Bonds of Affection

Harry spent a few hours tossing and turning in his bed. His dreams were just fragmented memories and images. He saw Sirius being hit with the Killing Curse. He saw Cedric, falling on the ground at his feet. He saw Dumbledore, speaking of his upcoming death, with a serene smile, and a friendly twinkle in his eye. He saw Fred and George, waving the Marauder's map, completing each other's sentences, laughing and teasing him light-heartedly. He saw the faces of his parents, through the Mirror of Erised. He saw Ginny, sprawled on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, her life draining from her. He saw Remus Lupin, telling Harry how much he resembled his father.

Harry woke up with a muted shout, and kicked off his blanket. His body was shaking slightly, and he felt disoriented – for a few minutes, he could not remember where he was, or why. Then he remembered. He got off his bed, threw on a shirt, and walked through the dark hallway, to Severus.

He entered his bedroom with a gentle knock.

Severus was sitting up in the bed, clad in a long, grey nightshirt, appearing to be deep in thought.

“You okay?” Harry asked, forgetting his own odd dreams.

“Yes. Just a nightmare, that's all.”

“What about?” Harry insisted, climbing into bed with him. Severus looked at him cautiously.

“Perhaps it's best...”

“Just tell me, dammit!” Harry almost shouted. “Why does everyone always think it's best not to tell me anything!” He covered his mouth with his hand immediately, ashamed of his outburst. But Severus just placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and spoke apologetically:

“In the dream, I saw myself over an open grave. A coffin was being lowered into it. Then... I started throwing the dirt in, to cover it up. And at some point, in my dream, I realized that it was you that I was burying... and I woke up.”

Harry sprawled on the bed next to Severus, and placed his head against his thigh. Hand ran through his hair with usual tenderness.

“I think it's just your own mind playing tricks on you,” Harry said light-heartedly. “You heard Trelawney's drunken prophecy, and now you are picturing me being buried, and stuff.”

“Perhaps that is all,” all-too-easily Severus agreed. “Well then, now that the mystery of my premonition is resolved to our satisfaction, shall we get some sleep?”

Harry glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Can I stay with you?”

“Anytime you want,” Severus told him gently. “You never need to ask.”

Harry crawled under the blanket and stretched himself out next to Severus. Strong arms took him into a deep embrace and cradled him, and Harry drifted off to sleep almost instantly, his cheek pressing against Severus' chest.

Morning greeted them with a knocking on the doors of the Manor. They scrambled to get dressed, and walked to open the door. Hermione and Ron stood at the doorstep, smiling uncertainly. They held travel bags in their hands, and the Weasley flying car was parked carelessly a few dozen yards away from the Manor. For a few moments, Severus and Harry both stared at the two friends blankly, until finally, Severus moved aside, and allowed them to enter.

“Sir,” Hermione started saying, and then paused indecisively. Harry and Severus waited for her to continue. Ron gave her a little shove, and she took a deep breath, and finished her sentence: “Can we please stay here?”

Harry opened his mouth to ask them if they both had gone completely insane, but a response from Severus cut him off:

“Mr. Weasley, have you discussed this with your parents?”

“Yeah. They said it was fine,” Ron answered quietly.

“Miss Granger?” Severus turned to Hermione.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “My parents said as long as I come back home in mid-august for a couple of weeks, it's alright.”

Harry was staring at them with his eyes wide open. When he finally found his voice again, he asked, “Why?”

Hermione gave him a small smile. “We just want to be with you. You know. Until we win the war ...”

“And find a way to reverse the effects of the potion you drank,” Ron completed her sentence with confidence.

“Oh,” Harry said absently. “Look, I don't think it's such a great idea. I don't really want you here. I think we should just visit each other...”

“Why?” Ron demanded.

Harry realized that three pairs of eyes were drilling into him, demanding a convincing answer. “It's just... not a good time for a long visit,” he muttered. “I want to be left alone.”

“Nonetheless, it appears that you have been outvoted three to one,” Severus said dryly. “Help your friends settle in. I will be in my study.”

Harry sighed in resignation and led the way to a spare bedroom, adjacent to his own. Hermione and Ron placed their travel bags by the bed and sat on the bed together, their backs to the headboard. Harry sat across from them and gave them both a glare that was far from amicable.

“What's gotten into you?” he asked.

“It's just that... we are meant to be with you. That's all,” Hermione said softly. “It's supposed to be the three of us. Always.”

Harry almost laughed at that, and made fun of her sentimentality, but something in her voice and words resonated with him. He thought back to all their adventures and misadventures... and realized that, whenever something significant was achieved, all three of them were involved.

She saw the thoughtful expression on his face and nodded slightly.

“It's not just a feeling, Harry,” she said gently. “It's Arithmancy. The magic properties of numbers, you know? Remember we talked about the Horcruxes.. how Seven is the number of completeness? Three is a number of power. It's... where unity and diversity combine, and ... great things can be achieved.”

“I always knew I hated Arithmancy for a reason,” Harry smirked. “Sounds like just a bunch of superstition, nothing more.”

Hermione pursed her lips into a mildly contemptuous grimace and gave Harry a pitying glance. But when she spoke, she still appeared to have some patience left:

“Think about it, Harry,” Hermione urged. “Some groups of three are just meant to be. Anyone at Hogwarts, who'd ever done anything that had any permanent impact ... always acted in packs of three. You, Ron and me. Luna, Neville, Ginny. Malfoy has Crabbe and Goyle...”

Harry laughed out loud. Undeterred, Hermione continued: “Then, McGonagall, Dumbledore and Snape are their own trio...”

“They are nothing of the sort,” Harry said dismissively.

“Yes, they are,” Hermione insisted with a serious face. “They just don't know it.”

“What about the Marauders?” Ron asked. “There were four of them.”

Hermione stopped, slightly taken aback.

“Well,” Harry said tiredly. “Maybe one of them wasn't really a part of the group. Maybe they were more like Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson.” With Remus Lupin playing the part of Parkison, he thought privately.

Ron stared at him incredulously. “What the hell are you talking about, Harry? Are you comparing your father to Malfoy?”

Harry did not meet his eyes. It's been several months since he'd seen the Pensieve, and he never told them. He didn't want to go into details, but neither did he want his friends to go on thinking his dad was the epitome of nobility and justice he'd always painted him to them.

“Let's just say... not all of Marauders' adventures were benign,” Harry said reluctantly.

Ron glared at him with intensity that surprised Harry. “Look, mate... I don't know what's gotten into you, but Malfoy is a git, a coward, and a bully. Not to mention, he's a Death Eater-in-training. My parents knew your father, and he was nothing – nothing like any of the Malfoys.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbled. “Fine. Whatever. But all your stupid rambling about trios and magic numbers is no reason for you to hang here for the entire month. Just stay for a day or two and then go, okay?”

“Why?” Ron demanded

“I like my privacy is all,” Harry said stubbornly.

Ron snorted derisively. Hermione shook her head sadly. “You'll have to do better than that, Harry,” she said softly. “Look... with so many people around us dying...”

Harry stood up abruptly and headed for the door without saying another word, but Ron and Hermione both jumped up and grabbed his hands, holding him back. He shook his hands furiously, throwing them off, but they only latched onto his sleeves instead. He spun around and glared at them.

“You want to know the real reason I don't want you here?” he hissed furiously. “Fine. People are not dying around us. Death ... sort of... stalks whoever is around me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And he's telling us we are superstitious,” she said under her breath.

“Cedric. Sirius. Lupin,” Harry spoke quickly and pointedly. “Dumbledore is dying. Your own family, Ron – Fred is now dead.... I am not even talking about Ginny's little encounter with Tom Riddle's diary. You and Hermione had more near-death encounters during your friendship with me than all other Hogwarts students put together...”

“Harry, stop right now,” Hermione demanded. “You are making it sound like you are cursed or something.”

“I am,” Harry said unapologetically. “Horcruxes are cursed objects, Hermione. Nobody can hold on to one for long, and hope to stay alive.”

He slammed the door hard when he left.