Part 13

A/N

**if you got notified for a bunch of chapter updates, I just realized based on some comments that FF removed all my lovely scene breaks! Daggone it! I work with two other editors, forgot this one did that. Alas. I've gone back into all the chapters and put in explicit ~~scene~~ markers. I think that should do it? Please let me know if it doesn't.

The summer was all supposed to be one chapter. Then Hermione's conversation with her mum happened. Then Neville's conversation with his gran happened. And then Malfoy and Fudge got together, and things went skeewoggy again. And the second chapter of summer was again too ungainly. So, you get three summer chapters. Or, two and a half? Depends on how crazy the cup gets. I got distracted writing 4th year stuff. Sorry.

- One more change, brought to screen from my head by a reader reminding me of canon. Uncle Algie in this case is the younger brother of Everett Longbottom, Augusta's husband. Augusta Cromwell's mother was a Crouch. One of her great so many grandfather's brothers was a squib, and his son was Oliver. I hear he had a round head.

- I really do read each and every comment. Sometimes the questions are answered in upcoming chapters, so I say nothing. Sometimes they're in my head, so I expound (as above). Here's one of them: in the last chapter Neville says – you lost – the house didn't blame Neville in my world because he was trying to stop Harry and Hermione. And he's not really noticed much in the house. Not worthy of bullying, even? Poor Neville.

- "Odd as a nine-bob note" is a phrase google told me was a rare saying in Britain for something weird. Bob is a shorthand for money – the shilling. Kind of like quid is slang for pound. My own grandmother would say "odd as Dick's hatband." Both of these sayings used the word queer, not odd, but queer has a different meaning now, so I hope I don't offend by changing the base term. I was like 25 before I realized a hatband was part of a hat, and not a group of people playing hats as musical instruments. I'm slow.

~~ stop blathering, tell the story ~~

"Shopping on the Alley? I've done that one a few times. You don't need to bring me here." Harry had enjoyed all of the different muggle and magical places Sirius had taken him to so far that summer. He'd loved the new blended culture places like the Phoenix had, but Diagon still had its charm.

"Silence yourself and put on the glamour necklace," Sirius lightheartedly reprimanded. "I need to stop by the bank." They went into the bank, and Sirius did whatever business he had to do. It didn't take too long. As he came out, he looked at Harry with a question, "Anywhere on the alley you want to stop before we get moving?"

"Can we go to Mr. Twig's? The Storage Bazaar and Emporium." Harry pointed in the direction of the store where he'd gotten his trunk the previous summer.

Sirius looked on a store he'd never patronized and shrugged. "Sure."

Steven Twig looked upon the young man who guided his father? Oh, no, certainly not. Looking through the glamour, he realized the young man was Harry Potter, back in his shop. And with him was… Sirius Black.

When Steven had heard of the truth of what had been done to Harry Potter in the times between his residences in the magical world, he'd felt so ill. He was glad he'd been kind to the child when Harry came into Steven's shop. That boy was so polite and respectful. Nothing of the brash braggart some would say.

"Good morning! Three-compartment trunk, writing box? Yes?"

"Good memory, sir! Yes! I'm here to make an order for bags. I know you said wood is your favorite, but your spellwork is too good to pass up."

"Thank you for that! What are you looking for?"

"I'd like to order two bags. School bags for two of my friends."

"Any spells in particular?"

"Load them up! Both of them carry entirely too much, and their former bags simply couldn't handle the load. One of them, well, some kids think it's funny to damage her stuff, so durability, anti-theft are priority."

"Okay, then, any particulars for design?"

"Well, for Hermione, her initials: HJG, on the clasp. Chocolate brown, elegant, and do you have a small library trunk that she could carry in the bag? I got one for Christmas and it makes carrying my schoolbooks in my bag so much easier." Sirius, browsing the shelves and admiring the spellwork and crafting, smiled on hearing that.

"I do have that, and can have the package put together for you in a few days,"

"Okay, it's no rush. I can pick them up when we're getting school supplies in a few weeks. The second might be harder. I mean, the spells are the same, but I'd like a cool design. Like on the writing box. I'd like it to have a pattern that has all sorts of interesting creatures hidden in it, muggle, magical, even mythical. Like okapi, narwhal, wyvern, sasquatch…"

"Nargles?" Twig asked with a twinkle in his eye. "The little blonde you sent to get her trunk enchanted?"

Harry grinned. "Luna, yes. And if you know what a nargle or a wrackspurt or a crumple-horned snorkack is purported to look like…"

"I read The Quibbler, lad. This one's a bit tougher, but fun. My wife's an artist. I think I'll work with her on it. You've given me a challenge!"

They settled accounts with Harry putting a down payment on the bags and left the shop.

~~scene~~

Lucius Malfoy was another "reformed" Death Eater who believed that he played by different rules than others. But he was a true Slytherin. He tried to track where Prescott – he'd been able to get the wolf's surname, but that was all, and the glamours the blasted creatures wore protected everything else about those cur's identities – got the balm, he tried to track where the meeting appointments would be. He and his spies could not track the shipments, and he put his best spies on the matter. He had no hope of breaking the minds or methods of weres and house elves. And he had no idea how pagers and electronic messaging worked.

But there was more than one way to skin a mudblood. Lucius knew that from experience, after all.

In exchange for access to the ointment for a month, Malfoy asked Snape to analyze it. Could they make their own? Snape, after very little study, realized the medicine had a basilisk venom base (almost impossible to get cheaper than it was being sold for) and a parsel spell on it to strengthen its potency. He told Lucius that they were actually getting the ointment for a steal, though it was terribly expensive (20 galleons for a month's supply), as the supplies themselves cost close to that. Lucius bowed to his friend's superior knowledge and tried to figure another way to take advantage.

Because, at the rate he and Narcissa were using the balm, they would bankrupt house Malfoy before their son's heir could be born.

~~scene~~

On the first of August, Neville Longbottom sat with his gran at the breakfast table. He'd gotten one more birthday letter, this one from Ron. Hermione had sent him a book on muggle aspects of divination, along with some of the tools that muggles thought worked with prophecy and the like. It was silly, but brought a smile to his face. He saw references to two of his own relatives and a few other true magical prophets and clairvoyants, so he knew it wasn't complete bunkum.

Harry had sent him a wickedly useful pocket knife and a few sets of muggle clothes, telling Neville that they would be useful after the cup since Sirius was taking them back to London, whether Neville's gran was aware or not.

Ron's letter was just a letter. He sent a happy birthday, but since Neville hadn't gotten Ron a gift for his birthday, he wasn't surprised that Ron didn't give him one. He read through the news from Ottery St. Catchpole with a small smile, unaware that his gran was becoming more and more short tempered at his seeming serenity.

"Neville, the table is not the place to read your letters." Her voice was a grating whine, and Neville nodded, folding the correspondence and putting it away.

Never mind that she read her correspondence at the table every morning. When she had any.

Her friends seemed fewer on the ground these days.

"I should confiscate that from you. Who would be writing to you? Disappointment that you are." Unlike times past, Neville ignored her. He nodded absentmindedly at her pauses and tucked into his meal, thinking about what he was going to do with his day.

Augusta Longbottom was losing her upper hand on Neville, and she was not going to stand for that.

"Young man," Augusta began in a cool, threatening tone, "I am sure I do not like your attitude."

Neville sat, saying nothing.

"I believe the influences on you at Hogwarts are not beneficial. Forget going to the world cup. And you shall not be returning to Hogwarts this year. It is a waste of tuition." That it was said with calm certainty in a dismissive tone did not give it credence.

"That's not something you have control over," Neville stated calmly. "My parents enrolled me, and are still alive, so you can't countermand their request. My grades are good – excellent even – so there's no academic basis for pulling me out of Hogwarts. Of course, my grades are the problem, aren't they?" He asked rhetorically.

"Pardon me?" Her voice was cold, and even a year ago he would've trembled in fear and nerves. That stupid spell never let him feel excitement or happiness or love, but fear? Fear, anguish, hurt … emotions like that were all plentiful.

Magical justice certainly demonstrated something about their society: between that evil spell, and creatures like dementors as guards, and prisons like Azkaban that provided almost nothing to prisoners – no clothing, minimal food and water, minimal shelter – and were warded to keep prisoners miserable, hopeless, and helpless…

Perhaps as Lord Longbottom, on the Wizengamot, he'd push for humane treatment of prisoners.

If he had the right of it, his gran could be one of them. But now, he returned his mind to their conversation, doubling down on his tiny occlumency shields in an effort to remain calm and in control.

"My grades. They're good because my mind is free. And I've started to analyze things that I let slide for a long time. For example: for years you fed your cousin from this table. Your cousin whose child let the LeStrange trio in to torture my parents. To torture me."

"Little Barty was under imperius…" Augusta protested

"He had the dark mark. He Burned. You knew he was vile. I always wondered why you let his father here. Why you gave him… what's that term?" Neville tilted his head as he thought. "Succor. You gave him succor."

"He was my cousin," Augusta defended.

Neville nodded. "And his son did you a solid, right?" Neville knew using slang, let alone American slang, would get his grandmother's goat.

Augusta's brow furrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"He did you a favor. You got the best of both worlds, right? Lord and Lady Longbottom weren't killed, so Algie couldn't take the title, but they were neutralized."

"Frank is my son." The perceived insult was heavily displayed in her tone.

"And Alice took your place," Neville countered. "You could go back to ruling the roost, like you did when Dad was a minor. You got to spend the money, wallow in the prestige of being Lady Longbottom … all because Little Barty got Mum and Dad out of your way."

"How dare you?" Augusta drew herself up.

"How dare you?!" Neville was furious. "Did you put the magic limiters on me? Or was it all Algie? You had the elves keep me alive when he tried to kill me, but it played into your hand that I was weak. You could push me around, keep me under your thumb even once I was of age."

"I never touched you!" the witch vehemently denied.

"You never helped me," Neville whispered, his disgust completely apparent. His voice turned detached then, as if he were telling a story to a stranger instead of revealing the perfidy of his own kin. "The fact you never took me to a healer and blocked Pomphrey from doing a physical is quite telling. Panakos wouldn't cow to your demands, as they were quite illegal."

"Is that how…" Augusta realized her muttering was all the confirmation Neville needed.

Neville looked at her with disgust. "It doesn't matter how; it's done now. The bindings and curses are gone. Algie's worse than a squib. Crouch is in Azkaban. The facts that you interfered at Hogwarts with my healing and that you never took me to an independent healer, and that I had all those terrible spells on me, and that you blocked me getting my own wand: They've all been noted. Panakos and Ollivander have turned you in to WCS. Even if they can't prove anything at this point, you'll be watched."

"I've done nothing wrong." Augusta was defiant. "And I still am the adult here. I am still in charge"

Neville smirked a little, hiding his nerves.

"For now. When I'm of age, I'm going to move you to the dower house, as is your right. But for now, I'm going to have my account manager watch every penny you spend and go over the books to make sure you haven't stolen from me. I'm going to have my elves watch every movie you make, since I bound them to me this morning, as I am now Heir Longbottom. Winky – you might remember her? Your cousin, Crouch, used her for years, then tried to murder her, because he's a twat – Winky's my new personal elf, and she told me how to bind the Longbottom elves, since you're not actually a Longbottom. They'll make sure the family heirlooms are guarded against you selling them, since I assume you'll be strapped for cash. As for your other decision: I am going to the World Cup with my friends. Block it. Try."

Augusta said nothing. She knew she had no recourse. She had gambled and lost.

"Oh," Neville said as he got up from the table. "You're going to take medical leave from the Wizengamot. Our seat will not be voted again until I reach majority or appoint a proxy. Now, I'm going to work in my greenhouse. Have a lovely day, gran." He said her name like an epithet.

His heart was broken. On the inside he knew he'd done the right thing, but now he had nobody. His respect for Harry went up that much more. Maybe, like Harry, he'd find someone was actually in his corner.

~~scene~~

"Minister Fudge," The blond wizard inclined his head.

"Cornelius, please," Fudge blustered. "Lord Malfoy, how are you? I have not seen you in the Ministry in some weeks."

"My family are all well," Lucius answered blandly. Fudge noticed that, once again, he was not offered reciprocation of the offer for informalities. "I hope the same for yours."

"Yes, yes. We are well."

Silence held in the Minister's office for a beat, then two.

"You requested this meeting, Minister. What is it that you believe House Malfoy can do for you currently?"

"Ah…" Fudge smiled shiftily. "I was simply wondering if there was any legislation we wished to get ahead of before the autumn session of the Wizengamot? I have not heard of any current initiatives."

Malfoy smiled without humor or even the slightest bit of kindness. "House Malfoy has no agenda for the autumn term, I assure you."

The minister's brow furrowed. "It is strange. Usually, at least one of the major houses has an idea of the thrust of the legislation to be pressed or denied. None of you has come forward, and session resumes in less than a month."

Lucius breathed in rather sharply through his nose weighing his words carefully. "Minister, as I am sure you are aware, several of us were imperiused by the former dark lord to take his magical sigil. In the last sixmonth, that dark lord performed some rite or ritual that has caused his sigil to burn. We still pay for the choices that miscreant made. And now, we must pay, fiscally. The cost of the treatment – not cure, mind you, but ongoing, necessary treatment – for this further debasement of the very fiber of our beings is quite steep."

Fudge, ever the savvy politician saw the writing on the wall. Bribes from the dark houses would be thin on the ground for the next generation. The light houses had been targeted heavily in the last war; even if they were inclined toward corruption, they had not the means to support his proclivity for graft.

"This balm. It is deplorable that someone is using the misfortune of so many of our most upstanding citizens for fiscal gain." That both men had taken part in such shenanigans in the past was left unsaid. It was unseemly when someone else turned your own bag of tricks back on you. "Should I try to interfere? Perhaps use legislation to pull the manufacture and distribution into the ministry's aegis?"

Malfoy simply lifted one cold eyebrow. "If anyone attempts to interfere, the manufacturers will simply stop selling it. If that were to occur because of your actions, I cannot guarantee you will survive."

Fudge somehow knew Malfoy didn't mean survive, politically.

"Surely, there must be something we can do?" Cornelius shook his head.

"Are you that pressed for funds, Minister?" Lucius would not upset the balm applecart. Even if he had a way to treat the Burning for himself, enough of his brethren were afflicted that he knew there would be no quarter given if the treatment were impacted.

Cornelius wrung his hands and shook his head as he looked out the window. "Mrs. Fudge has become accustomed to a certain standard of living. Much of my stored funds were confiscated in Black's lawsuit. And since the Boy Who Lived productions have ceased, my revenue is nonexistent."

A small chuckle escaped Lucius's lips as he shook his own head. "I warned you of using the boy's image when you came to me for support of your actions. He is from an ancient and noble lineage." Of course, Malfoy's reasoning hadn't been to protect House Potter. He hadn't wanted the boy to become popular. But it had been a way to keep the bribes low. His support on the income meant that he paid less out of pocket.

"I did have the DoM analyze the balm, simply to ensure its efficacy and safety," Fudge admitted, changing the subject back to what he saw as the current source of his problems.

"And what conclusions did the Unspeakables come to?" Lucius queried.

"Croaker admits that the price for the balm is reasonable, given the ingredients." Fudge's voice held a petulant disappointment.

"My own analysis concurs. I am afraid, Minister Fudge, that there is nothing House Malfoy can do to help you in your current situation."

Cornelius sighed, but his heart hardened. He would find a way. Someone would pay for this.

~~scene~~

"Why are we going to the alley early? We could eat at home." Harry quite liked the Sunday morning breakfast Kreacher always prepared, and he wanted to work on the drawing he'd done of Sirius falling into the bog.

Sirius had been wandering around as Padfoot, and the infirm ground that had supported the distributed weight of a grim collapsed under the concentrated weight of a wizard. That he'd transformed to try to prank Harry had been the icing on the cake, and Harry had just about caught the expression of mischief and disappointment that had been on Sirius's face. Harry had no desire to go shopping on Diagon.

"We're meeting someone." Sirius sighed. "We're meeting Severus Snape."

"Oh, come on! It's summer hols!" Harry tried not to whine, but really! "I should not have to see that greasy git outside Hogwarts."

"Normally, I would agree." Sirius commiserated as they walked to the Cauldron. "But he sent a politely worded message, asking us to meet him at our leisure. I made the appointment for this morning, knowing that the alley will be quiet and at the Leaky because the main room should be mostly empty, but it's both familiar to you and safe, being in public."

"You think he wants to curse me?" Harry always had to consider that Severus Snape seemed to be one wand twitch away from rendering Harry for potions.

"I don't," Sirius reassured. "But we have to go to find out what it is that he wants."

They went to the dining room of the Leaky, Sirius passing a galleon to the serving man for the use of a table. It was only a scant few minutes until the rustle of Snape's cloak announced his arrival.

"Severus," Sirius inclined his head, and used that man's proper name.

"Lord Black." Snape's eyes glittered, but no longer with hatred. They'd had a horrid rivalry in childhood, and it had pushed them both into being horrid to each other as adults. Severus had thought, truly, that Black deserved Azkaban if not for what was done to Lily, then for his youthful shenanigans. Being forced to acknowledge his own godson acted the same was an eye opener. Did Draco deserve ten years in Azkaban? He was heading on that road… "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. Could you raise privacy wards around us?"

Sirius nodded his head slowly, then cast several spells, including some of his own make, to give the trio privacy.

Harry just looked on, with suspicion.

"Mr. Potter," Snape began with more formality and politeness than Harry remembered ever getting from the man. "As you may or may not be aware, in my youth, I stupidly joined up with the cause of the Dark Lord. Voldemort. Part of that indiscretion included being marked by him with his sigil." Snape rolled up his sleeve, baring the awful tattoo.

"Recently, a medicine – a magical analgesic – has come on the market that treats the insidious Burning that has infected our dark marks. I, of course, cannot afford the balm. But my friend, Lucius, provided a month's worth for me, in exchange for my expertise. To wit: what were the ingredients, and how did it work? Could we replicate it?"

Harry just stared at his former professor, hoping the adjective 'former' remained.

"My analysis concluded there was no hope. One ingredient, alone: basilisk venom, was so rare and prohibitively expensive that it would render the ability to make this balm impossible for anyone without some source of the toxin. Additionally, the balm itself had been rendered exponentially more effective through a parsel spell. Lucius was, of course, quite disappointed. I then realized both of those anomalies had one person in common. A certain tale of Slytherin's Chamber came to mind."

Still, even with the stare of those cold, black eyes into his own, Harry said nothing.

"Mr. Potter, I must thank you. Seriously. And I need to apologize for my treatment of you in the past."

This was the first thing that got through Harry's stoic front. But Harry didn't express the confusion these last statements stirred in him.

Snape saw it anyway.

"I knew your father. I hated your father." That it was said dispassionately was the only reason Harry remained seated calmly.

Sirius snorted softly, but Harry waited patiently, holding his temper. There was a reason that Snape was speaking without vitriol. Harry would hear him out.

"There is no way would your father have made this treatment available to any death eater. He would have wanted all of us to go insane and kill ourselves. You are, obviously, not he. To my shame, I have embodied my own father: a spiteful, hate-filled man. I have ruined my own life, and I thank you for giving me the chance to truly redeem myself."

Harry was flummoxed. He didn't know if he should say that Snape was welcome, because, truly, he wasn't. Harry didn't know if forgiveness could be that easy. Or if it should be.

Snape stood, not waiting through Harry's indecision. "Thank you for hearing me out."

As he turned, his cloak swishing with his trademark maneuver, Harry looked to Sirius.

"Was he serious, do ya reckon?" Harry asked.

Sirius breathed deeply and nodded. "I think he was. Looking back, I can see that his home life was probably worse than mine. That's saying something."

"He still made a choice to act like a git."

"He did, as did I." Sirius nodded as they both stood and headed back to the muggle side and the HC. "Only difference was, he turned dark, while I turned light. But he genuinely apologized. That takes some stones."

When Harry got to Dr. Crenshaw's office, his mind was still full of the contradictions.

"What's bothering you?" Fiona asked as she poured her tea.

"My git professor, Snape, he asked to meet me. He was a death eater, you know? Those blokes tortured and killed so many people. And he was pushing that same crap in Hogwarts. Picking on people like Hermione and Neville."

"And you?" Fiona asked with insight.

Harry nodded shortly.

"But, when he realized that the balm – you know I'm working with Master Fezziwig? That I gave him the basilisk venom and I'm using my parselmagic to make medicines stronger?"

Fiona smiled. "I am aware, yes."

"Well, Snape figured out that I had to be involved. I'm the only known parselmouth in England, and I killed that ruddy basilisk right in Hogwarts sacred halls."

Shaking her head, Fiona once again thought on the travesty that the major school in Britain had become. "He deduced that you are involved in the production?"

"Yeah. He didn't try to blackmail me or anything," Harry assured his myalurgist. "He just thanked me. He apologized for how he treated me in the past, and he thanked me."

Fiona was silent for a moment. "Did he express why he was grateful?"

"Said he hated my dad. Took out his hatred of my dad on me. But that he's realized that he was wrong to do that because I wasn't like my dad. He said Dad wouldn't have given the balm to death eaters. But I did. And it showed he was wrong, and he regretted it. And he was grateful that he had time to correct himself."

"What do you think about that?" Fiona asked gently after Harry seemed to run out of steam. Harry got up and paced a bit, looking out the window as he breathed and thought. Turning back to his healer, he tilted his head, his eyes full of conflict.

"I've read a lot of his journal; my dad was kind of a berk when he was a kid. But would he really want people to hurt? Sirius didn't contradict Snape. In fact, when I said Snape was a git, Sirius agreed and said that he'd been a git, too. They all were, I think. I think my dad might have been a bully."

The conclusion was shaming.

Dr. Crenshaw put her cup down and looked at the poor, tormented boy. "I think that you have to take a few things into account. Some people are rigid in their beliefs. Your father was privileged from birth, and he was light both by family roots and by choice. He never saw another point of view, so it may have been hard for him to empathize with anything different. He also fought in the war and saw, first hand, a lot of what the death eaters did, and that might have hardened him to a sympathetic stance."

Harry was silent for a moment, weighing her words, then nodded slowly. "I think I see what you mean. Kind of like Ron. He doesn't like anyone in Slytherin, and I get why, with the way he was raised, and how his uncles were killed in the war. But Aunt Drom – Sirius's cousin – was in Slytherin. And so was Mr. Stenwick, Sirius's law wizard."

"You've learned some hard lessons, young. Adults lie." Harry looked at Fiona, hard. It was the first time an adult had come out and admitted it to him so baldly. "Adults are fallible. You've had to make judgments based on your own experiences, not on what you were told. It's not a nice lesson, but it will serve you well. Try not to judge your father too much. He never had a chance to moderate his views. Now, tell me what you thought of the Dartmoor circle."

The rest of the session was a mixture of Harry talking about his travels and discoveries with Sirius that summer and how Harry was doing living with the exonerated prisoner of Azkaban. But the entire time, Harry was thinking, in the back of his mind about Severus Snape and his genuine, heartfelt apology.

"Harry! Come in! We are super busy today!"

"Hey, Master Fezziwig! Still busy as a one-armed paper hanger?"

Crispin stopped his ingredient prep and looked at Harry like the lad had grown two heads. "Muggle saying?"

"Yeah. Read it in a story by O. Henry. Anyway. The balm is cracking, and Moony says that the new wolfsbane is the bomb."

The potion master looked at the boy with exasperation. "Will you please speak English? I've neither the time nor the spare synapses to translate youth to commoner."

Harry laughed. "The new wolfsbane and the balm have both proved to have good efficacy, and as such, must be using a great deal of your time and efforts in brewing."

"Oh, Merlin, now you sound like Zhou. Yes. Both those projects are seriously successful. I barely have time to sleep these days."

"How goes the hunt for a second potions master?"

"They're rather sparse these days. I don't know if it's the education at Hogwarts or just a lack of interest and discipline."

"Well, I know of a potions master that might be available."

Crispin looked seriously at Harry. "Explain."

So, Harry told his advisor of Potion Master Snape. Potentially reformed death eater, certainly a fantastic potions master.

"You think he's looking for redemption?" Crispin sat at his bench, spinning slightly from side to side, as he thought about Harry's proposition.

Harry sighed. "I think he might be. He apologized. Really apologized. Even Hagrid never apologized, when he was the one to deliver me to the Dursleys not once, but twice. If you bring him in, have him work on researching and brewing healing potions, I think that could help him. At the same time,"

"At the same time," Fezziwig smiled, finishing Harry's thoughts, "we have a second full master brewing on staff for the clinic. The man is brilliant if a berk. I'll write to him straight away. It could answer our problems."

~~scene~~

Within a week, owls were exchanged between the two potions masters. Fezziwig, under Zhou's advisement and approval, offered Snape a deal: In exchange for brewing both general healing potions and the new wolfsbane vaccine, the healers' clinic would fully employ Severus. He would have funds and space available to do his own research, so long as it was for patient health and well-being. He would be supplied with both salary and the treatment for the burning.

Snape realized the deal was a dream come true. Not only would he be able to do research of his own and get the ointment as part of his salary, he would be able to escape, completely from Hogwarts. He wouldn't have to teach, at all, ever again.

With no hesitation, he signed the contract and prepared his full resignation from the school. Putting copies of the resignation in both Minerva and Albus's boxes, he packed up his rooms completely and forwarded it all, via elf, to his home. He hated Spinner's End, but perhaps it was time to make improvements there, too.

He'd let Tobias Snape rule his life for far too long.

Only when all evidence of Severus Snape, save the man himself, was completely removed from the premises, did Snape reach out to his (unbeknownst to Albus) former employer.

As they were hosting a conference that summer, Albus was spending the summer holidays on the mainland, with the ICW. Snape hoped that perhaps Dumbledore would not be able to answer his floo, but that hope was dashed with the appearance of Dumbledore's bearded visage in the flames.

"Severus? Is there an emergency that I should know about?"

"No, Albus. I am merely flooing as a courtesy. I've been offered a full-time position as a researcher and am resigning my position at Hogwarts, effective immediately."

The shock on the older wizard's face was palpable.

"This is quite… I had expected you to take over the potions position full time again. I was willing to pay for the balm treatment, personally, so that you could be in the classroom, full-time. Horace has gone back into retirement."

"Your expectations will not be fulfilled," Severus stated flatly.

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice was not soft or kind. "You owe me."

"I owe you?" The rebuttal was full of venom. "I swore on my magic to protect Lily's child. I believed, though I have many differences in opinion with you, that you had his best interests at heart. I should have seen. I should have. It is my own shame that I did not."

Demand hadn't worked, so Dumbledore turned to cajolery. "You have the chance to make it up to him."

Lifting one brow, Snape smirked. "I shall make it up to him by removing myself from his life. You cannot be ignorant of the fact that I am one of the main components in making his life the hell it was."

"You can work toward forgiveness only if you see him, which you will as his potions instructor." Working toward forgiveness was a key tenet in Dumbledore's belief system. That he never did it himself, at least not overtly, was rarely thrown in his face.

"I am going to be making healing potions and doing research into healing potions. It is a much better penance than torturing children." That should be enough penance even for the old man, Severus thought.

Dumbledore sighed. "I had relied on you being here, on your stability with the tournament coming."

Both of Snape's brows raised to his forehead as he looked on in disbelief. "So instead of simply exposing Britain's youth to my particular vitriol, you wished to spread the love internationally?"

"Severus," now came the plea. "I need you to do this."

"Albus," the potion master was unmoved, and it was apparent in his bored tone. "I am done. I am not sorry. You need to find another potions teacher."

"Tom is not done. If he attacks the school…"

"The Dark Lord is completely done." Snape interrupted shortly. "Do you know how I know? Voldemort. Voldemort. No shudder. No curse. I can say it. The burning is a curse put on the remnants of Tom Riddle's magic. The Dark Lord is done. Have a good afternoon."

Severus disconnected the call and Dumbledore sat, in his office in the Hague. He looked to his phoenix, who was staring at the older wizard and let out a chirruping trill. Dumbledore took little comfort from the eternal being's presence.

Albus felt that no matter how he tried, his grasp on the world was being pulled from his hands. Poppy, Remus, Hagrid, and now Severus had all filled key positions in Hogwarts. He knew he could leave the school in their hands and it would run as he wished.

Panakos was a good healer, but Albus no longer had free access to the students' files. Grubby-Plank had come for a few weeks as a favor; Albus had no idea who would fill her shoes. But Hagrid was self-studying for OWLS while taking care of the grounds, and the poor man wouldn't get through in time to be able to be with the students again.

Even Minerva no longer followed his orders without question. She had reached out to other educational departments for candidates for the open positions without even asking for approval. Yes, he had been out of touch with the ICW (and keeping his position as supreme mugwump had not been easy when the information of how he'd fumbled the quaffle with young Mr. Potter had surfaced). Albus did not believe this was a good enough reason to fill critical faculty positions without his input. She had some poor excuse – new teachers needing to plan or some such nonsense – but the fact was she went over his head to the board of governors and they approved the new process which left Albus out in the cold.

He was closer to being a figurehead at Hogwarts – between the changing political climate in Britain and the influx of wizards and witches not raised under Albus's purview. And he didn't like it. He would have to make more of an effort to be involved in the coming school year.

Of course, having the tournament now was highly inconvenient. With Dirk Cresswell being promoted out of the Goblin Liaison office and into Barty Crouch's old job (Fudge was so desperate to show he was not associated with prejudice practices that he actually hired a man who was qualified for the job. Cresswell had excellent negotiation skills, as demonstrated in his consistent work with the goblin nation, and was a polyglot, even able to speak gobbledygook. Fudge had tapped Dirk despite the fact that less qualified purebloods wanted the prime position), the agreement and contracts for the tournament had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb. What Albus, Barty, Ludo, Maxime, and Igor had thought of as thrilling challenges were now being altered to be safe. To be appealing to the crowd, and not just tests of intelligence, magic, strength, and stamina.

Some of the changes were certainly positive and useful, but Albus felt them unnecessary. He was unused to having his proclamations questioned so thoroughly and found wanting.

Albus wasn't quite sure what the future held, but in a world where his arch nemesis seemed to have bowed out, Albus felt like a rudderless ship.

~~scene~~

Summer had passed as summers never had. They used Grimmauld Place as a home base, but Sirius and Harry had traveled. At least once a fortnight, they would go somewhere of either magical or muggle historical importance or beauty. They hiked and biked along Hadrian's and Antonine's Walls for days, visited the various henges and circles dotting the country, and looked at an original copy of the Magna Carta. The whole time, Sirius tutored Harry in subjects not well taught at Hogwarts (especially history) and Harry soaked up the attention and knowledge like a sponge.

Harry worked on recording the adventures, both in his journal and in his drawing pad. Slowly, but surely, the anger and depression that hung over him like a cloud were being balanced by more positive emotions. He still had nightmares sometimes, but not so often. He still panicked sometimes, thinking Vernon or Petunia or one of their ilk would rear their ugly heads, but then he remembered where they were and that he lived with his godfather.

In addition to spending time with Sirius, Harry made time to visit Amanda Hook. He met her partner, Mariam, and played with their kids one afternoon. He'd taken them some games and they made a day of it. He would have been fine with them if he'd ended up there, but he was more than happy with how things turned out.

He spent another afternoon with Asa Steppenage, learning some of the ropes of the WCS and the ministry in general. He learned that the elves in the ministry made the best tea cakes. And he asked Mr. Steppenage to look into his friend Neville's house, as he thought maybe Neville had it almost as bad as Harry had.

Asa questioned Harry, and though all the reports were second-hand (and hearsay did not stand in any report), he made a note to talk to Ollivander and the new healer at Hogwarts. Longbottom was an old name, and Augusta Longbottom came from the old families, herself. But Asa remembered Everett. Everett was a bit younger than Asa, but a staunch ally in the Wizengamot. He'd look into it.

Every Monday and Thursday, Harry mirror-called Hermione. Sometimes the calls were short, with just a few little pieces of information exchanged. Sometimes, like when Snape apologized and threw Harry's world off-kilter, they were longer. Hermione was Harry's very best friend, and he needed her as his touchstone.

Similarly, every Tuesday and Friday night, he spoke with Neville, coaching his friend through the trials and tribulations the Longbottom heir was enduring. He wished that Neville could go to a mind healer. With what he'd found out, his friend needed the help as much as Harry did. But he was proud that Neville had stood for himself, and he was reassured that not just Winky, but all the Longbottom elves were watching out for Neville's safety.

Harry was still going to the HC weekly, though his mind-healing sessions were now every fortnight. It was a shock, the first time he went into the lab to find Snape standing there. But as he worked alongside the man, he could see the artistry Severus had for the craft. And finally, Harry began to learn from his former professor.

That Snape was grudgingly impressed both by Harry's skill (and Crispin's talent in bringing it out), and the parselmagic the young man so easily utilized added to the respect found in the room.

Harry wondered what it said that he could find it in himself to forgive Severus Snape, a death eater who had made the first two years of his schooling hellish, but he was having a much harder time finding room for that same absolution for Albus Dumbledore, no matter how good that wizard was purported to be.

By the time mid-August had come around, Harry was well used to staying in the magical tent, and was ready to spend a few fun nights in it with his friends. Of course, Sirius had purchased a much larger tent than he and Harry needed because he had planned on hosting some of Harry's friends (and Remus, Livia, and Tonks) for the world cup.

They met on the Alley that Wednesday evening, the whole group that were portkeying together to the match.

Sirius had gone to Longbottom Manor to pick up Neville earlier that day. He had picked up on the Walburga-vibes the Longbottom matriarch was exuding and kept his greetings formal and brief.

Neville was grateful and barely took leave of his gran before side-alonging with Sirius back to Diagon alley.

"Neville!" Harry greeted with a grin and a grown-up handshake. "Glad to be away?"

"You've no idea," Neville muttered. Seeing Harry's quirked brow, Neville took a sharp breath. "Actually, you're probably the only one who does."

"It's okay. You're sticking with us til we go to Hogwarts."

"I've not done my shopping. Gran wouldn't…"

"We'll take care of it, kid," Sirius reassured the boy. They sat at a table, preparing to order the meal, when a family came in from the muggle side. Sirius stood to greet them.

"Benedick, Élise," Sirius stood as the family came into the pub and shook hands heartily with Hermione's father; bussed her mother's cheek. "How was France?"

The Grangers had been back for two weeks, and back in work mode, but the July vacances was brought back with the simple question. "Lovely," Élise said. "Very relaxing. And your travels around the island?"

"Could wish it were a tropical island, but maybe next summer. Or Christmas. You know, the Black family has access to an island in the West Indies. We could all go down for a winter respite?"

"Winter hols in the Caribbean? You had me at hello." Benedick smiled. As his daughter had glommed onto Sirius's godson and had yet to stop yammering at the boy (who smiled good-naturedly at Hermione), even though they had talked on the magical equivalent of a phone twice weekly all summer, he thought perhaps Potter and Black might be a semi-permanent fixture in their lives. The other boy looked at her, shell shocked. Benedick knew what that felt like.

"We must thank you again for your information on the St. George's school," Élise said as they sat at a table next to the kids. "Hermione just took her equivalent exams last week and has the materials to work on this year."

"St. George's is great, but a degree from there doesn't get you far in magical society," a new female voice added. Two people, rather scarred but otherwise clean looking, came to the table and Sirius stood.

"Moony, Livia, thanks for coming!" He turned to the Grangers. "Benedick, Élise, these are my friends, Remus Lupin and Livia Prescott. They'll be staying with us in the tent at the cup."

Hands were shaken and greetings given. Élise couldn't shake the feeling that there was something… more about each of these people.

The werewolves were both were elated. The full moon had passed just a few days before, and they had transformed only because they wanted to. The vaccine-wolfsbane worked like a charm. But of course, they didn't want to mention anything about that.

"Looking forward to the match. England's out, but it will be amazing to watch Ireland's lineup against Krum," Remus said.

"I'm just glad that there will be three of you. Sports matches at this level are always a bit of a dust-up. At least on our side, they are. Do you have rallies and riots?"

"Four of us, actually. And we might have rallies and riots if Ireland loses," another new voice added. "Wotcher, I'm Tonks, Sirius's cousin." Nymphadora introduced herself to the Grangers then greeted the others as old friends might.

"You're the copper?" Benedick asked.

"One and the same," Tonks added. "Oh, here comes our second charge, Liv."

Xenophilius Lovegood came into the pub with his daughter. They were speaking animatedly about something or other, and Xeno kept speaking as Luna noticed the group looking at them. She met Hermione's gaze shyly, and Hermione burst into a big grin, going over to hug the smaller girl.

Xeno looked on with a smile. His girl had finally found her place. And this one, she didn't even seem to have wrackspurts at all!

The group settled down for introductions and details of the cup, while keeping a weather eye on the quartet of teens. The kids were all good, individually, but each of the adults knew that kids together meant mischief. And some of the mischief these kids had gotten into…

Well, Padfoot, Moony and friends might just have an interesting couple of days.

"We're staying at my place in town tonight," Sirius stated, "then portkeying up to the site – that's like, what did Harry call it? Teleporting? Using an object that is keyed for a specific landing site – tomorrow morning. Our portkey is set for 5:30 am. Not too shabby."

"Says you," Tonks rolled her eyes and the others laughed.

"The Weasleys are at 3:30," Sirius rebutted. "They're staying in the site next to ours and have asked if young Ginevra – their only girl of seven children," Sirius added for the Grangers, "can stay with Luna and Hermione. I said I'd ask the female chaperones."

"I don't know, Tonks, do you 3 on 2 sound like good odds for us?" Livia smirked at Tonks.

"We outweigh em. I'll just sit on any mischief makers." Tonks morphed her size to double and they all laughed as she quickly morphed back. The Grangers' laughs were a bit nervous, but it was still a laugh. Tonks explained, "I'm a metamorphmagus. I can change my features, shape, size to just about any human form. And sometimes animal form," she said as she changed her nose to a pig's snout.

The kids watched and Harry patiently explained Tonks's skills to Hermione.

The group settled to eat their meal together, parents asking questions of chaperones about things like meeting times, emergency procedures. Sirius was assured that the Grangers had Hermione's mirror, so she could contact them through Harry's mirror.

And when the group split to go separate ways, Xeno to his home, the Grangers to theirs, and everyone else to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, they were certain that this World Cup would be the experience of a lifetime for the kids, who were so excited, even Hermione and Luna (neither of whom were quidditch fans) could hardly be contained.

~~scene~~

A/N . More A/N? I can't seem to shut up. To those who have ever subjected themselves to my writing before, this is my never say never moment. I don't like Snape's character. But in this fic, he is… redeemed? Well, at least, he's not punished as I usually punish him. You're welcome.