Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter, but we are willing to trade for it.
A/N: First of all, this is not a slash story. Many people have been asking, and the answer is no. Also, this chapter was written on high quantities of caffeine and sugar, absorb at your own risk.
Harry hoped that the disappearance could stay a nice surprise for anyone who came down the stairs. Sadly, he found that his grandfather's surprise was immediate for those who lived in #12 Grimmauld Place. Doors opened all over the second floor and the various members of the Order of the Phoenix spilled into the hallway and started down the stairs.
"Otsa," Snape said as he pushed his way through the crowd. "What happened?" Harry grinned at his father. Harry grinned at his father. Did the man know his hair was sticking up?
"She called me 'servant'." Mathias said with a minor shrug.
"That does not…" Snape started.
"She deserved it!" Harry interrupted. Snape glared at him. Okay, his father might have messy hair, but he was still intimidating, even in the middle of the night. Harry edged behind his grandfather for protection.
"Ivan," Snape ground out. "You will return to your room."
"Nyet." Harry said, ready to stand his ground.
"Sunbeam." Harry shifted his gaze to his grandfather. "It is time for sleep."
Harry rolled his eyes, but he obeyed his grandfather. Harry went back up the stairs and found his friends on one side of the corridor and his brother on the other.
"Dyedushka did something?" Mikhail asked with his old sneer.
"Destroyed Mrs. Black." Harry said with a shrug.
"He didn't!" Hermione gasped.
"Oh, he did." Harry said with a smile.
"Good." Hermione said. "If I had to listen to her insult me one more time…" Hermione trailed off to give into her happiness of Mrs. Black's destruction.
"She did speak the truth." Mikhail said in Russian.
Harry glared at his brother. "Quiet, Mikhail. Keep your pureblooded thinking out of her hearing, Russian or any other language." Harry told him.
"Mrs. Black, insane though she was, did speak nothing but the truth." Draco gave Harry a smirk. "Admit it." He raised an eyebrow in challenge.
"Okay, you're right. Just don't tell Hermione that."
"Never said I would, dear brother. Your friends are trying to talk to you." Draco turned away and melted into the shadows, just as Mathias had taught them a year ago.
"What are you two talking about?" Hermione asked.
"Oh, nothing really. Just what we could do without Mrs. Black ready to scream when we walked downstairs." Harry gave her a mischievous smirk. "I see many pranks in my future." He told her in a thoughtful voice.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Harry." Hermione said. "You've become much, ah, younger, while you were away." Hermione told him with a smile. "I like the change."
"Thank you…I think."
"Sunbeam!" Harry heard his grandfather say. "I thought I told you is time for bed."
Harry turned and saw his grandfather standing there, with his hands on his hips.
"Going, Dyedushka. I'm going." Harry turned back to his room.
Mathias looked towards Hermione and eyed her. "Is your bedtime too, Pushka." Mathias said as he patted Hermione on the head. Hermione heard Harry snort down the hall. "'Good night' Ivan." Mathias said firmly.
"Good night, Dyedushka! 'Night, Pushka!" Harry called to them from his room.
"Bed, little Pushka. Is busy day tomorrow."
Hermione wondered what 'Pushka' meant as she went back to bed.
Voldemort stared down at the newspaper Wormtail had brought him and promptly set fire to it. Harry Potter? Back in England? The newspaper was becoming more like a tabloid rag everyday. They hadn't even managed a good picture. It was just a vague outline of a tall person with black hair. The scar was not visible.
The Daily Prophet must be completely desperate to fabricate such tales. "Wormtail," the sniveling man came forward from his corner and bowed. "Go sniff around Diagon Alley." He ordered. "See if there is any truth to this story of Harry Potter coming back to England."
Wormtail bowed again and scurried from the room. He would find out the truth…or he wouldn't come back.
Harry stood next to Snape and stirred the pot in front of him. He jumped as a sharp "chort!" burst out of his father's mouth.
"What?" Harry asked. He turned and saw his father shaking his hand.
"Grease." Snape said in explanation. Reasonable, as his father was cooking the meat for lunch. It had only taken a single suggestion from Mikhail and then Dyedushka decided they all needed to have a "proper Russian meal". Snape and Harry, the only two cooks in the house capable of Russian cooking, were requested to make beef stroganoff.
Harry went back to stirring his pot, only to jump again a few seconds later when Hermione stormed into the kitchen. "What does 'Pushka' mean?" She demanded.
Harry and Snape looked at each other. "It's every man for himself." Snape said. Harry thought this horribly unfair. Snape had never needed to deal with Hermione in a temper.
"Is little Russian cute nothing." Mathias said from his corner where he was keeping Mrs. Weasley away from the stove. He pointed at Severus. "Severus, he…baby bat-bat." Harry snickered when his father dropped his spoon and raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Otsa, you promised." Snape sighed and went back to his cooking.
"Mikhail and Ivan are the beautiful sunbeams." Mathias continued. Harry raised his hand and joined his father in pinching his nose. Mikhail only slid down in his chair in a hope to hide. Their grandfather could be embarrassing at times. Highly embarrassing.
"You, darling little girl, are 'Fluffy'." Mathias said with a grin.
Harry and Snape exchanged glances again. Suddenly, every man for himself took on a whole new meaning. Snape threw a stasis charm at the stove and dashed out the door. Harry and Draco nearly became stuck in the door but negotiated to remove both of them from the kitchen's vicinity. They were halfway up the stairs when Hermione's reaction reached their ears.
"FLUFFY!"
Harry wondered if his grandfather would survive the wrath of a furious know-it-all.
Later that evening, after Mathias finally managed to coax Hermione out of the library, Mathias announced that he was taking the entire Order out for what he termed a "cultural experience". Ivan and Mikhail badgered Mathias until he whispered that they were going to dinner…and it was not going to be "underdeveloped potato slop that is called 'English cuisine'." Harry didn't have the heart to tell his grandfather that his own little sunbeam was quite fond of Shepard's pie.
Mathias snapped his fingers and the entire Order appeared in a side street. Harry recognized the music and smiled. He had a feeling this was going to be a fun "cultural experience". Not like ballet lessons. He trailed behind his grandfather and soon found himself relaxing on a large, fluffy pillow that masqueraded as a chair.
The restaurant was bedecked in tapestries of gold, deep reds, and swatches of purple. The entire setting was one of Persian opulence. One almost expected to see Aladdin rise from his lamp at any moment. The low sitting tables were made of a type of dark wood. Pillows surrounded each table, each a different color that matched the décor; gold tassels falling in waves to the floor. The seating area was arranged around a large empty opening, that as of yet, Harry had no idea its purpose.
"What, exactly, is this?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she looked around.
"This," Mathias said, "is Middle Eastern culture." He said as a waited appeared. "Ah." He motioned the waiter closer and started speaking in a foreign language. Harry had no clue what the language was, but noticed his father had no trouble following it.
"Otsa?" Harry asked. "What's Dyedushka saying?"
"He is simply ordering for us." Severus whispered. "I'm looking forward to the coffee."
The Order chatted among itself while waiting for their food. Mathias suddenly turned to Moody, looking straight as Mad Eye's mad eye, and proceeded to frighten the Auror.
"Tell me, Alastor, do you ever…" Mathias paused for effect, "feel like committing murder?" Mad Eye sprayed hummus and naan across the table. Harry glanced at his father. Was hummus the new fashion?
"What makes you ask that?" Mad Eye spluttered. "Thinking of committing it?"
Mathias turned to the more populated area of the restaurant. "Perhaps." Moody's answer was drowned out by a sudden increase in music. Belly dancers, both men and women, took up places on the floor. Several dancers left the dance and started pulling patrons on the floor. Hermione squeaked as a woman pulled her onto the floor. Hermione, not wanting to be alone, grabbed Ginny in a death grip.
A man approached Harry and Draco and Mathias motioned for the boys to go. Harry didn't argue; he could get close to Ginny this way. Another man stepped up to Snape and took his hand. "No, thank you." Snape said and shook his head.
"Moosh-moosh, you dance. You're still young."
Snape glared at his father. "No." He told his father ignoring the insistent tug on his hand.
"Mad Eye, do us a favor." Snape said as he caught the Auror's attention away from the dancers. "Kill me." Snape was disappointed to lose the Auror's attention to the dancers. "I'm too old for this." Snape muttered to himself.
"Nonsense. You haven't even passed first century. You are barely pimple on donkey's behind."
Snape let go of the table to pinch the bridge of his nose. The dancer took advantage of the fact that Snape was no longer anchored to the table and dragged Snape off his cushion and onto the floor. Severus Snape was going to learn how to belly dance.
