The mood in the wake of Curry's abrupt departure was subdued and at least a little resentful. It was the first time, at least in Harry's recent memory, where he felt he had more desire to spend time around Toby than he did around Severus, whom both Tobias and Harry were still upset with.

Something about Snape's strangled response to being accused of letting the dog go had been so strange, so out of character, that Harry still wasn't certain how he ought to act around the man, and thus, he'd taken to spending much of his free time with the Snape's father, instead.

Mostly, when they weren't at the shop and all three consumed with their own affairs, it meant that they sat together and watched the telly whenever they were home at Spinner's End.

Since Harry had moved in with Severus, he usually spent his time in the kitchen, helping his kuya to brew or cook, as Snape seemed most at ease over a hot hob, pouring one random thing into another and mixing them together. Harry had long seen the appeal of this and enjoyed the activities Severus enjoyed, so their time together, so long as Harry followed directions and kept clear out of Snape's way in the small space, had largely been productive and, insofar as one could apply such a word to spending time with Severus Snape, pleasant.

Now, whenever he wasn't strumming a tune on Lady Godiva, Harry planted himself on the sagging cushion next to Toby as the muggle indulged himself with hours upon hours of Spanish-language telenovelas.

If it seemed an odd pastime for a middle-aged British man, it certainly was. Harry didn't think it was probable that Toby spoke Spanish, but he seemed to enjoy the intrigues that were acted out with a heavy hand by gorgeous actresses from Spain or South America, and anytime one character was occasioned to slap the face of another out of a sense of aggrandised scandal, they both shared a laugh.

He seemed to favour one young woman of South American origin, whose cause he championed even when she landed in a love rectangle with three of the other stars of the show, and led both of the men on. Harry was sure he'd not have been nearly as sympathetic as Toby seemed to be whenever they had occasion to discuss the scenarios that played out twice weekly when the show aired, but Tobias seemed keen to forgive the beauty anything, and Harry couldn't help but to wonder if his affection had anything to do with the fact that the dark-haired lady looked remarkably similar to the photograph he'd seen of Snape's mother the one time he'd been allowed in Severus' room.

Even Snowdrop became engrossed in the plot, and Harry couldn't help but to feel relieved that Snowdrop and Tobias had found an activity they could participate in at the same time without sitting in awkward silence, mostly because they spent the duration of the showtime arguing back and forth over whether Aminta was being sloppy with her affections or whether Ricardo should have arranged for a hit on his brother-in-law whose business dealings were threatening the family fortune.

Snowdrop was, unsurprisingly, mercenary in her opinions.

It took a few weeks, but eventually Snowdrop seemed to have replaced Harry in his spot on the couch whenever she was present, and the sting of Cur Dog's disappearance had finally lessened. In the first week or so after Snow and Toby made peace, Harry spent most of his time up in Severus' old bedroom with the cassette player he'd appropriated from Snape (who was frequently busy toiling over a backlog of paperwork and order forms at the shop) and his guitar.

It was around that time that Harry began to realise that he could, with increasing accuracy, pick apart exactly what it was that his favourite guitar heros were doing to accomplish some of their most famous solos, and it was with great disappointment that he began to see that his beloved Spaceman, Ace Frehley, was possibly the laziest guitarist he'd ever analysed.

Ace courted the deplorable habit of playing the same note over and over again in varying frequencies and rhythms, producing the illusion of shredding, while, in truth, not in any way moving the needle.

His discovery, when brought to Severus' attention, did little more than to put his taciturn kuya on the defensive, as always happened whenever Snape perceived that something he held in high esteem was under attack. That was enough for Harry to not mention it again. KISS was Snape's sacred cow. His conception of pure and immaculate Rock n' Roll.

Joe took a different view, of course, and when Harry asked for his opinion during one of their lessons, his instructor laughed out loud and informed Harry that Ace Frehley was an incurable drunk who likely hadn't been capable of playing anything more complicated than that single note, thus he'd done what he could.

"Of course, KISS wouldn't sound like KISS without Ace, so before you get too down on him, consider that even though you may find his playing lacking, it's still pretty iconic. Also, with a band like KISS, it becomes far more important to have a member with perfect timekeeping than a guitarist who shreds like Eddie Van Halen. After Ace left, a few years back, I remember going to see them while they had a bloke in for him called Mark St. John." Joe had loosed a low whistle and rolled his eyes. "Talk about poor playing. He could barely hack any of Ace's solos, even with as simple as they are, and his timing was all over the place. It was a bloody mess of a show."

Harry had cut Ace some slack after that, but he couldn't help but to feel that when compared to the playing of guitarists from bands like Ratt or Metallica, KISS's Spaceman just didn't hold up.

On the plus side, he'd now learnt not to say such a thing to Severus, and once May was beginning to draw to a close, their relationship finally seemed to knit itself back together. Perhaps what they'd really needed was some space from one another, which was hard enough to get when they were forced to always be in close company. It was odd, but the presence of additional people actually gave Harry a plausible buffer to beg off from being under Severus' nose, and allowed Snape the time to indulge his preference for solitude.

There had been visits all month long from Snowdrop and Nicky, and from Tabitha Tibbons. Both to the shop and to Spinner's End. The Snape family, such as it was, came to accept these intrusions on varying levels and to differing degrees.

There were still times where Harry felt annoyed at Ms. Tibbons' place in Snape's life, and this had only seemed to increase now that Snowdrop had also seemingly decided that she might, on occasion, like to join in on his kuya's company. It might have bothered him less had she not so obviously hated Severus for months beforehand, or if it didn't often seem that the half-siblings were so much more alike than Harry and Severus were.

When he'd come to Spinner's End, not ten months earlier, he'd been gratified to have in Severus someone whom he would never have to share, and within the year he'd been made to give up time with Snape to no less than three (or four if one counted Nicky) people. It galled him, but he also found himself grateful for the additional company.

If Snowdrop and Severus seemed to hit it off, particularly when she joined him in the kitchen in the same way she'd helped her grandmother in the kitchen since she'd been a tot, then Harry finally found that in Nicky (if he ignored the other boy's predilection for one-upmanship, which he sometimes suspected Nicky engaged in unawares) he had another boy his own age who liked all the same things Harry liked and whose interests neither outstripped, nor outpaced his own.

In fact, given Snowdrop's newfound relationship with her father and older half-brother, Nicky and Harry often found occasion to be on their own with no one the wiser. It was a similar situation as the day where the three children had managed to sneak their way off to the cinema, only this time—without the wet blanket named Snowdrop Hill—Harry and Nicky didn't have to fight over whether the films they snuck off to see were too scary or not, nor did they have to put up with Snowdrop calling them pigs whenever they put their heads together over Severus' back issues of Heavy Metal magazine.

Snowdrop Hill had gained a brother, but Harry felt as though he had as well in Nicholas Henderson, so all in all, he was able to put his momentary flare-ups of jealousy to rest.

In May they'd seen Alien Nation and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, the latter film Harry had talked Nicky into seeing when he'd argued against Nightmare on Elm Street 4, only because he'd not seen the first three films in the series. A similar argument had come to pass over Fright Night 2 (although Nicky wasn't principally opposed to seeing films made for younger audiences, he tended to argue that it was a waste of their time, given that his parents wouldn't object to taking him to see a Terry Gilliam film. Harry, on the other hand, had argued back that he never got to go to the cinema, and thus he was happy to watch any film, be it rated for adults or children). In June they had big plans to sneak off and see Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, which Harry had agreed to even knowing he'd not seen either Raiders of the Lost Ark or Temple of Doom. His hopes for it based on the promotional material were that high.

As far as he could understand, it would be well worth it, even if there might be things about the plot that he wouldn't understand. And anyway, they'd both decided to pool their scant pocket money for concessions to do the film justice and had agreed that Snowdrop wouldn't be invited along. By then, they'd be in the final week of school, and they anticipated that supervision would probably be even more lax than it had been of late.

The eye of Gammy was ever trained upon Snowdrop, particularly after her trip to a men's prison on the coast, and Severus seemed pretty well assured of Harry's well-being so long as Harry made sure to keep his lapel pin about him. Because Harry himself wasn't in any hurry to find himself listed amongst the children he so often saw on the nightly news that had gone missing, he'd never allowed himself to go without it. Even when he removed his jacket, he was always sure to move the pin over to his sleeve or the hem of his shirt.

With the shop busier than ever, Harry found it surprisingly easy to sneak off around town with Nicky, particularly when the two made sure to put in an hour of work here or there under the bonnet of whichever car Severus was hard at work fixing.

With a spanner in hand, Harry and Nicky were fairly evenly matched. Harry had always found beauty in the mechanics of a car's engine because of the sheer amount of power it contained. The appeal for Nicky seemed to be in the fact that it was the sort of trade that his father and stepmother so obviously looked down upon as being unsophisticated. His father made good wages as one of the directors at Backbarrow's only local bank, and his stepmother wrote copy for a Manchester-based advertiser by correspondence. Neither had ever relied on their hands and technical skills for their salaries, and they were both terribly proud of that fact.

It was nearing June when the greatest windfall befell Snape & Sons, coming in the form of a racer who competed in the British Touring Car Championship. During the course of the previous series, he'd come to notice that the wear and tear on certain portions of the chassis were enough to put him out of the running before the conclusion of the Championship, and his team had scant funding to replace parts without prize money or a grand sponsorship. Having won no awards thus far, and with no sponsors to speak of, he'd come to Severus seeking a solution that might last him through the '89 series.

Severus' sealant—or rather, the reputation he had begun to earn for fixing stubborn leaks without charging for new part installation—had started to raise eyebrows within the circles of people 'in the know' so to speak. As in any trade, mechanics talk, and a positive reference is worth its weight in gold. It had taken very little time for rumours of Snape & Son's inexpensive leak and rust treatment to spread across all of Cumbria, and in some instances, into surrounding counties as well.

Snape's work on the racer's car had begun to consume great chunks of the chronically overworked wizard's time. Between his normal duties at the shop, his tinkering on the racer's car (a Ford Sierra which now bore the chosen name of Snape's sealant—Airtite—on its rear door, a concession which was made over the price of 'sponsoring' the car with reduced-cost labour), his weekly dates with Ms. Tibbons, and his various obligations to Harry (driving him hither and thither, cooking, overseeing homework), Snape didn't have a single moment of free time. This didn't seem to suit him whatsoever, and in the precious few moments he ever had to himself, he could be found sulking about how his potions research was stagnating, or how he'd not even gotten to watch the newest series airing on the telly he'd bought.

Harry privately agreed that it was terribly unfair, particularly as the only reason they'd been put in this position was because Tobias had literally given his son no choice but to take over leadership for an auto shop that he'd had no interest in opening on pain of indigence, but Harry's own time for helping out was limited, and Severus seemed loathe to presume upon him, often pushing him out the door once the weather began to noticeably improve, and urging him to ramble on, much as Severus himself and Harry's mother had had the freedom to do at eight-years-old.

So, for at least a few hours a week, while the sun was still high in the sky, Harry found himself wandering all over Cokeworth and Backbarrow. Sometimes he was accompanied by Nicky or Snowdrop, or both of them, but at other times, he made his way by himself.

He'd developed a bit of a route, wherein he would spend an hour or so at the old playset where Severus had taken him on his first week back in Cokeworth, after returning from Surrey the second time, and then he'd meander on by the river, over the bridge. There he usually tried to spend a few moments, in hopes of spotting Curry down on the banks, perhaps catching salmon as he'd seen the overgrown hound doing the previous summer.

He thought he might have seen him a time or two, but Cur Dog no longer seemed to stick close to the vagrants who had begun to move back into the encampment as warmer weather welcomed them home. Every so often, Harry caught sight of a large dog begging for a scrap from one of the men or women who lived by the river—which apparently still included Papagena Hill amongst their number, whom he often saw near her tent—but he'd not gotten a good enough look at the dog to see what it was. It could have been a border collie from that distance, there were certainly enough of those around, with all of the sheep farmers.

A time or two Tobias had gone out to look for Cur Dog, but he had freely admitted that he'd been avoiding the riverbank. He wouldn't explain why, but Severus had speculated to Harry that it could have had something to do with running into Papagena Hill, or it merely could have been a sense that Toby might fall back into bad habits or a bad crowd should he show his face there with any sort of frequency. It still wasn't clear what had happened between himself and Snowdrop's mother, and whether their relationship had persisted past their tryst almost nine years before or whether they'd merely been living along the riverbanks in close proximity because by then neither had had a place to go.

What was clear, at least to Severus, was that his father was now sober after years of having struggled mightily with the bottle and that Papagena Hill was still deeply in the throes of addiction. Whatever the nature of their relationship might have been, or whatever may have prompted the arrest in November that had precipitated Tobias Snape's coming to live with them, Snape obviously considered it a gift horse.

Not to be questioned too closely.

Which, of course, begged the question, at least in Harry's mind, if perhaps it wasn't actually a 'pig in a pwok,' the origins of which, at least according to local custom, should never be taken on faith alone.

When Harry had asked Severus the same question, the man had seemed at once impressed and annoyed by Harry's familiarity with the local saying, and he'd granted that it was often best practise not to take things on trust.

"I suspect you won't learn how to differentiate one from the other until you're much older," Snape had sniffed as he'd laboured over their supper one evening. "Some things it pays not to look too closely at. Other things—things that could come with strings attached, or which could spell disaster to you—ought to be investigated to the fullest extent before one trusts them. I urge you to consider this in light of that conversation we had recently about risk and reward."

Harry had spent days doing just that, and he still didn't see how it was safe to assume that Toby was free and clear of his lifelong addiction, but when he'd asked Severus about that he'd merely received the same answer that Snape had been giving him. That he had ways of being sure—ways of knowing—and that that would simply have to be good enough for Harry.

Fat chance.

In any case, Toby had come back empty handed, and in that, at least, he and Harry shared a sense of grief. Curry had, since Toby had joined them, been one of the few things that Tobias Snape and Harry Potter could claim to have in common. Both loved the slightly dopey hound, and never entertained Severus' all too frequent complaints about the "mangy cur." ("Mangy Curry, Severus!")

May gave way to June in a burst of warmth, colour, and rain, the lattermost having the effect of enhancing the natural greenery of the Backbarrow side of town almost overnight. True, nature had slowly been reawakening since at least late March, but with the rains came abundant foliage and revived hedgerows that brought the tiny village into its ripest point of beauty. Sometimes, when walking home from school, or when he had a moment to himself at Gammy's house, Harry would simply stare at it all in wonder.

It was so very different from the impeccable manicuring he'd grown up with in Little Whinging, and it sometimes seemed impossible that Cokeworth—dreary as it perpetually was, even in spring and summer—could possibly be adjacent to such pastorally idyllic countryside. It was a shame that Severus was almost always stuck on the other side of the river. He barely got to partake in the sort of sights Harry saw nearly every day, merely by straddling both sides of the Leven.

School was drawing to a close, and even the teachers seemed to have gotten the memo, for Mr. Fowler hadn't chosen to assign another book for the remaining month of the year, but had instead been having his class study a short story a week, which they didn't even have to read at home, but instead practised reading aloud during class time.

Ms. Tibbons had arranged for a world tour of music, which was the most exciting thing she'd done all year, and they spent most of their music classes listening to cassettes of Mariachi bands from Mexico, pan flutes from Peru, or arrangements of tombak, tar, and ney from Iranian musicians. No, it wasn't rock, and none of it was run through an amplifier, which would have instantly earned Harry's interest, but it was at least different and interesting, two things that he'd found lacking in her lessons for the entire year previous.

Evidently, the world tour idea had been arranged across disciplines, as on the days where they had art classes, they also were creating work meant to emulate the styles of far-away cultures and times in history. Although Harry didn't consider himself a passable artist, he couldn't help but to enjoy himself, particularly when the chance to make a door-sign in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics presented itself. It proudly hung on the door to his room at Spinner's End, overtop a sketch of yet another marshmallow-muscled Dio dog he'd drawn.

For the past month and a half, they'd been back to taking their breaks in the play-yard, but Harry was too wary to join Snowdrop in her excursions just outside the bounds of the monitor—which the adults seemed too negligent to address. It wasn't exactly as though Snowdrop wanted his company, and it would have been easy enough to explain to the girl if she'd bothered to ask—which she hadn't—that he was now a part of the pick-up football games.

The truth was, however, that Harry wasn't so certain that whatever it was that had attacked Neil Murray, Bertie Tibbons, and Severus wasn't still out there, just past the play yard. Even Severus had readily admitted that he'd no clue what the beast had been, and that it had evidently never been caught. To Harry, it recalled those terrible tales told by Tobias about the local legend of the fearsome Gytrash, or perhaps it was the entity that Gammy always called 'Old Scratch.'

All Harry knew was that when he'd warned Snowdrop off of wandering too far, the girl had treated him to a faintly disgusted look, and had called him a coward, before she'd swanned off to whatever little cubby she'd found to tuck herself into, away from socialising with the other children.

It was at least near enough to the yard to be within hollering distance, because she came when the children were called back to class. Thus, Harry was made to accept it, even as he debated over telling someone with a bit more authority, like Ms. Tibbons, or Mrs. Murray, or Severus, Tobias, Gammy, or even Nicky (who might have had more success in bullying his sister out of her penchant for taking shelter away from proper supervision).

She no longer hid out underneath the copse of trees. The yew had withered and died, and its roots and trunk had been removed by the council. That left only the sessile oak and the mulberry, with a great space between them, and many of their lower branches had been trimmed back to allow for better visibility of their trunks (which still seemed blighted after having been so near to the diseased tree that had sat between them). This eliminated both trees as proper hiding spots, so far as Snowdrop was concerned, and she'd given up on the spot.

Snowdrop still had no proper friends. Not even her brother, with whom she didn't associate during school hours and only begrudgingly tolerated when the three children were forced into close company outside of school. Sometimes, Harry felt bad that he was closer to Nicky than Snowdrop seemed to be, as though he'd stolen the girl's brother from her, but then she'd been spending more time with Severus than Harry liked, so he supposed fair was fair.

End of term coincided with the release of The Last Crusade, and no sooner were they dismissed from class on Friday, the thirtieth of June, than did Harry and Nicky speed their way out of the halls of Rowky Syke, and onwards to The Bluebritches.

Nicky was careful about always planning their excursions to the cinema for times where his accomplice was working. Chucky—or as Nicky liked to call him 'Upchuck'—was as laconic as ever, accepting their money (plus a bribe) and informing them, as he always did, that they'd better not cause a scene or bring attention to the fact that he'd let them in.

This time, the boys had pooled their money. Harry had successfully negotiated with Severus for a bit of additional shrapnel in exchange for extra duties taken on at the shop, and given the success of Snape & Son, Severus hadn't felt the need to turn him down. This meant they were able to order a proper assortment of concessions at the stand in the foyer and when they went to their seats, their arms were laden with popcorn, paper drink cups, and boxes of candies.

The movie passed in delightful fashion, and Harry hadn't allowed himself to be spooked once, not even when he was certain that Indiana was going to fall through the floor or into the chasm before the final chamber, although he'd been made to slap a hand over Nicky's mouth when the boy went to shriek at the sheer number of rats that Indiana and his love interest encountered in another scene.

As they walked back over the river two hours later, with the intention of hanging out in Harry's bedroom for a spell until Nicky could ring his eldest brother to come pick him up, Nicky complained loudly about the scene.

"Should've come with a bloody warning!"

Harry snorted, and he couldn't help but to wonder what Severus might say about such an annoyingly self-serving argument. It affected his answer probably more than he'd have wanted to admit.

"They should put a warning for rats, but not for the train compartment of snakes? Or the guy that had his head lopped off? Didn't you say in the second movie that they pull a bloke's heart out while he's still alive? Did they warn people about that?"

Nicky frowned and crossed his arms over himself, which must have been defensive for there was no chill in the early summer air. He slanted a strange look at Harry from where he walked beside him.

"What?"

"Rats are gross, Potter."

Harry merely shrugged. "I got to hold one for a bit a month ago. He wasn't so bad."

Nicky's face blanched at this information.

"He wasn't!" Harry found himself insisting. "He was more like... fat and lazy? Not scary at all. You know rats have little hands?" Harry pantomimed holding two hands up to his face in pincher-like configurations and wrinkled his nose a bit in a way that exposed his front incisors as he imitated how Scabbers had taken to his offers of food. "They're like... they're like little men or something."

This elicited a dramatic shudder from his companion.

They paused at the middle of the bridge where Harry elected to pour the rest of his watered-down pop over the side, into the river. The sun setting reflected off the rapids and the wet rocks and a couple of salmon jumped. It was almost beautiful enough to make him forget the sheer amount of trash and abandoned junk that littered the riverbanks, not to mention the conglomeration of perhaps five to ten lean-tos that populated the shore.

A few of the tramps were sitting out, enjoying the sunset as well. Some sat on rocks while one or two were fortunate enough to have collapsible camp chairs, and they were all pulled up to an improvised butane stove, over which they were attempting to roast something in a cast-iron frying pan.

"Hey!" Harry nearly dropped his cup, and he scrambled to catch it between clumsy fingers before it added to the raft of rubbish clogging up the river. "Look! Do you see—?"

Harry pointed to where, upriver, a large dog seemed to be standing in the shallows, snapping his jaws at a fish with limited success. Nicky squinted as he followed Harry's finger to where he'd pointed.

"You think that's him? Curry?"

"That's Curry!" Harry insisted, feeling quite sure. "If we go to him and call, maybe he'll come back. Come on—"

Nicky caught him by the back of his cotton school shirt, as Harry had taken the liberty of draping his jacket over his arm. It had been too hot to deal with in the cinema, and it hadn't felt any cooler when they'd exited into the balmy air outside.

"I don't wanna risk going down there again," the other boy told him. "I didn't want to see her then, and I don't wanna risk it today."

"Oh come on, she's not even sitting out," Harry argued. He paused long enough to peer over the side of the bridge where he picked out Papagena Hill's tent amongst the newer-erected constructions. She hadn't joined the others around the butane stove. In all likelihood she was in for the night. "We can take the long way 'round. See? Curry's way upstream of them."

"No!"

Their argument was interrupted by the pounding of a pair of feet, coming at them from the opposite side of the bridge.

"POTTER! HENDERSON!"

Both boys looked up in unison, although Harry dearly wished he didn't have to tear his eyes away from Cur Dog, whose form he worried would disappear if he so much as looked away.

Towards them Snowdrop was running, her thick cheeks flushed with the exertion. She appeared to be clutching a stitch in her side as she came at them as fast as Harry had ever seen her run. (Well... At least it was the fastest he'd seen her run since she'd barreled into her brother the first day they'd met).

She drew up short of them by perhaps a meter.

"You're—" she wheezed and her face was turning an alarming shade of puce. "You're in sooooo much trouble!"

In spite of her physical distress, the girl couldn't help but to smirk at them while she attempted to catch her breath.

"B-both Severus and," she gasped, "and Gammy are lookin' for you! And Gammy called your parents," she taunted her brother. "They know you're not where you're s'pposeta be—"

Harry paled. If it had been a mere matter of him wandering about for a bit it might have been one thing, but he'd gone ahead and told Severus out and out that he was going to be working at Gammy's that evening, and that he'd catch a ride back to town with Nicky when someone from his family came to pick him up. He couldn't be sure what Nicky had said to beg off, but evidently, Snowdrop's presence at the shop had highlighted his own truancy.

"Then what... what are you doing here?" Harry accused, frowning at the girl. "Bet Severus didn't send you to come find us—"

"Severus and... and..." She evidently still didn't know what to call Tobias Snape, so she merely skipped over him, although all three of them knew of whom she was speaking, "they're out lookin' for you in their car. And Ms. Tibbons was there this afternoon, 'cause school's out? And he sent her to look separately."

"So what are you doing here?" Nicky demanded. He seemed far less panicked than Harry did. Probably because he knew what to expect as far as discipline was concerned. His parents never seemed to know or care where Nicky roamed, so long as he was home before they locked the door.

"They left me at the shop, but I knew you gits would of gone to Bluebritches! I knew it!" Her fists clenched by her sides and she stomped her foot in a show of petulant pique. "You've been going off every few weeks to the cinema without me you great, slimy todgers!"

"So?" Nicky asked, glaring at her. "You only ever complain about whatever film I wanna see! Maybe I didn't want to bother with you!"

"Wait," Harry frowned at the squabbling siblings. "Hill, why would Severus have to be out looking for me?"

"Potter, are you dumb or something? Why wouldn't he be out looking for you?"

"No—he shouldn't have to," Harry explained. Out of the corner of his eye he looked back to Cur Dog, who was, reassuringly, still doing his best to catch himself dinner. "I've got this... it's a thing, right? And it lets him know where I am—"

"What, like some James Bond tracking device?" Nicky laughed. "Is Severus secretly a double-O-something?"

Even Snowdrop snorted at this and rolled her eyes.

Harry's face began to burn and he clutched his jacket between his hands, twisting it as his agitation over being mocked grew.

"He work for MI6? Did he get it from Q?" Nicky nearly doubled over.

Snowdrop crossed her arms over her chest and smirked unkindly. "I bet that junky, old Morris is really an Aston Martin in disguise, huh?"

Ignoring them, Harry ran his hand along his jacket, realising then that he really ought to check it for his pin. When he passed his fingers over the spot on his lapel where the pin usually resided, his fingers ran over nothing more than the smooth nylon-cotton blend that had been used in the jacket's construction.

"Bugger..." he groaned. "Severus really is gonna kill me..."

"You're a dead man, alright," Snowdrop affirmed with a cock-eyed grin. "He was spitting mad—"

"Well, we're only a block or two from the shop now," Nicky reasoned. "Probably we should go back and wait for them, eh?"

Frowning now, Harry shook his head and stared off once more into the distance, where Cur Dog stood silhouetted by the setting sun.

"He might be less mad if I can get Curry back," he proposed, slinging his jacket over his shoulder as he considered his options.

Snowdrop shifted her weight from foot to foot. After school had let out, she'd evidently decided to change into a pair of comfortable dungaree shorts, and they displayed an alarming number of scrapes and bruises she'd sustained to her shins. She'd made no effort to cover these by rolling her socks up, however. It was as though she were proud of the road rash scabs on her knee caps. Her white cotton plimsols were discoloured from dirt, and anyone would have been forgiven for thinking she'd been playing in some sty out in the countryside all afternoon.

"I mean... T-Toby might be happier with Cur Dog back," she granted. "I dunno if Severus would be." She joined Harry at the railing and lifted up on her tiptoes to see better. "What if he runs again?"

"Well, we're not gonna be able to catch him running," Harry acknowledged. "But maybe he's calmed down now and wants to come home... I should at least go out and call for him, don't you think? It might be my only shot..."

"We're real close to the shop now," Nicky said again, shrugging a bit. "As long as you don't make me go near the tents, it probably won't take long, will it?"

"I won't make you go near the tents," Harry promised. "We'll stay far away from your mum. See? She's still not even outside. And besides, I don't want to talk to any of the other people down there either," he confessed, wrinkling his nose.

Tobias had told him plenty of stories about what had gone on down by the riverside. Much of it involved too much drink and a new danger Harry had only then been alerted to: the scourge of 'drugs.'

At least having that matter cleared up had explained many of the gaps in his understanding of late. He finally knew what it was that Bertie Tibbons had been put away for, right after Nicky had been born. Additionally, much of Papagena Hill's behaviour began to make a great deal more sense, as had some of the strange trash he'd seen strewn about her tent.

Not to mention he now could see just how many times illicit substances were alluded to in his favourite songs.

He'd never hear My Michelle the same way again, he knew that much.

A shudder ran through him. Who could fathom choosing to stick a needle in one's own arm? Evidently not even Tobias, who had loudly and fervently proclaimed that he'd never once tried. He was a self-professed drunkard, this he could readily admit, but he swore up and down that he'd never once shot heroin.

During that discussion, sobering as it had been, Harry had asked Severus whether he'd ever dabbled with illicit substances and had received a response that was by turns reassuring and upsetting.

No, his kuya had never touched heroin, or cocaine, but there had been at least a few occasions where he'd "dabbled" with illegal potions, herbs, and something he'd called "acid," which evidently was some sort of muggle potion that induced visions. He'd not seemed overly proud of himself, but he'd at least been forthcoming. Especially when it came to issuing his direct prohibition of any such "dabbling" coming from Harry as his charge grew older.

Harry thought that was probably fine. His eyes trailed over the group of squatters who were sharing their dinner. According to Tobias, while there were certainly a few who had merely fallen on hard times, many of those who specifically occupied this location had done time in prison for a myriad of crimes, some of them violent, and, according to Toby, some of them "anenst wee-ans," or, 'against children.'

"Look, if we go to the Cokeworth side, there's that old gate set down a few feet from the road," Harry pointed. "Severus told me once that he'n my mum used to take the trail down from there to a spot near one of the creeks that runs off the river. I don't think it goes near the camp."

"It seems like he's sticking around," Nicky said, after hesitating a moment. His face seemed twisted with indecision. "Maybe you should come back with Severus later, Harry. If he's not run off yet, then he's not going to, you know? It seems like he likes the river."

Harry shook his head. "I haven't seen him in weeks! This could be the last chance to bring him home! I'm gonna be in enough trouble already. If I managed to bring back Curry, they might forget that... that..."

"That you lied?" Snowdrop put in, sing-song. "Fat chance, Potter. They're not gonna forget. Gammy's mad too. She's never been mad at you before, but she's got a long memory. You're in for it, for sure."

Nicky glanced at him sympathetically. "I try not to make Gammy mad—"

"You think she's not mad at you, too? You're nutters." Snowdrop shook her head, in an almost pitying way. "Sure, your mam and dad don't care where you go or when, and Mr. Snape won't get you in trouble, 'cause he can't, but I heard over the phone that Gammy was spitting nails about both of you."

Nicky let out a puff of air that blew an errant strand of fringe from his face. "That's easy enough. I'll just avoid goin' over there for a bit, won't I. Cynthia 'n Davey aren't gonna do nothin' at all 'bout it."

"Good, then you're in," Harry backed away from the railing and started towards the far side of the bridge, where the rusty gate he'd mentioned was. "Hill, you coming?"

She tagged along on the heels of her brother, glaring about balefully. "Why should I do anything when I'm not even in trouble?"

"'Cause you will be in trouble. I bet kuya told you not to leave the shop while he and Ms. Tibbons are out looking for us."

She sputtered.

"So, you might as well, and if we make it back to the shop early—'cause you helped out—then I'll be sure not to say that you came and got us on the bridge. It'll be like you never left the shop at all."

Her mouth still moving while words withered on her tongue, Snowdrop clenched her fists at her sides and turned about face, stomping away in the direction of Cokeworth.

At ten paces, she called back angrily over her shoulder: "Well? Come on then!"

"I still don't know that I want to go," Nicky hedged, shuffling his feet a bit as he looked longingly toward Backbarrow. "I think I remember Cynthia saying she was bringing home something special for dinner, and she ought'a be home soon—"

"Fine." Harry frowned at the other boy and began to follow after Snowdrop, who'd already come to the broken gate and was swinging her bruised legs over one at a time.

"That's it?" Nicky began to jog to catch up, his longer legs easily bringing him alongside Harry within a few easy strides. "Fine?"

"If you don't want to have a spot of adventure before I'm locked away for the rest of the summer, then whatever. Maybe next year, when this all blows over and I'm not in trouble anymore, we can see more action films or something, since you don't actually want to do fun stuff in real life—"

"Potter, that's not fair!"

"It's just to there and back," Harry huffed, exasperated now. He pointed to where Curry was loping about in the shallow portion of the riverbed. "We'll be back in a flash—"

"Not much of an adventure," Nicky sulked, crossing his arms as he joined Harry in walking to where Snowdrop waited on them with an impatient look on her pugnacious face.

"Then what are you scared of?" Harry's hands gripped the crossbar of the gate and he swung himself over in an easy motion. When his hands came away, they were covered in red iron dust that he wiped off on his shorts.

Nicky followed him and grunted to his sister. "Go on then. Lead the way if you're no chicken—"

"Less chicken than you," she answered back, kicking some underbrush out of her way. "I only didn't wanna go because there wasn't a reason for me to get in trouble too. But if Potter here's determined to run to his 'kuuu-yaaa' about it, then I'll go first and you two can catch up."

The way she'd said "kuya" caused rage to swim up from somewhere deep within him. She'd said it in a whinging, nasally way, as though he were always whining at Severus' heels in such a tone. She'd made him sound like some snot-nosed brat.

Snowdrop was the brat, always, not him! Snowdrop had threatened to tell on them at least half a dozen times! The nerve of her, that she ought to act as though Harry couldn't employ the same tactics!

He resisted an urge to pick up and throw a handful of dirt at the back of her head, but only just. It was so close that he made himself release his fingers from around the clod in his palm that he'd already grabbed off the ground while in his distracted state of anger. The last pebble he'd scooped up he threw angrily to the trail ahead, watching with satisfaction as it pinged close to her heel, even though it'd not touched Snowdrop.

"Watch it, Potter!"

"Wot-chit, Pwotter—" he mimicked under his breath in a shrill imitation of a girl's voice. He coughed when Nicky came up alongside him and elbowed him in the ribs. He'd not done it hard, but just enough to make Harry cut it out.

"Psst! Keep your head."

"I have my head, thanks."

Shaking his own head a bit pityingly, Nicky slanted his eyes at the other boy as they walked alongside one another down the trail behind the younger girl. "She knows what she's doing, and you're letting her get to you. She's winning. Do you want to lose?"

"Lose?" Harry snorted. "Lose what?"

"Just... just, you lose. Don't lose, mate."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry grumbled.

He did, though. He did know.