The flat was on a busy street in Bloomsbury, where people from all walks of life could be found hurrying by at all hours of the day and night. Even now, well past midnight on a Saturday night, the street was teeming with people. It was also the sort of place where nothing was out of the ordinary and strangers turned a blind eye to one another. In short, it was the perfect place for a wizard to live.

The flat itself was clean and tidy, simply furnished and decorated in an unmistakably masculine style. The few personal items on display consisted of some books and a handful of photos which were arranged neatly on a bookshelf. The only thing that appeared out of place was the body lying on the living room floor.

Alastor Moody looked down at the now late resident of the flat - a young man, perhaps 30, dressed in well-made, but uninspired robes. He was slender, clean-shaven and had short, brown hair just beginning to thin on top. There was no fear in the vacant eyes – no emotion at all, in fact. The dead man’s only remarkable feature was the Dark Mark branded on his left forearm.

“Suicide,” the Auror standing next to Moody stated flatly. “Turned his wand on himself and cast Avada Kedavra.”

“Any idea why?” Moody asked as he knelt down to examine the body. “Death Eaters aren’t known for committing suicide.”

The Auror, a middle-aged woman with close-cropped graying hair shrugged. “Maybe he developed a conscience.”

Moody snorted, not bothering to state his opinion on the likelihood of that. Instead, he scanned the room. His magic eye swiveled to take in every inch of the scene, but it was his good eye that spotted the single, long strand of black hair lying on the carpet near the deceased. He picked it up and frowned.

His colleague looked on with a small, indulgent smile. “Don’t tell me. You suspect foul play.”

“I don’t suspect any such thing. I’m certain of it.”

“Certain?” the woman’s voice held a note of exasperation. “Based on what - a single hair? We’ve identified the man’s wand as the one that killed him and there’s absolutely no evidence of any sort of fight.”

“There wouldn’t have been a fight if the killer was lying in wait and stunned him. Using a victim’s own wand to kill him is one of the oldest tricks in the book. You know that.”

“It’s also impossible to prove without a witness. We’ve already checked. No one saw anything. Murdock was last seen alive leaving his office Friday afternoon. He was due at his family’s estate for dinner earlier tonight for an uncle’s birthday celebration or some such. He didn’t show up, so his cousin popped round afterward to look for him. Got quite a nasty shock.”

Moody gestured at the man on the floor. “Did he have any known enemies?”

“None that we know of. But he was obviously a Death Eater which isn’t the most popular line of work.”

“Nor the safest these days,” Moody remarked. “Another turned up dead just a few days ago, didn’t he?”

“That was in Knockturn Alley,” the woman said a little sharply. “An illegal deal gone sour, by the look of it.”

“By the look of it,” Moody murmured, heaving himself to his feet. He stood scowling in thought and the other Auror’s face softened sympathetically.

“Moody, even if you’re right and this wasn’t suicide, you have no proof and we’ve got too much on our plates as it is. We’re in the middle of a war. We have enough live Death Eaters to be concerned about without worrying over dead ones. Frankly, if one of his friends helped him along then they did us a favor and are probably guilty of worse crimes anyway.”

Moody turned to his colleague with a sour smile. “Off hand, I’d guess it wasn’t one of his friends who did him in, but one of his enemies.”

“Yes, of course, but that’s not the point.”

“Actually, that’s the whole point,” Moody said, slowly. He turned away, leaving the bemused woman shaking her head as he left the flat and joined the late-night wanderers on the street.

---

Number 12 Grimmauld Place didn’t look too bad. That had been Harry’s first thought when he arrived at the former Black family residence, clandestine headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and his new summer home away from Hogwarts. From the highly polished banister of the main staircase to the glistening chandelier in the dining room, the house was spotless and felt almost welcoming. Harry could imagine its former grandeur, dark though it had been. Now, as he opened his eyes to pale sunlight streaming through the windows of his bedroom on the first morning after his arrival, he found the reason for the house’s transformation peering at him with large, expectant eyes.

“Harry Potter is awake!” Dobby exclaimed happily.

Harry raised his head and regarded the house-elf with far less enthusiasm. “Dobby, what are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Dobby has come to see what master Harry Potter would like for breakfast, sir.”

“First off, I’m not your master. Second, I can get my own breakfast. Now if you don’t mind, I’d just like to sleep in a bit.” Harry flopped back onto his pillow and shut his eyes, then opened them again and sighed. Dobby hadn’t moved.

“Dobby, that means go away,” Harry snapped and instantly regretted it. Dobby’s hopeful smile faltered and disappointment shone in his eyes.

“I mean, it’s very thoughtful of you to want to make me breakfast and I appreciate it,” Harry said as kindly as he could while still sounding stern. “But I’d really like to sleep a bit longer. Okay?”

“Very well, sir,” Dobby said, his spirits somewhat restored. “Dobby will wait to make breakfast until Harry Potter is ready.”

Harry forced a smile. “Great.”

Dobby flashed Harry a happy smile and vanished. Harry sighed in relief, pulled the covers up around his ears and closed his eyes.

“MUGGLE-LOVING BLOOD TRAITORS!”

Harry jumped at the shout that had come from somewhere outside his room and sprang up in bed, his heart pounding wildly.

“SONS OF BLOOD-TRAITORS! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

Harry groaned and flopped back on his pillow once more as he realized that the screams were coming from Mrs. Black’s portrait, one of the few remnants of the house’s dark past that no one had been able to get rid of and which still hung in the entrance hall downstairs. Harry pulled the covers over his head and squeezed his eyes shut

“FILTH! SCUM!”

Harry grabbed his pillow and shoved it over his head.

“Swine! Dogs!”

With a snarl of frustration, Harry tossed his pillow aside, threw back his covers and got up. He crossed the room in two strides, threw open his door and stalked out into the first-floor hallway where the shouting seemed to echo throughout the house.

“BLIGHT UPON OUR WORLD!”

Harry grimaced, leaned over the banister and scowled down at the entrance hall below.

Fred and George Weasley were just finishing hanging up their cloaks in a leisurely fashion while the portrait of Mrs. Black railed at them. Mrs. Black’s shrieks were grating at any time, but first thing in the morning they were nearly unbearable. However, Fred and George didn’t seem at all put out and in fact, seemed to hardly notice.

“I say, do you hear something, George?” Fred asked, glancing around the hall as if trying to place the source of some far-off sound, even though he had to practically shout to be heard over Mrs. Black.

“Don’t mock me, you traitors!” Mrs. Black snarled.

“Oh, Mrs. Black! Good morning to you too.” George grinned cheekily and bowed gallantly to the enraged portrait.

“So good to see you in your usual charming mood,” Fred added, grinning and bowing as well.

“Ahhhhhh! Vermin! Out! Out! OUT!”

“You know, you really ought to do something about your nerves.”

“I don’t suppose a portrait can take a tonic, though,” Fred said.

“Well, there is that. Pity.”

“Are you two completely mental?” Harry had come down to the entrance hall, but still had to yell to be heard as Mrs. Black continued her stream of abuse.

“Oh hi, Harry,” Fred yelled back, cheerily. “Did we wake you?”

“Fred! George!” Remus snapped in exasperation as he came downstairs as well. “Must you provoke her? We had her under control until you two got it into your heads to start encouraging her.”

“Flea-bitten mongrel!” Mrs. Black snarled at Remus who glared at the portrait then back at Fred and George.

“We’ll calm her down. Honestly!” Fred assured Remus.

“Not to worry, sir, Dobby will handle it.” Dobby had appeared in the entrance hall and turned to face the portrait.

Harry watched uneasily, not at all certain that the house-elf was going to improve the situation. Dobby frowned at the portrait, planted two knobby fists on his hips and drew himself up to his full height. Unfortunately, this still left him well below Mrs. Black’s waist and beneath her notice. In an effort to get her attention, Dobby shook a bony finger at her.

“You will stop this rudeness, now!”

Mrs. Black stopped screaming at Fred and George and looked disdainfully down her nose at the house-elf. “How dare you!” she said in her most affronted tone. “I’d have had your head for such insolence. These traitors defile my house and let servants behave –”

How they allowed servants to behave Harry never found out, for at that moment Dobby snapped his fingers and Mrs. Black stopped screaming; or rather her lips were still moving but no sound was coming out. It took her a moment to realize this, then her face purpled with indignant rage. Dobby smiled in satisfaction and closed the curtain over the still silently-shouting portrait.

“Brilliant, Dobby!” Fred said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Our silencing charms never work.”

“We do always manage to find some way to calm her down, though,” George said with a sheepish grin at Remus.

“Always?” Harry whispered to Remus, wondering just how often this sort of thing occurred.

“Fortunately, they’re not around much,” Remus replied quietly with a wry smile.

“Is breakfast ready, Dobby?” Fred asked.

“We’re famished,” George added.

Dobby looked at Harry who quickly said, “Yeah Dobby, let’s eat.” Harry certainly didn’t want anyone else going hungry on his account.

“So, how are things, mate?” Fred asked as he and George attacked a platter of sausages and eggs.

“Better now that Mrs. Black has shut it,” Harry said, sitting down at the kitchen table and shoveling baked beans onto his own plate.

“Sorry about that,” George said. “She’s taken it into her head to dislike us for some reason.”

“Possibly because you go out of your way to goad her,” Remus said, taking a seat as well. A pot of tea immediately appeared next to his plate..

“Remus, it’s just too easy,” George said with a shrug.

“We can’t resist,” Fred agreed.

A bowl of fresh fruit and clotted cream floated to the table and George deftly snatched it out of midair.

“You’re in luck, Harry,” he said. “We used to have to fend for ourselves at meals. Now that Dobby’s here, we’re eating like kings.”

“Don’t get too used to having Dobby around,” Remus warned. “Dumbledore only sent him here to get Professor Snape’s rooms in order.”

“Snape,” Fred snorted then turned back to Harry. “Aside from Remus’s bedroom and study, he’s got the whole bloody second floor reserved for him: bedroom, office, store room, laboratory. You’d think he was moving in permanently instead of just for the summer.”

“Dobby’s been racing around for a couple of weeks trying to get everything in order,” George continued. “But the good news is he’s managed to clean up most of the rest of the house as well. The first and second floors are entirely inhabitable now and there are only a couple of rooms on the ground floor that will still try to kill you. He hasn’t done anything with the third floor or attic, but no one’s up there except Buckbeak.”

“Is anyone else staying here?” Harry asked.

“Just us. Our room’s at the end of the hall from yours,” George said. “But lately we’ve been staying at the shop working on some new items, so you’ll have the common room to yourself.”

“The what?”

“They mean the drawing room at the head of the stairs on the first floor,” Remus said. “These two have dubbed it the Gryffindor common room.”

Harry grinned. “That’s brilliant! I can’t wait for Ron, Ginny and Hermione to get here. They’ll love it.”

Fred and George exchanged glances and Fred cleared his throat. “Er, about that.”

“There’s been a bit of a change in plans,” George said.

“You see, Dad was talking with Charlie last week.”

“And it came up that it would be a great opportunity if Ron and Ginny could learn about dragons.”

“First hand.”

“In Romania.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed.

“Not to worry, Harry,” Fred insisted. “They’ll only be gone a month.”

“They’re going to Romania for a month? And no one bothered to mention this at the train station yesterday?”

“I think Dad wanted to tell them first,” George said.

“If it’s any consolation, they didn’t look all that happy about it when we stopped by the house this morning,” Fred reassured Harry. “Of course, that just might have been because Dad had them up at the crack of dawn getting ready to leave.”

“They’re leaving today? What about Hermione? She was supposed to be staying at the Burrow before coming here.”

Fred and George exchanged another glance which confirmed Harry’s worst suspicions. “She’s going with them, isn’t she?”

George shrugged apologetically. “Dad already arranged it with the Grangers.”

“Ron, Ginny and Hermione asked us to give you this,” Fred added, handing an envelope to Harry. “They reckoned it’d be a lot faster than sending it with Errol.”

Harry took the envelope and opened it. There were three sheets of parchment inside which turned out to be three letters. Harry read each in turn.

Harry,

I reckon Fred and George told you the news. It was rotten of Dad to make plans without asking us. I don’t know what he was thinking! We wouldn’t be going if we could get out of it, but Charlie and his mates are expecting us and Hermione says it’d be rude not to show up.

It’ll be good to see Charlie, though, and I suppose the dragons will be interesting. It’ll be cool to watch Charlie work with them and he said that I might be able to help him feed them – though I’m not really sure what they eat. It could wind up being miserable and really boring though.

It’s rubbish that you can’t come! It’d be brilliant if you were there and Charlie said you’re welcome anytime. Maybe when this bloody war is over we can go and do it properly.

Anyway, I’ll make sure to bring you back something really cool like a dragon tooth.

Fred’s breathing down my neck, so I’d better give this to him. Don’t let Snape make you study too much.

Ron

Dear Harry,

I know you must be awfully disappointed, but to be honest, I’m not sure our plans to spend time in London would have worked out even if we were there. I was listening to Mr. Weasley and some of the other Order members talking last night and I don’t think Professor Snape is coming there just to teach you Potions. I rather think it’s more to do with watching you.

Don’t scowl. I know you hate that, but given what you told us after the attack on Hogsmeade, I think they’re probably right to be extra cautious.

Please just do whatever Professor Snape and Remus tell you to do. And don’t do anything reckless. We’ll see you as soon as we can.

Love, Hermione

P.S. – Don’t forget to do your homework.

Harry,

Do you reckon Dad knows you’ve been snogging me and arranged this just to keep us apart?

I’m joking!

Don’t be cross with Dad. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s worried about us and I think he just wants us as far away from Voldemort as possible. I wish you could have come too. Dad asked if you could, but Dumbledore wants you to stay where you are. I suppose he thinks it’s the safest place for you.

I promise that I’ll write to you every day and let you know if Ron’s managed to get himself killed. He’s got some mad idea about helping Charlie feed the dragons, though from the look on Hermione’s face when he said it, I don’t think she’s going to let him.

Dad’s calling us, so I’d better go. I’ll see you in a month and I promise that we’ll make up for lost time. I’ll miss you.

Love, Ginny

Harry folded the letters and stuffed them back into the envelope.

“We’re sorry, Harry,” George said. “We know being stuck here alone wasn’t what you had in mind. Dad wanted you to come too, but…”

“But I’m Harry Potter.” Harry could hear the bitterness in his voice and forced a smile. “It’s okay. It’s only a month. Besides, I’ve got more than enough homework to keep me busy.” Harry looked down at his half-finished breakfast which he no longer felt like eating. “In fact, I probably ought to get cracking.”

Harry left the kitchen and went back up to his room where he sat down on his bed to sulk. He and his friends had planned to spend the entire summer holidays together at Grimmauld Place. It was their last summer as students and they had hoped to spend time in Muggle London and forget the war for a while. So far things were not turning out as planned.

Not that Harry could really blame Mr. Weasley for wanting to send his two youngest children as far away as possible from the scourge of terror Voldemort had unleashed across Britain, nor could he blame Hermione for going with them. Mrs. Weasley had been killed by Voldemort only a few months previously which had brought the war home to all of them. He only wished that Dumbledore had let him go too.

“So, you’re back,” a smug and faintly bored voice said.

Harry started and looked around then spotted the portrait of Phineas Nigellus smirking at him from atop the wardrobe. “What are you doing here?”

The wizard in the picture shrugged. “They moved me. I suppose they thought you needed watching.”

“I don’t need watching,” Harry said indignantly, remembering Hermione’s comment as well. Phineas only smirked more and sauntered out of the picture frame.

Harry scowled, went over to the wardrobe and laid the picture face down so that Hogwarts’ former and least favorite headmaster couldn’t spy on him. That was the last thing he needed. He sat back down on the edge of his bed and considered. He really did have a lot of homework to do, but he had no interest in doing it. Still, he supposed that he ought to at least get started on his Potions work. Snape would not be happy if he wasn’t prepared for his first lesson and Harry didn’t need any scathing remarks from his teacher to make his life more miserable than it already was.

He opened his trunk and pulled out his Potions text with Snape’s lengthy syllabus shoved in the middle of it. Harry grimaced and tossed the book aside then began rummaging for his Potions supplies. Everything in Harry’s trunk had shifted during the trip from Hogwarts, forcing Harry to dig through clothes and past a forgotten bag of Honeydukes sweets and other personal effects. He reached deep down and swept the bottom of his trunk looking for his mortar and pestle and almost immediately drew back his hand with a sharp hiss. He had cut his hand on something and it was bleeding freely.

Wrapping his handkerchief around the wound, Harry shifted the contents of his trunk more carefully until he spotted the offending item. A broken mirror lay at the bottom of the trunk and Harry felt his throat tighten at the sight of it. It was the mirror Sirius had given him so they could communicate and which Harry had forgotten about until it was too late.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the mirror. “Reparo!” he said. All of the pieces dutifully reassembled themselves. Harry picked up the mirror and stared into it, but all he saw was his own reflection staring back.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” he murmured. At his words, the surface of the mirror seemed to shimmer and darken. Harry leaned closer and peered at it intently. “Sirius? Sirius!”

But the mirror appeared perfectly normal once more and showed only Harry’s own anxious features. Harry sighed irritably at his own foolishness; obviously he’d only imagined the change. Resisting the urge to smash it once more, Harry laid the mirror atop the wardrobe next to Phineas’s portrait and tried to put it out of his mind as he retrieved the rest of his Potions supplies. Then, because he had nothing else to do, he pulled Snape’s syllabus from his Potions text and started his homework.

---

Dobby appeared to announce lunch precisely at noon. Harry didn’t demur this time; he was more than ready to take a break and gratefully headed downstairs. He slowed, however, as he reached the entrance hall. Mad-Eye Moody was standing in the doorway to the library talking with Remus. Both men looked grim.

“Keep an eye on him,” Moody said, darkly. “With these deaths, I don’t want him sneaking –”

“Harry!” Remus interrupted Moody with a forced smile. “I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”

“I’ve been doing homework,” Harry said as he approached the men.

“Good to see you made it, Potter,” Moody said, clapping Harry on the shoulder as though he had completed some perilous journey rather than having simply arrived from Hogwarts the day before. “Lupin, we’ll talk later.”

With a final nod to both Harry and Remus, the old Auror left and Harry turned to Remus. “What’s up?”

“Order business, Harry. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Remus smiled and shrugged nonchalantly, but Harry noticed that his father’s old friend wasn’t looking him in the eyes. He didn’t press Remus though. He already suspected that the two men had been talking about him: it didn’t really surprise him, but it was frustrating. Why was everyone suddenly so worried about him? And why was Moody here warning Remus to keep an eye on him?

Harry shrugged mentally as he and Remus went down to lunch. It was probably just Moody being extra cautious as usual, but one thing kept Harry from dismissing the incident entirely. Moody had mentioned that there had been deaths - recent ones from the sound of it - yet Harry couldn’t recall hearing about any deaths that might be connected to him. There had actually been a lull in Death Eater activity in the last couple of weeks.

A warning bell sounded in the back of Harry’s mind. His friends had been sent away, Snape was coming to keep an eye on him and now Moody had warned Remus to do the same. Worst of all, Harry knew that they were all hiding something from him. Harry’s heart sank. He had the feeling that this was not going to be a good summer at all.

Harry stared out the window at the cloudless summer sky and wished that he was spending his holidays with the Dursleys. They might treat him wretchedly, but at least he could leave the house. He yearned to go for a walk in the warm, fresh air and had practically begged Remus on several occasions to let him go out for just a few minutes. But Remus, while sympathetic, had also been firm. Dumbledore had specifically said that Harry was to remain in the house. As a result, Harry hadn’t been outside in the fortnight since he’d arrived at Grimmauld Place and he was beginning to feel as though he was in prison. He didn’t know how Sirius had managed to endure a year of this.

Harry also missed Ron, Hermione and Ginny fiercely and it didn’t help that they were obviously having a wonderful time with Charlie, no matter how much they tried to disguise this fact in their frequent letters. It might not have been so bad if Harry had had anyone else for company, but the Order of the Phoenix were feverishly busy, so no one had much free time. Even Remus had little time to spare. There was, however, one person who seemed to have unlimited time to oversee his every move.

“Potter, do you plan to brew that potion today or do you intend to spend all of your time daydreaming?”

Snape’s stern admonishment interrupted Harry’s reverie. He glanced irritably at the man who was hovering over a workbench several paces away, then sighed and turned back to his own workbench which was covered with a staggering array of potions ingredients that did nothing to improve his mood.

Harry considered that he might not feel quite so confined if he didn’t have to spend the majority of his days here in Snape’s makeshift Potions lab. The intimidating syllabus of homework Snape had given him was proving to be every bit as onerous as Harry had feared. Snape seemed to have decided to cram the entire seventh year Potions curriculum into the two month summer holidays, so even if he had been allowed to leave the house, Harry decided that he likely wouldn’t have the time. He’d been working on this particular potion, the Parchment Restoration Solution, for most of the morning and hadn’t even finished preparing the ingredients yet. He scowled at the instructions in his book and reached for the next ingredient, newt tails, without enthusiasm.

“Potter, I trust you’ve read that lesson,” Snape said in a tone that clearly indicated he held out very little hope that this was actually the case.

Harry looked up at the man once more. “Of course I have,” he insisted indignantly, though in truth, ‘skimmed’ was probably a better word for it. He wasn’t going to admit that to Snape, however.

“Then explain to me why you are attempting to use dried newt tails in a potion that clearly calls for pickled ones.”

Harry looked down at the instructions once more. “It doesn’t say pickled or dried either way.”

Snape came over to Harry’s workbench and flipped back a dozen pages in Harry’s text to the middle of the lengthy essay on the potion’s history, properties and uses. He pointed to a paragraph in the middle of the page. “Read it. Aloud.”

“‘The use of pickled newt tails is crucial since dried ones will have a desiccating effect, causing the parchment to which the potion is applied to crumble instead of being restored to suppleness’…” Harry trailed off, glaring at the page as though it had intentionally tricked him. “Why did they bury something that important in the middle of the bloody essay?”

“Because you’re expected to read the bloody essay, Potter, or do you suppose it’s simply there to take up space? Potion brewing is a precise art. You cannot merely muddle your way through on guesswork. The details, tedious as you may find them, are in fact crucial and cannot be ignored simply because you don’t wish to be bothered.”

Harry sighed. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry and not caring that he didn’t.

Snape stabbed a finger at the book once more. “Read this, all of it, carefully. Then get the correct ingredients and brew the potion properly.” With a final disgusted shake of his head Snape stalked back to his own cauldron.

Harry grudgingly flipped to the beginning of the lesson, then looked resentfully over at Snape who was immersed in his own work once more. Snape was brewing not one, but two potions. The first, which was bubbling away in a corner, was the Wolfsbane Potion, Harry knew, but he had no idea what the second potion was. None of your business, Potter had been Snape’s curt response when he had asked. However, Harry surmised that it was an experiment of some sort since Snape was constantly taking copious notes on it. This was the third batch of the stuff Snape had produced. But even with all the notes, Harry wasn’t sure how Snape kept the ingredients of the different batches straight, because for all of his insistence on the precision of potion-making, Snape couldn’t have been more imprecise himself.

After two weeks of watching the man work Harry had come to realize that there was a vast difference between the way Snape taught his students to brew potions and the way he actually brewed them himself. He never seemed to measure anything and only rarely consulted any sort of instructions. Still, Snape had managed to produce a prodigious array of potions - mostly medicinal, such as Pepperup Potion - in his short time at Grimmauld Place. At first Harry assumed that Snape had brewed these common potions so often that he simply had them memorized and that they didn’t require perfect preparation.

This changed on the morning Harry arrived in the lab to find Snape setting out the ingredients for the Wolfsbane Potion, the preparation of which Harry knew to be extremely complicated. Only a handful of wizards possessed the skill to brew it. Consequently, Harry had watched in growing alarm as Snape threw the ingredients together in his accustomed off-hand manner. Harry had become so concerned by the man’s seeming lack of care that he’d actually asked Snape if he was sure he’d got it right. That had earned him a memorable glare and a scathing reply. I am being forced to live in the same house as a werewolf, Potter. Do you honestly think I would be as careless of my own life as to make a mistake?

Harry had kept quiet after that though he continued to watch Snape as the man sprinkled a pinch of this and a drizzle of that into the cauldron, sniffing the aroma and watching the simmering contents with a practiced eye. Snape seemed to rely on an instinctive feel for the way the potion should be brewed and suddenly Harry remembered his teacher’s words from his very first Potions lesson at Hogwarts. Snape had called potion-making a “subtle science and exact art” and for the first time Harry thought he understood what his teacher had meant. In the hands of a master, potion-making really was as much art as science.

Harry, however, was not a master and had no aspiration to ever become one. He certainly had no instinctive feel for potion-making. In fact, if there was one thing Harry had learnt beyond doubt so far this summer it was that he despised Potions. He had always hated Potions class at school of course, but that had been because of Snape. Now however, he had come to loathe the subject on its own merits. He had tried at first; he really had. The first few days he applied himself diligently to his homework, reasoning that he had nothing better to do anyway. But these were advanced potions requiring meticulous attention to detail and Snape was right: he just didn’t have the patience for it.

Harry looked resignedly down at his textbook. The Parchment Restoration Solution was a particularly irritating concoction. It was an absurdly complex and arcane brew that served no other purpose than to restore ancient, brittle parchment to a condition where it wouldn’t fall apart at the slightest touch. A laudable enough goal, but did it really require 37 ingredients? Harry turned the page in his textbook having barely glanced at it.

How could he be expected to fiddle about with something so unimportant when Voldemort was gaining more power every day and it was his job to stop the dark wizard? That was what he needed to be focusing on, not newt tails. Harry knew that a large part of the restlessness he was feeling at being cooped up at Grimmauld Place was due to Voldemort. Learning of the prophecy had placed a tremendous burden on his shoulders and he’d spent much of the last year despairing of ever being able to succeed in defeating the evil wizard.

Ironically, it had been the horrific visions he was having and the subsequent resumption of his Occlumency and Legilimency lessons with Snape that had shown him the means to vanquish his nemesis. Harry knew that he would never beat Voldemort in a physical duel, but there was a good chance that he could use the unique mental link they shared to attack Voldemort’s mind. That was Harry’s rather vague plan, anyway. It had seemed a brilliant insight a few weeks ago, but now Harry had to admit that the idea had one obvious failing – he had no real idea of how to wage a mental war. He’d infiltrated Voldemort’s mind in the past to gain information, but that was very different from an actual fight.

Harry fidgeted in his seat and turned another page having absorbed nothing of what was written on it, then looked back at Snape. The stab of resentment he felt this time had nothing to do with potion-brewing. Snape understood what he was facing better than anyone else, yet since arriving at Grimmauld Place he had steadfastly avoided all discussion of Voldemort, Occlumency and Legilimency, or practically any other topic besides Potions.

Harry knew why, of course. It had been a little over a month since the Victory at Hogsmeade, which was what the Daily Prophet had dubbed the Saturday when Voldemort and most of his Death Eaters had attacked the village. No one had been seriously hurt since Voldemort’s only goal had been to kill Harry, and the Ministry, desperate for some good news, had seized the opportunity to rally public morale. The Victory at Hogsmeade was held up as a tribute to the Aurors’ skills and determination in fighting off the Death Eaters and as a beacon of hope in the war.

But that day held very different memories for Harry and Snape, for that was the day Harry had learnt that Snape had been largely responsible for his parents’ deaths. That horrible revelation by Bellatrix Lestrange, followed by Snape’s anguished confession, had been one of the most painful experiences Harry had ever endured. But Harry had come to realize that it had been even worse for Snape: the man’s remorse had been genuine and profound. But although Harry had forgiven him for his unintentional betrayal, Snape didn’t seem able to forgive himself and Harry knew that his own constant presence only exacerbated Snape’s sense of guilt. Sometimes the tension between them was almost palpable, though more often it lurked beneath the surface and was in any case something they never spoke of.

The situation was maddening. Instead of working together to devise a strategy to defeat Voldemort, they sat here day after day in silence, all because Snape couldn’t move beyond a mistake he’d made nearly sixteen years in the past.

Harry flipped two more pages, giving up even the pretense of reading, but at that moment his glum reverie was interrupted by a soft rap at the door and Dobby poked his head in. “Professor Snape, you are needed downstairs, sir. Professor Dumbledore is here.”

Snape glanced around. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

Dobby vanished as Snape turned down the fire under his cauldron and began replacing the lids on various jars of ingredients he’d been using. Harry looked on, feeling a fresh pang of frustration. Dumbledore was another one who didn’t seem to consider his situation a priority. This was the fourth time in two weeks that Hogwarts headmaster had come to Grimmauld Place, yet he hadn’t managed to spare even five minutes to talk to Harry.

“Potter, I want to see some progress on that potion when I return,” Snape said, sparing Harry the briefest glance as he turned to leave. He didn’t wait for Harry’s acknowledgement, which was just as well since Harry didn’t bother to give one but merely glared after Snape’s retreating form. He looked down at the unread essay and hated potion ingredients and felt his frustration turn to anger. Slamming his book shut, Harry jumped off his stool and hurried after Snape.

“Professor!” Harry called as he ran down the stairs.

Snape paused on the first floor landing and turned to scowl at Harry. “Potter, what is it?”

“I need to see Dumbledore,” Harry said, stopping in front of his teacher.

“Dumbledore is a very busy man, Potter and it isn’t your place to demand his attention.”

“You told me he might have some ideas as to how I can defeat Vol – him.”

“Dumbledore will discuss that with you in his own time. When he wishes to see you, he’ll send for you.”

“He hasn’t sent for me yet.”

“Then I would assume that he doesn’t wish to see you. I seriously doubt that he’s forgotten you’re here.”

“But I need to talk to him,” Harry insisted. “I haven’t seen him since –”

Harry broke off, but not soon enough. The last time Harry had spoken to Dumbledore had been on that horrible afternoon after the Victory at Hogsmeade. Snape knew it too and as they stared at one another now, Harry could sense the man stiffen at the reminder.

Luckily, the strained silence was broken by the sound of a door opening followed by voices coming from the ground floor. Reflexively, Harry looked over the banister to the entrance hall.

“Moody, you’re paranoid!” Remus declared as he came out of the library on the ground floor.

“Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” Moody growled, following Remus across the entrance hall towards the dining room.

His curiosity piqued, Harry leaned forward to catch more of this exchange and felt Snape’s shoulder brush his as the man did so as well.

“Last night makes three deaths,” Moody continued, but Remus didn’t seem impressed by this. When he spoke his exasperated tone made it clear that this was not the first time he and Moody had had this conversation.

“The Ministry’s position –”

“Hang the Ministry’s position!” Moody took two quick strides to block Remus. His gnarled features twisted in anger as he glared into the younger man’s passive face. “Lupin, I warned you –”

“I’m not going to spy on him.” Remus’s voice was as angry and hard as Moody’s.

“So you don’t care if he’s –”

Moody stopped abruptly and his head snapped up. His roving magical eye seemed to have spotted Harry and Snape and his expression darkened considerably as he gazed up at the two figures peering down at him. Harry felt chagrinned at having been caught eavesdropping. He looked sideways at Snape and was surprised to see that the man’s expression was almost as dark as Moody’s. On the other hand, Remus, who had spotted them as well, looked nearly as embarrassed as Harry felt.

Snape was the first to move; he swept past Harry and down the stairs. Harry followed close behind.

“I was told that Dumbledore wanted to see me,” Snape said.

“He wants to see the three of us,” Moody corrected. “Potter, I don’t recall you being invited.”

Harry flushed slightly at Moody’s blunt observation. “I was just –”

“We were discussing his lesson,” Snape cut in smoothly. “Surely one doesn’t need an invitation to walk through the house?”

“Severus is tutoring Harry in Potions,” Remus explained to Moody.

“Is that a fact?” Moody’s appraising gaze fell on Harry, then he looked back at Snape. “I’m surprised you have the time to set Potter homework, as busy as you are.”

Snape’s mouth turned down in the slightest frown, but otherwise his face remained impassive. “I’m never too busy to keep Potter on his toes.”

As Snape finished speaking the dining room door opened and Dumbledore emerged. “Ah, Severus, there you are. Remus, Alastor, do come in. There are several matters we need to discuss and I have another meeting I fear I am already late for.”

Dumbledore disappeared back into the dining room and Snape followed him. Moody was close on Snape’s heels and Remus hesitated only long enough to give Harry an encouraging smile before following the others and closing the door.

Harry was left standing alone in the entrance hall. Dumbledore hadn’t even looked at him, but Harry didn’t care. His thoughts were occupied by the conversation he’d just overheard between Moody and Remus. It echoed the one he’d heard between them the day he arrived at Grimmauld Place. He was fairly certain that previous conversation had been about him and he reasoned that this one had been as well. The look on Moody’s face when he’d spotted Harry eavesdropping seemed to confirm this suspicion. Still, Harry had no idea why Moody might want Remus to keep an eye on him, let alone what the deaths Moody mentioned could have to do with it.

Harry chewed his lower lip in thought then an idea occurred to him. Moody had mentioned a death last night. Surely it would have been reported in the Daily Prophet. Maybe that would give him a clue as to what was going on.

Glad to have something to focus on besides the potion waiting for him up in the lab, Harry went down to the kitchen where a copy of the day’s paper was laying on the table. He’d glanced at the headlines during breakfast, but now sat down and began scanning through the pages more thoroughly.

There was plenty of news about the war. An international conference was being held in Brussels to promote solidarity between the European wizarding communities in the face of Voldemort’s resurgence.

The Office of Misinformation was working overtime to keep the war from coming to the attention of the Muggle population – no mean feat given that Voldemort’s allies were becoming more and more brazen in targeting Muggles of late. They were still trying to manage the disaster in Devon where a pack of werewolves had gone on a rampage in a small village at the last full moon.

The situation was bad. It had been centuries since werewolves had dared to attack Muggles and the Ministry had been caught off-guard. It had been easy enough for the Obliviators to modify the memories of the witnesses, but the two Muggles who had been bitten were another matter. They were in St. Mungo’s with no possibility of returning to their homes and families and no one was quite sure what was to be done with them. Harry shook his head sadly and flipped through a few more pages of the paper.

The economy was suffering from Voldemort’s reappearance. Profits at restaurants and entertainment venues were down again from the previous quarter and a full twenty percent from the same time the previous year.

A Death Eater had been apprehended in a raid in Cornwall after the Aurors had received an anonymous tip about a meeting there.

But there was nothing about any recent deaths. Harry read through the entire paper front to back, but as far as the Prophet was concerned there had been only two fatalities worth noting the day before. Both came under the heading of Transportation Accidents. Mildred Bernard, 87, had apparently fallen asleep on her broom and crashed into a tree, and Vincent Howard, 32, had accidentally Apparated onto the M25 in London.

Harry winced at the latter. He had begun learning to Apparate. Since arriving at Grimmauld Place, Remus had taken it upon himself to teach Harry and they managed to carve out a little time most days to practice. Harry looked forward to the lessons as a break from the tedium of brewing potions, not to mention an opportunity to vent his frustrations to a sympathetic ear, but all things considered he much preferred flying.

Apparating was neither easy nor particularly pleasant. In fact it was even less pleasant than traveling by Floo. It was rather like being squeezed through a thick rubber tube and Harry was still having trouble arriving at his intended destination with any kind of accuracy. He could easily imagine making the same mistake as Vincent Howard.

Harry laid the paper aside, feeling disappointed. He had been certain that the Daily Prophet would shed some light on Moody’s comment. If old Mildred Bernard could make the paper, why hadn’t this death that Moody considered so important? Harry’s heart leaped as a new thought occurred to him. What if this mysterious death had intentionally been kept out of the paper? What if it was so important that the Ministry didn’t want anyone to know about it? Harry shook his head, disgusted with himself. He was starting to sound as paranoid as Moody.

“Wotcher, Harry!”

Harry looked up at the unexpected greeting and smiled. “Hi Tonks. What’s up?”

“The usual, trying to track down Death Eaters,” Tonks answered while rummaging in the refrigerator. She pulled out a plate of sausages left over from breakfast and a jug of pumpkin juice and sat down.

“Any luck?” Harry was always interested in hearing about the Auror’s work. “Were you one of the ones who caught that Death Eater last night?”

Tonks took a bite of cold sausage, followed by a swig of pumpkin juice and smiled tiredly. “Yeah, me and three others. I wish we could have got more than one of them, but they’re extra cautious these days.”

“Why?”

“Oh, just one thing and another.”

Tonks shrugged and took another gulp of pumpkin juice and Harry didn’t need Legilimency to know that she was hiding something from him. He’d seen the same guarded look often enough in the last two weeks, and Tonks wasn’t the only one whose eyes regularly didn’t quite meet his. Most of the Order – even Remus – were given to this. Moody was the only one who always looked him straight in the eye; unfortunately, Harry only found that unnerving. Harry glanced down at the open paper before him and decided to try another subject.

“Moody mentioned that there have been several deaths lately.”

Tonks choked on her pumpkin juice. “What?”

Harry stared at her, taken aback by her reaction. “I just heard him mention it in passing,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Tonks to tell Moody that he’d been asking about the conversation he’d overheard. “I haven’t seen anything in the Daily Prophet about new Death Eater attacks, so I was just curious.”

Tonks relaxed and gave him a relieved smile. “People die for all sorts of reasons, Harry. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry was still trying to fathom that peculiar statement when Tonks smile broadened into a delighted grin as Remus entered the kitchen. “Hey there.”

“Hello yourself,” Remus said, his eyes twinkling in return.

Harry had only seen Tonks and Remus together a few times since coming to Grimmauld Place, but there seemed to be a rapport between them that hadn’t existed the last time he’d stayed here. According to some of the other Order members, Tonks had taken Sirius’s death quite hard and she and Remus had spent much of the previous year helping one another come to terms with their shared grief. Harry couldn’t help wondering though if there might be something more between the two than simple camaraderie or even friendship. They were looking at each other now in a way that made Harry miss Ginny terribly and he decided it might be best if he left them alone.

“Well, I’d better get back to my potion or Snape’s going to kill me,” Harry said, standing up. “See you later.”

Harry raced upstairs to the Potions lab where Snape was already at his workbench.

“Good of you to show up, Potter,” Snape sneered.

“I’m sorry sir, I –”

“You aren’t the least bit sorry, so spare me the trite apologies,” Snape snapped. “They’re insulting and I have no patience for them. You’re lazy and irresponsible. Now sit down and do what you’re supposed to for once without me having to baby-sit you.”

Harry stared at Snape in surprise. He had expected his teacher to be displeased with him, but despite his comment to Tonks and Remus, he hadn’t anticipated anything like this level of anger.

“I said, sit down, Potter!”

Wordlessly, Harry sat down at his workbench and busied himself with his potion. He couldn’t help casting furtive looks at Snape, who was scowling at his own potion and scribbling in his notebook with far more force than necessary. Harry wondered if something had happened in the meeting with Dumbledore to put Snape in such a foul mood, but he knew better than to ask. Instead, he ducked his head and concentrated on finishing his potion as quickly as possible without incurring any further wrath from Snape.

An hour and a half later Harry decided that rushing through the potion probably hadn’t been the wisest thing to do. Even his untrained eye couldn’t mistake the color of the concoction bubbling in his cauldron for orange; it was most definitely a deep red. Worse, Harry had no idea why. He looked down at the essay in his textbook which he’d been perusing for the last twenty minutes, searching for any detail he might have missed that would explain where he’d gone wrong.

“Potter, you’ve read that three times. I doubt a fourth is going to improve your understanding.”

Harry grimaced and looked over at Snape. Unlike Harry, hovering over his potion for the last hour and a half seemed to have restored Snape’s humor. Not that it was ever very good, but at least the man was only scowling now instead of snarling as he spoke.

“What is the problem?” Snape asked.

“If I knew, I’d fix it,” Harry said sullenly.

Snape came over and peered into Harry’s cauldron. “You didn’t knead your fly larvae enough.”

Harry gritted his teeth to avoid pointing out that running his fingers through a bowl full of what were essentially tiny, wriggling worms wasn’t something he wanted to spend much time doing. Instead he said, “The instructions said two to four minutes and I kneaded them for two minutes and fifteen seconds.”

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow at Harry. “Let me see your hand.”

Harry held out his right hand, wondering how Snape hoped it might incriminate him. Snape grasped it and examined it much as Trelawney might in her Palmistry lessons. He ran his thumb across Harry’s palm then let go.

“You’ll have to use the full four minutes next time.”

Harry’s heart sank. “You don’t mean I have to redo the whole potion?”

Snape smirked at his obvious distress.

“I followed the directions exactly!” Harry protested. “It’s not my fault that it didn’t work.”

Snape pursed his lips and considered Harry a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.

“Put your hand in the potion,” Snape said.

“What?”

“Put your hand in the potion, Potter. It won’t hurt you.”

Harry looked down at the simmering brew dubiously, but did as Snape instructed. The potion was hot, but not unbearably so and almost at once something extraordinary happened. The potion began to change color. It shifted from its deep bluish red to a light, orange red and finally to bright orange.

“That’s enough,” Snape said, but Harry was staring transfixed by the change and barely heard him. It wasn’t until Snape grasped his wrist and pulled his hand from the cauldron that Harry looked up.

“How did that happen?” he asked in wonder.

“The Parchment Restoration Solution is meant to restore suppleness. To that end it uses numerous lubricants, one of which is the natural oil found in human skin. Your skin is fairly dry so your minimal – and, dare I guess, unenthusiastic – kneading of your fly larvae didn’t transfer a sufficient amount of oil from your hands to the larvae and hence the potion. Placing your hand in the potion itself remedied the problem.”

“There’s nothing in the book about that,” Harry said.

“No, there’s not. It’s a trick I discovered when I was in school.”

“How?” Harry was genuinely curious. With nearly forty ingredients in the potion he couldn’t imagine how anyone – even Snape – could have worked that out. Snape, however, wasn’t at all forthcoming.

“I discovered it by accident.”

“You accidentally stuck your hand in your potion?” Harry asked, determined to pry a more useful answer out of his teacher.

Snape glared at him. “If you must know, your father tossed a firework into my cauldron and I reached in to pull it out. I wasn’t about to fail my NEWT on account of him. Afterwards I realized that my potion had turned a brighter shade of orange and I worked out what had happened. It was the only time one of your father’s pranks actually did me some good. Any other questions?”

Harry shook his head wordlessly.

“Then that will be all for today, Potter. You may clean up and go.”

Snape turned back to his workbench and Harry looked at the perfect potion simmering in his cauldron, feeling miserable. How could his dad have stooped as low as to try to ruin Snape’s NEWT? Harry Vanished his potion and cleared his workbench with a quiet “Evanesco” then picked up his textbook and left.

---

Harry was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling when Remus knocked and stuck his head in the room.

“Ready to have another go at Apparating?” he asked cheerfully.

“Sure, I suppose,” Harry said, sitting up and trying to muster some enthusiasm.

Remus frowned and came into the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, but Remus clearly wasn’t fooled. He sat down on the empty bed across from Harry with a knowing look.

“Is Severus getting to you again?”

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s not his fault.”

Remus leaned forward to look closely at Harry. “What is it then?”

Harry shrugged and looked at the floor.

“Harry, I’m not just here to teach you to Apparate or even to listen to you complain about your Potions lessons. If something’s bothering you, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me help.”

Harry continued to stare at the floor. “It’s my dad. I’m just having trouble imagining how the man who fought Voldemort and died trying to protect my mum and me could have managed to be such a complete git at school.”

“Harry, James wasn’t –”

“Yes he was!” Harry glared indignantly at Remus. “Did you know that he tried to make Snape fail his Potions NEWT?”

Remus’s brow furrowed slightly. “Oh, I’d forgotten about that.”

“I reckon there are a lot of things you’ve forgotten about.”

“Harry, please, you have to understand. With James and Severus it was never-ending, but James never did anything like that to anyone else. Yes, he hexed other students in the halls when we were younger, but that stopped by the time we were sixteen and it was never malicious.”

“So you’re saying it was only Snape whom he really bullied.”

“Yes.”

“Just because it was only one person doesn’t make it all right.”

“I’m not saying it does, but you have to keep things in perspective. They hated each other.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard. That doesn’t excuse the way he acted.”

Remus sighed. “No, it doesn’t. But I would hope you realize that those actions didn’t define his whole character. James may have treated Severus horribly, but he could be every bit as kind and generous and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for a friend. He was far more than just a bully.”

“I know that. It’s just…” Harry looked away again and bit his lip. “I just don’t know that I would have liked him very much.”

“You might not have. Harry, don’t look so horrified. That’s not a crime. Is that what’s troubling you?”

Harry nodded miserably and Remus laid a hand on his knee. “Harry, listen to me. Do you think that you’re the first son to be disappointed in his father or to disapprove of some of the things he did? James was a loyal friend, a loving husband and father, and one of the best and bravest men I ever knew. But he wasn’t perfect. No one is. We all have our faults and being able to accept our parents’ faults is part of growing up.

“I know it’s harder for you because you never knew James,” Remus said gently. “But it’s all right to be angry with him. There’s no disloyalty in that. Believe me, there were plenty of times when I wanted to hex him myself.”

“Maybe you should have.”

“Maybe,” Remus agreed, smiling wryly. “But I’m not perfect, either.”

Harry couldn’t help returning Remus’s smile. Remus patted him on the knee and stood up.

“Come on. Let’s see if you can Apparate across the living room without Splinching yourself.”

---

With his guilt assuaged, the rest of the afternoon and evening passed pleasantly for Harry. His Apparating lesson went well. His accuracy was improving and he almost believed it when Remus said that he’d be ready to take the exam for his Apparation license by his birthday.

Then during dinner Tonks gave him a detailed account of how she and the other Aurors had captured the Death Eater the night before. At Harry’s urging she went on to describe other harrowing fights she’d participated in. By the time she had finished it was very late and Harry was more certain than ever that he wanted to become an Auror. He drifted to sleep and dreamt of fighting alongside the other Aurors, defeating Dark wizards in fierce battles.

Harry had just single-handedly captured Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy in his dreams when he suddenly awoke. The room was dark; the only light was the glow of the nearly full moon seeping in around the edges of his curtains. For a moment Harry wondered what had awakened him but then he heard a muffled voice muttering to itself. He couldn’t make out what was being said and at first had no idea where it was coming from. After a few moments’ concentration, however, he realized that the voice was coming from the top of the bureau where Phineas’s portrait still lay face down.

Harry squinted at the clock and groaned. “Phineas, it’s one o’clock in the morning. Shut it, will you?”

The voice immediately fell silent and Harry was almost asleep again when a new sound pulled him back to wakefulness. It was the soft padding of footsteps coming from the room directly above his. This sparked Harry’s curiosity far more than Phineas’s whispers because the room above his was Snape’s office which he kept locked at all times and never allowed anyone to enter. Harry had often wondered what Snape kept under such tight security and the fact that the man was apparently pacing around the room in the dead of night only fueled his imagination.

The footsteps ceased and Harry strained to hear any hint of movement but the next sound he heard didn’t come from overhead. This time is was the familiar creak of the staircase that caught his attention. Someone was coming downstairs.

Harry got up, crossed the room as quietly as he could and eased his door open a crack. He could make out very little in the darkness, but he could distinctly hear the swish of heavy robes and the faint tread on the stairs. Then a figure, darker than the darkness, passed across the landing and continued downstairs. Harry slipped out of his room and tiptoed to the banister.

The hall below was enveloped in blackness, but as Harry squinted down, the front door opened and the light from the street poured in. For a moment Snape was clearly visible as he slipped out of the door and shut it silently behind him, then the hall was plunged into darkness once more.

Harry stood gripping the banister, an unpleasant hollow pit having opened in his stomach. It was troubling enough that Snape was obviously sneaking out of the house, but he’d also been wearing his Death Eater robes and Harry knew that could only mean that he was going to spy on Voldemort’s followers.

Dumbledore had told Harry months ago that Snape was doing something to continue gathering information on Voldemort’s organization despite Snape’s treachery having been discovered in the spring. But Harry had imagined this to be along the lines of analyzing intelligence gathered by others. It was suicidal for Snape to be spying on the Death Eaters himself.

Harry bit his lip, wondering if he should go wake Remus, but he immediately discarded that notion. Either the members of the Order of the Phoenix already knew what Snape was doing or it was a secret for a reason.

Reluctantly, Harry went back to bed but sleep was out of the question. He lay staring up into the darkness, wide awake, trying to imagine where Snape might be and trying not to wonder if he’d ever see his teacher alive again. He let down all of the mental barriers he habitually used to block his mind from Voldemort’s and was relieved to feel no pain in his scar. Voldemort wasn’t emotionally agitated so Snape probably wasn’t walking into a trap. It also meant there was nothing left to do but wait.

It was nearly three hours later when Harry at last heard the front door open and close once more and relief flooded through him. He jumped out of bed and hurried out into the hall. The moon had shifted and moonlight now shone brightly through the transom window above the landing, illuminating the stairs and the figure coming up them.

Snape froze for an instant as he spotted Harry, then he drew his traveling cloak close around him and continued up the stairs to where Harry stood.

“Potter, what are you doing up at this hour?”

“I – I had a nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep,” Harry lied, hoping that Snape couldn’t see his face well enough in the near-darkness to catch him out. “I heard a noise and was curious what it was.”

“It’s nothing that concerns you. Go back to bed.”

Harry didn’t move. The implicit question of where Snape had been hung in the air and Harry wasn’t ready to abandon it. “What are you doing up?”

“I told you it’s nothing that concerns you,” Snape said coldly. “But if you require a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion to prevent your curiosity from keeping you up, I’ll be happy to provide it.” There was an unmistakable hint of a threat in Snape’s quiet, silken drawl, but after hours of worrying and waiting, Harry was in no mood for his teacher’s intimidation.

“That won’t be necessary, Professor,” Harry said with a disingenuous smile. “I’m sure Remus can answer my questions in the morning.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed to glittering slits in the darkness, then he seized Harry’s arm painfully and propelled the young man back into his room. Snape snapped his fingers and the lamp next to Harry’s bed flared to life as he pushed the door shut and shoved Harry up against it.

“Never threaten me, Potter,” Snape hissed furiously. “I promise you will not come out the better for it.”

“Then don’t threaten me,” Harry spat back.

“Stay out of my affairs and I won’t have to. I am not accountable to you and I do not need the interference of an ignorant teenager.”

“Well, I don’t need to lie awake half the night wondering if you’ve gone to get yourself killed,” Harry retorted.

Snape frowned. “How long have you been awake?” he demanded, exasperation overtaking his anger.

“How long have you been gone?”

Snape shook his head in disgust and let go of Harry. “Well, I dare say you’ll be even less attentive than usual in your lesson tomorrow.”

“Never mind my lesson,” Harry said, rubbing his arm where Snape’s fingers had dug into it. “I’m not as ignorant as you think and I’m not stupid either. I recognize those robes you’re wearing and I have a pretty good idea of where you’ve been.”

“That’s none of your business, Potter. It is not your place to question my actions or to discuss them with anyone else. I want your word that you will not do so, not now nor at any time in the future.”

Harry felt an unpleasant prickling on the back of his neck as a dark suspicion rose in his mind. “How often are you spying on them?”

“That’s none –”

“– of my business. I know. Do you realize that you’re completely barking mad?”

Snape stared at Harry for a moment and then amazingly, disconcertingly, he laughed – a low, derisive chuckle which Harry didn’t find at all reassuring.

“No doubt there are many who would agree with you. Nevertheless, I do what is necessary. Now give me your word that you won’t discuss this with anyone.”

Harry wasn’t inclined to make such a promise, but Snape pressed him.

“If you sincerely value my life over indulging your own curiosity then give me your word.”

Put that way, Harry couldn’t refuse but he wasn’t going to give in entirely either. “Promise me that you aren’t taking any stupid risks.”

“No avoidable ones.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but knew he wouldn’t be able to get a better answer out of Snape. “All right. I promise I won’t tell anyone what you’re doing.”

Snape nodded once, apparently satisfied. “Go back to bed.” He opened the door, but paused and fixed Harry with a shrewd look.

“Potter, understand something. The risks I take are no greater than those taken by anyone else. That’s something you might keep in mind the next time Nymphadora spends half the night filling your head with a romanticized view of war.”

A moment later Snape was gone and Harry, exhausted and pensive, crawled back into bed. Sleep came easily, but Harry had no more exultant dreams of vanquishing Death Eaters. Instead he dreamt of his comrades falling in battle as he watched helplessly and a cruel, high-pitched laugh mocked him.

With a soft ‘pop’, Harry appeared next to the old suit of armor by the library door in the entrance hall. After nearly a month of practicing he had finally mastered Apparation and jumping instantly from one room to another around the house had become almost fun. It was also the only thing keeping him from sinking into depression. Harry was beginning to feel rather claustrophobic from being shut up in the house for so long and Apparating gave him a sense of freedom that was distinctly lacking in the rest of his life.

“You definitely have the hang of that now,” Remus commented, coming down the stairs. “But if you’re going to Apparate down to breakfast, why not go straight to the kitchen?”

Harry grimaced. “I did that yesterday and I startled Dobby so badly that he dropped a bowl of strawberries he was levitating to the table.”

Remus shrugged as they continued down to breakfast together. “That’s hardly tragic.”

“It wouldn’t have been if it hadn’t landed on Snape. He said if I ever did it again, he’d turn me into a newt and stuff me in a jar in his potions cupboard.”

Remus chuckled. “Well, if you ever go missing, I’ll know where to look. In any case, you obviously won’t have any trouble passing your exam.”

“Have you talked to Dumbledore, then?” Harry asked excitedly, entering the kitchen and taking his usual seat at the table for breakfast.

“Yes, I spoke with him last night and he agrees that you deserve a break. As long as we arrange adequate escorts, he’s given permission for you, Ron, Hermione and Ginny to spend the day in London when you go for your Apparition license.”

Harry let out a shout of victory and sheer joy, but was interrupted almost immediately by Snape who was seated at the far end of the kitchen table and looked up from the Daily Prophet with a scowl.

“Do you really think that wise, Lupin?” Snape’s tone plainly said that he didn’t think it wise at all.

“He needs his license to Apparate, Severus,” Remus said. “Since we’re going to be out anyway, there’s no harm in making a day of it.”

“Whether or not he needs his license is debatable, but he certainly doesn’t need to spend the whole day gallivanting around London.”

“I can’t imagine Harry has anything more pressing to do on his birthday.”

“I dare say those assigned to follow him around do.”

“I’ve been cooped up in this stupid house all summer,” Harry said indignantly. “I think I’ve earned one day out.”

“I agree,” Remus said. “And, more importantly, so does Dumbledore. I presume you’re not going to gainsay him, Severus.” Remus raised an eyebrow.

Snape snorted in disgust and went back to reading the paper.

Remus winked at Harry and Harry smiled in return, but he was still irritated with Snape. Not that the man’s attitude was a surprise: Snape had no friends and spent all of his time working, so naturally he’d begrudge anyone else a chance to get away and have some fun. Still, Harry thought it particularly churlish of the man to try to deny him his single day of freedom and he wished that just once this summer Snape would pass up an opportunity to try to make his life miserable.

Ever since coming to Grimmauld Place Snape had been in a particularly truculent mood. Harry had long since given up trying to engage Snape in conversation during their lessons and had become inured to the subtle tension between them as well as to being routinely ignored. But Snape’s sullenness was beginning to wear on Harry’s nerves. He’d never known the man to be so relentlessly dour and he had enough reasons of his own to feel dispirited without Snape’s depressing company making him feel even worse.

Harry bit into his toast and glanced down the table at his teacher. Perhaps Snape’s malaise was due to lack of sleep. Over the last two weeks Harry had come to realize that hardly a night went by that Snape didn’t slip out of the house on one of his mysterious midnight ventures. Harry had kept his word and refrained from mentioning these sorties to anyone, but they still concerned him.

Harry frowned and pushed that train of thought away. Snape had made it clear that he didn’t appreciate Harry prying into his affairs and Harry certainly had more important things to do than worry about a man who wanted nothing to do with him. He turned back to Remus.

“Have you any idea what time Ron, Hermione and Ginny will be arriving? Ginny said they were coming by Portkey today, but she didn’t say when.”

“Arthur said the Portkey was scheduled to arrive around one o’clock, I believe. They’re taking a public one from Romania to Diagon Alley,” Remus explained. “Private ones aren’t allowed to terminate there anymore because it’s become too congested. It got to a point where people were landing on top of each other so the Office of Magical Transport had to institute a ban about ten years ago.”

“Why can’t they just take a private one straight here?”

“The public one attracts less attention.”

“Potter, if you plan to see your friends today, then I suggest that you get started on your potion,” Snape said. “Even if you apply yourself more assiduously than usual I seriously doubt you’ll be done by one o’clock.” Snape fixed Harry with his most imperious glare. “And if you think you’re going to dash off with it half finished, think again.”

Harry gritted his teeth and glared back at Snape, but he knew that arguing with his teacher wouldn’t help. Instead he stood up, threw down his napkin and, with as cheeky a “Yes, sir” as he thought he could get away with, he went upstairs to brew the day’s potion determined to finish it before one o’clock if for no other reason than to prove Snape wrong.

Harry had never been better prepared for a Potions lesson in his life. Not wanting to waste a moment more in Snape’s lab than necessary since his friends were coming, Harry had stayed up late the night before reading every word of the essay describing the Clarifying Solution and memorizing the ingredients along with half of the instructions.

In the lab, Harry set off at once, working surely and efficiently. Yet, by noon it was apparent that Snape had been right. Harry skipped lunch, but one o’clock came and went and he was still nowhere near completing his potion. It was well past two when Harry, glancing at the clock, realized that his friends were very late. He paused, frowning, but he couldn’t spare the time to worry. They were probably just taking some time in Diagon Alley to shop and would be along soon. That was just as well. Another half hour and Harry reckoned he’d be finished. A soft knock at the door drew Harry’s attention.

Remus looked in and smiled. “I thought you’d want to know. Arthur just flooed to say that there’s been a bit of a delay. Ron, Ginny and Hermione won’t be here until three.”

Harry smiled, feeling relieved. That would be just about perfect. “Thanks, Remus. I’m sure I’ll be finished by then.”

Remus smiled sympathetically and closed the door as Harry turned back to his cauldron.

“Is that all you care about – being finished?”

Harry started and looked up. It was so rare for Snape to speak to him during these lessons that for a moment he could only gape at the man in surprise.

“Have you no appreciation for the wonder of what is before you or for the art of creation? Do you even know what it is that you’re brewing?”

“Of course I do,” Harry said, thoroughly taken aback by the passion in Snape’s words. “The Clarifying Solution is brewed specific to an individual by adding several drops of blood to the base solution. When the person the solution was brewed for drinks it, they receive a momentary flash of insight; an instant of clarity when the answer to their greatest need is revealed.”

“Word for word out of the text, Potter – you’d do Miss Granger proud,” Snape sneered. “But do you know what it means?”

“I – yes. I suppose.” Truthfully, Harry hadn’t given it much thought in his effort to master the practical aspects of brewing the potion.

Snape came to survey the contents of Harry’s simmering cauldron and his eyes glittered strangely as if with desire or disgust, though Harry couldn’t tell which.

“Continue,” Snape said, not taking his eyes off the potion.

Harry took a deep breath, but he wasn’t going to let Snape rattle him, not when he was this close to finishing. He added the last few ingredients to the cauldron, stirring carefully and checking the instructions to be sure he’d made no mistakes.

Snape stood perfectly still, looking on in silence. It wasn’t until the base solution was complete that he looked up to meet Harry’s eyes and his voice was low and hypnotic.

“This potion, when properly prepared, will plumb the depths of your soul, the nuances of your heart, the recesses of your mind that even you cannot reach. And it will give you insight into that which you most desperately need to understand.”

Snape pulled a leather sheath from his pocket and drew from it a gleaming silver dagger. “Three drops from the left ring finger and three from the right,” he said, proffering the dagger to Harry.

Harry took the knife, feeling his heartbeat quicken in excitement. He cut each of the fingers Snape had indicated in turn and squeezed precisely three drops of blood into the cauldron from each. The potion turned blood red then began to boil and hiss. It roiled so violently that it splashed up against the rim of the cauldron and a great cloud of steam billowed from it. Harry stepped back in alarm, but Snape stood unperturbed, watching. At last the potion settled down once more and Harry crept close to peer into the cauldron. Only a few ounces of the potion remained, most having boiled away. What was left lay perfectly calm and it was arresting. It looked like liquid diamond. Light sparkled on the surface which was as smooth as glass. Most astonishing of all, the potion seemed to have a magnifying effect. Harry could see every detail on the bottom of his cauldron with remarkable clarity.

Snape placed one end of a long silver tube into the cauldron and the other end into a crystal vial. “Siphon,” he said.

At once the potion began to flow from the cauldron up through the tube and into the vial. When the last drop had been transferred, Snape stoppered the bottle and held it out to Harry who looked at Snape in surprise.

“Take it. It’s yours. You’re the only one who can use it.”

Harry took the vial almost reverently. He had never seen anything quite so lovely. Perhaps it was only Snape’s words firing his imagination, but the potion seemed to call to something deep inside him.

“Be aware, Potter that when you use this potion you choose neither the question to be answered nor the nature of the insight to be revealed. The potion responds to that need which is buried deepest within you. As such the results can be… unexpected.”

Harry looked at Snape, who was staring at the vial, his eyes still haunted by that odd combination of longing and revulsion.

“You’ve used this.” Harry said, certain that it was true.

“Once,” Snape whispered. He looked up and Harry realized that the emotional barrier that had existed between them for weeks was gone and for a moment the familiar rapport they’d shared during Harry’s Occlumency and Legilimency lessons returned.

There were suddenly all sorts of questions Harry wanted to ask, but before he could voice even one of them, a familiar shriek broke the silence in the house.

“FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS! SWINE! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE MY HOUSE! THE RUIN OF OUR WORLD IS UPON YOUR HEADS!”

Harry glanced irritably at the door, but Snape spoke calmly. “I would hazard to guess that the Weasleys and Miss Granger are here.”

Of course Snape was right, but Harry was torn between excitement at the prospect of seeing his friends and frustration at the timing which couldn’t have been worse. He looked back at Snape, but the man seemed to have discerned his thoughts and had already pulled away emotionally. When he spoke, it was in his usual, coolly detached manner. The passion was gone.

“Go, Potter. I’m sure your friends are as anxious to see you as you are to see them.”

Harry felt a bitter twinge of disappointment, but he nodded and turned to go.

“Potter?”

Harry stopped and turned back. A glimmer of Snape’s former passion glinted in his eyes as he nodded at the vial Harry still clutched in his hand.

“Take care to use that wisely.”

Harry smiled; the first genuine smile he’d offered his teacher in a month. “I will, sir.” He shoved the vial deep into his pocket then hurried from the lab, his spirits restored.

---

“VERMIN!” Mrs. Black shouted as Harry ran down the stairs to the first floor landing and skidded to a halt to look over the banister to the entrance hall below.

“Well, at least they’re dead vermin,” George yelled pleasantly, holding up a brace of ferrets.

“And given the sort of trophies you used to keep on your walls, I don’t see why you’re complaining,” Fred added.

Mrs. Black launched into an apoplectic and quite colorful stream of invective, but Harry hardly paid attention. Standing behind the twins and regarding them as though they were even madder than previously suspected, were Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

Grinning, Harry raced downstairs. Ginny spotted him first and gave a shriek that was even louder than Mrs. Black’s.

“Harry!” She threw her arms around him, hugging him so tightly he could hardly breathe. Then Hermione was hugging him too and Ron was pounding him on the back.

They were all laughing and talking at once and Mrs. Black, who had been thoroughly upstaged, seemed to lose interest in screaming at them. Fred and George took the opportunity to pull the curtains over her portrait just as Remus joined them and another round of welcomes ensued. Hermione was in the middle of explaining that they’d been delayed by a Portkey mix-up that had landed them in Lisbon instead of London, when she was interrupted by Snape who had appeared on the first floor landing.

“Touching as this reunion is, could you possibly conduct it in one of the other 20 rooms in this house so that those of us trying to work needn’t endure it?”

“Sorry about that, Severus,” Remus replied amiably. Snape shook his head and disappeared back upstairs while Remus turned back to Harry and his friends. “You all should get settled in, anyway. Fred, George, why don’t I take those ferrets up to Buckbeak while you and Harry help take the trunks upstairs?” Remus suggested, relieving George of the hippogriff’s treat.

As Remus headed upstairs, Fred turned to Hermione and reached for her trunk. “Here, I’ll take yours.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ve got it.” Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket. With a swish and flick her trunk rose into the air and floated sedately ahead of her as she started up the stairs.

“Show off,” Fred called after her.

George nudged his brother. “Bet we’re faster, though.”

Grinning, they seized Ginny’s trunk and dashed after Hermione. “Watch out, coming through!”

Hermione gave a small shriek and broke into a run, her trunk bumping against the wall as the twins chased her up the stairs.

Ginny laughed. “It’s good to be back.” Then she hurried after her brothers.

“Come on then,” Harry said, taking hold of one end of Ron’s trunk. Ron took the other and they marched upstairs to Harry’s room and deposited the trunk at the foot of the spare bed. Ron slouched onto his bed and Harry sat down cross-legged on his own.

“So, how was it?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “It was all right.”

“No, come on, really?”

Ron’s face broke into a grin. “It was absolutely bloody brilliant! Harry, you should have been there. There’s this huge canyon in the mountains and the dragons nest up and down the sheer rock walls. Hundreds of them; every kind you can imagine. There’re spells to keep them from getting out, of course, and more to keep the Muggles away. Down in the canyon are the training pens, plus a big pasture which they keep stocked with sheep and the dragons just swoop down and snatch one up whenever they’re hungry. Have to be sure to stay clear of it during feeding time, though. I found that out the hard way.”

Ron barely paused for breath as he rattled off all of the wonders of the dragon preserve. His excitement was infectious and Harry found himself grinning as broadly as his friend.

“They’ve got a research institute and breeding programs. Hagrid would love it.”

“We’ll have to take him with us next time, then,” Harry said.

Ron’s smile faded. “I wish you could have seen it. I’m never going to forgive Dumbledore for not letting you come.”

“Don’t say that!” Hermione admonished Ron as she came into the room along with the rest of the Weasleys. “Dumbledore did what he thought was best for Harry.”

“We haven’t been to see dragons,” Fred said, pulling out the desk chair and straddling it. “But you’re not put out on our account.”

George hopped up on the desk. “At least Harry nearly got eaten by one during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

“You could go any time if you weren’t too busy with your shop,” Ron said.

“Some of us have to work for a living, you know,” Fred replied.

“You call what you do ‘work’?” Ginny asked, curling up on the bed next to Harry.

George did his best to look affronted. “It’s not all fun and games.”

Hermione sat down next to Ron and gave the twins a skeptical look. “Actually, in your case, I think it is.”

Fred wagged a finger at her. “I’ll have you know that most of our time recently has been spent on the serious side of our business.”

“You mean the things you’re making for the Order?” Harry asked with interest. He knew that the twins had been supplying the Order with some of their more useful inventions, but he’d never had the chance to talk to them about it. “What have you been working on?”

“A few things,” George said. “The one that we think has the most potential though is the Sniffer Charm.”

“The what?” Ginny asked

“The Sniffer Charm; we call it that ‘cause it works sort of like a blood hound,” Fred explained.

George continued. “A big part of what the Order’s been up to is trying to track the movements of You-Know-Who’s allies to figure out what they might be planning next.”

“But a Death Eater isn’t going to let anyone track him down,” Fred said, seamlessly picking up the narrative. “I mean you couldn’t send an owl to Lucius Malfoy and then hop on your broom and follow it. There are Confundus spells that prevent that sort of thing.”

George grinned mischievously. “So we thought, instead of tracking the wizard or witch, why not track something on their person? The idea is that you use your wand to ‘sniff’ some substance. The Sniffer spell basically records the makeup of whatever substance you choose so that it can be tracked later using a variation on a simple tracer spell.”

“What sort of substance?” Harry asked.

Fred shrugged. “Anything, really, as long as it’s unique.”

“Obviously you couldn’t Sniff something like pumpkin juice,” George said. “That’d be useless. You’d Splinch yourself into a thousand pieces if you tried to Apparate based on that.”

“Blood or a strand of hair is ideal since that’s unique to every person,” Fred said. “But if you can’t manage that, you can also create something – a solution of some sort – and sprinkle a bit of it on whoever you want to track when they’re not looking.”

“On a Death Eater?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“Well, it could be a bit tricky,” George admitted. “But it’s not impossible and once you’ve tagged your target, they’ll never know they’re being tracked.”

It was exactly the sort of wild yet simple idea that had made Weasleys’s Wizard Wheezes a resounding success in the last year. Who but Fred and George could come up with the idea of walking up to a Death Eater and sprinkling a few drops of some concoction on their shoulder when they weren’t looking?

“Anyway,” Fred said. “Dumbledore thinks it has promise. We demonstrated it to the Order a couple of days ago and most of them seemed to think it might be useful. Even Snape looked interested.”

“Well, that’s high praise,” Ron snorted.

“Actually, I think it’s a really clever idea,” Hermione said. “And it’s simple, which means that any competent wizard could learn it very quickly. I’m sure the Aurors would find a way to use it.”

“That’s what we’re hoping,” George said. “At the moment, though, it’s still secret.”

“Top secret,” Fred emphasized. “Dumbledore wants to be very careful who we tell.”

“So don’t breathe a word to anyone that we told you lot,” George finished with a grin.

“And here I was going to write to the Malfoys,” Ron said.

“Git,” Fred said good-naturedly as he stood up. “Come on George, we’d better get back to the shop.”

George heaved a dramatic sigh. “Ah, the burden of success; never a moment’s rest.” Then he grinned and winked at them. “See you later.”

Once Fred and George were gone, Harry turned to the others. “So, want to see the ‘Gryffindor Common Room’?”

---

The old drawing room earned its nickname that afternoon. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione spent the rest of the day playing rounds of Exploding Snap and chess while snacking on biscuits and pumpkin juice that Dobby brought up. Remus and Tonks even stopped in for a while before heading out to dinner in London, the mention of which caused Hermione and Ginny to exchange knowing smiles.

Dobby appeared and offered to bring their dinner up to them, since apart from Snape they were the only ones in the house. Harry and his friends readily agreed and soon a table laden with more food than they could possibly eat materialized. After they had eaten their fill Hermione asked Ron to help her organize her school notes. Ron seemed momentarily torn between wanting to accompany Hermione to her room and not wanting to leave Harry and Ginny alone, but his indecisiveness was short lived.

As soon as he and Hermione were gone, Ginny threw her arms around Harry and kissed him. He pulled her close, drinking in her scent. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to hold her this way and they spent the rest of the evening making up for their month apart.

---

Harry was in high spirits the next morning when he went down to breakfast with his friends. Snape was already in his customary place: reading the paper and steadfastly ignoring the other members of the household. Remus and Tonks were at the table as well. Hermione and Ginny exchange a meaningful glance at the sight of the two sitting together, then looked at Harry. Unfortunately, Harry had no idea how to respond. The language of smiles and raised eyebrows the girls used was entirely beyond him. Luckily, Ron came to his rescue.

“Blimey, Harry, have you been eating like this all summer?” Ron asked, staring at the bowls and platters on the table in awe.

Ron had obviously missed the exchange between the girls and Harry gratefully turned his attention to the food before them, too. Like the previous evening, Dobby had outdone himself with this meal. The long table was full of every sort of food and the house-elf was humming as he sent glasses of fresh pumpkin juice floating over to each of them. In fact, Dobby seemed nearly as happy as Harry to have Ron, Hermione and Ginny staying at the house and beamed at Ron’s compliment.

“Dobby is pleased to serve Harry Potter’s friends. If there is anything else you would like, don’t hesitate to ask Dobby, sir.”

Hermione frowned slightly at this, but Ginny smiled and Ron looked positively delighted. Clearly the food hadn’t been the highlight of the trip to Romania.

Harry was about to tuck into his breakfast when Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared. Aside from Tonks, the Order members not living at the house rarely came to breakfast and even Snape looked up in surprise at the Auror’s arrival.

Shacklebolt looked tired and grim. He didn’t take a seat, but addressed them all from the doorway. “Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from Azkaban last night.”

There was a moment’s shocked silence, then Tonks spoke.

“That’s not possible. The new security is supposed to be foolproof.”

“I set up the security so you don’t need to tell me that,” Shacklebolt retorted.

“What happened?” Remus asked.

The Auror shook his head. “That’s just it. No one knows. She was asleep in her cell as usual and an hour later she was gone. She simply vanished.”

Everyone exchanged concerned glances at this news, but Harry had more reason than most to feel angry. Of all of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange was the last one he wanted running free. He had a personal grudge against the woman and the thought of her having escaped Azkaban a second time rankled.

“Dumbledore will be in touch later this morning,” Shacklebolt continued. “I’m heading back out to the prison now to help with the investigation. Tonks, we’re going to need you.”

Tonks was already on her feet. She gave Remus’s hand a brief squeeze and then the two Aurors were gone. Surprisingly, it was Snape who broke the silence.

“Lupin, under the circumstances, I would suggest postponing Potter’s plans for this week.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed before Remus could respond.

Snape ignored Harry and continued to address Remus. “Until we know how and why Bellatrix escaped, Potter should remain safely at headquarters. Taking him for his exam now would be ill-advised and the risk is both unnecessary and unacceptable.”

“Severus –”

“Will you stop talking about me as if I weren’t here?” Harry snapped at Snape. “I’m going to be of age in a few days and as an adult, I think I can decide for myself what risks are acceptable.”

Snape scowled impatiently at Harry. “There is a difference between being of age and being an adult.”

Harry’s jaw clenched and his voice rose in anger. “So you don’t think I’ve been through enough in my life to have earned the right to be considered an adult?”

Remus held up a hand. “Harry, please –”

“You certainly aren’t behaving like one now.”

Harry slammed his hand on the table. “If you think you can keep me here against my will, you’re wrong. I promise you that.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Remus’s shout finally drew Snape and Harry’s attention as he glared sternly from one to the other. He tossed down his napkin and stood up. “Severus, if you want to discuss this then come upstairs. Harry, wait here!”

Harry, who had stood up as well, glowered defiantly, but Remus didn’t give him the chance to protest. “I need to talk to Severus alone.”

Remus left the kitchen and with a final dark look at Harry, Snape followed him.

Harry stood with his hands balled into fists, furious that the two men were going off to decide his fate without even including him in the conversation.

“Harry, don’t worry,” Ginny said. “You’ve been looking forward to getting out all summer. Remus won’t disappoint you. I’m sure he can handle Snape.”

“Snape’s only concerned, Harry,” Hermione said. “It is rather ominous that Bellatrix Lestrange would escape from Azkaban just now.”

Harry rounded on Hermione. “You’re taking Snape’s side?”

“No! I’m just saying I understand –”

“Well, good for you, but you haven’t been trapped in this house for the last month. I don’t care if Snape’s concerned or just trying to make my life miserable on principle. I’m not giving up going into London.”

Harry shoved his chair back and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Ron asked. “Remus said to wait here.”

“I’m not really inclined to listen to Remus just now.”

“You’re not going up there?” Hermione sounded scandalized.

“Yeah, I am. I’m tired of everyone else running my life. I want to make my own decisions for a change. I’m not going to let them decide this for me.”

Harry strode out of the kitchen before his friends could protest further. In the entrance hall he could hear the sound of a heated argument being carried on in hushed voices coming from the library. He approached quietly until he could hear what was being said.

“Severus, he’s a teenager.”

“Thank you, Lupin, for that staggeringly obvious observation,” Snape’s voice sneered. “It doesn’t change the fact that you are allowing the boy’s whims to take precedence over his safety.”

“This is important to him. Can’t you understand that? And it isn’t as though he’ll be alone. Tonks, Moody and I will be with him.”

“Two Aurors and a werewolf, however well intentioned, cannot guarantee his safety from Death Eaters.”

“Severus, you’re beginning to sound as paranoid as Moody. Death Eaters are not going to track us down in the middle of London!”

“Would you care to bet his life on that? It was that same arrogant overconfidence in his father and godfather that has left him alone in the world.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it? It hasn’t even been two months since the last time he nearly got himself killed – I’ve lost track of how many times he’s nearly managed it in total. How many more opportunities do you suppose it will take before he finally succeeds?”

“We’re only talking about a few hours.”

“That’s all it takes! Really Lupin, do you pay no attention to my reports? The Dark Lord’s numbers grow daily. He has impressive resources to bring to bear in service of his desires and he desires Potter above all else.”

“So what do you propose? That we keep Harry locked up here all summer, a virtual prisoner?”

“You make it sound like a life sentence. We’re talking about two months.”

“And we’re talking about Harry. When has he ever been content to stay put and do as he was told?”

“It’s high time he learnt. You don’t give in to a child simply because he throws a tantrum.”

“Harry isn’t a child anymore. He’s practically seventeen and he deserves to have a say in his own life.”

“We were seventeen once, too and I have no particular faith in the decision-making ability of anyone that age.”

Remus sighed wearily. “Well, I can’t say I disagree with you there. But you can’t simply dictate to him, Severus. Has it occurred to you that if you showed him a little respect and explained your reasoning, he might actually listen?”

“I am not in the habit of explaining myself to my students.”

“Harry isn’t just a student. Not to me and certainly not to you.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Don’t you? I know perfectly well that you aren’t here because of a sudden, desperate concern for Harry’s Potions marks and there are certainly other places where you could have spent the summer.”

“You’re right,” Snape conceded smoothly. “I’m here to keep Potter out of trouble – something you obviously aren’t committed to doing.”

“Then maybe you ought to consider talking to him once in a while. I know that I am far from the mentor that Harry deserves, but at least I try. Do you even notice the way he looks at you: the disappointment and frustration that flash across his face every time you dismiss him out of hand?”

“I don’t care what Potter thinks of me,” Snape replied, spitting the words vehemently. “I’m here to see to his welfare and if he hates me for that, so be it. Unlike you, I care more about keeping him alive than being liked.”

There was a long silence, but at last Remus spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m frightened for him too, Severus.”

Snape made no answer to this, but Remus continued. “I look at Harry and I wonder if he’ll even live as long as his parents did.”

“Then why do you insist on indulging him?” The frustration in Snape’s voice was unmistakable.

“Because your way doesn’t work,” Remus said, matching the other man’s frustration. “I’m not a fool, Severus, much as you might like to believe otherwise. I know the risks, but I’ve buried enough friends who were supposedly beyond danger to know that hiding isn’t the answer. It won’t work. You heard him. Deny him this and all you’ll accomplish is to make him so angry and desperate that he’ll do something rash. At least this way we have some control.”

Snape sighed. “You’re determined in this foolhardy course of action?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“I rather thought you might.” Remus’s voice held an unmistakable trace of amusement. Snape only snorted in return, then Harry heard footsteps heading towards him and he Disapparated.

Harry appeared in his room and sat down on his bed. His anger was gone and he had to admit that Hermione had been right. Snape was worried about him, far more so than Harry would have guessed. Worse, Remus was worried about him, too. Given the level of security he’d been under since arriving at Grimmauld Place, Harry supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was still disconcerting to hear the frustration and even fear in Snape and Remus’s voices.

A knock at the door pulled Harry away from his thoughts. “There you are,” Remus said, poking his head in the room. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve managed to mollify Severus. He’s going to come along to chaperone on Thursday but I’m sure Tonks and I can keep him from getting in your way.”

Remus smiled easily showing none of the concern he’d voiced to Snape only a few minutes earlier, then he frowned slightly. “Are you all right, Harry?”

“I’m fine. That’s great news,” Harry said, trying to muster some of the emotion he’d felt in the kitchen. Going for his Apparation license seemed far less important now than it had at breakfast.

---

Harry said nothing to his friends about the conversation he’d overheard and the next few days were wonderful. Even Snape was more pleasant than usual, or maybe it only seemed that way because Harry found it hard to be irritated with the man when he knew how genuinely concerned about his welfare Snape was, even if he never managed to show it. Harry couldn’t broach the subject with him, of course, and resignedly added it to the list of things he couldn’t discuss with his teacher.

The night before his birthday, Harry went to bed feeling happier than he could remember having ever felt on this day. His friends were with him and they were going to have a brilliant day in London. It was going to be his best birthday ever.

Harry went to sleep, but he didn’t dream of fighting Death Eaters as he typically did. Instead he dreamt of Hogwarts and the good times he’d had there: of Quidditch, sunny afternoons down by the lake and nights by the fire in the common room. All of his friends were there in his dream and Dobby even appeared to say how grateful he was to be free, then laughed a very high-pitched laugh.

Harry came groggily awake in the darkness, the house-elf’s laughter still ringing in his ears, half-expecting to see Dobby standing next to him. But Ron’s soft snores reminded him that he had only been dreaming. Harry sighed contentedly, then rolled over and was soon fast asleep once more.

Moody pushed open the rickety wooden gate and stumped up the moonlit path to the small, run-down house, his magic eye swiveling to take in the overgrown yard and peeling paint. It was very late, but when he’d heard the call come in about trouble at this remote cottage, he couldn’t pass up the chance to see it himself. Two young Aurors who were barely out of training were waiting for him, just outside the front door.

“Blakely, Danforth, what do we have?”

“Two this time,” Blakely answered. “Looks like they killed each other. Must have had quite a falling out. It’s a bloody mess in there and I do mean bloody.”

Moody scowled and stepped through the door. Blakely hadn’t been exaggerating; the living room was in shambles and there was blood splattered all over the broken furniture and high up the walls. Two large objects, covered with sheets, lay on the floor. Moody approached the closest one and pulled back the covering. The dead man was hardly recognizable. That he could have lived long enough to kill his companion when he had so many injuries himself must have taken fanatical – or perhaps mindless – determination.

Moody replaced the sheet and went to examine the other body which was at least as battered as the first. Then he turned to the Aurors who were waiting patiently by the door.

“Any theories?”

“Neither man lived here, so we’re guessing that they were rendezvousing for some reason. They were both Death Eaters, so they were probably up to no good which is why they picked such an isolated spot to meet. The nearest neighbor is half a mile away. Some time after they arrived, they had a row and this was the result.”

“Who found them?”

“A Muggle driving home from a night out with his mates heard a commotion and saw flashes from the spells. He called the Muggle police. Of course, we’ve been monitoring their dispatches since the Death Eaters became active again and fortunately got here first. A couple of Confundus spells took care of the policemen who responded.”

“You’re sure there wasn’t anyone else involved?”

Blakely and Danforth exchanged an uncertain glance. “There’s no indication of that,” Danforth said. “No one else was seen.”

“There weren’t really any witnesses around to see anyone though, were there?” Moody said and the other Aurors shifted uneasily.

“Well, no,” Blakely agreed. “But we checked their wands and the spells all fit a sudden, angry fight. The one fellow, Reeves, died of suffocation after his larynx was crushed by a particularly nasty curse from the other bloke, Crandall who died shortly afterward of internal bleeding. One too many Reducto curses, by the looks of it.”

Moody’s scowl deepened, his mouth set in a grim, angry line. He bent down and yanked the sheet off the nearest corpse. “Do you know what it takes for a man to keep fighting in this condition?” he asked the two young men before him who had paled slightly. “He has to either be so deranged – likely from a potion – that he literally doesn’t feel the effects of the spells hitting him, or he has to be under the Imperius Curse.” He handed the bloody sheet to Blakely. “I’ll leave it to you two to decide which you think it was.”

Moody left the house and the astonished Aurors and limped slowly back towards the gate. This made five Death Eaters dead under mysterious circumstances in as many weeks and Moody wondered how much longer his superiors at the Ministry were going to turn a blind eye to the fact that murder was being committed.

It wasn’t obvious, of course. The culprit was very clever and careful not to incriminate himself in any way. Still, the circumstantial evidence was clear enough and if they would just put some effort into catching this maniac Moody was certain they’d get a break eventually. The real trouble was that no one wanted to be bothered; not when it was Death Eaters being served a taste of their own medicine.

Moody understood this; he wasn’t naïve. But he also knew that if justice didn’t apply to everyone, it served no one. Even a murderer had a right not to be murdered.

He reached the gate and glanced back at the house, his face etched with disgust and grim determination. If no one else cared, then he’d just have to catch the killer himself. With a final grunt, Moody pushed the gate open and was gone.

---

“Would Harry Potter like some more strawberries with clotted cream?” Dobby inquired hopefully.

“Dobby, if I eat another bite I’m going to be sick,” Harry said. “It was brilliant though!” he added hastily as Dobby’s ears began to droop dispiritedly. “Really, you outdid yourself.”

It was true: the breakfast table was laden with more food than Harry could ever hope to eat. Even Ron had barely managed to make a dent in the feast. Dobby smiled happily and turned away to fetch more tea as Harry shoved his plate away and sighed contentedly. As he did so, Remus cleared his throat and pushed a small package across the table to Harry. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Remus you’re already taking us into London today. You didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry said, smiling in gratitude.

“It’s something practical that I thought might come in handy.”

Harry ripped open the wrapping and a small, smooth stone with a dark metallic sheen fell into his hand. He held it up, watching the light dance on its surface. “It’s lovely. What is it?”

“It’s a Curse Detector. It vibrates whenever a cursed object is nearby.”

“Dad’s got one of those,” Ron said, swallowing a mouthful of potatoes. “He says it comes in handy when investigating the misuse of Muggle artifacts. Most of the stuff he sees is just hexed or jinxed, but every once in a while he comes across something with a serious curse on it and that always warns him.”

“All of the Aurors carry them as well,” Remus said. “Since you plan to be an Auror, Harry, I thought you might appreciate it.”

“Thanks, Remus. I do.” Harry examined the stone eagerly, excited to have anything that might help him in his future as an Auror. Before breakfast Ginny had given him Dark Wizard Hunters: A History of the Auror Service. The book was nearly a thousand pages long, but Harry could hardly wait to read it and was secretly delighted that it was Ginny who had been astute enough to buy it for him.

He hadn’t said so, of course, but he much preferred Ginny’s gift to Hermione’s – a magnificent volume on the Romanian dragon preserve with breathtaking photos of the dragons clinging to sheer rock cliffs and soaring over a misty valley. He even liked it better than the dragon’s tooth Ron had given him which he was wearing on a chain around his neck.

Harry shoved the Curse Detector into his pocket as Hedwig came soaring through the window. She was carrying a bulky parcel which she set on the kitchen table in front of Harry then she fluttered onto the back of Harry’s chair and nipped him affectionately on the ear.

“Hi, girl.” Harry stroked his owl and handed her a bit of his black pudding, then pulled the package towards him.

“Who’s that from?” Hermione asked.

“It’s from my aunt and uncle,” Harry said in surprise, reading the sender’s address on the plain brown wrapping. “But the most they’ve ever sent me in the past was a toothpick and a dirty sock.”

“Maybe it’s a load of dirty socks,” Ron offered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was,” Harry replied.

“Well, go on, open it,” Ginny urged as Harry continued to stare at the package. “We can all have a good laugh at whatever it is.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Harry tore the paper from the parcel to reveal an old and battered cardboard box with a half-sheet of paper taped to it.

We agreed to hold this as long as you were staying with us. Now that you are seventeen, we are thankfully quit of you and it. We didn’t want to throw it out since we thought it might have some funny stuff in it and wouldn’t be safe.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley

PS: Never contact us again. We told Marge and the neighbors that you died.

Harry stared at the note, feeling his face redden. It wasn’t that he expected better from his aunt and uncle, but it was still embarrassing to be so crassly dismissed by his only living relatives. However, his discomfort was overshadowed by curiosity. Why had someone asked them to hold this box for sixteen years and what sort of ‘funny’ stuff might be inside? The Dursleys had to mean something magical. Harry felt a rush of excitement as he pulled the top off of the box, but it immediately gave way to mild disappointment.

There were no dirty socks in the box or any of the other awful things Harry had imagined, but there appeared to be nothing magical in it either. Instead it seemed to contain an ordinary collection of keepsakes. There were a dozen neatly bound stacks of letters, a few papers that looked like certificates, scattered trinkets and several loose photos.

Harry picked up the photos which were ordinary Muggle ones. The first showed a man and woman Harry didn’t recognize holding two little girls, the older of whom was blond and must have been about five, while the younger, with wispy red curls couldn’t have been more than two. The next photo showed what Harry assumed were the same girls, dressed in school uniforms and standing in front of a modest home. This was followed by a photo of the whole family once more. The parents were noticeably older than they had been in the first photo and their older daughter now looked to be about fourteen.

With a start, Harry realized that he recognized her. It was his Aunt Petunia. The thin-lipped, disapproving scowl on her face was unmistakable. That meant the other girl had to be his mum, Lily. Harry stared at the little girl with long, red hair, beaming up at him. She looked as happy as her sister looked cross.

His grandparents, for this were whom they had to be, looked happy as well, but also rather nervous, Harry thought. They were standing in a train station; Harry could see a train in the background and the sign overhead which read ‘Platform 10’. Harry blinked and felt his heart leap as he realized where this picture had been taken. They were at Kings Cross Station and Harry would have bet a thousand galleons that the barrier behind them was the entrance to platform 9 3/4.

Harry looked up at his companions who were all watching him expectantly. “This is my mum’s stuff. It must have been sent to my aunt after – after she died.” Harry passed the photos to Remus.

“My goodness,” Remus said softly. “I’d forgotten that your mother was ever that young.”

“All right. Our people are on standby in case we run into any trouble,” Moody announced curtly, stumping into the room with a scowl. “Lupin, you ready? We need to put anti-tracking charms on everyone before we go.”

“Yes, I think we’re done.” Remus handed the photos back to Harry who tossed them into the old box and shoved the lid back on as everyone else hurriedly polished off the last of their breakfasts. Then with a scrape of chairs they all trooped up to the entrance hall.

Harry deposited his mother’s box safely on the shelf of the coat closet, then rejoined his friends, each of whom was having an anti-tracking charm applied by one of the adults. Tonks approached Harry and murmured the spell, then winked at him. “Dumbledore himself couldn’t track you down now.”

Harry smiled and surveyed the group with a critical eye. This was going to be an unusual excursion because they were planning to spend most of the day in Muggle London, and as such, everyone was dressed in Muggle clothing. Tonks wore faded jeans, trainers and a bright orange sweatshirt that clashed with her hair. Harry decided she’d fit in just fine. Remus was unremarkably attired in jeans, a tan long-sleeved shirt and a dark blue jumper. No one would look twice at him.

Moody was another matter. He wore a long trench coat and his bowler hat, but while technically dressed as a Muggle, Harry knew he would hardly fit in on the streets of London and fervently hoped that the old Auror would spend most of his time lurking on the fringes of their party.

That only left Snape, who had yet to arrive and he worried Harry even more than Moody did. Snape had an imposing presence that drew attention and Harry was certain that he would stick out like a sore thumb among the Muggles. Harry frowned and glanced impatiently up the stairs. He realized that he hadn’t seen Snape all morning. The man hadn’t been at breakfast, no doubt to avoid having to acknowledge Harry’s birthday and Harry wondered if Snape might have lost track of time. He turned back towards the others and was about to inquire if someone ought to go and get the Potions Master when Snape’s familiar, testy drawl stopped him.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” Snape sounded even more ill-tempered than usual as he came downstairs and he wore an expression that was every bit as sour as the tone of his voice. Harry hardly noticed this, however, as he gaped at the man. Snape, like the rest of them, was dressed in Muggle clothing: a thin black turtleneck, black trousers and boots and a dark gray jacket. His hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck making his sharp features appear especially harsh. But what astonished Harry was that Snape looked – normal.

For a man whom Harry couldn’t have imagined masquerading as a Muggle, he pulled it off more convincingly than most of the adult wizards Harry had ever met. It wasn’t his clothes, but his bearing. Harry had found that most wizards, even when dressed impeccably as Muggles, had a slightly stiff, self-conscious air about them, rather like a man wearing a tuxedo for the first time and wondering if he’s got it on right. Snape, by contrast, moved as though he dressed in Muggle clothing every day. He stood with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, looking impatient and put out, yet completely at ease with himself.

“Is something wrong, Potter?” Snape asked.

Harry started, realizing too late that he’d been staring at Snape, quite rudely. He flushed slightly. “No sir, of course not.”

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

“Hold your horses, Snape,” Moody growled. “I want to be sure none of us is traceable.” The old Auror approached each of them in turn, muttered a spell then moved on.

“I think I know how to cast an anti-tracking charm,” Snape said through clenched teeth when Moody got to him.

“I’m sure you do, but I’m going to check anyway.”

Snape looked ready to protest, but bit back whatever he had intended to say having obviously realized that it would take less time to let Moody have his way than to argue the point.

Once Moody was satisfied that none of them could be traced by Death Eaters he addressed them all.

“While we’re in London there’s to be no use of magic. We don’t want to give ourselves away.”

“We’re not going to do magic in front of the Muggles, Moody,” Tonks said in exasperation.

“It isn’t the Muggles I’m worried about. Isolated use of magic among Muggles can be easily traced by anyone caring to look and that means You-Know-Who.”

Moody fixed Harry with a fierce scowl. “And when we’re in Diagon Alley you want to be as inconspicuous as possible. No window-shopping or chatting up friends on the street, Potter.”

“Right.” Harry nodded, trying to appear grave and not to fidget.

“Above all, remember; if we’re ambushed, Apparate back here immediately,” Moody said, poking Harry in the chest for emphasis. “You understand that, Potter? Don’t wait for anyone!”

“At this rate it’s going to be a moot point because he’s never going to leave the house,” Snape sneered, obviously out of patience. “Besides, you’re wasting your breath. Potter isn’t one to take advice. He’s far too sure of himself.”

Both Harry and Moody glared at Snape but Remus stepped in before an argument could ensue.

“I think we’ve all been briefed enough. If we want to get out of Diagon Alley before the lunch crowds gather, we’d better go.”

He ushered Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny out the front door with Tonks close behind. Snape and Moody exchanged a final hostile look then followed.

It was a beautiful day and Harry’s spirits instantly rose at being outside after having been confined for so long in the old Black residence. He ignored the prickling on the back of his neck and resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder, though he could practically feel both Snape and Moody watching him.

They walked to the nearest Tube station and boarded the train that would take them to the Leaky Cauldron. Per Moody’s whispered directions they sat apart in order to be less noticeable. As the train pulled out of the station Harry and his friends found seats in the middle of the car. Remus and Tonks sat a few feet away, holding hands and talking quietly. They ignored the rest of their party, but Harry caught their eyes discreetly watching the crowd for any sign of danger.

Moody was slouched in a seat at the front of the car with his bowler pulled down over his eyes and looking for all the world like one of London’s seediest denizens. The rocking of the train seemed to have lulled him to sleep but Harry knew that was only a ruse. Moody was undoubtedly wide awake, his magic eye alertly scanning for any threats. Snape was at the back of the car. He had bought a copy of The Times before boarding the train and was now buried in the paper, one more bored commuter, oblivious to his surroundings. But every time the train stopped, he glanced up to check the station, managing to rake all of the incoming passengers with his gaze at the same time.

Admirable as the adults’ subtlety was, however, Harry reckoned it was probably pointless given that Ron and Ginny were with them. The Weasleys were staring in wide-eyed wonder at their surroundings and kept making entirely inappropriate comments which were beginning to draw the attention of their fellow passengers.

“So this all runs on eklectricity?” Ron asked, earning an incredulous look from the woman seated to his right.

On his other side Hermione elbowed him and whispered urgently. “Yes, Ron, now be quiet, won’t you?”

Ron looked hurt, but before he could say any more, Ginny cleared her throat and changed the subject.

“The Cannons look as if they might have another good year. They’ve got a new Seeker this season.”

“Timmons!” Ron said enthusiastically. “He’s brilliant! Fast, agile. He’s got a 53 catch rate. Not the best in the league, but a lot better than any of their previous Seekers.”

“Well, but if the rest of the team doesn’t play well, won’t that affect how well the Seeker does?”

“Are you saying the Cannons don’t play well?” Ron looked sincerely affronted.

“No, of course not!”

Harry jumped in to help cover Hermione’s faux pas. “Seekers are pretty independent of the rest of the team.”

“Bill saw Timmons fly in the Welsh Amateurs last year and says he can do things with a broom, you wouldn’t imagine.”

Hermione’s elbow slammed into Ron’s ribs once more, but it was too late. Several people were staring at them now and the poor woman sitting next to Ron was eyeing him as though she suspected they were discussing something illicit in some sort of code. Ron smiled wanly at her, but this didn’t help. She gave him a final disapproving scowl that reminded Harry vaguely of Professor McGonagall, then looked away.

Harry and his friends lapsed into mortified silence as the train stopped and more passengers hurried in and out of the car. As the train started moving once more Harry looked around, casting about for something mundane they could discuss. However, his attention was drawn to a young man who had just taken a seat opposite Snape and who was leaning over to address the wizard.

“Got the football scores?” the fellow asked, jerking his head at the paper in Snape’s lap.

Harry tensed. All they needed was for Snape to make some scathing remark to the fellow for daring to speak to him. But to Harry’s relief Snape simply glanced up then deftly pulled the sports page from the paper and passed it to the man before returning to his own reading. Harry relaxed and turned back to Ron who had apparently grown bored and was asking Hermione a little too loudly how Muggles could have dug such long underground tunnels without using magic.

“I’ll get you a book on it,” Hermione said distractedly, not looking at Ron. Harry followed her gaze to see what had captured her attention and realized that she was looking at Snape.

Harry leaned towards her. “What’s wrong?”

Before Hermione could answer, Remus and Tonks stood up. The train was pulling into another station and it was clear that it was time to get off.

The train came to a halt and Harry and Hermione pulled Ginny and Ron out of the car, navigating their way through the crowded station to emerge onto the busy street above.

Remus and Tonks appeared a moment later and beckoned them down the street without waiting for Snape or Moody. They weren’t far from the Leaky Cauldron and it didn’t take long for them to arrive at the pub. Remus and Tonks quickly ushered them through into Diagon Alley.

Moody was waiting for them. “All’s clear. I’ll go on ahead and keep a lookout.” With that the old Auror hurried away up the street.

The rest of them set off at a slightly slower pace which was still too quick for Harry. He slowed to glance in the shop windows, but Remus laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Remember, we’re just here for your Apparating exams, nothing else.”

Harry frowned. It was the same admonishment Moody had given them back at the house. Harry had thought little of Moody’s words at the time; the old Auror was notoriously overcautious. But hearing the warning repeated by Remus was something else.

“What about Fred and George?” Harry asked. “Can’t we at least stop by their shop?”

Remus smiled apologetically. “Not today, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

Remus hesitated and Tonks spoke up. “Remus, just tell him straight out, will you? He’s got a right to know.”

“A right to know what?” Harry demanded, coming to a halt in the street and glaring at Remus.

Remus sighed. “The Ministry is being particularly cautious just now. That’s all.”

“The Ministry? What’s the Ministry got to do with whether or not we stop to see Fred and George?” Ginny asked.

“The Ministry doesn’t want another attack like the one at Hogsmeade,” Tonks confided.

Harry looked from Tonks to Remus, digesting the words and feeling anger welling up inside of him. “Are you telling me that the reason I haven’t been allowed to go out all summer is because the Ministry is afraid of another Death Eater attack?”

“Essentially, yes,” Remus said. “Hogsmeade could have been a disaster and the Minister for Magic asked Dumbledore to ensure that you didn’t present another tempting target any time soon – at least not anywhere heavily populated by wizards. That’s why we can’t linger here.”

“But the Ministry can’t just dictate where Harry goes,” Hermione interjected indignantly. “That can’t be legal!”

“We’re at war, Hermione,” Tonks said ruefully. “The Ministry can do whatever they bloody well feel like.”

“If it’s any consolation, Harry, you’re not the only one who’s making them nervous,” Remus said. “Why do you suppose Severus isn’t with us?”

Remus started up the street once more and the others followed. Harry walked in silence feeling the weight of Remus’s words. If the Ministry could control where he went what was going to happen if Voldemort continued to gain power? Was he going to be ostracized from wizarding society? Would the Ministry eventually have him locked away for the protection of all? Harry found himself scanning the faces of the people they passed, fearful that someone might recognize him raise an alarm. It’s Harry Potter! Run for your lives!

At that moment his gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Ginny who took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She flashed him a mischievous smile. “I guess you’ll just have to take your dad’s invisibility cloak wherever you go from now on, or maybe some Polyjuice Potion.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Great.”

“Or we could just go somewhere quiet and out of the way,” Ginny whispered, squeezing his hand tightly once more and giving him a meaningful look.

“That could work,” Harry whispered back, feeling his spirits rise. After all, did he really need to spend his time at Weasley Wizard Wheezes or Quality Quidditch Supplies when he could be with Ginny instead? There was a whole world beyond Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Harry kissed Ginny on the cheek and smiled. “Thanks.”

The Office of Apparition Regulation, Examination and Licensing was just off the main street past Gringotts. Harry and his companions stepped through the door into a cramped, unremarkable room with several worn chairs standing against the walls and a counter opposite the door. A young woman was standing behind the counter and spoke to them in the politely automatic manner of one who repeats the same phrases day in and day out for a living.

“Here for your Apparition exams?”

“Three of us are,” Hermione said, stepping forward and indicating Harry and Ron.

“Very good. Right through there, please.” The young woman smiled blandly, pointing to a door next to the counter.

Harry, Ron and Hermione said goodbye to the others then opened the door and entered a room that was much larger than the one they’d just left. It was so vast, in fact, that Harry was sure magic had been used to make it far bigger than the dimensions of the building in which it was located.

There was another counter here and the clerk had laid three forms on it along with three quills. She snapped photos of each of them in quick succession, then pointed at the forms. “If you’ll just fill these out?”

Harry picked up his form.

I, the undersigned, agree to legally absolve the Office of Apparition Regulation, Examination and Licensing of any liability for any and all of the following consequences as the result of Splinching should any or all occur during the examination process:

Dismemberment

Permanent loss of body parts

Accidental incorporation of foreign objects into one’s person

Death

Harry swallowed but signed his name on the line provided. He ignored the line asking for his next of kin and handed the form back to the girl whose eyes widened as she read Harry’s name on the application.

She glanced reflexively at Harry’s forehead, then blushed and smiled shyly. “Mr. Peregrine will be right with you to administer your exam, Mr. Potter.”

“Thanks.” Harry smiled politely as the girl turned away.

Harry turned back to survey the room and nudged Ron. “You two ready?”

“Of course,” Hermione said with perfect confidence.

Ron nodded emphatically. “Charlie taught me, and compared with dodging those dragons in Romania this should be a piece of cake.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They all jumped as a short, plump man appeared in front of them, literally out of thin air.

“Good morning. I’m Mr. Peregrine.” He shook hands with each of the startled teenagers in turn and had barely released Ron’s hand when he vanished only to appear directly behind them. Harry, Ron and Hermione started once more and whirled to face him.

“Potter, Weasley and Granger,” the little man said, picking up their applications from the counter and perusing them. “Mr. Potter, you have no living relatives?”

“Er, no sir.”

“Anyone you’d like to have notified in case of a serious accident?”

“My friends are out in the waiting room.”

The man made a note on Harry’s application and vanished once more.

Ron shook his head. “He’s an odd duck. Ahhh!” Ron leaped aside as Peregrine appeared at his elbow. “Will you stop doing that?”

Peregrine appeared unperturbed by Ron’s reaction. “Apparition is the most efficient form of travel, Mr. Weasley. Every witch and wizard should be required to master it. I haven’t walked anywhere in years.” Looking at the man’s physique, Harry could well believe that was true.

“Potter, we’ll start the examination with you. Follow me.”

In what was now becoming predictable behavior, Peregrine vanished once more. Harry looked around for him.

“Over here, Mr. Potter,” Peregrine called from the other side of the room. Harry turned and started towards him.

“No, no, no!” Peregrine scolded, waving him back. “What are you doing? You must Apparate.”

Harry took a deep breath, spun around and was suddenly standing next to Peregrine. He grinned at his success, but the man didn’t seem impressed.

“Again!” Peregrine said, “Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, you too. We might as well get you all done at once. Follow Potter.” He vanished once more, only to appear on the opposite side of the room once more and so began the strangest game of follow the leader Harry had ever seen.

Peregrine Apparated around the room, barely standing still long enough for Harry to catch up to him, let alone Ron and Hermione who were following Harry. Peregrine kept up a constant patter of encouragement and criticism. “That’s it… Faster now, it ought to be second nature… Very good… Not too close. You don’t want to Splinch yourselves by landing in the same spot.”

By the time Peregrine finally stopped, Harry was so dizzy he had to lean against the wall for support. He also felt thoroughly sick. Ron and Hermione looked just as bad as he felt, but at least Peregrine was smiling.

“Well done, all of you. Congratulations! You’ve passed your Apparition exams. If you’ll see Miss Finkel at the counter she’ll give you your licenses.”

Peregrine vanished a final time as Harry stood up and staggered towards the counter with Ron and Hermione. The girl, Miss Finkel, smiled at them in sympathy and handed each of them a card with their picture on it stating that they were now licensed to Apparate. Harry shoved his card into the pocket of his jeans, then he Ron and Hermione went to rejoin Remus, Tonks and Ginny in the waiting room.

“Did it go all right?” Ginny asked brightly.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But I think I need to take a walk.”

---

As they left the Office of Apparition Regulation, Examination and Licensing Harry spotted Moody hovering in an alley across the street. He gave them the barest nod before hurrying away as he’d done before. Harry exchanged a wry smile with his friends and they set off back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

The short walk did wonders for Harry. By the time they arrived at the pub his head had stopped spinning and he no longer felt sick. Snape was seated in a corner presumably keeping a lookout, but he didn’t even acknowledge them as they passed through.

“Where to, Harry?” Remus asked as they emerged onto the street.

Harry hesitated, at a loss. He didn’t know London well at all and had no clear idea of where he might want to go.

“No worries, Harry. I know a few good spots,” Tonks offered with a grin. “Come on.”

Tonks led the way down the street and Harry relaxed as they headed away from the Leaky Cauldron. The exuberance he had felt when he first left Grimmauld Place returned. There were no Muggles here to listen to their conversation and no wizards who might look askance at him as though his very presence would call down a Death Eater attack. Here in the streets of London, he didn’t have to look over his shoulder and worry about who might see him. He wasn’t famous Harry Potter. He was just another teenager out with his friends and nothing was going to prevent him from enjoying the freedom that afforded him.

A series of loud ‘pops’ interrupted Harry’s thoughts. Having just taken his Apparation exam, he recognized the sound instinctively and was already reaching for his wand as a score of figures appeared, their black robes and silver masks unmistakable. The Death Eaters all had their wands drawn and they had Harry and his friends surrounded.

For an instant no one moved as Harry struggled to accept the impossibility of Death Eaters having Apparated into the middle of a Muggle street in broad daylight. But in the next moment, two curses, one from farther up the block, the second from across the street, ripped into the Death Eaters’ ranks. Two of the dark wizards fell and pandemonium erupted. Several of the Death Eaters turned to face the unexpected attacks, but the rest let loose with curses aimed straight at Harry’s party.

“Contego!” Remus cried and four curses bounced harmlessly away.

Tonks had turned to defend against the attackers behind them and Harry did the same, peripherally aware of Ron, Hermione and Ginny all parrying curses too.

“Spicula!” Harry yelled, determined to fight off this ambush he’d led his friends into.

“Shields only!” Tonks snapped at him as the Death Eater Harry had been aiming at, deftly deflected his curse.

Harry frowned but followed the instructions. “Protego!” he shouted as the next curse came his way. It rebounded on its caster as did another curse that hit at almost the same time. Harry staggered under the twin assault, but his shield charm held and one of his attackers dropped, having been hit from behind by another curse from across the street.

Harry glanced that way and spotted Snape hiding in a doorway and taking aim at yet another of the exposed Death Eaters. Suddenly, Harry understood their strategy. Since they were outnumbered, the only way to keep from being overwhelmed was to use purely defensive spells that were effective against multiple curses. While they held their ground, Snape and Moody were whittling away at the Death Eaters from their superior vantage points.

No wonder the two men had been nowhere in sight for most of the day. They weren’t just acting as lookouts; they were insurance. Anyone following Harry’s group wouldn’t have realized that Snape and Moody were with them and the Death Eaters were now paying the price for that ignorance.

Unfortunately, they were also adjusting to the situation. At least a few had caught on to their prey’s strategy. Some were trying to position themselves so that Harry and his friends would block them from the attacks and they were all moving closer to Harry in order to make it more difficult for Snape and Moody to take aim at them.

“Harry, get out of here!” Remus shouted urgently over his shoulder.

Harry glanced at Remus in surprise. They were winning this battle. Half of the Death Eaters were already incapacitated and the others were drawing closer and closer together for protection as Snape and Moody’s curses continued to take their toll. Why should Remus want him to flee like a coward?

“Harry, go now!” Remus insisted.

Confused and frustrated, Harry blocked another curse, then tried to focus his mind on the alley across the street from number twelve Grimmauld Place. He concentrated and took a deep breath, but as he began to spin, several of the Death Eaters rushed at him. Tonks jumped in front of Harry to block this physical assault, but one of the men lunged past her and grabbed Harry from behind. Harry’s concentration broke and he lost his balance. He heard Ginny scream his name, then felt the suffocating constriction of Apparation.

Harry and his assailant landed in a heap in an alley, though not the one across from Grimmauld Place. The man’s arms were still clamped tightly around Harry, pinning his arms to his sides. Harry struggled to free himself, but couldn’t break the Death Eater’s grip. In desperation Harry twisted his wand to point behind him.

“Expelliarmus!”

The spell hurled the Death Eater away and sent Harry tumbling in the opposite direction to crash into a rubbish bin which tipped over, strewing garbage everywhere. Harry rolled onto his knees and raised his wand just as the Death Eater cried “Stupefy!”

Harry dove aside and took aim at his attacker from behind another bin. “Spicula!”

The Death Eater waved aside Harry’s curse. “Reducto!”

The rubbish bin Harry was hiding behind exploded. Harry rolled away and stood up.

“Relashio! Onis!”

The other man parried Harry’s first curse, but the second sent him stumbling backwards. He recovered quickly though. “Mobiliquendam!”

The rubbish bin to Harry’s left leapt into the air and hurtled towards Harry. Harry dodged it, but he’d been fatally distracted.

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s wand went flying and he was thrown back against the brick wall. There was nowhere to run or even left to hide in the narrow alley since all of the rubbish bins had either been destroyed or overturned. The Death Eater smiled and raised his wand. Without thinking Harry lunged at the man, tackling him around the legs and they both went sprawling. The Death Eater’s wand hand slammed into one of the upturned bins sending his wand skittering away.

Harry rolled to his feet and the Death Eater did the same, but to Harry’s dismay, the man only grinned.

“All right then, lad, let’s see how well you fight man to man.”

The Death Eater advanced on Harry. It reminded Harry of the times Dudley had cornered him in some alley when they were children, only Harry knew that this man would do more than leave him with a few bruises. Harry tried to dodge past his opponent, but the Death Eater had anticipated his move. He cut off Harry’s escape and punched him in the jaw.

Harry staggered back against the wall, tasting blood, as the man closed in on him. His opponent was bigger and stronger than he was and obviously no stranger to street fighting. He easily blocked the punch Harry aimed at his nose, then grabbed Harry and slammed his head against the brick wall. Next, the Death Eater brought his knee up hard.

Harry gasped in agony and dropped to the ground. Before he had time to recover a vicious kick sent a sharp wave of pain through his side. Another kick caught him in the head and Harry collapsed face down in the alley, barely conscious. The Death Eater wasn’t finished. Harry felt rough hands roll him onto his back then the man straddled him.

Harry cried out as his opponent’s weight settled against his injured ribs, sending daggers of pain shooting through him. Harry struggled, but the man outweighed him by at least fifty pounds and had him hopelessly pinned. Then a large, beefy hand closed around Harry’s throat and he suddenly found himself unable to breathe. Frantically, Harry fought as panic rose within him, but try as desperately as he might, he couldn’t budge the hand clamped around his throat. The Death Eater leered down at him.

“Don’t worry, lad. I’m not going to kill you. The Dark Lord wants the pleasure of that. You just need to take a little nap.”

A terrible roaring was building in Harry’s ears and black spots were gathering before his eyes. He knew that he was going to pass out soon and he knew that if he did, the next time he opened his eyes he’d be looking into Voldemort’s snake-like face. Terror coursed through Harry. Barely realizing what he was doing, he reached out, groping for anything he might use as a weapon amongst the rubbish littering the ground from the blasted and overturned bins. His hand closed on the neck of a bottle and he swung it blindly, with all his failing strength.

Harry didn’t feel the impact but suddenly the Death Eater’s choking grip was gone and he could breathe again. Harry gasped, gulping down air as the roaring in his ears faded and his vision began to clear. He blinked away the last of the spots before his eyes and stared up.

The Death Eater still sat straddling Harry, but his mouth hung open and he wore a look of astonishment. He was now clutching his own throat with a hand that Harry realized was covered in blood. As Harry watched, more blood spurted between the man’s fingers. Then the hand fell away to reveal a long deep gash in the man’s neck and with an inarticulate gurgling sound, the Death Eater pitched forward onto Harry’s chest.

Shocked, Harry dropped the broken bottle he was still holding and pushed hard against the Death Eater’s chest with both hands, but the man’s dead weight refused to budge. A horrifying amount of blood was pouring from the wound in his throat, soaking Harry’s clothes. A fresh spurt hit Harry in the face, splattering his glasses.

Appalled, Harry shoved with all of his strength and at last managed to roll the Death Eater off of him. He scrambled away and sat shaking as he watched the last of the man’s blood pooling on the ground while the unseeing eyes stared back at him.

“Potter!”

Harry heard his name being called from what seemed like a great distance. He tore his gaze from the dead man and look up. Snape was running towards him, but slowed as he took in the scene. Snape spared the dead Death Eater only the briefest glance before stepping over the body to rake Harry with a dispassionate gaze.

“Is any of this blood yours?”

Harry blinked up at Snape then shook his head slowly. Snape took his arm and pulled him to his feet. Harry looked down into the vacant eyes of the dead man one last time as Snape steered him around the corpse and back towards the entrance to the alley.

Remus and Moody had arrived. Both looked grim as Snape dragged Harry over to them.

“Lovely outing, Lupin; we really must do this more often.”

“Severus –” Remus began, but Snape cut him off as he shoved Harry towards him.

“Get Potter out of here.”

Remus looked as if he wanted to say something else, but simply nodded and laid a hand gently on Harry’s shoulder as Kingsley Shacklebolt and several other Aurors appeared

“Come on.” Remus led Harry out of the alley and away from the other wizards.

“Where’s everyone else?” Harry asked.

“Back at headquarters. The Death Eaters fled the moment you Disapparated. Tonks Apparated back with Ginny and we insisted that Ron and Hermione go as well.”

“How did you find me?”

“When an Apparation is interrupted the way yours was, it doesn’t take you far. You’re less than a mile from where we were. And remember what Moody said? The use of magic in a Muggle area is easily traceable. It wasn’t difficult to get a bearing on you.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Harry whispered.

Remus squeezed Harry’s shoulder and his voice was full of compassion. “I know. It’s all right. This wasn’t your fault.”

Remus looked up and down the street to make sure no Muggles were around, then grasped Harry’s arm firmly. “I’m going to take you back to the house now, Harry.”

“I can Apparate myself,” Harry said, but Remus didn’t release his grip on Harry’s arm.

“I’d feel better if we went together.”

Harry began to protest but found that he was too weary to argue. He really didn’t care, so he nodded his consent and let Remus pull him close. A moment later they were standing in an alley adjacent to the small square outside number twelve Grimmauld Place. Remus glanced around cautiously then hurried them across the square and up the walk into the house. He didn’t stop, but led Harry straight upstairs to the bathroom.

“Get cleaned up, Harry. I’ll bring you some fresh clothes.” Remus didn’t wait for a reply. He shut the door and Harry was alone.

“What in Merlin’s name happened to you?” the mirror asked in a horrified tone.

Harry turned to glare at it but stopped at the sight of his own reflection. He really did look horrific. His clothes were covered in blood. There were blood and dirt smeared on his face and clotted in his hair, and his hands… Harry looked down at his hands and swallowed hard. He turned away from the mirror, stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the tap on as hot as he could bear it. Even so he was shivering as he stood under the steaming stream of water. He washed his hands three times, followed by his hair twice, then he began to scrub every inch of his body all the while trying not to look at himself or to notice when the water ran red down the drain.

As he scraped his left side with the soap, however, he winced in pain and looked down. There was a large bruise where the Death Eater had kicked him. The Death Eater – Harry realized that he didn’t even know the man’s name, though he was certain that he’d never forget his face.

Harry turned off the tap, wrapped a towel around himself and stepped out of the shower. His soiled clothing was gone. In its place was a neat pile of clean clothes. Harry dressed quickly and left the bathroom. Remus was waiting for him in the hall and smiled reassuringly.

“You look better. Come down and have some tea.”

Ginny, Ron and Hermione were all seated at the kitchen table when Harry arrived.

“Harry! Are you all right?” Hermione asked as they all jumped up and came to meet him. “We were so worried.”

“I’m okay.”

Ron wore an expression that was both troubled and impressed. “Is it true about the Death Eater? I mean is it true that you… that you…”

“That I killed him? Yes, it’s true. I didn’t mean to,” Harry added at the stunned looks on his friends’ faces.

Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry and gazed earnestly into his eyes. “Of course you didn’t. It was self-defense.” She hugged him tightly and Harry gasped as a stabbing pain shot through his side once more.

Ginny pulled back, frowning. “You’re hurt!”

“Just a little,” Harry assured her, forcing a smile as he pressed his hand gingerly to his side.

Remus came up to Harry. “Let me see.”

“It’s all right,” Harry said, trying to turn away, but Remus laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me see, Harry.” He gently pulled Harry’s tee shirt up and scowled worriedly at Harry’s side.

“We’d better let Severus take a look at this.”

“Snape?” Harry said in surprise.

Remus smiled. “Madam Pomfrey isn’t available and Severus is really quite capable. Go and lie down and I’ll send him up straight away when he gets back.”

Harry sighed. Snape was the last person he wanted to deal with, but he didn’t argue. He simply nodded and went up to his room where he collapsed on his bed with a groan. He ached all over. There was a knot on the back of his head where it had made contact with the brick wall in the alley and the area around his left temple throbbed where the Death Eater had kicked him. His side was by far the worst, though. It felt as though a knife had been thrust into it. Every time he breathed it hurt. Harry closed his eyes, but the Death Eater’s face immediately appeared in his mind and with a start he opened them again.

Harry had seen some horrific events in his life, especially in the last year when he had witnessed the Death Eaters’ gruesome exploits through Voldemort’s eyes. But watching a man’s life bleed away in front of him, knowing that he was responsible, was something he had never experienced before. He had been no innocent spectator this time. Today he had killed a man with his own hands.

Harry held his hands up in front of him and stared at them. They were pale and slender with long fingers and slightly knobby knuckles. They looked perfectly ordinary and it seemed impossible that they could have killed someone. In fact, here in the mundane surroundings of his bedroom, Harry could hardly even believe that the fight with the Death Eater had happened at all. It seemed unreal like some garish nightmare that he couldn’t forget.

Harry dropped his hands to his sides once more, irritated with himself. Dwelling on what had happened wasn’t going to change anything. Besides, it wasn’t as though he’d committed murder. As Ginny had said, he’d fought in self-defense and he certainly had nothing to feel guilty about.

Harry’s reverie was interrupted as the door opened and Ron came in. He flashed Harry a smile that tried to belie the worry in his eyes, but only emphasized it. “You okay?”

“Of course.” Harry sat up and shrugged dismissively, relieved to have some company other than his own thoughts. “I’ve been hurt a lot worse than this.”

“I don’t mean your side. I mean… you know.” Ron watched Harry in anticipation, but Harry had no idea what to say. How could he explain what it was like to kill someone when he hadn’t even figured it out himself?

“I’m fine.”

There was a sharp rap on the door which was flung open before either Harry or Ron could respond. It was Snape. He had changed out of his Muggle clothes and was holding a goblet. He was also clearly not in a good mood.

“Out,” he told Ron who scowled at being ordered out of his own room, but knew better than to argue. With a last consoling look at Harry, Ron left and Snape shut the door behind him.

“Where are you hurt?” Snape asked at once, setting the goblet on Harry’s bedside table.

“Here.” Harry pulled up his shirt to reveal his side which was even more mottled than before. “It’s nothing, really.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that. Take off your shirt.”

Harry obeyed, wincing in pain.

Snape bent down and ran his hand over Harry’s side, then without warning jabbed the tender ribs. Harry cried out in pain and pulled away, clutching his side.

“I thought it was nothing,” Snape sneered.

“And I thought you were here to help,” Harry panted through gritted teeth. “If that’s your idea of a healing touch, I’ll pass.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” Snape scoffed, straightening up. “Your ribs are obviously broken. They need to be mended.” Snape retrieved the goblet he’d brought from Harry’s bedside table. “Drink this and lie down.”

Harry glared at Snape a moment longer then took the goblet. He recognized the potion instantly. It was the same one Snape had often given him the previous year when he’d suffered some particularly traumatic vision of torture or murder through his mental connection to Voldemort. Harry drank the potion down and handed the cup back to Snape.

“Lie down,” the Potions Master repeated.

Harry sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was to lie down and let Snape prod him some more, but he knew he had no choice. Reluctantly, he lay back on his pillow and braced himself, determined to remain stoic no matter what Snape did to him.

Snape sat down beside Harry and examined the injury once more, but this time his touch was feather light as he gently traced Harry’s ribs feeling for the breaks. “McFarlane always was prone to use excessive violence,” he said in disgust.

“McFarlane? You knew the man who attacked me?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“Yes, he was three years ahead of me in school. I didn’t know him well, mostly by reputation, but few who have fought him have lived to tell the tale.” Snape’s lip curled contemptuously. “As usual you were remarkably lucky.”

“He wasn’t trying to kill me. He said he was going to take me to Voldemort.”

Snape tensed slightly at the name and scowled at Harry. “That is the Dark Lord’s standing order. Believe me; whoever delivers you to him will be well rewarded.”

Harry couldn’t suppress a shudder at that and he knew that Snape felt it.

“Perhaps you might remember that the next time you decide to put yourself and others at risk needlessly,” Snape continued.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to get around to saying ‘I told you so’.”

“Am I wrong? You are reckless by nature, Potter. You stubbornly insist on having your own way and arrogantly believe that your judgment is superior to everyone else’s. This is hardly the first time –”

“I know!” Harry sprang up in bed, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side.

Snape immediately pushed him back down. “Lie still! I don’t need to repair a punctured lung today on top of everything else.”

Snape drew his wand, pointed it at Harry’s side and murmured a spell. He repeated the words again and again almost like a chant as he ran his wand slowly along Harry’s ribs.

Harry lay staring up at the ceiling, furious with Snape. He loathed admitting that the man was right. He had put them all in danger, though he certainly hadn’t meant to. Maybe the Ministry was right in insisting that he be kept away from the rest of society: he certainly seemed to be a menace. But how could he have expected a score of Death Eaters to show up on a Muggle street?

“How did they find us?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Snape said, glancing up from his work. “Most likely one of their agents spotted you in Diagon Alley and raised the alarm.”

“But Volde –”

“Potter.” Snape glared warningly at Harry.

“He’s never come after me like this before. Why now?”

“Because he can. His recruitment efforts have borne considerable fruit of late and he now commands the resources to hunt you more aggressively than ever before. I warned the Order of this, but naturally they chose to ignore me and indulge you.”

“All I wanted was a day out of the house!” Harry complained indignantly. “Just one day to do the normal things that normal people do. Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes! You aren’t normal, Potter. You will never be normal, nor will you ever have a normal life as long as the Dark Lord lives! Pretending otherwise is childish and will only lead to disaster.”

Snape turned his attention back to Harry’s injuries and began his healing charm once more. Harry went back to staring at the ceiling, feeling more miserable than ever. His anger had faded to a brooding resentment that was mostly directed at himself.

Snape was right. After the attack at Hogsmeade he should have known better than to think he could go wandering around Diagon Alley unnoticed; Voldemort probably had people constantly on watch for him there. It seemed obvious in hindsight, but of course he hadn’t seen it before. He’d walked right into yet another trap and had once again dragged his friends along with him. Why hadn’t he realized the danger? Why hadn’t he listened to Snape’s warnings, especially after the conversation he’d overheard between his teacher and Remus?

Because I wanted to be a normal teenager for one day, Harry thought bitterly. Was that really too much to ask? Could he never have any semblance of a normal life until Voldemort was defeated? …And neither can live while the other survives… Unbidden, the line of the prophecy sprang to Harry’s mind. That phrase had always seemed absurd and almost paradoxical, but now suddenly Harry understood. He couldn’t really live as long as Voldemort was alive. He would always be looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next attack and wondering if the next time he’d have to kill again or die.

“You’re shaking, Potter,” Snape commented.

“I’m cold,” Harry lied, clenching his fists and continuing to stare fixedly at the ceiling. He couldn’t explain to Snape what he was feeling; he hardly understood himself. Besides, he was sure that Snape would think him weak and childish and he didn’t need to give the man another reason to taunt him.

“All right, Potter, take a deep breath,” Snape said at last.

Cautiously, Harry breathed in deeply and was surprised to feel no pain whatsoever.

“Again,” Snape instructed, laying his hand against Harry’s side.

Harry let out the breath he was holding and took another feeling a grudging admiration for Snape’s skill. He never would have thought Snape such a capable healer.

Snape grunted in satisfaction. “That should do.”

Harry sat up and pulled his shirt back on as Snape continued. “If you experience any difficulties breathing or any lingering pain let me know at once. This is not the time to play the hero.”

Harry nodded only half listening as he looked down at his side, feeling his newly mended ribs. Then without warning, Snape reached out and ran a hand through Harry’s hair. Harry jerked away from the unexpected touch as though it had burned him and looked at Snape incredulously.

“You’re bleeding,” Snape said in an accusatory voice, holding up his fingers which were stained red.

Harry reached up and felt the moist, sticky patch of hair over the tender spot where McFarlane had kicked him. “It’s not that bad.”

“Would you like me to heal it,” Snape asked irritably, “or do you prefer to wear your injuries as a badge of honor the way Moody does?”

“Do whatever you like,” Harry said, weary of Snape’s sarcasm.

Snape scowled, but raised his wand and a moment later the abrasion was healed. “Do you have any other injuries that aren’t worth mentioning?”

“Just here.” Harry indicated the knot on the back of his head.

“May I?” Snape sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Go ahead.”

Snape quickly felt the lump. “That should go down by morning. Here, take this tonight.” Snape withdrew a vial from the pocket of his robes and handed it to Harry.

Harry took the vial then looked questioningly at Snape. “Dreamless Sleep Potion?”

“You killed a man today, Potter,” Snape said impatiently as though being forced to explain the obvious. “Regardless of the fact that it was justified, it was your first time, so unless I’m much mistaken you’re going to need that.”

Snape sounded insufferably sure of himself and Harry immediately bristled at the insinuation that he was too weak to face what he had done.

Harry held out the vial to Snape. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” he said coolly.

Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry, obviously unconvinced, which only annoyed Harry more.

“I don’t need it,” Harry said firmly.

“Potter, is there any limit to your arrogance?” Snape said in disgust.

“I’m not arrogant!” Harry snapped. “I don’t want it, that’s all and if you ask me you’re the one who’s arrogant. What makes you think that you know what I need better than I do?”

“Experience,” Snape drawled. “Or have you forgotten that you aren’t the only person in this house who has ever killed?”

Harry stared at Snape. That actually hadn’t occurred to him and it didn’t particularly make him feel better especially since Snape was giving him an alarmingly knowing look. The man’s eyes seemed to bore into him, searching out the guilt and shame lurking beneath the certainty that he’d done nothing wrong. Snape wasn’t using Legilimency, but it didn’t matter. Harry felt naked and exposed all the same.

There was a soft knock at the door and Ron poked his head in. He looked quizzically at them. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine.” Harry said quickly, scrambling off the bed to stand up.

Snape stood up as well and pursed his lips. “Mr. Potter has suffered no lasting ill effects.”

“Well that’s good,” Ron said. “Because you’re both needed downstairs. They reckon they know how the Death Eaters found us.”

The dining room was already crowded when Harry, Ron and Snape arrived. Dumbledore was seated at one end of the table looking unusually serious which Harry didn’t think was a good sign. Worse, Fred and George were seated to his right and looked downright grim. Harry knew that wasn’t a good sign and he felt a wave of apprehension as he and Ron took seats next to Hermione and Ginny on Dumbledore’s left. Tonks and Remus were seated next to Fred and George. Kingsley Shacklebolt and several other Aurors Harry barely knew sat at the far end of the table. Snape didn’t bother to take a seat, but stood in the corner by the door with his arms folded while Moody paced up and down by Dumbledore’s seat at the opposite end of the room.

Dumbledore cleared his throat by way of starting the meeting. “First, let me commend all of you who were involved in this afternoon’s unpleasant events. The bravery and quick thinking each of you displayed averted what could have been a tragedy. Harry, you acquitted yourself remarkably well and I owe you my deepest apologies. I believed that we had taken all necessary precautions against an attack. Today’s trip into London should have been perfectly uneventful. The question, then, is what went wrong? Alastor, I believe you have the answer to that.”

“We examined the wands of the Death Eaters we captured as well as the one killed.” Harry flinched at this, but no one else seemed to notice and Moody continued. “They had all cast tracking spells.”

“That’s not possible!” Tonks interrupted. “Remus and I fully occluded everyone before we left and you yourself double-checked that none of us were traceable.”

“We weren’t when we left headquarters. But we picked up something that was.”

Moody tossed a card on the table which Harry immediately recognized as his Apparation license. Next, Moody pulled a wand from his robes and held it out on his open palm. “Sniff.” The tip of the wand glowed and swiveled to point towards the card.

Fred and George were on their feet at once.

“That’s impossible!” Fred insisted. “There’s no way anyone could have found out about that spell.”

“We haven’t breathed a word of it to anyone outside the Order!” George agreed.

“You told Potter and his friends,” Moody pointed out accusingly.

Fred scowled. “We told Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. They aren’t exactly a security risk.”

“Have you lot told anyone about the Sniffer Charm?” Fred asked, addressing Harry, Hermione and the younger Weasleys.

“Of course not!” Ron replied indignantly. “We aren’t thick. And anyway, who would we tell besides each other?”

“I do not for a moment believe that Harry, Hermione, Ron or Ginny have compromised our security,” Dumbledore interjected before the discussion could become any more heated. “Nevertheless, Fred, George, the fact remains that this appears to be the same spell you demonstrated for us last week.”

“Wait a minute,” Harry said. “How could the Death Eaters have used a Sniffer Charm to find me? I just got that Apparation License today and there must be thousands just like it.” Harry looked at Fred and George. “You said there was no way to track something that common.”

“Yours is unique, Potter,” Moody answered. “It’s had an extract of Asphodel and Wormword applied to it. The extract is invisible, very rare and easy enough for this spell to detect.”

Harry frowned. “But how could –” He stopped and looked at Ron and Hermione who were both staring back at him with expressions of dawning realization. “The girl.”

“We’re way ahead of you, Potter. We’ve already been round to the Examination office. Miss Finkel vanished right after you left. We’ve got Aurors out looking for her now. Regardless, it’s pretty clear that she was working for You-Know-Who. Whether willingly or under the Imperius Curse remains to be seen, but that doesn’t matter much at the moment. The important question right now is how the Death Eaters learnt about this spell.”

“That’s what we’re telling you,” Fred said. “They couldn’t have done.”

George nodded emphatically. “No one outside this room knows about it.”

“Clearly someone outside this room does,” Moody said. “And if you’re right, then someone in it has to have passed the information along. I’d say we have a traitor among us.”

A stunned silence followed this pronouncement.

“If I might offer another, less dramatic, suggestion?” Snape murmured from the corner. “Novel as the Weasleys’s tracking method is, it is hardly difficult. The concept is entirely straightforward and it is quite possible that the Death Eaters came up with the idea coincidentally.”

Moody glared at Snape. “You want us to believe that this is a coincidence?”

“What I want is to avoid jumping to paranoid conclusions.”

“And what I want is to know why we had no warning of this.”

“I opposed this excursion from the beginning –”

“That doesn’t answer my question. If you’re spending as much time as you claim spying on the Death Eaters, it seems to me that you should have had some inkling that they had this spell and were planning to use it to find Potter.”

“Death Eaters are not prone to discuss their most closely guarded secrets in casual conversation,” Snape said testily. “Teasing the information out takes time and finesse – admittedly something you know nothing about.”

“That’s a lovely excuse, Snape, but it doesn’t change the fact that you failed in your mission. If you can’t do your job –”

“If you believe that you can do better, be my guest!”

“That will be enough,” Dumbledore said sternly and both Snape and Moody subsided. “We will gain nothing by hurling recriminations at one another, or by making unfounded accusations.”

Dumbledore’s hard gaze fell on Moody. “Alastor, I will not assume that there is a traitor among us until all other likely explanations have been disproved and I do not want to hear of you asserting such a thing until that time.”

Moody nodded. “Understood.”

Dumbledore turned to Snape and his blue eyes didn’t soften in the least. “Severus, we need to know how the Death Eaters came by this spell. Nothing is more urgent at the moment.”

Snape pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded curtly.

“Then I believe that we have covered all that we need to.” Dumbledore stood up and all of the Order members followed suit. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny rose as well.

“Harry, I need to speak with you for a moment,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry nodded at his friends who filed out of the room along with everyone else. When they were alone, Dumbledore regarded Harry over his half-moon glasses and smiled for the first time.

“I hesitate to say ‘happy birthday’, but you have my best wishes for the day and the coming year, regardless.”

Harry returned the old man’s smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Dumbledore came and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder and his eyes searched Harry’s. “Are you all right, Harry?”

“I’ve been through worse things.”

“Indeed you have, and from what I’ve heard you consider being cooped up here all summer to be among them.”

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. “No sir, of course not. Not exactly.”

“It’s all right, Harry. I know that this is not how you hoped to spend your summer. But after today’s events, I hope that you understand why it is necessary.”

Harry nodded.

“I also want you to know that I have not been ignoring you this summer due to lack of concern for your welfare. Rather the opposite, in fact. I have been considering the suggestion you made to Professor Snape of waging mental war against Voldemort. It is a clever idea with, I think, tremendous potential.”

“You think it’ll work then?” Harry asked excitedly.

“I think it could, but there are still a few questions I have not yet found satisfactory answers to. I hope to have done so by the time you return to Hogwarts and to have information worth sharing with you then.” Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes fixed gravely on Harry’s. “Until that time, I must ask you to be patient and to stay at headquarters.”

Harry bit his lip, but knew there was no alternative. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Dumbledore smiled once more then led Harry out of the dining room. Snape was standing just outside the door, obviously waiting and Dumbledore immediately drew him aside. Harry fought the urge to eavesdrop on them, turning to survey the entrance hall instead.

Most of the Order members were still mingling there. Fred and George were leaning against the wall by the library, looking angry and dejected. Ron, Ginny and Hermione were huddled around them clearly trying to cheer them up. Tonks was talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Remus appeared to be arguing with Moody in another corner. Dobby was also in the hall, standing close to Mrs. Black’s portrait, apparently trying to keep her in line. Mrs. Black seemed more unhinged than usual by all of the people in the hall and was keening mournfully to herself, her voice occasionally rising above the buzz of conversation.

“Usurpers… Ruin… Disgrace…”

Harry glanced back at Dumbledore and Snape. Dumbledore was speaking earnestly to the Potions Master who still looked affronted. As Harry watched, Dumbledore laid a hand on the younger man’s arm. Snape sighed and nodded which seemed to satisfy the old man. Dumbledore smiled then turned and strode away. He made his way quickly across the hall, offering a nod or smile of encouragement to everyone he passed. Then he was gone. Harry started across the hall to join the Weasleys and Hermione, but Moody, having extricated himself from his argument with Remus, intercepted him.

“You did well today, Potter.”

“Thanks.” Harry managed not to flinch, but he still felt uncomfortable being congratulated for killing someone.

“What happened wasn’t your fault,” Moody continued. “It was lack of proper intelligence.”

“I’m sure Professor Snape’s doing his best,” Harry said firmly, thinking of all the nights Snape slipped out of the house to spy on the Death Eaters.

“It’s decent of you to think so, especially since you’re the one who nearly died because of him.”

Harry gaped at Moody, speechless, but an instant later he realized that Moody’s provocative words hadn’t really been meant for him.

“Perhaps if you were more successful at rounding up the Dark Lord’s minions, Mr. Potter’s life wouldn’t depend solely upon my efforts,” Snape hissed practically in Harry’s ear. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see his irate teacher standing behind him.

“Maybe.” Moody seemed unperturbed by Snape’s remark, but his eyes narrowed shrewdly as he looked between Harry and Snape. “That reminds me. Two more Death Eaters turned up dead last night.”

“Tragic.” Snape sneered, sounding thoroughly uninterested.

“I don’t suppose you might know anything about it?” Moody continued.

“No.”

“Humph, there seems to be quite a lot you don’t know anything about, doesn’t there?”

“Unless you expect me to interrogate the dead, I hardly see how those deaths concern me,” Snape spat. “I should think the living would be our priority.”

Moody shrugged. “I just thought you might be interested, seeing as they were your colleagues.”

“Former colleagues,” Snape corrected. “And I couldn’t care less.” Snape turned away, but the old Auror raised his voice.

“That’s right. I don’t suppose you have much affection for them after the cowardly way they all stood by and watched Voldemort torture you to within an inch of your life.”

Snape froze, then slowly turned back to face Moody, his eyes glittering. When he spoke his voice was dangerously soft. “Moody, surely you have more pressing matters to worry about than a handful of dead men, such as checking under your bed to ensure that no murderers are lurking there?”

“It’s funny that you should mention murderers, Snape, because murder is something that always concerns me. Unlike some, I take my job seriously.”

The two men glared at one another a moment longer as Harry looked between them, trying to fathom the significance of this argument. Then to Harry’s surprise Moody turned towards him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve been through a lot today, Potter. If you need anything remember that Lupin and Tonks are here to help.” The old Auror gave Harry’s shoulder a comradely squeeze to emphasize the point.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape’s face darken murderously and knew at once that the implied snub hadn’t been lost on him. Moody gave Harry a final pat on the back and walked away, seemingly oblivious to Snape’s anger. Snape turned away as well and stalked towards the stairs.

“Traitor!” Mrs. Black snarled at Snape’s back as he passed her. No sooner had she uttered the word, however, than she let out a bloodcurdling scream that silenced all conversation in the hall and caused every head to turn.

Snape stood with his wand leveled at Mrs. Black who was cowering in fear. One look at her portrait revealed why. The painting now bore an ugly gash, a foot long, across its lower half.

“Let me make something very clear,” Snape said in an icy whisper that cut through the silence in the hall. “As long as I am in this house, you will hold your tongue or I will slash this portrait to ribbons. Do you understand me?”

Mrs. Black said nothing, just stared at Snape in terrified silence.

“Good.” Snape pocketed his wand and swept up the stairs as the others present looked askance at one another. Only Moody, Harry noted, seemed unsurprised by Snape’s behavior. Standing near the front door, he watched Snape retreat. Then he smiled grimly to himself and left.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?” Ron asked, coming up to Harry with Ginny and Hermione.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know, but Moody seems to be going out of his way to goad Snape.”

“I don’t understand why he blames Snape for what happened this afternoon,” Ginny said as the four headed upstairs.

Harry just managed to stop himself from blurting out the secret of Snape’s nighttime spying activities. Fortunately, Hermione was ready with an answer. “Professor Snape must be gathering information on the Death Eaters somehow.”

“Well, then Moody’s right. If they came up with the charm and were planning to use it to ambush Harry, Snape should have known,” Ron said.

“Ron, the chances of the Death Eaters developing the very same charm as Fred and George at the same time are ridiculously low,” Hermione said impatiently as they entered the common room and sat down by the fire.

Ron reached for a tin of biscuits on a nearby table. “Snape thought it was possible.”

“Since when do you agree with anything Snape says?” Ginny asked.

“Since Fred and George swear they never told anyone about that spell until they showed it to the Order last week.” Ron bit into his biscuit. “They do a lot of dodgy things, but they wouldn’t lie to Dumbledore. Besides, why would Snape have suggested it, if it weren’t possible?”

Hermione lowered her voice. “To make whoever passed the information believe that the Order isn’t on to them.”

“You don’t know that for a fact,” Harry said sharply. “It’s at least possible that the Death Eaters came up with the spell themselves. And there’s no way that a week would have been enough time to set up that ambush.”

“But they wouldn’t have had to set the whole thing up in a week,” Hermione said, thinking aloud and frowning to herself. “They probably already had Miss Finkle planted at the Examination office. They obviously knew you’d likely be coming to take your exam and were watching for you. All they had to do was give her something to sprinkle on your card. The Sniffer Charm itself would have taken no time to learn –”

“Hermione –” Ginny interrupted, casting a worried glance at Harry.

Harry stood up and went to stare into the fire. The very last thing he wanted to believe was that there was a spy in the Order. On top of everything else, he wasn’t sure he could stand wondering which of the people he’d come to think of as his allies might betray them. But Hermione was right; it fit perfectly and the alternative seemed improbable at best.

“Harry?” Hermione said hesitantly. “Harry, I didn’t mean –”

“No, it’s all right.” Harry said turning back to look at his friends. “I’d rather have your honest opinions than have you lie to me to spare my feelings. I can’t afford that. None of us can.”

“You know, Fred and George wouldn’t lie to Dumbledore, but they could be wrong,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “They do all of their development in their shop and it’s a fair bet that the Death Eaters know that they’re working for the Order. With all of the people who pass through the shop every day, it’d probably be easy for someone to set up some kind of surveillance without Fred or George knowing. They’ve developed enough of their own spy gadgets, like Extendable Ears. I’m sure the Death Eaters have something similar and they’ve probably been watching Fred and George for months.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione agreed, sounding relieved.

Harry felt relieved as well. While this wasn’t a pleasant idea, it was much less worrisome than the possibility of a spy in the Order. Best of all, it seemed by far the most likely explanation. Harry was sure that whatever wards the twins had at Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, they wouldn’t stop Voldemort.

“Well, I’m sure Dumbledore will sort it out,” Ron said.

“Come on, then,” Harry said. “Let’s have a game of Exploding Snap. It’s still my birthday and I refuse to spend it sitting around being morbid.”

---

The rest of the day passed more pleasantly than Harry could have hoped. His friends were clearly determined to put the Death Eater attack and worries about a possible spy out of their minds in order to salvage what was left of the day. Dobby did his part by preparing a magnificent dinner and an enormous birthday cake, neither of which the members of the household managed to make much of a dent in. Snape failed to appear at dinner, just as he had failed to come to breakfast but that was no surprise and Harry was actually grateful that his dour teacher wasn’t present to dampen the mood.

It wasn’t until Harry crawled into bed that night that the morning’s events began to prey upon his mind once more. In particular, his fight with the Death Eater was foremost in his thoughts. He tried using various meditation techniques, but he couldn’t keep the memory at bay. If only he’d acted sooner when Remus told him to leave... If only they’d gone into London first and taken their Apparation exams just before returning to headquarters… Again and again Harry went over the day, noting every instance in which he could have done something differently that might have let him avoid ending up in that alley with McFarlane.

Minutes dragged into hours as Harry tossed and turned, unable to relax. Every time he closed his eyes, the grisly image of the dead man filled his mind. At last, he rolled over and squinted at the clock. It was already after two o’clock in the morning and he hadn’t slept at all. Harry looked at the small bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion, still untouched on his bedside table where he’d left it. He was tempted to take it, but hesitated, although he wasn’t quite sure why. He was long past needing to prove a point to Snape. All the same, he made no move to reach for the potion. Deep down, something told him it wouldn’t really help him.

Unfortunately, lying here in bed staring into the darkness wasn’t doing much for him either. Harry heaved a sigh then got up, put on his dressing gown and slipped out of the room. He made his way to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and sat down at the table trying to make sense of his scattered thoughts and emotions.

“Having trouble sleeping, Potter?”

Harry looked up and scowled. Snape stood smirking at him in the doorway, having obviously just returned from another of his midnight excursions.

“I was thirsty and came down to get something to drink, that’s all,” Harry said coldly. The last thing he needed was more of Snape’s criticism.

“Really?” Snape came over to Harry and looked him in the eyes. “Have you slept at all?”

Harry knew there was no point in lying. “Not really, no.”

Snape shook his head in disgust. “Potter, your stubbornness is becoming tedious. I gave you a full dose of Dreamless Sleep potion. Why won’t you take it?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Harry said irritably. “I do have a choice in the matter, don’t I?”

“Do you suppose that sleep deprivation will assuage your guilt?”

“You tell me. You’re the expert on guilt, aren’t you?”

Harry regretted the words the moment he’d said them. He had crossed the line into that forbidden territory that he and Snape avoided by unspoken agreement, and he could practically feel Snape tense. Harry held his breath, waiting for Snape to explode, but the man said nothing. Instead, he stood perfectly still, staring at Harry with a thin-lipped, inscrutable expression.

Finally Snape spoke in a hoarse whisper. “It won’t.” He turned on his heel to go.

“Professor, wait.” Harry stood up as Snape turned back to face him.

“Why? You obviously have no intention of heeding my advice, so why should I waste my breath giving it?”

“I didn’t – I’m not being stubborn and I’m not ignoring your advice,” Harry said as calmly as his raw nerves would permit. “I just don’t think I’m going to find the answer to my problems in a potion bottle. Today wasn’t the last time I’m ever going to have to kill someone, so I reckon I need to come to terms with this and postponing it isn’t going to help.”

For a long moment Snape and Harry stared at one another in a silent test of each other’s determination. At last Snape seemed to concede the point. He glanced down at Harry’s glass.

“I doubt that pumpkin juice will do you much good either.”

Snape removed his cloak, tossed it on a chair then turned away from Harry once more. He moved purposefully across the kitchen, pulled a sauce pan from a nearby cupboard and poured milk into it. He set it to simmer on the stove then riffled through more cupboards, selecting various jars. He began adding these ingredients to the milk on the stove.

Harry watched until he could no longer contain his curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“Since you refuse to take the potion I prescribed for you, I’m preparing another, more traditional balm.”

Harry frowned and went to peer into the saucepan. “Cocoa?” he said incredulously as Snape added another pinch of cinnamon to the smoothly bubbling liquid.

“You’re aware, are you not, of the healing properties of chocolate?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but –”

“Do you think cocoa is beyond my abilities as a potion-maker?”

“No, of course not. I, just…” The truth was that Harry couldn’t imagine Snape making cocoa. That was the sort of thing Mrs. Weasley would have done for him. Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Professor, you don’t need to do this.”

“What shall I do then, Potter, leave you here to brood all night?”

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted, wishing now that he had let Snape walk away when he had the chance.

“Lying also won’t help – whether it’s to others or to yourself.”

Snape poured the steaming cocoa into a cup then drew his wand. “One more ingredient, I think.” Snape waved his wand over the counter and a dusty bottle of brandy appeared. Snape poured some of the amber liquid into Harry’s cup, then tapped the bottle again and it vanished, presumably back to wherever it had come from. He handed the cup to Harry.

“Drink up, Potter. It’s a simple preparation, but effective. Believe me. I am, after all, an expert.”

Harry winced. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Harry could think of nothing to say to that so he took a sip of his cocoa and felt the hot liquid warm him. The aroma of the cocoa, brandy and subtle spices was soothing and it occurred to Harry that no one had ever made him cocoa before, not as something to comfort him, anyway. Harry frowned slightly at that thought, irritated with himself. He wasn’t a child who needed to be comforted. He was an adult now.

Harry looked back at Snape. The man was regarding him with an alert expression very like the one he typically wore when watching a particularly delicate potion brew. Harry found it slightly disconcerting and quickly glanced away again. He took another drink of his cocoa and shifted uneasily, still acutely aware of the dark, silent figure watching him intently.

It might not have been so bad if they hadn’t been standing in a dark, basement kitchen in the dead of night, or if Snape hadn’t been dressed as a Death Eater. Harry had had too many horrific visions of men dressed in those robes and the sight of them only made the memory of McFarlane more vivid.

Snape, on the other hand, didn’t appear at all uneasy dressed in these robes. In fact, he seemed as comfortable and self-assured dressed as a Death Eater as he had dressed as a Muggle that morning. The incongruity of these two roles struck Harry forcefully and he looked at Snape once more, abruptly realizing how little he really knew the man. He wondered if anyone really did.

“Professor, could you say something instead of just staring at me?” Harry said, unable to bear Snape’s silent scrutiny any longer.

Snape raised his eyebrows questioningly. “What would you like me to say?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure. I was sort of hoping you’d think of something.”

Snape’s mouth twitched but he tilted his head slightly and considered Harry thoughtfully for a moment. “Potter, you want to be an Auror, don’t you?” Snape said impatiently. “Surely you must realize that there are few dark wizard hunters who haven’t had to kill at one time or another. Particularly now when we’re at war, killing in self defense or in service to one’s cause can hardly be avoided.”

Harry nodded. “I know that.”

“Then understand that that isn’t murder. Murder is a selfish, wanton act prompted by the murderer’s own darkest desires. You aren’t a murderer, Potter, and no matter how many times you may be forced to kill, you never will be. I know your mind well enough to know that.”

Snape’s black eyes bored into Harry’s, but Harry no longer felt any unease. This was the old intimacy and Harry knew it well. Instinctively, he reached out mentally to meet Snape’s mind, but before he could do more than brush against the consciousness hovering at the edge of his own, Snape turned away and picked up his cloak. “Get some sleep, Potter, or you’ll be useless in your lesson tomorrow.” He swept from the room without looking at Harry or waiting for a reply.

Harry gazed after Snape then sighed. For a moment they had almost connected, but obviously Snape still wasn’t ready to rebuild any trust between them. Still, it hadn’t been a complete loss, Harry thought, as he drained the last of his cocoa and headed back to bed. His memory of McFarlane’s lifeless eyes had been supplanted by the vision of Snape’s black, glittering ones and he knew that he would have no further trouble sleeping that night.

In retrospect Harry realized that the Death Eater attack couldn’t have gone unnoticed by the rest of the wizarding community. Nevertheless, it came as a shock the next morning when he wandered into the kitchen and glanced at the copy of the Daily Prophet lying on the table. A stock photo of himself was staring up at him under a headline that read Potter Rumored at Center of Mass Death Eater Attack.

Harry slumped into his seat next to Ginny, picked up the paper and read the front page article.

While the details have not been confirmed, Harry Potter was the alleged target of a bold Death Eater attack on the streets of Muggle London yesterday. Ministry Aurors held twenty assailants at bay, eventually capturing eight. Potter, 17, was rumored to have killed the leader of the attack, Reginald McFarlane, a long-time supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Potter’s whereabouts have been a mystery since he left Hogwarts at the end of last term, shortly after the Victory at Hogsmeade...

Harry tossed the paper aside. “Great! Now the whole world knows that I killed that Death Eater.”

“Well, it’s not as if anyone’s going to blame you,” Ron said, gesturing at the discarded paper with his fork. “You’re a bloody hero, according to the Prophet.”

“I don’t feel like a hero.”

Ron, Hermione and Ginny exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“Harry, there’s an entire article on McFarlane,” Ginny said. “He was a pretty nasty character by all accounts, so even if you hadn’t been fighting for your life, I’d say you did the world a favor. You’ve no reason to feel guilty!”

Harry looked at Ginny and smiled. “I know. It just takes a little getting used to, that’s all. Besides, I’ve always hated reading about myself in the paper.”

“You know what those reporters are like,” Hermione sniffed indignantly. “They leap at any chance they get to use your name.”

“Yeah, be grateful they don’t know where you are,” Ron said. “You’d never have a moment’s peace. They’d be hounding you for an interview day and night.”

Harry laughed at that. “I think I’d rather face Death Eaters.”

---

Harry ate and chatted with his friends and his good humor was thoroughly restored by the time they headed back upstairs. In the entrance hall they met Moody.

“There you are, Potter,” the old Auror said. “I need a word with you. Alone.”

Harry was surprised by Moody’s request; the Auror had mostly ignored him in the past. Curious, Harry shrugged at his friends who continued upstairs without him. Moody watched them until they’d disappeared down the first floor hallway, then looked around the entrance hall as if to ensure that no one was spying on them.

“I can’t talk for very long,” Harry said. “Professor Snape’s expecting me for my lesson.”

“Snape’s not here,” Moody said. “He’s away on a job for Dumbledore.”

Harry frowned. He’d only talked to Snape a few hours earlier and his teacher hadn’t said anything about being away. In fact, he had specifically said that he expected Harry to attend his lesson. That meant Dumbledore must have called him away unexpectedly. Harry couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or bad.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Moody motioned Harry towards the library. “In here.”

Harry followed the man into the library and Moody shut the door.

“So what is it you want to talk to me about?” Harry asked.

“I hear you want to be an Auror.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you think you’ve got what it takes?”

Harry bristled at the question. “Yeah, I’ve got what it takes. I’ve faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters which is more than most can say.”

Moody chuckled. “I wasn’t calling you a coward, Potter. You’ve got the guts. I know that. And you’re a damn good fighter, too. You did well yesterday. But it takes more than that to be an Auror. An Auror has to put the law first and you have a penchant for rule breaking.”

Moody pointed an accusatory finger at Harry. “I’m asking you, Potter. Can you put the law above your own judgment, above your own personal feelings?”

“I – of course I can,” Harry said, taken aback by the older man’s intensity.

“Be certain. Because if you can’t you’ll do more harm than good.”

“I’m certain,” Harry said firmly.

“Humph,” Moody snorted. “Since the last week of June, five Death Eaters have died.” He held up his right hand, fingers spread to emphasize the point. “Five. All under unusual circumstances.

“The first man turned up dead in Knockturn Ally. It happens. A shady deal turns sour or someone crosses someone else. But it doesn’t happen to a Death Eater. They’re given a wide berth, believe me, because no one wants to antagonize You-Know-Who.

“A week later, a man was found dead in his flat. His own wand proved to be the murder weapon and it was ruled suicide by the Ministry.

“Another man died two weeks ago when he was struck by a Muggle motorist and killed. Two Aurors posing as Muggle policemen interviewed the motorist and several other witnesses. All said that the driver wasn’t at fault and that the victim seemed to appear out of nowhere right in the middle of the road. The Ministry’s calling that one an Apparating accident.”

“Wait, I read about that in the Daily Prophet,” Harry said, frowning in concentration. “Vincent Howard was his name.”

“Very good, Potter. Not many people would have caught that buried among all the news of the war. The other deaths I mentioned got no better coverage, believe me.”

“But why should they have done? They were just random deaths. They weren’t connected with the war or Voldemort. Whoever killed the man in Knockturn Alley probably didn’t know he was a Death Eater. It’s not the sort of thing you go about advertising, is it? Suicide isn’t unheard of and neither are Apparating accidents.”

“So it was all just coincidence, was it? Is that what you believe?”

Harry shrugged. “What else?”

Moody pursed his lips and paced across the floor. “Well, you’re in good company. As it so happens, most of my colleagues and the rest of the Ministry agree with you. But you – and they – are wrong. Everyone else may be ready to overlook these deaths, but I don’t believe in coincidence and I don’t for a minute believe they were random. I think they were murder.”

Harry stared at Moody, nonplussed. “You’re joking.”

“Two nights ago two more men died. Got into a row and killed each other - at least that’s how it was meant to look. But if you’d been in as many fights as I have and seen the condition they were in, you’d know it’s not possible.”

Harry frowned. He had to admit that the odds of two men killing each other in a fight couldn’t be high and five Death Eaters dead in as many weeks was suspicious, but still… “I don’t see how these deaths could have even been related, let alone murder.”

“You’re familiar with the effects of the Imperius Curse, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, there’s a reason why it’s classified as Unforgivable. You can make someone fight to the death, kill a friend, Apparate in front of an oncoming car, even turn his own wand on himself. And unless you’re caught in the act, there’s absolutely no way to prove you did it.”

Harry shivered. “You think that someone used the Imperius Curse to kill those Death Eaters?

“I do and I’ve got a good idea of who it is.”

“Who?”

“Snape.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he gaped at Moody in disbelief. “You’re mad.”

“Am I? He certainly has the motive.”

“He’s not a murderer!”

“Really? You’re sure of that?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably and tried a different tack. “Look,” he said in a calm, reasonable tone. “You don’t know that these deaths were murder, and even if they were, Snape couldn’t be responsible. He was at Hogwarts until the end of term and he’s been here ever since.”

“Merlin’s beard, boy, think! All he has to do is walk out the front door and he can Apparate anywhere in Britain, like that.” Moody snapped his fingers. “An hour later he’s back in bed and no one the wiser. These deaths have the mark of a wizard who’s an expert at both Dark Magic and covert operations. And I can’t think of many who’d be targeting Death Eaters.”

Harry looked away. As much as he didn’t want to believe Moody, Harry had to admit that the Auror’s reasoning was sound. Besides, he knew better than anyone how often Snape slipped out of the house in the night. Could the man really have been going to commit murder? It seemed preposterous that Snape could be teaching him Potions during the day and killing people at night. The very thought made Harry feel rather sick.

“Why are you telling me this?” Harry asked.

“Because I need your help.”

“My help?” Harry asked incredulously. “What can I do?”

“You’re studying Potions with Snape, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded, wondering why that would matter.

“So I imagine you’re spending a fair bit of time with him up in that lab of his.”

“I suppose so,” Harry answered guardedly as an uncomfortable suspicion of where this line of questioning was going began to form in his mind.

“How are you two getting on?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “Well enough.”

Moody nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good.”

“You can’t expect me to spy on him?”

“I can and I do. I have physical evidence from the scene of one of the crimes, but I need something from Snape to match it against – hair, fingernails, a few drops of blood.”

Harry stared at Moody. “What!”

“It shouldn’t be that hard,” Moody said, waving a dismissive hand.

“I won’t do it! I’m not going to sneak around trying to get evidence against him.”

“Why not?”

“Because –” Harry hesitated, unable to put his feelings into words. “He’s my teacher.”

“Oh come on, Potter! At least make up a better excuse than that.”

Harry scowled. “If you’ve got blood or something why don’t you just use Fred and George’s Sniffer Charm?”

Moody shook his head. “That’s a clever spell, but it’s simplistic. It certainly wouldn’t be able to penetrate all of the wards on this place.” Moody waved his hand to indicate the house around them. “And it can be blocked like any other tracking charm once the target’s onto it. I actually tried the spell when I was here last week, but it was no good, so Snape’s obviously taken precautions against it.”

“Or maybe you’ve just got the wrong man.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Harry bit his lip. “You tried to get Remus to do this, didn’t you?” he said accusingly. The conversations he’d overheard between the two men suddenly made sense. Moody hadn’t been urging Remus to spy on him. It was Snape he had wanted Remus to watch. “He refused, so why should I do it?”

“Lupin isn’t an Auror and he doesn’t have any aspirations to be one. Do you want to be an Auror or not?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then you need to start thinking and acting like one. An Auror works for justice and he doesn’t turn a blind eye to a crime just because the victim deserved what he got or because the perpetrator happens to be his teacher. You just told me that you could put the law above your own judgment and feelings. Have you changed your mind already?”

“No,” Harry answered miserably.

“Potter, listen to me. If Snape is committing murder, he needs to be stopped. And if he’s not then no harm done. You could be the one to exonerate him.”

Harry couldn’t argue with Moody there. If Snape was innocent, wasn’t it worth proving? Surely there was no harm in that. Harry supposed that Aurors had to do some less than pleasant things in order to see justice done. He bit his lip and nodded reluctantly. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good man,” Moody said, clapping him on the back. “Make certain you don’t let on to anyone what you’re doing. We wouldn’t want Snape to get wind of it. Understand?”

Harry grimaced. “Yes.”

The Auror opened the door and surveyed the entrance hall warily then looked back at Harry. “You’re doing the right thing, Potter,” Moody assured him, then limped away.

Harry watched Moody leave the house, trying to convince himself that the old Auror was right. But he couldn’t help wondering as he watched the man go, if he was doing the right thing, why did it feel so wrong?

---

The next morning Harry quickly scanned the obituaries in the Daily Prophet wondering if any of the people who had died the previous day might have been a Death Eater. He didn’t think so. The two wizards and witch listed had been elderly, had apparently died of natural causes, and each had a brief but glowing testimonial written about them.

Relieved, Harry laid the paper aside and took another bite of toast as Snape swept into the room and took his accustomed seat at the far end of the table. He was flipping through the yellowed pages of a battered book and paying no attention to anyone else at the table as usual. Harry, however, couldn’t help watching the man. He couldn’t put Moody’s accusations out of his mind and considered that this was one time when he truly would have preferred to have been kept in the dark. As it was, Harry had laid awake most of the night struggling alternately with dread that Snape might be out murdering someone and ambivalence at his own promise to help catch him at it.

Harry knew that Snape was capable of killing, of course. Harry personally knew of six Death Eaters his teacher had killed only months before. But that was different. The Death Eaters had attacked them and Snape had had no choice but to kill them in order to protect his position as a spy for Dumbledore. Going out of his way to hunt down Death Eaters who posed no immediate threat was something else entirely. It was the difference between war and cold-blooded murder.

Harry felt a poke in his ribs and looked around. Ginny was staring quizzically at him.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered with a meaningful glance at Snape.

“Nothing.” Harry tried to appear nonchalant, but Ginny didn’t look convinced.

“So what shall we do today?” Ron asked. “Chess? Exploding Snap?”

“You need to finish your homework,” Hermione said. “You haven’t even started Professor Sprout’s essay.”

Ron ignored her and addressed Harry. “I got the latest Quidditch magazines yesterday.”

“Today Mr. Potter has to make up the Potions lesson he missed on Thursday,” Snape said, making all of them jump. He looked up at Harry with a smirk. “I trust you haven’t forgotten that, Potter?”

Harry had, but he wasn’t about to say so. “Of course not.”

“Then I’ll see you in the lab in ten minutes.” Snape rose and left the kitchen.

“Git!” Ron said indignantly. “You’d think he could give you a break after all you’ve been through.”

“Now, Ron,” Ginny said with mock earnestness. “Obviously Snape just enjoys Harry’s company so much he can’t bear to go more than a day or two without it.”

Harry rolled his eyes at that. “Unfortunately the feeling isn’t mutual. I’d better get up there, though, before he thinks up a reason to give me another lesson tomorrow.”

Harry headed for the lab wishing that he could be doing anything else. It wasn’t the lesson that he dreaded so much as being with a man who might very well be a murderer. Suddenly Snape’s words from the other night came back to him.

“Murder is a selfish, wanton act prompted by the murderer’s own darkest desires. You aren’t a murderer, Potter, and no matter how many times you may be forced to kill, you never will be. I know your mind well enough to know that.”

It occurred to Harry that Snape had sounded awfully knowledgeable about murder. He tried to dispel that thought as he entered the Potions lab and sat down at his work bench. Snape began lecturing before he had even settled onto his stool.

“There are many potions whose effects, if produced by a spell, would be classified as Dark Magic,” Snape began. “Poisons are the obvious examples of these. While not all poisons are deadly, all have undesirable physical effects upon those who ingest them.”

Without meaning to, Harry ran down his mental list of the Death Eaters who had been killed. None had been poisoned, but that didn’t really tell him anything about Snape’s guilt or innocence.

“However, even more insidious are the numerous potions which ensnare the mind,” Snape continued. “The most familiar of these are love potions. While the overwhelming majority of these are no more than wishful thinking and old wives’ tales, there are one or two brews that are indeed effective at besotting the heart.

“The most serious of the mind-controlling potions is the Imperius Potion. It acts much like the Imperius Curse, subjugating the victim’s reason and will to the potion-maker’s commands. But unlike the curse, the potion cannot be fought. Once ingested, the victim will be the slave of the master for one hour unless an antidote is administered.

“Closely related to the potions that bewitch the mind, though generally more benign, are those capable of altering one’s mood…”

Snape’s comments on mood-altering potions were lost on Harry. The Imperius Potion sounded as though it could have come in very handy in murdering the Death Eaters. It wasn’t as convenient as the Imperius Curse, but it was certain and Harry wondered how Snape might have maneuvered each of the victims into taking it.

“Potter, are you paying attention?”

Harry looked up at Snape, abashed. “Sorry, sir.”

Snape scowled. “Since you obviously don’t feel the need for my instruction,” Snape drawled, “I’ll leave it to you to brew the antidote to the Doldrums Potion on your own.”

Snape turned away and strode over to his work bench where he began tending the potion simmering there. Harry turned his attention to his own empty cauldron and the array of potions ingredients in front of him, but as he set about the day’s work he couldn’t keep from casting furtive glances at Snape. Harry wondered what would happen to the man if he did turn out to have murdered the Death Eaters. He’d surely be sacked. Would he be sent to Azkaban? If so, what would that mean to the Order and their efforts to fight Voldemort?

“Potter, you’re never going to finish that potion if you spend all of your time watching me,” Snape commented irritably as he scribbled in his notebook.

Harry started and looked away, then glanced sheepishly back at Snape again. The man was now regarding him impatiently.

“Well, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. He hesitated a moment then continued. “I was just wondering… you said there are a lot of potions that are the same as Dark Magic – poisons and so forth. Does that mean that only a Dark wizard would use them?”

Snape looked slightly taken aback as though surprised that Harry cared enough about his lesson to pose a question. “Potions are not like spells, Potter. They don’t require intent either in preparation or use, so anyone with the requisite skill could prepare and use them.”

“But would they? Would anyone other than a Dark wizard use the Imperius Potion for instance?”

Snape shrugged and turned his attention back to his cauldron. “It’s difficult to say what people will do, particularly when in desperate straits.”

“Would you use them?”

Snape looked sharply back at Harry. His eyes flashed, then narrowed shrewdly. Harry kept his face as impassive as possible and forced himself not to look away, but he used Occlumency to guard his thoughts from Snape’s penetrating gaze. At last the man spoke.

“Under some circumstances, yes, I’d use them.”

Harry’s heart sank. “So you’re saying the ends justify the means?”

“What I’m saying is that the Aurors have been given carte blanche to use the Unforgivable Curses. These potions are no worse.”

“But if we use the same tactics as our enemies, doesn’t that make us just as bad as them? If we’re willing to use any means to achieve our goals, how can we claim to be any better than those we’re fighting?”

Harry stopped. Snape was standing very still and regarding him with the same closed expression he’d worn two nights before when Harry had called him an expert on guilt.

“Given that some would consider spying on an enemy less than honorable,” Snape said in a careful tone that betrayed no emotion, “I would say the answer to that question depends a good deal on one’s opinion. Every situation is unique, so sweeping generalities are less than useful. Unless, of course, you have something specific in mind?”

Harry’s mouth was dry. “No,” he whispered, not meeting Snape’s eyes.

“Then I suggest you concentrate on your potion.” Snape returned to his work and Harry, not daring to look at his teacher again, did the same.

---

Snape added a strand of unicorn hair to his cauldron and glanced over at Potter. The boy had been hard at work for the last fifteen minutes and was obviously trying to avoid drawing any attention to himself. Snape smirked. Regardless of the fact that Potter had become relatively competent at Occlumency, he had never learnt to hide his feelings and the emotional turmoil raging within him now was easily visible on his face.

Not that Snape even needed that cue to guess what was on Potter’s mind. Between the boy’s pointed barb about his guilt the last time they’d spoken and earnest outrage over his less than pure ethical standards now, that was obvious enough. Apparently, the debacle in London had jolted Potter into taking a long hard look at what he could and could not condone as acceptable behavior, not only in himself but in others as well and perhaps most particularly in his Potions Master.

Whatever the catalyst, though, Potter’s opinion of him was crystal clear. The mixture of dread and disgust in those green eyes every time the boy had glanced his way had been unmistakable and since Snape had done nothing to the boy to warrant such a reaction, he was positive that it could only mean one thing: Potter had reconsidered the naïve absolution he had so rashly bestowed upon his teacher at the end of term and changed his mind.

It was about time.

Some things couldn’t be forgiven, certainly not as easily and completely as Potter had pretended they could be. Snape had always known the charade couldn’t last. The boy had to come to his senses eventually and Snape was actually relieved that it had finally happened. Keeping Potter at arm’s length the last month had been exhausting.

The first two weeks of summer in particular, the boy had been tenacious in trying to engage him in conversation, apparently operating under the misguided assumption that being away from school should imply a more relaxed and personal relationship with his teacher. After a couple of weeks of frigid responses from Snape, however, Potter had seemed to finally realize that this teacher didn’t welcome these overtures. Unfortunately, this hadn’t improved matters. Potter had given up attempts at conversation and had subsided into sulking, which was even worse. As Lupin had so eloquently pointed out, the boy’s disappointment was obvious, and it infuriated Snape.

It was his job to protect Potter with the expectation that the boy would be pivotal in bringing about the Dark Lord’s downfall. That was the only thing that mattered to Snape and he had been honest with Potter about the lengths to which he would go. He would do whatever it took to see that evil vanquished, even endure Potter himself.

But that was a far cry from befriending the boy. He certainly had never promised to do that. The very notion was ludicrous! Snape could think of few things he wanted less than a closer relationship with Harry Potter, especially after that hideous afternoon when he had been forced to bare his soul to the child. How could the obtuse boy not have understood that?

Snape glanced at his student once more and a bitter smile touched his lips. Perhaps Potter finally understood now. He certainly seemed to be finding his teacher’s company every bit as disturbing as Snape found his and Potter’s resulting unsociability suited Snape just fine. The less personal interaction with Potter he had to deal with, the better he could concentrate on their shared goal of defeating the Dark Lord. With a final brief sneer Snape turned back to his potion, feeling at ease for the first time since the Victory at Hogsmeade.

---

The next few days were some of the worst Harry had endured at Grimmauld Place. To start with, it had quickly become apparent that gathering the evidence Moody wanted was not going to be as easy as the old Auror believed. Snape kept the Potions lab and storeroom pristine. Neither held so much as a large speck of dust let alone blood, hair or fingernail clippings. Snape also kept no personal effects around the house; he didn’t even hang his traveling cloak in the entrance hall. Instead, he kept everything in either his bedroom or office, both of which were always locked and undoubtedly warded. Even at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Snape didn’t seem to trust anyone.

Harry’s Potions lessons weren’t going well either. If the lessons had been unpleasant before, they were grueling now. He found it very hard to concentrate when he was with Snape and knew that his work was suffering for it. Harry’s biggest worry, though, was Snape himself.

It might have been just his guilty conscience, but Harry was sure that Snape suspected something. Harry didn’t think that the man had used Legilimency against him; nevertheless, Snape had taken to smirking contemptuously at him and there were moments when Harry was certain that Snape must have caught him out somehow and knew exactly what he was up to. What disturbed Harry most, however, was that Snape didn’t appear to be at all concerned. Rather, he seemed almost satisfied. Was Snape that confident that no one would ever be able to prove his guilt? Or did he just enjoy watching Harry squirm during his lessons?

Harry put those worries aside as he opened the morning paper and began to turn to the Obituaries page. Before he reached it however, a small article at the bottom of an inside page caught his attention.

Death Eater Victim of Muggle Killers

In what appears to have been a case of poetic justice, Ophelia Brosnan, 42, a known Death Eater who has long been sought by the Ministry of Magic, was stabbed to death yesterday evening in an alley in the East End of London, presumably a victim of Muggle brigands. The body was discovered by Muggles and investigated by the Muggle authorities before the Aurors arrived on the scene, therefore details of the murder are sketchy. There were no witnesses. The only information the Aurors could provide this reporter was that Brosnan had been viciously stabbed and robbed, though what use Muggle thieves might make of galleons, sickles and knuts is unknown…

Harry stared at the article. He wanted very much to believe that Muggles had attacked Ophelia Brosnan, but something told him that wasn’t the case. This sounded entirely too much like the other Death Eater fatalities: unusual, but easy enough to dismiss if one discounted the fact that this was now the sixth Death Eater to turn up dead in under two months.

“What are you reading, Harry?” Ginny asked, glancing over at the paper.

“Nothing!” Harry closed the paper a little too quickly.

Ginny stared at him incredulously, but then looked up at the sound of the kitchen door opening. Her expression shifted to one of surprise and joy. “Dad!”

Ginny stood up to greet her father who had just entered the kitchen along with Remus and Tonks. Harry, Ron and Ginny stood up as well. Mr. Weasley hugged his daughter affectionately and did the same for Hermione. Then he patted both Ron and Harry on the back.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” Ron asked. “I thought you were swamped at the Ministry.”

“I am, but I needed to see Remus and thought I’d stop in to see all of you.”

“Have some breakfast, Arthur,” Remus offered and they all sat down.

Mr. Weasley took a sip of the tea that appeared next to him then turned to Harry. Despite his smile, his brow was furrowed in a slight frown of worry. “You all right, Harry?”

“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”

“You caused quite a stir at the Ministry last week.”

Harry felt himself blush slightly, acutely aware that he had been responsible for endangering Ginny and Ron yet again. “I’m sorry. I suppose I should have known –”

“Harry, I’m not blaming you,” Mr. Weasley interrupted with a dismissive gesture. “It wasn’t your fault. But you need to understand that you’re making certain people at the Ministry – powerful people – rather nervous.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘nervous’?” Ron asked.

“They consider Harry to be a risk,” Remus said bluntly. “And events like the one a few days ago only bolster that impression.”

Mr. Weasley sighed. “Yes, Ian Day had a fit.”

“Who’s he?” Ron asked.

“He’s the director of the Department of Public Security.”

Ginny frowned. “I’ve never heard of that department.”

“I don’t imagine you have,” Mr. Weasley said. “It was set up last year to identify security risks and coordinate our defenses in light of You-Know-Who’s return. It worked well at first, but they’ve begun to overstep their bounds in the last few months since Day took over. He’s got a hand in everywhere now, even in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts.”

“He’s been trying to get control over the Aurors,” Tonks interjected with uncharacteristic seriousness. “He wants to bring us under his department to ‘better coordinate security operations’. A load of hogwash – he just wants the power the Aurors would give him. Our heads have been fighting him, of course, but he’s a cunning one and knows how to maneuver to get what he wants.”

“And he has his sights set squarely on you,” Mr. Weasley said with a meaningful look at Harry.

“Why?”

“Probably because everyone thinks you’re the key to Voldemort’s defeat,” Remus answered with a wry smile. “Anyone who’s after power would be interested in that.”

“Is he the one who insisted that I couldn’t go out all summer?” Harry guessed.

Mr. Weasley nodded. “That’s right, but you need to understand that there is more at stake here for you, for all of us, than inconvenience. After the attack in London, Day was openly calling for you to be taken into protective custody.”

“What?” Ginny exclaimed. “You mean arrest Harry?”

“They can’t do that!” Hermione said in outrage. “Harry hasn’t done anything wrong!”

Mr. Weasley held up a hand to silence the protests. He sounded very weary. “Right now, I think Day could do almost anything he wants. That’s why you have to be careful, Harry. Most of the people who count at the Ministry aren’t taking Day’s alarmist ideas seriously at the moment because you’re going back to Hogwarts soon and everyone thinks that’s the safest place for you. But any more public debacles like the one last week, especially after you’re back at school, could be disastrous. You mustn’t give him an excuse to act against you.”

All eyes turned to Harry. He stared back at them then shrugged. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Hermione asked shrilly, still incensed.

“What else is there to say?” Harry snapped. “I’ll do my best to avoid battling Voldemort or his Death Eaters in the streets, but I can’t very well guarantee that won’t happen. I can’t hide under a rock. We’re at war and I have to do my part to fight it. If I’m not going to let Voldemort stop me, then I’m certainly not going to let some idiot at the Ministry scare me.”

Harry looked at Mr. Weasley. “Not that I don’t appreciate the warning. I do.”

“As long as you know the risk,” Mr. Weasley said. “Well, I’d better be getting back.”

Mr. Weasley drank the last of his tea, kissed Ginny on the forehead and with a nod to everyone else left.

“As if we don’t have enough trouble,” Ron complained. “The Ministry are mad.”

“Voldemort has everyone panicked,” Remus said with a sad shake of his head. “But I don’t think you have to worry too much about Day at the moment, Harry. Dumbledore’s at the Ministry weekly to ensure that cooler heads continue to prevail.”

“That’s good, because I have plenty of other things to worry about.” Harry glanced at the clock. “Such as Potions lessons.” He shoved half a piece of toast in his mouth and hurried out of the kitchen, but Moody intercepted him in the entrance hall. The Auror took Harry’s arm and wordlessly pulled him into the dining room, shutting the door behind them.

“Well, Potter?”

Harry hadn’t been looking forward to this meeting. “It’s no good. I haven’t found anything that you could use.”

Moody scowled. “Potter, this isn’t optional. Another Death Eater died last night.”

“I know! I saw the paper. But hair, blood and fingernails aren’t the sorts of things you find lying around just anywhere. What do you expect me to do, snip a lock of his hair when he’s not looking?”

Moody grimaced, but grunted in grudging acknowledgement. However Harry’s hopes that the Auror would abandon this mission were immediately dashed. “You’ll have to check his bedroom, then.”

“You expect me to sneak into his bedroom?” Harry gaped at Moody in disbelief. “If he found out, he’d kill me!”

“Listen to me, Snape almost never tells anyone exactly when or how he meets with the Death Eaters, though we know he has to be making contact with them at least once a week. But I happen to know that tonight he has something set up that should keep him out of the house for over an hour.”

Harry frowned at the Auror in surprise. “How do you know that?”

Moody smiled lopsidedly. “Even Snape can’t keep everything he does a secret. All you have to do is watch for him to leave the house. When he does, you should have more than enough time to slip into his room and find what you’re looking for.”

“That’s assuming he doesn’t have any nasty wards that will turn my hair white or make me break out in boils. How will I explain that?”

“Don’t worry. I know a thing or two about wards. You go up to your lesson and make sure Snape stays busy. I’ll have a look at the door to his room and let you know what spells he has in place and how to get past them. And remember, Potter - constant vigilance.”

Moody pulled open the door, automatically surveyed the entrance hall, then motioned for Harry to leave. Harry left, feeling thoroughly disgruntled, but as he headed upstairs his annoyance with Moody gave way to trepidation at seeing Snape. Thoughts of Brosnan brought back his own memory of McFarlane’s bloody death. Had Brosnan bled to death in another London alley? Had Snape surprised her in the dark and killed her or had he used the Imperius curse to subdue her? Maybe he had used Imperio to make her stab herself? That thought sent a shudder through Harry. He felt sick, but another emotion was rapidly overtaking his horror: anger.

What was Snape thinking? Was he completely mad? Didn’t they have enough to worry about without him jeopardizing his work for the Order as well as the fight against Voldemort with such reckless, unconscionable acts? Harry knew better than anyone what Snape had suffered at Voldemort’s hands, but vengeance and murder weren’t the answer and with each step he climbed, he became more furious with Snape for not realizing that. He was also furious at being caught in the impossible position of knowing what Snape was doing and being unable to confront him about it. At this rate, if Snape didn’t manage to get himself killed spying on the Death Eaters he was going to wind up in prison for killing them.

Well, he’d probably rather be dead or in prison than help me anyway! Harry thought sourly.

He’d arrived at the Potions lab and took a moment to close his mind and compose himself. Moody needed time to investigate Snape’s wards and it wouldn’t do for Harry to give Snape any more reason to be suspicious than he already had. It suddenly occurred to Harry how ironic it was that he was using the very skills Snape had taught him to deceive the man and immediately felt a sharp stab of guilt. He shook his head, impatient with himself. Snape was lying to everyone, too, and was guilty of far worse as well. Besides, an Auror couldn’t let his feelings get in the way of his duty. Moody had said so and surely he knew what he was talking about. With that thought firmly in mind, Harry took a deep breath and went into the lab

---

Harry’s Potions lesson went better than he could have hoped. Snape was starting the month’s batch of Wolfsbane potion and between that and his usual work he had no time for Harry. After a few brief reminders about the day’s Potion, he left Harry to his work and ignored him entirely. As a result, Harry’s mood was much restored by the time he came downstairs and spotted Moody lurking in the library pretending to be searching through a stack of books. Moody was alone so Harry glanced around to ensure that no one was watching him and stepped into the library.

“Anything I can help you find?” Harry asked with a slight smirk.

“Possibly.” Moody handed a book to Harry. “See if that’s got anything in it about wards that work against Giants.”

Harry flipped through the book until he found a piece of parchment with a list of charms and their countercharms written in a surprisingly flowing script. Harry perused the list then slipped it into his pocket. “Sorry, nothing here.”

“Ah well, just a thought.” Moody began replacing the books on the shelves and Harry went to help him.

“What do you want me to do once I have it?” he asked quietly.

“Just keep it safe. I’ll come by tomorrow evening to pick it up. And make sure you don’t forget to reset the wards when you’re done or Snape will know someone’s been in his room.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I won’t forget. I don’t want Snape to know…” Harry trailed off and Moody started to turn away, but Harry reached out a hand to stop him.

“What will happen to him?”

The old Auror hesitated and for the first time Harry saw a flicker of sympathy in Moody’s good eye. “That’s up to the Ministry,” he said gently.

“But you know. You must.”

“The Ministry is unpredictable these days. I wouldn’t venture to guess what their ruling will be and neither should you. It’s our job to prevent crimes, not to pass judgment. Stay focused on your job, Potter.”

Harry nodded unhappily and Moody laid a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck.”

Moody left and Harry sat down on the sofa feeling the same uncertainty he had the first time he’d promised to spy on Snape for Moody. He couldn’t help worrying about Snape’s fate. Harry’s own experiences with the Ministry’s justice system had never inspired much trust and after Mr. Weasley’s warning at breakfast, he had none at all. Moody’s comment about the Ministry being ‘unpredictable’ hadn’t helped either. Harry sighed in exasperation. He couldn’t worry about the Ministry on top of everything else. I know I’m doing the right thing helping Moody, Harry told himself. But the voice in his head didn’t sound terribly convinced.

The Death Eaters were hidden, waiting silently for their quarry to appear. For weeks, the Dark Lord had been obsessed with finding the man – an obsession that had only intensified with the recent, suspicious deaths of some of his followers and which now almost overshadowed his relentless pursuit of Harry Potter. All of his loyal Death Eaters had been working tirelessly to discover any clue to the man’s whereabouts. Tonight, at last, they’d had their break. On a tip from an informant, one of their members had managed to track him to this run-down pub. The Death Eater had sent word to the Dark Lord immediately and now, nearly an hour later, six of the Dark Lord’s most trusted followers were fidgeting in anticipation in their hiding places.

Lucius Malfoy, however, did not share the eager confidence of his fellows as he watched the door of the pub from the shadows of an alley. He knew from experience that too much eagerness and confidence begat mistakes and he had no desire to take the blame for any tonight. He scowled behind his Death Eater’s mask. They needed to be alert and cautious – particularly with this prey who had already eluded them numerous times. He knew that even six to one odds in their favor wouldn’t guarantee them success – not against Severus Snape.

In the months since he’d been revealed as a traitor to the Dark Lord, Snape had become the bane of their existence. Whatever damage he might have done as a spy was nothing compared to the havoc he was wreaking upon his former colleagues now. Again and again he had lured his pursuers into the arms of waiting Aurors, or left them to face the Dark Lord’s wrath by slipping through their fingers. The man was undeniably clever. He knew their tactics and many of their objectives and had an uncanny ability to anticipate them. He had also pulled off two spectacularly bold moves.

The first had been during a major skirmish with the Aurors. Snape had infiltrated the Dark Lord’s ranks dressed as one of them and attacked them from behind, throwing the battle into chaos and allowing the Aurors to gain the upper hand. Half a dozen Death Eaters had been arrested that night.

In the second instance Snape had used Polyjuice to impersonate one of them and had stunned his two unsuspecting companions and delivered them to the Aurors. At least that’s what the note they’d received from him the next day had claimed. The Dark Lord had not been happy on that occasion – not at all.

They had instituted precautions to help guard against such debacles in the future. When going into a fight, they were to have partners – not to protect each other, but to watch for possible treachery. Lucius considered it a cumbersome and useless measure, however. Snape wasn’t likely to repeat such reckless moves and he didn’t have to. He had achieved his goal of making them doubt one another.

Privately, Lucius suspected that Snape was using Polyjuice for a much more clandestine and troubling purpose – namely to spy on them. There was no other way to explain how some of their recent operations had been betrayed. Lucius hadn’t voiced this suspicion to anyone, though he was sure that all but the dullest of the Death Eaters had come to the same conclusion. The tension in their ranks was unmistakable, as was the grim suspicion with which they now openly eyed one another whenever they met. Snape had single handedly managed to strike fear into the hearts of the Death Eaters, a feat that the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix together had never achieved.

And that was before the deaths had begun.

The Ministry and the Daily Prophet might be turning a blind eye to the situation, but the Death Eaters were well aware that someone was hunting them and it didn’t take any imagination to decide who it must be. This made their current mission all the more urgent. It wasn’t only their cause, but their lives that were at stake.

And yet, Lucius felt little but dull weariness as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other in the hopes of staving off the creeping ache in his legs from the prolonged vigil. He had already participated in two previous attempts to catch Snape and loathed these missions – not only because the others had ended in failure, but because they made him think about things he’d rather not.

He still had nightmares about that night. Longtime Death Eater though he was, he had never witnessed anything as brutal as the torture the Dark Lord had put Snape to. He had closed his eyes behind his mask, but he hadn’t been able to block out the sounds of a body being broken or the screams of agony from a man whom Lucius had long counted as one of his few friends. Snape had screamed until he was hoarse and then he had wept – hopeless, wracking sobs. But through it all, he had never begged, neither for mercy nor for death.

Lucius shook his head at the memory of the man’s stubbornness, though he couldn’t deny a grudging admiration for Snape’s tenacity. And it had paid off in the end. The Dark Lord had waited to kill Snape, wanting to break him first, and Dumbledore had managed to rescue his spy. Lucius still didn’t know how they’d been found, but he knew that he wasn’t the only Death Eater who had been secretly relieved by the appearance of the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix. Few of them honestly enjoyed such extreme and prolonged sadistic displays and this worked to their enemies’ advantage.

Dumbledore and his followers got away virtually unscathed precisely because most of the Death Eaters were doing their best to ignore what was happening in the clearing and hadn’t immediately noticed their enemies’ arrival. They had been unforgivably slow to react – something the Dark Lord had made all of them painfully aware of afterward.

Lucius knew he ought to hate Snape. Over and over he told himself that Snape – Severus – had lied to them all, had lied to him, had used him. But Lucius’s anger always faded at the memory of what the man had suffered.

That left him standing here cold, irritable and thoroughly indifferent to the night’s outcome.

The pub door opened and a figure dressed all in black emerged. He had his hood up, but as he glanced warily up and down the street, the lamplight caught his features – sallow skin, a large hooked nose, black eyes and long black hair. It was Snape and Lucius felt his heart leap.

As planned, one of the Death Eaters stepped out of the alley and raised his wand. Snape spun to face his would-be attacker and never saw the second man who stepped out of the shadows behind him.

“Avada Kedavra!” the second Death Eaters called.

A jet of green light hit Snape squarely in the back and he crumpled to the ground. The Death Eaters hurried forward and Lucius shoved several aside as he came to gaze down at the dead man.

“Outsmarted at last, Severus,” he whispered, surprised to feel bitter disappointment welling up inside of him instead of triumph.

Perhaps it was the light, but as Malfoy stared down at the dead man, his face seemed to change. Malfoy squinted in the near darkness, but the effect was no illusion. Snape’s features were melting and reforming. In a moment, another face, equally familiar, was staring sightlessly up at them.

“It’s Iverson,” someone commented dumbstruck.

“Iverson?” another equally baffled voice said. “He’s supposed to be in Amsterdam. What’s he doing here?”

“Fools!” Malfoy spat, rounding on the other Death Eaters. “We’ve been tricked.”

Even as he was speaking, another voice called out, “Halt by order of the Ministry!”

A dozen figures had Apparated into the street – Aurors by the looks of them – and all of them had their wands drawn and pointed at the Death Eaters.

Malfoy sent a volley of silver arrows hurtling at the Aurors as the other Death Eaters let loose with their own curses.

One of the Death Eaters fell from a Stunning charm, but Malfoy paid no attention to this. He dodged a poorly aimed curse by one of the Aurors and darted towards the safety of the alley. Another curse sizzled past him, forcing him to turn and hurl his own curse back at his attacker. He wasn’t aware of the man who stepped out of the shadows until a hand closed on his shoulder.

“Pureblood,” the man said and with a familiar jerk behind the navel, the street and the pitched battle vanished.

---

The moment his feet hit solid ground again, Malfoy whirled on his abductor, but it was too late.

“Expelliarmus!” the man cried and Malfoy’s wand went flying as he was thrown back against a wall. The man caught the wand, pocketed it then threw back the hood of his cloak.

“Snape!” Malfoy breathed, not the least bit surprised as he pulled off his own hood and Death Eater’s mask and straightened his robes.

“Lucius,” Snape nodded politely, keeping his wand leveled at Malfoy. “How nice of you to drop by.”

Malfoy scanned his surroundings warily. He and Snape were alone in a small, windowless room. It was dingy and lit by a single lamp sputtering on the wall. The only furnishings were a scrubbed wood table and two hard wooden chairs.

“Where are we?” he demanded with his customary imperiousness.

“A secure place where we won’t be disturbed,” Snape replied in an infuriatingly smug tone, then flicked his wand towards one of the chairs. “Sit down.”

Malfoy had no choice, of course, so he sat down and waited for Snape to make the next move.

“So, Lucius, did you enjoy my little joke tonight?” Snape asked lightly, though his wand remained pointed directly at Malfoy’s chest.

“A joke? Is that what you call it?”

“I found it amusing. The looks on all of your faces were priceless. Best of all, it was so easy to arrange. That dolt, Iverson, was certainly no challenge. A little Polyjuice, a simple Imperius Curse and you did the rest.”

Malfoy gritted his teeth, but managed to keep his voice calm. “Why the games?”

“Why not? It’s quite liberating to no longer have to pretend loyalty to your master. The freedom that affords has more than made up for not being privy to his inner counsel and I find that I quite enjoy watching all of you scurry around, trying to out-guess me.”

Malfoy gripped the arms of his chair tightly to keep from lunging at Snape across the table. He knew that would be a mistake, though the man’s insufferable smirk was nearly unbearable.

“And what is it you want from me?” he snapped.

“An alliance,” Snape said easily.

For a moment Malfoy frowned in confusion, certain he’d misunderstood Snape, but then his face set in a hard glare. “Another joke, Severus?”

Snape’s smirk vanished and his black eyes glittered with intensity. “No joke, Lucius. I am completely in earnest.”

Malfoy regarded Snape with suspicion which gradually gave way to astonishment. “You expect me to betray the Dark Lord? You’re mad!”

“Not at all. I simply need a contact in the Dark Lord’s inner circle,” Snape said matter-of-factly. “You’re the only one who isn’t a deluded fanatic, a dimwit or a bloodthirsty killer.”

Snape’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Besides, you always were my best source of information. You just never realized it.”

“Which makes an excellent point,” Malfoy said testily. “I am not the Occlumens you are. I cannot deceive him. He would kill me and that would hardly serve your cause. You’ll have to find someone else to risk his life for your Mudbloods. I’ll go to Azkaban.”

“How stirring,” Snape said, a smile still playing on his lips. “But alas, Azkaban is not one of your options.”

“What?”

Snape’s smile broadened, but his eyes were fixed on Malfoy with the cold intensity of a predator regarding its prey. “I have no intention of turning you over to the Aurors, Lucius,” Snape said in a quiet, silken voice that sent a chill down Malfoy’s spine. “Vengeance is far more satisfying. Do not think that I have forgotten the agony I suffered at the Dark Lord’s hands. I may not be able to have my revenge upon him, but taking it out on those who stood by and watched is almost as enjoyable. I’m sure you’ve noticed that your numbers have been dropping in recent weeks.”

Malfoy shifted in his seat. “Surely you’re not stooping to the level of your enemies, Severus? I thought Dumbledore was above such things.”

“He is, but you’ll notice that he’s not here,” Snape continued, his pleasant, conversational tone horribly juxtaposed against his icy stare. “I, on the other hand, have no compunctions. You see, there is a reason why Dumbledore finds my services so valuable. I take care of the messy problems that he would rather not soil his conscience with. Not that I mind; in fact I rather enjoy it and when I can take personal satisfaction in my work, so much the better. To be perfectly honest, I almost hoped that you would refuse my offer.”

“Do you think I enjoyed watching what the Dark Lord did to you?” Malfoy spat angrily. “What would you have had me do? You know perfectly well that I couldn’t intervene. It would have been suicide. If our places had been reversed, you would have stood by and watched, too!”

Snape shrugged. “Yes, I would have, you’re right, but that’s rather beside the point.”

“I was relieved that you survived, Severus,” Malfoy insisted desperately. “And I’m delighted that you’ve managed to outwit pursuit all this time.”

“And yet there you were, ready to kill me this evening,” Snape pointed out, smiling as he raised his wand.

Malfoy was quite certain that nothing he might say would make the slightest difference to whatever Snape was about to do to him, yet nonetheless he felt an inexplicable need to defend himself. Perhaps it was because it was true. For all that Snape had betrayed them, Malfoy was glad that the man had survived. He felt a thrill of excitement every time Snape eluded them and couldn’t help admiring the man who had bested the Dark Lord.

“I was there tonight because I was ordered to be. But I swear that no curse of mine would have ever touched you!”

Snape’s predatory smile softened into his familiar knowing smirk and his eyes flashed triumphantly. “And you’re not afraid that your master will see that in your mind?”

Malfoy paled as he realized what Snape had maneuvered him into admitting, not just to Snape but to himself. He looked away without a word, no longer particularly caring what Snape did to him.

Snape didn’t curse him, though. Instead, he pocketed his wand and sat down in the vacant chair. He folded his arms and let the silence linger between them. Finally, he asked quietly, “Do you enjoy it, Lucius?”

“Enjoy what?” Malfoy asked, regarding his old friend wearily.

“Serving him. We’ve never spoken of it; we never would have dared, but now I’m asking you, do you enjoy crawling on your knees before that thing?”

Malfoy sat in stony silence.

“Come now, Lucius, we’ve known one another long enough. I know you have no love for him.”

“He seeks to purify our world –”

“He seeks to enslave our world! There are better ways to pursue the pureblood ideal, ways that are far less likely to end in death or subjugation.”

“I will have my reward.”

“Will you? Let’s see, you’ve been to prison, you’ve lost everything you worked diligently to achieve in the last twenty years and you can’t even set foot in your own manor because you’re a wanted criminal. Not much of a reward, so far.”

“When he achieves victory –”

“If he achieves victory, he will no longer need you. Oh he may throw a few bones your way, if you fawn over him enough to remain one of his favorites. But you know how changeable he is. Fail to bow low enough and you will find yourself with nothing, because it will all be his to give and to take away. You will have only what falls from his table as you sit at his feet. You know that, Lucius!”

“It’s preferable to the alternative! I can’t say that your example is one I’d like to emulate.”

“So is this what the illustrious, pureblood Malfoys have come to then – groveling like house-elves? It’s not only your life at stake, Lucius. He is immortal. You condemn not only yourself, but your son and his sons and their sons after them to endless servitude.”

“Stop it!” Malfoy snarled, leaping to his feet. “Don’t you think I know all of this? I have no choice!”

The two men glared at one another in silence for a long moment. Finally Snape spoke with quiet intensity.

“If I could give you a choice, a way to destroy him for good, would you take it?”

“There is no way!” Malfoy said. “You said yourself that he is immortal. What secret weapon will you use against him? Harry Potter?”

Snape snorted in disgust. “Potter? Don’t be ridiculous. The child is useless. The only reason he’s still alive is because of his astonishing luck and the number of people who have been willing to risk their lives to protect him – all because of a prophecy made by a charlatan. I make my own fate, Lucius. I don’t rely on prophecies to do it for me, nor will I rely on a boy to save the world.

“However, Potter does have his value. He has almost single-handedly distracted the Dark Lord from any useful endeavors. Think about it, Lucius. How much time has he wasted on elaborate plots against that boy? Years. That is what makes Harry Potter invaluable. While the Dark Lord obsesses over him to the exclusion of all else, he gives us the chance to move against him. While he is fighting a non-existent threat, he doesn’t see the real one.”

“A lovely speech, Severus, but it still ignores the small point of his immortality. You cannot kill someone who cannot die.”

“Dumbledore is working on that and whatever else you may think of him, he is the greatest wizard of the modern age. He will find a way to circumvent the Dark Lord’s protection.”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re not a fool, Lucius. I wouldn’t be making you this offer if I thought you were. I’m not asking you to deceive him, or betray him. Not yet. All I’m asking is for is a little discrete information occasionally and your allegiance when the time comes.”

“And what do I get?”

“Freedom.”

“Freedom is a relative term. You pointed out yourself that I’m a wanted man.”

“A full pardon, your fortune and property unencumbered and your good name restored.”

“And if I refuse?”

Snape’s mouth twitched in the slightest smile. “Then you may give the Dark Lord my regards.”

Malfoy shook his head in amazement. “You’re mad, Severus.”

“No, I merely know how to take a calculated risk. And so do you. If we never find a way to defeat him then you will have lost nothing by accepting my offer, but if we do… I ask you again, Lucius; tell me truthfully. If I can give you a chance to rid yourself and your family of his yoke, will you take it?”

Malfoy met Snape’s fiercely determined gaze with his own solemn one. “Yes. I will.”

---

Harry crept up the stairs to the second floor and made his way along the pitch-black hallway towards Snape’s bedroom. When he reached it, he pulled his wand and the slip of parchment Moody had given him from the pocket of his dressing gown.

“Lumos.”

The tip of Harry’s wand glowed softly and Harry examined the door before him. It looked like every other door in the hallway, perfectly innocent and ordinary. There was nothing to indicate that the door was warded as far as Harry could tell and he wondered briefly how Moody had managed to detect the spells. Next, Harry turned his attention to the parchment and read through the instructions for disarming Snape’s wards once more.

There were four spells in all. Harry raised his wand and cast the first one, but nothing happened. The door looked exactly as if had before. Harry sighed irritably, hoping that this was going to work. He had just finished casting the second counter-charm when he heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening at the other end of the hall.

“Nox!” Harry whispered as Remus emerged from his study. There was nowhere to hide, so Harry flattened himself against the wall and hoped that the darkness would conceal him, though he knew that would do him no good if Remus came anywhere near where he was standing. Harry held his breath as Remus came down the hall, then let out a sigh of relief as the man headed downstairs without even glancing towards where Harry stood.

Harry turned back to Snape’s room feeling a renewed sense of urgency. There was no telling when Remus might return. Harry lit his wand and hurriedly cast the remaining counter charms, whispered “Alohamora”, then reached out and grasped the doorknob. If Moody had missed any of the spells Snape had warding his room, this was going to be a very short mission and Harry was going to have a lot of explaining to do. He held his breath, turned the knob and pushed the door open. Nothing happened. Harry breathed another sigh of relief, stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He raised his wand high to look around.

The room looked perfectly ordinary, not much different than Harry’s own bedroom in fact, though Snape’s room was considerably neater. Nevertheless, Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable being in Snape’s most private domain. He moved around the room not touching anything until he spied what he’d been hoping to find. A comb lay on the bedside table and clinging to it were several long black strands of hair.

Grimacing, Harry gingerly pulled two stands of hair free. He dug in the pocket of his dressing gown for his handkerchief and wrapped the hairs in it. He shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket and was about to turn back to the door when he noticed a second door standing ajar. This led into the adjoining room and Harry realized at once that this was Snape’s office where Harry so often heard him pacing back and forth at night.

Harry knew that he should leave, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. He crossed to the office door, pushed it open and stepped into Snape’s office. This was far more interesting than Snape’s bedroom. There was a desk against one wall that was covered with papers, books and bits of parchment with hastily scribbled notes. There were various instruments and potions ingredients packed onto a bookshelf along with yet more books.

But what captured Harry’s attention was the large cauldron which occupied the far corner. Harry moved cautiously towards it and peered in. He recognized the mature Polyjuice potion at once and was just beginning to work out what Snape might be using it for when he heard, in the dead silence of the house, the distant thud of a door closing.

Harry’s heart leapt at the sound and in the next moment he felt a flash of anger at his own stupidity. What was he doing snooping around Snape’s office? The man might be back at any time and he still had to reset the wards. Harry turned and raced back through Snape’s bedroom. He pressed his ear to the hallway door and listened intently. Satisfied that there was no one outside the room, he pulled open the door and peered out. The hallway was dark and quiet, so Harry slipped out of the room and locked the door. Carefully, he began murmuring the spells to reset the wards all the while listening for the tread of footsteps on the stairs or the sound of another door being opened. He finished the last spell, breathed a sigh of relief and hurried as quietly as he could back to the stairs.

Harry reached the first floor landing just as the front door opened. Instantly, he ducked back into the shadows of the staircase. Then he heard hushed voices coming from the entrance hall. One was Remus’s as he could have guessed, but the other voice wasn’t Snape’s though it was every bit as familiar. Harry abandoned his hiding place and moved forward to peer over the banister. There were five people below him: Remus, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Moody and the man whose voice he had recognized. Dumbledore was conversing quietly with Remus, but before Harry could gather what was being said, the group moved away and entered the library.

Harry frowned. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. Why were Dumbledore and the Order members meeting this late? Harry struggled with his conscience only a moment before his curiosity won out. Bypassing his room, he stole down the stairs to the entrance hall. He tiptoed up to the half-open door and slid into the deep shadows next to the ancient suit of armor.

“So, what happened?” Remus asked quietly.

“We arrested six of them,” Shacklebolt’s deep baritone answered. “Another they killed, naturally.”

Tonks nodded. “Everything went exactly as planned. It’s a good job he’s on our side. Talk about cold-blooded. He was cool as you please.”

“Tonks!” Remus said reprovingly.

“You know it’s true. I’m just saying it.”

Remus frowned. “What about Malfoy?”

“He’s probably back with You-Know-Who by now,” Moody growled. “I don’t like it. Letting a Death Eater go rankles.”

“It’s for a good cause, Moody,” Shacklebolt replied.

“So he says. I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone.” Tonks said.

“I don’t trust any man who would use an Unforgivable on another except as a last resort.”

“Plenty of our own did in the last war,” Shacklebolt pointed out.

“Aye, and I never trusted any that did,” Moody declared.

“Perhaps not, Alastor,” Dumbledore said. “However, I trust Severus and I would appreciate it if we could keep the disparaging remarks to a minimum. For now I think we should trust Severus’s instincts on this. He should be here, I believe, momentarily.”

Even as Dumbledore was still speaking, Harry heard the soft click of the front door being unlocked and shrank back into the shadows once more. The door swung open and Snape stepped into the hall. His long black hair framed his pale face as a shaft of moonlight illuminated his figure in the doorway and Harry suppressed his customary shudder at the sight of the Death Eater’s robes Snape wore.

Snape moved silently and purposefully across the hall to the library, passing within a few feet of Harry’s hiding place.

“Ah Severus, there you are,” Dumbledore said in welcome as Snape entered the room. “Did all go according to plan?”

“Yes, I believe that we can count on Malfoy to do his part when the time comes.”

“You think we can we trust him?” Moody scoffed.

“I trust Lucius Malfoy to act in his own best interests,” Snape replied.

“What if he doesn’t agree with you as to what those are?” Moody asked, a note of unmistakable contempt in his voice which Snape ignored.

“I believe I’ve made things quite clear to him,” Snape said. “And since Draco will be under my care at Hogwarts, I’m certain that Lucius will do nothing to betray us.”

“You threatened the boy?” Tonks asked.

Snape hesitated then spoke slowly, clearly choosing his words with care. “There are only so many ways to ensure cooperation from an enemy.”

“And you know all of them, don’t you?” Moody shot back.

There was a moment’s awkward silence in which Snape and Moody simply glared at one another. Then Snape spoke in a low, hard voice. “Yes, I do.”

Snape turned to Dumbledore. “If there is nothing else –”

“Actually, Severus, there is something I wish to discuss with you. I won’t keep the rest of you, though.”

Harry slipped back into the shadows as the Order members filed out of the library. Moody opened the front door and looked cautiously outside. Apparently satisfied that no one was lying in wait for them, he nodded to Remus and left. Shacklebolt followed him out. Tonks kissed Remus and left too. Remus shut the door behind them and locked it, then with a final glance back towards the library, headed upstairs.

Harry sidled back towards the library door. Dumbledore was out of sight, but Harry could clearly hear the sound of a wine bottle being opened and the tinkle of liquid being poured into glasses.

“I really don’t care for any wine, Albus,” Snape said in an irritated voice.

“Of course you don’t,” Dumbledore agreed amiably. “But I’ve been saving this bottle for a special occasion and I would be disappointed if you refused the honor of sharing it with me.”

“I hardly think this qualifies as a special occasion,” Snape said stiffly, pulling his traveling cloak around him defensively.

Dumbledore came back into view, carrying two glasses of a deep red wine. His eyes were twinkling. “Indulge me.” He proffered one of the glasses to Snape, who eyed it as though it had just offended him.

“Albus, it’s late. I need to go change,” Snape demurred.

“The clothes do not make the man, Severus,” Dumbledore said emphatically as his warm eyes held Snape’s. “There is no need.”

Harry hadn’t realized just how tense Snape was until the man relaxed. Snape sighed and took the glass from Dumbledore who beamed happily.

“It’s an excellent vintage,” Dumbledore said, sipping his own wine and nodding encouragingly at Snape.

Snape gave the old man a wry smile and took something considerably larger than a sip of his own wine. “Excellent, of course.” He sat down on the sofa and threw his head back against the cushions. Dumbledore took the chair facing him and the two men sat in silence, neither speaking nor even looking at one another.

Harry crept closer and watched for several long minutes, fidgeting in the silence. He was beginning to wonder if either of the men was ever going to say anything, when Snape finally spoke.

“Can we trust Lucius Malfoy?” he sneered tiredly. “What an idiotic question. Moody should know better. Of course, what he really meant was why on earth you trust me.” Snape raised his head enough to take another swallow of his wine then let it fall back on the cushions again.

“Now Severus, it isn’t so much your loyalty they question, but rather your methods, which, you must admit, are quite unorthodox.”

“That’s putting it delicately.” Snape looked over at Dumbledore. “I know what they think of me, Albus. I can see it in their eyes as easily as you can.”

Dumbledore swirled his wine around his glass, watching the lamp light dance on its ruby surface. “You do encourage them. I know perfectly well that you didn’t threaten to harm Draco Malfoy this evening. Why did you allow them to believe that you did?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint them.” Snape drained his glass and stared into it.

“Severus, I am not in the habit of telling men how to live their lives,” Dumbledore said as he picked up the bottle and refilled Snape’s glass. “However, I do have a responsibility to ensure, as far as I can, the safety of those whom I ask to risk their lives on my orders. It was one thing to shun your allies when there was a need to maintain your cover as one of Voldemort’s own. To do so now, when you are a hunted man, is not sensible. For your own sake, don’t you think it might be wise to inspire something besides wariness in those most likely to be in a position to save your life?”

“And how, precisely, do you suggest that I do that?” Snape asked, testily.

“Stop leading them to think the worst of you.”

Snape swallowed half the contents of his refilled wineglass and leaned back against the cushions once more, staring up at the ceiling in stubborn silence.

“Is that really so difficult?”

“Yes,” Snape hissed, coldly, his eyes still riveted on the ceiling. “I couldn’t care less what any of them think of me.”

“That is what concerns me.”

Snape sat up so suddenly that Harry jumped, though Dumbledore didn’t so much as flinch.

“Albus, what do you want from me?” Snape demanded, his voice rising in bitter frustration. “Must I defend myself endlessly? Haven’t I earned my place here? Haven’t I paid the price of admission to this little club of yours? I will not justify myself to them! Please don’t tell me that I have to do so to you.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dumbledore said gently. “But it would be a lie if I said that I don’t fear the turmoil I see in your mind.”

Snape looked away and took another drink of his wine. When he spoke again, his voice was once more controlled and dispassionate. “I’m fine, Albus.”

Dumbledore gave the smallest of sighs and took another sip of his own wine. “Tell me,” he said, changing the subject abruptly. “How is Harry?”

Harry flinched at the sound of his own name and was surprised to see Snape do the same. The man drained his second glass of wine and reached for the bottle to pour another. Dumbledore waited patiently but Harry could tell that he was watching Snape closely.

“Potter’s doing well enough in his lessons,” Snape said at last. “Apparently, he can be competent when he actually applies himself.”

“That is encouraging,” Dumbledore said. “However, I was actually more concerned with Harry’s mental state. Remus says that he has seemed distracted and anxious of late.”

“Given the events of last week, I hardly think that’s remarkable.” Snape said.

“Surely not,” Dumbledore agreed. “You believe that is all that is troubling him then?”

Snape took a drink of his wine then gazed into his glass, running a finger around the rim. “I have no evidence that would suggest otherwise.”

There was the barest flash of doubt in Dumbledore’s eyes before he spoke. “I’ll have a word with Harry, then. I need to come and see him tomorrow anyway – or rather, later today,” Dumbledore amended, glancing at the clock. “Goodness, it is late. I won’t keep you up any longer, Severus. Get some rest.”

As Snape bade Dumbledore goodnight, Harry hurried silently up the stairs and slipped back into his bedroom. He sat down on his bed, pondering the conversations he’d overheard.

He wondered what deal Snape might have made with Lucius Malfoy and he had to agree with Moody. Malfoy was the last person Harry would trust, but he pushed aside that concern to consider what was, for him, a more pressing problem: Dumbledore was worried about Snape and Harry wondered what turmoil he could see in the man’s mind. Could it have anything to do with the murdered Death Eaters? Snape was a brilliant Occlumens, but if anyone could penetrate his mental defenses it was surely Dumbledore. Maybe the old wizard could sense Snape’s guilt but wasn’t sure enough to confront him directly.

Then again, perhaps Dumbledore already knew. He had mentioned Snape’s ‘unorthodox’ methods which the other members of the Order questioned. Could Moody be working at cross purposes to Dumbledore or even going against Dumbledore’s orders in investigating Snape? Was that why he had insisted on complete secrecy?

Harry pulled his neatly folded handkerchief from the pocket of his dressing gown and stared at it, less certain than ever as to what he should do. He had promised to help Moody, but what if Moody hadn’t been completely honest with him?

Harry sighed and tucked the handkerchief into the drawer of his bedside table. He took off his dressing gown, crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling. Any other time he would have been looking forward to seeing Dumbledore, but for once he had absolutely no interest in discussing Voldemort or the war.

---

Snape was looking forward to bed. It had been another long, exhausting day the likes of which had become far too common of late. The wine had taken its toll as well and Snape wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget all of the worries preying on his mind. He reached his bedroom and silently disarmed his wards. He entered the room, pulled off his cloak and stopped dead. The door to his office stood wide open and Snape knew that he hadn’t left it that way. Dropping his cloak on the bed, he moved warily around the room, scrutinizing everything. He opened his bureau and wardrobe, but nothing appeared to be out of place. Next, Snape went into his office. He checked the wards on his office door, but they were securely in place just as the wards on his bedroom door had been. He searched the room, but here too, nothing had been disturbed.

Snape frowned in consternation. The break-in had been skillfully done and there were few who could have managed it. Any other night he would have suspected Moody as a matter of course. In fact he’d been expecting something like this from the crafty old Auror for weeks which was one reason why he never told the other Order members when he planned to leave headquarters.

Snape knew that Moody didn’t trust him, of course, and he knew perfectly well why. He had long since deduced Moody’s suspicions from the man’s thinly veiled accusations. Moody had no subtlety and acted as though he thought that Snape kept a bloody knife under his pillow. This would have been laughable if the Auror hadn’t shared his suspicions with the rest of the Order, but given the uncomfortable looks the others frequently gave Snape, it was evident that he had. Even that was little more than an annoyance, however. It wasn’t as though any of them could distrust him more than they already did. Snape was certain that he could die in the fight against the Dark Lord and they’d still question his motives.

At the moment though, all of that was irrelevant. Regardless of how much his fellow Order members might suspect him, the fact remained that Moody had been with him tonight, as had virtually everyone else with the skill to get past his wards. There was only one person who had remained behind who had the knowledge to evade his defenses.

It had to have been Lupin and Snape’s eyes narrowed in anger at the thought of that particularly despised individual snooping among his personal effects. Obviously Lupin had finally given in to Moody’s pressure and agreed to go along with his ‘investigation’.

No surprise there, Snape thought with a sour sneer. Lupin wasn’t one to stand on principle when faced with the disapproval of his peers. But the werewolf wasn’t as clever as he thought and Snape would have a little chat with him in the morning to point that out. Once he had extracted a confession perhaps he’d at last be able to convince Dumbledore of the folly of urging him to attempt to build any trust between himself and his allies.

Satisfied that some good would come of the invasion of his privacy, Snape went back into his bedroom, pulled off his robes and tossed them on the chair. He took off his shirt and paused to look at his left forearm. The Dark Mark burned black against the pale skin and Snape smiled. Painful though it was, it was also a mark of success. The Dark Lord would not be happy tonight.

Snape’s smile faded. He hoped that Lucius would be able to avoid the worst of the Dark Lord’s wrath. If the stories the Death Eaters had been whispering lately were true, the punishments that the Dark Lord was meting out these days were fearsome indeed. Snape rubbed his arm absentmindedly in a futile attempt to relieve the pain, then stripped off the rest of his clothes, pulled on his nightshirt and got into bed. He took a deep breath, cleared his mind of worries about Lucius as well as concerns over his scheming allies, and in a moment he was sound asleep.

Snape and Lupin’s private rooms were at opposite ends of the second floor and by unspoken agreement they never intruded upon one another’s territory. This morning, however, Snape felt that confronting Lupin in his study would be highly appropriate and he was actually looking forward to it.

Snape didn’t like Lupin. He had numerous reasons for this, chief among them Lupin’s friendship with James Potter and Sirius Black. The man’s incessantly pleasant personality also grated on Snape’s nerves. Then there was the matter of Lupin’s Lycanthropy. Snape, like most wizards, had an instinctive distrust of Dark Creatures and the fact that Lupin would have mindlessly killed him without hesitation when they were sixteen had James Potter not prevented it was not something easily forgotten.

Nevertheless, Snape did have to grudgingly admit that that incident hadn’t really been Lupin’s fault. Nor could he deny that Lupin had proved his trustworthiness beyond doubt in the last several years. In fact, if Snape was entirely honest with himself, what galled him wasn’t that the man was a werewolf per se, but rather that he was a well-liked werewolf.

Everyone who knew Remus Lupin thought highly of him despite the fact that he turned into a murderous beast once a month. And what he and Nymphadora got up to when they were alone did not bear thinking about. By contrast, no one thought well of Snape. He was tolerated and occasionally grudgingly respected for his usefulness, but no one liked him.

Though Snape would have suffered Cruciatus rather than admit it, he bitterly resented Lupin for achieving what had eluded him his whole life. The one thing that made this bearable was the power he held over Lupin in the form of the Wolfsbane potion. Lupin, for all his friends, needed Severus Snape and that gave Snape his edge of superiority – an advantage he was about to put to good use.

Snape rapped sharply on Lupin’s study door then pushed it open and walked in without waiting for an acknowledgement.

Lupin was leafing through a stack of parchment as Snape entered and he looked up in surprise. “Severus? Is something wrong?”

“You might say that.” Snape closed the door, folded his arms and fixed the other man with his most self-assured sneer. “You might also explain what you were doing in my office last night.”

Remus frowned. “What?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think you could slip past my wards undetected?

“Severus, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play innocent. That was old when we were in school.”

“So was your penchant for expecting the worst of everyone. Would you mind at least explaining what you think I’ve done?”

Snape favored Lupin with a coldly accusing stare. “Someone circumvented my wards and entered my office while I was out last night.”

Lupin’s eyes widened in alarm. “You can’t be serious.”

Snape stepped forward to tower over the other man. “Don’t play games with me. You were the only one here. Was it Moody who put you up to it? Did you finally decide to go along with his vendetta against me in order to remain in his good graces? That’s poor payment for my efforts in preventing you from turning into a mindless beast once a month, don’t you think?”

Lupin paled, then flushed scarlet and jumped to his feet. His voice was as angry and indignant as Snape’s. “If you know about Moody’s suspicions then you must also know that I have never supported them and I certainly wouldn’t stoop to snooping around your office!”

“How very honorable. And you expect me to believe that?”

“I’m telling you the truth, Severus! Aren’t you a competent enough Legilimens to know that?”

“I don’t trust even Legilimency to penetrate the mind of a werewolf, and I will never trust you.”

“Most people would never trust a reformed Death Eater, either. So where does that leave us?”

The two men glared at one another and Snape felt the shadow of a doubt cross his mind. If this was an act, it was a good one and despite the fact that he loathed Lupin he had to admit that breaking into his office didn’t seem the werewolf’s style.

“If you weren’t in my office then who was? Are you claiming that someone came into the house, broke into my rooms then left without your noticing? Incompetence makes a rather pathetic defense, don’t you think?”

“I was awaiting word from Dumbledore, not guarding the front door or patrolling the halls,” Lupin said testily. He ran a hand through his graying hair and sighed. “Are you sure that someone was in your office?”

“Don’t be insulting! Of course I’m sure!”

Lupin sighed again and paced across the room. When he turned back his expression was both worried and earnest. “It wasn’t me, Severus.”

Regardless of his comment to the contrary, Snape knew that the man was telling the truth and he was furious, both with himself for having assumed that Lupin was guilty and with Lupin for proving him wrong. He was also frustrated. He knew that he had very little chance now of discovering who had invaded his office. There were no obvious suspects, though he could think of a number of their colleagues who would have been all too eager to take Moody’s side against him. Unfortunately, there was no way to prove which of them might have been involved. Snape began to prowl restlessly around the room considering his options.

“What were they after?” Lupin asked suddenly.

Snape glanced irritably at the man. “I’ve no idea.”

“Was anything taken? What was disturbed?”

“You expect me to tell you that?”

“Severus, if I’m not your burglar, there’s no reason to keep the information from me and if I am then I already know the answer. Either way there’s no harm in telling me.”

Snape stopped pacing and regarded Lupin sourly but had to admit that his reasoning was sound.

“Nothing.”

Lupin frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing was taken. In fact, to all appearances, nothing was disturbed at all. However, since it’s unlikely that someone broke into my rooms and touched nothing, I would say that the culprit was uncommonly skillful. In fact, he made only one mistake. And that, I think, I will refrain from sharing.”

Lupin had started pacing again. “Have you considered that this might not have been Moody’s doing at all?”

“If you’re going to blame Moody’s phantom spy –”

“Just because he’s paranoid doesn’t mean Moody’s always wrong. We still don’t know how the Death Eaters came by Fred and George’s Sniffer charm. I don’t for a moment believe that it was a coincidence and I don’t believe you do either.”

Snape waved his hand impatiently. “If there was even a hint of a traitor among us, I would be the first to advise caution, but there isn’t. I have said this again and again. None of our operations have been compromised. There has been no information leaked. And as for my office being burgled it’s hardly likely that one of the Dark Lord’s spies would bother. I don’t keep the Order’s secrets lying around on my desk and even if I did, any spy would scarcely need to search my office for information. I should think attending any of our meetings would be a better option.”

“What if he’s not after information on the Order?” Lupin said quietly. “What if he’s after you?”

Snape had considered this possibility too, but dismissed it not so much because it lacked merit, but because he hadn’t the slightest evidence to support it. He hated Lupin for bringing it up.

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint him in his quest.”

“I’m serious. Is there anything in your office that might compromise you?”

“More than I already am?” Snape had intended the words as a contemptuous sneer, but hadn’t put nearly enough energy into them to achieve that effect. Instead, they simply sounded weary and bitter and left an awkward silence hanging in the air.

Wordlessly, Snape turned to leave, but Lupin stepped forward to block him. “What do you intend to do?”

“Since you claim that you neither broke into my office nor know who did, I’d say that’s none of your business.”

“Confronting Moody will get you nowhere.”

“I don’t need your advice.”

“I’m trying to help you!”

“Why?”

An odd look flickered in Lupin’s eyes, then his expression became hard and his voice cold. “I owe you for the Wolfsbane Potion, remember? For ‘preventing me from turning into a mindless beast once a month’.”

“Then stay out of my way and don’t tell anyone what we’ve discussed. This is none of your business.” Snape brushed past Lupin, but Lupin caught his arm.

“What affects the Order is all of our business, Severus, and if Moody was behind this, I’ll curse him myself along with whatever bloody idiot did his dirty work.” Lupin spoke in a quiet, carefully controlled tone, but his eyes burned with anger.

Snape was startled by the sudden fierce emotion in the usually mild-mannered man and he regarded Lupin with interest. “Why are you so sure that he’s wrong about me?”

The anger in Lupin’s eyes vanished, replaced by a shrewd look. He gave Snape a small, wry smile. “I’m not. I’ve just always been one to overlook the failings of my friends.”

Snape scowled. “We aren’t friends.”

“We aren’t enemies either – at least not on my part. Moody may forget that we share a common purpose, but I haven’t. We already have an uphill battle in this war without fighting each other.”

“Ever the voice of reason and reconciliation, eh, Lupin?” Snape sneered. “Pity no one has ever listened.”

“You’re welcome to be the first.”

Snape snorted derisively and reached for the doorknob.

“Just don’t forget that I know where my priorities lie,” Lupin said. He spoke almost in a whisper, but the hard, feral look was back in his eyes and all at once an unexpected thought sprang unbidden to Snape’s mind. It was the wolf that he was seeing: fiercely loyal and protective of its own, vicious to the enemy. But even as Snape held Lupin’s gaze, the look vanished again and Lupin stepped aside, mild and unflustered once more.

The wolf in sheep’s clothing. Snape almost smiled at that notion. Perhaps Lupin had a few admirable qualities buried under that tame exterior after all. He gave the man the briefest nod of acknowledgement and left.

---

Harry picked at his breakfast and debated for the hundredth time what to do about the handkerchief still tucked away in the drawer of his bedside table. Objectively, it seemed obvious that he should turn over the evidence he had to Moody as he had promised he would. So why was he so reluctant to do so? Did he secretly believe that the Death Eaters deserved to die? Was it just because Snape was so valuable to the Order? Somehow Harry didn’t think so, but he couldn’t shake the growing sense of dread that he was doing something wrong.

Harry automatically glanced down the table to where Snape usually sat, but neither he nor Remus had come down to breakfast. That didn’t particularly surprise Harry. With a sigh he forced down the last of his toast and headed upstairs for his Potions lesson.

The second floor hallway was silent as a tomb and Harry could just make out the angry voices coming from Remus’s study. He frowned, wondering what Snape and Remus could be arguing about this early in the morning. His curiosity immediately got the better of him and he crept quietly down the hall towards the study in the hopes of hearing what was being said.

“Are you sure that someone was in your office?”

“Don’t be insulting! Of course I’m sure!”

Harry froze and felt his heart try to leap out of his chest. It was impossible. Snape couldn’t know that he’d been in his rooms. He’d gone over the charms and counter charms a dozen times. He’d taken meticulous care and knew that he hadn’t made a mistake in casting them. How could Snape know?

“Confronting Moody will get you nowhere.”

Harry was startled out of his thoughts by Remus’s voice which sounded as though it was just on the other side of the door.

“I don’t need your advice.”

Snape’s voice was equally near and Harry turned and fled quietly as he could back down the hallway. He heard the door behind him open and ducked into the Potions lab.

Knowing that Snape would likely be arriving at any moment, Harry went straight to his workbench and began setting up his Potions supplies. His mind was racing, but his initial panic was beginning to fade as his well-honed instincts for dealing with a crisis took over. Even if Snape somehow knew that his wards had been tampered with, he surely didn’t know who had done it. Harry realized that all he had to do was refrain from attracting Snape’s suspicion long enough to find Moody and figure out a plan for handling this.

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He calmed his mind and by the time Snape stalked into the room Harry’s breathing and heart rate were almost normal.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

“I just thought I’d get an early start today, sir.” Harry met Snape’s eyes and quickly made sure that the Occlumency barriers he now commonly maintained around the man were in place.

Snape’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How admirable,” he sneered as he came towards Harry. “I don’t suppose those keen ears of yours overheard the conversation Lupin and I were just having?”

Harry could feel his heart rate increase as Snape stared unblinkingly at him. “No.”

“You’re a pathetic liar, Potter.”

“I know you two were arguing.”

“And did you happen to gather what we were arguing about?” Snape was standing directly in front of Harry with only the workbench between them. His eyes bored into Harry’s and Harry gritted his teeth, not daring to look away.

“I’ve no idea.”

Snape smirked and Harry knew at once that the man didn’t believe him.

“Well, then I’ll let you in on the secret,” Snape purred softly. “Someone broke into my quarters last night.”

Harry swallowed hard and Snape favored him with his nastiest smile. “You look troubled by that news, Potter. Did you think that the Order of the Phoenix was a group of noble, honest, trustworthy freedom fighters? I hate to disappoint you, but you’re woefully mistaken. As much as I regret to disabuse you of any heroic fantasies, the truth is that the vaunted Order is nothing more than a motley collection of those whom Dumbledore deems to be useful in the fight against the Dark Lord. Nothing more is required for membership, so the fact that there are burglars and thieves among us is no surprise.”

Harry’s mouth was dry but he managed to keep his voice steady. “Do you know who did it?”

“I have my suspicions, but unfortunately I wouldn’t put it past any of them which is why you are not to breathe a word of this to anyone: not to your friends and certainly not to any of the members of the Order. You are not even to whisper it in Miss Weasley’s ear. Do you understand? The only advantage I have over the culprit is that he doesn’t know that I know he was in my office. I will not risk you giving that information away.”

It took every bit of Harry’s self-control, but he somehow kept his face impassive. “You have my word, Professor. No one will hear it from me.” Then a daring idea came to him. “Sir, why would anyone want to break into your office?”

Harry watched Snape for any hint of guilt, but Snape’s smirk held only bitterness. “Because no one trusts me, Potter. Surely you can sympathize with that.”

Harry frowned slightly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think that I don’t know why you’ve been so distracted of late?”

Harry’s heart leapt. “What?” he whispered.

“Do you think I haven’t seen the way you look at me – the wariness and disgust in your eyes every time you glance my way?”

“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said, gripping the edge of his workbench tightly.

“Stop lying to me! I know what you think of me, no matter that you’ve been using Occlumency to guard your thoughts. I can read your emotions on your face.”

Harry knew the game was up. “Professor, I know what war can do to a person. I understand and I’m not blaming you –”

“Of course you blame me! I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me! And why shouldn’t you? They were your parents.”

Harry blinked, entirely lost, as Snape continued.

“It’s your right, Potter. I don’t deny it.”

Harry stared at Snape as understanding dawned and he felt enormous relief flood through him. “Professor, I don’t blame you for what happened to my parents. I told you that.”

“Spare me the Gryffindor nobility, Potter. Do you suppose I care what you think of me? I have but one goal and that is to see the Dark Lord finished and if I must bear your company to ensure that, so be it. But I will not be lied to!”

“I’m not lying!” Harry said indignantly.

“Really? Then what is the problem?”

Harry opened his mouth and stopped. He couldn’t tell Snape the truth; he’d given his word to Moody and Snape would kill him if he confessed to being the one who had broken into his office. Besides, he didn’t think accusing Snape of murder would improve the situation.

“Not even a mediocre excuse at the ready?” Snape’s sarcasm was laced with bitterness as though this was the final insult.

The relief Harry had felt moments before was rapidly giving way to frustration. “Professor, I swear –”

“STOP LYING TO ME!” Snape yelled. “Do you think that’s a kindness, Potter? Do you think I want your pity? I never asked for your forgiveness, nor do I want it any more than I want the grudging tolerance I am forced to endure from my fellow allies when they aren’t whispering about me behind my back or sneaking into my rooms to look for anything to use against me. I prefer honest hatred. At least I could always count on your father for that. Now get to work!”

Harry watched helplessly as Snape turned away. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to salvage the situation and felt a pang of guilt at the realization that he had made a complete mess of things. His apparently inept break in of Snape’s bedroom had confirmed Snape’s worst opinion of his fellow Order members. Worse than that, Snape believed that Harry still blamed him for James and Lily’s deaths and Harry was helpless to persuade him otherwise. Harry briefly considered confessing everything, but gave up the idea at once as untenable.

Harry might not have felt so bad if only Snape’s bitter frustration hadn’t been so evident in his snarled words. It was the same impotent fury he had vented at Dumbledore the night before and it was obvious to Harry that for all his protestations to the contrary, Snape cared deeply about what others thought of him. Harry also finally understood, too late, why he had felt so uneasy spying on Snape. If it had been anyone else, Harry knew that he would have gone to them and confronted them with Moody’s accusations, given them a chance to defend themselves. He hadn’t given Snape that chance. Instead he’d snuck around behind his back, spied on him, broken into his private rooms, and judged him guilty on circumstantial evidence alone. Regardless of what crimes Snape might have committed, he deserved better than that and Harry felt sincerely ashamed at having treated the man so shabbily. He also felt sick at the prospect of handing Snape over to Moody.

---

The next few hours were grueling ones for Harry. Snape was in a foul mood, glaring and snapping at him at the least provocation. But what made the situation especially miserable for Harry was the guilty knowledge that for once he deserved every disgusted glance and harsh word.

At last Harry’s potion was complete and he trudged back to his room where he immediately caught sight of his bedside table where the cursed handkerchief was still lying in wait for him. He grimaced, pulled open the drawer and picked up the innocuous piece of white cloth, less certain than ever as to what he should do with it.

“Harry?”

Harry whirled around, shoving the handkerchief into his pocket. Ron was standing in the doorway looking quizzically at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Dumbledore’s downstairs. He wants to see you.”

Harry had forgotten that Dumbledore was coming. Any other time he would have been delighted at the chance to talk with the wizard, but Harry could see no way that Dumbledore might help him with his current dilemma. He could hardly confess to the man that he’d been spying on Snape.

“Are you all right, mate?” Ron asked with a small frown of concern. “You look done in.”

“I’m okay. Thanks.” Harry managed a wan smile then hurried past Ron before his friend could ask him any more questions.

Dumbledore was alone in the entrance hall. He was bent over examining the gash on Mrs. Black’s portrait while the old woman dozed in her frame, but he straightened up as Harry appeared and let the heavy curtains fall back across the canvas.

“Ah, Harry, there you are.”

“Hello, Professor. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Dobby has prepared a lovely tea and I’d like you to join me,” Dumbledore said, leading Harry into the library where an impressive variety of biscuits and tea sandwiches had been laid out alongside a large porcelain teapot.

“You know, this is my favorite room in this house,” Dumbledore remarked, taking a seat on the sofa and indicating that Harry should sit next to him. “It contains a remarkable collection of books. Most are very Dark of course, but instructive nonetheless. After all, we must understand an enemy’s methods if we are to defeat him. Tea?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Harry sat down as Dumbledore poured two cups of tea and handed one to Harry. Dumbledore raised his cup, breathed in the aroma of its steaming contents and smiled contentedly.

“It’s good to see you, Professor,” Harry said in an effort at conversation.

“It’s very good to see you too, Harry. Biscuit?” Dumbledore waved at the platter on the table before them.

“Er, no, I’m fine, thanks.”

“They’re excellent; particularly the almond ones with the drizzle of chocolate on top.” Dumbledore smiled encouragingly at Harry.

“Okay.” Harry relented and took a biscuit.

Dumbledore sipped his tea then continued. “Do you know what I have always appreciated about tea, Harry?”

Harry bit into his biscuit and shook his head.

“No matter how urgently busy I may be, it is the one time of day I allow myself – often force myself – to set aside my cares and relax. That is a very useful thing.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore. “Sir, why did you want to see me?”

“Remus tells me that you’ve been unusually withdrawn of late. Is anything particular disturbing you?”

Harry looked away. “No. Nothing particular.” He took a swallow of tea, still not looking at Dumbledore.

“How are Potions lessons coming along?”

Harry shrugged. “Okay, I suppose.”

“And you and Professor Snape are managing to survive one another?”

“More or less.”

“That sounds more like less, I must say.”

Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I have more important things to worry about.”

“Do you?” Dumbledore sounded as though this was unexpected news. His eyes searched Harry’s and Harry longed to confide in the man and ask his advice. Instead he glanced away again.

“So do you have any news about Voldemort?”

“None that I am in a position to share at this time. As I said before, I will discuss that with you at Hogwarts.” Dumbledore took another sip of his tea then turned his attention to the tea sandwiches, examining each variety with interest.

The silence stretched uncomfortably and Harry shifted restlessly in his seat.

“Sir, can I ask you something in confidence?” Harry blurted out at last.

“Of course you may.” Dumbledore deftly plucked a tiny sandwich off the tray and turned his attention back to Harry.

Harry hesitated, unsure how to begin, but Dumbledore smiled warmly. “It’s all right, Harry. Just say whatever is on your mind.”

Harry took a deep breath and plunged in. “If someone you knew was suspected of a crime – of murder – and you had evidence that could be used against him, would you turn that evidence over to the authorities even if it meant that this person would go to prison?”

Dumbledore regarded Harry calmly, but Harry was certain that he saw the barest hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. “I take it this is a hypothetical question?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. Hypothetically, what would you do?”

“First, I must ask why I would believe that I shouldn’t reveal this evidence. Is this person a friend of mine?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “He’s not a friend.”

“Would I be betraying his trust by revealing information gained in confidence?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t say that he trusts me, but sort of, yes.”

“I see. And are there any other extenuating circumstances I’m likely to be considering?”

Harry nodded. “What if this person was, for instance, an Auror who was fighting against Voldemort only he had crossed the line and begun to kill some of Voldemort’s people without provocation? Would you look the other way because the victims are Death Eaters and what he’s doing serves our side in the war?”

“Ah, you pose a difficult question, Harry.”

“What’s acceptable in war and what’s not?” Harry said glumly. “Where do we draw the line?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “While that may be a consideration, it is not, I think, the central question confounding you. The question you pose is one of loyalty. To whom or what do we owe our allegiance and how do we choose between conflicting loyalties?

“On the one hand, each of us has a duty to work for justice. To withhold evidence of a crime as serous as murder unquestionably violates that principle.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded grimly. “Then I should hand over the evidence.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Harry frowned. “But –”

“Clearly you do not believe that to be the right choice.”

Harry sighed in frustration. “It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

“On the contrary, nothing matters more!” Dumbledore set his teacup down and regarded Harry earnestly. “We are accountable for our actions, Harry. If we don’t believe in the choices we make then how can we possibly live with them?”

“But what if I honestly don’t know what the right choice is?” Harry asked desperately.

Dumbledore picked up his tea once more and sipped it. “Do you recall last year when I insisted that you needed to resume your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape?”

Harry nodded. “Of course.”

“And do you recall why I demurred at teaching you myself?”

“You said that he could teach me something that you couldn’t.”

“Something that was critical for you to know and which I could not explain but which you needed to discover on your own. Tell me Harry, did you discover what that was?”

Harry considered. Snape had taught him a lot during their Occlumency and Legilimency lessons, but he couldn’t imagine that Dumbledore couldn’t have taught him the same techniques. Reluctantly, he shook his head. “Not really.”

Dumbledore smiled, seemingly unconcerned with this answer. “Let me give you a hint. It had nothing to do with your actual lessons; however, it was a result of them.”

Harry frowned. Dumbledore had lost him completely now.

“Forgiveness, Harry. Compassion. That is what Professor Snape was and is uniquely qualified to teach you. After Sirius’s death your distrust and – dare I say – your hatred of Professor Snape were quite apparent. But I was convinced that given the opportunity you would reject that hatred and when Professor Snape told me what transpired between you in my office at the end of term I knew that I had not been mistaken.

“I have never been more proud of you than I was that afternoon. It is an easy thing to forgive our friends their mistakes, to see the best in them. It is far more difficult to do that with those whom we dislike, those who have genuinely wronged us. Few people could have found the generosity and compassion to forgive as you did – it was far beyond what most people in your place would have done.”

“It’s more than Professor Snape thinks I’ve done,” Harry said. “He still thinks I blame him. He told me so himself.”

“That is hardly surprising.”

“Why?”

“Harry, you have a large heart and when you forgive, you do so completely. You are very like your mother in that. She also had a great capacity for compassion and for seeing the best in everyone. Lily would have forgiven Severus in a moment, as you did, for his accidental betrayal.

“But you must understand that not everyone can forgive so easily. James, I fear, never would have forgiven Severus. That was his greatest failing. Severus is also a man who does not forgive easily, neither others, nor especially himself and to accept forgiveness is often harder than to offer it. He has fifteen years of guilt to come to terms with – a tall order by any standard. You have forgiven him for what, in his mind, was an unforgivable act. Consequently, he cannot accept your forgiveness because he doesn’t believe that he is worthy of it. He cannot forgive himself.”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

“Nothing beyond what you are already doing. You can extend your hand in friendship; however, you cannot force another to take it. But neither should you give up in the face of his rejection. I have said before that your greatest strength is love and you yourself have deduced that it is the power that can defeat Lord Voldemort. You must never underestimate its value.

“You asked me if I would condemn someone who had committed murder in the fight against Voldemort, but I cannot answer that question for you, Harry. Just as the lesson you learnt from Professor Snape could not be taught with mere words, so too, the answer you seek cannot be told to you by others, for it lies in here.” Dumbledore laid a hand over his heart.

“Do we have a duty to see serious crimes punished? Of course! But we also have duties to our family and friends; to those who trust and depend upon us and to those upon whom we depend. We may even owe a duty to our enemy and these duties are not always compatible with one another. Perhaps our most pressing duty at the moment is to fight Voldemort. We are at war for the very survival of our world and to willfully undermine our chances of success would be unthinkable. If your hypothetical murderer is also crucial to victory, what then?

“There is no easy answer to this dilemma. It is your compassion and innate sense of right and wrong, Harry – your conscience, in other words – that must guide you in making this difficult choice and I cannot possibly know all of the duties that might affect your decision. I can tell you this, however. Discover which duties are warring within you and you will know which one demands your highest loyalty. Above all, trust your instincts. They will not lead you astray. Do what you believe is right in your heart despite what anyone else may tell you. That is the only true integrity.”

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled mischievously once more. “Hypothetically, of course.” He drank the last of his tea then rose and Harry stood up as well. The old wizard gripped Harry’s shoulder comfortingly. “I will see you at school in two weeks, Harry. Until then, if you should need anything, don’t hesitate to owl me.”

Dumbledore left and Harry sat back down on the sofa lost in thought. His tea had gone quite cold when there was a soft rap on the door. Harry looked up as Moody came in and shut the door. The old Auror looked at Harry expectantly.

“Well, Potter? Did you get it?”

Harry stood up and stuck his hand into his pocket, grasping the soft handkerchief tightly. “No. I never got into Snape’s room.”

Moody’s face fell. “We were gone for over an hour, Potter. What happened?”

“It was Remus. I was halfway through disarming the wards when he turned up. He nearly caught me and I didn’t dare go on with him prowling the halls.”

Moody cursed under his breath. “Did you get the wards reset?”

“Yes.”

The old Auror sighed in frustration and paced across the floor, his wooden leg thumping rhythmically as he went.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Harry said with genuine regret. “Maybe Aurors are trained for this sort of thing…”

Moody waved his hand dismissively. “It’s not your fault, Potter. I should have realized that Lupin would be in the way. These things happen. If I let every setback I’d ever run up against stop me, I wouldn’t have put even half the Death Eaters in Azkaban that I have.” He gave Harry a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll get Snape.”

Harry nodded and managed a small smile as Moody stumped out of the room then he let out a deep breath and released his grip on the handkerchief in his pocket. That hadn’t been as hard as he’d expected. Maybe he was getting better at lying, or maybe it was just easier when he didn’t feel guilty about it.

Harry left the library and headed upstairs to his bedroom with an energetic, purposeful spring in his step. The room was empty so he went straight to his trunk and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket. The neatly folded white square gave no hint of the black strands nestled inside as Harry tucked it safely into the pocket of his dress robes, but Harry hoped that those hairs might help him solve the Death Eater murders without Moody’s knowledge, which was exactly what he intended to do.

Dumbledore’s advice had helped him to finally make sense of his conflicting emotions and the uncertainty that had been weighing on him. For the first time since Moody had approached him about Snape, Harry knew exactly what he needed to do. His first duty was to defeat Voldemort and he wasn’t about to see one of his most crucial allies go to prison if he could help it. But neither could he countenance murder, so while Harry couldn’t hand Snape over to Moody and the less than scrupulous wizarding justice system, neither could he simply ignore these crimes. Besides, Moody wasn’t going to stop hunting for proof of Snape’s guilt and if the killings didn’t stop it would only be a matter of time before he found it.

Harry’s only option was to beat the crafty old Auror to it. How he was going to do that Harry had no idea, but he reckoned he’d work it out. If he could find the proof of Snape’s guilt first, then he could confront Snape with it and show him the danger in what he was doing. With luck that would convince Snape to give up this mad vendetta without involving the Aurors or prison.

Harry smiled grimly, certain that all of his friends would think him mad if they knew he was taking on this responsibility on top of everything else he had to worry about, but it was the only alternative he could live with. Trying to save Snape from himself might not be what an Auror would do. It might not even be the smart thing to do. But Harry knew it was the right thing to do and that was all that mattered.

The next week at number twelve Grimmauld Place was happily uneventful. Tonks appeared one morning with all of Harry’s school supplies and books for the coming year and Harry reluctantly decided that he was going to need to do at least some of his homework before start of term. He had little enthusiasm for it, though. On top of his Potions lessons, he was preoccupied with trying to work out how to catch Snape in the act of committing murder – or, preferably, attempting to commit it.

Snape was his usual coolly distant self. He acted as though his outburst towards Harry had never occurred, which didn’t surprise Harry in the least. Snape had been avoiding every uncomfortable truth between them since the start of summer and Harry simply made a mental note of the latest unmentionable topic.

A week before the start of term Snape appeared at breakfast in his traveling cloak.

“I’m leaving, Lupin. Dobby will see to the rest of my things.”

“You’re going back to Hogwarts already?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Snape replied. “You’ve learnt as much as you’re going to this summer and delightful as our time together has been, I have to prepare for term before the newest swarm of students descends to wreak havoc on my classroom and patience.”

Snape’s sarcasm was largely lost on Harry who was too busy trying not to grin at the prospect of having no more Potions lessons to pay much attention to Snape’s remarks. Snape seemed to realize this and scowled at Harry.

“In case it’s slipped your mind, I do expect all of your regular homework to be complete by the first day of class. I trust you’ve been working on it, since a week is hardly enough time to do an adequate job and given how woefully lax you were last year I will be paying particular attention to your work this time. I promise you won’t get away with a slipshod effort.”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry said with what he hoped was a convincingly serious tone.

It wasn’t. Snape shook his head in evident disgust then swept out of the room without another word. Harry smiled. He was delighted at the prospect of being free from Snape and Potions for an entire week. But even more than that, it had suddenly hit home that the start of term was looming and Harry felt the thrill of excitement that always accompanied the prospect of returning to Hogwarts. This excitement was tempered by a tinge of melancholy though: this would be his last year at the school he had come to think of as home and he couldn’t help but wonder what might lay beyond.

---

The house was bustling as Harry and his friends raced about gathering up the last of their belongings for the trip to Hogwarts. Hermione was the first one to finish packing and spent her time fussing over Ron who seemed to have barely begun. His things still lay strewn all around his and Harry’s room.

“Ron, if you had this much to do, why didn’t you start last night?” Hermione scolded.

“And miss the party in the common room and that feast Dobby prepared? Are you barking? Harry, have you seen my latest issue of Quidditch Quarterly?”

“Here it is.” Harry tossed the magazine to Ron who laid it in his trunk then grabbed the rest of his magazines which he’d piled precariously atop the bureau. A hand mirror fell to the floor and shattered, making all three of them jump.

Ron groaned, dumped the magazines in his trunk then scowled at the shards of glass on the floor. “Where’d that come from?”

“It’s mine.” Harry bent down and picked up one of the larger pieces. “I’d forgotten I put it up there.”

“Funny, you’ve never struck me as the sort to have a mirror, Harry.”

“Sirius gave it to me. It’s not a normal mirror. He had one too and we were supposed to be able to use them to communicate.” Harry looked back at the piece of broken glass and continued in a voice heavy with regret. “Only I didn’t realize that until it was too late.”

“I’ve heard of these,” Hermione said, looking over Harry’s shoulder at the fragment in his hand. “They’re very rare. This one must have been in the Black family quite a long time.”

Harry nodded. “I thought I saw something in it once at the start of summer, but I reckon I imagined it. I just keep hoping… But even if Sirius had had his mirror with him at the Ministry, I don’t think he’d be able to talk to me now. I’m just being stupid.”

Hermione picked up a shard of glass to examine. “You’re not stupid, Harry,” she said and at once the fragment of mirror Harry was holding shimmered and a tiny image of Hermione’s face appeared in it, staring up at him.

“Hermione, I can see you!”

Hermione peered into her own small mirror. “I can see you too!”

“Whoa, that’s cool!” Ron said. He picked up a piece as well. “Harry, say something.”

Ron’s face appeared in Harry’s mirror and Harry grinned.

“What are you all doing?”

Ginny stood in the doorway, looking at them curiously. Harry grabbed another fragment of mirror and took it over to her.

“Here, have a look.”

Ginny frowned at him in confusion, but looked in the mirror.

“What do you see?” Harry prompted.

“Noth – Oh! Harry, that’s amazing.”

Harry quickly explained the history of the mirror to Ginny.

“So then we can communicate with each other anywhere with these?” she asked.

Harry shrugged uncertainly. “I reckon so, but I’ve never actually used it.”

“You know, it’s a pity we didn’t have these first year,” Ron said. “Think of how useful they might have been all those times we were sneaking around the castle.”

“Think how useful they might be this year,” Ginny retorted.

“Here, everyone give me your mirrors for a minute,” Hermione said suddenly. She took the four fragments and laid them on the desk. Next, she pulled Harry’s cauldron out of his trunk and set it upside down on the desk as well.

“What are you doing?” Ron asked.

“If we’re seriously going to use these, we might as well avoid slicing our fingers on them.” Hermione placed the first fragment of mirror on the upturned cauldron and drew her wand. “Candeo!”

The tip of Hermione’s wand began to glow, but not with the cool light that Lumos produced. This was the glow of iron being heated in a fire. It began as a smoldering dull red then quickly brightened to orange, yellow and finally a dazzling white. Even from several feet away, Harry could feel the intense heat emanating from the small point of light.

Hermione touched the tip of her wand to the edge of the first mirror fragment and the sharp glass immediately melted. She carefully worked her way around the entire piece, dissolving the jagged corners until she had fashioned it into a smooth-edged, if irregularly shaped mirror. She handed it to Harry then began work on the second piece.

Harry stared down at the small mirror which fit in the palm of his hand and smiled. Thanks, Sirius.

Hermione had just finished working on the last mirror and pocketed it when there was a soft knock at the door. Remus stuck his head in and smiled. “I don’t think you want to leave without this, Harry.”

Remus held out the battered cardboard box Harry had received from the Dursleys on his birthday and Harry took it gratefully. He had forgotten his mum’s keepsakes entirely in the wake of the Death Eater attack and spying on Snape.

“Thanks, Remus!”

“You’re welcome.” Remus looked past Harry at the clothes and books strewn all over the beds and raised an eyebrow. “We’re leaving in half an hour, you know.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be ready.”

---

It was a quarter to ten by the time Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were finally assembled in the entrance hall and Harry was surprised that neither Remus, Tonks, nor Moody seemed at all put out by their lateness. However, this mystery was immediately solved as Remus spoke up.

“Dobby is going to see your things to the station so that we can Apparate directly to Kings Cross. Given what happened the last time we went for a walk through London, we thought that might be the safest course.” Remus nodded at Dobby who was hovering in a corner and the House Elf immediately perked up, snapped his fingers and vanished along with all of the luggage.

“There will be Aurors at Kings Cross,” Moody said. “And more will meet the train in Hogsmeade.”

“What about on the train itself?” Harry asked.

“There are no worries there,” Remus assured him. “There will be plenty of Aurors on board.”

“We’d better go or they’re going to miss it,” Tonks said.

Moody grunted in acknowledgement and opened the front door. He peered cautiously outside then beckoned them to follow him. A cold drizzle was falling and the skies hung low with clouds as Harry and the rest of the group crossed the court to the alley opposite the house.

One by one, they Disapparated. Moody vanished first, followed by Tonks. Harry formed a mental picture of Kings Cross Station, spun around and felt the familiar sensation of having the breath squeezed out of him. With a slight ‘pop’ he appeared in an alley across from the station where Moody and Tonks were alertly surveying the street beyond. Three more ‘pops’ announced the arrival of Hermione, Ron and, last of all, Ginny who had Apparated with Remus. They all made their way across the busy street and into the station where they slipped unobtrusively through the barrier to platform 9 ¾.

The first thing Harry noticed was that Remus hadn’t been exaggerating about security. There were alert, grim faced figures everywhere who couldn’t possibly be mistaken for friends or family of any of the students. Despite the security however, there seemed to be a sense of anxiety running through the crowd that Harry had never felt before. The usual calls from parents to their children to be careful and stay safe seemed to be particularly heartfelt this morning.

“This way,” Remus said, leading the way through the mayhem of hundreds of students rushing to get on the train while parents clucked last minute instructions at them. Harry spotted Mr. Weasley who was waiting by their luggage, having naturally come to see them off. He greeted them all warmly just as the train’s whistle sounded.

“You four had better hurry,” Remus said. Ron and Ginny hugged their father goodbye then they all grabbed their things and climbed aboard the nearest car. They found an empty compartment and stowed their trunks just as the whistle blew once more and the train started to move.

Ron threw open the window and Harry and the others crowded together to wave to Mr. Weasley, Remus, Tonks and Moody. Then they were out of the station and headed for the outskirts of London. It was beginning to rain in earnest, so Harry shut the window tightly and flopped into an empty seat next to Ginny. Hermione pulled Crookshanks from his carrier and sat down opposite him next to Ron.

Without warning, the door to their compartment was thrown open. A large, severe-looking man with very short black hair and a long black mustache stood there holding Neville Longbottom by his collar. “In here and stay put. Students aren’t allowed to wander up and down the corridors.”

“But I have to find Trevor!” Neville implored the man. The fellow only grunted and shoved Neville into the compartment then shut the door.

“Hi Neville, Trevor gone missing again?” Ron asked, trying and failing to look concerned.

“Yes,” Neville said, miserably sagging into a seat by the door. “But that Auror won’t let me go look for him so I’m never going to find him.”

“Cheer up, Neville,” Ginny said. “He’ll turn up. He always does.”

Just then the door opened again. The Auror was back looking even fiercer than before. This time he had Luna Lovegood in tow.

“Hello,” she said brightly as the Auror shoved her into the compartment without a word and slammed the door.

“Hi Luna, what are you doing here?” Harry asked.

In answer, Luna pulled a large toad out of her pocket.

“Trevor!” Neville leaped up and grabbed his pet in relief.

“I saw him hopping by and thought you must have lost him. Fortunately, that Auror was nice enough to take me to you.”

Harry didn’t think that ‘nice’ was an adjective he’d have used to describe the scowling man, but didn’t mention that as Neville thanked Luna profusely and sat back down, shoving the miscreant toad into his pocket.

Ginny budged over to make room for Luna to sit down as well. “So what have you been up to all summer?” she asked the Ravenclaw.

“Helping my dad with the Quibbler mostly. Circulation has been up the last couple of months since the Death Eater murders began.”

Harry started. “What!”

“Haven’t you heard?” Luna asked in her dreamy, unconcerned way. “Someone’s been killing them. Six Death Eaters have died so far and no one knows who’s responsible. It’s all very mysterious. The problem is that the deaths appear to be just random accidents or fights or something of the sort. But my father is convinced that they’re actually murder.”

There was dead silence as they all stared at Luna incredulously.

“So, Neville, how was your summer?” Harry asked, breaking the awkward silence. “Where’s your Mimbulus mimbletonia?”

“It’s at home. It was too big to bring to school and my gran’s taken a liking to it. It hums to her when she’s having tea.”

“I always liked that plant,” Luna said wistfully. “There was something very intelligent about it.”

Fortunately, the compartment door opened again at that moment so no one had to think of a reply to that statement. This time a wiry old fellow who was completely bald stood scowling at them. “Just checking,” he growled then shut the door.

“What are they checking for?” Ron complained. “Do they suppose we’re hiding Death Eaters in our trunks?”

“They’re just being cautious after what happened…” Ginny trailed off, but Neville’s eyes widened.

“That’s right! Harry, I read that you’d been attacked in London by Death Eaters! Is that true?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. He really didn’t want to talk about it.

“And you killed one of them?”

“Neville, it’s not really polite to ask people about who they’ve killed,” Luna said mildly.

Neville looked abashed. “Oh. Sorry, Harry.”

“That’s all right. How about a game of Exploding Snap?” Harry suggested, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from Death Eaters and killing. It worked. Everyone agreed to play and soon the compartment was filled with laughter and easy conversation which passed the time as the train sped north and the storm steadily worsened.

At last, tired of games, they drifted off to separate pursuits and fell into a comfortable silence. Neville who was sitting across from Harry had fallen fast asleep. Trevor had hopped out of his pocket and was exploring the compartment, while Crookshanks eyed the toad, apparently too content in Hermione’s lap to bother pouncing on it. Hermione sat next to Neville reading their new Defense text. Ron was slouched next to her reading The Chudley Cannons: Hopes for the Next Hundred Years. Luna sat across from Ron staring dreamily out the window at the storm-whipped countryside, seemingly oblivious to anything else. Ginny was also asleep. Her head rested on Harry’s shoulder and he smiled down at her then turned his attention to the cardboard box he’d retrieved from his trunk.

Harry had never had the opportunity to properly examine his mother’s keepsakes and had decided to take advantage of the long train ride to do so now. There were the photos he’d seen before, her Head Girl badge and the results from her OWLs and NEWTS.

Harry was quietly proud that his mum had done very well in her exams. She’d received nine OWLs including ‘Outstanding’ marks in Charms, Herbology and Potions. She’d got ‘Outstanding’ marks in the same subjects on her NEWTs as well and had received ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in DADA and Transfigurations. Clearly Lily Evans had been an excellent student.

Harry laid aside the exam results and picked up a bundle of folded papers, untied it and discovered that he was holding a collection of letters. There were nearly two dozen, all of which appeared to be from the summer after Lily’s first year at Hogwarts and there were similar bundles that Harry guessed were from subsequent summers. He unfolded the first letter and read it.

Greetings from France! Or should I say, Bonjour! The letter began, followed by a gushing description of Paris and ending with, Au revoir! Violet. Harry laid it aside and continued with the others in turn.

---

Lily,

I can’t believe that sister of yours tossed out your Potions ingredients. She’s jealous, that’s what. Oh, if only we could do magic, you could fix her! Don’t worry. My dad’s good friends with the Apothecary in Diagon Alley. I’ll send you some new Potions supplies .

Your friend,

Emma Langdon

---

Hi Lily,

I hope you’re having a good summer. My Uncle’s got us tickets to the Quidditch World Cup! Isn’t that brilliant!! I can’t wait! I’m for Scotland, of course, but my brother says Germany’s bound to win. Violet thinks she’s really something, going to France this summer, but that’s got nothing on the World Cup! I’ll bring back lots of photos. See you next term.

Cheers,

Fish

---

Evans,

I found the book I was telling you about and I was right. The venom of the Stinging Tentacula is one of the few poisons that can’t be treated with a Bezoar though the book doesn’t say why. Maybe because it’s an odd sort of half-plant, half creature. It’s really nasty too – much more dangerous than its cousin the Venomous Tentacula. I’ve got a book on exotic plants and animals that tells all about it. The poison will kill you, of course, but that’s not nearly the worst of it. –

“Hullo, dears,” The witch with the sweets trolley had appeared. “Anything from the trolley?”

Harry laid aside the stack of letters and nudged Ginny awake as Hermione did the same for Neville. They all bought enough sweets to see them through the rest of the trip to Hogwarts, but as the witch continued down the corridor, another familiar but much less welcome figure appeared in the doorway. Draco Malfoy stood with his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his expensive robes and his languid voice oozed contempt.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the great Harry Potter, savior of the world. That’s what the papers are all calling you these days, isn’t it?”

“Go away, Malfoy,” Harry replied irritably. He stood up to shut the door, but Malfoy stepped forward to block him.

“Term hasn’t even started yet and you’ve already got to play the hero, haven’t you? What with that fight in London… It was all over the papers for days. Pity no Muggles died.”

“You’re sick, Malfoy!” Ginny said.

“At least I’ve never killed anyone.” He turned back to Harry. “I bet you’re proud of yourself for that, though, aren’t you, Potter? Did you enjoy it?”

Harry had gone very cold inside. “Get out,” he whispered.

“Or what, Potter? You going to kill me, too?”

Ron jumped to his feet and his voice trembled with rage as he spoke. “You’re a real maggot, Malfoy, you know that. Why don’t you go crawl back where you came from?”

Malfoy ignored Ron. His hate-filled gaze never left Harry’s face. “Of course I don’t suppose it’s any surprise that you killed yourself a Death Eater, Potter – not given the company you keep.”

Hermione bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think?” the Slytherin snapped impatiently. “You think I don’t know who put him up to it?”

“Shut it, Malfoy!” Harry said angrily.

Malfoy looked from Hermione to Harry and his eyes lit with understanding followed by malicious glee. “They don’t know?” Malfoy laughed heartily. “Oh, that’s brilliant, Potter! Are you ashamed to tell them? Shall I do it for you?”

Harry grabbed Malfoy by the collar and shoved him out into the corridor and up against the opposite wall. “You don’t know anything Malfoy and if you spread one rumor or say one poisonous word to anyone, I swear you’ll be sorry.”

Malfoy shoved Harry away. “Don’t threaten me. Just because you’re too much of a coward to tell them the truth about Sn–”

Harry punched Malfoy in the mouth. The Slytherin staggered then glared at Harry, his eyes blazing with a mixture of surprise and outrage. With a snarl, he swung at Harry, but Harry had always been faster than Malfoy and ducked the punch easily. Then he slammed his fist into Malfoy’s nose. The Slytherin swore and doubled over, holding his nose which was now bleeding profusely.

“You’re as mad as he is!” Malfoy said, drops of blood splattering his robes as he spoke.

“I warned you.”

“And now I’m warning you.” Malfoy straightened up and Harry spotted the wand in his free hand just in time. He dodged out of the way as Malfoy yelled, “Reducto!”

Harry heard a crash and yelps of surprise as the spell slammed into something behind him, but he couldn’t spare the time to see what damage had been done. He pulled his own wand out of his pocket. “Expelliarmus!”

Malfoy was slammed back against the wall and his wand went flying. Harry leveled his wand at the Slytherin, but just then another voice rang out. “Expelliarmus!”

This time it was Harry’s wand that went soaring through the air as Harry staggered back into the wall. He looked around. Many of the students in the neighboring compartments had come out to see what the commotion was about but Harry’s attention had been captured by three Aurors, all of whom had their wands trained on him. The bald, grizzled old Auror who had checked on them that morning strode forward and grabbed Harry roughly by his collar. He shoved the point of his wand up under Harry’s chin and fixed Harry with an unforgiving glare.

“Under-age use of magic is forbidden by law and attacking anyone on this train is forbidden by me. You’ve just earned yourself a trip to the Ministry!”

“I’m not under-age!” Harry protested. “And I didn’t attack anyone.”

The Auror looked at Malfoy’s bloody face and was clearly unimpressed with Harry’s denial. “The Ministry deals harshly with liars and troublemakers these days,” he said darkly.

“That’s Harry Potter and he’s not a liar or a troublemaker!” Neville said indignantly stepping out into the corridor with the rest of Harry’s companions. “Malfoy’s the one who started it.”

The Auror glanced at Neville then back at Harry and his eyes darted to Harry’s forehead. The effect was remarkable. He released his grip on Harry and stepped back. “You need to be more careful. I could have cursed you, you know.” He spoke in a gruff, but clearly contrite tone then he turned on Malfoy and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Malfoy, eh?”

”That’s right,” Malfoy snapped coldly. “Draco Malfoy.”

The Auror grunted. “That figures.” He turned to the other Aurors. “Get him out of here.”

The fierce looking Auror with black hair and mustache seized Malfoy.

“What? Get your hands off me!” Malfoy spat furiously. “Potter hit me first!”

“You can tell the Department of Public Security all about it,” the old Auror said. “I’m sure they’ll be very interested in chatting with you.”

“Leave him alone!” Harry barked.

Everyone turned to look at Harry in surprise and Harry realized that he had surprised himself as well. But now that he had begun he ignored the amazed stares of his friends and appealed to the old Auror who was obviously in charge.

“Let Draco go. He hasn’t done anything wrong. It was just a stupid row over Quidditch. We’re both Seekers on our house teams and we were arguing about who was going to win the Quidditch Cup this year. We just got carried away. That’s all.”

The Auror looked at Malfoy, then back at Harry. He didn’t seem convinced that the fight had been caused by a Quidditch dispute, but he obviously wasn’t prepared to call Harry a liar, either. He looked at his colleague who was still holding Malfoy and nodded curtly. The man released Malfoy and the old Auror glared at both young men.

“Get back to your compartments. I don’t want to see either of you again before we reach Hogsmeade. If I do, I’ll haul you both in for questioning.” He raised his voice to address the onlookers. “The rest of you get back to your compartments too. Move!”

Reluctantly, the other students returned to their seats. Malfoy cast a suspicious and puzzled frown at Harry then hurried away.

“Stay out of trouble, Potter,” the old Auror said then headed back down the corridor with his colleagues. When the Aurors were out of sight, Ron spoke up.

“Are you mad? What were you thinking, sticking up for Malfoy like that?”

“It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

Ron stared at Harry for a moment and then said seriously, “You are mad.”

“It was the decent thing to do, Ron,” Hermione said. “After all, Harry did start the fight.” She threw a pointedly disapproving look at Harry.

Harry stepped past his friends and into their compartment before anyone else could comment on his row with Malfoy. The compartment was a wreck. Malfoy’s spell which had missed Harry had blasted the luggage rack. Baggage and personal effects were strewn everywhere.

Crookshanks was curled up under a seat, looking extremely cross. His front paws were clamped firmly around Trevor, holding the toad in place and he growled deep in his throat at the sight of Harry.

“Great. Another critic.” Harry sighed and bent to collect his mother’s keepsakes which had spilled all over the floor while the others pitched in to help clean up as well.

Hermione repaired the rack with a flick of her wand then began gathering up her scattered school books. Neville, Ginny and Luna picked up the rest of the items while Ron shoved clothes into his trunk which had sprung open when it hit the floor.

Ron still seemed disgruntled over Harry having saved Malfoy from being carted off to the Ministry for questioning and muttered as they heaved the trunks back up onto the luggage rack. “Would have served him right.”

“Well, I think you did the right thing, Harry” Ginny said.

“So do I,” Luna agreed.

“Thanks.” Harry smiled. He felt cheered, especially by Ginny’s approval.

“Well I think you’re all daft,” Ron said. “There’s a time to be noble and a time to shut it and let the Aurors do their job.”

Hermione glared at Ron. “Since when is it an Auror’s job to arrest students for fighting?”

“Since this stupid war started,” Ginny answered with an equally grim look.

“My father says that personal liberty is the first casualty in any war,” Luna said. “The Aurors have been given a free rein and he thinks the Department of Public Security is as dangerous in its own way as You-Know-Who.”

“That’s going a bit far,” Ron scoffed. “The DPS don’t torture and kill people.”

“Not that we know of,” Luna agreed placidly.

Everyone fell quiet at that statement. Hermione picked up Crookshanks and Trevor wasted no time in making a break for the door. Fortunately, Neville scooped him up and stuffed him into a pocket before he could get far.

“What was Malfoy on about anyway, Harry?” Neville asked, breaking the awkward silence as they sat down.

“Ragging us as usual,” Ron commented in disgust as he slouched in his seat by the window directly across from Harry.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. “But that doesn’t make sense. None of us have killed anyone except for you, Harry, and that was self-defense. He acted as if –”

“Look, could we not talk about that?” Harry said.

“But Harry, the way you went after Malfoy –”

“Stop it!” Harry snapped angrily. “I’m not proud of what I did and I didn’t need Malfoy goading me about it. That’s all. So just drop it.”

A strained silence filled the compartment, but Harry ignored it and turned away to look out the window. However, it had already grown dark outside and instead of the countryside passing by; Harry found himself staring at the reflections of his friends in the glass and couldn’t miss the worried looks they exchanged.

“I reckon we’ll be at Hogwarts soon,” Neville said. “I’d better go find my trunk and change into my robes.”

“Me too,” Luna said. “I’ll see you in class, Ginny.”

As Neville and Luna left, Ron stood up and cuffed Harry lightly on the shoulder. “We’d better get changed too.”

Grateful for something to do, Harry took his time to go through his trunk. After retrieving his robes, he made certain that his mum’s box was securely nestled amongst the rest of his clothes. Then he pulled on robes and settled back into his seat.

The activity had dispelled the tension in the air and soon they were engaged in a lively conversation about the upcoming term and Gryffindor’s Quidditch prospects in particular. Harry offered an occasional opinion, but for the most part was content to listen to his friends. He was still preoccupied by his run-in with Malfoy. He worried about what rumors the Slytherin might already be spreading about Snape. If it became common knowledge that Snape was suspected of killing Death Eaters, Harry’s hopes of stopping him without involving the authorities might be seriously hampered.

For an instant, Harry wondered if Ron had been right and that he should have let the Aurors arrest Malfoy, but he rejected that notion at once. Dumbledore had told him to rely on his instincts and he hadn’t trusted those Aurors at all. Malfoy was a git but he didn’t deserve to become the victim of a paranoid justice system. Neither did Snape; and the thought of the man being arrested by those same Aurors or ones like them made Harry more anxious than ever. Luna’s comments about the DPS hadn’t helped either. Harry remembered Mr. Weasley saying that the Director of the DPS was trying to gain control of the Auror service and he wondered just how close Day was to succeeding.

The storm had subsided to a light drizzle by the time the train pulled into the station at Hogsmeade, but the weather was still bone-chillingly cold and gusting winds whipped Harry’s robes about him as he stepped onto the platform. As he pulled his traveling cloak around him, Harry could hear Hagrid’s familiar call to the first year students and grimaced in sympathy. He didn’t envy them the trip across the lake this night.

Security here was every bit as tight as it had been in London and between the dismal weather and grim sentries, Harry wasted no time climbing into a waiting carriage along with Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Despite the Aurors and bleak weather, however, Harry felt cheered as the lights of Hogwarts castle came into view. He felt a twinge of melancholy at the thought that this would be the last time he would take this ride, but it was quickly dispelled as their carriage came to a halt in front of the castle whose large main doors stood wide open spilling light out onto the steps and beckoning the students inside. Harry’s stomach growled in anticipation of the welcoming feast and he grinned in sheer joy as he stepped out of the carriage. His smile faltered as he spotted Snape.

The Potions Master stood at the head of the stairs with his arms crossed and Harry noted that the students were giving him a very wide berth. It was no wonder. He looked ready to deduct twenty points from the first person who dared to look at him. But at that moment, Snape caught sight of him and as their eyes met, Harry knew with dread certainty that he was the real target of the man’s ire.

“I’ll see you inside,” Harry told his friends, then made his way over to where Snape was standing.

“Come with me,” Snape said in an even, unemotional voice. He turned away and Harry followed him in silence through the entrance hall and down into the dungeons to Snape’s office.

“Shut the door,” Snape said in the same controlled tone as he sat down behind his desk. Harry complied then waited, fighting the urge to fidget as Snape regarded him in silence. It was deathly quiet here in the dungeons. Try as he might to catch some distant sound, Harry could hear no hint of the hundreds of students and faculty assembled in the Great Hall above them. He and Snape might as well have been the only people alive in the castle.

“One might have hoped,” Snape drawled at last, “as a seventh year student on the threshold of becoming an adult in our world, that you would have achieved some modicum of self-control by now. Alas, that is clearly not the case.”

“Professor, Malfoy –” Harry began.

“I don’t care what Malfoy did or said, Potter. You know better than to allow him to provoke you. We have been over this countless times, but since you seem to believe that you can ignore my counsel, perhaps fifty points from Gryffindor will convince you otherwise.”

“Fifty points!” Harry glared at Snape in outrage. “It was just a stupid fight! We’ve had worse ones. If the Aurors hadn’t got involved –”

“But they did get involved. That is the entire point. You do not have the luxury of indulging in stupid fights – particularly not with the Department of Public Security watching you as closely as they are. I know you’ve been warned about them, but perhaps that warning was too subtle to impress you so allow me to clarify. Henceforth, you are not to set a toe out of line. You were fortunate that the altercation on the train was obviously nothing more than schoolboy bravado, but any conflict you engage in has the potential to escalate. Become involved in even one more public debacle and there is a good chance that DPS officials will show up at the front door to take you into ‘protective custody’ and even Albus Dumbledore will not be able to stop them. Is that clear enough for you to grasp?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said in a chastened voice.

Snape rose from his chair. “Come along then. I’d rather not miss dinner on your account.”

Harry had no desire to miss dinner either and was right behind Snape as the man reached the door. Snape’s hand was on the door handle, but he hesitated and looked back at Harry.

“Why did you defend Draco?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t trust those Aurors.”

Snape’s mouth twitched into the slightest smile. “I believe that’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say, Potter. Perhaps there is some glimmer of hope for you after all.”

Despite the sarcasm there was no bite to Snape’s words and Harry was sure he saw a trace of genuine approval in the man’s eyes. Then Snape was through the door and Harry hurried after him.

---

Harry could hear Dumbledore’s voice as he and Snape emerged from the Dungeons. The Sorting was obviously over, but it seemed that dinner hadn’t yet begun. Snape headed for the staff room while Harry entered the Great Hall’s large double doors. He arrived just in time to catch Dumbledore warning the first-year students that death awaited them if they ventured into the Forbidden Forest. Spotting some of the newcomers, Harry wondered if he had looked that wide-eyed on his first night at Hogwarts.

A movement off to one side of the staff table caught Harry’s attention. Snape had slipped silently into the hall and was standing in the shadows, obviously waiting for Dumbledore to conclude his remarks before taking his seat. Harry realized that he should probably do the same, so he waited patiently, taking the opportunity to scan the room. He immediately saw Malfoy sitting with his cronies at the back of the Slytherin table and Harry noted with satisfaction that the boy’s lip looked swollen where Harry had punched him.

Next Harry scanned the staff table and spotted a woman he had never seen before who had to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She was an attractive woman who appeared to be in her early-forties. She had long black hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck and wore black robes. There was nothing particularly remarkable about her; she wasn’t at all flashy. Yet there was a relaxed air of easy confidence about her that gave the impression of someone who was used to commanding respect.

The hall broke into polite applause as Dumbledore concluded his address and Harry realized this was his cue to take his seat. He quickly made his way along the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Ginny. As the applause died away, Dumbledore spoke again.

“Now, I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Katrina Knight. We are very fortunate to have Professor Knight with us. She is taking a year’s sabbatical from the Auror service to be here at Hogwarts and to share her considerable practical knowledge with you all.”

Dumbledore turned to smile at Professor Knight who smiled warmly in return, her deep blue eyes sparkling with intelligence and good humor. An Auror! Harry couldn’t have hoped for better and he enthusiastically joined in the applause for their new teacher.

Despite the distrust he’d felt for the Aurors on the train and worries over the DPS, Harry still firmly believed that most of the men and women fighting on the front lines in the war against Voldemort had to be honest, decent people committed to upholding justice and Knight certainly looked all right. Besides, Harry was determined to be an Auror, himself, and he couldn’t think of a better place to start than by having one for a teacher.

Dumbledore said, “Let the feast begin!”

Platters of food appeared on the table and the hall quieted as everyone turned their attention to the feast.

“Sounds as if she ought to be good,” Ron said, nodding in the direction of the staff table as he loaded his plate with food.

“She should be,” Neville said, nodding emphatically. “She’s only one of the best Aurors around.”

“You know her?” Dean asked.

“My gran does,” Neville explained. “She and her husband fought alongside my parents back in the first war against You-Know-Who.”

“What happened to her husband?” Lavender asked.

Neville looked down at his plate and frowned. “He was caught in an ambush right before the war ended.”

“Well, it’s no wonder Dumbledore hired her then,” Dean said. “It sounds as if she has plenty of experience.”

“But if that’s true then why is she here?” Hermione asked. “Not that it isn’t good to have a competent teacher, but it’s not as if we have a surplus of Aurors. I should think the war would come first.”

“Her brother was an Auror, too,” Neville said. “He was killed by Death Eaters a few months ago.”

There was a collective gasp. “That’s awful!” Lavender exclaimed.

Neville nodded seriously. “I heard my gran talking about it the other day. He was the only family she had and she adored him. His death hit her really hard and the Ministry thought she ought to take a leave of absence. She didn’t agree, but the Ministry insisted, so Dumbledore offered her the Defense position.”

Harry looked back at the staff table feeling empathy for the woman. He knew all too well what it was like to lose loved ones to Voldemort and he could well imagine that Katrina Knight hadn’t wanted to leave the Aurors. He wouldn’t have wanted to either.

“The Ministry are idiots if they think forcing her to take a leave of absence is going to help,” Harry said.

“Well, at least she’ll have something useful to do here,” Hermione said.

Harry shook his head. “It’s not the same as being able to fight back.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Harry?” Seamus said.

Harry looked away from the staff table and felt a stab of dread as he discovered that his classmates were all watching him.

“We read about London,” Seamus prompted, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “So what happened? Did you really kill that Death Eater?”

“Oh, for heavens sake!” Ginny snapped. “Do you really think Harry wants to talk about that?”

“Of course, he doesn’t!” Ron said forcefully. “We need to talk about something more important.”

“What do you consider more important?” Seamus asked.

“Quidditch,” Ron answered as if this were obvious. “It’s our last year and we want to go out on top, don’t we? If so, we need to get cracking. First off, we need a captain.”

“I nominate Harry,” Ginny said immediately.

“I’ll second that,” Ron agreed. “What do you say, mate? You up for leading our team to another Quidditch Cup?”

Harry glanced around. Everyone was staring expectantly at him once more, but this time he felt no apprehension. He grinned. “Yeah, I am.”

---

The next morning dawned clear with a cloudless, pale blue sky. Harry had slept well in his familiar bed surrounded by his friends and was looking forward to the first day of classes. He shoveled seconds of potatoes onto his plate while Ron looked over the rumpled list of potential Gryffindor Quidditch players he’d apparently been compiling all summer.

“With Katie gone, we’ll need a new Chaser. What do you think of MacAfee or Bonhomme?

“Who’s fastest on a broom?” Harry asked.

“Dunno.”

“Bonhomme, definitely.” McGonagall had come up behind them and was peering over their shoulders at Ron’s list as well. “Though MacAfee is more aggressive. That might be more useful than sheer speed.”

“What about Taylor?” Ginny asked. “He’s fast and pretty confident on a broom.”

McGonagall pursed her lips and considered. “He’s fast enough and has a certain flair, but I’m not sure how he’d do in a match. He doesn’t have the best concentration. You’ll just have to try them all out, Potter, and see.”

“Excuse me, Professor,” Hermione interrupted with just a shade of exasperation in her voice. “Could we get our timetables?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” McGonagall quickly handed each of them a piece of parchment, then addressed Harry. “I’ll want to be at the tryouts, Potter. Saturday morning should be soon enough.”

McGonagall continued down the table and Hermione spoke up. “It looks as though we’ll be the first to see if Professor Knight lives up to her reputation. We have Defense first thing with the Slytherins.”

“Why do we always get stuck with them?” Ron groaned.

“Because we can beat them even when they cheat,” Harry said.

Hermione started gathering up her books. “We’d better go if we want decent seats.”

“I’m not finished eating,” Ron protested.

“You would be if you hadn’t spent the last half-hour talking about Quidditch. Hurry up.”

Ron gulped down his food as quickly as he could without choking on it, then he, Harry and Hermione set off for class. By the time they arrived, most of the other students were already present and the three were forced to take seats at the very front of the classroom. Unfortunately, these were directly across from Draco Malfoy and Harry wondered if the Slytherin was going to cause any trouble. Malfoy, however, only cast a sullen look at him then turned away.

Professor Knight came in carrying a box which she deposited on the desk at the front of the classroom. She then turned to the students and began without preamble.

“Professor Dumbledore tells me that you received excellent instruction in dueling last year, so I’m going to concentrate on teaching you how to defend yourselves from the more insidious forms of the Dark Arts.”

She tapped the box and half a dozen items rose out of it and settled onto the desk. They appeared to be completely mundane. There was a pocket watch, a book, a necktie, a quill, a bar of chocolate and a key.

“One of these items is cursed. Does anyone know how to tell which one?”

There was silence in the classroom as everyone stared at the items on the desk as if expecting the cursed one to jump up and identify itself. Harry stared at them too, but they all looked perfectly normal. There was nothing to indicate that one of them was cursed.

Harry’s attention was suddenly distracted by an unusual vibration coming from the right back pocket of his trousers. Frowning, he reached into the pocket and felt the stone which Remus had given him for his birthday and which he always carried with him. It was warm and was vibrating gently. Harry looked back at the items on the desk and raised his hand.

“I think I know how to tell which one is cursed.”

Knight looked at him and her eyes narrowed appraisingly. “Potter, isn’t it?” She smiled slightly and waved at the desk. “Have a go, then.”

Harry stood up and approached the desk. As he did, he could feel the stone in his pocket begin to vibrate more rapidly. He stopped, scanned the items, then reached out towards the pocket watch.

“Careful! Don’t touch them,” Knight warned. She was standing at his side and he gave her a dry smile.

“Trust me, I know better than that.” He passed his hand back and forth over the objects, feeling the vibration in his pocket wax and wane. Then he drew back his hand. “It’s the tie.”

“Correct,” Knight said, giving him a shrewd smile. “Now, why don’t you show us all what’s in your pocket?”

Harry pulled out the still vibrating stone and handed it to Knight who held it up for the whole class to see.

“This is a Curse Detector: also known as an Auror’s best friend. Its sole purpose is to detect cursed objects. This one is vibrating, which is the most common variety, but you can get them enchanted to emit audible alarms or to flash rapidly when a curse is detected. These are by far the easiest means of spotting a cursed object and anyone who’s likely to come into contact with cursed items should definitely invest in one of these and make certain to carry it with them at all times.”

Knight tossed Harry’s stone back to him and he caught it deftly. “Five points to Gryffindor, Potter. You may take your seat.

“For those who don’t have a Curse Detector, there is a spell that will reveal a cursed object. The obvious drawback to this is that you have to cast it intentionally, which means you have to be aware of your surroundings and on the ball enough to recognize a suspicious object when you see one.

“The incantation is Aperio. Everyone queue up and take a turn casting it on the items up here. The cursed object will glow momentarily when the spell hits it.”

The students queued up as instructed and by the time the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, they had all had ample opportunity to practice detecting cursed objects.

“Read the first chapter in your book on the types of curses that can be placed on objects,” Knight called as everyone collected their books. “And Potter, I need to see you.”

Harry looked up in surprise then shrugged at Ron and Hermione. They left with the rest of the students and when the classroom was empty, Knight spoke again.

“Not many people outside the Auror service have a Curse Detector. Where did you get it?”

“A friend gave it to me for my birthday. I want to be an Auror and I’m hoping to be accepted to the training program as soon as I’m out of school.”

Knight pursed her lips and considered Harry thoughtfully. “From what I’ve heard you’d make a good one. We need good people. If you’re interested, I could teach you a few techniques to give you a head start on training.”

“Really?” Harry said, excitedly. “That’d be brilliant!”

Knight smiled. “Come by my office Saturday afternoon and we’ll see what you can do with your wand.”

---

“That’s wonderful, Harry,” Ginny said over lunch once Harry had told his friends about Knight’s offer. “The more you can learn here at Hogwarts, the better.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dumbledore didn’t have that in mind when he hired her,” Ron said.

“I don’t know about that,” Harry said. He didn’t like the thought that Dumbledore would choose a Defense teacher just so he could have private lessons.

“Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if Knight doesn’t end up giving extra lessons to everyone planning to apply for the Auror service,” Hermione said. “There’s a desperate shortage of Aurors and we don’t have three years to train new ones. Anything that can be done to get new people out into the field sooner makes sense.”

“Potter,” McGonagall said, approaching them at a brisk pace. “The headmaster wants to see you in his office after your lesson this afternoon.”

“What about?” Harry asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” McGonagall said, handing a folded slip of paper to Harry. She gave him a small smile and walked away.

Harry opened the note and read it:

Harry,

Please join me for tea in my office this afternoon. We have much to discuss.

Albus Dumbledore

---

Harry was hopelessly distracted in Herbology. He paid scant attention to Professor Sprout’s admonishments that this year they would be studying the most exotic – and dangerous – plants known to wizards. Even when she produced a juvenile man-eating banana plant that tried to bite Seamus, Harry hardly noticed. He had never been more anxious to see Dumbledore and hoped that at long last the headmaster was ready to discuss a strategy for defeating Voldemort.

As soon as the Herbology lesson was over, Harry raced back to Gryffindor tower, deposited his books in his dormitory and went to see Dumbledore. The gargoyle outside Dumbledore’s office was obviously expecting him. It leaped aside as soon as it spotted him and Harry hurried up the moving spiral staircase. He knocked briskly at the half-open door.

“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore called, looking up from the delicate instrument he was examining at his desk. He made a slight adjustment to the instrument, looked at it closely once more, then stood up and smiled warmly. “I trust that your first day back at Hogwarts has been a good one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Come and sit down.” Dumbledore beckoned Harry towards two arm chairs and a small table set for tea next to the fireplace where a cheerful blaze was burning. The old wizard sat down in one of the chairs and Harry took the other.

“It is time at last, Harry, for us to discuss Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore said, handing Harry a cup of tea then pouring his own. “To begin with, I would like to hear from you, first hand, the plan you discussed with Professor Snape at the end of last term.”

“It’s not really a plan,” Harry said hastily, wondering how he could explain his wild idea to Dumbledore. “Just a thought. I had the idea that if I could reach into Voldemort’s mind, I might be able to fight him there. I just reckoned that since it caused him so much pain when he tried to possess me at the Ministry, that if I could force my emotions on him it might do the trick. At least I think I’ve got a better shot at that than of beating him in a duel.”

“That is quite an inspired notion, Harry, and I do believe that you are correct. I am convinced that the unique mental connection you share will make him vulnerable to you.

“The problem is that I don’t have the first idea of where to begin,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know how to fight a battle of the mind.”

“That is why you are here. Do drink your tea, Harry, before it goes cold.”

Harry gulped down half the contents of his cup. The tea was an unusual flavor he didn’t recognize. “But how can I maintain the connection between us? What’s to stop him using Occlumency to block me?”

Dumbledore refilled Harry’s teacup. “That is what I have been researching all summer. There is a technique. It is very old and obscure. Very few people have even heard of it and as far as I know, there is only one person alive who knows how to practice it.”

“Who?”

“Me. Drink your tea, Harry.”

Harry automatically took another large swallow of tea. “What kind of technique? How long do you think it will take me to learn it?”

“It is a form of Legilimency and surprisingly, it is not as difficult to learn as you might imagine. I can teach you what you need to know quite easily.”

“Really?” Harry said excitedly. He felt elated at the thought that he might soon have the skill to defeat Voldemort once and for all.

“Without doubt. But it will require you to reach deeply into the mind.”

Harry frowned. “How deeply?”

“Beyond thought or memory.”

Harry’s frown deepened. Once he had dived deeply into Snape’s mind – and had nearly killed the man. The experience had terrified him and he had no desire to repeat it.

“You will need to reach the very deepest level of Voldemort’s mind,” Dumbledore explained. “It is there and only there that you will be able to defeat him. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded solemnly. He supposed it made sense that in order to kill Voldemort he’d need to reach the deepest, most vulnerable part of his mind.

“Good. Now, I want you to reach into my mind as deeply as you can.”

“What?”

“How else do you propose to learn?”

“I – I don’t know. But I…”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “I flatter myself that I know one or two tricks in Occlumency that Professor Snape does not. I promise that you will not harm me, Harry. You need to learn and the only way to do so is through experience. Finish your tea and we shall proceed.”

Harry sighed. Dumbledore’s easy assurance did little to assuage his concern and he was annoyed at the man’s preoccupation with his tea consumption. Dumbledore, himself, had hardly touched his own cup. But Harry drained his nonetheless and set it aside.

“This particular tea comes from India, by the way,” Dumbledore said. “I find it to be very relaxing and it is particularly useful to the task before us.”

“How so?”

“It makes the mind more pliable, more easily manipulated.”

“But I thought I was the one who was supposed to be performing Legilimency on you.”

“You are. However, since you have no experience with this particular technique, I will guide you.” Dumbledore smiled reassuringly at Harry’s skeptical look. “Trust me, Harry. Relax and reach into my mind. Do not hesitate. I assure you it is perfectly safe.”

Harry met Dumbledore’s eyes, took a deep breath and reached out with his mind. Dumbledore’s mind was waiting, open and inviting. Harry could sense memories and emotions but resisted the temptation to dawdle on the surface. He reached deeper and encountered no resistance at all. In fact, Dumbledore’s mind seemed to be pulling him in. Harry felt a twinge of apprehension at his loss of control, but the feeling was muted and faded almost at once.

Harry relaxed completely and let himself fall past the rushing memories and snatches of thought flashing by. In a moment, these began to diminish, thinning out until only a few scattered memories and emotions were passing him by. Then even these were gone along with the sense of falling and in the unexpected stillness, a vivid landscape opened up before him, coalescing out of the void.

To his amazement, Harry suddenly found himself standing in the midst of a magnificent English garden like none he’d ever seen before. It was much like being in a Pensieve. Harry knew that he was still in Dumbledore’s mind and that nothing around him could be real, yet his surroundings felt absolutely authentic. He could smell lilac and jasmine, feel the cool breeze and warm sun on his face, and hear the buzzing of the bees amongst the flowers.

Harry turned slowly to take in the scene around him. The garden was immense; it stretched in every direction as far as Harry could see and was filled with a staggering variety of plants, all carefully tended. There was one main path which Harry was standing on that seemed to lead more or less straight through the garden, plus there were also myriad side paths and Harry set off at once, feeling compelled to explore these.

Many of the paths were wide and inviting, leading through the loveliest areas of the garden, but others were bracketed by dense foliage and were so narrow that Harry could barely walk down them. Some paths were only a dozen paces long; others stretched for what seemed to be a mile or more. Some twisted so sharply that Harry couldn’t see more than a few feet down them at any point. Still others had cloying vines growing over them that impeded passage and shrouded them in darkness.

Harry couldn’t have said how long he spent wandering up and down these paths. Time seemed to stand still here. But he found that every path – even the hardest – eventually led back to the main one and it was this which Harry – having had his fill of meandering – finally chose to follow until, quite abruptly, the path and garden ended at the edge of a cliff.

The cliff overlooked an ocean, a dazzling expanse of water reaching to the horizon. A stiff breeze ruffled Harry’s hair as he breathed in the tangy salt air. It was an exhilarating sensation, full of the promise of boundless adventure.

“What do you think?”

Harry spun around to find Dumbledore smiling at him. “It’s amazing,” Harry said. “Where are we? I’ve never heard of any place like this.”

“Nor will you,” Dumbledore replied. “This place does not exist and never has. It is not a memory. What you see around you is the manifestation of my mind at its deepest level, beyond memory or conscious thought. This is the physical representation of personality and experience; a metaphor for my soul, if you will.”

Harry looked around at the garden once more; at the vast, intricately arranged plantings all blending together into a subtle and complex tapestry and at the countless paths that led through them. It was a perfect depiction of Dumbledore. He looked back at the ocean. “What’s this then?”

Dumbledore smiled wistfully. “I think, Harry, that I will leave you to ponder that question on your own. Come.”

Dumbledore steered Harry back up the path into the heart of the garden, talking rapidly as they went. “Understand, Harry that our minds alone walk this path. Physically we are still seated in my office in a deep trance. Understand too that every mind is different. What you see here is unique to me. The manifestations of other minds will be different, Voldemort’s vastly so. But it is the landscape of his mind that you must force your way into, its dangers and obstacles you must overcome, if you are to fight him and win.”

“How do I do that?”

“By learning to navigate the landscape of my mind and to overcome its dangers and obstacles.”

Harry glanced around dubiously. “I don’t think there are many dangers here, Professor.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

Even as Dumbledore was still speaking Harry heard a deep growl and turned towards it. Standing ten feet away on one of the narrow paths and regarding Harry with a predatory stare, was a lion. Harry gaped at the animal. It was so incongruous standing among the marigolds that he could scarcely believe he wasn’t imagining it. Until it lunged.

Harry didn’t have time to reach for his wand or even to scream before he found himself on his back with a five hundred pound lion on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Instinctively he threw up his arms and squeezed his eyes shut, but he knew full well that this feeble defense wouldn’t prevent the animal from tearing his throat out. He could feel the lion’s crushing weight and its hot breath on his face. Then in an instant it was gone.

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor in Dumbledore’s office, where the fire still crackled cheerily in the fireplace. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair regarding Harry calmly, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You see, Harry, you must never underestimate your opponent.” He poured tea and sipped it as Harry got to his feet.

“What was a lion doing wandering around a garden?”

“It was not an actual lion in an actual garden. These are symbols, only – representations of the mind’s energy. In the mind you may encounter anything and you must be ready. Tell me, Harry, have you ever read Alice in Wonderland?”

Harry shook his head.

“Then that is your homework assignment until we meet again.” Dumbledore stood up, pulled a battered copy of the book from his pocket and handed it to Harry. “From now on, I will expect you here every Monday evening directly after dinner. Finish this before next week.” Harry regarded the book doubtfully and Dumbledore smiled. “Trust me. It should help.”

Compared with Harry’s first day at school the rest of the week was uneventful. He only had five subjects – all required for him to be accepted into the Auror program. With everything else he had to worry about Harry had decided early on during the summer that he needed to concentrate on these core subjects and forego both History of Magic and Care of Magical Creatures.

Dropping History was no problem: he’d only taken it the previous year to keep Ron company. Care of Magical Creatures was another matter. For one reason or another, he, Ron and Hermione had all elected to skip Hagrid’s class and none of them felt good about spurning the half-giant who was such a faithful friend to them. At least Ginny was still taking the course and they all hoped that would soothe any hurt feelings. Harry’s guilt was also assuaged as the week wore on and it became apparent that the courses in which he’d chosen to sit his NEWTs would be more than enough to keep him busy.

Both Sprout and Flitwick inundated their classes with homework. McGonagall announced that they would eventually be working on human transfigurations this year and she spent the entire first lesson relating in gory detail the gruesome consequences that would surely occur if they failed to take the subject seriously. But unsurprisingly, Potions was the low point of Harry’s week.

The first seventh-year Potions lesson was Wednesday afternoon and when Harry got to the classroom, he glanced at his watch to see if he’d misread the time and arrived early. With the exception of Defense which everyone seemed to be taking, most of the seventh-year classes were fairly small as students chose to specialize and take fewer courses. But the Potions classroom held only half as many students as Harry’s next smallest class.

At precisely one o’clock, Snape swept into the room. He didn’t say a word as he strode to the front of the class and turned to regard them all with his most imperious look. Silently, he scrutinized each of them in turn. Finally, when the silence had become nearly unbearable, he spoke quietly.

“Well, well, our last year together. I have reviewed each of your transcripts and met with your heads of house as necessary. I know what professional goals each of you hopes to pursue when you leave Hogwarts at the end of this year and I know that none of you are here on a whim or for fun, but rather because your plans for the future require it. In other words, you have no choice.”

Snape let that ominous statement hang in the dank air a moment before continuing.

“Consequently, I expect all of you to take this subject seriously. You are no longer children, nor will I treat you as such. Since it is my unenviable job to cram enough knowledge into your thick skulls to enable you to pass your NEWTs, I expect your full attention in class and for your work to be completed to an exemplary standard. Failure to meet these requirements will not be tolerated.”

Snape raked them all with his piercing gaze once more, then turned towards the board and began copying down the day’s lesson. “Pass your homework forward then begin brewing this potion,” Snape said over his shoulder.

Harry had been dreading this. He had completed his homework, but only barely and with the most minimal effort. His trepidation only increased as he watched the other students hand in stacks of parchment that were much thicker than his own. At least the potion, a salve to heal burns, was one Harry had brewed during the summer so he had no trouble with it. However, when the bell rang and the class began to file out of the room, Snape called him.

“Potter, I need to see you.”

Harry suppressed a sigh and waited for the rest of the class to leave, then approached Snape who was seated behind his desk.

“Yes, sir?”

“Potter, you do recall that I warned you that I wouldn’t tolerate shoddy work from you this year?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that I specifically told you to put forth your best effort on your homework?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then explain why you handed in this.” Snape tossed Harry’s homework onto the desk where it lay as a silent indictment of his disregard for Snape’s instructions.

Harry had known that Snape would be angry, of course, and he was prepared to weather the man’s ridicule and accept whatever punishment was coming. In fact, he’d rehearsed this confrontation in his mind and his answer came automatically.

“I’m sorry, Professor. The summer got away from me and I ran out of time. I promise to do better from now on.”

“Good. You may start by redoing all of this,” Snape said with a wave at Harry’s homework.

Harry sighed. He had hoped that Snape would simply give him a zero for the assignments and take away house points, but he nodded resignedly. “Yes, sir.” Harry reached for his homework, but Snape clamped a hand on it and smirked at him.

“You had the chance to do it on your own over summer. Since you failed, you will now do it with supervision. You will have detention every Saturday until you have completed this work to my satisfaction. And don’t waste your time working on it any other time. I will only accept work done in my presence.”

Harry stared at Snape and felt his stomach sink as he did a quick mental calculation. It had taken him the better part of a week to produce the work he’d turned in. It would take at least twice that long to manage something Snape might consider acceptable. And if he could only work on it with Snape…

“That will take weeks!”

“I did warn you that you wouldn’t get away with a slipshod effort,” Snape said, an insufferably smug smile playing on his lips as Harry fists clenched in fury.

“I’ll see you in my office this Saturday at nine a.m.,” Snape said by way of dismissal.

“I can’t be there this Saturday.”

Snape raised his eyebrows, but before he could say anything, Harry continued defiantly.

“Professor McGonagall has set Quidditch tryouts for this Saturday morning. I’m captain so I have to be there – unless you can talk her into postponing the tryouts, of course.”

Snape scowled. They both knew that there was no chance of McGonagall doing that. “Fine. Be here in the afternoon,” he said impatiently, turning his attention back to the essays on his desk.

“Actually, I can’t make it then, either.” Harry smiled slightly, delighting in refusing his teacher.

Snape’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed angrily. “Why not?”

“I already have an appointment with Professor Knight.”

“An appointment?”

“That’s right. She wants to talk with me about the Auror service.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed even further, then his expression cleared and he shrugged unconcernedly. “Very well, Potter. We’ll simply begin the following Saturday.” He returned Harry’s smile. “I have all year, after all.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Someday, he swore to himself, he’d get the better of Snape in one of these confrontations, but it clearly wasn’t going to be today.

“I’ll be there,” he said resentfully, then turned and stalked out of the room.

Harry’s friends were waiting for him in the Gryffindor common room and he indignantly told them about Snape’s punishment.

“He’s only doing it to keep you from Quidditch!” Ron said, livid at the news. “I say you should talk to McGonagall. If that git thinks you’re going to miss out our match against Slytherin –”

“Ron, I don’t think even Snape could justify keeping Harry in detention into November just because he didn’t do his homework,” Ginny said pragmatically.

Hermione shook her head. “I just don’t know when you’re going to have time to do any of your current homework. We’re going to have loads of it this year. You’re already supposed to meet with Dumbledore every Monday evening and if Knight is serious about giving you a head start on Auror training and Snape keeps you half of the day on Saturdays –”

“You’ve got to find time for Quidditch practice,” Ron interjected. “You’re captain of the bloody team, after all.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. This wasn’t exactly the support he’d been hoping for.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Ginny said. “It’ll work itself out.” She smiled and Harry felt his spirits lift. It didn’t matter how busy he was or how much work Snape made him do - as long as Ginny kept smiling at him like that, everything would be fine.

---

The Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts took all morning on Saturday, but by the time Harry and his friends arrived in the Great Hall for lunch, Gryffindor had a new Chaser, two reserve Chasers and a reserve Beater. Harry had deferred to Ginny on the choice of Gloria Bonhomme for Chaser since Ginny was a Chaser herself and would be playing most closely with the girl. McGonagall, who had watched from the stands, seemed satisfied. She had given Harry one of her rare smiles and Ron seemed pleased as well. He and Ginny were giving Gloria and the others an overview of Gryffindor Quidditch strategies in hushed voices while Hermione sat close by, reading her Ancient Runes textbook.

Harry supposed that he ought to join in the Quidditch discussion, but Ron and Ginny seemed to be handling it quite well, maneuvering the salt and pepper shakers around the table as they described various plays. Besides, as Seeker, Harry had never paid much attention to any of the plays since his one and only job was to catch the Snitch.

Having satisfied his conscience that he could ignore his new players for the time being, he pulled the battered copy of Alice out of his pocket. He was only halfway through the story which resembled a very long and demented dream and he knew he didn’t have much time to finish it before Monday evening.

He’d barely opened the book when Hermione asked, “Harry, what are you reading?”

“Something Dumbledore gave me. He reckoned it would help me with our lessons.”

She looked more closely at the book and her face lit up. “Alice in Wonderland? That’s one of my favorite books.”

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d fancy anything this random. It’s all just nonsense.”

“Oh Harry, of course it’s not! There’s loads of meaning and symbolism in the story.”

Before Hermione could launch into a lecture on the subject, however, Draco Malfoy came up behind Harry and snatched the book out of his hand.

“Muggle fairytales, Potter?” Malfoy said loudly, making a great show of examining the book. “Is this what Dumbledore thinks is going to defeat the Dark Lord? He really must be desperate.”

“Give it here, Malfoy,” Harry said irritably.

Malfoy ignored Harry’s demand. “Or maybe he’s finally gone completely round the bend because he knows that you can’t win.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Now give it here.”

Malfoy shook his head in evident contempt. “You don’t get it, do you, Potter? No matter what you and that old fool do, you can’t beat him because he can’t be beaten. He can’t die. He’s impervious to attack. Even the Avada Kadavra couldn’t kill him.”

“It didn’t kill Harry either,” Ginny said, glaring defiantly at Malfoy who spared her only a brief glance before returning his hard stare to Harry.

“It will next time. But even if you crawled back into whatever hole you were hiding in all summer and waited to die of old age, he’d still outlive you.” Malfoy tossed the book back at Harry and strode away.

“Git,” Ron muttered. “Ignore him, Harry,” Ginny said. “He doesn’t know anything.”

Harry nodded, but there was a flicker of doubt at the back of his mind that kept him from dismissing Malfoy’s words entirely. Despite his arrogant bluster, the Slytherin was right about one thing at least: Voldemort never should have survived the night Harry’s parents had died, but somehow he had.

Harry pushed that thought away. “I’ve got to go and meet Knight.”

“Maybe we can go for a walk down by the lake afterward,” Ginny offered.

“That would be great,” Harry said with genuine feeling.

Ginny gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Go on then, before you’re late.”

Harry hurried away, excited at the prospect of studying with Knight one on one. Expectations of the woman’s skill had not been disappointed. Class after class had reported that her lessons were some of the best they’d ever had and Knight appeared to be universally admired by the students.

For Harry, however, it was Knight’s practical knowledge of the Auror Service and of fighting Death Eaters that attracted him most and which he hoped to learn from her. He arrived at her office, knocked briskly then stuck his head in the half-open door.

Knight, who was seated at her desk, looked up and smiled. “Come in, Potter. Sit down.”

She laid aside her work as Harry took the indicated chair and regarded him with the same appraising look she’d given him in his first Defense class.

“So, you want to be an Auror?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

Harry let out a hollow laugh. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Knight raised her eyebrows at him. “If it were, I wouldn’t have asked.”

Harry felt himself flush at the mild rebuke, but before he could stammer an apology, Knight continued.

“You don’t need to be an Auror to fight this war, Potter. The war, quite literally, will come to you. So if that’s all you’re in it for, you need to think harder. What happens when the war is over, when You-Know-Who and the scum that follow him are gone? Are you prepared to be an Auror in peace as well as in war?”

Harry considered. Even though it was his dearest hope, he couldn’t quite imagine life without Voldemort’s shadow hanging over him, but he knew he wanted that life and he knew what was required to ensure it. He met Knight’s eyes and answered without hesitation.

“Yes, I’m prepared. Voldemort isn’t the first Dark Wizard to come along and he won’t be the last. Someone needs to be on the lookout for the next self-proclaimed Dark Lord and be ready to stop him before he comes to power. There’s nothing I’d rather spend my life doing than making sure that doesn’t happen again.”

Knight smiled and nodded approvingly. “Now that’s the sort of answer I was looking for. Come on.”

Knight stood up and headed for the door with a firm, purposeful stride. “Where are we going?” Harry asked as he hurried to follow her.

Knight paused in the doorway and favored Harry with a small, wry smile. “We’re going to teach you to be an Auror.” Then she was gone and Harry, grinning broadly, raced after her.

---

Harry flopped down on the grass and lay back, panting. “I’m glad Ryan spent so much time teaching us to duel last year.”

Knight stood over him with her arms folded, an amused look on her face. “So am I. You’re quite good. Better than I expected, really. Heroes are usually overrated.”

Harry sat up and scowled. “I’m not a hero!”

Knight chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. At least I didn’t call you the ‘Chosen One’. The Daily Prophet doesn’t seem to be able to go a week without using that phrase.”

Harry grimaced. “I know and I hate it.”

“Good. It never pays to believe your own press.”

“So, what do you think?” Harry asked to change the subject. “Do I have what it takes to be an Auror?”

“You’re fast; you’re a competent duelist; and from what I’ve heard you were able to conjure a Patronus at thirteen and throw off the Imperius Curse at fourteen. So yes, I’d say you have the makings of an outstanding Auror. There are some things I’d like to teach you that aren’t part of the regular Defense curriculum, if you’re up to it.”

Harry jumped to his feet. “Of course I am!”

“Then plan on meeting in my office every Friday after your last class.”

“I’ll be there. And thanks, Professor. I appreciate it.”

Knight’s mouth twitched into a subtle smile. “On the contrary, Potter. Thank you.” She turned and strode away across the grounds, her robes billowing behind her in the late afternoon breeze. Harry watched her for a moment then headed back to Gryffindor Tower to find Ginny.

The common room was nearly empty when Harry arrived, but Ginny was there, curled up in her favorite chair, reading. She looked up as Harry entered and smiled.

“How was it?”

“Great! We spent over an hour dueling and she’s fantastic. She’s offered to give me lessons every Friday afternoon.”

“That’s brilliant!”

Harry sat down next to Ginny and leaned forward. “You know, I was thinking about what Hermione said the other day about needing to train Aurors faster. I know you still have another year here at school, but you’ve got top marks in Defense. If you asked, I bet Professor Knight would let you come to the lessons too.”

Ginny frowned slightly in confusion. “Why?”

“To give you a head start on Auror training.”

“Harry, I don’t plan to be an Auror.”

“Oh.” Harry felt stupid for having assumed that Ginny was planning to become an Auror, but also a little disappointed.

Ron had only briefly flirted with the notion of being an Auror until he realized that he’d need to take Potions – something he had neither the marks nor the desire to do. As far as Harry knew, he still hadn’t decided what he was going to do once he got out of school, but Harry guessed that he’d wind up at the Ministry.

Hermione was guaranteed to earn enough NEWTs to go into any profession of her choosing, but Harry knew she wasn’t planning on a career as an Auror, either.

That left Ginny and Harry had held out a particular hope that she would join him in the Auror service. “What are you planning to do?”

Ginny shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve thought about being a healer, but I might also follow dad into the Ministry. There’s so much that needs to be done there. I just haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, if you haven’t decided, how do you know you don’t want to be an Auror?”

“Because I don’t want to spend my life fighting, Harry. When this war is over I want to put it behind me. I want to have a home and a family and the kind of normal life I grew up with.”

Harry looked away and spoke quietly. “I’ve never had a normal life.”

Ginny reached out and took his hand. “It’s all right, Harry. You will. I promise. Now come on. Let’s go for that walk.”

---

The rest of the weekend was blissful for Harry. He spent most of it with Ginny, much of it down by the lake enjoying the cool late summer weather. Despite all of his worries, when he was with Ginny he couldn’t help but feel contented and at peace. On Sunday evening, however, Harry reluctantly left Ginny and the rest of his friends after dinner and went up to his dormitory. He hadn’t yet finished his homework for Dumbledore and knew he had no more time to procrastinate.

Harry sprawled on his bed and pulled out his dog-eared copy of “Alice in Wonderland”. He didn’t particularly care for the story, though he did sympathize with Alice’s bewilderment and he understood why Dumbledore had wanted him to read the book. Just as Alice wandered a fantastic landscape where anything could happen, he faced the same sort of challenge in Dumbledore’s mind.

Harry opened the book, but as he did he remembered the last time he’d attempted to read it and the mocking comments Malfoy had made. The Slytherin’s words whispered in the back of Harry’s mind and to his dismay, more words whispered back. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths and cleared his mind. Then he concentrated until the half-remembered words became clear:

… I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal – to conquer death. …it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked … for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it.

Harry opened his eyes with Voldemort’s cold, high-pitched voice still ringing in his mind and felt dread grip his heart. That night in the graveyard when Cedric had died and Voldemort had been reborn, Harry had been so afraid, so overwhelmed by all that was happening, that he had scarcely paid attention to Voldemort’s posturing before his Death Eaters. But now he wondered – could it be true? Was Voldemort’s survival at Godrics Hollow simply a fluke of the ancient magic that had saved Harry’s own life or was he really incapable of being killed?

Harry had always known that defeating Voldemort would be hard, nigh on impossible even. After all, the Dark wizard was extraordinarily powerful. But Harry had always believed there was a chance, however slim, that he could win. He had never thought of his enemy as immortal. But now that he had heard this from both Voldemort and Malfoy… Harry shook his head and forced his stomach to unclench. He was being stupid. No one was truly immortal. Voldemort had just been lying to impress his minions and Malfoy was obviously only repeating what his father had told him.

Dumbledore certainly believed that Voldemort could be defeated and Harry trusted that the venerable wizard knew what he was talking about. But just to be safe, Harry decided that he’d mention the matter to Dumbledore. That went a long way towards relieving his worry. He pushed the last uncertainty from his thoughts and turned his attention back to Alice in Wonderland, grateful to have that fantasy to occupy his thoughts.

---

Harry never looked at the clock and couldn’t have said when it was that he finally finished the book, though he knew it was long after his roommates had gone to sleep. Too tired to change into his pajamas, Harry simply took off his glasses and fell asleep.

Harry was in Dumbledore’s garden again, but this time as he wandered up and down the paths he encountered bizarre incarnations of the characters Alice had met. He met a white rabbit that lamented being late for Transfigurations where it was supposed to turn a baby into a pig. The rabbit disappeared into a hedge, but further along Harry found a cat that looked exactly like Crookshanks. It was perched in a tree but vanished, leaving only an ill-tempered scowl behind. Finally, in the center of the garden Harry came upon the Hogwarts staff table where Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape were having tea.

“You’re late, Potter,” Snape said.

“But not too late,” Dumbledore added. “Tea, Harry?”

Dumbledore handed Harry a delicate china cup and saucer. It was empty, but the table was crowed with all manner of teapots and teakettles. Harry reached for the nearest one.

“Don’t just stand there, Potter,” McGonagall said. “Sit down.”

“But there aren’t any chairs,” Harry observed as he tipped the teapot he was holding nearly upside down over his cup and shook it. Nothing came out.

“Always making excuses,” Snape drawled.

“I’m not making excuses!” Harry said indignantly as he set aside the empty teapot and picked up a short fuchsia-colored teakettle. “Where do you want me to sit, on the table?” The teakettle was also empty, so Harry exchanged it for an ornate silver teapot but there wasn’t a drop of tea in that either.

“Sit wherever you like, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “But you must drink your tea before it goes cold.”

“I haven’t any!” Harry said in exasperation,

“That’s only because you aren’t trying hard enough,” McGonagall admonished. “I’ve told you that you need to pay particular attention to your work this year.”

“It’s not my fault!” Harry complained, snatching up one teapot after another in an increasingly frustrated effort. “There’s no tea in any of these!”

“I told you he was hopeless,” Snape said.

“I’m not hopeless!” Harry yelled.

Suddenly the sky darkened and a cold wind swept across the garden, buffeting the plants and rattling the teacups on their saucers. Death Eaters emerged from the behind the nearby trees and shrubs to surround Harry.

Harry dropped his teacup which shattered on the ground and pulled out his wand, but his teachers ignored the Death Eaters.

“You really need to finish your tea, Harry,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head sadly.

“Forget the bloody tea!” Harry yelled at the old wizard, who was sipping his tea unconcernedly. “Help me.”

“Oh, now he wants help,” Snape sneered contemptuously.

“We can’t do your work for you, Potter,” McGonagall said in an exasperated tone.

Harry turned desperately to Dumbledore. “Professor, you have to help me!”

Dumbledore looked at Harry and shrugged. “I’ve told you, Harry, you have to finish your tea.”

Harry let out a snarl of frustration. The Death Eaters were closing in. The nearest one brandished his wand at Harry and shouted, “Off with his head!” The others immediately took up the call. “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!”

There was only one escape open to Harry. He jumped up onto the table, heedless of the teapots he kicked over. Then he leapt past his teachers to the path beyond. Not Dumbledore, McGonagall nor Snape seemed at all perturbed by this. They still sat drinking their tea as Harry sprinted away and the Death Eaters gave chase.

“OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” the Death Eaters chanted as they pursued Harry down the increasingly dark and narrow path. Tall, dense hedges grew on either side and afforded Harry no place to hide and nowhere to go but straight ahead. Harry ran as fast as he could, but the Death Eaters kept pace easily. He was gasping and nearly ready to collapse when the path abruptly ended at the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea. Harry stumbled to a halt, panting and stared down at the waves crashing on the rocks far below. He was trapped. Resignedly, he turned to face the Death Eaters who had stopped a few paces behind him. As he did, the group of black-robed figures parted and Voldemort was there, a terrible, triumphant smile on his snakelike face.

“You can’t kill me, Harry. I can’t die. But you can.” Voldemort raised his wand and a jet of green light shot towards Harry. The spell hit Harry in the chest and sent him tumbling over the edge of the cliff.

Harry woke with a start and blinked at the sunlight streaming in through the window. Then he yawned, stretched and rolled out of bed, his strange dreams already fading from his memory. He changed into fresh clothes then joined his classmates on their way down to breakfast.

---

Evening couldn’t have come soon enough for Harry, who was anxious to meet with Dumbledore again. So, of course, the day crawled by. Defense was interesting enough as Knight showed them various techniques for safely handling cursed objects, but he had much less enthusiasm for Herbology where Professor Sprout displayed various deadly fungi and assigned them a three-foot essay for homework.

At dinnertime, Harry wolfed down his food then waited impatiently as Dumbledore chatted with McGonagall at the staff table for what seemed an interminable length of time. Finally, Dumbledore rose from the table and Harry stood up as well. With a quick farewell to his friends, he hurried to the headmaster’s office where he found Dumbledore already seated in his chair by the fire.

“Come in, Harry.” Dumbledore poured tea as Harry sat down across from him then continued. “So, what did you think of Alice’s adventures?”

“I hope I don’t wind up encountering anything that bizarre in your mind or in Voldemort’s.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “I seriously doubt that you will. Alice’s experiences are quite extreme. Nevertheless, I hope that her story helped you to understand that in the mind normal physical laws and the rules that govern reality do not apply.”

Harry nodded.

“Good. Then it is time for us to take another walk in the garden.”

Harry was much more confident this time as he descended through Dumbledore’s mind. Dumbledore must have realized this because he didn’t guide Harry, but instead allowed Harry to find his own way.

The garden materialized around Harry as it had before. Dumbledore was already standing beside him this time and to Harry’s astonishment, they were not alone. Men and women of all ages strolled along the garden paths or sat chatting beneath trees. Children darted here and there, laughing and calling to one another as they played. Many of the people were dressed in very old-fashioned clothes, but some wore contemporary fashions and Harry thought that several of the people even looked familiar.

“Who are all of these people?” Harry asked.

“These are the people who have made me what I am. I have told you that those we love never truly leave us and that is true. They live within us. If you wandered these paths long enough you would meet every single person who has ever influenced me: family, childhood friends, teachers, colleagues. You would even meet yourself.”

Harry stared in wonder at all of the people. There had to be hundreds of them. “Why didn’t I see them the last time?”

“Because I thought it would be better to let you wander a bit first without distraction. I should explain, Harry, that I have a certain amount of control over my mind, but you need to understand that most people do not. Most have absolutely no awareness of their minds at this level at all. If you were to delve into the mind of the average person, you would find their naked, unvarnished soul. They would have no conscious control over their interactions with you at this depth. In fact, once the trance was lifted, they would have no conscious knowledge of your having ever been in their mind at all. Through much time and practice, however, I have developed the ability to reach into my own mind and so I am able to retain a degree of control as well as the memories of what transpires here.”

“So you mean that you perform Legilimency on yourself?” Harry asked slowly.

“That is one way to put it, yes,” Dumbledore said, obviously pleased that Harry understood.

Harry didn’t. He stared at Dumbledore trying to work out the concept of a mind looking into itself. Dumbledore smiled.

“It requires a great deal of self-awareness.”

“Morning, Dumbledore,” a portly man in Victorian dress said heartily as he came striding briskly up the path, his open wizards robes flapping behind him. He had a florid face and was nearly bald, but his few wisps of white hair danced in the breeze as he hurried along. “I hope you’re teaching that young man something,” he said as he passed them by.

“Always, Headmaster,” Dumbledore called after him as the fellow disappeared around a hedge. Then Dumbledore lowered his voice conspiratorially and addressed Harry.

“Eustace Lampson. Headmaster when I first started teaching at Hogwarts. Always insisted that you should never speak to a student without taking the opportunity to teach them something.”

“You can talk to these people?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Naturally. What would be the point in them being here otherwise? Of course, these are no more the actual individuals than are the portraits that hang in my office. These are only the manifestations of my memories of them.”

Dumbledore set off along a broad but deserted path and Harry fell into step beside him. “Do you come here often?” Harry asked as he and Dumbledore walked along.

“Heavens, no! It takes enormous effort and concentration to delve this deeply into one’s own mind alone. I have only done it once. It is far easier to allow another mind to lead the way and to simply tag along.”

They had arrived at a clearing and Dumbledore stopped. “As edifying as it no doubt is to stroll through my mind, it is time for you to learn how to actively engage it. I told you last time that you might encounter anything here and I trust that Alice in Wonderland has given you a taste of the possibilities. And so…”

Dumbledore waved his hand and a pond appeared before them, complete with water lilies and fish darting back and forth. “This is not magic,” he said at Harry’s astounded expression. “In this place, thought can become reality in an instant and that is true of your thoughts as well.”

“How?”

“Simply imagine something. Form the image clearly in your mind and expect it to appear. Go on, give it a try.”

Harry frowned in concentration. He looked at the pond and imagined a fountain in its place. He formed the picture in his mind as clearly as he could but nothing happened.

“You must believe, Harry. Focus less on the details of what you are hoping to create and more on your own expectation of seeing it.”

Harry nodded and looked at the pond once more, imagining it to be a fountain instead. He concentrated and suddenly without a sound or any transformation, the pond was no longer a pond but the very fountain Harry had envisioned.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “And very tasteful, I might add. You may also use your wand to aid you. It is another symbol, of course – one that represents your ability to focus thought and power.”

Dumbledore drew his own wand and flicked it at the fountain which became a statue of Venus complete with pigeons perched atop it. Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the statue which obediently became a bird bath that the pigeons were now frolicking in. Back and forth, he and Dumbledore took turns creating all manner of statuary and water effects. Just as Harry was beginning to run out of ideas, Dumbledore waved his wand and in place of Harry’s large Grecian urn stood an elephant. Harry stared, momentarily taken aback by the huge animal.

“Remember, Harry, anything you can imagine can become real here.”

Harry collected himself and raised his wand. The elephant vanished and a hippogriff appeared in its place. It was a huge jet black creature that pawed the earth and tossed its head proudly.

“A magnificent animal,” Dumbledore said. “But I should point out that anything you bring into being in the mind will have all of the same characteristics that you know it to have in the physical world. So I would suggest either bowing with haste or thinking of a slightly more docile creature.”

Harry quickly imagined a horse and instantly a black stallion stood in the hippogriff’s place. Dumbledore smiled his approval and nodded to indicate that Harry should continue to practice. Harry took a deep breath and concentrated, producing a kangaroo, hippopotamus, deer and fox in quick succession. But the rapid transformations were taking a toll on him. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate and it was taking increasingly greater effort to bring his visions into being. After taking nearly a minute to turn a monkey into a sheepdog, Harry lowered his wand.

“I can’t do it anymore.”

“Then it is time to leave. Close your eyes and know that when you open them again you will be seated in my office.”

Harry did as Dumbledore instructed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, envisioning Dumbledore’s office. Then he opened his eyes and found himself seated in his chair next to the fireplace where the fire had burned quite low.

Dumbledore, seated in his own chair, smiled. “You did remarkably well for your first lesson. As you practice you will become more proficient and you will be able to bring your visions into being with greater ease. The only limit to what you can create is your own imagination and mental stamina.”

“Does Voldemort know how to do this?”

“I am certain that he has not studied this particular branch of Legilimency, no. But do not be too heartened by that, Harry. Even the untrained mind has formidable natural defenses and Voldemort is one of the most powerful and accomplished wizards in the world.”

Harry sighed. He hadn’t really expected a more encouraging answer. Then he remembered the question he had for Dumbledore.

“Professor, in the graveyard the night he returned, Voldemort told the Death Eaters that he had been experimenting to try to find a way to make himself immortal. He said that some of his experiments must have worked because he should have died the night he killed my parents, but didn’t.”

Dumbledore listened attentively to Harry then nodded. “Yes, that would be my conclusion as well.”

“You mean it’s true?” Harry said, shocked.

“It is certainly true that Voldemort should not have survived the Killing Curse. But even before your parents’ deaths there were rumors about the Dark Arts Voldemort was dabbling in. It was common knowledge amongst his followers that he had long sought to cheat death, though of course none knew what steps he might have taken towards that end. They still don’t. It is to Voldemort’s advantage, you see, to maintain an air of mystery, not least because it prevents any of his followers from daring to betray him.”

“You’ve known this all along?”

“Yes. Professor Snape confirmed the rumors I had heard when he returned to us, so I was prepared. The night your parents were murdered, I realized that Voldemort was not gone – that while his body had died, his soul had not departed to the next world. Something had kept it bound to this one.

“That is why I knew that he would return one day. And it is why I did not seek to kill him at the Ministry two years ago. Surely you didn’t believe that it was misplaced nobility that stayed my hand? Do you think that I would forgo the chance to spare you the Herculean task you face? Believe me, Harry, I would not.”

“But if he’s immortal, if you couldn’t kill him, then how am I supposed to manage it? Even if I beat him, won’t his spirit just slip away again?”

Dumbledore was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke again, he sounded pensive. “That is a conundrum I have been considering for quite some time, Harry – since your parents died, in fact. But it was not until you handed me Riddle’s diary in your second year that I began to suspect the true nature of what he had done. When you told me of all that had transpired with the diary, I realized that it had very nearly sucked Ginny Weasley’s soul from her. That was unprecedented in my experience and it told me that even at sixteen, Voldemort was learning to manipulate souls. That cannot have been a coincidence and I think the enchantments he used to create the diary led to the eventual steps he took to guard against his own death. Unfortunately, since the diary was destroyed, there was no way to identify the spells Riddle placed upon it.”

“But if you don’t know what spells he used –”

“While I do not know the actual enchantments, I do understand their nature. I know what he did even if I do not know precisely how he did it.”

“Then you know how to break the spells?”

For the briefest moment a look of pain flickered across Dumbledore’s face and was gone. “I am confident that the techniques I am teaching you now will prove sufficient to circumvent his protections. And now, Harry, it is quite late, so I suggest that you get back to your dormitory.”

“What?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“He’s immortal,” Harry repeated grimly as he slouched on his bed. “He can’t die.”

Ron, Hermione and Ginny all stared back at Harry with identical looks of dismay.

“But you said that Dumbledore thinks –” Hermione began.

“Dumbledore thinks that what he’s teaching me now will work. That somehow I can get around Voldemort’s protections if I fight him in his mind.”

“Well, that should be all right then,” Hermione said bracingly.

“Maybe, but I got the feeling there was more to it than that. I’d feel better if Dumbledore knew what spells Voldemort used.” Harry lay back and on his bed and sighed. “I wish I’d shown him that stupid diary back in second year when I had the chance.”

“Harry that wasn’t your fault.” Ginny said. “It was mine. I was the one who was stupid.”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but Lucius Malfoy’s,” Ron said firmly. “And anyway, Harry, even if you hadn’t stuck a basilisk fang into it, I don’t see how it could have been much use.”

“Why not?” Ginny asked.

Ron hesitated, casting an uncomfortable look at his sister, but Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently.

“Ron, it was five years ago. I can stand to talk about it.”

Ron didn’t look entirely convinced, but he continued. “It’s just that I can see it possessing someone or killing them, but I can’t imagine it really sucking someone’s soul out. Dumbledore has to be wrong about that.”

Harry sat up. “Why?”

“Well, think about it. There are plenty of curses that’ll kill and spells like the Imperius Curse that will give you control over someone, but there aren’t any curses that actually suck out someone’s soul.”

“Of course there aren’t, Ron,” Hermione said. “If there were, there wouldn’t be any mystery to it, would there? Voldemort invented it.”

“But that’s the whole point. He couldn’t have done; not when he was still in school. I don’t care how clever he was, he couldn’t have worked something like that out by himself at sixteen. He grew up in a Muggle orphanage, didn’t he? So it’s not as if he had anyone to help him outside of school.”

Harry had to admit that Ron’s reasoning made a lot of sense, but Hermione was clearly unwilling to concede that Dumbledore could have been wrong on such an important matter. She was biting her lip and frowning in concentration. “He must have known someone… or maybe he was doing research on his own.”

“Where? I don’t think even the restricted section of the library carries books on how to suck people’s souls out through diaries.”

“I think I know where,” Ginny whispered.

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at her in surprise. She had a faraway look in her eyes and was staring unblinking into space. “That year, towards the end, I could sense some of Riddle’s thoughts and feelings. When he took me down into the Chamber, I felt like he was going home. It wasn’t just the basilisk’s lair. It was his.”

Ron shrugged. “So he liked to hang out in a creepy, underground chamber with his pet basilisk. So what?”

But Hermione’s eyes had widened in understanding. “Of course! That has to be it.”

“Has to be what?” Harry asked.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Ginny agreed, meeting Hermione’s eyes.

“What makes sense?” Ron said.

Hermione nodded. “And I even wondered about it at the time.”

“Will you stop doing that?” Ron snapped.

The girls looked at Ron and Harry then Hermione sighed. “It’s the Chamber. I spent weeks in the library searching for information on it. There wasn’t any, of course, but while I was looking, I kept wondering what it could mean – what Salazar Slytherin could have hidden in it.”

“He was a pure-blood lunatic who left a ruddy great basilisk there to kill Muggle-borns,” Ron said.

“But that doesn’t make sense.”

“I never said it made sense. He was a loon, no question.”

“That’s not what I mean! Think. It’s not the Secret Chamber or the Chamber of the Monster. It’s the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Plural,” Harry murmured, catching Hermione’s meaning. “There’s more than one.”

“More than one basilisk?” Ron said in horror.

“More than one secret,” Ginny said. “Something else is down there and only a Parselmouth can get into the Chamber and find out what it is.”

---

It was after dinner on Tuesday evening that Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione gathered in Myrtle’s bathroom.

“Ginny, are you sure you want to come with us?” Harry asked as they stood around the sink that concealed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Ginny said indignantly. “If you can handle it, I can.”

“I know that. I’m just saying that you don’t have to come –”

“You’ve said it four times, actually, and I’m still coming with you.”

Harry sighed. “Fine.” He approached the tap, stared intently at the small serpent etched on its side and hissed, “Open.”

At once, the basin slid aside and a dark tunnel appeared. They all peered down into it.

“I’ll go first,” Harry said. “When you hear me call, send the brooms down.” Harry climbed into the shaft and let himself drop. He slid down and down until he finally tumbled out into a dark cave and went sprawling on the damp, dirty ground. He got up, dusted himself off and went back to the mouth of the tunnel.

“Okay, send the brooms down,” he called. A few moments later there was a swishing sound and three brooms shot out of the opening and went skittering across the cave floor. Harry picked them up just as Hermione fell out of the tube with a grunt. Ginny and Ron followed and at last they were all standing in the dark, underground passage.

“Come on.” Harry and his friends lit their wands and set off. Nothing had changed since Harry had last passed this way, though the tunnel did seem more cramped and the ceiling lower than he remembered. Sooner than he expected, they arrived at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

“Open,” Harry hissed once more in Parseltongue and the great door swung aside.

The Chamber was exactly as Harry had left it. The skeleton of the basilisk lay in the middle of the floor with one fang missing.

“Blimey, that was big,” Ron breathed. “How’d you ever manage?”

“Dunno,” Harry said, “but I couldn’t have done without Fawkes.” He glanced sideways at Ginny to gauge how the sight of the basilisk might be affecting her, but she wore a look of stony determination.

“You don’t reckon there are any more of these, do you?” Ron asked, eyeing the ex-basilisk nervously.

“If there was another one, I’m sure it would have attacked me last time.”

“What if another one’s moved in during the last five years?”

“Basilisks aren’t that common, Ron,” Hermione said. “They aren’t like rats or gnomes.”

Harry pointed at the statue of Salazar Slytherin. “It came out of the mouth up there, so there must be another chamber back there.” Harry strode forward and began to examine the base of the statue. Ron and Hermione joined him, but Ginny remained standing where she was, staring fixedly at the statue.

“Ginny, are you all right,” Harry asked in concern.

“It’s through there.” Ginny pointed at the gap between the statue’s giant feet.

Harry moved to feel along the wall where Ginny had indicated, but found no opening. He drew his wand. “Lumos.”

The wand-light shone on the ancient stone. Harry passed the wand back and forth slowly, searching. At last he spotted what he was looking for. A small snake was etched into one of the stones. Harry focused on it and whispered in Parseltongue. “Open.”

There was a grinding sound and the stones split apart to reveal a dark passage beyond.

Harry turned and smiled at Ginny. She smiled back then the four of them stepped into the passage. After only a few feet if opened up into a large room. There was a sconce in the shape of two intertwined serpents on the wall to Harry’s left and without thinking, he reached out and touched it.

“Light,” he hissed. A bright flame burst forth from the top of the sconce and from dozens of others ringing the chamber. Harry blinked in the sudden brightness and heard Hermione gasp next to him.

“Oh, my goodness!”

The chamber was circular and easily thirty feet in diameter. Scattered around the room were various ornate standing glass cases with instruments in them that reminded Harry of those in Dumbledore’s office. In the center were a large table and several chairs, all of which appeared to have intricate carvings of snakes in their designs. The floor was polished stone that glowed with the light of the torches. But Harry knew that none of this had amazed Hermione. Lining the walls all around the chamber were bookcases and alcoves reaching twenty feet high. And these were filled with what had to be thousands of books and rolls of parchment.

“These must have belonged to Salazar Slytherin,” Hermione whispered reverently, stepping forward and turning around to take in the full extent of the library. “They have to be at least a thousand years old.”

Harry, Ron and Ginny moved into the room as well.

“So then this must be what the basilisk was originally set to guard,” Ginny said.

“I thought it was here to kill Muggle-borns,” Ron replied.

Hermione had begun to examine the books, but she paused to look at Ron. “No, don’t you see? Binns was right. That was only a legend. People must have heard rumors of the Chamber and a monster and they made up the rest based on Slytherin’s falling out with the other Founders.”

Harry, who was examining the contents of one of the cases, looked up. “I’d be willing to bet that old Slytherin invented the story himself to keep anyone from realizing what was really down here.”

“Except that Riddle took the legend seriously,” Ginny said bitterly.

“Hang on. These are all in foreign languages.” Ron was frowning in consternation at the books on the nearest bookshelf.

“Old English and Celtic mostly,” Hermione said. “Though I think some are in Old French. There are spells that will translate them – Ron, be careful!”

Ron had been about to pick up one of the books, but stopped, looking quizzically at Hermione. “They’re too old,” Hermione explained. “They’re liable to crumble.”

“How are we supposed to read them, if we can’t touch them?”

“Parchment Restoration Solution,” Harry answered at once. “I brewed it for Snape over summer,” he added at the incredulous stares of his friends.

“Well, that’s lucky,” Ginny said.

“Not as lucky as it could be,” Harry replied with a grimace. “It takes thirty-seven ingredients.”

“Thirty-seven?” Ron exclaimed. “You’re having us on!”

“I wish I was.”

“But how are we supposed to nick all of that? Besides, it’d take a hundred gallons of the stuff to restore all of these books.”

“We’d never be able to read them all anyway,” Hermione said. “There are thousands of them. It would take years.”

Harry scanned the room. “Then we have to figure out which ones Riddle read.”

“Wait a minute,” Hermione said. “If Riddle read any of these –”

“– then he’d have had to restore them first!” Ginny said, finishing the thought.

“That’s right!” Harry said. “Everyone spread out and look for books that seem newer than the rest.”

The four of them scattered to search the shelves and it wasn’t long before Ginny called out. “I think I’ve found them.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione hurried over to join her in front of an alcove with several shelves full of books. Even at a glance these were obviously in far better condition than the others in the room. Harry picked up one of the books, blew dust from it and opened it to the table of contents, but he couldn’t decipher the language.

“Hermione, didn’t you say there was a spell that would translate these?”

Hermione waved her wand over the book. “Ostendo Intellectus.”

At once the words on the page smeared and reformed into Standard English. The title of the book, Ways to Enslave the Mind, was now perfectly legible.

“Well, that should be pleasant reading,” Ron said, peering over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry picked up another book and translated it as Hermione, Ron and Ginny did the same with other books. But, none of these titles proved to be any better than the first. They went through every shelf and book after book all related to the very Darkest of the Dark Arts: Possessing Beasts, Dark Creatures and Humans; Six Uses of Unicorn Blood; The Dementor’s Desire: Feeding on Emotions; Sacrificial and Other Blood Magic; Special Properties of House Elf Brains; Ogre and Troll Entrails. On and on the list of macabre titles went. When they had finally finished translating the last book, they sat down at the large table carved with serpents and took stock.

“There are one hundred and ninety-six books that Riddle restored and presumably read or at least skimmed,” Hermione said, checking the lists they’d made. “But none of the titles even hint at the kind of immortality Voldemort seems to have achieved or even at how he enchanted the diary.”

“Do you suppose we’ll have to read them all?” Ron asked with obvious unease.

“I’m not sure I’m up for that,” Ginny said grimly. “Just looking at them makes me shudder.”

“Harry, maybe you ought to just bring Dumbledore down here,” Hermione suggested. “If anyone can figure out what Riddle was up to, he can.”

Harry didn’t answer. He suspected that even Dumbledore would be hard-pressed to recreate Riddle’s work out of nearly two hundred disparate books, most of which seemed to have little bearing on the question at hand. They had to be missing something. Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. It had to be very late, he knew. They’d been down here for hours, yet were no closer to discovering Voldemort’s secret. Harry stared at the polished surface of the table, lost in thought as he tried to decide what to do next. Peripherally, he was aware that the flickering torchlight was making the serpents carved into the table seem to writhe.

Harry blinked and sat forward suddenly. It wasn’t the torchlight. Several of the serpents were wriggling. He reached out towards one and as he did so a hidden drawer slid open on his left revealing several quills and an inkwell.

“Whoa!” Ron exclaimed, as the drawer had nearly hit him when it opened. “How’d you do that?”

“This isn’t a table,” Harry said. “It’s Slytherin’s desk.” He reached out towards the serpent carved into the middle of the desk’s surface and a large, shallow drawer slid smoothly out of the center of the desk in front of him. In it was a large black leather-bound book that bore no markings. As his friends gathered around, Harry picked it up.

“Careful,” Ron warned.

Harry gave him a wry smile. “We have to know what’s in it.” Before anyone else could protest, Harry opened the book and flipped through it. It was clearly a journal of some sort. About half of the pages contained hand-written entries.

“Do you suppose these are old Slytherin’s personal notes?” Ron asked.

“No, they’re Riddle’s,” Ginny said with certainty. “Believe me, I recognize the handwriting.”

Harry turned back to the first page and read the first entry.

I have at last discovered my inheritance and it is even greater than I had imagined! There is knowledge here that has been lost for nearly 1000 years and I can feel my heartbeat quicken at the prospect of what I may learn – what power I may gain from my ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, the greatest wizard to ever live.

Harry flipped through the pages, scanning the entries until another caught his eye.

Ah, the frustration! I am convinced that Slytherin knew of a way to stave off death! I have seen numerous references to this in my reading, but though I search, I have not been able to find anything but tantalizing hints. It’s a test – I’m sure of it: Slytherin’s little game to see if I am worthy. But I will not fail. I will find this knowledge! As the last of his heirs, I must preserve Slytherin’s legacy and carry on his noble work.

I cannot die. I will not

Harry flipped more pages.

I was able to possess a silly first year boy today. He will spend a month in detention, but I dare not try this again. I am certain that Dumbledore suspected the truth. It is no matter. I will have my fun with the Muggles this summer. The important thing is that I know I am capable of transferring a part of my soul into another body and subjugating the host to my will. If I could find a way to enlist the cooperation of the Dementors then their Kiss could provide me with an endless supply of young, healthy and mindless bodies to inhabit, allowing me to live forever!

A few pages farther along Harry found:

I have made a startling discovery! Slytherin’s writings suggest that there is a way to possess not only the body but the soul of another. This, truly, is the promise of immortality. While I can extend my life indefinitely by possessing others and so stave off natural death, this would still leave me vulnerable to murder or accidental death. But according to Slytherin, binding another soul to my own would prevent even the Avada Kadavra from taking my life. Slytherin, himself, seems to have never succeeded in accomplishing this feat, but I am confident that I will.

The relevant entries were coming more closely together now as Riddle seemed to have abandoned every other subject in the pursuit of what had clearly become his obsession: conquering death. Every entry made reference to some bit of knowledge he’d gained, though most of these proved to be dead ends. At last, after pages where Riddle’s frustration was evident, Harry came upon an exultant entry.

At last one of my experiments in replicating Slytherin’s work has proved successful! I have succeeded in imbuing a simple diary with the ability to absorb the soul of the one who writes in it. However, this is only a first step towards my eventual goal. The diary will require sustained interaction with the victim over many months to drain their soul and I had to bind a bit of my own soul to it – in effect possessing the book – in order to create the enchantment. But this does not give me what I long for, control over another’s soul. The diary can manipulate a soul, but it cannot bind it. Once the soul has been extracted, the victim will simply die and their soul will be free. That will do me no good at all.

More pages of set backs and red-herrings followed this and then, abruptly, Harry came to the last entry in the journal.

The basilisk has killed a girl which is as I intended, but now there is talk of closing the school. I framed that fool, Hagrid, for the deed, but now I dare not open the Chamber again. I cannot risk the basilisk getting loose and killing another. My work is more important than killing Mudbloods now. I will take my research and Slytherin’s own writings with me and find a safer place to continue my experiments.

Harry swore in frustration. “It’s not here.”

He tossed the book on the desk in disgust as Hermione, Ron and Ginny who had been reading along with Harry looked on sympathetically.

“But where would he have taken it?” Hermione wondered. “There’s nowhere he could have conducted those sorts of experiments without being found out.”

“Well, he obviously found some place to do them,” Ron pointed out.

Harry shook his head in thought. “Not at school. Dumbledore was already watching him. He wouldn’t have risked it.”

“Surely he couldn’t have worked on it at the Orphanage,” Ginny said.

“No,” Harry agreed. “That wouldn’t have worked.”

“Maybe he put off continuing the research until he was out of school,” Hermione suggested.

Harry shook his head. “He was obsessed with this. I can’t imagine that he would have abandoned it for two years.”

“Well, either way, he still had to keep all of his books and research somewhere,” Ginny pointed out. “It’s hard to imagine that he kept it all in his trunk.”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe he kept it at a friend’s house.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. It was late and all this speculation was getting them nowhere. He stood up. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll read through Riddle’s journal more carefully and see if there’s anything there that might help us.”

They were subdued and hardly spoke as they headed back through the Chamber and the cave, then up into the castle and finally to their dormitories. It was past midnight and Neville, Dean and Seamus were all asleep. Ron soon joined them, snoring gently. Harry however, lay awake. He’d been so sure that the Chamber would hold the secret to Voldemort’s immortality, but Riddle’s research was now long gone and Harry was out of ideas of where to look for more clues. No wonder Dumbledore had never discovered what spells Voldemort had used. Feeling frustrated and not the least bit sleepy, Harry sat up and leaned on the window sill, staring out at the clear, star-filled sky.

The moon was three-quarters full and shining brightly. It illuminated the grounds and Harry’s attention was suddenly drawn to an unexpected movement in the distance. He leaned forward for a better look and there was no mistake: Someone was out on the grounds and heading towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry watched the figure intently until the person passed from the shadows of a stand of trees out into the moonlight. It was impossible to make out their features at this distance, but Harry could clearly see long black hair and knew at once that it was Snape. He’d already suspected as much. A moment later the figure slipped back into the shadows and then disappeared into the forest.

Troubled, Harry lay back on his pillow. As busy as he’d been in the last couple of weeks, he had entirely forgotten about keeping an eye on Snape and now he felt a twinge of guilt. Was Snape going to spy on the Death Eaters or did he have a darker purpose this night.

For a moment, Harry considered simply washing his hands of Snape’s nocturnal activities. It was none of his business and he already had more than enough to worry about. Besides, Snape could take care of himself and if he wanted to risk getting killed or arrested, well, that was his choice. Who was Harry to stop him?

Harry sighed. He’d been through this argument with himself before and knew it was pointless. No matter that he knew it wasn’t his responsibility to worry about Snape, he couldn’t help it. But what annoyed him was that he wasn’t sure why. In the light of day he could tell himself that Snape was important to the war effort and that they couldn’t afford to lose him. But lying here alone in the dark, Harry knew that wasn’t why his stomach had knotted up every time he’d heard the man leaving Grimmauld Place during the summer, nor was it why he felt that same anxiety now.

Bloody idiot! Harry turned over, angrily shoving all thought of the man from his mind and before long fell into a fitful sleep.

---

Harry spent the next several days trying not to think about either Voldemort or Snape. He spent his free time with his friends and particularly with Ginny. She always boosted his spirits. He enthusiastically put his Quidditch team through their paces during their first practice, Thursday afternoon and he even put out more than the minimum effort on his homework. He did take to reading the obituaries in the Daily Prophet again, but so far, and to his relief, there had been no suspicious deaths reported.

Friday afternoon, Harry arrived at Knight’s office for his first session of Auror training and Knight wasted no time getting started.

“One of the most important concepts for an Auror to know – and one that is not generally taught in school – is stealth,” Knight said. “There are numerous skills you’ll want to learn eventually, but the one that is most important and takes the longest to master is the use of non-verbal spells.

“Most teachers here at Hogwarts won’t instruct you in non-verbals because for the most part they’re considered unnecessary. Verbal spells are easier to cast and generally more potent, and if you’re only defending against an attack, they’re sufficient. But for a wizard who intends to fight the Dark Arts, not just defend against them, non-verbal spells are crucial. The less information you reveal to your opponent in a duel, the better off you’ll be.

“We’ll start with the basics. I’ll cast a simple Stinging Hex which you’ll need to block with a shield charm. But I don’t want you to cast the spell aloud. Form it in your mind and use your wand alone to trigger it. Ready?”

Harry cleared his mind and focused on the thought, Protego. Then he raised his wand and nodded. Knight raised her wand and Harry jumped as the Stinging Hex hit him. Knight smiled slyly at him. “Death Eaters know how to use non-verbal spells too, Potter. And they generally don’t give notice before attacking you. Anytime someone points a wand at you, you need to assume they’re casting an offensive spell.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said. He raised his wand once more. “Ready.”

“Fodio!” Knight cried flicking her wand at Harry.

Having been expecting another silent attack, Harry was startled by the verbal one which distracted him at the crucial moment. He flinched as the Stinging Hex hit him once more.

Knight’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “In addition to being easier to use, verbal spells can be handy for breaking an opponent’s concentration.”

“Right.” Harry gritted his teeth and raised his wand for the third time. He took a deep breath and focused on the shield charm he needed to cast.

Knight raised her wand. “Ready? Fodio!”

Harry was ready for the hex this time. Protego! he thought then jumped as the Stinging Hex hit him just as it had before.

Knight’s smile was sympathetic this time. “Don’t worry, Potter. I told you it would take time to master this.”

“But I was concentrating as hard as I could!”

“It’s not just a matter of concentration. If it was then anyone would be able to cast non-verbal spells. It’s not that simple. A spell has to be projected towards a target in order to be effective. A shield charm, for instance, can be projected in front of you or around you. When you cast a standard verbal spell, intent, eye contact, wand movement and incantation combine to project the spell correctly. Remove any one of those elements and the spell will fail.

“You have to re-learn how to cast spells without the verbal incantation and you’ll probably never be able to cast every spell non-verbally. Some are simply too difficult. But with time and practice you should be able to cast most of the spells you’ll need without speaking them aloud.”

“How? If concentration isn’t the key, what is?”

“Repetition, mostly. By trying over and over to cast spells non-verbally, you train yourself to do without the missing element in much the same way that a blind man learns to function without sight. That’s why we’ll be spending a lot of time practicing this. It also wouldn’t hurt for you to practice on your own. Any other questions?”

Harry shook his head. “Not right now.”

“Then let’s try again.”

---

Harry grunted as he slowly sat down at the Gryffindor table for dinner. He was stiff and sore all over.

“What happened to you?” Ron asked, regarding Harry in concern.

“Not much, unless you count getting hit by about fifty Stinging Hexes,” Harry replied. He quickly told Ron and Ginny about his lesson with Knight.

“It takes a lot of work to learn non-verbal spells,” Ron said around a mouthful of potatoes.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” Harry said sourly.

“Well, you couldn’t have thought that training with Knight was going to be easy,” Ginny said.

Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he actually had thought that the training wouldn’t be too bad. He had top marks in Defense and had already fought Death Eaters. It stung far worse than any hex to realize how inadequate his skills really were.

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked both to change the subject and because he’d just noticed the empty seat next to Ron.

“Studying, I reckon,” Ron said with a glum shake of his head. “I’ve hardly seen her in days. I think she’s already panicking about her NEWTs.”

Even as Ron was still speaking however, Hermione arrived and came hurrying over to them. She sat down then leaned forward and spoke in an excited whisper. “I think I may have a lead on how to discover what Riddle was working on.”

Harry sat up, his soreness and fatigue forgotten as Hermione continued.

“I was thinking about what you said, Ron – that Riddle might have left his research with a friend. And then I remembered what you told us back in second year, Harry – about how Riddle was already using the name Voldemort with his closest friends back in school. So I dug through the school archives to see if I could figure out who his friends were. I found this.”

Hermione pulled a photo from her pocket and handed it to Harry. It was a wizard’s photo and there, smirking up at him, was Tom Riddle, dressed in his school robes, his Head Boy badge gleaming. He was flanked by three other boys, who were all smiling, too. They were alternately waving and pointing proudly at Riddle’s badge.

“If they knew that he was going by Voldemort then they might have also known that he was doing some sort of special research and specifically where he might have kept his notes. If we could find them, they might be able to help.”

“Do we know who they are?” Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. “No. I couldn’t find anything that would help me put names with the faces.”

“How are we going to find them then?” Ron asked. “That picture’s fifty years old.”

“Maybe Hagrid knows,” Harry said. “He was at school with Riddle, so he must have known these fellows, too.”

“That was a long time ago,” Ginny pointed out. “He might not remember.”

“It won’t hurt to ask. We can go see him after dinner.”

---

Harry and his friends ate quickly then headed out of the castle and down to Hagrid’s hut. Hagrid was outside and hailed them as they approached.

“Hullo there, Ginny! I see you finally brought this lot down for a visit. Bad enough ye aren’t taking my class, but not even comin’ to see me…” Hagrid harrumphed in mock offense.

“We’re sorry, Hagrid,” Hermione said. “We’ve just been awfully busy.”

“Aw, I know that.” Hagrid dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “I’m glad ye came by jus’ now. There’s a Porlock ‘round back. He’s been hanging about with the herd of Thestrals for the last few months and I’ve finally got ‘im so he don’t run every time he sees me. If you’re real quiet an’ move slow, ye might be able to catch a glimpse of ‘im.”

“Actually, Hagrid, we really wanted to ask you about something else.” Harry said, pulling the photo out of his pocket. “We need to know if you recognize the boys in this picture.”

Hagrid took the photo from Harry, looked at it and frowned in earnest this time. “Where’d ye get this?”

“We came across it in the school archives,” Hermione said. “We know that’s Tom Riddle, but we were hoping you could tell us who the other boys are?”

“Now, look here. You’ve got more ‘n enough to worry about already. You’re not to go poking into stuff without Dumbledore’s say so.”

“Hagrid, we just want to know their names. That’s all,” Harry said. “You do remember them, don’t you?”

Hagrid heaved a great sigh. “Aye, I remember ‘em. Always following Riddle around. ‘Course Riddle, he was the leader of the group.”

“Sort of like Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle,” Ron said.

“Yeah, ‘cept this lot was clever and they weren’t all Slytherins, neither, as I recall.” Hagrid pointed to a serious-looking boy with glasses in the picture. “This fella was a Ravenclaw from one of them wealthy old pure-blood families.

“This here was Laurel – no Lawrence,” Hagrid said, indicating a short, stocky boy. “Mordecai Lawrence. He was a Hufflepuff – a whiz at Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. He had a knack for handling just about any livin’ thing.

“This fella was a Slytherin. Don’t remember his name, but he always gave me the chills. I always thought there was somat not quite right about ‘im.”

“Do you know what happened to any of them?”

“Couldn’t say. I never heard any news of ‘em after they left school. I haven’t even thought about ‘em in fifty years and neither should you.” Hagrid scowled worriedly. “I mean it, Harry. Whatever it is ye have your nose in this time, jus’ leave it. Ye can’t afford any more trouble.”

“I know that, Hagrid. I promise that I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble.”

Hagrid heaved another great sigh then relaxed and smiled. “Good enough then. Mind, I’m holdin’ ye to your word.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “So now, who’s up for seeing a Porlock?”

---

“I can’t believe we spent an hour looking for a ruddy Porlock!” Ron complained as he, Harry, Hermione and Ginny headed back up to the castle.

“Hagrid was so disappointed that it had wandered off, Ron. We couldn’t very well just leave,” Hermione said.

“It was worth it to get the information about Riddle’s friends,” Harry said. “I’ll take the photo and Riddle’s journal to Dumbledore and tell him what we suspect. He probably remembers these fellows too and I bet the Order could track them down in no time.”

Elated at their success, Harry and his friends hurried back to the boys’ dormitory where Harry retrieved Riddle’s journal and left at once to go see Dumbledore. As always, the gargoyle stepped aside as Harry approached the Headmaster’s office and Harry hurried up the stairs. Dumbledore was seated at his desk and looked up from a roll of parchment he was reading when Harry knocked at his door. “Harry, what brings you here this evening?”

“I have something to show you, Professor.” Harry handed Dumbledore the journal and quickly explained how he and his friends had visited the Chamber of Secrets. “Riddle was doing his research down there. That’s where he invented the enchantments he placed on the diary. He doesn’t go into any detail in the journal, but if you look here…” Harry pointed out the last entry in the book. “It says that he took all of his research – including the books that he was using – and went to find another place to continue his work.

“It’s possible that the research might have been lost after all these years, but I can’t believe he wouldn’t have hidden Slytherin’s books somewhere safe. If we could figure out where they are, we might be able to recreate Voldemort’s research or at least figure out what sort of spells he might have invented.”

Harry paused to allow all of this to sink in and waited expectantly as Dumbledore glanced through the journal. At last the old wizard closed the book and ran his fingers lightly over the cover. He was quiet a moment longer then looked up at Harry.

“Harry, I think you have misunderstood me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Much as I admire your resourcefulness in coming by this journal, I have no need of it. As I told you when we last met, I already know the nature of the enchantment that Voldemort invented. I do not need to know the details of how he created it.”

“But it can’t hurt to learn more about what he did,” Harry protested, surprised to have his efforts rebuffed.

“Can’t it?” Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Think, Harry. What would happen if Voldemort discovered that we were hunting for information about how he has protected himself against death? Don’t you suppose that would put him on his guard and make him that much more difficult to outwit? I have been as circumspect as possible in my investigations and I have shared the information that I’ve learnt with no one. Even so, there have been times when I feared that Voldemort knew of my intentions. Now that I know what must be done to kill him, I will not risk showing my hand by probing further. I will not pursue this matter and I do not want you to pursue it either. You already have more than enough to be getting on with. Put this out of your mind and promise me that you will not go back into the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore in consternation, but the old wizard’s gaze was steady and said clearly that Dumbledore would brook no argument.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. I promise that I won’t go back into the Chamber.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Thank you, Harry. Now, if there is nothing else, I will see you Monday evening.”

“If Dumbledore said to leave it alone, we should listen to him,” Hermione said as Harry paced back and forth across the floor of his dormitory. She was sitting next to Ron on Ron’s bed while Ginny sat opposite them on Harry’s.

“I can’t leave it alone,” Harry said as he paced. “Slytherin’s books have to be somewhere.”

“Dumbledore does have a point, though,” Ron said. “If we go poking around and Voldemort finds out, it’ll be a right mess.”

“And he did say that he’s certain that you can defeat Voldemort, Harry,” Ginny added. “If Dumbledore’s sure, then we don’t really need to know what spell Riddle invented.”

Harry stopped and turned towards his friends. “You’re right. All of you are. And Dumbledore’s probably right, too. But I can’t just put this out of my mind.”

“But Harry, we have to trust Dumbledore,” Hermione said.

“I do trust him, but that’s not enough. Maybe he knows what he’s doing. Maybe he doesn’t need to know all the details, but I do. I’m the one who has to face Voldemort. I’m the one who has to beat him and I reckon I’m only going to get one shot at it. I need to know what I’m up against. I need to know that I can finish him.”

There was a moment’s silence as Ron, Hermione and Ginny considered Harry’s words then Ginny stood up. “If you need to know what spell Riddle used then we’ll find it.”

“Yeah, we will,” Ron agreed. “Whatever it takes.”

“We ought to at least be able to track down Mordecai Lawrence,” Hermione said. “I’ll go and check the archives first thing tomorrow.”

“We’ll come and help you right after Quidditch practice,” Ginny said.

Harry grimaced. “I can’t come. I have that stupid detention with Snape.”

“Don’t worry, mate,” Ron said. “We’ll manage.”

Harry smiled, deeply grateful that he had such good friends.

---

The Gryffindors were on the pitch at six-thirty the next morning, despite the fact that the sun wasn’t yet up. They kicked off into the clear pre-dawn sky and circled the pitch, cold air whipping their robes about them. Harry found it exhilarating. Flying was definitely the best part of being a wizard. He put the team through their practice drills as the sun rose and the sky turned from pale periwinkle to bright blue.

It seemed like no time had passed before Ginny flew up to him and said, “It’s after eight-thirty, Harry. You’d better go or Snape will give you another detention for being late.”

Reluctantly, Harry nodded. “Ron, take over!” he called down the pitch to where Ron was playing Keeper.

Ron waved an acknowledgement and Harry headed for the ground. As he dismounted his broom he could hear Ron calling for passing drills. “Faster! And Beaters watch that Bludger! The Chasers can’t keep their eyes on that and the Quaffle at the same time.”

Harry pulled off his Quidditch robes, put on his school robes, and with a final glance up at his teammates, trudged out of the stadium. With his book bag slung over one shoulder and his broom over the other, he headed back to the castle where he grabbed a piece of toast from the Great Hall and ate it on his way down to the dungeons.

Snape barely looked up from the essay he was marking as Harry entered his office. He simply pointed at the workbench where Harry’s homework from summer lay and went back to his own work without a word. Harry took a deep breath. He refused to let Snape make him angry since he was certain that nothing would give the man greater satisfaction. Instead he went to the workbench and began leafing through his work, pointedly ignoring Snape just as the man was ignoring him. He wasn’t really concentrating though.

It felt odd being back in Snape’s office where he’d spent so much time the previous year. The memories of his Occlumency and Legilimency lessons were vivid in his mind. There was the spot by the desk where he’d vomited after experiencing Snape’s memory of becoming a Death Eater. Over by the door was where he’d knelt in shock after seeing the memory of his own parents being murdered. He and Snape had shared so many of the most private and painful moments of their lives in those lessons. None of it had been pleasant and they had argued and shouted at one another time and again. And yet somehow Harry had found strength and comfort in those long hours he’d spent here. There had been an intimacy – an understanding – between them then, but Snape had begun to withdraw emotionally soon after the lessons ended and that withdrawal had become complete after the revelation of his role in Harry’s parents’ deaths.

Harry had chafed at Snape’s aloofness over summer, but now, sitting here in the man’s office, he was acutely aware of the emotional void between them. He felt the familiar frustration, but it was much stronger than it had ever been before and Harry suddenly realized that he’d felt it before in entirely different circumstances. It was the same uncomfortable emptiness he’d felt in his fourth year when Ron had accused him of putting his name into the Goblet of Fire and they had stopped speaking to one another.

“Potter.” Harry started as Snape interrupted his thoughts. “While I may have all year to wait for you to finish your work, I do expect you to put forth some modicum of effort while you’re here.”

“I’m thinking,” Harry said irritably. He pulled out fresh parchment and unrolled one of his old essays on which Snape had scrawled numerous disparaging remarks. Harry hardly noticed them. His thoughts were still on Ron and the Tri-Wizard tournament. He had missed Ron fiercely during those weeks when they hadn’t spoken, particularly given the dangerous challenges he’d been facing. He had felt horribly alone without his best friend to share his fears with.

But how can I be feeling the same way about Snape, now? Harry wondered incredulously. We’ve never been friends.

Harry shook his head, annoyed with himself. He had to be mistaken. He turned his attention to his Potions essay and set to work.

---

It was past noon before Snape finally told Harry to put away his work and leave. Harry quickly shoved his book, quills and extra parchment into his bag and began gathering his work into a tidy pile.

“Leave it,” Snape said curtly. Harry hesitated only a moment then grabbed up his bag and left the office without a word.

The time with Snape hadn’t been too bad, Harry thought as he headed upstairs to have lunch. Once he’d settled down to work the time had passed quickly enough and he’d made substantial progress on rewriting his first essay which he had to admit really was quite dreadful.

The Great Hall was crowded when Harry arrived, but he spotted Ron, Ginny and Hermione at once and hurried over to them.

“Any luck?” he asked, sitting down next to Ginny.

“We’ve found one of Riddle’s mates,” Ron said quietly. “Or rather, Hermione did.”

“You’ve found Lawrence already?” Harry said excitedly. “That’s fantastic!”

“Actually, we haven’t found Lawrence,” Hermione said. “But I did find Albert Keene.”

“Who?”

Hermione pushed a newspaper article across the table to Harry. “The Ravenclaw. Hagrid said he was from a wealthy old pureblood family, so I started checking the surnames of all the Ravenclaws in Riddle’s year. The Keenes were one of three families who fit the description. I did a search on the family in the school’s archives of the Daily Prophet and found this.”

Harry looked at the article which had a photo above it.

“Randolph Keene was honored at this year’s annual charity gala at St. Mungo’s Hospital for his generous contribution …”

Above the article was a photo of a tall, thin man in dress robes being presented with a plaque by a smiling woman wearing a chartreuse evening gown. Standing next to the man and smiling proudly was a dark haired woman and a boy whom Harry immediately recognized as the serious young man with glasses who had been one of Riddle’s friends. The caption beneath the photo identified the boy as Albert, Randolph Keene’s son.

“Hermione, you’re a genius!” Harry said. “So do you know where this fellow lives?”

“Well, I know where he is, but I wouldn’t really say he lives there.” Hermione handed Harry another article. This one was very small and had a picture of Albert alone. He now looked to be in his early twenties, but what caught Harry’s attention was the heading above the article: Obituaries.

“He’s dead?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But we did discover some interesting information. He died with no heirs and left all of his possessions to a small import company.”

“Care to guess who were listed as members of its board of directors?” Ginny said.

A smile spread across Harry’s face. “Tom Riddle and Mordecai Lawrence.”

“Along with Albert himself and a fellow named Cecil Thane, who also happens to have been a Slytherin at Hogwarts and was in the same year as the other three.” Hermione smiled, looking thoroughly self-satisfied and Harry didn’t blame her in the least.

“Brilliant!”

“So now that we know who these fellows are, what are we going to do?” Ron asked. “We don’t actually know where to find these blokes, except for Albert who’s six feet under at his family’s estate.”

“Give me some time to do some more investigating,” Hermione said. “I got lucky with Keene, but it may take a while to find Lawrence and Thane. Hopefully at least one of them is alive and will be able to answer some questions.”

Harry nodded and Ron asked, “So, how was detention with Snape?”

Harry shrugged. “Not too bad. How was the rest of practice?”

“Terrific, if you don’t count the fact that Ron kept us nearly an hour past our allotted time,” Ginny replied, rolling her eyes at her brother. “If the Hufflepuffs hadn’t finally told us to shove off, we’d probably still be there.”

“So I lost track of time,” Ron said, unconcernedly. “It was still a great practice.”

Ron had barely finished speaking when Seamus and Dean arrived and sat down next to Ginny.

“Have you seen the Quibbler?” Seamus asked excitedly, shoving the latest edition of the paper towards them. “Another Death Eater was found dead last night.”

“What?” Ginny said.

“Haven’t you lot been following the story?” Dean asked at Ginny’s blank look. “There’s some vigilante who’s been killing them. It’s been going on for about three months. The Quibbler’s keeping a running total.”

“Let me see that.” Hermione snatched up the paper and scanned the article quickly. “This is supposed to be murder?” She said disdainfully. “I read about this in the Daily Prophet this morning. The woman was last seen leaving a pub alone at two o’clock in the morning – rather inebriated. It’s no wonder she landed in the river.”

“Even drunk, most people don’t fall into rivers and drown,” Ron pointed out, reading the article over Hermione’s shoulder. “And look at all the other people who’ve died.”

“Oh, honestly! These are all just random deaths.”

“Yeah, but that’s seven random deaths in three months,” Dean said. “A little too much coincidence, if you ask me.”

“I’m sure the Ministry would be investigating if someone were really killing these people,” Hermione said. “And I can’t believe that the Daily Prophet would pass up such a sensational story if there was any truth to it.”

Seamus snorted. “The Prophet only reports what the Ministry wants it to these days and as for the Ministry itself, they have their hands full enough, don’t they?”

Hermione sniffed. “I know how thinly stretched the Aurors are, but I still can’t believe the Ministry would let this sort of thing go without an investigation.”

“Why not?” Ron asked.

Hermione looked at him incredulously. “A serial killer responsible for seven deaths? They’d have to investigate that.”

“Hermione, this fellow isn’t a serial killer. He’s on our side and frankly he’s doing a better job of taking out Death Eaters than the Aurors are.”

“Ron!”

Ron blinked at Hermione’s horrified expression. “What? It’s true. The Aurors haven’t managed –”

“These Death Eaters weren’t killed in battle. If their deaths really weren’t accidents, then we’re talking about cold-blooded, premeditated murder.”

“I know what we’re talking about,” Ron said irritably. “I’m not thick.”

“Well, surely you can’t condone that!”

“Sure I can. The Death Eaters don’t have any problem murdering people. They sure didn’t mind murdering my mum. So as far as I’m concerned, they deserve whatever they get. I say good on whoever’s doing them in.”

Ron stabbed a potato with his fork and shoved it into his mouth, pointedly ignoring the stricken look on Hermione’s face. Hermione pushed the paper aside, stood up and hurried away.

“Hermione!” Ron called after her.

“Leave it, Ron,” Ginny said. She tossed aside her napkin and followed Hermione out of the Great Hall.

“Sorry,” Seamus said sheepishly. “We didn’t mean to start a row.”

Ron sighed. “You agree with me, don’t you?”

“Of course we do!” Dean said.

Seamus nodded. “The fewer Death Eaters the better.”

Harry said nothing. He picked up the paper and scanned the article. He ignored the discussion of conspiracies and cover-ups, and quickly found the one piece of information he was looking for. Luella Delaney had disappeared after a late night of revelry sometime between Tuesday night and Wednesday morning of the previous week, the same night Harry and his friends had gone down to the Chamber of Secrets. The same night he’d seen Snape leaving Hogwarts.

Harry looked up at the staff table where Snape was eating. It was one thing for Ron, Seamus and Dean to talk about some anonymous vigilante killing Death Eaters. It was another to look at a man and imagine him committing those murders in cold blood.

“You okay, Harry?” Ron asked.

“Yeah.” Harry forced a smile and with one last glance at Snape, laid aside the paper and returned his attention to his lunch. He didn’t notice Professor Knight watching him from the opposite end of the staff table.

---

Due mostly to Ginny’s efforts, Ron and Hermione managed to patch up their differences with minimal argument, agreeing to disagree on the morality of killing Death Eaters outside of actual battle. Harry was very grateful that he didn’t have to get involved. He was busy enough trying to work out how to stop the murders altogether.

That evening while Ron and Ginny were playing chess and Hermione was studying, he slipped up to his dormitory and dug the Marauders’ Map out of his trunk. He stuck it in his bedside drawer then retrieved his handkerchief from the pocket of his dress robes. He unfolded it and stared at the long strands of black hair. He pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the hairs.

“Sniff.”

The hairs shifted slightly as if disturbed by a soft breeze then lay still once more. Harry folded the handkerchief up again and replaced it in the pocket of his dress robes. Then he pocketed his wand and went to rejoin his friends.

---

On Monday morning, the ceiling of the Great Hall was slate grey and mist seemed to hover above the tables. Harry felt equally foggy as he sat yawning over his half-eaten breakfast. He looked up at the staff table and stared sullenly at Snape who was reading the morning paper. How could the man look so alert when he never slept? Since summer, Harry had suspected that Snape was something of an insomniac, but he’d never really appreciated that fact until now. For the past two nights Harry had lain awake far into the wee hours of the morning, watching the tiny dot marked Severus Snape on the Marauder’s Map as it wandered the corridors or sat in Snape’s office or paced in Snape’s living room. In fact, the dot had been almost everywhere in the castle except for Snape’s bedroom, or at least Harry hadn’t been able to stay awake long enough on either occasion to see it get there.

At least no more Death Eaters had died, nor had any gone missing in the last two days and Harry was fairly confident that Snape hadn’t left Hogwarts. Catching Snape leaving was the whole purpose of Harry’s nightly vigil. He was determined to follow the man the next time he left the castle. He planned to use Fred and George’s Sniffer Charm to track Snape down and put an end to his homicidal outings once and for all.

Ron nudged Harry. “Time to go.”

With a final yawn, Harry joined Ron and the rest of his classmates as they headed to their Defense lesson. Knight had rearranged the classroom, moving all of the desks against the walls. On top of the desks, evenly distributed around the room, were a score of mundane objects and Harry guessed that they were cursed even before the Curse Detector in his pocket started to vibrate wildly. Knight confirmed this a moment later.

“Each of these items is jinxed,” she said by way of greeting the class. “Nothing serious. None of you will end up in the hospital wing if you accidentally trigger them. But they are unpleasant. Your task today is to apply what you’ve learnt about disarming cursed objects. Choose a partner then pick an item and work together to disarm its jinx. If and when you succeed, you may bring the item to me.”

The students all looked dubiously at one another, but followed Knight’s instructions. Harry and Ron joined forces and approached an innocent looking wine glass.

“What sort of jinx do you suppose is on this?” Ron wondered as he leaned over to examine the glass. Without warning, a stream of putrid purple liquid appeared in the glass and shot at him, catching Ron full in the face.

“Ugh!” Ron jerked back, wiping his face with his sleeve. “That’s disgusting! What are you laughing at?”

Harry couldn’t help it. He’d burst out laughing when Ron had been sprayed with the noxious liquid and the indignant look on Ron’s face now only made him laugh harder.

“All right, then,” Ron said, clearly miffed. “You have a go at it.”

Harry opened his textbook to the chapter on disarming cursed objects and looked at the list of spells. None applied specifically to glasses that spat stinky liquid, so Harry picked what he hoped was the most likely counter curse – one to neutralize poisoned goblets – and cast it at the glass. Nothing happened. The glass sat on the desk looking perfectly innocuous. Warily, Harry moved closer to peer into it. He ducked just in time to avoid getting squirted in the face; the purple liquid sprayed his robes instead.

This time he and Ron both dissolved into laughter. For close to an hour Harry and Ron took turns trying the numerous spells they’d studied for disarming cursed objects and only succeeded in becoming increasingly soaked in the smelly liquid. None of their classmates were having any better luck as the constant din of shrieks, laughter and cries of outrage attested.

At last, however, Hermione let out an exultant shout. “That’s got it!”

Harry looked over at her. She and Neville were both covered in some sort of green slimy substance, but were grinning from ear to ear. Neville was clutching an old worn out boot as if it was the House Cup that he’d just won.

“Good work,” Knight said, approvingly. “Ten points to Gryffindor for being the first to succeed in disarming your item. The rest of you, keep at it.”

The other teams renewed their efforts and soon there were other yelps of success. Ron finally managed to find the right spell to stop the wine glass from squirting them and by the time the lesson was drawing to a close, the last of the items – a shoe that kept trying to kick Lavender and Parvati – was disarmed.

Knight surveyed her class, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Needless to say, if the spells on these items had been fatal, you’d all be dead. Can someone tell me why?”

“We didn’t know what sort of jinx had been placed on our item, so we couldn’t figure out the counter spell,” Seamus said. “It was all just trial and error until we found something that worked.”

“Exactly. You’ll never find a note lying alongside an object telling you what sort of curse has been placed on it.”

“Then what’s the point in learning all of these counter curses?” Malfoy asked in disgust. He was picking sticky orange string off his robes and looked thoroughly ill-tempered which made Harry grin.

Knight, however, was not amused. Her eyes flashed with disgust to match the Slytherin’s before she collected herself and addressed the class. “Learning to identify curses will be the topic of our next lesson. Now that you all fully appreciate the need, I expect you’ll pay close attention. Dismissed.”

It took ten minutes in the shower for Harry to scrub away the last of the odor from Knight’s lesson, but the exercise had thoroughly invigorated him, dispelling his sleepiness from the morning. He ate a hearty lunch with his friends then went down to greenhouse three for Herbology.

Professor Sprout was waiting for them next to a large glass case which contained a dark green plant with pale yellow flowers. On closer inspection, Harry saw that the center of the plant had numerous long hairy vines extending from it.

“Oh my goodness!” Hermione exclaimed. “Do you know what that is?”

“What?” Ron asked.

“It’s a Stinging Tentacula.”

“Right you are, Miss Granger,” Sprout said. “Five points to Gryffindor. If there is a single plant you should all learn to recognize on sight, it’s this one. Everyone gather round please. Closer. Can everyone see? Good. The Stinging Tentacula is related to the far more common Venomous Tentacula, but is much more deadly.”

While she was speaking, Sprout picked up a brown bag from a nearby potting bench and pulled a large dead rat out of it. Next she tied a length of twine around the rat’s neck while the students looked on curiously.

“Observe.” Sprout donned a long pair of dragon hide gloves then opened a small window in the top of the case. The plant within, rustled slightly. She lowered the rat into the case. The plant trembled then its vines lashed out with remarkable speed. Startled, the students in front jumped back as the Tentacula’s thin, whip-like vines flayed the rat. After a moment, Sprout raised the rat back out of the case and closed the window. The plant continued to writhe a few moments longer, then settled down once more.

“Come closer and have a look.”

Cautiously, the students crept forward once more. Harry peered over Hermione’s shoulder and saw numerous red welts on the rat’s body.

“As the vines strike the victim, they shoot out small razor-sharp spores,” Sprout explained. “The spores are propelled with tremendous force and will penetrate almost anything. Clothing won’t stop them. Only dragon hide is impervious. Once implanted in the victim, the spores begin to grow at an astonishing rate.”

Harry was only half listening to his teacher. His attention was riveted on the rat. At first he thought it was his imagination or a trick of the light, but as he stared at the creature, he became convinced that it was neither. There was no mistake – the welts were moving, or rather something beneath each of them was. As he continued to watch in horrified fascination, the welts began to swell and then one by one they split and started to ooze green pus. Harry heard someone gag next to him.

“The spores are parasitic and will take over their host very quickly,” Sprout continued. “The only way to kill them is by burning them out like so.”

Sprout raised her wand. “Candeo!” The tip of her wand glowed with intense heat and she pressed it to one of the oozing pustules. There was the unmistakable stench of burning flesh and when she drew her wand back the pustule was gone, replaced by a blackened, cauterized scar.

“If destroying the spores was enough to save a victim, an attack from the Stinging Tentacula wouldn’t be so bad. Unfortunately, the spores also release a potent toxin as they grow. The longer they remain in a victim’s body, the more poison is released. The only antidote is belladonna.”

“But that’s poison!”

“Exactly, Mr. Longbottom. Give the patient too large a dose and the antidote itself will kill them. Too little, and they’ll die of the Tentacula toxin.

“The Stinging Tentacula does not simply kill its victim, however. The purpose of its attack is to reproduce. It uses the nutrients in the victim’s body to nourish its spores which, if undisturbed, will grow into fledgling plants in a matter of hours as you can see from this rat which I used in the morning class’s demonstration.

Sprout reached under her potting bench and pulled out a small, sealed glass container. Within it was another dead rat, but the animal was barely recognizable. Dozens of vines protruded from it, some already a foot long. Harry heard someone behind him retch.

“The Stinging Tentacula is considered the deadliest of plants, even more so than Devil’s Snare,” Sprout said. “Fortunately, the plant is also rare. It can’t survive sunlight, so it’s only found in dense forests, caves, or similar places where no sunlight can penetrate. I will expect a two-foot essay detailing the plant’s reproductive cycle and defenses against it by our next lesson.”

---

“I’m glad we had that lesson after lunch,” Hermione said as they walked back up to the castle.

“I don’t know,” Ron replied. “I think Ernie lost his. I almost lost mine.”

“You know, I’ve read about that plant somewhere before,” Harry said, frowning in concentration. “But I can’t remember where.”

“It’s in our textbook,” Hermione said.

Ron grinned. “Well, we know Harry didn’t see it there.”

Harry cuffed Ron good-naturedly on the shoulder and they continued up to the castle where luckily, by dinner, memories of their Herbology lesson had faded sufficiently to allow the seventh years to enjoy their meal. Harry ate quickly, anxious to be on his way for his lesson with Dumbledore and as soon as the headmaster rose from the staff table, Harry left the Great Hall and hurried after him.

Dumbledore had tea waiting as usual. “This evening, Harry, I would like to try something different,” he said, filling Harry’s cup. “Instead of you entering my mind, I would like to enter yours.”

“But didn’t you say that most people can’t remember what happens when their mind is invaded that deeply?”

“That is correct. You will remember nothing that transpires in your own mind.”

“Then how will that help?”

“It will give me insight into your mind which will in turn help me to better prepare you for the task you face.”

Harry said nothing as he considered the proposal. He didn’t like the idea of having anyone, even Dumbledore, poke around in his mind when he wouldn’t be able to remember what happened.

Dumbledore seemed to understand his concern. “I realize that it is difficult to bare your innermost self to another and to do it blindly is doubly so. I can only assure you that I have your best interests at heart and ask that you trust me.”

“Of course I trust you, Professor,” Harry said quickly, feeling ashamed of his apprehensiveness. “If you think it will help, it’s fine with me. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“You, Harry, need do nothing but drink your tea.”

Harry did as Dumbledore instructed, drinking his tea down as quickly as possible. Then he set his cup aside and waited. Dumbledore gazed serenely into his eyes.

“Relax, Harry. This will be no more difficult than entering my mind.”

Harry nodded and took a deep breath to relieve the tension in his body. As he exhaled he felt Dumbledore’s mind reach out to his and was immediately surprised at how different it felt from Snape’s. Snape’s mind was sharp and penetrating, like a scalpel that cut through all resistance.

By contrast, Dumbledore’s mind felt like a vast rolling wave, breaking over his mind, overwhelming him and supporting him at the same time. There was no possibility of resisting, but Harry felt no fear. While Snape’s mind could cut through his effortlessly, Dumbledore’s mind enveloped him in a comforting peace.

Harry felt Dumbledore’s mind plunge downward, carrying him along deep into his own mind. This was another entirely new sensation and it was exhilarating, like surfing a wave. Down they sped, faster and faster. Then they slowed to a halt and Harry found himself standing on a broad expanse of meadow in bright morning sunshine. Off to his right, a lake sparkled placidly. In the distance to his left stretched acres of sparsely wooded land. Several hundred yards ahead of him, he could make out the edge of a bluff and standing upon it was a castle, or at least the beginnings of one. The foundation was laid along with most of the ground floor, but only one tower was complete. Great piles of stone were stacked all around and the entire structure was ringed with scaffolding.

“Do you know where you are?” Dumbledore asked next to Harry.

“Not really, though it does seem familiar.”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Would it help if I told you that the Quidditch pitch should be just over there?”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he looked around once more in astonishment. “This is Hogwarts?”

“It is Hogwarts as it likely would have appeared a thousand years ago – or at least the closest approximation your mind could come up with.”

Harry grinned delightedly. “This is brilliant!”

“I agree. All the more so because it is not actually Hogwarts you see before you, but yourself.”

Harry’s smile faded and he looked at Dumbledore questioningly. “That’s right. This isn’t real. But I don’t understand…”

“You think of Hogwarts as home, Harry, but it is even more than that. It also represents your entrance into the wizarding world and the life you know. Indeed, your sense of self and your entire future flow from here. It is a fitting representation of your soul.”

“But why am I seeing it the way it looked a thousand years ago?”

“Think, Harry. What you see before you is a collective metaphor. Symbolically, what does it tell you?”

Harry stared at the castle and thought. “Gryffindor Tower is the only thing that’s finished.”

“Indeed. You have proven your bravery beyond question, time and again.”

“So then, different parts of the castle represent different parts of – of me?” Harry asked slowly.

“Precisely.”

Harry looked at the castle again. “I have a long way to go, don’t I?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Let us take a closer look before passing judgment, shall we?” He waved Harry ahead and Harry set off towards the castle with Dumbledore at his side.

As they began to draw nearer the castle Harry began to see people moving about. Fred and George were playing croquet with mallets that looked like flamingos. They waved cheerily at Harry as he passed. Ron and Hermione strolled by, hand in hand, and greeted Harry. He’d never seen them look so happy and paused to watch them go.

“Harry!”

Harry turned back around to see Ginny racing towards him. Before he could say a word in greeting, she threw her arms around him and pressed against him, kissing him passionately. Astonished, Harry held her tightly until she at last pulled away. Ginny grinned and winked at him. “I’ll see you later.” With a final sensuous kiss, she tossed her hair back and walked away.

Harry stared after her until he noticed Dumbledore watching him with an amused look. He felt himself blush in embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen. Honestly!”

“It’s quite all right, Harry. Believe it or not, I still have a dim memory of what it was like to be seventeen. Come.”

Dumbledore struck off towards the castle once more. Grateful to move on, Harry hurried to follow him. But as they approached the main entrance, Harry saw four more people clustered at the base of the front steps and felt his chest tighten as he recognized who they were.

Lily and James Potter were sitting side by side on the stairs talking with Sirius and Remus. All four were laughing and Harry stopped to watch them. Lily was the first to spot him. She smiled radiantly and waved. The men turned and waved as well.

“What do you think of it, Harry?” Remus asked, indicating the castle looming before them.

“It’s brilliant, of course!” Sirius declared heartily, clapping Remus on the shoulder. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, Harry!”

“I think it’s brilliant, too,” Lily said, smiling happily.

James took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s all thanks to your mum, Harry. Don’t forget that.”

Harry nodded mutely, unable to speak because of the lump in his throat. He longed to stay where he was, to talk with his parents and godfather, even just to look at them. But Dumbledore took his arm and steered him away and up the stairs.

“They aren’t real, Harry. One of the reasons why it is best not to delve into one’s own mind is that it can present a similar danger to that of the Mirror of Erised. One can become too entranced and forego living.”

Harry nodded and with a final glance at the figures on the steps he stepped into the entrance hall. It was bustling with activity and there was an unmistakable air of excitement and promise in the place. Numerous people were dashing about: students, teachers, members of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry gave a particularly violent start as Mrs. Weasley hurried by with an enormous plate of biscuits which she was passing out to all and sundry.

“Potter!”

Harry jumped and turned to find Professor McGonagall regarding him sternly. “Either make yourself useful or get out of the way. We’re trying to finish the ceiling in the Great Hall and the enchantments are not going well.”

“We were just leaving,” Dumbledore replied good-naturedly. “Follow me, Harry. I need to have a look around.”

Dumbledore set off on a brisk inspection of the castle. He didn’t bother with Gryffindor Tower, but instead took keen interest in the progress on the unfinished portions. Harry followed behind, up one set of stairs, then down another, marveling at everything. Once their route had brought them back to the entrance hall, Dumbledore stopped. McGonagall was nowhere in sight and Harry wondered if she’d got the enchantments working on the ceiling in the Great Hall.

“I presume you have gathered the significance of the construction?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry stared blankly at him. “Er…”

“Ravenclaw Tower is little more than a foundation, but the foundation is a sturdy one. That tells me that you have the capacity for intellectual pursuits but have so far left it woefully underutilized. Both the Astronomy Tower and the North Tower remain un-built. These lack even foundations, so I would say that you have little interest in stargazing or Divination. On the other hand, the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories are complete, indicating your capacity for hard work and I would guess in particular, loyalty. Interestingly, the dungeons and Slytherin common room are equally well appointed.”

Harry scowled, not liking the implications of that. “What does that mean?”

“That you are ambitious and will go to any lengths to achieve your goals: something that is obviously true of anyone who seriously seeks to defeat Lord Voldemort.”

“I would venture to add that it also means you are not always what you wish to be,” a silken voice purred in Harry’s ear.

Harry whirled around. Standing next to him and regarding him with a familiar smirk was Snape.

“The noble Harry Potter: always fair, always honest. No one would ever guess that there’s a darker side lurking beneath the shining exterior, would they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Harry backed away, but Snape advanced on him, refusing to allow him to put any distance between them. “Never forget that I know what hides in your mind that you don’t want anyone else to see. I know you because we are far more alike than you’d wish to admit.”

Snape’s eyes bored into Harry’s and Harry felt naked. He desperately wanted to deny the man’s words, but couldn’t because he knew that they were true.

“I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to admit that,” Harry hissed. “Don’t forget that I know your secrets, too. I may be like you, but you’re also like me.”

Harry and Snape glared at one another in silence for several long moments before Harry felt a touch on his arm and looked away.

“I think it is time for us to go, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Severus?”

Snape looked at Dumbledore, nodded then turned away.

Dumbledore was silent, seemingly lost in thought as they headed out of the castle and back across the meadow. Harry was silent too, still disturbed by his confrontation with Snape.

“Have you and Professor Snape had that argument before?” Dumbledore suddenly asked.

Harry shook his head. “No. Never. We’ve had arguments, but nothing like that.”

“I see.”

“Well, I don’t. Why does that matter?”

“Because it means that you were not merely reenacting a defining moment in your relationship with Professor Snape. It was far more important than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Dumbledore came to a halt and Harry stopped as well, turning to face his teacher.

“Harry, that was not Professor Snape speaking to you just now,” Dumbledore said. “No more than anything else you see around you is what it appears to be. The argument you just had, you had with yourself.”

Harry felt a chill run through him. “What does that mean?”

Dumbledore heaved a sighed and smiled apologetically at Harry. “Given that you would not remember if I told you, I think I will refrain from wasting both our time since it would be quite a lengthy discussion. Rest assured that we will work it out. Now, I believe it is time to return to my office.”

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes again and found himself seated in the chair by Dumbledore’s fireplace. It was like awakening from a dream. As the real world reasserted itself, the memory of his foray into his own mind, slipped away. He tried to grasp at it, but it was gone.

He looked at Dumbledore. “So what did you see? What was it like?”

“I am afraid, Harry, that I never discuss the contents of someone’s mind with them. It invariably leads to more introspection than is healthy.”

“Can you at least tell me if it was useful?”

Dumbledore gave Harry an enigmatic smile. “Yes, Harry. I would say that it was immensely useful.”

The next several weeks were uneventful, though Harry was still getting very little sleep and was finding it increasingly difficult to stay awake each night watching Snape. Consequently, he wasn’t sorry to have to shorten Quidditch practice on Tuesday and Thursday mornings as the sun rose later and later each day with the advent of autumn. Ron, of course, was bitterly disappointed, but Ginny pointed out that even if they could fly in the dark, they’d never spot the Quaffle or Bludgers, let alone the Snitch.

Ron compensated by sneaking in a little extra flying time on his own whenever he could and encouraging their newer teammates to do the same. Meanwhile, Hermione was spending most of her free time sequestered in the archives of the library searching for information on Riddle’s friends. Ginny and even Ron helped out when they could, but Hermione refused to let Harry do so.

“You have enough to do already,” she insisted in exasperation whenever he offered to join in the search. Harry felt guilty leaving all the work to his friends, but he knew that Hermione was right. Between his lessons with Dumbledore and Knight, detention with Snape and the homework threatening to bury him, he was barely getting on as it was.

The first serious storm of the season to hit Hogwarts arrived the first Friday in October, replete with howling winds and drenching rain. The storm persisted all day and through the night and still showed no sign of abating Saturday morning. Harry canceled Quidditch practice and even Ron didn’t look too disappointed, especially when they arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast where dark, lowering clouds hung ominously over the tables.

As if the weather weren’t enough dissuasion, Filch, who was beside himself from trying to keep up with the mud and water that had been tracked through the castle, was in the entrance hall, and glared fiercely at any student who looked as though they might even be considering going outside. None were. Most made straight for their cozy common rooms after breakfast and Harry would have given anything to join his friends as they headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Instead, he reluctantly descended to the dungeons for detention with Snape.

The Potions Master’s office was particularly dank and dreary this morning. As usual, Snape barely glanced at Harry as he took his accustomed seat at the workbench and continued revising his homework from summer. Harry dreaded these sessions. He didn’t mind the work so much, but the oppressive silence invariably left him irritable and depressed. Worse, the hollow feeling in his stomach that he’d felt during his first detention continued to plague him every time he set foot in Snape’s office. There were too many memories here – or at least there were for Harry.

Harry looked up from his essay and scowled. Snape, on the other hand, didn’t seem affected by the memories at all and acted as though the months of lessons they’d endured together had never happened. That was what rankled most. Of all the things Snape chose to pretend had never happened, this was too much. That he could sit there week after week without giving the slightest sign of remembering those long evenings made Harry burn with indignation. It was all he could do not to shout at the man and demand acknowledgment. But Harry controlled himself: he didn’t need any more detentions than he already had, so he bit his tongue, turned back to his essay and tried to forget the previous term too.

---

It was nearly two o’clock when Harry finally climbed back through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. Ginny, Ron and Hermione were waiting for him and they had brought him some ham and boiled potatoes from lunch which Harry tucked into gratefully.

“How much longer can Snape keep you in detention for your ruddy homework?” Ron asked indignantly.

Harry shrugged and swallowed a mouthful of potatoes. “I only have two essays left to rewrite, so hopefully it’ll only be a couple of more weeks.”

“Well, that’s not too bad then,” Hermione said encouragingly.

“That’s assuming Snape doesn’t think up some other excuse to give Harry detention,” Ron said.

“I’m sure Snape has better things to do with his time, Ron,” Ginny said.

“I don’t know. Snape’s always been a bas – a git,” Ron hastily amended at Hermione’s disapproving glare. “And he certainly enjoys making your life miserable, Harry.”

“Yeah, he does,” Harry conceded in a flat, neutral tone. “Look, let’s not talk about Snape anymore, okay? Who’s up for a game of Exploding Snap?”

Ron, Ginny and Hermione all agreed and they sat down to play in front of the cheery fire crackling in the fireplace. Harry determinedly pushed all thoughts of Snape aside and with a full stomach and the company of his friends, his mood quickly improved.

The afternoon wore lazily on as the storm continued outside. After Exploding Snap, Harry played chess with Ron, polished his broom and even devoted a little time to studying. At dinner, he ate heartily then returned to Gryffindor Tower where he and his friends ensconced themselves by the fire once more. Weeks of too little sleep soon began to take their toll on him, however. Between the meal he’d eaten, the sound of the rain pelting the windows, and the warmth of the fire, Harry found it increasingly hard to keep his eyes from drifting shut. He sat up straighter in his chair in an effort to keep from nodding off, but it was no use. Even though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, Harry couldn’t stay up any longer.

“I’m going to bed. I’m done in,” he told his friends.

Yawning, Harry went up to his dormitory, changed into his pajamas and climbed into his four-poster where, for the first time in hours, his thoughts turned to Snape. He reached under his pillow, pulled out the Marauders’s Map and looked at it in disgust. For nearly a month he’d been watching his teacher wander the castle half the night almost every night and he was sick of it. If the man wanted to go murder a dozen Death Eaters tonight he could bloody well do it. Harry wasn’t up to keeping vigil any longer. He opened the drawer of his bedside table and was about to stuff the map into it when something caught his eye. A lone dot was moving out on the grounds. Harry frowned and squinted at it then felt his heartbeat quicken. It was Snape and as Harry watched, the dot vanished into the Forbidden Forest.

Harry stared at the map in consternation. Surely Snape couldn’t be going on one of his covert outings now. He’d always waited until after midnight to sneak away when they were at Grimmauld Place. But they weren’t at Grimmauld Place any more and after a moment’s consideration, Harry was forced to admit that he really had no reason to believe that Snape would only leave Hogwarts at such a late hour. During summer, Snape had been constrained by secrecy to leaving the house after everyone was asleep. But here at Hogwarts he had far more freedom to come and go without anyone noticing.

Harry cursed his own shortsightedness. It was no wonder he had never spotted Snape leaving during any of those long, sleepless nights he’d spent staring at the Marauder’s Map. The man could have gone and come back every night before Harry even began his watch. Harry hadn’t been paying close attention to the Daily Prophet recently since he had thought he was keeping a close eye on Snape and he couldn’t help wondering now if he’d missed any suspicious deaths.

Harry pressed his lips together in a grim line. There was nothing he could do about it if he had. The question was what should he do now? He hadn’t bargained on Snape leaving in the evening when everyone in the castle was still up and about. Snape could slip out, unquestioned and unremarked, but Harry couldn’t. If nothing else, he’d have to make some excuse to his friends and he hated lying to them. Worse, he wasn’t even sure anymore if he should follow Snape.

In his imagination, Harry had envisioned tailing Snape as the man stalked his next victim along some deserted, fog-shrouded road in the dead of night – like a scene from one of the hackneyed murder mysteries Dudley used to watch on TV when they were little. Now that he really thought about it, Harry recognized how absurd that idea was. Snape was certainly more subtle than that. Harry could easily imagine him casting the Imperius Curse on someone in a busy café then whispering a word to them about Apparating in front of a bus on their way home. So even if Harry followed Snape, there was no guarantee that he’d be able to catch the man out.

For that matter, there was no guarantee that Snape was even going to kill anyone this evening, Harry reminded himself firmly. What if the man was simply going to spy on the Death Eaters. They couldn’t conduct all of their business after midnight, after all. What would happen if Snape was in the midst of a group of twenty of Voldemort’s followers and Harry Apparated into the middle of it? Nothing good: that was certain.

Harry sighed. The fact was that he hadn’t given nearly enough thought to how he was going to catch Snape and he was beginning to suspect that it was going to be considerably more complicated than he’d hoped. Still, he had to start somewhere. Harry looked out the window at the steady rain spattering his window and grimaced.

Of course, I would have to spot Snape sneaking out tonight, Harry thought sourly as he got out of bed and dressed again. He pulled on a warm sweatshirt, shut his bed curtains tightly in the hopes that no one would notice he was gone, and wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around him. Then, unseen, he made his way back downstairs and out of the common room.

---

Harry got out of the castle without incident and headed for the Forbidden Forest, trying to avoid the muddiest of the sodden ground and to keep his Invisibility Cloak from being ripped away by the wind. By the time he reached the relative shelter of the forest, he was soaking wet. He dried his glasses then pulled out his wand.

“Sniff.”

His wand twitched eagerly in his hand, but it gave no indication of which way to go. That had to mean that Snape was no longer in the forest, but had Disapparated out of the Sniffer Charm’s immediate range. This was no surprise. Harry had assumed that Snape was heading into the forest in order to get beyond the school’s anti-Apparation ward. He raised his wand and concentrated on Snape but also on Apparating at a distance from his teacher. A hundred yards would probably do and he imagined that distance in his mind. Then he spun around and Disapparated.

He appeared on a busy sidewalk and looked around trying to get his bearings, but almost at once a passerby bumped into him. The man, a Muggle by the look of him, stared incredulously at the seemingly empty space in front of him then reached out tentatively. Harry dodged the outstretched hand and ducked into a nearby doorway. The man groped at the air for a moment then glanced around in embarrassment and hurried on his way.

Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it under his sweatshirt then surveyed his surroundings. He was in London and while the weather was chilly, there was no storm here. He held out his wand which obediently swiveled to point down the block. Harry slipped his wand into the pocket of his sweatshirt keeping hold of it so that he could feel the direction in which it was pulling. Then he stepped out of the doorway and started down the street, following the invisible draw on his wand.

Two blocks down, Harry was nearing the corner of a busy intersection when his wand suddenly jumped so violently that he almost lost his grip on it. Harry stopped and surreptitiously as possible, pulled it from his pocket once more. It immediately jerked to the right and Harry moved cautiously forward to peer around the corner.

Snape was dressed as a Muggle, naturally. He stood at a bus stop, reading a magazine and evinced such a perfect mixture of impatience and boredom that for a moment Harry wondered why on earth the man was waiting for a bus instead of simply Apparating wherever he wanted to go. An instant later the truth occurred to him. Snape obviously wasn’t waiting for a bus. He had to be waiting for something – or more likely someone – else. Was Snape planning on meeting an informant here – or one of his victims?

Harry ducked back around the corner, out of his teacher’s sight and considered. He’d have to follow Snape and whomever he was meeting, but the streets were too crowded for him to wear his Invisibility Cloak and he’d never get close enough to find out what Snape was up to without it.

Harry’s wand twitched in his hand, breaking his concentration. He peered back around the corner at the bus stop and started. Snape was no longer there. He had crossed the street and was moving at a brisk pace away from Harry down the opposite side of the street. Harry swore under his breath and hurried after the man.

---

The next half-hour was one of the most nerve-wracking Harry had ever endured. He felt ridiculously exposed following Snape through the streets and hung back as far as he could while still keeping Snape in sight, all the while poised to jump into the nearest doorway to avoid being spotted should Snape glance behind him.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Harry had had any sense of where Snape was going, but the man seemed to be wandering aimlessly. He’d walk for several blocks, stop for a bit, cross the street and go another few blocks in some other direction then head back the way they’d come until they’d made a big sprawling circle. Then Snape would strike out in a new direction and repeat the process.

At last, Harry saw Snape enter a building up ahead of him and quickened his pace until he reached what turned out to be a pub. Harry sidled up to the dingy window of the establishment and cautiously peeked in. Snape was at the bar ordering a drink and Harry scowled. The man was probably thirsty after walking so far. Harry was thirsty, too, and tired and still damp from the rain. The prospect of cooling his heels on the street – where the temperature was steadily dropping – while waiting for Snape to finish his nightcap was not appealing.

Harry looked around irritably and spotted the darkened doorway of the building next to the pub. If he stepped into the shadows, he could don his Invisibility Cloak and then sneak into the pub, which wasn’t prohibitively crowded. It would at least be warm inside and he’d be able to spot anyone whom Snape might be planning to meet.

However, just as Harry finished formulating this plan, someone seized him from behind and spun him around. Taken entirely off guard, he stared in astonishment at the person who had grabbed him. It was Professor Knight and she was glaring furiously at Harry.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Potter?”

“Professor? What are you doing here?”

Knight raised her eyebrows at Harry. “I believe you’re the one who needs to explain yourself.”

Harry stared at his teacher in silence. He knew that he was in deep trouble. He could think of no plausible excuse for why he should be in London. Never mind a legitimate one that might mitigate his punishment; he couldn’t think of any reason at all other than the truth and he couldn’t reveal that. Reflexively, Harry’s eyes flickered back towards the pub’s window. The glance took only an instant, but it was enough. Knight looked through the window as well and her eyes widened in surprise which quickly shifted to understanding. Without a word, she grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him away from the pub and into the nearby doorway.

“Why are you following Snape?” she demanded.

It would have been ludicrous to try to deny the obvious, but Harry had no idea what to say. “I – I was just curious,” he stammered. “I saw him leaving the castle and couldn’t imagine where he might be going in a storm.”

Knight’s mouth twitched in an amused smile. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a dreadful liar?”

Harry sighed. “Look, I know it was stupid of me to follow him. I don’t know why I did and I’m sorry. Just take me back to school and give me detention. All right?”

“Since it’s Professor Snape whom you’ve been spying on,” Knight said, eyeing Harry shrewdly, “I think it’d be more appropriate if I let him mete out the punishment.”

“No!”

Knight smiled triumphantly. “The truth then, Potter – all of it – or I drag you into that pub right now.”

Harry’s heart sank. “Professor, please,” he begged. “Professor Snape can’t know that I was following him.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t tell you!”

“Not good enough, Potter.”

“It’s too complicated and I can’t explain it!” Harry said desperately. “But I swear that I won’t be the only one who’s sorry if Snape finds out. Please, Professor! I’ll serve any detention you want. I’ll do anything. Just please believe me. I’m telling you the truth.”

Knight regarded Harry thoughtfully for a moment then said quietly, “Would it help if I told you that I was following Snape, too?”

“You?” Harry said incredulously. “Why?”

“You first, Potter. Who put you up to spying on him?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Moody?”

Harry gaped in astonishment. “How did you know that?”

“Because he asked me to keep an eye on Snape, too. Why do you suppose he recommended me to teach Defense this year?”

Of course, Harry thought. Moody had said that he wouldn’t give up trying to find proof of Snape’s guilt and the only way to do that was to have someone close to Snape, watching him. That realization immediately gave way to dread, however. By all accounts, Knight was one of the best Aurors in the business. If she was on Snape’s trail then the man was in serious trouble.

“Professor, listen to me,” Harry said urgently. “I know what Moody thinks and I know that Snape may be acting outside the law, but you can’t arrest him! There’s no telling what the Ministry will do to him and we need him in the fight against Voldemort. There has to be another way to stop these killings.”

“Whoa, Potter! Slow down. No one’s talking about arresting anyone.”

“That’s what Moody wants.”

“Moody doesn’t always get what he wants. Alastor’s a good man, but he’s a bit… inflexible. I know enough about Snape to know that tossing him in Azkaban probably wouldn’t be to our best advantage. Right now, I’m trying to determine what would be, so I need you to tell me everything you know.”

Relieved that Knight wasn’t planning on arresting Snape, and thankful to finally have someone he could talk to, Harry quickly told Knight what he knew of Snape’s nocturnal activities since they’d arrived at Hogwarts.

“This is only the second time I’ve actually seen him leaving the castle, but I’d bet there have been others. The thing is…” Harry hesitated, but Knight pressed him.

“What?”

Reluctantly, Harry continued. “The last time I saw him leave Hogwarts, a Death Eater went missing and her body was found in the Thames.”

Knight was silent a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Moody would be furious if he knew that I was discussing this with you, but seeing as you’re already involved, I can’t imagine it’ll hurt. Snape’s been acting erratically for some time. To tell the truth, he’s a loose cannon. Not that anyone could blame him after what he’s been through. Walking the fine line as a spy was hard enough and after Voldemort caught him… a person can only take so much. Everyone has a breaking point. There’s no shame in that and it doesn’t make him a monster. But he does need to be watched and stopped if he gets too far out of hand.”

“Professor, if he’s killing people, he has to be stopped and Moody said he wouldn’t rest until Snape was in prison.”

“Don’t worry about Moody. I’ll handle him. Right now we have to worry about Snape and I promise that I’ll do everything I can to keep him out of prison. Given the circumstances we can probably get him a stay in St. Mungos instead.”

The sound of a door opening close by caught their attention and Knight pulled Harry further back into the shadows of the doorway, just as Snape emerged from the pub. He glanced up and down the block then crossed the street and disappeared down the block.

Harry raised his wand, but Knight stopped him. “You’ve had enough adventure for one night, Potter.”

“But we have to follow him.”

“I have to follow him. You have to get back to school – and you have to stay there; no more playing detective. I can’t have you tailing Snape around Britain. For one thing, your safety is more important than anything he’s doing and if he spots you, it’ll only make matters worse. I’m trained in surveillance, so let me do my job, all right?”

Harry nodded. He knew that Knight was right and he was grateful that he no longer had to carry this burden alone. “All right.”

“Good. Now, let’s get you back to Hogwarts and we won’t mention this to anyone. Agreed?”

Harry gave his teacher a small smile. “Agreed. Thanks, Professor.”

Knight favored Harry with her own familiar, wry smile. “Don’t mention it, Potter.”

---

Harry didn’t have to search the obituaries for a suspicious death this time. It was on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Shortly after midnight, Orson Uric had descended to the Leicester Square tube station in London and thrown himself in front of an oncoming train. Witnesses said Uric appeared perfectly calm before jumping to his death, waiting patiently on the platform with the other prospective passengers. The incident had made the front page of the Times as well, the Prophet reported, and indeed this seemed to be the main worry of the wizard authorities who were highly sensitive to any Muggle-wizard altercations given the current war.

Luckily, the Times was primarily concerned with the possible effect on passenger service and reassured its readers that there would be no delays on the Piccadilly line as a consequence of the tragedy. Both the Aurors and the Muggle police had ruled the death a suicide, of course, but Harry was quite certain that they were wrong.

Harry laid the paper aside, thoroughly disheartened by this latest grisly death. He looked up at the staff table where Snape and Knight were seated like a pair of grim bookends. Knight met Harry’s eyes and gave him the barest nod of acknowledgement before looking away again. Snape seemed lost in thought; his brow furrowed in concentration. But as Harry watched the man, he could have sworn that Snape’s eyes flickered momentarily towards Knight.

Harry quickly looked away. Had Snape seen the glance he’d just exchanged with Knight? Did he suspect that the Auror had been sent here to spy on him? Snape wasn’t stupid and if anyone was a match for Knight, he was. Harry wondered if he ought to warn Knight of that, but he was distracted from that thought as he caught sight of Draco Malfoy over at the Slytherin Table.

Malfoy held a copy of the paper and was glaring at Snape with open hostility. As Harry watched he leaned over and whispered something to Crabbe and Goyle who then glared at Snape as well. Fortunately, most of the students didn’t seem to notice this, but all the same, Harry was sure that if Malfoy kept this up, others would start to put two and two together. The Slytherin shoved his breakfast away in disgust and rose from the table. Harry hesitated only a moment before following him.

“Malfoy!” Harry called to the Slytherin across the deserted entrance hall.

Malfoy turned to scowl at Harry. “What do you want, Potter?”

“I think a few of the first-year Hufflepuffs might have missed the way you were glaring at Snape just now,” Harry said quietly as he came up to Malfoy. “So I thought I’d remind you of the conversation we had on the train.”

“Still trying to protect your favorite murderer, eh, Potter? I’d have thought you’d have better things to worry about, such as staying alive.”

“And I thought Slytherins were supposed to be cunning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you don’t stay clear of Snape, you’ll be the one with plenty to worry about.”

Malfoy sneered. “Is that a threat, Potter? What are you going to do, punch me in the nose again?”

“No, I reckon Snape can take care of you himself.” Harry smiled grimly as Malfoy’s smirk vanished. “You might want to remember that before you decide to cross him.”

“Is there a problem here?”

Harry and Malfoy looked around to find Snape approaching them.

“No,” Malfoy said quickly. “No problem at all.”

“None.” Harry agreed.

Snape’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Then I suggest you both move along.”

Neither student needed to be told twice. Malfoy hurried towards the stairs to the dungeons at once while Harry sprinted up the main staircase. But Harry couldn’t help wondering how much of their conversation Snape had overheard.

Harry didn’t return to Gryffindor Tower. Instead he headed for the second floor and knocked at Professor Knight’s office door.

“Come in, Potter,” Knight said as Harry poked his head into her office. She didn’t look at all surprised to see him.

Harry shut the door behind him and approached the woman. “Orson Uric’s death wasn’t suicide, was it?”

Knight raised her eyebrows. “Technically, it was. Whether or not he was acting of his own free will is impossible to say.”

“Did you see Snape meet with him?”

“No. Thanks to your intervention, I lost Snape.”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “So we still don’t know if Snape is responsible for these deaths?”

“We have no proof, if that’s what you’re asking. But the circumstantial evidence is quite strong.”

“But it isn’t actual proof.”

“No. It’s not. But just because you can’t prove something doesn’t mean that you don’t know it’s true. Has Snape had an alibi for even one of these deaths?”

Harry considered then shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Last night you and I both saw him in London. A few hours later a Death Eater committed suicide not half a mile from where we’d been. Do you really believe that was coincidence?”

Harry shook his head again and his voice was barely above a whisper. “No.”

“Potter, you’re out of your league here and you have more important things to worry about. I told you to leave this to me, so let it go.”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t. I won’t try to spy on him, but I need to know what you’re planning to do.”

“Actually, you don’t.”

“Professor –”

“Potter, why is this any of your business?”

“Because I’m already involved and I have to know if it’s really him!”

Knight cocked her head to one side and studied Harry. “Why does this matter to you? Surely, you have no love for Death Eaters?”

“That’s not the point.”

“If it’s a matter of justice –”

“It’s not – at least, not mostly.”

“What then?” Knight asked in exasperation. “I’ve already told you that I’ll do what I can to keep him out of prison.”

“I know that. It’s just…” Harry bit his lip. He’d been trying for weeks to find the words to express what was troubling him and he still couldn’t find them as he groped for an explanation. “I know what it’s like to kill. Even if you feel justified, even if you know that you had no choice, it’s still horrible. It’s like a little bit of something inside of you dies too.”

Knight shook her head. “Not everyone has your conscience, Potter, and Snape doesn’t strike me as the most noble of men. It may not disturb him to kill his enemies.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“You don’t believe it or you don’t want to believe it?”

“I don’t believe it,” Harry repeated stubbornly.

Knight regarded Harry thoughtfully for a moment. “Why is it so important to you to be able to respect him?”

Harry blinked and stared at the woman. It was as if Knight had just removed a blindfold he’d been wearing, allowing him to see for the first time in weeks. That was it, of course. The inexplicable turmoil he’d been struggling to name wasn’t about the murders themselves or even Snape’s fate. What was really troubling him was that whatever else Snape might have done, Harry desperately wanted to believe that the man wouldn’t stoop to cold-blooded murder.

Harry shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure why it’s important. It just is.”

Knight sighed and stood up. She came around her desk and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Potter, I promise I’ll let you know if I find any evidence against Snape. But in the meantime, you have to let this go.”

Harry bit his lip. He had come to realize in London that catching Snape was going to be an involved and time-consuming task – something he could ill-afford to devote himself to. Just trying to keep an eye on the man was daunting enough and the whole thing was distracting him from the far more important task of learning to defeat Voldemort. If Knight could do the work for him, he needed to let her.

“You’ll let me know as soon as you find out anything? Before you tell anyone else, even Moody?”

Knight smiled. “You have my word.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right then. It’s a deal.”

---

Turning over the surveillance of Snape to Knight lifted a tremendous weight from Harry and his spirits rose accordingly. After a good night’s sleep he was actually looking forward to his lessons, particularly Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“As we’ve seen in the last few weeks,” Knight said, beginning the day’s lecture, “curses can be applied to any object: a cup, a book, a pair of shoes. These typically violent curses are easy enough to detect if you know how and if you can detect them, you can find a way to disarm them. All that’s required is caution and a sufficient knowledge of counter curses. Practice long enough and hard enough and any one of you could learn to counter the most sinister of these.

“However, curses can also be applied in a broader manner to achieve more subtle effects. For instance, a garden might be cursed to produce only weeds, or a house might be cursed so that no one will live in it for more than a few months. Only a very skilled witch or wizard can cast these intangible curses and they are much trickier to detect than the usual sort. Often their existence can only be inferred. Consequently, they are the most difficult to counter and some may seem all but impossible to break.

“But make no mistake – even the most subtle of these curses can be broken if you can discover the spell used to cast it. In fact, there is no persistent curse in existence that cannot be broken given the right knowledge and skill.”

“How many of the Aurors would you say have the right knowledge and skill?” Malfoy interrupted in a languid drawl. “I’ve heard that the attrition rate is so high in the Auror Service that most of those serving now haven’t even completed training.”

Harry glanced impatiently at Malfoy who was slouched in his usual seat at the back of the classroom, sneering disdainfully. Most of the other students did too. Since the start of term, the Slytherin had become increasingly surly in Defense and now hardly a lesson went by that he didn’t manage to make some subtly disparaging remark about the usefulness of defending against the Dark Arts, the competence of the Aurors in fighting the war, or both.

Malfoy seemed to have even more contempt for Knight than he did for Snape – or perhaps he simply acted up in Defense because he could get away with it. Whereas Snape never tolerated any impertinence from his students and was quick to deduct house points or award detention, Knight was much more lenient. She never disciplined Malfoy for his cheek, but neither did she ever let it pass.

Malfoy’s contempt for Knight was entirely mutual. The Auror clearly loathed the Slytherin which was no surprise given that Malfoy made no secret of where his loyalties lay. Probably because of this, Knight seemed to take great pleasure in putting Malfoy in his place rather than simply punishing him.

“That’s true, Mr. Malfoy,” she said unconcernedly. “Fortunately, their opponents are all cowards which evens the odds.”

Malfoy flushed in anger as Knight continued with her lecture. “These types of curses can also be used on a person or on a group of closely related blood relatives, but that is exceptionally rare. It would require an extraordinarily skilled witch or wizard to cast such a persistent curse on another human being.”

“You mean like cursing someone so that their loved ones all die violent, premature deaths?” Malfoy asked.

Everyone froze and for a moment there was absolute silence in the room. No one needed to be told that Malfoy had gone too far this time. It was apparent from the look on Knight's face.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Knight said in a cold, calm voice. “Since you seem incapable of holding your tongue in my lesson, you will have detention this evening. And if you say one more word this morning, it will be fifty points from your house as well. Everyone open your books to chapter six. I want a two-foot essay on Intangible Curses by our next lesson.”

As the students pulled out their books, parchment and quills, Harry looked back at Malfoy. The Slytherin obviously didn’t mind having detention. In fact, he looked positively smug and Harry fervently hoped that Knight would give him a very nasty detention indeed.

It was later that same night that Harry arrived at Dumbledore’s office at his usual time.

“Hello, Harry,” Dumbledore said as he held out a morsel of food to Fawkes.

The phoenix plucked the treat out of Dumbledore’s hand and the old wizard stroked his pet’s soft feathers gently. Dumbledore fed the bird a final bit of food then turned away.

“Do sit down, Harry, we have a great deal to do this evening,” Dumbledore said as he took his accustomed seat by the fireplace and Harry did the same. “Now that you have become comfortable navigating the depths of my mind and manipulating its landscape somewhat, it is time to teach you how to duel.”

Harry leaned forward in his chair, listening attentively. Learning to duel in the mind was what Harry had been looking forward to since summer and he was keen to finally begin.

“First of all,” Dumbledore continued, “you need to understand that dueling in the mind is vastly different from doing so in the physical world, though that may not be readily obvious at first. The only limitation to what you may do in the mind is the mind itself – your own imagination and strength of will. That should become evident to you as we progress.

“There is, however, one crucial piece of information you need to know. Any injuries you inflict upon an opponent in the mind will not have actual physical consequences. For instance, if you were to cut a deep gash in my arm during a duel, I would not in fact suffer that cut in the physical world. There is only one notable exception to this: if you kill your opponent, he will die.”

Harry gravely nodded his understanding.

“Then let us begin,” Dumbledore said.

Harry took a deep breath, calmed his mind and reached out mentally. Though this had become second nature to him, it was no longer as easy as it had been when he first began his lessons. As Harry had become more confident, Dumbledore had increasingly resisted the intrusion into his mind, forcing Harry to work harder to penetrate it.

Harry forced his way past Dumbledore’s memories and deep into the man’s mind. With a final push, he broke through the last of the barriers and the familiar garden appeared around him. Harry glanced around for his teacher, but Dumbledore was nowhere in sight. In fact, there appeared to be no one else about at all. However, as Harry surveyed the garden, a shadow swooped by overhead. Harry looked up and stared in astonishment.

A huge Hungarian Horntail dragon was soaring in the clear blue sky above him, its scales glistening in the sun. It glided effortlessly, gracefully through the air and Harry was reminded of the photographs in his book on the Romanian dragon preserve. As breathtaking as those had been, however, they were nothing compared to actually seeing this animal in flight.

Harry had never appreciated that, for all their reptilian qualities, dragons were truly creatures of the air. The Horntail was beautiful in flight. Its powerful wings swept the sky as it wheeled nimbly above him. It came to a halt, hovering on its outstretched wings and let out a roar that must have carried for miles. Then it folded its wings and dived with astonishing speed straight at Harry.

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat as the dragon streaked towards him. For a moment he stood frozen in shock then he ran. He raced down the main path and ducked into another, much narrower, path that was covered by an overgrown grape arbor. As he hurried down it, silent as possible, he could hear the beating of the dragon’s wings overhead. The beast seemed to be circling, hunting for its prey. Harry stopped as he reached the end of the path and peered cautiously at the garden beyond it.

Neat beds of flowers stretched in every direction for fifty yards: lovely, but useless as cover. The closest shelter was a citrus grove straight ahead, but it was awfully far away. Harry knew that the dragon was waiting for him and would attack as soon as he stepped out into the open. He had no intention of making himself an easy target and bit his lip, trying to sort out his options as he listened to the dragon make another low, slow circle above him.

Then suddenly, Harry felt a great rush of air and a blast of heat behind him. He looked over his shoulder, horrified to see that the vines shielding the way he’d come had burst into flames. Obviously, the dragon was trying to flush him out of his hiding place. Desperately, Harry looked back at the garden, but it afforded no protection whatsoever. The only thing nearby that was over two feet tall was a massive old oak tree, twenty feet away, but that wouldn’t shield him from the dragon.

The fire was rapidly consuming the arbor’s dense vegetation as it moved towards Harry and he knew he was running out of time. He pulled out his wand and took aim at the oak tree. He could hear the dragon still circling his hiding place even above the roar of the fire. The heat and smoke were becoming unbearable, but Harry waited until he thought the beast was as close to the tree as it might come then mustered all his concentration and force of will. “Reducto!”

The tree was blasted apart. Harry heard the dragon roar in surprise and veer sharply away then he was running as fast as he could amongst a shower of splinters raining down. He raced through the flower beds, jumped a hedge and dashed towards the citrus grove as the startled dragon recovered and gave chase.

Harry reached the cover of the trees and kept running as the dragon roared in frustration. Harry could hear it just overhead, skimming the tree tops, dodging back and forth and ripping at the foliage trying to get to its elusive prey. Harry zigzagged desperately through the orchard, trying to escape the enraged animal. If only he could shake off the pursuit for even a few minutes, he could summon his broom and take to the air himself where he wouldn’t be at such a disadvantage. But the dragon gave him no respite. No matter which way he turned, the beast was there above him, tearing at the tree tops with its razor-sharp talons or shooting bursts of fire through the branches.

At last, Harry was forced to stop as the grove ended abruptly at a large, sunny meadow. Harry stared at the open area in dismay then a burst of flames engulfed the tree behind him and he bolted into the meadow. The dragon roared in triumph and Harry turned to face it.

“Reducto!” he cried, pointing his wand at the beast hovering only ten feet away about the trees.” There was no effect.

“Relashio! Spicula!” Fiery sparks shot from Harry’s wand followed by silvery arrows, but both spells bounced harmlessly off the dragon’s hide and it paid no attention to them.

The beast lunged at Harry, who dived out of the way just as the dragon landed where he’d been standing. The animal reared up and slashed at Harry with its front claws. Harry rolled away, but not quite fast enough. He felt a burning pain as the claws grazed his left side.

The dragon reared up again, but dragons, being creatures of the air, are awkward on the ground and Harry managed to avoid the second attack and roll to his feet. He brandished his wand once more, taking aim at the creature’s head. “Relashio!”

This time the fiery sparks from Harry’s wand hit the dragon in the eyes. It let out a roar of pain as its tail thrashed back and forth. Harry jumped out of the way and pointed his wand at the creature again, but the dragon had already spread its great wings and with a powerful sweep of them, it was airborne. It soared almost straight up into the sky then executed a deft, midair somersault with amazing agility and dived at Harry once more.

Harry looked around frantically and saw a low stone wall nearby that he hadn’t noticed before. He sprinted towards it and threw himself over it, startling a small herd of sheep that were grazing in what seemed to be a large pen that the wall encircled. A moment later, a burst of fire singed the back of Harry’s neck as the dragon swooped by, startling the animals considerably more. They began to bleat and shy nervously, but Harry ignored them as he got to his feet and raised his wand.

The dragon had learnt its lesson, however. It climbed high into the air where it was supreme and circled the meadow where no attack from Harry could touch it. Harry was trapped out in the open. He was too tired to run any farther and there was nowhere left to hide. His side was bleeding where the dragon had clawed him and he knew that he was no match for the beast. Still, he stood his ground with his wand poised before him. He’d rather die fighting than being hunted like an animal.

The dragon hovered almost directly above Harry, then suddenly tucked in its wings and dropped from the sky like a bird of prey. Harry called out several spells, though he knew they were useless. The sheep were panicking now, bleating in fear and running around the pen. The dragon was almost on top of him and Harry could see its claws poised to strike.

Harry couldn’t help it; he closed his eyes. A moment later he heard a chorus of terrified bleating and felt the dragon swoop past him almost brushing him with its wings. He opened his eyes. The dragon was climbing back into the sky, a sheep clutched firmly in its claws. Numbly, Harry watched it fly away with its struggling meal then he sank down onto the ground, exhausted.

“Oftentimes,” Dumbledore’s voice said behind Harry, “it is better to outwit an opponent than to fight it.”

Harry looked around at the old wizard who was sitting on the wall regarding him with a calm and annoyingly amused expression. Harry didn’t find the situation funny at all.

“I thought we were supposed to be dueling,” Harry said angrily.

“We were,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. “I told you that dueling in the mind was vastly different from doing so in the physical world.”

“You set a dragon on me?”

“Of course. I am preparing you to face Voldemort and he will use every means at his disposal to destroy you. It is worth noting, however, that dragons, for all their fearsome reputations, are not vicious killers by nature. They will only attack humans when they feel threatened or when they are very hungry and there is no other source of food to be had. But given a choice, a dragon will take mutton over human every time.”

“Great. So if Voldemort sends a dragon after me, I’m supposed to find the nearest herd of sheep before it kills me, is that it?”

“That could certainly work, though creating your own herd of sheep as I just did would probably be more advisable. Or a small fortress in which to take refuge, or even another dragon to challenge it. The males are quite territorial.

“Any of those things would at least give you some time to devise a more useful strategy than headlong flight or hurling curses that you know will have no effect. Such actions are seldom useful in battle.

“Then too, you might simply transform the dragon into a rather large goose and be done with it. But of course, the choice is yours.”

Harry ran a hand wearily across his eyes. How could he have been so stupid? “None of those things even occurred to me,” he said bitterly.

“Of course they didn’t. A lifetime of experience has taught you that it takes inordinate power and skill to transform a dragon into a goose or to conjure an entire herd of sheep out of thin air, let alone a fortress or dragon. In the physical world you could not hope to manage any of these things and it will take considerable practice for you to remember otherwise while fighting under extreme duress in the mind. But rest assured, Harry, you will learn.

“What is more important is that Voldemort does not have the benefit of such practice and he will make the same mistake that you just did when the time comes for you to face him. That will give you an invaluable advantage over him.”

Dumbledore’s eyes shone with such conviction that Harry couldn’t help but believe the old man’s assurances and he felt his spirits lift. Learning to duel in the mind was apparently going to be far different from what he had imagined. But with Dumbledore to teach him, Harry knew he could learn and for the first time he felt genuine hope that he could beat Voldemort.

---

Harry hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, anxious to tell Ron, Ginny and Hermione about his lesson; but when he arrived he found his friends huddled in a corner of the common room looking rather down. Hermione, in particular, seemed positively dejected.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“I’ve searched everywhere I can think of,” Hermione replied indignantly. “The school archives, the historic Daily Prophet indices, along with the public records of births, deaths, marriages, arrests and property sales for the last fifty years. There’s no information on Lawrence or Thane anywhere. They might as well have vanished off the face of the earth!”

Harry smiled sympathetically. Hermione had great faith in the power of research and was clearly affronted that her beloved books had let her down.

“It’s all right, Hermione. I know you’ve done your best. We’ll just have to find some other way to track down Riddle’s friends.”

“What about the Keene estate?” Ginny asked. “Do you suppose there could be anything useful there?”

“Well, I did manage to find out more about that,” Hermione said. “It’s an old manor house in a little town called Quixby about twenty miles from Dorset. In Albert’s day, the house was out in the country, but the town’s grown a bit in the last fifty years and most of the estate has been sold off for development. All that’s left is a couple of acres of land that contain the house, gardens and the family cemetery.”

“Does Riddle’s trading company still own it?” Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. “The trading company that Riddle and his friends set up didn’t last long. A year after Albert Keene’s death it was dissolved and the estate sold to a foreign interest which still owns it. Aside from a long list of perfunctory notes indicating that the taxes have always been paid on time, there’s no other reference to the property in any public record.”

“So what do you think?” Ron asked Harry.

“I think that if I were Voldemort and didn’t want anyone to know that I owned a house in Dorset that I’d transfer the title to a foreign owner. In any case, it’s the only lead we’ve got, so we might as well have a look.”

“What? You mean actually go there?”

“Why not? It’s a place to start, at least.”

Ron looked at Harry dubiously. “It’s in Dorset.”

“So? You can Apparate, can’t you?”

“Ginny can’t.”

“I can Apparate with Harry,” Ginny said.

“We can’t Apparate from Hogwarts,” Hermione said.

“No, but we can from outside the grounds,” Harry said, his voice growing more determined at the prospect of taking up the hunt for Tom Riddle’s lost research once more.

“You know,” Ron said thoughtfully, “if we take the tunnel under the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack, we could Disapparate from there.”

“That’s right,” Ginny said enthusiastically. “And it’d be better than going into the Forest where someone might spot us.”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry said. “We can go tomorrow night and be back before anyone misses us.”

“But Harry, we have no idea what we might find there,” Hermione protested. “What if it’s Voldemort’s main hideout?”

“Then it’ll be a really short trip,” Ron said.

“I’m serious, Ron!”

“We’re not going to Apparate into the living room,” Harry said. “We’ll scout out the house first and if it looks all right, we’ll go in. If not, we’ll come back.”

Hermione didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded agreement.

“That’s settled then. We’ll go tomorrow after dinner.”

---

No one accosted Harry and Ginny as they slipped out of the castle after dinner the next evening to go for a walk. They found a secluded spot close to the Whomping Willow and before long Ron and Hermione arrived.

“Did you bring your mirrors?” Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione both pulled their pieces of Sirius’s mirror from their pockets in answer.

“Good. We’ll wait here until it’s completely dark.”

The plan was straightforward. Under cover of darkness, they would make their way to the Shrieking Shack and Apparate to the Keene cemetery at Quixby, which they reasoned would give them the best chance of not being seen by anyone. If the house appeared to be unoccupied, they’d split up in order to search the place more quickly, using their mirrors to stay in contact with one another. When they were done, they’d Apparate from the house back to the Shrieking Shack and return to Hogwarts.

It was actually one of the simpler covert missions Harry had ever engaged in – far simpler than searching for the Philosopher’s Stone or getting a dragon out of Hogwarts, for instance – and Harry felt no anxiety whatsoever as he waited for the sky to darken from deep blue to black overhead.

As soon as it was dark enough, they moved warily towards the willow. Harry prodded the spot on the trunk that would render the tree harmless and one by one they slipped down into the tunnel. The journey to the Shrieking Shack was uneventful and they were delighted to discover that there were no wards on the ramshackle place to prevent them from Disapparating. Moments later, all four of them were standing in a graveyard.

Harry felt a momentary lurch of fear at the sight of the tombstones looming around him which reminded him forcefully of the last time he’d been in a graveyard at night. Vivid memories swam in his mind of Cedric lying dead and of Death Eaters jeering at him as Voldemort tortured him.

“Are you all right?” Ginny asked.

Harry gave her a small smile and nodded then struck off towards the house. Ginny, Ron and Hermione followed him cautiously in silence.

The Keene Manor was a huge old house that must have once been grand, but it had fallen on very hard times. The grounds – both the cemetery and what was left of the gardens – were choked with tall weeds and surrounded by a rusting wrought-iron fence.

The house itself was built of brick which was crumbling in places. Most of the windows were broken and the doors and windowsills were splintered, their paint having long since worn away. The house stood silent and dark, an unmistakable air of abandonment clinging to it. Harry was sure that no one had set foot in the place for a very long time and he doubted that anyone had plans to do so in the near future. Nevertheless, he knew they needed to be wary.

They circled the grounds, taking care to stay out of sight of anyone who might be watching from the house. Hermione had her wand out and was muttering spells under her breath which were intended to detect wards or curses. They made a complete circuit of the property without finding anything suspicious, so they approached the rear of the house and came to a halt by an old wooden door.

Hermione raised her wand once more. “Manifesto.”

They waited tensely, but nothing happened. “There are no wards on it,” Hermione said, referring to the door.

Harry nodded and pointed his wand at the rusted lock. “Alohomora.”

The door squeaked loudly as it swung open. Harry and his friends froze, listening intently, but there was no sound to indicate that there was anyone within the house to hear them. Relaxing, Harry stepped inside and lit his wand. The others followed and they all looked around at the room they had entered which appeared to be a small, informal breakfast room. It contained nothing of interest, so Harry led the way out into the hallway which he followed until they arrived at the entrance hall. He stopped in front of the main staircase.

“All right, let’s check our mirrors,” he said, pulling his own from his pocket. “Can you see me?”

At once, three images of Harry’s face appeared in the other mirrors. Ron, Hermione and Ginny all spoke to their mirrors as well and soon all of their likenesses were taking turns appearing in the glasses

“Good. Ginny, Hermione, why don’t you two start upstairs and work your way down. Ron and I will start in the basement and work our way up. Don’t forget to watch out for anything that might be cursed.”

Nodding agreement they split up and as the girls disappeared up the stairs, Harry and Ron went to look for the door to the basement. It didn’t take long to find and soon they were roaming through the kitchen, storerooms and servants’ quarters. A thick layer of dust lay everywhere and set Ron sneezing more than once as they carefully searched each room. Most were nearly bare though some of the store rooms were full of odds and ends of old furniture, boxes of dishes and the inevitable whatnots that creep into every such storage place. Unfortunately, they found nothing that might have belonged to Salazar Slytherin or Tom Riddle.

Having searched the entire basement, Harry and Ron went back up to the ground floor where Harry pulled his mirror from his pocket. “Ginny, Hermione, are you there?”

“Yes.” Hermione’s reply came at once. “We’re just finishing up the second floor, but we haven’t found anything, yet.”

“The basement’s clear, too,” he said into his mirror.

Ginny’s face appeared. “How long do you suppose this place has been standing empty?”

“I don’t know, but it looks as if no one’s been here since Albert Keene died,” Harry said.

“Probably not quite that long.” Hermione’s face was back in the mirror once more. “Voldemort must have abandoned it when the Muggle development started encroaching.”

Ron’s face appeared in the mirror. “Can we get on with this? We still have half a house to search, you know.”

“We’ll let you know when we’re finished down here,” Harry told the girls then he pocketed his mirror and headed upstairs with Ron.

The ground floor took little time to search. They made quick work of the living room, dining room, music room, game room and several other large rooms whose purpose wasn’t immediately obvious. They were just finishing when Ginny’s voice called out from Harry’s pocket.

Harry pulled out his mirror. “Have you found something?”

“Not yet,” the tiny image of Ginny’s face said. “But the library is up here on the first floor, so you probably want to come and have a look.”

Harry nodded. “We’re on our way.”

The Keene library was twice the size of the one at number twelve Grimmauld Place. Ginny and Hermione were already perusing the shelves when Harry and Ron arrived.

“We’ve searched the rest of the floor,” Ginny said. “This is the only place left where Riddle’s research might be.”

“The Keenes certainly had an impressive collection,” Hermione said, admiring the assembled works. “There are books here on practically every subject you can imagine: literature, poetry, history, art, music –”

“How about really old books on magic?” Ron asked.

“Everything on magic is over here.” Hermione indicated a section that took up an entire long wall.

Ron shined his wand light on the nearest bookshelf and began examining the books. Ginny had already started at the opposite end. Mindful of Slytherin’s desk in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry approached the large walnut desk in the center of the room and began to search it for any useful clues or information. Hermione did the same with the credenza standing under the windows.

They were thorough in their work, but after half an hour of searching every nook and cranny in the room, it became apparent that their efforts were in vain. There was no sign of Slytherin’s books, Riddle’s research, or even a scrap of paper that might lead them to the current or former owners of the property.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione said with genuine regret. “I really thought we’d find Riddle’s research here or at least some sort of clue.”

Harry stood still, thinking, then shook his head. “It has to all be somewhere. Even if Voldemort threw away his own research – and I really can’t believe he would have done – there’s no way that he would have tossed Salazar Slytherin’s books into a rubbish bin. He revered Slytherin.”

“Maybe he gave it all to Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione suggested. “After all, Malfoy had his diary.”

Ron snapped his fingers. “Of course! I bet they’re in that secret room at Malfoy Manor.”

“But the Aurors have turned that place upside down,” Ginny protested. “After Malfoy was arrested at the ministry, the Aurors searched the whole house and Dad said that the DPS went over it again with a fine tooth comb when Day took over.”

“They might have missed –”

“Ssh!” Hermione interrupted Ron, frowning intently. “Listen.”

They fell silent and Harry strained to hear whatever might have caught Hermione’s attention. Then he heard it: the faint sound of movement coming from the ground floor.

Ron and Ginny had heard it too and looked at Harry in alarm.

“I think we ought to be going,” Hermione whispered.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right. You and Ron go first.”

Hermione stepped back to give herself room to Apparate then she spun in place. Nothing happened. Frowning, she raised her wand, took a deep breath and repeated the motion. This time she swayed slightly as she completed her spin, but she was still there.

“Let me try.” Ron spun in place as well, but again nothing happened.

Hermione bit her lip anxiously. “Do you suppose there’s an anti-Apparation spell on the house?”

Ron gave her an exasperated look. “As a wild guess, I’d say yes!”

“Come on,” Harry whispered urgently, beckoning his friends to follow him as he hurried out of the library. He led the way down the hallway, moving as quietly as possible. But at the head of the main staircase they heard a sound that made them stop dead in their tracks: the unmistakable tread of footsteps below. And they were coming closer.

“Hide,” Harry mouthed and they all crept silently back along the hallway. They could hear the footsteps on the stairs and Harry pointed urgently to a door. Ron pushed it open and he and Hermione slipped into the dark room beyond as Ginny pulled Harry into another. Harry shut the door. Then he and Ginny doused their wand lights and stood listening intently for any sound from the hallway.

“Bella, there’s nothing of value in this place,” a gruff male voice Harry didn’t recognize said from the vicinity of the stairs.

“Be quiet, Rodolphus,” came Bellatrix Lestrange’s harsh, whispered reply. “Potter’s here somewhere. I know he is.”

Harry could feel Ginny tense at his side and his own stomach clenched at the sound of his name. How could they have been found out?

“We should have informed the Dark Lord!” Rodolphus Lestrange’s voice was closer and so was his wife’s as she snapped at him.

“Be quiet! Just search the place. They can’t Apparate out of the house.”

Harry glanced around the room desperately. In the darkness, he could barely make out that it was a sparsely furnished bedroom. The only place to hide was the large wardrobe in the corner. Harry grasped Ginny’s hand and pulled her over to it. Quietly as they could they opened the door and stepped inside. Harry shut the door just as he heard the sound of the bedroom door being opened. Through the crack in the door of the wardrobe, Harry could see the glow of wand light. Footsteps were approaching. Harry clutched his wand tightly, preparing to curse whoever opened the door.

At that moment a loud crash sounded from the floor above. Harry and Ginny both jumped and whoever was in the room dashed back out to the hallway.

“Pucey! Bole! Up here,” Bellatrix Lestrange called, no longer bothering with stealth. Harry heard footsteps pounding up the stairs from the ground floor. They paused only a moment then continued up to the second floor. Harry cautiously opened the wardrobe door and peered out.

“Harry!” Hermione stood in the doorway with Ron behind her. Abandoning the wardrobe, Harry and Ginny quickly joined them. They could hear doors being thrown open upstairs, but there was no sound coming from the ground floor as they stole quietly downstairs to the entrance hall.

“Which way?” Ron asked quietly.

“Out the back, the way we came,” Harry replied.

They hurried down the hallway to the breakfast room. Harry pulled open the backdoor then winced at the loud squeal from the rusted hinges. A shout went up from somewhere behind them but they were already through the door and sprinting away from the house. Harry heard more shouts behind them and knew that the Death Eaters were giving chase. Sure enough, a moment later a curse blasted the ground behind them. It was far off the mark, but managed to shower them all with dirt.

“Split up!” Harry cried, hoping that if they separated they could lose the Death Eaters in the dark. Ginny, who was out in front, dodged to the left back towards the graveyard and Harry followed her, breaking away from Ron and Hermione who veered right towards the overgrown garden.

It was treacherous going running through the pitch black grounds. Harry couldn’t see the path before him and could only barely make out Ginny who was twenty yards ahead of him. Just then a bolt of red light sizzled past followed by a brace of silvery arrows which helped to light the way. Harry saw gravestones looming ahead and realized that they were nearly at the graveyard. As he did, panic seized him. They needed to Disapparate before they reached the wrought iron fence beyond it or they’d be trapped. Harry could duck behind any of the approaching gravestones and return to Hogsmeade, but Ginny couldn’t. He had to reach her before the Death Eaters caught up to them and he could hear running footsteps behind him growing closer

“Ginny, wait!” Harry called, zigzagging to avoid another better-aimed curse from their pursuers.

Ginny slowed and glanced behind her. “Harry, look out!” she yelled as she skidded to a halt.

Without thinking, Harry dove for the ground and felt the force of the curse as it passed overhead. He rolled to his feet and kept running. He put on an extra burst of speed and reached out for Ginny. He caught her waist and spun around her just as he heard Bellatrix Lestrange call, “Stupefy!”

The suffocating sensation of Apparation had never been so welcome. With a ‘pop’ Harry stumbled and he and Ginny went sprawling on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Ron and Hermione were already there and helped pull them to their feet.

“Are you all right?” Ron asked in concern.

Harry and Ginny both nodded breathlessly. Ron sighed in relief then shook his head in disgust. “I thought that bloody house was deserted!”

“It was!” Hermione said. “We looked all over it and I’m sure that no one had been there in ages.”

“So they just happened to pick tonight to pop round for old times sake?”

“They knew we were there,” Harry said quietly. “They were looking for me.”

Harry quickly related the conversation he’d heard between the Lestranges.

“But that’s not possible!” Hermione protested. “They couldn’t have known we were there.”

“They must have left some sort of ward to warn them if anyone entered the house,” Ginny said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“But I checked! There was no sign of any wards. I’m sure of it.”

“Hermione, we’re dealing with the most powerful Dark wizard of the century,” Ron said, reasonably. “I reckon he could come up with a ward that even you couldn’t detect. It’s not your fault. Besides, you’re the one who came up with that brilliant plan for getting past the Death Eaters.”

“What plan?” Harry asked as Hermione blushed with pleasure at Ron’s compliment.

“It just occurred to me that whatever was preventing us from Apparating out of the house was probably the same sort of thing that we have at headquarters. No one can Apparate in or out, but we can Apparate anywhere within the house that we want.”

“We popped up to the second floor and pushed a wardrobe over into a full length mirror,” Ron explained.

“That was clever,” Ginny said approvingly.

“I only wish that we’d found something useful for our trouble,” Harry said bitterly.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Ginny said. “If Voldemort’s research still exists, we’ll find it.”

---

Harry was quiet during the trip back to Hogwarts. He brooded over having led his friends into danger once more. In particular, he felt guilty about having brought Ginny along. Ron and Hermione were at least of age and could take care of themselves. But it had been irresponsible to Apparate with Ginny. They all could easily have been separated and Harry didn’t want to think about what would have happened then. Why couldn’t he have spotted the danger before? Why was it only ever obvious in hindsight?

They were nearly at the castle when Harry’s gloomy reverie was interrupted by Hermione’s urgent whisper. “Look out!”

She stopped abruptly and shoved them all into the shadow of a nearby tree.

“What is it now?” Ron asked.

Hermione pointed. “Look!”

Harry followed Hermione’s gaze and saw what she was pointing at. Hurrying across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest was a dark figure whose purposeful stride was unmistakable.

“It’s Snape,” Harry said, watching as the man continued across the grounds and then disappeared into the forest.

“Where do you reckon he’s going?” Ron asked.

“He must be doing something for Dumbledore or the Order,” Hermione replied. “I can’t think of any other reason he’d be leaving the castle at this hour.”

Unfortunately, Harry could and he felt cold dread as he and his friends continued on up to the castle. Furtively as possible, they snuck through the halls and up to Gryffindor Tower. Neville, Dean and Seamus were all sound asleep when Harry and Ron got to their dormitory and Ron began to snore almost as soon as he crawled into bed. Harry, however, couldn’t sleep.

It was as though he was back at Grimmauld Place again, lying awake waiting for the sound of the front door to open and the tread of footsteps on the stairs. He longed to go after Snape, but he reminded himself that he was supposed to leave the surveillance to Knight. He wondered, though, if Knight even knew that Snape had gone. Surely he at least had a responsibility to make certain that the Auror had the information she needed to do her job.

Harry quickly lit his wand, pulled the Marauder’s Map from under his pillow and scanned it. Knight was not in her quarters, nor in any of the public areas of the castle, nor out on the grounds. Harry looked over the whole map a second time, but there was still no sign of her. Harry felt slightly disappointed that the Defense teacher was already gone, but obviously she had to have her own means of tracking Snape. Having exhausted his only excuse for caring about Snape’s whereabouts, Harry stuffed the map back under his pillow and lay down.

Sleep still didn’t come, however, as a new worry pushed to the forefront of Harry’s mind. How had Bellatrix Lestrange found them in Dorset? It was possible that Ron was right – that they’d simply missed a ward on the house. But Bellatrix hadn’t just known that there was an intruder; she had known that he was there. Harry couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d been pursued by Death Eaters. Maybe Hermione hadn’t missed any wards. Maybe he was the one the Death Eaters were tracking.

Harry felt a prickle of fear on the back of his neck as he stared into the darkness. The Death Eaters had found a way to use the Sniffer Charm on him once. Could they have done it again? Harry couldn’t rule out that possibility. For that matter, a simple tracer spell could have found him. He hadn’t even thought to use any anti-tracking charms when they left Hogwarts because they weren’t supposed to be away from school. Unlike the attack in London, no one should have been looking for him tonight.

So how had Bellatrix Lestrange known to do so? According to her husband, even Voldemort hadn’t known that Harry was in Dorset. In fact, Rodolphus Lestrange had sounded skeptical himself. It was Bellatrix alone who had been certain that Harry was at the Keene estate.

Harry felt the prickling on the back of his neck increase. This was the third unsolved mystery that Harry knew of regarding the Death Eaters – and at least the second involving Bellatrix Lestrange. The first puzzle had been her amazing escape from Azkaban. As far as Harry knew, that still had the Aurors stumped. Then there was the Sniffer Charm that the Death Eaters had managed to learn of only days later. No one knew how they’d come by that. And now Bellatrix had inexplicably turned up in Dorset. Harry had a gut feeling that all three of these events were somehow related and wished that he could tell someone in the Order of his suspicions. But that was impossible because it would mean revealing his trip to Dorset and he couldn’t do that.

Harry felt a twinge of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. If Bellatrix really was behind all of these events then she posed a danger that the Order needed to be aware of and Harry had a duty to warn them. But surely the Order already knew, Harry reasoned. They were constantly working against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. If nothing else, Snape’s spying certainly must have uncovered some clue by now. It was silly to think that he might have discovered something that everyone else had missed.

Harry’s stomach twisted again, not at all convinced by this reasoning, but Harry ignored it. He couldn’t admit to Dumbledore that he’d disobeyed him by going to Dorset to continue the search for Riddle’s research. Besides, if he hadn’t gone to Dorset, he’d never have come to suspect Bellatrix, so by not telling Dumbledore, he was simply doing what he would have done had he obeyed the man in the first place.

Harry’s stomach twitched and then was still, apparently persuaded – or at least confused enough – by this tortured logic to accept his decision to remain quiet. Harry sighed in relief, rolled over and pulled his covers up around him. And really, he thought as he drifted towards sleep, he already had so many secrets he was keeping from so many people, one more could hardly hurt.

Snape launched into a detailed description of the Mandrake Draught: its history, properties and uses. Hermione, who was sitting next to Harry, wrote furiously, apparently determined to take down every word that Snape was saying. Yet despite Snape’s insistence that this information was crucial, Harry could muster no interest in the lecture. He was still brooding over the near-disaster in Dorset the previous evening.

Harry hadn’t had the chance to discuss it with Ron, Ginny or Hermione yet, but the more he turned the events over in his own mind, the more convinced he became that there was more to the Death Eaters’ arrival at the Keene manor than an undetected ward. The old house had been abandoned for years, maybe even since before he’d been born. There was no way that there would have been a spell to detect his presence specifically. That meant that Bellatrix Lestrange must have been tipped off to go looking for him and Harry had a good idea of who might have told her so.

Harry glanced across the classroom to where Draco Malfoy sat unenthusiastically taking down notes. The Slytherin looked subdued at the moment. His usual sullen scowl was missing and he seemed oddly reserved. Was he trying to hide his guilt and disappointment that Harry hadn’t been captured the night before?

It made perfect sense. Malfoy was the son of one prominent Death Eater and the nephew of another. He’d already sent up the Dark Mark during the Quidditch match the previous year. Who better to serve as the Death Eaters’ spy at Hogwarts? Harry only wondered how he could have been so thick as to have not realized it before. But at the same time he felt relieved. There was no sinister mystery to Bellatrix having found them in Dorset. Draco had undoubtedly spotted them leaving, sent word to his aunt and she had tracked them to the old manor.

“Mr. Potter, perhaps you would like to explain the Mandrake’s restorative properties to the class since you don’t feel the need to pay attention while I do so.”

Harry looked up to find Snape standing in front of him, arms crossed and glaring coldly at him. “Am I boring you?”

“No. No, of course not. Sir.” Harry said.

“I’m delighted to hear it. Given that you are far from the top student in this class, you can ill afford daydreaming. Five points from Gryffindor.”

Snape turned away to resume his lecture and for the rest of the lesson Harry forced himself to appear attentive. He was relieved when the bell finally rang.

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked as they left the classroom.

“I’m fine, though I’d be better if Snape didn’t take every opportunity to humiliate me. The way he acts, you’d think I was failing Potions.”

“Well, you were a million miles away,” Hermione retorted. “It was obvious that you weren’t paying any attention.”

Just then Malfoy passed them and Harry frowned. The Slytherin never missed a chance to taunt Harry and surely should have had some scathing remark to make about the dressing down Harry had received from Snape. Instead, he simply hurried by without even looking at Harry.

Harry dropped his voice. “I think I know how Bellatrix Lestrange found us last night.”

---

“Malfoy!” Ron grimaced as though the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. “We should have spotted that straight away. It has to have been him.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were in the boys’ dormitory where they’d lately taken to discussing matters they didn’t want anyone else to overhear.

“I can’t believe that I didn’t think to cast any anti-tracking charms last night!” Hermione said.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry reassured her. “None of us expected anyone to be following us.”

“What should we do about Malfoy?” Ginny asked. She was sitting cross-legged on Harry’s bed regarding him alertly. “If he’s spying for the Death Eaters, then you’re probably not the only one he’s watching.”

“That’s true,” Hermione said. “He could be passing all sorts of information.”

Harry nodded. He’d already considered that. “We’ll need to keep an eye on him, but we have to be careful. We don’t want him to know that we’ve spotted what he’s up to.”

Ron, Ginny and Hermione agreed to this and Harry was actually cheered by the prospect of watching Malfoy. It made him feel useful at least, particularly since they’d hit a dead end in the search for Riddle’s research.

Unfortunately, over the next two weeks, this surveillance proved to be far less interesting than Harry had expected. After observing Malfoy at every opportunity, Harry was forced to admit that while the Slytherin seemed preoccupied and tense, he had done nothing to warrant any suspicion, nor indeed anything to draw attention to himself at all. He’d even stopped acting up in Knight’s lessons.

Harry was almost disappointed in Malfoy and wondered if Bellatrix had warned her nephew to lie low after the debacle in Dorset. Fortunately, Harry had other things to occupy him besides spying on the Slytherin. He had thrown himself into his lessons with Dumbledore and Knight, putting all of his efforts into learning to duel both in the physical world and in the mind.

His hard work was paying off, too. He was particularly pleased at the progress he was making with Knight. He had finally learnt to cast protective charms non-verbally and was working diligently on learning to do the same with the Summoning spell.

“If you never learn to cast another spell non-verbally, learn this one,” Knight had told him with a sly smile. “For a creative wizard, Accio has endless possibilities.”

Harry’s progress with Dumbledore was slower, but the old wizard was unwaveringly encouraging and his confidence in Harry was infectious. Harry always left the headmaster’s office feeling sure that he would be able to defeat Voldemort.

Then there was Quidditch. As Halloween approached, Ron badgered Harry to schedule more practices in order to prepare for Gryffindor’s upcoming match against Slytherin. Harry was happy to oblige and booked the pitch as often as possible, allowing himself to forget his cares while soaring through the sky with his teammates.

It was after one such practice that Harry, Ron and Ginny landed in high spirits to find Hermione waiting for them. Hermione occasionally came out to watch them practice, but today she looked even more exultant than Harry felt.

“I’ve found it!” she said, her face flushed with triumph.

“Found what?” Harry asked.

“Our next lead on Riddle’s research!”

Harry, Ron and Ginny gaped at Hermione.

“What?” Harry said. “How?”

“After we went to Dorset I started thinking about the house and I began to wonder if Riddle had any other property where he might have hidden his research. That’s when I realized that I’d missed the obvious. Instead of searching for Thane and Lawrence, I should have been searching the records for other properties that were owned by the company that owns the house in Dorset. When I did, I found an old cottage out in the middle of a moor in Wales. The last known resident was a man named Ethan Celic.”

“Who’s he?” Ron asked.

“An old friend.” Hermione held out a piece of parchment:

ETHAN CELIC CECIL THANE

Quidditch forgotten, Harry took the slip of parchment and looked at Hermione. “Do we know if he’s still living there?”

Hermione shook her head. “The cottage is really remote. The nearest village is forty miles away.

“Well, Wales is no further than Dorset,” Ron said. “When do we leave?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Hermione said. “And I think we’d be better off going during the day.”

“Are you barking? How are we supposed to sneak around in the daytime?”

“We can use disillusionment charms if we have to and it’ll make searching the place a lot easier. Besides, sneaking about at night didn’t do us much good last time and I don’t fancy stumbling around a moor in the dark. This Saturday is the first Hogsmeade weekend. All we have to do is leave the castle with everyone else and no one will miss us.”

Ron looked at Harry. “What do you think?”

Harry considered a moment then nodded. “Yeah. That should work. The three of us ought to be able to step into any alley and Disapparate.”

“What do you mean, the three of you?” Ginny said indignantly. “I’m coming too.”

Harry looked at her calmly. “No, you’re not.”

Ginny flushed in anger. “I can fight as well as any of you!”

“This isn’t about how well you can fight. Until you can Apparate on your own, it’s too risky for you to come with us.”

“I can Apparate with you. Or Ron, or Hermione –”

“And what happens if we get separated?” Harry snapped.

Ginny glared defiantly at Harry, but she clearly had no good answer to that, and Harry pressed the point. “I already have enough to worry about; enough people risking their lives to give me the chance to finish Voldemort. I don’t need anyone taking stupid risks.”

Ginny continued to glare stubbornly at Harry. “I’m not going to just sit around here being useless!”

“You won’t be,” Hermione interjected.

Ginny threw Hermione an exasperated look. “What good can I do here?”

“You can be our backup. If we take our mirrors with us and you have yours, then if we get into any trouble we can call you to send help.”

Ginny considered that suggestion for a moment then let out a deep breath and nodded. “All right. That makes sense, I suppose.”

“That’s settled then,” Harry said. “We’ll go Saturday afternoon.”

---

Harry was excited at the prospect of taking up the search for Riddle’s research once more and couldn’t wait to investigate the house in Wales, so naturally the next several days dragged by. It seemed that the more impatient Harry became for Saturday to arrive, the slower time passed. At last on Friday evening, Harry gathered with his friends in the common room to play Exploding Snap in the hope that the hours would slip away more quickly. They were on their second round when Professor McGonagall came in carrying a large scroll.

“I need everyone’s attention, please. Due to the attack at the end of last term, there are new security measures in place in Hogsmeade that those of you thinking of going into town tomorrow need to be aware of. To begin with, students may visit Hogsmeade only between the hours of one and four o’clock.”

A murmur of discontent ran through the assembled students. “That’s only three hours,” Dean complained.

“Which is more than enough time to spend your money on sweets and butterbeer, Mr. Thomas,” McGonagall said. “The restriction in hours is necessary. While our students are in Hogsmeade, there will be at least four Hogwarts staff in town acting as chaperones. In addition, the Ministry is doubling the number of Aurors on patrol during these hours.”

Harry and his friends exchanged concerned glances. They hadn’t reckoned on having to skirt that much security.

“Tomorrow, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Hagrid and I will be in Hogsmeade,” McGonagall continued. “If you notice anything suspicious, find one of us or an Auror immediately. Finally, I need a show of hands of everyone who is planning to go into town tomorrow so that I can take down your names. You will need to check out and back in with Mr. Filch so that we know that all students are accounted for.”

Most of the students in the room raised their hands, though some seemed hesitant and Harry noticed dark looks being exchanged among his housemates.

“Do you reckon that three hours will be enough time?” Ron whispered.

“It’ll have to be,” Harry replied.

“What about the Aurors?” Ginny asked. “Leaving shouldn’t be a problem, but coming back –”

“Weasley, Weasley, Granger,” McGonagall said as she approached them, holding the open scroll of parchment. A quill hovering above it quickly scribbled down three entries. McGonagall closed the scroll and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but you can’t go.”

“What?” Harry said, taken aback.

“Given what happened last term, the Ministry has forbidden you to go into Hogsmeade.”

“But Professor – !”

“It’s out of my hands, Potter. Even the headmaster has no authority to override the Ministry’s order. I’m sorry.” McGonagall turned away and unrolled her scroll once more. “Thomas, Patil…”

“It’s the stupid DPS!” Ginny said. “They have no right, Harry!”

“What are we going to do?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. “I’ll just have to sneak out and meet you.”

“No, you won’t,” Hermione said. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. I have an idea.”

They headed up to the boys dormitory. Once there, Hermione explained her plan. “This might actually work to our advantage”

Ginny frowned. “How?”

“Half of the teachers are going to be busy watching the students in Hogsmeade which means they won’t be paying attention to those of us left behind at school. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to slip away. All we have to do is sneak down to the Whomping Willow without being seen and go to the Shrieking Shack. We’ll bypass all of the security plus Filch won’t be waiting for us to come back.”

“You know, you’re actually quite devious when you want to be,” Ron said approvingly.

“All right then,” Harry said. “Keep an eye on Malfoy while I’m in detention to make sure he’s not snooping around. We’ll leave as soon as Snape dismisses me.”

---

Despite Quidditch practice, Saturday mornings had become the low point of Harry’s week. Since following Snape to London and his subsequent conversations with Knight, Harry’s unease at the thought of Snape murdering Death Eaters had become a constant dread lurking at the back of his mind. He had stuffed the Marauders Map away in his bedside table and determinedly avoided the obituaries page of the Daily Prophet, but still he was haunted by the possibility that the man might be out stalking another victim on any given night.

Most of the time Harry could push these thoughts aside, but in the silence of the Potions Master’s office with the man sitting in front of him, it was impossible. As a result, Harry’s concentration had suffered and his progress on his essays had slowed dramatically. This Saturday morning was even worse than usual.

Harry found it impossible to think about anything but the trip to Wales and fidgeted impatiently in his seat. As noon came and went, he glanced with increasing frequency and frustration at his watch. Snape hadn’t kept him this late in weeks and of all the days the man might have chosen to hold him back, this was the last one Harry could afford.

“You seem anxious today, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled at last, looking up from the stack of homework he was marking. “Is there some place in particular that you’re in a hurry to be?”

“No, sir,” Harry lied through gritted teeth.

Snape smirked. “Good. I thought you might have forgotten that you aren’t allowed to go into Hogsmeade. I certainly wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstanding on that point.”

Harry bit his lip to keep from swearing in frustration. So that was it. Harry should have realized that Snape would expect him to try to flout the Ministry’s order. Of course, Snape was right, but that didn’t diminish Harry’s indignation. More importantly, if Snape kept him in detention half the afternoon, he’d miss his best opportunity to investigate the cottage in Wales. He had to convince Snape to let him go, but he had no idea how to do so. Arguing certainly wouldn’t work and the idea of appealing to the man’s sympathy was laughable.

But as Harry sat with his jaw clenched in anger staring at the smug, knowing look on Snape’s face, the answer suddenly came to him, like an epiphany. Harry’s mouth twitched into the slightest smile.

“If that’s what you’re worried about, you needn’t bother,” he said lightly, with a dismissive shrug. “I wasn’t planning on going into Hogsmeade anyway.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “Really?”

“That’s right.” Harry looked straight into Snape’s eyes. “My last visit pretty well put me off the place.”

Snape’s expression didn’t change, but Harry knew the man well and spotted the slight tensing in Snape’s jaw and shoulders that told him his words had hit their mark. Snape looked back down at the essay he was marking. “Very well then, Mr. Potter, you may go.”

Snape’s smooth drawl betrayed no emotion and Harry made certain not to reveal his own feelings as he quickly gathered his things and left the office. Once he had closed the door behind him, though, he grinned in triumph. At long last he’d managed to beat Snape in a verbal sparring match and it felt wonderful. Harry took off at a run for Gryffindor tower, so pleased with himself that he didn’t notice the small voice whispering in the back of his mind, telling him that what he had just done was wrong.

---

Snape sat at his desk scowling at the unread essay in front of him and wondering how he could have been so obtuse as to accuse Potter of wanting to sneak into Hogsmeade.

Of course, it had been apparent from the moment Potter had set foot in the office that morning that the boy was particularly anxious to be elsewhere. Since it was also the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, Snape had jumped to the obvious conclusion. That had been his first mistake. He should have known that Hogsmeade was the last place Potter would want to set foot and he had deserved the boy’s sarcastic reminder of that fact. But this begged the question of why Potter had been in such a hurry. Aside from meeting his friends in Hogsmeade, Snape couldn’t imagine what might have inspired such urgency.

Maybe if you’d kept him in detention you’d have found out, a disgruntled voice sneered in his mind.

Snape grimaced. That had been his second mistake. He never should have let the boy go. It was the very thing Potter had been hoping for when he delivered his unmistakably calculated barb, Snape knew, though he wasn’t angry with the boy for that. Actually, he almost felt proud of Potter; the ploy had been worthy of a Slytherin. Nevertheless, it shouldn’t have worked against Slytherin’s head of house. And yet, it had. He had allowed himself to be manipulated by a seventeen year old boy.

Snape sighed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Perhaps it was lack of sleep that was playing havoc with his emotions and judgment. It had been months since he’d managed more than four hours a night. But Snape’s lip immediately curled in contempt at that notion. It was a weak excuse and Snape had no patience for weak excuses, neither from others nor especially from himself. Also, he generally tried not to lie to himself, if for no other reason than that self-delusion was not conducive to long life for a spy. Snape knew that he wasn’t suffering from sleep-deprivation. The plain, frustrating, absurd truth was that Potter’s words had hurt. Snape loathed admitting that weakness. Worse, it troubled him.

Snape craved few things in life. Respect was one: acknowledgement of his talents and effort. The other was control. Snape didn’t covet power on a grand scale, but in his own life and work he needed to feel in command. At Hogwarts, he taught as he liked and ran his house as he pleased. No student ever stepped out of line in Snape’s class without regretting it. He was feared by all. Likewise as a spy he had complete autonomy. But most of all Snape needed to feel in control of himself. He prided himself on his emotional control. Indeed, it was his ability to shut down his feelings that had allowed him to deceive the Dark Lord for so long. The prospect of losing that control was alarming and he could no longer deny that it was happening with Potter, though at least he had the bitter consolation of knowing why.

Snape was certain that the Occlumency and Legilimency lessons he’d given Potter were to blame. Such prolonged mental intimacy formed a bond between wizards and he was never going to forgive Dumbledore for manipulating him into that. Snape had discounted the effects of that bond at first, imagining himself to be immune to such sentimental foolishness. Perhaps with anyone else he might have been. But he had realized far too late what Dumbledore surely had known all along – Harry Potter wasn’t just anyone. There was too much history between them and the intense hatred Snape had long felt for the boy had turned to sympathy and concern with shocking ease.

In and of itself, this wouldn’t have been an issue. Snape had always been committed to protecting Potter, after all. If he cared about the boy as well, what of it? The problem was that Potter had come to care for him, to respect him, to trust him. Snape hadn’t realized how much that had come to mean to him until that fateful day on the road outside Hogsmeade. Potter’s anguish and fury at having been betrayed had torn at Snape’s heart and ripped open the old wound which, if not healed, had at least lain buried under sixteen years of life’s numbing drudgery. Now, that pain was as raw as it had been on Halloween night sixteen years ago and Potter’s earnest attempts over summer to repair the breach between them had felt like salt being rubbed into the wound.

That was why Snape had worked so hard to push the boy away. He had thought that if he could dissuade Potter – make the boy realize that he didn’t deserve forgiveness or compassion – then perhaps Potter would stop caring about him and his pain would subside. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Snape had found solace in the indifference or contempt of others. In his experience, hate was far easier to bear than empathy.

It hadn’t quite worked out with Potter, though. While the boy’s attitude towards him had indeed turned guarded and cool, that had given Snape no satisfaction and today, as the boy had looked him in the eyes and calmly spoken those deliberately hurtful words, Snape had known that he’d been wrong. Potter’s cavalier indictment of him was every bit as painful as the boy’s prior forgiveness had been and Snape had realized with a sort of awful wonder that he didn’t want Harry Potter to hate him.

A bit late for that, the mocking voice in Snape’s mind commented dryly.

Snape shook his head, disgusted with himself. He was being childish. Potter had every right to hate him and to hold him bound for his crimes. It was no more than Snape had ever expected and there was no reason for it to affect him this much. Fortunately, they were in the middle of a war. There was no time for maudlin regret and no point in wishing that his life could be something other than it was. He simply had to do what he had always done: get through just one more day and hope to repeat the process indefinitely.

With that pragmatic goal in mind, Snape picked up his quill and forced himself to focus on the essay before him.

---

Harry, Ron and Hermione had no difficulty making their way to the Whomping Willow unobserved while Ginny waited in her dormitory for an alarm they all hoped would never be sent. Once at the Shrieking Shack, Hermione cast anti-tracking charms on each of them then they Disapparated and reappeared on a damp, foggy moor.

The moor was shrouded in a thick mist that seemed to cling to everything. Though it was the middle of the day, Harry couldn’t see the sun, nor make out anything beyond twenty paces in front of him.

“It should be this way,” Hermione said, pointing into the blank whiteness off to their left. Her voice sounded oddly muffled by the chill fog that was closing in around them.

“Let’s go then,” Harry said, striking off in the direction Hermione had indicated with Ron and Hermione close behind. They walked in silence, picking their way around bogs and numerous stones littering their path. Harry strained to listen for any sound that might signal danger ahead, but there was none. The moor was eerily silent.

After a few minutes, the cottage appeared like an apparition coalescing out of the mist. It was a squat little house that seemed to have been cobbled together out of stones from the surrounding moor and was so gray with age and neglect that it blended almost perfectly into the mist shrouding it, as though it was a part of the mist itself. There was a low stone wall, crumbling in places, which ran around the cottage and was broken by a rusted metal gate. This hemmed in a forlorn looking yard which, if it had ever been tended, had long since been reclaimed by the moor.

Harry, Ron and Hermione slowed to a halt, regarding the house warily for a moment before Harry beckoned for them to keep moving. They crept forward and huddled down behind the wall next to the gate. Harry peered through the rusted bars at the house. It appeared dark and deserted and he could hear no sound coming from it, but that hardly meant there was no danger. To begin with, they needed to ensure that there were no wards protecting the place. Harry looked at Hermione but she hardly seemed to be paying attention to the cottage. She was shivering and had her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

Harry frowned. “Are you all right?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s just so dreadfully cold.”

It was cold, now that Harry thought of it, but he ignored the chill seeping into his bones and raised his wand. “Manifesto!”

There was no response from his wand, not even the slightest twitch to indicate that any wards were present.

“I’ll have a look. Wait here.” Ignoring the gate, Harry leapt lightly over the wall and moved cautiously towards the house. He peered through the grimy window next to the weather-beaten front door, but could see no sign of life. He signaled for Ron and Hermione to join him.

“Do you reckon it’s deserted?” Ron asked.

“There’s one way to find out.” Holding his wand at the ready, Harry rapped sharply on the front door, listening intently for any response. There was none and after a minute Ron spoke again.

“I’d say there’s no one home.”

Harry took hold of the doorknob and twisted it. To his surprise, it turned and the door swung open with a muffled creak.

“Lumos,” Harry said as Ron and Hermione lit their own wands. He stepped through the door into a low-ceilinged room that felt cramped despite being sparsely furnished. There was a sunken, worn-out sofa against one wall and what had probably once been a matching chair in another corner. What caught Harry’s attention, though, was an old sagging bookcase whose shelves held stacks of parchment and notebooks.

“Have a look at these,” Harry said, crossing the room to examine the papers more closely. He pulled out a large stack of yellowing pages from one of the shelves and spread it on a nearby table where he, Ron and Hermione peered down at them and Harry felt his heart leap.

While the handwriting wasn’t Riddle’s, this was unmistakably research of some sort. There were pages and Arithmancy calculations as well as scrawled notes on various runes and their interactions with one another. Most of the notes however concerned magic Harry had never even heard of.

“I can’t make heads or tails of any of this,” Ron said, echoing Harry’s own thoughts.

“Hermione, what do you think?” Harry asked.

“I think it’s hopeless.”

Harry and Ron both looked at Hermione in disbelief.

“Just look at all of this,” Hermione continued, waving her hand to encompass the table and bookcase. “It’s a mess. Nothing’s organized and even if we could work it all out, what good would it do? None of this is going to help us defeat Voldemort.”

“You don’t know that,” Harry snapped, feeling a rush of anger at Hermione. “You’ve barely even glanced at any of this.”

“It’s useless!”

“No, it’s not!” Harry slammed his fist down on the table which shuddered under the impact. He hadn’t come all this way to give up. He refused to give in to hopelessness and he was furious with Hermione for doing so.

“Harry, Hermione…”

Harry turned on Ron who was staring at him in concern. “What? Do you want to quit too?”

“Of course not! Are you both mad? What’s wrong with you two?”

Harry took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, forcing himself to calm down. He didn’t know why he felt so anxious, but before he could give the matter any thought, he heard a sound, almost like the moaning of the wind. Only this sound hadn’t come from outside. It had come from just beyond a doorway to his right. Someone else was in the house.

The moan rose and fell once more as Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks of alarm. Harry raised his wand and the three of them moved quietly towards the sound. They peered through the doorway and found a small, squalid kitchen. Unwashed dishes were scattered about and there was a faint stench of rancid food. Flies buzzed in the light of a single oil lamp which sputtered on a rickety table casting its feeble glow around the tiny room. Sitting in a rocking chair, close to the cold fireplace was a wizened old man who looked as gray as everything else they had encountered.

For a moment, Harry wondered if the man was dead, but then realized that the emaciated figure was the source of the sound they’d heard. Though his lips never moved, the man was making a soft keening sound, half moan, half unintelligible words.

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged another glance then approached the man.

“This must be Cecil Thane,” Hermione whispered.

Harry nodded and stepped closer to the man. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Thane?”

The man showed no sign that he heard Harry, but continued his soft keening. Harry looked questioningly at Ron and Hermione. Ron shrugged and Harry turned back to the man

“Mr. Thane!” he said more loudly. “Can you hear me?”

The keening stopped and the man turned sunken eyes towards Harry who shuddered. It was like looking into the eyes of a corpse, but after a moment a spark of life seemed to flicker in their depths and suddenly the man sprang to his feet, a mad look of terror and desire on his gaunt features. He held out a skeletal hand and pointed at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“Are you Mudbloods?” he demanded. “No Mudbloods are allowed here! You understand me? No Mudbloods!”

“We’re not,” Harry lied. “We’re purebloods – all of us. We just want to talk to you, Mr. Thane.”

The man shook his head and sank back into his chair. “Cecil’s not here.”

Harry looked at his friends in confusion and after a moment, Hermione spoke in a small, hesitant voice. “Are you Mordecai Lawrence?”

The man nodded, staring blankly at the wall. Harry sighed and stepped directly in front of the man.

“Mr. Lawrence, we need to ask you some questions.”

Slowly the man raised his head and looked at Harry. “Questions?”

“About Tom Riddle.”

“Tom?” Lawrence murmured softly. “Tom. We were at school together.”

“That’s right,” Harry prompted. “He called himself Lord Voldemort.”

A look of pain and fear flashed across Lawrence’s face. “It was just a nickname he gave himself – a clever anagram of his own name. That’s all it was… just a nickname.”

“What happened after you left school? Do you remember? Riddle was doing some sort of research. Do you know anything about that?”

Lawrence’s voice grew stronger as Harry’s words sparked memories from half a century ago.

“He wanted to become immortal. Tom, he was always the best pupil in our class and he had an idea of how he could manage it. He asked Albert, Cecil and me to help him. We agreed, of course. To find a means of achieving immortality – who could resist the chance to do that?”

“What did you do? How did you help him?” Harry prodded as Lawrence lapsed into silence, seemingly lost in his memories. The man roused himself once more.

“After school we went to stay with Albert. His estate was large and provided ample privacy from prying eyes, both wizard and Muggle alike.” Lawrence smiled at the memory. “That first year was a good one. We worked almost constantly, excited and hopeful of success. Tom traveled a great deal. He was working for Borgin and Burke’s where he made all sorts of connections that he in turn exploited for our own work. He was often away for weeks at a time, but he brought back wondrous texts, full of ancient magic none of us had ever even dreamed of before. He would never tell us where or how he came by the books. He probably charmed some of his wealthy, unsuspecting clients out of them. It didn’t matter, but as one year turned to two, the key to immortality still eluded us.

“Then, on one of his trips, Tom brought back an obscure treatise from Armenia about Dementors. It was the most in-depth study of them I’d ever seen and Tom was particularly excited about it. He was convinced that Dementors held the key to the kind of immortality he was searching for because they’re the only creatures who can manipulate a soul. A Dementor’s Kiss doesn’t kill, you see; the soul doesn’t pass on into Death. Rather, the Dementor draws the soul out of its victim, deliberately, with perfect control, and consumes it.”

Harry shuddered as Lawrence continued. “Of course, the treatise was of little more than academic value without an actual Dementor to study, but Tom wasn’t to be deterred. A fortnight after bringing us the treatise, he turned up more elated than I’d ever seen him. He had captured a Dementor. I was nearly as excited as he was. I’d always been fascinated by every sort of creature and almost nothing was known of Dementors at that time. Using the Armenian treatise as a starting point, we began to experiment – to try to discover the secret that allows a Dementor to capture a living soul.” Lawrence’s voice faltered and he lapsed into silence again, staring once more into the cold fireplace.

“What happened next?” Harry asked.

For a long moment the man showed no sign of having heard the question. Harry was about to prompt him again when Lawrence finally replied in a strangled whisper.

“It Kissed Albert.”

A terrible silence hung in the air before Lawrence hurried on. “It was an accident. He and Tom were alone with it one morning and it somehow broke through the wards Tom had set up. Tom managed to subdue it again, but not before…

“We couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. Harboring a Dementor was against the law. We’d have all been sent to Azkaban. So that night we took Albert out to a bluff overlooking the ocean. It was so simple, really. He had no mind and never struggled. And Tom was right – Albert was already worse than dead, so it could hardly be called murder.

“The next morning, Tom notified the Aurors that Albert was missing and two days after that they recovered his body on an insolated beach. His death was deemed a tragic accident and no one ever even suspected the truth.

“We buried Albert there in Quixby, but we knew that it would be too dangerous to stay ourselves. Tom was already talking of having more than one Dementor for our research. I wasn’t even sure we should continue after what had happened to Albert, but Tom was insistent. He’d learnt a lot from Albert’s death and was almost obsessed with carrying on. He said that we owed it to Albert. And so we came out here.

Lawrence fell silent once more and Harry dreaded pressing the man for more details of the grotesque work he’d done. But Harry had to know how Voldemort had succeeded in achieving immortality.

“So after you came out here, what happened? How many more Dementors did you capture?”

“None,” Lawrence said, rousing once more. “We bred them.”

“What?”

“They’re asexual; they grow like fungi,” Lawrence explained calmly. Then his eyes lit up and his voice grew stronger than ever. “It was fascinating research. It took two years, but we finally succeeded in discovering how they separate a soul from a body. Think of it – of the possibilities! But we went beyond that. We were able to manipulate their natures and domesticate them to a degree. Tom envisioned a whole new breed of Dementors that would attack only Mudbloods. Loosing them on the population would purify the wizarding world.”

“It’s a good thing that never worked out,” Ron whispered.

Lawrence shook his head. “The new ones were too unstable. Even a half dozen wizards together would cause them to turn and flee. They can only exist in very isolated areas, which is why I still live out here. They won’t hurt me. They’re almost like my children.”

Harry stared at Lawrence, appalled. “They’re here?”

“Of course. They’re in the very mist.” Lawrence smiled brightly and Harry knew that the man was quite mad.

“Harry, Ron, look.”

Hermione’s breathless whisper drew Harry’s attention and he turned towards her. She was staring out the window with an expression of horrified dread and with a terrible sense of foreboding, Harry followed her gaze. While they had been talking the mist had been gathering outside and was now so dense that Harry could see nothing, not the moor, nor the crumbling wall circling the cottage, nor even any of the ramshackle yard just outside – nothing but a swirling, waiting whiteness.

“You’ve brought them,” Lawrence croaked in a coarse whisper. “You lied!”

Lawrence jumped to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at Harry. His eyes were wild with the same look of terror and desire they’d held when he’d first spoken to them.

“You’re Mudbloods! They only come to feed on Mudbloods!”

Harry backed away from the man.

“LIAR! LIAR!” Lawrence screamed hysterically.

Ron seized Harry’s arm and pulled him towards the door. “Harry, we have to get out of here!”

Harry turned with his friends and bolted from the kitchen, Lawrence’s shrieks following them as they fled. Harry yanked open the front door and gasped. It was like opening the door to a freezer. The air was oppressive and icy cold. Harry pushed his way outside through the mist and raised his wand.

“Expecto Patronum!” he called, but though his Patronus leapt from his wand, it was almost instantly swallowed up by the pervasive whiteness.

“Expecto – ” Harry’s voice faltered. He was dizzy and disoriented by the mist pressing in on him. He couldn’t see anything. Ron and Hermione, who should have been right behind him, had vanished. Harry stumbled and fell to the ground, his head spinning. He knew that he was about to pass out and fought to stay conscious.

“Harry!”

Harry looked up. Ron was standing beside him, cradling Hermione in his arms. She was unconscious.

“Come on, Harry! You’ve got to get up!”

Ron’s presence seemed to help banish the fog invading Harry’s mind. He struggled to his feet against the weight of the mist bearing down on him.

“Go on and Apparate,” Ron said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Harry didn’t argue. He gritted his teeth and spun around then felt the familiar compression of Apparation. For a moment he thought he might pass out after all, but then his feet hit solid ground and he pitched forward onto his hands and knees on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

With a pop, Ron appeared with Hermione. He laid her on the dusty floor as Harry gulped down several deep breaths and shook his head to clear it.

Ron knelt beside Hermione and shook her gently. “Wake up, Hermione! Come on, wake up!”

There was no response. Ron shook her harder and pleaded desperately. “Hermione! Please, wake up! Come on!”

Suddenly, Hermione eyes flew open, but they were unseeing and wide with terror. She screamed and began flailing wildly as if to beat off an attack. Ron grabbed her wrists to keep from being throttled and called her name urgently, but Hermione only fought harder. Ron abandoned her wrists. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position, ignoring her struggles. He shook her hard and shouted into her face. “HERMIONE!”

That brought Hermione back to herself. She stopped fighting and looked around dazedly. “Ron?” she whispered weakly, searching his face.

Ron nodded.

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione buried her head on Ron’s shoulder and sobbed. Ron wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently.

“It’s all right,” he said comfortingly. “It’s all right, now.”

The three of them sat in silence as the minutes dragged by and Hermione’s sobs diminished. At last she pulled away from Ron and gave him a wan smile.

Ron kissed her on the cheek then looked at Harry. “Voldemort used Dementors to achieve immortality? I think I’d rather die.”

Harry couldn’t have agreed more. He nodded and stood up. “Come on. We’d better get back before we’re missed.”

The trek back through the tunnel to the Whomping Willow was made in silence. Hermione still looked pale and shaken and Ron kept his arm around her as they walked. Harry’s thoughts were racing. Even if Voldemort had found a way to manipulate souls the same way that Dementors did, how would that have helped him achieve immortality? Dementors destroyed the souls they sucked out of their victims and even if they could be domesticated – Harry suppressed a shudder at that thought – having his soul removed from his body couldn’t be Voldemort’s idea of immortality.

If only they’d had more time to talk to Lawrence or to go through the research they’d found. Harry was certain that the answer lay in that cottage, but with the remote house surrounded by a mist apparently made up of Dementors, he didn’t know how they would ever get the chance to uncover the information they needed. They seemed to have hit another dead end, but Harry wasn’t about to give up. One way or another, he was going to uncover the secret of Voldemort’s immortality.

Harry was still preoccupied with the events in Wales when he arrived at Dumbledore’s office Monday night, but he did his best to push those thoughts aside as Dumbledore greeted him and they settled down by the fire to begin his lesson. Calming his mind, Harry faced the old wizard, reached out mentally and immediately met a wall of resistance that he would have once found impenetrable. But Harry had learnt this particular lesson well. He knew that it would not be easy to penetrate Voldemort’s mind even given the unique connection they shared and had worked especially hard to overcome every new obstacle Dumbledore erected in his mind.

As usual Harry had to use all of his skill and force of will to breach the man’s latest defenses, but at last he reached the deepest part of Dumbledore’s mind and the garden appeared around him. Harry stood panting from the exertion, but he knew that the challenge had just begun. He automatically drew his wand and looked around warily then struck off down one of the side paths in search of whatever test Dumbledore had set him.

The path he had chosen led almost immediately into an area of densely packed, towering flora: six foot high stands of bamboo, fennel and sunflowers along with rhododendrons nearly as tall as Harry. The path was sheltered from any breeze and the air was warm and heavy with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. Harry barely noticed the ancient potting shed, overgrown with ivy, but as he drew up beside it, the ivy snaked out a long tendril which twisted itself around Harry’s ankle and yanked him off of his feet. He hit the ground with a thud as the rest of the plant sprang into action, seizing Harry as he fought to pull free. It was no longer ivy, but had become Devil’s Snare and it wound around Harry so aggressively that it ripped his wand from his hand and hoisted him off the ground. Then one of the plant’s vines wrapped itself around his throat.

Harry couldn’t breathe or move and he could feel himself starting to panic, but he knew that struggling would be useless. He closed his eyes and forced himself to focus. Concentrate! At once the Devil’s Snare turned back into ivy, dumping Harry unceremoniously onto the ground. Harry sat in the dirt gasping for a moment, then stood up and dusted himself off, all the while watching the plant to ensure that it didn’t attack him again.

He continued down the path, but hadn’t gone far when he heard a sound that chilled his blood. It was a voice – inhuman and horribly familiar. “Kill. Rip. Tear.” It was a basilisk; Harry was certain. But here in the cloying profusion of plants he couldn’t tell what direction the voice was coming from and he didn’t dare look around.

Harry clutched his wand tightly, listening for the voice or any sound of movement. “Rend,” the voice hissed, much closer than it had been and Harry could hear something big rustling through the dense bushes to his left. “Devour… You!”

A huge snake as big around as an oak tree reared up twenty feet in the air behind the bushes. It looked down at Harry, but before its gaze could meet his, a blindfold appeared covering the creature’s eyes. The basilisk hesitated, swaying back and forth in confusion then it struck. Harry had darted out of the way, however and it missed by a wide margin, sinking its fangs into a rhododendron. It reared back.

Harry pocketed his wand and held out his hand, in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor appeared. “Over here!” he called.

The basilisk struck once more and this time its aim was true. But Harry sidestepped the gaping mouth and drove his sword through the side of the creature’s neck and up into its skull. He plunged the sword to its hilt then tore it free. Blood gushed from the wound as the snake shuddered and collapsed. A moment later the basilisk, sword and blood were gone and the garden path was as it had been before the attack.

“Very well done, Harry!” Dumbledore was standing beside Harry, having appeared silently out of thin air. “The blindfold, in particular, was quite inspired – an excellent example of an effective defense that also requires very little effort to execute.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, as Dumbledore led the way down the path. “But do you really think Voldemort would send a basilisk after me? I already killed one of those when I was twelve.”

“Voldemort is not particularly creative,” Dumbledore said over his shoulder. “He also has quite an affinity for snakes, so I would not be at all surprised and the basilisk remains one of the most fearsome creatures known to wizards.”

Dumbledore pushed some hanging vines out of the way and he and Harry emerged into a wilder, much more sparsely vegetated area. Flower beds had given way to stands of willowy trees and patches of clover that reached for acres in every direction. As Harry surveyed this new landscape, however, he realized that the light was fading and looked up. The sky overhead was darkening, streaked with gold and red from an unseen setting sun. Harry frowned in surprise. Of the numerous times he’d been in Dumbledore’s mind, it had always appeared to be mid-morning in the garden and regardless of how long he stayed, time never seemed to pass.

Harry turned to ask Dumbledore why this had changed, but the old man was no longer beside him. In fact, he was nowhere in sight, Harry realized as he looked around with a growing sense of foreboding. He also realized that the darkness was advancing far more rapidly than was natural. The magnificent sunset that had colored the sky only moments before was all but gone and as Harry stared up in amazement, the sky turned black and a myriad of stars appeared.

Unfortunately, these did nothing to illuminate Harry’s now pitch black surroundings. He couldn’t see two feet in any direction and he wished that there were a moon out to help light his way. No sooner had he thought it than the moon crested on the horizon. An enormous full moon rose majestically into the sky, bathing the land in its silvery glow. It was followed almost immediately by the long, mournful howl of a wolf.

The sound made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck and he turned to go back the way he had come, but he was met with a tall, impassable hedge. The path was gone. The howl sounded again, much closer this time. Harry began to walk along the hedge, looking for a way through as the wolf’s howls continued to ring out in the still night air, growing ever closer. Harry walked determinedly at first, then more and more briskly until he was running along the hedge which appeared to have no end.

A snarl stopped Harry. He turned towards the sound and raised his wand just as a patch of darkness detached itself from the shadow of a nearby tree and stepped into the moonlight. It was the wolf, a big one, and it stalked towards Harry, growling deep in its throat.

“Stupefy!” Harry called.

The wolf paused, but instead of collapsing it simply shook its head as if to dispel the effects of Harry’s spell, then continued towards its quarry.

“Reducto!” Harry yelled.

The wolf winced but the spell seemed to do no more than annoy it. It bared its teeth and snarled. Harry was annoyed too as he backed slowly away from the animal. Either of his spells should have dropped the wolf in its tracks.

The wolf was closer now and Harry could see it more clearly. He drew a sharp breath as he realized why the animal had resisted his hexes. Though the differences were subtle, Harry knew that this was no ordinary wolf, but a werewolf. Harry hesitated unable to think of any spell that might be effective against the creature and the wolf took advantage of the moment. It sprang at Harry, but Harry dodged out of the way. The animal turned and lunged again. This time it knocked Harry to the ground and Harry felt its fangs sink into his shoulder and grate on bone.

Harry brought his wand up. “Expelliarmus!”

The spell sent the wolf tumbling away from Harry. Harry rolled onto his knees, but his left arm hung uselessly at his side. With a snarl, the wolf recovered and charged at Harry again, its fangs bared. Harry braced himself, but as the animal leapt, something odd happened – it transformed in midair.

The animal that landed in front of Harry was no longer a werewolf, but a small puppy that looked to be no more than two months old. The little dog barked and attacked the hem of Harry’s robe with gusto, its tale wagging furiously all the while as Harry gaped in astonishment.

“I had hoped that a werewolf would present a rather obvious solution,” Dumbledore said waving his hand at Harry’s shoulder which healed instantly. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” Harry said sheepishly.

Dumbledore knelt down next to Harry, picked up the puppy and stroked its fur gently. The puppy wriggled in pleasure then settled down to chew on the old wizard’s beard. The sun had risen again and the tall hedge had vanished leaving the familiar garden around them.

“It is of no consequence, Harry. I dare say you won’t forget in the future and despite this particular lapse, you have become much more adept at defeating the creatures I have sent against you.” Dumbledore gave the little dog one last pat before letting it scamper away into the flowers. “Come. It’s time to go.”

Harry nodded, closed his eyes then opened them to find himself once more seated across from Dumbledore before the crackling fire in the headmaster’s office. Dumbledore tapped the teakettle on the table between them and steam immediately began to rise from it.

“Professor?” Harry said as Dumbledore poured the tea. “I’ve spent weeks learning to defend myself against all sorts of creatures, but shouldn’t I also be learning how to defend against spells? You said yourself that Voldemort has no experience fighting in the mind, so he probably wouldn’t think to send a basilisk or werewolf after me. Isn’t it more likely that he’d just pull out his wand and try to curse me?”

“Not just more likely,” Dumbledore replied, “I would say it is a certainty.” He picked up his tea and sipped it calmly as Harry stared at him in confusion.

“Then why am I wasting time learning to fight monsters?” Harry demanded.

“Because it must not come to a duel of wands between yourself and Lord Voldemort. If it does, you will lose. You needn’t look so dejected, Harry. You have admitted as much yourself. Voldemort is the most accomplished Dark wizard of the age. I cannot possibly teach you to defend yourself against him using conventional means. It would take years. But while Voldemort is far more experienced than you are, you have the greater capacity for imagination, spontaneity and thinking on your feet. That is what will give you the advantage and allow you to hold your own against him.”

“But how am I going to – to kill him? There’s no way that he can’t defend himself against any creature I could conjure.”

Dumbledore smiled affectionately at Harry. “You have forgotten what you told me when first we met this term. Why did you originally think to attack Lord Voldemort in his mind?”

Harry considered. He’d spent so much time learning to manipulate the landscape in Dumbledore’s garden that he’d lost sight of his original plan. “Because it caused him so much pain when he tried to possess me at the Ministry and I thought that if I could force my emotions on him it might do him in.”

“Precisely! Everything that I am teaching you serves but one purpose, Harry – to give you time. Your presence in Voldemort’s mind will destroy him if you can maintain the connection long enough. To do so, you will need to fight him by proxy, not face to face and you must define the battle on your own terms from the beginning. Voldemort has never fought a battle of the mind which means that he will be learning from you. You must lead him to waste time on ineffectual strategies. Distract and delay – that will be your goal. Send a dragon against him and force him to destroy it. Transform a garden gnome into a Mountain Troll and it will encourage him to transform a common garter snake into a basilisk. Manipulate him into fighting on your terms, in other words.”

“But won’t he catch on?”

“Of course. But ideally, by the time he does, he will already be suffering the effects of your presence and will not be able to effectively defend himself.”

“How does his being immortal figure into this?”

“Voldemort’s protections were designed to safeguard against all normal means of attack, but they will not hold against a sustained mental assault of the sort you will be attempting. Trust me, Harry. If you are successful, you will destroy him.”

“How can you be sure of that if you don’t know how he managed it?”

“Harry, think. Can you tell me how the Bat Bogey Hex was invented or how it works? Do you know the steps that were taken to create the Imperius Curse or what magic underlies it? Of course you don’t and yet you know what these spells do and how to counteract them. The same is true for the enchantment Voldemort invented. I cannot tell you exactly how he did what he has done, but I know how to defeat the spell.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I am sure. At the moment I cannot tell you more than that, Harry.”

“Why not?” he asked, unable to mask his impatience.

“Because it would do you no good to understand the spell which gave Voldemort immortality if you are incapable of countering it. Learning to do so must be your first priority and nothing can distract you from that.”

“But, sir –”

“Also bear in mind what I have already told you. We mustn’t do anything to give away our plans to Voldemort. That is of paramount importance. Remember your promise to me, Harry and have patience. I will tell you all that I know in due time.”

Harry didn’t reply. He felt an unmistakable twinge of guilt and took a swallow of tea to hide his unease.

“Go and try to put this out of your mind for the time being,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes, sir.” Harry gave Dumbledore a wan smile and left, but putting Voldemort’s immortality out of his mind was out of the question. It was all he’d thought about in the last two days since his encounter with Mordecai Lawrence and as much as it pained him to disobey Dumbledore, Harry couldn’t stop trying to discover the truth. Despite Dumbledore’s attempts to convince him otherwise, he was certain that uncovering the mystery behind Voldemort’s immortality was crucial to his victory over the evil wizard.

Although Dumbledore tried to sound encouraging, Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew perfectly well that fighting Voldemort wasn’t going to be easy. No matter how many fantastic beasts and other distractions he managed to come up with, at some point Voldemort would figure out his game and stop playing. Harry needed every advantage, every bit of information he could muster to prepare for that battle and the more Dumbledore tried to deflect his questions, the more resolute he became in his desire to uncover the answers.

What frustrated Harry most was that while Dumbledore might not know exactly how Voldemort had achieved immortality, he clearly knew more than he was letting on. Why was he being so guarded? Harry understood the importance of not revealing their plans to Voldemort, but couldn’t Dumbledore trust him with the information?

Harry arrived at Gryffindor tower, but irritated and preoccupied as he was, he didn’t linger in the common room to talk with his friends. Instead he went up to his dormitory where he undressed and climbed into bed even though it was still fairly early and he wasn’t really tired. He needed time alone to think, but as he glanced out the window all thoughts of Voldemort vanished. Striding across the lawn was a familiar figure dressed in black.

---

Snape slipped out of the castle and hurried across the grounds as he had done on countless occasions before, but tonight he didn’t need to Apparate to some far off corner of Britain. Instead he was headed for a meeting in Hogsmeade; one he hoped would yield some useful information for a change.

Spying on the Death Eaters had produced frustratingly few results of late which, ironically, was Snape’s own fault. He’d been quite successful in making his old colleagues doubt one another. But while this had severely hamstrung their activities it also meant that they were very hesitant to discuss anything of importance with each other. There had been little for Snape to overhear in the last two months. Now, however, he had an unexpected opportunity to gather information from an inside source.

The Three Broomsticks was moderately crowded when Snape entered, but he had no trouble spotting the Auror sitting alone in a corner. The man looked to be in his early fifties, with long graying hair and a stern, aloof bearing. He had spotted Snape as well and his mouth was set in a thin irritable line. Snape ignored the man and proceeded to the bar to order a glass of elf wine – “properly aged. The last I had was entirely too sweet.”

The barkeep frowned, but produced a glass of wine that Snape tasted and declared acceptable. Snape then headed towards the man in the corner who was drumming his fingers impatiently on the table.

“It’s about time,” he said coldly as Snape sat down next to him.

“Patience,” Snape counseled in a voice that wouldn’t carry beyond their table. “We don’t want to draw undue attention.”

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d picked a less public place to meet!” the man retorted.

Snape smiled slightly in amusement. “You have a great deal to learn about being a spy. Loitering in alleys or similar places that respectable wizards shun is both amateurish and obvious. Believe me; no one will look twice at an Auror and one of Dumbledore’s staff meeting to exchange the latest news on Death Eater activity.”

“You’d better be right. This was never part of our deal.” The man took a swallow out of the flagon in front of him and grimaced. “I despise Polyjuice.”

“You’re the one who wanted to meet. At least you don’t have to masquerade as Vincent Crabbe.”

Lucius Malfoy started and threw Snape a disbelieving look. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Severus?” he said in an imperious tone far closer to his own than that of the man he was impersonating.

“If you’re going to disguise yourself as a student, you would do well to choose one who is smart enough not to get caught raiding the kitchens while he’s supposedly in Hogsmeade with Draco. Now, what did you want to discuss?”

“Dorset.”

Snape calmly held Malfoy’s eyes. “Go on.”

“Go on? Is that all you have to say?”

“What more would you like me to say?”

“I thought you were trying to protect your little puppet. Letting him wander off to that old manor was an absurd risk.”

Snape took a sip of his wine and glanced around the pub as if to ensure that no one was listening to them. “We’re at war. Some risks have to be taken in order to advance our cause.”

“Bella very nearly caught him,” Malfoy said pointedly. “Rather than advancing your cause, I should think that would have set it back considerably.”

“It certainly would have done. However, she obviously didn’t catch him.”

“You can’t pretend that you aren’t concerned, Severus,” Malfoy hissed, leaning across the table to glare at Snape. “It was no accident that Bella found Potter. She knew that he was there and the next time he strays from Dumbledore’s protection, he may not be as lucky.”

Snape sipped more wine. “I don’t suppose you know how she came by that particular bit of information?”

Malfoy sat back and smirked. “Obviously, there’s an informant on your side.”

“Obviously,” Snape drawled, nonchalantly. “The question is whom that might be.” Snape shrugged. “But I don’t suppose Bella has let you in on her little secret, has she?”

Malfoy’s smile turned sour. “She has told no one but the Dark Lord. Even Rodolphus has no idea how she’s getting her information.”

Snape sneered. “I thought not. Bella has upstaged the rest of you several times since her dramatic escape from Azkaban. By the way, I assume she hasn’t deigned to tell you how she managed that either?”

“Clearly, she had help,” Malfoy said testily. “Undoubtedly from the same person who is helping her track Potter.”

Snape waved a hand dismissively. “That much I’ve known for months.”

Malfoy frowned in consternation. “You can’t tell me that you already knew there was a spy on your side. You’d never have risked Potter if you expected Bella to find him.”

“You would be wise not to make assumptions about what Dumbledore will and will not risk. Nevertheless, I agree that he would not have risked Potter’s welfare in this particular instance – not when it could easily be avoided.”

“What do you mean, ‘avoided’? Potter was there. Bella and Rodolphus both saw him.”

Snape smiled in amusement. “I’m certain that they saw someone who looked like Potter.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise then narrowed shrewdly. “Another of your games, Severus? Why?”

“Bella.” Snape’s smile vanished and he leaned forward to fix Malfoy with an intent look. “Do you think for a moment that Dumbledore would be content to let an informant betray us without consequence? I have every intention of discovering the traitor and dealing with him. Naturally, that requires setting different lures and waiting to see which bait is taken.”

Malfoy eyed Snape appraisingly. “Then you have some idea of whom your spy is?”

Snape ran a finger around the rim of his glass and demurred. “It’s still too early to be certain… although with your help, we could surely uncover the traitor much sooner.”

Malfoy’s expression became guarded. “I’ve already told you that I won’t spy for you, Severus.”

“Then do it for yourself. Bella’s informant has earned her a place of honor in the Dark Lord’s circle. She is his favorite, at the moment, I believe.”

“At the moment,” Malfoy replied coldly. “I can’t see how that matters to you.”

“It doesn’t. But if her informant were discredited, I imagine it wouldn’t go well for her.”

“Discredited?” Malfoy failed to keep the note of hopefulness out of his voice.

“It would be easy to arrange – if I knew whom to target. I can uncover the traitor and see him arrested or killed, of course, but it would be far sweeter to convince the Dark Lord that Bella’s spy has betrayed them. I confess I would find particular satisfaction in the Dark Lord taking vengeance on one of his own. Plus, it is always satisfying to use an enemy’s own resources against him – or her.”

Malfoy sat still, obviously weighing Snape’s words carefully. “Go on.”

“Unfortunately, it’s unlikely that I could achieve that end without assistance. But if you could discover our spy’s identity – discreetly – I could set a trap for him which he would never suspect until it was sprung. You would remain untainted by any suspicion and could even arrange to be in a position to save the day, once the spy was ruined. Meanwhile, Bella would be disgraced and would no doubt be punished. You wouldn’t be devastated to see your dear sister-in-law suffer the Dark Lord’s displeasure, would you?”

“My dear sister-in-law is not my responsibility to worry about.”

“In that case, if you’re willing to do your part, we could turn the present situation to our mutual benefit. I’m not asking you to betray the Dark Lord, merely Bella.”

Snape sat back and sipped his wine as Malfoy weighed his options. At last the man shook his head.

“I can’t. Do not misunderstand me, Severus; I would be willing. I would like nothing more than to see Bella brought low. But I haven’t the means. Bella guards this secret jealously. She has told no one. I cannot learn what she will not speak of.”

“I understand, of course,” Snape said smoothly. He took another sip of his wine just as Malfoy spoke again.

“You could discover her secret. She is not a master Occlumens.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “She also hardly ever leaves headquarters, and never alone. How do you propose to lure her away?”

“I don’t. But I can get you inside. With Polyjuice and the proper password, you could enter headquarters and chat with Bella at your leisure.”

“As long as it doesn’t take more than an hour, of course,” Snape allowed with a mocking smile. But Malfoy was not deterred. He leaned forward and challenged Snape.

“You’re fond of taking risks, Severus. Do you wish to learn the identity of your spy or not? If so then I can provide you the means to do it.”

Snape held the other man’s eyes in silence for a long moment then he drained the last of his wine and set down his glass. He reached into the pocket of his robes and produced a vial of purple liquid which he handed to Malfoy. “There is enough here to obscure your memories of the last hour as long as the Dark Lord doesn’t specifically go looking for them. Be certain to give him no reason to do so.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

Snape stood up and turned to go.

“Severus?”

Snape looked back at Malfoy with an unfathomable expression. “I’ll let you know.” He turned away once more and left the pub.

---

Snape stalked up the road towards Hogwarts with one thought foremost in his mind: he was going to kill Potter.

Snape didn’t doubt Malfoy’s testimony for a moment, though he was at a loss as to what Potter might have been after in Dorset or even how the boy had known about the old estate. Snape had only heard it mentioned in passing as a potential safe house and he was sure that no one had set foot in the place in at least twenty years.

But Potter never tired of looking for new and innovative ways to get himself killed. He had taken irresponsible risks in the past. This time, however, he had crossed the line with his sheer recklessness. Stupid, arrogant fool! Didn’t he realize what was at stake? Was the boy so keen on playing the hero that he failed to appreciate what others had risked for him – continued to risk?

Snape cursed Potter under his breath, but he was not a man to let his emotions get the better of him for long and before he reached the main gate, he had calmed down enough to reluctantly admit that flaying the boy within an inch of his life likely wouldn’t help matters. It also, unfortunately, wasn’t his place to mete out punishment for this particular infraction.

Snape arrived at the castle and swept up the main staircase without pausing, striding purposefully through the halls until he arrived at the familiar gargoyle.

“Skiving snack boxes,” he said with an unmistakable note of exasperation in his voice. The gargoyle leapt aside and Snape climbed the spiral staircase to Dumbledore’s office.

Dumbledore was gazing pensively into the fire, but roused himself as Snape knocked softly at the open door. “Come in, Severus. What did Lucius have to say? No good news, judging by the look on your face.”

“Hardly,” Snape said, entering the room and closing the door behind him. “It would seem that Mr. Potter has an incurable case of wanderlust.”

Dumbledore listened calmly as Snape recounted his conversation with Malfoy. When Snape had finished, he folded his arms and regarded the old wizard expectantly.

Dumbledore sat pondering for a long moment then sighed tiredly. “I see.”

The old man’s disappointment was evident and Snape felt a fresh stab of anger. “Potter has always been reckless and irresponsible, Albus. I have been telling you this for years.”

“Harry has always been resourceful and determined. He is not to be swayed from pursuing a goal once he has set his heart upon it.”

“He has gone too far. He must be punished.”

Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall Snape launching into a tirade. “I will deal with Harry. Until I do, you are to say nothing of this to him. He mustn’t know that we are aware of his trip to Dorset.”

“But if the boy is unaware that he’s been found out, he may attempt another of these excursions.”

“You’re right. Unfortunately, confronting him is unlikely to prevent that.”

“You can’t let him get away with this! There must be some consequence –”

“Severus, think! Until we know how Bellatrix is getting her information it would be foolhardy to reveal what we know. It could very well get back to Bella and that would only make matters worse. At present, no damage has been done.” Dumbledore smiled slightly and the familiar mischievous twinkle was back in his eyes. “Telling Lucius that Harry’s trip to Dorset was simply a feint to test Bellatrix was quite inspired, by the way. You’re confident, I presume, that Voldemort will hear as much?”

“You may count on it. Lucius will be only too happy to spread the word that Bellatrix was duped. There is certainly no love lost between those two.”

“That should mitigate the current situation. Which brings us to the question of how Bella found Harry.”

Dumbledore fixed Snape with a serious, penetrating look and let the question hang in the air between them. Snape held the old man’s gaze, but said nothing. At last, Dumbledore spoke again.

“This is not a new concern, Severus.”

“No, Headmaster; it’s not.”

“It has been three months since Bellatrix escaped Azkaban and we are no closer to knowing how she managed it, nor how she learnt of the Weasleys’s Sniffer Charm.”

“Albus, I can’t discover what the Death Eaters themselves don’t know,” Snape snapped in frustration. “Bella has not been forthcoming with the information, naturally.”

“Have you discovered nothing?”

“Only that what we know makes no sense.” Snape sneered. He turned away and began to prowl about the office. “Bella must have had help in escaping from prison, which almost certainly means an Auror. That she learnt of the Sniffer Charm would imply an Auror who is also a member of the Order of the Phoenix.”

Snape stopped and turned back to face Dumbledore. “Except that there is absolutely no other evidence to implicate any of the Order members. You and I have already planted false information among the Order and none has found its way back to the Death Eaters. Neither have any of our operations been compromised. I would stake my life that there is no traitor there!”

“And Dorset?” Dumbledore asked.

“Only confuses matters. I can’t imagine that any of the Order members knew about that little escapade. All I know for certain is that, whatever her secret, Bella is guarding it very, very closely.”

Dumbledore was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke again his voice was grave. “While Bella’s escape from Azkaban and her discovery of the Sniffer Charm were inconvenient, they were not of serious concern. Her apparent ability to track Harry is.”

“If Potter would stay put and do as he is told for once, that wouldn’t be an issue,” Snape complained bitterly.

“Not at the moment, perhaps, but it will become a problem eventually and it is not one we can afford to ignore any longer. Lucius has offered to help you get to Bellatrix?”

Snape hesitated slightly. “Yes.”

“And do you believe that offer to be sincere?”

“So it would seem. He relishes the prospect of seeing her discredited.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore fixed Snape with a concerned gaze. “I, however, do not relish the prospect of relying upon Lucius Malfoy.”

Snape gave Dumbledore a wry smile. “Nor do I.”

The two men stared at one another in silence. Finally Dumbledore sighed. “An hour is very little time. Will it be sufficient to learn her spy’s identity?”

“It’s possible. I can give you no guarantee, but I can try.”

Dumbledore sighed once more and Snape waited, dreading what he knew was coming.

“It is imperative that we discover how Bella is getting her information,” Dumbledore said slowly. “You are the only one who can do this, Severus.”

“You wish me to make arrangements with Lucius then?”

“I wish for all the world that you did not have to do so, but we have no choice at this point. Bella will not come to you; therefore you must go to her.”

“Yes, Headmaster.” Snape nodded curtly and turned to leave, but Dumbledore stopped him.

“Severus, do not imagine for a moment that I would ask this of you were it not absolutely necessary. The last thing I want to do is to send you to Voldemort.”

Snape looked back at the frank worry in the old man’s eyes. “I know, Albus.” Then he slipped out the door and was gone.

Harry couldn’t resist scanning the obituaries at breakfast the next morning and was relieved to discover that no mysterious deaths had been reported. That probably meant that Snape had been out spying for Dumbledore the previous evening. Harry glanced up at the man who was seated at his usual place at the staff table. Snape looked preoccupied and a bit paler than usual, but otherwise normal.

Harry folded up the paper and handed it across the table to Seamus, from whom he’d borrowed it. “Here you go. Thanks.”

“Keep it,” Seamus said. “I don’t need it. I don’t even know why I’m still bothering to take it. The Quibbler has better reporting these days.”

“The Quibbler isn’t exactly reliable,” Hermione pointed out.

“That’s my point - neither is the Prophet. They used to do a decent job, but that was before the DPS came along. They’re censoring everything now.”

“How do you know that?” Ginny asked.

“Martin Wallace in Ravenclaw, his dad works for the Daily Prophet. He told me that Day has a couple of staff working full time at the paper now. They have to approve everything that gets printed and a lot winds up in the rubbish bins.”

“But why would they do that?” Neville asked.

Dean shrugged. “Maybe they reckon there’d be panic if people knew just how bad things were.”

There was a pained silence while the students contemplated this news. Finally, Hermione spoke up.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late for Charms.”

Harry gathered his things and left the Great Hall along with the rest of his classmates, wondering how badly the war was going that the DPS had to censor the news of it. He turned to Ron and Hermione who were walking beside him. “I think I’m going to start taking The Quibbler.”

---

The Halloween feast was always eagerly anticipated at Hogwarts and with good reason. The tables were laden with golden platters which were filled with all variety of delicious foods. Snape, however, had little appetite, though he refused to concede that it was due to any anxiety over his upcoming mission that evening. He simply had far too much on his mind to think about eating.

It had only been four days since Dumbledore had charged him with infiltrating the Dark Lord’s headquarters to discover out how Bellatrix was getting her information, but Snape saw no advantage in postponing the task now that it couldn’t be avoided and had contacted Lucius immediately to make the arrangements. Snape’s plan was straightforward: he had to get close enough to Bellatrix to use Legilimency on her. To that end, he had arranged to meet Lucius in the Forbidden Forest and switch places with him. Dumbledore would accompany him to the forest and wait with Lucius until he returned.

Theoretically, Dumbledore’s presence would dissuade Lucius from betraying him since, if he failed to return, Lucius would have to answer to Hogwarts’ Headmaster. Unfortunately, this was no guarantee of the Death Eater’s trustworthiness; Lucius undoubtedly feared the Dark Lord more than Dumbledore. Nor could Snape take comfort in the fact that he had so far detected no deceit in Lucius’s mind. There were methods of concealing or modifying someone’s memories and the Dark Lord knew them all.

Snape had done what he could to mitigate the risk. He had spent the last three nights among the Death Eaters, doing his best to uncover any hint of a trap being laid. He’d found none, but of course that was no guarantee either. He might still be walking into an ambush. But even if he weren’t, even if Lucius’s offer of help had been entirely sincere, there was still considerable risk in what he proposed to do which was why he had chosen tonight to make his move. The Dark Lord was planning to meet with the leader of his werewolf allies this evening at another location which would, with luck, give Snape time to accomplish his task while the master was away.

That was Snape’s dearest hope. He was confident that the Death Eaters would pose no serious danger to him. Fooling Bellatrix wouldn’t be a problem. He knew Lucius well enough to mimic his old friend’s mannerisms exactly. Even Narcissa probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. But Narcissa wasn’t an accomplished Legilimens, nor was Bellatrix. The Dark Lord was. He would not be fooled by Polyjuice or Occlumency regardless of how skillfully Snape acted his part. If he looked into Snape’s eyes he would recognize the mind behind them. That was what Snape dreaded. He didn’t fear death, but the agony he’d suffered at the Dark Lord’s hands was another matter. He was still haunted by nightmares of the torture he’d endured and the thought of facing that again was not something he cared to contemplate.

While there was always an element of risk in spying on an enemy, it was one thing to hover around the edges of the Dark Lord’s organization, darting in and out of the shadows to listen in on the unguarded or play cat and mouse with jittery Death Eaters. It was quite another to walk into the viper’s nest and Snape knew that if he came face to face with the snake there was a very good chance that he wouldn’t walk out again.

“Chicken, Severus?” McGonagall said pleasantly.

“Of course not,” Snape snarled, glaring at the woman sitting next to him.

McGonagall blinked at him, obviously taken aback, but she recovered her composure at once and her smile was only slightly strained as she set down the dish of roast chicken she was holding and turned back to talk to Flitwick.

Snape folded his arms across his chest and managed to refrain from sighing, though it took considerable effort. He scowled at the clock at the back of the Hall, willing its hands to move more quickly so that he could get on with the task before him. However the clock, unaware of his impatience, continued to tick off the seconds at the same ponderous pace.

Snape surveyed the Hall. All of the students were in high spirits, naturally. Even Potter was laughing with his friends as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Snape watched the boy in bitter resentment. This was all Potter’s fault and as usual the boy hadn’t the slightest awareness of the consequences of his actions. It really was a miracle that he was still alive.

Snape felt a touch on his shoulder and glanced up to find Dumbledore standing next to him. “If you don’t mind, Severus, I need a word?” He gestured towards the small side door near the staff table.

Relieved to finally be able to escape the interminable dinner, Snape quickly followed Dumbledore to the staff lounge off the Great Hall.

“Is everything prepared?” Dumbledore asked once they were alone.

“Of course,” Snape answered with calm self-assurance. “All I need is a strand of Lucius’s hair and the current password to the Dark Lord’s headquarters, both of which Lucius will provide.”

Dumbledore nodded as he donned his cloak. “Let us be on our way, then.”

Snape threw his own cloak around his shoulders and followed Dumbledore through the entrance hall and out of the castle. The last faint sounds of merriment from the feast faded away as they struck off across the dark grounds towards the forest. The two men walked in comfortable silence and Snape was grateful that their long years of association made idle conversation unnecessary.

They reached the forest and followed a well-worn path through the woods until they came to a clearing. Dumbledore gave his wand a flick and a pedestal appeared before him with an engraved basin perched upon it: the Pensieve. The light from the basin bathed the clearing in a soft glow as they waited without breaking the silence between them. A few minutes later a soft pop announced the arrival of Lucius Malfoy.

“Good evening, Lucius,” Dumbledore said.

“Dumbledore, this is an unexpected surprise,” Malfoy said, casting a suspicious frown at Snape.

“There is no reason for concern. I am merely here to keep you company while Severus is away. It would be rather inhospitable to leave you standing out here alone in the forest for the next hour.”

“Worried, Dumbledore?” Malfoy said with an amused smile. “Surely you don’t imagine that I’ve been insincere in my offer of help?”

“That thought has crossed my mind, I must admit, though I am inclined to discount it,” Dumbledore replied conversationally. “You were never stupid, Lucius, and you surely know that betraying Severus would cost you your own life.”

While Malfoy and Dumbledore were talking, Snape transfigured his robes into an exact copy of Malfoy’s elegant ones then stepped forward. “May I?” he said, plucking out one of Malfoy’s hairs without waiting for a reply. Malfoy flinched and glared irritably at him, but Snape gave the man a pointed look. “We haven’t all night, after all.” Snape turned away to complete the Polyjuice potion as Dumbledore spoke again.

“What is the password that Severus will need?”

“Evermore,” Malfoy answered at once.

Dumbledore held out his hand. “He will need your wand as well.”

Malfoy hesitated then handed his cane to the old wizard. Dumbledore ran his hand up and down the cane, examining it closely while Snape addressed Malfoy once more.

“Where is Bellatrix?”

“When I left, she was holding court in the drawing room on the second floor.”

“And the Dark Lord?”

“Gone to meet with Grayback.” Malfoy grimaced in disapproval.

“Is there anything else I should know?”

Malfoy shook his head. “No. Just get in and out as quickly as you can.”

“Trust me – I don’t plan to linger,” Snape replied.

Snape turned to Dumbledore who wordlessly passed him Malfoy’s cane. Snape took it and held the other man’s eyes. “You understand that I go to the Dark Lord’s stronghold. There are myriad wards and enchantments that secure it and only those who bear the Dark Mark may enter. No one can follow me there.”

“Then make certain that we have no need to do so.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Good luck, Severus.”

Snape downed the Polyjuice potion in one gulp and felt the familiar sensation of transformation. The moment it was complete, he Disapparated.

---

Snape appeared in a secluded glen, nestled amidst rolling hills. Not that he could actually see his surroundings: it was a new moon and pitch dark. But Snape didn’t bother to light his wand. He knew the way. Snape followed a low stone wall a dozen paces until he came to a stile which demarked what would appear to be nothing more than a grassy hillside to all but a chosen few. He opened the gate and felt the Dark Mark burn on his arm as he passed through it. At once a portion of the hill in front of him transformed into a high, arched entryway with a massive, ornate iron portcullis adorned with silver serpents entwined among the bars. The serpents’ eyes were made of emeralds which glistened in the light of two braziers that sat upon pedestals to either side of the gate.

“Evermore,” Snape said and the portcullis rose. Snape strode through it and into the depths of the hillside. He walked down a passageway lined with sconces in the shape of snakes which led into an atrium – a large, round, high-ceilinged room with a marble floor and more snakes adorning the walls. The atrium’s most obvious feature was a wide staircase of black marble leading down into the labyrinth of the Dark Lord’s most secret and secure hideout. Two enormous statues of rearing serpents stood on either side of the staircase, towering over and seeming to scrutinize all those who approached, but Snape paid no attention to them or any of the rest of the decor. Such trappings were carefully designed to intimidate and Snape had ceased to be impressed long ago.

Snape hurried downstairs. Just off the first floor landing was the large drawing room. Its double doors stood wide open and Snape could see a number of people inside, most mingling around several long tables laden with food and drink. The Death Eaters, too, were celebrating Halloween, though without the frivolity at Hogwarts. Snape bypassed this and descended to the second floor. Here, a long gallery of mirrors was broken periodically by dark mahogany doors. Snape glanced at himself in the mirrors as he made his way down the hall; he cut a perfect figure as Lucius. Snape stopped halfway down the hall, assumed Lucius’s customary expression of haughty boredom and opened the door to the smaller drawing room which was reserved for the Dark Lord’s inner circle.

A far more sumptuous spread had been laid here than the one in the room above. Crabbe and Goyle were hovering next to the food and barely glanced up from their full plates as he entered. Rodolphus was seated in a wing chair, brooding over his snifter of brandy while his brother, Rabastan, lounged on the sofa, savoring his. Bellatrix was standing before the fireplace where a roaring fire crackled. Pettigrew was just finishing filling her glass and Snape was sure that it wasn’t the first round of the evening. He smiled.

“Lucius, you decided to join us after all, I see,” Rodolphus said gruffly. He was slightly red in the face.

“It’s better than mingling with the plebeians upstairs,” Snape said, snapping his fingers at Pettigrew who quickly filled another glass with brandy and brought it to him. Snape took the glass without bothering to look at the little man. He swirled the dark liquid around in the bowl of the glass and took a sip.

“Just let us do try to be pleasant this evening,” Rabastan drawled, taking a swallow of his own brandy. “No bickering.”

“Why should we bicker?” Bellatrix said with a smile. “The war is going well. We have the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers on the run. Total victory will be ours as soon as we get our hands on Potter.”

“Which I presume we’re supposed to count on you to do?” Snape purred, crossing the room to join Bellatrix by the fire.

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact.” Bellatrix flashed a nasty smile. “It will only be a matter of time before Potter makes a fatal mistake. I’ll be there when he does.”

Snape eyed the woman shrewdly. “We all have our informants, Bella. What makes you so sure that yours will deliver Potter?”

“Mine has the ability to watch Potter day and night,” Bellatrix boasted.

“Surely an exaggeration,” Snape scoffed, taking another sip of his drink while continuing to watch the Death Eater closely. “Unless you wish us to believe that you’ve recruited one of the brat’s little friends?”

Bellatrix laughed. “A Mudblood and blood-traitors? I wouldn’t stoop to associating with such filth. You know that, Lucius, and as I’ve told you before, your transparent attempts to goad me into revealing my spy won’t work.”

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement. “No, of course not. Still, there is the question of how he can spy on Potter at Hogwarts.”

“I’m not divulging that secret, either. It’s enough that he can. Not that I don’t trust you, Lucius.” Bellatrix smiled insincerely. “But our enemies have spies as well.”

Snape returned the woman’s smile. “My point exactly. My concern is for our own security. Are you certain of this informant of yours? After all, he has led you on a wild-goose chase at least once.”

Bella’s smile vanished. “So you have said! You have no proof, though, do you? My spy is absolutely loyal to me! Even if it was Snape at Dorset, that changes nothing. And you’re hardly one to find fault, Lucius. Snape made a fool of you. He deceived you for years when it was obvious to me that he was a traitor.”

“You might want to be careful whom you’re calling a fool,” Snape replied smoothly. “Our Lord was deceived as well.”

“Yes, I was.”

Snape froze and so did Bellatrix. They both turned towards the door as Rodolphus and Rabastan leapt to their feet. Standing in the doorway was the Dark Lord.

“My lord, forgive me,” Snape dropped to his knees and lowered his eyes in contrition as Voldemort approached.

“You’re right, Lucius;” the Dark Lord said in his cold, unnaturally high voice. “Quite right. Severus did deceive me – as he deceived us all.” Snape’s eyes flickered upward in time to catch the sharp look Voldemort gave Bellatrix. She paled and fell to her knees as well.

“Of course, my lord,” she said meekly. “I spoke in anger. Lucius was questioning the source of the information I have been providing to you.”

“Yes, so I heard.”

Voldemort looked back at Snape who glared at Bellatrix in order to avoid the Dark Lord’s eyes. “I am only concerned that we are not betrayed.”

“I’m sure,” Voldemort said scornfully. “Jealousy does not become you, Lucius.”

Snape lowered his eyes once more. “No, my lord.”

“Get up, both of you,” Voldemort snapped, turning away from his two chastised servants.

Snape rose along with Bellatrix as the Dark Lord addressed everyone.

“Bella has served me well and I reward those who serve me well. I intend to give you all the opportunity to earn such a reward, but you in particular, Lucius.”

Snape bowed slightly as Voldemort looked his way once more. “I am honored to do your bidding, my lord.”

“I want you to find Severus.”

Snape’s heart jumped but he remained outwardly calm as the others exchanged quick glances.

Voldemort’s red eyes had narrowed to slits and although he continued to address his Death Eaters, his thoughts were clearly on the hated enemy as he began to prowl around the room. “He has made fools of my followers and hampered my plans. My Death Eaters bristle with suspicion of one another. Even you, my most loyal servants, fear one another. Enough! He has eluded us for far too long!”

Voldemort paused and stabbed a finger at Snape. “He was your friend, Lucius. If anyone can deduce his strategy and where he might strike next, you can. Find him and you will be greatly rewarded indeed.”

“He will be killed, my lord,” Snape promised emphatically, still not meeting the dark wizard’s eyes. “I swear it.”

“No, no, Lucius. I don’t want him dead.” Voldemort said as he began to pace once more. He had the air of a caged tiger waiting for the chance to lunge at the prey just beyond his reach. “Death would be too merciful and the dead are soon forgotten. I will make of Severus a living reminder of the consequences of treachery. I will torture him until his mind breaks, but I will do it slowly. I will give him respite – oh yes – so that he will know his fate and have more than enough time to suffer the anticipation of it. And once he is mad, I will put him in a cage on display for all of my loyal followers to jeer and spit upon and torment for their amusement – and as a reminder of what befalls traitors.”

The other Death Eaters all nodded and murmured approvingly.

“It shall be as you desire, my lord,” Snape replied, maintaining his composure out of habit rather than any conscious design. He had known that he was taking a risk by coming here and he had prepared himself accordingly to face torture and death. But the fate the Dark Lord had just promised horrified him and it was only his long years of practice at masking his feelings that saved him from betraying himself now.

Voldemort sat down on the sofa and reclined regally. “That, however, is a worry for another time. At present we may celebrate out successes against those weak fools who think they can oppose me.”

The other Death Eaters gathered around their master, but Snape stayed by the fireplace and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was very late. If he didn’t take his leave shortly, the Polyjuice would wear off and the Dark Lord would have his vengeance far sooner than he could have imagined. But one did not walk out on the Dark Lord for any reason and Snape knew that his identity would certainly be discovered if he tried to do so.

Snape bit his lip, acutely aware of every second passing. It would only be a matter of minutes before the game was up. For a moment, he seriously entertained the thought of turning his wand on himself. He would be dead instantly, painlessly and would rob the Dark Lord of the satisfaction of tormenting him. But Snape dismissed the notion at once. He still had a mission to complete and revealing Bellatrix’s spy would be a far greater blow to the Dark Lord’s cause than denying him petty vengeance. Snape had seen all he needed in Bellatrix’s mind as she’d argued with to him and he knew that his Patronus would find its way to Hogwarts even from deep within this hillside. The problem was that the moment he executed the spell it would give him away. Unfortunately, he had no other choice.

Snape looked at the clock once more. It had to be nearly time for the Polyjuice to wear off. He took a swallow of his brandy then set down the glass and reached into his pocket. He felt oddly removed from his own desperate plight and surprisingly calm as his fingers closed around his wand and he formulated in his mind the words his Patronus would carry.

“Wormtail,” Voldemort called, interrupting Snape’s thoughts. “Is there a reason why I am the only one here without refreshment?”

“No, my lord!” Pettigrew said. Eagar to please, the little man quickly poured a snifter of brandy and hurried forward with it. Snape reacted automatically. He gave his wand a flick and Pettigrew stumbled, sloshing the brandy all over his master’s robes.

“Imbecile!” the Dark Lord roared furiously, jumping to his feet.

“Forgive me, my lord!” Wormtail squeaked as he frantically tried to wipe up the mess with his own robes.

“Get out of my sight!” Voldemort snarled, slapping him away as Bellatrix and the others all huddled around to see which could be more helpful.

“My lord –” Pettigrew begged, cringing on the floor.

Snape stepped forward and seized the little man. “Heed your master!” he said as he dragged Pettigrew to his feet and out into the hallway. He shoved the man away and Pettegrew flinched, obviously expecting to be cursed. But Snape had no time.

“Stay out of the way!” he snapped then turned on his heel and stalked away, pulling up the hood of his cloak as he went. He had just reached the stairs when he felt the transformation begin as the Polyjuice started to wear off. He pulled his hood further forward to obscure his features and hurried up the stairs. He passed the gathering on the first floor and continued up to the atrium with its looming serpent statues. His heart was pounding, but not from the exertion. He forced himself not to run as he made his way down the long hallway, listening intently for any sound of pursuit. He reached the portcullis and waited as it rose with agonizing slowness. Then he was through it and into the concealing darkness of the night. He hurried through the gate in the low wall and felt the Dark Mark on his arm burn once more as he passed the last of the Dark Lord’s wards. In the next instant, he Disapparated.

---

“Where have you been?” Lucius demanded angrily as Snape appeared in the Forbidden Forest. “What took you so long?”

Snape threw back his hood and favored Lucius with an angry glare as he shoved the man’s cane into his hands. “The Dark Lord returned from his meeting early and stopped by for a little chat.”

Lucius blanched, but Snape stepped past him and drew his wand. With a flick of his wrist he transfigured his robes back to their usual form.

“What do you mean, ‘a chat’?” Malfoy asked anxiously. “What did he say?”

Snape didn’t answer. Instead he placed his wand against his temple and drew out a long, silvery thread. He dropped the strand of memory into the waiting Pensieve and looked back at Malfoy. “This should tell you everything you need to know.”

Snape turned to Dumbledore who was watching him in silence and nodded. Then he left the clearing without another word or a backward glance, trusting that Dumbledore would handle matters. Snape moved confidently through the familiar forest, glad of the sheltering darkness around him. He walked at a brisk pace which helped to dispel the physical effects of the fright he’d suffered; nevertheless, halfway back to the castle Dumbledore overtook him, falling into step at his side. Snape didn’t speak or look at the other man as they continued across the grounds. At last Dumbledore spoke gently.

“It won’t come to that.”

“You don’t know that,” Snape said accusingly, surprised at the bitterness in his own voice.

“True. But I will do everything in my power to prevent it. I would hope you might find that at least somewhat reassuring.”

Snape looked sideways at the old man and even in the darkness he could make out the twinkle in the blue eyes. “Somewhat,” Snape conceded, feeling the strain from the night’s events begin to recede in Dumbledore’s company. “What happened with Lucius?”

“I think he was rather grateful that you were the one to receive those orders from Voldemort this evening instead of him. Frankly, I doubt he would have handled the situation half as well.”

“If he fails to fulfill them for long, it will not go well for him. He will realize that sooner rather than later, I imagine, and conclude that our alliance was a mistake.”

“I think not. I believe it rather more likely that he will accept that he now has no choice but to join us or suffer unbearable consequences – a fact that I have helpfully pointed out to him. After all, he has a wife and son to consider as well as his own life. Before tonight, he might have confessed to flirting with betraying his master and survived the punishment. Now, he has not only aided and abetted the enemy, he has cost Voldemort his most valuable spy.”

Dumbledore looked at Snape. “You did discover how Bella is getting her information?”

Snape’s expression hardened and his mouth twisted into a bitter sneer. “Oh yes. I know who our spy is.”

---

The Halloween feast had been the best ever. Harry and his friends all agreed on this point. Harry had even managed to put aside his worries about Voldemort and now sat on the sofa holding Ginny’s hand, thoroughly content.

“I still think passing is our best strategy against Slytherin,” Gloria Bonhomme told Ron. They’d been discussing the rapidly approaching match against Slytherin for the last hour. “They’re faster than we are, so they’re bound to block us. But if we keep passing they won’t know which of us to go after.”

“They may be faster, but we’re better flyers,” Ron said. “If you pass the Quaffle, they’ll intercept it. You’re better off holding onto the ball and dodging. Right, Harry?”

“Right,” Harry agreed. Though he could see the benefit in both strategies, Harry was willing to defer to Ron who had spent much more time than he had done working out the Quidditch plays this term.

The portrait hole opened and McGonagall came in, followed by Dumbledore and Snape. The room fell silent as the students stared in disbelief. It wasn’t unusual for McGonagall to pay a visit to her house. Even Dumbledore might make an appearance on a rare occasion. But for Snape to set foot in Gryffindor’s common room was nothing short of an outrageous affront.

The teachers headed straight for Harry and his friends.

“I need the four of you to turn out your pockets, please,” McGonagall said, addressing Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione.

Harry exchanged confused looks with the others, but they all complied.

“That’s everything you have with you at the moment?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, sir.” Harry nodded along with his friends.

“Where are the mirrors that you have been using to communicate with one another?”

Harry stared at Dumbledore in astonishment. “Upstairs in our dormitories.”

“Go and bring them to me at once and do not say a word until you have returned,” Dumbledore said.

Thoroughly bewildered, Harry went up to boys’ dormitory with Ron as Ginny and Hermione headed up to their rooms. A minute later they had returned with their mirrors.

Dumbledore looked at Snape who nodded silently.

“Professor –”

“A moment, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore interrupted as he collected their mirrors and slipped them into a black pouch. He closed the pouch tightly and put it in his pocket.

“Sir, those aren’t against the rules,” Hermione said.

“We will discuss the rules later, Miss Granger,” McGonagall replied.

“Harry, please come with me,” Dumbledore said, turning back towards the portrait hole. Harry gave his friends a last perplexed look then went after Dumbledore. Snape was right behind him, glaring at Harry in stony silence which discouraged Harry from asking any of the dozen or so questions racing through his mind. Dumbledore said nothing either and the three of them walked silently through the halls until they arrived at Headmaster’s office. It wasn’t until Dumbledore was seated behind his desk and had laid the black bag, still tightly closed, before him, that he finally broke the silence.

“May I ask how you came by these?”

“Sirius gave them to me – it actually – two Christmases ago. We each had a mirror so that we could talk to one another… only we never used them. Then at the beginning of this last summer I found mine in my trunk. I left it on the bureau in my bedroom and forgot about it until Ron knocked it off and broke it when we were getting ready to come to school. That’s when we realized that each of the fragments could communicate with each other, too.”

“On how many occasions have you and your friends used these?”

“I don’t know; two or three times. Not often.”

“And when not using them, where have you kept these?”

“In our bedside drawers; at least Ron and I have. I don’t know about Ginny and Hermione. Professor, Hermione’s right; there aren’t any rules against those.”

“No Harry, there aren’t.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“You said that Sirius had one of these mirrors. Do you know where that is?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“And it never occurred to you that that might be a problem?” Snape asked, speaking for the first time. “It never once crossed your mind that anything you and your friends discussed in the presence of one of these mirrors would be transmitted to all, including the one you can’t account for?”

Harry felt the tiny hairs stand up on the back of his neck. “I thought it must have been lost with Sirius.”

“It wasn’t.”

Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Who has it?”

“There is a simple spell that will answer that question,” Dumbledore said. “It shows the barer of any such mirror the images of those who possess its brothers. At the moment, I am in possession of these four, so the spell should reveal the current owner of Sirius’s.”

Dumbledore pulled one of the mirrors from the bag and touched it with his wand.

The glass immediately clouded then a face appeared. It was elongated with bulging eyes and large ears and Harry recognized it at once.

“Kreacher?” he said, staring at the tiny image of the house elf’s face in disbelief.

Dumbledore placed the mirror back in the bag and closed it tightly once more. “Kreacher always did have a penchant for collecting souvenirs. Obviously, Sirius must have left his mirror behind when he went to the Department of Mysteries and Kreacher took it. Such mirrors are quite rare and these have likely been in the Black family for generations. Possessing one of them would certainly have appealed to Kreacher’s sense of nostalgia.

“Where is he now?”

“That is an excellent question, Harry. You see, when Sirius died, he was no longer Kreacher’s master and so his orders to the house-elf became void. Kreacher realized this and took the opportunity to flee the house that night before a new master could order him to stay. We know that he went to Malfoy Manor, but when word came that Lucius had been arrested and that Aurors were on their way to search the house, he fled once more. We do not know where he went after that. Most likely he wandered aimlessly, living out of rubbish bins. We didn’t pursue him since we believed that he posed no threat, and indeed he didn’t for a full year. But in July that appears to have changed.

“Tell me, Harry, where were you when Fred and George told you about the Sniffer Charm they had created?”

“We were in my bedroom at headquarters.”

“And your mirror was lying atop the bureau at that time?”

Harry couldn’t answer. He simply nodded, miserably.

“That explains that particular breach of security then. Kreacher seems to have been prodded into action by that particular discussion of yours. Perhaps he was impressed by the charm or perhaps he could no longer bear to see you and your friends at his old home. But for whatever reason, he was apparently determined to act. It was still too dangerous to approach Narcissa. Due to Lucius’s escape from Azkaban the summer before, the Aurors had been watching her closely. So, Kreacher turned to the only other living member of the Black family whom he didn’t consider a blood-traitor.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Harry guessed as the mysteries of the previous months began to make sense.

“Precisely. She was in Azkaban at the time, but house-elves possess quite powerful magic that wizards, alas, too often disregard. The wards at the prison, though formidable, were not designed to protect against such magic and I’m afraid Kreacher had shockingly little trouble in freeing Bella. He has been serving her ever since and has been using Sirius’s mirror to spy on you, Harry, at every opportunity.”

Harry closed his eyes, mortified. He remembered the whispers he’d heard at night during summer that he’d assumed to be Phineas and the high-pitched laughter he’d thought was only in his dreams. He realized now that it had been Kreacher, muttering to himself at night when he thought Harry asleep. He had eavesdropped on every word that Harry and his friends had said to one another. Just thinking of the invasion of his privacy made Harry livid. Worse, he couldn’t remember everything they’d discussed over summer. Had they talked about the prophecy or his plans to defeat Voldemort? No, Harry was certain they hadn’t and felt a wave of relief for that good fortune. Still, he was angry with himself. How could he have been so stupid as to have simply assumed that Sirius’s mirror was lost without even trying to find it?

“You should have given some thought to where Sirius’s mirror was, Harry,” Dumbledore said, echoing Harry’s own thoughts. “Nevertheless, it isn’t your fault that it fell into Kreacher’s hands.”

Harry shook his head. “The attack in London was Kreacher’s doing, too. I don’t know how much time we spent talking about what we were going to do that day. He must have heard every word.”

“It is also how Bellatrix Lestrange managed to track you to Dorset,” Snape added smoothly.

For an instant, Harry’s mind went completely blank, every thought wiped away by shock. In the next moment, horror rushed in to fill the void. Harry stared, speechless, at Snape who sneered back at him in contempt.

“Did you really think that I wouldn’t find out? Did you think that none of the Dark Lord’s servants would mention having nearly captured the famous Harry Potter? Or did you, as usual, simply fail to think at all?”

Snape stepped forward and Harry could almost feel the man trembling with suppressed rage as he continued his snide taunts. “Tell me, Potter, was it a lark? Were you bored? Did you think it would be fun to play cat and mouse with Death Eaters or were you simply desperate to prove how brave you are yet again?

“Have you any idea of the trouble you’ve caused?” Snape snarled, his voice rising in anger. “Do you know how many lives you’ve put at risk with your recklessness or the ruin that your arrogant stupidity could have wrecked?”

“That will do, Severus. I would like to speak with Harry alone now.”

Snape glared at Harry a moment longer then gave Dumbledore a curt nod and stalked out of the room.

Harry watched him go then turned to Dumbledore. There was none of the usual warmth in the man’s eyes.

“Sir, Snape’s wrong. I wasn’t just –”

“Professor Snape has had a rather trying evening.” Dumbledore spoke in a quiet, controlled voice, his piercing blue eyes never leaving Harry’s. “I presume that you have some idea of how we learnt of the mirror’s whereabouts.”

“I know that he’s been spying on the Death Eaters.”

“Indeed he has. He took a considerable risk tonight and was very nearly caught in the act by Voldemort himself. I’m certain that I don’t need to tell you what would have occurred in that event. All because you chose to disobey me and to withhold information vital to the war effort. So yes, Harry. Professor Snape is very angry with you, understandably so. But as furious as he may be, he is not nearly as angry with you as I am.”

Harry swallowed hard. Dumbledore’s calm, even tone was much worse than Snape shouting at him.

“You gave me your promise, Harry,” Dumbledore continued in the same frighteningly controlled voice. “And you broke it. Why?”

“I didn’t break my promise, sir. I only promised that I wouldn’t go back into the Chamber of Secrets. I never –”

Dumbledore jumped to his feet with remarkable agility and his eyes blazed with anger. “You knew perfectly well what I meant! Didn’t I tell you explicitly not to go looking for Tom Riddle’s research?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, fighting the urge to turn and run.

“And you disobeyed me!”

“Yes, sir.” Harry’s voice was no more than a whisper. He wasn’t at all used to Dumbledore shouting at him. He had only seen the old wizard genuinely angry once before. That had been scary enough, but to have that anger directed at him was truly frightening.

Dumbledore turned away from Harry and paced across the room to gaze into the fire. Harry stood still, not daring to move or speak. He hardly dared breathe. But when Dumbledore spoke again, there was no anger in his voice, only weary sadness.

“Harry, do you know how many good people I have sent to their deaths – or worse – since Voldemort first came to power?” Dumbledore turned to look at Harry and the grief in his eyes was far worse than the anger had been. It cut into Harry like a knife.

“I could tell you every name,” Dumbledore continued. “The last words we spoke to one another, the day and hour that I consigned each to their fate. It is not something you ever forget and it is not something I ever wish to do needlessly. I want your word, Harry – your solemn word – that you will not put me in a position to do so again.”

“Sir, I swear that I never meant to endanger anyone –”

“Of course, you didn’t. But you must understand, Harry, that your actions affect others. When you act in secret on your own agenda, you risk not only your own life and the lives of your friends; you endanger everyone and everything we are fighting for.

“You’re the captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. What would happen if your teammates chose to ignore the rules and your game plans and to simply do as they pleased?”

“We’d be trounced.”

“Precisely! Just as in Quidditch, those of us opposed to Voldemort must act in concert or we will lose this war.”

“Then why are you keeping secrets from me?”

“Harry, surely you can appreciate that I can’t reveal everything I know to you.”

“I don’t want to know everything. I just want to know why Voldemort is immortal. I know that you haven’t told me everything you know about that!”

“Harry –”

“And don’t tell me that I don’t need to know! I’m the one who has to fight him. I have to know what I’m up against. I have to understand.” Harry looked beseechingly at the old wizard. “Professor, I’d rather suffer torture and death myself then be responsible for sending Professor Snape to suffer it. But I can’t do this on faith alone. I can’t!”

Dumbledore bowed his head and for a moment he seemed overcome with sorrow. Then he collected himself and looked up. Regret and weary resignation mingled in the blue eyes and Harry was struck by how old the man suddenly seemed.

“You are right, Harry. You see, I still forget that you are not a child whom I can protect, but a young man who must find your own way. Still, I cannot answer your questions now.”

“Why not?”

“Unsurprisingly, I cannot tell you that, either. And I don’t blame you for being frustrated and angry with me for that. But just as you must do what you believe is right, so must I. I promise that I will tell you everything I know about Voldemort’s immortality in time, but not now. I need you to have patience just a little while longer, just until you have completed your training and are ready to face him. I am asking you, Harry, to trust me in this.”

Harry sighed. “I trust you, sir and I’ll try to be patient, but I can’t promise how long I’ll manage it.”

Dumbledore smiled. “That at least is an honest answer and I think it will suffice for now.”

“You aren’t angry?”

“No, Harry. I will never be angry with you for telling me the truth. Just keep in mind what you risk when you lie.”

---

Harry hardly needed Dumbledore’s prodding. He thought of nothing else on his way back to Gryffindor Tower than all the trouble he had caused. Dumbledore’s words played over and over in his mind, but as painful as that conversation had been, Harry knew it could have been much worse.

It was sheer luck that they hadn’t discussed anything vital around those mirrors. They easily could have given everything away. But it was Snape who preyed on Harry’s mind most. Harry could vividly recall what Voldemort had done to the man the last time they’d met. The thought that he might have been responsible for Snape suffering such torture again was horrible and Harry couldn’t help imagining what the conversation with Dumbledore would have been like if Snape had been captured.

Harry remembered the horrible guilt he’d felt after Sirius’s death and knew that he would have been felt far worse with Snape. At least he could comfort himself with the fact that Voldemort had tricked him into going to the Department of Mysteries. He had no such excuse for going to Dorset.

Ginny, Ron and Hermione were waiting in the empty Common Room when Harry arrived. All three looked grim.

“Did McGonagall tell you?” Harry asked.

“Oh yeah, she told us all right,” Ron said. “She must have spent ten minutes shouting at us. Said we were lucky to be alive and even luckier not to be expelled. And that if it were up to her, she’d toss us all out on our ears.”

“I should have thought about that other mirror,” Hermione said. “I can’t believe it never occurred to me to wonder where it was.”

“It didn’t occur to any of us, Hermione,” Ron said.

“I wonder how they found out, though;” Ginny said, thoughtfully. “About the mirrors and that we’d been to Dorset.”

“It was Snape,” Harry said, flopping down on the sofa. “He’s been spying on the Death Eaters at least since summer. I used to hear him sneaking out of the house at night all the time when we were at headquarters.”

“How’s he spying on them?” Ron asked. “They’d kill him on sight.”

Harry frowned in thought. “He had a big cauldron of Polyjuice in his office at headquarters. I reckon he’s using that to disguise himself.”

“That’s mad!” Hermione said. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How easy it would be for him to get caught? And after what Voldemort did to him…”

Harry looked away.

“What did Dumbledore say?” Ginny asked.

“That if I don’t stop sneaking off and start following orders we’re going to lose the war.”

“He didn’t?”

“He put a bit more feeling into it, but that was the gist of it, yeah.”

“Was he very angry?” Hermione asked.

“I lied to him, disobeyed his orders and could have got us all killed in the bargain. What do you think?” Harry sighed and stood up. “Come on, let’s turn in. We’ve got Quidditch practice in the morning – and I have detention with Snape.” Harry’s stomach clenched at that thought.

“Actually, you don’t,” Ron said, cheering up. “Snape sent this.”

Ron handed Harry a slip of parchment.

Potter,

I no longer require your presence for detention on Saturdays.

SS

“It’s about time, too,” Ron said. “We have our match in three weeks. In fact I bet McGonagall made him let you off.”

“It’s also possible that Harry actually managed to complete his work decently,” Hermione pointed out.

“Or maybe Snape just got bored of spending his Saturdays with you,” Ginny said, winking at Harry.

Harry forced a smile. Relieved as he was to be let off detention, he also felt somewhat sick. He knew exactly why Snape didn’t want to see him and it had nothing to do with Quidditch or homework or boredom.

“Focus, Potter,” Knight said. “Go!”

Harry concentrated, flicked his wand and the butcher knife lying on Knight’s desk flew into the air, hurtled across the room and impaled a large piece of corkboard that Knight had hung on the wall to serve as target practice.

“Well done!” Knight flashed Harry a grin as she pulled the knife from the board which already had a number of gashes in it. “That was your fastest time, yet.”

Harry grinned back. “Thanks! I think I finally have the hang of these non-verbal spells.”

“I’d say you’re right. Which means it’s time to try your hand at some wandless magic.”

Harry’s smile faltered. “What?”

“Just as there will be times when it will be to your advantage to cast a spell non-verbally, there will also be times when the ability to cast a spell without your wand may save your life. Now that you’ve learnt to cast non-verbal spells, wandless ones shouldn’t be beyond you. Put down your wand and give it a try.”

Harry stuffed his wand in his pocket and Knight laid the knife on the desk once more.

“What do I do?”

“This time you can use the incantation, but the focus must come from your mind alone.”

Harry nodded and stared at the knife. He concentrated on the vision of it flying across the room. “Mobiliquendam!!”

The knife didn’t even twitch. Harry stared at it in disappointment.

“Don’t worry about it, Potter;” Knight said easily. “You’ll learn. I didn’t expect success on your first go. Come on, it’s time for dinner.”

Knight led the way out of her office, continuing to talk as they headed downstairs. “Whereas non-verbal spells require focusing on your intent, wandless magic requires you to focus on projection.”

Harry nodded in understanding. “I have to use my mind to focus my power instead of relying on my wand.”

“Exactly. Of the two, wandless magic is harder to learn. Normally, I wouldn’t try to teach the technique to anyone younger than twenty, but you have uncommonly good concentration for your age.”

Harry smiled at the praise. “Thanks, Professor.”

They had arrived in the entrance hall and Knight stopped to clap him on the shoulder and favor him with a smile. “You’re going to make a hell of an Auror, Potter.”

Knight turned away and headed for the staff entrance to the Great Hall while Harry, grinning broadly, raced to find his friends at the Gryffindor table.

“Guess what?” Harry said, as he sat down next to Ginny. “Knight’s going to start teaching me wandless magic.”

“Really?” Hermione said with interest. “That’s much more advanced than non-verbal spells.”

“I think all those Legilimency lessons I had with Snape must have helped. She said that I have really good concentration.”

Ron looked up from his dinner. “Good, then how about focusing some of it on Quidditch? Our match against Slytherin is a week from tomorrow and our Beaters still need more practice.”

“Oh Ron, honestly!” Hermione scolded. “Can’t you think about anything besides Quidditch?”

“I think about lots of things besides Quidditch. It just happens to be the most important thing I have to think about right now.”

“Aren’t you the one who complained about Katie being obsessed last year? You’re acting exactly the same way and you’re not even captain.”

“Well, someone has to prod this lot along.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry said, bristling slightly.

“Exactly what I said. Someone has to make sure we’re at our best against Slytherin.”

“And I’m not doing the job. Is that it?”

“You spend half your time in lessons with Dumbledore and Knight. You’ve barely spared a thought for Quidditch all term.”

“I have a few more important things to worry about. We’re in the middle of a war, remember?”

“You don’t say?”

“Then you ought to understand –”

“I do. Perfectly. You’re the Chosen One –”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why not? It’s the truth. You’re the one who’s going to defeat Voldemort. You said so yourself!”

“I’m not going to do it alone.”

“You’re going to have to, mate. You’ve got to get inside his mind and there’s no way the rest of us can follow you there. You’re on your own.”

Ron threw down his napkin and stalked away. Hermione jumped up and hurried after him and Harry stared after them in shock.

“Don’t mind Ron,” Ginny said softly, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s hand. “He doesn’t mean it. I think your lessons with Knight just make him feel a bit useless, that’s all.”

“He’s the one who decided he didn’t want to be an Auror.”

“I know, but that was before Mum died. I still don’t think he’d really want to be an Auror, but he’s almost desperate to fight back against the Death Eaters. The fact that he can’t makes him a bit stupid sometimes. Bill and Charlie are in the thick of it. So are Fred and George. Then there’s you. He just doesn’t think he’s doing his share.”

“That’s mad.”

“I know. I told you he was being stupid. I think Quidditch is his way of compensating, or at least taking his mind off things.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration and looked down at the dinner he’d hardly touched. He shoved his plate away. “I’d better go and talk to him.”

Ron was lying on his bed and glanced up from the issue of Quidditch Quarterly he was reading as Harry came in. He looked away again without a word.

Harry sat down on his own bed. “Do you honestly think I’m not going to need any help to defeat Voldemort?”

Ron sighed and looked up. “No. I know you will and there’re all sorts of people who are trying to help.”

“You’re one of them.”

Ron snorted. “Right.”

“It’s true. Or have you forgotten that you saved my life and Hermione’s when we were attacked by those weird Dementors of Lawrence’s.”

“All I did was drag you back to the Shrieking Shack.”

“So what? It doesn’t count because you didn’t get to curse someone?”

Ron sat up and tossed his magazine aside. “Of course it does. It’s just that I want to be out fighting.”

“Ron, before this is over I’m sure we’ll all have had our fill of fighting. You don’t need to wish for any more.”

Ron sighed. “I know. You’re right. But I can’t stand sitting here day after day with nothing better to do than worry about homework and exams.” He looked away dejectedly.

“Listen,” Harry said. “I’ve been thinking. I’m going to step down as Quidditch captain.”

Ron’s head jerked up. “What? You can’t!”

“I want you to take over.”

“Harry, you don’t need to do that for me.”

“Good, because I’m doing it for the team, not you. We both know that you’re better suited to the job.”

“Don’t be daft. You’ve been on the team years longer than I have been.”

“What difference does that make? You know everything there is to know about Quidditch. You’ve been playing your whole life. Besides, you already do most of the work. You’re right, Ron. The team needs someone who can fire them up, who really wants to kick Slytherin’s arse. I’m not that person. I don’t care anymore.”

“And I care too much. Hermione’s right. I’m being stupid.”

“No you’re not! Somebody has to care about the normal, everyday things in life. That’s what it’s all about. If we lose that then Voldemort’s already won. And more than ever, I need someone to help me remember that. So how about it?”

Ron looked down at the floor for a moment and then nodded slowly. “All right, but on one condition. I’m counting on you to catch that Snitch next Saturday.”

Harry grinned. “Deal.”

---

Harry made the announcement that Ron was to be the new captain the next morning on the Quidditch pitch as Gryffindor prepared for practice before breakfast. He hoped fervently that the team wouldn’t be disappointed in the change. Ron didn’t need any blows to his confidence.

The students were silent for a moment as they digested the news then Gloria asked, “We aren’t doing anything differently, are we? The game plans are all the same?”

“That’s right, nothing’s going to change,” Harry assured her.

“Well, it don’t matter to us, then,” a burly fourth-year boy named Gadson said. “Weasley’s led us in practice half the time anyway.” The rest of the team nodded agreement and looked at Ron, clearly awaiting instructions from their new captain.

Ron and Harry looked at each other and Harry smiled.

“Right then,” Ron said, mounting his broom. “Let’s get cracking! You know the drill. Chasers, I want you to practice your close-quarters handoff. Beaters, bat that Bludger between you and put some muscle into it.”

It was their best practice of the year. Ron was in his element, directing the play and Harry, freed from the responsibility of watching his teammates, flew better than he had all year. The team was exultant as they headed back to the castle for breakfast, all excitedly talking at once.

“Slytherin haven’t got a chance... We’ll trounce them for sure... The Quidditch Cup is as good as ours…”

They all fell silent however as they stepped into the entrance hall. There were scores of students gathered there, but what immediately struck Harry was how quiet they all were.

“What’s going on,” he asked Dean and Seamus who were standing nearby.

“Haven’t you heard, yet?” Dean replied. “Therese Gains’s father was killed last night. He was an Auror and got caught in an ambush.”

As Dean was still speaking Dumbledore appeared from the staff lounge. Professor Sprout was behind him and had her arm around a fourth-year girl who had clearly been crying. They started across the entrance hall and the waiting students moved forward, taking turns hugging their classmate or offering a word of sympathy.

Dumbledore and Sprout led Therese through the crowd and outside where a carriage had just arrived. The girl climbed in and the carriage pulled away while Dumbledore and Sprout stood watching it go.

Harry watched from the doorway along with Ron and Ginny, both of whom looked rather pale. As the students began to head into the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry laid a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Ron nodded and the three of them went in to breakfast and sat down at the Gryffindor table where Seamus already had both the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet open, comparing the news of the ambush in the two papers.

“It was a bad one,” he said as Harry peered over his shoulder. “Looks like three Aurors wound up in St. Mungos in addition to Therese’s dad who died. And listen to this,” he added, brandishing the Quibbler.

“Lucius Malfoy, one of the most wanted criminals in Britain, is rumored to have headed the attack…”

“No wonder Malfoy looks so smug this morning,” Dean commented. Harry and his housemates followed Dean’s gaze to the Slytherin table. Sure enough, Malfoy was smirking, clearly delighted with the news.

Harry opened his own copy of the Quibbler. He’d been reading it regularly for nearly two weeks and had to agree with Seamus that they had much better coverage of the war than the Daily Prophet. Harry knew that he needed to keep abreast of the latest Death Eater activity. If he was going to fight Voldemort, he needed a sense of what his enemy was up to and the empty reassurances from ‘Ministry officials’ that filled the Prophet these days were no help. The Quibbler gave the kind of details that Harry wanted and that the Prophet had done the previous year, but rarely did any more: details of the actual battles being fought and of who had died or gone missing on both sides. The only drawback to this was the coverage of the Death Eater Vigilante.

Harry had tried very hard to forget about the Death Eater murders and especially about Snape’s likely role in them, but that was impossible now that he was reading the Quibbler. Every Death Eater supposedly killed by the Vigilante made the front page and the back page had a special section devoted to keeping a running total of the Vigilante’s victims along with names and brief descriptions of how each had met his or her demise.

Then there were the editorials. Harry had only read a few of those before becoming so disturbed that he gave up. He was appalled at how many people seemed to support the Vigilante’s increasingly brazen and bloody campaign. Judging from the last couple of reported deaths, he was hardly bothering to disguise the murders as accidents anymore. The Quibbler now counted twelve victims and still the Ministry was turning a blind eye.

Raised voices from the entrance hall drew Harry’s attention.

“Sounds like trouble,” Dean said.

Ron nudged Harry. “Come on, let’s have a look.”

Harry didn’t fancy ending up in the middle of a fight, but most of his classmates were going, so he followed Ron and the rest of the seventh-years to see what the trouble was. They arrived just in time to see Ernie Macmillan hurl himself at Draco Malfoy in a rage. There were a dozen students already watching, but none seemed to want to intervene as the two boys tussled on the floor.

“Macmillan! Malfoy!” Professor McGonagall shouted as she came hurrying across the entrance hall. “Stop this brawling at once!”

The boys didn’t stop or even pause in their fight, but then Harry doubted that either of them had heard the Deputy Headmistress. Ernie was too busy repeatedly slamming his fist into Malfoy’s face and Malfoy was too busy being beaten senseless.

Fortunately, Snape was right behind McGonagall. He stepped forward, seized Ernie and practically lifted him off of the floor as he pulled him away from Malfoy.

Ernie flailed at Snape, but the man blocked his wild swing and shook him violently. “Macmillan!” This at last brought Ernie back to himself.

“That will be twenty points from Hufflepuff,” Snape said evenly. “And I believe that detention is in order.”

“Go ahead,” Ernie replied defiantly, flushed and panting. “I’m not sorry.”

“Mr. Macmillan!” McGonagall said, sounding appalled. “This is not how Hogwarts students – seventh year students – comport themselves.”

Ernie rounded on McGonagall. “What about him?” he demanded, stabbing a finger at Malfoy who was still lying disheveled and bloody on the floor. “He said that he was happy, happy that Therese’s dad died!” Ernie looked back at Malfoy. “Well, I hope that whoever’s killing all those Death Eaters gets your father next!”

Ernie stormed away leaving behind a stunned silence. Everyone’s shocked gazes turned to Malfoy who tried to glare back defiantly, but didn’t look particularly convincing. Snape shook his head in disgust then grabbed the boy and dragged him to his feet, ignoring Malfoy’s gasp of pain.

“You will come with me,” Snape hissed. He gave Malfoy a shove towards the dungeons and followed his student through the door and out of sight.

“All right, break it up, now!” Professor Knight, who had also arrived, said loudly. “Everyone back to breakfast!”

Harry and his friends went back to their table. “Ernie’s right,” Ron said as they resumed their seats. “If there’s anyone that Death Eater Vigilante ought to go after it’s the Malfoys. In fact, I’d sign up to help him.” He looked nearly as angry as Ernie had been.

“Ron, don’t say that!” Hermione said. “Not even as a joke!”

“I’m not joking. They’re rotten to the core, all of them.”

“And you’re just as bad if you’re going to start talking about killing them.”

“Hermione’s right.” Harry spoke up before a full-fledged row could erupt between his two best friends. “Stooping to their level isn’t the answer.”

“You have to admit that Malfoy’s asking for it, Harry,” Dean said.

“Yeah, he is, which just proves that he’s stupid. But vigilantism isn’t the answer.” Harry looked at Ron. “Believe me. I know what it’s like to kill someone and none of you would want to do it.”

“Maybe not,” Ron said, “But we can dream, can’t we?”

“I just can’t believe Malfoy actually said that about Therese’s dad,” Parvati said.

“I can,” Ron replied.

“Well, if he keeps swaggering around school openly supporting Voldemort, today won’t be the last time he gets beaten to a pulp,” Seamus said.

“That’s true,” Hermione said. “Snape’s not going to protect him anymore and he ought to know that without that protection he’s going to be targeted.”

“I suppose it was really only a matter of time, though, before this happened,” Neville said thoughtfully.

“How do you reckon that?” Ginny asked.

“Well, the whole world’s at war. It’s not as it Hogwarts can keep out of it forever. There are all the same divisions here, after all.”

“The only difference is we’re not killing each other,” Dean said. “Not yet, anyway.”

---

On the day of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match the weather was clear but especially windy. The house pennants were snapping in the stiff breeze which also whipped the tiny red and gold flags that most of the students were carrying, threatening to rip them out of the hands of the inattentive.

“Remember our strategy and we’ll be fine,” Ron was saying as the Gryffindors huddled together preparing to take the pitch. He leaned over to Harry and spoke more quietly. “The wind is going to play havoc with the Snitch.”

Harry shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded and the teams took off. It was even windier up in the air than it had been on the ground and both teams had to fight to keep from being blown off course as play began. Scoring was low during the first hour as the wind made it difficult to get the Quaffle through the goal at anything but point blank range, but in the second hour the Gryffindors began to pull ahead as Ron’s strategy of flying the ball rather than passing it started to pay off in the blustery conditions. Gryffindor was up 240 to 110 when Harry finally spotted the Snitch struggling against the wind close to the Slytherin goal. Malfoy, who had been shadowing Harry, spotted it, too, and they both gave chase. Harry pulled ahead of the Slytherin, but Malfoy bumped Harry’s broom hard, sending Harry off course to the left then shot ahead. Harry corrected and raced after Malfoy. He drew up alongside the Slytherin once more and this time as Malfoy jerked his broom to the left to ram him, Harry was ready. He rolled to the left, dropping beneath Malfoy who flew past him as Harry completed his roll and came up on Malfoy’s right. The Slytherin pulled his broom back to the right, but Harry was now between him and the Snitch. Harry reached out with his right hand and plucked the little ball out of the air as Malfoy shot past him.

A deafening cheer went up from the crowd as Harry raised his arm, grinning triumphantly, the Snitch clutched tightly in his fist. But Harry’s victory was interrupted by a loud clang. Harry looked towards the Slytherin goal in time to see Malfoy, who had apparently just run into the left goalpost, slump unconscious and slide off his broom.

Astonished, Harry watched the Slytherin fall as if in slow motion, but his reflexes took over in the next moment. Harry dived sharply, putting on as much speed as he could as he raced towards the other Seeker. Harry reached Malfoy and grabbed him, pulling up hard on his broom. He slowed to a halt and lowered the still unconscious boy to the ground as the teachers came running across the pitch towards them.

Snape was the first to arrive. He knelt down to examine Malfoy whose face was covered with blood. The rest of the Quidditch players had landed and gathered around, too.

“Everyone back up and give him some room,” Professor Knight said as she pushed her way past the students. Snape murmured a spell and Malfoy stirred, moaning softly. Knight looked down at the boy then at Snape who glanced up to meet her eyes.

“Out of the way! Let me through.” The spectators parted once more to let Madam Pomfrey pass. She knelt down next to Snape. “I’ve said for ages that these brooms were too fast. It was just a matter of time before something like this happened.”

Madam Pomfrey conjured a stretcher and soon had Malfoy ready to transport up to the castle. Snape went with her as the rest of the onlookers began to disperse.

“You reckon he’s going to be all right?” Ron asked, coming up to Harry.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

They started back towards the castle and after a minute Ron spoke up again. “You know, I reckon you were right, Harry.”

“About what?”

“About wanting someone dead. Fantasizing about it isn’t the same as the real thing. I don’t know how many times I’ve imagined Malfoy dying, but just now… I’m really glad that you caught him. I suppose I wouldn’t make much of a vigilante after all.”

Harry smiled. “I never thought you would do. Now come on. It’s time to celebrate our first Quidditch victory with our new captain.”

---

Malfoy’s pride seemed to have been the thing most seriously injured in his collision with the goalpost. More than once on Monday, Harry passed the Slytherin in the halls only to hear someone call out, “Careful there, Malfoy. You don’t want to run into anything.” This was inevitably followed by snickering from most everyone within earshot. Harry said nothing, though. Malfoy was ignoring him which suited Harry just fine and he had no interest in baiting a fight. He had more important things on his mind.

Harry’s lessons with Dumbledore had become almost routine by now. Over the last three months he had encountered virtually every sort of creature or plant that might prove dangerous and had learnt to defeat each in turn in Dumbledore’s garden. Then during their previous lesson Dumbledore had said that Harry would be starting a new phase of training, though he had refused to elaborate on what that might be. He had promised to explain it to Harry at their next meeting. Consequently, Harry was particularly anxious to see Dumbledore that evening and arrived early at the headmaster’s office. Dumbledore was seated at his desk rather than by the fire and no tea had been set out.

“Good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore said, smiling in welcome. “We will be forgoing our usual session this evening. There is something else that I have planned instead. Please, sit down.”

Harry sat down and listened attentively as Dumbledore continued. “You have made excellent progress in learning to navigate and manipulate the landscape of my mind, so I believe it is time for you to branch out a bit.”

Harry nodded in anticipation. “Yes, sir.”

“As I’m sure you realize, Harry, every mind is unique and it will surely come as no surprise if I tell you that Voldemort’s mind is probably nothing like mine. In order to prepare you to fight him, you need to experience… a less inviting landscape, shall we say. To that end, I have asked Professor Snape to begin working with you in my place.”

Harry’s excitement flagged considerably. “Professor Snape?”

“That is correct. I will, of course, wish to meet with you in order to monitor your progress and to lend any assistance you may need. But while I have not personally ventured into Professor Snape’s mind, I believe it will provide the best training ground for you at this juncture.”

Harry nodded noncommittally.

“There are, however, several things that you will need to keep in mind,” Dumbledore continued. “To begin with, Professor Snape will remember nothing that transpires in his mind. Nevertheless – or rather most especially because of this – your behavior must be exemplary. Do not let yourself be tempted to take advantage of his ignorance by saying or doing that which you would not normally say or do simply because he will not recall it.”

Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t.”

Dumbledore nodded, satisfied. “Good. Also you need to understand the purpose of this training. You will not be dueling with Professor Snape as you have been with me. Rather, you will be attempting to interpret the symbols in Professor Snape’s mind. Understanding your opponent is key in any battle. You will need to interpret Voldemort’s mind eventually and hopefully, Professor Snape will provide you with some insight into doing so.”

“I understand.”

“Go then, Harry. He is expecting you.”

“What? Tonight?”

“There is no time like the present. But before you go, there is one other thing that you need to keep in mind. Professor Snape has had no training in this form of Legilimency. That means that tonight, you will be the teacher and he the student.”

---

Harry headed for the dungeons without enthusiasm. He was not looking forward to working with Snape. They had done a remarkably good job of avoiding each other since the debacle with the mirrors and might have continued to do so indefinitely if it weren’t for this latest plan of Dumbledore’s. Sometimes Harry suspected that Dumbledore invented reasons to shove him and Snape together, though of course that was silly. Dumbledore was fighting a war. He surely planned his strategy around more pressing issues than Harry and Snape’s relationship.

And Harry could easily understand the benefit in working with Snape. The man’s mind was probably as dark as any he could hope to encounter outside of Voldemort or his Death Eaters. However, that thought only made Harry more reluctant to take part in such sessions with the man. Harry knew that there had to be all sorts of horrors lurking in Snape’s mind. Snape had kept those memories safely hidden during their lessons the previous year and Harry had avoided thinking about the man’s dark side. But Snape wouldn’t be able to hide that darkness this time. Where Harry was going, he was sure that it would be on prominent display and he was afraid to imagine how it might manifest. Harry knew that he had to learn to face evil; but he didn’t particularly want to face it in Snape.

Harry knocked at Snape’s office door and pushed it open.

“Don’t stand there, Potter,” Snape said irritably. “Come in.”

Harry shut the door behind him and took his old seat in front of Snape’s desk out of habit.

“Dumbledore has explained the nature of what it is he proposes to have you do,” Snape said without preamble. “I frankly see little value in it, but that is not for me to decide. However, if you think I’m going to make this easy for you –”

“I don’t want you to make it easy for me. Voldemort won’t.” Harry deliberately used Voldemort’s name. Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“Very well, then. You may proceed when you’re ready.”

Harry took a deep breath, calmed his mind and mentally reached out. He immediately met resistance, but after months of practice with Dumbledore, he didn’t hesitate. He narrowed his focus, concentrated and punched through the barrier with ease. He felt Snape’s surprise, but a moment later the man had refocused his defenses. He tried to deflect Harry, but Harry dodged nimbly around every obstacle. It was ridiculously easy. As sure of himself as Snape acted, his defenses against this type of mental invasion were virtually non-existent and Harry felt a surge of smug pride at his superior abilities.

He concentrated, narrowing his focus into a hard, sharp blade then plunged straight for the depths of Snape’s mind.

Stop!

Snape hadn’t spoken, but the command reverberated in Harry’s mind, cutting across his own thoughts. The word held a mixture of pain and shock, and it was so unexpected that Harry halted in his breakneck descent into the man’s mind. At once he became aware of the emotions and memories swirling around him and even after months of no contact, the sensation was as familiar as the voice of an old friend. It was as if there had never been a break in this intimacy between them. But the calm control Harry was accustomed to feeling in Snape’s mind was missing, replaced by confusion and something that felt alarmingly like fear.

Snape broke the connection between them and glared accusingly at Harry. “Well, Potter, you’ve certainly learnt a thing or two since last term.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, abashed. “I’m used to practicing with Dumbledore. I forgot that you’ve never done this before. Maybe it would be better if you didn’t fight me this time. Just let me in so I can show you what it’s like.”

“What difference does it make? I clearly can’t stop you either way.”

“I won’t force you,” Harry said indignantly. “If you don’t want to do this, I’ll leave.”

Snape regarded Harry resentfully a moment longer then relented. “I gave Dumbledore my word that I would work with you.”

“Then follow me this time. I’ll go slower. It’s not hard,” Harry added at Snape’s skeptical look. “Just don’t fight me and I think it’ll happen naturally.” Harry hoped that was true, anyway. He might know more about this form of Legilimency than Snape, but that wasn’t saying a lot.

“Very well,” Snape agreed, though he didn’t look particularly convinced.

Harry took a deep breath and reached out to Snape’s mind once more. He waited until he could sense Snape’s presence around him and then started to descend, much more slowly than before. Thoughts and memories flashed by – too many to count at first, but fewer and fewer the deeper Harry went. This slow, controlled descent into Snape’s mind was actually much more work than simply diving in with abandon and by the time the last remnants of Snape’s consciousness had fallen away, Harry was straining to maintain control. He was relieved when his feet seemed to hit solid ground and the landscape of Snape’s mind sprang up around him.

Harry had half-formed ideas of the dark forbidding place he imagined Snape’s mind to be, but his first impression as he looked around was that it was in fact rather dull. Harry stood on a street in what appeared to be a run-down industrial neighborhood. It wasn’t pretty, but there was nothing horrifying about it.

“Potter!”

Harry turned towards the sound of Snape’s voice, but as he did so, his feet were suddenly yanked out from under him and he found himself dangling upside down in midair.

“Hey!” he yelled, trying to crane his neck around to look at Snape. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

“What’s the matter, Potter? Aren’t you feeling quite as brave without your friends around? Where are they, anyway?”

“What are you talking about? Have you gone mad?”

The invisible force holding Harry in the air vanished and Harry landed in a heap on the ground. He sat up, turned to glare at Snape and stared in surprise. The man staring bemusedly back at him was Snape, but he wasn’t the man Harry had known for over six years. This Snape couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Harry himself.

“Amazing,” Snape said, staring at Harry with equal astonishment. “You look enough like Potter to be his twin. Who are you?”

That question jolted Harry who scrambled to his feet. “What?”

“Who are you?” Snape repeated slowly in a tone that might have been his usual condescending drawl if it hadn’t sounded so exasperated. “Surely that’s not a difficult question. You do have a name?”

Harry felt his stomach clench. “Harry Potter,” he replied, searching Snape’s eyes for some hint of recognition. “Don’t you know me, Professor?”

“Harry Potter?”

Snape frowned and glanced away as if searching his memory, but when he looked back his eyes were narrowed as if he suspected that Harry was playing a trick on him. “Potter’s son is named Harry, but he’s just a baby. You’re obviously related to him, though. Did he send you here?”

“What? No.”

Snape stepped forward and raised his wand once more. “If he put you up to anything –”

“He didn’t! I swear; I hardly even know him.”

Snape scowled at Harry, clearly unconvinced and Harry felt panic rising in him. Nothing Dumbledore had taught him had prepared him for this. He searched Snape’s face anxiously for some hint of the man he knew, but there was none. “Professor, please, you have to remember.”

“Stop calling me, Professor! I’ve only been teaching at Hogwarts for two months and with luck I won’t be there much longer.”

Harry stared at Snape. This was madness – as mad as Alice in Wonderland. Oddly enough, that thought actually relieved Harry’s fear somewhat. Hadn’t Dumbledore said that anything could happen in the mind?

Harry took a deep breath. “Listen. Let’s just start over, all right?” Harry suggested calmly to young man in front of him, trying to dampen both his own anxiety and Snape’s anger. “Forget about – about Potter. I’m Harry.” Harry automatically stuck out his hand in introduction.

Snape looked dubiously at the outstretched hand, apparently still certain that there was some trick being played on him. But having offered his hand, Harry refused to take it back and the two of them continued to glare at one another until finally Snape gave in and shook Harry’s hand.

“Severus Snape,” he said with a touch of impatience. “So if Potter didn’t send you then what are you doing here?”

Harry sighed and answered honestly. “I’ve no idea. Dumbledore told me to come.”

To Harry’s relief, Snape relaxed and gave him a knowing smile. “Well, that explains a lot. Not that I don’t appreciate everything Dumbledore’s done for me, but he’s not exactly forthcoming with his information.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“So why do you think you’re here? That’s Dumbledore’s game, you know. He expects you to work it out for yourself.”

Harry considered. “I don’t know. I don’t think he knew what I’d find here. What is this place, anyway?”

Snape shrugged. “My home.”

“Do you mind if I look around?”

“There isn’t a great deal to see,” Snape demurred.

“I need to see whatever there is. I know Dumbledore expects that.”

Snape hesitated, then sighed. “Come on, then. I’ll show you.”

Snape set off down the block with Harry at his side. “It’s just houses mostly. There’s a factory about a mile from here where most of the Muggles work. There’s a school over there.”

Harry glanced at the landmarks as Snape pointed them out, but for the most part, he watched Snape. Even though Harry knew that everything around him was simply a manifestation of Snape’s mind, the young man walking next to him seemed remarkably real. It was as if Harry had stepped back in time fifteen or twenty years and was actually talking to Snape as he’d been in those days. In a way, Harry supposed he was. This incarnation of Snape clearly had no memory of anything that had taken place in at least the last seventeen years – not if he still expected ‘Potter’ to be stalking him.

They came to a dead-end and stopped. “That’s all there is,” Snape said.

Harry looked back up the street the way they’d come. Compared to Dumbledore’s garden, Snape’s mind covered a very small area comprised of little more than a few dozen square blocks. Of course Snape wasn’t nearly as old as Dumbledore, but it still seemed a bit cramped. Then something else occurred to him.

“Profess – er… Sir?”

Snape gave Harry an exasperated look. “You may call me either Severus or Snape. I don’t care which you use, just pick one and don’t stumble over it.”

“Right. Where are all of the people?”

“What people?”

“The other people who live here. I haven’t seen a soul.”

Snape shrugged. “They keep to themselves and I keep to mine.”

“Don’t you have any friends? Anyone you talk to?”

Snape’s eyes flashed angrily and Harry realized too late that he’d offended his companion.

“I prefer solitude to inane conversation,” Snape said coldly. “In fact, I need to get back to the potion I’m brewing.”

Harry nodded. “Right.”

Snape turned away, but Harry called after him. “It was nice meeting you – Severus.”

The young man stopped and looked back at Harry, frowning as if sure that Harry must be mocking him. But after a moment he seemed to accept that Harry wasn’t and relaxed again. He nodded curtly. “Nice meeting you.” Then he turned away and strode back up the street.

Harry watched him go then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and opened his eyes again. He was sitting in Snape’s office and Snape was seated across from him. The man blinked, then shook his head as if to clear it.

“Well, Potter, I trust that was edifying.”

“Do you remember any of it?”

“No, but given that Dumbledore said I wouldn’t, I hardly find that surprising. Frankly, I couldn’t care less anyway. I have enough to occupy me in the real world without delving into the realm of dreams. Now, if you’re finished, I have things to do.”

Harry nodded and rose from his chair. He had pressing business elsewhere, too. He left Snape’s office and headed back to Dumbledore’s. The headmaster didn’t seem at all surprised to see him.

“Come in, Harry. How was your session with Professor Snape?”

“I don’t think this is going to work.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry over the top of his glasses. “I take it your foray into his mind was not what you were expecting. Harry, I told you that it would likely be less welcoming than mine. That is the reason that I –”

“It’s not that. His mind wasn’t that bad, but he’s… he’s not himself.”

Harry quickly relayed the encounter he’d had with Snape. Dumbledore listened attentively then leaned back in his chair and considered for a moment. “Yes, that would make sense,” he said at last.

“Well, I’m glad one of us understands it.”

Dumbledore looked back at Harry and smiled. “I realize it must have been quite disconcerting for you, Harry, but what you encountered was not entirely unexpected. In fact I should have foreseen the likelihood of this.”

“I don’t understand. Why should Professor Snape not know me? Why should he look as if he’s hardly over twenty?”

“The mind is a complicated and many-layered thing that still presents far more mysteries than answers, particularly in the realm of the subconscious. On one level – the conscious level – Professor Snape functions normally. But it seems that on the subconscious level, his development has been arrested, undoubtedly due to a serious emotional trauma that he suffered as a very young man. I’m certain that I needn’t tell you what that was.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore in sudden understanding. “My parents’ deaths.”

“Exactly. I have no doubt that the young man you saw tonight looked exactly as Severus would have done on Halloween night in 1981. At the deepest level of his being he has never moved beyond that moment. All that has transpired in the intervening years – all of those memories – are locked away. At best they are like shadows, without substance and they mean nothing to him.

Harry turned away to pace across the floor. “Then I’ll have to have to find some other way to prepare to face Voldemort.”

“Why?”

Harry looked at Dumbledore in surprise. “I can’t go rummaging around in his mind the way it is now. He doesn’t even know me!”

“On the contrary, I can think of nothing more useful than for you to force Severus to look beyond the trauma that has held him prisoner all these years.”

“But I don’t know how!” Harry said desperately. “What if I make it worse?”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know you, Harry, and I know how deeply you have come to care about him. Oh, I know that neither of you are willing to admit it, but it is true nevertheless. I have told you before to follow your instincts. Let them guide you in this.”

Harry peered into the cauldron and tried to look interested as the young man next to him stirred the simmering potion and explained the process he was using.

“You see, the standard instructions call for the potion to be stirred with continuous clockwise strokes. But I found that if I make every seventh stroke counterclockwise, like so, I can cut the brewing time by a third and the potion ends up being more potent.”

“Really?” Harry said.

Snape looked sideways at Harry. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”

“Sorry. I’ve just never been much of a hand at Potions.”

Snape turned down the heat under his cauldron and regarded Harry curiously. “If you’re that bored why do you keep coming here?”

Harry had no answer for that. This was his fourth trip into Snape’s mind and so far the experiences seemed to be a waste of time. Snape would talk of nothing but Potions and spent most of his time in this small, dingy building which must have once been a store, but which Snape now used as his lab.

The back room, which Harry had only glimpsed once, was dark and contained shelves of potions supplies and a sparse living area. The front room was nearly bare. There was a long counter which contained Snape’s cauldron and an oil lamp. An old wooden stool sat in a corner and there were a couple of shelves that held bottles of some commonly used potions ingredients. Other than that, there was nothing. Harry found the place thoroughly depressing, all the more so because Snape didn’t seem to notice its shabbiness.

Harry sighed. “I think I need to go for a walk.”

Snape shrugged and turned back to his potion. “Suit yourself.”

Harry left Snape and headed down the block, pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt as he went. Just as it was always a bright sunny morning in Dumbledore’s garden, here it always seemed to be cold and threatening rain. Harry had been up and down every street in the neighborhood which had proved to be both depressing and unenlightening.

The neighborhood was roughly bordered on four sides. At one end was the Muggle factory, set off by a long, high barbed-wire fence. If the place was supposed to still be in use, Harry couldn’t tell. He’d never seen anyone go in or out of it. At the opposite end wound a dirty river with rubbish-strewn banks where a clearly abandoned mill stood. Between these landmarks there were blocks of row houses and an occasional store or pub. On one side, the neighborhood ended at a steep embankment where train tracks ran and beyond which was nothing but open land. On the other side, the houses ended abruptly at a high brick wall.

Harry stopped on a corner and looked around at the familiar deserted buildings and felt a surge of frustration. He had to be missing something. There had to be more to Snape’s mind than this. It was a conviction that had been eating at him for weeks now, but Harry had no idea how to get beneath the surface and find whatever he was meant to discover.

Harry sighed, closed his eyes, opened them again and found Snape studying him across the desk. Dumbledore had warned Harry not to tell Snape what he saw during these sessions. He’d apparently explained the necessity of this to Snape too, because the man had never asked Harry for any details. But Snape clearly considered it fair game to try to deduce what Harry had experienced and Harry had never been any good at hiding his emotions from the man.

“Frustrated again, Potter?” Snape asked with a smirk. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“I’ll let you know when I find it.” Harry said.

He left Snape’s office and headed upstairs to see Dumbledore, as had become his custom, his frustration mounting with every step. Even Snape could tell that he was failing to make any progress.

Harry knocked at Dumbledore’s office door and went in.

“Hello, Harry.” Dumbledore smiled. “How was your evening with Professor Snape?”

“I’m useless at this!” Harry blurted out. “If I’m going to have to interpret Voldemort’s mind in order to defeat him, we might as well forget it right now.”

Harry flopped into a chair and glared sullenly at the old wizard, but Dumbledore only smiled.

“Harry, I doubt that there is any mind more difficult to penetrate than Severus Snape’s – Lord Voldemort’s included. That is precisely why you are working with him.”

“But I’m not getting anywhere.”

“That is because you are not looking at what you see. I admit that I have spoiled you by acting as guide through my own mind. Now you must examine Professor Snape’s mind and analyze it for yourself.”

“But there’s almost nothing there.”

“Which in itself should tell you a great deal. Why is he always alone? Why does he seem obsessed with brewing potions to the exclusion of any other activity? What makes that neighborhood so significant that it stands as the defining representation of his soul?”

Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “I’ve tried to think about those questions; honestly I have. But I just don’t know.”

“Nor will you be able to know with certainty. You are engaged in a highly interpretive art. But surely, Harry, you can hazard a guess?”

Harry considered. “I know he’s lonely. He seems to like having me around, even if I don’t share his passion for Potions. There’s no one else there.”

“Why not?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t know?”

“Do you believe that no one else has ever touched his life, for good or ill?”

“Of course not. But he doesn’t… he must not want anyone else around.” Harry stood up and began to pace the room. “Which makes sense, I suppose. It’s all just a parallel for his life. He spends all of his time in his dungeons which are every bit as dreary as that town. He keeps to himself and he spends all of his time brewing potions or marking homework.”

“And why is potion brewing in particular something that carries over into his subconscious?

“Because he’s good at it. He’s proud of his abilities as a potions maker.”

“And?”

Harry bit his lip and thought not only of the young man in Snape’s mind, but of his teacher. And Harry remembered all the long days he’d spent with Snape brewing potions over summer. “It makes him feel confident and in control. And it gives him an excuse not to have to deal with anyone or anything he doesn’t want to deal with.”

“Very good, Harry. I would say that you are correct.”

Harry shook his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. I can understand him wanting to avoid people or situations in real life, but what’s he hiding from in his own mind?”

“That, Harry, is what you must discover.”

---

It was late when Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower. Even so, there were still dozens of students up studying in the common room and Harry immediately felt another weight settle on him. Exams were the following week and he wasn’t prepared. He’d barely had a chance to revise at all, nor could he muster any enthusiasm for studying. The looming exams also reminded Harry of another problem which worried him far more than his marks in any of his subjects – he had nothing to give Ginny for Christmas.

Harry had already ordered a new broom-cleaning kit for Ron and an extra set of potions vials for Hermione, but he couldn’t decide what to buy for Ginny. This was the first Christmas since they’d started dating and Harry wanted to give her something special. Unfortunately, he had no idea what that might be and no opportunity to go browsing in Hogsmeade thanks to the stupid DPS. He was beginning to feel desperate.

Harry looked around the room. Ginny was deep into a discussion with several of her classmates. They were obviously quizzing one another for an upcoming exam and Harry didn’t want to intrude, so he headed to the opposite side of the room where Hermione was studying alone – Ron having predictably given up and gone to bed.

“Hi.”

“There you are,” Hermione said, shoving a stack of parchment across the table at him. “I’ve made copies of all of my notes for all of your subjects. If you learn those you ought to at least be able to pass your exams next week.”

Harry picked up the papers and leafed through them. They contained neat outlines and succinct explanations of all of the material that had been covered in all of Harry’s subjects over the entire term. He looked back at Hermione in amazement. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“Of course I did. I know you haven’t studied. You’ve barely managed to get your homework done this term. It’s all right,” Hermione added at Harry’s guilty expression. “You have a lot on your mind, Harry. We all know that.”

“You’re a life saver, Hermione,” Harry said as he rolled up the stack of parchment and stuffed it in his pocket. He sat down, glanced across the room at Ginny once more and lowered his voice. “I need another favor, though.”

“What sort of favor?”

“I don’t know what to get Ginny for Christmas and I thought you might be able to give me some ideas.”

“Do you have anything in mind at all?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. I ordered some nice stationery for her birthday since she’s always writing to someone in her family, but I can’t keep giving her paper and envelopes. I want to give her something different. Something more…”

“Personal?”

“Yes. But not, you know, too personal. I don’t want to give her something stupid.”

“Hmm.” Hermione frowned slightly as she often did when puzzling over a sticky problem. “How about a nice pair of gloves?”

“That would work, I suppose,” Harry agreed.

“What sort do you think?” Hermione asked. “Woolen, leather? And what color?”

“Er, what would you suggest?” Harry hedged.

Hermione gave Harry a pitying look. “I could pick something out when I’m in Hogsmeade this coming weekend.”

“Would you? Hermione, that would be fantastic!”

---

A light snow was falling Saturday afternoon as the students left for Hogsmeade. Harry had decided to walk with Ginny, Ron and Hermione as far as the main gate. As they were passing the lake, however, Ginny stopped them and pointed out across the water.

“Look at that.”

Draco Malfoy was creeping along the opposite bank, clearly trying to remain inconspicuous. He was staying close to the trees and glanced over his shoulder periodically as if to ensure that he wasn’t being followed. At last he paused, looked furtively around once more then disappeared between two stands of trees.

“I wonder where he’s off to alone,” Ron said.

“There’s one way to find out,” Harry said. “Come on, let’s follow him.”

They struck off around the lake at a run but slowed as they reached the spot where Malfoy had disappeared. A narrow, winding path ran between the trees and up into the hills. Harry had never been this way before and had no idea where the path might lead, but he was determined to find out what Malfoy was up to. He led the way quickly but quietly up the path. As they walked, the trees thinned out and soon they were ducking from one rocky outcropping to another in an effort to stay hidden. At last, Harry peeked around a large boulder and spotted Malfoy standing in front of what appeared to be a small cave. The Slytherin seemed to be debating with himself. He looked around, wariness etched on his face. Then he appeared to come to decision. With one final glance over his shoulder, he stepped into the cave.

“Come on,” Harry whispered, motioning his friends to follow as he hurried forward. He flattened himself against the rock next to the cave entrance and strained to hear any sound coming from within. There was none. He peered inside and could see that the cave was much larger than he had thought. Malfoy was standing only a couple of paces inside with his back to the entrance. But at that moment, Ron, Ginny and Hermione came up and a shadow fell across the cave’s entrance.

Malfoy whirled around, his wand at the ready. “Who’s there?”

Harry drew his own wand and stepped into the cave. “I think you took a wrong turn on the way to Hogsmeade.”

“Potter, get out of here! This is none of your business.”

“Is that so? What are you doing out here? Are you meeting someone?” Harry advanced on Malfoy who backed further into the cave and raised his wand higher.

“I said it’s none of your business, Potter. I’m warning you!”

But Harry was no longer paying attention to the Slytherin. Something was moving in the darkness at the back of the cave. It loomed up behind Malfoy.

“Look out!” Harry yelled. He shoved Malfoy aside and raised his wand just as a long whip lashed out of the darkness. It hit Harry’s arm, knocking his wand out of his hand. Then a dozen more struck, flailing Harry across his chest and arms. The whips hit him with such force that they knocked Harry backwards and he fell to the ground, gasping in surprise.

“Luminosus!” Hermione cried out and suddenly the cave was filled with blinding light. Harry squinted and held up his hand to shield his eyes. Then two pairs of arms grabbed him and dragged him out of the cave. These turned out to belong to Ron and Ginny who both looked shaken. Malfoy who was standing nearby was white as a sheet. Harry sat on the ground, panting. Where the whips had hit him, his skin was tingling unpleasantly as though he’d been stung by a hundred microscopic bees.

“Harry, get up!” Hermione said, grasping Harry’s arm.

“Get up!” she yelled when Harry failed to move. Her eyes were blazing with barely controlled panic. “Ron, help me get him up.”

“Hermione, it’s all right,” Harry assured her as he got slowly to his feet. “I’m okay.”

“No you’re not!” Hermione’s voice rose urgently and she grasped his arm again. “We have to get to Hogsmeade.”

“Hogsmeade?” Harry repeated incredulously.

“Yes! We have to get help!”

Harry shook his head. “I just need to get back to Hogwarts.”

“You’ll be dead before you can get back to Hogwarts, Potter,” Malfoy said in a dull voice completely devoid of his usual arrogance.

“He’s right,” Hermione said. “That was a Stinging Tentacula that attacked you, Harry. Now hold still.”

Before Harry could register what either Malfoy or Hermione had just said, Hermione spun him around and they Disapparated. With a ‘pop’, they appeared in the crowded main street of Hogsmeade, in front of The Three Broomsticks. Groups of students shied out of their way in surprise, but Harry ignored them. Apparating had not improved his condition. His chest and arms had now begun to burn as well as sting. Hermione was craning her neck around looking for something.

“Professor!” she shouted, waving frantically at a figure that was approaching them through the crowd. It was Snape. He had obviously already noticed their arrival and was scowling murderously at them as he cut a path through the students who shrank out of his way. At Hermione’s urgent call, however, his frown deepened to one of concern and he quickened his pace. Hermione set off to meet him, dragging Harry along.

Harry stumbled after her, but his mind was still reeling. Hermione had to be wrong. Stinging Tentaculas were incredibly rare. How could one have found its way into a cave just outside of school? It had to have been some other plant – probably a Venomous Tentacula.

“What happened?” Snape demanded, pushing his way past the last group of students separating them and pulling Harry out of his thoughts.

“Harry’s been attacked by a Stinging Tentacula,” Hermione blurted out at once.

Snape’s eyes widened in surprise, but the tirade of angry questions and threats Harry was expecting from the man didn’t come. Instead, Snape reached for his arm and spoke in a quiet, controlled voice. “Give him to me.”

Hermione released her grip on Harry’s arm and stepped back as Snape pulled Harry close to him. Harry glanced from Hermione’s pale, frightened face to the grim set of Snape’s jaw and felt a stab of fear. Then he was Apparating again. This time his knees nearly buckled as his feet hit the ground, but Snape had a firm grip on his arm and dragged him up the steps and through the door of the dingy row-house they’d appeared in front of.

“Where were you stung?” Snape asked curtly as he led Harry swiftly through a small, shabby living room, down a short, dark hallway and into a sparse, colorless bedroom.

“My arms and chest,” Harry said, scratching the affected areas through his clothing. In addition to the burning and stinging sensations, it now felt as though a thousand ants were crawling over his skin. Snape shoved Harry down to sit on the bed then yanked his sweatshirt and tee shirt off in quick succession.

Snape let out a sharp hiss that sent another stab of fear through Harry. Dreading what he was going to see, Harry looked down at his bare chest. Where the vines had touched him his skin was covered in bright red blisters oozing green pus. But what made Harry freeze in horror was that beneath each of the dozens of oozing pustules something was moving.

“They grow quickly,” Snape commented, grimly. “Lie down. This is going to hurt.”

Harry lay back on the bed without protest. He didn’t care if whatever Snape was about to do hurt; he’d suffered plenty of pain in the past and was used to it. What he did care desperately about was being rid of the things that were writhing beneath his skin. Of all the horrors he’d faced in his life, nothing had ever terrified him the way this did. He remembered with brutal clarity the dead rat from their Herbology lesson and the thought of those parasitic vines growing inside of him was revolting.

Snape pulled his wand from his pocket and murmured, “Candeo.” The tip of the wand glowed red then brightened and turned white. Harry could feel the heat from it and braced himself as Snape touched the wand to one of the moving pustules in the center of his chest, but it was no use. He screamed as the wand tip burned through his skin and into the flesh below. For a moment, the pain lessened as Snape removed his wand from the now cauterized wound, but the agony returned almost instantly as he attacked another pustule.

One after another Snape burned away the parasites that had infested Harry. He worked quickly, never pausing, but it seemed interminable to Harry. Snape hadn’t been exaggerating when he said this would hurt: it rivaled the Cruciatus Curse. Harry wished that he would faint, but though he came close several times his mind stubbornly refused to give up consciousness. At last Snape laid aside his wand. Harry was exhausted from the ordeal. He was shaking all over and somewhere, dimly in the back of his mind, he realized that he must be in shock.

But Snape wasn’t finished. He ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, probing his scalp then rolled Harry onto his stomach. He felt the back of Harry’s head then quickly examined Harry’s back, shoulders and armpits. Apparently satisfied, he pulled Harry onto his back once more, unfastened Harry’s jeans and unceremoniously yanked them off along with Harry’s shoes and socks. A small voice in Harry’s head cried out in protest at this violation, but Harry couldn’t muster the outrage it demanded. The air felt icy cold against his newly exposed skin and he gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering as Snape examined his feet and legs in a brisk, professional manner. However, when Snape reached for the waistband of Harry’s underwear, the voice in his head screamed so loudly that Harry couldn’t ignore it.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, sounding rather more panicked than he’d meant to do.

Snape looked up, met Harry’s eyes, and for a moment, Harry was certain he saw a look of sympathy flicker across the man’s features. In the next moment, however, it was gone.

“Potter, do you really want to risk missing any of these things?” Snape snapped impatiently. “Lie still!”

Harry did as he was told. He lay back and stared fixedly at the ceiling, studying the cracks in its old plaster as Snape pulled down his pants to inspect the one area he hadn’t yet examined. Fortunately Snape was quick. His examination complete, he slipped Harry’s underwear back in place then hurried out of the room.

Alone at last, Harry sighed, pulled the bed covers around him and curled up into a tight ball. The pain from his wounds had faded, but every muscle in his body seemed to ache now and he was shivering worse than ever despite the blankets. He could no longer keep his teeth from chattering and his stomach was beginning to cramp.

This can’t be right, Harry thought groggily. This can’t just be shock. He’d suffered worse pain in the past and he’d never had this sort of reaction. A particularly sharp pain shot through Harry’s stomach and down into his groin, making him gasp just as Snape returned with a bottle of liquid and a glass.

“Professor, I think something’s wrong,” Harry said weakly, clutching his stomach. “I don’t feel very well.”

“No, I don’t imagine you do,” Snape replied, swirling the bottle’s contents around three times then carefully filling the glass with the dark liquid. He stepped over to the bed and slipped an arm under Harry’s shoulders to help him sit up. “Drink this,”

“What is it?”

“Belladonna.”

“But that’s poison.”

“Very good, Potter. It’s gratifying to know that you’ve retained something of what I’ve taught you. Now drink.”

Harry kept his mouth firmly shut and Snape sighed.

“Potter, we have no time for a lecture on the myriad ways Tentaculas kill. Cauterization destroys the parasites, but it also produces a highly toxic poison, the only known antidote for which is this.”

Harry frowned and eyed the glass skeptically. Through the fog in his mind he vaguely remembered Professor Sprout telling them about Belladonna as an antidote, but the glass contained an awful lot of the deadly liquid. Snape seemed to realize what he was thinking.

“The more toxin in your blood, the more of the antidote you must take. You have received a massive dose of toxin. Therefore you will need to take the largest possible non-lethal dose of Belladonna.”

Snape held out the glass to Harry who still hesitated. “Potter, there isn’t a great deal of time.”

Harry nodded then let Snape lift the glass to his lips. He swallowed its contents then lay back down and curled up, still clutching his stomach against the pain. “How long will I have to wait before I know if this has worked?”

“Not long. If the toxin is neutralized, the cramps will subside almost immediately, though full recovery can take up to twenty-four hours.”

Harry waited, but the cramps in his stomach didn’t seem to be going away.

“Well?” Snape asked.

“I don’t think there’s any difference,” Harry said.

“Potter, the cramps are either going to lessen or grow worse. Which is it?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Are they spreading or staying localized?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can’t you manage something as simple as reporting your own symptoms?” Snape said angrily.

“Maybe if you stopped nagging me, I’d be able to figure it out,” Harry snapped back.

A sharp pain – the worst yet – shot through Harry’s abdomen then seemed to wrap around to the small of his back. He grunted and gritted his teeth against the pain. After a moment the cramp subsided to a dull ache which radiated from his lower back through his hips and into his abdomen.

Harry looked up at Snape. “That definitely didn’t work.”

“Apparently not,” Snape agreed.

They stared at one another in silence. Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say. What more was there? He was dying and they both knew it. What were you supposed to say on your deathbed? Harry wasn’t afraid and didn’t feel as though he needed any sort of comfort – not that Snape was likely to provide any. Neither did Snape seem a probable choice to pass on any personal last words to his friends. In fact, the man already looked thoroughly put out. He turned away to pace the small room and when he looked back at Harry, his annoyance was obvious.

“Well, Potter, despite everyone’s best efforts, you’ve finally managed to get yourself killed,” Snape sneered. “As often as you’ve tried, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, though I must say a Stinging Tentacula was a novel approach.”

“You act as if I did this on purpose,” Harry said indignantly, stung by the callousness of Snape’s remark.

“On purpose? I wouldn’t give you that much credit. You never give a thought to the consequences of your actions.”

“That’s not true!” Harry gasped through gritted teeth as his muscles clenched in another cramp.

“Isn’t it? What was it today? What was so desperately important that lured you away from school when you have been told again and again to stay put? Do you know how much has been sacrificed for you? And it has all been for nothing simply because you can’t help but wander into harm’s way at every opportunity!”

Harry rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out Snape’s ranting. He wondered if the man was going to stand over him, berating him until he died. It didn’t help that Snape was right. He was supposed to fight Voldemort, not get killed by a stupid plant. Who was going to defeat Voldemort now?

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Harry said.

“That’s rather a moot point, isn’t it?”

Another spasm shot through Harry and he cried out in pain. “What do you want from me? I know I was supposed to kill him. I know I’ve ruined everything. I’m sorry!”

Harry buried his head in a pillow and groaned. The pain was becoming excruciating. If only he would just pass out. Then he wouldn’t have to suffer it or listen to Snape yelling at him. Suddenly Harry felt strong hands dig into the tortured muscles of his back.

“Breathe, Potter,” Snape said. “Short, rhythmic breaths through your mouth.”

Harry panted as Snape continued massaging his back. To his surprise it actually helped. The spasm ended and Harry sagged back onto the bed, drenched in sweat. He looked up at Snape who was sitting next to him. The man no longer seemed angry. Instead, he looked utterly defeated which made Harry feel far worse than he had when Snape was shouting at him.

“I’m sorry, Professor.”

“It’s all right, Potter,” Snape said wearily.

“But what about Voldemort?”

Snape shook his head. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.” He reached out and carelessly brushed the fringe off of Harry’s forehead.

Snape’s fingertips felt cool against Harry’s feverish skin. Then they were gone and Harry felt a pang of disappointment. The gesture had been so natural, so personal. No one but Mrs. Weasley had ever touched him like that before and suddenly, Harry desperately wanted to feel that touch again, the simple touch of another human being.

Without thinking he reached out and grasped Snape’s hand. Snape flinched in surprise and looked down at Harry’s hand clutching his. Then his eyes widened and he yanked his hand away, jumped up and ran from the room.

Harry watched Snape go. So much for a little human contact, he thought wryly as another wave of pain hit him. When it had passed he lay gasping for breath. It didn’t really matter. This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d faced death alone. He could already feel himself beginning to fade in and out of consciousness. If he could just pass out, he could die in peace. Harry closed his eyes willing himself to faint.

“Potter!”

Harry opened his eyes in surprise. Snape was back. He had taken off his robes and unbuttoned his collar. His shirtsleeves were rolled up as well. He picked up the bottle of Belladonna, swirled it around three times then filled the glass to the brim.

“I thought I couldn’t take any more of that,” Harry said.

“You can’t,” Snape replied, swallowing the poison himself in one long gulp. Then he picked up a silver knife which he’d apparently retrieved from somewhere and turned towards Harry.

For a moment Harry wondered if Snape was going to kill him in order to put him out of his misery. But Snape merely climbed up onto the bed and knelt beside him. Another fierce cramp surged through Harry and he grunted.

“Hold on, Potter,” Snape said. He reached for Harry’s right hand and cut a deep gash across his palm. Harry didn’t even feel it over the pain he was already suffering. Snape quickly slashed a similar wound in his own hand.

The cramping subsided again and Harry looked up at his teacher. “What are you doing?”

“Saving your life, I hope.” Snape gripped Harry’s hand tightly in his, pressing their bleeding palms together. “We are of one blood, bound together in life or in death.”

Another surge of pain coursed through Harry. He cried out and this time Snape gasped in pain as well. Snape collapsed on the bed next to Harry, still clutching his hand. But Harry’s own pain had finally become unbearable and he at last slipped into welcome unconsciousness.

---

Harry was lying on the soft warm grass beside the lake at Hogwarts, the sun shining through the trees to warm him. A slight squeeze of his hand made him turn towards Ginny who was lying beside him in the grass, smiling at him. He clasped her hand tightly in return, running his thumb gently over the back of her hand in a caress then he closed his eyes contentedly.

The sun shining through the gap in the curtains was quite warm and Harry, hovering on the cusp between sleep and wakefulness, pushed the blankets away then frowned slightly, realizing that he wasn’t lying on grass as he had supposed, but in bed. Drowsily, he reached up to straighten his glasses then opened his eyes which widened in shock as he came fully awake.

Strictly speaking, Severus Snape might not have been the last person Harry would have wanted to wake up next to, but he was certainly the last person Harry wanted to wake up holding hands with, particularly wearing nothing but his underwear. Yet this was precisely the predicament Harry found himself in. He was lying amidst a cozy disarray of blankets on a bed in a small, nondescript bedroom that seemed somehow familiar, although Harry had no idea where he was and knew he’d never been there before. Snape was sleeping peacefully next to him, but nevertheless had an almost vice-like grip on his right hand as Harry discovered when he tried to gently pull it free. Harry tugged harder, but Snape shifted uneasily in his sleep and gripped Harry’s hand even tighter.

Harry took a deep breath and fought down an irrational panic. He had no memory of how he’d come to be in these circumstances, but there had to be a reasonable explanation for the fact that he seemed to have spent the night holding hands in bed with his teacher. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn’t think of one. Panic was beginning to gnaw at him again and Harry desperately tried to wriggle his hand free of Snape’s once more. The last thing he wanted – the one thing that could make this mortifying situation even worse – would be for Snape to wake up holding his hand.

The moment Harry imagined the scene, he felt himself flush in embarrassment. Unfortunately, fate seemed to have just been waiting for the dread thought to enter his mind, because no sooner had it done so, than Snape heaved a deep sigh, opened his eyes and looked straight into Harry’s. Harry froze. For a moment they stared at one another in silence then an unpleasant smirk crept onto Snape’s face which made Harry feel rather queasy.

“Well, Mr. Potter, we seem to have survived your latest adventure,” Snape drawled. “I do hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

Harry felt the heat of his embarrassment drain away. Since he couldn’t remember what had happened the night before and was fairly sure he didn’t want to know, he couldn’t think of any reply, but Snape didn’t seem to expect one. He let go of Harry’s hand and sat up. Harry sat up, too and would have leapt off the bed entirely, but Snape grabbed his arm.

“Not so fast, Potter.” Snape gave Harry’s pale, bare chest a long, appraising look that did nothing for Harry’s peace of mind. Then he reached out and ran one long finger across Harry’s shoulder. Harry jerked away.

“What are you doing?”

“Inspecting my handiwork,” Snape replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry growled.

Snape shrugged. “Exactly what I said. I’ve never done this before, you know.”

“Nice to know I was the first,” Harry said through clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice steady as he pulled the covers closer around him and edged further away from Snape. “Just where are we, anyway?”

“My home.”

Harry hit the dusty, wood floor with a thud along with a tangle of blankets. He rolled over, trying to kick free of the covers and found Snape peering down at him in bewilderment over the edge of the bed.

“Potter, what the devil are you doing?”

Harry fought free of the last of the blankets and scrambled to his feet, clutching a sheet around his waist protectively.

“Your home?” Harry’s voice sounded an octave too high to his ears, but he didn’t care. “What are we doing in your home?”

“It was the only place available,” Snape said, standing up as well. “Hogwarts was out of the question.”

Harry stared at Snape, feeling truly sick. “Yeah, I reckon it was,” he finally managed to choke out.

“Ah, I thought I heard voices.” Harry and Snape both turned to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway smiling pleasantly. “I hope you don’t mind, Severus. I took the liberty of letting myself in. I must say it is a relief to see you both finally up and about.”

Harry gaped at Dumbledore who obviously wasn’t the least bit shocked that one of his staff and one of his students had spent the night together. In fact, he looked positively happy.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry’s dumbfounded expression. “It is obvious, Harry, that you have no memory of yesterday, but let me assure you that nothing inappropriate has occurred here.”

Snape frowned and glanced suspiciously between Harry and Dumbledore. “What do you mean, ‘inappropriate’?”

Dumbledore looked at Snape and Harry was certain that the old man was trying very hard not to laugh. “I believe that Harry is under the mistaken impression that you have been caught in flagrante delicto.”

Harry had never heard that phrase before, but it was clear that Snape had and from the look on the man’s face, Harry could guess what it meant. It occurred to him that he had made a horrible mistake just as Snape rounded on him, white with outrage.

“WHAT? I saved your life and you think –”

Snape broke off, a tinge of pink coloring his pale cheeks. Dumbledore stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm.

“Severus, Harry doesn’t remember and he is naturally disoriented. Come. Let’s you and I make us all some tea while Harry gets dressed. Harry, the bathroom is just across the hall. If you’ll come into the kitchen when you’re ready, I will explain everything to you. Come, Severus.”

Snape cast a final, resentful glare at Harry then stalked out of the room. Dumbledore gave Harry a much more encouraging look then left as well. Alone, Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to make sense of the bizarre situation, but it was no use. Whatever explanation Dumbledore planned to give him, Harry couldn’t begin to guess at it and after a few moments he decided that sitting here wasn’t going to do him any good.

He stood up and discarded the sheet he was still holding around him then retrieved his clothes which were folded neatly on a nearby chair. He dressed quickly, shoved his wand into his pocket, then crept to the door and peeked out. There was no one in sight so he quickly crossed the hall to a dingy bathroom. He stepped up to the sink and looked at his reflection. The young man staring back at him was a wreck; pale and gaunt with dark circles under his eyes.

Harry ran a hand through the hopeless disarray of his hair. What happened to me? He wondered. He turned on the tap, removed his glasses and splashed water on his face. Then he ran his wet hands through his hair to slick it back. Having completed these minimal ablutions and having no further excuse to delay, Harry stepped back out into the hall and followed the sound of voices to a cramped kitchen. He paused just outside the doorway.

Snape was slouched in a chair at the small table, his arms folded tightly across his chest, scowling resentfully. Dumbledore was looking through the cupboards and both men had their backs turned.

“Really, Severus, there is no reason for you to take such offense,” Dumbledore said, opening a tin to peer inside. “He’s seventeen and such thoughts are seldom far from one’s mind at that age. Besides, it isn’t every day that a young man wakes up half naked in bed with one of his teachers and with no memory of how he came to be in such circumstances. Surely you can appreciate how that would be disconcerting.”

Snape glared indignantly at Dumbledore, but said nothing.

“I must say, Severus, that your cupboards are distressingly bare. You might at least keep a few biscuits on hand.”

“I wasn’t planning on entertaining,” Snape said, sourly.

“Quite so.” Dumbledore waved his wand and three teacups appeared on the table. He retrieved a teakettle from the stove and began to fill the cups. “Still, it was a rather long and fraught night to endure on an empty stomach.”

“If Mr. Potter would refrain from trying to get himself killed, the contents of my cupboards would not be an issue,” Snape replied irritably.

“Also quite true,” Dumbledore said with a sympathetic smile as he sat down next to Snape. “Ah, Harry, there you are. Come and have some tea. It will do you good.”

Harry left off hovering in the doorway to come and sit down next to Dumbledore and as far away from Snape as the small table would allow. Snape didn’t look at him.

“Would one of you mind telling me what’s going on?” Harry asked, directing the question to Dumbledore.

“Do you remember anything of yesterday’s events, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“No,” Harry admitted.

“Then allow me to jog your memory. According to Miss Granger, you and she, along with Ginny and Ron Weasley were walking down to the main gate yesterday when you saw Draco Malfoy slinking rather guiltily – Ron supplied that detail – along a path on the opposite side of the lake. Naturally, the four of you felt compelled to follow him. The path led up into the hills above Hogsmeade where Draco eventually stopped at the entrance to a cave. When he entered it, you went in after him and in the ensuing argument no one noticed the Stinging Tentacula until it attacked. You shoved Draco out of the way – a detail that he, interestingly enough, confirms – and took the full brunt of the attack, yourself. Miss Granger, realizing that they would never get you back to Hogwarts in time, made the first wise decision of the day and Apparated to Hogsmeade to find help.”

Harry said nothing for a moment. He remembered following Malfoy, but the attack itself was still fuzzy. It had all happened so fast. “How did I get here?”

“I brought you here immediately after Miss Granger dragged you up to me in front of the Three Broomsticks,” Snape replied indignantly.

“Why here? Why not back to Hogwarts?”

“For the same reason that Miss Granger decided against it. Because you would have been dead before I could have got you to the hospital wing. As it was you very nearly died.”

“And why…” Harry hesitated. He hated to ask this, but he had to know the answer. “Why were you holding my hand?”

Snape’s eyes flashed in anger, but it was Dumbledore who answered. “That, Harry, is the trademark of the Healer’s Gamble.”

“The what?”

“The Healer’s Gamble,” Snape repeated impatiently. “It is the last means of saving the life of a poisoning victim. Most poisons, as you should know by now, can be counteracted with a bezoar. However, those that can’t often require antidotes that are nearly as deadly as the poisons they are designed to neutralize. Stinging Tentacula toxin is one of them. You received a massive dose of it, but because its antidote is poisonous in itself, I couldn’t give you enough of it to save your life. You would have died, but the Healer’s Gamble provided a chance for a different outcome.”

“It is an ancient spell,” Dumbledore said, picking up the narrative from Snape. “It is based on blood and is very powerful as is all blood magic. The concept though is quite straightforward. The idea is to double the volume of blood in order to dilute the poison and allow a second dose of antidote to be given. To do this, the healer takes it upon himself to mingle his blood with that of the victim. Typically he ingests the second dose of antidote and then makes a deep incision on both his own and the victim’s right palms. He then recites the spell’s incantation and they join hands.

“One blood, bound together in life or in death,” Harry whispered. He glanced down at his palm where a long thin scar marked all that remained of the deep gash Snape had cut. It was all coming back to him now: the agony as Snape had burned away the parasites that had infested him; the fever and cramps that had followed; the terrible realization that he was going to die. And he remembered Snape sitting beside him.

“Why is it called a ‘gamble’?”

“Because if even a double dose of the antidote cannot counteract the poison then both the victim and the healer will die,” Dumbledore said. “Happily, that was not the case this time – though it was rather a near thing.”

Dumbledore drank the last of his tea, set down the cup and stood up. “Well, I must be off now.”

Snape and Harry gave the old wizard identical looks of startled dismay.

“What?” Snape said sharply.

“You can’t leave,” Harry said.

“I’m afraid I must. I have a rather urgent meeting in London that I cannot afford to delay any longer.”

“Albus, you’ve been here nearly a full day as it is. Surely any meeting can wait long enough for you to escort Potter back to Hogwarts.”

“I’m ready to go right now,” Harry added helpfully, jumping to his feet.

“Madam Pomfrey will wish to see you both as soon as you return to school, so it is only sensible for the two of you to arrive together.”

“I should think that I would be entitled to a little respite given what I have already been through on Potter’s behalf,” Snape insisted.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said reassuringly. “There is no hurry, Severus. By all means the two of you may take all the time you need.”

Dumbledore headed out of the kitchen and Harry hurried after the old wizard. Snape was right behind him.

“Albus, you can’t leave Potter here!”

“Professor, please,” Harry said. “It won’t take any time to Apparate back to Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore turned to look at both of them in exasperation. “I have spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours alternately sitting at your bedside and pacing the floor. And during most of that time I was quite convinced that I was going to lose you both. So forgive me if I don’t see the tragedy in the current situation. Daunting as the task may seem to you both, I have every confidence that the two of you can manage to find your way back to school without my assistance. Now, I am leaving and I will see both of you at Hogwarts.”

With that, Dumbledore opened the front door, stepped out into morning air and shut the door behind him with a sharp click. Absolute silence descended on the room as both Harry and Snape continued to stare at the door.

At last Snape sighed. “Wait here.” He turned and strode out of the room without looking at Harry.

Harry was relieved to be alone. He sat down on the threadbare sofa and looked around. The room was a small, shabby affair, made to feel even smaller by the fact that every wall was covered with books. Harry had had occasion to search through several different collections of books in recent months and couldn’t resist the temptation to examine Snape’s. With a furtive glance at the doorway, he rose and began to walk slowly around the room.

Despite the obvious poverty of the house, Snape had an impressive library. There were books on every branch of magic and these weren’t just for show. The books, though clearly well cared for, were just as clearly well used and Harry had a sudden vision of Snape sitting on his sofa reading.

As Harry continued around the room, a familiar book suddenly caught his eye and he reached out and plucked it from the shelf. It was his advanced potions text, or rather a very old copy of it. Harry opened it and was shocked to discover that nearly every page had been written on. Whole sets of potions instructions had been scratched out and rewritten and there were all sorts of notes scribbled in the margins. Some were potions notes, but others seemed to be spells.

“Potter!”

Harry jumped and slammed the book shut. Snape came and snatched it out of his hands.

“Can’t I ever leave you alone for five minutes without you invading my privacy? Did I tell you that you could search through my things?”

“I’m sorry.”

Snape shoved the book back on the shelf then strode over and yanked the front door open. “Let’s go.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried past the man and out of the house.

It was a dull, overcast day which did nothing to improve the block of dingy row houses that greeted Harry as he left Snape’s house. He gave no thought to this, however, as Snape headed off down the street. Harry followed the man, but purposefully lagged behind, not wanting to get close enough to incur Snape’s wrath again. Unfortunately, this didn’t last long.

“Potter, stop dawdling and keep up!” Snape growled, forcing Harry to quicken his pace.

Harry stole a quick glance at the man whose face was set in an angry scowl. Snape was dressed as a Muggle, though not as nattily as he had been the day they’d gone to London during the summer. Today he had on a pair of black jeans and a heavy, black jumper underneath which the collar of a black tee shirt was visible. Harry was struck again by how unselfconscious Snape seemed to be and how easily he blended into the rough, run-down neighborhood around them.

Of course he does, a voice in Harry’s head chided him. He lives here.

“You live here?” Harry blurted out in disbelief as the incongruity of that fact suddenly struck him.

Snape threw an icy glare at him. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No! Of course not,” Harry answered quickly, trying to recover from his faux pas. “It’s just that this is a Muggle neighborhood.”

“Brilliant observation, Potter,” Snape sneered. “No wonder you’re a mediocre student. My father was a Muggle; my mother was a witch. They chose to live in a Muggle neighborhood. I hardly find that astonishing.”

Harry had never realized that Snape was a half-blood, but he suspected it wouldn’t be wise to comment on that. Instead he cast about for something else to say that might alleviate some of the oppressive tension between them.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to Hogwarts, of course,” Snape replied irritably.

“Why can’t we just Apparate from here?”

“As you just pointed out, this is a Muggle neighborhood. Must I remind you that any use of magic among Muggles can be easily traced? While there are numerous wards on my house, I would prefer not to draw attention to it by Disapparating from the vicinity. It’s bad enough that I had no choice but to Apparate directly to it yesterday because of your recklessness.”

“I wasn’t reckless!” Harry snapped. Snape’s continuous hostility was grating on his nerves. “And I didn’t ask you to bring me here.”

“As always, your gratitude is heart-warming. Tell me, Potter, you do realize that I risked my life to save yours?”

“Yes, and I’m sure you did it just so you could lord it over me.”

“I did it because Dumbledore is convinced that you have the best chance of defeating the Dark Lord - which unfortunately makes your life rather more important than most.”

“Well then, since it was all for the war effort, I suppose you don’t need my thanks.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. What I expect from you is some measure of respect and not to be insulted for my efforts on your behalf.”

“I didn’t insult you!”

Snape stopped and so did Harry.

“Really?” Snape said angrily. “What would you call it, then, I wonder?”

Harry felt himself blush, but Snape continued, his voice rising as he gave vent to his fury.

“Do you honestly think I’m that stupid, Potter? Even if I were so inclined, do you think my professional ethics so low, my moral judgment so depraved, my common sense so utterly lacking that I would be foolish enough to engage in such compromising behavior with a student? You flatter yourself!”

“Well, how did you expect to react?” Harry yelled.

“With a little maturity, perhaps!”

“I’d never heard of the bloody Healer’s Gamble!”

“So you assumed the worst, naturally,” Snape snarled bitterly. He and Harry glared at each other in silence for a moment then Snape turned and started down the street once more. Harry hesitated then followed him.

They came to the end of the block, turned the corner and Harry stopped dead. Snape came to a halt as well and looked irritably at him.

“Potter, what are you doing?”

“I know this place.”

It was true. Off in the distance to the right he could see the smokestacks of the factory. To the left, he recognized the twisting streets that he knew led down to the river. Up ahead, would be the railroad tracks. It was all exactly as he’d seen it in Snape’s mind – all except for one thing. Harry turned around and looked back the way they’d come. Blocks of houses stretched as far as Harry could see. But none of it existed in Snape’s mind. Instead this was where the high brick wall stood. But why would Snape wall off this entire section of the neighborhood – including his own home – in his mind?

“Of course you recognize this neighborhood,” Snape said impatiently. “You undoubtedly glimpsed it in my memories last year.”

Harry looked up at the man. “I suppose –”

Harry broke off as a movement across the street caught his eye and he glanced past Snape to where a figure in a long black cloak was watching them from a doorway. Snape whirled around and raised his wand which seemed to have appeared in his hand out of nowhere. He was just in time to deflect the hail of silvery arrows that hurtled at them from the other wizard’s wand. Then Snape flicked his wrist and the figure in the doorway collapsed.

It had happened so fast that Harry hadn’t even had time to draw his wand, but when a second figure appeared from a side street, Harry was ready. He whipped out his wand and cast a non-verbal Stupefy at the man; however, the Death Eater was on his guard and ducked back to safety.

Snape blasted the corner of the building where the Death Eater had disappeared then yelled, “Come on!” He took off running down the street and Harry chased after him, hearing the distinctive ‘popping’ of half a dozen wizards Apparating into the street behind them. A shout went up and two curses sizzled past Harry just as he and Snape ducked into an alley. They dashed down the narrow, rubbish-strewn street as the shouts of even more newly arrived enemies pursued them. Then they burst out the other end and broke into a dead run.

Snape led the way, hurtling down streets, through narrow courts and along alleys without pausing. The Death Eaters pursued them like a pack of baying hounds and Harry knew it would only be a matter of time before their enemies encircled them and cut off any further flight. He tried to envision the neighborhood and imagine where they might find safety, but could think of nowhere. Besides, he’d lost all sense of where they were. Snape, however, seemed to know exactly where he was going and Harry fervently hoped they’d get there before the Death Eaters caught up with them.

Snape turned down another alley. Harry, who was on Snape’s heels, immediately saw that this was blocked midway down by a chain-link fence, but Snape didn’t hesitate. He vaulted over the fence and kept running. Harry leapt the fence as well and raced after Snape just as the man turned another corner. Harry skidded around the corner and stopped. Snape had vanished. Harry could see the entire length of the alley and there was nowhere to hide. Nor could Snape have possibly made it to the end; Harry had been right behind him.

As Harry stared in bewilderment, a hand reached out and grabbed him. Snape dragged him into a low passageway that ran between two sagging brick buildings. Harry hadn’t noticed it even though he’d been standing only a few feet from it because a trick of the light made the entrance to the brick-lined tunnel blend in perfectly with the surrounding walls.

Harry followed Snape a dozen paces down the dark, cramped tunnel then Snape stopped, crouched down and pulled Harry down next to him. Harry could already hear the Death Eaters at the entrance to the alley calling to their fellows at the other end. He pulled his wand from his pocket, but Snape laid a warning hand on his arm. Harry looked at the man in the dim light. Snape was perfectly still and alert, poised to react to any threat. But there was no trace of fear on his face and Harry felt his own anxiety ease. He took a slow, deep breath and his tension fell away leaving him alert and watchful like Snape.

A shadow passed across the entrance to the tunnel, then another, but they didn’t stop. Harry heard more voices, some angry, some frustrated, but after a few minutes these faded and the alley grew silent. Harry felt Snape relax next to him. The man sat down and Harry did the same, leaning back against the rough brick wall and stretching out his cramped legs.

“We’ll wait here a few more minutes to ensure that they don’t come back,” Snape said quietly.

Harry nodded. “Did you know they’d be waiting for us?”

Snape shrugged. “Using magic outside the wizarding world is like sending up a flare. The Death Eaters undoubtedly detected us Apparating in yesterday. A few of them know I live here, so I suspected they’d set a lookout.”

“If they know you live here, why don’t you move?”

“They’d find me wherever I went. Here, I know every hiding place and shortcut for miles.”

Harry nodded slowly in understanding. Voldemort could probably send an army of Death Eaters after Snape and they’d never catch him here. It would be like trying to hunt a fox in his home territory. But Harry understood something else, too.

“There weren’t a lot of nooks and crannies like this where I grew up,” he said. “I just learnt to run really fast.”

Snape looked at Harry in surprise then the corners of his mouth twitched in acknowledgement. “I did my share of that as well.”

Snape turned back to watch the mouth of the tunnel.

“Professor?” Harry said softly. “I do appreciate you saving my life.”

Snape’s eyes flickered towards Harry. “You needn’t thank me, Potter. That’s my job.”

“It wasn’t your job to risk your life like that. There was no guarantee that spell was going to work.”

“There are few guarantees in life and those that do exist are universally unpleasant. I wasn’t going to stand by and watch you die if there was a chance that I could prevent it.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I know. And I’m sorry – for insulting you.”

Snape glanced sharply at Harry, then away again. “I don’t want an apology from you, Potter.”

“Why not? I owe you one.”

Snape continued to look away and was silent for so long that Harry was sure the man wasn’t going to respond. At last, however, Snape spoke almost to himself. “Seventeen isn’t an easy age.” He rubbed his left forearm absently and turned back to Harry. “I think it’s time to go.”

It wasn’t exactly forgiveness, but Harry knew it was as close as Snape could come and the man didn’t seem to be angry with him any more. This time as they set off, the silence between them was a comfortable one. They made their way to the river without further incident and Disapparated, appearing an instant later in front of the main gate at Hogwarts.

---

The grounds at Hogwarts were covered with a light blanket of snow – just enough to sparkle brightly beneath the clear blue sky. The scene was beautiful and Harry immediately felt his spirits lift at the welcome sight of school. Snape took a moment to transfigure his Muggle clothes into robes then they started up to the castle.

When they arrived in the entrance hall, Snape told Harry, “Go up and see Madam Pomfrey. Dumbledore said she’d be waiting for you.”

“He said she’d be waiting for both of us. Aren’t you coming?”

“Of course he is,” Professor McGonagall said, coming down the stairs to meet them.

“I have no need to see Madam Pomfrey,” Snape assured her. “I’m fine.”

“I’m certain you are, but that is neither here nor there.”

Snape glared at McGonagall, but she stared imposingly back and obviously wasn’t going to tolerate any argument.

“Oh, very well,” Snape said irritably. He turned and stalked off towards the hospital wing.

“Make sure he gets there,” McGonagall whispered to Harry who nodded and hurried after the Potions Master.

Madam Pomfrey was indeed waiting for them. In fact, she practically pounced on them as they entered the ward.

“There you are! The headmaster sent word nearly an hour ago. Come this way, Potter. You too, Professor.”

Madam Pomfrey led them to two nearby beds. Harry hopped up on one, but Snape didn’t sit down. He stood with his arms folded, looking impatient.

“Tell me what happened,” the matron said, addressing Snape.

“Potter was attacked by a Stinging Tentacula. I estimate that I began treatment approximately five to seven minutes after the attack occurred. In addition to cauterizing the pustules, Potter received two full doses of belladonna.”

Pomfrey looked as though she wanted to ask Snape something else, but instead she turned to Harry.

“Where were you stung?”

“My arms and chest.”

“Take off your shirt and let me see.”

Harry pulled off his sweatshirt and tee shirt and wasn’t surprised to hear Pomfrey gasp as she caught sight of his bare chest. She shot a disbelieving look at Snape who smirked.

“Mr. Potter never does anything halfway,” he said. “Except for his schoolwork, of course.”

Pomfrey turned back to examine Harry once more, running a professional eye over his chest as well as his arms. Harry could tell that she was counting his scars and doing a mental calculation to guess at how much toxin he must have received. She looked up to meet his eyes and Harry saw with uncomfortable certainty that he ought to be dead.

The matron took his right hand next and inspected his palm with the thin white scar running across it. Her gaze flickered towards Snape once more and Harry was startled to see a mixture of sympathy and something that looked almost like reverence in her eyes. Snape, however, had turned away and missed the look entirely.

“Madam Pomfrey!” McGonagall said, hurrying into the ward. “May I see you a moment?”

Pomfrey stepped away from Harry to meet the other woman. “What is it, Professor McGonagall?”

McGonagall whispered something Harry couldn’t hear and Pomfrey frowned slightly. “Yes, they’re both fine, but –”

McGonagall interrupted her and though Harry still couldn’t hear what she was saying, she clearly wasn’t happy. Harry looked over at Snape who was watching the exchange as well. The man looked back at him and Harry knew they’d both come to the same conclusion. Whatever was going on, they weren’t going to like it. Pomfrey looked at McGonagall askance, but nodded. McGonagall turned towards Harry and Snape and raised her voice.

“Potter, get dressed. I need all three of you to come with me.”

Harry pulled on his shirt and followed McGonagall along with Snape and Pomfrey from the ward. The deputy headmistress quickly led the way to the staff room where a number of people were already waiting.

Professor Sprout was seated at the staff table as were Draco Malfoy, Ron, Ginny and Hermione. The latter three jumped up as Harry entered the room. Ginny hugged him tightly and Hermione looked ready to burst into tears as she embraced him.

“Oh, Harry! We were so frightened.”

“It’s all right,” Harry said, feeling self-conscious at the display of emotion in front of his teachers. “I’m fine.”

Just then Hagrid arrived, ducking to enter the staff room. “Harry!” he roared, seizing Harry and pulling him into a crushing bear hug. “Merlin’s beard! We all thought you were dead!”

“I’m fine, Hagrid. Really,” Harry said, gasping for breath.

“Hagrid, for heavens sake!” McGonagall said. “Let go of Potter. The boy can’t breathe.”

Hagrid released Harry then pulled out his huge handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.

“Everyone, sit down,” McGonagall said, taking the seat at the head of the table. “There is a development that we have to deal with and we haven’t much time.”

McGonagall was interrupted by the door opening once more. To Harry’s astonishment, Percy Weasley stuck his head in the room.

“Here they are,” he said to someone over his shoulder.

“Mr. Weasley, I told you to wait downstairs!” McGonagall said irritably.

Percy, however, had already stepped aside to let another man enter the room. The newcomer appeared to be in his thirties: a small, thin man, not much more than five feet tall, with dark brown hair. Harry had never seen him before, but immediately disliked him. The fellow had a pinched look about his mouth as though he’d just eaten a lemon, but it was his eyes that bothered Harry. They were gray, cold and calculating, and darted about the room as if searching for some hidden enemy. The man smiled sourly at McGonagall.

“I preferred not to wait. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ian Day of the Department of Public Security.”

Harry and his friends exchanged glances as McGonagall addressed the man.

“Mr. Day, as I told Mr. Weasley, I hardly see how Mr. Potter’s accident yesterday is a matter for the DPS to investigate.”

“That’s quite all right,” Day said. “I wouldn’t expect a school mistress to understand.”

McGonagall pressed her lips together into a very thin line as Day pulled a small black notebook from his pocket.

“Where is the headmaster?”

“Away,” McGonagall said curtly.

“And where has he gone?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Day’s eyebrows rose skeptically, but he didn’t pursue the matter. Instead he opened his little book, flipped several pages and consulted his notes.

“A Stinging Tentacula?” he said, looking up. “Are these commonly found in the local area?”

“Of course not!” McGonagall said.

“What about in the forest adjacent to the grounds?”

Hagrid spoke up. “I know every inch of that forest and there isn’t one of them plants anywhere in it.”

Day pursed his lips and regarded Hagrid distastefully. “You must be the groundskeeper, Hagrid?”

“He teaches Care of Magical Creatures,” McGonagall said.

“And who is the Herbology professor?”

“I am,” Sprout said.

“Have you an explanation for how that particular plant found its way into that cave?”

“An infected animal obviously took refuge in the cave before it died.”

“And where would such an animal have come from? Your own groundskeeper just testified that there are none in the forest, nor indeed does there appear to be any other viable habitat for miles. If you are an expert in Herbology then you must know that what you’ve proposed is impossible.”

“It’s unlikely. It’s not impossible and there is no other explanation.”

Day smirked slightly. “You have Stinging Tentaculas here at school, I believe.”

“They are a standard part of the seventh-year Herbology curriculum and we have never had an accident.”

“I’m sure you haven’t. Are they secured?”

“Of course they are! They’re kept in sealed cases.”

“And the greenhouse where these are kept – is it warded? Is there a guard posted?”

“What?”

“Given the extreme danger these plants present, I should think that would be a standard precaution.”

Sprout looked at Day as though she thought he was mad. “The plants aren’t going to break out.”

“No, however someone might break in. Isn’t it possible that someone could have intentionally infected an animal and transported it to that cave, then lured Mr. Potter there as well?”

“That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard!” McGonagall said.

“More preposterous than the plant turning up when there isn’t another specimen in nature for miles around?” Day turned to Malfoy. “You are Draco Malfoy?”

“That’s right.”

“The son of Lucius Malfoy, the notorious Death Eater?”

Draco flushed scarlet, “My father is Lucius Malfoy, yes.”

“What were you doing in that cave?”

“Nothing! I didn’t want to go into Hogsmeade and I was bored, so I thought I’d go for a walk. That’s not a crime.”

“And you just happened to lead Mr. Potter into that particular cave?”

“I didn’t lead him anywhere! He followed me. I didn’t even know he was there.”

“Really? And I suppose that you don’t know how that plant got into the cave, either?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Please, Mr. Day,” Hermione interjected. “Draco couldn’t have been responsible. If Harry hadn’t shoved him out of the way, he’s the one who would have been stung.”

Day pursed his lips and looked disdainfully at Hermione, “You’d swear to that?”

“Yes!” Harry said. “We were there. We know what happened. None of us knew that plant was there.”

Day looked sourly at Harry then scanned all of their faces, obviously looking for some trace of guilt or deceit. Finding none, he made a note in his book then turned his suspicious gaze back to Harry.

“How is it that you survived, Mr. Potter? An attack by a Stinging Tentacula is normally fatal.”

“Professor Snape saved my life.”

Day’s gaze shifted to Snape. “And how did you manage to do that?”

“I used the Healer’s Gamble.”

Day’s eyes lit up. “Are you aware that the use of that spell has been banned by the Ministry for over one hundred years?”

“Of course I am?”

“And you chose to break the law?”

Snape raised a contemptuous eyebrow at the man. “I chose to save Mr. Potter’s life.”

“I see.” Day looked back at his notebook. “It’s true, is it not, that you were at one time a Death Eater?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes.”

“And how long did you serve He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Mr. Day, I hardly think that is relevant to your current investigation!” McGonagall said angrily.

“No, it’s not. I simply find Professor Snape’s prior service noteworthy. A man who would stoop to serving You-Know-Who doesn’t have the moral rectitude of someone I would expect to find teaching children.”

Everyone gaped at Day. McGonagall had gone white and Harry was very close to pulling his wand on the man when Snape spoke.

“Fortunately,” he drawled, “moral rectitude is not required in potion-brewing.”

Harry looked at Snape who was smirking and seemed completely unruffled by Day’s insults. In fact, he looked very much as though he might laugh.

“Was there something else?”

Day’s mouth drew together in a particularly sour pucker and he snapped his little notebook shut. “I believe that further questions would be better asked at the Ministry. He looked at Percy. “Mr. Weasley, will you summon the Aurors to take Professor Snape into custody?”

“What?” McGonagall jumped to her feet, clearly outraged. “You’re arresting him? On what charge?”

“Professor Snape has admitted to willfully breaking the law.”

“Then he would be mistaken,” came a quiet voice from the doorway. Dumbledore was standing there, regarding them all serenely.

“Dumbledore,” Day said, scowling at Hogwarts’ headmaster. “I was told that you were away.”

“I was until just now. However, I can assure you that Professor Snape has done nothing illegal.”

“He knowingly used a spell that has been banned by the Ministry.”

“I presume you are referring to the Healer’s Gamble. That ban specifically prohibits a healer from using the spell on a patient. It makes no mention of the spell’s use by private individuals.”

“Professor Snape is not a private individual. He was obviously acting in his capacity as a teacher at this school and treated Mr. Potter as such.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree. Professor Snape performed that spell in his own home without any direction or assistance from anyone at Hogwarts. That places his actions outside the scope of his professional duties and beyond the purview of the Ministry.”

“That is one interpretation.”

“It is one the Minister for Magic concurs in. I have only just left him, in fact, and he agrees that there has been no impropriety.”

Day’s mouth turned down in a frown, but it was obvious that he had been outmaneuvered. “Very well, Dumbledore. You may have it your way – this time. But consider yourself warned. If your students or staff engage in any further suspicious activities, I’ll be back and the Minister will not take such a lenient position.” Day strode from the room with Percy on his heels.

“Odious little man!” McGonagall said.

“He’d have the whole of Britain in Azkaban if he had his druthers,” Professor Sprout said.

Dumbledore sighed. “Alas, Ian Day sees conspiracies everywhere, I’m afraid. Fortunately, that is not something we need worry about at the moment. Harry, you and your classmates may go. Minerva, I would like to meet with the staff in fifteen minutes. And Severus, I need a word with you in my office, first.”

Everyone rose. Snape followed Dumbledore out of the room. Harry and his classmates left as well, Draco hurrying away towards the dungeons while the Gryffindors headed for their common room.

“I can’t believe Percy’s working for that git!” Ron said indignantly as they walked. “I didn’t think even he was that low. Why didn’t Dad tell us?”

“Probably because he knew how you’d react,” Ginny said. “You have to forget about Percy, Ron. You’re not going to change him.”

“No, but I’d still like to throttle him.”

“Did Professor Snape really use the Healer’s Gamble?” Hermione asked, changing the subject.

“Yes,” Harry said cautiously. He really didn’t want to get into the details of that. Fortunately, Hermione didn’t press him for any.

“I’ve read about that spell,” she said. “It’s true that it was banned over a hundred years ago.”

“Why?” Ron asked. “It obviously works.”

“It was considered too dangerous. Back in the late eighteen hundreds, a very nasty variety of poisonous mushroom was accidentally brought over from North America. It thrived in damp climates, of course, and was soon popping up everywhere. A lot of people mistook it for a native edible variety and scores of people wound up at St. Mungos before anyone figured out what was going on. Some recovered; others didn’t. But in two weeks, four healers died along with their patients while performing the Healer’s Gamble and the Ministry banned the use of the spell after that.”

“What happened to the plant that attacked me?” Harry asked.

Ron answered. “Professor Sprout took care of it although she said there wasn’t much left of it when she got there. Hermione’s spell pretty well finished it off.”

“It is weird, though, that it managed to turn up in that cave,” Ginny said.

“You don’t reckon that Day could be right about Malfoy planting it, do you?” Ron asked.

“Not about Malfoy,” Harry said, turning the matter over in his mind. “He definitely didn’t know it was there. Though I think Day might be right about someone planting that thing in the cave.”

“But that’s mad! Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think Malfoy was just out for a walk yesterday.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione said.

“I mean that I don’t think I’m the one someone was trying to kill.”

“What are you saying?” Ginny asked. “You think someone’s trying to kill Malfoy?”

“Maybe,” Harry said. “He has enough enemies. All I know is there’s something odd going on with him. He went into that cave for a reason and I’d like to know what it was. I’m betting whoever put him up to it is the same person who left that plant there.”

---

Malfoy seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Harry. He looked positively grim on Monday as they wrote their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam and kept glancing over his shoulder as if he expected someone to attack him at any moment. He was so nervous that Harry actually felt sorry for him. When the exam was over, Harry lingered behind.

“Professor Knight, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked as the last of the students left the classroom.

“What is it, Potter?” Knight looked unusually tired and strained.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Saturday.”

Knight paled and looked away. “I heard it was a near thing. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. But I can’t help wondering how that plant got into that cave.”

Knight turned away to put the stack of exams into her briefcase. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not a very likely place for it to have turned up. I think someone might have put it there on purpose.”

Knight snapped her briefcase shut and turned back to Harry. “I heard that was Ian Day’s theory.”

“Yeah. He’s paranoid, but I think he might be right about that.”

“You think Malfoy was responsible?”

“No. I think Malfoy was the intended victim.”

Knight regarded Harry in silence for a moment. “That’s a very shrewd deduction, Potter. What is it you want to discuss with me?”

“I want to know if there’s some way to tell if anyone’s tampered with the plants in the greenhouse.”

Knight’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “With the plants?”

“With the plants, the cases, anything. You’re an Auror. Is there some way to tell who touched them last?”

Knight shook her head. “There are no sophisticated wards on the greenhouses and anyone getting near those plants would have had to be wearing dragon hide gloves. They wouldn’t even have left fingerprints.”

“But there has to be some way to track down who might have done it. There aren’t that many people here at Hogwarts who could have done.”

“It might not have been someone at Hogwarts,” Knight suggested. “In fact, I’d be inclined to bet it wasn’t.”

Harry looked at the woman in surprise. “How do you reckon that?”

Knight smiled tiredly. “Malfoy’s the son of a Death Eater. Anyone who isn’t living under a rock knows that and plenty of people have reasons to hate Death Eaters. Then too, his father likely has enemies among the other Death Eaters. That lot doesn’t hesitate to stab one another in the back, you know, and anyone with a vendetta against Lucius Malfoy could be looking to take it out on his son. So while I agree with you that Malfoy was the intended target, I doubt that you’ll find the culprit here at school.”

Harry stared at Knight in amazement. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the attempt on Malfoy’s life could have come from someone outside Hogwarts, but now that Knight had said so, he could see that it was true. Anyone who knew the Malfoys knew that Draco was at Hogwarts and the Stinging Tentaculas in the greenhouse couldn’t be the only specimens in Britain. Anyone could have put the plant in that cave. After all, it wasn’t on Hogwarts grounds. Harry felt enormously relieved at that realization because it meant that there wasn’t necessarily a would-be murderer at Hogwarts. He smiled at the Auror.

“Thanks Professor. I knew it would help to talk with you.”

Knight gave Harry her small, wry smile. “Anytime, Potter.”

---

Monday evening, Harry was actually looking forward to his meeting with Snape for a change. He was eager to discover what was behind the wall in Snape’s mind. His uncharacteristic enthusiasm must have shown, however, because Snape scowled suspiciously at him when he arrived.

“How much longer are you going to be taking up my time with this?”

Harry shrugged. “Until Dumbledore says it isn’t necessary any more.”

Snape’s expression darkened even further, but Harry knew the man had no excuse to argue against Dumbledore’s orders.

“Very well, Potter. Proceed.”

Harry reached out mentally and dived into Snape’s mind. Snape had quickly learnt how to follow Harry down into the depths of his mind so that Harry barely had to check his descent at all now. Tonight however, he could feel Snape’s reticence as they descended as though Snape could sense his intent.

The neighborhood sprang up around Harry and he set off at once for the wall that blocked the way to Snape’s house. It was an imposing edifice, twenty feet high and running across this entire side of the neighborhood. Harry walked along it looking for a way through.

“What are you doing?”

Harry looked around to find Snape watching him. The young man looked even more suspicious than his older incarnation had.

“I was just wondering what’s on the other side of this wall,” Harry said.

“Nothing.”

“There has to be something behind there.”

“It’s nothing you need to see.”

“I’d like to take a look, anyway, if you don’t mind.” Harry turned back towards the wall, but Snape pulled out his wand.

“Actually, I do.”

Harry looked at the young man in surprise.

“Step away,” Snape said.

Harry stepped away from the wall and Snape’s wand followed him.

“I was only curious,” Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Have you been back there?”

“I know what’s back there and I told you, it’s nothing you need to see. It’s none of your business.”

“All right then,” Harry said carefully. “Why don’t we go do something else? We could go over to the school or down by the river and see if anything’s going on.”

Snape lowered his wand and looked away. “I have things to do.”

“You know, you’ve never told me where you live,” Harry said. “Maybe you could show me your house.”

“I stay in the shop. You know that.”

“That’s not a real home. Don’t you have a house, some place where you grew up?”

Snape looked sharply back at Harry. His expression was shrewd and guarded. “You need to leave now.”

“Severus –”

“Leave and don’t come back!”

Harry looked into the young man’s eyes which were at once angry and haunted and he wondered what horrors Snape kept hidden behind the wall. How bad can it be? “All right; I’ll leave. But I’ll be back.”

Harry closed his eyes, opened them and was back in Snape’s office. He looked into Snape’s eyes and for a split second saw a much younger man looking back at him uncertainly. Then Snape blinked and the moment was gone.

Harry quickly left Snape’s office and headed for Dumbledore’s.

“Good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted him as Harry entered the office.

“Hi, Professor.”

“I take it your session with Professor Snape didn’t go well tonight.”

Harry sat down and proceeded to explain what had happened on his way back to Hogwarts the previous day.

“I realized that the neighborhood I’ve been seeing in his mind is the neighborhood where he grew up. Only there’s a wall in his mind that doesn’t exist in reality,” Harry concluded. He sat back and sighed. “I wanted to get through it tonight.”

“I presume you were unsuccessful?”

Harry nodded glumly. “He pulled his wand on me and told me to get out and never come back.”

To Harry’s annoyance, Dumbledore chuckled.

“It’s not funny.”

“No, it isn’t. But, forgive me, surely it wasn’t unexpected either. You couldn’t have imagined that Severus would allow you access to an area of his mind that he has obviously taken great pains to hide.”

Harry sighed. “I suppose not. But I don’t know what to do. I have to get through that wall, but I don’t want to fight him.”

“No, I doubt that would be particularly productive. I should think diversion would be a better strategy. A little subterfuge can avoid a great deal of conflict and you do have a talent for finding your way into places where you shouldn’t be. I am confident that you will find a way.

“There is, however, another matter I need to discuss with you. I realize that you were planning to stay at school for the holidays, however, I shall be away on the continent over Christmas and given Ian Day’s recent visit, I think it would be better for you to be safely beyond his reach during that time. Specifically, I would prefer that you, Miss Granger and the Weasleys spend the holidays with Remus.”

“Really? That’d be great!” Harry said, enthusiastically. He was happy to spend Christmas at headquarters as long as his friends were with him.

“Good. I have already made the arrangements. You will not be taking the train. Instead, you will Apparate to headquarters Friday afternoon directly following your last exam. Professor Snape will be joining you as well and I expect you to take the opportunity to continue your sessions together over the holidays.

“I believe your instincts are correct, Harry, and that breaking through the wall in his mind is of the utmost importance. I look forward to hearing of your success the next time we meet.”

Harry nodded determinedly. “You will.”

On Friday afternoon, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny walked out to the main gate and Apparated to number twelve Grimmauld Place. Remus was waiting in the alley to meet them and was clearly delighted that they had come to stay for the holidays.

“You’re in your old rooms and Dobby has already brought your trunks from school,” he told them as he ushered them into the house.

His cheeriness seemed to have rubbed off on the old place. The house, decked out for the holidays, looked positively festive. Wreaths of fir and pine hung everywhere on the ground floor and the banister of the staircase was adorned with swags of holly and ivy. A magnificent fifteen foot fir tree stood in the entrance hall, decorated with a thousand glittering fairy lights and covered with ornaments.

“You know, this place is almost starting to feel homey,” Ron said, surveying the welcoming hall approvingly.

Remus smiled. “You’re welcome anytime. Dobby has tea ready, by the way. He’ll bring it up to your common room when you’re ready.”

“Great! I could use something to eat after McGonagall’s Transfiguration exam,” Ron said. He looked sheepishly at Harry. “I never did manage to get that pig turned into a silk purse.”

“Go get settled in then,” Remus said. “And if you need anything, I’ll be here in the library.”

Ron, Ginny and Hermione started upstairs, but Harry hung back. “Actually Remus, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course, Harry. Come in.”

Harry nodded to his friends who continued upstairs, then he followed Remus into the library.

“What can I do for you, Harry?”

“I have a problem I hope you can help me with,” Harry said.

A worried frown creased Remus’s brow. “What is it?”

“I haven’t anything to give Ginny for Christmas and I was hoping you might have some suggestions.”

Remus eyebrows rose in surprise and he smiled in amusement. “Well, I must say I’m flattered that you would ask my opinion, Harry, but I’m hardly an authority on shopping for women.”

“Remus, please, I’m serious. You must have some idea.”

Remus’s expression turned sympathetic, but he shook his head. “Harry, you’ve known Ginny for years. I’m sure you have a better notion of what she might like than I do.”

“She’d appreciate anything. I could get her a book or something for school. I was going to have Hermione buy her a pair of gloves for me last Saturday in Hogsmeade, but that didn’t work out, of course.”

“Those all sound like excellent ideas.”

“I know, but this is the first Christmas that we’ve been dating and I’d like to give her something special.” Harry looked helplessly at Remus. “I just don’t know what that might be and thanks to the stupid DPS, I can’t even go shopping properly.”

“I see.” Remus lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment. “You know, Harry, there’s no law that says you must buy a gift for someone. The best gifts come from the heart. If you truly want to give Ginny something special, give her something from you?”

Harry frowned. “Sorry, I’m not following you.”

“Give her something that only you can give.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. You can bake her cake, write her a poem.” Remus grinned at Harry’s horrified reaction to that suggestion. “Clean her broom every week for the next six months. Give her something from you.”

Harry chewed his lip and considered. “I see what you’re saying. I suppose I could service her broom for her. Really go all out, polish it up and make it look like new.”

“Give it some thought,” Remus said. “And if you need to purchase anything, I’ll be happy to pick it up for you.”

“Thanks, Remus.”

Harry left the library and headed upstairs. As he approached the first floor, he could hear Ron, Ginny and Hermione talking in the old drawing room, but he didn’t join them. Instead he went to his room, already going over in his mind what he would need to completely refurbish Ginny’s broom. Remus was right about giving Ginny something personal. Mrs. Weasley’s handmade jumpers had always been the highlight of her family’s Christmas and Hermione had loved the keepsake album Fred and George had made for her the previous year, even if (or perhaps because) it had embarrassed Ron. The only trick would be getting hold of Ginny’s broom, but Harry was confident that he could get Fred and George to bring it to him from Hogwarts.

Harry opened his trunk to find a piece of parchment and quill in order to make the list of supplies he’d need Remus to pick up. He had packed hastily the night before and had to dig through his truck to find the quills that had slipped to the bottom. As he did so, he came across the old cardboard box of his mother’s keepsakes that had lain buried, almost forgotten, since summer. Harry stared at the box for a moment as a brand new idea formed itself in his mind then he pulled the box from his trunk and opened it. He laid aside the stacks of letters and surveyed the rest of the contents. There, in a corner of the box lay what he was looking for: a small, round, silver locket that held a Muggle photo of his grandparents.

Harry examined it critically. It was a simple piece of jewelry; the only decoration was an image of a unicorn etched into the front of it. It was tarnished and scratched slightly around the edges from years of wear, but Harry felt sure that it would polish up nicely. And once he cleaned it up, Harry was certain that it would make the perfect gift for Ginny – far better than a refurbished broom. What could be closer to his heart than something that had once belonged to his mother?

Harry removed the photo from the locket and put it carefully back in the box. Then he set about cleaning and polishing the locket. By the time he was finished, it was gleaming and the tiny scratches were hardly noticeable. He folded a clean handkerchief around the locket to protect it then wrapped the small bundle in paper and placed it in his trunk next to Ron and Hermione’s gifts. Satisfied, Harry went to join his friends for tea.

---

The weekend passed unremarkably at Grimmauld Place. Harry spent a great deal of time doing nothing, which was wonderful. He chatted with Remus, Tonks and the other members of the Order who came and went. Everyone seemed to be in especially good spirits with Christmas so close – everyone except Snape. He had arrived mid-morning on Saturday looking even more dour than usual. He clearly wasn’t happy about spending the holidays at headquarters and it wasn’t hard to see why.

Snape had never been a popular member of the Order, but he had always been treated with respect and professional courtesy by his allies in the past. That had changed. While no one was overtly rude, Harry could tell that Snape was unwelcome. Conversations faltered whenever he entered a room. Those present often found reason to leave or else pointedly ignored him. Snape acted as though he didn’t notice, but Harry knew that was only a pretense. The man couldn’t possibly have missed the air of disapproval and tension that followed him wherever he went. Even Ron had commented on the cold shoulder Snape was receiving.

Moody treated Snape by far the worst. The animosity between the two men was even more pronounced than it had been during summer. The old Auror glared at Snape in barely contained disgust whenever they met and couldn’t seem to resist making veiled comments to the man.

“So, Dumbledore sent you here?” he growled the first time they met. “Well, I can understand why he’d be worried about the DPS coming after you.”

Snape’s lip had curled contemptuously at the remark, but he’d made no reply and Remus had quickly intervened to turn the conversation to Order business. In fact, Remus seemed intent upon running interference between Snape and the rest of the Order, going out of his way to act as though nothing was amiss. Not that he earned any goodwill from Snape for his trouble: in fact, the man showed even more contempt for Remus than he did for those who shot dark glances at him.

Luckily, Harry’s friends didn’t know why Snape was being shunned by his fellow Order members. Ron put it down to the fact that no one liked the man. “He’s a complete git, after all.”

But Harry knew the real cause of Snape’s frosty reception and it brought home to him the issue he’d been trying hard to ignore for weeks: the murdered Death Eaters. Fourteen had been killed so far and that fact weighed on Harry as he knocked at Snape’s study door Monday evening.

Snape looked up from the book he was reading and frowned as Harry poked his head into the room.

“It’s time for our Legilimency session,” Harry said.

“Potter, don’t you suppose that we could dispense with that for the holidays?”

Harry shook his head. He had already decided on a strategy for getting past the wall in Snape’s mind and was anxious to discover what was behind it. His imagination had been inventing horrors for days and Harry was certain that whatever he might actually find couldn’t be any worse.

“Dumbledore said to keep at it,” he told Snape.

“What is it that you find so indispensable about rummaging through my mind?” Snape asked testily.

“It’s supposed to help me learn to navigate Voldemort’s mind. You know that.”

“How?”

Harry hesitated. He wasn’t really clear on that himself and truthfully, thoughts of Voldemort had become secondary to deciphering the mystery of Snape’s mind. “I can’t tell you that. Dumbledore said we’re not supposed to talk about it.”

Snape sneered. “You seem admirably devoted to following Dumbledore’s instructions these days.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“I’d rather you were honest. It’s disingenuous, to say nothing of craven, to hide your own machinations behind protestations of obedience to the headmaster. Do you think I can’t sense your emotions every time you enter my mind? I know perfectly well that you aren’t here because of Dumbledore – or the Dark Lord.”

Harry regarded Snape in silence for a moment. He might be the expert in delving into the subconscious, but Snape was still the master of the conscious mind and Harry knew he couldn’t lie to the man. Weighing his words carefully Harry said, “Dumbledore is convinced that these exercises will help me learn to fight Voldemort and I need every advantage I can get. Beyond that, does it really matter how I feel or why?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered Harry. Harry could feel the man’s mind probing his and fought the urge to look away. He held Snape’s gaze keeping thoughts of Dumbledore’s words foremost in his mind.

At last, seemingly satisfied, Snape nodded. “Very well, Potter. Let’s get this over with.”

Trying not to show his relief at having passed Snape’s test, Harry sat down, calmed his mind and a moment later found himself standing in the familiar neighborhood in Snape’s. He held out his hand and a shimmering Invisibility Cloak immediately appeared in it. Harry wrapped himself in the cloak and headed for the wall. When he came to the spot closest to Snape’s house, Harry laid his hand on the bricks and concentrated. A door appeared where the section of solid wall had been. Harry pushed the door open and stepped through it, pulling off the cloak as he went.

It was noticeably darker on this side of the wall. Thick clouds hung low in the sky and the wind whipped Harry’s hair. The most notable difference however was that there were people here. These appeared to be residents of the neighborhood. Some lounged in doorways, while others hurried by, the collars of their coats pulled up against the wind. Half a dozen boys ran by, laughing and calling out to one another. Harry recognized none of them.

Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt, Harry headed up the block towards Snape’s house. As he drew near, he could make out voices coming from inside. A man was shouting and Harry could hear a child crying in the background. Harry slowed to a halt as he drew near enough to make out the argument.

“It’s not his fault!” a woman screamed. “He can’t help it! He doesn’t know how!”

“Then he’d better learn!” the man yelled.

There was a crash that sounded as though someone had just thrown a chair against a wall. The child wailed in terror as the woman continued to plead desperately.

“Tobias, no! Please! I’ll teach him. I promise. It won’t happen again.”

“It’d better not!” the man shouted. “I mean it, Eileen. You make him stop or I will.”

A door slammed and then the house fell quiet except for the muffled sobbing of the child. Harry stood frozen, listening to the forlorn sound and fighting the urge to blast open the front door and throttle the man who had terrorized his wife and child. It’s not real, Harry reminded himself. It’s only a manifestation of Snape’s mind. But Harry was sure that the confrontation he’d just heard wasn’t simply a creation of the mind. He had no doubt that it had occurred at some point in Snape’s childhood.

Harry turned away from the house and continued up the street. In the next block he saw the same six boys who had passed him earlier. They were all huddled around something lying on the ground and as Harry approached, one of the boys kicked it roughly. This elicited a grunt of pain from the thing on the ground which Harry realized was a small boy.

“Hey!” he shouted, drawing his wand and breaking into a run.

The boys looked around, spotted Harry and took off, racing around the corner and out of sight. Harry let them go. He knelt down next to the boy who was curled up into a tight ball. The child couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old. There was already a large bruise forming on his left cheek, and his mouth was cut and bleeding.

“Severus?”

The boy looked up at Harry with wary, dark eyes then shied away as Harry reached out to touch him. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” the child said, his eyes flickering back and forth as if in search of a means of escape. “Not yours nor anyone else’s.”

Deftly avoiding Harry’s grasp, the boy rolled to his feet and backed away, then turned and ran. Harry watched him disappear into an alley and sighed. It was no wonder that Snape had walled off this part of his mind. It seemed to contain all of the most miserable experiences of his childhood.

Harry stood up, looked around and frowned. It was growing even darker than the ominous clouds overhead could account for. Night was falling and the neighborhood around him was quickly vanishing into the darkness. Suddenly a garish green light flared overhead. Harry looked up and was horrified to see the Dark Mark blazing in the sky. Worse, it illuminated the street which was now full of Death Eaters. To Harry’s left a house erupted in flames shedding more light on the horrific scene. Everywhere Harry looked, Death Eaters were terrorizing helpless victims, looting shops and destroying homes.

But no one seemed to notice Harry. A Death Eater brushed by him without even glancing at him. Harry stepped in front of the next one to approach and brandished his wand. “Stupefy!” The spell had no effect.

Harry frowned and surveyed the mayhem taking place around him. Unlike the glimpses of Snape’s childhood, Harry was sure that no Death Eater attacks of such magnitude had ever taken place in this Muggle neighborhood. Nor was such a massive attack likely to have occurred anywhere else. This had to be a compilation of the experiences Snape had had as a Death Eater and they appeared to be playing out automatically, like a scene from a Pensieve.

A curse blasted the building next to Harry. It had come from a group of Death Eaters who had appeared in the middle of the street and were engaged in a pitched battle with what looked to be a group of Aurors. Another curse shot past Harry and he decided it might be time to find a less exposed vantage point amidst the increasing pandemonium in the street.

As he looked around, however, Harry’s attention was arrested by a dark figure standing across the street almost directly opposite him. The person was dressed in black, but not in the familiar robes the Death Eaters wore. These robes were utterly unadorned and so black they seemed to be made of darkness itself. No part of the person was visible. A deep cowl was pulled forward obscuring their features. But what disconcerted Harry was the way the figure stood perfectly still, observing everything in detached silence. No one attacked him or paid any attention to him. Like Harry, he seemed to stand apart from the scene playing out around them.

Then the hooded head tilted slightly and Harry felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as unseen eyes turned towards him. The figure looked away again a moment later, but that single glance had left Harry shaken. For an instant, it had felt as though the Angel of Death was looking at him.

Without thinking, Harry started across the street towards the figure, dodging the madness around him. But by the time he reached the other side, the dark figure had disappeared. Harry looked around trying to determine which way his quarry might have gone, but a dense fog was beginning to collect in the street and soon it obscured Harry’s vision entirely. With the arrival of the thick wall of mist, the sounds of fighting and screams of terror died away too, leaving complete silence. Then the fog lifted to reveal a cold gray dawn. The Dark Mark had vanished from the sky and the Death Eaters were gone. In fact, there was no sign that they had ever been there. The street was exactly as it had been before they had appeared.

A door opened at a house across the street and an unshaven man wearing sagging trousers and an undershirt glared at Harry, picked up the paper lying on his doorstep then disappeared back inside the house. At the same moment, someone grabbed Harry and spun him around.

“I told you not to come here!” the young man spat, white with fury.

“Severus –”

Snape shook Harry, his fingers digging into Harry’s arms. “You had no right!”

“I had to come,” Harry said, shoving Snape away. “I have to know why you built that wall. I have to know the truth.”

“Why?” Snape snarled. “So you can use it against me?”

“Of course not! I’m not trying to hurt you. I want to help you.”

“Help me?” Snape scoffed. “And what do you get? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

Snape’s lip curled in derision. “Nothing? Then why so concerned for me?”

“Because I’m your friend.”

Snape laughed scornfully. “Surely you can do better than that.”

“It’s the truth,” Harry said.

Snape’s eyes flashed angrily. “It’s a poor friend who invades my privacy against my express wishes, don’t you think?”

“Then tell me what’s here that you can’t bear to face.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Then I’ll have to find out for myself because I’m not going to let you go on being this miserable.”

“You arrogant –”

“Am I wrong? Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re happy. But no, even you can’t manage that big a lie, can you?”

“Leave me alone.” Snape yelled.

“No! I won’t.”

The two young men glared furiously at one another.

“Such a typical Gryffindor; so sure of your noble cause,” Snape said bitterly at last. “Suit yourself then. Go wherever you like, but whatever you think you’re doing, no good is going to come of it; I promise you. And we’ll see how long your protestations of friendship last in the face of your coveted truth.”

“Nothing I’ve seen here has changed my opinion of you, nor will it.”

Snape smirked at Harry. “You haven’t seen everything, yet.”

Snape turned and strode away. Harry sighed and closed his eyes.

---

Harry opened his eyes and looked at Snape. The man blinked and shook his head, then winced slightly as if in pain.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked.

“Of course I am,” Snape said irritably.

However, Harry noticed that the man looked unusually pale and drawn. Harry quickly took his leave and, exhausted from delving into Snape’s mind, went straight to bed. It was late and Ron was already snoring, but despite Harry’s fatigue, he couldn’t sleep. The scenes from Snape’s mind kept replaying in his own and something about them bothered him. It wasn’t the fact that they’d been dark and depressing. Harry had long known that Snape’s childhood had been miserable and it was no surprise that Death Eaters roamed the man’s mind. But their surreal attacks hadn’t been as horrifying as some of the attacks Harry had witnessed in his visions the previous year. In fact, now that Harry thought of it, nothing he’d seen had been particularly shocking and that was what was troubling him. None of it had been bad enough.

Harry had spent months studying Occlumency and Legilimency with Snape. He knew the man’s mind and knew that Snape wasn’t especially traumatized by his childhood. Nor was he in denial over his past as a Death Eater. These weren’t happy memories, but he had no difficulty facing them. So why were the manifestations of these parts of his past locked away behind a wall? Why was Severus so adamant that Harry shouldn’t see them? It made no sense.

There was, however, one thing Harry had encountered that had sent a chill down his spine: the figure in black. Harry wished that Dumbledore wasn’t incommunicado on the continent so that he could discuss this apparition with the old wizard. There had been something sinister about it and Harry wondered if this silent figure lurking in Snape’s mind was what the wall had been built to guard against. Perhaps it was this mysterious figure that Severus feared, and as he drifted towards sleep, Harry wondered what dark secret the figure might represent.

---

Harry awoke to a bright chorus of “Happy Christmas!” from Ginny and Hermione as the girls came into his bedroom on Christmas morning. He reached for his glasses and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Ron sat up yawning.

“Happy Christmas,” Harry replied.

“We thought we might as well exchange gifts in here,” Hermione said as she passed out the brightly wrapped packages she was carrying and then sat down next to Ron. Ginny sat down next to Harry and they proceeded to open their presents.

They all received books, but Ron seemed especially happy with his: Winning Quidditch Strategies.

“Is it all right?” Hermione asked, biting her lip.

Ron grinned and kissed her cheek. “It’s perfect!”

Hermione beamed as Ron retrieved a bundle of presents from under his bed and handed them out. “Here you are, then. Happy Christmas!”

Surprisingly, Ron’s gifts all turned out to be sweets. Harry received a chocolate cake, Ginny a tin of her favorite biscuits and Hermione a beautiful gift box of truffles.

“There are preservative charms on all of them, so they won’t go bad,” Ron said.

“Thanks, Ron!” Harry said, scooping up a bit of frosting on his finger and licking it off.

“All right, mine next,” Ginny said, passing out three identical flat boxes. She fidgeted nervously as Harry, Ron and Hermione opened their packages. Inside each was a jumper.

“I didn’t knit them,” Ginny said quickly. “I just did the embroidery. It didn’t take much time.”

Harry looked down at his green jumper and discovered a small phoenix embroidered on the front of it. “This is brilliant! It looks just like Fawkes.”

“They’re beautiful!” Hermione agreed, holding up a vivid red jumper with an owl adorning it.

Ginny, however, was watching Ron who was staring at his golden brown jumper which bore a lion’s head.

Ron looked up at his sister and smiled. “Yeah, it’s brilliant.”

Ginny grinned in relief.

“Go on then, you all need to open mine,” Harry said, retrieving his gifts from his trunk.

Ron and Hermione were both delighted with their gifts from Harry, but it was Ginny whom Harry watched as she opened the tiny package and unfolded the handkerchief.

“Oh Harry, it’s lovely!” Ginny said, holding up the locket.

“It was my mum’s,” Harry said quietly. “I found it amongst the things my aunt sent me over summer.”

Ginny, Ron and Hermione all looked at him in astonishment.

“Your mum’s?” Ginny said. “Are you sure you want me to have it?”

Harry nodded emphatically. “Of course. I’m not going to wear it and it’s stupid to leave it lying at the bottom of my trunk. Besides, there’s no one else I’d rather have it than you.”

Ginny’s face lit up in delight and she hugged Harry tightly. Hermione was beaming as well, though Ron still looked slightly stunned. Ginny undid the clasp and put the locket around her neck. Harry thought it looked especially pretty on her.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly. Fred and George showed up mid-morning wearing matching blue jumpers which had jesters embroidered on them and which they showed off proudly to everyone as Ginny blushed happily. They left for the Burrow after lunch and Harry and his friends spent the afternoon relaxing in their makeshift common room.

By late afternoon, however, the aromas wafting up from the kitchen had become so mouth-watering that Harry’s stomach began to growl in anticipation of dinner. Fortunately, Remus appeared soon afterward to announce that it was time to eat. Harry and his friends went down to the dining room where Dobby had laid the table with a starched white cloth, china and silverware in honor of Christmas.

“You didn’t have to go to this much trouble, Dobby,” Harry said, surveying the room. “It’s only the seven of us tonight.”

“Oh, but it is Dobby’s pleasure, sir!” Dobby said sincerely then vanished, presumably back to the kitchen.

“It’s true, you know,” Remus told Harry with a smile. “House elves take tremendous pride in their ability to host the perfect dinner party. Believe me: Dobby’s having a wonderful time.”

“Don’t waste your breath on explanations, Lupin,” Snape said as he entered the room. “Taking pride in excellent work is a foreign concept to Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Happy Christmas to you too, Professor.”

Snape made no reply, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly as they all took their seats.

Dinner was delicious, of course. Dobby had out done himself and Harry only wished that the rest of the Order members could have been there to share the feast. But everyone else was either with their own families or on duty somewhere. The war didn’t stop for Christmas.

When dinner was over, Dobby announced that dessert would be served in the library. That suited Harry perfectly. He was grateful for the chance to take a break and stretch his legs after the meal he’d just eaten.

In the library there was a table filled with an astonishing array of desserts. There was a wide variety of bite-sized tarts and tiny cakes, dishes of custard and a large crystal bowl of fruit along with a dish of clotted cream – anything anyone could want and more than they could possibly eat. In addition to dessert, there was a large bowl of mulled wine waiting by the fire.

“I made that,” Tonks confided to Harry. “It’s an old family recipe of my dad’s,” she added with a wink. Harry smiled and ladled some of the punch into a cup. To his surprise it was quite good.

“Miss Weasley, where did you get that?”

Harry looked around at the sound of Snape’s voice. The man was staring at Ginny’s locket which was gleaming in the firelight.

“Harry gave it to me for Christmas,” Ginny said.

Snape looked over at Harry with an inscrutable expression then turned away without another word.

“What was that about?” Harry asked Ginny quietly as she joined him by the punch bowl.

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Harry frowned and looked at Snape who was now talking with Remus across the room. The man barely acknowledged their presence most of the time and he certainly wasn’t one to make idle conversation with his students about jewelry. Why would he ask about Ginny’s locket? Harry shook his head, wondering if he was ever going to understand Snape.

---

Harry had the same thought a few days later as the time approached once more for his and Snape’s Legilimency session. He had thought that finding a way through the wall in Snape’s mind would be a revelation, but it hadn’t been. It had only resulted in a row with Severus and now Harry feared that he might spend weeks tediously searching this new part of Snape’s mind and still find no answers. His one bit of good fortune was that, having already been behind the wall once, he was able to focus his thoughts and reach out for that part of Snape’s subconscious as he descended into the man’s mind. This time he found himself standing in front of Snape’s house as the old neighborhood sprang up around him.

“It’s not his fault!” a woman screamed. “He can’t help it! He doesn’t know how!”

“Then he’d better learn!” a man yelled in reply.

There was a crash and Harry grimaced. He really didn’t want to hear that argument again. He turned away and struck off in a different direction from the one he’d taken on his previous visit. But before he’d gone a block he spotted a fight up ahead. He recognized the boys and shot a Stinging Hex at the biggest one who was about to punch a much smaller, dark haired boy.

The big boy yelped in pain and surprise. He cast a frightened look at Harry, then he and his friends ran. Harry pocketed his wand and went to examine the boy who was leaning against the wall. This incarnation of Snape’s childhood self was a little older than the last one Harry had met; ten or eleven probably.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked.

The boy glared at Harry. “You didn’t need to do that. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but six to one odds aren’t fair.”

“Since when is life supposed to be fair,” Severus sneered. “Just stay away from me. I don’t need your help or anyone else’s.”

The boy pushed away from the wall and headed down the street. Harry watched him go, feeling a growing sense of unease. It was as if he’d used a Time-Turner to relive his previous experience here. The details were different, but the substance was same and Harry knew what was coming next. He looked up and sure enough the sky was growing dark overhead. He clenched his fists in impotent frustration as the Dark Mark erupted in the sky and the Death Eaters appeared.

Harry watched their debauchery in disgust, but suddenly he remembered what else he’d seen during this rioting and looked around. There across the street was the dark, silent figure. Harry didn’t hesitate this time. He sprinted towards the black-robed phantom, heedless of the melee around him. The dark figure turned away into a narrow side street as Harry approached, but Harry chased after him. Away from the glare of the Dark Mark and the fires the Death Eaters had set it was pitch dark. Harry could see nothing, but he didn’t stop. He could sense the movement of something ahead of him and was determined not to lose his quarry this time. He ran on, relying on sound and instinct to guide him down one street after another. But when at last he came out onto a broad street where morning was dawning, the mysterious figure had once again disappeared.

Harry cursed and slammed his fist against the wall of the house next to him.

“Can I help you?”

Harry jumped and whirled around to see a girl, perhaps a year or two younger than him, regarding him; and he was shocked to realize that he knew her.

“M – er… Lily?” he whispered, certain that he must be imagining the girl in front of him.

Lily Evans smiled. “That’s right. Who are you?”

Harry swallowed. “Harry.”

“Nice to meet you Harry. Are you all right? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

Lily looked curiously at Harry. “I live here,” she said, nodding at the modest house next to them.

Harry looked at the house and realized that he had seen it before. It had been in one of the photos of his mother’s family that his aunt and uncle had sent him. But what was it doing in Snape’s mind?

“I was on my way to the park,” Lily said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Would you like to come?”

Harry nodded and Lily led the way down the block to what turned out to be a vacant lot which had been planted with trees and flowers. It was surprisingly nice. Though tiny and hemmed in by buildings, it was the one spot of beauty in an otherwise dreary landscape.

“This is lovely,” Harry said, meaning it.

“Thanks. I do my best.”

Harry looked at Lily in surprise. “You did all of this?”

“Yes. It takes a lot of work to keep things up, especially when I’m the only one trying, but it’s worth it. I only wish I could do more. The neighborhood may not be the most handsome, but it doesn't have to be so mean. With some effort, it could be quite lovely. The trouble is that no one else bothers to look past the ugliness and neglect to see the potential of the place. No one seems to care. Even Severus has stopped caring.”

“Severus?”

“Yes. He used to come and see me from time to time, but he hasn't come now in ages. Will you tell him to come and see me, if you talk to him?”

“I’ll try,” Harry said, then looked away from the earnest, hopeful look in Lily’s green eyes. That look made him decidedly uncomfortable. Don’t be ridiculous! Harry chided himself. This isn’t Lily. It’s only a manifestation of Snape’s mind. That thought didn’t do much to cheer Harry though. Why would his mother be in Snape’s mind?

Harry cast about for something to dispel that disturbing question. “Lily,” he said, “Before I met you I was following someone, a person dressed all in black. Even their face was hidden. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

Lily frowned. “We don’t talk about him.”

“Why not?”

“We just don’t. Severus won’t allow it.”

“Why won’t Severus allow it? Is he afraid? Who is this fellow?”

“I can’t tell you, Harry! I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about him.”

“That’s all right,” Harry said. “I’d better be going, anyway.” Harry turned to leave the park and Lily called after him.

“I hope to see you again, Harry. And don’t forget to tell Severus to come and see me!”

---

Harry opened his eyes and stared at Snape. Snape stared back then frowned questioningly.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” Harry said curtly. “Of course not. Everything’s fine.”

Snape cocked an eyebrow at Harry, but Harry stood up and stalked out of Snape’s study before the man could say anything else. Harry was angry with Snape and angry with himself because he knew he shouldn’t be. He didn’t even know why he resented his mother’s presence in Snape’s mind. Maybe it was because the only time he’d seen the two of them together, Snape had called Lily a Mudblood? Or maybe it was because Severus was ignoring the girl who was clearly hurt by being shunned? Why would Snape even create a manifestation of Lily in his mind and then lock her away behind a wall where he never intended to go? It made no sense.

Harry slipped quietly into his bedroom so as not to wake Ron. He undressed in the dark and crawled into bed, still pondering all the mysteries of Snape’s mind. One thing was clear. He’d been right to worry that breaching that wall wasn’t going to yield any quick answers. In fact, he now had more questions than ever.

---

New Year’s Eve was a quiet affair at Grimmauld Place. That suited Harry, who was preoccupied with thoughts of Snape, his mother and the ominous dark figure that apparently none of the denizens of Snape’s mind were supposed to discuss. Harry wanted nothing more than for the holidays to be over so that he could return to Hogwarts. With this in mind he was doing his utmost to pack during his last evening at headquarters in the hope of avoiding the usual mayhem of sorting everything in the morning. He was rummaging through the cupboard in the entrance hall for his school shoes, which Dobby had taken to polish the previous week, when he heard voices coming through the wall from the library. Harry froze, listening to the conversation in the adjoining room.

“He’ll be gone tomorrow,” Remus’s tired voice said.

“Not a moment too soon, if you ask me,” Moody replied in his familiar growl.

“You’re being too hard on him. I’ve talked with Dumbledore and he swears –”

“Dumbledore is too trusting!”

“There’s no evidence!”

“There probably is if anyone in the bloody ministry would bother to look.”

“You know, Moody, it really does become tedious when you repeat yourself endlessly,” Snape drawled, having obviously just walked in on the conversation. “Do you honestly think it will change anything to go on and on about the incompetence of the ministry?”

“The truth deserves to be told, whether you want to hear it or not, Snape. You can’t hide from it forever. It always comes out in the end.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Moody snorted and Harry heard him stump out of the library and out the front door.

Then Remus’s voice caught Harry’s attention once more. “Severus –”

“Don’t say it!” Snape hissed. “I don’t need your patronizing advice.”

“I’m only trying to keep the peace, here. We gain nothing from you two being at each other’s throats!”

“You needn’t worry much longer. As you said, I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“That’s hardly a permanent solution. This can’t go on. Severus, for god’s sake!”

“Stop it! I don’t need to listen to your exhortations on top of his insults.”

Harry heard the library door slam. He peeked out of the cupboard and saw Snape hurrying upstairs, clearly in a temper. Harry leaned back against the wall and considered what he’d just heard, his missing shoes forgotten.

The Death Eater murders were obviously taking a toll on everyone’s nerves, not least Snape’s, but a wholly new thought had also occurred to Harry. Could the sinister figure that had been watching the Death Eaters in Snape’s mind represent the vigilante who had been stalking them for months? Had Harry been looking upon the part of Snape’s soul that had given itself to murder? Harry shuddered at that thought, but it would make sense. There had been an unmistakable air of death about the shrouded figure.

Harry resumed the search for his shoes with renewed determination. He wanted to get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible in the morning and he hoped that Dumbledore would be back. They had a great deal to discuss.

As much as he disliked Apparating, Harry had to admit that it was dead useful. Within ten minutes of finishing breakfast and saying goodbye to Remus, Tonks and the rest of his friends, Harry was knocking on Dumbledore’s office door.

“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “I must say that you’re back earlier than I would have expected.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Come and sit down, then. I fear it’s too early to offer you a sherbet lemon. Would you like some tea?”

“No. Thank you. I need to talk to you about Professor Snape.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I take it you were successful in breeching the wall in his mind?”

“Yes.”

“And what have you discovered?”

Harry quickly described the scenes from Snape’s childhood he’d seen along with the Death Eater attacks.

“And you saw virtually these same scenes both times you entered his mind?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. I think they’re sort of like anchor points: defining moments that have made him what he is.”

“Excellently put, Harry! That is quite discerning. But I would venture to guess that these scenes were hardly surprising to you. Surely they were not disturbing enough to bring you to my door at this hour on a Sunday morning.”

“No, but I also saw a figure: a man, I think, though I couldn’t see his face. Each time the Death Eaters appeared, he was there, too, but he didn’t take part in the attacks. Instead, he just stood and watched everything. There was something… ominous about him. It’s hard to explain, but he seemed even more dangerous than the Death Eaters. Then when I tried to follow him, he vanished.”

Dumbledore regarded Harry keenly. “Have you any idea what this figure might represent?”

Harry shook his head. “No.” He hesitated then continued. “I saw something else, too. I saw my mother.”

For the first time since Harry had begun describing the contents of Snape’s mind, Dumbledore’s calm, attentive expression faltered. For an instant there was an odd mixture of hope and fear in the old wizard’s eyes. Then it was gone and Dumbledore sat forward in his chair. “You saw Lily?”

“Yes. I met her by accident when I was chasing that mysterious figure. She looked as if she were a little younger than me.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “I see.”

“Professor, you said that the people in our minds are those who have touched our lives. But if that’s true –”

“Then why is Lily Evans in Professor Snape’s mind?” Dumbledore finished. He smiled at Harry. “Your mother was a remarkable person, Harry. You have her generosity of spirit, her love of justice, her great capacity for compassion. She touched many lives for the better, though her own was far too brief. I imagine that she lives as a representation of kindness and integrity within everyone who knew her.”

Lily had been kind to Snape, Harry remembered. She had stood up for him when James had humiliated him so badly on the afternoon of their Defense OWL – a kindness Snape had soundly rejected, but which obviously had made an impression on him, nonetheless. Snape had known so little kindness in his life. Harry supposed it made sense that what little empathy the man possessed would be represented by Lily and Harry felt sheepish for having imagined that she might have meant anything more to him.

“You have made excellent progress in penetrating Professor Snape’s mind,” Dumbledore continued, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “I believe you now have that well enough in hand that you and I can resume our lessons together. You do need to keep up your dueling skills. Shall we say Sunday afternoons?”

---

The next several weeks passed routinely enough for Harry. He was busier than ever now that he had lessons with Dumbledore again on top of his sessions with Snape and lessons with Professor Knight. Harry didn’t mind, however. He was somehow keeping up with his school work and he was making steady progress with Knight. He had managed his first wandless magic: a summoning charm that Knight said had saved her life more than once.

Harry’s lessons with Dumbledore were a joy. He’d spent so much time in the grim, depressing landscape of Snape’s mind that he’d forgotten how beautiful and peaceful Dumbledore’s garden was. Just being there rejuvenated him and helped to steel him against the bleakness of the Potions Master’s mind. Dumbledore seemed to understand this too: although he still sent beasts and monsters against Harry, he also allowed Harry time to simply wander the garden and enjoy its tranquility.

Harry’s only real frustration came during his sessions with Snape. He was intent upon learning the secret of the mysterious figure in black, but try as he might, he couldn’t catch the elusive man…

Harry raced along the dark street in pursuit of the sinister, cloaked figure. He had memorized these streets – every pothole or obstacle that could trip him up and though he could see nothing, he ran with confidence as fast as he could, his senses entirely focused on the sound of footfalls and the swish of robes ahead. He was gaining on his quarry and raised his wand without slowing his pace. “Luminosus!”

A brilliant light burst from the end of Harry’s wand and lit up the street as brightly as day. The figure in black cringed away from the light as though it was painful and darted into one of the dilapidated buildings lining the street. Harry followed him into what appeared to be some sort of warehouse. He could hear running footsteps ahead and raced through rows of crates in pursuit. But the stacks of boxes were like a maze and he soon lost all sign of the man. He stopped to listen, but the only sound he could hear was his own ragged breathing. The sound of footsteps had vanished.

Harry slammed a fist against one of the crates in frustration then retraced his steps and exited the warehouse into the overcast morning. He closed his eyes and opened them again to glare at the man sitting across from him...

“I take it that was less than useful,” Snape said, obviously no happier about this state of affairs than Harry was. He massaged his forehead and sighed. “Potter, what is it that you’re trying to accomplish?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Harry replied sullenly to the question Snape had taken to asking nearly every time they met. “But I’m going to work it out, Professor. I swear it,” Harry said, not bothering to hide his anger and not caring that his words sounded like a threat. After all, it was Snape who was making this so bloody difficult even if the man didn’t consciously know it.

Harry cast a final glare at Snape and stalked out of the office. He didn’t notice the flicker of fear that passed across the man’s face as he left.

---

The Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch match promised to be a welcome chance for Harry to forget about his problems for a while. Harry was hoping to see Ravenclaw trounce Slytherin, of course. In particular, he was looking forward to seeing Malfoy bested by the new Ravenclaw Seeker. Cecile Wellington was an outstanding flyer – and Muggle-born, something Harry intended to rub the Slytherin’s nose in after she beat him to the Snitch. But this hope was dashed as soon as the teams took to the air. Malfoy wasn’t among the Slytherins. Wilkes Cutting was playing Seeker instead.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Ron asked, echoing Harry’s thoughts.

“Maybe he’s ill,” Ginny said. “I can’t imagine him missing a match otherwise.”

Hermione was scanning the Slytherin section of the stands with her Omnioculars. “Well, he’s not in the crowd, so he must be ill.”

“Maybe,” Harry said suspiciously.

“Do you suppose he might be up to something?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know, but I think we’d better find out. You three wait here and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. I’m going to fetch the map and find out where he is.”

As the whistle sounded to start the match, Harry left the stands and hurried back to the castle. He retrieved the Marauder’s Map from his dormitory and scanned it. The castle itself was virtually empty, so it didn’t take long to spot the dot marked Draco Malfoy on the top of the Astronomy tower. Malfoy had no business being up there and Harry didn’t hesitate. He headed for the tower himself.

As Harry approached the top of the tower he could hear a distant roar go up from the stadium. He drew his wand, eased open the door to the top of the tower and looked around. Malfoy was standing at the parapet, gazing through a pair of Omnioculars at the tiny figures darting about on brooms over the stadium.

“Come on, come on!” Malfoy grumbled to himself. “Block him!”

Another roar went up from the stadium and Malfoy swore. The match obviously wasn’t going well for Slytherin. Harry watched Malfoy in bemusement for a few moments then finally spoke.

“Malfoy?”

The Slytherin jumped and whirled around, dropping the Omnioculars as he whipped his wand out of his pocket and leveled it at Harry. Harry raised his own wand, but the other boy didn’t attack him. He simply glared at Harry.

“Potter! What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Harry said, stepping onto the tower. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you out there playing?”

“That’s none of your business.” Malfoy picked up his Omnioculars and pocketed them, then scowled over his shoulder as another roar went up from the stadium.

“Why are you watching the match from up here?” Harry asked.

“I told you, that’s none of your business,” Malfoy said, glaring at Harry once more.

Harry eyed the other boy closely. Malfoy was clearly tense and Harry reached out mentally.

“Stop that!” Malfoy said. “Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I can’t tell that you’re trying to use Legilimency on me?”

Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. The Slytherin had been unaware of his use of Legilimency the previous year, but now Harry could feel the obstruction in Malfoy’s mind. It was nothing like the subtle misdirection and powerful defenses he was used to sensing in Snape and Dumbledore’s minds, but it was effective enough and Harry wondered when Malfoy had learnt Occlumency – and why.

Harry didn’t really need Legilimency though. The way the other boy’s eyes kept darting worriedly around told him enough.

“What are you scared of?” Harry asked.

Malfoy flushed. “I’m not scared. Now get out of my way, Potter!”

Malfoy pushed past Harry and headed for the door.

“Do your teammates know that you skived off? Does Snape? I don’t suppose you’d mind me mentioning it to him.”

Malfoy whirled back to face Harry again and raised his wand. He looked even paler now and glanced around nervously, as if the sound of Snape’s name might make his head of house appear out of thin air. “You say one word to him, Potter –”

“And what? You’ll curse me? I’m not going to let you get away with any stunt like casting the Dark Mark again. And Snape won’t cover for you this time, either.”

Malfoy scoffed. “You think I’d sabotage our own match? That’d be clever, especially with no alibi.”

Harry frowned. Malfoy was right; that made no sense. Given his conspicuous absence, if anything happened during the match, the Slytherin would be the first one suspected. “What are you doing up here, then?”

“You think I’d tell you that when you’re only going to run and tell Snape?”

“If you tell me the truth then I swear that I won’t tell him or anyone else what you say or even that I saw you.”

Malfoy snorted. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not a liar like you, Malfoy,” Harry said. “But it’s up to you. If you prefer, you can walk away and I’ll go to Snape right now. Then you can tell him why you skived off.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed with a look of pure hatred, but he and Harry both knew that he had no choice. He gritted his teeth and lowered his wand. “I didn’t play today because I’m not thick enough to go flying while Snape is sitting there in the stands watching. I’m not going to make it that easy for him to pick me off.”

Harry stared at him in confusion. “Pick you off? What are you talking about?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Can’t you work that out? You’re the one who said he’d take care of me. But he’s not going to manage it. You hear me, Potter? He’s not taking me out. I’m smarter than that.”

Harry gaped at Malfoy in disbelief. “You think Snape wants to kill you? You can’t be serious.”

“I wouldn’t be the first, would I? What’s the count up to now? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

Harry felt his stomach twist at the mention of the murdered Death Eaters, but despite his own ambivalence, he felt the need to defend Snape. “There’s no proof that Snape’s involved in those deaths.”

Malfoy snorted derisively.

“All right,” Harry said. “Let’s say you’re right. Maybe Snape has stooped to fighting dirty in order to take down some of our enemies. That’s what Slytherins do, isn’t it? Win by any means? We’re at war and it isn’t as if any of your lot wouldn’t turn him over to be tortured to death given half a chance. So all’s fair, I reckon. But that’s nothing to do with you and he certainly wouldn’t kill you.”

“Well, someone’s trying to do it,” Malfoy hissed. “Or have you forgotten what happened at the end of our last match?”

“I remember that you knocked yourself senseless when you ran into the goalpost.”

“Exactly, and I’d rather avoid any more accidents.”

Harry scowled. “What do you mean?”

“Do you honestly think I’m so incompetent that I’d run into a goalpost I’ve flown circles around a hundred times?” Malfoy scoffed. “I saw the bloody thing coming. I could have dodged it with my eyes closed. I just didn’t.”

Malfoy glanced away with a troubled expression. “I remember thinking that I needed to swerve around it. But every time I started to pull my broom over, something stopped me, told me not to bother, that it wasn’t important and I didn’t need to worry about it.”

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. What Malfoy was describing sounded an awful lot like being under the Imperius Curse. “No one could have cursed you while you were flying, not even Snape.”

“That’s what I thought at first.”

“What changed your mind?”

“That bloody plant we ran into. What do you think?” Malfoy nearly spat the words and Harry realized just how strained the Slytherin’s nerves were.

“Anyone could have put that plant in that cave for any reason,” Harry said reasonably. “It might have even turned up there on its own.”

“Maybe, but the note I got telling me to meet there didn’t write itself.”

“So, someone did put you up to going out there?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course. You didn’t really think I was out there because I was bored, did you?”

“But a note could have come from anyone.”

“Give me a little credit, Potter. I’m not stupid enough to wander blindly into danger for a lark the way you do. There are passwords and code phrases to ensure that messages aren’t faked.”

“Well then, Snape wouldn’t have been able to fake a note to you, would he?”

“He was a Death Eater, plus he’s a Legilimens and a spy. If anyone could do it, he could.”

Harry cocked one eyebrow at the Slytherin. “You think awfully highly of him.”

“I never said he was stupid, just a traitor.”

“He’s a spy and I’m sure Voldemort has a few, too.”

“He was my father’s best friend and he betrayed him!” Malfoy snarled. “Snape used him and made a fool of him! Do you know what that cost my father?”

“I can guess,” Harry said quietly. “I know what it cost Snape.”

The two young men stared at one another in silence then a deafening roar, far louder than the previous ones, rose from the Quidditch Pitch. Harry and Malfoy both looked out towards the stadium and Harry could see the tiny Ravenclaw players in blue all converging on one of their teammates who was pumping the air excitedly. The Slytherin players, in contrast, sat their brooms, unmoving.

Malfoy sighed in disgust then looked back at Harry. “Maybe you think there are some things Snape won’t stoop to doing, Potter, but I know better. If you’ve got an ounce of brains to match that Gryffindor courage, you’ll remember that. And you’d better remember your promise, too.” With that final warning, Malfoy stalked out the door.

---

Harry was almost certain that Malfoy’s suspicions of Snape were unfounded – at least that’s what he kept telling himself. No matter what else Snape might do, he surely wouldn’t harm a student. Nevertheless, Harry couldn’t shake a pervasive sense of dread and arrived at Snape’s office Monday evening more determined than ever to unmask the dark figure lurking in the man’s mind.

This time Harry didn’t try to chase the black-robed figure. Such obvious pursuit clearly wasn’t going to work. Instead, Harry hid in the dark alley that the figure usually took when the Death Eater attack was over. Harry waited in the deep shadows, listening to the screams from the street. As the sounds of the attack died away, he stood very still and waited. His patience was rewarded by the sound of someone approaching. He waited until the figure was directly across from his hiding place, then jumped out and tacked him from behind.

Harry could have used magic, of course, but he suspected that the man would be on guard against that, whereas a physical attack might take him by surprise. The strategy worked. Harry knocked the man to the ground and pinned him there. The fellow was quite strong though, despite the fact that he was surprisingly slim beneath his voluminous robes. He threatened to throw Harry off, but Harry had done his share of brawling and managed to hang on while he pulled his wand from his pocket.

A fist connected with Harry’s jaw; apparently his anonymous opponent had done his share of brawling too. Harry lost his grip on the man beneath him who took advantage of the moment to break free. He shoved Harry roughly away and rolled to his feet. But Harry still had his wand out.

“Stupefy!”

The man’s reflexes were excellent however. He dived for the ground and rolled behind a large rubbish bin, just avoiding Harry’s spell. Harry didn’t care. He was on his feet now and his quarry had nowhere to run. The man couldn’t hide forever and Harry was going to be sure to get a good look at him when he reappeared.

“Lumin –”

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s wand went flying and he stumbled as the force of the spell hit him. But the attack hadn’t come from the vicinity of the rubbish bin. It had come from behind him and Harry whirled to confront the young man who had disarmed him.

Snape stood with his wand pointed directly at Harry, regarding him calmly.

“I thought you said that I could do as I pleased here!” Harry said angrily.

“I did,” Snape replied in an infuriatingly smug voice. “But I never said that I wouldn’t intervene.”

“Why?” Harry demanded in frustration, stabbing a finger at the rubbish bin. “Why don’t you want me to find out who he is?”

“Because it won’t solve anything!”

“Yes, it will! I can feel it.”

Snape flicked his wand at Harry’s which leapt into the air and flew towards him. He caught it then stepped forward and handed it to Harry. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Why do you let him rule your life?” Harry demanded.

“That’s none of your business. Stop meddling in what you don’t understand or we’re both going to be sorry.”

Harry glared defiantly at Snape, but the young man raised his wand once more. “I will curse you if I have to.”

Harry knew that Snape wasn’t bluffing. With a final disappointed glance at the rubbish bin, he closed his eyes.

---

“The vigilante got two more Death Eaters last night,” Seamus announced at breakfast on Wednesday morning as he scanned the Quibbler’s front page. Harry grimaced and looked away, but Seamus’s next words caught his attention. “Blimey! I think I knew one of them.”

“You know a Death Eater?” Lavender asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Seamus replied. “He was a student here, a couple of years back – Thomas Morgan.”

“Not Faye Morgan’s brother?” Ginny asked. “She’s a sixth-year Slytherin. She’s in Defense with us.”

“Probably,” Seamus said, reading through the article. “It says here he had a sister at Hogwarts.”

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and noted that a significant number of the students weren’t at breakfast. A glance at the head table confirmed that neither Snape nor Dumbledore were present either.

“Poor Faye,” Ginny said. “How awful for her.”

Ron shrugged. “Well, that’s what happens when your brother’s a Death Eater.”

“That’s not a very sensitive thing to say, Ron,” Hermione said. “It isn’t her fault.”

“I didn’t say it was and I’m sorry for her. But being a Death Eater isn’t exactly a safe occupation.”

“It isn’t with this fellow running around killing them,” Dean agreed, nodding at the paper.

“I wonder how many Death Eaters there are,” Neville said, thoughtfully. “Do you suppose this vigilante might kill them all?”

“Nah,” Seamus answered. “You-Know-Who would only recruit more.”

“It seems to me that might be difficult given all these deaths,” Parvati said.

“He’s really persuasive,” Dean said with a dark look.

Ginny nudged Harry. “I’m going to go see if Faye’s still here.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

Harry and Ginny went out to the entrance hall where a group of Slytherins was gathered. Compared to the throng of students who had gathered to console Therese Gains when her father had been killed, the clutch of students was shamefully small and it was obvious that the overwhelming majority of the students felt no particular sympathy for the family of a Death Eater who had been killed.

The door to the staff lounge opened. Dumbledore emerged, looking tired. Beside him was a girl – Faye, Ginny had called her. Her eyes were red and swollen and she barely seemed to notice her classmates clustered nearby until they came forward to console her. The girl was clearly as devastated by her loss as Therese had been and Harry felt anger flare up inside him at the injustice of her situation. Why shouldn’t she deserve compassion for her grief just because her brother had been fighting on the wrong side of the war?

Ginny headed across the hall towards the girl and Harry followed her up to the knot of Slytherins who turned and eyed the Griffindors warily as they approached. Ginny ignored the hostile stares and addressed Faye.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” she said sincerely. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love and I’m sorry for you and your family.”

Faye stared at Ginny in surprise, then swallowed hard and nodded, blinking rapidly.

Harry was about to add his own condolences, but before he could think of the right thing to say, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Professor Knight standing next to him. She stepped past him to address Faye.

“Miss Morgan, I’m so sorry,” she said, clearly meaning it. “I know –”

“I don’t believe Miss Morgan needs your sympathy, Professor,” Snape’s icy voice cut in. He had been standing off to the side, behind Dumbledore, but stepped forward to confront Knight. His expression was as cold as Harry had ever seen it and Knight looked back at him with a stricken look.

Snape’s lip curled in unmistakable contempt then he turned to the girl who was looking at him with wide-eyed uncertainty. “Come along, Miss Morgan,” he said in a tone that was only marginally warmer. “Your family is waiting for you.”

He took Faye’s arm and quickly maneuvered her past those around them – nearly dragging the girl towards the front door. Dumbledore followed them, pausing only briefly to give Ginny a sad smile, before he, Snape and Faye disappeared outside.

“What do you suppose has got into Snape?” Ginny said. Harry didn’t answer. He knew exactly why Snape had been so rude to Knight. No one else would have understood the look that had passed between the two Professors, but Harry had. Snape knew that Knight was spying on him. His sneer had all but said so, and Knight had paled at the realization. She didn’t have a prayer of catching Snape out if he was on to her, Harry knew. The war would be over before Knight ever found the evidence she needed to stop Snape’s killing spree.

“Harry?” Ginny said. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “But we need to talk. Let’s go and find Ron and Hermione.”

---

“Snape is the Death Eater Vigilante?” Ron said incredulously.

“Harry, you can’t be serious!” Hermione protested, looking horrified.

“I wish I wasn’t,” Harry said grimly as he paced his dormitory. “Everything points to him and has for months.”

“But it’s all just circumstantial,” Hermione said. “We know he’s been spying on the Death Eaters. It could just be coincidence that he’s been away every time someone’s been killed.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” Ron said. “Besides, it fits that Snape would want revenge after what Voldemort did to him. And he’s certainly capable of killing.”

“I still don’t believe it!” Hermione insisted obstinately.

“Do you think that I want to believe it?” Harry said. “I’d be dead half a dozen times over if it weren’t for him. He risked his life to save mine. But I can’t go on like this. He can’t go on like this!”

“What do you plan to do?” Ginny asked. “You said that Professor Knight has been investigating him for months and she obviously hasn’t found a way to stop him.”

Harry sighed. “I’m not sure, exactly.”

“You need to talk to him,” Hermione told Harry firmly. “You owe it to Snape to give him a chance to explain. Tell him what you suspect and see what he says.”

“Oh, that would be a lovely conversation,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “‘Good evening, Professor. Have you killed any Death Eaters lately?’”

Hermione looked stonily at Ron, but Harry spoke before an argument could ensue. “Ron’s right, Hermione. Snape’s barely speaking to me. He certainly isn’t going to admit to me that he’s killing the Death Eaters.”

“What else can you do, though?” Ginny asked. “There’s no evidence.”

“Actually, there is.”

“What?” Hermione said as she, Ron and Ginny all looked at Harry in surprise.

Harry opened his trunk, reached into the pocket of his dress robes and pulled out the small white handkerchief. He unfolded it to reveal the long black strands of hair and explained.

“Moody has a strand of hair from the scene of one of the murders. He’s sure it belongs to the killer. These are Snape’s. If the two samples match, it would prove that Snape’s guilty.”

“Why haven’t you turned these over to Moody or the Ministry?” Ron asked.

Harry had no good answer for that and could only shrug helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“Harry, you’re either serious about stopping these murders or you’re not,” Hermione said.

“I know.” Harry stared down at the seemingly innocuous strands of hair. Hermione was right. He had to do something. Faye Morgan’s brother would still be alive if he’d turned over the evidence to Moody during summer. One way or another, the killings had to stop.”

Harry folded up the handkerchief once more and shoved it into his pocket. Then he headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Ginny asked.

“To do what I should have done in the first place.”

Harry left Gryffindor Tower and made his way to Professor Knight’s office. The Defense teacher looked up wearily as Harry knocked and pushed open the door.

“Potter, what can I do for you?”

“I have something to give you.” Harry pulled the handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it and laid it on the desk. “You said you needed evidence of Snape’s guilt. Well, there it is.”

Knight stared down at the long strands of black hair in astonishment. “Where did you get these?”

“That’s not important. The point is they’re Snape’s.”

Knight looked at Harry. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. I got them myself.”

Knight looked down at the strands once more in silence, her brow furrowed in thought.

“I don’t want anyone else to be killed, Professor,” Harry continued earnestly. “And I know there’s no other way to stop Snape. If there were… but this has gone too far and it has to stop. Moody said he could use these. Can you give them to him?”

Knight looked at Harry once more and for an instant he saw pity in her eyes. Then it was gone and she smiled sadly. “I’ll make sure he gets them.”

Harry nodded once and turned to leave.

“Potter, it’s not your fault that Thomas Morgan died.”

Harry looked back at Knight and managed a grim smile. “Thanks, Professor.”

---

For the next four days Harry waited anxiously for the DPS to descend upon Hogwarts to arrest Snape. All the while his emotions seesawed back and forth between relief that Snape’s killing spree was finally going to be halted and guilt at having betrayed the man. It didn’t help that Snape seemed more taciturn than ever and Harry couldn’t help wondering if the man’s conscience was finally starting to get the better of him.

By Sunday evening, however, Harry’s concern for Snape was becoming overshadowed by frustration. How long could it take for Knight to give those hairs to Moody? Harry wondered, glaring up at the staff table where the Defense teacher sat talking with Professor Flitwick. Then another thought occurred to Harry. What if she had sent them by owl and they’d been lost? Or what if the Ministry still refused to listen to Moody even with the evidence? What then?

Knight smiled at Flitwick and rose to leave the hall, seemingly without a care in the world. Harry scowled after her then shoved aside his half-eaten dinner and turned to his friends.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Harry tried to put thoughts of Knight and Snape out of his mind as he, Ginny, Ron and Hermione headed out of the Great Hall. He’d done his part. He’d just have to trust Knight, Moody and the Ministry to do theirs.

“Ginny?” Faye Morgan called, coming towards them across the entrance hall. The girl looked tired and worn and approached the Gryffindors uncertainly.

“Hi Faye,” Ginny said, giving the girl an encouraging smile. “I didn’t know you were back. How are you?”

“I’m all right. I got back this afternoon.” The girl took a deep breath. “I just wanted to say thank you. You’re the only one aside from my housemates who said that you were sorry about Thomas. All things considered… well, I just wanted to say thank you. And I want you to know –”

Faye broke off. Her eyes had grown bright, but she swallowed and went on. “I want you to know that Thomas wasn’t a bad person.” Faye glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them then dropped her voice. “He didn’t understand what being a Death Eater was like before he joined and he said it was the worst mistake he ever made. He wanted to quit; he was planning to do it as soon as he could manage it.” Faye dragged a sleeve across her eyes and sniffed. “That’s what hurts most, I think. If he’d lived just another couple of months, he could have disappeared and gone into hiding.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ginny whispered.

Faye nodded miserably. “Professor Snape worked so hard to arrange it, too.”

Harry started. “Snape?”

Faye glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice to barely more than a whisper. “He’s been helping some of us and our families. He has connections, you know – ways of helping people avoid You-Know-Who. He’s been working with my family for almost a year and everything was nearly ready. He was furious when he found out that Thomas had been killed. It was frightening, really; I’ve never seen him so angry.”

Faye looked back at Ginny. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know.” The girl turned away and headed for the dungeons. Harry gazed after her in bewilderment then turned to meet the equally confused stares of his friends.

“Why would Snape be furious that Thomas had been killed if he was the killer?” Ginny said.

“Maybe he’s not,” Hermione replied firmly.

“Or maybe it was all just an act to throw suspicion off himself,” Ron said.

Harry bit his lip and considered. Snape was surely capable of putting on an act if it suited him, but was it possible that they had all been mistaken? It had been months since Harry had seriously doubted Snape’s guilt, he realized, but maybe that was why the DPS hadn’t come to arrest Snape. Perhaps the strands of hair hadn’t matched after all!

“I’d better go and tell Professor Knight,” Harry said.

He left his friends and set off for the Defense teacher’s office. But when he arrived and knocked at the door, there was no answer. Harry sighed. Knight was usually in her office correcting homework for an hour or so after dinner and she had often told her students to come and see her then if they were having any problems with their assignments. But naturally she’d be gone the one time Harry needed to see her.

Muttering under his breath, Harry headed for his dormitory where he retrieved the Marauder’s Map from his bedside table. Knight had to be somewhere and he intended to find her. He wasn’t going to spend another night agonizing over Snape, if he could help it. He was out of patience and wasn’t going to wait for answers any longer.

Harry scanned the map with a practiced eye, but before he could spot the Defense teacher, something else caught his attention and turned the blood in his veins to ice water. Moving across the grounds was a solitary dot labeled Draco Malfoy. It was headed straight for the Forbidden Forest and following it at a discreet distance was another tiny dot labeled Severus Snape.

Knight forgotten, Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and ran out of his dormitory. He raced down the stairs, his last conversation with Malfoy playing over and over in his head. He emerged into the bright moonlit night and could easily make out the familiar black-robed figure striding across the grounds far ahead of him. Pulling his Invisibility Cloak around him, Harry took off at a dead run after Snape.

Harry had nearly caught up with Snape by the time the man reached the forest and disappeared into it. Harry slowed as he entered the forest, listening for the sound of Snape’s footfalls, but heard nothing. The forest was pitch black but Harry didn’t dare light his wand. Instead, he groped his way forward along the path. Suddenly, someone seized him from behind, spun him around and shoved him up against a nearby tree. A light flared in the darkness, his cloak was yanked away and Harry was left blinking into Snape’s glittering black eyes.

“Well, well, Potter, out for an evening stroll?”

“How did you know I was here?” Harry demanded, trying to pull free of Snape’s grasp.

Snape sneered at him and kept him pinned against the tree. “Alas, Invisibility Cloaks do not come equipped with silencing charms. I heard you coming across the lawn before I entered the forest. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing?” Harry retorted.

“That is none of your business. Why were you following me? Can’t you resist any opportunity to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong?”

Harry glared at Snape but remained silent. Snape’s eyes narrowed and Harry felt the man’s mind touch his. Harry threw up his mental defenses.

“What are you hiding?” Snape demanded.

“Nothing. You’re the one who keeps sneaking out of the castle at night.”

“And how exactly would you know that?” Snape asked in a low, dangerous voice. “Didn’t I warn you to stay out of my affairs? Just how long have you been spying on me?”

Harry took a deep breath and met Snape’s angry glare with his own. “Long enough. I know what you’re doing.”

“Really? And what, pray tell, do you think you know?”

“You’re the one who’s been killing those Death Eaters.”

Snape blinked in surprise then a small smile touched his lips. “So, out of everyone in Britain you’ve decided that I must be the culprit? Do you happen to have any evidence of this or does my character simply speak for itself?”

“You’ve been away every time that a Death Eater has been killed. It was the same over summer.”

“That’s rather circumstantial evidence to inspire such certainty, don’t you think?”

“I’m not the only one who thinks you’re responsible.”

“Ah, so someone’s put you up to this, have they? Who? Lupin?”

“No.”

“Moody then?”

Harry hesitated and Snape’s eyes flashed. “I should have known,” he said bitterly, tightening his already vise-like grip on Harry. “So, have you been spying on me for him? What have you told him?”

“Nothing!” Harry said. “I haven’t told him anything and I didn’t come out here to spy on you. I came to stop you.”

Snape released Harry and stepped back, glaring at the young man in contempt. “Come to save my soul, is that it, Potter? Well, you needn’t have bothered. My soul isn’t worth saving as surely even you should know by now.”

He started to turn away, but Harry grabbed the front of his robes. “Don’t ever say that,” Harry snarled. “Don’t throw your life away on vengeance. It isn’t worth it!”

“Don’t throw your life away on vengeance, Severus. It isn’t worth it.”

Harry froze. The words had been as clear as if they’d been spoken aloud and it took Harry a moment to realize that the young woman’s voice had only been a memory in Snape’s mind. Harry searched Snape’s eyes, but the man’s mind was now tightly shut and Snape was looking at him with a peculiar expression, almost as if he were seeing Harry for the very first time.

A cry rang out from somewhere deeper in the forest. Snape snatched up the Invisibility Cloak and tossed it at Harry. “Put this on and stay close.” He took off through the forest and Harry, donning his cloak, followed.

They came to a clearing bathed in moonlight. Malfoy stood on the far side, staring blankly ahead. But it was the figure standing next to him that made Harry’s jaw drop.

“Ah, Snape, there you are,” Professor Knight said with a wry smile as she raised her wand. “I knew I could count on you to follow Malfoy if he left the castle alone.”

“Did you?” Snape looked at Malfoy. “Draco? Can you hear me?”

“I’m afraid I had to give him a dose of Imperius Potion in order to get him to cooperate. He’ll only respond to me, now. Isn’t that right, Draco?”

“Yes, Professor Knight,” Malfoy said dreamily.

Knight smiled again. “Throw down your wand, Snape.”

Harry watched Knight and Snape stare at one another in a silent contest of wills and tried to fathom what was happening. Knight had clearly used Malfoy to lure Snape out of the castle. But why? Was she planning to arrest him? Why couldn’t she have done that at school?

At last, with a disgusted sigh, Snape tossed his wand on the ground and folded his arms, regarding Knight with a look of pure contempt. “So, what exactly do you have planned?”

Knight held out her hand and Snape’s wand leapt into it. She pocketed her own and brandished his. “It’s time for you to be revealed as the Death Eater Vigilante.”

“Really?” Snape raised an eyebrow. “That will be rather difficult to arrange with no evidence.”

“Oh, but there is evidence. Moody found a single strand of long black hair at the home of one of the first Death Eaters killed.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “He would need a matching sample for that to be of any use.”

“Yes, he would. Fortunately, Mr. Potter has managed to provide me with exactly what I needed.”

“Has he?” Snape said, slowly.

Harry cringed and looked pleadingly at Snape, though the man couldn’t see him. He wanted to throw off his cloak and explain that he hadn’t wanted to turn over the evidence, but that he’d had no choice.

“Actually, he’s been sneaking around after you for months,” Knight said, conversationally, making Harry’s cheeks burn with shame. “Moody asked him to do it originally, but he’s been acting on his own since he arrived at school. I caught him following you a few months ago and told him – quite truthfully – that Moody had asked me to watch you too. You can imagine his relief at finding an unexpected ally. He was only too happy to tell me everything.”

Harry closed his eyes, wishing that Knight would shut it. Why did she have to go on like this?

“The boy always was too trusting,” Snape commented dryly.

“It was quite a stroke of luck, actually,” Knight continued. “If I hadn’t spotted him that night in London, I never would have seen you and realized that you were following me. If I hadn’t, I’m sure that you’d have had me in Azkaban by now.”

Harry’s eyes flew open and he stared at Knight. He couldn’t have heard that right.

“I did wonder how you’d managed to evade me so effectively all this time,” Snape said. “But you still haven’t told me how you plan to frame me for the murders you’ve committed.”

Harry heard the words, but his mind seemed incapable of accepting them. There had to be a mistake. Moody had sent Knight to Hogwarts to catch Snape. She was one of the most respected Aurors in Britain. She couldn’t be the killer. Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his own name.

“Potter came to me four days ago,” Knight was saying. “He told me that the killing had to stop, then gave me a handkerchief, saying it contained the evidence I would need to prove your guilt. Imagine my astonishment when he unfolded it to reveal several long black strands of your hair.”

“Pity they won’t match the one Moody has,” Snape pointed out.

Knight smiled. “You underestimate me, Snape. I went to see Moody that very night and took along a hair I’d plucked off one of the student’s robes. I told him that I thought it might be yours but that I wasn’t sure and he obligingly brought out his sample in order to run the test. It failed, naturally, and I was bitterly disappointed. While Moody went to get me a drink to console me, I swapped the hair he had for one of yours.”

Snape smiled and inclined his head admiringly. “Very well done. So now what? Will you arrest me and send me to Azkaban?”

Knight shook her head and Harry could see the first hint of regret in her eyes. “You’re far too cunning, Snape. So is Dumbledore. Memories can be retrieved and the truth discovered if the right people are willing to put out the effort. I can’t afford that.

“Tonight, I followed you and Draco into the woods and got here just in time to see you kill him. I tried to subdue you, but everyone knows that you’re an expert duelist. You attempted to cast an Obliviate spell on me, which I blocked. Unfortunately, it rebounded on you. I did promise Potter that I’d do my best to get you a stay in St. Mungos rather than Azkaban.”

“How considerate of you.”

Knight raised Snape’s wand. “Potter will be devastated, but that’s the fortunes of war.”

“Not nearly as devastated as you think,” Harry growled. “Expelliarmus!”

Snape’s wand shot out of Knight’s hand as Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak.

“Potter!”

Harry had his wand pointed straight at Knight and he was trembling with rage. “It was you all along. I trusted you and you used me. You lied to me!”

“I had no choice, Potter. We’re at war.”

“You murdered those people.”

“It wasn’t murder; it was justice! They were Death Eaters. They deserved to die!”

“And what about Draco? Is he a Death Eater too?”

“No,” Snape replied. “He’s not.”

“He will be,” Knight snapped in return.

“So you’re going to kill him for what he might become,” Harry said in disgust. “You’ve been trying to kill him all year: first during our Quidditch match and then with that plant.” Harry shuddered at the thought. “Do you know what kind of death he would have suffered in that cave?”

“Do you know what kind of death my brother suffered?” Knight snarled. “Lucius Malfoy led the attack that killed him!”

“I imagine Miss Morgan can sympathize with your grief for your brother,” Snape interjected.

“That was an accident,” Knight said. “I never meant to kill the boy. But he saw me and I couldn’t let him live.”

Snape’s lip curled. “Of course not.”

“I’m not a murderer!” Knight insisted. “Can’t you understand? If we’re going to win this war, we have to use our enemies’ tactics against them.” She looked from Snape to Harry. “You both know that,” she said, her voice rising shrilly. “Snape, you’ve done the same.”

“I haven’t stooped to murder,” Snape said quietly. “I learnt long ago that when you start dealing in death, invariably the wrong people end up dying. I kill only when I have no choice.”

Knight snorted. “How noble. It seems that Potter was right about you, after all. But I intend to win this war and I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I think the DPS may have something to say about that,” Harry said. “Stupefy!”

But Knight had pulled her own wand from her pocket and wordlessly blocked Harry’s spell. “You still have a lot to learn about dueling, Potter.”

Knight flicked her wand towards Malfoy who still stood quietly oblivious to the confrontation in front of him as well as to his own peril. But Snape seemed to anticipate Knight’s move and reached out at the same moment.

“Mobiliquendam!” A large tree branch lying on the ground leapt into the air and slammed into Knight.

She stumbled and Harry yelled, “Stupefy!” once more. But Knight had already started to spin around and before Harry had completed his spell, she had Disapparated and was gone.

Moody sat staring into the crackling fire in Dumbledore’s office, his gnarled features slack with a stunned look of sorrow. “I’ve known her since she was a little girl,” the old Auror croaked. “Her father was one of the best Aurors I ever knew – and one of the best men. Katrina was her father’s daughter, through and through. She had his passion for justice, his integrity. Seeing her follow in his footsteps…” Moody ran a sleeve roughly across his eyes. “She was a model of what an Auror should be; one of the best and she did him proud. Now…”

“She lost both her husband and brother to Death Eaters,” Dumbledore said gently. “It was obviously more than she could bear.”

“That’s no excuse for murder!” Moody retorted.

“No. It’s no excuse. But it is a reason.”

The door opened and Snape came in. “Severus, how is Draco?” Dumbledore asked.

“Fine, now that the Imperius Potion has worn off. We had to restrain him for a while because he kept trying to leave the hospital ward, insisting that he had to find Professor Knight.” Snape cocked an eyebrow at Moody, who grimaced and looked away.

“Madam Pomfrey is keeping him in hospital overnight for observation,” Snape said, returning his attention to Dumbledore. “But I’m certain there will be no permanent harm done.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” Dumbledore said.

“If there is nothing else, then,” Snape said, “there is another matter that I need to attend to.”

“Of course, Severus.”

Snape gave Dumbledore a curt nod and turned to leave, but Moody stopped him.

“Potter, here, says you knew,” the Auror said gruffly, jerking his head at Harry who had been watching the proceedings in silence.

Snape cast a quick glance at Harry then turned to face Moody. “That’s right.”

“How?”

A small, bitter smile touched Snape’s lips. “Your own credo, Moody: trust no one. I spotted her leaving the castle one evening during a raging thunderstorm – hardly an ideal occasion for an after-dinner stroll. So I followed her. She Apparated to London where she met a man whom I recognized as a Death Eater. At first, I thought that she must be working for the Dark Lord, but the next day the man turned up dead and I realized that she had to be your vigilante. I decided to keep an eye on her until I could find some proof of her culpability. I’ve followed her on several occasions, but she managed to elude me. When I saw Draco leaving the castle this evening, I suspected it might be Knight’s doing and followed. Mr. Potter intercepted me and I presume you know the rest.”

Moody stared at Snape in amazement. “You knew all this and you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I had no proof. It would have been my word against hers and I knew which of us you’d believe.”

Snape turned away from the stricken look on the Auror’s face and left the office. Harry watched him go then stood up and addressed Dumbledore. “Sir, may I go back to my dormitory now?”

“Yes, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “There is no further need for you to stay. Good night.”

Harry nodded to Dumbledore as Snape had done and left. He could hear the breathless buzz of gossip circulating among the students as he headed for Gryffindor Tower and marveled at how quickly news managed to travel through the castle. It had hardly been two hours since he and Snape had brought Malfoy to the hospital wing. Dumbledore had arrived shortly thereafter with Professor McGonagall and Snape had quickly explained what had happened. He had stayed with Malfoy while Dumbledore and Harry went up to the headmaster’s office. Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks were summoned and this time Harry got to tell the tale. Moody refused to believe him at first, but eventually came around. Tonks and Shacklebolt then left to alert the Ministry and now there was nothing left to do but wait for the DPS to track Knight down.

The Gryffindor common room was full of students when Harry arrived.

“Harry!” Ron called, waving Harry over to the corner where he sat with Ginny, Hermione and Neville.

“Have you heard?” Hermione asked as Harry finished pushing his way through the crowd and joined them.

“Yes, I heard,” Harry said then dropped his voice. “Actually, I was there.”

“We thought you might have been,” Ginny said softly.

“It’s true then?” Neville asked. “Professor Knight really is the Death Eater Vigilante?”

“Yes.” Harry quickly told them how he’d used the Marauder’s Map and had spotted Snape and Malfoy heading into the forest. “I followed them, but it turned out that Knight had slipped Malfoy Imperius Potion to lure him and Snape away from the castle. She was planning to kill Malfoy and frame Snape for the murders. When she realized that I was there and that she wouldn’t be able to pull it off, she Disapparated.”

“I can’t believe that it was Professor Knight who killed all those people,” Neville said, clearly distressed at the notion.

Ron shook his head. “Just goes to show that anyone can snap.”

“Yeah, and all this time I’ve been going to her for advice,” Harry said bitterly.

“Harry, you can’t blame yourself for that,” Ginny insisted. “She was a respected Auror and Moody did send her here to spy on Snape. There’s no way you could have known.”

“I know that, but I played right into her hands every time. She’s the one who told me that she saw Snape talking to that Death Eater who died in the Underground. And then with that Stinging Tentacula she told me it was probably someone outside of Hogwarts who had planted it and I believed her.”

“You wouldn’t have expected her to lie to you, Harry,” Hermione said.

“What do you suppose the Ministry will do to her when they catch her?” Neville asked.

“They’ll send her to Azkaban, I imagine,” Hermione said.

“That’s if they catch her,” Ginny pointed out. “They haven’t shown much interest so far, have they?”

“The Death Eaters might catch up with her first,” Ron said. “They certainly have the incentive.”

Neville paled. “I was just wondering. I know my gran’s going to be upset. She knew the family really well and Professor Knight’s the only one left.”

Neville’s distress was sobering and they all sat in silence for a moment.

“What do you suppose that Dumbledore will do about Defense?” Hermione said at last.

Harry looked at her in surprise. He hadn’t even thought about their lessons.

“He’ll have to get a replacement, don’t you suppose?” Ginny said.

“If he can get one,” Ron said. “They’ve been pretty hard to scare up, haven’t they?”

“We have to have a teacher!” Hermione insisted. “We have our NEWTs this year.”

“You’ll pass your NEWT, Hermione,” Harry said. “We all will. Don’t worry.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say, Harry,” Ron said. “You’d make an Outstanding on yours even if you never had another lesson.”

Harry blushed slightly, but though he was confident that Ron was right about his prospects for passing the exam, he felt a flicker of doubt as he remembered Knight’s last words to him: You still have a lot to learn about dueling, Potter.

---

Dumbledore’s announcement at breakfast the next morning was somber and the students listened in grim silence to what everyone already knew. Many still looked disbelieving, though, even as they heard the official announcement from Dumbledore himself. No one had suspected Knight of being the Death Eater Vigilante.

“And now regarding a matter of more urgent consequence to you all,” Dumbledore continued. “Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons are cancelled for the remainder of the term.”

A murmur of complaint ran through the assembled students.

“However,” Dumbledore raised his voice to silence the protest. “In place of those lessons, we will be instituting Defense Practicums which will be held here in the Great Hall and which students will attend once a week on the following schedule.

“On Monday evenings, the first, second and third year students will meet with Professors McGonagall and Sprout. Tuesday evenings, fourth and fifth year students will meet with Professor Flitwick. And on Thursday evenings, the NEWT students, both sixth and seventh years, will meet with Professor Snape.

“Why do we always get stuck with Snape?” Ron groaned as Dumbledore sat down.

“Probably because he knows the most about the Dark Arts,” Hermione said.

“Why hasn’t Dumbledore ever given him the job, then?”

Further discussion of Snape was interrupted by the arrival of the post owls delivering the morning papers. The headline in the Daily Prophet read, “The Dark Knight” and immediately captured everyone’s attention. The accompanying front page story carried a brief history of Knight’s family and her career as an Auror, as well as the grizzly details of her father and brother’s murders. It was quite sympathetic and concluded by noting, rather indifferently, that Knight was still at large and so the Death Eater killings might well continue.

The Quibbler carried an abbreviated version of the same information, but devoted most of its article to warning that the Ministry, by authorizing use of the Unforgivable Curses by its Aurors, had set the precedent for people like Knight to consider themselves above the law. It also stated bluntly that, given Knight’s exemplary record of service, the Ministry likely wouldn’t be trying too hard to find her.

Harry wasn’t sure whether to be glad of that or not and as he laid aside the papers, one look at his housemates told him that they were struggling with the same ambivalence. None of them talked much as they left the Great Hall. With Defense lessons canceled, they headed back to Gryffindor Tower where Harry spent the morning doing homework before heading off to lunch and Herbology. The routine of schoolwork helped him to put Knight out of his mind almost entirely until after dinner. But once back in the common room, thoughts of the woman returned as the first and second year students gathered before heading down to the Great Hall for their first Defense Practicum with McGonagall.

It was nearly time for Harry’s Legilimency session with Snape as well and he was dreading it. Amid the flurry of activity that had followed Knight’s escape, Harry’s role in the intrigue with Moody and Knight had not come up, but Harry knew that couldn’t last. This evening would be the ideal opportunity for Snape to confront him about it and he was not looking forward to explaining himself to the man.

Harry arrived at the Potions Master’s office precisely at seven o’clock and immediately noticed that Snape had even more stacks of parchment piled on his desk than usual.

“Don’t stand there, Potter,” Snape said irritably as Harry hovered in front of his desk. “Sit down. Now that I have to teach Knight’s lessons on top of my own, I have little time to waste.”

Harry sat down and launched straight into the half-formulated apology he’d been rehearsing in his head. “Professor, I’m sorry. I had no idea that Knight was the one who had killed those Death Eaters.”

“Obviously,” Snape said, making a note on the sheet of parchment in front of him. “However, that has no bearing either on my work or the reason you are here.” Snape laid aside his quill, folded his hands on his desk and looked up. “Proceed, Potter, unless you’ve finally tired of wandering through my mind.”

Harry stared at Snape. The man was perfectly composed, alert and waiting, but this wasn’t at all what Harry had expected. Surely Snape was going to berate him for the trouble he’d caused. Surely he wasn’t going to pretend that it hadn’t happened. As much as Harry had been dreading confessing the details of his stupidity to Snape, having the man ignore it entirely would be even worse.

“Well?” Snape said impatiently, breaking Harry’s train of thought.

“You just want me to start?” Harry asked.

Snape raised an annoyed eyebrow at Harry. “That is your usual habit, is it not?”

“Yes, but…”

Snape scowled and Harry let out a deep breath. “Yes, sir.” He sat forward in his chair and tried to focus as he looked into Snape’s eyes. How can he look at me as if yesterday never happened? He can’t have actually forgotten.

“I’m waiting, Potter.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate. A moment later he was standing on the familiar street outside the shop where Snape lived and worked.

It had been weeks since he’d been to the shop, but after Severus had foiled his last attempt to unmask the ominous, dark figure he’d been chasing, Harry had realized that as long as Snape was opposing him, he’d never succeed in discovering the importance of the mysterious figure. He needed Severus’s cooperation or at least non-interference and that meant he needed a new strategy.

Harry stepped into the shop and found Snape hunched over his cauldron as usual. The young man looked up in surprise as Harry entered.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be busy trying to find a way to uncover all of my secrets?”

“Right now I’d rather just talk to you, if that’s all right?”

“I doubt that this potion would interest you,” Snape said dismissively.

“I don’t want to talk about Potions.”

Snape eyed Harry suspiciously. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything else. Come on, let’s get out of here and go for a walk.”

“I’m busy,” Snape said coldly, turning his attention back to his potion.

“You’re always busy, but whatever you’re doing can wait. We both know that.”

“I have nothing to talk about with you.”

“Well, maybe we’ll think of something.”

Snape looked at Harry in exasperation. “I presume you’re not going to take ‘no’ for an answer?”

“That’s right. I’m not.”

Snape shook his head in disgust, but he also turned down the heat under his cauldron. “Very well. Let’s get this over with then.”

He stalked out of the shop and Harry followed him. They started down the street and Snape said, “The truth. What is it you really want?”

“I told you. I just want to talk to you.”

Snape smirked, clearly unconvinced. “All right, then talk.”

Harry was stumped for a moment; he hadn’t actually got that far in planning his new strategy. But he knew basically what he intended to do and cast about for some innocent topic to start with that wouldn’t provoke Snape’s suspicion any further.

“Do you go for walks very often?”

“Not particularly,” Snape sneered. “Do you ask stupid questions very often?”

Harry ignored the barb. “I like walking.”

“How nice,” Snape said dryly.

“It’s what I used to do when I was younger and had a row with my aunt and uncle. Since I had a row with them almost every day, I walked a lot.”

“Why’d you have so many rows with them?”

“Mostly because they hated me.”

“Why? Did you make them go for walks with you?”

“No. They got landed with me when my parents died and they were the sort of Muggles who didn’t want anything to do with wizards. Of course, I didn’t know that when I was little. I didn’t know that I was a wizard at all until my letter arrived from Hogwarts. I just thought they hated me.”

Snape looked at Harry in astonishment. “How could you not know that you were a wizard?”

“My aunt and uncle never told me. They thought if they kept it from me, they could stop me from becoming one, you see.”

Snape scowled at the absurdity of such an idea. “What happened to your parents?”

“They were killed by a dark wizard when I was about a year old.”

Harry could feel the young man next to him tense slightly. “I’m sorry,” Snape said.

“Me too.”

They walked in silence for a few moments before Harry spoke again. “My neighborhood was nicer than this, but it was just as empty. At least it felt that way to me. I had no friends at all. Everyone picked on me because I was strange and because sometimes I made odd things happen. My aunt and uncle always got especially angry at me for that. Sometimes they’d lock me in my cupboard for a week.”

“Your cupboard?”

“Yeah. I slept in a cupboard under the stairs.”

Snape looked at Harry as though certain that Harry was having him on, but Harry’s obvious forthrightness slowly seemed to convince the young man that Harry was telling the truth. He frowned and looked away as they continued down the street. They walked a block and then another and finally Snape broke the silence.

“At least you didn’t get beaten by your own father.”

Harry glanced at the young man, but Snape wasn’t looking at him. “You’re right;” Harry said. “I imagine that would be worse.”

He waited a moment, but Snape made no further comment, so Harry prodded tentatively. “What about your mum? What was she like?”

Snape shrugged, still not looking at Harry. “She was all right. She died when I was young, though.”

“What happened?”

Snape hesitated then answered in a tone that tried to sound indifferent, but didn’t quite succeed. “She got sick and the Muggle doctors didn’t know how cure her.”

“What about St. Mungos?”

Snape was quiet for a long moment and when he spoke, his voice was very soft. “She was too ill to get herself there and my father didn’t know how. He sent an owl to her family asking for help. I think it was the only time in his life he ever used one. We waited, but they never responded.”

“Didn’t they get the owl?”

“Of course they did!” Snape snapped, glaring at Harry as his calm demeanor vanished. “It came back without the letter. They just didn’t care. Bunch of arrogant pure-bloods; they disowned my mother for marrying a Muggle and wouldn’t have anything to do with us. They didn’t even come to her funeral.”

Snape looked away and took a deep breath, visibly reasserting control over his emotions. When he spoke again, it was in his usual calm voice. “I swore that day that I’d be a better wizard than any of them.”

“I bet you are,” Harry said truthfully. After a moment, he added, “At least you remember your mum, though. I don’t remember my parents at all.”

Snape looked at Harry and smiled bitterly. “That’s the way life is. It isn’t fair. Some people have everything, even if they don’t deserve it, while others are left with nothing. The only thing you can ever really count on is yourself.”

“You can count on your friends.”

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You can count on me.”

Snape looked appraisingly at Harry. “We’ll see.”

---

When Harry finally opened his eyes in Snape’s office, he knew that he’d been in Snape’s mind far longer than he ever had been before. Snape confirmed this a moment later as he glanced at the clock on his desk and did a double-take.

“Potter, it’s nearly nine o’clock,” Snape said in consternation. “What in Merlin’s name have you been doing?”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry answered easily. “I never know what’s going to happen and some things just take longer than others.” He stood up and turned to go, but Snape spoke again and this time there was a mixture of surprise and suspicion in the man’s voice.

“What did you do to me?”

Harry looked back at Snape in confusion. “What?”

Snape stood up, his fists clenching in fury. But it wasn’t the anger that shocked Harry. It was the look of disgust in the man’s eyes. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing!” Harry answered truthfully. He and Severus had done nothing but talk.

Snape’s lip curled in contempt. “Do you think I’m a fool, Potter? Just because I don’t remember what you have done in my mind, doesn’t mean that I can’t feel the effects of your trespass. Now tell me what you did.”

Harry stared at Snape helplessly, panic and confusion filling his mind. He’d done nothing to warrant this reaction from Snape and it made no sense. Severus had enjoyed their conversation. By the end, he’d seemed almost happy. He’d certainly been more relaxed and at ease than Harry had ever known him. So why was Snape acting as though he thought he’d somehow been violated? As if Harry had committed some despicable crime.

“Professor, I swear I haven’t done anything to you,” Harry said desperately. “I wouldn’t.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed and Harry immediately felt the man’s mind reach out to his. There was nothing gentle in the touch. Snape’s furious indignation hit him with the force of a physical blow. Harry flinched, but he didn’t try to pull away. He knew that would only incense Snape more and besides, he had nothing to hide. He’d done nothing wrong.

Snape’s presence vanished from Harry’s mind as quickly as it had appeared. The man’s anger had subsided as well and he looked at Harry in bewilderment.

“I told you I hadn’t done anything to you,” Harry said indignantly.

“Apparently not,” Snape conceded, looking away. “Very well, Potter; you may go.”

Harry didn’t move. “You haven’t told me what’s wrong. Why did you think that I’d –”

“It’s of no consequence, Potter. It’s probably just the effects of your protracted presence in my mind. I don’t care what you’re doing or how important you believe it to be. You cannot maintain the connection for such a length of time. If you do so again, I will put an end to these sessions. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then go.”

Harry left Snape’s office, wondering if it really was the length of time he’d spent in the man’s mind that had disturbed Snape so badly. He’d spent as much time studying with Dumbledore on at least one or two occasions and the old wizard hadn’t seemed bothered at all. Of course that was Dumbledore. But, if prolonged contact with another wizard’s mind could cause the sort of reaction he’d got from Snape, why hadn’t Dumbledore warned him? Unless it was something specific to do with Snape. This wasn’t the first time the man had seemed to be affected by one of Harry’s forays into his mind.

Harry wished he knew what it was that Snape had sensed to rattle him so. It wasn’t as though the session itself had been upsetting. Compared with Death Eater attacks or chasing dark, sinister figures, it had been uneventful – even pleasant.

His conversation with Severus had gone much better than Harry had hoped. He had only wanted to establish a rapport with Snape which he could then use to persuade the young man to allow him to pursue the dark figure unimpeded. But Severus had proved to be far more interesting to talk to than Harry had imagined. The young man had been cautious at first, making no secret of the fact that he suspected Harry’s motives. But Harry had the benefit of knowing far more about Snape than Severus knew about him and he had spent enough years wheedling information out of people to know how to get his companion to talk.

Once Severus had let down his guard, the conversation had taken off remarkably. Snape’s fleeting references to his childhood had captivated Harry’s attention, but these quickly gave way to myriad other subjects: Hogwarts and their favorite subjects led to a discussion of the Dark Arts; the pure-blood prejudice and politics that had brought Voldemort to power; the co-existence of Muggles and wizards; the failings of the Ministry; even the frustrations of teaching. They had discussed all these and more and Harry had found Severus to be such interesting company that he hadn’t even minded the young man’s occasional passing reference to the “arrogant bullies” he’d had to put up with in school. Harry had been in no hurry to leave and so he’d stayed until the effort of maintaining the mental connection had become too much and he was forced to go. But how could something that had seemed so positive, so right, have caused Snape such distress?

Harry looked up from his reverie. He had let habit guide him while he pondered his session with Snape and discovered that he had arrived at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. He hurried past the gargoyle and up the moving, spiral staircase to find Dumbledore waiting for him as always. Harry immediately launched into an account of the nights events.

“I didn’t mean to upset him so badly,” Harry insisted. “I didn’t realize that maintaining the connection for two hours would affect him that way.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard and considered. “Actually, I do not believe that the problem was the length of time. There should have been no particular danger in that, so you may rest assured that you have done nothing wrong in that regard, Harry. Rather, I believe that it is what you did in his mind that caused Professor Snape’s distress.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

Dumbledore held up a hand to silence Harry’s protest. “Of course you did. You had a long conversation with Severus, one which you both seem to have enjoyed thoroughly.”

“Why should that be a problem?”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Do you recall, Harry, that I warned you not to say or do anything in Professor Snape’s mind that you would not normally say or do in his presence?”

“Of course, but –”

“And can you imagine having the sort of conversation with Professor Snape that you had with Severus this evening?”

Harry looked away and shifted uneasily in his seat. “No.”

“That is the problem. You think of Severus and Professor Snape as distinct individuals, Harry, and yet they are, in fact, one and the same person. Although neither may be aware of the other, each is affected by what the other experiences. You cannot seek to build trust with one while eschewing it with the other because Professor Snape can sense the emotional conflict even if he cannot identify its source.”

“Then I might as well stop these sessions now, because I’m never going to be able to discover why that figure is important if I can’t win at least a little of Severus’s trust.”

“I agree. You have little prospect of solving that mystery without Severus’s cooperation.”

“So you want me to quit?” Harry asked in disbelief.

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled as he looked at Harry over the rim of his glasses. “I did not say that. I merely said that your relationship with Professor Snape must remain roughly parallel to your relationship with Severus.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore. “You can’t be serious. You can’t expect – Snape’s about as approachable as a nesting dragon. There’s no way I can form that kind of a relationship with him. He doesn’t like me. He won’t even talk to me.”

“Professor Snape may not be the most affable of men, but from what you have told me, neither is Severus. I realize that it is easier to reach out to a young man your own age than it is to take such initiative with your teacher who is old enough to be your father. Nevertheless, if you are seeking to earn Severus’s trust, you must find a way to earn Professor Snape’s as well. You have been doing rather the opposite, I fear.”

Harry signed. “All right, sir. I’ll try.”

Harry left Dumbledore’s office feeling thoroughly discouraged. Whatever trust had existed between Snape and him the year before had long since vanished and he had no idea how to rebuild it. How was he supposed to even begin when Snape routinely pretended that things hadn’t happened and wouldn’t even talk to him? Harry gritted his teeth. He knew the answer to that, of course. He’d have to goad Snape into talking to him just as he’d goaded Severus into doing so – and hope that his professor didn’t give him a month’s detention for insolence.

Harry slowed to a halt. He had once again let habit guide him and was nearly at Gryffindor Tower. It was late and the halls deserted. He knew that he should go up to his dormitory and leave these concerns for another day. But he had spent too much time worrying over Snape for one reason or another this year and he couldn’t bear the thought of yet another day spent dreading another meeting with the man. He had to at least attempt to make some headway with his taciturn teacher.

With that decided, Harry turned around and headed back to the dungeons. Snape was still in his office marking essays and looked up in surprise as Harry arrived.

“Potter, what are you doing back here?”

“I need to talk to you, sir.”

“It’s rather late for that, Potter. Whatever you need to say can wait until tomorrow.”

“No it can’t. I told Dumbledore what happened earlier and he said that I needed to figure out what was wrong and fix it.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Did he? And did he specify that it should be done tonight?”

“I need to do it tonight.”

“Very well then, Potter. As I said earlier, your protracted presence in my mind was simply… unsettling. I’m certain that you meant no harm and I’m confident that you won’t repeat the error. Therefore you may consider the matter resolved. There is no need to talk about it further.”

“And what about last night? Is that something else we don’t need to talk about?”

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Snape answered smoothly. “And in any case, it has nothing to do with what occurred this evening.”

“Actually, I think it does.”

Snape frowned. “How so?”

“Do you remember last year when you told me that you couldn’t continue to teach me if I didn’t trust you?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“I think the same thing is true now. I think the reason you were – unsettled – tonight is because you don’t trust me.”

“A fascinating theory, Potter,” Snape said sourly. “I’ll be certain to give it due consideration.” Snape turned his attention back to his work. “Now, I believe that you have taken up enough of my time, this evening. Return to your dormitory.”

“No.”

Snape looked up once more. His eyes glinted and when he spoke it was in a dangerously quiet voice. “What did you say?”

“I said no. I’m not leaving. I can’t do this anymore, Professor. Maybe you can push things aside and forget about them, but I can’t and I can hardly stand to be in the same room with you anymore, it’s getting so crowded with all of the things we don’t talk about! I accused you of being a murderer last night. You can’t pretend that didn’t happen!”

“Potter, you were hardly alone in assuming that I was the Death Eater Vigilante.”

“No I wasn’t. But I’m the one who snuck around to spy on you. I’m the one who stupidly tipped Knight off to the fact that you were following her. I’m the one who gave her the evidence to use against you. Draco could have died and you –”

“Katrina Knight would not have succeeded in her plans even if you hadn’t been present,” Snape interrupted dismissively. “So spare me any foolish guilt on that account.”

In another man, such a statement might have sounded boastful, but Snape said it with such matter of fact certainty that Harry had no doubt that it was true.

“As for the rest,” Snape continued. “I’m used to being distrusted both by my enemies and allies alike. Those are the wages of being a spy. It’s of no consequence to me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You may believe what you like, Potter. That, too, is of no concern to me.”

“Fine. Maybe you don’t care. But I do.”

“Why?” Snape asked in exasperation. “We both have far more pressing worries. What good do you imagine will come of belaboring this? Do you think that I don’t realize what transpired?”

Snape’s lip curled in contempt. “Moody told you that I was the murderer and you believed him. He also persuaded you to spy on me; it was obviously you who broke into my rooms at headquarters last summer which is where, I presume, you gathered your incriminating evidence against me. You bided your time until the moment was right, then passed that evidence to the person you believed to be Moody’s agent. That you were mistaken is neither here nor there. As usual, luck was with you and there was no harm done. The only thing that astonishes me is that Moody had the shrewdness to recruit the one person I wouldn’t have suspected to betray me.”

Harry winced. “I didn’t mean to betray you. I never intended to give those hairs to Moody, but when Faye Morgan’s brother was killed, I had to do something.”

“Of course,” Snape sneered. “I should have realized that you couldn’t pass up an opportunity to play the hero. Tell me, Potter, why must it always be you? Why do you feel compelled to right every wrong regardless of whether or not you have the slightest inkling of what you’re doing?”

“Because it was my fault! If I’d given Moody those hairs in the first place, Faye’s brother never would have died. Or at least that’s what I thought at the time.”

“And why didn’t you give them to him in the first place? You’d gone to enough trouble to bypass my wards.”

Harry hesitated. The reason he’d given to Knight and that he’d told himself over and over was on the tip of his tongue: They were in the middle of a war and Snape was far too valuable to spend it sitting in Azkaban. It was a good reason, but Harry knew that it wasn’t really his reason.

“I just didn’t want to believe that it was true,” he whispered. “What Moody said made so much sense – that after what Voldemort had done to you, you’d snapped. And you kept sneaking out of the house all the time. I thought it had to be you, but I didn’t want to know; not for sure.”

Snape stared at Harry in bewilderment. “Why not?”

Harry stared back at the man wondering if he really had forgotten everything they’d been through together the previous year. “Don’t you know?”

Harry’s eyes bored into Snape’s searching for some recognition, some acknowledgement of the bond they had once shared. “Every night I went to bed wondering if you were going to be dead or in prison when I woke up. And every day I sat there in our lessons, wondering if you’d killed someone the night before and trying not to let on what I was thinking.”

Snape’s eyes widened slightly and this time Harry felt the familiar calm, controlled presence in his mind that he was used to. It was gone again a moment later and Snape stood up. He paced across the room, then turned back to look at Harry. “That was why you kept looking at me with such dread? Because you were convinced that I was the killer?”

Harry nodded. “Yes.”

Snape searched Harry’s eyes once more, but this time he didn’t reach out to Harry’s mind. Nevertheless, he seemed to find the answer he was looking for. “All that time and worry,” he murmured.

To Harry’s astonishment, Snape seemed relieved – which Harry thought was strange under the circumstances. But then he’d never understood the man.

Snape came and stood in front of Harry, his eyes boring into Harry’s as he spoke with quiet intensity. “Listen to me, Potter. I have and will kill when my life or the life of someone I am charged to protect depends upon it, or when it is necessary to the war we are fighting. You know that. But I am not a murderer. I do not kill out of hate or vengeance or for personal gain. Believe me, there would be dozens more graves littering the countryside if I did.”

“Then why do you let people spread those sorts of rumors about you? You knew that Moody suspected you and that he was telling everyone that you were the killer.”

“How would you have suggested that I stop him? There was never any evidence that I was involved in the deaths. It was simply assumed. Must I provide an alibi every time a Death Eater, anywhere, dies under suspicious circumstances? Tell me, Potter, what would you have done in my place?”

Harry considered then admitted, “I’d have told them all to sod off.”

Snape’s mouth twitched. “Not particularly eloquent, but yes, that was essentially my position. People judge me as they will, Potter. They always have. I gave up trying to change their minds long ago.”

“Well, I’m not going to be one of them any more, Professor. I give you my word on that.”

“We’ll see.”

Harry looked sharply at Snape. The man was giving him the same frank, appraising look that Severus had only a few hours earlier which disconcerted Harry until he remembered Dumbledore’s admonishment. Snape and Severus were one and the same person. They just didn’t know it – which meant that Harry had to earn the trust of not one, but two of these acerbic, taciturn men. Brilliant!

“Goodnight Mr. Potter,” Snape said, dismissing Harry.

Harry stifled a sigh and managed a wan smile in return. “Goodnight, sir.”

Most NEWT level subjects were taken by only a fraction of the sixth and seventh year students. Professors Snape and McGonagall admitted only the top students to their NEWT classes while other subjects were too specialized to attract many of the older students. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a notable exception to this rule. Knight had placed no limitation on admittance to her NEWT classes and virtually every sixth and seventh year student had signed up.

All of them were gathered in the Great Hall Thursday evening as the first NEWT level Defense practicum was about to get underway. The students sat at their house tables, huddled together at the end closest to the front of the hall and there was an unmistakable air of nervous anticipation in the room. Everyone knew that Snape had long coveted the Dark Arts post – and that Dumbledore had steadfastly denied it to him. Consequently, speculation was running high regarding what their Potions Master might have in store for them.

The door opened and Snape swept in, his robes billowing as he strode to the front of the hall and turned to face the students who fell silent, waiting. Snape let the silence linger as he raked each of them with his eyes. At last, when the tension had become almost unbearable, he began to speak in a soft velvet tone that was barely above a whisper, but which nevertheless effortlessly commanded the attention of the assembled students.

“Your training in Defense Against the Dark Arts has suffered from a constant turnover of instructors, most of whom in any case, have been incompetent – or worse.” Snape paused to let the weight of that statement sink in then continued.

“I cannot, in the space of four months, remedy all of the gaps in your education. Therefore, I will concentrate on teaching you how to survive the current state of our world. You are all competent duelists, I believe. Some of you are no doubt confident in your ability to defend yourselves against even seasoned opponents. But be aware, even Aurors who spend years mastering advanced dueling skills are still at risk of meeting an enemy who is quicker, better prepared or simply luckier. Even the most experienced witch or wizard can be defeated by a less able opponent if they let their guard down or underestimate their rival.” Snape looked at Harry who knew that he was thinking of their duel the previous year.

“More than skill, it is the split-second choices you make when faced with an opponent – particularly one wielding the Dark Arts – that will make the difference between life and death, victory and defeat.”

It was the same thing Ryan had told them the year before, Harry realized, though Snape managed to make it sound far more ominous.

“I can teach you how to think like your enemy,” Snape continued, “and thereby to anticipate and out maneuver him. For the Dark Arts, while varied and ever-changing, are constant in their nature. They seek power and control. They seek to manipulate, ensnare, seduce; and what they cannot seduce, they destroy. Understand – and this is crucial – it matters not who you are or even where your loyalties lie. The Dark Arts know neither friend nor foe. They grasp at all who come within their reach and they will use your weaknesses against you.”

Snape’s gaze swept over the students once more. “Pride, vanity, over-eagerness, over-confidence, fear, doubt, hate.” Snape’s eyes came to rest on Harry. “Even love. All will be used to defeat you and skill with a wand will not save you. Not unless you are able to stay focused on your goal.

Snape turned away, waved his hand and a large white screen appeared. “We will begin this evening, with an essay. You are to consider the following questions.”

As Snape spoke, a lengthy list of questions appeared on the screen in Snape’s familiar cramped scrawl. Harry read the first few:

1) What role, if any, do you envision yourself playing in the current war?

2) Would you sacrifice a friend if it were the only way to achieve victory for your cause?

3) Would you abandon your cause to save your own life?

4) Would you seek to kill an enemy in battle?

…

Whispered comments ran through the room as the other students read the questions as well. Harry heard a loud snort from the Slytherin table and glanced over to see Draco Malfoy snickering with Pansy Parkinson.

“The answer to number three is, ‘only if you’re a Malfoy’,” Ron said in a stage whisper loud enough to ensure that the Slytherin heard it.

“Number four too, Weasley,” Malfoy shot back.

“Silence!” Snape barked and the room fell quiet once more. “I expect a full and serious examination of these questions. There will be no talking, no discussion. I want complete silence. When you have finished your essay, you may bring it to me and leave. Begin.”

For the next hour, the students worked while Snape prowled about the hall, peering at papers. Uncharacteristically, he made no disparaging remarks to anyone. He never once shook his head in disgust or smirked contemptuously at any of the students’ work. His face remained impassive, revealing nothing of his thoughts or emotions. Finally, the students began to finish. One by one they handed Snape their essays. Ron was one of the first to hand in his and leave. Ginny finished a few minutes later and left.

Harry watched his classmates leave, but though he had answered every question on the essay, he couldn’t quite bring himself to turn it in. Finally, when Hermione and Neville handed in their essays and Harry was the last student left in the hall, Snape looked at him.

“Well, Mr. Potter?”

Harry glared at the man, then rose and handed in his essay without a word.

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with discussion of Snape’s essay when Harry arrived.

“Do you really think a teacher should be asking us if we’d kill someone, though?” Parvati said. “It seems so morbid.”

“Well, at least now we know what Snape thinks about in his cozy dungeons in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep.”

Hermione spoke up. “He’s just trying to get us to think about the moral and ethical ramifications of fighting the Dark Arts. Just take the question, ‘Would you sacrifice a friend if it were the only way to defeat an enemy?’ I could have spent hours writing on that alone.”

“What about you, Harry?” Seamus asked. “What did you think of it?”

“I don’t think Snape cares a bit about the moral or ethical ramifications of anything. I think he’s just trying to prepare us to fight a war.” Harry turned away and went up to his dormitory. He lay down on his bed, but a moment later there was a soft knock at his door and Ginny came in.

“Are you all right?” she asked

“Sure, I’m fine. I’m just tired; that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t lie, Harry. You don’t do it very well.”

Harry sighed and sat up. “I’m all right. It’s just that Snape’s essay made me think about all of the things I’ve been trying not to think about: what it’s going to take to defeat Voldemort, how many people might die, what I might have to do just to get a shot at defeating him. I know that I’m only going to get one go at him and I can’t fail – no matter what it takes; no matter what has to be sacrificed.”

Ginny sat down next to Harry and took his hand. “Harry, you can’t worry about everyone. Snape said that we have to stay focused on our goals and he’s right. You already have enough to worry about just finding a way to defeat Voldemort. The rest of us can take care of ourselves.”

Harry squeezed her hand tightly. “I know.”

Ginny kissed Harry lightly, then stood up to go. “And Harry, don’t worry. You won’t fail.”

---

Harry tried to put Snape’s essay out of his mind, hoping that the man would move on to more practical topics in their next lesson, but that hope was dashed the following Thursday evening. Snape arrive at the Defense practicum carrying a large stack of papers which were obviously their essays from the previous week. He placed the essays on the corner of the Ravenclaw table and picked up the first one.

“Miss Brown, you haven’t the slightest idea of what fighting a war entails. I strongly suggest that you avoid any activity that might require you to do so. I will have no further need of your attendance at this practicum. Dismissed.”

Lavender’s mouth fell open and she stared at Snape, stunned. So did everyone else.

Snape’s lip curled disdainfully. “Did I not make myself clear as to the purpose of this class? You are not children. Most of you are already of age and the rest of you will be in a matter of months. I have prepared a syllabus of independent study which, if followed diligently, will ensure your success on your NEWTs, but I will not waste my time spoon feeding it to you – not when there are more important lessons that need to be taught to those willing and able to learn.

“Miss Brown, I assure you that you are not alone in being unsuited to this practicum. The following students are also dismissed.” Snape read out a long list of names and then said, “You will pick up a syllabus from the back of the hall as you leave and I will expect your essays on the assigned topic of the week each Monday, beginning this coming week.

“Those of you whose name I did not call, I want all of you seated at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables here in front of me. Move with alacrity. We do not have all night.”

The students looked at each other then stood up. There was a great shuffling of papers and feet as they gathered their things. Well over half of the students trooped out of the hall while the rest found seats at the designated tables. When the last of those dismissed had left the hall and those remaining had settled down once more, Snape addressed his now much smaller class.

“Do not think yourselves fortunate. You will have twice the work of your classmates whom I’ve just dismissed and many of you are only marginally more astute than they regarding the demands of war.”

Snape picked up another essay from the pile in front of him. “Mr. Malfoy, you appear to be ready to stab anyone in the back at the least provocation. Ruthlessness certainly has its place, but it is not always compatible with self-preservation which I should think would be your first goal. A man who will betray anyone for his own profit will find himself alone. And a lone sheep is the first to be picked off by wolves.”

Snape handed Malfoy’s essay to him and picked up the next two, ignoring the stunned expression on his student’s face. “Mr. Weasley, your enthusiasm is typical of Gryffindors who seem always ready to rush in where wiser men fear to tread. Unfortunately, your strategies are more likely to get yourself and your friends killed than your enemies.

“Miss Weasley, while your attitudes are somewhat naïve, you at least appear to have a hope of keeping yourself alive. Perhaps you can aid your brother in that regard as well.

Snape thrust the essays at the Weasleys and continued with the next in the stack. “Mr. Longbottom…”

Neville cringed and bowed his head as Snape called his name.

“Mr. Longbottom, look at me when I speak to you,” Snape snapped irritably.

Neville looked up at Snape with wide eyes. Snape stared at him with a cold, unreadable expression for a moment then handed Neville his essay.

“You have a keen awareness of what is at stake in this war and of your own priorities,” Snape said quietly. “Now you need to muster the self-confidence to meet the challenge.”

Snape picked up the next essay as Neville sagged in relief. “Miss Lovegood –”

“Yes, Professor?”

Snape scowled at Luna for interrupting him, but Luna seemed completely unperturbed. She gazed attentively at Snape with a serene smile.

Snape handed the girl’s essay to her. “You have a unique perspective, Miss Lovegood.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Snape pulled the next essay from the pile and Harry knew immediately that it must be Hermione’s since it was three times as long as any of the others.

“Miss Granger,” Snape said slowly as he flipped through the pages of her essay. “I thought that my instructions were clear, but obviously they failed to penetrate that overstuffed brain of yours. Do you realize that you failed to answer even one of these questions?”

“What?” Hermione blurted out shrilly. “That’s not true! I clearly stated what the best course of action would be in every case.”

“Indeed you did. But I didn’t ask what the best course of action would be. I asked what you would do. Those questions are not one and the same, nor will the answers be. Redo this and hand it back to me on Monday. But let me caution you. War is not an academic exercise and you will not find these answers in a philosophy book. They must come from within you.”

Snape continued through the stack of essays, critiquing each one. Finally he reached the end of the pile and picked up the last essay. He looked at Harry who met his eyes unflinchingly.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” Snape said softly. “It would seem that your reputation for being the best Defense student in this school is not unwarranted. While you are predictably too noble for your own good, you nevertheless have a fairly mature understanding of the demands of war.”

“I ought to have,” Harry said.

Snape handed Harry his essay then turned back to address the entire class. “All of you are to review the comments I have made on your essays and to think seriously about the priorities you have indicated in them. Throughout the course of this practicum we will be discussing the strategies you may employ in varying situations to achieve your ends, as well as their consequences.

“However, do not be surprised if over the course of the next weeks you discover that you have misjudged yourself. By the end of the term many of you will likely find that your answers to these questions are markedly different. That is as it should be because it will mean that you have actually thought about what you are and are not capable of. The better you understand this, the better prepared you will be to face your enemies.

“That will be all for this evening. Pick up your syllabus on your way out and I will expect your essays comparing the merits of the most common shield charms on Monday.”

The students rose and began to file out of the hall, however Harry hung back.

“Do you have a question, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, sir. Is this all we’re going to do for the rest of the term or are you actually going to teach us something?”

Snape arched an eyebrow at Harry. “I am teaching you something, Potter. You’re simply too dull to realize it.”

“Do you really believe that I haven’t already thought about all this,” Harry said, brandishing his essay at Snape.

“I’m certain that you haven’t. In fact I would wager that you do everything in your power to avoid thinking about it.”

“That’s not true!” Harry said indignantly, though he knew that Snape wasn’t far off the mark.

“Isn’t it?” Snape folded his arms and regarded Harry with an imperious look. “Tell me then, Potter, what is your plan for defeating the Dark Lord?”

“You know the plan. I’m supposed to fight him in his mind. That’s why I keep meeting with you and Dumbledore.”

“Whatever utility our sessions ever had has long since passed. I suspect the same is true of your lessons with Dumbledore. All they are serving to do is to distract you from the practical problems involved in facing the Dark Lord.

“You say that you plan to fight him in his mind. That’s fair enough as far as it goes, but how do you propose to enter his mind? Do you intend to do it in your sleep? If not, then you will have to face him physically. Where do you plan to meet him that he will not be surrounded by his Death Eaters? And once alone, how will you dissuade him from killing you long enough for you to make the mental contact required?

“Even assuming you get that far, delving into his mind will leave you insensible to your surroundings and utterly vulnerable to attack. How will you ward against that? It will likely require the entire Order and every other ally who can be pressed into service to hold off the Dark Lord’s servants long enough to buy you the time you will require to wage the mental battle you propose. And all of this will require planning that you have not begun to consider. Am I right?”

Harry stared at Snape. Of course he was right. Harry hadn’t considered any of the logistics of facing Voldemort. “I was hoping that someone else might plan that part of it. Or don’t you think that I have enough to worry about as it is?”

“What I think is that you need to at least be aware of what plans are being made on your behalf. If Dumbledore has not already apprised you of that, you might consider asking.”

“I will. Trust me.”

Harry left the Great Hall and headed back to Gryffindor Tower only to find a lively discussion in progress concerning Snape’s practicum. The students who had been dismissed listened with rapt attention to a recounting of what they’d missed and enthusiastically joined in the ensuing debates. Harry went up to bed, but the topic was still on everyone’s mind at breakfast the next morning, the conversation egged on by headlines in both the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet that Knight had killed another Death Eater.

“I could never commit murder,” Neville said. “I don’t think I could kill anyone at all.”

“I’d rather kill an enemy than let a friend die,” Seamus said.

“But would you murder an enemy?” Ginny asked.

“If he’s dead either way, what difference does it make?” Dean said.

“It makes a difference because it’s all about what each of us will and won’t do,” Ginny said.

Hermione was chewing her lip and looked unusually strained. “I don’t think that I could do it. I don’t think that I could kill anyone or sacrifice another person’s life even if it were the only way to win the war. Objectively, I know that I ought to be able to do it and that only more people would die in the long run if I didn’t. But I just can’t imagine…”

Ron reached out and took Hermione’s hand. “It’s all right, Hermione. I really don’t think most of us will ever have to make that kind of choice anyway.”

Harry looked away and stabbed viciously at his black pudding. Ron was right. Most of them would never have to kill or make a decision that resulted in someone else’s death. But Harry had already done both and couldn’t help thinking about when he might have to do so again.

---

Harry arrived at Dumbledore’s office at his usual time on Sunday evening. As always, tea was waiting and Dumbledore poured Harry a cup as they sat down by the fire.

“You seem troubled this evening, Harry,” Dumbledore commented as he sipped his tea. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Harry answered automatically. “Actually, yes,” he amended, setting his tea down. “I think I’ve learnt everything I’m going to learn about dueling in the mind, so I was wondering what the next step is? I mean at some point, I have to face Voldemort and I’m still not really clear on what the plan is for doing that.”

“Ah. You have been taking Professor Snape’s advice to your Defense class to heart, I see,” Dumbledore said.

“He happens to be right. We all need to think about what’s coming and to plan for it.”

Harry waited expectantly, but Dumbledore said nothing. He simply sipped his tea.

“You are making some sort of plan for me to face Voldemort, aren’t you, sir?” Harry persisted.

“I wouldn’t precisely call it a plan, no. It is more of a goal at present.”

Harry gritted his teeth and tried to keep his voice level. “Is there going to be a plan at some point or am I supposed to just make it up as I go along?”

Dumbledore ignored Harry’s cheek. “When the time comes, there will be a plan, I assure you.”

“But you don’t know when that might be?”

“Harry, Voldemort is not an enemy whom you can march out to face in battle. He is elusive, cunning and will only come to you of his own volition when he believes that he has the upper hand. You cannot force him to meet you and it is imperative that he not realize that you wish to face him. Your only hope of success is to catch him unawares when his guard is down. Consequently, we must wait for an opportunity to present itself – a chance, preferably of his own making – for you to face him when he believes himself to be in control. Surely you can appreciate that it is impossible to plan for such an eventuality. We must simply be ready to seize the day when the moment comes.”

“That is why you must put all of your efforts into honing your skills in navigating the mind. It is what makes your sessions with me and, most particularly, with Professor Snape, vitally important.”

“What about the fact that Voldemort is immortal?” Harry asked. “You said that you’d tell me how he managed that.”

“I said that I would tell you when the time was right, but that time has not yet come. For now, you must concentrate on your lessons.”

It was clear that Dumbledore considered the subject closed, so Harry bit back any further questions and reached out to the man’s mind.

---

An hour later as Harry headed back to Gryffindor Tower, he had to admit that he felt far less anxious than he had when he’d first gone to see Dumbledore. Fighting a horde of Acromantulas had a way of taking one’s mind off other worries and he felt sure that he would be able to handle anything Voldemort might throw at him in a mental duel.

Still, the issue of Voldemort’s immortality nagged at him, particularly since Dumbledore insisted on evading the subject, and Harry was still troubled by it the next day. Even after spending most of the morning working on Snape’s Defense essay and the afternoon up to his elbows in Hippogriff manure in Herbology, he still couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding he felt. Finally, he confided his frustration to Ron, Ginny and Hermione over dinner.

“Maybe Dumbledore’s right, though, Harry,” Hermione said, pushing her peas aimlessly around her plate as she considered the problem. “Maybe knowing how Voldemort became immortal just isn’t that important. It probably doesn’t affect your strategy, so Dumbledore doesn’t want you to be distracted by it.”

“I’d be a lot less distracted if he’d just tell me,” Harry pointed out. “Besides, I know there’s something important he’s not letting on about. I can feel it and I need to know what it is before I have to fight Voldemort.”

“Well, if Dumbledore won’t tell you, we know where we can find out,” Ron said. “All of Riddle’s research is in that bloody cottage in Wales.”

Harry shook his head. He remembered what had almost happened to Snape the last time he’d snuck off on his own. “I promised Dumbledore that I wouldn’t go after it. I can’t break my word to him again.”

“Maybe not, but I didn’t make any promise to him.”

Harry, Hermione and Ginny stared at Ron in surprise.

“Ron, you can’t go back there, alone!” Hermione said sounding utterly horrified.

“Why not? I’m a pure-blood. Lawrence’s Dementors won’t hurt me and Lawrence is certainly no threat.”

“You don’t know for certain that those Dementors won’t attack you and there’s no telling what else might be lurking about. Besides, there’s loads of research. Even if you knew what to look for, it would take days to go through it all.”

“But I wouldn’t have to go through it. I could just shove it all in a bag and bring it back to the Shrieking Shack for you to sort.”

“It’s still too dangerous,” Hermione said emphatically.

“I don’t think we need to go that far, at least not yet,” Harry said before Ron and Hermione could get into a full-blown row.

Ron shook his head impatiently. “But if Dumbledore won’t tell you –”

“I’m sure he will eventually,” Hermione interrupted.

“What if he doesn’t actually know, though?” Ginny said quietly. “What if he doesn’t really know for sure what Voldemort did to become immortal or even exactly how you can defeat him, Harry?”

“You think he’s lying to me?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“No! That’s not what I mean. I just think he might be going on intuition more than actual knowledge.”

“More like an educated guess,” Hermione said, nodding slowly. “That’s possible. It would certainly explain why he hasn’t been very forthcoming with you, Harry.”

Harry frowned. Dumbledore was a great believer in following one’s instincts, Harry knew, but still. “I’d like to think he’s going on something a bit more concrete than intuition and guesswork.”

“Then I think it’s time we found out for ourselves,” Ron said. “I can be in Wales and back in under an hour, Harry.”

Harry bit his lip. He desperately wanted to know what secrets Riddle’s research held, but he couldn’t break his word to Dumbledore and he wasn’t going to lie to himself and pretend that sending Ron instead wouldn’t be going against the old wizard’s orders. “I can’t let you do it, Ron. If anything happened and Voldemort found out, it could be a disaster.”

“Then what do you plan to do? You said yourself that you have to know what you’re up against before you face Voldemort. How long are you going to wait for Dumbledore to tell you? And what happens if he never quite gets around to it? Are you going to go gaze into one of Trelawney’s crystal balls and hope ‘The Sight’ shows you the answer?”

“Wait a minute,” Harry said. “That’s it!”

Ron looked at Harry incredulously. “I was joking! Trelawney’s a fraud. You know that.”

“Not Trelawney,” Harry said, shaking his head impatiently as he jumped up from the table. “Come on. I have an idea.”

Harry quickly led Ron, Hermione and Ginny back to Gryffindor Tower and up to his dormitory. He went straight to his trunk, found his dress robes and pulled a small crystal vial from one of the pockets.

“What’s that,” Ginny asked.

“Clarifying Solution,” Harry said, holding up the vial to examine it.

Hermione gasped. “Clarifying Solution?” She came forward to look more closely at the vial. “Where did you get that?”

“I brewed it with Snape during the summer.”

“What’s Clarifying Solution?” Ginny asked. “I don’t think we’ve covered that in Potions yet.”

Predictably, Hermione knew the answer, although Ron looked puzzled. “It’s brewed for a specific individual by adding several drops of blood to a base solution. When the person the solution was brewed for drinks it, they receive a momentary flash of insight; an instant of clarity when the answer to their greatest need is revealed.”

“You mean this potion could tell you what you need to know to defeat Voldemort?” Ron asked, sounding genuinely impressed.

“It could certainly help,” Harry answered.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione said worriedly. “You have to be careful with that. People who have taken it often get disturbing results.”

“Hermione, I can’t think of anything more disturbing than having to try to kill the most powerful evil wizard in the world who also happens to be immortal,” Harry said. “Besides, what could possibly be more important to me than finding out how to defeat Voldemort?”

Harry unstoppered the vial and swallowed its contents. The effect was remarkable. He felt an intense euphoria and with it came a sudden, clear realization. Of course! How could he not have remembered?

The moment passed as quickly as it had come and the euphoria vanished. Harry frowned slightly.

“Well,” Hermione asked. “Did it work?”

“I – I’m not sure,” Harry said uncertainly.

“What did you find out?” Ron asked.

Harry looked at the expectant expressions on his friends’ faces and felt chagrinned. “I realized where I read about Stinging Tentaculas.”

The others stared at him in silence.

“Are you sure you brewed that right?” Ron asked.

“Of course I am!” Harry said indignantly, turning to pace across the room.

“All right. You don’t have to get upset.”

Harry took a deep breath and turned back to look at Ron. “I’m sorry. I just thought this would tell me something useful.” Harry glared at the empty crystal vial in his hand as though it had betrayed him.

“Where did you read about the Stinging Tentaculas?” Ginny asked.

Harry waved dismissively at his trunk. “In one of my mother’s letters. There were loads of them among the stuff my aunt sent me. I only got to read a few on the Hogwarts Express.”

“Show us.”

Harry looked at Ginny in surprise, but she was obviously serious, so he set aside the vial and went to scrounge through his trunk once more. He pulled out the old battered box of his mother’s things, fished the loose letters out of it and flipped through them.

“Here it is.” He began to read it aloud as the others gathered around to peer at it over his shoulder.

Evans,

I found the book I was telling you about and I was right. The venom of the Stinging Tentacula is one of the few poisons that can’t be treated with a Bezoar though the book doesn’t say why. Maybe because it’s an odd sort of half-plant, half creature. It’s really nasty too – much more dangerous than its cousin the Venomous Tentacula. I’ve got a book on exotic plants and animals that tells all about it. The poison will kill you, of course, but that’s not nearly the worst of it. It embeds tiny spores under the skin when it attacks and these grow amazingly fast. If they aren’t destroyed, they’ll sprout into new plants, breaking through the skin in a matter of minutes. The plants will continue to grow, feeding off their victim. I can’t imagine a worse way to die.

SS

“Well, that’s a cheerful letter,” Ron said.

“Harry, are you all right?” Ginny asked.

Harry didn’t answer. He was still staring at the letter.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have read that,” Hermione said. “After what you went through – Harry, what are you doing?”

Harry had tossed aside his mother’s letter and begun to rummage through his trunk again. He pulled out a small stack of papers, flipped through them and selected one. Then he picked up his mother’s letter once more and held the two sheets of paper side by side.

“I don’t believe it.”

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.

“It’s from Snape.”

“What?” Ginny said.

“My mum’s letter – Snape’s the one who wrote it!”

“You’re having us on,” Ron said.

“I’m serious. Look. This is one of the letters Snape sent me during Christmas when I was at the Burrow. The handwriting’s the same as in my mum’s letter. And look at the signatures. They’re identical!”

They were. Both letters were signed with a perfunctory, ‘SS’ in the same distinctive cramped hand. In fact, it was the signature that had caught Harry’s attention in his mother’s letter and made him realize who had sent it.

“You know, come to think of it, it does sound like the sort of letter Snape would write,” Ron said.

“But what was he doing writing to my mum?”

“Well, it says right here that he found some book they’d been discussing,” Hermione pointed out.

Ron nodded. “They must have been arguing over it and Snape wanted to write to your mum and show off that he’d been right.”

“But if that’s true,” Hermione said slowly. “If that’s all it was, then why did the Clarifying Solution determine that it was the most important thing for Harry to know about?”

They all looked at each other, then as one, they turned to look at the stacks of unread letters lying in the box.

Feeling an inexplicable dread, Harry laid aside the letters he was holding and pulled the others from the box. He tossed a stack to each of his friends and took one himself. “Let’s have a look.”

They began searching through the letters and it wasn’t long before Ginny spoke up. “Got one. This looks like multiple notes, all written on one page.” She read it out loud.

Is there anything you don’t know about the Dark Arts? – LE

No. – SS

Modest too, I see.

Don’t ask, if you don’t want to know.

Ron shook his head. “Was he ever not an arrogant berk?”

“Here’s another one,” Hermione said a few moments later.

Evans,

Thanks again for asking me to visit. I’m glad to hear that nosy sister of yours had a nightmare. Serves her right for eavesdropping on us! We should have slipped her a potion to turn her hair green. But I guess you’d get in trouble for that. It might be worth it though. Hmm, maybe something not so obvious, like a potion to give her acne. I’ll have to think about that.

SS

“And here’s the follow up to it. It looks like this one was from your mother, Harry, and Snape just added a note at the bottom.”

Severus,

That recipe for the acne potion worked brilliantly! Petunia’s in her room sobbing right now because she’s going to a dance tomorrow and now has a pimple on the end of her nose. Silly if you ask me, but I suppose I’ll give her the antidote tonight.

Lily

“At the end, Snape just wrote, ‘Gryffindors!!’”

They continued in this way for over half an hour. Most of the letters were quick notes though some stretched to several pages as Snape delved into a discussion of some potion or spell that had captivated his interest. Harry could almost hear the enthusiasm in the boy’s voice and once or twice had to fight the urge to smile.

As the letters progressed from one summer to the next they became more sophisticated. Quips and childish pranks gave way to more thoughtful musings.

One in particular gave Harry pause:

These fools that Dumbledore keeps hiring to teach us Defense are a disgrace! I knew twice as much as that idiot, Garret, in my first year. We need someone who knows what he’s talking about and isn’t afraid to teach us the worst. After all, if we don’t know what the Dark Arts are, then I can’t see how we’ll ever learn to defend against them.

SS

They were nearly through the last of the stacks when Hermione said, “Here’s another.”

Evans,

I’m actually glad to be living in the Muggle world. Who wants to be in the middle of a war? I’ve been reading the Daily Prophet, too and things just get worse every day…

Hermione hesitated, biting her lip as she scanned the rest of the letter.

“Go on,” Harry urged her. “Read the rest of it.”

Hermione cast an apologetic look at Harry and continued.

I know you think it would be noble to try and save the world once we’re out of Hogwarts, but I’ve heard my housemates whispering. I know what You-Know-Who is capable of better than you do and believe me, Lily, you don’t want to cross him and his Death Eaters. Stay out of this fight. You’d only end up getting killed and no good would come of that.

SS

“That’s the last one,” Hermione whispered.

Harry looked at the pile of letters they’d collected. There had to be two score of them. Silently, he gathered them together into a neat stack and looked at the clock. “It was already past time for him to meet with Snape, but he didn’t particularly care that the man was going to be angry with him. “I’ll be back in a while.”

Harry left his dormitory and headed for the dungeons and with each step he could feel his anger growing. He’d called her ‘Lily’. He’d been to her house and joked with her about how awful Petunia was. They’d been friends, yet not once had Snape even hinted at it to Harry. The man had an endless list of grievances against James Potter that he had never hesitated to throw in Harry’s face. But apparently it was too much to ask that he spare a word of kindness for the girl who had been his childhood friend?

Harry arrived at Snape’s office, and rapped sharply on the door then stalked into the room without waiting for a reply. Snape was seated at his desk and looked up to sneer at Harry.

“Nice of you to show up, Potter. Since I’m doing you a considerable favor by allowing these sessions to continue, one would think that you might at least be on time. But then, you’ve never been overly burdened by respect or gratitude for others.”

Harry ignored Snape’s criticism and thrust the stack of letters he was holding at him. “Would you care to explain these?”

Snape frowned, obviously perplexed. “What?”

“These!” Harry said, waving the letters at Snape then throwing them down on the desk. He unfolded the top one and held it up. “Go on, read it.”

Snape tore his astounded gaze away from Harry and looked at the letter. His expression changed from affronted bewilderment to one of disbelief. He took the letter from Harry and gently ran his fingertips over the page.

“Where did you get this?” Snape asked in an almost reverent whisper.

“They were in my mother’s personal effects. My aunt sent them to me.” Harry waited, but Snape said nothing. He continued to stare at the letter and seemed to have forgotten that Harry was even there. “Professor!”

Snape glanced up irritably. “What?”

“Why did you write to my mother?”

“I should think that would be none of your business. However, surely you’ve read these. They’re the unassuming discourse of a child. What, precisely, is beyond your understanding?”

“I understand them perfectly. What I don’t understand is how you and my mum became such great friends.”

Harry was sure that Snape flinched at that, but his voice betrayed no discomfort as he spoke.

“Your mother and I were far and away the top Potions students in our year. We were usually partnered in class and discovered that we only lived a few miles apart. Consequently, we decided to keep in touch over the summer holidays to further our academic pursuits.”

Harry stared stonily at Snape. “You were twelve. Even you weren’t ‘furthering academic pursuits’ at that age and I’m pretty sure my mum wasn’t. You were friends.”

“We were acquaintances and I fail to see what crime you think I’ve committed. Would you begrudge a child the opportunity to correspond with his classmate?”

“Of course not! I just don’t understand why you’re sitting here trying to pretend that you barely knew her? You’re right; I have read those letters and they weren’t written by ‘acquaintances’ who were only interested in making top marks at school. You wrote to her every week for four summers! You went to visit her.”

Snape slammed the letter down on his desk and stood up. “That was over twenty years ago! What does it matter?”

“It matters because everyone’s always ready to talk about my dad, but no one’s ever told me a word about my mum. I hardly know anything about her at all. My aunt refused to even say her name!”

“Petunia,” Snape spat. “That –” He stopped abruptly, but not soon enough.

“Oh, that’s right, you know my aunt, too, don’t you?” Harry said sarcastically. “Gave her a bad case of acne once, wasn’t it?”

Snape sighed. “As you pointed out, Potter, I visited your mother at her home. It’s unlikely that I would have been fortunate enough to avoid her sister, especially as the wretched girl was constantly spying on us. The potion I concocted for your mother to give her was just desserts, believe me.”

“You don’t have to convince me of that, Professor, and I’m not asking you to justify anything. I just don’t understand why you never told me that you were friends.”

The flinch was unmistakable this time. “Potter, if you want to know about your mother then ask Lupin. They were friends. I am not the person that you should be having this conversation with.”

“Well, the Clarifying Solution I brewed over summer disagrees with you.”

“What?”

“I took it an hour ago and this is where it led me.”

Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Potter, I told you to be careful with that!”

“I thought I was being careful. I expected it to help me figure out how to defeat Voldemort, but apparently it’s more important for me to understand why you and my mum were friends.”

Snape turned away, a pained expression on his face. But Harry wasn’t about to back down. “Can’t you tell me anything?” he said quietly. “You knew her. I never did.”

Snape closed his eyes, then opened them once more and turned back to look at Harry. “We were friends because your mother was friends with nearly all of our classmates. She was bright, popular, outgoing. She was kind to everyone.” Snape looked away. “Even me. She was the only real friend I ever had.”

“The letters stopped after fourth year. What happened?”

Snape shook his head in disgust. “I took up with a group of my fellow housemates who were less than sympathetic towards Muggle-borns.”

“The future Death Eaters,” Harry surmised. “But why? You’re a half-blood. I know you didn’t care about pure-blood politics. Why would you become friends with them?”

Snape’s mouth twisted into a bitter sneer. “Do you really want to know? I’ll give you one guess.”

Harry felt a dread suspicion and his heart sank. “Because of my father?”

“For protection from your father, yes. My first few years at Hogwarts, I could hold my own against him and his friends. I knew far more curses than they did. But neither your father nor Black was stupid. By fourth year, they could beat me in a fight. By fifth year, I’d started creating my own spells to use against them, just to keep up. I wrote them in my Potions text which I always had with me, but that little sneak, Pettigrew, spotted my notes and told his friends.

“One Saturday after lunch when I was on my way to the library, he, your father and Black were waiting for me in a deserted corridor.” Snape snorted in disgust at the memory. “They didn’t even hex me. They just grabbed me, took my books and my wand and locked me in a broom cupboard. They set a silencing charm so no one would hear me calling for help and left me there. They didn’t come back to let me out until the next morning.”

Harry gaped. “That’s not possible. You couldn’t have been missing for that long. Someone would have noticed and told the teachers.”

“I was in that cupboard for over nineteen hours, Potter and no, no one noticed that I was absent for dinner or gave a thought to the fact that my bed hadn’t been slept in. Don’t you understand? No one missed me because no one cared.”

Harry stared at Snape. As it happened, he did understand what it was like to be beneath notice. As a child, he’d been studiously ignored by his aunt and uncle who were always happy to pretend that he didn’t exist. All that had changed when he’d come to Hogwarts, but he wondered now what his life would have been like if it hadn’t – what Snape’s life must have been like.

“Of course, your father thought that it was a great joke,” Snape continued, bitterly. “He laughed and said that I was lucky, that I didn’t need an Invisibility Cloak to sneak around school because I was already invisible as far as everyone else was concerned. He and his friends didn’t even get detention for what they’d done, because naturally, no one knew and if I’d reported them it would have been my word against theirs.

“But worst of all was the smirk on your father’s face when he handed my Potions text back to me. It told me that he’d had more than enough time to learn my spells. If I’d had any doubt at all, it was dispelled the very next day, when he used my Levicorpus charm on a first year boy, who had run into him in the hallway. There he stood, in the spotlight as always, taking credit for my work while everyone praised his cleverness.

“But I’d learnt a valuable lesson from my long, uncomfortable imprisonment in that cupboard. I realized that I needed someone to watch my back the way your father’s friends watched his. Once I’d come to this decision, my course of action was obvious. There were certain Slytherins who had made it clear to me that they admired my extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts and would welcome me into their ranks. They made no secret of their pure-blood prejudice, but neither did they flaunt it at the time and I didn’t think it would be an issue. Needless to say, I was wrong.

“At first, I tried to maintain ties to the group as well as my friendship with your mother, but both sides gave me grief for my divided loyalties. I didn’t want to have to give up either. Lily had earned my loyalty and respect, but while I wouldn’t have called any of my Slytherin cohorts ‘friends’, when I was with them, your father never dared hex me or even insult me.

“Finally, it all came to a head on the afternoon after our Defense OWL. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of that.”

“No,” Harry whispered.

“I chose my path that day and your mother and I never spoke outside of class afterward. Two years later, my comrades and I became Death Eaters.”

Harry stared at Snape unable to think of anything to say. He felt sick.

“Now, Mr. Potter,” Snape said. “If you have no further need to pry into my past, I have things to do.”

Harry nodded and left the office without a word. As he walked, he tried to tell himself that it had been Snape’s own fault. He’d made the choice to befriend the pure-blood fanatics in Slytherin. He’d made the decision to become a Death Eater. Yet although Snape had chosen his path, Harry couldn’t pretend that his own father hadn’t chased him down it. If it was a choice between being constantly outnumbered by a group of bullies and turning to the nastiest elements in Slytherin for protection, could he really blame Snape for having chosen the latter? Worst of all though, Harry understood perfectly why Snape hated James Potter and he wondered if his father had ever realized that his relentless bullying had made Snape the very thing he’d believed him to be: a Death Eater.

It wasn’t until he was nearly back at Gryffindor Tower that Harry realized he’d left his mother’s letters in Snape’s office. He started to go back for them, then stopped. They were his mother’s letters, not his. He’d never been meant to read them. What’s more, Snape was the one who had written them, so if anyone had a right to them, he did. Harry decided to leave it up to Snape to either keep them or return them.

“How did it go?” Ginny asked as Harry climbed through the portrait hole and came to join her, Ron and Hermione by the fire in the common room.

Harry shrugged. “Snape just said that he and my mum were the top Potions students in their year and that’s how they got to know one another. He said that my mum was friends with everyone.”

“I imagine she’d have to have been to be friendly with Snape,” Ron said. “I can’t imagine him having many mates.”

Harry threw an irritated glance at Ron, but said nothing.

“That still doesn’t really answer the question of why the Clarifying Solution gave you that particular insight, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Who knows?” Harry said tiredly. “In any case, I have better things to worry about and right now I’d like to forget about all of them. Who’s up for a game of Exploding Snap?”

For the rest of the evening, Harry did his best not to think about his mother’s letters and the uncomfortable truths they had revealed, but the next morning at breakfast his gaze kept straying to the staff table where Snape sat. The Clarifying Solution simply didn’t live up to its reputation, Harry decided. That was the only explanation that made any sense. Not that he hadn’t appreciated a glimpse into his mother’s past, even an unsettling one. But it was absurd to think that a childhood friendship between Snape and his mother could have any importance in his life. What he really needed was insight into Voldemort’s immortality.

Harry looked at Ron who was deep in conversation about Quidditch with Gloria Bonhomme and wondered if he’d been too quick to dismiss the suggestion of going back to Wales. He was torn between his promise to Dumbledore and a growing urge to strike out on his own once more. But Dumbledore had promised to tell him all he needed to know about Riddle’s spell, so Harry reluctantly put aside thoughts of Wales. For now, he would give the old wizard more time to make good on that promise, but he also knew that time would eventually run out. Dumbledore might have told Harry to follow orders, but he had also told the young man to follow his instincts and those were telling Harry that knowing what Tom Riddle had done all those years ago to achieve immortality held the key to defeating the evil wizard.

---

Harry had little more opportunity to worry about Voldemort for the next several days. The teachers were piling on even more work than they had during first term, which was saying something, and Harry wasn’t the only one staggering under the weight. All of the seventh-year students looked haggard these days. Even Hermione was struggling to keep up and Harry was especially busy given the time he had to devote to his sessions with both Dumbledore and Snape. He was now genuinely grateful for the grueling Potions lessons Snape had put him through over summer. Miserable as those had been, Harry knew that he’d never have passed his NEWT, let alone Snape’s class, without them.

Harry and his classmates arrived at Snape’s Defense practicum Thursday evening to find that the house tables had been moved back against the walls. In their place was a circle of chairs. The students all sat down, clustering together by house, and waited.

At precisely seven o’clock Snape arrived. “For one reason or another,” he began as he prowled around the students like a predator circling a herd of prey, “most of you here either have been or are likely to become embroiled in the current war. The question is do you have what it takes to survive it?”

Harry watched his classmates shift uncomfortably in their seats as Snape passed behind them. He forced himself not to do the same as Snape reached his seat and moved on.

“You have begun to consider your motivations, principles and priorities,” Snape continued. “But to effectively achieve your goals you must first know your own weaknesses well enough to compensate for them and, in particular, to prevent them from being used against you. Let us begin then with something simple.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said as he stopped next to the Slytherin’s chair. “How would you judge your dueling skills compared with Mr. Potter’s? Are you as proficient as he? Better? Worse?”

Malfoy looked up at the man hovering next to him. He seemed taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly. “I’m as good a duelist as Potter.”

“Do you believe that you could beat him in a fair fight between the two of you?” Snape asked.

Malfoy hesitated, eyeing Harry who raised his eyebrows at him from the other side of the circle.

“Not a chance!” Ron said.

The Slytherin glared at Ron. “Of course I could beat Potter!”

“Show us,” Snape said.

Malfoy looked up at Snape, startled. “What?”

“This is a Defense practicum,” Snape said, addressing the entire class. “You may all, at any time, be called upon to demonstrate any of the knowledge or skills that you should have acquired during your years here at Hogwarts. Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, draw your wands and face one another.”

Harry immediately got to his feet and pulled his wand from his pocket. This sort of practical defense was the very thing he liked best. Malfoy stood up as well, but didn’t look nearly as enthusiastic as Harry. They stepped out of the circle of chairs and faced one another.

“Begin!” Snape said.

“Spicula!” Malfoy cried, launching his attack.

Harry flicked his wand almost leisurely and repelled the attack.

“Relashio!” Malfoy incanted, then dodged as Harry sent the spell rebounding back at him.

“Onis! Reducto! What’s the matter, Potter? Afraid to attack me?”

Harry shrugged, blocking Malfoy’s spells easily. “I only attack when I feel threatened.”

Malfoy flushed in anger and raised his wand. “Inflictum! Turbo!”

Harry parried both curses and grinned at Malfoy’s obvious frustration. The Slytherin raised his wand, baring his teeth in a snarl and Harry took advantage of the moment.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry cried and Malfoy’s wand went flying.

A cheer went up from the assembled Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

“Silence!” Snape barked, quieting the students at once. “This is a lesson, not a spectacle for your amusement.”

Snape reached out his hand and Malfoy’s wand leapt to it. “Sit down, both of you.”

Harry took his seat. So did Malfoy, though he looked angry enough to explode at any moment. Snape handed the young man his wand, a slight sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It is one thing to misjudge your skills versus those of an opponent,” Snape said slowly. “It is another to willfully disregard a known disparity in those skills out of foolish pride. Mr. Malfoy, you know that Potter is a better duelist than you. He has proved it on numerous occasions. And yet you chose to fight him knowing that you were virtually certain to lose. Why?”

Malfoy glared furiously at Snape, his face burning, but said nothing.

“No answer?” Snape drawled. “Then I shall tell you. It was because Weasley goaded you into it and you didn’t wish to lose face in front of your classmates. However, such pointless bravado will only serve to get you killed.”

“What do you care?” Malfoy snarled, jumping to his feet, unable to contain his anger and humiliation any longer. “You’re on their side!”

Snape regarded his student calmly. “There are no sides here, Malfoy. As a Professor of this school, it is my job to keep every student safe despite their best efforts to the contrary.”

“Even your enemies?” Malfoy scoffed.

A tense silence fell across the circle as the students waited for Snape to respond to the blatant challenge. But Snape’s face remained impassive and when he spoke there was no anger in his voice, only bored contempt. “You don’t know enough to be my enemy. Now sit down.”

Malfoy sank back into his seat looking deflated while Snape began to pace around the circle once more. “Pride is one of the easiest weaknesses to exploit and I dare say that many of you would have made exactly the same mistake Mr. Malfoy just did. Therefore, the first lesson you should learn is that it is wiser to admit that you can’t do something than to prove it by failing – particularly when failure may cost you your life or damage your own interests.

“Facing such a truth will also give you the opportunity to change it. Malfoy did not need to face Potter as he did. He might have chosen to attack with stealth – gaining the upper hand through surprise. He might have also chosen to take a comrade with him, relying on two to one odds to give him an advantage. Either strategy would have significantly increased his chances of success. By allowing himself to be ruled by pride he threw away that chance.”

“Each of you possesses weaknesses that can be similarly exploited. Until you recognize these and learn to guard against them, you will be easily manipulated by your enemies. Each of you will be tested in this class, so I suggest that all of you begin to think seriously about your own Achilles' heel and how you will face it. That will be all for this evening. Dismissed.”

The students filed out of the Great Hall looking frankly worried and Harry knew that they were all wondering what sort of humiliation Snape might have in store for them. Harry was worried too. The prospect of having his weaknesses laid bare for all to see was worse than facing a Boggart. At least he knew what he was afraid of – he didn’t have a clear idea of what his weaknesses were. He was certain, though, that Snape did and was mildly surprised that the man hadn’t chosen to humiliate him this evening.

In the past, Snape had always picked on him as a matter of course. Harry wondered if the recent reminder of Snape’s old friendship with his mother had softened the man towards him, but immediately dismissed that notion as laughable. Snape wasn’t the sentimental type.

But now that Harry thought of it, he realized that Snape had seemed less harsh towards for the last several weeks – long before they’d discussed his mother’s letters – ever since that first long conversation he’d had with ‘Severus’ during their Legilimency session. Harry had been working to build a rapport between himself and Snape’s alter ego ever since and was glad to think that his efforts might be paying off.

Of course, getting Snape to treat him decently wasn’t his real goal. His primary purpose was to discover the secret behind the dark, ominous figure lurking in Snape’s mind. Nothing else Harry had seen in his sessions with Snape had filled him with as much dread and now that he knew that Snape wasn’t the Death Eater Vigilante, the mysterious man haunted Harry more than ever. Why did he always appear with the Death Eaters and why was Severus so keen on keeping the man’s identity a secret that he would allow no one to speak of him or even to say his name?

As far as Harry knew, there was only one person whose name Snape feared to speak and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if the elusive dark figure might be the same – might be Voldemort. The idea horrified Harry, but he knew that Voldemort had been a constant influence in Snape’s life since he was seventeen so it was only reasonable to expect him to be present in Snape’s mind in some form.

Harry wasn’t sure what that might mean. Was he going to have to fight Voldemort in Snape’s mind in order to help Snape break the mental chains holding him in the past? Was that why Dumbledore had said that it was imperative for Harry to have these sessions with Snape; to give him practice fighting his enemy? If so, then Harry knew he was going to have to work harder than ever to unmask the shadowy figure. Not just for Snape’s sake, but for his own.

---

Harry didn’t get the chance to go straight up to his dormitory that evening because Ron dragged him over to the sofa as soon as they entered the common room and began recounting his duel with Malfoy to everyone present. Harry was heartily praised for having humiliated the obnoxious Slytherin, but soon Hermione intervened and insisted that they work on their Herbology essays.

Harry lasted longer than Ron did, but finally, when he could no longer keep his eyelids from drooping, he gave up. Harry went up to his dormitory where his roommates were already asleep and undressed quietly. He climbed into bed and was about to turn off his bedside light when he noticed a small parcel lying next to it wrapped in plain brown paper with a card attached. Harry picked up the package and read the note.

Potter,

I believe you should have these.

SS

The letters! Harry realized. It seemed that Snape had decided to return them after all. Harry opened the package, but then frowned in confusion. As expected, he found neatly folded letters, but there were twice as many as he’d given to Snape. The letters were tied in two bundles. The first set he glanced through and recognized as the letters Snape had sent to his mother, but the second was unfamiliar. Harry untied the bundle and unfolded the first letter which was written in a soft, flowing script.

Severus,

Stinging Tentaculas sound horrible! You’re lucky though that you have so many useful books. I don’t have any except for my school books. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m sorry the summer holidays are here. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss Hogwarts, especially not being able to do magic outside of school. At least we can brew potions though. Have you tried any yet? Maybe you could come to my house and we could brew some together. My parents are Muggles, but they’re very encouraging. Call me when you can and we’ll arrange it.

Lily

Harry stared at the letter a moment then unfolded the next in the stack followed by the third. They were signed by Lily as well. There had to be over two dozen in all and Harry felt a thrill of excitement. His fatigue forgotten, he began to read.

Harry spent nearly an hour savoring the letters his mother had written, watching the innocent joy and concerns of a little girl give way to the increasingly discerning observations of a young woman. It made his heart ache with longing for the woman he’d never had a chance to know, but also with gratitude for this glimpse of the person she had been. When he had read the last letter, Harry laid it aside with the others then leaned back against his pillow and considered. He wasn’t sure which astonished him more: that Snape had kept the letters all these years or that he’d been willing to admit as much in giving them away.

Harry picked up Snape’s card and read it once more. “I believe you should have these.” Harry shook his head. The note was carefully neutral, giving no hint of emotion or even of the reason why Snape had chosen to part with the letters. Yet Harry knew what that choice had cost this most private of men.

Snape would never admit it, of course. He’d simply pretend that the letters were unimportant – something he’d merely forgotten to throw out. Harry felt bile welling up inside of him at that thought. There were some things he could let Snape brush aside, but not this – not his mother’s letters. Still, Harry knew that he couldn’t force the man to acknowledge that the letters meant anything to him. What Harry needed was a subtle way to let Snape know that he knew.

Harry looked at the note once more and then a slow smile spread across his face. He dug a pen from his bedside drawer and added his own message to the bottom of the card. Then he folded it up and laid it aside. Next, he wrapped all of the letters up once more and laid the bundle in his trunk. Then with a final, satisfied smile, he turned off the light and went to sleep.

---

Scores of owls swooped into the Great Hall the next morning signaling the arrival of the morning post. Snape didn’t bother to look up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. All he ever received by post were Potions supplies and the house-elves saw to it that those were delivered directly to his office. Consequently, he was startled to hear a soft hooting next to his left ear and looked up in surprise at the Snowy owl perched on the back of his chair.

“What are you doing here?”

Hedwig tilted her head to one side as if to say that was a stupid question then stuck out her leg. Snape scowled and cast an irritated glance at the Gryffindor table, but Potter was paying particular attention to his breakfast and not looking at the staff table. Hedwig hooted impatiently, dragging Snape’s attention back to the card tied to her leg. Snape retrieved the note and stared sourly at it.

This was surely some sort of response to the letters he’d given to Potter. He had known that the boy wouldn’t be able to refrain from saying something, but he’d hoped to cut any discussion of the matter short. Potter had a right to the letters, so he’d sent them along. That was all and nothing more than a perfunctory acknowledgement was needed. He certainly didn’t want any embarrassing expression of gratitude from the boy.

Scowling, Snape unfolded the note and read it. He stared at the card for a long moment. Perhaps an overly sincere note of thanks would have been better, after all. He could have scoffed at the inappropriateness of that whereas it was impossible to find fault with the simple wording of the missive Potter had sent. Unfortunately, it was also impossible not to recognize the boy’s underlying meaning.

Snape glanced at the Gryffindor table once more and wasn’t at all surprised to find Potter looking at him this time. The boy gave him a small but unmistakable smirk then returned his attention to his breakfast.

Keeping his expression carefully neutral, Snape laid aside the card then picked up his tea and sipped it. He never should have sent those letters to Potter. He had known, of course, that the boy would read too much into the gesture, and Potter always had been inclined to overstep his bounds. Still, he hadn’t expected this sort of response.

Snape glanced at the note lying beside his plate once more. He wouldn’t have credited the boy with being so astute, but apparently Potter wasn’t entirely without subtlety, after all. He had managed to say far more than Snape wanted to hear in only two words:

Thanks!

Harry

---

It was Sunday evening and Harry stood in Dumbledore’s garden. He looked warily around, listening intently for the approach of whatever Dumbledore planned to send against him. He was alert, but not at all nervous. He had mastered the intricacies of dueling in the mind and knew that he could either defeat or outwit any beast or being.

The sound of a twig snapping caught Harry’s attention and he raised his wand, turning to face the stand of trees to his left.

“You may relax, Harry,” Dumbledore said, as he appeared from among the trees. “It’s only me.”

Harry lowered his wand. “What are you doing here, Professor?” Dumbledore hadn’t joined him in the garden since he’d resumed his lessons with the venerable wizard.

“I thought it might be a pleasant change this evening if we simply went for a walk. It occurred to me that you have become so used to being attacked in this garden, that you may have lost sight of the garden itself. I thought it might be useful for you to reacquaint yourself with the landscape. Come, let us try this path.”

Dumbledore led Harry into a broad path lined with wisteria and climbing roses. It was beautiful and Harry appreciated the chance to walk in the garden without being on his guard. He wondered though how this could be useful and asked Dumbledore as much.

“You must never become so focused on the battle that you lose sight of the larger context in which it is fought,” was the old wizard’s cryptic answer.

Before Harry could think of anything else to say, the path ended and Harry realized that they had reached the cliff overlooking the ocean. Seabirds wheeled in the sky and the sun sparkled brilliantly on the water as a stiff breeze ruffled his hair. For a moment Harry simply drank in the tangy salt air which was invigorating after the cloying sweet fragrance of the garden.

“Tell me, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Have you guessed what this represents?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Harry admitted. He’d had far more important things to worry about, after all.

“Then do so now. What do you think?”

Harry looked out at the ocean stretching to an endless horizon. It certainly wasn’t a part of Dumbledore’s garden. It was entirely separate with the cliff demarking the boundary between the vast manifestation of Dumbledore’s life and the sea. And yet there was a connection. Harry could feel a sense of anticipation as he looked out across the shimmering water. It seemed to call him to new adventures beyond the worries of his life. And suddenly, with a shock of understanding, Harry knew. “Death. It’s death.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Very good, Harry. You see, death is merely another journey filled with endless possibilities and infinite horizons. Even a life as long and full as mine,” he gestured to the vast garden behind them, “is dwarfed by what lies beyond.”

Harry gazed out at the ocean again. He had never really feared death, but seeing it depicted this way he could imagine his parents and Sirius sailing off into adventure on a bright morning such as this and his heart swelled with emotion. “It’s not so bad then, is it?”

“Not for most.”

Harry glanced at Dumbledore and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Not every soul is able to make this journey. For instance, those who choose to remain behind as ghosts are forever left to stand upon the shore, looking out at the horizon and wondering what might have been. And there are others, fortunately very few, who are still far less fortunate.”

“You mean those who have been Kissed by Dementors?” Harry asked, remembering that that fate had been called worse than death.

“Yes, those souls are utterly destroyed, though oblivion is still not the cruelest fate.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore askance, wondering what could possibly be worse than the Dementor’s Kiss, but before he could ask, Dumbledore roused himself and smiled. “That however is a discussion for another time. My point in bringing you here was to remind you never to forget that what you see around you is not what it appears to be. Do not let your determination to win a battle allow you to lose sight of that.”

“I understand, Professor. I won’t.”

Dumbledore nodded and without any sense of transition at all, Harry found himself sitting in Dumbledore’s office once more. The old wizard poured tea for both of them, then picked up his cup and sipped contentedly.

“You did not have your session with Professor Snape last week,” Dumbledore said, causing Harry to start in surprise.

“Er, no.”

Dumbledore took another sip of tea and fixed Harry with a look of mild curiosity. “May I enquire as to why not?”

Harry was sure that Dumbledore already knew the answer to that question. He picked up his own tea and drank some, then answered vaguely. “There was just something else we needed to discuss instead. Which reminds me; there’s something I wanted to ask you about,” Harry continued, not giving Dumbledore time to question him further.

“Certainly, Harry. What might that be?” Dumbledore looked expectantly at Harry while Harry scrambled mentally to try to frame his question.

“It’s about that figure in Sna – Professor Snape’s mind,” Harry began slowly. “Before we found out that Professor Knight was the Death Eater Vigilante, I thought…” Harry hesitated, trying to find a delicate way to phrase what he needed to say, but Dumbledore smiled and came to his aid.

“You thought that Professor Snape was the one who had killed those people – a reasonable enough misjudgment and, alas, a common one.”

“Yes, sir. The point is, I thought that figure was the vigilante. But he can’t have been, so now I’m trying to work out what – or who – it might be.”

“I imagine you are,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes.

It occurred to Harry that tiptoeing around Dumbledore really wasn’t useful. “I think it might be Voldemort.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips and nodded. “That is a logical guess.”

“Do you think I’m right?”

“My opinion is neither here nor there.”

“But you must have some idea,” Harry insisted. “You’ve known Professor Snape most of his life. You have to have a decent notion of who that figure might be?”

“None that it would be to your advantage for me to tell you, I’m afraid. Understand, Harry, that I do not know whom this figure is or what he may represent. I have my suspicions, of course, as do you. But I do not wish to prejudice you when it is your task to solve this mystery and discover the truth. I could as well hinder you as help.

“It seems to me that you have made a promising start in befriending Severus. That will surely work to your benefit regardless of whom this individual may be.”

Harry nodded. “I hope so, sir.”

---

Severus Snape had endured many unpleasant experiences in his life, but the Legilimency sessions with Potter which he was forced to abide were uniquely frustrating. In the beginning, he had regarded these as simply an annoying waste of his time. But that had changed and as Monday evening approached he found himself dreading Potter’s arrival. The fact that he wasn’t entirely sure why only made him more irritable.

Snape had read enough about this form of Legilimency to surmise what the general problem was. Whatever Potter was doing in his mind, it had begun to play havoc with his emotions in the last several weeks. That didn’t particularly surprise him. He hardly wanted to think of what demons Potter might have awakened in the depths of his mind.

But distressing as this situation was, it had been made far worse by that ridiculous thank you note that the boy had sent. Somehow, Snape couldn’t stop dwelling on it, which was utterly absurd. He was a master Occlumens, yet he couldn’t put two innocuous words out of his mind! One, actually, he corrected himself – Harry.

It was the name, of course. Snape knew that Potter had used it deliberately to show how deeply the gift of Lily’s letters had touched him, but it had had an inexplicable affect on Snape that disturbed him far more than Potter’s over-familiarity. The name resonated somewhere in the depths of his mind in a place he couldn’t reach and it nagged at him like a memory he could almost recall. It evoked the same cloying sense of unease in him that his sessions with Potter had begun to do and it acted as a lightning rod, drawing out all of the lurking emotions the sessions with Potter were stirring up and uniting them into something Snape couldn’t ignore.

Snape had used every Occlumency skill he possessed to try to subdue those feelings to no avail. He had considered ending the sessions, but Dumbledore had made it clear from the start that they were crucially important, though naturally he hadn’t explained why.

Snape’s lip curled in contempt then he sighed. He could bear the misery; he’d certainly suffered worse. What he despised was the helplessness. He had no power to stop whatever Potter was doing. He couldn’t even remember what took place during the sessions. Snape scowled. Under such circumstances, one would have thought that ‘noble Harry Potter’ would make some effort to minimize the turmoil he was creating.

Snape’s bitter musings were interrupted by a knock at his door. Right on time, he thought sourly as Potter came in with his usual confident, purposeful air. Snape glared resentfully at him and saw confusion cloud the boy’s face.

“Is something wrong, Professor?”

Nothing that an incredibly inane question can’t make worse. That thought must have been evident on his face, because Potter’s brow furrowed and Snape could tell that the boy was rapidly trying to decide what he had done to put his teacher in such a foul mood. He has no idea of how he’s affecting me, Snape realized. Naturally. Potter never did give a thought to the consequences of his actions. Snape took a deep breath, feeling his anger abate and a fatalistic calm take its place. “Nothing’s wrong, Potter. Sit down and let’s get this over with.”

---

February turned to March and winter eased its bitter grasp on Hogwarts. Gyffindor had won their match against Hufflepuff by a comfortable margin, but so had Ravenclaw. Given that they had dominated Slytherin in their match as well, Ron had calculated that Gryffindor needed to win their final match by at least ninety points in order to take the Qidditch Cup. Since Ravenclaw would obviously be a tough opponent he had the team practicing at every available opportunity.

Hermione, however, insisted that time be reserved for studying. She had already made up a timetable for revising and was strict about ensuring that Ron and Harry stick to it. “It won’t matter if you win the Quidditch Cup if you don’t pass your NEWTs,” she reminded them almost daily.

Harry was grateful for both his friends. Between them, they were making sure that he kept up with both Quidditch and his schoolwork which allowed Harry to concentrate on the one task at which he was making no progress at all: he was no closer to discovering the identity of the ominous figure in Snape’s mind than he had ever been.

Harry had tried ever more imaginative ways of catching the man. He’d tried following him wearing his Invisibility Cloak, Apparating to a point where the man was sure to pass, flying over the scene on his broom. The figure still managed to outmaneuver Harry every time.

Harry had also continued to spend time with Severus. Not only because Dumbledore had said that it would be useful, but because Harry found that he genuinely enjoyed the rapport that had developed between them during the past weeks. Unfortunately, while Harry’s relationship with the young man in Snape’s mind and warmed, Snape himself had grown markedly colder towards Harry.

Harry wasn’t sure why this had happened. They’d had no rows and Snape didn’t seem angry with him. The man continued to treat him decently in his lessons. But the more Severus opened up to Harry the more withdrawn Snape became. It had reached the point where there was no emotion of any kind in Snape’s eyes anymore when he looked at Harry. It was as though they were complete strangers and Harry found himself hoping for a sneer or flash of hatred in the black eyes. Anything would be better than the utter absence of feeling.

Harry knocked perfunctorily at Snape’s office door and went in. Snape looked up with the perfectly neutral expression Harry had come to loathe.

“Mr. Potter.”

“Good evening, sir,” Harry replied as he took his usual seat.

Harry hated this moment in their sessions. He had come to dread reaching out to Snape’s mind because he could feel the emotional withdrawal acutely in that first contact. The man never attempted to block him. Instead, Snape’s conscious mind had taken to pulling back at Harry’s approach, opening a clear path for him into the deeper recesses of the mind. But the gesture was not at all welcoming. Rather it was the accommodation of a mind that found his presence unbearable and Harry had seriously considered ending the sessions in the face of this reaction from Snape. Two things had stopped him, however: Dumbledore has said that the sessions were important and Harry knew that Severus would be waiting for him.

Harry narrowed his concentration to the tightest possible focus then dived past the upper layers of Snape’s mind as quickly and unobtrusively as he could manage. He let out a sigh of relief as he appeared in front of the shop where Severus stayed. Harry stepped into the shop and smiled slightly at the sight of the young man, hunched over his cauldron, seemingly oblivious to everything except his work. Harry knew that was only an appearance, however, and a moment later, Snape confirmed as much.

Without looking up he said, “If you have nothing better to do than stand there, then hand me the pickled newt tails. I grabbed the dried ones by accident.”

Harry grinned and retrieved the requested ingredient from a nearby shelf. He pulled a stool up next to Snape and straddled it as he set down the jar amongst a slew of others.

“You’re making Parchment Restoration Solution.”

The young man looked up in surprise and smiled slyly. “I thought you said that you were no good at Potions?”

“I’m not. My professor had me brew this and it’s not the sort of potion you forget.”

“A modest Gryffindor – will wonders never cease,” Snape said with feigned astonishment. He turned his attention back to his potion as he continued. “Believe me, your professor wouldn’t have had you brew this if he didn’t think that you were at least a competent potion maker.”

Harry looked at his companion in surprise, but made no reply. There was a far more important matter they needed to discuss.

“Severus, I need to ask you something.”

“What?” the young man said as he sliced up a pickled newt tail with practiced ease.

“I need to ask you about that man on the other side of the wall.”

Harry could feel his companion tense, but Snape’s voice remained calm as he added the newt tails to his cauldron. “I don’t talk about him.”

“I know that you’d rather not, but I need to know who he is.”

Snape looked at Harry. “No you don’t and we’ve been over this.”

“Severus, this is important. I have to know.”

Snape ignored Harry, stirring his potion in stony silence.

“Can you at least tell me why you won’t talk about him?”

“No.”

“Severus –”

The young man glared at him. “You may harangue me as much as you like. The answer will still be no. I won’t discuss what’s on the other side of that wall, least of all him and if you value my privacy, you’ll stop asking.”

Snape turned back to his cauldron once more and Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. He’d exhausted every other avenue. He had to convince Severus to talk to him.

“Is it Voldemort?”

Snape froze and his head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fear and anger. “Never use that name!”

“Then tell me the truth. Is it him?”

“I’m not going to –”

“Is it Voldemort?”

“Stop it!”

“I’m going to keep saying his name until you tell me what I need to know. Is it Vol –”

“No!” The young man shouted. He caught himself and continued in a calmer voice. “It’s not him.”

“Then who is it?”

“I can’t –”

“If it’s not Vol –”

“He’s worse than the Dark Lord,” Snape hissed.

Harry stared at the young man, stunned. “Worse? How could anyone be worse?”

“The Dark Lord is without mercy or compassion. He has never loved and so, for all of his atrocities, he has never betrayed anyone he cared for.”

“But this man has?”

Snape hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“Who did he betray?”

Snape looked at Harry with an unreadable expression. “Me.”

---

Harry sat fidgeting on the edge of his seat watching Dumbledore think.

“Well?” he blurted out.

Dumbledore looked up. “I would say that you are making excellent progress, Harry.”

Harry stared at the man. “Are you joking? I’m making no progress at all! I still haven’t any idea who this person is nor apparently any hope of catching him.”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. “The situation is not as dire as all that. I believe that once you discover this man’s identity, you will find it far easier to persuade him to face you.”

“But how am I going to find out who he is? Severus was furious with me for asking about him and he’ll probably curse me if I dare to mention the man again.”

Dumbledore stoked his beard thoughtfully. “Perhaps Severus is not the one whom you should be asking.”

Harry grimaced. “Professor Snape can hardly bear to look at me any more. I really doubt he’s going to be any help.”

“I was actually thinking of someone else,” Dumbledore said.

Harry frowned in confusion. “Who else is there?”

“Often a man’s friends will help him even when he refuses to help himself.”

“Sorry. I’m not following you.”

“Severus is not the only person whom you have encountered during your forays into Professor Snape’s mind. Is there no one else there whom you might appeal to for help?”

There was only one other person Harry had talked to in Snape’s mind. “Lily,” Harry said. “She could help me.”

“I imagine she could. The next time you meet with Professor Snape, I advise you to pay her a visit.”

---

It was very late when Snape arrived at Dumbledore’s office, but the headmaster was still up, sitting by the fire.

“Come in, Severus,” he said, smiling warmly. “Please, sit down. What brings you here at this hour?”

Snape remained standing and folded his arms tightly across his chest. “How much longer must I endure these sessions with Potter?”

“That is difficult to say. Would you like a humbug?”

“What I would like is a useful answer.”

“And I would like nothing better than to give you one. Unfortunately, it is impossible for me to say when it will be feasible to conclude these sessions.”

“What are you hoping for him to accomplish?” Snape asked in exasperation.

“Regrettably, I cannot tell you that, either.”

“I won’t have him wandering around my mind when I don’t know what he’s doing! I have to know what Potter sees in my mind!”

“I cannot tell you, Severus.”

“I have a right to know, Albus,” Snape hissed.

“It would do you no good.”

“I’d like to be the judge of that, if you don’t mind.”

“Actually, I do.”

“Why? Is it too horrifying even for you to speak of?”

Dumbledore was silent, regarding Snape keenly for a moment. “Why are you asking me this? What has happened?”

Snape turned away and ran a hand through his long hair as he paced across the room and back.

“Potter has never known how to hide his feelings. Every emotion stands naked in his eyes. I have seen an endless parade of dread, frustration, anger, wariness. I can stand that; I know what I am and I certainly expected no better. But he was pale as death tonight, Albus. He looked horrified.” Snape turned back to Dumbledore his eyes filled with anger and pain. “Don’t I even have the right to know why?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily, but said nothing and Snape glared accusingly at him.

“I have done as you asked. For months I have endured these sessions, but I can’t bear them any longer.”

“Why not? Do you believe that they are causing you some harm?”

“Yes!”

“And what is the nature of this harm?”

Snape hesitated, glaring at Dumbledore in frustration. “If you will not be forthcoming with me then I fail to see why you expect me to be so with you.”

“It was you who came to me, Severus,” Dumbledore pointed out mildly.

Snape scowled, but Dumbledore continued to hold his gaze calmly. At last, Snape sat down in the chair opposite the old man. He leaned back and stared up at the flickering shadows the firelight cast upon the ceiling.

“I don’t know,” Snape whispered.

“Severus, Harry would never harm you. You must know that.”

Snape waved a hand dismissively. “The boy has no idea what he’s doing, Albus.”

“Nevertheless, I can assure you that you will suffer no genuine harm from him. Discomfort? Yes. Even acute distress. But no harm. I did warn you that this was likely to be unsettling.”

“I don’t believe ‘unsettling’ quite captures the experience. I feel as if I’m going mad.”

“You aren’t.”

Snape looked at the old man with a bitter, tired smile. “You know that for a fact?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes bored into Snape’s until Snape nodded.

“And you are still convinced that he hasn’t seen –”

“Yes. I’ve told you, Severus, no memories exist at the level at which Harry is exploring your mind.”

“So you’re telling me it’s simply my soul that he finds repulsive?” Snape grimaced. “Well, I suppose that’s scarcely a surprise.”

“Severus, Harry is not repulsed by what he has seen in your mind, but surely you realize that there are things there which he might find disturbing.”

Snape’s lip curled disdainfully. “To put it mildly.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Dumbledore spoke in a quiet, reassuring voice.

“I do not believe that it will be much longer before these sessions may be discontinued, Severus. But it is crucial that Harry be allowed to finish what he has begun.”

Snape looked at the earnest expression in the old man’s eyes and sighed. “Very well.” Snape stood up and turned to leave, but Dumbledore stopped him.

“Severus, trust Harry.”

“I do trust him, Albus. The problem is that he trusts me.”

---

The following Monday evening neither Snape nor Harry said a word to each other as Harry took his seat in man’s office. They simply looked at one another in silent acknowledgement of the grim test of endurance that they had somehow become trapped in together. Harry avoided Severus this time as he entered Snape’s mind and went to find Lily. Harry was anxious to speak with her, but paradoxically, he also dreaded it. He had managed to put his mother’s letters as well as her friendship with Snape out of his mind and didn’t relish being reminded of them.

Harry found Lily tending the flowers in her tiny park. She looked up as he approached and smiled.

“Harry! I was wondering if you were ever going to come back. How are you? How’s Severus? Have you talked to him about coming to see me?”

“We’re both all right, but he can’t come right now.”

Lily frowned, displeased. “Don’t tell me. He’s busy brewing potions.”

“Actually, I think there’s something else keeping him away,” Harry said. “I might be able to convince him to come back, though. But I’m going to need your help.”

“What can I do?”

“I need you to tell me about that man I was chasing the last time I was here.”

Lily’s eyes widened fearfully. “I can’t talk about him. I told you that.” She started to turn away, but Harry caught her arm.

“It’s because of him that Severus doesn’t come here. If we can break the hold that he has on Severus then I know the rest will take care of itself.”

“Harry, I can’t tell you!” Lily said.

“Please, Lily!” Harry took her shoulders and looked into her green eyes, so like his own. “I know that you want to help him. I do too, but I can’t do it alone. For his sake, you have to tell me!”

Lily bit her lip then nodded. She fixed Harry with a penetrating stare. “I can’t tell you who he is, but there’s only one person Severus has ever been afraid to face, Harry. You know who that is. I know you do.”

She held Harry’s gaze as if willing him to understand and suddenly Harry did. At that moment a green light lit up the sky. While they’d been talking, it had grown dark and glancing up Harry could easily make out the Dark Mark glowing in the distance.

“Come on,” Lily said, taking off at a run up the block. Harry followed her until she stopped at the entrance to an alley. “Go this way,” Lily said. “When it dead-ends, turn left. You’ll be able to catch him.”

“Lily –”

“Hurry!”

Harry nodded and took off down the narrow street, using his wand to light his way in the dark. The alley came to a dead end and he turned left into a wider street. He could hear the sounds of the rioting Death Eaters and began to run. As the rioting reached its crescendo, Harry saw the dark figure dart across his path twenty yards ahead. He put on extra speed and followed the man. Turning the corner he could see the black-robed figure ahead. The man must have heard Harry’s footfalls because he glanced over his shoulder. Spotting Harry, he broke into a run.

“Wait!” Harry called, racing to keep up. His quarry didn’t slow down, so he cried out again.

“Severus!”

The figure halted in the darkness and Harry slowed to a stop, ten feet away.

“I know it’s you,” he said, panting.

The figure turned towards Harry then slowly reached up and lowered his hood. “So, you’ve found your truth at last,” Snape whispered. “I told you we’d both regret it.”

Harry gazed at the young man he’d befriended and the sinister figure whose presence chilled him to the bone and tried to reconcile the fact that they were one and the same. He couldn’t and he wanted to scream in frustration. Instead he said, “I don’t regret it.”

Snape smiled bitterly. “Don’t you? Do you think I can’t see the disgust in your eyes? Do you think I haven’t had enough people turn away from me in revulsion for what I am to know what you’re thinking?”

“I don’t regret knowing the truth and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m still here. I told you that nothing I saw here would change my opinion of you and I meant that.”

“That’s only because you don’t accept the evidence of your eyes. You may have found the truth, but you refuse to believe it. You think this is a mistake, but let me assure you it’s not.”

“Maybe not, but it isn’t the whole truth either. I know you were a Death Eater. I know that you’ve made some terrible mistakes. But I also know that you’ve done good, decent, brave things in your life as well. You’re more than this.”

“You’re a fool!” Snape spat. He started to turn away, but Harry stepped forward and grabbed his arm.

“That’s your answer for everything, isn’t it? Insult people and shove them away so that they won’t tell you the things you don’t want to hear. I’m not the one refusing to see the truth. You are. You wrap yourself in guilt over a past you can’t change because that’s easier than letting anyone get close to you. But that won’t work with me. You may want to deny that there’s any goodness in you, but I’ve seen it. You can’t hide it from me!”

Snape pushed Harry away with a snarl and clutched at the robes he wore as though he longed to rip them apart, but couldn’t. “Do you think I want this? Do you think I don’t know how empty my life is? I would give anything to undo what I have done, what I have become. But I can’t.”

“Yes you can! Just because you can’t change the past doesn’t mean that you can’t change the future.”

Snape shook his head wearily. “You don’t understand.”

“Then I’m not the only one who doesn’t. Lily sees the goodness in you too.” Snape started at the mention of Lily, but Harry hurried on. “She’s trying to help you, if you’d only let her. She believes in you. She cares –”

“Stop it!” Snape screamed, his face contorted with anguish. “Why do you insist on tormenting me? Must you remind me of my worst mistakes, my greatest failures?”

“That’s not what I’m –”

“You’re right. You’re just like her,” Snape continued to rant. “You both refuse to see me for what I am. You cling to this ridiculous hope. Can’t you see that not every soul can be saved? Why do you have to make it worse by caring? Why are you determined to make me disappoint you the way I disappointed her?”

Harry stared at the distraught young man in shock. The hopelessness and agony in his eyes were unbearable to see and Harry spoke without thinking. “You haven’t disappointed me and I know that you never disappointed her as much as you think you’ve done.”

“How would you know?” Snape scoffed.

“Because I’m her son and I know.”

Snape stared at Harry in puzzlement. “What?

“I’m her son. I’m Harry. And I know that she wouldn’t have turned her back on you anymore than I would do.”

Snape’s black eyes bored into Harry’s then widened with shock. “Harry,” he whispered.

Without warning Harry found himself back in Snape’s office. The transition had been so abrupt that it took a moment for Harry to realize what had happened and to notice that Snape was no longer seated across from him. Frowning, he stood up. “Professor?”

He froze immediately as he spotted the black-robed figure crumpled on the floor behind the desk. “Professor!”

Harry hurried over and knelt down beside the unconscious man. He shook Snape, but there was no response. “Professor? Professor, wake up! Professor!”

It was no use; Snape didn’t stir. Harry pulled out his wand. “Enervate!”

Nothing. Snape remained unconscious and Harry could feel himself starting to panic. He looked around desperately, uncertain what to do. Then he spied the jar of floo powder by the fireplace. Harry stood up and drew his wand. “Incendio!”

At once a crackling fire erupted in the fireplace and Harry wasted no time in tossing a handful of floo powder into it. “Professor Dumbledore!”

Dumbledore’s face appeared in the flames a few moments later. “Harry? What has happened?”

“I don’t know.” Harry tried to keep the fear out of his voice, but could tell that he was failing. He took a deep breath. “We were in the middle of our session and Professor Snape passed out. I can’t wake him up.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Stay where you are, Harry. I will be right there.”

---

Harry sat beside the closed door to the private ward in the infirmary with his head in his hands. Intense emotions, all jumbled together, were whirling through his mind, but Harry was too weary and dejected to try to sort them out. Instead, he let them crash over him like waves battering a shore.

The door to the private ward opened and Dumbledore came out. Harry jumped to his feet, but the old wizard held up a reassuring hand and smiled. “It’s all right, Harry. Professor Snape is awake and perfectly fine.”

Harry sighed in relief, then grimaced. “It was my fault, Professor. I told him that Lily was my mother. I know that was a stupid mistake.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips. “That certainly would explain why he lost consciousness. The incongruity of being faced with a young man when he believed you to be a baby must have been quite a shock. Losing consciousness was his mind’s way of protecting itself from a truth that was incompatible with his chosen perception of reality. All of which is perfectly normal, I promise. I must ask though: why did you tell him that you were Lily’s son? Surely you realized that it might have undesirable effects.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about that.” Harry took a deep breath then continued. “I discovered who that dark figure is.”

Dumbledore looked into Harry’s eyes then nodded calmly. “I thought you might have done so.”

Harry stared at the old man and felt anger break free of the swirling mass of emotions in his mind. “You don’t even need to ask, do you?” Harry said bitterly. “You knew it was him all along. Why didn’t you ever warn me?”

“I suspected, Harry, I did not know. As for why I did not share my suspicion with you, I have already told you that you needed to discover the truth on your own.”

“Why?” Harry demanded. “I already have enough to worry about. I don’t need to play games!”

Dumbledore’s eyes flashed with irritation and his voice became stern. “This is not a game. You ask me why I didn’t tell you. Ask instead why I was able to guess the truth from nothing more than your descriptions of what you had encountered while you failed to recognize it when the evidence was before your very eyes?”

Harry felt himself blush in shame at the rebuke. He looked away, too hurt to meet the old man’s eyes. “I suppose I’m just thick.”

Dumbledore’s annoyance vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Of course you aren’t,” he said gently. “Experience, Harry. That is what you lack and that is why it is far more important for you to learn than to know. It is the process of discovery that is crucial to understanding and there is no shortcut, much as I wish there were. You have learnt things during these weeks in Professor Snape’s mind that you do not even realize you know and which you never would have learnt had I led you by the hand.”

“But what’s the point?” Harry asked tiredly. “Maybe I’m missing it, but I don’t see how any of this will help me to defeat Voldemort.”

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes resumed their customary twinkle. “No knowledge that you work to attain is ever a waste, Harry. Even if the knowledge itself proves to be of little use, the effort made in learning will always benefit you.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was too tired for Dumbledore’s cryptic wisdom. “So now what?”

“Professor Snape remembers nothing of your encounter, of course, and that needs to remain the case. I have told him that you simply delved a bit too aggressively into his mind and that caused him to pass out. Such things do occur in the practice of Legilimency and I assure you that he is not overly angry with you. He has, however, declined to continue your sessions.

“Do not look so dismayed, Harry. The fault is not yours. The sessions take quite a lot out of him, mentally, and he is concerned that his other duties may be suffering as a result. That is a valid worry and in any case, you have accomplished what you set out to do, so I don’t believe further sessions are necessary.”

Harry could think of nothing to say, so he merely nodded.

“Go then and get some rest, Harry,” Dumbledore said kindly. “It is quite late and you look done in.”

Harry smiled weakly and bid Dumbledore goodnight then headed to bed. It was late and he was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Nevertheless, he lay awake, unable to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Severus. Dumbledore was right to have chided him for not seeing the truth. He might not have Dumbledore’s experience, but he knew Snape well enough and should have guessed that the man was his own worst enemy.

Harry supposed that it was the depth of the darkness surrounding the hooded figure that had thrown him off. He remembered the dread chill that he’d felt the first time he’d seen the ominous black-robed figure. The Angel of Death, Harry had dubbed him and that impression hadn’t changed just because the person beneath the hood had turned out to be Severus. Harry bit his lip, once again trying to reconcile the detached, ominous figure with the distraught young man consumed by self-loathing and trapped within his dark past.

Harry knew intellectually that Snape must have done some terrible things in his life. He’d been a Death Eater, after all. But as Dumbledore had said, ‘knowing’ and ‘understanding’ weren’t the same thing. Tonight, Harry had understood for the first time that somewhere in his past, Snape had done that which was indefensible. And Severus had been right: he’d been disgusted and repelled by the realization. But Harry had also felt the man’s shame and remorse. And he had understood what instinctively he already knew: Indefensible didn’t have to mean unforgivable.

That was what Severus failed to see and it was why he clung to the darkness, wrapping it around him as both shield and prison. He didn’t know how to forgive himself. But Harry knew that beyond the darkness there was light and that if only Severus could let go of the darkness, the light would shine through.

Harry sighed. If only he’d understood all of this sooner maybe he could have helped Severus to see that the darkness alone didn’t define him. But now Harry was never going to have the chance. He was never going to see Severus again and that realization hurt more than Harry would have thought possible. He felt as though a close friend had just died: one whom he should have been able to save.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Harry whispered to the darkness. Then he turned over, buried his head in his pillow and wept.

To say that Snape had declined to continue the Legilimency sessions was an understatement. He had refused in the strongest possible terms and even that was putting it delicately. Snape had been livid when he’d woken up in the hospital wing. Not so much because he had passed out – such things did happen during Legilimency – but because he had no idea why he’d done so.

Naturally Dumbledore hadn’t been forthcoming. He had, however, listened to Snape’s tirade with perfect equanimity and then shocked the younger wizard by agreeing with him.

“Yes, Severus, I do believe these sessions have gone on long enough. I am certain that Harry has learnt as much as he will need to know in order to face Voldemort.”

Snape’s eyes had narrowed suspiciously at that. He had learnt to always be suspicious when Dumbledore was too cooperative. But he could hardly complain when the man was giving him his long sought after respite from Potter.

After three days, however, Snape was beginning to wonder if Dumbledore hadn’t consented to end the sessions for Potter’s benefit rather than his own. He glanced at the Gryffindor table where the boy sat listlessly pushing his lunch around his plate. Potter had been moping ever since their last aborted session which wouldn’t have mattered to Snape if the boy were evincing any of the emotions he’d grown accustomed to seeing on Potter’s face: anger, frustration, worry, impatience. Even disgust or hate wouldn’t have bothered Snape overly much. But it was sadness and regret that Snape spied in Potter’s eyes whenever he spotted the boy gazing off into space, lost in thought, and too often he caught those green eyes staring at him with the same troubling emotions. All of which made him furious.

Snape had worked very hard over the previous weeks to shut down his emotions completely where Potter was concerned. It had taken enormous effort, but it had been the only way to endure the perpetual mental invasion from the boy and he had also taken satisfaction from the frustration it had caused Potter. If the boy was going to put him through such misery then he could be miserable as well.

But the sessions were at an end now and maudlin sympathy was something Snape had never been able to abide. He could feel anger and indignation building beneath the cold detachment he’d maintained for the last month. How dare Potter pity him? The boy had no right and Snape was determined to put a stop to it as soon as possible. Luckily, the Defense practicum that evening would provide him with the perfect opportunity. Snape smiled slightly to himself. He would make certain that Potter never felt sorry for him again.

---

Having got over the initial shock of discovering that the dark figure in Snape’s mind was Snape himself, Harry had come to the conclusion that ending their sessions probably had been for the best. He was sure that he hadn’t helped Snape at all. Given how distressing the sessions had obviously been for the man, Harry suspected he’d done the opposite and he doubted that more time in Snape’s mind would have improved matters. Severus had been as stubbornly determined to think the worst of himself as Snape was and Harry had no idea how to change that.

Harry took a bite of his pudding and tried to put that depressing thought out of his mind. Instead he turned his attention to the more important question of how the sessions might have helped him in his quest to defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore had insisted that they’d been useful and Harry had already spent a fair bit of time during which he was supposed to be doing his homework trying to work out what he’d learnt.

The sessions with Snape had been markedly different from his lessons with Dumbledore. During the latter, he spent all of his time fighting. But Snape’s mind had posed a different challenge. There, he had had to solve mysteries and discover allies. He wondered if Voldemort’s mind might present similar challenges. Could there be some shred of good personified in Voldemort’s mind that might help him? Harry even wondered fleetingly if he might encounter a young Tom Riddle lurking in Voldemort’s mind.

Regardless, Harry knew that his understanding of navigating the subconscious mind had improved dramatically thanks to his sessions with Snape. He considered telling the man as much as a way of thanking him, but glancing up at the staff table Harry abandoned that idea. Snape looked at him with cold indifference whenever the man happened to glance his way. Harry wondered how long Snape was going to keep that up and hoped that eventually, the man would begin treating him normally again.

---

A few hours later, Harry was reminded that he should always be careful what he wished for. He and his classmates had barely taken their seats in the Great Hall for the week’s Defense practicum when Snape arrived.

“Mr. Potter, step forward,” he began at once. Snape had taken to beginning each practicum by calling forward a student whose humiliation would provide the lesson of the day.

Harry sighed in resignation and stood up.

“Mr. Weasley, we will need your assistance as well.”

Harry and Ron glanced at each other in surprise, but Ron stood up too.

“Potter, I need to see your wand,” Snape said, holding out his hand.

Harry wasn’t keen on giving Snape his wand, but he passed it to the man without protest. Snape pointed Harry’s wand at Ron then passed his own wand over Harry’s murmuring a complex incantation as he did so. Then he handed Harry’s wand back to him.

“You and I will be dueling this evening, Potter,” Snape said.

“Yes, sir.” Harry nodded. He wasn’t surprised and was actually relieved. He had already suspected that Snape might use the practicum to take revenge for Harry beating him in their duel the previous year and Harry reckoned there were worse things he could suffer than being humiliated in a fight with Snape.

“There is, however, one caveat you need to be aware of,” Snape continued smoothly. “The charm I just cast upon your wand was a twinning spell which functions to double any spell you cast with it for the next hour. Not only will the spells you cast enjoy their usual effect, each and every spell will be directed at a remote target as well – in this case Mr. Weasley.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“The charm is normally used to allow wizards to cast spells remotely in what would otherwise be untenable locations,” Snape continued in his standard lecturing tone. “For instance, it might be used in very small spaces or extremes of temperature which would make long exposure impractical or dangerous for a wizard. In your case, however, it will simply ensure that Mr. Weasley suffers the effects of any curse you may cast at me. Only he will not have the option of dodging or blocking it.”

For a moment, Harry simply stared at Snape. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am entirely serious.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I am the teacher, here, Potter. I can do whatever I like. You have a tendency to sacrifice yourself for others whenever the opportunity presents itself. The Dark Lord is well aware of this weakness and has already used it against you. Do you imagine for a moment that he will fail to do so again? With luck, this exercise will teach you to focus on your goal without being hampered by undue concern for the fates of others.”

“You’re mad!” Harry said. “I won’t do this!”

Snape smiled slightly. “Then you and Mr. Weasley may spend every Saturday morning in detention for the remainder of the term.”

“Fine!”

“What?” Ron blurted out, sounding horrified. “Harry, are you mad! We have Quidditch?”

“I don’t care about Quidditch!” Harry snapped.

“I do!” Ron yelled back. “I’m not spending every bloody Saturday in detention and neither are you!”

“Ron, you can’t expect me to do this,” Harry said incredulously.

“Why not? It isn’t as if you’re going to kill me.”

Harry gaped at his friend, but Ron was clearly serious.

“You have to do it, Harry!”

Ron was glaring at Harry with fierce determination and Harry felt his heart sink. He looked at Snape who was regarding him with smug amusement. The man had known exactly how to trap him and Harry hated him for it.

Harry looked at Ron once more, but Ron simply nodded vigorously. “Go on!”

Harry took a deep breath. “All right.”

“Mr. Weasley,” Snape said at once, “you may go stand next to your housemates. Mr. Potter, you will take your place ten paces to the left.”

While Harry and Ron both moved into position, Harry’s mind was racing. Any spell he cast was sure to hit Ron, but there had to be some way around cursing his friend. Then it came to him. If he only used defensive spells against Snape, there would be no harm done. With that strategy settled upon, Harry turned to face Snape and raised his wand.

Snape still looked amused, but his eyes now glinted dangerously and Harry found the combination more than a little disconcerting. Before he could give this any more thought, however, Snape flicked his wrist and a knot of force slammed into Harry, throwing him backwards. Harry hit the floor, sliding across the smooth stones. When he came to a halt he scrambled to his feet, glaring at Snape in surprise.

Snape waited, looking mildly bored, until Harry was on his feet again with his wand poised. “An accomplished duelist rarely wastes time on incantations, Potter,” Snape said, lecturing once more. He made two quick slashing motions with his wand.

Harry was ready with his shield charm this time, but the spells came in such quick succession that he was only able to block the first. The second blasted him off his feet once more and slammed him into the house table behind him.

Harry grunted in pain and steadied himself as Snape advanced on him.

“Shield charms, while effective in defending against mediocre opponents, will do little to protect you from a master. If you refuse to attack, then you leave yourself at my mercy, giving me complete control of the battle.”

Another brace of hexes flew at Harry and again he only managed to block one. The second found its mark and Harry cried out, clutching his side as white-hot pain lanced through it. He stumbled backward as Snape continued to advance on him.

“Even if only half of my spells find their way past your shields, they will whittle away at you, little by little, until you are no longer capable of defending yourself at all,” Snape taunted Harry. “Or until I simply become bored of toying with you.”

Snape flicked his wrist and Harry wasn’t quick enough this time. He gasped as what felt like a jolt of electricity shot through him followed by a sharp blow to his abdomen. Harry doubled over in pain and dropped to his knees as Snape raised his wand again.

Desperate, Harry slashed his wand through the air. Silver arrows shot towards Snape. The man waved his wand and the arrows passed harmlessly on either side of him. But Harry had already brought his wand around again. Fiery sparks leapt from the end. Snape blocked them, but Harry jabbed his wand at Snape. The man jumped aside, just avoiding the concentrated knot of force Harry had hurled at him.

But a cry from the other side of the hall made Harry freeze. He looked up and was horrified to see Ron crumpled on the floor with Hermione and Ginny kneeling next to him.

“Focus, Potter!” Snape growled. “You can’t afford to divide your attention.”

To prove his point, he pointed his wand at Harry who jumped as a powerful stinging hex hit him.

“Defend yourself!” Snape ordered, but Harry couldn’t. While Snape parried each of his curses with ease, Ron took their full brunt. Harry didn’t know how badly his friend was hurt and couldn’t risk injuring him further.

Snape sneered at Harry’s inaction. “The choice is yours,” he said in a deadly quiet voice.

He waved his wand and Harry blocked, but Snape hadn’t cast a non-verbal spell. Instead, he reached out with his free hand. “Expelliarmus”

Harry wasn’t prepared for the feint and his wand was jerked from his grasp. Snape caught it then brought his own wand around in a quick slashing motion.

It felt to Harry as though he’d been punched in the jaw. He collapsed onto the hard stone floor, dazed and with the wind knocked out of him. He shook his head to clear it and looked up to find Snape standing over him with his wand pointed straight at Harry’s chest.

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You’ve just sacrificed the future of the entire wizarding world for the sake of one person.” Snape looked around and raised his voice to address the other students. “Class dismissed. Mr. Thomas, Mr. Finnegan, see that Mr. Weasley gets to the hospital wing.”

Harry started to get up and go to Ron, but Snape flicked his wand meaningfully. “Not you, Potter.”

Harry watched as Dean and Seamus helped Ron get slowly to his feet. With them supporting him, Ron limped out of the hall and the rest of the students followed, looking shaken. Hermione and Ginny hung back, but Harry shook his head at them and reluctantly they left the hall as well.

When the last of his classmates was gone, Harry looked up at Snape whose wand was still trained on him.

“Is this part of the lesson, too?” he spat, angrily.

“Yes, Potter,” Snape said, far too quietly. “This is the part that teaches you what happens when you allow your weaknesses to get the better of you.”

Harry felt his stomach tense. “Are you really going to curse me when I can’t defend myself?”

“I already gave you the chance to defend yourself. Do you imagine that the Dark Lord will show you mercy?”

“You aren’t Voldemort and you don’t need to prove to me that you’re a bastard. I already know that.”

Snape smiled a very unpleasant smile and Harry braced himself, quite certain that Snape was going to prove the point anyway. Instead, Snape lowered his wand.

“As long as we understand each other.” Snape held out Harry’s wand and Harry took it then scrambled to his feet, though he continued to watch Snape’s wand warily.

“This practicum is designed to help you and your classmates overcome your weaknesses, Potter,” Snape said. “Your chief weakness is that you care too much.”

“Funny, Dumbledore thinks that’s my greatest strength.”

“In some situations it might be, but not in battle. You can’t allow yourself to be held hostage by your friends.”

“I’m not going to sacrifice them!”

“You may have no choice and you need to be prepared for that.”

“I won’t do it!”

“Then you will be easy prey for the Dark Lord and his servants!”

Harry glared furiously at Snape, repulsed by the man’s callousness. “You may be a cold-blooded git who would betray your only friend if you had one, but unlike you, I won’t sell my soul to darkness.”

Snape’s eyes widened so that Harry could see his own reflection in the ebony depths, but an instant later, the look of shock was gone and Snape was completely composed once more. “Then let us hope for all our sakes that you never have to face that choice. You may go, Potter.”

With a final glare at Snape, Harry left the Great Hall and hurried to the hospital wing. He felt a sharp pang of guilt at the sight of Ron slumped on a bed, looking haggard. Dean and Seamus were gone, but Hermione and Ginny were there.

“Ron, are you all right?” Harry asked worriedly.

“I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse, too.”

“I’m sorry. I meant to only use defensive spells, but –”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. You had to defend yourself. It isn’t your fault that Snape’s a sadistic madman. Though I suppose we know why Dumbledore never gave him the Defense post before. Probably afraid he’d kill someone.”

“Well, I think you’re all mad!” Hermione said angrily. “Honestly, Ron! Quidditch? You could have been seriously hurt all because of that stupid game!”

“Quidditch isn’t stupid!”

“Hermione, I don’t really believe Snape would have taken ‘no’ for an answer, anyway,” Harry interjected. “I’m sure he’d have forced me to duel him somehow.”

“What about you, Harry? Are you all right?” Ginny asked. “Snape wasn’t exactly taking it easy on you.”

Harry ached all over, but shook his head dismissively. “I’m fine.”

At that moment Madam Pomfrey came bustling into the ward. “All right, Weasley, you can go now. Just take it easy for the next couple of days.”

The four Gryffindors continued to discuss the evening’s events as they headed for their common room. Harry was still furious with Snape.

“I don’t mind that he hates me and goes out of his way to be an arse to me, but when he starts hurting other people that’s going to far.”

“I don’t think he hates you, Harry,” Ginny said. “I think he’s just doing his worst to everyone. Look at how he humiliated Pansy last week. She was in tears. Not that that wasn’t fun to watch.” She added mischievously.

“I wouldn’t mind it if it were just humiliation.”

“That’s the point though,” Hermione said. “He’s hitting each of us where it hurts most and you care about your friends more than anything else. It makes sense that he’d use that against you.”

They had arrived at the portrait of the fat lady. Harry stopped and faced Hermione indignantly. “So you think what he did was right?”

“No!” Hermione insisted. “But I understand why he thought it was right and I don’t think he’s picking on you maliciously. The stakes are just higher for you than for the rest of us. And you have to admit he’s right. You do have a tendency to sacrifice yourself for others. Sine qua non,” she added, addressing the portrait.

The portrait hole swung open and Harry climbed into the common room feeling very irritated by the lack of empathy from Ginny and Hermione. Fortunately, the rest of his classmates were there and immediately gathered around to voice their outrage at Snape’s despicable conduct. That went a long way towards mollifying Harry’s hurt feelings. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why his closest friends didn’t feel the same way.

---

Snape prowled the halls of the castle as he usually did on the nights when he couldn’t sleep – in other words, most nights. He was particularly troubled this night; which was his own fault, of course. He had only meant to shake Potter out of his melancholy funk, but the tempest of emotions the boy perpetually inspired in him and which he worked constantly to keep in check had got the better of him. He'd pushed too hard and Potter had lashed out at him in retaliation.

But Potter was long past childish, ineffectual tantrums: the boy was shrewd enough now to make his words count. His contemptuous accusation of betrayal and snarled, “… unlike you, I won't sell my soul to darkness,” had hit their mark to great effect. The words had churned up Snape’s guilt as well as an old fear, long buried, that had resurfaced in the months since Potter had begun delving into his mind and which haunted him now more than ever. Have I sold my soul? Potter had said as much and the wretched boy was certainly in the best position to know. Was that why he had looked so regretful the last few days, because he felt pity for the damned?

Snape rubbed his left forearm without thinking then pulled his black robes close around him against the night's chill. He was weary beyond physical exhaustion and knew that the rest he craved would not be found in bed. Still he needed to sleep, so he turned his steps back to the dungeons. He would need another sleeping draught tonight, but at least it would give him a few hours respite from his own thoughts.

---

Harry was grateful for Easter break. Not that he had any less work to do since the teachers had all given the seventh year students lengthy essays to complete during the interim, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with Snape for a while. He didn’t really mind studying either. It at least kept his mind off of the war and Voldemort. But Thursday morning he was forcefully reminded of both.

“It’s really getting bad,” Seamus said, looking particularly grim as he scanned the front page of the Quibbler.

“What happened?” Hermione asked, craning to get a glimpse of the article he was reading.

“Have a look.” Seamus laid the paper down so everyone could see the photo that took up half of the page. It showed the Dark Mark hanging in the sky over a whole block of houses that had been reduced to rubble.

“Muggles are calling it a freak hurricane,” Seamus continued. “Ministry says it was giants.”

“Giants!” Lavender exclaimed, sounding horrified.

“It’s bad enough that the Dementors and werewolves have joined You-Know-Who again,” Dean said. “But the giants are going to be a real problem and there are rumors that the vampires are set to join him too.”

“All his old allies,” Pavarti said. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

Seamus shook his head. “Yeah, but the Ministry’s stretched thin enough just dealing with Death Eaters. I don’t know how they’re going to handle all this on top of it.”

Harry listened in silence to his classmates, all the while staring at the ruined block of houses. The Ministry was never going to be able to get the upper hand in the war, he knew. There was only one way to stop the increasing carnage. Harry looked up and noticed that Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all looking worriedly at him. He couldn’t even manage a wan smile of reassurance. Instead he stood up.

“I’m going to go and study.”

Harry left the Great Hall and made his way back to his dormitory where he lay down on his bed to brood. However Ginny, Ron and Hermione arrived a few moments later.

“Harry, it’s not your fault,” Ginny said, coming to sit next to him. “You know that!”

“It is when I’m the one who’s supposed to stop him.”

“Harry, don’t blame yourself!” Hermione said.

“Look, mate,” Ron chimed in. “Instead of blaming yourself, we ought to be having a go at Riddle’s research so that we can work out how you can defeat him for good.”

Harry grimaced, but Ron pressed the point. “We could go to see Lawrence right now, just you and me. We could be there and back in an hour with no one the wiser.”

“Harry promised Dumbledore that he wouldn’t go off on his own anymore, Ron,” Hermione said.

“And Dumbledore promised to tell Harry how Voldemort became immortal.”

“Which I’m sure he’ll do,” Hermione said in exasperation. “Do you honestly think that Dumbledore wouldn’t tell Harry everything he needs to know to defeat Voldemort?”

“I think that Dumbledore can make mistakes.”

Harry sighed. They’d had this argument too many times. “Ron, you may be right,” he said tiredly. “We could probably go and get Voldemort’s research without any trouble. Except that we’ve thought that before and were wrong. I don’t fancy being wrong again, not when it might get someone killed.”

“Harry, we know the dangers and I’m willing to take the risk,” Ron insisted.

“We can’t be certain that we know all of the dangers,” Hermione said.

“I’m still willing to take the chance. What I can’t understand, Harry, is why you aren’t.”

Ron’s disappointment and frustration were palpable and Harry couldn’t really blame him. There were days when he’d been sorely tempted to go back to Wales to find Riddle’s research too. Six months ago he would have done so – had done so – without hesitation and regardless of any consequences. But Halloween night had changed that.

“I never told any of you this,” Harry said. “But Snape nearly died because we went to Dorset.”

“What?” Ginny said.

“Dumbledore told me on Halloween. That night, Snape went to find out how Bellatrix Lestrange tracked us to Dorset and he very nearly got caught. He would have been tortured to death, if he had been. That’s why Dumbledore and McGonagall were both so angry with us.”

Ron, Ginny and Hermione stared at Harry, stunned.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ginny asked.

“Because I felt horrible enough already.”

“But Harry, you couldn’t have known that there was going to be any danger to Snape,” Ron protested.

“Do you suppose that would have made me feel any less guilty if he’d died? The fact that I had no idea that I was putting his life at risk is the whole point. I don’t want to go back to Wales because I don’t know what might happen – what unforeseen, unpredictable consequence might occur that I have no way of anticipating or preparing for. Maybe you think I’m being too cautious and maybe I am. But you haven’t had to make the kinds of decisions that might get someone killed. I have and as often as not, I’ve made the wrong ones. Unless I have to go after Riddle’s research, I won’t do it. I don’t need more blood on my hands. I’ve enough already.”

Ron looked away, frowning in thought then he nodded slowly. “You have to do what you think is right, Harry.”

Harry was relieved that Ron understood. “Dumbledore’s in London today, but as he soon as he gets back, I’ll go and talk to him and see if I can pry any information out of him.”

“That’s a good idea, Harry,” Hermione said. “In the meantime, we might as well do our Charms homework. There’s no point in wasting the time.”

With that agreed, the girls went to retrieve their books as Harry and Ron grabbed theirs and went down to find a place to study in the common room. Ron still seemed pensive and didn’t join Harry in spreading out his homework on their favorite table.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Ron said. “I just remembered that I need to go see McGonagall about Quidditch practice. I booked the pitch for all morning on Saturday, but Slytherin were making noises about trying to cut in on our practice time. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but this might take a while, so don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up on Charms when I get back.”

Ron left and a few moments later Hermione and Ginny arrived.

“Where’s Ron?” Hermione asked at once.

“He went to see McGonagall about booking the Quidditch pitch.”

Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust. “I swear that Quidditch is all he thinks about. It’ll be his own fault if he isn’t prepared for his NEWTs.”

They settled down to work, but Harry could tell that Hermione was still annoyed with Ron for having ducked out on studying. She kept glancing at the portrait hole and frowning. At last the portrait hole swung open, however it wasn’t Ron, but Neville who clambered through.

“Oh! Are you working on Charms?” Neville asked, his eyes lighting up hopefully as he spied Harry and Hermione textbooks. “Do you mind if I study with you? I’ve been having trouble with that gender-switching charm. I tried it on Trevor, but I can’t tell if it worked.”

“Of course you can,” Hermione said. “It’s nice to know that someone takes their studies seriously.”

Ginny smiled at Neville’s bewildered expression and explained. “Ron skived off. He’s gone to see McGonagall about Quidditch.”

“Oh,” Neville said, then he frowned, looking even more confused. “But I just came back from the greenhouse and I saw him heading off across the grounds.”

“Where was he going?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. But he was heading towards the Whomping Willow.”

---

Harry, Ginny and Hermione raced across the grounds towards the Whomping Willow. Reaching it, they quickly found a stick and prodded the knot at its base, then slipped down into the tunnel beneath it.

“That idiot!” Hermione said, repeating the phrase she’d been muttering over and over since they’d left Gryffindor tower. “That stupid, stubborn idiot!”

“Don’t worry, Hermione. I’m sure Ron’s fine,” Harry said, trying to convince himself.

“If he isn’t, I’m going to kill him!”

It had taken no time to guess where Ron had gone. Given how strongly he’d been urging Harry to go with him to Wales, it was no great surprise that he’d finally given up and gone alone. Just to be sure Harry had checked the Marauder’s Map thoroughly and confirmed that Ron definitely wasn’t on Hogwarts’ grounds. Now Harry just had to go and find his friend before Ron did something stupid such as get himself Kissed by a Dementor.

The tunnel ended and they climbed up into the Shrieking Shack.

“You two wait here,” Harry said. “I’ll find Ron and bring him back. I won’t be long. I promise.”

“Just be careful, Harry,” Ginny said.

“I will be.”

Harry drew his wand and Disapparated. He appeared just outside the low, crumbling wall surrounding the ramshackle cottage where Lawrence lived. Mist hung in the air, but it didn’t seem unnatural, nor did it radiate the biting cold which Harry associated with Dementors.

Looking warily around, Harry hopped over the wall and approached the cottage. Silently, he pushed the front door open and slipped inside. The living room was deserted and for a moment, Harry wondered if they might have been mistaken and that Ron hadn’t come here after all. Then he spotted the shelves where Riddle’s research had been the last time they’d been here. They were completely bare now, but several sturdy bags sat on the floor, stuffed with notebooks and rolls of parchment. Harry went to have a look, but as he bent over the first bag a hand clamped onto his shoulder.

Harry whirled around, pulling out his wand.

“Hang on! It’s me!” Ron said. “Blimey, Harry! What are you doing here?”

Harry sighed in relief and pocketed his wand. But now that he knew Ron was safe, his anger at Ron’s recklessness surged forward. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

“Collecting Riddle’s research,” Ron said, ignoring Harry’s ire as he began to tie the bags tightly shut.

“Nice of you to tell me that.”

“I was hoping I’d be back before you missed me. How did you know I was here, anyway?”

“Neville saw you heading for the Whomping Willow and we worked out where you’d gone. Why did you lie to me and come out here? I thought you understood why I didn’t want to come.”

“I do, which is why I came alone. You don’t have to bear every burden, Harry, or make every tough choice. The rest of us can carry some of the weight too and I wanted to do something myself for once that was more useful than finishing a bloody Charms essay.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that and his anger subsided. “Thanks. But you still shouldn’t have come out here alone.”

“It’s all right. Lawrence is mumbling to himself in the kitchen and there’s no sign of any of his pet Dementors.” Ron cinched the last of the bags closed and frowned slightly. “I don’t know how they feel about half-bloods though, so we’d better get going. You might as well carry one of these since you’re here.”

Harry nodded and was about to pick up one of the bags when a sepulchral voice spoke. “You.”

Harry and Ron whirled around, drawing their wands. Mordecai Lawrence didn’t react. He simply stared at them from the kitchen doorway. “You’re back. Why are you here?”

Harry lowered his wand and regarded the wasted figure with pity and disgust. “We were just leaving.”

The old man was paying no attention, however. He was looking past Harry to the empty bookshelves and bulging bags. His eyes widened in dismay and he started forward. “No, you can’t take that. That’s Tom’s research. We spent years working on it.”

“We’ll bring it back,” Harry said reassuringly as he moved to block Lawrence. “We just need to have a look at it.”

“No!” Lawrence begged, clutching at Harry’s robes as he looked plaintively into the young man’s face. “Please, you can’t take it!”

“We’ll bring it back,” Harry repeated firmly. “I promise. But we have to know how Voldemort – how Tom – became immortal.”

“How…?” Lawrence trailed off as his eyes clouded with the mist of memories.

“Don’t waste your time, Harry,” Ron said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t understand. He’s mad.”

“That’s it,” Lawrence said, coming back to the present and staring at Harry in astonishment.

Harry looked at the man in surprise. “What?”

“That scar – he gave it to you.”

“That’s right; he did,” Harry said, frowning. “What of it?”

“It’s his mark... the mark the spell left...”

“What spell?”

“The spell to bind another soul to his.”

Harry stared at the old man in disbelief. “You mean – you’re saying that Voldemort bound my soul to his?”

“Yes,” Lawrence nodded, excitedly. “All of the subjects bore the same lightning-shaped scar wherever the spell touched them.” The old man’s eyes clouded once more. “Of course, the earliest trials killed the targets. Some went mad. It took months to work out. But eventually we devised a spell that would bind a soul to the caster without harming the one bound and which would make the caster immortal for as long as the target of the spell survived. There were still side effects though – mainly a strange mental connection. Tom found that the subjects could sense his thoughts and feelings, even hundreds of miles away...”

Harry grabbed the man by the shoulders. “Look at me! This is important. How do I break the spell?”

Lawrence looked up at Harry once more. “What?”

“The bond,” Harry said, shaking the old man slightly to get him to pay attention. “How do I break it?”

Lawrence blinked. “You can’t.”

Harry tightened his grip on the man and shook him harder. “There has to be a way!”

“There isn’t” Lawrence said, his eyes wide with fear at being manhandled. “Even Tom couldn’t break the bond once it was made. Only the death of the victim will break it.”

Harry stared into the watery eyes. “Death?”

“That’s the only way,” Lawrence repeated. “That’s why he had to kill them all. Don’t you see? They weren’t worthy and he couldn’t remain bound to those who were unworthy. So he had to kill them. It was the only way to free himself –”

Harry shoved the old man away and Lawrence stumbled back against the doorframe, cowering as though expecting Harry to strike him.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, but stopped halfway through the gesture and traced a finger over his scar instead. As a child, it had been a curiosity, then a mark of fame, a harbinger of danger, even occasionally a comfort. Now it felt like an abomination – the mark of a bond between himself and his enemy more horrible than he had ever imagined.

Harry looked at the cringing man before him. “So then, if – if the victim dies, Voldemort becomes mortal again? He can die too?”

Lawrence nodded. “Yes.”

Harry nodded and turned away only to find Ron staring at him in horror.

“Come on,” Harry said evenly, ignoring the stunned expression on Ron’s face. “Let’s get out of here.” He picked up one of bags stuffed with Riddle’s papers and left the cottage without another word.

---

With a ‘pop’, Harry appeared in the Shrieking Shack and dumped the bag he was carrying on the floor.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, pausing in the process of pacing the dusty floor. “What took you so long? Where’s Ron?”

Another ‘pop’ announced Ron’s arrival even before Hermione finished speaking. He dropped the bags he was carrying as Hermione threw her arms around him.

“Ron! Thank goodness!” she said, hugging him tightly. Then she pulled back and punched him in the arm. “Don’t you ever do that again! You scared us all half to death.”

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, weakly.

“Is this Riddle’s research?” Ginny asked, excitedly.

“Yes, but I don’t think we’re going to need it,” Harry said.

“Why not? What’s wrong?” Ginny added, frowning at the pale, troubled expression on Ron’s face.

“I know what Voldemort did to become immortal,” Harry said. “Lawrence told me.”

“He could be wrong!” Ron said. “He probably is. I told you, Harry, he’s mad.”

“He may be mad, but he knew what he was talking about. I looked into his mind. I could tell.”

“What’s wrong?” Ginny repeated looking between her brother and Harry. “What did he say?”

Ron looked away, but Harry spoke without hesitation. “He said that Voldemort created a spell that would bind another soul to his own and that as long as that person was alive, Voldemort couldn’t die.” Harry reached up and touched the scar on his forehead. “He said that this was the mark of that spell.”

“Harry, I’m telling you: he has to be wrong!” Ron insisted as Hermione and Ginny gaped at Harry in shock. “He might not be lying, but he has to be mistaken. That’s just a curse scar.”

Harry shook his head. “He’s not mistaken.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because the prophecy said that Voldemort would ‘mark him as his equal’ – mark me. And Dumbledore even told me that Voldemort put a part of himself in me. That’s why I can speak Parseltongue. It’s why I can get inside his mind from two hundred miles away just as Lawrence said. We’re connected – not just mentally. Our – our souls are.”

“There has to be a way to break the spell,” Ginny said.

Harry hesitated. “According to Lawrence, only death can break it.”

Ginny’s eyes flashed with fierce determination. “There has to be another way!”

Harry looked from Ginny to Ron and Hermione, both of whom looked pale and anxious.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to sound confident. “There probably is. I’ll go and talk to Dumbledore as soon as he gets back. If anyone can work it out, he can.”

Having reassured his friends as best he could, Harry led the way back down into the tunnel and headed for Hogwarts. No one spoke and Harry was grateful for the silence as well as the darkness. Though he hadn’t said so to his friends, he held out very little hope that Dumbledore would be able to find a way to break the bond between himself and Voldemort. Lawrence might be mad, but Harry had seen the memories in his mind and knew he was telling the truth. All his years of research had never uncovered a means of breaking the bond apart from death.

There was a slim possibility that Lawrence might have missed something, of course, but Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it, not with the way Dumbledore had been acting. The old wizard had been so circumspect about Riddle’s spell that Harry was certain Dumbledore already knew what would be required to break it and that he hadn’t wanted to share that information – hadn’t wanted to tell Harry that he had to die.

The thought of death didn’t frighten Harry: he’d faced it often enough and knew that it was a constant threat. Still, the knowledge that it wasn’t just a possibility anymore, but a near certainty felt like a physical burden and Harry found himself regretting all of the things he’d never have the chance to do. For so long he had wished for a normal life and he had believed that by defeating Voldemort he would finally have one. It was a bitter disappointment to know that that hope would never be realized.

Harry glanced at Ginny who was walking beside him and felt an acute stab of pain in his chest. He had postponed telling his friends the truth, but once he met with Dumbledore, he would have no further excuse to lie to them. The thought of telling them, however, made him feel rather sick. Burdening them with that knowledge would be much harder than facing death.

At last Harry and his friends emerged from the tunnel. It was a beautiful afternoon, drenched in sunshine. A soft, warm breeze tousled Harry’s hair and rustled the budding leaves on the trees as the four headed back towards the castle. Harry barely noticed, preoccupied as he was with his gloomy reverie. But his melancholy thoughts were interrupted as Ginny moved closer to him and took his hand. Harry looked at her and she met his eyes and smiled. And at that moment Harry realized that she knew.

A huge wave of relief swept over him. Of course, Ginny knew. She had always had an uncanny ability to know what he was thinking and feeling, sometimes better than he did himself. But while there was sorrow in her brown eyes, it was overshadowed by joy and affection. Best of all, there was no regret.

Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand reassuringly and he squeezed hers back, feeling the worst of his dread fall away. The future was never guaranteed. On balance, he’d known more joy than sorrow in his life and he had no regrets. That was more than some people could say and as long as he could put an end to Voldemort, it would be enough.

Harry and his friends arrived at Gryffindor tower to find their abandoned homework waiting for them. Studying was out of the question, however, so they went up to the boys’ dormitory and took turns watching the Marauders Map for Dumbledore to return while flipping through magazines and playing chess. It was the longest afternoon that Harry had ever endured, but at last Ginny pointed to the map.

“He’s back.”

Sure enough, a tiny dot labeled ‘Albus Dumbledore’ had appeared in the headmaster’s office. Harry laid aside his book on the Romanian dragon preserve at once and stood up.

“Do you want us to go with you?” Ginny asked.

Harry shook his head. “No. I need to talk to Dumbledore alone. I’ll be back soon.”

Harry headed to Dumbledore’s office and found the headmaster at his desk.

“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore said, glancing up from a squat silver instrument he was examining. “What brings you here this afternoon?”

“I know why you refused to tell me about the spell Voldemort used to become immortal,” Harry began without preamble.

Dumbledore stared at Harry then set the instrument aside and folded his hands. “What is it that you believe you know?”

“I went to see an old friend of Riddle’s – Mordecai Lawrence. I know you told me not to go looking for Riddle’s research, but I couldn’t wait for the truth any longer. Lawrence told me how Voldemort devised a spell to bind another soul to his and that as long as that person lived, Voldemort couldn’t die.” Harry reached up and touched his scar. “This is the mark of that spell.”

Dumbledore let out a weary sigh and ran a hand across his eyes. “Forgive me, Harry. I wanted to spare you the pain of the truth as long as possible, but I should have realized that you would only be put off for so long.”

Harry took a deep breath and felt a calm resignation settle over him. He had wished that Lawrence might be wrong, but if Dumbledore could give him no hope then he knew there was none to be had. “Professor, I understand why you didn’t want to tell me, but it’s all right. If I have to die to finish him then I will. I’m not afraid.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry and his eyes shone brightly with admiration and sorrow. “I know that. Nevertheless, my reticence has caused you undue anxiety over a misconception that I should have prevented.”

Harry frowned. “What misconception?”

“Sit down, Harry, and I will explain.”

Harry sat down as Dumbledore continued.

“You have not had the opportunity to study bonding magic, Harry. There are many varieties of spells that can bind one wizard to another as well as ancient magic that requires no incantation at all. A life debt is one such example and there are many others, some benign, some malevolent, but all require some form of intent by both parties – an acceptance of the terms of the contract, if you will, even if only tacitly given.

“A life debt, for instance, does not require formal agreement from the one whose life is saved, because it is presupposed that such an individual wishes to live. If, by chance, one were to save the life of someone who did not in fact wish to survive, then no life debt would be incurred. In every case, there must be intent to accept the terms of the bond. Do you understand this, Harry?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then you will understand why the spell that Voldemort accidentally employed against you the night your parents died could not have formed such a bond between you. You were fifteen months old. It would have been impossible for you to understand the bond which that spell sought to impose, let alone agree to submit yourself to its terms. And because you did not accept Voldemort’s dominion over you, the connection that was formed between you is unique. For yours is not a bond of master and slave, but of equals.

“That is what gives you the unique ability to reach into his mind, into his very soul with impunity. He is vulnerable to you. Though he forged the connection between you, he is not the master of it. Your soul is not his and you need not die to finish him.”

Harry felt a thrill of relief and elation sweep through him, but a moment later it was dampened by confusion. “But, if he can die while I’m still alive, then why didn’t he die the night he killed my parents.”

“Because you are not the only person whom he has ever marked with this spell.”

Harry felt a prickle of dread on the back of his neck. “How many others has he used it on?”

“That is impossible to say. Dozens, at least.”

Harry’s elation evaporated and he leapt to his feet. “What? We can’t track down and – and kill dozens of people. If you knew that all along, why did you even bother teaching me to fight him? It won’t do any good!”

“Ah, there you are wrong, Harry. You see, the means by which you have been preparing to fight Voldemort are fundamentally different than a conventional, physical attack. A spell such as the Avada Kedavra or even slow poison, results in an instant when the soul is separated from the body. Normally, this leads to death where the soul departs the physical world forever. However, because Voldemort has bound his soul to others, such a separation does not result in death. His soul remains anchored to this world.

“But a mental assault is different. Rather than a physical attack designed to separate body and soul, you will be attacking his soul directly and in order to defend himself, he will have to use the souls that are bound to his. He will draw upon their life force in order to sustain himself, much as he nearly returned to life during your second year by using his old diary to draw upon Ginny Weasley’s life force.

“But he cannot keep this up indefinitely. One by one, he will drain the life from those bound to him and they will die regardless of where they may be anywhere in the world. You must maintain your assault against him until that happens. Only when the last of those chained souls has been freed by death will Voldemort be vulnerable to you. Only then will your presence in his mind be able to destroy him.”

Harry sank back into his chair. “How do you know all of this?”

“I know because I have spoken with the last member of Riddle’s cohort from his school days: Cecil Thane. The spell that Riddle created is one of the strongest and most evil of its kind. It took years to perfect. Mordecai Lawrence, with whom you spoke, only worked with Riddle on the earliest phases of it. His conscience was beginning to trouble him too much for Riddle’s liking, so Riddle left him alone with the Dementors to slowly drive him mad while he found another safe house in which to continue his research.

“Thane stayed with him until the end and gave me a copy of their completed research which details the final form of the spell they developed. It is considerably more sophisticated than the crude version which gave you that scar. Voldemort eliminated those side effects that would give his victims any entry into his own mind, while at the same time strengthening his power over them. The bond gives him a limited means of communicating with those whom he has bound to him and the mark itself may be used to bypass wards or even as a homing beacon. And instead of the scar you bear, he fashioned a far more intricate mark – one which has come to strike fear in the hearts of all who behold it.”

“The Dark Mark,” Harry guessed.

“Exactly. The bonding spell that Voldemort created he named Morsmordre – ‘to devour death’ – because it prevents him from dying. And those whom he bound by it came to be known as Death Eaters.”

“Of course! His followers are the only ones worthy.”

“You see the brilliance of it, Harry? He uses the mark at once to control his servants and to ensure his own immortality. Under normal circumstances, the chance of our being able to kill all of his Death Eaters at once would be all but non-existent. That is why you – and you alone – have the hope of defeating him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I did not wish to burden you.”

“Sir, I don’t particularly want to be responsible for the deaths of all of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. But if it’s the only way to stop him, then I don’t have a choice. Besides, it isn’t as if I have to kill them. So I reckon I can handle it.”

Dumbledore smiled wistfully at Harry. “I am certain that you can, but there are worse things than being the catalyst of your enemies’ deaths; worse even than giving your own life for a just cause. The worst thing, Harry, is to sacrifice those we care for. I know this because I have sent far too many to their deaths in service to this cause: men and women who trusted my judgment enough to follow my orders knowing full well the mortal-danger I was asking them to face. There is no greater agony and I wished to spare you that anguish as long as possible.”

Harry frowned at Dumbledore in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Harry, it is not only Voldemort’s active Death Eaters who protect him from death. Everyone who bears the Dark Mark must die if Voldemort is to be defeated.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore in horrified understanding. “Oh god.”

“You understand now, Harry, why I didn’t tell you?”

Harry shook his head. “Professor, there has to be another way!”

“There is not,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Believe me, Harry, if there were I would tell you. This is the only means of defeating Voldemort.”

“But, sir –”

“Do you or do you not intend to vanquish him?”

Harry stared into the old man’s piercing blue eyes. “I do,” he whispered.

“Then you must do what must be done.”

Harry wanted to scream, wanted to rail against Dumbledore and fate for forcing him into this unbearable position. Instead he simply nodded in silence and stood up. He crossed the room to the fireplace which was dark and cold and stared into it. After a moment, he turned back to look at Dumbledore. “Does he know?”

“Not yet, no.”

“When are you going to tell him?”

“I wanted you to be the first to know. Now that you do, I see no reason to delay. I will tell him this evening after dinner.”

Harry could think of nothing else to say, so he simply nodded once more.

“Harry, I am sorry,” Dumbledore said gently.

“So am I.”

Harry left Dumbledore and headed back to Gryffindor tower, embattled by a torrent of emotions. He arrived at his dormitory where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were waiting for him. All three paled at the sight of him.

“It’s true then?” Ginny asked.

For a moment, Harry had no idea what Ginny meant or why his friends looked so worried, but then he remembered. “No. I don’t have to die. Voldemort never meant to cast that spell on me the night he killed my parents. I suppose it was some sort of reflex from the Killing Curse rebounding on him. But Dumbledore said that since it was an accident and since I was only a baby, the spell didn’t work properly. Our souls are connected, but Voldemort has no control over the bond. We’re equals and that’s why I’m the only one who can get inside his mind and destroy him. But I don’t have to die to do it.”

Ginny and Hermione rushed to hug Harry while Ron pounded him on the back. They were overjoyed in their relief and Harry wished that he could feel even a glimmer of that happiness. Instead he felt nothing but a crushing weight of dread.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Ginny asked, looking at him in confusion.

“Nothing. I just… I need to go and see Professor Snape,” Harry said, giving the first likely excuse that came to mind. “I’ll see you all later.”

Harry left the dormitory before his friends could ask him any more questions. But he was definitely not going to see Snape and didn’t actually know where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to get far away where no one would find him.

---

Snape stood with his arms folded and gazed into the flames dancing in his fireplace. “I see,” he said softly to the old man standing next to him. “It’s exactly the sort of thing he would do.”

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Dumbledore said gently.

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. “Albus, the chances of my surviving this war were never high. I need no words of solace from you.”

“I’m sure you don’t. However, I feel that I should at least offer some token of comfort, especially as I must ask you to do something that you will no doubt find unpleasant as a result of the current situation.”

“And what might that be?”

“You need to talk to Harry.”

Snape frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Harry has his mother’s heart and he is bereft at what he must do.”

Snape’s frown deepened to a scowl and he looked away. “The boy lets his emotions rule him, Albus. There is nothing I can do about that.”

“Isn’t there?”

Snape could feel Dumbledore’s keen blue eyes watching him. He glared at the old man. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell Harry the truth. All of it.”

Snape stared at Dumbledore in silence for a long moment. “I fail to see how that could possibly improve matters.”

“You know what grief and guilt are like. Harry cannot afford to be burdened by them when he goes to face Voldemort, nor does he deserve to spend the rest of his life ignorant of the truth that might ease that burden. You owe him this, Severus.”

“No! You tell me that my life is forfeit, yet still my overriding concern must be for Potter’s sensibilities!”

“Not only for his, but for your own as well.”

Snape turned on Dumbledore, outraged. “Mine? Do you honestly imagine that I will reap the slightest benefit from this? How? Do you suppose the boy’s hatred will make my fate more bearable or perhaps even pleasant by comparison?”

“I believe that the truth will benefit you both, regardless of how painful the revelation may be.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

“Severus –”

“Get out!”

Dumbledore continued to look at Snape mildly. “No, I don’t think I will. You may of course try to force me, though I wouldn’t advise it.”

“These are still my private quarters and I have the right to be left in peace!”

“If I thought that by leaving you I could grant you peace I would already be gone. But we both know that is not true. For nearly twenty years I have respected your privacy and your unwillingness to confront or even to acknowledge the pain you carry in your heart. But I fear I can do so no longer. You cannot go on hiding from the past. You must confront it if you are going to find peace.”

“There is no peace for me in this world, Albus! There hasn’t been for as long as I can remember. Give Potter the chance to finish this once and for all and then I will have peace.”

“Perhaps. But it is not wise to leave unfinished business in this life assuming that it will magically right itself in the next.”

Snape regarded Dumbledore coldly. “Albus, if this is your idea of comfort, it falls rather short of the mark.”

“You have always preferred the truth, however harsh, to dishonesty. I will not insult you by lying to you. You and Harry must come to an understanding between you – an honest one. You deserve to be relieved of the burden you carry and Harry deserves the truth as well as your trust. I do not for one moment believe that he will hate you for offering him either. You have held him at arms length for too long and he has suffered for it as have you. It is difficult enough to lose those we care for, Severus. It is doubly hard to lose those for whom we never had the chance to care. Do not make Harry mourn you twice.”

Snape waved a dismissive hand. “Albus, don’t you think that’s a bit melodramatic, even for Potter. I’m certain that the boy isn’t that distressed.”

“Then you are deceiving yourself.”

Snape glared at Dumbledore. “If so, then frankly, I don’t care. At the moment I would simply like to be left alone. Surely that isn’t too much to ask under the circumstances.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Very well then; I will leave you for now and we shall discuss Harry later.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Snape said.

His voice oozed sarcasm, but Dumbledore ignored it. He left and Snape turned back to gaze into the fire once more.

So, he was going to die. Snape felt strangely detached from that fact, but then he had never thought about the aftermath of the war, had never imagined life beyond the hoped-for victory and so perhaps it was not too unusual that he felt no particular disappointment at the knowledge that he wouldn’t be around to share in the celebration. He’d never really been one for parties anyway.

He was more troubled by Albus’s insistence that he speak to Potter. Albus wanted everything to be neat and tidy, but life had never been neat and tidy for Snape. It had forever been strewn with hardships, mistakes and regrets and he was in no mood to suffer having the greatest regret of his life laid bare. He was not under any circumstances going to confess that to Potter. Albus was mad if he believed that the boy needed anything else to agonize over. And regardless of what Albus had said about leaving unfinished business in this life, Snape would take his chances.

“Severus?” Dumbledore called from the fireplace, interrupting Snape’s dour reverie.

Snape sighed. “Yes, Headmaster.”

“I need to see you in my office.”

Snape sighed once more, but reached for the floo powder. A moment later, he stepped out of Dumbledore’s fireplace into the Headmaster’s office. He immediately noticed that they weren’t alone. Granger and the Weasleys were present along with McGonagall.

“What can I do for you, Headmaster?”

“Have you seen Harry at all this afternoon?”

Snape scowled. “No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

“Potter is missing,” McGonagall replied.

“What?” Snape snapped, incredulously.

Ginny Weasley spoke up. “Harry went to see Professor Dumbledore this afternoon. When he got back he seemed upset, but he said that everything was all right. Then he left the dormitory saying that he was going to see you.”

Granger picked up the narrative, looking at Snape anxiously. “But when Harry didn’t show up for dinner we got worried and checked. He’s nowhere in the castle or on the grounds.”

Snape looked from the worried faces of the students to the grim expressions of his colleagues. “He never came to see me. How long has he been gone?”

“Four hours,” McGonagall said.

Snape felt a chill run through him. “You have no idea where he might have gone?” Snape demanded, glowering at the students.

“Don’t you suppose we’d tell you if we did?” Ron Weasley replied.

Dumbledore fixed Snape with a pointed look. “Clearly Harry was more upset by our meeting than even I realized. He is not at Hogwarts, nor is there any likely place he might have gone. I have also checked and discovered that he has neither been seen in Hogsmeade, nor heard from at headquarters.” Dumbledore paused to let this sink in, then concluded. “All things considered, I would venture to guess that we have a runaway on our hands.”

Harry had no idea where to go. He only knew that he had to get away from Hogwarts, had to have time to absorb what Dumbledore had told him and to come to terms with his own emotions. He couldn’t go anywhere in the wizarding world, of course, for fear of being recognized, so instead he opted for the teeming anonymity of London.

Avoiding the vicinities of Grimmauld Place and Diagon Alley, Harry Apparated to the busy streets in the heart of Muggle London where he’d followed Snape during his misguided quest for the Death Eater Vigilante. The memory of his poor judgment during that affair wasn’t pleasant, but he was at least confident that he could wander these streets un-remarked and for nearly an hour he did just that. He walked aimlessly, letting the physical exertion help to ease the ache within him as he struggled to accept the terrible truth of what defeating Voldemort would cost. But despite what Dumbledore had said, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that there wasn’t another solution. He could have accepted his own death more readily than the need to sacrifice another and the longer he walked the more determined he became that he was not going to sacrifice Snape.

In the midst of trying to imagine what an alternative solution might be Harry found himself in front of the pub where Knight had accosted him so many months before. It was nearly dinnertime and Harry was both thirsty and tired, so he went in.

“What’ll ye have?” the barman asked.

“Bangers and mash and pump – er, ale,” Harry replied.

The man eyed the scrawny teenager skeptically. “How old are you?”

Harry sighed and pulled his wand discreetly from his pocket. “Confundus,” he murmured.

The man blinked, then smiled somewhat vacantly. “Coming right up.” He hurried away as Harry shoved his wand back into his pocket and made his way to a small table in a corner. Harry slumped into his seat. He needed to get back to Hogwarts, he knew. His friends would worry when they realized that he’d missed dinner, but Harry wasn’t anxious to return to school. Sitting here in a Muggle pub he could pretend that Voldemort didn’t exist, or at least that he wouldn’t have to risk his life and the lives of those he cared for in order to defeat the evil wizard.

Harry’s melancholy thoughts were interrupted as his dinner arrived along with a foaming pint of ale. Staring at his food, Harry realized that he wasn’t at all hungry. He reached for his drink instead. The ale was bitter, but it warmed him as it went down which Harry found somewhat comforting. It was better than the cold ache of dread that had seized him in Dumbledore’s office and refused to let go.

Harry drained his glass, feeling the icy grip loosen slightly. He stared out the window at the passersby, wondering what mundane worries occupied their thoughts. It was a fair bet that none of them had been charged with saving the world or instigating the death of any of their friends.

“Another round?” the still-smiling barkeep asked, nodding at Harry’s empty glass as he passed the table.

“Yeah, thanks.”

---

The barkeep had stopped asking. He simply came by periodically wearing the same vapid smile and replaced Harry’s empty glass with a full one. For the most part, Harry had stopped noticing when this happened. Slouched over his cold, untouched dinner, he simply stared forlornly into space wondering what he’d ever done to deserve such a miserable lot in life.

Harry had just finished draining his latest pint of the evening when a shadow fell across his table and failed to move away. He looked up, vaguely expecting another round of ale and it took him a few moments to register the fact that the person glaring down at him wasn’t the barkeep. It took a few more moments before he was able to actually place the looming figure in black.

“You! Wha’ are you doin’ here?”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Snape said. “Have you any idea how many people are out looking for you? All of the Order have been pressed into service.”

Harry stared blankly at Snape trying to work out what the man had said, but his brain didn’t seem to be able to make sense of the words. His befuddled expression must have registered on Snape who frowned and glanced suspiciously at the empty glass in front of Harry.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Harry blinked, tried to work out the maths and failed utterly. He squinted down at his glass as if expecting to see the answer written at the bottom of it.

“Er…”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Snape grabbed Harry’s collar and lifted him out of his seat. Snape’s grip was quite strong, which was good since it was the only thing keeping Harry from falling down. His legs didn’t seem to be working properly for some reason.

“Is there a problem here?” asked a burly man, who must have been the pub owner, coming over to the table.

Snape immediately turned his wrath on the man. “This boy is drunk!” he said accusingly.

The man frowned at Harry in surprise. “We wouldn’t have served him more than a pint or two with his supper.”

“Really?” Snape sneered. “You’d swear to that?”

The man bristled. “Who are you to be asking?”

“He’s my nean, masty, poshins smasher,” Harry chimed in helpfully. “An’ you bedder not gedin his way or he’ll curse you.”

Harry wagged a finger warningly at the proprietor while swaying in Snape’s grasp. The man stared at Harry, bemusedly. Most of the nearby patrons were looking on as well, either smirking in amusement or frowning their disapproval.

“I’m his uncle and I’m taking him home,” Snape said through clenched teeth as he pulled several five pound notes from his pocket and threw them on the table. The money appeared to quell the man’s objections and he stepped aside to let Snape propel Harry across the pub and out of the door.

“Home?” Harry scoffed as they emerged from the pub. “Ha! I don’ have a home. D’you know my aunt tol’ the neighbors I died?”

“I’m taking you back to school, of course!” Snape snapped impatiently.

“No! I don’ wanna go back there!”

“I don’t care what you want, Potter.”

Anger managed to pierce the fog in Harry’s brain. He summoned all of his strength and wrenched his arm out of Snape’s grasp. Unfortunately, the street chose precisely that moment to tilt precipitously and Harry staggered sideways. He was only saved from sprawling in the gutter by a lamppost that he managed to sling his arm around at the last instant. He gripped the lamppost tightly, swaying as the street righted itself, somewhat. Then he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his wand.

“I’m not – going anywhere – with you,” Harry said slowly and distinctly, trying to keep his wand leveled at Snape, something that was proving annoyingly difficult to do. “So, jus’ go ‘way. I can take care o’ myself.” Harry gave up trying to keep his wand pointed at Snape and waved it dismissively as he laid his cheek against the lamppost.

“No doubt,” Snape drawled, though his sarcasm was entirely lost on Harry. He regarded the boy with disgust, looking very much as if he would like nothing better than to walk away and leave Harry with his lamppost. “Unfortunately, it’s my job to take care of you.”

“Why?” Harry demanded, petulantly. “Why’s it always hafta be you? Why cannit ever be someone who likes me?”

“Just our luck, I suppose. Now stop this nonsense and come along.”

“No!” Harry brandished his wand once more, but Snape was unimpressed by the threat. With a sigh, he stepped forward, took the wand from Harry and pocketed it. Then he pulled Harry away from the lamppost and began to drag him down the street again.

“Why d’you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you, Potter. I’m disgusted with the spectacle you’re making of yourself.”

“See! Tha’s wha’ I mean. You’re always cri’sizing me.”

“Only because you deserve it. You obviously don’t appreciate how much trouble you’re in.”

“Yes I do. I’ve gotta kill all Volemort’s Death Eaters. I don’ wanna kill all those people.”

“I see. So you’re here to drown your guilt, is that it? Potter, how can you be so weak? I’ve warned you time and again to stop letting your emotions get the better of you.”

“Tha’s easy for you to say. You don’ care about anyone. But I do. I don’ really mind killin’ his Death Eaters. But why do I hafta kill you? Ist not fair! No matter wha’ I do – no matter how hard I try, the people I care about keep dyin’. An’ I can’t stop it.”

“Potter, that isn’t your fault. Stop blaming yourself.”

Harry stopped and turned towards Snape. Planting his hands on Snape’s shoulders, he leaned heavily on the man for support and gazed earnestly up him. “I’m sorry I called you a bastard. I mean, you are one mos’ o’ the time, but I think you jus’ don’ know how to be nice to people.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence. Now come along.” Snape tried to pull Harry away, but Harry slung his arm around Snape’s neck and whispered conspiratorially.

“You know wha’ I think. I think you’re afraid to be nice to people because you’re afraid they still won’t like you and ist easier to jus’ make everyone hate you. But I don’ hate you, Perfessor, even though you aren’t nice. An’ I’m sorry... so sorry. I don’ want you to die, Perfessor.” Harry burst into tears and buried his head on Snape’s shoulder.

“Potter!” Appalled, Snape pulled Harry away while still supporting the blubbering young man enough to keep him from falling down. He managed to seize both of Harry’s arms tightly and shake him. “For heavens sake, get hold of yourself!”

Harry stopped crying and stared at Snape. He snuffled and hiccoughed, but managed to hold back his tears.

“Oh, Potter,” Snape whispered. He pulled Harry close, spun them around and they Disapparated.

Apparating was unpleasant when done sober. Drunk, Harry discovered, it was indescribable torture. With a pop, it was over, but Harry had no time to register the forest around him. He simply passed out cold in Snape’s arms.

---

Harry came to with the sensation of something very wet and very rough being rubbed repeatedly over his face. He forced open one eyelid and found himself looking into the warm brown eyes of Hagrid’s boarhound, Fang.

“Hullo, Fang,” he said thickly.

Fang panted happily then set about licking Harry’s face once more with even more gusto.

“Hagrid, could you do something with that animal before it drowns Potter?” Snape’s voice said from somewhere beyond Harry’s vision.

“Fang, down boy,” Hagrid said. “You’re sure there’s nothin’ else you need, Professor?”

“Only privacy.”

“Right. Well, I reckon me and Fang’ll go check on the Thestrals then. They’ve been actin’ a bit twitchy tonight.”

“You do that.”

Still only half conscious, Harry heard the door open and close. A few moments later he felt a cool hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the man bending over him.

“Here, Potter. Swallow this,” Snape said, pressing a vial to Harry’s lips.

Harry automatically gulped down its contents and at once the thick blanket of fog in his mind vanished. It was replaced, however, by a blinding headache and severe nausea. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and moaned, wondering what Snape had done to him as the man turned away. Harry’s stomach gave a lurch and he barely managed to lean over the side of the bed before he vomited. It didn’t help at all; he still felt violently sick. Harry closed his eyes and moaned again in sheer misery.

“Evanesco!” Snape said. He hauled Harry onto his back once more. “Sit up, Potter, you need to drink this.”

Harry opened his eyes, winced, and shut them again. He took a few deep breaths then tried once more. He cracked his eyelids open slightly and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the subdued light which nevertheless seemed to stab at them. Snape grabbed his arm and pulled him into a sitting position.

“Drink this. It will dispel the headache and nausea.”

Harry reached out blindly and Snape pressed a cup into his hand. He drank down its contents as quickly as he could and was relieved to discover that Snape had been right. His headache and nausea subsided at once leaving him feeling a bit weak and confused, but otherwise fine.

“Let that be a lesson to you in the effects of overindulging in alcohol,” Snape scolded. “If I’d had my choice, I’d have let your hangover run its course naturally. You certainly deserve as much after the trouble you’ve caused tonight. How much do you remember?” he added at the blank stare from Harry.

Harry concentrated as the last wisps of fog faded from his mind. “The last thing I remember is going into a pub to get something to eat.”

Snape’s lip curled in contempt. “Unfortunately, you opted for drinking instead. Honestly, Potter, I wouldn’t have thought that even you could be so flagrantly foolish! Didn’t you realize the danger? Getting drunk alone in public is not the safest of pastimes for anyone, but had you been found by even the most mediocre of the Dark Lord’s servants, you would be enjoying his company at this moment.”

Harry made no reply. Of course he hadn’t realized the danger. He’d had only one thought on his mind at the time and as all of the night’s events came back to him now, he glanced warily at Snape. The man was perfectly composed, watching him with an angry, disapproving scowl.

“Professor, has Dumbledore talked to you?”

Snape blinked at the unexpected question, then arched an eyebrow at Harry. “Of course he has.”

Harry stared at the man, whose dismissive attitude did nothing to convince him that Snape had the slightest idea of what he was talking about. Fortunately, Snape seemed to understand this and sighed.

“He informed me of what will be required to defeat the Dark Lord,” Snape clarified impatiently. “Now come along. It’s past time for you to explain yourself to the Headmaster.”

Snape strode to the door and opened it. Harry could think of nothing else to say, so he wordlessly exited the hut. Snape was right behind him and set a brisk pace as they started for the castle.

The silence between them was horrible. There were a dozen things Harry wanted to say, but it was as though a silencing charm had been cast on him. He had no idea how to begin. Then he remembered his forays into Snape’s mind and the first time he’d managed to maneuver the man’s younger self into a conversation.

“I didn’t intend to get drunk,” Harry said, apologetically.

Snape looked sideways at him. “Then what exactly did you intend to do? Were you planning to abandon everything we’re fought for? Did you honestly believe that you could simply run away?”

“No! I just needed to get away for a while and be alone. How did you find me, anyway? I used anti-tracking charms.”

Snape smirked. “The Weasley’s Sniffer charm really is quite useful, more so than even they appreciate, particularly for one who understands the subtle interactions of various chemicals. Everyone’s body chemistry is unique. All I needed was something you’d worn recently which your friends happily provided.”

Harry had a vision of Ron giving Snape a pair of his dirty socks and changed the subject. “Why did you bring me to Hagrid’s?”

Snape shrugged. “I hardly wanted to take you up to the castle given the condition you were in and I suspected that Hagrid would have the proper remedies on hand.”

Harry nodded, then took a deep breath. “So what are we going to do about Voldemort?”

“You are going to do precisely what you have been planning to do.”

“If I do, you’ll die.”

“That is not your concern.”

“So am I supposed to pretend that I don’t care?”

Snape sighed. “Potter, the fact that I am fated to die with the Dark Lord changes little. Do you imagine that I ever expected to survive betraying him? I have already lived far longer than I would have thought possible and I’m certainly willing to give my life to finish him. We are all of us risking our lives.”

“It’s one thing to risk your life and to die fighting. It’s another to be condemned to death for a mistake you made twenty years ago!”

“That is irrelevant. I hardly plan to sit in my quarters and wait to drop dead. I fully intend to die fighting and I’ve no doubt that the Death Eaters will be more than happy to oblige me.”

“That’s not particularly comforting.”

“It’s the best that I can offer.”

“But there has to be another way!”

“There isn’t.”

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. “How do you know that? How can you give up without even trying to find an alternative?”

“Because I know. I will not traffic in false hope nor will I shrink from what is unavoidable.”

“It’s not unavoidable! Every curse can be broken! Professor Knight taught us that much. It’s just a matter of finding the right counter curse.”

Snape stopped abruptly and turned to face Harry, his eyes blazing with an emotion Harry didn’t recognize. He pulled up his left sleeve and thrust his bare forearm at Harry. The Dark Mark was clearly visible in the light of the nearly full moon.

“This isn’t a curse!” Snape spat. “Don’t you understand? This is a mark of bondage – of a choice freely made, a vow freely taken, a soul freely given. Such a bond cannot be broken.”

“But you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I knew that I was subjugating myself to his will. That I didn’t understand what that meant was my own stupidity.”

“You were seventeen and you made a mistake!”

“You’re seventeen. Would you join the Dark Lord just because your classmates encouraged you to do so? Few of us are lucky enough to make mistakes without paying for them. I was of age and I wasn’t naïve. I should have known better. Do you know the things I saw, Potter? The things I stood complacently by and watched in silent complicity? Shall I give you the details?”

“No!”

“Then stop this! I don’t deserve your pity and I certainly don’t want it. Just finish him before anyone else sacrifices their life and soul to him!”

Snape turned away, but before he could take more than two steps, Harry seized his arm.

“Let’s be clear about something,” Harry said angrily. “I don’t pity you. I care about you. And in case you aren’t aware of it, there’s a difference.”

“I don’t care what you call it, Potter. You have more than enough to worry about without concerning yourself with me. My fate is of no importance.”

“How can you believe that?”

“Because for all that I have lived a life of deceit I am honest enough to admit that the world will not suffer for my absence, that in fact it will be better off.”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s the truth! I’m the one who has brought you to this misery, Potter. I deserve no consideration from you.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit arrogant? Even if you dismiss my dad and Sirius’s stupidity – something you aren’t usually willing to do – it seems to me that Pettigrew and Voldemort had more than a little to do with my current situation.”

“Potter, don’t be obtuse! You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Yes, I do and I’m tired of you being a martyr to your own guilt! I’ve put up with it for a year.”

“Well, you won’t have to suffer it much longer, I’m sure.”

Harry winced, and Snape turned away once more. Gritting his teeth, Harry went after the man. He caught Snape’s arm and pulled him to a halt again.

“Do you honestly think that my mum and dad could have hidden all these years?” Harry spat, giving vent to his frustration. “Do you think they would have done when half the Order was out dying? The Fidelus Charm was never going to be fool-proof protection. Even if we could have hidden for ten years, I still would have come to Hogwarts. I’d still have to face Voldemort. Can’t you see that? From the moment he heard the Prophecy, he was going to come after me and nothing was ever going to change that. So stop blaming yourself! This isn’t your fault!”

Snape wrenched his arm from Harry’s grasp. “Stop it!” he shouted. “Why do you refuse to understand? Are you that blind? Must I say it? Why do you want to make this harder than it already is?”

Harry gaped at the man whose face was contorted with anguish. He had seen Snape lose control in anger before, but never like this, never in pain – except for once. He had seen this same despair in a much younger incarnation of the man when he had confronted Snape’s darkest side in the man’s mind. Now, as Harry stared at Snape it was as though he was looking through the older man’s eyes into those of the younger.

“Severus?” Harry whispered.

Snape’s eyes widened in surprise, but before he could say anything, a loud peal of thunder off in the distance made them both start. Snape glanced around sharply as Harry looked up at the cloudless sky overhead. How could a storm be coming?

“We have to get back,” Snape said, breaking away from Harry and setting off for the castle once more.

Harry quickly fell into step beside the man. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing Snape’s urgency.

“I’m not sure.”

They hurried across the moonlit grounds towards the dark silhouette of the castle, standing silently in the distance. Snape’s eyes darted back and forth, scanning the grounds to the horizon and Harry automatically did the same though he had no idea what he might be looking for. They were almost halfway to the castle when Snape stopped and cocked his head to one side as if listening intently to something.

“Professor?”

“Shhh,” Snape said, frowning in concentration. And then Harry heard it too, or rather felt it. It was an impossibly low rumble that seemed to vibrate in his bones and as it grew louder, Harry realized that the ground itself was trembling.

“It can’t be,” Snape whispered aghast. He whirled around to look back at the forest and Harry, full of trepidation, did so as well.

The forest looked animated, its trees swaying wildly and through the trees, standing tall above them, came dark shadowy figures the likes of which Harry had never set eyes on, but which he recognized all the same: giants.

“Go,” Snape whispered. “The castle. Go, now!”

Harry turned and broke into a run. Snape did so as well and they dashed across the grounds as fast as they could. But although Harry didn’t dare look behind them, he could tell that the giants were approaching rapidly. The ground was now shaking so violently it felt like an earthquake. Then suddenly there came a deafening roar. Harry threw a desperate glance over his shoulder and felt a thrill of horror.

The giants had broken out of the forest into the open and were now running straight towards them. They were enormous and easily covered ten meters with each stride. Harry realized that he and Snape were never going to make it to the castle. Snape must have realized it, too, because he abruptly slowed his pace.

“Keep going!” he yelled as he stopped and turned to face the invaders.

Harry skidded to halt. “Professor, no!”

“Potter, I said go!”

Harry looked desperately from Snape to the advancing giants. He knew that Snape would buy him the time to get to safety and he knew that staying would only be throwing both their lives away. Harry looked pleadingly at Snape. “I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled his wand from his pocket. “I can’t.”

Snape let out an inarticulate snarl of frustration, but there was no more time to argue. The giants were nearly upon them and looked like small mountains approaching. Snape raised his wand and Harry did the same, wondering what spell could possibly even slow them down.

At that moment a streak of crimson flashed in front of them and suddenly Dumbledore was standing before them with Fawkes hovering beside him. He raised his wand high and called out a spell that Harry couldn’t catch over the noise of the stampeding giants. Then Dumbledore turned towards them. “This ward won’t hold for long. Hurry!”

Snape reacted instantly. He grabbed Harry’s arm and shoved him towards the castle. “Move!”

Harry broke into a sprint with Snape and Dumbledore right behind him. A few moments later the charging giants reached Dumbledore’s ward, and stopped, unable to go further. An earsplitting howl of collective rage rent the night, but Harry forced himself to focus on the castle which now loomed large before him. The front doors stood open, the warm, welcoming light from the entrance hall spilling out onto the steps.

Suddenly there was a loud crack from behind followed by a roar of triumph and Harry knew that the ward had collapsed. The ground shuddered once more as the giants resumed their charge, but Harry could see the entrance to the castle clearly now. McGonagall was standing in the doorway in her dressing gown, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. She stepped aside as they approached and Harry put on an extra burst of speed. He dashed past her into the hall. Snape and Dumbledore were through the door a moment later and McGonagall threw it shut behind them. She looked more frightened than Harry had ever seen her.

Harry clutched the stitch in his side and tried to catch his breath. Snape was panting as well, but Dumbledore seemed hardly out of breath at all. He turned to face the huge doors and raised his wand. He murmured what sounded like a chant, repeating it three times, then fell silent and lowered his wand.

No one spoke. Harry could hear the rumble, like thunder, building as the giants approached. He could feel the stones trembling beneath his feet as the noise from outside grew louder and nearer. Instinctively Harry backed away from the doors until a hand grasped his shoulder, stopping him. Snape was standing beside him, looking pale but fiercely resolute and Harry felt his own determination rise up to quell his fear. He raised his wand, ready to face whatever was to come.

A moment later the doors were pounded by a blow that Harry knew should have shattered them and brought half the ceiling of the entrance hall down as well. Somehow, though, the doors held. Blow after blow rained against them as the increasingly furious howls of the giants rose outside.

Harry had no idea how long the attack lasted. It felt like an eternity. Dumbledore never moved from where he stood, staring serenely at the doors with a small smile on his lips.

Eventually, the blows subsided and the giants furious howls turned to petulant grunts. Unable to achieve their apparent goal of smashing Hogwarts to rubble, they seemed lost for what to do.

Then a new voice interrupted the giants’ inarticulate complaints. It was clearly another giant, but this one was managing to form actual words as he spoke. Harry strained to hear what was being said.

“Grawp show you better place. Many stones to tear down.”

Harry’s jaw dropped in astonishment. It was Hagrid’s half-brother.

“Come with Grawp. Grawp show you.”

The giants grunted amongst themselves and then the ground trembled once more as they began to move off. Harry could hear Grawp’s continued urging along with the giants’ grunting growing fainter. Soon, the voices and tremors faded entirely and there was silence.

“Oy, in there!” Hagrid’s gruff voice call from outside accompanied by a heavy rap upon the doors.

McGonagall opened the door and the half-giant peered in.

“Everyone all right in here?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes, Hagrid,” McGonagall said, sounding relieved and somewhat surprised that it was true. “We’re fine. What of the giants?”

“’s all right,” Hagrid said. “They’re gone. Grawp’ll keep ‘em busy ‘til the Ministry can round ‘em up.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Thank you, Hagrid,” he said faintly, then he closed his eyes and collapsed.

---

The giant attack had roused most of the castle’s residents from their beds and word of the headmaster’s collapse had brought them streaming to the hospital wing. The main ward was crowded with people. Most of the staff and a fair number of the students were squeezed into it while more students lined the halls outside. All were awaiting word of Dumbledore’s condition.

Harry paced up and down in front of the door to the private ward unable to sit still. Ron, Ginny and Hermione huddled nearby trying to console Hagrid who sat fidgeting on a chair that looked impossibly small and which Harry expected to splinter under his weight at any moment. The half-giant blew his nose loudly into his handkerchief.

“’s my fault,” he said for what must have been the twentieth time. “I should o’ got there sooner. I should o’ found a way to get their attention.”

“Hagrid, if you’d got their attention much sooner, they’d have squashed you,” Hermione said, practically.

Hagrid sniffed. “’s all my fault.”

The door to the private ward opened and McGonagall emerged, followed by Snape. Both looked exhausted and grim.

“May I have your attention, please,” McGonagall said, though this was hardly necessary since everyone was watching her in breathless silence. “The headmaster is still quite ill and will be remaining in hospital for at least the next day or two, but I wish to assure everyone that the attack which occurred this night will not be repeated. We will be taking extra precautions to ensure that no harm comes to any of the students or staff at Hogwarts. Now, I will ask that all of the students return to your dormitories and for the staff to make certain that everyone does so as quickly as possible.”

As the rest of the teachers began to herd the students out of the ward, Harry approached McGonagall.

“Professor –”

“Mr. Potter, come with me,” McGonagall said, forestalling Harry’s questions. She turned and led the way back into the private ward where Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick were hovering around an unconscious figure on a nearby bed. Harry’s breath caught in his chest as his gaze fell upon Dumbledore. He looked old. Old and frail in a way that Harry could never have imagined.

“What happened?” Harry whispered.

It was Flitwick who answered. “Professor Dumbledore used a very advanced charm to defend Hogwarts from the giants’ attack. He essentially tapped his own magical power and life force and used it to strengthen the castle’s defenses. It took an inordinate amount of power to accomplish and cost him dearly.”

“How dearly?”

The teachers all exchanged glances.

“How dearly?” Harry repeated, gritting his teeth in frustration. “Is he going to be all right or not?”

“We don’t know,” McGonagall said. “It’s impossible to say if he’ll recover at this point.”

“You mean he could die?”

“Potter, we’re doing everything that can be done.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

“Potter!” Snape snapped. “You are not the only person here who cares.”

Harry looked at the haggard expressions on his teachers’ faces and felt his anger subside. They were all as worried as he was and certainly didn’t need him shouting at them.

Harry took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Can you tell me what his chances are or at least how long it will be before we know?”

“The odds of his surviving are very slim,” Snape replied quietly. “If by some chance he is still alive two days from now, then he will recover. However, it is far more likely that he will die before then.”

Harry’s heart sank, but he nodded in silence and looked back at Dumbledore. This was the man whom they had all depended on for so long to be their bulwark against Voldemort. It was nearly impossible to imagine losing him and yet Harry’s thoughts were already racing ahead to just that eventuality. He turned back to McGonagall and Snape.

“What happens if he dies?”

Before anyone could answer, there was a crash from somewhere outside the hospital wing, followed by the sounds of distant shouts.

McGonagall sighed in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake! What is it now?” She hurried out of the ward and Snape and Harry followed her.

Out in the hallway, the commotion was much louder and the three headed towards its source. As they approached the main staircase Harry could make out Hagrid’s enraged shouts coming from the entrance hall below. “You’re not takin’ one more step! Not without Professor McGonagall’s say so and not as long as I’m here to stop ye!”

A throng of students and teachers was gathered having obviously stopped on the way to the dormitories to watch the altercation. McGonagall cut a path through the crowd until she arrived at the head of the stairs and stopped to survey the scene below. Harry was right behind her and looked over her shoulder to do so as well. There were a dozen Aurors gathered in the hall with Ian Day and Percy Weasley at the front of the group. Hagrid towered over them, blocking their way to the stairs. Professor Sprout stood next to him looking equally outraged.

“What is the meaning of this?” McGonagall snapped.

Day looked up and smiled his thin, sour smile. “Mistress McGonagall, I understand from your groundskeeper that the headmaster is indisposed?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I will serve this to you in his stead. Weasley.”

Day handed Percy a small roll of parchment with an ornate gold seal and Percy obediently hurried up the stairs and handed it to McGonagall. She broke the seal, unrolled the parchment and began to read it.

“As you will see,” Day said in an officious tone, “that is a warrant for the arrests of Harry Potter and Severus Snape.”

Snape and Harry exchanged a quick glance behind McGonagall’s back as Day continued.

“Both are known targets of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and it is the view of the Ministry that the attack that occurred here tonight was an attempt by Dark forces to capture them. They are a danger to both this school and society at large and as such will be taken into custody for the public good.”

A stunned silence filled the hall. Even Hagrid seemed too shocked to do more than gape at Day. McGonagall, however, simply handed the arrest warrant back to Percy and looked down at Day calmly.

“No.”

Day’s mouth puckered unpleasantly. “This is not a request.”

“I’m sure it’s not. But if you think I intend to stand aside and allow you to touch anyone in this castle you’re even more deluded than I thought.”

“Obstruction of justice is a serious offense, Mistress McGonagall.”

“Justice! How dare you? You don’t know the meaning of justice. Get out and take this sycophant and the rest of your henchmen with you!”

Day drew his wand and so did his Aurors. “Are you really prepared to defy me?”

In response, McGonagall drew her wand and so did every student and teacher present. They easily outnumbered Day’s group five to one.

McGonagall smiled. “We’ve already taken on giants tonight. Do you really want to try your luck?”

Day’s eyes narrowed in anger, but he clearly knew better than to take on the angry crowd facing him. He lowered his wand.

“This school is under Ministry curfew. No one will be allowed to leave until the fugitives have been handed over. If you continue to hamper lawful Ministry operatives then everyone in this castle will suffer the consequences. I will leave you to consider that, Mistress McGonagall and I am certain that you will see the benefit in cooperation.”

Day turned on his heel and stormed out of the castle. Percy dashed down the stairs and out the door after him with as much dignity as headlong flight would allow, which wasn’t much. The Aurors were the last to leave and as soon as the door closed behind them, the hall erupted into cheers as the students all congratulated each other on having driven out this second set of invaders.

McGonagall, on the other hand, did not look pleased. She turned to Harry and Snape with frank worry in her eyes. She laid a hand on Harry’s arm and another on Snape’s and drew them away from the crowd. “He’ll be back soon and when he arrives, the two of you can’t be here.”

“We’ll leave then,” Harry said. “We can go right now.”

“The difficulty, Potter, is that we can’t Disapparate from the school grounds,” Snape said. “While we can attempt to flee, Day and his Aurors are undoubtedly waiting for us to make just such a move and he will have reinforcements here in no time. While you and I might be able to fight our way out, the odds are heavily against it.”

“We’ll get you out if we have to fight them all the way to the main gate, Severus,” McGonagall said determinedly.

“That is hardly an appealing option. You can excuse your defiance just now as the overwrought result of the trauma of being attacked by a hoard of giants. But should you actually engage Day’s people in battle, he will have every right to arrest you.”

“Do you think I care?” McGonagall demanded. “I will not give in to that wretched man!”

“I am not suggesting that we do. But much as I admire Gryffindor heroics, we don’t need the entire staff, to say nothing of the students, in Azkaban.”

“Then what do you propose to do?” McGonagall asked in exasperation. “Do you expect to take brooms and fly off the Astronomy tower – as if Day won’t be expecting that?”

“Maybe what we need is a Slytherin approach,” Harry said thoughtfully.

McGonagall and Snape both looked at Harry in surprise and he smiled. “Come on, I know a way out.”

Harry set off for the second floor and led the way to the statue of the one-eyed witch. He tapped the statue and its hidden panel opened to reveal the secret passage beyond.

Snape and McGonagall peered into the tunnel, then cast identical looks of accusation at Harry.

“Potter!” McGonagall exclaimed indignantly.

“Don’t complain to me about breaking rules right now,” Harry said, glaring at his head of house in exasperation.

With a sigh, McGonagall relented.

“Where does this lead?” Snape asked.

“Hogsmeade. We can slip out here and Day will never see us.”

Snape nodded and turned to McGonagall. “Tell Day that you’ve reconsidered and that you have us under house arrest and are ready to hand us over. When he arrives with his Aurors and discovers we’re gone, you can claim that you have no idea how we escaped.” Snape looked at Harry. “After all the school does have a history of such things.”

McGonagall smirked. “I’ll be certain to be very surprised and very regretful.”

“Professor McGonagall!” Neville came dashing up the corridor to them, out of breath. “Day’s coming back and he has about fifty Aurors with him. He’ll be here any minute.”

McGonagall nodded grimly. “Tell all of the students to get to their dormitories immediately.”

Neville blinked in confusion. “But –”

“Do as I say, Mr. Longbottom!”

“It’s all right, Neville,” Harry said. “We’ll be gone before he gets here. But he’s not going to be happy, so tell everyone to stay out of his way.”

Neville nodded and took off at a run.

McGonagall looked at Harry and Snape. “I’d better go and meet him and you two need to get out of here. Good luck.” She turned and hurried after Neville. Harry watched her go then looked at Snape who was eyeing the secret passage.

“I always suspected that this statue was hiding something,” Snape said with a small, triumphant smile. “After you, Potter.”

Harry started to climb into the passage, but paused when a distant crash echoed through the halls. He wondered what Day and his army would do when they discovered that he and Snape were missing.

“They can take care of themselves, Potter. We’re only endangering them by tarrying.”

Harry nodded and ducked into the passageway. Snape followed him and they shut the panel behind them. Then they lit their wands and struck off through the cramped tunnel.

“Where exactly does this lead?” Snape asked quietly.

“Honeydukes. It comes up in the basement.”

“So this is how you managed to find your way into Hogsmeade and back during third year without being detected.”

Harry hesitated, but knew that it would be ridiculous to try to deny it. Besides, it seemed a trivial matter now. “Yes.”

They walked for a few minutes in silence, then Harry asked. “How long do you suppose it’ll be before Day gives up searching for us?”

“That’s rather irrelevant. We can’t go back to Hogwarts as long as there’s a warrant issued for our arrest.”

Harry was quiet for a while, mulling over that depressing fact. At last he asked softly, “Do you think Dumbledore’s really going to die?”

Snape sighed and replied in an equally soft voice. “I don’t know. Albus is the greatest wizard of our age, but everyone has his limitations.”

“What will happen if he does die?”

Snape didn’t answer at once, so Harry prodded. “He’s the only wizard Voldemort has ever feared. What will happen if he’s gone?”

“Nothing good.”

The tunnel came to a dead end at a set of stairs.

“We’re here,” Harry said. “I wish I had my Invisibility Cloak with me.”

“There’s no need. We’re beyond the school’s wards. We can Apparate from here. I’ll meet you at headquarters.”

Harry nodded and he and Snape both Disapparated. They appeared in the alley across the court from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and cautiously made their way up the walk to the house.

Dobby answered the door and motioned them towards the Library where Remus, Moody and Tonks were huddled around the fireplace.

“Do you need any help, Minerva?” Remus asked.

“No, no. Day is beside himself and threatening to tear the castle apart stone by stone, but he’ll soon find that Hogwarts can take care itself. He’ll get tired of it soon enough. I just wanted to apprise you of the situation and tell you to keep an eye out for Severus and Potter.”

“We’re already here,” Harry said.

“Well done, Potter!” McGonagall said, sounding genuinely proud of him. “Fifty points to Gryffindor.”

She looked back at Remus. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll contact you again when Day’s gone.”

McGonagall’s visage disappeared and Remus turned to face Harry and Snape. “It sounds as though you two have had a busy night.”

“And a busier day ahead of us,” Snape replied.

Remus nodded, a slight frown appearing between his brows. “Come and have some tea.”

Remus led the way to the kitchen where a large, piping hot kettle of tea was waiting along with sandwiches and biscuits. It was past midnight and Harry was reminded that he’d had no dinner by his stomach, which let out a loud growl. He sat down and picked up a sandwich. Snape and Remus joined him, though both opted only for tea.

“Minerva filled us in on the attack and Dumbledore’s condition,” Remus said. “Moody will inform the rest of the Order while Tonks contacts our allies among the Aurors.”

“Good,” Snape said. “Has there been any other unusual activity?”

“Not that I’ve heard of, but Arthur will be able to tell us if the Ministry has got wind of anything.”

“Regardless, we need to start planning.”

Remus cast a quick glance at Harry. “Surely we can at least wait ‘til morning, Severus.”

“We haven’t the luxury. Dumbledore may be dead by morning.”

Harry swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and washed it down with tea. “What do we need to plan?”

Snape and Remus exchanged a glance, but neither answered.

Harry sighed impatiently. “If it involves me then I reckon I need to know, so would one of you just tell me?”

Remus looked at Harry and smiled apologetically. “Those giants didn’t decide to attack Hogwarts on their own, Harry. They aren’t that clever. Voldemort has to have put them up to it.”

“He also undoubtedly anticipated that Dumbledore would repel the attack,” Snape added. “And he will know by now that Dumbledore was injured while doing so.”

“Do you think he’ll try something else while Dumbledore’s in hospital?” Harry asked worriedly.

“Not while he’s alive, no. There are extensive wards in place at Hogwarts, many of which Albus created and which remain in effect even though he is incapacitated.”

“No one can get past them, Harry,” Remus reassured him. “The only reason the giants managed it is because they’re exceptionally resistant to magic. No one else could have penetrated the school grounds as they did. Not even Voldemort himself.”

“But if Dumbledore dies those wards will fail?” Harry guessed.

“Enough of them will to make Hogwarts vulnerable,” Remus confirmed.

“So, how do we reinforce these wards?”

There was another noticeable hesitation, then Remus sighed. “We don’t. Only Dumbledore possesses the skill to create wards that Voldemort can’t penetrate.”

“You need to understand as well, Potter, that Hogwarts has always held a special fascination for the Dark Lord,” Snape said. “Not only is Salazar Slytherin’s chamber there, it is the oldest wizarding institution in Britain. His fear of Dumbledore is all that has kept him from moving against the school in the past. Should Albus die, the Dark Lord will not hesitate to swoop down upon his long awaited prize.”

“He’ll take over the school?”

Snape nodded. “And likely slaughter every Muggle-born and ‘blood-traitor’ there.”

Harry stared at Snape in horror. “We can’t let that happen!”

“You’re right, Harry,” Remus said. “We can’t.”

Harry looked from Remus to Snape and back. The two men were watching him intently and abruptly Harry understood.

“You mean I can’t,” he said quietly.

“Dumbledore has insisted for weeks that you were prepared to face the Dark Lord whenever the time should call for it,” Snape said. “That time has come. We can’t wait and hope for Albus to recover. We must act now, as soon as possible.”

“It isn’t only Hogwarts at stake, Harry,” Remus explained. “Voldemort has been cautious up until now for fear of running afoul of Dumbledore. With Albus gone, he’ll have free reign and there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

“We also mustn’t underestimate the psychological blow,” Snape said. “Dumbledore is revered as the most powerful wizard in the world. If he falls, many who have been waiting on the sidelines to see who might gain the upper hand in the war will be convinced of the Dark Lord’s ascendancy and will flock to join him. His ranks will swell almost overnight.”

“If at all possible, we have to act before that, Harry,” Remus said. “Before he consolidates his power and becomes even stronger than he already is. But the choice is yours. We can give you whatever support you need, but you’re the one who has to face him. Do you think you’re ready?”

Harry stared at the two men in silence, overwhelmed by the enormity of what they’d just told him. Scores of lives, maybe even hundreds were depending on him to finish Voldemort once and for all and suddenly they were out of time. Harry felt the full weight of what he had to do settle on him. He couldn’t afford to fail, but he also knew what it would cost to succeed. He looked at Snape. How can I do this?

Snape answered the unspoken plea smoothly. “Remember what I taught you in Defense.”

Snape continued to hold Harry’s gaze. Finally Harry took a deep breath and nodded. He looked back at Remus. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Harry sat in the first floor drawing room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place waiting for the rest of the Order of the Phoenix to arrive so that they could plan his final confrontation with Voldemort. He and his friends had called this the Gryffindor common room over summer. That seemed like another lifetime to Harry now, when his greatest worries had been his Potions lessons with Snape and chafing at not being able to have any fun. Harry shook his head. How could he have agonized over such trivial things?

Harry stood up and paced around the room. Getting Voldemort to come after him wouldn’t be much of a problem, he was sure, and he knew that he would have no trouble entering his enemy’s mind or fighting him there. But he hadn’t had time to consider how the Death Eaters might complicate matters. How many were there? Would he see them in Voldemort’s mind? Would he know when each died? What if he had to fight them? Dumbledore hadn’t been very specific about what “drawing on their life force” would actually entail. If only they’d had more time…

“Here you are!” Ron said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts as he, Ginny and Hermione came in.

Harry looked at them, surprised and delighted to see his friends. “What are you three doing here?”

“You didn’t think we were going to stay at school after everything that’s happened, did you?” Ginny said with mock indignity. “We went to talk to McGonagall as soon as Day left. We told her that we absolutely had to come and see you.”

“We expected her to put up a fight about it,” Ron said. “But she just stared at us for a minute and then said yes, that’d probably be for the best. She sent your and Snape’s things with us, too. Your trunk’s downstairs.”

“Thanks. I’ll probably need it. How’s everything at Hogwarts?”

“Fine,” Hermione said with a smug smile. “Day’s going to think twice before trying to ransack the castle again.”

“You should have seen it, Harry!” Ginny said, grinning. “The suits of armor were chasing Day’s people through the halls. The carpets kept tripping them and the staircases were so agitated that they actually threw a couple of the Aurors over the banisters.”

“Peeves was brilliant, too!” Ron added excitedly. “He snuck up behind Day and poured an entire vat of gravy on him.” Ron grinned. “That’s when Day finally decided to shove off.”

Harry laughed, then grew serious once more. “How’s Dumbledore?”

Hermione sighed. “We don’t really know. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick won’t let a soul near him and there’s been no news.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asked, growing serious as well. “Why did you lie to us about going to see Professor Snape this afternoon and where were you all evening? You scared us all half to death.”

Harry stared at his friends who were watching him expectantly. So much had happened in the last few hours that he hardly knew where to begin. At the beginning, he supposed.

“Remember how I went to see Dumbledore about the spell Voldemort used to become immortal?”

“Of course,” Ginny said. “But you told us that everything was all right. You said that you didn’t have to die.”

“I don’t have to die, but that doesn’t mean that everything’s all right.”

In a halting voice, Harry told his friends about his last conversation with Dumbledore and was grateful to see that all three were as shocked by the revelation as he had been.

“Does Professor Snape know?” Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. “Dumbledore told him this evening. Anyway, that’s why I left. I just needed to get away for awhile.”

“Harry, this isn’t your fault. You know that,” Hermione said. “And I’m sure that Professor Snape doesn’t blame you.”

“He doesn’t, but that doesn’t really help.”

“Maybe there’s another way,” Ginny said.

Harry shook his head. “Even if there were, there’s no time to find it. There’s a good chance that Dumbledore’s not going to survive and the Order are convinced that if he dies, Voldemort is going to move to take Hogwarts. We can’t let that happen. I have to stop him.”

Ginny, Ron and Hermione stared at Harry.

“Stop him?” Ron said. “You mean that you’re planning to go after him?”

“That’s right.”

“When?” Ginny asked.

“Tonight, tomorrow, as soon as I can manage it.”

“What?” Ron exclaimed. “Just like that?”

“Are you sure you’re up to that, Harry?” Hermione asked, sounding nervous. “Holding your own against Voldemort is one thing, but if he’s drawing on the life force of all of his Death Eaters too? That’s something else.”

“If I can’t manage this now, I never will! The longer I wait, the more Death Eaters he’s going to recruit. I’m never going to be better prepared and he’s never going to be any weaker. Besides, I’m ready to get this over with.”

“You’ll manage it just fine, Harry,” Ginny said, sounding remarkably confident. “And you won’t be alone.”

“That’s right,” Ron said determinedly. “We’re going to be with you and we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

“Whatever it takes,” Hermione agreed and Harry smiled, more grateful than ever for his friends.

“Harry?” Remus had appeared in the doorway, smiling tiredly. “Everyone’s here. We need you downstairs.”

---

There were far fewer people gathered in the dining room than Harry had expected. Snape was there, of course as were Moody and Tonks. But Kingsley Shacklebolt was the only other Auror present and the only other Order members at the table were Fred and George who were looking far more serious and mature than Harry would have thought possible.

“This is everyone?” Harry asked incredulously.

“The time it takes to come to a consensus tends to be inversely proportionate to the number of people attempting to arrive there,” Snape said. “Since time is of the essence, the fewer individuals involved in this discussion, the better.”

“Which means that your friends shouldn’t be here, Potter,” Moody said.

“Minerva sent them,” Remus said. “She thought that Harry should have his friends with him.”

“That’s fine,” Moody said. “But they’re not members of the Order.”

“Neither am I,” Harry said.

“You’re an exception, Potter.”

“So are they,” Harry said firmly. “I trust their opinions. If you want me here, then they stay too.”

Harry and Moody glared at one another, but Snape spoke up at once.

“This is not a point worth arguing,” he said impatiently. “Sit down then, all of you, and let’s get to business.”

Moody scowled as Harry and his friends quickly took their seats. Once everyone was settled, Snape began again.

“You all know why we’re here. The time has come for Mr. Potter to face the Dark Lord and we need to devise a viable plan for him to do so, preferably one that can be executed within the next twenty-four hours.”

There was dead silence in the room as everyone glanced at one another, then Remus cleared his throat and continued.

“We’ve been planning for this, in principle at least, for some time. Harry and Dumbledore have been working closely together all year and we’re confident that they’ve devised a way for Harry to defeat Voldemort. For this to work, however, we need to lure Voldemort out into the open. Our best hope of doing so is to convince him that Harry has found a weapon that can vanquish him and is going after it. He’ll then come after Harry.”

“How are we going to do that in a day?” Tonks asked. “We can’t very well send him an owl.”

“By convincing his own spy,” Snape said, giving Harry a meaningful look.

“Kreacher,” Harry said. “Of course! He must still have Sirius’s mirror. We can use the ones we have to stage a conversation for him to overhear. He’ll tell Bellatrix Lestrange and she’ll tell Voldemort.”

“That’s assuming they don’t know that we know that Kreacher has Sirius’s mirror,” Ron said.

“They don’t,” Snape replied. “Bellatrix has been chafing at the lack of information from her spy for months. She will jump at the chance to pass anything on to her master.”

“All right,” Shacklebolt said. “That’s the how. Where then? It has to be some place where the public won’t be endangered.”

“It has to be somewhere defensible, too,” Moody said. “You-Know-Who isn’t going to come alone. He’ll have his Death Eaters with him and things are likely to get messy.”

“The Department of Mysteries,” Harry said. He spoke with such conviction that everyone looked at him in surprise. “It’s away from the public and it’s secure. Plus it’s the only place that Voldemort will believe might hold a weapon that could defeat him.”

Moody nodded thoughtfully. “Those are good points, Potter, but getting into the Department of Mysteries is going to be tricky. Day’s Aurors are on watch at the Ministry around the clock and they take the job seriously.”

“If they’re going to be in the way, we can get rid of them,” George said. “They have orders to arrest Harry and Professor Snape, plus I don’t reckon they’d mind catching the rest of us doing something illegal. All we have to do is convince them that Harry here and a majority of the Order will be engaged in seditious activities far from the Ministry at the appropriate time. Day won’t be able to resist coming after us.”

“How would you be able to arrange that?” Remus asked.

Fred and George both grinned.

“As luck would have it, we happen to know Day’s right hand man very well,” Fred said.

“And Percy’s as gullible as they come,” George added. “We can convince him of anything and he’ll pass it on to Day.”

“He’s been after us to develop some new surveillance equipment for Day’s Aurors for a month,” Fred continued. “We’ve been putting him off, but all we need to do is Floo him and say it’s ready and we want him to come over for a demonstration.

“It would be a huge feather in his cap,” George said. “He’ll jump at the chance to come. Then we just have to let him overhear Fred and me discussing your top-secret meeting.”

Fred shrugged. “Piece of cake.”

Ron shook his head. “But when Day arrives at this supposed meeting, it won’t take him long to realize that we aren’t there and go back to the Ministry.”

Fred shrugged. “Then we’ll have to plan a warm welcome for him, won’t we?”

“We can’t spare enough members of the Order for that,” Shacklebolt said. “It would take a dozen of us at least to create a big enough diversion to keep Day’s people tied up that long.”

“But we don’t need members of the Order,” Ginny said. “After what Day did at Hogwarts, I know at least a dozen students who’d like nothing better than to get back at him. We can keep him busy.”

Harry nodded. “That’ll work.”

“It’s certainly the best plan we’re going to come up with on short notice,” Remus agreed.

“We’ll plan for tomorrow night, then. Midnight.” Harry said. “Fred, George, can you be ready by then?”

“Yeah, no problem,” George said without hesitation.

“Good. Ginny?”

“I’ll round up the DA, Walter and Jeremy, and anyone else I can think of. We’ll be ready.”

“I’ll tell Professor McGonagall what you’re planning,” Remus said. “I wouldn’t want you all getting detention for sneaking out of school.”

“Tell her that we need the mirrors from Dumbledore’s office, too,” Harry said.

Hermione spoke up. “Ron and I can get those.”

“We’ll make sure that the rest of the Order is ready,” Tonks said, nodding at Moody and Shacklebolt.

“Good,” Remus said. “That should do it then.”

With the meeting clearly adjourned, everyone rose from the table. Hermione and Ron said hurried farewells and left as Fred and George came over to Harry.

“We wish we could be with you at the Ministry, mate,” George said.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t mind having a go at a Death Eater or two,” Fred agreed.

“The rest of the Order can handle the Death Eaters. I need you to keep Day out of the way.”

George grinned. “We will.”

“So tell us, Harry,” Fred said, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “How are you planning to do in old What’s-His-Name?”

Harry’s eyes automatically flickered towards Snape who was talking with Remus across the room. “I can’t tell you that right now, but I’ll explain everything later.”

George clapped Harry on the shoulder. “We’ll swap stories when it’s all over then. We plan to have some brilliant ones.”

The twins left and Harry turned to Ginny who had come to stand beside him. Wordlessly, she hugged him and he held her close.

“It’s going to be all right,” Harry said.

Ginny smiled. “I know.” She kissed him deeply. “I’ll see you soon.”

Ginny turned away and Harry watched her leave, then another voice drew his attention.

“Notify me if there is any change in plans,” Snape was telling Remus. “Otherwise, I will contact you to keep you apprised of their activities as best I can.”

“Good luck, Severus,” Remus said. “We’ll see you at the Ministry.”

Snape nodded curtly and turned to go.

“You’re leaving?” Harry blurted out.

“Of course. Someone has to keep watch on the Dark Lord’s followers to ensure that the bait is taken and that all progresses as we hope it will.”

“Aren’t you coming back to headquarters at all?”

Snape shook his head impatiently. “No, Potter. Not if you wish to stay informed of what your enemies are doing.” He started to turn away, but Harry pressed on.

“Will I see you at the Ministry?”

Snape stopped and looked back at Harry. Their eyes met and this time Snape answered slowly. “Most likely not. We will all be rather busy, I imagine.”

Harry stared at the man. So this was it. Snape was going to walk out the door and when he did, Harry was never going to see him again. It was just like Cedric and Sirius who had been beside him one moment and gone forever the next.

But it didn’t have to be that way. He had the chance this time. He could say a word to acknowledge all that he and Snape had been through together, say thank you or goodbye, say something. And yet he couldn’t. The words were all stuck in his throat in a hopeless jumble and not one would come out. All he could do was stare numbly at Snape.

“Potter, do you honestly believe that there is anything you need to say to me that I don’t already know?”

Snape’s manner and words were impatient, but there was an uncharacteristic gentleness to his voice and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the man’s uncanny ability to judge what he was feeling.

“No, sir. I don’t suppose there is.”

“This is not the time for doubt or regret,” Snape continued. “You have but one duty now and you must focus on it to the exclusion of all else. Do you understand that?”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Good. Take this.” Snape pulled a small vial from his pocket and handed it to Harry, who frowned at the potion.

“If you have ever heeded one word I have said, do so now,” Snape said. “You will need to be at your best if you are going to engage in mental sparring with the Dark Lord. That means well rested. This is a mild calming draught which will allow you to relax and sleep naturally. Take it.”

Harry nodded. “I will. And don’t worry, sir. I’ll finish him.”

Snape held Harry’s eyes a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. He turned on his heel and with a swirl of robes, swept out of the dining room.

“Wait! Professor!” Harry called, racing into the hall after Snape.

“Potter, what is it?” the man asked in annoyance.

Harry didn’t answer at once. Instead he went to his trunk which was still sitting by the foot of the stairs and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. He held it out to Snape. “Take it. I’m not going to need it. You might.”

Snape stared at Harry in surprise, but took the proffered cloak and tucked it into the pocket of his robes. He gave Harry a small smile. “Thank you, Potter. That will prove very useful indeed.”

With a final nod of farewell he left. Harry stood in the middle of the hall staring at the front door until a hand settled gently on his shoulder. He looked at Remus who was watching him closely.

“Are you all right, Harry?”

Harry nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to explain what was troubling him.

“That was a fine thing you just did. It will make Severus’s job considerably easier, I’m sure. Now, come upstairs. Severus is right. You need to sleep.”

---

Harry kept his word to Snape. Despite his raging emotions, he took the potion the man had given him and went to sleep. He awoke mid morning feelingly rested and alert as well as hungry. The sandwiches he’d eaten the night before really hadn’t been much of a supper. Harry went down to the kitchen where he found Remus, Ron and Hermione waiting. Hermione was poring over a sheet of parchment.

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“Our script,” Ron answered, rolling his eyes. “Hermione wants to make sure that we say all of the right things to Kreacher.”

Harry laughed. “You’re joking.”

“We have to do this right,” Hermione said. “If Kreacher doesn’t believe us then we’re sunk, aren’t we?”

That was a good point. “All right. Let’s have a look then.” Harry sat down beside Ron and Hermione and they began to rehearse their lines while Remus made breakfast for Harry. It proved to be harder than Harry had imagined. Hermione was the only one who didn’t stumble over the words and Ron was having a particularly hard time.

“Ron, you need to sound more natural!” Hermione complained.

“How can I sound natural when I don’t even know how to pronounce that word? I don’t talk that way! Besides, you’ve given yourself all the good bits. I sound stupid.”

“Well then, change it!” Hermione said, throwing the script down in exasperation. “But we don’t have all day!”

Remus smiled as he set Harry’s breakfast down in front of him. “Let me have a look at it.” He took the script and quietly reworked it while Harry tucked into his sausages and eggs.

By the time Harry was finished, Remus was too. He’d pared down the dialogue considerably and after a bit of practice, they were ready for their performance. Remus handed each of them a mirror. Harry took a deep breath and began.

“Ron, Hermione, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Harry, we’re here,” Hermione answered.

“Is everything ready on your end?”

“Yes. Ginny’s rounding up the DA now. They’ll be able to get Day’s Aurors out of the way tonight and keep them busy while we sneak into the Ministry.”

“Harry, are you sure that this thing will finish Voldemort?” Ron asked.

“Positive. We just have to get into the Department of Mysteries and find it. But once I have it, Voldemort’s as good as dead. Meet me at the Ministry at midnight.”

“We’ll be there,” Ron said.

Silently, Harry, Ron and Hermione handed their mirrors back to Remus who put them back in the black bag and tied it tightly shut. Then he grinned. “A brilliant performance! Now we wait to see if it worked.”

Luckily, they didn’t have long to wait. Within half an hour, a silvery Patronus in the shape of some sort of bird arrived with a short message. They’ve taken the bait.

Harry was relieved to know that their plan was working. Unfortunately, he now had nothing to do but look forward to facing Voldemort. Ron, Hermione and Remus tried to keep him occupied, but he had little interest in playing games or even talking with anyone for long. Mostly he prowled around the house and waited for news which happily came frequently.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks and Moody each checked in every hour using clever devices Fred and George had invented which were rather like Sirius’s mirrors only without the picture. Each device looked something like a piece of purple broccoli and cheekily announced the name of the person calling. Harry couldn’t help but laugh the first time he saw Remus talking to what looked like an odd colored vegetable, but the devices were secure and obviously useful and Harry soon got used to them.

Shortly after one o’clock Fred and George reported in by Floo. They’d had complete success. Percy had come by their shop and overheard their staged conversation about the fictitious gathering of the Order of the Phoenix. He’d been so excited that he’d only glanced at the useless invention they’d trotted out to demonstrate. He’d ordered twenty of them and then practically tripped over himself in his hurry to be off.

Ginny reported success as well. She had recruited fifteen of their fellow students who were gleefully looking forward to showing Ian Day a night he wouldn’t soon forget.

Snape’s Patronus also arrived regularly to keep them abreast of news from Voldemort’s camp. The evil wizard would definitely be at the Ministry that night along with all of his available Death Eaters.

Harry felt slightly amazed. By all accounts their plan was working brilliantly. So far nothing had gone wrong. Harry allowed himself a wry smile. Now all I have to do is defeat Voldemort.

---

Many miles from Grimmauld Place, Snape sat in a Muggle pub, eating a light dinner. Everything was going according to plan. Bellatrix had fallen for their ruse as had the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters were preparing to hit the Ministry just after midnight. Snape would continue to monitor their activities, but mostly this entailed a great deal of waiting.

Normally, Snape had endless patience when spying on his enemies; like a spider sitting in the center of its web, waiting for the twitch of a silken thread to betray its prey. But now he felt restless and dissatisfied. All of this waiting gave him far too much time to think

Facing certain and imminent death had had the unfortunate effect of making Snape introspective. It seemed to demand a totting up and accounting of his life and try as he might, he couldn’t tear his mind from the task. He would be awarded the Order of Merlin, posthumously, he was sure, and touted as a hero. His name might even merit a fleeting mention in a history book some day. At one time, not long ago, that would have meant everything to him. Not now. Again and again Snape caught himself reviewing some past event in which he had been invariably wanting in either common sense, common decency, or both and these preyed upon his conscience.

Snape glanced around the crowded pub for something to distract him from his thoughts, but all he saw were people laughing or talking quietly with their companions. He gritted his teeth in anger. He had spent his whole life watching such scenes, but had somehow never managed to participate in one. Even during his days at school when he had finally found acceptance among some of his fellow Slytherins, he had still felt awkward and had certainly never shared any genuine camaraderie with them.

Snape scowled as several men at a nearby table laughed loudly. Friendship: it always looked so easy and yet the ability to form that most basic relationship had forever eluded him. He had given up trying long ago and, being a pragmatist, had convinced himself that he didn’t need what he couldn’t have. But that had been a lie and he could no longer ignore the ache in his heart or pretend that the desperate loneliness wasn’t real.

Snape felt a stab of resentment. It was all Potter’s fault that he was sitting here feeling sorry for himself, of all things. Well, perhaps not all Potter’s fault. Dumbledore had certainly had a hand in it. But it was the boy who been assaulting his emotions for months, tearing away at his careful defenses and awakening in him this need that he couldn’t meet. He simply didn’t know how.

He had cared for so few people in his life and yet every time he had opened his heart it had only brought him grief. As a young child he’d watched his mother die and take with her the only love he had ever known. It wasn’t until he’d come to Hogwarts and met Lily Evans that he’d found that same sort of acceptance. She had been his only real friend at school, but he’d lost her twice, both times through his own stupidity.

Then there was Dumbledore. Snape wouldn’t have called him a friend, exactly; more like an eccentric grandfather. But Snape had never doubted that the old man’s affection for him was genuine and he missed him fiercely now. He was sure that he wouldn’t have felt so alone if he could have poured out his disturbing feelings to Dumbledore. But that wasn’t possible. Like his mother and Lily, Dumbledore was very likely to precede him into death.

Which brought him back to the only other person who had ever managed to sneak inside his emotional defenses – Potter. Against all reason the boy cared for him and Snape cared just as deeply for the young man who had come to remind him so much of Lily. Whatever he had once seen of James Potter in the boy had been superseded by the relentless understanding that stared at him out of those green eyes every time Potter looked at him. Lily had been just the same. Even when she had been furious with him, she had always understood and cared and even after they stopped speaking in fifth year, he had known deep down that that hadn’t changed.

Snape shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had repaid Potter’s consideration no better than he’d repaid his mother’s. Dumbledore had been right. He should have been honest with the boy. It was cowardly and selfish of him not to tell Potter the truth and Snape hated himself for it. But he couldn’t do it. Not now, not when death was looming before him and there was no one else to shed a tear on his behalf.

Snape closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by despair. But he took a deep, calming breath and shoved his roiling feelings away. He was still a pragmatist and it would only be a few hours, he told himself. Just a few hours more and all this misery would be over. He could surely keep his emotions in check that long. Snape took one more cleansing breath, then with grim determination headed back out to check on the Death Eaters’ activities.

---

The wait at Grimmauld Place had seemed interminable to Harry, but at last word came from Kingsley Shacklebolt that the Aurors were pulling out of the Ministry. Ten minutes later the final signal came and at ten minutes to midnight, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Remus Apparated to the street outside the Ministry of Magic. They appeared next to the old call box which was the entrance to the Ministry and Harry could just make out the other members of the Order hidden in the darkness. One of them approached and Harry smiled as he recognized Tonks.

“Everything’s secure down below,” she said. “You’re clear to go in.”

“You three go ahead,” Remus said. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Harry nodded and he, Ron and Hermione stepped into the call box and dialed the automated Ministry receptionist.

“Please state the purpose of your visit,” the courteous, female voice said.

“Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger; we’re here to defeat Voldemort,” Harry answered.

A moment later, three badges appeared. Harry took his and read it as the lift carried them underground.

Harry Potter

Saving the World

More Order members were waiting in the atrium when Harry and his friends arrived and they were already taking up defensive positions in anticipation of the assault by the Death Eaters.

“Potter!”

Harry turned to find Moody stumping towards him.

“We just got word from Snape. The Death Eaters are on their way, so you need to get moving and be quick about it.”

Harry nodded and hurried over to the lift with Ron and Hermione beside him. He pulled open the grille then looked at his friends.

“Good luck, Harry,” Ron said, holding out his hand.

Harry took it and shook hands feeling slightly awkward at the unfamiliar gesture. “You too.”

“Two dozen Death Eaters just arrived on the street,” a wizard called out. “They’re engaging our people.” The wizard frowned, listening intently to one of Fred and George’s purple broccolis. “More are arriving. We aren’t going to hold them upstairs for long. Get ready!”

Hermione hugged Harry tightly then shoved him into the lift. “Be careful, Harry!” she called as the gold grilles closed and the lift lurched into motion. It began its descent and Harry watched his two best friends disappear from sight as he sank into the depths of the Ministry: one floor, two, three. The lift’s progress was agonizingly slow and Harry’s heart was pounding, though he wasn’t sure what frightened him more, the prospect of facing Voldemort or of having his friends overrun by Death Eaters. Over the noise of the lift, Harry heard a shout from above, followed by another. Four floors; five; six. Many more shouts, fainter now, reached Harry down the lift shaft along with the unmistakable sounds of battle. Harry swallowed hard, and clutched the grille, willing the lift to move faster. What if Voldemort had already Apparated to the Department of Mysteries? What if he was waiting for Harry just outside the lift? Seven. Eight. Harry whipped out his wand and brandished it before him as the lift jolted to a halt. Nine. Harry yanked open the grille and dived out of the lift, rolling to a crouch with his wand at the ready.

The long corridor was empty. Harry stood up and looked around warily, but there was nothing but deathly silence to greet him. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he started down the hall towards the lone black door, moving faster and faster until he was running. He slowed as he reached the door which swung open at his approach. Harry peered into the circular room beyond, ready to jump back if he were attacked. But like the corridor, the room was empty. Harry stepped into the room and eyed the array of identical black doors in front of him.

He didn’t know which door led to which of the various rooms nor was he even sure where the best place would be to face Voldemort. But he had an idea which he hoped would work. The last time he’d been here when he’d been chasing Bellatrix Lestrange, he hadn’t known the way out, but the proper door had opened when he’d asked. He wasn’t sure if the room might help him this time, but it was worth trying.

“I’m here to defeat Voldemort. Which way should I go to do that?”

To his surprise and relief, a door to his right swung open. Harry stepped through it and found himself in a room which he had never seen before. The entire room was made of white marble. White candles burned in golden sconces on the walls, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow. Beyond this, the room was empty and yet somehow, Harry felt encouraged being here. It was the same sensation of hope and joy that he felt when he heard Phoenix song and he felt his anxiety fade away to be replaced by calm determination.

At that moment, a searing pain shot through Harry’s scar. He blocked the pain automatically as he whirled around to face the still open door. Voldemort was standing there and gave a cruel, high-pitched laugh.

“Is this the ‘weapon’ you thought to use to destroy me, Harry?” Voldemort asked contemptuously, stepping into the room. “Love?”

Love? Yes, that was what he was feeling, Harry realized, glancing around. Could this be the room that had been locked the last time he’d been here? The room that Dumbledore had said held a force more wonderful and terrible than death?

“Ah, you disappoint me, Harry,” Voldemort continued, shaking his head, sadly. “You are as great a fool as Dumbledore and I so hoped that you would be more of a challenge.”

Harry locked eyes with his enemy and smiled. “Don’t be too disappointed yet.” He plunged into Voldemort’s mind before the wizard could react to stop him and swept away all awareness of the physical world for both of them.

---

Harry had been in Voldemort’s mind once before, but Voldemort had been unaware of him then. This time Voldemort fought his presence. A thing, snake-like and malevolent lashed out at Harry from the recesses of Voldemort’s mind, but Harry had had months of experience at this. He dodged the attacks and dived towards the depths of Voldemort’s subconscious, feeling his enemy’s fear and rage escalate with his descent. At last he broke through the last of the mental barriers and the landscape of Voldemort’s mind opened up before him.

Harry gasped. The scene was surreal. He stood on a broad plateau that formed the top of an impossibly high mountain which seemed to overlook the whole world. The sky above him was black and it seemed to be night, yet the land around him was as bright as day, lit with a cold, unnatural light. Voldemort stood a few feet away and seemed equally astonished by their surroundings. His nostrils flared as he slowly turned to take in the panoramic view. Then he let out a soft, contented chuckle that made Harry shudder.

“So, you have learnt to reach into the very depths of the mind. Well done, Harry. Very well done, indeed. But you will find no advantage here. Look around you. You see how great I have become.”

Harry looked around, but he saw nothing great in the scene before him. The land was barren and desolate and surrounded by darkness on all sides. It was bitterly cold and yet there was no snow or even patches of frost because the land was parched. There wasn’t even a hint of life. None of this bothered Voldemort, however. He had paced to the edge of the plateau and was gazing out past the darkness at the surreal vision of the world gleaming in the distance. He spread his arms wide and laughed in exaltation.

“You see it, Harry? The whole world lies at my feet!”

Harry approached Voldemort warily and followed the wizard’s gaze, but all he felt at the sight was an overwhelming sense of loss. Far away, beyond the darkness surrounding the mountain, the whole world was indeed laid out before him. But it was so far away. To stand here alone in this desolate place and to behold it: all of life, forever out of reach – this wasn’t greatness, it was hell.

Harry stepped closer to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the vast, dark chasm. At once he jumped back, instinctively recoiling in horror, though from what, he couldn’t have said. Harry inched his way forward to peer over the edge once more. The cliff was sheer, plunging straight down into a sea of darkness that separated this mountain from the distant world. But Harry knew without knowing how that this wasn’t simply the darkness of night, hiding the landscape miles below. There was a terrible cold emanating from the chasm that made the frigid plateau seem balmy by comparison. Harry recognized the sensation. It was the same chill that came over him whenever a Dementor was near, but magnified a hundred fold.

Harry felt an overwhelming sense of revulsion and despair wash over him. He was certain that there was no life within the darkness. In fact it felt as if there was nothing there at all, as if stepping off the cliff one would simply fall endlessly into a bottomless, icy void. Harry couldn’t suppress a shudder of horror at the sensation, but Voldemort didn’t seem affected by the dark chasm at all.

Worse, Harry realized, he didn’t seem the least bit affected by Harry’s presence. He certainly wasn’t in pain. Was this because of his bonds with his Death Eaters? That couldn’t be right. He had suffered excruciating pain when he tried to possess Harry two years previously.

Then a horrible thought occurred to Harry. Could they have been mistaken? What if it hadn’t been his presence that had caused Voldemort’s pain at that time? If not then he had no hope of defeating his enemy. He had absolutely no chance of standing against the wizard without that advantage. What would happen to his friends then, to all of the people who were counting on him to end Voldemort’s rein of terror?

As remorse welled up in Harry’s heart, he felt the mountain tremble beneath his feet. Voldemort’s face contorted in pain and he turned on Harry with a snarl. “Stop!”

Of course! Harry realized, remembering the long-ago scene in the Ministry’s atrium. Voldemort had had no trouble possessing him. It wasn’t until he’d thought of Sirius that the evil wizard had fled from him in agony. It wasn’t his presence, but love that Voldemort couldn’t bear. That realization made Harry’s heart leap and suddenly memories sprang up in his mind. Laughing with Ron and Hermione, sitting by the lake with Ginny, Sirius laughing at Grimmauld Place the Christmas before he’d died. Another Christmas surrounded by the Weasleys at the Burrow. Memory after memory flashed by and with them his love for his friends welled up until he ached with joy and gratitude for them.

“NO!” Voldemort cried out in agony. He pointed his wand at Harry, but Harry nimbly dodged the curse as his heart continued to swell with emotion. Voldemort fell to his knees, screaming and writhing in pain, then he reached towards the sky and let out a cry of pure fury.

Four streaks, like shooting stars, shot through the inky black sky and four Death Eaters appeared in front of Harry. They looked around, clearly dazed at suddenly finding themselves in this strange place.

“Kill him!” Voldemort shouted.

Confused though they were, they recognized their master’s order and turned towards Harry, but Harry was ready. As the Death Eaters raised their wands, he waved his hand and a high stone wall appeared directly in front of them. A moment later the curses they’d been aiming at Harry slammed into the lower part of the wall which buckled. The whole wall collapsed directly on top of the Death Eaters, burying them completely.

There was complete silence as Voldemort stared in astonishment at the pile of rubble where his followers had been a moment before. Then he looked up at Harry and his eyes narrowed appraisingly. With a wave of his hand, two more streaks crossed the sky heralding the arrival of two more stunned Death Eaters. These men however appeared behind Voldemort and he made no move to call them forward to face Harry. Instead he got slowly to his feet, eyeing Harry malevolently. Harry thought of his friends once more, but this time the evil wizard evinced no pain. His lips drew back in a dangerous smile as he raised his wand.

“That won’t work this time, Harry. Not while my servants are with me.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure they don’t stay long.”

Harry had barely finished speaking when an arrow pierced the back of one of the Death Eaters. The man gasped and pitched forward, dead. A moment later his companion had joined him. Voldemort whirled around to face this unexpected threat, but his curse was too late to catch the Centaur who galloped away across the plain.

The dead men vanished and with a growl of frustration, Voldemort snapped his fingers to summon two more to take their place. Then he turned back to face Harry and he was no longer smiling. “You do seem to be full of surprises, today, Harry. Perhaps this won’t be as dull as I had feared.”

Harry raised his wand as well and gave his enemy a grimly determined smile. “Count on it.”

---

Snape could hear the fighting one floor above him as he strode purposefully along a deserted hallway having used Potter’s Invisibility Cloak to slip past the battle raging above. He was not avoiding the fight; in fact he longed to join it. But first, he had a task to perform: one he was not looking forward to.

He could have avoided it, of course, easily. After all, he was the one who had contacted Lucius and arranged to rendezvous. But he owed Lucius this. Whatever it might mean for the Dark Lord to claim the soul of one of his followers, Snape was certain that it could never be called freedom. He had promised Lucius freedom and Snape kept his promises.

Snape opened the door and stepped into the Ministry’s private library, a large, well appointed room lined with mahogany bookshelves and littered with rich leather sofas and chairs: exactly the sort of luxury that Lucius had always loved.

Snape raised his wand and surveyed the room cautiously. “Lucius?” he called quietly.

The man stepped out from behind a large, ornate bookshelf, his eyes darting around to ensure that Snape was alone.

“This is madness, Severus!” he hissed as Snape crossed the room to join him. “Dumbledore is at death’s door and now Potter is supposed to have a weapon that can defeat the Dark Lord? What game are you playing, now?”

“No game, Lucius. It’s true. Tonight the Dark Lord falls. Potter will defeat him.”

Snape spoke with such certainty that for a moment the other man simply gaped at him in astonishment.

“I see,” Lucius said at last. He raised his chin in his habitual, imperious manner. “Remember your promise to me then, Severus. I have done what you’ve asked of me.”

Snape smiled. “I haven’t forgotten it. You will have your reward soon. But there is one more thing that must be done. Potter is in the Department of Mysteries. The Dark Lord will find him there and it is essential that they not be disturbed. The Order are defending the entrance to the lifts in the atrium, but there is another way down: a staircase, seldom used. Few are aware of it and we don’t want to draw attention to it by sending a team to barricade it. Nevertheless, it needs to be guarded. I need your help to do so discreetly.”

Lucius nodded. It was an innocuous task, far safer than dodging curses upstairs. “Where is it?”

Snape pulled a detailed floor plan of the ministry complex from his pocket and laid it on a nearby table. He stabbed a finger in the center of it. “Here, next to the DPS offices.”

Snape stepped back as Lucius bent over the table, squinting at the cluttered floor plan. He raised his wand, but before he could speak the curse, he caught the soft click of a door closing. Snape whirled to face the telltale sound, startling Lucius who straightened up and brandished his own wand.

“Severus, what –”

“Shhh!” Snape scanned the room, all of his senses alert. Then they both heard the slight rustle of movement on the other side of the tall bookcase next to them accompanied by nervous breathing. Someone was trying to sneak up on them and was failing. Snape and Lucius exchanged a bemused look then Snape stepped silently to the end of the bookcase and waited. When he judged the person to be just on the other side, he jumped out, seized the intruder, who gave a startled yelp, and yanked him out into the open. Lucius and Snape had their wands trained on the newcomer instantly, but they didn’t curse him. Instead they simply stared in astonishment.

“Draco?” Lucius said, lowering his wand. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

Draco stared in wide-eyed confusion at the two men. “Father? But, I thought – You were supposed to be – what are you doing with him?” Draco finished indignantly, glaring at Snape.

Lucius stepped forward and seized his son’s arm. “I don’t know how you got in here or what you think you’re doing, but we are in the middle of a battle and this is no place for you. Severus, we have to get him out of here.”

Draco wrenched his arm away from his father and stepped back, glaring at him in disbelief. “Severus?” Draco looked at Snape then back at Lucius with dawning understanding. “You’re working with him? You’re helping him after the way he betrayed you?”

“We do what we must to protect our interests and survive, Draco. I should think you would have learnt that by now.”

“But he’s on the other side! He’s working with our enemies!”

“Draco, don’t be a simpleton! We are at war. Allegiances shift. I am doing what is best for our family.”

“Draco,” Snape said. “How did you find us and why are you here?”

Draco waved his hand impatiently. “Kreacher got me into the Ministry through a back entrance and I used some new tracking charm that Aunt Bellatrix taught me to find you.” Draco looked back at his father. “She told me that you needed my help. She said you were in trouble.”

“And so he is, Draco.”

Snape and Lucius both whirled around at the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice behind them, but there was no one there. Ventriloquism! Snape realized at once. He turned back, but in their momentary distraction, Bellatrix had stepped out from behind the bookcase. She grabbed Draco and pressed her wand to the startled boy’s throat.

“What a lovely confession, Lucius,” Bellatrix said, her eyes glinting with malicious glee. “I knew you were in league with Snape. All those pathetic excuses for why you couldn’t find him.”

“Bella!” Lucius started to take a step towards her.

“Stop where you are.” Bellatrix jabbed her wand more deeply into Draco’s throat and Lucius froze.

“Throw down your wands, both of you,” Bellatrix ordered.

Lucius tossed his wand to the floor at once, but Snape only glared furiously at the woman and Draco.

“I will kill him, Snape,” Bellatrix said, coolly.

“Severus!” Lucius hissed.

Snape sighed impatiently and threw down his wand. “This really is becoming tedious, Draco.”

Bellatrix smiled triumphantly and relaxed her hold on Draco, though she continued to point her wand at him. “Do as I say, Draco, and you will have your share of the credit for capturing these traitors; enough to redeem your family name and spare yourself and your mother reprisals for your father’s treachery. Defy me, on the other hand, and you will die very unpleasantly. Do you understand that?”

Draco swallowed and nodded.

“Good.” Bellatrix shifted her wand away from Draco to point at Snape. “Now to settle an old score. I have waited for his moment, Snape. I have dreamt of it. I only wish that I had the time to properly punish you for your treachery. Unfortunately, killing you will have to do.”

“I thought you were going to capture them?” Draco asked nervously.

“There’s a battle going on, in case you haven’t noticed, Draco. This is no time to take prisoners. But have no fear. Under the circumstances, our Lord will not be displeased to see this traitor dead.”

Draco paled and looked wide-eyed at Snape as he realized what his aunt was about to do.

“You’ve longed to be a Death Eater, Draco,” Snape sneered, though his eyes remained fixed on Bellatrix. “Now you can see first hand what it’s like.”

“Yes, he can,” Bella said with a smile. “Avada Kedavra!”

“No!” Draco knocked Bellatrix’s wand aside and her spell went wide. At the same moment Snape dived for the floor and yelled “Accio!”

With a snarl of rage, Bellatrix shoved Draco away and brought her wand around to point at Snape just as he caught his own wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Snape’s curse hit Bellatrix squarely in the chest and she crumpled to the floor, dead.

There was a moment’s frozen silence, then Snape got to his feet and regarded the dead woman. That’s one Death Eater Potter won’t have to worry about. He glanced at Draco, but the boy wasn’t looking at him or his dead aunt. He was staring past Snape with a look of horror. Snape turned to follow his gaze and saw the second body lying on the floor.

“Father?” Draco whispered. “Father!” Draco pushed past Snape and fell to his knees next to Lucius. “Father, please! Father!”

Draco let out a wail of grief and burst into tears, burying his head in his father’s robes. Snape looked down at the boy, then gazed at Lucius whose sightless eyes stared back at him.

Two, Snape counted automatically, then he looked back at Draco who was sobbing inconsolably. Snape sighed wearily. He didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t leave the boy in such a state. If nothing else, he owed it to Lucius to try to keep the boy from doing anything else stupid.

Snape knelt down. “Draco –”

“Leave me alone!”

“Draco, listen to me!” Snape urged.

“It was my fault!”

“No it wasn’t! It was Bella’s fault. She used you to get to your father. The blame is hers alone. Now listen! The one thing your father wanted more than anything was for you to be free of the tyrant who has claimed our lives. That is why he chose to risk his life to turn his back on the Dark Lord. For you. Therefore, you owe it to him and to your mother to stay alive.

“You should be safe enough here, but do not leave this room. If any of the Dark Lord’s followers find you, tell them that you rashly came here in the hopes of aiding their cause. Tell them that you met your father and aunt, but that I attacked you and killed both of them. The Death Eaters should be more than happy to leave you here while they go in search of me.

“If, on the other hand, any members of the Order of the Phoenix find you, tell them the truth: that Bellatrix lured you away from school and that you are here because you believed that your father needed your help. You have committed no crime and the Order will protect you if you let them. Are you listening to me?

Draco nodded and sat up. “Yes.”

“Good.” Snape rose and turned to go.

“I was wrong about you,” Draco said.

“No, Draco. You were wrong about yourself.”

Snape left the boy to mourn his father and stepped out into the empty hallway, once more. That hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but close enough and at least he hadn’t had to kill Lucius. Thank you, Bella, Snape thought with a small, ironic smile, then he grew serious once more.

He had discharged his last personal duty and was now free to turn his attention to the main task at hand. Somewhere in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries Potter was locked in a mental duel with the Dark Lord and the odds were not in his favor. Snape was determined to shorten those odds and he knew what needed to be done. He had realized it the moment that Dumbledore had explained how the Dark Lord had achieved immortality. There were scores of Death Eaters, all of whom would have to die in order for Potter to defeat his nemesis, and it was ludicrous to expect him to fight them all or to hold out until they were dead by the Dark Lord’s hand. Clearly he needed help.

Snape had considered bringing this up with the Order, but none of them were the sort to kill except as a last resort. He hadn’t been convinced that an explanation of Potter’s abstract predicament would be enough to overcome that reticence and in any case he hadn’t been anxious to explain it. The Order had never accepted him as one of their own and he wasn’t about to give them new fodder to judge him, much less pity him.

Instead, he’d left it to Potter to choose whether or not to reveal the details of what it would take to defeat the Dark Lord and predictably the boy had chosen to keep quiet. So be it then. He would do the job himself. Robes billowing behind him, Snape stalked away to join the battle.

---

It was both the toughest and strangest battle Harry had ever fought. Here, on this surreal mountaintop, he was using both conventional magic and the creations of his imagination to hold Voldemort at bay while whittling away at his Death Eaters. Luckily, the Death Eaters themselves were proving more of a liability for Voldemort than a threat to Harry. After his initial incaution, Voldemort had realized that he needed to protect those who were defending his soul, but Harry made this nearly impossible to do for long. Again and again he conjured poisonous snakes and other deadly creatures to attack them.

Voldemort couldn’t defend his Death Eaters and fight Harry at the same time, so he attempted to distract Harry and prevent the attacks by sending his own creations against his enemy. Voldemort had proved a quick study in mental dueling and had rapidly come to understand the rules of the subconscious world in which he and Harry fought. He still lacked experience, however, which Harry reckoned was the only reason he, himself, was still alive.

With practice, Harry had learnt to conserve his mental energy by using the simplest means to either attack or defend himself. Voldemort, by contrast, was flamboyant, conjuring the most fearsome and amazing of beasts to set against Harry. But not only did this sap his strength more quickly, such indiscretion had also cost the lives of some of his own followers.

Harry almost felt sorry for the Death Eaters. He was used to dodging and fighting a host of fantastic beasts and plants in a mental landscape where anything could happen. They weren’t and half a dozen had fallen prey to their master’s own creations. The last two had died when the dragon Voldemort summoned to attack Harry descended upon his followers instead after Harry conjured several fattened sheep beside them. But with each mistake, Voldemort was learning, making it harder for Harry to maintain the upper hand in their duel. Harry could feel the battle shifting in Voldemort’s favor as his initial advantage began to slip away. He only hoped that Voldemort would run out of Death Eaters before he ran out of ways to keep his enemy off guard.

---

The atrium of the Ministry of Magic was a wreck. The Fountain of Magical Brethren which had been rebuilt in the wake of the last Death Eater incursion, was once again little more than a pile of rubble. Scorch marks blackened the walls and debris was strewn everywhere from the furniture and decorations which had been blasted apart in the battle between the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort’s followers. However, neither the battle nor the destruction had remained confined to the atrium. They had spread throughout the main floor of the labyrinthine Ministry complex.

From the moment that Snape had joined the fray, he’d been in the thick of the fighting. It seemed that every Death Eater present wanted the honor of killing him, but so far he’d managed to best five of them.

Six, he corrected himself as another Death Eater fell to the floor, blood spreading from the wound Snape’s spell had caused. Snape shoved his hair back out of his eyes and looked around. He had chased his latest opponent into a long hallway, several galleries over from the atrium and he could no longer hear the sounds of battle. Frowning impatiently, he headed back in search of more adversaries.

He found them in the hall just outside the DPS main office. Six of them came sprinting around a corner and slowed in surprise at the sight of Snape. They only hesitated a moment, however, then they all raised their wands. Snape reacted instantly. He blasted the heavy wooden doors to the DPS office and darted inside, just avoiding the curses aimed at him.

The public showcase of Ian Day’s power was opulent. The office consisted of a large, circular room with two large marble columns supporting a ceiling adorned with gold leaf and painted with pastoral images. Luxurious antique carpets covered the polished wood floors. Statues and coats of armor stood in glass cases around the room, interspersed with wing chairs, sofas and stately mahogany desks. A reception desk which could have been mistaken for a judge’s bench stood on a dais towards the back of the room and in front of a set of ornate doors which undoubtedly led to Day’s private office.

Snape took in all of this in a moment as he dived behind the nearest desk then turned and threw a curse at the Death Eaters as they rushed into the room. He missed and just managed to roll out of the way before six curses reduced the desk to a shower of splinters. He scrambled behind a chair and then made a dash for one of the columns, barely reaching shelter as another curse sizzled past him.

Snape risked a quick glance at his enemies. The Death Eaters were moving apart in an obvious attempt to encircle him. Snape hurled a curse to his right and one of the chairs burst into flame causing the Death Eaters creeping towards him on that side to jump back. Then he took aim on the left and shattered one of the display cases sending shards of glass and twisted pieces of armor hurtling towards his enemies. The Death Eaters on that side swore loudly and dived for cover. But this was only a momentary respite, Snape knew. He couldn’t defend himself against this many Death Eaters for long and knew with cool certainty that he wasn’t going to survive this battle.

Snape smiled grimly to himself. I did tell Potter that I intended to die fighting. He gripped his wand tightly, gathered himself and was about to step out to confront his opponents when a curse hurtled past him. This one however, hadn’t come from the Death Eaters, but had been aimed at them instead. Snape looked around in surprise to see Lupin peering out from behind a nearby statue having apparently slipped into the room through the back doors. The man grinned.

“Mind if I join the party?” he said, blocking a curse from one of the Death Eaters.

“As a matter of fact, yes!” Snape hissed, hurling two more curses at the Death Eaters. Having prepared himself to die, he felt perversely annoyed with Lupin for intervening. “I don’t need foolish Gryffindor heroics. I can handle this myself.”

“Six to one odds is a bit much even for you, Severus.”

The statue Lupin was hiding behind was shattered by a curse and he quickly ducked behind a desk. Snape waved his wand and an arm chair flew into the air and slammed into two of the Death Eaters, knocking them down.

“I can manage without your interference!” he snarled. “Get out of here before you get yourself killed.”

“Now who’s being a foolish hero?” Lupin retorted. He waved his wand and one of the antique carpets bucked, pitching the unlucky Death Eater standing on it to the floor. It then proceeded to roll up, engulfing the man.

A curse hit the column Snape was hiding behind sending splinters of marble flying. Instinctively Snape turned his head away and caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced towards the back of the room.

“Lupin!”

At Snape’s warning, Lupin leapt aside. The desk he had been hiding behind cracked in half and collapsed. Two more Death Eaters had arrived, slipping in through the same rear doors Lupin had used. Snape hurled two curses at the newcomers and two more at the Death Eaters in the front of the room. He hadn’t bothered to take aim. The curses were only meant as a diversion as he sprinted across the room and threw himself behind a long sofa.

Lupin had already taken refuge there and gave Snape a wry smile. “This is getting worse instead of better.” He flicked his wand and a large desk slid across the floor and came to rest in front of the sofa, reinforcing their makeshift barricade. At the same time, Snape took aim and dropped one of the Death Eaters with a curse. But the others were too well hidden to attack. They let loose with curses of their own which battered the desk and ripped holes in the wall behind Snape and Lupin, showering them with debris.

The two men ducked lower.

“How many do you suppose there are?” Lupin asked.

“Too many,” Snape said, sourly.

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“There might be a way to take them, though,” Snape said, pointing at the nearest marble column. “If we were to hit that with Reducto curses, we might be able to bring it along with that entire section of the ceiling down on top of them.”

Lupin looked up and nodded. “That might work. Of course it might also bring the rest of the ceiling down on top of us.”

Snape looked at the man in exasperation. “Have you a better suggestion?”

“No,” Lupin said with an easy shrug. “I just wanted to be sure that you’d thought through the consequences.”

“Of course I have and I think we’re out of options.”

More curses ripped large holes in the sofa and reduced the desk to a smoldering wreck.

“I think you’re right. On three then? One. Two. Three.”

“Reducto!”

Twin curses lanced out and shattered the nearby column. It collapsed along with a significant portion of the ceiling sending up a thick cloud of dust. Coughing, Lupin waved his wand and a stiff breeze swept through the room clearing the air. He and Snape stood up and surveyed the room in silence. There wasn’t a Death Eater left standing. They were all buried under the pile of stone and plaster.

What does this bring the death toll to? Snape wondered. But as he did, the Dark Mark on his arm flared to life wiping away every thought with searing pain.

---

Remus was both relieved and appalled by their success at killing so many Death Eaters. Nevertheless, there had been no choice.

A gasp to his left made him glance at Snape who was clutching his left forearm in evident pain.

“Severus? What is it?”

Snape didn’t answer. Instead he let out a strangled cry and collapsed.

“Severus!” Remus dropped to his knees beside the man and turned him so that he could look at Snape’s face. What he saw wasn’t encouraging.

Snape’s eyes were glazed and unseeing. His body was rigid and convulsing in some sort of seizure, his breathing was labored and he was clearly in agony. Remus bent close and called urgently, “Severus! Can you hear me?”

Snape’s eyes rolled back into head and he emitted a terrible rattling sound from deep in his chest. “Severus!”

Remus reached for Snape’s throat to feel for a pulse, but he could feel only the faintest flutter beneath the pale skin. The man hardly seemed to be breathing at all now. Remus felt a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. He’d lost his closest friends, watched comrades fall in battle, yet it never stopped hurting. It didn’t help that he had no idea what was wrong with Snape. He would have sworn that the man hadn’t been hit by any curse, but what else could have caused this?

Remus’s thoughts were interrupted by the groan of shifting stone and he looked up. While destroying one of the two load-bearing columns in the room had initially only brought down part of the ceiling, gravity was now lending a hand with the rest of it. Remus glanced towards the safety of the doorway, 30 feet away. He’d never get Snape there in time, but he couldn’t leave the man.

A loud crack drew his attention upwards once more, just in time to see a large chunk of the ceiling directly overhead give way.

---

Harry wiped sweat out of his eyes. Even conserving his energy, he was exhausted and knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep fighting much longer. He had lost track of how many Death Eaters had died so far, but it was surely more than two dozen. How many more can there be? he wondered as he watched Voldemort kill an Acromantula the size of a large dog with a flick of his wand. Harry waved his own wand and two more of the creatures, each a bit smaller than the last scuttled forward to harass his nemesis.

Voldemort had stopped conjuring beasts to kill Harry. He had come to realize the futility of that strategy and was now intent on murdering Harry himself. This had forced Harry to change his own tactics. Voldemort was far more dangerous than even the most fearsome beast which meant that instead of attacking the Death Eaters, Harry was now forced to put all of his effort into staying alive. Every beast, plant or inanimate object he conjured now served only one purpose: to distract and delay the enemy bent on killing him.

Luckily, Harry knew that he wasn’t fighting alone. Though he was no longer actively attacking the Death Eaters, a number of them had nevertheless appeared, only to collapse and vanish for no apparent reason. Harry could only surmise that they’d fallen victim to the battle with the Order of the Phoenix and he felt heartened knowing that he and his allies were working together despite fighting on very different battlefields. Harry’s heart swelled with admiration and gratitude for his comrades and he felt a familiar shudder run through the ground. At the same time, Voldemort winced in pain and with a snarl of frustration kicked the smaller Acromantula across the dusty ground.

The latest of the Death Eaters Voldemort had summoned had died, Harry realized. In trying to evade Voldemort, he had lost sight of the man and wondered what had happened. Perhaps the elusive centaur that was still at large had picked him off, or perhaps he too had been killed by the Order. Then again, he might have simply faded away. Harry had seen that happen twice. Two of the Death Eaters who had eluded Harry’s creatures had nevertheless faded, becoming increasingly transparent and ghost-like until they had simply been gone – used up.

A silvery streak shot across the sky and coalesced into yet another stunned Death Eater. Harry’s Acromantulas advanced on the man, but Voldemort turned them to dust with a wave of his hand.

“Pay attention, you fool, and defend yourself!” he snarled at the confused man who cringed and glanced around wildly for some other threat.

Voldemort turned towards Harry, baring his teeth in pure hatred. The ground had ceased to tremble and Harry backed away from his adversary. He concentrated and a thick wall of mist sprang up between them, blocking him from Voldemort’s view. And in the few moments it took the other wizard to dispel the fog, Harry turned and ran. Unfortunately, Voldemort’s plateau wasn’t very large, nor did the barren terrain provide any likely place to hide for long.

Harry was approaching the cliff and turned left to cut across to the opposite side of the plateau, but a curse shot past him, forcing him to swerve back towards the cliff once more. He tried to dodge left once more, but this time a dense hedge of sharp, six inch long thorns appeared, blocking his way. Voldemort’s cruel, high-pitched laugh made him whirl around to face his nemesis, realizing too late that Voldemort had herded him into a trap.

“You see, Harry, I have learnt to play this little game of yours,” Voldemort said, smiling in triumph. “I confess that I have found it quite entertaining indeed and I must thank you. I don’t recall anyone having ever been able to amuse me as much. But in the end, you were always going to lose. I am the master now.”

Voldemort flicked his wand and Harry collapsed in pain as the Cruciatus curse hit him. He screamed, writhing helplessly, but just as he was sure that Voldemort was going to torture him to death, the pain ended.

“You see, Harry, how foolish you were to think that you could defeat me.”

Harry closed his eyes, focusing all of his concentration and waning energy on one thought. He was rewarded as a section of the vicious hedge exploded, shooting its deadly thorns in all directions. Voldemort blocked the barrage instinctively, but his Death Eater was not as lucky. Harry opened his eyes in time to see the man pitch forward onto the ground, several of the dagger-like thorns protruding from his back.

Voldemort’s lips drew back in fury. “You will pay for that, Harry.”

Harry knew that was true. He had no more strength to fight or even to run. He felt weary regret wash over him. He’d done his best, but it hadn’t been enough. I’m sorry, he thought. At that moment, the ground lurched beneath Harry and Voldemort doubled over in pain as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He staggered and a look of surprise and fear crossed his deformed features. He looked up at the sky, waiting, searching.

Please let them all be gone, Harry thought desperately as he dragged himself to his feet. Please don’t let there be any more.

But even as he pleaded silently for relief, a silver streak lanced across the sky and a figure appeared lying on the ground next to Voldemort. Harry’s knees nearly buckled again. It was Snape.

---

The pain was the same. Even after 20 years, Snape recognized it. He could almost smell the trees circling the clearing, feel the chill of the air and hear the fire crackling nearby. The night he had received the Dark Mark had been one of the worst of his life, but the pain now was even more horrible. The invisible chains tightened around his soul with the greedy, grasping finality of an old debt come due.

Dimly through the pain he could hear the sound of his name being called and he became aware of someone bending over him. It was Lupin. The man’s face, streaked with dirt and sweat was only inches from his own and held a mixture of fear and worry which Snape realized was directed at him. But he couldn’t respond. He was trapped in a nightmare and could feel the icy malevolence of the Dark Lord’s mind reaching out for him. Desperately he fought to free himself, but it was no use. His consciousness was dragged from the physical world down into darkness where something grotesque was waiting. It lashed out in pain and fear like a wounded beast grasping at Snape’s soul. Snape shuddered in horror at the thing which wound around him like a giant snake, suffocating him.

Agony flooded through him and he writhed in the creature’s clutches. The pain was beyond bearing and made him long for death or oblivion. Anything would be better than this. Then without warning, the creature was gone and Snape felt himself hit solid ground. Then he looked up into the pitiless red eyes of the Dark Lord.

---

“Well, well, Severus, how nice of you to join us, at last. I have been so looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Leave him alone!” Harry yelled.

Snape and Voldemort both looked at him. Snape shook his head in warning, but Voldemort merely smiled.

“As many of my Death Eaters as you have killed, Harry and yet you wish me to spare Severus?” he said. “He is the last of those who pledged their souls to me – the only one who stands between us now. Don’t you wish to kill him too so that we may face one another as equals?”

Harry looked at Snape then back at Voldemort.

“No?” the evil wizard asked pleasantly. “Perhaps a little incentive then.” He pointed his wand at Snape. “Crucio!”

Snape screamed and collapsed, writhing in pain.

“Stop it!” Harry yelled.

Voldemort lifted the curse and Snape rolled to his knees.

“Well, Harry?” Voldemort said amiably.

“Potter, stop wasting time,” Snape gasped. “Do it!”

“No!”

Voldemort regarded Harry with contempt. “Weak! You are so predictably weak. Look at him, Severus. How could you ever have believed that such a weakling would defeat me? Such talent and potential you had and you wasted it for this?”

Voldemort flicked his wand and Harry fell to the ground, dazed, as though he’d been punched. He shook his head to clear it and looked up to see his enemy looming over him.

“I could kill you with a thought,” Voldemort hissed. “And had you the strength to kill Severus, I would have ended your life quickly. But now I think that I shall do it slowly. After all, Harry, you have taught me that anything is possible here and there are so many possibilities I can imagine.”

Voldemort raised his wand once more, but Snape launched himself at the wizard. Voldemort was ready for the attack, however. He whipped his wand around and Snape was knocked to his knees once more. Before he could move, shackles appeared around his ankles, binding them close together while manacles appeared to bind his hands. Snape struggled against the fetters, but they held him fast and at last he gave up struggling to glare up at Voldemort with pure loathing.

Voldemort chuckled. “Such spirit, Severus. I had so been looking forward to torturing you. It’s a pity I won’t have the time to do so properly, but even the greatest wizard in the world can’t have everything.” Voldemort laughed again. “Perhaps I will simply have you watch while I torture Harry instead.”

Snape spat on the wizard towering over him. Voldemort’s eyes flashed menacingly, then narrowed shrewdly. “So, Bella was right. You do care for him.”

Voldemort’s mouth twisted into a cold, cruel smile. “You are as weak as he is. Perhaps then, before I kill you both, I will tell Harry whom it is that he has sacrificed everything for. Don’t you think he deserves to know, Severus, after all these years? Shall I tell him then, which clever spy of mine thought to eavesdrop on Dumbledore that night at the Hogshead and faithfully brought me word of the prophecy?”

Voldemort glanced over his shoulder. “Can you guess who it was, Harry?”

His face was alight with malicious triumph whereas Snape looked as though he might either faint or be sick at any moment. Harry gazed at them both and felt his stomach clench horribly.

“It was you?” he asked Snape in disbelief.

Snape closed his eyes and nodded, then hung his head in defeat. The hopelessness of the gesture was immediately familiar to Harry and his shocked disbelief turned instantly to understanding. Finally everything made perfect sense. The dark figure he’d spent so much time chasing through Snape’s mind, that ominous incarnation of Snape’s darkest secrets, always silent, always watching – it was the Spy. That was the truth that Snape couldn’t bear, the great crime for which he couldn’t forgive himself.

“Yes, Harry,” Voldemort said. “Severus is the architect of all that you have suffered. He sealed your fate before you were born, yours and your parents.”

He looked back at Snape. “So much pain… so much guilt...” Voldemort’s snakelike nostrils flared as if drinking in the scent of Snape’s anguish. “You see what Dumbledore’s vaunted love has wrought, Harry. Nothing but misery and defeat.

“Severus threw away everything I had offered him. You have thrown away your one chance to make me mortal. And your dear mother threw away her very life.”

“She didn’t throw her life away!” Harry yelled. “She defeated you.”

“A temporary setback only. I hold the key to immortality, Harry. When I have killed you, hundreds will offer themselves to me and I shall live forever, invincible.”

“You call this living? You’re already dead! Look around you. Do you know what this is? It’s your soul. Look at it! It’s barren and dead and you’re all alone. That’s what your hate and vengeance have done to you. All immortality has bought you is an eternity of solitude in a desolate prison.”

Voldemort bent down and seized Harry’s collar, pulling him up until their faces were only inches apart. “My name will still be feared when yours has been forgotten a thousand years.”

He shoved Harry back to the ground and straightened up. “And now, I will finish what Severus started.”

Voldemort raised his wand then hesitated, a look of confusion on his face. Harry smiled. He knew that Voldemort was sensing what he had already felt. The ground was trembling again and with every passing moment, the tremors were growing more violent.

“Dumbledore was right,” Harry said. “Love is stronger than hate.”

The look of confusion on Voldemort’s face turned to terror and he looked around wildly. “No! It can’t be. This can’t happen!” He whirled towards Snape and seized him. “You’re still alive!”

The tremors had become an earthquake. Then with an earsplitting report, the ground split apart. Cracks appeared and rapidly widened into deep fissures as the plateau began to break apart.

“NO!” Voldemort shrieked in fear and pain. He shoved Snape away then turned on Harry who had got to his feet. Harry jumped aside and the jet of green light shot past him. He slashed his wand through the air and Voldemort stumbled backwards. But though Voldemort was clearly in agony, he was still the greatest Dark wizard of the age. With a wave of his hand ropes appeared and bound themselves tightly around Harry, pinning his arms and legs. Harry lost his balance on the now violently shaking ground and fell. As he struggled to free himself, Voldemort raised his wand once more, but before he could curse Harry he was tackled from behind by Snape who had managed to hoist himself to his feet despite his shackles and the heaving ground. The two wizards landed in a tangle and Voldemort let out a snarl of rage. He tried to push Snape away, but Snape held on with ferocious determination and they rolled away from Harry, continuing to wrestle with each other.

Harry struggled futilely against his bonds for a few more moments before he remembered where he was. He relaxed, focused all of his concentration and the ropes vanished. Then he scrambled to his feet and hurried after Snape and Voldemort who had come perilously close to the cliff’s edge as they fought.

Harry felt a stab of fear for Snape and as he did, the ground gave a particularly violent lurch. Harry was thrown forward and hit the ground hard. He looked up. Snape and Voldemort were only a few yards away, but new cracks were forming in the ground around them and as Harry watched, horrified, the whole section of the cliff beneath Snape and Voldemort began to sink. Harry scrabbled forward on his hands and knees and grabbed Snape, pulling him away from Voldemort and the crumbling cliff. But Voldemort seemed half-mad. With a snarl of pain and fury, he lunged for his opponent, seizing Snape’s legs just as the cliff gave way.

There was a deafening roar as countless tons of rock sheared away and plunged into the chasm below. Harry lay flat on his stomach, his arms locked tightly around Snape’s chest to keep him from being dragged over the edge of the cliff by Voldemort who was now dangling in midair, screaming in pain as he held tight to Snape as well. But the weight of both men was more than Harry could support. He could feel himself being pulled closer to the precipice and desperately dug his heels into the ground to stop his slide. Then he looked past Snape and Voldemort into the vast, black chasm itself and suddenly he understood what it was.

Just as Dumbledore’s garden ended at a cliff overlooking an ocean which represented death, so too, this cliff represented the boundary between Voldemort’s mortal life and what lay beyond. Only it wasn’t death yawning there, greedily waiting to swallow them all. Voldemort had used the essence of the Dementors to forge the chains that had bound his victims and granted him immortality. But it had chained his soul as well to something far worse than death.

Harry felt pure terror course through him. He gasped and reflexively tightened his hold on Snape. Snape who was trying to simultaneously keep from falling and shake Voldemort loose glanced up at Harry, then looked over his shoulder and let out a sharp hiss. Even without benefit of Dumbledore’s lessons, he clearly realized what lay beneath him. Harry didn’t know if Voldemort had worked it out or not. It was impossible to tell if his shrieks of pain and fear included any awareness of the danger to his soul.

There was a deep rumble and cracks appeared along what remained of the cliff’s edge. Harry felt the ground shift and sink ominously beneath him.

“Potter, you have to let go,” Snape whispered.

“What? No!”

“This whole ledge is going to give way. You have to let go. Do it! Now!”

Harry didn’t answer. He tightened his grip on Snape even more as the ground shifted again.

“Potter, let go!” There was desperation in Snape’s voice now and he struggled to pull free of Harry’s grasp.

“Stop it!” Harry cried, clinging tenaciously to the man. “You’ll fall!”

“Potter, don’t be a fool!” Snape snarled furiously. “You’ll fall too!”

“I don’t care!”

Snape looked at Harry with a mixture of wonder and exasperation.

“I don’t care,” Harry repeated defiantly.

Snape’s expression softened. His eyes held regret and a tenderness Harry had never seen in them before, but no fear. Then he smirked slightly. “I do. Expelliarmus!”

“NO!” Harry screamed, but it was too late. The spell broke his hold on Snape and flung him back from the edge of the crumbling cliff. Harry could hear Voldemort’s high-pitched shriek of terror falling away as he plunged into the abyss along with the last person he had bound to himself. He and Snape were gone and as the last of Voldemort’s screams died, the tortured landscape around Harry vanished.

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and he was exhausted. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift his head. His muscles felt as though they’d turned to water. He rolled his head to the side and looked around. Voldemort’s crumpled form lay a few paces away. In death, the greatest Dark wizard of the age looked diminished, like some large, grotesque puppet that had been dropped and forgotten. His deformed features were twisted into a mask of horror, but rather than frightening, he only looked pathetic.

Harry turned away. He’d done it. He’d beaten Voldemort. He had almost never dared to imagine this moment, but when he had, he’d always envisioned himself feeling elated, filled with relief and happiness. He felt nothing like that now. Instead, he felt drained of all emotion. There was nothing but a weary ache in his heart.

Harry’s melancholy thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps racing down the corridor outside. They grew louder as they approached, then stopped. Harry could hear muffled conversation just outside the door and then Ron and Hermione stepped into view, their wands raised.

Harry looked at them and managed a wan smile. “Hi.”

“Harry!” Hermione sighed in relief. She and Ron hurried forward as Harry struggled to sit up.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Ron was staring past Harry. “Is that –?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It’s all right. He’s gone for good this time.”

More footsteps were approaching and as Ron helped Harry to his feet, Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared.

“Merlin’s beard!” Moody exclaimed, staring slack-jawed at Voldemort.

Shacklebolt, meanwhile, pulled out one of the purple communicators. “We found Potter. He seems fine and You-Know-Who is dead… That’s right, dead…”

Even hearing someone else say it didn’t pierce Harry’s weary indifference. The whole wizarding world would be celebrating soon and he didn’t feel at all like joining in.

Moody was sniffing around Voldemort like a bloodhound, examining the deceased wizard closely with his magic eye. Finally, he nudged the body with his toe, then grunted in satisfaction. “We’d better seal the room until a team gets here to dispose of the body. Come on, Potter. Let’s get you out of here.”

Harry had no objections. He was more than ready to leave and headed back to the lift in silence, ignoring Ron and Hermione’s concerned glances.

The atrium was teeming with people. Tonks spotted Harry the moment he stepped out of the lift and shouted out his name, causing the entire crowd to surge forward. In a moment there were people all around Harry, clapping him on the shoulder, pumping his hand enthusiastically. Moody, extolling Harry’s accomplishment to all, pounded him on the back so hard that he almost knocked Harry over.

The congratulations were cut short however, as a rapid series of ‘pops’ sounded and dozens of people Apparated into the atrium. The DPS Aurors, Harry guessed, and in the midst of them was the last person he wanted to see: Ian Day.

The new arrivals all looked much the worse for wear. The Aurors were covered in dirt and the unmistakable scent of Stinksap filled the air. They all showed signs of having been hit by multiple hexes, but mostly they just looked stunned. Day on the other hand looked livid. He was wearing dress robes that clearly weren’t his own and which reminded Harry of the ancient ones Ron had worn to the Yule Ball in their fourth year except that Day’s were a bright shade of pink and trimmed with even more lace than Ron’s had been. The man was plucking yellow feathers from his clothes and had a wild look in his eyes.

“Arrest everyone!” he snapped shrilly. Then he spotted Harry and his mouth drew into such a fine line that his lips seemed to completely disappear. “Potter!” he said furiously, pushing his way through the Order members to reach Harry. “I knew that you were behind this. For years you have done nothing but wage your own private war, heedless of rules or laws, running roughshod over the Ministry’s authority.” Day sneered at Harry. “‘The Boy Who Lived’, ‘the Chosen One’! Fame has gone to your head, Potter, if you think that you can waltz into the Ministry as you please! You are subversive and dangerous and I will see you in Azkaban!”

“Day, you’re round the bend,” Moody growled. “Potter here just killed You-Know-Who.”

“What?”

“Saw him myself. The body’s down in the Department of Mysteries if you have the courage to go and have a look.”

Day looked from Moody to Harry and Harry smirked. “You were saying?”

Day opened and closed his mouth several times, clearly at a loss for words. At last he managed to blurt out, “You have overstepped your bounds!”

“If anyone has overstepped his bounds, it’s you, Ian,” another voice replied. It was the Minister for Magic, Harry realized, who had just arrived as the Order members stepped back to let the man through. “Storming Hogwarts? Attacking students in Cornwall?

“They attacked us!” Day said angrily. He waved his hand at his Aurors, the lace on his sleeve fluttering as he did so. “They ambushed us!”

“Ambushed you,” the minister said, skeptically. “Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts says that they were on an overnight campout and thought they were being attacked by Death Eaters.”

“That’s a lie! They were not on a campout. They lured us to Cornwall so that Potter and his supporters could infiltrate the Ministry!”

The minister was staring at Day as though he suspected the man was mad. “Professor McGonagall insists that they were on retreat and is threatening to organize the parents of the students involved to bring charges against the Ministry. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame them. I believe, Ian, that the pressures of your work have proved to be too much for you. You are relieved of your post effective immediately. Mr. Shacklebolt, please have your Aurors escort Mr. Day from the premises.”

“Of course, Minister.” Shacklebolt clamped a hand on Day’s shoulder.

“What?” Day protested. “You can’t fire me! I’m telling you the truth. They were all in league together!”

Harry forced himself not to grin as the big Auror steered the spluttering man away.

“Mr. Potter, you have my sincerest apologies,” the minister said, looking decidedly embarrassed. “The man is obviously unhinged and I hope you understand that Day’s flagrant abuse of power was not sanctioned by the Ministry nor will it go unpunished.”

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t help wondering if the minister would have been quite so conciliatory were Voldemort not dead.

“The warrants for your and Professor Snape’s arrests will be rescinded at once of course,” the minister assured Harry.

Harry’s chest tightened painfully at the mention of Snape, but the minister continued. “If there is anything I can do to rectify this situation…”

“Actually, there is,” Harry said. “Have you heard any news of Professor Dumbledore?”

“There’s been no news from Hogwarts on his condition, I’m afraid. But then, with all of the commotion at Cornwall and here –” The minister shrugged apologetically and Harry nodded once more. “Don’t hesitate to contact my office if there’s anything else you need. You’ve done the wizarding world a tremendous service, Potter.”

The minister turned away and as he did the Order members closed in around Harry once more to resume congratulating him. Harry shook the proffered hands numbly wanting nothing more than to be away from the stifling crowd.

“Harry!” Remus, dirty and disheveled, pushed his way through the throng and grabbed Harry, hugging him. “You did it, Harry! I knew you would!”

Remus pulled back and regarded Harry, tears of joy and pride glistening in his eyes. “James and Lily would be so proud of you.” He tousled Harry’s perpetually messy mop of hair affectionately, then frowned. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

Harry couldn’t answer. He blinked rapidly to hold back the tears that were threatening to well up in his own eyes.

“Draco Malfoy? What’s he doing here?” Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep baritone caught Harry’s attention and he gratefully turned towards it.

“It’s not really clear,” another man answered. “But he was sitting in the library next to his father’s body. Bellatrix Lestrange was there too – also dead. Looks as if a family dispute got out of hand. We sent the boy back to Hogwarts. He doesn’t seem to have been involved in the fighting at all. McGonagall’s going to contact his mother.”

“What about the rest of the Death Eaters?” Shacklebolt asked.

“They’re all dead as far as we can tell, though how, I’m not sure.”

“What about our people?”

“A few injuries, but no casualties.”

“Is everyone accounted for? Where’s Snape?”

At the last question Harry felt himself go cold inside. He had to tell them; he owed Snape that. But before he could speak up another voice, exhausted and barely above a whisper, answered.

“I’m here.”

Harry froze then whirled around. Standing apart from the crowd gathered around Harry and looking as though he might collapse at any moment, yet obviously very much alive, was Snape. Harry gaped in astonishment, then shoved past the witches and wizards around him to get to the man. Harry only just managed to stop himself from grabbing Snape to make sure that he was real and not some odd hallucination. Abandoning that action, Harry settled for waving his hands to take in Snape’s rather bedraggled condition.

“You’re alive?”

“Apparently,” Snape answered wearily.

“How? What happened?” Harry asked.

“Before or after Lupin let the entire ceiling of the DPS office collapse on top of us?”

“That was your idea, Severus,” Remus countered, having come to stand behind Harry. “And you’re lucky that my shield charm held.”

Snape grimaced. “Oh, please don’t tell me that I now owe you my life.”

“How did you survive Voldemort?” Harry asked impatiently.

Snape considered. “I’m not really sure. It was –” Snape hesitated, a haunted expression in his eyes. “It was an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone.” He shook his head as if to banish the memory. “There’s no doubt that you were successful, however.”

Snape pushed up his left sleeve and held out his forearm for Harry to see. The pale skin was unblemished. There was no trace of the Dark Mark, nor any sign that it had ever existed.

Snape pulled down his sleeve and regarded Harry calmly. “Congratulations, Mr. Potter,” he said formally, extending his hand to Harry.

Harry stared at Snape’s composed features and outstretched hand in disbelief. The man was supposed to be dead and yet after everything they’d been through he expected to just shake hands? “You’re joking.”

Hurt and humiliation flickered in Snape’s eyes. He dropped his hand and started to turn away, but Harry grabbed his arm.

“Don’t be an idiot!”

Harry pulled the man into a fierce embrace. Snape tensed, drawing a sharp breath in surprise. He tried to pull away, but Harry only hugged him tighter and after a moment, he relaxed. Slowly, tentatively, he put his arms around Harry and embraced him in return.

“It’s all right, Potter.”

Harry nodded and let go of Snape. He stepped back and smiled at the man. “Yeah, it is.”

“Potter!” Harry looked around as Moody came stumping up to him. The old Auror handed him a small, dogged-eared book on inanimate Transfigurations.

“McGonagall sent this. It’s a Portkey to take you back to Hogwarts. We didn’t know if you’d be up to Apparating. Trigger word is victory.”

Harry nodded, grateful for the chance to get away from the Ministry and to check on Dumbledore. He clutched the book tightly, then glanced at Snape. The man certainly didn’t look up to Apparating and was surely as anxious to get back to school as Harry was. Harry held out the book. “Come on.”

Snape hesitated only a moment, then grasped the book tightly as well.

“Victory,” Harry said and in a moment he and Snape were standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Harry automatically glanced up at the enchanted ceiling depicting the sky and was startled to realize that it was morning. The sky was bright blue with the promise of a lovely spring day. It still had to be quite early though since no one seemed to be up yet.

Harry shoved the Portkey into his pocket, then he and Snape headed for the hospital wing. Harry reckoned that it had been nearly thirty hours since Dumbledore had collapsed. Snape had said that if he survived forty-eight, he’d recover. That was still a lot of time left, but Harry couldn’t help but feel hopeful that the old wizard’s continued survival was a good sign. He assumed that no news meant that Dumbledore was still alive, but as he strode through the halls, doubt crept into the corner of his mind. It was also possible that McGonagall had kept Dumbledore’s death a secret. Given the threat from Voldemort, it would have only made sense to do so until the Order could put their plan into action.

Please don’t let him be dead yet, Harry thought, quickening his pace. He desperately wanted to be able to tell Dumbledore that he’d defeated Voldemort; that the war was finally and truly won. Dumbledore deserved to know that before he died and even if the old man was unconscious Harry felt sure that Dumbledore would hear him and understand.

Harry burst into the hospital wing and headed for the back ward at something approaching a run, leaving Snape behind. Reaching the door, he took a deep breath, opened it and stared.

“Yes, Dobby, I am quite certain that I have had enough treacle tart,” Dumbledore was saying. “In fact I think I shall be sick if I so much as look at another piece. Not that it isn’t excellent, of course!” he added hastily as Dobby’s ears began to droop. “Ah, Harry, there you are. Would you care for some treacle tart?”

Dumbledore was sitting up in bed, looking somewhat wan but otherwise well. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were standing next to him along with Dobby and there was a large tray full of food perched precariously on his bedside table – no doubt the house-elf’s well-intentioned attempt to speed the man’s recovery. Harry grinned and stepped into the room.

“The great hero Harry Potter has returned!” Dobby squeaked excitedly, bounding over to hug Harry’s leg in unmistakable adoration.

“Dobby, stop that!” Appalled, Harry tried to shake the house-elf loose. “And don’t call me a hero!”

“You’d better get used to it, Potter,” McGonagall said, as she came over and gently, but firmly pried Dobby away from Harry. “Everyone will be calling you that before the day is out and with good reason.” She beamed at Harry. “Kingsley Shacklebolt sent us word a few minutes ago and I must say that I have never been more proud!”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, rising and coming to lay a hand on Harry’s arm. Despite his pallor, Dumbledore seemed younger and more full of life than Harry had seen him in years, his eyes twinkling brightly with affection and happiness. “I never doubted for a moment that you would succeed, Harry. Well done!”

The old wizard looked past Harry and raised his voice. “Severus, don’t stand in the doorway. Come in! Minerva, I suspect that we will be having quite a few visitors before long. If you and Poppy would arrange to welcome them all in the outer ward; I fear there is not enough room in here and I need to speak with Harry and Severus alone for a moment. Dobby, perhaps you could see to some refreshments for everyone?”

“Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir. It is Dobby’s pleasure!” Dobby vanished at once.

McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey left as Snape entered and the moment the door shut behind the two women, Snape turned to Dumbledore.

“You don’t look particularly surprised to see me,” he said accusingly.

“Not particularly,” Dumbledore replied. It was true. Dumbledore didn’t look at all surprised to see Snape. In fact, he looked almost smug.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” Dumbledore corrected.

“How?”

“That is rather a long story and as it concerns both of you, I suggest that we all sit down.”

Dumbledore waved a hand and conjured a garish pink wing chair in which he sat down. Snape scowled at the old man, but reached out towards one of the nearby hospital chairs which obediently slid across the floor towards him. He sat down as well, folding his arms across his chest. Harry quickly pulled up another chair. He was bursting with curiosity to hear whatever Dumbledore had to say and waited expectantly for the old wizard to begin.

“First, I must ask pardon from both of you,” Dumbledore said. “I have manipulated you both and have withheld from you information that you had a right to know. In my defense I can assure you that I acted with your best interests at heart and because it was the only means of saving your life, Severus, and indeed of giving you, Harry, the surest chance to defeat Voldemort.

“Nearly three years ago, when I discovered what Voldemort had done to achieve immortality, I realized at once what that would mean for those who had taken the oath of fealty to him. Though I have often asked you to risk your life when it was necessary to the war, Severus, that is somewhat different than requiring you to face death for a mistake you made when you were hardly more than a boy. That was not a price I was willing to pay, not without first doing all in my power to avoid it. And there was, I knew, a hope of doing so.”

“But you said that there wasn’t any hope!” Harry interrupted. “You said there was no way –”

“I said that there was no other course of action you could take to defeat Voldemort and that was quite true. It was also true that everyone bound to Voldemort by the Dark Mark had to be released from that bondage. As a rule, that could only be accomplished through death. Nevertheless, there are few rules to which there are not exceptions.”

“There was no exception,” Snape said impatiently. “That bond was unbreakable.”

“Perhaps not an exception, then, so much as a caveat. While it is true that the bond could not be broken, it could be superseded by a stronger one. And so it was that three years ago I set out to forge just such a bond, one that would loosen the chain binding you to Voldemort and permit you to slip free when the time was right. I must confess, though, that I nearly despaired after my first attempt ended in such a disastrous failure with the fiasco of those initial Occlumency lessons.”