Co-written with Stormypup

Beta'd by Rakina

Chapter Four

Harry arrived back at the Burrow after having the tea he was supposed to have had with Snape with the headmaster instead. He slunk in the backdoor, hoping no one would be in the kitchen. As it turned out everyone was in the kitchen.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!"

Harry stumbled backwards. "Er, thanks," he said, unsure of what to say.

With a ridiculous grin, Ron clapped him on the back. "Come on mate, all that hard work. You didn't think we'd just forget, did you?"

"Well, you lot already had enough going on, with the wedding and all," Harry said, allowing Ron to lead him into the kitchen.

"Don't be silly," Molly told him, kissing Harry on the cheek.

Harry grinned sheepishly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassed pleasure. This made up for spending the last hour scrubbing an already clean cauldron. He wished he knew why he had done so in the first place. It wasn't like he owed Snape anything. Well, maybe that was a lie, but he wasn't going to dwell on it.

Ron forced him down into a chair with a smile and clap on the back. "It is your birthday, you know. Act happier."

"I just spent an hour in Snape's company, Ron."

Molly sighed heavily as she set out a pile of small plates and some silverware. "That man works far too hard for his age."

Ron rolled his eyes, sitting beside Harry. "You'd think by the way mum talks about him that he was a god or something," Ron muttered, down at the tablecloth.

Harry snorted. "He's definitely 'or something'."

"Behave yourselves," Molly warned. "Professor Snape did invaluable work for the Order. I hope beef stew is alright for dinner, Harry."

"Don't forget the cake mum," Ron said, grinning. "In fact, it's his birthday; let him have cake for dinner. And since we wouldn't want him to feel awkward, I'd be happy to eat cake with him."

"Nice try, Ron," Molly said, ladling up stew for everyone.

"It smells delicious, Molly, thank you," Hermione said, smiling at Molly.

"Yeah, thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said around a spoonful of the stew.

"So?" Hermione asked him. "What did Snape have to say about all of this?"

Harry swallowed. "He was really vague about some things. I didn't really know what to make of it, but he didn't seem as upset about it as he could have been."

"So it's true then, Snape's your...whatever. Does that mean you can give him orders and stuff?" Ron asked excitedly.

"Yes, it does, and no, it doesn't," Harry answered, before taking a large spoonful of the beef stew.

"But that's brilliant! Order him to give you an O in Potions! Heck, order him to give me an O in Potions."

"Ron, Harry can't do that!" Hermione cried, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Don't be ridiculous Ron," Molly said, shaking her head. "Harry's not going to start ordering Professor Snape around. Are you?"

Harry glared at Ron because he certainly couldn't glare at Mrs. Weasley. He shook his head, settling for looking churlish instead. Honestly, what did these people take him for?

"Good boy," Molly said, as if he were a child. "Oh, I almost forgot! Remus had to run an errand for the Order, but he'll be back in a few days. He says he wants to talk to you as soon as he gets back."

"He left?"

"Yes, he got a note just after you left and had to leave," Hermione said. "He felt bad about just up and leaving you like that. But when he went upstairs to talk to you, you were gone."

Harry tapped the inside of his bowl with his spoon for a couple of seconds. "He said he'd be back though, eventually?"

"He was certain it wouldn't be longer than three days, and he could possibly get back earlier," Molly said soothingly.

Harry sighed. There wasn't anything he could do about that. "This is really nice, Mrs. Weasley," he told her, gesturing at his bowl.

"My pleasure, dear," she answered, smiling. "Ginny, pass the bread please."

Harry listened to the pleasant buzz of conversation around him, answering when he was asked questions or when he felt the need to add something. In the meantime though, his thoughts meandered back to the afternoon with Snape. Things might have gone a lot worse than they had; they had practically been civil to one another. As perplexing as that thought was, it bothered him very little. While he and Snape had never been on the greatest terms, recently at least they had been getting along as best they could, which meant very few insults and even less yelling. Harry suspected if he told Hermione that she'd claim he was growing up.

Hours later, Harry waited until Ron was asleep, before opening the journal to read by wand light. He didn't want to answer any more questions about the whole thing, so he'd put off reading until he could be alone. He quickly skimmed the pages until he found the last entry he'd read.

August 1569

I don't understand what happened. Why wasn't I informed? My head feels ready to burst with all the new knowledge I gained today. A plot on my life was uncovered today, but I suspect people knew about it long before then.

August 1569

Thelonious and I fought again today. Why he would think I had no need to know about the people wanting me dead is beyond me. He is the one person I trust completely, and yet he hid this from me. If I were still the Prince, and not the King, would he still have kept it from me?

August 1569

I know this is unprecedented, two entries in the same day, but I must put down in words what I've feared to say out loud. I love him. Perhaps those attempts on my life have addled my brain, but I went after Thelonious. I just could not let him leave without explaining himself, and I am so glad I followed that urge.

He was scared. If I had not seen the haunted look in his eyes when I went to his room I never would have known. I have to wonder though. Does he? Does he feel the same way I do? I do not dare ask for fear of being laughed at.

September 1569

I asked and received the answer I both feared and hoped for.

Harry blinked and gnawed on his lower lip as he stared down at the faded ink. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that his ancestor was clearly engaged in a relationship with a man, behind his wife's back no less. It didn't make him nauseous to think about like he supposed it should. Any totally straight man would have flung the book across the room at the first hinting that there was more to Carlisle and Thelonious' relationship than that of simple friendship; or Ron would.

Harry hadn't.

He kept reading.

October 1569

The weather is beginning to turn cool. Jamie loves to play with the orange colored leaves. We've retired to the Manor for the remainder of the week. On Sunday, Thelonious and I will return to the castle, and Helena and Jamie will stay on until the end of the month. I shall miss them both, particularly Jamie. He's growing by leaps and bounds, too quickly for his parents' liking. Unfortunately, the Prince refuses to obey the Royal Command to cease and desist.

October 1569

I do believe that was the first time this year I've heard Thelonious laugh. I just wish it hadn't been at the expense of my dignity.

November 1569

I think I just seduced Thelonious. Merlin help me, but it was brilliant.

November 1569

I see there is senseless drivel about me in here and feel the need to point out that Carlisle needs to work on his skills in seduction. It is supposed to be subtle, not brash. My hips do not approve of the bruises forming there.

November 1569

Let the record show that Thelonious is a prat, but shall be forgiven as long as he continues to use his mouth in such a talented… oh, sweet Merlin! that's amazing…

The words trailed off with a scribble.

Harry's face was flushed; he could feel the heat of his cheeks without even touching them. That was a little bit too much information about his and Snape's ancestors.

December 1569

I shall never forget the look on Jamie's face as he sat upon his first pony. Helena insisted he was too young, but he had Thelonious standing next to him, holding him securely on the saddle. I don't remember a happier Christmas.

January 1570

I feel this will be a most remarkable year. There is a fresh covering of snow upon the grounds and Jamie is getting into everything. I cannot believe he will be two this year. He is thrilled by absolutely everything around him and I love him more each day.

Gretchen is with child. She keeps looking at me with this little smug smile that I wish I could take off her face. As if she has won something that I have not. I have a son of my own. My precious Jamie. Helena seemed disgruntled by the looks too. Perhaps she can talk to Gretchen about it. I do not dare discuss the woman with Thelonious.

He would just say I was jealous. He would be right.

March 1570

The Muggles are stirred up once again, and it seems that there is no reasoning with them at this point. I'm meeting with their emissary tomorrow with the hope of reaching a compromise. Thelonious has added to my personal guard, and for the first time in my short tenure as King, I am thankful for this.

March 1570

It is not just the Muggles.

April 1570

How did it all go so horrible so quickly? Unrest had turned to open rebellion and a number of my guards were killed. I knew these men, their families. They were loyal to me, to the crown, and they have paid with their lives.

Thelonious keeps telling me that they would be proud to have died doing their duty. Why did they have to die at all?

May 1570

It is Jamie's second birthday. I wish the day could have been greeted with something better than more reports of soldiers killed. He does not understand, and I am forever thankful that he is too young to understand the horrors of the world.

June 1570

I feel like a prisoner in my own home. They may as well lock me in a cupboard for all the freedom I have. I haven't seen Thelonious for days and I worry for him with each passing hour. Losing him would be...I can't lose him.

June 1570

Still no word from Thelonious. Gretchen can be seen in the company of Helena more and more frequently. If I would not feel horribly guilty I would try to reassure her as well. But how does one reassure someone if you are not certain yourself?

June 1570

Thelonious returned, battered and bloodied, but alive. If he weren't already in pain, I would be tempted to beat him about the head with a stout stick. Why must he take such chances! And he calls me the fool. Gretchen rushed to his side, of course, and I hadn't the heart to send her away, though I wanted to. Perhaps I am a fool. I wanted to crawl into the bed with him and hold him, to reassure myself that he is alive.

June 1570

I'm weak. The moment Gretchen left I was lying beside Thelonious. I never felt more dread than I did to feel how clammy his skin was, to see the heavy rings around his eyes, the split lip, broken nose, cut chin. His torso is much worse, I know from when they brought him in, before they dressed his wounds. I cannot even look at the bandages.

He opened his eyes as I stroked his face. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to find me in his bed; in fact, he seemed to find it amusing. I administered medicine that certainly wouldn't be approved by his healers, but he seemed to enjoy it and was able to sleep peacefully afterwards. He must get better so I can kill him for making me worry so.

Harry sighed, closing the journal. He hugged it to his chest as he stared at the ceiling of Ron's bedroom. The ghoul was unusually silent that night, which was fine by him. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever feel that way about someone. He loved Ron and Hermione, all the Weasleys really, but it didn't feel like that.

Rolling over, he tucked the journal beneath his bed, and pulled the covers up. Casting a quiet "Nox," the room plunged into darkness, leaving him alone with his thoughts.