Snape leaned against the wall outside the hospital wing, a cold feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

He'd known, of course, ever since the Dark Mark had started to become clearer, what Dumbledore would be asking him to do. That still didn't made it any easier. Nor did the fact that Potter, his two Gryffindor partners-in-crime, and his insufferable godfather had all witnessed him showing Fudge the Dark Mark.

Voldemort returned - it was the nightmare of the entire European wizarding world. He'd known that it was happening, of course - the Dark Mark had been growing clearer for the past year. Now he was just going to have to figure out how to convince Voldemort that he hadn't betrayed him. Thanks to his confrontations three years ago with Quirrell - at the time, he hadn't known that Voldemort was 'possessing' the man - that wasn't going to be easy; and it wouldn't help that he'd saved Potter on more than one occasion.

As for Potter himself... the boy was going to be a problem, Snape thought, as he pushed himself away from the wall and started down toward the dungeons. Brat that he was, Potter had a natural talent even greater than his father's for attracting trouble and getting out of it smelling like the proverbial rose; but between Rita Skeeter's latest article about him, and the combined issues of Diggory's death and Voldemort's return, Potter was going to be having problems.

It was most likely a good thing that he'd be living with his Muggle relatives again this summer; they wouldn't be getting news of the wizarding world, and so wouldn't be treating him as though he were a bomb about to go off. Certainly not the way he would be likely to be treated if he were to stay with a wizarding family - other than the Weasleys, who would be having their own problems to deal with, Snape suspected.

Not that he cared for, or even particularly liked, Potter; but much as he hated to admit it, the boy was their best weapon against Voldemort, even now - if only because they had faced each other four times, and Potter had managed to make it back, alive, from each confrontation. That made him an invaluable symbol of hope - as long as that bloody Skeeter woman didn't keep trying to dig up dirt on him. And whether that idiot Fudge believed it yet or not, the wizarding world would need that hope.

Snape sighed as he reached his quarters. It was going to be a long summer.

---

The screams echoed in Harry's mind as he jerked awake, aggravated by the pain from his scar.

Tensing, feeling phantom pains from the Cruciatus curses Voldemort had thrown, Harry waited.

After a few minutes had passed he came to the relieved conclusion that - for once - he hadn't screamed in response to either the vision or the pain. That was good - the last thing he wanted to do was wake up the Dursleys. Over the past week and a half, ever since he'd left Hogwarts for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had made it very clear that they didn't want his nightmares disturbing their sleep.

Sitting up, Harry wrapped his arms around his knees, stared out the locked and barred window up at the night sky, and tried to work out just what had disturbed him so much about this latest vision. Of course, all his visions of Voldemort were disturbing, but this had been more so than most - which was a bit strange, because it had just been a Death Eater meeting, not what they called 'fun'.

For that matter, Harry realized suddenly, as he shifted position slightly on the bed and felt the phantom pain again, this was the first time he'd actually felt any pain during or after a vision, except for the burning from his scar. So why was he suddenly feeling twinges from the Cruciatus? And were the two things - his disturbance and the phantom pain - connected?

He supposed it was possible; after all, nothing else had been different for him. Now he simply had to figure out what that connection was, if it existed.

Standing up - a bit stiffly, due to the pain - he pulled up the loose floorboard and took out the notebook he'd been sent by Sirius just before the end of school. The note accompanying it had said to use it to record the visions he had of Voldemort, so that he'd be able to send Dumbledore descriptions of what he saw before the memory blurred. Harry had also found that if he wrote them down, they didn't tend to haunt him as badly - and considering the torturing and murders Voldemort had committed just over the past week or so, the less they haunted him, the better.

It was while he was writing the description of the room and the Death Eaters who had attended the meeting that Harry abruptly realized what it was that had disturbed him so much.

There had been one Death Eater there who hadn't spoken at all; and who, for most of the meeting, had remained as far from Voldemort and the Death Eater Harry thought was Lucius Malfoy as he could get without appearing suspicious. His name had never been mentioned, not even when Voldemort had beckoned him forward to punish him for not knowing Harry's current location; but Harry had recognized that particular Death Eater's silent stalk. How could he not?

Snape had been at the meeting - and had apparently claimed he didn't know where Harry was for the summer.

Obviously, Snape had returned to spying - because Harry had no doubt whatsoever that the Potions master did know where he was; and even if he hadn't known, Dumbledore trusted him and probably wouldn't have hesitated to tell him.

Harry continued to write down the details of the vision, and when he had finished, sat back and re-read it.

He'd been right; the only difference from the other Death Eater meetings he'd witnessed over the past two weeks had been Snape's presence.

So why had that disturbed him? He'd already known that Snape had been a Death Eater, known that he'd become a spy for Dumbledore, and guessed that Dumbledore had asked him to reprise his role as a spy. All of that meant that he should have expected to see Snape among the Death Eaters at some point. And he should have been relieved - well, kind of, at least - to see that Snape was still alive; and that his visions were no longer Dumbledore's only source of information about Voldemort's plans, since it took some of the pressure off him.

So why was he still disturbed?

Harry felt frustration start to rise as Uncle Vernon scowled darkly at him. "Now, you know what to do, boy," his uncle said curtly.

"Yes, sir," came Harry's reply, his tone flat. Much as he wanted to, he didn't dare be rude to Uncle Vernon - not if he wanted to be allowed out of his room for the rest of the summer. And considering how much pain he'd been in after they'd locked him up for two days as punishment for screaming last week - being able to move around freely seemed to help the pain from the visions - he didn't want to give them any excuses to repeat the punishment. "As soon as Mr. Lockley arrives, I'm to go up to my room and not make any noise."

Uncle Vernon nodded. "We'll have no repeat of that... event three years ago, or you will find yourself back in the cupboard."

Harry simply nodded, not daring to say anything. It hadn't been his fault that Dobby had wanted to save him and decided the best way to do that was to prevent him from going to Hogwarts, but that was hardly something he could explain to the Dursleys.

"Now, here's the list of chores that are to be completed by the time eight o'clock arrives." Uncle Vernon thrust a piece of paper at Harry. "Get to work!"

With a silent sigh, Harry took the paper, squinted down at it, and then headed for the lounge to start dusting.

---

"It's almost eight o'clock, Vernon," came Aunt Petunia's voice from the lounge.

"Right then, move, boy, now!" Uncle Vernon ordered, gesturing toward the stairs. "And remember, there will be no... funny stuff!"

Harry sighed, but didn't bother to argue that Mr. Lockley hadn't even arrived yet. It wouldn't do him any good; besides, it gave him a chance to work on his homework. The events of the Triwizard Tournament hadn't stopped the professors from providing them with essays to do over the summer, and so far the only one Harry had been able to complete was his Transfiguration essay.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he muttered obediently, and headed up the stairs.

He'd just reached the landing when there was a loud knock at the door. Feeling curious, Harry decided to wait and see what Mr. Lockley was like - all Uncle Vernon had said was that they'd met at the country club last week; a business associate of Uncle Vernon's had introduced them. He crouched down and peered through the railings as Dudley hurried out of the lounge to answer the door.

Harry sneered at the sight of his cousin. Dudley's diet seemed to be working - a bit, at least - because he hadn't actually gotten any fatter over the past year; but he hadn't gotten any slimmer, either. He still looked like a pig in a wig, and looked even pinker than usual because of the suit he was wearing.

Harry watched as his cousin smiled, opened the door, and gestured for their visitor to enter. "Please come in, Mr. Lockley," he said. "May I take your coat?"

Through the railings, Harry caught a glimpse of black hair and a dark raincoat as Mr. Lockley walked in. Then Uncle Vernon stepped out of the lounge and came forward to greet him. "Ah, Charles! Welcome! I'd like you to meet my charming son, Dudley. My wife, Petunia, is waiting for us in the lounge; if you would just give Dudley your coat..."

"Thank you," Mr. Charles Lockley said, his voice silky smooth, and Harry literally froze in shock, staring into the downstairs hall as the man removed his raincoat to reveal a black suit.

It can't be, Harry thought, still staring blankly at Mr. Lockley. It just can't be! Why on earth would he be here?!

He must have made some slight noise, because Mr. Lockley looked up, and bright green eyes met glittering black for just a moment before the man's attention returned to Uncle Vernon. It was enough to confirm his identity to Harry, however.

What the hell was Snape doing at the Dursleys'? And posing as a Muggle, no less?

Harry watched as Snape followed his uncle and cousin into the lounge, and then headed reluctantly into his bedroom, puzzling over the question of his Potions master's presence as he did so. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned anything about this in the letter he'd sent last week, and his Hogwarts letter hadn't arrived yet - it generally came on his birthday, which was still three days away...

So why was Snape here?

Snape gritted his teeth as he listened to Vernon Dursley talk on and on about something the Muggle apparently thought was both interesting and amusing. Snape, however, found it to be neither. All he wanted to do was check on the Potter brat, as Dumbledore had 'requested', and get back to Hogwarts and his dungeons.

He'd caught a glimpse of Potter on the stairs just before Mr. Dursley had ushered him into this room - those eyes were unmistakable - but he'd seen neither hide nor hair of the boy since; and Albus would, unfortunately, never settle for such an incomplete report.

He had noticed that there weren't any pictures of Potter on the walls - only of the fat oaf of a boy who'd answered the door - which was something of a surprise. Potter's fame was obviously not given any attention by his Muggle family.

Just then, Petunia Dursley - who, Snape thought, couldn't possibly have looked any less like Lily had she tried - announced that dinner was ready to be served. Snape felt a flare of relief - finally, he'd be able to check on the boy and get out of here - only to feel it disappear when he saw that there were only four places set at the table.

What about Potter? And how do I ask without revealing myself? Dumbledore had made it very clear that although the Dursleys knew about the magical world, Snape was not, under any circumstances, to reveal himself as a wizard. Not that he would have, anyway, considering the search that Voldemort had going for the Potter boy. Drawing the Dark Lord's attention to Privet Drive could potentially prove to be fatal for everyone.

Throughout the meal - which was quite good, admittedly, although it didn't compare to the ones made by the house-elves at Hogwarts - conversation focused on Vernon Dursley's company, Grunnings. Snape put up with it - reluctantly - because he was, after all, posing as a client; however, he found it even more stultifying than Trelawney's mealtime conversation, which was saying quite a bit.

The only way he managed to keep from hexing the Dursleys was by working out what Neville Longbottom's first detention of the year would be; and once he'd done that, by imagining the reactions of both Peeves and the Dursleys if he were to banish the infuriating poltergeist here. That, at least, was amusing.

Finally, almost an hour after it had started, the meal finished, and Snape escaped to the lounge while Potter's cousin vanished upstairs and his aunt and uncle cleaned up.

Once again, the Potions master couldn't help but notice the distinct lack of any pictures of Potter - or even of Lily - and he was debating the wisdom of simply going upstairs and finding the boy when the sound of a floorboard creaking brought him around.

Potter was standing in the doorway, staring at him with an expression of pure confusion on his face.

"Professor?" he said, so quietly that Snape almost had to strain to hear him. "Why are you here?"

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the boy. Bad enough he'd had to act like a Muggle, but to have to deal with Potter's relatives for over an hour, only to have the boy show up after that miserable dinner... "Believe me, Potter, it wasn't my first choice. The headmaster, however, appears to believe that you require someone to check up on you," he said curtly. "Due to the fact that Mrs. Figg is currently unavailable, I was requested to do so."

Potter stared at him, the confusion on his face giving way to surprise. "Mrs. Figg is a witch?"

Snape sneered. "Honestly, Potter, it's a wonder you've managed to pass each year! Obviously she is. You don't think the headmaster insists you stay here each summer for your amusement, do you?"

Potter winced slightly, shook his head, and then - after a quick glance out into the hall - walked into the room...

And Snape instantly went on the alert.

It wasn't something most people would have noticed, or thought much of if they had; but Severus Snape was not most people. The moment Potter moved, he saw the tremors in the boy's hands, the slight unsteadiness of his legs...

Striding forward, he grabbed Potter's chin before the boy could move away, and tilted his head up - and frowned, as he found what he'd been looking for. Potter's eyes were dilated more than they should be in this level of light.

"P-Professor?" Potter stuttered nervously.

Letting go of the boy's chin, Snape raised one eyebrow and continued to stare at him, taking in the pallor of his skin - which could have been accounted for by the fact that he probably hadn't been outside much, had Snape not known better - and the fact that the slight tremors weren't confined to his hands.

"I-is something wrong, Professor?" the boy continued, still looking nervous.

"How many times have you had the Cruciatus curse cast on you, Potter?" Snape demanded.

Potter's eyes widened in shock. "The Cruciatus, sir?" he repeated. "Umm... twice... both in..." He hesitated, then looked down at the floor. "Both in the graveyard," he whispered. "At the Riddle House... at the end of the Third Task."

After Wormtail had killed Cedric Diggory and revived Voldemort, Snape knew - Dumbledore had told him what had happened. This wasn't the time for sympathy, however - even if he'd really been inclined to offer any. That couldn't have been the only time, not with the symptoms Potter was displaying...

"When else, Potter?" Had Death Eaters gotten access to the boy in some way? But if they had, why hadn't Voldemort mentioned it?

The boy looked confused again. "That... that was the only time, sir..."

Could the symptoms be because of something else?

Unfortunately, there was only one way to answer that question without taking the boy back to Hogwarts - which Dumbledore would not appreciate, if it proved to be unnecessary. Not after what he'd had to go through with the Ministry to get the wards on this house reinforced after the Tournament.

"Stand still, Potter," he ordered sharply, and then placed his hand on the boy's head, and concentrated.

It wasn't easy; it had been too long since he had last performed a scan, and there was something about Potter that seemed to resist it - perhaps Dumbledore was right, and the boy was another Sensitive? - but in the end, Snape managed to confirm his original diagnosis.

"It hasn't been only twice, Potter," he said curtly, removing his hand and taking a step away from the boy. It wouldn't do to seem too intimidating right now; not when he needed to get at the truth. "When else has it happened?"

Potter blinked at him, and then frowned. "I... When... My visions, the ones of Voldemort..." he began hesitantly, giving Snape an uncertain look.

"Dumbledore has mentioned these visions of yours. Go on."

"When he... uses the Cruciatus... I... I feel... some of the pain. It... hurts, when I wake up..."

Before the boy could continue, his uncle suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"Boy! What are you doing?!" Vernon Dursley yelled.

Snape blinked in surprise as Dursley grabbed Potter by one ear and started pulling him out of the room. Before he could say anything, however, a searing, familiar pain went through his left forearm.

At the same time, Potter collapsed to his knees, pressing one hand against his forehead, right at his scar.

Dursley scowled. "Get to your room this instant!" he ordered, pulling Potter back to his feet before releasing him. Then he turned to Snape. "I must apologize for my wife's nephew," he said, as Potter staggered and nearly fell against the doorframe. "We've had to raise him since he was a child, but I'm afraid that we were... not terribly successful with him. Criminal tendencies, you know." The Muggle turned back to Potter, and repeated, "Get to your room, boy!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Potter said, in a rather subdued voice. As Dursley turned back to Snape, the boy met his eyes, and whispered - quietly enough that Snape doubted the boy's uncle had heard him - "Hurry, Professor. He's angry - very angry," before slipping out of the room, his hand still pressed to his scar.

"Once again, I apologize," Dursley said.

"That's quite all right," Snape replied, calling on long experience to keep his distaste for the man out of his voice. He might be cruel to the students - partly to support his cover as a loyal Death Eater, partly to try to prepare them for a world that was more dangerous than it seemed while they were still in the relative safety of Hogwarts - but he never ignored it when they were in pain. He couldn't do anything for Potter just at the moment - not when his presence was undoubtedly exacerbating the problem - but...

"I'm afraid I've received a rather urgent... call," he continued, knowing the Muggle would most likely believe he had one of those... 'noble phones', or whatever it was they were called. "I must leave immediately."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's nothing too serious," Dursley said.

"As do I."

"Shall I see you at the club next week?" the Muggle continued, fetching his coat and handing it to him.

"Perhaps," Snape replied coolly. No need to let the Muggle know that the club had only been a way to gain access in order to check on Potter. "Now, if you will excuse me..."

He stalked out of the house, headed down the street past Arabella Figg's house and the wards set up around the Dursleys', and then Apparated away.

Harry curled up on his bed, his hand pressed futilely to his scar as the searing pain continued to rip through him. At least it wasn't as bad as when he was facing Voldemort in person...

Abruptly, the pain eased, going down to the level he'd become accustomed to over the past month. Considering the timing, and when it had started burning, Harry figured that it meant Snape had Apparated away.

As he started to relax, he found himself puzzling over Snape's behaviour in the lounge. Why had the Potions master been so convinced that he'd had the Cruciatus curse cast on him more than twice? And what had happened after Snape had told him to stay still and put a hand on his head? It had felt... strange, almost as though something was probing around under his skin.

Not to mention the fact that Snape hadn't been nearly as venomous as Harry had expected. In fact, if he hadn't known better, he would have thought that the professor was actually concerned about him.

Shaking his head, Harry returned his attention to his History of Magic essay, which he'd dropped on the floor when he'd gone down to talk to Snape. Picking it up, he started to re-read it, only to feel himself beginning to get drowsy.

No! he thought desperately. If he fell asleep now, when he knew that Voldemort had called a meeting of the Death Eaters... The last thing he wanted to do right now was have a vision of what Voldemort was doing. Snape was going to be there - he could provide Dumbledore with the information about whatever happened...

He couldn't seem to keep his eyes open, however. They slowly slid closed, and Harry felt himself collapse on his bed just before the darkness began swirling and pulling at him, and his scar started to burn again...

---

Snape scowled as he Apparated back to Privet Drive. Potter's... guess? knowledge?... of Voldemort's mood had proven to be entirely too accurate. Even the potion to help counteract the effects of the Cruciatus curse hadn't managed to get rid of all the pain he was in as a result, and he hadn't been one of the ones who had received the worst of it. No, he hadn't been to blame for the Ministry raids - at least, not as far as Voldemort knew. That had been reserved for Avery, Malfoy, and - just on general principle, Snape suspected - Wormtail.

His scowl deepened at the thought of the traitorous Gryffindor. He'd never really thought much about Pettigrew in school - aside from his belief, obviously proven false, that the Sorting Hat should have put him in Hufflepuff. Where the Marauders were concerned, he had generally concerned himself more with James Potter and Black. And knowing what he had of each of them, it hadn't really been that hard to believe that Black had been the traitor; not when he'd nearly gotten Snape killed and Lupin sent to Azkaban for a schoolboy prank.

Wormtail and that mutt are not my concern at the moment, Snape thought then, shaking his head as he reached Number 4 Privet Drive. The boy is.

"Alohomora," he whispered, and the door opened noiselessly. Careful not to make any noise himself, Snape slipped in, letting the door close behind him. Looking around the darkened hallway, he added, "Lumos," and raised his wand to let the light illuminate the area better.

Absently wondering why the Dursleys had a padlock on the cupboard under the stairs, Snape started upstairs, only to have well-honed reflexes freeze him in place as the first step creaked loudly. After a minute or so, when no reaction came, he proceeded - a bit more carefully.

The first room he came to was Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's. Next to it was a lavatory, and then what looked to be a spare bedroom. Checking the room across from the adults', he found it belonged to that obscenely obese son of theirs - Dudley, that was the brat's name.

The last room was next to Dudley's - presumably Potter's room. Opening the door, Snape stepped in - and stopped.

Potter's owl was in a travelling cage on a desk that looked as though it had been broken and badly mended several years ago. Scattered over one half of the room were a bunch of Muggle toys and electronics, all in various states of disrepair. And lying on the floor next to the bed - a small one, with sheets tossed every which way - was a roll of parchment and a broken quill. Potter's room, definitely. The only problem was that there was no sign of Potter himself.

If he's wandering around in the middle of the night in his current state, he's going to consider Longbottom lucky when I get through with him...

Going back downstairs - avoiding the first step, this time - Snape checked the lounge, the kitchen, the back garden, and the cellar. There was still no sign of the boy.

Finally, the only place left to check before he sent an alert to Albus was the padlocked cupboard. Snape got it open with a quiet, "Alohomora," peered in... and swore under his breath.

Lying - either asleep or unconscious, Snape couldn't tell which - on a small cot inside the cupboard was a very pale Harry Potter.

Leaning over, he lifted the boy and carried him out into the hall, laying him down on the floor. Once again he placed his hand on the top of the boy's head and scanned him, and felt his mouth tighten as he contemplated the results.

The damage wasn't irreversible as of yet, but it was extremely close to being so. Forget about Dumbledore's preferences and the Ministry's attitude; there was no way he could treat the boy here, as he'd originally intended - not with the additional damage he'd apparently taken tonight. He was going to have to take Potter back to Hogwarts. And it would probably be better not to leave anything of his here; not with what I've seen of the Dursleys...

Potter's trunk was also in the cupboard; Snape brought both it and the threadbare blanket that was the only thing on the cot out, covered the boy with the blanket, and then headed upstairs. Opening the door to Potter's bedroom again, he picked up the parchment and quill, followed by the cage containing the owl - something told him the broken toys didn't belong to Potter - and started to head back out.

The owl voiced an immediate protest.

Snape stopped and glared at her. "What is it?" he demanded in a hissed whisper.

Spreading her wings - as much as she could within the confines of the cage - the owl turned around and hooted quietly as she pointed her beak toward the bed.

With a quiet sigh, Snape went back to stand by the bed. "Well?" he asked, letting impatience flavour his voice.

The owl bobbed her head toward the floor, and hooted twice.

Frowning, Snape knelt down and felt carefully around the base of the bed. He was somewhat surprised when he found a loose floorboard - surprised, and not a little pleased. It seems Potter does have some common sense after all, he reflected, as he removed the contents: Potter's wand; two textbooks - History of Magic and Charms; several pieces of parchment; what looked like a Muggle journal or workbook; a bottle of ink; two more quills; several letters - including at least one from Dumbledore, based on the handwriting; and Potter's Invisibility Cloak.

Wrapping everything in the cloak - reversed, so that he could see what he was carrying - Snape picked the cage back up and returned downstairs. Potter hadn't stirred at all; he was still lying in the exact position Snape had left him.

Even if he were to shrink the trunk and the cloak, there was no way he would be able to carry both of them, the owl cage, and Potter the entire distance from the Apparition Wards at the border of Hogwarts to the hospital wing; which meant that he was going to have to wake Potter up. The boy would be weak, but at least he'd be able to walk.

Pointing his wand at Potter, he whispered, "Enervate!"

It took a moment before the boy reacted - he really was in bad shape. As Snape waited, a bit anxiously, Potter slowly stirred and opened his eyes. "Mmm...?"

"Get up, Potter," Snape said, keeping his voice as quiet as possible while still managing to speak sharply.

"Pr'fess'r?" Potter slurred, blinking in obvious confusion. "Wha'...?"

"Get up, Potter," Snape repeated. Then he sighed, placed the cloak and its contents on top of the trunk, gripped the boy's arm, and literally pulled him to his feet. "Can you stay on your feet?"

Potter blinked again, the confusion beginning to fade from his expression. "Professor Snape?"

"Well, I'm hardly Binns, am I, Potter?" Snape snapped. "Can you stay on your feet?"

"Umm... I think so," Potter said carefully. He leaned against the wall as Snape released him, but didn't fall. "Professor... why are you here? I mean... you saw I was fine..."

Snape snorted. "You're anything but 'fine', Potter," he said curtly. "Now, I've got your trunk, your owl, and the things from under the floorboard in your room. Is there anything else you need?"

"Need for what?"

Snape gritted his teeth. There were times when he really did wonder about Potter's intelligence, and this was definitely one of them. "I'm taking you back to Hogwarts," he said, enunciating each word carefully - a very effective way of conveying contempt, he'd found. "To the hospital wing. You're going to be there for a while. Is there anything else you are likely to need?"

"Err... only my glasses, Professor," Potter said quietly.

"They are sitting on your trunk," Snape replied curtly. Picking them up - was Potter really that blind? - he thrust them into the boy's hands. "Shall we go?"

Potter put the glasses on, looked around the hall, and then nodded. "Yes, sir." He started to move away from the wall as Snape cast the Shrinking Charm on both cloak and trunk, and stumbled.

Sighing again, and reminding himself that as a Head of House, it did not behoove him to let a student see his impatience, Snape picked up the trunk and cloak and slipped them into his pocket. He then took the owl cage in one hand, and gripped Potter's arm forcefully with the other before starting out of the house.

Once they were outside, he let Potter go for a moment - the boy leaned against the car parked in the driveway - and opened the door to the cage. "We're going to Hogwarts," he informed the owl, closing the door to the house with a casual wave of his wand as he did so.

Hooting softly, she stepped out of the cage and took off. Snape immediately shrank the cage as well, slipped it into the same pocket as the trunk and cloak, and grabbed the boy's arm again. "Come on," he snapped.

Harry staggered slightly as Snape pulled him forward, but managed to regain his footing before the professor said anything.

He felt really, really confused.

The last thing he remembered at all clearly was waking up screaming from the vision of the meeting Voldemort had called Snape to - it had been a very unpleasant one, and Voldemort had been indulging his love of the Cruciatus curse rather freely - and Uncle Vernon shoving him into the cupboard, snarling something about not having his sleep disturbed any further. Then, the next thing he knew, Snape was hovering over him, ordering him to get up, and they were in the hallway. Now they were heading for Hogwarts - though he wasn't sure he understood how they were going to get there... What had happened?

His legs felt shakier than normal, and he couldn't help but feel relieved that Snape was - essentially - holding him up, because the phantom pain from the vision was still very bad. Maybe it was partially because he'd been in the cupboard? The cot in there was rather cramped, especially with his trunk taking up space as well...

"Potter!" Snape said sharply, and Harry blinked, realizing that they had stopped walking.

"Sir?"

"We're going to Apparate to just outside the Hogwarts wards," the professor said, still speaking in that slow, slightly contemptuous tone of voice. Any other time, Harry might have been insulted, but right now he appreciated the slower than normal speech. It gave him a chance to figure out exactly what was being said; his head was so fogged that he couldn't concentrate properly. "It will feel rather strange, but I assure you that I am perfectly capable of Apparating the both of us. Once we arrive, we will proceed as quickly as possible to the hospital wing."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled.

He saw a look of what appeared to be exasperation flicker across his professor's face for a moment, but couldn't focus enough to figure out what it meant.

A minute later, everything in front of his eyes blurred, and he felt cold, as though a freezing wind was biting through his clothes. It lasted only a moment or two, but it felt longer... And then, suddenly, they were standing at the edge of what Harry recognized distantly as the Forbidden Forest.

"Come along, Potter," Snape ordered, and Harry stumbled along beside him, even more grateful for the professor's grip on his arm. Why was he suddenly so weak?

He was concentrating so firmly on putting one foot in front of the other that he didn't realize they'd actually reached the school until he heard the Bloody Baron greet Snape.

"Tell Dumbledore to come to the hospital wing at once," Snape ordered, and then they were walking again...

"Here, sit down, Potter," Snape said suddenly, and Harry obediently sat, only to find that he was on a bed. Blinking, he looked around, and discovered that they'd reached the hospital wing. "Don't fall asleep just yet," the Potions master added, letting go of his arm, and walked off toward Madam Pomfrey's storeroom.

Despite the fact that he was still wearing his glasses, everything seemed to be slightly blurry. He'd thought that when they finally stopped walking, he'd be able to concentrate a bit better on other things; but he'd obviously been mistaken, because he still felt like his head was encased in fog.

He heard a door open, and looked in that direction, squinting in an effort to see without the blurring, and managed to make out the form of Professor Dumbledore approaching.

"Harry?" Dumbledore said, his tone one of complete surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Don' know," Harry mumbled. "Pr'fess'r Snape said... had t' come t' the hosp'tal wing..."

He could just make out a frown on Dumbledore's face, and wondered about it. Hadn't Snape said that it was Dumbledore who'd sent him to check on Harry?

Then Dumbledore looked past his shoulder, in the direction Snape had gone. "Ah, Severus. An explanation, if you please?"

"It will have to wait for a moment, Albus," Snape said, his tone surprisingly curt. Harry had got the impression that Snape respected Dumbledore enough to not be so sharp with him... "Potter!"

"Mmm...?" Harry managed, blinking at the black blur that he guessed was Snape. He was having more and more trouble concentrating...

A cup was thrust at him. He could tell that the liquid inside was a blue colour, but...

"Drink this, Potter," Snape's voice ordered. When Harry just blinked at him again, he snapped, "Now!"

Snape wouldn't try to poison him, would he? No, of course not - especially not with Dumbledore looking on. And Snape was on their side, anyway...

Harry was aware that his thoughts were getting more and more incoherent, and also that Snape was waiting very impatiently for him to take the potion - it had to be a potion, it was blue, after all... He couldn't seem to make his hand move...

"Oh, for the love of Merlin..." The cup was suddenly at his lips, and a firm hand gripped the back of his neck; to keep him still? "Open your mouth, Potter!"

That he could do.

The potion tasted strange, like mint and cream and fire, and Harry felt a soothing warmth start to spread through his body - a warmth that chased away a chill he hadn't even been aware of until it was gone.

The blurriness in his vision had gone - mostly, at least - and he could see Snape and Dumbledore clearly now. Dumbledore looked puzzled, and a bit concerned, and Snape...

Snape looked...

...Worried.

That was strange.

Harry didn't have much of a chance to contemplate it, however, as Snape thrust another cup at him. "Now this," the Potions master ordered.

This potion was familiar - one of Madam Pomfrey's generic Healing Draughts. Reaching up - he could move his hands again - he took the cup from Snape and drank it as well.

"You can go to sleep now, Mr. Potter," Snape said then, and gestured for Dumbledore to move away from the bed. A moment later, he had pulled the curtains closed, leaving Harry alone.

He was still feeling tired, so he lay down and closed his eyes. Dumbledore and Snape were standing just beyond the curtains, talking, and he listened carefully. Maybe he could find out what was going on...

"Visions... feeling the Cruciatus..." Snape's voice said, his tone angry.

"Didn't tell me..." Dumbledore's voice replied, calm but with a touch of concern. "...Damage?"

"...Not irreversible..."

"What... give him?"

"...Potion... Three times stronger... normal dose..."

"Too much!"

"No... necessary... but serious..."

The voices continued, but Harry felt himself drifting away, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.

Snape relaxed back in his favourite armchair with a sigh, and directed his gaze at the flames dancing merrily in the fireplace. He had no doubt whatsoever that Dumbledore would be showing up as soon as he learned that Snape had woken up, and he wanted to have at least a few minutes of peace to sort out his thoughts.

He'd explained the bare bones of the situation with Potter to Dumbledore last night before he'd stalked out of the hospital wing to get some much needed sleep, but he hadn't managed to provide the details he knew the older wizard needed. All he'd been interested in at the time was making sure that Potter drank the potions and that Dumbledore knew both that it was the boy's visions that had caused the problem, and just how very serious the situation was at present. Once that had been accomplished, he'd had just enough energy left to make it to his quarters before he fell asleep.

It was now nine o'clock in the morning; he'd woken up about half an hour ago, and had just finished his breakfast. Potter would be asleep for another few hours - he'd mixed a sedative into the Healing Draught he'd given the boy - which would give him time to start brewing another batch of the Levatio Potion.

Snape sighed again. This had not been what he'd pictured when Albus had told him to go check on Potter. He'd thought that he would simply stop by Privet Drive - disguised as a Muggle, of course, to avoid unwanted attention - see that Potter was fine, and return to Hogwarts. The last thing he'd thought he would be doing was bringing the boy here for the rest of the summer; because no matter what Dumbledore or the Ministry might think, Potter was going to have to stay here. His Muggle relatives hadn't noticed or paid any attention to his condition, which meant that they simply couldn't be trusted to ensure that he stayed healthy for the next month.

His thoughts were interrupted by the expected knock on the door, and he called, "Come in!"

The door opened obediently at his words, and Dumbledore walked in, a serious expression on his face. "Severus. You're looking somewhat better this morning," the headmaster declared, sitting on the couch opposite Snape's chair.

"Getting seven hours of sleep does help, Albus," Snape replied evenly, and then waited. He was not going to bring it up; let Albus do that.

He didn't have to wait for very long. "When do you think Mr. Potter will be able to return to his relatives?"

Snape shook his head. "He won't. Not this summer." He met Dumbledore's eyes and let a grimace cross his face. "Much as I hate to say it, he's going to have to remain here."

Dumbledore frowned. "The protection he gets from remaining with his blood relatives--"

"Isn't going to help him if he takes any more damage from those visions of his," Snape interrupted harshly. "They didn't notice that anything was wrong, Albus. Based on the amount of additional damage I found when I went back after the meeting, and taking into account Voldemort's mood last night, I'd say that two more visions would have been all that was necessary to start making the damage irreversible. The wards here are more than adequate during the school year; they should provide him with sufficient protection for the rest of this summer."

Dumbledore's frown deepened. "Severus--"

"He's going to need three more triple doses of Levatio - combined with Healing Draughts - to deal with the damage that's already been done, as well as regular doses after each future vision," Snape said, interrupting a second time.

Dumbledore tapped his fingers on the couch's armrest. "It's not like you to suggest providing a student - especially Mr. Potter - with special treatment, Severus," he pointed out. "I will be in and out of the school on an irregular schedule, and the only other staff members here at the moment aside from you are Filch and Professor Binns. Surely if we spoke to his aunt and uncle, they would make sure that he takes the potions."

Snape shook his head again. "I told you, Albus, they didn't even notice Potter was unwell." He let a hint of the anger he felt leach out into his voice. "In fact, their attitude approaches what the Muggles refer to as criminal negligence.

"As for my... attitude..." Snape leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I told you last night, Albus, Potter is feeling the Cruciatus curses that Voldemort casts in his visions. Even if he's not getting the full effect - he would have been dead over a week ago if he was - that's still, at a minimum, the equivalent of one or two full curses per vision, whether it's a meeting or... other activity. You said he's been having the visions two to four times a week since the beginning of summer?"

Dumbledore nodded silently.

"He's still only a child, Albus, almost fifteen or not. I'll freely admit I don't like him in the slightest, but no child should have to put up with that sort of pain. You know how I feel about that."

Once again, Dumbledore nodded. It was, after all, Snape's feelings about causing children pain that had turned him from a devoted Death Eater into Dumbledore's spy.

"If he does stay here, Severus, you will have to be the one to keep an eye on him," the headmaster said, after a long moment.

Snape took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. Albus's statement wasn't really that much of a surprise; in fact, he wouldn't put it past the old wizard to have skillfully manipulated him into this position, pretending to oppose the idea of Potter staying so that Snape would be forced to take the boy on for the rest of the summer. Either way, he'd seen it coming from the moment he'd realized Potter was in no condition to be left with the Muggles, and had already made his decision. "I know," he replied simply.

It was obvious from the expression on Dumbledore's face that he'd expected more of an argument, and Snape felt a bit of pleasure at that. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to really surprise the headmaster.

"In fact, I have an idea or two that will help keep him occupied, at least until school starts again," he added.

Dumbledore gave him an encouraging nod.

"He's faced Voldemort - in one form or another - three out of his four years here so far, and had to deal with Dementors in his third year. I know Lupin was giving him additional tutoring in Defence his third year - there is no way he would have been able to produce a Patronus otherwise - but... frankly, Albus, the Defence teachers, for one reason or another, have been miserable for the past four years," Snape declared. "Lupin was the only one who bothered to give Potter extra-curricular training, and that was only in dealing with Dementors, not anything else.

"Voldemort is obsessed with the boy's death, and I have little doubt that they're going to end up facing each other again and again until he's defeated. He needs to learn more - much more - than what he's being taught in Defence classes."

"Severus... are you offering to tutor Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked. He looked astonished.

Another point to me, Snape thought smugly, amused. This was proving to be a very interesting conversation, if only because he'd just managed to surprise Albus a second time. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting," he answered. "After all, it does behoove us to make certain he has as much knowledge and training as possible.

"And..." He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, in an unconscious imitation of Dumbledore. "Do you remember suggesting to me a few years ago that Potter might be another Sensitive?"

"Of course," Dumbledore replied. "Just after Sirius managed to escape from Azkaban, as I recall."

Snape's eyes narrowed at this mention of Black, but he didn't say anything.

"There was an incident at the Dursleys' - with his uncle's sister, I believe," Dumbledore continued. "It suggested that he might, at the very least, have a greater ability with wandless magic than most. Why?"

"I think you may be right." Snape met the headmaster's eyes. "While I was scanning him to check the damage, I encountered a peculiar resistance - one I've never encountered with anyone else I've scanned, even those in worse condition. And this link he has with Voldemort... Links generally go both ways, but I have no doubt that if Voldemort were experiencing visions of Potter, he'd have found and killed the boy by now. Added to that is the fact that I don't think even Lily's sacrifice would be enough to protect him so completely from the Killing Curse..." He shrugged.

"Either way, if I'm giving him additional training in Defence, I should also be able to test whether or not he is a Sensitive. If he is, then I can provide him with training in that as well."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "An excellent idea, Severus," he agreed. "In fact," he added, the usual twinkle in his eyes brightening, "I believe it may be beneficial to you both."

Snape gave a resigned grimace. Would Albus never stop meddling?

"Now, what was the meeting last night about?" the headmaster added, his tone becoming more serious.

Snape leaned forward, frowning. "It seems that Arthur Weasley is becoming quite the thorn in the Death Eaters' sides," he replied. "The raids he's been coordinating have been giving them some trouble; they've become so accustomed to being regarded as innocent that a number of them have been more than a bit careless. He's managed to locate at least one cache of Malfoy's Dark Arts paraphernalia, whether he knows it belongs to Lucius or not."

Dumbledore looked pleased. "That is good news - I'll have to let him know."

"You'd also better warn him," Snape added, a bit more sombrely. "Malfoy knows perfectly well who's responsible for the raids, even though Weasley hasn't been participating in them directly. He's going to have to start being alert for retribution - whether official, or through the Death Eaters."

Dumbledore nodded in grim understanding. "And so it starts all over again..."

---

Harry blinked up at the ceiling, feeling somewhat confused. His memory of last night was more than a bit foggy, but he did recall Snape bringing him to the Hogwarts hospital wing... and that appeared, from what he could tell without his glasses, to be where he was...

...But the sun wasn't shining directly in the windows, as it usually was when he woke up here.

Carefully pushing himself up to a sitting position, he automatically reached out one hand to the bedside table for his glasses, only to encounter some kind of obstruction. Turning to look, he saw that the table held what looked like two piles of books, with a tray and his glasses balanced on top of them.

Grabbing his glasses, he put them on, and then looked back at the table.

He'd been right; there were four large books there. The only one whose title he could see looked like it might be a text for Defence Against the Dark Arts: Defending Yourself: Shields and Other Useful Charms.

His attention focused more on the tray, however. Along with what looked to be a very large breakfast, there were two glass phials, one containing a blue-coloured potion - the same one he vaguely remembered from last night? - and the other one containing a green one that he recognized as a Healing Draught. Propped up against the phial with the blue potion was a piece of parchment.

Harry picked it up, and winced slightly as he recognized the handwriting as Snape's. He didn't even want to imagine what Snape must think about him now, after the state he'd been in last night, but he knew that things would be worse if he didn't read the note.

Mr. Potter,

First of all, you are to remain in bed. Do not get up, for any reason.

Secondly, the tray on your bedside table contains two potions as well as your meal. As soon as you have finished reading this note, take the blue one, followed by the green. Ensure that you take the entire contents of both phials.

After you have taken the potions, you are to eat all the food provided. You should be waking up around lunchtime, and I assume you will be quite hungry.

Lunchtime? Harry wondered, surprised, and glanced at his watch. He was astonished to see that it read 2:00 pm. No wonder the sun was in the wrong position - it was practically the middle of the afternoon!

Headmaster Dumbledore and I will be in to speak with you at 4pm. If you find yourself bored, I suggest you turn your attention to the books on the table.

-- Professor Snape

Harry sighed, put the note to one side, and obediently picked up the phial containing the blue potion. Uncorking it, he raised it to his lips and swallowed the entire contents.

It was the same as the first potion Snape had given him last night - he recognized the unusual taste, and the feeling of warmth spreading through his body, as well as the relief from that odd chill; the one, he realized suddenly, that came with the phantom pains from his visions.

Snape had been strangely concerned about the Cruciatus curse last night, Harry suddenly remembered - did this potion have anything to do with that?

With a mental shrug, he turned his attention to the green potion; and then, once he'd swallowed that, he focused on the food.

To his surprise, he was hungry enough to finish everything on the tray. He'd expected to be able to finish perhaps half of it - after all, his stomach had shrunk as usual during the month he'd been with the Dursleys - but before he knew it he'd eaten it all, and was still somewhat hungry.

He spent the next quarter of an hour or so staring up at the ceiling, trying to puzzle out what was going on. However, the pieces he had wouldn't fit together - there was too much information missing. Why had Snape taken him from the Dursleys, and why was the Potions master - who did, after all, hate Harry - so concerned about him? It didn't make any sense! It didn't help that he still, even after the potions and the meal, had no clear memory of what had happened last night after the vision.

Finally, realizing he probably wasn't going to be able to work anything out until Snape and Professor Dumbledore spoke with him - which wouldn't be for another hour and a half - and feeling boredom start to set in, he did as Snape's note had suggested and turned his attention to the books.

Besides the one on charms, there was a book on potions: 101 Useful Potions for Dark Situations; one on dealing with monsters: Everything You Need to Know About Dark Creatures; and one on - surprisingly - what looked to be physical defence: How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand.

The theme was rather obvious; they all had something to do with DADA. I wonder why Snape left them for me? Could he be trying to tell me something?

Deciding to start with Defending Yourself: Shields and Other Useful Charms, Harry removed it from the pile, opened it, and started to read.

---

Snape stirred the potion in his cauldron one last time, and then turned off the burner and froze the contents with a quick spell. It would thaw out over the next several hours, and be ready for Potter's next dose tomorrow morning.

At the thought of Potter, he found himself grimacing. The boy should have woken up by now; hopefully, he'd paid attention to the note and was staying in bed. Even with the first two triple-strength doses of Levatio, his condition was still such that he could do additional damage if he was up and about.

Putting the cauldron down on the table, he walked out of his workroom, closing the door and bespelling it to prevent Peeves from entering. The last thing any of them needed at the moment was to have that bloody poltergeist do something to the Levatio Potion - not when he had only one regular dose left, and it took several hours to prepare.

If he'd been able to, he would have given Potter the whole seven doses last night; but that would have placed too much of a strain on the boy's body. Snape was well aware of the fact that he was pushing it slightly with three, but he also knew that the faster the damage was repaired, the better off they'd be. If Potter had another vision before he was healed...

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he headed over toward his desk. Dumbledore would be coming down in just over an hour to discuss what they were going to tell Potter, and he'd do well to have a basic curriculum for the next month worked out.

For the first week, starting tomorrow, Snape had already decided that they were going to concentrate on theory. The sooner they got started, the better, and Potter wasn't going to be in any condition to handle the practical work until he was completely recovered from the damage the visions had done. So, theoretical work first, concentrating on Potions - maybe Potter would finally learn something about Potion-making - and wandless defence; the boy was already reasonably strong when it came to Charms, as evidenced by what had happened over the past year during the Tournament, and Snape knew that Lupin had drilled his classes intensively in Dark Creatures.

When they got on to the practical work, he'd divide things up more evenly, although it would probably be wise to concentrate somewhat more on wandless defence. The more options Potter had open to him, the better off everyone would be; and that would also give Snape the chance to check the boy's potential as a Sensitive.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose again, Snape leaned back in his chair and thought about that.

It had been Dumbledore who'd discovered that he was a Sensitive, shortly after he'd agreed to become the headmaster's spy. Dumbledore wasn't a Sensitive himself - although he did have a very powerful ability for wandless magic - but he'd known the signs, and had also known how to provide basic training in the gift.

Snape had accepted eagerly - knowledge was, in some ways, an addiction for him, and he'd also known how advantageous it would be to have abilities that Voldemort knew nothing about - and had thrown himself into the training. When Dumbledore's knowledge had been exhausted, he'd started researching it himself, discovering more and more applications of the gift along the way.

Sensitives were just that - more sensitive than other wizards and witches to the flow of power that was magic. Much more sensitive.

All Sensitives were capable of doing much more with wandless magic, even untrained, than the vast majority of the wizarding population. Not all wizards with wandless magic were Sensitives, of course - Dumbledore being a prime example - but it served to indicate who might have the potential. Snape himself found wandless magic to be as easy as magic using a wand, if a bit more tiring. And that was only the most basic application of the gift.

The scan he'd done of Potter to determine the damage that the Cruciatus curses had left was another way in which he could use his Sensitivity; though - before last night - it was something he hadn't had to do since Voldemort's disappearance. He was going to be exercising it a great deal more before this war was over, Snape suspected.

The only question was, how was he to tell if Potter was a Sensitive? Dumbledore had said that he didn't know for certain, and he hadn't been able to tell that Snape was a Sensitive until he'd turned twenty - which would be too late for this. There had to be some way for one Sensitive to recognize another...

Pushing his chair back, Snape stood up and headed over to his research shelves. Tapping the bottle that acted as a book holder three times with his index finger, he waited as the bookshelf swung out, revealing another layer of shelves behind it. This was where he kept the books he didn't want anyone to know about - including the ones dealing with the Sensitive gift. If there was some way for him to recognize another Sensitive, it should be in one of these books.

---

Standing next to the window of his office, his gaze directed outward, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, presented the perfect picture of a man contentedly surveying his domain.

The appearance differed greatly from the reality, however.

Dumbledore's mind was not on the majestic view in front of him; instead, it was focused on two other people - one currently in the hospital wing, the other undoubtedly busy in the dungeons.

He'd been worried about Harry ever since the events of the Triwizard Tournament; he suspected that the boy was blaming himself for what had happened. He'd done the best he had been able to at the time to prove to Harry that the responsibility for Cedric Diggory's death - and Voldemort's resurrection - was that of Voldemort, Wormtail, and Barty Crouch; that was one of the reasons he'd insisted that Harry remain for Crouch's interrogation. He'd been afraid, however, that it hadn't been enough. And while Molly had mentioned that Harry had been able to tell herself, Bill, Ron, and Hermione what had happened, he'd still been concerned.

Then, the first week after the end of school, Harry had begun sending reports of the visions he was experiencing. That had been unexpected, to say the least; and while Dumbledore couldn't dispute the fact that the information he'd managed to glean from the reports was useful, it had served to further increase his concern. Over the previous year, Harry had had a total of two visions of Voldemort. Now, he was having at least two a week - and some of them were of attacks on Muggles and Muggle-borns. Only three so far - Voldemort was being cautious - but that was three too many for a boy to be forced to see.

He'd finally managed to convince Severus to go check on Harry, thankfully. At the time, he would have preferred to send Minerva - she was, after all, Harry's Head of House, as well as being more sympathetic to him - but now he was glad he hadn't been able to. Minerva didn't have anywhere near the experience with the Cruciatus curse that Severus had - certainly not enough to recognize the symptoms Harry displayed - and considering how much damage Severus said Harry had taken already...

Dumbledore sighed. How had that happened? He'd never heard of anyone being able to feel things that they saw in visions, but Harry was something of a unique case. After all, he wasn't a Seer; his visions were due to the link with Voldemort through his curse scar.

The sound of a soft note made him turn around, and despite his worries, he smiled as Fawkes flew over and landed on the sill next to him.

"Good afternoon, Fawkes," he greeted the phoenix. "I don't suppose you have any answers to my dilemma, do you, my friend?"

The phoenix blinked at him, chirped, and then ducked its head under Dumbledore's hand for a scratch. Dumbledore chuckled and obliged.

"I must admit," he continued his thinking out loud, "I was surprised at Severus's willingness to look after Harry. I expected more of an argument from him. And then his offer of tutoring..."

Well, truth to tell, the latter hadn't surprised Dumbledore that much. Despite his public persona, Severus enjoyed teaching almost as much as research, and Dumbledore had the sneaking suspicion that he'd enjoy one-on-one tutoring better than teaching a full class. And Harry would certainly provide him with an interesting challenge. "Particularly if we're right and he is a Sensitive," he added to Fawkes.

A frown crossed his face as a sudden thought struck him. "Wait a minute," he murmured, tapping his fingers absently against the sill. "Could it be possible...?"

Abruptly pushing himself away from the wall, Dumbledore headed over to his desk, scribbled a quick note on a piece of parchment, and handed it to Fawkes. "Take this to Severus, please," he requested. "And do give him my apologies, but this might be important. Besides," he added, his eyes twinkling brightly as he looked at the phoenix, "he is going to have to learn how to deal with Harry on a one-to-one basis; he might as well start now."

---

Harry looked up from the book as he heard the door to the hospital wing open, and a moment later, the curtains around his bed were swept aside as Snape strode in. The Potions master's expression was one of... displeasure, Harry decided after a moment's thought. It was definitely better than the dislike that was usually his mildest expression when dealing with Harry, however.

"Professor," he said, making an effort to keep his tone neutral. Hadn't the note said the headmaster would be here as well? "Umm... sir, where's Professor Dumbledore?"

"He had something more urgent to see to." Snape then studied him for a moment, frowning, and demanded, "How are you feeling, Potter?"

Harry blinked, surprised at the question. But then again, Snape had acted as though he was concerned last night, hadn't he? So maybe... "Fine, sir," he replied, as he realized that Snape was waiting impatiently.

Snape's mouth tightened, and Harry shrank back a bit against the pillows as he approached. Then, much like he had last night - before the vision - he took hold of Harry's chin and raised his face slightly. A minute later he let go and stepped back. "No, Potter, you're not 'fine'," he snapped.

Harry blinked again. "Sir?"

Snape sighed - Sighed?! - pulled the chair beside Harry's bed around, and sat down in it so that he was facing Harry. "Why didn't you tell the headmaster that you were feeling the Cruciatus curses in your visions?" he demanded.

Harry hesitated for a moment. Snape sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared. "Potter..." he said threateningly.

"I didn't think it was important," Harry admitted.

"You didn't think, period," Snape returned harshly. "I know Crouch taught you about the Unforgivables last year - he would have had to, or Dumbledore would have known that something was wrong. What did he tell you about the Cruciatus curse?"

"Umm..." Harry mumbled. He didn't really like to think about Crouch and the way the man had fooled him. "He told us about the pain it causes, and about its history..."

"Did he mention the other effects of the curse, aside from the pain?"

Harry shook his head. "But Dumbledore... Some people have gone insane because of the curse, haven't they?" He didn't know how much Snape knew about Neville's parents; and anyway, he had promised Dumbledore not to talk about them.

Snape nodded. "Indeed," he answered coolly. "However, that is not what I meant. Did you learn anything about the physical effects of Cruciatus?"

"No, sir," Harry said, shaking his head again. "I thought... I thought it just made you feel pain. Lots of pain," he added, in a quieter voice.

Snape looked irritated. "And none of you - not even Granger - thought to ask why or how?"

"No, sir," Harry repeated.

Uncrossing his arms, Snape steepled his hands and leaned forward slightly. "Listen carefully, Potter, for I don't intend to repeat myself, and this is something you need to understand.

"Pain is the way your body informs your brain that something is wrong. It is, in essence, a particular signal sent from your sensory nervous system to your brain. The amount of pain you feel depends on the severity of the injury and where it is located - some parts of your body are more sensitive to pain than others."

Harry couldn't help but feel surprised at this recitation. It was more in line with Muggle science than magic, and he'd never pictured Snape, of all people, paying much attention to anything Muggle.

"Are you paying attention, Potter?"

Whups. "Yes, sir. I was just... I mean..."

"Knowledge is knowledge, Mr. Potter," Snape said, leaving Harry to wonder if he'd been taking lessons on mind-reading from Dumbledore. "Now that I've told you how the sensation of 'pain' works, do you understand what the Cruciatus curse does?"

Harry thought for a moment, but he didn't really see what it was Snape was expecting him to understand now. "Not really, sir," he admitted after a minute.

Snape looked irritated again, and when he started speaking, it was in the same slow, contemptuous tone Harry vaguely remembered from last night. "When you experience some sort of injury, it stimulates the sensory nerves in that location in such a way as to produce a 'pain signal'. The Cruciatus curse overstimulates every sensory nerve in your body, and causes damage to your nervous system. This damage is cumulative, cannot be healed by ordinary methods, and if it continues, can become irreversible."

Harry gaped at the Potions master, stunned. Remembering the concern Snape had exhibited last night and the bits and pieces of the conversation he'd overheard between Dumbledore and Snape, he gasped, "Y-you mean..."

Snape gave him a curt nod. "Whatever pain you've been experiencing through your visions, it has been enough to do the same sort of damage as experiencing Cruciatus directly. Not quite as much - except for last night, I would estimate it has been the equivalent of one or two curses per vision - but still sufficient that as of last night, you were dangerously close to experiencing irreversible damage."

That was frightening. Very frightening.

Then something Snape had said came back. "But, sir... you just said that the damage can't be healed by ordinary methods..." Harry said hesitantly.

"No, it can't." Snape reached over to the bedside table and tapped the phial that had held the blue potion. "You did drink this all when you woke up, didn't you, Potter?"

"Yes, sir." When Snape didn't continue, he added, "It was the same as the first potion you made me drink last night, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Snape looked directly at him. "The damage done by the Cruciatus curse cannot be healed the same way as other neural damage because there is an added element to it. The entire purpose of Cruciatus is to torture someone, to cause them excrutiating pain, and it... twists the flow of magic in your body in such a way as to prevent healing potions and spells from working. Assuming you aren't held under too long, or too many times, your body manages to deal with the effects of the twisted magic itself. It generally takes about a week for the damage from being under twice for less than two minutes each to heal.

"If you experience the curse again, before that healing period is finished, the damage begins to accumulate, and your body can no longer deal with it.

"The solution is this." He tapped the empty phial again. "It is called the Levatio Potion, and works by... 'cleansing' the twisted magic from your system so that you can use healing potions or spells to fix the rest of the damage."

Harry nodded slowly, before something else occurred to him. "Then... why did I have to take it twice, sir?"

Snape frowned at him. "One dose can only do so much, Potter. The amount of damage done to you... You had triple-strength doses both last night and today, and you'll have them for the next two days as well."

Harry's eyes widened, and he swallowed.

"I told you, you were dangerously close to having irreversible damage," Snape said silkily. "You can consider yourself lucky that I came to check on you yesterday. By next week, I suspect it would have been too late."

Harry swallowed again. "So... w-what do I have to do, sir?"

"Stay in bed, for one thing, until your treatment finishes," Snape said. "Moving around too much will do additional damage. For the next two days, I will be delivering the triple-strength doses of Levatio with your breakfast, along with a Healing Draught. As you were instructed to do today, take the Levatio Potion first - to cleanse your body as much as it can - followed by the Healing Draught, to heal the damage, and then eat your meal to replace the energy the potions use up.

"In three days time, I will allow you to get out of bed. However, you will still have to avoid strenuous physical activity - including flying - for another few days; and if you have any visions, you are to inform me immediately so that I can provide you with another dose of Levatio. Your situation is such that it would be wise to make sure you take some after every single vision, so as to avoid the necessity of repeating this." Snape waved one hand around the hospital wing to illustrate.

Harry nodded, and then stopped. The Dursleys were not going to like this... "Sir, my aunt and uncle..."

Snape's expression turned cold. "You will not be returning to those... Muggles," he declared, his distaste for the Dursleys clear in his voice. Harry wasn't about to argue. "They obviously cannot be trusted to pay attention to what is under their very noses. Professor Dumbledore has made arrangements for you to stay here for the remainder of the summer."

He was going to get to stay at Hogwarts? Despite the bad news about his condition, Harry felt almost like cheering - and would have, if Snape hadn't been there. He could deal with the visions and the pain if he didn't have to deal with the Dursleys as well...

"Do not think, however," Snape continued curtly, "that you will be permitted to remain idle while you are here."

Harry blinked at him in confusion. "Sir?"

"As you are no doubt aware, Voldemort is very intent on your death."

Trust Snape to put it so bluntly.

The Potions master continued, "After all, he has attempted - and failed - to kill you at least five times so far that I am aware of."

"Five?" Harry repeated, frowning thoughtfully. He could only remember four: when he was one, and his first, second, and fourth years - assuming one counted the memory in Tom Riddle's diary.

He was beginning to think that irritation was Snape's latest favourite expression. "The Triwizard Tournament; what happened in the Chamber of Secrets; your confrontation with Quirrell over the Philosopher's Stone; your first Quidditch match; and when you were one. Do correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Potter, but that adds up to five times."

"Oh." Harry glanced down at his hands and fidgeted slightly. He had forgotten about the jinx Quirrell had put on his broom during his first Quidditch match - the jinx Snape had countered until Hermione had knocked Quirrell from his seat. The jinx Snape had been saving him from - when he, Ron and Hermione had all believed the opposite...

"As this appears to denote something of a trend," Snape continued, eyeing him suspiciously, "the headmaster has also arranged for me to give you advanced training in Defence for the rest of the summer."

Harry froze, his gaze fixed on his hands, feeling more than a little bit stunned. Not that he had any objections to learning more Defence Against the Dark Arts, but to have Snape, of all people, as his teacher... If Dumbledore wanted him to get additional training, couldn't Professor Lupin have come back?

Then again... His opinion of Snape had been undergoing a rather radical change lately, ever since he'd found out that the Potions master had been Dumbledore's spy; and considering what he'd seen Snape go through with Voldemort...

Maybe, just maybe, Snape would be the best person to train him in Defence. After all, Snape knew what Voldemort was like - better, even, Harry suspected, than Dumbledore did. And he'd actually seemed concerned about what Harry was going through with the Cruciatus pain from the visions...

Glancing up through his fringe, Harry realized that Snape was waiting for a response, and nodded in understanding.

"Good. We will begin the practical lessons a week from today, once your treatment has finished and you have had a chance to recover from the damage your body has taken. Rather than waste time until then, I suggest you get to work on reading the texts on the table," Snape added, gesturing to the pile of books beside the tray; and giving what might, possibly, have been a slight nod of approval at the sight of Defending Yourself: Shields and Other Useful Charms open on the bed next to Harry. "I expect you to have a general idea of their contents for our first lesson, which will be in two days time, immediately after lunch."

Two days time... that was his birthday. Harry knew better than to protest, however. Snape might be acting nicer than usual to him at the moment, but there was no telling how long that would last; and he didn't want to do anything that might make Snape return to normal sooner. "Yes, sir." Besides, if the lesson was going to be after lunch, that implied that he'd have the whole morning free.

Snape nodded shortly, and stood up. "I believe Professor Dumbledore intends to speak with you later," he declared curtly. "I will see you tomorrow morning when I deliver your next dose of Levatio."

With that, the Potions master swept out, leaving Harry alone in the hospital wing with a pile of four large books he had to get through over the next day and a half.

---

Albus Dumbledore closed the book he'd been reading with the utmost care and leaned back in his chair. He wasn't terribly surprised to see that it was dark out - this book was only the latest of several he'd gone through since his realization this afternoon. It had taken him some time to remember which book out of his extensive library on Sensitives contained the information he thought he remembered.

Not that the re-reading had been wasted. The last time he had gone through these books had been sixteen years ago, when he'd realized that Severus was showing signs of being a Sensitive. Now that he'd reviewed them, he was more certain than ever that Harry had the Sensitive's gift as well. As Severus had pointed out this morning, it would explain a number of things that had puzzled the wizarding world about Harry Potter since that fateful Hallowe'en fourteen years ago; including how he'd ended up with the ability to speak Parseltongue.

And what he'd found in the book he had just finished reading... well, it would explain a great deal about the current situation. Combined with the reports Harry had written describing his visions - which Dumbledore had also reviewed earlier - it even suggested an explanation for why Harry had been experiencing the pain from the curses.

He would have to check with Harry which was the first vision he'd felt the pain in, but he had the feeling that Harry would just confirm what he'd already guessed.

Severus is not going to like this, Dumbledore thought in amusement, as he collected up Harry's reports and put them in a neat pile on one corner of his desk. Neither is Harry, I suspect. Nonetheless, this might just be the best news I have received since last summer. If I'm right...

It was a big 'if'. But remembering Severus's actions over the past two days, and what he'd been able to discern of Harry's attitude from his reports, Albus Dumbledore felt confident that he was.

Harry woke up to the sound of Filch's voice in the corridor shouting at Peeves.

Well, at least I don't have to wonder where I am this morning, he thought ruefully, sitting up and grabbing his glasses from the bedside table. Looking around the room, he saw the morning sunlight streaming in the windows, and the books piled on the chair next to his bed.

He'd managed to finish Shields and Other Useful Charms last night, but only because he'd mostly just skimmed through the last section, which dealt mainly with the types of hexes he'd learned last month for the Third Task. He wasn't really looking forward to having to read through all three of the others today - he wanted to have tomorrow morning free to enjoy his birthday - but that was not something he wanted to have to tell Snape.

The sound of the door opening pulled his attention away from his glum contemplation of the books, and he looked up to see Dumbledore walk in, carrying a tray with breakfast and the two potions.

"Ah, good, you're awake," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling brightly as he smiled. "I hope you don't mind that I'm bringing you your breakfast and medicine rather than Professor Snape, but I wished to speak to you about a few things."

"No, sir, I don't mind," Harry replied. He was just as happy not to have to deal with Snape this morning, but he couldn't exactly tell that to Dumbledore.

"Good, good." Dumbledore put the tray down on the table, then lifted the books off the chair and sat down. "I see Professor Snape has already informed you of what you will be doing for the rest of the summer," he added, placing the books carefully on the end of Harry's bed.

Harry nodded and opened his mouth to ask about the tutoring, but before he could say anything, the headmaster continued.

"Now, I suggest you take your medicine, and then tuck into breakfast." He handed the phial containing the Levatio Potion to Harry.

Raising the small bottle to his mouth, Harry swallowed the contents quickly, relishing the soothing warmth that went through him as he finished. The Healing Draught followed, and then Harry turned his attention to the food.

While he ate, Dumbledore picked one of the books - How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand - off the end of the bed and began flipping through it. "Hmm..." he murmured absently. "Yes, this is good... Very well-written section, this... Nicely said..."

Harry finished quickly, and pushed the tray off to one side. "Professor? You said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore put the book back on the bed. "First of all, I took the liberty of informing Sirius, young Mr. Weasley and his parents, and Miss Granger that you are no longer at the Dursleys'. As it is your birthday tomorrow, I thought it would be wise to ensure that any presents arrived in the correct location." His eyes were twinkling brightly as he added the last.

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied. "Professor Snape said I'm not allowed to get out of bed until the day after tomorrow, so I hadn't had a chance to send Hedwig with a note."

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry saw the twinkle dim slightly as his expression became more serious. "Yes... that is one of the other things I wished to discuss with you. I know you told Professor Snape that you hadn't thought the pain you were experiencing from your visions was important. Why is that?"

Harry blinked. "Umm... I... just didn't, Professor. It just... seemed like an extension of the visions. I mean... I only had them twice over the past year, and then after..." He hesitated for a moment, and then grasped his courage with both hands and continued on, "After Voldemort... came back, I started getting them every few days. I just thought it was a change like that."

"I see." Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "And... what vision was the first one in which you experienced the pain, Harry?"

Harry frowned, trying to remember. Snape had been in it, he recalled that... Oh, right! "It was the first one I saw with Professor Snape, sir," he replied. "When Voldemort was trying to discover where I was for the summer, and Professor Snape told him that he didn't know." Although Voldemort did know that he lived with his relatives - he'd said so during his speech at the graveyard, Harry remembered suddenly... Maybe he simply didn't know where the Dursleys lived.

Dumbledore nodded again, and Harry thought he looked... satisfied. "So that was... July eighth," the headmaster said. "Aside from the night before last - when Professor Snape informed me that Voldemort was feeling... rather more upset than usual - has the type or intensity of pain changed at all?"

"The type of pain hasn't changed, sir - it hits... all over. It's been starting to get a bit stronger, but not much - aside from the night before last."

"And has it been every vision since the eighth, Harry, or only certain ones?"

That was another question Harry had to think about for a minute or two. Finally, he shook his head. "Not at the beginning, Professor. It was that one, then the one on the twelfth, the one on the fifteenth, and every one since then." He frowned. He hadn't really thought about that before. "Do you know why that is, sir?"

Dumbledore looked directly at him for a long moment. "I have my suspicions, Harry," he answered finally. "However, I do not know for certain, and I would prefer not to lead you into believing the wrong conclusion should I prove to be incorrect." His voice held the note of finality that Harry recognized from their discussion over the Pensieve earlier in the year, when he had asked about Snape.

"Yes, sir," he said resignedly.

"Now, I believe you have some reading to do before tomorrow," Dumbledore said, standing up. "I suggest you start with this one." He handed Harry How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand. "I believe you'll find it quite interesting."

Harry cast a doubtful look at the large volume, and then looked back at Dumbledore, who was almost at the door. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry hesitated for a second, wondering whether he really wanted an answer to this, and then plunged ahead. "Sir... why did you ask Professor Snape to teach me?"

A surprised expression flickered across Dumbledore's face. "I think you must have misunderstood something, Harry. Professor Snape was the one who suggested that these additional lessons would be a wise idea, and volunteered to conduct them."

Harry stared at him in surprise, and Dumbledore smiled. "I think that you will find them most instructive," the headmaster added, and then slipped out the door.

The lessons were Snape's idea?! The Potions master - the one teacher Harry had been certain hated him - had volunteered to teach him over the summer?!

Opening the book to the first page, he shook his head. Ron and Hermione are never going to believe this...

Snape looked up from the potion on his lab table as the door to his workroom opened and Dumbledore stepped in.

"Ah, here you are, Severus. I've been looking all over the dungeons for you."

Snape raised one eyebrow in patent disbelief at that statement. "I told you earlier, when you came down to get the potions for Potter, that I would be working all morning, Albus. As it is only nine o'clock, I believe it still qualifies as being 'morning'."

Dumbledore smiled calmly in response. "Considering the fact that you informed Mr. Potter that he was to have finished the books you gave him for tomorrow, I had thought that you would be working on lesson plans, rather than research."

So Dumbledore didn't think he should be starting lessons tomorrow? "The lesson plans for the first week are already done, Albus. We're going to concentrate on theory, and move on to the practical when he's physically recovered." He glanced down at the potion, dropped in two beetle eyes, and gave it one stir counter-clockwise. "We'll be starting with the basic concepts in the books. I'm not fool enough to expect him to have the entire contents memorized. If we were talking about Granger, perhaps, but not Potter...

"Besides," Snape added, looking up and meeting Dumbledore's eyes, "what else is he supposed to do? He's restricted to bed until the day after tomorrow at the earliest, depending on the results of my scan in the morning. The hospital wing is exceedingly dull, and I doubt the ghosts - or even that house-elf he befriended - could keep him occupied for long. Better he have something useful to do. The last thing he needs right now is to either be brooding about the Tournament, or attempting to get out of bed before he's ready."

Dumbledore looked amused. "Careful, Severus - your compassionate side is showing through."

Snape ignored the comment. "Did you just come down here to entertain yourself by baiting me, Albus, or was there something else you wanted to discuss?"

"A few things, as it happens. First of all, I've informed Sirius and Mr. Potter's friends that he's here, so you might want to reschedule tomorrow's lessons, as he will most likely be preoccupied with gifts and well-wishes throughout the day."

Snape blinked. "Potter's birthday is tomorrow?" Well, that explained why Dumbledore had implied that he shouldn't hold lessons until later.

He wasn't going to change his mind, however. He had one month - he doubted that Potter would want to continue being tutored by him once school began again and he had his friends around him - in which to give the boy enough of a grounding in the basics that he'd be able to continue to develop his skills on his own. The sooner he started, the better. "I've already informed him that tomorrow's lesson will be in the afternoon. That should allow him sufficient time to enjoy himself in the morning. What else is there?"

"Have you found a way to determine whether or not Mr. Potter has the Sensitive's gift yet?" Dumbledore asked, accepting his change of subject.

Snape sighed. "Nothing to confirm it, no. The resistance I sensed when I scanned him is apparently one indicator, much as his ability with wandless magic is, but neither of them are conclusive. Some of what I've read implies that there is definitely a way for one Sensitive to identify another, but there's no explanation of how."

"Hmmm..." Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully.

Snape glared at him. He knew that innocent-sounding murmur all too well. "Albus... What are you up to?"

"Up to?" Dumbledore asked. "Whatever do you mean, Severus?"

"I know the sound of you plotting something. I've heard it often enough."

The headmaster didn't even have the courtesy to look guilty. "Now, really, Severus...

"As it happens," the old wizard continued, "I spent yesterday afternoon re-doing some of my research into the Sensitive's gift. I'm more convinced than ever that Mr. Potter is indeed a Sensitive."

"That doesn't help unless you've also found some way to test for conclusive proof," Snape said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Glancing at the clock, he dropped a single rose petal into the cauldron and muttered a quick incantation, before stirring it three times clockwise. "Have you?" It would be entirely too much like Albus to wait for him to find a way to discover whether or not Potter was a Sensitive, and then reveal that he'd known it all along.

"Not... precisely." Dumbledore frowned, and Snape immediately focused his entire attention on the headmaster. Frowns from Dumbledore were never a good sign. "I did, however, find some information that suggests that Mr. Potter might be feeling the Cruciatus curses in his visions because he is a Sensitive."

Albus was hiding something, Snape knew. If he hadn't been, he would have explained precisely what information he'd found that had led him to that conclusion. And he had that expression on his face that stated that he had said all he was going to say on the subject - for now, at least.

Snape sighed again. "Very well, Albus. I suppose we'll stand a better chance once I actually start his practical Defence training. Was there anything else?"

"Just two other things. First of all, I received an owl from Hagrid earlier; I'm going to have to be away from Hogwarts for a while. He's run into some trouble with the giants, I'm afraid."

Snape rolled his eyes. He wasn't overly fond of Hagrid - the half-giant had a very narrow view of some things, and despite Dumbledore's hiring him as the professor for Care of Magical Creatures, was not all that bright. Nonetheless, he was loyal to Dumbledore, and a good man to have at your back in a fight; and he'd stood up for Snape, on more than one occasion. "How long, do you think?"

"With any luck, not more than a week," Dumbledore said, turning to head for the door.

Snape raised one eyebrow. "What about that other thing you wanted to discuss?"

"Oh, yes," the headmaster said. He opened the door, and then looked back at Snape. "For some reason, Mr. Potter was apparently under the impression that I was the one who suggested the tutorials. I was simply wondering why."

Before Snape could come up with a reply, Dumbledore was gone, the door swinging closed behind him.

---

"Sirius!"

Mundungus Fletcher glanced up from the map he was studying to look at his companion. "What have you done now?"

Sirius's pale eyes widened and he did his best to look innocent. He wasn't terribly successful. "Done? Me? Gus, you wound me! Moony's just hyper today."

Mundungus looked sceptical. "Remus? Hyper? Are you sure you're not on something, Sirius?"

Sirius did his best to look even more innocent, but the effect was ruined when the door opened and Remus poked his head in, saying, "Oh, Snuffles!"

An evil grin crossed Mundungus's face. "Snuffles?"

Remus chuckled. "New nickname. And he has only himself to blame for it, too."

"Moony!" Sirius protested. "Why are you telling him that?"

"Well, it's true. And if you're going to get mail addressed to Snuffles," Remus pulled an envelope out of his pocket and held it up, "Gus will need to know who to give it to."

"Mail?" Sirius repeated, as both he and Mundungus stood up. "From?" His eyes were fixed intently on the letter.

"Dumbledore, I think," Remus replied, handing it over. "It looks like his writing, at least, and arrived with a Hogwarts owl."

"Has something happened?" Mundungus asked.

Remus shrugged. "It's only addressed to Snuffles, not all of us," he said, as Sirius rapidly tore open the envelope and scanned the letter. "Probably not Order business."

"Huh?"

Mundungus and Remus both looked at Sirius questioningly. "What is it, Snuffles?" Mundungus asked.

Sirius glared evilly at him, and then returned his gaze to the letter. "You were right, Moony; it is from Dumbledore. He says that Harry's at Hogwarts, and will be staying there for the rest of the summer."

"Why?" Remus asked.

Sirius frowned, looking a bit concerned. "It doesn't say. Just that he sent one of the staff to check on Harry, since Arabella is busy elsewhere, and... well, I'll quote. 'Circumstances arose that resulted in the staff member in question removing Harry from the custody of the Dursleys.' He also says that I'm not to worry, Harry's doing well, and Dumbledore's taken the liberty of arranging for him to receive some extra Defence tutoring for the rest of the summer."

"Well, that's certainly a good thing," Remus remarked, leaning against the doorframe. "Additional tutoring can only help, and considering Harry's situation..."

Sirius's frown deepened. "Dumbledore hasn't mentioned who's going to be tutoring him, however," he commented.

Mundungus and Remus exchanged glances. Both of them could think of one professor who would be in a perfect position to teach Harry Potter more about Defence Against the Dark Arts - particularly with respect to Voldemort - but they also both knew better than to mention that to Sirius.

"Perhaps it's this year's Defence teacher," Remus suggested quickly. "With Voldemort--" he narrowed his eyes as Mundungus flinched slightly at the name, "revived, Dumbledore won't be taking any chances. He'll have picked someone good for the job."

"Yeah," Mundungus chimed in. He could tell that Remus was thinking the same thing he was - that they couldn't give Sirius a chance to think about which professors might be at Hogwarts all summer who had experience in dealing with the Dark Arts. In fact, Mundungus wouldn't be surprised if Snape had been the 'staff member in question' who had removed Harry Potter from his relatives' house; he couldn't think of any other reason for Dumbledore to avoid any names. "Anyway, Sirius, now that you know that young Harry's perfectly safe, why don't you return your attention to helping me? Arthur's going to need some more results."

Sirius sighed. "Fine," he muttered, stuffing the letter into one of his pockets. "Moony," he continued, as he sat back down at the table, "when you take Harry's gift to the post, remember to send it to Hogwarts."

"In which case I'd better do it now," Remus replied, as he headed out of the room. "Otherwise, it'll never get there on time. Good luck!"

Mundungus also returned his attention to the map. "All right, we've got one potential Dark Arts cache locked down, so let's see if we can find another before we're due to contact Arthur..."

---

Ron winced, glancing involuntarily upwards, as another explosion came from the direction of Fred and George's bedroom. The twins had spent the past month busily - not to mention cheerfully - blowing things up; somehow, they'd apparently managed to find an investor for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and had been taking advantage of that fact. There seemed to be owls coming and going almost constantly from their bedroom window, and Ron had noticed that his mother seemed to have given up on the idea of dissuading them.

There was a sudden tapping sound from the window, and Ron looked over to see a large barn owl waiting impatiently outside. Putting the Transfiguration textbook he'd been reading down on the table - Hermione had been bugging him about getting his homework done - he got up and opened the window.

The owl flew in, landed on the back of his chair, and extended the letter it had been carrying toward Ron. He took it, and blinked in surprise as he noticed the Hogwarts crest on the back. But it couldn't be their school letters - it was addressed only to him.

Opening it, he quickly skimmed through the letter, and then re-read it, much slower.

Mr. Ronald Weasley,

I am writing to inform you of the fact that Mr. Potter is currently at Hogwarts and will be staying at the school for the remainder of the summer. Please direct all mail for Mr. Potter to Hogwarts. I have also written to Miss Granger and our friend Snuffles, advising them of Mr. Potter's relocation.

Please be advised (and if you would do me the courtesy of informing your mother, it would be appreciated) that at the present time, I cannot permit Mr. Potter to visit your family; nor, in fact, is he permitted to leave the grounds of Hogwarts at all, for his own safety. You may assure your mother that his textbooks and school supplies will be picked up for him by one of the professors.

I hope you enjoy the rest of the summer, and look forward to seeing you, your brothers, and your sister upon your return to school in September.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Ron was still staring at the letter when his parents came into the room.

"What's that, dear?" his mother inquired.

"A letter from Professor Dumbledore," Ron replied, uncertain as to what, exactly, he was feeling.

"Oh?" his father asked.

"He said that Harry's at Hogwarts, and will be for the rest of the summer. And that he can't let Harry come visit us."

His mother nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if he's at Hogwarts, at least he's safely away from those horrid relatives of his," she replied. "May I see?"

Ron handed her the letter, and waited as she read it, with his father reading over her shoulder.

"Snuffles?" she said archly, a moment later. "And just who is Snuffles?"

Ron glanced down at his feet for a moment. "Sirius Black," he replied quietly.

His mother, who had met Sirius at the end of the Third Task, knew that he was innocent, and Ron had no doubt that she had told his father. However, the rest of the family didn't know, and Ron was pretty sure that Dumbledore didn't want them knowing just yet. Especially not Percy, who - although he had accepted Dumbledore and Harry's word that You-Know-Who was back - still believed that the Ministry as a whole was stainless and infallible.

"Snuffles," his father repeated thoughtfully, and then chuckled. "Excellent! I think I'll have some fun with that..." Still chuckling, he headed back into the kitchen.

His father, Ron knew, was one of a handful of people inside the Ministry who believed Dumbledore, and, as a result, was involved at some level in the fight against You-Know-Who. Unfortunately, neither of his parents were saying much about how he was involved, and no one, not even Fred and George, had been able to discover the answer.

"Well," his mother said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts, "you did tell Pig and Hermes to deliver Harry's presents to him, not just to the Dursleys' house, right?"

"Of course, Mum," Ron replied. Then he paused. "I wonder if we could visit Harry, if he can't come here."

"Well, write and ask, before this owl has to leave," his mother suggested. "Then, if you want, you can use Errol to let Hermione know."

"Thanks, Mum!" Grabbing a quill and parchment from the table, Ron scribbled a quick note to Professor Dumbledore, and one to Harry, and then sent the owl off. He then wrote a slightly longer letter to Hermione, explaining that he'd asked Dumbledore if they could visit, before returning his attention - reluctantly - to his Transfiguration homework.

---

Hermione looked up from her perusal of the Daily Prophet when the sound of an owl tapping on the window caught her attention. Opening the window, she let the owl in and took the letter it proffered her.

She was surprised to see the Hogwarts crest on the back of the envelope, and quickly opened it.

Miss Hermione Granger,

I am writing to inform you of the fact that Mr. Potter is currently at Hogwarts and will be staying at the school for the remainder of the summer. Please direct all mail for Mr. Potter to Hogwarts. I have also written to Mr. Weasley and our friend Snuffles, advising them of Mr. Potter's relocation.

Please also be advised that at the present time, Mr. Potter will be required to remain within the Hogwarts school grounds for the rest of the summer, in order to ensure his safety, and so will not be permitted to visit the Weasleys in August. One of the professors will obtain Mr. Potter's textbooks and school supplies from Diagon Alley for him.

I hope you enjoy the rest of the summer, and look forward to seeing you upon your return to school in September.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Hermione frowned as she studied the letter. She instantly noticed that Professor Dumbledore had given no explanation for why Harry had been relocated to Hogwarts, just said that he had been. She wondered if Ron or Sirius had been given any more information, or if Dumbledore had perhaps decided there was too much of a chance of the owls being intercepted.

Frowning, she handed the owl a treat and let it leave, and then returned her attention to the Daily Prophet. She had little doubt that Ron would owl her as soon as he received his letter from the headmaster, and she'd see what his reaction to the situation was. Meanwhile, she had to finish checking the paper.

So far, Rita Skeeter had kept her side of their bargain, but Hermione wasn't sure if it would last; especially not if the reporter thought there was something else going on with Harry. That was one reason why she'd re-subscribed to the Daily Prophet.

The other reason was to keep informed on the activities of the Death Eaters and Voldemort - or, at least, what Cornelius Fudge let the paper print about them. It was obvious from the articles published about the three attacks that had taken place so far that Fudge still didn't believe the Dark Lord was back. That worried Hermione; worried her a great deal. If the Ministry kept denying Voldemort's return - and people did trust the Ministry - then they wouldn't know to protect themselves against the Dark Lord, rather than just bands of Death Eaters. Yes, Dumbledore had made that announcement at the Leavetaking Feast, but Hermione wasn't sure that many of the parents actually believed him, whatever their children might think.

Two hours later, just before Hermione was about to go down and join her parents for dinner, a familiar ragged-looking owl flew in her window and collapsed on her desk.

"Oh, Errol," Hermione muttered, shaking her head, as she removed the letter from his beak.

Hermione,

Just got a letter from Dumbledore saying that Harry's at Hogwarts for the rest of the summer - which you probably know already, since the letter said he was also writing to you and Snuffles to let you know. Only problem is, Dumbledore also said Harry won't be allowed to come visit us; he's going to be restricted to the school grounds for his safety.

At Mum's suggestion, I've written him back to ask if we can visit Harry instead. That way, we can still see him over the summer. I'll let you know as soon as I get a reply back.

Fred and George are still at it; I think there's been more explosions over the past two weeks than there were all summer last year. I can't help but wonder where they got the money for it all; it's the Great Weasley Family Mystery this summer.

Got to finish this off or Errol will never make it to your place before nightfall - Pig and Hermes are taking Harry's present to him. Let me know what you think about the situation with Harry.

-- Ron

Well, it would be nice if they could visit Harry at Hogwarts, but something - perhaps the tone of Dumbledore's letter - told Hermione that it was unlikely to be permitted. She'd write Ron back tomorrow, once poor Errol had had a chance to recover.

"Hermione! Dinner!" her mother called from downstairs.

"Coming, Mum!" Hermione replied. She quickly gave Errol a bowl of water and an owl treat, and then hurried down to the dining room.

---

Harry closed the potions book, put it on his bedside table, and leaned back against the pillows.

It had been a long day, doing nothing but reading, interspersed with visits from Dobby at lunch and dinner. The house-elf had chatted away to Harry while he ate, which had at least provided some relief from the monotony of reading.

And the books themselves...

The book on Dark Creatures had been pretty much what he'd expected, and Harry had been able to skim through the sections on creatures they'd covered in third year with Professor Lupin, only checking for new information in those parts. The book on potions, which he'd only just finished, had been surprisingly interesting, with the potion recipes interspersed with anecdotes of their use in battles, and an entire section devoted solely to different types of healing potions; he'd even found mention of the Levatio Potion in there, although not the recipe itself. It made sense, of course, especially considering the fact that he seemed to regularly end up in the hospital wing after a battle with Voldemort, but he'd never really thought about healing potions assisting with Defence Against the Dark Arts before.

It was the last book, the one Dumbledore had advised him to read after breakfast, however, that was occupying most of his thoughts just at the moment.

As Harry had suspected, it did indeed have a section devoted to physical defence. However, that was only one section of the rather large book. Most of it involved discussions of wandless magic and using it for protection.

Harry already knew a bit about wandless magic; after all, that was how he'd freed the snake at the zoo on Dudley's eleventh birthday, how he'd blown up Aunt Marge two years ago, and how Neville had survived a drop out of an upstairs window when he was eight. What Harry hadn't known was that the majority of wizards had very little wandless magic, only enough to do very basic things. According to what he understood from How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand, what he'd done to Aunt Marge meant that he had more ability to do wandless magic than over half the wizarding world, but it couldn't tell him exactly how much ability he had.

The book had gone into detail about ways to use wandless magic for defence, no matter how much or how little of it you had. The point it emphasized, over and over again, was that with wandless magic, your enemy didn't know what you were about to do, and how that surprise could end up giving you a huge advantage in a fight. It had given Harry a great deal to think about - as well as the definite impression that the writer must have been a Slytherin.

Shooting a quick glance at his watch, Harry blinked in surprise to see that it was after midnight already. He was now officially fifteen years old. He could only hope that Ron, Hermione and Sirius had received Dumbledore's letters in time to keep any presents from going to the Dursleys'; he didn't think Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would appreciate being woken by owls with his presents, looking for him. Or that they'd at least told the owls to find him, not just given them the Dursleys' address.

Which reminded him - what had the Dursleys' reactions been Saturday morning when they'd woken up and found him gone? He seriously doubted that Snape had left them a note, or any such thing. Had Dumbledore notified them? He'd have to ask...

"Still up, Harry?" came the headmaster's voice suddenly from the door, and Harry looked up, surprised again, to see Dumbledore walk in with a bunch of packages floating behind him.

"I've only just finished reading the books Professor Snape left for me, sir," Harry replied. Then, thinking that he'd probably better not try to get Snape in trouble if the professor was going to be tutoring him for the next month, he added rapidly, "Besides, I always stay up until my birthday."

Dumbledore smiled in response to that. "Ah, yes, it is after midnight, isn't it. Happy birthday, Harry. I had a number of owls at my window after several of them tried to find you in Gryffindor Tower. A good thing, too; Professor Snape would have been most displeased if you'd had to get out of bed to let them in here."

Harry nodded as Dumbledore guided the presents to the foot of his bed and lowered them to the covers. Now was the perfect time to ask... "Professor, what have the Dursleys been told?"

"Your aunt and uncle? I sent them a letter Saturday morning explaining that you'd been removed from their care for the rest of the summer due to problems with your health." Dumbledore shrugged. "Now, I'll leave you to open your presents in peace. Just remember to get a good night's sleep; I don't think Professor Snape would appreciate it if you were to fall asleep while he is teaching you."

Harry felt himself pale slightly at the thought of what Snape's reaction would be if that happened, and Dumbledore chuckled. "It's unlikely that you'll see me for the next week or so; I have to deal with a few things outside of Hogwarts," the headmaster continued. "Professor Snape is in charge of the school while I'm gone. The only others here at the moment are Professor Binns, Mr. Filch, the house-elves, and the ghosts."

Dumbledore's expression became sober, though his eyes were still twinkling merrily. "I expect you to obey Professor Snape as you would me, Harry. I don't want you wandering around at night, and you must remain on school grounds, for your own safety. We must not let Voldemort learn that you're here, and we most definitely must not provide him with the opportunity to grab you."

Harry nodded, Dumbledore's words making his mood equally sombre. He was fully aware of the danger to himself; and equally aware of what Dumbledore hadn't said. If Voldemort found out that he was at Hogwarts, the Dark Lord would expect Snape to do something about it, and would also wonder why it hadn't been Snape who told him in the first place. And while Harry still didn't like Snape - and, he suspected, probably never would - he didn't want the Potions master to die, either. "I'll be good, Professor," he promised.

"Excellent. Well then, as I said, I'll leave you to open your presents, and I expect I'll see you in about a week's time." Dumbledore smiled again, and then headed out the door.

Focusing his attention on the pile of presents at the foot of his bed, Harry reached first for a large square one, with Quidditch wrapping paper. Opening it, he found a wooden box labeled Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and a letter.

Hello, partner of ours! Happy birthday!

Enclosed you will find a large sample box of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, along with instructions on how to make use of all our new items.

You will no doubt be pleased to know that we've already started making a return on your investment. It's become the great family mystery of the summer, but - as promised - we aren't saying a word. Some of the guesses Ron and the others have come up with are absolutely hilarious; we'll share them with you when we see you.

We'll be buying Ron his dress robes when we go to Diagon Alley to get our school supplies. Which do you think would be better: dark blue or golden brown?

-- Gred and Forge

Harry laughed as he finished reading. It was good to know that the twins were enjoying themselves; and he'd been right, he knew that. They would all need something to laugh about; now more than ever. What Voldemort had done so far proved that.

The next package was the usual cake and jumper - this one the same green as his eyes, with his initials done in gold over the left side of his chest - from Mrs. Weasley. He put the cake on the bedside table and the jumper on the chair, and moved on to the next gift.

This one was strangely shaped, and Harry wasn't sure who it was from. Opening it, he found a practice Snitch kit, and a photo of the Bulgarian Quidditch team, with personalized signatures from all of the players. Like the present from Fred and George, there was a letter inside as well.

Harry,

Happy Birthday! I just got back from my visit to Viktor in Bulgaria. He was more than happy to help me pick out your birthday gift; he says that the practice kit is the same as the one he used to use, and he arranged for the signed photo. I thought you might like both. (I had a wonderful time there, by the way. The wizarding museums over there are wonderful, and Viktor was quite happy to play tour guide.)

I hope things have been going well, and that the Dursleys haven't been treating you badly. Have you had any more visions? If so, I hope you've let Dumbledore and Snuffles know.

How is Snuffles, by the way? Have you heard from him yet? Has he finished 'alerting the old crowd', as Dumbledore asked him to? I hope he's been eating regularly - he still looked awful last month.

I've got to go - I have to check the Daily Prophet (I'm keeping my eye out for anything by Rita Skeeter) and finish my Potions essay (four feet on the uses of unicorn horn - I wonder if we're going to be concentrating on healing potions next term?). I hope you've been getting your homework done as well...

Write me and let me know what's going on, okay? Since I'm back in England now, we don't have to worry about continental owl post...

-- Hermione

Harry shook his head in amusement. Hermione never changed.

He didn't know what to tell her about the visions, however. Maybe if he just told her that yes, he had had other visions, and he'd already told Dumbledore? He didn't really want to go into detail about any of them - not to Hermione, and not to Ron. Not with what he'd seen happen in them.

Well, he'd think about it later. Tomorrow. He wasn't going to be able to reply before then, anyway. For now, he still had a few more presents to open.

The present from Ron was something of a surprise. Harry had expected something Quidditch-related, but instead Ron had given him a book - it was almost as though Ron and Hermione had switched - entitled Strategy: How to Win at Wizard's Chess. There was also a fairly lengthy - for Ron, anyway - letter.

Hey, happy birthday, Harry!

Thought you might appreciate this book, all things considered - my grandad swore it was the best book ever for learning chess strategies, and we might be able to surprise Dean and Seamus come September, not to mention Hermione, if you can hold your own.

D'you know she just spent two weeks in Bulgaria with Krum?! And here I thought she wasn't going to go, after everything that happened. Not that Krum was to blame for it, of course, but still...! At least she's back home now.

Harry chuckled quietly, reading that, and wondered when Ron would realize that he was actually jealous of Viktor Krum.

On to other news... We still haven't managed to figure out who Fred and George managed to rope into investing in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They've barely come out of their room for the past two weeks, and there's been more explosions during that time than there were all last summer. Mum's basically given up on convincing them to stop - I think Dad spoke with her about it.

And speaking of Dad - he's been awfully busy lately, and no one's giving us any explanations. All he and Mum will say is that it's a busy time, trying to deal with the Death Eater attacks - even though there's only been three, so that's obviously not the whole story. Especially since Dad isn't an Auror. All I know is that it has something to do with Dumbledore and You-Know-Who, but not what. Any ideas?

How are the Dursleys treating you? And how's Snuffles? Any clue what he's doing for Dumbledore?

-- Ron

Harry frowned slightly as he re-read the part about Mr. Weasley. Part of the reason Voldemort had been so angry Friday night was because there had been Ministry raids on caches of Dark Arts materials the Death Eaters had stored away after his original disappearance; caches that Voldemort seemed to want fully intact. Had Mr. Weasley been involved with that? It would make a certain amount of sense, since Mr. Weasley was apparently one of the few people in the Ministry who actually believed that Voldemort was back, but Harry wasn't sure - and he didn't think that Snape would tell him if he asked, even if the Potions master knew.

Sighing, Harry put the letter and the book down on the table beside the cake, and turned his attention to the last package. Opening it up, he was surprised to see a small, delicately carved wooden box. He tried to lift the lid, and couldn't. Frowning slightly, he turned his attention to the letter.

Harry,

This is a joint present from Padfoot and myself (he's busy at the moment, which is why he isn't writing this letter). The box is my contribution; the contents are Padfoot's. (Don't ask me how he managed to keep hold of it while he was in Azkaban; he's refused to tell me. He may have hidden it somewhere just before going after Wormtail.)

Just in case you've never seen a wizard safe-box before (which, knowing Petunia, I suppose you probably haven't), you open it by touching your wand to the lid. Each box is specifically keyed to one person; I took the liberty of arranging for Mr. Ollivander to key it to you after the Wand Weighing Ceremony during the Tournament.

Harry pulled his wand out from under his pillow - he wasn't sure whether Snape or Dumbledore had put it there, but it was convenient and unlikely to fall on the floor - and tapped the lid of the box. It sprang open, and Harry looked inside to see a cloak brooch in the shape of a red lily, gilded with gold.

He stared at it for a moment, knowing instantly who it had belonged to - his mother - and then returned his attention to the letter.

It was a present from your father to your mother upon our graduation from Hogwarts. Padfoot says he found it in Godric's Hollow just after Hagrid left to take you to Dumbledore. He thought that you would like to have it.

We both hope that you're having a good summer. Don't worry too much about Padfoot; he's laying low here, and I'm making certain that he gets fed properly. He's looking much healthier than he was.

We should both be seeing you sometime in the new school year.

-- Moony (and Padfoot)

Harry reached into the box and gently ran his finger over the petals, and then very carefully closed it and put it on top of the book from Ron. He would think about it later.

There were no more packages, but there were two letters still lying on the bed. Picking the first one up, Harry immediately recognized Hagrid's writing.

Harry,

Sorry I couldn't get you your gift on time for your birthday, but I've been busy working for Dumbledore on the continent. I should be back by the time school starts, and I'll give you your present then.

Olympe and I are getting along well. Say hi to Fang for me.

-- Hagrid

That made Harry smile again. Hagrid was another person who never changed (although he couldn't help but wonder how Hagrid had known he was at Hogwarts in time to write this letter). At least it looked like Madame Maxime had indeed joined him on his mission for Dumbledore - which was, Harry suspected, acting as emissaries to the giants. Despite Fudge's refusal to even consider it, Dumbledore was undoubtedly well aware of what would happen if the giants were to side with Voldemort.

There was only one more letter left, but Harry couldn't think who else might have written him for his birthday. Unless, of course, Sirius had decided to write a separate letter from the one Lupin had sent...

His life seemed to be full of surprises today, however, because the letter was another one from Ron.

Harry,

Just got a letter from Dumbledore saying that you're at Hogwarts, and going to be there for the rest of the summer. Why? What happened? Was it the Muggles - or the visions?

He also said that you're not going to be allowed to come to the Burrow in August, that you're going to have to stay at the school. I've written back asking if Hermione and I can come visit you there. Hermione would get a kick out of it, I think - getting to visit the library while no one else is around!

Got to finish, the school owl's getting impatient. Hope to see you soon.

-- Ron

There was another note attached to it, in Dumbledore's handwriting.

Harry,

I presume this message from Mr. Weasley concerns the request he has made of me, to visit over the summer. However, I'm afraid that I cannot permit a visit by Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger as it would draw attention to the fact that you are here; which, as I have no doubt told you, is a very unwise idea indeed. I have conveyed this fact to young Mr. Weasley, and will be reiterating it to his parents.

-- Prof. Dumbledore

Harry sighed, a bit disappointed. He would have liked to have Ron and Hermione here with him... but he could see Dumbledore's point. Especially in light of the comments the headmaster had made just before leaving.

Besides, with Snape teaching him, Harry doubted that he'd have very much free time anyway.

Putting the letters on the table as well, Harry settled down in his bed and closed his eyes, quickly drifting off to sleep.

Snape deftly measured out three regular doses of the Levatio Potion into the glass phial and stoppered it, setting it to one side. This would be Potter's last triple-strength dose - hopefully, at least. He was going to scan Potter again after he finished his breakfast, just to be certain. It was very much a matter of needing to be safe rather than sorry when it came to the Boy-Who-Lived.

Opening his storage cabinet, Snape then took out a box of smaller crystal phials, all of them spelled to be unbreakable, and began filling them as well. He'd refilled his supply yesterday, but it had occurred to him when he'd woken up this morning that it might be a wise idea to give a supply of doses to Potter as well. This way, he wouldn't be disturbed in the middle of the night when Potter had a vision, and when school started again, he'd only have to worry about it when Potter ran out.

Once he finished that, he placed them back in the box, which he slipped into his pocket, and summoned one of the house-elves to get him Potter's breakfast. It was eight o'clock - the boy should be up by now. Even if he had stayed up late last night and was tired, Snape had never known anyone not to wake up by this hour if they were in the hospital wing, unless they'd been dosed with a sleeping potion or were unconscious for some reason or another. The sunlight that streamed in the windows there generally assured that the patients woke up at the crack of dawn.

The house-elf who responded was the one called Dobby - a very gaudily-dressed elf whom Snape remembered as having been a servant of the Malfoys until a couple of years ago. He had somehow befriended Potter, and ended up being fired - or being freed, if one looked at it the same way as Granger appeared to - near the end of the boy's second year. Snape wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing had something to do with the events surrounding the Chamber of Secrets, but he'd never bothered to ask.

"Here, Professor Snape, sir," the house-elf squeaked, putting a full tray on his desk. "Master Harry Potter's breakfast, sir."

"Thank you," Snape replied courteously. It was never wise to insult house-elves; they had a number of seemingly innocent ways to make one's life miserable unless one kept them absolutely terrified - as Lucius Malfoy did - and even that never served well in the end.

The house-elf didn't disappear, however. "Dobby could take Master Harry Potter's breakfast up to him, Professor Snape, sir," he offered.

"That will be unnecessary," Snape replied, as he put the phial of Levatio Potion on the tray, and then picked up the bottle containing Potter's last dose of Healing Draught from his lab table. "As it happens, I need to check on Mr. Potter personally."

"Very well, Professor Snape, sir," the house-elf replied, and disappeared.

Shaking his head, Snape lifted the tray up and headed for the hospital wing.

Potter looked up as soon as he opened the door, closing the book he'd been reading and slipping it onto an already full bedside table. Snape shot a quick glance around the area of the boy's bed, noting the textbooks piled up at the foot on top of the covers, the green jumper - undoubtedly from Molly Weasley - on the chair, and the boxes on the bedside table as he walked over.

Potter stared at him for a moment, and then said - almost hesitantly - "Good morning, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, and then placed the tray carefully on the bed and handed the triple-strength dose of Levatio to him. "Drink," he ordered.

Potter obediently swallowed the potion, and then automatically took the Healing Draught from the tray and drank it as well.

Shooting another quick glance around the area, Snape finally took the jumper off the chair and sat down, as Potter started his breakfast. The boy looked faintly surprised at that - he obviously hadn't expected Snape to stay - but didn't say anything.

"Have you finished reading the books, Potter?" Snape asked finally, when the boy was about halfway through his meal.

"Yes, sir." Potter met his eyes easily.

So, not lying then. Good. "We will not be beginning the actual lessons until this afternoon, but since I have to remain in order to check you after you have finished eating, do you have any general questions so far that you wish to ask about the contents of the books?"

Potter gaped at him for a moment, this time unable to hid his surprise, and Snape felt a touch of exasperation. Admittedly, this wasn't something he would usually say to a student, unless they were in his Advanced Potions class, but these lessons were for Potter's benefit, and he should be getting everything he could out of them. "Well?" Snape prompted, letting a hint of irritation enter his tone. "Did you comprehend everything in the books so completely that there is no need for me to teach you?"

Potter blinked, seeming to come back to himself. "Er... no, sir... and yes, I do have questions..." He paused, and then continued, "I noticed that the Levatio Potion was mentioned in the potions text, but the instructions for brewing it weren't included, although there were instructions for every other potion mentioned. Why?"

It was a surprisingly intelligent question. Maybe, just maybe, these tutorial sessions wouldn't be as much of a nuisance as he'd feared they would be - not if Potter was finally willing to make use of his brain.

"Brewing the Levatio Potion involves a very complex procedure," Snape began. "If any errors are made, at any stage, it will result in a deadly and exceedingly corrosive poison. It's mentioned in the book because it is the only known remedy for the effects of the Cruciatus curse, but it is not the type of potion that an amateur should attempt. All the other potions in the book are reasonably simple to brew, with no serious side-effects - aside from the fact that they simply will not work - if mistakes are made in the brewing process."

Potter nodded in acknowledgement, and then a thoughtful look crossed his face. "Are you going to be teaching me about all of these subjects, sir?" he asked, gesturing toward the textbooks.

"I would have thought that would be obvious, Potter," Snape replied coldly. And here he'd actually thought that Potter was starting to use his intelligence to do more than simply get into trouble...

"It's just... every Defence teacher we've had seems to have had a speciality," Potter continued. "I mean... like Professor Lupin's was Dark creatures, and... Crouch's was curses..."

"And did you actually consider any of your previous Defence teachers to be good teachers?" Snape demanded.

"Professor Lupin was," Potter replied.

Snape sneered in distaste. Of course James Potter's son would defend Lupin. Yes, the werewolf's knowledge of Dark creatures was extensive, but... "And what if he'd had to teach you about curses? Believe me, Potter, that was one subject that Lupin never did terribly well in.

"A good Defence teacher would be teaching a well-rounded curriculum to each year's students, incorporating all the various forms of Defence - not teach only their own particular speciality. What would happen if they did manage to stay for more than one year? The first-years would get completely new lessons - but what about the rest of the students? Admittedly, the seventh-year curriculum involves more dangerous things than the first-year curriculum, but if the teacher focuses on just one aspect of Defence, what will happen when the students go out into the world and have to face something they haven't been prepared for - but should have been? Have you ever considered that?

"In answer to your question - yes, Mr. Potter, we will be covering all these subjects over the next month; some in more detail than others, depending on the breadth of your current knowledge, but we will deal with all of them."

Potter was staring at him, and it was very clear from the expression on his face that he had never considered the situation surrounding Defence Against the Dark Arts the way Snape had just presented it to him. "I... never thought about it like that," the boy admitted slowly.

"Obviously." Snape studied him for a moment. Perhaps it would be best if he were to leave the boy to think about that for a while - it might even provoke some additional insight for the discussions he had planned. He eyed the breakfast tray thoughtfully. Potter had eaten most of the food, and was currently playing absently with a piece of toast. "Have you finished with your breakfast?"

Potter glanced down at the tray, and flushed slightly as he noticed what he was doing. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Snape stood up, and before Potter could move away, placed his hand on the boy's head in preparation for scanning him. "Stay still," he ordered, and began.

Harry froze as he felt that same bizarre probing sensation as he had on Friday night, in the Dursleys' lounge, when Snape had done the same thing - put one hand on his head and ordered him to stay still. The sensation was, however, a bit lighter this time - almost as though the first one had been a general... well, probe, and this time it was more specific in what it was looking for. He even forgot - for a moment - the embarrassment he felt as a result of Snape's lecture about Defence, trying to work out what was going on.

Abruptly, the sensation stopped, and Snape removed his hand, studying Harry carefully, almost as though he were a potion ingredient the professor was trying to analyze - or something like that, at least.

"What was that, sir?" Harry asked.

Snape looked directly at him. "What do you mean, Potter?"

"What were you doing? That... probing..."

Snape's eyes narrowed and fixed on Harry's face with an unnerving intensity. "Were you able to feel what I was doing, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. "It... was the same sort of thing as on Friday night, wasn't it?"

Snape didn't answer his question - at least, not directly. "What did it feel like?"

"Umm..." Harry hesitated for a moment, and then answered, "Almost as though something was probing, underneath my skin. What was it?"

The Potions master continued to stare at Harry for a long moment. It was beginning to make him uncomfortable - having Snape stare at him was never a good thing.

Then, just as Harry was about ready to repeat his question - again - Snape reached into his robes and removed a small box.

"This contains a dozen regular doses of Levatio Potion, each in its own phial. I suggest you keep it in your trunk, in case of another vision.

"You are to remain in bed until tomorrow at noon, in order to enable your body to finish healing the last of the damage caused by your visions.

"Your work for today will be to write out a list of all the charms, curses, hexes, and jinxes that you can do, and explain how they can be used in a Defence situation. You are permitted to consult the textbook, but I expect to see at least some originality in your responses. I will send a house-elf up with parchment, a quill and ink.

"I will see you in my office at one o'clock precisely tomorrow afternoon, with your list, the books, and plenty of parchment for taking notes."

With that, Snape turned around and stalked off in the direction of the door.

"Sir..." Harry started, wanting to know what was going on. Why hadn't Snape answered his question?

"You know what you have to do today, Mr. Potter. I suggest you get started." Snape paused for a moment, and then continued, "We will discuss your last question later." With that, he walked out the door, leaving Harry alone and completely confused.

What was that all about? Harry wondered, as he stared in the direction of the door. What did Snape just do?

He was about to start trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together when Dobby abruptly appeared by his bed, holding the promised supplies. "Professor Snape is asking Dobby to bring these to Harry Potter, sir," the house-elf declared.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry replied, taking them from him and putting the ink bottle on the bedside table, on top of the safe-box.

"Dobby is also thinking that Harry Potter might like this," Dobby added, scrambling up onto the chair and handing Harry a portable desk - one of the ones Madam Pomfrey kept on hand for when students were in the hospital wing for days, but could still do their work.

Harry grinned. "Wonderful! That's perfect, Dobby!"

"Harry Potter is most welcome. When would Harry Potter sir like his lunch?"

"At about twelve o'clock would be fine, Dobby," Harry said absent-mindedly, as he started to arrange the parchment and the textbooks on the portable desk. The house-elf nodded, and then disappeared, leaving Harry alone once again.

Well, he had two choices. He could either try thinking about what Snape had done, or he could work on the assignment the Potions master had given him for tomorrow.

Snape had said that they would be talking about that probing thing... and Harry simply didn't have enough information to know exactly what it was. It obviously had something to do with determining how he was recovering from the Cruciatus curse after-effects, or there would have been no reason for Snape to do it; but Harry wasn't sure how they were related. Certainly Madam Pomfrey had never done anything like that before.

Working on the assignment was probably the better idea at the moment - especially since, thinking about the fact that Snape had ordered him to do a list of all the charms that he knew, Harry had the feeling that the professor would be expecting the equivalent of an essay tomorrow. Which meant that he'd better get started now.

---

Ron looked up from his study of the Daily Prophet's sports page as both Pig and Hermes flew in the kitchen window. Hermes landed in front of his parents, extending the letter in his beak toward them; and Pig, as usual, started doing acrobatics above Ron's head. Sighing, Ron stood up and grabbed the tiny owl with both hands. "You're impossible, Pig," he muttered, taking the letter from his beak. "I've told you, you have to actually deliver the letters!"

"Is that from Harry?" George demanded.

"Let us see--" Fred started.

Their mother suddenly looked up from the letter she was reading. "Never you mind, Fred, George," she said firmly. "You are both well aware that mail is private. If there are any messages in there for you, I'm sure Ron will inform you."

The three boys stared at her in a certain amount of surprise, and even Ginny looked rather astonished at her reaction.

"Right... well... I guess I'll just... head up to my room..." Ron said hesitantly, thankful that he'd at least had the chance to finish breakfast before Pig had shown up. Pushing away from the table, still puzzled by his mother's reaction to the twins' request, he headed up the stairs. Once he was in his room, he finally looked at the envelope itself.

He wasn't terribly surprised to see the Hogwarts crest on the back.

Mr. Ronald Weasley,

I am certain that Mr. Potter appreciates your offer to visit the school over the summer in order to spend time with him; however, I am afraid that I cannot permit either yourself or Miss Granger to come.

It is absolutely imperative that neither Voldemort nor any of the Death Eaters learn that Mr. Potter is in residence at Hogwarts; both for his own safety, and that of a number of others - including both your family and Miss Granger's. For this reason, I must insist that you do not tell anyone other than your parents - not even your brothers or sister - where Mr. Potter is. I do understand that some secrets can be hard to keep, especially from family; however, I am sure that your experiences over the past four years have shown you that it is sometimes necessary to do so. This is one of those times.

I have also written a letter to your parents, explaining the above situation, and informed Mr. Potter of my decision. I leave it up to you to inform Miss Granger.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Much as he had with the first letter, Ron re-read this one in the hopes that it would change, but it didn't.

Bloody hell - poor Harry! He'd be stuck at the school for an entire month with only the teachers and the ghosts to keep him company; he was going to go crazy with boredom!

It was obviously a good thing that Ron hadn't yet had a chance to tell the twins and Ginny that Harry was at Hogwarts, considering the way Dumbledore had emphasized the need for secrecy in the letter (he wouldn't have told Percy anyway, not with the way he still looked up to Fudge). He'd meant to, last night at dinner, but his father had started asking Fred and George about their plans for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes during the school year, considering that they were going to be working on their N.E.W.Ts, and they had still been discussing it when dinner ended. In hindsight, Ron couldn't help but wonder if his father had perhaps anticipated Dumbledore's orders. It was certainly possible...

So now all he had to do was write a letter to Hermione to let her know. With a sigh, Ron pulled a piece of parchment and a quill out of his desk, and began.

---

Snape glared at the desk, exasperated. He should be in his dungeons right now, working on his potions research or on a training regimen for Potter's Sensitive gift; but no, Dumbledore - in his infinite wisdom - had stuck him with the supervision of the school while he was trying to salvage Hagrid's assignment, and that meant paperwork. Lots of it. Especially since today was the deadline for the first-year acceptances.

When he'd left Potter in the hospital wing, he'd started back toward his rooms - only to be intercepted partway there by Fawkes. The phoenix had then led him up to Dumbledore's office, where he'd found himself confronted by a desk full of letters. It seemed most of the new first-years had decided to wait until today to send in their acceptances. Typical.

This should be Minerva's job, he thought sourly, not mine. But no - she has to be in Ireland...

Not that he wanted to - much less could - do what the deputy headmistress was doing over there; but still, he had his own duties to see to, and Dumbledore had gone and dumped the responsibility for Potter in his lap...

At least the boy was still restricted to bed until tomorrow, in order to let his body finish healing. Snape really didn't want to think about what kind of trouble Potter would get up to over the next month if he wasn't kept busy.

Well, the list he'd requested would certainly keep Potter occupied for today - and, with any luck, tomorrow morning as well, until he was allowed out of bed. He would be interested to see both what Potter knew, and what sort of Defence strategies he could come up with for some of the more supposedly innocuous spells - such as the Cheering Charm.

It actually appeared that giving him that assignment this morning was going to work out well, despite the fact that his lesson plan for today had been replaced; originally Snape had planned a discussion about the definition of Defence Against the Dark Arts, with the list of spells as homework either tonight or tomorrow. The revelation that Potter had been able to feel his scan - which meant that the boy had to be a Sensitive - had changed those plans. Snape wasn't quite ready to discuss the Sensitive's gift with the boy just yet. He'd made an instant decision to have Potter write out the list today, as an assignment in lieu of class; which had the added benefit of the fact that he would be able to get some insight into the way Potter thought about Defence before their first actual lesson.

Of course, it also now meant that he had the entire day available to do paperwork.

With a sigh of exasperation, Snape picked up the list of prospective first-years - which Dumbledore had left prominently displayed in the middle of the desk - and began reading the responses and ticking off the names of those who had accepted.

---

Hermione was nibbling thoughtfully at the top of her pen - she preferred them to quills, over the summer - staring at the piece of parchment in front of her. She wasn't entirely sure how to write this. Ron had sounded really enthused about the possibility of getting to visit Harry whenever they wanted for the rest of the summer, but she really was fairly certain that the headmaster wouldn't allow it...

Abruptly Errol - who was settled on the perch Hermione had bought last year - gave a weary hoot and hunkered down, ruffling his ragged feathers. Looking around to see what had prompted the owl's reaction, Hermione saw the brown spot flying toward her window just in time to open it before Pigwidgeon crashed into the glass.

Luckily, Pig seemed to be in the mood to behave, because he immediately dropped the letter he was carrying onto her desk and flew over to join Errol, rather than playing his favourite game of aerial acrobatics.

Hermione picked the letter up, unsealed it, and began to read.

Hermione,

I just got a reply from Dumbledore this morning. He said we aren't going to be allowed to visit because it's too likely that we'll draw attention. He also said that I'm not allowed to tell anyone except my parents where Harry is - not even Fred, George, or Ginny. I think my dad sort of expected that, 'cause I was going to tell them last night at dinner, but he kind of re-directed their attention.

Do you have any idea what to do now?

-- Ron

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. Really, Ron could be quite exasperating at times. Well, at least now she knew what to write...

Ron,

Honestly, I'm not really all that surprised that we won't be allowed to visit; as Dumbledore said, it would draw attention - probably the wrong sort - if we were to show up at Hogwarts. As for not telling the twins and Ginny... I'm sure Dumbledore has his reasons. And if your parents agree with him, then they're undoubtedly orders we'd best follow.

Based on your letter, however, Professor Dumbledore didn't say that we couldn't write to Harry, so it's not like we can't communicate with him. In fact, if he's staying at the school, we'll probably get replies back more often, since they won't be forbidding him to write the way the Dursleys do. Altogether, for Harry, at least, this will probably be even better than the summer between second and third year.

By the way, speaking of school reminds me - have you got your homework finished yet? Even the Potions essay was quite interesting - I hadn't realized there were so many different uses for unicorn horn. I think it's very likely we'll be working on healing potions next term, so it might be wise to do a bit of extra studying about them so that Snape has less excuse to take points from us.

-- Hermione

Reading it over, Hermione nodded in satisfaction, and then sealed the letter and handed it to Errol. "Here you go - take this back to Ron, please," she requested. Errol bobbed his head - which made his feathers move in such a way that he looked more like a feather duster than usual for a moment - and then gathered himself together and took off, beating his wings strenuously. Pig meeped at her, and then followed the other owl out, fluttering around Errol's head and generally looking as though he was determined to be annoying.

Hermione shook her head as she closed the window, amused as usual by Pig's antics, and then turned her attention to the copy of The Hobbit that she'd been reading earlier.

---

Harry put the quill down on the desk and stretched his fingers, trying to work out the cramp he'd developed over the past several hours of concentrated writing. By his guess, it was pretty close to dinner time, so it was probably all right if he decided to take a bit of a break.

He'd actually managed to surprise himself with the sheer number of spells he'd learnt over the past four years; it had made for a fairly long list.

As for using them in Defence situations... well, he'd had a bit of trouble with that requirement. Not for the obvious ones, of course - like the Impediment Jinx and the Disarming Charm, to name two - but the less obvious ones. What possible use could an Unlocking Spell or a Cheering Charm be in the middle of a duel or a battle?

Unfortunately, Harry was pretty sure that it was the latter question that was the main focus of this particular assignment, which meant that he couldn't just get away with listing the spells alone and going on. As a result, he'd spent most of the afternoon trying to work out more and more creative ways to use those spells; and even now, he was only about two-thirds done. Luckily, he still had tomorrow morning to finish it - he was going to need it, even if he got some more done tonight.

Sighing, he put the parchment he'd been writing on, and the Defence Charms book, over to one side. He was just about to reach for Strategy: How to Win at Wizard's Chess - which he'd been starting to read this morning when Snape had shown up - when Dobby suddenly appeared with a tray piled high with food.

"Dobby is bringing Harry Potter's dinner, sir," the house-elf declared, placing the tray on the portable desk.

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry replied. "How has your day been?" he added, as he started eating.

"Dobby's day is being very quiet, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby answered. "House-elves is not having much to do at Hogwarts during the summer. Only Professor Snape, Mr. Filch, and the ghosts - and Harry Potter - is being here at the moment." He paused, looking carefully at Harry for a long moment. "Is Harry Potter staying at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded. "Yes," he said, once he'd finished swallowing. "Professor Dumbledore and... Professor Snape think it would be better if I stayed here for the rest of the summer." And I'm not going to worry about next summer yet. Right now, I've just got to worry about surviving my lessons with Snape. And whatever Voldemort's up to, of course...

Then Harry suddenly thought of something - something he really should have thought of before this. "Dobby, how is Winky?"

Dobby's ears went down. "Winky is not happy, Harry Potter, sir. Winky's old master is being killed by his son, Professor Dumbledore says, and Winky is being very upset."

"Is she still drinking Butterbeer?" Harry asked, feeling worried. Winky had been so distraught when Barty Crouch had told them that he had murdered his father, but Harry hadn't really thought all that much about her since then. Most of his attention had been directed towards his visions of Voldemort, the nightmares of Cedric, and dealing with the Dursleys.

"No, Winky is not drinking," Dobby replied, looking a little bit happier, "but Winky is still unhappy. Dobby is trying to cheer her up, but is not having much luck."

Harry nodded in understanding as he started on his dessert. "At least she's stopped drinking - that's a good thing," he said.

"Dobby knows it takes time," the house-elf said. "But Dobby will tell Winky that Harry Potter sir is asking about her."

"Thank you," Harry repeated, and then put his spoon down on the tray. "Well, I'm finished."

Dobby took the tray. "When would Harry Potter sir like his breakfast?"

"Umm... probably about seven-thirty, please, Dobby. And I'd better have lunch around noon - I have to see Professor Snape at one."

The house-elf nodded, and then disappeared.

The news about Winky was good, Harry reflected, as he picked up the chess book and leaned back against the pillows. He'd have to let Hermione know - she'd be pleased to hear that at least the house-elf wasn't continuing to get drunk. Then he opened the book to where he'd left off this morning, and started reading. He'd work a bit more on the list later - right now, he was going to continue to enjoy a bit more of a break.

---

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose as he walked out from behind the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. The sheer amount of paperwork he'd ended up doing today had convinced him that he never, ever wanted Dumbledore's job. He had thought, when Fawkes had left him up there, that all he would have to do was deal with the first-year acceptances. He could not have been more wrong.

It was already after midnight; and while he could survive - and quite often did, during the school year - on less than four hours sleep a night, he much preferred to have a full night's sleep whenever he could. And considering the fact that he still needed to decide what he was going to tell Potter about the Sensitive's gift, to start with, it would probably be best if he were to go straight to bed.

Nonetheless, he found himself wandering in the direction of the hospital wing.

It was a bad habit he'd gotten into, checking on Potter's whereabouts in the middle of the night. It rarely seemed to do any good - Potter had unfortunately become quite skilled at sneaking about the castle at night, and that bloody Invisibility Cloak didn't help - but at least if he kept an eye on things, there was always the chance that he might be able to avert some of the danger the boy tended to get himself into.

Not that he thought Potter would be up and around tonight - the boy had been too shocked by the damage done to him to risk wandering around before he was completely healed; but he was in the castle, and healed enough to be able to wander if he wanted to, and it was a long-standing habit to check on him.

The mere fact that the habit existed - not to mention the reason it existed - irritated Snape no end, and he was almost sorry that he didn't run into Peeves on the way there. The poltergeist was definitely a legitimate target for his temper...

Opening the door to the hospital wing, he silently stalked in and over to the corner where Potter's bed was.

The boy was curled up on top of the blankets, sound asleep, with his glasses still on his face. One hand was loosely holding onto a book, and Snape found himself raising one eyebrow in surprise as he recognized it - a rather good book on chess strategies. Most likely a present, but a very well-chosen one, all things considered.

Well, with the paperwork completed and Potter safely in bed and asleep, he could at least get back to his rooms without--

Not now! Snape almost swore as the pain from the Dark Mark seared through him, summoning him. He heard Potter whimper in pain as he spun around and headed for the door, but he didn't have time to check whether or not the boy had woken up. Not with a summons as urgent as this.

It didn't take him long to get from the hospital wing to the boundary of the wards; he'd learned a number of shortcuts throughout the years. As soon as he was past the boundary, he touched the Mark and Apparated.

---

What is that Muggle quote - "No rest for the weary"? Snape reflected ruefully, as he carefully made his way through the castle down to the dungeons three hours later. These meetings, and the strain of deceiving the Dark Lord, always drained him. If it's not, it definitely should have been. Certainly that sentiment describes my current situation precisely - though, I suspect, not for the reasons the originator of the quote came up with.

Voldemort had - fortunately or unfortunately, depending on which way one chose to look at it - been in a much better mood tonight than he had been on Friday. The fortunate part was that it had meant that Parkinson and Wormtail had been the only ones subjected to the Cruciatus. The unfortunate part was that the Dark Lord had apparently had a reason to be in a better mood.

Whatever it was that Voldemort had hidden in those caches that Arthur Weasley's people at the Ministry had seized, Lucius Malfoy had been able to retrieve them before they'd been brought to anyone's attention.

Snape - along with most of the Death Eaters - still didn't know what 'they' were, nor why Voldemort wanted them so urgently; but he could make a reasonable guess. From what the Dark Lord had said, he suspected that it had something to do with the Dementors of Azkaban.

Personally, Snape hated the Dementors with a vengeance. The weeks he'd spent in Azkaban after Potter had defeated Voldemort the first time had been a horror beyond nightmares; and he'd had the advantage of being in a special section of the prison where he hadn't received the full effect, because Dumbledore had vouched for him. Added to that the viciously powerful effect Dementors seemed to have on Potter... One of the last things Snape wanted to see happen was Voldemort persuading - or even forcing - the Dementors to become his allies.

Reaching his door, the Potions master murmured the password and slipped in as the portrait opened to let him past.

As the portrait closed behind him, Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle. Re-enlarging it, he dumped the bloody robes into a basket for the house-elves to take care of, and tossed the mask carelessly into its box by the door.

He sincerely hoped that Potter hadn't had a vision of what had happened over the course of the meeting. Lucius had obviously been worried that simply retrieving the items Voldemort wanted wouldn't be enough to improve the Dark Lord's mood - despite the fact that he'd apparently managed it without drawing any attention to himself - and so had also brought along some... 'entertainment'. A Muggle woman and her two children.

It was exceedingly fortunate, in Snape's opinion, that he was known for not having a taste for 'blood sport' - which he regarded as a mere euphemism for allowing sadistic urges full rein - and so he hadn't been expected to participate in the so-called 'fun'. He'd had to watch, however - he'd have been immediately under suspicion if he hadn't - and had been unable to do anything to ease the suffering that the three victims had gone through. If he could have, he would have killed them quickly - but even his known distaste for games of torture wouldn't have helped explain doing that.

Snape really, really hoped that Potter hadn't seen the 'games'. It had sickened him, and he was... not callous about suffering, but at least able to find other things to focus on when something like this happened. He'd had plenty of practice. But it wasn't the sort of thing a fifteen year old boy should have to deal with.

Truthfully, it's not something that anyone should have to deal with - but at least I have the experience to do so. Potter doesn't have that - and should not have to develop it. There are times when I think it's criminal, what the entire wizarding world is doing to him; he's been conscious of having the weight of our world on his shoulders since he was eleven years old. And no matter how much experience he's had with Voldemort and the Death Eaters over the past four years, he's still only a child.

Unfortunately, in some ways, they had very little choice. Potter had defeated Voldemort, driven him out of his body, when the boy was only a year old - and whether it had been entirely due to Lily's sacrifice, or whether it had been some combination of the sacrifice and Potter's Sensitive gift, it had been the boy who was given the credit. That made him a target for Voldemort, no matter what he did or didn't do now.

Sighing, Snape sat down on his couch and automatically lit the fire. He wasn't going to be able to get any sleep for the rest of the night - not with what had happened at the meeting - so he might as well use the time productively.

Let's see... I still have to decide exactly what I'm going to tell Potter about the Sensitive's gift. I might as well consider that, and start working on a training regimen to add to the Defence lessons...

Summoning a quill and parchment, Snape focused his attention on the details of planning the beginning of Potter's practical training sessions, letting the work push the memories of what had happened at the Death Eater meeting to one side for the present.

Harry fidgeted nervously as he waited outside the door to Snape's office.

It had not been a good night.

He'd woken up before dawn from a very unpleasant vision of Voldemort, feeling the mild ache from the Cruciatus curses the Dark Lord had thrown at Wormtail and another Death Eater. He'd immediately opened the box Snape had given him yesterday morning and drunk the contents of one of the phials, letting the warmth chase away that peculiar, unpleasant chill that he got from the vision-curses.

He'd been unable to sleep after that; he would have only had nightmares about the woman and children Lucius Malfoy had brought to the meeting, and what the Death Eaters had done to them.

Well, most of the Death Eaters, anyway. Snape had just stood outside the circle and watched, the white mask concealing his expression.

It was a bit weird, Harry thought, that he always seemed to be able to recognize Snape in the visions, even if the Potions master neither moved nor talked. Maybe it was all the practice he'd had, keeping an eye on Snape for one reason or another over the past four years...

Well, whatever it was that let him recognize the Potions master, it didn't extend to the ability to know what it was he felt about what Voldemort, Malfoy, and the other Death Eaters had done.

The question was, did he really want to know what Snape had thought about it? And the problem was that Harry wasn't sure. If Snape hadn't been affected by what--

"Well, Potter? Are you going to stand out here all day, or do you actually intend to grace me with your presence?"

Harry flushed as he realized that he'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Snape open the door. "Sorry, sir," he muttered, knowing better than to react to the sarcasm. "I just... didn't want to disturb you if you were working..."

Snape simply looked at him for a moment, and then gestured for him to enter. "At least you were prompt," the professor commented coolly. "Do you have your list?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, handing the roll of parchment to Snape as he entered.

The Potions master nodded, and then opened the scroll and quickly skimmed through it. Harry shifted his book bag to his other arm, waiting.

After about a minute of silence, Snape looked up from the scroll, directly at him, and raised his eyebrows. "Sit down, Potter," he ordered curtly.

Harry silently sat down in one of the two chairs facing Snape's desk, and couldn't help but wonder if Snape would tell him what he'd done in the hospital wing yesterday.

Before he had a chance to ask again, however, Snape sat down behind the desk, putting the scroll to one side.

"I'm pleased to see that you took the trouble to actually think about the assignment," he said, and Harry blinked in surprise. That had been, at the very least, almost a compliment. Certainly it was more of a compliment than anything Snape had ever said to him before. "Now, why did I tell you to do this?"

Harry felt surprised again, as well as more than a bit bewildered. "Sir?"

There was a flicker of irritation on Snape's face. "It's a very simple question, Potter. I want you to tell me why I told you to write out this list."

He didn't think Snape wanted the obvious answer - or, at least that wasn't the only answer he wanted. "To see if I could think of ways to use the less obvious spells in Defence situations, as well as to get a list of which ones I know so that you can teach me others."

For the second time in less than a week, Harry saw a surprising expression on Snape's face directed toward him. The Potions master actually looked somewhat pleased with Harry's answer - and it wasn't the vicious pleasure he normally displayed when he was about to cut Harry down. "Correct.

"As I told you on Saturday, we will be dealing - for the most part - with the theory behind Defence for the next week, in order to give you a chance to finish recovering, and at the same time providing you with a basic framework for the practical lessons that will follow." Snape paused and studied him for a moment before continuing. "Understand this from the outset, Potter: these tutorials are not academic. They are not geared to help you pass your tests and your O.W.Ls. They are solely for the purpose of teaching you how to be better able to defend yourself.

"As a result, none of the work you do will be graded. What you get out of these lessons will be commensurate with what you put in to them. I will not force you to make an effort, as there is no point to that - it is entirely up to you what you do. However, I will warn you now: I expect you to do your best. If I believe that you are skiving off, I will cease these lessons immediately. Is that clear?"

Harry swallowed and then nodded. "Clear, sir."

"Good." Snape steepled his hands in front of his face, his elbows resting on the top of his desk. "Now, you understand why I gave you that assignment yesterday. Do you have any questions about it?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, and then decided to plunge ahead. "Not about the assignment, but..."

"Go on, Potter. As I said, you will get out what you put in. I expect you to ask questions," Snape said firmly, looking almost... exasperated as he spoke.

Well, here goes nothing. I just hope he actually answers me this time... "What did you do yesterday, sir?"

Snape leaned back in his chair and studied Harry for a long moment. "Let no one ever accuse you of not being persistent, Mr. Potter," he commented.

Harry wasn't sure whether that could be considered a compliment or not, but at least it wasn't an outright refusal to answer. Though that didn't necessarily mean much...

"As it happens, that is one of the matters I intended us to discuss in this lesson. Before I say anything about it, however, I must have your word - your sworn oath, Mr. Potter - that you will not discuss what I am about to tell you with anyone. This includes Black and those two sidekicks of yours." The last sentence was said in a rather disdainful tone, and Harry thought he saw a flicker of something like rage in Snape's eyes when he mentioned Sirius.

Harry frowned, unable to keep the defiance he was feeling off his face. "I trust them, Professor. They wouldn't tell--"

He broke off. Snape's eyes were glittering with a look of utter fury that Harry had seen only once before - in the Shrieking Shack, at the end of his third year. He found himself shrinking involuntarily back in his chair as Snape leaned forward.

"Listen to me very, very carefully, Potter," Snape said coldly. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but the sheer intensity of the emotion it contained made it more terrifying than a shout. "You have seen what Voldemort does to his Death Eaters when they displease him; and you have seen what he does to Muggles and Muggle-borns for entertainment, and to satisfy his craving for revenge. What he does when he wants information from people is a hundred times worse - and it has never yet failed to gain him what he wants.

"When you told Weasley and Granger that I was a spy, you put my life in their hands."

One part of Harry's mind wondered how Snape had known that he'd told them - or, for that matter, how Snape had known that he definitely knew - but most of his attention was riveted by Snape's words and voice as he continued.

"That is bad enough - but it is inevitable that sooner or later Voldemort will discover the truth and come after me as a traitor. What you are asking me to tell you now, however, is something that could easily prove to be more dangerous than that for the both of us if Voldemort received even the slightest hint of the possibility. And even Hogwarts is not entirely safe, as you know. The only other person who knows of this is the headmaster."

The fury in Snape's expression had eased somewhat by the time he finished this explanation, but the intensity of his gaze had not. "Therefore, unless and until I have your word not to speak of it to anyone, you will have to remain in ignorance." He sat back in his chair again.

Released from the intensity Snape had focused on him, Harry thought carefully about what the Potions master had said. The idea that Ron or Hermione - or himself, for that matter - could betray Snape as a spy had never consciously hit him before.

It was almost enough to douse his curiosity - almost, but not quite. Snape had said that whatever this secret was, it would affect the both of them.

The question then became: could he keep it a secret from Ron and Hermione, if Snape told him? They'd always shared pretty much everything, right from Hallowe'en of first year, with the exception of last year before the First Task, when Ron had been acting like a total prat - and they'd made up, afterwards. What would it do to their friendship if Harry kept something a secret from them?

But this had to do with him, and quite possibly with the secrets that Dumbledore had consistently refused to talk to him about.

What other choice did he have?

"I give you my word I won't talk to anyone else about it, Professor," Harry said firmly.

Snape inclined his head slightly. "Very well, Mr. Potter." He steepled his fingers again.

"As I am sure you are aware, there are... abilities... that not every witch or wizard is born with, but that show up occasionally. A strong ability to do wandless magic is one. Another is the ability to understand and speak Parseltongue. So is the ability to become an Animagus. There are numerous others."

Harry nodded in understanding, but he couldn't help but wonder what that had to do with the probing sensation he'd felt.

"One such talent, or gift, is the ability to sense what is known as the 'flow of magic'," Snape continued. "It is unusual, though not as rare as being a Parselmouth, and is commonly known as the Sensitive's gift.

"The Sensitive's gift is not attached to any specific bloodline; nor does it show up only in powerful wizards. It is just as possible for someone who is nearly a squib to be a Sensitive as it is for someone with Dumbledore's power.

"The gift has many different applications, but for the moment we will only concentrate on two. The first, and most commonly known, is that because Sensitives can sense magic directly, once they have been trained they can do anything with wandless magic that they can do using a wand. The second is that Sensitives can detect when magic has been twisted out of true."

Comprehension dawned as Harry remembered Snape's description of the effects of the Cruciatus curse. "So... you're a Sensitive, and you were checking to see that the Levatio Potion worked!" he concluded.

"A reasonable conclusion," Snape acknowledged. High praise indeed, from the Head of Slytherin. "There is more, however."

Well, there would have to be - Snape still hadn't explained how this applied to Harry.

"You felt the scans I did both Friday night and yesterday, you said."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. "I've never felt anything like that before..."

"Not surprising," Snape replied coolly. "It is something that can only be done by a trained Sensitive, and I am currently the only one in the British Isles and Continental Europe."

"What about Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

Snape shook his head. "The headmaster has a very powerful ability to do wandless magic - stronger than anyone else I've ever met - but he is not a Sensitive." Snape looked directly at him. "He does, however, have an excellent instinct for identifying Sensitives - or rather, people who have the potential to become Sensitives."

Harry almost groaned as the meaning behind Snape's statement sank in. Bloody wonderful - that's all I need. Another difference.

It was obvious that Snape knew Harry had realized what he meant, although Harry couldn't tell whether or not he'd also noticed his actual reaction to the news. "Only another Sensitive could have felt my scan. Dumbledore has never been able to, even when he knew I was doing it.

"Under ordinary circumstances, no one would be able to tell for certain that you have the Sensitive's gift until you reached about twenty - that tends to be when the gift reaches full power - and even then, it requires specialized knowledge to recognize. However, Dumbledore has suspected that you have the gift since an incident before your third year," Harry flushed at the memory of what he'd done to Aunt Marge, "and it was decided that I would attempt to confirm it."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Irritation flickered across Snape's face again - or maybe it was exasperation. "Potter. Voldemort wants to kill you. You are fifteen years old, and you currently have neither the training nor the power to match him alone - particularly as the protection your mother's sacrifice left with you was negated by the method of Voldemort's resurrection. The simple fact is that you need all the advantages you can get, and the Sensitive's gift - as long as you are trained to use it - can prove to be a tremendous advantage. Not to mention the fact that untrained, it has the potential to become a serious liability."

"But... I thought you said it doesn't manifest until the person turns twenty--" Harry began.

"What I said was that it cannot be detected - at least not by anyone who is not themselves a Sensitive - before about the age of twenty, and that it doesn't reach full power until that time," Snape replied.

Okay... definitely irritation.

"You've had the gift since you were born, and - like your regular magic - it can be trained before it reaches full strength. Your practical lessons will incorporate training in using your gift.

"Now," he continued, leaning back in his chair again, "you have read the books I've given you, and you have had four years of Defence lessons, of varying quality. Tell me, Mr. Potter... what is Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

Harry blinked in confusion at the abrupt change of subject, even more puzzled by this question than he had been by the one about the reasons for yesterday's assignment.

"Come, Potter; do you mean to tell me that after four years of a class, you can't tell me what the subject means?" Snape questioned, his tone rich with the contempt that was so familiar from Potions classes.

"Learning to protect against the Dark Arts," Harry blurted out.

Snape raised his eyebrow. "A meaningless definition, Potter. Protect against, defend against - they are synonymous. What does it mean?"

Bloody-- what am I supposed to say? Harry was starting to get frustrated.

"Well, Potter? I'm waiting. You do so well in Defence Against the Dark Arts - one would think that you would, at the very least, be able to explain it to me." Snape appeared to be... almost amused by his frustration, which only served to increase it.

Harry knew he shouldn't let Snape get to him, and ordinarily he wouldn't have - not this soon, at least - but the sarcasm was grating on him. "I told you, protection against the Dark Arts!"

Snape shook his head. "Not satisfactory, Mr. Potter. I want a definition, not a re-wording." He looked at Harry for a moment, and Harry felt his frustration level increase even further.

Then Snape gave a sharp nod and continued, "Very well, Potter - try this one. Why can't you answer my question?"

Harry blinked, his frustration abruptly curtailed by the suddenly calm tone. Where was Snape going with this? "I don't know," he admitted reluctantly.

"Why did Dumbledore insist that Moody - Crouch - demonstrate the Unforgivables to you, and use the Imperius curse?"

"So that we would understand what they were, and how to fight off the Imperius," Harry replied immediately.

"In other words, in order to defend yourself against the Unforgivables, you had to understand what they were," Snape commented.

Harry nodded, and then his eyes widened as he suddenly understood what the Potions master was getting at. "And that's why I was having trouble with the question, because I was concentrating on the Defence part."

"Now that you recognize that, try again. What is Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

Harry frowned. "Learning to defend ourselves against Dark Creatures, and Dark Witches and Wizards," he replied after a moment.

Snape was starting to look irritated again. "What makes a witch or a wizard Dark?"

"They're evil," Harry replied confidently.

"Merlin spare me from Gryffindors," Snape muttered under his breath, though Harry had the distinct feeling that the Potions master had intended for him to hear it. "I could dispute that, but I won't at the moment. Try again, Potter: what causes a witch or wizard to be classified as Dark?"

Harry had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized what the answer was. "Their... use of the Dark Arts."

"Once again, we appear to have come in a circle." Snape gave him a contemptuous look. "Let us try one more time. What are the Dark Arts, Mr. Potter?"

Harry thought carefully; the way Snape was leading him around was making him feel stupid, something he'd never liked - especially not when it was Snape doing it. He wasn't interested in continuing the game any longer - which meant that he had better get the right answer this time.

"We don't have all day, Potter," the Potions master said - obviously still irritated. He started to tap his fingers against his desk.

Harry did his best not to let the sound distract him as he tried to work it out. "The Dark Arts involves using magic to hurt someone else," he said finally.

"'Hurt' is not the best way to put it; there are times when people have to be hurt in order to get better. Skele-Gro, for example, involves a potion that is rather painful for the patient, but the ultimate results are beneficial," Snape said. A rather amused look crossed his face when Harry gave a shudder of distaste at the mention of Skele-Gro. "A more appropriate term would be 'harm'. An Imperius curse, for example, does not hurt someone directly - in fact, they feel rather relaxed and pleased while the Imperius lasts - but it definitely harms them."

Harry nodded in understanding. "So, Defence Against the Dark Arts would be defined as learning to protect ourselves against magic that is used to cause harm. And Dark Creatures, of course..."

Snape inclined his head slightly. "That definition - while very basic and not entirely accurate, as well as not incorporating everything the Ministry considers Dark - is a good starting point for understanding and really should be the very first thing taught to first-years; you can't build a true foundation unless you understand what it is you're doing. Which means that for Defence Against the Dark Arts, you need to understand what the Dark Arts are before you can start defending against them...

"Mr. Potter, why aren't you writing this down? I didn't tell you to bring parchment simply to hear myself talk!"

Harry flushed bright red in mingled anger and bewilderment at the sudden reprimand as he opened his bag, pulled out several pieces of parchment, and wrote down the definition. Snape hadn't said that he was supposed to be taking notes during their current discussion...

Then again, he probably should have anticipated it.

"All right, now that we have a general definition for Dark Arts, we are going to go over your spell list, and you are going to explain to me why each spell is not considered to belong to the Dark Arts; and if there are any circumstances you can think of under which it would be considered a Dark Art, and why, according to your definition. The first one on the list is the Impediment Jinx."

Harry stared at Snape in dismay, but the Potions master simply raised one eyebrow. "Well, Potter? I'm waiting..."

---

Snape waved one hand carelessly as Potter finished giving him a list of ways and circumstances in which a Tickling Charm could be considered a Dark Art. Most of them were more than somewhat unlikely, and some were rather ridiculous; but that wasn't the point of the exercise they'd been working on for the past two or so hours.

"That will be all for today, Mr. Potter," he said coolly. "Your assignment tonight is to write an analysis of what we discussed this afternoon about Defence and the Dark Arts. You may have the morning free, but you are to remain within the school walls - no roaming outside. I will see you tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock precisely."

With that, Snape made a point of opening the drawer of his desk and taking out his lesson plans for September.

After about a minute and a half, not having heard his office door open, much less close behind the boy, Snape looked back up... to see Potter standing right in front of his desk, uncertainty clear on his face.

"I said: that will be all, Potter," he repeated irritably.

Potter shifted uncomfortably; and then a flicker of resolution crossed his face and he blurted out, "What did Malfoy take from those caches the Ministry seized?"

Snape froze. Oh, blessed Merlin...

He really had been hoping that the boy hadn't seen last night's meeting. After all, Dumbledore had said that he didn't see all of them...

"You saw what happened last night," he said flatly.

Potter nodded. "Yes, sir." His voice was quiet, almost frightened. "I saw... all of it."

Which meant that he'd also seen what had happened to the Muggles. Snape rubbed his hand across the bridge of his nose. "Sit down, Potter."

The boy immediately sat and pulled his chair a bit closer to Snape's desk.

"All of it," Snape repeated.

Potter nodded, looking... sick. Not surprising - Snape felt sick, thinking about what had happened; especially the thought that the fifteen year old had been forced to see it. "I... everything that Voldemort saw," he replied, his voice still quiet. "I woke up right after Malfoy left. They're dead, aren't they." It was a statement, not a question.

Snape closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again, fixing his gaze on the boy's face. "Yes, they're dead," he replied, making his voice a bit softer than normal. "They were dead the moment Malfoy took them; it was just a matter of when and how."

He couldn't believe he'd just said that. Potter was still only a boy - he shouldn't have to deal with the harsh realities of war just yet...

Unfortunately, 'should' and 'shouldn't' didn't enter into it - not when dealing with this particular boy.

"I know." Potter was still being quiet. "After what Voldemort did to those three families..." He shuddered, then took a deep breath and seemed to refocus. "What about those caches?"

He was going to have to talk to Dumbledore, Snape realized. He had no idea how to help the boy deal with what he was seeing, but the headmaster would know. For now, however, he accepted the change of subject. "Any information on that will have to come from Professor Dumbledore, Potter," he replied. He had little doubt that Dumbledore would tell the boy, assuming he was asked, but Snape had no intention of doing so. "I have already sent a report to him; if you wish to send him a report of your own, I will forward it on. Otherwise, it will have to wait until he returns."

Potter looked irritated - most likely because Snape refused to explain the issue of the caches - but nodded reluctantly.

"Did you take a dose of Levatio when you woke up?" Snape continued.

Potter slouched in his chair, looking sulky, but nodded again. "Yes. It wasn't that bad this time."

"No, I daresay it wasn't," Snape replied, as he stood up and walked around his desk to stand next to the boy's chair. "Only Wormtail and Parkinson made him angry last night."

Potter's eyes glittered a hard emerald for a moment. "Wormtail always makes him angry."

"Yes, it does seem that way," Snape replied, keeping his tone casual.

Not that he liked Pettigrew any better than the boy. The rat had caused him to look like a fool in front of Dumbledore, and even worse, had caused the deaths of Potter's parents: a woman Snape had respected and considered a friendly acquaintance - though he'd never tell Potter that; and a man to whom - although Snape had hated him, with good reason - he'd owed a wizard's debt, however much certain other Marauders might have been to blame for the incident... However, he wasn't sure he liked the flicker of rage in Potter's expression at the mention of the Gryffindor traitor. He'd have to keep a close eye on that.

"Now, stay still - and pay close attention to what you sense while I scan you," he ordered, placing one hand on the boy's head, in order to do yet another scan.

There was no sign of any more twisted magic in Potter's system; a very good thing. Snape had no desire to deal with a repeat of the events of this past weekend.

As soon as he finished, he removed his hand, and then studied Potter's face. The boy wore a thoughtful expression, and his eyes seemed distant for a moment, before he refocused on Snape.

"That was... weird," Potter murmured. "I think I felt the probing better, this time. It was more..." He frowned, obviously trying to think of the appropriate word. "More... distinct."

Snape gave him a curt nod. "Good. Now, I believe you have some work to do."

"Yes, sir." Potter stood up and headed for the door, and Snape returned to his desk.

"Potter," he said a moment later, just before the boy opened the door, "a few things you should be aware of. First of all, your things should have been taken up to Gryffindor Tower by now; the password is 'Godric's Sword'. Secondly, you will only need your assignment, parchment for notes, and 101 Useful Potions for Dark Situations tomorrow.

"Third..." Snape met Potter's eyes, forcing the boy to pay close attention. "Black and Lupin, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley's parents are the only ones who have been told that you are staying here. No one else is to know, as per the headmaster's orders; not even the rest of Mr. Weasley's family."

Potter opened his mouth - to protest, most likely - and Snape held up one hand in an unmistakable order. "The same thing that applies to my duties for him applies to your safety; and not just yours, but theirs as well. You've seen what Voldemort is like, what he has been doing. What you may not yet realize is that his obsession with capturing you is as powerful now as his desire to control our world. If he were to discover that anyone outside of Dumbledore knows where you are, now that you are no longer with your Muggle relatives, he would go after them. All it would take would be one slip to the wrong person." Snape shook his head. "The headmaster has good reasons for this, Potter, and he has made it an order. There are no restrictions on your mail, but you must not reveal where you are."

Potter nodded reluctantly.

"And Potter... these lessons fall under the same restrictions as any mention of the Sensitive gift. You are to speak of them to no one else."

For a moment, Snape thought the boy would object, but he'd obviously learned his lesson after his first two protests. Instead, he simply nodded again.

"And lastly," Snape continued, keeping his eyes fixed on Potter's, "the next time you have a vision, I expect to be informed - first thing in the morning. Is that understood?"

"Understood, sir," Potter replied after a moment.

"Very well. That will be all, Mr. Potter."

As soon as Snape lowered his eyes back to his lesson plans, he heard the boy hurry out the door - not running, but walking quickly.

He waited another minute or two, and then pushed the lesson plans - which had been completed the first week of July - to one side, and leaned back in his chair.

It had been a very interesting three hours.

As Snape had said to the boy at the start of the lesson, it had been obvious from what he'd written that he'd taken the time to actually think about the assignment, which boded reasonably well for the rest of these tutorial sessions he'd volunteered himself for. So did the events of this session. Once he'd moved past his original frustration over Snape's question about the definition of 'Defence Against the Dark Arts', Potter had proven that he could think, when he took the time to; and - perhaps even more importantly - that he could think creatively. The problem was that he seemed to do so only when prompted.

These sessions would change that. Snape was determined that by the time September first came around, he would have taught Potter to think - and think creatively, even if not entirely like a Slytherin - at all times. It would be that, even more than knowing and practising more spells, that would help him survive whatever Voldemort might throw at him.

After four years of attempting to teach the boy Potions, Snape had no doubt that it would be difficult - but the lesson they'd just had proved that it wouldn't be impossible. And the fact that Potter was evidently interested in these lessons would make it somewhat easier.

He was surprised to find himself actually looking forward to tomorrow's session.

---

Harry, grateful to be free of the hospital wing, had gone straight up to the Gryffindor dorms as soon as Snape had dismissed him. As the Potions master had said, all his things - including his birthday gifts - had been brought up and put away.

Gryffindor Tower seemed strangely empty - Harry wasn't used to being entirely alone there. And even the few times he had been, there had still been the other Gyffindors' things around, at least. Not this time, however. Aside from himself, his trunk, and his gifts, the entire Tower was deserted. It was almost... eerie, and Harry couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable as he unpacked his trunk.

Then, sitting down on his bed, Harry determinedly pushed the feeling out of his mind for the moment - along with the questions the discussion with Snape had raised - and turned his attention to the letters he'd received with his presents.

Pulling them out, he began answering them. He wished that he could let the rest of the Weasleys know where he was, but - reluctant as he was to admit it - Snape had a good point; and it was at Dumbledore's orders...

First was the response to the Weasley twins. Harry re-read their letter to him, and grinned at the bit about the 'great family mystery'.

Fred & George,

Thank you very much for the samples! I can't wait 'til school starts and I can use them...

I'm glad you two are keeping the secret - I have no desire to find out what your mum's reaction to me giving you the money would be. So, come on, give - what sort of ideas have Ron and the others come up with? I could use a laugh or two!

Speaking of your mum, Ron said that she seems to have given up on trying to convince you not to do the joke shop. How'd that happen?

As for Ron's dress robes... Brown, I think, would work well. You'll have to tell me about his reaction to receiving them (I don't think I'm going to be allowed to come visit you guys this summer).

Thanks again, and I look forward to seeing you guys once school starts!

-- Harry

He put the letter from the twins away in his trunk, sealing the one he'd written, and then turned his attention to Hermione's. Harry didn't really want to answer any of the questions she'd asked about the visions, but he knew full well that it would worry her if he didn't.

Hermione,

First of all, thank you very much for the practice kit and the signed photo, and please say thank you to Viktor for me. I'm glad you had a good time in Bulgaria...

Things haven't been going that badly, actually. By now, you know that I'm at Hogwarts (has Ron told you it has to stay a secret?). It wasn't because of the Dursleys, so don't worry on that score.

As for the visions... Yes, I have had some - more than over the past year. I've owled Professor Dumbledore each time; and it's that, more than anything else, which is the reason I'm here at school for the rest of the summer.

I wish you could come visit - do you know that even Madam Pince is on vacation? Unfortunately, Filch is still here, so I don't exactly have absolutely free run of the school, and I doubt I'd be able to get into the Restricted Section...

As for Snuffles, he's apparently now with Professor Lupin, which makes me think that he's done what Dumbledore asked him to do. Remember, Dumbledore told him to lie low at Lupin's once he was finished?

And about my homework... yes, Hermione, I have been doing it. I've finished my Transfiguration and History of Magic essays; and now that I'm here at Hogwarts - and so I don't have to hide what I'm doing - I should be able to finish the others before the start of school. (Let me guess - you're done, right? And as for Potions... maybe. I don't think I'm up for asking Snape, though.)

I'm going to send this with one of the school owls so that you can write back to me... I'm scared I'll go crazy with boredom otherwise!

So, besides wizarding museums, what else did you do in Bulgaria?

-- Harry

Re-reading the letter carefully, Harry felt reasonably satisfied. The bit about his visions wasn't the best - he suspected that Hermione would have more questions for him with her next letter - but it would do for the moment. He only wished that he could tell her about the lessons Snape was giving him.

However, Dumbledore had told him to obey Snape the same as he would the headmaster. The Potions master had been so firm about the need to keep the Sensitive's gift a secret, and the way he'd looked at Harry just before dismissing him...

No, he wasn't about to go against Snape's orders.

The next letter up was Ron's - both of them.

Ron,

First of all, thanks for the book. I've managed to read most of it so far, and it seems really interesting. I'll look forward to our next match! Maybe this time I'll manage to last more than fifteen minutes against you...

Secondly, thanks for asking Dumbledore if you and Hermione could visit. I'd really like it if you could, but Dumbledore was very firm about it... and he said he'd be telling your parents that you can't come.

About Fred and George... I don't know. Have you tried actually asking them? How do you think they got the money? After all, Bagman obviously couldn't pay them...

I don't know what your dad's doing, either. He might be helping Dumbledore deal with the Ministry, considering what Fudge said; after all, surely not all of them are as idiotic as the Minister.

Snuffles is apparently doing well - he's at Professor Lupin's, and Lupin says that he's been eating better than he was last year.

As for why I'm here... It has to do with the visions. I've been having a lot more recently.

Say hi to everyone for me (tell your mum I love the jumper), and feel free to write back. (After all, the Dursleys can't forbid me to get mail now that I'm back here at Hogwarts, can they?)

-- Harry

He winced slightly as he re-read it. He hated lying to his friends - especially to Ron - even if it was only by implication. Unfortunately, he had no real choice.

With a silent sigh, Harry picked up the letter from Lupin and Sirius next. I'll write them each a separate letter, he decided, after a moment's thought. After all, they had each given him a separate present.

Professor Lupin,

Thank you very much for the safe-box. You're right - I never saw one before. It's really cool!

I'm glad to hear that Snuffles is doing well; I've also let Ron and Hermione know that. They were asking about him.

You've met Aunt Petunia?

-- Harry

Harry couldn't help but wonder just when Lupin might have met his aunt, and what Aunt Petunia's reactions had been. Had his mum ever invited the Marauders over during the summer? He found himself hoping that Lupin would write back with more details about his mother; he knew so little about her, even compared to what he knew of his father...

Snuffles,

Thank you. Professor Dumbledore gave me Dad's Invisibility Cloak, and Hagrid gave me a bunch of pictures of Mum and Dad, but I've never really had anything of Mum's before. I absolutely love it. I gather she was in Gryffindor as well? (The colours gave it away.)

Professor Lupin said that you're doing well. I'm glad to hear that; Ron and Hermione will be as well.

So, what have you been doing?

I look forward to seeing you soon.

-- Harry

Picking up the letters, Harry then headed down to the Owlery. Hedwig greeted him excitedly, and he spent a few minutes talking to her before handing her the letters for the Weasleys. "This one goes to Fred and George, and this one to Ron, okay?" he said.

Hedwig hooted softly, and then pointed one foot at the other three letters he held.

"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry apologized, "but I can't ask you to deliver all of them. I'm sending the others with some of the school owls."

Hedwig snapped her beak irritably at him, but accepted the owl treat he handed her before flying off - which, Harry knew, meant that she understood, but still wasn't happy about it.

He then handed the other letters to two other owls, and sent them off to Hermione and Lupin and Sirius.

Okay, that's the letters done. Now all I have to do is write that analysis Snape wants. Harry frowned thoughtfully as he headed out of the Owlery, back toward the Gryffindor Tower. He didn't say how long it had to be. That's not like Snape... usually he'd say that it's got to be something like four feet or approaching that. Of course, he also said that this wasn't 'school-work', per se...

Still wondering about it, he stopped outside the kitchen and poked his head in. "Is Dobby around?" he asked the closest house-elf.

"Dobby is here, Harry Potter, sir." Dobby appeared from the middle of the group of house-elves. "What is Harry Potter sir wanting?"

"I was just wondering when dinner is," Harry replied. It was almost five o'clock, and Harry didn't even know whether he was supposed to eat in the Great Hall, now that he was out of the hospital wing. "And where it is."

"Harry Potter sir can have dinner whenever he wants, and dinner can be served anywhere Harry Potter wants," Dobby replied brightly.

Harry thought for a moment. "All right, Dobby. In that case, could I please have dinner in about an hour and a half, in the Gryffindor common room?" That would give him time to get started on his assignment for Snape. And he was definitely relieved that he wouldn't have to eat in the Great Hall - not when the only other living humans at Hogwarts were Snape and Filch.

"Dobby is happy to bring Harry Potter sir his dinner then," Dobby declared.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry replied, and then slipped out to head back to his dorm, and the work that awaited him. He had a feeling that he was going to spend the rest of the evening working on getting it done.

Looking up as Fawkes trilled a few notes, Snape spotted an owl heading straight for the windows of the headmaster's office, where he was currently trying to deal with more paperwork; in particular, some of the letters that were still coming in about Dumbledore's speech at the Leavetaking Feast. Standing up, he walked over to the bank of windows, opened one, and waited patiently for the owl to arrive.

As it flew in and landed on the perch just inside the window, Snape recognized it as one of the school owls - Incantare, the owl he preferred to use when dealing with confidential information. He'd sent her off to Arthur Weasley yesterday morning requesting information on the caches that the Ministry had seized, and explaining what Lucius Malfoy had claimed he'd done. The rapid turn-around time didn't bode well.

Opening the drawer of Dumbledore's desk, he took out an owl treat and handed it to Incantare with a quiet, "Thank you," in exchange for the letter she was carrying. Sitting back down, he split the seal and opened it.

Professor Snape,

Needless to say, I was quite alarmed at the contents of your letter. Immediately upon receiving it, I checked the storage facility where we have been keeping the confiscated materials, and discovered that you were correct; there are a number of items missing.

As I was not present for the actual raids, and (again, your information is correct) the cataloguing has not yet been done, I can't tell you precisely what items have disappeared. I have, however, summoned those of my people who were directly involved in the raids, and they are currently checking the contents of the facility against what they remember seizing. They should be finished compiling their lists this evening, at which point I will forward copies to Hogwarts for yourself and Headmaster Dumbledore.

As for the items that were left in the facility, I have started cataloguing them myself. So far, they appear to be mainly the sort of supplies available in Knockturn Alley, but that any reputable witch or wizard would refuse to admit owning - with one exception. You may recall the journal - belonging to a certain T. M. Riddle - that caused such problems two years ago? It seems to have turned up in one of the caches. I must say, Harry certainly did a good job destroying it...

Snape frowned. Why would Lucius Malfoy have kept Tom Riddle's diary after what had happened during Potter's second year? Dumbledore had mentioned that Potter had thoroughly destroyed it... he would have thought that Lucius would throw it away, rather than keep it and risk being caught with it in his possession.

And if that cache had held Riddle's diary, what about his other school things? Dumbledore had threatened Lucius about those as well, he seemed to recall... Were they also among the items the Ministry had seized?

Returning his attention to the letter, Snape continued to read.

What is perhaps even more alarming than the missing items themselves, however, is the fact that they went missing. The wards on the storage facility we've been using are set to prevent anyone other than the members of my team from entering, much less removing anything from there. The guards - on all shifts - are Aurors trained to recognize someone who has been placed under Imperius, and they themselves have a high immunity to the curse.

As well, my people know well enough to stay clear of Lucius Malfoy and his group; added to that, the only ones who even know who my people are besides themselves are Dumbledore, Mundungus Fletcher, and myself.

And yet, despite these precautions, the fact remains that items were taken from the facility and ended up in Malfoy's hands - without the wards being broken, which would have alerted us instantly. As I'm sure you can imagine, this disturbs me far more than the details of what was taken, and I anxiously await Dumbledore's opinion on the situation.

As stated above, the compiled lists of what appears to be missing - as well as what remains - will be sent to you as soon as they are completed. Please contact me immediately in the event you receive any further details on how this was accomplished.

Yours,

Arthur Weasley
Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office
Ministry of Magic

Snape's mouth tightened even further as he finished reading the letter. Arthur Weasley was right - the fact that Lucius had been able to gain access to a secured Ministry storage facility was very disturbing, and implied that there was more going on within the Ministry than he had previously been aware of.

Leaning back in the chair, he thought for a moment, and then grabbed a quill and piece of parchment and quickly wrote a note to Dumbledore. Then, attaching Mr. Weasley's letter to it, he opened a small metal box that sat on one corner of the desk and put the letters inside. As soon as he closed it, they would be transported to the linked box, which was in Dumbledore's possession.

Now, he had to wait until Dumbledore received the letters and had a chance to read them, which might not happen until tonight. Therefore, he turned his attention back to the letters piled up on the desk, and opened the next one.

It was from the mother of a now-second year Ravenclaw, very indignant that her son had returned home scared by Dumbledore's comments about Voldemort's resurrection, and pointing out that the Ministry didn't believe that Voldemort had returned.

Snape shook his head. The amount of belief people put in the Ministry is ludicrous... And why, in Merlin's name, wait until the beginning of August to send a letter complaining about her son being scared at the end of June?

Before he could wonder any more about it, however, the flames in the hearth next to the desk flickered, and Dumbledore's head appeared. Obviously he'd read the letters immediately.

"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Albus," Snape acknowledged, turning to face the hearth. "I assume you received the letters?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, his expression becoming serious. "And I must agree with Arthur - the most alarming news at the moment is not that Voldemort has whatever was removed from the seized caches, but that Lucius Malfoy was able to get past the wards without removing or breaking them."

"Do you have any idea how he could have done it?" Snape asked.

Dumbledore's head moved in a negative gesture. "No - not yet, at least. I would appreciate it if you would do some research into that for me."

Rather than protest, Snape actually felt pleased. He much preferred research to the type of paperwork he was stuck with at the moment.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, the twinkle returning to the headmaster's eyes, "how is Mr. Potter doing? The tutorial sessions have started, have they not?"

"Yes, they have," Snape agreed. For some reason, the brightness of that irritating twinkle made him nervous, and he would have preferred to return to the subject of the violated wards. Nonetheless, there were some matters that needed to be discussed, concerning Potter. "Are we secure?"

"As secure as I can possibly make us," Dumbledore replied. "We're not on the network - this is a separate linkage directly between these two fireplaces, and both of them are thoroughly warded. We are as secure as if we were both in my office discussing this."

Which meant almost completely secure. It was that 'almost', however, that was causing Snape some problems. Paranoia was very much a way of life for him, if not quite as obviously as Mad-Eye Moody; it was the only way he'd survived for as long as he had.

"You were quite correct about his potential," he said obliquely.

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes brightened even further, leaving Snape with the sinking feeling that yes, Dumbledore had known this already, and also knew a few other things that he had yet to discover. He hated that.

"Wonderful!" the headmaster was saying. "That is excellent news."

"Mr. Potter is not terribly happy about it, however," Snape continued, remembering the boy's expression when he'd figured it out. "In fact, I would say that he was rather dismayed by the information."

"Yes, well, young Mr. Potter is not fond of being different," Dumbledore commented. "A common problem for adolescents, made somewhat worse for him by who he is - and the circumstances surrounding his discovery of the fact that he is a Parselmouth. Not to mention the way in which he discovered he was a wizard in the first place..."

Snape chose to ignore the comment. "He has done reasonably well in his first assignment and the first full lesson, but there are definitely areas in which he needs to improve. Critical thinking, for one... and security consciousness as well. He was not terribly pleased about the number of secrets that need to be kept - particularly the ones he needs to keep from his friends."

"Does he understand why they have to remain secret?" Dumbledore asked, a touch of anxiety in his voice.

"Yes, he's quite aware of the reasons - I made certain to explain them to him." He had not wanted to deal with the trouble that might result if Potter decided to ignore the restrictions because he didn't understand their importance. Snape paused for a moment, noticing that Dumbledore looked faintly relieved by that assurance, and then added, "I have also ordered him to inform me whenever he has a vision. He saw the entire meeting two nights ago, but I didn't find out about it until he mentioned it at the end of his lesson yesterday."

"The effects of the curse--" Dumbledore started.

"I gave him several doses of the potion - in individual phials - the day before yesterday. He took one when he woke up after the vision, and was fine by the afternoon," Snape replied.

"Good." It was Dumbledore's turn to pause. "So, you believe that the lessons will go well?"

"I don't care very much for speculation based on a single occurrence... but if he continues to apply himself, and is willing to unlearn certain of his bad habits, I believe there is a reasonably good chance, yes."

"Good, good. Is there anything else you feel we need to discuss?"

Snape frowned thoughtfully. He did want to discuss Potter's visions in greater detail - most particularly the need for something to help the boy deal with them - with Dumbledore; but, like the matter of the Sensitive's gift, it was something he didn't care to discuss through the fireplace, no matter how secure it might be. And considering that Potter had apparently been dealing with them by himself for the past month... it could wait one more week. "Nothing that cannot wait," he replied. "Although," he added, shooting a quick glance at the desk, "I would like to register a complaint concerning the amount of paperwork that was left for me to deal with..."

Dumbledore smiled at him. "Simply attempting to make sure you understand what comes with the job," the headmaster said, and then his head disappeared and the flames flickered again as the connection was closed.

Snape frowned, wondering about the meaning behind that comment for a moment, and then dismissed it. Instead, glancing at the clock that hung on one wall, he realized that it was almost noon - and he still had to prepare for today's lesson with Potter.

Getting up from the desk - and feeling more than a little bit pleased that, between Potter's tutorial sessions and the research Dumbledore had asked him to do, he now had an excuse to avoid the paperwork - he headed down to his office.

Summoning one of the house-elves - not Dobby, this time - he requested a light lunch to be delivered to him here, and then began his preparations.

---

Harry had spent the first part of the morning finishing up his analysis for Snape - he'd managed to stretch it out to almost three feet, and hoped that would be enough for the Potions master - and then had spent the rest of the morning wandering through the halls. He wished he still had the Marauder's Map - especially after he'd run into Filch, who'd been livid at the fact that Harry was staying here for the rest of the summer - but the last he knew, Barty Crouch Jr. had still had it in his possession. Although Dumbledore might have it now, since Crouch had mentioned it during his confession under Veritaserum...

Well, whatever had happened to the Map, Harry did wish that he had it back. He'd managed to find a few corridors that he was pretty sure he'd never seen on it, and he was wondering if it was because the Marauders had never found them, or if they were only there in the summer, when the students generally weren't. With a castle like Hogwarts, either explanation was possible.

Either way, it had been interesting to explore places in the castle he'd never seen before. He'd found a number of rooms, including a few that he wanted to come back to and examine more carefully; and he'd had quite a bit of time to think.

It was the first time he'd had the chance to think uninterrupted and undistracted since Snape had taken him from the Dursleys over four days ago, and he was determined to take advantage of it.

Mostly, he ended up thinking about Snape.

It wasn't entirely surprising; after all, Snape had: rescued him from the Dursleys (even if the Potions master didn't know that Harry considered it a rescue); volunteered - actually volunteered! - to tutor him in Defence; given him stores of the Levatio Potion; and, perhaps most astonishing, had listened and been willing to talk to him a bit about the latest vision.

That discussion had actually answered his question about Snape's feelings concerning the... 'entertainment'... Lucius Malfoy had arranged - without his asking the question directly, which had definitely been a relief. Harry had seen a flicker of revulsion cross Snape's face when he'd confirmed that he had seen everything, which had been enough to let him know that the Potions master had been as disgusted and repulsed as he had by what had happened.

It gave them something in common, something that both of them agreed on. And considering that he was going to be spending the next month dealing with Snape for three to four hours every day - except maybe weekends - at a minimum, the more things he found that they agreed upon, the better. Harry didn't particularly want to spend every day fighting and getting in trouble with Snape.

Although we've done fairly well so far... came the thought.

They had, actually. His two conversations with Snape while he'd still been in the hospital wing had been reasonably civil - certainly as civil as they'd ever been with the Head of Slytherin - and the lesson yesterday hadn't been too bad at all. He'd even gotten some compliments from Snape, which he would have considered to be absolutely impossible before these past few days.

Harry was still thinking about those compliments - and what they might possibly mean - when Dobby appeared and told him it was noon, and reminded him that he'd requested lunch for then.

He followed Dobby down to the kitchens, his thoughts going to his next tutorial session. Despite the truce he and Snape had apparently established, he had a bad feeling about it - after all, it was obviously going to concern potions, as Snape had told him to bring only the Potions text with him. And he never did well at Potions.

Harry was fairly sure he wasn't going to be getting any compliments during this lesson...

An hour later, Harry knocked on the door of Snape's office. He'd only nibbled at his lunch, and then had hurried up to the Tower to retrieve his things and get down to the dungeons before one o'clock. As it was, he'd only just made it.

"Come in," called Snape's voice.

Opening the door cautiously, Harry slipped into the room.

Yesterday, there had been only Snape's desk and chair, two rough, wooden chairs - for students - and shelves full of books and the same glass bottles of disgusting potions ingredients Harry had seen in second year. Today, there was also a large table in the middle of the room, with about twenty or thirty phials on it.

Snape was sitting behind his desk, a large book open in front of him. He stood up as Harry entered, and silently held out his hand.

Harry put his bookbag down next to the table and pulled his assignment out. "Here, Professor," he said, handing it to Snape. Then he added, a touch apprehensively, "You didn't say how long you wanted it to be, so I made it about three feet--"

The look of irritation - he was getting a lot of practice in recognizing that particular expression - that crossed Snape's face stopped his explanation immediately.

"Potter, what did I say about these lessons and grades?" the Potions master demanded.

Harry had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd obviously made some sort of mistake... "That they wouldn't be graded?" he asked hesitantly.

"And?" Snape prompted.

The sinking feeling got worse. "That they... don't have anything to do with academics?"

"You do remember - more or less, at least; so why are you treating this as an assignment I gave you in class?" The irritated expression on Snape's face was getting clearer.

"Well... you didn't say how long it should be... and I..." Harry began, and then trailed off as Snape's glare became darker.

The Potions master shook his head. "I was under the distinct impression - obviously incorrect - that you were going to make an effort to use your brain during these lessons," he snapped. "The assignments I give you - at least at the present time - are not research assignments, Potter. They deal with your current understanding of the subject in question, based on your past experience and knowledge, and any issues we discuss during these sessions. There is no required length; it will be whatever length is needed for you to feel you have written down whatever is necessary and relevant to the assignment."

Harry winced inwardly.

Snape dropped his assignment scroll back into his hand. "You will re-write that tonight," he said coldly. "This time, concentrate on the assignment itself, not what length your response should be. I do not care whether it is one foot or ten - only that you write what is necessary to complete the assignment you were given."

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly. He ignored the little voice that told him to yell at Snape for not making things clear yesterday; he had no desire to get into any more trouble than he was already in. Gryffindor or not, he wasn't a fool.

Snape then gestured to the phials on the table. "Today's lesson, as I assume you realized," he said, his tone cold, "involves potions. Each potion on the table can be found in 101 Useful Potions for Dark Situations. Each one can be smelled and touched safely, although not all of them are safe to ingest. You are to examine each one, and write down on the parchment attached to it which potion it is. You are permitted to make use of the book. Let me know when you have finished."

With that, the Potions master returned to his desk and started to read the open book, leaving Harry to stare at the table and the potions on it in dismay.

Bloody hell... Harry slowly approached the table, a feeling of dread growing in him as he took note of the number. Definitely closer to thirty than twenty.

"I suggest you get started, Mr. Potter," Snape said, not even looking up from the book. "You have three hours in which to finish - and I will not be pleased if any potions are left unlabeled at the end of that time."

Wincing again, Harry pulled one of the chairs over to the table, and then bent down and took 101 Useful Potions for Dark Situations out of his bag. Opening it up, he started to skim through it, hoping that it would give him some hints on where to start - because he had no idea.

Flicking through the section on dealing with Dark Creatures, Harry's eye was caught by a potion designed to repel werewolves. Absently reading through the description and the attached anecdote, his attention was caught by a note concerning the colour. By itself, the potion was a bright, almost luminescent purple, but when applied to human skin it became transparent.

None of the potions on the table were bright purple - but they were a bunch of different colours, and Snape had said that they were safe to the touch - and to smell...

Harry thought about that for a long moment, working out a plan, and then put the book to one side and started arranging the potion bottles in rows. He would test each one, write down its distinguishing characteristics - colour, smell, how it felt and reacted to human skin - and then check through the book to see if he could find out what they were based on that.

---

"Professor?"

Snape looked up from the book he'd been reading as Potter walked up to his desk. "Yes, Potter?" he demanded, quickly checking the time. Five minutes to three - it had taken the boy almost two hours to identify twenty-seven potions. He was definitely going to have to learn to be faster.

"I've finished, sir," the boy said. His tone was somewhat hesitant, however, and Snape was reasonably sure he knew why.

"So, you are certain your labeling is correct?" the Potions master inquired, one eyebrow going up sceptically.

Apparently Potter was in the mood to show a bit of Gryffindor backbone. "As certain as I can be with the resources I have," the boy returned.

"Very well; I shall check them." Standing up, Snape walked over to the table and began picking up the potion bottles and checking the attached labels.

Potter had actually managed to do quite well, though he would sooner kiss Minerva in front of the students than admit that out loud. It appeared that he had managed to learn at least a little bit in four years of Potions classes. Nonetheless...

"These five are incorrect," he said finally, separating five phials - one containing a bright green potion, two with potions in different shades of red, one with a dull orange potion, and the last one containing a purple potion so dark it was almost black - and putting them to one side.

Now, to make sure he understands what I was telling him at the beginning of this lesson... Snape caught Potter's eyes with his own. "If this had been a Potions exam, you would have scraped by with a... barely acceptable mark. On the other hand, if this had been a real-life situation, you would quite probably have been in serious difficulty. As a result, I suggest that you make an effort to identify these five correctly within the next twenty minutes." With that, he returned to his desk.

There had been irritation and resentment in Potter's expression at the order; but at the same time, Snape had seen a flicker of comprehension in his eyes. That managed to ease the aggravation he'd been feeling since the boy had made that idiotic comment about his assignment.

Ease it, but not erase it.

He had been under the impression, after yesterday's lesson, that Potter had understood the differences between what he was taught during the school year and what Snape was teaching him now, but it appeared he had been mistaken. At this rate, it was going to take him longer than he'd thought to teach the boy to use his brain for more than just Quidditch and getting into trouble.

Pushing his frustration at that fact away - there was nothing to do about it but continue with the lessons as planned - Snape refocused his attention on the book in front of him. Entitled Locks, Wards, and Guards, it listed all of the common methods of warding, as well as several uncommon ones, and ways to get past them. It was unlikely that he would find the answer to what Lucius had done in here, but it was nevertheless an excellent starting point for his research.

The twenty minutes were almost up when Snape felt Potter's eyes on him. Looking up, he saw the boy standing by the table, the uncertain look back on his face.

"What is it, Potter?" he demanded sharply.

Potter started to open his mouth, hesitated, then took a deep breath and said, "I can't identify them, sir."

Snape leaned back in his chair. Considering the potions in question, and the fact that Potter had identified them incorrectly on the first go-round, he wasn't in the least bit surprised. However... "And it has taken you nearly twenty minutes to come to this conclusion?" he inquired coldly. The mild irritation he'd felt at the beginning of this lesson was getting stronger. Was Potter even bothering to think?

"More like five," the boy muttered uncomfortably.

Snape raised his eyebrow again, giving Potter a disdainful look. "In other words, you wasted almost fifteen minutes dithering over how to tell me that you could not do the task I assigned you," he said, in that same slow, contemptuous tone he'd applied to such effect Friday night.

"No, I spent almost fifteen minutes trying to see if I could figure out a better way to do it!" Potter retorted. He was using anger to cover embarrassment, Snape knew. "I wasn't wasting time!"

"Did you come to any helpful conclusions? Have any insights into other methods of testing?" Snape returned, letting a touch of sarcastic amusement enter his tone. He knew the answer to that as well as the boy did.

Potter lowered his eyes. "No," he admitted reluctantly.

"So you wasted time that could have been more profitably spent actually learning," Snape concluded.

The anger returned to Potter's face, but his voice didn't reflect it as he said, "Learning what, sir?"

Snape shook his head. "Those alternate methods of testing you were trying so hard to figure out, Mr. Potter."

Standing up, he walked over to the table and the five phials Potter hadn't been able to identify. "Sit down," he ordered.

The boy sat down on the chair and waited.

"Now, how did you identify the other potions?"

Potter worried his lower lip. "I made a list of each of their characteristics - colour and smell, mostly, or how they reacted on human skin - and then went through the book to find potions that matched those characteristics. The five that I haven't been able to figure out... there's more than one potion listed with the same characteristics as each of them."

Snape sneered. "Typical Gryffindor thinking," he said, in a cutting tone. It wasn't that badly done, actually, but the boy hadn't been thorough enough; and he only had a month to teach him, after all.

Potter stared at him, an insulted expression on his face. "What do you mean, sir?"

More Gryffindor backbone. Well, Potter had never been too afraid to stand up to him before, so it wasn't exactly a surprise. "You are only looking at the surface, Potter. Has it occurred to you to check such things as the viscosity of the potions?"

"But the book doesn't--" Potter started.

Snape's glare shut him up rapidly. "As I said, you are only looking at the surface. You have had four years of Potions, Potter. While I am very much aware that your friendship with Miss Granger is the only reason you have passed with reasonable marks each year, I find it inconceivable that you have learned nothing."

Potter flushed at that, but waited for Snape to continue.

Snape made sure that his tone was ice-cold when he did so. "Check the ingredients for each of the possibilities, Potter. There are certain ingredients that affect the texture and viscosity of potions. Use your brain, for once."

Potter went pale with anger at that, looking even more furious than he had earlier. He was too easy to read; Snape made a mental note to add some lessons in controlling one's emotions and expressions to the curriculum he had planned as he strode back to his desk and sat down.

Returning his attention to the book, he added, "Do not just sit there gaping at me, Potter. You have half an hour left to identify those potions. Considering your efforts thus far, I suggest you make an effort to hurry."

---

Harry threw himself onto his bed with a heavy sigh.

Today's lesson had not gone well; certainly nowhere near as well as yesterday's. Snape had been irritated to begin with, Harry suspected; and he had the feeling that the situation with yesterday's assignment and the fact that he still hadn't been able to identify those five potions - even with the suggestion Snape had given him - had only made things worse.

As a result of his inability to figure out what the unknown potions were, Snape had proceeded to give him a lecture - which had lasted almost two hours - on each potion and its ingredients. They'd all been healing potions - which had made the whole thing somewhat worse, because he'd been really interested in that section of 101 Useful Potions - so Harry hadn't been terribly surprised when today's assignment was to write out a list of common ingredients for healing potions and how to identify them. Luckily, Harry had started taking notes as soon as Snape started the lecture, not wanting to be caught out the same way he had been yesterday, so he had most of the information he would need already written down.

He knew he should summon Dobby and ask for dinner - it was coming up on six o'clock - but there were some things he wanted to think about first, and he knew that he was going to have to get to work on his re-write of the Defence and Dark Arts essay as soon as he finished dinner.

So far, he'd had only two of these tutorial sessions with Snape - which wasn't really enough to figure out any sort of pattern - and a few conversations with him... but already Harry had noticed several differences between the way Snape was acting now and the way he acted during the school year.

For one thing, although the past few hours had proved that Snape still didn't like him, and didn't hesitate to snap at him, the Potions master hadn't shown any of the sheer viciousness that Harry was accustomed to receiving from him during the school year. And even though today's session hadn't been what Harry would call a success, it hadn't exactly been an unmitigated disaster either. He hadn't been able to identify five potions - but had been able to do so for the other twenty-two.

And Snape had offered him a compliment on it! Well, a very Snape-ish compliment, anyway... "If this had been a Potions exam, you would have scraped by with a... barely acceptable mark." It was the first time he'd ever heard Snape say anything that might suggest he wasn't an absolute idiot when it came to Potions.

Which brought him back to the same point in his thoughts he'd been at when Dobby had told him it was lunchtime.

Snape was giving him compliments on his work. The only ones he'd ever heard that happening with before were Slytherins - especially Malfoy. Certainly Harry knew of no other Gryffindors who had ever received praise or compliments from Snape. Ever.

As for what it all meant, however... Harry wasn't sure. He had no idea why Snape was behaving differently to him now, much less why the Potions master had volunteered to do these tutoring sessions. It still didn't really make sense; not even considering the fact that they were both involved - in different ways - in the war against Voldemort.

Well, he'd figure it out sooner or later - he always did.

And now that I've decided I still don't understand Snape, I think I'd better get dinner. It's going to take me a while to re-write that essay...

---

They both reached out, and touched the cup... and Harry felt the jerk behind his navel that was a Portkey activating... Then they were in the graveyard at the Riddle House, and Cedric was lying there, dead... and Wormtail was there, and Lucius Malfoy, and Avery...

Abruptly, Harry felt his scar start to hurt, and realized that the nightmare he'd been having about the Third Task had become a vision as one of the black-robed figures - not one of the ones Harry recognized - stepped forward.

"You have them?" came the cold voice that Harry recognized as Voldemort's as his field of view expanded.

They were in a large room; there was a raised dais at the end of it, and Voldemort was seated on a chair set in the centre of the dais. The Death Eaters were in a wide, ragged semi-circle grouped around it - with the exception of Wormtail, who was standing off to one side, looking as though he was trying to appear invisible.

"Yes, my Lord, I managed to remove the important contents of the cache before the Ministry team arrived," the Death Eater in the centre of the circle - the one who had stepped forward - replied.

No, definitely not someone he recognized - not even the voice was familiar. Harry looked around, checking for the Death Eaters he was familiar with. He'd already located Wormtail, and Lucius Malfoy was standing at one end of the semi-circle, closest to the dais, with Avery next to him. He also recognized the blocky figures of Crabbe and Goyle Sr. near the middle, and there were a few more familiar figures whose names he didn't yet know.

No sign of Snape, though. Either he hadn't yet arrived, or he hadn't been summoned. Harry couldn't help but wonder which.

"Excellent," Voldemort was saying, and Harry instantly snapped his attention back to what was going on. If Snape wasn't here, he would be Dumbledore's only source of information about this meeting... "Did you see the Ministry officials?"

"N-no, my Lord... I thought it better not to be nearby when they arrived," the Death Eater in question replied.

The burning pain in Harry's scar flared for a moment - Voldemort was obviously not pleased by this answer. "Crucio," the Dark Lord said, his tone careless as he pointed his wand at the man, and held it on him for almost a minute - Harry thought, at least. He couldn't tell for certain, since he was also feeling a portion of the pain.

Then the Dark Lord turned to Mr. Malfoy. "Lucius?" he demanded. "What information have you been able to obtain for me concerning these raids?"

"The man in charge is named Arthur Weasley," Malfoy said, and Harry felt a flicker of surprise - followed swiftly by concern. If Malfoy and Voldemort knew about Mr. Weasley, then the entire Weasley family was in danger...

"Weasley, you say?" Voldemort repeated thoughtfully.

"He's a Muggle-loving fool," Malfoy said coldly. "One of Dumbledore's people. He's pureblood, but a disgrace - absolutely fascinated with Muggles. And his youngest son is the best friend of Harry Potter."

Harry winced as the pain from his scar increased. It never failed - whenever he was mentioned, Voldemort got so furious that Harry ended up with a horrendous headache that was entirely separate from any pain due to the Cruciatus curses.

"You sound almost eager to have me attack this Weasley, Lucius," Voldemort said, and despite the heavy cloak and the white mask, Harry saw Malfoy flinch at the tone of the Dark Lord's voice.

"Only because he is a threat to us, my Lord," Malfoy said quickly. "He does not hold a high rank in the Ministry, but he is well-respected by a number of people superior to him. Through him, Dumbledore gains support in the Ministry, and more and more people will realize that you have returned."

"Perhaps," Voldemort said carelessly. "So long as Cornelius Fudge continues to believe otherwise, however, the Ministry as a whole is not a threat."

"But--" Malfoy started.

Harry winced again, this time in anticipation... and wasn't surprised when Voldemort pointed his wand at Draco's father and hissed, "Crucio!"

He held Malfoy under the curse for closer to two minutes - with Harry feeling every second of it - before releasing him. "You know better than to argue with me, Lucius," the Dark Lord said coldly. "As you yourself said, the Weasleys are purebloods. Do try to remember that you were in Slytherin... We cannot attack any pureblood families until it is time. Fudge will continue to believe attacks on Muggles and Mudbloods are random attacks, like that... foolishness... at the Quidditch World Cup last year; but the moment there is an attack on a pureblood family, he will have to acknowledge that I have returned, at which point he will turn to Dumbledore. The longer it takes until that happens, the better. I will not let you destroy my plans for a bit of petty revenge.

"Now, how many more caches have items that need to be recovered?"

"Two or th--" Malfoy started to say.

Suddenly, Harry felt things start to swirl around him, and he slipped out of the vision.

Harry jerked bolt upright, breathing heavily. He could feel the hints of pain, and the peculiar chill from the vision-curses, and carefully pulled his wand out from under his pillow and whispered, "Lumos!" Not that he needed to whisper, considering that no one else was in residence, but it was habit.

Climbing out of bed, he walked over to his trunk, opened it, and pulled out both the box containing the doses of Levatio, and his vision-journal. He tossed the journal on his bed, and then opened the box and pulled out one of the phials.

Unstoppering the tiny glass bottle, Harry swallowed the contents - and then froze as he felt the warmth from the potion go through him, battling the chill. It felt vaguely similar to the probing Snape had done Tuesday afternoon, and Harry wondered if the strange chill he always seemed to feel after the visions was the way he sensed the effects of the Cruciatus curse. Something to ask Snape when he saw him this afternoon...

No, he'd promised to tell Snape first thing in the morning if he had any visions. The Potions master had been quite insistent about it.

Well, it does make sense, Harry reflected, as he put the now-empty phial back in the box and then, rather than returning it to his trunk, slipped it into the drawer in his bedside table. It would be quicker and easier to get to it if he kept it there. After all, the sooner I relay any information I get from the visions, the more time Dumbledore and everyone have to deal with it. And Snape did say that he had some way to communicate with Dumbledore...

Picking up his journal, he opened it, flipping quickly past the pages where he described the vision he'd had Monday night - he really didn't want to re-read the description of what had been done to the woman and her children - to a new page. Taking his quill off the top of his bedside table, where he'd left it when he'd finished the re-write of Tuesday's assignment, he inked it and began writing down what had happened in the vision.

Considering the fact that nothing horrific had happened, Harry figured he would probably be able to get back to sleep after he finished. He'd write out a report for Dumbledore as soon as he woke up in the morning, and he'd give it to Snape when he went to tell the Potions master about the vision.

---

Snape finished his tea, frowning as he studied the contents of the cauldron in front of him.

The potion should have been a warm golden colour, based on the interaction of the ingredients and the amount of time he'd heated it for yesterday evening, but instead it was a peculiar greenish-bronze, almost verdigris.

I wonder... could it have been the powdered Murtlap growths? Since I put them in immediately after the coral snake venom, perhaps they reacted together before the venom had time to diffuse... That seems to be the most likely possibility. He would have to test it, of course.

However, the thought of ingredient interactions reminded him of what had happened yesterday afternoon.

That seems to have been Potter's main stumbling block with that exercise, the Potions master reflected, still studying the colour of his most recent experiment. He doesn't understand how potion ingredients interact with one another. Perhaps if I--

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and Snape gritted his teeth. It was Potter - it had to be. Filch knew better than to interrupt him; and if he absolutely had to - say if there was a disaster in the making - he wouldn't bother to knock.

What the bloody hell does the brat want? Snape thought, irritated, as he put his teacup down on the breakfast tray on his desk and walked over to open the door. It was too early to have to deal with him right now.

"What is it, Potter?" he growled, glaring at the boy standing in the corridor.

Potter met his eyes calmly. "You asked me to tell you whenever I had a vision, sir," he replied.

He hadn't felt any summoning... but then, he wasn't summoned to every meeting. Voldemort still didn't trust him, and Snape was well aware that the only reason the Dark Lord hadn't killed him out of hand was the fact that he was, after all, the best Potions master in the British Isles, and the only one who was - so Voldemort thought - a Death Eater.

"Very well," he said, moving out of the way and gesturing for Potter to enter. "Come in, and tell me what happened."

The boy sat down in the same chair he'd used yesterday, and calmly recited the events of his vision, even describing the tone of each person's voice.

"Voldemort asked how many more caches had things that they still need to recover, and Malfoy said that there were two or three," Potter finished. "I don't know if he said anything else, though, because that was when the vision ended and I woke up."

Snape nodded slowly as he thought about the implications of what Potter had seen and heard. None of it was good - particularly not the explanation for why there hadn't been more than three attacks over the past month. He'd been wondering about that, and he knew Dumbledore had as well.

Of course, the news that there were only two or three more caches they needed to access was also alarming; it meant that Fletcher and the mutt were going to have to work faster, and Arthur Weasley was going to have to be ready.

In fact, the only good thing was that the Weasleys were going to be safe from direct attack - for a little while, at least.

Then, suddenly realizing that Potter was still sitting there, Snape looked at him. "Thank you, Mr. Potter," he said. "I will inform Professor Dumbledore--"

"Here," the boy said, pulling a piece of parchment out of his pocket. "I wrote down what happened for him."

Snape took the parchment from him and gave it a quick glance. "Very well, I will pass this along to him." He paused, and studied the boy for a moment. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

Potter looked startled at the question. "Er... no, sir. I was... going to... get some after telling you, since you said to let you know first thing in the morning - I just quickly wrote the report..."

Snape snapped his fingers, and one of the house-elves appeared instantly. "Get Mr. Potter some breakfast," he ordered. "Bring it up to the Gryffindor common room."

"Yes, Professor Snape, sir," the house-elf replied quickly, and disappeared again.

"Now, Mr. Potter," Snape continued, turning back to the boy, "I suggest you go have your breakfast, and then get to work on your assignments. I will see you down here at one o'clock."

"Yes, sir," Potter replied, standing up and heading toward the door. He looked rather puzzled, but didn't ask any questions before leaving.

Once Potter had gone, Snape quickly bottled the experimental potion - he'd test it later, after today's tutorial session - and then headed up to the headmaster's office, to send Potter's report off to Dumbledore.

Harry wandered back up to the common room, still feeling more than a bit confused as he did so. Snape arranging breakfast for him? How had that happened? It implied more concern for him than Harry had thought the Potions master was capable of... after all, he had said that he planned to get some himself...

Abruptly, the house-elf Snape had called to bring him breakfast appeared in the middle of the room, holding a large tray. "Here is Harry Potter sir's breakfast," it said.

"Thank you," Harry replied. He glanced around. "Could you please put it on the table by the fireplace?"

The house-elf did so, and then before Harry could thank it again, disappeared. Harry shrugged, sat down, and began to eat.

He was halfway through breakfast when a tapping at the window alerted him to the fact that there were owls outside. Getting up, he walked over and opened it, greeting Hedwig happily and taking the letters all three owls held out to him. The other two owls - the ones he'd sent to Hermione, Lupin and Sirius two nights ago - flew off immediately; Hedwig settled on the back of the chair he'd been sitting in and peered at his breakfast.

Harry grinned as he picked up a piece of bacon and gave it to her, followed by a bit of sausage. "Here you go, Hedwig. Thank you for the letter," he added, putting all four letters he'd received to one side and returning his attention to finishing breakfast.

Almost the moment he'd finished, a house-elf - a different one - appeared, picked up the tray, and disappeared again. Harry blinked in surprise; he was used to Dobby staying to talk for a bit.

Shrugging to himself, Harry settled himself a bit deeper into the chair and picked up his mail.

The letters were from Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and Lupin. After a moment's thought, he decided to open the one from Ron first.

Harry,

Do you have any idea why Fred and George started cackling when they received your letter? I'm telling you, those two are starting to worry me, mate. And yes, we've all asked them - at different times - where they got the money, but they've refused to tell any of us. Even Dad doesn't know. I'm wondering if they didn't place a few other bets on the World Cup before Bagman showed up.

As for us not being allowed to come... Hermione said she wasn't too surprised about it, said that it would make it too obvious. Don't you hate it when she's always right?

Dad's been busier than ever over the past couple of days, but he still won't tell us what's going on. He's not arriving home until really late at night, and is leaving way too early in the morning. I'm starting to get a bit worried about it all.

Harry had a pretty good idea about the answer to that. After all, if Arthur Weasley was in charge of the raids on the Dark Arts caches, then Snape and Dumbledore had undoubtedly let him know that Lucius Malfoy had gained access to wherever they were stored; and Mr. Weasley was most likely working on trying to solve that as well as find the other caches. And with only two or three important ones left to go - out of some unknown number - the pressure on him would be even greater.

Unfortunately, Harry had the definite feeling that he couldn't tell any of this to Ron. He really hated keeping secrets from his friends - especially secrets that concerned them personally - but if Mr. Weasley wasn't telling any of them, there had to be a good reason.

He still hated it.

Shaking his head in an effort to push that thought out of his mind, Harry turned his attention to the rest of the letter.

More visions? Ugh, that must be awful. What are they about?

Glad you like the book; I've also let Mum know that you like the jumper, which she's quite happy about, of course.

And that's good news about Snuffles; I bet he was getting very tired of rats - though I bet we can guess one rat he'd like to take a bite out of... For that matter, I'd be surprised if Professor Lupin doesn't still feel the same way. Do you have any idea what's happening with that?

Really wish you could come here; we're all going to miss you the rest of the summer.

-- Ron

Harry sighed. Personally, he wished that he could visit the Weasleys as well; but with Voldemort knowing about Mr. Weasley's involvement in the fight against him, it could end up making them too tempting a target.

He'd reply to Ron a bit later, Harry decided after a moment, as he put the letter back down on the table. Hedwig would probably appreciate a bit of a rest before going out again. He absentmindedly stroked the top of her head as he picked up and opened Hermione's letter.

Harry,

I'm glad you liked the present - and I've sent a letter to Viktor letting him know. When school starts, you should probably do the same, however.

I also received a letter from Professor Dumbledore about your relocation. It's good to hear that the Dursleys weren't responsible - but the fact that it is because of your visions worries me. Why are they responsible? Is it just because you've had more of them lately?

There's something else I think you need to consider, Harry. Remember how we're referring to Professor Lupin's friend, the one staying with him? Remember why? If our letters are ever intercepted, it won't be obvious.

I don't think you should mention your current location (or even give hints) in any more letters, not even ones to those of us who know. While it's unlikely that any of our owls will be intercepted, there is always the chance, and I think it's too dangerous to risk it. So better not to give any more details about where you are or who is there with you.

(And speaking of the friend in question - that is good news. I'm sure Professor Lupin will have him healthier in no time.)

It's good to know that you've been working on your homework. Remember, we have O.W.Ls coming up, and it's important that you do well on them. I've been working on a study schedule so that we can start studying early and won't have to cram during the month before exams.

There was quite a bit to do in Bulgaria; I'm writing a longer letter about it, and I'll send copies to both you and Ron a bit later.

See you in September, and write back!

-- Hermione

Harry studied the letter with a faint frown on his face - especially the part about being careful what he wrote.

If it had been anyone other than Hermione - or perhaps Sirius - who had written that, he would have said that they were being paranoid. But the fact that it was Hermione writing it meant that it was advice that he'd better pay attention to - and mention to Ron as well. The last thing he wanted was for any of the Death Eaters - much less Voldemort himself - to find out where he was.

Okay, so no mentioning that I'm at Hogwarts. That shouldn't be too hard, unless something interesting happens - other than the lessons from Snape, since I already agreed not to talk about them at all. And considering the fact that it's summer, I doubt that anything terribly interesting will happen anyway, especially when there's no one here except for Snape and Filch.

The other problem from the letter was the mention of his visions. He'd known that Hermione wouldn't be satisfied with what he'd written before... Now all he had to worry about was what else he could tell her.

Then Harry's eyes suddenly widened as he remembered something. Oh, Merlin... I meant to ask Snape about the chill I get from the vision-curses!

In his confusion over Snape's concern for him, he'd completely forgotten about his intentions to question the Potions master about it.

Well, I'll just have to ask him during this afternoon's lesson.

And speaking of this afternoon's lesson - I'd better finish reading the letters from Lupin and Sirius quickly so that I can get to work on the healing potions assignment...

Picking up the letter from Sirius, he quickly read through it.

Harry,

Yes, your mother was in Gryffindor; our seventh year was one of the few times we had a Head Boy and Girl from the same House. As I'm sure Moony told you in the letter sent with your gifts, your father gave it to your mother as a graduation present; he had it specially made by the best jeweller in Hogsmeade. He felt it was the perfect gift; her name-flower in Gryffindor's colours. I'm glad you like it; and I'll ask Moony to check through his attic, see if he has anything else that belonged to your parents.

And yes, I am doing quite well. Moony's an excellent cook (not terribly surprising, since he's had to make do for himself since we graduated), and he's trying to fatten me up.

As for what I've been doing... I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't talk about it - especially not in a letter. Dumbledore will no doubt tell you if he thinks you need to know.

We'll probably see you sometime in September; until then, take care - and be careful. Let Dumbledore know if your scar starts hurting.

Love,

Snuffles

Harry sighed. He wasn't terribly surprised that Sirius wouldn't tell him what was going on, but he had hoped...

Of course, he reflected after a moment, it's that whole 'can't write about it in a letter' thing again. Which makes as much sense as, if not more than, not mentioning Sirius's name or my being at Hogwarts in letters either. He heaved another sigh. He really wanted to know what Sirius was doing. After all, he was getting a certain amount of information on what was going on from his visions, and it was very frustrating not being told more.

That, however, prompted another thought. If it's not safe to talk about any of those things in letters, then I really shouldn't talk about my visions in them either, Harry decided. After all, if Voldemort learns that I can see what he's doing, he may try to prevent it, and we'd lose whatever information I can get. As a bonus, of course, this would mean that he wouldn't have to discuss his visions with Hermione until September, by which time he would hopefully have come up with something to tell her.

Feeling much more satisfied with himself than he had a few minutes ago, Harry turned his attention to the letter from Lupin.

Dear Harry,

Thank you very much for your reply to my letter. I'm glad you like the safe-box (and, as I said, not really surprised you've never seen one before). It can be quite useful - especially for things such as... oh, dream journals and the like - that you don't want anyone else to look at.

Obviously Sirius had mentioned the visions and the journal to Lupin. And keeping the journal in the safe-box probably would be a good idea, especially once school started again.

As for your Aunt Petunia... yes, we met - once, at your parents' wedding. I got the distinct feeling from her attitude that the only reason she was there was because your grandparents (Lily's parents) had insisted on it. She was... rather unpleasant, and I'm afraid Padfoot didn't help matters any when he decided that she would be a perfect target for a bit of Marauder mayhem (after which Lily refused to speak to him for a week). After that, I don't think that she would have anything to do with magic if you told her she was a witch herself (which she isn't, of course).

At any rate, as I said, it was good to hear back from you. I hope things are going well for you.

Please don't hesitate to ask me any other questions you might have about your parents - I would be glad to tell you about them.

-- Remus Lupin (Moony)

Well, if Sirius's pranks were anything like those of Fred and George, Harry had to admit that he couldn't really blame his aunt for not wanting to deal with them.

That wasn't the most important part of the letter, however - not to Harry, at least.

Lupin had essentially given him free rein to ask questions about his parents.

His first instinct was to start writing a reply to Lupin immediately; however, as he glanced around the room, his eyes fell on 101 Useful Potions.

Snape would be - justifiably - furious with him if he didn't complete the assignment first.

Heaving another sigh, Harry put Lupin's letter to one side with the others, and reached for the book, his notes from yesterday, and some blank parchment. He had less than four hours to complete it and eat lunch.

---

Snape looked up from the model he'd created of the wards on the Ministry storage facility as he heard a knock on his door. "Come in, Mr. Potter," he called, putting the model to one side. Time to concentrate on something else.

Potter opened the door and walked in. He glanced around, and then headed over to the wooden chairs in front of Snape's desk, pulling two rolls of parchment out of his bag as he did so. "Here are the assignments, sir," he said, handing them to Snape as he sat down.

Unrolling them, Snape rapidly skimmed through both scrolls, and then put them to one side. "Better, Potter," he told the boy, and then leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Now, as I recall, your definition for Defence Against the Dark Arts was: learning to protect oneself against magic aimed at harming one, and against Dark Creatures, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Potter replied. Snape was pleased to see that he had already taken a quill and more parchment out of his bag, and appeared ready to take notes.

"We have already begun to discuss the various types of magic that fall under the category of Dark Arts, and how even the most apparently innocuous spell can be classified that way, under the right circumstances; and we will continue with that subject somewhat later. Today, we will be concentrating on the matter of Dark Creatures."

Potter nodded slowly. Judging from the expression on his face, he was remembering when Snape had taught Lupin's Defence class in his third year.

"We will begin the same way; what is the definition of Dark Creatures?" Snape asked. This wouldn't be nearly as difficult for Potter to answer as the definition of Dark Arts had been.

Potter thought for a moment - which was already an improvement from his unfortunate tendency to speak before thinking - and then replied, "Magical creatures that present a dangerous threat to humans."

Interesting, Snape thought, studying the boy for a moment. "Why did you specify 'a dangerous threat'?" he inquired. "Grindylows, to take an example you dealt with in your third year, are not that dangerous as long as one remembers that their fingers can be broken easily - yet they are classified as Dark Creatures."

"But if you don't remember - or don't know - then they can drown you," Potter countered. "To Muggles, and to unsupervised children, they are a dangerous threat. It's the same with boggarts. As long as a wizard knows what they are, they aren't much of a threat - but to anyone who doesn't - and even wizards might not recognize a boggart, depending on what it is they're most frightened of - they're dangerous. And to a powerful wizard who knows how to deal with them, even werewolves, vampires, basilisks, and dragons can be handled without too much danger."

Snape nodded thoughtfully. Very well argued... there's definitely hope for you, Potter. "Your argument has some valid points, Mr. Potter. As it happens, your definition - although it once again does not entirely take into account the various classifications the Ministry has come up with - is effectively accurate.

"Now, having read through Everything You Need to Know About Dark Creatures, how does the author classify the various Dark Creatures listed, and why?" Neither answer was actually specified in the text, but Potter should be able to figure them out if he gave it a bit of thought.

Potter thought about it for a minute or two, and then gave a decisive nod. "They're classified by both species and native environment, sir," he replied. "And the reason they're classified that way is to highlight the common strengths, weaknesses, and methods of dealing with them."

As with Potter's method for identifying the potions yesterday, the answer was good enough to be counted as correct - but lacked depth. "Why?" Snape prompted.

"Professor?" Potter looked confused.

"Why would the author wish to highlight those things in particular, Potter?" he elaborated. "Based on your answer, you obviously believe it was done consciously, which means that there was a definite purpose behind it. I want you to go further and tell me what that purpose was."

Potter hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "Sorry, sir, I don't know."

Yes, I have definitely got my work cut out for me. Snape eyed Potter thoughtfully, working out the best tactic to lead him to the answer without actually giving it to him. "Why do you think the book is called Everything You Need to Know About Dark Creatures?" he asked after a moment. "It isn't that large a book, and while it is intended for the use of students, rather than fully trained wizards, it does not contain all the details of the creatures listed, nor does it contain descriptions for every known Dark Creature. The most common ones, yes, as well as a few that are both rarer and dangerous - but by no means does it have all of them." He gave Potter a pointed look.

Potter's expression grew distant and Snape waited patiently as the boy put the pieces together.

"Because if you encounter a Dark Creature you don't know about, you should at least be able to guess at some of its weaknesses based on its environment," Potter offered finally.

Snape nodded slowly. "Correct. In that sort of situation, you may not be right, but you have a much greater chance of it than if you were to make a random guess.

"Since we are agreed on that, what are some of the strengths and weaknesses of a creature of the air in their native environment?"

"Well, strengths... speed and maneuvrability, for one," Potter said thoughtfully. "After all, most wizards aren't Quidditch-level flyers." The statement was made without being a boast; Potter didn't sound very much like his father just then. "The ability and mindset to act in three dimensions is another - humans have to learn that, but for creatures of the air it's innate." He paused for a moment, then gave another nod. "Those are the most general strengths."

"Also, in general their eyesight is much better than that of a human," Snape added. "At least, when it comes to seeing movement over long distances. And they have a greater resistance to cold." He was reasonably pleased, however, that Potter had mentioned the matter of acting in three dimensions - though he didn't let it show on his face. Then again, the boy was a Quidditch player - it was to be expected that he would have a much clearer understanding than most of air creatures. "What of their weaknesses?" he prompted.

"Weather, though that probably wouldn't have quite as much effect on bigger creatures like dragons as it would on... pixies, for instance," Potter answered rapidly. "Unexpected gusts of wind - that could probably be done by magic--"

"Spells dealing with the weather are taught in Advanced Charms," Snape put in, pleased again; this time, Potter had gone that step farther to thinking about how to take advantage of those weaknesses in a combat situation.

Potter nodded in understanding, and continued, "Thermals... a source of heat under their flight path could push them upwards. Depending on whether or not they're equally at home on land, if there's a thick forest available, it can cause problems. Anything that might serve to snare their wings..."

"Good," Snape replied. "Now, what about Dark Creatures native to the desert?"

---

"Your assignment for tonight," Snape said, as Harry started putting his notes into his bookbag, "is to write out a list of features that can be used to pinpoint a creature's natural environment - with examples. You may use the textbook as a reference, but do not rely upon it to have all the answers. You should also consider everything we have discussed today."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. Another list, he thought ruefully. Well, at least this one should be quicker to do, even if I do need to add examples.

"Good. I will see you tomorrow at one o'clock - bring How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand and plenty of parchment," the Potions master said, before turning his attention to a peculiar looking model on his desk.

Harry hesitated for a moment, and then blurted out, "Professor?"

Snape - who had been in what passed for a reasonably good mood the entire lesson - looked back up at him with an increasingly familiar glare of irritation. "What is it, Potter?"

"I... meant to ask you about it this morning, but I didn't really have the chance--"

"Potter," Snape interrupted, "I do have things other than your problems that need to be dealt with, and I don't have time for your babbling. What are you trying to ask?"

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to get rid of the nervousness he felt - which had only increased with Snape's sudden tirade. "When I woke up from the vision this morning, I felt this... weird... chill," he explained carefully. "It was the same type of chill I've been feeling all month, especially Friday and Saturday. Then, when I was drinking the dose of Levatio Potion, the warmth from the potion seemed to... attack... that chill, and get rid of it. I was wondering if the chill was the effects of the Cruciatus curse."

The irritation visible on Snape's face faded into a thoughtful expression. "The potion 'felt' warm, you said?"

"Once I swallowed it, yes," Harry confirmed. "It felt almost like the probing you did, only warmer, and it got rid of the chill."

Snape was silent for a moment or two. "Yes," he said finally, "it sounds as though that is precisely what you are sensing when you feel that 'chill'." He paused, then continued, "In addition to your assignment, I would like you to write out a description of how the chill feels to you, how it affects you - including information on how strong it is after a vision, and everything you can remember about feeling it earlier this summer. It would be helpful if you also include a description of how the Levatio Potion affected it. Be as specific as you can."

Harry felt puzzled, wondering why Snape wanted this; and his expression must have made it obvious, because Snape added, "Not all Sensitives 'feel' things the same way, or to the same degree, Potter. Any information you can give me about what and how you sense them will help me decide how to instruct you."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. Well, I guess I'm not going to be finished today's work as quickly as I thought... Maybe if I do my assignment tonight, and write out the information on the vision-chill tomorrow...

"Now, as I do have work to do, I will see you tomorrow."

Harry nodded - although he doubted Snape had seen, since the Potions master had immediately gone back to studying the model - and slipped out of the office. If he hurried, he would probably still have time to write letters to Professor Lupin and the others before dinner.

Snape frowned thoughtfully as he heard the door to his office close behind the boy.

So, Potter sensed the effects of the Cruciatus curse as a 'weird chill' - on himself, at least.

Standing up, the Potions master walked over to his bookcase, opened it to reveal the hidden shelves, and took down the book Dumbledore had given him when he'd first started learning how to deal with his own gift.

A very well-written book, it contained enough information on the Sensitive's gift and its uses to serve as a strong foundation for future learning. Opening it up, Snape quickly skimmed through the table of contents, nodding absently as he took note of several topics he wished to discuss in-depth with Potter.

Then, returning his gaze to the shelves, it occurred to Snape that Potter was really going to need his own copy of this book - and, in fact, of most of his library on the Sensitive's gift.

His frown deepened. Neither he nor Potter could afford to be noticed buying books dealing with the Sensitive's gift; and given both Fudge's stubborn refusal to believe Voldemort was back, and his dislike and distrust of Dumbledore, the headmaster couldn't buy the books either. Not without alerting the Ministry that there was something 'unusual' going on.

For the moment, he thought with a grimace of distaste, as he brought the book back to his desk, I suppose I will simply have to make my library available to Potter. Then another thought occurred to him, and his eyes flickered over the contents of the secret shelves again. Yes, that will do perfectly, he decided, pleased. Much better than cleaning cauldrons - this way, perhaps he will actually learn something during detentions.

Satisfied with his decision, Snape took out a roll of parchment and began taking notes for Potter's lesson tomorrow.

---

Arthur Weasley took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "You're sure of this?" he asked, tapping the parchment in front of him with one finger. He really, really hoped the answer would be 'no', but at the same time, he didn't think he was going to be quite that lucky.

"Of course I'm sure, Arthur," Mad-Eye Moody replied. Arthur had the definite feeling the only reason the ex-Auror didn't sound insulted was because Moody knew what he'd been thinking.

"All right... Thank you, Alastor. I'll send this off to Hogwarts." Folding the parchment containing the list of suspected missing items up, he sealed it and put it to one side. "We also have some additional information."

"Oh?" Moody inquired.

"Apparently You-Know-Who needs items from only two or three other caches," Arthur told him.

Moody blinked in surprise, and then demanded, "Who did this information come from?"

Arthur shrugged. "Dumbledore didn't tell me," he replied. "We were using the Floo Network, and I think he didn't want to risk interception."

Moody nodded in understanding and agreement. "In that case, it probably has something to do with either Snape or Potter," he commented.

Arthur shrugged again.

"Now," Moody continued, "if there are only two or three more caches the Death Eaters need to access, I'd better get Black and Fletcher working. I'll talk to you later."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, also standing up - though a hint of distaste crossed his face at the mention of Mundungus Fletcher. "And judging by some of the items on here," he tapped the sealed list again, "you'd best tell them to hurry."

Sitting back down as Moody left, he was about to call in the Hogwarts owl Dumbledore had lent him for secure communications when the fire went green and Molly's face appeared in the centre of the flames. "Arthur, are you there?"

"Right here, Molly," he replied, moving his chair over in front of the hearth. "Is something wrong?" Have the twins pulled another prank on Ron and Ginny? he wondered. Some of their 'experiments' were starting to get more than a little bit out of hand.

"No, dear, nothing's wrong - I was just wondering if you'll be coming home for dinner," she replied.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Arthur was surprised to see that it was, indeed, almost dinnertime. "I'm afraid I'll be a bit late, Molly," he replied. "There are a few more things I need to get done." He paused, thinking for a moment. He had to send the list off to Professor Snape, finish the report on those enchanted bath toys... "I shouldn't be more than half an hour, unless something else comes up. If it does, I'll call, all right?"

"Very well, I'll expect you home then--" Molly began. Then he heard a rather loud explosion from the Floo, and Molly winced. "Oh, dear... it sounds like Fred and George are at it again. I'd better go see what they've done now." With that, her head disappeared and the flames returned to normal.

As he moved back to his desk and summoned the Hogwarts owl, Arthur couldn't help but continue to wonder where - and how - the twins had gotten the money to continue their joke business. Both Fred and George were being uncommonly reticent about the whole thing.

Well, we will undoubtedly find out sooner or later, he decided, as he scribbled a quick note apologizing for the delay in relaying the list. I just hope it didn't involve anything illegal... Slipping both the note and the list into an envelope, he addressed it and then handed it to the owl who had just swooped into his office from the hallway.

"Take this directly to Professor Severus Snape at Hogwarts," he ordered. "As fast as possible, please."

The owl nodded and gave a hoot of acknowledgement before taking off again, and then Arthur pulled the report of yesterday's incident out of his inbox and began reviewing it. With any luck, nothing else would come up and he'd be out of here in time for dinner.

---

Snape looked up from his copying as an owl flew in through the dungeon's owl passage and dropped an envelope on his desk.

"Thank you," he said politely, then opened his top desk drawer and tossed it an owl treat before turning his attention to the envelope.

It had been sealed with the impression of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, which meant that this was most likely the list of missing items Arthur Weasley had promised for last night.

Opening the envelope, he saw his suspicions were correct. It contained a sealed missive - undoubtedly the list - and a note in Mr. Weasley's handwriting. Putting the list to one side for a moment, he read the note first.

Professor Snape,

I apologize for the delay in getting this list to you; however, Alastor Moody was unavailable yesterday afternoon, and his input was necessary to create this list. I am sure you will understand when you read it.

We have received the information from Dumbledore concerning the fact that You-Know-Who needs items from only two or three more caches; Moody has already departed to inform our friends of that fact.

No friends of mine, Snape thought sourly. He'd never thought all that highly of Mundungus Fletcher, and the less said about the werewolf and the mutt, the better.

Please convey the information within to Headmaster Dumbledore as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Arthur Weasley
Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office
Ministry of Magic

With a slight frown on his face, Snape opened the list and scanned through it.

One item immediately jumped out at him, and it was that which led him to understand precisely why Arthur Weasley's note had appeared so insultingly urgent.

1 large crystal phial, containing a viscuous dark gray fluid; tentatively identified by Alastor Moody as Dementor's blood.

Dementor's blood was used only for the very Darkest of the Dark Arts. Snape himself had only used it once, in an experiment to produce a very powerful despair-inducing potion - powerful enough to induce suicidal tendencies in the cheeriest Hufflepuff - before he had left Voldemort and gone over to Dumbledore. It had been an exceedingly unpleasant experience; he had just begun to come into his full power as a Sensitive - though he hadn't known it at the time - and that had greatly increased the effects he was subject to from the magic present in the Dementor's blood.

Which may be another reason, aside from his parents' deaths, why Potter is so badly affected by Dementors, the Potions master thought absently, as he continued to scan the list. It would certainly make sense, considering how twisted their magic is.

There was nothing on the rest of the list that particularly stood out. All of it was Dark, of course, but none were even half as bad as the possible - or rather, probable (since Moody had been the one to identify it) - Dementor's blood. But unless Voldemort was planning on doing several different things with the contents of the caches - which was, admittedly, always possible - Snape couldn't tell from the list what the Dark Lord had planned. Undoubtedly the critical ingredients were: in a cache the Death Eaters had seized before Weasley's people found it; missing from the list because they hadn't been noticed among the Ministry-seized items; and/or in the two or three caches neither group had as yet.

Gesturing with his wand, Snape created a copy of the list and stored it in his warded bottom desk drawer, along with his marking book and the lesson plans for Potter's tutorials.

Then, picking up both Arthur Weasley's note and the original of the list, he stood up and headed toward Dumbledore's office to send them off.

---

Harry slumped down in his chair in the Gryffindor common room with a heavy sigh.

It had taken him almost four hours - from right after dinner until now - to finish his Dark Creatures assignment. There were a lot more distinguishing characteristics than he had originally thought, and he'd even found himself making the occasional note on potential weaknesses indicated by some of the characteristics - like the vulnerability of fur to fire. He wasn't sure what Snape would think about those notes, but he'd decided to leave them in, just in case; Snape had seemed pleased during the lesson when he'd made comments about how to fight creatures off based on their environmental weaknesses...

He'd managed to finish his letters to Sirius and Professor Lupin before Dobby had brought dinner, and once he'd finished, he'd asked Dobby to arrange for one of the owls to take them. The house-elf had been so delighted to have something to do for Harry that he'd taken the empty tray and the letters and disappeared immediately, not even staying to chat to Harry for a few minutes afterwards.

Now he just had to write his letters to Ron and Hermione, so that he could send them before breakfast tomorrow. Sirius and Hermione's letters had made him think, and he wanted to let Ron know about the new precautions - and get Hermione to stop bugging him about his visions - as soon as possible.

Ron,

Fred and George were cackling? Uh oh... that doesn't sound too good. With any luck, it was just my comment about waiting to use my present (a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sample pack, of course) until school starts. As for the money... I don't think they could have had a chance to bet anything else - your dad was keeping a pretty good eye on them.

On to something more serious... Hermione pointed out to me that in our letters, we should probably treat my location the same way as we treat Snuffles - keep things secret, just in case. The same thing goes for what I See, okay?

I did ask Snuffles what he was doing, but he said he couldn't talk about it in a letter - which was actually what convinced me Hermione was right. (And yes, it does get annoying sometimes - but she wouldn't be Hermione otherwise.)

Say hi to your Mum and Dad, as well as Fred, George and Ginny for me, please.

-- Harry

He hoped Ron wouldn't notice that he'd avoided any comments on what Mr. Weasley was doing. He might have to keep secrets from Ron and Hermione, but Harry didn't want to have to lie to them - especially not about their own families.

Hermione,

I thought about what you said in your letter - not writing anything about where I am - and I think you're right. I've written Ron and told him to avoid it as well. Also, after reading my latest letter from Snuffles, I think it would be better to avoid mention of my you-know-whats along with that, just in case. I'll tell you more about them in September.

I'm glad to hear you had a good time on your trip to Bulgaria, and look forward to reading the details you promised. Remind me to write to Viktor in September, will you, in case I forget?

Snuffles says that he's doing well, and that Moony is indeed fattening him up.

As for the study schedule - Hermione, it's summertime! You're supposed to be relaxing, not worried about school work! Save it for September as well. Besides, you know you'll ace the O.W.Ls.

-- Harry

P.S. Before I forget again, I have a bit of good news - Winky's no longer drinking butterbeer. She's apparently starting to get better, though it will take some time - she's still terribly upset about what happened to Mr. Crouch.

Re-reading the letter, Harry felt fairly satisfied with it. Hermione would probably realize that he was trying to avoid talking to her about his visions - she knew him quite well, after all - but she'd also realize that he was right, especially as it concerned a point that she herself had made.

With any luck, the rest of the letter would make her happier, especially the news about Winky. Harry had completely forgotten to tell Hermione about her in his last letter, but Dobby had mentioned that Winky said hello when he'd delivered dinner, and it had reminded Harry that he'd meant to let Hermione know.

Glancing at his watch, Harry grimaced. It was almost eleven o'clock; the lesson had run somewhat late, and then between the letters, dinner, and his assignment...

Standing up, he picked up the letters to Ron and Hermione and headed up to his dorm to go to sleep.

---

Yawning - he was getting too old to be staying up to all hours of the night - Dumbledore walked into the small cave he was sharing with Hagrid while he helped smooth out the negotiations. He was about to sit down on his cot when he noticed that his message-box was blinking.

Wondering what Severus could have sent now, Dumbledore opened the box and pulled out several sheets of parchment. The one on top was an explanatory note from Severus; a very hastily written note, judging from the untidy scrawl.

Albus,

I believe the wards have just moved to second place on the research priority list. I will continue to check into it as I have time, but one of the items stolen from the secured facility - according to this list - was a large phial of what Moody believes is Dementor's blood. I don't need to tell you the kind of spells and potions that can be created using it.

If you can think of anything from the rest of this list that might be used in conjunction with the Dementor's blood, please let me know - nothing has come to mind. I have a copy of the list safely put away.

Based on the tutorial sessions of the past two days, Potter will need more work than might have been suggested by our Floo conversation, but less than I feared.

-- S.S.

Dumbledore sighed quietly as he sat down on his cot to read the list. It seemed that he was unlikely to get any sleep at all tonight.

Dementor's blood... I fear we may be in for far worse times than I had thought.

Snape rubbed his face with one hand, using the other to put the book he'd been reading down on the desk and push it away.

It was almost noon, and he'd been up since shortly before dawn, researching the various uses of Dementor's blood. It was very hard going, even with his knowledge and experience, and he was aware that his present mood would not lead to a pleasant lesson for Potter.

Not that his job was to make things pleasant for the boy - or, indeed, for any of the students - however, there was no time to waste during these lessons. He had to teach Potter as much as he possibly could over the next month.

And I can't even blame Dumbledore for this, as I went ahead and decided to do it of my own free will, he thought sourly. He was beginning to develop a headache above his right eye - a headache which he knew from long experience wouldn't respond to painkilling potions.

He needed to eat. Part of the reason for the developing headache was the fact that he hadn't had breakfast this morning; he'd been too immersed in his research, and aware that it was best done on an empty stomach. As he'd said to Potter, not all Dark Witches and Wizards were evil; but those who weren't never used Dementor's blood. If they wanted to induce despair, or some other effect of the Dementors, they simply found other means with which to do so.

Which meant that for the past seven or so hours, he'd been reading some of the foulest Dark Arts books in existence - the other reason for his headache. The taint of twisted magic clung to them, assaulting him even through his shielding.

Calling one of the house-elves, he ordered a substantial - for him - lunch, and told it to inform Potter that his lesson would be put off until two o'clock. That should, with any luck, give him enough of a chance to regain his self-possession.

"Of course, Professor Snape, sir. Melly is being very pleased to help," the house-elf replied, and disappeared, reappearing a minute later with a full tray. "Dobby is giving Harry Potter the message, sir."

"Thank you," Snape replied, forcing the courtesy past the pounding in his head. "And please express my thanks to Dobby as well."

"Melly will be pleased to be doing that, Professor Snape, sir," the house-elf replied as she placed the tray on the only clear area of his desk, and disappeared again.

Snape waved his wand and sent the book flying into a large, shielded safe-box on the far side of the room; another wave of his wand closed it and a bit of the tension he felt eased as the worst of the taint was safely locked within.

Returning his attention to his desk, he placed the notes he'd made on his research into the warded drawer, and began eating.

An hour later, feeling somewhat better - though he still had the headache, the pain had reduced to a manageable level - he finished copying what Potter would need from the book on the Sensitive's gift, and closed it. Potter was due in almost an hour, which gave him more than enough time to write a note to Mr. Weasley concerning the wards - he'd had an idea in the middle of his copying - and take it to the Owlery to send it off.

The walk stretched his legs, easing the headache another notch, and he was leaning against the Owlery wall, looking out at the grounds and enjoying the fresh air coming in through the open windows, when he saw a flicker of movement on the far side of the lake - just beyond the wards.

Straightening up, Snape frowned as he focused on the area where he'd noticed the movement, straining to make out details.

The movement came again, and this time he was able to identify it as being a robe blowing in the breeze - which meant that there was an unknown witch or wizard out there.

Snape's frown deepened. No one should be that close to Hogwarts without informing the headmaster, even in the best of times - which these were most definitely not. Which, in turn, meant that it needed to be investigated.

Gesturing to himself with his wand, he murmured, "Inter Lateo," - the Notice-Me-Not Spell, one of the more useful spells in his repertoire when it came to dealing with both spying and students breaking curfew - then turned and began hurrying toward the school's main entrance. His firm stride was much quicker than running would have been - the castle had an unfortunate habit of taking people who ran through its corridors far out of their way. If he was at all lucky, whatever was going on would keep the person - or people - involved occupied until he arrived.

It took him almost ten minutes to reach the far side of the lake from the school itself, and by the time he arrived, it was evident that they were preparing to depart.

Lucius Malfoy, Walden Macnair, and Magnus Warwith were all gathered around a large tree with a hole dug under its roots, and Lucius was carrying a large, heavy-looking bag. Standing absolutely still behind a group of bushes - which helped support the Notice-Me-Not spell - Snape watched as Macnair held out an old shoe. The other two touched it, and all three vanished as the Portkey activated.

Moving away from the bushes, Snape walked over to the tree and examined it. He wasn't terribly surprised to find that the 'hole' was in fact a protected hollow, and he could sense the fading remnants of a decades-old concealment spell. This was undoubtedly the location of one of the other caches the Death Eaters had still been in the process of finding as of yesterday morning.

Only one or two caches left, if that, which they need to find, Snape reflected, irritation and anxiety mingling and bringing his headache back almost full-force. He needed to get word to Moody, Weasley and Dumbledore at once.

A wave of his hand placed a marker on the spot, to make it easy for him to find again, and he departed at a near-run toward the school.

A hastily-written note was dispatched to Dumbledore via the message-box, giving the headmaster all the details of what he'd observed and discovered, and then he Flooed Arthur Weasley.

By some incredible stretch of luck, Moody was also in Weasley's office. As the Floo connected, Snape heard him saying, "...four caches in London, and one more in Edinburgh--"

The ex-Auror broke off and turned around to look directly at him. "Snape."

"Moody," Snape returned curtly. They disliked each other, but they had developed a certain wary respect over the past sixteen years, based on the work each of them did for Dumbledore. "I have some urgent news concerning the caches."

"What is it?" Weasley demanded.

"There was a cache just outside the wards of Hogwarts," Snape replied, and quickly filled them in on what he had seen.

"Not good," Moody muttered darkly.

"That leaves them just one or two more," Weasley added, echoing Snape's own thoughts. "And we've already found eight others. Do you have any suggestions on how to help narrow it down?"

Snape frowned, but recalling his research from this morning, replied, "Tell Fletcher and the mutt," his mouth twisted in distaste, "to check if any of them contain Fire Crab shells. Ground to a powder, it helps to stabilize Dementor's blood in a broad range of Dark Potions."

"All right; thank you, Professor," Weasley said, while Moody regarded him narrowly.

He felt no need to defend himself to the ex-Auror. "One more thing," Snape continued, keeping his eyes on Weasley. "The reason I was in the Owlery in the first place was to send you a letter, but since I'm speaking to you, I may as well ask you now.

"The wards on the secured facility. You mentioned in your original letter that you would be alerted if they were broken. How? Were they set by one of your people, or were they alarmed via the Ministry?"

Weasley frowned thoughtfully. "I believe one of my people set the alarms up to come directly here, but I'll check," he replied.

"Send your answer back by the owl," Snape told him, and pulled away from the fire, ending the conversation.

Glancing up at the staff wizarding clocks on the wall of Dumbledore's office, Snape nearly groaned when he saw his was pointing to Time to Tutor Potter. Firmly reminding himself that it had been his idea in the first place, and he had volunteered for the role, he stood up, brushed off his robes, and stalked out the door.

Harry frowned as he waited outside Snape's office. The door was closed; he'd knocked, but there had been no answer. He couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong; when Dobby had shown up at noon to tell him that the lesson had been changed from one to two, the house-elf had also said that apparently 'Professor Snape sir' wasn't feeling well.

Despite the fact that he still disliked Snape (no matter that he was coming to respect the greasy git), Harry was worried. If Snape wasn't well, he didn't know how to help--

"Potter," came Snape's voice suddenly from behind him, and Harry spun around with a startled squeak.

The Potions master eyed him in irritation, heavily-flavoured with dislike. "You are going to have to do much better than that, Potter, if you want to survive another year," he snapped. "You should have known I was there before I spoke, and been ready to defend yourself if necessary. Death Eaters won't warn you they're behind you, any more than Voldemort will. You must learn to pay attention to your surroundings."

Harry blinked at this completely unexpected tirade. Snape's tone of voice sounded the way it always had during the school year, all of a sudden; but rather than insults and accusations, Snape was talking about the lessons and his safety. It was... bizarre, and left Harry feeling so confused that all he could do was stare at Snape in utter bewilderment.

Of course, Snape's response to that was entirely predictable. "Have you lost what little wits you have, Potter?" he sneered.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said quietly, looking away. He could feel Snape's glare burning into his head, but didn't respond. Has something happened? Why is he being so... so much of a git all of a sudden? But he still seems concerned...

"Just get in, Potter," Snape ordered curtly, opening his office door.

Harry obediently walked in and sat down in what had become his regular chair over the past week, then pulled his work out of his bag and waited for Snape to demand it. And while he waited, he took the opportunity to study the Potions master carefully.

Surprisingly, Snape looked tired. Harry had never seen that before, even on days when he knew Snape had been up and around the entire night before. His eyes, which were usually glittering with emotion - generally malice, or, in the past week, irritation, when directed at Harry - looked uncommonly dull.

Snape finished shuffling the papers on his desk, then held out his hand and gave Harry a pointed look.

"Here's my assignment, sir," Harry said carefully, giving him the scroll with his list of environmental characteristics, "and here's the description of the chill from the visions."

Snape took both with a nod, and placed them on his desk. Then he picked up one of the piles of paper, revealing a book under it, and thrust the papers at Harry.

"This is a copy of the introduction to this book," Snape said, gesturing toward the book on his desk. Harry noticed that the viciousness which had been in his voice had now disappeared again. "The book is entitled Sensitivity: Learning the Basics, and is an excellent manual for beginning to learn how to use the Sensitive's gift. Today's assignment will be to read through that material and ensure that you know it thoroughly before your next lesson. This is one subject for which I will definitely refuse to tolerate any skiving off."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied simply. He didn't want to irritate Snape again - he much preferred the Snape he'd been dealing with this past week to the one he'd known for the last four years.

Snape sat back down behind his desk, steepled his fingers, and met Harry's gaze. "What do you think of How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand?"

Harry blinked, startled again, although this time it was due to being asked for his opinion - very definitely a first from Snape. He hesitated - then, as Snape started to look impatient, hastily blurted out, "Professor Dumbledore thinks it's well-written."

Snape didn't appear to be in the slightest bit impressed. "That is the headmaster's opinion," he said, his tone giving no clue as to whether or not he agreed with it. "I asked for yours. And do not try to tell me you don't have one - we are both aware that you have opinions on everything, Potter, whether you voice them or not. What do you think of the book?"

"That it was written by a Slytherin," Harry replied.

Snape regarded him calmly. "Why?"

"Because there's so much emphasis on the fact that wandless magic gives you secrecy and surprise."

"Is that all you think about it?" Snape questioned.

Should I? Harry wondered for a moment. I guess so; he has been telling me that this isn't like class... "I was a bit surprised there wasn't more about physical methods of defence," he answered. "I was sort of expecting that to be the main topic, and instead it was only one section."

"It was written by a wizard for witches and wizards, not Muggles," Snape pointed out.

Harry paused, then shrugged mentally. Might as well... After all, it's not like I've never argued with him before. "Just because we're not Muggles doesn't mean that there's no reason to use physical means of defence," he countered. "After..." He hesitated, then steeled himself and continued, "After the Third Task, I was able to avoid some of Voldemort's curses by running and ducking. If I hadn't, I'd be dead."

Snape studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good," he declared, surprising Harry. "At least I will not have to waste time attempting to teach you that running away can be a better decision than staying to die because of idiotic Gryffindor pride."

Harry winced slightly at that, but held his tongue, consciously choosing not to argue with Snape's statement; he'd returned to the way he'd been acting for the past week, and Harry really didn't want him to go back to normal. Especially when he'd just received a drastic demonstration of how different Snape was now.

Snape appeared to be pleased by his reaction - or, at least, by his lack of argument. Well, that's no surprise, considering how much he hates Gryffindors...

"You will no doubt be pleased to know that I agree with your opinion on the lack of importance of physical defence in the book; yet it is anything but unique in that respect. Most books on wandless defence pay little or no attention to the physical aspect. When dealing with wandless magic, however, How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand is by far the most useful book available, which is why I chose it.

"For today, we will concentrate on the theoretical aspects of wandless magic. Next week, you will start a physical training regimen, but that will wait until you have completely recovered from the damage due to your visions," Snape finished.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, automatically pulling out parchment, his quill, and ink.

"First of all, there are very definite limitations on wandless magic, even for Sensitives; our limitations are different from those of the general wizarding population, but they do still exist," Snape said, as Harry quickly began to scribble down notes. "We will not be dealing with those today; you will need to read through that introduction before we discuss any further details of the Sensitive's gift.

"While the general limitations of wandless magic do not apply to either of us, they do apply to everyone else you know, both allies and enemies; therefore, you need to understand how it works."

"How to Defend Yourself said that wandless magic is magic taken from the wizard's own stores of magic, whereas using a wand uses magic from the environment," Harry said.

"And do you understand what that means?" Snape questioned.

Remembering Snape's reaction on Monday to his hesitation over asking a question, Harry immediately shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not, sir," he replied.

Snape nodded as though he had been expecting that response - which he probably had been. "Yes, that is the one area - aside from physical defence - where How to Defend Yourself is rather poor," he commented.

"To put it simply, all magical creatures - including witches and wizards - are born with a core, or source, of magical energy. That source can only contain a finite amount of magic - the amount is different for each person, and together with the speed with which the source can replenish itself determines how powerful you are. If you have a great deal of magic, but it replenishes itself slowly, you tend to be more careful of using it than someone in the reverse situation."

"Replenishes?" Harry repeated, zeroing in on the term whose precise meaning in this context he wasn't sure he understood.

Snape nodded. "There is magic all around us - in the air, the earth, the water; once you are trained in using your gift, you will be able to sense it. That magic - and there are hundreds of different theories concerning its origin and why it appears to be infinite - is what replenishes both our own sources of magic and those of other magical creatures. It is known as 'ambient magic'.

"Doing magic using our own source, and only our own source, is wandless magic," Snape continued, "and until wands were invented, that was all wizards could do."

Harry nodded in understanding as he finished writing. "So... wands allow us to use the ambient magic as opposed to relying only on our own," he concluded.

"Yes, in essence," Snape replied. "A wand is made up of two elements: something from a magical, non-human creature, which is the core of the wand; and a type of wood, generally one with strong magical properties. The core, coming as it does from a magical creature, can access the ambient magic; the wood serves to help contain and direct that magic, so it can be controlled.

"Even with a wand, however, you always use some of your own magic; part of it to start the draw on the ambient magic, and the rest to help shape the magic into what you want. That is why, first of all, getting the correct type of wand is so important: if a wand isn't compatible with your own source of magic, it will produce either a very weak result, or something that is generally the opposite of what you intended - and often rather nasty.

"Secondly, it means that the more powerful the spell you cast, the more power it requires from you to direct the ambient magic."

Harry frowned slightly. "When we covered the Unforgivables, Crouch said that we could all cast the Killing Curse on him, and it wouldn't give him any more than a nosebleed." He didn't like talking about this particular curse - or any of the Unforgivables, for that matter - but he wanted to understand. "Is that why?"

Snape nodded. "At the moment, the full force of the Killing Curse would require more of your own power than you have available. Or that's true for your classmates, at least. I'm not certain about you personally. Of course, it also - as for all the Unforgivables - requires that you have the genuine desire to cast it."

Harry hadn't really heard that last sentence; he was too busy gaping at Snape in shock. Snape, admitting he didn't know something about Harry? It was... well, inconceivable! Snape had always claimed to know exactly who and what Harry was. He'd been wrong, of course, but still...

"Potter! Pay attention!" the Potions master snapped sharply.

"Sorry, sir," Harry apologized, still stunned, but knowing much better than to make an issue of it. Instead, he returned his focus to their conversation about power. "But, if spells like the Killing Curse would require more power--"

"I said 'at the moment', Potter," Snape interrupted.

Had Snape been taking mind-reading lessons from Dumbledore? Harry was starting to suspect the answer was 'yes'; this was the second time Snape had responded to what he was thinking, as opposed to what he had finished saying out loud, after all.

"As children, untrained, it takes a great deal to access the power for more than the simplest of spells - and they don't have access to the entirety of their own magic source. As a witch or wizard matures physically, they gain greater access to their power; and as they are trained, and practice, they develop a more delicate touch, learning to do more with less power. You - and your classmates - could now do first year spells with much greater ease and without the large expenditure of power it took when you were first learning them. That is why.

"Despite the fact that it takes less from you the more training and practice you have, a spell will always need the same amount of power to produce the same result - which leads back into the actual topic we are discussing. While more complicated and powerful spells can be done with wands as you learn more, the same cannot be said for wandless magic. You may need a bit less for focusing the spell, but - to get consistent results - the spell itself will always take the same amount of magic whether you are a first year or a fully trained wizard."

"Which means that a wizard can't do a wandless magic spell that requires more power than his source contains," Harry concluded.

"Precisely. If they try, they either simply cannot do it, or they burn themselves up, becoming squibs. So," Snape continued, "do you understand now what the book was trying to say?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. He paused for a moment, and then asked, "Is there any way to tell how powerful a wizard is?"

"Not with complete reliability," Snape replied, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands under his chin. "Not even for Sensitives. An estimate can be made, based on a student's progress throughout their schooling, and the power they are able to put into various spells - for example, the Patronus you summoned at that Quidditch match your third year. Despite the fact that it was unnecessary - as there were not truly any Dementors there," Snape's face twisted into an expression Harry couldn't read, although he thought there may have been disgust involved, "the fact that you, as a mere third year, were able to conjure a fully-formed Patronus was telling.

"Of course," he added, his tone somewhat acidic, "it would be even more impressive if you showed any other signs of such power... or any sign of wisdom in using it."

Harry winced slightly, wondering what was going on with Snape as he did so. The Potions master's mood seemed to fluctuating wildly, and Harry wasn't entirely certain how to react. Especially when Snape continued as though he hadn't just been sniping at him.

"Other than that, the only way we have to measure a witch or wizard's power is by comparison with other witches and wizards. For example, we know that Dumbledore is more powerful than Voldemort - but not by how much," Snape explained.

"However, we have once again strayed from the point of this lesson.

"All wizards have some degree of wandless magic - they would be unable to even use wands if they did not - but more than half the wizarding population has no more than what is required to use a wand and do the most basic of uncontrolled spells.

"Which leads into the next limitation of wandless magic; it is very, very difficult to control."

Harry, remembering the times when he'd inadvertently used wandless magic, nodded in agreement; and then felt his stomach sink as Snape smiled tightly. He probably shouldn't have done that... It was, to quote something Uncle Vernon had once said, like waving a red flag before a bull.

"And why, Potter, is it so difficult to control?"

It wasn't all that hard to figure out, actually - not when he'd just refreshed his memory of the incidents. "Because wandless magic responds to emotions, rather than to focused thoughts," Harry replied.

"Not entirely correct," Snape said, shaking his head. "Yes, wandless magic responds more readily if strong emotions are involved, but that is not what it truly responds to."

Harry frowned slightly, trying to figure it out. It hadn't been in the book, and if it wasn't emotions... Finally he shook his head in defeat. "Sorry, sir; in that case, I really don't know."

Snape looked irritated again. "Your subconscious mind, Potter," he growled. "That is why quite often the first manipulation of magic in a witch or wizard is either in reaction to some form of danger, or a temper tantrum.

"Because of that, in order to truly control wandless magic, a witch or wizard must have control over their subconscious mind, as well as over their emotions. Very few people can achieve such control."

Harry nodded again, and Snape was just about to continue when the door opened and Dumbledore walked in.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry had thought Dumbledore was going to be away until Monday or Tuesday...

"Headmaster?" Snape, he realized, sounded equally surprised.

"I am sorry for interrupting your lesson, Severus, Harry," the headmaster apologized. "However, I'm afraid I must ask you to cut it short. Severus, I just received your latest report; I need you to show me where it was." Dumbledore looked quite agitated, Harry suddenly noticed, and he wondered what Snape's 'latest report' had been about.

"Of course, Headmaster." Snape stood up, then turned to Harry. "Your next lesson will be in the Potions classroom on Monday at one, Potter. In addition to the reading assignment I gave you at the start of this session, I would like you to re-read chapter fourteen of How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand, and learn the list of limitations there, taking into account what we have discussed this afternoon. Be prepared to discuss them in more detail Monday."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied obediently, even as the two professors hurried out of the room. Confused, and more than a little worried as he thought about what might have prompted such a reaction from Dumbledore, he slowly packed up his things and walked up to Gryffindor Tower.

"What's the matter, Albus?" Snape asked, once they'd got far enough away from his office that Potter wouldn't be able to eavesdrop. "Why the sudden urgency?"

"According to your note, this cache you saw Lucius empty was just outside the Hogwarts Wards," Dumbledore said, his tone grim.

"Yes," Snape agreed slowly.

"That should not have been possible," Dumbledore continued, as they reached the Great Hall. "Even outside the wards, even with a concealment spell, I should have known about it if it was that close. The fact that I didn't concerns me a great deal, and makes one wonder why I didn't. And I don't like the possibilities I have come up with. In order to know for certain, however, I must actually see the location of the cache myself."

"Of course," Snape replied. He had no idea what Dumbledore was expecting, but it was obvious that the headmaster was definitely worried about the situation.

Leading the way out the main doors of the school, Snape started in the direction of the tree that had hidden the cache, activating the beacon he'd set as he did so.

Ten minutes later, they reached the tree. As soon as Snape pointed out the hollow under its roots, Dumbledore crouched down and began examining it carefully. He spent almost half an hour on it, while Snape kept an eye on their surroundings.

Finally, Dumbledore stood up and beckoned to him. "Severus, could you please do me the favour of examining this?" he requested, gesturing to the hollow. As a Sensitive, he meant.

Snape frowned. "What am I looking for?" he asked, even as he joined the headmaster and began to reach out to scan the interior.

"Anything that may explain why no one sensed this cache," Dumbledore replied. "There had to be something more than just the concealment spell."

Such a vague idea of what he was looking for made it rather difficult for Snape; usually, he had more information about - and a much more concrete idea of - what he was trying to sense. Without that, it could be compared to walking into a room in complete darkness, and trying to find a red cushion - he might be able to find a cushion, or several, but he would have a difficult time determining the colour.

He sensed the still-fading concealment spell first and pushed past it, stretching his Sensitivity out in an effort to feel whether or not there was anything else.

That... was a very big mistake, Snape decided two minutes later, when he'd finally stopped retching.

"What happened, Severus?" Dumbledore asked anxiously.

"Too much taint," Snape managed to mumble, staggering as he attempted to stand back up.

"Taint?" Dumbledore repeated, gripping his arm to steady him. "I assume you mean twisted magic. Can you clarify it at all, Severus? Was it a particular type of taint, or simply general Dark Arts?"

"I've told you before, Albus - 'Dark Arts' aren't twisted; it's the way they're used," Snape returned, irritated - a feeling which faded to exasperation when he noticed Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. Albus is much too good at that, he thought, as he leaned against a tree. This wasn't the first time the headmaster had provoked him in order to let his anger provide him with an extra bit of strength.

"There was definitely something there that involved twisted magic," he continued. "It felt... almost like a smothering blanket - literally." That wasn't an exact description for the twisted, tainted thing whose residue he'd sensed - there were no words to convey it properly to a non-Sensitive - but it was close enough to give Dumbledore at least the general idea.

"A smothering blanket," Dumbledore repeated thoughtfully.

Snape's mouth twisted in remembrance. "That... wasn't the worst of it, however," he said, his voice hushed.

Dumbledore met his eyes. "What was?"

Snape took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then took another one - trying to settle his nerves. Bad enough he'd spent the entire morning dealing with unshielded, tainted books in his office; but not even the worst of those books compared to what he'd sensed from the hollow. "Whatever that thing was that left the residue I sensed..." He hesitated for a moment. "It was done by... Only a Sensitive could have created it."

That was the worst of it. Knowing how twisted magic affected him, Snape had no idea how any Sensitive could deliberately create something that twisted magic in the way whatever that was had.

The twinkle had almost vanished from the headmaster's eyes, and he looked more than a bit alarmed. "Oh, dear..."

Although he wasn't quite certain of the exact reasons for the alarm, Dumbledore's concern increased Snape's own. If the headmaster was worried, the rest of them should probably be terrified. "What is it, Albus?" he demanded.

"Have I ever told you about Portia?" Dumbledore asked in response, starting back toward Hogwarts.

Snape frowned thoughtfully. The name sounded vaguely familiar... "That classmate of yours who turned out to be a Sensitive," he said a moment later, as he remembered Dumbledore telling him about Portia Bones after the headmaster had realized what was happening to him.

"Yes." Dumbledore's expression turned grim. "During the war against Grindelwald, she had a rather unfortunate encounter with something that - based on what I remember of her description - sounds like what you've just described."

"Oh?" Snape prompted him.

"Someone on Grindelwald's side - possibly even Grindelwald himself - was a Sensitive," Dumbledore explained. Snape's eyes widened in surprise. "A Dark Sensitive - damaged somehow, I believe," the headmaster continued. "He discovered some rather unusual traits of Dementor skin."

Despite the fact that he routinely collected potion ingredients the students - and even most adult witches and wizards - would consider disgusting, without a trace even of distaste, Snape felt himself grimace in absolute and utter loathing at the very thought of Dementor skin.

"It seems that if you put an Obscurus Charm on the skin, and bind it - in a way that only a Sensitive can accomplish, according to what Portia discovered - it not only hides the skin itself, but anything it is wrapped around, from the magic of others. Which means that whoever owned this cache had to have had access to things from Grindelwald.

"And now, Voldemort has access to this Charmed Dementor skin, and Dementor's blood." Dumbledore stopped walking for a moment, and when Snape looked at him, met his gaze firmly. "I have no desire to find out what he could do with that combination, but we must know. I fear I must ask you to do more research for me."

Snape nodded in agreement as they began walking again. "Will you be returning to Hagrid?" he asked a moment later, as they reached the main doors.

"No," Dumbledore replied. "I've done what I needed to there, and with the way things seem to be going, I think it's best I return now.

"So," the headmaster continued, "now that I'm here in person, why don't you tell me what else is bothering you about young Harry - what it was you didn't want to mention over the Floo connection."

Snape sighed. "These visions of his - I'm concerned about what they're doing to him - and not just in the sense of the effects of Cruciatus," the Potions master said grimly. "Judging from the report he wrote for you of his vision Wednesday night, you know about the torturing and killings he's been seeing."

Dumbledore nodded, his own expression sombre. "Yes, I know."

"We have to stop them," Snape said firmly. "The information they can provide may be valuable, but the risk to Potter's sanity is unacceptable."

"He's not fragile, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "In fact, young Harry is remarkably resilient."

Snape stopped walking abruptly and stared at Dumbledore. The headmaster could be very precise in his choice of words when he wanted to be, and something told Snape that this was one of those times. "'Resilient'?" he repeated. "I would have said 'strong'." And the strong can be broken - much more easily than the resilient. "That is, after all, a Gryffindor trait."

"No," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Oh, there can be no doubt Harry is strong, that's true enough, but it is his resilience that keeps him from being fragile. As for House traits..." The headmaster smiled, and Snape felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Gryffindor was not the Sorting Hat's first choice of House for Harry Potter."

The sinking feeling grew stronger - but he had to know. If the answer was what he suspected, changes would have to be made. "Which House was the Hat's first choice?" Snape asked.

Dumbledore's smile widened. "Why, Slytherin, of course, Severus," he replied, his eyes twinkling brightly again, and started walking away.

Snape stared after him for a moment - and then abruptly realized that Dumbledore had deflected his point about stopping Potter's visions very neatly. Pushing the latest revelation to one side, to think about later, he called, "Albus!" as he stalked after Dumbledore.

"Yes, Severus? What is it?"

"We have to find a way to stop Potter's visions," Snape repeated. "Resilient or not, he should not have to see--"

Dumbledore held up one hand, and Snape stopped. "Severus..." The headmaster sighed. "I don't think they can be stopped - at least, not until Voldemort is completely dead."

Snape frowned. "Surely there must be some way to block the link from his scar," he protested.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore admitted, "though I have been unable to find one in the past four years, for all my searching. However, I don't believe the link through Harry's scar is the cause of most of these visions - at least, not directly."

Snape blinked in surprise. "You don't? I would have thought that would be the obvious answer."

"The obvious, yes, but... Before Voldemort's resurrection, Harry had only two visions, Severus. One last summer, and one about a week after Bartemius Crouch's death, shortly before the Third Task.

"I told you what Harry told me about the events in the graveyard the night of the Third Task," Dumbledore continued, and Snape's eyes widened in surprise - and shock - as he realized what the headmaster was getting at.

"His blood," the Potions master breathed. "You think it's his Sensitive's gift in combination with the link at his scar and Voldemort's use of his blood." Magic was bound up in the blood - even the greenest first year student knew that. And a Sensitive's blood...

Dumbledore nodded. "Harry said himself that the visions changed after the Third Task."

This was not good. If Dumbledore was right about the direct cause of the visions - and there was a very good chance he was, now that Snape knew what his theory was - then he was also right that only Voldemort's final death would break that binding. Although, perhaps as he trained Potter in the use of his gift, they might be able to find a way to block it...

However, that wasn't the only thing troubling him about Potter's visions.

"That still doesn't explain the Cruciatus effects," he pointed out.

"No, it doesn't," Dumbledore agreed. "Now, if you will excuse me, Severus, I had best contact Arthur and tell him I'm back - and let him know about the Dementor skin." With that, he headed down the corridor in the direction of his office.

Snape watched him go, then sighed and turned back toward the dungeons. Dumbledore obviously had no intentions of giving him even a hint as to what his theory about the Cruciatus effects was.

There being nothing he could do about either Potter's visions or the problem of the Dementor skin just at the moment, his thoughts went back to the most startling revelation of the past hour - the truth behind Potter's Sorting.

If Slytherin was the Hat's first choice for Potter, I wonder how he persuaded it to put him in Gryffindor, Snape mused, as he descended the stairs to the dungeons. He must have had about the same amount of traits and enough of the mindset from each House, since the Hat relented and allowed him to choose. Not that Dumbledore had specifically said that it had been Potter's choice, but it was obvious.

Of course, having been in Gryffindor for four years meant that Potter's Gryffindor mindset and traits - courage, strength, recklessness and pride, to name the most obvious - had been encouraged at the expense of others; but if he'd had enough Slytherin in him for that to be the Hat's first choice... he would still have traces of that. Traces that Snape should be able to hone and strengthen - at least enough to help ensure the boy's survival.

He would have to revise his lesson plans, of course - they'd been based on his observations that the boy was a Gryffindor to the core. The revelation that Potter was at least part-Slytherin meant that there would be other - better - ways to teach him than through a completely Gryffindor model.

It would be an interesting challenge - one Snape suspected the headmaster knew would intrigue him enough to keep him interested.

---

Dumbledore smiled as Fawkes greeted him with a few notes, and sat down at his desk. He wasn't surprised to see that the paperwork had piled up - Severus had certainly complained enough about it before being asked to research the wards on the storage facility. The Potions master had undoubtedly decided that the research was more important than the school paperwork, and quite happily ignored it.

He had originally been uncertain about leaving Severus and Harry alone for several days; but judging from the lesson he'd interrupted, they had at least decided on a truce - which might just turn into the first step toward a true mentorship bond. His smile widened as he remembered the look on Severus's face when he'd mentioned the Sorting Hat's original decision; Dumbledore suspected that that knowledge might just prove to be the catalyst for another step or two along that route for the two of them.

Better by far that they established at least a good start on a mentoring relationship before they found out why Harry was experiencing the vision curses. A well-established mentor/student bond would be best, but Dumbledore had the feeling that one or the other of them would discover the truth before they got that far.

Then he sighed. As much as he wished to contemplate the pleasant thoughts of Severus and Harry finally learning to work together without the viciousness and anger that had characterized their relationship since Harry's first year, there were other concerns he had to deal with. Going over to the fireplace, he picked up his container of Floo powder and prepared to contact Arthur Weasley with the latest news.

Harry finished reading the last page of the copied introduction Snape had given him, and leaned back in his chair.

It had actually been quite an interesting read, he reflected, as he put the parchment down on the table with the rest, and then stared into the flames in the common room fireplace.

According to the information in the introduction, added to what Snape had taught him yesterday about wandless magic, Sensitives were able to sense the ambient magic directly, and could tap into and control it without the use of a wand; which explained Snape's statement of being able to do anything with wandless magic that they could do using a wand. The 'flow of magic' Snape had spoken of Tuesday, when he'd first told Harry about the Sensitive's gift, was simply the term used to describe the way in which the ambient magic moved - which it apparently did all the time.

The introduction had also clarified what Snape had meant about differences in the way the magic was sensed. From what it had said, Sensitives could sense magic as though they were using one or more of the five senses (though it had stated that no one ever had more than three). Apparently there was a chapter later on in the book Snape had copied this out of which gave instructions for determining your primary Sensitive sense, and any secondary ones you might have.

Based on how Harry had felt the effects of both the Cruciatus curse and the Levatio Potion, he suspected that his primary sense was most likely touch - though he wasn't certain; the introduction hadn't gone into any detail about the difference between primary and secondary senses, just stated that there was one.

For some reason, Harry found what he'd read vaguely reassuring. He hadn't really thought too much about it - or, at least, he'd tried not to - but when Snape had told him that he was a Sensitive, he'd felt almost as though he were back in second year again, learning that he was a Parselmouth, and the only one other than Voldemort. It had seemed like about the same sort of situation this time, the only difference being that instead of sharing the ability with Voldemort, he shared it with Snape - whom he'd always considered to be almost as bad, until the revelation of his status as a spy back in June.

Either way, the point was that both abilities were rare, and he shared each of them with someone he'd never considered 'good' - whether Snape was on the side of Light or not. It had simply been yet another difference, another thing that made him the 'Boy-Who-Lived', as opposed to just Harry.

However, the fact that there was a published book - more than one, according to some references in the introduction - about the Sensitive's gift made him better, less 'special'. Less separated from everyone else.

It also made him want to learn more.

Hermione would be proud, Harry reflected, amused at the thought of what his friends would say if they found out he actually wanted to study something. Ron would say I was mental, of course...

And he'd be even more convinced of it if he knew that I'm actually starting to enjoy my lessons with Snape. So would Sirius, I bet. Nonetheless, it was true. Harry still wasn't sure what had caused Snape's attitude to change, but - even on Wednesday and with his peculiar mood shifts yesterday - the Potions master had been surprisingly civil to him.

Sitting back up straight, Harry glanced at his watch and sighed. He'd started reading the introduction right after breakfast - having finished his re-read of chapter fourteen yesterday afternoon between the time Snape and Dumbledore had dismissed him and dinner - and it was only ten o'clock. He didn't really want to work on his summer homework at the moment - he had only Divination, Charms and Potions left - but he didn't know what else to do.

Standing up and wandering over to one of the windows, he looked outside - and his eyes fell on Hagrid's hut. Remembering that Hagrid had asked him to look in on Fang, Harry grinned - relieved that he had something to do - and hurried out of the tower.

Harry had been in Hagrid's hut for about fifteen minutes when the door opened and Dumbledore walked in. "Ah, there you are, Harry," the headmaster said, smiling at him.

"Professor," Harry started - and then he felt a sudden surge of alarm. Had something happened? "Is something wrong?"

"What?" Dumbledore blinked. "Oh, no, Harry, nothing's wrong. However," he added, "I'm afraid I must ask you to please return to the castle. It's not entirely safe out here."

Harry frowned in confusion - and rebellion. "But I'm still on school grounds," he protested. He didn't want to have to stay stuck in the castle all day!

"Yes, you are," Dumbledore agreed. "Nonetheless, this hut can be easily seen from the Forbidden Forest, and the Hogwarts Wards do not extend that far. It would be, I'm afraid, all too easy for someone in the Forest to notice you; and even if it wasn't a Death Eater, Voldemort would undoubtedly find out as soon as the Ministry did, which would be soon afterwards, I fear. No, Harry, I'm afraid I must insist that you return to the castle with me."

Harry sighed heavily as he gave Fang a farewell pat and stood up. "Is there really likely to be anyone else this close to Hogwarts, Professor?" he tried. Surely no Death Eaters would be in the area--

"I'm afraid there is a definite possibility, Harry," Dumbledore replied, opening the door and ushering him outside. "Professor Snape spotted three Death Eaters on the far side of the lake, just outside the wards, yesterday afternoon."

Harry's eyes widened at that. "Three Death Eaters?" he repeated, stunned. "What were they doing?" Is that what the 'latest report' Dumbledore mentioned involved?

For a moment, Dumbledore looked as though he was debating whether or not to answer. Then he met Harry's eyes. "It appears one of the caches Voldemort is after was located there, just on the other side of the wards," he replied slowly. "They Portkeyed out just after Professor Snape reached them."

"They didn't see Snape, did they?" Harry asked, suddenly worried.

Dumbledore gave him a stern look. "Professor Snape, Harry," he corrected firmly. Then his tone softened. "And no, they did not. He is quite skilled at remaining unnoticed, as I'm sure you are aware."

Remembering the number of times Snape had caught - or almost caught - him wandering around where he really wasn't supposed to be, Harry nodded in agreement.

"Speaking of Professor Snape," the headmaster continued, "how are the lessons going so far?"

Harry thought very carefully about how to answer this. Finally, as they reached the doors of the castle, he replied, "They're interesting. So far I've mainly been taking notes and answering questions; Sn-- Professor Snape says he's waiting until he knows that I'm fully recovered - which should be next week - before starting practical lessons."

"What have you done so far?" Dumbledore asked.

"We've talked about the definitions of Dark Arts and Dark Creatures, discussed how some of the spells we learn could be considered Dark Arts by my definition if used in certain ways, looked at various potions for defence, talked about characteristics of Dark Creatures based on their environment, and he's explained what wandless magic is and some of its limitations," Harry said. "The potions lesson didn't really go all that well, but the others did."

Dumbledore nodded. "It certainly sounds as though you've been quite busy," he said. "I'm glad you seem to be enjoying them. As for the potions lesson - I think you'll find that they will improve as you continue these sessions."

Harry sighed. "I hope so."

"I'm sure they will," the headmaster replied confidently. "Now, here we are," he added, and Harry blinked in surprise when he realized that the portrait of the Fat Lady was right in front of them.

"We will be having dinner at seven o'clock in the staff lounge," Dumbledore continued, and Harry blinked again. "I will have Dobby show you the way when it is time. Other than that, all I ask is that you please stay inside the castle."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, a bit reluctantly, then gave the Fat Lady the password and walked into the common room.

---

Snape walked into the staff lounge, nodded curtly to Trelawney - who had turned up this morning, back from her supposed 'research trip' to China - and Filch, both of whom appeared to be almost finished their lunches, then sat down at the table next to Dumbledore. It was a longstanding tradition during the summer that whenever the headmaster was present at the school, all the staff who were there ate lunch and dinner together. Personally, Snape would have rather eaten alone in his chambers - and, in fact, quite often did, even when Dumbledore was there; but the headmaster had been quite insistent that he be present today. Luckily, he'd managed to time it well enough that he wouldn't have to listen for very long to either Trelawney's ridiculous predictions of doom - she hadn't even come up with any new ones over the past month - or Filch's complaints about Potter's presence in the castle and Peeves's latest escapades.

"I'm glad to see you decided to join us, Severus," Dumbledore said.

Snape ignored the hint of censure in his tone, concentrating on choosing what to have for lunch.

"I wished to inform all of you at the same time that Mr. Potter will be joining us for dinner from now on," the headmaster continued.

Snape froze for a moment, then met Dumbledore's eyes. They were twinkling brightly, making it clear that he was quite pleased with himself about something.

"You can't be serious, Headmaster!" Snape exclaimed out loud.

"Why not?" Dumbledore asked, his tone innocence itself. "There's no reason for him to have to eat alone when we're all here as well."

Snape glared at him, wondering - not for the first time, or even the tenth - if Dumbledore hadn't been in Slytherin when he was a student. Not that he truly believed that - some things the headmaster had done during his tenure, such as the end of the House Cup competition in Potter's first year, would never have been done by a Slytherin - but there were times...

It wasn't all that difficult to see what Dumbledore had in mind. Potter hates Filch - all the students do - and he can't stand Trelawney. Snape had overheard enough conversations between Potter and Weasley about their Divination class to know that. In fact, I'm surprised he hasn't dropped the subject...

Either way, I have no doubt he will be unwilling to sit next to them - which leaves only myself and Dumbledore. He threw another glare in the headmaster's direction. I'll tutor him, and teach him to use his gift, Albus, but I have no intentions of doing anything more. If you want a mentor - or, Merlin save us, a parental figure - for the boy, talk to Minerva. I'm sure she'll be delighted to take on the role. I don't like the brat, remember?

"I expect all three of you to be here by seven," Dumbledore was continuing.

"A student in here?" Filch demanded, sounding horrified.

"Yes, Argus, in here." Dumbledore's tone was firm; he wasn't going to change his mind. Then again, Snape had known that the minute the headmaster had said what he intended. It was very rare that anyone could convince Dumbledore to change his mind about anything having to do with the Potter boy. Merlin knew he'd tried when he'd found out about that blasted Invisibility Cloak...

Both Filch and Trelawney also recognized that tone of voice, and Snape watched with a certain amount of sympathetic amusement as the caretaker slumped in his chair for a moment, obviously disappointed, before getting up and leaving. Trelawney drifted out after him a minute later, murmuring something about 'the poor boy' and her Inner Eye.

"It utterly escapes me why you continue to put up with that fraud," Snape muttered, lifting up a spoonful of soup as he glared after Trelawney.

"Now, Severus." Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. "You know very well she has had two very powerful and accurate predictions."

"Two," Snape repeated. "In the fifteen years she has been here. Doesn't that strike you as somewhat... inefficient?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "She seems to have a certain... affinity... for predictions involving Voldemort. We need that; it could be of great help to us.

"Now," he continued, "Arthur Weasley requested that I relay a message. He said that the ward alarms went directly to the Ministry; they were unable to redirect them."

Snape nodded. "That's what I suspected," he declared. When Dumbledore looked at him questioningly, he explained, "I couldn't find any way that the wards could have been tampered with or taken down without setting off the alarms, and neither Polyjuice nor someone under Imperius would have fooled them. It occurred to me yesterday that perhaps the reason we didn't know the wards had gone down was because the alarms were tampered with, and so didn't go off. None of Mr. Weasley's people would have done that; which means that it would have to have been someone in the Ministry. That theory would only work if the alarms went through the Ministry, however."

"And it seems they do." Dumbledore sighed. "Which means, in turn, that we have a mole in the Ministry; one high enough to be able to tamper with or shut down the alarms without attracting attention. I'll have to ask Arthur if some of his people could start poking around, see what they can find out.

"What about that other research project?"

Remembering the books he'd been reading in the Restricted Section, Snape only just managed to suppress a shudder. "I've looked through every book I can find - both in my collection and in the library - that mentions Dementors, and there's nothing," he reported. "Not one reference to Dementor's skin, and none of the few referencing Dementor's blood match up with enough items on the list."

Dumbledore sighed again. "I don't like having to wait and see," he muttered. "You end up with the most unpleasant surprises that way."

"Unfortunately, I can't find what isn't there," Snape said, shrugging. Not that he didn't mind giving up the search - the taint from some of those books had been making him nauseous again, which was one of the reasons he'd been late to lunch - but he agreed with Dumbledore about unpleasant surprises. It was always far better to be prepared than to be surprised.

Dumbledore nodded, his expression telling Snape that he understood the Potions master's feelings - as much as a non-Sensitive could, that was. "At least we have a likely explanation for the failure of the wards. I had best go tell Arthur," he added, standing up. "What do you have planned for this afternoon?"

Snape leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm still trying to get that protection potion worked out. I'll be working in the Potions classroom."

"Very well." Dumbledore headed for the door. Just before exiting, he turned back to give the Potions master a grin. "Oh, and Severus - don't be late for dinner!"

Snape groaned. One day you're going to go too far, Albus - and then I really will hex you.

---

Mundungus Fletcher stared, his eyes wide in mingled shock and horror. "You can't be serious!"

"Of course he can't; I'm Sirius," Sirius Black muttered... but it was a reflex reaction, and he wasn't surprised by the fact that nobody laughed. Certainly he didn't feel like laughing...

"I'm completely serious," Mad-Eye Moody growled, glaring at him for a minute. "At the moment, we have no idea why You-Know-Who wanted it, but whatever the reason, he's got it now. Have you found any other caches since yesterday?"

"Two more," Sirius managed to say after a moment. He was still in partial shock. What could Voldemort want with Dementor's skin? The blood was bad enough...

Firmly pushing the question away to puzzle over later, he picked up the map of Metropolitan London and pointed out two spots that were glowing sullen black. "There, by Grosvenor Square in Muggle London... and that one, in Diagon Alley, right by Gringotts."

"Gringotts?!" Remus repeated. He'd been downstairs getting lunch ready when Sirius and Gus had found that one, and had only just come up with Moody.

"Not in Gringotts, but close enough to it that the bank's wards were interfering with our search," Gus put in. "Both caches contain Fire Crab shells."

Sirius sneered; he couldn't believe Arthur had asked Snape, of all people, for help. Then again, of course the greasy git would know what went in Dark Potions...

Moody gave a sharp nod of understanding, ignoring Sirius's reaction. "All right - we'll send people out to get them right now. Keep looking."

"After lunch," Remus put in firmly. "Will you join us, Alastor?"

"No thanks, Lupin - got to get those teams organized. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, the ex-Auror turned and stumped out of the room, heading for the one fireplace in the cottage that was hooked up to the Floo.

"You two, sit down and eat," Remus ordered then, pointing at Sirius and Gus.

"Yes, sir!" Sirius replied, giving the werewolf an elaborate salute-and-bow.

Remus just shook his head in fond exasperation and joined them at the table.

---

I'm bored. Bored, bored, bored.

Harry stared up at the ceiling of the Gryffindor common room, feeling uncommonly irritated. He was absolutely, utterly, completely bored!

He didn't want to finish his summer homework just yet - especially if he was going to end up bored every weekend until the start of school. He was going to have to save something for then.

He'd finished both assignments from Snape, and wasn't really in the mood to do any re-reading.

He wasn't in the mood to explore Hogwarts.

What he would have liked to do was fly, but Snape had said he wasn't allowed yet, and he'd effectively promised Dumbledore he wouldn't go outside anyway.

He could always visit the Owlery, Harry supposed - but he was well aware of the fact that he wasn't in a good mood, and he didn't want to irritate Hedwig.

Bored, bored, bored.

He wasn't used to having nothing to do. The closest he'd ever come to that was the summer before his third year, which had been miserable until he'd left; but even then, he'd been occupied with his summer homework and thoughts about how much fun he'd be able to have once he got to the Burrow - which, of course, wasn't an option this year. Other than that, he'd only come this close to boredom during Christmas at Hogwarts; except then there'd always been Ron, and most times Hermione, and they'd generally been in the middle of something. During the rest of the school year, there was always work, and Quidditch, and his friends - not to mention Fred and George's pranks. Over the summers - except for the one before third year - the Dursleys generally kept him too busy doing chores to be bored.

With a heavy sigh, Harry pushed himself up. He might as well risk irritating Hedwig; maybe he would get lucky and spending some time with her would cheer him up.

Standing up, he headed out of the tower and down the stairs.

After five minutes of walking, Harry came to an abrupt stop.

He'd intended to go see Hedwig. He'd meant to go to the Owlery. He'd been heading in the direction of the Owlery.

So why was he standing in the corridor just outside the Potions classroom and Snape's office?

Abruptly he heard the sound of a muffled explosion, and a moment later the classroom door opened and Snape stalked out, frowning. Behind him, Harry could see bright red smoke billowing out from a large cauldron to fill the classroom.

It took Snape a moment to notice him, but once he did, a scowl crossed his face. "You do realize that it is not Monday, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, feeling an additional flicker of irritation at Snape's patronizing tone.

"Then why are you down here?" the Potions master snapped.

Harry knew full well that 'I'm bored' would not be a good answer. It would make him sound as though he were whining, and would only irritate Snape even more. On the other hand, he couldn't even imagine any other reason for him to have come down here when he didn't need to.

"Potter..."

Maybe there's another way to put it, one that won't sound as though I'm looking for sympathy, he thought suddenly, his mind racing. He wasn't sure where the idea had come from, but it was certainly worth a try. "I've finished the assignments you gave me yesterday, sir, and Professor Dumbledore doesn't want me going outside the castle. I was looking for something to do."

The expression that crossed Snape's face at that looked almost... speculative; but it was gone so quickly Harry didn't have a chance to be sure, replaced by the irritated scowl. "In other words, you are bored and looking for trouble," Snape said curtly.

Harry tensed indignantly at that, but before he could protest - the 'looking for trouble' part, anyway - Snape's glare silenced him. "Since you are effectively my responsibility for the rest of the summer, and I would much prefer to avoid having you wreak havoc on the castle, I suggest you follow me," he snapped, and stalked toward his office. Harry followed, doing his best to rein in his own irritation.

"Sit down," Snape ordered as they entered, pointing to the chairs in front of his desk, and then walked over to one of the bookcases as Harry obeyed. He came back with a slim book that - to Harry's surprise - appeared to be a Muggle book, which he put down on his desk in front of Harry. Then he went behind the desk, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out some blank sheets of parchment, a quill and ink.

"Read through this, then copy it," Snape ordered, putting them down next to the book.

"What is it?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"The guide to physical defence that How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand didn't include," Snape said, his tone still curt. "I suggest you pay very close attention; I expect your copy to be word-perfect. If you have any questions, I shall be in the classroom." With that, he swept out.

Copy the entire book? Harry thought in shock. How does he expect me to get that finished?!

Knowing better than to ask Snape that question, Harry sighed, picked up the book, and turned to the first page. Read through first, then copy, Snape had said.

With any luck, it would at least be an interesting book.

---

With a furious scowl at the cauldron he had just finished cleaning, Snape moved away from the desk and glanced up at the classroom clock, only to feel his scowl deepen. It was almost time for dinner, and he was going to have to put up with that insufferable brat...

Then he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, as he remembered both yesterday's shocking revelation, and what had happened this afternoon.

He'd been checking the volatility of certain ingredients necessary for the potion, and three of them, when combined, had proved to be explosive. He'd come out into the corridor to get away from the smoke until it cleared, and had almost tripped over Potter, who'd been standing just outside the classroom door with a confused expression on his face.

The boy's answer to the question of why he was down here had been intriguing, more because of how he'd chosen to say it than what he'd said - although the latter had been interesting as well. But the 'how' had given Snape the distinct impression that perhaps Potter's Slytherin traits weren't buried that deeply after all.

When Potter had said that he was looking for something to do, it had only taken Snape a moment to make his decision. As he'd told the boy yesterday, he planned to start a physical training routine this coming week. Setting Potter to copying out the book would give the boy some basic information about the physical training he was going to be doing; it would also serve the purpose of getting Potter accustomed to doing copy-work. Snape didn't want to give him any of the books on the Sensitive's gift to copy until they'd had their first lessons - there was too much of a chance Potter might decide to try something without proper preparation otherwise - so this had been a good compromise.

Besides, it would keep Potter occupied for more than just today - which would be all to the good. 'Potter' and 'boredom' were not a good combination.

Putting the cauldron away on the shelf behind his desk, he walked through the connecting door from the classroom into his office.

Potter was still sitting in the chair where Snape had left him, copying onto a piece of parchment with apparent care. He leaned forward to re-ink his quill; then stopped, and turned around to face Snape.

"Yes, I see we will definitely have to work on your awareness and reflexes, Potter," Snape said, walking over. "Luckily, some of the exercises described in here should be of assistance." And penmanship, he thought to himself, taking in the messy scrawl that covered the sheets of parchment, familiar from four years of reading Potter's essays. Yes, penmanship lessons would definitely help - if only myself and the rest of the faculty.

"Which ones?" Potter asked, leaning forward in a display of interest.

"You will find out once we begin," Snape replied. "Now, it is almost seven o'clock, and the headmaster expects us both for dinner. I suggest you take your copying," he gestured dismissively at the almost illegible sheets, "back up to your dormitory beforehand. I presume you were told where the staff lounge is located?"

Potter looked somewhat startled at that. "Um... Professor Dumbledore said he would send Dobby to bring me," he replied. He hesitated for a moment, and then plunged forward and added, "'Us', sir?"

Gryffindor impatience, Snape thought with a certain amount of disapproval, particularly when he already knows he will discover the answer shortly...

"Yes, Potter, 'us'," he confirmed. "I would hurry if I were you; the headmaster will expect you to be prompt."

Potter looked somewhat irritated by the fact that Snape hadn't answered his implied question, but gathered up his copied sheets and headed for the door.

"Potter!"

Yes, that was unmistakably irritation Snape saw in the boy's eyes. He really was too easy to read, and Snape reminded himself to add correcting that to the training schedule. "Have you finished your copying?"

"No, sir," Potter said curtly. "I'm on chapter three."

A fairly reasonable place to be, considering that he'd been copying for over four - almost five - hours. "Very well. Should you find yourself... 'looking for something to do' tomorrow, I will expect you down here to finish." He then looked pointedly at his office time-clock. "You have less than fifteen minutes, Potter."

The boy's mouth tightened, but he didn't say anything in response - just walked out.

Yes, definitely impatient, Snape reflected thoughtfully, as he put the book back on its shelf and began to neaten his desk. That is one Gryffindor trait that Potter could well do without, especially when he combines it with his courage and gets reckless. Perhaps developing what Slytherin cunning he has will help temper it, before that recklessness gets someone killed.

Snape was fairly sure Potter had at least some cunning; looking back on the past four years, he could now recognize that the boy's successes were not entirely due to Granger's assistance, Dumbledore's covert support, and pure dumb luck; nor was only Gryffindor courage involved. In fact, he suspected that the 'creative thinking' he'd been so pleased about was actually a manifestation of that cunning - which was all to the good. Creative thinking could help solve problems before they became too serious; cunning, properly applied, could prevent those problems from occurring in the first place.

However, based on their tutorial sessions over the last week, it was obvious Potter didn't use that cunning instinctively, or even naturally, but only when he was forced into it. Snape had realized that Tuesday, when he'd still thought it was simply the ability to think creatively. And just as he'd planned to bring that out more, now he had to figure out how to develop Potter's cunning - and his instinctive reliance on that cunning.

I need something to challenge him; to force him to rely on his wits and cunning, as opposed to letting him use his courage, luck, and power, Snape thought, as he started toward the faculty lounge. Something that will force him to rise to the challenge, while continuing to teach him Defence...

The idea that suddenly struck him made him smile. This Muggle saying I definitely know: "killing two birds with one stone"... - and he was still smiling when he reached the lounge.

"Right on time, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully. "I'm glad to see you're looking forward to dinner."

His smile had undoubtedly been what prompted the comment; and a glance at the table explained why the headmaster had said it, causing the smile to vanish.

Dumbledore was seated at the head of the table, as always, with Trelawney on his left and Filch next to her. The only other places available - since the table shrank or grew as the headmaster needed - were the two on Dumbledore's right. Snape had been rather neatly trapped; he now had no choice but to sit next to Potter, one way or the other...

I should have just left my desk alone, Snape grumbled to himself as he walked in, glaring daggers at the headmaster.

A whisper of sound from behind him caught his attention, and he turned to see Potter follow the house-elf Dobby into the room.

Potter looked around, displaying a great deal of interest - and then his eyes fell on the table, Snape, and the smiling Dumbledore.

Snape could tell the instant the boy realized what Dumbledore had done, and he smiled again - rather grimly, this time. "Are you just going to stand there, Potter?" he demanded, moving forward and claiming the seat opposite Filch.

Potter said something to the house-elf - who promptly disappeared - and then walked forward slowly, reluctance clear in every movement.

"Yes, do come and sit down, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore encouraged him, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.

"Thank you, sir," Potter said quietly, taking the seat.

"Now, shall we see what the house-elves have prepared for dinner tonight?" Dumbledore clapped his hands once, and the centre of the table filled with food.

It was a rather quiet dinner, all told, and Snape was very much aware of the unease felt by the boy next to him. Potter was silent - except when Dumbledore asked him direct questions, generally about what he'd been doing during his free time - and rather fidgety. In an effort to avoid that awareness as much as he could, Snape focused on Filch's usual complaints about Peeves, sparing a glare or two in Dumbledore's direction every time Potter's fidgeting became too obvious to ignore.

Harry spent the entire dinner feeling horridly uncomfortable: trying to make sure he ate enough, while at the same time ignoring Trelawney's mutterings - and when had she arrived back at Hogwarts? - Filch's complaints, and Snape's presence.

He'd been hoping, when Dumbledore had said 'we', that it would mean only himself and the headmaster. When Snape had mentioned it, Harry had then thought it would only be the three of them, and they might talk about his lessons, or the visions.

He'd been disabused of that idea almost the minute he stepped inside the staff lounge.

Dumbledore, Trelawney and Filch had already been seated, and it had been obvious that Snape had only just arrived. Equally obvious had been the look of irritation on Snape's face, directed - Harry thought - at Dumbledore. He figured it was probably because Snape had been given no choice but to sit next to him.

Harry really wished Dumbledore hadn't requested this; despite the fact that the headmaster was talking to him, the general atmosphere reminded him far too much of meals at the Dursleys'. He would have much preferred to just eat his dinner up in the common room, as he'd been doing since Monday. It certainly would have been a lot less awkward, and, he thought, probably would have irritated Snape less as well.

Once dinner had finished, Trelawney and Filch both left, leaving Harry alone with Snape and Dumbledore.

"A very pleasant dinner, don't you agree?" Dumbledore commented, leaning back in his chair and smiling in satisfaction.

Harry blinked, utterly confused as to how Dumbledore could have considered that 'pleasant' - unless, of course, he was referring to the food. Not that Harry could really remember what he'd eaten, since he'd been too uncomfortable, but the house-elves always made delicious meals.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Snape didn't look to be any more in agreement with Dumbledore than Harry felt.

"Now," the headmaster continued, "Severus, I need to speak with you concerning some paperwork. Harry, please remember not to leave the castle, and I will see you here tomorrow night at seven for dinner."

"Couldn't I just eat in my common room, sir?" Harry asked - trying his best to convey that he really would prefer that, without actually pleading.

Dumbledore studied him for a moment, then sighed. "For the rest of the summer, I would prefer you to have dinner here on the weekends," the headmaster said firmly. "During the week, however, you may do as you like."

Recognizing he wasn't going to change Dumbledore's mind about this, Harry nodded, stood up, and headed out.

Rather than going back to Gryffindor Tower, however, he started walking toward the Owlery. He really had meant to go see Hedwig this afternoon; and since he now felt better than he had - despite the uncomfortable dinner - she would hopefully be pleased to see him.

---

Voldemort looked up from the bag of items Lucius Malfoy had handed him, and smiled. It was not a pretty sight, even though this particular smile indicated that the Dark Lord was well-pleased.

"Very good, Malfoy," he said. "You are certain that you were not seen?"

"Yes, My Lord," Malfoy replied. "Dumbledore was not there, and we did not cross the wards."

"Very good," Voldemort repeated. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out what looked almost like an ordinary piece of dark grey leather, save for the fact that it repelled the eye. "With this, the blood, and what Avery will bring, the first phase of my plans will be complete."

He beckoned, and Wormtail - his silver hand gleaming in the moonlight - scurried forward. "Place these with the rest," Voldemort ordered, handing him the bag.

"Y-yes, Master," Wormtail stammered, trembling, and then hurried out of sight.

"Tell me, Lucius," Voldemort continued, returning his attention to Malfoy, "has Karkaroff been located yet?"

Malfoy hesitated for just a moment, and then answered, "No, Dark Lord."

"No?" It wasn't really a question, and Malfoy flinched as Voldemort's wand was aimed at him. "Crucio."

It was over a minute before he stopped, and it took Malfoy another few minutes to recover. Once he had done so, he continued his report as though nothing had happened - aside from a faint trembling in his hands. "He has not returned to Durmstrang, or to his family estate. No one has seen him since he fled from Hogwarts at your Summons."

Voldemort looked rather displeased. "He must be found, Lucius. You will make that your first priority," he ordered, as Wormtail returned.

Malfoy bowed low, and was about to take his leave when four figures appeared in the centre of the circle of Death Eaters. One held a large bag - much like the one Wormtail had taken away - and two others held the fourth between them.

"My Lord," the one with the bag said, in Avery's voice, holding it out, "here are the items you required."

Voldemort gave a sharp nod, gesturing for Wormtail to take this bag as well, and then his red, slit-eyed gaze slid over to the fourth, limp figure. "What is this?" the Dark Lord demanded, pointing a skeletal finger.

"We were in the process of removing the contents of the cache when a Ministry team Apparated in," Nott - who was holding the figure's right arm - said.

"The others are dead," came Crabbe's voice from the left, "but Avery thought you might like this one." Together, he and Nott tossed the figure at Voldemort's feet.

The blue hood fell off as the figure landed, revealing the face of an elderly woman. Voldemort smiled - the pleased smile - again. "Very good, Avery," he said. Pointing his wand, he murmured, "Enervate," and watched as the woman's eyes opened and she moaned.

"Well, well, well. Arabella Figg," Voldemort said, his tone gloating. "Quite a pleasure, I'd say."

The woman's wide eyes stared at him for a moment, and then she tried to scramble backward, only to be stopped by Nott and Crabbe.

"It's been such a long time," the Dark Lord continued, his smile widening. "Aren't you pleased to see me? I happen to be very pleased to see you."

"Go to hell," the woman spat at him.

"Now, now, that wasn't at all well-mannered," Voldemort scolded. "I expected better. Crucio!"

Arabella Figg screamed as the Cruciatus curse hit. Voldemort held it on her for over two minutes, laughing as the pain-filled screams rang through the air. He removed it and waited a minute or so for her to realize it had stopped as the pain disappeared. Then, once the screaming stopped, he gestured again. "Infligo!"

A bleeding gash appeared across her chest, and she whimpered. Voldemort's smile widened further; the Cruciatus curse had weakened her resistance to less potent - but occasionally more amusing - curses.

"Bracchium Torqueo!" he added, pointing first at one arm, then the other - and his Death Eaters snickered in amusement as Figg's arms twisted in their sockets, dislocating her shoulders and breaking both upper arms.

"Yes, I am very, very pleased to see you. I owe you a great deal, Arabella Figg," the Dark Lord declared. "A great deal of pain, and torment - and screams. Scream for me again, my dear... Crucio!"

Finally, after fifteen minutes of alternating the Cruciatus curse with more... physically damaging ones, her screams began to die - because of damage to her throat, not because the pain was any less. Voldemort frowned, the expression on his barely-human face one of disappointment. "Only fifteen minutes..." He shook his head. "They just don't make Aurors like they used to - and those they did make appear to have gotten much weaker. A pity - I was actually looking forward to a bit of a challenge.

"Ah, well... I suppose we can't always have what we want." Pointing his wand at her, the Dark Lord smiled again. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry woke up to the sound of his own screams.

Gasping for breath, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and groped for his glasses. He felt shaky and chilled to the bone - except for his scar, which was burning - but he knew it wasn't entirely due to the effects of Cruciatus. He had felt the same way after... Cedric...

A large part of it was the curse, however, and as he managed to slip his glasses onto his face, he picked up his wand and whispered, "Lumos," before digging in his bedside table drawer for the phials of Levatio. Selecting one, he opened it and quickly drank the contents.

The chill eased somewhat, but not completely; and as Harry looked down at himself, he realized his hands were trembling. Voldemort had cursed Lucius Malfoy, and then he'd repeatedly cursed Mrs. Figg for some time before...

Oh, Merlin... Mrs. Figg is... He couldn't say it, couldn't even think it. It was impossible. Mrs. Figg was Aunt Petunia's neighbour, with the house that smelled of cats and cabbage; she was the woman who babysat him when the Dursleys went on trips... she couldn't be--

But Snape had said she was a witch - though Harry had never seen her do any magic, not even after he'd started at Hogwarts... And Nott and Crabbe had said she was with the Ministry team sent to retrieve the caches - which meant that she was one of Mr. Weasley's people... And Voldemort had recognized her, said she was an Auror...

He had to get hold of himself.

Taking a deep breath, Harry let it out slowly, then took another one. Getting hysterical wouldn't help, couldn't change anything - what he'd seen had already happened. Now he had to decide what to do about it.

His hands were shaking too badly to write properly, and he didn't dare take another dose of Levatio without checking with someone - he vaguely remembered both Dumbledore and Snape saying something about multiple doses being dangerous... And... and... someone should be told. Dumbledore needed to know that... that... Mrs. Figg was...

Without having consciously made a decision, Harry found himself pulling on his dressing robe and shoes, and slipping out past the Fat Lady. He hesitated for a moment, then started toward the dungeons. He wasn't sure why he was going to Snape, rather than directly to Dumbledore... It just felt right.

And I need to know if I should take another dose of Levatio, he thought numbly, as he passed the Great Hall.

Unfortunately, Harry realized once he'd reached the dungeons, while he knew where the Potions classroom and Snape's office were - as well as the entrance to the Slytherin dorms - he had no idea where the Potions master's rooms were. He couldn't just go roaming around the dungeons, looking for rooms labeled 'Professor Snape'; it didn't work that way - and anyway, the dungeons were cold, and he was still feeling the chills from the Cruciatus curses, and...

"Potter! What are you doing down here at this hour?!"

Harry had never been so glad to hear Snape's voice before in his entire life. Turning to face the Potions master, he blurted out, "Voldemort killed her!"

Snape grabbed his hands, and Harry blinked at him. "Calm down, Potter. What happened?"

"Vision," Harry said. He was aware that he sounded rather strange, almost incoherent, but the chill and the shaking were getting stronger. "Voldemort... he... h-he killed... M-Mrs. F-Figg!"

Snape was prowling through the dungeons, unable to sleep. The Dark Mark was stinging, and he couldn't seem to block the sensation out, something he could usually do unless it was a Summoning; which bothered him quite a bit, as he didn't know why it was happening.

Abruptly the Bloody Baron drifted out of the wall in front of him. Hiding his surprise at the ghost's sudden appearance with the ease of long experience, Snape nodded to him in acknowledgment.

"Severus," the Baron greeted him.

"Baron... Is there something I can do for you?" Snape asked, curious. The Baron rarely spoke to anyone - even the Head of Slytherin House - unless it was an emergency.

"That Gryffindor student of yours is by the Potions classroom," the Slytherin ghost informed him coolly - the disinterested tone indicating to Snape that the ghost was curious, but not about to ask any questions about the matter - and drifted away again.

Potter? At this hour? Frowning, Snape lengthened his stride, hurrying down the corridor. What in Merlin's name was Potter doing down here - and now, of all times?

Just as the Baron had said, Potter was standing in the corridor between the entrances to the classroom and to his office. His expression was difficult to identify, but his face was pale and his hair mussed more than usual, making him look lost. The impression was accentuated by the fact that the boy was in pyjamas and a dressing robe.

"Potter!" Snape said sharply. "What are you doing down here at this hour?!"

Potter turned to face him, and Snape was astonished to see an expression of utter relief cross the boy's face for a moment. It vanished a second later, leaving Potter's face disturbingly blank. There was something about that blankness that resonated in Snape's memory...

Then Potter exclaimed, "Voldemort killed her!" and Snape remembered the last time he'd seen the boy like this - a little over a month ago, in the aftermath of the Third Task, Cedric Diggory's death and Voldemort's resurrection. His eyes were wide, dilated, and his hands were shaking - shock and possibly the effects of Cruciatus, Snape judged with an expert eye.

Grabbing Potter's hands to keep them still - and not-so-incidently do a quick scan - Snape tried to focus the boy's attention on him. "Calm down, Potter," he said, doing his best to make his tone reassuring. "What happened?"

"Vision," Potter managed to say. He was starting to shiver, and Snape could feel the partially-eased effects of Cruciatus - he'd definitely taken a dose of Levatio already. Unfortunately, the vision had undoubtedly been quite unpleasant, because there was still a fair amount of damage. Almost as much as had been caused last Friday night, Snape reflected grimly, remembering how bad that meeting had been. What had happened in this latest one - to which he hadn't been Summoned - to equal that?

Damn... it's a good thing that all the damage from last month has already been healed, Snape thought, as he tried to figure out which would be best: get Potter up to the hospital wing first, or bring him into his office so that he could get another dose of Levatio faster? If there had still been damage left... He didn't like to think of what could have happened to Potter in that case.

"Voldemort... he..." Potter continued, stuttering, as Snape weighed his options, "h-he killed... M-Mrs. F-Figg!"

Oh, Blessed Merlin!

Arabella had been assisting Weasley and Moody in co-ordinating the raids on the caches. If she was dead, Dumbledore had to be told immediately - which at least helped him make the decision of what to do next.

Placing his hands on Potter's shoulders, Snape steered the shivering boy into his office. He quickly transfigured one of the student chairs into a cozy armchair, and sat Potter down before walking over to the fireplace. Tapping the Slytherin Head of House crest on the mantle with his wand, Snape summoned the Bloody Baron.

"Wake Headmaster Dumbledore and tell him to get down here, now," Snape ordered the ghost, as he opened his storage cabinet and took out a phial of Levatio. He regularly divided his own set of doses between his office and his rooms.

"Certainly, Severus," the Baron replied quickly, understanding the urgency of the situation from his tone, and took off through the ceiling.

Satisfied that Dumbledore would be showing up soon, Snape returned to Potter. "Drink this," he ordered, handing the phial to the boy.

Potter blinked. "Had some," he mumbled.

Well, at least he wasn't completely oblivious to what was going on - a good sign, considering he was in shock. "I know, Potter. You need another dose."

"Thought I might," Potter said, still mumbling. "Why I came down."

"You're babbling, Potter," Snape said curtly. "Shut up and drink it."

The boy obeyed immediately - I only wish I was able to get this sort of obedience out of him in class, Snape reflected distantly, though not for this reason... - and his shivering eased. Not completely - but then, part of it was due to shock.

Doing another quick scan, Snape found that there was only a bit of twisted magic left in Potter's system; not enough to do any additional damage, and not enough to risk a third dose of Levatio unnecessarily.

He heard the door open behind him, and Dumbledore's voice said, "You wanted to see me, Severus?"

"Yes," Snape replied, turning, and was surprised to see that the headmaster was still in his day robes. He'd thought Dumbledore would have been asleep by now.

"I just finished speaking to Minerva," Dumbledore continued, obviously having noticed the question in Snape's expression. "What seems to be the problem?"

Silently, Snape moved out of the way, allowing Dumbledore to see Potter curled up in the armchair. The boy had pulled his legs up on the chair and was hugging his knees to his chest.

"What happened?" Dumbledore demanded.

Potter shivered violently at the question, his eyes wide; he opened his mouth, apparently trying to speak, but seemed to be unable to say anything. His expression grew distressed, and he looked pleadingly at Snape.

How - and when - did I get to be the answer to Potter's problems?!

"Severus?" Dumbledore prompted. Despite the concern in his voice, Snape could see a definite hint of a twinkle in the headmaster's eyes. Well, the explanation would take care of that.

"He had a vision," Snape explained grimly. "Apparently... he saw Voldemort kill Arabella."

Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock, the twinkle disappearing as though it had never been. "Arabella Figg?"

Potter, his face pale, gave a silent nod; and Dumbledore stepped forward to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I will need to contact Arthur and Alastor," he said, turning to Snape, but keeping his hand where it was, providing Potter with the support he obviously needed. "Arabella was acting as part of one of the cache retrieval teams - we'll need to find out where they were and what happened to the rest of her team--"

"D-dead," Potter managed to get out, stuttering again. "A-Avery, Nott, a-and Crabbe... t-told V-Voldemort... others w-were d-dead."

"I see," Dumbledore said quietly. "Thank you for telling us, Harry. Severus, perhaps you could fetch some Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"W-wait!" Potter objected, and Snape looked at him carefully. He was still paler than he should be, his eyes were still dilated... but already he was starting to look a bit better. "V-Voldemort said... w-with t-this cache, phase one of h-his plans w-was complete. H-had t-to be last cache."

Gryffindor courage, Snape thought ruefully. At least it seems to be helping him get through the shock.

Or perhaps it's the determination that is a trait of both Gryffindor and Slytherin...

And 'phase one'? That sounds... ominous. I haven't heard anything about phases, or long-term plans. He frowned to himself. Have any of the others? I'll have to check...

"A-also looking f-for Karkaroff," Potter continued. "Cursed M-Malfoy for not finding h-him already. Told h-him it w-was now a priority."

Snape and Dumbledore exchanged glances at that. Snape didn't know where Karkaroff was - he didn't want to know - but he had a feeling that Dumbledore had not only been the one to help Karkaroff slip away from Hogwarts during the Third Task, when the Summoning had begun, but also knew exactly where he was - and had most likely provided the ex-headmaster of Durmstrang with his current hiding place.

And why would finding him be a priority now? Voldemort hasn't made it seem that urgent over the past month...

"Is that everything, Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"M-Malfoy h-had given h-him a bag," Potter said, the stuttering almost gone. "H-had a piece of grey leather in it... couldn't look at it."

Most likely the Charmed Dementor skin, Snape figured, remembering the stomach-twisting nausea just the fading remnants of the taint from the skin had caused. Even considering the fact that Potter had no idea how to use his sensitivity, his inability to look at the thing was only to be expected. Snape didn't mention that out loud, although he shot a quick glance at Dumbledore, wondering if the headmaster had caught it.

"T-told h-him h-he wasn't seen; knew you w-were away, H-Headmaster."

What?! Snape swung back around and stared at Potter. How did Lucius know Albus was gone? I thought only the rest of the staff and the immediate contacts in the Order knew... He firmly pushed the thought away. It was something he could discuss with Dumbledore later; right now, he was more concerned about the boy in front of them.

"V-Voldemort was pleased about it... T-that was when h-he said about t-the first phase," Potter finished. He shivered again, and pressed himself a bit farther into the chair. "T-that's all."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Very well. Severus, could you please fetch the Dreamless Sleep Potion and then escort Mr. Potter back up to his dormitory? Harry, when you wake up in the morning, please come and see me.

"Now, I'm afraid I have to go pass on the news," he finished, and - letting go of Potter's shoulder - hurried out of the office.

Snape re-opened his storage cabinet and pulled out a phial of Dreamless Sleep. "Would you prefer to go to the hospital wing or your dormitory, Potter?" he demanded. Dumbledore might have told him to take the boy back up to Gryffindor Tower, but he would much prefer that Potter spend the rest of the night in the hospital wing. It was layered with wards and monitoring spells that were both more powerful and more discerning than those on the House Towers. Nonetheless, considering what had just happened, the most important thing was that Potter be comfortable where he spent the rest of the night.

"The dormitory," the boy said, sounding surprisingly definite considering his current condition, as his eyes met Snape's. Then he looked away again. "I... don't like the h-hospital wing."

I suppose I can't really blame him for that, Snape admitted to himself. He didn't care that much for the hospital wing either, and taking into consideration the amount of time Potter generally spent there, he wasn't terribly surprised by the sentiment. I suppose I will simply have to set up temporary monitoring spells in his dormitory.

"Very well," he said out loud. He held his hand out, and Potter blinked in obvious surprise before carefully reaching out with his own hand and grasping it. Snape pulled him out of the chair, and then placed his hand back on Potter's shoulder to support him as he stumbled. "Let's go, then."

The trip up to Gryffindor Tower took longer than the usual five minutes, as Potter was rather unsteady. Snape spent the entire time trying to figure out how to handle the effects on the boy from this latest vision.

The only answer he came up with during the fifteen-minute walk was to talk to Dumbledore again in the morning, and see how Potter tried to cope himself. If the visions wouldn't end until Voldemort was completely dead, this - Potter seeing the death of someone he knew - would not be a one-time - or even rare - occurrence. Dreamless Sleep would help for a day or two, but all it could do was postpone nightmares and let his body rest, hopefully recovering enough to deal with this. More than three nights of Dreamless Sleep in a row would start causing more problems than it solved, by depriving the boy's mind of the necessary release dreaming provided.

Not that I need to start worrying about that right now, Snape told himself firmly as they started up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. Not when I have so many other things to think about... Worry about tomorrow first.

By the time they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that guarded the Gryffindor dormitories, Potter was practically staggering, and had begun shivering again.

"Godric's Sword," Snape said curtly, putting his hand back on Potter's shoulder to keep him from falling over - he'd be damned if he let the boy fall and split his head open at this point. As soon as the door opened, he ushered Potter in, through the common room, and up the stairs to the boys' dorms. Opening the door to the one that already said 'Fifth Years', Snape got him in and lying down on the only unmade bed.

"Here," he ordered, handing Potter the phial of Dreamless Sleep. "Drink the entire contents."

Potter simply nodded - which made Snape realize that the boy hadn't actually said a word since asking to be brought to his dormitory rather than the hospital wing - took the phial, and obediently drank, much as he had the Levatio potion earlier.

Within a minute, Potter's eyes had closed and his breathing had fallen into the rhythm of deep sleep.

Leaving his wand in his robes, Snape focused his attention on the flows of magic swirling throughout the room. Grabbing a strand that connected to the wards over the school grounds, he wove another ward around Potter's bed - one that would alert him should anything serious happen to the boy while he slept.

Not that he expected anything to happen tonight, not after the dose of Dreamless Sleep the boy had just drunk; but this was Potter, after all. The laws of chance and probability seemed to function rather erratically when it came to this particular boy.

Besides, this ward would last until he took it down himself, and he'd wait until he knew that Potter was coping adequately with what the visions showed him.

After a quick test satisfied him that the ward was well-woven and true to his intent, Snape left the boy to sleep and headed back down to the dungeons. Hopefully, now that Potter had been settled and that irritating prickling from the Dark Mark had stopped, he would be able to get to sleep as well.

---

"...Shacklebolt will be in St. Mungo's for the next several weeks," Dumbledore heard Alastor Moody say as he Apparated into the living room at the Burrow.

Arthur Weasley and Alastor were both standing over by the fireplace, speaking quietly. Both of them looked up in surprise when Dumbledore appeared.

"Albus! We were just about to call you," Alastor said. "The team we sent to Grosvenor Square in Muggle London ran into problems. Matilda Diggle and Sturgis Podmore were killed, Kingsley Shacklebolt was gravely injured, and Arabella Figg is missing."

"I'm afraid that Arabella is also dead, by Voldemort's hand," Dumbledore replied quietly. "I had thought all of them dead, however, so it is a relief that Shacklebolt is still alive."

Arthur blinked in surprise. Alastor frowned as he sat down in the chair closest to the fireplace. "Snape or the boy?" he demanded.

"His name is Harry, Moody," Arthur snapped curtly.

Dumbledore ignored the tension. "Harry had another vision," he replied. "Apparently Avery, Nott and Crabbe are under the impression that they killed all of them save Arabella, and they brought her back for Voldemort to deal with himself - I assume you are both aware of why." He gave them a pointed look. "I don't have all the details yet - I'm afraid Harry was in no condition to give them to me when I spoke with him - but I do know that Voldemort killed her directly.

"As well, it was strongly implied that this cache was the last one he needed... and that taking the contents of the caches was only the first phase of his current plan."

"What do you mean, 'Harry was in no condition to give details'?" Arthur demanded. Alastor simply sat back in the chair, his expression thoughtful.

"He knew Arabella reasonably well, Arthur, and just saw her murdered," Dumbledore replied, projecting calmness as much as he could. Arthur would be worried, he knew, but there was little that could be done about that. "He was given a dose of Dreamless Sleep," he added, when it appeared Arthur was about to blurt something out, "and I will be speaking to him first thing in the morning."

"Molly or I would be more than happy to come and talk with him," Arthur offered quietly, after a moment. "Molly was able to help him after Cedric Diggory died, after all."

Yes, she was, Dumbledore acknowledged silently to himself, but not as much as I believe Harry needs. And I don't think Molly will be able to help him that much with the ultimate problem - dealing with all the deaths that his visions will show him. No, for that he will need someone who understands exactly how it feels: to watch, and to be helpless to prevent what happens. "Thank you for the offer, Arthur; I know how much you and Molly care for Harry. Nonetheless, I do not believe it will be necessary to impose upon you in that fashion. I will let Harry know that you offered, however, and if I think he does need you, I will not hesitate to call on you.

"Now--" he started to continue, but was interrupted by Alastor.

"These constant visions - the Potter boy needs to be trained, Albus. Get a real Seer to come in and teach him how to control them. He needs guidance - competent guidance, not that flake Trelawney - or he'll start floundering; and that's one thing we cannot risk."

"An excellent idea, Alastor," Dumbledore agreed calmly, despite his immediate reaction. He disliked lying - even if it was just by implication - no matter how necessary it was; which, in this case, was 'very', because they could not afford to have Harry - or Severus - revealed as being a Sensitive. "I'll see if I can arrange anything." Not precisely a direct lie, at least - Severus seems to have things well in hand.

"Now, as I was saying - or about to say, rather... After I speak to Harry tomorrow morning, I will contact you with new orders for Mundungus, Remus and Sirius. You can relay them - along with the latest unfortunate news - when their Floo opens for your afternoon contact."

Arthur frowned. "To be frank, Headmaster, unless you have something specific in mind, I'd prefer that they continue to search for Dark caches," he commented. "While it may be likely that the one in Grosvenor Square was the last one You-Know-Who needed, we may still be able to bring in some of the Death Eaters through connections with other caches."

It was Dumbledore's turn to frown. Arthur had a very good point, but... "I don't know, Arthur," he said out loud. "While I agree that we need to work on reducing the number of Death Eaters Voldemort has available to do his work, there are other things that need to be taken into consideration. It may be necessary to establish that we know he has finished with the caches." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I will find out what details I can from Harry, and then make my decision," Dumbledore said finally. "However, you have made a very good point, Arthur. Even if we do stop going after the caches just at the moment, I think we can safely resume once Voldemort has had a chance to realize that we know."

Both Arthur and Alastor nodded, hopefully understanding what Dumbledore didn't think wise to say out loud.

"Now, I think we had all better get some sleep. Alastor, please keep me updated on Shacklebolt's condition," he continued.

"Of course, Albus," the ex-Auror replied gruffly.

Dumbledore gave them both a smile, and Apparated back to the edge of the Hogwarts wards.

---

"Good morning, Severus!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, as Snape walked into his office.

Snape gave the headmaster an uncertain look. "Albus?" he questioned. "You do recall what happened last night, do you not?"

Dumbledore nodded, most of the cheer disappearing. "Yes, I do. However, I have a bit of good news to offset the bad - there was a survivor from Arabella's team. Kingsley Shacklebolt is still alive, although he's in St. Mungo's at the moment."

Well, that was good news, Snape had to admit. Not that it offset the deaths, but at least not all of them had died. And when dealing with Voldemort, that was always a good thing.

"Now, I presume you wanted to speak with me about something?" Dumbledore continued.

"Yes," Snape replied, sitting down in one of the chairs facing Dumbledore's desk. "Potter's visions," he added.

Dumbledore looked almost amused at that, and Snape scowled at him. "It's a serious issue, Albus," he snapped. "It's nothing to smile at!"

"Oh, I know that, Severus." Dumbledore's expression grew stern for a moment, then eased. "What precisely about his visions is concerning you now?"

Snape glared at him. "You saw him last night, Albus," he said curtly. "He was in shock because of seeing Arabella's death; and perhaps the manner of her death - understandably, he didn't give me any details on how it had occurred. I suspect a great deal of it had to do with the fact that he knew her - his reactions when I found him were very similar to how he reacted after his return from the Riddle House, after Diggory's death.

"No matter how 'resilient' he may be," Snape continued, "it's going to cause problems. It was bad enough when he was seeing the results of Voldemort's raids and the 'entertainment' the Death Eaters enjoy - as I already told you - but at least those were strangers. Assuming you're right about his resilience, he must have been able to put a certain amount of distance between what was happening to them and himself. But when it comes to people he knows - like Arabella, and Diggory - he doesn't seem to be able to establish that distance."

Snape shook his head. "If he doesn't find a way to cope with them, Albus, the visions will break him. Sooner rather than later, if Voldemort starts going after people that Potter knows - which is only too possible. It would be all too like him, in fact." He leaned back in the chair, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You're going to have to talk to him, get him to talk to you," the Potions master continued. "See if you can help him... Maybe bring in Arthur or Molly Weasley."

Dumbledore looked mildly surprised at that.

"You were the one who pointed out that Molly helped him after the results of the Third Task," Snape said in response. For once, he couldn't feel pleased about having surprised the usually unflappable headmaster - not with the topic being what it was.

"Hmm... Arthur made the same suggestion last night, actually," Dumbledore commented.

"Then I presume Molly will be here sometime today?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No," the headmaster replied. "I thanked him, but told him that it would probably be unnecessary."

Snape stared at him. "Why, in Merlin's name, did you say that?" he demanded.

"Because I believe it," came the calm response.

"Albus, Potter needs help! A fifteen year old boy - no matter how many times he's actually faced Voldemort - simply won't be able to cope with this himself!" Something Snape had realized almost the very moment he'd woken up this morning, which had led him to the conclusion that something had to be done. He wouldn't have even thought of suggesting Molly Weasley come to Hogwarts otherwise - he didn't care overly much for her - but as far as he knew, she was the closest thing Potter had to a mother. Certainly the boy's aunt didn't qualify, not after what he'd seen of the Dursleys...

"Perhaps," Dumbledore replied, as Snape firmly pushed away thoughts of Potter's Muggle family. "However, I suggest that we give young Harry a chance, and wait to see how he handles it himself."

The exact plan he'd come up with last night on the way to Gryffindor Tower, Snape reflected. Unfortunately, after his realizations this morning, he no longer considered it such a good idea. "Albus..."

"I will speak to him, dear boy," Dumbledore assured him. "However, I have the feeling that Harry may surprise us both in how he deals with this."

As long as it's a good surprise. He may be a brat, but - much as I hate to admit it - he is needed. And he is my student; I have no desire to see him go insane. Well, he would just keep an even closer eye on the boy in that case. "Fine," he said evenly. "As long as you are certain..." He gave Dumbledore a pointed look. "Let it be on your own head, Albus. Just remember that I warned you - and be prepared to pick up the pieces should he fall apart."

"Oh, I am, dear boy," Dumbledore replied confidently. "And I believe you may be underestimating him. Now, is there anything else?"

Snape paused for a moment, then nodded, frowning. "How did Lucius know you weren't here, Albus?" he demanded. "You didn't tell anyone other than the staff, Weasley and Moody, did you?"

"And Harry, of course," Dumbledore replied, echoing Snape's frown with one of his own. "But no, no one else. Not even the Board of Governors." He leaned back in his chair and met Snape's gaze. "I hate to ask this of you, Severus, in addition to all the rest, but could you attempt to find out?"

Snape sighed. Wonderful... just what I need. More conversations with Lucius, trying to get him to spill information... "Very well," he replied with another sigh. "Now, if you will excuse me, Albus, I need to get some work done." He would work on those Healing Draughts Pomfrey had been bothering him about at the beginning of July. Her already depleted store of them had been completely exhausted by what he had needed for Potter last week, and she would need it refilled for September first.

And I need a distraction, Snape admitted to himself as he stood up.

"Very well, Severus," Dumbledore said, as he headed out of the room. "Just remember, you are expected to show up for dinner..."

---

Harry opened his eyes and stared up at the canopy covering his bed.

He didn't even have to think to remember what had happened last night; it was there, behind his eyes, in living colour, as soon as he woke up. Or perhaps that should be in dying colour... and that wasn't even the slightest bit funny.

He sat up and pushed the curtains back, and then froze. For a moment, he thought he'd felt/seen... something... just beyond the bed curtains, but now it was gone. Maybe it was one of the house-elves, he thought distantly - everything except the memory of last night felt distant just at the moment. Well, last night and the memory of Cedric, just lying there...

No! I can't think about this now!

Dumbledore wants to talk about something; focus on getting dressed and going to see him. Don't think about anything else; just getting dressed, talking to Dumbledore, and... that book. The one Snape wanted copied yesterday. Yes, think about the book, and the copying...

Somehow - Harry wasn't entirely certain how, and had no desire to question it - thinking about the copying Snape had set him to doing yesterday, and the details of what he'd been copying, got him through getting dressed and walking to Dumbledore's office. He was about to start rattling off sweets, when the gargoyle moved aside to reveal Dumbledore standing there.

"Ah, Harry! I'm glad to see you're up and around - I'm afraid I was beginning to get a bit worried. It's almost noon, you know."

Harry blinked, surprised. "Almost noon?" he repeated, as he followed Dumbledore up to the headmaster's office.

"Indeed. I assume Professor Snape gave you a stronger dose of Dreamless Sleep than I had realized. Now," he continued, gesturing for Harry to sit down, "I need you to tell me the details of what happened last night, Harry."

Harry paled. Oh, he'd known that Dumbledore would need to know - what he recalled telling them last night hadn't been terribly coherent - but he really didn't want to think about it anymore.

"Harry." Dumbledore sat down, not in his chair behind the desk, but in the chair next to Harry's, and put one hand on Harry's shoulder, just as he'd done last night. "I know you don't want to remember it, much less make it more real by talking about it... but that's one of the things that will help you deal with what happened.

"Before you begin, however, I do have some good news for you," the headmaster added.

Harry sat up a bit straighter at that. At the moment, any news that could be qualified as 'good' would be welcome. Besides, it would let him put off the telling for a few minutes longer... "What is it, Professor?" he asked eagerly.

"You told Professor Snape and I that the Death Eaters involved claimed the rest of Mrs. Figg's team were dead, correct?"

Harry nodded, less eager now. He might have known the 'good news' would have something to do with his vision...

"As it happens, although two of the other team members are dead, there was a survivor. He was injured, and is currently in St. Mungo's, but he is alive."

Although that information didn't change the horror of what he'd seen in his vision, it did make Harry feel somewhat better, for some reason. Maybe it was simply the fact that someone Voldemort thought was dead was actually alive, but it left him able to breathe a little easier - not that he'd noticed how heavy his chest had felt before, but... "Thank you, sir."

"That's quite all right, Harry - good news is always welcome, especially when one is in a highly unpleasant situation," Dumbledore replied knowingly. "Professor Snape was also much relieved to know that Mr. Shacklebolt was alive."

Why would he be telling me how Snape feels about it? Harry wondered.

"Now," the headmaster continued, "could you please tell me what happened, Harry?"

Taking a deep breath, and willing himself very firmly to keep calm, Harry recited the details of the Death Eater meeting, the comments about the caches, and what had happened to Mrs. Figg.

By the time he finished, he felt... drained. He supposed Dumbledore was right about talking being helpful, though the memory was still there behind his eyelids, too vivid, of the dark green flame of the Killing Curse striking Mrs. Figg, the look of horror on her face...

"Harry." Dumbledore's voice interrupted the nightmarish memory.

Relieved, Harry focused on the headmaster. "Yes, Professor?"

"Now that you've told me what happened, is there anything else you wish to discuss with me?"

Harry blinked in surprise again at that, wondering what Dumbledore was expecting. Was there anything he wanted to ask?

Well, yes, there were a lot of things: about his father, his mother, Voldemort... But those were all big questions, and Harry had the feeling that Dumbledore still had no intention of telling him the answers to those, because they all centred around the one question Harry had asked at the end of his first year - why Voldemort had wanted to kill him.

I wonder when I'll be old enough for him to finally tell me?

On the other hand, there were also those questions Snape had refused to answer...

"What's so important about the caches, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid we don't know, Harry. Based on the things we know were taken, Professor Snape has been doing some research, but nothing has been found as of yet. At the moment, I'm afraid I don't even have vague ideas, much less anything as solid as suspicions. All we know - and that from yourself and Professor Snape - has been that Voldemort needs whatever was in those caches - not even why or how they are needed. Based on the information Professor Snape has been able to gather, not even the inner circle Death Eaters know any more than we do."

Harry sighed. He really had been hoping that Dumbledore knew more about what was going on, but he should have known better. Why else would the headmaster need Snape to act as a spy, especially considering how dangerous a position it placed the Potions master in?

"Was there anything else, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "Not at the moment, sir," he replied.

"Very well. I shall be working in here this afternoon if you need me - the password is 'ice mice' - please feel free to just come up," Dumbledore said, studying him for a moment. "Otherwise, I shall see you at dinner tonight." He glanced up at a clock on one wall. "The house-elves should have lunch ready in the kitchens," he added. "I suggest you go and get something to eat."

Harry nodded, though he had no intention of eating anything at the moment - the very thought of food made him want to gag, and since he was accustomed to going without, thanks to the Dursleys, it shouldn't be a problem to wait until dinner - and headed out the door.

Once he was in the hall outside Dumbledore's office, however, he found he had no idea what to do next. If he went to the kitchens, the house-elves would try to feed him, and they'd probably alert Dumbledore if he refused any food. He didn't think he had enough concentration to spare for doing either Charms or Potions homework, and the thought of what he would have to write for Divination just brought back the memories of Cedric and Mrs. Figg, which he didn't need - which also eliminated writing down the details in his vision journal...

"Should you find yourself... 'looking for something to do' tomorrow, I will expect you down here to finish."

Harry stopped just outside the Great Hall - he hadn't even realized he'd started walking - as the memory of what Snape had said to him last night just before he'd left to get ready for dinner came to him.

He wasn't bored, exactly - but remembering the book and what he'd been copying had helped earlier, before he'd gone to see Dumbledore. Maybe it would help even more if he was actually doing the copying? And Snape had practically issued him an invitation...

His decision made, Harry turned around and started for the dungeons.

Snape looked up from his cauldron at the tentative knock on his office door. I wonder... "Come in, Potter," he said calmly.

The door opened, and Potter walked in, giving him a wide-eyed look. "How did you know it was--" the boy started.

"Neither Dumbledore nor Filch knock, and Trelawney wouldn't come down here," Snape replied curtly. "Besides, you still have copying to do."

He'd guessed correctly; a bit of Potter's tension eased as the boy walked over to the student chairs and sat down - in the same one Snape had transfigured into the armchair last night. The Head of Slytherin couldn't help but wonder if there was a reason for that, considering the fact that it was the chair farthest from the door - and if there was, whether it was a conscious or unconscious decision.

"Yes, sir - I was hoping to get some more done today," Potter said quietly.

"Very well." Snape gestured with his wand, and a pile of parchment, accompanied by a quill and ink bottle, floated out of the top drawer of his desk and arranged themselves in front of Potter. A moment later, the book drifted off the bookshelf and joined the parchment on the desk. "I believe you were working on chapter three?"

"Just finished chapter three," Potter answered.

Snape nodded. "Make sure you work quietly," he ordered, then turned his attention back to the cauldron.

The concentration needed for such a simple concoction as a basic Healing Draught - especially the one that he'd been making for his entire career at Hogwarts - was minimal, which meant that Snape found it trivial to think about something else while he worked on the current batch. And, considering everything that had been happening over the past week and a half, it was only typical that Potter would be at the forefront of his mind. Potter, and what had happened last night, and his conversation with Dumbledore this morning.

The dose of Dreamless Sleep he'd given Potter, based on his best estimate of the boy's weight - which was on the low side for an adolescent of fifteen, most likely due to those blasted Muggles - would have kept the boy asleep until close to noon. It was only coming up to one o'clock now, which meant that Potter must have come straight down here as soon as he'd finished his own talk with Dumbledore; a talk that Snape knew would have included the details of what had happened in Potter's vision last night, and - he hoped, despite the contents of his own conversation with Dumbledore - some suggestions on how Potter could deal with them.

Which reminds me... I must ask Albus for those details, he thought, as he tossed a pinch of crumbled vervain leaves into the cauldron. Waiting until it had spread out across the surface of the potion, he stirred it - once clockwise, once counter-clockwise - and then lowered the flame underneath until it was at a level that would maintain the potion at a simmer.

And speaking of details... "Potter."

The boy looked up from his copying, a surprised expression on his face. "Sir?"

"Who else was present at the meeting last night, aside from Malfoy, Nott, Avery, and Crabbe?"

For a second, he saw a hint of pain on the boy's face, but it vanished swiftly. Well, at least he can occasionally control his emotions and expressions once he has already started feeling them; the problem will be to teach him not to reveal them at all, under any circumstances - unless he wishes to.

"Umm..." Potter put down his quill, and frowned. "I... don't know who all of them are, sir, and... well... with everyone wearing those... masks..."

"But you can recognize some, can you not?" Snape prodded. The reports Potter had written for Dumbledore on the previous two meetings he'd seen had included several names, aside from those he'd just mentioned.

"Some," the boy agreed, his frown deepening. "You, of course... Lucius Malfoy and Wormtail... Avery, Crabbe and Goyle... Parkinson, Nott, Greene, Tallum, and Beaker by their voices... There are some others I recognize - I've seen them fairly often - but I don't know their names."

'Of course'? Snape wondered. Why me, 'of course'? However, the answer to that wasn't important now. "Very well - of the ones you recognize and know, who else was there?"

"Wormtail... Parkinson, Goyle, and Beaker," Potter said slowly. "Why, sir?"

"That is something you have no need to know, Potter," Snape replied curtly. Hmm... I will have to ask Albus what he plans to do about the rest of the caches in Great Britain and Ireland, of course, but if I'm right... He thought for a long moment. Goyle and Crabbe are useless; not even the mutt would believe they have the brains to pull it off, and I know full well that lack is not an act. Lucius and Avery - impossible. The Dark Lord would never believe that of them without overwhelming proof, no matter how suspicious he is of Lucius's ambition. Parkinson is a definite possibility. Nott? Perhaps... As for Beaker... I'll have to do a bit of checking into him, but it may be possible. "I suggest you get back to your copying."

Potter's expression made it quite clear he wanted to demand an answer, but Snape gave him a sharp glare, and the boy looked back down at the desk.

Snape returned his gaze to the cauldron. The potion was simmering nicely, and the colour had gone from the pale yellow it had been just after he'd lowered the flame to a warm, light golden colour. Excellent...

Picking up a bottle of dried yarrow flowers, he took out three, slipped them in, and stirred vigourously for forty seconds. Then, using an eyedropper, he took a single drop of phoenix tears from the bottle Fawkes kept well-filled for him, and dropped it into the precise centre of the cauldron. The potion turned a shimmering, pearlescent white for a moment, and then changed to a calm green.

A wave of Snape's wand banished the flame underneath the cauldron, and he started to set up another as the first draught began cooling. As he poured the half-litre of distilled water that formed the base of the Healing Draught into his second cauldron and started a flame under it, his eyes flicked to Potter, who appeared to be thoroughly absorbed in his work again.

Keeping his expression absolutely neutral, Snape began speaking. Quietly, but since the only noises in the office were the scratches of Potter's quill on parchment and the sounds of his own preparations, he knew Potter could hear him perfectly well.

"All basic Healing Draughts - which fall under the Medicamenta class of potions - have a base of pure distilled water and are brewed in iron cauldrons over a low flame, with iron implements."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Snape saw Potter stiffen slightly. He's listening. Good.

"Next, a small quantity of crushed unicorn horn - freely given, only, and in an amount between five and ten grams depending on the potion and the quantity being brewed - is added slowly, a pinch at a time, while stirring gently clockwise. Each pinch must be completely dissolved in the heated water before the next is added." Suiting his actions to the words, he began stirring in the crushed unicorn horn from the phial to his right as he continued, "It is the distilled water and the horn being added as the second step that classifies these as Medicamenta potions, as opposed to any of the other classes of healing potions."

Potter was still holding his quill - Thinking I will expect him to write this down? Snape wondered absently as he stirred - but had stopped copying, and was paying rapt attention to what he was saying.

Once the last of the crushed unicorn horn had dissolved, Snape picked up a jar of mature comfrey leaves, extracted two of them, and placed them in a small bowl. Adding a single billywig sting from the bottle next to the phial of crushed horn, he began to grind the combination slowly, still speaking.

"After the unicorn horn is dissolved, the potion can be left at a low simmer for up to two hours. Some Medicamenta potions require a specific length of time, but the basic Healing Draught variations - of which this is one - do not.

"The next ingredient added serves as a stabilizer for the subsequent ones, and determines which variation of the Healing Draught is being used," the Potions master continued. "Fresh, mature comfrey leaves, ground together with a billywig sting, results in a draught that strengthens bones and greatly speeds the healing of various childhood and adolescent ailments; as a result, Madam Pomfrey generally requires large stores of this particular potion.

"The addition of the billywig sting - before adding the comfrey to the draught - serves to prevent the comfrey from fusing the bones in one's feet, hands, spine, and head. Adding it after the comfrey would result in both the occurrence of bone-fusing, and the reduction of the effects of the next ingredient.

"If this was to be the Osseus variation of the Healing Draught, to assist with broken bones, a porcupine quill would be substituted for the billywig sting. It would generally be used for when the larger bones - such as arms, legs, or ribs - are broken."

Once the combination of comfrey leaves and billywig sting was ground finely enough, Snape emptied the bowl into the cauldron and proceeded to stir it twice counter-clockwise, and once clockwise. He then repeated the stirring motions twice more. As he stirred, the potion turned from a silver-tinged clear liquid to a dark blue. He mentioned the colour change - since Potter obviously couldn't see it from where he was sitting - and explained that it was due to the interaction between the billywig sting and the dissolved unicorn's horn.

Harry listened with reluctant fascination as Snape explained what he was doing to make the Healing Draught.

He knew full well that, despite the fact Snape seemed to be ignoring him completely, the Potions master's monologue was entirely for his benefit. After all, Snape was explaining things in great detail - something he certainly didn't need to do for himself, and never did in class.

And while part of Harry's mind was wondering why Snape was suddenly being so... generous with information, in a way that not even the past week had prepared him for, he was - for the most part - glad of the additional distraction. Doing the copying had helped somewhat, but didn't serve to completely obscure the memory of last night. Listening to Snape explain how to create the Healing Draught, however...

Harry had never really had much of an interest in potions - not since his first class with Snape, at least. But after having read about healing potions in 101 Useful Potions, he'd decided that it might just be a good idea to know how to make them - especially considering the 'adventures' he tended to have. So this odd... instruction... from Snape was welcome in more ways than one.

Before he knew it, Snape was putting in the last ingredient - the drop of phoenix tears - and banishing the flame underneath the cauldron he'd been working on. Then the Potions master walked over to one of the cabinets on the far wall of his office, opened it, and drew out a case of large bottles.

"Potter."

Harry was surprised - this was the first time Snape had addressed him directly since he'd answered the question about the other Death Eaters who were... He shoved the memory away hastily, and focused his attention on Snape. "Yes, sir?"

Snape put the case down on the table next to the cauldron he'd been working with when Harry had first entered, and gestured for him to come over. "This draught is now cooled enough to be bottled," he explained, as Harry obeyed. "Use this ladle," he handed Harry the iron ladle he'd been using to stir, "and fill each of these bottles up to where the neck starts to narrow." The Potions master then put a strip of sealing wax down next to the case. "Once each bottle is full, put the top back on, and seal it with this."

Harry nodded in agreement, and began working as Snape began setting up a third cauldron.

He had just finished filling up the last bottle - it had taken a while, because he'd done his best to be precise - when the office door opened and Dumbledore entered, looking mildly put out; an expression which vanished when he saw the two of them both working.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted him, as he finished sealing the bottle.

"Harry," Dumbledore nodded. Then he looked at Snape. "Severus. I should have known that the two of you would have found something to keep you busy. However..." He glanced pointedly at the wall just next to Snape's desk.

Harry, following the direction of his gaze, was surprised to see a wizarding clock there. He'd never noticed it before... The single hand was pointing toward Time For Dinner.

"Headmaster..." Snape said, his tone irritated.

"It's already past seven o'clock," Dumbledore said calmly. "The house-elves have been ready to serve dinner for the past five minutes, and will be rather upset if they have to wait much longer. I expect you both in the lounge in ten minutes." With that, he turned around and swept back out.