This chapter honestly such a long time to edit! It's not one of my favourites, but I think you'l enjoy the next chapter better than this one. As always, please leave a comment. Also, I am going to have to start getting ready for school, so I won't be able to post so often. Maybe ever other day, or so.

Also, the next few chapters are the ones I've been really excited about uploading! I rlly like them:)

CH.14 - Excursion.

"Sir?"

"hmm?"

"Yesterday, you promised to tell me what the Polyjuice potion you're brewing is for?" reminded Harry, disinterestedly picking at his pancakes with his fork.

Again, he found his appetite lacking, but showing up for breakfast seemed almost like a ritual now, and, though Harry wouldn't admit it out loud, he enjoyed the occasional bits of conversation he shared with his ex-professor.

Snape curtly nodded once." Indeed I had, and I shall divulge." He took a sip of his tea before neatly clasping his hands together on the table. "A few days ago, Nibby had informed me of the town not far from here — Jamestown." For a moment, the man's face twitched at the name. "Normally, a muggle town wouldn't interest me, however, there appears to be a small, concealed wizarding marketplace there."

"So...kind of like a mini Diagon Alley?" Harry remembered Hagrid tapping the three stones at the entrance with his pink umbrella.

"According to Nibby, yes. It is rather small, however."

Harry nodded, piecing things together. "So then, you're going to Polyjuice yourself?" Harry continued at Snape's nod. "Why do you need to go there?" he asked.

Gracefully, Snape took out his wand, gave it a flourish, and a parchment with writing on it appeared in front of him. "A few essential potion ingredients," he said absently. But the parchment was at least two feet long, a few essentials!

"Wow. Can't imagine what your non-essentials list looks like," joked Harry, sniggering at the long list. Snape ignored him and banished the parchment.

"If you so wish… you may accompany me, Potter," Snape offered hesitantly.

Harry was surprised at the invitation." Really, sir? I wouldn't annoy you, or anything?" he asked cheekily.

"Don't make me regret it," he warned, growling half-heartedly.

"How are we getting there?" Harry asked.

"On foot," Snape deadpanned.

"Right." Never would've guessed.

"It's about a twenty minute walk from here."

Harry downed the rest of his coffee, grimacing a bit at the bitterness. "Alright, sir. When are we leaving?" He was excited about seeing something other than the walls and grounds of Prince Manor.

"In ten minutes. Make sure to bring your wand and cloak."

Harry rushed upstairs to his room to get ready. Since the jeans with the big back pocket had been burned, he would have to settle for his rucksack. He decided to leave all of his other belongings out, taking only his wand and Invisibility Cloak as a safety precaution.

Back downstairs, Snape was already waiting for him, but Harry had to blink a few times to take in the sight before him.

In Snape's stead was now a man with short, fawn hair, somewhere in his twenties, sporting brown trousers and a plain, dark blue button-up shirt. In his hands were two vials, one of them empty.

"Not what you were expecting, Potter?" asked Snape, seeing Harry's shocked expression.

Harry shook his head, finding it rather hard to believe this was still the dour Potions Master. "Who's hair did you use for the potions?" he asked hesitantly, accepting the potion from Snape.

"I always keep a few hairs for such occasions in my private labs at Hogwarts. I retrieved them shortly before our departure from Hogwarts," he explained simply. "I picked these up when I was in muggle London once, but I am not sure who these people are."

"Will one hour be enough?" Harry asked, looking at the potions critically.

"It is an improved formula," Snape answered rather smugly. "One that doesn't take forever to brew and lasts a whole two hours, as opposed to one."

Harry slowly took one of the vials and regarded it carefully. He uncorked it and took a sniff, only to regret it immediately. Yep, still smells like piss, he confirmed to himself, improved formula or not.

With a small cheers salute, Harry downed the revolting potion. He was instantly reminded just how much he hated the Polyjuice juice transformation. Within moments, he felt himself grow a little taller. When he felt his hair, he found that it was a lot shorter.

With a flourish of Snape's wand, a huge mirror appeared in front of them. Harry was now a young teen, and had slightly curly, chocolate brown hair. His skin was a slightly darker tone as well, and his eyes were brown.

Suddenly, a thought dawned on Harry: He wasn't Harry Potter anymore! No one would recognize him and he would just be like any other normal person. He didn't have a whole war of casualties behind him anymore, no. He was just...someone else. It felt good.

"I like it!" he decided firmly. Snape rolled his eyes. He banished the mirror.

"Should the topic arise, we are uncle and nephew," Snape informed emotionlessly. "We need aliases," he then stated, and smirked evil at Harry. "Mr. Harold Bratson," he drew out the name slowly and silkily.

Harry scowled at him, and was about to retort when an evil smirk grew on his own face. "Alright, sir," he began calmly." If you get to pick my name, I get to pick yours…Mr. James Cauldron!" Harry started laughing, and the withering look on Snape's face didn't help him stop.

"Yes, quite ingenious," he mused dryly, unamused.

"Sorry, Mr. Cauldron — fair's fair."

And so, a very amused Harry and a slightly vexed Snape made their way past the front gates of Prince Manor, and started walking down the pavement road in the direction of the town.

It occurred to Harry just then how strange it felt to be someone else than the famous Harry Potter. He felt so carefree and normal — the way he'd wanted to feel all his life. He wasn't 'Freak', and he wasn't the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. Today, he was Harold Bratson — a normal boy, with a normal life.

The name wasn't too bad, either.

He wondered if he would ever feel this way as Harry Potter.

They'd been walking silently for fifteen minutes when Snape suddenly reached into a pocket on his shirt and began searching for something. Harry realised that Snape must have cast an expandable charm on the pocket earlier. Without a word, he retrieved a small leather pouch from the pocket and handed it to Harry.

"S– Sir?" Harry didn't understand why he was handed the pouch, but the jiggle coming from it told him that there was money in it.

"Should anything interest you, do not hesitate to buy it," Snape told him evenly.

Harry stared at him, amazed. "Wow, umm, thank you, sir! I'll pay you back as soon as I —"

Snape held up his hand, silencing Harry. "I swear by Merlin's wand, Potter, I am this close —" his thumb and forefinger were a millimetre apart — "to Obliviating that phrase from your dialect."

Harry smartly shut his trap, and marvelled silently at the pouch of money in his hands the rest of the way.

Jamestown boasted charming cobbled streets and roads, adorned with blooming flower beds in almost every corner. The architecture of the buildings was old, yet vibrant with colour. The area was dotted with quaint shops and cafes bustling with people.

They headed towards the heart of the town, where Snape led them to a small, almost empty pub named 'Frank's Pub'.

The pub wasn't as impressive on the inside as its exterior let on: It looked very depressing, dreary and reeked of old fish. There were a few round wooden tables set up, and a bar was situated on the far side of the room, where an old, hunched man with a sailor hat and long beard sat, reading a familiar looking paper. As they got closer, Harry noted that it was the Daily Prophet.

The old man lazily looked up at Snape, and then at Harry, scowling. "What'cha wan'?" he asked, his voice gruff and coarse.

Snape, Harry saw out of the corner of his eyes, tried to sneer in disgust at the old man, but failed miserably now that his face was that of someone else's, rounded and had softer features. "We have been told of the wonders of this town…and of its magical secrets," Snape told the barkeeper, emphasising the last two words smoothly and looking him straight in the eyes.

The man regarded them both suspiciously, but then walked out from behind the bar over to an empty corner of the pub, gesturing for the two wizards to follow. Wordlessly, the man pressed his thumb to a spot on the barren wall and mumbled, "Witchgary Square."

Almost instantly, a door appeared in the once barren wall. The old man pushed it open and gestured for Harry and Snape to go through it.

Snape nodded a curt thanks, and walked through the door, Harry following closely behind. They were now standing in another pub, but this one was slightly bigger and much livier. There were witches and wizards sitting around tables that were actually large barrels, drinking butterbeer and chatting with one another. It wasn't too crowded, but no one seemed to have noticed the two new wizards come through the door.

He and Snape walked outside, and Harry was surprised to see that it, too, was called 'Frank's Pub' as well, according to the sign above the entrance.

Looking around, the buildings there were very similar to those in Diagon Alley, but there were fewer of them. Mostly, there were colourful booths and stands stretching on either side of the main street. There were many witches and wizards here, and Harry thought this is exactly what a mini version of Diagon Alley would have looked like.

"Harold."

Harry turned around to look at 'James'. "Yes, Uncle?" he said with a tiny smirk.

"We meet up back here in one hour. Is that clear?" said the brown-haired man, his tone brooking no room for argument.

"Sure." Harry conceded.

Without another word, the two parted in different directions.

Severus Snape moved gracefully from booth to stall, scrutinising the various potion ingredients before purchasing and checking them off his list. Despite never having been to this place before, he found it reminiscent of Diagon Alley and easy to navigate. He wondered how Nibby had known of this place and how to get here. Perhaps from the previous Princes?

The streets were decorated with colourful banners in celebration of the Dark Lord's downfall, as he had overheard in passing conversations. There were also numerous photographs of Potter with the words "The Chosen One" plastered on nearly every post.

Severus tried to ignore all of it and focused on selecting the necessary ingredients, but his mind kept wandering back to yesterday's conversation with the messy-haired boy.

Seventeen years ago, Severus had been dreading Potter's start at Hogwarts, knowing the symbol of everything he had lost and of his biggest life mistakes would strut the corridors of the castle for the next seven years. He had still been wracked with immeasurable guilt and shame, something his present day self still harboured.

Severus had known he had to say something to the boy — an apology, perhaps. It was the least of what he owed to Potter for Lily's death.

He had spent weeks of torture by trying to come up with something discrete, coded, but so that its meaning conveyed what he wished to say perfectly-well.

And then, Pomona Sprout had given him an epiphany one day when she had been rambling on and on about her usual nonsense during a staff meeting.

The Victorian flower language. It was perfect.

And thus, he was satisfied when he'd 'asked' the boy his question on asphodel and wormwood.

But never had he thought that Potter would figure it out — that had been his main reason for using the flower language in the first place.

Apart from feeling ashamed at Potter knowing, Severus was surprised to find something akin to relief. As if a boulder had been lifted off his shoulders. He had always been a closed-off, private man, and being a double-agent hadn't given him much room for things like emotions or feelings.

Not that he cared for such things now.

In all of seventeen years, if not more, he hadn't shared his history, his past, his story — the whole of it — withanyone. Even Albus hadn't known things to the extent that one person currently did.

Strangely, however, Severus found that he didn't mind that Lily's son knew. There was something… ironically cathartic about it. For once, he felt relieved that someone actually knew, and it scared him. Severus didn't deserve a shred of his forgiveness, but it was a small comfort still that that boy was Lily's son.

The boy was too forgiving…

A trait that neither Lily nor James had shared, for that matter. Lily had been forgiving, but to a certain extent. When a person crossed a line, she would leave them be. Her son, Severus was sure, would be ready to forgive even a Death Eater if he got to know his struggles and past enough.

But Severus didn't deserve it — any of it. Especially Potter's apologies. To say he had been shocked by Potter's words would be an understatement. The boy, the son of James bloody Potter — Severus' sworn enemy — had actually apologised to him in his father's name! He had apologised in the infirmary upon Severus' wakening, but it had been haste and very formal, more of an acknowledgement.

Severus would have sooner expected for pigs to fly than to hear his late enemy's son utter those words. He felt ashamed of ever having thought of Potter as an arrogant, spoiled, selfish brat. He was anything but.

Which made him suddenly very self-conscious. Had he apologised to Potter? He had so much to apologise for, and yet, he still hadn't. He had Potter's seventeen orphaned years to apologise for, and seven years of abusing his power as a professor.

What kind of human being was he? Lily would be so ashamed…

Thinking back to the vial of his memories, Severus had expected Potter to keep them to himself, given that those were precious memories of his mother in her early childhood and older. However, the boy, as he'd stated, had simply forgotten.

Upon accepting those memories back, Severus had been reminded of exactly which events they contained. It was a strange concept to him, knowing that Potter knew, and yet, a foreign comfort.

Thinking back on their time in isolation in Prince Manor, Severus had to begrudgingly admit that he'd come to find the presence of Potter somewhat tolerable. For Severus, this was a significant admission. The boy would mostly keep to himself, and abide by the rules he'd set for him, which weren't tremendous feats.

And although they mostly kept their distance, meeting only at meals and during magic lessons, Severus secretly enjoyed Potter's company. While James's appearance was undeniable, Lily's personality shone through with his every move. Despite his initial dislike for the boy, Severus had grown accustomed to his presence.

Their duelling lessons in particular interested Severus. Potter had much potential in him, and wasn't such a dunderhead at the art as Severus had originally perceived him to be. Although Potter never had the upper hand on him, Severus wouldn't rate his skill level too low.

Another thought nagged at him, and Severus couldn't shake its weight. How was he supposed to tell Potter about his mother, whom Severus had all but sold out to the Dark Lord? The quilt and shame of it make him feel ill. He told Potter he would consider it, that he most likely would tell him.

What else could he have said? Again, he owed it to the boy, even if it internally pained him. He was sure that whatever he would tell Potter about his mother, Severus wouldn't be able to look into those emerald green eyes that had once been Lily Evans-Potter's.

Severus cast a quick Tempus to check the time. It was ten minutes until the hour was up, and he had managed to buy everything he needed. Slowly, he was making his way back to Frank's Pub, when his eyes travelled to a stand selling wand holsters.

He remembered how Potter always carried his wand in his jeans pocket — oh, yes, he'd noticed. It was not acceptable: a witch/wizard should always have their wand within a milisecond's reach. Rummaging in one's trousers for their wand could cost them precious time, and that was not acceptable for the Boy-Who-Had-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord-And-Now-Has-Death-Eaters-Hunting-His-Head.

Should Severus get Potter a wand holster?

It's what Lily would have wanted.

And the boy also needed one — it was a necessity.

And not just any, but the best one, for that matter. Of dragon hide and gold dragon silk thread.

Severus scanned through the various wand holsters. He was quite fond of his own, and decided he would get nothing less for Potter. So, after a few minutes of suggestions from the seller, and more Galleons than he'd expected to spend, Severus was pleased with his purchase, and made his way back to the Pub.

Harold Bratson, a dark, curly-haired boy, incognito, strolled through the streets of Witchgary Square with a sense of carefree bliss. Conversations about the famous Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, filled the air, but nobody paid any attention to Harold Bratson, and Harry finally felt normal for the first time in his life. He wasn't fawned over, he wasn't being hunted by Death Eaters, and he wasn't being hounded by the Daily Prophet.

He was normal, or, at least Harold Bratson was.

Harry made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the numerous posters and newspaper clippings with his image plastered on every available surface, opting instead to purchase a gift for Ginny. He didn't exactly need anything for himself, anyway.

The fact that Snape had given him money to spend was… unexpected. He couldn't explain the warm feeling he felt at the fact, when he remembered how the Dursleys had never wished to spend a penny on him. So, this was the first time something like this had ever happened.

It was… considerate.

In truth, Snape wasn't so bad. In fact, Harry found that he wasn't averse to the man's company. He had taught him a lot, and the fact that Snape had promised he would consider telling Harry about his mum had lifted his perception of the dour Potions Master.

It was quite new, Snape not belittling and verbally assaulting Harry for every single little thing he did and didn't do. And over the last week, Harry found that civil conversations were a reality with the man, and at times, they were quite nice, too.

The ex-Death Eater was very knowledgeable, yes, but that's not the only reason why Harry enjoyed duelling lessons, or even their occasional, sarcastic banter over meals.

It was the fact that he and Snape had one enormous thing in common, and that was Lily Evans Potter. it had never been said aloud, but Harry knew Snape also knew this. The memories that Snape had given to Harry had somehow created a thread of mutual understanding for the both of them, perhaps because that both had lost her, either as a friend or as a mother.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Harry was stumped as to what he should get Ginny. While most girls were fond of makeup, dresses, and hair accessories, Ginny was quite the opposite. She was passionate about Quidditch and had a fiery personality that could rival even Mrs. Weasley's.

Harry had initially considered a Quidditch-related gift, but that felt too obvious and lame. He was unsure of exactly how much money Snape had given him, but the weight of the small, leather pouch suggested a hefty amount.

Something shiny, gleaming in the sun, caught his eye. Harry stopped at a small stall with a stout, old witch behind it. The stall had mostly jewellery on display, with the sign above advertising 'interactive stones — protect your loved ones'. Curious, Harry decided to ask about it.

The old witch noticed Harry looking through her goods. "Hello, dear!" she greeted him sweetly. "Something caught those pretty brown eyes of yours?"

"Hi. Yeah, umm, what does it mean that the stones are 'interactive'?" he asked.

The kindly old witch informed Harry that the jewellery came in pairs, with stones that would glow warmly when the other wearer was in trouble.

Harry thought it was brilliant. He picked out two plain metal bands, each with a matching fiery-red stone in the middle runic engravings. He paid a steep fifty Galleons for the two bands, mentally promising to pay Snape back the costly price.

He thanked the old witch and made his way back to Frank's Pub, where Snape was already waiting impatiently for him by the entrance. Harry had lost track of time when he had been picking out the bands for him and Ginny.

Once at the pub, Harry gave him an apologetic look.

"Are you ready to leave?" Snape asked impatiently, leaning against the stone wall of the pub.

Harry nodded. "I guess so, yeah." Looking around one last time, he commented, "I liked it here. Thanks for taking me with you, sir."

Snape said nothing, and simply beckoned for Harry to follow.

The two wizards made their way back to Prince manor. As they were exiting Jamestown, Severus asked if he got anything. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Harry figured the man deserved to know what his money was spent on, and took out the two identical metal bands from his rucksack, explaining to him their purpose. He expected the man to yell at him when told their price, but Snape surprised him.

"An appropriate gift," he approved. Snape examined one of the bands in his hand closely. Handing it back," I've no doubt Miss Weasley will appreciate it," he added.

They walked the rest of the way back to Prince Manor in companionable silence. When they arrived at the double gates, the effects of the Polyjuice Potion had worn off, and they were themselves again. It was lunchtime by then, so they went straight to the dining room.

They had lunch in relative silence. When Snape had finished and stood, he paused, one hand still on the table.

"There will be no duelling today, Mr. Potter," he informed. "I will be busy restocking my potions ingredients." He made to leave, when suddenly, Harry stood and called after him.

"Sir!"

Snape paused, turning his head slightly in Harry's direction. "Potter?"

Harry didn't know what possessed him to ask: "Can I — Er…CanIhelpyou?" he rambled, rushing the last few words. There was a brief silence, as Snape seemed to consider his offer, his brows slightly furrowed in bemusement.

He hadn't the slightest idea why he had asked to help Snape, but he didn't stop to ponder his reasons.

"...If you so wish to," he nodded, and briskly turned to leave. The effect wasn't as dramatic, however, since the man didn't have his menacing robes on. "Come down in ten minutes."