..

Harry hugged Mrs. Weasley before she left, squeezing her like this alone would solve all her problems and maybe increase her desire to take care of herself. She was very understanding about Harry not coming for Christmas. He told her he already had plans and there was something important he had to do over break, which was not a lie. Mrs. Weasley left for McGonagall's office who was going to aid Ginny's transfer home.

Harry felt… sober. Today reminded him people were still counting on him and he was failing. A real reminder that he couldn't lose it or let himself unravel. Feeling somehow worse and better at the same time, he set off.

But… that healing C.H.A.R.M.S. he was supposed to train for, it was no good, was it? There was no way he could work in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, seeing the sick students he knew by name suffering in front of him. And giving up three days a week to go to St. Mungo's… well… that also sounded outside of his capacity. What if he freaked out at St. Mungo's and broke down in front of people?

So, that was it then. He would be a Jr. Auror while Ron was his senior- a fully-fledged Auror born from circumstance. He bungled his chance. Maybe he would never be able to heal people without thinking of his dead loved ones. Maybe if he dropped out of Hogwarts right now he could start as an Auror with Ron before the new C.H.A.R.M.S. requirement went into effect.

"Out of bounds!" Snape spat, turning the corner looking windswept like he just descended from a damaged tower. "And what are you doing here? This corridor is off limits for repairs."

"What do you THINK I'm doing here?" It was quite obvious where he was going. They passed each other staring in mutual aggression, Harry daring him to stop him or give him points. The moment passed… their footsteps echoing away from each other.

But then Harry got an idea. A very reckless, very stupid idea.

"Sir…?" Harry turned around before thinking this through. Snape turned, eyeing Harry impassively, waiting for Harry to say something stupid now that they were finally, completely, and truly alone.

"Uhhhh…" Harry looked into his eyes. …Then it dawned on him Snape was expecting to be ambushed with the whole Pensive business. Snape waited for him to speak, weary, resigned to the moment. "NOT THAT. It's… not that. But, uh…"

Snape continued to stare at him, unmoving, letting him fumble through it.

"I was going to ask… if you could possibly… If I do the work, self-study…" This wasn't going well. "You see, I need the healing C.H.A.R.M.S." he finished lamely.

"You aren't passing your classes now, Potter."

"I know that! But it's now required for all high-level Ministry officials- and it's already halfway through the year."

"Then I feel sorry for all your future victims."

"Don't say that." But Harry noticed… Snape seemed more amused by this request than anything. His eyes narrowed but the corner of his mouth, yes, that was definitely a pre-sneer. Harry stepped closer.

"Madam Pomfrey is busy with the sick students so… I was hoping… if I pick up the reading, you will… oversee… my… uh, that I'm doing it right."

"And you don't think I'm busy, Potter?"

"Of course you are! It's tough being a teacher, I see that now. I hate first years too, now that I think about it, and second years, definitely, what snots. Third years, they keep touching me. Fourth years aren't so bad. I don't know how you stand this place. Anyway… would you do it?"

Snape's lips finished curling with the audacity but the 'no' did not come, instead, a long empty pause stretched between them. This was either going to be a 'yes' or Snape was going to shut him down so spectacularly he needed the build-up.

"…Are you… sure…?" Snape asked, smiling in a way that asked 'are you dumb enough to ask for more private lessons?'

"Well…" and he had to think about this. There was something implied here he was not picking up on. Did he want Snape, who loved his mum, who still probably hates him, who threw him out of Occlumency lessons, to teach him how to heal bones and wounds and the like? "Uh, yes sir."

"Perhaps you need to think this through. I'm asking again, Potter… Is this really what you want?" The awful smile got wider, some joke missed. He didn't look angry… or even sarcastic, just smiling and squinting reminiscent of Fred and George. A threat and a joke in one- are you this stupid to ask?

"Yes!" Harry said confidently, though he felt quite unsure now.

"Very well then…" The smile was still on his lips, making Harry wonder if he de-facto signed up for a half a years' worth of detention.

"Uh, great. Thank you, sir. I uh, already owl-ordered some books. Thank you again sir, I really appreciate it. C.H.A.R.M.S. or not, it's going to help a lot. …So, when can we start? After Christmas?" …It wasn't supposed to be this easy. Harry would have gladly taken the 'no' if he said it.

"Yes… after Christmas, I think. Once a week…"

"Yes sir."

"Very well then. After Christmas." Snape gave a small nod, like he only just finished deciding himself. "Thursdays, 8 o clock. My office. And it's not too late to change your mind." Then he swept away still looking at him, squinting, as if it wasn't too late to hurt Harry Potter because at last Dumbledore wasn't watching.

Harry could not shake the feeling that Snape had something awful planned. But instead of feeling scared, he felt a good apprehension, like he was going to receive a new edition of The Half-Blood Prince. Like learning with Hermione, one-on-one was the best way to absorb new information.

In the pit of his stomach, the old fear remained. He must be mad asking Snape for anything.


The start of the holidays felt like complete bliss. He lay alone on his four-poster, eating knicked food from the kitchens, catching up on homework, and taking breaks reading The Prince. There was no need to go to the Room of Requirement as there was almost no one left in Gryffindor Tower. The temptation was overwhelming to go back to Grimmauld Place but Harry secretly worried that he would just stay home if he stepped one foot inside.

But he had plans today, and it must be today. If he waited too long it might be closed for the holidays. Setting aside his textbooks and The Prince, he set off.

"Afternoon Potter!" a stressed McGonagall greeted him, not bothering to look up.

"Afternoon Professor. Thanks for letting me use the Floo." He nodded to the portraits and Dumbledore, who nodded back.

"Knockturn Alley!"

Seeing Mundungus at Snape's trial gave him the idea. It was quite clever; if he bought enough back, well, he may have loads of presents for years.

A little clink and he walked into the shop. The man behind the counter did not seem pleased to see him. "Afternoon," Harry greeted him with a small nod but did not break eye contact. Remembering dueling lessons, he tried to act dignified like a pure-blood. "No need to worry, I am here to buy."

"Mr. Potter…" Borgin looked bothered but still smiled. "What an honor. How can I help you today?"

"Mundungus. He's been knicking Black Heirlooms for years. I'm here to collect them.

"No… no… Mr. Potter. I… I wouldn't have any of those…"

Harry pulled out a bag of gold. "Please, I can pay. I would rather have the heirlooms than they be lost forever. Please. What do you have? Anything? Would you hold it for me if you see one? It's rather important."

Borgin eyed Harry's scar, lowering his gaze to his determined but polite face, then down to his bag of gold. "You…you must have heard wrong, I…"

"I haven't heard anything. You don't need to fear me, like I said, I just want to buy them back. They're for my house-elf. Especially photos or portraits."

This, above the gold, made Borgin lose and then regain his composure. He stared. "I heard you were a strange wizard Potter, but I had no idea."

"Anything with the Black family crest on it, may have been rubbed off, though. But photos and portraits above all else. Best if they're recent, maybe in the past 100 years. Clothes, anything. And don't bother selling me fakes, my house-elf will know if it's real, he has a good eye and… please, you don't have to be nervous. And I know you wouldn't sell me anything fake, believe it or not, I know your shop is the real deal."

Borgin dropped all pretense, losing his smile, and brought out four items for him to look over. "I don't think you want this, Potter, this hairbrush is cursed. But by all means, you may buy it."

"Uhhh, no, I don't know how to remove curses yet," he admitted.

The next three items were decent. A single silver serving spoon, a jewelry box with someone's initials, and a tea set he swore he'd seen before, but missing a cup. Nothing spectacular but…

"How much?"

"One hundred Galleons."

Using his dueling practice, he remained even and did not balk at the number. He wanted to, figuring they were his items, but he'd rather purchase them than risk leaving without them. Pulling out the coins, he bought everything besides the cursed brush.

"If Kreacher says they don't belong to the Black family, I'm returning them."

"I don't accept returns."

"I don't care," Harry said sternly. "Thank you, Mr. Borgin. Please set any of my belongings aside for me. I will pay double for portraits and pictures. Last century. Bellatrix, if you can find her. Better yet, Sirius' mum, don't remember her name, I'll find out. Don't sell them, I will be back every six months. Fantastic shop, lots of memories. Thank you."

"Of course, Mr. Potter," he said slimily with eyes that didn't match his oily tone.

And Harry left with his heirlooms, door tinkling.

It was Christmas Eve in the afternoon. It was not snowing yet and it was just as cold, muddy, and rainy as the day before.

Harry Disapparated feeling a strong mix of putrid emotions threatening to rise up and vomit from his mouth. He walked through what looked like a moor to his destination. It looked different in the daytime. He fell here... the night Hedwig died. Mad-Eye Moody was never seen again. Hagrid yelling "HANG ON HARRY, HANG ON!"

Again like time travel, he found himself in front of a door, not ready. Knocking, he waited for an answer.

A woman answered the door holding what looked like a big blue baby.

"Teddy!" Harry yelled, reaching out for him as soon as the door opened. "He's so BIG now!"

"That's what everyone says."

"Merry Christmas, Andromeda."

They stepped inside the sitting room, hot tea ready. Harry specifically planned to come on Christmas Eve to avoid other visitors. This was perfect… just the three of them.

"YOU are something else!" Teddy laughed and his button nose flipped into different shapes while he laughed and giggled. "Wow, you can do that already? You are .ZING!"

"He does that just to impress people, always looking for a reaction. Tonks used… used… used to... he's worse though, I think."

"Really? Wow, what a HANDFUL you are, Teddy. So handsome too." He tried to see Lupin in him but all he could see was a baby Tonks dangerously close to becoming a toddler. "Guess what I got for you!" Sitting down on the couch, he pulled out a color changing stuffed Giraffe. He rattled the Giraffe which also made a rattling noise. It changed colors immediately, making Teddy squeal in delight, and his hair changed to match it.

"Oh, Harry, that's adorable."

"You don't think it's too on the nose?"

"No, not at all, it's very cute."

"I can't wait to teach you Quidditch!"

"Now, that can wait, can't it?" and Andromeda looked like she'd prefer her boisterous grandson to be on the ground as long as possible.

It was hard. Even with Teddy laughing- funny, energetic, a complete joy, it was still hard. He could see things around that must have once belonged to Tonks, and things of Teds lay around like he was still due to return from a trip any minute. Harry wondered if this visit was enough or if she would even want him around that much. He wanted to talk about Lupin. He needed to talk about Lupin. But that didn't happen. They ate a small lunch and fussed over Teddy while Harry amused him with stupid tricks from his wand. He asked Andromeda if he could start a fund for Teddy in Gringotts, but she refused. Although she was separated from her pure-blood family, not all of her family forgot her.

After a couple hours he left, hugging her, saying goodbye to Teddy, making a huge deal over him and promising to see him soon. He left feeling both happy and sad, walking past the Disapparation point. How was it possible to feel so many emotions at once? Happiness and Sadness. Relief and Grief. Victory and Death.

He slept in his four-poster that night too. It just felt right to sleep there and wake up the next morning on Christmas. If he went to the Room of Requirement, maybe his presents wouldn't find him. All he wanted was sleep but it still evaded him, waking and stirring in a daze of memories. Although he went to bed early, he didn't get actual sleep until the early morning. He woke up with a start, knowing he dreamt something terrible but couldn't remember the details. Fighting… running… panic…

He rubbed his head and moaned, scooting to the edge of the bed and put on his glasses. A small pile of presents greeted him, festive and warm, and not at all matching the way he was feeling. Ignoring the presents, he grabbed water from his bedside table. But there were items there too- a thin letter and a small glass vial. The vial was obvious. That small scribble was Snape's handwriting- The Prince's handwriting. He grabbed it, unsure why he bothered.

Take it when you're ready.

Harry turned over the bottle for instructions or the name of the potion… but nothing. Take it when you're ready. Harry instinctively knew what it was. And he didn't want it. Why did he not want it? Weren't the nightmares enough? Wasn't this horrible feeling enough? Did he really need to see Lupin's and Tonks' body for the thousandth time- a reel ready to play as soon as he closed his eyes? He put aside the bottle. He grabbed the letter.

Master: I have brought some food up from the kitchens. Master has received 241 presents this year from wizards Harry Potter may not know. I have moved these to Grimmauld Place in the room where you are storing the rest of your mail. Kreacher.

Harry's mouth dropped open. 241? That seemed like an awful lot. He did kill Lord Voldemort though... He got off the bed and went to the bathroom. Yes, a bath. And after that he would be ready for presents. That's what he needed, holiday spirit! ACCIO- HOLIDAY SPIRIT.

Fresh from a bath, Harry unwrapped Hermione's first, always the safest option. It was a very informative book on Dueling relevant only for this century. That's what he needed, nothing fancy, nothing that traditional, just rules for today's world. Brilliant. It was accompanied by a deep brown leather dueler's vest that protected the internal organs from most spells. Apparently professional duelers wore them under their clothes during competitions. It was well made, but couldn't picture himself wearing a vest.

There was a letter from Ron. Harry skipped this.

Next came a fine knitted sweater with two crossed wands that said 'Dueling Club.' It was very thoughtful and well-made, but thought he'd only wear it if he was feeling like getting hexed by Malfoy.

Hagrid bought him a very useful book on medicinal magical creatures, paired with a bag of beaks and small wings from a creature he didn't recognize. So, he must have heard he was studying for his healing C.H.A.R.M.S. George sent him a book called 'How to Dump Women,' which Harry thought was tactless. He would have preferred the lecture.

Sighing deeply, he sliced open Ron's letter.

Harry, This has gone too far. Everyone is really disappointed in you. Mum and Hermione warned me not to write this letter, but I think I should give it to you straight. You're out of bounds. I know I'm not one to talk after I abandoned you last year, but I didn't think it was possible for you to be this thick. Everyone's worried about you but I'm not buying it. What is your problem? I thought you were better than this. I heard you haven't taken as much as a potion or anything. My brother is dead and my sister is unconscious in the next room, and you're hiding at Hogwarts. Never in my life I thought I'd see you this selfish. Write back or I'm coming there to see you, and Hermione and mum won't stop me. PS, Percy and Dad think you're being a prat too. Not sure why everyone's defending you. I mean it. Seriously. Ron.

It was a shit Christmas letter for sure. He doubled over, feeling sick again.

He just saw Lupin's son yesterday. Sooner than later he would ask him 'what was my dad like?' Didn't he ask the same question? He swallowed hard. Head in his hand, he let it happen, imagining the most amazing young man Teddy would be and having this painful conversation.

You're going to be an Auror. What if you die when he's 15? And leave him without a Godfather too? …What if you die even sooner?

He sat on the edge of his bed completely losing track of time. He may not have moved for 30 minutes. When his eyes focused again, he remembered to breathe. How long was he holding it? And right in front of him- the tiny bottle on the nightstand.

Take it when you're ready.

He grabbed it- inspecting it, sliding down the edge of the bed and sat on the floor.

Wasn't he allowed to be selfish? Was it such a big deal he didn't want to talk to people or be near people most days? Why did only Hermione and Mrs. Weasley understand he needed space? This wasn't permanent.

Take it when you're ready.

The unmarked bottle twisted in his fingers, glittering with some unnamed potion inside. This is some Dumbledore hijinks- he had enough with cryptic messages. And from Snape, of all people. Was this a nice thing to do or a shitty thing to do? His anger bubbled.

Ron- a terrible letter for Christmas, calling him a shit friend, and Snape- daring to give him a 'gift,' if not poison. And his anger felt good. Much better than sadness, or guilt, or confusion. And now he hoped it was poison. If it was poison, he'd leave Hogwarts tonight and get Snape fired to boot. Feeling reckless, he unstopped the bottle, sniffed it, and shot it back towards his throat.

Although it was just a gulp it felt disgusting in his mouth- thick and sluggish. He forced himself to swallow but the solution refused to go down easy. It got stuck in his throat so he hit his chest, swallowing several times, fighting it to pass through his esophagus. He grabbed water to wash it down but it didn't help much. Then the solution hit his stomach like a rock, feeling heavy and refusing to settle.

And it did not settle. It bubbled like his stomach turned into a cauldron. Harry started breathing heavily, doubled over, and started screaming.

He screamed full out in his dormitory, screeching, clawing at his head and hair. And then he was crying while he screamed. And when he couldn't scream any more, he collapsed on all fours, dry heaving. He had to throw it up. Whatever this potion was- he had to throw it up. But he couldn't throw up, he was unable to. After what felt like ages he breathed heavily, covered in sweat, his entire body drenched and clothes sticky. Taking a deep breath, he rested against the side of the bed. Although he did not throw up, he felt like he just expelled a great deal of poison.

Take it when you're ready.

The bottle lay on its side, empty, innocent and small on the floor.

The toppling hoarders mess of thoughts, once threatening to fall over, threatening to catch fire, was still there. But now… the mess was… acceptable. It was not wrong or something that needed fixed- it just was. He didn't have to sort everything into boxes or throw anything out. The appropriate place for all his screw ups were not categorized or understood, they were on the floor or stacked precariously… and that was okay. Nothing about it was wrong, the mess was his new normal, and he no longer felt the need to correct it. He would walk amongst the mess now calmly, and maybe, and just maybe, he'd pick an item up and find a new home for it. But for now, the chaos he dreaded looked okay, and although nothing had changed, everything was acceptable.

He breathed and shuddered, finding a quill to write to Ron.


After a long and oddly peaceful morning where he sent Ron an upbeat letter, telling him he was excited to see him and he should come to Slughorn's next party, Harry entered the kitchen to find a sea of house-elves beaming at him, busy with Christmas dinner.

"It's Mr. Potter!"

"Hello Mr. Potter!"

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Potter!"

"Can I get anything for you, Mr. Potter? Tea? Pudding?"

"Mr. Potter, what an honor!"

A swarm of house-elves greeted him but he pushed through them politely to find Kreacher.

"Oh, no, I'm fine, well, that does look good, maybe in a minute…" The elves made a path for him after he refused their gifts of food. He found who he was looking for propped up on a bucket at a large cast iron stove. "Kreacher…"

"Master!" Kreacher genuinely seemed surprised to see him this deep in the kitchen, busy, nursing several dishes at once. He climbed down to meet Harry and the other house-elves gave them space.

"Sorry, I know you have a lot to do with the holiday feast, but I wanted to give you something." Harry knelt down and pulled out a plain black leather bag he was also planning to give him if he'd take it. "I know it's not much, but I collected some items Mundungus took from the family. You can keep them here or Grimmauld Place. Doesn't matter, they're yours if you want them," and Harry pulled out the empty jewelry box, the silver serving spoon, and the 3-cup tea set.

Kreacher howled. Harry went to comfort him and remembered Kreacher may not want to be touched. He edged back. "I… I'm glad you like them…"

"MUNDUNGUS that FOUL that…!"

"I… I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't protect them from getting stolen… It was my fault…"

"No Master…" and a tear fell down his cheek as he opened the empty jewelry box, wrinkled fingers sliding over the mother of pearl. "My Mistress' jewelry box… put her earrings on every morning… she had good taste… good taste… always lovely."

Not from that painting, she wasn't. But if Sirius, Narcissa, and Andromeda were any measuring stick, Mrs. Black was beautiful in her day.

"I'm sorry there's only three cups here… think one got lost."

"Other one's at the house," he sniffed.

"Right… That's… that's good."

"I didn't get you anything, Harry Potter."

"And you didn't have to!" Harry threw his hands up. "You got me here, didn't you? I was struggling and you made sure I left. And you moved all those presents I didn't want."

All the other house-elves were looking at them stony faced. The cooking halted and no one spoke. He didn't' know if it was proper to give house-elves Christmas presents, but he wanted to give as many items back to Kreacher as he could. Harry should be doing this privately, but he was ready to ask now, so he did.

"Kreacher… I wanted to ask, and only if you want to, take Mrs. Black's room upstairs- the big one. Make it your room. Or Regulus' room, if you'd like that one instead. And… if you wanted… I wanted to offer you some of Mrs. and Mr. Blacks clothes, not to set you free, but to be part of my family. Our family- a Black. Again, you don't have to, because I think what I'm saying might be considered insulting, but… the offer is there. Whenever you want it. Or the offer won't be there, if that's what you'd prefer too. So just say so, and I won't ever mention it again.

The house-elves around them turned their backs on them and quietly bustled around, all festive cheer gone. "Master is embarrassing us..." Kreacher said darkly and he did look disquieted by the offer.

"I know I am insulting you by asking," Harry admitted. "But I must do it. 'Harry Potter' and 'The Black Family' only accept the very best house-elves. Just like Hogwarts only accepts the best house-elves. I know the value in you and your work, and Kreacher, you really saved me, last year AND this year. I went months without a good meal and I can't tell you how much I appreciate your work for the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black and the House of Potter. You don't have to make a decision. Just… I just needed to tell you. And… you don't need my permission to go anywhere. You can work here, or live at Grimmauld Place, maybe one day you'd be open to visiting the Weasley's with me sometime. You know, Ron and Hermione. AND there's a bar in Hogsmeade that's very friendly to house-elves- The Hog's Head. Go there sometime if you like, check it out in the evenings. My point is, you can continue to work hard or you can do whatever you like. I just wanted you to hear that. And if you ever consider… well, consider it. Think about it. Anyway…"

"I will… I will think about it, Master."

"Alright. That's fair. And… Merry Christmas Kreacher."

When he left all the house-elves were staring at him. Kreacher turned to slink back to his bucket at the stovetop with his black bag of Black treasures.