Aside from being Seeker and flying around on his new broom, Harry liked those evenings best. He'd seen all the pictures of his Mum that Snape had now, and even had his favorites -- besides the two the professor had given him for Christmas. Occasionally, Snape would talk about Harry's Mum, too, telling him stories from when they were in school, or earlier, when they played together as children. A bit less often, they talked about how Harry was getting on in school, and Harry knew, deep down, that Snape wanted him to talk about the Dursleys, too, and how he had been treated at their house. He really liked talking with the professor, but when he felt like Snape was fishing for something, he shut down, more often than not. It was a long ago learned habit of survival.
He also got the sense from Snape -- and the Bloody Baron, too -- that there was something they weren't telling him. Something about his power. The Baron had never mentioned the blinding light that had sent him out of Harry's presence when he made an oath to learn how to keep Voldemort out of his mind. And Snape never really talked about Voldemort at all, except to make sure Harry had not had any more visions from him. (Thankfully, he had not. He still, occasionally, had nightmares about the poor unicorns.) But every so often, he caught one or the other of them staring at him speculatively, as if they were measuring him. He didn't like it, nor where his thoughts tended to stray when they did so. What
Harry also had not spoken about what he had seen in the mirror to anyone but Ron Weasley, on the few occasions when the two ran into each other. They didn't fight anymore, and Ron didn't call him horrible names, which was good. And his twin brothers, Fred and George, had taken an odd sort of liking to Harry, he thought, clapping him on the back all the time, and offering him sweets. Harry never accepted them -- his sense of self-preservation was too well-ingrained -- but he thought the gesture was nice.
But with Snape . . . he liked spending time with the professor, more than just for the pictures and glimpses into his Mum's life, but also because Snape treated him like a real person, which few adults had ever done. Snape helped him, too, like with his nightmares, and he was always there to listen afterwards or anytime, really, if Harry wanted to talk. And with the Occlumency training, with a lot of hard mental work and meditation, Harry had been able to cut way down on the frequency and intensity of those nightmares. He had never felt so close to an adult before, never trusted one like he trusted Snape now. But he could never let the professor know what he had seen in the mirror. After all, Snape, himself, had said that what he had seen could never come true.
'He just doesn't love us anymore,' Millie whined softly, and brought the back of her hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. 'Whatever shall we do?'
'Trundle on regardless, I should think,' Teddy chimed in with a mischievous smile, 'knowing we are doomed to be but sidelines in the show of Harry's life.'
Harry's face warmed. 'Come on guys, quit it.'
Millie looked about to take the mickie some more, but after taking in his expression, she let it go. 'Why's that bother you, that maybe you can't be everywhere at once?'
Harry shrugged. His friends let him get away with the non-answer far more often than Snape did. But this time, shrugging made him feel stupid. 'I'm sorry I'm not a good friend,' he said quietly.
Both of them stared.
Teddy spoke first: 'That's dumb.'
'What?'
'You are a good friend. So shut up,' Millie said, and then stuck out her tongue.
Harry couldn't help but laugh.
--HPSSHPSSHPSS--
On the day of the next Quidditch Match, the Slytherin team had a pleasant surprise.
