Resonance

Chapter 55 -- Past Present

"You invited Elizabeth?" Snape asked in surprise.

"You said whomever," Harry pointed out.

"Yes. I simply expected . . . perhaps Ms. Weasley."

"Really?" Harry asked in disbelief as he adjusted the gold cufflinks on his new, expensive Muggle suit. It felt odd on him, but in the mirror he had looked shockingly formal and respectable. Aaron had recommended the tailor and, fortunately, Harry's fears of ending up looking like Aaron had not been realized.

With a shake of his head, Snape said, "Never mind. Anyone is fine."

When they were all assembled in the main hall, Candide, after oohing over Harry and giving him a birthday hug, said, "I made reservations at a very nice place in London. Popular with my boss at the office, so I thought it'd be nice even though it is Muggle and it has a convenient spot to Floo into. I can't Apparate all the way to London, I don't know about Severus here . . ."

Snape raised a brow but didn't reply.

"Glad I brought my long cloak," Elizabeth said, hitching it firmly around her, presumably to protect her clothes from the soot.

They arrived in a nicely carpeted alcove with a long corridor coming off of it. Candide used a charm to remove the ash from her hair. Elizabeth shook off her cloak, revealing a striking blue pantsuit. Harry, thinking he would try a little, took her cloak and held out his arm to her. She smiled and accepted it with a graceful movement and let him lead to the restaurant. He was so well behaved that he didn't even turn around with a dark look when Candide commented, "Aren't they cute?"

The maitre d' took their cloaks and led them directly to a table in the middle of the high-ceilinged main room. As water arrived, everyone gave Harry the gifts they had brought.

"Hope you like it; I wasn't certain what you would like," Elizabeth said apologetically.

"I don't need anything, so thanks," he insisted, stacking the three boxes in the middle of the big round table to open with dessert.

"Would sir like to order wine?" the waiter asked Snape, holding out a tall, leather-bound list. Snape took it and the tuxedo-clad man disappeared.

Harry relaxed with the indirect lighting, the smell of the food, conversation, and the clink of silver around them. He could really get used to this, he thought. As water was being poured, he gave Elizabeth a smile, which she easily returned.

"This is nice," she said. "Thanks for inviting me. Kind of unexpected, really . . . "

Harry shrugged, glad to have had someone to invite. Behind him the maitre d' was saying, "Your table, sir." Harry saw Snape's eyes dart up sharply, peering at something just over Harry's shoulder. A very familiar voice said, "Didn't think they'd let your kind into a place like this. What is the world coming to, I have to wonder?"

Harry pushed his chair back with a jerk and stood up. He found to his surprise that he was looking eye to eye with his Uncle Vernon, rather than up at him. Dursley seemed surprised by this as well as by Harry's attire. "You are, uh, looking better than expected," Vernon muttered.

"Yes, it only required two years separate from you to undo the damage you did to him," Snape stated nastily.

Harry drew a breath through his teeth; he really wished Snape had not said that, at least not in front of Candide and Elizabeth. Candide, looking concerned, whispered to Snape, "Who is this?"

"This is my Uncle Vernon," Harry said, making sure it did not sound like an introduction. He looked next to Dudley, who was standing behind his father dressed in a huge three-piece suit, working on acquiring the same number of chins, it appeared. "And my cousin, Dudley." He glanced around and found Petunia standing on the far side of the next table, looking very sour. "My Aunt Petunia," he informed them with a hand-sweep in her direction. Candide and Elizabeth leaned to the side to see her better, both looking amazed and curious.

"I suppose these are all weirdoes like yourself?" Vernon asked, indicating their table.

"Yes," Harry replied dryly, "Of course." He had thought he was over these people, since he rarely gave them a passing thought, but faced with them here, memories rose up and circled like hot whispering ghosts. He forced his breathing to slow.

Vernon turned away. "I want a different table," he demanded of the maitre d'.

"This is the only table available," the man insisted. Harry sat back down, wrestling internally. They didn't matter, he insisted to himself. It was hard to ignore them at the moment though, as Vernon had the attention of the entire restaurant.

"That table in the corner is empty," Vernon bellowed.

Red-faced, the maitre d' explained with forced patience, "It is reserved. For someone important," he added in a tone that knew how insulting it would come across.

"I am your most important guest; I brought three big clients here for lunch last month alone."

Harry was distracted by Candide topping up his wine. When he did not take the hint, she pushed it closer. "I'm sorry to have picked this place," she said, plunking down the heavy bottle beside Harry's presents. "We should go somewhere else."

"No," Harry insisted, tuning out the argument behind him as he had tuned out so many in the past, very similar in that he was being discussed in the third person, as always.

"You lived with them?" Candide asked, clearly wanting to understand.

Snape made an aborted motion to restrain her. "Yes," Harry replied. "Just ignore them." Behind him, Dudley was arguing as well now, but faced with the embarrassment of being thrown out, they were winding down and taking their seats while still grumbling. Harry took a sip of wine and licked his lips, forcing himself to taste it. He wanted to forget them completely but all he could think of was that it was unfair to lock a child in a cupboard for a week at a time, for any reason, that it was unfair especially to lie about what happened to a child's parents, to make him think their deaths weren't important.

"Harry," Snape's whip-like voice beside him shook him loose from his musings.

Candide raised her wine glass and put on a smile. "Well, for what it's worth, happy birthday, Harry, and many more." They all clinked their glasses. Harry noticed Candide's eyes flicker over to the next table and narrow intensely. It made him suspect she had a fierce side he had not seen directly, and he half-wished she would pull out her wand and show it.

Elizabeth only made minor conversation over the soup and all of it very remote to their situation. They didn't really know each other well enough to make easy small talk, Harry realized. After fishing for a topic, they discussed the difference between magical and Muggle education with each concluding that they wouldn't have liked the other's school very much.

Later, while they waited for cake, Harry finished his glass of wine and leaned back in a much less caring mood. His full stomach probably had something to do with that; it wasn't something he would have associated with the Dursleys, for certain. Harry watched Candide's eyes stare beyond his shoulder for the tenth time.

"Lord, I can't imagine," she muttered. "No wonder you wanted to live somewhere else."

Harry's cake arrived, presented by a troupe of waiters who also rushed about pouring champagne. Eighteen sparklers burned atop the cake, lighting the whole table. "Happy birthday, Harry," they all wished him again as the sparklers fizzled to glowing red curls which were quickly pulled out before the cake was efficiently cut and served, the remainder set on a side table. Harry began to wonder if the waiters weren't actually house-elves charmed to be taller; they moved so fast and silently.

After downing his tall, sparkling glass in one go, Harry reached for the presents. Candide's was on top, so he gave her a grateful smile and opened that one first. Inside was a set of magical bookmarks, the kind that remembered multiple pages. They were gold, square on the outer edge with the insides cut out, each in the shape of a different breed of dragon. "Thanks. I was admiring these the other day at the shop . . . "

"Not the kind of thing to buy for yourself," Candide finished for him.

"No they aren't. Thanks." The next box was the largest, from Elizabeth. Harry savored the smooth feel of the glistening wrapping paper before opening it. Inside was a hat, a stylish dark grey one like someone might wear in a Muggle film. "I thought you didn't like me wearing a hat?" Harry asked to cover his near dismay.

"I don't like that orange hat," Elizabeth clarified.

"Ah." Harry pulled out the fancy felt hat, complete with small maroon feather, and put it on.

"Oh, you look good in that," Candide opined, sounding too honest to ignore. Harry couldn't imagine looking like himself in this thing. He smiled and placed it back in the box.

"Thanks," he said.

"Better than the other one," Elizabeth insisted, sipping her champagne, unperturbed by his lack of enthusiasm.

The last box was small and a little heavy, bringing back a mix of memories that hit harder with the Dursleys so near. A glance at his guardian showed Snape with one of those looks that implied he was seeing way too much. Harry unwrapped the gold paper and found a soft leather wallet. "Thanks," Harry, flipping it open and closed again. He pulled out his old knitted wallet, which seemed even more worn and dingy in this setting. Hermione, who had knitted it, would think he had used it long enough, he decided, in fact may be appalled to find him still using it. He transferred his identification and address notes to the new one before pocketing both.

As they ate cake, Harry with great relish since he was reminded now of numerous cakeless birthdays, another familiar voice spoke his name.

"Your table is right over here, sir," the maitre d' said to Lord Freelander as Harry turned.

"Yes, yes, I'll get there when I get there," Freelander said dismissively. With a smile Harry stood up to greet him. "How are you doing, Mr. Potter . . . well, looks quite well, doesn't it? My goodness." He released Harry's hand. "And Professor Snape, good to see you as well. And what lovely ladies, I have not had the pleasure." Introductions went around.

"Excuse me," Vernon's voice intruded, "But aren't you Lord Freelander?"

"Yes," Freelander replied in a doubtful voice. Harry stepped back to avoid being bumped aside by the beefy elbow of his uncle. Vernon had gone into his ingratiating mode, which made Harry's dinner turn over.

"Vernon Dursley, Director of Grunnings Holdings, we could discuss a bit of business if you had the time. Oh, this is my nephew, Harry, whom you apparently know, as shocking a notion as that is."

"Shocking?" Freelander echoed in confusion. "Everyone knows Mr. Potter," he added with a laugh of disbelief.

"Do they now?" Vernon asked. "Oh, this must be that Vold-e-mort thing, right?"

Freelander looked about as befuddled as decorum would allow. "I should say."

Harry explained, "My uncle is a Muggle."

"I see," Freelander muttered. "But that is hardly an excuse for not understanding who you are, Mr. Potter."

"He doesn't like wizards," Harry also pointed out.

Vernon was eyeing Freelander suspiciously now. Freelander grinned out of the corner of his mouth. "I doubt you really wish to do business with me then, sir," he said with a demeaning edge. He turned back to the table, ignoring Vernon, who now looked a touch apoplectic. "We'll certainly have to have you all over for tea . . . oh, a birthday. Yours, Mr. Potter? I do apologize for not remembering that. I do wish you the best."

Vernon had stumbled back to his table where he sat looking purple around the edges, as though the world had ended.

"It's all right sir, really. I appreciate your sentiments," Harry said easily to Freelander.

Freelander looked be thinking of heading to his table where a waiter still stood patiently to pull out his chair and arrange his things for him. "You are fine young man, Potter. You need anything at all, just owl."

"Thank you, sir."

"Good evening to you all," he tipped an invisible hat to the table and stepped away, leaning heavily on his cane. Harry noticed then that the table was set for one. He sat down again, feeling a little bad about that.

The rest of the evening went by without incident and Harry managed to forget his relatives so much so that he didn't notice them leave. Snape glanced at his pocket watch a few times as they drank coffee before suggesting they depart as well. Harry thought he looked uneasy and strangely in a hurry.

They returned to Shrewsthorpe, Harry a little grudgingly because he wanted the evening to go on as long as possible. Snape told Harry to leave his cloak on and he mysteriously led the way out to the garden where a familiar cat sat atop their wall.

"Good evening, Harry," Professor McGonagall intoned after transforming mid-leap to the ground.

Harry returned the greeting, unable to hold back his surprise at finding his old headmistress hovering in the darkness of their garden. "What brings you here?" Harry couldn't help asking.

"Delivering a present for you, my dear boy," she replied with a smile.

"You needn't have gotten me anything," he insisted.

She stepped back to the garden wall and looked each way down the street. "Oh, it isn't from me. It is from someone you are almost certainly not expecting a gift from."

She grinned broadly then as a rumble filled the street. Harry walked over to her near the gate and looked both ways, but nothing appeared in the pools of light on the blacktop. The wind was still and the trees looked akin to statues. The rumble grew louder. McGonagall seemed to be looking for something specific in Harry's face she studied it so closely.

Harry was about to give in and ask what the noise was when, with a clanging boom, something fell out of the sky. He blinked in shock at the sight of the largest motorbike he had ever seen, ridden by the largest man he knew. Hagrid killed the engine and swung his leg off the seat.

"'Arry," he said emotionally. "She's all yers."

"What?" Harry managed. The thing was monstrous. Unrealistically so.

Hagrid held out a set of silver keys which Harry accepted in a daze. "A flying motorbike," Harry murmured distantly, dusty memories tugging at him.

"Aye," Hagrid replied proudly. "The very one I brought you away on the night You-Know-Who attacked you and your folks."

Harry dropped the keys, but caught them again before they landed. "I've been on that motorbike?" he asked. "I used to dream about a flying motorbike. You're giving this to me?" he confirmed with Hagrid, catching up.

"No, no, I'm just deliverin' it. Yer Godfather left it to you for your eighteenth birthday," Hagrid said. He gave Harry a powerful shove toward the street. "Take 'er for a spin."

Harry stepped into the road and around the shining chrome handlebars, trailing a reverent finger over them at the memory of Sirius. After a long minute he said, "I, uh, don't know how to ride it."

Hagrid came over. "Let me give ya a lesson then." Harry watched carefully as Hagrid demonstrated the clutch, the shifter, the brake, the throttle, the altitude throttle. "Git on with me, we'll take 'er around the block."

Harry slid onto the seat in front of Hagrid's bulk and watched intently how Hagrid kick-started the machine with a toe flip--Harry doubted he could manage that--before they roared away down the road to the edge of town, where they turned around in the gravel carpark of a closed antique shop.

"Take the handlebars," Hagrid said and then immediately let go.

Harry made a desperate grab and made a few alarming over corrections before they were rolling true again.

"Now the altitude throttle is here." Hagrid said conversationally before wrapping his hand around Harry's left and giving a back twist to the handle that shot them into the air. Harry's vision swam, though it was hard to tell in the darkness whether he could really see or not. Hagrid released his hand and they started to fall. "Now, keep 'er steady," Hagrid shouted.

Harry frantically adjusted the handle until they were level. With an exhale of relief he twisted the right handle backward and they shot forward, making Harry very grateful that Hagrid was behind him, because he was certain he would have slid right off the back otherwise.

"Take 'er easy, there, Harry," Hagrid chastised.

Harry turned the handlebars and the bike, despite being five hundred feet off the ground, responded smoothly by turning. Harry looked down at the end of the turn. He had no sense of where Shrewsthorpe was; several clusters of lights that could be towns dotted the world below them. They cruised slowly while Harry tried to get his bearings.

"O'er there," Hagrid said eventually, "little more to the right."

As it turned out, Harry was almost on target. He reduced their altitude and brought them down on the street, right before the house for a relatively smooth landing. Hagrid got off the back and Harry remained sitting meditatively, arms wide to hold the humming handlebars, feeling pure happiness. He eventually realized that everyone stood waiting for him, so he steered the bike inside the garden and parked it before shutting down the motor.

"You can quiet 'er with the knob here," Hagrid said, demonstrating a silver knob below the speedometer with the label Roar.

"Excellent," Snape said from close behind Harry. "It has one redeeming quality, at least."

"It's brilliant," Harry breathed. "Thank you for bringing it," he said to Hagrid and McGonagall.

Hagrid gave him a hug. "Never thought I'd see this day, I have to tell ya." He brushed his eye and slapped Harry's shoulder, knocking him aside, although Harry recovered quickly. With two rounds of goodbyes, he and McGonagall stepped onto the street to walk to the train station, Hagrid over the wall, McGonagall through the gate, Hagrid said, "You take care of him, now, Severus."

"Oh, but of course," he said with a voice colored in sarcasm.

Elizabeth and Candide took their leave as well, each with last birthday wishes. When they were alone in the house, Harry said, "You could have vetoed that, couldn't you?"

Snape paused and turned. "In theory, but not in practice." He paused. "Not given how much Mr. Black still means to you."

Harry felt unwilling to counter that, even though it solidified some distance between them. "Thank you for letting me have it," Harry said sincerely.

In an exasperated tone Snape said, "Do try to be cautious on it. It isn't a rational way to fly, unlike a broomstick."

"It is just the same as a broomstick," Harry insisted. In the main hall Harry had a thought. "Can I ride it to the Burrow tomorrow for the picnic?"

"You will have to get up early to do so, I believe, since it will take much longer than the Floo."

"Okay," Harry agreed, eagerly anticipating everyone's reaction to his arrival at the Weasley place.

That night, Harry, despite feeling very happy about his big shiny present from his godfather, couldn't sleep. He raised his head to peer at the clock to find that it read ten minutes to midnight. He plunked his head back down on the soft pillow, reminded unwillingly of his much less comfortable bed at the Dursley's, of his grudgingly allowed stay in a bedroom rather than a broom cupboard. With a huff, he rolled over onto his back and tried to think of something else.

The door creaking faintly distracted Harry from trying to sleep and he turned his head to find Snape in the dark doorway. Standing half inside the room, Snape asked, "Having difficulty sleeping?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted

With a shuffle of robe, Snape stepped over and with his wand, waved up the lamp to an orange glow. "I suspected that your rest would be disturbed."

Harry frowned and finally said, "I keep remembering how unfair and cruel they were. They really hated me." He sat up slightly, using the pillow as a backrest and glanced at the clock again. "Funny, I used to lay awake the night before my birthday because of them."

Snape clasped his hands before him, still holding his wand. "You have a minute remaining. Anything else you would like?"

Harry shook his head, amused at the thought that Snape appeared ready to conjure anything he might request. Snape flicked his wand at the clock, halting its faint ticking with the minute hand just before the twelve. "Are you certain?" Snape asked.

"Yes." Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed twelve times. While staring at the frozen clock, Harry said, "I used to always be wishing for something to be undone, like for my parents to not be dead, or for Voldemort to not exist or to not be my responsibility, or even to just not be in trouble for something," he added more lightly. Meeting his guardian's dark gaze, he said with a shrug, "But everything is pretty good right now." He wished Sirius' name was cleared, but that wasn't something likely to be granted this instant, by this man.

Snape waved the clock to resume running and gave Harry a twitching half-smile. "Do let me know if you think of anything," Snape said as he moved to the door.

Oddly, Harry felt a twinge, watching him move in the dim light. "Good night," Harry said, to cover it.

"Good night, and happy birthday."

-------------

The next morning, Harry came down the stairs at seven sharp. Winky brought coffee three minutes later, just as Snape came in, reading a letter. "My mother is suggesting we visit," he said as he pulled out his chair.

Harry shrugged that he could survive that. He added more sugar to his coffee and opened the Prophet just as Snape stole half of it. Harry said, "You're up early. Do you want to fly with me to the picnic?"

Snape gave him a shocked, disbelieving look. "I do not think so."

Harry tried to focus on the paper, on an article about a run of cursed tinned fish showing up in Muggle shops. Mundungus immediately leapt to Harry's mind for some reason. He turned the page of the paper. "You're certain?" he verified minutes later.

Snape put his half of the paper down with a sharp rustle. "Why would you imagine I would wish to?"

"Because it sounds like fun," explained Harry, fishing in his mind for enticements. "That and I'm sure you must have been jealous of Sirius at school because of it." He actually had no idea if Snape even knew about the bike before it came up as a gift, but Snape's expression closed down as it went distant, making Harry believe he must have. Continuing in a bright tone, Harry said, "You can ride it whenever you like. Imagine how annoyed he'd be at that thought."

Snape thought in brow-furrowed silence before saying, "You truly wish me to travel with you?"

Harry kind of did. "Yeah. I think it'd be fun." Breakfast arrived. "If you like, we can even ride it to visit your mum."

Snape's dark eyes glazed over. "Hm," he murmured. "Or my father, as Gretta wants us to visit them as well before the school year begins."

Holding back hard on grinning too much, Harry replied, "Sure. Or both, since your parents don't owl each other, it would work twice."

Snape rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If you wish, we can go together to the Burrow this morning."

Harry brightened more. "Excellent. This will be great."

Out in the garden, after a quick breakfast, Harry sat in front on the huge seat that probably could have held three of his friends in a pinch.

"You are certain you can operate this machine?" Snape asked, sounding dubious.

Harry scanned the controls; there seemed to be more of them than he remembered in the darkness the night before. "Yeah. Just give us a Disillusionment Charm and I'll start 'er up." Snape pulled out his wand and complied. Harry put the key in and turned it to the line marked as Go before jumping on the starter. To his relief it coughed to a rumble, forcing him to shove in the Roar knob to quiet it. It fell so silent, he feared that it had stalled, but then noticed the handlebars still shivered with life.

"Hang on," Harry commanded. He glanced back to see Snape grabbing the sissy bar in his right hand, his left he wrapped around Harry.

"Should we carry a broom as well? As backup?" Snape asked.

"Nah," Harry said, twisting the left handle backwards as slightly as possible. They hovered a foot off the ground. Harry turned it farther and they rocketed into the air. When they achieved a good altitude, Harry hovered again.

"A little less yelling, perhaps?" Snape suggested dryly.

"Brooms don't do that, you have to admit," Harry shouted over the wind. He turned them south, sighting along the main road.

After twenty minutes Harry managed to relax into the ride and watch the landscape slide by beneath them. At first their speed had seemed insanely fast, but he was used to it now and it almost felt sedate, although the air buffeted them continuously around the windscreen.

It required two and a half hours, including a little time to get lost, but eventually the distinctive Burrow rose into view in its field, the dirt drive meandering a long distance from the remote road it connected to. People wandered around the front of the house, setting up tables. Harry pulled out the Roar knob and watched them stop and turn, a wide grin stretching his face.

They landed in a cloud of dust on the drive and Harry immediately had to throttle back to keep from getting thrown off on the bumps. He clutched and raced the engine a bit as they freewheeled up to the house and came to a stop. The Weasley twins banged their way out of the side door and came running, catching up with the group who were coming over. Harry recognized his other housemates from Hogwarts as well as Ron and Mr. Weasley, who gazed rapturously at the bike. He killed the engine so he could hear them.

The sudden silence felt like deafness, until one of the twins' shouts of glee went up. Snape swung himself off the back and brushed his robes flat. "Wow," Ron breathed. "Where'd ya' get that?"

"Sirius, if you can believe it," Harry responded. "Left it for my birthday."

"I thought I recognized that monstrosity," Mrs. Weasley stated, slightly disapproving. This only added to the appeal of it in Harry's mind. Some of the others grinned as well.

"And what charms does it use to fly?" Mr. Weasley leaned close to ask. Harry could only shrug, since he knew nothing about it. Mrs. Weasley looked very relieved that Harry did not know.

"Well, lunch is on if you're hungry," Molly said, drawing everyone but Ron and Dean away from the motorbike.

Harry looked the bike over in detail with them until their stomachs forced them to the food table. His friends kept marveling about the bike as they ate. "What a monster," Dean said, biting into a sandwich. "What a great present."

Harry agreed heartily, but then caught a glimpse of Snape's closed expression farther down the long uneven row of tables. Harry managed a smile for his friends as they chatted on about their holidays and Sirius' old bike.

While the cake was being fetched from the kitchen, worrisomely, by Fred and George, Harry wandered over to where Snape stood, filling his cup from a spout on a large ceramic lemon-shaped urn. Harry glanced around to see that they were alone before saying, "I don't want you to feel like you're competing with Sirius."

Snape stared into the worn plastic cup. "A bit of a one-sided competition, really."

Harry thought that over. "One-sided which way?" he asked, honestly curious.

Snape's dark eyes came up. "You tell me."

Ginny and Hermione walked over at that moment and dragged Harry back to the table. "Cake time," Ginny announced. Eighteen pinwheeling fireworks lit the long, chocolatey, broom-shaped cake, shedding sparks over everything in cycling colors.

"I can't blow those out," Harry said.

"Just cut the cake so we can eat it," Ron prompted him impatiently. Harry braced himself through the off-key song, accepted the knife, and quickly cut the broom handle into pieces and onto plates, eagerly accepted. When the seeking hands disappeared, Harry cut two more, one of which he forced on his guardian, who was observing from the far end of the table.

While everyone devoured cake, Harry said quietly, "There is no competition, or if there is, you've won it already."

Snape shook his head. "This should be dropped; it is your birthday after all and your marvelous present should not be soured. If you choose to idealize your dead godfather, you have every right to." He frowned and put down his cake with only one bite taken out of it. "Even that may have come out wrong," he breathed, sounding frustrated.

A game of Quidditch was being organized in the field beside the house. The new makeshift pitch was well surrounded by trees that had been growing mysteriously fast over the last five years. Harry watched teams being selected by some kind of colorful, flashing lottery spell. "Don't worry about it, Severus; I think I understand." Harry then teased, "Want to play some Quidditch?"

"Beater?" Snape suggested.

"I don't know how they're choosing positions," Harry said, walking toward the group with a grin. Snape sometimes refereed matches at Hogwarts, but Harry had never seen him play.

They joined the cluster of people as they were sorted into two groups. Ron was saying, "Ginny you are dragon," he said, as a spell drew a crude symbol in the air before her. "And, Harry," he said, waving his wand at Harry's chest causing a Pegasus to appear there. "Peggy for you." He pointed to the left of himself. "And . . . are you playing, sir?" he blurted in surprise at Snape.

"'Course 'e is," Mr. Weasley said chummily, putting a hand around Snape's shoulder. "Aren't you?"

"I was considering it. What positions are available?"

Mr. Weasley responded, "Um, Keeper for you, I think. Right Ron?" Ron looked ready to protest, but swallowed it.

"Yeah. 'Course." He waved his wand. "Dragon, o'er there," he pointed to where Neville, Ginny and Fred stood with a wide variety of expressions.

Ginny looked amused in contrast to the other two. "You good at Keeper, Professor?" Snape gave her a haughty look in reply.

The rest were assigned to teams and George explained the boundaries. Charlie let his wife Gretel play and went to sit beside Hermione on a picnic blanket. They had just enough brooms. Harry wished they had brought theirs as he let Gretel have the last one that looked air-worthy. The absolute last, an unfinished pine-handled model with lots of extra twine to hold the errant half-broken bristles down, didn't look like it could possibly fly. It jumped into his hand on command though and managed a wobbly takeoff.

"All right there, Harry?" Ron asked, passing him easily.

Harry waved his Beater bat at him. "I'll just swing harder to make up for it," he threatened.

The makeshift goals were made up of bicycle tubes, a Muggle hula hoop, and a woven grape vine that resembled an old wreath more than a piece of sporting equipment. "Everyone in position," Ron shouted. When everyone quieted and flew to the center of the field, he said, "Call your own fouls and losers have to wash the dishes . . . and anything else Mum needs done."

He tossed up the homesewn Quaffle and immediately rose to fight with George for it. They weren't playing with a Snitch and only had one Bludger that the twins had brought. Harry found himself better blocking opponents with his body rather than using his bat, making him even with Neville, who had a much better broom but was not practiced at Quidditch and didn't have the heart to swing hard when the Bludger came his way.

"Longbottom," Snape said from his position guarding the posts. "Hover here. Not quite so obviously in the foul zone," he corrected waving him back. "There. When they are making a scoring run, be there. Like Potter is doing on the other side. Fred Weasley can handle Beater on his own for us."

"Ye- Yes, sir."

After over an hour of pretty unspectacular, but amusing, play, the score was a mere twenty to twenty. Snape turned out to be a rather decent Keeper as was Mr. Weasley on Ginny's broom since he could intimidate those coming at him with embarrassing or amusing stories from their childhood. George was taking rather personal runs at Professor Snape, to no avail. Gretel was good on a broom but not accustomed to the fast passing George was, slowing him down when they made a run toward the goals.

"Neville, you are hovering in the way on purpose," George complained after shooting the Quaffle wide on one particularly fast flight at the right-hand goal.

"I'm supposed to be," Neville pointed out. "I'm on this team."

Mrs. Weasley trouped over from the yard of the Burrow and yelled that they had five more minutes.

"Mum's calling the game," George said, when Ron grumbled. "She wants help with the dishes."

"Next score wins," Ron announced, taking up the Quaffle and passing it to Ginny, who called a time-out. Harry flew slowly over to Mr. Weasley and watched as the other side congregated near the posts, leaning in close to plot out a play.

"What do you think they'll come up with?" Harry asked.

Mr. Weasley shrugged. "Whatever it is their TIME'S UP!" he shouted.

Harry took up his position. He had to think pretty strategically to get where he wanted to be in time to have a swing at the Bludger with his bat. The other side took up a formation. Ron passed to Ginny who was racing down the pitch with the Quaffle, eyes firmly on the goal post. Snape left his position, taking up the bat Neville held out as he passed. He raced straight to the Bludger arcing slowly through the pitch and took a hard swing, sending it straight at Mr. Weasley, guarding the middle post. Startled, Mr. Weasley moved out of its path, leaving the goals open. The Bludger swung around in another arc back to the pitch. Harry urged his slow broom faster, trying desperately for his first real swing at the thing all game. Ginny dodged twice, Quaffle in her throwing hand, trying to outwit her father as he rose back into position. All the players were coming in fast in anticipation of a score. Harry met the Bludger and swung as hard as he could, guessing at Ginny's next move.

Harry's aim was too good; just as Ginny released her throw, the Bludger smashed through the old fragile broom she rode and she started to plummet. Harry dropped the bat and reached for his wand, but Neville and Fred were in his way and he couldn't move fast enough to get a gap for a spell. Several people shouted and those on good brooms dove for her. Harry was leaning hard on his broom but it wouldn't move nearly fast enough. George managed to grab hold of her sleeve, breaking her fall until the fabric tore, Ginny's one hand flailing for George's broom the other holding the useless broken handle of her own broom. Two other figures nearly collided, reaching her just a few feet before the ground. After a bit of grappling, frantic on Ginny's part, Ron and Snape hovered her to the field.

Harry arrived at a run, since that was faster than flying. "Thanks," Ginny was saying. "Didn't fancy an afternoon at St. Mungo's."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Harry apologized.

"That's all right," Ginny said, recovering quickly. She examined the broken end of the handle before sticking it in the ground and leaning on it, breathing out in tension release.

"These brooms aren't as good as the ones at Hogwarts," Ron said to Harry. "Especially not now."

Ginny stood straight and glanced around. A little reluctantly, she said, "Thanks, Professor."

Snape nodded as the other Weasleys muttered similar things. "Ginny scored, didn't she?" Ron asked, changing the topic.

"I didn't see," Harry said.

"She did," Mr. Weasley said. "Dishes for us: Harry, George . . . Gretel," he said, remembering their team.

"Just don't say anything to Mum," Ginny said. Everyone agreed that would be the best thing.

Fred said, "Oh, I'll take the broken broom, then. Buy another used one to replace it." Everyone agreed that was a good idea. Fred fetched the bristle end and did a Reparo which wouldn't let it fly, but would let it pass any glances. He gave Ginny his broom to carry back to the house.

Harry didn't mind doing dishes standing between George and Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley gave them an earful for making the birthday boy help, but everyone insisted losing was losing. Gretel did her part by cleaning up outside, using magic to put everything in the shed. Harry could see her steering one chair at a time around the side of the house as he scrubbed a tall stack of soaking, mismatched plates. The warm water on his hands relaxed him, which he needed since he felt a little strained and guilty.

When Mrs. Weasley headed to the living room to sit with the others, Harry quietly said, "I'm sorry about what happened," to Mr. Weasley.

"Harry, don't worry about it," Mr. Weasley said softly, sounding honestly forgiving about it. "Goodness, if you knew the trouble these kids of ours have been in over the years." He glanced into the seating area over his shoulder. "But, uh, best to not say anything anyway."

"Yeah," George said, nudging Harry with his elbow as he dried dishes and put them on a stack. "Such trouble, you don't know. We've had dark wizards hunting us down all our lives."

Harry was ahead of George on washing and waiting for Mr. Weasley to add more dishes to the sink

"You are pretty fast at this, Harry."

"I've been hunted by the Dursleys all my life. I always had to do the cleaning up," Harry explained, taking up the large pot just put into the sink. "Now the house-elf does it."

"Must be nice," George said. "I could afford one now. Think, uh . . ." he trailed off. Harry glanced at Mr. Weasley and found him giving his son a strict look. Harry wondered that no one ever criticized him directly.

Finally they finished and the last dish was hovered into the cabinet. They joined the others around the cold hearth. Harry was surprised to find Snape sitting between Ginny and Fred on the coarse, green and orange plaid couch. He didn't look relaxed exactly, but at least not too stiff. "Goin' ta win the house cup this year, Ginny?" Fred was asking. "You are our last hope."

"Last chance, at least," George chimed in.

"She is going to work on her N.E.W.T.s" Mrs. Weasley stated, setting out fresh bottles of butterbeer on the low table and taking her usual chair by the hearth after tossing her apron over the back. Harry took a seat on the arm of the closer, plain orange couch, beside Gretel.

"As usual," Ginny said, "I have no say." When Snape turned to her, she asked, "Have any brothers or sisters, Professor?"

"Goodness, no." Snape replied.

"Oh, so you didn't have this many people mapping out your life."

"Oh, yes, not having siblings would have saved you from that." Snape said. "No, much better to have every last expectation, hope and vicarious living piled onto one child. A considerably better situation."

Ginny remained silent, taking that in.

Snape asked, "So, Ms. Weasley, do you find yourself steered to a particular career with no arguing allowed?"

"No." Ginny said. "They want me to go into something with a career path. They haven't-"

"Do you find you are forced to engage in activities where your success is strictly measured to a standard your parents have set because they base their own worthiness on it?"

"Why would they do that?" Ginny asked, clearly mystified. "You are saying I'm better off with all these hooligan brothers?" she demanded. "Don't tell me that," she huffed and sat back with her arms crossed, although she almost looked like she conceded part of the point.

Fred looked up at Harry and said, "So Mr. Auror-to-be, how's your training going?"

"Good. Tough." He rubbed his shoulder. "I'd show you my bruises, but they've healed. Our trainer really hammered on me the first few days."

"Where is that Tonks?" Fred said indignantly, looking around as though he might find her.

"On duty today," Harry explained. "Tonks isn't as hard on us, but she isn't in charge of training."

"A duel!" George announced, finger in the air. "Fred and I against Harry."

"What?" Harry asked, laughing. "Two against one?"

"If you want it even," Fred said, "we can have Ginny join our side too."

"Or Ron," said George.

"Or both," offered Fred. They were both sporting their famous grins, making Harry laugh. Fred jumped up first and they both hauled Harry outside backwards by his elbows. The others followed at a more sedate pace, but looking expectant.

Clouds had moved in but the afternoon was still warm. "We haven't covered tactics for more than one opponent at a time," Harry pointed out.

"Listen to you," George complained, poking Harry in the chest. "Stand there, now," he ordered and jogged over to where Fred stood, wand already brandished. Harry shook his head and took out his wand. It was like seeing double, staring at the two of them in their identical red jumpers and black knit trousers. Fred said, "Give us a countdown, eh? Ron?"

Harry spread his feet to balance better and held up his wand. He didn't think he could do two boxes at once, but maybe . . . Ron's count hit three and Harry waited, giving the twins the first shots. Strange things came at him. One was a twisting column of red composed of miniature dragons; the other spell approached like a swarm of confetti. Harry had only two sessions ago managed a modulated Chrysanthemum block but he used it now; it glowed warm and rippley around him, meeting both attacks and bending to absorb them. Harry was vaguely aware of a gasp of surprise from someone.

The block dissipated and Harry, just as Fred muttered, "Uh oh," and looked about to run, incanted a web spell wide enough to catch them both. And it did for just a moment before George used a blue flame to cut out of it, leaving it to wrap Fred up tightly. George was breathing heavily and aiming his wand with a very intense look. Harry waited, curious what he was going to use next. George chewed his lip and shouted, "Awahayazashi!" which Harry definitely had not heard before. Transparent spheres about a foot across came rocketing out of George's wand. Harry ducked, but George just aimed lower. Harry jumped to the side, and one of the spheres tried to eat his arm letting him know what they planned for all of him. He shook the sphere off and tried a heat charm, then a Titan block, on the approaching line, both to no effect. He continued to dodge then rolled far enough to the side to get a shot in and shouted a Prisoner box charm. The last platoon of bubbles flew by and popped well beyond Harry as the rest of the Weasleys came over and stared down at the two-foot square red box with silver hinges and George whinging from inside, "Someone get me out."

"You? I'm first," Fred complained, still sawing at his net with his wand transformed into a bowie knife.

"Excellent spell," Ron said with feeling, tapping the box with his toe.

"Hey, cut that out!" George complained.

Harry released each of them with a wave and they straightened slowly, rubbing their necks. George said, "All right, we'll call it a draw, then."

"I don't think so," Mr. Weasley said, slapping his son on the back. "You lost."

"We needed more time to prepare," the other twin complained.

"It was your idea to duel," Harry accused them but then laughed. "I do this all day long at training."

As they walked back inside, Ron said, "And you have years to go; think how bloody amazing you'll be by then."

"You have to be better than everyone you might encounter. Takes a while," Harry said, paraphrasing his trainer. He looked to Snape but his guardian was walking ahead with his back to them. "Fred and George weren't trying to kill me."

"Not this time, anyway," Fred assured him with a challenging look.

-------------

That Sunday, still thinking about his birthday, Harry felt the need to return to Godric's Hollow. It was a nice day, uncloudy and warm, even during breakfast. Snape was surprised when told, but covered it quickly. "As you wish," was all he said.

Flying at the top speed of his broom the trip seemed to go even faster than his flight home last time. He really should work on distance Apparition so he could just arrive instantly; although as soon as he considered that, he thought it lacked something.

A groundskeeper was picking up twigs along the fence and only glanced up once at Harry, who was glad he had stashed his broom quickly after landing, as he had not seen the man there in the shade. He went straight to the grave and sat down on the warm ground. In the sunlight, everything looked better and the ivy from the crystal had grown to frame the stone nicely with colorful flowers. The mirror looked the same, reminding him of regrets he should bury and move on from.

Harry had realized the one question he really wanted to ask them: whether they were all right with him taking on another parent in Snape. In his mind, sitting here, he could imagine that they probably wouldn't be. "But he's loads better than Vernon and Petunia," Harry heard himself arguing aloud. A glance around showed the groundskeeper putting a lawnmower back in an old van on the far side of the gravel drive. "I finished what you started. Everything. It's my turn now," he said quietly, then brushed away the tear that had streaked down his right cheek. He wrestled himself back under control and stood up. "You're not here to complain, you know."

The day grew warmer, by the minute it felt. Harry shed his cloak and put it over his arm, grateful for something solid to occupy himself with, if only for a moment. He considered saying goodbye but decided they couldn't hear him, making it a little silly.

Harry's back still complained from flying hunched over for speed so he needed to take a walk. As well, he thought he smelled chips frying and this made his stomach rumble insistently as he had not had lunch and it must be around one. Harry followed the low iron fence to the entrance which was framed by a black iron gateway bearing the name of the village in a gothic script along the top. It looked grim, as though it were a Halloween decoration.

Around the corner on the main street, Harry found the source of the scent: a very small shop, barely more than a shed, selling lunches and ice creams. Harry went up and ordered chips, then sat down at the adjacent picnic table to wait for them. The young woman in a frilly pink apron brought them out a few minutes later and Harry began eating, even though they were almost too hot to hold between his fingertips.

As he ate, a woman with two small children came to the window and ordered ice creams. The older child, maybe five, tugged on her mum's jumper edge insisting on chocolate twist. Ice creams were handed through the window, making Harry decide he needed some as well. The woman doled one cone out and then took the other, glanced at Harry as she did so, and nearly dropped it, generating a squeal of disapproval from the older child who helped catch it with fingers digging into the fast-melting treat. The child happily licked them off, though, rather than complain about it.

The woman glanced at Harry in consternation again before grabbing up a handful of serviettes and wiping off her hands and the child's, who wasn't very interested in having this done and moved away toward the table to avoid it. The woman helped the girl onto the bench across from Harry and said, "I'm sorry to be rude, but you remind me of someone." She laughed wryly. "I've never seen you here before."

"I'm just on my through," Harry explained. His remaining chips were getting cold, so he returned to eating. He wasn't used to introducing himself, but he did so anyway.

The woman said her name was Patricia Mathers, then chastised her daughter for trying to steal her nose, before saying, "Potter, my goodness. My second cousin married a Potter and you are the spitting image of him from the photographs."

Harry's insides swelled. "You're Lily's cousin?" he asked in disbelief. "And, I guess, Petunia's as well."

The woman froze in amazement, eyes far away. "You can't be . . . the Potter son . . . the baby who disappeared that night the house was destroyed."

"He didn't disappear," Harry said a little smartly. "He got taken to the Dursley's. I got taken," he corrected himself, shaken by this notion of relatives, no matter the remoteness.

"NO," she uttered in surprise. Her mouth worked silently before she said, "They never said. We all wondered."

"Oh yeah; they pretended I didn't exist," Harry explained.

"Goodness," she said in horror. As Harry stood up to order an ice cream, she asked, "You aren't still with them now, are you?"

"No, fortunately. One of my teachers from my boarding school adopted me."

"Oh dear. That is rather tragic, isn't it?"

Harry, who didn't see it that way, said, "I don't think so."

"I am sorry. I'm being ever so rude I think," she said when Harry returned with his double cone of double chocolate.

"No. I'm really thrilled to meet you, honest," Harry insisted. "Other than the Dursleys, I didn't think I had any relatives."

"So what brings you to Godric's Hollow?" she asked curiously, before helping her young son eat the rest of his treat.

Harry nodded in the direction he had come. "I was visiting my parents' grave."

"Goodness," she said again, sounding moved.

Harry ate in silence until she said, "You should follow me over to meet my sister, Pamela; she would be thrilled to meet you as well." She laughed lightly. "You know, you used to be one of the scary stories we told as kids, because no one really knew what happened that night." She looked up with narrowed eyes as though gauging him.

Harry involved himself with his treat, not sure how to respond. Eventually, he said, "I'd love to meet more relatives."

"And gossip about the Dursleys," she added with a sly grin.

"That would be ironic," Harry said firmly, making her laugh.

She wiped her mouth and said, "Goodness it is odd to meet you. You are such a legend here."

Harry thought that she didn't know the half of it. When their ice creams were finished, she said, "Where is your car parked?" When Harry gestured vaguely, she said, "Oh, yes, over by the cemetery. Come on, my sister's place is just two streets over. If you want, of course."

"Yes, I'd really like to," Harry insisted. He stood and followed.

She rambled on about the village as they walked, her children running ahead and returning many times before they arrived at a modest cottage painted bright blue. She rang the bell and then knocked. A similar looking woman came around the side. "Patty," the new woman said in greeting. "And who is this?" Her eyes narrowed at Harry when she noticed him.

"Pammy, guess who this is," Patricia said vehemently. "Just guess."

"Goodness," Pamela said, looking him over. "He looks familiar. But I don't know." She looked more like she didn't dare guess.

"So, who disappeared the night of the Potter fire?"

"No!" she said. "You're the Potter boy? Oh my," she marveled. "Well, you look none the worse . . .except for that scar."

Harry rubbed it. "Got it that night, actually."

"Really?" Patricia shook her head. "You don't know how very odd this is. It'd be like that man with the claw hand at the drive-in suddenly showing up." When Harry laughed, she added, "Well, you have the family sense of humor I have to say."

"Let's take him to Mum," Pammy said eagerly, tossing her work gloves on her porch step and stepping away as Patricia led Harry down the walk. Her children followed with handfuls of gravel. "So what happened to you?" she asked, sounding thoroughly entranced.

"I got left on Petunia's and Vernon's doorstep."

"By whom?" Pamela asked.

"That's a little hard to explain."

"Why is that hard? Or don't you know?" Patricia asked as they walked down the street, then straight even though the drive turned. A meandering path led forward through a thicket. "Mum lives in the house over there. Doesn't like crowds," she explained sounding like she knew that was funny. They walked along a stone wall toward a small stone house at the other side of a field. The children led, depositing the gravel along the wall.

"What's hard to explain?" Pammy echoed.

"It just is," Harry insisted and they let it drop.

Patricia slowed as they approached the house to say, "Edward Evans died about five years ago, just to let you know; your mum's first cousin."

Harry shook his head to clear it. "I'm not used to keeping track of this," he said.

They walked straight in with a sharp knock, while the children occupied themselves in the unmown lawn. A clock ticked loudly in the next room off the entryway. "Mum!" Pamela shouted. Mother Evans came in the back door with an empty laundry hamper with clothespins stuck up along the edge. She was plump with a frayed apron and very grey hair. She found her cracked cat-eye glasses on the mantel and peered at Harry.

"Well, hello there," she said in greeting. She held out her hand, "Polly Evans," she said with a decent grip.

Harry let that name wash over him. "Harry Potter," he said. The woman froze and looked him over very closely.

"My goodness, so you are. Wherever did these two dig you up from?"

"The ice cream store," Patricia said. "He's here visiting Lily's and James' grave."

"Well, my boy, sit down and have a spot of tea, please." She gestured at the dark flowered couch. Harry took a seat with the sisters across from him. He studied the room; it had a few doilies but not an excessive number. Other than that it was perfectly ordinary.

"So what do you do?" Pamela asked, picking up a wooden coaster from the table and tossing it and catching it as though she always did that.

Harry fished for an answer. "I, uh, just finished school. I don't have a job yet," he hedged.

"How do you like living with your teacher?" At Pamela's questioning look, Patricia explained, "He was adopted by his teacher rather than live with the Dursley's any longer."

"How long ago was that?" Pamela asked.

"About a year," Harry explained.

"That's all? You were stuck with that bull Vernon all that time." "And Petunia the Pill?" They both shuddered. Harry felt happily vindicated.

"I was in school most of the time the last seven years, so it wasn't that bad." Although, it had been, he thought.

"What school?" Pamela asked brightly.

Harry shrugged "A school in Scotland. You've probably never heard of it." Mrs. Evans came back in with the tea and moved everything methodically from the tray before sitting beside him and pouring for everyone.

"Sorry I've no biscuits; don't usually get visitors."

"I just had an ice cream, anyway," Harry said, sipping the strong black tea.

Patricia said, "Mum, ask him what happened that night. He wouldn't tell."

"Patty, have some semblance of manners," Mrs. Evans scolded. "I'm sure he was too young to remember."

Patricia said, "You know the Dursleys lied about him being there. Can you imagine?"

Mrs. Evans frowned deeply. "Yes, I can," she said quietly, making Harry wonder.

Conversationally, he asked, "Did you know my mum?"

Her eyes flickered up to him over her teacup. "Yes, my boy, I did." She gave him a wink.

Harry went quickly back to his own tea.

"So the end of the mysterious legend," Pamela said, sounding like she felt the loss of it. "My dad always swore he saw you carried away by spirits."

"One spirit," Patricia corrected. "A really big one, though, he said."

Harry put great effort into swallowing the gulp of tea he had in his mouth. Very casually, he said, "No, I was told it was a man on my father's friend's motorcycle."

"Why didn't he wait for the police?" Pamela asked in disbelief. Harry could only shrug that he didn't know.

Mrs. Evans said with a slowness that conveyed its own meaning, "You know we really have lost touch with things. But the last year has been much calmer, the papers all say."

Harry tried to figure how to reply. "They are much calmer."

"They ever catch whoever firebombed your parent's house?" Mrs. Evans then asked.

"Yes. He came see me at my school. I made him see things my way." Harry said.

"What are you two on about?" Pamela asked. Patricia looked warily curious.

"Nothing, nothing," Mrs. Evans said before reaching over to pat Harry on the back with more affection than he expected. "It is good to know you have gotten on so well," she added. "I thought about you now and then over the years. I think everyone did."

Patricia nodded. "The Mysterious Potter Baby," she stated.

"The Boy Who Lived," Harry corrected her.

"That what they called you?" Patricia asked in surprise. When Harry nodded, she said, "They still call you that?"

"No," Harry said, laughing.

"What do they call you now, my dear?" Mrs. Evans asked with a knowing look. Harry leaned over and whispered in her ear his title from the Chocolate Frog Card. She patted him on the back again as the sisters complained vigorously about not hearing.

On the way out as he was escorted to the road, insisting that he could find his "car", they all urged him to keep in touch. Harry gave them his address and accepted Mrs. Evans'. "Come by for the holidays, if not sooner. I'm sure after Vernon and Petunia you could use a nice family gathering. Bring your guardian, too."

"Uh, I'll certainly invite him along, but he isn't really your type," Harry struggled to explain. "Uh, he's a little standoffish."

"Why'd you let him adopt you, then?" Pamela asked, sounding as though she disliked him already.

"I like living with him. And he keeps me in line," Harry continued to struggle.

Mrs. Evans said, "Remembering your father, that is worth a lot."

"So I've been told. Repeatedly."

Harry said goodbye and received hugs from each of the sisters who looked honestly sad to see him leave. Harry felt buoyant at the thought of his newfound family and fairly skipped back to the willow and his broom. After a check for anyone around, he walked back to the grave. "Thank you," he said, before kicking off and zipping away at top speed.

Back at home he found himself alone. He bit his lip and put his broom and cloak away before taking out the slip of paper with the address and putting it in his album upstairs, where it seemed to belong. Then he took it out and copied it into his notebook before returning it to the album. He needed a photograph of them, he realized. Next time he would take a camera.

Harry sat, flipping through his books without really reading them when Snape came to the doorway. "Hi," Harry said. "Guess what?"

"I do not know," Snape said, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe.

"I met my mum's cousins, purely by accident while I had a bit of lunch before leaving. They're very nice, although a little overly curious about me."

"Muggles, all of them?"

"Yes. Although Polly Evans, who married my mum's first cousin, whose name I don't . . . no, Edward, his name was, knew I was a wizard and that Mum was a witch. Her daughters don't know, though." He put the album away. "I'm very happy to find them, though. My aunt and uncle never told me anything. They'd get angry when I asked."

"A good trip then?" Snape asked in a tone that made Harry wonder about hidden meaning.

"Yes," Harry said, feeling he had settled things with his parents for the moment. Still buoyant, Harry jumped up and said, "Can we do some distance Apparition?"

Snape's lips quirked slightly. "After tea." Harry followed him to the railing and Snape said, "I ordered your books for you while I was on Diagon Alley."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"You are going to know more about wizard law than even Albus did by the time you are finished."

"I'll start forgetting before it gets that far," Harry returned.

Snape stopped at the door to the dining room, took a breath, and said seriously, "I realize, Harry, that I may not be everything you require in the way of family." He held up his hand to forestall Harry's protest. "I also realize now that you are not very clear on what you may be missing in order to ask for it. Nor, unfortunately am I likely to know either." After rubbing his brow, he added, "What I am getting at is that if you feel the need to spend time with the Weasleys or these new cousins, you should most certainly do so."

Harry nodded and quietly said, "All right."

"Now that that is out of the way . . . " He gestured for Harry to sit at the dining room table. "We can discuss localized steering, which is often necessary when arriving someplace from a distance."

---