AN: Whoa, cheers for the huge response! I have some serious love for you all right now. Now I just have to live up to the set expectations. ;)

Also, some of you have incurred the wrath of the Sorting Hat! Ron wasn't quoting Latin to show off, he's rather reminding Harry of a good piece of advice all students learn – the Hogwarts school motto. Lastly, I definitely appreciate when people let me know about my typos, but note that I'm British Canadian and my spelling reflects that. Usually. Thanks again!


Potter kitchen, Alwyne Street, London.

Severus Snape's application is stuck to the fridge by a thermometer magnet. The edges are slightly curled up, moisture from the rainy London weather permeating the parchment. The application has been filed out mostly by a consistent cursive hand – small interior letters and large flowing stems on the uppercase. There is a page filled out in a larger and uniform script, and signed by H. Potter. The bottom half of the page has been annotated with a more basic form of scribble, though it contains mostly positive words in support of the application. It is signed by Ronald Bilius Weasley.

….

Harry hated going to Diagon Alley. His status as the wizarding world's most eligible bachelor had sparked a flame under journalists, who at first had trailed him all over the alley in hopes of an exclusive interview to give their readers. Theo's adoption seemed to only have made him more of a catch, though Harry was careful to not let any pictures of Theo be taken. He managed this with a healthy cupboard of disguises, provided by Fred and George.

For today, he needed to fetch some books from the bookshop, a teething potion for Theo, a new travelling robe for himself and Theo, and a few sweets. Just before leaving, Harry placed his empty milk bottles outside the front step of his door, scowling at the darkening sky. This summer had been the wettest that London had experienced in a while, and while the rain was lovely and refreshing, he was starting to get tired of it. Perhaps he'd leave a small tip for the milkman, for putting up with the crap weather.

Passing through the barrier at The Leaky Cauldron, Harry wiped some sandy blond hair from his eyes. Theo's hair was the same colour, for the moment, and the little boy was dressed in dark old-fashioned wizarding clothes. Harry's own robes looked well used and non-descript, which allowed him to pass through the crowds with ease.

Harry twisted his way through the alley, headed toward the apothecary. It was never usually busy, and today was no different. Only three other people were in the shop, and Harry still managed to accidentally bump into a man when turning the corner of a small aisle. Harry barely kept himself from stuttering as he apologized to Mr Diggory for bumping him. It had been just over three years since he'd last seen Cedric's father, and the poor man wasn't looking too well. Clothing that had once been finely pressed and cared for was creased and musty, a day's growth of stubble existed in odd patches on his chin, and his left hand trembled consistently as he clutched a bag of thin threads of metal. A slightly beaten Ministry of Magic employee nametag hung from his handkerchief pocket. Harry mumbled a 'good day', and avoided eye contact.

Just as he exited the apothecary, Harry was startled to see the back of Severus Snape disappearing around a small alley corner. Shifting Theo on his hip, he quickly followed, stepping through to a very narrow cobbled lane marked off by a chipped street sign. Cobb Knob Lane was the appellation for a patch of pavement that housed two pubs, a second hand shop, and a cobbler's stall. Above the pubs and the second hand shop were two stories of flats, with crooked windows that only had curtains in half of them.

Theo played idly with Harry's hair as Harry watched Snape stalk down the lane, pausing to talk to a man standing at the door of one of the pubs. They seemed to be well acquainted, going by Snape's relaxed body language, and his open facial expressions. Harry hadn't seen Snape happy like this before, not without the malicious undertones that normally accompanied his cheer. The man Snape was talking to laughed at something, and reached forward to squeeze Snape's upper arm. Harry blinked forcibly, watching the exchange. Was Snape gay?

"Da da da da da," Theo mumbled, yawning into Harry's neck.

"Just a sec," Harry murmured, rubbing Theo's back. Harry watched, fascinated, at Snape's immediate tensing upon the arrival of a third man. This bloke looked large and drunk, seemingly saying exactly the right thing to piss Snape off. It only took two minutes before Snape stormed off and through a small door, which Harry assumed led to the flats. He had been clutching his left arm, and Harry wondered if the Mark still hurt him.

Thunder rumbled in the far off distance, warning of another rainstorm. Harry decided to head back toward home, but not before he noticed a small light appear in one of the windows overhead. So this was where Snape had ended up after his house was destroyed. It had only happened a few days earlier, and Harry figured it was the cheapest place Snape could find on short notice. Nonetheless, Harry decided to see if the renovations on his own house could be pushed a little faster.

Harry distractedly walked out of Diagon Alley, his hands under Theo's bum as he walked toward Embankment Station, where there was a public apparition spot. He preferred apparating from there, as Theo still didn't take apparition well and his cries would draw a lot of attention. Villiers Street was practically empty, however, and Harry continued pondering as he walked. Perhaps he could speak to Kingsley, and see if Snape's application could be sped up. But maybe it was best not to intervene, as he didn't have a clear idea of Snape's financial situation (though from seeing the man's clothing and fierce reaction to the mere mention of galleons – Harry had a pretty strong guess).

Harry passed by a young man who seemed inordinately enthralled by the blue history plaque attached to a white-bricked building, declaring it the once-abode of Rudyard Kipling. He stepped out of the way of the man's camera, avoiding capture in one of the many pictures the man was taking.

The problem with rebuilding after the war was that the Ministry had completely restructured certain departments, complicating what used to be very simple procedures before. The licence Snape had applied for was directly connected to the Mortar Grant Fund, which meant that for his application to be considered, he also had to qualify for the grant's requirements. It seemed odd, but each shop owner for the next seven years was to receive a grant to supplement their shops and facilitate a boon in revenue for the wizarding world. The money was all coming from the Wizarding National Lotto, which proved to be one of Kingsley's best ideas for getting the Ministry of Magic out of financial ruin in such a short period of time. The prize, a hundred thousand galleons, had enticed almost everyone over seventeen to purchase at least one five galleon lotto ticket. Smaller draws happened weekly, but the large jackpot would be drawn at the end of August.

Snape qualified for the grant, on paper. Harry worried about how Snape would fare if he made it through to the interview part of the process. Harry apparated home with Theo, automatically rubbing the back of Theo's neck to calm him down from the apparition. Fresh bottles of milk stood on his doorstep, and Harry carefully balanced Theo as he picked them up to bring them in.

Perhaps Snape would be okay in the interview, Harry thought, putting away his groceries. Snape had obviously learned a bit of patience in the last year, as he'd spent two significant chunks of time with Harry and not thrown a single hex.

….

Snape rapped smartly on Potter's door the following Tuesday, scowling at the neighbour who was staring at him again. It was a damp London summer afternoon and Snape wore his best set of robes, rich black ones Albus Dumbledore had gifted him on his thirtieth birthday.

The door was thrown open before Snape could say anything rude to the nosy neighbour, however, and he entered to find Potter dressed in dark grey slacks and a dark maroon shirt. He was loosening a grey tie from around his neck, and beckoned Snape in.

"Come in, I'm just waiting on a fax of some pounds."

The phone rang before Snape could question that bizarre statement, and he watched Potter enter the living room to answer it. Potter's words were clipped, but not rude, and Snape couldn't make much of the conversation. Something else had caught his attention, however, as shortly after Potter had started speaking, two bright green eyes appeared from behind the large chair in the living room. Snape watched as Theodore Potter emerged from the living room, wearing a nappy, a blue shirt, and trailing a small blanket in his clutches. His hair was black this time, and though wild, it was slightly tamer than Potter's. The little boy inched along the wall toward where Harry had gone into the office, his green eyes locked on Snape's.

"Hello, Monkey," Potter said. He'd hung up the phone without Snape realizing, and his body posture was more relaxed than before, slouching slightly like the teenager he still was. Theo, who clutched his blanket tightly, smiled slightly and continued to stare at Snape as he made his way to Potter.

"He's shy," Potter explained, scooping the boy up and retrieving a juice cup from the coffee table.

"Do you charm his hair and eyes to look just like yours?" Snape asked, unable to help the slight sneer that entered his voice.

"No, not at home." Potter replied, his tone slightly put off. Snape heard an odd ringtone sound in the office, and assumed it was the fax object that Potter had mentioned. "Metamorphmagi are heavily influenced by emotion, as you know. You certainly made fun of Tonks for it."

"He seems pleased enough for a toddler," said Snape, keeping eye contact with Theo's curious green eyes.

"He lost his entire family before he was three months old. It's been a bit of a journey, but he won't ever doubt that someone loves him," Potter immediately said. He kissed the top of Theo's head before pointing Snape through to the kitchen. Snape suddenly understood that Potter was giving Lupin's son everything he wished he'd gotten from the Dursleys as an orphan.

"You were not to have sealed the envelope," said Snape, eyeing the package of paperwork on the counter.

"I didn't," Potter clarified, putting Theo into his green high chair. "But everything is filled out and the money transfer included. You just need to seal it yourself and send it."

"I don't need your money," Snape bristled, not touching the application.

"I thought it was part of the guarantor thing," Potter said, setting down a bowl of cheerios in front of Theo. He wasn't any better at lying to Snape now than he had been as a student.

Snape ignored the paperwork, watching Potter fetch dinner ingredients from the fridge, his body tense. Potter had never been comfortable in terse silence, and Snape was inordinately pleased to find that hadn't changed.

"So what are you doing these days, other than starting a business?" Potter asked, with subtleness that would not have fooled a troll.

"Stripping for money," Snape deadpanned, his lip twitching once as Potter spun around and dropped a package of spinach.

"You…what?" Potter stared at him and the baby hummed cheerfully, attacking the bowl of cheerios.

Snape slowly crossed his arms, remaining silent. Potter got the hint, and continued on with his cooking. Deciding to avoid any awkward dinner invitations issued no doubt due to Potter's idea of his pitiful finances, Snape picked up the envelope and apparated out before Potter could say another word. He did notice, however, that Theo had oddly waved goodbye as he spun to leave, cheerios stuck to his little stubby fingers.

Mail room, 8th floor, Ministry of Magic.

In a large oval room filled with cubby boxes along the wall, hundreds of paper airplane memos flying above, packages hovering under the strength of miniature hot air balloons, and a mail chute dropping letters from owls above, Severus Snape's completed application arrives. A tall wizard, dressed in blue Ministry robes and completely oblivious to the madness around him, sorts the letter into the mailbox of Mathilda Botsnair, one of the four deciding officials for the Mortar Grant Foundation. Anyone in the wizarding world may apply for the business licence and loan, provided they have a well-detailed and successfully sound business plan. The potential downfall with Severus Snape's application won't be his business plan, however, but the stigma attached to his name.

….

Harry nudged the front door lock with his key and twisted it, pushing against the door with his shoulder to get it open. The warm smell of soup drifted out through the opening door, causing Harry's stomach to grumble.

"Hullo!"

It was a slightly warmer day, which made the rain hitting the pavement outside create a small mist as it splattered. Harry dumped his duffle bag at the door and slipped off his shoes, not bothering to undo them.

"Dada!" Theo called from the kitchen, where the bright lights illuminated the dreary day. A black simmering pot was on the stove, and there was fresh bread on the counter.

"Hey Monkey," Harry said, walking toward the table. He was careful not to touch anything, as his clothing was covered in paint and he had dirt all over his hands.

"Harry Potter," Minerva McGonagall chided, looking at him over her hand of extra large playing cards. Theo was in his highchair, waving his own card around.

"Hi Aunt Minerva," Harry smiled, his expression sheepish. He leaned over Theo and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. "Thanks for watching Theo."

"Stand up, young man, and spread your arms."

Harry stood still with his arms out as Minerva's wand passed over him, removing the paint from his clothes.

"And what bruises do you have?"

Harry blushed and pulled up his shirt, exposing his left side. Just under his ribs was a large blackening bruise, twice the size of a muggle 50p coin.

"It makes a difference where you're hit," Harry explained, trying to sound like getting shot with a paintball gun was perfectly reasonable. "George shot Fred in the calf, and half his leg is already bruised."

"Episkey," Minerva said. She put her wand back into the sleeve of her dress and gave him a disapproving look.

"The same Fred that only stopped using a wheelchair two months ago."

"Er, yes. That one."

"Were I still your professor, Mr Potter, you would be in detention for a week. As I'm not, I shall let Molly Weasley deal with you," Minerva mock scolded.

Harry had started to build a card house on the tray of Theo's highchair, making a game of keeping the little hands away from the built cards.

"Mr Weasley was there. He's our buffer against Mrs Weasley," Harry said, grinning and tickling Theo. He missed the fond look Minerva gave him.

"You'd best hope she never finds one of your paintball guns," Minerva said, rising to serve the soup.

Dinner was a simple affair, with Harry and Minerva talking while Theo made an absolute mess with his food. Harry had strained the chicken and vegetables, putting them on a plate with small chunks of bread. Theo was singing to himself as he ate, however, and missed his mouth on occasion.

Harry explained his newest case with Minerva; a rise in counterfeited muggle money was besieging London, oddly in smaller ten and twenty pound denominations. The first major counterfeiting case that Harry had ever worked on involved fifty pound notes, as the payoff was larger in a smaller amount of time. But whoever was operating this current run seemed to be in no big hurry. The notes Harry had been asked to examine had come from various petrol stations, stationers, and smoke shops throughout London, all used to make small lotto ticket purchases. Harry didn't really care what was being bought with the money, but he was quite impressed with the level of forgery. The only imperfect aspect about the notes were the holograms, and Harry couldn't figure out how an otherwise perfect copy had been made. Even the ultraviolet marks were consistent through the notes, although the colour shade was slightly off.

It was almost as if a witch or wizard had tried to duplicate the note. If that were the case, Harry would have to involve the Muggle Crimes unit in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Harry," Minerva said, interrupting Harry's thoughts and startling him bad enough that he dropped his fork.

"Sorry, thinking about the case," Harry apologized, picking up his utensil again. He noticed that Theo had flung a chunk of bread onto his plate, and raised his eyebrow at the little boy. Theo had also apparently decided to use a carrot as a crayon, and coloured orange mushy lines on the highchair tray.

"Perhaps as a distraction you can tell me how it came to be that Severus Snape is your tenant?" Minerva asked, finishing the last of her soup. She threw a pointed look at Harry, conveying her annoyance that he'd not told her first.

"Well, he's not yet," Harry mumbled. "But he needed a place to stay, after his house was destroyed."

"Naturally. However, you were both constantly needling each other as student and teacher, which leads me to believe that you have either not thought this through well enough, or it is a form of revenge."

"No!" Harry stood up, rubbing the inside of his arm through his shirt. He stepped back from the table and fetched a bowl of grapes from the kitchen counter to give to Theo. "How could you think that, Professor? The man nearly died for me…I couldn't…"

"I'm not accusing you, Harry. I must ask, as you will be in a position of power. I have spent enough time with Severus to know how destructive he can be when he perceives he's being mistreated," she responded, shaking her finger. Theo imitated her and shook his own finger back, giggling.

"Yeah. Don't I know it," Harry exhaled, falling back into his seat. "I honestly just wanted to help him out. He seems to have changed a lot since I last was his student."

"Peace can change a person, just as much as war can," Minerva commented. She watched as Harry levitated some of Theo's grapes to dance in the air in front of him. He shrieked with laughter and made a game at grabbing the grapes.

"I suppose. I've definitely changed," Harry mused, watching the dancing grapes. "Did you know Snape…is Snape gay?"

"I don't believe that man has been gleeful a single day in his life," Minerva deadpanned, though her lips quirked as she tried to hide a smile.

"That's maybe one of the reasons I wanted to help him," Harry immediately replied, smiling.

"If he is, would that stop you from letting him the stay here?" she asked, her tone more serious.

"No, of course not. It's just, when I'm caught off guard I go completely blank on what to say. You know how he zeroes in on people when that happens. I want to avoid that, that's all," Harry shrugged his shoulders, not looking at his surrogate aunt.

"Yes, he is rather proficient with exploiting people's weaknesses," Minerva agreed, sounding as sure as one would be, dealing with Snape's personality quirks in the fourteen years he'd been with her at Hogwarts. "You should prepare yourself for the possibility that Severus may bring home a male date."

Harry looked thoughtful, before draining his glass of water. Outside the rain had started pouring harder, looking almost like hail was hitting the back garden deck.

"Right then, I will," he said, nodding more to himself than to Minerva.

"You're a good lad," said Minerva, patting Harry's hand. Theo had finally caught the last grape, and was talking to it before eating it. "But as much as you have chosen me for family, you will be in serious trouble if I find you've insulted Severus."

"Yes ma'am," Harry reassured.

Snape sat at a table in Pret A Manger in St Pancras Station. His chair rested firmly against the back wall of the cafe, and he was partially hidden by the shadows bouncing off the corners of the café. Snape hated the crowds, but preferred this corner of St Pancras to search for employment, as he did not look out of place having several newspapers to flip through at the table.

Snape had always been a fastidious note-taker, whether in his notebooks or textbooks themselves, and he applied himself no differently to this task. The blue spiral-bound book on his left had a neatly drawn chart in it, with the names of more than thirty muggle and magic companies listed down the side. Categories were placed along the x-axis, information about the job posting date and when Snape had applied. There was also a column for when the company contacted Snape in return, but so far that remained empty. Even though he was applying to open up his own shop, with Harry Potter the Wizarding World Hero as his guarantor, Snape wasn't overly optimistic about the application. He'd always survived by having several viable back up plans, and this was a habit he refused to change.

Frustrated with the lack of employment he could find – stupidly in his youth he'd chosen to join the Death Eaters instead of going to university – Snape closed his notebook and sat back against the fake leather chair. He'd gotten himself a plain tea earlier, but was drinking it as slowly as he could to avoid purchasing another expensive food item. The front page of the Prophet was filled with slanted political diatribe as usual, but a small article beneath the fold caught his attention. It was about the Wizarding National Lotto, and the four people who'd won the smaller draws so far. It also detailed a list of what exactly one could buy with a hundred thousand galleons, which made Snape wonder who in their right mind would spend the money all on broomsticks or quidditch supplies.

Nestled in his coat pocket, a bog-standard black business jacket to repel the rain, was a letter from Churchill Home Insurance detailing the investigation into the destruction of the house at Spinner's End. Snape hadn't insured it for much, as the house was run down and in a crummy part of town – not worth a lot physically or on paper. But the contents had been insured, and that was why Snape currently had £3500 in his muggle bank account. Not enough to sustain him for a long time, but enough for a few months. It was likely all he would get, as even though the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee had arrived on scene shortly after the house had exploded, his insurance didn't cover accidental damage. The committee ensured that any magical remnants that would confound investigating muggles had been destroyed, but that didn't leave any natural cause for the explosion; something the muggles would find highly suspicious.

Snape was about to take another sip of his tea when the table became darker and a tall man stepped directly into the path of light from the hanging lamp by Snape's table.

"Can I help you?" Snape said, his voice cold and his gaze hard. Ronald Weasley faltered for half a second before sitting in the chair across from Snape, dropping his wet umbrella to the floor.

"That was not an invitation to sit."

"Good afternoon to you too, Professor," Weasley said, stirring his own bought coffee and paying more attention to that than Snape's face. Perhaps Potter had warned his friend about Snape's legilimency skills.

"I'm not here long. I just have a few things to say, since you're moving in with Harry."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest, darting his eyes quickly down to ensure his notebook was closed.

"I am becoming his tenant. Nothing more."

Snape was pleased to see a spotted blush rise up ugly from Weasley's neck.

"Call this a 'just in case' clause," Weasley said, tamping down his reaction. He took a drink of his coffee and grimaced at the hot temperature, before putting the mug back down.

"The Daily Prophet will offer you money to leak information on Harry's life. Don't do it. Never mention where Harry lives, what goes on in his house, or who visits him. Don't say a word about what he does for a living."

Snape leaned forward in his chair and pointed one finger down toward the table, eager to say something. Either Weasley had anticipated the interruption or was remarkably bad at interpreting body language, as he kept going through his speech.

"Don't ever think about hurting Theo, don't attempt to change the wards on the house, and don't treat him like you did in fifth year," Weasley finished, his jaw set and radiating determination.

"Don't embarrass Sir Potter when he has lovers parading through the house?" Snape sneered, his smile twisted. Weasley gave him an odd look that Snape couldn't quite interpret.

"Harry won't be parading anyone," Weasley said, narrowing his eyes.

"Rubbish, Mr Weasley. Potter is a hero, he likely has his pick of suitors each week," Snape countered, leaning forward to put Weasley off balance.

"Are you actually jealous of his fame?" Weasley asked; disbelief splashed across his face.

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape snapped. "I am not desperate enough to trade in on my career in the war to secure a date."

"Neither is Harry," Weasley countered, crossing his arms. They sat in silence for a moment as Snape took a sip of his tea.

"What a pleasant surprise."

Weasley stared at him, his blue-green eyes dark and unblinking as he sized up his former professor. Snape remembered the very first day that Weasley entered his potions classroom, a small gangly child in second hand robes. Small enough to squish like a bug, Snape remembered wistfully.

"And how will Mr Potter feel when he learns that he yet again needed defending from his moronic compatriot?" Snape asked.

"My best friend once walked to his own death alone. I don't think he'll ever mind someone looking out for him."

Weasley drank more of his coffee, more relaxed now that he'd gotten his piece off his mind. He glanced at the papers on Snape's table, before casually looking around the room at the various travellers that were passing through St Pancras. Snape figured it was partially nervous habit, as it had only been a year and a half since the three students had been hiding for their lives.

"Was there any point to this grandiose speech of friendship, Mr Weasley?" Snape finally asked, staring down his former student. "I assure you, I am not fool enough to antagonise one in such a position of power as a landlord."

Weasley looked at him again, his eyes this time making direct contact.

"Just to make sure you realize that we're not unequal Hogwarts students anymore."

Snape was well aware of that. He did not need a reminder to know that he was looking directly at one of the three to have rid the world of Voldemort.

"Your wishes will be honoured," Snape said, not conceding anything else.

Weasley nodded, seemingly satisfied, and stood to leave the café. Snape still wasn't sure how Weasley had found him there, but on principle he wouldn't ask.

"And by following your little rules, Mr Weasley, I have your guarantee to be left in peace?" Snape asked, raising his eyebrow pointedly.

"No," Weasley replied, laughing slightly. "We're at the house two or three nights a week. So I'll be seeing you around, Professor."

"Wonderful," Snape muttered, pulling another paper toward himself and dismissing Weasley. The young man still stuck out slightly in a large crowd of muggles, but over the past year had learned to dress himself in more subdued muggle fashion, and Snape was surprised at how well Weasley cleaned up.

"If you're any good at muggle chemistry, we might have a freelancing job for you," Weasley offered, smiling as he left the table. Snape muttered a minor itching hex at the man's feet, to make the irritating twit go away.

He pulled out his lotto ticket for this week's Wizarding National Lotto, and checked it against the numbers printed in the Daily Prophet.

Not a single matching number, again.

Harry sat at his desk, lamps and candles lit around him as a thin piece of decorated paper hovered in the air above him. It was a certificate, printed on A4-sized paper, and there were three others on his desk, surrounded by a magnifying glass, four books with various bits of paper acting as place markers, and a plate of Jammie Dodgers. On the floor Theo staggered around, pushing a large race car push toy in front of him.

"You might as well come in, I know you're lurking," Harry said, making a note on his notepad. "And I know when anyone on my guest list apparates here."

Snape was standing just beyond the doorframe of the office, and Harry could tell he was annoyed to have been called out. This had been Harry's home for the last year though, and he knew all the creaks of the floors.

Snape made his way into the room and neatly avoided getting hit with the car as he stepped toward the bookcases.

"Is something wrong with the application?" Harry asked, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated on an embossed seal on the lower corner of one of the certificates.

"No," Snape simply replied, not looking at Harry. "I believe that if we are to share rooms in a house, we should become accustomed to each other's presence."

Harry nearly dropped the magnifying glass he'd picked up and looked up at Snape, squinting.

"Sorry?"

"Repeated exposure has long been proven in the science community as a successful method for introducing new elements into an existing state with few complications."

Harry blinked, his brain working rapidly to figure out what Snape was talking about. It sounded like Snape planned to spend more time with Harry, in an effort to reduce their volatile tendencies.

"I am curious, Mr Potter, as to why you have chosen to live here instead of at Grimmauld Place," Snape said, thumbing through one of Harry's books on the history of paper. "I assume you still own that dreadful house."

Harry went back making notes, levitating another of the certificates into the air and letting it hover next to the first one. If Snape wanted spend time with Harry, and listen to Theo jabbering away while he played as well, Harry decided he was fine with that.

"Can you have a look at that box over there?" Harry asked, pointing at a metal box on the floor under the window. "See if it's unlocked. And yeah, I still own it. But I gave it to the Dursleys."

Snape stopped mid-way over to the box, turning to stare at Harry. He growled when Theo ran over his foot with the race car.

"You gave a wizarding property, likely full of curses and hexed objects, to Petunia Evans?"

Harry was concentrating on the two pieces of paper, trying to superimpose them in the air.

"Yes, but we got rid of the magic first. Too many memories in that place for me to ever live there, and I rather owed them."

"For what, exactly?" Snape scoffed.

"They definitely didn't want me," Harry conceded, "but they took me in and still had their lives turned inside out. After they were forced to leave Privet Drive last year, I thought they could have it. I wasn't ever going to use it."

"A Kensington row house wasted on those waspish muggles," Snape said, and Harry could head the vitriol building in his voice.

"Leave it," Harry snapped. "They're concerned about status and wealth, so let them have it. I don't want to ever live there."

Snape had made it to the metal box and was inspecting it. His glance darted up at the heavy intonation of Harry's last sentence, but did drop the subject in favour of testing the safe. It was black box, powdered black metallic, and had a small number pad on the front. There were scratches all over the door where the paint had been chipped off, and there was a dent in the top.

"A muggle safe, Potter?" Snape smugly asked crossing his arms. "Forgotten how to cast alohamora?"

"Abbrrooomm" said Theo, crashing the toy car into Harry's desk.

"No magic, Snape," Harry said, standing up to move Theo's push car to the centre of the room again. "You can't do magic around muggles."

"What is it exactly that you do, Potter?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I catch cheque and paper forgeries, mostly for muggle banks. I practice on safes some times."

Snape looked around the room at the posters of various coins and paper notes framed and hung on the wall. There were a few magnifying glasses on shelves, a set of brass scales, and quite a few books on coining.

"Those are not cheques," Snape said, pointing his finger at the certificates hovering in the air over Harry's desk.

"No, they're authenticity papers," Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows at the certificates. "Counterfeited ones."

Snape gave Harry a look that Harry well recognised, it was one he received often when his potion had gone spectacularly wrong.

"This one is from The Ten Bells," Harry explained, pointing at the first certificate. "It's in Whitechapel, and it's where the victims of Jack the Ripper used to drink. This one is from The Seven Stars, and it's one of the few pubs that survived the Great Fire of 1666. And this one, this is from The Tipperary, the first Irish pub outside of Ireland."

Snape was giving him an odd look, and Harry knew it was because Snape was unused to him offering knowledge. Harry was accustomed to that reaction; people had always assumed that Hermione was the brainy one in the group, and that Harry and Ron bumbled around with her help. But Harry had always enjoyed reading random facts and tidbits, ever since he'd first picked Hedwig's name out of the History of Magic book he'd gotten his very first summer as a true wizard.

Harry took a second to check that Theo was still entertained on the rug, playing with his toy car, before continuing his explanation.

"Each of these pubs have this certificate of authenticity hanging up on a wall, somewhere inside. Last week my contact from the London Met called, and mentioned that they'd had some pubs broken into, and documents trifled with. I don't know why someone would steal these authenticity certificates and leave forged ones in return, but that's what they've done."

Harry stood in front of his desk, his hand rubbing his wrist as he pondered.

"Men will do anything if a potential profit is on the cards," Snape finally said.

"Yes, I suppose," Harry added, distracted in thought. "In any event, I only have to prove that they're fakes. The Met has to figure out why it's being done."

"Dadadadada," Theo called, running toward Harry and crashing into his legs. Harry leaned forward and ruffled his hands through Theo's hair.

"I find it awfully hard to believe that you can resist the urge to investigate a potential crime," Snape said, poking the hinges of the safe with his fingers. "Considering your stellar history of prying into affairs of no concern to you whilst at Hogwarts."

Harry watched as Snape moved on from the hinges and moved his fingers slowly over the keypad, presumably checking for uneven wear on some of the numbers.

"It's very easy, actually," Harry said, putting the floating certificates back in an envelope. "I get paid, and someone else loses sleep over the problem."

Snape popped the keypad off and started fiddling with the wires underneath.

"Ah, the boring adult life of Harry Potter. Does the Ministry know you're making such money off of muggles?"

"Certain people do. There's a Muggle Crimes unit that works directly with the muggle police chief, for when wizards and witches break muggle laws using magic. I work with them sometimes."

Snape managed to spark the right combination of wires and had the lock moving on its own.

"That's cheating," Harry protested weakly. He was more amused than annoyed, however.

"No, that's being resourceful. So you write up a little report, hand it over to the police, and they take it from there," Snape said, repeating what Harry had just said.

"Something like that," said Harry, stacking up the papers on his desk.

"And then what?"

"And…and then?"

Harry watched Snape, a puzzled look on his face. His job wasn't all that difficult to comprehend, he didn't think, and he wasn't sure what else Snape wanted to know.

"Once your job is finished for the day, what happens?" Snape asked, slowing down his voice to make his point seem clearer.

"Oh. Well, I read Theo a story, or take him for a walk. Ron, Hermione, and I are taking night classes to make up our muggle school A levels. That's about it."

Harry couldn't figure out why Snape was giving him such an odd look.

"That is related to the freelancing job Mr Weasley mumbled about?" Snape asked, his voice completely lacking intonation. The change of topic caught Harry off guard, and he blinked a few times before realizing what Snape meant.

"Right. For the A levels. We've got someone for maths, literature, geo, history, and music. We're missing the science bit."

"I shall think about it," Snape said, not giving anything away by his expression. "In the meantime, I have received notice that my application is in the processing stage. You may be summoned to answer questions on my behalf."

Snape really didn't look pleased about that, but it was part of the process and Harry supposed that Snape trusted his Gryffindor background enough to know that Harry wouldn't lie.

"That's brilliant. I'll be ready." Harry looked up and noticed that Snape was once again in the same robes that he'd worn the last two times he'd come to visit. "Oh, and the renovations upstairs will be done soon. I think you might be able to move in by Sunday."

Snape glanced back at him with a slight look of gratitude on his face, before it was gone again. Now that he'd gotten the safe open, his eyes wandered about the room as if to study Harry's psyche just from its decoration.

"I wasn't aware that Professor McGonagall visited her former students at home so often," Snape commented, raising his eyebrow at Harry. On the fireplace mantel, surrounded by a few knickknacks, were several pictures of Harry, Theo, and Minerva at the house and in the garden.

"Er, well, she's my aunt now. So she drops by a few times a week."

"Your aunt," Snape repeated, in a tone of voice that Harry had often heard in potions class. "Is this an accolade of heroism? Choosing your own family?"

Momentarily stung, Harry looked down at his left wrist and closed his eyes for a second. The tattoo was still there, always there. He raised his head to say something, but Snape held up his hand.

"Mr Potter, if you will permit some leniency. Long-formed habits are difficult to break, even for ex-spies."

Harry watched Theo stare outside at the birds flying around in the garden, and finally nodded. Snape had hated him for years, hated the projection of who he thought Harry was, and yet had still kept his vow to protect Harry. No one came with a bastard switch that could just be turned off, so Harry figured he could allow a bit of clemency with Snape's nasty comments.

"Aunt Minerva doesn't have any other family, and after the headmaster…she missed having someone to keep in line. I asked her if she wanted to be my honorary aunt."

Snape had nothing to say to that, and Harry didn't feel like expounding on his choices. He liked the fact that Minerva McGonagall was his surrogate aunt, as she was a strong, no-nonsense woman who had always had Harry's best interests at heart.

Theo had wandered over to the window, and was singing at a bird sitting in the bird feeder.

"Why did you specialise in muggle money?" Snape asked, holding up an old turn-of-the-century shilling to the window's light.

"Because you can't fake wizarding money."

Snape picked up a counterfeit shilling and held it up to the real one, comparing the two.

"Of course you can, Potter. Muggles have been striking coins for centuries, even they could counterfeit them," Snape said, his voice dismissive.

"No, I mean, the goblins are in charge of the money, and they make it. Goblin made metal-craft is impossible to forge; remember the sword of Gryffindor? They know right away," Harry said, as he opened another envelope on his desk, containing a stack of twenty pound notes.

"I can't imagine there are that many muggle counterfeiting cases to provide a sufficient salary," said Snape. "Unless you've won the Wizarding National Lotto, and it wasn't reported."

"I'm barred from playing it," Harry shrugged. "And you'd be surprised." The stack of bills glowed faintly blue as Harry passed his wand over them, and he frowned. All were counterfeited.

Small window-less office in the Ministry of Magic, 3rd floor, behind the lifts.

An intern of Mathilda Botsnair sits with an open application on her desk, large drafting pencil in hand and checklist to her left. She first consults the type of application, and neatly strikes out the boxes that do not apply. The money transfer is examined and deemed sufficient, and so she starts reading the application, circling problem areas with her pencil. Most of the boxes on her list are check marked, but the ones that aren't will be detailed in a letter to Severus Snape, requesting further information.

Small pebbles creaked beneath the feet of the man as he walked along the cragged stone wharf at the base of Azkaban. The small four foot circumference spot that apparition was allowed was at the bottom of the hill, and the rainy wet weather made the walk up rather precarious. The man had a cane, and had cast traction charms on his custom leather shoes in preparation for the walk. He followed two prison guards to the front gate, and produced a well-forged certificate of Thickey Laboratories.

While the guards checked over his certificate, he sat patiently in a small waiting room, adjusting the buttons of his robe. He smoothed his hand down his chest, faltering slightly over his larger belly, in a habit of nerves. He wore no uniform, nothing that would identify him with any company or group, but he made sure his clothing sat properly on his middle-aged frame. He was well aware that his appearance and his confidence would help his plans succeed with little difficulty.

A cold breeze of air kept blowing across the back of his bare neck and, unaccustomed to such short hair, the man pulled his collar up in irritation.

In less than ten minutes a door to the man's left opened, and a dirty figure shuffled through. The prisoner's hair was matted and filthy, the clothes were hanging off too-thin shoulders, and the beard was thick in patches. The eyes were absolutely lifeless.

"Barty Crouch," the man said, standing up and tapping his cane on the floor.

"Yeh," a guard said, unlocking the chains on Crouch's arms. Crouch remained oblivious to everyone in the room.

"I trust you understand our work at the laboratory, gentlemen. We'd much prefer to remain out of the press until our research is ready to be published."

They shrugged, and the man reached into his beige-brown robe lapel and withdrew two small drawstring bags, each containing ten galleons. He passed them over, shaking the hands of each guard.

"Sure thing. Let us know if you need any more to experiment on," the first guard said, pocketing the bag so fast that it was out of sight before his sentence finished. They stepped back, leaving the prisoner standing in the middle of the room.

The man withdrew his wand from his pocket, raising it and pointing it steadily at Barty Crouch Jr.

A small and satisfied smile flitted over the face of the man, just before he narrowed his eyes and spoke.

"Imperio."