perfectly clear at this point in the year, and, conversely, he'd find himself teaching things his substitutes had already covered. It was frustrating, but by the end of the week, he was getting a handle on his professional obligations.

Which was a good thing, because Severus couldn't help but feel that he had lost complete control of his private life.

That was mostly because he had one now. The nights of sitting home with a book or inventing busy-work research projects were apparently long gone. No longer did he have to plan out what he would do every night to keep from going insane from the ennui. Through no effort of his own, he found himself occupied nearly every evening. If Hermione and Ron weren't after Harry and him to visit, then Severus would inevitably find himself tripping over Potter as Harry attempted to assist him in whatever medicinal preparation he had used as an excuse to get some time alone. All those years Potter had spent in detention with him had apparently paid off, for Harry made a decent, if garrulous, lab assistant.

It never seemed that he was permitted the chance to catch his breath. And yet, as he struggled to adapt without losing either his temper or his sanity, Severus found himself thriving. Every day that bleak shroud of hopelessness that had surrounded him since his childhood seemed the tiniest bit lighter. That was almost as much of a miracle as the fact that Hermione, Ron, and Harry were still a part of his life. There were moments when Severus was honestly beginning to feel that he couldn't step into the loo without one of them accompanying him.

The change in his lifestyle was extreme, frustrating, and oft- times incontestably comical. Take his current situation, as a point in fact - a forty-eight year old man in shirt sleeves and trousers, standing utterly lost in front of his wardrobe as he stared in at dozens of seemingly identical black jackets and robes, attempting to decide what to wear on his big night out on the town. If he weren't so infernally nervous, he would have laughed at himself for the sheer idiocy of his dilemma. He wasn't one of his sixth year, female students. No one was going to care which of these completely dignified robes he wore.

"Hello? Are you here?" Harry called from the sitting room.

Severus almost groaned in dismay. Potter was early tonight, of course.

"Ah, there you are," Harry announced, entering the open bedroom door after the slightest pause. He was clothed in Hunter green tonight. The rich colour blended in well with the bedroom's Slytherin decor.

"Don't you ever knock?" Severus snapped, trying to ignore how Harry was staring around his bedroom with open curiosity. Seeing him here was too much like one of his late night fantasies for Severus' peace of mind. To keep the imagery associated with Harry in this place out of his thoughts, Severus focused on his disappointing wardrobe.

"You're Slytherin," Harry replied with a laugh. "I figured if you didn't want me to use your passwords, you would have changed the wards by now. What is it you're doing? You haven't got a boggart in there, have you?"

"Of course, I haven't got a boggart in there. I was . . . ." What was he going to say - that he was angsting over his clothing like a hormonal sixteen year old?

"Trying to decide what to wear?" Harry finished. Remarkably, there was no mockery in his voice.

Severus tensed as Harry came to stand beside him and peer into the open wardrobe.

Staring fixedly at the daunting row of dark garments, Severus softly said, "I was looking for something . . . " seeing no other way, he just said it, ". . . less funereal."

Harry chuckled. "Boy, did you come to the wrong closet! Don't you have anything that isn't black?" Harry reached in to dig through the robes and jackets. "Wait. Here's something. It's still mostly black, but at least it's got a touch of colour."

He watched Harry retrieve a burgundy and black brocade jacket that he hadn't looked at in longer than Harry had been alive.

"I've never seen you in this before. It's really nice," Harry remarked, holding the jacket up to the torches for a better look and running his hand over the expensive material.

"No, you wouldn't have. I only wore it once . . . more than thirty years ago now," Severus said, old memories that were better left dead and buried running through him as he looked at the garment.

"Sounds like there's a story there," Harry commented. Severus could feel him peeking at him with what Potter no doubt thought was surreptitious concern.

"There are many stories. All of them outdated, none of them worth the telling," Severus said, eyeing the jacket, wondering if perhaps enough years had finally passed for him to wear it.

"I'd still like to hear that story, if it wouldn't be too intrusive," Harry said, catching and holding his gaze.

To his utter shock, he found himself seriously considering the request. It was quite frightening, really, the things he would do simply because this man asked it of him, Severus acknowledged.

He'd never spoken of this. In all the long years, there had been no one who had cared enough to even ask. He stared into those waiting eyes, torn. It wasn't his nature to wear his heart on his sleeve, but there was a part of him that needed to be known by Harry.

Everything tightening up inside him, because this particular confidence would broach forbidden territory were he not extremely careful, he feigned indifference as he said, "There's nothing particularly interesting about the tale. The central character, as you no doubt have guessed, was a rather dislikeable outsider with more brains and vitriol than sense. In his seventeenth friendless year on the planet, someone quite charming and charismatic made friendly overtures to this pathetic misfit. In his loneliness and stupidity, our central character mistook teenage hormones for love. He purchased this extravagant jacket to wear on his first date after his intended mentioned that his normal black garb was not attractive. The jacket did the trick. Our misfit found himself carried away in a whirlwind of passion and was introduced to the sweet mysteries of life in a haystack halfway to Hogsmeade. After said tryst, the date became redundant and the pair went back to school."

"And?" Harry gently probed.

"What do you mean 'and'?" Severus asked.

"There's always an 'and' with you," Harry said.

Bowing to the inevitable, Severus braced himself and continued as implacably as possible, "And the next morning the besotted moron rose thinking he'd found true love at last. For perhaps an hour he was happy for the first time in his life. That changed at breakfast when he discovered his intended in hot pursuit of a new conquest."

"That intended guy sounds like a real loser," Harry declared, nonchalantly undoing all of Severus' hard work to protect his partner's gender by the judicious editing of pronouns.

"I didn't say it was a man," Severus snapped, unnerved by Harry's perception.

"You didn't have to." At whatever his expression revealed, Harry gave an exasperated sigh and asked, "You're not really going to expect me to believe that some girl, even a Slytherin girl, would take you for a tumble in a haystack on your first date and then dump you the next morning, are you?"

Put that way, it did seem unlikely.

Despite his irritation, Severus was glad to see that Potter didn't seem put off by the fact that he had been interested in another boy. For all that they knew of each other, they were still dreadfully ignorant of some of the most basic facts of each other's character. For all that he knew of Harry's likes and dislikes, Severus couldn't say with any certainty whether Potter preferred bedding men or women. The fact that Harry wasn't disgusted by this trip down memory lane was reassuring. So many wizards were prejudiced against same sex relationships that it made life most difficult for those so inclined.

"It doesn't . . . ." Severus started to ask and then clamped his mouth shut on the intrusive question.

"What?" Harry asked, seeming worried.

They really were from different worlds. If this were any other subject, Severus would have taken great glee in shocking Potter with his normal, savage bluntness, but his inhibitions wouldn't allow him to indulge in the brutal honesty he preferred. If he were blunt with the wrong person about this particular topic, he could well find himself out of a job, even though every instinct he had insisted that Harry would never betray his trust, even if Potter did disapprove of his choices. So, he searched for a diplomatic response, finally settling on, "The Wizarding World isn't normally very accepting of such deviations from the norm."

Harry met his gaze. "I know - from personal experience."

His blank, "Oh," was replaced by a more forceful, "Oh," as the meaning of Harry's words registered. Why it should surprise him so that Potter was like him, he didn't know, but for some reason, it did.

Severus swallowed hard, abruptly aware of the fact that he was standing alone with Harry in his bedroom, not ten feet from his bed, discussing their sexual preferences. The air in the room suddenly seemed very thin and hard to catch.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Harry said after a silent moment.

It took Severus nearly a full minute to figure out that Harry was referring to his adolescent reminiscence. Somehow, he'd always imagined that the revelation of his sexual orientation would have more impact on the conversation, but Harry seemed to accept it as a given.

There was a part of Severus that couldn't help but be disappointed that Harry was looking at him exactly the same way he had yesterday. But, as he caught his reflection in the nearby mirror, he knew it wasn't any wonder. He was twenty-two years older than Harry, had been the man's teacher and/or nemesis for nearly twenty years, and, beyond that, there was the attraction factor, or, in his case, the lack thereof. No matter how often he bathed, nothing could remove the sallow cast his potion fumes gave his hands and face, and even though the hair he had tied back in a ponytail had just dried, it was so glossy as to appear greasy. And even if all of that hadn't been true, the fact was that the long-nosed, thin-faced man staring out of that mirror at him was just plain homely. There was no getting around that truth, ever. Clearly, Potter didn't even consider him dating material . . . nor should he.

Severus knew that he should be relieved, but the fact that he was so utterly unattractive to Harry still hurt, hurt so bad that he could barely credit it. But he was used to hiding killing blows. Putting on his best game face, he drawled, "Not as sorry as he was, I assure you."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, still seeming to be stuck in comfort mode.

"There is nothing so dangerous as an enthusiast of the dark arts scorned," Severus paraphrased one of his favourite Muggle playwrights.

"What did you do to him?"

Severus shrugged. "For a year after that tryst, the feckless Lothario developed agonizing, pustulant boils on his penis every time he attained an erection."

Harry's face twisted in an intriguing mixture of horror and humour. Severus wondered which would win out. It had been a terrible thing to do to anyone, even if he were a Malfoy and fully deserved it.

At last, Harry asked a question Severus hadn't anticipated at all, "Where did you learn the spell you cursed him with? I've never heard of it, thank heavens."

"It's amazing how inventive a wizard's mind can be given sufficient stimulation," Severus replied.

"You created that curse?" Harry gaped at him. "At *seventeen*?"

"Oh, yes. I felt the occasion deserved something with a personal touch," Severus answered.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side, won't you?"

"Harry, you were *born* on my bad side," Severus countered, but he said it with a lilt in his voice and was pleased to see Harry smile at his tone. Not everyone would have been inclined to stay after that trip down memory lane.

"Well, obviously, you're not wearing this," Harry said. "I think we should burn it tomorrow. You don't need that kind of memory hanging around."

"Why wait?" Severus said, withdrawing his wand from his pocket and flicking it at the jacket. The expensive garment immediately burst into flames.

Harry released the coat with a startled yelp.

The smell of smoke and burnt silk filled the room before being dispersed by another wave of his wand.

Examining his uninjured palms once the jacket's ashes fell to the ground, Harry said, "You're good at controlled fire. I thought I'd burn to death the other day when you set those ridiculous curls of mine on fire during our duel."

"I did tell you I would," Severus reminded, meeting those dangerous green eyes.

"I thought you were joking."

"I wasn't," Severus said.

"So, I learned. And we still haven't found you anything to wear yet," Harry announced, breaking their stare.

After another minute or two of hunting through Severus' clothes, Harry emerged with a completely black brocade jacket that could have been the twin of the incinerated burgundy one.

"Does this one fit?" Harry questioned.

"Yes."

"And there isn't any dark history associated with it?" Harry checked.

Touched by how upset Harry seemed by his reminiscence, Severus covered with, "Well, I believe I was wearing it on your first day at Hogwarts, but other than that, there are no unpleasant associations. It is, however, as funereal as the others."

"Just put it on, would you?" Harry urged.

Severus tried to control his shiver as Harry lifted his heavy ponytail and assisted him into the jacket. He froze when he turned to find Potter's wand pointed at him.

"Hold still," Harry short-temperedly cautioned and then flicked his holly wand at him.

Startled that he hadn't thought of it himself, Severus stared down at his jacket, which was no longer quite as funereal as it had been seconds before. Although it was still mostly black, the delicate, web work pattern of the brocade was now a rich intermix of green and silver threads - Slytherin's colours.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked.

"Very much so, yes. Thank you," Severus replied.

Harry turned back to the wardrobe, chose one of Severus' more formal robes, one with some stitching bordering the cuffs, neck, and front fastenings. Another flick of the wand, and the robe had the same green and silver stitcheries running through it as the brocade jacket.

"There. I think we're ready now," Harry said.

Severus put on the robe and stepped up to the mirror to survey the effect. The crisp white shirt he wore was still a striking contrast with the mostly black jacket and robe covering it, but the hint of green and silver throughout caught the eye as plain black never could.

This wasn't something he would ever have thought to do on his own, since vanity was not one of his many faults. He rarely paid any attention to his clothing, beyond assuring himself of their cleanliness and state of repair. With a shock, he realized that Harry had effectively dressed him as Potter wished.

Given a free hand, this was what Harry had chosen for him - the style with which Severus was most comfortable. The only alterations were those slight touches of colour. He didn't know anyone else who could have resisted the temptation to totally remake him when presented with the same free reign he'd given Potter a minute ago. Harry could have told him to dispense with the outdated jacket that so few wizards wore these days, but which Severus felt comfortable in, and garbed him in a robe that outrageous lilac colour Severus had chosen when seven. But Harry had barely changed him at all. It was almost as though Harry really did like him the way he was.

Shaken by the thought, Severus concentrated on closing his jacket buttons.

"Are you all right?" his damnably perspicuous companion asked after a moment. "Was that 'story' you told me too painful?"

"Hardly," Severus was able to deny without lying too outrageously. "It's ancient history now. At any rate, I had the last laugh."

A glance at Potter's reflection in the mirror beside his own told him that Harry was unconvinced, but as Harry didn't press the point, Severus let the subject drop.

Finally, the last tiny button on his jacket was done and he was ready to go.

"We usually floo over to the Three Broomsticks," Harry said. "Then, if the weather's not too beastly, we walk back afterwards. Is that all right with you?"

Severus inclined his head in agreement and took a deep breath. He still wasn't sure about this.

"I've got floo powder. We can leave from here, if you want," he offered.

"Sure, let's go. Hermione and Ron should already be there. They always leave early on Friday to save our table. And remember - if you don't like it, we can leave."

He followed Harry over to the hearth on the far side of his bedroom. Severus took down the jar of shimmering floo powder and offered it to Potter.

Harry gave him a grin, took a handful of powder, clearly enunciated, "The Three Broomsticks Pub, Hogsmeade," and stepped into the green flames that leapt forth to transport him.

Taking a deep breath, Severus did the same thing. Flooing was fully as unpleasant an experience as he remembered. His stomach felt wrenched as the flames swirled him past seemingly hundreds of fireplaces down the dark and spiralling tunnel.

After what felt a dizzying eternity, he was spat out of a hearth in a crowded, brightly lit public house. There seemed to be hundreds of people crammed into the small area, Severus noted as he blinked owlishly around at his new surroundings and tried to maintain his feet. There was nothing more humiliating than being coughed out of a fireplace onto one's bum in front of a gaggle of laughing strangers.

Harry was standing to the side of the hearth waiting for him and stepped forward immediately to take his arm to steady him as he stumbled inelegantly from the hearth.

"Harry! Severus! We're over here!" Ron's deep voice called out over the din of the laughing crowd.

Unnerved by the sheer number of people crowding the small pub, Severus gratefully allowed Harry to steer him to a large table near the front of a small performing platform that had been erected in the back of the pub. There were three chairs, and two music stands on the flat stage, with a guitar and violin waiting for their masters to arrive.

Hermione, Ron, Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, a couple of redheads that could only be other Weasleys, and an unfamiliar woman with a round face and honey-blonde curls sat at the large round table to the right of the performance platform.

Harry guided him into the empty seat beside Hermione and took the one beside his as a noisy barrage of hellos greeted them. They were in their usual mealtime seating plan, Severus noted with amusement. Harry and he were ensconced between the Weasleys, with Longbottom on Hermione's other side. The only difference was that the honey-blonde stranger was sitting where Zabini normally sat next to Longbottom and Zabini was one seat over, directly across from Potter. The Weasley twins were on Ron's far side, too close for Severus' peace of mind. There were two empty chairs between Zabini and the infamous two, which only proved his housemate's good sense, Severus thought. He'd have felt better himself if there were a couple of empty chairs or, better still, a continent or two between himself and that pair.

Once they were seated, Ron passed Severus a glass of golden cognac.

"Thought you'd need that about now," Ron winked at him and then poured Harry a mug of foamy dark ale from a pitcher that was sitting on the table with four empty mugs.

Murmuring his thanks, Severus tried to ignore the curious stares of his tablemates.

"Severus," Hermione said, "this is Neville's friend, Melody Jefferson. Melody, Professor Severus Snape."

"Good evening," he nodded to the stranger.

To his surprise, she gave him a wide smile that lit up her round face. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Snape. I've heard so much about you."

He liked the note of curiosity in her voice and that she met his eyes unflinchingly. Glancing at Longbottom, who had turned pink to the ears at her remark, Severus gave a droll, "No doubt."

"To be honest, I was expecting the Grim Reaper," Ms. Jefferson confided, earning chuckles all around.

"I would refrain from making judgments just yet. Looks can be deceiving," Severus remarked, his dark tone sending her into open laughter. Beside her, Longbottom looked as though he expected his former teacher to turn his girlfriend into a frog.

"So, I've been told," she replied and then glanced over at her companion. "Oh, Neville. Really."

It would have been far too easy and too much fun to further embarrass his former student, but Severus had the sudden memory of Neville patiently explaining the properties of a poisonous plant to his seven-year-old self and was struck by a sudden burst of sympathy for him. This woman obviously meant something to Longbottom. It would be cruel to belittle him in front of her.

"I'm afraid Professor Longbottom had a difficult time in my classes. Hogwarts can be very demanding on its most gifted students," Severus said conversationally, the sudden silence at their table announcing how he'd shocked them all. "We have high standards, and only the very best can meet them, let alone excel far enough in their fields to be deemed worthy of teaching at Hogwarts after commencement."

There. He was Slytherin; he could lie with the best of them.

"I told you that you couldn't have been as bad as you let on," Ms. Jefferson said to Longbottom, who was gaping open-mouthed at Severus like a banked trout.

Severus quickly turned his gaze away, lest his laughter ruin all his hard work. Harry's expression didn't help his control any. He'd never seen Potter so completely astonished, not since his name had been announced as the fourth champion in the Triwizards' Tournament.

Behind him, he heard Longbottom stutter, "But I was that hopeless. Truly, I was."

Truer words had never been spoken, Severus thought in disgust. A Slytherin would have known when to keep his mouth shut.

"Why would Professor Snape lie about something like that, dear?" Ms. Jefferson asked in what was no doubt intended as a murmur, but which, perforce of the din raging around them, emerged as more of a stage-whisper.

"Maybe he's planning on killing him," Zabini helpfully added from across the table.

"Is that your plan, Professor?" one of the identical Weasleys asked from Ron's far side.

Snape studied the speaker. Red shaggy hair, brown eyes, curved eyebrows, long nose, sprinkling of freckles: the man in the black robe who'd spoken was the mirror image of the grey robed brother beside him. But time was when Severus had been able to tell the infamous duo apart. He racked his memory as to how he'd done it, finally remembering that George was the one who had a small group of freckles under his left eye that formed a tiny line. This twin had no line; hence it was Fred speaking.

"No, Mr. Weasley. Fred, isn't it?" At the other man's shocked nod, he continued completely deadpan, "I thought I would lull Professor Longbottom into a false sense of security and then allow Professor Hagrid's latest pet to do the job for me."

To his immense relief, the table exploded with laughter, even Longbottom joined in.

Once the group quieted, the other twin, presumably George, asked, "What is Hagrid raising now?"

Hermione sighed beside Severus and answered, "He calls them Bloodsquirting Mudgots."

"Do we want to know what they are?" Fred asked.

Ron said from his seat between Fred and Harry, "They look like mud-coloured maggots, and they squirt something that looks like blood, but smells like - "

"Ron, we've just finished dinner!" Hermione reprimanded.

"Well, you get the idea," Ron said, and finished with, "Oh, and they're nearly six feet long."

"Delightful," Fred admired.

"You would think that," Ron chided.

The subject of Hagrid's latest man-eating monster winding to a close, George looked over at Severus and said, "I must say it's surprising to see you here tonight, Professor Snape."

"George," Hermione said in a warning tone, her eyes hard as flint. Severus knew from her attitude that she must have had a talk with the twins about him.

Surprised to find that he was actually enjoying himself, Severus met George Weasley's mischievous brown gaze and calmly replied, "Not nearly as surprising as it is for me, I'm sure. I fully expected the pair of you to be locked up in Azkaban by now."

George's mouth dropped open as though he'd just been coshed with one of Hagrid's Bloodsquirting Mudgots. From the twins' side, Ron howled with laughter. "Score one to the Professor."

"We didn't know you had a sense of humour, sir," Fred said from between his brothers.

Severus turned his dark stare on the other twin, watched Fred shift as nervously in his seat as he would have done in class a dozen years ago, and then softly said, "I don't."

For some reason, that set both Harry and Ron's laughter off again.

Severus sipped his cognac and waited for the next verbal gambit.

But it was the other Slytherin who drew the Gryffindors' attention next.

With what seemed genuine curiosity, Harry asked Zabini, "Are you by yourself tonight, Blaise?"

"Yes, I thought it would be fun to go solo for a change," Zabini replied with such unflustered composure that Severus instantly knew that his housemate was lying.

"Yeah, right," Ron said, both he and Longbottom breaking into boyish giggles.

"Obviously, I missed something," Harry said.

"No, it was Blaise that missed something," Ron replied.

"Not something - someone," Longbottom corrected.

All eyes on him, the handsome Zabini sighed and explained, "I didn't notice Justin in the Seven Gables Restaurant."

"When he walked in with Claire," Longbottom added.

"Poor Justin," Harry said, although he didn't seem very disturbed.

"It was poor Blaise when all the shouting stopped," Zabini said. "I don't think I'll be able to set foot back in that restaurant for at least two months."

Hermione, sounding very much the teacher, said, "You got off easy. Be grateful you're still breathing. You wouldn't have been if it were me."

"Ah, but if it were you, fair lady, there would have been no need for anyone else," Zabini quickly replied with his most ingratiating charm.

"Sweet talk will get you nothing," Hermione giggled as she turned pink, all harshness leaving her attitude.

"Except a punch in the mouth," Ron growled from her other side.

"See, I'm cursed," Zabini lamented to Harry.

"You're not cursed. You're careless," Harry said. "Come on, have another drink. It can't be as bad as it sounds."

Potter poured Zabini another mug and passed it across the table to him.

Severus sat back in his seat and watched Harry converse with Zabini across the table as several discussions simultaneously started up. Despite Potter's initial judgmental words to Zabini, his attitude did appear to be quietly supportive as he worked to cheer Blaise up. Until that moment, Severus had never really believed that Harry should trust his housemate to the degree Potter did. He'd defend Slytherin House to his death, but he more than anyone knew how . . . dangerous his kind could be. Yet, watching the expression in Zabini's brown eyes as he spoke to Harry, Severus realized that Harry was very important to Zabini. He self-consciously recognized that he was just as guilty of prejudice against his own house as the Gryffindors were.

Hermione's hand touched his sleeve, drawing his gaze from Harry's animated face.

"I'm glad you came tonight, Severus," she whispered as he leaned in close to hear her.

Ron and Neville appeared to have been caught up in yet another noisy quidditch discussion, which they were having across Harry, Severus, and Hermione, while Ms. Jefferson was laughing at the Weasley twins' antics.

"Yes, well, Harry did take his sleeping draught as agreed," Severus said, for want of anything better.

"He hasn't worn that glamour in three days now," she said, visibly pleased. "Thank you. And thank you for coming tonight. It feels right having you here with us. I hope it hasn't been too much for you."

Reading her concern, Severus quickly assured, "So far it has been surprisingly tolerable."

She grinned. "In other words, you're enjoying yourself."

Severus gave a slight twist of his lips and nodded.

"I like your jacket and robe," Hermione said, giving him a mischievous look. "They're very dashing."

To his disgust, he felt his cheeks warm as they would have at such a complement when he'd been a seven-year-old in her care.

"Harry did it," he said nonchalantly.

"Ah," she nodded. She glanced over to where Harry and Blaise were hunched over the table talking.

He could see a thousand questions swirling in her eyes and braced himself for an inquisition. She and Ron knew his secret. Severus was fairly certain that Ron would be more than happy to forget that particular conversation ever happened, but Hermione had never been the type to hide her head in the sand. She surprised him, though. All she did was smile and say, "I'm glad to see things are working out so well for you both." At his sharp, enquiring glance, she leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I can't remember the last time I saw Harry as happy as he's been these last few days. He's even sleeping at night."

"It's the potion," Severus reminded.

"You keep telling yourself that," Hermione said with a totally infuriating, knowing smile.

Severus opened his mouth to respond, when a high-pitched, feminine, French accented squeal of "Harry, darling!" almost propelled him out of his seat.

He turned to look at the speaker and came face to face, as it were, with a pair of pink nipples peeking up out of a frighteningly stretched white lace bodice. Severus did his best to raise his eyes to the unknown woman's face, but her bosom was so large as to make that nearly impossible. He could feel Harry shrink back into his seat beside him.

"Hello, Adriana," Potter said softly.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you in forever," the stranger complained in an irritating whine.

Severus finally managed to rip his eyes from her bosom and find her face. His heart sank when he took in her striking feminine beauty. Although her hair was as black as his own, her eyes were a deep, sapphire blue. Her skin was flawless, her looks so perfect that she didn't need the expertly applied make up that she was wearing. And her figure . . . even a man with such profound homosexual leanings as himself could admire her utter perfection. She looked like one of the female characters in those colourful Muggle magazines that the younger mixed blood students favoured. There was definitely some Veela in her. The gaze of every man at the table was riveted on her. And she was eyeing Harry Potter the way a starving wolf would raw meat.

"I've been pretty busy, Adriana," Harry said without a smile.

"Ah, but now you are not, ey?" her smile revealed two rows of pearly white teeth.

Severus couldn't help but make a mental comparison to his own yellowed teeth. This, then, was the competition, if he were to allow himself to actively pursue his interest in Harry, which he was not . . . as though he could compete with something like this, even if he'd wanted to.

"Is this seat taken?" Adriana asked, her delicate white hand stroking the top of the chair next to Zabini, who was staring straight at her bosom and making no attempt to divert his gaze anywhere else.

"Yes, it's taken," Hermione's sharp voice entered the conversation. "We're waiting for two more friends to arrive, so there isn't any room at our table." After a long pause, she added a totally artificial, "Sorry."

"Ah, too bad. If you'd like to join us, Harry, there is an empty chair at my sisters' table," her chin gestured to the right of the stage, where two blond vamps, a red head, and two more dark haired sirens all sat with adoring male companions, all of whom appeared completely enslaved by the women's beauty.

"Harry's not alone," Hermione answered, no longer even pretending to be civil. "I think you'd better go back to your table, Adriana. The music's about to start."

"Harry can speak for himself, no?" Adriana replied, her dulcet tones revealing none of the irritation she must have felt.

"I'm sorry, Adriana. Hermione's right. I've got a guest tonight," Harry said with what Severus recognized as his public smile pasted on his face. It was the insincere one Potter traditionally wore whenever he had to speak to reporters, fans, or agents from the Ministry.

The dark beauty's gaze moved Severus' way. She looked him up and down. He could see the second she dismissed him as irrelevant from the way the puzzlement smoothed from her brow.

"Some other time, then," Adriana gave Harry a blinding smile and all but floated away from their table.

"I swear, when is that woman ever going to get the message!" Hermione quietly fumed once the Veela woman had left. "And, Blaise, would you please return your eyes to their sockets before someone trips over them! You, too, Ron!"

"Sorry," Ron started, looking dazed.

"You don't understand, Hermione," Zabini said, finally looking back at their table as the temptress took her seat on the other side of the pub.

"You're right. I don't understand. The lot of you act as though you've never seen a woman in your lives," Hermione complained.

"We haven't," George Weasley said, followed close by Fred's admiring, "Not like that one. Harry, there is definitely something wrong with you, my friend!"

"There's nothing wrong with Harry, Fred," Hermione quickly shot back, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Just because he's not making a fool of himself over that tart like the rest of you is no reason to disparage him. Not every man is a slave to his . . ." she stopped short and added, ". . . hormones," which was obviously not the word she'd originally intended.

"Hermione, a man would have to be dead from the neck down not to be affected by that," Fred quickly countered.

"That's me," Harry said in a strained tone that was attempting to be funny, "dead from the neck down."

"Harry, mate, sorry, I didn't mean . . . ." Fred quickly apologized.

"Forget it," Harry said, his cheeks red with embarrassment. "Excuse me a minute."

There was complete silence at the table while Harry sprang to his feet and moved as hurriedly as the crowd would allow to the men's room at the far end of the pub.

"Well done, Fred," Hermione's voice dripped sarcasm, "You are absolutely impossible."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean anything by it. You know I'd cut off my arm before I'd hurt Harry." Severus had never seen either of the Weasley twins look as guilt-stricken as Fred did at the moment. Actually, he'd never seen either of them look guilt-stricken at all, even after poisoning a score of first years while testing out their dubious inventions.

"You should try cutting off your tongue instead," she replied, completely unmollified.

An awkward silence fell over the table, during which everyone sipped their drinks and tried very hard not to stare at either Hermione or her brother-in-law.

Once Neville and Ms. Jefferson began to converse in undertones, Severus leaned across Harry's empty chair and softly asked of Ron, "What just happened here?"

Ron looked at him as if he'd just grown a third eye for a minute, and then he seemed to realize who was asking the question. His face softening, Ron bent close to him and whispered, "Adriana and her sisters were groupies of Harry's when he was with the Cannons. They never missed a game, or an opportunity to approach him. They still show up every now and then when he goes out for a night. They're harmless, but incorrigible."

"*Groupies*?" Severus questioned.

"Fans with an attitude," Ron translated. "Think Colin Creevey."

"Oh," Severus said and leaned back, still not understanding.

He was somewhat startled by Fred's words. Although none of the Weasleys had ever been known for their tact, they had been loyal to Potter to the death from nearly the instant the Boy Who Lived had set foot in Hogwarts.

He supposed that it were possible that Fred and George didn't know of Potter's sexual leanings to have committed such a faux pas. Stars knew, Severus would never trust the pair with such a sensitive issue, but he didn't think that Harry could keep that large a secret

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