Chapter 3

Harry looked up from the cozy armchair in the parlor where he'd been sitting most of the morning reading the stack of Daily Prophets Ron had left there the day before. They were all back issues, some of them months old, saved by Molly Weasley because of one article or another.

"This one claims that Voldemort was the rightful heir to the British throne," said Harry. "Did he abandon Malfoy Manor for Buckingham Palace or did I miss something?"

Minerva McGonagall, seated on an armchair across from Severus, shook her head.

"I do not know why you allow him to read that rubbish, Severus," she said, loud enough for Harry to hear her too.

"Hey! It's entertaining," protested Harry. "Listen to this one…'Undesirable Number One Spotted Mugging Elderly Lady in Cornwall.' Funny, I don't remember that. I mugged a few elderly ladies in Bath…"

"You've obviously blocked it out," muttered Severus sarcastically.

"It's stopped raining," announced Harry a few moments later. He had stood up and walked over to the front window to look out. "I'm going out to walk on the beach for a while."

"Really, Severus," began Minerva when the porch door banged shut a few moments later. "He's bound to find something in those papers that sets him back again. He is finally looking less like a scarecrow and more like a boy trying to catch up after a rapid growth spurt."

"I cannot and will not shield him from the reality of what went on this past year," said Severus. He was scrutinizing a series of diagrams on the table in front of the sofa. "Really, Minerva. Where are we going to put everyone? We have eighteen of last-year's seventh years returning along with the ten seventh-year Muggleborns who were banned from Hogwarts altogether. Twenty-eight students beyond our normal load."

Minerva sighed and turned a piece of parchment around so she could decipher it more easily. "We also have most of the children from the other years returning—including the Muggleborns and many of those whose families fled the country when the Ministry fell."

"With the number of first years so high this year, by my calculations we'll need to house thirty-three more students than we did two years ago, and approximately one hundred and twenty more than last year."

"Well, then thank goodness the castle is magical. The house dormitories can be expanded to accommodate the students, Severus." Minerva put down the diagram of Gryffindor Tower she had been holding and picked up her steaming teacup.

Severus stacked up the remaining parchment on the table and reached for his own cup. He held it in his hands, warming his fingers. His hands were nearly always cold these days, though Poppy assured him his circulation was improving and the nerve damage he's suffered was reversing itself slowly. He was quiet for a long moment, obviously lost in thought.

"What is it Severus?" asked Minerva at last. "You see this as more than just a problem of logistics, don't you?"

"I do," he answered. "I have been considering something rather…radical."

"Oh?" Minerva raised an eyebrow and waited patiently for Severus to continue.

"I have considered an eighth year dormitory," he said. He took a slow drink from his teacup and looked over it at Minerva, waiting for her reaction.

"All the eighth years, from all the houses, in one dormitory." She seemed to mull over the idea. "Beside the issue of putting Harry and Draco Malfoy in the same living quarters, I have a few other concerns. How would house points be awarded?"

"I suppose to the house to which they were first sorted," answered Severus with a small shrug.

"Quidditch?"

"They would play with their original house teams, if they still wished to play and were chosen for their house team." He smiled over at Minerva. "You would think of that, wouldn't you?"

"As long as we can find space for them, I don't see why we shouldn't try it out, Severus. I am curious, however, about your motivations. Does it have anything to do with Harry?"

"It has everything to do with Harry," admitted Severus. "Though I would not be proposing the plan if I did not think it would be good for the rest of the students as well."

"Go on, Severus. I'm listening." Minerva leaned back and peered intently at her friend.

"First and foremost, our seventh-years need a chance to be seventh-years. Mixing the eighth-years in with them will dilute their position, their ability to find closure this year and return to normalcy. The Head Boy and Head Girl will be chosen from the seventh-years and they will be the oldest students in each of the house dorms."

"That seems reasonable," said Minerva with a small nod. "Go on."

Severus fidgeted with the cup in his hands, turning it around and around and finally stating rather loudly, loudly enough to make Minerva startle. "They have all had such a year, Minerva. From the Gryffindors to the Slytherins." He lowered his voice. "They have lost family members, friends, even some of their own. They have had to grow up quickly—too quickly. By separating the eighth-years, we will acknowledge that they are in a class apart and recognize that they have already paid their dues, so to speak. That they are adults, returning to Hogwarts to study for and sit their N.E.W.T.s so they can further their careers or education."

"It will be difficult for Harry, after this last year," added Minerva, sagely. "Everything will feel anticlimactic to him."

"I worry that he will feel that he does not belong at Hogwarts," sighed Severus. "And I do feel that he should move on but he still insists on entering the Auror's program, and he will need his N.E.W.T.s to do so."

"You are opposed to him joining the Aurors, Severus?" Minerva's level gaze was focused on Severus as she took another sip of her tea.

"It is a dangerous profession," stated Severus simply.

"Says the man who spied on the Dark Lord for years," said Minerva, looking downward at her teacup.

"Harry's life is just beginning," stated Severus firmly. "And unlike myself at that age, he has already paid his dues. He owes the wizarding world nothing. He owes no one anything, in fact."

Minerva smiled her enigmatic smile. "Well, perhaps you can dissuade him, Severus." Her look made it clear that she did not actually think he could. "And your idea has a great deal of merit. Since most of the returning eighth-years will be attending only the classes for which they intend to sit a N.E.W.T., they will have more time to study and prepare for the exams. A shared space—a common room per se—will be more quiet without the other years present. More conducive to study opportunities. Do you have a location in mind, Severus?"

"I was considering the old faculty family wing."

Minerva considered. "Well, it has been quite a while since it was needed. It will need some renovation, of course."

"Of course. But you agree it will give our eighth-years a different atmosphere? More of an introduction to life after Hogwarts?"

"Well, Severus, it won't exactly pass for a flat in London…"

Severus smirked. "I admit that extra supervision may be needed to keep our students focused on their studies."

"And who will provide that supervision, Severus? You?"

He grimaced . "Yes. The Headmaster will be the de facto Head of House for the eighth-year students."

"Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself…?"

She broke off mid-thought when the porch door banged open then slammed shut. They heard Harry make his way through the porch and kitchen—seemingly at a run—and then pound up the stairs. By the time his bedroom door slammed shut, Severus was struggling to his feet.

"Severus?" Minerva quickly stood and gave him a steadying arm.

'That has never happened before. Something has upset him. Will you excuse me a minute, Minerva? Perhaps you could review the final three candidates for the Potions position?" He nodded at a separate stack of parchment on the table.

"Of course, Severus. Go on."

She sat down on the sofa in the spot he had vacated and drew the indicated parchments toward her while Severus made his way to the stairway, but her eyes were on him, not on the applications before her.

/

"Harry?"

He had knocked on the door, and repeated the knock when Harry didn't respond. Finally he simply opened the door and called the boy's name.

Harry was lying face up in the middle of the bed, left arm over the upper part of his face, glasses clasped in his right hand, breathing rapidly. Severus walked quietly over to the bed and stood at its side.

"Harry?"

"Go away."

"You don't want me to go away," said Severus. "You wouldn't have slammed the door and stomped up the stairs if you didn't want me here." He watched as a tear trickled down Harry's cheek from his eye. Looking at Harry now, stretched out on the bed, he was acutely aware of how much the boy had grown, how much time had passed since those summer weeks two years ago when he'd come here with Harry, to Shell Cottage, at Albus' request.

"Really, I'm just being stupid. It's no big deal. I just need some time," said Harry. He wiped his cheek with his arm, not quite removing it from his eyes.

"What happened out there?" asked Severus, not relenting. "What has made you so upset?" He could tell Harry was trying to calm himself down, taking deep breaths and releasing them slowly. He waited.

"I…I was walking back to the cottage—up the path from the beach," he said at last, his voice tight. "I nearly stepped on a grass snake—it was warming itself in the sun on the path."

Severus frowned. He knew Harry's emotions were frayed and close to the surface, but to let a near miss with a snake shake him up this badly…

Harry laughed, a harsh sound, more self-deprecatory than amused. "I apologized to it. I tried to anyway. Severus, I couldn't. I couldn't speak to it. I couldn't understand it." His voice nearly cracked and he pressed his arm down over his eyes more forcefully.

Oh. Severus swallowed. Of course. He should have guessed it. Guessed that the horcrux was responsible for Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue.

"Harry…" he began, voice reassuring.

"I get it, alright? I was only a Parselmouth because he was one and it was all connected to that stupid horcrux. I get it!" Harry wiped at his face with his forearm again, smearing tears into his cheeks.

Severus stood next to the bed, a jumble of thoughts in his mind, unable to voice any of them. What could he say? Whyareyousoupset?Speakingparseltongueisconsideredakintoadarkart.

"I don't know why I'm so upset."

His voice was so raw, so defeated. Severus sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. As his weight settled on the mattress, Harry finally moved his arm and looked at Severus.

"You've lost a part of yourself—it is natural to mourn it."

"But it wasn't a part of me. I thought it was—but it wasn't. It was him. Voldemort." Harry turned over on his side, facing the window, away from Severus, and added, in a small voice, "I can't let myself do this. I can't mourn him. It's wrong."

Severus reached out and rubbed Harry's back, the only thing he could think to do to offer comfort. He had no words for Harry. What would he say? That it was alright to mourn the loss of a fragment of a soul you didn't know you were carrying with you? The fragment and whatever else it carried with it? That in this summer of mourning, of learning to accept your losses and move on with your life, it was only natural to miss what you had once had, even if you had only had it because of that parasitic soul fragment clinging to you like a lifeline?

"You can go out and get drunk now, you know," said Harry as Severus continued to rub gentle circles on his back. "I can't feel you either."

"That's hardly a reason for me to go out and get drunk," said Severus. His hand continued its circular motion on Harry's back. "It's been a month now, Harry. You've only now just realized that?"

"Stupid, isn't it? All those days you were in the hospital wing?"

"You had other things on your mind at the time," Severus responded.

Harry sighed and his shoulders fell marginally. "I guess I knew. I just didn't let myself think about it."

"I think, after a time, you will be happy to not have this connection, Harry. It may take some time for your emotions to even out…"

"Right." He wiped away another tear and they stayed their together for five minutes more. Harry's breathing evened out and Severus thought he might be sleeping, but was surprised when he spoke up.

"I don't know what's mine and what's not anymore," he said.

And Severus understood.

"What are you afraid you've lost?" he asked. He stood and walked around the bed, to the other side, forcing the boy to look at him.

"What about the other things I'm good at? My Patronus? My Animagus form?" He inhaled. "Flying?"

"I wouldn't worry about your Patronus," said Severus with a smile. "Patronuses are only produced by positive emotions and the Dark…Voldemort…didn't have a single one of those."

Harry shrugged, the barest hint of a smile on his tear-stained face.

"As for your Animagus form and flying—well, those were natural talents of your father. I doubt they'll be adversely influenced by the destruction of the horcrux."

"You're my father." Harry's eyes were closed, the hardly-there smile still present.

Severus ruffled his hair. "Be that as it may, you must still acknowledge the gifts you received from your biological father—and be grateful for them."

"I'm grateful for them," answered Harry. "And I'm grateful for him too."

Severus stood. "Why don't you try to sleep a while before lunch? I'll finish up with Minerva then perhaps we can go to the beach together this afternoon."

"Alright."

Severus was at the door before Harry spoke again.

"I'm glad you were here when it mattered, since James couldn't be."

Severus paused. "Thank you, Harry," he said. "But never forget this—he was there when it mattered, for as long as he could be."

"Yeah," said Harry. "But it just wasn't long enough."

/

Minerva stayed for lunch and lifted Harry's spirits quite a bit with her tales of the repair work ongoing at Hogwarts.

"There is a Ministry official charged with overseeing the details of the project, a Mr. Angus Cowpoke…"

Harry nearly spit out his milk when he heard the name. "You can't be serious? Angus Cowpoke?"

Minerva nodded. Her eyes were bright but she swallowed her smile.

"Peeves, unfortunately, has taken a great liking—or perhaps a dislike, it's hard to tell with Peeves—for Angus. He accompanies him everywhere and has created some very interesting rhymes to point out Cowpoke's rather…hmm…effeminate qualities."

"Come now, Minerva, you can't leave it at that," said Severus. He put down the sandwich he was eating and looked at Minerva.

"Yeah, come on Minerva. Give us a sample." Harry had awoken in much better spirits and was on his second sandwich already.

"Well, I might recall one or two of them. Let's see… "Angus Cowpoke raves and rants, wearing ladies' underpants."

Harry laughed and spit out sandwich fragments. Severus used his napkin to wipe his sleeve off with exaggerated movements.

"Surely he can do better than that?"

Minerva grinned and looked sideways at Harry. "Well, I suppose there are one or two more that I could repeat." She paused, thought a bit, then smiled. "Hogwarts Castle falling down, Angus Cowpoke comes to town, Fixing stones, removing curses, Hiding lipstick in his purses."

"That's rather lame," said Severus, smiling none-the-less.

"Hey, it's Peeves," said Harry. "Is this guy a real nutter or what?"

"Oh, Angus is fine. He's really quite capable," answered Minerva. "He just—well—he's not fond of getting dirty. He's always cleaning his fingernails and using spot-removing charms on his robes. Which are the most interesting shade of periwinkle blue…"

"Are they going to have all the repairs done on time?" asked Harry. He had helped himself to more grapes and was frowning as he spit out a seed.

"There will be some cosmetic reconstruction after classes resume," said Minerva. "Mainly to the exterior of the castle, where battlements and some of the decorative gargoyles were damaged."

"They are concentrating on the classroom and common areas first," stated Severus. "Both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Towers were heavily damaged, as was the Great Hall."

Harry paused, a grape midway to his mouth. "I'm not sure I can eat in there again," he said, frowning. "I suppose there isn't some other place…?"

"For that many people? I'm afraid not," answered Severus, who understood all too well Harry's feelings on the matter. "However, we are doing what we can to remodel the Hall. A new marble floor is being laid, in a different pattern, and the tables may be rearranged. We understand that for many the place has many…negative…memories now."

Harry dropped the grape back on his place. Up to this point, the feeling he'd had when he'd finally killed Voldemort, when Ron and Hermione had been the first to run to him and they had nearly collapsed in a group hug right there beside Voldemort's body, that feeling, that memory had overpowered the others. The bodies, laid out together, side by side, on the floor, on the tables. The Weasleys gathered around Fred's body, Molly keening. Remus and Tonks, side by side, nearly holding hands. Lavender Brown, ravaged by the werewolf Greyback.

"I wish they hadn't used the Great Hall for the morgue," he said finally.

Severus and Minerva exchanged a glance. Obviously, they were of the same opinion on the matter.

"You'll hardly recognize the place, Harry," Minerva assured him. She scooted a plate over toward him. "Here, have a cupcake."

/

"Where is your broom, Harry?" asked Severus several hours later. He had walked down to the beach with Harry an hour before, Harry holding his arm to help steady him while at the same time toting two beach chairs and a blanket in the other.

"At the Burrow," Harry answered. He was lying on his stomach on the blanket, reading a book on runes that he'd pulled from the shelf before they came outside. "My trunk's there too." He sighed. "I missed my broom last year—meant to take it with me but we had to leave in a hurry."

"Why don't you ask one of the Weasley's to bring your trunk and broom back here next time they visit? Or you could go there to pick them up."

By the look on Harry's face, Severus knew that Harry would prefer not to visit the Burrow anytime soon.

"Alright. I understand why you do not want to visit the Burrow quite yet. But you cannot avoid it forever. You need to get out. You will need to do school shopping this summer, and you need new clothing as well. Your jeans are far too short."

Harry looked up. "Don't you think I should wait until I gain some more weight?"

Severus shook his head. "Fine. I'll tolerate your short pants for a few more weeks." He considered, studying Harry as he thought. "I have noticed that with the exception of the funerals you attended, you have not left me since I awoke in the hospital wing. I wonder—are you reluctant to leave me or reluctant to make an appearance in the wizarding world?"

Harry closed his book and sat up on the towel, squinting against the sun.

"Both?" he answered, a question implied in his voice.

"While I appreciate the honesty," replied Severus, "I have already told you on more than one occasion that I am fine—I am getting stronger daily and am under the care of a professional healer." He looked out to sea, watching a pair of seagulls skim the water. "It is only early June. Had you been in school this year—well, you'd still be in school. We will revisit this in July. Understood?"

He could not help but be warmed by the grateful smile on Harry's face.

/

Several days later, Harry spent the better part of the afternoon swimming in the ocean with Ron, Hermione and Ginny then topped off the evening with a fire on the beach. It had been a particularly good day. The sun had warmed the sand and the shallow water and the four friends spent hours outdoors with frequent forays into the kitchen for snacks. Severus looked at Ron critically several times, wondering where all the food went on his still lanky frame.

Ron and Hermione flooed out first at nine thirty, leaving Harry and Ginny to say their goodbyes and Ginny to follow. Severus could not help but check on them when nearly ten minutes had passed and Harry had not come back to the porch. He interrupted the long and quite intense goodbye between them by walking into the parlor and practically barking "Harry!" The two pulled apart quickly and guiltily as he stood glaring at them.

"You are going to see each other again in two days time—you do not need to treat her as if you are going off to sea for three months. Miss Weasley, your mother will likely not want to see that." He pointed to a ring-shaped bruise at the base of her neck.

"Sorry," muttered Harry, turning an intriguing shade of crimson.

Severus pulled Harry backward by the collar of his t-shirt and humiliated him even further by taking out his wand and healing the hickey on Ginny's neck.

"I could have done that," Harry hissed.

"You did do that," answered Severus.

"Night Harry, thanks Headmaster," mumbled Ginny as she hastily tossed a handful of floo powder in the fireplace and disappeared.

"I'm almost eighteen!" exclaimed Harry when she was gone. "You don't need to monitor everything I do. Nothing would have happened!"

"Miss Weasley is only sixteen," answered Severus evenly. "And I am not monitoring your every move and you know it. Be smart, Harry. You can have some degree of intimacy without leaving visual evidence of your ardor."

"I think I deserve some ardor after the year I've had, don't you?" snapped Harry.

Severus leveled a gaze at him that clearly showed that he didn't, indeed, think so.

"Fine. I'm going upstairs to take a cold shower."

"Good—get used to them!" called Severus after him, listening to Harry pound up the stairs with a good deal more noise than was strictly necessary.

Harry did not come back downstairs and an hour later, when Severus was tired of waiting for him to calm down, he went upstairs to check on him and found him in bed, sound asleep, hair damp, threat of a cold shower apparently realized. Severus shook his head and went back downstairs to clean up the paperwork he had left scattered on the sofa table and was surprised when Arthur Weasley's head appeared in the floo, asking if he might visit for a while.

Arthur came through a short while later and sat on one of the armchairs across from the sofa, accepting a generous portion of firewhiskey from Severus.

"How is Harry doing, Severus?" asked Arthur. The usual jovial easy-going man had been replaced with a look-alike impostor, thought Severus, a serious man whose movements were tense and whose eyes lacked their usual warmth. He held the glass of firewhiskey in both hands, taking a long drink from it and then studying it as he waited for Severus to answer.

Severus answered carefully. "Better, I think. But I am afraid we have a long way to go before he can claim to be over this." He studied his own glass then grimaced. "He did defy me today, and I take that as a good sign."

Arthur smiled, the gesture bringing a shade of his old self to his face. "He has been keeping close to you, I take it? We haven't seen him at the Burrow since Fred's funeral."

Severus frowned. "He has. He does not spend every moment with me but even when his friends are here and he is outside with them, he checks on me frequently." He took a swallow of firewhiskey. "I have decided to give him a few more weeks, Arthur. I have encouraged him to visit the Burrow, but he is not yet ready to do so. If he is not inclined to visit on his own by the time July rolls around, I will accompany him and we will both make a visit."

"You'd be welcome, Severus." Arthur considered a moment then spoke again. "Ginny is quite fond of him."

"And he of her," said Severus. "I have spoken to him and do not leave them alone inside for long, Arthur. I have asked them not to close the door when they are in his room. Are you concerned about them?"

Arthur shrugged. "They grew up behind our backs, Severus. I look at her and wonder where my little girl went. It's like she's sixteen going on twenty-five. I very much doubt either one of us could convince either of them to not do something they wanted to do."

"I broke them up earlier this evening," said Severus. "They were only kissing, but it seemed to have gotten a bit more arduous than it should have. Harry huffed out of here and went upstairs to take a shower."

"That was his act of defiance?" grinned Arthur.

"It was," said Severus, grinning back, appreciating this small camaraderie with Arthur . "I have to admit I was relieved to find him acting more like a boy of his age and less like my caregiver."

"Well, I admit I came here tonight to speak to you about Harry. I was concerned that he wasn't coming to visit and wanted to make sure you understood that he—and you—are always welcome at our home."

"I appreciate that, Arthur," answered Severus. "I admit I am often at a loss when it comes to parenting."

Arthur chuckled. "Molly and I were barely twenty when we became parents, Severus. You're going to have to learn exactly like we did—by the seat of your pants. You'll make mistakes—we all do. But your heart is in the right place and you only want what is best for Harry."

Severus smiled his understanding and they sipped their firewhiskey in companionable silence for a few more minutes. "How is Molly doing, Arthur?"

"Still not sleeping on her own. I'm a bit worried that the potion she's taking may become addictive. Since I'm here anyway, perhaps you could give me a recommendation."

"Is she still on that sleep aid from St. Mungo's?"

Arthur nodded. "A full dose every evening at bedtime. With it, she usually gets six or seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. Without it—she roams the house all night, cleaning, organizing, looking at old photo albums, crying over baby clothes in the attic."

"I would try reducing the dosage gradually—perhaps three quarters of a dose first, and if that is successful, down to one-half dose the following week. If you are not successful with that approach, let me know and I'll brew something else for her—something that will relax her enough so that she falls asleep but that is not addictive." He looked across at Arthur, assessing him. The man looked ten years older than he had the year before when he routinely saw him at Order meetings. "What about you, Arthur? Are you sleeping?"

Arthur drained his glass of firewhiskey and Severus poured him another. "I'm sleeping. Not well, and not peacefully, but I do get enough sleep to function." He laughed, a short, abrupt sound. "Intellectually, I knew this might happen. That we might lose one of our own children, or that either myself or Molly might lose our lives in the war. But knowing it might happen and actually experiencing it are two matters altogether different. And that it was one of the twins..." He sighed. "Not that I value them or love them any more than the others, mind you," he explained. "But George…poor George. And when I come home from work and sit at the table and he's there with the others, waiting to eat, it always happens, you know. I look closely at him to see which twin it is, you see. And it's always George now. Always George."

"To Fred and George," said Severus solemnly, reaching out with his own glass toward Arthur. They clinked glasses and toasted the twins. "Arthur, I never told you this—and I regret not having done so while they were both alive—but those boys were brilliant thinkers. Unorthodox, yes, but brilliant in application. The trouble-makers often are, you know. They make trouble because they're bored with the classroom proceedings."

"Trouble-makers?" Arthur laughed, a glint returning to his weary eyes. "My boys?"

"We simply stopped calling you in," said Severus. "We learned early on it had virtually no effect on the twins' behavior, so it was better to simply give them detentions and get some needed work done around the castle."

Arthur smiled fondly. "You know," he said, taking yet another long swallow of the liquor, voice more serious now, "It's Ron I'm worried about most."

Severus looked over at Arthur, considering this unexpected statement. "Ronald? Why is that, Arthur?"

"He's offering to change his career path for George, isn't he? He's going to give up trying for the Aurors and go into business with George—in Fred's place." Arthur held out a now empty glass to Severus, who gave a mental shrug, picked up the bottle from the side table, and filled it up again.

"You'd prefer him to go into the Auror's Corps? I'd say that working with his brother is certainly a safer path in life." He tried to stay neutral, to keep his voice even, to not show his own hand, his fears for his own son's safety.

"Which is why Molly is so thrilled with the decision. She wept, Severus! Hugged Ron to pieces, nearly smothered the poor boy in fact. I think that had he asked us to reverse our decision about this next year at Hogwarts at that moment, she would have given in."

"Have you spoken to him about this?" asked Severus.

Arthur shook his head. "I'm going to. I want him to be sure."

"His class schedule at Hogwarts will look very different if he plans to enter the Auror Corps," said Severus. "He'll need N.E.W.T.s in Potions, DADA, Charms, Transfiguration…"

Arthur was quiet for a long moment, considering. He drained his third glass of firewhiskey and looked up at Severus, a plea in his eyes.

"Perhaps you could speak with him, Severus. As his headmaster."

Severus lifted the bottle again. He'd take Arthur home, send Molly a Patronus—he'd worry about that later. He was convinced at this moment that Arthur had not been allowed, or indeed, had not allowed himself, an evening away from the Burrow to air his troubles.

"I'll speak to him. Next time he visits."

"As Headmaster?" Arthur took a long, grateful drink of the liquor.

"As Headmaster, yes. And as Harry's father, if you don't mind. This decision affects my son as well. I must admit that the thought of Harry spending his life in that line of work, courting danger daily, does not sit well with me."

"But you wouldn't keep him from it? Forbid him to go that direction?"

Severus sighed and looked across at Arthur. The father of seven children, reduced to six now, looked back at him with a calm sort of wisdom in his eye. Severus could not help but ask.

"How did you do it? Raise seven children from infancy and make it through the teenage years? I have one child, only one, and he is flummoxing me at every turn."

Arthur laughed. Severus wondered how long it had been since the man had truly laughed like that, deep, rich, from the belly, from the heart.

"We have children as babies when they are tiny and helpless so that we can love them unconditionally and will remember that love and how tiny and helpless they were when they are teenagers." He toasted Severus again and Severus obligingly lifted his own glass. "But what you have done, Severus, is in many ways much greater. You have taken in a teenager, indeed—one for whom you had little previous love or tolerance…"

"Little?" interrupted Severus. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Arthur laughed again. "Severus, you have taken in Harry Potter and have so totally lost your heart in this that you are doomed, utterly doomed. Get used to it. Your life will never be the same, you will never again sleep as well as you once did." His voice had a noticeable slur now and he lifted his glass.

"To Harry Potter," said Arthur. "To the Boy Who Lived, who saved us all, to your adopted son. To Harry."

"To Harry," repeated Severus. He tipped back his glass and took another long swallow of the alcohol. The liquid burned going down and contributed to the warm feeling growing in his stomach.

When Arthur stood to leave twenty minutes later, he was swaying noticeably on his feet. Severus helped him with the floo powder and followed him to the Burrow to explain his condition to Molly. Molly was waiting up for Arthur and insisted that Severus stay for a cup of coffee and a piece of cake. He couldn't refuse—she was teary and overwrought, and when Arthur told her what Severus had said about the twins, she threw her hands around Severus' neck and hugged him.

He flooed back home thirty minutes later and sat back on the sofa, thinking through all that he and Arthur had discussed. The alcohol he had imbibed made him sleepy and he nodded off, curling up like a teenager on the sofa, wrapped in one of the ubiquitous crocheted afghans that seemed to multiply like rabbits around the cottage.

The next morning, when he woke up in his bed upstairs, he had only a vague memory of walking up the stairs, leaning heavily on Harry. Of Harry pulling back his quilt, bending down to remove his shoes, pulling the covers up over him, turning off the light.

But the note he found on the bedside table brought the events of last night clearly to mind. "Dad—I helped you to bed at two a.m. You smell like firewhiskey and Mrs. Weasley and you called me Arthur. I'm looking forward to hearing all about your evening in the morning. Regards, Harry."