Resonance

Chapter 56 -- Big Wide World

Harry, now all of eighteen but not feeling much different from seventeen, stepped into the workout room for Monday's training. Aaron was already there, lifting weights with the kind of concentration only he, out of the four of them, put into it. He greeted Harry, put down the mini-barbell and stood up from the worn, wooden bench. Harry slipped on a pair of fingerless gloves and sat down in his stead.

Aaron pulled something from his bag and glancing nervously at the doorway, held it out. Reluctantly, he asked, "Could you do me a favor and autograph this for my mum?"

Harry gave him a very dubious look, but he put down the barbell and took up the offered item. Aaron quickly found a never-out quill, clearly not wanting to be discovered in this situation should anyone else arrive early. Harry asked her name and signed it quickly. He laughed as Aaron stashed it back away and breathed out in relief. "She's been making me nutters about that; thought she'd forget eventually." He picked up the larger barbell and hefted it to chest height. "She wants to know when I'm inviting you home for dinner," he breathed.

Harry laughed. "How does she cook?"

"My mum does not cook. She has a cook, who does a pretty good job. Don't humor her. Don't even joke about humoring her," he insisted, disgusted, continuing to lift and lower the weight.

Harry laughed again and adjusted his grip on the small barbell before starting another set of repetitions.

Aaron said, "You know, Potter, you're all right. If I were you, I'd be the most obnoxious bloke in London." He stood up to stretch his shoulders. "I'd walk around, like, yeah, I offed that bastard, Voldemort, you want a piece a' me too?" Between Aaron's goofy posturing and the odd voice he was using, Harry had to chuckle more. Aaron dropped his arms. "So why don't you do that? Seems like a wasted opportunity."

"I . . . " Harry shrugged.

"Come on, Potter. You out-dueled the most powerful wizard in the world and he wasn't one to fight particularly fairly."

Harry set the barbell down and unhooked two of the smaller weights from it to do a final set of light repetitions. He sat up and sighed. Sounds from the corridor made him believe the others were arriving imminently. "In actuality I defeated him with emotion," Harry explained.

"What?" Aaron appeared nonplussed. "What kind?"

A little sheepishly, Harry replied, "Love, mostly."

Aaron now looked horrified. "No, no, no. You can't do this to me," he insisted. "You can't destroy my fantasies like this." He sat down heavily on the other bench. "Ugh," he moaned.

Harry, thinking this was a little over the top, argued, "It was the only way."

The others came in then, ending the conversation.

This month they were doing less defensive spell work and starting on poison and venom neutralization as well as curse-averting potions. Harry, thinking he would be less bruised by this, eagerly settled himself at a bench in the crowded 'laboratory' that was really a large broom cupboard off the corner of the Auror's offices. His fellows seemed indifferent to the change in topic. Vineet sat opposite Harry with his dark fingers interlocked as Tonks explained the potions that were kept in stocks and what could be quickly mixed from them. They practiced mixing a few and then brewed some base potions as well. Everyone did well enough at this although Aaron was clearly bored by it and let everyone know it.

The day went by quickly. Harry pocketed the list of newly assigned books and headed up to the street. It was nice out, so he decided to walk to Diagon Alley. The pavements were crowded with people and the streets were full of cars barely keeping pace with those walking. The scent of coffee distracted him as he stood waiting for the lights to change at a busy intersection where the cars were aggressively pulling onto a roundabout. Behind him was a coffee shop. It was only a few more blocks to the Leaky Cauldron, but Harry went in anyway, thinking it looked more welcoming and airy than the wizard pub.

Inside it was an oasis of quiet beyond the clatter of saucers and the hiss of steam. Harry took his order to a table in the window and gratefully sat down. He opened his bookbag and, with consternation, considered the title of the book he intended to read: Magical Mayhem A Guide to Current Laws of Wales. Casually, Harry pulled out his wand and tapped his bookbag with the spell Wodeidolon, then pulled out his now-safe books and placed them on the table.

An hour and two cups of tea later, Harry was still reading intently. The quiet chatter inside and movement of the people outside the broad window somehow made it easier to keep concentrating, maybe because, unlike at home, he didn't feel so cut off from the world. His change of books was interrupted by someone saying, "Harry Potter?"

Harry looked up and recognized the speaker. "Uh, Tara, right?" he said, remembering with a little effort.

Tonk's ex-boyfriend's date from Easter holiday appeared honestly surprised that he remembered her name. "Yes. How are you doing?" she asked slowly while looking him up and down once.

"Good," Harry replied. "Lots of studying for my program," he explained, gesturing at his stack of books.

Her brow furrowed. "You're studying Wodehouse?" she asked in confusion.

"Oh," Harry laughed. "Not exactly." He held the open book out to her so she could read the chapter title Lawful Interrogation Procedure.

"Cute charm," she said, glancing at the cover, which read The Butler Did It. She returned the book and excused herself to pick something up from the counter--something tall with whipped cream on top. She came back and hesitated before asking, "Do you mind?"

Harry did have the best table. "Sure," he said, pulling his books to his side of the round marble tabletop.

"Are you liking the Auror's program?" she asked after a few minutes of sipping her drink.

"Yes. Quite a lot." Harry set the new book he had just picked up aside, thinking that talking to someone sounded much more interesting just now than a chapter containing just a long list of lawful truth potions and charms. "So, uh, how is Rick?" Harry asked.

She rolled her eyes and frowned. "I haven't seen him in a month," she admitted and her frown didn't disappear after another frothy sip of coffee.

"Oh. Sorry," Harry managed; although he didn't believe Rick would be good for anyone.

She looked far away a minute before saying. "Had to find a real job because I told him off, but I like it better where I am now."

Harry, grateful he hadn't utterly stepped in it, prompted, "And where is that?"

"I work for an N.G.O. doing fundraising," she explained, sounding like she really did enjoy that. "It helps to know a lot of people, which I do."

"Ah." Harry didn't feel like taking the hit on his pride that asking for clarification would involve.

She smiled faintly and said, "So, you . . . dating anyone?"

"Um. . . " Harry thought about Elizabeth, then thought some more. He usually enjoyed his neighbor's company, and she was nice about coming along for his birthday dinner, and his relatives properly incensed her. "Sorta, maybe, but not seriously," he quickly added.

"Oh," Tara said, sounding a little disappointed. "Do you like parties?" she eventually asked.

"Yes," Harry answered eagerly.

"Well, I sometimes get invited to some very nice parties but I haven't been going because I don't . . . have anyone to go with . . ." She struggled a bit. "I was just wondering if you might want to go, sometime?"

Her faint pleading seemed to be plucking directly at Harry's midsection. "I think that'd be fun. Owl me . . . and if I'm not busy -- 'cause I study all the time -- I'd certainly like to go." He pulled out his small notebook, wrote out his address and handed over torn-out page.

Appearing truly touched, she bit her lip and said, "Thanks." After fidgeting a moment, she said, "You know, you're really nice. I wouldn't have expected that."

"Someone else said that the other day," Harry observed. "Neither you nor he has really seen me wound up."

She stirred her drink and waited for a revving lorry to go by on the street. "So what winds you up that badly?" she asked innocently.

"Uh, let's see . . . " Harry thought back and remembered flying off without regard to his own safety. "A complete misunderstanding with my previous girlfriend did."

"Tonks?" Tara prompted.

"Uh . . . no. It's like this: Tonks is my trainer, really my boss, and . . . we haven't ever dated or done anything; if you get my meaning?"

Tara actually grinned in amusement, relaxing Harry. "Yeah. I get it," she said, smiling and almost laughing. Harry felt great relief in not only admitting to the situation, but being understood.

Tara put her empty glass aside on an unoccupied table. "It was nice meeting you again," she said as she stood up. "I'll owl you if a decent party comes up. Okay?"

"Sounds good. I could really stand to get out a little more," Harry admitted.

She grinned and lightly shook her head. "Don't you get invitations to things all the time?"

Harry fell thoughtful and shook his head. "No. I get together with my friends, but they're really busy now; it is getting harder to arrange."

"I'll owl," she assured him. Then she was gone.

He watched her disappear into the stream of people outside on the pavement, noting at the last moment that she certainly dressed better than anyone else he knew.

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Harry arrived early for his training because Kali had woken him that morning, restless in her cage. He had taken her down to breakfast, which had seemed to satisfy her, and she easily went back into her cage when he needed to leave. The Ministry corridors were quiet and Harry's footsteps echoed lonely. He stopped at the doorway to the workout room and stared down to the far end where the files were kept. After a long moment of indecision, he set his bag inside the door and walked down, glancing to each side to see if anyone was around to notice him. The rows of desks he passed were empty although he could hear a distant conversation.

Inside the records room he stepped by the hutch and the spinning Knight Bus orb. Some notes had been made by the Underage Magic Detector, but Harry ignored them and went straight to the files. A quick glance at his gold pocket watch indicated he had fifteen minutes, at most. The label on the third cabinet in the first row read Ashford-Azeek. Harry pulled it out and scanned down to Avery's file.

Harry immediately wished he had brought his bag, which had a notebook in it. He found scrap paper and a battered never-out quill and jotted down the Death Eater's last known locations. Avesbury, Devonshire, Torquay. In the reports section of the file were one interview after another, of people the Aurors had talked to about where Avery might be hiding. Frustratingly, Harry could not get a sense from glancing over the notes of who might be hiding something. The last interviews were dated three months ago.

Feeling a little let down by the organization he was working hard to please, Harry carefully replaced the folder and closed the drawer. He pocketed the notes and walked silently back to the empty workout room.

That evening, Harry arrived home to find the articles from the American interviewer in the post, in a nice gold-foil, spell-sealed tube rather than an envelope. He took the long scrolls into the library to say hello to his guardian.

"How do they look?" Snape asked of the articles.

"I just opened them." Harry put his things down and sat on the lounger to read.

This reporter found Mr. Potter living in a modest home in a very small village just south of the Scottish border. He is intent upon the most obvious of careers: that of Auror, or dark wizard hunter.

More background followed, which Harry skipped over.

Mr. Potter has fashioned himself a family of sorts out of longtime friends and a teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts from the prestigious school of wizardry, Hogwarts.

Harry realized that he had ceased to care if anyone found that out. It felt completely normal now to consider not only Shrewsthorpe as his home, but Snape as his guardian. It seemed that far more than a year must have passed since he had moved in. And with a few distant cousins, he was really quite well set up and feeling proud of that. Harry lowered the parchment and watched Snape as he read from a large book at a tall, spindly-legged table. His hair had fallen forward as usual, leaving Harry only a glimpse of brow and aquiline nose. Through his hair, his eyes rose to consider Harry.

"Something in the article?" Snape asked.

"I . . . was just thinking the last year . . . seems much longer than a year." Harry shook his head as he gave up explaining and turned back to the long scroll in his lap. Maybe he just wished it had been and that made his feelings stretch back farther.

Yes, Mr. Potter is as pleasant and well mannered as some have reported. He never bragged to me once, although it was clear he was proud of his accomplishments, and the list is quite long for one his age. One would think the British Ministry of Magic would in the future allow him to retire seven years early to account for his previous years of service. This seemingly gentle young man leaves behind him a long trail of dead and captured dark wizards and witches, all of whom sought him out rather than the other way around.

After my visit and numerous conversations with British magic folk I have determined that they have no more understanding of Harry Potter than we do. Everyone who has met him, relates a different impression of him, overwhelmingly positive. The very few I could find who expressed dislike of him, did so I would say, based on mistaken information, or because it turns out they lost something when the Dark Lord was defeated and peace returned.

Harry read through to the end, surprised to find nothing offensive besides one quote from Percy Weasley that made it sound like Harry had been very lucky rather than being skillful. He followed that by accusing Harry of immediately currying favor with the new leadership at the Ministry. Shrugging it off, Harry read the last part again.

If I had to summarize my impressions, I would say that Mr. Potter is soldiering on well with his life. He will be an Auror because, like a soldier, it is all he knows. He appears confident in the path he is following and one assumes, given his skills and the rather protective guardian he has acquired, that he will most certainly succeed as he says, in "assuring that evil does not rise again."

Harry let the parchment roll itself up.

"Is it all right?" Snape asked. He was sitting back from the desk now with his arms crossed, giving Harry the impression that he had been watching for a while.

Harry shrugged. "I thought it'd be worse. It isn't bad." When Snape held out his hand, Harry stood and gave the scroll over. "He had trouble digging up anyone who would say anything bad about me."

Snape unrolled the thick parchment. "Whom did he find?"

"Percy Weasley."

Eyes moving over the lines, Snape commented reassuringly, "I doubt Molly and Arthur subscribe to the Salem Gazette."

Harry considered that before understanding it, and he agreed that they would be the only ones hurt by Percy's comments, since Harry certainly wasn't.

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Wednesday, after a day of getting knocked around while they covered offensive blocking spells, Harry, rubbing a tender elbow, arrived home. The house was quiet, leading him to assume Snape was out.

Harry put his bag down in the library, truly not feeling up to any studying. He went down to the kitchen and took down the big tin of chocolate biscuits. Winky sat on a wooden bench beside the low fire, polishing silver with slow, methodical movements. Swallowing his second biscuit, Harry asked, "How are you, Winky?"

"Winky very good, Master Harry," she replied in a reassuring squeak.

Harry took another biscuit, closed the tin, and put it back on the shelf. "Do you know where Severus went?"

Her big eyes blinked once. "Master upstairs," she said with an odd keenness.

"Oh," Harry said. He took his uneaten snack up the half flight to the ground floor, then up to the first. Snape wasn't in his bedroom, but across the main hall one of the doors was ajar to the little-used rooms on the other side. Harry stepped around and pushed it fully open. The room served as a kind of attic to store older books that didn't fit in the library as well as trunks of unneeded things. Snape looked up from were he sat on one of the trunks that had been pulled to the middle of the floor, sorting through a crate of books.

"Hi," Harry said casually. Some other things had been rearranged in the room since Harry had last been in here, months ago. A spare door had been balanced over a trunk to create a makeshift table, though it had a sheen of dust now.

Snape nodded in greeting as he flipped through the index of the book in his hands. He put it aside and Harry bent down to pick it up. It shivered in his hand and squirmed as though to get away. Startled, he almost lost his grip on it. Fulsome Fascination, the title read when he managed to hold it steady.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked. The book's index didn't hold much fascination for him, he had to admit; it seemed heavy on annoying hexes. All of the books here seemed to be of the darker variety.

Dismissively, Snape replied, "A book I remember acquiring once, but cannot seem to find."

Harry put the hex book down and stepped around to the horizontal door, noticing that it was splattered with something dark. His toe caught unexpectedly on a gutted-out candle melted into a mortar join in the floor. Harry stared then at the floor, at the charcoal and chalk pentagram upon an apex of which he had stumbled. Chilled, Harry said, "I don't remember this."

Snape swept his hair back and looked over. "I didn't completely straighten up from the Beacon Spell I used to find you." Harry's chest twisted as he looked around again and realized the splatters on the dusty door must be blood. Snape was saying, "And apparently Winky has no interest in doing so."

Harry picked up a skull with a melted candle atop it from beside the rigid and academically straight lines of the diagram on the floor. He put the skull away on an empty shelf at eye level. Swallowing hard and feeling rather bad, he said, "I'm sorry, Severus." He could easily imagine the scene, that cusp of falling into the execution of black magic spell and he didn't like that imagining with anyone he knew, especially Snape. "Please don't repeat it."

Snape sighed and pushed the crate aside with his foot. "Minerva insisted that dark magic done reluctantly was not the same. I am not so certain of that." Harry turned from the skull and considered his guardian with a pained expression, prompting Snape to add, "It is all right, Harry. I certainly have no desire to repeat it, nor anything like it, so no harm has come of it." He fell deeply thoughtful a minute before quietly adding, "When I was your age I would have considered such a spell merely a tool, not a trap that can ensnare one utterly. Understanding of that danger is worth a great deal, I believe." A bit lighter, he said, "And I cannot be much of a Dark Arts Defense teacher if I have completely lost touch with the Dark Arts."

Snape pushed the crate of books aside, stood, and with a flick of his wand, shifted the spare door to lean back in the corner where it had originally been. "Don't look so regretful, Harry. We all make our choices." He urged Harry out of the room.

"Do you want me to help look for the book?" Harry asked, curious what book it was.

"Hogwarts' library has a copy. Minerva has a copy. I shall simply borrow one."

Downstairs, Harry said, "Ron and Hermione were going to go out to a pub tonight. I told them I'd meet them there, I assume that's all right?"

"Of course," Snape said. "Return by 11:00, if you will, since you have training in the morning."

Harry nodded and headed upstairs to change into Muggle clothes.


Ron was most of the way through an ale when Harry finally found them. He boisterously welcomed Harry and pulled out a chair for him. "Shoulda brought a date, Harry," Ron teased him.

"I suppose I could have," Harry said, thinking aloud.

"Oh, do tell," Hermione said eagerly.

Harry told them about his visits with Elizabeth. She sounded more appealing in his retelling than expected and his friends gave him reassuring noises and insisted that he bring her next time.

"Or . . . " Ron suggested, waving for another ale, "You could bring the winner of the essay contest, though my mum swears the second runner-up sounds like a better match."

Harry accepted a glass of water from the barkeep and ordered an ale. "I haven't read them."

"You what?" Ron blurted.

"Skeeter picked the winner," Harry explained.

"Bloody . . . can't wait to tell Mum," Ron said laughing. "Thinks she has you all figured out from your choices."

Harry shrugged but didn't suggest Ron tell his mum to start subscribing to the Salem Gazette.

"Shall we eat here, or go somewhere else?" Ron eagerly asked.

Harry barely swallowed his first frothy sip. "I just got a drink. You just got a drink," he blurted.

"Just makin' sure we have a plan," Ron commented.

"I think you're getting a little round in the middle," Harry observed.

"He is," Hermione agreed with a frown.

"No!" Ron stood up and looked down at his abdomen, drawing it in flat. "Look."

Hermione poked him in the ribs and he lost his fine posture. "No, definitely a paunch coming in there," Harry insisted.

"Told you," Hermione said. "You are going to have to ease back on the eating or face looking like your mum."

"Yeah, and how will you dodge the goblins at Gringott's?" Harry contributed.

Ron sat down and considered his beer with a frown. "What else is there to live for but food?" he asked placatingly.

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The next morning, Harry was pleased when Tonks stepped into the workout room rather than Rodgers.

"Well," she said with a grin. "I have you all for the next few sessions because we are going to be working on Metamorphia." Everyone made noises of interest at this and she grinned as her hair turned an exceptionally bright pink with long curved spikes. "We'll be working on this in session every few months and will expect you to practice on your own in-between. It takes a very long time to learn for those not naturally predisposed." Her grin broadened as her hair instead fell straight and zebra striped. "And some of you may never manage more than the simplest metamorphosis. So we will start with the very easiest and most useful ones. For you guys that will be mustache and beard-"

"Can't I learn how to charm on a beard?" Kerry Ann demanded, hands on hips.

"Ah, sure," Tonks agreed. She closed her eyes a moment and out of her face sprung a long flowing white beard of the stateliness Harry had only seen on Dumbledore. With the zebra hair it was quite a sight. "All right then," she said, moving along.

"You're keeping that on, are you?" Aaron asked fearfully.

Tonks stroked her beard thoughtfully. "I think I like it," she retorted. "Now, Metamorphia is less like Animagia than you might expect. Animagia is an external reflection in animal form of an inner enchanted spirit or personality. Metamorphia is a general form of Transfiguration specifically of a body part."

Harry frowned at that and tried not to wince. Tonks stepped up to him and Harry made his expression go neutral. "Now hair is the safest thing to start with, as it isn't alive and it grows back if things go really wrong. You can also safely practice on your fingernails and the surface of your skin." She walked by Harry to stand before Vineet. After staring hard at him, her hair went dark and short and her skin tinted nut brown to match the Indian's.

Vineet looked surprised then said, "You could have any suitable boy in my village looking so."

"Don't tempt me to take you up on that," she laughed, and Harry felt a strange heat in his gut which he forced himself to ignore.

Tonks changed back to her usual self and stepped back to the front. "So you can see the ultra-convenience of disguise being a Metamorphmagus provides." She pulled mirrors for each of them out of a box and they all sat down to try out some spells on their hair.

By lunch Kerry Ann could turn a lock of her hair blonde, but the rest of them hadn't any success. Harry found himself thinking that if he could manage a mustache, he would think that a major victory. The three guys split off for lunch as Tonks and Kerry Ann were intent on a conversation about Metamorphmagus eyeliner.

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Friday before settling into his studies, Harry thought he would very much like to get out of the house. It was not the nicest of days, so he thought he might like a visit with someone. Ron would be busy at work until evening, same with Hermione. With his cloak tossed over his shoulders Harry walked down to the Peterson house.

Unfortunately for Harry, Mr. Peterson opened the door. "Mr. Potter," he said levelly.

"Afternoon, sir. Is Elizabeth at home?"

"She is late returning from her lesson. Won't you come in?"

"Thank you," Harry said, seeing no clear means to back out. He followed the man into the back of the hall where the piano sat. With the clouds the room was not quite so utterly white. Harry remained standing because his host had not sat or suggested Harry do so.

Mr. Peterson was not one to mince words. "My daughter speaks of you quite often, but not in ways that make exceptional sense to me. I am curious, Mr. Potter, what exactly do you do?"

"Uh, I'm in training with the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Peterson's brow lowered as he took that in. "Magical Law Enforcement," the man echoed, sounding doubtful.

"Enforcing magical law. I'm training to be an Auror, which is someone who hunts dark wizards or witches."

"Oh, yes, that Thrimbol business we had. With the uh . . ." he waved his fingers in the air.

"Dark Mark," Harry supplied.

"Yes, that. Bad business." He looked Harry over yet again. "From what I understand you were rather wrapped up in it all."

Harry admitted, "Yes, sir. Rather."

Another pause ensued during which Harry couldn't think of anything worth volunteering to a Muggle father. Mr. Peterson eventually said, "And you have been around here a few times these last weeks, visiting Elizabeth."

Harry scratched his chin and tried hard not to fidget further. "Yes, sir." He wondered with some concern how much later Elizabeth was going to be.

"My wife thinks rather a lot of you, almost a celebrity kind of worship. Knows all kinds of meaningless trivia about you."

"Really?" Harry asked, honestly disturbed.

"Implies I should be enamored of you as well," Peterson went on, looking vaguely disgusted in a polite kind of way. Harry started to defend himself, but fell silent when the man went on, "They insist you are the most famous of your kind in the world."

"Um . . . " Harry said, but then shrugged instead of replying.

"Are you?" the man asked, clearly not sure what to believe.

"I suppose," Harry replied.

"What does that mean, I wonder? You're never in those raggy papers they sell at the corner tobacconists as far as I ever notice."

Harry, trying a bit to sway the man, replied, "When I was traveling in Germany and Switzerland, everyone knew who I was. An American interviewer paid rather a lot of money the other day to talk to me. Is that what you mean?"

Mr. Peterson took that in. "Yes, that is what I meant. And your intentions toward my daughter?"

"Uh . . . having a chat now and then," Harry replied, since he honestly hadn't thought beyond more than that and wondered if it would be safe to.

Harry glanced back at the lights framing the door, but the movement he saw there turned out to be just the tree branches waving in the wind. Mr. Peterson wasn't finished. "And you are in the Snape household now . . . for some reason."

"Professor Snape adopted me," Harry stated, feeling a bit of hard anger coming up. It stabilized him unexpectedly.

"That doesn't particularly recommend you, I'm afraid," said Peterson almost airily.

The room and Mr. Peterson zeroed strangely into focus suddenly, from the fine fabrics on the chairs to Peterson's slicked-back, thinning hair. The article the American wrote rolled through Harry like a slow water wheel. With barely suppressed anger he said, "Professor Snape is the only father I have really known. I lost everything, my parents, my godfather, the first sixteen years of my life to the battle with Voldemort. A battle that had been going on for decades before I was born. How I chose to piece together a life after finishing what hundreds before me had started but couldn't complete is my concern. It is certainly not your concern, sir."

Their eyes remained locked as Mr. Peterson said, "What you do with my daughter is my concern. I am not certain you are fit company for her, Mr. Potter, and while she lives here, on my money, that is my say."

Harry had an odd imagining, of Snape saying these things to someone, perhaps Tonks, and meaning them just the same. He imagined repeating this conversation to Elizabeth or even her mother and the difficulty that would cause. The second consideration brought his anger up short because he didn't wish to cause that kind of trouble. Harry shrugged with pretend dismissal of the issue. "Good day then, sir," Harry said, gathering his pride around himself. "I guess you won't be telling her I stopped by to say hello," he added before turning to let himself out.

Outside it had started to rain. Harry felt red anger threatening then retreating as though he balanced on it and with just a nudge, it could tip irrevocably either way. He slowly walked back home, even though it meant getting wet, half-hoping he would encounter Elizabeth on the way. He didn't and the spray from the passing cars was only making him wetter as he had to walk in the road alongside the train station.

Back home, he tossed his wet cloak down in the entryway and marched inside. He was standing in the hall balancing between righteous anger and pride when Snape came down the stairs.

"You look a little put-out," Snape commented, stopping before him on the way to the drawing room.

"It's nothing," Harry stated, clearly not meaning it.

"It is a little wet for a long flight; do try to keep it short."

"Thanks," Harry snapped at him, pride badly stung by the comment.

"Harry," Snape chastised, then immediately relented. "I should not have said that. Come and dry off, I'll start a fire." He gestured to the dining room. Harry followed on grudging feet and took the chair Snape placed close the hearth that, after a quick spell, was roaring high and emanating intense heat.

Snape stood in silence for a minute beside the hearth studying Harry before asking, "What is it?"

Harry shrugged, considered explaining, but instead sat even more slouched.

"You were in good, although restless, spirits when you departed just a short time ago. Did you encounter something unpleasant?"

Harry frowned into the flames. "Mr. Peterson."

"Ah," Snape muttered and pulled a chair over beside the hearth as well. "During your birthday dinner you did not give the impression that you had anything serious with Elizabeth."

"I don't," Harry snapped. "Sorry. He reminds me of my Uncle Vernon. And he doesn't like me."

"One in a million, then," Snape jabbed lightly.

Harry shook his head, tried to get angry, but found himself chuckling lightly. He crossed his arms and sighed. "I just went over for a visit. Nothing more," he argued.

"Perhaps he knows something you don't," Snape commented.

"Like what?"

"Such as Elizabeth's feelings for you."

Harry blinked in surprise. "You think?"

"I merely suggest it as a possible explanation for his strong reaction to you."

Harry pushed his chair back since he was overheating. "He doesn't think we're the right kind of people."

"We?" Snape queried, almost forcefully.

"Yep," Harry confirmed.

"Is that so?" Snape breathed, sounding distant. After a minute of silence he stood with a sweep of robe and set his chair back at the table. "Some people are not worth pleasing, as I am certain you are aware."

"I know. It bothers me though."

Snape leaned toward Harry over the back of the chair. "Only because you are so unaccustomed to it," he said snidely.

Harry started to argue, but then stopped himself. He finally said, "Everything a wizard would think is a positive, he believes is seriously negative. I don't know how to deal with him and don't like dealing with him."

Snape stood and stated, "Then don't," before departing the room.


As Harry read, distracted by wondering what his friends were up to and wishing they had all made plans for the weekend when they were out the other night so he wouldn't be sitting here reading, he grew hungry for dinner. The clock read almost half past 6:00. Harry rose to ask Snape if he was ready to have Winky serve dinner. In the hall, he found the door to the drawing room closed. That was unusual. Harry considered the latched door and listened to the silence before knocking.

"Come in," Snape's voice emanated from inside, reminding Harry of visiting the dungeon, something he hadn't thought about in a long while.

Snape stood behind his desk, intently reading an old book. "Do you want dinner?" Harry asked.

Surprised, Snape glanced up at the clock on a high shelf above the mantel. "Yes, indeed." He snapped the book shut and set it on the desk. The binding was too old to read at a distance.

Curious about the book, Harry casually asked, "What are you working on?"

"Spells," Snape said dismissively while waving the issue away with his hand.

"For class?" Harry asked as he followed his guardian to the dining room.

"Perhaps. I am not certain yet what use they may have."

Still curious, but reading Snape's ongoing dismissive tone, Harry dropped the subject.

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When Tara's party invitation came by owl the next morning, Harry replied immediately that he would join her, mentioning it as a foregone thing to his guardian as he folded the note card over for Hedwig to take away. "I'm going into London for a party."

"With Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger?" Snape asked.

"No, some other people I've met a few times."

Harry read and gardened that day, and as well took a rolling ride on his motorbike. He considered taking it to meet Tara, then decided he was not familiar enough with London to manage that without getting lost, which he definitely did not want to do.

The address was in Soho, just down the street from the Floo node Harry had learned of from Tonks, and he had used it again tonight without getting noticed by the couple sitting close before the hearth in the room. Though it had ceased raining, the streets were wet and dark. Harry traced the many Muggle electric lights reflected in the pavement as he walked. Tara met him outside the private club hosting the party. She gave him a smile that didn't fade as she looked him up and down.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," she said as she hooked an arm through his and stepped toward the bouncer guarding a battered metal door. She showed her invitation and was invited to pass.

Inside it was loud. Red and blue lights flashed in fast sequence, illuminating many dancing figures in the center of the room. Around the periphery, people stood in groups talking and drinking. Tara waved to a few people as they navigated a path to the bar, all of whom peered curiously at Harry in the undulating light.

Tara yelled an order to the barman and leaned back on the bar to survey the room. When their drinks appeared she took a big swig and led the way to another room setup as a large lounge with low, square leather couches and tables. The sound was just tolerable here.

"So, what do you think?" Tara asked loudly.

"Of the party?" Harry confirmed. At her nod he replied, "It's a party," and shrugged. After a long silence he asked her about the place she worked. This turned out to be a good bet, as she went on about this for ten minutes easily, until someone interrupted to say hello.

"Fernidad Farnsworth," the man said, holding out his hand to Harry. "Everyone calls me Frilly."

"Your dad an accountant?" Harry asked as he accepted the hand.

"Yes. You know him?"

"We've met, very briefly." Harry skipped explaining that he was the boss of his adoptive father's girlfriend.

"I didn't catch your name . . . " Farnsworth prompted.

"Harry, Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" the man said in excitement, making Harry better understand his nickname. He turned to Tara. "Good catch, girl!"

"Just a date," she insisted.

"Did you win the essay contest?" Farnsworth asked, all aglow all of a sudden.

"What essay contest?" Tara asked in confusion.

"Don't ask," Harry grumbled.

Farnsworth gestured broadly. "Get up girl; make the rounds with the Boy-Who-Lived. Come on!"

"I'm not showing him off," Tara snapped. "He really is just a date."

Farnsworth tweaked Harry's chin, freezing Harry in surprise. "If you were my date, I'd show you off," he teased. "I'll send some eyes your way then," he said with a wink and departed back to the room with the dance floor.

"I really didn't invite you to show you off," Tara insisted.

"It didn't seem like it," Harry said.

"Though, you are a very notable rebound date," she admitted.

"I'm feeling a bit rebounded myself," Harry muttered quietly, thinking of Mr. Peterson.

The two of them spent quite a bit of time dancing among the gyrating throng, in between getting to know each other a little, but at 1:30 Harry insisted he had to get going. The music had quieted just a little and more people were sitting or sleeping in the lounge area, but the dance floor was still crowded with layers of arms and heads flickering in the lights. Half-empty trays of food covered the boxy tables and the fine carpeting was littered with spilled food and drinks. Harry's fourth drink sat untouched in the middle of one of them. Three felt like plenty tipsy and he was not risking getting beyond that.

Tara followed Harry to the pavement when he put aside her entreaties to stay longer or to go on to a late dinner. In view of the bouncer and in the shadow of a tree below the streetlight, Harry said, "I really have to go. My guardian is very strict about curfew."

She frowned. "You are just a kid, aren't you?" It could have been an insult. Harry wasn't certain, but he shrugged it off nevertheless. "Well, all right," she gave in. "Thanks for accompanying me," She sounded honestly grateful, although she frowned again after a glance back up at the dark windows of the club.

"I had a good time," Harry said. It was true that dancing in a loud, crowded club was far better than sitting in the quiet library at home on a Saturday night.

"Can I owl you again?" she asked as he said goodbye and turned to go.

"Sure," Harry said with a smile.

At home, Snape was already asleep. Harry washed up and went quietly to his room and to bed, where sleep came over him almost immediately. Dreams woke him once, though, odd dreams about shadows moving in flickering red light. Since the light wasn't green, Harry shook them off and went back to sleep.

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