Title: Sex, Lies, and Audiobooks
Author: RaeWhit
Team: Snitch!
Genre(s): Alive and Kicking (EWE)
Prompt(s): Secrets and Lies, Coming Home
Rating: NC-17,
Warning/Kinks: *mild bondage, whipping*
Word Count: 48,000+
Summary: Belonging and deserving, needing and wanting—desires of the human heart that Severus and Harry must face when they're forced to the little village of Lochdubh to settle a very late codicil of Albus Dumbledore's will.
A/N: The village of Lochdubh and its inhabitants in this story are the property of BBC Scotland (from the series Hamish Macbeth). All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling et al.
The snarry_games have the best Mods in fandom—they've worked so hard for years to give all of us such a supportive environment in which to play—thank you! Also, my heartfelt appreciation to jadzialove for the excellent beta reading, to whitecotton for help with Scottish-izing my Scottish, and to sestra_prior for her assistance with British questions. Team Snitch, thanks for your input, your team spirit, and your love of Snarry. It's been a privilege and honor to cavort with you all and wield my big stick. Lastly, I'd be remiss if I didn't express my appreciation to Rudyard Kipling for his masterpiece, Captains Courageous.

Sex, Lies, and Audiobooks

"'The difficulty was to provide Marguerite with a pair of shoes, and great was the little middy's joy when my lady found that she could put foot on English shore in his best pair. The rest is silence!—silence and joy for those who had endured such suffering, yet found at last a great and lasting happiness.'"

Halfway through the passage, Severus had caught the movement in front of him, and stealthily placed his finger on the gel-pad to activate the pause function. Depressing it soundlessly, he stopped the recording device, then sat back in his chair to consider the intruder.

"You know you're not to be in here when I'm working," he scowled. "How long have you been listening? There's a reason the door is shut and warded with all manner of soundproofing charms." When all he received was a stare in reply, he stood and rounded his desk, then came to stop in front of the bookshelf. Two unflappable and curious blue eyes tracked his advance.

"Get down from there at once," Severus told the cat, which had now decided to groom itself, licking along the length of a leg, using its teeth to tug at the wispy hair between its paw pads. After watching for a moment, Severus raised his arms to depose it from its perch, then was startled when the cat reached out like lightning, catching the edge of his sleeve with a claw.

"Mercutio," Severus said as he none too gently lifted the small white villain by the scruff of its neck, "I was two paragraphs from finishing. Two paragraphs," he repeated into the feline's face. "I don't expect you to understand the subtle concept of 'lost momentum', but I strongly suggest you hie yourself out of here and address the matter of that furry brown rodent running amok in the pantry," he added as he headed for the door and flung it open.

Setting the cat on the other side of the threshold, Severus nodded. "You accomplish your mission while I complete mine, and there just might be a tin of mackerel with your name on it for lunch. Understood?" When the cat yawned and blinked twice, Severus slammed the door in its face. After a brief hesitation, he decided to forego the soundproofing charms. After all, it was only two paragraphs.

---

Out on the veranda for lunch, Severus informed the cat about his letter. "It's odd, is what it is. Albus' estate was settled ten years ago." He frowned, then his eyes narrowed. "Ten years ago to the day." He took another bite of his apple and chewed thoughtfully. "Knowing Albus, this is the sort of stunt he'd pull—leaving the last of it rigged with some sort of cursed time-lock, just waiting for the clock to run out." Pulling his arm back, he took aim, then lobbed the core as hard as he could toward the door of the shed, striking it dead center. Satisfied, he sat back against the railing.

Mercutio seemed oblivious, his nose burrowed in the mackerel tin. Severus watched him for a moment, then told him conversationally, "Of course, I'm still the executor, so my presence is required at the solicitor's at four. Rather good timing, since this book is done and I'd be owling him the memory cards today, in any case. So not a complete waste of a trip."

"Mrowwar-rawwr-rawwrr," the cat seemed to commiserate, pushing at the nearly empty tin with his nose. Severus leant over and held it in place so Mercutio could lick out the last of it.

Scratching the cat behind the ears, Severus murmured, "I just hope this isn't one of Albus' shenanigans. Too much to hope, I suppose."

The sleek white animal straightened, licking its chops, studying Severus serenely as it seemed to narrow its eyes.

Severus nodded. "My sentiments precisely."

---

He was in Alderley Edge at five before the hour, and let himself into the reception area of Cartwright, Fernan and Whitney, Solicitors, just as the grandfather clock in the corner was chiming four.

"Millie." He eyed the woman behind the mahogany desk as she stood.

"Mr. Snape," she smiled. "You may go in straight away. They're waiting for you."

They? Ah well, he'd had a suspicion, of course, and all he needed to do to confirm it was to step into Whitney's office, and there his 'suspicion' sat, turning at the sound of the door.

For the moment, Severus ignored the man who was rising to his feet from behind the desk, and focused on the other figure who hadn't stood.

"Harry," he said, taking in the Muggle jeans and casual open-necked shirt.

The man squinted at him slightly, then nodded. "Severus."

Severus had to struggle not to stare. Even though it'd been two years since he'd last seen him, he surmised they'd not been easy ones. The face was still boyish and attractive, but something had prematurely put tiny crow's feet at the edges of his eyes and mouth. Less surprising were the man's closed expression and barely disguised sullenness.

"Severus, you're well, I take it?" Whitney's voice intruded into Severus' inspection, so he turned to answer, taking the seat beside Harry in front of the desk.

"Yes, thank you," Severus told him.

"Good," Whitney smiled genuinely. "I appreciate you coming on such short notice. But we only received the paperwork from Gringotts this morning ourselves. And Harry was kind enough to oblige as well. Albus' communiqué made it very clear that this was to be done today."

"And when Albus speaks, even in death, the world jumps," Severus said wryly, ignoring the soft snorting sound at his side. "So, what is it this time? I thought we'd closed the estate."

Whitney pulled a parchment from the side of his desk and rested a hand atop it. "We did. But this…" He tapped the yellowed document. "…this is a codicil. It's not unusual for estates to have them, but to be hidden in this manner and for so long, well, it's…very Albus."

"It must involve Mr. Potter in some way, given that he's here?" The moment the words were out, he realized how stupid they were. Of course, Harry would be involved. When, in the last decade of his life, had Albus ever thought, planned or done anything that hadn't had something to do with Harry?

Whitney hesitated—only for an instant, but long enough for Severus to notice. "Well, yes, of course. But the codicil is…how best to explain this—oddly worded." He picked up the parchment and read from it, "Said property to revert to Harry James Potter on the second of May, 2008, with the stipulation that all instructions of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore be carried out as directed by the document located within said property, the location of which to be revealed to Severus Snape, Executor, under separate cover."

"Separate cover?" Harry repeated, but Severus had already leant toward the desk and held out his hand.

"There's a letter for me," he said, watching as Whitney pulled a slim packet from beneath the parchment.

Severus scanned the contents of the packet, carefully schooling his face as he read the enclosed letter. When he looked up, both men were watching him: one with interest, the other with impatience. The latter spoke first.

"Well?" Harry asked, sitting forward in his chair. "What sort of property?"

"Another domicile in Scotland," Severus said shortly as he folded the letter. "Apparation coordinates, safe-box location, a request for you to heed his instructions—that's what this is," he finished. "And an admonition for us to take care of it promptly."

Harry didn't hide his confusion. "But why'd he wait until now? I don't understand."

Severus and Whitney exchanged a glance. "I suspect that will be explained in the box the two of you find there," the solicitor said.

"But it doesn't make sense. Why wait? What possible reason could he've had?"

Repressing what he suspected would be the first of many urges to throttle a dead man, Severus tried to keep to the facts and not make guesses of his own. "As Whitney said, we'll know soon enough. Senseless to speculate at this point," he said curtly.

"So, you'll let me know—when you find out?" Harry asked.

Severus made a face. "No, we'll both be going. That's expressly stated, and besides, there will be papers to sign locally, as well as specific instructions for you in that box."

Looking slightly suspicious, Harry accused him, "You've been there before, haven't you? You knew about this all along, and didn't say a word."

"I did not know, and no, I've never been there," Severus said. "I'm as surprised as you are." That much was true; as for his own conjecture, well, Severus didn't believe he was obligated to divulge that at all.

"His instructions are for this to be done right away," Whitney reminded them. "When will you go?"

Harry rested his elbows on his knees, then blew out a breath that ruffled his fringe. He seemed to be studying his palms, when Severus noticed his hands: calloused and rough, covered with nicks and bruises. When Harry's eyes drifted up and caught Severus looking, he turned them over, seeming suddenly self-conscious.

"Doesn't matter to me. Whenever," he muttered.

"Tomorrow, then? You're still at Mallaig?" Severus asked, then when Harry nodded, Severus added, "I'll be there at noon. We'll go on from there. You'd best pack a bag, given we don't know the particulars." He stood when Harry did, waiting while he and Whitney shook hands across the desk, then sat again once Harry was gone.

"Severus, I'm truly sorry to lay this in your lap without notice," the man tried to apologize, but Severus shook his head.

"No need. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he said obliquely.

Whitney tilted his head to the side. "You have any idea…?"

Shaking his head, Severus replied, "Oh, I might venture a guess, but nothing concrete. In any case, I have some business to transact with you before I go."

"Ah, yes, and I have a delivery for you as well," Whitney said as he leant to the side and opened a drawer. Pulling out a sizeable package, he handed it across the desk, while Severus dug in his pocket and pulled out a much smaller one.

"What is it this time?" Whitney asked with a smile as he took it.

"The Scarlet Pimpernel. Eight bloody hours of it. I'm sort of sad to see it go," Severus told him as he tucked the larger package between his leg and the chair.

Whitney turned the package Severus had given him over in his hands. "Technology. Amazing what Muggles can do."

"Isn't it?" Severus murmured.

"So, you're enjoying yourself? Recording audiobooks?" Whitney asked.

"I am. I wasn't certain at first. But I've found I enjoy the entire process. There's research, reading the book first, mulling over the study guides. Finding something in the character I can identify with. Practicing my voice for it. Then the actual work of the reading itself."

"Hmm, yes, I can see how that would appeal to you."

"Not all the characters do, but some of them…." Severus got a faraway look in his eyes. "Sometimes the identification is almost absolute. For a time, I actually become that character. I eat, sleep, and drink in his shoes. And I even…." He felt suddenly self-conscious about what he was about to say. "I have moments when I almost forget who I am."

"Really, Severus? That's extraordinary."

"Just this week, I woke up and…for a moment, I was Sir Percy Blakeney, lying in bed beside his lovely Marguerite." He looked at his shoes. "I'm not sure how healthy it all is, at times like those."

"Well, this little project of Albus' will set you to rights a bit, I imagine. Back in the thick of the wizarding world for a time."

"Hmmm, eighteenth century England might be preferable."

Whitney studied him for a moment. "It won't take long, this little matter."

Severus sighed. "I should hope not, considering it's Harry."

"You get on well enough, the two of you, so I heard? Straightened out all that animosity when you were settling the estate, didn't you?"

"When I thought I'd settled the estate the first time," he almost growled. "And he's a different man now, I'm sure you're aware."

"Can't believe everything you read. I know I don't need to remind you of that." He paused, his eyes empathetic. "He's had a rough time of it, from what I hear. He's young, Severus, still finding himself."

Severus made a face. "After ten years, still finding himself. For god's sake, he's twenty-eight. If he's not done it by now…" He shook his head.

Whitney rested his chin in a hand, then asked softly, "And you, Severus, had you found yourself at twenty-eight?"

Ah, touché. "Lost myself, was more like it," Snape had to begrudgingly confess.

"Well, then, perhaps you could be of some help to him along the way?"

"I've a feeling I’m the last person on the face of this godforsaken earth who could be of any help to him."

"Perhaps. But if anyone's worth the effort, he is, Severus."

"We'll see. I think he'd be more inclined to stun me than listen."

"Then let's hope it doesn't come to that," Whitney commiserated as he walked him to the door.

"With Harry, it most likely will."

"So, what's next on the recording schedule?"

Severus turned back and smiled. "Captains Courageous. Rudyard bloody Kipling. God save me."

---

"Pity, because there's a heap of good in the boy if you could get at it."

The sun was about to set when Severus took his seat on the driftwood bench at the back of his property. It was a magnificent view; he watched the reddish hues sink into the sea, as the wind whipped up whitecaps in the bay beneath him.

He'd fortified himself with a glass of whisky in an old pickle jar, and for a while, divided his attention between the blazing sun in front of him, and Mercutio stalking something in the nearby woodpile.

Harry Potter. That was where his mind was. Whitney's suggestion that Severus could be of some help to him. What a notion….

He'd spent an unhealthy portion of his life thinking about the man. When Harry'd been a boy, it'd been mostly bad thoughts—unpleasant ones—fueled by some things in his own psyche that Severus would be the first to admit weren't exactly nice. In his defense, there'd been a necessity to fill his mind with such things, in the likely event that the Dark Lord might've weighed his thoughts and found them wanting. Especially given what the boy had truly represented at the time: a lofty, abstract ideal—Lily's child—who had to be protected at all costs.

Albus had quashed that notion with his damnable revelations, and it'd taken Severus almost a year to come to terms with what the boy's actual destiny had to be. But he'd eventually come around, and told himself that Lily would've understood—what more could he've done, given that alien presence lodged inside the boy's unsuspecting head?

But then Severus had awakened in St. Mungo's, only to learn that the sacrificial lamb was apparently as undead as he himself was. Then it had begun—the unlearning, the modification, the readjustment of years of habit and prejudice he'd directed at the boy. Behavior so instinctual that it'd come to feel like a second skin.

All of this had been made a bit easier by Harry himself, who'd taken it into his head to pester Severus almost to distraction as he healed in hospital. Then there'd been the considerable contact during the settling of Albus' estate; although most of the money had gone to Severus himself, the boy had inherited the larger part of the Headmaster's lands and other assets.

And then the…incident, as Severus preferred to think of it. The incident that had set them at odds….

The greatest factor in realigning how he saw Harry Potter, though, had come from what the boy had done on May 2, 1998. The moment Severus had awakened and been told that Tom Riddle was no more, he'd known, even though he'd insisted on hearing accounts of it from both Harry and Granger.

The boy had seen his fate, accepted it, then walked into the Forbidden Forest to die willingly.

You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

Even though Severus' entire life had been for a 'cause', even though he'd suffered at the hands of both Dark and Light alike—been maligned, mistreated, misunderstood—he knew that all of his sacrifices paled in comparison to the solitary walk that a brave Gryffindor had set out on. All the rest—even the actual death of Voldemort—was anticlimactic.

The net effect was that Severus Snape respected Harry Potter. No matter what had occurred in the time since then, no matter what Harry might do in the future, the fact of Severus' immeasurable regard for the man could never change. Ever.

Lost in his thoughts, Severus suddenly shivered. The Cornwall sun had slipped into the water, and the cool salt air had dampened his clothing.

Walking up to the house, Severus realized that he and Harry were about to embark on another forced adventure, with Albus Dumbledore their dead and not-so-silent partner. No, he finally decided—it hadn't been the cold that'd made him shiver, but premonition.

---

"No one but yourself is to pass through that cat door—no little friends, no wild orgies, and I expect our beady-eyed, furry intruder to be gone by the time I return. MacCready will stop in to feed you. I shouldn't be but a day or two."

Mercutio seemed to scrutinize him from the bottom step. Rolling backward onto his tail, he lifted a leg in the air, then buried his nose in the fur of his behind and began to lick furiously.

Thus dismissed, Snape couldn't help but smile as he turned on the spot.

---

"Slowly he remembered that he was Harvey Cheyne, drowned and dead in mid-ocean, but was too weak to fit things together."

Mallaig was an old friend that Severus hadn't seen in over a decade.

He stopped at the gate and looked up at the large manor. The gabling was bizarrely asymmetrical, the central roof steep and shingled with red crescent circles, and the diamond-cut windowpanes sparkled in the sunlight. An oddly original house that had suited its equally unique and eccentric owner. Severus was gratified to see that Harry had left the Dumbledore family crest on the front door untouched.

Through the gate and down the stone pathway, Severus took a deep breath at the door, then pounded out a staccato bam bam bam with his fist. When there was no answer after three repetitions, he set off around the side of the house.

The ground dropped away into a well-tended garden, and farther on down the hillside, he could see the stable and paddock, although strangely there was no smell of horses. Through a break in the trees, he caught the flicker of light off the water in the loch where he'd first learnt to swim. The memory caught him by surprise, his throat suddenly constricting, as he recalled Albus' gentle insistence. It's never too late, my boy. Come, come, it's only water…

"Halloooo!" he heard from the front of the manor.

Rounding the corner, Severus saw Harry standing on the stoop, in tee-shirt and boxers, rubbing absent-mindedly at his head. When he saw Severus, he lifted a hand.

"S'it how you remembered it?" he asked Severus.

"Very much so. You've kept it up nicely," Severus said, thinking to himself, It's noon, we had an appointment, and you've just rolled out of bed?

Harry looked out over the front garden. "It takes some work, but it's worth it." He jerked his chin up. "How long since you were last here?"

Severus didn't even have to think. "Summer after your fifth year. Just Albus and myself."

Turning toward the door, Harry motioned with his hand. "Well, come on, then."

Severus stood in the entryway to allow his eyes to adjust, while Harry was already on the stairs.

"Make yourself at home. I've just got up and need a shower. Have you eaten?" From the top of the steps, he called over his shoulder. "There's food in the fridge."

"No, not since breakfast," Severus murmured to himself, pursing his lips, then added, "And you've not eaten either. A wonderful way to start out." Sighing heavily, he headed for the kitchen at the back of the house.

He noted along the way that the interior was neat and orderly, the wooden floors polished, with the smell of lemon wax lingering in the air.

"Have you eaten?" he mimicked under his breath as he pulled eggs and sausages from the fridge.

---

Harry appeared in the doorway just as Severus was placing two platefuls of food on the table.

"Hey, I didn't mean… You didn't have to cook for me," Harry said awkwardly, running a hand through his wet hair.

"Just as easy for two as for one," Severus said as he waved the teapot to the table. "Sit." He filled their cups as Harry sat and leant down to lace up his shoes. Severus took the chance to study him.

His hair was longer than Severus had ever seen it, hanging in damp clumps onto his back. Dressed in blue jeans ripped at the knees, a gray tee shirt stamped with a faded logo, and a tiny gold earring in the lobe of an ear, he was thinner than Severus remembered. He seemed healthy enough, though, tan and fit and muscular.

"Where's your house-elf?" Severus asked as they began to eat.

"Hogwarts. He's here on the weekends, though. Gave me a bit of grief about it, but I'm not always here, and he doesn't do well, cooped up on his own, you remember."

"I'm surprised he agreed," Severus said as he buttered his toast.

Harry shrugged. "I'm Master Harry. He does what I say."

"And what does Master Harry do when not at Mallaig?"

"Oh, I'm here and there. Sometimes at the London flat. Mostly here, though." He took a bite of scramble, then washed it down with tea. Sitting back in his chair, he considered Severus guardedly. "How long's it been this time? Two years? Three?"

Severus' mouth was full, so he held up two fingers.

"So, what've you been up to? Still potions stuff?"

Making a face, Severus told him, "Yes, still potions stuff, although only on commission now. I have some other irons in the fire as well. A bit of gardening on the side."

"Nice to be a wealthy man, isn't it? I sure as hell won't complain."

Severus stared at him for a moment, then stood and picked up his plate. Leaning against the sink, he resumed eating. "Possessing a fortune and living off of it would drive me to drink. I've always worked—always. I can't imagine complete idleness. Hence, my potions lab. And recently I've added several other sources of income." He watched as Harry spooned an obscene amount of sugar into his tea.

Stirring, Harry asked him, "Oh yeah? Like what?"

Suddenly, Severus was uncomfortable. He'd not thought this out in advance, and he wasn't sure he wanted Harry to know about his recording work. "I collect and sell wood from the beach, and I…read."

Harry looked at him blankly, then completely bypassed the 'sell wood' and honed in on the reading. "You read? Oh right, big surprise there." He screwed up his face. "What do you mean, you read for money?"

"It's…complicated," Severus stalled.

"You review books, then?" Harry asked, smiling slightly.

When Severus hesitated too long and didn't deny it, Harry's smile became a leer. "It's pornography, isn't it? Right up your alley."

"No, it's not pornography," Severus said in disgust, tipping his plate into the sink. Turning back, he added, "It's something I started only this past year, and I'd rather not elaborate just now, if you don't mind?"

Harry brought his hands up in a gesture of mock defeat. "Fine by me. Just trying to make conversation." But his eyes were curious, if slightly hurt as well.

Severus turned back to the window, listening to the chair scrape behind him. Why hadn't he told him? It wasn't as if there were anything to be ashamed of.

Setting his dishes in the sink, Harry stood beside him, and for a moment, the two of them watched the birds in the feeders.

"You sold the horses?" Severus asked. He felt Harry shift uncomfortably beside him.

"No, the Creeveys have them. Felt odd doing that, but I don't ride and they do, so they're better off there." Pointing toward the lower part of the property, he added, "Kept the barn, though. Made it into a workshop. Wanna see it?"

They walked silently down the sloping hillside to the barn, the path in front of them strewn with large muddy planks to keep their feet from becoming even muddier. It took all of Severus' concentration to stay out of the boggy quagmire to either side of the boards.

The exterior of the structure looked the same as Severus remembered, but when Harry slid the heavy wooden door to the side on its rails, it was obvious that the interior had been completely gutted and transformed.

The long center aisle and horse stalls on either side of it were gone, and in their place was a vast unencumbered space, lit by large skylights set into the slanted roof. Two large, long wooden tables stood against opposite walls, with several smaller ones set in the middle of the working space, and scattered everywhere—on the table tops, hanging from the walls, sitting on the floor—were tools. Severus wasn't exactly sure what sort of tools, as the cords attached to them told him they were Muggle ones. And lined up against the other free wall, in neat rows, stood at least a dozen…rocking chairs.

Everything was tidily organized—bins of items Severus could only guess at. Screws and bolts, nails and staples, sandpaper and wooden knobs, piles of lumber and dowels. A pleasant smell of newly sawn wood permeated the air.

"I did this about five years ago," Harry's voice startled Severus. "Up to that point, I was working out of the stalls, but as the business grew, I knew I needed something more efficient."

Severus walked to stand in the center of the room, then turned to face the rows of rocking chairs. "Business? You're selling them, then?" He turned to look at Harry, who was still standing just inside the door.

Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, Harry nodded. "Mostly bespoke orders, and a few shops I regularly supply. Rocking chairs and…" He waved to the far end of the room. "…small tables with specialty tops—glass and marble, once in a while a wood-inlay."

Reaching out, Severus ran his hand along the top of a chair. Glancing at Harry, he asked, "May I?"

Harry pushed off the wall and came to stand beside him. "Sure, go ahead." Pulling the chair out, he angled it to the side, then gestured with his hand.

Severus sat carefully, then slowly began to rock, sliding his hands along the glossy, varnished wood of the arms. "It's…perfect. The action is smooth, very solidly built." He stopped the chair and stood, still inspecting it. "Beautifully done, Harry." Looking up, he noticed that Harry's face had flushed.

"Thanks." Turning the chair so Severus could see the back of it, he pointed to the small brass plate above the spindling.

"Rustic Rockers," Severus read aloud. Straightening, he shook his head. "I'm surprised. How did you ever hit on such an idea? I wasn't aware you'd even—"

"I was at a fair, not far from here, and there was this bloke selling rockers. Spent the entire day there, watching him work. Bought one, too, then I started to think about trying woodworking myself. Read some books, did some research, took a few classes. Made simple things at first—footstools, boxes, that sort of thing. Then one day, I decided I was ready for a rocker. Went and found that bloke and asked him to teach me." Harry shrugged. "He did, and so here I am."

"Yes, here you are," Severus murmured. "It's an art, woodworking of this sort, and I see you're wired for electricity?" He looked pointedly at the Muggle tools.

"Had to do that. Can't do something on this scale just by hand. Have all the right power saws—circular, jigsaw, spindle sander, and drills, lathes, routers, you name it. But when I remodeled the barn, I had to…there had to be a way to insulate the walls. There's this mesh of…metal that's been magnetized. Cost a bit to do it, but it's there, even if you can't see it."

Severus' eyes went wide as he glanced around the barn. "You've made a huge Faraday Cage."

It was Harry's turn to appear surprised. "You know about Faraday Cages?" He smiled slightly as he shook his head. "Will wonders never cease?" he muttered, leaning back against the table, studying Severus, who was wishing he'd bitten his tongue.

"I've an interest in a fair number of things that might surprise you," Severus muttered back. Casting about for a way to change the subject, Severus asked him, "So, there's no magical interference from the house, then?"

"Not a bit now."

"And your clientele? You place adverts?"

Harry shook his head. "At first I did, but not anymore. It's by word of mouth now—I'm very well-known in the rocking chair world."

"The Muggle one, you mean?" Severus asked.

Harry frowned. "Of course the Muggle one. Have you seen a Rustic Rocker for sale in the wizarding one?"

"No, although I can't imagine why not. It'd be an excellent opportunity for you to…" Severus stopped, suddenly uncertain of what he'd been about to say, given the dark look on Harry's face.

"You read the Prophet, I'm sure," Harry said in a low voice. "You see what they print about me, I know you have. Harry Potter, degenerate playboy, unlucky at love. Why in the world would I want them to know anything about my real life, my business, for god's sake? Just so they could muck that up as well? No, thanks." He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I gave my life for them—you'd think they'd respect that and at least not print every single detail of what's none of their goddamned business."

It was harsh, Severus knew, but he had a point to make. "Since you've brought it up, let me ask you, then. Is any of it true?" he asked softly.

Harry's face, already flushed, deepened to scarlet. "That's beside the point."

"Is it? All the wizarding world knows of you comes from that rag. So, it's only natural to wonder. I know I have."

"They take a grain of truth and blow it out of proportion. Yes, some of it's true—is that what you wanted to hear? But not the way they tell it. God, I'm sick to death of seeing myself painted like this sick, spoilt, amoral idiot!" he exclaimed. "And look at you—you were a Death Eater—you did horrible things, once upon a time, and what do I see about you in there? Nothing! Not a single word. Why is that, Severus? Why? I'd really like to know—for once in my life I'd like to understand why they just won't leave me be, let me make my mistakes in private, like the rest of you," he finished in exasperation.

Severus waited for a moment, until Harry'd stopped hyperventilating and was now watching him, his eyes furious.

"I know it's hardly fair," Severus began, "or even right. But for some inexplicable reason, the public believes it owns its heroes, and there's a certain obsession and fascination for seeing them fail. Human nature, I suppose." He paused. "All the more reason to let them see this more positive side of you. It would make your life considerably easier."

Harry narrowed his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was venomous. "Well, fuck them. I didn't sign on to be their hero, and my business is exactly that—mine. This is one part of my life they'll never touch—not if I can help it. I come down here every day and shut myself in, and for the time that I'm here, I'm happy. I think I deserve that—it's why I sent Kreacher away. So he'd leave me alone."

He stared at Severus for a moment, then seemed to suddenly deflate. "I know I've made some bad choices. I trusted when I shouldn't have; I've been naïve about…people I thought cared about me. Some of them, turns out, were only too happy to sell that story. So, I'm trying to keep to myself and not give anyone else a chance to fuck me over."

"A lonely way to live, I imagine."

Sighing, Harry waved him toward the door. "Yes, it is. But less painful. Come on, do you realize how late it is? I thought we were leaving at noon," he said irritably, completely missing the roll of Severus' eyes.

---

"It's no good," thought the boy. "I'm dead, sure enough, and this thing is in charge."

They'd stood awkwardly in the front garden as Harry adjusted his backpack, then hesitated when he was finished. "So, you have the coordinates; where is this place?"

"Not very far—slightly northeast of here—Lochdubh." When Harry murmured, "Never been there," Severus motioned with his hand and said softly, "Come here, then."

Harry stared at him as he bit his lower lip, then obeyed, stepping in so that it was easy for Severus to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder and turn them deftly on the spot.

---

They Apparated directly to the grounds of Albus' property, landing gracefully just inside the trellised gate. A thick grove of trees hid the house from sight, so Severus waited until Harry'd had his first quick glance around, then motioned toward the pathway. "This way—the house is at the back, on the other side of the pond."

As they set off, Harry shot him a suspicious look. "You said you hadn't been here before."

"And I hadn't, until last night. I came up after dark to see what was here. Not very fond of unpleasant surprises," he muttered as the path cleared the trees and veered sharply to the left to circumvent the small, lily-padded pond.

"You found the caretaker?" Harry asked.

"No, the house was dark, but it seems well-cared for. I wouldn't have expected him to be here that late, in any case." The gardens were weeded, the grass edged neatly away from walkway, and the windows of the house shone in the afternoon sun.

"I wonder who he is…how Albus found him?" Harry murmured as they drew closer to the structure.

"No doubt a local, I would think, given this has been a long-term position."

Finally at the door, Severus pulled a silver key from his pocket, then handed it to Harry. "Since you're the new owner…"

"A key?" Harry asked. "Where did you get a key? So you went in last night?"

"The key was in Whitney's packet, and no, I didn't enter, as our instructions were that we come here together," Severus said testily. "Now, will you open the bloody door?"

Harry fumbled with the lock, and Severus was on the verge of casting an Alohomora when he finally pushed it opened, then stepped tentatively over the threshold.

They stopped in a stone-floored foyer, from which a hallway led off straight in front of them, doorways branching to either side. Without a word, Harry went to the left, Severus to the right. They walked the circuit of the connecting rooms, Harry through a sitting and dining room, while Severus encountered a study and then a small library, until they met up together in the kitchen at the back of the house.

"Severus, I think someone lives here," Harry said softly, looking up the pots and pans hanging from a ceiling-mounted rack.

Eyeing the stacks of newspapers on the table, Severus murmured, "I think you're right. Come," he motioned as he turned back toward the door he'd just come through, "you should see this." He retraced his steps through the library into the study, Harry close on his heels. Walking to the wall beside the narrow window, he pointed. "Look."

Facing them was a grouping of three artfully arranged photographs. In the center was the portrait of a smiling woman, her arms wrapped around a dark-haired child. Set off on either side were photographs of apparently the same subjects, one of the woman, the other of a smiling teenaged girl.

Leaning in, his hands behind his back, Harry peered at the pictures, then angled his head to look at Severus. "You don't think the caretaker's a woman?

Severus shrugged. "I don't know. I assumed it would be a man, but…" He shook his head. "Anything's possible, I suppose. Albus certainly wouldn't have had any qualms about it, provided she was able to do what was required."

"They're Muggles, though," Harry said thoughtfully. "Photos don't move. Well, that doesn't prove anything, but…" He looked around the room. "I think they're Muggles."

They reversed their directions and each took his turn to see the rooms he'd missed. They met again in the kitchen, then silently took the stairs to the upper storey.

It was uncomfortably warm, higher in the house, so they moved rapidly, opening and shutting doors, finding three bedrooms—only one of them looking as if it'd been recently used—a large bathroom at the end of the hall, and just opposite it, they finally found a locked room.

Their eyes met, and Harry pursed his lips. "You have the key to this one as well?"

"No, but perhaps you do," Severus suggested. When Harry looked puzzled, Severus reminded him, "Your key."

"Well, that'd be too easy," Harry muttered as he pulled it from his pocket and tried it. When there was an audible click, he palmed the key in his hand, then pushed the door open and gestured for Severus to go first. "Like I said, easy."

The light in the room was subdued, shut out by heavy curtains, and unlike the rest of the house, this room smelled of disuse—an odd combination of dust, parchment and pipe tobacco. Severus instinctively pushed the door shut behind them, then raised his wand and softly said, "Lumos."

The wall sconces flared to life, and a soft light flooded the dreary, forgotten room. There was a desk that had been cleared of everything except an inkpot and quill, as well as several chairs scattered throughout the room. The only other furnishing was a small cot in a corner, its mattress rolled and tied at the end of it.

"So, he must've spent some time here at one point," Harry almost whispered, taking a step toward the desk.

"Yes, but from what we've just seen in the other rooms, it mustn't have been very often. Why else would he allow the caretaker to live in the house as if it were his own?"

"That makes sense. But then, if he—or she—is living here, where are they? I mean, you said they weren't here last night, so…"

Severus had already moved to sit at the desk, rummaging through its drawers, one by one. When he shook his head, Harry withdrew his wand and turned to the outside wall. Severus joined him so they stood back to back, and for a moment, the room was filled with soft glowing silver light as they inspected the walls and floor for magically hidden places.

"No sign of a box," Severus said when they'd finished. "It's not here. The caretaker must have it."

"Well, that's just great," Harry said, annoyed. "So, should we search the rest of the house, or wait for…her, him, whoever?"

Already at the door, Severus called over his shoulder, "No harm in discreetly looking around."

They stayed together this time, moving through each of the rooms more slowly; it was finally in the only occupied bedroom that Harry made a discovery. "Severus, look. There's a post here that's been opened, and it's addressed to a…Roger Hughes." He held out a stack of envelopes and newspapers. Severus leafed through them quickly, then handed them back to him.

"So. It's a he. If this is indeed true, I'm sure we'll find more evidence of it in the study."

Their search through the rest of the house yielded nothing so far as a mysterious box was concerned, but once in the study again, Severus went straight to the bookcase and pulled out a random tome. "See here," he said as he turned the book so Harry could see the inside cover. "Property of Roger Hughes. He's our man."

"And the women in the pictures must be his family," Harry murmured. "Wife and daughter maybe."

"Or a sister and niece." Severus pointed upward. "Only one bedroom is in use."

Harry shrugged. "So…we know his name; how long should we wait?"

Leaning back against the bookshelf, Severus crossed his arms. "We've plenty of daylight left, so how about a walk into the village? Give Mr. Hughes a chance to return, and while we're at it, we can make a few enquiries."

Harry nodded. "Let's leave our packs. I'll put them out of sight in the room upstairs." Reaching out, he wiggled his fingers; Severus hesitated, but then decided it was a reasonable idea.

As he waited for Harry, Severus stood at the kitchen sink and peered out over the large back garden. At the rear of it, there was another small pond, this time a man-made one, and just on the other side was a large, industrial-looking structure, windowless and seeming out of place on the pastoral property.

"What do you think that is?" Harry asked from behind him.

"An ugly Muggle building," Severus retorted as he turned. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, and by the way, I've just had a look in the fridge—there're eggs and sausages and a pint of cream, so I think he'll be back soon. What will we do if he doesn't—"

"Let's wait and see what we learn in the village. Perhaps he's there, or at the very least someone will know how to find him."

---

They walked instead of Apparating, wanting to survey the boundary of Harry's property. The road was dirt and gravel, two hedgerows running along either side of it, giving them the impression they were walking within a maze. Here and there through breaks in the verge, they saw lush rolling glens of green, dotted with sheep and an occasional horse.

"How much of this is mine?" Harry asked curiously.

"Oh, we're well beyond that, I'd imagine."

The hedgerows tapered to nothing, just as the road turned to tarmac and made a sharp upward twist toward a cluster of buildings that began on the other side of a small roundabout. They took the narrow paved road leading out of the far side of it, where they found a line of shops and what appeared to be the village school.

At the very end stood a friendly-looking pub, its colorful sign swinging in the breeze, and just beyond, they could see the shallow pebbled basin that gave way to a double-pier harbor. Several small boats and sailing vessels were moored there, as well as a larger red wooden one that had seen better days, the white inscription peeling from its side still legible: Lochdubh Lifeboat.

Severus motioned Harry toward the door of the pub. "Most likely the place to ask about Hughes. Best to keep a low profile, though."

"Great. We can have a pint while we're at it."

Although it wasn't quite five, the pub was bustling, so the two of them sat at the end of the bar and waited until a blonde woman behind it caught a glimpse of them in the mirror, then turned with a smile.

"What'll it be, gents?" she asked them as she wiped the space in front of them. "Something to eat? We've got a lovely batch of mussels, fresh up today, with some of Barney's special risotto. Or if ye don't fancy fish, there's the gammon steak—"

"No, we'll have…." Harry hesitated as he glanced sideways at Severus. "…we'll have two pints of the house bitters."

They sat and watched as she drew up their pints and then placed the glasses in front of them. Severus sat up straighter as Harry laid a twenty pound note on the bar. About to protest, he closed his mouth when Harry murmured, "Keeping a low profile, remember? No arguing."

It wasn't until they were on their second round, and the pub near full capacity, that either of them spoke again.

"Don't you think it odd," Harry said as he turned on his stool, "that he'd have a place like this, so close to Mallaig? What's it—forty miles?"

"Hmmm, twenty-five as the crow flies. But you're much more isolated at Mallaig. Here, there's a village close by."

"Well, everything's always just an Apparation away. It just…" He paused, and by now Severus could almost predict his next words. "…doesn't make sense." Harry wrinkled his forehead as he thought, folding the beer mat in half, then halved it again. "He bought a house and hired a Muggle family to look after it, and from the looks of it, didn't spend much time here. It's really rather odd." He glanced at Severus. "Have you any idea when he bought it?"

Ah, well, here was a question Severus could answer. "In 1981."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Really? How can you be sure?"

"I have the deed, Harry. Whitney thought we might need it," Severus told him. "The caretaker knows he's not the owner, of course."

"Eighty-one," Harry muttered. "With all that went on that year, he had time to buy property. Wonder if it's related."

Severus was eyeing the barmaid, who was working her way toward their end of the counter, refilling glasses and chatting amiably with the locals. "I imagine we'll know a great deal more when we locate Albus' box," he said softly.

Just as the woman reached them and gestured toward their glasses, Severus nudged Harry with his knee. "No, thank you. But we'd like two fish and chips for takeaway."

As the woman moved away to prepare their order, Harry asked under his breath, "Takeaway?"

"We've been here long enough; and besides, I want to ask our question, then leave straight away before she has questions of her own."

Severus paid this time and waited for his change, timing his question so that it slipped out just as she was handing him the fiver. "By the way, would you happen to know when Roger Hughes will be back? We were round to see him, and it appears he's off for a few days."

"Roger? You're pals of his, then?" she asked, not waiting for a reply as she called to the man at the other end of the counter. "Barney, these blokes are askin' after Roger. Ye ken when he'll be back?"

The tall man sauntered to their end of the bar. "Let's see, now," he said. "He left Sunday last, and—no, it was Monday. Rory mentioned he'd been by to tell him to hold his post 'til…" He stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Severus and Harry. "Canna recall seeing you two afore. You're friends of his, then? Up for a holiday?"

"Acquaintances," Severus corrected him nonchalantly. "We're passing through, actually, and hoped to see him."

The man called Barney eyed the takeaway order sitting in front of Harry. "You'll be staying in the village, then?

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Harry shift uncomfortably off the edge of his stool. "No," Severus said firmly. "Just passing through. We'll leave him a note and be on our way. Thank you kindly for your assistance."

Picking up the paper-wrapped package, Severus nodded, not waiting for a response as he turned for the door. He heard Harry mumbling his thanks to the couple just behind him.

---

"I don't know and I don't care," said Harvey. "I'm grateful enough for being saved and all that of course; but I want you to understand that the sooner you take me back, the better it'll pay you."

They sat at the small kitchen table and ate their supper, Severus noting with interest that the awkwardness between them was already lessening, although they didn't talk until Harry had plugged in the small electric kettle and set the cups out. It took some rummaging around in cabinets to find tea, but once they were settled again, opposite each other, Severus decided it was time to take the plunge.

"So…how are your friends?" he asked, watching as Harry dumped three spoonfuls of sugar into his cup.

"My friends?" Harry asked warily as he stirred.

"Yes, your friends. The Weasleys, Longbottom, whoever else you keep in touch with from Hogwarts."

"Oh." Harry blew out a breath. "Don't see much of them. Ron and Hermione were up with Rose in early spring for a weekend. We took her to the sea—spent the day finding fossils on the beach, had a picnic. It was a good day. Can't say I've seen anyone else in a long while. They've all moved on, scattered about." He seemed to think for a moment. "Dennis Creevey and his wife live in Dumfries. See them every couple of months. Went to the Burrow at Christmas."

Severus struggled with how to word the question. "But you have other friends. I seem to recall there was someone living with you at Mallaig—fairly recently, if I've got my facts straight."

Harry scowled as he sat back in his chair. "Not like you to be so discreet, Severus. Why don't you just ask? Must've seen it in the Prophet."

Severus considered him blandly for a moment, before replying, "I believe I did just ask. And as you pointed out earlier today, one shouldn't believe everything one reads. Hence, the reason I asked. But if you'd rather not—"

"Oh no, you're getting all the sordid details. Great entertainment value, I'll wager. Let's see, where to start? How we met? Or how he ended up at Mallaig? Or are you just interested in the pathetic ending? That's what you want to know, isn't it—the part the Prophet knew would sell? Or p'raps I should just start at the bloody beginning and—"

"Harry," Severus interrupted him with an upraised hand. "I only asked because the entire account of it was so outrageous, and I knew both parties involved. But clearly this is a personal matter, so let's just leave it," he felt compelled to say more gently than he normally would, wanting to defuse whatever the hell he'd started.

"I don't care if you know. There's something to be said for setting the record straight, I suppose."

"You're not obligated to set the record straight for anyone, least of all me," Severus protested mildly as he pushed his teacup aside, then sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

But Harry had that look in his eye—Severus had seen it god only knew how many times during the boy's school years. The one that said, I've made up my mind, I'll do what I like, end of story, don't try to reason with me.

"But if you insist, I'm all ears," Severus said, making his lips a thin line.

Harry tilted his head to the side. "I've the odd feeling I've just been manipulated…but never mind—you're getting the abridged version, sorry." Rooting in the paper for the last of the chips, he chewed one thoughtfully, then began. "So, you knew him, you said—Hadleigh? He was a Slytherin—a seventh year during my first."

"I remember him," Severus admitted. "His father was involved in some sort of scandal just after the first war—went to Azkaban."

"Yeah, that's him. We didn't talk much about family—his or mine. Or anything about the wars, really, which was fine with me. We met up at the Ministry Memorial Ball last May. Didn't really want to go, but, well, I go for the same reasons you do."

"I don't recall seeing you last May," Severus said, trying to think back.

"Because Hadleigh and I struck up a conversation and decided to leave straight off. I'd put in my appearance, had my obligatory photo taken, so we headed out." Twirling a lock of hair with a finger, Harry stared off into space. "Got on really well, we did. He had this miserable little flat in London, so after a few weeks, he came up to Mallaig for a weekend…and stayed."

"What sort of work does he do?" Severus asked.

Harry's eyes suddenly focused on Severus. "He's an artist, so it worked out rather well. I'd work in my shop during the day, and he worked in the loft, or sometimes out in the garden—wherever the muse struck, I guess. We'd make a meal late in the day, then had our nights together. It was…" He seemed to grope for words. "…nice having someone else around. At that point, I'd been burned enough times that when I wanted…you know, I'd just hit a pub and find someone for a one-off. Not as complicated that way," he murmured. His eyes drifted up to Severus'. "But like you said this afternoon, it was lonely. Most of the time it's bearable, but there's something about the anniversary that makes it feel worse for some reason." He stopped, looking as if he were trapped and regretted having revealed so much.

But Severus wasn't about to let him renege now, not after his months of wondering what had actually happened. "The memory of a tragic time that united so many—a time when people drew close to each other for comfort. I can understand why this time of year brings it to life again." He paused, then prompted, "What happened with Hadleigh, Harry?"

Squinting at him for a moment, Harry asked, "Do you believe in the notion that familiarity breeds contempt?"

Severus stroked his chin. "Not exactly. More that close proximity over an extended time gives you knowledge of a person's character, and depending on that character, contempt might follow. Was that the case?"

"I suppose. I mean, now I understand he was using me. Put a roof over his head and fed him—not that I minded. But after a few months, he changed. He'd disappear at odd times, then by Yule he was gone every weekend. Wouldn't tell me where. So, just before New Year's, he came back one Sunday night; we were both a bit pissed, and things were said…." Harry leant forward to place his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. Severus couldn't see his face as he added, "I told him I thought it was time for him to leave. And that was that."

When it seemed that Harry had nothing more to say, Severus prodded, "And the rest of it? What the Prophet reported—was that true?"

Harry stood and rolled the takeaway paper into a wad, then turned to toss it into the bin on the far side of the kitchen. When he turned back, his eyes were hard. "He told me he was intending to leave soon in any case, that I was a lousy lover and he'd only put up with me because of the excellent light and free accommodations. Said he'd planned it from the start." Turning the chair, Harry straddled it and placed his chin on top of the chair back. "So I told him he was the worst fuck I'd ever had, that I'd not turned him out because I felt sorry for him, but that I'd known he was an effete, pretentious snob; and what more should I've expected from a lousy Slytherin whose father was a criminal." He stared at Severus, who could see the red creeping up Harry's neck.

"And that's when he hit you?" Severus asked softly.

Harry made a small sound of disgust. "We were drunk, so yeah, he got a punch off. Just a black eye. We scrapped a bit." He looked away, his cheeks flaming now.

"And your friends took you to St. Mungo's for something so easily healed?" Severus made a tsking sound. "Harry? The paper reported that—"

"My nose was broken—a few ribs as well. And I was pissing blood, so that's the only reason I agreed to go," Harry said sullenly. "Would've healed in a few days anyway."

Severus sat back, stunned. "And Hadleigh?"

Shaking his head, Harry told him miserably. "I wasn't—I couldn't fight, and I didn't press charges, and you know why—it would've been in the Prophet for weeks. I just wanted him good and gone—shut of the whole affair." He took a deep breath, and Severus braced himself for what was about to come, given the sudden apprehension in the man's eyes. "Really, the worst part was that I'd finally let my guard down—I really cared for him, and didn't…see that one coming at all." He smiled wanly. "So I'm back to popping into a remote village on Saturdays, playing the whore for a one-off. Pathetic, isn't it?"

But Severus had barely heard him. Hadleigh had dared to raise a hand…one of his own Slytherins had brutally beaten a man—a hero, no less—who'd not done a thing to defend himself. Harry had acted stupidly, of course; he should've anticipated what might happen, even as words were being exchanged, and drawn his wand. That the entire matter had been one of fisticuffs was that much more humiliating—a true man-to-man stand-off, but even so, Severus knew Hadleigh's size, and Harry had been outmatched from the start. As he listened to the sound of Harry's voice in the background, Severus was suddenly filled with righteous rage, and an almost overwhelming desire to play the part of avenging angel at first opportunity. For one, Hadleigh was a Slytherin, but the heavier stone in the balance was the fact that it had been Harry…Harry who should've been untouchable, at least so far as fists and boots and whatever else Hadleigh had used.

"Severus?" Harry's voice refocused his attention. "I can tell by the look on your face—I shouldn't have told you, damn it. Don't tell me how stupid I was not to've drawn my wand. I know that, but I never expected—"

"Stop," Severus said curtly. "I'm not faulting you. I'm finding it…difficult to control an itch that I'd like to scratch." When Harry looked at him dumbly, Severus added irritably, "I'd like to set Mister Hadleigh straight; of course it's none of my affair."

Harry's face was extraordinary, Severus noted, as if he wanted to be outraged and pleased at the same time, but didn't know quite how to put the two of them into the same expression. He settled on a slightly sneering smile.

"So, still feeling protective—a throwback from when you had to be?" he asked.

"No," Severus told him stonily, "merely wishing to vent a bit of displeasure."

"Can't imagine why," Harry said with a shrug. "War's long over—don't need to worry about me anymore. You paid your debt."

"This has nothing to do with debt. It has more to do with habit and a good measure of outrage that someone would treat you that way. You deserve better," he said tersely as he shook his head.

For a moment, Harry sat and stared at him, then said softly, but intensely, "Funny you should say that. I remember thinking I deserved better—long ago, when you told me to clear out and stay away."

Severus stared back, and in a rare display of self-consciousness, flushed slightly. "I had my reasons, Potter."

"Would've been nice to know what they were at the time," Harry murmured.

But then he smiled.

That smile transported Severus back to the time the two of them had spent together just after the war, when he'd seen so much of a very different Harry. He suddenly realized that this Harry rarely smiled. There was a set to his mouth, a vague perennial caution in his eyes that Severus had just seen slip…with the appearance of that smile.

"Whatever your reasons," Harry said gently, still smiling, "it's sort of nice to know you'd still look out for me."

Making a face, Severus replied, "I doubt that sorry inclination will ever change."

Sobering slightly, Harry asked, "Who looks out for you, Severus?"

Wadding his napkin into a ball and arching it into the bin, Severus answered wryly, "I do."

---

That night, there was a short discussion over what they should do, once the sun had gone down and it seemed unlikely the caretaker would be returning that day.

"I don't know," Harry said, unconvinced. "It doesn't feel right. It's his home, and he doesn't even know we're here."

"You're the owner," Severus reminded him. "You have every right to be here. We won't disturb the interior or rifle through his affairs, and anything we use in the way of expendables, we'll replace."

After saying their goodnights, each of them settled into one of the unoccupied bedrooms. Severus sat in a chair by the window, chin in his hand, as he thought over Harry's disturbing confession. One occurrence might be excused as bad luck, a second could perhaps be written off to drunkenness or lack of vigilance, but Severus had read of at least a half-dozen occasions when Harry'd been on the receiving end of similar abuse in the course of a 'social encounter'. The Prophet, as Harry had rightly and bitterly pointed out, had almost made the recitation of these events a serial novel, only lacking the 'to be continued' at the end of each one.

The Harry he'd known had always been able to defend himself; this one, though, seemed disinclined to even try. Severus couldn't help but wonder why, and, recalling Whitney's gentle suggestion, and still suffering from the aftertaste of outrage he'd felt over what Hadleigh had done—what Harry had allowed him to do—Severus reluctantly decided to get to the bottom of it. Perhaps this Roger Hughes being delayed for a day or two would have its advantages.

When the last of the light had gone out of the sky, Severus took up his bag and crept soundlessly and stealthily down the hall to the room they assumed had been Albus'.

It was cool enough now that a charm wasn't needed, so he contented himself with lighting the candles on the desk, then pulled out his training copy of Captains Courageous. This was a practice session, so there was no need to soundproof, but he worried for a moment that his voice would carry. Harry was at the far end of the hallway, though, and no doubt fast asleep, so Severus made himself comfortable in the chair that was disturbingly like the one in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, and began to read aloud.

It was the most challenging thing he'd done thus far, learning the New England Gloucester brogue over the past several weeks. He'd even practiced on Mercutio, who'd refused to look at him as he sounded more and more like a Massachusetts fisherman.

The text tripped off his tongue as if he were a native New Englander, the words and sentences rolling out in a rhythm that mimicked the ever-present sea of the story. Severus had carefully selected different voices, and alternated between Disko Troop, Harvey Cheyne and the Portuguese with ease now.

"'I'll take no risks," said Disko then—"Not with him floatin' around so near. Abishai won't sink for a week. Heave in the dories an' we'll dress-daown after supper.'"

A half-hour had passed, with Severus thinking to himself that the next evening he might begin to record, when he noticed a flicker in the light streaming in from beneath the door. Stopping for a moment, Severus pondered, then realized that someone—Harry, no doubt—was listening from the hallway. Eyes drifting down to his book, Severus sat still for a moment, then slowly began to read again, glancing several times to the door to verify that the man hadn't moved.

He read on for several minutes, then out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement from the crack at the bottom of the door. From the shift in the light, he realized that Harry had sat on the floor, his back against the jamb, his legs stretched out.

Severus read mindlessly for a few moments, wondering what his choices were: should he stop, or stride to the door and throw it open? But instead, he continued to read, strangely touched by this audience of one.

---

The next morning, the two of them prepared an adequate breakfast from what they found in the fridge and breadbox. They'd just sat down to eat when a booming knock at the front door made them look up at each other in surprise. The banging stopped for a moment, then started up again.

"Should we just ignore it?" Harry almost whispered.

Severus was about to open his mouth to reply, when a male voice filtered through the door. "I knoo you're in there—I can smell the rashers!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, the kneazle's out of the bag, I guess," he said as he stood and took off down the hallway, Severus sitting back in his chair with a frown.

He could hear the sound of mumbled voices at the door, then the footsteps coming for the kitchen. Harry appeared in the doorway with a smaller, sandy-haired man wearing the distinctive white shirt and blue jumper of a Scottish Police constable.

Severus stood as Harry waved to the man, who appeared to be in his late thirties. "Severus, this is Hamish Macbeth. He's the PC for Lochdubh."

"So I see," Severus murmured, noting the large 'police' patch sewn to the man's left chest.

"I was jes tellin' Harry here—stopped by to have a gander at the place, seeing as how Roger's away. Surprised to smell breakfast cookin'," Macbeth said amiably as he glanced around the kitchen.

"Have you eaten, then?" Harry asked. "We've got sausages and rashers, and I could make some more toast—"

The constable waved a hand as he helped himself to the chair at the end of the table. "Noo, that'll not, I'va had ma share. But a cuppa would be loovely."

Sinking back in his chair, Severus met the man's eyes. "We were up to pub last evening. You knew we were here?" he asked.

"Barney told me you were askin' after Roger, so I thought ye might be." He paused while Harry set a cup in front of him. "So, you know Roger, then, aye?"

"Well, we've not actually met, but we're here to see him on…business, sort of," Harry said cautiously, looking pointedly at Severus.

"It's a legal matter, and since we weren't sure when he'd be back, we took the liberty of staying the night."

Macbeth shook his head, making a tsking noise. "Quite a liberty, that was. Breaking into the man's hoose, eatin' his food and sleepin' in his beds. You'll ken my concern?"

Severus nodded to Harry. "Would you get my bag from the upstairs room? I think it's time to show PC Macbeth why we're here." As Harry stood and left without a word, Severus clarified, "Harry—Mr. Potter—has just inherited this house and land."

The man's eyebrows shot up. "Is that right? And who might you be?"

"Severus Snape, executor for the estate of the late Albus Dumbledore."

"Ne'er heard of him. And you say Harry here's just inherited Roger's place?" he asked, not seeming able to hide his disbelief. "This's been Roger's place for as far back as I ken. An' that's nigh on twenty-five years, it is." He drummed his fingers on the table, then suddenly asked, "When did this Albus fella die?"

Harry was back in the room and handed Severus his pack, giving the latter a chance to avoid Macbeth's eyes as he rummaged in it. "Oh, nearly eleven years ago. It's a complicated matter." Pulling out the deed, he unfolded it first, then handed it to the constable.

"Aye, certainly must be," Macbeth said slowly as he took the parchment. There was complete silence for a few moments as the man took his time to read through the document, Severus looking up to find Harry looking at him worriedly. With a small shake of his head, Severus signaled that he'd take care of the matter.

Folding the deed again, Macbeth said, "I'd like to keep this by me for now." He stood and pushed in his chair, pursing his lips as he considered the men still sitting at the table. "It looks real enough, but ye never can tell, and seeing how Roger's not here, I'm afraid I canna just leave you here in his hoose." Snape sat up straighter, but wasn't prepared for what the man had to say next. "You're gonna have to come along wi' me up to the station, so we can get this sorted oot."

"Perhaps if you'd just tell us when Mr. Hughes will be returning, we could arrange—"

The constable shook his head. "From my way of seeing it, you're trespassing here. Now, you might have a legal right to, but I've gotta take you in an' check your story. So, Harry," Macbeth pointed to Severus' bag, "why donna you go and get yours, an' anything else of Severus' here, and we'll wait. Doon't want to leave them here—good chance you might not be comin' back."

His eyes wide, Harry stood, but didn't move, as if waiting for Severus' permission.

"Do as he says. Everything's in my bag except for the book on the table in…Albus' room."

When they heard Harry on the stairs again, Macbeth motioned Severus toward the doorway. "The whole thing's peculiar—nothing personal, you un'erstand. Just have to protect Roger's interests here, and I'm gambling he wouldna approve of strangers in his hoose with him no the wiser."

For a split second Severus worried that Harry would Disapparate, but almost immediately afterward, he reappeared with his own pack, then handed Severus his book.

Locking the door behind them, Harry didn't seem at all surprised when Macbeth held his hand out for the key.

---

They sat in front of the PC's desk as he started up his computer. It was merely a matter of verifying that their copy of the deed was, in fact, genuine. Severus relaxed back into his chair, listening as the man explained that a registered copy would have to be sent to the local newspaper office, as his fax machine was on the blink. A simple matter to establish Harry's claim to the property and justify their presence there.

Neither of them was prepared for what came next.

"Could I see some identification? Both of you?" Macbeth asked casually as he looked up from the machine.

"Identification?" Severus asked dumbly, aware of Harry stiffening in his chair.

"Driver's licenses would do."

Severus took a moment to process the request, then cast a sideways glance at Harry as he answered, "I don't drive."

"Me neither," Harry added.

The PC frowned, looking from one to the other. "Insurance numbers, then?"

Harry coughed, then said hoarsely, "Don't recall that—always have trouble remembering…"

Shaking his head, Severus followed Harry's lead. "Same here."

Macbeth's face sobered as he sat back, his amiable demeanor abruptly gone. "Any ID at all?" he asked impatiently.

"Afraid not," Severus told him. "Didn't think there'd be a need for it."

Harry's 'me neither' sounded lame to even Severus' ears.

"Let's try your names, then. Harry Potter an'…" The man looked to Severus, whose heart sank as he furnished his own again.

The office was silent except for the sound of the keys as Macbeth stabbed out their names in a two-fingered cadence. Severus caught the constable's furtive look halfway through, before he returned to his search. When the clattering of keys finally ceased, two suspicious blue eyes found Severus first.

"You, sir, doon't seem to exist." His eyes swiveled to Harry. "An' you, young Harry, have been missing from Surrey since July of '97." He raised an eyebrow. "I dinna know what the two of you are up to, but this is highly irregular. You can explain, aye?"

From the moment Macbeth had started down this 'identification' path, Severus' mind had been working on a possible response. His answer was immediate.

"Not one that's believable, I'm afraid," he dryly told the policeman. "But I can assure you we're not criminals or persons of interest to the authorities. We do have a solicitor who will vouch for us and for our business here. I'll give you his name—he's in Cheshire. Perhaps you could…ring him?"

Macbeth's face cleared slightly. "Tha's a start. I'll take a walk up to the newspaper to wait for the fax, and ring him up from there." He stood and motioned to a door. "In the meantime, you'll have to wait here. Canna have the two of you wandering the town 'til I ken who you are. Now, what's this solicitor's name?"

---

"I can't believe this," Harry muttered as the two of them surveyed the room. There were two mismatched chairs, a set of bunk beds against the wall, and a table where the constable—who'd pleasantly informed them they could call him Hamish—had placed a tray with cups and a steaming teapot.

"I've lived in worse," Severus said as he bent to lean his pack against a table leg. "Not too bad—almost homey, if you ignore the bars on the door and window."

Harry dropped his pack where he stood, then threw himself into one of the chairs. "Why didn't we think of this? What made us think we could just waltz in—"

"We were expecting the caretaker to be there," Severus cut him off. "Our mistake, if there were any at all, was in spending the night. I'd've thought—and I imagine Whitney did as well—that the deed would be sufficient proof."

"Well, maybe this Roger won't think so either," Harry said with a frown.

Severus had to disagree as he pulled the other chair closer to the table. "You forget—Albus placed him here. No, he'll know what we're about."

Shaking his head, Harry sighed, "I'm wondering if it's worth it."

"It's worth it because it's what Albus has asked us to do," Severus told him sternly. "And until we speak with the caretaker and find that bloody box, we'll have to set any questions of whether or not it's worth it aside." He poured himself a cup of tea and sat back, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "Disapparating would only complicate matters. It's your property, and sooner or later you'd have to explain that little detail—how we disappeared from a locked cell."

"Never even crossed my mind," Harry said darkly. "But I reserve the right."

Smiling slightly, Severus inclined his head. "As any intelligent wizard should."

Pursing his lips, Harry stood and went to the table to serve himself. "It's sort of ironic, the ID thing. I have them, you know—fake cards. Just didn't think I'd need them here."

"Neither did I."

When Severus leant his chair back against the wall and propped his long legs atop the table, Harry hesitated for a moment, then perched himself on the edge of it.

"So, you think Whitney will sort this out? What'll he tell them?"

"Oh, I've no doubt the copy of the deed and Whitney's word will see us out of here in short order. No idea what he'll say, but he's a solicitor—and a wizard. A lethal combination," Severus snorted wryly.

"I'm sorry about this," Harry said suddenly, pushing himself backward so he was sitting completely on the end of the table.

"Why on earth are you apologizing?" Severus said, resisting the urge to point Harry to the other chair.

"You must be irritated to be stuck here…with me."

"Oh, I'm irritated, but not with you. Why would you think that?" He knew very well why Harry would think that, but was curious what he'd have to say.

Harry shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"Well, my annoyance has nothing to do with you. In hindsight, this was unavoidable."

Looking to the window, they watched Hamish walk down the road toward the harbor. The sun was out, glinting off the restless water in the distance. On the other side of the estuary, hills of green rolled away as far as the eye could see, dotted here and there by clumps of wildflowers and scrubby bushes. In the silence, they could hear the muted cries of gulls as they swooped down to dive at the chop of a departing fishing boat.

"How much time do you think he spent here?" Harry asked without turning back.

Severus was still tracking Hamish. "I've no idea. He had a room in the house, but as you saw, it doesn't appear much used. Although," he paused thoughtfully, as he watched Hamish disappear round the bend in the road, "knowing Albus, I can understand why he'd select this place. It's very picturesque."

Harry turned back to him. "Yeah, that's the easy part. It's the other 'why' we have to figure out."

Severus shook his head as he laced his hands behind his head. "We need Roger Hughes and the box. I've a feeling we'll not need to figure anything out."

Harry shrugged. "You're probably right." Glancing around the cell, he sighed. "So, we have some time to kill. How long do you think we'll be here?"

"And I would know more than you on that subject because…?" Severus rolled his eyes. "I see you're as impatient as ever."

Smiling slowly, Harry nodded. "It's served me well in the past."

"Yes, well, you'll have to rein it in this time, I'm afraid." Pushing the tea tray aside, Severus leant down and pulled his pack up onto the table. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some work to do." Harry stood uncertainly to his feet, watching as Severus placed his reading manual and paperback on the table.

"Oh, sure, no problem." He squinted at the books, trying to read the upside down titles. "Is…that what you were reading?" Harry shoved his hands in his pockets as his eyes drifted up to Severus'. "Last night?"

Suppressing a smile, Severus tilted his head to the side. "When you were listening at the door? Yes," he confirmed, still not opening either book.

Harry had the good grace to blush slightly. "You knew I was there?"

"Of course I knew you were there. You stood for a while, then sat on the floor. How could I not know? In another life, I probably would've hexed you through the door."

Wincing, Harry said, "Thanks for restraining that impulse." He ran a hand through his hair. "Sort of embarrassing to be caught like that. But I was on my way back from the loo, and I heard you and couldn't help myself…once I started to listen." He waved toward the books. "What is it? Is this part of what you do—what you wouldn't tell me yesterday? Reading aloud?"

"Yes, it's part of what I do," Severus ground out, handing Harry the small paperback copy.

"Captains Courageous," Harry murmured as he turned the book over in his hands, glancing at the synopsis on the back cover. "Never heard of it. Is it any good?"

"It's a classic—rather well-known, in fact. I'm surprised you've not read it."

Harry absentmindedly thumbed through the pages as he backed himself toward the bunk beds. Sitting on the edge of the bottom one, he looked up at Severus. "So what's it about? It sounded interesting, the part I heard last night."

Severus took a short moment to appreciate the irony of the situation. In the past forty-eight hours, he'd made two trips to Lochdubh, seen Harry's secret workshop, spent the night with him in a stranger's house, been interrogated and confined by a constable, and was about to explain the theme of a coming-of-age novel to Harry in a jail cell.

Folding his hands atop the manual he'd yet to open, he stared at Harry. "You really want to know?"

His shoulders drooping slightly, Harry nodded. "I really do."

Taking a deep breath, Severus began. "It's a sea-faring novel, for the most part. The story of a boy—a fifteen-year-old—Harvey Cheyne, who's a spoilt and sullen brat. His wealthy parents have indulged him to the point that he's insufferable and obnoxious. He and his mother are crossing the Atlantic to Europe, when young Harvey, because of his arrogance, is swept overboard by a wave. He should've died there, but then there'd be no story, would there?" He paused to take a sip of his now-cold tea.

"The boy had the great fortune to be pulled from the sea by the crew of a New England fishing vessel on the Grand Banks."

Harry's eyes widened. "Some luck, that."

"Yes, well, and Harvey immediately demanded that they take him ashore. But the captain and men of the We're Here refused his request. Their livelihoods depended on those three months of fishing, and they weren't about to lose that just because of Harvey. They scoffed at his tales of how wealthy his railroad tycoon father was, and to make a long story short, Harvey had to stay on the We're Here for the duration. The worst part for Harvey was that he had to earn his keep by working the sea like the rest of the crew. The captain had a son Harvey's age, who befriended him and taught him the ropes, so to speak. In the months to come, there was adventure after adventure, all the hard things in life that Harvey would've never seen, had he not fallen overboard."

"He learnt how the rest of the world lives."

Severus nodded. "Exactly. Along with all the emotions and fears he'd no doubt been spared all of his life. At the end of the season, they put to shore, and Harvey's parents were telegraphed that he was alive, and traveled across America in one of Harvey's father's trains." Severus' eyes took on a faraway look, a slight smile on his lips. "Imagine their surprise when they encountered a son they almost didn't recognize: fit, tan, and best of all, self-confident, hard-working and respectful of others. In short, their bratty child had grown into a responsible man, in the short space of months and hard lessons learnt at sea." Severus was gratified to note that Harry was listening raptly. "The remainder of the story sees Harvey taking his place in his father's business—a well-deserved position now, and the sea captain's son taking charge of Cheyne Senior's tea clipper fleet."

Harry looked down at the slim volume in his hands. "All of that's in this little book?"

"It is. Well worth the read, although some of the Gloucester accent is difficult to decipher," Severus agreed.

"That's why you sounded so funny, reading it? I mean, you were doing the accent, weren't you?"

Severus realized how strange this must seem. "Yes, doing the accent, making the reading authentic is part of my work." He surprised even himself with his next words. "When we get back to the house, I'll show you in more detail—what it is I do." He had to look down at his hands, suddenly unsure of this spur-of-the-moment commitment. Harry's soft answer made him look up.

"I'd like that," he said simply, his head tilted to the side, his eyes questioning. "Do you mind, while you're working, if I read this? Unless you need it to—"

Severus waved a hand. "No, I've my own copy here. Read it," he said dismissively as he opened his manual and found his place. He worked for a while, blocking off the text into reading segments, then cast a furtive look toward the bunk beds.

Harry lay on his stomach, legs bent up at the knees, one ankle jiggling nervously in the air. He chewed on a fingernail as he read, his long hair falling into his face. But Severus knew Harry well enough to know that he was deep in the Grand Banks, sailing the high seas with the men of the We're Here.

Smiling slightly, Severus returned to his own reading.

---

When Hamish returned in mid-afternoon, Harry was sound asleep, face-down in the mattress, the world of Harvey Cheyne laid aside for the moment. Severus could see that he'd nearly reached the end of the book, though.

Hamish unlocked the cell, raising a questioning eyebrow at Severus as he pointed to Harry. After a moment's thought, Severus shook his head and followed the constable into the small office.

"Beer?" Hamish asked him as he opened the small floor fridge.

"Gratefully," Severus said.

"Sorry about your lunch. Aggie's bringing a tray over, soon as Barney fixes it. Woulda been back sooner, but Doc Brown and I had to see to an accident out at the commune."

"Nothing serious, I hope," Severus murmured after taking a long draw on his beer.

"Och no, one of Zoot's clan ran over his foot with a tiller. Had to take him to A and E over in Kyle of Lochalsh. He'll be fine—donna need all ye toes anyway." When Severus looked slightly horrified, Hamish laughed. "Noo, I'm taking the piss outta ye. Just a few stitches." He watched Severus for a moment, then opened the file folder on his desk.

"Well, we got all your documentation here. Deed's in order, though I still donna like it. Roger knows about this here Harry?"

Severus said carefully, "I'm not sure he knows about Harry precisely, but I'm certain he's aware of his caretaker status. Other than that, I can't say. There's evidence in the house that the owner visited him from time to time. Harry and I were apprised of this matter only two days ago."

"Didna waste any time coming," Hamish commented. "You might've saved yourselves some heartache, if you'd just rung him up ahead of time."

Meeting the man's eyes, Severus calmly replied, "We were only in Mallaig. Harry was anxious to see the property."

After a brief staring match, Hamish nodded. "Well, your man sent on your identification documents, but it's odd I couldna find no trace of ye. Same for Harry. Reputable solicitor, though—I checked him oot, so all I have to say is I still donna like it, and the two of you better carry some ID next time you go gallivanting round the countryside. Someplace smaller than Lochdubh, you mighta sat in that cell for days."

"You're right, of course, and we'll remember that, next time we stray so far from home."

The constable craned his neck to peer out the window. "Ah, here's Aggie with your lunch. I'm gonna ask you nice, you hear? You'n Harry have every right to be in that hoose, but have some respect for Roger, will you? Those're his things, his life in those four walls, and he's not had the best of times recently, so take care not to make it any worse. I canna imagine how he's gonna take this," Hamish muttered.

"As I said before, this will not be a surprise. The timing perhaps, but Harry has no intention of disrupting his life. Something will be decided between the two of them, if I know Harry."

"And you know Harry?"

Severus smiled wanly. "When it comes to something like this, I most certainly do."

---

They ate the sandwiches in the cell before they left, Hamish already off to parts unknown. Severus took the opportunity to tell Harry of his conversation with the constable.

"Well, it's true. I've no intention of putting him out. And like you said, there's still the box. Roger probably has a better idea of what's to happen than we do."

It was time to reveal the rest of what Hamish had told him. "And here's the problem. Hamish said Roger won't be back until next Friday. He's on holiday. So we have to decide what to do here. That's more than a week, and I can't imagine waiting that long."

Harry's face fell. "A week? That long?" He sighed. "No, we'll have to come back, I guess."

Slightly puzzled by his disappointment, Severus added hesitantly, "If you'd like to stay a bit longer, we could. Hamish mentioned there's a shinty match in the village tomorrow afternoon, then a town picnic of some sort. It'd give you some time to explore the rest of the property, get to know the locals, if you've a mind to. He did suggest that we concoct some reason why we're staying here while Roger's away. Might be best to let Roger break the circumstances to his friends himself."

When Harry's eyes lit up, Severus already had his answer.

"A shinty match?" he asked enthusiastically. "I've never seen one, but I've heard of it—it's a sort of Quidditch on the ground. Like field hockey. They use sticks and there's a goal you try to get the ball through, and there's body tackling, and I've heard it's really competitive in the Highlands. Used to only play it in the winter, but now it's a summer game, and every town has a team, no matter how small it is, and the rivalry is…"

Severus no longer heard the words; he was mesmerized by the sudden reappearance of the old Harry he'd known, once upon a time. His animated chatter made him seem ten years younger, as his eyes glowed and his voice became breathless with excitement for shinty. And in the space of a heartbeat, Severus' relief that that they'd be leaving that day vanished, as he realized that staying a while longer might be the best thing for Harry.

"Severus?" he heard Harry pause. "We don't have to stay. I suppose I could stay myself, but maybe it'd just be better for us to go and—"

Holding up his hand, Severus interrupted, "Since we'll be staying another night, I suggest we visit the local grocery and pick up something for dinner. And some of that legendary Scottish single malt."

Harry's smile split his face from ear to ear, and Severus wondered why just the sight of it made him sad.

---

After returning to the house, they spent the remainder of the afternoon walking the length and breadth of Harry's property, and discovered several more lily pad-covered ponds, and what seemed to be a small loch, as well as a fenced-in pasture with several sheep they concluded must be Roger's. Not surprising, as it seemed everyone in Lochdubh had livestock of some sort.

It was nearly eight by the time they'd finished the supper they'd made together, and as Severus poured them each a measure of malt, Harry pointed out the kitchen window.

"Hey, we have to go take a look at that."

Carrying their drinks, they left the kitchen through the muddy-floored utility room, taking a set of sturdy steps into the back garden, before making their way to the structure just beyond the smaller koi-stocked pond.

The building was larger than it appeared to be from the window—at least two stories high, and oddly, not made of wood at all, but painted to look that way. They stopped at the door, which turned out to be just an entrance through a large sidewall that could be slid open on rails.

"Odd to have a wall like this," Severus remarked. "Unless there's something rather large inside."

"Maybe it's a garage," Harry said as he looked around them. "But there's not much of a road, is there?"

"No, just a few faint tracks." He nodded to Harry. "You have your key?"

"Don't think it'll work this time," Harry mumbled as he dug in his pocket. After he'd tried it in the door, he turned to smirk in triumph. "See? Doesn't work."

Pursing his lips, Severus waited, then suddenly stepped forward. "Oh, for pity's sake. Alohomora."

The mystery of no windows was immediately solved as they saw light pouring in from four huge skylights, with still enough daylight to faintly illuminate the interior. Harry fumbled to the side of the door, then threw the light switch, bathing the entire space as the floodlights came on.

"It's…it's a boat!" Harry breathed out as he moved forward, Severus lingering behind as he examined the room more carefully. He had a flash of déjà vu, and realized the space reminded him of Harry's workshop—more the smell of it than the actual interior.

"He's building a boat," Harry said reverently, stepping through the supporting wooden struts to smooth his hands along the clearly distinguishable skeleton of an aquatic craft. "Look at the size of it—must be thirty feet…and he's carving it." He glanced around rapidly. "Well, he's got some impressive power tools too, but he's doing the joining by hand." He moved down the length of the boat, running his hands almost lovingly along the bowed ribs that gleamed honey-gold in the light.

"He's a cabinetmaker," Severus suddenly offered, causing Harry to turn and look at him in surprise. "Hamish told me, but I'd forgotten." Stepping closer to the boat, he reached out and touched it, awed by the amount of time and care the man had already put into it. "This must be a hobby."

Harry had reluctantly wandered away from the boat, then pointed to the sides of the enclosure. "Yeah, look—his cabinetmaking trade. Along the walls and to the back."

The two of them walked the circuit of the room, and suddenly Harry was chattering again, explaining tools and gadgets, fittings and varnishes. Once again, Severus saw a spark of the old Harry.

When they stopped at the door again, Harry taking one last look at the boat, he said quietly to Severus, "Haven't met him yet, but I already like him."

Severus didn't know why, but he felt a flash of relief flood through him. Whoever Roger Hughes was, the fact that he had enough patience to build a boat could only be a good thing. And now Severus was reasonably sure that, barring Harry being compelled by something in that bloody missing box, Roger would be staying.

---

"Well, I do like it. What's not to like? It's beautiful country, the sea's close by, there're ponds and a loch, a quaint little village with friendly people—well, I think they will be, once they figure out we're not sheep rustlers or serial killers."

They built a fire in the study, as the house had become suddenly cool when the sun went down. It was almost eleven, and they'd finished the better part of a bottle together. Sprawled out side-by-side on the settee, they'd talked about mutual acquaintances, the Ministry, the growing house-elf debate, Hogwarts, and their respective curmudgeon existences.

"Even with neighbors, and customers, friends I rarely see, and Mercutio, of course, I must confess that there's a well of loneliness at times, living by oneself," Severus mused, and with those words, had to silently direct his alcohol-loosened tongue to stop wagging, lest he say something even more regrettable, or worse, embarrassing.

"Well of loneliness…has a nice ring to it. Yeah, I know what you mean. Don't get me wrong, I have sex enough, but that's just…on the outside, you know what I mean?"

Severus cast him an amused sideways glance. "Yes, I do. Although your variety of sex, Potter, isn't exactly healthy. Getting bloodied and bruised—I can't believe it's worth it, given that it's just on the outside."

Harry made Severus frown when he laughed softly, then said, "Well, I suppose sex with someone you care about—someone who cares about you—would be different. Haven't had much experience with that, though." He turned sideways on the settee, and Severus could tell by his eyes that he'd had more than enough to drink. "Have you ever? I mean, had sex with someone you care about. Wait, do you even have sex at all?"

Not certain he should answer, Severus sighed as he realized he'd started this with his well of loneliness. "Once in a while. Not like you, though. I'm never out on the prowl for it, but if I happen to meet someone I like, well, then, sometimes I make a night of it."

"Lucky sod," Harry muttered, making Severus wonder who, exactly, was the lucky sod, but he didn't ask. "You didn't answer me—the first part. Ever do it with someone you cared about?"

"None of your bloody business," Severus murmured as he tipped his glass back. "But that would be sex on the inside, by your definition."

Harry sighed loudly. "Yeah, the best sort, I guess. Inside, outside, I'm confused."

"You're drunk," Severus pointed out.

"That I am," Harry said dreamily. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, until Harry spoke again. "I think I could live here." He yawned, then shook his head. "But where would that leave Roger? Couldn't do that to him."

"I think you should wait until we've talked to him, and examined what's—"

"In the bloody box, I know."

"I doubt Albus wouldn't have made some provisions for him. Perhaps another codicil that he be allowed to remain in Lochdubh somehow."

"Yeah, he'd've thought of something like that." Laying his head on the back of the settee, Harry turned to look at Severus. "I have too many houses anyway. Malliag, Godric's Hollow—both mine and Albus' there. The flat in London, Grimmauld Place." He tipped his glass and finished it off, then looked longingly at the empty bottle, before adding, "I hate Grimmauld, though."

"I'm surprised you didn't sell it long ago," Severus said.

Harry looked shocked. "I couldn't sell it—it was Sirius'."

With unconcealed disgust, Severus told him, "Black hated Grimmauld."

Harry seemed thunderstruck as he considered Severus' words.

"Life's too short to waste it on things and places that weigh you down. You've no earthly reason to keep it."

"Hmmm, maybe. I don't know," Harry said tentatively. "Kreacher goes in once a month to tidy up, but I've not been there in years, actually. Funny how a house can keep a hold on you." They sat and watched the fire for a moment, and just when Severus was about to suggest that they call it a night, Harry surprised him.

"This'll sound odd, but sometimes I miss my dad," he said softly.

"James?"

"Yeah, James. Not how you think, though. Not as a father—I've never known what that's like—hard to miss something you never had to begin with." Severus didn't agree, but he held his tongue. "No, what I miss is…feeling connected to someone. Does that make sense?" When Severus didn't answer right away, Harry went on. "I sit at Mallaig and look at the old stone fences, the house and the trees—all of it so old, and I think how generations of Dumbledores sat right where I sit, and looked at the very same things." He paused and said quietly, "Not having a history like that, it makes me realize I don't belong anywhere."

"What do you mean?"

"Belong. Fit in. Part of something. Have you ever, you know, belonged?"

"You're speaking of people now?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

Severus shook his head. "No. Never."

"It took me a while to figure it out…me and Ginny. Wasn't her I really wanted; it was her family."

"Ah. As in take a wife to gain a family?"

"Yeah, I would've been just as happy to be her brother. Sounds strange, I know. All that time I spent at the Burrow—that's what I'd missed all my life. Once I figured that out, well, I had to leave. Wouldn't have been fair to her."

"Or to you either. You wouldn't have been happy."

"Yeah, right. 'Cos I'm so happy now," Harry said sarcastically.

Severus stared at him. "You would've been unhappier, then."

"Miserable."

"Well, there are different degrees of misery. I think it'd be much worse to be miserable with someone you weren't meant to be with, than to be miserable on your own."

"So…a well of loneliness is better than a well of miserable company?" Harry snorted.

"I believe it is," Severus said defensively. "At least you'd be master of your own…"

"Miserableness."

"I don't believe that's an actual word, but yes," he agreed, mildly irritated that he'd ever uttered the words 'well of loneliness.'

But that thought was suddenly gone when Severus registered the touch of the hand in his hair. Rotating his head, he tried to pull away when he saw Harry's face looming closer. "Potter—"

"You know what they say, Severus—misery loves company. We could—how did you say it—make a night of it."

Reaching up, Severus firmly disengaged the hand from his hair, then sat forward on the settee, looking back at Harry. "That's a pathetic cliché that miserable people use when they're desperate."

The green eyes glittered. "I'm desperate," Harry said hoarsely, reaching forward again.

Severus pushed himself from the settee to stand, and looked down at him. "You're not desperate. You're drunk, and you're going to bed now, before you say or do something that will most definitely make you miserable in the morning. Trust me, you will be."

The eyes seemed to regain some of their focus, a hint of the old wariness as Harry sat forward and put his head in his hands. "I’m sorry."

"I'm not," Severus said curtly. "That's the second time today you've said that to me, and I'll repeat what I said earlier: there's nothing for you to be sorry about." Reaching down a hand, he waited until Harry decided to take it, then pulled him to his feet. Pushing him toward the stairs, Severus asked, "Can you get up all right?"

Scrubbing the back of his hand across his eyes, Harry looked at him blearily. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll hold on to the handrail. But I really am—" He stopped when he saw the look on Severus' face. "I'll go to bed now."

Severus watched him as he made his way into the corridor, then stood, poised, ready to act if the man decided to tumble down backward. He heard the loo flush, a faint clunk in the hallway above, followed by a string of cursing, then finally relaxed when he heard the door to Harry's room shut.

Sinking back to the settee, Severus groaned and brought a hand up to his forehead. Well, this was what Hangover potion was for. Focusing his intent, he Summoned his bag from the study. Unstoppering the phial, he dosed himself liberally, then fell off into a troubled sleep where he sat.

---

When Severus awakened, it was nearly three a.m. Completely sober and not tired at all, he made himself a cup of tea and shut himself into Albus' room. Despite his challenging day and his brief descent into intoxication, he felt energized and ready to begin recording.

After setting up his equipment and laying the reading manual in the middle of the table, he placed a hand on either side of it and closed his eyes.

Severus was Disko Troop, captain of the We're Here, and he was riding the boat along the dull green swells of the Grand Banks, the gulls chasing his wake as the sun was about to set on his leeward side. The salt spray dripped from his beard as he watched the boys secure the dories, the open hatches on the deck reminding him of huge whale mouths, ready to devour the bounty they'd pulled from the sea. Another day was about to end, the smell of a cod supper wafting up from the galley….

A creak in a floorboard alerted Severus that he had a visitor. Angling his head to the side, he saw the telltale shift in the light beneath the door as Harry sat again.

For a moment, Severus considered, then decided he'd take the risk and not soundproof the room. Finding his place on the page in front of him, he cleared his throat once, took a deep breath and depressed the microphone button.

"Captains Courageous, by Rudyard Kipling."

---

"It was another perfect day—soft, mild, and clear; and Harvey breathed to the bottom of his lungs."

It was nearly eleven the next morning when Severus heard sounds of Harry in the kitchen. Teacups in hand, he shuffled into the study where Severus was reading.

"Good morning," Severus said as he set his book aside to take the cup.

"Morning. You don't sleep much, do you?" Harry asked as he sat in the opposite chair and stretched his bare feet out in front of him.

"Four or five hours is enough. How's your head?" Severus asked pointedly.

"Oh, I'm fine," he said awkwardly as he took his first sip. "What're you reading?"

"The next book on my schedule—Crime and Punishment."

"Hmm, haven't read that one either. Maybe after I finish Captains Courageous…" he said, almost distractedly, his eyes shifting to the window for a moment, seeming entranced by the sunlight streaming in, then drifted back to Severus again. "Listen, Severus, about yesterday, and last night. I have to tell you how—"

"Don't," Severus said emphatically, then dropped his voice an octave lower to finish with, "say it."

Harry's eyes went wide, then his lips twisted in the semblance of a half-smile, half-sneer. "I wasn't going to apologize, though I probably should. No, what I was going to say was how much I enjoyed, well, the part of the day we spent here. Even the cell wasn't all that bad. I can't remember the last time I talked to someone like that. You know, without having to be careful of what I said…and how I acted," he finished faintly.

Severus stared at him darkly. "You're right—you shouldn't apologize, and as for the day, I've had worse ones." He relented slightly. "And worse company as well."

"Thanks. I think," Harry said. "Wouldn't want you to commit yourself or anything." He seemed slightly dejected, which made Severus suddenly decide.

"Drink up," he said as he stood and gestured to Harry's cup. "There's something I want to show you." He was out the door and on the stairs before he heard the sound of Harry's cup in the sink and his footsteps in the hallway. He caught up to Severus at the door to Albus' room, where Severus, in preparation for the explanation to come, had left his recording equipment on the table.

Standing to the side, Severus waved Harry into the room. "I thought you might be interested in why I read aloud. If you're not, you're under no obligation to—"

Harry had stepped into the room and stopped, his eyes fixed on the table. "No! No, I mean yes, I'm interested! Ever since you said you didn't want to talk about it, I've been dying to know." He turned and scowled at Severus. "Probably how you planned it."

"Oh, I've been found out," Severus said dryly as he walked to the table, then turned to stand stiffly beside it, his hand atop the recorder. "I read books aloud and record them for a company called Audioclassics. Have been for almost a year. It's a profitable venture, and work that I enjoy, strange as that might seem."

"For money?" Harry asked as he moved slowly for the table.

"Hence the word profitable. Yes, for money," Severus said uncomfortably. "I certainly wouldn't do it for free."

Harry had picked up the recorder and was inspecting it closely. He smiled slightly as he said, "Oh, I'd wager you might."

Severus realized with a shock that Harry was right. If he were told this very day that he would no longer be paid, or paid less, it wouldn't affect his willingness to continue. He decided not to share this realization, though, and remained silent, watching as Harry moved from the recorder to the slightly larger, steel-gray Faraday Cage.

Mouth dropping open, Harry turned to Severus. "This is your Faraday Cage, isn't it?"

"It is. Whitney's research assistant clued me in—not a difficult thing to construct, well, at least not one this small. I imagine yours was much more challenging."

Harry nodded absently as he carefully examined the box, then looked to the recorder again. "So, you do the recording, and then…what? You have a Muggle contact who…" He looked up at Severus. "How on earth did you hit on this?"

With a shrug, Severus replied, "You know Foyle's on Charing Cross Road?"

"The bookseller?" Harry asked, seeming intrigued. "Yeah, I've been there."

"Well, whenever I'm in London, I stop in. They know me quite well there, actually. I've special-ordered a number of hard to find books, mostly medicinal and herbal reference texts."

"No surprise there. That'd be the place to go, I guess. So, that's where this started?"

Severus nodded. "I was there last August, and had just had a lengthy discussion at the counter with the man I deal with, and was about to leave when another patron who'd been at the counter stopped me….

"Pardon me, sir."

Severus was surprised by the hand on his arm as he was about to pick up his package and turn for the door. Looking up, he saw a middle-aged man with an apologetic expression on his face.

"I was wondering if I might have a word with you? If you have a moment?"

Severus frowned. "Concerning?" He stared at the hand still on his sleeve, and the man withdrew it abruptly.

Rummaging in his coat pocket, the man pulled out a small white card and offered it to Severus. "My name's Will Forestall, and I'm a recruiter for Audioclassics. We make books on CD. I'd like to talk to you about a business proposition. If you can spare me a moment…" He gestured toward the grouping of chairs in the center of the shop. "I'll tell you what I have in mind."

After considering the card for a moment, Severus made to hand it back to him. "I'm not really in the market for recordable books. I'm a paper and glue man myself."

Forestall smiled. "I know exactly what you mean. I prefer a book I can hold in my own two hands myself. But if you'll hear me out—five minutes—I think you might be interested in what I have to offer."

Severus waved Harry to the chair on the other side of the table as he took the one behind it. "I'm still not certain what made me agree—perhaps his confession that he preferred real books. In any case, we sat for a while, and after I heard what he had to say, I was definitely interested."

"I was listening to your conversation at the counter, Mr. Snape. And I must say, you have the most extraordinary voice—a recordable one, in fact. Always on the look-out for prospective readers, and it's a lucrative venture." He pointed to Severus' package. "Your book there—I couldn't help but notice. A copy of The Mayor of Casterbridge, is it?"

"Yes, I'm rather fond of Hardy."

"Well, I can tell you that recently one of our readers recorded that for us, and received just short of £300. All done in the comfort of his own home, then sent off to us by post. We provide everything you'd need: books, manuals, recording equipment. All that's required of you is a quiet room in which to record, the actual reading, of course, and a love of literature. But given your conversation with Mr. Scotus, I have a feeling you do love literature."

"Hmm, some of it," Severus agreed, his mind still stalled on the sum of money.

"And you already have the voice," the man smiled. "The only other thing we require is one session with our in-house voice coach—she'll teach you how to use the equipment, as well as listen to you read a few excerpts, then provide you with some valuable instruction on the nuances of recordable reading. An afternoon at most."

"There's a genuine market for this?"

"It's the wave of the future. We not only market the recordings on CD, but also on the internet for downloading to personal players. For the CD part of it, you'd receive a fixed one-time payment, depending on the length of the work. For internet sales, you'd receive a royalty on each purchase, which can be sizable."

Already, Severus was more than interested; he was fascinated. Oh, the money was impressive, but it wasn't the most important thing. The notion of doing something he loved—reading—the opportunity to bring a book to life with his voice, and get paid for it as well, was downright tempting. Add to this the fact that lately he'd been a bit bored with his daily routine, restless for something new, something challenging, something he'd never done before.

"So, in the end, I agreed to consider it for a few days, and let him know. My intention was to consult Whitney and see what he thought of it—he'd helped me in the past with several business arrangements, and I also knew that if anyone were to know how to make this work, he would. His firm deals with both wizarding and Muggle clientele, and are experts in interfacing seamlessly with Muggle conventions—gadgetry, payroll, the simple problem of posting and receiving materials." Severus stopped, suddenly aware of the sheepish look on Harry's face. "What is it?" he asked, frowning.

Harry coughed. "Uh, when I was starting my business, I needed someone to help with those very same things, and Whitney was the one who set me up. Rustic Rockers," he confessed.

Severus stroked his chin. "Well, I'm not surprised. He's a wizard in more ways than one."

"So that's it, then? You were off and running, once the details were worked out."

Smiling wryly, Severus told him, "There was the session with the voice coach, of course. That's when I learnt how much more complicated it actually was."

Stella Manns slid a sheet of paper across the table, rotating it so Severus could see the words. "Now, there're many different ways of reading this. For example, try it first as just a simple statement of fact."

Severus read the words, "I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse." He looked up at her.

"Good. Now, make it a threat."

He thought for a moment, then pitched his voice slightly lower. "I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."

"Excellent! Now, lose the threat, and add persuasion."

"Hmmm. I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."

"Good. Now, try entreaty."

Pushing a bit of anxiety into his voice this time, he read the sentence again.

Stella sat back in her chair and stared at him. "You're a natural, you know, and I owe Will Forestall dinner—all your fault," she laughed. "He told me it'd be love at first sight, and he's right."

Not certain how he should react, Severus fidgeted in his chair. "It's more complicated than I thought."

Nodding, Stella said, "That's a good attitude. The real work happens before you start to record. You'll have the study manuals we send—they'll help you to analyze the characters, get inside their heads and motivations, make your decisions about what sort of voice you'll need for each one of them. And since most books will require you to read multiple characters, you'll need to find a slightly different voice so readers can tell them apart." She peered at him inquisitively. "Intimidated yet?"

Severus shook his head. "Not intimidated. Challenged."

"Good. Now the last thing we need to do here before I show you the technical part of it, is a bit of psychology."

"Psychology?" Severus asked warily.

Stella sat slightly forward in her chair, gripping the armrests. "What sort of man are you? Are you sensitive, inclined toward the romantic? Do you thrill at the prospect of finally capturing the heart of the one you love? Do you agonize over relationships; are you considerate and caring and nurturing?" When Severus cocked his head to the side, she went on. "Or are you a dangerous man, Severus Snape? Can you be a murderer, a spy? Can you betray, can you keep secrets, can you lie? Can you thrive in the gray areas of life, can you hurt someone you love?"

Severus felt his heart skip a beat. Fighting the urge to swallow, he said quietly, "I believe my dark side is my stronger suit."

Scrutinizing him for a moment, Stella nodded. "I thought so. I need to know this because I'm the one who'll decide which books will fit you best. And someday soon, you and I'll have dinner, all right? There's a story here, I believe. Not that it's any of my business, but I sense an intriguing man behind this mesmerizing voice."

Harry's eyes were wide. "Whoa. So, did you? Have dinner?"

"We did. She's a charming woman, intelligent and funny. We had a wonderful time, and to this day, the two of us carry on a stimulating correspondence by post."

Whistling softly, Harry said, "This is amazing. I'm so happy for you. Finding something you enjoy so much."

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Severus said, "It's been barely a year, but I can't imagine not doing it. My entire life is arranged around my recording schedule. Funny, the twists and turns one's life can take."

Harry reached over and picked up the reading manual from the table. "So, how do you approach it, when you're getting ready to read…say, Captains Courageous?"

Severus felt a rush of pleasure, inspired not only by the subject at hand, but by Harry's obvious interest in it. "When I receive the package, the first thing I do is read the book itself—for impressions of themes, villains and heroes, motivations and conflicts. I take notes—how many characters, what sorts of voices will be required. Then I attack the training manual, adjusting my notes as I go. What have I missed, where was I wrong, etcetera. There's also the technical aspect—how long will it take me, how many memory cards and batteries will I need, then notifying the company if they've not sent enough. Usually, I spend a good week or two on practice reading, then begin the actual recording. Captains Courageous took me longer to prep, of course."

"The accent," Harry offered.

"Yes, the accent, and how to pace it. Took me three weeks before I felt ready to start, which I did just last night."

"Sounded good to me," Harry enthused.

"Given your drunken stupor, I'm not certain that's encouraging," Severus said with the hint of a scowl.

They spent another half-hour, Severus demonstrating how the recorder worked, showing Harry the silent microphone and memory cards, explaining the use of soundproofing charms, and his cat's preference for poetry and action/adventure.

When they were finally on their way out the door for the shinty match, Harry had the last word. "All those years at Hogwarts, just the sound of your voice made me cringe. And look at you now—Severus Snape, enthraller of millions."

"Oh, I don't think I'd have to work too hard to make you cringe again."

Harry let out a small laugh. "I don't know about cringe, but definitely other things."

---

Quidditch had nothing on shinty when it came to being a contact sport. The air was filled with the sounds of bodies connecting and the slap of wooden sticks, not to mention the grunts and groans as players tripped, tackled and collided. It didn't take them long to figure out the rudimentary rules of the game. Much like Quidditch, the twenty-four players on the pitch worked to hit the ball through their opponent's goal, defended, of course, by a goalkeeper.

There were four times as many spectators ringing the pitch as there were players on the field, all of them standing outside the lines drawn in the grass, in some places three deep. Severus spotted Hamish working his way through the crowd, shouting and pushing, settling spontaneous disputes between the Lochdubh and Dunbracken fans.

After a short break in between the forty-five minute halves, the madness began again. Harry, unsurprisingly, was completely engrossed in the game, hooting and cheering, booing and clapping with the rest of the town of Lochdubh, which Severus deduced must've turned out in its entirety for the match. He'd had no idea that the little village could boast so many residents; it appeared shinty was a rallying point that brought them all together.

With a score of two to one, Lochdubh claimed the win at the end of the game; the crowd surged onto the pitch, while Severus and a grinning Harry watched as grown men were lifted off the ground; there were short little jigs of the Highland fling, kilts swirling as knee-socked legs stomped in victory.

As the melee subsided, the sound of music could be heard from beyond the trees on the far side of the pitch. As if on cue, the entire throng began to drift in that direction. Just as Severus and Harry turned to look at each other, a figure stepped between them and clapped each of them on the back.

"Well, laddies, a fine match for yer first taste o' shinty!"

"It was great, Hamish! Made me want to give it a try," Harry told him, smiling.

Hamish eyed him speculatively as he gave them both a subtle push in the direction of the grove of trees. "Aye, if you settle here, the boys'll be out to see you before you've unpacked. Ye look agile enough. Played a bit 'o sport, then, have ye?

"Uh, yeah, I played field hockey at school," Harry said as they walked.

"Well, ye be almost there!" Hamish said heartily, slapping Harry on the back again.

Once they were through the trees, Hamish stopped and pointed. "Now, the food tables are around the sides—there's Lachie's sausage table, the turkey pot, fish, an' fish an' more fish." He laughed. "And bread an' pies an' pudding….well, you jus take a walk round and help yourself." He pointed to the far end of the grove. "The drinks are doon there—some of it you'll be recognizin', some of it's local made. Pace yourself," he warned them. "The eatin' tables—you c'n sit anywhere you like. I'll be o'er there with Isobel, my wife, an' there's plenty 'o room if ye'd like to sit."

As they crossed through the center of the clearing, they discovered that the tents and tables there were actually set up for games and diversions—darts and quates, cards and draughts, and many others they didn't recognize, all waiting for the mealtime to be finished.

Plates laden high, Severus and Harry were welcomed at Hamish's table, and spent the next hour listening to tales of the Lochdubh-Dunbracken rivalry. There were a few questions about their presence in the town, which Harry seemed happy enough to let Severus handle. After Harry was introduced to Lochdubh's goalkeeper, the two of them wandered away to try their hands at the games, while Severus and Hamish remained at the now-deserted table to drink their cups of cider.

"Your Harry seems to've taken a liking to shinty. Lachie Junior there'll be happy to have him, if he stays," Hamish said. "Do ye think he will?"

"I'm not sure. I think there's a possibility," Severus replied carefully. "Especially with the shinty in the mix," he said dryly.

"Y'ever see him play field hockey? He have a knack for it, aye?" Hamish asked.

"Oh, he definitely has a knack for it, as his father did." He turned to Hamish and asked him directly, "What can you tell me about Roger Hughes? We know next to nothing," he confessed.

Stroking his chin for a moment, Hamish stared off into space, then focused on Severus. "Well, won't tell ye more 'n you'd know when you meet him. He's a good man—kind and hard-working. Cabinetmaker by trade, ye already ken, but since there's not a steady demand for that here, he's the local fix-it. Gen'rous to a fault—doesn't charge much. Wonder how he manages to make ends meet sometimes, but he does."

"We found his boat," Severus told him.

"Aye, he's building that one for hi'self, but he's done others, bespoke, like. Does a fair bit o' repairs too."

"He has a family? We noticed the pictures…"

Hamish nodded. "Lost his Laura a few years back—just starting to get back on his feet. That's one o' the reasons I hope you and Harry are no here to cause him grief."

Severus shook his head. "I believe he and Harry will be working something out. You've no need to fear on that regard."

"That's good, then. Wouldna like to see them turned out."

"Them?"

"Aye, he and Kenzie—his daughter. She's at university in Edinburgh. That's where he is now—doon there on holiday to visit. She's had a rough time of it too, poor lass, losing her mum."

"I imagine so," Severus murmured.

They sat in silence for a moment, Hamish refilling Severus' cup without asking.

"So, you and Harry plan on waitin' the week? You mentioned you're from Mallaig?"

"Harry is; I'm at Cornwall," Severus said. "I think we'll be leaving tomorrow, and return later in the week. No sense staying all that time. As you said, it might've been best if we'd checked before we came." He glanced sideways at Hamish. "Saved you some trouble."

"Och, what's done is done, and if ye hadna come, you'd've missed the shinty. Fair trade, that. An afternoon of my hospitality for a Lochdubh victory—ye came out ahead on that one," Hamish teased, smiling.

"Indeed we have," Severus agreed, just as they were joined at the table by a group of townspeople. Severus was introduced, then sat back and listened as they chatted with Hamish. He could see Harry through the throng of merrymakers, sitting at a table, his head bent in over a game of draughts.

The sun had dipped below the line of trees, and Severus, lulled by the conversation and alcohol, was struggling to keep his eyes open when Harry appeared in front of him.

"Lachie Junior's asked me down to the pub with a few of his friends. Want to come?" Harry asked, his eyes shining. The tall, gangly goalkeeper stood grinning at his side.

Severus took a moment to inspect the affable-looking man, then shook his head with a smile. "No, you go on ahead. I've almost reached my limit here, and it's been a long day, so I'll be making my way back to the house shortly." He stared meaningfully at Harry, biting back the urge to say something definitely instructive, when he reminded himself that Harry was neither a child nor his responsibility.

"I won't be late," Harry promised as he turned to go. Severus sat until he lost sight of him and Lachie Junior, then said his goodbyes and headed through the trees for the road.

---

"All this was revealed under oath of solemn secrecy on moonlit decks, or in the dead dark, or in choking fog."

The moonlight streamed in through the tiny window in Albus' room, as Severus spoke of another moon, this one cutting a swath across the water of the Grand Banks, as the We're Here navigated the doldrums, pulling in their catch. He was immersed in his role, moving effortlessly down the pages, modulating his voice from Harvey to Dan to Manuel with ease.

It was nearly two when he heard the sound of Harry's footsteps on the stairs; he paused when he heard the loo flush, waiting for Harry to make his way down the hallway to his room before beginning again. He was slightly surprised when, instead, the flicker of light beneath the door signaled that Harry had once again sat to listen.

Hesitating for a moment, Severus activated the microphone and read to the end of the page, then shut it off again. Harry hadn't moved, and Severus decided it was ridiculous for the man to sit outside, given that Harry now knew what Severus was doing. Sitting back in his chair, he sighed; it was late, and seeing that neither of them had had a good night's sleep the night before, it was high time they were both in bed.

"Harry, you can come in," he said, his voice raised, as he shut his manual and pushed his chair back. When there was no movement at the door, Severus wrinkled his forehead as he took the few steps to throw it open.

Looking down, it was to Severus credit that he hid his reaction. Harry sat against the jamb, his head thrown back, giving Severus an instantaneous and full view of his battered face. Upper lip split open, blood dribbling down his chin to soak the collar of his shirt, a purplish swelling over his left cheekbone, and clearly he was well on his way to another black eye. Harry's eyes opened at that moment—well, at least one of them did.

"Severus," he croaked out as Severus knelt beside him.

Not speaking for the moment, Severus clinically inspected Harry's injuries, separating the lids of the injured eye with his fingers, using his other hand to hold Harry's chin in place when he tried to pull away. He palpated the cheek, satisfying himself that the bone wasn't broken, then ran a thumb across his lower lip, wincing when he saw that it'd been split into the mucosa.

"How drunk are you?" he asked as he pulled his handkerchief out and pressed it against the bleeding lip.

"Not very. Only had two pints, last one an hour ago. Took me a while to walk home—didn't want to risk splinching myself."

"Well, at least you thought that part out. Come on, then, let's get you up. Do you think you can make it down the stairs? Apparating won't do your stomach any good."

Harry groaned as he struggled to his feet with Severus' help. "Yeah, I think so."

They maneuvered awkwardly down the narrow stairway, Harry holding the already blood-soaked handkerchief to his mouth. Staggering with half of Harry's weight against his shoulder, Severus led them into the study, then carefully nudged him until he collapsed onto the settee.

"Wait here," he commanded as he headed for the kitchen. He heard Harry snort behind him.

"Yeah, I'll do that."

Coming back with ice wrapped in a cloth, Severus went for his bag, then returned to kneel beside the settee. Pulling out several phials, he lined them up on the floor, then took one and unstoppered it. Gently pulling the handkerchief from Harry's face, he tried not to grimace as he ordered, "Drink."

Harry obeyed, swallowing with what must've been painful little sips, until the phial was empty. "Hangover potion, huh?"

"So you can tolerate the other," Severus said as he drew his wand. Murmuring indistinct incantations, he traced along the fissure of the lip until it closed, then moved on to the swollen cheek and orbit. When he was finished, most of the worst damage had been repaired, although he wasn't convinced that a black eye had been averted. Harry's lower lip was still very swollen, so he handed him the ice-pack and said, "Hold that here." He deftly positioned the cloth so it covered the lip and cheek.

"You have a painkiller there?" Harry mumbled, his words slurred.

"In due time. What happened?" he asked, sitting back on his heels.

Harry ran a cautious tongue along the line of his lip. "Oh, you know me, always trying for that connection."

"Well, he definitely connected," Severus said dryly. "And he seemed like such a nice young man."

Staring at him, Harry mouthed, "Who?"

"Lachie Junior."

"Wasn't him. Someone else I met at the pub."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Harry tried for the semblance of a smile, and failed. "Had a pint with him, and he was nice enough, or so I thought. Could tell he was interested, so I suggested we take it outside."

"Take it outside?" Severus was determined to make him say it.

The eye that wasn't swollen shut tried to roll. "Take us outside, you know…"

"So, he wasn't as interested as you thought?"

"Oh no, we had a nice enough fuck against the back wall, and then it turned out he thought he should be paid." Harry's chin jutted out stubbornly. "And no way was I paying him. Didn't agree to that, and if anyone should've been paid, it was me. I did all the work."

Severus shook his head. "And he hit you."

"Seems so," Harry mumbled, looking away.

"How many times?"

"I dunno. Three or four." He paused. "Four."

"And this wanker? You defended yourself, didn't you?" When Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, Severus was aghast. "Are you not the wizard who destroyed a Dark Lord? Are you not the Harry Potter who's mastered more wandless spells than most wizards could ever hope to?" Severus had difficulty hiding his disbelief. "Harry, why do you do this? You make no sense at all."

Harry must've read the disgust in his voice, because his eyes flew open. "What do you know?" he muttered.

Severus froze, surprised at the change in Harry's manner. He hesitated, then replied, "I know you deserve better."

Staring at him, hostility flooding his eyes, Harry gritted around his swollen lip, "Didn't deserve you, though."

Floored, Severus said slowly, "What happened between the two of us had nothing to do with deserving."

Sitting up suddenly, still holding the ice-pack to his face, Harry's eyes flashed. "I idolized you! You sent me away and made me feel like I was shite!"

"Don't you dare blame your poor, pathetic choices on my telling you to go and live your life!" Severus retorted, feeling a sudden bloom of heat beneath his collar.

Harry slumped back against the settee. "I tried," he said miserably. "I really did."

Severus considered him for a moment, then reached down and picked up the phial of painkilling potion. Handing it to Harry, he softened his tone as he asked, "So, what happened to you? How have you ended up with so little fight in you, that you'd allow…such idiots to get the best of you?"

Harry pulled the cloth away and examined the blood on it. "I don't know. I…fell in love two or three times. But it never worked. After a while, and a few really bad experiences, it just seemed easier to keep it short and simple. It's almost like I attract…" He shook his head. "It's just easier—no entanglements. No stories in the Prophet."

"It's a recipe for disaster. You choose someone on a whim, knowing him for little more than an hour. That's one issue. The other is defending yourself. Harry?"

The eyes slid up to meet his. "It's a risk I'm willing to take. I proposition someone, it turns out badly, then that's my fault."

Severus was horrified. "It is not. A stupid risk, I'll agree. But being beaten is never deserved—at least if you're telling me all of it."

Harry's face crumpled, and for a moment, Severus was afraid he was about to cry, but he didn't. Seeming to grope for words, they finally came tumbling out. "I'm so lonely, I don't know what to do with myself. I've tried for years…and I just don't…"

"Belong." So, they'd come full circle, and now were back to the subject of the night before.

"Yeah, belong. Like I said last night." He paused. "You want to know why I don't see much of my friends anymore?"

Severus thought he already knew, but he asked soberly, "Why don't you?"

"I love them, and I know they love me, but when I see what they have, how happy they are, it makes me feel like there's something wrong with me. Like I'm a misfit, or a freak—that's what the Dursleys always told me. Seems they were right," he said mournfully.

"I won't dignify that with a response. However, I will say that your desperation makes you do foolish things. And so far as the deserving part, well, there's a huge difference between feeling undeserving and believing you deserve to be mistreated. You're going to get that notion out of your head before you get yourself killed—by a Muggle, no less! Honestly, Potter, of all the harebrained, infantile, imbecilic—" He stopped at the sudden appearance of a small smile on Harry's face.

"Careful, Severus. I might start to think you care," Harry murmured.

"I do care! I've always cared," Severus said hotly. "You think because I wanted you to have a life of your own, that I didn't care? When I think of how I denied myself for your sake! How could I not care? I was almost driven to distraction by your childish antics at Hogwarts; and then you saved my bloody skin, for god's sake! Oh, I've cared, just not in the way you wanted, when you wanted it, you foolish child!" He stopped abruptly, just as stunned as Harry seemed to be by what he'd just said.

Severus might've enjoyed the look in Harry's eyes—soft, warm and satisfied—and the expression of awe on his face, if he hadn't been horrified by his own vehement confession.

"Funny, isn't it," Harry said, almost in a whisper, "how some people only manage to speak the truth when they're drunk, others when they're angry."

"I'm neither drunk nor angry," Severus bit out.

"So, what you just said is the truth, then?"

Trapped, with no way out, Severus could only admit bitterly, "It is."

They stared at each other for a moment, until Harry suddenly yawned. "Well, I can only hope you won't forget it by morning."

"Slim chance of that," Severus said tersely, coming up on his knees, preparing to stand.

"Have to sleep now—potion's kicking in," Harry mumbled as he slid sideways on the settee.

Looking down at him, Severus frowned. "Don't lie down, or you'll make the swelling pool in your face." Harry blinked up at him dumbly.

Pursing his lips, Severus came to a decision. He sat on the settee, then slid his arm around Harry's shoulders and tilted him toward him, until his head came to rest on Severus' shoulder. Stiff at first, he felt Harry's breathing slow, as he relaxed and allowed his head to find a comfortable spot.

"I must be dreaming. Please don't Obliviate me the minute I'm asleep."

"Don't push it, Potter," Severus muttered, digging his fingers into Harry's shoulder until he let out a muted yelp. "Now, sleep."

"How're you going to sleep—sitting up?"

"Oh, I'll manage. I was a Death Eater, at the beck and call of a Dark Lord for years. I learnt to sleep standing against a wall. I'll manage."

There was no reply, as Harry had already fallen off. Severus rolled his eyes, then did the only reasonable thing left to do. Summoning the unopened bottle of malt from the kitchen, he opened it with his free hand and drank straight from the narrow neck, then stretched his long legs out in front of him.

Sleep wouldn't come for him for a while, he knew. In the meantime, it was inevitable that he'd remember it now—that night, the last time he'd felt the warmth of a sleeping Harry against him—the night he suspected he'd unwittingly instilled the notion that Harry was undeserving.

For Severus, the surprise hadn't been waking up in St. Mungo's; the surprise had been how desperately he'd wanted to live. Not that he'd ever wanted to die, although he'd come to accept the probability.

That first week was a blur of pain and potions, murmured voices, gentle touches, soft, repeated admonitions that it would be perilous for him to try to speak. Three weeks, the voice instructed him. He couldn't eat, of course, but someone wet his lips with water, tapping his nose gently when he tried to suck the moisture from the cloth.

He was aware enough, though, to realize that Potter was there. Now and then he heard his voice speaking to others in the room, and by the end of the week, he was awake enough to realize that Potter was reading to him. Severus lay on his side, facing in the opposite direction, but he drank in every word, when Potter seemed to intuit that he was conscious, and offered up an accounting of all that had happened after he and his friends had invaded the castle.

At the beginning of the second week, Severus finally rolled over and faced his visitor. Their eyes met and held, as Potter got up from his chair and came to stand beside him.

"You're probably sick to death of me reading the Prophet. If you like, I can read something else." He motioned to the bedside table, where a slate and chalk lay. "You can't talk yet, but you can write. Anything you'd like me to get for you? Books, clothes, something from your rooms at Hogwarts?"

Severus motioned for Potter to hand him the slate. His hands shaking, he wrote, 'Why are you here?'

Potter looked distressed as he bent in to read. "Because I want to be." He looked uncertain. "You want me to go, I will."

He didn't need the slate to convey his indecision, so Severus just shrugged and looked toward the window. Potter, damn him, seemed to read his thoughts, and stepped forward to open the curtains wide. Sunlight streamed in over the bed; Severus closed his eyes to hide his gratitude, and basked in the warmth.

By the beginning of the third week, Severus had become proficient and rapid with the slate, as well as communicating rather well with his eyes and his hands. Potter still came almost every afternoon, and stayed into the evening, often there when Severus finally fell asleep. He still read the Prophet, but also the books that Severus had requested, in addition to filling in the time with chatter about everything and nothing, sometimes forcing Severus to hold up his hands in a 'Stop!' gesture.

'Can you never be still?' he wrote on the slate, just a few days before the prohibition against speaking was to be lifted.

Potter laughed. "No, it's not in my nature. Do you want me to go?"

For the very first time, Severus gave a direct and immediate answer. He shook his head.

He had other visitors that week—one-time callers who it seemed had been waiting for him to be well enough. Minerva, Arthur, and even Draco and Lucius. All of them had been awkward, seeming not to know what to say, and Severus, unable to say a word, had been uncomfortable. Mercifully, his self-appointed protector could by now read his moods and exhaustion, and somewhat artlessly kept the interviews short.

When Draco and Lucius had gone, Severus wrote, 'Thank god. I thought they'd never go.'

Potter had by now developed the ability to read the slate upside down. "You're tired. Do you want me to go?"

Rubbing the slate clean with the edge of the sheet, Severus scrawled, 'Don't ask that again. If I want you to go, I'll tell you. Fair?'

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Potter's eyes betrayed his relief. "Fair."

The first day Severus was permitted to speak was also the day when Kingsley visited. Harry stood nervously by the window, as Kingsley laid it out for Severus. Setting a blue bottle in Severus' lap, he explained.

"These belong to you—your memories. The Wizengamot viewed them just this morning. Some of them are missing, though."

Severus frowned. "Why?" he croaked out, feeling a fluttering in his chest.

Kingsley turned toward the window. "Harry?"

Potter came to stand at the foot of the bed, and seemed to need to hold onto the rail to steady himself, his knuckles white where his hands wrapped around it. "Some of those were just for me, weren't they—to convince me the most important ones were true?"

Severus nodded slowly, as it suddenly occurred to him what Potter was about to say.

"So, I took them out. They're no one's business but yours and mine. And now, just yours."

Kingsley patted Potter's hand, then turned back to Severus. "Whatever those memories were, the Wizengamot clearly didn't need them. After a review of what remained, you were unanimously cleared, without prejudice, Severus. No trial, no further proceedings on the matter. Simply the inquest on the general events of May first and second, from which you've been excused. Harry will testify, of course, but your part in the matter is closed. With the thanks of a grateful populace."

When Kingsley was gone, Severus sat motionless in the bed, still shocked by the unexpectedness and finality of the last fifteen minutes. He barely registered the sight, when a hand reached down and laid another small bottle in his lap.

"Now you have them all. And we won't speak of them again, unless you want to."

He was still staring at the two phials when he heard the quiet snick of the door as Potter left.

Severus lost track of the weeks, but they seemed to go faster, now that he could speak. Oddly enough, at first he didn't have much to say; he was so used to Potter saying everything, but gradually he began to ask questions, offer opinions, voice his objections and irritations.

Oh, yes, Potter still irritated him because, well, he was Potter. And Severus knew there were times when he frightened Potter because, well, he was still Snape. But neither of them seemed to care that much. Severus knew that Potter admired him, most likely due to recent revelations and what an adolescent psyche would do with a villain turned hero. And by now, Severus respected the boy doubly—for the death of the Dark Lord, of course, but mostly because he, more than most, appreciated the strength of character it'd taken for the boy to drag himself into the Forbidden Forest alone.

At the end of six weeks, a still weakened Severus was released to Spinner's End, and without a word between the two of them, there was an understanding. Regardless of what Potter had seen in his memories, and the fact that they'd never spoken of it, Lily was forever in the past. Something much more substantive had forged a bond between them—heroes, both of them, yes, but…

But it was something much deeper than that—something about them that was similar. They'd grown up in much the same way—mistreated and left to their own devices, then pulled out like fine silverware when company finally called. And now it seemed, in the space of only weeks, they'd been pushed to the back of the drawer again. Oh, not intentionally. Not even out of neglect. The war had taken too much out of everyone—the world was eager to move on and leave all thought of what had transpired to an obligatory celebration on May 2 of the years to come.

Neither Severus nor Potter had any objections. They were both just as anxious to put it behind them. Also unspoken between them was the bizarre fact that neither of them would be alive, had it not been for the other. Severus doubted that anyone but Potter would've raced to the Shrieking Shack while the Dark Lord's body was still warm.

Again, not something they ever talked about. But every once in a while, he read gratitude in Potter's eyes, and wasn't so arrogant as to believe that he himself was able to hide what Potter couldn't. He was comforted by the fact that in his case it was a rare occurrence. Well, at least he hoped it was.

Severus supposed, long after he and Potter had parted ways, that he bore part of the blame for the man's lack of direction, because he'd allowed the boy to follow him to Spinner's End; he'd depended on him because he'd needed him.

Potter brought him groceries and books, chocolate and whisky. He showed up with meals, tidied his house, but more importantly, he provided Severus with a link to the outside world; his presence reminded Severus, daily, that he had a life to plan, that without a doubt, he had his best years ahead of him, that his perpetual pessimism was now unfounded.

For the first time in years, Severus laughed, and he drank in front of his fire with a companion. Their conversation was sometimes stilted and one-sided, but slowly and surely, Severus began to do something he'd never done in his life: he looked forward.

By the end of the summer, he was almost himself again, and perhaps Potter might've gone on his merry way at that point, if the surprise of Albus' will hadn't been sprung.

The man had presumed to name Severus as executor, so the next few months were spent getting acquainted with Albus' solicitor, addressing Albus' sizable list of objects and oddities and finding their respective inheritors. Severus took charge of the administrative paperwork, while Potter was the feet of the operation, collecting items to be gifted and delivering them to what seemed like half the wizarding population. Of course, Severus and Potter inherited most of the monies and lands of the estate, to Severus' delight and consternation. The very large matter of how quickly he must begin to earn his living was for the moment of little import.

By the end of October, they were finished, able to finally take a breath and deal with the realization that it was time to get on with their lives. Severus had been contemplating it for several days, when the event occurred.

On November first, the Ministry held its official end-of-the-war Ball, a function that Severus adamantly refused to attend, even though he'd been invited and informed that he was to be a Medal recipient. He'd also been brooding over rumors in the Prophet on his and Potter's prolonged association, smarting at Skeeter's characterization of Potter as his 'puppy dog'.

He was in bed reading when he heard Potter's steps on the stairs. The boy spent the night at Spinner's End only once in a while, but Severus expected him on this particular night; he knew Potter would want to give him all the details of the awards ceremony.

When the knock came at the door a few minutes later, Severus called, "Come." He raised an eyebrow when Potter let himself in, clad only in boxers and tee-shirt, two purple ribbons hanging around his neck.

"I underestimated your celebrity, it seems. Two Orders of Merlin?" Severus asked, watching as Potter lifted them from around his neck and laid one of them on the bedside table. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Potter leant in and almost reverently laid the other on Severus' chest.

"Very funny. This one's yours," he said, smiling.

Severus lifted the heavy gold medal and turned it to read the inscription. "First Class. I'm surprised. I thought a Second at best," he murmured.

Potter snorted. "You're joking. You're every bit a hero as I am."

"I'm not a hero," Severus scoffed, tossing the medal to the bedside table.

"You're my hero," Potter said solemnly, his smile fading. Before Severus could react, the boy moved forward in the bed and kissed him soundly.

Severus brought his hands up in shock, but then froze, his body suddenly registering the feel of soft lips and a warm body pressed against him.

"Potter," he growled when he finally pushed the boy away. "I'll give you ten seconds to get out. After that, I'm not responsible. Ten…nine…eight…."

The boy was already on his feet, whipping his tee-shirt over his head and kicking his boxers off.

Severus was at 'five' when the sheet was lifted and Potter slipped into the bed beside him.

"Harry…" Severus was irritated now, panicking inwardly as he realized his bluff had been called. Potter was already tugging at Severus' nightshirt. "Wait. This is absurd. I want you to get—"

"I've wanted you for months," Potter whispered at his ear, as he lay on his side and ground his hips against Severus. "Months."

"Then you're a fool. Get. Out. Now," he commanded, horrified as he felt his cock start to stiffen.

A hand had strayed to Severus' groin, and he groaned as he heard Potter laugh softly.

"So I'm a fool, but I want you, and you sure as hell feel willing." Without waiting for a reply, Potter kissed him again. This time, Severus didn't even think: he kissed him back.

When was the last time he'd had a partner? Severus couldn't even remember. And he couldn't deny that he'd had fantasies in recent months, but who wouldn't have? He would've had to be a dead man to miss Potter's misplaced attraction, especially over the past several weeks. No, it went beyond attraction; it was downright stalking, in Severus' opinion. The accidental touch of a hand that lingered too long, the pouting lips, the eyes that seemed to simmer… He'd done his best to ignore all of it, but now, something in Severus seemed to snap, and he prepared to take what was being so freely and foolhardily offered.

"Oh, I'm willing, all right," Severus muttered as he came alive in the bed, rolling Potter onto his back and straddling him at the waist. Summoning the lube he knew Potter had to keep in his room, he stared down at the boy, his hand out as he waited. "Last chance to flee, Potter. You might be in over your head—have you considered that?"

"I'm not a virgin," Potter murmured, looking up at him with a half-smile on his face, then jutted his hips upward at the exact moment the phial of lube smacked into Severus' hand.

Bending down so their faces were together, Severus spoke his final words. "And I'm not inclined to be gentle. Be it on your head."

What followed was quick, awkward and messy. As warned, there was little gentleness and next to no foreplay. Severus' mind and body became an intense focus of need; he did his best not to treat the boy like a rag doll, gritting out commands as he prepared 'I'm not a virgin' Potter. "Leg's open." "On your knees." "For fuck's sake, relax," all the while using his hands to poke and prod, position and restrain.

The boy was tense at the beginning, Severus noted vaguely, but by the time they were done, when the weight of his body collapsed the boy face-down in the bed, Severus couldn't say if he'd hurt him or pleasured him. They'd both come—he'd seen to that, at least. There was no kissing, except for a sleepy and sated, slightly off-target one at the very end, as they drowsily rearranged themselves—sweaty and comfortably tangled together.

It hadn't been the best sex of his life, but perhaps the most unexpected and explosive. Just before they fell off to sleep, Severus realized that everything would change now…and he regretted it.

The sky had already started to lighten when Severus awakened. He lay for a moment, comforted by the feel of Potter draped over him—all arms and legs and smell of boy. He took the luxury of enjoying it for a while, refusing to think. But then, it was time.

It was more than time.

He wondered why he had allowed it. He had a weakness, he knew, so far as the boy was concerned, but still, to fall so far, so deeply, so unexpectedly, in such a short period of time.

It was past due, what he knew must be done. He'd put it off far too long, and look what had happened. The boy had said he wanted him, and Severus had only himself to blame for that, regardless of the fact that he'd wanted Potter as well. It was time to take control of himself and of his life. He had to pull himself together, because this just couldn't be.

"This just can't be," he muttered softly, then was startled by the sound of a voice, the breath tickling his ear.

"What can't be?" Potter asked him as he shifted slightly in the bed.

Severus closed his eyes as he memorized the moment: the tint of the light in the room, the warmth of the leg between his own, the feel of silken hair, damp against his cheek, the faint smell of sex…his current contentment.

Then he acted.

Sitting up suddenly, he extricated himself from Potter, who tried to protest and hold him back. Out of the bed, he wrapped his robe around him, refusing to look at the boy.

"Get up and get dressed."

"Severus?" Potter said as he sat up, sounding concerned.

"You have my thanks for all of your assistance these past months, but this little romp in the sack has only underscored what I've been thinking for weeks. The estate work is done, and now it's time for both of us to go our separate ways." He paused at the door, then finally met Potter's eyes, the boy still sitting in the middle of the bed, his mouth hanging open. "Your kindness to me will never be forgotten. But I'll ask you now to go back to your little friends and leave me to live my life, as I'll leave you to live yours." With a curt nod, Severus was out the door and down the hallway before Potter could answer.

Severus was sitting at the table when Potter appeared in the kitchen, his bag slung over his shoulder. When Severus waved at the teapot, the boy hesitated, then asked, "You're serious about this?"

"I am," Severus replied firmly. "Long overdue, and for that I apologize." He looked away and tried to refocus on the Prophet, but his eyes were pulled back to Potter when he finally spoke.

Still in the doorway, his face white, he said, "You know I respect you, and I've even grown to like you, and I'll always owe you for my life. But I guess, in the end, you're still…Snape." Turning away as if to leave, he suddenly stopped, then swiveled back. "You may be a hero, Severus. But you're still a bastard."

Severus forced an ugly smile. "It's who I am."

Shaking his head sadly, Harry was gone.

For a moment, Severus couldn't breathe. He hadn't expected to be hurt by what Potter would have to say, but he was. He felt relief as well, refusing to acknowledge the emptiness that hit him like a wall.

It was the birdsong that made Severus look up and squint at the window. The half-empty bottle was anchored between his thighs, and he had a cramp in his shoulder. Shifting slightly, he glanced at Harry, and sneered at the thin line of drool that had spilled over the swollen lip, tracked down his chin and onto his shirt.

He felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, and not for the first time in the past ten years, he had to wonder—would Harry's messy life, would his own 'well of loneliness' have been averted, had he chosen differently and not sent Harry away? Ah well, some things could not be undone, but perhaps…repaired. Unbidden, Whitney's words echoed in his mind again. Perhaps you could be of some help to him along the way?

Foreign a feeling as it was, Severus reluctantly had to admit to himself that he wanted to help him.

The question drifted slowly into his consciousness: when had he learnt compassion? He'd felt so little of it over the course of his lifetime. But somewhere…somehow in that time since he'd sent Harry away, at some point during those months and years between then and now, he'd read between the lines of Harry's life.

He'd heard the stories and seen the photos, and he'd known, for some unfathomable reason, that Harry was lost, in every sense of the word. Through some quirk of fate, Severus was certain that, despite their rare and rocky encounters, he knew the man better than anyone. And the next step was inevitable—putting his genuine respect for Harry together with the downward spiral of his life—Severus didn't have a choice: he had to help him. And honestly, as out of character as it would be, it was compassion, pure and simple. But what form that help would take—that was the unanswered question.

---

"I tell you two boys here thet after you've made a mistake…the next best thing's to own up to it, like men."

"You look better than I expected," Severus said dryly when Harry sat across from him at the table the next morning. "The eye won't blacken, if it hasn't by now. Do you need something for pain?" he asked.

Harry shook his head as he poured his tea, seemed to consider the toast platter, then sat back in his chair without taking a piece. Fingering his lip, he glanced up at Severus. "I'm really sorry." When Severus' reply was a withering look, he added. "And I'm sorry I said I'm sorry." There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"I'd stop there if I were you."

"Yeah, but in some ways," Harry said softly, "last night was worth it."

Staring at him, Severus answered just as softly, "Again, I'd stop there if I were you."

Smiling suddenly, followed immediately by a grimace of pain, Harry nodded. "You're probably right." He craned his neck to look out the window, then casually commented, "Beautiful day. So, what's the plan?"

"You feel up to traveling? We could put it off to tomorrow if you'd rather?"

"Nah, I'm fine. We can go. I only need to check up on Kreacher, see to my post, do a few things in my workshop." He hesitated. "I know we don't have to be back here until next Friday, but I'd sort of like to go to the shinty match in Dunbracken on Thursday, maybe even show up for the practice on Tuesday. You wouldn't have to come back that early, of course," he said slowly.

"So, you to Mallaig and me to Cornwall, then." Severus paused, fumbling uncharacteristically for the words. "I wasn't sure how much time you'd need to spend at home, and I thought perhaps…you'd like to come on with me to Cornwall. You've never been there, and it's beautiful this time of year." Severus' eyes drifted down, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of the tablecloth. "We could spend tonight and tomorrow there, then be back here on, say, Monday."

"You can spare the time?" Harry asked.

"I have nothing but time, and I can work here as well as anywhere." He finally looked up to find Harry watching him. "Of course, if you need to stay at Mallaig longer, we can just agree to meet up here, any day you like."

"No, no," Harry protested, his voice strange. "I was just processing it—that you invited me, is all. I've wondered, you know, about where you live, what it must be like." He nodded solemnly. "I'd love to go—thanks, Severus."

"It's nothing compared to Mallaig, really, but the view is one of the finest I've seen. If you like the sea."

"I do."

"We're agreed, then. As for returning to Lochdubh, Monday will be fine. I think we should both be here, in case Roger decides to turn up early," he said pointedly, then pushed the platter toward Harry. "Now, eat something."

Harry saluted. "Yes, sir."

---

Less than an hour later, Harry was in his workshop, while Severus was shut up in Albus' private study, recording. As he paused between sections, he looked around the familiar room, and wondered what Albus would think of his new endeavor. He couldn't help but think that the old man, had he been there, would've patted him on the shoulder and said, 'Well done, my boy.'

They'd agreed to have lunch and then be on their way to Cornwall. Kreacher had laid out a feast, bowing Severus into the room, saying, "Master Harry is already at table, sir."

After they'd eaten, Harry sat back in his chair and crooked an eyebrow. "It's horribly hot. Fancy a dip in the loch before we leave? I have extra swimming trunks," he teased.

"Ah, the loch," Severus murmured, drumming his fingers on the table, slightly annoyed by Harry's apparent presumption that he'd refuse. "Why not?"

The two of them walked down the hill through the garden, then between the trees, which had grown larger, but the place was much as Severus remembered it. Harry was the first to go in, disappearing almost instantly beneath the water. After a brief hesitation, Severus took the plunge as well, and for the next half-hour, they stood in water up to their necks, talking easily about their memories of Albus.

"Do you know, Albus taught me to swim in this very loch," Severus finally told him.

"Really? Here, at Mallaig?"

"Indeed. He brought me here the summer after I first started to teach. And just about every one afterward. It wasn't long before it felt very much like…coming home. I count them as some of the best days of my life."

"I would've liked that—spending time here with him. Still feels like he's here, sometimes," Harry said pensively, then suddenly he guffawed.

Severus frowned. "What now?"

"Just thinking of Albus in swimming trunks. And…and…" Harry was choking with laughter. "What did he do with his beard, when he swam?

Deadpan, Severus said, "He braided it."

Harry only laughed harder. "Braided it?"

"Yes, and he had a pair of bright green trunks that made him look like a frog," Severus smiled. "His spindly arms and legs only added to the impression. He was a sight to see, believe me. But you knew Albus—not a self-conscious bone in his body." He added mournfully, "A shame there's no picture. I'd dearly love to have that."

They lay on the flat rock to the side of the loch and let the sun dry them, still talking about their mutual experiences of the former lord of the manor, until Severus squinted at the sky. "We should go."

Harry packed clean clothes for the week to come, while Severus gathered his belongings from the study. Armed with a satchel of food that Kreacher insisted they take, they were ready to leave for Cornwall. Harry stepped in for Severus to Side-Along them, this time closer than Severus knew was necessary. And once again, like the night before, Severus felt a vague but unmistakable flash of protectiveness, just at the touch of Harry against him.

---

After a brief tour of the house, and a scolding from Mercutio, they took the rocky route down to the sea and walked the coastline. They had years of things to talk about, as they navigated the pebbly beach and inlets. Harry stopped often to pick up fossils and examine driftwood. Severus knew it was only a matter of time until… He smiled when it finally happened, watching as Harry stood with the wood in his hand.

"I'm going to take this back with us. Think I can work it into something…maybe a table. Look at the texture of it—it's beautiful."

Once they'd made their way back up the path into the garden, Severus motioned Harry toward his shed. "I want to show you something." Throwing open the door, he stood back and let Harry lean in to look.

"You…you collect it!" Harry exclaimed as he forced himself into the small enclosure.

Standing outside, Severus nodded. "For years. Sell the larger pieces to a shop in the village. Tourists buy driftwood. God only knows what they do with it. "

For several minutes, Severus stood and waited as Harry carefully looked over all that he had. Turning to Severus, he said, "I'd like to buy some of it, if you'd be willing to part with it."

Severus shrugged. "Take what you like, whenever you want it."

"I'll pay you, of course."

"No, not necessary. It's not as if I need the money—what little it brings. You're welcome to have it."

Harry considered him doubtfully. "I'll have to come back for it—sometime after we're finished in Lochdubh. Are you sure you won't mind me…"

"I think I'll be able to bear the considerable inconvenience of you showing up here and interrupting my day," Severus said mildly. "No, I won't mind."

Brightening, Harry said, "Good. And I'll pay you in kind, then. Something I've made—how about that?" He smiled slyly. "A Rustic Rocker, maybe?"

Severus shook his head. "No, that's far too valuable. You really don't need to—"

"A rocker it is, then. No argument," Harry said firmly as he stepped out of the shed.

It was nearly seven when they went into the kitchen to prepare a small supper together, Mercutio winding in between their legs, until Severus took him out to the veranda and served him an entire tin of tuna.

"I see our little furry guest is still alive and kicking, so you really don't deserve this. The next time I return, he'd better be gone, my friend, or your fish days are over—unless you've figured out how to use my rod and reel."

The cat rubbed against his hand in reply, or perhaps to signal his impatience, Severus wasn't certain.

They sat over dinner for at least an hour, then headed to the back of the garden at nearly nine, to watch the last of the sunset, parking themselves on Severus' bench with a view of the sea. The only sound was that of the breakers on the rocks below, the sky filled with a red orb on the horizon and the full silver moon above. Already the temperature had dropped enough so that Severus felt gooseflesh on his arms.

"It's been a perfect day," Harry said suddenly beside him. "Best one I've had in a long while."

Severus was quiet for a moment, then said, "Well, I'd say you were due for one, then."

"Yeah, after yesterday, I'll have to agree." He turned slightly on the bench. "I won't say I'm sorry, because…" He cleared his throat. "But thanks, Severus, really. I thought about it when I woke up this morning, and I put you in a bit of a spot. You shouldn't have had to take care of—"

Reaching out, Severus dug the fingers of his hand into Harry's arm. "Stop. There's more than one way to say you're sorry, and I believe you're well on your way." He removed his hand, once he was certain Harry'd obey.

They watched as the last of the sun sank beneath the line of where sky met water, then Severus spoke again. "I was watching you sleep last night, and it reminded me…" He angled himself on the bench so he could see Harry's face. "Do you remember that night?"

"That night? Which night?" Harry asked, his eyes wary. "I've had plenty of nights."

"You know very well which night I mean," Severus chided.

The man's answer was slightly shocking, though accurate. "The night you fucked me?"

Severus sighed. "Yes, that one."

"Yeah, I remember."

Choosing his words carefully, Severus began, "The reason I sent you away…had everything to do with belonging and deserving."

"God, I know I started this belonging thing, but I didn't mean to dig up the past with it."

Severus ignored him to say, "Hear me out, please. I've only ever belonged to two people—Albus and the Dark Lord. When all of that was over, it was frightening to be free for the first time in my life. And as for deserving, well, let's just say I carried a huge burden of guilt."

Harry seemed perplexed. "Guilt? Why?"

"For your parents and for yourself as well."

"Me?"

"Of course you. Especially you. I know you're aware that I knew what Albus knew—how he'd made his peace with what might happen to you. I was complicit."

"But he didn't know for sure," Harry protested. "He hoped I'd survive, I know he did."

"True, but it was only a hope, and a farfetched one at that. All of the risk was yours, in the end."

"But why would you've felt guilty? What else could you've done?"

Severus shrugged. "Nothing at the time. But I didn't even try to search for another solution."

"Because there wasn't one," Harry said insistently.

"I didn't know that."

Harry was silent as he seemed to consider Severus' words.

"That night at Spinner's End, after you fell asleep, I watched you. Oh, letting you stay was tempting. The prospect of belonging—of having you, was a powerful one." He stopped for a moment, groping for the right words. "But then I realized how different we were—you with a bright future about to begin, me with my jaded conscience, all my years of lying to unravel. And I knew it wouldn't be fair to either of us. Most of all, though, I knew you deserved better." He had to stop again, his heart in his throat, not accustomed to talking about such personal matters…ever, to anyone.

"So, there was a part of you that wanted me to stay?" Harry asked in a hushed voice.

"Oh, there definitely was," Severus said quietly.

"Well, you were wrong then. I should've had some say in it. I wouldn't have let you punish yourself like that."

Severus frowned. "I didn't think of it in those terms."

"Still what it was, Severus."

"Perhaps."

Harry shook his head. "You didn't deserve punishment any more than I did."

Severus tapped his temple. "All in the mind, you see. I believed I deserved it."

It was Harry's turn to sigh. "And I still say you were wrong."

"It's so simple to see the truth when you apply it to someone other than yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked almost irritably, then stilled abruptly when Severus reached out and touched his hand.

"All these years—all your isolation—this abuse that seems to find you, over and over. What's that about, Harry, hmmm? Why are you punishing yourself?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?"

Harry made a face. "I don't know why I always end up that way."

"Oh, I believe in your case it's become a habit."

Snorting, Harry muttered, "Pardon me?

"From the time you were small, you were trained to believe you deserved whatever Petunia and Vernon handed you. Oh, you had a few good years at Hogwarts, didn't you, but then you realized that nothing had changed. Diggory and Black, the bloody prophecy—can you honestly tell me you didn't think you deserved all of that? Given what Lily and James had to suffer—how could you think otherwise?" He removed his hand, but stared at Harry intently.

"I think that you and I are very alike in some respects—more comfortable with rejection and hardship and solitude, because they're old friends—worn, comfortable shoes we've learnt to wear and be happy with."

Harry's eyes had gone wide. "That's sick."

"So you say, but true nonetheless. I must admit, though, there was another reason why I had to push you away."

The eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"I craved solitude. I had to have time to sort myself out, decide who I really was, what I needed more than what I wanted. I'd skipped over that step as a young man, and I sensed I had to go back and do the paces, if I were to ever become whole. And as confused as I was, I still knew it would be disastrous for you to miss that part of your life as well." He smiled slightly. "You were so young…so impressionable. So infatuated with someone who had such potential to harm you."

The denial was emphatic. "You never would've."

"Not intentionally, no, but it was possible. I couldn't take that chance."

Severus almost started when he felt Harry return the favor and cover his hand. "And now?" Harry asked.

Swallowing hard, Severus told him, "Now I’m grateful I didn't greedily take what I wanted at the time, but instead took the time to know myself and what I needed."

"Have you found it?"

"What I need? Yes."

Hesitantly, Harry asked, "And the other…will you ever have what you want?"

Severus smiled wryly. "I don't know. I really don't."

Harry straightened his shoulders. "Well, I know what I need."

Lifting an eyebrow, Severus said, "You do, do you?"

"To belong."

"Ah, yes, back to that again. And the other?" he echoed Harry's words. "What you want?"

Chewing at his bottom lip, Harry thought for a moment. "I used to think I knew. I'm not sure now. Still have to figure it out."

"Well, if it's a reasonable desire, then there's always hope. Just make certain you survive long enough to see that day, you foolish boy."

Harry grinned suddenly. "I'll give it my best shot."

"Good."

Harry squeezed his hand, then let it go. They sat silently for a moment longer, until Harry said, "Up at Mallaig this morning, I had the oddest moment."

"Oh?"

"It's lonely there," Harry opined. "Shouldn't complain, I know, because it's my choice to stay there. Anyway, I was sitting in my workshop, and all of a sudden, I realized I didn't feel it. Lonely," he explained. "I felt good, and I stopped and wondered why, and it was because I knew you were up in the house." He looked sideways at Severus. "Are you lonely here?" he asked curiously.

"Sometimes." Severus knew he had to be honest. "Most of the time, although I have Mercutio."

"Ha. The feline cure for the well of loneliness," Harry laughed.

"Careful, or I might just have to Obliviate a small section of your brain and remove that particular phrase," Severus muttered.

"Oh, be sure and let me know when you're about to do it. I can think of other things I'd like to be rid of," Harry told him ruefully.

Severus was intrigued. "Such as?"

Harry looked away, seeming suddenly self-conscious, and when he looked back, his eyes were anxious. Knowing Harry, though, Severus knew he'd be truthful, but even so, was shocked by Harry's admission.

"I could do without the fear."

"Fear?" Severus asked incredulously. "I've never known you to be afraid."

"Not that sort of fear. It's more, well, complicated." He took a deep breath. "I've been afraid all my life. I mean, I had real reasons for it—Vernon, fitting in at Hogwarts, What's His Name. Then just when I had nothing more to be afraid of, I was more afraid than ever. And it's stupid because I don't know why. Can't put my finger on it—that's what makes it so disturbing, and I feel it almost all the time." He chewed on a fingernail, his eyes far away.

"Perhaps it's because the source of it is internal, not external," Snape said gently. "Can't run away from it."

"Guess not."

Severus tilted his head to the side as he studied Harry. "What makes it worse, and what makes it better?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, then slowly he said, "I've done the big thing in my life. I'm not sure what I should be doing now. Years have gone by, and I'm almost twenty-eight, and before you know it, ten more years will have gone by, and I'll still be in the same spot. Seems like the whole world knows a secret I don't. It's terrifying sometimes, trying to find that place you belong."

Severus nodded. "Most people live their lives without a clear-cut plan, let alone a task set to them by fate. I think perhaps you're expecting too much of yourself. You have a trade you enjoy—a livelihood—a home and your health. That in itself is a huge accomplishment."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"But I think this fear comes back to where we started…again."

"Oh yeah?"

"Belonging. And by that I mean…you told me yourself, you crave connectedness to people, or perhaps to just someone. Didn't you tell me you were content when Hadleigh was there?"

Pursing his lips, Harry nodded. "For a while."

"Were you afraid during that time?"

Harry frowned. "Not as much, but it was still there."

Severus said softly, "I think you already know you're not cut out to be alone. You need people in your life, Harry, and that doesn't necessarily mean a partner, but at the very least, friends." He stopped and felt the foolishness of the advice that he, of all people, was about to offer. "You do have friends, people who care about you. Perhaps what you need to do will take an effort, because I do understand how their happiness makes you feel even more of an outsider, but you must find a way to reconnect with them." He was surer of his next words. "I know with a certainty that they'd welcome you with open arms, whether they have families of their own or not. Isn't it worth a try?"

Harry stood and looked down at him, his eyes inexplicably sad. "I'll think about it."

---

Severus stayed up after Harry had gone to bed in the spare room. He did an hour's worth of recording, then spent another reading the training manual for Crime and Punishment. Mercutio had settled in his lap, and meowed in protest when Severus finally decided to call it a night. He sat back in his chair, thinking about the day, and suddenly realized that Harry had been right: there was something comforting in the knowledge that someone—Harry—lay sleeping in the room just above him. He could sense a definite lessening in the cursed well of loneliness. And with the realization came a subtle uneasiness, something he wasn't inclined to explore just now.

As he walked quietly down the upstairs hallway, he paused at the half-open door to Harry's room and listened. Just about to turn away, he was startled by the sound of Harry's drowsy voice.

"Severus?"

"I thought you were asleep."

"Almost. Just wanted to say…I'm not afraid now. Not sure what that means."

When nothing more was forthcoming, Severus leant against the doorjamb for a moment as he pondered Harry's words, then turned and went on to his room.

---

They spent the next day much as they had the day before, walking the beach and gathering driftwood for Severus' shed. Late in the day, they went into the town and sat at an outdoor shop, sampling the local Cornish pasties and splitting a carafe of wine.

Severus was about to set to work that night, but first showed Harry the collection of CDs he'd recorded, encouraging him to pick out a few to take with him.

"You have a player?" Severus asked.

"Yeah, I do," Harry murmured as he bent his head sideways, reading the titles on the shelf. After a moment, he selected a few. "I'll make sure to return them."

Severus was curious. "No need—I have duplicates. So, which did you choose?"

"Uh, let's see. Shakespeare's Sonnets, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and The Collected Works of Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah. Interesting. Good choices, all of them. Gothic horror and mysteries make sense for you. But the sonnets—I'm surprised," Severus said.

Harry furrowed his brow. "I like poetry," he protested weakly.

Smiling slightly, Severus nodded. "You're in illustrious company, then. Mercutio likes it as well."

---

Harry sat reading in the study while Severus made notes from his research manuals on Crime and Punishment. They spent several hours that way, until Severus closed his books and stood.

"I'm for bed," he announced, then when Harry glanced up, he asked, "Are you tired at all? You should be."

Harry shook his head. "No, not at all. I suppose I should try to get to sleep, though. We're off early.

Severus hesitated. "Would a bit of brandy help? It often does me."

"Won't hurt to try."

When Severus handed him the glass, Harry opened his mouth to speak, then smiled sheepishly. "No, never mind."

Sitting on the other end of the settee, Severus stuck his tongue in cheek as he waited, staring at Harry. Out of patience, he asked, "What were you about to say? Out with it."

"Seems stupid, I know, but would you mind reading aloud for a while? It's relaxing to listen to your voice," he said, then added with a gleam in his eye, "that mesmerizing voice."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I know you're mocking me, but I'll read to you, provided I'm the one to choose the book."

"Suits me," Harry said as he tossed his brandy back, then stretched out on the settee as Severus stood and moved to the bookcase.

As he sat again and opened the book of sonnets, Severus was amused when Mercutio appeared from out of nowhere to perch on the back of the settee.

"Sonnet number twenty-five, by William Shakespeare," he began. "'Let those who are in favour with their stars…'"

He was halfway through the sonnet when he felt Harry insinuate his feet onto his lap. Severus made it a point of pride that his pentameter remained perfect.

---

It was odd, Severus thought, that returning to Lochdubh would feel a bit like coming home, given that it was a neutral place, where neither of them was master. Well, Harry was, but not quite yet, actually.

They settled into a routine over the next several days, going their own separate ways during the day, meeting up only for breakfast and lunch. The evenings they spent together, walking the grounds or sitting by the pond.

On Monday, they walked into the town and ate supper at the pub, welcomed heartily by the locals, while Aggie served them the special, and sticky toffee pudding afterward.

They'd settled in Roger's study until bedtime, Severus pressed to finish his preparatory work on Crime and Punishment, as the We're Here was about to dock, its adventures at an end. As he worked, he glanced up several times to catch Harry watching him, as if waiting.

When he was finished for the night, it only seemed natural for Severus to pour them each a glass of wine, then install himself on the end of the settee. As he opened the book of sonnets, Harry's feet were suddenly in his lap again.

Turning the pages to find a selection, Severus murmured, "Your feet are becoming a habit."

Harry started to pull them back. "I'm sorr—" He stopped when Severus caught the edge of his jeans to keep his feet in place. Smiling, Harry said, "If you'd rather I didn't, I'll keep them to myself. Bloody uncomfortable, though, not stretching out."

Finding his place, Severus said softly, "Just keep them still. Sonnet number fifty-four…"

---

Harry was gone all of Tuesday afternoon for the shinty practice. He returned just before supper, in high spirits and with a sunburned face.

"Hamish was there—he's invited us to go out on the Lochdubh Lifeboat tomorrow afternoon. Fancy a bit of fishing?" he asked excitedly, his eyes shining.

Even if Severus hadn't, he realized he wouldn't have had the heart to say no. He agreed, with the caveat that Harry would have to allow him to work uninterrupted in the morning. He was on a schedule now, the final recording of Captains Courageous due in less than a week.

That evening, Harry wandered out to Roger's workshop. Severus, up in Albus' room, and about to record, heard the high-pitched whine of power tools. With a sigh, he cast a soundproofing charm.

---

Even though the Lochdubh Lifeboat stayed to the calmer waters of Loch Carron the next afternoon, it was sea enough for Severus. He decided that Hamish was a walking, living, breathing advert for the town, as he delighted both him and Harry with tales of the locals, lessons on geography and weather, advice on how to bait a jig hook, and admonitions about buying Lachie Senior's sausage from the back of his truck.

Worn-out and wind-blown, they left Hamish on the pier, with the promise that Harry would see him the next day at noon. To Harry's glee, Lachie Junior had invited him to travel to Dunbracken on the town bus—co-opted into service for the team's away-games.

Once they were out of sight of the town, Severus was about to suggest they Apparate, when Harry struck up a conversation that made him change his mind.

"Being out there on the water made me think of Harvey Cheyne."

"Oh? Small wonder."

"Well, I've been thinking about him a great deal—it's the sort of story that gets inside of your head, you know?"

Good. "Yes, I do."

"Think about it. He has this life he likes, and bam! Anyone else would've died, but not ol' Harvey. God, I know what that feels like," he muttered.

"I imagine you do," Severus said, stopping to take off his shoe and shake out a tiny pebble. They began to walk again.

"Look what happened. He gets a second chance, and how does he feel? He's angry because they won't take him in. I mean, he almost died, and all he can think of is how they won't do as he says."

"He was a bit dense," Severus agreed, enjoying Harry's summary.

"And spoilt. But you have to admit it must've been hard—oh, I know he was a brat and all. But then comes the best part of the story. He got lucky."

Severus glanced sideways at Harry. "I would've thought the lucky part was when he was rescued."

Harry smiled as he shook his head. "True, he'd've been dead if not for that bit of luck. No, the luckiest part is what happened to him on the boat."

"Ah, the meat of the book."

"Yeah, all those months on the We're Here. He got taken apart and put back together again, but in a better way. That was the lucky part. Those men saved him from himself."

Severus' eyes glittered with pride for his pupil, but he said nothing.

"All those things he felt in the beginning—superiority, rage, self-pity, even despair." Harry nodded sagely. "They were all gone by the time they put in at Gloucester. And all that was left in Harvey…was gratitude."

"The new, reinvented Harvey Cheyne," Severus remarked.

"Yeah, like I said, saved in more ways than one." Harry cocked his head to the side. "Severus…I know this hasn't been the easiest of times for either of us, but coming here, for me, was a bit like falling off the boat." He stopped in the road, forcing Severus to stop as well and turn to look at him. "I've been so confused, so disgusted with my life. Unhappy with everyone. And angry at you." He started to walk again, slowly.

"Talking to you—understanding why you did what you did—all the advice you've given me over the past week or so, taking care of me when…well, now I just feel like Harvey did—grateful." They walked on for a while in silence, Harry looking off into the fields. He finally looked back to say quietly, "I needed to tell you that."

Severus inclined his head, meeting Harry's eyes. "Well, then, lucky for us that Roger was away."

---

After supper that night—an unusually quiet one—they took their tea in the garden, then returned to the house so that Severus could work.

"What's next?" Harry asked him, watching as Severus set up the recorder.

"Next?"

"Yeah, you're finishing up Captains Courageous tonight, right? And you're almost ready to start Crime and Punishment, so what's the next one."

Severus rummaged in his bag, then pulled out a book and handed it to Harry.

Reading the title, Harry shook his head. "Silas Marner. Another one I don't know."

"Another gap in your education, you mean," Severus said. "It's an enchanting story of a miser who's tricked out of his wealth and the woman he's to marry. Embittered, he becomes a recluse, convinced he'll never know happiness again."

"Sounds depressing."

"Well, that's the set-up. He happens upon an orphaned child in a snowstorm and takes her in. She becomes the replacement for his lost gold, his pride and joy. Years pass and through a twist of fate, the child, now older, is finally claimed by her real father, and once again Silas believes he's about to lose what's most important to him. But the girl chooses him instead, and the story ends happily."

"So…this Silas loses his money, but finds a family."

"In short, yes. As I said, an enchanting story. Artfully written as well." He watched as Harry thumbed through the book, trying to restrain the urge to encourage him to read it.

Harry set the book in his lap, then asked Severus, "Do you ever resent not having family?"

"Resent is an odd choice of word. I suppose you could resent life for having done it to you," he said cautiously.

"Life," Harry snorted. "Yeah, life took both of my parents."

"Everyone lost family in the war," Severus told him frankly.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, some more than others. Not very fair."

"No, it's not. But so far as you and I are concerned, either one of us could've made choices since the war that would've given us families of our own."

Harry seemed amused by the notion, then suddenly sobered. Looking away, he said softly, "Don't take this the wrong way, but…sometimes, I wish I'd never gone to see you in the hospital."

Severus stilled, waiting for him to continue.

"Maybe then I wouldn't have been spoilt."

"Spoilt?"

Harry nodded as he stood. "Spoilt for anyone else." Stepping to the table, he laid the book on the top of Severus' pile. Looking down at him, smiling almost apologetically, he said, just before he turned to go, "I guess I've been bitter about that." He squeezed Severus' shoulder. "Still grateful, though."

At the door, without turning back, he said, "Goodnight, Severus."

Severus sat, stunned, for a long while, as he considered Harry's words.

Yes, they'd both ended up alone, himself by choice; Harry's situation was somewhat murkier, though. Severus' own lack of bitterness, in contrast to that of the Boy With a Brilliant Future, made Severus sad. What he'd intended for good had turned out horribly wrong.

---

That night, as Severus lay waiting for sleep to come, he experienced a wash of longing and regret—not for the first time since they'd started out on this bizarre expedition. And yet, on the very edge of it, like a tendril of red curled above the lightening of the sky just before sunrise, he felt a sliver of hope. But the thought of why made him shudder.

---

"There was that in his voice, too, which seemed to promise that the change might be permanent, and that the new Harvey had come to stay."

On Thursday, they ate lunch together before Harry was to leave to catch the bus for Dunbracken. He was literally bouncing with excitement, and Severus expected at any moment for him to fall off his chair.

"Lachie Junior says Dunbracken's a much larger town. They have a band and a cheering squad, and at least two-hundred show up for the match. Can you imagine?"

"Hmm, I can hardly bear that I'll miss it," Severus said in a mocking tone.

Harry's face fell. "You could come—I'm sure there's room on the bus."

"Alas, I have work to do here. You go and have your fun. I'll survive."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked uncertainly.

Severus made a face and waved toward the door. "I'm sure. Now, off with you."

Harry was out from behind the table and on the stairs before Severus had time to close his mouth. He listened to the thunks and clunks above him as Harry sorted out his pack, then heard Harry taking the stairs down, two at a time.

Severus idly tried to remember if, at Harry's age, he'd ever taken two stairs at a time, and decided…no.

"Well, I'm off. I suppose you'll be up when I get back. There's a pub party, but I shouldn't be late."

"I'll be up."

Harry grinned. "Super. Have a great day!" He was out of the doorway, but didn't let go of the jamb; instead, he pulled himself back slowly. "Hey, tomorrow's 'R' day."

Severus frowned. "'R' day?"

"Yeah, 'R' day. Roger day. Do you suppose he might show up a day early?"

"I don't know. It's possible."

Harry bit his lower lip. "Listen, if he does show up today, you wouldn't just open the box and settle things without me here…and then leave, would you?" he asked anxiously. "I wouldn't want to come back and find that you've gone."

Severus tried to resist the feeling, but it was there all the same: he was touched.

Shaking his head, he said, "No, our instructions were for all three of us to be present for that."

Harry stepped slowly back into the room. "Because if there's a chance of that, I could stay." His voice was crestfallen, unable to hide anything. "It's just a shinty match."

"Harry, I'll be here." He felt the need to add, "I promise. Now go, or you'll miss your bus."

"Thanks, Severus," Harry said, clearly grateful. "I'll bring you a souvenir."

This time he left for good, slamming the front door behind him. Severus sat and listened to him whistle as he walked a distance from the house, then heard the muted sound of Apparation.

---

The remainder of the day flew by quickly for Severus, as he worked straight until suppertime, recording the final passages of Captains Courageous. He felt a vague mixture of elation and sadness as he gathered the completed memory cards and packaged them up to be sent off. This particular recording would always be linked in his memory to his time at Lochdubh and the considerable impression the book had made on Harry. He smiled as he realized the timing had been perfect.

At nearly nine o'clock, he decided to take a break from the drudgery of Crime and Punishment, and walked into the village to meet the Lochdubh bus. Harry hadn't returned, but Severus planned on parking himself inside the pub to wait.

He made idle chatter with Aggie, who informed him that the match had been its usual, riotous affair, with Dunbracken besting the Lochdubh boys by a shameful 4-1 score. And not long afterward, the bus pulled in at nearly ten, spilling its slightly subdued passengers into the summer night, just outside the pub.

Severus stood on the paving, greeting the few players that he knew, glancing up to try and catch a glimpse of Harry as the bus emptied. But when everyone seemed to be off and on their way, there was still no sign of him—only Lachie Senior remained in the bus, picking up trash and binning it in a large plastic bag. When he exited the bus at last, he smiled brightly when he spotted Severus.

"Ah, Severus! A shame you missed such a fine competition! Aye, they beat us this time, but we did ourselves proud last week, now dinna we?" he asked, as he tied a knot in the top of the bag, then threw it to the kerb.

"I'm sure I'll hear all the details from Harry," Severus said. "But I don't see him—"

"Och, aye! He and Lachie Junior are coming back later with Mick and Jessie." He clapped Severus on the shoulder. "Doon't worry—Jessie's not drinking, and he's got half a brain, that one does."

"And how long do you think they'll stay?" Severus asked with a frown.

Lachie Senior seemed surprised. "I donna know, but I doon't es'pect it'd be much past eleven. Jessie has to be up at the crack 'o dawn for fishin'."

Severus deliberated and decided that as long as he was there, he might as well wait. He left the pub and walked the town, then sat at the end of the pier until the sea air made him seek the warmth of the pub again. Nursing a drink he really didn't want, he sat moodily in a corner, no longer inclined to make small-talk with anyone.

At midnight, when there was no sign of the car, Severus waved a curt goodbye and took the road toward the house, Apparating the rest of the way once he was out of sight.

By one a.m., he was worried, and a short time later was examining his Apparation map for Dunbracken's coordinates. Harry might be twenty-eight, but he'd recently displayed a shocking lapse of judgment, and if Severus were honest, it wasn't just recently. He would only have a look, he decided, just enough of one to verify…oh hell, to see for himself that the man wasn't in worse trouble than the last time.

It wasn't just worry either, he knew, as he stepped out into the garden. It was irritation and frustration. They had a big day ahead of them tomorrow, and he needed Harry to be at his best, not tired and distracted, holding his head in his hands when the events demanded that he be levelheaded and reasonable.

Thinking of the coordinates in his head, Severus closed his eyes, then Apparated. It took a few minutes and questioning a stranger, but he finally found the pub where the teams had gone after the match.

One cursory glance around the interior, and Severus found the party still in progress. He threaded his way between the tables and down the other side of the bar to the very last booth. As he stopped, Lachie Junior looked up blearily, then, recognizing Severus, his face split into a loopy grin.

"So, you decided to come?"

"No, I'm looking for Harry." The statement provoked sly looks around the table and a snickering from Lachie Junior.

"Well, he's sort of…" He rolled his eyes. "Occupied at the moment. Why don't you sit doon and we'll stand you a pint while we wait for—"

Severus cut him off, staring at him stonily. "Where is he?"

"Well, I donna know that he'd want me to—"

Leaning down, Severus put his mouth in range of Lachie Junior's ear and said menacingly, "Waste one more moment of my time, and you'll regret it. Now, where is he?"

Lachie Junior's eyes went wide as he sat back in the booth. "He's went off with a bloke from the Dunbracken team. I'm warnin' ye, though, ye donna want to get on his bad side. He's bigger 'n ye are, an' got a temper to match, aye."

Straightening, Severus said quietly, "Where did they go?"

"Oh, they're upstairs. In one o' Maggie's rented rooms." He waggled his eyebrows at Severus. "Hourly rate, you ken?"

Severus turned and scanned the room, then saw the sign indicating the stairs to the upper storey. He felt strangely calm as he made his way up the steps, then stopped on the landing to pull out his wand. Using a Point Me spell, he finally found himself in front of a door at the end of the hallway.

He listened for a moment, then when he heard a muted sound from within, he knocked sharply on the door.

"Fuck off!" came the reply.

He knocked again, this time raising his voice to say, "I'm looking for Harry Potter."

"I said fuck off, eejit!"

His patience at an end, Severus considered how best to open the door—use a spell or just kick it in—when it occurred to him to just try the latch. It turned easily in his hand. He took a deep breath, then pushed inward.

As much as he'd thought himself prepared for the sight of Harry and whatever he'd got himself into, he wasn't prepared for this: Harry lay face down on the bed, both arms tied to the bedrails above him. His legs were spread, and a brute of a man, his face flushed and his hair disheveled, knelt between them, an upraised leather belt in his hand. He lowered it suddenly when he saw Severus.

"Who the fuck let you in?" the man bellowed as he staggered from the bed.

Severus didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the bright red welts on Harry's thighs and behind. His eyes drifted up to meet Harry's, and the man moaned once and turned his face to the wall.

Movement in front of him brought him back to the threat of Harry's partner.

"I said, who the fuck—"

There was no moment of decision, no consideration of how he'd disable the man. Severus took a step forward as he brought up his arm and drew it back, then let fury and disgust propel it forward to connect with the center of the man's face. There was a loud crack as the nose broke and spurted blood. Severus watched, almost impassively as the man reeled backward, pin-wheeling his arms in a futile attempt to keep from falling. He ended up on the floor, out cold, lying just short of the bed.

Knowing time was critical, Severus reacted quickly. Drawing his wand, he muttered, "Relashio." Harry's arms fell to the bed with a thump, Severus already beside him as he rolled him to his side.

He was relieved to see that Harry's face was untouched this time, his eyes fluttering open as he mumbled drunkenly, "Severus? What—"

"No time for that now. Let's get you up," Severus said as he tugged on Harry's shoulders and lifted him into a sitting position. Casting his eyes around the room, Severus decided to leave the clothes where they were, but snagged Harry's shoes from the side of the bed and shrank them. After slipping them into his pocket, he nudged a foot between Harry's legs, then heaved him up off the bed so they were standing face to face.

"Arms around my neck," he ordered. When Harry sluggishly obeyed, Severus circled his own around the man's waist, cinched him in tightly, then turned both of them on the spot.

---

They Apparated directly into Harry's bedroom, where Severus deposited the naked man unceremoniously onto the edge of the bed. Summoning his own bag from the study, he muttered under his breath as he took out the last phial of Hangover potion. Harry didn't resist as it was forced between his lips, but when he failed to swallow, Severus pinched Harry's nose until he gulped, small rivulets escaping from the sides of his mouth. When he was satisfied that this part of his mission was accomplished, he none too gently pushed the semi-stuporous Harry onto his back, then stepped away and shook his head as he waited for the potion to take effect.

What was he to do now? After all they'd been through in the past ten days, what more could he possibly say? He was truly at a loss, a rare enough experience for Severus, but he knew that tonight was his last chance to get through Harry's confounded predilection to destroy himself before his thirtieth birthday. My god, when he thought of what might've happened had he not decided to follow his instincts and go to Dunbracken….

The first sign that the potion had worked was Harry scrabbling in the bed, pulling in his arms and legs and feeling for the sheet, in a pathetic attempt to cover his nakedness. His eyes opened, ashamed and distraught, as he saw Severus standing silently by the bed.

Harry made a face and said, "I have to piss."

Turning slightly and gesturing toward the door, Severus said blandly, "Be my guest."

Fumbling with the sheet, Harry sat up and wrapped it around himself before standing. After a few staggering steps, he seemed steady on his feet, so Severus stood his ground and watched as Harry headed off for the loo.

Suddenly it came to Severus: the time for words was over. What was required was a lesson, a demonstration without explanation or verbal persuasion. It was radical and extreme, but he suddenly knew it was the right thing to do. Harry would protest, of course, but this time Severus was decided that his way was the right way and— given Harry's resistance to reason—the only way. He refused to listen to the little voice whispering inside his head that he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life….

By the time he heard the loo flush, then the shuffling sound of Harry's steps in the hallway, Severus was comfortably settled in the far side of the bed, under the coverlet.

Harry stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide. "What're you doing?"

"Drop the sheet and get in. Now," he commanded.

The sheet stayed in place until the last possible moment, but Harry did as he was told, although he hugged the outer edge of the bed as if his life depended on the large space between them. Severus lay on his side, up on an elbow, waiting while Harry mirrored the same position.

"Severus, I'm sorry," he said softly.

This time, Severus allowed the apology. "Of course. You always are. What I'd like to know is why you'd let anyone you didn't know do that to you…bind you to a bed? Incredibly, irresponsibly foolish, even for you," he lectured.

"I…I know that now. I've done it before, but it never turned out this badly. Didn't realize he'd rip into me like that," he mumbled, his face suddenly bright red. "God, I hate that you saw that." He moaned and fell onto his back, bringing his arm up to lay it across his face. "I guess I fell off the boat again. Would've drowned if you hadn't showed up. Again."

Captains bloody Courageous. Well, this might be useful.

"Your life won't change because you've read a book. Insights into your character, perhaps, things to think about, a tool to help you change how you look at things. Tell me," he paused, then put an edge of steel into his voice, "Harry, look at me!" He waited until Harry dropped his arm and rolled onto his side, then nodded. "Did Harvey Cheyne change because he read a bloody book on the We're Here? No!" he almost bellowed. "He changed because of real life lessons, things he was forced to do, problems he was compelled to confront! Book learning is all well and good, but the lasting lessons are the ones we experience."

"I'm not certain how that—" His eyes grew wary as Severus moved closer in the bed. "Severus, I'm not sure if this is—"

"You seem hell-bent on getting what you deserve," Severus said, looking down into Harry's startled face. "Sad as it is, you've no idea what that is. So, it falls to me to teach you a lesson you won't forget—I'm about to give you what you deserve. And oh yes, you're going to let me. It's long overdue."

Harry put out a hand, resting it on Severus' chest as if to stop him. "Wait." He bit his lower lip as he seemed to grope for words. "Not sure I have it in me to say no, especially to you, but not like this. Not because you think you have to—"

Severus leant in closer, his hair hanging into Harry's face, their mouths almost touching. "Let me make it crystal clear for you, then," he murmured. "A lesson, yes, but one I very much want to teach you." He licked his lips once. "Very much."

When Harry opened his mouth to speak, to protest—Severus didn't really care at this point—it provided him the perfect opportunity. Moving suddenly, he brought his mouth down on Harry's and covered it. Wasting no time, he slid his arm beneath Harry's head to lift it as he kissed him thoroughly. With his other hand, he pushed the coverlet away, and insinuated his leg between Harry's thighs.

The reaction was gradual; Severus was gratified when Harry's tongue came to life to kiss him back, a hand finding the back of Severus' head to hold him in place. When Severus felt his cock fill, he slid atop Harry and ground their hips together, finally breaking the kiss and allowing himself to smile as Harry gasped and arched off the bed.

"This," he said as he worked his way downward in the bed, drawing his hands along Harry's sides, caressing softly, "is how it should be. Gently." Severus stretched his arms up then, and ran them over the smooth expanse of Harry's chest. "Slowly." He rolled the nipples between his fingers as he nuzzled his face in the hair of Harry's groin. "Attentively." Using his tongue, he licked the length of Harry's cock once. "Nothing less."

He moved back up in the bed and kissed Harry gently, softly and quickly. Then began the entire downward process all over again, but this time he made sure his tongue found every inch of skin, from lips to groin to toes, knowing his pupil was beginning to learn when he stopped trying to force Severus' mouth to where he wanted it, and finally lay still in the bed, trembling slightly as Severus did as he pleased.

He treated Harry like a china doll, fragile and breakable, bringing him deftly to orgasm, then taking time to ride it out with him, lingering over him long after he was done, using gentle strokes of his tongue to soothe and clean. Moving back up in the bed, Severus held him close, running his fingers through his hair, using his other hand to idly explore the skin at the back of his neck, the hollow of his throat, the line of his collarbone.

When he pulled away to look, Harry's eyes were awestruck. "Severus…" he breathed out, then tried to turn in the bed, but Severus shook his head.

"You deserve more," he murmured as he moved in between Harry's legs, then sat back on his heels. Lubing his fingers, he leant in and took his time, even though Harry tried to tell him he didn't need it.

"Yes, you do. Maybe not in the way you think, though." Severus watched Harry's face as he alternated between finger-fucking, rolling his balls in his hands and stroking his cock. Harry came up on his elbows to watch, until Severus pushed farther in and crooked his finger—Harry bent like a bow and threw his head back as his chest heaved.

Severus smiled as he came up on his knees and lifted Harry's legs to his shoulders, then with one gentle thrust…

…his mind shifted into fantasy.

He felt himself moving inside Harry, fitting into him like a hand in glove. The bedroom in Lochdubh was gone now, replaced by his own at Spinner's End, but unlike that night when Severus had taken so little care, in this fantasy he was floating in pure, positive emotion and sensation, all the need and venom and take what I want because I'll never see it again, gone. There was no past between them, no future to worry over, just the present and Severus' lust and longing to show the boy what it could be like—what they could be like. He'd had this fantasy hundreds of times, when he'd desperately tried to retrieve that stolen, ruined encounter and make it into something memorable, worthy of both of them.

He followed his fantasy, and although Severus was mentally gone for a while, his body did what it'd practiced over so many years: he pleasured Harry the way he should've done—and Severus' reward came at last, in reality—the flush, the writhing, the eager response of a body, the murmured words yes, please oh yes it's so fucking good fuck me I want you I need you.

With a roaring in his ears, Severus's mind was in Harry's room again, sweat dripping off his nose as he leant forward so Harry could fasten his arms around his neck. He felt Harry's breath hitch and his body stiffen as he came again. Tongue between his teeth, Severus grunted once as he pulled Harry fast against him and held him in place as he finally gave what he'd wanted to, the way he'd wanted to, for so fucking long.

Falling to the bed beside him, Severus took a moment to recover, panting into the hair at Harry's ear, then pulled the unresisting body close so they were chest to back. Harry craned his neck around to kiss him once, then tucked his chin over Severus' hand.

"That," Severus said in a low voice at Harry's ear, "is what you deserve. Each and every time. Don't forget it. Here endeth the lesson," he murmured.

And for reasons that Severus understood perfectly, Harry cried.

---

For a split second, Severus wasn't certain what had awakened him. He lay still, listening, then the memory of the night before connected with his brain. He was in Harry's bed. Cautiously opening his eyes, he was pondering the empty space beside him, when a creak of the floorboard behind him made him roll in the bed.

Leaning against the doorframe, Harry stood with his arms crossed. "Roger's back," he said, and the tone of his voice told Severus that something was wrong.

Sitting up in the bed, he swung his legs over the edge and reached down for his trousers. "Oh, just now?" he asked, looking up as he stood to button his flies.

"A while ago. We've made breakfast." Without another word, Harry turned and was gone, leaving Severus with a sinking feeling in his chest.

So, it's begun.

After a trip to the loo, Severus took the stairs down to the kitchen, where he found Roger Hughes and Harry already sitting across from each other. The caretaker stood and reached across the table, while Severus only had eyes for Harry's face.

"Roger Hughes, but then you know that. Harry told me who you are. Of course, Albus mentioned you."

"He did?" Severus asked as he took his seat, studying the man. "Well, you have the advantage, then. He never mentioned you." He glanced at Harry, then directed his next words to him. "No doubt you've noticed the slight resemblance between the two of you?" he asked conversationally as he poured himself tea, knowing that food in his stomach wouldn't be the best of ideas, considering what was about to come.

Harry seemed to assess him coolly, then accepted the teapot when Severus slid it in front of him. "Yeah, funny, isn't it? I thought I was imagining it—how about you, Roger?" he asked.

Roger looked from one to the other, then shook his head. "I believe it's up to Severus to introduce us," he said softly.

Severus took a moment to stare at the man and consider this matter of resemblance. Julian's hair was straighter, his eyes a startling hazel, and his cheekbones flatter than Harry's. But the height and build were right: tall, slender, and slightly rounded shoulders. Age and comfortable living had removed some of the angular edges, but there was no doubt. Perhaps not obvious to a casual observer, but then, Severus was anything but that.

Savoring what he believed his last peaceful moment of the day, Severus squeezed the water out of his teabag before he looked up again. "This is your Uncle Julian, Harry. He's James' brother. His twin brother, to be exact."

Julian saved the day by reaching a hand across the table to Harry. "I know we've done this already, but perhaps we should shake again…now that you know."

Dazedly, Harry reached out and shook his hand, his mouth hanging open as he turned to Severus. He recovered quickly as he growled, "You knew! You lied to me! You knew the entire time, and even though I asked—"

"No, I didn't know," Severus interrupted him irritably. "I knew of Julian, of course, but I didn't know he'd turn out to be Roger, although I considered the possibility." He pinned Harry with his eyes. "You'd do well to remember who sent us here, and what his instructions to both of us were. To wait."

Harry seemed about to retort, when Severus' words registered. He shut his mouth abruptly, then looked to Julian, almost fearfully. "My uncle. I thought my father was an only child." He rubbed his forehead with his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound like I didn't…" He slumped back in his chair, still staring at Julian. "I don't believe this."

Julian was apologetic. "I knew the moment I came through the door, even before you said who you were. But like Severus, I've been used to Albus'…orchestrating things, so I thought it best to wait until he came down." He smiled. "Now you know why I kept staring." He seemed to search Harry's face, as if he couldn't get enough of the sight of him. "You're the spitting image of James."

These last words spurred Severus to action. "Before we go any further—and I assure both of you there'll be no secrets when we're done here—I believe you have the box, Julian?"

"Ah, yes, I'll be back straight away," Julian said as he stood and left the room. When they heard him on the stairs, Harry spoke again.

"You knew," he said weakly as he shook his head. "You conniving bastard."

Severus ignored the insult, and asked, "How are you feeling? Any lingering effects from your eventful night?"

Rubbing the top of his head and tilting his head to each side, Harry said, "No, I don't think so." He shifted in his chair and winced. "Although my arse is still a bit sore," he said slyly with a slight smile. "Inside and outside." He sobered suddenly when they heard Julian on the steps again, but shot Severus one last glance of reproach.

The infamous box was long and shallow, unadorned except for an oversized clasp and lock at one end.

"Harry, I believe you have the key," Severus said as he held out his hand.

Without a word, Harry dug in his pocket, then handed it to Severus, saying, "Third time's a charm, I guess."

"Well, let's hope so," Severus replied, and unsurprisingly, the clasp fell open. Lifting the lid slightly, Severus noticed that the only things inside were three envelopes. Letting the lid fall back so both Harry and Julian could see the contents, he removed the letters and laid them out on the table. The one addressed to Severus was marked: Open first.

The room was silent as Severus followed his master's orders. As he slit the envelope, he wondered if this was indeed the last time he would have to obey the old man. There were only three short paragraphs, and it took him the space of a minute to read them. He continued to focus on the page, though, long after he was done, as he had an immediate decision to make. In the background, he could hear Julian asking Harry about what the two of them thought of Lochdubh; it took about thirty seconds before shinty was mentioned, and they were off…

This wasn't the only decision Severus would have to make, but for now, the sound of their easy conversation, the expressions on both of their faces when he furtively looked up was enough to convince him to proceed cautiously.

"All right," he announced, as he pushed the other two letters towards them. "There's one for each of you. Read."

He sat back in his chair, surprised to note that his hands were slightly shaking when he picked up his tea. After the letters were opened, both men looked up at him almost at once.

"Mine's rather short," Harry said slowly. "All he says is that you'll explain and to remember that no family is perfect." He looked down to the letter to read from it, "'My own father was convicted of a brutal crime and died in Azkaban prison.'" He glanced curiously at Julian. "And that's it."

Julian nodded. "About the same as mine."

Severus studied them solemnly. "There are two parts to this story. The first part is yours, Julian, so I believe it will serve all of us best if you tell it. Some of it I know, some of it I don't, but Harry knows none of it. Perhaps an accounting of how you came to be here. I've no doubt that there are many things you and Harry will want to talk about in the future, but I think you understand what I'm after. Why you've left the wizarding world, why Albus set you up here. That would be the best place to start."

Julian sat up straighter, then leant across the table to pat Harry's hand, almost comfortingly. "It'll all make sense, lad. And I'm ready…long past ready. I've been ready for years, just waiting for today." He sat back in his chair, seeming to collect his thoughts, then after a smile for each of them, he began.

"As Severus said, James and I were twins. Don't know if you've ever known any, but there's a bond between twins that's stronger than brothers—like you share something, from before you were born. Can't explain it," he said.

"I understand a bit. I had friends who were twins," Harry told him.

"Ah, so you know. Well, James and I were typical twins, until about the time James' magic started to surface. For a while my parents thought I was just behind, but by the time I was eight, they had to face the fact that I was a Squib." He nodded at the look of shock on Harry's face. "That's right, I am. Two pureblooded parents can produce a Squib. Had a battery of tests at St. Mungo's and that was that." He smiled at Harry. "Take your ease, laddie, I made my peace with it long ago. I love my life, my family, and you've been the only reason I ever think about magic at all, and that for a long while."

"So, you and James grew apart?" Harry asked sadly.

"Oh, not in the most important ways. We were twins, remember, and not even the lack of magic could change that. As we grew older, though, I felt more and more left out. I wasn't a part of that world, you see—I watched James and our parents, our friends…from the outside, looking in, and there was even a while when I was angry and jealous. But that didn't last long."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Well, James got his Hogwarts letter, and your grandparents sent me off to boarding school—a very good one, in fact. It's the English way," he said with a shrug. "We had our summers and hols together, and I must say that James always considered my feelings. But he often brought his friends home, and some of them weren't so kind. But that's all in the past; I hardly think of it anymore."

"I don't even want to know who they were," Harry muttered.

Julian's eyes twinkled. "And I won't tell you. In any case, to jump forward a bit—as Severus said, we'll have a lifetime to catch up on the rest of it, god willing—when we were eighteen, our mother died suddenly. An accident, a story for another time. Our father had been ill for several years, and after Mother died, he declined quickly." He sat silently for a moment. "It was mostly his mind. I think if it hadn't been for that, he might've lasted longer. James and I were both at home for a year with him, and then he and your mother were married." He lifted an eyebrow. "I met your Aunt Petunia and her husband at the wedding. My condolences on your childhood, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Thanks."

"I was very fond of Lily, I must say. A charming woman—we were all still children, in a way, but we had a couple of good months together—she and James and I." His face darkened. "But the war was heating up, and in October James had to go to London—I don't remember the particulars, but it was for training Order members—surveillance or something like it. Given your grandfather was so ill, James asked Lily to stay at the estate with him, and me, of course. Being a Squib, there was nothing of a magical nature I could do for him. So, of course she stayed, but she missed James terribly. He came home most weekends, but they were newlyweds, and shouldn't have been apart." Placing his elbows on the table, he clasped his hands together, then put his chin atop them.

"In February of the year you were born, my father died."

"I'm so sorry," Harry immediately said.

"Well, I'm sorry he never got to see you; he would've doted on you. He loved children." Smiling wistfully, he went on, "I wish I'd seen more of you as a baby, but after your grandfather died, James and Lily moved into their own place, so I had that big house all to myself, but James owned it, given that family estates are entailed through the wizarding line."

"I've never thought that very fair," Severus said. "There surely should've been some sort of compensation."

Julian held up his hand. "James took good care of me. And he always intended that we fully share the estate. It was just…there were so many more pressing matters at the time. The threat of Voldemort." He made a face. "We had a few conversations, James and I, about his and Lily's activities. But you understand, Severus, how an ideal, the freedoms that needed to be protected, drove many in wizardom to fight."

"It was a dangerous time for the Order," was all Severus had to say, as he felt Harry's eyes on him.

"Well, there came a time when something happened—James wouldn't tell me what, but Albus explained it later." He glanced at Harry sympathetically. "The prophecy, I was to learn. In the space of a week, I found the estate sold out from under me, with instructions to take everything I wanted, because there'd be no going back. James and Lily, and you, Harry, were going into hiding. And James was afraid that if I remained in plain sight, I'd be a defenseless target because of him and Lily."

"How horrible, to be put out of your home like that," Harry commiserated, his eyes rapt.

"Oh, James would never have done it if he hadn't been worried sick about me. Once I heard that, believe me, I didn't need convincing."

"So, where did you go?" Harry asked.

Julian spread out his arms. "My beautiful Lochdubh. Albus set me up here. Don't know how he managed it in such a short space of time, but then you knew Albus. Once I'd seen the place, I couldn't have been happier. And best of all, no one knew where I was—not even my brother."

"But didn't people wonder where you'd gone?" Harry asked, perplexed. "You just disappeared off the face of the earth, and no one wondered?

When Julian seemed embarrassed, Severus answered for him. "It's different with Squibs, although it shouldn't be. Squib children are often kept home from social events, and since they don't attend wizarding schools, it's very easy for their existence to be…overlooked."

"Forgotten is a better word," Julian added. "But in this case, that was fine with me. I was terrified of Death Eaters or the like coming after me. Imagine, Harry, facing them without magic." He shook his head. "You and your parents were my only ties to it, once my mother and father were gone. I had no wizarding friends. And the only one of James' I was fond of was Remus. Such a gentle soul." He glanced at Severus. "You must've known him? He was in your class."

"I did," Severus said hesitantly. "You know he was killed the year after Albus died…in the war."

Julian's face fell. "Yes, I'm aware of that, but I suppose there were others, just as fine as he was, who were lost."

"So, you moved here and that's it?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

"No, in a week or so, Albus came back to tell me the estate had sold, and that James had directed him to deposit half of the proceeds in my account. A tidy sum," he smiled, then suddenly sobered as he looked at Harry. "And a few weeks after that, he showed up at my door in the middle of the night."

"My parents," Harry said dully.

Reaching across the table, Julian squeezed his hand briefly. "Yes, and my first impulse was to demand to have you in Lochdubh. But Albus flatly refused. He hinted at the prophecy, and told me he suspected things weren't as settled as they seemed, and that you were still in grave danger. But you must believe me, I would've put up more of a fight if I'd known where he put you."

Harry smiled lopsidedly. "Well, there was a good reason for that—something to do with how my mother died—a protection of sorts. I'll explain it sometime."

"I'd like that," Julian smiled. "More than ever, though, after what happened to them, I wanted nothing to with your world. Even though I made that perfectly clear, Albus still came every summer with news—that's when I first heard mention of you, Severus."

"He came every summer?" Harry asked.

"Every summer. I often wondered why. Even though I offered to buy the property, he'd smile and tell me no, that there'd come a day when I would understand. After a while, I figured it was to…maintain a connection, for a day like today. When it was safe for you to come."

"But I still would've come," Harry said quietly. "That couldn't have been the only reason." He seemed to ponder for a moment, then looked up. "When was the last time he was here?"

Julian looked thoughtful. "I believe it was the Christmas before he died." His eyes slid to Severus'. "I know what you did, Severus, and I understand. I received a letter just after his death, instructing me to be patient and wait, explaining a few things I hadn't known. Times were very bad for the two of you, so I had no inclination to go looking for you, Harry. Albus had always been clear on that point—that a family member like myself could put you at great risk."

"Whitney sent you the letter?" Harry asked.

"Whitney? I don't believe I know him," Julian replied doubtfully. "No, that letter came from Gringotts, and the one the year afterward as well."

"After the war was over?" Severus asked slowly.

"Yes, a letter from Albus, who, although he didn't know the particulars, informed me that the beast was dead, that I should remain patient, as I'd always been—and thanking me for it—and telling me that in due time, my property would revert to Harry, and to expect him at a future date. Along with the letter was a copy of the Prophet, which I'd not seen in years." He looked from Harry to Severus, and then back again. "That's when I learnt it all. The parts that each of you played." He focused on Harry, his eyes bright. "Harry, I'm so very proud of you. When I first read it, well, I cried. For so many reasons—that you were safe, that you'd been so brave, but most of all, well, for James. What a celebration we would've had." He winked at Severus. "And we'll have one, you can be sure of it."

Harry's eyes shone, and for a moment Severus was tempted to put his head in his hands and weep from the agony. If only…

"I must say, though, that after I read that account, I was hard-pressed not to hie myself off to London and find you. But I'd always respected Albus' wishes, and after a while…well, I had my family and my business to take care of. One year ran into the next while I waited. Then Laura got sick, and Kenzie was a teenager, and before I knew it…well, here we are."

"I…I'm so glad," Harry murmured, his eyes about to brim over. "You can't imagine how happy I am."

Severus knew he had to act quickly, before there was crying and hugging and all the sorts of things that would seem even more outrageous by the end of it all.

"So, reunited at last," he said, drawing their attention away from each other. "Julian, I commend you for your dedication to Harry's safety. Albus would be grateful, I'm sure, for your continued respect for his wishes. Tonight, when it's a reasonable hour for drinking—and as I'm not certain Harry will be ready for alcohol before then, given his excesses of last night—I propose we celebrate your reconnection with a bottle of malt, maybe two, which I myself will get from the village."

Both men smiled at him, and Severus could see that Harry was having trouble staying in his chair, so he took a deep breath and took the plunge.

"There is, however, another part to this story that neither of you know. Julian, you're aware of a very small piece of it, although not its significance, but since the night the Potters died, only Albus and I knew what I'm about to tell you." He waved to the teapot, then directed it to pour for all of them. He noticed that Julian took it all in stride. "Anyone need to use the loo before I begin?" When they shook their heads, he closed his eyes, and tried for a neutral expression. Opening them again, he looked intently at Harry.

"I'm going to require a promise from you especially."

Harry sat up straight, his eyes alarmed. "A promise? Why?" he demanded.

"I want you to listen to the end and stay in your chair, and remember that I, too, was bound by a promise to Albus." His face softened slightly, as he saw the fear in Harry's face. "It's not as bad as you think, but it'll be a shock. I wasn't always in agreement with Albus over this, but now I see the wisdom in what he's done. Can you control yourself?"

"Sure, but you're scaring me," Harry muttered, stirring sugar in his tea, glancing between Julian and Severus.

"Julian, as I said, it will be shocking. I only ask that you…" He tilted his head to the side as he tried to read the man's physiognomy. Satisfied with what he saw, he added, "…be yourself."

Julian's face had paled, and for a moment, Severus wondered what he suspected.

"All that Julian's said is true. But there is a part of it that happened behind the scenes, so to speak. Julian, you may not know this, but Lily and I were childhood friends. We had a falling away at Hogwarts, a year before she took up with James. We never really reconciled."

"I didn't know," Julian said slowly. "She never said."

"Ah, I'm not surprised, but you know my story, I assume, as it would've been recounted in the Prophet. I was a spy for the Order, but that didn't begin until shortly before the Potters' death. Up until that time, I truly was a Death Eater."

"Albus told me that part, several years after you started teaching," Julian said with a frown. "Funny, but I never wondered why he singled you out to talk about."

Severus smiled wryly. "We spent a great deal of time together, for some odd reason. In any case, the Autumn when James was in London, and you and Lily were caring for your father, Lily came to see me at Spinner's End."

"Spinner's End? You never told me she'd been…" Harry stopped. "Oh, right, because that's part of this story."

Giving him a dark look and not dignifying the question with an answer, Severus went on. "She made the excuse to Julian for visiting her parents, but it was to me that she came." He paused, because this was the delicate part, and delicacy had never been his strong suit. He directed his words to Harry.

"Consider her situation. Newly married, and now shut up in a house with an old, ailing wizard and Julian, worried about James, fearful about the future. She was young and lonely, and one night, she and Julian commiserated, drowning their sorrows in a bottle of firewhisky. Julian was so like James in appearance, so sensitive to her sadness…" He lowered his voice. "And they fell victim to youthful indiscretion."

He swallowed hard. "Being a witch, she knew within days that she was pregnant…and was panic-stricken." He stopped and almost clinically observed the blood drain from Harry's face; he was so still in his chair, that Severus needn't have warned him to stay in it. Julian, he noted, looked like he'd been hit with a Stunner. "No seduction, you understand, just two lonely young people who shared a sexual encounter. Only once," he emphasized, looking at Julian, whose eyes had become almost wild.

To his credit, Julian confirmed it. "Only once," he almost whispered.

Severus nodded. "She was frantic over what to do. And although she knew what I was, she also knew she could trust me. We'd been so close at one time. So she sought my advice. Oh, she could've gone to Black or Lupin, but she sensed—rightly, I believe—that they'd take offense for James, and in that I think she was wise."

"She could've told my…James," Harry muttered. "What did she think he would've done—turn her out?" He shook his head. "I don’t think so."

"But she loved him very much, Harry, and the thought of disappointing him, of showing her weakness at a time when he needed her to be strong, well, it terrified her."

Placing both hands on the table, Severus took a deep breath. "It is at this point that you may both find fault with me. But I still believe I gave her the best advice I could. I sent her back to her parents so I could think, then met her the next afternoon, and told her I thought it best not to tell James."

Now Harry seemed to have trouble keeping his seat, as he gripped the armrests. "You told her what? You told her to lie to him? My god, I don't believe this. All these years, you've known and you've not said a word! All this time you let me believe—"

Severus reached across the table and caught Harry's wrist, then hissed at him, "This is the time to remember your promise. To hear me out." He held on for a moment longer, then, when Harry nodded sullenly, he released him and sat back wearily.

"What would've been the point? James would be your father, in any case. Julian was a Squib, and he didn't love your mother, James did." He let his head hang down for a moment, as he brooded, then looked back up to Harry…only Harry. He said softly, "I considered how James would react, and I knew he would've been angry and hurt, betrayed, but most of all, devastated. And to what end, Harry?" He looked off toward the window and said into empty space, "And my greatest concern was—and always had been—your mother's happiness."

"Not your decision to make," Harry muttered.

"Lily made the final decision. And also on my advice, she left the next day and went to your father in London for an overnight visit…to establish a sort of alibi event."

Thankfully, Julian was the one who voiced the rest of it. "So James wouldn't question the timing of the baby."

"Exactly. You were born the following July. I read the announcement in the Prophet, and for my part, considered the matter finished. Regrettably, I never saw your mother again."

"They were so happy when you were born. And as soon as Lily was able, we had a well-wishing party, and everyone from the Order came." Julian smiled wanly. "You screamed through the entire affair."

Severus nodded at him gratefully. "A hellion from the start." He turned to Harry. "There is one last thing you must know. When your parents died, I was already meeting secretly with Albus. For reasons I know you understand, I felt responsible in part." He turned to Julian and said, "Harry can tell you about that at some point, if he likes, but it's not pertinent to this conversation, except to say that I felt compelled to tell Albus what I knew. He was shocked, of course, and not too long afterward, he told me he'd verified my claim. Not certain how that was done, but it was."

"Why did you tell him?" Harry asked, his face puzzled.

"I'd think that obvious. I thought Julian had a right to have you, especially when it wasn't clear what had been done with you. To keep my silence and have you grow up, thinking yourself orphaned…"

"Yeah, exactly what happened, though, isn't it?" Harry asked bitterly.

"I also believed that both of you might need some protection, as there was still a Death Eater element in play." He stroked his chin as he remembered. "That was the first I heard of your seclusion, Julian." He turned to Harry. "Albus also told me, in vague terms that he clarified a few years later, that he wasn't so certain you were out of danger, that he had reason to believe the Dark Lord wasn't as dead and gone as he seemed to be. He realized that Julian would want you, but would only end up endangering both of you. What could Julian have done to protect either of you? Nothing. You would've lost a second father, and your own life as well."

There was complete silence around the table, stretching out, as each man was lost in his thoughts. When Severus finally looked up, it was to see Harry, tears on his cheeks, as he considered his father. He seemed to feel Severus watching him, and turned his head. His expression was one of confusion, anger, sadness and suffering. After meeting Severus' eyes and engaging in a few moments of bewildered staring, Harry stood slowly, pushed in his chair, then without a word, Disapparated.

Placing his elbow on the table, Severus rested his forehead in his hand. My god¸ if anyone had told me what the last twenty-four hours would bring, I would've fled…far.

"Severus, I'm so sorry—" Julian began, then stopped when Severus held up his hand.

"I'm not certain I can bear those words from another Potter just now. If you'll excuse me, I need a shower and a drink. Give me an hour," he said tiredly.

"What about Harry? Should I go after him, or should I…" He stopped at the humorless smile on Severus' face.

"He's gained and lost an uncle in the space of a half-hour, and in the past several minutes finds he has a father. He'll be back," Severus said confidently as he stood and headed for the stairs.

---

Hair still wet from his shower, Severus and Julian sat on the bench by the pond. Severus had found him in his study, eyes red-rimmed, and had wordlessly handed him a drink, then gestured for him to follow.

"My god, what you must think of me."

Severus shook his head. "It was a lapse of youth, even an understandable one. All of us can claim one at least, although not always with such lasting consequences." He paused, then added casually, "When she first told me, though, I did want to throttle you. For reasons I'm not proud of."

"But Albus had no right—no right at all to hide this from me," Julian said tersely. "He's my son."

"And had he told you, would you've been able to keep your distance, all these years?"

Grimacing ruefully, Julian admitted, "No, probably not."

"Then you would've had a very dead son, have no doubt about that," Severus told him soberly. "One thing I've learnt over my life is that Albus might've been infuriating, but he was usually right in his decisions. Usually, with a few notable exceptions, this not being one of them."

Julian's eyes had gone wide. "Oh, god, Severus, you're right. But it explains so many things now. Why he came every year, told me so much about Harry, why he didn't deed the property to me."

"He intended to force a meeting between the two of you, on his timetable. And given how long it takes the dust to settle after a war, ten years was a conservative guess." He tossed back his drink, then sat and watched the koi in the pond for a moment. "Actually, this couldn't have happened at a better time."

"How's that?" Julian asked.

"All danger for you is past, and Harry's had time to grow up, and truly miss having a family."

"What's he like, Severus? Harry?"

"He's very much like James—headstrong, impulsive, athletic, intelligent. But very good-hearted, overly sensitive, I think, as well." He turned and looked Julian in the eye. "Right now, his life is a mess; I've tried to help him, over the time we've been here, and I think we've sorted out some of it, but knowing he has a father…and family…will be very good for him."

"It will be good for us too. Kenzie, especially. She'll be thrilled beyond belief."

"And you should know—although I might be divulging too much—he's queer, Julian. On top of all he'll have to tell you, that will be first and foremost in his mind. So, if you want to tell him I told you, I can take whatever abuse he sends my way."

"Queer? You mean he's gay?"

"Will it matter to you?"

Julian laughed softly. "Not a whit. I've waited for this day for so long, and to find out…" He stopped, then said the words, as if he were trying them on, "He's my son."

"And you're his father. Be a good one."

---

Severus was in Albus' room, packing up his recording equipment. He'd spent most of the morning with Julian, who'd then had to walk into the village for groceries.

When he was finished, he sat at Albus' desk, and folded his hands in front of him, taking a last look around the room, and suddenly he felt a palpable presence.

"Well, it's done now. And you were right, of course, as you usually were. I wasn't convinced, as you know, but it's been for the best. They're together now. Only time will tell, but I think Harry's come home at last."

There was no response, but it didn't matter. Albus, wherever he was, would know. He'd always known.

Picking his pack up from the floor, Severus quietly closed the door, then headed for his room. He stuffed what little he had there into his bag, then pulled out his training manual and stretched out on the bed to read. After a while, he laid his book to the side and, exhausted by his late night and early morning, he drifted off peacefully.

When he awoke, he heard the muted sounds of voices from the downstairs, and not too much later, the smell of supper cooking. He felt a flash of sadness, as he realized he'd truly been replaced. Supper in that kitchen had been something he and Harry had done together.

He'd picked up his manual and was distractedly thumbing through the pages when he heard the sound of steps on the stairs. Setting the book aside again, he waited until Harry was in the doorway.

"Hullo," Harry said. "You're awake. I was up earlier, but you were asleep and, well, I didn't want to wake you."

"Are you recovered?" Severus asked as he sat up on the edge of the bed.

"I'm getting used to it, I guess," Harry said quietly, then looked down and saw Severus' bags by the door. Nudging them with his foot, he looked up. "What's this?"

"I'm packed and ready to leave. The two of you need some time of your own to get acquainted. I only stayed to tell you goodbye."

"Oh. Thanks for not leaving. I would've felt…" He stopped, then walked to stand in front of Severus. Bending down, he leant in and kissed him softly, but not quickly, before he stood again. "Listen, would you come downstairs? Julian and I have something we want to ask you."

"Of course," Severus replied as he stood and then followed.

Julian was standing with his back to them, a towel tied round his waist, as something simmered on the stove. He turned and smiled when Harry and Severus entered.

"Ah, you found him," he said, then nodded meaningfully to Harry.

"We were hoping…well, mostly me, but Julian agrees, that you'd stay for a while longer." Harry's eyes were anxious. "We have so much catching up to do, and we don't really know each other yet, and you and I still have some things to talk about as well, so could you stay, at least for a few more days? Please?"

When Severus hesitated, surprised, Harry barreled on.

"You're the two most important people in my life now, and I'd like to have both of you here for a while. And you could help me explain everything—he wants to hear all about what I—and you—did in the war, and what we've been doing for the past ten years. So would you…please don't make me beg, Severus, but I will if I have to." Harry stepped closer, then shocked Severus by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just a few days?"

Severus looked from Harry to Julian, who nodded. "We'd really like you to stay."

The realization flooded him: he really did want to stay. After all these years of waiting, he was rather curious to see how the two of them would get on, and besides, as Harry'd said, they had unfinished business. Not that Severus expected anything of Harry, now that he'd found his father, who was most definitely what Harry needed.

"I suppose I can manage a few more days away," Severus said slowly, then without thinking, he said dumbly to Julian, "I have a cat."

"Ah. Well, in my experience, they make do quite well on their own. Have drunken parties and talk like sailors, they do," he said cheerfully, then clapped his hands once as he motioned them to the table. "Well, sit down, then. We've got lamb tagine and new potatoes, and Aggie's pavlova for pudding." He winked at Severus. "And Harry told me what your favorite malt is, so there's that for later."

As Severus sat, he knew he'd made the right decision, if Harry's and Julian's faces were anything to go by.

---

"I think you've had enough," Harry said to Severus, trying to take the glass from his hand, but Severus lifted it into the air, just out of reach.

"Enough is a relative thing, and unlike yourself, I know my limits, and I'm not even close."

Harry looked doubtful, but sat back. Severus had noticed that Harry'd stopped drinking after his second glass, long before Julian had gone to bed.

"Are you sober enough to talk to me?" Harry asked in amusement.

"We're talking now, aren't we?" Severus quipped, then sighed as he set his glass aside. "Do we have to do this tonight?"

"Yes."

"Oh all right, you've never been able to wait for anything. Ask your questions." He waved his hand in resignation.

"Thanks. First, I'm not cross with you—I was at first, when I left. Not now, though."

"I'm so relieved," Severus said sarcastically, then gave in to his curiosity. "Where did you go?"

Harry shrugged. "Everywhere. The pub, the pier, mostly walked, thinking it through. There're still a few things I'd like to understand."

"Hence the questions," Severus pointed out wearily, looking longingly at his glass.

"Yeah. So, if you're sure you're up to it?" Something in Severus' face must've convinced him, because he fired off his first question. "I always thought you hated me because of my father. That doesn't make sense now." He looked questioningly at Severus.

"I did hold James against you."

"But you knew he wasn't my father," Harry protested.

"He was your father, in every way that counted."

Harry seemed to ponder this for a moment, then his eyes became larger. "You could've told him." His eyes shimmered, as if with tears. "You could've told him and destroyed him. Why didn't you?"

Severus' voice softened. "As much as I despised him, I couldn't hurt your mother. And…" He reached up and pulled at his collar, suddenly feeling himself flush. "As I said before, I could identify with how he would feel, were he to know. And I chose, for once in my life, to do the right thing."

Brushing at his face with the back of his hand, Harry moved on. "So, why now? Why did Albus wait so long? That's the part I really don't understand."

"I suspect Albus knew somehow that once the war was over and all the attention died down, you might feel very isolated and alone after a few years. He most likely hoped your maturity and need for a connection to your family would temper your…reaction to the facts. As well as making certain all danger for both of you was resolved. At least that's my guess."

"Well, I hope I didn't react too badly," Harry said, slightly anxious.

Severus smiled at him. "You did very well. I was…proud of you," he admitted awkwardly.

They sat quietly for a few moments, Severus preparing himself for the next question.

"Why couldn't I have stayed with Julian? I mean, since he's my father, wouldn't that have been as much of a blood protection as Petunia?" Harry asked.

"I wondered about that as well, once Albus told me why it'd had to be the Dursleys. The protection, because it was your mother's sacrifice, was transmitted through the female line. Although, if Julian had been a wizard, there wouldn't have been any discussion at all; he would've had you."

Harry nodded gravely, as if he'd expected this answer, but when his eyes narrowed suddenly, Severus braced himself, then was surprised at Harry's next query.

"What did your letter say?" Harry asked. "Can you tell me, or is it something you'd rather not?"

"Pour me another glass," Severus countered.

"That's blackmail," Harry muttered, but he Summoned the bottle and poured.

After a sip, Severus began, "He left it up to me to decide whether or not to tell you, and what to tell you. I could've left it at Julian being your uncle, and neither of you would've been the wiser." He studied his glass, then said without looking at Harry, "He also gave me the option of telling it all—no editorializing, he said—and if either of you reacted badly, then I was to Obliviate at will—either or both of you."

Harry appeared shocked for a moment, then finally found his voice. "You decided I should know."

"After the events and long, repetitive conversations about your 'belonging' issues over the past ten days, how could I not?"

"Hmmm, I see your point," Harry said, a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. "Well, I appreciate that. And…I don't want you to think I've forgotten last night and that little lesson of yours." His voice hushed, he went on, "God, it was so weird. So intense. I've never wanted someone so much in my whole fucking life."

"Your fucking life. Now there's a book I'd like to read and record." When Harry only stared at him solemnly, Severus sighed heavily. He'd been willing to answer Harry's questions about the secrets and lies surrounding his parentage, but he was drawing the line at anything of a more personal nature tonight. "And on that note, I think it's time for this very long day to come to an end." He made a move to the edge of the settee, but Harry stopped him with his hand.

"I'm serious."

"Oh, so am I. I've no doubt you're sincere, but I'll remind you that your father is asleep in the room just above us. So, let's save that discussion for another time."

Harry let him go. "Go to bed, then. But we're not finished here."

Severus shook his head as he looked down at him. "No, but I could've hoped."

---

A father, his son and his dog, Severus thought.

Just after breakfast, Julian and Harry had gone down the road to collect Julian's yellow Lab from the neighbors. Severus smiled as he watched the three of them in the garden from his window. A picture-perfect scene, just as it should've been.

In the afternoon, the three of them walked to the harbor, then spent the afternoon out on Julian's boat. Not as big as the Lochdubh Lifeboat, but big enough for Severus to sit in the stern and watch the two of them, fore in the bow, Julian teaching Harry how to cast out and reel in. Harry's face glowed with a new confidence, as he followed his father's instructions, and Julian seemed….

Well, Julian still seemed caught between consternation and contentment. Severus had been studying him furtively during the afternoon, and was finally caught at it. A moment of understanding passed between them, Severus almost able to read Julian's mind: it'll take me some time to get used to this, but you can trust me with him.

When they laid anchor and set their lines into the water, Harry joined Severus in the stern, sitting close beside him and slipping a hand into his. When Severus squeezed it once and tried to pull it away, Harry nudged him with an elbow and leant in close.

"Don't worry, he knows about us," he murmured.

Severus stared straight ahead, but muttered, "There's an us?"

Harry didn't reply right away, then said softly, "I think so."

"Harry…" Severus began to shift away from him on the seat.

"Severus—don't. Please. Let's just…enjoy the day."

---

Julian mostly listened that evening, as Harry and Severus took their time to tell him about the war years, beginning with Severus' arrival at Hogwarts as its Potions master. They took turns, each one telling his story, switching from one to the other to fill in the gaps.

Severus noted that Julian moved closer on the settee as Harry talked about the battle at Hogwarts, and by the end of it, had his arm around his son, who'd sat forward to put his face in his hands, Julian rubbing comforting circles on Harry's back when he cried.

Harry left it to Severus to tell the rest of it—how Harry had found him, his weeks in St. Mungo's, their shared months at Spinner's End as they worked to settle Albus' estate.

By the end of it, Harry was pale and almost withdrawn, seeming exhausted by reliving so many traumas and memories. Julian had been literally speechless through most of it, but at the end, one look at Harry must've brought out the father in him, as he heaped admiration and praise on both of them, bringing the color back to Harry's face.

"I…I don't know what to say. I knew it was a horrible time, from what Albus told me, but I had no idea." He glanced from Severus to Harry. "Heroes, both of you. I know I'm proud, and I'm sure Albus would've been as well."

Nodding curtly, Severus stood. "Now you know all of it. As for being heroes, Harry already knows my feelings on the matter. We both did what was necessary, even expected of us."

Julian smiled at him. "Which is what heroes do, Severus."

Severus inclined his head, his face softening as he considered Harry. "Some of us did it better than others, Julian. Your son, foremost."

He left them then, taking the stairs for bed, then lay in the dark, waiting for sleep, the sound of their muffled voices wafting up from beneath him.

---

Harry came to him in the night, the creak of the floorboards making Severus sit bolt upright in bed.

"Harry," he tried to resist weakly as the man slid beneath the coverlet, but then the emotion of what they'd shared with Julian, only hours before, made him relent.

"I thought you might be lonely," Harry whispered as he draped his arms over Severus' shoulders.

"You're delusional."

"You owe me," Harry murmured, burying his face in the crook of Severus' neck.

"I do, do I?" he asked as he smoothed Harry's hair away from his cheek.

"I think so. You lied and hid things from me. And I've come to collect." He lifted his head, and although Severus couldn't see his face, he could sense the intensity of Harry's eyes.

"Collecting now might not be the best of ideas, although," he paused to plant a kiss in the direction of Harry's mouth, pleased when he hit it precisely, "I'm willing."

Snorting softly, Harry said, "Are you a wizard or not, Snape?" he asked, then moved in the bed so he could lift an arm. Severus saw the motion of his hand, then felt the telltale change in air pressure as a Silencing Spell settled over the walls.

Which turned out to be a good thing, given that this time there was noise, and plenty of it.

---

He didn't unpack his recording equipment, but Severus reinstalled himself in Albus' room the next morning to work, leaving Julian and Harry to themselves. He felt a bit out of sorts, used to a rigidly planned schedule, and although he'd not actually fallen behind, he knew that he would if he weren't careful. But he found the rigors of Crime and Punishment difficult; the subject matter was complicated and he was distracted, he realized.

After lunch, Harry insisted that he spend the afternoon in the garden with him and Julian. So Severus compromised, settling himself and Silas Marner in a chaise lounge off to the side of the pond. Wearing one of Julian's floppy fisherman's hats, a glass of hard cider on the table beside him, he tried to read, but the scene in front of him was difficult not to watch.

Fina, Julian's dog, barked and streaked in and out of the pond, as Harry and Julian threw a ball back and forth from either side for her to catch. Harry had his shirt off, and Severus had to admit he enjoyed the view—the sight of Harry so active, so animated and happy, and attractive. He and Julian kept up an easy banter, to which Severus paid little attention. But he felt a surge of satisfaction as he watched the two of them—this was what life should've always offered the boy—a father, a home and a family. It was what every child deserved, he concluded, about to return to his book, when….

The thought struck him hard.

When he returned home, his well of loneliness would be so much deeper than it had been before, given how much he had—he tried to resist the word, but couldn't—enjoyed the past two weeks. Oh, he'd told Harry the truth. He'd found what he'd needed, years ago—his sense of self, mostly, who he was.

But that more elusive element of what he wanted… He knew what it was now, but he had no idea what to do with the knowledge. No, he'd go back to Cornwall and take up where he'd left off. A solitary life, but not a meaningless one.

Watching Julian and Harry, though, brought home a sobering truth: the idea that all he'd known, all he'd experienced, all he'd loved and cherished and suffered, the prospect that all of it would disappear like chaff in the wind when he would finally die, was almost suffocating.

He had no regrets that he'd never have a child to pass things on to, but he mourned that what was essentially him would be lost, would remain unknown, like a beautiful clearing in a wood never seen by human eyes.

All of a sudden, he could almost understand Harry's desperate need to belong to someone, if only to experience validation for a single moment, to have someone look him in the eye and say, "We're forever connected, you and I. Even when you're gone, I'll remember, and you'll go on because you're a part of me."

He felt the need to take a deep breath to clear this maudlin train of thought, but found his lungs didn't seem to want to work. Sitting forward in his chair, he reached for his drink and focused on breathing—in, out, in, out—until the pounding of his heart in his ears began to subside.

He was vaguely aware of Harry standing in front of him, so shielded his eyes to look up at him.

"Getting much done?" Harry asked as he flopped into the chair beside him, reaching over to take the glass from Severus' hand and gulp the rest of it down.

"Hmmm, I tried, but there was barking and splashing and screaming," Severus said dryly.

"She's a great dog, Fina is. Always wanted a dog," Harry said almost dreamily.

"Well, now you have one."

"Well, one to visit, I guess." He reached a bare foot out and nudged Severus' leg. "So, what's next for you?" he asked.

"Oh, I have a life to get back to. Mercutio awaits."

Harry laughed. "He'll give you a royal welcome, I'm sure." For a moment, they watched Julian as he tried to capture Fina to towel her off. "Yeah, I think I'll stay a while longer, then I have to go as well."

Severus looked at him in surprise. "I'm certain Julian would be more than happy for you to stay as long as you like."

Shaking his head, Harry said, "No, I've got my own life, and he has his. And besides, he's close by. God, that's a great feeling." He glanced sideways at Severus, then angled his chair so they were facing each other. "So, what about you and me?" he asked slowly, almost uncertainly.

Severus steeled himself for what he suspected was about to come. "You have an open invitation to Cornwall, as I told you before."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed together. "And that's it?" he asked, incredulous, then repeated, "That's all?"

"You realize you have a sister?" Severus asked. "In addition to a father?"

This seemed to catch Harry off-guard. "And other relatives, on my step-mother's side."

Severus nodded. "So, now you truly belong—that must feel good."

"It does." Harry bit his lip. "Everything I need."

"And wanted."

Severus' last words seemed to be the catalyst. "Severus, I have a home now—everything I've dreamt of. But I still… Don't you know?" he said urgently. "You're the one I want…and need. Oh hell, both you and them. Why can't I have them and you too? I need…all of you." He lowered his voice. "Especially you—you must know that." Leaning in more closely, he searched Severus' face.

Perhaps it'd been the gathering feeling that three was a crowd. Perhaps it'd been the epiphany of the moment before, when Severus realized that he'd most likely die alone in a cottage by the sea, a cat curled up on his lap. Perhaps it'd been the longing and wanting, so long held at bay… Perhaps it'd been the sheer bliss of a body in his bed, especially this particular body. Whatever it was, it put a pressure between Severus' eyes that he tried to rub away with the tips of his fingers. Looking at Harry, he spoke, barely able to suppress his sudden fury.

"Then you need too damn much. Enough is enough, Harry." He sat forward in his chair, grabbing Harry's knee and squeezing almost painfully. "Have you forgotten Harvey Cheyne so soon? Try a bit of gratitude for what you do have." Standing to his feet, he took up his book, and without a backward glance, stalked away.

---

Severus was still awake when Harry came to him that night. He was disgusted with both of them by that time, but he'd lain there, waiting, certain that Harry would come, and unable to deny what he wanted… and yes, damn it, how he needed. By the time the man slid into his bed, Severus realized that he was the bigger hypocrite. At least Harry had been honest.

This time, Severus was the one to put up the Silencing Spell.

---

The next day, Severus worked through lunch, then near mid-afternoon, he went down to find the rest of the house empty. Puzzled, he walked out into the garden, then finally pinpointed Harry and Julian's location, given that the large door to Julian's workshop had been rolled open on its rails.

He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed, and thoughtfully watched the two of them, through the haze of dust motes caught in the filtered light.

They sat side-by-side on a strut at the edge of the boat, sanding the curved bow as they talked and laughed together. Seen from this perspective—faces and hair and bodies so alike, it was obvious they were father and son—the rightness of it almost took Severus' breath away. He felt like a voyeur, an unwelcome intruder who'd stumbled upon a scene that seemed almost intimate.

Slowly, soundlessly, Severus backed away, and turned for the house. Suddenly, it was perfectly and achingly clear. It was time for him to go.

---

At supper, Severus announced his intention to leave the next day. Harry didn't have a word to say, just sat and shot him reproachful looks from over the top of his teacup, then excused himself, whistled for Fina, and took them both out into the garden. Severus and Julian sat at the table for a while longer, exchanging sections of the Lochdubh paper.

"Severus, you know you're welcome to stay as long as you like."

Setting the paper aside, Severus said, "Thank you, but I've been away for over two weeks, and besides, I believe you and Harry could use the time alone."

Julian stroked his chin. "It's none of my business, what's between the two of you, so I won't interfere. I just don't want you leaving because you think I disapprove." When Severus seemed surprised, he added, "He's so very attached to you, and I'd do anything…" He fell silent for a moment. "Just because he has a father now doesn't mean he doesn't have other needs. He's my son, yes, but he's a man."

Severus stared at him for a moment. What was it about the word 'need' that was starting to set his teeth on edge? "Yes, a man, he is that."

---

It was no surprise to Severus that he slept alone that night. He'd waited, of course, but he heard Harry shut his bedroom door, the creaking of springs, then silence. And he felt disappointed and angry and a sense of loss that pulled him up short.

As he lay in the quiet of the house, he admitted to himself that he'd never belonged anywhere or to anyone…but now he wanted, and he needed…oh fuck.

So far as deserving was concerned, he'd deserved most of what he'd got in his life, but he had to wonder—when would he be paid up? When would that subtle shift occur—when payment for the sins of the past blurred into the rewards for a life well-lived? Wasn't he as deserving as the next man now? Didn't he deserve to have a bit of what he wanted? Didn't he have a right to expect…to long…to hope for as much as Harry did?

He fumed, he sweated, he growled, his mind a jumble of disjointed arguments—many of the words he'd so earnestly offered to Harry came back to haunt him. By the time he was about to drop off to sleep, he felt as if his skin had been rubbed raw by his turning on the sheets.

---

Severus said his goodbye to Julian the next morning over breakfast, with the sincere assurance given in return that he was welcome in Lochdubh, whenever the inspiration struck.

He felt conflicted, as he went through the motions of repacking his bags. Harry hadn't been at breakfast, so he supposed there was a message in there somewhere, but it didn't feel right, leaving this way, without a word, without one last…what?

Severus sighed in resignation. There was nothing left for him to do but go. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he went down the stairs, and headed for the door. He was almost there, when a voice from within the study called out to him.

"Severus?"

He turned, then slowly walked to the door. "Harry. I was just about to go."

Harry was sitting in an armchair by the window. "I know. I won't keep you, but if you can spare a minute?" He gestured to the armchair opposite.

Severus stood immobile for a moment, then carefully leant his pack against the doorframe and stepped inside. There was no sign of Julian, so he walked to the chair and sat. Lifting an eyebrow, he said with a slight smile, "I'm leaving you better off than when we arrived—there is that."

Harry didn't smile. "True, there is that." He leant forward, fixing Severus with his eyes. "It's not true that I'm ungrateful. You seem to think that I am."

Waving a hand, Severus said, "Never mind. I know you're not."

"I'm grateful for so many things—I have a family now. And I know this is beating a dead horse, but I have to say it again. I don't think Julian can ever take your place." He put up a hand when Severus was about to speak. "I think you owe it to me to listen to what I have to say."

"Is any of this new material?" Severus asked dryly. "Because you've already had a great deal to say."

Harry scowled at him. "You've kept secrets, and over the past two weeks, lied to me. So I'm not hopeful, but here goes. If I ask you a question—please, can you just tell me the truth?"

"You know very well why there were secrets and lies—all of it was for your own good. But to answer your question, yes, to the best of my ability, the truth."

Rubbing at his temples, Harry didn't look at him as he began. "I lost you once before. You've explained why, and I understand. But since we've been here, well," he gestured between the two of them, "here we are in that same place again—feels familiar, doesn't it?" Resting his elbows on his knees, he peered up at Severus. "Same old attraction, and affection, and this time, I'm sure it's not just me. Do you deny it?"

Severus felt his heart begin to pound. "No."

Harry's mouth twisted. "So…do you honestly have it in you to turn me away again? When you have to know how desperately I want you…and need you? I've known it ever since you sent me away." he finished quietly, then added more intensely, the urgency clear in his voice, "There's something else I know. I know you care for me, you said it yourself. You wouldn't have done all the things you did for me—you wouldn't have bothered if you didn't care." He stopped and took a deep breath. "But I know you too, Severus, and I think I understand you as well. And you're not…" He shook his head in frustration. "Making sense."

Of all the crossroads he'd come to in his life, Severus knew that this one presented the most critical choice. "No, I'm not."

Eyes questioning, Harry asked, "Care to change that?"

Severus didn't answer right away, picking at a thread in the armrest of the chair. His eyes slid up to meet Harry's. "The bed felt very empty last night—strange how breaking a habit of only days makes sleep impossible."

Harry seemed startled by Severus' response. "You missed me?" he breathed out.

"I did. But it gave me time to think about you and me and our little dilemma." He raised an eyebrow, then continued. "Everything has been about you—what you deserve, what you need and what you want. Not once have we talked about what I deserve—what I might want, have we?" he asked softly.

Harry's face blanked for a moment, then he shook his head. "Oh god, you're right. It has been all about me." He looked stunned, his face stricken. "I'm sorry, Severus. I know you don't like to hear that, but really, I am. I'm a self-centered, pathetic, whinging—"

Severus raised a hand to stop him. "Some of that may be true, but let's not belabor that point just now—not when there are more important things to be said."

"Go on," Harry said uncertainly.

"As I told you in Cornwall, I realized I was largely responsible for your difficulties—this never-ending search of yours to belong, your inability to believe you deserve anything good." He leant forward in his seat, their knees almost touching. "Since I was the one to start this cycle in you, I believe I deserve to be the one to end it." He stopped and allowed time for the words to sink in, then added gently, "Because even having a father and a family will not make you happy—strange as that may seem. But I understand it now."

Harry frowned. "Well, I'm not sure I do. What do you mean, you deserve to end the cycle? After all you've done, you don't owe me anything," he said stiffly.

"No, you misunderstand, Harry. I believe it is my right; not only do I deserve the opportunity," he said in a low intense voice, "but I want it as well. So, the answer to your question is no."

A muscle in Harry's cheek twitched. "No?" he asked quizzically, as if he'd forgotten his question.

"No," Severus said firmly, leaning in to place a hand on Harry's knee. "I can't turn you away again. Ending this cycle in you—of needing and wanting—will require a more permanent solution."

Blinking rapidly, Harry asked slowly, "Permanent? What does that mean?" Severus watched solemnly as realization seemed to dawn. "You mean you?" he croaked out. "Me and you in a…" He appeared to have lost the ability to speak, just gesturing between the two of them, giving Severus the chance to catch his hand and hold it fast.

Tracing a finger along the line of Harry's wrist, Severus told him intently, "As in…together: shared households, a shared bed—and what goes on in it—working out a life."

Harry's lower lip trembled, his eyes gone wide. "Permanently?

Oh thank god. Finally.

"Yes, permanently, which usually entails twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week, four weeks per month—well, sometimes it's five—twelve months per year, and god knows how many years to a lifetime." He considered Harry shrewdly. "That's my long-term plan. In the beginning, though, I suggest we take things day-by-day."

Suddenly, Harry seemed almost overwhelmed, his voice breathless and raspy when he managed to eke out the words. "I don't know what to say."

Severus felt a brief, uncharacteristic twinge of insecurity, and did as he always did in such moments: he filled it with sarcasm. "Let me tell you what not to say. The word sorry shall forever be edited from your vocabulary." He thought for an instant. "Except when appropriate."

Harry's eyes were shimmering now. "And just how will I know that?"

"Oh, I'll make that very clear," Severus said confidently, tugging forward on Harry's hand.

"You will, huh?" Harry slid to the edge of his chair.

"Do you doubt it?" he asked soberly. "Now, if there's nothing more you wish to ask, might I have your decision?" He held Harry's eyes as he captured his other hand, then slid his fingers up to encircle his wrists.

"I'd say…if you promise you'll never Obliviate me, or make me eat tripe—god, I hate that stuff—I'd be willing to take you on." He paused, then tried out the word. "Permanently."

Severus was at the edge of his seat now as well. "I'll make no promises about Obliviation, although a no-tripe compromise can be arranged." He reached out impulsively, brushing the hair from Harry's face, as he searched his eyes, not even trying to hide the longing in his own.

Harry clearly couldn't sustain the banter any longer, his eyes brimming with tears. "So, I get what I want?"

Sliding his arms up, Severus pulled Harry out of his chair, and after a slightly awkward moment, had him in his lap. "We both get what we want," he murmured at his ear. "And deserve."

---

One Month Later

"The blessing was mine. If you hadn't been sent to save me, I should ha' gone to the grave in my misery… It's wonderful—our life is wonderful."

"It won't be so bad, you'll see. We'll winter at Mallaig, and summer at Cornwall. You'll have the best of both worlds. After the initial adjustment, I think you'll settle in quite nicely," Severus said as he straightened and looked down his nose at the cat.

"We're going to Lochdubh for the weekend, if Harry ever gets his arse out here, but I'm afraid you can't come—they have a dog, you see, and although I'm certain you could get the upper hand, well…" He smiled as the cat rolled over and scratched its back on the rough wooden floor of the veranda. "One last thing—there's a new kitten at Mallaig that will need your attention. Perhaps you can teach her the ropes—how to wash herself in hard-to-reach spots, and scratch furniture and all those other things cats do. Even the fine art of ridding the house of our furry little friends?"

He watched as Mercutio jumped up to sharpen his claws on the veranda post. "Perhaps not. One can only hope she'll teach you the fine art of mousing." The cat arched its back and hissed, then ambled close enough so Severus could fondle him behind the ears. The sound of the door slamming made Severus look up, then he watched as Harry took the steps into the garden, two at a time.

"We're off, Mercutio! Keep an eye on things." He turned to Severus and asked, "Do I look all right?"

Tilting his head, Severus didn't have the heart to tease him. "Perfect."

And even though Harry didn't need his help to Apparate, he wrapped his arms around Severus' neck, then murmured into his ear, "Take us home."

---

Severus had been sent into the house to pull two more bottles of wine from the fridge. He stood at the counter to unstopper them, and was about to turn away when he looked up and out the window over the sink. He froze at the sight of the living family portrait spread out in the garden.

There were over three dozen people there, with Harry standing in the midst of them, a baby anchored on his hip as he talked with his sister. Julian wasn't far off, surrounded by his wife's extended family. There were mothers and fathers, children and grandchildren, aunts, uncles and cousins. A family to be proud of, and grow with, and all of them had welcomed this son come home at last—into their lives, their hearts, and their arms.

The spark of awe in Harry's eyes, and the sound of his laughter when he'd first seen them all there, waiting for him… Well, Severus didn't think he'd ever forget the experience.

Picking up the bottles, he headed for the door and kicked it open with a foot. As he rounded the corner of the house, the first thing he saw was Harry, eyes searching the crowd, then a slow, conspiratorial grin on his face when he spotted Severus.

Severus smiled.

Belonging and deserving, feeling needed and being wanted. Who would've believed that in the little village of Lochdubh, they'd come home to find them all?

THE END

Credits:

1. The Scarlet Pimpernel by the Baroness Orczy
2. Gunga Din by Rudyard Kipling
3. Hamish Macbeth by M.C. Beaton, TV series by BBC Scotland
4. Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling
5. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
6. The Sonnets by William Shakespeare
7. Silas Marner by George Eliot

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