They ate.

"I suppose you want to know the story?" Potter sighed as if he'd rather gouge out his eyes than repeat it.

"Do I know anyone involved?"

"…Me."

He decided to let Potter off the hook. "Then no, not really," said Snape. "I think I've formed a serviceable picture. Context clues, you know."

"Oh." Potter nodded. The lines on his brow smoothed. "It's boring anyway. …This is good."

"Could use a bit more kick."

"Yeah. Still. Pretty good, for take-away."

Potter had lied. There was pumpkin juice. And butterbeer.

"Pick your poison. Don't say cyanide," Potter added.

He chose a bottle of butterbeer. "I'd rather have a good scotch."

Potter's head shot up. "You drink?"

"I have. In the past." He arched a brow. "Many people are fond of a drink, Potter."

He blinked. "You never told me you wanted alcohol."

"Four and a quarter years to break the cigarette barrier. I'm pacing myself on the liquor."

"You don't need to. You could just tell me when you want something. You don't tell me when you want something."

"I was under the impression we'd only recently moved into the cease-fire period."

Potter shrugged. "No, I… I guess. …I've only ever had champagne."

"What?"

"Alcohol. I've only ever had champagne. It's all they serve at Ministry functions. The champagne. Well. No. It's all they serve apart from the bar, but I never go to the bar because the second I did that, it would be in the papers—Harry Potter's a lush!"

"Can't have that," Snape drawled.

"But everything's in the papers anyway. I don't know why I bother." He sighed.

"Neither do I."

"What?"

"Know why you bother."

Potter blinked.

"Keeping up appearances. Single-handedly blowing the whistle on corruption." He shook his head.

A scowl answered. "Someone's got to do it."

"Keep doing it, Potter, and you'll be fighting until the day you die." Snape tipped back the bottle, slaking his thirst in long, slow gulps.

Potter stared for a moment before answering. "Well." He shrugged. "If I have to."

"There are few things as fatal as an overdose of nobility," said Severus.

An answering sneer. "What would you know about nobility? Call yourself what you want, Snape; I never thought you were much of a Prince."

"Potter. That was almost barbed. We may make a thoroughly unsociable git out of you yet."

"Nah. I'll be dead before then."

"If you keep passing out wands like party favors."

Potter shoveled another forkful of noodles into his mouth. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He said it very stiffly.

"Ah. Is that the way we're playing the game?"

"What game?" said Potter. He paused. "I do think it's stupid to keep a wand away from someone who's had ample opportunity to escape before now. Buckets of opportunity. Great mountains of opportunity. Remember that time I fell asleep on the couch? Wand? Still there, hours later. One night I left my invisibility cloak and broom by the front door, left my wand on the bathroom sink—you got up, made breakfast, nothing was touched."

Snape slurped a spoonful of soup. "September fourth. And let's not forget the galleons in your robe pocket, left conveniently near the front door."

Noodles fell from Potter's fork. "Wonder how that could've happened."

"Indeed. Lapse in judgement, or simply careless?" he suggested. "I wonder if the wards were down as well…?"

Potter dug in the carton of noodles. "I hate water chestnuts."

XXXXX

There were books, which Potter perused. "Some of these are really old."

Severus knelt in front of the television. There was no clicker, only a dial. He turned it.

"Snape?"

"Who does this belong to?"

"What? Oh. Bill bought this place for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Sort of a vacation home. They don't use it much, though."

"No, the Telly."

"One of Mr. Weasley's projects. Why?"

"It has two hundred channels."

"This is good?"

"This is good," said Snape, nodding.

"How much television do you watch?"

"Enough for it to be worryingly unhealthy."

"Don't sit too close. You'll ruin your eyes," said Potter, through a jaw-cracking yawn.

"I'll lose the lungs first. Go to sleep, Potter. I promise not to flee in the night."

"Um."

"What?"

"You've noticed there's only one bedroom."

Severus cringed. "Tell me this isn't the official Weasley Second Honeymoon Bungalow."

"Um."

He shuddered to the soles of his feet. "Ugghh. Take the bedroom, Potter."

"It's not that bad."

"It's disgusting." He shuddered again, just for fun.

"Best I could do on short notice. …If I take the bed, what'll you do?"

"I'll manage." There was a couch and a blanket. He'd had worse. Something occurred to him. "Potter. How did you know to arrive when you did? Did you know they'd be coming?"

He shrugged. "They tripped the alarms."

"You kept the floo alarmed?" He wasn't particularly surprised.

"Yeah. Sorry we were late. It was on a delay."

"Why a delay?"

Potter rubbed at his scar. "Look, Snape. I…" He sighed. "You have a choice. It's not a good one, but it is a choice. You can stay here, or you can go."

"And live as a fugitive."

"I said it wasn't a good one."

"Is that what this is, Mister Potter?"

"What?"

"Can't wait for a case review to get rid of me? Have to plant wands for them to find?" Telly flickered, casting the room in blue and white dancing shadows. "Been hoping I'll be a good little owl, and fly away if you leave the cage open?"

Potter bit at his thumbnail. "No, I…"

Severus could see his throat working, as if the words were stopping just short of being voiced. "Joke's on you, Potter. I don't have anywhere else to go." There was a travel program on. Some lush jungle full of brightly-colored birds. He leaned back on his hands.

Potter hadn't moved.

He watched the guide gesture to one bird after another, pointing out interesting facts about each that really didn't seem very interesting.

"I have this dream, sometimes, that I come home from work. I'm really hungry, but there isn't any dinner made. I go upstairs to change and I hear the water running—so I go to see what it is and you're dead on the bathroom floor. It's always the bathroom floor. I don't know why."

Snape stared at the telly. The birds were parrots. He'd never liked parrots. Too flashy.

"It's not that I want you to go. I don't want you to go. But I'd rather you go than…" Potter sighed. "And you need the wand. It's stupid for you not to have one. The only people who should be worried about you having a wand are the ones who deserve what you'd do to them."

Severus switched off the telly. "Thank you for having such faith in my homicidal tendencies."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Welcome." Potter didn't make a move to go to bed.

"…Smoke?" Severus offered.

Another partial shrug. "Yeah, okay."

XXXXX

They sat and smoked on the porch. Potter made a decent effort, but he mostly sat and watched the embers glow. "I know why you like this," he said. "I wish there were fireflies. Probably too cold for fireflies. I like fireflies." He flicked the end of the cigarette. "I don't know why anyone would want to catch fireflies."

Potter was set on permanent ramble. It didn't particularly bother him, though. "They're pretty, I suppose."

"They're prettier when they're flying. Did you ever catch fireflies? When you were—younger?"

Severus shook his head.

"Me, either. I'd probably feel too silly to do it now."

Their knees almost touched.

"I'll sort out the house tomorrow. They'll probably need me for questioning, or… you know. To scream at." Potter took a small puff. "I kinda hate my job. I'm not very good at it. I sign things and I wave. Gets hard to smile by the end of the day."

"Quit."

Potter looked at him, then didn't.

They ended up sleeping on opposite sides of the mattress, with the pillows as a buffer between them.

XXXXX

He woke at six.

There was a fine coat of fuzz on his teeth and warmth at his back. Snape carefully rolled and angled his head.

Potter snored softly. Somehow he'd kicked the pillows away and had burrowed in at Snape's side.

So much for propriety.

He rose and padded out to the kitchen. There was pumpkin juice, butterbeer… "Where's the bloody tea?" he grumbled.

"Dunno. Check the cupboards." Potter appeared in the doorway, bleary-eyed and tousled.

"That's what I'm doing."

"We could transfigure some."

"Ugh."

"What? Tea is tea, isn't it?"

"I might as well boil a kettle of mothballs." Severus rifled through the motley collection of canned goods in the cupboards.

Potter opened the opposite cupboard. "Oh. There's coffee?"

"…Coffee."

"Not sure how old it is. It's got caffeine in it."

He reluctantly nodded. "All right. Coffee."

With sugar, he discovered, it wasn't so bad. A different sort of taste. Earthier.

"I can pick up some tea. I have to go in today, or else they'll panic. I might be gone awhile. Will you be okay?"

Snape blinked. "Potter. I'm beginning to consider thinking about possibly becoming concerned about you."

"Just keep that thing you don't have close."

"The thing you absolutely didn't give to me?"

"Yeah."

Snape nodded and sipped. Maybe coffee deserved a chance.

"Ron might stop in. Maybe Hermione. Maybe."

"Never can leave well enough alone."

"She's good at it. Do you care if I use the shower first?"

Severus shook his head. He wondered how coffee-flavored butterbeer would taste. Probably disgusting. He thought he might try it once Potter left.

XXXXX

There was nothing to clean, no paper to read, he was on his second pot of coffee, and it was time for his soap opera, only he couldn't find it because there were two hundred bloody channels and half of them were filled with Gilderoy Lockhart's muggle doppelgangers. What sort of sadist gifted a telly with two hundred channels but no clicker?

"Bloody Weasleys."

He gave up on the telly and peered out the windows. After a bit, he went for a walk around the cabin, because apparently 'house arrest' only applied when Harry Potter said it applied. At about fifty meters out, he began to feel a prickle of worry that he was going to be caught, so he went back and had a cigarette on the porch.

The novelty of nature wore off quickly, anyway.

There was nothing interesting on the bookshelves. He didn't want to read about the intrepid wizarding climb to the summit of Mt. Sodding Huge, the anatomy of the invisible fruit bat, or a brief, 600-page overview of industrial gums.

The crack of apparation was almost a blessing.

He strode to the front door and threw it open. "Finally decided t—oh, no." He slipped his hand into his robe pocket, readying the wand for the draw.

"Oi, Professor Snape!"

"What, aren't you glad to see us?"

They grinned like jack-o-lanterns.

Severus stared in horror. "One reason. One single reason I shouldn't hex you both and bolt the door." He covered a wince as he said it. They couldn't know about the wand.

Fred looked at George, or perhaps it was the other way around. "We brought supplies. Heard you two were roughing it." Indeed, their arms were brimming with bags and boxes.

"How many of them are booby-trapped?" Severus didn't move from his position blocking the entrance.

"None!"

"We wouldn't do that."

Snape waited.

"…Not many."

"Not a lot."

"A few."

"Yeah, a few." They nodded.

"Which ones?"

"These are a bit heavy, Professor. Don't you trust your favorite students?"

"I never had favorite students."

"Well, we should've been them."

"We're practically the only ones who use their Potions training anymore."

"A fact that makes my continued existence even more bleak, I assure you," replied Severus. He waited.

"The non-alcoholic cider is actually about as alcoholic as the equivalent of firewhiskey and the muffins will turn your skin blue for twenty-four hours."

"And?"

They exchanged a glance. "Don't eat the cherries."

"Anything wrong with the tea?"

"No."

"Did you bring cigarettes?" A carton was produced. It passed inspection. "All right, come in."

XXXXX

"You should consult for us."

"No."

"That would be brilliant! He'd be a brilliant consultant!"

"No."

"We could do a whole potion-based line. You've got to know all the tricks."

"No. I mean, yes, but—no."

"We'd pay you."

"We'd pay you loads." They nodded.

"No." Severus blinked. "I am a prisoner," he added helpfully.

"Not really, though. You're with Harry."

"Prisoners work. We could do a kind of—work release thing."

"Oh, yeah, brilliant, that—bet he'd be cheaper than illegal immigrants."

A pause.

"That was a joke. We don't hire illegal immigrants."

"Students, now. They're where the cheap labor comes from."

"Not terribly reliable."

"No, not really." They shook their heads. "Shame. Wonderful instincts."

"So, Professor, what do you say? It'd be a laugh."

"I can think of nothing I'd enjoy less," said Snape.

"Great, we'll send along a proposal."

"And then another one after you set fire to the first."

Perhaps he was lonely for company, any company. Perhaps he was spoiling for a fight. He couldn't tell which. He was tired and restless at the same time.

They helped themselves to the leftover Chinese food after they'd unpacked. Severus made sure the muffins and cherries went into the bin.

"So. What's with Harry?"

"What do you mean?"

They poured themselves some cider. Severus abstained, in the interest of not being hung upside down by his ankles once their good humor had worn off. Or on, as was the case with pranksters as dedicated as the Weasley twins. They had made a career out of it.

Severus hoped their easy, upward glide through life ended in a very steep drop.

"He's not himself, these days."

"Who is he, then?" asked Severus.

"First there's all the Ginny business." George rolled his eyes. "You must've heard about that."

"Talk about your awkward Sunday dinners." They nodded to each other.

"And now he doesn't even come! We can't get him to a stockholders meeting, either."

"They weren't really meetings. We'd hand him a statement and then go try and crash all the posh clubs that only let us in with Harry along," Fred confessed with a grin. "Though he'd usually go home well before they'd throw us out. Didn't like the crowds."

"Why would you want to skip that?"

"Why indeed?" asked Severus. He lit a cigarette. Not because he wanted another, but if they got too close, he could accidentally burn one of them.

"He barely talks to Mum, either. You'd think someone died, the way she carries on."

"Lost a son, technically," put in George. Or maybe it was Fred. "He only ever talks to Ron anymore."

They looked at him expectantly.

Severus arched a brow. "I'm supposed to do something about this?"

"He listens to you," said George. "Tell him to knock it off, start coming about again."

"And to retire! Go into the private sector. He stays Ministry, he'll be stuck in an office pushing paper the rest of his life. He could come work for us."

"You'd like me to counsel Potter against a worthwhile life in favor of frittering away his time designing and promoting bigger, better dungbombs?"

"Well, yeah."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Professor."

Fred or George laughed. "Yeah, tell us how you really feel."

Snape let out a slow exhalation of smoke. "You're thugs in expensive coats. What's worse, matching expensive coats. Tell me, do you have independent thoughts, aspirations, or after all these years, have what passes for your brains become shriveled and fused into some sort of Weasley hive-mind?"

For a moment, the twin on the right looked slightly hurt, the one on the left slightly angry. They rapidly composed themselves back into smiles. "It's part of the brand, us looking alike."

"Right. It's not a fear of having to think your own thoughts." Snape inhaled. "You both used to panic when I separated your detentions. I found it highly amusing."

"No wonder Harry's gone spare, if he has to live with you," one joked. The other didn't laugh.

"Yes, that's the reason he's left. It couldn't be that your fabulously successful but utterly empty lifestyle holds no interest, that your mother is an overbearing old hag, or that your sister was already shagging her way down the ladder while Potter was buying the ring, could it? Of course not. You're such a pleasant family. Never mind the two who choose to live comfortably across the continent, and the One of Whom We Shall Not Speak." His fingers itched. Go for a wand, a part of him screamed. Do it, go for a wand. "Have you seen young Percival lately? Or has Molly had his room boarded up?"

Silence.

"Think I need another drink," muttered who Severus thought was George, and went into the kitchen.

Fred blinked at him, then smiled. The quirk of his lips held a touch of poison. "You're worse than you were in school."

Severus angled his head. "I was repressing it."

Fred laughed like Sirius Black. George stared from the kitchen as dumbly as Lupin.

Potter didn't look like Potter. He didn't look like Evans, either. He looked bloody furious.

Harry took in the room with wide eyes. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"You put me here," snapped Severus.

Harry hadn't been talking to him. "How do you know we're here? Oh, God, who else did you tell? Does the Prophet know we're here?"

"We have a little discretion," said Fred.

"We brought groceries," said George.

"You both have to leave. NOW." Potter, without realizing it, added a bit of wandless Sonorous to the end of his sentence.

"Oi," said Fred reproachfully, "what've we done to you? We just want to—"

"I'm not above Obliviating both of you," said Potter. His mouth drew into a thin line.

"We were at Mum's when Ron firecalled to ask about the cabin," offered George. "We just came to see you. No one else knows anything. Honestly."

"You swear." Potter frowned.

"Cross our hearts. Hope to die."

"You willing to make a formal vow?" Potter had his wand in his hand.

"Potter." Severus rose. "What is it?"

Green eyes flickered to Snape. "Some evidence has gone missing. They might not be able to make the original complaint stick." He shook his head. "They're claiming I invited them to the house, where you launched an unprovoked attack, which included a few well-placed memory charms that are keeping them from answering certain questions about the attack. Only one of them has any kind of record. Right now, it's a couple of family wizards up against that crazy war veteran and the hardened criminal he lives with." Potter bit at his thumbnail. "And the icing on the cake—a box of letters I'd saved is gone from the house. It was taken sometime during the investigation. The Prophet's going to crucify me in a late edition. I was just trying to do my job, and it's blown up in my face."

XXXXX

Severus opened the door. "I'm beginning to feel like the bloody aged butler. What do you want?"

The youngest Weasley pulled the scarf from her hair and leaned her broom against the cabin. "I need to see Harry," she said, and moved as if her entrance was guaranteed. "Excuse me, Professor."

Snape blocked her path. "Excuse you. Purpose of visit?"

"Sorry?"

"Why are you here? We've been fending off a Weasley assault all night."

"I need to see Harry," the young witch repeated.

"You've said. Care to expound?"

"I don't need your permission to talk to Harry, Professor."

Severus thought. "Mm… no. No, I'm afraid you do. Feel free to send an owl, but Master Potter is not accepting visitors." Snape managed to bow sarcastically.

"Pig keeps coming back to the flat," she said, folding her arms.

It took him a moment to decode this. "Ah, yes—while you are welcome to send an owl, we aren't actually accepting any of those, either. Good evening," said Severus, and shut the door.

A knock.

Severus counted ten, then opened the door again. "Yes?"

"Let me in, Professor." She wore a filmy, clingy dress under her cloak. Her makeup was carefully done. "It's important."

"I'm sorry; we're also not accepting cheap, changeable women at the moment. Good evening."

She stuck her foot in the doorjamb. She wore delicate, open-toed heels. "I'm not leaving, Professor."

Snape gave her his best withering gaze. "You really shouldn't wear heels around Potter. He's very sensitive about his height."

"I'll remember that," Ginny snapped.

"Do you know another reason you shouldn't wear heels?"

"Enlighten me," she said.

"A door can do this," he said, and slammed it on her foot.

There was a wicked, girlish shriek. It brought Potter out of the bedroom.

"What? What is it—oh." Potter paused. His robes were half undone, his face red. He looked as if someone had scraped him out of the gutter. "Ginny."

Severus stepped aside. He ignored the furious glare and the muttered healing charm. He breezed into the kitchen and poured himself a small glass of cider. It smelled like apples; it went down like paint thinner.

"Harry. You should get a new bodyguard." She shot daggers with her eyes.

"I don't think that's going to happen. This one's saved my life a couple of times," said Potter.

Snape felt a sudden warmth he associated with the alcohol, and surreptitiously gave the Weasley a two-fingered salute while pretending to rub his eye.

"Fred and George tell you I was here? Or was it your Mum?"

Her eyes shifted from Potter's for just a moment, casting a warning glance at Snape. "Harry… I'd rather speak to you… privately."

Potter's left eye twitched.

Severus leaned back. That twitch faced a dark lord, once.

"You can say whatever you want to say out here."

"I know, but—I'd still rather talk to you alone." She took off her cloak. She had a bosom, but it looked more a product of artifice than natural endowment.

Snape wasn't impressed. To his surprise, neither was Potter.

"I don't want to talk alone. There's nothing else to say. Nothing that you haven't said, anyway." Potter retreated to the bookshelves. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw the Prophet. Did you—"

"Yes. Yes, all right. But I wrote them a year ago. Over a year ago. Today's front page is old news. Don't you ever keep letters you don't send?"

Severus used his old letters as fire lighters.

"Harry." She paused. Her eyes cut to Snape.

He arched a brow.

"Harry, if you'd told me those things—"

"I want the ring back," said Potter. His face was half-hidden in the shadows of bookshelves. "I know I said keep it, and if you changed your mind we could—" He cleared his throat. "I want it back."

"We could have dinner sometime. Try ag—"

"The thought of touching you makes me physically ill."

By the look on her face, it would've been less cruel to slap her.

Potter selected a book from the shelves. "I want my Mum's ring back. I'll give you the cash value in exchange, if you want."

Her hands strangled her cloak. "You should come to dinner this Sunday."

"I don't want to."

"We're still your family."

"Not the real kind, right?" He ruffled a hand through his hair. "We don't match."

"Harry—"

"I have to spend all day tomorrow trying to convince people I'm not really an evil wizard hell bent on murder and revolution. It's tougher than it sounds. Right, Snape?" Potter crossed quickly to the kitchenette. "Anything to drink? Tea?" He rooted through cupboards until Snape passed Potter his full glass. Potter tipped it back immediately, then choked. He coughed. "Augh. What is that?"

"Not champagne," Snape replied.

Potter coughed again. He turned back to his ex… whatever they were. "You should go home. Tell your Mum we'll clear out soon. Thank her for me." He set the glass down and crossed the cabin. "That's a nice dress on you," he said, and slipped past her to the bedroom. He shut the door behind him.

Snape didn't look at the youngest Weasley. She didn't look at him.

"Go ahead," she said.

"Pardon?"

"Say something horrible," she hissed.

Snape poured himself another drink. "I believe he's beaten me to it."

A short while later, the front door opened and slammed. Severus took a second glass out of the cabinet. He poured a drink.

Potter peeped in from the bedroom a few moments later. "Sorry about that."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Don't turn into Granger. Tonight, I'm going to watch telly and smoke. …Coming?"

The cider went with them.

XXXXX

Severus Snape couldn't decide which member of Monty Python he'd most like to have sex with. "There are the tall boys. Who are very attractive, though the dark-haired one seems a little… I don't know." He watched the scene play out. There was a cheese shop involved. "One of those people I'd probably detest if I met in person."

"Hang on a minute. Why is it cartoons now?"

"Dunno. Surreal."

"Oh, good. Thought it was me. Pass the bottle."

Snape did. "Now the blond? Very nice. Well spoken. Good arse."

"What?"

"Good arse. Lovely bottom." Severus reclined on the couch. His glass rested on his stomach.

"…Who? That bloke?"

"No, the tall blonde."

"He is tall."

"Everyone's tall, comparatively speaking. Compared to you," he clarified. "He's the medium blonde. Nice lips."

"Lips…?"

"Mouth to kill for." The things he would do to that mouth. "I need to be drunker."

"We're almost out."

"Pity." He stretched. The empty glass tumbled to the floor. "Didn't break. I'll get it in the morning."

"We've got to go somewhere soon. We could go to a hotel. Somewhere high-class. First rate. Where they leave the mints on the pillows. I could afford it. Put us up somewhere nice, for once. I'm a sodding hero, right? I can treat us. We could live like kings."

"That one… is too convincing a woman. I've never liked them feminine. Even if he wasn't, casually-speaking, I'd get him into bed and I'd only see the wig and fake breasts." Snape shook his head. "Now the little brunette…?" The bottle found its way into his hands. "Cheers," he said, and slugged straight from the source.

"I'll bring back some sobering potion t'morrow. I don't think I've ever been this…"

"Sloshed?"

"Yeah. That's a good word. I'm going to eat something. Drink some water." Potter didn't move.

"I'm going to lie in bed all day and suffer," said Snape, smacking his lips. His face was numb. "I'm good at suffering."

"How d'you get good at suffering?"

"Not a skill. It's a talent. I was born with it." Snape watched the program. "The little brunette. …In a heartbeat," Snape decided. "Say the word, on my back, legs in the air, no shame."

"…What?"

"Well, he wouldn't do much damage in the worst of circumstances, would he? Probably the nervous type. In and out, quick as anything, then feels so guilty you can just… lie back and enjoy while he proves his adequacy." His mind appreciated the images. His body was limp.

"Snape?"

"Mm?" He glanced over at Potter, whose legs were tucked up under him. He leaned heavily on the arm of the couch.

Potter's brows knitted. "You're hom… homos…?"

"Homosexual."

"Homosexual." He seemed proud that he'd got it out at all. "Gay, right?"

"You didn't know?" He nodded a bit. His head flopped.

"W—no. Not really." Potter shrugged. "You're not—with anyone. Just thought, well, not everybody's meant for someone. That's what they try to tell you, you know, but people all over die alone."

"When I die, I'm taking someone with me. Doesn't matter who."

"I'll come with you," mumbled Potter. "I like company. So long as they don't have red hair. 'Cept for Ron. He's allowed."

They stared at the telly.

"D'you really… really, I mean, for real… sleep… with men?" Potter asked.

"Sleep? No. I've fucked." He sighed. "Been fucked. Been fucked over."

Potter's eyes widened. "Over what?"

Snape sighed through pressed lips, mimicking the noise of a muggle motor boat. "Mostly? Hard, flat surfaces."

They stared at the telly.

"I could never do that," said Potter, shaking his head.

"A bed is preferable," Severus conceded.

"No, I mean… I could never do that."

"What?"

"Sex," said Potter.

XXXXX

He woke, still muzzy-headed. He was on the couch, but wearing a blanket. "Bloody internal alarms," he mumbled, and put his head back down. Fifteen more minutes. Then he'd make breakfast. He heard the sound of footsteps like drums banging in his ears.

"Hi," whispered Potter. "Still drunk?"

Severus slapped his cheek. "Yes, or that would've hurt."

"Here. Drink this."

A potion was pressed to his lips. Severus turned up his nose. "Bulk-quality sobering potion. I'd rather drive nails through my skull."

"Tough. We have about an hour to get out of here."

"What?" Snape opened one eye.

Potter was dressed in full crimson regalia. "It's eleven o'clock. There's a press conference scheduled at noon. Hermione organized it."

"What?" That was enough to coax the other eye open.

"You need to agree to let them pensieve out a copy of your memory of the attack. Will you do it?"

Snape's head tried to catch up. He tipped back the potion. Stale, but it worked. "For a rain barrel of hideously strong coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Cigarettes, liquor, coffee—I'm working on developing my bad habits."

"But you'll do it? You'll answer their questions?"

Severus rubbed his eyes. "I won't be polite."

"Good, then. Put this on and we'll go." Potter dropped a parcel in his lap. "Um. And you might want to cast a shaving spell. Not that you ever show much hair, but… you know."

"Yes, my lord." Severus tipped him a nod.

Potter froze.

Snape thought. Oh. "Sarcasm."

"Your majesty, I can ignore. Or, you know, someday you could call me Harry."

"What's the point? Everyone calls you that."

"Potter makes me think… you think of me as my father."

Snape opened the parcel. His eyebrows rose. "Potter. You're quite insane."

XXXXX

The effect was spectacular.

Gawkers lined up four-deep on either side. Muggle and wizarding cameras flashed.

Potter, ridiculous hair notwithstanding, could walk like he was ten feet tall. He kept his eyes focused ahead. The expression on his face wasn't precisely a smile, and wasn't quite a frown. He kept his wand in his hand, too, which Severus supposed was for his own protection.

Of course, the wizarding world saw Harry Potter every day. Not often every day after the Prophet had apparently published some excruciatingly private material—

Merlin. He bet he knew some things about Potter the papers didn't. He wondered if he could get his hands on a paper.

Severus didn't have much chance to dwell on what exactly he could coerce Potter to give him in exchange for his continued silence, because most of the crowd's attention was fixed firmly on him.

Reporters shouted 'Professor!' and 'Master Snape!' at him. He was afraid they were going to try and touch him.

He'd left the top robe button and those below the waist undone. The sleeves came down past his wrists; the collar stopped halfway up his throat. Underneath, he wore a black shirt and black trousers. He'd left his hair down. It was longer than it had been during his school days, hanging just past his shoulders. The robe flared as his old ones had when he'd swept from one side of the classroom to the other, flapping and hissing like the creatures the children would compare him to later at their dining tables (when they all thought their hated Professor couldn't hear them).

He missed his old wand, but his new (and illegal) companion nestled quite comfortably in its concealed pocket.

The scowl came back easily.

"Sorry about this," said Potter. "I think part of it's been held over from your not-trial."

"I need a cigarette," muttered Snape.

"What about the barrel of coffee?"

"That, too."

"They've got a commissary. It's no good, though. Too many people, and at least three of them want autographs. There's a cart that makes the rounds. Think it has coffee."

The people parted like waters for them, leaving Potter a wide berth—and himself a slightly wider one.

"Wow, I should walk in with you every morning. No one's grabbed me or anything."

They pushed through the throng. Potter flashed identification, hardly slowing as they passed him through. Had they wanted to, Snape was sure they could've strolled right into the Department of Mysteries without being stopped.

They threaded around a maze of corridors, ascended a back staircase, and entered a small hallway.

"We decided it would be best to go on the offensive," Potter explained.

"Is the other half of 'we' a certain Miss Granger?"

"Yes, but she's right. If we're taken in without our side of the story out there, it could be weeks of them printing nothing but lies about us. Plus, it would be a really good idea if we got a pensieve copy of the attack out of you."

"In case something should happen to my functioning brain between here and the Wizengamot?"

Potter's brow wrinkled.

Severus smirked. "Practical motives aren't necessarily ignoble."

"You don't talk like anyone else I've ever met."

He grunted.

The doors on either side of the hall were a steel gray. Potter paused at one, seemingly at random, and rapped. It slid open. "Come on."

"There's a press conference in here." Snape arched a brow.

"Not exactly," said Potter. "There's one downstairs for the general press that I'm taking care of. We thought it'd be better if you weren't so… exposed."

It was hardly the Department of Mysteries. It was only the second floor, the Auror Division, and his internal compass told him they were near the outside of the building. Blast through a few wards and walls, and he'd be out. He was hardly deep in the bowels of the Ministry.

Still, a trickle of sweat formed between his shoulder blades. Floors above lurked the small cells where they'd held him the first and second times he'd stood before the court. He still had the stolen wand. If someone should decide to pat the Death Eater down, he might very easily see the inside of that cell again. Even Potter's firm denials of reality wouldn't save him a third time.

The room was small. It's floors were the color of the doors. The table was a glossy black. On it sat some sort of muggle electronic device—a tape recorder. A sheaf of parchment and a Quick Quotes quill lay next to it.

Two uniformed Aurors flanked a rosy-cheeked young man with curly blonde hair. He had the kind of smile that took either several hundred galleons of dental work or extraordinarily good genes to achieve. He stood when they entered and held out his hand.

Severus put his in his pockets.

"Hullo, Harry." The blond shook Potter's hand warmly.

"Hi, Ben. Severus Snape, this is Benjamin Heinrich."

"Call me Ben," he said, and smiled. He extended his hand pointedly for Severus to shake.

"You have a lot of teeth," said Severus.

"You brought the pensieve?" asked Potter.

"Right here." One of the Aurors wheeled a cart carrying the silvery basin.

"Everyone here will watch, if that's all right," said Heinrich. "The more, the merrier." He finally withdrew his unshaken hand, but didn't seem phased.

Severus wanted to yank one of his springy little blonde curls. Heinrich was pretty in the way that Potter wasn't; he had a strong chin, a tan, and looked like you could throw him across the room without breaking him. He was a bit on the short side. Perhaps that was how he and Potter had bonded.

How was it short men seemed to decide his fate, when they needed stepstools to reach the top of the icebox?

Potter put a hand on Severus' arm.

The blonde wizard's eyes caught the movement. They widened slightly, then relaxed as if he'd just catalogued it.

It was official. Snape didn't like him. "I'm sorry—who is he, exactly?"

"I'm an investigator," Heinrich answered. "I've—"

"He's done a lot of work with us. Used to be an Auror, now he works independently. I've mentioned him before."

"I'm impartial," the toothy wizard supplied.

"No one's impartial," said Snape.

The wattage of the smile dimmed somewhat.

"He helped exonerate Bill."

"A Weasley sympathizer? Color me unimpressed."

"He's not here to impress you; he's here to impress other people—which is what he'll do. He worked on a lot of the war cases."

"Which ones?"

"Nott, Crouch, Greyback, LeStrange," Heinrich listed, ticking them off on well-manicured fingers.

"Witches and Weasleys and werewolves, oh my," murmured Snape.

"Shut up," said Potter irritably.

"You shut up," he fired back.

"Sorry. He's prickly today," Potter explained to the others.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here. I haven't had any coffee. Or tea. Or a cigarette. By the way, that potion was crap."

"It was fine. Don't be a snob," answered Potter.

"We'll have some tea and coffee sent in. Some sandwiches, too?" chirped Heinrich.

"Good God. Next he'll drop to the floor and offer to service us."

Potter slapped his forehead.

"That was dramatic."

"You're being a git!" snapped Potter.

"You knew who I was when you took me in. Don't act so surprised about it." Severus gradually became aware of the others in the room.

They were all smiling. Choking back laughter, actually.

"Do you two need a minute?" Heinrich offered, the mirth apparent in his eyes.

Severus scowled. "Potter, if you'd do the honors?" He approached the pensieve.

"Pointing a wand at your head isn't an honor, so much as a pleasure," said Potter.

One of the Aurors actually giggled.

Potter touched the tip of his wand to Severus' temple. Potter's other hand rested on his shoulder.

Severus concentrated.