Replay

Replay

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Eight

Expect the Unexpected

Miss Harrison's footsteps moved back and forth above Harry's head as she prepared for her shower. Harry sniffed at the sleeve of his T-shirt and made a face, taking it off and flipping it onto the couch with the other shirt he'd been sitting on. When the pounding of the shower ceased he walked to the foot of the stairs and asked when he should come up.

"Five minutes," she shouted back.

As he turned away from the stairs something caught his attention. He stared at the flap on the door through which the postman would make his delivery. It was rattling as though struck by a strong breeze. Suddenly a strange, small, white-grey bird darted out of it and toward him. He fell onto the stairs with a cry, covering his face with his hands.

However, the wispy bird kept coming at him and seemed to dive beak-first directly into his brow, right next to his scar. He wanted to cry out again but his throat seemed paralysed. After a moment of shock, he realised that a familiar voice was speaking in his head:

Do not be alarmed, Harry. I have been watching you. If you have not already, do not tell the Muggle woman that you are a wizard. If you have told her, do not reveal anything else. I am attempting to remove the Aurors from Mrs Figg's home. I believe that a trip from Little Whinging to London would be ill-advised at this time; there are methods that could bring you to London quickly and safely but would, however, leave a significant magical signature that could endanger your present hostess. I believe that it is best for you to stay where you are for now.

"I have placed a spell on the house in which you are hiding and on the woman who owns the house; as long as you are in her house or in her presence you are safe. It is not as effective as the blood protection afforded you by your aunt, but it is similar to the Fidelius Charm and is not something for which Voldemort will be looking. Please DO NOT RUN OFF AGAIN. I will continue to monitor you and to contact you should we need to adjust these plans. And whatever happens DO NOT PERFORM MAGIC."

That was all. Harry recognized Dumbledore's voice, but he didn't know how the message had been delivered; the thing that had flown at him looked something like a Patronus. He'd never experienced anything like it; the voice had completely taken over his brain, echoing through his skull. He walked to the couch and threw himself down, breathing quickly as though he'd just run five miles. Dumbledore had finally contacted him--something he'd been waiting for--and now he wished he hadn't. I have been watching you. Harry stood restlessly, fuming and pacing, pent-up energy flowing through him. Spying on me, he thought irritably. He remembered Dumbledore saying once that he had been watching Harry more closely than he imagined. And here he was doing it again, evidently. Harry felt a rebellion well up in him; he wanted to rave at the thin air as Miss Harrison had done when she'd been screaming at her "father."

"Watch me, will you...." Harry muttered darkly, gazing suspiciously around the room, wondering how Dumbledore was doing it. He was quite certain that Dumbledore had used Phineas Nigellus to spy on him the previous summer. No matter what it was, Harry felt insulted, violated--but the moment he thought this his own conscience pricked him uncomfortably as he thought about the way he'd been spying on Miss Harrison....

I didn't have any choice, he rationalised. And I didn't invade her brain....

"Did you hear me?" Tilda Harrison's voice rang out suddenly. Harry shook himself.

"Sorry," he called back. "What did you say?"

"I'm out of the shower. I put some of my brother's old clothes in the bathroom. After you've showered and dressed we'll wash yours, eat breakfast and think about where to get you some more things to wear. When the shops on the High Street open I could go looking there, for a start. Or perhaps Marks and Spencer? Or Primark? It's a little more driving, but I don't mind."

He went upstairs and found her standing in the doorway to her bedroom wearing the pale blue dressing gown again, her hair freshly washed, pulled back into a bun.

"Oh. Um, Primark, I reckon. When my aunt needed to get me new trainers because Dudley threw my old ones--his old ones, that is--into some fresh cement, she got them there. I felt pretty lucky, actually. She could have made me wear the solid cement trainers. So if my aunt was willing to buy me something there...."

Miss Harrison smiled indulgently. "It's all right, Harry. We don't have to get the cheapest things. I think Marks and Spencer should do nicely. Sorry I even brought up Primark." She clucked at him for a moment. "God, it must have been really horrid growing up with them."

He nodded. "Clothes were the least of my worries," he told her, going into the bathroom. Despite the outrageously oversized clothing he'd had to wear, it was true.

She nodded. "That's also too bad," she said softly, watching him with a strange look on her face as he closed the bathroom door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You have a visitor, Mrs Dursley."

"Is it my Dudley? Is it my popkin?" she said hopefully, her dull blue eyes lighting up.

"No, Mrs Dursley. It's--it's a man." The nurse looked uncomfortable, as though she wasn't at all certain that "man" was the right word. Petunia Dursley sat up a little, smoothed down the blankets on her lap, and patted ineffectually at her hair.

"Is it DCI Daniels?" she asked, her voice quavering.

The nurse frowned and glanced into the corridor. "No--"

"Could you please tell Mrs Dursley that I am from her nephew's school?" came a terse voice. "I am one of his teachers and need to speak with her if, she is strong enough."

Petunia glanced frantically around her, looking for a hiding place. After a few seconds she realised that that was ridiculous; you couldn't hide from them. It was because of them that her house was blown up! That she was in hospital!

As a good head of steam started to build in her, she decided that she didn't want to avoid seeing the man in the corridor. She wanted to give someone from that so-called school a piece of her mind. After she'd been ordered to continue to shelter that disrespectful, no-good troublemaker! Now this! Well, she hoped they were happy with the results of her keeping Harry, because she certainly was not.

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms on her chest, glaring at the nurse as though she were part of a conspiracy. "I'll see him. I have a thing or two I'd like to say to him about the job that school has been doing with my good-for-nothing nephew."

The nurse nodded, her eyes wide as a tall man clad head to toe in dusty black clothes swept into the room, his pencil-like legs barely bending at the knee. His jacket swung low, nearly to his knees, more like an Oxford don's robe than a man's suit jacket, and his black shirt was buttoned all the way to the top. His long greasy black hair settled on his shoulders in what appeared to be frozen piles and his dark eyes were piercing and uncompromising above his beak-like nose.

"You!" Petunia Dursley shrieked immediately upon seeing him.

The nurse looked back and forth between them, then mumbled, "I'll get Mr Napier...."

When she had fled, Petunia called after her, "What good will it do to get my doctor when my real problem is that I have an enormous freak in my room?" she shrieked.

Without taking his dark eyes from her he pulled what was unmistakably a wand from his robe and waved it in the direction of the closed door.

"Colloportus," he said crisply before putting the wand away again. He strode stiff-legged toward the bed and looked disinclined to sit--but then, Petunia was feeling disinclined to invite him to sit.

"They'll be back in a minute," she said, staring up at him fearfully. She did still want to rant at him, but was finding her courage quickly seeping out of her as he continued to bore those dark eyes into hers. She looked down and away. "They'll cart you off." Her voice shook. "And--and you're not supposed to--to do that in front of me," she added, pointing at the door he'd charmed. She did not meet his eyes.

"They shall not be able to enter, nor shall they wish to. The moment they get near the door they shall suddenly remember other urgent appointments," he informed her smoothly. "And Muggles with magical family members are not included under our Secrecy Act."

Muggle. How she hated that word! "Then I'll scream at the top of my lungs!" she said, her voice rising. He whipped out the wand again and she cringed.

"Silencio!" he said. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, then held her throat with both hands, looking like she was attempting to scream. She couldn't make a sound.

Severus Snape looked at her as though he thought her the most tiresome person in the world. "If I allow you to make noise again, Mrs Dursley, will you--will you please agree not to call for assistance?" It seemed to cost him a great deal to say please.

She had tears in her eyes and the old frustrated, helpless feeling stole over her, just like when Lily was home for the holidays, especially if she brought friends along. Especially once she was engaged to that Potter. Petunia sighed in defeat.

He lifted the spell and stood as though waiting for her to begin. She grimaced and surveyed his greasy hair, his dusty clothes and shoes, his wan skin. "Well," she commented, "you look as dreadful as ever."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tilda and Harry ate breakfast to the comforting sound of his clothes being swished around in soapy water. Her brother's things were only a little loose on him, and the jeans were a bit short. Harry felt confident, however, that the waist would fit once he'd had a meal. He hadn't realised just how famished he was until she'd set down before him a large plate of fried eggs with bacon--she'd bitten her tongue rather than inform the milkman that she hadn't ordered eggs--along with a dozen little tomatoes that she'd cut in half and fried.

He'd first smelled the frying bacon wafting up the stairs while he was dressing; it made his mouth water. She'd also cut the remaining bread into thick slices and toasted them. Almost before she released the plate Harry started gulping down juice and shovelling eggs into his mouth. It was cooked inexpertly, but he didn't care. It was food.

She ate some yoghurt slowly while watching him. Realising that he probably looked like a barbarian, he slowed down and tried to remember to chew before swallowing. She smiled at him. "Don't pretend you're not hungry because of me. I can't imagine a teenage boy living on next to nothing for as long as you have. I think Jack ate half his weight in takeaway curry every day at your age. Or would have if we could've afforded it."

Harry smiled feebly, his mouth full. When he had swallowed the last morsel he said gratefully, "That was fantastic." The toast had been burnt and the eggs were by turns rubbery and runny, but he didn't care. He had food in him once more.

"Thank you! I'll have to tell Pip; she says my cooking is rubbish--"

"No!" he said quickly.

"What?" she said, about to put the dishes in the sink.

"I mean--you can't tell Miss Powers--I mean Pip--about me."

Miss Harrison sat again and scrutinised him. "Why not?"

"Because--if someone else finds out about me and my school.... Well, it's bad enough that I told you. I shouldn't have. It's very top secret."

She raised her eyebrows. "And what will your 'people' do if they find out I know about it? Will they 'rub me out'?" She smirked, but behind her eyes was a touch of doubt.

He shook his head. "No one would hurt you. I'd be disciplined for a breach of security. Two Muggles finding out and I reckon I'd get double the disciplining...."

"Two what? What did you call me?"

Harry fought the urge to slap his forehead. He thought quickly. "Erm, sorry. We--we use that as another term that means, erm, 'civilian.' You know."

"Well--I could tell how you were using it. But I have to say--I find it rather offensive."

"Sorry I said that. Didn't mean to. I can see how you'd think it was an insult." And the way some people in the wizarding world use it, that's what it's meant to be.

"It's all right," she assured him. "Just use 'civilian' from now on. It's still a bit--demeaning. But not insulting."

"Right." He smiled sheepishly. "Listen, I do want to apologize about last night. I drove off your date, broke your dad's glass--I mean, the glass in the frame--"

She smiled, starting to fill the sink with soapy water. "That's all right, Harry."

"No," he insisted, "it's not. But--but let me explain. I'm not trying to judge you. I just thought, you'd had a bit to drink and might regret it in the morning--" He spoke very quickly, before he lost his nerve, but he could feel his face reddening as he spoke.

She turned around and smiled indulgently at him again. "I said it's all right, Harry."

"It is?" he said uncertainly, feeling much better. "Good. I mean--he didn't seem--I don't know. Like the sort of bloke you would choose in the light of day--"

Miss Harrison laughed and turned back to the sink. "You mean if I was sober?" Harry was glad that she couldn't see him colouring again.

"Erm, yeah."

Her back to him still, she continued to wash the dishes and said, "I hate to admit it, Harry, but that's where you'd be wrong. You see, it may have seemed to you that I'd brought home a perfect stranger from the club, but I've known Tom for years. Well, I should say, we met years ago. Lost touch a bit; the last time I saw him was at the end of our second year of uni. He left to go to an American university. We used to date, off and on. So last night--well, it wouldn't have been our first time, if you know what I mean."

Harry swallowed, trying very hard not to think of their "first time," but not for the same reason he'd been avoiding thinking about Gordon and Chloe.

"You see," she went on, "the club was perfectly horrid. And I felt so alone after this bloke started chatting up Pip and then took her off to dance. It was such a relief to see Tom! I rather latched onto him without really considering whether it was wise."

To his surprise, she was the one blushing now when she turned around. "My dad caught us once. I was so embarrassed. And Dad--" She laughed, leaning on the sink for support, looking like she might cry at the same time; "--he reacted exactly the same way you did last night. He never did like Tom. And you picked his photo to throw..." Harry couldn't prevent himself from laughing now. "But you were right about one thing," she said, drying her hands. Then, without warning, she stepped toward him and bent so she could kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Harry."

He was paralysed as she swooped toward him and then away again, his skin tingling where she'd kissed him. "Wha--" was all he could muster.

"For stopping me last night. You see--I think you were right about my regretting it in the morning. When I was with Tom we had one row after another. We broke up, made up, broke up again.... It was exhausting. And all in the first two years of uni. I was quite relieved, frankly, when he went off to America. But last night he was a lone friendly face in a crowd of strangers, so I did something stupid. And as you said, I'd had a bit to drink... But then I never used to have the best judgment about Tom, sober or not. Don't mind what I said last night; this morning I am glad you drove him off. Thank you."

Harry smiled feebly. "Well," he said, a catch in his voice; "I didn't think it seemed like you to bring home a perfect stranger and--and--"

She slapped his arm playfully. "Yes, you did! You were appalled with me, I could tell! But I didn't do what you thought. If anything, it was worse. I should have known not to get involved with Tom again. Stupid idea. Thanks for saving me from myself."

Harry grimaced. "Well, after he told that idiotic joke about how they choose stocks, I couldn't let you go off with him, could I?" He smiled at her again and she laughed.

"I'll have to take your word for it, won't I? Since I, um, don't really remember and still have a little hangover," she confessed, wincing and holding her head in both hands.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Thank you," Severus Snape said stiffly. "You are looking quite tired and worn yourself," he said to Petunia Dursley. She pursed her lips.

"So. Are you going to expel him from that--that school for what he's done?" she spat.

"Though it pains me to say it," he said, jaw clenched, "Potter did not do this. He made it possible, but he did not attack your home. The Dark Lord's servants--"

She looked as though she'd swallowed ice water. "The--the Dark--you--you mean--"

"Yes. The very same." He regarded her impassively; she was shaking and pale, her hand at the base of her throat. After a minute she flicked her eyes up at him again.

"You're not just trying to frighten me, are you? The way you tried to frighten Lily when you told her about those things that attacked my Dudley last summer...."

"I was not trying to frighten Lily," he explained as though she was the most tiresome person in the world and he despaired of her understanding a word he said.

"Oh n-no? Th-then why--"

"There are more urgent matters to discuss," he said brusquely, not wishing to reveal that both he and Lily had been trying to frighten Petunia, being fully aware that she was eavesdropping on them when he'd visited during the Christmas holiday of their sixth year. It was Lily's idea; she'd whispered mischievously to Severus, "Talk loudly enough for Petunia to hear. Tell me something that will make her hair stand on end." And the first thing he'd thought of was Azkaban and the creatures guarding the fortress....

"Urgent," Petunia said, making a sceptical noise and then clamping her mouth shut.

"Yes, Mrs Dursley. I wish to speak to you about the protection that is afforded to Potter, er, your nephew, because he lives with you...."

"Well, he can kiss that goodbye!" she declared stubbornly, crossing her arms so tightly across her chest that she appeared to be trying to squeeze herself to death, like a boa constrictor. "I don't care what sort of agreement we had. My house being blown up nullifies that agreement as far as I am concerned!"

He breathed slowly through his nose, gathering his thoughts and mastering his temper. "I am authorised to oversee repairs on your home that will not only make it good as new, but will make some things far better," he said in carefully measured tones, watching her; nothing he knew of Potter's aunt led him to believe that she was immune to bribery.

There was a spark of interest in her eyes. "What sort of repairs?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Here, try these on."

Miss Harrison thrust some faded jeans at Harry, as well as a T-shirt bearing the legend "Reading University." When he returned from her bedroom wearing the new-old clothes she walked around him, nodding approvingly.

"They're a good fit. The others should be too, in that case. And you seemed so doubtful about my measuring you... Aren't you glad I did now?"

Before she'd gone off to buy him some clothes she'd used a tape measure to measure his waist, inside leg, arm length, neck, and from his neck to his waist. He'd been particularly twitchy when she'd been doing his inside leg and was enormously relieved when she finished. He had thought she'd been oblivious to his discomfort, but evidently not. He certainly hoped she'd been oblivious to another reaction he'd had to her messing about with his inseam, but he didn't want to ask. He'd been embarrassed enough at the time.

"These are all right," he said, not commenting on the measuring. "Thanks."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I didn't spend that much, either."

Harry nodded grimly, not really having a comment. He'd wandered restlessly around the house while she was gone, exploring more thoroughly than before, as he was no longer worried about being discovered. Having perused her video collection, he'd learned that her taste in films ran to French farces and Merchant-Ivory costume dramas, while the old television programmes she'd recorded and saved seemed to be instalments of The Good Life, Monty Python and Cheers. He was actually itching to see which Monty Python programmes she'd saved. He'd only seen a few when Dudley was watching videos in his bedroom; as soon as he realised that Harry's eye was pressed to the crack between the door and jamb he'd slammed the door hard. (Harry had made the mistake of laughing at the funny bits; Dudley evidently didn't understand they were the funny bits. He seemed to be watching the programmes purely for the occasional half-naked woman, which was something Harry was willing to bet Aunt Petunia didn't know about.)

"Oh, and I got these for you as well," Miss Harrison said, opening a white plastic carrier bag and removing a package of white boxer shorts, some white socks, a toothbrush and a comb. "For that lot I went to Woolworth's."

Harry took the packages from her, his face growing hot. If my mum was still buying me underwear now I reckon this is how I'd feel, he thought, irritated. During the last two summer holidays he'd managed to get his uncle to give him a small amount of money to do this himself; even the Dursleys weren't going to make him use Dudley's old underwear.

"I didn't know whether you wanted boxers or briefs," she said, nodding at the underwear.

Please stop talking about my sodding underwear, he thought desperately. I'm not a child. He forced his face into a grateful smile, hoping she wouldn't bring up the underwear again if he thanked her profusely enough. "These are fine," he managed; somehow he wasn't sure how to thank someone profusely for buying him underwear. If he had a choice he'd prefer to behave both as though the underwear did not exist and had magically appeared. Either way he really wanted to stop talking about it. He hated the way she was looking at and speaking to him, as though he were still a little kid. That morning they'd been speaking like equals when she'd thanked him for driving off Club Creep. Now he felt like an eight-year-old again and was a bit grouchy about this.

She looked at him with a new sort of very peculiar expression now. "How strange..." She stepped toward him and he felt paralysed, watching her hand come closer and closer until it was brushing his cheek gently. Harry was too surprised by the way her nails made a rough scraping sound by doing this to think coherently about what was happening. "You didn't look like this before I left. Or even a few minutes ago...."

Harry was afraid to move. She continued to touch his cheek and chin. "Look like what?" he managed to whisper, watching her carefully.

"You need to shave. I'd have bought you some shaving gear if I'd realised. How peculiar. It just suddenly--"

She pulled her hand away, then shook herself as though she'd been sleepwalking. "I can make another trip later. I didn't buy any food earlier; thought I'd bring home a nice curry later anyway. That all right with you?" He nodded, still standing very stiff and still after her hand had caressed his cheek. She didn't seem to see anything out of the ordinary, however, and dropped onto the couch, folding one leg under herself.

"So--what would you like to do today?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"And you will agree to take him back?"

"After the repairs are done. And not until next summer holiday."

"Of course. There are--friends with whom he can stay during the remainder of this summer," Snape said, nodding. Petunia Dursley eyed him suspiciously.

"So you know where he is?"

"Well--I do not actually possess that knowledge. But the headmaster assures me that Potter--erm, Harry is quite safe."

"Hmph! He's safe. Probably not a hair disturbed on that sloppy head of his, which is more than I can say for myself! Not to mention my best friend, Yvonne!"

"I thought Miss Dursley's injuries were more severe than Mrs. Martin's?"

Petunia grimaced. "Oh, Marge'll be right as rain in no time. She'll live to a hundred at this rate. Born under a lucky star," she grumbled, as thought her sister-in-law had a great deal of nerve to be in good health after the attack on Privet Drive.

"Yes, well, good to hear," he said stiffly, not really caring.

"And I want all of his rubbish out of my house! I don't want any of it causing unexpected--incidents."

He nodded. "It shall be done." She was trying his patience and he just wanted to be gone now that he had accomplished his goal. He removed the locking spell from the door and swept into the corridor without a formal good-bye or even a by-your-leave. He quickly located a lavatory; once he ascertained that he was alone he Apparated to Little Whinging. He'd convinced Albus of the wisdom of removing the anti-Apparation jinx from the village; it was just hampering the members of the Order in their work. Another method would have to be found to keep Mundungus Fletcher from "wandering off" when he was supposed to be on duty, which was a moot point at the moment.

He arrived in the deserted living room, hearing voices and clinking crockery in the kitchen. Something caught his attention, however, and he went to the window, eyes narrowing. The woman he'd seen the previous night had evidently gone out and was returning again. She left her car idling in the street while she raised the garage door, then returned to her car. She wore jeans and a plain white blouse, her hair in a bun, and while this could not be construed as provocative (especially compared to the dress of the previous evening) something about it caught his eye. Perhaps it was because he could see her legs again, even sheathed as they were in the blue fabric. He'd never really spent much time observing Muggles. Spending what little time he had with Petunia Dursley was a chore, and he hadn't felt inclined to study the doctors and nurses at the hospital, either. Muggle hospitals had a queer smell St Mungo's did not, a smell he associated with death. People rarely went to St Mungo's to die. It was unusual for the Healers to fail to find a solution to a problem, and even then it often meant a stay in the long-term ward, not death....

I'm going mad, he thought, shaking himself. How had he gone from watching the Muggle woman to thinking about death? She was starting to tug the garage door down and he turned away--but a second later, he turned back. She was peering at Mrs Figg's house; there was no other word. A frown on her face, she shaded her eyes with one hand and started to push through the low hedge separating the properties, then shook her head and retreated. However, she did stand in her driveway for several minutes, staring at her neighbour's house before disappearing into the garage closing the door.

Severus frowned. What was that about? Then he remembered the charms on the house; she'd probably thought about not having seen Mrs Figg recently, decided to look in on her, then found that the anti-Muggle charms caused her to decide to leave the property again. That was all. Nothing more to it. And yet--

He saw her face at a ground floor window, looking at Mrs Figg's house, frowning. He vacillated momentarily, as he found Muggles quite tiresome, but finally he pulled his wand out and, keeping eye contact with her the entire time (though she could not see him, due to the charms), whispered, "Legilimens."

Her mind was a jumble; he saw her as a small girl, holding out her hands to a man being dragged away by Muggle police; she was crying and being pulled back by a thin, grim-faced woman with light-brown hair. Then he saw her a bit older, next to the man who'd been taken by the police; they were hammering nails into stair treads, smiling. Then suddenly, without warning, he saw Harry Potter's face in her mind.

He abruptly dropped his wand in shock. Potter. Why was she thinking about Potter? Yes, she was sure to have heard the news about what happened to his house, plus the fact that he was the prime suspect. Was that why she was thinking about him? Worried that Harry Potter was still on the loose?

"Severus! I didn't hear you come in," Lupin said, entering from the kitchen, carrying a tray with his dinner. Dawlish followed him out of the kitchen with his own tray and claimed a comfortable armchair next to the couch; Dumbledore hadn't managed to get the Aurors removed from Mrs Figg's completely, but they were down to one at a time. "We were just going to eat in front of the telly, I'm afraid. Nothing fancy, just some fish and chips I picked up. There's enough for you, if you like." Mrs Figg entered, choosing a spot on her antimacassar-laden couch.

Severus's stomach responded to the aroma of the greasy food; he hadn't realised how hungry he was. The smell of the hospital visit had temporarily taken away his appetite. He avoided eating at Grimmauld Place because of the Weasleys, but he wasn't in the habit of eating with the other members of the Order at Mrs Figg's, either. However, it did smell quite good.... "I'll have some," he said, as thought doing them a great favour by disposing of it. "But in the kitchen." He somehow felt that whatever they were watching would be a monumental waste of his time and yet stick in his mind for days; he'd had this problem before and did not wish to repeat it.

"Suit yourself. How did it go with Harry's aunt?"

"Well enough. She agreed to take him back next summer. After we've fixed her house."

Lupin nodded. "Yes, Albus thought she'd go for that. Can't really blame her. The uncle wanted to toss Harry out last year, but Albus reminded her about the agreement. Of course, their son wasn't harmed last year, nor anyone else. This is quite different...."

"And no more than I'd expect from someone whose father and his closest friends had nothing but complete disdain for authority and rules," he growled at Lupin. "As if we don't have enough to do, Potter goes off to a pub on a lark, leaving the rest of us to--"

"Keep your hair on, Severus," Remus Lupin said with a grin that Severus wanted to hex off his face. "Albus says Harry is fine--"

"If he weren't, it would serve him right!" Severus informed him through gritted teeth. "His arrogance endangered his entire family, an unrelated Muggle, and a number of other people who must deal with the ramifications of his actions!"

Remus looked at him, shaking his head. "You're as bad as Sirius was, in your way...."

Severus bristled. "Do not compare me to Black. And no, I don't care about speaking ill of the dead. If he hadn't been such a catastrophic influence on Potter--"

Remus Lupin seemed not to notice that Snape had spoken. "Neither one of you recognized--and you still don't seem to recognize--that Harry is his own person and not his father. Sirius was still expecting Harry to be an exact duplicate of James and was disappointed when he wasn't, whereas you seem convinced that he is his dad all over again and can't stand him for it. Honestly, I don't see why you can't see--and why Sirius couldn't see-- that Harry is as different from James as day is from night."

Severus brought his face close to Lupin's. "This proves that Potter's just like his father. If our fates are in his hands, we are all in very deep trouble indeed."

"So, now that the prophecy has been plastered all over the front page of the Daily Prophet, are you going to use that as an excuse to go back to your former master? Make sure you're on the winning side?" Lupin said evenly, but the threat was clear in his voice and Severus noticed that his knuckles were white as he grasped the tray.

"I did not become a Death Eater to be on the 'winning side,' as you put it, nor did I become a spy for the same purpose. I merely fear that, if that prophecy is to be believed, we may very well have no hope at all of ridding ourselves of the Dark Lord. Not if we must rely upon an arrogant, disobedient, self-centred brat to dispose of him."

"Harry is none of those things; if you saw him for what he really is, instead of someone who bears a passing resemblance to James, you'd know that. I've had the opportunity to get to know him. And even though I was one of James's best friends, I'll say this: Harry is worth a hundred of his father and I'd have him on my side in a fight any day. I just wish he didn't have to bear this burden alone, and I shall do anything in my power to lighten that burden--if it is in my power." Lupin's voice was very soft and even; he didn't blink or take his eyes from Severus Snape. "You were supposed to be teaching him Occlumency and you couldn't even stick with that. At least," he added a little smugly, "last summer Harry had the benefit of what I had taught him...."

"And what is that?" Severus sneered, finding it very difficult not to hex him.

"How to conjure a Patronus. He was only in third year, too" Remus said, sounding quite proud. "I doubt that you've taught him a single useful thing in the last five years."

"What's going on here?" a gruff voice said suddenly. Moody stood in the doorway holding a tray, his magical eye rotating back and forth between the two of them.

"Nothing, Alastor," Lupin said, turning from Snape and going to sit next to Mrs Figg on the couch. Moody stepped very close to Snape and looked at him critically.

"When Potter was a baby, we didn't realise that there was a traitor among us, Snape," Moody said in a raspy, threatening whisper. "We won't make that mistake again. I've got my eye on you," he added, closing his normal eye and swivelling the blue magical eye a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, making Snape fight a shudder.

"I'm no traitor," he said between gritted teeth. "The Headmaster--"

"Dumbledore trusts you, yes. He trusted that other one too, didn't he? Wouldn't have been in the Order otherwise. One of James and Lily's best friends. He was even a Gryffindor. You were a Slytherin--so you already have a black mark against you...." His magical eye rotated downward, clearly focussing on the Dark Mark under the sleeve covering Severus's left forearm.

Severus fought to keep himself under control. "I don't need to prove myself to you or to anyone else." Pushing past Moody, he entered the kitchen. While he was gingerly piling pieces of fried fish and greasy chips on his plate he heard the gravelly voice through the kitchen door, and he shivered, knowing that he could still be seen.

"Keeping an eye on you, Snape."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry slept on the couch again that night, after their Indian takeaway and an evening ignoring the television. Technically they were watching it, but they actually spent the evening talking over its noise, their voices overlapping, and only stopped when Pip rang. They both froze at the sound, but after a moment, Miss Harrison shook herself and got up to answer it, muttering, "This is stupid, it's just the telephone...."

She carried it into the hall, looking at Harry furtively over her shoulder for a moment. He strained his ears to hear her. "...not tonight, Pip. I'm not feeling up to it. ...Being social. What do you mean I sound breathless? ....No, Tom isn't here. It's true! He's not! ...Um, didn't know you'd seen us leave together...." She glanced at Harry and reddened, then looked away again. "No, Pip, I'm not getting back together with Tom and not telling you. Honestly. No, I wouldn't do that, and I especially wouldn't do that and not tell you. He's a pillock and I sent him packing last night as soon as I came to my senses. I did! Do you want to track him down and ask him yourself? Oh, Pip, can't I just want some time to myself? It's no reflection on you, really. Really!" She raised her eyebrows at Harry and looked exasperated, pacing with the phone pressed to her ear, nodding as though Pip could hear her but not saying anything for a few minutes; Harry could vaguely hear that Pip was chattering on but it was too distant for him to make out what she was saying.

At length, Miss Harrison finally said, "Pip, can I call you tomorrow? I know, I didn't call you all day today and that was dreadful of me, I know, I know, yes, you're quite right. I'm the world's worst friend, but in my defence I, erm, was a bit preoccupied..." She glanced at Harry again and gave him a feeble smile, which he returned. They'd spent the day talking, watching television, and playing card and board games until Miss Harrison had gone to buy the curry. Harry remembered how starved he'd felt for contact with a human who didn't hate him; it had been great fun to just talk to a sympathetic person about everything under the sun. He'd had to be very careful about anything connected to his schooling or "unusual" abilities, but whenever she had tread into dangerous territory he'd deflected her with a question about her family.

When she finally hung up the phone, they went back to talking and ignoring the television, and Harry was shocked when he looked at his watch and discovered that it was after midnight. An enormous yawn overtook him and she smiled.

"Oh, good Lord, is that the time?" She grabbed his wrist and twisted it to see his watch.

"You were up later last night," he said mischievously.

She hit him on the arm lightly and said, "Don't remind me," turning deep red. "I still can't believe I brought Tom home..." She stood and stretched; Harry turned away after a moment, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he remembered what she'd looked like when she'd removed her dressing gown after her shower... "I hope you don't mind the couch again. If I were a proper hostess, you could sleep in one of the rooms upstairs..."

"...but I'd have to be a magician to..." He froze, unable to believe he'd used the word 'magician;' she was oblivious to his discomfort.

"I know, I know," she said, looking quite embarrassed. "I will get all of that sorted out eventually, honestly," she said, as though he'd been chastising her for the mess.

"Maybe I can help you, since I don't know how long I'm staying. I might as well be useful. Aunt Petunia usually puts me to work every day during the summer."

"I don't want to put you to work!" she exclaimed, horrified. "I can't believe them! Who do they think you are, Cinderella?"

He made a face. "You couldn't think of someone else? I don't really want to go to a ball with the prince. And he isn't my type, anyway."

She laughed. "I never knew you could be silly. You were so grim as a child."

Harry's heart leapt; she had spoken of his being a child in the past tense. A definite improvement. He shrugged. "I didn't really have a friend until I went away to school..."

"Ron. Right, you were telling me. He sounds like a very silly person."

"And then there are his brothers, Fred and George, the twins..."

"Yes, the twins! They sound like great fun..."

Harry yawned again. "I can tell you more tomorrow. I'm afraid I'm fading...."

She smiled at him and he noticed for the first time that she had a dimple in her left cheek when she did this. "I'm sorry. I'll let you get some rest. Do you want to use the bathroom first? I can wait. I put your toothbrush upstairs already."

He brushed his teeth, trying not to notice her walking back and forth wearing her dressing gown over her nightshirt. She took some pillows, sheets and blankets down to the couch for him, "so you'll have a proper place to sleep."

As he started to settle down for the night, he remembered that he'd had every intention of turning himself in to Snape that morning, which he hadn't done, of course. He donned the Cloak and went to the kitchen window to check on Mrs Figg's, something he hadn't done all day, but he only saw the figure of the Auror, Dawlish, whom he remembered from Dumbledore's office. Harry did not want to turn himself in to Dawlish, whom he didn't trust for a minute, so that was that.

He returned to the couch, taking off the Cloak and staring at the ceiling. As he drifted off, he realised that this had been one of the nicest days he'd experienced in a long time. There was a momentary pang of guilt that he hadn't thought a great deal about Sirius, and he realised that he hadn't thought at all about how the Dursleys were. None of that seemed to matter now, however, and his only other thought before sleep overtook him was a curiosity about what had caused Voldemort's happiness that morning....

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry threw himself on the couch next to Tilda; they'd had curry again, as they had nearly every night for the previous week. Harry wasn't tired of it yet, but he feared she might be.

He'd worked up an appetite organising one of the upstairs rooms. She'd been forced to go out with Pip that afternoon, to allay her friend's suspicions, since she'd been putting her off for days and making one excuse after another not to meet with her or have her to the house. Tilda had been shocked when she returned home from lunch and discovered what he'd been doing. They'd spent every day since she'd found him in her home watching television and videos, listening to music and talking for hours on end. He couldn't quite explain why he wanted to do it (he would have felt embarrassed to tell her that knowing the mess was up there had actually been interfering with his sleep), but it was good to be doing something useful for once. It was quite interesting going through the detritus of a lifetime, sorting through pile after pile and categorising the items. She joined him when she'd got over the shock, but even with both of them working, they'd only got the first room one-third done. They'd have to do more another day.

At one point, he'd come across an old suitcase filled with newspapers. He'd been about to bin them when Miss Harrison had stopped him. He frowned at her.

"But--they're just old newspapers--"

"No, they're not. I--I saved the papers with stories about my dad," she said softly. Harry really looked at the papers now. On top were some sensationalist rags covering Jim Harrison's close encounter; further down were accounts of his arrest and conviction for breaking into Reese Hall; the Northrop-Reese family silver had never been recovered. Each story also mentioned his insistence on having seen aliens come to earth amidst a blinding green light. Harry read the stories quickly before returning them to the suitcase.

"Sorry," he mumbled, handing it to her. She tried to look as though it didn't matter.

"It's okay...."

As they sat on the couch that evening, Miss Harrison changing channels every few seconds, she said to Harry, "Oh, you know, there's something you said that I never commented on.... We have the same birthday."

He turned to her in surprise, then, seeing something out of the corner of his eye, said, "Oh! Football--" But she'd already gone past it. "I mean--you do?"

"Yes," she said, trying to find the match again. "You said yours is on the thirty-first."

"Yeah," he replied absentmindedly as the match reappeared on the television; he was watching the goalie prepare to block a penalty kick. Harry clenched his jaw painfully, as though he were the one preparing to do the block.

"Well," she continued, "that's also my birthday. Except I won't be anywhere near sixteen...." He looked up at her then, seeing her turn quite pink.

"How old will you be, then?" he asked without thinking; a split second later he realised that he shouldn't have done this.

She laughed. "An old lady."

He grinned. "You will not be. Oh, it's not that bad, surely? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?"

She made a face. "How old do you think I was when I was teaching you? I'll be thirty-two--twice your age." She sighed and leaned back, hugging a pillow, sounding rather depressed as she watched the match.

"Oh, come on, Miss Harrison, that's not old," he said instinctively, even as he thought, Bloody hell. She was my age when I was born.

She gave him a lopsided smile. "You'd make me feel younger if you called me Tilda."

He smiled back at her, nodding. "You keep telling me that, but I'll really try now: Tilda."

It was quiet for a minute; she didn't take her eyes from his face. The only noise was the television; they could hear one side singing songs very loudly, filling the stadium with their voices while the footballers played on.

Suddenly, she shook herself and turned back to the television. "You know what we should do," she said, not looking at him; "we should give ourselves a nice birthday by making a day trip to Brighton or something like that. If you wear that Cloak of yours I'm sure no one will see you leave Little Whinging, and when we get there you can go off and change into your swimming gear and voila! A person appears out of thin air! No one will notice. I love it at Brighton, but there's never anyone about to go with me for my birthday; Pip's going to be on a singles cruise in a few days--I wouldn't be caught dead on one of those--and my brother and sister are coming to see me before my birthday and leaving again. Mum hasn't left Australia for eleven years, so if you don't do this I'll just be sitting at home here doing nothing on my--our birthday--and you only turn sixteen once...." She grinned at him now and he couldn't help but grin back.

Could he go? The message from Dumbledore said that he was safe when he was either in the house or in her presence. So that should be all right.

"Yeah. That sounds fine," he said, his heart beating with excitement; the Dursleys had, of course, never taken him to the seaside.

"It's settled then! And you know, it's a good thing that we started to clean out that room, so you'll have a place to stay when Jack comes. He usually kips on the couch, so you couldn't possibly sleep down here. He won't be expecting the upstairs to be fit for humans, except for my bedroom, so you can just hang about upstairs while he's here...." She looked worried. "Oh, dear. That doesn't sound very nice, does it? Well, to be perfectly honest, he doesn't actually stay here much when he visits. You won't have to lurk upstairs much. Are you sure no one else can know? Jack wouldn't tell..."

Harry looked grim. "I don't think it's a good idea. I don't mind sitting upstairs and pretending not to exist, honestly. I've got a lot of practice at that. About fifteen years."

She put her hand over his, clucking sympathetically. "Oh, Harry...."

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and they both jumped, pulling their hands apart. Tilda stood nervously, raising her eyebrows to indicate that she had no idea who might be calling. He crept into the kitchen to wait, wishing he had his Cloak, but he'd left it in the bathroom upstairs. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest as he heard her open the door, then cry out inarticulately. He instinctively reached for his wand, but a moment later he opened his hand, hearing her very loud voice announcing the newcomer for his benefit:

"Jack! I wasn't expecting you yet. You're early!"

---