swish and flick Disclaimiarmus!

Chapter 8

Severus hated mornings, especially mornings when the world had seen fit to give him a crick in his neck. He pushed his lanky body into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, where he sat for a moment, head in his hands.

With a noise half-way between a snarl and a whine, he stood and kicked around beneath his bed until he found his slippers. He walked through his chambers to his bathroom, where he shot a menacing glare at the mirror, as if daring it to comment on his rumpled appearance. The mirror remained mute, however, due to the silencing charm that Severus has thrown at it one morning in response to the mirror's suggestion that he perhaps try shaving his hair off completely, to solve the grease problem.

Despite the fact that nearly three years had passed without a single uttered syllable from the offending piece of furniture, Severus remained deeply distrustful of it. He was certain that whatever the mirror wasn't saying to him was incredibly insulting.

Severus lingered in front of the mirror for a long moment, engaging in what had become of late a morning ritual. He stared intently at his reflection, turning his face slightly from side to side, as if searching for something. His hands grazed his chin, a considering look on his face, then strayed to his cheekbones. His expression softened for a moment, then hardened to its usual scowl as he let his hands drop with a shake of his head. Muttering inaudibly, Severus turned away from his reflection and prepared himself for the day.

Washed and dressed, he was about to leave his chambers when a flash of garish colour on the bureau caught his eye. The scowl on his face deepened when he realized what it was: the issue of Teen Witch Weekly that Adara had so generously left with him the night before. Severus harboured no illusions that this was due to any forgetfulness on his sister's part; he supposed his sister thought that she was being terribly sneaky, but Severus knew very well when he was being manipulated.

Sighing in annoyance, Severus did what was expected of him: he read the magazine. He went through the motions of reading it, anyways. It was all he could force himself to do, due to the abysmal quality and the astounding triteness of the material. His fingers itched for a quill, to mark out in glaring red the literally scores of errors that were present in the text.

He did, however, manage to read the article on his son in its entirety. He felt the familiar bile rising in his throat when he read the usual gushing drivel about the "boy wonder", but it receded as he instead became wryly amused. So the boy was a "heart-throb", was he? Severus' smirk grew to a nasty grin as he read Arista Medias' statement that she would offer her "entire body" to Harry, should he ever need her. Severus knew the girl: a six foot tall, lumbering Amazon woman in sixth year who could likely snap the boy in half. The Granger girl's comments made Severus raise his eyebrows slightly. So the boy had told his friends nothing of his new situation…that was interesting.

After quickly scanning the remaining pages for anything else connected to the boy, Severus tossed the magazine aside. He frowned slightly, wondering if Adara's account of the boy's reaction to the article had been accurate. Cursing himself for allowing his sister to make him second-guess himself, Severus left his chambers and swept down the corridor, heading for breakfast.

He moved through the halls in his usual brooding stride, glaring at nothing, until he turned a corner and his posture suddenly changed with an almost audible snap. He squared his shoulders and made his spine ramrod straight, while his face adopted a neutral expression. A dark figure looked up from where he was seated in an imposing throne-like chair, tapping his leg lightly and repeatedly with the elegant cane he held in his hands. The figure's eyes locked on Severus and drilled into him, following him as he passed. Severus could feel the eyes of his father's portrait on him, and he felt his pulse quicken. With practiced restraint, Severus kept his pace steady, resisting the fierce urge to break into a run.

Only when he had passed out of his father's sight did Severus allow himself to let out the breath he'd been holding. He stopped a moment and closed his eyes, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. He put a hand to his brow, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated there despite the relative chill of the manor. He silently cursed himself, as he did every morning, that he could still become so weak around a mere image of his father. As he approached the dining room doors, Severus schooled his features as best he could, for the first time deeply unsure of how to approach the person waiting within.

Flinging the doors open with his usual dramatic flair, Severus was met with the neat, if tired, image of his son, sitting erectly in his chair. The boy stood abruptly at Severus' appearance and offered him a "Good morning, sir," before retaking his seat. The elder Snape was taken aback, but effected not to as he merely nodded at his son and turned silently to his breakfast. He noticed that Harry was merely making a show of eating the vile concoction of Merlin-knows-what that sat before him. Typical, thought Severus, the boy makes a special request and then refuses to eat it. Well, he'll not get anything else! The pair continued to eat (or pretend to eat) in silence until they were interrupted by the arrival of the post owls, which were rather greater in number than usual.

Harry only briefly looked up. He rarely received anything, and was certainly not expecting to today. It came as a great surprise to both of them, therefore, when several bypassed the expectant arms of Severus and deposited their burdens at Harry's place. Harry was startled, and looked uncertainly at his father, who simply turned to his own post with a spare glance at the owl-besieged boy. Shrugging, Harry shoved his plate of cold, untouched "Spinach and Artichoke Muesli" aside and began sifting through the impressive pile of letters, all addressed to "Harry Snape," causing him to shudder slightly. The first few correspondents were unknown to him, but halfway through the pile he saw something that made the blood in his newly-aristocratic veins freeze.

"Oh, no, please no…," whispered the ashen-faced boy as he lifted the bright crimson envelope and held it gingerly, disbelievingly in his shaking hands. In a familiar untidy scrawl, with strokes so fierce that the quill had carved grooves into the red stationary, was written, "To the Right Honourable Heroditus Severus SNAPE." The writer had managed to snap his quill as he viciously underlined the last word, leaving a jarring smear of black ink.

Harry's fingers twitched to the seal on the envelope, then he changed his mind and set it back down, before once more picking it up. He was still trying to decide what to do with it when the fury contained within the howler burst forth of its own accord and unleashed itself on the Snape household.

"You insufferable, great manky ass! What the bloody effing hell is wrong with you? And don't even try to tell me it's not true, you lying tit, because it's in every single bloody newspaper and magazine, and my DAD even told me he heard it at the office. What is it then? You're so busy in your new swanked-up life that you can't let your best mate know that you're not even…you're not even YOU anymore? You must think yourself a right jammy bastard now…got yourself all decked out in snotty new togs yet, or have you sent your servants out to do it? I bet your FATHER could spare you a few for the afternoon, couldn't he? I can't believe you, Har…SNAPE! Not that you'll probably even CARE, but you can consider our friendship officially binned. It's over. Hope you're really chuffed. Bastard!"

As the last screamed words rang out, the howler violently burst into flames, causing Harry to yelp and jump back. The explosion seemed more violent than usual and Harry's hand flew to his mouth, where he sucked at a seared finger, his eyes watering in shock.

Severus was sitting rigidly in his seat, staring at the stricken image of his son. The boy looked completely devastated and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen him. He just sat there, nursing his wound, staring at the smoldering remains of the missive from which the voice of Ronald Weasley had vilified him and denounced his friendship and association. Severus had never particularly cared for the Weasley boy, but then again, he had never particularly cared for any of his students. Now, however, a strange and fierce feeling of intense dislike was welling up inside of him. How dare that disgusting, carroty little grub say such things? Severus' first instinct was to make a cutting remark about the traitorous little bastard, but a glance at Harry's face changed his mind.

Uncertainty was not a state of mind frequently visited by Severus Snape, and the fact that this boy had somehow or other managed to land him in it three times already this morning was deeply unsettling. Severus struggled for a moment, then stood up with an abruptness that startled Harry out of his stupor.

"Leave the rest of your post until later," he said imperiously, "I wish to show you something." He then turned on his heel, robes swirling, and led the confused boy from the room. 'Sweet Merlin's beard, what am I doing?'

'What in Merlin's balls is he doing?' Harry's thoughts echoed (more or less) those of his father. This question was enough to distract the boy from the distressing message for as long as it took to quit the dining chamber, but the dark thoughts resurfaced quickly and his shoulders returned to their dejected slump. Severus looked behind him and noticed. He scowled. 'Dramatic,' he thought before he caught himself. 'Ah, here we are,' he thought with satisfaction. He had brought them to a door in the same wing as Harry's bedroom.

"Come," he said, pushing the door open with a creak. Harry followed.

Inside the chamber was a narrow staircase, almost a ladder, leading up into the darkness. Severus immediately disappeared upward, and heard his son follow after a moment's hesitation. Severus muttered 'lumos' and was rewarded with the sight of a grimy trap door inches from his face. He shoved the trap open despite the protestations of the neglected hinges.

"Bloody elves, not keeping the place up," he grumbled as his hair was peppered with dust. He heaved himself up with as little damage to his pitch-black robes as possible, and turned in time to see his son spring lightly from the role to stare in renewed interest around him. Only slightly miffed by the youth's agility in comparison to himself, and somehow oddly pleased, Severus refrained from comment and muttered a spell.

Light from dozens of lamps sprang up about them, illuminating the space in which they stood. It was a vast buttressed attic, of proportions so large it was revealed to span the entire main house. In the far corners, shadows partly concealed entrances to towers and other unknown spaces. Severus unobtrusively watched Harry as he took stock of his surroundings. The boy was clearly intrigued by the dark, shadowy space, or rather with its contents. Everywhere around the two men were piled, in unsteady columns, an unimaginable variety of objects, varying from the mundane to the obviously magical. Crates and trunks by the score cached unknown treasures, while others were on display, shrouded in dust and cobwebs. Harry stared in wonder, oblivious of the scrutiny he was under.

Severus was not watching his son idly. Though he did have a purpose for bringing the boy here, it also provided the opportunity for an important test, to lay to rest any vestiges of doubt that still lingered in the far reaches of his mind. All magical people were naturally drawn to objects and areas of magic, but those born of ancient families found themselves drawn even more strongly to objects through which their magical lineage could be traced. Many such Snape family artifacts were housed in this attic. So, Severus watched his son.

The closer Harry had gotten to the trap-door, the less he had found himself able to dwell on Ron's letter. It was as if some external force were pressing its way into his head, trying to dominate his thoughts. It was a feeling that had been tickling the back of his mind since he had arrived at the manor, but only now had he become conscious of it. By the time he reached the opening he bounded through, eager to reach whatever it was that was calling him.

It was almost too much for him. Sensations were flooding his mind, competing with one another for recognition. He felt a fleeting moment of panic, before he un-creased his brow and stared in wonder, focusing on everything and nothing at once. His gaze sliced through the attic's clutter and grime to those objects that dominated his attention, as was their right: a clock, wrought of some multi-textured metal, who's hands spun around strange and elegant symbols; a book, so old its leather cover had all but become the dust that covered it, bound tightly by iron bands; a large earthen bowl, devoid of any decoration, but pulling Harry's gaze as intensely as anything else…These objects seemed endless. Harry had only enough time to register the presence of one before he was seized by another.

Severus watched this, knowing the feelings that his son must be experiencing, and felt a sudden rush of foreign emotion. His eyes suddenly locked with Harry's and he saw in them rapture unequal to anything someone of lesser birth could know. This was true magic-magic borne in the blood, in the very flesh and fabric of being. Severus knew that this moment alone was enough to prove that his son qualified for any legitimate claim of the miss-understood title of "Pure Blood." To some in their world, "Pure Blood" meant only that one had been born of two magical parents. Some extended the definition, requiring generations of un-interrupted magical ancestry. To the true magical elite, however, the true definition was very different. Though these families were in fact old, more accurately ancient, it was the way in which their magic was passed on that set them apart from the common wizard.

The objects in the attic were the means by which the ancient families affected their status. Generations upon generations of Snapes had stood in this place, and another place before the manor was built, and another before that, and gazed upon these objects for the first time. In that moment, the magic in the objects melded with that in the witch or wizard, and the power of both were made one. Harry had not gained in magical power, and he did not automatically know the function of all the strange and wonderful things surrounding him, but he could. That he could know these things was a fact he knew with such certainty that could became would. He was meant to use magic in a way that those of lesser birth could only fumble blindly at. His learning would be easy…natural…his Merlin-given right, as a Snape. Harry thought these things without a blink, without a flinch at how incredibly elitist he sounded. This was truth. He was home.

Severus held Harry's gaze a moment longer, basking in the reflected glory of the boy's joyful enlightenment, then nodded slightly and broke eye contact.

"This space is yours to explore, as your birthright. My only condition is that you exercise whatever caution and common sense you have in how you go about it. There are many objects hidden away in here that are very dangerous. If you have any doubts, bring them to my attention. Now, I have something specific I wish to…yes, what is it?"

Harry was more eager than he'd ever been, and he couldn't stop himself from interrupting to ask, "How can I do, I mean, what can I …I can't use magic outside of school!"

The boy's face was so painted with anxiety that it was nearly comical. Severus, however, looked on him in puzzled, poorly masked amusement. "I give you permission. It is as simple as that."

Harry nearly gasped in exasperation, "Yes, well I suppose you'll just have to explain that to Mafalda Hopkirk, from the Improper Use of Magic Office when she sends me a letter telling me I'm expelled!"

Severus stared for a moment, then let a real, if slightly malicious, smile ooze onto his face. "Do you honestly think that no young witches and wizards use their wands away from the ever-watchful eyes of Hogwarts staff? Underage magic is completely indistinguishable from that of an adult. The only factor which makes it possible to detect underage magic is if it happens in a residence where no adult wizards live."

Harry thought for a second, then felt a tickle of indignation.

"You mean, the only students they really monitor are Muggleborns! Well that's…I dunno, that's…racist…or something."

"I suppose that's a way to look at it, yes," said Severus, enjoying this immensely, "though I prefer to look more closely at the situation before I start shouting prejudice and preferential treatment up and down the Wizengammit. Think; students of magical parentage are not supposed to use magic, but if they do, they will be with fully-trained witches and wizards who can take the situation in hand if something should happen. In the case of Muggleborns, however…" here he quirked an eyebrow, "suppose an over-ambitious young Muggleborn witch, undeniably intelligent and skilled but possessed of a tendency to over-extend herself, were to attempt a dangerous potion or spell in her Muggle parents' home, far from the aid of the magical community. Let us say she decided to brew up a batch of Polyjuice Potion and substituted a cat hair for the requisite human one. The resulting disaster would be beyond the coping skills of her parents, and help might not be able to be found immediately. Now, if this purely hypothetical incident were to occur at Hogwarts, or in the home of a skilled magical adult, the situation could be easily remedied. Understood?"

Harry understood. He understood both why the magical supervision was necessary and that Snape was an omnipresent, omniscient menace from whom he could never hope to hide anything of consequence. He coloured slightly and nodded, at which sign Severus turned toward a wavering stack of trunks. He examined them for a moment, then extricated one from the pile and levitated it to rest on a sheet-draped table. The lid sprang open at his touch and Severus smiled slightly when its contents were revealed. Curious, Harry leaned forward and peered inside.

The trunk held only one item…but what an item it was! Twenty or so years ago, Severus would have counted this as his life's work—well, one of his life's works, anyhow. In was, in plainest terms, an album. It was both physically and magically enormous—its insides had been expanded to house more material than would be otherwise possible. The album's cover was of burnished black leather, held closed with gleaming silver fastenings. Adorning the front was the image of a magpie, wings spread and ready to take flight. Harry reached forward and, when no hindering move was made, lifted the book from the trunk and placed it on the table. The book fell open with a satisfying 'thump,' and Harry leaned closer to the pages to try and see what…

"Quidditch!" exclaimed Harry in delight, "It's all quidditch stuff! Oh, wow, look at this! Is that…Sir, that's never you with the Magpies?"

To the very first page was affixed a moving black and white photograph of seven rain-soaked witches and wizards, all grinning from ear to ear despite their bedraggled states. One in the middle, a compact freckle-faced man, held a trophy aloft with one arm, the other slung around the neck of a black-haired, beak-nosed little boy, who was grinning at the people surrounding him in stupefied amazement. It was, in fact, a tiny version of Severus Snape.

Severus hesitated before answering Harry's question. He was beginning to wonder if this was all too personal, too soon. He really didn't know what he was meaning to accomplish by showing the boy this, after all; however, he finally said,

"Yes, that is me with the Montrose Magpies. It was the nineteen sixty-seven European Championship game against the Grodzisk Goblins of Poland. It was an amazing game…" Severus' eyes took on a slightly fevered look, and Harry felt sure he wasn't seeing a dingy attic in England. "The championship was set for the same weekend as my seventh birthday, and I had been moping all week because my father had told be he hadn't been able to procure tickets. The day of the event he walked into my room and tossed my cloak at me, then apparated us both to the stadium. Just me, not Adara or Atticus…I was alone with my father for the entire day, and it was fantastic…

"That was the second-last year Hamich MacFarlan was Magpies captain, before he retired to become Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and he was a phenomenal Chaser…he led a fantastic team that year as well. Of course, that was also the game that Josef Wronski, Seeker for the Goblins, debuted the 'Wronski Feint.'" Severus' eyes gleamed, and Harry leaned closer, absolutely enthralled.

"It was an hour in, absolutely no signs of life from the Snitch, when Wronski suddenly tore across the pitch until he was on a level with the Magpie's Seeker, Charlotte Peabody, and went into a sharp dive. Of course Peabody dove after him, and the next thing anybody knew, Peabody's head was buried in the ground and Wronski was back up in the air, looking for the Snitch as if nothing had happened. The stadium fairly erupted; nobody knew if what he'd done was legal or even possible without magic, but the official couldn't call anything on it. The Goblins spent so much time celebrating, however, that they completely forgot to try for any more goals or guard their own hoops. I don't think they really minded losing, however…the Goblins made Quidditch history that day." Severus shook himself slightly, bringing himself back from wherever he'd been.

He looked at the photograph and smiled again,

"After it was over, Father took me to meet the players; he was a friend of their manager, or he was collecting on a favour. I actually went into their dressing room and got all their autographs, and they let me touch the European Championship Cup. And," he said with renewed glee, "Peabody gave me her broom when she found out it was my birthday. It was a Nimbus 1000…the 'Firebolt' of its time. Sixty-seven was its release year, and all of the professional players had them, but I'd never heard of another child who had one…I knew Lucius Malfoy didn't and he was already in Hogwarts and he got anything he wanted…It was a wonderful day."

Harry waited for him to continue, and when he didn't said, "That's amazing. Is that when you started this album, sir?"

"Yes. Adara and my mother had been in on the secret and had the book waiting for me when I returned to the manor. Atticus apparently had a present for me, but he was so upset when he learned he'd been excluded from my adventure that he destroyed it and wouldn't talk to me for days," Severus smiled ruefully. Harry continued scanning the photo, then asked eagerly,

"Is this the broom? The one you're holding? Do you still have it? Can I see it?"

Severus' face darkened and he looked away, back to his usual scowling expression, all traces of a smile erased.

"A few months after my birthday, my father caught me doing something he disapproved of. He made me watch him destroy the broom as punishment. He burned it in the fireplace in his office."

Silence once again reigned in the attic room. Harry didn't know what to say, and neither did Severus, who was feeling more and more as if this whole episode was a gigantic mistake. He suddenly became very cross, for reasons which were as unclear to him as they were to Harry.

"I haven't the time to stay up here gathering dust and indulging in sentimental pap. Do what you will, I must absent myself for several days. On my return, you shall be attending a rehearsal for the cotillion, on which subject I will brook no argument. In my absence, please do your best not to explode, implode, or otherwise demolish my house. Or yourself," he added almost as an afterthought. Without another word or glance, he spun and disappeared back through the trapdoor. Harry was left alone, and was once again very, very confused.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carrying the weighty tome down the ladder-stairs and back to his bedroom was no small task for Harry. He found himself wishing he had his wand, and silently cursed the greasy, enigmatic tit for taunting him with the prospects of magical freedom with full knowledge that Borrible had his wand. Harry finally kicked open his door and was abashed to find his wand, along with his unopened post and a tray of juice, toast and fruit waiting on his desk. Harry fwumped the volume down at the foot of his bed, then attacked the food as only a fourteen year-old boy can. His hunger sated for at least the next half-hour, Harry's eyes again fell on the pile of letters next to the tray. Fearing the worst, he used the soggy core of a pear to poke through the envelopes, making sure there were no more Howlers laying in wait for him. The experience in the attic was wearing off, and his earlier feelings concerning Ron were resurfacing. Resolving to get the worst over with, Harry picked up the fist letter and tore it open.

Dear Mr. H. Snape, it began,

I represent the marketing board at Witch Weekly. You were spotted in Diagon Alley yesterday by one of our talented, stealthy and of course completely ethical photographers. They were able to take several high-quality, tasteful photographs of you enjoying your time out, including one magnificent one in which you are perusing a copy of our very own subsidiary magazine, "Teen Witch Weekly."

Since you are obviously a fan of our publication, we are wondering if you could possibly consider entering into a lucrative promotion campaign with us. We are envisioning a special run of "Harry Hot Hot Hot!" magazines, as well as a few special appearances by you at events and functions. Do us, (and yourself!) a favour and try this line out for size: "When you've tired of the Snitch, grab a Teen Witch!" You'll notice we've snuck in a little innuendo there, to add a bit of that "bad boy" flavour there is about you. This is still a working slogan, of course, and nothing is ever set in stone, but nevertheless, we would love to do work with you.

Hopefully yours,

Brethylwynn Biddywump

Director of Sales and Public Affairs

Witch Weekly Holdings, Inc.

P.S…We have sent you the first of a year's free subscription to Teen Witch Weekly, which is yours to keep no matter what your final decision is!

Harry stared at the letter in disgust, then crumpled it up and flung it aside. He was struck with a sudden urge to wash his hands in lye. "When you've tired of the Snitch, grab a Teen Witch?" Saying the line out loud only made it worse, and he shuddered. The last thing he wanted was to be in any way connected or affiliated with that pre-pubescent, estrogen-soaked slander factory. Harry felt another violent shudder coming on, and reached for another letter to purge the horror from his mind.

Dear Harry, it read,

I'm you're biggest fan! and I have all you're pictures on my walls. i just wan to no if this wot I read is true. Because I have a lot of truoble beleiving this. Also if yuo're name is SNAPE now, all my Potter stuff is wronge and I neeed to bye more! Also do you have a girl friend? I will start at Hoggworts next year and I will try to be in Grifonder like you!

Love and a milyun kisses,

Elfrida Ethelred Burdock-Barkwith.

(Vice-Under-Secretary, Harry Potter Fan Club, United Authority of Warrington Chapter)

"Mad," whispered Harry, his hands inches away from clawing his eyes out of their sockets, "the whole world has gone stark, barking mad in the last two days." He reached for the next letter, and was horrified, disgusted and strangely fascinated to find more of the same in each of the next five letters. He got enthusiastic well-wishes and pledges of undying devotion from Maggie Smethylwick, Joscelind Ketteridge and Ignatia Pillywickle, a scathing, grammatically offensive tirade equating Harry with the antichrist from Dymphana Stump, and a confused love-note from Devlin Merton Sykes, a twelve year-old wizard who stated he was only writing on behalf of his friend, who was a girl, but lived in another country, who Harry wouldn't know. Devlin also requested a signed photograph of Harry made out to himself. Harry didn't know quite what to make of that last one. Actually, Harry knew exactly what to make of it, but he refused to articulate it.

There was only one letter left, and Harry braced himself for another disturbing fan letter. He was momentarily relieved to find his name written in the familiar precise hand of his other, and perhaps now only, best friend, Hermione Granger. Harry drew a calming breath and tore through the seal.

HARRY POTTER THIS IS JUST LIKE YOU!

(Not an auspicious beginning, thought Harry)

When are you ever going to learn that you don't have to be the silent little hero about everything? Honestly Harry, do you have no sense left in your Bludger-battered brain at all? What on God's green earth persuaded you to keep this to yourself? Ron and I, at least, could have handled it. We could have helped you through this! If I know you at all, and I can flatter myself that I DO, you've been spending the bulk of your time brooding about this, which given everything you've been through lately is the LAST thing you need! Honestly, I could just about hex everybody involved in this despicably deplorable debacle! (Harry noticed that when she was upset, Hermione had a tendency to slip into alliteration) I should say, what were they thinking? After the business in the graveyard, then the train station…teachers or no, I'd like to Bat-Bogey them all into next week and beyond! There. I'm sorry, Harry, I allowed myself to get a little carried away. It's just that the first I heard of all this was the other day when this beastly little hag of a woman questioned me in Fortescue's. I treated it like nothing then, of course, but I saw Ginny Weasley later, and she told me the news was all over the place, and that Ron was absolutely livid. Oh, Harry, Ginny said her family is all taking it well, but Ron's…well, you know Ron. He can be a bit blinkered when he gets into a mood, you know, and I'm rather afraid he's going to do something regrettable. I'll work on him, but please don't take anything you get from him too much to heart. In any case, I have to end this letter, but I'll write again soon…you WRITE ME as well, you great prat! (Joke!)

Love,

Hermione Granger

P.S…Heroditus Snape, eh? Well, I suppose it does have an element of class to it…

Harry had drifted in a happy daze to his bed while reading Hermione's letter. Finally! A beacon of sanity and constancy in the fog that was his life at present. He resisted the sudden urge to kiss the letter, and resolved to compromise by holding it shmushed against his face so he could absorb its wonderfulness through his pores. A sort of textual osmosis, he mused, thoughts not completely coherent as he basked in the warm fuzzies that were engulfing him. Hermione was still his friend! A bit brassed at not being informed earlier, but she was not abandoning him! And she was right about Ron…he was forever getting damatically worked up about some petty thing or another.

Like the previous year during the tournament, when Harry had been entered into the Goblet of Fire through no fault of his own…Harry's train of thought ground to an abrupt halt. No fault of his own. It was never his fault. It wasn't his fault now, either. In fact, the present situation was about as far from being his fault as it could possibly get. Harry felt his face heating up, as he glowered in humiliated anger at the memory of the Howler. It had been filled with one undeserved insult after another. So what if he hadn't rushed out to tell Ron the second he'd found out? He'd barely been able to deal with it himself, and he'd not exactly had an abundance of chances, now had he? And a growing suspicion in his mind was telling Harry that Ron wouldn't have reacted positively to this news no matter how he'd been informed. The screamed words from the crimson envelope were seared into Harry's mind, and he could remember with perfect accuracy that most of its content was an attack on Harry's new station in life, not on his neglect of communication.

Ron had always been jealous of Harry's wealth, Harry's fame, Harry's skills. How else could he be expected to act now that Harry was the heir or a prominent, wealthy pureblood family? Harry felt his growing anger and resentment and, recognizing them, swiftly repressed them, for once heeding Hermione's advice. He refused to jump into any hastily wrought decisions. In this, Heroditus Snape was resolved to be the bigger man than Ronald Weasley. He did, after all, have the greater pedigree, he thought with a smirk.

Harry carefully folded Hermione's letter and placed it in the pocket of his finely tailored trousers. He flipped onto his stomach, propped a pillow under his chest, and pulled the "Magpies" album toward him. He had almost an entire week to himself in this house, and between this book and the attic room, he was looking forward to it immensely. Letters and friendship troubles could wait. For now, he was faced with the greater task of reconciling the smiling, wriggling boy from nineteen sixty-seven with the emotionally constipated man that was his newly acquired father. Harry flicked his wand to summon himself another pear, propped his chin on his hand, and turned the page.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Oooooookaaaaaaaaaaay. So, how about I do us all a favour and not make any excuses at all about why this took…ah….a little longer than expected. How about this: in your review, include a little story of your own creation explaining my absence. It can be anything…I got lost, fell into a coma, was captured by a marauding band of antelopes…you name it. Whichever one is best, I'll adopt as the official story and include in the next post.

Regarding the next chapter…THE COTILLION! Yup, that's right, and Harry's not going alone!

Regarding this chapter…meant mainly to show some of Severus and Harry's dynamic.

The Quidditch stuff is based on information from

Quidditch Through the Ages, by Kennilworthy Whisp. Check it out, it's a fun read.