The day after Alexandra's birth, Remus had bounded joyously to the Hatches, Matches and Dispatches office to register his daughter. This proud task had been more complicated than he imagined, as none of the dull-eyed clerks had been able to comprehend how the baby came to have two fathers and no mother.
Eventually, the HMD department head had been summoned from her very long lunch in order to perform the necessary 'proof of paternity' spells and create a special registration form to be signed by Severus, Remus and Healer Benson, stating in words of no less than four syllables that she had indeed been borne by a wizard, the hereto aforementioned party of the first part, etc etc. It had taken several hours, during which Snape had become progressively grumpier, having already been frazzled by what they knew would be the first of many sleepless nights.
"Those frightful secretaries are heading straight for the Daily Prophet office, you realise," he snapped as the last of them stepped, giggling, through the floo and away.
Remus was holding the heavily-appended birth certificate as though it was the most fascinating document he had ever seen.
"Mm? Oh, I suppose they are," he sighed. "Well, people had to find out sooner or later." Snape passed a hand over his weary brow, hating the unavoidable task which lay ahead. Life would be so much simpler if people would only mind their own bloody business.
"Get over there, Lupin. Tell that Skeeter woman she can have the entire damned story straight from us on the condition that we get the final say on the tone and content of the article. Use your scruffy charm, your big amber eyes or whatever you must, and if all that fails then tell her I shall enjoy poisoning her as creatively as I can at the merest hint of scandalisation. Understood?"
Remus tried to keep the admiration off his face, instead giving what he hoped was a supportive smile. He knew how such publicity would upset the intensely private wizard, yet he was willing to suffer it anyway for the sake of the baby. Whichever way you looked at him, the potions master really was a remarkable man.
"Well done, Severus," he praised. "I know you find it distasteful, but the sooner we tell people, the sooner they can get used to the idea and treat her like a normal child."
From the crib beside the bed, a piercing howl signalled that Saskia was ready for yet another meal. Snape's face softened as he lifted the kicking girl and chatted lovingly to her, unbuttoning the front of his nightshirt as he did so. He knew without even raising his head that Remus was staring, but kept his voice low and musical as he issued the threat so not to disturb his daughter's dinner.
"Lupin, how many times do I have to tell you to stop gawping at my tits?"
"Sorry, it's just…" Remus flushed at being caught out yet again.
"If you use the word 'beautiful' to describe breastfeeding one more time I shall not be responsible for my actions."
"Sorry, I…"
"Stop apologising and bugger off to the Prophet!" he sang sweetly.
It had amazed Remus how Severus could say such vicious things without allowing Saskia to detect even a hint of unpleasantness. He allowed himself a last glance at the undeniably beautiful sight of his daughter suckling happily away in her Papa's arms, one tiny yet long-fingered hand gripping at his sleeve as he stroked her dark hair. For the hundredth time in the last four months, he revelled in the knowledge that he was the luckiest man alive.
He deliberately kept the adoring expression for his initial interview with Rita Skeeter. She had almost fallen out of her seat in excitement and had accepted the terms unequivocally, even agreeing to postpone the interview with Severus for a day to let his hips recover enough to get out of bed. (Even now he refused to consider more efficient healing potions, not wanting Saskia to ingest the strong ingredients as she fed.) During the brief floo call the journalist made to Maltings Lane, she impressed them both with some insightful questions. Snape was also relieved that she seemed to be one of those people who do not gush over babies, using only sensible words like 'healthy'. Neither did she make any unfortunate moves towards touching her, for which Remus was silently glad – being a peaceful man, he hated unnecessary bloodshed.
Shaking hands with the journalist, Lupin was preparing to leave when she shot a final question at him.
"You are a friend of Harry Potter's, aren't you?" she asked, cheerfully activating her Quick-Quotes Quill. "May I ask if this morning's revelations came as a shock to you?"
"Revelations?" Remus' smile faltered slightly at the thought of poor Harry hitting the headlines again. He should probably go straight to the boys' flat now and give him the wonderful news, he would hate to hear about the birth from anyone else.
"Oh, of course! Silly me. You've been far too busy with your precious bundle to have read the paper this morning!" She waved the day's Prophet at him and his blood ran cold. "My readers would love to know if our hero's friends knew about his handsome gay lover!"
Most of the front page was taken up with an enormous picture of Harry passionately kissing a tall, dark, young man in what appeared to be a dingy street. The couple pulled apart and frowned, before the other man reached up and pulled off Harry's awkward glasses, crushing their mouths together so forcefully that Remus could almost hear the slurping.
Rita had asked several questions while he stared, but Remus had been unable to focus on the words pouring out of her glossy lips. Only when she folded the paper so the photo was out of sight did he recover enough to listen.
"Obviously, Harry has not deemed it necessary to mention his preferences to you, one of his oldest friends. You must feel awfully betrayed by his secret?" she prompted, the quill noting his reaction so expressively that smoke was beginning to rise from the parchment.
Betrayed. The word burned his intestines like a shot of wolfsbane.
Remembering where he was, and with whom, he forced a smile.
"I have no comment to make on Harry's private life," the words came out evenly, their sensible sound calming him enough to regain the use of his brain. "And if you feature any of my remarks or reactions in subsequent articles concerning him, I shall have Severus send you a little present." He flicked his wand and the quill burst into flame with a satisfying 'whoosh'.
Her sharp instincts registered that there was more to this particular story than met the eye, but mindful of the exclusive male pregnancy story and the very real threat from a highly trained ex-Death Eater, she agreed sweetly and bade Remus good-day. Sometimes it was advisable to throw one's principles to the wind and allow the proverbial dragon to get its rest. She pulled out an expenses form and added the cost of a new QQQ. A flameproof one.
…….
Neville was in the sitting room, pulling on his boots. He glanced up as Remus stepped out of the fireplace, but could not hold eye contact and swiftly turned his attention to his laces.
"Hi," he greeted the werewolf quietly.
"Hello," Remus returned. A heavily-creased copy of the newspaper was resting on the arm of the chair, looking as though it had been crushed into a tiny ball then flattened out again, several times. Neville followed his eyes then blushed.
"He's in bed, hiding from the hoards of well- and ill-wishers," he volunteered. "I'll get him."
Remus nodded and sat down in one of the tatty chairs, staring sightlessly at the pictures of revelry which covered most of the room's surfaces. Almost every protagonist was of Harry's generation. Young people drinking, partying and having fun, just as he had done with his friends twenty years previously.
With Harry's parents.
It had been wrong to start a relationship with Harry, he knew that now. The younger man still had so much experimentation to do before he discovered his true identity or came to terms with the momentous experiences of his all-too-recent childhood. Remus had a sickly feeling that he was too much a part of Harry's past to lay claim to his future. The world was so big and so full of other, more worthy souls; what right had an old, grey-haired werewolf to dominate what would surely become a varied and interesting life?
Perhaps if they still felt the same way in five years, or ten, it would be possible to review the situation. But after ten years of associating with vibrant, new people, why should Harry throw himself away on a fifty-plus Remus?
There was also the question of Saskia. Unsurprisingly, given the levels of neglect he had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, Harry had been rather emotionally demanding, leaning heavily on Remus for support and love during their time together. He needed a partner who could be there for him at all times, not someone whose first priority was a small baby living at the home of his childhood nemesis. He knew for certain that in a straight contest, Saskia would take precedence over anyone and anything else, every time. Paternal instinct, he supposed, or some primal lupine force.
Neville returned to tell him that Harry was coming.
"I'm just off to work. Five o'clock shift," he explained, pulling on a heavy winter cloak. His eyes fell on the dreadful cover of the Prophet once again and he hesitated a moment before saying. "Look, for what it's worth, he's distraught about what happened." He pointed to a large dent in the coffee table which Remus had not noticed. "Do you see that? Harry did it. With his head."
"Yeah, thanks for mentioning it, Nev," sighed Harry wryly from the doorway. Neville blushed again and headed off, leaving the couple alone.
Harry was not looking his best. His hair was messier than ever and, ironically, greasier than Snape's had been in recent months. At least two days of black stubble made him look strangely unlike himself, and the livid bruises across his forehead from his recent discussion with the table clashed alarmingly with the famous lightening-bolt scar. Even his bright eyes seemed dull.
None of the hundred or so opening remarks Harry had rehearsed since waking up next to Oliver, nor the further thousand since seeing the paper, were able to make their way to his throat. Remus was silently examining an irregular stain on the fireside rug, clearly waiting for him to make the first move. He swallowed. He owed the man that much, at the very, very least.
"Sorry," he said. It was not enough. But it was a start. Remus looked up.
"I don't trust the Daily Prophet," he stated. "Will you tell me what happened?"
Harry swallowed and sat down. He recounted the activities of the evening – getting his results, meeting his friends, drinking in Diagon Alley, deciding to head to the infamous Spark club, drinking some more, bumping into the Puddlemere Quidditch team, everything becoming a blur and finally, unforgivably, waking the next morning having slept with Oliver Wood.
"I truly, honestly didn't mean for it to happen," he took hold of Remus' hands. "Please believe that. I hate the fact that I've hurt you. I am so very sorry."
Remus squeezed back supportively.
"I know you wouldn't do something like this deliberately," he sighed. "It happens. You got a bit carried away, there are some huge things going on in your life, I completely understand."
The 'but' hung in the air without being spoken. Harry closed his eyes in anticipation of the blow.
"But?" he ventured grimly.
"Yes, well. But," he rubbed circles on the back of Harry's palms with his thumbs. "I think it has shown up some serious flaws with our relationship. You must agree that we would be fools to ignore this?"
Harry sighed and looked intently at Remus. Something heavy materialised in the pit of his stomach as he tried to accept the dread fact. Yesterday he had thought the world was about to end, yet as he formed the words in his head before speaking, there was a strange rightness about them. Remus needed a partner who was reliable, who would treat him well and behave in a gentlemanly way, not a wild child whose struggles with his own sexuality would probably be public domain for the next decade, at the least. He did not need national pity each time Harry had a crisis and embarrassed himself in public – somehow he knew that this would not be a one-off.
"It's over, isn't it?" Harry chirped with forced brightness.
"Harry, I love you," Lupin's voice cracked, though he carried on speaking. "I've loved you since before it was legal or moral to do so, and I think I always will. But, just at the moment, we're not what each other needs."
Harry nodded and kept smiling through the mist forming on his glasses.
"Remus, I love you more than anyone else I've ever known," swallowing was harder than it should have been. "So it's ridiculous to have to say this, but I think we will only make each other miserable."
"Ridiculous, yes," Remus sobbed. "But true. Bloody hell."
They clung together with shaking shoulders and running noses for nearly half an hour, offering comfort as best they could under the illogical but inevitable circumstances. The room was dark by the time they had recovered enough self-control to sit up independently, and Remus decided it was time to deliver his own piece of news.
"Well Harry, when you're not busy, there's someone I'd like you to meet," He blew his nose loudly on a handkerchief which turned out to be the one Snape had offered him weeks earlier as he sniffled over the baby scan. He quickly pocketed it.
Harry stared at him quizzically.
"She's your rival for my affections," Lupin grinned at the young man's startled expression.
"Who? Oh! Oh, Merlin!" he clapped a hand to his mouth. "I'm such an idiot! The baby's been born, hasn't it?"
"Yes," Remus was beaming like a lighthouse now. "Alexandra Lucy. She's the most beautiful little thing you've ever seen. It's wonderful. I'm a dad!" He burst into tears again.
Harry hugged him tightly, grimacing while his face could not be seen. This damned baby was the reason that he had not been able to confess to Remus before he read the awful news in the paper. He wondered if she had done it deliberately. Being born on Valentine's day, the slushiest day of the year, too, very Slytherin. He reasoned that this kind of manipulation was only to be expected from the spawn of Snape.
"Snape's all right, is he?" he grunted to Remus, indulging himself briefly in a happy-family fantasy of the greasy git dying in childbirth and leaving the baby to be raised by Remus and Harry.
"He's ecstatic," gushed Remus. "Just glowing with joy!"
A practical instinct told Harry it was probably for the best. He didn't know much about babies. The nuclear-family image in his mind suddenly descended into nights of screaming, followed by a three feet high hurricane of doom destroying everything in its path, and eventually, a hormone-soaked teenager sulking and getting into trouble at school. For some reason the little demon in his imagination was a small Snape wearing pigtails. A thought struck him.
"It…er,…she doesn't have the nose, does she?" he asked carefully.
"No. She has my mum's nose," Remus smiled and fished in his pocket for a photo which he wielded proudly. "She's a lot like me, actually."
Harry looked at the squashed pink face, oddly distorted head and slightly crossed electric-blue eyes and privately disagreed.
"Small," he managed.
"Gorgeous," cooed Remus, gazing in adoration.
…….
Dumbledore had spent a busy day taking lunch, tea and various interim refreshments with important acquaintances. On seeing the scandalous newspaper article first thing in the morning, he had immediately swung into action, subtly gauging the reactions of the great and the powerful to the revelations about the wizarding world's number one hero.
He feared that Harry would be hurt by the fall from his dizzyingly high pedestal, and had employed his most cunning manipulation techniques on those with the staunchest anti-gay beliefs – including that champion of Family Values (he shuddered at the awful past acts committed in the name of that innocent phrase) the editor of Daily Prophet. Albus hoped that he had diffused most of the potential explosions before they could do any harm.
A brief rendezvous with Molly had reassured him that she was working on the house-witches network, the disbanded Order of the Phoenix and the not-inconsiderable extended Weasley family.
"Will that poor boy's struggles never end?" she sighed.
"That which does not kill us…" began Albus sagely.
"Makes us stronger, I know," she finished for him.
"Actually, my dear, I was going to say, 'can be a real pain in the arse', but I like yours too," he chortled. "That is one of Severus', you know."
At the mention of the new father, Mrs Weasley adopted a soppy expression.
"How is he? And the little one?" she asked indulgently.
"Both very bonny," said Dumbledore. "Although young Alexandra seemed less than impressed with her new yellow bootees. I feared I should go deaf!" He smiled at the memory of his delightful banter with Snape over the bright gift. The potions master had allowed his eyes to twinkle just enough to show his former boss that he was grateful really, while berating him with apparent outrage for deliberately upsetting his daughter. Severus was such a feisty young man. Albus reflected again on how much he missed teasing that scowling face each mealtime.
"Oh, dear. Do you suppose she'll want to dress all in black, like her Papa?" worried Molly, who was halfway through knitting a pink and white striped hat with rabbit ears.
He had collared Harry for a quick chat at lunchtime, before the boy had chance to speak to Remus.
"Are you all right, dear child?" he asked in concern. "I trust that your friends have been supportive during your hour of need?"
"Yeah," he ran a hand through his hair absently. "Though I don't think I deserve it this time. Mrs Weasley sent a tray of muffins, Hermione and Ginny helped me diffuse the early howlers and Bihranti and Neville put up some impenetrable wards on the flat. Tonks sent a note to say it wasn't a problem. Professionally, I mean."
"And Ronald?" the old man enquired after the significant omission from Harry's list of friends. Harry gave a distracted snigger.
"Ron turned up, ranting at me for cheating on Remus," he swallowed thickly. "But when Hermione arrived minutes later saying exactly the same things he got really cross and defended me. It would have been funny, if this whole situation were not so awful."
"Have you spoken to Remus?" asked Albus gently.
"Not yet," he sighed. "But I will."
Albus stretched out in his favourite chair, relaxing for the first time that day. What a day it had been! Wizarding society could be very liberal on certain issues, but for some reason, the word 'gay' could bring out the Grindelwald in the fluffiest of people. The British muggle government had just legalised same-sex partnerships, but sadly, Dumbledore could not see their magical counterparts changing the rules of the ancient rites while people like his recent stubborn lunch companions remained in positions of authority.
He pulled on a pair of mohair slippers and wiggled his toes in front of the fire. Severus had warned him to prepare for another scandal in two days' time, when they announced Alexandra's birth, or rather, the circumstances of it, in the paper. Albus supposed he would have to do a little more firefighting when the time came, but he didn't mind one bit. It would be interesting to see what the defenders of the sacred Institution of the Family had to say about a gay couple who had created a child. The debate looked set to prove most diverting.
Harry had looked dreadful, he thought. That defeated expression was ill-suited to his normal, cheery demeanour. Albus felt sorry for the boy, though he stood by his earlier meddling, still believing that Remus and Harry together was a seriously bad idea. It was not always pleasant to be right all the time. But it was not in Harry's nature to brood. Dumbledore reassured himself that the boy would bounce back and do more great things, while Remus had the perfect distraction from his heartbreak in little Saskia.
Realising that he had got no further than the notorious front page of the Prophet that morning, Albus rummaged in his pocket for a Tooth Testing Toffee and began to read the rest. As usual, he drew an elaborate moving star next to any article or letter he felt inclined to complain about, and by the time he reached the Births, Marriages and Deaths column, he already had plenty of arguments ready with which to enflame the magical community.
Halfway down the 'Marriages' column, he inhaled so sharply the toffee stuck in his windpipe and it took a few minutes of undignified spluttering and hasty wandless magic to save his own life. Gasping through his ripped throat he cast a reproving glance at Fawkes' empty perch, reflecting that living alone was more than unsatisfactory, it could be downright dangerous.
He picked up the paper again, hoping that he was somehow mistaken. Unfortunately, this was not the case. It was an inoffensive tiny box of text with a spray of confetti dancing the corner, but it turned Dumbledore's blood to ice.
Puddifoot-Dumbledore. It said.
He blinked. The words were still there. He read on.
Yesterday, at 2 o'clock, Aurora Norah, proprietress of Madam Puddifoot's tearoom, and Aberforth Godric Llewellen Kevin, barman at the Hog's Head, both in Hogsmeade, were married at The Smithy, Gretna Green.
He conjured a glass of water and took a sip to occupy his hands while his mind processed the information.
Then he yelled a word which was so rude it killed one of the pot plants stone dead.
Aberforth must have known his brother was courting Madam Puddifoot. The whole village knew, for Merlin's sake! He calculated that they would have been exchanging their vows at about the time he began making her Valentine's card. He ground his teeth.
"That little snake! That rat! That foul, fiendish, misbegotten, treacherous, stinking…." A few more plants keeled over as he cursed Aberforth as thoroughly as his 160 year vocabulary would allow, which, if one remembers that many of those years were spent living with hundreds of schoolchildren, was pretty thoroughly.
After a while he ran out of swear words (and indeed, plants), sinking into his chair to curse the dark and evil night when his brother had entered the world. Being only two, his memories of anything before the event were few and hazy, but soon afterwards he was conscious that his young life spiralling downhill rapidly. For some reason, it was always Albus' fault when Aberforth did something bad. Aberforth, being Aberforth, did bad things very often. Nowadays, he would have been called 'dyslexic' but back in the 1870s he was just plain 'stupid' and he hated it, lashing out at every taunt, both real and imaginary. He grew up mean, short-tempered and brutal, and most of the time, Albus pitied him as a victim of an academia-based society. How was a child supposed to spell 'Wingardium Leviosa' when he had trouble with 'Abe'?
Albus remembered being found curled up in a window seat by Nearly-Headless Nick one rainy evening, unable to bear the shame of being the only boy in Gryffindor to be bossed around, teased and generally bullied by their younger sibling.
Nick listened to the catalogue of abuse and upset for a good half hour before reaching the only possible conclusion.
"Just smack him, my lad," he advised. "Sadly, it would seem to be the only language he understands."
"You sound like Father," Albus moaned. He had hated the beatings their frustrated parents had meted out to Aberforth, not through any fraternal solidarity, but because Abe had long ago made the rule that whatever he received he would passed on later to 'Almighty Al, the world's most bloody perfect big brother'. With interest.
Fortunately, before he had chance to act on the ghost's advice, and to the general relief of all staff and students, Aberforth had been expelled from Hogwarts and had his wand snapped in half. Albus, fourteen and hitherto painfully shy, was finally able to blossom and concentrate on his studies, while Aberforth remained far away at home, getting through private tutors at the rate of one per fortnight. Their parents raised no objections when Albus asked to stay at school for the holidays.
And now, this.
For an uncharitable moment, Albus suspected that he had spirited Madam Puddifoot away and married her jut to spite him. However, she was far from being a wilting flower, Albus had the bruises to prove it. There was no way she would allow an unwanted admirer to pressure her into doing something against her will, so he had no choice but to conclude that she had taken a shine to some previously well-hidden quality of Aberforth's.
By mutual agreement, the brothers kept their dealings as grown ups to a minimum, knowing how much they irritated each other if left alone for any length of time, so Albus had not had much chance to observe Abe's mental development in any detail. Could it be that the cantankerous hell raiser had decided to settle down in his twilight years? Had he looked around him, much as his older brother had been doing since the departure of his familiar, and found his solitary life wanting? Fifty years ago it would have been an inconceivable thought.
"People do change," Dumbledore said aloud. It was true. One had only to look at Severus. Existing on a staple diet of Hufflepuffs and vitriol as recently as two years ago, the former Dark Prince of Sarcasm was now sporting a rosy glow as he cradled his baby daughter.
Letting his anger at Aberforth evaporate, Albus thought once again how charming Saskia had looked in her new woolly boots, and how impertinently Severus had criticised them. Remus Lupin might not realise it just at the minute, but he was a tremendously lucky man to claim such relations.
"How pleasant it must be to have a nice family," he reflected to the empty room.
…….
Snape vanished a dirty nappy and put Saskia down for a nap, reassuring her that she was a good girl and that her Papa loved her very much. His hips were still painful, but experimentation proved he was able to walk stiffly, so he tried a little exercise. The stairs looked steep and too serious a barrier to put between himself and the baby, so he contented himself with strolling slowly around the upstairs landing, occasionally peering out of the windows.
Pip appeared at his elbow.
"Master must be careful!" she chided gently. "Must not fall!"
"I am taking care, Pip," he told her crossly. "I haven't moved from that bed in days. I have to move or I shall go mad."
"Mm," she sounded unconvinced. "Why not be sitting in the window-seat, Master? Can still hear little Mistress if she be's crying, but nice change of space."
"Very well," he sighed, allowing her to conjure a blanket and wrap it snugly around his legs.
"Master would like to read Prophet paper? Has a picture of that nasty burglar-boy!" she handed it over with a sniff of disgust.
Assuming that the 'nasty burglar-boy' was a reference to the time Potter had sneaked into his house uninvited, Snape frowned. He had no wish to read the latest ode to the Living Wonder. As he unfolded the newspaper and saw the photograph, the scowl changed to a look of incredulity.
Pip had just begun dusting the spare room when she was startled by a most unusual sound coming from the window-seat. Dropping her cloth in alarm she dashed out to see if her beloved Master was all right and not experiencing some terrible pain. Tears were running down his cheeks and he was making the same odd noise over and over again.
"Oh, Master, Master! Is you OK? Shall Pip be fetching Mr Healer?" her bony fingers clutched at his arm in fear.
"No, no," gasped Snape. "I am perfectly well, thank you, Pip."
"Then why is you making that funny noise?" she scowled at him suspiciously. "Pip has never heard it before!"
"Noise?" he wiped his eyes, not understanding.
"Noise!" she confirmed sternly. "Funny noise!"
Snape smirked at her in what was a kindly fashion, by his standards.
"Oh, I see. Nothing to be concerned about, Pip. I was merely laughing."
…….
Harry awoke the next morning with a headache from crying himself to sleep. Before he had chance to reassess his current mental situation, an unfamiliar owl with a navy blue and gold striped band around each leg tapped on his bedroom window. As the envelope it carried didn't appear to be a howler, he crawled out of bed and let the bird in.
"Sorry, I don't have any owl treats," he apologised. "But Neville insists there are mice in the kitchen. Why don't you go and see what you can catch?" The owl glared at him as though this were a major inconvenience, but hopped through the door anyway.
The crest on the back of the letter featured two crossed bulrushes standing in a gleaming pool of water, with a sunrise behind it. A little banner running underneath the logo read '1163 – with us did it begin'.
"Puddlemere United," murmured Harry to himself, recognising the colours with a sense of foreboding. He broke the seal and began to read.
Dear Mr Potter,
Further to our conversation on Friday (at around midnight, I believe) I would like to invite you to Puddle Park on Monday 23rd February at 10:00am to try out for the position of Seeker.
Unlike some clubs, P.U. has never been interested in the private lives of its players. We would only interfere in the event of a player's performance being affected by off-pitch activity. We find that the occasional scandal has a positive effect on ticket sales.
Please send acceptance by return owl.
Yours sincerely,
Fergus Alexson, Coach, Puddlemere United.
Harry stared and stared and stared. He could not remember speaking to the coach in the club, but then there seemed to be lots of things about that night he failed to remember. He hadn't played since leaving school, though he had done a fair bit of pursuit flying as part of his auror training. He turned the envelope over to make sure it was actually addressed to him, then performed a quick analysis spell to make certain the handwriting did not belong to Fred or George, as experience had taught him that 'Constant Vigilance' applied to his dealings with certain friends as well as his enemies.
A series of small thumps and scuffling sounds came from the kitchen as he sat, stunned, on the edge of the bed. He was free and single, with a whole year's sabbatical to fill. Even if the tryout was successful and they offered him a place on the team, or in the reserves, he need not accept. It would be fun to play Quidditch again. And he really ought to apologise to Oliver for all the publicity their unfortunate drunken kiss had generated. He picked up a quill.
Dear Mr Alexson,
I'll be there.
Harry Potter.
…….
AN: Happy New Year everyone! Thanks for reading the latest instalment. I'd love to hear what you think!
I know I got a bit carried away with the Aberforth Dumbledore bit, but I've been interested in the idea of dyslexia in the wizarding world for some time. I've been told that it's hard work trying to process all those Latinate incantations and complicated names. I'm sure that nowadays the condition would be well understood, (there may even be potions to help), but sadly Aberforth was not treated very well by his parents or the school. And I couldn't resist putting in bullied!Albus.
Apologies to Harry/Remus shippers, but it had to happen. I think they will always have a special kind of love for each other. But will Remus and Severus make a go of it? Will they want to? Or will external forces interfere again? How will Harry fare at Puddle Park?
Thanks for some wonderful reviews so far!
Love SN x
PS Apologies to and Manchester United fans. I couldn't help myself.