A/N: Many apologies for the lateness of the update. I suppose I'll offer my excuse (you can scroll through, if you want) — if you've been reading "Our Fathers" at ff.net, you'll already know. The last two weeks of this past term at my college, there were two suicides on campus and one attempted suicide. My college has only 1,300 students. On a campus that small, where over 95% of students live in the dormitories, one tends to know everyone, at least a little bit. While neither of the suicides, nor the attempt, was a close friend, I knew who each of them were. The second suicide was committed by a friend to many of my best friends. The community was devestated, I could not sleep or work (let alone write fanfiction), and all my energy became devoted to keeping myself and my friends afloat.

I have two lessons to pass on from the painful weeks I've survived. First, suicide is never the answer. No matter how bleak life looks, death hurts everyone around, from the best friend who blames himself, to the roommate who comes home to find a body hanging by the window, to the faculty advisor who wonders what went wrong and the guy who lived down the hall and never knew the dead man's pain, but saw him every day and said hello. While it may seem that dying ends suffering — it's more selfish than any action I can imagine. I've now witnessed the aftermath on three occasions and, by the grace of God, I'll never be forced to deal with it again.

Secondly, reminding your friends that you care about them can make all the difference. I charge each and every one of you to go out and give your friends a hug, or a slap on the back, and just tell them you're there for them. If you don't, they might never know how much they mean to you — and that is real tragedy. Take a moment.

I apologize for the long wait, and for the long author note, and for the shortness of this chapter — I hope you can understand. I'm not done with this, not by a long-shot, but it may be a while before I can write again. Until then, hang in there, and enjoy the anticipation for Order of the Phoenix. ~Indarae

Chapter Six — The Future

Herodos Iamus Snape, eleven years old and hugging a striped cat to his chest, was not happy to be on the Hogwarts Express. True, he knew he'd been almost destined to attend the British wizarding academy since his birth, but he wasn't particularly looking forward to it. It wasn't because he didn't like the professors — Granpa and Auntie Min came to visit every summer, and Uncle Re dropped by whenever he was able, sometimes even bringing Uncle Bill along. And it wasn't because he wasn't familiar with the locale — he'd spent most of his Christmas holidays in the idyllic retreat since he was five. No, Harry was unhappy with the arrangement for two reasons: first, his papa taught at the school and had a very nasty temper when dealing with mistakes, and Harry didn't think he was very good at Potions... and secondly, Harry's grasp of English had faded over the six years he'd spent in Greece with his great aunt and cousins. He could converse in simple phrases, but he didn't know any of the special Latin words for spells, and his language skills did not go past the normal, every-day conversations. All Harry wanted to do was attend Athens Academy with his cousins — or even King Solomon Academie in Jerusalem, since several of their courses were in Greek, and his Hebrew was better than his English. But Papa insisted, and so did Granpa and Auntie Min, so he was Hogwarts bound.

After a long, lonely time waiting for the other students to board the train — Papa dropped him off early, since he had to be back at school for the feast — a red-headed boy who lookied a lot like Uncle Bill poked his head into the train car. "Hallo, mate — mind if I join you? Brothers kicked me out of their carriage."

The boy was speaking too quickly for Harry to follow. "Borite na mil- No, in English... please, talk more slowly?" Harry begged, trying not to let the English words be too bogged down by accent.

The red-head narrowed his eyes. "Wait, are you some sort of foreigner? Why are you going to Hogwarts?"

"Why?" Harry paused, working past long years of repressed memory. "I... I am going to Hogwarts because Papa wishes it? Does your papa wish it?"

"Of course he does. He's an Englishman! Well — er — nice meeting you, mate, I'll just run off and find someplace to sit..." And before Harry could make sense of half the words, the other boy was gone.

If he'd been at home, he and Paulos would be playing on the roof, like good boys. Paulos was at Athens, now, though. And Harry didn't really want to be alone. The train seemed ready to pull out when he was disturbed again. A chubby boy ducked into the car. "Pardon me, may I sit here? There isn't anywhere else."

"Yes. Yes, sit," Harry managed, smiling as best he could.

Unlike the red-head, this boy didn't comment on his accent. "Hi, I'm Neville," the boy said, sticking out his hand and sitting on the bench across from Harry. "I'm from London. Well, just outside London itself, really. We're in Reading, but it's practically in London now. Gran says when she was young, it took many many hours to make the journey."

Harry smiled back, heartened by the exchange. "I am Herodos. Harry. I am from Greece. Papa is... is a professor. At Hogwarts. I am sorry, my English is very bad."

"No, it's good!" Neville said. "Well, I guess you don't need much of my help, then. You know all the secrets of the school, and all. Do you know what House you'll be in?"

Harry frowned and thought back to everything he'd heard. "Papa is Slytherin. Mater was Gryffindor, Papa tells me. Papa says Slytherins are not all bad — he says others will tell me they are bad. I want to be Ravenclaw, though. I like... like birds, and like... books? Is that right, books?"

Neville nodded. "Yep, books. Do you read a lot? Do you have a favourite book? Though... I guess you don't read in English, and I can't read Greek, but maybe there's a translation spell? I could look for it, since I can read English, but we're only first years, so maybe we won't be able to do it..."

As the other boy trailed off, Harry tried desperately to follow the line of babble. He simply wasn't ready for so much English. "Spell for... for what? I don't know that word."

"Translation. For changing English words into Greek words." Harry nodded, and Neville fell silent for a few minutes. "Hey, did you hear?" he started up again, "Harry Potter was supposed to be on the train, but he didn't show up. Some of the other students think he's dead."

Harry winced, remembering a night when Uncle Re dragged Papa aside and they screamed for hours about Harry Potter. Herodos barely knew what Harry Potter was, but he remembered Papa's response. "He is not dead. He is... Papa says he is hiding," he said. He wondered if Harry Potter got to live in the tropics, with all sort of birds and forests, to hide from the Dark Lord. "Papa thinks Kyrios Vol- No, in English." He bit his lip in frustration. "Kyrios is... is like king, but lesser?"

"Earl? Baron? Prince? Lord?"

"Yes! Lord! Papa thinks Lord Voldemort is not -"

Neville squealed and covered Harry's mouth. "Don't say the name! Don't! English people don't say the name, it's cursed! It might bring him back!"

Harry scowled, but didn't say it again. "I do not know what English calls him, but I do know he was bad. Dark? Yes, dark, and Papa thinks he is not gone. He is hiding too, like Harry Potter. People in Greece do not talk about this... Harry Potter, they talk about Homer and Aristotle and Greek magic."

And with that, he deftly changed the topic. They spoke of Greece, England, Houses, and international Quidditch until they reached the school.

He didn't understand most of Auntie Min's speech, the words she used were too unfamiliar, so he spent the time looking at the other first-years instead. There was Neville, who so kindly spent time with him on the train, and the red-haired boy who ignored him. There was the Malfoy boy that Papa said would be in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, Pansy Parkinson, who spoke to Harry in badly-constructed Greek, but he appreciated the thought anyways. There was a girl with bushy hair who had helped Neville and Harry search for Neville's toad when the snack witch accidentally released the toad into the corridor on the train, and identical twin girls who giggled at his Greek but spoke in a language he didn't understand — their English was perfect, though. "Follow me," Auntie Min finally announced, and Harry stayed at her heels as they entered the Great Hall.

The others marvelled at the sights. All Harry noticed was that his father sat at the High Table. The first-years were lining up to be sorted, but Harry could not hold himself back. "Papa!" he shouted, breaking away from the group and skirting the table to demand a hug. He launched into a run of Greek, ignoring the whispers that broke out behind him. "Papa, no one here speaks Greek! How am I supposed to learn, when I can't even understand what my teachers are saying? I already know all of the potions curriculum until seventh year — can't I leave now and go to Athens with Paulos? I miss my friends!"

Papa grabbed Harry's shoulders and manouevered him back to the flock of first-years, frowning. "Harry, not now. You need to be Sorted. You'll make new friends here, and Granpa has a solution to your English problems. Don't worry, Harry." And Papa switched to English and apologized to Aunt Min before stalking off.

Harry fumed silently as "Hannah Abbot" became a Hufflepuff, followed by long lines of the others. His new friend Neville went into Gryffindor and looked surprised about it, and so did the bushy haired girl. The Malfoy boy surprised no one by being sent to Slytherin, and Pansy became a Slytherin too. "Herodos Snape!" Auntie Min finally called. He was frozen for a moment — would he be with his new friend, or the girl who spoke Greek to him? Or would he surprise even his papa and go to Ravenclaw?

He spared a glance over at his father. Papa was smirking a little, his version of a comforting smile. Auntie Min patted him on the shoulder and gestured for him to take the seat and, from the center of the High Table, Granpa smiled and winked. Steeling himself, Herodos stepped forward, scooted on the chair, and waited for the nasty old hat to drop on his head. What would come, would come.