Harry found himself frustrated when, after three days on the job, he knew next to nothing about Severus, because the man seemed to be just that, an onion. Uncle Luc was no help about the man's personal life either, although he was quick to tell Harry not to bring up Severus around Grimmauld Place, unless he was looking for a fight. When pressed further, however, Lucius Malfoy claimed that his lips were sealed, and Harry was back to square one again, with a man over ten years his senior telling him to mind his own business.

Commissioner Albus Dumbledore was no help either, and he was content to sit behind his all-powerful desk with his too-sweet tea, popping an abundance of lemon drops into his mouth. "I have never had one cavity, my body," he told Harry.

Harry grimaced, but quickly turned and looked at a painting on the commissioner's wall in an effort to hide it. He took in the two small windows on the wall to his left, and, in between them, was an oil painting of a bird that seemed to have numerous colors of the rainbow, and yet veered towards the element of fire. The spread wings against the painting seemed to be licks of a fires' flame against a starry sky, with the bird itself staring at whoever was looking back at it without fear, while its tail feathers curved and looped like ribbons around the stars.

"That's lovely, sir," Harry said, at a loss for how to get more information on Severus.

"Oh, thank you, my boy," Commissioner Dumbledore replied, his blue eyes twinkling at the compliment from his newest sergeant. "It was done by... An old friend of mine," he went on, and his break in speech caused Harry to look over at him. "We met many years ago, through a mutual friend—different schools, you see—and he... It was quite a summer."

Harry blinked, crossing his legs. "You were close? Like brothers?"

"No," the older man said, shaking his head and staring into his tea, "for I have a brother, and had a sister. We, Gellert and I, were closer than brothers."

"Gellert?" Harry asked then, and Dumbledore's eyes immediately snapped to his. "As in Gellert Grindelwald, the infamous serial killer?"

Dumbledore stiffened slightly at that, before placing his half-empty teacup onto his desk. "Yes, I knew him when we were young, just before he committed his first murder."

"According to reports, he didn't commit his first murder until 1961, with a highly-publicized trail that, in controversy with the barrister and jury's recommendation, he was released after just five years, whereupon his killings got worse, and he was able to evade authorities until his final arrest in 1990," Harry said, sitting rim-rod straight in his chair.

"According to public opinion, yes," Dumbledore said, his eyes rimmed with sadness, "when he murdered Myrtle Warren in late-1989, just before his final arrest," he went on, the sadness seeming to leak from his pores. "However, the first murder that Gellert Grindelwald committed was in 1957, in the summer, just after my seventeenth birthday."

"Were you there?"

"I bore witness to it," Dumbledore said stoically, although his eyes communicated a far different story. "His victim was my sister, Ariana; she was only fourteen at the time," he went on, the bitterness creeping into his tone.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Harry whispered.

The commissioner swallowed. "My father had been arrested for murder and was left to rot in prison, while my mother was accidentally pushed down the stairs by Ariana two years before. It was my responsibility to tend to my family, but I was far too selfish to see reason. All I wanted to do was explore the world with Gellert, and when Aberforth, my brother, who was nearly sixteen at the time, demanded that I hand over custody of Ariana to him, an argument broke out between the three of us..."

"You cannot blame yourself, sir..."

"Oh, can't I?" the man asked bitterly. "I said that Ab needed to finish his education, but he just didn't want to hear any of it. Then Gellert pulled out his gun, and I screamed at him to put it away, and Ab charged at him, trying to block his path to Ariana, who Gellert had always thought was a point of contention between the two of us. While Ab was struggling, Gellert was yelling, and I was screaming, and then a shot was fired. I turned around then, noticing that the path the bullet took was around Ab, and it got Ariana right in the heart. She was so small, so small, and she barely made a sound when she crumpled to the floor. Gellert dropped the gun, and Ab ran over to try and save Ariana, but it was far too late, far too late..."

"Sir?" Harry whispered.

He straightened in his high-backed chair. "Ariana breathed her last, I told Gellert to get out of the house, and Ab broke my nose for not keeping him there until the constables arrived to fetch him. His aunt, our mutual friend who introduced us, was found to have been harboring him, and I was forced to testify against him, as was Ab, and he never forgave me for any of it, especially at having to force him to relive it, up on the stand." He hesitated. "Gellert was given a juvenile sentence of one year, because Ariana's death was ruled an accident, and then he was released just after his eighteenth birthday, and remained quiet, on the bad side of the law, until he was twenty-one, when he was arrested again."

"And your brother?" Harry asked him.

"Aberforth?" Dumbledore asked, slowly turning his gaze back onto Harry. "Owns a fairly well-known bar in Downtown London. The Hog's Head," he said with a shrug. "Doubles as an inn; they've rooms upstairs. Never the most sanitary of conditions, but Ab was always a better cook than he was a housekeeper."

"You ever see him?"

The commissioner gave Harry a stiff nod. "Yes. Whenever I want to interview more shady characters, Ab lets me use the bar. We don't talk much; he keeps a portrait of Ariana in the back room of the place, which serves as his living room. I don't go back there; the portrait was commissioned just two months before her death; she had been sitting for it, the last session, earlier that day, before..." He bit at his lower lips, attempting to keep calm. "I cannot look at the dress she was wearing in the portrait, because all I can see is the bullet wound, and blood seeping onto the silk and chiffon..."

"You were young, you had no idea what he would become," Harry said softly, but Dumbledore shook his head. "Just... Perhaps if you tried to speak to your brother..."

"I've tried," the man said, cutting across him. "He won't speak to me. But, no matter. I paid for his loan with the bank so that he could establish the restaurant, and I help him with his rent every now and again. As far as we're concerned, we're square."

Harry excused himself shortly thereafter, making his way back to Severus's office. He perched on the chair against the wall, with the makeshift desk he'd been provided with, and attempted to look over the files of known Riddle associates, but the words just swam on the pages, and he found that there was a pounding in his temples. He let out a soft moan, cradling his head in his hands, and tried to make an effort to concentrate, when a plate with a pre-wrapped sandwich was placed in front of him.

"There you are. Lunch," said Severus, who had returned to the office when Harry hadn't been looking around.

"I..."

"It's roast beef. Draco mentioned it was a favorite of yours," Severus said, crossing towards his own desk and digging into the sandwich he got. "Egg salad," he informed Harry, answering the unanswered question as he bit into his own sandwich. Severus regarded the boy for a few moments as he chewed on his lunch, washing it down with a bottle of coke. "What's going on with you today, Harry?" he asked him.

"M... Me, sir?" he asked.

Severus's lips thinned. "Yes. You're white as a ghost. Have you been sleeping well?"

Harry swallowed, slowly making an effort to unwrap his lunch, relieved for the bottle of water, for his file mentioned that carbonated beverages hurt his stomach. "I doubt I'll be able to, after the meeting I had with Commissioner Dumbledore."

Severus sighed, placing his sandwich back into the wrapping on his desk. "All right. What did the old man say to you?"

"He... I asked him about the phoenix painting," he whispered.

Severus groaned. "Of all the stupid, infantile..." He stopped himself when Harry drew back at the harshness of his voice, and amended himself. "I apologize, Harry. I was sure that Lucius or Draco would have mentioned not to discuss with him."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry. They didn't."

Severus dragged a hand down his face. "Well, it's done with now." He hesitated for a moment and watched as Harry picked at his lunch. "You all right?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know..."

"Well, perhaps if I told you something about me, Harry, it would ease your mind a bit," Severus replied, already loathing himself for the suggestion.

Harry looked up at Severus, and he nearly came undone at the green eyes boring into his. "All right," he agreed. "Tell me something about yourself."

"I went to Eton, before I began my university education at Oxford," Severus replied, before he picked up his sandwich again.

Harry's mouth popped open automatically, to ask a follow-up question, but Severus seemed to be completely engrossed in his lunch. Unsatisfied, but knowing when not to push a man further, Harry turned to his own lunch, unwrapping it and taking a bite. As his head began to clear, his gaze returned to the files in front of him, as he continued chewing his sandwich. It was, after all, rather good.

~*~

Harry somehow managed to keep his head above water for the rest of the week, and it was a relief when the weekend had finally arrived. He went to the Malfoy Estate on Saturday, while Ginny was out at a long class, and helped Draco in taking care of Scorpius, Henrietta, and Desdemona. The three children warmed to Harry almost immediately, and his little namesake, Henrietta, became quite like Harry's shadow, and even fell asleep in his lap.

When Sunday came, Harry permitted himself a bit of a lie-in, not having had one since he moved back to England or began his new job for Scotland Yard. He awoke around eleven, indulging in a jog around the borough of Islington, before returning for lunch with Sirius and Remus. After lunch, Harry jumped into the shower and looked over some case files for a few hours before Sirius told Harry that dinner was ready, and he immediately headed downstairs.

The roast dinner smelled incredible, and Harry didn't need telling twice to sit down and tuck in to his portion. He listened to Sirius and Remus discuss their shopping trip earlier that afternoon, and how a lovely old woman gave them her secret recipe for gravy, which they were indulging in that very evening. Harry had to admit that it was incredible, and he hoped that Sirius and Remus would share it with him as soon as possible.

"So, tell us about work, Harry," Remus said, spearing a carrot and looking across the table at him with a smile.

"Yes. You haven't spoken too much about it, and Luc and Draco have remained pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing," Sirius put in.

Harry swallowed his bite of roast, and gently set his cutlery down to answer the question. "It's all right, I suppose. I don't have my own office yet, but my partner has cleared a generous portion of his so that I can get some work done on a flat surface."

"Luc mentioned that he was a senior member of Scotland Yard," Sirius said.

Harry nodded. "He is. He's a commander, just like Uncle Luc."

"I wonder if we're familiar with him," Remus said softly, digging into his boiled potatoes as he considered it for a moment.

"He did go to Eton, and I think he's around your age, so it's entirely possible," Harry said, lifting his cutlery again to cut another bite of the roast.

"Did he?" Sirius asked conversationally, moving his turnips around his plate as he listened to Harry's vague description.

Harry nodded. "Yes. He graduated from Eton before attending Oxford."

"Well, that was a substantial amount of the student body, Harry," Remus said with a chuckle. "I mean, if I recall correctly, most of us went onto either Oxford or Cambridge."

"Although Remy and I were the exception, for, as you know, we attended Leeds," Sirius said with a smile in his partners' direction. "So, Harry, what's his name, then?" Sirius asked, inclining his head in Harry's direction.

"Severus Snape," Harry told him, meeting his adoptive father's gaze.

Sirius dropped his cutlery then, the pale intensity of his eyes darkening almost immediately as he stared at his son. "Excuse me?"

"Siri," Remus said from across the table.

"No, Remy— Severus Snape?!" he demanded of Harry.

Harry blinked, lowering his cutlery again, shocked at his adopted father's outburst. "Well, yes. I don't see any issue with it."

"Of course you don't," Sirius huffed, pushing himself to his feet and proceeding to pace about the formal dining room. "I suppose Snivellus hasn't informed you of his Eton days?"

Harry shook his head, attempting to wrap his head around the nickname, and quickly found that it rubbed him the wrong way. "No, he hasn't. We've only just met, and he doesn't seem to think that discussing our respective pasts is work appropriate."

"That's what he told you?!" Sirius sneered.

Remus got to his feet. "Siri, you need to calm down," he told his lover gently, crossing the room towards him and gently running his hands up and down Sirius's arms. "Harry doesn't need to see your way of things all the time—"

"Quit being the peacemaker for one moment!" Sirius snapped, pulling away from Remus and turning back to Harry. "He was a terrible influence on the student body, Harry, and if it weren't for your mother falling for your father—"

"Sirius!" Remus yelled.

"No, Remy—I will tell him!" Sirius yelled back, and looked down at Harry. "Snape was in love with your mother, Harry, and he would stop at nothing to steal her away from your father!"

Remus dragged a hand down his face. "Sirius..."

"He... He was?" Harry whispered.

"They were best friends growing up," Remus told Harry softly, shooting a glare in Sirius's direction before turning back to the boy he considered his son. "Knew each other before school even began; they lived in the same area, in Cokeworth, located in the Midlands. "It was never confirmed or denied if Snape harbored romantic feelings towards your mother, but they were exceptionally close."

"So, you're saying it's possible?" Harry queried.

"Of course it's possible!" Sirius yelled. "They had a falling out when Snivellus called your mother the most despicable name you could ever call a woman, and she never spoke to him again. This was right after she discovered she was pregnant with you."

Harry felt his blood run cold at the notion of Severus yelling at his mother, and his mother, likely hormonal and devastated because of the unexpected pregnancy, being told off for it by her best friend, instead of comforted for it. He couldn't imagine what it would've been like, had he been a teenage parent, and Draco said or did something along the lines of Severus. Not that he ever would, Harry knew his cousin better than that, but the notion in itself was devastating enough to even comprehend.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asked, his tone quiet. "Commissioner Dumbledore paired us up for a reason, he must've. It would look bad on my record if I made an attempt to switch partners, especially so early in the partnership. It would be a permanent blemish on my career, Sirius..."

Remus looked back and forth between them, his anxiety seeping into his tone then as he forced himself to speak. "Sirius, you can't expect Harry to..."

"No, I don't," Sirius replied, shooting a brief glance at Remus before turning back to regard Harry for a moment. "I take it you haven't socialized with him much?"

Harry shook his head. "No, we haven't. Most of our discussions revolve around the case itself, although he knows of my connection to Uncle Luc. Apparently, they're best friends, and he's a frequent guest at the estate, as Draco's godfather."

Sirius remained tight-lipped for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't want you to jeopardize your career by requesting a different partner, although I wish it were that simple," he went on, speaking in a much calmer manner than he had a few moments ago.

"Well, it's not," Harry replied, crossing his arms.

Sirius sighed, leaning against the doorframe, leading to the corridor, which ultimately led to either the kitchen, front door, or to the staircase. There was a wall positioned just over his right shoulder, and a door, which led directly into the living room, which too boasted a door, leading out into the corridor. Sirius and Remus had already begun the task of taking down the ghastly and dated floral wallpaper that Sirius's mother, Walburga, had been especially obsessed with. It was a well-kept secret within the Black family that Orion and Walburga, Sirius's parents, had been second-cousins, which is why Sirius was relieved that he had been gay, so that he wouldn't have been forced to reproduce; it was also lucky, in a dark sort of way, that his younger brother, Regulus, had been murdered by Riddle's gang in the late-1970's, just months before Harry himself had been born.

"It is not just because of his... His rather inconsiderate treatment of your mother that I am warning you against Snape, Harry," Sirius said quietly.

Remus swallowed. "Sirius, perhaps..."

Sirius turned and regarded his lover. "He has a right to know."

"All right, then," Harry said, getting to his feet and gripping the back of his chair. "Tell me. Why are you so against Severus?"

Sirius stiffened at the sound of his greatest enemies' first name coming forth from the lips of his adopted son. Finally, after considering it, he shook his head. "Perhaps another time, Harry," he said after a moment of silence. "However, I would advise you not to socialize with him outside of work, Harry. In fact, I forbid it," he said, before turning on his heel and heading directly up the stairs.

Harry turned and looked at Remus. "Remus..."

Remus sighed, gently squeezing Harry's shoulder. "I shall speak to him, Harry, I promise. But I know that you know as well as I do that Sirius will likely refuse to move."

"Then, you must push him," Harry replied simply. "I need to know what he has against Severus, Remus. I do."

Remus stared into Harry's eyes. "Something you want to tell me?"

Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Don't know if there's anything to tell just yet."

Remus nodded. "Very well. I shall speak to Sirius," he said, and turned to follow his lover up the staircase.

Harry sighed, turning around and regarding the table for a moment. It had been such a lovely dinner, before the past had crept up upon them. Shaking his head, Harry slowly began to gather up the dirty dishes and the linens to bring into the kitchen and laundry room respectively so that they would each be washed.

~*~

"Yes, Drake, I've got the bottle of wine," Harry said, rolling his eyes from where he sat in the back seat of the Malfoy's smaller limo.

"Sirius didn't mind you taking one from the cellar?" Draco asked from the other end of the phone, and Harry could vaguely hear the shouts of their three children, and Ginny's patient voice attempting to calm them.

"We haven't really been speaking," Harry admitted as the driver turned onto the final road, right before the estate.

"Haven't been speaking? He's your father!"

Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Yes, I know that, Drake, and he has been since I was fifteen-months-old."

Draco sighed. "Sorry."

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he replied, straightening in his seat as the limo passed through the black front gates. "I'll see you in a minute."

"Great," Draco said, and cut the call.

Harry thanked the driver, waving him off and got out of the limo himself, and made his way to the front door, which Draco opened immediately, dressed in a smart dinner suit with a silvery tie that matched his eyes. Harry smiled at his cousin, handing over the bottle of wine before accepting the customary hug. "Come in. Dad's just tiring the kids out, and you, me, and Ginny can have a couple drinks before we head to the restaurant."

Harry nodded, following Draco inside and shutting the door behind them. "Where were you thinking tonight?" he asked, straightening his green tie, a gift from Ginny on the night he returned home, as it matched his eyes.

"Italian," chorused Ginny as she trooped into the living room, wearing a green sweater dress which exposed her milk-white shoulders and hugged all her curves, and carefully holding three wine glasses of expensively-cut crystal, and the wine cork, which was tucked underneath her arm. "Oh, Harry," she said warmly, setting down the glasses and cork onto the table and crossing the room to embrace him. She kissed him on the cheek, tutting slightly as she caught a glimpse of the tie he was wearing. "While I am pleased about this," she said, quickly unknotting it and fixing it to her liking, "a Windsor Knot would be more appropriate."

Harry blushed while Draco rolled his eyes from behind him.

"I know what you're doing, dear," Ginny stated softly, and continued to fix Harry's tie, and Draco, completely abashed, lowered his eyes and proceeded to uncork the wine bottle.

"Anything special about the restaurant tonight?" Harry asked.

Ginny gleamed as she finished with Harry's tie, and gently brushed off his sports coat for good measure. "Drake took me there on our sixth date, and informed me that he wanted to be exclusive with me," she said softly.

"We split the black chocolate soufflé at the end of the meal," Draco went on, finally managing to uncork the wine bottle, which popped ceremoniously, and proceeded to pour the wine—a fine pinot noir—carefully. "Needless to say, I was half in love with her already. Watching her eat the damn thing was the hottest thing I'd ever seen— Oi!" he shouted when Ginny smacked him on the arm.

"You're lucky that none of my six brothers are here to hear you say that," Ginny said, narrowing her pretty eyes at him, and accepting a glass of wine.

"Six?" Harry said, nearly choking on his sip. "I thought Ron was just..."

"Exaggerating?" Ginny asked with a smirk. "Not even close. Mum and Dad both grew up Catholic, and so..." She spread her hands.

Harry slowly eased himself into a chair, while Ginny and Draco took the couch. "I know about Ron, of course, but what about the others?"

"Bill works at a bank where he met his wife, Fleur," Ginny explained with a smile. "They've got three children—Victoire, Dominique, and Louis."

"Then there's Charlie; lives in Romania," Draco went on, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders, who promptly moved to settle against him. "He got a degree in mythology and likes to spend his time painting. He's made quite a living for himself."

"Next came Percy," Ginny resumed, and rolled her eyes, causing Harry to wonder if there was some bad blood between them. "He never approved of my relationship with Drake," she said softly, placing her palm onto Draco's knee, "and was livid when I came up pregnant the first time. He works for the government—barrister, just like Hermione, although he's working his way up to parliament. He actually had the nerve to attempt to give her advice, when he's too pompous for his own good, and she's just uncommonly bright. Perc married a few years back to a very patient woman named Audrey, and they have two daughters—Molly, named after our Mum, and Lucy."

"Before Ron, the twins, Fred and George, were born," Draco said, and Ginny became saddened at this line of conversation. "We lost Fred because of Riddle's gang about seven years back. It's George who surprisingly managed to bounce back, as much as one can; he married a one-time girlfriend of Fred's, Angelina, and they've got a son, Fred, and a daughter, Roxanne. Fred runs his own joke shop emporium, and they've already expanded to Ireland and Scotland, and there are talks of America by the start of the year."

Harry nodded as he continued sipping his wine. "I'm sorry, about Fred," he said softly to Ginny, who smiled at him. "I know what it's like to lose someone close to me."

"Mum wants to meet you," Ginny said with a smile. "She saw some of the pictures on Ron's and my phones on the night you came back. Said you were too thin," she said, and laughed. "Then she wanted to know all your favorite foods."

"She likes to cook?" Harry guessed.

Draco smirked. "That's part of it."

"She also likes to mother," Ginny explained. "Now that she's only got Dad to take care of on a regular basis, she misses the hub-bub that the Burrow used to be."

Harry blinked. "The Burrow?"

"Burrow Cottage and Farm, where I grew up, in Devon," Ginny said brightly. "Mum tends to the pigs, chickens, sheep, and the rest of the animals, and sells the meat or eggs or wool that they provide her with."

"And your dad?"

"Owns an automobile repair shop," Ginny said with an indulgent smile. "Taught us all how to fix cars by the time we were ten."

"Ginny here is the only one Dad trusts to fix the limo whenever it goes kaput," Draco said with a loving glace towards his wife.

"You said you made a reservation?" Harry asked, coming to the end of his glass of wine.

"Yes, and we should get going," Ginny said, getting to her feet. "You dad has the kids, Drake, so we can make a run for it," she joked as they all put their wine glasses onto the table.

Draco nodded, grabbing Ginny's wrap and carefully putting is around her, and the three of them walked out the door and back towards the limo. Slipping into the back seat, Draco inclined his head towards the driver. "Essenza, please, Boris," he said to him.

"Yes, Master Draco," said the driver, and pulled off the property.

"Half an hour for a restaurant?" Harry joked when they finally pulled up. "You must really like this place."

Draco smirked as he helped Ginny from the car, and put an arm around her waist. "Sentimental value doesn't count?"

Harry shrugged. "You tell me."

The trio walked into the restaurant, which was lush with candlelight and white tablecloths, and the hostess twittered at the sight of Draco. "So good to see you again, Mr. Malfoy," she said with a bright smile.

"Good evening, Mia," Draco replied. "We've a reservation under 'Malfoy'."

"Oh, yes. Party of four," Mia said with a smile, and Harry was slightly concerned at the notion that there would be fourth member in their dinner party that evening. "Your other guest has already arrived, and is at your usual table," Mia went on, and collected three menus. "Right this way, please."

Draco kept his hand on the small of Ginny's back as they wandered towards the back of the restaurant, where the private booths were, Harry just behind them. When they got to their table, Mia placed the menus down, and told them that their waiter would be with them shortly. Draco beamed, letting Ginny go, and moved to greet the man sitting at the table already.

"Oliver!" he said warmly, giving the man a warm handshake and a clap on the shoulder, which the man returned. "Good to see you!"

"You as well, Drake, you as well," said Oliver, his voice a rippling Scottish accent. "Gin," he went on, just as warm, leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. "It's been ages."

"Oliver," Ginny said warmly, hugging him briefly before pulling back.

"Oliver, this is my cousin, Harry," Draco said, and Ginny promptly pushed Harry forward, and Harry got the distinct impression that he was being setup, but forced a smile onto his face.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, and accepted Oliver's handshake. He was forced into the seat beside Oliver a moment later, and opened up his menu, sipping his water delicately.

"Drake tells me you spent most of your life in America."

Harry skimmed the menu for a moment, deciding to start with a cup of minestrone soup, before he turned back to Oliver. "Yes. I was adopted by my godfather and raised by him and his partner from the time I was fifteen-months-old. They made the executive decision to move to America when I was still a baby, and I grew up there. Despite going through school, and Yale, and the police academy, never lost the accent," he said, and laughed.

Oliver laughed back. "No, it doesn't sound like you have." He hesitated for a moment. "You work with Drake at Scotland Yard?"

Harry nodded, taking another sip of water. "I do," he said. "On a case at the moment, but I can't say more than that," he said, and Oliver nodded in understanding. "And you, Oliver? What is it that you do?"

"Football," Oliver said, "what the American's call soccer. I went to Eton, and ended up as the student coach. Got spotted and sponsored during my final year there, ended up going onto the West End Football Club. Still working for them, and I've opted to remain there, until my legs or heart give out."

Harry nodded, mulling over Oliver's words, while all the while gazing at him. He was attractive, and anyone who denied that would be blind. Harry noted the intelligent brown eyes and pale brown hair—short, but still hung in waves upon his head—and couldn't deny that the man next to him boasted a strong pair of hands, and eatable-looking legs. However, at the back of his mind, he couldn't deny a pair of dark eyes, with silky-looking black hair, seemed to bore incessantly into his subconscious.

"Sounds like we're in the same boat, career-wise," Harry said, and smiled at him.

When they got back into the limo after dinner, Draco, who had had too much to drink, slumped down on Ginny's shoulder, who patiently petted his hair. "What did you think of Oliver, then, Harry?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "Whose idea was it to set me up?"

Ginny bit her lip. "Drake's," she confessed, "but I was the one who mentioned Olivier the most recently."

Harry nodded. "I see."

"Are you angry?"

He shook his head. "No. Not angry."

Ginny worried her lower lip. "Did you like him, then?"

"He's a nice bloke, Gin. Handsome."

"Are you going to see him again?"

Harry smirked, showing Ginny his phone, the words, How do drinks next Friday sound? looking back at her. "What does it look like?" he asked.

Ginny grinned at Harry, and then proceeded to make sure her husband wouldn't be sick onto the fine leather upholstery of the Malfoy limo.

~*~

Harry did his best to avoid Sirius's weird moods for the rest of the weekend, along with Remus's idea of support, and, quite soon, it was Monday again. Harry arrived at Scotland Yard and made his way to the staff lounge, helping himself to the pot of coffee, hating its taste, but wanting it for its caffeine more than anything else. He perused the cabinets and fridge and made himself a small bowl of instant oatmeal; he had wanted to get out of Grimmauld Place as soon as possible that morning, and so, he had missed breakfast.

His phone rang in his pocket then, and he left off stirring the oatmeal for a moment to retrieve it from his pocket. "Hey, Dora," he said, answering his cousin's phone call.

"Wotcher, Harry," Dora said on the other end of the phone, and Harry could practically hear the smile in her voice. "Blaise and I were hoping we could see you for lunch."

Harry hummed slightly then, thinking it over. "I take my lunch from eleven to one, so yes, I think I can see you this afternoon. Late morning, whatever it's called these days..."

"Positively smashing," Dora chimed from the other end of the phone. "Drake mentioned your night on Saturday. Blaise and I want to hear all about it. You know that Drake and Blaise were best friends at Eton?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah, I think I remember hearing that," he said softly, turning slightly when he saw Severus practically gliding into the room.

"Drake said Oliver Wood was your date!" Dora shouted on the other end of the phone, and Harry didn't even miss Severus stiffening as he poured himself a coffee. "He was absolutely splendid on the football team, back at Eton. Blaise and I had our first date at a game."

"But Drake and Ron said that you'd only just gotten together," Harry said lamely, hoping to change the subject, but Severus merely sneered at his efforts and drifted from the room, which caused him to wince.

"It was off and on during school," Dora put in quietly. "We didn't make it official until a few months back. We just had to find each other again."

Harry somehow managed to wrap up the conversation accordingly, letting Dora know that he would meet her and Blaise at a British pub they favored, The Leaky Cauldron. He'd heard plenty about it since his return, but didn't know offhand what to expect. After cutting the call, Harry wolfed down his oatmeal and freshened his coffee before trekking to the office he shared with Severus, his files that he'd managed to skim over the weekend tucked inside his messenger bag as he walked in.

"Morning," Harry said.

Severus grunted in response.

Not allowing it to get to him, Harry moved towards his makeshift work area and hung his messenger bag in its place on the peg that Severus had provided him with. "How was your weekend?" he went on, all in a causal manner.

"Quiet."

Harry swallowed, something in his superiors' attitude letting him know that Severus was literally calling for quiet in that moment. However, Harry wouldn't have been Harry if he didn't make a third attempt, and so, he swiveled around in his desk chair as he took off his jacket. "Do anything fun over the weekend?" he asked.

Severus let out a soft sigh of exasperation in his throat. "Fun is immaterial," he muttered, and pinched at the bridge of his nose. It was a particularly long thing, which appeared to have been broken along the bridge, and not fixed correctly, and while some may have believed it was an ugly thing, Harry thought, in his innermost thoughts, that it was beautiful. "Do you ever cease in your chattering?"

Harry nibbled at his bottom lip; heaven forbid if this man ever put his chemistry degree to use and became a professor. "It all depends on whether or not I get an acceptable answer to my chatter, I suppose," he replied with a shrug.

"A four-syllable word, marvelous," Severus observed dryly. "Did you consult a dictionary for that one, or was it merely a thesaurus?"

Harry gripped the arms of his desk chair, determined not to allow Severus's cutting demeanor get to him. "Something up your arse today, Severus?" he asked, immediately clamping his hands over his mouth before he could stop the words.

Severus finally stopped marking whatever file he'd been engrossed in, and slowly raised his head to meet Harry's eyes. "Excuse me?"

Harry, knowing that there was no turning back now, slowly lowered his hands from where they'd been upon his mouth. "Oh, I think you heard me."

Severus's jaw clenched then, and Harry fully expected the man to blow but, like so many things recently, Severus surprised him. "I merely am worried for the company you've decided to keep over the weekend."

Harry straightened up then, his dark brows furrowing. "What?"

"Eloquent as ever," Severus remarked with a slight hum. "I should inform you that I have been best friends with Lucius Malfoy since I took on this position."

"You're best friends with Uncle Luc?" Harry whispered, feeling himself flushing in a most unbecoming manner.

"Yes, I believe I just said that," Severus replied impatiently. "I am also godfather to his son, Draco, and served as a mentor of sorts during his school years at Eton. Chemistry can be a difficult subject for some, and so Draco turned to me in order to achieve some halfway decent tutoring sessions."

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair, remembering the few gatherings at Malfoy Estate he'd gone to in his years of living in America, when he'd returned for the holidays and some sporadic summers, and how he suddenly seemed to remember Severus, standing beside his Uncle Luc in conspiratory-sounding conversations. Now, he was not a faceless man in impressively-cut black suits and a haughty stare; now, he was Severus Snape. "I remember you at some of the parties I attended," Harry admitted softly.

"Yes. You were often seen at Draco's side, when Mr. Zabini was unavailable."

"Blaise?" Harry asked.

"Precisely."

Harry rolled the wheels of his desk chair slightly upon the cheap rug of the office, mulling over Severus's past statements. "You mentioned your worry for the company I keep."

"Yes."

"What's the matter with it?"

Severus sneered then, causing Harry to draw back slightly. "I was made aware of your date with football star, Oliver Wood."

Harry shrugged. "Drake thought we should meet. They're old friends."

"Of course, as they attended Eton together, and Oliver served as Draco's student coach during his time on the team," Severus explained. "However, you should be made aware of all the facts before you're involved in something you can't get out of."

Harry arched a brow. "I don't understand."

"No, I didn't believe you would," Severus said, jumping onto Harry's apparent naivety. "Oliver has been publicly linked to Barty Crouch, Jr. since their Eton days."

"The MP's son?" Harry asked.

Severus gave a stiff nod. "The same. The longest they broke up was a period of six months. They always seem to find their way back to one another." He sighed. "Look, I'm not telling you this because I seek to hurt you. I'm telling you this because you have a right to know."

"A right to know what?"

"That the young man that Draco wishes you to affiliate yourself with, through no fault of your own, is a playboy," Severus informed him. "He'll have a few dalliances a year until Barty Crouch Jr. makes it known that he wants him back, and Wood will come running. He always does, and he always will."

Harry sighed. "I barely know him..."

"Doesn't matter," Severus said, looking him up and down. "You're just his type when it comes to a fling," he said, before getting up and leaving the office.

~*~

The Clove Club was a posh restaurant in Downtown London, and it was there that Harry agreed to meet Oliver for their first official solo date. He felt slightly uncomfortable in his new suit, that Ginny and Dora had helped him pick out during one of his lunch breaks earlier that week, and slightly fingered the tie that Hermione had selected for him. He had also looked up the restaurant at length and, after discovering it was one of those frou-frou tasting menu places, had had a sandwich beforehand, just to make sure he didn't starve.

Upon walking inside to the grand piece of architecture, he was promptly led to the table that Oliver had on permanent reserve for him, and was greeted warmly with a half-embrace and a kiss on the cheek. Oliver waited for Harry to sit before he did so, and thanked the host for providing Harry with a menu. It was the final Saturday of the month, and, since it was September, it was already quite dark outside.

"Is the wine all right?" Oliver asked.

Harry lifted his glass and inspected the red for a moment, before taking a sip. "Delicious. Is it a merlot?" he asked.

Oliver nodded. "Yes. Very good."

"Sirius and Remus are very into their wine," Harry said with a laugh. "The Black family has an impressive collection in their basement. I could show you sometime."

Oliver smiled. "That would be lovely." He hesitated for a moment. "Look, Drake didn't air out all of your dirty laundry or anything before he introduced us. He just said that your parents were gone and that your godfather adopted you, and then moved you, him, and his boyfriend to the States when you were still small. I know that you went to Yale, before joining the New York Police Force, and now you're working for Scotland Yard."

Harry nodded, lowering his menu slightly. "So, you're asking me to tell you more information about myself?"

Oliver nodded. "Only if you're comfortable. And I'll answer anything you want answered as well. Don't believe everything you read in the rags."

Harry sighed. "It's... It's not a happy story, Oliver."

Oliver smiled, reaching out and gently touching Harry's hand. "Try me."

Harry bit his lip. "Could you go first?"

Oliver nodded at him with a quick smile. "Yes, of course." He hesitated for a moment. "Well, both my parents attended Eton, and so that's where I went. I'm an only child, although I'd always wanted a few younger sisters; Mum and Dad either didn't want or couldn't have more children, apparently. Mum passed away when I was in my final year at Eton due to cancer, and my father, a judge in the courts in London, subsequently devoted all of his time to his cases. I finished at Eton and played football professionally. I only see my father for Christmas, and any occasional birthday, mine or his, I can get his secretary to schedule on my behalf. He remarried a few years ago, and I've two younger brothers—Theo and Richard—but I don't know them, even though they now attend Eton, and they use their surname for bragging rights, letting anyone know who their elder brother is, despite the fact that I'm not in their lives. Dad and I haven't seen much of one another, because his wife doesn't want him to see me; really hated my mum, apparently, but I don't know the full story there. My teammates became my family as soon as I joined them, and I just want to find a decent bloke to date. I hope for marriage, if it is ever legalized for people like me, and children, if that's what my future partner wants. I suppose that football is what I'm dedicated most to, out of everything..."

Harry smiled slightly then. "Guess I'm just glad that I'm not the only one with a tragic backstory of some kind."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "That bad?"

Harry gave him a nervous laugh. "The nitty-gritty, then?"

Oliver nodded. "Of course."

"My parents were murdered when I was fifteen-months-old, to the day," Harry said quietly, and Olivier looked overcome with empathy, and didn't let go of Harry's hand, not that Harry minded, but he found he would've much preferred another pair of hands on his. "I don't really remember much about them, but I do have photographs, and Sirius and Remus were my father's best friends, so that helps. They got me because of the Black family's team of lawyers, who wouldn't normally give a same-sex couple a child, but the money won out in the end. I wasn't even two when we decided to take the leap and move to the States, and I went through all my schooling there, including university, as you know. I met my first official boyfriend at Yale; he actually went to Eton as well. Do you know of Cedric Diggory?"

Oliver nodded. "Yes. He took over as student coach after I graduated. One of the most intelligent students that Eton had ever seen. Headmistress McGonagall made sure to give him all the awards, either for academics or sport, when it came right down to it..."

Not smart enough to keep it in his pants, Harry thought bitterly. "I was the boyfriend he was living with—dubbed as a close friend in all the papers, because he wasn't out fully to his parents—when he was killed," Harry said softly.

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "It was a long time ago," he said quickly. "He was seeing someone else by the time that happened, but I never confronted him on it. I... I don't think I ever loved him," he admitted, shocked that he was admitting it aloud for the first time. "It wasn't just because of the pain he caused, or the lack of chemistry between us. I just think it was all the lies, because, I think, without trust, there is no relationship..."

Oliver sighed, his deep brown eyes full of compassion for Harry. "Look, I know it's kind of soon, Harry, but..."

"Yes?" Harry asked, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I... I would like to see you again," he said quietly.

Harry smiled slowly then, although it did not completely meet his eyes. "I'll see you again, Olivier," he told him.