Chapter Text
Severus had not slept at all. He had chopped, infused, stewed, simmered and bottled. Nevertheless, he stretched and glided from his work-table with the easy agility of the well-rested. Brewing always slowed him down. It was almost an occlumenative practice, as he stirred and watched and stirred and watched, his thoughts drifting in and out without getting a hold on him. His medical stock would be back on track in no time. He made his way up to the hospital wing, congratulating himself on his cunning. He had suspected Potter might appreciate company after his St Mungo’s appointment. And if anyone could draw Draco out from his recent, uncharacteristic reclusivity, Severus could trust Potter to rile him up. The pair were as pyrophoric as erumpent horn fluid. But still, better them together than each alone.
His slightly sleepy but contented sense of security lasted all the way up until he swept into the hospital wing. Then, he almost tripped over his robes at the sight of the two boys curled around each other in the same bed. Severus had to lean against the wall and take a breath. Was this what Draco had understood by a sleepover? Of all the… did he have to give Draco the talk? This was not… he could not be expected to… he felt all the calm of the night shatter into panic and then caught Poppy’s eye. She was smiling at him. There was no worry on her face. She was looking over at them with the gentle fondness she usually reserved for Minerva.
Severus let out his breath. The boys were still very young, really. Affection starved. Friends could sleep in the same bed. He had done so with Lily many times whenever the Evans had taken him in for a few nights and that had been long before he had had any real understanding of romance or sex. He chastised himself for jumping to conclusions. They looked so very innocent in sleep. Two little kittens; Day and Night. He raised an eyebrow to himself at this thought; his sleep deprivation must have damaged his faculties. He cleared his throat and strode away to Poppy’s office to help himself to a coffee. Let them sleep.
When he threw one last glance back, he saw Harry’s arm was flung over Draco’s stomach. Draco’s face was tucked into Harry’s shoulder. It was an odd development for the Potter-Malfoy rivalry, the bitter hostility that had not gone unnoticed by the staff earlier this year. But stranger things had happened and, after all, it had been a catastrophic summer for the pair of them. If Albus could see Harry right now… young, dark lord indeed.
The headmaster had been respectful of Poppy's decision to keep Harry in the hospital wing so far, but he was starting to drop more and more hints that this wasn't a permanent solution. Severus was not looking forward to the moment he would have to confront Albus directly again. It must be approaching; the case for keeping Harry at Hogwarts was growing more and more tenuous by the day as he recovered well enough to run around outside with the Weasleys.
Severus was surprised that in the last couple of weeks, Draco had also gained some healthy weight and a light summer tan. Molly had gone as far as describing Draco as a lovely, caring, polite young man, which Severus had repeated to himself in surprise, half wondering if Molly was so overwhelmed by her worry for the boys, that she had lost all perspective. But Draco, although still plagued with moody bouts of withdrawing to his room, did seem to be a little more resilient. He didn't gripe about Harry or the Weasleys or the food or general anti-Slytherin bias nearly as often as before.
After their morning foraging, the three of them sat down to breakfast in his quarters, a little later than had become usual. The elves had taken to preparing them each their own individual dishes. Severus assumed that Draco enjoyed his sourdough, spinach and deviled eggs as much as Harry enjoyed his milk and sugary, beige flakes. At least Severus was extremely happy with his black coffee and his slice of cheese, no matter how the boys laughed at it. It was disconcerting how they giggled; Severus almost wondered how he would maintain discipline during term time. But then he only had to gaze at them and the frivolity dried up.
“And how was your sleepover?” Severus finally remembered to ask.
“It was OK,” said Draco at the same time as Harry said, "it was brilliant."
Draco gave Harry a sharp look as though afraid Harry was being sarcastic. But Harry was just smiling.
“We had hot chocolate,” said Draco cautiously. “And muggle crisps.”
“And Draco told me about his house,” Harry added.
Draco groaned. “You didn't even listen! You fell asleep before I even got to the quidditch pitch.”
“You have a quidditch pitch?” spluttered Harry. “In your house?”
“In the garden,” said Draco. “Not as big as here, obviously. A little field really.”
“Do all wixen houses have stuff like that?” asked Harry.
“No, they certainly do not,” said Severus. “Draco is very privileged.”
Draco shrugged. “Not like I can even go there right now,” he mumbled.
Neither Severus nor Harry said anything to that.
“What's your house like then?” Draco asked Harry.
Severus looked up; Harry looked a little haunted. Then, to Severus' surprise, he grinned. “It has a long driveway with red stone paving,” he started. “And some wooden boxes full of sunflowers. And a red front door.”
“Sounds garish,” said Draco. “How very Gryffindor.”
“Draco,” said Severus warningly.
But Harry just laughed. “Yeah. And it opens onto a large hallway with a wooden floor. The walls are painted light blue and there are some paintings of beaches.”
Severus wasn't sure where Harry was describing, but it certainly wasn't Privet Drive. Either Harry hadn't realised or had forgotten Snape had been there.
“There are no stairs,” said Harry. “Not in the whole house. To get up to the next floor there's a lift.”
“What’s a lift?” asked Draco.
“Um, it’s like a small muggle room that goes up and down floors to move people.”
“They have those at the Ministry. I didn’t realise muggles had them in their houses. Do they have a lot of floors then? What's your bedroom like?”
“It's huge. It’s navy blue with golden - er... stars hanging from the ceiling. The carpet is really thick and fluffy. And I have this strawberry flavoured candle so it smells really good in there, not like mould or damp at all.”
“I'm never allowed candles in my room,” Draco sighed.
“And I have bookcases with actual books on and a shelf with lots of board games and a desk that isn’t broken and has a matching seat and my own little kitchen bit along one wall with cupboards for snacks.”
“Are you serious? Do you keep your crisps in there? In your bedroom? What about crumbs?”
“It’s ok, we pay a cleaner who comes every day and cooks everything as well as cleans and does the garden. It's a very big house, I couldn't do it all by myself. And the garden is huge, like a field but there isn't much done to it so it's just full of herbs and wildflowers and pigeons and squirrels and things.”
“Sounds beautiful,” said Severus. “Your mother would have loved it.”
So many expressions flurried across Harry's face at once, shock and guilt and disbelief. "You knew my mother?"
"We were good friends when we were little. I lived on the same street."
Harry's mouth fell open. Draco scrunched his whole face up in disgust, as though Severus had been keeping secrets from him. Severus stared back at him evenly until he dropped the scowl.
"What was my mother… my mum… what was she like?" Harry asked.
Severus exhaled slowly. How to fit a whole person into a few sentences? “Charms was her favourite subject. She laughed a lot. She loved reading and played the saxophone. She used to eat mars bars and jelly babies at the same time.”
Harry gave the happiest little laugh Severus had ever heard. “Did she like crisps?” he asked.
“I don't remember. She liked popcorn. We used to eat it while we watched films together. One of her favourites was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.” Severus shuddered.
“I’ve seen that!” Harry almost yelled. “Aunt Petunia likes it! Did you go to Hogwarts together?”
“We were in the same year. Different houses, of course. But we stayed friends for a number of years.”
Harry pushed the dregs of his breakfast round and round his bowl. Severus stared at the soggy mush until Draco caught his eye and Severus realised he was pulling the same disgusted, scrunched up face his godson had earlier. He coughed lightly and schooled his face back into polite blankness.
“I don't know anything about her,” Harry muttered. “I hadn't even seen a picture of her until Hagrid showed me.”
Draco turned on Harry. “That doesn't make any sense. She's your mother!”
Harry shrugged then looked back at Severus. “Will you tell me some more about her?” he pleaded. “I'll do anything. I can clean the dungeons if you like.”
Draco's eyebrow rose. “Why would you do that?”
“I'm not good at anything else,” said Harry. He turned back to Severus. “But I promise you, I'm good at cleaning.”
“You don't have to clean here. We have house elves,” Draco argued.
Harry opened his mouth as though to shout back but Severus gave him a look and he fell quiet.
“You don’t need to clean,” said Severus. “But I can tell you about her anyway.”
Harry paused. “What do you want in return?” he asked, looking mournful. “I've got some money if you like but I don't really have much of anything else.”
“I don't need anything of yours, Potter,” Severus sighed. “I'll tell you the stories for free.”
Harry looked dubious. “Why?”
“It will be nice to remember my old friend,” he said.
“But -” Harry frowned. “Dumbledore said you and my dad were enemies.”
“Professor Dumbledore, Harry.” Severus wrinkled his nose. “Enemy is a strong word. But we were not friends.”
“Maybe that would have changed if he hadn't died?” said Harry.
“Perhaps,” said Severus stiffly. Not likely, he thought, repressing the urge to sneer.
“Do you have any old stories about my parents too?” Draco asked. “Like embarrassing things they did when they were little?”
“Oh yes,” said Severus. “But you will have to clean the dungeons to get those out of me.”
Draco bristled with outrage and Harry roared with laughter.
…
All was well, thought Harry. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the Dursleys, which was fine by him. His first mind healer appointment had been terrifying and somewhat draining but it hadn't lasted too long and thought he could manage going once a week. The mind healer looked a bit like one of his old Primary school teachers, tall and thin and with a quick grin. He told Harry his name was Usman and said Harry didn't have to talk about anything he didn't want to, which was reassuring. Sometimes they could just sip tea or even draw or do a puzzle. Harry hadn't really minded chatting. He gave Usman a rough outline of growing up with the Dursleys, leaving out most of the really bad stuff. Then he'd talked about all the fun he had had in the castle on his own. Usman had asked him to draw Hedwig and hadn't even minded when Harry explained that he was very bad at art and didn't want to waste the pencils.
He wasn't sure why he'd dreamt that night that Dudley was forcing him to eat crayons, he'd never done anything like that. But Harry had woken with a certainty that he was dying, that the pencils had scratched all the way down to his stomach, that he was going to be sick, that already the lead was poisoning his blood. But then Draco had been weirdly nice about the whole thing, which made Harry feel guilty that he and Dobby had teased him earlier. He couldn't understand why Draco had flipped out, it was so obvious that Dobby had been kidding. But at least in the morning they seemed to have some sort of truce: Harry had crept out of bed to shower and dress and when he got back, Draco hadn’t said anything, just carried on combing his hair and putting on his face creams as though Harry wasn’t there.
When they finished breakfast with Severus, Draco said he wanted to stay in his room so Harry left him to it and made his way to the library to do some reading before Ron came for lunch. There weren't a lot of books that mentioned elves, but he found a few bits and pieces. He wrote out some notes and then wondered if he could ask Professor Snape to copy them so he could send them to Hermione. Harry was sure she’d be interested, although he had been putting off writing to her for ages. When he had finished reading, he forced himself to try, dipping his quill into the ink quickly enough that he didn’t have to think. He started with a rushed apology. She had probably heard everything about his summer from Ron already, but he told her again anyway. Her last letter had been everything he feared: bubbling over with shock, anxiety, advice and questions, most of which he ignored in his reply.
It was a good excuse to go and see Hedwig. She fluttered down the moment he walked into the owlery and Harry rested at the top of the stairs for some time just stroking her. He had done a lot of walking recently and still found he got a little more tired than he used to. Hedwig didn’t seem to mind the stillness. She perched on his arm and occasionally shifted her position, shaking out her wings.
“It’s been a funny few weeks,” he told her. She swivelled her head around and then clicked her beak. It looked almost like she was yawning. “It’s peaceful here, isn’t it?” he added. “Are you ready to fly?” Her claws pushed into his arm, lifting one after the other. He gave her Hermione’s letter and let her go.
He was climbing back down when he heard footsteps coming up the other way. He paused and saw Professor Dumbledore’s beard float around the corner, followed by the rest of him. Honestly he was surprised that Dumbledore could manage so many stairs at his age. But he supposed he must have to use the school owls sometimes like anyone else. It was odd to stare down at him but Dumbledore’s smile was crinkly and Harry couldn’t help but feel relaxed. The last week really had felt like a proper holiday.
“Harry!” Dumbledore beamed. “You’re looking well,”
“Thank you,” Harry paused and then realised it was his opportunity. “Can I please ask you something about elves, sir?”
Dumbledore blinked. “Of course. I’ll walk you down.”
“Don’t you need to send something?”
“That’s quite all right. I simply like to walk up for the view sometimes. So, elves? As in house elves?”
“Yes," said Harry. "Is there a way to free them so they don’t have to lose their magic?”
Dumbledore looked thoughtful. “An interesting question. Why do you ask?”
Harry explained about Dobby and Dumbledore seemed intrigued by the question. “Well, if Dobby is ever freed, he would be welcome here. He could join our elves.”
“Would you pay him? Give him holidays?”
“If he wished so, yes. I would be happy to negotiate with him.”
“Could you make sure his magic is ok?”
“That’s a much bigger question and one that I don’t know the answer to. Permit me to do some reading, Harry?”
“Thank you, sir!”
“In many places, however, house elves are treated well. They’re considered one of the family.”
Harry frowned. “I don’t think someone who has to do all the work and isn’t allowed to leave is really a family member.”
“Even if they’re loved?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Harry wasn’t sure. “It’s just not the same,” he said eventually.
“You have a big heart, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “But being part of a family will always take some effort. Your family misses you, you know.”
Harry froze. “I don’t think that can be true,” he mumbled.
“Why not?”
Harry shrugged. Dumbledore frowned and Harry looked away to stare at his shoes. Perhaps this conversation had been a mistake. They walked in silence for a little while. Harry couldn’t quite keep up with Dumbledore’s long stride, so he ended up almost trotting along beside him. He wasn’t sure how to take leave of Dumbledore but it seemed like they were walking the same way anyway.
“Are there other kinds of magic people?” asked Harry. “Aside from elves and centaurs and goblins and trolls?”
“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore and launched into a long list. Harry felt a little like he was falling through a dream. Giants. Mermaids. Werewolves. The world was a bigger place than he had ever imagined.
“Why don’t any elf or mermaid or goblin or troll children come to Hogwarts?” he asked. “Do they have their own schools? Could we do an exchange?”
Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Then suddenly he looked at Harry and smiled. “That’s a very good question, Harry,” he said. “Unfortunately, our curriculum is limited to wand-based magic at the moment. And other beings are not permitted wands by our current government.”
“Why not?”
“That is a very long and interesting question. Some people would say they don’t need wands. Others would say that wands are a wixen invention which they are not obligated to share. Others still might say that wixen are afraid to upset the balance of power between communities.”
“You mean wixen want to stay more powerful than the others.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that is pretty much the way of it.”
“But what if Dobby wanted to come to Hogwarts?”
“Does Dobby want to join classes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Perhaps you might ask him. And I’d very much like to meet him, if he wouldn’t mind.”
“Ok! I can ask! Thanks, Professor!”
Harry realised he hadn’t been paying any attention to where they were going for some time. They were now at the bottom of a golden, spiralling staircase. It glittered so brightly that Harry blinked a few times. Dumbledore gently pushed him forward and before Harry could ask where they were, the staircase was moving up, almost like an escalator. When it stopped he stepped onto a platform in front of an enormous gargoyle. Dumbledore said “Bertie Botts,” and it sprang to the side.
Harry followed the headmaster into a beautiful office, full of twinkling little lights and floating stacks of floating books and scrolls, just like in the library. Beside the door there was a perch with an enormous bird that was the most vivid red colour Harry had ever seen.
“That’s not an owl,” he said, somewhat stupidly.
Dumbledore chuckled. “This is Fawkes. He’s a phoenix.”
“Hello,” said Harry and Fawkes chirped. Dumbledore steered Harry around the desk and to a corner where there were two big, squishy sofas and a table laden with little square cakes in pastel colours. Sat among the cushions was Aunt Petunia. Harry felt his stomach drop.
“Harry,” she said in a strange, babyish voice. “You’re all grown up! Quite the little man. Do you have a hug for your aunty?"
Harry took a step back and then got a hold of himself. He took a breath and put his arms out. Petunia stood, brushed down her dress and then pulled him into a tight squeeze. Her fingers dug into his arms. “We’ve missed you, Harry dear.”
“I missed you too,” he stated. His voice sounded very flat. He hadn’t played this game for a while.
“Tell me about Hogwarts,” she said. “How was your year?”
Harry didn’t know what to say. “It…” he shrugged. “It was great.”
Both Dumbledore and Aunt Petunia chuckled.
“One day you’ll have to show me around,” she smiled. “Lily always said how beautiful the library was, though I’ve never seen it.”
She and Dumbledore chatted a little while about Hogwarts while Harry sat quietly. He ate a cake and held his cup of tea with fingers that barely trembled. It tasted very sweet and milky. He really didn’t want to drop it. He concentrated on staring at it and letting the noise of chatter wash over him. He felt strange. He was only sitting down, but suddenly all his muscles were aching as though he had been playing quidditch for hours.
“Well, Harry, dear boy,” said Dumbledore. “Are you ready to go home?”
“Today?” Harry asked.
“Yes. No need to hang around. We’ll floo both you through to Hogsmeade and then I’ll apparate you back.” Harry saw Aunt Petunia give the slightest shudder.
“You’ll be back here before you know it,” said Dumbledore kindly. “Your aunty came all this way to surprise you, isn’t that good of her?”
Harry swallowed. “Yes, thank you,” he said. It was just over a week until September 1st. No problem. “And my trunk and things?”
Dumbledore waved his hand and they appeared beside the coffee table. Harry saw Aunt Petunia’s eyes narrow as she looked at Hedwig’s cage. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had been planning this for some time. He was going back to Privet Drive. He felt a little fuzzy. He didn’t want to go.
“Can I say goodbye to Draco? And Professor Snape?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not this time, but you’ll see them again very soon.”
Harry digested this. “The Weasleys are coming this afternoon. I should thank them.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Harry put down his cup and saucer. He brushed his sweaty palms on his trousers. This wasn’t right. The problem was Ron and Hermione. Draco and Severus. Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall, Hagrid. Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Ginny. They had as good as promised he didn’t have to go back, hadn’t they? They’d certainly notice; they’d certainly ask questions. He had to make a fuss. They’d want him to make a fuss. He needed to get word to any one of them. His brain was moving so slowly. He felt like a mouse caught in his Aunt’s gaze. She and Dumbledore were both smiling down at him.
Harry’s words clicked and choked in his throat. “I… I need - Can I…” He looked round at the door. This was it.
“There, now. It’s ok, Harry,” Dumbeldore said kindly. “We’ve got you.” He patted him on the shoulder and then pushed him gently towards the fire.
It would be so easy. To nod and follow. Harry took a few steps forward. But he didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. And, for the first time, he knew that mattered. The others would agree with him. He thought of Dobby, smiling as he insisted he didn't mind working for the Malfoys. He felt the weight of Mrs Weasley’s hands on his. Draco’s breath tingled on the back of his neck. It was as though Snape was holding out a vial for him: another option.
“Wait,” said Harry. “I don’t want to go.” He planted his feet into the carpet. Dumbledore paused behind him. His hand had been light against Harry's back and now pressed against him, encouraging him to keep walking.
“No more tantrums,” groaned Petunia. “Come on, Harry.“
Harry turned to Dumbledore. The old man smiled down at him. “Harry, you must -”
“I want to negotiate,” Harry interrupted him.
Dumbledore’s eyes widened slightly. Aunt Petunia scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“That's enough,” she said. “Dudley is waiting for us.” But Harry kept staring at Dumbledore, who stared right back.
“Negotiate?” Dumbledore asked.
“Yes,” said Harry. “If you want me to live there, I need some security.”
“Security!” Dumbledore chuckled. “Harry, it’s the safest place-”
“I want at least one meal every day,” Harry said quickly. “I don’t want Hedwig to be hurt or locked up. I want to be able to read my school books and talk to Hermione on the phone. I don’t want to do more than 4 hours of chores a day without a break. I don’t want to do more than 8 hours in total per day.”
Aunt Petunia laughed, a raspy kind of sound, more high pitched than usual. “Of course, of course, Harry, don’t be silly. We all have to pitch in around the house but-”
“I don’t want Dudley to hurt me. I don’t want Uncle Vernon to shout. I don’t want you to lock me in the cupboard or the shed or outside or in the car. I don’t want you to ignore me for days at a time. I don’t want you to go on holiday and leave me behind. I want to go to hospital if I get hurt like normal people.”
Dumbledore’s eyes were as wide as Harry had ever seen them. “My dear boy-” he said.
“Is there a way to guarantee that?” asked Harry. “Some kind of magical contract? Or, or… can I have someone come to stay with me? Can Snape or Mrs Weasley come check on me? Could I stay there during the day, but come back here to sleep and eat?”
“Absurd,” said Petunia. “Of course we’ll give you three meals every day, Harry. You might not be able to choose the meals every day, but we’ve never not fed you -
“That’s not true,” Harry managed. He couldn't look at her or he'd lose his nerve.
“Children can be such fussy eaters.”
“I always wanted food,” Harry whispered. “I kept asking for food and you made me cook it but you hardly ever let me eat it!” His voice was wobbling. “You used to lock me in the cupboard. Ron said he was sad for me. It’s not normal to be treated like that. I don’t want to go with you.”
“You’re getting hysterical. Our house isn’t enormous, you can’t always have things just because you want them -“
“Dudley had two bedrooms and… I just had the cupboard.”
Petunia sucked in her breath. Harry took an involuntary step away from her.
“Petunia,” said Dumbledore slowly. “Is this true?”
“Of course not,” she snapped, looming over Harry. “We gave him a bedroom. He’s a dirty, little liar. Always getting in the way, always demanding more and more. He’s spoiled. And I see that a year of school has only made him worse. He’s as bad as Lily: rotten. Nothing we do has ever helped. He has magic, he could do anything! He could have won us the lottery or cleaned the house in a minute. But no, he’s a selfish, little boy who keeps his magic to himself, except for when he can embarrass us. Always whinging and moaning. To think, the amount we’ve given him. And to be paid back with what? These wild allegations? Fancy yourself a little Cinderella, do you? It’s not going to work; Professor Dumbledore is not stupid. We’re going home, now.”
“No,” said Harry.
“You disgusting, little-”
“That’s enough, Petunia,” said Dumbledore. “That’s enough.” He rubbed his chest. Harry looked from him to Aunt Petunia and back again. Her face was squeezed up tight like she was smelling something bad. Dumbledore’s face looked slack in shock.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” he said. “I think I misunderstood you previously.” He turned to Petunia. “I think I understand now very well what you’re saying. Harry, you may go back to the hospital wing and stay there.”
“You can’t seriously tell me you believe him? He’s manipulating you! He's a nasty-”
“Go, Harry,”
Harry fled. He ran all the way back. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. He had negotiated. He could stay. He wouldn’t be forced to go back. Not while he could speak up and question it. Draco had found him. Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey had healed him. Mrs Weasley had hugged him. Ron had held his arms when he felt like he was drifting. And finally, finally, Dumbledore had understood. Harry ran flat out, as fast as he had ever run, as though Dudley and his gang were right behind him. There was no way he was going back to hiding away. Not if he could help it. And if he ever fell a little too far from the main road again, there would be plenty of people to notice, who could offer him a hand to help him pull himself back. He ran all the way back to the hospital wing and crashed right into Professor Mcgonagall who was just inside the door. He stared up at her in shock.
“Potter?” she said. “Harry? Are you OK?”
He shook his head. He gripped onto her arm as though he might fall.
“Slow down,” she said. “Harry, it's OK. Can you tell me what's wrong?”
“My aunt came to pick me up,” Harry croaked. “But she shouted at me and Dumbledore told me to come back here. He said I could stay here.”
Mcgonagall sighed and began to stroke his back. Harry closed his eyes. For a little while, they just stood there, Harry taking deep, slow breaths.
“I'm so glad to hear you can stay, Harry." Professor McGonagall's voice was brisk, as though merely congratulating him on an adequate piece of homework. She coughed. "I'm so glad to hear that. I don’t want you going back there.”
“Me either,” said Harry. “I thought they were going to take me back. I thought I had to leave. But I don't want to go back there.”
“We’re not going to let that happen.” Her voice was as stiff as he’d ever heard it. But when he looked up, she was smiling and her eyes were teary. “I’m glad you’re here,” she added. “I was about to have tea with Madam Pomfrey, Hagrid, Arthur and a nice lady called Ria. Let's get you inside.”
Harry let himself be steered into the office. When Professor Mcgonagall opened the door, the adults looked up at them in surprise. Harry stared at them all, suddenly on edge and very exposed. But then Arthur waved to him and Madam Pomfrey winked and Hagrid yelled, “Harry! Lovely to see you!”
And Harry grinned. He let them load him up with his second mug of tea and piece of cake in as many hours and then perched on the sofa next to Arthur. After his sudden shock, he found himself strangely sleepy. He didn't pay much attention to the adults' conversation, but he let the warmth of their words drift over and surround him as he ate the last cake crumbs, put down his mug and curled up for a nap.
