A Developmental Approach

A Physical Turn

They're in the kitchen, as they always are, though each time Harry looks at the chairs around the table, he remembers Sirius straddling Severus, and he's overcome with the biting need to pull out a bottle and play truth or dare again. The boys are sleeping upstairs—Tom in a miniature bed, since he refused to stay in his cot at bedtime—so it would be a perfect time, except Severus is bent over a sheet of parchment, the same lips that kissed Harry now set in a firm, focused line.

And Harry did start this conversation. It would be more than hypocritical to disrupt it with his hormones.

"—easiest would be the locket," Sirius is saying when Harry drags his attention away from Severus's mouth. He's standing beside Severus, one hand supporting his weight against the table as he looks over his shoulder. "I'll search the house as soon as we're done here."

"That would still leave the cup, the diadem, the ring, and the diary," Severus says, his quill scribbling as he speaks. "At least there's no snake to worry about."

Harry tries not to react to that, but he must, because Sirius straightens, and they both swing their heads to him.

"What?" Sirius asks.

"Nothing."

"Out with it," Severus says with an impatient tap of his quill. "The more information we have, the better."

"Well. The snake killed you."

"Oh." Severus frowns. "That's...not what I expected."

"Hoping for a bit more glory?" Sirius asks—teases, really.

"No," Severus answers immediately. "I already know you had the glorious death."

"It didn't feel glorious." Harry still remembers the moment so vividly. Sirius's body falling back, his frozen smile. Remus's arms around his chest to hold him back, and Bellatrix—

Harry can't wait to steal the cup out from under her nose yet again.

"But he did die in battle," Harry admits.

"Who was it?" Sirius sounds less concerned than Severus, his face smooth while Severus carries a pinch between his brows.

"It was...Bellatrix."

"Bellatrix, and a snake. Sounds a bit pathetic all around. We'll have to do better for ourselves this time, right, Snape?"

"You won't be dying at all," Harry says sharply, and Severus rolls his eyes.

"Please," he says, setting down his quill to focus his full attention onto Harry. "We don't need this blind optimism. We could die. Just because you survived before—or, later, is it?—it's still foolish and dangerous to break into Gringotts. And we haven't even begun to figure out accessing Malfoy Manor for the diary."

"Before, I was racing against time," Harry says. "Now, we have Voldemort. As long as we do, there's no rush."

"I can't believe he remembered boats," Sirius says, in a proud, fatherly sort of way. "I read him that book weeks ago. He's so smart."

"Of course he is," Severus says. His voice is also heavy—not with pride, but with disdain. "He's Voldemort."

"So do we have a plan?" Harry asks, cutting off their squabbling before it can fully begin. It's a well-practised skill, considering all the years he refined it with Ron and Hermione. "Sirius, you'll search Grimmauld Place for the locket, and Severus, you'll find the Gaunt house outside...Little Hangleton, it was called. Just remember, don't touch the ring. Burn it, and the house down, with Fiendfyre."

"My pleasure," Severus says, and Harry knows that it is. His face glows with a sort of eagerness Harry never saw from Professor Snape, and it emphasises his youth further. It's not the soft happiness he displays for James, either, or the hard, yearning way he looked at Harry before kissing him. It's a wild sort of look, a face of a boy that willingly joined the Death Eaters.