"Uncle Sev'rus!"

Severus looked up from the fourth year potions essays he was marking as Albus and James Potter barreled into his office. He'd been "Uncle Sev'rus" since the birthday party more than a month ago. Severus suspected George Weasley, but in all honesty, he enjoyed being Uncle to the small Potters. Today, James was clutching a roll of parchment. He braked to a halt in front of Severus' desk.

"Hello, James, Albus," said Severus, putting down his quill.

"A letter from Dad!" said James, panting as he handed over the parchment across the desk. "He needs you. Unca Ron can't get off work…"

"Uncle," corrected Severus automatically as he opened the roll of parchment and scanned its contents. As James stated, Harry was asking him to help referee the intramurals the next day. This was a new idea of Harry's—a "B" team approach that let more students play Quidditch in a formal setting. Instead of well-spaced matches throughout the year, the B games were held in November and April, with two games played on each Sunday.

"Thank you, boys," said Severus when he had finished reading the parchment. When the boy didn't leave, Severus raised an eyebrow, making the children giggle. Totally inaffective, he thought. "I'm not brewing today. Is there anything else you needed?"

"He said to wait," said James, crossing his arms in front of him in a fair imitation of his Aunt Hermione.

Severus fixed him with his best stare, but he'd never been able to put the menace in it when dealing with Albus, James and Lily that he used with his older students.

"For an answer," continued the boy, rolling his eyes as if Severus was the most dense person in the magical world.

"Oh," said Severus. "Are you a post owl now?" He fought to keep the corners of his mouth in line with the rest of his mouth. "Surely your father knows that I'm not a Quidditch referee…"

"He says you did it before. He says you refereed when he was a firstie…"

True enough. And he'd refereed some games since then too.

"I don't have a broom," he tried.

James smiled broadly. "Dad has plenty. You can ride the Firebolt 550 and he'll take the Nimbus Millennium. The Firebolt has more control but plenty of speed…"

He rattled on about the attributes of both brooms as Severus watched his small hands dance in the air, gesturing wildly as he talked. When he finished, he stood looking at Severus expectantly. Severus picked up the parchment and his quill, wrote something quickly, rolled it up and sealed it and handed it back to the child.

"Take that to your Father, then," he said.

"You said yes, right?" asked Albus, rather breathlessly.

"Against my better judgment, but yes, I did."

Albus looked at him and grinned. "Wicked." He ran toward the door then stopped suddenly and ran back to the desk.

"I forgot. Referee practice after lunch today. And Dad said we can watch!"

He high-tailed it out the door again and Severus stared after him. What was Harry Potter playing at and why in the name of all that is magic had he agreed to referee a Quidditch match?

"You are cruel."

"Admit it. You had fun."

Severus glared at the younger man but there was no malice in his dark eyes.

"If fun is dodging bludgers, casting featherweight charms on falling students and having a snitch up my sleeve and two seekers fighting each other to get inside my robes is fun then yes, I had fun."

Harry smiled and shook his head as he pulled his referee robes over his head. He pulled the band out of his hair, shaking out a mane of hair that had grown even longer since he'd first appeared on Severus' porch more than a year ago. Clearly fatigued himself, he limped over to a bench and plopped down, easing up his left leg and resting it on the bench opposite him. He pulled off his trainer and winced as he removed a long sock.

Severus did not move. His eyes were fixed on Harry's leg. Harry did not miss his gaze.

"Pretty, isn't it?" he asked, flexing his toes and beginning what clearly were exercises designed to loosen the tense muscles.

The potions professor took a few steps closer and finally sat on the bench beside Harry.

"Mungo's did all they could, of course, but it scarred all the same. The other one's not quite so bad. Further up the leg, closer to my hip."

The scar, curiously, resembled a lightning bolt. It jagged up his leg from his ankle to just below the knee.

"Laid it open in the crash," he said when Severus still hadn't said anything. He pointed to a thick spot mid-calf where the scar was particularly jagged. "Bone came through here, they say."

Severus could not resist the urge to reach over and trace the scar with his finger. Harry was silent as he watched the long, potion-stained finger's progress from ankle to knee.

"Small price to pay for my life, eh? They pulled the cabbie out in several pieces…"

Vaguely, Severus wondered where the newspaper stories about the accident that killed Harry Potter's wife and the hapless cabbie had been filed.

"Harry…" he tried, finally. It came out as almost a plea.

"What? Am I making you uncomfortable?" Harry's green eyes were apologetic and he reached for his sock again.

"No…it's not that. It's just that…well, you never mention your wife…when you spoke of the accident, and the cabbie…"

A significant pause as Harry quietly pulled on his sock and his trainer.

"I feel so guilty," admitted Harry as he stood.

Severus stared at him. Because you died and she didn't?

"Because I don't miss her anymore," added Harry very quietly. "I mourned her long before she died."

With the impeccable timing children have, Lily and James bounced in the room and Harry swung his daughter up into his arms. The conversation, if would seem, was over.