10 more years.

The magical leaflet looked inviting, well designed, and colorful with that nice border with the deep purple gradient (nice touch) announcing an upcoming meeting for the new Voldemort supporters who still believed his soul was roaming the country.

Announcing:

10 MORE YEARS

Wait for the chime

and you will be heard

Whoever made it did a professional job. Looked printed. The Aurors had it for a whole week, unable to get the blank leaflet to reveal itself, as they bounced a variety of code phrases and spells off it. Annoyed and just a little desperate, he shoved the blank parchment into Hermione's hands and after an angry day in court where she took her frustration out on the thing (she lost her case,) she turned it back into their department, full color.

Despite the group was made up of a bunch of twenty-somethings, their team was having a tough time gathering information. They still didn't know what the chime meant (they had some pretty good theories,) and didn't know where they were meeting despite tracking several of them. This movement bubbled with youth, rejecting mainstream wizarding society, calling for a new world order under Voldemort's flag. Harry wondered if they even believed Voldemort truly conquered death or if they were just dabbling in Dark Magic for an excuse to hang out and be edgy. Either way, they were dabbling hard into some pretty dark stuff and they were gaining followers quickly.

Within the past year, Aurors managed to round up 85% of the surviving Death Eaters, the smart ones going into hiding or keeping low profiles. But the Dark Arts, like a many headed dragon, spouted several new fringe groups, including the '10 More Years' group or the 'bored young adults group' as Harry liked to call them. Normally he would be worried, dealing with Voldemort supporters again, but it was easier to view them as misguided kids (despite they were all older than him.) Resigned to it, he lowered his expectations: this would never be a battle fully won, and he reminded himself that's why he had a job in the first place.

What surprised him after he joined the Auror office this summer was how few of them there were. Over half of the Aurors died in the last two years, and many retired from injury or just wanted a quiet life with their remaining body parts. Harry was assigned to the main team under Robards, joining Weepy, Olivia (who had a picture of Tonks on her peg board,) Ron, and Annette. Harry was surprised when Neville showed up, not having acquired the C.H.A.R.M.S. to skip Jr. Auror training, and started with Harry in the same week because they needed the extra staff ('at least he passed Defense Against the Dark Arts' they jabbed at him.) There were also twenty junior Aurors below them, and another fifteen or so reserve Aurors in retirement that could be pulled for national emergencies.

Everyone seemed friendly off the bat, but eventually noticed a general coldness coming from Robards, who apparently had not forgiven Harry for testifying in favor of Narcissa. How do they feel about Snape then? But the coldness faded quickly in the first week.

During strategy meetings for the 10 more years group, Harry noticed, and it was subtle, that they were speaking about Voldemort in the group's point of view, as if there was some sort of sliver of a chance his soul still existed, and his new supporters would be able to raise him to full power.

"'IF they have information we don't.' You keep saying that word if, why do you keep saying that?" Harry interrupted the meeting, stern and annoyed, more authoritative he'd been since he started.

"What?"

"You just said 'IF they have information we don't.' You… you do know Voldemort's dead, don't you?"

Robards did not start speaking right away, slow and contemplative. "Weasley hinted as much but... he died both times. We can't count out the possibility he made more Horcruxes… Do you have information you want to share, Potter?"

"There's absolutely no question that he's dead." Harry spoke with certainty that commanded the room. "I saw him before he passed on—before it was finished." A pin could have dropped as Harry described 'dying' and visiting the plane of non-existence, the cross roads, seeing the deformed baby of Voldemort, or what was left of his soul. He did not mention Dumbledore's presence, but explained how he chose to return to the living and Voldemort's damaged soul could not. When he told them this, he felt sure they were going to make fun of him, deny his vision meant anything, or deny that it meant Horcruxes couldn't still be out there, but they all looked at him, silent. "He's dead. I know it—I saw it, I feel it," he reiterated. "I made SURE of it," and his voice vibrated, both angry and firm.

"Thank you, Harry," Robards said into the silence. "That was some good information. We all wondered if you knew something we didn't. We couldn't be sure."

"No! We got all the Horcruxes! There were seven." Harry insisted. "He's done. He's dead. For real."

The day was much lighter after that, the team hearing out of his mouth that they would never have to deal with Voldemort again.

To the Aurors, information meant everything. Ron, as it turned out, did not tell them almost anything of their journey or details on how they got the Horcruxes, and of course, nothing about the Hallows. To the three of them, most of the details of their adventure were private and Ron did not release this information without Harry or Hermione, something Harry was grateful for. They would discuss as a team before they relinquished any details in the future.

"What confuses me," Robards asked, giving Harry a piercing stare. "Is that Voldemort was rumored to have the Death Stick. And you beat it."

"Just a rumor," Harry said in his best attempt at Occlumency. Several eyes searched him.

"Oi, if he had the unbeatable wand, you think he would have done better on his exams!" Ron jabbed. Laughter.

Just then, the door opened, Kingsley making an increasingly rare but not unheard of appearance in their office. "Potter, do you have a moment?"

"Of course, Minister." Harry's chair scraped, all eyes following his departure. They stepped out into the hallway.

"What's up?"

"How's your first week going?" Kingsley surveyed him.

"Good." And it had been. "Everyone's been… nice."

"You received your Potions certification, correct?

"Yes, yes I did." Where was this going?

"The Draught of Conversion, changes the mind of the drinker. The Ministry needs it for Goblin negotiations next month, a backup if talks don't go the way we want. They're angry at their casualties, we cannot let this meeting go poorly."

Harry blinked, thinking hard. Draught of Conversion? What year Potions was this? Not the sixth or seventh, he read those textbooks front to back. Could it be fifth year? He didn't learn much in fifth year with Umbridge around. He racked his brain for a full minute while Kingsley just watched him. But it was no use, he never even heard of this potion despite its simple name.

"Uhh, sir, I don't… I could try sir, but… are you sure that no one else at the Ministry can make it for you?

"They're busy with other projects, Potter," Kingsley growled, "and this one is difficult—difficult to produce, looks the same even if brewed incorrectly. AND we need the version that turns into clear vapor when unbottled. They will not drink anything we give them. And remember, we're dealing with Goblins, Potter… understand?"

Harry shook his head lightly, confused. When did Kingsley get the impression he could brew potions good enough for peace talks? Hermione could probably brew a better one, Malfoy even…

"Sir, I don't think I could manage a potion of that magnitude. Me getting the Potions C.H.A.R.M.S. was more luck than anything."

"I'm sure you'll find SOME WAY to brew it... Potter…" and Kingsley shifted his weight, looking directly into him, every word deliberate.

"Oh," Harry said. "OH."

He had to think about this. He was infinitely relieved that his rumored relationship did not come up once at the Ministry so far, save for Ron's jabs. And here Kingsley was, the Minister of Magic, asking for a high-level potion to influence the meeting with the Goblins. Kingsley doesn't care or... what's good for the goose is good for the gander.

"Yes…" Harry decided. "I possibly could… manage that potion, sir. I will have to… CHECK… on the ingredients that we have. That I have!" he corrected quickly. "I'll let you know… by Monday?"

"Sooner," Kingsley rumbled. "We need to know if Plan C is in order."

"Right." But something didn't sit right with Harry as Kingsley walked away. "Sir, the Goblins won't like being manipulated. Are you sure there aren't any other options?"

He turned back to Harry with a heavy stare. "There are many options, Potter. All of them worse. You know what it's like, you know how they are." He let the weight of these words sink. "If you have ideas, come to me with them," and he left.

Harry sighed before going back in.

"How was work?" Snape asked him, ill-tempered and not looking at him enter, stirring, cooking. Kreacher set out plates, shooting Snape filthy looks, annoyed that his kitchen was hijacked.

"Later," Harry said, taking off his cloak. "Kingsley asked for a favor today, need to run it past you. How much time do I have?"

"An hour."

"Great," and he came up behind him, gave him a kiss that was returned, and started upstairs to get ready. "Are you sure you don't want help?"

"Help with WHAT? Ruining it? Out—don't touch anything." Kreacher nodded, looking like he rather approved of 'Master not touching anything.'

"Nice to see you too. How's the castle coming?"

Snape grumbled darkly. Harry took this cue to go upstairs, leaving him to cook.

Despite that Snape was drowning in responsibilities with the start of term approaching, he had been Flooing in every other day, if only for thirty minutes. If Harry didn't know any better, Snape was acting... anxious. Seeing him every other day was just fine with Harry, but he never really seemed happy to see him, he just needed to see him to scratch some sort of itch. Once, Harry woke up to find Snape sitting in his bedroom in the dark, watching him, miserable. Harry reached for him, and he did sit with him until he fell asleep, but was gone in the morning. Seeing him constantly was just fine, but for some reason Snape was never in the mood for these little check-ins. That would not be a problem tonight, as it was their 'two week' benchmark date.

After a long bath and a small haircut, he stopped downstairs where Kreacher and Snape were trying to find some symbiosis for their shared domination of the kitchen. It wasn't going well, but it could be going worse. Kreacher didn't mutter about him at all which meant he must sort of like him, as far as liking wizards go.

"You are a guest in this house, you should be letting Kreacher…"

"You over-season… you still want to TASTE the food."

"Kreacher does no such thing!"

"Blacks have no taste. I have wondered, you have confirmed."

"DO NOT defile the Black Name, coming in here, sneaking… what did Master Snape put in the wine, then?"

"Of course, Black's house-elf would be a NOSEY, disobedient, ill-bred-"

A knock at the door interrupted this argument. Harry took this excuse to go upstairs.

"Hey! Good to-...OH." Harry's smile faltered, eyes popping and lowering automatically, unable not to look. Hermione stood in the doorway with her normal Hermione smile, bushy hair, no makeup, but wearing a revealing black dress with a high slit, and showing off more cleavage than he'd ever seen her sport. George stood behind her, apologetic, like he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. "WOW. But why? You look…"

"Don't beat around the bush, Harry. Go on—tell her she's a slag and to put some clothes on."

Hermione's heel just missed George's foot.

"So... uh, Ron's definitely not coming, right?" he breathed, trying not to look down again, failing, taking her in by the hand, leading her in. Harry kissed her on the cheek and took her traveling cloak to hang it up.

"Where's mine, Harry? Don't I get a kiss too?" George shoved his ear hole into his face.

"Get off. Go," Harry pushed.

"Blimey, it's been ages since I've been in this house. Looks good. Black's mum's gone?" He ripped open the curtain revealing the blank wall, ready to get screamed at regardless.

"Black's mum is happily in her room. Quite pleased to be there, loves being around her things. Snape talked to her for an hour, convinced her to be taken down and placed upstairs. Had to curse the frame off the wall though. She loves it up there. Likes Snape."

"And who wouldn't like SNAPE?" George called out right as Snape walked into the hallway to greet their guests. "NICE BLOKE. Would never CUT off anyone's ear, or anything." He smacked Snape's shoulder in greeting. "Alright? Treating our little Harrykins okay, are you? Or not. We don't really care."

But before Snape could respond to this, he too found Hermione and her slinky silky black dress. He watched Snape's eyes too pop in surprise and he wasn't subtle—looked down her body then up to her face, shocked at her un-Hermionie-ish dinner outfit.

"What? It's a dinner party. Why are you all so over-dressed? Wizards," she said boldly, stepping towards Snape who took her hand and kissed it. This surprised Harry, but not George. Maybe traditional wizarding families did a lot of hand-kissing, he should probably ask.

"Was I supposed to invite Malfoy?" Snape asked without sarcasm. She smiled but did not say anything.

George's eyebrows disappeared. "Cheating on my brother already? And with Malfoy!?"

"Of course, I'm not!" Hermione snapped defensively. "And you're to talk! That poor woman."

"Not my fault she thinks we're exclusive, is it? Never bothered to ask me if I was seeing someone else, did she? And DON'T change the subject—Malfoy! Moved on from Aurors, have you? Prosecutors, is that what you're into now?"

"He is NOT a prosecutor, he's a junior prosecutor. Legally he can't prosecute a Bowtruckle. I remind him of that EVERY day!"

They went into the sitting room, Kreacher relieved to take over, Snape finally abandoning the kitchen for guests.

"I thought you said Ronald was coming," Snape eyed George apprehensively like he practiced for Ron and not a trickster.

"I'm a Weasley, what's the problem?"

"I chickened out," Harry admitted. "Didn't tell him, invited George instead." Harry sat down next to Snape while Hermione and George took the other couch.

"And why would Ron need to know? He's only your best mate. Broke into Gringotts with you, and you won't even tell him about your love life. Don't know why you're afraid Harry, he's easy to cut down when he gets in a huff. I have about twenty pieces of blackmail on him already, I can share if you like."

Harry shook his head. "He doesn't want to know. Besides, he barely asks me about this girlfriend I'm supposed to have. Knows something's up."

"Oh yes, he does," George's laugh turned into a cackle. "I told him you have five girlfriends now. You know, defeater of Voldemort, polyamorous, getting your oats in. The reason why you won't tell him because obviously, he'll be jealous."

"Nooo…" Harry moaned. "Don't tell him that! Goyle's SISTER, it was an easy story—stick with it!"

"That was good for a laugh Harry, but no one believes you'd date a troll," but then he squinted at Snape, deciding if he was troll enough. He turned back. "Now a harem, Harry, that has legs!"

"Master Harry is a loyal wizard," Kreacher eyed him with great dislike as he came in with tea.

"Who asked you?" George eyed him back, challenging him. "He didn't dump your sister, did he?"

"Don't harass Kreacher!" Hermione shot.

"Why don't you put some clothes on, or I'll tell my br—OW!"

"YOU have a DIFFERENT girl at your house EVERY month!" Hermione whipped her wand at him. "And I'm wearing TWICE the clothes they do!"

"I'm grieving!" George moaned, putting up a Shield Charm. "It's what Fred would have wanted, Hermione—honest! I'm living for two now!"

Unable to hex him through the Shield Charm, she settled down, picking up her tea, making direct eye contact with Snape and tapping her teacup with her wand. Nothing happened.

"What are we doing?" George looked in his cup too. "What, something in the tea?"

"Oh, it's not in there, it's in the wine," Harry blurted. Three pairs of eyes found him. "It's… who cares?" He shrugged, grabbing his tea. "You don't have to drink it—'it's a dinner party,' remember?" he sipped, Snape annoyed at him for revealing it, Hermione surprised he would pull this twice, and George looking curious. "Ron was going to be here, we could have used the Draught of Connection."

"Draught of Connection? That's a tough brew, and you guys just have it… lying around?" George asked in wonder.

"Harry has been drinking it EVERY WEEK for the past SEVEN MONTHS!" Hermione burst, needing to finally tell someone who understood its significance.

"Really?" George looked at Snape (who had a mask up,) and then to Harry, who shrugged nonchalantly.

"Blimey, that'd be dangerous if it wasn't Snape. Brewed it perfectly every time? Merlin's Mammaries, you're good. I mean, we know you're good, but you can brew it perfectly every time?" He whistled. "And those ingredients! Not cheap! He's wasting a fortune on you, Harry."

"Is he?" Harry lowered his tea cup, surprised, never considering the cost to 'drug him.' Hermione looked at George, disgusted he wasn't taking this seriously either.

"So, Severus, can I call you Severus? What else have you been drugging our Harrykins with?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to Snape's, like she could possibly catch him in a lie.

Snape's lip curled. "Not Amortentia, I assure you."

"What else? Anything good Harry?" George said conversationally, like experimenting with weird potions was great fun.

"No, I refused that one potion." He raised an eyebrow over his tea. Remember?

George moaned. "Why not, Harry? Those are great! I keep having to buy mine, blimey, what a waste of Galleons. So Severus, how DO you get a lust potion right? Mine always come out funny, strange effects, you know? Stopped bothering with them ages ago."

Snape considered him, contemplating whether or not to go down such a raunchy road with former students. "It's the ingredients you're using," he divulged, lowering his teacup. "No reliable source has been written in the last two centuries. You have to go older."

"Ohhhhh... alright then, so what ingredients do you use to make a stable lust potion?" he asked like this was fabulous dinner conversation. Kreacher brought out bread, butter, and jam, paying no mind to their discussion.

"And why would I tell you?" Snape sneered.

"You owe me one, I think," he pointed to his head. "Look what you did to my precious ear."

"You should thank me. You look better."

"Can't argue with that," he agreed. "Girls love the story. Makes me interesting; ear cursed off by a Death Eater. I stopped mentioning it was you, out of respect for Harry, of course." He nodded to Harry. "See? I've been an ally. What do you say? I can brew them alright, just tell me how to make them predictable."

"Why—so you can sell my work?"

"YES!" George exclaimed, relieved they were both on the same page.

Snape sipped his tea, squinting.

"Ten percent of profits," George bargained. "Won't even claim I created it. I'll have some jargon on the bottle—ancient recipe by 'Famous Potions Master,' or whatever you want."

"Zero percent. I don't want to be associated with it," Snape decided. "A liability." And from the direction of Harry's own kitchen, a bottle soared straight into Snape's hand. Harry's mouth dropped, realizing it was snuck into his house for future use, on the ready if Snape could bully him into taking it. "For an ear," he decided, summoning quill and parchment to write down ingredients.

George stared at the bottle in Snape's hand longingly like it contained liquid gold. "I bet it's powerful," he moaned.

"It is powerful," Snape bit, finishing the ingredient list, folding the paper three times and handed the bottle and the list to George, who looked awestruck. "Halve the ingredients, no—quarter them. Try it yourself, and if your garden gnomes still look attractive, halve them again. Could be used for non-consensual acts, reconsider selling it."

George turned the glittering glass bottle in wonder, showing it to Hermione too. "Can we uncork it? It'll stay fresh?"

Snape gave a little nod.

Hermione smelled it first, looking pleasantly surprised. "OH, it smells amazing."

George smelled it too. "Damn good!" He looked over the ingredient list again, surprised to see some listed there.

"Alright, let me smell it then," Harry broke, reaching for the bottle. Snape impassively scanned him for a reaction. …It smelled incredible. Harry poker faced it, handing it back to George, who smelled it one more time before re-corking. And in that moment, Harry knew how dangerous and potent that potion was, and understood why all the ingredients needed to be quartered. His spine tingled insistently, threatening arousal just by smell. He wanted to smell it again, but decided he would never try the potion, ever, because it was just that dangerous. But he also wanted to try it immediately, because it was impossibly tantalizing.

George smiled at him, guessing what he was thinking. "Come on Harry, with a Potions Master, and you can't try out his trusty 200-year-old lust potion?"

"We get on fine, thanks."

"So, am I allowed to tell Wood you passed your Healing C.H.A.R.M.S. by practicing foreplay?"

Snape stiffened, eyeing the room, uncomfortable. "Why are your friends insinuating such things…?"

"I've… well, I told them some things, didn't I?" Harry said, not meeting his eye, taking another sip of tea.

Snape stared at him, alarmed. He opened his mouth… then closed it… looking around, unsure of what to do that his dinner guests knew way too much. He turned back to Harry pleading with his eyes: how much did you actually tell them...?

"Relax, it's fine," Harry urged.

"It IS FINE. In fact I respect you more," George declared.

Hermione, with no warning, suddenly bolted up. They all looked at her as she left the room without comment, and they were even more confused when they heard the front door open and close as she left.

Harry and Snape looked at each other. No, Harry confirmed with a small shake of the head, she couldn't possibly be leaving because of our sex life—so what?

"Mr. Malfoy! An honor!" Kreacher cried from the hallway, delighted. As Hermione came back in escorting Draco, she refused to meet Harry's incredulous stare. George looked at her too like he couldn't believe her gull, and Snape closed his eyes, thanking Merlin that Malfoy missed out on the last ten minutes of conversation.

"Good Evening…" Draco drawled politely while he tried not to stare improperly at the ugly parts of the house.

"MALFOY!" George said happily, like there was no one else he'd rather torment tonight at dinner.

Draco looked at George distrustfully "… I thought it was Ronald tonight."

"Sorry, didn't tell him," Harry said, surprised there were double reveals planned—Harry's relationship and Hermione's colleague. "Invited George instead. And you too, apparently. Fancy that. And now you're in my house and everything. Brilliant."

Draco looked around, wondering where he should sit. His eyes wandered to George, who was begging him to sit next to him, patting the couch mischievously. Then to Hermione, his mouth thinning at her sexy little dress that SCREAMED danger, and then to Harry, who he definitely didn't want to sit next to. Snape moved closer to Harry, giving Draco room to sit next to him. As he sat down, his eyes found Hermione's sexy little dress again… her bare legs. He looked nervous.

"Wine?" Kreacher offered from a tray and they each took a glass. "Dinner will be ready in thirty," he announced before backing out of the room, giving his best bows under the presence of a proper pureblood guest.

George sipped the tampered wine like it was the most delicious thing he ever tasted. Harry watched Hermione tap hers in front of Snape, give him a dirty look, and drank it anyway. Draco, who looked expensive as ever, sipped his, looking down, like he knew better than to come.

"So, he's definitely not coming?" Draco looked up to Hermione, in what felt like a runoff of some private conversation that happened outside.

"Severus…" Harry asked quietly, leaning in. "Kingsley asked me to make The Draught of Conversion. Needs it by September, I think."

"Kingsley asked YOU to make the Draught of Conversion!?" Snape yelled for the whole room to hear. Draco and Hermione immediately abandoned their conversation to listen to this very questionable ask.

"No…" Harry corrected, annoyed at his incredulity. "Obviously he doesn't want ME to make it!"

"Don't scare me." Snape settled his shoulders back into the couch. "Needs it by September? What for?"

"That's just it," Harry said, addressing the room now. "He wants it for Goblin negotiations. They want compensated for their losses. As Voldemort was a wizard, they are trying to hold all wizards accountable. Adamant this time too, won't take no for an answer."

Hermione gasped. "They can't drug the Goblins!"

"That's what I said! Knew you'd say that, how could they think that would work? Huge chance they'll have countermeasures, and they'll be furious!"

Snape looked down at his cup, thinking.

"Completely unreasonable," Draco snarled his interjection.

"It's not unreasonable! Many creatures were slaughtered during Voldemort's reign!" Hermione fumed. "Why can't the Ministry go into negotiations honestly?"

"Think about it Granger, they know the Ministry isn't responsible for Voldemort. They're not stupid. Gold is more important to them, they're milking the situation."

"Gold is more important to SOME of them!" she snapped back. "NOT ALL Goblins work at Gringotts!"

"Let them revolt! Currency SHOULD be in wizard control!"

"Making them non-entities is not the solution!"

"BLIMEY, this is INTERESTING!" George roared, standing up. "Harry, the loo?"

"Third door on the right."

"Just kidding Harry, I remember where the loo is," and he left.

"They ARE non-entities! YOU don't even like them, Granger, I see how you stiffen when one walks into a room. You don't trust them, not really. And how you use your polite voice, not your real one. They don't even take your advice, your good advice—BECAUSE. YOU. ARE. A. WIZARD."

"Goblins are fine!" Hermione denied, but both her legs and arms were crossed. "And of course they don't trust wizards, not after the Dark wizards-"

"DARK WIZARDS!" Draco roared. "About that: why do wizards have DARK MAGIC and Goblin magic is just… magic? Answer that, Granger."

She paused. "Well, of course they can use Dark Magic."

"Oh no…" And Draco's teeth flashed, triumphant. "They can, but where are their prisons, Granger? Go on—I'll wait. And OH YES, and when you're done, you can tell me about Centaur prisons."

"No… but… of course… well…" and she seemed momentarily confused, like she must be forgetting something from History of Magic. But then she looked at Snape, to catch his opinion in all this.

He shrugged and nodded, confirming creatures really don't get charged for Dark Magic even when they use it. "Goblins do not have representation. They are considered lesser beings, and held to a lesser standard. You know this, Miss Granger."

"Wizards just kill the dangerous ones. They never get locked up for Dark Magic."

"Well of course they do! I specifically remember…"

"What, all three of them? In the last century?"

Hermione looked again at Snape for conformation.

"Only wizards have the classification of Dark Magic in the practical legal sense. We alone are deemed intelligent enough to know the difference… and to uphold morality."

"You've been defending Magical Creatures for two months and you didn't notice that ONLY WIZARDS get charged with DARK MAGIC?" Malfoy guffawed, too delighted to find a gaping hole in her legal knowledge. She flushed, the redness blooming on her pale shoulders, neck and… other things. "MUGGLEBORNS! Think they know everything." He crossed his arms haughtily, leaning back, happy to be finally winning against her. She stared angrily at him.

"So… Severus… Centaurs, Goblins, other magical creatures…"

He nodded. "Deemed dangerous and intelligent, but do not get charged with Dark Magic. If they negotiate for better representation, they can be held to the fullest extent of wizarding law. Double edged sword."

"That's… that's…" and her chest rose, trapped by this conundrum.

"The way they LIKE it," Malfoy warned.

"Complicated," Snape completed. "There are those who would take it, and those who wouldn't. Right now, it's easier to feign ignorance than to be held accountable. Also, who is the brave soul that attempts to arrest and imprison Acromantula?"

She looked at Harry helplessly. They all knew subjecting the Goblins to a mind-changing potion would be an act of betrayal, but Goblins would not trust them even if they went about negotiations honestly.

A sudden THUNK above them made Snape's eyes snap to the ceiling and narrow suspiciously. George.

"Bathroom too, I think. Be right back." Harry got up, leaving them, heading upstairs to find out where he disappeared to.

"So tell me Granger, are you going to talk the Minister out of this plan? Can I be in the room when you do it?"

Upstairs, Harry found George in Mr. Black's study.

"Have you seen this, Harry!? A little black book if I ever saw one—this is gold! Mind of Severus Snape. Weird bloke." In his hand, George was reading from the black leather book that contained Dumbledore's small frameless painted portrait. "Expected to find a toothbrush, found this gem instead."

"Don't go through his stuff! He just GAVE you a potion to rip off and everything!"

"Have you read this? It's his diary! SNAPE keeps a DIARY. Did you really not thank him for your birthday gifts? Blimey, I would have coughed up a jobby for each one. Still might—wouldn't mind a few more potions to sell. WELL, almost dinner, better get going," and George slapped the leather book right into Harry's chest as he left the room.

On instinct, Harry opened the book right at Dumbledore's portrait like a bookmark, but he wasn't inside. Unsure if he should, and with company downstairs no less, he flipped through the pages like a flipbook. It was about three quarters full.

Should he…. or shouldn't he? And what was George on about? Of course he thanked him for his birthday gifts. Flipping to somewhere near the end, he started reading.

June 3rd

His mouth is now a perfect frown, guard up, and questions me with his eyes. He doesn't understand the complex magic I've added to the castle and jumped to the worst possible conclusions. There is disappointment there. He questions everything I do, every intention I have, and I don't know how to change his mind without rousing more suspicion. Minerva is back to treating me like she did last year, like she was wrong about me again, and I am the monster the students always accused me of being.

Harry stared at the page. Yes, that was a terrible week. But they smoothed out that misunderstanding, didn't they? Things were getting fixed. Flipping forward a few more pages, he tried another entry.

June 15th

Hermione Granger owled today asking for advice. She wants a percentage of elf-made wine profits to be held in a fund dedicated to ensure their fair treatment, and what would be the best way to flatter the egos of wizards to make this happen. She is learning. Action in the Ministry requires a certain level of schmooze. Her willingness to contact me probably means she's warming up. If she trusts me, Harry will trust me more. If she never trusts me, it will fail. Weasley will be harder, but Harry does not seem to hold his opinion in equal measure.

Harry wriggled his nose, not liking the sound of Snape trying to 'collect' his friends like Slughorn.

He shut the book, thumb holding its place. He should stop, it wasn't right to go through it. But those were such negative entries… What about the good stuff? Their relationship was good… wasn't it? They fought all the time, yes, but it was… playful. Mostly. They had great moments—exciting moments. Where were those?

Harry opened the diary again, trying to find a date where they had 'adventurous' experiences, searching for something positive.

June 21st

He called me a shit teacher. I have been called shit all my life, and he agrees. I should have known he thought as much, but he made sure to let me know. Deliberately tried to hurt me. Stabbed and salted the wound. I've dedicated my entire life to a school that I may one day run in earnest, and he makes it a point to insult my teaching abilities. I don't know why he said as much unless he wants to end it. I don't understand why he felt it necessary to confirm all the students hate me despite my skillsets. Maybe I was only useful as a turned Death Eater, and my usefulness has run its course. Harry has never shown that level of cruelty to anyone, friends nor enemies, so why was it so important to insult me?

And that was all that was written about their entire date, not one mention of the activities that followed. He blinked, crestfallen that he would write about the fight, but not about the intimate encounter afterwards, which he rather wanted to hear his thoughts about.

Another page. No date this time.

I told Dumbledore what I did. If portraits could do magic, I would be a dead man.

And that was the only thing written on that particular day. What did you do, Sev? Did you finally tell Dumbledore you poisoned a hundred students? It can't be all bad, it just can't. One more…

August 1st

He gives nothing away. After spending a quarter of a year on three life-saving potions, he just said 'thanks.' Perhaps he didn't realize how long they took to make, the impossibly rare ingredients surrendered, or how many nights of sleep I lost. I prepared a nice evening for us but he went to bed immediately after dinner. No matter how grand the gesture, he doesn't notice. It feels like he's content in the current state of our relationship with no intention to deepen it. This is my fault. I don't know how to fix this.

Harry closed the diary, horrified, wishing he never opened it. Hermione was right: Snape seemed like an insecure teenager freaking out in his very first relationship. And his birthday gifts… Harry didn't know those three potions he received took that long to make. All Snape told him is what they did: one to increase magical strength temporarily, one to take if he was actively dying, and a third to Disapparate if he was unable to do so. They all sounded like incredible potions, and kept them on his person in a shrunken emergency bag since he received them.

Thinking back on that night a couple weeks ago, it was his first official day at work but he missed it. He slept the whole day, and when he finally woke up, he was exhausted, like a lead weight took over his body. Snape was taking care of him, told him that he loved him, and yes, that's when he found out his violent night terrors were much worse. Terrible day. He fell asleep again, and when he woke up… there was an elaborate dinner on the table, Snape was dressed very nicely… and yes, that delicious home-made wine again. Dinner was so good in fact, Harry distinctly remembering eating a lot and feeling very full (which made him very tired,) and wanted to go lie down again. But Sev unveiled his birthday gifts right then and there… and… of course he was happy about the gifts… but… yes, he did go back to bed shortly after. He just went to bed… he had work in the morning and wanted to be fresh after missing his first official day.

Now that he had all the pieces, he felt rather embarrassed. That was obviously set up to be a romantic moment, but Harry wanted to go to bed. Was Severus expecting some sort of… declaration? Some sort of… conversation to bring their relationship to the next level? Even after all this time, Harry wasn't necessarily ready to say those words back.

He looked down at the diary in betrayal, some sort of disaster reel of their worst moments. Yes, he called him a shit teacher, and worse yet, he meant it. He stuffed the diary back in Snape's overnight bag, escaping to the bathroom.

Washing his face, he played back the events in the diary. Not one bit of it was false except Harry's motives. He wished he didn't go through it, but it did provide him with the insight that Snape didn't feel secure in their relationship at all. Harry was not trying to end things and didn't intend to make him feel like he wasn't good enough or he didn't appreciate his efforts.

This needed to change, he thought as he went back downstairs.

"NUMBER FIVE—RIGHT SNOBS, they are," George yelled as Harry made his way downstairs. Turning the corner, Snape's eyes found his at once, questioning the long absence. George was listing off his well-practiced 'Top Ten Reasons Purebloods are Gits' speech to Malfoy. "NUMBER 6: House-elves!"

"Hogwarts has house-elves."

"NUMBER 7—"

"You're a Pureblood!"

"And I'm A GIT! See Malfoy, you just don't LISTEN. By the way, 'not listening' is number 7. NUUUUUMMMMBER 8! INCEST. You can't wriggle out of that one— that's a documented fact."

Harry sat down on the couch, closer to Severus than he normally would be in front of company.

"NUMBER NINE—Coddling Mothers! Don't tell me she's not, Malfoy! I KNOW that she is!"

"Keep my mother's name out of your mouth!" Draco suddenly snarled, now quite ferocious.

"I didn't even say your mother's name! Back to number seven, then."

Cough. Cooouggggh. COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH, Kreacher expelled loudly over the snarling, waiting for their attention, and then bowed his lowest bow yet. "Dinner is served."

Dinner turned into a full-blown screaming match about creature law between Hermione and Draco. George watched rapturously, transfixed, eyes bouncing back and forth like he got front row seats to a Quidditch match, fork continuously missing food.

When they left later in the evening, George had his arms around both Hermione and Draco, in-between to separate them. "Well, I better escort these two home," he said while Draco tried to peel George's fingers off his expensive robes, not wanting to be touched by a Weasley. "Lovely time. And THANK YOU again," he winked at Snape. "And Harry, remember: five girls now, that's the story, one of them—Goyle's sister. Keep ol' Ronnie on his toes."

"What?" Draco asked between peeling fingers, hearing his friend's name.

"Bye now!" and he Disapparated clutching them both.

1234

"You barely said anything at dinner," Harry said in the kitchen trying to clean up but Kreacher shooed them away.

"Over that ruckus? Was Weasley well-behaved or not? I expected more trouble."

Harry went first up the stairs. "Well behaved, I think. Relatively. You gave him a 100,000 lifetime Galleon deal."

"If he's smart, he won't sell it," Severus reiterated. "Did it smell good...?"

"NO," Harry lied. "Smelled off. Didn't like it."

"Liar. And why would you go and tell them everything?"

"Are you upset?"

"I don't know. Foolish."

"I think she's entertained; she loves practical knowledge. I told her you wrote a sex book for Dark wizards."

Severus scoffed. "So… Miss Granger is… understanding?"

"Hermione's actually been better about it since I started telling her things. She was seeing all the suspicious parts, so I told her all the good parts. Does… that bother you? That I told her stuff?"

"I don't know…" They sat down on the bed. "Is that still a 'no' on the lust potion? Are you sure?"

"Still a NO." Definitely a no, especially now he knew just a whiff was exciting.

"Such a disappointment. Tell me then, how are you going to pay me for the Draught of Conversion that the Minister is aiming for?"

"What do you want?"

Severus thought about this… and smiled like he couldn't help himself. "Many… many things."

"Mmmm, alright. Give me a range to pick from, then."

"And you're going to tell Miss Granger, are you?"

Harry smiled. "I think you like that she knows." Severus eyed him, considering, but not giving an answer.

Harry grabbed him roughly out of the blue, pulling him down, digging his hands into his hair—claiming him. Even when Severus was ready for air, Harry did not let them part.

"What was that for?" he asked suspiciously.

"Do I need a reason?" Harry smiled up at him. "SO…" he started, "The castle isn't going to be done by the start of term…?"

"No, it's not…" Severus confirmed wearily, unsure if this was going to be the start of another row.

"Well, that's that, then. Students are still going to get sick, and McGonagall will need to tell the students not to make eye contact with the castle and disrespect it like a temperamental Hippogriff or something. Think you should take a weekend off."

"And you...? I didn't know Aurors could take surprise weekends off."

"Well, maybe the 'Boy Who Lived' can…"

"Always expecting special treatment."

"Sev…" Harry changed his tone, cringing, and looking up at him apologetically. "I can be thick sometimes." Severus raised an eyebrow, wondering why he was stating the obvious now. "So those potions… for my birthday… I didn't get how impressive they are. Next time you brew some godly potion that is on the level of Enigma Magic... tell me about it. I feel like I underreacted when you gave them to me. It was a big deal and I didn't pick up on it."

"…You never had much respect for potions; I should have known better. I shall find other things to give you, more your taste." He didn't quite meet his eyes as he said this, still sour about it.

"No, Sev, seriously, I need those potions. For an Auror, they're great gifts—lifesaving gifts, but… I feel like we speak two different languages… and we need to translate for each other."

Instead of responding, Severus continued to look away, like this inability to communicate was just another failing of their relationship.

"Sooo… I thought on this impromptu holiday, we'd make the rumors come true. You mentioned you wanted to… try some things. So… I was thinking... you mentioned… a love potion. Not Amortentia, but... if you wanted to give me one… and make me obsessed—I consent."

Severus turned to him but didn't show emotion at the offer.

"And if I do or say anything embarrassing while I'm obsessed and soppy, I also consent to be Obliviated, because I don't think I can live with the knowledge of me saying or doing certain things."

"I told you, Potter… humiliation adds another layer. It is not to be wasted."

"Yeah, you've mentioned that…"

"BUT… Minerva is unlikely to grant a weekend off so close to term."

"Do you want me to talk to her…?"

"So… I'll play hooky."

"Professor Snape! Playing Hooky! What a terrible deputy headmaster you are."

"The worst," Severus smiled and kissed him. "Many agree."