A Wizard Song

Chapter 21 - The Bitter Glass

By Telanu

       

Draco Malfoy's expulsion quite eclipsed Neville Longbottom's. For all the rest of the week, which happened to be exams week, the school could talk of little else. Malfoy had seemingly vanished in the middle of the night, present on Sunday afternoon for luncheon, his things all removed from his room by Monday morning. Gone forever, with only a brief announcement from Dumbledore at breakfast on Monday to mark his passing.

"In order to protect Mr. Malfoy's privacy, and that of his family, of course I will not tell you of the circumstances surrounding this unfortunate incident," Dumbledore said to his stunned audience. "Suffice it to say that I deeply regret it, and sincerely hope it will never happen again." He looked very solemn and sorrowful, and Harry had the distinct impression that, but for this, the Gryffindor table would have burst out in cheers. As it was, they merely fell to jabbering excitedly the moment Dumbledore sat down, just like everybody else.

Harry risked a glance at the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting with stupefied expressions on their faces, but that was fairly normal, so Harry wasn't sure what to make of it. Pansy Parkinson was sobbing inconsolably into her table-napkin. Nobody else seemed too dreadfully upset, Harry couldn't help noticing, although most of the other Slytherins were looking up to Severus at the high table, surprise and uncertainty writ large on their faces. Severus, his own face expressionless, nodded slightly at them, and after a moment's hesitation most of them returned to their breakfasts.

Harry watched the whole thing with fascination until another painful twinge in his bum made itself known. He blushed. He had hurt like blazes when he'd awakened at three-thirty that morning before his return to Gryffindor Tower. Severus had made him choke down a vile concoction that numbed the ache, exacting a promise from Harry to take another dose before breakfast. Harry had decided the burn in his arse was better than the revolting aftertaste of the potion, so he was in some discomfort whenever he sat down, and he was glad, for once, that it was exams week and there was no prospect of even an informal Quidditch practice.

It had been well worth it, though.

It's all I want now.

Every time Harry remembered those words he thrilled deep inside, and bitterly regretted the sex-moratorium Severus had put on exams week. Another whole week! It was absurd! But Severus had been absolutely unshakeable on this point, saying they both needed to concentrate, and besides, they'd have the whole summer.

Harry couldn't wait for that summer. It took some doing to keep his mind on his studies, although he'd worked so hard this term that his exams seemed much less worrying than ever before. He knew he'd do well, although he doubted he'd be first in anything. But that didn't matter. His marks didn't matter, and it didn't matter where or whether his name fell on a list of firsts and seconds and thirds; what mattered was what he knew, what he'd studied and what he was starting to feel in his bones. Too bad he couldn't get somebody to flout the rule on under-aged wizardry for his sake -- a whole summer ahead, he could really get a start on putting some of that abstract knowledge into practise, if not for that bloody law. That sort of clout was wasted on Malfoy, really. All that free time, and what had he used it for? Learning to become a ferret!

Well, Harry wasn't going to dally like that. He was going to use the summer to learn the important things, and with the Restricted Section so close by (and the school so empty) that didn't seem like an impossible goal. And maybe…maybe the practical work wouldn't be so completely out of his reach either. He had some ideas about that.

But it wouldn't all be studying. No, no indeed. He was already plotting to spend as many nights as possible in the dungeons. It shouldn't be difficult, or even particularly risky: most of the teachers and all of the other students would be gone for the summer. Dumbledore would turn a blind eye, and Hagrid would suspect nothing. And speaking of Hagrid, Harry could spend time helping him out around the grounds as well, and he'd have the Quidditch pitch all to himself, and Hogsmeade was close by, and he probably could visit Ron, just for a little while…it would be wonderful. Miles better than any summer spent with the Dursleys. Harry couldn't wait to find out what, exactly, having a decent summer was like.

The gossip about Draco continued all through exams week, but Harry forced himself to take his mind off it. It helped, having Hermione to keep Ron in check; Ron was so happy about Malfoy's expulsion that he frequently stared off into space with a big grin on his face. But Hermione was always there to drag them back to their books. She gave Ron stern frowns which she softened by patting his knee, even as she pointed out errors in Harry's notes. Between the three of them they covered a lot of material, and, when he sat down to take his tests, Harry was astonished at how easy everything was. Charms and Care of Magical Creatures were walks in the park, Divination and History of Magic were the same jokes as always, Astronomy, Herbology and Transfiguration all went well, and he'd never felt so good at the end of an exam as he did when he completed the one for Defence Against the Dark Arts. He blocked every spell that came his way with ease, and nobody in the class, not even Hermione, had even a hope of withstanding his attacks. Professor Delacour glowingly awarded him top marks.

He didn't do as well in Potions as he had in Defence, but his Hair-Lengthening Mixture (the base formula of which could be applied to hundreds of other potions, most of which were more interesting) was good enough that Severus didn't sneer at it very much, and when he tested it on Ron, Ron's hair flowed in lovely ginger waves all the way to the ground. Everybody laughed, and a red-faced Ron had to put up with Dean calling him "Ronalda" for the rest of the day. They didn't work in pairs for the final exam, and Harry couldn't help watching with a kind of grim pleasure as a pale-faced Pansy Parkinson completely flubbed her potion. Served her right.

All in all, Harry was very pleased, he decided, as he stared up at the ceiling on the last night of exams. He couldn't believe he'd actually done better than Hermione at Defence. She'd been gracious about it, though Harry could tell she was a little put-out at being out-performed. Ron had secretly thumped Harry on the back after dinner and given him a hearty thumbs-up. "Be good for her," he whispered. McGonagall had stopped him in the hallway to congratulate him on his vastly improved marks and commend all his hard work. It was sort of nice, feeling that he'd accomplished something he hadn't cared too much about before.

Best of all, of course, was that it was over. The exam results were due to be posted in three days, giving the teachers a chance to mark everything, and then everybody would go home, leaving Harry with the run of the castle. In the meantime, there were day trips to Hogsmeade, more practice Quidditch (Harry felt entirely recovered now and was looking forward to it), and nice long lie-ins. It would be a nice respite. Feeling the little curl of contentment in his stomach, Harry fell asleep.

His dreams that night were vague, formless things for the most part. He dreamed he kept trying to run very fast, though whether he was running away from something or towards it he wasn't sure, and sand kept shifting under his feet and he never got anywhere. Finally the sand gave way and his bare feet hit hot asphalt, like the kind that had covered his primary school playground; it burned the bottoms of his feet, making him yelp and jump in pain, and he ran even faster, though it seemed to stretch off in every direction. After a while he found himself in a hall of mirrors, surrounded by an infinite continuum of Harrys, all looking blank, bewildered, and all with rings of red liquid around their mouths. Harry frowned and peered at them, the ground finally cool under his feet, and wondered why they had red mouths and he didn't.

Then he looked down at his feet, and saw the goblet of blood sitting on the ground, glinting dully in the red light. Pleased, he picked it up, realising how hot and thirsty he was from all that running. It was about time he had something that hit the spot…

…and he drank…

       

The next morning, people finally stopped talking about Malfoy in favour of discussing the headline of that day's Daily Prophet. It was another article by Benedictus Gribble, and the headline read:

DEATH EATER BLOODBATH!
Three with Dark Mark Found Dead
Fudge Denies Connection With Y-K-W

The article went on to describe how two men and one woman, unnamed, who had been found dead in a home that belonged to one of them; apparently they'd been found slumped over the dinner table last night, Dark Marks clearly evident on their left forearms. The horrifying part was the way they'd died: it seemed as if someone had torn their chests open and removed their hearts. Gribble speculated on the possibility of a kind of mass Excordia Curse. The Ministry of Magic had identified no possible suspect at the time of the paper's going to bed, and Cornelius Fudge warned the public that it was likely some kind of grotesque hoax meant only to frighten the gullible.

"Gullible!" snorted Hermione as she, Ron, and Harry huddled round one copy at breakfast that morning. "With Dark Marks on their arms? When is Fudge just going to admit the truth? It's been two years! People are disappearing -- the public's losing faith in the Ministry -- "

"He'll admit the truth when Hell freezes over, according to Dad," Ron said bitterly. "I don't know why they can't just toss him out. There's plenty at the Ministry not happy with the cover-up. What do you think, Harry?"

"I think I'd be enjoying breakfast more if they hadn't printed a picture," Harry said. The dead bodies weren't moving, of course, and the editor had blurred over their faces, but it was still very disturbing.

"Wonder who did it?" Ron said. "I mean -- maybe somebody in the Ministry's getting fed up with Fudge -- acting on their own, you know?"

"Or it could have been other Death Eaters," Hermione said thoughtfully. "You know…fighting within the ranks…that'd be good, wouldn't it?"

"Just so long as there's less of them," Harry said, "I don't really care how it happens."

"Fewer," Hermione corrected him, and then tossed her hair, inevitably attracting Ron's gaze. "Honestly! All this in the paper, and the exam results due to be posted in two days -- I can't eat a bite, I'm too nervous."

"I'm about done," Harry said, taking one last swallow of pumpkin juice. "Want to play some Three-Way Exploding Snap?"

She won the game, which seemed to improve her mood, especially when she was able to give Harry pointers on how he'd lost. The rest of the day seemed to pass in a blur of leisure-time activities, going by much more quickly than the average school day, and it seemed scarcely any time at all had passed before they were having breakfast the next morning, looking over the latest copy of the paper, which gave the names of the dead Death Eaters as Prunella and Aloysius Scropes, and Michael Ribet. Harry had never heard of any of them. He decided to ask Severus about them tomorrow night, when the marks would finally be in and his lover would have the evening mostly free.

The next morning's paper failed to yield any further answers, except for a blurb at the bottom of Page Three that said the Ministry was withholding all further information on the Scropes-Ribet case pending further investigation. By the evening, Harry was so alive with curiosity that sex wasn't uppermost in his mind when he crept down to the dungeon.

Severus, however, wasn't overly inclined to discuss the matter.

"I knew them," he said stiffly. "For a brief time, I counted them friends. I personally assisted Michael Ribet through Potions from fifth to seventh year, when it became clear he couldn't find his arse with both hands, and he was grateful for it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Harry's breath huffed out of him in exasperation. They were still fully dressed, facing each other like enemies across the chess table. Harry had barely got inside the door when he'd begun plying Severus with excited questions. Perhaps kisses would have been better -- Severus was always more open after sex -- but that hadn't occurred to Harry until it was too late. "I know you don't like talking about…back then," he said carefully. "I mean…I don't know. I just wondered. I know you don't like talking about it," he repeated helplessly, "but I don't know anything about who you were, even if you're different now, I still don't know anything about you."

Severus picked up a black bishop and toyed with it, not looking at Harry. "I might say the same of you," he said.

"What?" Harry asked in surprise.

"You heard me."

"I know I did," Harry said. "Still doesn't make any sense." Everybody knew everything about Harry. Sometimes more than Harry knew about himself. He hated that.

Severus peered keenly at him. "What's going on in that head of yours?" he asked quietly. "Do you know how many times I have asked myself that particular question? Do you imagine that I am any more secretive than you?"

"Yes!" Harry said indignantly. "What are you talking about? If you want to know what I'm thinking about something, why don't you ask me?"

Severus stared at him, and then his lips twitched a little. "Gryffindor to the core," he muttered.

"I -- I almost wasn't," Harry blurted, and then bit his lip. There. It was out. If Severus wanted a secret, there was a big one.

Severus blinked at him, and it was his turn to ask, "What?"

"I almost wasn't a Gryffindor," Harry whispered. "I think." The Sorting Hat had said he'd do well in all four houses, as a matter of fact, but had seemed to concentrate particularly on Gryffindor and Slytherin, as far as he could remember it.

Severus' lips twitched again. "Dear me," he said. "Harry Potter the Hufflepuff. It does lack a certain flair, I admit. Was that why the Sorting Hat took so long?"

"It wanted to put me in Slytherin," Harry blurted.

Severus' eyes widened.

"It did," Harry insisted, getting a little angry after a prolonged silence. He couldn't tell what Severus was thinking. Maybe he was doubting what Harry had said. What was the good of unloading a deep, dark secret if Severus wasn't even going to believe him? But then his lover was nodding, slowly.

"I can see why," Severus murmured. "I can also see why it ultimately decided not to."

Harry thought briefly of explaining that he'd asked not to be in Slytherin, but then decided that might not go over very well. Instead, he only said, "Might have made things quite different, eh?"

"Indeed." Severus gave him another long look, and then a brief shake of the head. "I am just as glad it did not."

"I've only ever told Dumbledore," Harry mumbled.

"And now you've told me."

"Yeah."

"I do not think the Death Eaters murdered the Scropeses and Ribet. They never had any influence to speak of, and little intelligence to recommend them to higher things -- only a mean, scraping cunning that fitted them for the lower jobs and kept them out of Azkaban."

Harry blinked at the abrupt change of subject, caught on, and then decided that he deserved a little more after his big confession. "Do you -- I mean -- if the Death Eaters are up to something, does that still…" he gestured at Severus' forearm. "You know…"

"I have felt nothing from the Dark Mark since last June," Severus said quietly. "I believe the Dark Lord has…I'm not sure of the word I could use in a situation like this. I would say he's 'disconnected' me, but that makes me sound like a part of the Floo network."

Harry dredged up a weak smile. "Dreadful thought, Voldemort tumbling through the fireplace." It probably wasn't an accident that they both looked briefly at the fire then, before facing each other again. "So…nothing?"

"Nothing." Harry thought Severus sounded remarkably bitter, until his lover added, "Now I am not even in a position to tell the headmaster when the Dark Lord and his followers are meeting."

"It hurt you when -- when it burned, though, didn't it?"

"Yes." Severus' expression did not change, but that one word was enough to let Harry know that it had probably hurt quite a lot.

"I'm glad, then," he said firmly. "Professor Dumbledore probably has other ways of finding things out without your arm burning up." And he liked that arm. It was useful for stirring things, or waving a long drape of black cloth around dramatically, or holding Harry against Severus' chest. Be a shame to damage it. Then, deciding that had been enough seriousness (a whole week!), he grinned at Severus. "So, you want to know what I'm thinking?"

Severus looked bored. "I've been forced to resort to educated guesses. Sex, sex, Quidditch, sex, Quidditch."

"There's at least a little more sex in there," Harry said, unoffended, as he left his chair to go and sit in Severus' lap. Then he smiled down at him. "Don't worry. You'll have a whole summer to work me out."

"Do you really imagine it will take that long?" Severus scoffed, but his arms tightened around Harry.

"Well, you're awfully smart," Harry said innocently. "You should be able to come to a few conclusions."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of smart, I understand you did passably well in your exams," he said, and then added a little awkwardly, "Congratulations."

Harry smiled happily down at him. "I told you I'd been studying."

"So you did. And now you have the whole summer to forget everything useful in your head."

Harry suddenly remembered the other thing he'd wanted to ask Severus -- the thing pertaining to his summer plans. "Er…I don't want to, actually. I'm going to try not to. I was going to ask you about that."

Severus raised his eyebrow again in inquiry.

Harry took a deep breath. "Would I -- since I'd be at Hogwarts and all -- would I be allowed to practise magic over the summer? If…" he added almost hesitantly, "if you taught me."

"If I taught you?" Severus repeated, obviously surprised. "If I taught you what?"

Harry swallowed hard, looking around the room nervously as if afraid someone would hear. "The things I need to know. The things I won't learn in class. You know. Like…like duelling," he said, finally inspired with an example that wouldn't give away his illicit night-time reading. He wanted to test the waters a bit before he told Severus about that. "You could teach me how to duel. Or do more potions," he said more reluctantly. "If you wanted. Anything, really, just anything. I have to learn things."

Severus was looking at him as if he had spiders coming out of his ears, but he only said, flatly, "You want me to tutor you. Over the summer."

"Yes! Could you?" Would you?

"Why?"

Harry had almost hoped he wouldn't ask that. "Because I need to know," he said finally. "Voldemort's out there, and he might come after me. He might come after us. I'm not saying -- I don't want you to teach me anything you could get in trouble for." At least, unless they wouldn't get caught. "But just…stuff I might not be getting in class. Delacour's a decent teacher, I reckon," he added, pulling out his secret ace, "but she doesn't know nearly as much as you. I can tell just by the books on your shelves. Oh, come on, Severus, I'll work really hard, I swear. You know I will, you saw how I did this year."

Severus' expression was thoughtful, blank, inscrutable. His eyes probed Harry's. "I shall think about it," he said eventually, his voice neutral. "I would have to get permission from the headmaster, of course."

Harry couldn't stop a huge grin from spreading all over his face, and it was answered by a dark gleam in Severus' eyes.

"The things I could teach you," his lover whispered, and he leaned forward to brush his lips against Harry's chin. The light kisses wandered the length of his jaw. Harry wriggled slightly in pleasure. Severus had already taught him more outside the classroom than he'd ever dreamed. This was startlingly similar: it felt as if they were about to embark on another secret adventure together that most people probably shouldn't know about. Severus would finally get to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts -- and Harry would finally get to learn.

"I'm going to leave a set of pyjamas down here this summer," he said, apropos of nothing.

"So it begins," Severus said, before taking an earlobe tenderly between his teeth. "First the pyjamas, then a toothbrush, and then everything else. People will notice. And it's not as if you wear pyjamas when you're down here."

"That's true," Harry conceded, deciding he'd just bring them down one night anyway. It sounded as if he'd be spending a lot of time in the dungeons, what with one thing and another. "Ron and Hermione will feel sorry for me, you know. Poor me, stuck studying all summer with Snape." Then he wriggled again.

Severus made a faint, strangled sound, before he composed himself and managed to say, "I'm sure. Incidentally, whatever schedule we arrange for you will leave you with very little time to visit Hogsmeade, I'd imagine." His eyes gleamed again.

"As if I'd want to," Harry said softly, knowing Severus wasn't talking about Honeydukes, and kissed him. Then kissed him again. By the time their lips parted, they were both breathing raggedly. "It's been a whole week," Harry murmured against Severus' cheek. "I'm not sore any more."

"Oh, good," Severus said, his eyes falling shut for a moment.

"And it's not as if we have all night, you know…"

"I wasn't the one shooting off at the mouth, Potter," Severus said haughtily, opening his eyes in a glare.

"So let's get started," Harry whispered against his mouth.

And they did.

       

The exam results were posted the next day. Harry was very pleased with his marks: first in Defence, decent in everything else. He'd never done so well before. It was a nice feeling.

The other students went home tomorrow. Ron and Hermione were giving each other stricken looks and promising in low voices to write every week -- no, every day. Harry was feeling generous enough to pity them. Any other time he might have been disgusted by such a display, but since he got to spend all summer in his lover's bed, he couldn't really sneer at them for being upset. He'd have been upset too -- stuck with another summer writing letters!

Harry didn't think he'd go down to the dungeons that night; it was the Leaving Feast, and there were sure to be celebrations and goodbyes all through the night, especially for the students who were leaving. Since Harry knew a fair number of them, like Imogene and Rosemary, he thought he ought to be there, and more, that it might be noticed if he wasn't. He'd said as much to Severus as he'd left the dungeon early that morning, arse pleasurably sore again, dopey grin plastered across his face. There was a thought: maybe with everybody gone for the summer, they'd be able to branch out, try some new locations besides the same old dungeon bedroom. That could be exciting. He'd have to bring it up some time and see if Severus would be receptive. He shivered at the thought of inviting Severus up to Gryffindor Tower, a little frisson of wickedness running through him at the thought of making love to the Potions master in a dormitory bed with the curtains pulled to. It might not be possible, but it never did any harm to dream. They could probably even get away with it: he'd heard that McGonagall, who otherwise kept her quarters near Gryffindor, would be spending a large part of the summer in France.

Harry was thinking about this at lunchtime, trying to keep that same dopey grin off his face while Ron and Hermione cooed over each other, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He looked up to see Rosemary Wilkinson smiling politely down at him. "The headmaster's asked that you go to his office at once, Harry," she said.

Harry blinked in surprise, and tried to fight down a sudden feeling of apprehension. Why would Dumbledore want to see him now? He wasn't -- he didn't want to talk more about Neville, surely? He already felt that he'd seen the inside of that office enough this term to last him a lifetime.

Harry's questions were answered a few minutes later, when he nervously ascended the revolving staircase, entered Dumbledore's office -- and saw Sirius sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, rising to greet Harry with a huge smile on his face.

Harry managed to smile back, but he wasn't sure how, because in the happiness of Sirius' smile he saw the summer crashing down around his feet, love and lessons disappearing before his very eyes. And then he felt like the most rotten, ungrateful little bastard alive, because Sirius was free: that smile couldn't mean anything else.

But if Sirius had noticed Harry's moment of dismay he gave no sign of it, instead moving to clasp Harry in a warm hug and holding off at the very last minute, resting his hands on Harry's shoulders and smiling down at him instead, looking almost shy. "Harry," he said softly, still grinning, looking like a man who can't believe his eyes. "You have grown."

"H-hi, Sirius," Harry said, feeling that the grin on his face had been fixed there with rapidly-drying glue. "This…this is a surprise."

Sirius beamed down at him. "For me as much as you," he said. "They just told me last night I'd be free to go today, though I can't leave the country yet. As though I want to, when I've been spending the last two years running all over the world." He looked over his shoulder, to where Dumbledore sat behind his desk, watching them both thoughtfully. "I understand I have you to thank for that, sir."

"I?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "I only made the suggestion that perhaps you could stop being so useful for a while." He glanced at Harry, who fervently hoped that none of what he was feeling came through in his face. Dumbledore had arranged this? But why now? He remembered glumly how he'd questioned Severus about Dumbledore's exact words, and how Severus had said surely the headmaster couldn't possibly mean Harry would be anywhere but Hogwarts. Harry should have trusted his first instinct.

Dumbledore was continuing to speak. "Of course, Sirius, I also felt it was important that you finally got to know your godson. No one can deny you your well-earned rest. For your part, Harry, I agree with Sirius that a summer away from both your relatives and from Hogwarts cannot help but do you a world of good. However," he added with a small frown at Sirius, "I would like to reiterate once more my concerns regarding your security."

Sirius nodded gravely before turning back to Harry, giving him a more hesitant smile. "The Ministry's managed to tie up my family property, Harry," he said, "but they're working to sort that out, and in the meantime, considering that I'm taking you under my guardianship at once, they're letting us use a place they own -- little cottage out in Yorkshire. It's a bit, er, remote, but if you get bored we can Portkey or Floo anywhere you like. I know it's hardly a young man's ideal summer spot, but I've had a look at it and it's a snug little place, and…and I do hope that's okay."

Sirius suddenly looked so anxious that Harry forgot his own disappointment in his hurry to reassure him. "Oh, anywhere's fine, Sirius," he said quickly, before adding a little more hesitantly, "but…er…it's the Ministry's cottage, you said?"

Sirius nodded glumly. "Hence the worry about security," he said, glancing back over at Dumbledore, who nodded as well. "But it's the best we can do, and I'll be sleeping with both eyes open, I'll promise you that. And -- you'll be keeping a watch on us, didn't you say, Dumbledore?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "I have several reliable Ministry contacts, and I will make it my business to keep myself fully informed, of course. But I must lay it on you both to be cautious, if you are determined to do this." He smiled. "With the precautions you will be taking, and the ones I have already taken, I do not foresee real danger. But a pair of mischievous, inquisitive boys can always upset the best-laid plans, in my experience."

Sirius smiled, but his eyes were serious, as he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You should know I wouldn't take any chances with his life, Headmaster," he said. Then he grinned down at Harry, and this time his eyes were smiling, too. "Doesn't mean we won't still have a good time, I hope."

Harry smiled gamely back up at him, feeling guilty for his bitter disappointment. But he couldn't help it -- now he was even worse off than Ron and Hermione. It would be more difficult to send letters to Severus with Sirius around than it had ever been with the Dursleys.

Maybe he could tell Sirius he was writing to George, he thought dolefully.

"Will you and Harry be going to the cottage tonight, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry's head snapped up as a cold rush of panic filled him. Tonight? Without even a chance to say goodbye to Severus -- without even a chance to get used to the idea?

"Er -- tomorrow morning, I thought," Sirius said, looking down at Harry, and Harry wondered if his horror had shown. He tried frantically to compose himself. "I thought Harry might like to take tonight and spend it with his friends. Is the Leaving Feast tonight?" Harry and Dumbledore nodded. "I thought it would be. Shame if you missed that. We'll just go home tomorrow when beverybody else does. Though maybe you wouldn't mind spending the afternoon with me, Harry?"

"No, of course not," Harry croaked, suddenly dizzy with relief and able to manage a halfway-real smile. He would have a chance to say goodbye -- to have left Severus without even a word would have been unbearable. He hoped uneasily, however, that the words they did speak wouldn't be angry ones. Severus was not going to be happy about this. To say the least. And Harry didn't want to leave for the summer with a bitter taste in his mouth. No, anything but that…

"Why don't you two take a walk about the grounds?" Dumbledore suggested. "I am afraid that, with classes over and such fine weather, you will have a difficult time finding a quiet spot. But you should have a chance to speak."

Oh, great. News of Sirius' presence would reach Severus faster than if Harry had Apparated to the dungeons and told him himself.

"How about a walk along the lake, Harry?" Sirius asked. "I've been pent up so long that sunshine seems like a miracle. Especially in Scotland."

"Yeah, all right," Harry said, and he couldn't help glancing back at Dumbledore again. The headmaster's expression was inscrutable.

"I think this will be a very good summer for you, Harry," he said. "A change of scene will be nice. I encourage you to take some time to think."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, trying not to shake, and left the office with Sirius. As they crossed the entrance hall to go to the front door, a crowd gathered to whisper and stare and point at the sight of Harry Potter openly accompanied by none other than the infamous Sirius Black. The word "godfather" seemed to be bouncing endlessly off the walls.

Sirius paid no attention to it, merely leading Harry out the door, keeping one hand on his shoulder and asking in a troubled voice, as they descended the stone steps to the lawn, "Is it always like that for you around here?"

"Huh? Oh, no," Harry said quickly, trying not to think of all the times everybody had pointed and stared at him just this year alone, never mind the other five. "Not always. It's just because you're here, I bet."

"That's a relief, I suppose," Sirius said, and then, when they were sufficiently alone and walking towards the lake, he added seriously, "Listen -- I know this is a bit of a shock for you. Probably more than you thought it would be. If…if you don't want to come with me, or if you wouldn't feel safe enough, just say the word and I'll understand."

Harry looked up at Sirius, who was regarding him with a bland expression -- but behind that look was another one of such desperate hope that Harry knew he couldn't possibly refuse. Sirius didn't want his life back -- it was too late for that; what he wanted was to start building a new life, and that was going to include Harry, one way or another. He'd been alone for fifteen years. To send him packing now would be the height of selfish cruelty. Harry just didn't have it in him.

"It is a bit sudden," he admitted, "but of course I feel safe. Of course I'm coming with you." He smiled. "We've been waiting three years for it, haven't we?"

Sirius' smile suddenly matched the sun for brilliance. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said. "I wouldn't have said anything -- I mean, if you hadn't -- but I was hoping. I'm so glad, Harry." He sat down on the grass by the lakeshore and Harry joined him. "I just -- I want you to know that I know you're a young man now," Sirius continued, in what sounded like a practised speech. "And I'm not your dad. I know that, too. Nobody could ever take his place." Sirius' expression, for a moment, was far-away and a little sad. Then he appeared to return to earth, and gave Harry a small smile. "But I'm here for you," he added fiercely. "Merlin knows I haven't always been. But I've wanted to be…"

"I know," Harry interjected hastily.

"…and I'm here now," Sirius continued. "I'll do my best for you -- to help you out and to stay out of your way." He grinned. "It seems an age ago, but I think that's what I wanted when I was sixteen."

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said, grateful that Sirius didn't intend to smother him with parental concern, hoping he'd be able to stick to that intention.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Harry tried to remember what it had felt like when Sirius had offered him a home in third year, tried to recapture that feeling of excitement and enthusiasm. He couldn't quite get it, but then, things were so different now he supposed it only made sense. He realised, with an unhappy jolt, that three years ago he'd been furious at Snape for separating him from Sirius…and now…

"Well, we've got a while to just talk," Sirius said, sounding hesitant again. "Dumbledore mentioned something about Draco Malfoy, before you came in -- what happened?"

Harry told Sirius all about Malfoy, and his godfather seemed extremely impressed at the leap of intuition that had told Harry the ferret was Malfoy. He was as good a listener in person as he was on paper, or through a fireplace, and Harry found himself telling him almost everything -- how he was sure Malfoy was behind the Daily Prophet article back in September, what a horrible person Malfoy was, how glad Harry was that he was gone, how much he hated him. Sirius didn't say anything, just listened, and nodded once in a while. And Harry just kept talking. Finally he found himself on the verge of saying the one thing about Malfoy that he was frightened of saying out loud to anybody else.

"Sirius, I wanted to kill him," he said, apprehension making his throat tight. "I -- I thought about it. When he was a ferret and it was just me there with him."

Sirius regarded him for a long moment, then reached out and laid a gentle hand on Harry's back.

"Yes," he said, "but you didn't."

They kept on talking, all the way through lunch, and Harry actually managed to forget about Severus for a little while: they talked about Neville, about Hagrid and Madame Maxime, about Ron and Hermione, and, naturally, about Harry and George. Sirius told Harry that he was welcome to visit the Weasleys any time he liked, and although, strictly speaking, nobody was supposed to come visit them at their cottage, he could probably arrange things so that George could stop by one day, if Harry ever wanted a little more privacy than the Burrow afforded. Harry turned scarlet and stammered out a clumsy thanks, hoping that Sirius wouldn't ever bring it up again. As if sensing Harry's discomfort, Sirius turned the conversation to more neutral territory.

"Dumbledore told me you got top marks this year," he said. "Congratulations. Your parents would be so proud. They were Head Boy and Girl of their year, of course." He grinned. "Not me. I did all right, but I got in too much trouble even to make prefect."

Harry grinned too, relieved at the change of subject. "I won't be Head Boy," he demurred. "I started studying too late. But yeah, I was happy. I really like Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Mmm." Sirius gave him a long look. "You only have one year of school to go. Any thought about what you'd like to do when you finish?"

Harry tried not to blush again. The only real hopes he had for his future all involved Severus in a vague, yet definite way, and he didn't think Sirius would want to hear that. "Not really."

"You might want to start thinking about it. If your Defence marks really are high enough, you could think about training for Auror. But you play Quidditch so well I wouldn't be surprised if you got offers from a few clubs." He smiled, looking a little shy. "Whenever anybody sent me a Daily Prophet, I'd always check the sports page to see how the Hogwarts teams were doing. Gryffindor was always at the top. I'd love to see you play sometime. Your dad was unbeatable, you've obviously got it in your blood."

Harry ducked his head, pleased with the compliment, but oddly resentful too. Congratulations on your marks…just like your parents. Heard you're good at Quidditch…just like your dad. What was next? Nice eyes, Harry…just like your mum?

Maybe he wasn't being fair. When Harry's parents had died, Sirius' life had effectively ended too. He supposed it made sense that Sirius would see him in terms of them, and not Harry himself. But he hoped that soon Sirius would realise he was his own person, and not just a copy of his dad.

He blinked as he suddenly remembered Severus. He realised with a small jolt that he couldn't remember the last time Severus had taunted him with his likeness to his father. Not at all this year -- nothing last year that Harry could remember -- nothing fourth year? Nothing since third year? How odd. But encouraging: if Severus had got over it, maybe Sirius could too.

"Well, you've got a while to decide," Sirius said, and his voice dragged Harry back to the present as he remembered they were talking about his future, not his parents. "Just something to keep in mind."

"What -- what did you want to do when you left school?" Harry asked hesitantly, not sure if this would be too much of a touchy subject or not. But Sirius only smiled ruefully as he chucked a small, smooth stone into the lake.

"Be an Auror," he replied. "Almost everybody did in those days. It was the glamour job, the dangerous job with all the glory. We all wanted to fight Voldemort. And I was an Auror, for a few years. So was your dad."

"What did my mum do?"

"Well, when you were born, she wanted to stay with you. Before that, she worked with the Department of Mysteries. I never did know what she did -- a lot of it was classified. I think Dumbledore helped her get the job." Sirius looked across the rippling surface of the lake. "They say she was wonderful at it, whatever it was," he said quietly. "She would have been great in a few more years, very influential. So would your dad. I have no doubt of that."

Harry swallowed hard. "Do you know why Voldemort wanted to kill me?" he asked, so softly it came out as a whisper. "Why did he come after us?"

Sirius raked a hand through his short, dark hair. "Harry, I wish I knew," he said, something in his voice that was beyond grief, beyond exhaustion. "Believe me, I wish I knew. But Dumbledore never told me, and your parents chose to keep it to themselves."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Harry's stomach rumbled. Sirius looked up; it being the start of a Scottish summer, the sun was still relatively high in the sky, but it was getting on towards evening. Then he glanced at his watch, and quickly stood up. "I don't believe it!" he said. "We've talked all day -- hurry, you'll miss the Feast."

Harry scrambled off, wiping grass and dirt from his trousers and robe. "Are you coming?" he asked, the feeling of apprehension rising in him again. Severus would be there…

Sirius looked wistful. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had anything but Ministry food?"

Harry gave an internal sigh. "Come on," he said. "I bet Dumbledore'll let you sit at the high table."

Sirius grinned as he looped an arm around Harry's shoulders while they walked together back up to the castle. "Do you know," he said, "I always wondered what the view was like from there."

       

Harry wondered if the view from the high table might not actually be a little disconcerting, since the whole student body stared at Sirius all the way through the Feast, pointing and whispering. But he seemed to be having a pleasant time anyway, Harry thought, sitting between Flitwick and Hagrid, the difference in their heights making them look like a sort of human stairway. Harry couldn't help noticing that Sirius ate a lot.

As for himself, Harry could hardly swallow one mouthful. Severus was sitting at the other end of the high table, looking at Sirius from hooded eyes, and his face was perfectly blank. Harry knew that look. It was worse than the look of open hatred, much worse. It was Severus' last refuge before he exploded. Harry stared down into his plate, pushing his potatoes around with his fork and gnawing his lip miserably. He didn't care how late people were staying up tonight -- he had to get down to the dungeons, he just had to.

"Aren't you excited, Harry?" Hermione asked. She sounded uncertain, and Harry looked up to see her and Ron regarding him with some concern. "You don't have to go back to the Dursleys, and you won't be stuck here…"

"Sure, I'm excited," Harry said, forcing a smile. "It'll be great."

Ron grinned, relieved. "Thought so," he said. "You've just been really quiet tonight, is all."

"Oh, I'm fine," Harry said. "Just thinking."

"Has been a hell of a year, hasn't it?" Dean Thomas asked. "All that rot with the Prophet back in September, and then that Ball, and Neville, and Malfoy…"

"All those other things were bad! The Valentine Ball wasn't bad!" Lavender said indignantly, glaring at him.

"Er, yeah," Dean said quickly. "I just meant, you know, it was eventful."

"Malfoy getting expelled wasn't bad," Ron objected. "And at least You-Know-Who didn't show up this year." He frowned. "Or last year, come to that. Huh."

That's what you think, Harry thought, and felt another pang, because of course that made him think of Severus too. But Ron was right: Malfoy and Neville had been quite enough for him, without adding Voldemort into the mix. Of course, he still had Severus to face tonight, and a few Dark Lords might be less painful than that, actually.

The back of his neck prickled. Harry tried not to hunch his shoulders down miserably.

The Leaving Feast was not as festive as it had been last year. Ravenclaw had won the House Cup really by default, after Gryffindor's massive loss of points and lacklustre performances on the part of Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Nobody could find it in themselves to be excited, except for the Ravenclaws, who seemed a bit put out by everyone else's lack of enthusiasm. But Cho Chang smiled graciously through it all, Harry noticed, and he did his best to applaud convincingly. Up at the head table, McGonagall looked a strange mixture of sour and sad as she shook Professor Flitwick's hand before sitting down again next to Professor Delacour. Delacour patted her arm, smiling gently at her, and McGongall eventually summoned a small smile for her in return.

As dinner was starting to wind down, Sirius came to the Gryffindor table to say hello to Ron and Hermione, and to meet Harry's other friends. He shook hands with a very awed Dean and Seamus, and inquired politely after Crookshanks. Then he and Harry made their way together out of the Great Hall while Sirius told Harry what was going to happen tomorrow. The Feast wasn't actually over yet, so they had a few minutes to speak alone.

"I'll go back to the cottage tonight," he explained, "make sure everything's ready, and come back for you tomorrow morning -- do you have many things? Both of the bedrooms are fairly small."

"I've hardly got anything," said Harry, all of whose worldly possessions were currently in his trunk. "I can't imagine I won't fit. You know me, I've fitted in smaller places…" he tried a weak grin, thinking of his cupboard under the stairs, but Sirius didn't seem to think it was very funny, as he frowned. But just as he opened his mouth to say something, Harry looked up, and his heart stopped. Severus was coming towards them, black robes billowing, his face still pale and blank.

Sirius saw him, and straightened, squaring his shoulders. "Snape," he said evenly, nodding. Harry's heart started beating again, twice as fast as before, and he tried not to let his hands tremble or otherwise give away his nervousness.

Severus jerked his head silently at Sirius, jaw clenching as he regarded him for a long moment. Then he turned to Harry, evidently intending to say something -- when Sirius subtly moved so that he was just barely standing between them. His face was closed, wary, his stance protective. Severus stared at him, his eyes going wide, and then filling with such rage that Harry almost gasped. For a moment, he was terrified that Severus was going to go for his wand and curse Sirius right there in the hallway.

Harry couldn't stop himself from moving, from carefully stepping out from behind Sirius, eyes pleading silently with Severus not to do something foolish, not to incite Sirius to do the same thing. At the movement, Severus' eyes flickered from Sirius back to Harry, he saw the look in Harry's eyes, and something in him seemed to unclench. His shoulders slumped very slightly, and when he turned back to Sirius, his voice was waspish. "As I was going to tell you, Potter, before your dogfather got in my way," he said, "you left your essay in my classroom. If you want my opinion on your abysmal prose and poorly-thought-out ideas, you are welcome to come and pick it up this evening. You can only profit by it."

Harry had written no essay for Potions in the past month, but Sirius wouldn't know that, of course. He nodded. Soon the other students would be coming out of the Great Hall, and it wouldn't do for the three of them to be seen like this. He suddenly remembered Ron's gleeful hopes that Sirius would attack Snape, and his stomach clenched up in dread.

"Harry's marks have been quite good, from what I understand, Snape," Sirius said mildly. "I can't think why he'd need your opinion on anything."

Harry winced, wanting to vanish -- no, wanting Sirius to vanish. Severus turned an ugly shade of red. "I really can't say how little I've missed you, Black," he spat. "Or Lupin, for that matter. How's your one surviving friend? Or have you made the acquaintance of any other monsters?"

"I'll come get the essay later, Professor," Harry said quickly, "I'll just come down later tonight -- "

"My 'one surviving friend,'" Sirius said, clenching his hands into fists, "is one more than you've got, as far as I can tell, and he's worth a dozen of you. As for monsters, all I need to do is look on your left forearm to know that some kinds are worse than others."

Silence fell, heavy and deadly and almost tangible. Severus' face went even paler, the rage in his eyes flared into murder, and before he quite knew what he was doing, Harry seized hold of Sirius' sleeve. "Thanks, Professor," he choked, tugging on it. "I'll see you later. We've got to go now."

Sirius nodded, keeping himself between Harry and Snape, but Severus made no move. He was apparently too angry to speak. Harry felt that his knees had turned to water and worried for a moment they wouldn't support him, but they seemed to be doing a decent job, judging by the fact that he was still standing up. "Come on, Sirius," he whispered, though his eyes were still fixed pleadingly on Severus, "dinner's nearly over, they'll all be coming out, let's not make any trouble, okay? Let's go?"

Sirius nodded again, but it was Severus who turned on his heel and stormed away, back ramrod-straight. Only when he was out of sight did Sirius turn his back and allow himself to be led away.

"Some things never change," he muttered. "Do you remember what I told you, Ron, and Hermione two years ago, Harry? About judging a man by the way he treats his inferiors?"

"Er -- yeah," Harry said as they mounted the Gryffindor Tower steps, feeling sick to his stomach. He wanted to talk about something else, anything else, he did not want to discuss Severus with Sirius. It would only make him feel worse. "Er -- say -- do you…"

"That's one of the many reasons I've always despised Snape," Sirius continued, oblivious to his godson's internal cringing. "I know it's not right of me to talk like this about one of your teachers, but I don't care. He'll go after people who are weaker than he is like a shot, but when he runs up against someone stronger, like Voldemort, or even Dumbledore, he bows and scrapes like everybody else. And then he goes and gets his kicks out of bullying kids."

Harry felt as if a sock was sitting in his throat, it felt so heavy and clogged. He couldn't deny the charge of bullying; it was something Harry didn't really understand about Severus. Harry didn't like it, but he couldn't change it either, and could only make sure Severus never bullied him. But he didn't think Sirius was being quite fair -- spying on Voldemort, when you never knew if you'd be caught and killed or not, that took a whole different kind of bravery than being an Auror. Harry didn't think Severus "bowed and scraped" to anybody so much as he wanted to make up for his mistakes. But he couldn't exactly tell Sirius that, much as he wanted to.

"And look how he just spoke to you," Sirius continued. "You saved his worthless life last year -- "

"I don't want to talk about him any more," Harry blurted. "Please, can we not?" He didn't think he could stand to hear another word.

Sirius blinked down at Harry as they stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, and then he gave an apologetic grimace. "You're right," he said. "Sorry. Who wants to think about Snape right now? We've got the whole summer stretching out ahead of us -- I didn't mean to dwell."

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked politely.

"Heliotrope," Harry replied, and she swung open to let them through. As Sirius passed by, she squinted, and said, "You know, you look rather familiar, dear…"

"Really?" Sirius asked, and quickly stepped into the common room without looking the portrait in the face. When she'd swung shut behind him, he murmured, "I'm surprised how guilty I still feel about that…cutting her up. I don't think I was in my right mind."

"You did scare her," Harry agreed, who still felt trembly and upset, and spitefully wanted Sirius to feel uncomfortable as well, even if it was only over a portrait. But Sirius' disturbance had already passed; he turned back to Harry, clapped his hands then rubbed them together, his smile bright with a hint of returning nervousness.

"So…I'll come for you tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock sharp?"

"Sounds great," Harry said, summoning a sickly smile.

"I'm nervous too," Sirius admitted, misreading the look on Harry's face. "But I think -- I think we'll be okay, Harry. I do. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, if I thought it would make you happy, and…" Sirius cut himself off, turning a little red. "Well, I hope you know that," he finished gruffly.

There are some things you wouldn't do, Harry thought, but didn't say out loud. Instead, he said, "I know, Sirius. We'll be fine. I'll…I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Sirius nodded, smiled again, and took some Floo powder from his pocket. "Elsinore Cottage," he said into the flames, before stepping in and whirling away. Harry wondered uneasily just how secure the place was supposed to be if anybody who knew the name of the cottage could get there from the Gryffindor common room. Perhaps Dumbledore had simply arranged for them to be connected for this one evening.

Harry felt a heaviness in his stomach when he thought about Dumbledore. Take some time to think. Think about what? About his future, like Sirius said? About Severus? At present, the only thing Harry thought about Severus was that he wanted to be with him right now, but just then, the sound of many footsteps coming up the Tower stairs put paid to that idea. A crowd of Gryffindor students burst in through the portrait hole, all talking and craning their heads around the room excitedly. When they saw that Harry was alone, a collective sigh of disappointment went up.

"He's gone?" Ron asked. He was holding hands with Hermione. Harry looked at their entwined fingers for a moment before turning away to gaze back into the flames.

"He'll be back tomorrow," he said.

       

Gryffindor Tower didn't quiet down until after midnight. Harry sat in the common room with his friends, listening to their chatter and wishing he was elsewhere. Ron and Hermione, the only ones who might have noticed he was more quiet than usual, seemed completely absorbed in one another, sitting apart by themselves and talking in low voices. Harry sat with Dean and Seamus and pretended to be interested in their conversation about the Appleby Arrows, forcing himself not to be rude and look at his watch every five minutes. It seemed that the evening would never end.

Finally, lights out came at twelve o'clock. Harry trooped up to his room with Ron, Dean and Seamus, and immediately dressed for bed, saying he was exhausted and couldn't keep his eyes open another minute. Then he lay in the darkness behind his bed curtains, frozen and wide-awake, listening to them as they tiptoed around, speaking in whispers and trying to be quiet. Finally, an hour later, they seemed to grow tired too, and Harry heard the sounds of bed linens being pulled back, pyjamas being donned, good-nights being whispered. It seemed as if ten hours had passed instead of one. He listened, agonised, until everyone's breathing had finally evened out into sleep. That took another twenty minutes. Ron started snoring, sleeping the sleep of the just, of someone who wouldn't get in trouble for writing letters to his girlfriend. Then five more minutes, just to be on the safe side…of all the nights to be caught sneaking out, it couldn't be tonight…

When he couldn't bear it any longer, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from beneath his mattress -- he'd have to pack it up tomorrow -- and slipped out of bed, creeping down the stairs, through the common room, past the snoozing Fat Lady, down more stairs, down the very familiar route to the dungeons that had never seemed so long before. But finally, finally he was standing in front of the office door, whispering the password, watching it swing open before him.

Severus was waiting for him in the sitting room, pacing around. The intervening hours had obviously not served to calm him down very much; at the sight of Harry, his eyes flashed, his lip curled into a snarl, and he opened his mouth to say something horrible. Harry couldn't let him. Dropping the cloak, he cried, "No, please don't, just don't," and launched himself across the room, throwing his arms around Severus with such force that Severus staggered backwards a few steps and nearly fell down. For a few moments there was a charged silence, as Harry hung on like grim death, burying his face in the black cloth at his lover's chest, feeling a button pressing hard on his cheekbone. Their breathing was raspy and agitated, their heartbeats fast as rabbits. Then Severus' breath left him in a low, groaning sigh, and he rested his cheek on the top of Harry's head, put his hands on Harry's waist. Harry relaxed in utter relief that, if this was their last night together, they weren't going to spend it shouting at each other.

"I don't want to go," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I don't want to go."

"When Dumbledore said…" Severus muttered, his voice strangled, "when he told me that you…he must have known…"

"He wants me to 'think,'" Harry said bitterly. Then, as he felt Severus' body stiffen in his arms, he realised that had been a mistake.

"Think?" Severus repeated in a neutral tone, stepping back from Harry a little.

Harry bit his lip miserably, wanting to hold on, knowing that would make him look like a child. "That's what he said," he said in a small voice. "That I should think about things. He didn't say what things -- "

"He didn't have to, I'm sure," Severus said, and though his face was closed, his lips pressed into a thin line, Harry thought he could see the beginnings of fear in those dark eyes. His heart ached painfully in his chest.

"I'll write to you," he said desperately. "I'll find some way. I'll tell Sirius I'm writing to George. He doesn't have to know -- "

"Harry -- "

"And then, when I know if it's safe, I'll tell you if you can write back, and you'd better -- "

"Harry. It will not be safe. It would not be wise. You cannot send Hedwig to me, and it would be dangerous for me to send an unknown owl to you when Black is present." Severus' voice was very firm, and sounded very sure, although the fear had not left his eyes. In fact, it seemed to be growing. Harry suddenly felt as if they were looking at each other from different sides of a very wide chasm, even though they were in the same room, and that it wasn't Sirius who had put the chasm there.

"I am coming back," he whispered. "It's…it'll only be for three months." Even as he said it, he realised it sounded like forever. In that moment, he keenly wished that he hadn't said he'd go with Sirius, that he'd found some excuse, any excuse, to stay at Hogwarts. He strained for a smile. It felt as if it took every muscle in his body to find it. "I'll study Potions again. It'll remind me of you."

Severus said nothing, but the next thing Harry knew, he was being crushed in his lover's arms again. He took deep breaths, breathing in Severus' smell, and feeling the warmth of him against his cheek, and for a moment he didn't think he could bear it. "Maybe I could say something," he mumbled in desperation. "I could tell them I don't feel safe. I could tell them I want to stay here."

Severus rapped out a laugh, harsh and bitter. "Dumbledore wants you to go, Harry. I can guarantee you -- you're going to go. He has put in every precaution possible for your safety."

Harry blinked. "How do you know that?"

"Because," Severus growled, "he told me this afternoon. I heard Black was here -- and I knew, and I went to see Dumbledore…"

"And you asked?" Harry asked, feeling a warm glow in his chest in spite of everything else. "About the precautions?"

"Yes," Severus said, and he sounded defeated. "I did."

They were silent for another long moment. Harry heard the clock on the mantel ticking away, marking the too-rapid passage of time. "We don't have a lot of time left," he whispered, and kissed Severus' cheek. "Do you want to…?"

Severus kissed his mouth. "Yes." Another kiss. "After last night -- can you -- again --?"

"Oh, please," Harry groaned, and kissed him again. "Please, yes." He wanted to feel it tomorrow when he sat down to lunch with Sirius in a cottage hundreds of miles away.

They drifted together into bed, and it was quiet, slow, so different from last night's playfulness and expectation that Harry found it hard to believe he'd been happy only twenty-four hours ago. But he didn't want to waste tonight in unhappiness -- he wanted to remember this as a pleasant time. It felt good -- everything felt good. But at the same time, he was aware of a deep, persistent sorrow that he couldn't seem to shake, no matter how he tried to concentrate. It was weird, to like something so much and still feel sad. Still, wrapped all around the core of sadness, there was Severus, his skin and his body and his closeness. Harry kissed Severus' shoulder, and thought about how he loved him, and whispered, "I'm coming back. You know I am." He didn't just mean he was coming back to school, of course. Severus didn't say anything, but Harry saw something unidentifiable flare in his eyes.

"For God's sake," he whispered, "don't do anything stupid -- " and then he came, with a low, surprised cry, pulsing deep inside Harry, who followed him with little whimpering pants.

Then they lay together, sticky and trembling, Harry thought, from more than aftershocks.

"Don't do anything stupid," Severus repeated a few moments later in a stronger voice. "Your fool of a godfather always got himself in the most ridiculous scrapes. If I find out he's been leading you into danger, I'll…" his hands clenched into the bedclothes. "And Lupin," he added suddenly, rolling them over so that Harry was underneath him. He looked fiercely into Harry's eyes. "If Black gets any ideas in his cursed head about little animal romps with his friend…Stay away from Lupin, do you hear me? Promise me!"

Harry stared up at Severus in astonishment, and saw a different kind of fear in his lover's eyes now; fear for Harry, mixed up with some terrible memory of his own. He thought about reasonably pointing out that Professor Lupin was only dangerous once a month, and that it was unlikely Sirius would invite him over for tea on the full moon, but then decided that it would probably be better just to nod and agree. He rubbed Severus' chest in what he hoped was a soothing way. "I'll be careful," he promised. "You, too."

"I shall be here," Severus said bitterly. "Again. As I was last summer and as I shall doubtless be next summer as well. There will be little need for caution."

"Well, all the same," Harry said, and then, quite suddenly, something occurred to him. "You know," he said hesitantly, "next year, when I get back…we might try being nicer to each other. In front of people."

Severus stared at him, eyebrows drawing together.

"Not -- not anything too obvious," Harry mumbled, wishing he'd had time to think this out better. "Just…maybe we could be less nasty to each other. So later, maybe…you know, later, maybe it won't seem like such a surprise to people that we…you know…after I finish school…" He was floundering. Now Severus was looking at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "I mean, no matter what we do, it'd still be surprising, obviously, but maybe we shouldn't come out of nowhere with it, although I don't know how long we'll keep hiding it, of course, maybe two more years? Or -- or a year and a half -- " He cut himself off, aware that his whole body was blushing. Please, please let Severus know what he meant. Let him understand what Harry was trying to say…

But all Severus said in reply was a rather stilted, "We shall see."

Harry bit his lip angrily. Didn't Severus hear what he was saying? Didn't he want to be able to stop hiding some day? "Listen," he said desperately, "I'm just trying to say…I want to…"

"Don't say it yet."

Harry frowned. Severus began petting his hair gently, which took some of the sting out of his words. "Don't say it yet," he repeated, his voice soft, and, if Harry listened very hard, he fancied it sounded sad, too. "Wait a little while. We can talk when you -- come back."

Harry swallowed, and nodded. It would have to do. He couldn't make Severus believe him, so he'd just have to show him -- that he was sincere, that he was patient. It was a start.

Three-thirty came and went. Harry, dozing on and off, made no move to leave, and Severus gave no sign of asking him to do so. At four in the morning, they reached for each other silently and made love again, and then lay still until the clock on the mantel chimed five, Harry resting his head on Severus' chest and staring at the shadows on the wall, wishing that he could think of something to say, wishing that the clock would just stop ticking.

Sirius would arrive in five hours. Maybe there would be a complication. Maybe the Ministry would decide it needed him to give more evidence after all. Something that would delay things for just another week. Another day.

Finally he whispered, "Sirius said I could go to Hogsmeade if I wanted. I -- there's a way to Hogwarts from there that I know of." He paused, biting his lip, and Severus murmured something that sounded remarkably like 'I knew it.' "Maybe -- maybe one afternoon or something we could meet? You can go to Hogsmeade sometimes, I know, and -- "

"Shush," Severus said, not unkindly. "Perhaps we can. Perhaps it would also be better if you use the summer to…to think, as the headmaster suggested." Unbearably frustrated, Harry opened his mouth to yell that he didn't need to THINK, but Severus laid a finger on his lips. "One month. Just one month. Then I'll see what I can do. I will find a way to get word to you."

"You could do that thing with the notes," Harry suggested, slightly mollified by the suggestion.

Severus' lips quirked. "A spell of that range will only work within the school," he said, "but I'll think of something."

Harry thought back to one particularly thick and dusty tome he'd been reading in March as an idea suddenly presented itself. "I…I think I heard somewhere," he said nervously, just trying to come up with suggestions, "about potions that, erm, can help two people share dreams." Severus looked at him sharply. "I wondered if -- I mean, could you talk to somebody like that?" Harry asked hopefully. Of course, Severus' track record of producing dream potions hadn't been very good so far, but maybe this could work. Sharing dreams -- it would be untraceable. It seemed like a good idea, anyhow.

"Where on earth did you read about that?" Severus asked, eyes narrowed, and Harry realised that information wouldn't have been in any books that he should have had access to. He came up with a quick fib and hoped for forgiveness.

"Oh…Hermione was doing some special project, and she got permission to read -- "

"Say no more," Severus said dryly. "Every single one of those potions she read about is illegal -- not controlled, illegal -- and with good reason. They've been known to drive men mad. As I said, leave this to me. If I can think of something, I'll do it." Then his eyes flickered to the clock, and Harry saw the words come to hover on his lips. He couldn't stand to hear them.

So he said them instead. "Time for me to go," he whispered.

They regarded each other for a long moment in silence. There wasn't anything else left to say that Harry could think of. He bent down, and they kissed each other again, hard and fast, before Harry left the bed and put his pyjamas back on.

"Bye," he managed, before slipping on the invisibility cloak and fleeing the bedroom while he still could. Severus said nothing as he left.

       

True to his word, Sirius arrived at ten o'clock sharp. The Hogwarts Express wasn't due to leave until noon, so Ron and Hermione accompanied Harry out to the courtyard where Sirius was waiting, so they could say goodbye. Harry dragged his trunk behind him with one hand, and carried his Firebolt in the other. The sky above was brilliant and blue.

"We'll write to you, Harry," Hermione promised earnestly. "And he did say you could visit the Burrow?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'll write lots to you, too." He tried not to think about the be-spelled letters that were hidden under everything else in his trunk.

"You better," Ron said. "I expect you'll be setting up house for the next few days, so I'll tell George what's happened. I know you haven't had time."

"Oh. Thanks," Harry said, who hadn't thought once about George. "Yeah, I'm going to try and go to Hogsmeade to, to see him a few times."

"Maybe we could meet you there!" Hermione said enthusiastically. "I mean, if we planned ahead. I'll be in the country all summer this year, and I'll be spending the last two weeks of August at your place, Ron."

Ron beamed at her. Harry tried very hard not to roll his eyes.

They arrived in the courtyard, where the sun was shining down on the grass, sparkling off the lingering traces of dew. Sirius was waiting for them, and gave Harry a huge smile as they approached.

"Everything's ready," he said, talking rapidly to Harry, seeming only barely aware that Ron and Hermione were there at all. "Or as ready as it's going to be. Place needs a little cleaning, but that'll be no trouble. There's a splendid pond nearby for swimming, or fishing, you know -- and some beautiful moors for rambling about, even a copse of trees near the cottage, you don't get too many of those in Yorkshire. And we're not too far from a village…"

"Hi, Sirius," Harry said, not quite able to restrain a smile in the face of such enthusiasm, in spite of his own melancholy.

"Oh," Sirius said, coming back down to earth with an embarrassed smile. "Hello. Ah, hello to you too," he added to Ron and Hermione.

"Hello," Ron said with a grin.

"Good morning," Hermione said.

Then they all stood in a circle, looking rather awkwardly at each other, until a flash of scarlet at the end of the courtyard distracted Harry. Dumbledore was walking towards them, an empty container of Scotch tape in his hands. He dropped it in Sirius' palm. "Your Portkey, gentlemen," he said. "Allow me to take this opportunity to wish all four of you a very fine summer."

"Thanks so much for this, Dumbledore," Sirius said, with obvious feeling.

"Yeah," Harry said, knowing he was expected to, the words coming out of his mouth mechanically. "Thanks."

"You're quite welcome," Dumbledore said, peering at Harry over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "I do hope you will have an enjoyable time."

"I'm sure I will," Harry mumbled. "I mean…I'm sure we both will."

Sirius grinned again. "So am I," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Now, Harry, that Portkey will activate within the minute, so I suggest you take hold of it…there, excellent."

"Bye, Harry!" Ron said, putting his arm round Hermione's waist.

"Have a good time!" Hermione put in, waving at Harry and Sirius with the tips of her fingers.

"Five…four…" Sirius counted under his breath.

Harry felt it then. Prickling on the back of his neck. Unable to stop himself, he looked wildly around the courtyard, just barely remembering to keep hold of the Portkey --

"Three…two…"

Two dark eyes watched him from a window on the east side, Severus' long form half-hidden in shadow. But Harry could see him -- could see his face -- one hand lifting in a gesture of farewell --

"One!"

There was the strange, horrible feeling of a hook jerking at his navel as the Portkey activated. Harry's feet left the ground, he slammed into Sirius, and the world around him vanished in a roar of wind. The only lasting impression was that of Severus' face, receding into the distance, as Hogwarts spun away.

The End of A Wizard Song

Storyline to be continued in the final two Tea fics

       

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.

-from William Butler Yeats' "The Two Trees"

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