A/N: I'm sorry. I told you I'd update once a week, and that turned out to be completely untrue. So much RL. Argh.

Anyhow, I'm making up for it with possibly the longest chapter I've ever written. It should be split up, but with the alternating timelines, I can't do it, so here it is, all in one chapter, ready for your reading pleasure. It's a pretty important one too. After this point, the modern timeline gets a lot more exciting.

I apologize to any American readers I may have in advance for the way I portray Americans in this fic. I'm sure those of you reading this are just about as irate with the current political situation in your country as I am. While I don't intend to slam anyone's politic in this fic, there are a few shots at my neighbours to the south in this chapter, and there probably will be in the later ones as well. This will not be the last you see of Director Rowland.

And before you scream "OOC!" at me, remember that it has been two years since Hogwarts. How much had YOU changed when you were two years out of high school (or elementary school for those of you still plugging away there)? Just keep it in mind.

That's about it! I hope to have the next one up in a lot less time than this one was!

-N

Chapter 6: Battles Wisely Chosen

Summer, 1999

A delighted shriek rang through the empty main hallway of number 12, Grimmauld place. "Harry!" the same high-pitched voice yelled at top volume. Harry Potter had only a moment to prepare himself before a blur of red launched itself at him and he was nearly bowled over by an armload of Ginny Weasley.

"Hello, Ginny," He said, rather mystified. The youngest Weasley detached herself from him and frowned rather charmingly.

"Harry Potter, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," She began, sounding eerily like her mother. "Hardly a single word from you in nearly a year."

"Ginny, we saw each other at Christmas," He said, smiling at her antics. The redhead rolled her eyes.

"Yes, well thank Merlin you have a birthday or we'd only see you once a year," she said, smiling a little in spite of herself. Then she looked him over carefully. "Hm," she said, thoughtful. "You look good."

"Ginny," Harry began, sounding belabored. The Weasley girl just shook her head and laughed.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything like that," She said dismissively, then took his face firmly between her palms and looked him straight in the eye. Harry was again reminded of Mrs. Weasley. "Harry," she said in a level voice, "I am your friend. Please don't think, just because we dated briefly three long years ago, that I want anything more than that. All I was saying is that you look better… Healthier, stronger. And even happier. Would you have gone through the roof if it was Ron telling you that you looked good?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Ron would never be that thoughtful or observant," he said, and then cracked a smile. Ginny let go of him with a light slap to one cheek.

"That's my brother you're talking about," She said, unable to stop the wide grin that split her face. "I'm going to take my things upstairs and get settled. I have it on good authority that my mother and brothers will be arriving soon. Thought I'd give you a heads up." She threw him another smile before disappearing into the upper levels of the house. Harry shook his head and went through the door at the end of the hall. He exhaled deeply as the door clicked shut behind him.

"I take it from the commotion that the Weasley brood has begun to arrive."

Harry grabbed a protective robe and begun to fasten the ties around his waist. "Don't," he said tiredly, "I don't have the patience left in me to defend them to you, so please just don't start."

Severus felt his mouth try to twitch up at the corners, something it had been doing unbidden of late, and at the least opportune moments. "I don't intend to," he said, eyes still firmly on the cauldron he was attending to. "I've no desire to test your limited patience."

"Well that's a welcome change," Harry said, taking up his usual place beside the Potions Master. "How is it?" he asked, looking into the familiar yellowish liquid.

"It should be ready just in time for this month's full moon," Severus replied, giving the potion a final stir before stopping and turning to Harry. "I'm afraid you've suited up for nothing… we're through here for today."

Harry felt a twinge of disappointment but quelled it with the thought of his friends arriving. "Sorry… I meant to come help sooner."

"That's quite alright," the Potions Master replied. "I understand the need to cater to your devout followers."

"Oh, Ha ha." Harry removed the robe he'd just put on over his muggle clothing. "You know, for someone who claims not to have a sense of humor, you sure are funny."

"For someone who claims to be so sincere, you sure are sarcastic," was the reply. They were standing beside each other, having both just hung up their work robes on the adjacent pegs by the door, and there was a space of no more than a foot between them. Silence settled heavily over the two men as they looked at each other in what was now a very familiar confusion. This awed silence had been an almost daily occurrence recently, and both men could tell that something—they knew not what—would eventually break it in a way that changed things forever. Harry wondered if he could do it, and then immediately wondered what 'it' was. He supposed 'it' would just come to him, if he allowed it to. Allow it, a small, nagging voice said in the back of his mind, and for the first time, he decided to acquiesce. He unlatched himself from his stubborn logic, ready to be guided by this strange feeling.

"Aah!" Harry was startled out of his dream-like state as Severus doubled over with a pained cry, gripping his left arm through his sleeve. Without thinking, he grabbed the other man's shoulders and held him steady.

"He's summoning you?" Harry asked, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. Severus nodded and attempted to straighten up. "It's worse than before, isn't it?" the Potions Master fixed Harry with a surprisingly open stare but did not reply. "Severus, tell me!"

"Yes," the older man said in a very tired voice, "It's worse than before." He sighed, hand coursing subconsciously over his covered arm. "I don't know why."

"It's my birthday tomorrow," Harry said. Severus looked at him thoughtfully.

"Yes, that is what I was thinking," he replied. "No doubt he has something planned." He took a flask out of one of the many cupboards and swallowed a generous portion of what Harry knew to be a cocktail of antidotes and protective potions. He turned to Harry with a strangely foreign expression. "I… have to go," He said in an odd tone. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Ditto," Harry replied.

"Harry…" Snape had turned at the door, and was looking at him piercingly. Harry felt the black eyes bore through him in a not altogether unpleasant way. "I am sorry to be missing your birthday," he said quietly. Harry tried to hide his surprise at this strangely thoughtful and tender statement.

"You haven't missed it yet," he said, walking up to the other man and placing a hand ever-so-lightly on his arm. "Go. And come back," he said meaningfully. Severus gave him a puzzling look before shaking his dark head and sweeping through the door and out of sight. Harry heard the door click shut and sank to the floor.

"My god," he whispered to himself, pressing cool fingers against his blazing temples. "Oh my god."

oooOOOooo

The Weasley family had indeed begun to pour in rather quickly, as Ginny had warned him, and by mid-afternoon the whole family had arrived, with the usual exception of Percy, and Arthur who was still at work. Bill and Fleur arrived last, and Harry was still in the front hall, directing Charlie and the twins to their rooms. The fire flared green, and Harry found himself almost immediately enfolded in soft arms and a light, comforting scent. He embraced Fleur awkwardly. Harry had never quite gotten used to his honorary sister-in-law, charming though she was, and her frequent infringement on his personal space. He understood that Veelas instinctively expressed their feelings through touch, and so tried to think nothing of an embrace or a touch to the arm, but it still made him uneasy. In fact, other than Hermione, who was a member of the triumvirate and thus exempt from all his rules, and Ginny, with whom he'd shared more physical intimacy than most anyone else, Harry didn't really like anyone touching him. At least, not anybody who's willing to, he thought privately.

Fleur released him, and he felt instantly better. Bill gave him a light clap on the back—which was fine—and an enthusiastic greeting of, "Great to see you, Harry!" Harry directed them to a bedroom and then turned to Ginny, Hermione and Ron, who had come back downstairs and were now standing behind him.

"You guys, I think we're going to have to tone down the celebrations a bit," he said rather seriously. "I have a feeling there may be an attack tomorrow, and I don't want to be caught off guard." Hermione came forward immediately, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Your scar?" she asked, a familiar crease forming between her eyebrows.

"No," Harry said, provoking a surprised look from all three of his friends. "And I'll explain why not later… Snape was summoned earlier this afternoon. I was with him… it seemed pretty bad, and he even admitted to me that it felt worse than usual. I have a feeling it may be something big. So I'm going to have to be alert the entire weekend, in case anything should happen."

"Harry…" Hermione had just finished exchanging meaningful looks with the two youngest Weasleys, and now turned back to him. "We've been talking, the three of us, and we think… well…" She took a steadying breath. "Please don't explode. We were thinking that maybe you should just… just stop taking responsibility for these things. I mean, it isn't your job. I know you have an unfortunate connection to the situation, and I'm sure any help you could give would be appreciated, but as far as taking care of things entirely by yourself, which is what you've been doing…" Hermione ran out of steam and tapered off. Harry just looked at her in disbelief for a few minutes. Ginny was staring resolutely at him, Hermione looked slightly wary, and Ron looked as though he wanted to go hide in the parlor underneath the antique chaise.

"I'm not going to explode at you, Hermione," he said finally, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "It's nothing I haven't heard before… even you have tried this in the past. Which is why you should know that, while I now can appreciate what you three are trying to do, there is absolutely no way I can agree to just sit by and let the ministry handle things. Because they won't. I don't even know if they can. So no, Hermione, I won't take it easy and stop taking responsibility. Because that is exactly what everyone else involved has done, and if I give up to, then we're all sitting ducks. So I'm sorry, but until we win for certain, I can't do what you're asking."

"But…" Ron stepped forward, looking almost devastated, "It's you birthday, mate! Shouldn't you have at least one day where you don't have to worry?"

Harry couldn't deny that he had thought the same exact thing at least a thousand times. But he simply smiled a little ruefully and said to his best friend, "If I can make due worrying over it now, maybe I can live every day like that somewhere down the line." He started a little when he felt a cool hand slip into his, and looked down to see Ginny smiling supportively at him.

"As long as you're acting like it's your responsibility, so am I. We'll share out duties this weekend, wait up for Snape in shifts, make calls to the order. Whatever you want, Harry."

"Thanks," he said distantly. "Let's go… if your Mum doesn't see me in the kitchen in thirty seconds she's apt to think we've all been attacked."

ooooOOOOOoooo

Harry yawned widely and closed the book in front of him with a defeated look. It was not research, but pleasure reading, a Steinbeck novel about Henry Morgan—Harry loved reading about pirates, although he'd never admit it to anyone—and even that was failing to hold his interest. Despite Ginny's offer to switch out with him over the course of the night while they waited for news from Snape, Harry had insisted on sending her to bed. Part of him insisted that it was for the sake of his friend, who was much less used to long, sleepless night than he was, but another part of him knew it was because he selfishly wanted to be the only one to tend to Severus upon his return.

He reached over to the end table beside his chair and picked up a small glass bottle. He fingered the stopper for a moment, staring contemplatively at the fire, and then took it out and poured a few drops into his tea. He drank the cup down, instantly feeling the effects of the potion in his blood. It was a cousin of the Pepper-up potion, a much stronger stimulant, only prescribed to a very small number of patients who were saddled with magical exhaustion or chronic fatigue. But since Severus was the main supplier to St. Mungos as well as several other wizarding hospitals, Harry had unlimited access. Severus wasn't too happy about him taking it, but Harry figured the world would forgive him a few vices if it meant he could save them from Voldemort.

The fire flared up slightly and Harry, in his increased state of awareness, leapt to his feet. Someone was flooing in. Snape stepped out of the flames. Well, tumbled was more like it, leapt perhaps. At any rate, he almost slammed into Harry, who easily caught his shoulders and kept him upright.

"Are you okay?" he said almost too quickly. His heart was pounding as if HE was the one who'd just made a long floo trip. Snape nodded and righted himself, smoothing his robes.

"I am fine. Harry… I can't stay. They believe I'm returning for an integral ingredient, I have to be as quick as possible or risk exposing everything." He looked straight into Harry's eyes, a look the made every hair on the younger man's body stand on end. "You need to go to the ministry. Now."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "The ministry? Why?"

"Because they are going to be attacked at eleven-twenty this morning."

Harry felt the blood pulsing behind his eyes, the unmistakable pressure coming at him full-force. "Alright," he said after a short moment's pause. "I'll alert the Order, and then Hermione and I will go straight to the ministry."

"Yes, it would be best if Granger went with you." Snape frowned slightly. "Don't bring Weasleys."

"I wasn't intending to." Harry wasn't the least bit perturbed by Snape's suggestion that he leave his friends behind… they would be a liability in this case, and he knew it. "Is there more?"

"Plenty," Snape said, sounding more rattled than Harry had ever heard him sound. "At the same time as the attack on our ministry, there will be attacks coordinated on the American Bureau of Magic and the Russian Ministry. The Minister will need to inform their respective leaders as well as organizing a plan of defense for their own order."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Scrimgeour has never believed me before… how am I supposed to make him listen now?"

"It is time to use the order to its full capacity, Harry. If ever you had a reason to reveal the strength of the Phoenix's ties to the ministry, now would be it. Listen to me; Voldemort is planning to almost completely abolish the governments of the three strongest wizarding powers on the planet. He has me making toxic explosives. In addition to the direct attacks, he will be placing these weapons inside the ministry buildings, where if detonated they will silently and efficiently infect and kill anyone who is not taken down by the initial attacks. I will attempt to alter the formulas as best I can, but I had already created the potions when I learned what they were to be used for. You have to make Scrimgeour see reason, and you have to do it now." Snape had not lost his composure throughout the speech, but Harry noticed him taking a shaky breath after he had finished.

"I will," he said solemnly. "I'll try."

"I have no doubt that you will succeed." It was the highest praise Harry had ever received from the man. Their eyes locked.

"Severus…" Snape looked stern, but with a hint of something that Harry thought might be regret hiding just beneath the surface.

"Harry, whatever it is, it will wait." Snape looked as though he would reach out to him, and Harry feared that he would pull away at the last minute, as always. So he closed the distance between them himself, his arms slotting nicely around the older man's slender waist.

"You're coming back," he said into the black fabric of Snape's robe. He felt a hand ghost over the small of his back, just briefly, before he let go and stepped back. "Go, quickly. He can't know."

"Harry… be careful." Harry nodded emphatically and Snape stepped quickly into the floo, disappearing in a flash of green.

"The Russians can handle themselves… I've spoken with Tcherov, they've had emergency measures in place for just this sort of thing ever since the last war." Rufus Scrimgeour looked exhausted and harassed, but much to the relief of Harry and the several Order and Ministry members accompanying him, seemed to be handling himself in an exemplary manner. "We have no such security measures, although apparently a great many of our most trusted Aurors are also fully trained by this Order of yours to handle this sort of situation. The Americans, however…" Scrimgeour looked a great deal more concerned at this, "They have absolutely no protocol for handling an attack like this one. Apparently, while the Muggle population of that country is entirely preoccupied with protection against terrorists, the magical portion of their society has never had any need for that sort of preparation. Rowland is in a right state… he insists that we send help right away. Frankly I cannot see any other solution. Potter…"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Minister?"

"You will he heading the emergency rescue team in the United States. Seeing as you know the situation best, you have the best chances of being successful on foreign territory. Take whatever aurors you may require, but remember that we will require protection here as well."

Harry stood up from his chair across from the minister's desk. "Minister Scrimgeour… I can't go to America! Not while there's an attack here!"

"Mr. Potter, don't you think I would keep you in London if I had any choice? The only person to thwart Voldemort multiple times… don't think I wouldn't want you fighting on my team. But this is not a selfish battle, Mr. Potter. I am well aware that according to the plan, I am meant to die today. Don't think that isn't a daunting thought for me. But I have confidence in this Ministry, and I am determined that I will last out this day, and many more to follow, at the head of it. However, I am afraid I cannot say the same for the Americans… they can't be trusted to handle this sort of threat, and I am afraid that, should the worst come to pass, it is this Ministry that will take the fall for it. That I cannot allow. And so, Mr. Potter, should you truly wish to go where you are most needed, you will take a team of Aurors to Washington, meet with Rowland, and keep him and hopefully everyone in his administration safe from harm." The Minister stood. "Right away." He locked eyes with Harry and the other occupants of the room could feel the battle of wills brewing between the two powerful men. Finally, Harry nodded slightly.

"Fine," he said brusquely, "but I'll be taking Kingsley Shackleolt as my second in command, as well was whatever team he chooses to assemble. Also, I'll require unlimited license to use any measures necessary in stopping this attack and defending the American ministry."

The Minister for Magic looked nervously at Harry for a brief moment before nodding firmly. "All right. It shall be written up before you leave. Go find Shacklebolt, prepare your teams and get ready to depart immediately."

Harry felt the pounding behind his eyes intensify. "Yes Minister," he said darkly before sweeping from the room.

Harry turned, disgusted, from the magically enforced cage full of hostages, a sick feeling in his gut. The attack had been mostly foiled, a result of quick work and thinking from his and Kingsley's teams, as well as an unexpected level of cooperation from their American counterparts. Their casualties had been few; only three American wizards and one British Auror were dead, with several more sustaining moderately inconvenient injuries. Harry, for his part, was completely untouched, although three men had fallen to his wand, and he was nowhere near the only one to have killed that morning. Harry hadn't heard the official numbers, but he knew for certain that the tally ran much higher on the side of the Dark Lord. In his breast pocket, beneath his battle robes, Harry had the minister's signed decree that he was licensed to perform any and all acts necessary to defend America and Britain against the Death eaters. He would not be tried for those deaths, nor would any of the men who had acted beneath him, at least not in front of any wizarding court. The two ministries were confident that all or nearly all of the death eaters who had not been killed or seriously injured were now laying, petrified, in the cell Harry was now walking away from. He had no desire to see any of the dark wizards in that cage, at that moment or ever, and hoped that the only thing he would hear of them ever again would be the news that they had been sentenced to Azkaban for the rest of their natural lives.

As he turned the corner that would take him out of the hallway where the holding cell was, Harry came face-to-face with Andrew Rowland, the Director of Defense for the American Ministry of Magic. The two battle-weary wizards regarded each other.

"Mr. Potter," Director Rowland said, extending a hand. "You have done this country a great service. For that, you have earned my respect and trust, as well as that of this ministry."

Harry shook the man's hand. "I have done my job," he said very pointedly, "It had nothing to do with your ministry, or mine for that matter. I did not come here today, kill three men and order the deaths of who knows how many others, out of duty to my ministry or yours. I am glad that no great damage was done to your country. It's best if we leave it at that."

Director Rowland offered the younger man a small, knowing smile. "I can tell that you are disenchanted with your Government, Harry," he said carefully. "The United States of America understands the need for people like you in strong leadership roles, something your ministry may never fully comprehend. Perhaps you and I should discuss this matter further… you might consider bringing your particular expertise where they will be appreciated."

Harry fixed the American with a withering look. "I trust the portkeys have been arranged for my team's transport back to Britain?" he said icily. Director Rowland nodded, somewhat stunned at this indirect rebuff. "Good… I'd like to return immediately. I'll wish you good luck, Director Rowland, and sincerely hope that next time, you have more than that on your side."

It took Harry hours to get free from the Ministry after they got back. There had been similar success in both England and Russia, with only marginally higher casualties on the side of the British Ministry than in America. The minister wanted a word with harry, which ended up lasting well over an hour, and that was followed by a lengthy debriefing. It was late in the evening by the time Harry returned to number twelve, Grimmauld place. A solemn Hermione greeted him at the door. After a desperate, almost crushing embrace, she stepped back and fixed him with a worried look.

"Harry," she said carefully, "I've some unfortunate news…"

He felt his stomach drop out of place, and a horrible, sick feeling in his heart. "What, Hermione?" He said desperately, a little louder than intended.

"You'll wake the house," She said gently. "It's Severus, Harry."

"No," Harry said instantly, refusing to believe what she'd implied. "You will not tell me that." There was a burning behind his eyelids that he was determined to ignore.

"Will you let me talk?" Hermione admonished. "I am trying to tell you something very important! Before you jump to conclusions, you may want to listen!" She exhaled heavily. "Severus is here, Harry, but he—" Harry didn't stop to hear the rest. He was off like a shot, taking the stairs three at a time to Severus' chambers. He felt a magical snap as he flung the door open and charged into the room. The dark, still figure in one of the armchairs before a dying fire snapped to attention and leapt up, suddenly alert. Harry froze in his place.

oooOOOooo

"You broke my wards…" Snape said, the heaviness of sleep in his voice. Harry charged at him then, throwing his arms around the older man. "Harry…"

"I have never been so terrified in all my life," Harry yelled into the black cloth of Snape's robe. "I wasn't even on this continent, I couldn't see you or hear you, couldn't find out what was happening to you, and then Hermione…and I thought you were dead, and I couldn't, I couldn't…" and suddenly he was crying, great heaving sobs that shook his entire body. Shocked beyond comprehension, Snape encircled the smaller man with his arms, pulling him even closer than her already was. "It was too much," Harry managed through his sobbing. "I couldn't st-stand it…"

"Harry, " Snape said, rubbing the younger man's heaving back in a broad circle. "I am fine." He looked up to see Hermione Granger, framed in the open doorway. She nodded once to him and then closed the door gently. Harry continued to sob.

"I'm sorry… I'm stopping," the younger wizard said shakily. He pulled back slowly, as if stalled by reluctance. His eyes went wide. "Severus… what happened?"

Snape touched his own face gingerly, fingers brushing lightly over the long, angry-looking curse burn that ran from below his left eye to the base of his neck. "Bellatrix," he said quietly. Harry's eyes flashed a brilliant, deadly green.

"I'll kill her," he said in a low voice. Snape frowned at the ease and sincerity with which the words were spoken.

"No need," he replied. "She is dead. And the Order, I am afraid, is less a spy. Which may have been what Miss Granger was attempting to tell you when you broke through my wards and barged in here… incidentally, how did you do that?"

Harry seemed puzzled for a moment. "I suppose, since I technically am the master of this house, that I have the strength to break any wards set here. Wait… less a spy?"

Snape nodded. "I made what I suppose you could call a tactical error. Bellatrix has always been suspicious, and she found her proof… it was on me to kill her or be exposed. I decided that, while I'll be useless as a spy now, I'd be no use to you at all if I was dead. I am sorry to have compromised my position… I am aware it was the best thing we had in the way of inside information."

Harry looked angrier than Snape had expected, but when he spoke, it was not at all for the reasons the Potions Master had assumed. "You can't possibly believe that I would be upset over that! When you've done so much for the Order? When you almost died?" Harry threw up his hands. "Severus, I don't CARE! I thought you were dead for less than a minute, and for that minute it was like nothing in the world mattered except for the fact that you were gone! When you left, I thought it was going to be okay, because I would see you in a few hours after everything was done with and it would be the same as always: we would win, you would come back, and it wouldn't matter that I never got a chance to tell you… to tell you…"

Snape felt every muscle in his body tense as Harry's tirade tapered off into silence. It was as if he needed to hear that sentence finished, even though he was certain of what the younger man had been about to say. "To tell me what," he prompted gently, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"To tell you that I love you," Harry finished in a vulnerable tone. "I didn't know it until just a little while ago, and I don't know when it started, I just know that I do. You're all I can count on… in a way, that's what you've always been. And all I know is that I don't want to be without you ever again, not even if it's just in my head and only for one minute."

Snape stood staring at Harry, and when the boy's eyes met his, he felt a sudden jolt of feeling, as if he'd been unexpectedly shocked. The sincerity in the vibrant green orbs, still bright in the dimness of the room, was positively leveling. This was not a young boy's crush, Snape reflected to himself. This was a man, grown beyond his 20 years, sharing a love that ran deep and strong. He could feel it in the air around Harry if he reached out beyond his magical barriers. It was like a caress, soothing and enticing. Snape stepped into it almost without knowing. "Harry…" he said softly, "This is foolishness…" his arms went around the smaller man again, and they fit together effortlessly.

"I know," Harry replied in the same quiet, even tone. "But I can't stop it."

"Then… perhaps I should." Snape pulled away with some effort. "This is not something I can allow, Harry," he said, ignoring the heavy feeling in his chest.

He was expecting a tirade of excuses and protestations, not the solemn, resigned face that Harry turned to him. "Severus, I know that," the boy said with a large measure of sincerity. "Why do you think I'm fighting so hard?"

For a moment, Snape was not sure what Harry was referring to. Then a horrified thought entered his mind. "Harry," he said warily, "What do you mean by that?"

"As long as Voldemort is alive, you'll never let yourself even try to be with me. And I won't push you towards it, because I know how stubborn you can be, and to be honest, you're scary when provoked. So we'll just keep ignoring it, exactly as we do now. The elephant in the room, you know? No-one talks about it, but it's obvious that it's there. Out of some misplaced sense of martyrdom, you'll refuse to open up to me, and the worst part is that you'll have all sorts of valid, firm excuses that I can't possibly ignore. But when Voldemort is gone, those excuses will vanish. So yes, Severus, I'll leave it for now. But only with the promise that, when this is done, we can pick up where we left off tonight."

Snape was stunned. When Harry Potter decided to do something shocking, he did it all the way. He hardly registered the other man stepping back into his arms until he was already holding him. It was only a brief embrace, and then the Boy Who Lived stepped back again with a small, almost embarrassed smile.

"So," he said, sounding a completely different person from the firm, reasonable man who'd just rattled off a rather well-thought-out plot, "Now you know."

Severus wanted for the life of him to yell at the boy, to tell him his priorities were the worst he'd ever seen, to call him a foolish, moronic Gryffindor and then expel him permanently from his chambers. But all he could say was "Harry…"

"Don't even say it," the younger man responded quickly. "You can't change my mind. Good night, Severus." And he was gone from the room. Snape thought to himself, with a self-directed scowl, that there must be something wrong with him if he was lamenting the boy having done the exact thing that, two seconds before, he'd been willing him to do.