Harry arrived for their Saturday afternoon chat as usual, bubbling over with what had happened during the week. "It was dead weird! I'd been feeding Scabbers while Ron was in the Hospital Wing and all the time he was a man! He went bonkers when the Headmaster came to collect him with that scary-looking man with the wooden leg – is he a pirate?"

Snape boggled briefly at the idea of Mad-Eye Moody as Long John Silver. "No, he is an Auror – a bad wizard catcher."

"Anyway, Scabbers tried to escape under the beds but the Headmaster zapped him and carried him off in a cage with all sparkly magic round it. Everyone was really impressed."

Snape reined in his temper and changed the subject to Harry's music lessons. Harry squirmed. "I don't really know. I mean Madam McIlroy says I'm doing really well but there's still so much I can't do. I can hear all these tunes in my head but I can't make them come out of my fingers!"

"Well, why don't you bring your flute with you next week, and let me hear how you are getting on."

Harry paused with his mouth hanging open, both unattractive and cake-filled. "Really?"

"Yes, really. And don't talk with your mouth full." Harry swallowed hastily and Snape wondered how on earth he'd managed to get so much cake down in one go. "I cannot make music myself but I can hear when it is good and when it is bad. I would be most interested to hear your progress. Don't forget, Harry, you have not had many lessons and it is hardly surprising you can't do everything you want immediately. Which reminds me, you are still practising your occlumency, I trust."

Harry flushed and looked away. "Sorry, I forgot a bit. I'll start again tonight, honest!"

"See that you do. I suspect that the sort of calm occlumency provides will be most helpful to your music. I expect you have already noticed that you do not play as well if you are agitated."

Harry considered that round another huge bite of cake, and Snape wondered whether he ought to go back to biscuits: it was just that the house-elves did love to make cakes and looked so disappointed when he didn't ask for them.

"I'll try tonight, promise, Professor. It's just that so much has been going on and Quidditch has started again."

He might have known. Well, he supposed it was hardly surprising the lad was having trouble managing his time and he settled down to a brief discussion of the importance of planning activities and making sure that sufficient time was left to complete his prep. "Music and Quidditch, while doubtless entertaining, are not what you are at school for, after all. If you are still having trouble fitting everything in, bring your planner with you next week and we'll look into it." Harry's face fell and it took Snape a few seconds to work out why. "That is in addition to your flute." Harry's smile returned.

"Moreover, I would like Madam Pomfrey to have a look at you."

"What? Why? I'm fine."

"I know but I have wondered lately whether your deplorable family fed you correctly. Merlin knows your cousin is hideously malnourished."

"Dudley? But he gets everything he wants!"

"Exactly, and what he wants is doubtlessly very bad for him. I remember you told me they gave you the…. How did you put it…" As if he hadn't carefully examined his own memory for just this occasion. "Ah yes the burnt bits and the soggy vegetables. That does not sound like a proper diet for anyone, let alone a growing boy. I would just like to set my own mind at rest that you are not deficient in vitamins or iron. Madam Pomfrey will see you on Wednesday afternoon after school."

Harry pouted. "Do I have to?" Really that should not look quite so cute, and at least the protest was a sign of growing comfort with adult guidance. Snape entirely ignored the fact that it would once have irritated him greatly.

"Yes, you do. And I would like to see you drinking milk at breakfast and eating two vegetables with every meal – at least two in addition to chips or potatoes of any kind. Surely, you want to be as strong as possible for Quidditch if nothing else."

"Do I have to eat celery and parsnips? They're really nasty."

"No, you may omit the celery and parsnips as long as you still eat two other vegetables." Spotting the loophole though years of experience with the would-be cunning of schoolboys, he added, "In the event that the only choice is celery and parsnips, you may substitute two different kinds of fruit from the dessert bowls. Now don't forget, Wednesday afternoon. Your friend Ron is due to be unpetrified that morning, so you can see him after you see Madam Pomfrey."

"Really? Wow! I thought it would take longer. Does his mum know, or should I write and tell her?"

"I'm sure she knows but I'm equally sure she'd enjoy a letter from you too. I am going to call on her tomorrow, so if you write something, I can take it with me."

The visit to the Weasleys was as irritating as he had forecast to himself. Not the least irritating thing was that he could now understand and even sympathise with their worries. He could vividly imagine his own reaction if it had been Harry who had been petrified.

Getting them to accept music lessons for their youngest son was difficult, but he had carefully worked out his strategy in advance. "Harry has spent much of his life without encouragement or companionship." He said once seated in the Weasleys' shabby but comfortable sitting-room. "Your son and a muggleborn witch in their year are his first ever friends. He wanted to buy your son an expensive present for his birthday…." He watched the Weasleys bridle. "I persuaded him it would not be appropriate, but the impulse is generous and I know he would love to share his music with someone. The purchase of the mandrake roots did not use up the entire proceeds of the basilisk venom, there is more than enough left to purchase a second-hand instrument and Harry's music teacher says she can teach two for the same price as one."

"I don't think….." began Arthur Weasley but Snape interrupted.

"I am trying to teach Harry that he does not have to do everything alone, as he always has in the past. Moreover, this is money that no one expected or needs. You are not taking anything from Harry – on the contrary you are giving him something he will greatly value."

"What about the little muggleborn?"

"No aptitude at all, unfortunately. However, she is highly intelligent and ferociously disciplined so she will do well in anything she sets her mind to. I understand from the Head of Griffindor, that it is she who keeps the boys' noses to the academic grindstone. She is keeping copious notes so that she can help your son to catch up once his treatment is complete."

"And this teacher thinks Ron would be good at it?" Arthur and Molly were exchanging looks in that annoying way married couples often did. It was, Snape reflected, probably the world's most unbreakable code.

"Professor Flitwick runs the choir and says Ron has an ear for music and sings well. Madam McIlroy believes he has potential." More looks exchanged, Molly's lips pursed, Arthur cocked his head to the side, Molly nodded, Arthur raised an eyebrow and turned back to Snape.

"In which case, we accept, so long as it does not interfere with the rest of his schooling."

The following week was reasonably quiet in Hogwarts, even if the wider magical community were losing their collective heads. The Daily Prophet had decided that Black was a much maligned hero, (Snape wondered whether they had tossed a knut to decide the editorial reaction), and were reprinting stories from the first war, when Black had been in the front lines. The story of how he had rescued an entire family of muggles and muggleborns from an attack by the Lestrange brothers combined heroism, tragedy and a regrettably romantic picture of Black being tended by mediwizards at the scene, a bloody bandage about his temples. Snape overheard two sixth-formers declaring Black to be "dreamy" and was in a foul mood for most of the rest of the day.

Lupin was away for much of the week. Luckily, he had laid in a selection of book work for his classes to do, watched over by a chastened Headmaster who had become much given to staring into space and shaking his head. The sixth forms were detailed to research the casualties of the first war and, due to the size of Britain's magical population, most of them were finding family members on one or even both sides who had perished. A particularly irritating Ravenclaw decided to have a breakdown over dinner about the losses in his family – as if they were even the most affected! Snape supposed it was all grist to the mill of undermining the Dark Lord but even so….

The Griffindor v Hufflepuff Quidditch match was an embarrassing whitewash, over in minutes and likely to distract Harry from both his studies and his occlumency. It also meant that they missed their usual Saturday afternoon – a fact that both of them had forgotten until it was too late to make alternative arrangements. Which was doubly annoying when he noticed that Harry missed Sunday lunch altogether, which was odd because both Granger and the unpetrified Weasley boy were present.

For reasons he refused to examine too clearly, he refused point blank to ask where Harry was. For some reason, revealing just how invested he was in Harry's well-being seemed faintly indecent. Everyone knew he had taken Harry under his wing but he was damned if he was going to get a reputation as a worrier. It was bad enough that Poppy Pomfrey knew he had sent Harry for his check up. A check up, moreover, that resulted in Harry being provided with the anaemia potion usually supplied to girls rather older than he was. He was not fretting about the boy's absence, he was merely concerned – mildly concerned. He could wait until next week to discuss it, and it certainly wasn't making him bad tempered not knowing,

Harry arrived for their Saturday meeting, carrying his flute in its case and his planner. Snape tried to interest him in discussing his work habits but gave up in the face of the lad's obvious burning desire to play for him.

Snape sat back in his chair and braced himself for a couple of simple tunes, probably liberally interspersed with squeaks. He vividly remembered sharing a dorm with Aloysius Rosier, who claimed to play the oboe and only succeeded in annoying everyone within earshot. It was the reason Snape had learned muffliato three years earlier than its scheduled lesson. He was also expecting the boy to be more than a little self-conscious. He had quickly realised how much Harry hated being the centre of attention

To his surprise, Harry was calm and measured, assembling the flute with careful hands and making slight adjustments to the mechanism interspersed with careful trial notes. Snape could hear no difference when the boy decided he was ready.

He recognised the tune, a north country folk song, although he could not remember its name. Harry played with obvious enjoyment, producing a tone that was sweet and slightly, but pleasantly, breathy. At the end he repeated the chorus with some small differences which Snape could hear but did not remember ever hearing before, little flourishes which added a jaunty upbeat quality to the ending. He was pleased to realise he could honestly applaud and praise.

Harry shuffled his feet and looked down. "Was it all right?"

"I am truly very impressed, Harry. I am no musician myself but that was very enjoyable. Was the ending your own work?"

"Yes. Um… I thought it made it less, I dunno….ordinary."

"I think we can safely say that Madam McIlroy's praise can be believed in future." Harry blushed and busied himself putting the flute away, taking his time to clean and fit the pieces back into the case.

"I've been practising my occlumency too, want to see?"

"Very well. Look at me, Harry, and imagine I am knocking at the door of your mind room. Can you do that?" Really, it was a very creditable attempt. Although Snape got into the room with relative ease, the room itself was sharp and detailed. It even boasted a music stand in one corner with sheet music on.

"That is very good, Harry, much improved. For next week, I would like you to think of a number. Don't tell me what it is, instead try to imagine that you have written it down in one of the books in this room. Don't tell me which one, just imagine yourself, in as much detail as you can, writing it and putting the book back on the shelf. It must be a particular book on a particular shelf. Every night, write the number down and then try not to think about it during the day. We'll discuss it again next week."

Harry nodded and reached for another cream horn. "I'm sorry we missed last week, Professor. Especially since the game was so rubbish. We were only out there for 5 minutes, but everyone kept wanting to talk about it and I couldn't get away. By the time I'd got changed, it was nearly dinner time."

"That's quite all right, Harry. I forgot myself. By the way, that reminds me, where were you on Sunday?"

"Oh didn't I tell you? I went to St Mungo's to see my godfather."