Severus Snape moved quietly along the halls of Hogwarts, scouting for students out after hours. It had been a bad day…the Dark Lord had been in a mood last night, and classes today had not gone well. The intelligent place to be at this point would be in his quarters, but…well, the idea of closing his eyes to the dreams he knew would come was not particularly enticing, and there were limits to the amount of dreamless sleep potion he could use before it lost its effectiveness. He didn’t expect many students out now, barely three days into the school year, but…well, who knew. After all the Terrible Trio out of Gryffindor were back. It hadn’t been long into their first year when they’d begun their flagrant rule-breaking. And the Weasley twins were often worse. For once the house of the lion was quiet though, as were Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and he was taking one last pass by the entrance to his own house before retiring to his own rooms for the night.

He slid into the shadows as a small figure slipped through the portrait and took off through the halls, his head hanging. With a frown, Severus followed. If it had been a student from anywhere but Slytherin he’d have halted him immediately, taken points, and sent him back to his room with scorched ears, but he was a bit more tolerant towards his own. The boy was a small blond with a mass of freckles, one of the first-years who’d been sorted a few days ago. He apparently knew exactly where he was heading, bypassing both the kitchens and the owlry stairs—likely destinations for a hungry or homesick child—and tugged open the door to the library. Torches—magicked to keep them from accidentally setting one of the books on fire of course—still burned, illuminating the room even through the night. Severus slipped into the room behind him before the door could latch shut, dark clothing making him just another shadow. The boy headed for one of the larger reading couches. And then yelped, falling backwards to the floor.

“Oh—sorry! Are you all right?”

The boy stared up, lip beginning to tremble. “Wh-who are you? What are you?”

Severus hadn’t had any difficulty identifying the voice…besides which, as far as he knew there was only one student in the school who had an invisibility cloak. What had possessed the headmaster to give it to the boy he still didn’t know. Mr. Potter, out after curfew already? Well, I suppose you’ve spent the last four years proving that rules were made for you to break, why change the habit now? He dropped back farther into the shadows, curious how this would play out.

“Are you hurt?” Potter’s voice was now coming from closer to the ground, very close to the younger boy’s head and tears began to fall from the boy’s eyes.  “I didn’t mean to run into you like that.”

Take the cloak off you bloody idiot, Snape thought in irritation. Couldn’t the little moron see he was frightening the child?

“Wh-what are you? Are you a ghost? I thought ghosts c-couldn’t hit people.”

“Am I…oh, no!” Potter’s head appeared, and a moment later he unlaced the cloth and placed a small bundle on the seat beside him. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not a ghost. I’m a student here like you. This is an invisibility cloak.” He reached out, helping the boy to his feet. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

“N-no. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you.”

Potter shook his head. “It was my own fault for not watching where I was going. I was the invisible one.  Oh, um, I’m Harry.” He offered his hand.

“Micah.” He stopped rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes long enough to shake the older boy’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Is something wrong? It’s kind of late to be out of your rooms.”

Severus rolled his eyes. No, people normally wander the halls in tears.  And you’re a fine one to be talking about the time. At least you managed to acknowledge that you were at fault for something—it would be just like you to blame the boy for getting in your way. His memory had been jogged when the boy introduced himself—Micah Donovan. Nothing particularly special about him that had made him stand out during the Slytherins’ introductory speech…he’d been a little timid, but that was to be expected on a student’s first night at the school. His father had been in Ravenclaw and his mother a Slytherin a few years younger than Severus, if the potions master remembered correctly…they didn’t have the wealth or influence to move in the circles of power the older families did, but they were respected in their own right.

“I…it’s nothing.” Micah ducked his head, swiping at his eyes again. “It’s not important.”

“Must be pretty important for you to come down here.” The teenager reached out to put an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “And you look kind of upset. You can tell me, if you want. Maybe I can help?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone can. Unless…I need to find something that will make someone forget.  There must be something in one of these books.”

Snape could think of a half a dozen possibilities offhand, the most obvious being ‘obliviate’, but if the teenager was stupid enough to mention any of them to the child he’d have to get involved. The last thing anyone needed was an untrained first-year running around removing portions of people’s memories.

“Maybe you could tell me what happened from the beginning? That might help a little.”

I do think that is the most sensible suggestion I’ve ever heard from him, Severus thought, shifting to make himself a bit more comfortable in his corner.

“Can you…can you keep a secret?”

Potter sighed. “Is anyone dying?”

“No.”

“Is there a chance anyone could die?”

Well, at least the boy had developed some sense of self-preservation since the end of the preceding school year. It was rather humorous, actually. Unfortunately, it appeared to be upsetting Micah, and while Severus found the situation—Gryffindor’s Golden Boy trying to comfort a little Slytherin—amusing enough that he didn’t want to interrupt, but he didn’t want a hysterical child on his hands either.

“Is there a chance…what?”

Potter managed to figure out his mistake and smiled down at the younger boy. “I’m sorry…I’ve had a couple really bad nights.”

So the wonder-child has bad dreams, hmm?

“It’s not…it’s my cousin. Her name’s Lily.”

“That’s a pretty name. Does she go to school here?”

“Yeah. She just started too…they weren’t going to let her since she’s almost too little—she skipped a whole year in primary school—but she’s real clever. She’s my best friend in the whole world. We wanted to be in the same house but she got sorted into Ravenclaw instead. She’s really, really clever. We were still going to spend all our free time together, but…but now she’s…she won’t even…” he began to sniffle again and went back to rubbing at his eyes.

Lily…Lillian Stevens, I suppose, Severus decided after a moment. She’s the one there was the fuss about admitting early. Honestly, the things people will argue about…if she can do the work, who cares how old she is? Poppy had been the main objector, some nonsense about the girl’s emotional development. But in the end the she had been invited…in fact she must have been in his Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff potions class this morning. Mostly a hopeless lot, he mused, but at least half of them are too agreeable to argue with me and the other half are smart enough not to try. Too bad the older Griffyndors are determined to make up for them. Fifth-year potions for Slytherins and Gryffindors had been immediately before the first year class...between Longbottom’s exploding cauldron—and there was nothing in a calming drought should even have been mildly volatile—and Potter’s stares when he thought he wasn’t being watched, Severus had been in a decidedly bad mood when the lot of them had finally left. It’s a shame that Granger insists on partnering with the Weasley boy…on her own she’s competent enough to make a calming potion I would trust. And after the mess Longbottom created today I’d have been willing to test it on myself.

“She won’t what?” Potter asked, pulling Micah back to sit on the couch and Severus’s concentration back to the conversation. “Is she okay?”

“Y-yeah…no…I don’t—I don’t know, she won’t talk to me! She hates me. It’s all because of him…he said he was okay—he said we could t-talk to him! I told her it would be okay and I promised a-and she trusted me cause we’re best friends and then he went—he went and he said it—and now she thinks…she thinks I was being m-mean on p-p-purpose and I tricked her and she cried and—and she…she h-hates me!”

His voice had been steadily rising in pitch as tears returned, and by the end he was barely managing to choke out words. Not that said words made all that much sense, anyway. Apparently Severus wasn’t the only one that felt that way, because Potter switched to patting the boy’s back awkwardly and muttering nonsense until the child stopped trying to speak. Severus didn’t particularly want to interrupt their conversation at this point—dealing with crying children had never been his forte. After his first year as head of Slytherin House he’d gotten into the habit of selecting one or two prefects that could handle tears of homesickness and that was that.

“Shh, it’ll be okay. You’ll see. Stop sniffling.  Please?”  Potter dug around in his robes for a moment and pulled out a rumpled square of cloth. “Here, wipe your eyes.”

Micah scrubbed at his face with the proffered handkerchief. “’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Have a sip of this.” He offered the younger boy a sip of something from a flask at his waist.

Don’t tell me the Golden Boy is already an alcoholic, Severus thought in surprise when he saw the vessel. The war has barely begun.

“What is it?”

At least he’s smart enough—or Slytherin enough—to ask before accepting something blindly.

“Just hot chocolate. Mrs. Weasley—my friend’s mom—sends him a special mix, and he always shares with me. It’s nice to have when I’m reading. Have a sip.”

Micah took it hesitantly, passing the handkerchief back. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, one more time—why is Lily upset with you?”

“She thinks I l-lied to her on purpose. And I didn’t, honest, he said—”

“I believe you,” Potter interrupted hastily, before the boy could resume his hysterics. “But…what does she think you lied to her about?”

“Well, see, she got put in Ravenclaw, so we don’t have all of the same classes. She doesn’t really know anyone else here and like I said, she’s a little littler so when we’re separated she gets kind of n-nervous sometimes.” He looked up at the older boy. “She’s really brave, honest, but...”

“I think being nervous is normal. I was pretty scared when I first got here, and I met a couple of the people in my house on the train.”

“None of your friends came your year?”

That’s the last thing we need here…more people in Potter’s clique. The three of them are bad enough, especially since they insist on including that hopeless little oaf Longbottom half the time. Fortunately muggleborns weren’t particularly common, and none of the ones currently in the fifth year had lived anywhere near Potter.

“I didn’t really have any friends before I came here…it’s kind of complicated. So what happened when she got nervous?”

“Well, she was a little scared about her class today because she’d heard he was pretty mean, but he talked to us after we got sorted—he’s the head of my house—and he said we could talk to him and he seemed all right…a little scary, but not too bad. So I told her it would be okay. And then sh-she got to class, and he called her stupid and said she couldn’t do anything right! That’s not true! She’s clever and special and—”

Potter patted the boy’s shoulder, cutting him off before he could start crying a third time. “Of course she is. I…Lily had Potions today, didn’t she? You’re in Slytherin?”

“Y-yeah. How’d you know?”

At that point, Severus realized that both boys wore rather nondescript pajamas, nothing with their house colors in them. Donovan because his parents wouldn’t have known what colors to send just yet and Potter…well, who knew why he was wearing such oversized and rather ragged garments. Who knows why that boy does anything he does, unless it’s for the sole purpose of irritating others.

“Snape—Professor Snape—he’s sometimes…he’s not always very nice to people who aren’t in his house. Have you had Potions yet?”

“Uh-uh…I have it tomorrow. We’re with Gryffindor.”

“Well, you’ll see what I mean then. But I don’t think he meant that your cousin in particular was stupid. After all, two hours isn’t much time to get to know someone. And…he might not have been in a very good mood when he got to that class anyway.”

Severus almost gave himself away with a derisive snort. Apparently the fifth-years had been aware that he’d been annoyed. Not that they would ever do something useful to help alleviate the problem…like perhaps pay attention and do their work correctly for once.

“But that’s what he said to her—he made her cry! And she thinks I lied to her and told her he wasn’t mean to trick her because one of the other people in her house told her Slytherins do that, and now she’s mad and won’t talk to me. She wouldn’t even come play chess after classes!”

The look on Potter’s face was a study. Frankly, Snape was surprised the boy hadn’t taken the opportunity to tear into his character and the unfairness of it all. He’d clearly had an urge to, but had held himself back. I wonder what this is about.

“You can’t—tell her not to take everything Professor Snape says to heart, okay? Trust me, he’s been calling me an idiot since the first day of school. I mean, I know I’m nothing special, but I’m not a complete waste of space either. And a friend of mine who does do everything just about perfectly gets called names too.”

Both you and the Granger brat need to be taken down a few pegs—your heads are swelled more than enough as it is. And you haven’t even got the justification she does…I may not particularly care for her, but at least no one can claim she’s a slow learner. Honestly—saying he was nothing special when anyone could see how he manipulated the rest of the school…all of the school that would let him, at any rate.

“But why…why would he do that? I don’t understand.”

“Honestly, neither do I. But you know, I have a game I used to play at home when my—when people called me names…I could teach it to you, and you could show her, and maybe if she played it in class she might feel better.”

“You think?”

“Well, it can’t hurt. But tell her she’ll have to be careful if she wants to play it with Snape…he’s a lot more intelligent than the people I played with.” He grinned suddenly. “Although, to be perfectly fair, Trevor is more intelligent that the ones I played it with, so that’s probably not a very good comparison.”

“Who’s Trevor? You don’t sound like you like him very much.”

I don’t like him very much, Severus observed. The creature had been banned from the dungeons on penalty of becoming an ingredient in skele-grow after he knocked an entire vial of Gribbits’ blood off the counter in class Longbottom’s second year. It would, of course, have been the single most expensive ingredient anyone below fourth year is allowed anywhere near. That child is a menace.

“It’s not like that…I don’t mind him or anything. He’s my friend Neville’s toad.”

“Oh.” The little boy giggled. “You think a toad is more intelligent than people?”

“One time I tied Dudley’s shoelaces together after he and a couple of his friends knocked me around on the playground, and he got up and fell back down three times before he figured out what the problem was.”

That drew a somewhat louder giggle. “That is pretty stupid. But…I don’t think tying Professor Snape’s shoelaces together is a very good idea.”

Very definitely not. And if I ever find out you’ve even tried, Potter, so help me I’ll kill you myself and save the Dark Lord the trouble.

“No, no, definitely don’t try that! Besides, I think he wears boots. I just meant the people I’ve played with before were very, very dumb, so she’ll have to be more careful than I was if she wants to play with him. There’re a couple different ones you can do…the counting one is the easiest. You just keep count of how many times someone repeats a particular insult. See what you can get him up too. I think his record is calling Neville an oaf four times in one hour last year. And I’ve been called a brat six times, although the six times were in one day not just in class. I think he was upset then, though…usually he’s pretty creative.”

“That doesn’t sound like very much fun.”

“It is, kind of, though. Or distracting, anyway. See which insults get used for which people. And you could use it as part of another game…I made a limit, ten or twenty I think, and after my u—after I got called a particular name that number of times, I had to go learn how to say the word in a new language. I could say the word ‘freak’ in sixteen languages besides English before I had to stop…the school library didn’t have any more dictionaries. I used to try and say it back to him, somehow, after I’d learned it, but I don’t think she should try that with Snape.”

“She might like that…she likes to learn new things. Why did people call you a freak though?”

“I was raised by muggles who don’t know anything about the wizarding world and don’t like magic very much. And sometimes funny things happen around me and none of them understood why…in primary school I ended up on the roof one time when some of the other kids were chasing me, and at the zoo on my cousin’s eleventh birthday I got him stuck in a snake cage while the snake left for Brazil. Well…that was actually kind of funny, even though I didn’t mean for it to happen. And I blew up my aunt last summer—not the exploding kind of blow up, the inflate like a balloon kind—and she sort of floated away. Anyway, the big thing with bullies is not to let them know they bother you. I’m not really very good at that—Sn—Professor Snape is really good at pushing my buttons.”

I do what?

“He does what?”

“Oh, sorry, it’s a muggle saying. It just means he knows how to get me upset. Tell your cousin to try and stay calm and not let him get to her, and I bet she’ll be fine. And tell her the language game, although I suggest she sets it to a limit lower than ten if she wants to learn any new words. Like I said, he can get pretty creative.”

“I’ll tell her if she’ll talk to me,” Micah replied.

“By now I bet a bunch of the others in her house have told her what Snape is like—not everyone thinks all Slytherin’s are bad, and since you two are friends I’m sure she’ll understand you weren’t trying to trick her as soon as she has time to think about it. If you like, I’ll talk to a couple of my friends in Ravenclaw tomorrow, just to make sure. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank y—” a yawn cut off his words.

“Tempus.” Potter frowned at whatever the spell revealed. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got class early tomorrow morning. How about we head back to our Houses and try and get some sleep?”

“Yeah, okay. Can we meet tomorrow, maybe? You could come over and play chess with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“But…why not?”

Don’t want to be seen in public with a Slytherin, Potter? Only to be expected, I suppose. Although he was curious how he was going to explain the situation to the child.

“I like you, but some of the others in your house—including Professor Snape—don’t like me very much. It’s probably better for you if they don’t see us talking together.”

“I don’t care what he thinks if he’s going to be nasty to Lily just ‘cause she’s not in his house!” came the indignant reply.

“Making an enemy of the head of your house…or of Professor Snape…isn’t a very good idea, I don’t think. And you don’t want your housemates angry with you either. Tell you what—do you have an owl?”

“Mm-hmm. A barn owl. His name is Cobra.”

“Well, if you want to send a message to me, you tell him to pass it along to Hedwig—she’s mine, and I think the only snowy owl in the owlry right now—and she’ll give it to me. Maybe once Madame Hooch authorizes your class to use the school’s brooms, we could go flying? Or we could try meeting down here again, but with Filch and Mrs. Norris roaming the halls that’s not always very safe.”

“I’d like to go flying. Dad showed me how last summer. Can Lily maybe come too?”

“Sure, she could come.” Potter stood, slipping his cloak on. “Come on, I’ll help you sneak back to Slytherin before I head for my house.” He motioned to the younger boy, indicating for him to come under the cloak and a moment later both were invisible. The only clue Severus had to their whereabouts was the main library door that swung open and almost-silent footfalls across the stone.

Well, that was interesting. He gave himself a few minutes after the students had passed before stepping out of the shadows. He should really catch up with Potter before he made it safely back into Gryffindor and take points. Although…this once—once—the prat did something useful. If I catch him out of his quarters after hours again, I’ll be sure to take twice as many. He would settle for that…it wasn’t as if he’d never have the opportunity to take points again.

I didn’t realize I’d made one of them cry…. Absently he stepped over to reshelf the book Potter had been carrying when he’d bumped into Donovan. It had fallen to the floor and he hadn’t bothered to retrieve it. Severus had taken to doing a ‘first-year interrogation’ of his new students, asking them detailed questions out of the reading, after it had gone so well with Mr. Potter. It had turned out to be an excellent way to command their attention. But perhaps he’d been in more of a mood than usual today…Potter and Longbottom certainly didn’t help…and perhaps moving on to another student when the little one in the front row had known the answer to the first question instead of pelting her with more that even Granger wouldn’t have known the answer to in her first year would have been wise. As much as he didn’t particularly care for children, he didn’t believe in driving them to tears. Not normally, anyway…there have been cases where it was sorely tempting. His attention turned to the book he held. Hm. Andemata’s Theories on Herpetological Communes: An In-Depth Case Study? Interesting light reading, Potter. He started to put the book back on its shelf and then decided to take it with him and see if he could figure out what the boy had been up to. A quick casting of Tempus revealed just how late it was, and he turned with a whirl of his cloak toward the door. Perhaps he was now tired enough to sleep through the dreams without the aid of a potion. Tomorrow will be better.

Severus blinked hard, lifting his head slowly. Ouch. Of all the things I do not need right now… He stood and rolled his shoulders, trying to work the stiffness out of his neck, caused by falling asleep on his desk in the classroom. Fortunately after the students had left. Last night had been a long night…the last several nights had been long nights, actually. If it wasn’t the Dark Lord demanding his presence—or his potions—it was the Order wanting more names, more descriptions, more details…If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they enjoyed my presence. Today he’d cut most of his classes short, giving pop quizzes after a short lecture in each and threatening them with ‘the most complicated potions of the year’—not that that would take much even at the end of the year, never mind two weeks into classes—in their next period with him. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that he would actually need to grade said quizzes at some point. He’d made a valiant attempt at starting, but had fallen asleep after only two. They will survive an extra day without their grades, he decided, exiting the room after a glance ensured he’d returned all potion ingredients to their rightful places.

“Severus, you’re going the wrong way,” and entirely too-cheerful voice called. “You’re going to miss dinner.”

He turned—too quickly, judging by the pain shooting down his back from his still-stiff neck—to face the Herbology teacher. “I’ll be taking my meal in my rooms tonight, thank you.”

“But we’re having roast,” she objected.

“I imagine I will survive the disappointment. Good evening.” He turned with a swirl of his robes, and then turned back sharply. “What exactly were you doing down here in the dungeons, anyway?”

“This is the only place in the castle Chaduceis Mold grows well,” she answered, holding up a jug of blue-brown sludge. “It’s a shame, really, it has such potential…. Good evening, Severus.”

He stared after her a moment, and then shook his head and went to his chambers. There was muscle relaxant in the cabinet…it helped to relieve the effects of several of the Dark Lord’s preferred curses and would work as well for his sore shoulders and neck. A snap brought a house elf with portions of the meal that was being served in the Great Hall, and with some effort he managed to consume the majority of it. He didn’t need the effects of malnutrition on top of sleep deprivation. A rub of his arm as he moved into his inner chambers confirmed that the Dark Lord was quiescent this night, or at least involved in activities he knew his potions master would not be interested in, and as for the Order—They can damn well theorize on their own, for once, he decided. He didn’t have anything new to warn them about, and he could confirm or deny their current suspicions at some later date. This night, he was going to sleep.

Of course, as soon as he made that decision, he found himself unable to attain the blessed state of unconsciousness. I manage to fall asleep in a wooden chair with my head on a pile of parchment, he thought in annoyance. Yet in my own, comfortable quarters, in my most comfortable bed, all I am able to do is lie in silence counting the imperfections in the ceiling stones. He rose to his feet and went back into the main room. The students’ quizzes had been left back in the classroom and he had no desire to retrieve them, but there were several books he’d purchased that he’d not yet found time to peruse…“And what is this? Andemata’s Theories…”

He recognized the book then—it was the one Potter had been carrying in the library when he’d run into Micah a week and some ago. He’d brought it back to his quarters but hadn’t had time to even open the cover. I suppose this is as good a choice as any, although who can tell what the little idiot considers decent reading material…I have a hard time believing he reads at all, outside of what the Granger brat forces him to do before she completes his assignments for him. Perhaps Potter had simply been down in the library fetching something she wanted. He hadn’t considered the possibility at the time, but it seemed more likely than Potter choosing to study on his own. If Granger had selected it, then perhaps…. He settled himself on the couch and opened the tome. And nearly dropped it in surprise as he read the introduction. A Parselmouth wrote this?

Three hours later he closed the cover and glanced up at the clock. “So much for my early night.” Still, it had made for interesting reading…the language was rather archaic, since it had been written by one of the grandnephews of Salazar Slytherin himself, but he hadn’t realized for instance, that a Parselmouth couldn’t hear the difference between Parseltongue and their own native language. But then…Potter hadn’t seemed to understand that he’d done anything particularly unusual when he’d spoken to the snake on the dueling platform back in second year, and while he’d only observed the Dark Lord speaking to Nagini a handful of times, it had never seemed to take him any particular effort or concentration. Perhaps…. He shook himself out of his reverie and stood, putting on his outer robes and tucking the book inside. If the brat wishes to learn more about his ability, there is no reason to discourage him. There was certainly no one else in the Wizarding World who could teach him.

The library was only a short trip away, and as it was nearly curfew the few students who had been studying were on their way out as he entered. He put the book back in its place, assuming that Potter would find it again if he was truly interested. He replaced a few other books that had been left out—perhaps a hex on students who could not manage to reshelve the things themselves would not be out of line—and then left the library for his dungeons.

“Let go of me!”

The childish yell distracted him, and he turned down the side corridor to see several children in red and gold robes pushing a smaller one in green and silver around. He opened his mouth to interrupt their fun.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!”

Severus shut his mouth with a snap. The words had been nearly his own, but the voice…hadn’t been. He stared in surprise as another Gryffindor—a fifth year he most definitely recognized—yanked the biggest of the other Gryffindors off his victim and tugged the smaller boy behind him, out of their reach. And now I know I need more sleep…I’m obviously dreaming.

“What’s going on?” Potter demanded again.

“He hexed my little brother in History of Magic!” one of the younger Gryffindors replied indignantly.

“Turned his hair green, right?” Potter responded. “And Bailey fought back by made his boots stick to the ground so he tripped when he tried to walk? And Professor McGonagall turned them both back to normal in about ten seconds?”

“Well…yeah. But we lost five points because of him!”

“And Slytherin lost ten for starting it! You’re a second year—you all are! What are you thinking, going after a first year half your size in the halls? Especially over something that was already dealt with—by both your brother and our head of house!”

“But he’s Slytherin,” one of the others protested.

“I wouldn’t care if he was Malfoy’s kid brother, only cowards fight four-on-one against someone half their size! Did he even know you were there, or did you jump him from behind?”

The two Gryffindors he could see looked indignant at that question, Snape noted absently, but the indignance was more than muted by the shame in their faces. Apparently the coward comment had struck home. I’ll have to remember that for the future.

Potter shook his head. “Go back to the common rooms.”

“Are you going to tell one of the professors?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“But we’ll lose points,” one of the two with his back to Snape protested.

“I don’t care if you are in my house, you should lose points for that!” Green eyes flashed, and the boys apparently decided they should make their retreat while they could.

Severus held himself in the shadows as the four second-years passed, but their eyes were fixed firmly on the ground in front of their feet. His attention returned to Potter and the little Slytherin at a quiet voice.

“Hey.” Potter knelt, facing the little boy. The child’s robes were torn down one side, and his lip was bleeding. “Micah? It is you, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? Come on, why don’t we go down to the infirmary and let Madame Pomfrey check you over?”

“No, I’m okay, really. I just want to g-go back to my rooms.”

Potter sighed. “Can you tell me what happened, first?”

“They already told you.”

“They told me their side, but I want to know yours.”

A Gryffindor is asking a Slytherin for his side of a story? That Gryffindor? Obviously I’m not dreaming, I’m hallucinating.

Micah shrugged. “Pendleton—not the big one, his little brother—was throwing things and making fun of me in History of Magic today. I guess I got kind of mad at him, so I made his hair turn green. I wanted to make it dark green like my robes, but I guess I was a little upset and it came out really, really bright. Everyone laughed, but since he wasn’t hurt or anything, Professor Binns kept talking.”

Binns probably hadn’t noticed anything was wrong, Severus thought idly. Short of transfiguring one of the children in the class into one of the goblins he was so fond of discussing, he doubted the ghost would notice anything going on in that classroom. He certainly didn’t when I was a student.

“When did he stick your boots to the floor?”

“When I got up to leave. But Professor McGonagall was passing by, and she heard the others laughing, and then she saw his hair and….” He shrugged. “She fixed us both and took points. And then I thought everything was done, until the big one grabbed me and shoved me into the wall a couple minutes ago. And then his friends were there—I tried to fight back, really!”

“Trust me, my cousin and his friends used to gang up on me all the time, and three or four on one—especially when they’re all twice your size—is never good odds.”

“Guess not.”

“Where did the bloody nose come from?”

“They were just pushing me around, not really hitting me, but I think I got whacked with an elbow. And then I tripped on my robes...that’s how they got torn.”

“Bet I can do something about that.” Potter pulled out his wand, and a moment later the stitching mended itself.

“Neat! Where did you learn that that?”

Potter shrugged, putting away his wand. “From a friend of mine. I’ve gotten my clothes messed up a couple times, and she got sick of fixing them for me. It’s pretty useful…you think you will remember the incantation so you can try it yourself?”

“I’ll remember. I can even teach Lily—I don’t think she knows that one yet.”

“So you two are talking again? I hadn’t heard anything from you in the last couple weeks and I wasn’t sure.”

“Yeah, we’re okay again. And she says Professor Snape is being a little better. I…you’re that Harry, aren’t you? Harry Potter?”

“Guilty as charged.”

What?

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s another muggle saying. Yeah, I’m Harry Potter.” He pushed his bangs off his forehead to reveal the scar. “Is that why you haven’t wanted to meet up with me again?”

“I…some of the other Slytherins say stuff about you, sometimes.”

Some of the Slytherins say rather a lot about him, Severus thought. Of which I believe the kindest thing that has ever been said was that he is an acceptable seeker for the Gryffindor team. And they wouldn’t have said that much if he hadn’t beat the best they had for the last three years.

“Imagine they do. Some of it’s probably even true, although maybe not all of it. A couple of them don’t like me very much. I don’t really like them either.”

“But you like me?”

“Yeah, sure I like you. Why wouldn’t I?”

Micah shrugged. “I…I guess I don’t know. They just said you wouldn’t. Maybe…do you maybe want to go flying tonight? I have a broom checked out from the school.”

“Sure. And…” he cast tempus quickly. “We have about two minutes to curfew. If you want, you could run by Ravenclaw and see if your cousin would like to sneak out and join us.”

“That would be great!”

“All right. We’ll meet on the Quidditch pitch in…an hour? But I have a question first. Do you think I should tell one of the professors what those boys did to you tonight?”

Micah bit his lip and then shook his head. “I don’t want you to lose points too. And they didn’t really hurt me that bad.”

“All right, but if they mess with you again you tell someone, okay? Like I said, I don’t care if they are in my house, they should never have gone after you like that.” He glanced around the corridor. “We’d better get moving if we don’t want to get detention. Make sure no one overhears you when you talk to your cousin.”

“I’ll be careful. See you in an hour.”

So now the brat is corrupting my children, Severus thought as he shook himself back to the present. Encouraging them to join him in his rule-breaking. But the thought wasn’t as acidic as it would have been, previously. As acidic as it should have been, really—he was obviously overtired. And now, thanks to Potter, I’m not going to have another late night. Because he certainly wasn’t going to let three students go flying around in the dark without some supervi—What am I thinking? Supervision? I’m going to go out there, catch them, punish them, and be asleep ten minutes after! With a shake of his head, he turned and went the opposite direction to retrieve the quizzes the students had completed earlier. There was no point in wasting the next hour.

At the appropriate time, he left the quizzes he was grading—dismal, as usual—and went to retrieve his broom. He hadn’t had a chance to fly, lately, although contrary to the beliefs of the majority of the students he certainly could. Do they think I’m the reserve Quidditch referee for nothing? It had been a long time since he’d played the game himself—his sixth year at Hogwarts, actually—but he still enjoyed being on his broom. He circled the pitch wide before actually approaching, coming in behind the stands so the three children circling wouldn’t see him. The two smaller figures were circling the larger, obviously trying to keep up with the patterns he was making.

“Catch him, Lily!” One of the figures peeled aside, going higher to watch the other two, and they obligingly picked up speed. “Go!”

They circled and dove—the little girl was small enough that even a school broom could fly as though it didn’t have a passenger—until Potter finally pulled away with a steep curve she couldn’t match. All three were laughing, and in the light from the moon and the shadows from the waving banners Severus saw another Potter and another Lily and one of the boys who were always with them. The slight tolerance Potter’s behavior earlier might have earned him vanished immediately. “What do you three think you are doing out here after curfew?” His voice cut across the pitch, and all three wheeled abruptly to face him, the younger boy nearly losing his grip as he did so. It only increased Severus’ anger.

“P-professor Snape?”

“Yes, Potter, who else would be out here at this unreasonable hour of the night attempting to retrieve three brats who obviously have no understanding of rules or regulations? And that was a rhetorical question, no need to strain your minds attempting to puzzle out the answer. You two, fifty points from each of your houses for being out after curfew, a week’s detention, and you will both lose the use of school brooms until holiday break at the very least. Get back inside.” Both eleven-year olds were staring at him wide-eyed, and there were hints of tears in the girl’s eyes as she hovered just behind Potter’s shoulder. Donovan opened his mouth to speak, and Severus cut him off with a glare. “You and I will be having another talk tomorrow; I suggest you not try my patience anymore. Get. Back. To. Your. Rooms. Now!” Both children started, looking worriedly at Potter, but he shook his head quickly, nodding for them to go on. As soon as he saw them land on the top of the Astronomy tower, he turned back to the Gryffindor. “And as for you—”

“Professor, this was all my idea…it’s all my fault, you shouldn’t be so hard on them.”

“While I have no doubt the blame for this entire fiasco can be laid directly on your shoulders, it is not your place to tell me what I should or should not do. Rest assured, your punishment will be considerably worse than theirs.” He took a breath, assembling his thoughts into a coherent rant. “Aside from encouraging first year students barely a month into their time here to flaunt school rules—I’m well aware that it is a frequent habit of yours, but I fail to see why you are determined to inflict your habits on other students—they were granted privileges with school brooms less than a week ago. Did it ever enter that tiny brain of yours just why students are so carefully supervised with brooms when they first come to Hogwarts? Or did you think Longbottom’s little tumble your first year was some sort of fluke? And taking them out in the middle of the night, in the dark, is hardly going to improve their flying abilities!”

“They’d both flown before, Professor, they learned at h—”

“Silence! I’m not sure what I detest worse, your absolute disregard for authority or the sheer arrogance you insist on displaying for the entire world to see!”

Spots rose on the boy’s cheeks. “All we did was play follow the leader! And we wouldn’t have had to do it in secret if I wasn’t afraid you’d be nasty to Micah just because he doesn’t hate my guts like every other Slytherin! You already went after Lily just bec—”

“You will be silent!” Severus roared, cutting off his rant. “You are in enough tr—”

A shriek from the Forbidden Forest drowned out even his words, and both wheeled sharply on their brooms. “What was that?”

Severus ignored the question. Something about that scream had sounded…wrong, even for the forest. Centaurs don’t make that noise, nor spiders, nor…. “A hundred points from Gryffindor, and detention with me tomorrow. I’ll give you the rest of your punishment then. Now go back to your room.”

“But Pro—”

“Do you want to make it a hundred and fifty? I’m sure your little friends are going to be unhappy enough with you tomorrow as it is.” Potter didn’t make another sound, turning his broom to head back to the tower. Severus turned his broom in the direction of the scream, flying just above treetop level. High enough to avoid the predators, and low enough to duck into the trees should anything fly above him. He could feel magic building, a bit to his left, and he adjusted course to meet it. The only thing in the forest that I can think of that can make that sound…. He came to a halt above a clearing. “Oh, no.” A unicorn lay below, eviscerated, and he forced his broom to land beside it. It didn’t want to; the magic blanketing the area was as dark as Severus had ever felt. The creature’s eyes were missing, its horn, most of its major organs...and the ground was dry—free of blood. A collecting spell…a clumsy version, but that’s the only way whoever killed it could have taken everything before I got here. There were many potent potions that could be made from unicorn blood and hair—he had invented several of them—but that was always willingly given. What someone could do with the major organs or that much blood didn’t bear thinking about.

“Professor? What—what happened?” A figure touched down beside his broom.

“Potter? Did I not just tell you to go back to your room?”

“I—well—I could feel power here. Dark powers, and…”

“And you thought it would be a good idea to investigate yourself. Brilliant, Mr. Potter. I don’t suppose you bothered to inform anyone where you would be going? I assume not; if you had told a teacher they would have prevented you from coming, and if you had told your little friends they would be here as well.”

“Well, you didn’t tell anyone where you are going!”

“I am a grown wizard, Mr. Potter, and what I do or do not do is my own concern. I have had it with your disobedience. When we get back to Hogwarts—” His words were suddenly drowned out by a roar, and then he felt himself falling. It was ten times, a hundred times worse than any portkey, and he saw the ground coming up fast. He didn’t have time to contemplate just how bad the landing was going to be before he hit.

Why does my head feel like one of Hagrid’s pets stomped on it? Severus sat up carefully, squinting against the firelight. Where am I? This certainly isn’t Hogwarts, and it’s not one of the Dark Lords holdings, either. Not one I know of, anyway. That thought didn’t bring pleasant feelings, and he forced himself to stand. As he took in the wilderness around him, the only sign of civilization being a single ring of stones containing a small fire, his memories of the past few hours came back with a force. The children playing on the Quidditch field, sending them back to their rooms, a scream in the forest, Potter disobeying and following him to the unicorn’s corpse, the dark magic and a feeling of falling…Potter. “Potter? Potter, where are you?”

“Professor? Professor, you’re awake!”

The boy appeared from behind him, a few broken sticks under one arm. “What is going on here?”

“I—I’m piling up some wood for the fire. It was starting to get dark when I woke up…I built it up as best I could, but we’ll need more to make it through the night.”

“What do you mean, ‘getting dark when you woke up’? It was dark when we….” He frowned slightly. “It was already night when we arrived.”

“You’ve been asleep for at least a day, Professor,” Potter said awkwardly. “I only woke up four or five hours ago, so I’m not sure exactly how long it’s been since we got here.”

“Wonderful. What is our situation?”

“Situation?”

Even more wonderful, the child had no knowledge of survival tactics whatsoever. “What do you know about where we are? What supplies do we have?”

“Um…a forest? My broom made it, but yours is pretty banged up. I got it to lift off, but I don’t think it will stay up very long. I’ve got my wand…”

“As do I.” He’d confirmed that as soon as he’d awoken. “I also have several potion vials, unfortunately empty, and a few collecting tools. Do you have anything else?” He saw the corpse of the unicorn off to one side, but he didn’t think anything remained there that he could use in a potion. Even the long hairs in the mane that could be used for spells were gone.

“Part of a deck of wizard cards…I had to use a couple of them to get the fire going.”

At least the brat managed that…and there is a circle of stones and the fire pit seems cleared of brush so it shouldn’t set the area on fire. He glanced up, but a canopy covered the sky. He walked towards one of the clumps of brush.

“Professor?”

“I am attempting to determine more information about our current location beyond, ‘a forest,’ he returned snidely. “You might not be able to tell rosemary from thistle without your little friends to help you, but I certainly can.”

“You think you can tell where we are just by looking at the plants?”

“I believe that is what I just said, Mr. Potter. Tend your fire, I’ll be back momentarily.”

“I…you might not want to go very far in.”

“And just why is that?”

“There are…things…in there,” came the hesitant reply. “And some of them are big things, I think.”

“Wonderful. Stay close to the fire.” Wand in hand, he moved towards some of the smaller bushes. He would start with them, and fly up and examine some of the tree leaves later if necessary. There…those leaves were distinctive…herbology hadn’t been his favorite subject in school, but since he needed plants for his potions he’d learned it better than most average students. He plucked a stalk, bringing it up to eye level. Golden threads with red veins and a distinctive od— He dropped it, turning back to the boy. “Potter, how much have you been using your magic?”

“What? Um, I flew a little bit to make sure the brooms still worked, and then I started the fire…I don’t know any good communications spells so I didn’t try that.”

“Just as well. Put out your fire, we need to be moving. And not with that.” He nodded sharply at the boy’s wand.

“Why not?”

“Because if I am correct about our location, those ‘things’ as you so eloquently put it were likely drawn here by magic, and they aren’t the sort we wish to encourage.” He was strongly tempted to take the brat’s wand—following orders is hardly his strong point—but if they ran into a situation where he had to defend himself…So help me, if he brings those creatures down on us, I’ll hex him into oblivion myself.

“You know where we are?”

“An approximation, at least. We’re somewhere in the northern portion of Brazil.”

“Where!”

Bright Merlin, doesn’t he know anything? “It is a country in South America, Mr. Potter, I assume even a muggle geography class would have covered that much. Granted that assumes that you actually pay atten—”

“I know where Brazil is,” Potter interrupted indignantly. “But you mean we’re in the middle of the Amazon jungle?”

“So it would seem. Now put out the fire and grab your broom.”

“Why can’t I use magic?”

“There are things in the jungle that are drawn to magic…I imagine that the sheer power that dropped us here has most of them intimidated, but they won’t stay that way for long.”

“Unfriendly creatures?”

No, they’re all fluffy and cute, that’s why I want to be far away before they come. Honestly, of all the people to be stuck in…here…with. At least Longbottom would be too intimidated to be irritating. “Your ability to question the obvious astounds me, Mr. Potter. Put. Out. The. Fire.”

“Yes, Professor.”

The boy turned his back, kicking dirt over the ring of stones and smothering the flames. Severus retrieved their brooms, checking them over himself. They boy was right…there aside from a few broken twigs the boy’s broom looked in fair condition, but his own had lost nearly half its bristles and there was a suspicious looking crack making its way down the shaft. I wonder how close we are to the edge of the jungle…if we could get to some sort of settlement, we might be able to get transportation to somewhere on the floo network. He knew there was a fairly large wizarding population in Rio de Janeiro, but that was in the south…surely there would be someone in closer cities who could help them. “I don’t suppose you speak Spanish or Portuguese?” he asked absently.

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t expect that you would.”

“The fire is out.”

“I can see that. Under normal circumstances I would suggest determining where we are before selecting a direction, however right now I believe speed is of the essence. Come.”

They walked in blessed silence for several minutes, until Potter’s natural idiocy decided that it had remained dormant long enough for one night. “How did we get to Brazil?”

“I believe it must have been a Portgate,” Severus replied after a moment.

“Is that like a Portkey?”

“Similar, although as you may have noticed the effects of transportation are considerably less pleasant. As opposed to an enchantment on an object, it is an enchantment on a particular area of space. This one appears to have been timed rather than word-activated.”

“But why Brazil?”

“Well, I suppose they could have sent us on a nice vacation to the coast of Spain, but if we were there we’d have the benefits of civilization—food, water, communication—and besides which, there we wouldn’t have the added pleasures of several magic-sensitive beasts who’d be more than happy to make us their dinner.” And it wasn’t just the magical creatures they needed to watch out for.

“Leithfolds are from the tropics, right? And Peruvian Vipertooths…Viperteeth?”

“Leithfolds, certainly, but Peruvian Vipertooths—Viperteeth would imply that they have multiple sets of their most distinctive feature—are native to Peru.” Imagine that. “Besides which, I believe they are partial to mountains rather than jungles. There are also several varieties of large cats, the wyrsa…”

“What’s a wyrsa?”

“Amazing, an almost impossibly dangerous magical creature that Rubeus isn’t keeping as a pet.” The boy’s huffed but didn’t actually say anything in defense of the gameskeeper. Also amazing, the brat is developing common sense. And it’s hardly as if it isn’t true… He switched to his lecturing voice. “There are two varieties of wyrsa, the black wyrsa and the white wyrsa. It is believed that they were once a single species, bred by a rather deranged wizard at some point in the distant past as guards for his estate. Unfortunately, he apparently lost control of his experiment…in the version of the tale I read, they turned on their master, ate him, and then escaped into the jungle where they eventually split into the two breeds. The black wyrsa are the less dangerous version…as large as small ponies but much thinner. They’re built along the lines of tall, thin dogs I believe, although they have scales rather than fur. The main danger with the black is their pack mentality. Physically, they have large teeth and claws and a limited ability to mesmerize their victims, but if you even injure one, the rest will hunt you until you die or you’ve exterminated the entire pack.”

“So we shouldn’t injure any of them?”

I believe I just said that. “Not unless we have no other options. If we are attacked we will be at a serious disadvantage—both species are impervious to magical attacks. They feed on the energy as easily as on flesh, and they can sense when it is being performed.”

The boy frowned. “So that’s why you wanted to leave so quickly. What about the white wyrsa?”

“The white are considerably more dangerous. They are smaller…the size of large greyhounds, and similar in form, although they also have scales. Also pack hunters, but not as closely knit, their claws and teeth are loaded with paralytic poison. And I have heard that their ability to mesmerize is considerably more developed. The most popular theory is that the black are actually a devolved version of the white—in fact there has been no confirmed sighting of a white wyrsa in over two hundred years.”

“You think they might be extinct?” Potter asked.

“The jungle is large, Mr. Potter. I would prefer not to speculate. Especially about a species that dangerous.” The light filtering through the canopy above had dimmed to almost nothing as they’d spoken…what little the moon was giving off was being masked by the trees. Watch your step, neither of us can afford twisted ankles.”

“So what should we do if we are attacked?” Potter asked. “I’m guessing we can’t just outrun them.”

A legitimate question, Severus had to admit, he just wished he had a better answer than he did. “As I recall, you managed to mount your broom rather quickly last autumn during that fiasco of a tournament…I suppose we’ll see if you can manage the same without an approving audience to cheer you on.” As our only other option involves throwing rocks and sticks, I suppose he will have to.

Potter’s head had dropped slightly at the mention of the tournament, but at least he didn’t have any snide comments on the legitimacy of the plan. “Why don’t we just fly...oh, I forgot about your broom.”

And in less than half-an-hour, too. “I will worry about that, Mr. Potter.”

“You know how to repair brooms?”

“I certainly wouldn’t consider mucking about with it if I did not, however now is not the time and this is certainly not the place. Besides which, flying about in the dark is inviting an injury that we are in no position to deal with.” Tomorrow, if he could find some time, he would do what he could to bind the crack and replace the twigs. If the enchantment has failed I do not have the expertise to replace it, but if only the balance is affected I should be able to effect temporary repairs. “If you were also asleep for most of an entire day, I assume you will be able to continue walking through the night?”

“I’ll be fine, Professor. Are you okay? It didn’t look like you hit your head, but you were asleep for longer than me…”

Severus suspected that had been because his body had taken advantage of the unconsciousness brought on by the unorthodox method of transportation to make up for the rest he hadn’t been getting in previous nights, but there was no point in telling that to the brat matching pace beside him. “I assure you I am fine.”

“So…this Portgate that brought us here. How did they know that we were going to investigate?”

“I think we can safely assume that they did not know we would be investigating, otherwise the Portgate would have taken us straight to the Dark Lord. Although I seem to recall that you were not supposed to be there in the first place.”

“I’m sorry, okay. I just felt the magic and I wanted to know what was happening!”

Bloody Gryffindor stupidity. He shook his head. “Quite frankly, I doubt the spell was intended to entrap anyone. The death of a unicorn—the murder of a unicorn—is…obscene. What they did…what they took…the entire magical community would be up in arms. And people would know that the Dark Lord now had unicorn parts for his spells. I suspect it was simply an attempt to get rid of the evidence…that magic had been performed they couldn’t hope to hide, but once a Portgate has dissolved it cannot be traced by any means that I know of.”

“And who’d think to look for anything in the middle of the Amazon,” Potter said after a moment.

“Precisely.” The boy fell silent, for which Severus was grateful. The last few questions he had come up with had at least been reasonable, but he wasn’t interested in having a deep conversation with one of the banes of his existence somewhere in the jungle of a continent he’d never had the desire to visit. They would need to make plans when it began to get light tomorrow…food and water would be necessary, as well as some indication of where they were and where they should be going. If he could get his broom repaired, they could perhaps fly up through the canopy and reach some sort of hum—

“P-Professor?”

“What?”

“It just got…quiet.”

He opened his mouth to make a rude comment about noisy students interrupting his introspections, but realized suddenly that the brat was right. The twittering of insects and birds and…things, from the canopy above had ceased. And it was decidedly unlikely that he and his student, two scrawny, soft-shelled creatures a hundred feet below them, were the cause. “Be ready, Mr. Potter.” He could feel the boy press against his side, gripping his broom in his off hand.

“What do you think it is?”

He didn’t respond immediately, gripping his wand in one hand and his broom in the other. “Something predatory, I assume.” He couldn’t make out much of anything in the darkness…there could be a panther in the shadows at his feet and he wouldn’t know about it. “Lumos!” The yelp of surprise from the teenager made him wonder if he shouldn’t have given the boy some warning of his intentions first, but it was too late to worry about that now. The light from his wand gleamed intensely—even he’d had to close his eyes at first and he had known it was coming—but in the fifteen foot circle it illuminated he could see nothing unusual. He considered expanding the radius, but he didn’t want to give out more of a magical signature than he already had.

“I don’t see anything, sir.”

“Neither do I.” He banished the light, unwilling to draw further attention to them, and blinked away the spots it left in his vision. As disconcerting as being unable to see more than a few feet in front of them clearly was, it was worse having a well-illumined circle with a wall of black beyond it. “Keep wal—”

An unearthly shriek from above them had his wand up and a blasting spell half-invoked before he realized that whatever had made the noise was well up in the canopy and no immediate threat. Just as well he hadn’t completed it…Potter had brought a shielding spell up just as quickly and anything he’d aimed would have been blasted right back at them. Potter had apparently realized that as well. “Sorry, Professor,” he muttered.

Don’t be, it’s the most sensible reflex I’ve seen out of you in all your years at Hogwarts. Not that he planned on telling the brat that…his head was swelled enough as it was. “Perhaps some coordination, next time.”

“Y-yeah.”

He could feel the boy easing away from his side slightly as the noises resumed in the canopy above them—apparently whatever predator was up there was no longer a threat now that it had dinner. They continued walking. “I doubt that Umbridge has covered anything particularly useful in the past few weeks, so where, precisely, did you learn to cast a shielding spell at that speed?” Not that he’d been impressed, of course, but he couldn’t remember anyone boasting about that particular ability in the Golden Boy last year.

“Professor Lupin helped me when he was here, and he sends me books he thinks might be useful sometimes…other than that I just practiced, I guess.”

“I wasn’t aware that the ban on underage magic had been lifted.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been. I…”

He trailed off, and Severus glanced over at his form. He appeared to be studying the ground rather intensely, especially considering he couldn’t see anything down there. “I believe I asked you a question, Mr. Potter.”

“I practiced with a laser pointer. Over the summer. It was my cousins, but I found it when I was doing laundry and he never noticed it was missing, so when they were all gone I practiced drawing it and saying the spells. As soon as I finished the incantations I pushed the button so I could see where the laser was pointing…make sure I was aiming right and everything. After I got back I practiced some with Hermione and Ron to make sure I was saying everything right…mostly I was.”

“Indeed.” Apparently the brat wasn’t as inept in Defense as he was in Potions…just as well, considering his ‘destiny.’ “Precisely how many shielding spells do you know?”

“Counting that one? Five, I think. That was my best, though.”

“And what, precisely, is a ‘laser pointer’?” A muggle device, of some sort, no doubt…he wasn’t overly familiar with the muggle world and certainly hadn’t kept abreast of their technological developments in the last fifteen years.

“Well, the one I used was the kind that goes on a keychain so it was really little, but they’re little tubes that cast pinpoints of light. You can’t point them at people’s eyes unless you want to burn their eyeballs, though.”

A rather ineffective method of defending oneself if you had to be certain of hitting such an uncertain target as the center of your attacker’s eyes, Severus mused. Although to disable someone who wasn’t expecting it…. “And many muggles carry these?”

“Kids do, sometimes. They’re mostly banned at schools because they annoy the teachers—that’s about the only things they really do do besides point—but I guess they’re kind of cool to have. I think Dudley got his from my uncle, he uses them in presentations at work.”

Severus had a disturbing mental image of groups of muggles standing in auditoriums waving lighted sticks and burning each others’ eyes as they gestured at random items, but banished it firmly from his mind. Muggles were a strange lot in general. His father had—That thought was also cut off abruptly. “Keep walking, Mr. Potter. And if I ever catch you using this ‘laser pointer’ in my classroom…” he trailed off, leaving the threat unvoiced. No doubt the boy could think of several unpleasant possibilities.

The next several hours passed in relative silence—twice more sounds in the canopy above had ceased and they’d frozen, backs against a tree trunk, waiting for them to resume. “I think it’s getting lighter,” Potter commented, startling Severus slightly.

“So it appears.” He heard a rumble from beside him and realized that it was the boy’s stomach. A teenager. Wonderful. They only require twice their weight in food a day. “I believe our best bet will be to get up into the canopy today. There should be plenty of branches large enough to stand on.” Large enough to walk on, even, if his memories of what he’d read about the jungle were correct. The size of the tree trunks around them seemed to support that.

“But…that’s where all the sounds came from,” Potter objected.

“I am aware of that, but even so I think that is the best place to start looking for edible vegetation. Plants do need sunlight. And in order to even begin to determine our location, we need to be able to see the sky.”

Potter glanced around, obviously taking in the same thick brush and huge tree trunks that Severus had been staring at. “All right. Do we just…climb?”

“I wish to attempt to repair my broom first…while I would prefer to avoid using magic as long as possible, I want a second way down.” The light was growing stronger, and he took a seat on a log near one of the tree trunks. “While I do this, find a way to secure our brooms to our backs while we climb.”

Potter nodded, tugging at the plants surrounding them. “Do you have a knife? Or anything with a sharp edge?”

Severus frowned for a moment, and then offered him the collecting knife from the inner pouch of his cloak. “Do you believe that the fibers are strong enough to bind the wood to us?” He could see even from where he sat that they clearly weren’t think enough. Honestly, do I he have to do everything?

“No, Professor.” The boy sat down, tugging off his cloak and setting the blade against the bottom. “But this will be. It’s a little too long anyway.” He worked surprisingly efficiently, tearing off a couple strips and creating a bind around the tail of the broom that fed across and around his shoulders so it wouldn’t slip out while he was climbing. A quick test proved that he could also wear it while walking, although the head of the broom dragged slightly. “Can I…?” He motioned towards Severus.

“Can you what?”

“I have to measure it to make it fit right,” the boy explained awkwardly.

“Fine.” He turned, holding still while the boy twisted two more strips of cloth around his shoulders. “Where did you learn to make those?”

“Dudley always ripped his backpack straps up…tore the stitching, lost the clamps, that kind of thing. He’s pretty fat. I had to fix them if I wanted to use them, so….” Potter shrugged. “It’s not that much different, just this time I’m tying the straps around the broom instead of putting them back on the pack.”

“And why were you taking your cousin’s things instead of using what your loving relatives got for you?”

Potter shrugged. “The backpacks were in pretty good condition—he sure never carried books in them—all I had to do was fix the straps. No reason to get a new one.”

Severus opened his mouth to respond and abruptly shut it again. There wasn’t much he could say to that. At least he isn’t wasteful. He glanced back down at the broom in his hands. It would never truly be the same again, but he’d used a strip of his own cloak to keep the crack from spreading down the broom, and dried material in the forest floor filled out the tail. Enough to restore at least minimal balance, he hoped. Fitting it into the tangle of cloth the boy handed him, Severus settled the entire thing on his back and turned to glance up at the tree he’d been sitting against. “Shall we?”

Severus carefully leveraged himself from the side of the trunk onto the branch Potter was currently on. It was more than wide enough for them both to stand on, and judging by the weight of vines and plants covering it—not to mention the animals he currently couldn’t see but were no doubt present—their weight was hardly going to prove an issue. He moved down the branch, testing his footing as he went. That would be perfect, I make it up to this ridiculous height safely only to trip and go crashing to my death. The climb hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared, truly…he’d been uncertain whether they should just fly up and not even make the attempt, but with the magical signature they’d put out last night, he didn’t want to draw any more attention to them than was absolutely necessary. Potter hadn’t objected, and in fact had made the climb considerably more easily than he had. “You probably have to deal with more daunting obstacles than this on a regular basis in your illicit nighttime escapades,” he commented snidely, stopping again to survey the area.

“I have to sneak past you, don’t I?” came the immediate response, just as snappish as his words had been.

What! He spun quickly and found the boy staring up at him, eyes wide and one hand clapped over his mouth. He took a step towards to boy, deliberately looming over him. “Excuse me?”

“Um….” The boy took a step back, glancing around wildly for a moment. “I said ‘I have to…eat…fast food…sometimes’. I have to eat fast food sometimes. It’s not healthy, just like climbing giant trees. Right.”

“Indeed.” The boy blushed even harder at his raised eyebrow. “Well, I would suggest you keep your fast food—” What is ‘fast food’, anyway? I don’t believe muggles normally chase down their dinners. “—comments to yourself. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, Professor.”

Severus turned around before his smirk could twist into a true grin, albeit a small one. The ‘sneaking past you’ comment hadn’t been a bad comeback—for a Gryffindor—and while he wasn’t about to tolerate disrespect from the brat he suspected that his own response had been enough to encourage him to watch his mouth in the future. Fortunately Potter was one of the smallest of the fifth-years…the over six-foot potions master could easily use his height to intimidate. Unfortunately, the talk of food, fast or otherwise, made his stomach grumble, and it sounded as though Potter’s was doing the same. A glance at the surrounding fauna—it was certainly much more colorful up here than it had been on the floor—revealed two or three varieties he thought were probably not poisonous. Whether or not they tasted good was an entirely different story, but there were more pressing concerns than flavoring. He picked one of the larger leaves and bit into it. It was bitter—no surprise there—but the cool liquid in the veins made him realize just how long it had been since he’d had anything to drink. “Mr. Potter, I believe these will make an adequate breakfast.”

Potter came up beside him, plucking one of the leaves for himself and taking a large bite. And promptly spit it right back out. “Ugh, it tastes like rotten skel-e-grow!”

“I suppose you would know. However, you will need the nourishment, so I suggest you find a way to deal with it. I will attempt to determine what other plants are edible.” He was able to find two more that definitely were not poisonous, and half-a-dozen others he was fairly sure weren’t but wasn’t willing to risk his stomach contents, such as they were, attempting. Potter was still working on the first plant—apparently empty stomachs override taste buds. Severus pulled a few leaves from the other two and moved to join hiim. “These are considerably less sour.”

The boy took one of each with a nod of thanks, offering part of the pile he’d picked in return. “How can you tell which ones aren’t poisonous?”

Reasonable enough, I suppose. “All three of these are fairly common, even in semitropical regions. Those two are potions ingredients, and this one is often used as a reactive agent in some of the more difficult potions. Professor Sprout has a small supply for me in her greenhouse.”

“Oh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

“I doubt you’ve looked.” They finished what passed for their meal in silence, ending with the sweetest of the three leaves. Even if it did leave a funny aftertaste.

“So today we figure out where we are and which way we want to go? How long do you think it will take? They’ll be getting worried at Hogwarts.”

“I am aware of that, Mr. Potter. We won’t know until we can determine our current location. Depending on precisely where in the jungle we are, I suspect our best bet will be to head for the river. There are tribes that boat along it that might be willing to provide us with transportation to some kind of settlement with a wizarding population.” Granted I have no idea how we will explain our clothing or current predicament to said tribesmen, assuming they are even vaguely familiar with the English language, but we certainly aren’t going to be able to march out of the Amazon on our own.

“But first we have to find the river.”

“Obviously.” He glanced back at the tree trunk behind them. “I’m going to climb higher and see if I can’t see something beyond the canopy. You wait here.”

“I…are you sure?”

“The branches are bound to get smaller the higher I climb.”

“I’m lighter than you, and I climb faster.”

“And I believe I am the one in charge. You will remain here. If you wish to make yourself useful, gather some of the edible leaves to take with us when we start traveling.”

He turned and walked past the boy, giving him no more time to argue. In truth, he wasn’t particularly looking forward to climbing any higher himself…he had no particular fear of heights, but memories of climbing trees held no fondness for him and climbing a tree so high that a fall would almost certainly kill him didn’t improve the situation. Potter seemed to be obeying—for once—so he set his feet and began the ascent. When he’d gone as high as he dared, he found that while he couldn’t truly see over the rest of the trees, he could make out a general pattern in their growth. Mountains were rising up in the distance, and combined with the position of the sun….The Amazon River should be that way, I think…north. And in the distance it did look as though the trees were getting slightly larger. The closer you are to water, the bigger things get. North it will be. He began making his way back down the trunk carefully—it was much harder than going up, since he had to look down to place his feet. His right foot slipped on a patch of moss in the toehold he’d selected, and even as he shifted more weight to his arms to compensate he felt a surge of pain through the dark mark.

Not now…. The nerves in his fingers flared and he lost his grip with that hand. In his desperation to find a niche for his hanging foot until the current wave of pain passed, he accidentally dislodged his left foot as well, leaving all of his weight on one good arm, legs pinwheeling below. He made a grab for his broom with his free hand, but the surges of pain made it as difficult to grip his broom as it was to grip the bark of the tree and he couldn’t tug it free of the back straps. His good arm began to burn as well—from the fact that all of his weight was on it—and he wasn’t sure how long his fingers could maintain their grip. If he could just get a moment to concentrate he could apparate—another surge of pain and his entire body convulsed. You’d think being on the other side of the planet would at least lessen the pain! Apparently the Dark Lord was truly angry…usually he gave his followers a few moments to reach him before increasing the power of his summons. Either he was in a worse mood than usual, or he had some new ‘fun’ planned that he wanted his followers to engage in. Often the results were the same, regardless.

Severus heard the ‘crack’ about the same time he felt himself begin to fall…apparently the bark chunk hadn’t been able to withstand the jerks of his body. This time it was his good arm—the one that wasn’t currently spasming—that reached for his broom as he fell, jerking it free and managing to get into a reasonable facsimile of a riding position. Which he was promptly tossed out of as the broom took a sharp veer at the same time Voldemort made another call.

“Professor!”

He didn’t have much time to process the scream, as there was a large tree trunk approaching quickly and in his current position—hanging from his broom by one hand—he could hardly steer away from it. Then something was pulling on the back of his cloak, and he was slowing as he approached the tree. Almost…almost… “Oomph.”

A smaller figure pinned him against the trunk for a moment, and then he was falling again. For a moment, anyway. He was brought to a halt by his cloak. “Professor, are you okay?”

“Potter?” he glanced up, to find the boy above him, hanging more or less upside down on his broom. He was holding onto the shaft with both knees and one arm, his other hand tangled in Severus’ robe. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to keep you from getting your neck broken!” the infuriating boy shot back. He yelped at the same time as another spasm of pain shot from the dark mark through Severus’ body. “Why is he so mad?”

“You can feel—never mind, get us on the ground!” He felt them jerk a little lower, and then halt, and then drop again. He tried to frown up at the boy but doubted that it had much of an effect from this position. “I thought you said your broom was undamaged.”

“It is, but I don’t usually fly upside down with someone twice as big as me hanging from my arm…can you maybe grab onto me?”

“What? Why?”

“My fingers are going kind of numb, and I don’t want to drop you. If you were hanging on too, it would be harder to do that.”

Holding himself as calmly as possible, Severus reached up with both hands. One hand closed around Potter’s wrist, the other reaching up farther in an attempt to grab the broom shaft. He’d barely managed to grasp it when the broom dropped another ten feet sharply. “Perhaps not. All right, Mr. Potter, I’m holding on to you. Bring us to the ground, please.”

“Working on it.”

The trip down was slightly nerve-wracking…from the position Potter was in, the bring-me-down signals he normally gave to his broom would actually make it veer up, so he was forced to invert them as they flew, and although his white-knuckled grip on Severus’ arm never released, from the look on his face he was in a great deal of pain. At least the Dark Lord had apparently given up on his summons…what he would do the next time Severus did grace his presence didn’t bear thinking on—‘You sent me to Brazil with the brat destined to destroy you’ isn’t, perhaps the excuse I should make—but for now he’d take what reprieve he could. At six feet above the ground he released his hold, bending his knees to take the brunt of his landing.

“Ow!”

Severus hung in the air, brought up short by the grip on his cloak. “Let go, you dolt!”

“I c-can’t.”

A moment later his feet finally touched down, and Potter fell from his broom beside him. The broom fell on top of him. “What do you mean, you can’t let go?” Potter still had a grip on the center of his cloak, the cloth twisted around the boy’s fist. “Is it knotted?”

“No, my hand just won’t let go!”

With a frown, he unsnapped his cloak and turned to see what the boy was going on about. “Ah. You will be fine.” The muscles in his arm, forced to support far more weight than they normally would, had cramped. Rather severely, from the look of it. He was flexing his left hand rather warily as well, but he’d had his knees for support on his broom and it hadn’t cramped so badly. “Sit down.” He took a seat in front of the boy, rubbing carefully at the muscles of his forearm.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, your muscles are just a tense. They’ll release momentarily. Now, how did you know the Dark Lord was calling?”

Potter stared at the arm Severus was massaging for a moment, and then shrugged. “I feel it…in my scar. Sometimes I can see them.”

“See who? The Deatheaters?”

“The meetings…it’s like I’m there…like I’m him. In him, anyway…I can feel the things he does sometimes.”

“What things?”

“The Cruciatus, mostly. Imperious kind of itches, but it doesn’t really bother me, and Avada Kedavra doesn’t feel like much of anyth—” he hissed as Severus began to peel his fingers away from the cloak.

“Imperious itches?” Severus had to ask. The spell was annoying, certainly, although not a serious threat to him or any other strong-willed witch or wizard, but he’d never heard it described as ‘itchy’ before. And it was far easier to think about that than a fifteen year old regularly bearing the Cruciatus.

“Inside my head, yeah.” He flexed his fingers slowly as Severus released his arm. “That’s a lot better. Thanks.”

Damn the brat for making me feel guilty. And I’m not even the one who casts the damn curse! “I believe I owe you the same,” he acknowledged gruffly, trying not to think of the atrocities the boy quite possibly had seen him carry out in the past several months.

Potter shrugged. “If anything happens to you, I’ll probably be stuck here for forever. And I’ll starve.”

“At least you have your priorities straight,” Severus muttered. “Your other hand?”

“It’s all right, just a little scraped. Are you okay? Your head is kind of bleeding.” The boy reached out.

He pulled back immediately, reaching up to examine his forehead himself. There was a shallow scrape along his temple…probably from when his broom tossed him into the tree trunk. “Head wounds bleed abominably. This is just a scratch.” I’d feel better if I was certain that it hadn’t aggravated whatever happened to my head upon landing in this place, but there is no point in complaining. Even assuming there was a useful spell, I wouldn’t let Potter work magic on me if my skull were truly split in half. “Did you see where my broom went?”

“You’re going to try and use it again?”

“It wasn’t the broom’s fault, at least not in its entirety. The Dark Lord has remarkably inconvenient timing. Tell me, do you see every meeting, or only what you chose to see?”

“I don’t choose any of it!”

“My pardon, that was perhaps bad phrasing. Are you able to block the meetings from your mind?” If he could, do you think he’d willingly submit himself to the Cruciatus? I wonder if stupidity is catching…

Potter didn’t seem to see the idiocy in the question, however. “I wish. I mostly only see when he’s really mad, though, or when he’s thinking about me specifically. Unless I’m asleep…then if there’s a meeting I’m always there. I guess he wasn’t really mad right now…I’m not seeing anything.”

“Occasionally he decides that he requires all of our presences even when there is nothing he specifically wants done,” Severus found himself offering, in place of the fact that the Dark Lord wasn’t always angry when he called his followers. No point in telling the boy about the ‘games’ the creature enjoyed playing with the muggles—and occasionally wizards—his followers brought him if he didn’t already know. “It was likely one of those nights.”

Potter shrugged but didn’t look entirely convinced. “There’s your broom. I don’t think it’s fixable this time, though.”

Severus stood, moving to retrieve it. Cracked through…there’s no way this will ever remain airborne again. “Check your own.”

“More scratches, other than that it’s okay.”

“That’s something, I suppose.” He turned, surveying the area. “Well, before my airborne jaunt, I managed to figure out that the river is to our north, and probably not more than a day or two’s walk.”

“That’s great! Did you see any people?” He paled slightly at the look Severus shot him. “Okay, I guess that was kind of a stupid question.”

There was no point in dignifying that with a response…but unfortunately after the idiotic question he’d just asked he didn’t feel justified pursuing the issue. “Shall we go?”

Potter glanced up at the branch above their heads. “I, um…I collected a bunch of leaves and stuff, but they’re sort of still up there…”

Severus sighed. I can hardly fault the brat for that…and having food immediately on hand would be wise. “I suppose there is enough magic in the area, a bit more is hardly going to cause a stir. Go get your supplies.”

A bright grin flashed in his direction. “Yes, sir.” He jumped on his broom, and a moment later dove back down with a pile of leaves tied together with string from his cloak clutched under one arm. “This is everything. Um…which way is north?”

“This way.” Again their walk was spent mostly in silence…they munched leaves for lunch while walking and stopped when it started to get dark again.

“Are we going to walk through the night?”

From his tone, the idea didn’t appeal to the boy very much. “I would rather find a relatively safe place to spend the night and get some sleep,” Severus found himself admitting. “There are likely to be predators near the river, and we would be better off if we were both alert.”

“What about Leithfolds?”

“I don’t plan to sleep on the forest floor, in any case, but I would propose that we sleep in shifts, one keeping watch while the other rests.”

Potter nodded. “Up in the canopy?”

“Unless you can levitate.” He glanced up at the branches in the surrounding trees, finding one that had a fork and a branch just below it. “That looks suitable.”

The boy didn’t respond, already starting his ascent. Severus followed more slowly, aware that he no longer had any secondary means of support if he fell. They’d left his broom behind, hoping the magic bleeding slowly from it would draw any creatures in the area off their trail—not that we’ve done particularly well in terms of avoiding magic use anyway—but considering his last experience in tree-climbing, he almost wished they’d brought it along. When he reached the fork, he found Potter already leaning against one of the split trunks, rubbing his palms together, his broom resting in the crook. “Are you injured?”

“I’m okay, just kind of stiff.” He unlooped the tie holding the remaining leaves to his arm. “Do you want some?”

At this point I would prefer Albus’ lemon drops, Severus admitted, if only to himself… two of the types were genuinely bad-tasting, the third would have been acceptable except for the aftertaste that lasted for hours. I suppose I should be grateful that there is enough in my stomach to complain about, but…. He reached out and selected one of the watery bitter ones. “Are you planning to eat?”

“I’m not…it’s not usually a good idea if I’m going to sleep afterwards. Do you want to sleep now and I’ll watch, or do you want to stay up first?”

“Go ahead and rest,” he answered a moment later. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.” Settling himself more comfortably against the fork opposite the boy, he watched as Potter drew his knees up and his cloak around him, resting his head on his forearms. Darkness came swiftly, and before long his vision was again reduced to only a few clear feet in any direction. It was a little better now that they were up in the trees; more moonlight was filtering through, but not much more. After running through a mental checklist of every potions ingredient he had back in his storeroom at Hogwarts, he walked a short distance out on the branch just under the fork. There wasn’t much to see and he returned immediately at a quiet whimpering sound. “You, Mr. Potter, annoy me,” he considered absently, staring down at the twitching figure. He got no response, aside from a slightly more violent twitch he didn’t believe he could actually take credit for. “Mr. Potter,” he repeated a little louder.

“S-stop it, get ‘way from her. Get back!” Another violent jerk.

“Mr. Potter!” Severus knelt, shaking the boy. And promptly reeled backwards as a fist struck him in the eye. That brat! “Potter!”

“Huh? P-Professor Snape? What—? Where—?” His mind apparently caught up with him at that point, because he stopped trying to move backwards. “I…oops?”

Severus ceased probing at his now-swelling eyelid. “I would say so.”

“’M sorry, Professor, honest, I didn’t mean to…it was an accident. I was having a nightmare and—”

“Enough, Mr. Potter! I am aware you were having a nightmare, and while I might not have particularly enjoyed your method of dealing with a perceived threat, I can understand it.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“My answer may change if I find that my eye is going to swell completely shut, however at this moment I am no more than mildly annoyed. Was that an average run-of-the-mill nightmare, or one of your visions of the Dark Lord?”

“Just a normal nightmare…Ginny and the basilisk. I guess whatever Voldemort was doing earlier he’s finished with—believe me, if it had been him half the forest would know by now.”

Severus ignored the second part of his statement. “Do not use that name in my presence.”

“But Professor Dumbl…um, yes, sir.”

He allowed his expression to relax slightly, point having been made. “Ginny and the basilisk? I assume you are referring to that fiasco with the Chamber of Secrets in your second year?” He sat back down across from the boy.

“Yeah. She was just lying on the ground, almost dead…” he shivered. “If it hadn’t been for Fawkes, we’d both have died there.”

“According to your admirers, you slayed the thing with one hand behind your back, banished Riddle with your eyes closed, and carried her out in your arms without a hair out of place.”

“Professor, have you ever seen me without a hair out of place?”

What! He’d been expecting anger—either at his tone or the dismissal of the brat’s ‘brave deeds’—not…that. With an uneasy feeling his jaw had dropped, he found himself studying the boy more closely. “So what is your version of the story?”

He shrugged. “Ron and I figured out the Chamber—how to get there—from Moaning Myrtle. She died in that bathroom…. I guess we should have figured it out before then. Hermione tried to warn us, but then she got petrified, and we aren’t as good as puzzles at her. Lockhart was with us at the time—”

“Bloody idiot,” Severus muttered. Granted, he knew why Dumbledore wasn’t able to grant him the position of DADA teacher, but couldn’t he find someone even vaguely competent to teach it? So far his best selection had been a werewolf!

“Among other things,” Potter agreed. “You know, no offense, but I think that’s the only time since I’ve been at the school that absolutely everyone liked you.”

Liked me? The hated potions professor? Even my Slytherins aren’t always particularly fond of me. Frankly, the ‘overgrown bat’ image was something he cultivated—his passion was research, not teaching, although he did take some pride in being head of house. But, generally, the fewer the children seeking him out for help the better. “What are you talking about?”

“When you blasted him off that dueling platform.” Teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “That was brilliant. But anyway, when Ron and I found him, he was trying to run away. We sort of dragged him to the entrance and pushed him down it first.”

“Hm. At least you found the one area where he could be useful—a target.” He’d rather liked to have seen that, actually. He had enjoyed tossing the man off the platform…it would have been even more enjoyable to put him in the infirmary for a week or two, but he didn’t think the headmaster would believe him if he claimed to have underestimated his own strength.

“Well, Ron and I went after him, but when we got there he managed to steal Ron’s wand. He tried to obliviate us…he was going to make up a story about him being a great hero and discovering the chamber but being too late to save Ginny and Ron and I losing our minds when we found her….” He shook his head. “It sounded even stupider when he said it, believe it or not. And he used Ron’s broken wand—the one that made him spit slugs when he tried to hex Malfoy—and the spell backfired. Pretty neat, actually, except there was a cave-in when he hit the wall. I told Ron to try and clear out the blockage at least enough that we could crawl back out, and then I went on by myself.”

“Into a situation you knew basically nothing about except that you would be facing a creature that had already killed at least once and petrified several members of the student body.” And once again, I find myself amazed that this bloody idiot has survived as long as he has.

“Yeah, I guess we should have called for help when we found the entrance, but….” He shrugged. “It was probably just as well we didn’t…everything had to be activated by Parseltongue and since no one would have let me down there you’d never have gotten in. I ended up in this hall…there was water surrounding it, and these huge statues of snake heads. It was pretty creepy, and I don’t usually mind snakes.”

“I would hope not, considering that particular talent of yours.”

He didn’t appear to hear Severus’ words. “Ginny was just lying there. Tom Riddle was there, too. I’d found his diary in the Myrtle’s bathroom after Ginny threw it away—I guess you know he possessed her through it? I didn’t…I didn’t know what he was, then. I kept asking him to help me save her. He got my wand, and then he started talking.” This time the shiver was more pronounced. “When he said something about carrying out Salazar Slytherin’s greatest work I started to realize what a mess I was in, and then he said how he didn’t care about mudbloods anymore…he wrote out his name and it rearranged itself. ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle…I am Lord Voldemort.’

Severus allowed himself a frown at the boy’s use of the Dark Lord’s name but didn’t correct him. This time.

“We got into an argument about Dumbledore, and then Fawkes was there with the hat. I thought he’d gone nuts—so did Tom. That’s when he called up the basilisk. It was huge…we had figured out what was going to be there—we aren’t completely stupid—but…even after seeing the skin I didn’t figure on it being that big. I tried to run, but I fell, and then Fawkes was there again. He blinded it for me. After some running and some hiding I ended up back in the Chamber. I…I needed help, badly, and this sword appeared in the hat.”

“Gryffindor’s sword, I presume?” Dumbledore had been so pleased that his Golden Boy was the heir to his house.

“Yeah, but I didn’t find that out until later. It was a sharp object, which was all I really cared about at the time. The basilisk got me pinned down on top of this statue thing—another snake head, wouldn’t you know?—and then it was coming straight down at me. One of the earlier hits knocked the sword out of my hand, and I didn’t have time to think. I just grabbed it and stabbed up. The sword went right through the top of its skull.”

“And Riddle?”

“I…one of the basilisk fangs broke off in my arm. I pulled it out, but I was still carrying it when I went down to see Ginny. She was so pale…so pale and so cold…. And then Riddle was back. He said she’d be dead soon. He said I’d be dead soon. But the diary was right there, so I stabbed it with that stupid fang. I…it made sense at the time. He was just a memory, held in that stupid book, so kill the book, and…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I stabbed it over, and over, and over. And he broke apart, right there in front of me. That’s when Ginny woke up.”

“How did you survive being bitten by a basilisk?” The fangs carried some of the most venomous poison known to the wizarding world.

“Oh, that was Fawkes again. Phoenix tears. And then he carried the four of us out—me, and Ginny and Ron and Lockhart.”

“You couldn’t have left him there? Lockhart, I mean”

“He didn’t remember anything…it was actually kind of funny.” Potter shrugged. “That’s the whole story, I guess. I never get that far in the dream though…just to the point where Tom is standing there twirling my wand and telling me how Ginny is going to die, and she’s just lying there, and the stone is opening and that stupid basilisk is coming through…”

“You have this dream regularly?”

“Often enough.” He reached out to select one of the remaining leaves. “I guess it’s your turn to sleep, I won’t be able to anymore tonight.”

Severus frowned. “You’ve gotten less than four hours of sleep.”

“It’s okay, Professor, I’m used to it.”

“How often do you normally have these dreams?”

“Not all the time. It’s not too bad; I can usually take a nap during the day to make up whatever sleep I missed.”

“I don’t believe that answered my question.” He wasn’t even sure why he was asking at this point. I do not care what nightmares Gryffindor’s Golden Boy is suffering from…he should have them, considering the situations he puts himself in. If he’d just behave…. The words sounded hollower than they should have. “Fine, but don’t expect to be taking naps tomorrow to make up for your obstinacy. And do not fall asleep on watch. Wake me when it’s light.” Assuming I manage to sleep that long. The brat isn’t the only one who’s nights are plagued with things better forgotten.

He was apparently more tired than he thought, though, eyes drifting shut almost as soon as his forehead landed on his forearms. “—essor? Professor Snape, wake up.”

In Merlin’s name, what is a student doing in my chambers? Detention for a month, and so help me Albus, if this was your id— He lifted his head, taking note of his strange sleeping position, and memories returned quickly. “What is it, Mr. Potter?”

“It’s morning…”

“I can see that.” He stood, thirty-odd year old muscles protesting the position he’d left them in last night. “I suppose we should get moving…is there any food left?”

“A couple leaves. And I found these.” He held out a round fruit. “There were a bunch of them growing, but I haven’t tried any yet.”

A sign of common sense, at last. “I believe these are figs. They should be perfectly safe.” He took one and began eating, his movements mimicked by the boy who’d set the rest on the branch.

“Do we know for sure that it’s the Amazon River we’re going to get to today?”

“Not for certain, no…it’s possible that it is a tributary or another smaller river, but even so we stand the best chance of discovery by staying on the water. And as long as we follow it downstream, we can’t possibly go in circles. Show me where you found these figs.” If there are enough of them, we need not force more of those leaves down today.

The second day of walking commenced and as in previous days was mostly spent in silence. Frankly, Severus was astonished that the teenager could keep his mouth shut for that long. But a few hours after they had eaten lunch—both now sported a bundle of figs tied into their cloaks—and a few hours before darkness would set in, they fought their way through one last tangle of brush to stand on the banks of a wide river. “Are you sure that’s a river and not the ocean?” Potter asked quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course it’s a river; you can make out the trees on the other side.”

“I didn’t know it was that wide.”

“If I remember correctly, there is an island approximately the size of Switzerland somewhere in this river, so perhaps three miles is not so wide in comparison.”

The boy looked up at him. “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I am joking? Now, I’m not certain where you picked up your habits of personal hygiene, but I am not accustomed to going multiple days without bathing.” His hair might have picked up a permanently greasy look and his skin pale and pocketed, but both conditions were due to the dungeon conditions and the fumes from his potions, not uncleanliness on his part. As the students—and a few of the other professors—seemed to assume. As if I could afford to have oils on my hands while working with volatile substances—or getting hair in a potion. Idiots. “As we have this rather large body of water in front of us, I would like to take advantage of it before we continue on.”

Potter looked at the water dubiously as he shrugged off his broom and cloak. “Aren’t there those biting kinds of fish here, though? Piranhas? Dudley used to make up these awful stories…”

“The area looks deserted enough,” Severus returned after a moment, tossing a stone into the water to see if anything responded with interest. “I would think we will be safe enough. If you see any small fish with large teeth approaching, get back on the bank.”

“Right.”

Replacing his shirt, Severus made sure his cloak was spread out to dry and turned back to the river. “Are you quite done playing?”

“Huh?”

Eloquent as always. “I suspect it is too late to make any more progress today, but we need to find somewhere up in the trees to sleep before it gets too dark.”

“Oh, yeah.” Potter emerged a minute later, with an armful of soggy clothes, and Severus turned his back while the boy redressed. “Can we try fishing?”

The idea of fish, even burned over a fire, sounding disturbingly good after nothing but leaves and fruit for over two days. “I suppose. There is certainly no shortage of sticks, and if you unravel some of that ridiculous sweater…”

“Mrs. Weasley made that for me!”

“I would never have guessed.” The woman was pleasant enough to him at the order meetings—one of the few who was—but why she insisted on inflicting those hideous garments on not only her own children but also her children’s friends was utterly beyond him. As was the reason they wore them. Potter had shed it in favor of the lighter shirt—oversized and ragged as it was—underneath when they’d needed something to carry the fruit in, and he rather wished he had a second shirt as well. They’d retied their cloaks to hang loosely enough not to catch the heat, but the humidity was steadily rising. I wonder if this is a daily occurrence and I just did not notice yesterday or if there is going to be a change in the weather. “I will attempt to come up with some form of a hook.” Potter was already picking at the edge of the sweater, and by the time he’d managed to carve a vaguely barbed shape out of a forked twig there was a short stick with a respectable amount of string hanging off it to tie the thing to.

“Here’s bait.” Potter stuck some form of crawling creature he must have dug up onto the hook.

Severus had no issues with relinquishing the rod. “I presume you’ve done this often?”

“Well…no. But Uncle Vernon and Dudley go a lot in the summer, and if they can bring back fish it can’t be too difficult.” He scrambled up onto a rock overhanging the river and tossed the line out into the water and sat down on the bank to watch.

This wasn’t the first time he had heard the brat make an unflattering comment about his relatives, and Severus sneered. “I don’t suppose your uncle ever bothered to tell you that you should be respectful of your elders? Or is it just that you pay as much attention to him as you do in classes? I’d think you’d be glad to be with them rather than in some orphanage… perhaps the orphanage sent you back?”

Potter shrugged, face blank. “Something like that. Hey, I’ve got a bite!” He jerked the rod up out of the water before Severus could say anything. “It got away!”

“Of course it got away; you jerked the hook right out of its mouth.” Idiot. “You have to let it settle first.”

“Do what? It bit the hook, didn’t it? The bait is gone.”

“Honestly.” He climbed up on the rock beside the brat. “Give me that. Have you ever been fishing?”

“No. Hang on a second.” A moment later he was back with another squirming insect to put on the hook. “So how do you do this?”

With a sigh, he tossed the line back in. It’s only been thirty years…. It sank quickly, and he gave the pole a jerk every once in awhile to make sure the fish would see the bait. Sure enough, after a few tugs, he felt the stick dip in his hands. “A couple light pulls first…set the barbs in its mouth. Especially since this isn’t a real fishhook. Then, when you know you’ve got it…” He pulled up sharply on the line, and a silver fish rose out of the water. It wasn’t very big, but then they weren’t very far from shore.”

“Brilliant!”

Severus rolled his eyes, stunning the thing against a rock before removing the hook. “I suppose I’ll be the one preparing them.”

“I can cook.”

“I’ve seen you in front of a cauldron. Only Longbottom is more incompetent.”

“Hey, I’m a good cook! And I bet I’d be better at potions if there wasn’t someone hanging over my shoulder yelling at me all the time and another someone tossing random stuff in my cauldron every time my back is turned.”

“Unlikely.” Eating something Potter had cooked would be more dangerous than letting the brat work spells on him. It was rather difficult to determine an antidote for poison if you were unable to move from your bed or having wild hallucinations. “If you manage to catch another two or three fish of that size that will be sufficient.”

“All right.” He disappeared off the edge of the other side of the rock again—presumably in search of more bait—and Severus took the fish and slid back down to where there cloaks lay. There were plenty of flat rocks…he took a moment to clear space for a fire and get a small blaze started. Firestarting is a small, localized spell...and what other options are there? Rubbing sticks together? Muggle rubbish. Gutting the fish took only a moment…there was less meat than he’d hoped, but if Potter could even catch one more it would give them something to supplement the fruit with. The sun was sinking rather fast…he surveyed the area and found a few likely trees. Probably better to get away from the water’s edge. Animals would be coming down to drink, and he didn’t have any desire to meet any of them.

“I got three, Professor.”

“Give them to me, and go see if one of those trees isn’t a suitable place to spend the night.”

Potter handed over the fish, putting down the pole and slipping on the straps holding his broom. “Back in a minute.”

“I have no doubt.” When the boy returned, he passed over half of the strips of meat and a couple of the figs. “Was one appropriate?”

“That one’s got a fork, like the one last night,” he replied, waving absently. “There’s a lot more stuff here. I just saw a really weird looking monkey.”

“We are close to the river,” Severus replied with a shrug. “It is to be expected.” The refuse from the fish he tossed into the water before reaching for his cloak. Unlike his clothing, it was still damp from being washed, but by the next morning it would be fine. Standing, he kicked dirt over the fire, suppressing the flames. “We should climb up before it gets too dark to see.”

“Um…is it okay if I stay up first tonight?”

“As you please, but don’t wake me up in an hour because you suddenly decide you’re sleepy. Or keep me up with your nonsense rambling.”

“I won’t.”

I’ll believe that when I see it. But apparently the boy managed to amuse himself quietly, somehow, because the next thing he knew an insistent voice was saying his name, bringing him back to reality. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I am awake. Will you stop that infernal nattering? How long have I been asleep?”

“About four hours.” He gestured at the muggle device on his arm. “Enough?”

“That is fine. Go to sleep.” He gave the boy a bit more sleep than he probably should have…after all, he got very little sleep last night, and I don’t need him collapsing on me halfway through the day. The sun had been up for nearly an hour before he finally shook the child’s shoulder. “Up, Mr. Potter.”

“Hm? Professor?”

“Unfortunately. Come, we need to get moving.” Potter followed him down out of the tree and over to the river.

“Do we have time to get fish for breakfast?”

Tempting, but…. “Not now. Assuming we don’t meet up with anyone today, we’ll stop early again tonight. G—what is it?” The boy was staring past him, pale and wide-eyed. When he began hissing instead of responding, Severus turned to see what was frightening him. Sweet Merlin…. A large snake—a very large snake—was lying on the ground perhaps five feet behind him. He couldn’t tell how long it was, but it was nearly half a meter in diameter. The snake was hissing in response. “Kindly ask your new friend to move back a bit.”

“I don’t think she’d go for that. In fact…I think we should maybe run. She just called us ‘talking meat’.”

“Can you get on your broom?” The snake began to slide forward and he backed up, pushing his student behind him. “When I say so, fly.”

“I can’t just leave you!”

“My legs are considerably longer than yours, now do as I say.” The snake was large, and large usually meant heavy…if he could get up onto the rock behind him before it could strike, he might be able to keep it from coming up after him. His wand was already in his hand… “Now!”

Potter was airborne faster than Severus would have believed possible…the brat is good on a broom…but he didn’t have more time to spare for idle thoughts. The snake struck as he launched himself up onto the rock, but its weight made it slower than he would have thought and missed. The largest snakes are nonpoisonous, he considered. It has to get itself wrapped around me before I can become dinner. Now how do I stop that from happening…? It hissed and struck upward again, and he revised his previous statement. The largest known snakes are nonpoisonous. And since I don’t claim more than passing familiarity with nonmagical beasts—less with those from a continent I’ve never visited—I can’t be certain this is a known variety of snake. Best not to get bitten. He glanced up to see Potter circling a dozen feet above his head. Unfortunately, the rock he was on didn’t have any branches conveniently overhead…nowhere the brat could land temporarily and toss the broom down to him. The snake’s head appeared over the top of the rock. “Merlin, I do not need this now. Reparo evenasco!” It jerked backwards at the bolt from his wand, burning away into smoke. And then stopped, halfway dissolved. A cry from above snapped his attention to his student…just as he and his broom plummeted down to the rock Severus was standing on. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t go very high. But what…

“Professor?”

Potter’s eyes were wide, staring at something behind him. He turned slowly, to see a pack of enlarged black-scaled greyhounds, staring at them. “Wyrsa. Of course. Are you injured?”

“I…”

“It wasn’t a difficult question, Mr. Potter.”

“I think I’m okay. Not like I’ve never fallen off a broom before.”

“There is that.” The creatures seemed inclined to stay where they were rather than attacking…probably hoping we’ll throw some more nice, tasty magic at them. “How long do you think it would take to reach a climbable tree?”

Potter glanced behind them. “Too long?”

“My feeling as well. However, if we simply back slowly away….” He suited actions to words, pushing his student behind him. They didn’t react at first, until the two of them were off the rock and past what remained of the snake carcass. Then three began to stalk forward, circling around the rock. “Keep moving toward the trees, don’t let them pin us with the river at our backs.”

“What happens when we get into the trees?”

Perhaps the brat had hit his head? “We climb, idiot, what do you think we do?”

One of the creatures suddenly sprang forward. “Ricto sempre!”

It didn’t faze the animal in the slightest…it twisted to land on its feet a dozen feet away with a look on its face Severus had to classify as satisfied. “Potter! They eat magic! Kindly refrain from making us look more appetizing to the beasts than we already do!”

“Sorry, Professor, I just…reacted.”

“Without thinking, as usual.” Several more animals came forward…there seemed to be seven in the pack, including the one who’d leapt at them. “How close are we to the trees?”

“Closer than we were?”

“Potter…”

“If we turn and run we might make it…if we climb real fast…”

“On my count, then. Leave your broom, it’s of no use to use any more.”

“But...”

“Mr. Potter! Do you or do you not wish to survive the next five minutes? If not, I assure you I am more than willing to take care of the problem myself.”

“But it…”

“Put. It. Down. Now.”

“I…” The broom fell to the ground.

Finally. “One. Two. Run!” They reached the tree trunk at almost the same time, Potter scrambling up faster than he, but not by much. Something tugged on his cloak but couldn’t take his eyes off his path to investigate.

“Can they climb?”

He glanced up the see that Potter had reached the fork. “If they could, I suspect we would know by now.” He climbed into the fork also and glanced down at the figures circling below. “Climbing does not seem to be a skill they possess,” he confirmed.

“Yeah, but how long are they going to stay there? Why did I have to leave my broom anyway? It’s not any trouble to climb with.”

“It’s worth nothing now. They have drained the magic from it. Better to leave it behind and allow them to waste time destroying it.”

“I don’t want them to destroy it! It’s mine!”

“Get a new broom,” Severus snapped in response, fed up with the brat’s whining. “We have more important things to worry about than a piece of wood.”

“It was a gift.”

“From one of your mass of admirers I’m sure.” He ignored the boy’s yelp of horror at the snap of wood below. “I believe if we’re careful we can move along the branches in the canopy and hopefully leave them behind.” There was no response. “Potter!”

“It was from Sirius.”

Under no circumstances am I going to allow him to go on about that mangy mutt. “I do not care about anything that flea-bitten cur has done. Whatever that thing once was, it is now a worthless stick of wood. Get moving.” Potter muttered something, but he didn’t waste time trying to decipher it. As long as he was moving forward, that was all that mattered. Unfortunately, a glance below proved that the wyrsa were not content with what remained of the broom…they were mirroring their path at ground level. And outrunning them was not going to be an option. The creatures had four long legs and a level surface to work with; he and the teenager had a relatively narrow beam and somewhat precarious footing. To make matters worse, the things didn’t seem in any hurry to tire…after three hours he and Potter’s dedicated followers were still below. At least Potter was remaining silent rather than filling the air with his inane conversations. It was a nice change. Two more hours, and they still had their shadows below…and the brat was still silent. It’s unnatural, he decided after a moment. Most of the time the only reason he shuts up is when Granger forces the issue, or the Weasley brat is running his mouth. “Must you continue with your childish play-acting? The loss of a broom is hardly the end of the world.”

“It was a present!” the boy snarled, whipping around. Apparently Ouidditch reflexes were good for something because even on slick bark and moss he didn’t waver. “’Cept for Hedwig the first real present I ever got. And just cause you don’t like Sirius isn’t any reason every one else has to hate him—you hate everyone!”

“My feelings are none of your concern,” Severus responded, anger rising at the brat’s tone. “Although I assure you that they have considerably more reasoning behind them than your childish rivalries.” As if the brat understands anything more complicated than ‘he called me names’. “I refuse to deal with your…moping. Grow up.”

“I hate you.”

“Note my devastation.” Judging by the quick glance the brat shot him, the comment hadn’t been intended for his hearing. How, precisely, do the little idiots believe I keep track of what my Slytherins are up to? Divination? Honestly, the things he was forced to put up with. Although…if it wasn’t for the presence of the brat, this trip might be something of a relaxing experience. The Dark Lord cannot reach me here—granted the summons are unpleasant, but given time I could find a way to negate the pain— no one is calling for potions, the Order can’t harass me…perhaps I should set up a vacation house. Strongly warded against dark lords, headmasters, and obnoxious students.

“They’re looking at us,” Potter reported, interrupting his thoughts.

“Brilliant observation. What, precisely, do you suggest that we do about it?”

Potter went silent for a moment. “Throw rocks at them?”

“Idiot child. Leaving aside the fact that we are meters away from any rocks; did you not understand what I told you before? If we injure one, the others will hunt us until either you and I, or all of them, are dead. And since our weaponry is at the level of spears and slings at the moment—neither of which we actually have, mind you—I submit that they are at something of an advantage.” He had the satisfaction of watching the brat’s mouth snap shut, and they once more fell into silence. This is ridiculous. He’s obviously planning some idiotic stunt…probably planning to go back for the thing as soon as he thinks I’m asleep. Obviously he had to distract the child, keep him from planning something stupider than normal—witness him and Weasley’s antics with a flying car in muggle London. At least when Granger is involved she managers to provide some element of sanity to the bunch. Of course, it would be more relaxing for me if he remained silent…. Never mind that the silence had been wearing on his nerves a few moments ago. “I was under the impression that your parents had left behind more than enough funds to see to your continued well-being. What, precisely, prevents you from purchasing a new broom when we return to civilization? ”

“Well…nothing, I guess. But it was a present.”

“And I’m sure the mutt would prefer you preserved his present over your hide.” Then again, knowing that idiot he probably would.

Potter seemed to take the matter under consideration, however, and reluctantly shook his head. “I guess not. So what do we do if these things don’t go away on their own?”

“Nothing, for now. We’ve established that we can find plenty of food up here in the canopy, and so far it looks as though we can keep moving from branch to branch as we follow the river.”

“So we keep walking and hope they go away?”

“Basically.” Unfortunately.

At the next junction between branches, Potter stopped and turned to look up at him. “Not much of a plan.”

“As you have yet to concoct a viable plan of your own, I hardly believe that you are in a position to criticize mine.”

“I had a plan!”

“I believe I pointed out the flaws in pitching rocks previously. Perhaps you remember—the first point was that we have no rocks. Unless you’re planning to climb down and get us some?”

“Well, you could distract them…”

“Mr. Potter, if you even attempt such an idiotic stunt I will have you scrubbing out Longbottom’s cauldrons with a toothbrush until you’re of age!” Apparently that came out a bit more vehemently than he intended, because the boy jumped back against the second branch. Severus decided that he might as well reinforce the response and glared as hard as he could. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir. We stay up here and do nothing.”

“For the time being,” he agreed. “Now if you would kindly continue?” Potter turned and began walking again. “I’m curious,” Severus heard himself asking, “you said Hedwig—your owl, correct?—was your first gift?”

“Yeah, and yeah she’s my owl. Hagrid got her for me right before I started at Hogwarts.”

“I assume you just count the things your relatives have given you as unworthy of you,” he sneered in response.

“Dudley’s old junk doesn’t make for really good gifts…they’d probably rather have thrown most of it in the rubbish anyway, but then they’d have had to get me real clothes.”

That was…rather disturbing actually. Likely the boy was exaggerating of course—‘woe is me’ is practically the brat’s rallying cry—but still, those clothes he’d been wearing back in the library certainly didn’t look like anything one would chose for himself. For that matter, neither did the shirt he wore now. “I presume your cousin is rather larger than you are?”

“He’s not that much taller than me, I guess—maybe Ron’s height—but he’s just as wide as he is tall.” The boy snickered at something. “There was this one time he and a couple of his friends were harassing me…Piers is kind an idiot too, but Aaron was dangerous. He moved away a couple years ago, but before that he was bigger than me and just as fast. Anyway, he surprised me and I didn’t have as much of a head start as usual so I ducked into this alley to try and get away. He—Aaron—saw me and yelled for Dudley and Piers…there was a missing board in the fence at the other end. I ended up crawling through it to get away from them. Dudley tried to follow me and got stuck. It was really funny, watching him try and pull through and the boards just wouldn’t give, and his shoulders were through so he couldn’t pull back very well either.”

“How long was he stuck there?”

Potter shrugged. “Don’t know…Aaron jumped the fence so I couldn’t really stick around and watch. He made it home in time for dinner so probably not that long.”

“You didn’t find it rather cruel to leave him stuck there?”

“Not considering how many times they dumped me in rubbish bins. At least he didn’t get back to the house smelling like old cabbage.”

The brat did have a point there. “I assume you were the one who enchanted Mr. Malfoy’s robes to emit that particular odor during his History of Magic exam the week before last?”

“He charmed all of my quills to write in invisible ink,” Potter responded with a shrug. “And he kept re-enchanting them as fast as I could get one back to normal…had to find some way to distract him.”

“Indeed. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“Hey, you can’t do that! We aren’t even at school—and he started it!”

“I believe we’ve discussed the fact that you have no say over what I can and cannot do previously. I also believe the penalty is perfectly acceptable, unless you’d prefer to make it fifteen points.” After all, it had taken him almost an hour to figure out how to get the stench out of Malfoy’s robes, and the smell had lingered in his office for two days. Potter grumbled something but didn’t press the issue. Perhaps common sense is slowly seeping into that brain of his.

“What if we throw something else at them?” Potter offered.

“Excuse me?”

“Old figs or something. They won’t really hurt them, and I’d go away if someone kept hitting me with rotten fruit.”

“Indeed? I’ll remember that should I ever have the urge to remove you from my immediate vicinity.” Not that he generally needed help to do that…Potter—most of the students, to be truthful—avoided him whenever possible. Thank Merlin; if they didn’t, I’d never get any research done. “I suppose there’s some merit in the idea. I suspect you are more familiar with the technique than I am.”

“Mostly I catch things, not throw them,” the boy admitted. “But…” He crouched, reaching down underneath the branch they were standing on to pull a likely looking fruit off a smaller branch. “Here goes.”

It splattered rather satisfactorily, Severus had to admit, on the back of one of the larger wyrsa. And while their faces weren’t precisely designed to show emotion, he could almost swear the thing looked annoyed.

“Take that!”

“It’s not a sporting match, Mr. Potter.”

“Come on, Professor. Take a shot.”

Severus sighed and knelt, selecting an appropriately squishy fruit of his own from the branch below. Mentally replacing the image of one of the black-scaled creatures below with that of a certain Grim, he let the thing fly. His shot caught one on the head.

“Nice!”

“Indeed.” He glanced up at the sky. “It seems to be getting rather dark out.”

“It shouldn’t.” Potter looked down at his watch. “It’s only mid-afternoon. Hey, we missed lunch.”

“Far be it from me to have interrupted your sulk.” He ignored the glare the boy shot him. “We’ll stop at the next tree we see with a fork and have something to eat.” Lunch was leaves and figs again…his stomach rumbled in protest, remembering the fish from the night before, but at least it was full. A rumble from above drowned out the sound of his stomach, and he glanced up just as the sky opened.

“I guess this is why they call it a rainforest,” Potter observed, pressing himself against the side of the trunk to try and avoid the water.

“Brilliant observation.” It would be suicide for them to continue to walk along the branches with the rain coming down…one of them was bound to slip. “I suppose we’ll be staying here for the night.” Severus settled himself into the fork, pulling his cloak up to form something of a shelter from the rain.

Potter did the same opposite him, but water continued to drip through. “My waterproofing spells aren’t working!”

“Precisely what part of ‘wyrsa eat magic’ is unclear to you? Of course the waterproofing spell isn’t working—nothing you have that was spelled will be functional.” His own cloak had been treated with potions to prevent liquids from seeping through—some of the more delicate preparations he worked on couldn’t have ambient magic near them while they were being mixed. Not without unpleasant consequences, anyway. But he could hardly allow the brat to develop pneumonia… “You’d best come over here, I suppose. There’s more than enough room under here for us both to huddle.”

The boy didn’t seem any more thrilled with the idea than he was, but he clearly wasn’t enjoying getting dripped on either and after a moment of silent deliberation traded sides and pulled a section of Severus’ cloak over his head. “How long do you think the storm is going to last?”

“I have no idea. Best make yourself comfortable.”

A shriek almost directly in Severus’ ear brought him abruptly back to awareness. And nearly sent him tumbling out of the tree. “Mr. Potter!” The child didn’t even appear to notice him, curling even tighter into himself and letting out a second earsplitting howl. “Potter!” Apparently both had fallen asleep while the rain was pouring down…and now the brat was trapped in a night terror. Fortunately the rain must have discouraged anything prowling for dinner. “Potter!” He reached out to shake the child. “Wake up!” He remembered what the boy had said previously about the Dark Lord and shook his head. Apparently the brat hadn’t been kidding when he said half the forest would know if he was having one of those dreams…this clearly is no normal nightmare. Another scream, and he gave up on the light shaking he’d been attempting and slapped the child sharply. “Potter, wake up!”

The boy started, eyes jerking open. “S-sorry. Sorry. I d-didn’t mean to wake— Professor?” A shaking hand made a vague swipe at his eyes, only to be thwarted by his glasses. “I…thanks.”

“The Dark Lord was involved in this particular nightmare, I assume?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess they did something he didn’t like—a couple of the Deatheaters. He was really mad. I think one of them is dead.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize her. It’s kind of hard when you all wear masks.”

“I suppose. Short, tall, fat, thin, or hair color, perhaps?”

“Well…kind of medium height but a little heavy. And maybe blonde?”

“Hm.” Melissa Ashcroft, most likely. She’s been a less-than-enthusiastic participant in most of his games since she took the mark. Stupid child, no idea what she was getting into until it was far too late to take it back. “Can you sense him anymore?”

“I can still tell he’s angry, but I’m not…there, anymore. Thanks for waking me up.”

Severus waved away the apology. “I could hardly sleep through it.” The comment ‘you all wear masks’ stood out in his mind. “When, exactly, did you realize that I attended these gatherings?” He’d been curious about that back at Grimmauld Place—Potter had seemed a little surprised to see him there but not as shocked as he should have been.

“I saw the mark last year,” Potter replied after a moment. “When I finally figured out what having it on your arm meant—well, Ron told me actually— I told Dumbledore and he explained what you used to do. And then I saw you there at the meetings after V—after he came back—and sort of figured you were doing the same thing again.”

“Indeed.” While he wasn’t particularly thrilled at the idea of the headmaster revealing his secrets, at least Potter had asked instead of coming after him personally or attempting some ridiculous stunt to ‘reveal’ his secret. And the rest of the Trio knows as well. Wonderful. He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “That nightmare seemed to be rather violent. Are you all right?”

“I don’t think I really want to try standing up right now,” Potter replied, holding out a hand still wracked with faint tremors. “And I don’t want to go back to sleep. I’ll be okay, though. At least there weren’t any kids there tonight.”

The last was muttered quietly, and Severus suspected that he hadn’t intended the comment to be overheard. Just as well, really—he had no idea what he could say in response. Those images still gave him nightmares on occasion. “We’ll rest here a bit longer, then. Are they normally so bad?”

“It depends. A couple times, right at first, I threw up before I woke up. That was really gross. But I haven’t done that in at least a month. I guess it’s better than it was, except that I can’t stop myself from screaming. When I got back to Hogwarts, Hermione helped me put a charm on my bed to keep from waking up everyone else in the tower…wish I’d had that back at the Dursleys’, and last week Ron got the idea of a spell that dumps water on me every time I start to yell so I don’t stay stuck in the dreams as long. We just set that part up a couple nights ago, but I bet it will work.”

“Do all of your roommates know of your…problem?”

“Ron and Hermione are the only ones who know everything. I mean, the others know I have nightmares, but not who’s featured in them. I think they think I’m still having them about Cedric.”

“Indeed.” Surprisingly wise of him to keep that knowledge to himself, considering the ruckus that had occurred when it had been discovered that the boy was a Parselmouth. Revealing that he occasionally ended up in the Dark Lord’s head when he dreamed would do far more harm than good. Although his reaction to being awakened…. “I take it your relatives did not appreciate being woken in the dead of night?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, and Severus decided not to force the issue. “How long before the tremors will stop?”

“Just give me a couple minutes. I guess it’s time to start walking again?”

“Indeed. Am I correct in assuming you would prefer to skip breakfast this morning?”

Potter paled a bit more at the mention of food. “I don’t want to try putting anything new in my stomach just yet. Just because I’m not throwing up after any nightmare anymore doesn’t mean that I want to risk it. How long do you think we’ll have to walk before we find anyone?”

“Without knowing where precisely we are, it is impossible to say.” Hours, days, possibly weeks. He was fairly certain that within a month they should be able to find some sign of human habitation, but he had no desire to be out here that long. And who knew what was happening at Hogwarts. Some of the Order members—not to mention the rest of the wizarding world, assuming Dumbledore had been unable to prevent them from finding out their savior had disappeared—were probably convinced that he’d kidnapped the brat himself and was holding him for the Dark Lord. Whenever we make our reappearance back in London, I believe I will make sure he is walking in front of me. Albus he could count on to support him, along with Minerva, Rubeus, and possibly Alastor with whom he shared a great deal of mutual respect if nothing else. The man took the idea of interrogation to ridiculous heights, but once he'd decided on something he didn't generally waver.  Likely the Weasleys would support him as well. The adults anyway; the youngest two are probably plotting my demise as we speak. The rest of the Order… Black and Lupin were no doubt calling for his blood, and several of the other members hadn’t been shy about questioning his loyalty before. Not all of them, but…well, even he had to admit that circumstances were suspicious. The first-years can confirm that I kept Harry behind after sending them back to their rooms, and his roommates would have noticed that he never returned to the tower that night. Brilliant. And there was Voldemort to deal with as well…how he was going to justify having Potter at his direct mercy—in the middle of nowhere, no less—and not killing him he had no idea. At least at Hogwarts he had the excuse of the wards on the school and the presence of the other professors.

“I think I’m ready to go now,” Potter interrupted his musing. “I don’t suppose they’ve gone?”

Between the downpour last night and the rather rude awakening this morning, the wyrsa had slipped from Severus’ memory. He moved to peer down, and found a black-scaled head looking back up at him. “Unfortunately not.”

“Figures.” Potter began moving along the branches, more slowly than the day before but he seemed steady enough. “Professor?”

Severus had been musing about what the Dark Lord could have requested from Ashcroft and whoever was with her. He frequently punished his followers for being unable to achieve what he wanted, but…their numbers were still limited. To kill one outright, something extreme must have happened. The boy’s voice startled him, and it took a moment to reassure himself of his footing. At which point he leveled a glare at the brat’s back. “What is it, Mr. Potter?”

The boy looked back in surprise, probably at his tone. “I…why don’t we ever get any decent DADA teachers at Hogwarts? I mean…Quirrel was possessed by Voldemort and he still was mostly incompetent, Lockhart was an insult to incompetents, last year was Crouch, Jr. in disguise. This year this Umbridge lady won’t even let us use magic in the class. What are we supposed to learn from that, duck and cover?”

“Theory, I suppose,” Severus replied after a moment. Not that they’ll last a minute in a duel—or battle—if they’ve never had any practical application…this is a new height of stupidity. Damn the Ministry. “If I may ask, what brought on this question?”

The boy nodded down to the wyrsa below. “They’re creepy. I was trying to think of something we learned that might help against them—I know wyrsa eat magic, but there has to be something—and I realized that except for Remus…and the fake Moody, I guess none of the professors actually taught much in that class. We picked up more useful information fighting with the Slytherins.” His shoulders tensed for a moment, obviously realizing to whom he was speaking, but relaxed after a moment when no sarcastic comment was immediately forthcoming.

You started out at something of a disadvantage, Severus couldn’t help thinking. Slytherins were almost exclusively pureblood wizards, most of whom came to Hogwarts with knowledge of at least a few common curses. To say nothing of the children of the Deatheaters currently residing in his house—the majority of them came to the school with a repertoire that rivaled the other houses’ fourth years. At least—I was certainly well beyond that level. “I would tend to agree with that assessment; Albus hasn’t made particularly good choices for the position in the past.”

“Why won’t he give it to you?”

“What makes you think I want it?” He smirked at the startled expression on the boy’s face as he turned back to face him.

“But I thought…Ron said you’d been asking for the position for forever.”

“While I would say that Mr. Weasley is hardly the foremost expert on the subject—on any subject, for that matter—in this case he is correct. I have requested the position several times. Voldemort, and previously several among the Deatheaters, labor under the impression that, as a professor, I would be more useful to their cause if I was teaching Defense. In order to appease them, it must appear that I desire the position also. Albus, who is well aware that I am perfectly content with potions, continues to deny the position on the grounds that the ministry would not accept it. And life continues to my satisfaction.”

“You think they’d let you, if you really wanted it?”

“I have no doubt that he could override them if he so desired.” Severus shook his head. After all, he did it once before to have me appointed as a professor in any capacity. “And with regards to his unfortunate choice of professors…quite frankly his selection is rather limited. I know for a fact that Lockhart was the only one who applied that year—discounting myself, of course. No one wants a position cursed to last only a year.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” In truth, he’d toyed in the past with the idea of taking the position, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that the position was cursed might have done it. He knew the Dark Arts well enough, certainly—what anyone thought they were doing teaching defense without understanding what it was that they were defending against he’d never understood—and counter-curses and the like were still areas he researched in when the occasion presented itself. And not just as a means to defeat the Dark Lord. Not to mention the fact that the children were more likely to pay attention in that class…it had an air of excitement to it that mixing ingredients in a cauldron didn’t. I don’t have any desire to leave Hogwarts in the near future, however. Potions is enough. “Now, as to your ridiculous idea of coming up with some spell that will convince the wyrsa to leave—”

“It was just a thought!”

“Throwing fruit had more merit.” To be fair, that had been a rather amusing few minutes yesterday before the rain began.

“Maybe they’ll go away if we get close to a settlement,” Potter offered.

“We can only hope.” If they didn’t, well…we can use muggle transportation to move down the river or out of the jungle, until we are beyond their range. Brazil certainly isn’t devoid of magic so they must patrol a limited territory. “What has Professor Umbridge discussed in her classes?”

“Um…understanding the principles behind defensive magic, learning to recognize situations where we can use it, and…what was the third? Oh, ‘placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.’ Which we definitely haven’t done. Hermione tried to ask her what good it would be if we never practiced, but she didn’t give much of an answer except ‘Do you expect to be attacked in this class?’ I tried to ask about using it in the real world, but…”

“I assume she said something along the lines about a school not being the real world? She said something similar in one of the staff meetings.” And had been summarily insulted when Minerva pointed out that Hogwarts was intended to prepare them for entry into the real world and if they all used the bounds she described they were doing the equivalent of painting targets on their students and asking the Dark Lord to tea. Umbridge, of course, had repeated the minister’s assurances that Dark Lord hadn’t returned and Potter was lying. This had lead to a shouting match with Hagrid who didn’t take kindly to people saying unpleasant things about the boy and Albus dismissing the meeting before proceedings could degenerate further. Unfortunately, without taking an open stand against the ministry there was nothing the headmaster could do to force her to change her lesson plans, and he didn’t seem inclined to show his hand just yet.

“Yeah, that’s what she said,” Potter agreed. “Does she think we’re going to live at Hogwarts forever?”

I think she doesn’t think, she just repeats whatever Fudge says. Of course, he couldn’t in good conscience say that to a student, but… “I believe the parrots in this area of the world are much more appealing.”

The boy looked back at him, eyes widening as the words penetrated. “P-parrots…” The laughter that followed seemed to dispel the tension that had remained in his face even after the nightmares were over. “That’s brilliant.”

Severus felt his lips twitching as well…it hadn’t been a particularly good joke, but as stress relief it would serve. “Keep moving, Harry.”

“All ri—wait.” He stopped, mid-stride, and turned back again. “Did you just call me Harry?”

“No, of course not.” Damnit, I did, didn’t I? What in Merlin’s name was I thinking? “Just keep moving.”

The boy turned back around and there was a suspicious-sounding noise. “I’m moving, I’m moving.”

That brat had best not be laughing at me. “We need to cover more ground today; the rain kept us back.”

“Can I throw more fruit at the wyrsa?”

“Potter, as amusing as that was, I hardly think it is going to do more than annoy them.”

“Hey, you said it had merit!”

“I said it had more merit than trying to find magic to use against them. Which, if you’ve listened to anything I said in the past days—unlikely, I’ll grant—is hardly critical acclaim.” He sighed. I suppose it can’t do any harm, and I don’t feel like dealing with a sulking child. “Toss the fruit, if it pleases you, but do not slow us down.”

The boy nodded at that, continuing along at a fairly good pace and halting only on occasion to restock his arms with a supply of new fruit. The wyrsa were following less closely now…more than a few sporting bits of rotten fruit spotting their fur. They seemed rather displeased with the situation. He reached over the boy’s shoulder, taking a few of the things for himself. His arms were longer, after all. And imagining them as Black does wonders for my aim.

“Professor?”

I suppose more than two hours of silence is too much to ask for. “What?”

“What happens if we don’t find anyone soon?”

“We keep walking, I suppose. The continent is hardly deserted; we are bound to run into someone at some point.”

“What about a signal fire? I saw that in a movie once.”

“Mr. Potter, it may have escaped your notice, but we are currently up a tree. I have no idea what this movie is you are speaking of, but I think we can safely assume that the situations are not parallel.”

“I guess not. And trying to make a sign on a kite is probably not a good idea either?”

As the answer to that was self-evident—even to a Gryffindor—he didn’t bother giving it. Not that Potter seemed to expect a response. They continued walking, Potter offering another comment or question every fifteen or twenty minutes that didn’t seem to require answers, until Severus was forced to say something or be driven mad. “Do you plan to continue with this inane chattering for the entire day? You clearly don’t require my input for these discourses; could you possibly try imagining them and saving me a headache?”

“You could always answer,” Potter pointed out. “Then it would be a conversation.”

“And pray tell why I would want to hold a conversation with you?”

“Because it’s boring to keep walking here and not saying anything.”

Boring. Wonderful. “You’ve managed fairly well the last few days, could you not simply continue in that vein?” Isn’t he supposed to be afraid of me? Intimidated, at the very least? The last think I need is my students thinking I wish to speak to them outside of class. “Very well, recite the five most common uses for the leaves of the snapping marshweed.”

“Professor!”

“You have OWLs this year, Mr. Potter, and if you truly wish to become and Auror you will need NEWT level potions. Which you will not be getting into without a score of Outstanding, and I assure you that at this moment your scores are barely above Acceptable. Now, the five most common uses?”

Apparently the boy was honestly bored…he seemed to be considering the question. “Um…it’s in burn salve—burn salve for acid burns, not normal fires. And in strengthening potions…. Um…can I have a hint?”

“A hint? The examiners are hardly going to provide hints, Mr. Potter. Any third year should be able to answer this question.”

“It’s not exam time yet, Professor, and that was two years ago!”

Two years and he remembers nothing. Merlin help us all if he does become an Auror. “Very well, then. You should be well familiar with one of the other uses; Madame Pomfrey has dosed you more than once.”

“It’s not in skel-e-grow,” Potter said after a moment, frowning. “And I don’t think it’s in dreamless sleep…blood replenishing potion?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling.”

“Two uses to go. And then tell me how they’re prepared for each.” He smirked at the look on Potter’s face as he glanced back in disbelief. “I assure you that the answer is not written anywhere on my person.”

“Um…”

Quizzing the brat had the advantage of not only halting Potter’s mindless chatter but also giving Severus the opportunity to work off some of the stress he was feeling in the best way he knew how. His comments didn’t seem to be doing the job of cowing Potter as effectively as usual, but at least the boy wasn’t trying to involve him in any more conversations. He realized that Potter had finished reciting the safety precautions required in the mixing of dragonflame repellent—well, the four of the necessary seven that he recalled, anyway—and glanced up at the sky. “It appears to be mid-afternoon. We’ll stop at the next convenient spot and have lunch.”

“Great. Did I get them all?”

“No, using only the safety precautions you describe your repellent will eat through the bottom of your cauldron in the second stage, shoot sparks in the fourth, and precisely how do you plan on adding nightshade to a liquid with an andros root base without first adding fennel to neutralize the poisonous emissions? Have you ever bothered to pay attention in my class, or is it only when Longbottom makes potentially fatal mistakes that you bother to listen to anything?”

“Fennel’s not a safety precaution, it’s an ingredient!”

“It has no effect on the potion, either as a reactive or a base ingredient. The only contribution it makes is neutralizing the gas, and since with an adequate filtering system or mask you can mix the repellent without it, it is classed as a safety precaution.”

“That’s a nasty trick,” Potter muttered.

“Regardless of how you view it, it is a common OWL question.” A smirk threatened to turn into a smile as the boy flung one of his figs particularly hard at the still-trailing wyrsa. “What causes the emission of gas when andros root and nightshade are mixed?”

When they finally stopped to eat, Potter managed to keep his mouth full for almost the entire time…an attempt, Severus supposed, to avoid answering any more questions. Which he was perfectly fine with him, in truth. The time with they boy hadn’t been as nerve-wracking as he would have expected, but having another person around continuously was a new experience for him. What he really wanted was several hours alone, but he would accept silence as a pale substitute. Eventually, however, they did have to stop eating. “Can we talk about something else this afternoon?”

Merlin’s beard, someone must hate me. Obviously my feeling that the boy would be willing to forgo more conversation after this morning was premature. “What, precisely, would we talk about?”

“You know lots of DADA stuff…maybe you could quiz me on spells instead?”

If I wasn’t certain it would doom me forever to a trail of wyrsa followers, I think I would be tempted to practice on you right now. But quizzing him is preferable to the boy selecting random topics to expound upon. “All right then, Mr. Potter, if I was to attack you with a three-pronged lancing attack how would you…Mr. Potter, if I am going to spend my time assisting you with this, the least you could do is pay attention.”

“They’re gone, Professor.”

“What?”

“The wyrsa. They’re gone.”

Severus glanced below them, and sure enough there was no sign of their black-scaled pursuers. “Perhaps they’re simply hiding in the underbrush. Do not suggest trying a spell to find out.”

“But why would they be hiding now when they haven’t bothered any other time?”

“Do I look like an expert on the thought processes of dangerous exotic beasts? We will remain in the trees until we can be certain that they are gone. Now, did you hear my question?”

“You’re going to hit me with a three-pronged lancing attack,” Potter replied.

Severus smirked. “I’ll certainly admit I’m temped.”

“Professor!” The brat looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be offended… the open mouth look with no sound coming out was rather amusing. “Hey, you just smiled!”

“Excuse me? I did no such thing. Start walking.” He hadn’t, had he? First his mind skips and he uses the brat’s name, now he allows a student to see a smile…. That does it; I’m going to have to kill him just to keep my reputation. “If I were to hit you with such an attack, what type of shield would you use?”

“Whirlwind block,” he responded promptly. “Catch all three prongs and twist them, and while you’re trying to pull them back or release them I’ve got time to send something else after you.”

“And if it was a burning blast?”

“Reflector.”

“Why a reflector and not a deflector?”

“Cause I might deflect it into something behind me and start a fire that blocks my retreat, and if I reflect it right, it should come right back at you and then you have to deal with it.”

“If you were facing two opponents, how would you begin your attack?”

“Try and find a position where they won’t be able to split up and circle behind me, and then dis…”

The afternoon’s quizzing went considerably more quickly than the morning’s…obviously the brat honestly isn’t as inept in defense as he is in potions. “You’ve managed to learn all of this just from fighting with my house?”

“Some of it, yeah. And some from Remus, like I said.” He shrugged. “It’s fun to learn, and it’s easier for me than most stuff.” He grinned. “I think it’s the only thing at Hogwarts that I’m better at than Hermione and Ron.”

“What about Quidditch?”

“I’m good at flying fast, but Ron is the one who can see all the strategies and figure out the different plays. You should see him play chess. If I played anything but seeker I’d just be flying in circles for the whole game trying to figure out what was going on. What did you play?”

“Excuse me?” The idea of the youngest Weasley boy, of all people, being able to follow complicated strategies had startled him into missing the boy’s question. Then again, Potter’s opinion of strategy isn’t necessarily sound.

“Well, you refereed a match once, so you must have played Quidditch sometime. What did you play?”

“Keeper.”

“Were you any good?”

Visions of a tall, skinny snob with messy black hair speeding towards him, crossed with those of an equally dark-haired lunatic with a beater’s bat grinning evilly filled his mind for a moment, and then the images broke off. About the time that the bludger drove his head into the side of the lower ring, as he recalled. “Acceptable.” For a moment when the boy turned back to look at him he saw the two black messy-haired boys side by side…James had been considerably taller and heavier—why he’d become a chaser rather than a seeker after his third year—his face narrower, and the eyes in no way matched. Not so much like his father after all, perhaps. Although he does enjoy the company of that mutt and the werewolf. Lost in though, he nearly knocked the boy off the branch when the child halted abruptly in front of him. “Mr. Potter?”

“Look at that. Aren’t they pretty?”

Potter took a step and nearly missed the branch…Severus’ hand jerking him back by his shoulder was the only thing that saved him from a fall to his death. “Mr. Potter, what are you ta—” He peered past the boy and saw a writhing white shape below. It was so fluid, a continuous knot…he felt his muscles relaxing and leaned toward it. So smooth…he could just make out the individual shapes, thin bod—His foot slid off the branch and he began to fall. As soon as he lost sight of the creatures his mind snapped back into focus, and flailing arms were able to find purchase on the branch. Hanging on with his arms, both legs over the edge, he glanced up and realized that no help would come from that quarter. Potter still stood above, rocking gently as he stared at the creatures below, and Severus just hoped that he wouldn’t attempt to walk off the branch again. He was certainly in no position to stop a rapid descent. The first white wyrsa spotted in two hundred years and it just had to be by us. He brought up his legs, trying to find purchase to level himself back up onto the branch—his arms had decent purchase, but he wouldn’t be able to haul himself back up without a foothold or help. “Mr. Potter! Potter! Listen to me, you have to close your eyes! Harry, can you hear me?” He received no response, and Potter seemed to be looking rather too longingly at the ground below. “Harry, so help me if you even think about moving I’ll have you preparing Bubotuber for me until your children come to Hogwarts!”

Potter didn’t respond, and Severus was unwilling to reach out to shake him or do anything else that might cause him to lose his balance. Besides which, in order to shake the brat he would have to let go of the branch with one hand and that he just wasn’t willing to do. “Harry!” He tried to bring his leg up and find a foothold again, and once again couldn’t get purchase. Whenever we get out of this mess, I am going to buy a nice pair of house shoes. Because his boots just weren’t working in this situation. Swinging sideways and trying to get a knee up onto the branch didn’t work either, and trying nearly made him lose his grip in the process. “Potter, snap out of it! Listen to me!” Again, no response. He was tempted to glance down and see what the wyrsa were doing now, but judging by the ease with which they had entrapped him before that would likely be the last decision he would get to make. If I could just get a grip a bit farther up…. He certainly wasn’t in bad shape, not with what he had to go through to get some of the ingredients required for his potions, but the lack of normal nutrition over the past few days—few months, if he was honest since between the Order, Hogwarts, and the Dark Lord he tended to take meals on the run—and less than ideal sleeping conditions meant his body wasn’t responding as promptly as it should have. He gave a hard pull, and managed to shift his right hand to a nob a few inches farther around the branch. One knee, that’s all I need. “Potter! Answer me! Look at me!”

He shook his head, trying to figure out what would get the boy’s attention. “Fire! Snake!” What am I thinking? He likes snakes. “Quidditch practice!” None of them garnered so much as a twitch. He isn’t even hearing me any more—I need to get up on this branch before he dives off the edge. “Harry!” A cry that sounded like a child in pain from below drew his attention, and he nearly looked down at the swirling mass before he caught himself. Clever monsters. “HARRY! Don’t you dare!” The boy had inched a bit closer to the edge, and the longing in his face was decidedly disturbing. Sweet Merlin, there’s no way I’ll be able to catch him….

Muscles clenched, and he swung as hard as he could to his left, barely able to catch one foot over the top of the branch. Almost there…. “Potter, stay where you are!” After a moment’s uncertainty when his cloak caught on the underside of the branch and made a valiant attempt to choke him, he managed to scramble back onto the top of the branch. Potter was leaning farther now…it was amazing he’d kept his balance so lon—“No!” Snape grabbed the back of his cloak and jerked him away from the edge a second before the boy would have tumbled into empty air. Both fell back, fortunately along the length of the branch where the solid wood could support them. Severus was breathing heavily from the exertion, while Potter blinked in confusion.

“P-professor?” Potter looked up at him, dazed. “What happened? One minute we were walking along, and then I saw something down on the ground, and….” He turned to look over the edge and yelped as Severus grabbed him by the neck of his cloak and yanked him back around. “Ow! What was that for?”

“My sanity. I believe we can say with some certainty that the white wyrsa are not extinct. They had you mesmerized, and me as well for a short time.” He shook his head as the boy twisted around again. “I am aware that this is a great deal for your little brain to take in, so I will make this simple—don’t look at them! Honestly, did you not hear what I just said? You very nearly became the boy-who-was-smashed-to-pieces-after-a-100-foot-fall.”

“What? Oh. Hey, what happened to your hands, they’re all scratched up?”

He glanced down and realized that the boy was right—there were several bleeding gashes in both palms and his arms didn’t look much better. “The wyrsa nearly had me joining them as well—if I hadn’t broken eye contact when I started to fall I would be dead now.”

“So not only can we not climb down, we can’t look down anymore either. Great.”

“That is how it appears. Although we both returned to normal as soon as we stopped watching them, so as long as we are alert to each others’ behaviors we should be fine.”

Potter nodded at that. “I wonder how they do that…know how to move so it puts people in a trance. It’s kind of cool.”

“And particularly ‘cool’ is the part in which they send us plummeting to our deaths and then proceed to pick over our remains for dinner.”

“Well, except that part. You think that’s why the other wyrsa left?”

“Most probably. I don’t know anything specific about wyrsa behavior, but most wild animal packs don’t care for other predators coming into their territory. I suppose if we keep walking we’ll eventually walk out of this pack’s territory as well. I was going to suggest that we stop for the night in the next hour or two, but perhaps we had better walk until the sun sets. In the dark we won’t have to worry about seeing them when we look down. Are you able to continue?”

The boy nodded at that and stood slowly. “Yeah, I think I’ll be all right. What about your hands?”

Severus sighed. As much as he’d prefer to forget about the experience, a couple of them were deep enough to get infected if he didn’t clean them out and cover them now. He’d collected some rainwater in his ingredient jars the night before…not a lot, but probably enough to do a decent job of cleaning out the cuts. Unfortunately, with injuries on both hands, he was going to need help. Potter seemed to realize that as well, dropping back down to kneel in front of him. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“I know how to clean scrapes. Can I use your knife? I can cut a few more pieces out of my sweater for a washcloth and bandages.”

Severus passed it over without comment, and the green sweater lost another few inches along the hem. “Molly will be most disappointed.”

“Nah, this is the one she made me second year and it was getting a little small anyway. I like the one from third year best.”

“What does that one have on it?” The one that was being slowly turned into scrap bore what he thought was a stylized Quidditch pitch.

“A lion.”

“Of course, what was I thinking? Dare I ask what your sweater from last year had on it?”

“A dragon.”

He wasn’t entirely certain that was the wisest image to send to a child that had nearly been devoured by one of the things—would have been if he wasn’t so good on a broom—but then he wasn’t an expert on child psychology either. Little idiot probably sees it as a badge of honor or something.

“I don’t wear that one very much.”

Or not. “May I ask why?” Potter tied off the bandage on his left arm while Severus wrapped his palm.

“That thing just about took my head off more than once—for weeks afterwards every time I was outside I ducked whenever a shadow passed over my head. And that’s when Ron was mad at me…thought I entered the stupid tournament on purpose. Like I wanted more attention.” He shook his head and reached for Severus’ other wrist. “Ouch, what did you catch this on?”

“I’m not sure…I was a bit more concerned with preventing a hundred-foot fall.” It was a rather ugly gash all things considered…deeper than the others and with bits of bark still inside. “Give me that.” He took the cloth from the boy, dipping it in the remaining water and beginning to scrub out the gash. It wasn’t pleasant, but hardly the worst thing he’d ever dealt with, and before long they were moving again. Both of them were carefully keeping their eyes fixed on the trunks rising up in front of them rather than the shapes passing below.

“Professor?”

Maybe it would have been better if the wyrsa had kept him hypnotized a bit longer—at least then he could haul the boy along without having to listen to him. “What do you want now? We seem to have exhausted your knowledge of both potions and defense—limited as it is—and included more than a bit of herbology. Neither transfiguration nor charms are my specialties, I refuse to discuss magical creatures on the grounds that we’ve had too much practical experience lately, and I don’t believe you’ve taken ancient runes or arithmancy. The only things that remain to discuss are flying which I believe you’ve mastered, muggle studies at which you’re probably more knowledgeable than I am, and the history of magic. Which, judging by the exploits of you and Mr. Malfoy recently, is hardly worth wasting either of our time on.”

“What about astronomy and divination?”

“An interesting way to spend an evening but hardly practical when we can’t even see the sky, and utter rubbish.” I swear, if that woman predicts my death one more time…. Bad enough when I was just beginning to teach, but you would think the fact that I’ve managed to keep myself alive in the intervening years would be enough to give her pause in predicting any more gruesome endings.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d stop telling me that I was going to die every other day. I think she must stay up nights coming up with new and creative ways to kill me.”

Albus did mention that Potter was her choice of students fated to meet an unpleasant ending this year. “Why did you select is as one of your courses then?”

“We figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some idea of what was in our futures. By the time I figured out how bad it was it was too late to change—Hermione could probably walk into a class halfway through and still manage to get the highest marks on the final, but I sure can’t. And since I didn’t start out with any extra classes…” he shrugged.

“What would you select if you could choose again?” he found himself asking reluctantly.

“Ancient runes, I think. It looks complicated, but not as bad as arithmancy, and I like languages. It was what I was thinking about taking before Ron mentioned divination.”

“Do you speak languages other than English and Latin?”

“Just the basics of French and Spanish they taught us at my primary school. And I’m not really very good at Latin—I never heard it until I got here. Mostly I used to look up words.”

“You expect me to believe that you willingly spent time reading a dictionary?” That was about as likely as Filch deciding to throw the students a welcome back party after the summer break.

“They weren’t real dictionaries, just the little travel ones. The school was big on…what was it? ‘Expanding our horizons.’ Some of the stuff I learned to say was funny—‘I have lost my wallet. I have lost my passport. I have lost my faith in the human race.’ And the library was the last place Dudley and his friends were going to look for me.”

That Severus could relate to, although he wasn’t about to admit it. Finding Sirius Black—or James Potter, for that matter—entering the library without serious coercion involved would have required a miracle. “Despite the idiocy of the entire notion, you seem to have done well enough in divination in the past years. McGonagall has mentioned on occasion that your scores are generally acceptable.” Mostly when she was haranguing him about the treatment the boy received in his class, but Potter didn’t need to know that.

“Swear you won’t tell Trelawny?”

He was more than a little surprised that the boy seemed willing to confide in him, but then again, considering the subject... “Potter, if it was my choice I would go the rest of my life without seeing the woman, never mind having to speak to her.” Probably not the most appropriate thing to say in this situation—after all, he’d managed to refrain from directly insulting Umbridge—but…she told me to beware asparagus the last time I was forced to sit next to her at dinner, because apparently Mercury was affecting the growing cycle. As I recall, it wasn’t even being served at the time. “If I dropped dead every time she foretold it, I would be a medical miracle.”

Potter seemed to get more amusement out of that than it strictly deserved, but he did continue. “As long as you predict you’ll be entirely miserable, it’s easy enough to get good grades. Ron and I started making things up second year when the only real image we ever saw in a teacup was a Grim. It scared the heck out of me—I didn’t know who it was at the time, or even what it was. I’d only seen a big wolf-looking thing staring at me out of the bushes right before the Knight Bus came and a picture of one on a book about death omens.”

Severus vaguely remembered Albus saying something about the boy staying in Diagon Alley rather than at his relatives for the week before school began his third year, but since the man had had enough sense not to detail Severus to be one of the ones keeping an eye on the brat he hadn’t bothered to pay much attention. I was just glad I wasn’t going to have to run all over muggle London casting memory charms again, he remembered. What Potter and the Weasley boy had been thinking, using a flying car in full view of all the muggles on the street, he’d never figure out. Especially since he’s grown up with muggles—he should certainly know flying cars are not normal!

“Anyway, I never saw anything else in the tea leaves, or the crystal ball, and palmistry wasn’t any better so we had to think of something.”

“What have you come up with so far?”

“Cuts, burns, losing fights, losing bets—that happens when Ron predicts that he’ll lose fights since I have to bet he’ll win—falling off the astronomy tower, falling out the owlry window, getting drowned by the giant squid, getting stepped on by one of Hagrid’s pets, detentions with Sna—uh…”

Severus smirked at that. “I find it rather encouraging that I qualify as a dire prediction, actually.” Now if the students would just take that into account before they decide to act like idiots in my classes….

That drew a snicker from the child in front of him. “Figures. Um, falling off my broom, anything involving Malfoy, losing stuff—”

“I would imagine that prediction is unusually accurate.”

“Ha ha. Getting sick—I think I’ve run through just about every terminal illness there is—getting trapped in a room with Fudge...”

“Creative.”

“I hadn’t gotten to ‘stuck in a jungle with Professor Snape’ yet,” he pointed out. “Why don’t you ever tell me to put ‘Professor’ or ‘Minister’ or whatever in front of people’s names like everyone else does?”

“Titles are terms of respect. Forcing the use of them with someone who doesn’t have that respect serves no purpose, although when speaking to someone I would expect you to use their title if only to preserve civility. I notice in your list of dire predictions you didn’t mention anything involving the Dark Lord, even those things which you know will happen.”

“I don’t want her to know about the nightmares—I don’t want anybody to know about the nightmares.”

That sounded rather strained, and Severus frowned. There was one way he knew of to block dreams, but teaching it—teaching it effectively, anyway—required a great deal of trust on the part of both the teacher and the student. A week ago if anyone had asked that he instruct the boy—and remembering some of the calculating looks Albus had been giving him since the school year began the suggestion may well have been forthcoming—he would have refused outright. Now…the idea of allowing someone inside his shields still made him distinctly uncomfortable, but he would be more-or-less in control of the link. Assuming of course that Potter was even interested; after all it would be his mind that would be invaded repeatedly until he learned to defend himself. “Are you truly that desperate for them to stop?”

“You saw what the nightmare was like…they’re all like that, sometimes even worse depending on what he’s doing. I almost forget what it was like to be able to go to sleep and not have to be afraid of what would be coming.”

“I may know of a technique that may help you.”

Potter spun. “What? Really? What is it? Is it a charm? A potion? Hermione was looking, but she hasn’t found anyth—”

“If you will be silent for a moment, I will tell you. It is called Occlumency, and it is a rather obscure branch of magic. It involves a technique that allows one to close his mind to the outside world. A great deal of emotional control is required…it is not an easy skill to learn.”

“But you know how?”

“Yes. Occlumency has allowed me to keep my loyalties hidden from the Dark Lord for so many years.”

“So how do I do it?”

“First, you need to practice clearing your mind of all emotion. Be perfectly calm. Give him nothing to latch onto. Your fear of nightmares is probably contributing to them…the stress and tension make it that much easier for him to pull you in.”

The boy was silent for a moment, and then, “Okay, I’m calm.”

Severus’ lips twitched. Obviously we have vastly different definitions of the word. “Irritating child, if you believe yourself to be calm now it is amazing that you have not suffered a nervous breakdown in the last four years. Leaving aside the fact that we are in a situation practically guaranteed to induce tension, your desire to be free of the Dark Lord’s visions is most certainly clouding your mind.”

“But Professor—”

“We will not be able to do anything immediately—Occlumency is internal, but the wyrsa will absorb the magic if I attempt Legilimency on you.”

“What’s that?”

“An intelligent question at last. It is what the Dark Lord normally uses to invade a person’s mind—what I’ll be using on you to teach you how to block it.”

“Wait…you’re going to be in my head?”

He looked distinctly uneasy at that. So the brat does have a sense of self-preservation. “How else, precisely, do you expect to learn to be able to block someone?”

“Are you going to be able to see what I’m thinking?”

“Some of what you’re thinking, some of your memories—the effort you put into blocking me will determine how much or how little I see.”

“Will I be able to see into your head too?”

“Certainly not!” The idea of Potter seeing his memories made him feel distinctly ill. “You will be learning to block outside presences from your mind; nothing more. And so help me if you even attempt more, with anyone….” His voice trailed off. “The use of Legilimency without either consent from the subject or authorization from the Ministry is punishable by time in Azkaban—it is the equivalent of mental rape.” Fortunately for me, I’m more than skilled enough to be unobtrusive about it…unless the other person is an extremely skilled Occlumens there is no way for them to know. And if the Deatheaters found out, they’d hardly go running off to tell the Ministry. The rest of my life would be extremely short, but it wouldn’t end in Azkaban. “Do you understand?”

Potter glanced back, looking appropriately cowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Then practice deep, even breathing now and I’ll explain a few of the blocking techniques in more detail tonight.”

“Professor?”

“What, Mr. Potter?”

“When did you learn?”

The feel of the Dark Lord ripping through his mind as the Dark Mark burned into his arm came back with a vengeance. Forcing him to see things long forgotten, things long blocked…. For the next months he’d spent whatever free time he had hiding, either in the basement at home or the dungeons at Hogwarts, going over every book he could acquire on the subject of Occlumency, never wanting to be subject to such an experience again. The Dark Lord had known what he was doing—there was no way he could not have—and every time the Deatheaters met he seemed to take great pleasure in tearing apart whatever progress Severus had made in the interim. Certainly he hadn’t singled out any of the other students who’d taken the Dark Mark at the same time for such personal attentions, with the exception of course of Lucius Malfoy. But he was being groomed for a position in the Ministry, an entirely different circumstance altogether.

He didn’t have to do it so painfully—he’s certainly practiced enough at the skill to have Legilimized me without my notice if he so desired—he just enjoyed causing pain. Sadistic bastard. If it hadn’t been for my potions knowledge, I think he would have driven me mad, eventually, Severus acknowledged. Or killed me outright for daring to defy him. But the Dark Lord didn’t have any Potions Masters, and there had been no one else likely to attempt the Mastery. Certainly no one else who would have succeeded. It’s not as though he didn’t have other means of control…and not even Occlumency works fully if the victim is in too much pain to concentrate. By the time circumstances had become bad enough that he’d gone to the headmaster, though, he had been able to successfully occlude his mind, or at least the portions of it that he did not want the Dark Lord to find out about, no matter how great the torture. Albus had helped him refine his technique in the years that followed at the same time he taught Severus Legilimency, but there wasn’t truly much left that the older man could show him. Pain was, unfortunately, one of the best teachers in existence.

The boy was still looking back at him expectantly, however, and none of that information was anything that Severus wanted shared. “That is none of your business,” he snapped. “Did I, or did I not, tell you to practice breathing? You can hardly do that if you keep pestering me with these ridiculous questions.” Memories refused momentarily to be forced back into their place, and he found himself continuing in a tone normally reserved for the most incompetent potions brewers after particularly spectacular failures. “Of all the people I had to get stuck in a jungle with, it had to be a chattering, disobedient brat with a complete inability to follow a simple instruction.”

“I…sorry, Professor.”

Potter went silent, and Severus puzzled over the uncertain note that had been in the boy’s voice. Obviously the boy had no right to question him, he could respond in any manner he chose. No justification was required.“I learned in self-defense,” he finally growled. “Not long after I took the Mark. The Dark Lord uses a variety of methods to ensure his followers’ loyalties, and forced Legilimency is by far one of the less pleasant ones.”

“Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

“Obviously.” Despite the fact that I told you Occlumency is how I hide my activities. You’ve proved that you have a brain, child, I don’t suppose that you would consider using it on occasion? “It is not a time that I care to remember; please do not ask me about it again. Now, your breathing?”

“Yes, sir.” Potter sounded rather disturbingly relieved when no more comments were forthcoming.

Wondering when, exactly, his opinion had come to mean anything to the boy, Severus followed him along the branch in silence. Darkness came more quickly than he expected—perhaps the wyrsa had held them in thrall for longer than he had realized?—but fortunately it wasn’t heralded by the pouring rain of the night before. They halted while there was still some light seeping through the canopy; it would hardly do to walk off a branch after all Severus had done to avert that fate earlier. “Sit down across from me, Mr. Potter.”

Potter settled himself appropriately. “What are we going to do if you can’t actually try this Legilimency stuff here?”

“You need to develop some defensive strategies,” Severus began, slipping into lecture mode. “I do not know whether the Dark Lord knows that you can share his thoughts or not—I suspect not—but he’s had a lifetime of practice. You will not simply be able to put up a mental ‘wall’ and stop him.”

“So what can I do?”

“The best technique, particularly when you sleep, is to clear your mind entirely. Think of nothing and his mind will have nothing on which to latch. However, you cannot go around during the day thinking of nothing, despite the evidence to the contrary you insist on displaying in my class.”

“I try, Professor! Between you glaring at me all the time and Malfoy and his friends throwing stuff in my cauldron…”

“Mr. Potter, do you wish me to explain the blocking techniques or not?” He took the glare he received in response as assent and tried to hide a quick grin. Somehow he doubted the attempt had been successful. “Then kindly quit interrupting me every thirty seconds. Now, as I was saying, you cannot think of nothing at all times. What you will need to do is construct something of a…mental maze, I suppose you would say.” He tried to picture how, exactly, it was that he kept out the Dark Lord’s thoughts. “It will work slightly differently for you, I suspect—he must have eye contact with me in order for there to be any exchange of information, whereas with you that limitation does not seem to apply. And the books I managed to find dealt more in generalities than specifics. However, the result should be the same—he will see what you desire him to see and nothing more. In the forefront of your mind—the part that is immediately ‘visible’ to him, for lack of a better term—should be thoughts of no consequence. Quidditch tactics and the like.”

“Hey!”

Severus caught himself almost smiling again at the indignant tone. “Once you have a front that will prevent him from seeing anything of consequence, you should be able to throw him out of your mind as soon as you feel him probing. Do you have any warning before you find yourself experiencing what the Dark Lord does?”

“The only time I’m really…with him, in him, or whatever, is when I’m asleep, during the day I mostly just get feelings that I know aren’t mine. Getting really mad or happy or something for no reason.”

“Well, that simplifies things slightly. We’ll concentrate on building your maze for now and you can work up to holding those thoughts continuously.” That was the hardest things about Occlumency, in truth…being able to think in parallel both what you truly believed and what you wanted the other person to see or not see. Some people never managed it. If the boy couldn’t…well, they would cross that bridge if they came to it.

“What’s the point of having this maze thing built up if I’m just going to toss him out anyway?” Potter asked. “Shouldn’t I be concentrating on the getting rid of him part?”

“He is stronger than you; you will need some sort of front to hold his attention before you will be able to get rid of him.” And you won’t be able to practice ejecting someone until I am in a position to work magic anyway, did I not just explain that? “Now, think of a maze. What are you seeing?”

“The third task.”

His voice was dull, and Severus shook his head. I should have realized that. It’s certainly not something I wish him to relive constantly—that will drive him as mad as the Dark Lord’s visions. “Too much unpleasantness is associated with that. Find something else, something less…emotional.”

“That’s the only thing I think of when I hear the word ‘maze’.”

“Then I suppose we’ll need to find another term for it.” Personally, Severus used the twisting dungeons at Hogwarts—during his time as a student they’d been excellent places to go when he didn’t want to be found, and he doubted anyone living there now, including the Headmaster, knew them as well as he did. But the brat didn’t need to know that. “Where is somewhere without a lot of distinguishing characteristics? Somewhere you’ve been a lot.”

“The streets in Little Whinging?” Potter offered. “They all look exactly the same. Even the houses are identical. One time the kid who lives down at number seven put a ramp in the driveway for his skateboard and the neighbors had a fit. Neighborhood Association meeting and everything—you’d think he’d killed someone.”

“I’m not sure that will do. The Dark Lord is not stupid—giving him any clues as to your whereabouts when you are not at Hogwarts is not a good idea. Is there anywhere else that you can think of? What about somewhere that you feel safe? That will add to the protection it provides.”

“I…the attics at Hogwarts, maybe?”

They were certainly warped enough, Severus decided. He had preferred to go down rather than up when he was upset, but he’d gone in search of items up there for Albus often enough to know. “That will do. Concentrate on holding that image in your mind as we speak. Now, name the five most common uses for snapping marshweed leaves.”

“You asked me that yesterday, Professor.”

“Well then, you shouldn’t have any trouble remembering.”

“But what does this have to do with Occlumency?”

“Merlin’s beard, Potter, are you that dense? You will have to be able to lead a normal life at the same time you work this magic. Now, are you maintaining your image of the attics?”

“Um…”

“I thought so. Bring it to the forefront of your mind and then answer my question.”

By the time Potter got tired and started snapping instead of trying the light had disappeared completely and Severus was willing to call it a night as well. “I will stay on watch first and wake you in a few hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Attempt to Occlude your mind before you rest.”

Potter didn’t respond, but he also didn’t experience another screaming nightmare so Severus counted the day as a partial success. And the next morning they continued drilling as they walked. At least he’s managed to remember the majority of the answers that I told him yesterday, Severus observed. Whether he’s managing to maintain the mental attic image at the same time…. Well, he would find out the answer to that when they were safely away from the wyrsa.

As though they’d heard his thoughts, one of the creatures below gave one of the unnerving cries, the ones sounding so suspiciously like a young child. “I hate it when they do that,” Potter muttered.

“As do I.” A second one echoed the first, and he glanced around. “Do you see any more of your fruit? We can’t look at them, but if we throw enough in that general direction perhaps we can discourage the howling.”

Potter nodded, closing his eyes as he reached over the side of the branch and pulled up a few, passing half over to his teacher. And then both turned at the sound of voices. “Was that people?”

“I would say so, Mr. Potter. Stay behind me. And be ready to pull me back.” Severus put down his fruit and edged closer to the side of the branch, taking a wary glance below. The wyrsa were still there, but instead of the hypnotizing motions they’d been moving in they were now staring at something out in the brush that Severus couldn’t see. He frowned, and then decided to risk calling out. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

There was a yell, and then one of the wyrsa below staggered and fell. There were eight that he could see…three of which were nonmoving. It was hard to tell but—

“Hey, I think that one’s got something stuck in its chest!” Potter exclaimed from beside him. “Something’s attacking them!”

“Did I, or did I not, tell you to say behind me?”

“Come on, Professor, whoever’s fighting them we have to help.”

Another wyrsa staggered but didn’t fall, and the four remaining sprang into the brush after whatever was attacking them. “Mr. Potter, stay here.” Severus moved towards the nearest tree trunk, intending to climb down far enough to see who or what the wyrsa were after. He turned and saw the boy’s mouth opening, clearly in argument. “I will not discuss this with you. You will remain here on this branch until I say otherwise, is that understood?”

“But Professor…”

Severus turned back towards the boy, moving until he was looming over the smaller figure. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus nodded, moving back to the trunk. Whoever or whatever was out there, they were certainly well-concealed…if it wasn’t for the cries of the wyrsa pack he wouldn’t even know where to look. Pausing halfway down, he debated whether to continue. On one hand whoever was fighting the wyrsa pack might need help; on the other he had no desire to die in this place. White wyrsa were supposed to be extinct, he hardly carried the antidote to their venom in his cloak. Another human—or most-likely human, anyway—yell made his decision for him, and he continued down the trunk cursing himself mentally. What kind of self-respecting Slytherin deliberately puts himself in danger for another—and a complete stranger at that! Never mind that he was doing it on a regular basis for the Dark Lord; that was Albus’ idea. “Hello? Do you need help?”

“Professor?”

He reached the bottom of the trunk and glared up at the boy. “Potter, stay where you are!”

Three of the fallen wyrsa had holes in their chest—two had no evidence of what had done the damage, the third had a wooden spike in the vicinity of its heart. The fourth that had been hit but hadn’t truly fallen seemed to have a broken foreleg from another spike—it was standing, hissing at him, but making no immediate move to attack. He backed up slightly to pick up a fallen branch for use as a weapon and briefly considered the idiocy of taking on a pack of venom-producing predators with what amounted to a club. The creature seemed to realize his intention and backed away as Severus moved toward it. I can’t leave this thing alive at my back…. He stepped forward again and it hissed warningly. Another step and it leapt at him, as best it could with a bad leg.

“Professor, look out!”

A ‘splat’ from behind him at the same time as the cry from above had him diving sideways rather than facing it head-on as he intended, and as he came to a halt with his back against the trunk he found himself facing not only the single injured wyrsa but a second as well, this one larger and apparently healthy. “Bright Merlin.” The larger one had the remnants of a fig on its forehead—Potter had apparently hit it at the same time he called a warning. Damnit, have to remember to thank the brat. The two tried to twist around each other in the same hypnotic motion that had nearly killed him and his student earlier, but a jerking motion each time the first tried to use its bad leg kept disrupting the pattern. Just as well, I can’t fight them with my eyes closed. They were too close for him to make it back up the tree—they’d be on him, dragging him down before he got more than three feet off the ground. His stick seemed to be holding them at bay, but…. The injured wyrsa staggered again, and the healthy one turned to spring at a teenager not much older than his student who’d appeared out of the brush. Severus didn’t think, taking a leap forward and slamming his stick into the side of the creature’s head. It fell, and before it could get up again a man came up beside the boy and rammed a spear into its chest. Three others appeared—two more men, and another boy about the age of the first. “Um…hello.”

One of the men babbled something.

Brilliant. I wish I knew one of the hear-all speak-all spells. Why don’t they teach that at Hogwarts? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. Do you speak English?”

“I English some,” the first boy offered. “I go to school. My and my father’s thanks for your help.”

“Thank you as well,” Severus returned.

There was excited noise from the group, and he glanced up to see Potter climbing quickly down to join them. “Professor, are you okay?”

“You are professor?” the boy asked.

“Yes, to both questions. Mr. Potter, did I not tell you to remain in the tree?”

“The wyrsa are dead; I wanted to meet these guys too.”

Severus shook his head in exasperation, and then turned back to the boy. “Yes, I am a professor, at a school back in England. Could you ask your father if there is any way we could get in contact with the others there?”

“Inglaterra?” one of the men asked, and the boy nodded, indicating Severus and saying something quickly. He received an equally fast reply.

The boy turned back to Severus and nodded. “We help. We return to our village now that fantasmas mortíferos are dead. You come with. Names?”

“My name is Severus Snape, and this is Harry Potter.” The boy moved to stand at his elbow, and Severus wondered for a minute if he shouldn’t have lied about his identity. The Dark Lord had spies everywhere…too late now, I suppose. If they are not for the light, we will have to deal that as it comes.

“I am Joao Cruz, this is father, Roque, father’s brother, Mateus, mother’s brother, Pedro Olivares, and mother’s brother’s son, Vicente.”

Severus nodded. “How far is your village?” If it was only a few hours away they might be able to get back to Hogwarts in a day or two. It would be a relief to be back in familiar surroundings.

Before the boy—Joao—could answer, one of the hunters staggered. The other boy’s father, if Severus remembered correctly, this one’s uncle. “What’s wrong?” Potter asked at the same time the other two men moved to support him.

Whether the man was responding to Potter or simply showing the others the problem they faced, he turned his arm to show three gashes. “Apparently the wyrsa did not go quietly,” Severus observed.

The two older hunters obviously recognized what they faced, drawing back in horror for a moment before springing back to assist the man to the ground. One of them said something to the two boys…the man’s son crumpled beside him while Joao stared.

“What’s wrong?” Potter repeated.

“Is poison. He dies.”

Severus frowned. “There is no antidote?” The boy looked up at him in confusion. “No cure?” he repeated impatiently.

“No.”

Given enough time, a sufficiently stocked workroom, and a store of the toxin to work with, Severus had no doubt that he could concoct an appropriate antidote. In the middle of a jungle with a dying man in front of him…. This is going to be difficult. I hope their village isn’t far, and that there is a competent healer there. Surely anyone who would hunt these creatures would know of some means of defeating their venom. “Potter, wait here with them. Help them construct a sling to carry him back.

“You think you can help?”

“I have a Mastery in potions, and there are plenty of wyrsa corpses with fresh venom for me to work with. Stay with them.” The ones that had fallen without a mark on them he avoided—without knowing what took them he didn’t want to chance approaching and finding out that they were merely stunned. The ones with spears in them, however…. Both the claws and fangs carried poison, but since the man hadn’t been bitten he ignored their teeth for the time being. It was rather bloody work, cutting the venom pouches out of the creatures’ claws without damaging them in the process—he hardly needed to have his own scratches infected—but he managed to get four safely secured in the collecting jars in his cloak before his concentration was broken. “Professor!”

“What, Potter?” He returned to the group to find one of the older hunters on the ground frozen, and the other three staring at the boy, eyes wide. The poisoned man was trying to push away from him. “What did you do?”

“Stupefied that one,” Potter said with a wave at the frozen man. “I had to—they were trying to kill him!”

“What?” He glared at the others. “What are you people thinking?”

“Kinder,” Joao said quietly, eyes wide. “Bad death—long, painful death. Curare fast.”

Well, that explains what killed the other wyrsa. A wave of his wand unfroze the man that Potter had stunned. “Don’t do that just yet. I think I might be able to help him. How far is your village? How long until he dies?”

“You healer?” the other boy—Vicente?—demanded, ignoring his questions. “You help?”

“I will try.”

Joao was busy translating to the other men, who clearly took a moment to size Severus up before nodding. “Boats, this way.”

It only took a moment to fashion a sling—the men were clearly familiar with the fauna in the area and knew which vines would support weight, and then they moved back through the jungle to where boats were tied. Judging by the suspicious looks the men—including the poisoned one—were giving him and his student they hadn’t forgotten the wands but were willing to forgo questioning until they found out whether he could do what he claimed. Brilliant. At least they didn’t panic. “Mr. Potter, you had best be prepared to become the world’s best assistant.”

“What?”

“Unless there is a healer in the village who speaks fairly good English, I’m going to need you chopping, slicing, mixing, and doing all manner of other tasks. Kindly take more care than you do in my class.”

“Do you really think you can help him?”

“I hope I can, for our sakes as well.” Apparently Potter hadn’t considered the ramifications of claiming he could heal an obscure poison and possibly failing. Severus had—even at St. Mungo’s there were stories of family members who had become enraged when healers couldn’t save their loved ones. He had no idea what the customs were in this place for such occurrences. And didn’t particularly want to find out. Then again, they were willing to kill him themselves…. Neither he nor Potter was paddling downriver—they were passengers in the boat being handled by Joao and his other uncle while the injured man was in the other boat. Just as well, really, he knew nothing about river travel and doubted Potter had any experience beyond the trip from the Hogwarts Express to the castle either. “How far is your village?” he asked again.

“Close.”

Which wasn’t really an answer, but there was no guarantee he would recognize whatever time- or distance-keeping method these people used anyway. Potter sat behind him, silent for once. Severus was tempted to tell him to keep practicing thinking in parallel, but he doubted the boy would be able to concentrate. It was two hours later, by his judgment, that the boats were brought in to a dock and they climbed the bank to find themselves in a fairly large village. Cheers turned into cries at the sight of the man lying on the stretcher, and Severus felt the boy move closer against his side. “What happens now, Professor?”

“I find something approaching a cauldron and someone who knows the local plant life. And we attempt to make contact with Hogwarts—I would have a much better chance in my workroom there.”

“Hogwarts?” a voice asked sharply.

Severus turned to face an older man. “You’ve heard of it? You speak English?”

The man held out a wand. “I was a student there, once, a very long time ago. Luciano Iacona, at your service.”

“Brilliant, you can help us!”

Severus glared at the boy. “Please excuse my student, he occasionally—” normally— “speaks without thinking. My name is Severus Snape; this is Harry Potter. One of you hunters was scratched by a wyrsa. I have a supply of the venom to work with, but I will need a workroom and ingredients in order to attempt a cure.”

“You believe you can help him?”

“I am a Potions Master; I am going to try. Certainly a better option than allowing them to kill him outright.”

“Why hasn’t anyone figured out an antidote already?” Potter asked.

“There was one once, but the knowledge has been long since lost. The fantasmas mortíferos —the deadly ghosts, what you call white wyrsa—disappeared into the forest when my grandfather was young and haven’t been seen since, and the fantasmas de caçada—ghosts of the hunt, your black wyrsa—do not have poison. I didn’t believe the creatures had returned until a group of children were attacked outside the village several days ago…two of them were taken, and the last three did not have easy deaths.”

“Why did they come back? The wyrsa, I mean?”

“The forests are being destroyed. If their territory was taken by the logging companies it was only natural that they seek out new hunting grounds.” He glanced up at Severus. “You are welcome to use my home for your work.”

Severus nodded his thanks. “How long do I have?”

“His muscles are unable to support him already…in perhaps a day he will begin to have visions. The stories say no one survives past the third day of visions; none of the children survived past the second day. The hunters were told to use the curare in case of infection…it is a far kinder death.”

So perhaps as little as three days using unfamiliar supplies…he had hoped for at least a week, which would have given him time to get back to Hogwarts and his ingredient stores. With less than that he would have to remain here; the time spent in transit would make it impossible for him to develop a cure and get it back to the village in time to save the man. “Can we contact Hogwarts and let them know that we’re safe?”

“I have a connection to the floo network in Rio de Janeiro…you can pass on a message to someone there to forward to the school if you desire.”

Severus thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “Better the two of us go ourselves, when we are able.” Potter looked ready to argue, and he silenced the boy with a glare. The last thing we needed was the Dark Lord intercepting any kind of message. Surviving the jungle only to be captured on our way back to safety would be supremely ironic. “Three days longer will hardly cause any more consternation than our disappearance already has.” He glanced around and found that in the time they’d spent talking to the man, the area had emptied and the injured man taken away. “I had best get to work.”

Luciano nodded. “Of course, this way.”

“Are you familiar with the plants in this area?”

“Certainly. Unfortunately, while I have limited healing knowledge Potions was perhaps my worst subject and I haven’t improved a great deal in the interim. I am a teacher for several of the villages in the area, and occasionally a recruiter for the Escola de Rio de Magia—the Rio School of Magic.”

Severus nodded. It was the largest magic school in South America, with a fairly good reputation. Both in terms of the caliber of the students it turned out and which side of magic the majority chose to study. “That’s quite all right; Mr. Potter will be assisting me.” He glared down at the boy for good measure, and was pleased to see the boy gulp. So I haven’t lost all my powers of intimidation. Good.

“What do we do first?” Potter asked as they moved into the man’s hut and Severus began to organize the materials he needed. Luciano had disappeared, probably to speak to the injured man.

“Clean out those cauldrons,” Severus ordered. “Without magic.”

“On the wrong side of the planet and I’m still in detention,” Potter muttered. “Wouldn’t magic be faster?”

“Faster, certainly, but far less safe. If you ever paid attention, you would know that the presence of magic, even that of a simple cleaning spell, can have adverse affects on the potions being brewed. Since we have a limited time and unfamiliar ingredients to work with, I would prefer not to take chances.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“I gathered as much.” Luciano had given him free access to take whatever he needed, and fortunately followed the common magical convention of naming things in Latin so he had at least a general idea of the properties of each. “Today we are going to begin breaking down the venom and determining its properties. If we can isolate the factors having an effect on his body we can attempt to neutralize them.”

“How long does that usually take?”

Ideally, five days, minimum, just to isolate the components…. “In this case we’re going to have to begin with stopgap measures tomorrow…attempt to halt any damage being done to his body and slow the progress of the poison. We’ll begin with standard antivenoms, assuming that they do not react negatively with the toxin.”

“Wouldn’t they have already tried that?”

“I plan to ask precisely what treatment regimen was followed when Luciano returns and work around that. Now, get those cauldrons clean. We don’t have time to waste.”

There wasn’t running water in the man’s home, Severus was rather dismayed to find, but Potter was able to clean the things down at the river where several others were also doing their washing. What that meant for the sanitary conditions…well, there was no point in worrying about that now. He was, however, pleasantly surprised at the range of ingredients available, including a few he had never expected to find in the middle of a jungle. Wormfern, that’s very useful as a neutralizing agent, and I doubt he would have thought to use it since it only works in conjunction with a stronger…

By the time he judged that they’d done as much as possible the sun had long since fallen. Several pots and cauldrons still simmered on the fire—by the next morning the results would be ready for analysis. He studied the boy in the remaining firelight. “Are you alert, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, sir.”

To the boy’s credit, once Severus explained why he wanted things done in a certain way he hadn’t hesitated to comply. It would make my life much easier if he’d behave like this in class. Then again, lives do not generally hang in the balance in those situations. Of the two of them, Potter had done most of the physical work, running all over the village either in search of Luciano to ask another question or to get another cauldron or more water or a particular plant. Severus had found paper and spent most of his time making copious notes on the effects of the venom, both from firsthand accounts of those who’d seen the children die—not pleasant interviews, even through an interpreter—and from what he’d been able to establish with the more elementary tests. He has to be exhausted. But then…perhaps this is the best time to practice. Severus could hardly deny that he was tired as well, but he always had a hard time sleeping when he had a new problem to concentrate on. And they had the place to themselves; the older man was staying with his son while they used his rooms. “Do you believe you are capable of attempting Occlumency?”

“Now? I…yes, sir.”

“Take a seat, then.” Severus moved to sit down on the cot set up next to Potter’s. Clear your mind.” He took out his wand. “One. Two. Three. Legilimens.” There was confusion, a fleeting glimpse of a dusty attic at Hogwarts, and then he was in an outdoor maze. A woman—a girl, the Tri-Wizard tournament competitor from Beauxbatons, he recognized absently—was lying motionless in the dirt, and he spun, shooting red fireworks into the sky. That should have ended his participation then and there, Severus realized. Apparently Crouch meddled with more of the tournament than we realized. He body he was inhabiting looked around wildly as the girl disappeared, and then a man was there—Krum—

“Expelliarmus!”

Severus found himself flung backward off the cot. “Potter…”

“I—I’m sorry, Professor, honest, I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course you meant to, you wanted me out of your mind. And I must admit it was effective.” He shook his head. “However, unless the Dark Lord is standing directly in front of you—in which case his use of Legilimency should hardly be your primary concern—it is not the best defense for you to develop. Give me your wand.”

“What?”

“I don’t intend to spend the entire evening getting blasted onto the floor, and I’m certainly not going to waste my energy needlessly in a shield. Give me your wand.” Child, if I was going to seriously injure you, I’d have tossed you off a branch days ago. “I give you my word that I will return it as soon as we finish.” Potter reluctantly passed him the thin stick of wood. “Thank you. Just for my peace of mind, how much wandless magic are you capable of performing?”

“It depends how desperate I am,” Potter admitted. “Unless it gets really bad, probably nothing will happen.”

“How much wandless magic have you performed previously?”

“Expelliarmus, once,” he admitted. “But it was a couple years ago—I didn’t know what it was at the time. And I made glass disappear and reappear another time—I wasn’t really desperate then, though, just mad—and I guess locks have opened when I needed them to. Once in awhile I could hide, but that might have just been stupidity on their parts.”

Severus didn’t comment on that, sighing as he set the wand aside and checked behind to cot to make sure that if he was sent backwards again he was in no immediate danger of a either a head injury or causing serious damage to Luciano’s property. “All right, Harry, clear your mind. One. Two. Three. Legilimens.” This time the view of the attics lasted a moment longer—he was fairly certain that it was the one just behind the owlry, actually—and then he was in a courtyard somewhere. There were young children everywhere…most of them were his size or larger so he surmised that Potter must have been only a year or two into primary school when this memory was created. He could feel someone pushing at his mind, but there wasn’t enough force behind the effort to evict him. Suddenly he was shoved from behind—physically—and landed face first in gravel. What the—?

A blond boy, as wide as he was tall, stood above him laughing, and Severus realized that he was still in Potter’s mind. There were two others with the one who’d shoved him, both dark haired and skinny. “We want to play a game, freak?” the blond asked. “We want to play Harry-hunting.”

Harry-what? Severus didn’t understand what the little whale meant, but the child whose body he currently inhabited clearly did, and almost before he realized it he was back on his feet and flying away from the trio. A panicked glance back revealed that the blond and the smaller of the two dark-haired boys had fallen back, but the other was right on his heels. Eric? Aaron? He vaguely recalled Potter mentioning that only one of his cousin’s friends had been able to keep up with him, but the name escaped him. When he looked back out of the child’s eyes, he found himself trapped against a brick building with the dark-haired boy standing in front of him blocking any possible escape route with an absolutely evil grin on his face. The other two were visible in the distance, closing slowly. And then, before they could get close enough to do any damage, the world twisted and he found himself perching on top of a brick structure, staring down at a group of children below.

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!”

Severus blinked, finding himself back on the cot staring at a shivering Potter. “Harry-hunting?” he asked when he’d gotten his voice back.

“Chasing me down and clobbering me,” the boy responded after a moment, shaking himself sharply to dispel the last of the tremors and rubbing at his forehead. “A fun game for all concerned, with the exception of me.” His voice was decidedly bitter.

“Why didn’t you inform anyone of this situation?”

“I tried. My teachers said I was either being a baby and tattling or just lying outright, my aunt and uncle think everything Dudley does is just wonderful…well, who else was I supposed to tell?”

That is…distinctly disturbing, Severus decided. “Surely someone noticed something wasn’t right when you apparated yourself to the top of the school building.”

“They said I climbed up there,” Potter said with a shrug. “After all, what else could have happened? I half-believed that’s what happened myself, at least until I got back to the Dursley’s and Dudley told them what he saw….” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I guess I haven’t thought about it in awhile, it just came back when you talked about wandless magic. I’m tired, Professor, can I go to sleep now?”

Severus wanted to question him further, but the look in the boy’s eyes didn’t encourage probing. “Sleep then. But attempt to clear your mind first.” He made a quick check of the cauldrons before settling himself into his cot, doing his best to banish the images he’d seen from his mind. “Your second attempt was much better, Harry,” he offered quietly, suspecting that the ‘sleeping’ child beside him was doing nothing of the sort. “You held me in the attic for several seconds. You just need to practice the part where you throw the invader from your mind.” There was no response from the cot behind him. “Goodnight, Mr. Potter.”

A few more moments of silence, and then, “Goodnight, sir.”

The next morning, the rising sun woke him before his student. Potter had curled himself so far into a ball that the light would never reach his eyes. Debating for a moment whether to awaken the boy, Severus finally decided to leave him alone. Most of what I need to do this morning is analytical work…the last thing I need is him interrupting me and disturbing my calculations. The first cauldron didn’t bear much of anything useful…just confirmed that the venom was deadly in its pure form. Hardly news. He’d have skipped the test entirely if it hadn’t been drilled into him during his Mastery exams to take nothing for granted. The second and third were strained components—he planned to use them to test possible antidotes for unpleasant reactions. More diluted would be better, but that could come later. The rest were what he needed to analyze what actually caused the reactions, and he settled down to study their contents.

“Professor? What are you working on?”

Severus glanced outside and realized that it was several hours after he’d first begun to work. “Mr. Potter, I knew my day was going too well.”

The boy ignored the comment. “Can I help you with something?”

Volunteering to work on potions, this is a first. “I suppose you could go scrub out those two cauldrons—make sure you don’t have any cuts on your hands, first—and find the woman who gave you the leaves with the bright blue veins. I’d like more leaves, and the stems with them if at all possible.”

“You think you found something?”

“Part of something, perhaps. Go on.” He checked the bandages on his hands and arms absently, but whatever was in the sealant that he’d been given was working wonders.

The first possible antidote was ready a few hours after noon. It didn’t completely neutralize the poison, but it did counter some of the more potent elements, at least for a limited amount of time. Luciano had stopped by for a few moments to suggest other herbs that might have a positive effect, but most of the man’s time had been spent with the injured hunter’s family. Severus was with them when the first dose of the antidote was delivered—he’d insisted that Potter remain behind in case something unpleasant happened. “Ask him how he’s feeling,” Severus suggested after they’d coaxed the first dose down the man’s throat and he stopped shaking and muttering. “Does he feel any numbness? Is the tightness in his chest releasing, even slightly?”

Luciano relayed the questions and passed the answers back. “He’s back in our reality, although he can’t feel his extremities. And it is marginally easier for him to breathe.”

The loss of feeling bothered Severus—it hinted at possible nerve damage that he might not be able to heal. However, there was no point in telling them that just yet. “Acceptable. Administer another dose every four hours, and inform me if there are any major changes.”

“For how long will this antidote work?” he asked.

“I do not know. Repeated exposure will likely lessen its effects…it may give him a day or two longer than he would have had otherwise, but it is unlikely to give him more than that. However, within that period it should lessen his pain and prevent the majority of the hallucinations.”

“I understand.”

Severus returned to the hut where the rest of his attempts at antidotes waited. “Potter, what are you doing?”

“I’m just looking, Professor.” The boy backed away from the cauldrons.

“Well, as long as you’re just looking, begin mixing this powder into that one, half a spoonful at a time while mixing continually in a counterclockwise direction. Make certain it is all absorbed before you add the next spoonful.” There was very little the boy could mess up with that cauldron...Severus was trying to create a diluted form of the poison that he could handle more freely. There were medical applications, of course, but mostly he wanted something that could be taken out and tested quickly without the precautions he had to take with the more concentrated samples. The three cauldrons nearest the fire held the best chances for antidotes, and those were what he wanted to focus on. Perhaps if I add more of the spiderroot base…

The first cauldron went up in explosive flames less than an hour later, and Severus waved them away with the ease of long practice. “Whoa, I thought only Neville did that,” Potter commented from his corner.

So help me, if you just compared my abilities in potions to those of Longbottom, I will turn you over to the Dark Lord. “Excuse me?”

The boy colored. “Uh, sorry, Professor. I just meant…ah…um…it blew up.”

He did. That little brat! “Your powers of observation astound me, Mr. Potter. However, I believe I can be excused as I am working with completely unfamiliar materials to devise an antidote than hasn’t existed for a hundred years. Your idiot classmate, on the other hand, manages to achieve such results even with ingredients you should all be well familiar with and a step-by-step recipe to follow.” Severus glared down at the cauldron, remains of the failed potion still smoldering in the bottom. The smell was somewhat reminiscent of the shed in which Hagrid kept food for his more…interesting pets. And a quick shake proved that the mixture was hardening quickly and adhering to the sides as it did so. “I believe I have had enough of your help in here, for the time being,” he decided. “Take this down to the river and scrub it out. Thoroughly.” With your tongue.

Potter made a face as he approached. “I could borrow you another one.” He tapped the side, studying the mixture inside and apparently coming to the same conclusion Severus had as to the difficulty of the assignment. “It would probably be faster.”

“Nonsense, this is a perfectly good cauldron, and I have several others if I need one immediately. Just make sure that all the…remains are scrubbed free before you bring that one back.” He gave a satisfied smirk as the boy disappeared with an unhappy look on his face. We’ll see if you make that mistake again. Setting up a pot with the same mixture as the one that had exploded for further testing—perhaps if I first added a unifying element before attempting neutralization?—and moved on to the next attempt simmering by the fire.

It too, was a disappointment—less spectacular than the first, but still the mixture inside wouldn’t cure a toothache never mind combat the poison coursing through the man’s blood. The cauldron he’d sent Potter to clean had reappeared at some point while he was working, but the boy had made himself scarce. Wise decision, child. Still, it wasn’t a good idea to leave the brat wandering the village alone—he didn’t speak the language and was bound to find some form of trouble sooner or later. Limbs protested as he stood, and again he missed his workroom. The working conditions here left a bit to be desired.

He stepped out into the light and realized that he’d worked through most of the afternoon…missed breakfast and lunch as well, as his stomach was protesting. “Potter?” A glance around the immediate area didn’t yield any sign of the brat. He moved towards where a group of women were working. “Hello? Have any of you seen a child named Harry Potter?” He held a hand a chest level, mimicking the size of the person he was looking for. One shook her head, whether to indicate lack of understanding or that she hadn’t seem him he didn’t know. “Thank you anyway.”

“Professor?”

He turned, glaring at the approaching boy. “Where have you been?”

“Joao and his brother Miquel found me when I was cleaning your cauldron…I’ve been helping them with English and they’ve been teaching me Portuguese. I was just coming to find you and tell you that we’re invited to join them for dinner.”

“And I don’t suppose it occurred to you to inform me of your whereabouts?”

Potter frowned. “I did tell you, Professor, when I dropped off the cauldron. You didn’t say anything, so I figured it was okay.”

That was possible, actually, Severus acknowledged. When he was working he tended to block out the rest of the world—during the summers when he was doing most of his experimentations back at Hogwarts Albus had made a habit of either dropping by once a day or sending someone else to do so to force him to stop and eat if he hadn’t done so already. Minerva had once resorted to jumping on his shoulder in her Animagi form to get his attention. As he recalled, she hadn’t been pleased when he very nearly dumped her into a vat of improved dreamless sleep in surprise. But then I wouldn’t have cared for the effects of cat hair in my creation either. “Very well; most of what I am working on will not be ready for more work until later tonight. I suppose you know the way?”

The boy nodded and fell into step beside him. “Did you find something that will work?”

“Not yet.” A quick glance around proved that no one was within easy listening distance. “After we eat, we will try another Occlumency lesson.” Potter didn’t look pleased with that pronouncement, but he didn’t attempt to argue.

“This is it.”

Dinner passed surprisingly pleasantly—Joao’s younger brother had a much firmer grasp of the English language than Joao did and was able to translate fairly easily for Severus. Potter and the older boy were trading phrases back and forth—judging by the expressions on their faces it was just as well that the conversation was too low for most of the others at the table to understand. No one brought up the wyrsa poisoning, for which he was grateful…all in all a pleasant distraction. He finally stood, excusing himself politely. “Come, Mr. Potter, we have work that needs to be finished.” At least two of his latest attempts would be ready for continued experimentation.

“Professor?” the boy asked as they walked back to their current lodgings.

“What?”

“Can you just call me Harry?”

“And why, if I may ask, would I want to do that?” The last thing I need is to encourage familiarity with the brat.

“Because it’s…I don’t know, I just like it better. You’ve done it a couple times in the last few days.”

“Mere slips of the tongue. We are not friends, and I have no desire to give these people the impression that we are.”

“Actually most of them think you’re my father.”

His—his father! Bad enough that I’m stuck with that…that arrogant Gryffindor, but to believe that I am related to him! Severus sputtered for a moment, before managing an explosive “WHAT!” Potter’s snickering didn’t improve his mood, and for a moment he considered the ramifications of strangling the little brat and blaming it on the snake they’d met the other day. Obviously the child had been saving this little tidbit of information for when it would prove most amusing for him.

“Well, we got here together, and I guess we’ve both got dark hair,” Potter finally responded when he managed to stop laughing. “I keep telling them you’re just my teacher, but most of them just ignore me.”

Well, I can hardly blame them for that. “Brilliant.”

“So, see, I know you can’t do it back at Hogwarts because of Vo—the Dark Lord finding out, but doing it here wouldn’t really make any difference.

I suppose he has a point, Severus had to admit. Not that he didn’t plan on hexing into oblivion the next person he caught referring to himself and the brat as any sort of relation, but compared to that calling him by his first name was hardly an issue. “You will continue to refer to me as ‘Professor’, understood?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Hm.” He checked the two cauldrons he was most interested in and found that they could stand to simmer a bit longer. “It seems we have time for an Occlumency lesson.”

“Great.” Potter took a seat on one of the cots and held out his wand. “I’m ready.”

“We shall see.” Severus set the boy’s wand on the table and drew his own, settling himself onto the other cot. “One, two, three, Legilimens.” Again he saw the attics at Hogwarts—that was definitely the one behind the owlry—and pushed a little farther. Instead of snapping immediately into a memory, he entered another attic…this one he wasn’t familiar with. And then he pushed again and found himself in a garden tugging futilely at some sort of weed. Nice try, Mr. Potter. This memory appeared to be fairly innocuous…certainly the boy was hot and he could use a pair of gloves, but he should be able to figure that out for himself.

“Boy, aren’t you done, yet?” Severus wanted to rub his ears at the shriek—such an irritating, grating voice.

“Almost, Aunt Petunia.”

“Well, hurry up or you’ll get no dinner tonight. I want everything looking perfect for my precious Duddlykins birthday.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia. Precious Dudlykins, my…” he trailed off muttering under his breath and Severus ignored the words. He could feel Potter—Harry—pushing at his mind, but was in no way budged, and he gave another push, moving farther into the boy’s memories. Now he was somewhere dark…dark and cramped. He—well, Harry—tried to stretch and his feet hung off the end of a small bunk. And then the room began to shake. An earthquake? Surely not.

Several loud bangs came from directly above him. “Potty! Potty, wake up! Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Each call was accentuated with another crash from above.

There was a loud bang on what Severus assumed was a door, and then, “Freak!”

This time the shove at his mind was much more forceful, but rather than snapping him back into his own body on the cot he was pushed farther backwards. He found himself crouched in front of his father, trying desperately not to cry. The man was ranting, towering over him with his fists clenched…. I know this memory…. It had been one of his first bouts of accidental magic; his father’s car had nearly hit his cat and he’d blown up something in the engine when he’d tried to make it stop. His father had not been pleased. Conscious thought caught up with him as he filtered the terror in the mind of his seven-year-old self from his own. How dare he go into my mind! I told him specifically not to even attempt it! I warned him…. Severus gave a practiced mental twist and found himself back on the cot, the boy facing him and breathing heavily.

“I—I’m sorry, Professor, I don’t know what happened!”

“I do,” he growled back. “You deliberately disobeyed me.” His wand was clenched in his hand as he stood.

Potter sprang up to face him. “But I didn’t!”

Severus ignored him. “I told you not to go into my mind…told you very clearly, and as I recall you agreed.”

“But I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!”

“Of course, you didn’t want me in your memories, so you accidentally invaded mine. I was—”

“But that’s what hap—!”

“Silence! I was under the impression, Mr. Potter, that you were finally beginning to use that brain in your head, but it seems that I was mistaken.” His glare intensified as the boy opened his mouth to interrupt again, and Potter’s mouth snapped shut. “Sit back down on that bed. We will finish this Occlumency lesson, and rest assured, I will not be as easy on you as I have been.”

Potter paled most pleasantly as he sat back down. “Professor, please, it was hones—”

“You are hardly in a position to speak about honesty given as you’ve already broken your word once tonight. And now you’re refusing to own up to it; so much for Gryffindor courage.”

The boy’s face darkened. “I’m not ly—”

“Legilimens!” Severus hissed. With anger strengthening the force behind the command, the image of the attics lasted only for a fraction of a second. He blasted through more darkness, images of bright light, a green flash, and suddenly he had a sharp pain in his head and something was preventing him from breathing freely.

“Worthless freak!”

What on Earth…? He was still in Potter’s mind, and the boy was trying valiantly to draw breath, but the man who had him by the throat was several times his size—several times my size, at least in terms of weight, Severus acknowledged—and wasn’t letting go. He was shoved backwards, his head banging into the wall behind him, and Severus realized what the pain had been before.

“We take you in, we feed you, we protect your worthless hide for years, and this is how you repay us! You dare to bring that freakishness into our house!” Another slam into the wall—he saw stars, but at least Potter was able to draw a full breath as the hand went slack for a moment. “I’ll teach you to respect this house.”

The grip on his throat was removed, and the hand refastened on his arm, dragging him down a hall and up a staircase. “No, Uncle, please, I didn’t do anything! I’m sorry, I swear, please!” The boy fought to get away, but he had no chance against the man’s sheer weight.

Sweet Merlin. The blood wards may protect him against the Dark Lord, but they’ll do nothing against his relatives. The world twisted as he was thrown to the ground and the man reached up into a closet.

“PROTEGO!” The world twisted again as Severus was thrown backward off the cot by the shielding spell. Potter was standing, his eyes wide and his entire body trembling. Their eyes met for a moment, and then the boy bolted from the hut and into the darkness.

“Potter! Harry!”

It took a moment—more than a moment, to tell the truth—for Severus to shake off the shock of what he’d just seen. He tried to justify it, at first. After all, the miniature whale he’d seen earlier…well, children could be cruel. Severus knew that perhaps better than anyone. And it was certainly possible that the shrieking woman had simply had a bad day…expecting her nephew to do his chores well was hardly an atrocity. But no justification he could envision could excuse or even explain what that man had done. What he’d been about to do. I’ve seen anger of that sort before…. And from the boy’s reaction, it hadn’t been the first time. That child is supposed to be the boy-who-lived, the arrogant little brat who defeated the Dark Lord and now lords it over the rest of us, expecting to be treated like a prince. Not…not an abuse victim. If there was one thing Severus did not like, it was being wrong in his judgments. Particularly not that wrong. He tried to think back to any signs the child might have shown over the years, but…well, the two of them had never particularly gotten along, so of course Harry had been wary and defensive in his presence. Why wouldn’t he be? True, he’d never gone home except for the summer break, but he was hardly the only one who remained at the castle. And around his friends he’d always seemed fine—well, noisy and irritating, like most of the students are—but then children his own age were hardly likely to instill terror. Minerva, Hagrid, Albus, even the werewolf, they would have been in much better positions to diagnose the abuse, but….

Would any of them have known what to look for? Abuse, physical abuse, at least, wasn’t all that common in the Wizarding world. And generally the children who did come from abusive households ended up in either Ravenclaw or Slytherin—they buried themselves in their own private worlds or became masters in the art of self-preservation. Once in his teaching career there had been a case in Hufflepuff, a girl who’d learned to diffuse anger to protect her younger siblings, but never had he seen signs of anything of the sort in one of the Gryffindor brats. And Flitwick, who’d spotted the Hufflepuff girl, had enough to do managing his own students…after all, everyone else was keeping an eye on the Golden Boy. Is it possible that we all overlooked this? Albus, at least, should have caught it, but then…he occasionally sees only what he’d like to see. Not often, but this would hardly be the first time he’s been blindsided by a Gryffindor. I’d best find Potter. Harry. Severus picked up the boy’s wand from where he’d left it on the bedside table and held out his own. “Point me—”

A crackling sound from the fire drew his attention before he could complete the spell. “Not now. Not now.” Of course, it would be now, when he had an upset child to find, that the best attempt at a cure for wyrsa poison he’d found to data would be ready for testing. And he could hardly put the solution aside and expect it to retain its potency…if he left, it would take at least another day to recreate the mixture and test it. And a day after that to make another batch for the hunter to use…perhaps a day more than the man had left. It had been nearly a day and a half since he’d been scratched…. “Damn it all, can nothing ever be simple?” But there was no choice…Potter wasn’t likely to leave the village, no matter how panicked he was, and Severus couldn’t justify the possible exchange of a man’s life for a conversation that could just as easily be held an hour later. Perhaps it is just as well…giving him time to calm himself might prove beneficial. Certainly Severus didn’t know what he’d do if he found the child in hysterics…slapping him to bring him out of it was hardly a viable option at this point. Severus wasn’t sure what he’d do when he found the child period, honestly…at Hogwarts, when he discovered an abuse case even among his Slytherins he was able to hand it off fairly quickly to Pomfrey or one of the more sympathetic teachers.

Setting up the potion for testing helped to calm his own nerves somewhat; due mostly to the control over his breathing and emotions that he’d learned to maintain while working with some of the more volatile substances available. And the initial results, at least, looked promising. When he finished everything he needed to do—and a few things he hadn’t really needed to do, but they did give him an excuse to put off his search for the boy—he stood and moved away from the fire. As he’d calmed he’d found himself reflecting on his own actions this evening and found them…impulsive, at best. Vicious being a better term. Granted the brat had absolutely no right to invade his mind after agreeing not to, but…there hadn’t been any defensiveness or deceitfulness in his mind when Severus had forced his way in the last time. So it was possible—barely possible—that it had been an honest accident. In which case…I detest apologies. Particularly well-deserved ones. Finding one of his more cherished opinions had been wrong and now being required to apologize…it had not been his night. I was doing better when we were still lost in the jungle. Still, there was no point in putting it off any longer; there was the matter of the boy’s uncle to investigate as well. He held out his wand again. “Point me Harry Potter.”

It spun, and this time he was able to follow in the direction it indicated without distraction. “Potter? Harry?” He kept his voice down as he called, unwilling to disturb the village residents. When the wand shifted abruptly to point upwards as he approached the edge of the village, he sighed and stared up into the massive trees. “Mr. Potter, haven’t we spent enough time in these things in the past few days?” He debated Accio’ing the boy to him, but the way things had been going a limb was bound to be broken in the fall. Probably one of mine. “Onwards and upwards, I suppose. Lumos.” Climbing with his wand in his teeth was an interesting experience, but at least it gave him enough light to find handholds. He assumed that he’d have to wander along the branches for some time before he managed to find the child—reaching the level of the first branches and finding a figure curled against the trunk watching him was a bit of a shock. “Mr. Potter.”

“I’m tired, Professor.”

“As it is a disturbingly early hour of the morning, I would assume so,” Severus returned. “However, I need to speak to you, and as we are both fully conscious I see no reason not to commence.” The boy didn’t look particularly pleased with that pronouncement, but he shifted enough to allow Severus up onto the branch.

“I’m sorry I went in your head, Professor.”

His voice was dull, a fact which disturbed Severus rather more than he thought that it should. “I was under the impression that it was an accident.”

“It’s not like you’ll believe me either way.”

Severus suppressed a sigh. You will not make this easy on me, will you child? “I may, perhaps, have been…hasty…in my judgments, previously.” He caught a flash of green as the boy’s eyes widened. “And my reaction was…extreme, regardless.” The eyes watching him widened a bit farther and he gritted his teeth. “For that I apologize.”

The boy’s jaw actually dropped a bit before he remembered himself. “I….”

“Articulate as ever, Mr. Potter,” Severus observed.

“I just…I don’t know what I expected, but not…that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say sorry for anything.” He was silent again, and then one shoulder hitched. “I guess it was probably a pretty big shock when we ended up in your memories…I’d probably be angry too if that happened and I wasn’t expecting it. But I didn’t break my word—I didn’t do it on purpose.” He glared. “And you didn’t have to hurt me.”

“I believe that I have already apologized for that.” And Merlin be damned if you think I’ll do so again. Fortunately—for Potter—the boy didn’t seem to expect anything of the sort. They sat, silent again, while Severus tried to determine how best to phrase his next question. “Does he beat you often?”

“What!”

Perhaps the direct approach had not been the way to go. Too late now. “I am neither blind nor stupid, Mr. Potter. For how long has that muggle been mistreating you?”

The boy dropped his gaze. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor.”

“Indeed. I suppose that you believe it is normal for a grown man to choke a child and repeatedly slam him into a wall?”

“I…it’s not like it happens a lot. Just when he gets mad or annoyed.”

“And you believe that makes it acceptable?” The boy just shrugged, and he sighed. Why couldn’t this have come to light back at Hogwarts? This is supposed to be Poppy’s job, or Albus’ or Minerva’s. My own students consider my cold, and now I’m supposed to…help…this child? I’m not even certain where to start. “Harry, I assure you I’m annoyed with you on a nearly daily basis and generally angry at least once a week, and yet somehow I’ve managed to refrain from doing grievous bodily harm. Why hasn’t your uncle managed the same?”

“He hates magic,” Harry muttered. “So he hates me. They all do. Anything bad that happens… well, it must be magic-related and it must be my fault.”

“Have you ever told anyone how they treat you?”

“I told Dumbledore they don’t like me.” The boy’s voice was defensive. “Every summer I ask if I can stay at the Weasleys’ or somewhere else.”

“I believe you are intelligent enough to know that ‘they don’t like me’ is considerably different than ‘they are hurting me,’” Severus pointed out, keeping his voice as calm as he could. We can hardly rectify the situation if we don’t know about it.

“Well, it’s not like he doesn’t already know. My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs—my first thousand letters or so, since my uncle kept burning them so I’d never find out about Hogwarts.”

“Excuse me?”

“He burned all my letters, and when they kept coming he took us all away so they couldn’t find us. If Hagrid hadn’t come to get me, I’d never have gone to Hogwarts.”

That would have made my life simpler, Severus couldn’t help thinking, but…well, the little brat was the Wizarding world’s best hope against the Dark Lord. And better he is with us than those…muggles. Harry had been one of the scrawniest of the first years if Severus remembered correctly and still wasn’t among the largest in his age group…certainly no match for a man the size of which he’d seen in that vision. “These letters were addressed to a cupboard?”

“It was my room, up until the summer between first and second year. Then they moved me to Dudley’s second bedroom and put bars on the window—Ron and Fred and George had to break me out.”

Potter was right—abuse could be hidden, unfortunately, but bars were certainly something the headmaster should have known about. Particularly when I know the Order has a spy on the house. Arabella may be a bit…distracted, at the best of times, but she’s hardly blind. Damnit, Albus, for all our sakes, I hope you have an explanation. Something howled in the distance, disrupting his chain of thought. “This is not the place to be having this conversation. Here is your wand.” Severus waved his own, intending to levitate the two of them to the ground below.

“I think I’ll stay out here for awhile.”

“You most certainly will not.” Harry opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it as he caught sight of Severus’ expression. “We will continue this discussion in more hospitable surroundings.”

“Did you find a cure?” the child asked with a nod to the cauldrons as they entered the hut.

“Perhaps.” Severus wasn’t willing to be put off now that he had the boy talking—the potion wouldn’t be ready for examination for another few hours at the earliest. He nodded for the boy to take a seat. “I believe I asked you how often those—incidents—with your uncle occur?”

“Not…not like that, not very often. Two or three times a year, maybe. He stopped when I first started at Hogwarts—I think he was afraid I’d turn him into something—but then he found out about the ban on underage magic, and….” Potter shrugged. “Mostly he just cuffs me around…assuming he even notices me. He’s at work during the day and at night as long as I don’t screw up supper I’m not really worth the time.”

“And your aunt and cousin?”

“She screams at me a lot and doesn’t let me eat, and sometimes goads my uncle into stuff, but she never really hits me herself, at least not hard enough to do anything. And Dudley is an idiot—if he wasn’t three times my size he wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

Unfortunately, he is three times your size, and somehow I don’t think you can always get away from him. And withholding food from a child is hardly acceptable behavior either. However, your uncle is clearly the most dangerous of the lot…. “The particular incident that I viewed?”

“He got mad and he hit me.”

Severus stared for a moment, but it was obvious that the child didn’t plan to offer any more information. Not without prompting, anyway. “Why do they dislike magic? Surely your aunt, at least, would be proud of her sister’s heroics.” Mentioning Lily’s accomplishments was somewhat less irritating than mentioning Potter’s, at least.”

“She hated my mom—they said my parents died in a car crash. Hagrid told me the truth when he came to get me.”

Damn it. “Some muggles are less than understanding,” Severus acknowledged after a moment. “They fear what they cannot understand—what they cannot hope to do. It is not your fault.”

“I thought you thought that everything that happens to me is my fault.”

“Oh, you’re no doubt an insufferable brat who couldn’t stay out of mischief if his life depended on it,” Severus assured him, rather relieved at the spark of insolence returning to the boy’s tone as loath as he was to admit it. “However, you’re hardly old enough to be responsible for the existence of all magic-hating muggles.” They were silent for a moment, and he debated how best to prompt the child into speaking. “I assume you have no desire to return to your relatives?”

“Of course not!”

“Then I am going to need slightly more information from you about your treatment at their hands.” The memories he now shared would be more than enough for anyone at Hogwarts, but if that idiot Fudge or his lackeys from the Ministry got involved they would need the full story. Potter, however still did not seem convinced, and Severus considered his next move. Unfortunately, the last few days notwithstanding, the two of them did not have the most pleasant history together, and while he had a one idea that stood a fair chance of getting the child to open up, he was by nature a private person. So help me, if he ever repeats any of this and I find out about it…. “I believe that the majority of the problems with my father stemmed from accidental magic.”

“Huh?”

“Mr. Potter, have you ever considered speech lessons?”

The boy rolled his eyes, but seemed to be considering Severus’ words. “But…your father was a wizard, right?”

“No. My mother was a witch, my father…there was some debate over whether the appropriate term was muggle or squib since there had been some magic in his family line, but he was most certainly nonmagical himself.”

“He didn’t like that you were?”

“Not particularly. He insisted that my mother refrain from using magic and wasn’t pleased when I couldn’t always do the same.”

“Kind of like Bewitched.”

“Pardon me?”

“A muggle television show…American. Was about a witch—well, she wasn’t a real witch—who kept trying not to use her powers. And then there was a season where they had a kid, she was magical too, and they kept trying to keep her from using it.” He shrugged. “It used to show at night sometimes. My aunt and uncle had a fit every time they saw it on.”

“Somehow I doubt the storyline was the same as that my parents followed.”

Potter considered him for a moment. “He hurt you.”

It was a statement, not a question, and Severus acknowledged the words with a flick of his fingers. “I was fortunate…my mother and I left him and moved in with her parents when I was perhaps ten.” In many ways their treatment of him had been worse—they had not been pleased when their only child had chosen to marry a muggle, and the fact that the only magical abilities her son possessed at the age of ten involved potions did little but make the situation worse. Even those teachings she’d only been able to give him under the guise of cooking lessons so they hadn’t been as complete as his grandparents had expected…. But there was no need to tell Harry that. Certainly if we hadn’t gone to live with them I would never have had the chance to attend Hogwarts. And it wasn’t as though I was unable to pick up their lessons quickly. Not that he’d had a choice in the matter; not when they were used him as the target for some of the more painful dark curses when he made mistakes…. He shook his head. His grandparents were long since dead, and those memories had no place here. “I assume your relatives had issues with accidental magic as well?”

Potter stared at him for a moment longer and finally nodded. “I told you about the time I apparated myself to the roof when Dudley and Piers and Aaron were after me, right?”

“Yes. I believe you said that everyone was under the impression that you climbed onto the roof?”

“They were. Up until Dudley and I got home and he went screaming to my aunt that I’d been a freak at school that day, anyway. My bad luck, I guess…my uncle was home early from work. I think something must have gone wrong there because he was mad even before Dudley started yelling, but after he finished….” The boy pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I think that’s the first time he really hit me—hit me, hit me, not just cuffing me around or throwing me in my cupboard or whatever.”

Severus was quite certain that he was supposed to offer some form of comfort at this point …and equally certain that he had no idea how to go about doing so. He’d never attempted to speak of his father’s mistreatment to anyone other than his mother, who’d been there with him, and as for the rest…well, Albus had certainly suspected, but he’d never confirmed or denied it. Fortunately, before he was forced to actually do anything, Harry continued with his story.

“I wasn’t sure what was happening at first…he slapped me pretty hard and then he started dragging me upstairs. I didn’t really go up there much unless I was supposed to be cleaning something—I was in Dudley’s rooms a lot. But he took me into his room….” Potter shook his head. “I…it didn’t make any sense. He was yelling…kept calling me a freak over and over, but I don’t think he even knew what I’d done. And then he took it out of the closet…he just kept hitting me over and over and over. My arms and my back and my legs…most of the time they’re careful not to leave marks—they don’t want the neighbors to ask questions—but he was so mad…”

“What did he hit you with?” Severus prompted.

“A belt. Except it’s real heavy and it has those little metal spike things on it—studs. They hurt so bad. I…as long as they hit on my clothes they don’t cut, but the bruises last for a long time. I don’t even know where he got it—it’s way too short to be his or Dudley’s and it’s not something my aunt would wear. But he keeps it up there, and when he gets really mad….” He trailed off with a shiver. “He just keeps hitting and hitting…most of the time I don’t even notice when he finishes until he’s dragging me back downstairs.”

A whisper of Legilimancy that went unnoticed by the child confirmed that being dragged back downstairs actually meant being thrown back in a cupboard—which was apparently the small dark space he’d found himself in during one of Harry’s first attempts at Occlumency. He didn’t attempt to pry farther. “How often did accidental magic put you into these situations?”

“I think only twice more because of accidental magic…unless it was something major that kept my chores from getting done or Dudley was around to tattle they didn’t usually notice anything I did. But every couple months he’d get mad about something…like I said, they usually didn’t leave marks on me, but when it happened…I was supposed to tell people that I fell if anyone asked. They were always telling people how clumsy and stupid I was anyway.”

“What happened to incite the incident I observed?”

“I really am tired, Professor, can we please talk about this tomorrow?”

Severus nodded reluctantly—it would probably be wiser to keep him talking, but it was late, and perhaps these memories would be best examined in the light. “I suppose. But I expect you to remain here tomorrow morning rather than disappearing all day with your new friends, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, then. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”

Somehow, when muted cries and muttering from the bed next to him woke him a scant few hours later, Severus wasn’t surprised. Relieved that it wasn’t the earsplitting screams that heralded a vision from the Dark Lord, but not surprised. “Potter. Harry. Wake up.” He stood, moving to the other cot and sitting on the edge. “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” The words didn’t do much, but a quick shake of the nearest shoulder brought the child upright so fast that he nearly cracked his head on Severus’ chin.

“Professor?” He blinked, one hand reaching back for his glasses. “I…sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“A nightmare, I presume?”

Potter nodded. “Just a normal one.”

“The basilisk?”

“The third task.”

Severus sighed. When they got back and told Albus about the situation with Potter’s relatives, they were going to need to find the child a foster family. While the Weasleys would no doubt be the first to volunteer, he was going to recommend finding a competent therapist—perhaps more than one—and sending the child to live with them for a few months first. Merlin help us if he somehow ends up living with the werewolf or that mutt…he’ll be a raving lunatic before he comes of age. “What happened in that graveyard was not your fault.”

Harry shook his head. “Maybe not what Volde—the Dark Lord—did, but Cedric shouldn’t have been there at all. I got to the cup first. It should just have been me. But he helped me…I said we should take it together. And then the thing was a portkey. ‘Kill the spare.’ That’s what he said. And then Cedric was dead. I saw him, you know, after, when our wands connected. Voldemort’s and mine. Saw my parents too. But Cedric asked me to take him back with him…take his body back….”

His words had gotten quicker as he’d gone on, voice rising higher in pitch, and for a moment Severus feared that he was going to have to either strike or stun him to prevent the onset of hysteria. But eventually the words came to an abrupt halt, and the child sat breathing heavily on the edge of the bunk. “And you did as he asked. Very…Gryffindor of you. Not particularly intelligent as I suspect it resulted in more danger for yourself, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard anyone accuse you of being overly smart. And as for suggesting that you take the cup together…it’s the same bloody nobility as well, I suppose. Fair play and such nonsense.” Severus took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. “Perhaps if you hadn’t made the suggestion he wouldn’t have ended up in that graveyard with you, but there is no way to know what would have happened to him then. Crouch, Jr. would hardly have wanted the alarm spread about the Golden Boy’s disappearance…it’s quite possible that he would have died anyway. And there is no guarantee that he wouldn’t have ended up in the graveyard even without your suggestion. He couldn’t have been that far from the cup—he might have grabbed for the thing himself and ended up there alone. You’re hardly large enough or strong enough to have stopped him.”

“At least then the Dark Lord would still be gone.”

“You believe you would have been safe in the middle of that maze? Nonsense. If Diggory had been the one taken instead of you, he would still have ended up dead and Crouch would have kept coming after you until he got you.”

Potter glared. “What, so you’re saying that it’s better both things happened at once?”

Why me? Surely someone should have thought to sit down and have this conversation with him immediately after the event. But with the mess surrounding Diggory’s death and the Ministry’s denial of the Dark Lord’s return…yet another thing regarding the brat that has been overlooked. Brilliant. “I am saying that his death was not your fault. It was regrettable, but once you were entered in that tournament you had no choice but to participate, and with Crouch’s maneuvering you were bound to find yourself facing that portkey. That he happened to be with you….” Severus sighed. The other child’s death had been needless and pointless, like so much of the Dark Lord’s maneuvering, and nothing he said was going to change that. “It was not your fault. Understood?”

The boy’s glare held steady for a moment, and then he dropped his head. “Understood.”

“Then I suggest you lie down and attempt to go back to sleep.”

“I never—”

“Go back to sleep after nightmares, I believe you mentioned that. Lie down anyway.”

“I’m not tired anymore, Professor.”

Severus frowned. “Well, then, you will assist me in testing the antidote I have been working on.”

“It’s ready?”

“It will be, momentarily…the spell I put on it would have awakened me even if you had not. Go fill those two cauldrons with water. And be quiet about it—there is no reason to awaken the entire village.”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus set out the ingredients he would need to test the potion. The mixtures that he had set up last night—this night—whenever the occlumency lesson had ended—had confirmed that the substance was definitely an antidote to the venom in the wyrsa’s claws. However, it would do little good if it was toxic in and of itself…and Severus had mixed more than a few ingredients that would be lethal if given individually into the mix. So today’s experiments would determine whether the liquid was safe enough for human consumption or if it would simply kill the man more quickly.

“Is this enough, Professor?”

“That will be fine, M—Harry. Take a seat, and I want you to add ingredients to that cauldron—slowly—as I add them to this one. Please note, they are laid out in order, so there is no need to go making random guesses as to what is what.” I almost wish the Granger brat was here…. They worked in silence for a bit—the first set of ingredients needed to be added before the water truly heated. Severus was pleasantly surprised that the boy was able to maintain control of his cauldron and ingredients when he had reason to try.

“It was because of Dobby.”

“Excuse me?” He vaguely remembered Lucius referring to a house elf by that name—he actually hadn’t seen the creature for some time, now that he thought about it—but what the Malfoys’ servant had to do with Harry….

“What happened in that memory you saw. It was because of Dobby. He came to warn me not to go back to Hogwarts that year. The year they opened the Chamber. M-my uncle was having a dinner party that night for some very important people…when I wouldn’t promise not to go back Dobby started making trouble. I mean, I knew I was in for it when he made all that racket and my uncle had to come upstairs—this was after they’d moved me into Dudley’s second bedroom—but then Dobby went downstairs and saw the pudding. I knew what he was going to do as soon as I saw the look on his face, but I couldn’t stop him. It made a horrible mess, and then Hedwig—she didn’t get out, but she made such an awful racket…. The guests left immediately.” The boy paused, staring into the cauldron but clearly not seeing it. “Then it came—the notice about the ban on underage magic. My uncle hadn’t known…he didn’t do anything to me earlier for fear I’d turn him into a toad or something. But after it came, he knew I couldn’t fight back, and….” Harry trailed off with a shake of his head. “You saw the rest. He locked me in the cupboard after it was done, and when they finally let me out it was to drag me upstairs and throw me in Dudley’s second bedroom. Except now there were all kinds of locks, and when I looked out the window I saw the bars...when my uncle was putting in the last screws he said I’d never be allowed to go back to Hogwarts again.”

“And that’s when the Weasleys saved you?”

“A couple days later.”

Severus sighed. It must have been the Malfoys’ elf…no one else could have known that Lucius planned to slip the damn diary to the Weasley girl. He hadn’t known until after Potter had foiled the plot, and even then only because Dumbledore had mentioned it. “Unfortunate timing, I’m afraid.”

“Very.” Harry studied the cauldron for a moment longer before glancing up at his teacher. “Did anything like that ever happen to you?”

Severus frowned for a moment. I will not let this become a ‘who’s childhood was worse?’ discussion. But…at least the boy was talking. And showing him that he was not alone couldn’t hurt…as long as he had the sense not to repeat anything he heard. Somehow Severus didn't think that would be an issue. “Not quite the same thing—I did do what I was punished for, but I didn’t know it was wrong at the time. My mother…when my magic began to manifest itself, she hid it fairly well. And like your uncle, my father was not always around during the day. But one week she’d gone to visit a friend—I think the woman may have been ill. Regardless, Mother had never been away for so long, and Father wasn’t one to play. I was perhaps five at the time and got quite bored. And then I found that I could activate the electronics in the house with only a wave if I concentrated very hard.”

“Uh-oh,” Harry muttered.

“Unfortunately so. Mother used to say that my tricks were secrets between us, but I forgot, I suppose. Young children have an unfortunate tendency to do that. My father had several coworkers over that night to watch some muggle sporting event, and I decided to show off what I could do…something along the lines of blinking the screen multiple times and calling ‘Look, no switches!’ as I recall. Father was not amused—he made a rather unconvincing excuse about the power lines to his friends and as soon as they left broke several of another kind of switch across my backside.”

“When you were five? Bastard!”

Severus smirked at that. For once, Mr. Potter, you I find ourselves in complete agreement. “Unfortunately, some muggles are simply not willing to tolerate what they cannot fully understand. Now, let me see the ruin you’ve made of your potion.”

“It looks like yours,” Harry protested.

“Hm. Acceptable, I suppose. Divide the potions between the four vials there while I fetch the antidote—kindly avoid spilling them, if you will.” In one of the four he planned to test an undiluted antidote…it would almost certainly fail. Between the other three he hoped to find a concentration that would negate the effects of the venom in a relatively short span of time while not eating away the man’s body from the inside. He gave a cursory glance at the last few cauldrons still simmering by the fire—more antidote possibilities if this one did not work out. With a bit of luck he wouldn’t need them.

Severus forced himself to breathe evenly as the man took the first dose of the antidote he’d prepared. It wasn’t as strong as he’d have preferred—the man would need to take it for over a week to counteract the effects of the venom. But any stronger and he ran the risk of melting his internal organs, so…. At this point the main question was whether the man would remain alive long enough for the potion to have any effect. Potter shifted nervously from foot to foot beside him and he turned to frown at the boy. “Silent, now.”

Luciano coaxed the potion down the man’s throat—he gagged, but it seemed to be more in reaction to the taste than any adverse effect. Honestly, doesn’t anyone else realize the unfortunate side effects of adding sweetener to potions? “Does he feel any loosening in his chest?” Severus asked the older man, who passed on the question and relayed the reply.

“I…do not think so. His answers are none to clear.”

“It may be too soon to tell for certain. I will brew another batch to ensure that you have enough—make sure he takes two spoonfuls of that size every three hours.”

“When should we see a difference?”

“Morning tomorrow, at the latest. If he has shown no improvement by then, it is most likely too late.” And he was unlikely to find a better potion in the time the man would have left at that point.

“Then we will pray that this has the desired effect. Now, we seem to have enough here to satisfy our immediate needs—perhaps you and the boy would prefer to wash up and eat? I can ask Maria to send some of the extra fish to my hut.”

After last night’s escapades, climbing around in trees after standing over boiling cauldrons most of the day, Severus had to admit that a chance to clean up would be nice. “Very well, thank you. Come along, Harry.”

The boy paused to wave quickly to the injured man’s son, now standing with his cousins, and then followed his teacher down to the river. “Professor? Do you think he’ll be all right?”

It wasn’t a question Severus particularly wanted to consider. He had worked as quickly as possible, but…. “I don’t know. If he’d gotten the antidote immediately I have no doubt he would be fine, but between the hallucinations and the nerve damage that has already set in…” Severus shook his head. “I do not know.” Harry seemed to understand that he was not in the mood to speak and went silent, remaining that way until most of the food that had been waiting for them when they got back to Luciano’s hut was gone.

“Professor?”

Severus paused in laying out the ingredients he would need for the next batch of the antidote. “What, Mr. Potter?”

“What will happen when we get back to Hogwarts? Are you going to tell…?”

“Unless you wish to return to your relatives, the headmaster will need to be informed of your situation.” And if you won’t do it, I will—that is not a situation for any child to be in. “I will go with you to speak to him, if you wish. At that point…I suspect the issue will be simply finding you a compatible foster family. I believe you have stayed with the Weasleys on occasion?”

“A couple times,” Harry agreed. “You think they’d really let me live with them?”

“I daresay you know the family better than I do, but from what I’ve seen I hardly think they would refuse you.”

“I don’t mean the Weasleys—they’ve offered before. I mean the Ministry. Fudge.”

“That may be a more…difficult situation,” Severus admitted. The last thing we need is for that idiot to find out about the abuse—more rumors about the child being unbalanced will do nothing but harm. At least I now have some evidence with which to back up his story, but all the same… “I suspect Albus will be able to come up with a convincing reason for you to stay with them that does not require intimate knowledge of your past. It would mean that your relatives go unpunished—”

“I don’t care about that, just as long as I never have to go back there.”

Not particularly a surprise. “Then I imagine it will not be so difficult to keep the majority of the Ministry from finding out.”

“Good. Can I go see how Joao and his cousin are?”

Severus nodded. “Do not make a nuisance of yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

He made up the potion quickly, noting down the steps in a small book that Luciano had given him so if it was ever necessary to recreate the potion anyone in the village with a steady hand would be able to do it immediately. He was nearly finished when a burning pain erupted in his arm, and with an effort he swung the cauldron away from the fire to stand against the wall. Then he concentrated on blocking the pain as best he could. Not that that had ever worked…. At some point—it could have been five minutes or an hour later when he was finally able to concentrate on the outside world—he found a little girl he didn’t recognize tugging urgently on his robe, chattering at him. “English, please?” he hissed through the pain.

“Come!”

“What?”

“Come! Harry….” She trailed off, babbling again in Portuguese.

Severus stood, somewhat unsteadily, as pain flared again. At least it had died down, slightly…apparently the Dark Lord’s urgency had subsided somewhat. Or the nerves in his arm had been permanently damaged. Either way will serve, I suppose, at this point. “Where is he? Show me.” They found the boy curled against one of the huts. “Harry? Harry, can you hear me?”

“I…I’m okay, Professor. I just…wasn’t ready for it. Are you oka—?” he broke off with an earsplitting scream, clutching at his forehead.

Severus only just avoided mimicking the howl, dropping to his knees with his free hand clamped around his forearm. He could hear the rest of the children as a dull hum in the background, but he couldn’t spare the concentration to listen to their words. So my arm has not gone numb after all…brilliant. The Dark Lord was angry—very angry—and he only hoped that it wasn’t all directed at him. If it was, it would not be a pleasant reunion. And probably not a short one either…the Dark Lord was not known for showing mercy to the followers he felt failed him. While he wasn’t likely to execute his only Potions’ master offhand…well, the creature had been known to react impulsively.

A light touch on his back had him whirling, and Luciano backed off, hands raised. “Are you injured?”

He checked to be sure that his sleeve still covered his forearm. Even in the jungle, he’d been unwilling to leave the skin hiding his Dark Mark exposed. “I…I’m fine. My arm was…injured, years ago. And Harry has headaches.” He hissed in pain as the Dark Lord sent another call. “When the child came to get me, I simply moved too quickly and wrenched my arm.” Sparing a hope that the village girl who’d fetched him didn’t speak enough English to understand his words and contradict them—and that Luciano didn’t think to ask—he glanced down at the boy. “Harry?”

The figure uncurled slightly. “I think it’s done, now.” He pushed himself to his feet, one hand still covering his scar. His face paled a bit more as he noted the crowd that had gathered around them. “I…I think I’d like to lie down now, if that’s all right?”

Luciano nodded firmly. “I think that would be a very wise idea. You’ve had a very stressful few days.” He turned and said something to the children who’d been gathered around them, and they scattered obligingly. “Come, I will get him something to make him sleep, and look at your arm as well.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Severus began when he saw the panic in the child’s eyes. He wouldn’t want to sleep now, would he? Certainly no more than he wanted this man to look at his arm—granted the Mark should remain hidden to the rest of the world, but to his eyes….

“Nonsense, after all you have done for us it is the least that I can do.”

They entered the hut, and Severus waved Harry into the cot quickly, enforcing the order with a glare when it seemed that the boy was going to balk. “In that case, our thanks. I believe he will sleep fine without your potion, but perhaps if you could leave some in case he wakes up….”

“Of course, of course.” He set a mug of something on the table beside the bed. “And your arm?”

“It’s nothing, really…an old Quidditch injury.” Severus forced himself to roll up his sleeve as though it was nothing. “Not even a bruise…I’m afraid my bones just get sore sometimes.”

“You are a young man—far too young for aches and pains,” Luciano protested. “However, I do have some salve here that I use when my own joints mutiny…it may help somewhat.”

Severus highly doubted that it would do anything of the sort—he’d been trying for years to find some way to numb the effects of the Dark Lord’s summons and failing each and every time. But he thanked the man politely anyway, and mentioned that he would join the boy for a short nap. It served his purpose—the man left, pleading a need to be with the injured hunter’s family.

Harry rolled over to face him as soon as the door swung shut. “Are you okay, Professor?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Potter. What was that about, do you know?”

“He’s mad.”

“That much I gathered,” Severus returned dryly.

“I’m not sure exactly…” the boy hedged, not raising his eyes from the bedspread.

“Mr. Potter, I will not have you lying to me.”

“He’s mad at you. Not—not all at you, but…mostly. Someone tried to do something with the unicorn blood, and I guess it didn’t work quite right, and…he seems to think if you were there you could have made it work.”

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. He couldn’t rouse himself to come up with any more creative curses at the moment. Whatever the Dark Lord had wanted done with the unicorn blood had no doubt been a delicate procedure—it wasn’t precisely an everyday ingredient. While the younger Malfoy, in a few years, might be capable of mixing such potions, there was no one besides himself currently in the beast’s circles that should even be allowed to touch the stuff. Well, no one he knew about, and that thought made him pause. If Voldemort is recruiting and I haven’t been informed…well, that didn’t bode well for his future as a spy. He shook his head, dispelling those thoughts. The Dark Lord is paranoid; he always has been. All I can do is work with what I have.

“Professor?”

“What, Mr. Potter?”

“I…nothing. Am I really supposed to sleep now?”

“As I don’t wish to be subjected to shrieking any more than I suspect you wish to experience whatever the Dark Lord is currently up to, I would suggest that you not.” Severus gave his arm one last rub and then knelt to complete the potion that he’d left sitting against the wall when the summoning had occurred. Fortunately the intervening time didn’t seem to have affected the solution…. He set it back near the fire to heat in the last ingredients, and then rose and turned to look at the child. Harry was lying on his back on one of the cots, studying the ceiling with mindless intensity. “As we are expected to remain indoors for at least a short while, I suggest that we make another attempt at Occlumency lessons.” The wary glance the teenager shot him was something of an improvement over the hostility Severus expected, although it wasn’t precisely encouraging. At least he hasn’t refused outright.

“If I…when I get this right, stuff like what happened earlier will stop, right? It won’t hurt anymore when he gets mad?”

“I can’t promise that…I’ve never seen the type of mental connection that you seem to share with him before. I would, however, say that the effects of such a bond will be greatly reduced.”

“Anything’s better than nothing, I guess,” Harry muttered, and Severus suspected that he wasn’t supposed to hear that. Green eyes met his for a moment, and then he shrugged. “Guess it’s not like you don’t already know what’s in there. And you’re not going to hurt me again, right?”

“Not as before, I give my word.” He couldn’t promise that there wouldn’t be some discomfort—the boy did need to learn to block invasions—but…well, he rarely repeated the same mistake twice. “Settle yourself.”

Harry removed his wand from his pocket and set it on the side table with a quick grin. Considering what he’d managed the previous night without it Severus didn’t feel particularly reassured, somehow, but…well, at least the child made the effort. “I’m ready, Professor.”

“Then clear your mind. One. Two. Three. Legilimens.”

Once again he found himself in the attic at Hogwarts. A careful push, and he went slightly deeper into the attics, and another still failed to yield any personal information. But the Dark Lord would be doing more than simply nudging…Severus put some force behind his next push and found himself in a kitchen somewhere.

A heavy woman who bore a disturbing resemblance to Harry’s uncle sat at the table with his aunt, uncle and cousin, clearly finishing a meal. Judging by the just-washed dishes piled on the counter in front of him, Harry hadn’t had a chance to sir down and eat.

“…Your sister was a bad egg,” the heavy woman was saying. “They turn up in the best families. And then she ran off with a wastrel and here’s the result right in front of us.”

And I thought his aunt had an annoying voice. There was conversation going on in the background, but he was having trouble making out what was being said—he could feel the anger coursing through the boy and the ringing in his ears couldn’t herald anything good. Apparently the woman was still talking—about Harry’s father now, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who—”

“He was not!” Severus was a bit startled to hear the words erupt from the body he currently inhabited—after all, as far as the elder Potter was concerned he rather agreed with her. But the boy was shaking with anger, and he knew firsthand how Harry tended to react to comments against his parents….

“More brandy! You boy, go to bed, go on…” The look on his uncle’s face as he added more alcohol to the woman’s glass didn’t bode well for the boy, but Harry was still too furious to notice.

“No, Vernon,” the woman hiccupped, clearly drunk. “Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash—drunk, I expect—”

“They didn't die in a car crash!”

The woman’s face turned red. “They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives! You are an insolent, ungrateful little—”

Severus was more than a little disturbed to hear the opinion he’d often spouted of the Potter boy coming out of this infuriating woman’s mouth and was rather glad that she stopped speaking abruptly. And then he realized she’d stopped because her body started to expand…the swelling charm generally used by children as a practical joke on their friends had been particularly neatly applied to the woman’s entire body. In fact, she was actually beginning to rise slowly. And float away. He felt a surge of amusement from the boy, and then momentary panic, and then he was flying from the room towards the cupboard under the stairs. A trunk was hastily removed, and then the boy ran upstairs to release Hedwig next, grabbing something else—a pillowcase?—before returning downstairs. But his uncle was standing there…Severus couldn’t help a quick surge of pride when the boy grabbed his wand and faced the man down. Beaten, maybe, but certainly not broken. And then he was out the door and into the darkness.

“They won’t let you back now!” the man screamed after him.

As if a child would be kept from Hogwarts for accidental magic. Idiot muggle. A sharp shove at Severus’ mind brought him back to the present, and he concentrated on retaining his hold in the boy’s mind. Come on, Harry, just push a little harder.

The boy had ended up on a deserted playground while he was distracted and was now sitting under a streetlamp. It was…rather creepy, actually. And then he heard something and squinted into the darkness. The sight of the big Grim emerging from the bushes startled Severus enough that Harry’s next push neatly evicted him from the child’s mind.

For once the child looked pleased as Severus returned to the present. “Well, how was that?”

“Not completely unacceptable, I suppose,” he acknowledged. “However, rather slow—you’ll need to be able to work faster than that to have any chance against the Dark Lord.”

Harry ducked his head slightly. “I wasn’t really trying before that first push when we were leaving the house—I wanted to see her blow up again. She’s a real—” he cut himself off before he could give his opinion of he woman, but Severus had little doubt what would have come out of his mouth.

“Well, I suggest that you relive your more pleasant memories on your own time,” Severus returned sharply, still a bit disturbed by the woman’s words. “I expect your full concentration to be on Occlumency when we have these lessons. Am I understood?”

“I…yes, sir.”

The boy looked properly chastened, and he didn’t push the issue farther. “Clear your mind. One. Two. Three. Legilimens.”

Some time later—it was difficult to tell precisely how long—Severus was tossed out of a memory involving an impossibly hot day spent weeding a garden to find Luciano surveying them with a frown on his face. He mentally cursed himself for letting his guard down, doing his best to smooth his expression before turning to face the older man. “May I be of service, sir?”

“No, no, I was merely wondering if you had rested. Pedro seems to be responding to your medicine…he was more lucid after I gave him the last dose.”

Severus’ mind immediately switched into analysis mode. “Excellent. Were you able to ascertain whether the muscles in his chest were relaxing? Or perhaps he is regaining feeling in his extremities?”

“He did say that it was easier to breathe,” Luciano agreed. “But he was unconscious again before I could question him further.”

“Please inform me before you administer the next dose, I’d like a chance to observe his reactions myself.”

“Of course. Perhaps the two of you would care to join my family and myself for the meal? We won’t have many more opportunities. You’ve made more than enough potion to ensure that Pedro can be properly treated, and I noticed you’ve made enough notes to recreate it…there’s no reason for you not to leave for London tomorrow.”

With a nod of agreement, Severus glanced over at the boy. “Are you well enough to eat? The headaches sometimes leave him with an upset stomach,” he explained.

“Yes, sir.”

“Come, then.”

Harry retrieved his wand and trailed Severus and Luciano as they walked toward one of the other huts. The meal was…rather reserved, Severus noted, compared to the one of the previous night. Of course, there were no young children here, and the older man seemed distracted. It’s been a long few days for all of us. The boy, at least, was behaving himself quite adequately, maintaining polite conversation with an older woman seated next to him. After they finished, he went to oversee the application of the next dose of potion—the man did seem rather more aware. Not aware enough to answer direct questions, unfortunately, although Severus was able to draw a few conclusions from his mutterings and a basic physical examination. “I believe he will recover very nearly completely,” he assured the man’s family through Luciano. “He reacted when I applied pressure to his fingertips and feet…he may have lost some dexterity, but there appears to be no permanent paralysis.”

His wife babbled something he had no trouble interpreting as thanks, and he waved it off. The three children looked equally relieved, and he excused himself before the family could become more demonstrative. Even happily crying children are not my forte.

“Professor?”

“Yes?” He shut the door of the hut behind him and moved to sit on the cot next to the teenager’s.

“Are we really going home tomorrow?”

“So it appears,” he acknowledged.

“I…” the boy trailed off, looking away.

“What is it, Harry?”

“What’s going to happen when we get back?”

Severus sighed. I wish I knew. “Obviously you’ll need to continue the Occlumency lessons…but you do realize we will need to devise some pretense for doing so, correct?” He could hardly afford to show any softening of his attitude towards the brat in classes, never mind the favoritism special lessons would imply. And I still need some excuse to give the Dark Lord for not killing him in the first place.

“I know. It’s just…do you have to be so…nasty? Like before?”

He sighed again. “You know I do.”

“Yes, sir.”

The resignation in the child’s voice made him feel considerably older than his thirty-odd years. “I suppose as long as I’ve managed to build up this…tolerance, however, there is no reason not to exercise it in private.”

He caught a flash of green as eyes turned towards his, and then… “Maybe if you have to give me a lot of detentions we could do lessons then?”

“That would be acceptable, I believe. Mind you, if you do anything to truly earn one of those detentions…,” he trailed off and left the threat unspecified. The smirk the child shot him at that was decidedly unsatisfying…more along the lines of unnerving, really. He’s supposed to be intimidated! “I expect the content of these lessons will remain, private, however, is that clear?” Severus continued in a stern tone.

“I…yes, sir, I understand, but I’m going to have to tell Hermione and Ron something. Otherwise they’ll probably try and help me…”

And the last thing I need is the rest of the Golden Trio roaming my dungeons, Severus acknowledged. “I will keep all three of you after class when we return—you may inform them then that you are receiving particular tutoring then. But you cannot discuss the matter in your common rooms or anywhere else, is that understood?”

“He’d kill you, wouldn’t he?” Harry asked. “If someone overheard and gossiped and he found out what was happening?”

That showed a level of understanding he hadn’t expected, and he inclined his head. “At the very least.” Do not press the matter further, child.

“I understand. I’ll make sure we never talk about it.”

“All right, then. Go to sleep, I expect we’ll be in for a long day of questioning when we get back to London.”

“What are we going to tell them?”

“Precisely what happened. If you’ve forgotten, I caught you and the other two being disobedient brats out after curfew and ordered them back to their rooms so I could deal with you privately. We were interrupted by a surge of dark magic, but instead of doing as you were told and returning to your room you followed me when I went to investigate and encountered the damn portgate. I believe you can chronicle our last few days in the jungle acceptably?”

“Yes, sir. Am I still in trouble when we get back to Horwarts?”

“For your disobedience? I suppose the last few days have been punishment enough—although I see no reason not to let…say, a month of detentions stand. That should give us plenty of time to bring your Occlumency to an acceptable level.”

“But Professor—”

“Two nights a week for the next month, Mr. Potter.”

“But—” he broke off his complaint with a quick glance. “Just two nights a week?”

“I’d thank you to remember that I do have better things to do than spend the majority of my free time in your company, Mr. Potter. And I assumed you would want time for Quidditch and whatever else you and your little friends amuse yourselves with.”

“Two nights is good, Professor,” Harry said, trying to hide a smile and failing.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

Severus didn’t fall asleep immediately, although he did hear the boy’s breathing even out fairly quickly. He wasn’t as worried about the boy maintaining the charade of mutual dislike as he might have been before his trips into the child’s memories—he’d managed to hide abuse for years, hiding the fact that he could tolerate his teacher would be easy enough. But that did nothing to alleviate his major concern. Perhaps I can use the existence of the Order as the reason I didn’t kill the brat…. Except that he could quite easily have dispatched the child and claimed that it had been the work of some denizen of the jungle…. Could I claim my wand was damaged? He’d hate to have to break it, but better to lose the wand than his life. Unfortunately, the boy could hardly stand against me in a physical battle…and I doubt anyone would believe that he held his wand on me the entire time. The Dark Lord would punish him—punish him severely—for his failure regardless, of that he was certain, but…he didn’t want the sentence to be permanent.

Severus rubbed his forehead absently, studying the fireplace that would send them back to London. Not Hogwarts—no floo in Hogwarts was set up for long-distance transfer—but the transit station was good enough. From there flooing back to Hogwarts would take a matter of moments. It will be a relief to be in my chambers again. He glanced down to find his student standing silently beside him. “You are prepared?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. Follow immediately.” Potter nodded, and he gave his thanks once again to Luciano before stepping into the hearth and grabbing a handful of floo powder. As tempting as it was to send the brat through first, if anyone was waiting for them on the other end…. The trip was rather more disorienting than normal, but then considering the distance that he had to traverse that wasn’t really unexpected. He stumbled as he exited the floo, regaining his balance just in time to be sent to the floor by his student. Damnit! “Potter!”

“Sorry, sir. I never land very well.”

Now you tell me. The boy picked himself up, allowing Severus to get to his feet and scan the room for his wand, knocked from his hand when the boy landed on him.

“Stay where you are!”

Severus spun in surprise to face a man who’d been standing against the wall beside the fireplace. “Excuse me?” He recognized Darius Ambrose—their times at Hogwarts had overlapped slightly but they’d never had much to do with each other. Like Alastor, the Auror had lost an eye in battle; unlike Alastor he hadn’t gotten a magical eye to make up for it.

The man didn’t lower his wand. “Remain where you are. Potter, come away from him.”

“What? Why?” Harry didn’t move from his position beside Severus, and for once he was glad of the boy’s disobedient streak.

“Come away, I said!”

The door opened, and Severus turned to face two more men—one he recognized as a hit wizard…Edwards, or something of that nature. He rather assumed that the other was a hit wizard as well. He could see his wand, now…it had come to rest against the far wall of the room. An Accio would have it in his hand—he could certainly perform that much wandless magic—but whether he would have time before the three were on him…. Armed, he would give himself more than fair odds in a battle, even three on one—it’s not as though I’ve never stood against those odds before—but they would notice as soon as his wand began to move. Shielding spells were beyond his wandless abilities. And then there is the boy to consider…. He hadn’t forgotten the speed at which the child had brought a shielding spell up back in the forest, but there was a world of difference between an unseen enemy in the night and a group of men he’d been taught to respect. “I demand to know what you are doing here.”

“I will ask the questions here. Potter, now!”

The boy gave one last glance at the hit wizards and then turned to glare at the Auror. “No!”

“The boy’s befuddled.” The words came from one of the hit wizards, and before Severus realized what he planned the man had his wand out and pointed. “Stupify!”

The force of the spell not only stunned Harry, it sent him to the ground as well. “Accio wand!” The thin stick flew into his hand, and he moved to stand protectively over the boy’s body. “In Merlin’s name, what is going on here?”

“Severus Snape, you are under arrest for the improper and illegal use of Legilimency on a minor. You will step away from the boy, now.”

“I’m what?” His stomach had dropped at the man’s first words—neither this man nor either of the two hit wizards were members of the Order of the Phoenix. If they had found out about his Dark Mark, that he was attending meetings with the Dark Lord again after Albus had vouched for his innocence so many years before…well, the only way to avoid Azkaban would be revelation of his status as a spy. And even assuming they believed him, as soon as that information was public knowledge his lifespan would be cut dramatically short. But illegal use of Legilimency…. “Idiot! Just where did you come by this information?”

“I received an interesting firecall last night from an honorary uncle of mine—a housemate of my father when he attended Hogwarts. He went back to Brazil after he graduated, but they always kept in touch. While my father was alive, anyway. I understand that a few days ago you and Mr. Potter here,” he gestured at the boy, “wandered into the village he’s currently residing in. And then yesterday he caught you invading the child’s mind. He was, naturally, concerned, and since he knew I was an Auror, he thought I should investigate upon your return.”

So that was why Luciano was distracted that night. Of course, he couldn’t have just asked us…. There had been something in Ambrose’s tone just now, when he mentioned his father, but this was hardly the time to get into the dolt’s family troubles. “Perhaps if you’d bothered to questionthe boy before you stunned him, you would know that I had his full permission to use Legilimency.”

“The boy has no right to give permission,” Ambrose said smugly. “He’s underage. You would need consent from his guardians before you could attempt such a thing. Do you have it?”

“His relatives are magic-hating muggles,” Severus snapped in response. “They wouldn’t have any idea what I was talking about.”

The man smirked. “So you don’t have permission.”

“This is ridiculous. We have been trapped in a jungle, chased by supposedly-extinct creatures, and invented an antidote to a fatal poison in an incredibly limited amount of time. All either of us wants is to get back to Hogwarts and resume our normal routines.” He was tempted to cast an enervate on the boy, but he didn’t want to chance taking his eyes off the Auror.

Ambrose’s eyes went cold. “I know what you are, Severus Snape. I don’t care what Dumbledore says—all of you should have been kissed after the Dark Lord fell. So don’t think I’m going to let you just walk away—you’ll be in Azkaban for this, and no one will be able to help you.”

I will not go back to that place. Severus shifted his grip on his wand. It had been bad enough when he’d been caught after the Dark Lord fell the last time. Dumbledore had gotten him out then, as quickly as he’d been able to manage, but Severus could still remember that cell…still remember those creatures coming for him. Before he could do more than open his mouth to demand that they let him speak to someone at Hogwarts, both hit wizards cast binding charms at him. He was able to deflect one—it missed Ambrose, but it had been worth a try—and block the other, but he couldn’t draw his shields in closer without leaving Harry exposed…. One of the curses slipped through, and darkness claimed him before he even registered the blow.

When he woke up, the first thing he felt was the chill. It was strange—he’d become rather accustomed to the heat in the rainforest. But then, this wasn’t the rainforest. It wasn’t even Hogwarts. It was a tiny, cold cell, with barely any light…Azkaban. The chill intensified, and he found himself reaching automatically for his wand. Which wasn’t there, of course. The dementors were growing closer, and he wondered for a moment if he could possibly cast a wandless Patronus strong enough to repel them. He hadn’t been able to manage one fifteen years ago, but... And then they were there—three of them—and his frantic attempts brought nothing but a thin wisp of mist that dissipated in seconds. He could feel the memories rising and there was nothing he could do to shove them back into their box in his mind.

“Worthless little bastard!”

The shriek made him wince, and he found himself backing away from his grandmother. “I’m sorry! I-it was an accident. It w-won’t happen again, I s-swear.”

“You’re right it won’t happen again!” She had her wand out. “I explained twice how that curse was to work. Any competent wizard would have had it mastered years ago, but your idiot mother—”

Anger overwhelmed him. “She’s not an idiot! You’re an idiot!”

The adult Severus winced again. The one thing he’d never been able to tolerate were insults to his mother—not from his grandparents or anyone else. And that fact had brought him such pain, time and time again….

“Crucio!”

Even as his body writhed and he relived his first experience with the torture curse he felt himself being dragged into another memory. A man standing over him, fists clenched…a werewolf in the dark and the laughter of a psychopath-in-training…an aristocratic blond who’d promised him power over the ones that had hurt him…power that had come at such a terrible price…. Severus wasn’t certain when the dementors finally left…wasn’t certain when he finally stopped screaming. He hadn’t realized he’d even been screaming, until he tried to swallow and found his throat so raw that it hurt. Merlin, get me out of here. Get me out of here, please. At some point someone had dropped off food, but he couldn’t bring himself to attempt it. The dementors would be back, soon enough.

“Enjoying your time here?”

He twisted on the cot and found Ambrose at the door of his cell. “I demand to speak to someone at Hogwarts at once.” It probably would have sounded more commanding if he’d been able to keep his voice from cracking or his hands from shaking.

The man seemed amused. “You’re in no position to demand anything.”

“You have no right to keep me here.”

“Of course I have the right. You’ve been charged with a serious crime…oh, it will go to trial eventually and perhaps you’ll be able to talk your way out of it like you did last time, but trials take time, and with everything else that has been happening….”

“What do you mean, ‘everything else that has been happening’?” Had the Dark Lord staged a major attack in his absence? “And what did you do with H—Potter?”

“The child is perfectly safe. We took him to St. Mungo’s so the healers could repair whatever damage you did.”

“I didn’t do any damage, which you would know if you would contact Dumbledore.” The dementors had pulled back more at the approach of the Auror, and Severus felt some of his strength returning. Not that that would do much for his throat, but at least he could stand and face the man without worrying about toppling over. He’d hoped that Harry had been taken directly back to Hogwarts—Dumbledore and the Order would no doubt be able to come up with some scheme to free him, if only so someone could list for them the possible dark uses of unicorn parts. But if the child was stuck at St. Mungo’s….

“You know, I could order them back in, now.”

The conversational tone startled him for a moment. “Excuse me?”

“I could call the dementors back. Allow them to kiss you.” The man smiled cruelly.

Severus felt himself grow cold again. He wouldn’t. “Not without a trial.”

“‘An unfortunate accident,’ or at least that’s what the headlines would read. It wouldn’t be the first time they got a little—overeager, shall we say? Although perhaps ‘unfortunate’ is too strong a word…you aren’t particularly popular in the Wizarding world, you know?”

“So popularity is now the determining factor in determining innocence?” Severus forced himself to sneer.

“It’s just a thought.” He smiled again, and turned to go. “I imagine I’ll be seeing you again in the near future.”

It wasn’t until the man was well away before Severus allowed himself to drop back down to the cot. Ambrose was correct—if he was kissed here, he doubted anyone besides Albus and one or two of the Order would truly object. Oh, the Dark Lord might be annoyed at having to find someone else to make his potions, but certainly none of his minions were those that would call Severus friend or care what happened to him. And even the Order…there wasn’t much they could do unless Ambrose was stupid enough to boast about what he did. And stupidity is not normally a qualification for Aurors—arrogance and paranoia, certainly, but not stupidity. At least they’re only charging me with improper use of Legilimency…I was rather expecting him to accuse me of orchestrating the disappearance of the brat and myself as soon as he’d had some time to think about it. Although I suppose it’s not necessarily too late for that…it’s fortunate that I did bring him back unharmed. His best hope for rescue lay with Harry getting word to Albus and the others what had happened, but…he was unconscious when they announced where they were taking me. And the healers at St. Mungo’s weren’t known for giving knowledge that would upset their patients—he’d probably been told that Severus was safe and sound at Hogwarts and wouldn’t know any better until they released him. Whenever that was…mindhealers were notorious for keeping patients far longer than most considered reasonable. He glanced at the food again, but doubted that he’d be able to swallow it with the state his throat was in. And that assumed that he wouldn’t just lose it all when the things came for him again. Better not to risk it.

A dementor did come again that night—just one, this time—and then two at some point the next day It was impossible to judge the exact time, except that there was some light when they arrived, and it was dark when he was able to escape from his memories. In between visits he spent his time curled on the cot, trying to sleep and calm his mind. Occlumency didn’t work against the creatures…they weren’t trying to get into his mind; they were trying to draw memories out. And they were succeeding.

It was light again when Ambrose entered his cell for the second time. “Hello, Professor Snape. You’re looking rather unwell today.” He laughed. “I gave some thought to what we discussed the other day.”

A dementor slipped into the cell behind him, and Severus sucked in his breath. “I imagine that was quite a workout—you’re obviously unaccustomed to taxing your mind.”

The Auror didn’t seem to hear him. “I had a sister once, you know? Pretty little bit of a thing. I’d just been accepted into the training program when she started at Hogwarts.”

Something flickered in Severus’ memory, but he couldn’t place it. ”That’s fascinating, but I fail to see how this relates to…anything, really.”

“It’s everything. Our father was a wizard, but our mother…she was a muggle, you know. We lived in a muggle neighborhood. One of the muggle neighborhoods you and your friends tore to pieces before the Dark Lord fell. She’d just arrived home for the winter break when you attacked—Father was still at work, and as the only wizard in the house, she felt that it was her job to try and protect our mother and aunt.”

Severus made the connection. Selena Ambrose. He’d been with Lucius, Evan, Bella, and several of the others when they’d decided to go muggle-baiting one night a decade and a half ago…usually he managed to avoid that type of sport unless the Dark Lord explicitly commanded him, but that time there had been no way to excuse himself without drawing their attention. They’d expected to sweep through the area as usual, and up until they reached a little yellow house they been right. But as soon as they forced in the door there, a drawer full of muggle cutlery embedded itself in Evan’s chest. Not particularly deeply—the levitation charm didn’t provide for much force—but in combination with a jelly-legs charm that had sent Bella to the floor it had enraged the others. They’d caught the little girl quickly enough—killing the rest of the household in the process, as he recalled—but they hadn’t killed her, not then. They’d taken her back to the Dark Lord. He reserved special hatred for wizards who associated with muggles, and this little bit not only lived in a muggle neighborhood but had attempted to defend them…she hadn’t died well. And afterwards her mutilated body had been sent to the Ministry as a warning.

“Father killed himself, afterwards…couldn’t live with knowing what they’d done to his precious little girl. You remember her, don’t you? Did you help them kill her?” The man moved closer and Severus recognized the flash he’d seen in the man’s face back at the floo terminal. Madness. “You did, I can see it in your eyes. And now I’ve got you here…and it’s here…” Ambrose stepped back again, and the dementor moved closer.

Severus felt himself growing cold and backed away as far as he could, but the wall was in his way…. I’m going to die here, and not for my spying but for the machinations of a lunatic Auror…brilliant. The thing was closer now, and there was no doubt that it planned to kiss him. He’d read once that before a person died his life flashed before his eyes…he was rather relieved that his mind was quiet for once. Dying would be bad enough, there was no need to compound the experience. He was getting so cold….

“Expecto Patronum!” The shout startled everyone in the room, and the dementor was sent howling away at the creature that shot from the new arrival’s wand. “Ambrose, what in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing!”

“He’s a Death Eater! He deserves to die!”

“Do you remember nothing of your training? You are an Auror, not an executioner!” Ambrose opened his mouth to respond, and Alastor Moody’s face creased as he muttered something that made the man collapse. “And as for you…”

Severus braced himself. He an Alastor had something of a truce—the man had been convinced of his loyalty after a rather fierce interrogation with Veritaserum and was willing to accept the information Severus brought back about the Dark Lord, but he’d never bothered to hide the fact that he wasn’t comfortable with Severus going regularly into the creature’s camp. They respected each other and the work they did, but…. Severus wasn’t sure whether the uneasy truce between them was still be in effect or if the man believed he’d truly violated Harry’s mind. Or worse. He might not be willing to kill Severus outright, but Mad-Eye Moody was a dangerous enemy to have.

“Constant vigilance, boy!” Severus almost laughed with relief as the older man’s free hand slammed into the doorframe at the end of the familiar cry. “What were you thinking, flooing into an open terminal without notifying us? What if Voldemort had been waiting for you instead of Ambrose?”

Severus managed to avoid wincing at the Dark Lord’s name. “I…” It hadn’t been a particularly intelligent thing to do and he knew it, but the relief he’d felt at finally being able to return home….

Fortunately Alastor didn’t seem to expect an answer. “You’re just lucky that I got back in time to hear rumors about the ‘capture’ of a known Death Eater and put that together with the fact that no one had seen you since Mr. Potter’s return.”

“Got back?” Severus had a decidedly disturbing image of the retired Auror lounging on a beach somewhere. Perhaps I should have forced myself to eat something.

“I’ve brought myself out of retirement—again,” Alastor returned gruffly. “There was a small matter of a teacher and student being kidnapped from just outside Hogwarts grounds in an area where the residual dark magic was so thick a muggle would notice.”

“He killed a unicorn,” Severus reported. “Took everything—hair, blood, organs…H—Potter and I were caught in a Portgate meant to dispose of the evidence. He and two younger students were out after curfew…I’d just sent the younger two back when I heard it scream.”

Alastor’s face hardened. “You took him with you to investigate?”

“Don’t be ridiculous; I sent him back to his rooms. The brat has never been able to follow orders. I was investigating the area when he landed beside me, and then before I realized what was happening we were caught in the Portgate and ended up in the middle of the Amazon with no way to contact anyone. It was several days before we reached a village, and then we were detained there for a few days longer before we were able to reach Rio de Janeiro and the long-distance floo network.”

“And how did Ambrose know you were coming back when no message was ever sent to headquarters?”

“Luciano—the man who arranged for us to floo back—was friends with his family. He walked in on Legilimency lessons I was giving the boy and apparently felt that they were inappropriate…I was charged with improper use when we arrived and have been in this place since. He said Harry was sent to St. Mungo’s…?”

“He was—he’s the one who told me that it was Ambrose who had you. Fortunately for you, I might add; if I hadn’t recognized his description, I might have left you here for a bit longer to see if that would teach you caution.” Alastor glanced at the man on the floor. “Ambrose…”

“He’s unstable,” Severus said bluntly.

“Several Death Eaters attacked a muggle orphanage just after you disappeared…he was the one to find most of the children’s bodies. He had a younger sister who was killed while he was in training and…”

“And I was the first Death Eater that he was able to get his hands on uncontested.” The wrong place at the wrong time. Brilliant. Although he could hardly begrudge the man his memories…he’d been grateful for a long time that he had neither siblings nor close cousins that the Dark Lord could use against him. A case where the lack of immediate family is a definite advantage.

“Well, we do have a few others in holding here, but there would be questions if any of them were suddenly kissed.” Alastor flicked his wand absently and the unconscious man’s body levitated. “Come along, it’s St. Mungo’s for you as well.”

“But….” He could just hardly walk out of Azkaban, even with an Auror beside him. Someone was bound to question it….

“No doubt the mindhealers will want to keep Ambrose around for awhile. I’ll get Minerva to put a rush on the paperwork and we’ll have your ‘arrest’ excused before the day is up. Fortunately he didn’t reveal who he had in custody…Fudge won’t spend any effort blocking the attempt. So there’s no reason you shouldn’t leave an hour or two early—unless of course you’d like to remain here until it is official?”

That was an idiotic question, and Severus was across the small cell so quickly that it made his head spin. I definitely should have eaten something. Alastor seemed to be being rather more accommodating than usual, but then…he had a fair idea of what was in Severus’ memories. Whatever his reasoning, I’m not going to question it. Although something about the man’s words had bothered him…. “Why Minerva? Is something wrong with Albus?”

“Fudge has it out for him…the idiot’s been spending most of his time trying to discredit him and have one of his cronies take control of Hogwarts. You and Potter’s disappearance didn’t help that. Right now, if you’re trying to do something that you don’t want Fudge to notice, involving Albus is not a good idea. That Umbridge woman has been after some of the rest of the staff at the school as well, but she’s incompetent. ”

Severus allowed the healers at St. Mungo’s to fuss over him as long as he could stand—about as long as it took for Minerva took to expedite his release papers, as it happened, and then flooed into Hogwarts. He had to release himself against medical advice—they wanted to keep him around longer, but there was nothing he truly needed but food and rest, and both of those he could get in much more pleasant surroundings. Harry had already left; apparently Poppy had been visiting and taken him back with her. No doubt he’d be confined to the infirmary for the next few days. He should probably check on the boy, but letting the woman get her hands on him…not if he could avoid it.

Alastor had questioned him much more thoroughly after the healers had done their jobs and allowed him to rest—about the Legilimency lessons as well as the rest of their little trip—and then returned his wand and suggested bluntly that he find a dark corner somewhere and spend a few days recuperating. Severus had no doubt that the older man would pass on any information that was required immediately. Albus was out of Hogwarts, meeting with the Wizengamout, Minerva gone as well to meet him... With no other immediate obligations or people that he should speak to, he decided was going to take Alastor's advice and sleep. Matters of his return related to teaching and the like could be dealt with tomorrow. After a dose of Dreamless Sleep, I think. The last thing he wanted was to wake up screaming from the memories the past few days had brought to the forefront of his mind.

It wasn’t a scream from nightmares that awakened him; it was the searing pain down his forearm. He was fairly sure he’d felt the summons once in Azkaban, but the dementors has been around at the time…I suppose they blunt the pain of the Dark Mark, but all things considered it’s hardly worth the tradeoff, he decided. He struggled into clean robes, made the trek to the edge of Hogwart’s grounds, and concentrated, apparating himself to the current meeting place. It was more work to get there without splinching himself than it should have been. “My Lord?”

The creature turned to face him, smiling most unpleasantly. “Severus…you’ve dared to defy me these past days.”

His voice was dangerously soft, and Severus tried not to flinch. This is not going to go well. “Never, master, I am always at your command. Forces beyond my control made me unable to comply, not my own desires.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, Master. The Portgate at the unicorn corpse—I felt the magical signature and was caught in its backlash and transported with it when I went to investigate—”

“You dare blame me for your own incompetence! Crucio!”

He was breathing heavily when the Dark Lord finally released him. Several of the other Death Eaters had assembled in the meantime, and more than a few seemed… decidedly gleeful to see him lying in the dirt. “I…I would never blame you, Master. I was simply explaining what had occurred. When you summoned me—I felt it, certainly, but I cannot apparate from the other side of the earth, and there was no convenient floo. If I had been able, I would have been here immediately, of course.”

“Of course. And when I summoned you upon your return?”

“I was in Azkaban, Master …there was nothing I could do to reach you.”

“I do not tolerate disobedience in my followers—excuses are for the weak.”

This time the curse came as no surprise, although it took a sharp enervate from the Dark Lord before he could compose himself to continue answering questions, which was unusual. He’d born far more curses than that in one night and still been able to bring himself to order afterwards. Apparently my time in Azkaban weakened me more than I realized.

“According to what I have heard, you were not alone in your transport.”

So he did know about the Portgate, or at least that I was taken unwillingly. Severus automatically checked his shields. This was where the Dark Lord would begin to pry into his mind, and he could not allow that. “No, Master. The Potter brat was with me.”

“He was seen at St. Mungo’s not long after you were taken to Azkaban—whole and unharmed.”

“Yes, Master. I—” there was no more time for plotting; he would have to excuse himself as best he could and pray that the creature left him alive and more or less undamaged at the end of it all. “There was no way I could dispose of him there—I was thrown in Azkaban immediately upon my return when he was clearly unharmed; if I’d returned without him….” He hoped that the Dark Lord didn’t have any specific information about why Ambrose had taken him. It was fairly certain that that particular Auror was not a Death Eater, but if the Dark Lord found out that the arrest had been for use of Legilimency rather than suspicion of dark magic…from Legilimency it was a short step to Occlumency, and that was certain to herald his death.

Fortunately—or, perhaps, unfortunately—the Dark Lord seemed rather too incensed with his words to ponder his arrest farther. “You dare think that you have the right to choose to protect your own life rather than deal with my most hated enemy? You had him at your mercy and you let him live! Your life is mine—you serve me! And you had the nerve to forget that! Take him—deal with him!” That command was screamed to the Death Eaters surrounding them, and Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath as they began to move closer. I knew this would not end well.

Severus opened his eyes slowly. He hurt…badly. Very badly. He attempted sit up to survey his surroundings and nearly blacked out again. I think I won’t try that again just yet. He was fairly certain that he had no permanent injuries…Lucius had deflected one of the Sectum sempra aimed at his face with a snarl to the castor that Voldemort still had plans for him. Which probably wasn’t a good thing, but it had bought him a bit more time in this world. It’s a sad day when my own curses are used against me, he mused absently, trying to muster the energy to lift his head. Actually standing would take longer… perhaps he should have gone to the infirmary when he first got back to Hogwarts. At least then someone would know to come looking for him when he didn’t appear at breakfast. From his—admittedly limited—point of view, lying in the dirt, it appeared that the Death Eaters had been kind enough to drop him somewhere inside the Forbidden Forest. Where, precisely...so help me, I’m not leaving the castle for a month after this. I have had more than enough of great outdoors.

He forced his right arm to move—the muscles felt bruised, but at least it wasn’t broken. There was a pain-numbing potion—in an unbreakable flask—in the upper right pocket of his robe if he could just reach it. Fingers closed around the glass and he thanked Merlin that he this robe was stocked as he brought it gratefully to his mouth. His other arm wasn’t moving well, but he was able to pull the stopper out with his teeth…it stung where it touched split lips, but once he—his body convulsed as he swallowed the potion. He’d forgotten how raw his throat had become during his time in Azkaban, and last night had done nothing to aid in its healing. It burns…oh, sweet Merlin, it burns…. Panting, trying to draw air in to cool the fire in his throat didn’t work, but eventually the pain potion reached his stomach and began to take effect. It took longer than usual, but then he was in worse shape than usual as well. His left arm was broken in at least one place, a couple ribs as well, and there were various cuts and burns across most of the rest of his body. And then there were the effects of spells like the Cruciatus that left no outward signs but did plenty of internal damage—to nerves, to muscles…walking was not going to be a pleasant experience, but as he couldn’t apparate directly back to his quarters, much as he’d like to…. I really have to speak to Albus about finding some way around that spell. Though the way my luck has been lately he’d probably insist that it sends me to the infirmary or some such nonsense. He took a step and tried to pretend that walking with broken ribs and possible internal injuries wasn’t an incredibly stupid maneuver. Then again the infirmary wouldn’t be such a bad place to be just now…at least my legs appear to be more or less intact.

He made his way—slowly—back in the direction he thought Hogwarts lay. Perhaps Hagrid will be out in the forest today…. The gameskeeper had helped him back to the castle more than once when the Dark Lord’s ministrations left him barely able to remain upright. That didn’t appear to be the case, however, and when he reached the man’s hut he found it empty. The distance from there to the castle seemed to take just as long as the time he’d spent trekking through the forest…it may have been breakfast time when he’d awakened, but it was certainly past lunch when he finally reached the main entrance. It was silent when he entered, and as he made his way to the infirmary he was grateful that none of the students had picked this day to linger in the halls during classes. “Poppy?”

The mediwitch appeared from one of the inner chambers at his call. “Severus? Merlin, Severus, you look horrendous!”

“Thank you,” he returned dryly.

“Well, don’t just stand there, lie down! You’ve been walking on your injuries again, haven’t you? I’ve warned you about that.”

“I hardly had any other op—”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses,” she cut in, overriding his protests. “Get yourself up on one of those cots.” She drew her wand. “I already know you’re bound to need skel-e-grow and blood replenishing potion, but let’s see how much more damage there is.”

Severus forced his impatience down as she hm’d and tsk’d over him, obediently swallowing the prescribed potions. She was quite good at what she did, and incredibly discreet as well—she wasn’t an official member of the Order, but she clearly knew some of what he was about as she’d never questioned him about the causes of his injuries—but she had an irritating habit of treated all injured persons like students. Particularly dense first-year students, to be precise. Fortunately she had a prior engagement and had to leave before he became too frustrated…she’d almost firecalled them to tell them she’d be late in order to stay with him, but he managed to convince her that there was no need. After all, he’d been taking care of himself for years, and the majority of the potions she was giving him he’d made himself—he certainly knew the appropriate dosage. Finally, peace and quiet, he thought as she exited. He was half-tempted to make his way back to his own quarters where he knew that he wouldn’t be bothered, but the cot was comfortable enough…and he wasn’t entirely certain that he could stand. Most of what she’d given him had been to heal the internal injuries…there was a limit to the amount of potions that any person’s body could absorb at once, and he’d reached that limit entirely too early this afternoon. Surface injuries like bruises and cuts—and three broken fingers on his left hand that hurt all out of proportion with the size of the injury—would have to wait for a later date for any active healing or mend on their own in the meantime.

At least the infirmary was empty for once; apparently Harry had been released back to the Gryffindor tower and none of the other little dunderheads had gotten themselves into any scrapes this day. He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

The creak of the infirmary door awakened him sometime later, and he blinked into the darkness. “Filch?”

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I returned this morning,” Severus returned levelly. He didn’t particularly care for Filch—the man had been the caretaker back when he was in school, and all his talk of chaining students up and whipping them had never failed to make him nervous, even as his housemates had joked about the man’s lack of magical abilities.

“Hmpf.” Filch gave the room a cursory glance, but Poppy had always been insistent on cleanliness, and she’d aimed a quick scouring spell at the room before she’d left. “Should be like this all the time—neat and clean, without the little brats around to muck it up.” He turned to go.

“I—wait, what do you mean?” Severus said, halting him. “Where are the students?” Filch wouldn’t have made that comment if they were up in their rooms….

“True, true, you’ve been gone. Hogwarts is closed—has been the day after you and the Potter brat disappeared. Ministry said it was too dangerous to stay open.” He smiled at the cat on the floor beside him. “Headmaster’s trying to get it opened back up, but Mrs. Norris and I like it like this. No little brats running all over—it’s summer all year round.” He smiled again, and headed out of the infirmary.

Severus made no move to stop him; shocked at the man’s words. Hogwarts had never closed early before…the closest it had ever come to closing were the two fiascos with the Chamber of Secrets. And that it had closed so quickly…only a day after he and Harry had disappeared…. He wondered absently if Filch knew that Harry was back as well and decided not, otherwise he’d be haunting the halls outside the Gryffindor corridor waiting for the brat to put a foot out of line. No wonder Albus has been at the Ministry. “Tempus.” Too late to do anything now, but tomorrow I’ll go to meet them, explain what happened. Harry had likely already told Minerva who would have passed on the information he had to go with that Alastor had drawn from Severus earlier, but whether either had mentioned the unicorn’s death—Severus wasn’t certain that his words had truly impressed on the boy just how important and dangerous that could be for the Wizarding world, and Alastor wasn’t as conversant with potions as he was with most other forms of magic. He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come so easily this time. It was almost a relief when the sun rose.

“Beware the darkness!” a voice wailed as he entered the Great Hall, and Severus’ good hand rose to rub his forehead.

All I wanted was breakfast, not dire predictions. “Sybil.”

“You were lucky to escape your fate, but have no fear—a terrible death will come for you. I have foreseen it!”

“Of course you have.” He took the seat farthest from the Divination professor. It was eerie, sitting for a meal in the Great Hall with only one other person around, and he wished that he’d simply summoned a house elf to the medical ward.

“Severus, you’re back! What happened, where were you?”

He turned, nodding hello to Rhiannon Vector. “Brazil, believe it or not. There was a Portgate in the Forbidden Forest.” He shook his head, taking a moment to arrange his thoughts…there was nothing the Arithmancy professor hated more than disorganized explanations. He mentioned that he’d ended up in Azkaban simply because the point was bound to come out but blamed the entire event on an overzealous Auror—there was no reason for anyone else to know about the Legilimency lessons. Or that he’d actually been released from prison yesterday. Flitwick and Devon Mallory walked in while he was speaking and seemed pleased to see him, but when none of the other staff arrived for breakfast he couldn’t help but be concerned. “Is the Ministry trying to close Hogwarts entirely?”

“Trying, perhaps,” Filius replied with some distaste. “Fortunately failing—and now that you are back they won’t have any excuse not to allow us to reopen.”

“But where are the others?”

“When the students were sent home and we had no idea when Hogwarts would be reopening, Minerva suggested that we set up a tutoring schedule to help the students keep up with their work,” Devon began. “Muggle studies doesn’t require a practical so I’ve been doing almost everything by owl post, but Sprout has been staying with the Longbottom’s, and Sinstra—well, I’m not sure where she is now, but I know she was in Surrey a few days ago. Hooch is staying with family just outside London and giving extra lessons on their estate.”

“Hagrid is giving lessons on-site?” Severus could just envision the wreckage that would be made of the Wizarding world. And of the work it would take to clean it up.

“He left on an errand for Albus, actually,” Rhiannon replied. “The day after Hogwarts was officially closed. Just after that idiot Umbridge left.”

Severus nodded at that. At least I won’t be facing her for a day or two.

“So where is Mr. Potter?” Sybil asked. “For I have foreseen darkness in his future that he must be warned of, lest perilous—”

“I assume he’s up in the tower,” Severus interrupted before she could begin waxing eloquent. “Actually I’m surprised he wasn’t the first one here…we spent a few days with less than generous foodstuffs, although I suppose our time in the village more than made up for that.”

“In the tower?” Filius shook his head. “The houses are sealed.”

“Poppy picked him up from St. Mungo’s yesterday afternoon…you mean to say that none of you have seen him?”

“No.”

Severus glanced around the table, hoping that one of the others would contradict the man’s statement, but all of them were shaking their heads. “Damnit, where is he? I suppose he could be sleeping somewhere…the house elves would know.” A snap of his fingers summoned one to them, but when questioned the little creature denied having seen Harry Potter the day before or delivering any extra meals or materials to Pomfrey. “Brilliant, we’ve lost the Golden Boy.”

“Are you sure that Poppy took him from St. Mungo’s?” Devon asked. “Surely if she had she would have let one of us know, especially if his condition was anything like yours.”

It hadn’t been, Severus knew, but he was also fairly certain that it wasn’t any minion of the Dark Lord’s that had taken the child from St. Mungo’s. If it had been, the creature wouldn’t have wasted time punishing him, he’d be too busy torturing and killing the brat. So help me, if he left on his own…. But that was the most likely explanation—Potter has cast some sort of charm to confound the mediwitches and snuck out. But surely he would have come back to Hogwarts… unless someone told him that it was closed. He tried to concentrate. Potter had been with him when they floo’d into the terminal some mornings ago. At which point he’d been stunned and taken to Azkaban and Harry had ended up in St. Mungo’s. Severus wasn’t entirely certain how long it had taken for him to be released, but from what the mediwitch had said Harry had only left with Poppy earlier that day—and Alastor had spoken to him before that. So the brat had been at St. Mungo’s up until that point, at least; the Auror wasn’t one to be fooled. And that was what, two days ago? The Weasleys, he decided. If he didn’t come back here, he must have gone to them. “He may have snuck out—he’s hardly one for following instructions, after all. I suspect if we visit the Weasley home we’ll find him there.”

Sybil opened her mouth to comment, but fortunately Filius beat her to it. “You’re probably right—I didn’t think of that. The young Weasleys were all most upset at his disappearance.”

“So was Miss Granger,” Rhiannon added. “I offered her extra tutoring while the school was closed and she actually declined.”

Which did say rather a lot about her mental state, Severus thought although he made no comment. “I suppose I shall have to fetch him…I need to go to the Ministry to meet with Albus anyway.”

“Are you sure that’s such a wise idea?” Devon asked. “You don’t look….”

“I’m sure I closely resemble a three-day old corpse, however if what you are saying is true then no one has given Albus a firsthand account about the events that transpired.” Alastor’s recitation is all well and good, but I would prefer that he heard the complete version from me. “And I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say that getting the fact that the Wizarding world’s savior is back and unharmed is of paramount importance. If only to prevent a panic.”

When none of them argued, he took a last bite of his meal and stood. “If you will all excuse me, then?” He was going to need some form of painkiller before attempting any sort of trip. And if it hadn’t been for the need to speak to the headmaster himself, to make sure that matters at Hogwarts didn’t get any worse, he’d have quite cheerfully detailed one of the others to go.

It took some time to locate the Weasley’s abode—by the time the he found the correct floo location the nerve-deadening potion had taken effect. With a sigh he stepped into the hearth, took a moment to hope that his reception on exiting might be a bit warmer than it had the last time he used one of these things, and tossed down the powder. “The Burrow.” The landing did not go well—perhaps the potion wasn’t as strong as he’d thought because his ribs most definitely protested—and when the stars finally faded from his vision he found himself facing the two youngest Weasleys.

“Um…Professor Snape?”

That was the girl, Ginny, and he nodded. “Obviously. Where would I find Mr. Potter?”

“How would we know?” the boy shot back. “You’re the one that kidnapped hi—”

“Ronald Weasely! You will not address a guest of this house in that manner! Severus, are you all right? I’d heard that you were back, but you look awful. What happened?”

He turned to face Molly and for the second time that day found himself giving an abbreviated version of what had happened. He suspected that it was more for the benefit of the children than anything else—she had no doubt gotten the basic information from Alastor yesterday. But she shook her head when he asked about Harry.

“He hasn’t been here, I’m sorry to say. Haven’t seen him at all—I’d hope he’d have had the sense to stay at St. Mungo’s until someone came for him, but, well, boys will be boys. Perhaps he’s gone to visit Hermione? Ron, didn’t I just see Pig come in with a reply to your letter?”

“She didn’t say anything about Harry, Mum, and you know she would have if he was there. Is Hedwig still at Hogwarts?”

“I didn’t look,” Severus admitted.

“I don’t think he’d have gone very far without her,” Ginny pointed out. “Maybe he’s just staying at the Leaky Cauldron again.”

“If he is, I’ll be giving that boy a piece of my mind,” Molly put in. “Wandering off like that, leaving us to worry.”

You won’t be the only one. “Well, then, I must be going. I was planning to go directly to the Ministry, but I think I’d better check Diagon Alley first.”

“Are you certain? I can send Fred and George to do that, perhaps you could stay for tea? I must say, you really don’t look well.”

Severus shook his head. “Thank you, but I must be going…I’m sorry I disrupted your morning.” He moved back to the hearth before she could do more than open her mouth in protest, sending himself back to Hogwarts. The trip up the owlry steps was something he would have preferred to have avoided, but when he arrived he found Potter’s snowy owl missing. “So the brat was here.” Perhaps the Weasley’s were right, perhaps he was spending his time off school in Diagon Alley. So help me, when I get my hands on him—surely he knows how important it is that we know where he is! If the Dark Lord finds out that he’s alone….

But there was nothing for it—he firecalled the Ministry, left a message for Albus that he would be arriving later than afternoon, and then made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. But there was no sign of Potter…no unsupervised teenagers at all…. Damn it, I’ll deliver him to the Dark Lord myself for disappearing like this!

Eventually he had no choice—he had to get to the Ministry. The last thing he wanted was to face Albus’ disappointment for losing the brat, but there was no point in putting it off any longer…he didn’t know the child well enough to know where he might go if it wasn’t to the homes of one of his two little friends.

“Severus, my boy, we were worried about you!” Albus greeted him. They were in one of the private chambers—Arthur Weasley was there as well, with work spread all around him, while Alastor napped against the back wall. At least Severus thought he was napping....  “Are you well? I hadn’t realized how badly injured you’d been—”

“He called me last night,” Severus interrupted. “He was…not pleased. And I misspoke rather terribly, at least in terms of what he was expecting….” He trailed off. Albus had seen the results of the Dark Lord’s displeasure before.

“Are you sure you’re all right? You shouldn’t be up and around so soon if Poppy wasn’t able to heal you more than that.”

“Did he tell you anything useful?”

Severus his a quick smile. Trust Alastor to do immediately to the heart of the matter. “No, although I’d prefer if he never found out exactly why Ambrose put me in Azkaban.”

“Already taken care of.”

With a nod of thanks, he returned his gaze to the headmaster as the man guided him into a chair. “I’ll be fine, Albus—the major injuries were healed yesterday; the rest simply look worse than they are.”

“And just how strong is the painkiller you’re taking?”

He declined to answer that, opting to avoid putting off the unpleasant subject he had no choice but to broach. “I have some decidedly bad news—it seems that Mr. Potter is missing.”

“What?” Alastor demanded. “What do you mean missing? Do you think—?”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t have the brat,” Severus assured him. “If he did, he would most certainly have called us all for a ‘celebration.’ However, I haven’t been able to locate him either. Apparently he tricked the staff at St. Mungo’s into letting him out and then disappeared. I’ve checked the Weasleys, Diagon Alley…”

“Poppy brought Harry back to Hogwarts with her the day before yesterday,” Minerva said with a frown, entering the room. “He looked all right—much better than you—so I told her to check him over and then take him back to his relatives.”

“His relatives?” Severus felt his stomach clench. “Why would you send him there?”

“Hogwarts is closed, at least for the near future until we can…what is it?...‘assure concerned parents that their children are under no immediate threat while in attendance.’” She said the words with distaste, clearly repeating them verbatim from some other source. “Where else would we send him?”

He bit off a curse. “Minerva, gentlemen, if you will excuse me it seems that I have one more errand that I must run this morning.”

“Pardon?” Arthur finally looked up from his pile of parchment, clearly surprised to see him there. “Oh, Severus, you look awful.”

“Thank you.” If one more person feels the need to inform me of that fact…. “It seems I need to go collect Harry.”

Both Minerva’s and Albus’ eyes widened a fraction when he used the child’s first name; Alastor and Arthur just seemed concerned in general.

“Why would you need to do that?” Alastor asked. “Was he injured?”

“Not yet. It is hardly my story to tell…suffice to say that it would be better if you found some plausible reason that he should remain with your family, Arthur, or somewhere else other than his relatives’ home until Hogwarts reopens.”

“Severus, what are you trying to say?” Minerva asked. “Is he in danger there? Has You-Know-Who discovered their location?”

“As I said, I do not have any business telling the story. I will bring him back here.” He had to apparate to get to the neighborhood Harry was living in, which he wouldn’t have done if he’d had another choice, but then he was hardly in any shape to fly there on his broom. He hadn’t been able to apparate directly to the house the child lived in, so some amount of wandering was required. Harry had been right when he’d mentioned that the place could be a maze…the houses were disturbingly similar. Do none of them have any creativity? He was looking for Number 4…there. It looked remarkably similar to the rest of the houses, if you discounted the bars on one of the front windows. Apparently they put them back up after the Weasleys’ little escapade. I wonder how they explain them to the neighbors? He realized belatedly that he was still wearing his robes and considered transfiguring them, and then decided that it wouldn’t be worth the effort. Better to just get the child and be gone. He walked up to the door, banging firmly on the wood with his good hand. “Hello?”

“What’re you howling about?”

Severus raised an eyebrow at the small whale that answered the door, identifying him easily enough as Harry’s cousin. “I’m looking for Harry Potter.”

The door closed in his face, and he could hear a yell from the inside. “Mum, Dad, some weirdo’s here to see the freak!”

Weirdo? At the sound of heavy footfalls approaching, he slid his wand into his palm. The door swung open, and he was face to face with Harry’s uncle. Well…something like face to face, anyway. He was several inches taller than the man, a fact which he took great comfort in considering the fact that the only other time he’d seen him had been as a looming giant in Harry’s memories.

“Now see here,” the man began, his voice only slightly below a dull roar. “I get home two days ago after work, planning to relax with my wife, and I find out that one of you freaks has brought that thing back here!” His eyes widened at something behind Severus, and then he began to get even redder. “Get in here! Walking around wearing those freak clothes, and now the neighbors are going to talk!”

Severus debated refusing, then decided that it was best to just go along with him and get this nonsense over. When he stepped inside, he found that the house looked as…generic on the inside as it had on the out. The only spots of individuality were random photos of the obese boy scattered here and there. “You were saying?”

The man picked up his rant just where he’d left off. “I get home, and I find out that one of you freaks dropped him back off! He’s your problem during the school year—not ours! And now I take today off so my son and I can go to the big boxing tournament this afternoon, and another one of you shows up! So help me I’d like to—”

A wand drawn and pointed at the man shut him up immediately. “That is enough. I am here to inform you that I am taking your nephew with me now, and he will not be returning to your care. As tempted as I am to impart some of the same treatment to you that you have to him—”

“We’ve raised that boy—fed and clothed him out of our own pockets, taking money away from our little Dudleykins—”

“Stupefy.” The woman fell gratifyingly silent, and the boy who’d come in behind her ran back out of the room with his hands covering his backside. What in Merlin’s name…? He shook his head. “As I was saying, as much as I would like to return some of your treatment, there are plenty of others who have a much better right to do so…your nephew not the least. He’ll be of age soon enough, you realize? Now, in case you cannot tell from the way I look, I have not had a particularly pleasant time these last few days, and I am not in a good mood so unless you have anything else to say to me—” a glance over at the woman encouraged strongly encouraged the man to discard that option—“I suggest you tell me where the child is staying and where any other items belonging to him may be found.” And he had best not be locked under any staircase.

The man gulped. “He’s upstairs. Dudley’s second bedroom.”

With a flick of his wand, Severus stupefied the man as well—no point in leaving him free to clobber me from behind—and began the climb up the staircase. As with the owlry stairs it took longer than it should have, but when he reached the top it was easy enough to identify which room was Harry’s. It was the only one with padlocks on the outside. “Idiot muggles. Alohamora.”

The figure that had been lying on the bed stood immediately upon his entrance, shoving something under his pillow before turning to look at him. “I—Professor?” The boy blinked. “You look awful.”

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. I haven’t been told that in at least an hour.” He stepped closer, frowning at the bruise on the child’s face. “I daresay you don’t appear all that much better. Are you hurt otherwise?”

“No, sir.”

Could he possibly be any less convincing? “Look at me when you speak. Are you injured?”

The boy made an effort to meet his eyes before returning his gaze to the ground. “Just some bruises, Professor.”

“I believe I’ve mentioned before that I’ll not tolerate you lying.” He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, indicating for the boy to sit beside him. “Show me.”

“They’re nothing, really.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Sit down, Harry.”

“I’d…rather not, Professor.”

“He whipped you then.” It wasn’t a question, and Harry didn’t bother to answer. “Badly?”

“Just bruises, like I said.” He pushed one sleeve of the ridiculously oversized shirt up to show a rectangular bruise on his shoulder with several small, deep, circular bruises down the center.

“Hm. Hardly nothing. Unfortunately, this is not the place to deal with them. Where are your things?”

“Some up here, some down in my cupboard.” He reached under his pillow to pull out his Transfiguration text, and then knelt to pull out a pillowcase. “Could you get Hedwig?”

Severus observed the snowy owl, sitting quietly on her perch observing them. “Perhaps it would be easier if we simply let her fly back to Hogwarts?”

“I’m not allowed to let her out of her cage when I’m here.”

“As both of your adult relatives are currently incapable of twitching their little fingers never mind doing you any harm and your cousin is likely hiding under a table or something equally ridiculous, I would say you are more than welcome to do whatever you please.” Severus stepped to the window, opening the glass and blasting away the bars. It relieved some of his tension. “Let your lady fly; we can shrink her cage with the rest of your things. And get your wand out.”

“But I can’t use magic until I get back to Hogwarts.”

Attempting to follow the rules? Well, I suppose doing anything that might prevent him from returning to school…. “The underage-magic detector can only pinpoint magic performed in a particular area—there is no way to distinguish your magic from mine,” he assured him. “And I would greatly enjoy seeing anyone, particularly that idiot Fudge, try and forbid me from using my magic.”

Harry snickered at that, the first cheerful sound he’d heard since he arrived, but sobered after a quick glance at him. “Are you sure you’re okay, Professor? It…it looked like they were going to hurt you pretty bad.”

“You saw, then? All of it?” I should have expected that.

“I can only see what he sees, but you didn’t look so good when they took you away. Did that man really put you in Azkaban? The one at the floo terminal?”

“Ambrose? Yes. Fortunately Alastor had me released just after he spoke to you.” There was no point in discussing the events that had occurred previous to his release; they had no relevance in the current situation.

“I hate dementors.”

“So do I,” Severus agreed. “Are you nearly packed?”

That got a quick nod as the last of his books were stored in the pillowcase. “Everything else is in the trunk is under the stairs.”

“Come along, then.” He glanced at the boy as they made their way down. “Are you certain you are not badly injured? You’re moving nearly as slowly as I am.”

“Um...that’s because you look like you’re about to fall head over heels, Professor. At least this way I’ve got a chance at catching you.”

“More likely you’d be flattened in the attempt. Go on, Harry, I will survive the steps quite well on my own.”

By the time Severus made it down, the boy had his trunk and books shrunk and fit into his pocket, and he passed over the miniaturized birdcage as well. “Best you keep your things together.” He turned, waving his wand to release the boy’s aunt and uncle from the spells that held them. Although he wouldn’t personally have any issues with leaving as they were until the spell wore off….

“And where the hell do you think you’re going!” Harry’s uncle roared as he was released.

This man is an idiot, Severus observed. But I don’t have the energy to waste doing anything about it at this particular moment. “Mr. Potter and I will be leaving, now; I suggest that you get out of our way.”

“Well then you can be the one to tell that headmaster of yours that we don’t want that freak back! We never wanted him in the first pl—”

“That will be more than enough.” No child needed to be spoken to in that manner, and at a sharp gesture the man’s mouth disappeared. “Since we’re leaving, I suppose you’ll just have to wait until the spell fades before you’ll be able to speak again. Don’t worry; it will only be a few days. You’ll hardly starve.” The walk past the wards to the point where apparition was possible was decidedly quiet, but then comfort had never been Severus’ forte. As soon as he was able, he rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder and concentrated, taking them both to the edge of Hogwarts’ grounds.

“Are we going to see the headmaster now?” Harry asked, shaking himself out of his stupor. “I thought Madam Pomfrey said that he was staying at the Ministry until they got everything straightened out?”

“He is. We’ll be going there shortly, but I thought you might prefer it if your bruises were tended first.”

“I…yes, sir. Thank you.”

Severus waved off his words, taking the boy down to his dungeons—damn all staircases—and digging out the appropriate bruise remedies from his stores. “I believe it was mentioned that the student rooms are locked, so you might as well unshrink your things and leave them here until Albus decides where to send you.” He waited until he boy complied, before nodding at his shirt. “Get that thing off, then, and we’ll see how bad these ‘just bruises’ are.”

Severus didn’t bother to ask whether the welts on the child’s back hurt—the rectangular bruises may have been the more colorful, but the tiny circular ones that had to have been caused by the studs the boy had mentioned were what he was more concerned about. Muscles relaxed slowly as he spread the bruise salve, and by the time Severus finished Harry’s back his breathing had returned to normal and he’d twisted slightly to watch Severus as he worked. “That’s all I can do here; I assume you’d prefer to take care of the rest yourself?”

“Yes, sir. I…thank you.”

Severus waved off the thanks. “Here’s the salve, then; the washroom is through there. And you might want to change into your robes while you’re at it.”

That drew a nod, and Harry rummaged in his trunk for a moment before taking the jar from Severus and disappearing into the inner room. While he was cleaning up and changing, Severus took the time to mix a bit more of his strongest pain-relieving potion. This day is only going to get longer. He grimaced as he swallowed, and then turned at a quiet snicker. “Something amusing, Mr. Potter?”

“No, sir, sorry, it’s just…you’re the potions’ master, and you don’t even make potions that you like.”

“I hold effectiveness more important than pleasant taste. You are ready to go, then?”

“Yes, sir. I should leave my trunks here?”

“That’s fine; you can stop back and pick them up after we speak to Albus.” He took the boy up to the floo—that dose of pain reliever had done wonders for his mobility—and before long they had both been delivered to the Ministry of Magic. Severus half expected Fudge and his cronies to be waiting for them, but for once the floo terminal was empty and they were able to make their way to Albus’ private room unhindered. Minerva and was still with him, but Alastor and Arthur had apparently gone off somewhere.

“Harry, my boy, how are you? Dear me, that bruise looks nasty? Have you gotten salve for it? Severus, I still don’t understand why it was so necessary that you pick him up—I may be able to get Hogwarts reopened within the week but it certainly won’t happen sooner than that. And as long as you’re here, I could wait until the school reopened for his accounting of events. Quite honestly, the position that Fudge has taken makes the reason behind your disappearance less than relevant—he’s only been concentrating on the fact that it happened and blaming it on the incompetence of Hogwarts’ staff in general.”

Once again proving that Fudge is an idiot, Severus decided. Anyone with any sense would have been concentrating on the events surrounding their disappearance, trying to find whatever weakness in Hogwarts’ defenses had been exploited. Granted they’d been taken from the Forbidden Forest, not Hogwarts, but no one would have known that. At least Fudge’s idiocy explained why their return hadn’t heralded an immediate interview with the Wizangenmot…for which he was rather grateful, actually. I suppose as long as he’s denying the return of the Dark Lord, he can’t very well say he’s suspicious of Death Eater activity. And Albus should be able to turn the situation to our advantage since we aren’t dead as Fudge no doubt hoped. Severus glanced down at the boy. But perhaps we should deal with the matter of his guardians first…neither Fudge nor the Dark Lord will be going anywhere anytime soon. “If you have a moment, I believe that we need to speak to you privately.”

“Is something wrong?” Minerva asked, looking up from the scroll she’d been scanning.

“It’s okay,” Harry said before Severus could speak again. “I can tell her too…she’ll probably figure it out anyway.”

“Figure what out?”

“I don’t want to go back to the Dursleys’. They—”

“We’ve been over this before,” Albus said with a shake of his. “I know the situation is not ideal, but you need the protection of the blood wards.”

No wonder Harry’s never told him, if he’s barely allowed to finish a sentence before his request is denied. “The wards do precious little when it is his relatives who pose the threat,” Severus said sharply.

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “I suggest that you—one of you—explain just what you are talking about. Why wouldn’t you want to go back to your relatives?”

“They hate me,” the boy said in a rush. “I mean they really hate me. Most of the time I’m locked in a cupboard or in Dudley’s second bedroom with the bars on the windows, and they only feed me when they have to, and….”

“And what?” Albus asked when the boy trailed to a halt.

Harry’s eyes dropped to the ground, and Severus frowned. “Do you wish me to tell them?”

“No, sir, I can do it.” He lifted his head again. “They hit me sometimes—my uncle does, at least.” He gave a quick wave at his face.

Minerva whitened. “I knew they were the worst sort of muggles, but I didn’t think….”

“Surely there was some mistake…it must have been an accident,” Albus objected, although he had paled slightly as well.

Severus drew himself up. “Deliberately striking a child multiple times hard enough to leave bruises is hardly an accident—doing so on occasions spreading over several years even less so. Show them your shoulder.” Harry obliged, tugging his collar sideways although it wasn’t much more than a moment before he covered the mark again. As with his face, the salve was doing its work, but the actual bruises hadn’t faded much. “Between that and bars on the windows—how, exactly, did you overlook Arabella’s comments on those, Albus, or the fact that his Hogwarts letters were getting sent to a cupboard?—I believe you will agree with me when I say that he will not be returning to that place.”

The headmaster ignored his questions. “I…I think I would like to speak to Harry alone, for a bit, if you two don’t mind.”

Minerva nodded immediately; Severus glanced down at the boy to make sure that was acceptable to him before acquiescing as well. “I’ll return in an hour, than?”

“That…that will be fine,” Albus agreed. “Alastor should be back by then as well.”

“I need to return to Hogwarts,” Minerva said. “But Mr. Potter, when you get a chance I would like to speak with you also.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Severus glanced back as he exited to see Harry sitting gingerly on the stool Minerva had vacated while the headmaster turned his chair to face the boy. Perhaps half an hour.

“Severus, a moment?”

“I thought you were going back to Hogwarts?” he asked as Minerva beckoned him into another empty office. Is the Ministry normally this understaffed? he wondered absently. Perhaps people are resigning in droves to get out from under Fudge’s control. That was an amusing thought, actually…he would have to remember to pass it on at the next staff meeting Umbridge attended.

“I will be going back shortly, but first I had a few questions for you. How badly is Mr. Potter hurt? Do you know how long has this been going on? When did you find out? What were you saying about a cupboard? And there were bars on his windows? What kind? When were they put there?”

Occasionally she was more like the Gryffindors she supervised than she realized, Severus thought with amusement, considering the string of questions and the increasing speed of their delivery. “In order? He will be fine, at least physically; for several years at least; during Occlumency lessons—I assume Alastor mentioned those; his letters to Hogwarts were addressed to the cupboard his relatives kept him locked in; and those muggles put heavy bars on his window before his second year to keep him inside. Any more questions?”

“I…the letters were addressed to a cupboard? He was locked in it? Are you certain?”

“I’ve seen his memories, Minerva…it’s rather hard to mistake that cupboard for anything else, and I have no reason to disbelieve his recitation of events surrounding his first trip to Hogwarts. Why?”

“I help Albus address those letters…we use a quick-quill. But I…I can’t believe that either of us would have overlooked….”

“Frankly it’s the bars that concern me. Muggles have such strange names for things anyway that the address might have been misinterpreted, but you know even Arabella wouldn’t have forgotten to report bars on a window.”

“Maybe he thought they were keeping Harry safe,” she offered.

Severus’ sneered at that. “A strange way of going about it.”

Minerva shook her head. “I don’t know, Severus. I should go.”

He considered taking a short trip to Diagon Alley after she’d left—as long as the students weren’t around he could attempt a few of the experiments that he hadn’t had time for this past summer—but in view of his healing injuries he decided that the wiser course of action would be to relax for a short time. And he needed to speak to Alastor and find our where the rest of his things had been taken while he was in Azkaban. He’d had a flask of the wyrsa-poison with him for further study…better no one at the Ministry messed about with that.

Time passed more slowly than he expected, and he rather wished that he had a pair of extendable ears with him. The door to the office was open so he’d be able to see if anyone came out of Albus’ room, but the hall remained empty. Surely the headmaster won’t try and convince the brat to go back to his relatives after what had happened… honestly, he was fairly certain that Albus had the best of intentions, but he tended to work towards the bigger picture. Little things like an abused Golden Boy…well, he wouldn’t endorse it consciously, of course, but that doesn’t mean that it necessarily takes priority. Especially since the brat has proved abominably good at hiding it. At least when the Weasleys took Harry his well-being would be assured—no one could ever accuse Molly or Arthur of being bad parents. I’d like to see the reaction if anyone tried. Their children would hex the idiot into oblivion with half of the Wizarding world cheering them on.

“Severus?” Alastor’s head came around the corner. “What are you doing in here?”

“Albus wanted to speak to H—Mr. Potter alone for a few minutes. What happened to you?” The Auror’s limp was more pronounced that usual, and he had one arm guarding his side.

“There was an attack in Knockturn Alley. No one on our side was severely hurt—we think it may have been an internal quarrel among You-Know-Who’s followers.”

There’s certainly no shortage of those, Severus had to agree. “Who was involved?”

“No Death Eaters, if that’s what you’re asking, at least that we found. All that was left when we arrived was a dead shopkeeper—Mr. Ludwig Stallins—with the Dark Mark burned into his chest.”

He didn’t recognize the name, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “A dead man attacked you? Levicorpus?”

“No, he was inanimate. I got clipped by a damned bludger while we were going through the shop’s contents.”

“Cursed?”

“It wasn’t; I most certainly did.”

Severus smirked. “Getting slow, Alastor, if an object doesn’t even have to be spelled to get the upper hand with you.”

“Watch your mouth, boy; you’re hardly one to talk!”

A fair response, and he waved away the glare. “In all seriousness, do you know where my things were taken when Ambrose sent me to Azkaban? There is a rare and quite deadly potions’ ingredient in one of the flasks that I’d prefer made it safely back to my stores.”

“Oh?”

“Wyrsa poison. I had some left over after concocting the antidote.”

“So of course you felt it necessary to bring it back to our shores. Why didn’t you mention this the other day?”

“I had other things on my mind.” As you well know.

That got a grudging nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll have a talk with him; see what I can find out,” Alastor agreed. “What did Albus and Mr. Potter need to discuss?”

Severus wasn’t inclined to spread the story farther without the child’s permission, but some explanation would be required or the old Auror would investigate on his own. Although…I’d rather like to see his response to those muggles’ treatment. I imagine a missing mouth would seem quite tame in comparison. “Mr. Potter’s living arrangements are no longer satisfactory.”

“Hm.” At least Alastor didn’t seem inclined to press the matter—but then he’d never placed as much faith in the blood wards as the rest of them, not without a competent wizard on hand in case they were breached. “A suitable replacement has been found?”

“Probably the Weasleys,” Severus replied. “I know they’ve offered.”

“That would be acceptable. Now, I have a few more questions for you about your little journey, and since we seem to have a moment….”

He trailed off, and Severus nodded. “I’m hardly otherwise occupied.” By the time the door opened and Albus emerged Alastor had exhausted his supply of questions, the majority of which were nothing but theories for Severus to expound upon. Rather like the Order meetings, actually. “Albus, I assume you’ve asked whatever questions you felt necessary?”

“I have.”

He was tempted to push a bit more—there was no excuse for leaving a child in that situation—but…Albus just looked so old, standing there…. “Then I’ll send his trunk and things on to the Weasleys’ as soon as I get back to Hogwarts.”

“Unfortunately that won’t be possible.”

“Excuse me?”

“There is no way for him to be safe there—I’m sure the Weasleys would take him in a moment, but there is no way to secure the Burrow in the next few hours, and it’s too visible for him to remain there without the Dark Lord finding out.”

He can’t possibly plan to return the boy to those…muggles? That’s insane! “Then where should I be sending them? To the werewolf?” Merlin help us all if he says the mutt.

“Remus can’t take custody of a child because of his…condition, unfortunately, and Black is obviously out of the question as well.”

“Where, Albus?”

“I’m supposed to go back to Hogwarts,” Harry said, coming out behind the headmaster.

“I thought the student rooms were locked.”

“They are.”

Albus was looking at him expectantly; Harry didn’t seem willing to meet his eyes—oh, no. “No. Absolutely not. I do not want—” he cut himself off, hearing the boy’s uncle echoing from earlier this morning. ‘We don’t want that freak back! We never wanted him…’ As much as he had no desire to share his quarters with anyone, the brat didn’t need to be rejected in that manner twice in one day. “I am in no position to care for a child,” he amended his statement.

“It’s hardly a permanent situation Severus, just a few days until Hogwarts reopens. He’ll be safe enough at Hogwarts, and with no one but a few of the other faculty around Voldemort won’t find out.”

Harry was twitching slightly, but made no comment.

“Surely there are more appropriate places—perhaps with another of his housemates? Madam Hooch is giving flying lessons at her family’s estate….” Aside from the mess that was bound to be made of his quarters, the child would be bored to tears staying with him…he was hardly appropriate company for an active fifteen year old.

“I’m afraid that won’t do; it will have to be Hogwarts.”

“There are plenty of other professors remaining there for the interim….”

“Minerva isn’t there all that much and staying with her wouldn’t be strictly proper regardless, nor would be staying with Rhiannon or Sybil.”

Severus was almost positive that he saw the child flinch at the idea of staying with the Divination teacher. Not that I can blame him.

“Flitwick’s quarters aren’t well designed for anyone of shall we say greater stature than himself,” Albus continued, “and Devon was planning on leaving tomorrow to visit his sister. He’s now an uncle.”

“I’m thrilled for him,” Severus returned dryly. He did, technically, have a spare room that could be used for guests, but in all his time at Hogwarts he’d used it exactly once. And that had been for himself when he’d accidentally cracked a vial of exploding fluid in his own bedroom seven years ago. I suppose the house elves have kept it up…. “It seems you’ve left no other options.” The headmaster had a decidedly annoying way of doing that sometimes.

“Excellent, it’s settled, then.” Albus smiled, setting Severus’ teeth on edge. “Then I’d like to speak to you for a few moments about your…journey. Alastor, I’m sure you’d like the chance to question Mr. Potter as well—perhaps you could take him to get something to eat at the same time?”

The Auror nodded, indicating for the boy to follow him while Severus stepped into the room after the headmaster. “I assume that you’re interested in the potential uses of unicorn blood also?”

“Among other things. I’d like to start with the Occlumency lessons you’ve been giving him—how strong is he?”

“Acceptable, considering how long he’s been attempting it.”

“Has he managed to block any visions from Voldemort?”

How am I supposed to know that? Ask him. “I don’t know.”

“What about…”

It was several hours before Albus was satisfied—Alastor dropped Potter back off after their interview and the boy was in the room for a good hour before Albus’ questions ceased. Severus was honest enough to admit that some of the extra time spent in the interview was his fault. His irritation with the older man—both his general treatment of the Potter brat and his handling of the housing situation—had him acting more than slightly obtuse and forcing the man to drag the answers out of him, but he just wasn’t feeling particularly cooperative and didn’t mind letting Albus know.

“It’s getting late,” Albus said as he brought the questioning to a halt. “I have more work to do here, but you two should be getting back to Hogwarts. The floo should be open.”

Severus nodded, gesturing to Harry. “Come on, then. I suppose there’s no need to retrieve your things.”

“No, sir.”

The boy said his goodbyes to the headmaster—Severus was still annoyed enough at the old man that he didn’t give him more than a sharp nod—and they made their way through the ministry’s headquarters back to the floo. “Go ahead; wait for me on the other side. He wasn’t about to leave the child alone anywhere where Fudge’s supporters might find him. The last thing we need is for that idiot to get a private interview—Merlin knows what he’d twist next.

Harry was waiting as he stepped out of the hearth, and Severus swept past him. “I assume you ate your fill when you were with Alastor?”

“Yes, sir.”

The trip down to his dungeons was decidedly slower than his trip up—the pain-killing potion had begun to lose effectiveness about halfway through his interview with Albus, and what he really wanted to do was lie flat for awhile. Unfortunately, I get to make the brat comfortable and find some way to occupy his time so my quarters don’t end up in shambles. “The spare room is through there, you might as well take your trunk in. I’ll call a house elf to bring in the bedding you’ll need. Come out when you finish getting your things organized and I’ll go over the rules.”

Harry nodded, picking up his owl cage and dragging his trunk through the far door. He reappeared a few minutes later. “I’m done, sir.”

“Fine. The washroom is through there, as you know. That is my bedroom to the left; if I am in there please do not disturb me unless there is an emergency. My workroom is next to it—if you even think about going in there I’ll use you to test my experimental potions for the rest of your time at Hogwarts. This room is open to you; feel free to look through the books if you have the urge.” As unlikely as that is. There wasn’t anything particularly incriminating on that bookshelf; after all, occasionally one of the other teachers insisted on coming down, and it wouldn’t do for them to find shelves of books on Dark Magic in his sitting room. So he put them all in his workroom and warded the door in the extreme. “I believe the library is open as well—kindly you refrain from any attempts to access the forbidden sections while residing here—as is the Quidditch pitch.” Harry’s lips twitched at that, but he didn’t say anything. “You are free to come and go as you please—on Hogwarts grounds, only—provided that you let me know in advance where you are going and return at a reasonable hour. And, if you’d like to keep it, I suggest that your invisibility cloak remain in your trunk. Meals will be served in the Great Hall at normal times; I occasionally take meals here. You may do so as well, provided that you clean up after yourself. Are these guidelines clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bear in mind that I reserve the right to change them at any time or make other restrictions should I feel that it is necessary.”

“Yes, sir. I…I’m tired, I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“Do you need any more of the bruise salve?”

“I put the extra in my trunk.”

“Then I will see you in the morning.” Severus was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow…he hadn’t even needed a dose of sleeping potion. When he finally awoke the next morning it was considerably later than normal. There were two notes waiting for him—one from Harry saying that he was going to spend the morning in the library, and an owl post from Alastor with a scrawled ‘I think this is yours’ and an unlabeled flask. A quick check confirmed that it was the wyrsa poison, and he crossed that item off his list. At least something is going right. And as long as the brat isn’t tormenting me with his presence…. He flicked his wand, disarming the first level of spells warding his workroom. Although Harry had been reasonably considerate this morning, managing to get himself up, fed, judging by the covered plates of leftovers remaining on the table, and out quietly enough that Severus hadn’t heard a thing. Perhaps this week wouldn’t be as arduous as he expected.

Severus sat up, with a start, grabbing his wand even as he searched for the signs that his wards had been breached. There was no immediate danger that he could sense, but something had just broken—loudly—in the outer room and he wasn’t arrogant enough to think that his protections were invincible. The Dark Lord wouldn’t have been able to breach the wards on Hogwarts itself, but it was possible that one of his inner circle had gotten ministry permission on one pretense or another with all that was happening now…even possible that he’d bribed one of the creatures in the Forbidden Forest. They’d have had more trouble getting into his quarters, but if the Dark Lord was sending spies... Drawing his robe close and raising his wand, he slipped into the sitting room. And found the tall bookshelf that had been up against the far wall had somehow fallen. A clumsy intruder, then, but he wasn’t going to give whoever it was a chance to recover. A curse was half spoken at the dark-haired figure squirming underneath the shelving before his brain caught up with his body. “Mr. Potter, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?! Trying to get yourself killed or merely give me heart failure?”

“I…sorry, Professor…I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep—”

“So you thought turning my quarters into shambles would be an interesting way to spend your time? Do you know what would have happened if I’d cursed you?” To me? The Dark Lord would be an improvement over what some of the population would come up with!

“I was just getting a book! Pulling over the bookshelf was an accident—it was up on the top shelf.”

How in Merlin’s name does someone pull over a bookshelf weighing perhaps twice what he does by accident? “What, it was too far away for an Accio? I must congratulate you on your excellent timing…quarter past five is just when I planned to get up. That’s when all sane wizards wish to be awakened. Frankly, with the mess you just made I’m surprised that half the rest of the castle isn’t down here pounding on the door demanding to know what happened. Perhaps tomorrow morning you could—”

The boy’s jaw clenched. “I said I was sorry. I just didn’t think of Accio’ing it.”

And this is the savior of the Wizarding world. Merlin help us all. Severus took a deep breath. I will not kill the brat. I cannot kill the brat. I could maim him, but no doubt someone would get annoyed. He let out that breath and drew in another, forcing himself to relax his grip on his wand. There are no spies from the Dark Lord in my sitting room. The castle is not under immediate Deatheater assault. Now if my heart would kindly get back in my chest…. “I assume you managed to grievously injure yourself in the process of demolishing my sitting room? Broken bones, a concussion, massive internal bleeding?”

“No, sir. The chair took most of the weight. My foot’s pinned though.”

“Hm…just as well, I suppose. There would have been questions.”

“About what?”

“Never mind, it’s of no concern to you. Be still.” He carefully levitated the heavy shelf back upright, allowing Harry to pull his foot free and sit upright to survey the damage.

“Oh, blast. I can fix that, I swear.”

Severus glanced around at the wreck of his sitting room, truly taking in the damage for the first time as the adrenaline rush finally began to fade. ‘That’ appeared to be a particularly hideous statue one of his coworkers had given him several years back. From some sort of staff gift exchange, if he remembered correctly—apparently the herbology professor had been under the impression that his quarters needed some kind of artistic touch. He’d put it on one of the upper shelves when Albus had insisted that pitching it in the pond wasn’t an appropriate response and ignored it since. “I believe it’s supposed to be a representation of the merpeople in kelp.”

The boy looked dubiously at the remains surrounding him. “If you say so.”

Severus dismissed the glass shards with a flick of his wand, and offered a hand to help the boy out of the pile of books. “Are certain you are not injured?” After all, the last thing he needed was one of the other professors haranguing him for failure to take ‘proper’ care of his current charge, and Merlin knew they were incapable of keeping their noses out of anyone else’s business. A quick diagnostic spell didn’t reveal anything particularly unusual…remnants of older bruises, finally fading, and a bump on his elbow.

“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed. “I…I really am sorry; I didn’t mean to break your statue or wake you up. Or make a mess.”

“And that makes it all better, of course.”

He flushed. “Well, what do you want me to do, get a time turner and stop myself from knocking over the shelf?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Severus returned. “You can, however, clean up this mess. The books were arranged by subject—I expect them to be put back in the same manner.” The brat made a face, probably not intending for Severus to see it, but he didn’t argue. Perhaps he’s beginning to make common sense a habit. Probably too much to hope for, but it would make his year easier. He turned back to his room as the boy began to stack the books. It was nearly time to get up anyway.

He took breakfast in his room since it was still well before the rest of the staff would awaken, sorting through his notes to determine what needed to be done in the next few days. He’d had to remake several of the potions he’d started at the beginning of the school as his and Harry’s prolonged absence had interrupted the brewing process and it hadn’t occurred to anyone else to store them appropriately until he returned. Poppy had been most insistent—to the point of an owl a day—that he restock the remedies for the more common student ailments that he hadn’t finished before the school year started. Most of them were fairly straightforward, and several he marked as possible exercises for his OWL and NEWT level classes. Good practice for them, and it would allow him to devote his time until school began again to the more complex potions. And then there were his personal experiments and the Dark Lord’s requirements…. After sorting through his to-do list, he showered and changed before heading back out into the sitting room. It appeared that Harry had made a credible show of sorting through the majority of the mess and was preparing to start reshelving them. Severus considered for a moment before interrupting. “Just leave them stacked, for now. I’ve been meaning to sort through that lot anyway.”

“Professor?”

“There’s little point in putting them all back if I’m going to get rid of a third of them anyway. Have you eaten?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, they’ll be serving in the Great Hall shortly, so I suggest that you make yourself presentable.”

“Sir?” He looked around at the remaining scattered volumes.

“I’m hardly going to withhold food simply because you made a mess.” Idiot muggles. “You’d best hurry if you want the house elves to set you a place.”

“I’ll finish sorting them after breakfast,” he promised

“I would hope so. I will be in my workroom; don’t disturb me unless it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, sir.”

The warning had been unnecessary, Severus considered as he locked the door behind him and turned towards the cauldrons—in the three days they’d been sharing quarters the brat had spent most of days either in the library or with one of the other professors who’d remained in the castle. None of whom had offered to take him off Severus’ hands, mind, but at least he was well out of the way when Severus was experimenting. And the experiments were going quite well, actually…it appeared that diluted wyrsa venom in combination with some of the more common ingredients was actually a much safer muscle relaxant than what they were currently using. He checked that cauldron first to see that the mixture was settling properly and then moved on to the ones he had to finish for the Dark Lord. He couldn’t afford to be unprepared at the next summoning… although, now that he’d had time to think about it, it seemed strange that the creature hadn’t brought up the unicorn remains at any point. But then, he wasn’t precisely being rational at the time. Another summons is bound to come shortly.

“Severus? Severus, are you in there?”

He was seriously tempted to ignore the headmaster, but knowing Albus he wouldn’t go away until he got a response. Is there any way to avoid this man in the walls of the castle? “A moment, please.” There was no reason not to invite him into the workroom of course—it wasn’t as though he didn’t know about Severus’ connection to the Dark Lord—but this place was his sanctuary and he didn’t particularly enjoy inviting people in. Especially nosey headmasters. “Albus. Shouldn’t you be at breakfast now?”

“I had an early meeting at the ministry,” Albus said with a smile. He moved away from the pile of books on the floor that he’d been examining to face Severus. “Well, I must say you look much better than the last time we spoke.”

“Considering that the last time we spoke I was barely two days out of Azkaban and had had less than a day to recover from a Deatheater assault that’s hardly complimentary,” Severus pointed out dryly. Merlin’s beard, his eyes are twinkling again. What does he have planned now?

“Now, now, no need to be rude. How are things between you and the young Mr. Potter?”

“We avoid each other as much as possible. If you didn’t insist that he spend his nights in my quarters—” doing his best to give me heart failure— “it would be an excellent relationship.”

“Now, Severus, it can’t possibly be that bad.”

Severus ignored him. “I notice that you haven’t been around the castle of late.”

“I’ve been working at the ministry trying to ensure that some of the…less qualified… teachers won’t be returning, and that their replacements will be more acceptable.”

“In other words you want Umbridge gone and you don’t want any more of Fudge’s lackeys in her place.”

“Something to that effect,” the headmaster agreed. “Unfortunately while the minister has lost considerable face with the return of you and young Mr. Potter, he does still have some backing. Particularly from families known to follow Voldemort.”

Severus forced himself not to wince at the name. Unsettling, but hardly unexpected. After all, if Fudge is removed someone competent might end up with the office and the Dark Lord can hardly have that. “So she will be back?”

“According to Muggles, it is better the devil you know,” Albus said with a sigh. “Although I doubt many of them have met Delores. That isn’t what I came down here to speak to you about, however. You’ve been making some headway with the wyrsa venom?”

“Quite a lot, actually,” Severus agreed. “Granted obtaining more ingredients is going to be extremely difficult, but there are Muggle villages in the region that know of the creatures and might be persuaded to trade with us for any kills they make. Given the creatures’ taste for magic I don’t think there will be many wizards eager to go hunting.” Although now that I think about it, that might be an interesting assignment to rid me of some of the more irritating students. A pair of redheaded twins sprang to mind, but he dismissed them after a moment’s consideration. Knowing those two they’d probably enjoy it. Perhaps Lovegood….

“Something to pursue, perhaps.”

Severus tried not to smirk at the older man’s comment—it may have been intended as agreement for a trading contract with Muggles but it dovetailed rather nicely with his less-than-complimentary thoughts as well. At least I know he still can’t manage legilimancy on me without my knowledge.

If he noticed anything in Severus’ expression, Dumbledore gave no sign of it as he continued. “However, I have a contact with a wizard in Belarus who specializes in substance replication. I know it’s rather dangerous, particularly with potions’ ingredients, but if you have any uncontaminated samples remaining I would appreciate it if you would take one to the apothecary in Diagon Alley. He will see that it reaches Anton.”

Mucking about with artificial ingredients in potions was more along the lines of suicidal than ‘rather dangerous,’ but with this particular ingredient the options they had were decidedly limited. As long as someone else mixes the first batch, I suppose. “Why not just send it by owl post?”

“Too great a chance of being intercepted, and I don’t want a relatively unknown poison falling into the wrong hands.”

Severus nodded at that, and made a mental note to keep hidden from the Dark Lord the contents of the vials he’d brought back. Not particularly difficult—he wants potions that achieve specific effects, but he couldn’t care less what goes into them. “I have a batch simmering now, but I can go this afternoon.”

“Excellent, my boy. Be careful—you’ve heard about the fight in Knockturn Alley a few days ago, I assume?”

Severus nodded. “Alastor mentioned it. Is there anything else?”

“No, no, that was all I needed. You are aware that classes will resume at the start of next week? The train will bring in the students Sunday evening.”

Six more days. He couldn’t decided whether having Harry out of his quarters was worth the return of the rest of the horde, but on the whole he rather thought not. “I’m ecstatic.”

Albus smiled and nodded, ignoring the heavy sarcasm in Severus’ voice. “I will see you later than. And I’m glad you’re finally taking the time to do some redecorating.”

Severus glared at his back for a moment, and then transferred his glare to the pile of books and the empty shelf. Redecorating. I take it back, the sooner the brat is back in Gryffindor Tower the better. If he was honest with himself he had to admit that it wasn’t even that the boy was an unpleasant houseguest—the destruction of his sitting room aside he’d been basically polite and quieter than Severus had had any reason to suspect. He spent his days occupied elsewhere and kept his nose out of Severus’ business. Unfortunately, the boy generally returned to his quarters in the evenings as soon as supper was finished. It made sense, really, since the other professors would go back to their quarters then as well, but however busy Severus’ days were he was accustomed to quiet in the evenings. Granted the time never seemed to be Severus’ own, but it was when he came out of his dimly lit lab—strong light was harmful to certain potions—and read or graded or did other things that gave him a semblance of relaxation. He smirked. Grading papers was actually a wonderful way to relieve tension.

His smirk faded quickly. With the boy there…well, Harry wasn’t loud, but he it wasn’t the silence Severus was accustomed to either. Playing with a deck of Wizarding cards, writing letters to his friends to be sent off with Hedwig or that lunatic runt of an owl belonging to the Weasley boy, muttering things to himself while pouring over Quidditch books…. He couldn’t justify confining the child to the small and windowless spare room, particularly after what his relatives had done, but he’d been tempted more than once when a random word or phrase had broken his concentration. He shook his head as he re-entered his workroom, setting a charm to notify him when noon had come. Six more days.

A muted rustling from the outer room not long after that he assumed was Harry returning drew his attention for a moment, but as it wasn’t accompanied by any major explosions his attention returned to his work. When he finally exited the workroom after the noon chime had gotten too irritating to ignore, he found that the boy had indeed finished his work and was now scanning one of the books while munching his way through a stack of crackers. “Hello, Professor.”

“Harry,” Severus acknowledged. He snapped his fingers for a house elf, and a moment later had a bowl of soup delivered for his lunch. “It seems the headmaster has detailed me for an errand in Diagon Alley today.”

The boy looked up at the statement. “You need new ingredients?”

“I need to make a delivery, actually. It will be a short trip, but if you were wishing to replace your broom I suppose you could come along and we could stop by the Quidditch shop for a few moments. Only a few moments, mind; I do have better things to do with my time than waste it on frivolous toys.” Thinking about the Harry’s evening activities had triggered the thought earlier. It makes more sense to do it now than wait for the Headmaster to hear about the broom’s destruction…we’d be making the trip then for certain.

“That would be great, Professor! I need to stop at Gringotts first though.”

“Well, I did assume that even you would have more sense than to carry large sums of money on your person. Do you have your key?”

“In my trunk. When are we going?”

“Approximately an hour. You realize of course that we are bound to be seen by followers of the Dark Lord at some point?”

It was obvious from his expression that he hadn’t considered that particular aspect of the trip, but he nodded anyway. “Yes, sir.”

“Then you will understand that you are not going wandering off on your own while we are there.”

“Why can’t I go look at the other shops?” he objected. “I’m fifteen!”

“And a most tempting target who’s already gone missing once this month. Not to mention the fact that you’ve managed to wander off into Knockturn Alley on your own more than once in the past, and with an attack having occurred there less than a week ago….” The brat still looked rebellious, and he frowned. “There is no point in giving the Dark Lord any more opportunities.” Or the Wizarding World any more panic attacks.

“I can take care of myself for one afternoon!”

Severus glared. “This is not a matter for debate. You will agree to remain within my sight at all times or you will not go, is that clear?” The frown deepened. “Mr. Potter, did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” he finally returned grudgingly.

“Your word?” The brat was a Gryffindor; as ridiculous as Severus sometimes found the concept, he would keep his oath once it was given even without a Wizard’s binding on it. Of course he then assumes others will follow the same convention…lunacy.

Harry heaved a sigh. “I promise I’ll stay with you when we go to Diagon Alley.”

Teenagers. You’d think he just agreed to give up his firstborn. “Thank you.” Severus stood. “Now, a second point. Because we will be seen by said followers, it is critical that we maintain the image that we are as much at odds with each other as we have been for the past several years, if not more so. Do you believe that you will be able to manage?”

“No problem, Professor. Is that all?”

As displeased as he looked at being unable to wander about on his own, Severus suspected he’d be well able to maintain a ‘disrespectful brat’ façade for the whole of the trip. “That is all.”

“I’m going to go down to Professor Flitwick’s classroom then.”

“As you wish, but be back within the hour or I’ll be going without you.”

Harry nodded, finishing the last of his crackers and heading for the door. “Hello, Professor,” he greeted as he opened the door.

“Greetings, Mr. Potter, it is fortunate that we meet at this time for I must warn you of a great darkness coming for you.”

“I think his name is V—he who shall not be named.”

“It is a darkness,” she continued as though he hadn’t interrupted, “which will—”

“Sybil, the boy has errands to run,” it was Severus’ turn to interrupt. “Was there something that you needed?” As soon as her attention focused on him, Harry slipped out the door. I wonder, if I dropped the bookshelf on her, would I have time to make it into my workroom before she recovered?

“My supply of applewood is critically low, and as you know I must have it to accurately forsee the future. I have forseen that you will be making a trip to Diagon Alley and would be willing to pick up a bundle for me.”

Applewood has about as many prescient properties as Longbottom’s toad, and Albus talks too much. “So you just came to inform me that I’m running your errand. How nice of you.”

“And to let you know that you are in serious danger. There is a shadow stalking you that will consume….”

Severus closed his eyes. And I thought my day was getting better. “Where should I pick up your…ingredients?” he asked when she paused for breath. If he didn’t agree it would no doubt lead to her hanging about in his quarters wasting his time in an attempt to convince him, and while forcefully removing her from his quarters would provide definite temporary satisfaction Albus would fuss at him about it and waste even more of his time.

“Shara’s Splendid Sensory Sensations.”

”Of course, what was I thinking? Well, if you’ll excuse me I have some work to finish before we go….” He didn’t wait for her response, slipping into his workroom and locking the door behind him before she could prevent his escape. Which didn’t keep her from trying to speak through the door, but at least it muffled whatever she was saying. It took several minutes, but she finally gave up and there was blessed silence. For about ten minutes.

“Severus? Severus, are you in there? I need to speak to you.”

“What now?” He put down the cauldron he was working in and turned to the door. Minerva could be more determined than Albus when she wanted something. Sybil, at least, had come in when the door was open, but Minerva must have used the private password he’d given her to get into his quarters. Only she and Albus—and temporarily Harry—had one; everyone else had to knock like civilized, ignorable, beings. Minerva and Albus also had passwords to his workroom should they ever need entrance, but since she hadn’t used that one he judged the situation to be slightly less than critical and took the time to preserve the contents of the cauldron correctly. “I thought you were at the ministry,” he said as he opened the door.

“Hello, Severus, it’s good to see you also. Why yes, I’m doing quite well, and yourself?” An unfortunate side effect to having had this particular colleague as a teacher was that it had left her more immune than most to his glare. Her smile didn’t even waver. “Albus and I are taking turns, but at this point it’s more a matter of irritating Fudge than actually accomplishing anything.”

“That’s rather a satisfying end in itself,” he pointed out. “But I assume you came here with some particular purpose?” As opposed to simply joining the legions determined to annoy me today?

“I had wondered whether you had noticed anything out of the ordinary about young Mr. Potter recently.”

“Such as…?”

“His behavior has been rather…subdued, as late. The other professors have noticed it as well.”

“You mean he’s managed to avoid placing himself in any potentially life threatening situations in the time we’ve been back? Followed all of the rules for more than twenty-four hours at a stretch? I’m amazed.”

“Severus.”

“Minerva, we were trapped in a jungle for days, and spent most of that wandering with no real idea where we were going or what would happen to us. We then faced a threat no wizards have faced in decades, defeated said threat, and then spent just as much time in a village where we didn’t speak the language trying to defeat an enemy even more difficult to fight and no less dangerous. It’s natural that the brat would be a bit tired after that series of events. I’m tired.”

She shook her head. “It’s more than that. He’s spent most of his time in the library or volunteering to help the other professors clean classrooms. He hasn’t gone outside once that anyone has noticed, not even to visit the Quidditch pitch.”

“His broom was damaged in the jungle. I assume after he’s replaced it he’ll be much more active.”

“He’s also being overly polite—apparently at meals he doesn’t even speak unless someone speaks to him first, and if he calls me ma’am one more time….”

“He’s developed a basic sense of manners and you’re worried?”

It was her turn to glare at him. “You are telling me that you’ve noticed nothing in the time he’s been staying with you?”

“Minerva, I see him at night and occasionally during meals.” They hadn’t resumed Occlumency lessons yet, by mutual consent they’d decided to wait a few days to let themselves recover from their ordeal. Severus more than Harry; the Dementors had called forth entirely too many memories he didn’t want viewed and given that the boy had shown he could reverse a Legilimens it seemed a wise precaution. However, Harry had neither objected nor had any more nightmares so Severus judged that tomorrow or the next day would soon enough. “I’ve had work to do, and frankly I’m rather pleased that he’s seen fit to make himself scarce.” Her glare didn’t waver, and he sighed. “He will be accompanying me to Diagon Alley today. If I notice any of the same behavior, I will let you know.” She continued to look at him expectantly. No. No, I will not. You are his head of house—if he is having some kind of problem it is your duty to deal with it.

“He’ll be staying with you for the next few days,” she finally said. “Those days would likely be more pleasant if he was behaving normally.”

More pleasant for whom?! “Tell me, am I the only person that remembers that this is the same child who broke through our guardians on the Stone, snuck into the Chamber of Secrets, secretly conspired with an escaped prisoner—”

“I know his history; I was there as well.”

“Then, in Merlin’s name, why do you think that him behaving slightly more cautiously is a bad thing?”

And now she was looking at him as though he’d turned in a furry saucer for his transfiguration homework rather than the mouse he was supposed to produce. It never had been his best subject. “He’s not being more cautious, Severus, he’s being nervous.”

“And what do you expect me to do about it?”

“Talk to him. Perhaps he’ll open up to you.”

“To me. Yes. I believe you’ve spent a bit too much time in Fudge’s company recently.” I hadn’t actually been aware that stupidity was catching.

“He was willing to tell you about his family. I…had no idea.”

Severus refrained from a sarcastic comment about that particular situation by only the barest margins, and only because she was clearly still quite upset that she hadn’t known. “He didn’t precisely choose to reveal the information…. Occlumency lessons do tend to draw forth unpleasant memories.” Never mind that the amount of force that he’d applied to bring out that particular event had been more than slightly stronger than strictly necessary. “If he chooses to reveal anything else to me, I will deal with it as I see fit,” he finally consented, unwilling to promise anything more specific.

She seemed to sense that that was as far as he was willing to go. “I would expect no less.”

“You could, of course, take the matter up with him yourself.” She looked surprisingly uncertain, and he shook his head. “If you’ve finished your errand, could you possibly take your leave and allow me to perhaps accomplish something this afternoon?”

“Thank you, Severus, and you have a good day as well,” she said with a smile as she turned for the door. “You’ve taken your books down…are you redecorating?”

“Don’t let the panel hit you on the way out.” Whatever she had to say in response to that—and he had no doubt that she’d given some rejoinder; Minerva was one colleague who always gave as good as she got—he missed as he’d already slipped back into his workroom.

Half an hour after her visit, he and Harry were walking to the edges of Hogwarts grounds in silence. It wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable silence, at least as compared to what it would have been a week or two before, but now that Minerva had said something he did notice that it was unusual for him to remain quiet for that long without something occupying his attention. And what, precisely, does she expect me to do at this point? Insist that he chatter? Not to mention that Harry’s silence was hardly the only thing he had to worry about. One of the reasons that he’d decided on apparating to Diagon Alley rather than chancing the floo network was that the Dark Lord had to know that Harry was back at Hogwarts now. During the school year the chances of catching someone useful were fairly remote, but with so few people staying there right now he wouldn’t put it past the creature to set some sort of trap for anyone joining the network at that particular junction. The trick would only work once, but once would be more than enough. Even if it didn’t catch the brat, he’d no doubt love to thin the ranks of professors on the side of light and replace them with a minion or two of his own. And with my luck, they’d likely be even more noxious than Umbridge.

Severus apparated them directly into the apothecary—he was one of the man’s most prolific customers and wasn’t overly worried about anything happening to him there. “Remember your promise,” he ordered Harry under his breath. “So help me, if you even think about pulling one of your disappearing acts I’ll make you sorry that you even thought about getting on the train this year.” He remembered a moment too late the situation at the brat’s relatives’ home and almost wished the words back, but Harry seemed to take the threat in the spirit it was intended and merely shot him a disgruntled glare.

“I said I’d stay with you.”

And Minerva is worried that he’s being overly polite. Come to think of it, his temper had been in evidence this morning after the bookshelf fiasco as well. The other professors simply worried too much about their precious Golden Boy. “See that you do. And remember, we are likely to be observed.” Severus annoyed the store clerk to no end by insisting on seeing the proprietor and refusing to leave his burden with anyone else, but eventually he did get his way and they turned back for the entrance. And so it begins. “Hurry up, Mr. Potter,” he ordered sharply as he crossed the threshold, raising his voice slightly. “Bad enough that Dumbledore insisted that I bring you with me, I’ll not tolerate you wasting my time.”

Harry’s glare darkened and he muttered something that sounded decidedly uncomplimentary under his breath.

“And keep a civil tongue in your head unless you’d like to spend the rest of your time at Hogwarts in detention!”

“Oh, right, because you’re a model of polite behavior.”

That was—almost—a clever response. “Mr. Potter, whether school is in session or not I assure you that you are required to treat me and every other professor with at least a modicum of respect. Now as we stand you’ll be scrubbing cauldrons in your free time until school begins again and for a good while afterwards…unless you’d care to make your situation worse, I suggest that you close your mouth and follow me.”

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of scarlet…another Gryffindor brat who’d likely spread the tale of this conversation to all her little friends. Good. No doubt there were a few members of the other houses around as well, so the idea that he and Potter were still at odds wouldn’t be shaken despite the time they’d been forced to spend together. It wouldn’t be bad to be seen as even more contentious than usual, particularly if he’s going to be serving detentions with me at least two days a week for the foreseeable future. He spun on his heel and strode off down the street without a glance back. The quicker thump of footfalls just behind him indicated that the boy was trotting slightly to keep up with the faster pace his longer legs could set, and he dropped back a bit with the pretense of slowing for the crowd as they approached Gringotts.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” one of the goblins greeted them as they entered. “And Professor Snape as well. How can I help you gentlemen?”

Severus sneered. “It seems that Mr. Potter needs access to his vault.”

“He has his key?”

“Right here,” Harry said, producing it from a fold of his robes.

“Come along, then, unless you don’t want….” he trailed off with a glance at Snape.

“I guess he has to come. I’m not supposed to leave his sight.” Another glare. This one was probably less than half-feigned.

“You guess correctly,” Severus responded. “Let’s have this done with; I have other errands to complete today.” Thanks entirely to an insane divination teacher and a chatty headmaster. He was silent for the ride down to the vault, but Harry apparently knew the goblin—Griphook—well enough to ask a few questions. He realized as he stepped off the cart that he was about to enter perhaps the last place he ever expected…Potter would be having fits. He glanced down at his student who was listening intently to some obscure defensive mechanism the goblin was describing. Well, the elder Potter, at least. The idea of James Potter spinning in his grave as he watched his old schoolyard enemy enter his vault made him feel decidedly…cheerful. “Today, if you don’t mind?”

The two ceased conversation long enough to open the door, and the three of them stepped inside. “How much will you be withdrawing?” Griphook asked.

“Um…Professor, how much do I need for a broom?”

Severus shrugged and moved towards the pile. It was impressive, certainly, but he’d been inside the Prince vaults when they’d been near their peak. “For a decent broom…” he pulled a small pile of coins to one side.

“And if I want one like Sirius got me?”

“Twice that, I would say.” He pulled out the appropriate amount and then glanced at the goblin who’d gone off to examine another pile against the wall of the vault. “You may wish to consider testing several different brooms rather than simply selecting a copy of that which the m—your godfather chose, however,” he offered in a low tone. “You may find one which suits you better.” Harry didn’t look convinced, and he shrugged and gestured at the larger pile. “Regardless, there is more than enough there to purchase whatever type you should desire.” The goblin was returning to them, and he sneered slightly. “Now perhaps we’ve wasted enough time here, and we can finally move on?”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry gathered the coins into his sack and Griphook transported them back to the surface.

Severus stepped out into the sunlight slightly ahead of the brat, turning towards the Quidditch shop, only to be halted by the sight of two blonds blocking the walk in front of them. Merlin’s beard, I do not need this now. He forced a pleasant expression onto his face. “Lucius, Draco, how nice to see you.”

Both blonds’ expressions were schooled into arrogant-but-attempting-pleasant masks, although Lucius still managed to project just a hint of cultured menace that Severus had on occasion wished he could duplicate. “I didn’t expect to meet you here today,” Severus said, keeping his tone even. If I had, I’d have put off our trip or sent someone else with the venom.

“I had an errand to run, and my son chose to accompany me,” Lucius returned smoothly, gesturing at Draco.

While Severus had no love for the older Malfoy—any admiration of Lucius that he might have had back when he was a student at Hogwarts had long since faded—he was rather fond of the younger, something of an honorary uncle to the boy. He highly doubted that Draco had been given a choice this morning. In fact, the boy looked decidedly more pale than usual, and his eyes were carefully blank. Still, Severus was more concerned with the predatory look the older wizard was aiming at the Harry. He’s going to invite us to a meal, and no blather about what the headmaster expects is going to deter him. No doubt it’s going to be in one of the back alleys, small and secluded…I can think of three offhand where a kidnapping would go wholly unremarked. Where is a nice, distracting Auror when you need one?

“Perhaps you and Mr. Potter would like to join my son and myself for lunch? I’ve heard the new restaurant on Belborne Street is palatable,” Lucius offered, with a smile that showed just a few more teeth than was strictly polite.

Damn. For once he wouldn’t have objected to being wrong. If he’d been alone he’d have been more than willing to keep the elder Malfoy distracted, remove his focus from his son while the boy recovered from whatever trauma he’d been subjected to this morning, but with Harry along….

Before he could say anything, Harry interrupted. “I’m not really hungry, Professor.”

What was the brat, suicidal? The less attention he drew to himself the better, particularly if he was doing something to irritate the elder Malfoy. And when you consider the fact that his very existence is an irritant…. “Mr. Potter, should I ever desire your views on a particular subject—as unlikely as that scenario is—I assure you that I will ask. Until such a time, kindly remember that no one is interested in your opinions and you would do better not to interrupt your elders.” He made a dismissive gesture in the boy’s direction and noted the matching smirks on the Malfoys’ faces. Not that either of them were going to be happy with what he was about to say, but there was no way he could accept the invitation and expect to get his pupil back to Hogwarts in one piece. “Unfortunately, we have already eaten, so I’m afraid we will have to decline your invitation.”

Lucius’ expression darkened considerably. “Just a drink, then, perhaps?”

“I have very little time left before Albus sends someone looking for him,” Severus said dryly, indicating Harry. “The man’s being more paranoid than usual of late.” Albus would cheerfully forgive him the lie, but he didn’t want to think about what this was going to mean the next time he was called before the Dark Lord. Lucius had the creature’s ear in a way no one else did, and if he cared to plant suggestions that Severus’ wasn’t working towards the Dark Lord’s objective as hard as he should be….

“I insist,” Lucius pressed. “It will be my treat. I had of course heard of your disappearance down at the Ministry, and it sounds like you had quite an experience.”

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Severus said dryly, scanning the crowd surrounding them. All he needed was one person who knew him who’d be willing to interrupt and he might be able to get them out of the situation without causing a stir. Unfortunately Malfoy’s reputation was well known and other shoppers were giving the little group quite a wide berth.

“We’d love to hear about it. After all, it isn’t every day that you get to visit another continent. The Bottomless Barrel just down the block.”

Down the block and half-a-dozen shops into Knockturn Alley. Lucius is usually smoother than that. “I still have errands I must complete this afternoon, and the shadows seem to be catching up with us today.” He flicked his eyes to the side, hoping that Lucius would take his comment and accompanying gesture to mean that he and Potter had someone trailing them rather than an obscure way to say that it was getting late. Neither statement was true, but it was the best he could manage on short notice. A muscle twitched in the other man’s jaw, and Severus kept his expression carefully even.

“Malfoy, there you a—Snape, good to see you.” A short, stocky man with graying hair approached at a quick trot.

Reginald Davis was another member of the Dark Lord’s inner circle, Severus recognized with a sinking heart. There was Muggle blood in his family only a generation back, but, as with Severus himself, the Dark Lord was willing enough to overlook such matters for the services the man provided. Most of which Severus didn’t personally care to contemplate. Surely they can’t plan to abduct him in the middle of Diagon Alley…they can’t even have known we were coming! In one of the less-reputable locations it might be possible to find a few accomplices on short notice, but not here. His half sarcastic wish for an Auror or two a few moments ago was rapidly becoming a genuine desire. Perhaps I should have firecalled Alastor and told him about our errand—he would have assigned someone to follow us even if he couldn’t come himself, and we would have a shadow in truth.

The man nodded jerkily to Severus, but clearly his business was with the Malfoys—he didn’t even spare a glance for Harry—and equally clearly he was impatient. “Lucius, if I could have a word?”

So it wasn’t Potter they were after just now. The thought wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been. When Lucius shot an irritated look at his son, Severus decided that he could at least offer the child an excuse to remove himself from his father’s company for a short period. “Dumbledore seems to feel that this one—” he jerked an arm carelessly at Potter—“needs his broom replaced with the utmost haste, and as such I’ve been detailed to escort him to the Quidditch shop before we return to Hogwarts. Perhaps Draco would care to accompany us now and you two could conduct your business privately?”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Lucius waved his hand, dismissing his son with a brusque order to “Meet me at Twilfitt and Tatting’s in half an hour,” and turning with Davis toward Knockturn Alley without a second glance.

“Have you eaten?” Severus asked Draco quietly as he departed. “As I said, we don’t have time to stop for a formal lunch, but you could certainly pick up a snack.”

“I’m not hungry, sir.”

Curiosity and animosity seemed to be warring in Harry’s eyes as he and Draco traded glares, but wonder of wonders he managed to keep his mouth shut when the blond didn’t offer immediate provocation. The three of them made their way to the Quidditch shop fairly quickly and with no more conversation. “Potter, go find yourself something acceptable and don’t be all day about it,” Severus snapped. The boy opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp look sent him on his way. Draco was making a show of examining one of the broom repair kits along the store wall—and no doubt seeing none of them since the day Lucius allowed his son to be seen on a broom that was in less-than-perfect condition was the day that the Dark Lord and Albus would sit down to tea—and after ensuring that Potter would be spending the next while immersed in a comparison of broom styles Severus went to Draco’s side. “It appears you’ve had an eventful morning,” he commented.

The boy seemed willing to take him up on the offer of conversation. “Father wished me to accompany him to a business meeting.”

“It didn’t go well?” ‘Business meeting’ could mean anything from discussing the next year’s financial moves to a torture-and-murder session with a family of muggles, but he couldn’t precisely come out and ask. As far as he knew the boy wasn’t yet directly privy to any of the Deatheaters’ activities, but realistically it was only a matter of time. Not enough time. Not nearly enough.

“Father was attempting to purchase some rather rare potions’ ingredients and got upset when the negotiations weren’t as successful as he had hoped.”

Well, compared to what he could have been viewing, the fact that it had been simple negotiations was a relief. Although…Severus had known for some time that the Dark Lord was interested in having the younger Malfoy pursue a Mastery in potions, but whether as an apprentice to or a replacement for himself remained to be seen. If Draco was going to be the recipient of rare and apparently expensive potions’ ingredients without Severus supervising his potion-making attempts—so far he hadn’t been asked, or rather told, to do so—replacement seemed the more likely alternative. As long as he served a purpose for the creature Severus knew that he probably wouldn’t be dispensed with in a fit of rage, but if there was another Master available to take his position, even an inexperienced one….

He forced himself to banish the thoughts, at least temporarily. At his current level of competency there wasn’t a great deal that Draco could accomplish that another member of the Dark Lord’s circle couldn’t manage just as well, although to be sure there were some fairly simple potions that could be made immensely powerful with specific ingredients. As to the future…Severus had known since before the pain of the Mark had first faded from his arm that his lifespan was likely to be cut short, and while he could at least temporarily bar his student from a Mastery, in the end it would do neither of them any good. Merlin, let this farce be over before it comes to that. He has another two years at Hogwarts and then three at minimum for a Mastery. Draco is a good student, but not good enough to have it done sooner. We can’t let the war drag on that long. Not if I am to remain sane, at least. Another train of thought he was accustomed to forcing aside, and he brought himself back to the present with a slight shake. Right now his purposes would be better served by determining what ingredients Lucius had been trying to acquire and figuring out what the Dark Lord had wished the teenager to make. Best to assume that Draco had been given access to some of the unicorn blood as well. Plan for the worst, and then assume it’s twice as bad as that. And it might not be as bad as he feared—after all, Draco had made no attempt to conceal the topic of negotiations from him so the Dark Lord might have simply not gotten around to sending the order.

As he was determining how best to phrase his question, the boy seemed to recognize what he was looking at and jerked his arm back as if burned. “I need new riding gloves.”

He turned for the shelves in the rear as Potter came back towards Severus with what appeared to be a new broom in his hands. Severus didn’t recognize the type offhand, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything—he might be capable of casual conversation about the current Quidditch season but that didn’t mean that he in any way kept up with equipment trends and the like. “I’m ready, Professor.”

“Amuse yourself for a bit longer—I assume there is something in here that will hold your attention.”

“Professor?” He blinked at Severus’ glare. “Yes, sir.”

But it seemed the moment had been broken, and when he approached Draco again he wasn’t able to engage the boy in anything beyond a superficial conversation about the different glove styles. Eventually the half-hour Lucius had allotted his son had passed, and Severus and Harry detoured slightly from their trip to Shara’s Splendid Sensory Sensations—just thinking that made Severus’ teeth hurt—to escort him to the clothing shop. He left them with a stiff nod for Severus and a glare for Harry.

“Prat,” Harry muttered.

“I’m sure he feels much the same,” Severus returned quietly before raising his voice for the benefit of the people around them. “What, your ego can’t handle the fact that there are at least a few students in the school who haven’t joined your little fan club?”

“He’s the one who walks around with his nose in the air acting like we should all bow down before him.”

“He carries himself like a proper wizard, unlike you and your little friends who insist on lurking in the corridors after curfew, doing your best to break every rule at Hogwarts.” Two children in blue and bronze badges skittered out of their way. “And you call him arrogant? Typical Gryffindor.”

Green eyes glittered. “Lurking? We aren’t the ones with our rooms in the dun—.”

“That will be enough out of you! I have work to do back at Hogwarts and your errands have wasted enough of my time.” Technically this was Sybil’s errand, but he was annoyed enough at using ‘lurking,’ a bad selection of words considering the argument, that he didn’t feel like splitting hairs. It certainly wasn’t his errand after all. “I’ve told you multiple times today that you will keep a civil tongue in your head; if you can’t manage that I’ll see that you won’t speak for the rest of the day.” He gestured menacingly with his wand. “Am I understood?”

“Fine, Professor.”

Loud disagreement in the middle of Diagon Alley concluded, the two of them continued on in silence. Shara’s Splendid Sensory Stupidity was at the far end of the alley, and as the crowd began to thin the instincts that had saved Severus more than once in the past started sounding warnings. There was no way that Lucius could have known where they were going—or even if they would still be in the alley at all after visiting the Quidditch shop—but Severus wouldn’t put it past him to ask a few of the others supporting the Dark Lord to do a little window shopping on the off chance that they might get another chance at Harry. It stood to reason that several of them would have been in the vicinity of Tatting’s since escorting Draco there after having invited him to join them was only courteous. A casual scan didn’t reveal any immediately familiar faces, but then there was no guarantee it would. Not all of the Dark Lord’s followers took the Dark Mark or even reported to him directly, and of those there were at least two that he’d never seen without a mask on. He stepped sideways, neatly shifting positions to put Harry on the inside and himself on the street-side. Right after he confessed to Albus about joining the Dark Lord he'd had several nightmares like this, feelings of eyes on him with no way to determine just who they were or what they were planning to do to him. It was unsettling to say the least.

“Professor?” Harry asked quietly.

This was neither the time nor the place for a discussion of tactics. “Eyes forward and keep walking.” There wasn’t anywhere near enough cover down here, and he was tempted to simply grab the boy and apparate them both back to Hogwarts immediately. Unfortunately, if I do that, I might as well send the Dark Lord a Howler to tell him my actual opinion of him and his plans for the Wizarding world. My credibility is going to be low enough after the scene earlier. While Harry’s safety might be paramount and if they were truly threatened he wouldn’t hesitate to get them out however necessary, it would be idiotic to sacrifice his own position in the Dark Lord’s ranks for nothing.

“Professor?”

This time the question was asked more quietly, and a casual glance down showed the boy’s wand tucked up in his sleeve with only the point visible. He’d dropped his own into a similar position, and when he spoke his voice was just loud enough to be audible to the child beside him. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, have you learned how to apparate?”

“No, sir. We can’t even take lessons until sixth year.”

So much for suggesting that he take himself back and Severus could continue on. I should have brought a portkey. He had several specially—and quite illegally—prepared that he took with him when the Dark Lord was having a meeting outside his apparition range, but it hadn’t occurred to him that he might need one on a simple errand. Well, there’s a mistake I won’t make a second time. Assuming I live long enough to get the chance. The shops they were passing were nothing special, family-owned, mostly, and he racked his brain trying to figure out which ones belonged to Wizards definitely on the side of light. Unfortunately the more popular shops, the ones that everyone frequented and thus the most was known about, were in the opposite direction and he couldn’t think of the last time he’d come this far out. Kestral…Stein…Zeller—Zeller? The name was familiar, but he couldn’t immediately place it until a rather round girl in a yellow and black robe darted into the alley with a package clutched under her arm. Zeller, Rose. First year Hufflepuff. While there was no absolute guarantee that her parents weren’t Voldemort supporters, Hufflepuff was by and large the most tolerant house and it was more likely than not that they’d be neutral at worst. And their options were becoming more and more limited; he didn’t like the look of one of the men lurking at the window of the next shop up at all. He stepped sideways and neatly shoved Harry through the door.

“Can I help you?” a woman at the counter asked.

“Uh…I was looking for a new cage for my owl,” Harry fumbled.

The brat wasn’t a particularly good actor, Severus decided, but since he didn’t have anything offhand that he needed to purchase in a store offering, ‘the best supplies available for your feathered, furred, and scaled Wizarding friends,’ it would do as an explanation for their presence. If he buys something here, I can legitimately apparate us back to Hogwarts with the excuse we’ve completed our errands. Not that Lucius—and by extension the Dark Lord—wouldn’t be furious that the plan to capture Harry hadn’t worked, but at least it wouldn’t be quite so obvious that it was Severus’ doing. Harry was browsing the shelves with the woman pointing out various features in different cage styles. “Today, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, Professor. I’d like this one, please.”

At least the boy had the galleons on him to pay for the thing, and if the woman took far too long to wrap it for his tastes it did give him time to survey the alley through the window. A man across the street was watching the door with what appeared to be rather too much intensity for his tastes, and another man a few doors down looked naggingly familiar. In the other direction—he averted his eyes quickly, hopefully before a certain blond caught him looking. Draco was nowhere in sight, but it was highly unlikely that Lucius was waiting outside a cosmetics shop because he was interested in the merchandise. Harry finally collected his purchase, and Severus put a hand on his shoulder to apparate them both to relative safety only to be met with a block. Bloody hell, anti-apparition wards. If Lucius or one of the other supporters of the Dark Lord had set them they were doomed, but that amount of magic took a great deal of focus and energy…Albus was the only wizard he knew of who could set them at will without a great deal of preparation. There is an apartment above the shop. Merlin, let that be the cause. It was rude to apparate directly into a dwelling, and setting up anti-apparition wards around one’s house wasn’t uncommon. With a building like this doing both stories would actually have taken less energy than one so it was a likely possibility. There had been time and line-of-sight enough while they were walking to have cast it upon them then, but spellcasting like that in the middle of Diagon Alley where anyone could have seen them—or stepped between them and the spell—wasn’t something he thought Lucius would chance.

“Professor? What’s wrong?”

He glanced back and found the shopkeeper otherwise occupied. “We’ve been followed, and I’d say there are at least three wizards ready to ambush us outside.”

Harry’s eyes widened and his wand dropped further into his hand. “Malfoy?”

The shopkeeper turned towards them slightly, and Severus glared. “Keep your voice down.”

“What do we do? Can we go out the back?”

It wouldn’t have been a bad suggestion if, of course, the store had had a back exit. “Miss Granger does most of your planning, doesn’t she?” He waved at hand and the frown that crossed Harry’s face. “Later.” A quick survey of the shop didn’t reveal any more doors. Not even a stockroom. No doubt Ms. Zeller would object to me blasting a hole through her wall. Pity. He was half-tempted to try anyway, but the odds of it working were minuscule at best. Not to mention that it would make coming in here in the first place completely pointless as far as misleading the Dark Lord went. “We’re apparating the moment we’re out the door. Let me go first.”

“Ready.” Harry had his new broom tucked up under one arm and the cage he’d just purchased hanging from his fingers awkwardly, leaving his wand hand free.

Not that it would do him any good against those wizards. Severus snorted slightly and then stepped confidently towards the door. Harry was quite literally on his heels; normally he’d have had something to say about that but this was hardly the time. It was possible that the ones lying in wait would simply stun him and grab the boy, but hopefully they still believed he was on their side and would allow them both to make it past the wards. And to enhance the deception…. “Mr. Potter, I swear you quite possibly the most insufferable pupil I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet!” He heard rustle as the shopkeeper spun at his sudden outburst, and there was a squeak as a girl ducked back out the door—apparently the young Miss Zeller had finished her errand—but his attention was focused on the forward.

Harry was silent for a long moment, but as Severus continued walking he found his voice. “I’m insufferable? Me? You’re the one whose lives in a dungeon and gets his amusement by torturing teenagers! I mean, couldn’t you find anyone your own—”

Severus crossed the threshold and stepped sideways slightly to allow Harry out as well, reaching quickly for the boy’s shoulder. “That is enough out of you! We are leaving!” His hand made contact with Harry’s shoulder, and he crunched them down immediately. Tried to, anyway; there was a horrible tug and he felt his body start to separate. No! No, this is not happening! Something had struck him in the midst of disapparation, something he had been in no way prepared for. Apparition was a tricky thing, you had to know where you were—your parts as well as physical location—and where you were going…side-along was worse because you had to be equally aware of your passenger or you could both end up splinched. Or, what was worse in his mind, melded. There was a particularly gruesome story about a woman who’d tried to side along with her owl and had ended up exchanging several major internal organs with the thing. She hadn’t lived long enough to even attempt a reversal. This seemed to be the opposite of melding, though; it was a fierce fight to hold himself and Harry together. He wasn’t sure it was a battle he could win. He could probably quit now and return them to Diagon Alley, but that would leave them in the same situation that they’d left. Possibly worse without knowing what this thing is. With my luck it would truly tear us apart given half a chance.

He could feel his strength waning quickly. If I have to, I’ll drop the boy, get myself to Hogwarts, and notify the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad. ‘Dropping’ a passenger halfway was guaranteed to leave them in pieces, but Harry was better off splinched than in the Dark Lord’s hands. As far as he knew Lucius had few or no friends on the Reversal Squad—it was considered something of a ‘low class’ occupation—but even if he did by the time he’d be able to contact them Harry would be back in one piece in the castle and it wouldn’t matter. Severus wasn’t going to give up quite that easily, though. He’d apparated himself back to the edge of the Hogwarts’ wards only partially conscious and in screaming pain more than once, and he should damn well be able to manage this now with his full attention on the task. He put all the magic he could draw into one final pull, and the world went black for a moment.

“Relashio! Petrificus Totalus!”

Severus twisted, shaking off the effects of the forced-apparition to bring his own wand to bear, only to find an…arm?...lying on the ground several meters away, apparently petrified. Harry was staring at it as well, his wand still outstretched . “What is that thing?”

“I think it’s part of the man who tried to snatch me. I followed you out the door, and you started to disapparate us, and then this man grabbed my other shoulder. I tried to shake him off, but everything was pulling in different directions….”

A side-along apparition when he didn’t even know he had a second passenger. No wonder it had been so difficult. No wonder he hadn’t recognized it as well—it wasn’t a stunt any sane wizard or witch would even consider trying. It’s lucky that any of us made it through unsplinched. He considered the arm for a moment. No distinguishing features, and it wasn’t the arm that would hold the Dark Mark to determine if its owner was a Deatheater. I wonder, if I hid it, would it keep them from reconstituting him?

“What should we do about that?” Harry asked with a nod towards the limb.

“I suppose I’ll notify the Ministry when we get back to the castle.” As amusing as it would be to leave the man with one arm, it would be more useful to find out who he was. Of course, Severus also planned to report the attempted kidnapping, not that that charge would stick with the idiots running the Ministry now especially if Lucius got involved, but he could suggest that Kingsley get the man’s name and see about a little discrete—or not so discrete, if Alastor decided to become involved—questioning would reveal. “Are you certain that you’re in one piece?”

Harry was decidedly pale, but his breathing was even and his wand had disappeared. “Yes, sir. Can I fly back?”

“Certainly.” Two more steps and they'd be through the wards, but even so the faster the boy could get to the castle itself the better. A thought came to him, and even with what had just occurred Severus had to smile. “In fact, you may locate Sybil for me and let her know that we weren’t able to complete her little errand.” And I may be spared that woman’s company for at least a few more hours.

Harry glared. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell her yourself?”

His smile morphed into a smirk. “Quite. I will notify the Ministry and then be in my workroom until dinner.” He’d also pass a message on to the rest of the staff that Harry shouldn’t be taken off Hogwarts grounds at any point in the near future.

The teenager grumbled a bit more but swung onto his broom with the new cage in one hand and sent it zipping towards the castle without further argument. Severus kept an eye on it just in case.

He was surprised at dinner when Harry didn’t put in an appearance—teenagers were always hungry in his experience, and teenage males in particular—but then the brat had just gotten a new broom and was probably eager to make up for lost time on his rule-breaking. He made a mental note to put a temporary locating spell or two on the broom when Harry returned to his quarters. No doubt I’ll be blamed if the child manages to get himself killed on one ridiculous stunt or another. Almost all of the staff was back now—neither Albus nor Hagrid were in their usual seats, but other than them the only missing figures were Sybil and Devon. Devon because he was still visiting with his new niece, and Sybil probably because she’d forgotten what time they ate. It wouldn’t be the first time.

There was an owl waiting for him in his quarters, a coded message from Alastor, and with a scrawled note for the teenager he headed back upstairs to the floo. The code wasn’t one for particular urgency, but it wasn’t a when-you-have-leisure-time message either. Probably because he knows I’m not likely to have leisure time for the next three months. This is quicker than I expected, though. He’d thought it would be a day or two before they would get together and discuss the kidnapping attempt, at least long enough for the man who’d splinched himself to be thoroughly interrogated under one pretense or another. Regardless, it needed to be discussed, and needed to pass on what the younger Malfoy had revealed as well. One of the other members might be able to track down what rare potions’ ingredients had been traded recently…another clue as to the Dark Lord’s plans if he neglected to reveal them to Severus directly.

It wasn’t—quite—a full Order meeting, Severus discovered as he reached the Black estate, but it wasn’t far from it. The mutt and the werewolf were even in attendance, despite the fact that they’d been dispatched to the Continent to make contact with several disparate groups at about the same time the term began. The rest of the Order had seen it as a good way to keep them safely away from England while still doing useful work; personally Severus had supported the idea simply because it kept the two of them far, far away from him. Albus, on the other hand, seemed to be absent. Unusual but not unheard of, although without him to distract some of the more impetuous members…. Perhaps I should have made up some more of the headache potion. It seems rather much for a kidnapping attempt, especially bringing that mutt in.

“Snape,” Alastor greeted. “What do you make of this?”

And Minerva complains of my manners. He took the item that had been thrust in his direction cautiously. ‘This’ was a rather innocuous looking clear stone with some kind of dark center. A dark liquid center, he realized upon closer examination, and the casing was more crystalline than stone. “It doesn’t look like anything I’m familiar with.” An offensive weapon, perhaps? An inefficient means of transporting an explosive—the crystal would dampen the effect. But a hallucinogen? Or poison, perhaps—some crystals will dissolve in a liquid. He frowned as he picked it up. It wasn’t precisely heavy, but it was far too large to be easily slipped into someone’s teacup. Arthur Weasley came in behind him—Molly was already seated—and he passed the item on. “Where did you find it?”

“Found it in the remains of a house in Altimera, Spain,” the werewolf answered. “One of the Deatheaters abroad we’ve been keeping an eye on. Not…not much else was intact.”

“Who? Has be been confirmed dead or was just his property destroyed?”

“Why do you want to know?”

He sneered right back at the mutt. “I forget sometimes, not all of us are capable of logical thought. If he is dead, we’re looking at three possibilities. Number one—the Dark Lord didn’t do it, and we have a possible ally. Number two—the Dark Lord did kill him, in which case we know little more than we did before.” He certainly wouldn’t be the first follower disposed of for one reason or another. “And number three—he was working on something for the Dark Lord that went wrong.” Just because he didn’t recognize that thing as an offensive weapon didn’t guarantee that either it or something else that had been in the house wasn’t one, and trial and error wasn’t the way to find out. Rather ironic actually, the majority of those resisting the Dark Lord incinerating themselves for him while trying to figure out how his henchman died.

“Or he—the name is Marcus Dantello—isn’t dead,” Alastor put in. “According to your reports, no body was every recovered. And if he isn’t dead…well, someone went to some trouble to make it appear he is. Being dead is a wonderful cover.”

“I’d say he’s dead,” the werewolf offered. “After that explosion…well, there wouldn’t have been much of a body left to find. A lot of power to expend just to fake a death when a simple fire would have worked just as well.”

“Either way, I’d personally like to know how that thing, whatever it is, survived,” Arthur Weasley put in. “It’s no kind of muggle creation.”

He’d know if anyone would. “I know Dantello only by reputation,” Severus said after a moment, taking the object to examine again. “He’s not known for any particular creativity, but he has obtained some interesting toys for the Dark Lord in the past. Mostly from the wizards in the Orient and northern Africa.”

“He’d just gotten back from a trip to Eastern Asia when we were assigned to watch him,” the mutt confirmed with some reluctance. “One of the attendants at the long-distance floo station said that he’d brought back a large trunk with him.”

Severus nodded slightly. “Can we open it?”

“Why?”

How he ever completed seven years at Hogwarts is utterly beyond me. “The crystal doesn’t seem to have any attendant power—obviously—which means if this does anything the power is contained in the liquid. Granted your scholastic abilities were abysmal, but even you should realize that visual examination is hardly the most efficient means of determining the properties of a potion.” The mutt opened his mouth to respond and was silenced by the werewolf. Probably the most intelligent thing Lupin’s done all month. “Alastor?”

“I haven’t tried. Do we have any guarantee that it won’t kill us all?”

“I doubt it’s explosive,” Severus said. “Even as a failsafe that’s rather…extreme. And difficult to keep stable if other ingredients are being added. By the same reasoning, I doubt it contains poison, not if it’s supposed to have any function other than poisoning people. I’m not suggesting we drink it, obviously….” Although if the mutt wants to volunteer I wouldn’t object. I wonder if anyone’s mentioned to him that Harry is staying with me until Hogwarts reopens. He suspected that the mutt’s reaction to that would almost be amusing enough to balance out his irritation at keeping the child in his quarters, but he didn’t particularly want to bring the subject up in front of so many bystanders. Perhaps I should encourage Harry to mention it in one of his letters…. He had no doubt it hadn’t been done already by virtue of the fact that he hadn’t had to deflect any hexes yet.

“If I was going to kill someone, I wouldn’t do it with that,” Alastor said, bringing him back to the subject at hand. “It’s an inconvenient size.”

“And material,” Severus agreed. “Of course this leaves us with the issue of how to open it.”

Alastor shook his head. “I think I would prefer to take it back with me to the Ministry and examine it in the Department of Mysteries. There are protections available there that we don’t have here.”

“And mediwitches on hand,” Arthur Weasley added.

“Watch who is aware you have it,” Severus warned. “The Dark Lord may have spies we don’t know of. I’ll see what else I can find out about Dantello.”

“And see to it that Potter stays out of Diagon Alley without a proper guard from now on,” Alastor said, giving Severus a half-glare.

He wasn’t sure whether it was for the incident with Harry or the warning he’d just given—quite unnecessary considering the person he was speaking to—but Severus nodded slightly. “I’ve notified the rest of the staff that he should be kept on Hogwarts’ grounds until further notice.”

“What are you talking about? What happened to Harry?” the mutt demanded. “Is he all right? I swear, if you’ve done anything to hi—”

“Aside from having a godfather with the mental capacity slightly less than that of the average flea, he’s perfectly fine,” Severus interrupted.

“Remind me again which one of us fell through a portgate and—”

“Lucius and several unidentified supporters of the Dark Lord attempted to kidnap Potter today,” Alastor interrupted, splitting a full glare between the two of them. “Severus notified Kingsley who arrested Kapshaw. After he was reconstituted, of course. We’ll be making a full report after we’ve had time to do an interrogation under Veritaserum.”

“Kapshaw?” the werewolf asked. “The name doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We hadn’t recorded him as a Dark Lord supporter,” Kingsley said, “but he was splinched trying to pull Potter away from Snape while Snape was in the middle of disapparition. Hence requiring reconstitution before I could complete the arrest.”

Probably the man he’d seen a few doors down that had prompted him to turn into the Zellers’ shop in the first place, Severus decided after a moment as the werewolf and Molly Weasley insisted—over the nearly incoherent ranting of the mutt—that Kingsley explain himself more fully. He hadn’t seen the man again from the shop window, but if this Kapshaw had been standing against the wall waiting for the door to open he probably wouldn’t have.

The questions turned to him as the Auror insisted that he had no more information, but there wasn’t a great deal that Severus could add at this point. He didn’t think it had been a planned attack, aside from the fact that Lucius had probably organized things he didn’t know who was involved, no, he didn’t have a recipe for splinching side-alongs. And no, he didn’t have to ‘explain himself’ as far as taking Harry into Diagon Alley went, no matter what the mutt seemed to think. Lupin was doing his best to be his usual obnoxiously conciliatory self, but even he clearly wasn’t pleased with that development, and Severus was getting quite annoyed when Minerva finally broke in and suggested that they wait until the interrogation had been completed since the conversation was clearly going nowhere. The idea obviously didn’t thrill any of the others, but they acquiesced more or less gracefully.

Much less, Severus observed as the mutt and the werewolf exchanged glances, but they’d apparently only come to the meeting for information about the stone because they got up and headed for the door as Tonks brought up a case possibly linked to Deatheater activity that the Aurors were working on. Maybe I won’t encourage Harry to tell him who he’s been staying with—it would be amusing for the first five minutes and then I’d be forced to hex him into oblivion just for the sake of my sanity. The rest of the members at the table also offered short briefings about their current activities and then Alastor turned back to Severus. “Anything else?”

From his tone he seemed to think that an attempted kidnapping was more than enough for one day; as it happened, Severus agreed. Unfortunately, there was the little matter of Malfoy’s ‘negotiations.’ “As it happens, I had an interesting conversation with the younger Malfoy in Diagon Alley today. Before the excitement. Apparently Lucius has been trading for rare potions ingredients.”

“The unicorn blood?” Minerva asked.

“He didn’t say which ones, but I’m going to assume that he will have access to that. Draco did specifically say negotiations though, so I think we’re looking at something outside the Dark Lord’s normal channels.”

“Have you been asked to supervise?”

“No.”

Her lips tightened at that, and several other faces went grim. He didn’t delude himself that it was all—or even mostly—due to concern for his well-being. He was their only reliable source of information inside the Dark Lord’s circle, and if he was removed…. Well, they would be reduced to what the rest of the Ministry was doing. Reacting to what the Dark Lord did rather than planning any kind of preemptive strikes. Fudge is an idiot, but even with someone competent running things that’s hardly the most efficient strategy.

“We need someone else on the inside,” Mungdungus said.

“And how do you propose we do that?” It wasn’t the first time that particular observation had been made. Occasionally it was made by someone who wanted more information, things he wasn’t in position to observe, other times by the mutt or another who thought like him and didn’t fully trust Severus. Don’t even remotely trust me, more like. Neither impetus gave them a means of accomplishing it, though. The Dark Lord burned through the mind of anyone who took the mark which meant that—at least when it was happening—they had to want to be a Deatheater. That negated the possibility of sending someone in as a spy from the start and reduced them to turning someone who was already one of his followers. Severus had come over of his own volition when he’d realized just how bad things were—it had been desperation that forced him to the Dark Lord in the first place when he’d been a scared, stupid child—but…well, the vast majority of the rest were far to cowed by the Dark Lord’s power to work against him. Of those who weren’t…well, the options weren’t particularly good.

Who could it be? Bellatrix, gone utterly mad between serving him and her time in Azkaban…assuming she wasn’t well her way long before she’d ever heard his name which quite frankly I doubt? Lucius, driven by power and power alone? Or Danziger, who’s frighteningly sane for a man who enjoys the pain of others as much as he does? Ellia, Davis, Jorgenson…the day one of them comes over to our side they’ll be selling ice boots at the doors of hell.

The rest of the Order seemed to be rehashing the old arguments—putting someone under Imperius to get through the Dark Lord’s screening being the current most popular theory. Justifying the use of the forbidden curse by the fact that the person it was placed on would know and consent to its use. He shook his head. It wouldn’t work. The Dark Lord was an accomplished enough Legilimens to notice that something was wrong even if he didn’t detect that particular curse, and he was more than paranoid enough to simply dispose of a new potential recruit rather than ferreting out the actual cause. Which, now that he thought about it, would actually mean a much kinder death for the Order member going in than he would get if the real plot was uncovered. Much kinder than my death will be if I’m ever found out. He shook his head and pushed away the thought with years of practice. Those bridges have already been burned; no sense fussing about it now.

Caution, in the forms of Minerva and the Weasleys, seemed to be winning over the rest, although Alastor was holding out hard for capturing a known current Deatheater and putting him under Imperius on the grounds that the Dark Lord wouldn’t be expecting such a thing. Severus knew better than to expect a little thing like the law against using Imperius to stop the older man—by his judgment they should all be condemned to Azkaban, or better yet Kissed, anyway. Not that I precisely disagree, but…. He shook his head. There was too much that could go wrong with that plan, not the least of which was the Dark Lord realizing that something was wrong and deliberately feeding them misinformation. Of course, it was far more likely that the unlucky victim would be killed offhand. Unpleasantly. Albus would be able to talk sense into Alastor if any of them could, but until he got here it looked as though the old Auror planned to just sit and growl at anyone who disagreed until the others gave up.

Severus stood. There were other things he could accomplish tonight. “Alastor, if you find out anything about that little toy of yours, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know. I’ll look through my books and see if there’s anything that might be relevant.”

“If we can discover what ingredients the Malfoys received, how likely do you think it will be that you can identify what Draco is working on?” Arthur asked.

“I should be able to give you a family of workings, at least. Beyond that—” Severus shrugged. “It depends entirely on what the ingredients are.” With a nod, he took his leave of the rest of the group and apparated back to the Hogwarts boundary. I should have mentioned the possible floo trap to Minerva. She’d been spending her nights in London since she had the morning ‘shift’ annoying Fudge…he summoned an owl and penned notes for both her and Albus. They would ensure that proper precautions were taken.

His note to Potter sat folded on the back of the couch and the door to his spare room was shut. Not particularly late, but then with none of his little friends to get up to mischief with…. Severus shrugged. He needed to jar several of the potions he’d been working on before he could retire himself, and perhaps take a glance through the books he kept hidden away as well. He’d prefer to take them out into the sitting room, but since he did currently have a guest in his quarters…. I suppose I can read in bed. Less comfortable than his couch—he didn’t particularly care to do multiple transfigurations on his furniture since the pieces never seemed to go back to exactly how they were—but it would be private.

Some time later, a fierce pounding on the door interrupted him. “—fessor? Professor, are you in there?!”

Severus jerked his head out of the current volume he was examining, stuffed it under his pillow, and stalked towards the door. “What is it, Mr. Potter?”

“It’s Professor Trelawny. I went to deliver her things and she was just lying there!”

Severus glanced at his clock. “And you’re informing me of this now? Why didn’t you call the one of the rest of the staff? Notify Madame Pomfrey?”

“I tried, she’s asleep!”

“Of course she is; it’s less than an hour until midnight. Why didn’t you tell someone when you found her?” he demanded. The child wasn’t that idiotic….

“I was just there! I didn’t tell her about not making it to the shop earlier because…well, mostly I didn’t want to talk to her. I was going to leave a note in her classroom before I came back here since I figured she’d be in her quarters asleep then. She’d get it tomorrow. When I put the note on the table I heard someone moaning, and that’s when I saw her laying there on the floor.”

“Did she hit her head?”

“I don’t think so—it didn’t look like it. I mean, it didn’t look like she had any bruises, and she wasn’t bleeding or anything.”

“Brilliant.” He took a step backward, pulling two jars off the closest shelf and forcing them on Harry. “Take these and come with me. No—wait. Give me those.” He snatched them back. “You go down to the infirmary and bang on the door until Poppy answers. The entrance to her quarters is just inside so it shouldn’t take long; she’s been the mediwitch here long enough that she couldn’t sleep deeply if she tried.”

The interior castle doors sprang open obligingly at his approach as he headed for the Divination classroom. Why that idiot woman chose this location…. He finally made it up the last flight of stairs and into the classroom proper and found Sybil in the same position that Harry had described. She was muttering though, not moaning, something about—“Brilliant, she prattles on in her sleep.” It was basically her usual—the coming darkness, something about a serpent, wandering eyes…. Well, the last was new, but knowing her they were probably evil wandering eyes bringing death and so on. Something in the way she was speaking was bothering him, but it wasn’t anything he could immediately place his finger on. He dumped some of the oil in the first jar onto a square of cloth and waved it under her nose.

“Severus? Are you up here?”

“She’s here, Poppy? I think she must have slipped and hit her head on the floor.”

“Hm.” The mediwitch was beside him, examining the other woman’s skull with probing fingers. “A bit of a bump, but nothing to fuss about.” She took the cloth and dumped more oil on it before repeating his movements. “Sybil? Sybil, wake up?”

The divination teacher’s brow wrinkled and the muttering stopped abruptly. “Poppy? What—where am I? What happened?”

“It looks like you took a little tumble,” Poppy said firmly. “Easy, now, you might still be a bit dizzy. Let’s get you down to the infirmary so I can check you out properly.”

Severus did a slightly more thorough examination of the room as Poppy eased her to her feet but didn’t see anything that would have caused the divination teacher to have fallen. Just a simple accident then. After Sybil was on her feet he passed over the jar of the bruise salve the mediwitch had been harassing him abut and waved his student towards the door. “Mr. Potter, I believe it’s time we go.”

“Is she going to be okay, Professor?”

“She’ll be fine,” Severus assured him.

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. He could have sworn he’d heard something like she was muttering before, but he couldn’t place it. That little shot of adrenaline had pretty neatly ruined his plans of getting to bed at any point in the near future, though, and he glanced down at his student. “I don’t know about you, but this is hardly how I expected to spend my night.”

“Me either.”

Severus picked up his pace as he heard Poppy give up on her attempt to help Sybil walk and speak the words to hover her down the stairs. “Poppy will keep her in the infirmary overnight which will no doubt give her plenty of time to concoct a whole host of new prophecies. I trust you managed to amuse yourself with your new broom this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you awake enough to practice your Occlumency for a short while?” As long as he wasn’t going to sleep, Severus figured that he might as well do something useful, and he had had enough of looking through his books for the night. They wouldn’t do much, but it would give him an idea of how much the boy had progressed. They could start officially tomorrow and try and get at least some solid grounding done before the rest of the brats returned.

“Sure,” Harry agreed after a moment. “I guess we’d better.”

“Indeed.” Soon enough there would be a summoning, and the sooner the child learned not to view those meetings the better. They settled themselves on the couch, Harry passing over his wand without comment. After a moment of consideration, Severus handed it back and stood.

“Professor?”

“A moment.” He knew he had at least one unused Pensieve in his workroom and another that was slightly less than half full. It contained memories of the Dark Lord’s activities that Albus had wanted to view and he hadn’t particularly wanted to put back into his skull. The things were ridiculously expensive—for good reason; he’d been required to complete the liquid portion as part of his final year of Mastery training and it had been the second most hellish week he’d ever had without the Dark Lord having been involved—but they were useful enough that he didn’t begrudge the money overly much.

“What are those for?” Harry asked as he carried them back into the sitting room.

“Do you know what a Pensieve is?”

“The Headmaster showed me the memories of Crouch’s trial last year in one,” he said after a moment. “Is that what those are? They’re awfully small.”

“Travel size,” Severus said dryly. Capacity increased dramatically with size, but so did expense.

“What do you want to show me?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Hence bringing out the things in the first place. There were a few memories he had that he didn’t want to chance the boy finding if he managed to turn Severus’ Legilimancy on him a second time. “Although the primary use for a Pensieve is to give another access to your memories or permit you to examine them from a third-person perspective, it also allows you to remove memories from your mind. When one is placed in the Pensieve you will remember the basic content, but the actual memory will be gone and thus not available for a Legilimens to find. If there is anything you truly do not wish me to see, you can put it in here for the time being and return it to your mind after we finish.”

Harry seemed to consider the idea for a moment and then nodded. “How do I do it?”

Severus demonstrated quickly with the first of his memories—the memory of his initiation into the ranks of the Deatheaters—and with a nod and a frown the boy went to work. Severus added that horrible day back in fifth year and the last explosive confrontation between his father and himself and his mother before pushing his away. The Pensieve would hold one more, but among the rest of his memories he couldn’t determine one specifically worse than the rest so there was really no point. “Are you ready?”

“How many will it hold?”

“Six to eight, depending on the length.”

“Hm.” He considered for a moment and then added one more before pushing it aside. “I guess that’s it then. Do you want my wand?”

“Most certainly.” Not that Potter hadn’t proved capable of causing physical damage without it, but there was no point in making it any easier. “Clear your mind.”

“Ready.”

“Legilimens.”

A flash of attic, and then he was standing in the Great Hall with a group of other children…in preparation for sorting, it appeared. Eyes swept the High Table, taking in the faces staring down at him, and Severus jerked at a spike of pain from his forehead when the boy looked in his direction. Well…his and Quirrel’s direction, rather. He pulled out of the boy’s mind and glared. “You were doing much better previously. You need to be able to Occlude your mind every night, as well as any time you begin to feel the Dark Lord’s presence. That requires you to practice on your own as well as when we are having these sessions.”

“I have been practicing.”

Severus glared. “Obviously not enough. Again.” Harry shifted slightly, and he raised his wand. “Legilimens.” The attics again—an even briefer flash—and he was standing in front of a group of primary school children being yelled at by a woman with…blue?… hair. He pulled back again. “Concentrate, Mr. Potter.”

He sighed and shifted yet again. “All right, I’m ready.”

This time the boy managed to hold the image of the attic foremost in his mind for perhaps ten seconds before Severus was able to push through, and he gave a quick nod as he pulled back out. “Better.” Still not as well as he’d been doing back in Brazil, but it had been several days. “I’m still not impressed with your definition of practice, however. I suggest that until school resumes you spend at least an hour a day working on clearing your mind, and fit it in that much time at least a few days a week after as well. I’m sure Miss Granger would be happy to help you schedule it.”

Harry shrugged noncommittally, and Severus’ eyes narrowed.

“This is your life we’re talking about. Not only your life, but also those of all your little friends, your Godfather, and possibly everyone else at Hogwarts,” myself included. “You’ve seen the Dark Lord; what do you think will happen when he realizes that he is able to access your mind? And I assure you, at some point he will notice. You. Must. Practice. Now, again. Legilimens.”

The boy held out a bit longer than the last, maybe, but not much more, and Severus found himself in what appeared to be another early school memory. He hung around a for a few minutes, waiting to see if Potter would be able to evict him, but although he could feel the push it wasn’t yet strong enough. So if the Dark Lord manages to access one of those memories he prefers to keep hidden as I did before he might get angry enough to get rid of him, but with run-of-the-mill unpleasantness he just doesn’t have the force. Not really a surprise—it was the same reasoning by which he was insisting that Potter use the attics or a similar image to keep the Dark Lord at bay rather than a simple wall—the power for it simply wasn’t available. Anger was a potent force, useful for short periods of increased energy, but as a long-term source of strength it just wasn’t practical. The small children were pelting him with round balls approximately the size of bludgers, and he pulled out with a grimace of disgust. “Concentrate on the attics, Harry, and on the attics alone. It will be difficult once he is actually in your memories, but you stand a better chance of being able to redirect him back into them as opposed to throwing him out of your mind.”

The boy didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slightly. “Again?”

“Tempus.” Severus frowned for a moment and then nodded. This exercise was just supposed to be a check as to Harry’s strength, and it was late. “Once more. Legilimens.”

Attic, attic, attic—so this was where the Headmaster had put the Mirror of Erised, good to know assuming it was still there—and then…well, it was probably part of Hogwarts since he couldn’t think of where else the boy would have encountered stone tunnels, but he’d never seen the door the boy was approaching before. The part of him that was still Severus heard the hissing that caused the door to open, but the part that shared Harry’s mind only heard him tell the door to open. Interesting. The door began to swing open and then there was blankness for several moments before he found himself back in the attic. “You managed to visualize nothing, Harry?” he asked as he pulled out. It was more impressive than it sounded, actually; holding an image in one’s mind was much simpler than holding the lack of one.

“I put the rest of it in the Pensieve,” Harry admitted. “But I managed to get you back into the attic.”

Most probably because he’d had nothing else to focus on and hadn’t bothered to attempt to push any deeper, but he nodded slightly. “Practice tomorrow and we’ll try again the day after. Perhaps take a walk through the attics and make sure you have strong images of them.”

Harry nodded slightly, and he stood. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

Apparently Severus had been more tired than he’d realized because he actually managed to sleep through breakfast, waking to find that the brat was already gone for the day. Which meant that his question about just what the boy had been doing out so late would go unanswered—it hadn’t occurred to him last night, but eleven was not a reasonable hour at which to be running errands. And Minerva was worried about him. I predict that when the rest of the Unholy Trio returns they’ll be causing twice as much trouble as usually just to make up for lost time. He returned the three memories he’d put in his Pensieve last night to his head and stowed both it and the one still containing Harry’s memories in his workroom. He’d show the boy how to put his memories back into his mind whenever he returned.

Since it was too late to take his meal in the Great Hall, he called for a house elf and continued to peruse his collection of Dark Art books for any mention of the artifact the mutt and the werewolf had brought to the Order meeting. In the end he’d come up with nothing particularly useful; it was unfortunate but not particularly surprising. He hadn’t truly expected to find anything—as a strictly spelled object he might have overlooked it in an earlier pass, but he’d paid special care to those items with potion components with an eye to any that the Dark Lord might have an interest in. He’d moved on to combing through his more public library—sorted by subject as he’d ordered—when a knock interrupted him. “Enter.”

“Severus,” Minerva greeted.

“Hello. I thought you were going to be at the Ministry this morning.”

“I was, but when Albus and I got your message about checking the floo network we got a few of the ministry wizards—ones we trust—to check it. When they didn’t find anything, well…I’m the first test subject.”

“It does our cause no good if he captures you!” Severus objected. Bloody Gryffindor.

“My, my, I didn’t know you cared.”

He glared, but as usual she paid no attention. “Finishing your redecorating, I see.” She lifted one off the top of his discard pile. “The Wizards’ Guide to the Ultimate Lifemate? Why Severus, I wasn’t aware that you were looking.”

He sneered in return, refusing to rise to her bait, but was mildly relieved that Minerva was the one visiting. At least she confined herself to snide comments; he hated to think what Rhiannon would have come up with. “Flotsam. I haven’t looked through this mess in years. Was there something you wanted or are you here simply to critique my living quarters?”

“I came to see Harry, actually. I’ve heard he’s been helping some of the others with their classrooms and I was wondering if I could borrow him.”

If this wasn’t an attempt to convince the boy to talk to her, Severus would eat his best cloak. “He got a new broom yesterday so I’m not sure how much luck you’ll have. According to his note he was headed for the Quidditch pitch.”

“Ah.” She nodded and rose. “I will try there, then.” She glanced at a few more of the books in his discard pile and smirked. “My First Year in the World—The Entrance of Gilderoy Lockhart? You know, he was nice enough to leave me an autographed copy of his encounter with the boggart clan. Would you like me to drop it off?”

“Out!” He pointed sharply at the door, and, smirk deepening, she gathered her robes and swept out. “Obnoxious feline.” He’d finished tying up the books he was planning to be rid of and was beginning to reshelve the rest when there was a loud bang on the door. “Come in, Hagrid.”

The half-giant came in, smiling cheerfully. “How’d you know it was me?”

“You have a rather distinctive knock. When did you get back?”

“Came in late this morning. Been gone awhile you know—Order business.”

Severus nodded, waving at him to take a seat. Hagrid had always been kind to him, even when he’d been a more-or-less friendless, and considerably less than friendly, student. “It went well, I hope.”

“Well enough, I suppose. Heard you and Harry had a spot of trouble.”

“It’s been sorted out, I believe.”

“Classes start again next week,” Hagrid said with a nod of satisfaction. “Be good to have the children back.”

“I, personally, wouldn’t mind a longer holiday.” He saw the other man shift slightly. “Is there something you need?”

“Well, not need, precisely, it’s more on the lines of a favor…. It’s really not important, I suppose.”

“Well, what is it?” He knew better than to agree immediately—this was the man who kept hippogriffs and baby dragons as pets—but if it wasn’t ridiculous he would do his best. In my infinite spare time.

“I, uh, brought a friend back with me, you might say, and he’s having a spot of trouble with his throat. Climate change and all that. Was wondering if you might have any medicine on hand.”

“I’d think Poppy would be of more use—she has cures for almost every ailment the students seem to come down with, I’m sure that includes sore throats.” He paused for a moment. “Your friend is human, correct?”

“Well, now you see that’s where the trouble is.”

Severus spent a moment envisioning himself making throat remedies for any of the numerous fire-and-or-acid breathing creatures on the face of the planet.

“He’s a giant.”

Severus nodded, more than slightly relieved. “Normal remedies should work well enough. Poppy probably doesn’t have that much in stock, but I’ll make up a special batch of the standard throat cure for him this afternoon.” It wasn’t a difficult potion to make, and since most of the time required to brew it was spent letting it simmer it wouldn’t take too much time away from his own work.

Hagrid gave Severus a broad smile. “There’s no need to go to any trouble, whenever you’ve got the time I’d appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble.” He could set it up and have it done by dinner. Although he was curious why Hagrid’s Order business had led him to bringing a giant back to Hogwarts. Granted the man occasionally interpreted things…differently…than most people, but going that far was rather unusual. He debated trying to get the full story—it never took much—but decided against it. I have more than enough of my own problems to deal with, thank you very much. At least he was fairly certain that he could count on Minerva to handle whatever problems she seemed to think Harry was having now that she’d decided to speak to him.

“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time,” Hagrid said with a quick nod. “Need to see how the animals have gotten on without me.”

See how many of them have gotten lose and wreaked havoc on the Forbidden Forest in your absence, more like. But he liked Hagrid and saw him to the door with more courtesy than he’d shown the rest of his uninvited visitors. The oversized cauldrons are in the spare room…. Harry’s temporary quarters were neater than he’d expected; the boy’s trunk sat against one wall with his owl cage hanging from the ceiling. Hedwig pulled her head out from under her wing for a moment when Severus entered but didn’t seem to find him worth her attention and went back to sleep just as quickly. The cauldrons he wanted were stacked in a corner and he was pulling out the largest of the lot when a shimmer on the nightstand caught his attention. A book—an old one. So this is what he was trying to get from my bookshelf. It was recognizable enough, an addendum to Hogwarts, A History. Not a particularly popular one, mostly because rather than the factual information that the original contained this one was made up mostly of rumors and supposition, but as with the Lockhart book this one had somehow found its way into his possession. There was a marker in it, and he considered for a moment before opening it. “Secret rooms and hidden passages.” Wonderful. At least Harry was out flying rather than getting into places he shouldn’t in the castle—his broom was gone so Severus judged he’d been truthful in his note. He put the book back down and hovered the cauldron out of the room. He still needed to ask Harry what he’d been up to last night; he could ask about the book then as well.

Severus poured the contents of the oversized cauldron into half a dozen jugs, setting them neatly on his worktable, before pulling on his overcoat and heading down to the Great Hall. On time for dinner two days in a row—or close enough not to make any difference, anyway—and he didn’t even have students to oversee.

“Severus, there you are,” Minerva greeted.

“So it would seem,” he agreed, pulling out a chair. The muscles in his back twinged, and he wished for a moment that he’d used a levitating charm to jar the potion for Hagrid instead of his own strength.

“Is Harry with you?”

“Obviously not.”

She frowned. “He wasn’t on the Quidditch pitch—Rolanda was there respelling the stands and said she hadn’t seen him all day. I assumed he’d gone back to your quarters.”

Severus shook his head but refrained from repeating himself. “Perhaps one of the other professors drafted him first?”

“Everyone who’s come back to Hogwarts is here. No one has seen him.”

“Brilliant.” Platters sparkled into existence around them and he glared at the neatly carved roast turkey. And the day had been going well for once.

“Now, now, no need to fret,” Hagrid interrupted from his seat on Minerva’s opposite side. “I’m sure he just lost track of time. Probably off exploring.”

This would be the second day he’d ‘lost track of time’ and missed dinner, Severus realized, and while he’d told the boy he was welcome to take meals in his quarters this wasn’t quite what he’d meant. ‘Secret rooms and hidden passages’…I wonder if that particular chapter had more truth to it than the rest of the book. He wasn’t actually worried that the boy had left Hogwarts grounds, not after their encounter with the Malfoys yesterday, anyway, but the castle itself did have some peculiarities to it. As he should well know by now. “I’ll see about locating him after dinner.” Among other things, we need to have words about the quality of the notes he leaves. I suppose he may have taken my advice and gone to the attics, though…he has been behaving reasonably well lately.

Conversations about the return of the students and making up the lost time in lessons filled most of the meal, and he caught Hagrid’s attention as the others began to retire back to their quarters. “You want some help finding Harry?” Hagrid asked.

“No, no, I have some idea where to begin looking. I have the supplies you requested ready.”

The half-giant looked confused for a moment and then broke into a smile. “Already? Thank you, Severus, if I can do anything for you in return, just let me know.”

“It was no trouble.” He led the way back to his quarters and allowed Hagrid load the jugs into his sack. The half-giant was able to move them with ridiculous ease, which somehow didn’t make his muscles feel any better. “If he doesn’t improve, check with Poppy and let me know if you need something different.”

“I’m sure these will work just fine.” He turned and left, and Severus made his way up the multiple staircases to the attic.

He started in the room that had contained the Mirror of Erised. It didn’t anymore, for which he was rather grateful, but the rather distinctive suits of armor gave it away. I’m not sure I’d care to go into battle with an actual target painted on my chest, but to each his own, I suppose. I could see the elder Crabbe and Goyle finding them stylish. No Harry there, but he did a quick walkthrough of several of the larger halls.

“Excuse me—excuse me, you there!”

“Can I help you?” he asked the older gentleman who’d yelled at him out of his painting.

“I’ve told that caretaker of yours a dozen times that I want my painting taken back downstairs! There’s nothing to see up here, and with my bad leg it’s far too much trouble to go off visiting. I was perfectly content to hang outside the Hufflepuff dorms, and I can’t for the life of me understand why I’ve been banished to this dusty hall to languish in—”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your request,” Severus interrupted. “But have you seen a boy come this way today? This high, dark hair, perhaps carrying a broom?”

“The only one who’s come through here lately is that no-good caretaker of yours. Now I—”

“Thank you for your time.”

Fortunately the man’s leg did seem to keep him relatively near his painting, as he didn’t appear in any of the other empty frames that littered the hall. Apparently going off visiting the downstairs paintings was their form of entertainment. The better to gossip with, I suppose. No good material up here.. Still, it didn’t appear that Harry was here, and that book had been in his room….

Severus went back into the spare room to read through the chapter Harry had marked. Not what he’d prefer to be reading just now, but leaving the Golden Boy wandering about with no supervision whatsoever wasn’t an option. Especially since by his own actions yesterday he seemed to find coming and going at eleven at night perfectly acceptable. Three minutes later and Severus was tempted to lend the thing to Longbottom for use as a cauldron stand in his next potions’ lesson. ‘Maybe’, ‘perhaps’, ‘possibly’, ‘perchance’, ‘conceivably’, ‘in theory’, ‘rumored’, ‘believed to be’…offhand he couldn’t come up with another synonym for ‘we don’t really know’, and they’d managed to fit them all into a single sentence. And this is just the chapter introduction.

He flipped in a few pages, hoping to find a diagram or something slightly more definite. Those are the Slytherin dorms…. Incorrectly drawn, why am I not surprised? Offhand, he could see that the common room was shown about half its actual size, and there was no back passage out of the dungeons and up to the entrance hall. Granted it wasn’t common knowledge, but anyone who had done even a reasonable amount of research should have known about it. The Hufflepuff dorms were also shown…something about a hidden storage closet. Nothing on Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, despite the fact that he knew that a group of Ravenclaw students some number of years in the past had put in a small library behind the sixth year dorms hidden from the rest of the school. As for the rest of it…well, there were half-a-dozen well known passages mentioned, but two locations were drawn incorrectly and a third left out the exit entirely.

“This is ridiculous.” He drew his wand. “Indicio Harry Potter.” It spun obligingly… and then picked up speed until it was nothing but a blur before falling to the floor with a clatter. I do not need this right now. He still didn’t believe that Harry would have left Hogwarts; there were a few places on the grounds where a location-indicator spell wouldn’t work. None of them were in the attics, but the Room of Requirement sprang to mind—shielding the location was automatic with an Unplottable spell—as well as the hidden chamber in the Astronomy Tower that was used to keep the more powerful telescopes. At some point in the past some enterprising students had spent their free time spelling the telescopes to find more…interesting…views than those above them and the room had been Contego’d, shielded from searching spells, to keep students from locating the scopes without a professor present.

Why the boy would have hauled his broom into any of those places he wasn’t too sure, though; there was certainly no good reason he couldn’t have dropped it off in Severus’ quarters. And perhaps updated his note so Severus wouldn’t have to spend his evening playing hide-and-seek, as well. Astronomy Tower first, he decided; it would have been faster for the boy to fly up rather than taking the stairs. Granted the room wasn’t mentioned in that worthless excuse for a book, but since nothing of obvious use was….

He began to wish that he’d taken a broom himself after several flights of stairs up to the tower. He’d basically healed from the Dark Lord’s ministrations, but after their nocturnal activities yesterday he’d just as soon have stayed closer to the ground floor, or better yet his own quarters. Especially since he’d already done some rather heavy lifting today and made a similar climb once since dinner. He was getting too old to heal quite that quickly. Spelling open the door didn’t take but a moment, and when he lit the interior he was annoyed to find it empty. To think I made that hike for nothing. He was going to have to come up with something creative to do to the brat in response. Buobotuber puss….

When he found the Room of Requirement similarly empty—well, empty except for an obviously-comfortable bed which didn’t do a great deal for his temper—he began to rethink his assurance that Harry was at Hogwarts. He still didn’t think the boy would have left intentionally, but if he had been out on the Quidditch pitch…well, the grounds weren’t spelled quite as thoroughly as the castle itself. Could someone have broken the protections? Hired one of the forest denizens to carry him off? It would be difficult but not impossible, he’d realized that the night Harry had pulled over the bookshelf. Hagrid normally monitored the Forest fairly carefully, but he’d been gone for more than long enough for someone unfriendly—unfriendlier, anyway, considering what was already out there—to take up residence. The only indication that he hadthat the boy wasn’t yet in the Dark Lord’s hands was that he had yet to be summoned, and even that wasn’t definite. He rubbed his forearm lightly. Malfoy had been extremely bold to attempt what he had yesterday in Diagon Alley…scheming and subterfuge were more his style. Was the Dark Lord desperate enough to order such a thing, or had Lucius simply seen a possible opportunity and taken it? A second attempt at the locating spell got the same response as previous; when two other variations returned similar results he snapped his fingers sharply.

A female house elf he vaguely recognized popped in a moment later. “Master is calling for Ani? Does Master wish for pudding? For tea?”

Of course, I normally get as far from my quarters as possible before asking for a bite to eat. Doesn’t everyone? There was no point in being sarcastic with a house elf, though, she’d probably take his question literally. “No. I’m looking for Mr. Potter. Have you seen him? When was the last time someone spoke to him?”

She cocked her head and did whatever it was house elves did to speak to each other across distances. “We are not seeing him since breakfast. He is taking lunch with him, lunch for flying. Harry Potter is a very nice wizard, he—”

“That’s fine,” he interrupted. With a wave he sent her away, deciding that checking just how secure the outer wards were, and just who might have been visiting, wasn’t such a bad idea. Not what he wanted to be doing at this hour, but then it didn’t seem that he had much of a choice either. Back down the staircases and out across the grounds to Hagrid’s hut; fortunately the moon was nearly half-full and provided plenty of light. Half is better than full, as far as I’m concerned. Being out on the grounds during the full moon always brought back bad memories. A diagnostic spell on the way to the hut confirmed that the wards were all intact with no sign of breaches or weak spots. At least the Deatheaters themselves haven’t been able to break through. Somehow that thought wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been.

Hagrid was coming in from the opposite direction and smiled when he saw Severus standing beside his front door. “Severus, I didn’t expect to see you out here tonight.”

“I didn’t expect to be out here.” I expected to be finishing up some work and then going to bed early, actually. Last night had been a rather late night, despite sleeping in a bit this morning to make up for it. He followed Hagrid into his hut, stepping over Fang who seemed quite comfortable sprawled across the entranceway and not at all inclined to move.

“That potion you made seems to be working nicely. Tea?”

“Thank you, no. Mr. Potter still hasn’t put in an appearance, and I was wondering if he might have come down this way.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen him, but then I was out in the forest between talking to you and dinner and then since dinner as well.”

“Has there been any suspicious activity in the forest of late? Anything unusual roaming around?” Of course, ‘unusual’ was typical of the Forbidden Forest, but it would be understood that he mean unusually unusual.

“No, no, nothing I’ve heard of. In fact, I’d say things have been rather quiet of late. After what happened to that unicorn….” He shook his head sadly. “You think Harry went into the forest?”

“No.” Possibly. It was technically off Hogwarts grounds, but he’d gone in more than once…still, the brat wasn’t a complete idiot. Usually. Severus couldn’t come up with anything offhand that might have lured him in, and a locating spell should have been able to give at least a general direction if that was the case anyway. Unless Deatheaters grabbed him in there and took him somewhere…. Still, there was no point borrowing trouble, and none of the Deatheaters had any more desire to spend great amounts of time in the forest than anyone else would. He glanced at the half-giant munching through one of his borderline-inedible biscuits. Almost anyone. “If he hasn’t been here, I should be going. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye out for me, though, let him know that I’m looking for him if you happen to see him.”

“Of course. And I’ll let you know if G—my, uh, friend—hears about anything strange in the forest.”

“Thank you.” Severus stood, nodding politely, and then turned back for the castle. Getting a second opinion at this point was not out of line. Minerva’s room wasn’t the closest, but she was Harry’s Head of House and should know him best. In theory. He rapped sharply on the door.

“What—Severus?” She lowered her wand. “It’s rather late to be out visiting. What do you need?”

She was dressed for bed, and he could almost hear her hiss at him. The cat having kittens. He couldn’t help a smirk despite the serious of the situation. “It seems Mr. Potter has gone missing again.”

“Missing? You didn’t find him?”

Obviously not. “The indicator spell has failed multiple times, and I checked both the Room of Requirement and the Astronomy Tower storeroom and found no sign of him. His broom is gone as well, although Hagrid hasn’t seen anything strange in the forest and the wards seem secure.” He glared as she tried several locating spells herself, all of which failed. One of which failed rather magnificently, giving off a shower of sparks that forced them both to duck backwards and shield their eyes.

“What about the old dungeon or the Headmaster’s study?”

He wasn’t sure which dungeon she meant, but he hadn’t thought of the study when he was considering Contego’d and Unplottable locations to search. It wasn’t Unplottable, obviously, but in order to keep students from prying it had been shielded years ago. “Did Albus come back to the castle tonight?” He hadn’t been at dinner.

“He wasn’t planning to, but he may have changed his mind.”

Well, if he had gotten back tonight he’d probably have wanted to talk to Harry. Severus would have to think of something creative to do to both of them if he’d gone on this little search for nothing. “I’ll check with Albus if you would—”

“You’re the one who lives in the dungeons,” she pointed out, crossing her arms across her chest and fixing him with an annoyed glare.

“Yes, but I have no idea which one you might be talking about and now hardly seems the time to go looking.” He’d no doubt been there before—he’d been all over the dungeons as a child—but there was no way to know which one might be shielded without someone on the outside testing each as you entered. It would have been rather useful to know, actually.

Her glare didn’t waver, and he had the strong suspicion that she didn’t believe him, but eventually she managed a grudging nod. “We’ll check Albus’ study together, and if he’s not there you can come with me down to the dungeon.” She waved her wand and transfigured her nightclothes into something slightly more professional. “That way you’ll know where it is for future reference.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted.”

She didn’t react to his deadpan response, and the two of them made their way through the corridors in silence. The password had changed since he’d left, but she knew the current one, and the two of them stepped in quickly. “I thought they’d be here.”

Severus looked around the empty room with a frown. “As did I, after you mentioned it. Tell me, are any of the attics shielded?”

“Not to my knowledge,” she responded after a moment. “Why?”

“I would say he’d be more likely to go there than the dungeons, especially since he has his broom with him, but perhaps I’m mistaken. I checked there earlier and saw no sign of him.”

“You’ve managed to check all the attics since dinner?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. However, if none of them are Contego’d or Unplottable it shouldn’t matter.”

Judging by her expression she didn’t truly think the boy would have gone exploring in a strange dungeon, but with no other hidden locations that either of them knew about in Hogwarts there weren’t a lot of other options. Minerva led the way down to the dungeons and off down a twisting corridor that Severus vaguely recognized. He had been this way as a child, he thought, but if he remembered correctly it led down to the rooms that seemed to insist on flooding every time the lake rose no matter how many water-repelling charms were placed on them. He’d seen no reason to get his robes soaked as a child—and, quite frankly, had no desire to do so now—but since Minerva was moving forward with firm determination he had no choice but to follow. “Why, precisely, would anyone shield a room down?”

“It’s Unplottable, actually. The previous caretaker used it for particularly nasty detentions when I was a student. I believe Filch did for a few years as well. The rumor always was that it was made Unplottable because certain students were determined to rescue their friends and kept causing trouble, but that was before my time.”

His lack of desire to see this dungeon increased more than slightly at that revelation. Having some idea of what Filch was capable of, Severus didn’t particularly want to see what was down here. They made yet another sharp turn, and Minerva came to an abrupt halt as her wand lit up a staircase leading down to a room with water almost covering the last stair. “Apparently flooding is still a problem.” The light vanished as Minerva shrank down into her Animagus form, and he cast a Lumos himself and frowned down at her. “You plan to swim?”

Her response involved an upwards leap and some clawing of his robe until she was perched neatly on one shoulder.

It wasn’t—quite—the first time that she’d made a similar maneuver; at least this time he didn’t give immediate proof that even Animagus cats generally managed to land on their feet. “Why, precisely, am I the one who gets to slog through that?”

Pointed glance down at his sturdy, sensible boots.

“You know, should I ever have the time to perfect my own Animagus transformation, I’m vitally certain that it will be something large enough to eat you.”

Mild hiss.

He shook his head. She truly did not care for water, and it wasn’t worth arguing about. Besides which, it wasn’t the first time they’d moved like this. It came in handy, particularly when they had visitors at the school who didn’t realize that ‘the pretty little tabby’ was anything more than what she seemed. At least the flooding only covered three rooms, and he dried his robes quickly as she transformed back and climbed up the next staircase. “Thank you for the lift.”

He glared at her back, shifting his shoulders to work out the kinks. “I live to serve.” Not that she was particularly heavy, but as he’d noted previously he’d been doing rather a lot of walking this evening for someone who’d been through intense healing not so long ago. All of his muscles were getting tired, now, not just his back. And, of course, tension didn’t help. If Harry wasn’t down here…well, I supposed we sound out the rest of the faculty and see if any of them know of any more rooms to search. The idea of having to explain that he’d managed to somehow misplace the Golden Boy was not a particularly pleasant one. “Are we close? You do remember that this is your student we’re looking for, correct?”

“My student, but currently in your care.” She halted a few steps from the top. “This is it. Stand back.” A wave of her wand opened a heavy stone door that creaked and groaned alarmingly as it swung outward.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Potter?” Severus glared into the darkness, amplifying the light from his wand until he made out someone lying on the floor. Relief at finally finding the boy was equaled and exceeded by annoyance that while he’d been tramping all over the school hunting for him, the boy had been lounging around down here. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing in there?” He made it to the prone figure in two steps and jerked him upright. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I’m sorry, Professor! I was down here looking and all of a sudden the door started shutting and I couldn’t get back out. I didn’t mean to!”

“You apparently don’t ‘mean’ to do a lot of things. Did I, or did I not, tell you to that you were to inform me of your whereabouts when you were out? Does this appear to be the Quidditch pitch to you? It certainly doesn’t appear so to me nor is this what I would call a reasonable h—”

“Perhaps this is best discussed in another location,” Minerva interrupted. “After we’ve all gotten some sleep. It is late, and I’m sure everyone is tired.”

Severus glared at her, but nodded slightly, propelling the brat towards the entrance with a hand firmly clenched around the top of his cloak. The trip back was made in silence—decidedly oppressive silence; Harry didn’t even comment when Minerva once again crossed the flooded rooms on his shoulder—and she seemed reluctant to leave them at the dungeon exit. Severus wasn’t in the mood for her platitudes. “As you said, he is currently my responsibility. Goodnight.”

Harry stayed silent through the exchange, and Severus tugged sharply on the back of his cloak to get him moving again. When the two of them reached Severus’ quarters, a shove deposited the teenager neatly on the couch. “Prof—”

“Shut your mouth. I’d ask what goes on in that head of yours, but as tonight’s little excursion proved there clearly isn’t much. You do realize that the rest of us here at Hogwarts have better things to be doing with our time than following you around? Or have you decided that being the brat-who-lived makes you and your antics more important than everyone else?”

“It’s not like that! I told you, I—”

Severus didn’t particularly feel like listening to excuses. “It’s not bad enough that I had to listen to that flea-bitten mutt of a Godfather of yours ranting at me yesterday, and the werewolf he insists on spending time with wastes more of my time making wolfsbane since he hasn’t got the good taste to impale himself on a silver knife, now I had to spend this evening—”

“Don’t talk about them like that!” Harry yelled, shoving himself to his feet. “Don’t you ever talk about them like that!”

He stepped forward, looming over the boy. “Just because you have sentimental blinders on where those two are concerned doesn’t mean that I do. I’m not sure which of the three of you is the most insufferable, but—”

Harry didn’t back down, green eyes flashing dangerously as he glared. “Because you never do anything wrong, right Snivellous?”

Severus was brought up short for a moment, wondering just where the boy had heard that name. Black, probably, although when the subject would have come up…. The flush on Harry’s face and eyes that flicked towards the table before coming back to his made him suddenly suspicious. The Pensieve. He’d left them both out in the sitting room all night, and Potter had had at least a few hours that morning to do whatever he damn well pleased with Severus being none the wiser. “Out. Get out of here, now.” He was low, dangerous, and the brat’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“Get out!” Severus caught his arm, shoving him past the couch and towards the door. “Get out, or I will not be responsible for my actions!”

Potter took a few steps backwards, and Severus’ hand closed on a book that had been left lying on the table and flung it in his direction. It missed, but that was impetus enough, apparently, as the boy stumbled back another step and then turned and fled.

How dare he?! How dare that little wretch? Bad enough that I’m forced to keep him here, bad enough that I’m forced to track him all over the school when he decides to prove what an imbecile he is, now I find out that he can’t even observe basic courtesy and stay out of my things? Especially a Pensieve that he knew perfectly well contained memories that I didn’t want him seeing! Severus stalked the length of the sitting room, and then, running out of room, turned and paced back in the other direction. Gryffindor’s Golden Boy shows his true colors at last. Stop. Reverse. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep anytime soon now, and with a satisfied growl he turned towards the workroom. Dumbledore would no doubt preclude him from doing anything more, but at least he could return the favor.

The Pensieves were sitting against the back wall, and he picked up the one with the nick in one side. The one still full of memories, since Potter had never retrieved his. He touched the surface lightly with his wand and then went in.

He was in the library…late, judging by the fact that it was completely deserted, and probably a holiday as well since the wall torches were out and the only light came from a single lamp on the floor. Something silvery surrounded Potter, and it took Severus a moment to decide that it must be his invisibility cloak. He’d never seen the memory of a person who’d worn one at the time…apparently since Potter knew where he’d been, anyone who viewed the memory did too. He moved a bit closer as the boy awkwardly tried to prop up a large book he’d pulled off the shelf. He was small…first year, perhaps? Certainly not more than second. The book began to scream as he opened it, and he nearly dropped it on the floor as he tried to shove it back onto the shelf. He did succeed in knocking over his lamp, and Severus followed the sound of footfalls and the curiously silver light from the cloak as the boy darted out of the library. Severus passed through Filch on the way in; Potter went under his arm.

It must be first year, Severus decided as Potter took a winding route that led him directly around to the opposite side of the library. Otherwise he’d have known to go the other direction.

“You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted Section.”

Filch had obviously cut straight through the library, and apparently summoned someone else as well.

“The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them.”

Apparently Filch had summoned him. Severus didn’t recall this particular incident, but there were always at least a few students every year who tried to get into the Restricted Section. Why he would choose to hide this memory, though…it’s not as if he even had time to read a single page. But the memory was continuing…Potter was pressed against the wall as Filch and himself—memory-himself—came around the corner walking towards him. Potter was backing away quickly and at the last minute ducked through a partially open door off to one side. Neither he nor Filch even noticed. I’ll have to remember that. But the boy was in the room, now, and Severus followed him. This had been the Muggle Studies classroom when he’d been a student if he remembered correctly. Not that he’d taken Muggle Studies, but he was fairly sure this was where it had been held before Devon came to teach and moved it down to the ground floor. Chairs and desks still sat in piles, but against the far wall…the Mirror of Erised. This must have been where Albus put it before the attic.

Potter had moved closer to the mirror, studying the writing before stepping immediately in front of it. And then clapped his hands over his mouth and twisted away. Green eyes, shining from the light of the cloak, looked around the room cautiously before turning back to the mirror, and Severus stepped closer to see what the boy had seen. There was a flash of an image—a group of people—and then Harry, breathing quickly, jerked back and scanned the room again.

His shoulders squared slightly as he looked in the mirror for a third time, and this time he didn’t look away. Severus recognized the two figures on either side of the boy’s reflection easily enough, although they were older than the last time he’d seen them. A red-haired woman with bright green eyes, and a tall man with dark, messy hair. Lily’s parents stood behind her, and he recognized Potter’s—James Potter’s—father as well although he didn’t think he’d ever seen the man’s mother. It stood to reason that she was the dark haired woman beside him. They were Harry’s grandparents, obviously, and the rest of the figures probably great-aunts and uncles or some such. Lily’s muggle sister was conspicuous in her absence.

“Mom?” Harry whispered, drawing Severus’ attention back to him. “Dad?”

Severus couldn’t see how the child could possibly see the images as close as he was standing, but after a few minutes he tore his eyes from the first two figures, putting his hands on the mirror surface as he looked slowly at the rest of the people smiling back at him. He continued to stare, and Severus realized abruptly that this was the first time that he’d ever seen his family.

A noise in the background—probably a house-elf, Severus judged—caught his attention some moments later and he turned from the mirror with obvious reluctance. “I’ll come back.”

A swirl, and that memory ended leaving Severus standing in almost full dark. Seven figures were making their way down a tunnel…eight if that cat of Granger’s counted. It was obviously third year, after he’d been knocked out in the shrieking shack, as the mutt was hovering his body along. The werewolf—holding a wand on Wormtail—Wormtail, and the Weasley boy were in front of him, Black, Potter, and Granger behind. Memory-him’s head knocked against the ceiling lightly, and Severus glared at the mutt. No wonder I woke up with a headache.

“You know what this means?” the mutt asked suddenly.

Eloquent as ever, Severus thought at the non-sequiter.

Potter didn’t seem to follow either, and Black continued. “Turning Pettigrew in?”

“You’re free.”

“Yes. But I'm also—I don't know if anyone ever told you—I'm your godfather.”

“Yeah, I knew that,” Potter agreed.

Black seemed to expect more of a response. “Well... your parents appointed me your guardian. If anything happened to them….”

Harry stopped suddenly, staring at him.

“I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle.” The mutt’s voice was stiff and he wasn’t looking back at the boy as he spoke. “But…well…think about it. Once my name's cleared…if you wanted a…a different home….”

Harry’s eyes widened and he trotted a couple steps to catch up. “What—live with you?” He walked directly into an overhang, and Severus winced although the brat didn’t even seem to notice. “Leave the Dursleys?”

“Of course, I thought you wouldn't want to,” said Black quickly, his voice hitching slightly. “I understand, I just thought I'd—”

“Are you insane?” Harry’s voice cracked. “Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?”

Watch it! Not that the thought did any good, as his levitating self scraped against the ceiling.

Black turned back to look at Potter now, though, obviously not caring about anything but his godson. “You want to? You mean it?”

“Yeah, I mean it!” Harry’s face had lit up, and in the face of that and his excited statement the mutt broke into a jaw-breaking smile as well.

The memory ended there, and in a swirl of light Severus found himself in a graveyard surrounded by Deatheaters. His Dark Mark flared suddenly, and his first thought was that it was in sympathetic reaction. The second spike of pain convinced him otherwise, and he pulled out of the Pensieve quickly. And stared at it for a few seconds before turning to get his mask and robes. He would come back if there were any particular potions the Dark Lord desired tonight.

Severus didn’t recognize the location he apparated to—either the lawn or the castle which stood on it—but that wasn’t overly unusual. The Dark Lord tended to change bases every few weeks, and there were more than a few deserted holdings that he had access to. Here’s to paranoia. Although, to be fair, there were plenty of people who were out to get him. What appeared to be a figure in a cloak passed by one of the upper windows, and Severus shrugged into his robe and put on the mask before starting across the grounds. If he was lucky this would be a short meeting. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t be at a meeting.

He dropped his wand down into his hand out of habit as he crossed the threshold and joined the ring of people wearing similar garments. Tried, anyway, as they separated into two groups at some unseen signal leaving him facing the Dark Lord.

“Expelliarmus!”

He recognized Nott’s voice, but before he could react his wand flew out of his hand, landing on stone and skidding well out of reach. What in the Merlin’s name…?

“Bring him,” the Dark Lord ordered.

Two figures in robes stepped up behind him—had had no doubt that one was Lucius, but the other…Amycus, possibly, or Rabastan. They were the only two with that particular build. Crabbe and Goyle were easy enough to pick out; they were standing slightly in front of him on either side. Not that he would have tried to run, not wandless and surrounded, but clearly they were taking no chances. Which, of course, begged the question why….

“My Lord,” Severus greeted as he approached the dais, bowing low. The creature didn’t even acknowledge the gesture.

“Once again you’ve disappointed me,” he began.

Wonderful. Damn Lucius.

“My Lord?” Severus tried. It is getting mightily irritating that every time I face him he’s annoyed about something. Even if he did, technically, have reason this time.

“You had the Potter brat with you yesterday, and you deliberately saved him from ambush! I could have my information and the child would be dead now if not for you!”

“Master, there were Aurors following—” or there would have been if I’d been thinking. “If I’d accepted Lucius’ invitation they’d have no doubt followed and—”

“Silence! You apparated him out of the hands of one loyal to me—spliched another servant in the process—and yet you dare stand here in front of me!”

As if I had a choice. Brazil, wyrsa and all, suddenly strikes me as an excellent place to be visiting. “It was never my intention to work against you yesterday, Master.” It’s my intention to work against you every day. He kept his eyes down. It was always harder to guard his thoughts—and his tongue—when he was tired. “The worthless, disrespectful brat—” he didn’t even have to feign his anger after what the brat had done with his Pensieve— “had been irritating me all afternoon, and as soon as I’d discharged the last errand the old fool insisted that I accompany him on I took him back to Hogwarts. If I had known you had a plan in place…if I’d been given some warning….” He shrugged, feigning helplessness.

“Indeed?” The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and a masked Deatheater Severus didn’t recognize offhand stepped forward, carrying a shallow dish about the size of a dinner plate with some kind of dark liquid at the bottom. And a crystalline cover over the top. The dish was set on the ground in front of the Dark Lord and the Deatheater stepped back.

This is not good. Severus would swear that he’d seen that liquid before, seen the same crystal type…. The Dark Lord hissed something in a language that he didn’t know. Chinese perhaps, or Japanese…an Asian language judging by the characters around the rim of the dish. The language didn’t really matter, he decided, as the liquid in the plate swirled and settled into an image. Specifically, the interior of the Department of Mysteries. It was dark, deserted at this time of night, but recognizable enough, and Severus fought to hold his expression steady. Bloody buggering hell That answered the question as to what the crystal the never-to-be-sufficiently-cursed mutt and werewolf had brought back was.

“Do you like my new toy? It’s called the ‘Mind of the Korros.’ Takes its name from a snake from the region…fascinating, isn’t it? You weren’t here when it was sent to me, but it’s proved invaluable these past few days. The small crystals are its eyes and ears, you see, they transmit everything that happens around them.”

Yes, thank you, I had figured that out for myself. And no, I don’t find it fascinating. At all. It occurred to him suddenly why Sybil’s tone had sounded familiar the other night…he had heard it once before. Specifically one day in 1979 when he’d interrupted the woman’s placement interview with Dumbledore. He’d heard about a second true prophecy she’d made when the mutt first broke free, about the Dark Lord’s rise, but he’d had other things to think about at the time. Three real prophecies in twenty years; it’s no wonder I didn’t recognize it. Although it would have been nice if I had….

“You have betrayed me, Severus,” the Dark Lord said, his voice frighteningly even. “You swore to serve me, to be my spy inside Hogwarts. And from your own lips I have heard you pass on information to them. Not as my agent, but as a traitor.” That word was nearly spit, but his icy façade didn’t waver. “Take him to the dungeons.”

Severus automatically tried to apparate, but there was a barrier in place. No real surprise. He had an emergency portkey on him, but it was tucked in a specially warded pocket and at this point he couldn’t reach it without one of the others getting to him first. Best to bide his time and go when he was able. If I am ever able again. I should have planned more carefully…I should have brought something explosive. It was ominous somehow, that none of his ‘escorts’ tried anything. Well, nothing besides knocking him around a bit, anyway, where Crabbe and Goyle were concerned that didn’t actually count. Rather like oversized versions of their children, without the excuse that ‘they’re just boys.’

Amycus—he was positive who the figure with Lucius was now—shoved him into the cell, and Severus twisted to face them. He knew some wandless magic, but nothing that would serve him in this situation, so he stepped back against the wall. If they would just shut the door and leave him alone for half a minute….

“You couldn’t have thought it would be that easy,” Lucius sneered. “Petrificus Totalus.”

Damn. He toppled as the spell struck, ending up lying on his back half-propped against the wall. No wonder they hadn’t bothered to search him; he wasn’t going to be able to do anything anyway. Well, his body may have been petrified, but his mind wasn’t, and Severus tried to sort out what was likely to happen next. The Dark Lord obviously had something planned for him, probably something unpleasant otherwise he’d have been killed on the spot or given to the rest of the Deatheaters for sport. Which amounts to the same thing. What he could have planned, however, Severus had no idea. He would have shaken his head if he’d been able to…the creature had to know that no one in the Order would give anything for him. The war was too important. Not to mention that now that my position as a spy has been revealed I’m worth next to nothing. They’d have gotten more kidnapping a few children and offering a trade for them. Which meant…what? Was there something he wanted from Severus? Potions? No one in his right mind—which, granted the Dark Lord wasn’t, but he wasn’t an idiot either—would trust a potion made under duress. Information about the Order? The prophecy? Either of those was more likely, although as far as the Dark Lord knew Severus had already passed along all of the prophecy that he was aware of. Regardless, in either case why was the creature waiting? There had to be something that he was missing, and he wished he’d heard the Divination professor’s muttering more clearly. Damn Trelawny. It wasn’t her fault, but having someone else to curse at made him feel a bit better.

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed before they came for him again; there wasn’t a great deal of natural light in the dungeon, and things always seemed to drag on when all you had to do was wait and worry. The portkey was tucked inside his robe, close to his collar…if he could get even a finger on it that would be enough. Unfortunately, he had been well and truly immobilized.

“Finite,” Lucius said lazily when the door finally opened, waving his wand. Severus collapsed to the ground as his muscles were forced finally to function for themselves. Two other Deatheaters—Crabbe and Goyle, no surprise there—waited outside the door, obviously present in case Severus tried anything. Which he would if given half a chance, of course, but at this point it took quite a bit of energy just to get back to his feet. If his muscles had been sore earlier, they were screaming now. Lucius waved his wand, indicating the corridor. “This way.”

They didn’t return to the entrance hall, instead going up an extra flight of stairs to the room where, he was fairly sure, he’d seen a figure moving before. The number of Deatheaters present had doubled, at least, possibly tripled in the time he’d been locked up—probably not more than a few hours considering that it was still dark out—and he scanned the room cautiously. He hadn’t even realized that there were this many free Deatheaters. Has the Dark Lord been off recruiting? It was something he should have been aware of, but…. The usual attendees were easy enough to pick out, but that looked to be Karakoff, that one had to be Gioncolo since no one else was that round, if that was Giancolo then the thin figured next to him was no doubt his wife…. A full gathering? That never happened, not with so many of his servants scattered on the Continent. There were even a few figures not in robes against the far wall, but he couldn’t make out their features in the gloom.

He was escorted to a diagram drawn on the floor in the center of the room…some kind of ritual binding, it appeared. Not one he was familiar with, but it was probably one of the more obscure branches of magic if it required that kind of elaborate setup. When he was shoved across the boundary he felt nothing, so perhaps it had been done incorrectly? I can use that. Unfortunately he didn’t have much time to puzzle over the nature of the thing as the quieting of conversations—the majority of which had centered on him from the snippets he could overhear—indicated that the Dark Lord had appeared. Sure enough, Severus felt himself pulled around and shoved to the floor at the creature’s feet before Goyle stepped back across the boundary. At which point the feel of ‘magic’ in the air increased dramatically. Damn, it is functional. And some kind of holding cell.

“You have betrayed us, Severus,” the Dark Lord began. “Your Lord, who you swore to serve nearly twenty years ago, your fellow Deatheaters, your….”

He continued on in the same vein as Severus held back a groan. Enough with the bloody theatrics! Although I suppose as long as he’s waxing poetic he isn’t doing anything else. Severus kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the floor as the Dark Lord continued to rant. The fact that the creature had brought apparently everyone in for this little lecture didn’t bode well for his future, and he once again cursed the fact that he’d sealed up the pouch holding his portkey quite so thoroughly. It was designed to keep it from being detected in a search, but having it with him did precious little good when he wasn’t able to get to it quickly. That’s assuming it’s strong enough to get me through this bloody barrier, of course. His wand was nowhere in evidence, and he wondered whether it had been destroyed or if one of the other Deatheaters had grabbed it. Or if it was still sitting on the stone floor downstairs. Whichever it was, he wouldn’t likely be seeing it again.

“Crucio!”

Severus had lost the thread of the rant, but that he heard clearly. Not that it mattered as the curse set his body screaming. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed while he was under it…seconds, minutes…not likely more than that or he’d be in the same state that Longbottom’s parents were. The curse cut off abruptly, and he tried to draw a deep breath. He’d always known it would come to this, that someday his true loyalties would be revealed, but he’d always thought he’d be able to strike some kind of blow in return. Lying here helpless was just…humiliating. He had some wandless magic, but most of the spells he was accustomed to using were those useful in brewing when he didn’t always have a hand free. Like most wizards he was accustomed to relying on a little stick of wood the majority of the time. An idiotic error on my part. Not all wizards could do wandless magic, and of those who could most couldn’t do much, but knowing he had some he should have tried for more.

“Fiendfyre!”

That was Lucius, and Severus rolled away as best he could as the fire came towards him. The barrier seemed to be impenetrable though, at least to large solid objects like his body—not to spells, unfortunately—and there was nowhere to go. The flames weren’t particularly large, and it hadn’t been burning long enough to take a true form, but that wasn’t going to change what it was going to do to him. He’d barely had time to scream as the fire burned along his leg when a third voice rang out.

“Conglacior!”

The fire was gone, and Severus felt relief for a fraction of a second, until the ice began to spread up his veins. He was vaguely aware of the rest of the Deatheaters lined up in some sort of order, and then just as it became intolerable the ice was gone. And the bones in his right arm were crushed, courtesy of Dolohov. Dolohov?! What in Merlin’s name is he doing out of Azkaban?! He certainly hadn’t been released. Unfortunately, there was no time to ponder…none of the curses were—yet—life-threatening, giving each of the Deatheaters a chance to prove their loyalty one by one. He gritted his teeth. As if I wouldn’t have cast a few curses at any one of them if given the opportunity, no matter where my loyalties lay! “Accio wand!” It didn’t matter whose, he just needed something to focus his magic, and if he was lucky the barrier spell would let it in.

“Sectumsem—my wand!”

Severus didn’t take the time to determine which Deatheater’s wand he’d grabbed. His left hand wasn’t his dominant one, but since his right arm was out of commission it would have to serve. “Sectumsempra!” His curse, it stood to reason that he’d be able to cast it better than any of them. There was a scream, and he twisted back towards where the Dark Lord had last stood.

“Avis oppugno!” a woman called out.

Alecto. Obviously she’d be here if Amycus was. Severus swung his arm, trying to knock the birds away long enough to give him a clear shot, but the damn things were everywhere. “Avada Ked—”

“Obtundo vis!”

Severus screamed again as his left arm was crushed, and his fingers were unable to maintain a grip on the stolen wand. The curses blurred together in a continuous stream of pain fairly quickly…soon enough all Severus could hear was a low buzzing in his ears, and if he’d had time to he’d have wondered if one of the Deatheaters had cast a Muffliato instead of a real curse. There was no way to tell how long he’d been lying on the floor, how many Deatheaters had taken their turns. It was getting darker, oddly enough….

“Enervate!”

His head snapped up—at least his neck wasn’t yet broken—and a wave of all-too-clear pain washed over him. So he wasn’t going to be allowed to escape into unconsciousness. No real surprise, I suppose.

He could make out a line of Deatheaters…were those the ones who had finished with him, or were they still waiting their turn? Another fiendfyre came at him, burning his arms as he tried to shield his head, and then a blunt-force curse caught him in the chest and broke at least a few ribs. Well, that or badly jarred already-broken ribs; at this point there was no way of knowing. It was a relief when things started to get fuzzy again, and even as his body jerked from yet another curse the pain seemed to fade away.

“Enervate!”

Another jerk, though this time he couldn’t quite find the energy to lift his head. There was light coming in through the window…he didn’t remember a sunrise. Then again, the mob of Deatheaters in their masks and robes that had been standing in front of him the last time he’d managed to open his eyes had melted away so he’d probably been under their curses for quite awhile. Why had they’d brought him back to alertness now? Couldn’t bear the thought of letting me die in peace, probably. The first of the unmasked forms stepped forward. Dark hair, dark eyes, probably not more than seventeen. Ah. New recruits. Wonderful. It was strange, really…he knew how much pain he should be feeling now. He shouldn’t even be able to hold onto consciousness, never mind think, no matter how many Ennervates were cast, but it seemed that his body had given up reporting pain and he was left in a state of helpless numbness.

If the first boy’s voice wasn’t quite steady as he repeated Dolohov’s curse, it didn’t affect the outcome and neatly took another chunk out of Severus’ collarbone. Severus could vaguely make out the initiation of the child by the Dark Lord in the minutes that followed; the child’s scream as his mind was violated, and a flash of light as the Dark Mark burned into his arm.

“Ac-cio w-wand,” he choked in the few moments of peace this bought him, but he just couldn’t find any energy to put behind the spell.

The next child was a girl—Ellen Horace, a Slytherin who’d finished her seventh year the year before last. If torturing her former Head of House bothered her, there was no sign of it in her spellcasting. She slashed his face deeply enough that his vision was obscured by the blood, but he could still hear her initiation. Another girl followed, and then a boy, neither of whose voices he recognized. Just as well, probably. And then there was silence, and he waited for the killing curse to end it all. It was the only possible conclusion to the night, even the Dark Lord wouldn’t chance keeping him around for more sport.

“Well?”

Lucius voice was low and dangerous, and Severus’ heart clenched. So there are five initiates. He had a horrible feeling who the man was talking to, and if Draco was being initiated into the Dark Lord’s service at the ripe old age of fifteen…. It made sense in a sick, twisted kind of way. The boy would be a potions master in a few years time, like Severus himself a master that the Dark Lord wouldn’t have to blackmail or bribe to get what he wanted as he would with most of the rest in Europe. But he’s only fifteen! Even Lucius would have protested, and Narcissa…. Whatever else might be true of the woman, she did love her son.

“Your Lord is waiting,” Lucius said, his tone even darker than it had been in the moments before. “Kill the traitor.”

Severus heard a hitch of breath from somewhere in front of him, in the approximate vicinity of the other children, and then, “S-sominoculous.”

Not Draco. He wasn’t sure who the voice belonged to, but it was female. That thought was all he had time for as he found himself at what felt like the bottom of a pit of water, suddenly. No matter how he tried to twist he couldn’t find any air. He could feel the water flowing down his throat, rushing into his lungs, choking him, and for at least the third time that night, the world went black.

///////////

“—fessor? Professor?”

Severus head swam, and his throat clenched suddenly trying to expel the water he knew he’d swallowed. None was forthcoming, and after a moment he realized that he was breathing again. Albeit unsteadily, but there was air. Then true consciousness returned, and if he’d been able to he’d have vomited from the sheer pain coursing through him. He doubted there was even an inch of skin unmarked, and the lacerations were the least serious of his injuries. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, considering that he was lying more-or-less facedown and unable to move—he just didn’t have the energy.

“Professor, wake up!”

It was a girl, he identified after a moment, and did his best to at least open his eyes. It didn’t work.

“Professor, please, you have to wake up! You have to get out of here!”

Who are you and what do you want? It was a student, obviously, she wouldn’t keep calling him ‘professor’ otherwise, but what she was doing here…. The girl who cast the last spell? She certainly hadn’t seemed eager to kill him before, but there was a great deal of distance between a reluctant kill and deliberately working against the Dark Lord.

“They think I’m still unconscious upstairs,” the girl continued, “but as soon as someone tries to wake me up the corpse-duplicate will fail…I don’t have very much time, and I don’t want to have to kill you!” The last was delivered in a half-wail, and Severus tried to speak. He managed a moan which, considering the circumstances, was actually quite impressive.

“Professor? Episky.”

It would take considerably more than a cut-healing charm to do anything about even the most superficial of his injuries, but Severus appreciated the effort and swallowed hard. At least, despite definite soreness, his jaw didn’t seem to be broken. It’s probably one of about three bones that aren’t. “Portkey.”

“What?”

“Portkey,” he repeated, trying to draw enough breath to even reach the level of a whisper. He could taste blood in his mouth, and he wasn’t sure what injury—or injuries—had caused it. At least he could breathe. He wasn’t dead yet. Concentrate on the positive. Now I sound like Albus. He’d have sneered if he was capable of it—he was not dying with that thought uppermost in his mind.

“Orty?” the girl asked. There was a swish, and then, “Orty.”

Severus found enough energy for a groan. It’s not a spell, idiot. Another quasi-deep breath, and he tried to repeat himself more clearly. “Port. Key.”

“Orkey…ort-key…you have a portkey? Where?”

He tried to roll onto his back, but since both of his arms were broken—or crushed; he didn’t want to think about that—as was his collarbone, it was something of a losing proposition. “Pocket. Collar.”

A quick spell that, unfortunately, nearly made him black out again, was used to flip him over. “I’m sorry, Professor, I can’t understand you.”

“Collar pocket,” he tried again. It was well-hidden, but the seam was there…. She seemed hesitant to reach out, and he managed to open his left eye and glare. “Look.”

She did as he was told, and Severus wasn’t surprised to see his hands come back bloody as his robes were opened. “I don’t see it.”

“Up.” It was harder to breathe from this position, somehow, but there wasn’t time to worry about it. At least he knew who she was now…the other Horace girl, the younger sister of the one he’d identified earlier. Amy…Amelia…something like that. Hufflepuff, basically unremarkable, finished her last term at Hogwarts last year. He probably wouldn’t have known her at all except that she and her sister had been such an odd combination. Normally if the brother or sister of a child already attending Hogwarts came to the school, they ended up in if not the same house then a complimentary one. Not always, but it was the usual way of things; Slytherin and Ravenclaw was a fairly common pairing, for example. Slytherin and Hufflepuff was just…odd. The girl was still fumbling with the blood-soaked fabric, and Severus kept silent to avoid distracting her.

“Professor…I don’t…wait.” He was tugging on the fabric, now, but the robe was well-made. “Diffindo.” Cloth ripped, and he pulled out a circular pendant and held it in Severus’ line of sight. “Is this it?”

Severus wanted very much to snarl—what else would be sewed so carefully into his cloak like that?—but considering the circumstances the child had a perfect right to be frightened and a bit insensible. There was no way to know whether she now bore a Dark Mark under her long sleeves, but whether she did or did not if she was caught….

The object was pressed into his hand, and the girl stepped back. “Go.”

His eye narrowed. “Come.” They’d figure something out—hide her at Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place or somewhere else where the Dark Lord wouldn’t find her.

“I can’t, Professor. It’s…Ellen’s here.” She swallowed. “I didn’t really want to come, but Ellen said…well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving her.”

“Come.” Damn Hufflepuff loyalty; if she was taking this kind of risk just to get him—who’d certainly never done anything for her—out of here, her lifespan in the creature’s service was likely to be measured in hours.

“I can’t. You go. I told them I couldn’t hold the drowning-curse long enough, but they didn’t believe me.” She shivered slightly. “Especially You-Know-Who. Now he says he’ll kill my sister if I don’t prove myself against the traitor. He says I should be more loyal to him than to you.” She swallowed hard, looking away, and Severus noted the slight tremor in her hands that occasionally marked a Cruciatus victim for a few hours after.

Monster. Not that he hadn’t known that already, but….

“I can’t…I’ve never killed anyone before.”

There’s a shock.

“They think I’m still unconscious,” she continued, voice strengthening slightly. “I’ll sneak back into the room they dumped me in and pretend I’m just waking up, and then I’ll swear to kill you. By then you’ll be back at Hogwarts and it won’t matter what I say because I can’t kill you if you’re not here.”

“Stupid child,” he hissed. If she was even suspected of helping Severus escape…well, the creature had already proved once tonight what could happen to a traitor.

“I’m not going, Professor. I don’t care what you say. I don’t want to kill you, but I’m not going to leave Ellen here alone!”

It wasn’t a completely awful plan in terms of getting him out, Severus had to acknowledge, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Unfortunately, whatever was going to happen had to happen soon. Him staying, him dying at the girl’s hands, did nothing for the cause. If nothing else, the others need to be warned about the crystal And Dolohov. Because there was no way that he got out of Azkaban without help “Be careful,” Severus croaked, trying to close his fingers around the pendant-turned portkey. If he had a working arm he’d have just grabbed her and dragged her along despite her objections, but since he couldn’t even get his fingers to cooperate…. “Escape.” Both the activating clause, and a suggestion for the idiot child with no apparent sense of self-preservation.

Severus landed—hard—at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and had only a fraction of a second to consider that it probably wasn’t the safest destination to have set the portkey to before blacking out again. Movement woke him again, some time later, and he opened his eye—the left one, again, the right still wasn’t responding—to see the ground moving up and down. Why am I upside down? A wave of pain, most of it centered around his chest and legs where he was apparently being gripped, caught him then, and as hard as he struggled to hang onto consciousness it was very much a losing battle.

Severus was vaguely conscious of voices around him…Poppy’s first, Minerva’s, and then one lower-pitched that he was fairly certain was Albus. He couldn’t move, but he was no longer in screaming pain either so he judged it a fair trade at present.

“Madam Pomfrey, I think he’s waking up. Professor?”

If there was one person outside the Dark Lord’s ranks that he did not want to see right now, that person would be Harry Potter. Regardless of other events that might have occurred, he still hadn’t forgotten that the brat forced him to trek all over Hogwarts on a whim after deliberately violating his memories. So, of course, he’s the first one to actually speak to me.

“Severus? Severus, can you hear me?” Poppy asked. “No—don’t try and talk. Your throat is too raw.”

Then I’d advise not asking me questions.

“Can you open your eye?”

Something about that statement bothered him greatly, but opening his eyes seemed like a reasonable course of action. The part that bothered him became immediately evident as only his left eye responded. The right one…he could feel muscles twitching, but nothing seemed to be happening.

A face swam into view, distracting him for a moment. “Can you focus on my face? That’s good. You’ve had us worried, you know that?”

He refrained from growling by the barest margin. “Wh’s wr ey?” That was supposed to have been ‘What’s wrong with my eye?’ but for some reason he couldn’t quite form the words.

“Don’t talk,” she repeated. “In fact—” her wand flicked along the edge of his field of vision. “Silencio. Your throat’s been through enough these past few weeks; if you strain your vocal cords much more you won’t be speaking for at least a month.” She flitted around to his other side, doing something to his arm. “You were lucky that Hagrid found you out there, you know? A few hours longer and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

It’s hardly a conversation when I’m not even permitted to speak. But…Hagrid had been carrying him upside down? That made next to no sense, the half-giant did his best to be careful with his smaller friends. Still, how he’d gotten here from the edge of the Forbidden Forest mattered much less to him right now than his current condition, and he gave her the best glare he could manage with one eye. Apparently it wasn’t quite as effective as his two-eyed glare because she continued right along with her diagnostic spells. He couldn’t move his head any more than he could the rest of his body, but out of the corner of his eye he could make out other figures. Albus and Minerva, as he’d suspected; he didn’t see Potter anywhere, but he was quite certain he’d heard the brat earlier.

“I’m glad you’re awake. We’ve all been worried.” Albus stepped closer, and Severus deliberately un-Occluded his mind and made eye contact, showing him what the damn stones really were, at least one Deatheater who should have been back in Azkaban, and the girl that had helped him escape. She was owed something, at least, for that. The headmaster nodded but made no move to leave…had he already found out somehow?

Severus’ attention returned to Poppy who was now hmm-ing and tsk-ing to herself, and if he’d been capable at this point he’d have Legilimized her just to get a straight answer. She clearly wasn’t planning on revealing the results of her scan, at least not in any detail, beyond ‘you’re improving much more quickly than I expected.’ She made no move to end the silencing spell she’d placed upon him a few moments before, either.

“Don’t blame her,” Minerva said quietly as the mediwitch turned back towards her storeroom. “She’s spent most of the last three days putting you back together piece by piece, and I mean that quite literally, by the way.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the details about how badly he’d been hurt—the injuries he remembered were bad enough—but he’d damn well like an overview. Judging by the floating sensation in his limbs, he was on so many pain potions that he probably wouldn’t feel it if Hogwarts fell on him right now; Poppy wouldn’t do that unless she had no other choice. Minerva’s expression was frighteningly solemn as well. But Poppy didn’t have to silence me. He couldn’t even ask how long he’d been unconscious.

“I think there’s someone here who wants to talk to you,” Albus put in, gesturing someone forward. “I’ll be back to speak with you soon.”

There was silence for a moment except for the sound of his and Minerva’s footfalls towards the door, and then Potter’s face appeared over his bed. “Professor?”

Wonderful. Not only was he alone in a room with someone he had absolutely no desire to speak to, he wasn’t even capable of pointing out that little detail to the brat. In fact, the only things he was apparently capable of at this point were glaring—ineffectually, judging by Poppy’s reaction—and closing his eye. He tried the second.

“Professor?”

So much for the idea that he might leave me in peace. Severus opened his eye. I can’t answer, you dolt, or did you not see Poppy put the bloody silencing spell on me?

“I, uh, I guess you don’t really want to see me right now.”

Brilliant observation.

“I thought I should probably talk to you anyway. Guess it might be kind of easier now since you can’t yell at me to go away.”

He couldn’t even growl with this damn spell in effect, and Potter was shifting from side to side which, combined with the feeling of floating, made him feel rather like he was at sea. Thoughts of large bodies of water were even less welcome that the brat at this point.

“Anyway, I wanted to say that I’m sorry about the Pensieve. I didn’t mean to look in yours. I wanted to see m—something in mine—but I couldn’t tell them apart. I picked the one closest to where I’d been sitting, but I guess…I guess I picked wrong.” He flushed and looked away, eyes focusing on the far wall.

An amazing conclusion.

“I know I should have pulled out as soon as I realized it wasn’t mine, but…they were my parents. He was my father. It’s not fair that everybody else gets memories of him and I don’t.”

The last came out in something approaching a whine, and Severus glared as hard as he could.

“I just wanted to see them. I know it’s not an excuse….”

Not at all! Obviously you should have ‘pulled out’ as soon as you realized your mistake, Severus wanted to snarl. You had no business ‘guessing’ in the first place! And as for everyone having memories of James Potter—it’s hardly everyone, and I, personally, wish the two of us had never met!

Potter had paused for a moment, but he apparently hadn’t finished what he’d come to say. “I kind of wish I hadn’t seen some of that; he and Sirius were being right pricks.”

Severus would have selected a decidedly stronger word, but at least the boy wasn’t trying to defend their actions.

“Remus wasn’t much use either, although you didn’t have to call Mum that when she tried to help.” The last was said with a defiant glare as green eyes met his own briefly, and then Potter’s stare returned to something in the distance.

I will not lie here and be reprimanded by a fifteen year old! Unfortunately there wasn’t a lot else he could do. And Potter still hadn’t finished speaking.

“Anyway, I’m sorry. Not just about the Pensieve, but what they did too. I guess if you can dislike me just for looking like him, you can deal with me apologizing for him.” He grinned quickly, but it faded out almost as fast. “I know you think I act like him too, but I don’t. Or maybe sometimes I do, but I’m not a bully, and I don’t like bullying, and I didn’t much like seeing him act like that. Or Sirius either. I wouldn’t do that to someone—we’ve never even gone after Malfoy three-on-one.”

Even Severus had to admit that that was true enough; he had never seen the trio attack as a pack with the exception of multiple Expelliarmus spells that had once struck him down in a wooden shack two years ago. And, as much as he might like to deny it, the mutt and the werewolf were far more to blame for that than Potter and his little friends.

Harry took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I called you…that…too. It’s just…they’re important. Sirius and Remus, I mean, even if they weren’t very nice to you in school. Back in third year, when we thought we’d be able to take Wormtail to the Ministry and prove his innocence, Sirius even offered to take me away from the Dursleys. He was going to let me live with him. Remus couldn’t take me himself because of the werewolf thing—”

Ah, yes, the werewolf ‘thing’ as though it’s nothing more troubling than a bit of a cold. Honestly, do all Gryffindors share that particular blind spot?

“—but he’d have been around too so it would have been almost like a family. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to one of them, and when you said Remus should die, I….”

When did I say that? Granted he didn’t like the werewolf, by any stretch of the imagination, but in a comparison between him and the mutt he was by far the more tolerable. Although…well, Severus had been quite annoyed at having to track the boy all over creation that night, and it was possible—just barely possible—that his temper had overridden his tongue. Something about impaling himself? That sounded vaguely familiar.

Harry sighed. “I guess that’s all I wanted to say. Sorry about the Pensieve and calling you what I did and my dad. They opened up the tower early so I won’t be in your rooms anymore.”

He disappeared, and Severus tried to call him back. The apology deserved acknowledgement, at least, if not acceptance. Possibly acceptance as well, as I deliberately committed the same act in return. Hm. Unfortunately, once again he was stopped by the damn silencing spell. Knowing Poppy she planned to leave the thing in place until he was healed enough to speak by her standards. That could be days, even weeks. Even if he’d had his wand—a wand—on him…he more than half suspected some kind of binding spell was keeping him from moving as well so it wouldn’t have been much use. I supposed that’s one way to keep your patients from leaving without your consent.

He still didn’t know how much time had passed since the Dark Lord had discovered his treachery. A day? Two? Are the students back? Harry did say the tower had been opened early so it can’t have been more than a week. The summoning had been when…Tuesday? That sounded right. Minerva had said Poppy had spent three days piecing him back together, which, assuming he’d escaped Wednesday, made it Friday or Saturday depending on when Hagrid had found him. Either way, the rest of the brats will be back in less than forty-eight hours. The last thing he wanted was to let any of them see him here in the infirmary. Harry was bad enough; at least Severus was fairly sure that he’d keep his mouth shut. But there would be children of the Deatheaters among the rest of the students—Draco, Crabbe and Goyle the younger, Nott…. I want this damn spell off, and I want to be mobile.

Poppy appeared, hovering around his bed again, and he did his best to mouth a demand that she remove the spell. He might not be able to vocalize, but she’d get the point. Well, he thought she would, she seemed quite determined to ignore his efforts as she muttered a few more spells and then brought forth a vial and dumped it into his mouth as he was forming ‘off.’

He felt a moment of panic as liquid once again flowed down his throat despite his best efforts to expel it. He needed air, he had to breathe—with a gulp he managed to swallow it and then nearly hyperventilated trying to draw in as much oxygen as possible. Poppy’s wand was waving, but he was too angry to care what she was doing. How dare she? I’m not a student to have whatever she pleases shoved down my throat! Of course, he had once been a student in her care which probably didn’t help matters, but…. Still, I’m an adult and have a right to have some input in his own treatment!

“There, that wasn’t so awful, was it?” she consoled as his breathing evened. “It was just a weakened version of skele-grow…you brewed it yourself.”

That doesn’t mean I want it to end up in my lungs. Not really a surprise that he needed it, considering the number of bones he remembered being broken. Healing them all at once wouldn’t have been an option but in smaller doses over time it would be effective enough. Although that didn’t still give her the right to go forcing it on him as if he was an unruly child. When she held up a second vial, he shut his lips firmly.

“Now, Severus, there’s no reason to be acting like this. You’d be the first to tell a student who came into my infirmary in your condition—”

As if there has ever been a student at Hogwarts in this condition. Bright Merlin, I’m not even sure what ‘this condition’ is, except that it’s worse than anything I’ve had before if your expression is any judge. I know there’s a law that requires patients to be informed of what their healers are doing to them.

“—that he should take the medicine he’s given and rest while he’s able.”

He made no move to open his mouth.

“Severus, you still haven’t made up all of the blood you’ve lost. So help me, I will spell this into your throat if you make it necessary.”

She would, too. And the idea of more liquid, sliding towards his lungs with no way to get rid of it…. He opened his mouth enough to drink what was offered, swallowing as quickly as he could. Blood replenisher, as she’d indicated, with something mixed…damn her.

////////////

Severus blinked slowly—his left eye was still the only one to respond and that was beginning to get on his last nerve—as the Dreamless Sleep wore off. It hadn’t been a strong dose, but obviously it had still been enough to render him unconscious. He cleared his throat carefully, relieved when he was able to make noise. “Hello?”

“Severus?” Poppy appeared a moment later. “Try not to speak above a whisper. I’ve finished healing most of the worst damage, but your throat still isn’t fully recovered. I didn’t expect to see you awake again for a few hours at least.”

“How long?”

“How long have you been unconscious? It’s been four days since Hagrid found you. You woke up a bit last night but fell asleep again fairly quickly. It’s Saturday morning.”

I fell asleep because you dosed me. Still there was no point in bringing that up—with his luck she’d just do it again. “How bad?” Her jaw tightened at that, but he refused to break eye contact. “My right to know.”

“You’ve been badly hurt.”

He snorted at that. Obviously.. “How badly?”

“Well, I managed to save both your legs, but…I’m sorry, Severus, there was just nothing left of your eye.”

His eye? Was that why his right eye wasn’t opening? It wasn’t there anymore? “I—but—how?”

She shushed him, insisting that he needed to keep his voice down, before getting around to actually answering the question. “There was a lot of trauma so it’s hard to say for sure, but I’d say some sort of cutting curse.” She sighed. “I’ve disinfected and closed the wound, but there’s very little else I can do for you. Eyes aren’t something that we can regenerate.”

It didn’t seem real, somehow, the idea that from now on this strangely flat view of the world was all that he would have. Her shifting, similar to Harry’s movements yesterday, made him push those thoughts firmly aside, at least temporarily. There’s more? But—of course there’s more, idiot! Every Deatheater, or close enough that it makes no difference, took a shot at you!

“There was massive bleeding, as I’m sure you knew, but I’ve healed most of that. You lost a kidney as well, and a piece of your left lung, but overall you got off fairly lightly in terms of internal injuries.”

In terms of internal injuries. Now there is a phrase you don’t hear every day.

“Almost all of the broken bones have been at least partially mended, although it will be a week before you’re up and around again. There’s some superficial scarring, obviously, but—”

“Almost?” he interrupted. There was something else wrong, probably bone-related judging by her phrasing, something she clearly didn’t want to tell him. The idea that something even worse than losing his eye had occurred….

She sighed. “I couldn’t do anything about your left arm, either.”

“My….” His arm?

“If it had just been crushed I might have been able to regrow the bone, but it had been cut through as well, and burned, and the reaction of all those curses with the Dark Mark….” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Severus, but I had to take it.”

“T-take it?” He tried to lift his arm, to see just what she meant, but he wasn’t strong enough to do more than twitch his shoulder.

“From the elbow down. I promise you, if I’d had another option I’d have taken it.”

He managed a slight shake of his head. This couldn’t be real. Losing an eye was bad enough, but it was something to which he could become accustomed. What use is a potions master with only one hand?

“If you’d like, I can return you to your quarters now,” she offered. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there, although I’m going to insist that you remain in bed for at least the next few days. Albus will find someone to cover your classes.”

He’ll have to. Severus wouldn’t even be able to add ingredients at the same time he was mixing anymore. As much as he didn’t care for teaching, the idea that it could have been taken from him just like that…. And his Mastery…. He swallowed hard. Better to lie in my rooms than here where any of the little dunderheads could come gape at me.

It was embarrassing to be levitated along through the halls and down into the dungeons, but at least there was no one but Poppy to witness it. Someone had straightened up his quarters, moved the piles of books out of the way…he couldn’t really bring himself to care about the invasion of privacy as he was put down onto his bed. “Now, here’s some more skele-grow, and blood replenisher as well.”

He swallowed them without complaint, not particularly caring if either was laced with Dreamless Sleep. Not particularly caring if either was laced with deadly poison, either. He’d managed to turn his head enough to see the stump of his arm on the way down, and however much he might like to deny the situation the sight had made it impossible. It made him sick—not so much the look of it, frankly the Dark Mark had been worse—but the clear and undeniable fact that he was never going to have two hands again.

“Severus?”

Albus. Probably here to ‘cheer him up.’ Just what I don’t need.

The older man nodded to Poppy on her way out and took a seat in an armchair. “How are you feeling, my boy?”

Severus glared.

“Now, now, it’s not so bad as all that. You’re here, aren’t you, and looking better every day. We didn’t find your wand with you—Potter said that they’d taken it—so I took the liberty of going down to Ollivander’s yesterday morning and picking up a new one. Hawthorn with a dragon-heartstring core, yes?” He pulled a thin stick of wood out of his robes. “I’m afraid this one is a bit longer than your original, but it was the best he had.” Albus set it on the bedside table when he made no move to take it. “Would you like some tea?”

There was only one part of that spiel that Severus cared about. “What do you mean, ‘Potter said’?”

“His Occlumency isn’t yet strong enough to keep Voldemort—”

Severus winced at the name, but Albus ignored it as usual.

“—out of his dreams. He was asleep and saw what happened to you, from the moment you arrived at the castle until they took you to the dungeons. He alerted Minerva who floo-called me…we were both there when he began to get visions of…well, the rest of the night’s activities.”

He felt more than slightly sick to his stomach. Bad enough that he’d had to endure that, but to have had a witness…. Well, he had more than one witness, obviously, but Potter—Harry—seeing him in that state was not something he wanted to think about. “You already knew, then? About the stone? Dolohov? That girl?” His escape served no purpose, then.

“Amelia Horace, yes. We knew that she hadn’t managed to kill you,” Albus agreed. “I didn’t realize that she’d helped you escape until you showed me.”

Severus sighed. Nearly no purpose, then. He now owed a nearly complete strange whose own life wasn’t likely to be overly long a life debt, with little to no way to fulfill it. “I’m rather tired, Albus, if there is nothing else you need…?”

“Of course, my boy. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Oh, and about Dolohov—we hadn’t known about him specifically, but the Dementors have left Azkaban. It happened the night that you were called. Aurors were brought in to act as wardens, but there were at least a few confirmed breakouts. Probably more than a few; Fudge is trying to use Aurors he knows are loyal to him to keep it out of the news, but Kingsley is getting us information as quickly as he can.”

Wonderful. At least it explains where some of the rest of the Deatheaters came from. Slightly better than the Dark Lord having done mass recruiting without his awareness, though considering some of the ones that had been in Azkaban…. It seemed that Poppy had slipped in some kind of sleeping draught into one of the vials—or his body was still exhausted from all the healing and would take what sleep he could get—and he closed his eyes slowly. Maybe things will be better later. They can hardly get worse.

////////////

“Severus? Severus, wake up.”

“What?” he tried to snarl, actually managing to lift his head a few inches off his pillow.

“Poppy sent me down with some broth.”

He lay back, glaring at his ceiling. “I’m not hungry.” There was no way to tell how long he’d been asleep, but it probably hadn’t been for more than a few hours. That would mean it was approaching dinnertime now.

“Didn’t imagine that you would be, but you know what she’s like.” Minerva pushed her way into the room and set the bowl beside the wand Albus had brought. “How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling?”

“Offhand? Exhausted.”

He glared.

“And angry.” She nodded to the broth. “Would you rather the house elves came, or…?”

When he realized what she was suggesting, his glare deepened. “I can feed myself.”

“Of course.” She didn’t move.

He reached for the bowl, only to be brought up short as he caught sight of the stump. Minerva seemed to notice at the same time; he heard a quick gasp that was almost immediately silenced. “What is your problem? I imagine that you’ve had more time to get used to this than I have. After all, you’re the one who was offering to feed—”

“Severus, I didn’t mean—I meant that you were still weak from what had happened, not—”

His temper flared. Just because he couldn’t even hold a bowl and spoon at the same time any more didn’t mean that he was going to put up with pity from this…Gryffindor. “Leave me alone!”

She flushed but didn’t back down. “Not until you’ve eaten something.”

“Accio nutrient potion three!” He didn’t even need to reach for a wand for that, and a bottle came flying around the door frame and landed lightly on his chest. The fingers of his right hand seemed slow, unresponsive, but he managed to lift the bottle to his mouth and pull the stopper out with his teeth before swallowing it in one gulp. “There, I’ve eaten. Now leave.”

She seemed torn but eventually followed his instruction. He glared at the door on her exit for several minutes, and then looked at the bottle still clenched in his hand. Nutrient potion three. Requires the addition of rose hips at three second intervals while stirring continuously counterclockwise at a rate of two-and-a-half rounds per rose hip. He should preserve his stores; he wouldn’t be making that again. Minerva had left the broth on the table and for a moment he was tempted to try it, but the humiliation he’d feel if he spilled it all over himself…the nutrient potion will do for now.

He ignored the bowl and reached over to grab the wand instead. It wasn’t something he cared to admit, but having one in his hands again—even one that wasn’t technically his—was a relief. He should try some spells, see how responsive it was…with a sigh he let it fall to the bedcovers. He didn’t feel much like working magic just now. Not if he wasn’t going to be able to work the magic he wanted.

Severus braced himself against the worktable and scanned the ingredients he’d lined up in front of him. Nothing particularly volatile, nothing that produced a poisonous gas…. He took a deep breath, checked the heat of the cauldron, and began to work.

An hour later he threw a cauldron of next-to-inert purple nothing against the far wall and then systematically smashed each of the vials that had contained the ingredients. Of course, it took longer than it would have if he’d had two hands to throw with, and he actually grabbed several centimeters to the left of two of the bottles…. This was a simple potion—for him, at least—that he should have been able to make in his sleep. Damn Albus for even suggesting that I try. Again. He’d been trying with successively simpler potions for the past three days, and nothing was working. Well, technically a first-year scouring potion for cauldrons that couldn’t be cleaned with a spell had worked—he’d needed it the first evening after the Veritaserum attempt—but considering that a reasonably adept gerbil could probably have knocked those potions into the cauldron in the appropriate order he hardly considered it a rousing success.

He stamped out of his workroom, as best he could, anyway, when he still had to be careful when placing his feet to avoid overbalancing or stressing still-healing bones and muscle, and dropped down on the couch in the sitting room. The fact that he couldn’t stay on his feet for much more than an hour at a stretch didn’t help matters any either; particularly since he could only stay up for that hour if he had something to lean on.

Horace Slughorn had agreed to take over his classes and Head-of-House duties until Poppy was willing to clear him for duty, but even if she hadn’t been preventing him from going on as usual…. Well, things weren’t usual, anymore, were they? He just didn’t want to interact with anyone. He wanted to be left alone, left to brood in peace, and he’d be feeling much better if the rest of the staff would just respect his wishes. They wouldn’t, of course; at least once a day Minerva, Albus, Poppy, and half a dozen other members of the staff who he rarely did more than exchange mealtime greetings with, found some reason to come down to his quarters to ‘chat.’ Poppy was due soon, in fact, although technically she did have a reason to be there. As if I need her to tell me that I’m still ‘regaining my strength’ and need to ‘take things slowly.’ As if my strength is the only thing I’ve lost. At least after the first of the little dunderheads had been sent running from his dungeons courtesy of an illusion spell Monday he hadn’t had to deal with any students.

A badly cast illusion spell; it overshot the mark I was aiming for by a good half a meter. Another thing he didn’t want to think about…he hadn’t appreciated just how drastically reduced his depth perception might be. Oh, over long distances—or extremely close—it was no issue, but he’d actually missed the cauldron once when emptying a vial.

The alarm he’d put on his door chimed, and sure enough the mediwitch entered a moment later. “Severus, how are you feeling?”

“Wonderful.”

She ignored his tone, as she had every other time that she’d visited, smiling brightly and waving her wand in a pattern that he was beginning to detest. Diagnostic spells were all well and good, but when they were being performed on you twice a day they began to get a bit wearing. “Well, you are looking better. Now, I’ve brought potions, so if you’d go lie down….”

It wasn’t as if there was any point in arguing, and he stretched out in his bed and allowed her to pour half a dozen potions down his throat. She claimed that in a few days his body would regain enough energy to stay awake while they worked, but for now he knew he’d be asleep within ten minutes. It was the same routine they’d followed every day, two times a day, since he’d been released from her domain. Not that he wasn’t perfectly capable of dosing himself, of course, but she insisted on coming down, and it just wasn’t worth the fight. As usual, as his strength deserted him to power the healing potions, and he dropped off to sleep fairly quickly.

///////////

“Severus?”

He blinked slowly, sitting up against the pillow. Albus. Brilliant. I didn’t even hear the door chime. “Can I help you?”

“If you’re able, Alastor and Tonks are available tonight to discuss the situation with the Dark Lord.”

It was bound to happen eventually; he’d told the full story from his perspective to Dumbledore once, but Alastor would want to hear it for himself. Besides which, there was the matter of the younger Horace girl. Albus had promised to make inquiries, but so far there had been no sightings. The girl was owed a life debt at the very least for getting him out of there—granted it wasn’t much of a life, but it was the principle of the thing—and he would see that obligation fulfilled. He sat up the rest of the way at that and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Are we flooing to Grimmauld Place?”

Albus held up a hand. “Poppy insists that you not be moving about a great deal, so I suggested that we hold it here.”

“Here? As in my rooms, here?” The last time Alastor was in my quarters he nearly tore them to shambles in his search for evidence of my’ ‘true allegiances.’ It might have been years ago, but it hadn’t been a violation that he’d easily forgiven, and however much he might respect the ex-Auror on neutral ground, in his own territory was another story. Albus was looking at him expectantly though, and since he’d been the one to insist that something be done…. His lips curled in a snarl briefly. “Fine.”

“Excellent. They’re in my study with Minerva, I’ll just floo-call them to come down.”

He glared at Albus, who’d obviously expected his capitulation.

“They interviewed Mr. Potter before you regained consciousness, so it may not be as arduous as you expect.”

I’ll believe that when I see it. Not that he was particularly thrilled that Harry was going around discussing his torture, but it did explain why Alastor hadn’t been at Hogwarts the first day he regained consciousness demanding answers. He pushed himself up off the bed.

“Perhaps—” Albus began, blocking the door.

Severus cut that thought off with a glare. It was enough that he had to entertain company in his quarters because he was too weak to go elsewhere, there was absolutely no way they were going to be gathering in his bedroom. I do have some pride left. He made his way slowly into the sitting room, sinking into an armchair as the door announced that he had a visitor. He nodded civilly at Alastor and Tonks as they entered behind Minerva , waving them to seats. It was a relief to see that the old Auror didn’t look more than mildly interested in his surroundings, but when a crash distracted him, and he realized that between his annoyance at Albus’ high-handed maneuvering and his apprehension about the old Auror getting into his things, he’d forgotten about the younger one. Tonks. In my rooms. Despite her intelligence she’d been a terror in his classes, and from what he’d observed at the Order meetings she hadn’t become any more graceful in the intervening years. Merlin help anything not made of stone.

“The Horace girl is dead,” Alastor opened with customary directness. “The younger one, at least. She was found in the alley behind St. Mungos yesterday…her parents are dead, but an aunt flooed in this afternoon to confirm her identity.”

Severus closed his eyes for a moment. In truth he hadn’t really expected anything different—if she hadn’t been executed for not killing him, she would have been soon enough for refusing to kill someone else—but he couldn’t help remembering another scared, stupid child who’d gotten in over his head. At least I had a chance. “The sister?”

“That’s where it gets interesting,” Tonks said before Alastor could open his mouth.

Interesting? He’d assumed she was dead if she shared the same loyalty to her sister that her sister had to her; otherwise she’d be off with the rest of the ranks of the Dark Lord plotting what new harm to cause. It really mattered very little since his debt hadn’t been to her. Yet another failure. This does seem to be my week for them.

“This was found with the body.”

Severus took the scrap of parchment from her carefully. He had no doubt that it had been checked a dozen times for curses, hexes, and jinxes, but he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know what it had to say. “SS. Hog’s Head. Nine-fifteen pm on the seventh. EH.” He considered for a moment. “I take it the rest of the Aurors haven’t seen this?”

“No, I’m the one that did the search of her things, and I left that out of the official inventory.”

Alastor gave a sharp nod. “Right thing to do.”

“You think she might be willing to switch sides?” Minerva asked. “After all, he did kill her sister.”

He’d done worse to other families without causing a great deal of dissention in the ranks, but Severus kept his mouth shut.

“We do need someone on the inside now that Snape has been revealed,” Alastor said.

As if I needed a reminder.

“Overall, though, I’d say the whole note seems a bit too convenient for my tastes.”

Albus made a soothing sound. “She hasn’t been a Deatheater long. Perhaps she’s had a change of heart.”

“She made her choice.” Alastor turned to Severus, who ignored the half-accusing glare. It wasn’t as if it was anything he hadn’t heard before. “What do you know about her?”

“Ellen Horace.” Maybe he wasn’t going to have to relive that night if all they wanted was information on the girls. He could live with that. “Not quite a pure-blood, her grandmother was muggleborn, but it wasn’t something she ever discussed. She was sorted into Slytherin house nine years ago and finished seven full years at Hogwarts. Fairly average grades. If I remember correctly she favored Astonomy and was one of maybe a dozen in her year who took Ancient Runes as an elective and kept at it all the way through NEWTs. Not a lot of close friends, but….” He shrugged. “That’s not particularly unusual in Slytherin.”

“And her relationship with her sister?”

“If they had contact, I never noticed it. Sprout might know more, but I barely remember the younger girl.”

“Then why did she save you?”

The paranoid glint was starting to appear, and Severus glared. “How should I know? I certainly never asked her to, nor was I in any shape to interrogate her about her true intentions when she was doing it. At a guess, I’d say she simply didn’t have the stomach for what the Dark Lord desired.” He curled his lips. “A pathetic reason to die, but she wouldn’t be the first.”

“It could be a trap,” Tonks pointed out, taking the note back. “If they knew Amelia helped Professor Snape escape, Ellen might have left the note for him to try and get him somewhere else….”

“Lure him out of Hogwarts?” Minerva pursed her lips. “It’s possible, I suppose. Deatheaters certainly won’t be able to get to him here.”

“Constant vigilance!”

She jumped slightly, and Severus wondered why. After a statement like that, he’d have been surprised if Alastor didn’t say something of the sort. Especially after last year. Still…. “Fair enough. I’ll go.”

Tonks frowned. “What?”

“To Hog’s Head. If it isn’t a trap, I’m the one person here that she’ll recognize. After all, I was named in the note, unless one of you can think of another SS who might be connected to this mess.”

“And if it is a trap?” Minerva demanded. “You’re in no sort of shape to defend yourself—you can barely stand!”

“I’m well aware of that fact.” Thank you for pointing it out to everyone else. “But sending Order members into a trap isn’t a particularly wise idea either. It only takes one Avada Kedavra, no matter how healthy you are.”

“And if they do capture you? Kill you?”

“Well, at least then you’ll know it was a trap, won’t you?” And somehow that didn’t sound quite as sarcastic as it should have, but….

Albus sighed. “Severus, I know you’ve been having trouble adjusting, but just because your—”

Apparently his one-eyed glares were becoming more effectual, because Albus actually closed his mouth. “What else would you have me do? Hide here and wait? It’s not like I’m accomplishing anything, or rather anything short of mass demolition. And don’t suggest I try yet again.” He gestured sharply towards his workroom, giving a half growl when he realized that he’d picked the wrong arm—again—to use. “I’ll show you what’s left of it, if you like.”

“We are not sacrificing lives needlessly, and that includes yours,” Albus overrode. “Now, I’m sure we can find some way to get the girl a message.”

“Professor Snape can meet with him,” Tonks said. “Or at least someone who looks like him. If they do want to capture him, they’ll be pretty surprised when he is in shape to fight back.”

“And if they just want to kill me? I’d say at this point the Dark Lord has probably had as much fun with me as he planned to.”

“We will, of course, put an Order member or two in place just in case it does come down to a killing curse,” Alastor said. “I assume you have polyjuice?”

“Already brewed and bottled, fortunately for you.” He certainly couldn’t brew any more, and his control on his temper slipped at bit. “Why, there isn’t any left in your flask?”

“Severus!” Minerva chastised as Alastor’s fingers twitched towards his wand. “That was uncalled for.”

That depends entirely on your point of view. He’d found it rather relaxing to lash out at someone. Albus was the one who’d really annoyed him with that whole little spiel, but the headmaster was always a difficult one to get even with. He just smiled.

“Who needs polyjuice?” Tonks interrupted before anyone else could say anything. Her features shifted around for several moments, finally settling into a mirror of his own. Minus an eyepatch, although she did manage to shorten her left forearm to a stub. “And I can hold it as long as I need to without drinking more potion. Pretty cool, huh?”

“The voice isn’t what I’d call believable,” Severus returned. “And the day that I utter the phrase ‘pretty cool,’ I expect to be immediately committed to the mental ward at St. Mungos.”

“For the voice aspect alone, we would need a man using polyjuice,” Alastor agreed, drawn back into the actual agenda of the meeting. “Besides which, I would prefer you were lurking somewhere in the background. Depending on the length of the meeting, you could come and go as several people without arousing suspicion.”

“Hm. I didn’t think of that. Will they believe he's recovered so quickly though? I mean, he barely looks like he should be out of bed.” She flushed slightly. “Uh, sorry, Professor.”

“No one here aside from a small group knows how extensive the injuries are,” Minerva offered. “And I doubt any of them have been gossiping with the Dark Lord.”

“Perhaps Severus should send a note along with the imposter,” Albus suggested. “On the off chance that she would have some means of checking that her dinner guest is who he appears to be.”

“If you like,” Severus agreed. The girl was Slytherin, bound to be suspicious even if she hadn’t just been accepted into the Dark Lord’s ranks and was possibly planning to betray him. He doubted anything he could write would convince her to trust an imposter if she discovered the deception. Still, it was something, and it was possible that she would overlook it if the Dark Lord had upset her enough. “I’ll send it to you by owl post.”

“Send it to the Auror’s Office at the Ministry,” Tonks said. “I spend most of my time there anyway.”

The meeting broke up on that note, and with a last look at Severus Albus followed Minerva out. Alastor pushed himself up off the couch and sent Tonks ahead of him before stepping towards the armchair and staring down at Severus evenly for a moment. “Have you lost your mind?”

Severus gritted his teeth and met his eyes. It wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed doing; he had perfect confidence in his own Occlumency skills, but he still wasn’t entirely certain just how much that magic eye was capable of seeing. “My mind, actually is one of the few things still intact.” A minor miracle.

Alastor’s normal eye narrowed. “Then where, may I ask, did this ridiculous ‘then we’ll know it was a trap’ nonsense you spouted out earlier come from? You would just let her kill you?” He snorted. “I’d throw in a bit about deliberately baiting me in your current condition as well, but I suspect that was merely your charming personality shining through. Regardless, that level of…resignation…is not what I expected after almost twenty years of spying.”

Who gives a damn what you expect? If I hadn’t suggested I go myself, you no doubt would have. He’d have preferred to get to his feet so at least he wouldn’t have to look up at the other man, but depending how long this little staring contest went on there was a good chance he’d just end up having to sit down again, and that would be more humiliating than he could tolerate.

“Well?” Alastor barked after a moment of silence.

“Well what? Was I planning to go to the girl and reveal the existence of the entire Order to get back in the Dark Lord’s good graces? Tempting, but no. Poison all of Hogwarts’ muggleborn? Not that either, I’m afraid, since I’d have to be able to brew to make the poison. Staking myself out as a target is starting to sound like a fairly good use of my time because Merlin knows there’s nothing else I’ve been able to d—” He lurched sideways, suddenly, and his teeth clicked together.

“Hah. I thought that might shut your mouth.”

Severus stared for a moment, trying to form a rational thought. He hadn’t been clouted round the ear like that since he’d been caught nicking tomatoes from the neighbor’s garden when he’d been about eight. Equating that scenario with the grizzled Auror who now stood in front of the armchair, arms crossed and a slightly satisfied look on his face, made him considerably dizzier than the blow—not so heavy seeing as he was still upright—had. “What…?”

“You know, Albus and Minerva have both been fussing about you and your ‘depression,’ but I thought it was just the two of them being their fussy selves. You’ve been fighting for damn near twenty years—a thorn in my side for more than a bit of that—and I’d like to know what in Merlin’s name is making you want to give in and die now? And don’t give me any of this nonsense about nothing else you can do, either, it’s ridiculous and we both know it.”

“Well, what else is there?” Severus demanded, the man’s snide tone helping him throw off his shock and re-ignite his temper. He closed his hand on his replacement wand as Alastor’s jaw tightened. He might be feeling a bit fatalistic, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to get hit a second time. “These aren’t exactly temporary ailments, you know.” The bastard should know, he had his own fair share of scars, but Severus knew as well as anyone that ‘should’ and ‘did’ didn’t always share a living space. “I can’t cast a spell without worrying about where it’s going to land, I’ve got a blind spot the size of my nose—which is, incidentally, as large as my students have always joked—and my balance is worthless.” The last was due as much to weakness as anything else, but he didn’t feel like splitting that hair.

Alastor was still staring at him, though, through one true eye and one magical. “Other wizards have lost eyes.”

“Thank you, as if that wasn’t perfectly obvious. Fine, I probably could get the eye replaced, or at least come up with another alternative.” He suspected that if he looked he could probably locate a magic eye of his own, but he had no particular desire to see the kinds of things Moody did. With the possible exception of being able to see through invisibility cloaks, of course.

“Well, your looks were hardly outstanding before, so I assume it’s the arm that’s causing the majority of this little snit?”

“What else would it be?” he demanded. “I can’t manage more than the simplest potions. I tried the Draught of Peace yesterday evening—standard on the OWLs—and damn near wiped out my lab because I couldn’t get a neutralizing agent in fast enough; my Confusing Concoction turned into so much glue not six hours ago…I am supposed to be a master at this and I can’t even manage something a competent third year—bugger that, an incompetent third year since even Longbottom got it right once—can manage!” He shook his head. “I’m not even going to mention what my Veritaserum attempt turned into. Your arms are still intact, I don’t expect you to underst—” Alastor raised his fist again, and Severus cast a quick cushioning charm in the vicinity of his head. He’d rather have blasted the threat across the room, but, baiting comments aside, getting into a duel while he was in this state would not be wise.

Alastor seemed more amused than offended, lowering his hand slowly. “Well, at least you’re defending yourself, which is more than I expected given that little pity-party. And as for not understanding….” He stamped the floor with his peg led. “You may be a potions master, but my profession was Auror, in case you’ve forgotten. A Dark Wizard hunter. You would prefer to have lost a leg—I would much rather have lost an arm. At least then I’d be capable of pursuing the bastards rather than hoping to catch them with my curses the first time around. Not to mention that a crutch puts me at a decided disadvantage in any kind of duck-and-cover situation.”

Severus frowned, but there wasn’t a great deal that he could say to that. It was true, having an arm to hold a wand and two good legs would be more useful for an Auror than two arms and one leg. “You retired,” he pointed out.

“Not because of this,” Alastor said with a slap to the truncated limb. “Kept going for years after this happened. I retired because I got sick of dealing with the bureaucratic nonsense coming out of the Minister’s office.” He took a step back, retrieving his crutch from where he’d left it leaning against the couch. “If you want to get yourself killed, I suppose that’s your business, but I’d suggest pulling your head out of your arse and taking a look around first. The world hasn’t ended just because you took a bit of damage. If it’s the stirring you’re so worried about, attach a damn spoon to what’s left of your arm. Hell, hold the bloody thing in your teeth and use your free hand to add ingredients. If I managed to keep hunting people who wanted me dead, you should damn well be able to keep messing around with your concoctions and stop with this whining about being useless.” He shook his head sharply. “Whatever else I might have thought of you, I never took you for a coward who’d give up at the first sign of adversity.”

First sign? Where have you been these past few years? Where have you been for the past twenty years?

Alastor continued speaking before Severus could verbalize his thoughts. “This hopeless attitude doesn’t suit you at all, but whatever you decide you are, know this—if you keep talking about getting yourself killed in the Order meetings like you did today, the next time I smack you will damn well be in front of witnesses and hard enough to knock some sense through your thick skull to boot. Martyrs are well and good, but live fighters are a lot more useful.”

He turned and stomped towards the door, piece apparently having been said, pausing and looking back for a moment at the threshold. “You aren’t well-liked enough to make a good martyr anyway.”

Severus sat frozen, staring after him for a few long moments. Alastor was one of the last people he expected to talk to him like that—Minerva might get angry enough to threaten him, or Poppy if she figured out just how desperate the whole situation made him, but….

“Severus?” Minerva poked her head through the entrance, stepping through when she saw him still sitting where they’d left him.

“What is it?” he snarled. Alastor might—might—have been at least partially correct about his attitude—self-sacrificial nonsense was supposed to be the realm of the Gryffindors, after all, he knew that as well as anyone—but that didn’t mean that he liked having it pointed out. He damn well had a right to be upset after what had happened. And I certainly don’t appreciate my all-to-helpful colleagues talking about me behind my back! My ‘depression’…I wasn’t sociable before this happened, what in Merlin’s name makes them think I would be now?

“I just saw Alastor and Tonks floo out…Alastor looked entirely too satisfied with himself for my peace of mind. Did something happen after we left?”

He waved a hand. “Nothing of import. Although…tell me, did you know him before he was injured?” Not that it really mattered either way, but he was…curious…just how easily the other man had been able to go on.

She took that as in invitation to sit—it hadn’t been—but he didn’t bother to argue. “Well, our times at Hogwarts never overlapped, although whether he’s a bit older or a bit younger than me I’ve never been sure. I believe I may have met him peripherally before he lost the eye, but I can’t say I knew him.”

“And the leg?” He knew it had happened sometime around the first rise of Voldemort, but that had been before he’d even taken the Dark Mark never mind gone to Albus.

She nodded slightly. “We’d spoken a few times when he came to help respell Hogwarts and then more as Albus began to gather the Order. As I recall, the case he lost it on wasn’t supposed to be a difficult one. He’d followed a couple of the nastier muggle-baiters into Surrey one night—he shouldn’t have been the one to go, even muggles have trouble overlooking that eye, but he was stubborn. Anyway, he’d gotten them pinned down in an alley. Stunned the first one, but the second had some kind of muggle weapon…he said there was a roar, and then his leg below the knee had a giant hole in it with bone and blood coming out. If he’d had backup they might have been able to get him to St. Mungo’s, but the muggle authorities got there first, and….” She shook her head. “They am-pewtated it. Similar to what Poppy had to do to your arm, although much more painful from what I gather. By the time the other Aurors were able to retrieve him it was too late to save anything.”

“But he never had any concerns about remaining an Auror?”

She shook her head. “Not that I ever saw. Oh, he was furious for quite awhile—as much because the man had gotten away as anything else—but there was never any question that he was going to get him someday, whatever it took.” Her eyes darkened. “It was one of the few times that he didn’t bring his target in alive. Before that, though, right after it happened, he stamped around the Ministry complaining constantly that ‘that damn peg’ was nothing like his own leg. And he hated having to use a crutch, not that it stopped him from driving Frank—Longbottom—half-mad running the Auror’s obstacle course over and over until they were forced to clear him for duty.” She smiled slightly. “Actually he drove everyone half-mad at that point; he started harping on ‘constant vigilance’ and used to pop up during the other Aurors’ patrols and scare them silly. They had to suspend him at least twice before he stopped.”

“So that’s where that came from.” He didn’t give up; he just became a paranoid lunatic. Now I feel so much better.

“I imagine so. Probably because his magic eye didn’t register the muggle weapon as ‘evil’ so he dismissed it offhand. Oh, he’d always been more wary than most, but that’s the point where I think it started to get a bit out of hand.” She gave him a quick smile. “So you two discussed…injuries?”

Severus snorted. “You, Minerva, you are living proof that Gryffindors couldn’t manage subtlety if their lives depended on it.” Her gaze didn’t waver, and he flicked his fingers. “He merely pointed out that martyrdom is not a Slytherin trait.” And cuffed me about like a disobedient child. That part he was never going to admit to anyone. He’d have much preferred that the man had hexed him to get his attention, now that he thought about it; at least there was some dignity in that. Alastor, Minerva, Albus, Flitwick, Poppy…there were days when he wished more of his colleagues both in the Order and at Hogwarts were closer to his own age. Less likely to see shades of the child he’d been. Of course, of those that were closer to his age the mutt and the werewolf didn’t bear thinking on, Kingsley generally bored him to tears, the Weasleys—all of the Weasleys, despite the fact that the older ones were generally decent to him—gave him headaches after too much exposure, Trelawny gave him the urge to beat his skull against the nearest wall after any exposure…he wasn’t sure which group was worse. And they wonder why I prefer to be left alone. “Was there anything else you needed this evening?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Harry, actually.”

“What about him?” Severus was pleased that he was able to keep his voice even.

“I was wondering if you planned to continue to tutor him in Occlumency. He told me about the Pensieve incident….”

Since an apology had been made, a sincere one surprisingly enough although upon reflection apologizing for his father and godfather had been a bit much, and as he had deliberately violated the boy’s memories in return, he rather considered the subject closed. “Your point?”

“The choice of punishment is, of course, yours, but it would be to the benefit of us all if he was able to Occlude his mind. Albus doesn’t have the time, and you are the only other person in the school accomplished in both Legilimency and Occlumency.”

It did need to be done, but it wasn’t something Severus particularly cared to go about right now. Not until he’d sorted out his own injuries, at least. Yet another person seeing him like this wasn’t something he looked forward to, despite the fact that Harry already knew about the eye and arm. However, she wasn’t likely to go away. He might be able to turn this to his advantage…. And it is something I can still do, despite what happened. What an excellent career choice for my future, teaching a bunch of little dunderheads how to hide thoughts that, in the vast majority of cases, no one particularly cares about anyway. “I will agree to continue tutoring him, with a few conditions.”

She held up a hand. “I can’t do anything about Poppy.”

“I didn’t expect you could.” The day I meet the person that could keep her from harassing her patients I’ll send them up against the Dark Lord one-on-one and have no worries about the outcome. “However, I would ask you to do something about the rest of the staff who somehow keep making their way down here.” She looked vaguely guilty, and he strongly suspected that she’d been one of the ones encouraging them to come down and ‘show their support.’ Typical. “I also want the boy’s promise that he’ll stay out of the rest of my things.”

“I’m sure you’ll have it.”

“And I’d like the Gryffindor common rooms redone in green and silver.” Long fingers tapped the arm of the chair she’d taken as she considered him levelly, and he was the first to break eye contact. Bloody calming drought Poppy keeps forcing on me, keeps making me too tired to keep my eyes open. The colors weren’t the important thing, though, and she knew it perfectly well. “I don’t mind a visitor or two, Minerva, but as I’m sure you know I prefer solitude, and the constant parade of well-wishers is grating on my last nerve.”

“With you that doesn’t require a great deal of effort.” She sighed. “They’re worried about you, Severus. Everyone knows you’ve been injured—it’s not the kind of thing we can keep secret although most don’t know just how bad it was—and since you don’t come to the Great Hall for meals or even leave the dungeons at all, coming here is the only thing they can do to reassure themselves. However, I will do my best to…limit…the intrusions. Perhaps to a certain hour or two a day?”

He’d prefer a certain hour or two a week, but he’d take what he could get. He nodded slightly. “Then tell the brat that he has detention with me tomorrow evening and we’ll sort things out from there.” He could amuse himself tormenting Harry for a bit, at least.

The alarm on his door alerted him to a visitor, and he raised and eyebrow as Harry slipped in. “Mr. Potter.”

“Professor.” The boy was doing his best to keep his face blank, but he was failing fairly miserably.

Gryffindors. Severus didn’t even need Legilimancy to determine what he was feeling—primarily anxiety. Considering that the last time he was here I threw him out, more than fair. A little bit of…something…as he took in Severus’ injuries, a widening of the eyes, a quick hiss of breath, but not enough that Severus could take offense. He saw the worst of it in the hospital wing, I suppose. Something he still hadn’t quite forgiven Poppy and Albus for. “Well?”

“I…Professor McGonagall said you were going to keep giving me Occlumency lessons?”

“For the sake of not only you but the rest of the students at this school, yes,” Severus agreed. At least Harry was looking at him as he spoke, bandages and eye-patch and all, rather than a staring at a spot two inches over his right shoulder like a few of his colleagues. Harry shifted slightly, still only a few feet from the door and looking a bit like he wanted to bolt. Not that he ever would, but he looked it. Severus hid a smirk. “However,” he nodded to the two Pensieves sitting on the table, his which he’d just put a few memories back into and Harry’s which had never had the memories taken from it, “I assume there will be no more incidents like the last?”

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, it won’t happen again,” he said hurriedly. “It really was an accident—”

“You’ve already apologized for the indiscretion. I only ask that it’s not repeated.”

Harry relaxed slightly. “Yes, sir. I…you can look at mine if you want.”

Severus shook his head. “Not necessary.”

Green eyes met his levelly for a moment, and he remembered that the boy occasionally managed to be not as thickheaded as he appeared. “It’s fair, I guess.”

“You did offer.” Not until after he’d done it, but still. “I didn’t view all of them.” Not that I wouldn’t have if the Dark Lord hadn’t called, but that isn’t the point.

“Neither did I. Just the one with my parents…and one with your parents.”

That’s something anyway. The boy already knew about his family situation, such as it had been. “May I ask why you felt the need to hide your family and the Mirror of Erised? I would have thought it was incidents with your uncle that you wouldn’t want me viewing.”

Harry shrugged. “You already know about that. With the Mirror it’s…I don’t know quite how to explain. I know it wasn’t real, the Mirror, but it’s the first time I ever really saw them, and I didn’t want somebody else to have that.”

Severus wasn’t entirely certain that he understood the logic, but then he’d had difficulty understanding the logic of fifteen year old boys even when he’d been one. He nodded sharply. “It’s settled, then. Take a seat.” He waited until Harry had done so. “Your wand, unless there’s anything else you’d like to put in your Pensieve?”

He considered for a moment and then shook his head and offered his wand. There was a moment of awkwardness as Severus had to put down his own for a moment in order to accept it, but at least the brat had the sense not to comment.

“Legilimens.” Making contact with only one eye was a little odd, but it wasn’t long before Severus found himself in the attics. He roamed for a short while before applying a bit more force and ended up in a relatively small bedroom—muggle—staring out a window with bars on it. And then a most bizarre contraption floated into view, and Severus pulled back as he recognized the flying car owned by the Weasley family. “You held the image of the attics better than you had been, but if I do push past your defenses you have to be able to force me back. Or, better yet, don’t let me out in the first place. If you feel force, just continue to redirect the attention to another attic.”

Harry nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Legilimens.” Attics—a briefer flash since he applied more force from the start—and this time he and Diggory were both reaching for the Goblet of Fire at the end of the maze. Severus wasn’t surprised to find himself in blankness immediately after they touched it—he’d seen the memory of it in the boy’s Pensieve after all—but he allowed himself to be pushed back into the attics before forcing back into the boy’s mind.

They continued to work for most of an hour, before the door indicated he had another visitor. For once he wished Harry had his invisibility cloak with him—his cover as a spy might not mean much any more, but that didn’t mean he wanted news of the boy’s lessons spread all over the Wizarding world. Or that I’m tolerating visiting students.

“Shelve the books.”

“Professor?”

“Now!” Harry grabbed his wand on his way past and began to stack books on the shelves.

“Severus,” Minerva greeted, slipping in quickly. “Ah, Mr. Potter. If you’ve finished your detention….”

Her surprise at seeing him shelving books was obvious, and Severus smirked. Serves you right. She clearly wanted to speak to him about something, though, and he dismissed the boy with a curt gesture. “Tuesday, eight o’clock. And practice.” Harry ducked out the door and he turned back to Minerva. “Well?”

“Albus just received a message from the Ministry of Magic—Umbridge has been recalled.” Now that he studied her more closely, he could see her almost dancing with pleasure.

“What?” Despite their best efforts, Albus and Minerva hadn’t been able to prevent the woman from return to Hogwarts, and although he’d been spared her company—probably because he couldn’t do anything for her—one of the few things each of his unwanted visitors had commented on during their visits was what a hash she was making of everything. Knowing Fudge, that was a situation that he’d have encouraged, not…. “Why?”

“One of the papers found out about the Dementors abandoning Azkaban, and some of his supporters are starting to shift. I don’t know all the details, but she will be returning to the Ministry tomorrow.”

“This is unexpected.” Now that the news was out, Fudge would have to make some statement about the Dementors. I can see it now—a long, pointless speech about how replacing the Dementors with Aurors is safer for the Wizarding world and it was all part of his brilliant plan. No doubt it would fool plenty of the idiots out there, but the rest…he’s probably pulling most of his power base in close. Unless—“Who is she being replaced with?” There were a few even worse choices that he could come up with. Not many, but a few, and most of them wanted him dead.

“She isn’t,” she replied, pursing her lips. “Which is the only thing that worries me.”

Would that that was the only thing worrying him. Still, it was odd…surely Fudge would appoint someone to the position in her place. It wasn’t as if they had to be competent, not considering some of the people who’d held the position in the last few years.

“Albus was thinking about asking Remus to fill in—he was a popular professor and the students did learn—but since word got out that he’s a werewolf I’m not sure it’s such a wise idea.” She shook her head. “Fudge could throw out a few choice comments about the safety of the children here and draw quite a bit of attention away from himself.”

“Considering what happened the last time the werewolf was teaching, he’d be justified,” Severus pointed out, ignoring her glare. Besides which, if he came back no doubt the mutt would as well. They were quite possibly the last two people—and he used that term extremely loosely—that he wanted seeing him like this.

“It’s not like there is a line of other applicants. You could perhaps—”

“It’s not an option.” Not now, not when he was still too weak to stand for more than fifteen minutes without support, or more than an hour even with, and especially when he had trouble gauging spell distances. He’d never live down a student out-spelling him.

“It is an option in the future,” she returned.

I don’t particularly want to leave Hogwarts when the year is done. At this point, I may not even be able to leave Hogwarts and expect to live more than a day, which would make taking a cursed position remarkably stupid. “Regardless, it does us no good in the short term, unless you’d like them to be without any instruction at all.” Which, she knew as well as he did, was a very bad idea considering that a war was coming.

“I believe Albus was considering asking one of the Aurors to fill in, but with so many of them having to be assigned to Azkaban they just don’t have the time.”

Subtlety really wasn’t her strong point, and he read the next logical conclusion in her eyes. Without the use of Legilimancy. “He’s going to ask Alastor back?” The idea didn’t thrill him in the least…it was marginally better than bringing back the mutt and the werewolf, but the ex-Auror wasn’t currently one of his favorite people either.

“He never actually taught anything so the curse shouldn’t be in effect,” she pointed out. “Besides, there’s no doubt that he knows the material.”

“He spent the last year locked in a trunk; even assuming Albus can convince him to return, I’m not sure how much confidence that’s going to engender.”

“Oh, somehow I doubt he’ll have too much trouble. This is Mad-Eye Moody we’re talking about.”

Severus snorted. “Have a good evening, Minerva, I think I’m going to turn in now.”

///////////

The chime at the door—the student version—startled him into dumping juice onto the tablecloth rather than into the glass he’d been aiming at, and he leveled a glare at the door panel. He’d actually managed to stay conscious despite Poppy’s dosing and had planned to spend some of his free time this morning practicing. Practicing table manners of all things, but getting used to this single-eye existence was proving a bit more difficult than he’d anticipated. Last night the mediwitch had come to see him and had started made some muttering noises about him beginning to take his meals in the Great Hall again. He didn’t want to. Letting everyone gawk at him, whisper behind his back…better he just stay here. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get away with ignoring her for too long, and if he was going to be forced to be in public view he wasn’t about to disgrace himself by being unable to cut his own meat or pour his own drink. The drink was actually more of an issue—he could cast a cutting charm in the general vicinity of the plate and provided he didn’t put too much force behind it only the rest of his breakfast would suffer if he missed the sausage—but he’d splashed liquid onto the tablecloth twice so far attempting to pour a drink. Deciding—rightfully—to blame that last splash on whoever was at the door, he set the jug down, banished the mess, and snapped at the visitor to enter. Probably one of the little idiots took a dare from friends to come and see the crippled bat. We’ll see if they try that again.

“Professor?”

He definitely hadn’t expected to find Harry at the door. What the boy was doing here when he should be off cavorting in Hogsmeade with his little friends….

“I’m not allowed down to Hogsmeade,” the boy said with a frown, answering that question before it was asked. “Professor McGonagall said it wasn’t safe, even if I did promise to stay within sight of a professor.”

Which you probably wouldn’t have done, Severus didn’t bother to say. And regardless she was perfectly correct. He should have thought of it himself. “So you decided to come visiting down here because…?”

“Well, um….” He shifted uncomfortably.

“What did you do?”

“What? No, it’s not like that!”

There’s a first. The boy made no move to elaborate, and he raised an eyebrow. “I do have other things to do with my time than sit here and have a staring match with you, you realize?” Not many of them, I’ll grant, but a few.

Harry flushed, and then blurted out, “I…you are going to be okay, right Professor? I didn’t have time to ask you yesterday, but….”

“I’m not likely to pass away at any point in the near future from injuries sustained.”

The boy frowned. “Well, I kind of figured that since you’re up and about and stuff, but…I don’t know, Professor McGonagall’s looked really worried these last couple days, and the headmaster wouldn’t say anything.”

“I am…recovering.” As much as possible, given the circumstances. It wasn’t something he wanted to discuss with a child. Or anyone else. “Was there anything else that you wanted?”

He produced a package and shoved it towards Severus. “This is for you.”

Severus stared at it for a moment, wondering idly if it contained something explosive. “What is it? Some kind of get-well present?” Merlin forbid his coworkers ever got a similar idea, his quarters would be flooded with all manner of nonsense in a matter of hours.

“No, it’s a thank you present. You’re supposed to open it.”

“I think I’d rather hear about it first.” The boy shifted, glaring slightly, and Severus indicated the chair across from him. “Consider that an order.”

Harry dropped down into the seat gracelessly. “Well…when we first got back from Brazil, I told Ron and Hermione that I had to stay with you until school opened. Don’t worry, they promised not to tell anyone.”

Not his major concern at the moment, but he nodded his understanding.

“Hermione owled back and said it would be appropriate to get you a thank-you card and gift for letting me use your spare room.”

It stood to reason that the brains of the trio would be the one to recommend basic social courtesies. He hated to think what the Weasley brat had suggested. “And?”

“Well, a card sounded kind of dumb, but I definitely owed you something since you didn’t want me here in the first place.”

True enough that he’d have preferred the boy stayed elsewhere, although it was not something that he would vocalize. “Midnight escapades aside, you were a tolerable houseguest.” No need to bring up the Pensieve incident since that had been settled between them. “A gift was unnecessary; a simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.”

“Well, you’ll have to take it anyway, because I don’t know what else to do with it.”

That’s encouraging.

Harry flushed slightly. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right, it’s just that I wouldn’t know what to do with any of it.”

“Bringing us back to what, precisely, that is.”

“Well, you said stuff—blood and hair and such—from a unicorn was valuable partly because it was so rare, right?”

“Yes.”

“I figured blood and scales and things from a basilisk were probably pretty valuable too.”

Basilisk blood? He glanced at the packet again as Harry continued to speak.

“I looked in the library and only saw a couple potions that used any parts from a basilisk, but it sounded like there were probably more in the Restricted Section that I wasn’t allowed to look at so….” He pushed the package across the table.

Basilisk blood. His fingers twitched. “Where, precisely, did you manage to find this?” There was no way he could have bought it—not without emptying his vault, at least, and he wasn’t that idiotic. I hope.

“Down in the Chamber of Secrets. I just left it—the basilisk—lying there after it was dead, and Hagrid told us in Care of Magical Creatures that some things could stay preserved for years after their deaths so I figured I could at least look.” He frowned. “It took me forever to figure out how to get to it though. I was afraid if I jumped with my broom it would get broken and then I’d be stuck unless Fawkes came and got me again, and I couldn’t fly my broom down that way without going too fast and crashing at the bottom. Except the closest I could other than the entrance in the girls’ bathroom was that stupid self-locking dungeon.”

“Self-locking dungeon?” He should probably be angry about the boy going back into the Chamber, but the thought of what might be sitting on his table stilled his tongue.

“The one you and Professor McGonagall found me in? I’m almost positive the Chamber was right on the other side, but I couldn’t blast through the wall. And then the door wouldn’t open and let me out.” He shrugged.

Which would make sense if a caretaker was using it for particularly unpleasant detentions, Severus had to admit. “You managed to get into the Chamber somehow, obviously.” He was having trouble keeping his gaze off the package.

“Ron and I went down the way I knew about last night, and then Hermione floated our brooms down after us. We flew back out after we had everything.”

Probably after curfew, Severus knew, but for once thought he could overlook that. At least he didn’t go down alone.

“Anyway, there’s plenty more down there if you want it, but…thanks for letting me stay with you.” He shifted awkwardly.

“You are quite welcome, although….” He shook his head. “You are aware you could sell the remains of the basilisk and probably make enough money to buy a good portion of the Wizarding world?” It hadn’t occurred to him for some reason that there was a dead basilisk ripe for harvesting down in the Chamber or he’d have suggested it to Albus. Why it didn’t occur to me…. Well, no sense worrying about that now.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve got plenty of money, and it’s not really my basilisk anyway since it’s at Hogwarts. I can just get to it.”

And the hat wanted to put you in Slytherin? It must need respelling. He bowed slightly from his seat anyway. “If that’s how you feel. As I said, a gift was in no way necessary, but it is appreciated.”

“Tuesday then, Professor.”

“Ah.” Severus held up a hand. “In the future, I would suggest that you inform a professor if you plan to enter the Chamber of Secrets. There may be nothing left down there that would harm you, but at least that way should we need to find you we have some idea where to begin looking.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry was gone a moment later, and Severus picked at the twine holding the package together. It was well and truly tied, and he snatched his wand and tapped it sharply. The cloth fell away, and he found himself very nearly salivating over the contents. Not only a vial of blood, but also a square of scaled skin. And a fang. A fang that still contained venom. Mine. Mine, mine, mine. All mine. He actually bounced slightly before he caught himself, well aware that he was acting like a child, but for the moment he didn’t care. His copy of Moste Potente Potions had several that he’d like to try, and there were half a dozen other books that at least made mention of basilisk ingredients. Not a great deal of research had been done, and since he was currently on leave from teaching….

He rewrapped the package and took it into his workroom, setting it carefully on the laboratory bench. This was not the time to miss and drop something. What to make first…. There were several specially-designed non-reactive cauldrons tucked up at that top of the cabinet, and he reached for one without thinking. And bumped the stub of his left arm on the shelf. No. Elation faded as quickly as it had come. A mistake in an OWL level potion had nearly wiped out a good portion of his laboratory, a NEWT level error had flooded the room with semi-poisonous gas…with something like basilisk ingredients any kind of fault in the brewing would very likely kill him. And without two hands, it was all but guaranteed he’d make one. He glanced back at the ingredients. It figures that I would get my hands on potions’ ingredients that any decent master would kill for, and I can’t trust myself to use them. Not only does the universe hate me, it’s having quite a laugh at my expense. He could hire someone else to use them in making something for him, of course, but it was the creation that had always mattered more to him than the end result. The wyrsa venom as well…. Granted he’d lost most of that when his experiments had failed while he was lying unconscious in the infirmary, but there was still a bit left. I’m better equipped now than I have ever been, and I can’t do a damn thing! ‘Fair’ was an idiotic term as he well knew, but a refrain that sounded suspiciously like ‘it’s not fair’ kept playing in the back of his mind.

‘Attach a damn spoon to what’s left of your arm,’ a gruff voice had suggested a few days ago, and Severus frowned for a moment. It had sounded idiotic at the time—not quite as idiotic as leaning over a cauldron and stirring with his teeth of course, but still not particularly intelligent—but it was true that if he did that he’d be able to handle ingredients with his other hand. He had enough wandless magic to remove caps and stoppers if he chose to exert himself…granted he’d have to be careful with potions that reacted with ambient magic, but it might be doable. Damn you, Alastor. He couldn’t just let this opportunity go to waste, but he didn’t particularly want any reminders of that conversation. And he hated having to admit that the old Auror might have been right. About anything. He’d have damned Potter as well, for giving him a reason to try, but that would have to wait until the thrill of what sat on his counter faded.

The basilisk parts were carefully stored in one of his more heavily shielded cabinets, and he cleaned the remains of the Calming Draught from the counter—and wall—before sitting down to determine what he’d need. He hadn’t particularly wanted to do a detailed examination of what remained of his arm before, but given that he was planning an attachment he’d best know what he was dealing with. It ended at the elbow, now…he could feel some twitching in his muscles that indicated that the joint might still be in place, but not enough bone to do much with. He wasn’t going to take the bandage off until Poppy agreed that it had healed—he didn’t need to lose more pieces of himself—but…well, she might have her own ideas about attachments. Or the healers at St. Mungos; he couldn’t possibly be the only wizard in existence who’d been through this. He’d never heard about one who worked in potions, but….

It was rather pathetic; he could remember talking with the man he’d been apprenticed to once upon a time and a phrase the man had always used. ‘I’d give my right arm’ for this or that. He’d said it was a muggle saying he’d picked up while studying at one of their universities. Well, Severus had given his left arm, had gotten the ingredients, and was now unable to do anything with them until he scrounged a replacement for said arm.

Poppy would be more likely to cooperate with him—and keep her mouth shut about it—if she was pleased with his progress, and to that end he headed back into the sitting room and sat down to give the jug another try. After all, if I can’t cut food or pour a drink, I can hardly manage more precise motions over a cauldron.

///////////

A week or so after his first clumsy attempts, Severus felt confident enough to attempt dinner with the rest of the faculty. Poppy was delighted with how he was progressing and in fact had been the one to suggest he find an attachment for what remained of his arm…pros-thesees, she’d called them. A muggle term, because muggles had considerably more experience with these types of injuries than wizards. Severus felt that that only made sense considering that they apparently had weapons that could remove entire limbs with only a roar. He didn’t have any kind of pros-thesees yet—wouldn’t have one until the limb had finished scarring over and he’d had a chance to look at the options available—but knowing what was waiting for him made him rather more eager than he cared to admit. Especially since he’d had time to peruse a few of the journals he remembered and had half-a-dozen experiments planned out to try. Still…there was dinner to get through first, and he considered the staircase with a frown before starting up. They were doable if he didn’t look down, he’d discovered yesterday; if he didn’t look at them he didn’t have a problem with his judgment being off by a few centimeters. It’s not as though I ever needed to watch my feet when climbing stairs before.

There was a hush in the hall as he appeared at the door and then rapid whispered conversations—as well as some less-than-discrete pointing and staring—began to take place among the students, but with the exceptions of Hagrid who was beaming nearly widely enough to split even his formidable jaw and Trelawny who looked like she was about to stand up and preach doom to the entire room, the High Table was acting reasonably normal. Then again, for Sybil that is normal. Poppy probably warned them to expect me. He kept his eyes forward, pretending not to notice the commotion among the students as he walked up the aisle to the High Table. I should have come earlier. He’d remember that from now on.

“Decided to live again, boy?” a voice muttered as he made his way to the open seat between Hagrid and Slughorn.

Since hexing another professor—even a temporary one—at the dinner table would make even more of a stir than his appearance had, he decided that ignoring Alastor was probably the wisest course of action. It looked as if the meal was to be roast, with potatoes and carrots. He could manage that. Even better, Albus was somehow managing to refrain from making any kind of speech about his injury or recovery despite a smile that kept creeping out when he thought Severus wasn’t looking. Hagrid had dumped a measure of pumpkin juice in Severus’ cup at the same time he filled his own—and, thankfully for Severus’ pride, Rolanda’s who was sitting on his other side—which removed his last major concern for the evening. Well, except for the possibility that one of the Deatheaters’ children might leap up and curse me, but there’s only a remote chance of that all things considered.

“You feeling all right?” Hagrid asked worriedly. “Wasn’t too sure when you weren’t up and about; was afraid Gr—my, uh, friend—was a little rough when he brought you to me. Haven’t been at the castle too much lately or I’d have come down to see you for myself.”

Severus vaguely recalled a memory of being hauled along upside down and wondered who or what Gr was.

“See, he smelled you on the jars of throat potion you’d made up, and when he saw you lying there….” Hagrid shrugged.

Ah. His giant friend. “No, I believe that all of my injuries are courtesy of the Dark Lord’s contingent. Healing took longer than usual because of the extent.” Hagrid half-snarled, the look obviously aimed at the Deatheaters, but Severus waved it off and tried not to smile. For a man who could easily be terrifying, Hagrid just doesn’t do threats well. Most of the rest of his meal was spent in a discussion with Slughorn about the classes he was currently covering for Severus. The man had been his Head-of-House when he was at Hogwarts and had always been a little distracted, but he was a fairly competent professor, and it was a relief to discuss something besides his injuries. It also kept his full attention away from the students’ tables where there was entirely too much pointing and whispering going on for his peace of mind. Less from the Gryffindor table, probably because Harry had already given them some warning; more and in a considerably darker tone from the Slytherin table for obvious reasons that he didn’t care to think too deeply on.

///////////

A scratch at the door to his quarters drew him out of his book, and he stood quickly. He was much steadier than he had been; he’d eaten both breakfast and dinner in the Great Hall today and made it through both without embarrassing himself. Well, mostly. There had been a bit of an incident with the toast this morning, but he was fairly sure that he’d banished the jam from his robes before anyone noticed. An advantage to wearing black.

Tonks and whoever among the Order members had been selected to impersonate him should have had their meeting with the Horace girl over two hours ago. No alarms had gone up about an attack in Hogsmeade, so he was cautiously optimistic that things were going well. Whether she would actually agree to join them or not…well, that was another issue entirely. An owl flew in as soon as the panel was open, landing on his table and holding out a leg. When Severus took his time getting back to his seat, it hooted impatiently. “A moment. Would you care for some dinner?” He snapped his fingers and ordered a house elf to deliver a plate of scraps; the next hoot the owl gave was considerably more content.

There wasn’t much to the letter—“SS. Met EH. Tentatively confirm useful. Gave letter. Next meet scheduled. Request phrase on the back off the snake-head table in seventh year dormitory as soon as possible. Interesting house. SP.”

“Interesting house.” Severus had to shake his head. SP…Sturgis Podmore. Podmore had been a good choice to impersonate him. They didn’t know each other well, but the other man had been only a two years ahead of him at Hogwarts so he was at least familiar with Severus’ mannerisms. And far more able to mimic his voice than Tonks could have. He’d been in Ravenclaw…sending a Slytherin would have worked better, but there weren’t precisely a large number of them in the Order. He scrawled, “Stand back,” on the back of the note and waited until the owl had eaten it’s fill before sending it back out.

Tentatively confirm useful. Nicely hedged phrase meaning…what, precisely? Would she willingly bring information for them, or could they simply draw information out of her without her notice. He would say the first; the second would be embarrassing in a formerly-Slytherin student. How useful that information would be they would have to wait to determine—as a new recruit she wouldn’t be privy to many of the Dark Lord’s decisions, though by the same logic he wouldn’t be putting her under the same scrutiny that he would his closer advisors—but it would be something, at least.

The door sounded again, and he checked the time. “Come in, Mr. Potter.”

“Hello, Professor.” He shut it behind him carefully. “Are you feeling better? You’ve been coming to meals again.”

“Yes, I had noticed that. You’re looking rather…absurdly cheerful.”

“Umbridge is gone which means we’re actually doing stuff in DADA again—cool stuff—and Quidditch practice starts next week.”

“Ah.” The important things to any child. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, sir.” He knew enough by now to set his wand on the table this time instead of trying to hand it to Severus.

“Legilimens.” Attics, attics, attics…ah, a muggle playground. And more being pelted with bludgers, it appeared. What is wrong with these muggles? He relaxed the amount of force he was applying and was pleased to find himself being pushed back into attics. Granted he was able to get back to the memory again fairly quickly, but at least the boy was thinking. He pulled back as one of the would-be bludgers struck him in the face. “Better. Keep concentrating on the attics. No matter what else is going on, they should be your primary focus.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Legilimens.” Attic, attic, att—ah, attic. Well done. He pushed a bit farther and found himself still at Hogwarts, Harry apparently writing lines. Except that his hand hurt, and—Severus pulled out immediately. “What was that?”

“Professor?”

“I will not tell lies?” He glared impatiently. “Where did you get it, and when?”

“I….”

“Harry, that was a blood quill.” He’d never actually seen one in action, but he certainly recognized what it was. “Those have been considered dark devices since before I was a student. Now where did you get it?”

He ducked his head. “I…it was Umbridge. She said that Volde—You-Know-Who— coming back wasn’t true the first day of class, and I called her a liar. She gave me that to write lines with, and….” He shrugged.

And it didn’t occur to you to mention this to anyone?! Severus put down his wand and held out his hand. “Let me see.”

“It’s not that bad. Hermione found some stuff for me to use on it.”

“Hm.” There was scarring, but not too extensive. “Essence of Murtlap?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” He gulped slightly when Severus glared at him but didn’t back down.

“To see the headmaster.”

“It’s really not that ba—”

“A professor at this school used a dark device on a student. I can assure you, it really is that bad.” If it had happened to one of his little friends the boy would no doubt be having fits, but as far as Severus could tell he had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Something else to lay at the feet of those muggles, I suspect. “Now, if you would?”

“Can I get my memories back, first? The ones in the Pensieve?”

It sounded like stalling to him, but Severus gave a quick nod. “Better in your head than my sitting room, I suppose.” Besides, it won’t take more than a moment. The walk from the dungeons up to the headmaster’s study took longer than normal, but Severus couldn’t quite blame Harry. Well, he could, but he simply wasn’t about to move quite as fast as he had been before he’d been hurt, either. Still, he would heal in time, and that was hardly his primary concern at the moment. The gargoyle swung aside obligingly at his snapped password—‘ice mice,’ yet another candy that Severus simply detested.

“Severus?” Albus asked, looking rather surprised at the interruption. “Harry? Is something wrong?”

“I would certainly say so,” Severus agreed.

Alastor was with him, and judging by a scrap of parchment that disappeared from his desk as they approached they’d also gotten some sort of message from Podmore. Alastor dipped his head sharply at Severus’ words. “I’ll be going, then.”

“I suspect you’ll want to hear this.”

His good eye narrowed, while the magic one began to scan a bit faster.

“Harry?” Severus prompted.

“It’s….” He glanced up at Severus and then dropped his head with a shrug. “I got detention with Umbridge before and she made me write lines.”

Albus frowned. “I’m not sure what….”

Do you actually think I’m going to let you get away with that? “Through less-than-creative editing, he’s managed to leave out the part of the sentence when he mentions that the lines were done with a blood quill,” Severus snapped when it became obvious that Harry didn’t plan to. “One she gave to him.”

“She did what?” Alastor snarled at the same time Albus expressed his dismay. “Are you certain?”

“Miss Granger proved to be her usual annoyingly resourceful self, but aside from seeing the memory myself the scars are there as well.”

“Harry, may I…?” Albus held out a hand, and the boy moved to stand in front of him.

“It’s not really that bad.”

“It most certainly is,” Albus insisted. “If you two wouldn’t mind, I’d like to talk to Harry alone.”

“Thursday, same time,” Severus directed.

Harry nodded slightly, and he turned to follow Alastor out the door. “How long have you known?” the ex-Auror demanded as the gargoyle swung shut.

“A week and a half, I just thought tonight would be an excellent time to bring it up.” He kept his expression carefully even.

“Did I, or did I not, suggest that baiting me while you are in less than top form is not a particularly wise idea?”

Severus privately had his doubts that baiting the ex-Auror even when in top form would be particularly good for his health, but when it came right down to it he’d lived most of his life taking chances. “I found out tonight during his detention.” Alastor already knew about the Occlumency lessons and was quite capable of connecting the dots. “I am many things, but condoning something of that nature violates even my principles.”

Alastor snorted. “Good to know you have them, I suppose. Watch your back; I didn’t like how a couple of those students were looking at you at dinner tonight.”

Neither did I. At least he refrained from shouting ‘constant vigilance.’ “I am.”

For the first night since he’d been injured Severus hadn’t been able to sleep well, probably because Poppy had finally stopped dosing him daily, and instead of lying and staring at the ceiling he’d ended up getting up early and paging through the book of pros-thesees—properly prostheses—that she had brought him. And wondering just how many muggles there were with missing limbs. Granted the muggle world was several orders of magnitude larger than the Wizarding world, but to have entire catalogues of the things seemed patently ridiculous. Unfortunately, despite the selection, he was fairly limited in what he’d actually be able to use. So many of them depended on some type of electronics to function, and Merlin knew as soon as anything like that got anywhere near magic it was just bound to malfunction. Probably spectacularly. He didn’t particularly want anything like that attached to him. Although Arthur might have some ideas…. The Weasleys certainly kept a collection of fairly random muggle artifacts—like the car—that managed to function somehow. Still, there were a few options to consider. There were ones that looked like real limbs with only limited functionality, ones that looked like nothing more than bits of metal that could actually be used to grip things…Poppy had been enthusiastic about a clamp-like attachment that hooked into the remaining muscles that allowed them to grasp whatever was desired. If she hadn’t insisted on explaining to me the exact technique—in horribly vivid detail—that muggle doctors use to attach it, I might be a bit more enthusiastic as well. Barbarians.

A low buzzing sound alerted him to the time, and he put the catalog down and shrugged on his outer robes, slowing making his way up the stairs towards the Great Hall. His instincts told him that something was wrong as he began to make his way across the floor, and he’d trusted those instincts too long to ignore them, but he reached the High Table without incident. The closest empty seat was between Minerva and Devon, and he regretted the choice a moment later when Devon turned and began to determinedly show him pictures of his new niece, despite his obvious lack of interest in the subject. You’d think she was the first baby he’d ever seen. At least he didn’t have to try and maintain an actual conversation, though, while keeping his eyes on the student tables. No one at Gryffindor seemed to notice anything unusual—no surprise there—but the Slytherin table was uncharacteristically quiet. Ravenclaw was as well, although that was a little more typical…and Hufflepuff seemed to be behaving normally. Perhaps it’s nothing. Certainly a little paranoia on his part was justified at this point, and it wasn’t as if there was anything he could quite put a finger on. When the tables began to clear, he looked down at his plate and realized that it was just as well that he didn’t care a great deal for black pudding because he didn’t actually manage to consume more than a few bites of it during the entire meal. Enough of this. He pushed the plate away and stood.

He didn’t need the warning of ‘constant vigilance’ muttered at him as he made his way from the High Table, although it was something of a relief to know that at least one of the other professors had noticed something was wrong. Granted it was the paranoid lunatic, which didn’t thrill him in regards to the state of his own nerves, but paranoid or not the ex-Auror was damn fast with his wand when the need arose. About a third of the students and a slightly higher percentage of professors had left the room already, but he decided not to tempt fate more than necessary, using the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw table to reach the back of the hall rather than going between Hufflepuff and Slytherin as he normally did.

“Jellylegs!” He turned automatically at the shout at about the same time three or four other jinxes were yelled out. This was wrong—students didn’t just break out dueling in the middle of the Great Hall, especially students in the same house. Especially upper-level students in Slytherin, ones who knew the value of subtlety. Distraction, he recognized abruptly.

He spun back in the direction he’d been facing, the one they’d been trying to keep him from, as a Ravenclaw pointed his wand. “Avada—”

“Stupefy!” Severus snapped, his own wand already at the ready inside his sleeve. The boy—Carmichael, sixth year, passably decent student although he hadn’t opted for NEWT-level potions, Severus recognized automatically—fell backwards.

“Professor, look out!”

He identified Harry’s voice even as he twisted hard to get out of the way of a curse coming from the direction of the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables. It was not, fortunately, a killing curse, merely some sort of horn-growing hex, but it struck one of the younger Gryffindor girls on his other side. She shrieked and, predictably, the entire Gryffindor table reacted by flinging random hexes and jinxes in the direction the spell had come from. Unfortunately, with Gryffindor on one side of the room and Slytherin—where he was almost positive the curse had come from and the Gryffindors seemed to think so too—on the other, the students in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw found themselves in the middle of a minor war. Being children between the ages of about eleven and seventeen, the vast majority joined in quite gleefully. The rest were huddling under the tables. Severus could hear the other professors calling for order, but even Albus’ sonorous charm wasn’t breaking through the shrieking and screaming.

I need to get off this floor! Aside from the fact that he’d already caught some kind of bizarre hair-color change hex, if anyone did get the bright idea to try another killing curse there was all too great a chance that it would strike one of the children. He couldn’t afford to start spelling indiscriminately, even simple stunning spells, with his accuracy as uncertain as it was. One unmoving student he could handle, but this wriggling mass…catching an eleven year old with one meant for a seventeen year old could do real damage, and Merlin knew what would happen if his spell and one of the other spells flying around interacted. As it was he could see two students already who were going to need Poppy’s help to get back to anything even remotely resembling their original appearances. The Gryffindor table had some kind of organization, at least among the older students, it appeared…if he could just get against the wall he could concentrate on shielding but there was no way to get past the students. Maybe—

Out of the corner of his eye he saw several balls of light streak upwards, and then massive fireworks exploded overhead. Most of the screaming cut off in sheer shock as the roar and light temporarily blinded and deafened everyone. Severus fired off a stunner automatically, but it resulted in nothing more than a massive explosion where it struck, and a vanishing spell seemed to make them multiply. There were squeaks out of a few students, but most of them seemed to be too caught up in the display to do anything but stare. It went on for what seemed like forever but was likely no more than a few minutes—probably just long enough for the other professors to discover the same things he had, judging by the sudden increase and then decrease in overhead detonations—and culminated in a giant dragon-head that took a snap at the high table before exploding. And then there was silence.

Severus looked at the remaining professors at the High Table—Albus, Minerva, Alastor, Devon, Rhiannon, Sybil, and Pomona—but all of them looked as stunned as he felt.

“So, uh, what did you think of the show?” two voices asked in unison after a few moments of silence.

Every head in the room—at least those still capable of movement—turned to stare at the Weasley twins. They were side by side, as usual, standing between the end of the Gryffindor table and the High Table.

“We made them for Umbridge—” George began.

“But then she went and left—”

“Before we had a chance to test them—”

“And they were just too good to waste,” Fred finished.

The two of them then gave bright smiles and bowed to a room of still-stunned children and adults, chorusing, “Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bang fireworks. Coming soon to a joke shop near you.”

“As soon as we get one,” Fred added.

“Fifty points to Gryffindor,” Albus finally managed in the silence that followed. “The first class today will be cancelled to allow for everyone to be unhexed, unjinxed, and healed, as necessary. Students please return to your houses and take care of yourselves and your friends; your Heads-of-House will be available should there be anything you cannot handle on your own. Devon, if you’ll get Horace? And Sybil could you find Filius?” Minerva and Pomona were already moving to lead their houses away.

Severus made his way to where Carmichael still lay, stopping one of the other Ravenclaw girls who tried to levitate him. “I have him, go deal with those teeth.”

“Are you all right?” Albus asked, coming down from the table as the last of the students finally filed out. “Is he—?”

“Stupefied. By me; I know of very few curses that start with ‘Avada.’”

“Not a bad plan they came up with,” Alastor observed, coming up behind him. His magical eye was scanning the room at a rapid pace. “Distraction from the Slytherin table while a student you wouldn’t think to suspect does the deed. Wasn’t sure you’d notice.”

I almost didn’t, Severus admitted to himself; if they’d managed a bit more discretion he might not have realized what was happening until it was too late. Not that he planned on passing on that information to anyone else. Instead he shrugged slightly.

“Least we’ve got the little buggers now. It shouldn’t be too difficult to determine who actually did the distracting.”

“And do what? You can’t prove they did it deliberately.”

Alastor’s magic eye snapped around and fixed on Severus. “Are you telling me that you don’t think—”

“I’m telling you that you can’t prove it,” Severus said flatly. “And if you go around accusing everyone like you seem to be planning to, you’re going to do far more harm than simply expelling the one person who actually did try and do damage.” His eyes narrowed. “Too many of them are on the edge as it is; I don’t care to drive any more children to the Dark Lord. Besides which, I doubt many of them had any real idea what was going to happen—if they did they’d have tried something a little more drastic than a horn-growing curse when Carmichael fell.”

“We’ll interview everyone involved and determine what happens then,” Albus said. “Severus is right; without proof we can’t go around suspending or expelling students. Alastor, take that one up to my office and notify the Aurors.” The ex-Auror nodded, looking more than a bit put-out at the decision but hovering the boy away. “And you, Severus, go do something about that hair. Leopardskin doesn’t suit you, and I could see it weighing against you when you give your formal statement.”

///////////

“Hello, Professor,” Harry greeted.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was going to have to send a house elf to fetch you.”

“No, sir. Sorry I’m late, we started getting Fred and George to do demonstrations in the Common Room, and….” He shrugged. “I just lost track of time.”

“Ah.” The excitement over the day before had faded a bit, although at dinner he’d still heard a few of the children who’d missed it grumbling to their friends. The Weasley twins were, of course, celebrities. Much to their delight and several of their professors’ dismay, although Filius had done a bit of grumbling himself that he’d missed the display. “Are you ready to begin?”

Harry shifted a bit. “I…he was trying to hurt you, wasn’t he? Carmichael. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he had his wand pointed at you and I know he isn’t at school anymore.”

Carmichael was being held at the Ministry of Magic, actually, pending a hearing in front of the Wizengamot sometime in the next few days. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself about.”

“It is if somebody’s trying to kill you!”

“Mr. Potter, despite what you and your little friends might think, it is not your duty to take care of the entire Wizarding world. That is the job of the adults around you.” Despite how the majority of them generally behave.

He didn’t look particularly convinced.

“The matter has been handled. You are to concentrate on your classes. Which reminds me, what has Ala—Professor Moody—been teaching you in DADA?”

“Professor?”

“You, your two shadows, and a couple of the other older Gryffindors were certainly doing something in concert yesterday.”

“Oh. That’s…it’s not anything Professor Moody taught us. It’s something Ron and Hermione and Neville owled each other about while you and I were gone. When we all got back to school and it was obvious that Umbridge still wasn’t going to teach us anything they told me about it and we sort of decided we’d teach ourselves. We didn’t have time to do too much before Professor Moody came, but we’d figured out a couple new blocking spells and some other hexes so….” He shrugged. “Ron yelled at Neville and Ginny to block for all of us since they were on the side of the table closest to the rest of the room, and then me and him and Hermione did the hexing part from behind them.”

“Hm.” Not a bad plan, actually. Then again, the youngest Weasley boy had been the one to defeat Minerva’s chess game first year so it stood to reason that he had some grasp of strategy. “Well, I’m fairly certain that you’ll be learning plenty in Professor Moody’s class and won’t have need to go looking for trouble on your own.” Not that that’s ever stopped you, of course.

“No, sir. Although I have to get the twins to show me how to do those fireworks.”

Severus didn’t particularly want to think just how much trouble there would be if random students started mimicking the Weasley twins’ tricks. “Not in school, if you please. Now, Occlumency?”

“Yes, sir.” He set his wand on the table and took a seat across from Severus. “Ready.”

“Legilimens.” Attic…attic…muggles. Come on, boy, push. As before, he could feel the pressure on his mind, but there just wasn’t enough force behind it. He pulled back out. “You’re going to have to push harder, Harry.”

“I’m trying, Professor. Really. I just…I can’t make you move. Well, unless I’m really angry, but….”

Severus frowned for a moment. “Then get angry.”

“I thought you said I couldn’t count on that.”

“And you can’t, at least not as a sustained source of power, but once I’m in your mind you need to push me out. That means using whatever methods you have at your disposal.”

He frowned slightly. “What if I can’t get that mad?”

“Harry, we’ve known each other for nearly five years now. I imagine I’ve done something in that amount of time to make you angry at me.” Harry flushed, and he gave a quick smirk. “I thought so. And please remember, in the final equation it’s the Dark Lord you’re doing this to eject—you certainly have reason to be angry at him.”

The boy gave a sharp nod at that. “Ready.”

“Legilimens.” He used more force this time and pushed past the attics fairly quickly, only to find himself dodging madly around the Whomping Willow. Bloody hell! When was this and what was he thinking?!

“Protego!”

Severus—and the armchair he was sitting in—crashed backwards, and he grunted as his skull made contact with the floor over the back of the chair. Ouch.

“Professor!” Harry’s face appeared over him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! I was trying to make myself angry and—”

“I would say that it worked,” Severus interrupted dryly, rolling to a sitting position and then standing slowly. “However I was under the impression that it was understood that you would merely push me from your mind. Throwing me to the ground was, perhaps, a bit unnecessary don’t you think? I believe I might have mentioned that if the Dark Lord was standing in front of you, his Legilimency skills should not be your major concern?”

“Yes, sir. I really didn’t mean to knock you over like that.”

“I rather assumed you didn’t, otherwise this conversation would have taken a considerably less pleasant turn.” He set the chair upright and handed the boy back his wand.

“Are we done?”

“No, but quite frankly if you can do that wandless there’s no real point in keeping it from you.” He’d assumed the emotional content from the memories they had viewed had allowed the boy to do wandless magic before, if just trying to make himself angry had allowed him to tap it Severus wasn’t any less safe if the boy had his wand than if he didn’t. He’d known the boy was good at spellwork, but he hadn’t realized quite how good. It’s probably safer if he has it, actually, at least the wand gives him focus. “Although I do ask that you don’t point it in my direction while we are doing this. Or ever, for that matter.”

“Yes, Professor.” He tucked it into the sleeve of his robe.

“Now, if you’re ready, we’ll try that again. And this time kindly remember that you’re trying to knock me from your mind, not knock me unconscious.”

“I’m ready.”

Half an hour later Harry had successfully thrown Severus from his mind twice more. Unfortunately, on both occasions he’d also used wandless magic to send him flying backwards as well. The boy had been properly apologetic, but Severus still had a headache. “All right, before we next meet I want you to practice getting angry enough to summon the force to throw me from your mind without invoking any wandless magic. At all. I don’t want a feather to float, I don’t want a candle to light, I just want you to throw up an Occlumency shield. Understood?”

Harry nodded quickly. “Definitely. Are you sure you shouldn’t go see Madam Pomfrey?”

“I’ll be fine, Harry.” In a day or two. “Go on.”

His pride kept him from dropping back into the chair and rubbing the knot on the back of his head until the boy had left. There was a bruise potion in his stores, but he’d take the time to collect his thoughts first.

A rumble at the floo caught his attention, and he acknowledged the caller slightly less than gracefully. “What?”

“Severus, if you’ve got a moment could you please come up to my study?”

He sighed. “On my way.” With a minor concussion, but on my way.

He was a bit surprised to find Minerva there as well, and both she and Albus looked quite solemn. “Severus?” Minerva asked. “Are you all right?”

Perhaps he hadn’t neatened himself up quite as well as he’d thought. “Harry’s Occlumency lesson…he’s discovered that he can throw me from his mind, but at this point it seems to go hand in hand with a physical throw as well.”

“He attacked you?”

Severus waved her off. “Not intentionally. We’re still working out the details. What did you need to see me about? Has a hearing time been set for the Carmichael boy?” Not that he particularly wanted to go to the Ministry, but the sooner it was over with the better.

Albus shook his head, and a decidedly displeased look crossing his face. “Fudge exercised his ‘rights’ as the Minister of Magic and decreed that since there was no ‘conclusive proof’ that the boy intended to harm you, there was no need to hold a hearing.”

“Of course, I should have let him kill me before accusing him of trying to kill me. What was I thinking?”

Minerva shook her head. “He’s also insisting that the boy be allowed to return to Hogwarts…that a ‘juvenile prank’ shouldn’t bar him from gaining an education.”

It wouldn’t be the first time someone who attempted to murder me was kept on the grounds, Severus noted, although he didn’t bother to voice his objection. “So he’ll be coming back, then.”

“No.” Albus’ voice was firm. “I’ve made that perfectly clear, and Fudge isn’t quite willing to challenge openly just yet.”

It was the ‘yet’ part of that that worried Severus. “What do you think he plans to try? By removing Umbridge he’s lost leverage here.” It had been a dumb thing to do, but then Fudge had never been noted for his foresight.

“I don’t know, and frankly, it worries me. However, that isn’t what I brought you here to discuss.”

Severus frowned. There’s worse? Just what I needed to hear.

“As you know, Horace was only willing to fill in for you temporarily. I’ve convinced him to stay until the winter holidays, but after that we will need you to resume your duties as a professor. Do you think you will be ready?”

“That depends on what Poppy is able to come up with. She had a few suggestions that look promising, but until I’m able to actually try them….” He shrugged, trying not to betray his uncertainty. Clamps, and muscles, and everything else that had to be dealt with…. “There is really no way of knowing.”

Albus’ eyes twinkled slightly. “Well, I have no doubt you’ll be back in top form in no time. However, while we’ll be glad to have you back as a professor, I’m not certain that keeping you on as the head of Slytherin house is such a wise idea.”

He was right, of course, especially since no matter what they claimed Severus was fairly certain that at least a few of the Deatheaters’ children did have some idea of what was planned for that morning. Or if they didn’t, they will as soon as their parents learn that the attempt on my life was unsuccessful. As Head-of-House it was his duty to be available to his students whenever they needed him—setting up an ambush would be all too easy. “What do you propose to do?”

“I believe Aurora would be willing to take the position.”

Sinstra wouldn’t be a bad choice; she’d been in Slytherin herself once upon a time so she’d have a fair idea of the prejudices facing the students. As well as how to deal with them—the students as well as the prejudices—which someone from one of the other houses might not be so capable of doing. Still, the idea…bothered…him, more than he’d expected it would. “I see.”

“It has nothing to do with your competency, Severus,” Minerva hastened to add. “Perhaps in the future when things have settled down….”

‘In the future.’ It wasn’t something he let himself consider all that often, and this was no exception. “It is a matter of safety. I do realize that.” Under other circumstances he might actually be grateful for the consideration. “And I’m hardly the best person to advise them when the majority will refuse to trust me.” He nodded sharply and stood. “Very well, if that will be all, then?”

Both seemed on the verge of saying something else but managed to hold their tongues, and Albus waved at him to go.

Severus was not thrilled to be summoned to the headmaster’s study for a second night in less than a week—particularly considering the way the past week had gone—but he made his way back up the stairs as ordered. Minerva was once again in attendance, and he was more than slightly surprised to find Harry there as well. “Albus?”

“Ah, Severus, I’m glad you’re here. Lemon drop?”

Have I ever accepted one of those things? He rather thought not. “Thank you, but no. Was there something that you wanted?”

“There is to be a hearing in front of the Wizengamot tomorrow.”

“I had thought the matter of the Carmichael boy was settled.” Decidedly unsatisfactorily, but settled nonetheless.

Albus’ jaw tightened fractionally, and he shook his head. “A hearing about Umbridge and her blood quill, actually.”

Severus stared for a moment. He’d assumed Fudge would sweep the entire matter under the nearest rug. What the advantage would be in revealing it was…. From the expression on his face, Albus hadn’t even had to push for the outcome. “Why?” Harry glared, and he waved a hand. “Obviously a hearing is appropriate, but I can’t believe that that idiot Fudge would allow you to say anything even remotely negative about one of his toadies in an open court.”

“Neither can I,” Minerva agreed. “But the message the owl brought was plain enough.”

He accepted the piece of parchment, reading it through quickly. There was a great deal to the message, but it was a quite clear. “Hm.”

“I’ll be accompanying Harry, of course,” Albus said, “and Minerva as his Head-of-House, but I’d like you to come along as well.”

“Why?” He had no particular desire to go parading around the Ministry in his current state…quite honestly he had no particular desire to go parading around the Ministry in any state.

“You were the one to discover the injuries,” Albus pointed out.

“During Occlumency lessons. Need I remind you what happened the last time someone at the Ministry learned I was practicing Legilimency on the boy?”

“I don’t think we’ll need to bring that part up, merely mentioning that you saw the scarring during tutoring should be sufficient.”

“Why not take Miss Granger? She’s the one that helped him heal them.”

“Miss Granger is an excellent student,” Minerva said, “but she hasn’t had any type of experience in this type of arena.”

Minerva was right, of course. Granger would do her best to be accommodating to the Ministry’s questions as any child would; it would be all too easy to turn her testimony against her. Whether he could see the purpose or not, Severus had no doubt that Fudge had some sort of angle he was working from. No point in giving him any more ammunition. He gave a grudging nod. “What time will we be going?”

“Just after breakfast tomorrow.”

He nodded sharply, wondering why it had been necessary for him to come up here for a conversation that could have been held just as easily by floo, and then stood. “If you’ll excuse me, then.”

Harry stood with him and matched his pace as he made his way down the stairs. He looked rather unhappy, and after a few minutes managed a quiet, “Professor?”

“Yes?” He had a sudden, rather disturbing thought, and paused long enough to shoot a dark look up at Albus’ study. I am neither a babysitter nor a sounding board for distraught students. Particularly ones that aren’t even in my h— He cut off that train of thought abruptly.

Harry didn’t seem to notice his momentary distraction. “Last time I was at the Ministry was before school started…they tried to expel me for using magic to stop two Dementors that came after me and my cousin.”

Severus vaguely remembered Dumbledore mentioning something of the sort, but there had been so much else going on then that actually related to him in some manner that he hadn’t paid much attention. “Well, obviously you’re here so the attempt was unsuccessful.”

“Yeah, but the way he acted…what if this is more of the same thing?”

“Harry, even Fudge wouldn’t be idiotic enough to suggest that you were using a blood quill on yourself because you wanted to.” Well, he might, actually, but that’s one lie that no one would believe.

Harry shrugged but didn’t look particularly convinced.

“Regardless, both Albus and Minerva will be there, and neither of them will put up with that sort of nonsense.”

“That’s true,” Harry muttered, more to himself than Severus.

“Then quit fussing and go back to your dorms. If your professors haven’t assigned enough homework to keep you busy, please feel free to use the time to work on your Occlumency.”

///////////

Morning had dawned wet and miserable—a pleasant reflection of Severus’ mood—although they went directly to the Ministry so he never actually had to go out in it. Harry seemed relieved when they went up to one of the normal courtrooms after stopping in at the visitors’ desk, why he couldn’t say, but the boy tensed up again when they entered and saw the full Wizengamot already seated.

Fudge seemed to be presiding over things, which didn’t make Severus feel any better, but he took his seat when ordered and studied the audience. Not just the full Wizengamot but several reporters as well…. What does he have planned? He returned his attention—grudgingly—to Fudge as he finished droning on about the charges and Harry was called forward. It made sense, of course, to have the accuser speak first, but Severus still didn’t like it. He liked it even less when, after Albus had run through the necessary questions, the Minister smiled as he stood.

The boy was obviously nervous, but still, none of Fudge’s questions seemed particularly out of line. Asked in a snide tone, but…. ‘Are you sure Professor Umbridge gave you the quill?’ ‘When was it again?’ ‘What were you ordered to write?’ He turned an interesting shade of red when Harry answered the question ‘Why did she tell you to write that?’ and the boy stated flat out that he’d seen Voldemort return and had refused to listen to her lie, but Albus cut Fudge off before he could pursue the subject on the grounds that it didn’t actually relate to the hearing at hand. There was whispering among the members of the Wizengamot at that, but Albus ignored it and waved at Severus to rise.

Fudge’s expression twisted in disgust as Severus and Harry exchanged seats.

“You were the one to discover what Professor Umbridge had done to Mr. Potter, correct?” Albus began.

“Yes.”

“When did this occur?”

“At the end of last week, during a tutoring session. He had scars on his hand and when pressed admitted what Umbridge had done. I reported it immediately, of course.”

“Thank you.”

Simple, to the point…Fudge rose to take his turn asking questions, and Severus wondered once again where he thought this was going. She had done it; they had proof.

“According sources, you aren’t currently teaching at Hogwarts so I fail to understand why you might have been tutoring Mr. Potter.”

Severus stared.

Fudge stared for a few moments as well, and then flushed a bit darker. “Well? Are you going to answer?”

“You have yet to ask me a question.”

That drew a glare. “Are you a teacher at Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

“What are you teaching?”

“I am employed as the potions professor, currently on a medical sabbatical.”

Fudge sneered at the remains of his arm. “And just why is that?”

“Because I’m injured.” Obviously.

“And just how did that happen? An illegal duel?”

“A torture session with the Dark Lord, actually,” Severus said bluntly.

Fudge went from red to an interesting shade of purple, and Albus cleared his throat. “And how does how Professor Snape was injured relate to the matter at hand?”

“He’s delusional,” Fudge said.

“Of course, I’m imagining that my eye, my kidney, and a rather large portion of my left arm are missing. Perhaps I imagined the scars on Mr. Potter’s hand as well. Would you care to look?”

The Minister swung back around to glare at him. “You claim you had a torture session with someone vanquished fifteen years ago, you call a child’s prank an attempted murder—”

“A prank?” Severus interrupted. “Tell me, Minister, how many ‘prank’ curses do you know that start with ‘Avada’?” This didn’t relate to Umbridge’s blood quill either, but at least he was getting a say in court. Not the right court, but... “Because I, in my fifteen years of teaching—which I think we’re all agreed is a profession that sees more than it’s fair share of pranks—have heard of none. Nor have my colleagues, most of whom have been teaching since before I was a student.” Or even alive, in several cases. “So?”

“We aren’t discussing that,” Fudge snarled.

“Of course not.” Then why did you bring it up?

“If you have no more relevant questions?” Albus cut in.

Fudge opened and shut his mouth for a moment and then shook his head. “If you were tutoring Mr. Potter and simply saw these scars, then how did you know there was a blood quill involved?”

Severus was beginning to regret ignoring the elections because there had to have been a better candidate than this ninny. “I know of very few people who would willingly carve ‘I will not tell lies’ on the back of their hand, and fewer still who would be capable of doing so on the back of the hand they normally write with. Therefore, I asked.”

“But he didn’t report it himself.”

“Obviously.”

Fudge let him off the stand after that, and Albus declined to call Minerva—she wouldn’t actually have anything to add anyway—so the next person to take a seat was Umbridge.

“What is he up to?” Severus muttered. As she was the accused, Fudge would have first right to question her, and he seemed entirely too content as she settled herself into the chair.

Harry had tensed, but the woman didn’t even glance in their direction. Instead she shifted once more and spared a simpering smile for Fudge.

“Can you tell us of the events which occurred on the night in question?” Fudge asked.

“Nights,” Harry muttered, only to be shushed by Minerva.

She went off on a long, bizarrely-tangented story about how the boy had been an utter pain in class—something Severus could actually attest to—and how he’d screamed lies at her in the middle of her lecture—decidedly unlikely, even if he hadn’t seen the memory—and how she’d assigned him lines as detention.

“With a blood quill?” Fudge asked.

“Well, yes.”

“Why that particular type quill for the lines?”

“Well, it was used when I was a student and it was always quite effective. Especially for students,” she glanced at Harry with a sniff, “who refuse to behave properly.”

“Did you know that it was not an acceptable form of punishment?”

Albus gave no obvious reaction, but Minerva straightened slightly.

“Well, no, of course not. When I started teaching I was free to choose my own syllabus, determine my own lectures, told that I could give detention or take points when students were out of line…certainly no one told me anything about blood quills being prohibited.”

“So as far as you knew you were acting in accordance with stated policy.”

“Of course. I always follow the guidelines set out by the Ministry.”

Fudge smiled with satisfaction. “Then I have no more questions. Dumbledore?”

“Yes, thank you. Tell me, since you are so familiar with Ministry guidelines, can you tell me how long ago blood quills were registered as dark devices.”

She colored slightly. “I suppose I can’t say for certain….”

“But you know that they are, of course.” He continued before she had a chance to respond. “It didn’t occur to you that using a dark device on a student might not be appropriate?”

“It didn’t say—”

“We don’t explicitly state that professors shouldn’t use Unforgivables on the students either; I would think there are some things that go without saying.”

That didn’t stop Moody—fake-Moody, anyway—last year, from what Draco had said. Harry had been put under Imperius at least once, and the other curses had certainly been demonstrated.

Umbridge opened her mouth and then shut it again. “It’s not the same. I didn’t know.”

“How long ago were you a student? Forty, fifty years?”

She colored. “I don’t think that’s an appropriate question for you to be aski—”

“Certainly long enough ago that you noticed that the rules governing the treatment of students have changed slightly. And still you deliberately chose to use a dark device as a punishment.”

“Bit I didn’t know,” she repeated, voice strident.

“Of course not. As you've already admitted your guilt, I have no more questions.”

A vote was called for moments later…the charge had been something about misuse of dark artifacts, Severus thought, although he hadn’t been paying much attention at the beginning of the hearing. Apparently Fudge had used enough influence to keep it from being labeled assault on a minor. She was voted guilty—by a smaller margin than he’d have liked; had some of the members of the Wizengamot actually considered letting her off on the theory that she didn't know dark devices shouldn't be used on children?—but Fudge didn’t seem particularly concerned. In fact….

The man moved to the center of the room before the crowd could disperse. “In light of recent events, particularly the obvious lack of supervision of new teachers—in fact, all teachers—at Hogwarts School of Magic, a decision has been made to appoint a Ministry official as an overseer to the school. After all of the events that have occurred there in the past years—students running amok, a werewolf as a professor, a delusional professor—” that was said with a sneer in Severus’ direction—“and countless other acts of less-than-sound judgment on the acts of the staff, the Ministry feels that this is the only way to safeguard our children.”

“I…what?” Minerva blurted, the question fortunately masked by the murmurs racing around the rest of the room.

Severus hoped the man was speaking generally when he said ‘our children.’ If another one of him turns up at Hogwarts, I’m taking a permanent vacation.

“Have you any candidates for the position?” one of the reporters called out.

“As Delores Umbridge will be on suspension from her Ministry office in light of the Wizengamot’s recent decision—caused, as I’m sure you no doubt noticed, by the same type of irresponsible behavior that necessitates this action—I am hereby appointing her to the position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor with the power to oversee classes and instructors and to make recommendations based upon her observations. I hope that such oversight will prevent incidents such as that discussed here today in the future.”

“She made me cut myself up with a blood quill, so now she gets to fuss about with everything else at Hogwarts because she made me cut myself up with a blood quill?” Harry demanded. “Fudge is nutters!”

“Fudge is a bloody idiot,” Severus agreed under his breath.

Albus’ eyes were narrowed, but the reporters had moved in to question Fudge and there was no way to interrupt his oh-so-eloquent speech about how the lack of adequate supervision had permitted the hiring of werewolves and ‘those of questionable character and moral fiber’—another obvious glance at Severus—as professors, the random acts of disobedience among students, the suspicion of sheltering the notorious criminal Sirius Black, and so on, without causing a scene. A scene that would no doubt play directly into Fudge’s plans. It was actually a rather impressive—if nauseating—piece of work. Even if he’s right about the werewolf. And the mutt.

He didn’t realize just how masterful the speech was until Fudge began to wind down and the reporters started to ask their own questions. With the more respectable papers in the Minister’s pocket…. Severus shook his head. No wonder Fudge had made the hearing public. The majority of the rest of the population would probably never hear about just which professor had used the blood quill, only that it had been done and that, in response, the Minister had taken the initiative to create a position that would ‘ensure the health and safety of the Wizarding world’s most precious resource.’ And never mind that the cretin that did the deed is the one acting as overseer. He was annoyed to realize that his own little outburst probably gave more credibility to the idea that the professors needed to be evaluated; the idea of a student openly attempting to murder one of his teachers did sound rather ridiculous on the face of it. Unfortunately, it’s exactly what happened. Damn him. Severus wasn’t entirely certain whether he was damning Carmichael or Fudge at this point, but then he had more than enough borderline-fury to go around.

Fudge was saying something about decrees now—educational decrees? To be posted within the day.

“We’ll wait in the hall,” Albus murmured.

Minerva’s fingers kept twitching in the direction of her wand every time the door opened, but finally the last of the reporters melted away—they hadn’t even tried to get a sound byte out of Albus which meant they were just going to make up his responses as they went—and Fudge and Umbridge exited the courtroom.

“Ah, Professor Dumbledore, I’d hoped to have a chance to speak with you,” Fudge said. “I realize that you’ve filled Delores’ position, but she will need rooms and—”

“I believe you’ve overstepped yourself,” Albus interrupted smoothly.

“Not at all. The Ministry may not be able to interfere directly in Hogwarts affairs, but we can certainly see that the children are receiving a proper education, can’t we?” His smile was oily.

“Well, clearly there are several cases where we didn’t succeed in the past,” Severus agreed as Harry open his mouth. “Obviously there are some students who managed to finish seven years while still being incapable of figuring out that using a dark device, on a minor, no less, is not the act of a law abiding witch.” He glanced at Umbridge, and then away. “Or wizard.”And frankly I doubt that you manage to dress yourself in the morning without ample assistance.

Fudge’s face darkened. “You think you’re so special, Snape, but I know what you are. Everyone does. We should have a hearing on you. We will someday; you’ll see.”

“Severus has long since been cleared of any charges,” Albus said with an air of someone who’d already been forced to repeat the same statement one too many times and would not take it kindly if he was made to do so again.

Fudge barely spared him a glance, leaning in towards Severus. “You think you're smart, Snape. Well, you're not smart; you're dumb. Very dumb. But you've met your match in me.”

Both Minerva and Harry suffered sudden spates of coughing—Harry’s far less convincing—and even Albus looked away. Severus just bowed slightly. “I’ll certainly concede that point.”

If Fudge realized what he’d said, he gave no sign. “Yes, well, you might still be listed as a professor, but we’ll see just how long that stays true.” He turned and stalked off, and Umbridge hurried to keep up.

“You really shouldn’t bait him, my boy,” Albus commented quietly as they turned back for the floo. “He could make life difficult for you.”

“The man invites it.” I have Deatheaters out to get me; I’m not going to be intimidated by a weasel of a public figure. Especially since the worst he can do is throw me in Azkaban, and with the Dementors gone I would probably find it a relaxing vacation.

They managed to arrive at Hogwarts in time for lunch, and Harry disappeared quickly to find his friends while Albus sent messages to the rest of the staff to let them know there was going to be a meeting as soon as dinner was finished. With no way of knowing when Umbridge and her ‘educational decrees’ would be arriving, none of them wanted to wait. Severus took the time to reorganize his potions’ stores and catalog which ones were fast-acting untraceable poisons.

///////////

“They’ve arrived,” Minerva growled as he entered the staff room as soon as dinner had ended. She hadn’t been at dinner…from the expression on her face she’d probably have spent the meal destroying the glassware anyway. “Although she hasn’t, which I suppose is something.”

I’ll take a few pieces of paper over that idiot any day. Still, she’d be coming soon enough. “What does it say?”

Minerva waited until Albus and the rest of the faculty had arrived before laying the scroll on the nearest table. “Well, here it is. ‘The Position of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Associated Educational Decrees. By order of the Ministry of Magic, the school and staff of Hogwarts will submit to an examination of all classes and teaching policies by a duly appointed Ministry official to ensure that the children of the Wizarding World are being given the best education possible. This official will henceforth be referred to as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. In support of the efforts of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor to improve the quality of our children’s education, the following educational decrees have been passed and will be put into effect at Hogwarts immediately.’” She snorted. “At least there are only twenty-two of them.”

“So far,” Devon commented, leaning over to peer at a small paragraph at the bottom. “‘The Ministry reserves the right to modify and expand these decrees as necessary, as determined by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.’”

“How nice for her.” Rhiannon did not look pleased. “Look at this—educational decree twenty-two ‘In the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.’ I wonder if that’s how Umbridge got the job as DADA professor in the first place.”

“The decrees weren’t in effect then,” Albus said with a shake of his head. “I accepted her as a candidate simply because there was no one else. I wonder, though, if I had objected….” He shook his head again. “This may have been planned for quite awhile.”

Like perhaps since last year when he first began to try and discredit you? Severus couldn’t say it aloud though, any more than Albus could directly express his opinion of the Minister. They could all be obviously displeased with the decrees—and Umbridge—since none of them had any desire to be ‘overseen,’ but there was no telling who might pass along a bit of something to the Ministry. He knew the rest of the staff well enough to believe that it would be unintentional, but there were a few who didn’t always guard their tongues as closely as they should. Games inside games. Although I finally have a reason to be thankful to the Dark Lord—she’s got no reason to be ‘observing’ me. Not that he expected that would stop her, but he would have no issue claiming he was ‘recovering’ and thus unavailable.

He scanned through the rest of the decrees but didn’t see anything particularly noxious. Well, not more noxious than the existence of the decrees themselves, anyway. This one stated that the High Inquisitor was to be given the same respect as a professor, that one that said Inquisitor had the right to question the students without an adult present…. Merlin’s beard, a decree that the decrees must be posted. There’s an excellent use of parchment. They were little things, mostly, the majority of which—like the decree about posting—seemed rather stupid to put in print. Although if you start small and work up, people don’t always realize what is happening until it’s too late to object. It was how the Dark Lord had operated, at least at first, and it made him feel slightly ill. He took his leave of the group as soon as he legitimately could and made his way back to his rooms, only to find Poppy waiting for him. “Can I help you?”

“When I said you were recovering nicely, I hardly meant that you were in any state to go gallivanting off all over creation.”

“I’m fine, Poppy, it’s just been a…long day.”

“Hmph. I heard about those decrees, but I’ve been in the infirmary dealing with a few Hufflepuffs who managed to grow several extra limbs—or at least that's what they were attempting; of course what they ended up with were random bits of bone sticking out here and there with no way to tell what was supposed to be what—while trying to throw a surprise party for one of their friends.” She waved him towards the couch, motioning for him to have a seat. “I suppose they thought it would be useful to have a few extra hands and didn’t consider the fact that you'd somehow have to recreate an entire muscle and nervous system as well as skin and bone. Students never consider the consequences.” Her wand flicked in a diagnostic pattern. “As, apparently, you didn’t when you decided to go down to the Ministry. I know you’re feeling better, Severus, but you still need to be resting regularly during the day. Now, I’m going to go have some supper and see about those decrees; you need to get some rest.”

Yes, I’ll want to be bright and cheerful when the High Inquisitor arrives. He snorted and waved the door panel shut with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

“Look at this!” Minerva snapped as soon as he opened the door to his quarters in response to an insistent banging at an all-too-early hour.

Considering that she was waving her copy of the Daily Prophet decidedly violently, Severus didn’t attempt to look any closer. He didn’t need to; his own copy sat on the table in front of the couch and the headline, ‘Headmaster losing control at Hogwarts? Ministry forced to step in,’ had him more than slightly incensed as well. “I saw.”

“We all did,” Alastor said gruffly, coming up behind her with his copy of the Prophet tucked under his arm.

Severus stepped back to allow them both to enter his quarters—not that he particularly wanted to, but this was hardly a conversation to have in the corridor.

“They wrapped it up real nice and neat,” Alastor continued. “Did you read it?” He didn’t bother to wait for Severus’ response, snapping open his copy. “‘Insufficient supervision of a new, inexperienced professor led to the use of a proscribed device on a student. While the student wasn’t permanently harmed—’”

Minerva made a disgusted noise, interrupting his reading momentarily.

“‘—this last in a long line of mishaps involving the staff and student body has forced the Ministry to take an active role in the governing of the school.’ And then it goes on in some detail about the ‘series of events’ that led up to this decision.”

Severus had read through that section several times and had to admit that the paper made some good points. Or, rather, truthful points. After all, a werewolf was teaching at one point, Lockhart was so incompetent that he Obliviated himself beyond recovery, and there are certainly ‘countless acts of irresponsible behavior’ being committed on the part of students every day. Though if Fudge thinks a High Inquisitor can prevent children from acting like children he is rather more brainless than he appears. Still, the majority of the article was just rabble-rousing drivel.

“The entire article is focused against Hogwarts,” Albus said, and Severus glared when he realized that the older man had let himself in with his password rather than knocking.

When did I agree to host an early-morning Order meeting? Minus Hagrid, but he’d left for his hut rather quickly when he’d heard that Umbridge was coming back.

“They never even mention what that woman did to Harry,” Minerva said with a quick nod for the headmaster. “In fact, all they say about Umbridge is that she’s taking ‘administrative leave’ from her Ministry duties to take the position at Hogwarts. How can they just ignore what really happened?”

Gryffindors and their all-too-ideal views of the world. Actually Severus thought the fact that there was no mention of Harry, particularly after what it had been printing this past summer, was a good thing. But the fact that all it said was that a ‘proscribed device’ had been used and not even naming the culprit was…ominous. “Fudge can’t have paid them all off.”

“Malfoy and his cronies have had their fingers in the running of the Prophet for years, even if they don’t want to admit it,” Alastor said with disgust. “Too low-class and all that. Besides, the reporters have spent most of the past year supporting Fudge over Albus—you’ve seen the things they’ve been printing, especially since he was removed from the position of Supreme Mugwump. Doesn’t give them much incentive to admit that the Minister—and his senior undersecretary—suddenly screwed up. Makes them look bad.”

“Nothing sudden about it,” Severus muttered. “The man has no business trying to run a sweet stand never mind a government.” Unfortunately, while there were a few other sources of news in the Wizarding world—there had been more than one reporter in the courtroom, after all—the Daily Prophet was the only one that came out…well, daily. By the time that anything else made it to print the shock of the story would likely have worn off. Assuming, of course, that they haven’t been bought off as well.

“I’ll be speaking to several members of the Wizengamot to see if we can’t get at least her recalled, even if the position of High Inquisitor has to stand. Until then, I’m afraid we’ll just have to tolerate her.”

Far easier said than done. And Severus would be getting off easier than his colleagues since she’d have no reason to be observing him. “Any word on when she’ll be arriving?”

“Not yet. I imagine soon, now that the news is out.”

‘Soon’ came sooner than Severus would have liked…all the same, he wasn’t overly surprised to see the doors of the Great Hall swinging open as the food appeared on the tables at dinner. A combination of muttering and groaning from the students followed her as she swept down the aisle—well, Severus assumed she was attempting to sweep, it looked more she was wearing slick-soled shoes and kept losing her footing—and halted in front of the High Table to announce, “I’m here.”

The majority of those seated at the High Table stared, glared, or choked, depending on personality. Albus merely inclined his head slightly. “Won’t you join us for the meal?”

“But…don’t you think I should be introduced?”

“It’s only been a few weeks, Delores,” Minerva said dryly. “I imagine that the students remember you.”

“But I am the High Inquisitor now.”

Severus gave a pointed glance at one of the large pieces of parchment now adorning the walls. “Despite what the quality of their homework might indicate, the majority of our students can read.” They’d been speaking quietly—neither he nor any of the other professors would condone an argument or discussion in front of the students that could undermine their authority—but the snickering from the student tables at that statement made him wonder if he’d been a bit louder than he’d intended. Well, that, or…. He scanned the floor but saw no evidence of any of the Weasley twins’ eavesdropping devices that had driven Molly half-mad this summer. At least the reaction had prompted Umbridge to take her seat without further discussion.

A staff meeting was held immediately after dinner, where a smug High Inquisitor got to demand class schedules and curriculum guides from each of the professors in order to ‘make the best use of her time.’ Severus was rather glad that he wasn’t teaching just now, actually, because he’d probably have given in to the desire to throttle her. Well, maybe. That or invite her to come observe on a day my seventh years are working on something particularly volatile. She looked to be focusing on Sybil—who was, wonder of wonders, a truly incompetent professor—and she asked after Hagrid. As expected he hadn’t come up to the castle for the meal, but Albus insisted that he’d pass along her requests. Offhand Severus suspected that Devon would come under scrutiny also—the look on her face when she’d said ‘Muggle Studies’ hadn’t been particularly encouraging—and possibly Minerva as well. If Umbridge could find the courage to face her. Severus rather doubted that she would, however much the two obviously disliked each other.

“And when will I be observing you?” Umbridge asked him with a snide glance.

He raised an eyebrow. “As I’m on medical sabbatical, the only thing you could possibly observe would be myself napping. I’m sure you’ll understand if I decline.”

“But you were working with Mr. Potter on an individual basis, were you not? If you’re doing individualized tutoring, that’s certainly something to report.”

Damn. They should have said that he’d discovered the scars while Harry had detention with him or something. He technically still should after following me into the Forbidden Forest. If—more like when, even Umbridge wasn’t that unobservant—she discovered that Harry was the only one he was giving private tutoring to it was going to lead to some questions he had no desire to answer.

“I asked him to help the boy when they were both here while Hogwarts was closed,” Minerva cut in. “There was very little else going on then, and as it’s one of the few subjects where Harry struggles….” She shrugged slightly.

“We hadn’t finished the curriculum I set out when I was injured,” Severus took over, “and I saw no reason not to continue the lessons once I had healed enough. In addition he does some work for me—he still has a few of my detentions to finish off as well.” Which was, if she checked with the other students, no doubt what they would say Harry was doing coming down to his quarters. All is clear in hindsight, I suppose, but we really should have said detention as opposed to tutoring.

“Then I’m sure we can arrange a time for me to observe.”

“We’ll be starting illusion charms tomorrow with my second years,” a new cut in before Severus could do more than open his mouth. “It’s a new section, so you might be interested in starting there.

Filius. Always the peacemaker. Probably just as well; Severus hadn’t been too certain just what had been going to come out of his mouth in response to that condescending tone. Most probably a hex of some sort. But the distraction had worked on Umbridge, at least.

///////////

Severus got to dinner early—in the week since Umbridge had gotten back to the school almost all of the other professors had gotten into the habit just so they could select seats away from her—and dropped into the chair beside Alastor with much less disgust than he would have seven days go. Lunacy is more tolerable than idiocy. Besides which, Alastor wouldn’t expect him to carry on a conversation or lecture him at great length about subjects that he knew nothing about. Or pester me for an ‘observation’ time. Students began to file in as well, and he caught Draco looking in his direction with an unidentifiable expression. He didn’t spend much time in the halls since he wasn’t teaching—he wasn’t particularly interested in giving anyone a free opportunity to curse him—but more than once during meals and such he’d caught the same expression in the boy’s eyes. He’d tried Legilimency, but someone had given the boy an Occlumency lesson or two over the summer…it wouldn’t take much to break his shields, but if he did that Draco would know immediately. Severus wasn’t quite that curious. Yet. Much more of this, and….

A glance at the Gryffindor table showed Harry deep in conversation with the other two members of the trio and a few of the other older Gryffindors. Something was on the table in front of them…a paper, it looked like. It was probably the Quibbler; it had come out this morning and unlike the Prophet had printed a factual accounting of what had happened in that courtroom a week ago. Sandwiched between an article about a wizard who supposedly flew to the moon on a broom and an advertisement for charms to protect their wearers from crumple-horned snorkacks—whatever they are—but that’s the Quibbler for you. And it does have some readership. Now if a few more publications would follow that lead, there might be enough public outcry to get rid of her.

Neither Hagrid nor Sybil came to dinner, but that wasn’t a surprise. He’d seen the half-giant at the castle exactly once since Umbridge had arrived…it was possible that he was simply spending more time with his giant-friend, but Severus wouldn’t have cared to bet on it. Sybil was definitely avoiding Umbridge; something about probation. The constant sniffling they last time he’d been within earshot of her complaints had gotten on his nerves so he’d tuned her out fairly quickly.

Poppy was sitting on his opposite side, but Devon had apparently gotten yet another letter about his niece and was holding her forcibly in conversation. It served Severus well enough, and with Devon’s chattering he almost couldn’t hear Umbridge’s near-constant clearing of throat as she listened to the conversation between Minerva and Rolanda towards the other end of the table. The first time he’d heard her doing it he’d assumed she had some sort of allergy, but he’d come to realize that it was just a part of her oh-so-charming personality. He’d certainly never wished for a simple ‘excuse me’ before.

“Severus, a moment,” Poppy said, standing as well when he got up to leave the table.

“Yes?”

She indicated for him to walk with her, waiting until they were clear of the Great Hall before beginning to speak again. “I’ve been in contact with the healers at St. Mungos, and they all agree that at this stage your arm should be healed enough by the week after next to get you one of the pros-thesees if you’re still interested.”

“I am,” he confirmed immediately. “But I thought—”

“I didn’t say you would be healed,” she said firmly. “You certainly don’t need to go gallivanting off all over the Wizarding world, which I believe I’ve mentioned before. I said your arm would be healed enough. Have you given any more thought to which one you would like?”

“The clamp seems the most useful.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said with a firm nod. “Now, we’ll be getting one from the muggle world, so—”

“You aren’t planning to use their medical…techniques…correct?” Severus interrupted quickly.

“Of course not! Cutting open your arm, stititches—what a repulsive idea! We’ll be using magic to attach it and establish the connections to your muscles, although it may take a few tries to get it to work correctly. I also understand that there will be a period of adjustment when your muscles learn to adapt to their new function so I wouldn’t make any major plans for a fortnight or so after we do the work.”

“Will you be doing it here, or…?”

“St. Mungos, since they have a healer who has actually performed similar procedures.”

He nodded slightly.

“Well, then, I’ll go floo call them and tell them to order the part. Have a good night.”

Severus gave another nod but was still slightly in shock. He’d planned to get a prosthetic for his arm, of course, but it had always been ‘in the future.’ Now the future was in approximately two weeks, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt.

He took a short nap before Harry’s Occlumency lesson, awakening just before the boy was to arrive.

“Hello, Professor.”

“Hello, Harry,” he returned. “Have you been practicing?”

The boy shifted slightly. “I’ve been trying, but I don’t think it’s been working.”

“Explain.”

Harry took his usual seat. “I have been practicing Occlumency, but I can’t make anything move even when I try.”

To be fair, practicing wasn’t quite the same thing as using it when your mind was being invaded. Not that that made Severus feel any better. “I suppose we’ll see, then.” He frowned for a moment and then hovered a blanket onto the floor and indicated for the boy to take a seat.

“Professor?”

“It’s a much shorter distance for me to fall.” He lowered himself to sit on the opposite side of the blanket, ignoring the twinge in his muscles as he did so. Still not quite recovered. He also cast several cushioning charms behind him before returning his attention to Harry. “Clear your mind.”

“Ready.”

Attic, attic, attic, small and cramped space with something overhead making an awful din…. He had time to identify the closet Harry had been kept in before his back impacted the bookshelf. A few volumes clattered to the floor around him. I suppose I should be thankful that the whole thing didn’t fall on my head.

“Sorry, Professor.”

“At least you managed an Occlumency shield. Trade places with me.” He’d rather not give the shelves a second chance to fall.

An hour—and four more technically-successful-but-unpleasant-for-the-recipient Occlumency shields later—Severus called a halt to the lesson. “Enough. Ignoring the physical aspect of your…technique…you’re doing quite well. Tell me, you mentioned back in the jungle that you could sometimes feel how the Dark Lord was feeling, and you obviously saw what happened to me; has anything similar happened recently?”

Harry shook his head. “Sometimes I feel weird things at night, but nothing clear. I don’t know if he just hasn’t been angry lately or I’m getting better at clearing my mind.”

Severus strongly suspected the latter, but contented himself with simply nodding. “Continue to do so before you sleep, then. And obviously if you do see something, let someone know.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good night.”

///////////

Albus nodded, and Severus stood to go. Albus had made some time this morning to talk about Harry’s Occlumency lessons—there was another one tonight—and Severus had been hoping the older man would have some ideas about how to work through the wandless magic problem. The boy was technically progressing, but Severus would much prefer not to find himself sprawled out on the floor every ten minutes. Unfortunately, Albus had never encountered anything of the sort and just didn’t have the time to take a try with the boy himself, which meant…well, Severus would keep doing the best he could.

Things at the Ministry weren’t going as well as they might have hoped—while another paper published yesterday had reported the same series of events as the Quibbler had the day before the public wasn’t as outraged as they could have been. Part of it might have had to do with the sources of the information—neither paper was the most reputable—but Albus had summed it up best when the topic had come up: ‘They’re all too old.’ Neatly ignoring his own advanced years, but unfortunately it seemed to be true. Blood quills hadn’t been dark devices for quite as long as Severus had thought; it had only been five years before he’d started at Hogwarts that they’d been given that assignation. Which meant that a large majority of the adult Wizarding population—and wizards could live quite long lives—had known them as acceptable punishment devices at some point in their lives. This meant that the general consensus, particularly among purebloods, seemed to be, ‘They were used on me when I was a child and I turned out all right so there’s no reason to make such a fuss.’ Idiots. Especially since for many of them ‘all right’ was entirely relative in Severus’ opinion. The muggle-born parents and many of those who’d attended Hogwarts after the declaration had been made weren’t quite as sanguine about having Umbridge assigned to the school—in fact several Howlers on the subject had been received by the Ministry—but they weren’t as numerous as those who accepted what had happened, and so far Fudge didn’t seem to be paying them a great deal of attention. Of course, the majority of those parents aren’t particularly rich, either, Severus couldn’t help noticing.

He was two steps from the door when it burst open suddenly and Umbridge stalked in. “You have to do something about him!”

Severus exchanged glances with Albus, and both shifted to regard her evenly.

“Well?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, Delores, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

And somehow Albus actually managed to sound regretful. Severus knew he couldn’t have done it.

“That man!”

Well, that rules out Harry and the Weasley twins. They’d been his primary suspects, and he considered of who else she might have been speaking. If it had been one of the ghosts—say, Peeves—she’d have said ‘ghost’ not ‘man.’ I’m not sure Filius could get someone that upset if he tried, and as I’m standing right here it’s unlikely that she’s referring to me. Hagrid? Possible but unlikely considering the extents he’s going to in order to avoid her. Devon’s pictures are driving me insane, but it’s hardly something to go complaining to the headmaster about. And she and Filch seem to be two of a kind. Which leaves…ah. Alastor. Yes. Severus had no doubt that Albus had run through a similar process of elimination, but his expression didn’t shift.

“We have several male professors on staff,” Albus said. “I’m not sure—”

“Moody! He keeps watching me with that eye of his, and he lurks in the corridors outside my rooms!”

“Delores, his rooms are just down the hall from yours, and he watches everyone. It’s just his personality.”

His paranoia, more accurately, but true enough. Considering that it was already known that she’d used a dark device—and was an officious Ministry toad—he had no doubt that Alastor was keeping a close eye on her. Albus must have been even more annoyed about the situation at the Ministry than he let on to put their quarters so close together.

“Well, then, I insist that you move my rooms!”

“Certainly,” Albus said after a moment. “Why don’t we go see what the house elves can make available?”

If you even think about putting her anywhere near my dungeons you will regret it, Severus thought, half-glaring at Albus as he held the door for the two of them to pass him.

He didn’t think a great deal more about the incident until dinner, when he walked in to see Umbridge very deliberately taking the furthest seat possible from Alastor. Hm. The situation had…possibilities. And he was getting rather bored, neither teaching nor being capable of experimenting. The meal passed quickly, and he caught up with her as she exited the Hall. “You mentioned—” repeatedly and obnoxiously—“that you wish to observe one of Mr. Potter’s tutoring sessions. We will be meeting at 8:30 this evening.”

“That’s not particularly convenient f—”

“That is when we meet,” Severus interrupted. “In the potions’ classroom. If you choose not to attend, that is, of course, your decision.” There was certainly no need for her to be there, but since he planned to make it an actual potions lesson it would hopefully satisfy her curiosity. Now he just needed to stop by the classroom and make sure that everything was in stock….

Harry was waiting inside his quarters when he returned—he never had gotten around to revoking the boy’s temporary password—and he nodded a greeting. The Schisandra in the potions classroom hadn’t been well dried and in fact had showed signs of mold, and he’d had to spend quite a bit of time digging through his stores to find a better jar. Not an ingredient that gets a lot of use, I suppose.

“Hello, Professor,” Harry said. “I was starting to think you might have cancelled lessons today and I just didn’t get the message.”

“I had an errand to complete that took a bit longer than expected.” It was still a full half-hour before he’d told Umbridge the lesson was to start; he had a bit of time to explain what was going to happen. “Come, we’ll be having our session in the potions’ classroom today.”

“What? Why?”

“Umbridge wishes to observe my tutoring abilities; therefore for the next hour we will be having a remedial potions lesson.”

Harry made a face. “Great.”

Severus smirked at his tone, although he did become serious again fairly quickly. “Have there been any other…incidents…between the two of you?”

Harry shrugged. “I only really see her when she’s observing my classes, and it’s not like she can give me detentions for ignoring her then. The rest of the time I avoid her—the Fat Lady won’t let her into the Gryffindor common room, and there are a couple other places she doesn’t know about.”

Severus wondered for a moment if one of the other places was the Chamber of Secrets and then decided abruptly that he would rather not know. It wasn’t as if there was anything left down there to hurt the boy, and it was one place where that woman certainly wouldn’t find him.

“Do you have anything planned for me to make?” Harry asked. “We’re working on the Draught of Peace in class.”

Severus’ jaw tightened a bit as he remembered his last attempt to brew that particular potion, but he simply shook his head. “I have something a bit different in mind.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain in more detail as soon as Umbridge joins us, however I must caution you that however useful—and simple—this potion may seem to be, I do not want you to attempt it on your own. There are some…unfortunate…side effects. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you feel the urge to talk about this lesson with your little friends, make sure to pass that information on to Miss Granger specifically.” She would certainly be the one to try it.

“I…okay,” Harry agreed after a moment, looking a bit nonplussed. “But why are we making it, then?”

“Because you need the practice with potions, and it’s of a particular family that should you make a mistake in the brewing it’s unlikely to kill us even if I can’t intervene in time.” And I need another hand to make it myself, thanks to the timing required. Whatever work it took to become accustomed to the clamp attachment, it would be well worth it. He could hold off on the brewing, of course, but he didn’t particularly want to wait. Not to mention that after this that woman shouldn’t have cause to bother me about observing.

‘That woman’ barged in as Severus finished writing out the ingredients and instructions on the board and seemed more than slightly nonplussed to find Harry already there. No doubt she’d been hoping he’d turn up late. “I’m here to observe.”

“I did assume that, thank you. Now, Mr. Potter, today we will be working on the Memory Magnification draught. As the name indicates, it was designed to increase a person’s mental capacity.”

“Hm-hm.”

He raised an eyebrow as Umbridge cleared her throat.

“I don’t recall reading about this potion in—”

“No, I don’t imagine you did.” He doubted she’d done more than page through the index for any of the subjects taught.

“Perhaps you should remain on the set curriculum that—”

“As you once pointed out, professors are free to choose their curriculum.” If he chose for Harry to brew something that had been one of his personal experiments back when he’d been worried about OWLs, he was perfectly free to do so. “I believe it was mentioned that this is a remedial potions class? It stands to reason that selecting particular assignments outside the normal scope of the class to emphasize certain skills is a reasonable approach.” Of course, Umbridge wasn’t precisely a reasonable person, but…. “Mr. Potter, if you would begin collecting your ingredients?”

The time passed relatively easily. Harry refrained from making any particularly egregious errors in the potion, and every time Umbridge cleared her throat he started drilling the boy about particular potions and their components until she gave up. She was an interesting shade of red by the time Harry made the last counter-clockwise stir.

“It’s done, Professor.”

“You know the procedure; bottle a sample.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry looked at him for a moment and then selected the largest vial available—once again being not quite as dense as he acted—and filled it neatly before cleaning out the cauldron.

Severus considered the liquid. Milky-pink, a bit more opaque than he’d have made it, but it would serve. “Hm. You added the shredded sage a bit too quickly, but I suppose it is acceptable. You may go.” Umbridge seemed torn between staying to question Severus and going after Harry…by the time she decided and stepped out the door Severus had no doubt that the boy was long gone. He checked one last time that all of the ingredient jars had been returned to their proper locations and tucked the vial of potion into his robes. People remembered the pranks the Marauders had played, remembered that he’d often been a target, but they generally forgot that he’d very nearly matched them prank for prank and curse for curse despite it being four on one. Well… three and a half on one, Pettigrew never really counted for much.

Severus stepped into the Great Hall for dinner, realizing that this plan of his had a downside that should have been obvious. In order to dose the woman, he’d have to sit within arms’ reach of her food. Which basically meant next to her. Perhaps a variant that could be absorbed through the skin, then I could simply spill some on her belongings…. Too late for that now, though, he had a dropper filled with liquid to be dispensed tucked in his sleeve. With a sigh he took the seat to Umbridge’s left. The sacrifices I make. A perfect opportunity presented itself when she—forcibly—engaged Pomona in conversation, and ignoring his manners he reached across her plate for the platter of carrots. With the dropper hidden in his palm it was simple enough to land three drops in her beans as he did so.

He couldn’t remember the precise onset time for the potion’s most dramatic side effect, but since he watched her clean her plate he wasn’t particularly worried when she left the Hall without showing any ill effects. Alastor followed almost immediately after, and for a moment Severus seriously considered trying to get a few drops into his flask. For research purposes, of course. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, considering what Alastor would do to him if he ever found out—he couldn’t come up with any feasible plan to accomplish it. Besides, he’s paranoid enough as it is. Merlin knows what he’d be like if I made it worse.

Severus had first invented the potion when he was studying for his OWLs…like everyone else he’d slept through History of Magic, and he had never been a particularly stellar Transfiguration student either. With his grandparents being less than sympathetic, it had seemed quite reasonable to use what he was good at to give him an advantage in the other subjects. Looking back, it was fairly obvious that he’d been concentrating too much on the individual ingredients when he’d been putting the potion together rather than researching their interactions as much as he should have, but at the time he’d thought himself quite clever. Until the fourth or fifth day after he’d begun taking it—three drops and breakfast, three at dinner, and an extra when he was revising something that he thought particularly important—when he blasted a toad belonging to one of his roommates out the library window when it had jumped on one of his books. Another quick-thinking student had levitated the thing safely back into the room before any permanent damage had been done, but Stephen had had a fit, and Severus had spent several detentions considering his actions. As it turned out, the potion didn’t do a great deal for a person’s memory—his transfiguration grade had certainly reflected that—but it wreaked absolute havoc on the nerves. Fortunately the effects were temporary, wearing off between one and three days after a person stopped taking it, but while a person was dosed….

He smiled slightly. He didn’t particularly like discussing his failures, and while he’d done a little more work with the potion just to find out why it had gotten the results it had he’d never shared them with anyone. Even if a diagnostic spell revealed something unusual there was no way to trace it back to him. Unless he was caught dosing her, of course, but Umbridge’s powers of observation were hardly anything to comment upon.

He arrived late to breakfast the next morning, effectively forcing himself to take a seat next to her. No need to be seen doing it deliberately two days in a row, after all—in fact he probably wasn’t going to be able to give her the potion regularly without someone noticing something was a little odd. Still, with Alastor following her around and Peeves and the students being less than cooperative, sporadic dosing might actually be quite effective. This time the drops went into her juice, and he was almost positive that she scanned the room a bit nervously before she stood.

With far more time on his hands—hand—than he knew what to do with and a growing dissatisfaction with spending entire days alternately reading and napping, Severus dug out a piece of parchment and decided to plan out his dosing schedule. He’d been correct in thinking that there was no way he could sit next to her every day…aside from the fact that it would be obvious that something was up, he’d been through enough torture recently. This would be easier if I knew who she was observing when. Minerva will have my hide if she finds out I’m the cause of a ruckus in her classroom—that he knew from several experiences as a student, and although he certainly didn’t plan to get caught it wasn’t something he cared to chance—and I’m not sure I want her losing it in the potions’ classroom. Not that he’d be particularly sorry if she got herself killed, but he’d spent quite a bit of time getting things arranged the way he liked them. Care of Magical Creatures…hm. Perhaps not, it’s one thing if she gets eaten, but Albus will be annoyed if a class of students is consumed with her.

He tapped the parchment lightly. Large doses before Sybil’s class; it’s not like it can do any harm. Filius’ too, he’ll no doubt find anything she does amusing, and it isn’t as though she’s likely to do something that he can’t handle. As for the others…. He doubted even Umbridge would manage more than one session in History of Magic, and from a few of Rhiannon’s comments she’d gotten a dizzy look on her face ten minutes into her first observation of Arithmancy and hadn’t been back since. Therefore neither of those was an issue. Who does that leave? Bathsheba won’t notice, but both Rolanda and Devon would probably love the chance to harass her. He smirked at vision of Umbridge shrieking and leaping off the tower in the Astronomy tower in the dead of night. Definitely a high dosage for Sinstra’s class. Herbology is fairly neutral, I suppose, but DADA…. He chuckled. I really need to get a copy of that schedule. Perhaps Albus has one.

The headmaster was out—no surprise there—and, unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any schedules lying around anywhere.

“Severus? Was there something you needed?”

“Hello, Minerva. I was just looking for Albus, actually.”

“He’s back at the Ministry. Madam Marchbanks and Tiberius—Ogden—resigned their positions on the Wizengamot in protest of Umbridge’s appointment. Which was noble of them, but….”

“Hardly what we need right now,” Severus agreed with a sigh. “Perhaps they are getting a bit senile; we need as many people as possible on our side on the Wizengamot, not watching from the sidelines. Is there any word on who is going to be appointed in their places?”

“Not that I’ve heard, but I shudder to think of some of the candidates that Fudge is likely lobbying for.”

“Agreed.” He frowned. “If you knew Albus was gone, what are you doing up here?”

“Looking for the master grade book. Umbridge wants to ‘review’ it.”

“Ah.” The teachers each had their own individual books, but major grades—tests and such—were recorded in the master as well. “Tell me, do you know where a copy of her observational schedule might be?”

“Umbridge’s?”

“Unless there’s another observer wandering the school that I’m unaware of.” In which case I may be the one that leaps off the Astronomy tower.

She frowned for a moment and then obviously decided that she didn’t really want to know. “I think Albus put a copy in the desk.”

“Thank you.”

Minerva shook her head and lifted the book. “See you at dinner.”

///////////

Severus’ head jerked up at a shriek, and a moment later Umbridge came pelting down the corridor with chandelier after chandelier crashing down in her wake. Peeves cackled madly overhead, spiraling up and through the ceiling when he finally ran out of chandeliers to drop.

Umbridge came to a halt, alternately panting and choking threats in the direction he’d gone.

“Suppose he must have loosened them earlier,” Devon observed, kneeling to examine the shards.

A flash of something crossed Minerva’s face as she made her down the corridor towards them, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Severus decided that he didn’t really want to know. From her reaction Umberidge was going to miss yet another meal in the Great Hall, though…he was going to have to come up with some way to get her another dose in the next meal or two or it was going to start wearing off. In just over a week he was going to be going to St. Mungos so she was definitely going to recover then, of course, but he’d been perfectly aware that would happen before he’d started this. Although things are going quite well...well enough, in fact, that I'm not sure I care to give her too much time to consider her situation. Perhaps I could enlist a house elf. He spent most of the meal ignoring Sybil’s whining—she was apparently still on probation—and debating the feasibility of that option. The creatures were just so bloody accommodating; if Umbridge asked what she was eating they would no doubt tell her everything they knew. Of course, he could lie—he would lie, if it came to that—and tell them that it was something innocuous, but with his luck they’d probably then decide to serve it to the whole school. And I wouldn’t even be around to enjoy the effect.

“Severus?” Rhiannon asked, interrupting his musings. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, thank you.” He glanced down at his plate, realizing that he’d barely eaten anything, and made an effort to at least finish off his vegetables. Poppy had already been on his case once this week about not taking proper care of himself. His fork missed the cabbage the first time, but he did his best to ignore it—he’d gotten accustomed to moving about with only one eye, but over short distances it still gave him enough trouble that he was seriously considering going looking for a magical replacement. Not just now, obviously, but at some point in the future…well, it was a definite option.

As soon as the meal was finished, he made his way to his quarters. Not that there was anything in particular to do there, but…he frowned at a square of parchment on his table that hadn’t been there when he’d left. An Order meeting—and I’m invited? He’d more than half-suspected that he’d be left out of the majority of their doings since his position as a spy had been revealed. Not that they won’t still use me when it’s convenient, of course, but…. It wasn’t an Occlumency day for Harry so he spent the time before the meeting straightening his quarters and then began the trek back upstairs to the floo. A flash out of the corner of his eye just before he reached the main floor caught his attention, but whoever or whatever it had been disappeared into his blind spot almost immediately. He could have gone after it, of course, but he wasn’t about to let himself be lured into an ambush. Half-invoking a shield, he continued towards the study at a slightly faster pace. Perhaps I should look into that eye sooner rather than later. That he was being watched wasn’t a particular, surprise, no doubt several of the students with Deatheater parents had orders to keep an eye on him, but that didn’t mean that he had to like the situation. Especially after what had already been attempted. I could move out of the dungeons I suppose, but I refuse to let that creature and his minions take away my home. Besides which, it would have very little effect.

He arrived at Grimmauld Place at the same time as several of the Order members, most of whom displayed various levels of shock at his new appearance. It was almost amusing at first, although it became considerably less so when he caught the mutt staring. I didn’t even know he was back in the country. The werewolf didn’t seem to be around, but then the full moon was tomorrow night so he likely wasn’t feeling well. Another man, one he didn’t recognize, sat beside Black, talking quietly to Albus.

“Everyone,” Albus began after the dozen or so Order members who’d just arrived took seats, “I’d like to introduce you to one of Sirius’ and Remus’ contacts in Spain. This is Mr. Aleksander Nazarov. He is on the board of the International Association of Quidditch and has just been transferred to the British offices.” Albus made the rounds of the rest of the table, introducing the Order members present.

A former professional Quidditch player—he had to be if he was on the board—who knows the mutt and the werewolf. I’m not sure if I could come up with a less convincing set of qualifications if I tried. He considered for a moment. Well, there’s always Fudge, I suppose.

“It is pleasure to meet you,” Nazarov said formally.

And with that accent and phrasing—not to mention the name— if he’s Spanish, I’ll be claiming my Egyptian heritage any day now. Severus studied the man a bit closer. He was older than he looked at first glance, the lack of hair disguising the fact that it had no doubt gone all to grey and weather-beaten skin hiding the age lines.

“Most of you are aware by now that Severus’ position was revealed. However, what you may not be aware of is that we have another potential spy in the ranks. We’ve had to be careful what use we’ve made of her up until this point since she has no Occlumency skills to speak of. We’ve been using Imperius to control her memories of our meetings, but obviously that’s not an ideal situation—”

Nor is it one that will continue to work for long, particularly if you want her to infiltrate the inner circle.

“—and having Severus tutor her would not be a wise idea at this point.”

‘Not a wise idea’ was putting it mildly. Even if he could disregard the fact that she was most likely the one who’d taken his eye—and he wasn’t entirely certain that he could—if the creature looked into her mind and saw any hint of contact with the traitor she would be dead as well. Unless, of course, this is all a setup on his part to put the two of us in that exact position, thereby giving her an opportunity to do away with me once and for all. Not a pleasant thought, but it wasn’t something to disregard offhand either.

“Mr. Nazarov is a skilled Occlumens and has indicated that he would be willing to teach her,” Albus continued. “Severus, you know better than I what she will be facing….”

So that’s why he was here, to evaluate their newest member’s abilities. Fair enough, although I daresay Albus is just as capable. With years of practice, Severus invoked Legilimency with neither wand nor word as the man met his eyes. And encountered an Occlumency shield fully as strong as any he’d ever been able to manage. Hm. Rather impressive. There was pressure on his own shield suddenly, and he reinforced as necessary.

When the pressure ceased, he drew his wand and threw the strongest probe he was capable of—this time with both wand and voice. The shields held. His own were treated to a similar bombardment a moment later.

The rest of the Order members were muttering in the background, but Severus ignored them. It’s not as though I haven’t had plenty of practice at that “And if I was through your shields?”

“Please.”

This time when Severus invoked the spell he met no resistance. In fact, he met nothing at all, finding himself caught in a blizzard so thick that he doubted he’d see his hand in front of his face—if he was capable of holding his hand in front of his face in this situation, that is. He pulled back out.

“Light Siberian snowfall,” Nazarov said with a half-smile.

“Thought you were from Spain,” Alastor growled suddenly.

“I was born in Novosibirsk, but now I am Spanish citizen.”

“Hmph.”

“And you played Quidditch?” Tonks asked.

“Eleven years chasing for Siberian Salamanders, eight for Madrid Manticores.”

Nineteen years was quite a career in the life of a Quidditch player, Severus considered, particularly with the types of injuries the players often sustained. Beaters and seekers tended to have the shortest job spans, but chasers didn’t get off so lightly either.

“I’d never considered Quidditch an occupation that required Occlumency,” Minerva observed. Her manner might be far less challenging than Alastor’s, but her tone was just as pointed.

“Try to serve on committee without it,” Nazarov said with a flick of his fingers. “Will go mad with reporters and officials and such messing about in your mind.”

That wasn’t actually an answer to the question she hadn’t actually asked—where he’d learned it—but there wasn’t anything that seemed deliberately ‘wrong’ about him to Severus. Of course, there are plenty of people who seem perfectly normal on the surface that are anything but. He was surprised that this questioning wasn’t being carried out under Veritaserum, actually, new Order members were always…a roar from the floo caught his attention, and Kingsley stepped out with a vial of the truth serum. “Sorry I’m late, got held up at the Ministry.”

“That’s fine,” Albus assured him.

Nazarov took the potion willingly enough—or at least as willingly as anyone takes Veritaserum—and Severus did his best not to hear the true interrogation that followed. There wasn’t much more being said than the man had already offered, and the questions were coming relatively gently, but his own interrogation once upon a time had been absolutely brutal. He hadn’t been much more than a child, alternately terrified and borderline-hopeless when he realized just how deeply he’d gotten himself involved in the Dark Lord’s machinations, and none of the ones who’d questioned him had been particularly kind. He done his best to give as good as he’d gotten—and his best was usually quite good although the Veritaserum had made him clumsier than usual—but he still didn’t care for anything that called up memories of that day. He had no intention of being around when the girl’s Occlumency shields were considered good enough that she could be brought in for a similar session. Although it did clear up where Nazarov’s own skills with Occlumency had come from—he’d been avoiding the wizard hunters that had combed Communist Russia once upon a time, before his family had fled to Spain. His discomfort discussing that situation was quite obvious. There’s nothing dark there, Severus had the urge to snarl at the Order members who pressed the point. We all have our secrets to keep. When asked, he confirmed the man’s Occlumency skills and took the opportunity to go back to Hogwarts and away from the scene.

///////////

Harry very nearly bounced through the door to Severus’ quarters, grinning broadly.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry ignored the even greeting. “You should have seen it, Professor, Umbridge went stark raving mad in Divination today, and she just about lost it again in the Great Hall.”

“I beg your pardon?” He’d left the meal a bit early to see if he’d received any post…since Nazarov was a fairly experienced Occlumens, Severus had sent off ‘theoretical’ question the day after the Order meeting about dealing with wandless magic in conjunction with Occlumency shields. It had been three days, but so far there had been no response.

“We’ve been crystal-gazing again—which is good because I’ve run out of things to pretend I dreamed about—and Umbridge picked up Lavender’s crystal and started to say something about the quality of our supplies when the mist got sort of greenish instead of pink like it had been. Professor Trelawny did one of her little gasps and then started saying all this stuff about darkness and danger and—”

“I am aware of her particular idiosyncrasies.” He was far more interested in Umbridge’s reaction.

“Well, Umbridge turned an interesting shade of red and started asking all these questions about what kind of danger and where it was coming from and all this other stuff like she didn’t even know that it wasn’t real, and when Trelawny said it was coming ‘soon’ she squealed, dropped the crystal—right on Lavender’s foot—and ran out of the classroom in tears. And then after the meal Professor Trelawny tried to talk to her again, and she started to yell about how no one would ever catch her. Of course then Professor Moody yelled ‘constant vigilance’ at her from about two feet behind her and she ran away again.”

Perhaps six drops in her porridge this morning was a bit much. Still, he’d be leaving for St. Mungos soon enough and since he’d come up with no viable alternatives to letting her recover he’d thought it best to dose her up as much as he could before he left. Poppy had spoken to him again and it seemed that he’d be able to do some of the therapy here rather than spending so long in the hospital, but…well, Severus doubted he’d be leaving his rooms too often until he’d mastered the clamp prosthesis.

“She’s been acting kind of weird all week, actually.”

He raised an eyebrow but kept his expression deadpan. “How could you tell?”

Harry snickered and dropped down onto the blanket that Severus waved to the floor. “For some reason she won’t even come up to the Astronomy tower anymore, and two days ago when Professor Binns was talking about the Goblin revolt of…well, whenever there was a goblin revolt…she kept looking around like she expected one to attack her from behind. The whole class stayed awake just watching her.”

Personally, Severus was actually impressed that she’d continued going to the History of Magic classes. I’d have thought the time she spent in those as a child would have been enough for one lifetime. “She hasn’t been bothering you any more, then?”

“She’s had other stuff to worry about. Peeves, for one, and—” he broke off. “Well, other stuff.”

Inferring from that that the trio—and likely the Weasley twins and other assorted Gryffindors—had plots of their own against her, Severus declined to comment. “Then I suppose our lesson is unlikely to be interrupted.” He lowered himself to the floor as well. “Clear your mind. Legilimens.”

He was flat on his back not long after the words were out of his mouth, and he glared at Harry as he sat up. “Was that necessary?”

“I’m sorry, Professor, I’m trying! Really!”

Which seemed to be true enough, Severus had to acknowledge, but that didn’t make his life any easier. The next time he entered Harry’s mind he did it silently and with no flick of his wand to give away his intentions. He found himself in a room he didn’t recognize, helping an Asian girl—Chang, Ravenclaw, tolerable enough student although decidedly…emotional—with wand motions. There were other students around, and—

“Hey!”

Once again he was flat on his back, and he added a bit more to the cushioning charm as he sat back up.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to do that,” Harry said indignantly.

“Are you expecting an owl from the Dark Lord when he realizes that he can access your thoughts?”

The boy flushed and then glared at him again. “But you’re not V—you-know-who.”

Severus glared in return and then said in an as even a voice as he could manage, “No, but in case you’ve forgotten, the point of these exercises is to teach you to protect yourself from him. You have to be aware of yourself—of your mind—at all times.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and signs of the rebellious brat Severus had become accustomed to dealing with over the years flashed through his eyes. “Why? It’s not like there’s anything special about me for him to discover except the whole boy-who-lived thing, and since I barely even remember that day it’s a pretty stupid thing to focus on.”

“There is the small detail that you are able to connect to his mind,” Severus said pointedly. “Hence these lessons in the first place.” Not to mention a certain other…factor. Which he certainly didn’t plan to be the one to tell the boy about.

“Well, I don’t want to have to watch myself all the time. Everyone keeps telling me that I’m only fifteen, I’m not supposed to worry about all the things that are happening—I’m not even allowed to worry about it—and now you’re telling me I have—”

“Do you want a listing of all the things I don’t want?” he snapped, temper fraying. A missing arm, for one, an eye for another. Bones and joints that are never going to heal quite right. A life that will be consistently in danger until this war is over and every Deatheater is captured—and even that is no guarantee. And it’s a life that hasn’t even been mine since I was seventeen bloody years old and too stupid to know when to run away! He would have gotten to his feet, but getting up and down still wasn’t as easy as it should have been. “I have neither the inclination nor the patience to deal with this just now. You are here to learn Occlumency, and I am here to teach it as I see fit. For the rest of this hour you will shield your mind from me and eject me when I have penetrated said shields. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Professor.”

It wasn’t—quite—a snarl, but it wasn’t far from it either, and by the time the lesson ended Severus had a rather unpleasant headache. Harry wasn’t particularly good at detecting subtle Legilimens, but given that the two of them were staring at each other there was a limited amount Severus could do to hide his attempts. And he more than half-suspected that Harry wasn’t even trying to hold back the wandless magic that accompanied his peculiar brand of Occlumency—he’d actually ended the lesson a bit early before he could lose complete control of his temper and respond in kind. He might not have been able to deal such a powerful shove, at least not wandlessly, but then the brat was considerably lighter than himself. Better to remove the temptation.

When his headache still hadn’t abated by the next morning, he skipped breakfast in the Great Hall in favor of a tray from the house-elves and decided that a day relaxing in bed wasn’t entirely out of order at this point. Unfortunately, before he could get more than a chapter into the journal that had arrived the morning before, a knock at the door interrupted him. Let it be someone I can hex. “Enter.”

“Severus, there you are.”

“I’m resting,” he said, before the mediwitch could start on one of her tirades about taking better care of himself. “And I’ve already eaten.”

“Yes, well, if you’re ready, they’re waiting for us at St. Mungos.”

“What? Already? But I thought—” He was supposed to have several more days before they'd do the procedure.

“It seems the clamp came in early, and the mediwitch with the experience is free this morning, so if you can get ready quickly…unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“I….” He shook his head. “No, I haven’t changed my mind.” He wanted to be able to work again, he wanted to get back to his life again, but…. Another, more vicious shake. His arm was gone, this was the best he was going to get. “Give me a moment.”

“I’ll meet you by the floo,” she said with a nod.

Severus didn’t have much to get ready, just a few changes of clothes and a couple books. He scrawled a note to Harry that he would be having lessons with Albus and a note to Albus that the boy would be expecting lessons, adding adressee's-eyes-only charms to both as an afterthought, and then debated adding a line to Albus’ about the boy being in some kind of snit. After a moment’s reflection he decided that he wasn’t feeling that charitable this morning. As an afterthought a third note went to Minerva letting her know he was leaving for some unspecified amount of time since she was acting as headmistress while Albus was dealing with the Ministry. Harry and Minerva’s letters went to house-elves to deliver; Albus’ required a short detour to get an owl since it was nearly impossible to tell where he’d be at any given time and the bird would keep trying until it succeeded; and then he joined Poppy at the floo.

Severus glared down at the clamp attached to the end of a short rod. The rod itself was rooted in a cup attached to his elbow and with the hinge attachment had some limited bending capability, but because of the lack of nerves it was far shorter than his arm had been. One of the mediwitches had told him that he could have it extended at a later date as the magic that tied it into his remaining nerves gave him a sense of ‘feeling’ down it, but for now they’d insisted that there was too great a danger of him knocking things about to use anything but a short rod. The clamp on the end of it was fairly simple, curved pincers that were capable of gripping and lifting. His current therapy involved developing that sense of ‘feeling’ in said pincers—as well as developing the actual muscles that were controlling them—and was not going particularly well. Apparently there was supposed to be some sort of elecktrical contraption that helped with the motions for muggles, but they were using magic in its place. The said it was attached correctly….

He snarled as the stick he’d been trying to lift spun out of the pincers and clattered to the floor as he closed them just a bit too tightly. This should not be this difficult. There were a pile of sticks on his left that were supposed to be stacked off to his right by the time the mediwitch returned with lunch, but at the rate he was going he was likely to be at this until dinner at the very least. Poppy had gone back to Hogwarts after they’d finished working on him the day before yesterday—leaving a school full of children with no medical supervisor was not a particularly wise idea and he’d been unconscious for the most part anyway—but come by yesterday evening and had promised to do the same thing today. Not that he needed her here, of course, but one familiar face out of the random group that seemed to be in and out of his temporary quarters would be…welcome. All too many members of the staff had been curious about the unusual procedure that had been performed and had stopped in to take a look at how he was ‘recovering.’ He had a strong suspicion that there was an Order member lurking somewhere outside his room, keeping out any particularly dubious-looking visitors, but so far whoever it was hadn’t seen fit to stop in and introduce him-or-herself. Just as well, probably, considering the options. The ones free during the day are generally the ones I’d prefer to avoid. He glanced back at the door and then leaned over and picked the stick back up with his good arm and dropped it onto the stack he was slowly building. One more one way or the other won’t make a great deal of difference.

He’d gotten through approximately two-thirds of the pile when the door swung inwards and an entirely-too-cheerful woman carrying a tray came in. Laura…Lauren… something like that. She’d been the one to bring him breakfast this morning as well, and aside from the fact that she was far too happy for his tastes—a trait the majority of the witches and wizards employed here seemed to share—she was tolerable enough.

“It looks like you’re making progress,” she said with a smile, setting the tray on the bedside table. “But why don’t you take a break and have some lunch? I’ve got your potions here….”

Poppy had apparently left them a list of the potions he was still taking—one for rebuilding damaged muscle, one general strengthening, and one mild painkiller—because they’d appeared at the appropriate times in the nondescript little cups indicating hospital supplies. He downed them quickly, one after the other, and then turned his attention to the food. The house-elves’ cooking was much preferable. A mediwizard appeared before he’d finished, nodding politely to Severus before doing a bit of wandwork over his prosthesis. Apparently things were going well—in their opinion, at least—because he put his wand away after only a few moments.

“So how are you feeling?” he asked.

Severus debated answering honestly and then decided that swearing at the staff wouldn’t help him get out of there any sooner. Or make the prosthesis function any better. “Fine.”

“Excellent. I see your exercises are going well, after you’ve finished with the sticks I’d like you to try with some marbles. One of the volunteers will provide them for you.”

He bit back a growl only by great force of will. As annoying as trying to move sticks was, he couldn’t imagine how long it would take him to move a pile of tiny round things with only a pair of pincers. And they called this ‘therapy’…more likely they were just trying to move him from the recovery wing to the wing in which the mental patients were housed.

“I talked to your primary healer, and provided everything remains stable and the connections hold, you should be able to return to Hogwarts in two or three days.”

“Is there anything in particular preventing me from going back now?” Severus asked. There was no reason that he could see that he couldn’t perform these exercises in the privacy of his own rooms rather than here in front of the parade of medi-people.

“Since this is intended to be a permanent attachment rather than something you take off every evening, the first few days are extremely important. If it starts to separate from your arm and you’re at Hogwarts you’ll have to either floo back—which could easily be compound the damage—or apparate and possibly splinch it since you aren’t fully accustomed to it yet.”

If Severus could do side-along apparition and avoid splinching his passengers, he saw no reason why he’d suddenly splinch part of his arm, but the mediwizard obviously wouldn’t be budged. And knowing his sort, if Severus continued to push he’d be stuck here for an extra few days in retaliation. Not that the medical sort ever called it that, but…. And the annoying part was not only would the rest of the staff of St. Mungos back him, so would Poppy and Albus.

///////////

Severus stepped out of the floo into Albus office and clamped his teeth down on the groan that threatened to escape. Not all the staff was there—Umbridge, thank Merlin, seemed to be absent, as were both Sybil and Bathsheba—but the rest of the staff seemed to be in attendance. Alastor was even here, though he was picking over a food tray rather than paying any attention to Severus’ arrival. Bloody hell, someone did get the idea to have a get-well party. Or a welcome back party. Some kind of bloody buggering party that I’m obviously required to attend. And from the twinkle in Albus’ eye, he had more than a sneaking suspicion just who the culprit had been. Why he’d agreed to floo back in the evening rather than waiting until the middle of the day when most of these people would be teaching classes…. Because I didn’t want to stay there even one more night, of course. I should have known Poppy was looking so pleased with herself for a reason.

“Welcome home, Severus,” Minerva said with a smile. “Care for a drink?”

“I think I’d best have several.” It was certainly obvious that they weren’t going to let him leave at any point in the near future.

“Well, here’s the first, then.” Devon pressed a glass of what appeared to be firewhisky into his hand, only to have it snatched away by Poppy.

“Not while he’s still on pain medication. Butterbeer or juice only.”

Bloody hell…. Rhiannon passed over a glass of pumpkin juice and tried not to sigh as he took a sip. And then nearly choked as the alcohol burned down his throat. She spiked my juice?! He shook his head and shot her a grateful glance while Poppy was speaking to Minerva.

The conversation, at least, was more interesting than he’d expected. Apparently over the weekend some enterprising student had let a couple Nifflers into the room Umbridge had claimed as an office causing great commotion yesterday morning. The things had torn the place to shreds and then had nearly taken off several of her fingers this morning when she’d walked in with all her rings on—apparently even simple repelling spells were beyond her repertoire—before escaping into the corridors and raising a minor amount of hell before Hagrid was finally summoned to lure them away. And today Peeves had spent the entire afternoon following her around spitting water all over her. The Bloody Baron had been conspicuously absent, and Merlin knew no one else had any consistent ability to control the poltergeist. It hadn’t really accomplished much, beyond annoying the High Inquisitor, but at this point that was a useful accomplishment in and of itself.

By his third glass of whisky-laced-pumpkinjuice—well, pumpkinjuice-laced-whiskey judging by the concentrations that he could taste—he had relaxed enough to allow them to see his new prosthesis. A couple looked away with varying expressions of unease, but most of them seemed interested. Although he did refuse to demonstrate any of the ridiculous exercises from the hospital…he might have to continue them for some time before he’d have full control over the clamp, but that didn’t mean that he had to make an idiot of himself in front of his colleagues as part of the experience.

The party wound down more quickly than he had expected, but then most of those attending did have classes to teach the next morning. His dungeons were just as he had left them, and it was something of a relief that for the first time in almost a week he was going to be sleeping in his own bed.

It was even more of a relief that he was able to sleep through the entire night without being awakened by some well-meaning staff member checking to see if he was all right. By the third night he’d started pointing out that he’d be better if they’d just let him rest, but no one had taken the hint. Breakfast was over by the time that he awakened, but the house elves delivered a plate without comment and he turned his attention back to the ridiculous exercises that the primary mediwitch had insisted that he continue until he could perform them flawlessly. He was better with the sticks, but the marbles still slipped out of his grasp two tries out of three.

“Severus?”

“Come in.”

Minerva stepped through the door with a smile. “Good to see you up and about. You’re…playing marbles?”

“For the sake of all involved, don’t ask.” He banished them with a flick of his wand. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“What, I can’t visit a sick friend?” He raised an eyebrow, and she smiled. “Well, perhaps it’s unlikely in the middle of the day. I need a volunteer for a NEWT class. My sixth years will be starting human transfiguration next week, and I could use a subject for a few demonstrations. Normally I’d use myself and do only partial transformations, but it’s difficult to talk, do a transfiguration, detransfigure, and then continue with the lecture. It always breaks the rhythm.”

“Might I suggest one of your students?”

“As you well know, we aren’t allowed to transfigure students. As tempting as it is on occasion. I give you my word that I will not turn you into anything fluffy or cute.”

“Why don’t you use Umbridge? She’d make a lovely toad, the resemblance is more than half there already.”

“If I could get her in my classroom today I assure you that I would. However, she’s currently harassing Hagrid again.”

“Not Sybil?”

“Not since her little breakdown in the Great Hall a few days ago, although Sybil is still nominally ‘on probation.’ So?”

He sighed. “Why not?” It wasn’t as though his reputation hadn’t already taken quite a beating since the school year began, and she wouldn’t do anything to undermine him any more. “Although—mind you there will be no lions, either.”

She smirked. “Now would I do that to you?”

“Consider whether you actually want that question answered.”

Her smirk morphed into a smile. “The class meets after lunch today, I’ll lecture on theory for the first half and then I’ll need you when I start combining theory and practical applications. Now if you’ll excuse me I’d best get to the classroom before my fifth years if I expect to find it in one piece.”

He summoned the marbles again and continued to work through lunch before heading up to the transfiguration classrooms. There was some whispering among the students, but the sleeve of his robe covered the clamp and with an all-encompassing glower he took a seat at the back of the class.

“Professor Snape,” Minerva began, drawing the students’ attention back to her, “has graciously agreed to help me with a practical demonstration later today. As you should all know from your homework last week, human transfiguration is one of the most difficult subjects that you will learn during your time at Hogwarts. It requires both concentration and the ability to manipulate living….”

Severus paid more attention to the lesson than he indicated; he hadn’t taken NEWT level transfiguration, and while he had read up on the theory behind all of what she was explaining, he’d done very little practical work.

“Now, for the practical. I’ve mentioned that you can do both partial and full transfigurations. Professor Snape, if you wouldn’t mind?”

He joined her at the front of the classroom.

“Now, some transfigurations are very useful. For example, last year Mr. Krum did a partial shark transformation to complete the second task in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Can anyone suggest to me what incantation he might have used?”

There were three halfhearted suggestions, and she gave them a fierce glare.

“Did none of you pay attention to what you were writing in your essays? I expected better. Now, the appropriate way to perform that transformation….”

It was a strange feeling, Severus decided, as his eyes and mouth shifted up towards the top of his head and his mouth enlarged abruptly. Unfortunately he became short of breath after only a few seconds—gills on land tending to do that to a person—and he was relieved that she released him quickly.

“Some of you may remember that last year a professor turned a student into a ferret while on the grounds. While that is still against Hogwarts’ policies and was absolutely unacceptable as a form of reprimand, it was also an excellent demonstration of a full-body transfiguration. Now, I don’t believe Professor Snape would make a particularly good ferret, however….”

Severus collapsed to the floor as his legs suddenly melted together and his arms became joined to his body. This was much different than the shark transformation…much more detailed…and when he felt himself finish changing he sat up and tried to figure out what he was. Several of the students in the front row pushed their chairs back, eyes wide, and though his own vision was strangely dull a glance down revealed coils below him. A snake. Well, she did agree that it wouldn’t be a lion. He considered for a moment before slithering a bit forward, pleased to see that two of the students actually got out of their seats and moved to the back of the class.

A moment and a light tap with a wand later, and he was himself again. Although one of the students—Chang—didn’t return to her desk.

“Now, can anyone tell me why I’ve begun this demonstration by turning Professor Snape into various animals rather than say, a table? After all, if we can make a hedgehog into a pincushion, why couldn’t we make a professor a podium?”

“You could,” one of the students offered, “but it’s dangerous. If we make a mistake with an animal we can banish it, but….”

“Yes, banishing a professor would most certainly not be acceptable. But why specifically is it dangerous?”

The class ended before she could do an actual animate-to-inanimate demonstration with him involved, and he suspected that he’d be called upon to volunteer again at some point in the future. Although…a rumor that he could transform into a giant snake wouldn’t be a bad one to have about the castle.

“Professor, I forgot my—Professor?”

Severus turned to find Harry standing in the door staring at him.

“Mr. Potter? Was there something that you wanted?” Minerva asked after a moment of silence.

“Oh, I, uh, forgot my book. I think it fell out of my pack…did you find one on the floor?”

“I believe I did,” she said after a moment, passing over a fifth-year text from her desk. “Kindly take more care with your belongings in the future.”

“Yes, Professor.” He gave Severus one more odd look, and then he disappeared out the door.

Severus knew better than to try skipping dinner, not after having missed both breakfast and lunch in the Great Hall—Poppy would be after him two minutes after the meal was done. There were a few whispers at his appearance, but since it was doubtful that the majority of the students even knew that he’d been gone, not very many. He kept an eye on those few that had…Harry’s friends, obviously, a few of the more observant Ravenclaws, and several of the older Slytherins. Draco was once again shooting him sharp glances when he thought Severus wasn’t looking, and he was starting to seriously debate catching the boy alone and finding out what exactly was going on there. Given time, he could get around that Occlumency shield…there was no way to do it quickly without Draco noticing, but given time there were other methods.

He was still considering the matter when he returned to his quarters after the meal. There were limited ways to go about it…Crabbe and Goyle, the younger, followed Draco everywhere, and Severus wasn’t willing to put himself somewhere where there was a serious chance of an ambush. A chime at the door distracted him and he checked his wand and called for the visitor to enter.

“Professor?” Harry asked as he entered.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Severus observed. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Are you still…here?” Harry asked.

“Clearly. Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I got your note about having Occlumency lessons with the headmaster, and then you weren’t at meals, and….”

It took Severus a moment to follow his train of thought. “You thought I had left Hogwarts? Why in Merlin’s name would I do something so ridiculous?”

“I don’t know.” But the boy wouldn’t meet his eyes, and….

He snorted and pushed up the sleeve of his robe to reveal the clamp. “I assure you, Harry, your temper tantrums are hardly going to drive me away from the school. Although I wouldn’t object to knowing just what had you so upset.”

Harry shrugged, eyes getting suddenly harder. “I talked to Sirius through the floo the other day, and he kept hinting at things, but no one will tell me straight out what’s going happening.”

Severus directed a mental curse at the mutt. There wasn’t enough going on that he had to go off and encourage the boy to worry about things that he shouldn’t be messing about with for years yet. The mutt wasn’t even in the country all that often anymore, and he was still causing trouble. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps whatever he is chattering about is nothing to concern yourself over and that you should concentrate on your schooling?”

“There is something that concerns me going on—that’s why Dumbledore wanted you to give me Occlumency lessons, why I’m forced to stay at my relatives all summer even though all my friends get to spend their time at Grimmauld Place, why—”

“You’re getting Occlumency lessons to keep the Dark Lord from accessing your mind,” Severus interrupted, “and you were at the Dursleys for the blood wards although you won’t be going back there again.”

“And Quirrel, and the basilisk, and the Dementors, and the tournament last year?” He broke off with a fierce shake of his head. “That’s a bloody lot of things that just ‘happened’ to happen to me, Professor. It’s my life, I have a right to know what’s going on and not get shoved around like I’m on some chessboard. I’m fifteen, not five.”

Fifteen was still a child, and Severus dearly wanted to know just what that mutt had said to set off this little tirade. Surely he wouldn’t have said anything about the prophecy over the floo, even he wasn’t that moronic, but…. “I would suggest that you talk to Dumbledore about this, then.”

“I’d love to, if he’d ever speak to me. He’s always ‘just leaving’ or ‘can’t be bothered now’ or something like that. Even during the Occlumency lesson I had with him, when I tried to bring it up he suddenly remembered something else that he had to be doing.”

“He is a busy man.” Harry gave him a disgusted look, and he had to admit that the excuse was fairly lame. “Whether you like it or not, you aren’t yet of age to join the Order, and until you are you aren’t going to be privy to most of its doings.”

“And how many more times before then is someone going to try and kill me for reasons I’m not even allowed to know about? I’m half-tempted to just let Voldemort into my mind—at least then I’d know what he’s doing.”

Severus was on his feet before he realized it, wand clenched in his hand. “Mr. Potter, if you even consider such an imbecilic course of action I will personally have you locked in the deepest dungeon I can find until Longbottom achieves a NEWT in potions, is that clear?!”

Green eyes flashed dangerously.

“Now, I will pass on your request to the headmaster myself, but you may simply have to accept that there are some things you won’t be allowed to involve yourself in until you’re of age. No matter how your Godfather seems to feel about the matter.” The bloody moron.

Harry didn’t look the least bit mollified, but at least he nodded grudgingly.

“Then I suggest that you get back to your dormitory and finish whatever homework you have due tomorrow. We’ll start Occlumency lessons again here in two days, the usual time.” Severus took his seat again as the boy stood.

“Yes, Professor.” He was at the door before he turned back suddenly. “Just out of curiosity, how close am I going to be to ‘of age’ when someone decides to raise the age that wizards are allowed to join the Order?”

He didn’t wait around for an answer, and Severus activated the floo as soon as his door was shut. The sooner this was handled, the better for all concerned. “Albus?”

“Severus? Is something wrong?”

“Aside from the fact that your Golden Boy is apparently seriously considering deliberately linking with the Dark Lord in order to find out, and I quote, ‘something,’ everything is perfectly fine.”

“What?” Albus head appeared immediately.

“He isn’t as dense as he acts, and apparently the mutt has been hinting at things.” Severus shrugged. “You can’t deny the fact that you’ve treated him considerably differently than the rest of the students here, down to dictating where he spends his summers, and he’s starting to question just why. I believe I’ve nipped that particularly lunatic idea about using the Dark Lord in the bud, but I think you’d be better off explaining at least some of the situation to him before he goes hunting on his own.” And gets himself into more trouble than he has already.

“He’s too young—”

“He was too young at eleven when he defeated a shade of the Dark Lord, too young at twelve when he did it again and took on a giant basilisk as well, too young a thirteen when his connection acted as a bloody beacon for the Dementors, and too young last year at fourteen during that damn tournament. Are you seeing a pattern here? He’s already doing things he’s far too young for; why not increase his knowledge a bit so he’s not fighting completely blind?” Not that Severus encouraged any of what Harry had done—if the brat would just obey, do as he was told, half of what had happened to him could easily have been avoided—but with that bloody hero-complex he seemed to have Severus wasn’t overly optimistic about their chances of keeping him out of trouble in the future. Maybe if he had some idea of what could happen he’d be a little more cautious.

“Severus….”

“If you refuse to tell him anything, soon enough he’s going to go looking for himself. And if we’re very lucky, maybe whatever has kept him alive these past few years will save him again.”

Albus sighed. “I will…consider it.”

The floo connection was closed from the other side, and Severus collapsed back onto the couch with a sigh. He was getting too old to deal with this sort of nonsense.

///////////

“Have you seen the swamp?”

Severus turned at the question and found a handful of Slytherin and Ravenclaw first years coming down the corridor together. He recognized the speaker easily enough—the boy Harry had tried to trample in the library at the beginning of the year. And sure enough his cousin was in the group as well.

“No, they won’t let students down that corridor anymore,” one of the other Slytherin first-years said with a heavy sigh.

“Well, I saw it,” Micah said with a grin. “It was brilliant; a real swamp, right there in the corridor outside her office. And the Toad was just standing there in front of it flicking her wand around and making these little squeaking noises like that was going to make it go away.”

“Do you think one of the other professors will help her?” his cousin—Lily—asked.

“No way! Didn’t you hear the way Professor McGonagall was talking to her when she was observing transfiguration the other day?” one of the other Ravenclaws cut in. “Especially when she started talking about probation?”

Umbridge had actually threatened to put Minerva on probation? He would have loved to have been a fly on that wall. He took a step to the side, moving into an alcove to let the group of students pass. And, coincidentally, to allow himself to listen in on their conversation a bit longer.

“I bet Filch would help her, if he could,” Micah said. “He was marching up and down the Great Hall yesterday morning muttering about how he wanted to string us all up by our heels.”

Lily made a face. “I don’t like him. He’s mean.”

“Nobody likes him; I don’t know why they keep him around.”

“Umbridge likes him.” A Slytherin girl—Emily something—snickered. “Maybe they’ll run off together somewhere and we won’t have to deal with either of them anymore.”

“Yeah, in your dreams.”

The group continued down the corridor past Severus’ position arguing about what the girl might or might not dream about, and he stepped out and considered for a moment. Lunch could wait, this he had to see. Her office was up on the third floor, and sure enough as soon as he got to the top of the staircase he found a sign warning all students against attempting to enter. He pushed past the wards without a second thought and found a swamp stretching a good two thirds of the way down the corridor. It was nicely done—mud, plants, he was fairly certain that he could make out even a few insects. He was half-tempted to transfigure a few rocks into small crocodiles, just for the sake of authenticity, and he’d have bet anything that the Weasley twins were behind this little stunt. Though he very much doubted that anyone at Hogwarts would be willing to take that bet.

“A lovely job, wasn’t it,” Filius said, coming up behind him. “Such a shame to take it down.”

“It was certainly creative. I take it Umbridge called for you when she wasn’t able to remove it herself?”

“When I last saw her she was on her way to the infirmary…something about being unable to breathe. Albus asked me to look into it.” He studied a bit longer and then shook his head. “Such a shame.”

Severus put a few drops of his potion into Umbridge’s cup while continuing to carry on a conversation with Pomona on his other side. It still felt strange to have to turn his head so far to see her, but he was getting more used to it, although he did plan to look into magical replacements for that eye when he found the time. He’d given Umbridge two days after he’d gotten back before he’d begun to dose her again, but considering what she was getting from the students he wasn’t sure that she even needed it at this point. Apparently her little fit after the appearance of the swamp the other day hadn’t been the first time that she’d ended up in the infirmary being treated for the side effects of hyperventilation—the first time had involved Peeves and some kind of sticking solution. Devon had started laughing halfway through the story, and much to Severus’ annoyance he hadn’t been able to understand more than one word in three of the rest.

As Minerva had mentioned, Umbridge was avoiding the Divination teacher entirely, not to mention Alastor who as far as he’d been able to determine she was actually hiding from whenever possible. Nor were the other teachers helping matters. Severus had gone out to speak to Hagrid for a few moments and he hadn’t seemed overly clear on the situation—probably because he was still spending most of his time with his friend in the forest—but Minerva for one wasn’t one to let a chance at a snide comment go by, and Rhiannon had a habit of breaking into chuckles every time she saw the other woman. And Filius hadn’t been able to bring himself to banish all of the swamp so there was a small section of corridor outside her office still teaming with swamp life that couldn’t be helping her confidence levels.

“How are your exercises going?” Poppy asked, falling into step with him as the meal ended.

“Better, I suppose.”I now only drop about half the marbles.

“Don’t forget that you have a follow-up appointment with the mediwitch tomorrow at St. Mungos.”

As if I’d get away with forgetting. He nodded in agreement.

“And you haven’t been overdoing things, correct? Remember, the connection won’t be fully solid for at least two weeks.”

“I’ve been following instructions, Poppy.” And for a wonder, he had been. The last thing he wanted was to have it become disconnected and have to go through the whole process again.

“Well, all right. I wanted to let you know that you can stop taking the muscle-rebuilding potion. I checked the reports from St. Mungos against what I’ve been observing, and it seems that you’re as healed as you’re going to get.”

He thanked her politely enough as she turned back for the infirmary, but he wasn’t sure just how that statement made him feel. It was one thing if he was finally back to normal, but quite another if he was going to remain at some level of disability for the rest of his life. He hadn’t precisely been stressing himself lately, but it would be nice to know that if he needed to fight—or run—he would be capable of it. You survived a torture session with a full complement of Deatheaters…quit complaining and be grateful that you’re still alive. True enough or not, it wasn’t something that he liked thinking about, and with a shake of his head he increased his pace. This would be Harry’s first Occlumency lesson since he returned, and as far as Severus knew Albus still hadn’t spoken to the boy. He had no desire to deal with a sulky child who was quite capable of pitching him across the room, particularly one he couldn’t legitimately reprimand for it since he had no control over the ability. Well, no proven control…Severus still suspected that he’d been adding force during their last session before his trip to St. Mungos.

Harry gave no sign of remembering their earlier conversation, though, although he did seem a bit distracted as he chattered on about the first Quidditch match of the season. It had been on Saturday so Severus hadn’t seen it. Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff had played first this year since one of Umbridge’s edicts—something idiotic about student organizations, I think—had kept the Gryffindor team off their brooms long enough that there was no way that they could have been expected to be ready to play. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match that was normally played first would be happening in about three weeks.

Severus honestly hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to the different Quidditch teams this year. Normally he would have, if only to have something to twit Minerva about, but he’d had other things on his mind. He waved at the boy to take a seat as he crossed his legs and sank to the floor. “Have you been practicing?”

Harry shrugged and sat down, arranging his robes carefully. “I try, but…it’s like I told you before. When I’m by myself I don’t make anything move when I do Occlumency.”

“Hm.” Severus was tempted to ask whether he had sent Albus flying anywhere, but whether he did or didn’t the only thing the conversation was likely to do was remind Harry of his irritation with the headmaster and his present situation. Not what I want to deal with just now. At least the mutt and the werewolf have returned to the continent if the rumors that I've heard are correct. “Clear your mind, then. Legilimens.”

Attic…attic…at—cupboard, with banging occurring overhead, and—attic. “Excellent.” Not only had Harry managed to redirect him back to the attics, but also Severus hadn’t ended up flat on his back on the floor in the process. He re-entered Harry’s mind without warning and got nearly a minute of their latest Quidditch practice before he was thrown completely out. The youngest Weasley boy didn’t look particularly competent as a Keeper, and unless the Slytherin team had suffered a drastic drop in ability they had a more than fair chance at beating the Gryffindors this year. When Harry realized what he was doing he did end up flat on the floor half a meter from where he’d been, but at least he hadn’t been tossed into the wall this time. “And that was better as well.”

“I still don’t think it’s fair,” the boy grumbled.

“Very little in this war is fair.” As you should well know, even if Albus is being ridiculous. “Now, again.”

They continued the lesson a bit past the usual time, until both of them were too tired to continue, but Severus was generally pleased with the progress that had been made. He was still getting thrown about, but at least he was getting thrown about across shorter distances. “Next Tuesday at the usual time. And cont—where the bloody hell did that come from?”

Harry turned an interesting shade of red and snatched the snake up off the floor, hissing at it as he stuck it into his cloak pocket.

“Mr. Potter?”

“Sorry, Professor.”

“New friends?”

“They’re, uh, helping me with something.”

They? As in more than one? Being carried around in his pockets? Apparently Potter was more persuasive when speaking with snakes than he was with people if he’d gotten them to accept that situation. “Indeed? And what would ‘something’ be?”

“Nothing, really. Just…I need them for Umbridge.”

He was half-tempted to press, find out what the boy was talking the snakes into doing, but this seemed to be a case of the less known the better. Besides, if it works I’ll no doubt hear about it soon enough. “Just make sure that you take all of your little friends with you when you leave.” The fact that they were his house’s mascot didn’t mean that he wanted to have them slithering about in his quarters. “And be careful when you choose to speak to them.” He didn’t doubt that the fact that someone at the Ministry knew that Harry was a Parseltongue—it would have been impossible to keep secret after his little demonstration during the dueling club a few years back—but whether or not Umbridge was personally aware of his ability…. “And practice your Occlumency.”

Harry nodded, and Severus let him out of his quarters and turned for his room. Normally he wouldn’t go to bed so early, but he was tired. And there was the visit to St. Mungos tomorrow to look forward to. They’d told him that he’d need to come back several times for check-ups since they were allowing him to leave earlier than normal, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. I suspect that they only allowed me to leave early because they were tired of dealing with me anyway.

A heavy banging on his door woke him a good two hours before breakfast would be served, and shrugging on a robe over his nightclothes he headed into his sitting room and snapped at the visitor to enter. Albus wouldn’t have bothered knocking, and he couldn’t think who else might be looking for him at this time. When he’d been Head-of-House there had always been the possibility of a sick or injured student, but….

“I need Doxycide,” Alastor snapped back as soon as the panel swung open.

“Pardon?” Of all the requests that he would have expected at this hideously early hour of the morning, that was not one that would have occurred to him.

“Doxycide,” the ex-Auror repeated shortly. “Far as I can figure someone thought it would be funny to put half a dozen of them in Umbridge’s office, but the little idiot didn’t think to seal the window. Two of the bloody things flew out and down into my chambers. Tried to zap ‘em, but it didn’t even slow the buggers down.”

Severus tried to hide a smirk as he recognized a few bites on the other wizard’s face and arms—they were fairly obvious if you knew what you were looking for—and did his best to reply in an even tone. “It appears that you could use a supply of the venom antidote as well.”

“Rather get the things out of my quarters first and deal with the results later.”

“I’m not even sure I have Doxycide on hand, but….” He shook his head and stepped out into the corridor, motioning for Alastor to accompany him to the supply room. Doxycide wasn’t something that there would normally be any need for at Hogwarts—it was far enough north that the little creatures weren’t comfortable here—but there were plenty of things kept in the storeroom that weren’t used every day. Or even every decade. “I take it that your window wasn’t sealed either?” he asked as he began to rummage around on one of the lower shelves. “That doesn’t seem particularly vigilant.”

There was a growl from behind him, and although he hadn’t heard anything that indicated that the older wizard had drawn his wand Severus wouldn’t put it past him. “Watch your tongue, boy. It’s shielded against wizards, wands, spells, animagi, owls, potion mists, and half a dozen classes of dangerous magical creatures. Biting fairies didn’t make that list.” He was silent for a moment. “Although they very well might from now on. Things are bloody nuisances.”

“Hm.” Severus considered pressing the point—surely it would have been easier to simply seal the window entirely rather than be so selective—but he didn’t want any spells flying about in his storeroom. “If I’ve got any, it’ll be back…ah.” He pulled out a small canister. The liquid was blue-black rather than solid black, but it looked to be approximately the right consistency and when he unscrewed the top it had the correct strongly-acidic smell. “Well, you can try this. It’s old, but it might at least slow them down. No venom antidote, though, you’ll have to ask Poppy for that.” If nothing else, she’ll be able to get some from St. Mungos fairly quickly, although it would be amusing to watch him try and explain the marks to one of his classes…how he was bested by two fairies smaller than your average owl.

“Hmph.” Alastor took the bottle grunted something that could—if one was charitable—be interpreted as thanks, nodding slightly before turning to make way up out of the dungeons.

“You’re welcome,” Severus muttered after him before resealing the storeroom and returning to his quarters. He wasn’t likely to sleep again before it was time to be up and dressing for breakfast, so he summoned that bloody jar of marbles and began to shift them around.

Breakfast began quietly enough, toast and eggs sparkled in right on time and Rolanda was more than happy to discuss the recent Quidditch match with him. Apparently the new Hufflepuff seeker was something to see, and Ravenclaw’s beaters were working together particularly well this year. He was pouring himself another glass of pumpkin juice when there was a shriek and Umbridge pelted down the length of the Great Hall with two little black creatures following hard on her heels and making dives at her skirts.

“Well, they do infest drapes,” Rolanda observed between shrieks as the new arrival finally came to a halt in front of the High Table. “I suppose I can see the resemblance.”

“It’s the crumple-horned snorkacks!” Umbridge managed to cry in fairly understandable English.

“Oh, nonsense,” Minerva said firmly. “They’re nothing but Doxies.”

“Where did you find Doxies at Hogwarts?” Filius asked.

“I went into my office to pick up my schedule for the day and they were—eek!” She leapt aside as one of them tried to crawl up her skirt rather than burrow in from above. “There were at least twenty of them, all around the window. I tried to shoo them out, but it was sealed, and—” Another leap to the side and a vicious bat at the nearest with her hat. “Help me!”

“Severus?” Albus asked.

“I believe I can say with some certainty that I haven’t any Doxycide in my storeroom at the moment, but I’ll be more than happy to check.” He managed a casual glance in Alastor’s direction, keeping it casual more by force of will than anything else, and caught a flash of amusement in the true eye that flicked towards him for a fraction of a second before rejoining the magical one as it focused on the High Inquisitor. Severus looked down before his whole expression gave him away…that Alastor would harass the woman he had no doubt, but that he would help seal biting fairies in her office was not something that he would have expected of the ex-Auror. Umbridge was still swatting at the Doxies, and he stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The canister of Doxycide was back on the shelf where it had rested previously, but the level of liquid was much lower. Hm. I didn’t realize that there was a counter for the Proprius Obfirmo, at least not without the password. It’s supposed to be a permanent locking spell after all. But then, he was an Auror for at least a bit longer than I’ve been alive…suppose he should know a few tricks. Have to see if he’ll let me in on that one. It was just barely possible. He debated for a moment dumping the Doxycide and claiming that there was none left, but if the things started flitting around the hall it would be a royal pain trying to track them down later.

When he arrived back in the Great Hall, the student crowd seemed to have grown larger despite the fact that classes would be starting soon. Most of their attention was focused on Umbridge who was still swatting at the Doxies swarming her skirts. “It seems I was wrong. It’s several years old, but there’s a bit left.”

She snatched the bottle from him and began spraying wildly. The Doxies were obviously going to be perfectly safe; Severus had to dodge backwards rather quickly to avoid catching multiple squirts directly in the face.

“Might I suggest aiming?” Minerva offered from the High Table.

///////////

Severus let himself into his quarters and gave the panel a more vicious slam than necessary. Umbridge had called yet another staff meeting for after dinner this evening—she’d begun doing it with deplorable frequency of late—and each seemed to accomplish less than the last. It would have been impressive if he hadn’t been forced to attend.

He was actually starting to become curious whether or not there were long term effects to the nerve-shattering potion that he’d never noticed before…after all, he’d taken it for less than a week himself, and most of his studies had been concentrated on that time frame. Not that he planned to stop dosing her of course; he’d gradually gotten into a fairly regular schedule since his return and it was definitely showing in her behavior. Of course swamps outside her quarters and Doxies in her office were helping a great deal, not to mention the constant harassment from Peeves and random students. And Nifflers, which tended to appear in her office or quarters every few days as well and were getting much smarter about how and when to go after her jewelry. He had no idea who kept putting them there, or how they were even getting to Hogwarts for that matter—it was possible that it was the same pair, but then Hagrid would have to be in on it and the half-giant really wasn’t the type for that kind of behavior—but provided they stayed well clear of his quarters he didn’t plan to question it.

His mind registered a figure sitting on his couch abruptly, and he had his wand raised before he realized that it was Harry. I really need to change that password! Although, to be fair, having the brat stand around in the dungeons waiting for him probably wasn’t a wise idea either. “Is there something that I can help you with? I do believe that you should be in class right now.”

“I have a couple more minutes…anyway, it’s Divination. I was wondering if we could skip the Occlumency lesson tomorrow, or at least put it off until a little later. Angelina wants us to get in an extra practice before the match against Slytherin this weekend, and….”

“Ah, the all-important Quidditch.”

“Please?”

Severus glared but was inclined to grant the request. At this point it was more along the lines of Occlumency practice than Occlumency lessons…there was little left that he could actually teach the boy, he just needed to get stronger. And stop throwing me around the room. “I suppose missing one day won’t cause any permanent harm. Mind we’ll pick up the next week same as always; don’t expect to get off every time your captain decides you need to spend more time on your broom.”

“Yes, sir,” he said with a grin. “Thank you.”

“I suggest that you find something else to tell your friends besides that I just let you off, as well.” The last thing I need is my reputation ruined, especially when I’ll have to start teaching the brats again come January.

“Yes, sir.”

Harry stood to go, and Severus waved a hand in dismissal. He had a few things he’d like to try before supper. Nothing complicated—he didn’t care to chance another explosion in his laboratory just yet—but it would be good to be brewing again now that he’d finally been cleared by the mediwitch in charge of his case. And been poked at by half of the rest of the staff for their amusement, I suspect.

He hadn’t been in his laboratory since the fiasco with the Confusing Concoction, and before he was able to try anything he had a more than fair amount of cleaning to do. Would it have killed me to wipe things down earlier? Well, considering what his state of mind had been at the time, it might have. Still….

Three hours later he lifted the cauldron carefully from the heat and checked the color. It had the correct sheen, and the consistency and odor seemed right as well. “Excellent.” He’d have to let it cool to be certain, but it appeared that he’d actually managed to make a cauldron of Doxycide. Which wasn’t in itself particularly impressive—it wasn’t in the student textbooks, but if it had been it would be in the volume sold to fourth years—but considering that he hadn’t managed to brew anything of late it was still satisfying.

He set the cauldron on the opposite counter and started to clean away the mess. He still couldn’t do as much with the clamp as he could have with his hand, but…well, it was a start. Part of him was tempted to try another one, but he didn’t particularly want to spoil his success. Better to plan out what he wanted to do first. I believe I can skip the first and second year texts, but a few of the third year texts get a bit more complicated in terms of timing. They’d be easy enough normally, but when I need to be adding multiple ingredients at once…. He skipped lunch, sorting through his books and planning out a schedule for the next few weeks that would hopefully bring him back to his previous level of proficiency. Or at least give him a more than fair estimate of what he was capable of and what he’d need to work on. He was tempted to skip dinner as well, but not only would Poppy get on his case, Umbridge might come looking for him so he didn't miss the staff meeting, and he didn’t want her in his rooms. Dinner itself wasn't particularly enjoyable when he knew that he was going to be lectured for an indeterminate length of time afterwards, and from the subdued state of the rest of the High Table they felt about the same.

“And here we go again,” Minerva muttered as the professors began to trickle into the staff room after dinner.

He rubbed at his forehead. “Any clue as to what this one might be about?”

“She hasn’t had a reason for the last two.”

He shook his head and took a seat in the back, the better to be overlooked. “At least the weekend’s entertainment should prove to be interesting. Granted from what I’ve heard your team hasn’t performed particularly spectacularly on the practice field, but….” In truth he hadn’t heard anything of the sort—aside from Harry’s chattering, his glimpse of Weasley’s abysmal keeping abilities, and a word or two from Rolanda, he’d heard nothing about the Gryffindor team and even less about Slytherin’s—but he could hardly admit that.

“I beg your pardon?” Minerva took the seat beside him with an expression of shock and outrage that was only half-feigned. “I haven’t the faintest idea who you’ve been speaking to, but I can assure you that my team is in excellent condition and perfectly prepared for the game.”

“Really? I seem to recall you saying the same thing when young Ms. Johnson played Seeker and forgot that she was supposed to be catching the Snitch not chasing the Quaffle.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if you would please recall just whose house is the reigning champion?”

“Gah. Pure luck. If we’d played Quidditch last year, I assure you that you wouldn’t have kept it.”

“Perhaps you suffered a head injury that you weren’t aware of—you should tell Poppy about these delusions of yours.”

“Delusions?”

Severus bit back a groan as the healer took the free seat on his opposite side, and Minerva gave him an absolutely evil smile. “It’s nothing, Poppy. Minerva hit her head this morning.”

“I most certainly did not!”

Umbridge cleared her throat, and when that got no response banged her hand on the table in front of her a few times until she’d drawn the attention of the majority of the room. “Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here,” Umbridge began.

No, not really. Mostly I’d like to leave now. And I suspect everyone else here feels the same. He caught a glimpse of Filch leaning against the other wall and smiling and amended his thoughts. Almost everyone.

“Well, as you know I’ve been reviewing the classes and making suggestions for improvement. With less than a full month left until the winter holidays, Minister Fudge has indicated that he would like to tour the school for himself and see how things are progressing. Next Friday he and several other Ministry officials and guests will be visiting, and I believe that there will be a special presentation at dinner.”

Severus glanced over at Albus to see what the headmaster thought of this little invasion of his school, but his expression bland except for a hint of a twinkle in one eye. What he could possibly find even slightly amusing about this situation….

“And what’re we supposed to do while they’re visiting?” Alastor demanded. “Put out a dog and pony show?”

He’d taken one of the seats nearest the door, and by some amazing coincidence she’d given her little announcement from the other side of the room, but even so she shrank back a bit as he spoke. “I’m sure that everyone here has appropriate lesson plans prepared that will show the Ministry that Hogwarts is indeed teaching the younger generation to use their abilities properly.”

“I don’t suppose you need a volunteer for any sixth year transfiguration classes next Friday?” Severus hissed in Minerva’s direction.

“You’re volunteering?”

“I’m volunteering the Minister. He’d be of far more use as a side table than he is holding his current office.”

She suffered a sudden coughing fit that had Poppy glancing over with concern in her eyes, but after a moment she regained control and waved off the mediwitch. “I’ll be sure to consider it.”

///////////

Severus grinned at Minerva’s groan as the Quaffle once again flew through the middle ring on the Gryffindor side. They'd spent most of the last three days sniping on and off about their respective teams chances, and while she might have come out a bit ahead in the war of words it certainly didn't look like Gryffindor was going to live up to her claims. Not that Slytherin was playing particularly well, at least not judging by the standards of previous years—or maybe it was just that those bloody human Bludgers in the forms of the Weasley twins kept getting in the way—but with that kind of Keeping if they game kept up much longer they were going to win the game no matter which Seeker finally managed to get his hands on the Snitch.

Goyle the younger took a swing at a Bludger and nearly fell off his broom, and Severus hid a wince. Surely there was at least one better player than that particular child at tryouts. He had taken a careful glance at the guest stands before taking his own seat in the professors' stands—no sense getting himself killed for a sporting match—and had been surprised to see that Crabbe and Goyle the elder were both absent, as was Lucius. He rarely missed a game, particularly one that his son was in. Perhaps that was why Draco wasn’t playing quite as intensely as he normally did…in an unusually clumsy move he had nearly run into the commentator while dodging a Bludger aimed in his direction early in the game.

Severus could hear chanting from the Slytherin side in-between decidedly partisan announcements from Lee Jordan—perhaps Draco’s little blunder was intentional?—something about Weasley being a king born in a bin. It didn't make much sense to him, but whatever they were saying must have been more audible on the field judging by the glares the youngest Weasley and Harry were both shooting at the Slytherins. If nothing else, the chanting was proving to be a useful distraction, and Severus couldn’t help a chuckle as Jordan’s next line of commentary ended up being a listing of Gryffindor players who managed to drop the Quaffle right after they caught it. “Yes, I can see they’re careful prep—” he broke off his taunt to Minerva as Harry dove suddenly.

Draco was right beside him, both of them ignoring the action around them as they dove towards the dirt, and Severus leaned forward to see the Snitch flying along perhaps two meters from the grass. The two Seekers were nearly neck-and-neck…Harry’s fingers reached the Snitch first, though, and the spectators in the Gryffindor stands came to their feet cheering. And then a Bludger struck Harry in the back of the head, sending him flying forward off his broom, and Severus and the rest of the professors came to their feet as well. Bloody hell, if he lands in the infirmary again... The rest of the Gryffindor team, minus the youngest Weasley boy, had landed around him so it was difficult to see anything, but it appeared that he was climbing to his feet. Not severe, then.

Draco was on the ground as well, and apparently he’d said something unwise because a fraction of a second later one of the Weasley twins and Potter were across the small space separating them. Severus was fairly certain that Harry was the one that actually managed to land on Draco; Crabbe the younger got in the way of whichever Weasley twin had moved with him. A Muggle-style fight? Bloody hell, Draco is going to get clobbered. For all that he was the smaller of the two, Harry at least knew the basics of that sort of fighting…Draco was more likely to harm himself than the other wizard. There was nothing that Severus could do from here, not without hitting everyone involved. An idea that is sounding better by the moment. Minerva clearly felt the same; her wand was out but she couldn’t seem to decide where to aim. The second Weasley twin was struggling mightily against three members of his own team—and appeared to be close to freeing himself which would not help the situation—when Rolanda was suddenly there jinxing back the brawlers.

By the time Severus and most of the rest of the spectators were able to make their way down from the stands the field had been cleared, and he retired to his rooms still curious what had caused that little stunt. If he’d still been Head of Slytherin House he’d have found out on short order—it would have been a biased version, but at least he’d have known something—now he had to wait a respectable amount of time before cornering Rolanda or Minerva and seeing what they’d found out. I believe I’m starting to understand Harry’s frustration with having to wait and see what happens.

He didn’t actually have to wait that long…the Gryffindor Head-of-House was still livid at dinner, and not just at the two—three, if you count the Weasley twin who’d barely been kept out of the fight—errant members from her house team. Apparently Fudge had been passing new decrees behind their backs, one of which apparently gave the High Inquisitor more power than the professors she was here to oversee. It made a sick sort of sense on paper, but knowing what that woman was capable of…. Severus was no more pleased to hear about that than the rest of them; it wouldn’t be long before she could overrule Albus, and when that happened things could become very unpleasant. Of course, we’re assuming that that decree hasn’t already been passed and she simply hasn’t had a reason to tell us about it. Not a good situation to be in.

He tapped his fingers on the tabletop lightly. There had to be something that they could do to reduce the power that she held.

“Professor?”

“A moment, Harry,” Severus called through the door as he swung the cauldron off the heat and covered it. The potion was stable enough that he could resume work after their Occlumency lesson. A quick wipe of the counter and a glance at his line of ingredients, and he exited his workroom and found the boy waiting on the couch. “My apologies, I was…distracted.”

“You’re working again?”

Severus frowned. None of the students should have been aware that he wasn’t…in fact the majority of his colleagues shouldn’t have been aware of that fact. It certainly wasn’t something he’d advertised, and while granted it didn’t take a great leap of logic to deduce that someone with one arm might have trouble brewing, it wasn’t a leap that he’d expected any of his students to make. “So it would seem,” he returned evenly.

Harry flushed. “I went to see Cho in the infirmary yesterday and I overheard Madam Pomfrey talking about having to order supplies from St. Mungos. She didn’t like the quality of the bruise ointment, I guess.”

“Ah.” Well, he could wish Poppy had been a bit more discrete, but at least the information wasn’t being bantered about the halls. Cho…? Ah, Chang, the Ravenclaw sixth year with the apparent fear of snakes. “Miss Chang is now a particular friend of yours?” The boy’s flush deepened, and Severus hid a smirk. The joys of teenage life.

“I’m, um, here for lessons,” Harry offered, striving desperately to change the topic of conversation.

Severus was half-tempted to harass him a bit more, but it was hardly a professional reaction. “You’re unusually early. Almost five minutes, in fact.”

“Yeah, well, without Quidditch….” He shrugged and made a face.

Severus nodded. The lifetime ban was ridiculous, but that was hardly the only ridiculous thing that that woman had come up with. And compared to the rest it’s hardly of any great import. “I suppose you’ll have more time for your coursework, at least.”

“Great,” Harry muttered.

“And, of course, romantic encounters tend to proceed much more smoothly when you’re not planning to compete against your intended on the battle field. Or the Quidditch pitch, as the case may be. Hardly chivalrous to snatch the Snitch out from under her nose, but I daresay your teammates would have had words with you if you even considered doing otherwise. And quite possibly the young lady as well; condescension of any sort rarely goes over well.”

“Professor!”

That had come out as a moan, and the boy’s face had regained its previous hue with remarkable speed. This time Severus smirked outwardly. “Shall we begin, then?”

“Please.”

“Legilimens.” Attic, at—charging down a muggle street with the sound of pursuit close behind him, ducking into an alley and trying to squeeze between the boards at the far end, but someone had a grip on his ankle and was pulling him back, and…. He pulled back out. “Harry, whatever…distractions…you are currently dealing with, you must learn to put them from your mind when necessary.”

“I—sorry, Professor. I guess I wasn’t concentrating.”

“Again then, and this time I’d appreciate your full attention. Legilimens.”

It took only a few pushes—and not particularly heavy ones—before Severus found himself in a memory. A maze…part of the third task, from the look of it. It was strikingly unlikely that the boy had found himself in any other giant mazes in his life. The scene with the cup was approaching rapidly, and then they were in the graveyard and the light pushes at his mind disappeared entirely. He pulled out a second time. “Harry, you were doing better than that three sessions into these lessons. I’d like to know what’s happened in the last week to make you forget how to perform Occlumency.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just couldn’t concentrate for a minute.”

“I don’t suppose you would care to share the reason for that?” And it had better not be Miss Chang. Or Quidditch—the ban may be an annoyance, but it should hardly be the most important thing in your life at this moment.

Green eyes flashed. “I can do it.”

“Legilimens.” This time after he’d pushed through to a memory he didn’t wait to see what it was to pull out, he simply sat back and stared at the boy. “Well?”

“It’s nothing,” Harry repeated. “I guess I’m just tired; I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Severus had a sudden, ugly suspicion that might just be nothing, or at least nothing that the boy was aware of. If the Dark Lord had found out about the connection, had somehow influenced Harry or done something to his Occlumency abilities…. Is that even possible? Certainly you can damage another wizard’s mind, but to target a specific ability would take a kind of control I don’t think anyone is capable of. Even that creature. But there was something not quite right in those eyes—something too dark to be related to Quidditch or Chang—and he frowned. If he needed to he could simply look for himself, but…. “I don’t think I believe you, Mr. Potter. What. Has. Happened?” Harry looked down, around, up—as though the answer is written on my ceiling—before returning his attention to Severus. “Well?” Severus pressed.

“I talked to the headmaster yesterday morning,” he admitted slowly. “Mostly I wanted to see whether he could do something about the Quidditch ban, at least for Fred since he didn’t even do anything.”

“I don’t think Quidditch is causing you to forget how to shield your mind.”

Harry looked away, silent for a long moment. “He didn’t want to talk about it at all…told me some other stuff instead. I mean, I got a note from him promising that he would last week, but I just figured he was going to keep putting me off. And then he ignored me about the Quidditch bans and started talking about Volde—You-Know-Who—and….”

Ah. So that’s where his concentration has gone. “And?” he prompted.

Harry shook his head slightly. “It’s not—it doesn’t feel real. I mean, I know I’ve fought him before, but it was always…it wasn’t him him. Not like I saw in the graveyard. Now I find out that I’m supposed to be the one that gets rid of him for good? I keep seeing him there with the Deatheaters over and over and I can’t think of anything that I could have done that might have stopped him.”

So Albus had decided to tell him the prophecy then. Or at least about it; Severus didn’t know if he’d given it word-for-word—including the ‘either must die at the hand of the other’ line—or just the general gist, and he wasn’t about to ask.

“I don’t even know if I can,” Harry went on, voice rising slightly in pitch. “He’s a lot more powerful than me. I mean, with Quirrel was mostly luck, and if Ron and Hermione hadn’t been there I’d never have even gotten to him anyway, and with the basilisk I had Fawkes’ help—and more luck, I’m still not sure what made me decide to stab that diary except that I was desperate—and then in the graveyard if our wands hadn’t cancelled and you and the headmaster and Professor McGonagall hadn’t gotten to the fake Moody before he….”

“We did get there,” Severus interrupted before the boy’s rant could degenerate into a full-blown panic attack. His breathing was already considerably faster than necessary, and his skin was rapidly coming to resemble bleached parchment. Far less amusing than the flush earlier had been. “And you will continue to have help.” Quite probably luck as well, knowing you. He didn’t plan to say that last out loud—the boy didn’t need to start behaving any more impetuously than he already did—but at least the first was a given. “Myself, Albus, and the rest of the Order, the staff of Hogwarts if it comes to that, and somehow I very much doubt that you’ll manage to leave your little friends behind again either.”

“But—”

“Not to mention that as you may have noticed no timeline was given anywhere in that prophecy,” Severus continued, cutting him off. “Of course he’s more powerful than you—he’s a full grown wizard. You are not. No one expects you to walk out of the castle tomorrow and challenge the Dark Lord to a duel. If anyone does hint at anything of the sort—” say for example that idiot mutt of a Godfather of yours who’d probably think the whole thing was a grand adventure—“you have my permission to hex the idiot into next Tuesday. In fact, I order you to do so.”

Harry just shook his head. “It’s not…did you know that it didn’t even have to be me? The headmaster let me read it—it never even said me specifically, just someone born at the end of July. It could have been Neville, but for some reason he thought that I was more dangerous, and….”

“And he marked you,” Severus completed. If Longbottom was supposed to be the savior of the Wizarding world…Merlin help us all. Better to drink something toxic and have it over with. He held back a shiver, debating for a moment whether or not to reveal the fact that he’d been the one to overhear the prophecy—or at least part of it—and pass it on to the Dark Lord. If Albus hasn’t already told Harry it won’t do anything but give him one more thing to think about, and frankly an irrelevant thing at that. If he has…well, I suppose the boy will ask if there’s something that he wants to know. He considered for a moment. Although if he did know, I suspect that I’d have been subjected to some form of a rant by now so he probably hasn’t the slightest.

“He marked me,” Harry agreed bitterly. “And he killed my parents.”

There wasn’t a great deal that could be said in response. “Once again, it isn’t fair, but I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that life rarely is.”

“So what can I do?”

Given that the prophecy has already been made and you can hardly ask Sybil to take it back…. “What can you do about the Dark Lord? Right now your responsibilities are to concentrate on your magic, to get stronger and more knowledgeable so when you do face him you won’t need luck to beat him.”

“But—” This time Harry cut himself off with a shake of his head.

“But what?”

“But the longer I wait the more damage he can do. I mean…look what he did to you! To Cedric. I bet he’s out there right now hurting other people.”

Bloody lousy time for that people-saving instinct of yours to assert itself. “I believe we’ve already talked about what happened to Mr. Diggory. It was tragic, but it was in no way your fault. And what happened to me has little to nothing to do with you either.” Not entirely true, but he’d known the price for being found out a spy and accepted the risks long before he’d met young Mr. Potter. “Just out of curiosity what do you think would happen if you did go out tomorrow to face him?”

Harry shrugged, looking away. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you’d have to be able to do two things: get through his ranks of Deatheaters, and beat the Dark Lord himself in open combat. Frankly, I very much that you could do either at this point. Like it or not, you aren’t an adult yet, and you don’t have the skills or the experience that will come in time.”

The boy still didn’t look convinced, and Severus continued. “If you face him—or the Deatheaters—and die, you’ve done nothing but take away the hope of a good portion of the Wizarding world, even those who haven’t a clue what your true potential is. After all, if he can kill the Boy-Who-Lived….” As annoying as the title might be, it is something of a rallying cry. “Not to mention what that will do to the morale of those of us who actually know the prophecy. And if you face him and lose but still survive, what does that do? Confirm to him that you are as important as he suspects; maybe even reveal more of the prophecy than he already knows? You’ll be in even more danger, and he won’t hesitate to do whatever he feels is necessary to get to you. That includes using your friends and their families if he doesn’t see an easier way.” Or even if he does; he enjoys tormenting his victims far too much to leave them unscathed. That should get through to him, even if nothing else does.

“But I can’t just…sit here!”

“You most certainly can!” Severus snapped in return. He was going to if Severus had anything at all to say about it. “There are others involved in this battle, ones much better suited to fighting it at this point in time! You need to stay here at Hogwarts, concentrate on learning much as you can, and get yourself as prepared as possible for the day when you will face him. Wait until the advantage is on your side instead of so overwhelmingly on his. And yes, people probably will get killed in the meantime, but that happens in a war. It isn’t right or fair or anything but sickening, but that doesn’t change the facts. The best that you—the best that any of us—can hope to do is minimize the damage.”

Harry opened his mouth, and Severus cut him off.

“Learning as much as you can includes Occlumency. Your mind is the most important tool that you’ve got—you must protect it. If he finds he can access that, the war may be over before you even get your chance to enter. And not with the outcome we’d all prefer. Legilimens.” Half-a-second later Severus grunted as he impacted the far wall and the world went black.

///////////

“—fessor?”

Severus wondered idly just when Harry had gotten taller than him. He was fairly certain that it had been a recent development.

“Professor? Can you hear me? I’ve called for Madam Pomfrey.”

The mediwitch was suddenly there as well—two of her, in fact—and he realized that at some point she’d grown taller than him as well. And then it occurred to him that perhaps the reason that everyone was taller than him was that he was laying flat on his back.

“Professor? Are you all right? I didn’t mean to—” He broke off as Poppy pushed him aside, waving her wand, and suddenly the ceiling was approaching.

“You can just go explain yourself to the headmaster; Professor Snape needs to be in the infirmary.

Severus blinked and tried for a coherent sentence, but before he’d gotten more than a groan out Poppy was glaring down at him menacingly.

“Now, I haven’t the faintest idea what brought this on, but I do recall telling you that you were to concentrate on recovering. I’d like to know just what part of ‘recovering’ a fractured skull falls under.”

It took a moment for the preceding events to sort themselves out in his mind, and he couldn’t help a grimace. Perhaps I should have waited until he’d calmed a bit before attempting to continue the lesson. The muted whispers that he could hear as he floated up the stairs didn’t make him feel any better about the situation either—no doubt news of his injury would be all over the school by curfew. And plenty of rumors about just how he’d been injured to accompany them. I’d almost prefer that they think I had a potions accident as opposed to someone having done this to me…I’ve had enough injuries inflicted upon me in the past few months. Next thing you know they’ll be laughing about the target painted on my back. He’d have preferred to see exactly who would be spreading the rumors, the better to exact revenge at some point in the future, but Poppy had put some sort of immobilizing spell on his neck and the only thing he was getting a clear view of was the lovely stonework in the corridor ceiling.

The trip to the infirmary took entirely too long for his peace of mind, but at least it seemed to be empty when they arrived. Whatever affliction the young Miss Chang had been suffering under was apparently cured. Poppy set him down on one of the beds but declined to remove the spell holding his neck still until she’d dumped a vial of skel-e-grow down his throat. A vial of vile…Merlin’s beard, I must have rattled my brain a bit more than I realized if I’m making jokes like that. The ache in his skull began to recede, and he began to sit up cautiously.

“None of that, now. I obviously can’t trust you to take care of yourself back in your own quarters, so I’ll just have to keep you here for the night until that crack is fully healed.”

“Poppy, I can assure you—”

“Are you all right, my boy?”

Albus. Wonderful.

“Professor, I swear, I never meant—”

And Harry with him. Well that, at least, I should deal with. “It was an improvement over your last attempt, I suppose. Although perhaps you could direct some of that anger elsewhere next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

The boy looked thoroughly miserable, and Severus was annoyed to find himself softening. And he hadn’t even been annoyed with the brat in the first place! Well, not more than mildly…. “Enough. I’m obviously fine. Go back to your dorms and play chess or some such with one of your little friends, and I’ll see you at the usual time on Thursday.”

There was the sound of receding footsteps, and then Albus leaned over him. “How are you feeling? Harry was a bit nonsensical, but he said you’d hit your head.”

“Hard enough to fracture his skull,” Poppy confirmed. “So it was hardly a little tumble.”

“He—Harry—had a bit of bad reaction to the news you gave him the other day, and I pressed at what was quite apparently the wrong time. I will be fine.”

///////////

Severus stood along the wall with the rest of the professors as Fudge led his entourage into the hall. It wasn’t just the Ministry officials he’d expected…there were reporters as well, one woman that Severus thought he recognized from the Muggle government offices, and two others speaking what sounded like Spanish and dressed in robes that indicated that they were personages of some sort. It was early enough that the students hadn’t started trickling in yet, but no doubt they would be soon, and then….

Well, no one was quite sure what would happen then. Probably a speech of some sort, but if Umbridge knew she hadn’t bothered to enlighten them. Severus had given the woman a double-dose of his potion at dinner last night and had another dose tucked in his sleeve ready for breakfast…he had seriously considered ways that he might dose the Minister this morning as well, but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything viable unless they were seated next to each other. Considering the presence of the reporters, it was probably better that he refrained.

“Who’re they?” Rolanda hissed with a jerk of her chin at the two personages.

“Don’t know the shorter one, but the taller one is Alejandro Morales, liaison from the Spanish Ministry of Magic,” Alastor said before Severus could shrug. “Worked with him once or twice on cases… decent sort.”

“‘Decent’ and hanging about with Fudge?” Severus returned.

“At the time I had more important things to do than question him about the friends he kept.”

“Hush, both of you,” Filius scolded.

Always the peacemaker. Fudge was arranging the Ministerial group to his best advantage when he returned his attention to the visitors. A special table had been brought in to accommodate them all, which ruled out the possibility of him being seated anywhere near the Minister anyway. Perhaps they’ll do this ‘special presentation’ she mentioned at breakfast and we can spare ourselves his company for the rest of the day.

“Now, now, no need to stand on ceremony,” Fudge said with a decidedly insincere smile. “Please, take your seats.”

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,” someone muttered off to his left. Pomona, judging by the voice, but it was hard to say for sure. No doubt the feeling is widespread.

The students began to enter a few moments later, and throughout breakfast the room was filled with whispered conversations that seemed to please the Minister. He managed to refrain from making any speeches although he did rise and nod when Albus acknowledged him. Personally Severus would have preferred that he was ignored altogether, but perhaps that would have been a bit too impolitic.

Severus had taken the seat next to Umbridge before anyone else could—not that anyone else would be vying for the position—but he wanted to make sure that she got that dose. As long as she was sitting at the High Table he was going to take advantage of the fact. She left her seat before the end of the meal, moving down beside Fudge and passing over a roll of parchment. Fudge took them with a smirk and turned back to the High Table. “We’ll be accompanying the High Inquisitor on her rounds today, and then we’ll have a special presentation at dinner.”

Joy. Sybil’s second-year Divination class had been first on Umbridge’s list of Friday classes to observe, but since Umbridge had been avoiding the seer Severus was fairly certain that that had changed. Charms, maybe? I know Filius has an after-breakfast class, but I can’t recall what year. Minerva’s Transfiguration class is second—not the NEWT students, more’s the pity—and then History of Magic with the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw first years third. Followed by seventh-year Ancient Runes. Nothing of interest to see, really, provided Minerva kept her temper. He was surprised that Care of Magical Creatures wouldn’t be on the schedule since Hagrid had been a particular target of Umbridge’s. But then it is possible that she’s made up a ‘special’ schedule just for today. He wondered offhand what Harry would say if he made a request to borrow his invisibility cloak. Should have thought of that last night, I suppose.

Unfortunately, with no way to get his hands on the cloak and no legitimate excuse for following the party about otherwise, there wasn’t much he could do besides return to his rooms. He made up another batch of the nerve-shattering potion—his original supply was getting decidedly low—started on the bases for a few other potions that he was planning to brew at some point in the next few days, and then decided that there was no reason that he couldn’t take a quick walk about the castle. It wasn’t something that he normally did, but…well, he needed to pass the time before dinner somehow. There was nearly an hour left.

He’d circled up to the attics and was making his way back down past the infirmary—keeping an eye out for Poppy—when a voice from behind startled him. “Professor?”

He turned quickly, checking his wand automatically although he didn’t draw it. “Mr. Malfoy.” Draco’s face had fallen slightly at his address, and after a moment Severus modified his tone and continued. “Shouldn’t you be in class now? I don’t believe the lessons have ended yet.”

“Professor Slughorn asked me to fetch some burn cream from Madam Pomfrey. I…I’d heard you were injured.”

Severus assumed that he didn’t mean the loss of his eye and arm and nodded slightly. “I took a bit of a bump to the head a few days ago, nothing to be concerned about.”

“I—it wasn’t—I mean—”

He was opening his mouth to insist that the boy simply spit out whatever was concerning him when a bell released the students from their classes. Draco disappeared into the crowd almost immediately, and Severus frowned. That was…odd. But not something that he had time to dwell on just now, and he joined the flow heading down to the Great Hall. Hopefully whatever Fudge had come up with was something that could be easily handled. Or at the very least ignored.

Severus noted that none of the rest of the staff seemed to be eating much of the meal provided, although Fudge and his cronies were putting away more than their fair share. Perhaps I should have chanced drugging one of the dishes. The student tables were quiet as well, but if Fudge’s presentation was supposed to be any kind of secret no doubt they all knew about it by now. The meal drew out entirely too long for his tastes, but finally Fudge rose. “And so it begins.”

Rhiannon, seated to his right, muffled a snicker.

“If I may have your attention, please,” Fudge started. “As I’m sure you all know, the High Inquisitor has been observing the classes here at the school for some time now, and has come up with several recommendations. She’s also discovered a nefarious plot that I’m sure will shock and horrify the majority of the Wizarding world.”

“A ‘nefarious plot’?” Minerva muttered from somewhere beyond Rhiannon. “I wonder who wrote that part of the speech for him.”

“To begin with, she’s discovered that several Hogwarts teachers are completely ineffectual. For example, there is a Care of Magical Creatures professor who is barely understandable and has a notorious record of keeping unsafe pets on school grounds, and a Divination professor who uses her talents to frighten students. Not to mention several other professors who are obviously unqualified—either in their knowledge or their mental stability—to be teaching.”

Technically he’d been perfectly correct in his assessment of Hagrid and Sybil—although Severus was glad that Hagrid wasn’t here to hear it—and Severus wondered if he was one of the mentally unstable. Deep chuckling farther down the table in the opposite direction than that from which Minerva’s comments had come indicated that Alastor thought that he certainly was. Again, Fudge is hardly incorrect in that assessment.

“Clearly these inadequacies must be remedied. But most disturbing is what has been discovered happening among the student body. Delores, if you would.”

Umbridge stood—she’d been seated beside Fudge for this meal—and made that annoying throat-clearing noise Severus had come to detest. “I have discovered—” She broke off with a throat-clear. “I have discovered a plot among the students of Hogwarts to overthrow the Ministry and place Dumbledore in the position of Minister.”

Whispers spread across the room, and Severus glanced at his seatmates. They seemed as much at a loss as he was. Although…Harry and the rest of the Trio were exchanging what they probably thought were covert glances with several other students. I doubt they’re plotting to overthrow the Ministry, but obviously something is going on….

“When Miss Edgecombe came to me, I could scarcely believe my ears, but…well, perhaps she should tell you in her own words.”

A blonde girl seated at the Ravenclaw table stood. Sixth year, bit of a dunce if I recall, especially considering the house she was put in. More of a dunce than he recalled if she was willing helping Umbridge with much of anything, particularly when you considered the death glares that a fair number of other students were throwing in her direction. Most notably the ones that Potter and his friends had been eyeing a moment earlier.

“I was f—”

“You see!” Umbridge shouted, banging her hands down on the table in front of her. “It’s a conspiracy!” Half of the room jumped at her rather nonsensical shout. “They’re plotting, planning to take over the Ministry and replace the officials with Dumbledore and his cronies who will throw the world into disarray!”

What in Merlin’s name…? Granted he expected her to be irrational, but….

“I tried to raise my own army against them, but I couldn’t do it. They were not loyal! My own army—my inquisitorial squad!”

It looked to Severus as though she glared at the Slytherin table at this point…none of the students seated there betrayed anything at the accusation but depending on who she’d approached that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Her waving arms certainly didn’t seem to be indicating anyone in particular, although only quick reflexes on the part of the woman from the Muggle ministry had kept her cup of pumpkin juice from being knocked to the floor during one particularly expansive wave.

“Delores, I—” Fudge stood as well, obviously trying to regain control of the situation before it deteriorated any further.

“I know what happened, though.” Her voice had dropped to a hissed whisper that somehow carried throughout the room all the same. “They were loyal to me, but their minds were invaded. Their opinions changed on the whim of the Blibbering Humdinger!” Back to a shriek. “It came to them in the night and turned them against me!”

“Delores, what are you—”

Clearly this wasn’t in whatever plan Fudge had come up with. Severus leaned back a bit to better enjoy the show.

“The Blibbering Humdinger, I tell you! Haven’t you seen them sneaking about? That’s where the swamp came from—the swamp that was taking over my office was a part of the plot!”

The Lovegood girl leapt from her seat. “But Blubbering Humdingers live in the Arctic! They charm the penguins out of their suits! Which reminds me—has anyone seen my blue socks?”

“What in Merlin’s name is a Blibbering Humdinger?” Devon asked while the rest of the room divided their silent stares between Lovegood and Umbridge. “And I thought penguins lived in Antarctica.”

Severus was about to suggest that he consider the source of the information when Umbridge shrieked again. “It’s a lie! It’s all a lie! She’s one of them! There are spies all over the castle, and I know what they’re doing. I know! They’ll never get past me!”

“Delores!” Fudge interrupted, a bit more stridently this time.

“They’re watching me all the time—I hear them whispering in my head—but I’ll catch them. I’ll catch them all, and lock them in the deepest, darkest dungeon I can find where—” She broke off with a gasp. “They’re in my rooms at night! In the corridors during classes. Their winged messengers have take over my office and continuously try to steal mother’s jewelry! I hear their hissing constantly!”

Severus wasn’t sure whether she was speaking about the Doxies or the Nifflers or something completely imaginary at this point…Nifflers didn’t have wings, Doxies weren’t in the habit of stealing jewelry, and as far as he knew neither species hissed. Then again, it probably didn’t matter much at this point as the other Ministry officials that Fudge had brought along were starting to edge their way away from her—and Fudge—and even the reporters were starting to look skeptical. Unless Fudge pulled off a miracle, the only story that was going to appear in the next set of papers that went out would be about the nervous breakdown of the High Inquisitor. Even if he could buy them off, convince them not to print anything…well, this wasn’t a courtroom with only a few spectators. The Great Hall was filled with students—students that Severus knew all-too-well liked to gossip—and he very much suspected that there would be a run on the owlry tonight for the chance to be the first to convey news of the events back to their relatives and friends. And anyone else they could think of to tell.

“Delores, I know your time here has been stressful. Perhaps—”

“Can you hear them?! I hear them all the time, now. In the halls, in my rooms—they follow me! They—”

“Stupify.” Poppy stood as the woman fell silent.

And I was hoping to see how long she could carry on before her voice gave out.

“The High Inquisitor is obviously distraught.” Poppy’s voice was cold. “I’ll be taking her to the infirmary now, and I’d thank you all to stay well clear until I’ve determined what the issue is.” Fudge opened his mouth, and she nailed him with a glare. “Unless of course you’d like to be the cause of an even worse episode?”

Albus stood while Fudge was still obviously trying to find a way to overrule the mediwitch. “Well, I think that we’ve had enough excitement for the night. Students, if you’d return to your houses I’ll have the house elves deliver pudding directly to the common rooms just this once. Ladies, gentlemen,” he addressed the Ministry officials, “you are of course welcome to stay and finish your meal if you’d like, and if any of you were hoping for a more thorough tour of the school I’m sure one of the professors would be happy to escort you. If you would prefer to return to your homes, the floo in my study is open.”

“Would it be possible to get a connection to Madrid?” the shorter man from the Spanish Ministry of Magic asked.

“Not a direct connection, but if it is an acceptable compromise I can send you to the main London terminal and they will be able to get you a direct connection.”

“That would be fine.” Neither he nor his companion spared a glance for Fudge, who’d was currently opening and closing his mouth but producing no sound.

Severus didn’t try to hide a smirk when he realized what Albus was doing. Dispersing the audience before the Minister had any chance to spin the events to his advantage. If that’s even possible at this point. You didn’t have a speech planned out in advance for when your High Inquisitor proved to be a lunatic, now did you? Now, provided Poppy didn’t discover the potion he’d given Umbridge in the woman’s bloodstream…. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s not as if it can be traced back to me, after all.

“Hello, Professor.”

“Harry. You’re looking uncharacteristically depressed.” Especially considering that after a week in the infirmary—at which point Poppy had released her on the grounds that the sanity of the school mediwitch had to take precedence over that of the High Inquisitor—Umbridge had slunk back to the Ministry. She hadn’t been seen or heard from since, to no one’s great disappointment, nor had Fudge had a great deal to say on the subject. While he’d managed to more-or-less silence the Daily Prophet, the rest of the papers had more than made up for it, as had the reports sent out by the students. If the rumors of the waves of Howlers that had been reaching the Ministry were even marginally true, it wouldn’t take much to permanently destroy any credibility that he’d ever had. Which, when you consider who and what they’ve tolerated in teaching positions here, is saying something about just how badly he mucked this up.

Harry shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“The sort of nothing that happens when the Headmaster calls you in for long discussions about fate and prophecies?” Although Severus wasn’t sure he wanted to know if it was—he wasn’t particularly interested in a repeat of that conversation.

“Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that.” He seemed to consider for a moment and then glanced up at Severus. “Maybe you know. What are you supposed to get a girl you like for Christmas?”

Severus had a sudden moment of empathy for Fudge—and wasn’t that an odd feeling—as his mouth opened and closed but he wasn’t actually able to form a coherent thought. Of all the subjects that he might have expected to come up, that hadn’t been one of them. Not even remotely. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well….” Harry had turned red. “I mean, I know that I want to get her something, but I don’t know what, and….” He trailed off with a shrug.

“I suggest that you ask your little friends for advice.” As opposed to bringing this sort of nonsense with you to Occlumency lessons and a professor who hasn’t been a teenager for nearly two decades.

“I tried that, but Ron’s moaning over Quidditch and getting annoyed about Hermione getting owls from Krum—you remember him, the Durmstrag competitor last year?—and didn’t even try to come up with anything. And when I asked Hermione to pick out something for me to give to her when she went to Hogsmeade this weekend she called me an insensitive wart.”

“Yes, well, I believe the point of getting someone a gift —particularly a, um, special someone—is for you to select something that they would enjoy. Having someone else do the selecting for you does tend to negate some of the meaning.” Or so I’ve heard.

Harry made a face. “Bloody silly if you ask me as long as she gets something she’d like. Anyway….” He looked up hopefully.

“Mr. Potter, it may have escaped your attention, but I am quite single.”

“Well, it’s not like I want to marry her!”

“Perfectly sensible, of course, but perhaps not the tone to take with the young lady.” He smiled at the boy’s expression. “I confess that I did not do a great deal of ‘dating’ in my younger years. This might be a subject on which you should consult with your Godfather.” And there’s something I never thought I’d say, but the mutt might as well make himself useful for something. He certainly never lacked for company in his time at Hogwarts. Merlin knows what any of his companions were thinking, but….

“I can’t. The last time he floo’d, he said he wouldn’t be able to talk to me again for awhile, probably not until Easter at the earliest. Something about long-distance flooing leaving too many traces and it being too far for an owl to cover safely.”

Perfectly true, unfortunately. Although…. “I don’t suppose this last conversation was the one in which he hinted to you about the prophecy?”

“Yeah. Well, not the prophecy, but that there was something going on that I was involved in. I mean, it was pretty easy to see that there was, but still.”

Brilliant, Black, give the boy just enough knowledge to give him fits and then disappear without even trying to resolve the situation. I suppose I should have expected something of the sort. And not only that, I’mnow the one being asked for romantic advice by a fifteen year old. “I take it the werewolf went with him?”

The boy glared at him for the designation but nodded in agreement.

“Unfortunate. He might have been of some use to you in this situation as well. What about one of your other little friends? You certainly have plenty of them.”

“I can’t ask the twins—they’d be ridiculous about it; I’d never get a moment’s peace afterwards—and Ginny is kind of….” He shrugged. “She gets weird. Neville didn’t have any ideas, and I thought about asking Luna, but….”

“Perhaps Lovegood would not be the person to ask,” Severus agreed. Not if you want a reasonable response, anyway.

“I just need an idea, Professor—anything! It’s not like I can go down to Hogsmeade and go looking for myself right now, and if I can’t come up with something before Saturday morning I won’t be able to tell Hermione what to get and I won’t have anything to give her.”

Tragic. He sighed. “Well, what does the young Miss Chang like to do? It is Miss Chang you’d like to find a gift for, correct?” He assumed it was, but teenagers were known to shift their attentions about rather quickly.

Harry nodded. “Well…she’s the Ravenclaw seeker, so she likes Quidditch.”

Severus sighed again. “What does she like besides the completely obvious?”

“Swans?”

Why are you asking me? “I don’t know, does she?”

“I think so. I mean, I guess so. Her Patronus is a swan.”

Concrete evidence that the boy is, in fact, a dunce. Even I was never that oblivious. At least he didn’t think so; it had been a few years since his fifteenth birthday. He wondered for a moment just when the girl had learned the Patronus charm—and how Harry might have known about it—and then dismissed the situation as not his immediate problem. Not actually his problem at all since she wasn’t in his house and wouldn’t be demonstrating the skill in any class that he taught. “Well, might I suggest that you hold an actual conversation with Miss Chang during which you attempt to discover what she does and does not like? I daresay you’d be in a much better situation to select a thoughtful present than you are now.” You could hardly be in a worse one. Harry’s flush darkened even more, and he rolled his eyes. “Barring that, there’s always chocolate, of course.”

“Chocolate.” Harry brightened. “That’s a good idea. Everybody likes chocolate.”

She’s probably allergic. “Shall we begin, then?”

Occlumency practice had become considerably less hard on Severus—physically speaking, at least—since the incident with the skull fracture. It had frightened Harry far more than it had him, and the boy had managed a surprising amount of control since. Not that he had any conscious control over what he was doing, still, but at least it was something. He’d been considerably more hesitant about his blocks at first as well, but after a few snarls from Severus they seemed to have reached a happy medium.

They went back and forth for the full hour before Severus decided that that was enough for one night. Though if the brat was going to surprise him with questions like he had earlier, Severus was bloody well going to get his own question answered s well. “You know, Harry, I realized shortly after the incident with Umbridge that while neither Nifflers nor Doxies hiss, snakes do. And as I recall you brought several of them into my quarters not so long ago…I don’t suppose you know anything about these ‘spies’ that she seemed to think had been following her around?”

“Who’d want to spy on her?” Harry said, making a face.

“Mr. Potter….”

His mouth twitched. “Really, Professor, they weren’t spying. Snakes wouldn’t make very good spies, they don’t care about the same kinds of things people do. But it’s warm in here and cold out there, and all I had to do was promise them a warm place to spend the winter in….” He stopped trying to fight his grin. “There were a lot of places for them to hide in her office and her rooms—she’s never saw them hiding between the stones—and Ssslsss found out a couple days before Fudge’s visit that she could hide in the collar of Umbridge’s sweater under her hair. I guess the mess with the basilisk made Mrs. Norris afraid of snakes because she left them alone the whole time.”

Severus assumed that the hissing sound Harry had made was some sort of name and didn’t comment, although it was decidedly odd to hear that sort of sound coming from a wizard. “How many of them are there, precisely?”

“Four. Well, I don’t think Sssdnn ever left the box in my room—he’s pretty old—but the other three took turns following her around. They thought it was great fun.”

“Wonderful.” Part of him was impressed with the little prank, but the rest of him was…uneasy…at the idea of random creatures sneaking about in the castle. Particularly snakes. Granted Harry’s new pets weren’t exactly menaces on the scale of the basilisk, but the Dark Lord could speak to them just as easily as his student and wouldn’t hesitate to use any knowledge he could get to his advantage. Harry might not think that the things were seeing much, but who knew. “And how long do they plan to stay?”

“I promised they could stay the winter, but they’ve been hibernating in the box under my bed since she left so I don’t think it really counts.” He shrugged. “Normally they’d have gone into hibernation earlier, but I kind of woke them up.”

“Yes, well, you should just let them rest now, I think.” And seal that box, just to be on the safe side. “What kind of snakes are they?” He hadn’t thought that the one that had fallen out of Harry’s pocket looked particularly dangerous, but there were adders to the south…. If an adder had bitten her a few months ago, it would have solved all of our problems much more easily.

“Just grass snakes. They live down by the pond most of the time.”

“Ah.” He nodded towards the door slightly. “I suppose you can go on then. Don’t forget to practice before our next session.”

“Yes, sir.”

///////////

Severus gave the cauldron a final stir, ignoring the ache in his good arm as he did so. A vicious cold snap had set in this past weekend—after the students got back from Hogsmeade so he hadn’t even had the amusement of watching the more idiotic ones forming a frostbitten line in front of the infirmary—and with it had come aches in bones that he’d never had problems with before. Then again, the majority of them hadn’t been quite so badly broken and pieced back together before. It was…irritating. Still, it was nothing that he couldn’t handle, particularly since he was finally capable of brewing his own pain-relievers again. Not that that was what he was working on now, but….

He checked the potion in the cauldron in front of him as he swung it off the heat. The color would fade away as it cooled, and there was no odor either…. Perfect. He glanced down at the clamp attached to the stump of his arm and gave a half smile. He wasn’t quite as far along as he might have hoped in terms of dexterity, for example he still dropped perhaps one in five of those bloody marbles when he was doing his exercises, but by the time classes resumed after the winter holidays he thought he’d be comfortable enough to start working with the basilisk ingredients. Of course, he’d be resuming his teaching duties then as well—Slughorn had started making noises about going on some beach vacation as soon as the snow had started to fall—but with his Head-of-House duties removed he would still have some free time. Now that I’m no longer spying, I’ll probably have more time than I know what to do with.

There was a loud bang at his door, overriding the chime that indicated a professor was visiting, and he shook his head and called out to his visitor to enter. Hagrid had been up at the castle a great deal more since the fiasco at dinner had put an abrupt end to Umbridge’s career at Hogwarts. Severus frowned at his stores. Grawp—Hagrid’s giant-friend—had caught a bit of a bug and had kept the half-giant busy taking care of him these past few days…Hagrid probably needed another potion for chest congestion. It was giving Severus plenty of practice with this new arm, at least, although if it kept up much longer he was going to have to replace his oversized cauldrons. With a shake of his head, he began to transfer the potions he’d just finished into the waiting vials, stoppering each as it was filled. Hagrid never minded waiting in the sitting room until Severus could join him.

“And just who are you making that for?” a rough voice growled.

Severus spun, nearly spilling the remaining Veritaserum all over the floor as he snatched at his wand, and Alastor smirked.

“Constant vigilance, boy.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, I was under the impression that the civilized custom of knocking had spread throughout the Wizarding world.” How someone with a false leg and a bloody crutch can move that quietly is utterly beyond my understanding. “Normally the only professor who beats on my door when he wants entrance is Hagrid, and for him that is a knock.”

Alastor just nodded towards the cauldron.

“Proof that I could do it, more than anything else.” He wanted to evict the Auror from his workroom—he’d left the door open in case he had another fumes incident and the man had simply walked in—but if he voiced that thought Alastor would never leave. “I take it you’re here for some purpose?” Aside from annoying me?

Alastor ignored him, unstoppering one of the bottles. He studied the potion for a moment and then sniffed carefully. “Looks about right.”

“Should be right. Care to have a sip?” Severus neither needed nor expected an answer to that, and he took that vial and the two still sitting on the counter and put them in the appropriate place in his storage cabinet before deliberately turning his back on the ex-Auror and pouring the last of the Veritaserum out of the cauldron and into a fourth. He’d move them all to the storeroom after they’d fully cooled. “Again, just why are you visiting? I’m assuming it wasn’t purely for the fun of harassing me, although I suppose now that there’s no Umbridge to chase about you’re probably finding yourself with far too much time on your hands. Might I suggest a hobby?”

“Have one—catching Dark wizards.”

“And let me guess, your idea of a relaxing evening is one spent by the fire with a whiskey and a foe glass.” Not that I have any business making comments at this point considering how I’ve been spending my evenings, but if he’s here to annoy me I’ll damn well return the favor.

“I want a duel.”

That was a bit out of proportion for the insult he’d just given, and Severus ceased his wipe-down of the counter and turned to face him. “Well, I would like an all-expenses paid trip to somewhere—anywhere—warm, Minerva insists on hoping for world peace, and I’m sure our friendly local ex-Inquisitor wants us all consigned to Azkaban just on general principle, so I’m afraid it’s going to be a disappointing holiday all around.”

Alastor snorted. “I’m not talking about to the death, boy, but from what I can tell the last duel any of these children saw was a good three years back between you and that ninny, Lockhart. If that could even be called a duel.”

“It was once described as brilliant,” Severus pointed out as he gestured for the older man to precede him into the sitting room and wondered just why the man wanted the students to see a duel. They do enough of it themselves in the halls between classes.

“Brilliant.” Alastor’s voice was decidedly disbelieving, although at least he was moving out of Severus workroom. “And you were a Deatheater for how long?”

Huh. It’s ‘were’ now? That’s an improvement, at least. “I believe the brilliant part was when he went flying off the platform without getting a single spell off.” After bragging about his abilities ad nauseam.

“Ah.” Alastor looked a bit more satisfied at that, dropping down on the couch. Without an invitation, but if he’d actually waited for one Severus would probably have died of shock. “Potter and his crowd have started up some sort of secret club…not too sure on the details, but I’d like them to have some idea of what they’ll be facing if they’re idiotic enough to get themselves into a fight with any of Voldemort’s lot.”

Ah. And would this be some sort of private club where they learn Patronuses, perhaps? Severus took the chair and debated for a moment. He’d never gotten around to asking Harry just where he’d seen Chang’s swan, and after the mess with Carmichael Harry had mentioned that he and his friends had been teaching themselves spells to get around the fact that they’d been learning nothing from Umbridge. Not to mention that Edgecombe had started to say something during Fudge’s visit; Umbridge had simply lost her mind before the girl had gotten more than two words out. Edgecombe had since developed some sort of skin condition that was preventing her from taking meals with the rest of the student body, and he hadn’t heard much else.

“I thought next Friday afternoon would be a good time,” Alastor continued. “They’ll be too excited about leaving on the train the next morning to pay any attention in classes anyway.”

“I believe Filius used to be a champion dueler.”

Fingers tapped on crossed arms. “If I wanted to duel Flitwick—or for that matter anyone else I expected to follow the standard dueling conventions—I wouldn’t be here speaking to you. You can duel someone who doesn’t fall down after the first blow, correct?”

Severus didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer, but it was fairly clear that Alastor wasn’t planning on taking ‘no’ for an answer. And…well, he had to admit that the experience might prove interesting. Although dueling someone who’s been hunting Dark wizards for at least as long as I’ve been alive might not be particularly conducive to my health and long life.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never been tempted to toss a hex or two in my direction?” Alastor pressed.

Considerably more than tempted and on more than one occasion. “Somehow the thought of the pleasure it would bring me has never quite managed to outweigh the knowledge of what the likely consequences would be.” Alastor snorted, and Severus considered the idea a bit more. Poppy had said that he was as healed as he was likely to get, and this wouldn’t be a bad way to find out just what he was capable of. The ex-Auror could certainly be counted on not to go easy on him; something he wasn’t sure he could trust the rest of his colleagues about just now. They would insist on sparing his feelings which was all well and good in the short term but of no use at all if he found himself facing a Deatheater with an overestimate of his own capabilities. As to the duel itself…well, there was no doubt that he was more maneuverable than Alastor, and spending as much time as he had in the Dark Lord’s company had taught him a few unusual—not to mention downright nasty—tricks. Granted he couldn’t use the majority of them without chancing real damage, but he’d modified curses before. “Standard Wizarding duel?” That would put them far enough apart that his missing eye wouldn’t be much of a disadvantage.

“Close to, at least. No Unforgivables or permanently crippling curses; I’d say we’ve both had enough of those.”

Modified standard, then, Severus noted, although he certainly agreed with what curses were to be excluded. He specifically didn’t say no Dark curses, which makes sense if he wants the students to have some idea of what the Dark Lord’s followers are capable of. It upped Severus’ chances a bit as well, although he suspected that the other man’s repertoire was nearly as extensive as his own. Though I doubt he has the same skill at casting them. “Just for your defense classes, or…?”

“Suppose whoever wants to come might as well. I’ll set up a spell barrier.”

That was a good idea…it was a safety measure in most dueling contests that kept any stray spells from striking the audience. And kept the audience back. The last thing either of them needed was some idiot child leaning in for a better look and catching a curse in the forehead. Not that they wouldn’t deserve it, but I can just imagine Poppy’s reaction. With Lockhart a barrier had hardly been necessary—though it would have been useful when Draco had conjured that snake—but…. “You have yourself an opponent, I suppose. Who for mediator? Flitwick, perhaps?”

“I imagine that we can do without.”

A very modified Wizarding duel, then. Merlin help him, this might actually be enjoyable. “Fair enough.”

Alastor grunted, and pushed himself to his feet. “Next Friday, then.”

//////////

“Happy Christmas, Professor.”

“And here I was under the impression that the holiday did not begin for four more days,” Severus observed as Harry bounced, very nearly literally, into his quarters.

If Harry noticed the sarcasm—and Severus knew full well that that wasn’t something that you could always take for granted where Gryffindors were concerned—he gave no sign. “Did you hear about Quidditch?”

“That the ban has been lifted?” Or at least Dumbledore was ignoring all of Umbridge’s decisions, which amounted to basically the same thing. “The Weasley twins were quite...exuberant…in their celebration.” To the point of setting off another spray of fireworks in the Great Hall. This time they’d lost points. “Have you been practicing?”

“Of course, four days a week and a long practice Saturday. Ron’s actually getting really good as Keep—”

“I meant Occlumency.” Harry grinned, and Severus shook his head. “Yes, most amusing. All right, let’s have it then.”

They took up the now-familiar seats on the floor, and Severus flicked his wand without verbalizing. And promptly found himself repelled. And moved a few centimeters backwards, but he’d still take that over what had been happening.

“Are you really going to duel Professor Moody on Friday?”

“For my sins,” Severus agreed.

“Do you think you’ll win?”

“I honestly have no idea.” He rather suspected not though he hoped that he could manage a draw; as far as he knew he and Alastor were fairly evenly matched in power, but while speed was important experience did mean something in this sort of a fight. Either way he had no doubts that he could give a more than fair accounting of himself. He’d spent the last few days reviewing spells, just to make sure he had a wide selection to choose from when the time came. “However, we aren’t here to discuss my dueling tactics. Clear your mind.”

“But—” Harry gritted his teeth for a moment, and this time the shove was more pronounced. Not much, but a bit more. “But is it going to be like your duel with Lockhart, or—”

“I’m not sure whether you’re putting Professor Moody or myself in Lockhart’s place, but I can assure you that neither of us would be thrilled with the comparison.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I meant is it going to be formal with a platform and everything, or….”

“Well, we aren’t going to start hexing each other up and down the Great Hall. Or, rather, I suppose we will, but we’ll not only be using a platform we’ll also have a shielding spell between us and those of you observing in place before it begins.” Aside from protecting the students, it would shield him from any of them who might think that this was a good time to finish what Carmichael hadn’t been able to. He certainly wouldn’t be in a position to watch them himself. “This duel should be considerably more interesting than the last you saw.”

“Wouldn’t take much. Although it was still funny.”

“Legilimens.”

This time when Harry pushed him out, he didn’t give the boy a chance to ask any more questions. “And how goes your courting of the young Miss Chang?”

Harry glared at the carpet. “Not very well.”

“She’s not a fan of chocolate?” Bright Merlin, I wonder if she actually is allergic.

“I never had a chance to give it to her. I saw her in the halls yesterday, and she must have just gone to see Marietta because was on a tear saying how H—how it wasn’t Marietta’s fault that she sold us out to Umbridge because her mother works for the Ministry, and that it wasn’t fair for her to have it written on her forehead.” He shook his head. “Except she shouldn’t have joined if she couldn’t keep a secret, that’s why the list was jinxed in the first place. Ron’s father works for the Ministry, and he managed to keep his mouth shut.”

“I assume you’re talking about whatever that little club of yours is called in which you were teaching yourself spells during Umbridge’s teaching career?” And that ‘H—’ is Miss Granger and that she has something to do with Miss Edgecombe’s skin condition. Which apparently involves some sort of writing on her forehead.

“Oh, yeah. I…you aren’t planning to tell Umbridge, right? If you even know where she is.”

Severus gave him the nastiest glare that he could manage on such short notice—and he’d had plenty of practice—and pushed past Harry’s mental barriers. He got a flash of an argument with the Chang girl, and then he was thrown right back out. “Hm. Watch your shields; you’re good enough to push me out now, but if you don’t know I’ve gotten into your mind you won’t know to get rid of me until I start rummaging around. There are circumstances in which the Dark Lord might simply be content to use your eyes.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir. Anyway, I guess Cho and I weren’t exactly going out in the first place, but we definitely aren’t now. We never really talked about what happened before—we were just so excited that Umbridge was gone—and I sort of thought she felt the same way as the rest of us about Marietta’s ratting. I don’t really think I want to go out with her if she can excuse that with just ‘she’s a lovely person who made a mistake.’”

Neither a Gryffindor nor a Hufflepuff would have found that to be an acceptable explanation, he suspected…Severus could see circumstances under which he would excuse someone under that pretext, but then he hadn’t been a member of one of the more idealistic houses. “You may not feel like it at this moment, but it’s probably better that you found out about this particular difference in…philosophies…now rather than later.”

“I guess.”

Oh, no, I am not dealing with a lovesick teenager. “Legilimens.” In. And then back out.

“Are you staying here for the holidays?” Harry asked, apparently putting the previous conversation aside.

“I always do. I assume you’ve been invited to join the Weasley horde?”

“Yeah. Hermione was invited too, but she’s going skiing with her parents instead. Ron thinks the whole idea is ridiculous…she had to swear to bring back pictures before he’d even believe that muggles did something like that.”

“I can understand his skepticism.”

“Anyway, it’s going to be a long trip there so I got her a new book on Numerology. She’ll probably finish it before they even get to the resort.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Had Ron get it for me. And then she got my presents for everyone else. Wish I could have just gotten them myself, but….” He shrugged.

“Yes, I know, life is just horribly tragic sometimes.” Although it had been somewhat annoying to do his own shopping entirely through the post as well…he’d made his yearly attempt to convince Albus to wear something—anything—slightly less outlandish than usual and ordered a set of picture frames. He’d gotten Devon’s name in the yearly staff gift exchange and considering that the man still hadn’t stopped bringing pictures of his niece with him to meals…. Well, it wouldn’t be quite as amusing as last year when he got to watch Minerva open the box that he’d filled with a wide selection of cat toys, but at least the frames had been easy enough to locate. And two sets of Ominoculars had arrived yesterday as well, although he wasn’t entirely certain that he’d deliver either. With a shake of his head, he pushed back into Harry’s mind.

At least Alastor isn’t given to the dramatic, Severus decided as he mounted the platform. The entire pre-duel speech had consisted of, “Professor Snape and I are going to duel now; keep your eyes and ears open and maybe you’ll learn something. And keep back from the barrier if you know what’s good for you.”

Severus wasn’t certain if Alastor had put more spells on the barrier besides the standard shield-and-deflect or not, and upon reflection decided that there was no reason to ask. He wouldn’t have put anything damaging on it—at least not permanently damaging; if one of the brats ended up in the infirmary for a day or two he suspected that it would be considered earned—and at this point Severus had other things to think about. At a slight nod he mounted the platform. Though not with each other they both had done this before, so after saluting and pacing out the appropriate distance their wands came up in unison.

No theatrical stances here, Severus had already decided…they might look impressive in a duel, but no wizard in his right mind would even think about using them in a real fight. Stand sideways to minimize target area, feet shoulder-width apart for balance, dominant arm towards your opponent. He had a spare wand held in his clamp tucked inside the other sleeve—not a particularly good wand, unfortunately, but not one that anyone else knew about either since he’d ordered it from a shop in Knockturn Alley secretly years ago. It was a bad match for him, but if Alastor managed to disarm him it might buy him at least a few minutes to get his proper wand back. Or possibly end the duel if the other wizard wasn’t careful about a ‘disarmed’ opponent, but Severus wasn’t going to waste his money betting on that scenario. The fact that he no longer had a right eye was irritating, but it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t have turned his head anyway, and in the moments before the duel began he studied the older wizard. Alastor didn’t use the side-stance, but since he wouldn’t likely present any less of a target sideways than he did face on it didn’t make a great deal of difference. Most of his weight seemed to be on his good leg, which might be something that Severus could use. Although it could easily be a ploy, as well, if he expects me to concentrate on that side.

Severus checked his grip on his wand. He’d thought about doing an early cast—it was a tried-and-true Slytherin trick, after all—but Alastor would be expecting it and in a duel very nearly the last thing that you wanted to do was something that your opponent would expect.

“Expelliarmus!”

Well, that’s insulting. Severus sent out a Deripio, a whip-charm intended to snatch a wand from a person’s hand, at the same instant, and then switched his attention to deflecting the Expelliarmus. It wasn’t a spell that was any real threat to a wizard ready for it—provided that there was only one person casting it at the time—but there had been enough force behind it that he suspected that he’d have ended up flat on his back if he’d tried to simply block. With a glare he followed up the Deripio with a two-pronged zapper. It wasn’t particularly dangerous, even if you didn’t block it—rather painful, but not dangerous—but it was distracting and a good way to put an opponent off balance. He’d done some basic planning before the duel, nothing definite since you had to adapt to the wizard you were facing, but enough to give him a basic framework. The zapper was supposed to be followed up with a similar-looking hives-hex…again, not particularly damaging, but bloody annoying and it tended to keep a wizard’s full attention until it was cancelled which giving him time to cast something heavier. Although maybe I’d be better off using something with more—

A shield he’d never seen before absorbed the zapper, and he had to rush to raise his own shield before a whirlwind struck. He felt his hair move as some of it slipped around the edges and gritted his teeth. This is not the time to get distracted! He sent out two muted Sectumsempras at Alastor’s arms in quick succession, but both were blocked, and something bright and hideously flashy shot towards him in return. Generally the more dangerous spells weren’t the flashiest and he raised a standard square-block to meet them. It did the trick, but there were still flashes of light in front of his eyes. “Langlock!” Granted forcing wordless magic wasn’t anywhere near as limiting as forcing wandless, but at least it might slow Alastor down.

He blinked hard as Alastor shot off a choking curse in return and then had to leap out of the way as it slid partially around his block. He’d thought he’d gotten it up cleanly, but that bloody flashing spell from a moment ago was graying his—Merlin! The flashing was a distraction; the bastard hit me with a Conjunctivitis curse! Wordlessly, too, damn him. Maybe the Langlock wouldn’t do as much as he’d hoped. He needed a moment to cancel the spell, but his vision was nearly completely blocked now….

“Watch it, Professor!”

Severus made a mental note to explain the concept of discretion to the young Mr. Potter at some point in the near future and perhaps mention how when one was being discrete he didn’t cheer for a professor he was supposed to hate. For the time being, however…he flared his shield just enough to feign a firewall and absorb the incoming Relashio and then dropped it and sent out the heaviest Deprimo he could manage in Alastor’s general direction. With that much force coming down from above it should at least make him stumble even if it misses. Such a nice equal-opportunity weapon. From the sound of splintering wood and the snarled oath—apparently Alastor had managed to unstick his tongue—that followed, he’d come close enough with his targeting. A flick of his wand at himself relieved the coating over his eye, and then he brought up the strongest block he had. That was not going to have gone over well.

Even with the block up, he was knocked backwards by the power of the hammer-hand curse that struck in return and only quick footwork kept him more-or-less upright and on the platform. And then he caught sight of the other end of the platform and winced. Perhaps I put a bit much force behind it. Either he’d missed or Alastor had deflected the blow—or some combination of the two—but he’d actually managed to break off the far end of the dueling platform. Someone’s not going to be pleased about that.

Behind the hammer-hand came a pinwheeling fire charm he’d only seen in use once before, back during the first war when he and several other Deatheaters had come upon a group of Aurors they hadn’t expected. Goyle hadn’t had the sense to duck and had been badly burned.

Severus batted the wheel aside, making sure that it dissolved against the spell barrier rather than being deflected back towards him. “Accio wooden leg!” It didn’t move—no real surprise there; what kind of idiot wouldn’t use a sticking spell?—and he aimed a hammer-hand of his own at the platform top. Just because he couldn’t take the leg didn’t mean that he couldn’t knock the other wizard off balance. Besides, it’s not like I can do much more damage to the platform at this point.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

“Arachnia Oppugno!” That one worked better if your opponent was actually afraid of spiders, which it didn’t appear that Alastor was, but even so very few wizards cared to have hordes of arachnids swarming them and it took time to banish—or stamp—them all. Severus tried another Deripio while Alastor was distracted but he saw it coming and twisted enough to take the blow against his shoulder rather than letting it hook his wand.

“Obscuro!”

Because the Conjunctivitis curse wasn’t enough…could you bloody well leave my eye alone?! “Concussio!” He was ready for the trembling platform while the other wizard wasn’t, but unfortunately Alastor recovered more quickly than he expected and Severus winced as a cutting curse—low-power—sliced into what was left of his left arm. “Tarantangulla!”

The dancing jinx got through—probably because it was so unexpected—although Alastor cancelled it almost immediately and deflected the hex that had been sent on its heels. And then Severus ran through half-a-dozen blocks before he found one that could handle the…well, he’d seen in before, but he didn’t know the incantation. Some kind of restraint spell involving being encased in an amorphous blob that he had no desire to experience firsthand. Incarcerous followed almost immediately, before he had time to retaliate, and he dodged aside rather than waste time cutting the ropes up. Three Flagrante curses shot from his wand in quick succession, aimed at three different locations. Two were deflected although from a muttered curse the last had struck, and then a jet of water hit him in the chest and knocked him backwards. He slipped a bit in the puddle that formed on the dueling platform but stayed on his feet, and in return he shot a gouging spell at Alastor’s false leg.

“Avis Oppugno!”

Alecto! The flock of birds was coming right at his face, and he summoned a Fiendfyre to take them without a second thought. He threw a Sectumsempra with as much force behind it as he could manage in the direction the curse had come from in the hopes of disabling Carrow. He had to get out of here—there were too many Deatheaters to fight and with that damn spell barrier in the way there was no way he could apparate. His legs felt solid enough…maybe if he could cut his way to the door he could run away. He discarded the idea as quickly as it had come; he wouldn’t make it through the doorway. And if I have to die, I’d rather die fighting.

Something struck him in the chest, but he barely felt it, twisting to see if he could locate the Dark Lord. If nothing else, he could at least damage the creature. Or kill him and save Harry the trouble. There was shouting in the background and he dimly noted that the fiendfyre was still circling, but there were plenty of Deatheaters to hold its attention. Besides, the possibility of a few burns was the least of his worries right now. Another spell came at him and he deflected it and returned Dolohov’s curse. Be bloody difficult for whoever he was facing to keep casting at him with that kind of internal injuries, although Merlin knew there were plenty of others to take his place. At least Alecto must be down; I haven’t heard her again.

His wand arm burned suddenly, and he gritted his teeth. They’d already gotten one wand away from him this evening, and if he let them get this one there was no way he’d be able to Accio another.

“Incarcerous!”

The ropes snagged his right leg but didn’t manage to trip him…he couldn’t think why anyone would be trying to take him alive at this point, but it probably mean that the Dark Lord wasn’t done with him. He’d be better off if he forced them to kill. Not that I want to die, but better quickly while fighting than slowly by torture. “Conglacior!”

“Professor!”

Students. The Dark Lord was recruiting students, initiating them today. And that one was off to his side—out of his field of vision—so he wasn’t sure where to aim. Not that it really mattered; this bastard in front of him wouldn’t go down, wouldn’t stop firing curses, and he couldn’t afford to let himself take the time for even a blind shot. I have to get rid of him. “A—”

“What is going on here?!”

The shriek brought him up sharply, and then his arms and chest were encased in some kind of jelly-like substance and he couldn’t move his arm anymore. He could still twist at the waist to aim, but….

“This was supposed to be a duel, not a common brawl!”

Confusion distracted him from trying to figure out how to continue to fight partially disabled as he was. He knew that voice—knew that tone, too. He’d heard it often enough as a student, and more than once or twice since as well. Minerva? Was she captured? How? When? But…. He blinked, suddenly aware that he wasn’t in any dark, dingy room; he was in the Great Hall. At Hogwarts. And there were no adults in masks surrounding him, there were only students in school robes off to one side and an ex-Auror looking more than slightly worse for wear in front of him. His breath was coming in shaky pants he realized abruptly, and he focused on calming it enough to let him think clearly.

“Students, I believe the excitement is over for the afternoon,” Minerva was continuing in a much calmer voice as she flicked her wand in a complicated pattern to banish the barrier and stepped up onto the platform to address the crowd. “I suggest that you all return to your rooms and make certain that you’re ready for the upcoming holidays. Those of you that are leaving, please remember that if you forget something you won’t be able to retrieve it until you return so make certain that you have everything.”

Severus caught a flash of messy black hair and green eyes as the students began to disperse, but Harry was dragged away by the Weasley boy before he did more than make eye contact. Draco lingered longer in the back of the hall, but eventually Minerva’s glare drove the last of the students out.

“Now what in Merlin’s name is going on?” she demanded, head swiveling back and forth since there was no way to glare at them both at once from her current position. “And you can release him now.”

“Not sure I should just yet,” Alastor disagreed.

“Excuse me?”

It wasn’t overly wise to disobey her when she was in this particular mood, Severus knew, but apparently Alastor wasn’t aware of that fact. “I’m…fine.”

“There’s a load of rubbish.”

“Neither of you look ‘fine,’” Minerva added on the heels of Alastor’s muttered comment. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in the infirmary.”

It wasn’t precisely a suggestion—or, for that matter, a conversation—although the blob pinning Severus’ arms did slide away after a moment. His breathing was back under control now, at least, although…. Well, the trip to the infirmary was mostly a blur, and it wasn’t until Poppy suggested that he put his wand away that he became conscious of spikes of pain shooting up his arm. His fingers were clamped down so tightly that his entire hand had cramped.

“Gashes, cracked bones—and that one has minor internal injuries,” Poppy said with a wave at Alastor. “What in Merlin’s name were you two doing?!”

“Brawling,” Minerva returned. “It was supposed to be a duel, but you’d never have known it looking at them…not a mediator in sight, no curse restrictions….” She shook her head. “Merlin help us when the students start repeating what they saw.” The glare was back. “You do realize that we’re here to teach them, not give them concrete examples of what not to do, correct?”

She was right about that much, Severus knew…he didn’t want to think what would happen if a couple first years—or even seventh years—mimicked anything he’d sent out in those last few minutes. “It’s not…it’s my fault. I was…I don’t know.” He swallowed, still trying to sort out what had happened. One minute he’d been holding his own against Alastor, and then the next he was…well, somewhere else.

“You either had a flashback or were possessed by a homicidal maniac,” Alastor offered, examining a deep gash on his wand arm. “Not sure I’d care to wager which.”

Flashback. Bloody hell. He had neither the inclination nor the energy to come up with an appropriate rejoinder at this point.

“A flashback to—oh.” Minerva closed her mouth abruptly and her glare faded into a look of dismay.

“Well, whatever happened, you two certainly managed to do a fair bit of damage to each other,” Poppy said in the silence that followed, producing several vials of potions for each.

Severus downed his without question although he didn’t care for the look in her eyes when she handed it to him—unless he missed his guess, there was going to be a suggestion of mindhealers in the near future. Probably the very near future. Alastor glared for a bit, considering the two vials he was handed from all angles before he finally took them. Perhaps St. Mungos offers a two-for-one special.

“I’d prefer if you both stayed here for the night just to make certain that you’re healing properly,” the mediwitch continued. “It’s unlikely that the students will be doing themselves grievous harm this close to the holiday so you should have the place to yourselves.”

Joy. Just what he wanted; to be trapped in a room alone with a paraniod ex-Auror he’d just done his level best to if not kill then at least severely injure. “I’m sure we would recover just as well in our own rooms.”

“And you will—tomorrow.”

“If nothing else we can use what happened to you two as an example of what happens when duels get out of control,” Minerva said after a moment. “Saying that you’re recovering in the infirmary makes much more of an impression than you simply returning to your rooms as usual.”

Severus shrugged but didn’t have any real opinion on the matter—well, about using them as an example, anyway; he wasn’t at all interested in remaining in the infirmary. He doubted that either version would do any good as far as preventing hexing in the halls anyway, but since very nearly the entire student body had just seen him go mad it wasn’t as though it was going to damage his reputation any more either.

“You should both get some rest,” Poppy cut in. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

Minerva took that as her cue to leave, and Severus leaned back uncomfortably on the bed.

“You think she’ll notice if we leave?”

“Not only will she notice, she’ll hunt us down and then chase us back.” He shifted a bit more, and then twisted again. He was on the wrong side to easily keep an eye on Alastor while keeping his weight off the injuries he’d taken. And he’d gotten off lightly—most of the spells aimed at him had been meant to incapacitate rather than mangle.

“Stop twitching, lad,” Alastor growled after a few more minutes of shifting about. “I’m not going to hex you for a bloody flashback.”

So you say. I think I need to see about that eye sooner rather than later.

“Especially not in front of a witness.”

That’s comforting. Although…. “Harry?”

Something rustled a few beds over and then Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak. “Hello, Professor. Professor.”

“What are you doing here?” Severus demanded. Bad enough that he’d already put on a show in the Hall, he didn’t really want visitors while he was recovering from the experience. How is it that the last few times I’ve been injured his is one of the first few faces that I see? It’s not as though he doesn’t spend enough time here on his own merits.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” The boy shrugged uncomfortably. “I mean everything looked like it was going all right, and then all of a sudden it was just…vicious. Ron said Professor McGonagall stopped it just when it was getting good, but I thought someone was really going to get hurt.”

“We’ll both be fine,” Severus assured him. “Unfortunately it seems I’m not as recovered from my last encounter with the Dark Lord as I might have hoped.”

“What? Like post traumatic…whatever it’s called? Stress something, I think.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that.” Although traumatic and stressful are accurate, I suppose.

“That’s what muggles call it when people get hurt or see something really bad and have a hard time getting past it. I saw a news show about it once.”

By that definition he should have been suffering from whatever it was called for the last twenty years considering the things he’d seen and done in the Dark Lord’s service. Not that he was particularly interested in pursuing the subject. “Hm.”

“Anyway, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am sure. Now you’d best go before Poppy catches you in here and chases you out. Or decides to treat you for something.”

“Yes, sir. Happy Christmas. Happy Christmas to you too, Professor Moody.”

“Hmph.”

Severus raised a hand as he turned. “Mind you, no one hears about—” Perhaps the rest of the little dunderheads were of the same opinion as the youngest Weasley boy…that the duel was simply getting ‘good’ rather than that one of their professors had temporarily lost his mind. I’d rather a few be suspicious than have all of them spreading that kind of gossip about. It was one thing when they’d done it to Umbridge; Severus had no desire to experience it himself.

“I wouldn’t tell.”

“Go on then. Happy Christmas.”

There was a snort from a few beds over as Harry slipped his cloak back on and the door opened and closed. “Devoted little shadow you seem to have acquired.”

Another thing I have no desire to discuss. “Excuse me, I’m suddenly feeling quite tired.”

An alarm chimed, and Severus transferred his glare from the third-year potions essays Slughorn had been kind enough to leave behind for him to grade to the little clock. Time for the annual staff holiday party. Nearly all of the staff stayed on the grounds for a day or two after the students had left, catching up on grading and preparing for the next term and such, but tomorrow nearly half would be departing for their own homes or those of various relatives. Would anyone be truly offended if I didn’t appear? Somehow I doubt it. Unfortunately, the one time he’d attempted to skive off, Albus had felt that it had simply been due to a lack of holiday spirit and had taken it upon himself to rectify the problem. By redecorating his quarters in the colors of the season…and purple. The effect had been hideous, and with Albus’ knowledge of charms it had taken Severus over a week and Filius’ help in one case to get the decorations down.

With a growl, he collected the frames he’d purchased for Devon and made his way to the staff room. Perhaps if I’m still alive next year I’ll develop some sort of horrendously debilitating illness…. A debilitating and contagious illness. With spots.

“Happy Christmas, Severus,” Pomona greeted as he entered, ignoring his less-than-eloquent grunt in return.

“Well, now, I believe everyone is here,” Albus said with a smile. “So let the evening commence.”

Food—and alcohol—came first, and he picked away at the platters the house elves had delivered. No need to waste good food, after all, and it gave him a chance to drop his gift on the appropriate table. The idea was for the gifters to be anonymous, although it was never difficult to determine who’d sent what to whom.

“Severus, if I could have a moment?”

Bloody hell. He’d been avoiding Poppy since she’d released him after the duel, but she was wearing a decidedly determined expression and unfortunately since he couldn’t precisely claim a prior engagement just now he had no choice but to accede. “But of course.”

She waved him out into the hall—she was a professional, after all, and wouldn’t reveal a patient’s private information to others without his consent which was probably why she hadn’t accosted him while he and Alastor were both in the infirmary—before inquiring whether the duel had been the first flashback that he’d experienced. She looked suspicious at his confirmation, though he’d likely have said the same thing even if he’d been having them twice daily so he couldn’t precisely be offended.

“You may not be aware of this, but many witches and wizards who survived Grindelwald and the first war with You-Know-Who suffered through the same sort of thing. There are several on the staff at St. Mungo’s who would be more than willing to speak with you.”

“That’s not necessary.” Nor in any way, shape, or form, desired.

“Severus, this type of thing doesn’t generally ‘go away’ on its own. Have you been having trouble sleeping?”

“No.” A nightmare here and there, but he’d been having them for very nearly his entire life so he wasn’t about to start complaining now. And if they’d been a bit more frequently than usual in the past few months…well, that was only to be expected.

“What about poor concentration? Blackouts? Difficulty concentrating? I’d ask about irritability, but I’m afraid that that could hardly be classed as a symptom in your case.”

“None of the above. I’m fine, really. It was simply an isolated event.”

“It would be better if you spoke to someone,” she pressed. “I assure you that any mindhealer from St. Mungo’s would be appropriately discrete.”

“Poppy—”

“A flashback or blackout at the wrong time could be exceedingly dangerous, do you realize that? Not only to you but to everyone around you. You’re very lucky that it was Moody that you were facing across that dueling platform—if it had been one of the rest of the staff, either or both of you could have ended up permanently crippled. Or dead.”

He was tempted to point out that he was already permanently crippled, thank you very much, but it didn’t seem to be the time. “I think that you may be underestimating the seriousness of this. There are very few situations in which I’ll find someone casting those curses at me, after all.” Although it would put him at a very serious disadvantage in a true duel…but he could worry about that later. On his own. There must be a potion that can help counteract that kind of episode. Something similar to a calming draught, perhaps? He’d have to do some research. If it really was as common as she had indicated, he’d be certain to find something.

“But what if it isn’t just the spells that will set it off? You’ve spent most of your time since you were injured in your rooms—what if a flash of a particular color is enough? Or a sound, or a smell…if you’re going to be teaching, spending the majority of your day among students, I really must insist.”

Severus’ fingers twitched. If she was stating something like that flat out, it meant that she considered this a matter of safety to the school and those living within its walls and would take the matter directly to Albus if he fought. She might not be able to reveal the exact details, but since the headmaster had no doubt already heard about what had happened he wouldn’t have any trouble interpreting whatever hints she chose to give. And he’ll force the bloody issue, damn him. “I suppose I have no choice, then. I’m certain that you can make…appropriate…arrangements.”

Before she could respond, he shoved the door to the staff room open and stalked back in. The door catching Sybil in the back and nearly knocking her into the punchbowl didn’t even manage to improve his temper.

“Severus?” Albus asked, distracted from his conversation with Alastor by Sybil’s yelp. “Is anything wrong?”

“Wrong? What couldpossibly be wrong?”

“Well, perhaps it’s time for the gift exchange. Minerva, if you would?”

Poppy slipped back into the room as well, in time to collect a badly-wrapped box from the Deputy Headmistress. It was always easy to pick out Hagrid’s presents, and Severus hoped for a moment that he’d decided to give her something snarling and poisonous. Unfortunately it turned out to be nothing but a pair of dragon-hide gloves and a furred scarf. More's the pity.

His own gift came next, and his suspicion that Minerva had figured out who’d given her the cat toys last year was confirmed by her smirk when he unwrapped the package and found two elementary level transfiguration texts within. Although the third book, Transfigured Potions Ingredients and the Side Effects Therein, tucked at the bottom of the stack, might have vaguely interested him if he’d been willing to let anything distract him from his current mood.

The rest of the gift-giving went on as usual…trinkets and such, for the most part. Devon did seem pleased with the frames, to the point of hauling several pictures out of his robes and fitting them in then and there. Of course, the highlight of the entire evening was Alastor opening his gift—with his wand and from a distance of nearly two meters after casting several hex- and curse-detection spells on it which Severus supposed was what you got for giving a paranoid lunatic a wrapped present even if he could see through the paper—and finding an elaborate memory plaque. Already neatly etched with his name, accomplishments, and the year of his birth. And, at the bottom in the place that was meant for a death date, that of the upcoming year.

The wrapping paper had been covered in shiny crystal balls and tarot cards, so even those staff members who, like himself, claimed no particular talents at Divination were all able to determine the sender. “My Inner Eye has seen your death in the days to come,” Sybil elaborated when she finally realized that everyone was staring at her. “You may fight it, but the fates will not be denied in such things. So terribly tragic.” She heaved a sigh and then went back to picking through the box of chocolates that she’d received.

“You’re going to keep it?” Severus had to ask when the ex-Auror had hefted it with a shake of his head. He’d more than half expected the man to hex her on the spot just on general principle. He would have.

“Suppose I might get some use out of it. If nothing else, it’s heavy enough to make a fair bludgeon.”

///////////

Severus drummed lightly on the arm of his chair, regarding the snowy owl perched on the back of the couch. The students had left on the train while he was still confined to the infirmary so he hadn’t had a chance to deliver the ominoculars to Harry and Draco. At the time he’d simply assumed that he could present them after the holidays and hadn’t thought a great deal more about it. After all, the son of a Deatheater receiving gifts from a known traitor would not go over well with either his parents or the Dark Lord, and revealing to the Wesleys that he, Severus Snape, was sending presents to Harry-bloody-Potter…. He glared suddenly at the bird, who gave an indignant hoot and clacked her beak in his direction. Except that that Gryffindor brat had had the audacity to send his owl back to Hogwarts with a clumsily wrapped parcel addressed to him and a note wishing him Happy Christmas tomorrow. If Harry had just waited to give it to him until he returned then Severus could have done the same in good conscience; now he’d either have to either send the ominoculars back with Hedwig or come up with a reason that he’d waited to give the boy his present until a week after the holiday. He hadn’t yet managed to come up with anything that didn’t sound completely pathetic and he’d been at it for nearly an hour.

After a few moments more he summoned one of the ominoculars with a sharp gesture. Harry had sent his owl out with a gift; no doubt the Weasleys already knew who it was intended for. Sending back his own gift in return wouldn’t make a great deal of difference at this point. Although we’re going to have that discussion on discretion sooner rather than later. Now where did I put that gift wrap?

He’d already had second thoughts after sending the owl off with the gift—and third and fourth, for that matter, Merlin knew the Weasley boy wasn’t one to keep his mouth shut—when a heavy banging interrupted his thoughts. Hagrid or Alastor?

“Open the door, boy.”

Alastor. He waved the panel open. The man hadn’t sought any sort of retribution for the duel—hadn’t even mentioned it again while they were trapped in the infirmary—but Severus wasn’t particularly interested in getting on his bad side just now. Well, any more on his bad side than he already was just for being what he was. “What do you want?”

“There’s been an attack at the Ministry. Albus wants us both at St. Mungo’s, and I didn’t want to chance the floo.”

Fair enough…as far as they knew the Ministry had pulled back from Hogwarts completely after the little spectacle with Umbridge, but there was no guarantee that there weren’t still a few monitors around. Severus summoned his cloak and followed the older wizard out the door. Albus wouldn’t have called for them if it wasn’t important. “Any details?”

“No.”

They apparated as soon as they crossed the boundary of the wards, met by Kingsley Shacklebolt at the front desk. “Weasley—Arthur—was attacked. Snakebite, it looks like, and a big one,” he explained with no preamble.

Probably Nagini, Severus had no trouble interpreting. “When?”

“Sometime earlier today. He was supposed to come home early—Molly floo’d his office when he was late for dinner—and Perkins went looking since Arthur had left nearly half an hour before. Found him outside the Department of Mysteries more than three-quarters dead from blood loss.” They’d been walking as he spoke, and by the time he’d finished they’d arrived at the door entrance to the Serious Bites ward. Harry and the four youngest Weasleys were already there, as was Tonks.

“Professor?” Harry asked.

The door opened and Albus stepped out before he could respond…Severus caught a flash of red sitting beside the bed at the end of the ward and realized that Molly was already inside.

“What’s the situation?” Alastor demanded.

“Hm.” He indicated another door off to one side. “Let’s step in here for a moment.”

“No!” one of the twins interrupted suddenly.

“He’s our Dad; we have a right to know what’s happening!” the other agreed.

“Your brother will be out to speak to you in a moment,” Albus told them, and Severus assumed that the either the oldest boy or the younger one who was now working at the Ministry must be in with his mother. There was a third older brother as well, but he’d left after OWLs and was now off in Tasmania or somewhere like that and wasn’t likely to have gotten back to England so quickly. “Right now I need to speak with these three,” Albus continued with a wave in the direction of the newest arrivals.

None of the teenagers looked particularly thrilled with that announcement, but the door opened again to allow the oldest Weasley boy into the hallway and their attention abruptly shifted. Severus followed Albus into the unoccupied room.

“What happened?” Alastor repeated.

“Arthur hasn’t regained consciousness, but from what I can determine he was checking our wards on the door to the Department of Mysteries when he was attacked. The snake disappeared, but I think we can all make a better than fair guess as to its identity.”

‘Their’ wards were the ones the Order had put over the Ministry’s on the entrance to the department…nothing particularly intrusive or invasive since those would be all too easily noticed, but they would let them track who entered and exited.

“He lost a lot of blood before he was found,” Albus was continuing. “They’re giving him as much bloody-replenishing potion as they possibly can—from the look on the primary healer’s face more than is technically permitted, or for that matter, healthy—but unfortunately the poison in her fangs seems to be having an unusual effect. His wounds aren’t closing. The healers are trying charmed bandages to keep them sealed, but it’s not a perfect solution. Severus, do you have any idea…?”

Severus considered for a moment, but nothing sprung immediately to mind. He knew the Dark Lord had made some magical modifications to his pet’s poison glands, but that had been over a dozen years ago—right before his first defeat—and Severus had had other things to worry about at the time. “I can think of a number of things that slow or prevent the clotting of blood, but offhand….” He shook his head. “The Dark Lord isn’t precisely one to share his secrets. I’m not even sure where I would begin.”

“And if I get you a sample of his blood?”

“I’ll do what I can, but St. Mungo’s has half a dozen potions masters on the staff who are at least as competent.” Although they wouldn’t likely have his knowledge of the Dark Arts to draw upon. He shook his head more sharply. “Get me a sample.”

“Done.” Albus withdrew a vial from his robes and pressed it into his hand.

Severus glared. He hated being predictable.

Albus ignored the glare and nodded to the other two men. “Alastor, Kingsley, I want to set up a rotating schedule of guards on the ward, just to be safe. Tonks and Emmeline have both agreed—as well as Molly and Bill, obviously, but as I’m sure you’re aware their judgment may be…clouded…while Arthur remains in critical condition—and I was hoping that the two of you would be willing to assist.”

“Of course,” Kingsley agreed as Alastor grunted his assent.

“Excellent. I was thinking either four or six hour shifts….”

“Wait, lad,” Alastor ordered as Severus turned for the door.

Severus’ glare deepened now that it had a real target. Bad enough when Albus ordered him about—at least he was actually his superior—but paranoid ex-Aurors were a whole separate issue.

“Unless you’d like the Deatheaters watching this place and probably Hogwarts as well to catch you alone?” Alastor snapped. “You know that they’d have found out that that snake attacked Weasley by now.”

And, if last Friday had been any indication, he was in a somewhat dangerous state to be relying solely on his own defenses. Though I suppose if my only need was to kill someone with no worry for bystanders I’m probably no worse off than I ever was. In fact, with the idea that the Dark Lord was directly in front of him, he might actually be more dangerous.

“I believe Mr. Potter wanted to speak to you anyway,” Albus added.

“Joy.” He stepped out into the hall, but Harry had an arm over the youngest Weasley boy’s shoulders and didn’t spare Severus much more than a glance. Bill had disappeared, but Molly was sitting with her children now with her daughter pressed against her…the door was shut, but Severus suspected that Tonks had taken her place keeping an eye on Arthur. “News?” Preferably good news? None of them were sobbing which made him cautiously optimistic.

“Nothing yet,” Molly answered after a moment. “The healers keep assuring us that they’ve seen far worse bites, but…well, the bleeding still hasn’t stopped.”

And there were limits to the amount of blood replenishing potion that could be administered before it stopped having an effect, Severus knew. “I’m sure it will be…fine.” Comfort still wasn’t precisely something that he was adept at supplying.

“Can you help him?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know.”

“But you helped the man in Brazil!”

Severus found that he didn’t have the heart to point out that those circumstances had been entirely different. There, as unpleasant as it had been, he’d had people able to describe the progress of the poison in previous patients, ample amounts of pure poison to work with instead of contaminated blood that might or might not contain more than trace elements of it…and that had been a natural poison, or as natural as you could possibly get when it came to creatures that had been twisted by magic at some point in the distant past. Whatever the Dark Lord had done to Nagini’s poison, he very much doubted that ‘natural’ was in any way the appropriate word to describe it. He shook his head. “I will do what I can, of course, but Mr. Weasley has not only myself but all the resources of St. Mungo’s working for him. I don’t think you need to be too concerned at this point.”

“Professor Snape is perfectly right,” Molly cut in firmly, lifting her chin. “In fact, I think it’s time that you all get back to the Burrow and get some rest. It’s getting late.”

“But Mum—” the youngest boy began.

“You heard me, Ronald. I’ll come back after I drop you off and stay here until your father wakes up, but there’s no sense in all of us sitting around in these chairs all night.”

“But—”

“You may come back to visit tomorrow morning,” she interrupted her daughter firmly. “Come along.”

Severus was still debating whether or not to follow them out when Albus, Alastor, and Shacklebolt rejoined him in the corridor.

“Where are the Weasleys?” Albus asked.

“Molly was going to take the children home and then come back and stay with Arthur. I’m not certain where Bill went.”

“I believe he mentioned needing to pick up a few things from work, but taking the other children home was probably a wise decision on Molly’s part. I’ll wait here until she returns…I’d like to speak with her a bit more. In fact, perhaps I’ll stay here with her tonight and Tonks can stay with Harry and the Weasley children, just to be safe.”

“Leave Tonks here; I’ll go wait with them,” Shacklebolt offered. “I probably won’t need to stay for long…I doubt Bill will be spending the night here either if Molly has any say in it.”

Severus hadn’t seen a great deal of Bill Weasley since he’d left Hogwarts, even at the Order meetings, but what little he had seen had indicated that the oldest boy might actually be able to hold his own against his mother’s will if he so chose. It would be an interesting sight to see. Still, there were more important things to worry about just now. Shacklebolt walked out with Alastor and Severus, apparating himself presumably to the Weasleys’ home, while the other two wizards went back to Hogwarts and began the trek across the grounds.

“You actually think you can do anything with that blood?” Alastor asked.

Severus shrugged, already trying to decide the best way to start working. Obviously he needed to separate the blood from the poison—otherwise it would contaminate anything he tried to do—but trying to do that kind of separation without even knowing what ingredients were in the poison…. Well, I can look up the precise properties of blood, and I suppose process of elimination will have to do the rest. “I won’t know until I try. I’m not even sure if there’s enough, or for that matter even any, of the poison mixed in with his blood to work with. Albus knows that I’d need it, but if the amount Arthur lost before he was found was enough to cleanse the wound….”

“Would’ve closed then, I’d think.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.” He wasn’t any kind of healer by any stretch of the imagination, but it stood to reason that if the poison was still having an effect there would have to be at least traces of it remaining. “Did Albus have any idea where Nagini might have gone after the attack?”

“Nothing beyond that it disappeared. You have any ideas?”

“No, I was just thinking that this would be much easier if I had an uncontaminated sample to work with.” Though he had absolutely no desire to be the one to go snake-hunting. Besides which, the Dark Lord no doubt knew by now that she’d attacked Arthur Weasley, and he’d probably already taken her away to one of his safe houses. Damn him, what kind of lunatic sends a snake to attack someone anyway? Send your wizard minions like a proper dark lord.

Severus glared at the thin layer of clear liquid in the bottom of the vial. If he’d done this right that was the poison that was currently affecting Arthur Weasley. If. If he hadn’t, it was some combination of blood bits and poison bits and Merlin knew what else. Despite his best efforts there was probably snake saliva mixed in at the very least…assuming snakes even have saliva. For some reason I’m finding it very difficult to believe that the question of whether or not snakes have saliva is actually a concern of mine. The real issue of course was contamination from whatever the St. Mungo’s healers might have applied in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but there wasn’t a great deal he could do about that either at this point. Despite the fact that mixing potions together haphazardly was an excellent way to put an abrupt end to one’s family line. Not actually what I’m going for, although I suppose it is one way to end this lunacy. A normal potions master working in a research setting might encounter a completely unknown poison—a completely unknown substance, period—perhaps once in a decade. After all, they were generally paid for the creation of various potions not hunting about in the wilds for things that might or might not have some value. For a potions master in the pay of an institution like St. Mungo’s it might occur as much as twice or even three times that often simply because of the sheer idiocy of the vast majority of the Wizarding population. But no one has to deal with two completely unknown substances in the space of six mere months. No one. The idea is preposterous. There’s barely time to finish preliminary investigation on one in that amount of time.

He gave the vial another glare and then set it—carefully—on the countertop. This wasn’t the time to get careless and spill; he could hardly go to St. Mungo’s and suggest that Arthur bleed a bit more. Although since he still hasn’t technically stopped bleeding…. Unfortunately the only certain way to test whether he had enough—or even any—actual poison seemed to be sticking some on an open gash and seeing whether the blood clotted or not, and personally he had no desire to spend however long it took to get some sort of cure cobbled together bleeding. Where are students when you need one?

There was a sharp rap on the door to his workroom and he swiped at his eyes and waved it open. At least he knew it wasn’t Poppy here to harangue him about getting enough rest since he’d never given her the password to his quarters.

“Severus,” Minerva greeted, offering a handful of parchments.

“What—?”

“From the potions masters at St. Mungo’s who’ve been assigned to Arthur’s case. They detail what they’ve been able to figure out so far. Healer Smethwyck asks that you keep them updated as to your progress as well.”

A wise idea; it would keep them from duplicating research. He should write up the steps he’d gone through to purify the poison and pass them along, actually. Although…. “Do you happen to have a quick quill that I could borrow for the duration of this little emergency?” He hated the things—the shops might claim they were ‘accurate to a word’ but that had never been his experience—but there just wasn’t the time to waste writing everything out by hand.

“Horrible things,” she said with a grimace, “but I do believe I have one tucked away in my office.”

“How is he?”

“The self-sealing bandages seem to have stemmed the blood loss—although the wounds still aren’t looking any better—and they’re dosing him with blood-replenishing potion hourly. They still haven’t made up more than a third of what he’s lost, but at least his color is a bit better.”

Since Severus hadn’t actually seen him before he had no real frame of reference, but he nodded anyway.

“Harry and the Weasley children will be returning to Hogwarts after they finish their visit to St. Mungo’s…Molly needs to be with her husband and they’ll be safer here than at the Burrow alone.”

For a moment he had a horrible suspicion that she was going to pull one of Albus’ tricks and announce that he’d be hosting the five of them in his quarters or something equally horrendous—Harry was tolerable, but four Weasleys were absolutely out of the question—but it seemed that she was just informing him of the fact because she turned with a quick nod. “I’ll send down the quill with one of the elves as soon as I’ve found it.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you slept at all?”

“What?”

“Severus, it’s half past ten in the morning. You worked straight through breakfast as well.”

“Merlin’s beard.” Although he didn’t have much strength to put in the invective…of course having been up for over a day would explain that.

“You’re hardly at your best when you’re working with no food or sleep.”

“I know, I know.” I don’t need a lecture on the subject. “I’ll see about a nap after I look over their notes.” He waved the sheaf of papers she’d given him.

“Hm.”

As long as she didn’t set Poppy on his case he wasn’t going to worry about her opinion just now, and it was with some relief that he watched her exit his rooms. It was more of a relief when a house elf appeared with Minerva’s quick-quill. And a tray of food. He dictated between bites, double-checking that what he said was what was written. It was more accurate than he’d expected; enough so to be sent off with one of the school owls, at least.

A lighter knock on the door to his laboratory distracted him from cauldron number three an hour or two later. He’d stretched out on his bed for about ten minutes before deciding that sleep was a lost cause for the time being and went back to work, but even so he had to bite back a yawn as he called for his visitor to enter.

“Professor?”

“Hello, Harry. How are you?”

“All right, I guess. I can’t stay long; Ron and the others will miss me.”

He shifted uncomfortably, and Severus shifted his current attempt off of the heat. It wouldn’t be harmed by a bit of waiting. “Is there something you wanted to speak to me about?” No, of course not, he came down here for a bit of exercise.

“It’s because of me isn’t it? That Mr. Weasley was attacked. I remember I used to dream about the Department of Mysteries before…before the Occlumency lessons. I didn’t realize what it was then, but…. And the headmaster said that that’s where the record of the prophecy is kept.”

Severus suddenly wished he’d dosed himself to sleep. It would have at least postponed this conversation until he was more able to deal with it. And if I’d gotten very lucky he might have gone to Albus and kept me out of things entirely. “The Dark Lord can’t touch the prophecy. No one can take it except—”

“The person it refers to; I know. So only me. But that doesn’t stop him from trying. I mean, that’s why he sent Nagini to the Ministry, isn’t it?”

“I imagine so.”

“Yeah, well, I know so.” Harry scuffed the stone with his tennis shoe. “I want this to stop, Professor. I want people to stop getting hurt because of me.”

“What happened to Arthur Weasley is not your fault, Harry. It’s the Dark Lord’s fault, and no one else’s.” Well, perhaps a Deatheater or two he could name in the Ministry could share the blame as well; the ones most likely responsible for getting that thing in—and out—without detection, but now was hardly the time to pursue that subject. Harry looked like he wanted to continue arguing, and he searched for some sort of distraction. “Arthur is going to be fine.”

“Is the bleeding stopped?”

“The healers say that the self-sealing bandages are working well.” Well, something along those lines, anyway. Harry had probably just come from St. Mungo’s so he no doubt knew what was going on just as well as Severus did, but….

“But if they take them off he’s still hurt. The bites aren’t closing.”

“That problem is being dealt with as we speak. There is nothing for you to worry about.” A bit more of a blanket reassurance than he’d normally even consider giving, but it was better that than have the boy continuing to fret about just why Arthur Weasley had been attacked. “Now why don’t you go back up to the tower and spend some time with your friends? Play a few games of chess, go flying….”Do something other than ask me questions.

“Do you maybe need some help with something here?”

And I thought you said you couldn’t stay long. He shook his head and waved a hand at one of the smaller tables along the wall. Easier to go along with him than force him out just now. “Lemmas root. Dice it. Neatly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry set to dicing with a will that Severus wished he’d show in class on occasion, and he turned back to the work that had been interrupted. At least as long as he had something to do Harry didn’t seem inclined to push more conversation that Severus wasn’t ready to deal with, and while the fact that Severus had gotten rather…accustomed…to his presence didn’t in any way improve his potion-making abilities he was competent enough to dice and shred and such. Perhaps even a bit more than that—not much more, but he’d done tolerably well back in Brazil—but the ingredients Severus was currently working with were volatile enough that he didn’t want anyone else at that counter.

///////////

“—fessor? Professor?!”

Severus twisted his head to glare but he couldn’t afford to move quickly without risking an explosion in the cauldron in front of him. He’d babied the thing through the addition of the last half-dozen ingredients and didn’t even want to think about disturbing it until it finally settled. “What?”

Harry had shifted several tables down, shredding, mincing, and doing whatever else was required for some of the ingredients Severus had considered adding. “The chime on the front door to your quarters is ringing.”

“Well, go answer it.” The liquid wasn’t fading from the obnoxiously bright violet color it had attained after the mugwort had been added, and he slapped the counter sharply. He was going to have to start over…this wasn’t going anywhere. Well, not anywhere particularly useful although if he wanted a truly vicious corrosive he was very nearly there. He wasn’t even going to waste any of the venom testing it—it might destroy the poison but it would kill Weasley first, so…. Hours of work, completely useless.

“Professor?” Harry interrupted again, sticking his head back through the doorway. “Dinner’s nearly over…I’m going to go up with Ginny before everything is gone.”

The Weasley girl was hanging back behind the boy’s shoulder, obviously curious but not willing to actually enter his lab. Good. “Yes, fine.”

“Do you want me to bring you back something?”

“If I wanted food, I would call for a house elf. Go.”

Harry started to say something else, but a muttered, “Harry, come on,” cut him off and there was the sound of his workroom door swinging shut.

“Damn it, where did I go wrong?” He wasn’t entirely sure. If he just knew where to start, what the Dark Lord might have done…. There was a heavy bang on his workroom door and he snarled at his next visitor to enter. It was probably Poppy coming to harass him about missing meals again; just what he did not care to deal with now. She didn’t know the password, but Harry wouldn’t even have considered refusing her entry.

“Mr. Potter let me in on his way out,” Alastor said as he stepped in. “I think someday you and I must have a conversation about that.”

“Yes, fine, does three years from Tuesday work for you?” Not that Severus was entirely certain what ‘that’ meant, but he wasn’t in the mood to play word games either. I thought Aurors were supposed to be observant—can he not see that I’m busy? Maybe I added the calcium globules too quickly? But there was nothing there for them to react to at that point…there is no way that it should have gone bad so quickly.

Alastor glared and muttered something that was probably uncomplimentary and then offered a handful of papers. “From St. Mungo’s. Owls can be intercepted.”

“Thank you for that fascinating bit of trivia.” Paranoid lunatic. It wasn’t as though anyone particularly cared about what was being transmitted—the only person who might be looking would be the Dark Lord, and what was he going to do? Horror of horrors, maybe he’ll publish our results and claim the credit for himself. It’s not as though having our notes is going to do him or anyone else a great deal of use otherwise. Stealing letters isn’t going to stop the research, and anyone who doesn’t take basic precautions to de-hex, –jinx, and –curse their post deserves what they get. He took the papers and dropped them off to his right. He’d take a look at them when he figured out just where he’d gone wrong. There were three other potions masters working on the problem; two of them didn’t seem overly inspired but he recognized the name of the third from a seminar in Italy last summer and some of her earlier notes had looked somewhat promising. Nothing definite—certainly nothing that indicated that he should change his own line of research—but more than what the other two had managed thus far. He considered the cauldron again. Maybe I need to start with a stronger base. It’s—

“About that mouth of yours too.”

Severus paused for a moment. Can be intercepted? Ah, ‘a conversation about.’ Joy. “Is that all?”

“Hm.”

He was poking around now, along Severus’ back shelves, and Severus made a mental note to put some kind of touch-transmitted poison on the spines of a few of his books whenever he got a chance. Nothing particularly deadly, but…. My, I’m feeling bloodthirsty today. Although by his count he’d been up for something over thirty-six hours now, the majority of them stressful, so he could hardly be blamed for being in something of a temper.

“You act as though you actually expect to accomplish something.”

“Yes, well, leaving someone to bleed to death—” at least someone who wasn’t trying to kill him—“goes against my professional ethics.” Although not half as much as letting that creature out-think me with regards to a potion does. Merlin knew he wasn’t any kind of expert at transfiguration, and while he was good with charms and quite a bit better than ‘good’ when it came to the Dark Arts and defense against, potions was his subject. It always had been, and no psychopathic Dark Lord was going to beat him in it as long as he had any say in the matter. There was a faint chime—someone from the staff at the outer door—and he bit back a groan. If Albus announced that I’m taking visitors, I will bloody well hex him. “Come in.” Why not; he wasn’t getting much accomplished with Alastor around anyway.

“Severus, do you know how many meals you’ve missed?”

Poppy. Wonderful. This is why you ask ‘Who is it?’ before you open the door.

“Just because that arm of yours is healed doesn’t mean that you need to be starving yourself,” she continued, joining them in the laboratory. “You did have other injuries, and you could still relapse.”

I could also sprout horns and join the Wild Hunt, but I don’t see that as particularly likely either. If he got sick at this point it would be entirely on his own merits. There was a chuckling sound from behind him and Severus gritted his teeth. He was going to hex one of them before this night was over. He knew it. “Poppy, I had one of the elves bring me breakfast. I had a light—” nonexistent, in fact—“lunch, and as soon as I get this sorted out I will make sure to eat a proper dinner. Will that suffice?”

She tapped her foot. “And how long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“I couldn’t tell you precisely; it’s not something that I normally track very closely.” Perfectly true, of course.

“A rough estimate will do.”

Damn. “And after I have dinner, I will sleep. Is that acceptable?”

“It will have to do. I heard about Arthur and I do understand the urgency, but you’re of no use to anyone if you work yourself into the ground.”

He gave her a half-glare and nodded slightly. “I am aware of that, thank you.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded as well. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get. Goodnight, then.” Another nod, a bit off to one side. “Professor Moody.”

“Madam Pomfrey.” She disappeared in a swirl of skirts, and Alastor barked a quick laugh. “You really do have them fooled, don’t you?”

“Alastor, what in Merlin’s name do you want? She’s right about the amount of sleep I’ve managed to get recently; I’m certainly in no shape to play guessing games.” Not if you didn’t want the evening to end in curses—and I mean that quite literally—anyway.

“They think you can actually do something about this venom.”

“Yes, well, it is my profession so I suppose it stands to reason.” One of them anyway, the others currently including teacher—Merlin help me—and retired spy, but somehow I never planned for either of those.

“I’ve seen what Malfoy’s cronies are capable of accomplishing within the bounds of their ‘professions,’ thank you. I’ll grant you’ve got a bit of talent when it comes to making this and that, but paying off the right people doesn't precisely confer skill.”

Severus was tired enough that it took a moment to understand the implications of Alastor’s statement, and then his fingers twitch convulsively toward the near-corrosive in front of him. And then he paused to consider how long it would take him to reach the actual poison. It would only take a little cut—a shattering glass vial would see to that—and he’d have plenty of new blood to purify. Alastor already had a multitude of scars; a new one or two wouldn’t matter much.

It was one thing to insult his loyalty. That he expected; it wasn’t precisely an uncommon reaction and he’d had plenty of experience dealing with it. Insulting his abilities, however…. As a Deatheater he might have pretended to be slightly less talented than he was in reality to keep the Dark Lord from getting his hands on some truly horrendous substances, but comments of that sort were not something that he was prepared to tolerate from anyone else. “I think you need to leave. Now.” Before he did something that he—well, he very much doubted that he would regret it, but the ramifications would no doubt put a damper on his future plans. What there is of them, anyway. Thus far Azkaban wasn't featured and he'd prefer to keep it that way.

“I’m not—”

Several lighter containers began to rattle ominously and he clamped down reflexively on his temper. If he’d been in the outer room he would probably have let a few shatter, but in here it would do far more harm than good. “Regardless of your opinions, I do have work to do. I believe you know where the door is.”

Both of Alastor’s eyes focused on him for a moment, and then he nodded slightly. “As you please, I suppose. If you must persist, get a messenger to take your notes to St. Mungo’s from now on. I’ll be going back tomorrow morning for guard duty if you want me to take them.”

Severus glared at the door for several moments and then selected the now-empty jar that had held the Lemmas root Harry had diced earlier and threw it with great force against the far wall. It shattered most satisfyingly. Of all the arrogant, conceited…gah! He wasn’t even sure what expletive he wanted to apply in this situation. No one—no one, not even the moronic foursome that had haunted his schooldays—had ever dared to imply that he was anything less than perfectly competent in his chosen field. A bottle of newt eyes—he hadn’t meant to pick them up but they’d been sitting on the wrong shelf—followed the empty jar. There was a light knock on his workroom door and he waved it open with a bit more force than necessary.

“Professor?” Harry edged in cautiously. “Is something…wrong? I thought I heard a crash.”

“It’s none of your concern. I thought you went off with your little friend?”

He shrugged. “I just grabbed something quick to eat. I’m not really hungry. I finished powdering the Graphorn liver before I left…is there something else I can do?”

“Not right now. I suggest you return to your tower.” He turned back to the cauldron in front of him, taking a deep breath and forcing his irritation down, and debated what to do with the contents. There would be time for him to release his temper later, right now he was going to have to be careful how he disposed of this particular batch of failed results. It would melt right through a glass vial, and simply dumping it down the drain wasn’t an option with something of this potency. He did pick up a half-dozen silver lined ones on a trip to Spain a few years ago; now if he could just remember where he put them. He drummed his fingers on the counter lightly.

“Are you sure Professor?”

He aimed a glare back over his shoulder. “Mr. Potter, I find myself in grave need of peace and quiet. You may run and fetch two of the vials with the silver tint on the inside from the cabinet in the spare room, and then you may return to your rooms. I’m sure your friends would appreciate your company.” He had notes to read, notes to if not write then at least dictate and check, a base to restart, a meal to eat, and—unfortunately—a nap to take if he didn’t want Poppy on his case. And possibly a few more jars to smash. And that was after dealing with this mess. He already knew what Poppy’s reaction would be if he took another dose of Come-alert Draught and stayed up working through another night; she could be decidedly devious when she chose. Besides, there was a point where Come-alert stopped having any effect besides making things look very bright anyway, and he strongly suspected he would reach that limit sometime around two tomorrow morning.

The vials appeared at his elbow a moment later, but Harry had apparently taken his words to heart because he didn’t attempt to find any reason to hang around. Severus split the useless potion between the two vials, stoppering them carefully and setting them aside to be disposed of later. Notes were again dictated between bites of a meal, and he considered for a moment before owling them off. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Alastor just now, nor make allowances for the man’s paranoia.

Setting up the base—well, bases, he was going to try a few different variants and see which settled the best—didn’t take as much time as he’d expected. Having an assistant to prepare ingredients was rather useful…if Harry turned up at some point tomorrow he’d have to remember to thank him. Or at least acknowledge his efforts. No point in worrying about it just now though. Preparations might not have taken as long as he’d expected, but it was still late, and he dosed himself before climbing into bed. If he didn’t he’d be up considering cures and reactants and who-knew-what-else until the early hours of the morning even without taking any potions…he’d done it more than once before. As it was he was considering further steps to purify the venom as he finally drifted off.

The potion he’d taken wore off six hours after dosing, and Severus sat up with a swipe at his eyes. He felt slightly better—not that he’d admit anything of the sort to Poppy, of course—and with a snap of his fingers he summoned a house elf and ate a few pieces of toast while reviewing the notes from St. Mungo’s potions masters. He’d remembered to send off his own notes last night, but he’d completely forgotten about the ones they’d sent. How I managed that when they were setting right beside the cauldrons…. A quick flip-through confirmed most of his earlier opinions. He had no idea how the first had managed to pass his mastery; the man seemed to be throwing ingredients together at random with absolutely no thought as to the consequences. Severus fully expected him to become a patient in the Potion and Plant Poisoning Ward in the very near future. Or, possibly, Artifact Accidents if he doesn't cease attempting to mix things like dragon saliva and Chinese Chomping Cabbages. The second…no vision. Granted there were conventions to observe when dealing with a new substance, but this gentleman took methodic behavior to entirely new heights. The third’s notes were far enough advanced down her research track that he couldn’t follow more than the basic framework…at least one other person was doing something useful.

Back to the lab. One of the bases had failed miserably…nothing but herb stew. He poured it out and reset with one of the working combinations before selecting the most promising of the lot and collecting the ingredients he’d mapped out the night before. He was almost out of eel liver…if it turned out that it was an ingredient that he needed he was going to have to either collect more or order it from the apothecary. It’s better fresh, but I don’t precisely have time to go splashing about in rivers. Not to mention the fact that any of them that aren’t frozen over at this point are probably just this side of it. He drummed lightly on the counter and then decided not to worry about it until he’d finished this experiment. He’d have to restock his supply at some point anyway, but there was no sense in putting in a rush order if they weren’t even needed.

He was surprised when his stomach started growling several hours later. Well, not surprised that his stomach was growling—that was a fairly common occurrence when he was working and didn’t feel like wasting time on a meal—but that he hadn’t been interrupted. He’d more than half expected Harry to put in an appearance after breakfast. But then again there aren’t a great deal of students remaining over the holiday so the Weasleys probably don’t care to be deprived of his company two days in a row. Particularly in light of current circumstances. Fair enough I suppose. Although it did mean that he’d be preparing all of his own ingredients. Alastor had decided to either leave him in peace—I’d sooner expect Sybil to predict that I’ll live a long and happy life—or Severus hadn’t heard him banging on his outer door, and he’d eventually given up. Either is acceptable, I suppose.

With a quick check of the three simmering cauldrons, he shifted the fourth off of the high heat and set it to cool. He could not only satisfy Poppy’s absolutely unhealthy interest in his eating habits, he could stop by the owlry and send off his order to the apothecary as well. More eel hearts, fresh pomegranate juice, half-a-dozen other odds and ends that he wouldn’t normally use even when experimenting but that had properties that looked promising. He wasn’t sure how much of it would be readily available—as a general rule his stockroom held just as many rare ingredients as any apothecary did—but the owners were in a better position to track down suppliers than he was at this point.

“Severus, I didn’t expect to see you today,” Minerva greeted as he slid into an unoccupied seat at the High Table.

“Just a temporary break to save myself hours of harassment. Poppy.”

“Pleased to see you too,” she returned with a smile that was very near a smirk.

He kept his own expression even as platters sparkled in. There weren’t many staff members in the hall—himself, Poppy, Minerva, and Filius—and the students had been condensed to a single table. For some reason neither Harry nor the youngest Weasley boy had decided to put in an appearance although both twins and the girl were there with their heads together…the ramifications of that kept him occupied throughout the meal. No doubt the two missing teenagers were up to something, it was just a matter of figuring out what. Most likely trying to figure out a way to get back to St. Mungo’s and visit with Mr. Weasley again since obviously no one had come to take them today.

He left as soon as he was finished, returning to his workroom. Down to three possibilities again, apparently…the first potion he’d finished had cooled to an off-white shade with a rather unpleasant looking slime layer along the top. He’d check it, of course, but considering that it was supposed to have ended up deep brown and approximately the consistency of vegetable oil he wasn’t particularly optimistic. And in cauldron number two…well, that looks a bit better. At least it was the right color, although the steam hovering just over the surface should have condensed more quickly. If it cooled faster, maybe that would….

Sometime later a rattling sound interrupted his thoughts, and after a few minutes of building irritation he finally gave in and looked around. Nothing in here was making any noise other than the slow bubbling of heating liquid in his cauldrons…. Ah. Someone at the entrance to his quarters. No doubt the chime was going off as well and it just wasn’t loud enough to be heard. Hm, I wonder why I set it up that way. Oh, yes, that’s right. I don’t like being interrupted.

He set the vial of wormwood ash down with slightly more force than strictly necessary and stalked out into his quarters. “What?”

The Weasley girl swallowed and shifted in place when the panel swung open. “I…Harry said to tell you if they weren’t back by dinner.”

Did I miss dinner already? Wait…back “Back from where?” The Forbidden Forest sprung immediately to mind, although surely the boy wouldn’t have been that idiotic. Aside from the fact that it was off school grounds and barely two days after an attack, it was also well below freezing outside. St. Mungo’s? But what would be the point of telling me? They have terminals; he could floo back anytime he liked. Besides, whoever is on guard duty would already have notified someone. That didn’t leave many places.

“The Chamber of Secrets.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She shrugged awkwardly and shifted again. “The Chamber. He said that you said yesterday that the snake who attacked Dad had poison kind of like the basilisk’s so after breakfast he and Ron decided to go down there and see if Salazar Slytherin had left anything that might help. The twins wanted to go but they figured that if all four of them were missing someone would figure something was going on.”

That was certainly true enough, but when had Harry heard that about Nagini and the basilisk? Well, he did tend to mutter to himself when he was working; it was certainly possible that he’d said something of the sort, but... And then the rest of the statement sunk in and he took a moment to process. They went to see if a long-dead founder of Hogwarts who’d built a hidden chamber under the school to house a giant snake for the sole purpose of getting rid of muggle born students—not generally something that one would consider the mark of a philanthropist—had left behind any antidote for the poison of a snake that wouldn’t even exist for nine or ten centuries. Brilliant. “And he told you to tell me this when?”

“When they left. They went down the entrance and I sent their brooms down after them, but they were supposed to be back before dinner. The twins want to go down themselves and search, but I don’t, and since Harry said to get you….”

“Wonderful.” But no, she probably wouldn’t be interested in returning to the Chamber, would she? Just as well, if she had been amenable all five of them would probably be down there now with no one the wiser. So much for getting any work done tonight. Detention until NEWTs, the both of them. He was more than half-tempted to send her off to find someone else—aside from the fact that he wasn’t even the brat’s Head of House, Merlin knew he already had more than enough to do right now—but…. “All right. Fine. The entrance is in the second floor girls’ bathroom, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And it is still open?” I hope. Because Merlin knew what he was supposed to do if it wasn’t. Somehow I don’t think the Dark Lord would be amenable to lending a hand with this little situation, and for some reason I haven’t seen any Parselmouths advertising their services down in Diagon Alley..

She nodded again, obviously relieved that he was cooperating. “You might want a broom, though. So you can get back out.”

I might be better off remaining—it would certainly limit any interruptions. Still, Severus nodded in return, considering the situation. This wasn’t quite the same as retrieving the boy from a couple of useless muggles…who knew what else Salazar Slytherin might have hidden down there. “Run and fetch two, and take them to the entrance. I will join you momentarily.”

“Two?”

“I am not a Gryffindor to run off half-prepared into situations I know nothing about. Go, as I said I will be there shortly.” If he’d understood the schedule that they’d worked out Albus would already be at St. Mungos’s for the evening—based on the theory that that was when the Dark Lord was most likely to attack again since the hospital was always understaffed at night—but Minerva would be more than willing to accompany him. Especially since it was her students that were missing. How do I get into these situations? Drag him all over the bloody Amazon, hunt for him all over Hogwarts, and now I’m off on yet another Potter-finding mission. Couldn’t he take up a hobby less hazardous to my health? Say, knitting? When several heavy knocks on Minerva’s door didn’t produce a response, he stopped by Pomona’s to see if the other woman knew where she might have gone. Unfortunately, where she’d gone was to stay with Molly Weasley for the evening. Completely awful timing, damn it, but under no circumstances am I going to floo the Burrow and inform the Weasley matriarch that one of her children has gone missing—and Harry with him—which leaves…who?

“Severus, that’s not really my area of expertise,” Pomona answered upon being asked. “I’ll go, of course, if you wish me to, but wouldn’t Professor Moody be more useful? I mean, I don’t think I’ve cast a truly offensive spell in…well, it’s been years.”

Severus gritted his teeth. She’d been the obvious choice since she was standing directly in front of him, but she was perfectly correct in her assessment of her own skills. “Of course. Thank you.” Filius quarters were two hallways over, but much to his disgust he arrived to find that the Charms professor was out as well. He’d left a note on his door for the Ravenclaw students remaining over the holidays that he was out in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid and would return by midnight. Not particularly useful for Severus’ purposes. Who knew where Aurora was—as the new head of Slytherin house she had remained on the grounds for the holidays, but it was after dark so she’d be out somewhere with her telescopes. It would take more time than he wanted to spend to track her down, and frankly she practiced even less active magic than Pomona did. Which left Hagrid, Poppy, Sybil, and Alastor. Hagrid was apparently off with Filius which ruled him out, while it would be an excellent opportunity to get Sybil alone and put her out of his misery it wouldn’t help him locate the boys, and Poppy…. “Bloody hell.”

He knew where Alastor’s quarters were, but it took him longer than it should have to get there. Probably because he was still debating the situation with himself on the way. On one hand he wasn’t particularly interested in wandering around the Chamber of Secrets alone, on the other…well, Alastor was not precisely his favorite person. To put it mildly. And the insult to his competency yesterday hadn’t exactly improved his opinion of the older man. There are students are missing. He may be of some use finding them. Or facing anything that might be down there. And I can always Obliviate myself when this is all over. The door panel swung open as he raised his fist to knock, and he glared at the occupant.

“What are you doing here?” Alastor demanded, looking up from a thick volume on his desk.

“Harry and the youngest Weasley boy have been down in the Chamber of Secrets since a bit after breakfast. They were supposed to return by dinner.” They weren’t supposed to go down in the first place.

He frowned for a moment, and then nodded, shutting the book with a snap. “You’re going down now?”

“No, I’m simply spreading the good news,” Severus returned. He might have come this far, but that didn’t mean that he was willing to make a direct plea for help. “Are you coming?”

Alastor made a sharp gesture and his prosthetic leg flew off a stand and into his hands. “How do we get there?”

“Fall down a hole, from what Harry said. I sent the Weasley girl to pick up brooms for us…apparently the only way out is to fly, and since I don’t expect Fawkes to be sitting around waiting to provide us a ride it seemed prudent.”

“School brooms?” Alastor slapped the desk he’d been sitting at with the flat of his hand. “Constant vigilance! Those things sit unguarded in a closet day after day, week after week—might as well hang a sign on them that says ‘Tamper with me—Deatheaters welcome’! Probably all have so many curses on them you’ll drop dead before you even mount.”

“For some reason I think I’ll take the chance.”

Alastor made an annoyed sound and summoned something from the closet.

It was obviously a customized broom—Severus hadn’t seen anything like it before—but this was hardly the time to comment. “This way.” He’d already wasted more time finding someone to accompany him than he probably should have…Merlin knew what the two of them might have run into down there. He very nearly couldn’t believe that he was wishing that the trio were together as opposed to Granger being off who-knew-where. At least she is a stabilizing influence. Who has been known to pay attention in classes from time to time.

The Weasley girl was waiting with two brooms at the entrance to the second-floor bathroom and followed them in to where the twins were leaning over a pipe. The ghost of a girl was moaning in the background, but Severus ignored her.

“Professors,” one of the twins greeted, before returning his attention to the darkness. The other looked up but didn’t comment.

“Merlin’s beard. You two, get back.” Only a Gryffindor would even consider sliding down that thing. A particularly dense Gryffindor. How does that work? ‘Gee, it’s a dark vertical shaft leading Merlin knows where; I think I’ll slide down it.’ “Did they take any supplies with them?” Climbing rope springs immediately to mind.

“Brooms,” the twin who hadn’t spoken said. “And Harry took some lunch in his pack.”

“Wonderful.” He gave the three Weasleys a particularly vicious glare, including the ghost girl when she wouldn’t stop muttering to herself. “We are going to go retrieve Mr. Potter and that brother of yours. Under no circumstances are you to follow us, is that understood?” He waited until all three of the live teenagers gave their assent. “If we haven’t returned within the hour you will explain the situation to Professor Flitwick if he is available or Professor Sprout if he is not. If you are unable to locate either of them….” His glare must have intensified because the two Weasleys in his immediate field of vision stepped back a bit. “Professor McGonagall is at your house.” If there was something down there actively preventing them from returning they’d probably need more help than the remaining teachers would be able to provide.

“Yes, Professor,” one of the twins agreed.

“Do you want me to float your brooms down after you?” the girl offered. She’d set one of the school brooms back against the wall, but the other was still in her hand.

He nodded, but Alastor gripped the shaft of his more tightly and shook his head. His choice. Personally Severus didn’t particularly want to land on his and break it, nor did he want it landing on him. With one more glance at the pipe, he sighed and stepped into it. Particularly dense Gryffindors and Slytherins with probable head injuries.

The slide down—more along the lines of a less-than-controlled fall—wasn’t something that he would ever care to experience again, and he slid to a halt on rocks that made an oddly light clicking sound when knocked together. “Harry? Weasley?” No answer. Not that he’d really expected one. “Lumos.” He knew he shouldn’t, that he should be content with the little light reflecting off the metal and filtering down the pipe, and that he’d be happier not knowing what he’d landed on, but…. As he’d expected. A layer of bones. At least most of them appeared to be rodent, although he wasn’t going to tempt fate by looking too closely. A thump and curse behind him marked Alastor’s arrival—he’d managed to avoid destroying his broom somehow, nor had his leg detached—and Severus’ broom appeared shortly thereafter. With a shake of his now partially-slimed robes he tucked it under what remained of his left arm. “Shall we?” At least there was only the one way to go with no random offshoots that the two boys could have wandered down.

“After you.” Alastor’s magical eye was rotating wildly but apparently there wasn’t anything immediately dangerous because he fell into step at Severus’ elbow without any more comments.

The light from his wand didn’t illuminate more than a small circle around them, but Severus didn’t want to increase the power just yet. What he could see was unpleasant enough.

“Hah!” A pinwheel of fire shot out suddenly, and the corridor was lit by flickering flames as a giant snakeskin off to their right caught fire.

I suppose that answers the question of whether or not he can see down here. Severus had brought up his own wand automatically at Alastor’s spelling, and it took him a moment to remember to lower it. Bloody hell, I knew the thing was big—one only had to look at the size of the fang Harry had brought him to know that—but that is ridiculous. The snakeskin was dry and burned down to nothing almost immediately. “Do you have any idea how many Galleons you just destroyed?”

Alastor grunted and continued walking. “Better safe than sorry.”

Severus matched his pace, extending the light circle from his wand a bit more. I’ll have the two of them gathering buobotubor pus for at least the rest of the year for getting me into this mess. They had to scramble awkwardly through a pile of rubble shortly after, probably from that cave-in that Lockhart had caused. And then a few turns later they found themselves staring up at a detailed carving of two serpents on either side of a half-open panel. “Not to be completely ostentatious or anything.”

“Least there’s light inside.”

It was low, and with a greenish tint, but light all the same, and Severus regripped his wand and stepped through. “Harry? Mr. Weasley?”

The room was huge, probably at least the length of the Great Hall and maybe a bit longer, with pillars of stone covered in snake carvings standing against the walls and reaching up to the ceiling. Snake heads the height of a man reared up out of the water on either side of a stone walkway. In fact the only bit of statuary that didn’t quite match the motif was a shadowed carving of what appeared to be a man on the wall at the far end of the hall, and Severus began to make his way down the dry center path. There was no way to tell the depth of the pools of water…the light from his wand just bounced back without penetrating. Nor was there any way to tell where the water might be coming from, although it would have long since gone stagnant if it had been standing for a thousand years. The light looked to be caused by some sort of bioluminescent mold growing on the walls just above the water’s surface…he’d been under the impression that that only grew in the tropics, but they were insulated enough from the weather down here that it might have been able to survive. Natural light certainly couldn’t penetrate so far underground without a direct connection. The sound of wood tapping on stone ceased, and he glanced back to find Alastor glaring at one of the serpent statues. No matter, it’s not like either of us can get lost in here.

He reached the basilisk corpse at the feet of the stone figure, and even after seeing the skin the sheer size of it stunned him for a moment. Its mouth was open, several fangs chipped and broken and a gaping hole through its braincase. Sword wound, I suppose. Though Merlin knows how the boy managed it without getting swallowed in the process. Half a dozen smaller cuts marred its side as well, probably where Harry had more recently collected the scales and blood. He made himself continue past it and found one of the missing fangs sitting beside a few torn bits of paper with spatters of blood on them. From Riddle’s diary? Probably. Likely, really, although the diary itself wasn't here. He gave them a kick for good measure and then looked up at the stone figure. “Salazar Slytherin, I presume?”

For all the intervening years the stone was well preserved, although there were some newer—at least in terms of its total age—scars marring the surface that were probably related to Harry’s visit three years ago. With a shake, he turned back toward the rest of the hall. He wasn’t here to admire the stonework, after all. The chamber appeared empty of all life but himself and Alastor, but he amplified the light from his wand just to be certain and made his way back down past the basilisk corpse and snake pillars to where Alastor was still standing. “Anything?”

“Walls are too thick for me to see through…I’m not even sure if there is anything to see. Might be nothing but solid stone behind them.”

With a frown, Severus stepped out into the water cautiously. At least it didn’t appear more than a few inches deep, barely covering the front of his boots. Surely the two of them wouldn’t be playing some sort of insane hide-and-seek game around the pillars…. He took another step closer to one and suddenly found himself underwater. His boots and heavy cloak were waterlogged almost immediately. The broom slipped out from under his arm and after a desperate grab he abandoned it, giving vicious kick in an attempt to break the surface. Fully submerged and still unable to feel the bottom under his feet—who knew how far down it actually went—and he clenched his fingers even tighter around his wand. That he couldn’t afford to lose. One foot glanced off something solid, probably the side of one of the snake-head statues, but there was nothing there for him to get a purchase on. “Ascendio!” It came out as a stream of bubbles rather than a word, but the intent was enough, and he was thrown upwards, out of the water. He made a desperate grab for the side of the pathway—there was nothing there for his clamp to grip, but he managed to shift enough of his weight in that direction to get the majority of his body onto the shallower shelf in a bruising landing. He kicked, trying to push himself further out of the deep water when something clamped down on the back of his collar and helped drag him back onto the dry path.

For one horrifying moment he could feel water coursing down his throat and no matter how he tried he couldn’t find any air. Water down his throat, into his lungs, his limbs and chest burning with the curses that had been inflicted on him throughout the night, and now he was going to drown and nothing he did seemed to be doing any—a heavy blow between his shoulder blades threw him forward slightly, and he was suddenly coughing and sputtering as he remembered how to breathe again. I’m in the Chamber of Secrets. The Chamber. Not…. Another blow landed, and he gagged up another mouthful of water, but at least that seemed to be the end of it.

“Easy, lad.”

He took several more deep breaths before his rapid heartbeat finally steadied, and then with a shake of his head he forced himself to stand. Bits of light were still dancing in front of his eye, and blinked hard to banish them. “I’m fine. Accio broom.” It was a relief when it flew to him almost immediately. Fortunately for me, wood generally floats. A quick drying spell later, and he made himself meet Alastor’s eye steadily. “I suppose the boys stayed on the path, then.”

“Merlin help them if they didn’t, but since they obviously aren’t here they must have gone somewhere.”

Severus concentrated and amplified the light from his wand again. “A hidden tunnel?” It was too large a room for one or two wizards to fully light—couldn’t Salazar have included a torch or two along the walls?—but by aiming their wands carefully and moving slowly they were able to examine the brickwork fairly closely. There didn’t look to be any hidden panels or doorways that the two boys could have gone down even if they had swum through the pools. They paced the length of the Chamber. Nothing. The entire room goes nowhere. Could the basilisk have lived in this single area for a thousand years? He halted at the feet of Salazar Slytherin as Alastor poked around the corpse, trying to recall what he’d heard about the Chamber. There were the basic rumors that everyone knew that were of no help at all. If Albus knew more he’d never seen fit to tell anyone about it even when the Chamber had been opened, and afterwards he’d been more interested in Riddle and the diary. Harry, though….Harry had a nightmare, back in Brazil. ‘Ginny and the basilisk’…one of the ‘normal’ ones. He said that the Dark Lord called up the thing. From the water? Possible, I suppose, but—no, he said something about a stone opening. “What stone?”

“What?”

“Harry said something about a stone opening and the basilisk coming out when Riddle called it when he came down here the first time.”

“Hm.” Alastor stepped closer to the statue. “The stone isn’t so thick here.”

Severus looked up as well. He’d thought the mouth on the statue was simply carved in an open position, but in the amplified light it did look more like a cavern. Surely not. Still…. He began to climb and heard Alastor making a slower ascent behind him. “Well, it is a tunnel. Harry? Weasley?” No response, and he turned to offer Alastor a hand over the last lip. He owed him that much for helping him avoid the near drowning earlier, not that he planned on admitting any of the sort.

“I’m beginning to think that we should have brought more supplies,” Alastor muttered when they were finally standing at the mouth of the tunnel.

Severus nodded as they began to follow it into darkness. He’d much prefer to be out in the open area—there were far too many ways he could become trapped here not the least threatening of which was a cave-in—but sitting and waiting for them to come out rather defeated the purpose of looking for them in the first place. Not to mention that that open area is a trap of its own with giant pools off to either side…. He reached a fork and frowned. “Micans Vestigium.” A glowing ball appeared on the stone where he’d tapped his wand.

“Work from the left or right?”

“Left, I suppose.”

“Merlin forbid you do anything from the right.”

Severus rolled his eye and ignored the tone—harassing, not accusatory; he could get even later. The decision was completely arbitrary, but they obviously had to start somewhere. He considered the dark tunnels a moment longer before giving the ball another tap and reforming it into a left-pointing arrow. If something happened to himself and Alastor he’d prefer there was a clearly visible trail to follow. Why Harry and Weasley couldn’t manage something similar I’ll never know. He heard Alastor marking the direction they’d come from as well...probably a wise idea. It was of precious little use to know where you were going if you had no idea how to get back to where you were. A traditional maze-solving technique was to stay along one wall…granted that this wasn’t technically a maze as far as he knew, but better to be cautious now than get lost. Of course, the technique wouldn’t work if all of the walls weren’t connected, but considering that everything down here had been carved out of solid stone he was willing to believe that they hadn’t been overly clever in the construction. Maze or no, they should be able to cover all of the tunnels this way. Though Merlin knows how deep they run. “It would be faster if we split up.”

“Use your head, boy. Splitting up in a situation like this has an unfortunate habit of leading to the death of one or both parties. It’s a favorite tactic for dealing with enemies that are too powerful to handle with in groups.”

He had a point—Severus had participated in more than one raid that had used said tactic during his time as a Deatheater—and while he had explored the Hogwarts dungeons on his own once upon a time, these weren’t precisely his dungeons. Still, by his estimate it had been approximately twenty minutes since they’d left the Weasley children; that left them only forty minutes to find the missing teenagers and get out before someone else came looking. He started down the left tunnel at a fair speed, but shortly thereafter the sound of movement beside him ceased. “What is it?”

“This is hollow.” Alastor slapped the wall beside him. “Looks like there’s a room on the other side.”

“Is there a door? Some kind of entrance.” Severus shifted his wand into the clamp and scraped at the moss and slime that coated the wall. He could feel some sort of deep scratches under his hand—possibly the doorframe—and he tried to clear away the growth.

“It’s a snake.”

“What?”

“A snake carving.” Alastor sketched out the pattern above the wall with one hand.

“Damn. From what Harry said everything else down here requires Parseltongue to open; I suppose this probably does too.”

Alastor’s magical eye had stopped rolling and was focused forward for a long moment. “I don’t think there’s anyone inside. I can’t see more than shapes, but they all look more like furniture than teenagers.”

“Harry? Weasley?” Severus banged on the wall sharply but got no response. “I suppose we should mark it and keep going.”

They passed one more room, but again there didn’t appear to be anyone inside, and sooner than he liked the tunnel split again. This time one of the tunnels angled up, another down, and he left another glowing arrow before they took the lower path. It dropped away steeply, and only Alastor’s hasty tug on his arm kept him from stepping off into another pool of water. Remembering the sudden depth of the pool earlier he probed it with the handle of his broom, but when the thing disappeared nearly up to the bristles they retraced their steps and changed the arrow. “If you can see what’s outside the light circle, maybe you should be going first.”

“Can’t see any more than you. Could in the Chamber and in the tunnels right off the entrance—more ambient light—but we’ve gone too deep for there to be anything to work with. Only saw the water because of a bit of reflection.”

“Hm.” This time, by holding the broom awkwardly in his clamp and using it to probe the ground in front of him as well as using his wand to light the immediate area, Severus gave himself a bit more security in terms of footing. At least it would let him know if solid ground suddenly disappeared. And if they couldn’t find the boys on dry land…well, then the water could be checked. If he remembered correctly Pomona had purchased a pair of aqua-lungs for checking on the underwater plant life she was cultivating with the help of some of the mer. He shook his head. They had enough to deal with right now, no sense borrowing more trouble.

The upper tunnel split, and then split again, and Severus began to wonder just what all these tunnels had been put in for. He could understand a few more chambers for the basilisk—to attract the rodents it fed on and keep it from starving to death if nothing else—but it didn’t make sense that someone would build it an entire warren down here. Unless of course something else lives down here…. There had been rooms, after all. One of the tunnels dead-ended; the second ended even more quickly but in a wall of rubble. “Recent?”

“Do I look like a stonemason to you?”

Severus considered replying in the affirmative just to see what the response would be. I really should have brought someone I’m not inclined to bait continuously.

Alastor picked up a few of the smaller stones setting around them and rubbed it with his thumb. “Too much dust to have happened today though, I’d say.”

They tried to shift some of the stone anyway, but the manner in which it had come down had left large chunks blocking the path that they’d never be able to move without a levitation spell. And from the way they were propped up Severus wasn’t totally certain that lifting them away wouldn’t bring down the roof of this stretch of tunnel on their heads. “Let’s try one of the others.”

“Agreed.”

Backtracking, he marked that shaft with an extra notch beside his direction arrow and then they doubled back to the previous split. Severus’ shoulders were starting to ache from the slight stoop he’d had to assume to keep from bumping his head on the uneven tunnel ceiling…he was going to be mortally glad when the boys were found and he could return to Hogwarts proper. And kill them. “Harry? Weasley?”

Two more splits later—one of them a three-way—and direction markers notwithstanding Severus was beginning to wish that he’d brought a ball of string with him. The left tunnel had led down to yet another pool of water; they were currently on the third upslope of the middle one. By his estimation they’d passed the hour mark in the middle of the second upslope which meant at least one more professor should be on his or her way. Probably more. Just as well; they’d be able to cover the tunnels more quickly, and he’d be able to get back to that venom antidote. So far the only positive side to the situation seemed to be that Alastor was sparing him conversation.

His broom handle caught in rough patch of rubble and was wrenched out of his grip, bringing him abruptly back to the present. Hm. Interesting. The floor of this tunnel seemed to have collapsed downwards just in front of their current position, joining it to another tunnel below. Not particularly comforting when you considered that something similar could happen in other tunnels while they were walking through, but if they could hold up a snake of the basilisk’s weight…well, there were other things to be worried about.

“I’d say keep going,” Alastor offered. “Can call it a continuation of the same tunnel.”

Severus nodded. The rock pile looked sturdy enough for climbing on, and after a moment more of internal debate to figure out the best path he made his way slowly down. Alastor was following even more slowly, and he waited on level ground. So either the third tunnel swings around to here or we’ve entered an entirely new section. He left another glowing arrow on the wall near the bottom of the pile, just to be safe.

“Harry? Weasley?”

“Ever considered a recording charm?”

Well, he had been spared conversation. At least they reached another split before he had to come up with an appropriate rejoinder. “Was Slytherin planning for an entire colony of basilisks?”

Alastor snorted.

He’s probably expecting one. Severus marked the left tunnel and began to make his way down it, only to halt as the broom handle caught on something. He looked down to find a boy with red hair lying almost at his feet. “Weasley?” The boy was motionless, eyes closed and skin pale, and it was with some relief that Severus finally found a pulse. He moved past, allowing Alastor to kneel on the ground at the boy’s head and begin a series of diagnostic spells. While the other man was occupied, Severus took a few more steps down the tunnel. “Harry? Potter, are you down here?” Surely he would have stayed with his friend…. He increased the light from his wand as much as he could, but the corridor extended down into blackness with no sign of the other boy. After a moment he dropped the Lumos spell back to the level he’d had it at previously. “Bloody hell.”

“This one’s got a concussion—a bad one,” Alastor said when Severus turned back. “There’s a crack in the back of his skull. Some other bruises as well; must have taken a nasty tumble somewhere. I’ve done what I can, but….”

Severus realized upon a second look that the cloak that had been draped over the Weasley boy wasn’t his own; he was still wearing that. Which was good when you considered that Harry had still been on his feet and capable of caring for his friend, and bad when you considered that Harry wasn’t here.

“Potter must have kept going for some reason,” Alastor continued.

“Probably went looking for help.” Bloody Gryffindor. For the two of them, leaving the Weasley boy here wasn’t an option. Nor was hauling him along if he had a cracked skull; he needed treatment that neither of them were capable of providing, and the sooner the better. But we’ve already been walking for over an hour. If we backtrack all the way to the entrance and then have to retrace our steps…. Damn it, he’d never considered the idea that the boys might have split up. “Can you take him back while I go on?” He moved faster than Alastor, especially down here; it might have made more sense for him be the one to take the Weasley boy back, but since he’d been the one that Harry had wanted notified in the first place….

“Are you sure?”

“If we both go, who knows how deep Harry will be by the time we get back to this point.”Of course he might find his way to the entrance on his own, but somehow I don’t think we’ll be so fortunate.

From the expression on his face, Alastor had already worked that much out for himself. “Keep marking your trail, then. And constant vigilance. If I run into whoever came after us I’ll send them in your direction or come back myself.” He picked up the Weasley boy’s wand at the same time he flicked his own. “Lumos. Levicorpus.”

Severus continued down the tunnel while Alastor took the Weasley boy and went back the way they’d come. There was no way of knowing for certain that Harry had gone this way, of course—he might have been going in the opposite direction when Weasley had fallen—but he and Alastor had already covered a lot of those tunnels. You hope. Who knows how many times the rest of those offshoots split. “Harry? Harry, are you down here?”

Still nothing. He had no way of knowing how long ago Harry had left the Weasley boy either…it might have been five minutes, or it might have been five hours. This tunnel still hadn’t split, and Severus wondered just how far he’d walked. The only thing he had to judge by was the length of his own stride, and nothing to use for orientation. He could be under the Forbidden Forest by now, or in a tunnel just over the Chamber. Or under it. That Severus didn’t want to consider, not with the amount of water that had been in those pools. Besides, I think we’ve been going up for too long. I hope. “Harry?”

The tunnel made a sharp bend to the right, and he followed it around. Finally a split—not that he was particularly thrilled to see it since it meant more searching to do, but it was the one thing that had been common throughout this tunnel system. One tunnel went up and the other down. He’d been going up, so…. “Down it is. Micans Vestigium.” Unfortunately down dead-ended, and he had to backtrack and take the upslope. The upslope actually turned downwards fairly quickly; and it dropped away steeply enough that he found himself skidding a good portion of the way, flailing his arms to keep himself upright. He stumbled to a halt at the bottom and glared back at the slope. Climbing back up that was not going to be fun. The tunnel split again almost immediately, but he could see reflection from the left hand tunnel and had no desire to blunder into another pool of water so he went right.

“Harry?” Something echoed back in return, and he shifted to put his back against the wall. The sound had been distorted, hollow…nothing a human throat would produce. Small and furry. Small and furry and easilykilled. There was no point in trying to sneak around whatever had made the noise; for one he had no idea what it was or how good its senses were, for another he had no idea where it might be and the way his luck seemed to be going trying to avoid it would probably end up leading him directly to it.

There was another muted mutter that he was almost positive had come from in front of him, and he began to make his way slowly forward again. He was half-tempted to extinguish the light—it highlighted his position entirely too well for his comfort—but without it he’d be absolutely blind. Running headfirst into a wall and knocking himself unconscious wouldn’t do anyone any good. Besides, no doubt anything that lives down here doesn’t require light to explore its surroundings.

He came to another split in the tunnels—a three-way, so one straight, one left, and one right. “Harry?”

“—or?”

Severus started. The sound still had the hollow overtones that he’d noted before, but that had almost sounded like a word. “Harry?”

“—essor?”

Clearer, and unless there were small, furry, and easily killed things down here that spoke English…. Damn it, which way was that coming from? Left or straight…everything echoed so bloody badly. He rapped his wand sharply against the stone and headed left at a much quicker pace. “Harry?”

“—es—or—ape?”

Damn these bloody tunn—Severus’ thoughts were cut off as his right foot slipped out from under him suddenly and he found himself sitting on the ground with water lapping against his legs and a bruise forming on his backside. “I am going to murder that brat.” He was pushing himself to his feet when his wand dipped downwards and with the circle of light temporarily aimed elsewhere he was able to make out another ball of light in the distance. “Harry?”

“—fessor? —m here.”

“Yes, thank you, I noticed that.” Severus stepped forward cautiously, probing the water with the broom handle. So far it didn’t seem to be getting much deeper. In theory the pathway had to be fairly even the whole way across or he wouldn’t be looking nearly directly at Harry’s lighted wand, but…. He raised his voice. “Stay where you are! Stay!” If there was a pool in the stone separating them, he didn’t want Harry to be the one to fall into it. Although it would more than serve him right at this point. “Did you cross this tunnel already?” The response when it came was unintelligible, but he assumed it was a negative since an affirmative wouldn’t have required any additional explanation. Unless of course he didn’t hear or couldn’t understand and was asking me to repeat myself…. He was tempted to amplify his voice, but considering what the echoing was already doing he didn’t think that that would improve matters. His broom handle dipped downwards suddenly, and he cursed. One did not swim in thick robes, nor, if they were wise, did they go splashing about in complete unknown waters. He probed with the broom handle again, and it hit rock approximately a meter down. For a moment he turned his light aside to check Harry’s position, and he was not particularly pleased to see it bobbing slightly. Moving. “Stay where you are!”

“—on—es—ape—urt—”

What? Never mind, it doesn’t really matter. “I. Said. Stay!” He took off his heavy outer robe and left it on the dry tunnel floor. He was tempted to remove his boots as well—they would be worse than useless if it came to swimming—but the idea of cutting his feet to pieces on the stone floor didn’t thrill him either. And he couldn’t leave the broom behind if he wanted to have some warning before he had to start swimming. Casting a bubble-head charm, he continued forward. At least this way if he went under he was going to have at least some defense against immediate drowning. And against swallowing water.

A minute later he was chest deep and perfectly well aware that his student hadn’t come down this passage to get to where he was, but it was too late to turn back. Besides which, he didn’t trust Harry to stay where he was while Severus went searching for the correct tunnel. Wherever that might be. So help me, if this gets any deeper…. Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do. He was already planning to kill Harry—perhaps a bit of torture first?

“Professor? What’s wrong? Why is your wand so low?”

At least he was close enough that the echoing wasn’t doing more than creating some background noise. “Because I’m bloody swimming, Mr. Potter.” Or nearly swimming, anyway. At least the tunnel floor seemed to be sloping upwards again.

“Swimming?” Harry’s wand—still luminated—started bobbing again.

“If you would like to live for more than two minutes after I reach you, you will cease all movement now.”

“But—”

Severus cursed as his foot slipped, although fortunately he managed to catch himself before he went all the way under. And it did shut Harry up. He ran into solid rock, then, and was relieved to find that it was the mouth of the pool he was stuck in. Why these tunnels had been built like this…. He climbed awkwardly back onto a dry tunnel floor and crossed the rest of the distance quickly to where Harry was standing against the wall shifting from foot to foot.

“Professor?”

Severus transferred his wand into his clamp, and then a hand on the back of the brat’s collar brought him up on his toes remarkably fast and a shake kept his mouth shut. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous coming down here could have been? Wandering off into tunnels you know nothing about!” Another shake. “You could have been—”

“Could you yell at me later?!” Harry interrupted, catching his arm in both hands. “Ron is hurt!”

“Alastor has already taken him back to the infirmary. Where you would be now as well if you’d behaved in an even vaguely reasonable manner, although why I would expect anything of the sort after the rest of your actions today I have absolutely no id—”

“What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and wait for someone to find us?”

“Yes!” He made himself release Harry and take a step back before he did worse than shake him a bit for emphasis. “Though since you had no business being here in the first place there should have been no need to make that decision.”

“But Professor, you said—”

“As I recall, I asked you to inform a professor when you were planned to enter the Chamber of Secrets, which you most certainly did not do. Nor were kilometers of unmarked, unlighted tunnels, the hazards of which are completely unknown, in any way a part of that conversation.”

“But Ginny and the twins kn—”

“To my knowledge, neither Miss Weasley nor any of her brothers have joined the Hogwarts staff, therefore what any of them might have known is completely irrelevant.”

“But Professor, I thought we’d be right back, honest. I didn’t think it would matter.”

“‘Didn’t think’ seems to be the appropriate phrasing, at least.”

“Professor—”

“I don’t want to hear it! I have just been drenched for the second time in less than three hours, there is a crick in my neck from wandering about in these bloody tunnels and the work I’ve been doing on Nagini’s poison has had to be postponed—” and probably half of it restarted—“all because of this ridiculous little stunt of yours.”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Harry snapped in return. “I just thought that Salazar Slytherin might have left something down here to help with the basilisk poison. Since he was keeping one here. And you said the poison was like Nagini’s.”

“They are related, yes, but in case you’ve forgotten he was keeping that snake for the purposes of petrifying and killing students. Do you really think he would have left any type of antidote just lying about? Stupid child going wandering about all over creation on a bloody whim with absolutely no thought as to the consequences.”

“I am not stupid,” Harry objected fiercely. “And yeah, maybe he wasn’t the nicest guy in the world, but he wouldn’t have wanted it to accidentally kill him so I thought he might have something. What could it hurt to try?”

“What could it hurt? Take a look around, Mr. Potter.” Does this look like my comfortable quarters? My lab? Anywhere any reasonable wizard would like to spend his time?

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it’s not like it was a total waste of time…we did find a bunch of notes and stuff in one of the front rooms, even if it looked like they were all about Hogwarts and not the Chamber. And getting lost was an accident…we decided to go a little further down the tunnels just to see what else was here, and we only made a few turns, but when we tried to go back we must have gotten turned around because we ended up in the water, and then there was a rockslide, and—”

“While you were in here?” Severus interrupted sharply. Not that he was interested in hearing any more of the boy’s pathetic excuses, but that point was actually relevant. Just what we need, the entire tunnel system coming down on their heads.

“What? No, nothing like that. The tunnel floor had collapsed into the tunnel under it so we had to climb down to keep going.”

“Ah. And why, if you were trying to backtrack to the entrance, would you climb down something if you hadn’t previously climbed up it?”

“I guess we were pretty lost by then,” Harry admitted, head ducking down slightly. “Anyway, we were climbing down it when some of the loose rock gave way and we both fell. I was closer to the bottom so I just got a few bruises, but Ron hit his head. He seemed all right at first, but then he started having a hard time walking and kept asking where we were, and then he just sort of collapsed.”

Consistent with a severe concussion. “And you left him there?”

“I gave him my cloak so he wouldn’t catch a chill, but I thought he’d get help faster if I could find the exit instead of just waiting for someone to come looking, so….” He shrugged. “Except there are a lot of tunnels back here. Is he going to be all right?”

“Professor Moody seems to think so, and he has a bit more experience with that sort of thing than I do. Although just how did you expect to find him again after getting help without a marked trail? Wander about at random?”It makes as much sense as anything else that you’ve said.

“We did mark our trail, at least after we realized we’d gotten lost just so we knew where we’d been, but it’s hard to see the marks scratched on the walls unless you’re looking in exactly the right place. And it didn’t really do any good then since we weren’t sure where we were supposed to be going.”

Severus made a disgusted noise and then glanced back at where the water stood. He wasn’t looking forward to a second trip through it—especially since Harry wouldn’t be able to both touch the bottom and keep his head above the water which meant that Severus would have to drag him—but short of wandering about hoping they found another way to the exit there weren’t a lot of other options. Unless we want to chance these marks he supposedly made…. Hm. I think not. “Where are your things? Your broom and pack?” Harry’s cloak was still with the Weasley boy, unfortunately…now that he thought about it Severus realized that he should probably have brought it with him. The tunnels weren’t precisely cold, but they weren’t warm either.

“We left them in one of the rooms by the entrance.”

Severus decided not to comment. “Come along then. We have a rather deep pool to cross and then something of a hike to get out of this place—you will remain with me the entire way or Merlin help me I will conjure a bloody leash, is that understood? I have had enough of your disobedience for one day.”

Green eyes flashed. “Yes, sir.”

Severus ignored the sharp tone and gave his broom to Harry as he slipped back into the pool, reaching back to help the brat in before taking it back. “Hold on to my shoulder, and if you’d like to live to see your next birthday don’t kick me.”

“The water’s deep.”

“Yes, I did notice that.” After a moment of thought he left his wand in the clamp and held his broom in his good hand. If he needed to drop something to grab the brat, better the broom than the wand. It took longer than he liked to cross the pool, but eventually the two of them were back on the opposite side of the tunnel. And dry, courtesy of a quick spell. With a glare he shrunk his outer robe—fortunately is wasn’t one of his best—and handed it to the brat. With my luck he'll catch a chill, and I’ll be the one who takes the blame.

“Thank you, Professor. Um, I didn’t come this way…are we close to the entrance?”

“‘Close’ is not the word I would use, however since I did have the sense to mark my path we should be out in a reasonable amount of time.”

Harry made a disgruntled noise but refrained from commenting. Which, since Severus was in a mood to tear a few more strips out of him, was probably wise. They made their way back past the first split.

“Did you put that there?”

“What?”

“The arrow.”

“Micans Vestigium.” Severus demonstrated with a flick of his wand.

“Brilliant.”

“Indeed. Now if you’ve finished being entertained by parlor tricks?”

Unfortunately rather than the brisk clip that he’d have preferred to maintain, the one that might get them out of here by midnight, Severus was forced to keep his pace fairly slow as the two of them began to make their way through the tunnel. Harry might have only claimed bruises, but he was favoring his right leg. Trying to hide it, but favoring the leg all the same. If Severus had had anything that could be used as a splint—well, besides the broom that he’d prefer not to damage since they still had to get out of the Chamber somehow—he’d have paused and tried to do something about it, but at this point their best bet was to get out of this place as soon as possible.

“Ron thinks these rough tunnels back here might be some kind of drainage system,” Harry said suddenly.

Can he not go more than ten minutes without making some sort of noise?

“He says his brother took him on a behind-the-scenes tour of Gringotts and they use something similar except smaller around the backs of the vaults to keep humidity down. I guess some of the vaults are heated or something to keep the contents safe.”

That explanation that hadn’t occurred to Severus, but it would explain why the majority of the actual Hogwarts dungeons were fairly dry. Not all of them by any stretch of the imagination, but around the Slytherin dorms, and in fact his own rooms as well, there were almost never any moisture issues. “Perhaps.” It wasn’t really his primary concern at the moment.

“Do you really think that Ron is all right?”

“I believe he will be.” He wasn’t a mediwizard, but students with concussions weren’t precisely uncommon after all.

“How much trouble are we in?” was Harry’s next question, and Severus paused to glare at him.

“I would suggest asking yourself whether you really want to know at this point.” He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to the boy when they were back in Hogwarts proper. Murder is still a perfectly viable option. They reached the steep upslope, and Severus gestured for Harry to precede him.

“Are you sure, Professor?”

“You sliding back into me will do slightly less damage than me sliding into you.”

“I kind of twisted my knee a while bit ago….”

Now you admit it. “I’d wondered. Still, myself landing on you would hardly improve the situation. Go on.”

Three attempts later and Severus had scuffs on his boots and a deep—and fairly nasty—scratch on his palm to add to the list of things that irritated him about this little excursion Harry had led him on. He braced himself at the bottom and waited for Harry to slide back into him.

“This isn’t working, Professor,” the boy said in disgust as he stepped away and brushed ineffectually at his robes.

“I’d noticed that.”

“I tried transfiguring my shoes into ice boots, but it didn’t do much of anything. Do you know any sticking charms?”

“I’ve tried two…there’s just too much dust and sand on the slope.” While Harry’s ice boots might not have been able to get any purchase on the stone, his charms were getting too much—they picked up all the loose particles and attached them to his boots which then proceeded to slide right back down the actual slope. If he kept trying for another hour or two he might be able to clear a path, but….

“Can’t you transfigure it into a staircase or something?”

“I’d prefer not to tamper with the structural integrity of the tunnel.” Particularly since there had obviously been cave-ins here in the past. “Here.” He held out the broom. “Fly up to the top, and then slide it back down to me. And do not even think about going anywhere until I am beside you again, is that understood?”

“Understood.” Harry stepped over the broom and kicked off. The slope of the tunnel made for a somewhat awkward flight, but it wasn’t long before the blob of light that was Harry’s lit wand stopped moving and there was the sound of something sliding towards him. In the background were distorted echoes, and it was with a deep sense of relief that he finally began the ascent. At least the rest of the trip shouldn’t require such efforts. “Amazing, you managed to behave yourself for an entire two minutes.” He took a moment himself to bind the gash on his palm…with all the dust and dirt down here it would be better not to seal it until he’d had a chance to make certain that it was clean.

“I said I was sorry. Getting lost down here was just an accident.”

“It is positively amazing the ‘accidents’ you stumble into.”

Harry grumbled something in return, but Severus had already started walking again and decided not to put in an effort to decipher his words. He heard the voices—or at least echoes of them—before he actually saw a light flickering around the corner. He pushed Harry back behind him. “Who’s there?”

“Severus? Is Harry with you? Did you find him?”

“As he is with me, it stands to reason that he was found. Hello, Minerva.”

She and Alastor were in front of them moments later. “Are you all right? Both of you?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry answered before Severus could speak.

“He’s got something wrong with his knee,” Severus corrected. “But we are more or less unharmed otherwise.”

“Is Ron okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Alastor assured him. “In the infirmary with Poppy and his mother now. She’s in a right snit.”

Molly Weasley? Yes, I would imagine so. Though Poppy wasn’t likely in a particularly good mood either. Severus winced slightly.

“I suggest we all make our way out of here,” Minerva said with a glance around that narrowed to a glare. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?”

For one bizarre moment Severus thought that she was speaking to him, but fortunately common sense reasserted itself before he opened his mouth.

She didn’t even notice his hesitation, continuing to glare at Harry. “Coming down here at a time like this! And alone! It’s a good thing that Miss Weasley has a good head on her shoulders, otherwise those twins would probably have come as well and all four of you would have been wandering around for who knows how long!” Apparently Harry opened his mouth to say something, because she gestured sharply. “I don’t want to hear it. Now come along.”

Severus brought up the rear as Minerva marched them down back down the tunnels. At least she was keeping the pace reasonable with regards to Harry’s ankle, although from the glares she was shooting over her shoulder the brat was going to be in detention for the rest of his time at Hogwarts for this little stunt. Good. Unlike Albus, she isn’t one to ignore a student’s misbehavior, even or possibly especially one of her own though. I think I’ll see about getting him assigned to me for a few of those. He still had his own retribution to take, after all.

“You found them!” a voice exclaimed as they reached the mouth of the tunnel.

Why is it that every other professor at this school besides myself seems to find it their mission in life to state the completely obvious? Pomona waited at the statue’s feet as the four of them started to make their way down.

“Oh!” Harry halted suddenly and then started climbing again.

“Mr. Potter, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?” Minerva demanded as Severus was opening his mouth to order the bloody brat to reverse direction immediately.

“We left our brooms and my pack in one of the rooms. And there are the papers too.”

If it hadn’t been for the papers Severus would have snapped at him to forget about it, but he had to admit some curiosity about what Slytherin might have left behind. Not that he expected any kind of cure for the basilisk poison—he still found that idea more than slightly ridiculous—but it would be an experience to see anything that had been written by one of the founders. “Apparently we will be back momentarily.”

He wasn’t surprised that both Minerva and Alastor began to climb back up as well, although since he could actually feel two glares on his shoulder blades he had no doubts that they were against this little expedition.

“This had best be immediately off the entrance,” Severus muttered with a glare of his own as he and Harry reached the top. There was a chance that he wouldn’t survive the arrival of the other two professors if it wasn’t.

“It is.”

“What are you thinking, Severus?” Minerva snapped as she reached the top. “We’ve only just gotten out and you want to go back?”

Alastor was muttering under his breath as well…Severus was even less interested in knowing what he was saying than what Harry had been. “While I agree that Mr. Potter’s actions were foolish and irresponsible, he and the Weasley boy apparently found some notes left by Salazar Slytherin. And since I have no desire to return to this place at any point in the near future….”

“Hmph.”

Harry had already started moving down the right tunnel, but he stopped almost immediately and hissed something at the wall. Severus greatly disliked those sounds…they reminded him entirely too much of the Dark Lord giving orders to Nagini.

There was the grinding sound of stone on stone and then a square block recessed and Harry lit his wand and stepped in. Severus followed closely on his heels. At least I can stand up straight in this cavern. “Get your things and let us go.”

“Not much to look at,” Alastor said as he joined them.

True enough; there wasn’t much there. A few tables along the wall, a chair in front of one of them, and the remains of what might have been parchment at some point in piles on the tabletops. He leaned over the nearest, but the ink had run and faded—and seemed to be fading more and more by the minute as the rays from Severus’ wand reached it—and what little he could make out was incredibly archaic. Sill, this was what he was interested in, and he tried to gather them together without causing them to crumble any more. Fortunately they seemed to be made out of some sort of thin cloth rather than simple parchment which would have decayed years ago, and no doubt the unchanging climate down here had helped with the preservation as well. Although what was going to happen when they were removed from this stable environment…. “I don’t suppose you know any preservation spells?” They’d never crossed any of his areas of interest.

Alastor gave the chair a swat with his crutch, snorting when the leg fell off. “Not my department.”

“Reservo pro posterus.”

A blue glow surrounded the notes, and Minerva gave a sharp nod. “That will do until Madam Pince can have a look at them. Now can we please leave?”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry had his bag looped over one shoulder and the two brooms he and the Weasley boy had brought under his arm. Severus frowned and then turned the boy around and put the notes in his pack. Better than trying to carry them out itself.

“All right, then.”

The light from the chamber was still visible in the hall, and the four of them made their way back to the floor with a minimum of fuss. Pomona had apparently gone back to tell Poppy and Molly Weasley that they’d been found, and it was with some relief that they finally returned to the girls’ bathroom. The younger Weasleys were absent, although that bloody ghost girl was still muttering off in the corner.

“There you are!” Poppy exclaimed as they opened the door to enter the corridor. “And you! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You and Mr. Weasley could both have been killed!”

“Is Ron all right?”

“He will be in a few days. Come along, I expect you’re in no shape to be cavorting about in the tower either. Probably caught a chill at the very least, and what in Merlin's name did….”

Severus tensed as a heavy grip from behind forced his hand to open slightly and the bandage to slide down, but there was only the sharp rap of a wand against his palm before he was released. Ah. He should have healed that gash himself as soon as he’d taken a good look at it…if Poppy caught sight of any blood she’d be hauling him off as well. Bad enough to be stuck in the infirmary with the Gryffindor boys, being stuck there with the two of them and a worried parent as well would be absolutely intolerable. Particularly that worried parent.

A moment later Poppy ceased her lecturing of Harry and moved to look over himself and the other professors, and he hastily balled the bandage up in his palm. Bad enough that he now owed Alastor thanks, there was absolutely no sense in it being for naught.

“Well, you seem to be all right,” the mediwitch concluded after a few diagnostic spells. “A bit chilled, the same as Mr. Potter here, but I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“We’re fine, Poppy,” Minerva assured her. “Is Molly still in the infirmary?”

“Yes, but Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley need rest just now. You may visit in the morning.”

That was clear enough, and Severus shook his head and stepped towards the door. “If you will excuse me, I still have actual work to do.” A fractional nod in Alastor’s direction discharged that obligation, and he made his way back down through the halls. Half past midnight. If he was lucky some of the antidotes that he’d been working on would still be viable. As if. For some reason all my luck tends to be unreasonably bad. At least there’s still Harry’s torture to plan.

Severus rubbed his forehead and then checked the time. Yet another night he’d worked through, and not a great deal to show for it. Oh, he’d managed to salvage most of the venom antidotes he’d been working on, but none of them were giving particularly satisfying results. One would do nothing for the poison, another would destroy the poison easily enough, and Weasley’s major internal organs with it…. What in Merlin’s name did that bastard do to that venom?

There was a knock at the door—of his lab, not his quarters—and he turned with a snarl. “What?”

“Uh, Professor?” Harry stuck his head in cautiously.

“What are you doing here? I’m surprised that Poppy released you.” Or, for that matter, that Molly Weasley had.

“Apparently I’m healed.”

“And wandering about yet again.” Less than a day after he goes traipsing off and gets himself lost in a maze of tunnels and he’s back to his old tricks. “Merlin forbid you actually acquire some sense after one of these little excursions of yours.”

Harry shuffled in place. “I’m not wandering about, Professor. I’m not allowed to be anywhere except the Gryffindor rooms—and the Hall for meals—unless I’m with a professor for the rest of the holidays. Ron too, once he’s out of the infirmary. And we’ve got detentions after that.”

“Good.” Personally he’d have reinstated the Quidditch ban for the rest of the year, but Minerva probably didn’t want to destroy her team’s only chance at the cup. Though keeping the Weasley boy off the pitch might actually improve the overall play. “In light of that sentence, I don’t suppose you’d care to explain your presence here?”

“Professor McGonagall walked me down. She said if you’ve got anything to add to our punishment she and the headmaster will support it.”

“Hm. I would hope so.” Hot pokers, or the rack? Or boiling in oil, perhaps; my oversized cauldrons should be large enough. Well, if I boil them one at a time, at least. So many difficult choices.

“Um…Professor?”

Severus drummed his fingers on the counter lightly. His concentration had been on his work; he hadn’t actually planned out anything to do to the brat. Of course, he hadn’t expected to see him for at least another few days either. “I believe the liver of a teenage boy can be used in a variety of potions.”

“Professor!”

He snorted and nodded sharply to a worktable in the back. “Bubotubers. You can start there. There should be a large jar of them in the left-hand cupboard. And I believe some flobberworms came in as well that probably need to be sorted.” Slughorn had ordered supplies before the holidays with an eye to the lessons that would be taught in the upcoming term, but of course he had left the actual work in preparing all of them to Severus. “I believe you know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

The groan in his voice made Severus feel slightly better—although it didn’t change the fact that he still had a bruise on his arse and a scratchy feeling at the back of his throat that was not helping to improve his mood—and he turned back to his experiments. Something had to work. There was no such thing as a totally incurable poison. There just…wasn’t. He considered the cauldrons in front of him and then gave up temporarily on experimentation in favor of retracing the research that had been done on the basilisk poison. Two of the volumes he’d ordered upon receiving Harry’s present had come in several weeks ago, and while he had read through them with an eye as to what he might like to try, he hadn’t spent a great deal of time on the drier details.

Halfway thought the second chapter an annoying repetitive noise finally forced him to look up. “Mr. Potter, are you humming?” Children did not hum when they were gathering bubotuber pus—they whined, moaned, groaned, complained, and more than occasionally cursed when they were under the impression that the supervising professor was out of earshot, but under no circumstances did any of them hum. It was preposterous.

“Well, I have to do something to break up the boredom.”

No, you don’t. You’re supposed to be being punished. Now be silent.”

At least then he grumbled…a much more soothing noise when it came to working.

“Professor? Professor Snape!”

Severus blinked hard, wondering why his neck felt so stiff. “Yes, what?!”

“It’s time for dinner. We already missed lunch.”

“What?” Harry had only arrived perhaps two hours ago.

“You fell asleep.”

I fell…damn it all. Granted he’d needed the rest, but that didn’t mean that he appreciated losing the entire day for it. A short nap would have sufficed. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

“You looked tired.”

Bloody…Gryffindor. “Fine.” He moved the books on his lap to the floor and stood with a suppressed groan. This was why one didn’t sleep in a chair—not only was his neck stiff, so was his entire back, and the popping sounds from his spine as he stood didn’t make him feel any better. “Well, go on then. What are you waiting for?” Not any kind of healing potion, he didn’t think; from the look of it the brat had had the sense to use the dragonhide gloves that had been left in the cupboard. Assuming that he actually did anything after I fell asleep, of course.

Harry shifted. “You have to come with me…I’m not supposed to be roaming the halls without supervision, remember?”

Severus glared for a moment. This was probably all part of Minerva’s plot, annoying, meddling tabby that she is. And Poppy had probably been the one to put her up to it—fussing at him for missing meals like she had been recently. “Fine. Do you have all your things?”

“Yes, sir.”

And, much to Severus’ annoyance, a glance at the counter revealed that a fair amount of bubotuber pus seemed to have been gathered. “Come along.”

Harry left his side as soon as they reached the hall, joining the Weasleys where they sat. Well, the twins and the girl, anyway; there was still no sign of the youngest boy. He took a seat beside Filius and waited for the food to arrive.

“Severus,” Poppy greeted as she and an older man came into the Hall. “I wasn’t sure that you’d make it to dinner.”

“Yes, well, since Mr. Potter required an escort….”

She took a seat beside him, the older man on her other side. Fortunately the two of them seemed to be in the middle of a conversation and he wasn’t going to be expected to contribute. He suspected that the man was some sort of relative…it wasn’t uncommon for the staff who didn’t leave the castle to invite someone to visit for the holiday. In fact Minerva’s niece appeared to have arrived sometime today as well; fortunately—for her sake—she seemed to have moved past that ridiculous crush she’d had on him in her younger years.

“Severus, do you have a moment?” Poppy asked, turning towards him as the meal came to an end.

“Of course.” Finding a cure for a severely injured man can be indefinitely postponed, as proven by yesterday’s events.

“This is Healer Corwith,” she introduced as she, Severus, and the older man stepped into the corridor.

Severus bit off his immediate response and firmly reminded himself that murdering the school’s mediwitch would not put him in anyone’s good graces. Why couldn’t he be her boyfriend? Brother? Third cousin twice removed? No wonder she hadn’t introduced the man before the meal; if she had he’d have found an excuse to leave early.

“After Grindlewald, he began to specialize in mindhealing for some of the survivors who’d suffered severe losses both physical and emotional,” she continued, ignoring his expression. “Healer Corwith, Severus Snape.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the man said, offering a hand.

“Likewise.” Though from Poppy’s expression his tone conveyed something else entirely. Which is perfectly fine since it’s supposed to. He’d known at the staff party that Poppy had been serious about him talking to someone about what had happened at the Dark Lord’s hands, but he hadn’t expected her to act so quickly on the idea. Nor quite so directly.

“If you’d like, I’d be happy to sp—” the man began.

“Regardless of what you may have heard from my…well-meaning…colleagues, outside of the obvious physical impairments I have recovered from my ordeal quite well. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I do have other things I need to be doing this evening.”

“I know that a loss such as that you’ve suffered is difficult to adjust to,” Corwith said, taking up a position in Severus’ path. “I’ve spoken to many different people and I can assure you that all of them have felt much better after they’ve found a way to express themselves.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “As anyone in this castle would be happy to assure you, one thing I have never had any great amount of trouble with is expressing myself.” On occasion at great length and in high volume after doing much damage to any glass objects in the immediate vicinity. He was sorely tempted to demonstrate his abilities in that arena to his current audience, but Poppy could be disturbingly devious when it came to taking revenge. She was already looking quite annoyed at his dismissal of the mindhealer.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but there can be severe aftereffects of that kind of injury—nightmares tend to be the primary, but there’s also the possibility of flashbacks, uncontrolled irritability, inability to sleep, loss of appetite….” He shook his head. “The list goes on and on, and not all of them are things that you would automatically link to any sort of trauma. Obviously Madame Pomfrey hasn’t given me any of the details of your particular situation since you are not yet my patient, but—”

“I assure you that I am fine,” Severus interrupted. “I appreciate your offer—”well, actually I don’t, but this is hardly the place to get into it—“but it isn’t necessary.”

“I realize that my arrival here was something of a shock; perhaps you’d like some time to think about—”

“I’m fine,” Severus repeated. “Now, if you will excuse me?”

Poppy was opening her mouth to object, but he pushed past the two of them and headed for his dungeons. There, at least, he could bar the door. And it’s not as though I don’t have work to do. Finish reading that second book on the basilisk poison, for one, since he hadn’t gotten more than a few chapters into it, and then go back through and see how much he could match up with the notes he’d taken so far on Nagini’s poison. He didn’t need to talk about his ‘experiences’ to a complete stranger who’d probably lived his entire adult life safe behind St. Mungo’s walls. He didn’t need to talk about them to anyone. He stalked into his workroom and selected the book on the top of the stack he’d been looking through earlier, taking it back into his sitting room and dropping down on the couch. None of this will tell me what the Dark Lord did to Nagini’s poison, granted, but at least it’s a start.

Of course he didn’t get more than three pages in when a heavy banging on the door interrupted him. He didn’t think it was Poppy—for one it was too soon for her to have politely seen off the mediwizard, and for another even when she was mad she wasn’t one for that sort of rudeness—which meant it was yet another of his colleagues. “And once again I have the strong urge to relocate to Brazil. Bloody—come in!”

“Enough with your muttering.” Alastor shoved a handful of papers at him. “From St. Mungo’s. And send yours with messengers, not owls. I believe I mentioned this before.”

“It sounds somewhat familiar.” Not that Severus had any intention of following his order this time either.

Alastor snorted and actually left without any more harassment. That worried Severus more than he cared to admit, and he checked the notes twice for possible hexes and jinxes and then did a quick curse sweep as well. Nothing. Well, maybe he found someone else to bother for awhile. He considered the packet of parchment for a moment. That or he knows a spell I don’t. Severus winced. Alastor knew several spells that he didn’t from what he’d seen so far, and while none of those were the sort of thing one left as a booby trap that didn’t necessarily…. After another moment of thought he shook his head and tapped the top with his wand. Poppy would be down to shout at him soon enough; if he needed healing she could bloody well do it then. The string holding the parchments together fell away easily. And nothing else happened. Severus ground his teeth for a moment. Merlin-be-dammed lunatic—if he isn’t annoying me with what he’s doing, he’s annoying me with what he’s not. With a shake he returned his attention to the notes.

Potions masters one and two were still accomplishing nothing—he was amazed that the first was still able to write after some of the ridiculous things he’d attempted—and three’s notes looked similar to what he’d read before. Either she was backtracking or making more variations for experimentation. Thanks to his unintended nap he didn’t have much of anything of worth to write up for the day…still, summarizing his notes on the basilisk poison after he’d finished reading about it would help him organize his thoughts as well as anything else.

It was well after midnight when he finally finished the second book, and he summoned Minerva’s quick-quill and began to dictate before his thoughts escaped him. He shouldn’t be feeling tired, not with as much sleep as he’d had earlier, but his body didn’t seem aware of that fact, and that annoying scratchy feeling in his throat had returned by the time he finished speaking. With a snap he summoned a house elf and ordered it to take the notes to the owlry and send them off, and then he gave in and retired to his bedroom. He shouldn’t be tired, but since his body obviously wasn’t aware of that fact….

///////////

“Mr. Potter, will youcease with that infernal noise!” They day hadn’t started well. Somehow they never seemed to, of late. First Poppy had arrived just after breakfast—which he’d missed—to harangue him about his rude behavior toward the mindhealer yesterday evening and repeat her insistence that he talk to a professional about what had happened. Then the idea his sleep-fogged mind had thought brilliant at half-past one in the morning had taken all of forty-five minutes to prove was the exact opposite—he’d ruined that cauldron almost beyond all hope of salvation. On top of that, his throat was still sore, and, although the brat-who-wouldn’t-have-the-courtesy-to-die-and-leave-him-in-peace had seen fit to let him be until lunchtime, he was now back in Severus’ workroom humming along to some vapid muggle tune as he worked. And humming off key on top of everything else.

“Sorry, Professor.”

He wasn’t, that much was obvious from his tone and the expression on his face when he turned to look over his shoulder, and Severus reminded himself firmly that flinging hexes around potions was never a good idea. “Why, pray tell, have you seen fit to grace me with your presence today? Granted that Gryffindors aren’t known for their great leaps of logic, but I would think that, given a choice between confinement to your tower and sorting flobberworms in my dungeon, even you would select the tower as the more preferable.” He certainly hadn’t suggested that the brat return.

Harry shrugged. “There’s nothing there to do though, and….” Another shrug. “Ron is still in the infirmary, and Ginny and the twins are just sitting around worried about him and their dad. I mean, I am to, but…I beat Ginny at chess yesterday, and I never beat anybody. At least here I’m doing something, even if it is pretty nasty.” He was quiet for a few minutes, and then, “Am I really bothering you that much?”

Severus gritted his teeth. As much as he might like to reply in the affirmative, he found that he couldn’t quite do it. “I would prefer not to be regaled with your absolute lack of any musical talent whatsoever.”

“Yes, sir.”

That was genuine enough, which, of course, meant that the bloody silence was the next thing to grate on Severus nerves. Silence punctuated by the occasional plop as Harry selected which pile the flobberworm he was currently examining was going to go in, and the rustle of pages as Severus tried to determine where he’d gone wrong, but silence all the same. He pushed aside his annoyance and tried to concentrate. Obviously the lack of a reasonable quantity of pure venom to study was an issue in concocting an antidote, but it shouldn’t be slowing him down this much. Nor the other sensible potion master working on this mess. Oh, it was reasonable that they hadn’t found a cure yet—it hadn’t been that many days since Weasley was bitten—but they should both have firmer tracks of research to work from by now. He gave the vial holding the poison he’d managed to pull out of Weasley’s blood a tap. I don’t even have conclusive proof that this is what is affecting his blood. He still hadn’t come up with a better way to test it than pouring some on a wound, and he was beginning to think that he’d need firsthand experience as to the progress of the poison before he could make any more progress himself. “Harry, put those away.”

“Professor?”

“You can finish sorting flobberworms later. Right now I need you to go fetch me a rabbit.”

“I…what?”

“A rabbit. A small mammal with large ears and—”

“I know what a rabbit is. Why do you want one?”

“Because I need to see this poison in action, and since the headmaster would be annoyed if I used you as a test subject, I will have to make do.” He preferred not to test on animals—aside from the fuss the rest of the wizarding community tended to make, magic didn’t necessarily affect the nonmagical ones the way that it did a witch or wizard and trying to test on a magical creature was generally more than one’s life was worth—but in this case he didn’t see any other option. Well, not besides selecting ingredients at random, and unlike the first St. Mungo’s potions master he would prefer not to die like that.

“You’re going to kill a rabbit?”

The brat looked distressed, and Severus rolled his eyes. As if you didn’t spend half your transfiguration classes turning this and that into animals or animals into random inanimate objects and then stabbing them with pins and such. “If it is a choice between a rabbit and the elder Mr. Weasley, I assume you would prefer Weasley to survive?”

“Well, yeah, but that just seems…mean.”

“I suppose it is, but I’m at a loss as to where else to start. Frankly I’d prefer a mouse or rat, but with the Hogwarts house elves’ fanatical devotion to cleanliness I don’t expect to find any of those in the castle proper.” There were always a few student pets of course, but that wouldn’t go over any better with the headmaster than sacrificing said students would.

“There are some in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Severus glared. “I am going to pretend that I didn’t hear you say that, and you are not even going to think about going back down there to fetch one, am I understood? Of all the ridiculous notions….”

“Yes, sir. But where am I supposed to find a rabbit? It’s the middle of winter.”

“Go ask Hagrid. He feeds those…pets…of his somehow. If he hasn’t a rabbit, I suppose any small mammal will do. Mind you a mammal—don’t bring me back an owl or a toad.”

“I wouldn’t.”

He seemed to find the idea of using an owl quite offensive, but then Severus recalled belatedly that he had a pet owl. “Well, go on.”

“Um, I’m not supposed to be out of the tower alone, remember?”

Well, I don’t want to go trudging about through snowbanks; if I did I wouldn’t be sending you. Severus scrawled a message on a piece of parchment and shoved it at him. “I expect that will satisfy Professor McGonagall should you have the misfortune of encountering her in the halls. Now go.” At least with a small mammal—and Harry would share his definition of small even if Hagrid didn’t—he wouldn’t need to use much of his poison supply.

Harry returned on much shorter order than he’d expected…chilled to the bone but carrying a fluffy white bundle. “Here’s your rabbit.”

Severus took the creature and set it on the counter and then cast a quick warming spell on the boy. “When I told you to go and ask Hagrid, I was under the impression that ‘go and fetch your outer robe from your rooms before going outside’ was understood.”

Harry waved a hand. “It was quicker to just run. I didn’t get that cold.”

Teenagers. Severus reached for a small knife and the vial of poison.

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to get the poison into it somehow. If it bothers you so, go back to your room.” Not that he actually planned to kill the creature—the longer it lived the longer he’d have longer to examine the non-clotting effects—but without knowing how strong Nagini’s poison actually was there were no guarantees.

Harry’s chin lifted. “I’ll be all right.”

“Then go put some scrap paper into one of the oversize cauldrons.” He’d have to have somewhere to put the thing…leaving it hopping up and down his countertop was obviously not an option, nor was hunting it all over his quarters if he wanted to check it again later after the initial observations. Besides which, it meant that Harry’s back was turned when he dipped the very tip of the knife into the poison and jabbed the rabbit’s haunch lightly. It hopped away indignantly, but red was already starting to stain its fur, and Severus grabbed a notebook and began to take notes.

Blood was flowing out more quickly than it should…not only was the poison anti-coagulating as they’d all known, apparently it acted as a blood thinner as well. Which stood to reason; the faster a prey animal bled out, the sooner the snake could eat. Some disorientation from the erratic nature of its movements…Arthur had shown signs of that when he’d first woken up as well, although it was possible that that could be attributed to rapid blood loss. He gave himself a mental shake and put down the quill long enough to locate a vial and collect the spilled blood. If there was any sort of self-replicating substance in the venom—which he suspected that there would be since even after losing as much blood as Arthur had there had still been venom traces in what had been collected—Severus would take as much as he could get.

He observed the rabbit’s behavior for a bit longer, but nothing new was happening and Harry had finished with his task and was shifting around uncomfortably beside him. With a sigh he summoned a sticking bandage from the first aid kit he kept on hand, and, after a flick of his wand to clear away the surrounding fur, he applied it to the wound.

“That’s all?”

“I’ll take it off again in a few hours and see if the effects of the poison have changed. Here.”

Harry took the rabbit and put it in the cauldron. “Can I get him some food or something?”

“I suppose. Go into the outer room if you’re going to summon a house elf; I don’t want them coming into my workroom and they know it.”

Armed with enough food to feed a small colony of rabbits, Harry returned a minute later. “So did you learn anything?”

“I don’t know. The effects were approximately what I expected…I’m going to purify the poison out of its blood and see if that tells me anything new.” If he was able to extract more poison than he put in, the self-replicating hypothesis would be confirmed, at least. “I believe you have flobberworms to finish sorting?”

Harry muttered something under his breath, but Severus had other things to worry about. At least he’d already found a working process for separating poison from blood…by the time Harry returned to his side to announce that it was time for dinner he’d almost finished.

After dinner, and after insisting that Harry return to his tower with his little friends, Severus completed the process and then brought out the rabbit for a second examination. It was still quite alive and not particularly thrilled to be picked up—Severus hadn’t realized that rabbits bitbefore—but after petrifying it he was able to peel off the bandage. And found the wound scabbed over. Obviously the blood loss had continued for awhile, judging from the amount of blood on the inside of the bandage, but the damn would had healed. “Bloody….” What is it? The size of the wound? A lesser venom concentration? There has to be something different about the damn rabbit. Of course it wasn’t magical which could be the difference right there, but he couldn’t believe that even a small cut had sealed so quickly when Weasley’s wound had had days to start healing and clotting hadn’t even begun. He snarled and then dropped the rabbit back into the cauldron—he might have some use for it later and with the amount of food Harry had left it should be quite content for the near future—and scrawled a note for the St. Mungo’s potions masters. Maybe they could find a volunteer of some sort to test the poison. Because if we haven’t got a sample of what’s really keeping that wound open…. Well, Severus wasn’t entirely certain what they could do at that point. Leave the man with sealed bandages wrapped around his torso for the rest of his life?

“Well, what are you waiting for? You should be writing this down!” A horde of first-years immediately bent over their parchments and began scribbling frantically, and Severus relaxed slightly. The students had just arrived back yesterday, and so far the first day of his return to teaching was going reasonably well. The third years had been appropriately cowed by his I-am-back-and-I-don’t-plan-to-tolerate-any-of-the-nonsense-you’ve-no-doubt-been-getting-away-with speech, and while there had been a few more mutters in the fifth year Gryffindor-Slytherin class that followed, they’d had four previous years of him as a professor and none of them had been willing to be the first to try his temper. Harry had even managed—somehow—to convince the Granger girl to partner Longbottom so although their potion hadn’t been up to her usual standards it hadn’t been down to his either. Fairly relaxing, as that class went. He had seventh year double potions next and didn’t expect any great amount of trouble. Well, assuming no one else plans to murder me, but I suppose that’s a chance I’ll just have to take. It was a mixed class, but presumably anyone who’d made it that far with him knew better than to try anything so patently ridiculous. The first years weren’t making potions today, and he fell back into lecture mode easily enough. It kept them busy until the lesson ended.

“Severus, do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” He was surprised to see the librarian down here…she didn’t often leave her sanctuary. “Is there something that I can assist you with?”

“I wanted to borrow Mr. Potter for his detention today, actually. I’ve been trying to decipher the papers that were brought up from the Chamber, and frankly I haven’t had any success at all.”

“And you believeHarry can help?” I wasn’t aware that any particular cryptographic skills came with the title of Brat-who-lived.

“Well, I understand that he was the one able to access the rooms…he may see some key that I don’t. Something…Parseltongue.” She said the word with obvious distaste, and Severus refrained from rolling his eyes by only the barest margins.

Yes, clearly written Parseltongue is the answer. That’s why you see so many snakes out writing their memoirs. Still…. “I’ll bring him up, if you like. The parchments are in the library?”

“Of course. What time should I expect you?”

“Quarter past eight.”

She nodded slightly and turned to go as the students began to trickle in. He shook his head and checked the ingredient shelves one last time…he was still of the opinion that letting students near cauldrons the day after they returned from a holiday was suicide, but since Slughorn had announced brewing sessions for OWL and NEWT level students upon their return…. Well, he might not be willing to contradict that—he certainly didn’t want any ridiculous rumors circulating that he was easing up on the students—but he wasn’t about to leave anything lying around that would cause anything beyond a mild explosion either.

“We’ll be preparing the base for Veritaserum today,” he began when the last student had slipped into his seat, “as you should all be well aware. Now, as I very much doubt that any of you have so much as thought about your studies over the holiday, we’re going to review the entire process. And Merlin help anyone who can’t answer a simple question.” He glared at the students, selecting the last to arrive as his first victim since he was slouching down in his seat obviously trying to avoid Severus’ eyes. You’d think by the seventh year they’d know better. “Mr. Curtis, we’ll begin with you. Perhaps you can tell me the appropriate type of cauldron we should be using?”

“Uh…metal?”

“Well, yes, seeing as a plastic cauldron would very likely melt.” Metal, Merlin help me. “Five points from Hufflepuff for such a ridiculously inane response. Mr. Weasley, what type of cauldron should be used?” The twins exchanged glances, and he glared. “I suggest one of you answer correctly or I’ll be taking twice as many points from Gryffindor.”

“Silver threaded,” Fred answered

“And the other Mr. Weasley, how many drops of mugwort essence should be added before we begin to heat the cauldron?”

“Six if you want the Veritaserum to blow up in your face; two if you just want it to turn green.”

“Five points from Gryffindor for insolence.” He considered for a moment. “However, two points to Gryffindor for understanding what will occur if that particular ingredient is added at an inappropriate stage.” And if they’d discovered that fact by some form of trial-and-error he really didn’t want to know. He’d hoped that he’d be free of the twins after OWLs, but it had turned out—much to his dismay—that they’d considered potions ‘useful’ and therefore actually managed the Outstanding he required to continue their studies rather than goofing off during the examination as they had in so many of their other subjects. Damn them. He shook his head and glared at his next victim. “Miss Maclaud, at what stage should the mugwort essence be added?”

After twenty minutes of quizzing that lowered the standings off all of the houses—except his own, of course, old habits died hard—by between ten and twenty points, he allowed them to begin brewing. It was successful enough, as such things went. No major explosions, and no one requiring a trip to the infirmary. He dismissed them with a warning about being much better prepared for their next classroom session and waved the vials over to shelf to be graded at a later date.

“Professor?”

“Mr. Weasley…s. May I help you?”

“It’s…is there any news about Dad?” George asked. “Harry said you still hadn’t come up with anything new yesterday, but….”

Severus snorted. Harry had become something of a constant figure in his rooms during break, at least during the afternoons, and he had no doubt that the boy had kept the Weasley brood up to date on everything he’d been doing. Unfortunately, what he’d been doing hadn’t been much of late. After the test with the rabbit—which was still hopping around in that cauldron in his laboratory for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of—St. Mungo’s had managed to find a volunteer willing to test out the venom. Severus didn’t know where they’d found such an idiot, but somehow they had. And while the venom had caused said idiot to lose a great deal of blood, the wound had eventually closed just as the rabbit’s had. They healers had tried various locations for the wound—legs and arms, primarily, even their moronic volunteer didn’t want to be stabbed in the abdomen—but each time had yielded the same results. Which had left himself and the other potions masters at a decided standstill. They could still experiment, but if they didn’t even have a sample of whatever was in Nagini’s venom that was affecting Arthur’s wounds…. “I’m sure you will be among the first to know as soon as anyone discovers anything.”

They exchanged glances and sighed in unison. “Yes, Professor,” Fred agreed.

///////////

Harry arrived in his quarters promptly at eight—although from the look of things he must have come running directly from Quidditch practice—and Severus raised an eyebrow. “Back on the pitch so quickly?”

“Over the holiday Angelina came up with a couple new things for us to try. Have you had any luck with the venom?”

“Not since the Weasley twins asked me this afternoon. Go feed that rabbit and attempt to make yourself presentable; Madam Pince thinks you might be able to help translate those notes so we’ll be spending your detention in the library.” Technically he didn’t have to be there, of course, but he was curious himself about what Slytherin might have written.

“She doesn’t like me,” Harry muttered.

Assuming he was talking about the librarian rather than the—male—rabbit, Severus made a dismissive gesture. “She doesn’t like anyone, particularly brats with a penchant for rule-breaking. However she specifically asked for you so I imagine she’s willing to tolerate your presence for the sake of those papers.”

“But how can I help?”

“She thinks it has something to do with Parseltongue.”

“But…snakes don’t write.”

“A fact I am well aware of, however….” He shrugged and waited for Harry to rejoin him, and they made their way up to the library.

Madam Pince looked down her nose at them—both of them, she was another colleague who remembered Severus as a child, he knew—but after a moment she ushered them into her private office where the pieces of parchment they’d brought back from the Chamber were spread about the desk, all with a faint blue glow surrounding them.

“What do you want me to do?” Harry asked.

“Read them. It all looks like…hissing…to me.” She looked supremely offended, and Severus bit back a smirk.

“Um….”

Harry looked up, and Severus shrugged. “I suppose you might as well try.”

He leaned over the boy’s shoulder as Harry took a seat in front of the parchments. It did look like hissing…he’d noticed archaic letters when he’d glanced at it before, but upon closer inspection it was mostly S’s and H’s with the occasional vowel mixed in. As far as individual words…well, he didn’t see any. Harry leaned over to trace a line.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Reading it. I guess.” Harry shrugged. “I’m trying.”

Her face went red. “You can’t touch it! Getting your grimy little fingers all over such an ancient document…all that dirt and oils and Merlin knows what else! You’ll have in it pieces! You don’t touch it, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Harry made a show of leaning well back, and this time Severus couldn’t hide his smirk. Not that he should be condoning that sort of behavior of course—he’d reprimand the boy later—but Merlin knew Pince could be irritating. “Can you make out anything?”

“Hsss…isss…shhsss….slllssss….” He shrugged. “It sounds like hissing, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“I thought you said it sounded just like English when you were speaking Parseltongue?”

“When I’m speaking Parseltongue it does, but that’s not Parseltongue.”

“What else would it be?” Madam Pince demanded. “Professor McGonagall said that everything in that…place…was activated by Parseltongue.” Her eyes narrowed, and she glared. “Unless it’s some sort of secret that only people that speak…snake…can understand?”

“If I knew what it said, I’d tell you,” Harry objected. “Really. But it doesn’tsay anything.”

“I still think you’d be better off looking for some sort of code,” Severus agreed. “Granted that it’s hardly my area of expertise, but….”

Her face became even more pinched, which, if Severus had been asked, he would have said was impossible. “I suppose you’re of no use to me then.”

Severus bowed slightly, tapping Harry’s arm. “Come along, Mr. Potter. It seems we’re better off spending our time elsewhere.”

“Yes, sir.” He was silent until they reached Severus’ quarters. “I would have helped if I could have!”

“I know that, Harry. I didn’t expect that you could in the first place, but it was easier than arguing with her about it.”

“Oh.” He considered for a moment and then obviously dismissed the matter. “Professor, can I ask you something?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I suppose.” It’s not as though you’ve ever refrained in the past.

“At the Department of Mysteries…well, can I destroy it?”

Severus frowned, sinking down into his armchair and waving at Harry to have a seat on the couch. “Destroy the Department of Mysteries?” It would certainly be an improvement, but I’m not sure anyone at the Ministry would approve….

“Not the Department of Mysteries, the prophecy. You know, the one about me?”

Severus opened his mouth and then shut it again. “Of course I know about the prophecy. But why? The Dark Lord can’t touch it.”

“But he knows it’s there. If I destroy it then nobody else can get hurt like Mr. Weasley.”

Ah, the saving-people instinct reasserts itself. “Harry, what happened to Mr. Weasley—”

“Isn’t my fault. You keep saying that. But it’s true, isn’t it? If the prophecy wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have got hurt.”

“It’s entirely possible that Nagini was just scouting around the Ministry and Mr. Weasley was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You don’t believe that,” Harry said after a moment. “And neither do I. It’s not like anyone would have to know….”

Severus bit back a half-smile at the wheedling tone. “Regardless of whatever you and I might believe, the Department of Mysteries—and the Ministry in general—take a dim view of citizens wandering about destroying their property.”

“But all I’d have to do would be—”

“Let the prophecy be,” he interrupted firmly. “And sit down. I’m not sure whether this is supposed to be an Occlumency lesson or an actual detention, but I suppose Occlumency practice can’t hurt.”

“Can you teach me Legilimency sometime?”

The randomness of the teenage mind. Still, since he wasn’t attempting to pursue the ludicrous idea of sneaking into the Ministry, Severus was willing to indulge a bit. “Perhaps this summer if your Occlumency shields are strong enough.”

“I really don’t have to go back to the Dursleys’?”

“What? Certainly not, I thought we’d sorted that out months ago.” His eyes narrowed. “Has someone implied otherwise?”

“No. I just…wasn’t sure.”

Severus gritted his teeth. Idiot muggles. “You will not be returning to that house. I expect it will be the Burrow, or perhaps Grimmauld Place. Now, Occlumency?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you. Legilimens.”

He dismissed the boy after an appropriate length of time, unsurprised to find an owl arriving shortly after with notes from the St. Mungo’s potions masters. Alastor had finally given up his ridiculous notion about hand delivering everything—or he’d managed to get it through his thick skull that Severus was going to ignore him regardless of what he said—but there wasn’t a great deal to report anyway. Arthur had been sent home with a roll of self-sealing bandages to be replaced at appropriate intervals, and they’d call him back in when they had something that might actually work.

///////////

“Ah, Severus,” Poppy greeted as he arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast.

That expression never bodes well, somehow. “Can I help you?”

“You have a free hour now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted, more because if he lied it would be obvious than any desire to actually admit that he did.

“Could you possibly help me with something?”

She looked perfectly innocent, and Severus wondered idly if the position of Dark Lady was still open. “But of course.” The sausage on his plate received a vicious stab. She was probably going to provide him with a list of mindhealers or something equally idiotic.

“Well?” Severus demanded, stepping into the infirmary. There was a student—probably a first or second year—tucked into one of the far beds, but he appeared to be asleep.

“Ah, Severus, come in.” She waved him into her office. “Severus, this is Healer Kerrigan; Peter, Professor Severus Snape.”

Merlin…. He glanced back, but dashing for the door would be a bit obvious. This mindhealer was a bit younger than the last had been…if he’d been alive at all during Grindlewald’s reign he wouldn’t have been much more than a child.

“Pete, please, the man said with an all-too-ingratiating smile, offering a hand. “May I call you Severus? Or is it Sev?”

“Severus is fine.” Well, it isn’t, but it was certainly better than the alternative. Bloody idiot. Severus grasped the limp hand for the shortest amount of time possible. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He thought he’d actually managed to be even less sincere with that statement than he had with the last mindhealer.

“Of course, of course. Now, I understand that my arrival here is probably a bit of a shock—”

“Somehow, not as much as you might think,” he interrupted dryly, turning to glare at Poppy only to find that she’d left the office. Coward.

“But it’s important that what happened to you is dealt with before it becomes a permanent part of your psyche,” the man continued.

Before it what “Oh?”

“Now, Madame Pomfrey obviously hasn’t been able to tell me any of the particulars, but it’s clear that you’ve suffered a grievous loss, and dealing with such a thing—”

“I’m sorry, but you seem to be laboring under the terrible misconception that I need some sort of help. I assure you that that is not the case.”

“Now, I wouldn’t presume to instruct you in your profession; I’m sure you wouldn’t try to do the same in mine.” He smiled again.

Would you care to make a wager? The man’s smile was making his teeth hurt. I think I’d employ Lockhart as a therapist before you.

“Tell, me, you seem like an intelligent man. Do you have any particular artistic pursuits?”

“I beg your pardon?”Harry, at least, has the excuse of his age for popping up with random thoughts at bizarre times.

“Artistic pursuits. Do you paint?”

“No.”

“Perhaps sing?”

“No.”

“What about dance?”

Severus jaw worked for a moment. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, what do you do to relax?”

“Invent poisons.”

Pete chuckled. “Very funny. You have an excellent sense of humor.”

“I was serious.”

“Oh.” The room went silent.

“Would you care to see?” He invented the occasional curse or two as well, but he’d wait on those until he saw whether this idiot took the hint or not.

The man stared for a moment. “Anger is a perfectly normal reaction to this sort of tragic event, but you must find a way to release that aggression—”

“I’ve always found plenty of opportunities in my day to day work to release aggression.”

“Really? What do you do here?”

“Teach.” Obviously.

This time the mindhealer stared for a moment longer. “I’d think that another outlet would be more appropriate for your rage.”

There are always my colleagues. “Did Poppy tell you how I lost my arm? Or my eye?”

“Of course not, patient confidentiality prohibits—”

“I had it cursed off by the Dark Lord and his minions. You know him—Voldemort?” He had to force himself to say the name, but it was worth it to see the other man wince. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to prepare for. However, should I meet any deranged artists, I’ll be certain to point them in your direction. Poppy!”

She hurried over from where she’d been tending the lone student. “Severus, five minutes is hardly—”

“I don’t paint, I don’t sing, I certainly don’t dance, and—”

“Dance?”

“Apparently he considers it an appropriate relaxation technique.”

She glanced back at the office door. “Severus, you need to talk to someone—”

“Not him.” He shook his head, searching for something that she would accept. “Honestly, if he cringes at the Dark Lord’s name, do you really think that he’s an appropriate person to help me?”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Still…. Well, thank you for trying.”

He considered asking her—again—to stop trying to help him, but as she had yet to take the hint he very much suspected that it would be a waste of good oxygen. And he did have a class to teach.

///////////

He’d worked out most of his annoyance with the mindhealer on his fourth year class and was halfway through a lecture to the second years on the brewing of the Swelling Solution—liberally punctuated with acidic comments about how they should already know all this and how did they expect to get through Hogwarts with such useless excuses for memories—when an owl fluttering into the classroom distracted them all. He glared at the girl that tittered when it knocked over the stack of papers on his desk, making a grab for the parchment it carried. “Give me that, you bloody bird.”

It clacked it’s beak at him, talons finally finding purchase on the back of his chair, and then it offered its leg.

What in Merlin’s name…? He recognized the writing, though, that of the thorough-but-dull St. Mungo’s potions master. He’d certainly seen enough notes in that hand by now. After a quick scan of the paper, he transferred his gaze to the class. “All of you, I want two feet on the precise preparation of ingredients followed by a step-by-step description of the brewing process for the Swelling Solution by your next class. Now out.” They looked confused—nothing new there—and he glared. “Out! Class is dismissed!”

This time they took the hint, and he dropped down into the seat and began to read the letter more closely. After analyzing countless samples of Weasley’s blood and coming to the conclusion that whatever was keeping the wound from healing wasn’t in it, they’d moved on to searching for other vectors. The skin test had yielded something…the wording was annoyingly vague, and he scrawled a note canceling potions classes for the rest of the day and left it stuck to the door of the classroom.

“Severus, can I help you?” Albus asked as when he barged into the study.

“I need to use your floo; I just received some news from St. Mungo’s.” There was a public terminal in the hospital lobby…patients didn’t generally use it because of safety issues, but visiting relatives did, and it was safer than apparating himself. Even if the Ministry was monitoring floo usage they shouldn’t think anything about it. And if anyone else was monitoring…well, trying to kidnap him out of St. Mungo’s proper would be about as idiotic as one could possibly get. I suppose I should keep an eye open for the elder Crabbe and Goyle.

Albus waved a hand. “By all means. Should we expect you for dinner?”

“I don’t know. I’ve left a note on my door canceling classes for the day; if I haven’t returned by dinner, could you inform Harry that our Occlumency lessons tonight are cancelled?” Or his detention, or whatever else he’s supposed to have with me tonight? I need a bloody calendar to keep track of that boy. He waited until the headmaster nodded and then tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace. “St. Mungo’s.”

The waiting room had the usual handful of people, the parents with children who’d been in accidents of some sort, the occasionally work injury…. He pushed past them all and headed up to the Potions and Plant Poisoning ward. Technically not Weasley’s problem, but that’s where the laboratories were located so it seemed the most likely destination.

“Can I help you?” a young man in the robes of an apprentice healer asked as he entered the ward.

“I’ve come to speak to the potions masters employed here. I’ve been working with them on an venom antidote—” no need to specify just whose venom—“and I just received word that they’d had a breakthrough.” Close enough, anyway.

“Of course, this way.”

The laboratory was quite large and impressively clean, with ingredient cabinets lining two of the walls, bookshelves the other two, and workbenches laid out through the center.

The youngest of the lot, a man somewhere in his mid-twenties, looked up at Severus’ entrance. “Professor, this is a closed—”

“As I’ve been working with you on the venom Weasley was poisoned with, I’d think—”

“Leave him be, Timothy,” an older woman snapped. “Snape, correct? Gretchen Ogden. I remember you from the Italian conference a year or two back. Excellent work on the Wolfsbane research.”

He bowed slightly. “As I recall your research was also well-presented.” Although he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it related to.

“These are my colleagues Roland Johnson and Timothy O’Leary.”

O’Leary…yes, I do remember him. Managed a NEWT in potions though I always believed it had to be dumb luck. Well, he’d identified the genius making random guesses about antidote ingredients, anyway, which meant that Johnson must have been the one to send the owl. “I received your note about some kind of contamination on Weasley’s skin….”

“We haven’t managed to identify any precise ingredients yet, but it seems to be some sort of anti-sticking solution.”

Severus frowned. “And combining that with anti-coagulants…damn.” That would work; most people would concentrate on the anti-coagulants—as they had been doing—rather than looking for any other cause for massive blood loss. If Weasley had died that day as no doubt the Dark Lord had intended, they still wouldn’t have any clue. “Do you have a sample?”

“More than he would prefer, I’d say.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head.

“As soon as the healers realized what we’d discovered—we finished the basic analysis this morning—their solution was to cut away the infected skin. I told them to wait, that we had a better than even chance of discovering an antidote, but….” She shook her head again. “It was an unpleasant process, as I understand it, but the wound did start to scab over almost as soon as they were done, and the healers delivered all of the infected skin to us for development of an antidote.”

“A bit after the fact, I’d say.” Granted that we’d have had to take some of the skin to sample anyway, but that’s ridiculous.

“And I’d agree, but since I very much doubt that he’ll be the last victim at least it shouldn’t have to happen again.”

Johnson offered him a jar containing what was obviously a fold of skin. “If you’d care to participate in the research…we were planning to send it with a courier this evening, but since you’re here there’s no reason not to deliver it directly.”

“Of course.” Severus tucked the jar inside his robes. “I suppose I will be going then.”

“Keep us informed as to your research,” Ogden ordered, and he nodded.

“Certainly.” Although he wouldn’t be putting half as much effort into it as he would have if Weasley was still infected…Merlin, cutting off the infected skin. It wasn’t a solution he would have arrived it. He took the steps back down to the waiting room quickly, halting suddenly at a large hand on his chest. Goyle. Brilliant.

“Can I help you?”

“You left.”

“Well, yes, seeing as You-know-who was planning to kill me, it seemed to be the thing to do.” He glanced around, but the half-dozen others in the waiting room didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. He wished that he could see behind him…there was usually a Crabbe with a Goyle, and both tended to follow a Malfoy. He hadn’t seriously thought that he’d be in danger here. “If you’ll excuse me, I need go be going.”

He tried to push past, but Goyle pulled something out of his pocket that had to be a portkey—or at least he couldn’t come up with another reason that the man would be carrying a jeweled pendant—and he brought up his bad arm automatically. It wasn’t much use in a grappling match, but then again Severus wasn’t much use in a grappling match either. He clamped down on a roll of skin on Goyle’s upper arm and clamped the metal pincers together as tightly as his muscles would allow.

Goyle howled, and something hit him Severus behind. He let himself fall with the shove, scrambling away from his attackers. The woman at the front desk finally realized that something was amiss, shouting that she was calling for the Aurors, and Severus took the opportunity to dive into the floo.

He landed sprawled out in Albus office, rolling onto his back immediately and shouting the appropriate commands to close the floo. They probably wouldn’t pursue him here, but then he hadn’t thought himself in any immediate danger as long as he staying inside St. Mungo’s either.

Albus had lurched to his feet at Severus’ arrival, wand drawn. “What’s wrong?”

“Goyle. At St. Mungo’s. Someone else too; I didn’t get a look. Are there Aurors with Weasley?”

Albus face hardened. “Molly is with him, I’m sure, and probably Bill, but I’ll see to it that someone else is sent as well. The floo is being watched, then?”

“I can’t imagine how else they’d have known I was there. I didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary on the way in, and I only spoke to an apprentice healer and the potions masters.” Of course it was possible that one of them was a spy, but if that was the case he’d likely already be dead. And why the Dark Lord would bother putting someone Severus didn’t know in St. Mungo’s as a spy on the random chance that he’d show up at some point…. Merlin. “The Weasley children. And Harry. Do they know that Mr. Weasley is back in St. Mungo’s?” He suspected not since the Weasley girl had been in his fourth year class and hadn’t seemed more anxious than usual, but if they did they’d be trying to get there, and….

“No. I received a note from Molly shortly after you left, but she didn’t want the children to get their hopes up if it didn’t work. I think she was planning to have them visit this evening if it did, but perhaps a note would be better.”

“I would say so.” They wouldn’t like it—and neither would Harry—but if the Dark Lord was really willing to risk a kidnapping from a bloody hospital…. He shook his head. He was fine. The attack had been precisely as competent as one that he’d expect from Goyle senior. “Excuse me, I need to take the skin sample they gave me to my lab and get it in a preserver if I’m going to get any useful information out of it.”

“Of course, but are you certain that you shouldn’t see Poppy first?”

At least he refrained from making any comments about Severus’ ruffled appearance. “I’ll be making a trip there shortly, as it happens.” His need of a second eye was no longer something to put off for the future, not after an attack like that.

Skin appropriately stored, he took the stairs to the infirmary quickly. She’d managed to find an entire catalogue with arm replacements, surely there had to be at least a few options for eyes.

“Professor?”

He twisted towards the bed on the far end of the ward. “Harry? What are you doing here?”

Harry made a face, hopping down off the bed and coming to stand in front of him. “We were working on shields in Defense, and mine slipped.” He turned, showing Severus a row of green spikes growing out of his spine. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing important, I just need to consult with Poppy on a personal matter.” He caught Harry’s shoulder and turned him again, studying the spikes for a moment. “I’m tempted to ask which of your dunderheaded little classmates would consider a spell that gives someone spikes useful in any manner of offensive attack, but I’m not sure I really want to know.”

The boy grinned. “Professor Moody. We were supposed to be defending against transfiguration attacks, and it’s an easy one to see coming.”

“Of course.” He would. “And why couldn’t he just repair the damage himself?”

“My shield didn’t fall so much as collapse inwards, and a couple of the spikes got fused to my spine. He said Madame Pomfrey would be better to sort it all out.”

Severus made a mental note to bring this up the next time Alastor decided to insult his potions. “And where is our friendly local healer?”

“Dealing with a first year who got bit in Care of Magical Creatures. She said she’d be right back.” Harry’s eyes narrowed as he considered Severus for a moment. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“I heard at lunch that you cancelled your classes for the day.”

Ah, the rumor mill. “Mr. Potter, you may cease to fuss now. It is nothing that concerns you.”

“But you’ve never—”

“I’ve finally decided that being able to watch what my students are doing while my back is turned is worth any inconvenience that a magical eye might bring,” he interrupted. “And you may feel free to pass that information along to your little friends.”

Harry grumbled a little, obviously not finding that an appropriate answer as to why Severus had cancelled his classes, but until the headmaster and Molly decided what to do about Arthur’s recovery, Severus wasn’t going to bring it up.

“Severus? What are you doing here?”

“I need a word with you when you have a moment, but I believe Harry here has a prior claim to your time.”

Well, it wasn’t precisely a catalogue, but Poppy had managed to get him some names of wizards who did the sort of work he needed and what few advertisements for their services were available. It would be a custom job, of course—not that many wizards lost eyes, and the few who did didn’t necessarily go looking for replacements—but he did have the funds for it if he cared to dip into them. Of course, first he had to select one.

Oh, this is promising. ‘We swear by our specially designed ocular replacements that allow the divination of future events from the dark shadows that surround the wearer.’ What in Merlin’s name is that supposed to mean; they plan to strap one of Sybil’s crystal balls to my forehead? He put that leaflet in the discard pile, on top of one that offered transplants from sources that…well, the translation wasn’t particularly good and Severus didn’t recognize the original alphabet so her couldn’t re-translate for himself, but from the way it was worded Severus suspected that their suppliers were at best fairly amoral and at worst clinically-diagnosed sociopaths.

There was a heavy bang on the door, and he glanced up. “Who is it?”

“Pretend you have manners and open the bloody door.”

Severus rolled his eyes, and put on a patently fake expression as he waved the panel open. “Good evening, Alastor, what may I do for you?”

“Die slowly of a horribly debilitating illness. Preferably a non-contagious one so I can enjoy the process.”

Severus snorted. I suppose it serves me right for asking. “Let me rephrase—what are you doing here?”

“That mediwitch sent me down. Said you needed help with something and then wouldn’t let me be until I agreed to come. Bloody menace.” He stamped over and sank onto Severus’ couch. “So what is it, and how long do I have to stay here to keep her from coming after me again?”

“I assume she’s talking about these.” He offered the list and waved at the piles of leaflets on the table. “As to the second…if I knew, I wouldn’t spend the majority of my time avoiding her.”

That got a chuckle, and Alastor scanned the names. “Finally going to do something about that patch then?”

“No, I was planning to interview them for the Daily Prophet. Thought it would make a good side career.”

“A shame they didn’t cut out your vocal cords instead of your eye.”

“Yes, well, the next time I see the Dark Lord I’ll be certain to pass along your suggestion. So?” Like it or not, Alastor probably had gone through a similar process at some point in the past and wouldn’t be a bad person to ask about it. It’s not as though I actually have to take his advice.

“First two would knock you out and then cut out your other eye for research purposes, but I suppose that would be an improvement.”

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Severus muttered.

“Got mine from the third—” Alastor continued as though he hadn’t heard.

“Suppose I’d best cross that one off as well.”

“The fact that you’re still alive amazes me on occasion.”

Join the crowd. “You may enjoy sending people screaming at your appearance; I prefer a slightly subtler approach.”

Alastor snorted. “Haven’t looked in a mirror lately, have you? He does good work.”

And if Alastor had actually allowed this gentleman to work on him, he probably wasn’t much in the way of a security risk. Annoying as it was, that was a consideration. Of course it’s entirely possible that he’d recruited an entire squad of Aurors to stand by during the procedure and make sure he didn’t do anything ‘suspicious.’ Like blink. “Recognize any of the rest?”

“Not these three…that one’s a known supporter of your old master though. Turned over half his fortune in the first war.”

“Wonderful.” He rubbed his forehead. “Assuming I actually find someone who is reasonably competent, how long is this process going to take?”

“If he’s got a spare on hand—don’t count on it—probably a day or so to get it in and a couple weeks for you to get used to it; if he doesn’t or you want something customized, a few weeks to get everything prepared. Bloody headache at first, though, let me tell you…spending your whole life with two eyes combining to give you one image, and then ending up with two separate images that may not even be coming from the same direction….”

“Brilliant.”

Alastor snorted. “More than worth it.” Both his eyes focused on Severus for a moment. “Heard you got into a bit of a mess at St. Mungo’s the other day.”

It was a fairly neutral observation, but Severus glared anyway. No doubt Albus was the one to blame for informing Alastor, but he didn’t precisely appreciate Alastor bringing up things that weren’t any of his business either. “It’s a toss up as to whether the elder Goyle is that stupid or the Dark Lord is that desperate.” If it hadn’t been for whoever hit him from behind, he’d have been inclined to believe the former, but since he obviously hadn’t been acting alone….

The hand not holding the list banged the cushion. “Constant vigilance!”

Severus glared. Hexing Aurors is bad. Hexing colleagues is frowned upon. Hexing other Order members is counterproductive. No matter how badly they deserve it. “Just out of curiosity, how many times have you been hexed by someone on our side when he finally lost patience with your paranoia? No need to be specific, a round number will do.”

///////////

“Professor!”

Severus set down the sixth year quizzes he’d been grading—much as he enjoyed the looks on his students’ faces whenever he announced a surprise quiz, the bloody things were always royal pains to grade—and glared at the boy who’d stepped into his rooms. “Yes, Harry, please feel free to come in uninvited whenever you please.”

The brat turned back to glance at the panel that had shut behind him and then shrugged. “Sorry. But did you hear about Mr. Weasley?”

“I received word from the St. Mungo’s potions masters that they’d solved the mystery of his injuries, yes.” The skin sample was still sitting in his laboratory; between grading quizzes and student potions he’d had more than enough to do without it these past few days. He was a little surprised that Harry and the Weasley children were only being informed now, but…well, who knew how long those wounds had actually taken to close.

“They won’t let us visit, though.” He made a face. “Mrs. Weasley said it would be too tiring for him right now and maybe we can come later.”

“Well, I’m sure she’d know.” So Albus hasn’t told them about the attack or the fact that the floos are still being monitored. Personally he didn’t think that that was particularly wise—well, the part about the floo, anyway, the attack was in no way their business and more people already knew about it than he felt comfortable with—but presumably the headmaster had some reason for it. Hopefully a decent reason. Merlin knows he’s come up with some idiotic ones in the past.

“It’s not like we’d ask him to play Quidditch with us or something,” Harry continued in a tone that bordered on whining, “And he’s Ron and Ginny and the twins’ dad for Merlin’s sake!”

“Molly Weasley is well known for being a bit overprotective. I’m sure as soon as things have calmed down a bit—” and we’ve found and disabled whatever spell is being use on our floos—“all of you will be paying him a visit.” As of breakfast this morning Minerva and Albus were still working on that.

“I guess.” He kicked at the leg of Severus’ couch, and Severus glared.

“However annoyed you may be, you will kindly refrain from assaulting my furniture.” He considered for a moment. “And as long as you’re here, you might as well do something about that rabbit.”

“What? What am I supposed to do with him?”

“I don’t know. Take him back to Hagrid, feed him to your owl…he’s served his purpose as far as I’m concerned.”

“I can’t kill him,” Harry objected. “Why don’t you keep him?”

“Keep a rabbit? As what, a pet? No thank you.” That would be just perfect for his image; the scary potions master keeping around a fluffy little bunny rabbit. And in one of his good cauldrons, no less. He shook his head. “Take him to Minerva, then, maybe she needs a new pincushion or something.” Or dinner. He bit back a chuckle. Minerva would be incensed with him for suggesting it—he’d once asked if she went ratting in the attics in her spare time and for the next week every time he sat down to dinner he’d found spikes growing out of the seat and back of whatever chair he chose—but the idea of her as a tabby pouncing on a rabbit nearly her size was decidedly amusing.

“We could set it free.”

“In the middle of winter? Brilliant, either it freezes or starves to death. Or one of the owls gets it anyway. You’d be better off returning it to Hagrid.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine. I’ll think of something.” He shook his head and turned towards Severus’ lab and then stopped and turned back suddenly. “Professor?”

“What?”

“I mean to ask the other day, but could I borrow a couple of your books?”

“What, there aren’t enough in the library?” Or enough homework? I could fix that, though I’d have thought your detentions would be keeping you busy enough in your spare time.

“Well, I’d need to keep them for awhile, and Madam Pince….” Harry shrugged.

Severus shrugged in return. It wasn’t as though he was in the middle of any of them. “I suppose. Though if you know what’s good for you you’ll return them in the same condition that you borrow them, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry slipped his bag off his shoulder, and he’d obviously considered what he wanted in advance because he pulled three books off one of Severus’ lower shelves quickly and dropped them into it. “You know, I was thinking about the Department of Mysteries in detention the other day, and do you think I could go and request to look at my prophecy and then just accidentally drop it or set it on fire or something?”

“What?” Severus was temporarily distracted from trying to remember just which books had been on that particular shelf. How in Merlin’s name would you ‘accidentally’ set something on fire? Wait. Never mind. I don’t even want to know. “No. I think you need to stay well away from the Ministry. Haven’t you managed to get yourself into enough trouble of late?”

“I’m not trying to get into trouble! I just…if the prophecy wasn’t there any more, no one would have to worry about it.”

Severus closed the distance between them. Ah, those were defense books. Fair enough, I suppose, and there shouldn’t be anything in them more dangerous than normal defense coursework. They’re probably considerably less dangerous, actually, considering there’s a lunatic teaching the subject right now. He retuned his attention to the subject at hand. “Look at me, Harry. You are to stay away from the Department of Mysteries. In fact, stay away from the Ministry in general. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he agreed after a moment.

Severus couldn’t detect any sort of deception in his gaze, but he glared anyway. “Just what sort of detention were you serving that made you think about the Department of Mysteries, anyway?”

“It was supposed to be one of the ones with Professor McGonagall, but she only needed one person to scrub the desks so she kept Ron with her and sent me to Filch.” He made a face. “Cleaning trophies again. I think we have the cleanest trophy room in Europe.”

“Yes, well, with such a constant supply of volunteers for the task….” He nodded to the lab. “The rabbit, if you please. And then you’d best hurry back to your tower, it’s nearly curfew. And be careful with my books.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rabbit dealt with, he turned back to his papers. Their normal exams were frustrating enough, but with these sorts of quizzes the students hadn’t even made any of their oh-so-valiant attempts to memorize their textbooks the night before as they did with exams that he announced in advance.Because Merlin knows actually learning the material as they go is no way to go about getting an education. And, of course, as a result the quiz answers tended to be even more dunderheaded than usual. For example, Mr. Andrews here, who seemed to be under the impression that one used powdered dragon scales in the Enchanting Elixir even though he’d listed in the previous question—approximately half an inch above the current one—each of the precise properties of powdered dragon claws that made them the activating ingredient. And Albus always said that he graded his students too harshly…what in Merlin’s name was he supposed to do when they missed such obvious connections? Stand at the front of the classroom and shout out ‘The question in number four is a ridiculously blatant hint for the answer in number five’?

There was a light knock at the door, and he waved the panel open. Presumably Harry had come up with another ridiculous notion about—

“Professor?”

Years of practice kept his expression calm. “Mr. Malfoy. Can I help you?” There was no sign of threat in the boy’s posture, but he was still maintaining a rough Occlumency barrier and Severus slipped his wand unobtrusively into his clamp. He’d seen Lucius smile and converse politely all the while holding the Cruciatus on one of his victims, and while he didn’t think Draco had fallen so far just yet….Better safe than sorry, I suppose. I’ve spent far too much time in the infirmary this year as it is.

“I…I heard there was an attack the other day.”

Heard from whom Severus wouldn’t mind knowing—from his father, from his mother, from one of the other students?—but he didn’t bother to ask the question. He stood a better chance of getting answers if he didn’t put the boy on the defensive from the outset. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m perfectly fine. It was a clumsy attempt, all things considered.” Draco shifted uncomfortably, and Severus nodded towards the quizzes. They weren’t from the right class, obviously, but the boy didn’t know that. “From what I’ve seen, your potions work has if anything improved in quality since last year.”

“Thank you.”

Those manners were too far ingrained in him to do anything but answer courteously, Severus knew, but he nodded slightly to the couch and took on a conversational tone anyway in the hopes that it wasn’t just his training guiding his responses. “Are you still considering pursuing a Mastery after Hogwarts?”

“I….” Draco’s face hardened momentarily, and then he nodded politely and took a step back towards the panel rather than towards the couch as Severus had hoped. “I suppose I am. I…I’m glad you’re all right. If you’ll excuse me, it’s nearly curfew.”

And then he was gone again, and Severus gritted his teeth. Occlumency barrier or no, he was going to figure out what was going on in that boy’s head. And Merlin help me, I’m still not done with these bloody quizzes.

///////////

“Severus, if you could come to my office after dinner?” Poppy asked as she passed his seat at the High Table heading for an empty one.

He nodded slightly. He’d sent off notes to the two most promising looking eye specialists three days ago, and this was about the appropriate time frame for a response. It was more than slightly annoying that they’d sent said responses to the mediwitch rather than directly to him—he was an adult, after all, and the one who’d be making the decision—but then considering that they’d need some knowledge of his injury to fashion an appropriate replacement perhaps it was to be expected. “Minerva, could you inform Harry that I won’t be available for detention today and that he should see Mr. Filch for an appropriate assignment?”

“Of course.”

Severus smirked. The boy would be annoyed—especially since he’d probably get stuck scrubbing trophies again—but then he was supposed to be being punished, after all.

When the meal was over he followed Poppy up to the infirmary, considering when the best time would be to get his eye fitted. He wanted to do it as soon as possible, but if Alastor was correct about the adjustment time required it might be better to wait until the students had a holiday so he wouldn’t be trying to teach classes while he was recuperating. Somehow I don’t think Slughorn will be willing to substitute again until the temperature rises, and there isn’t precisely a line of capable potions professors beating down the door.

A young woman—not one he recognized, but she couldn’t have finished school more than a year or two ago—stepped out of the office at their entrance and shook his abruptly out of his musings.

“Healer Pioche, this is Severus Snape; Severus, Yvette Pioche,” Poppy said with a smile for the woman.

“Hello, I am working at St. Mungo’s on an exchange program with the Maison de Guérison in France.”

Severus jaw tightened. She can’t possibly be serious. “How nice for you.”

“I understand that you have been in a…dark place…emotionally speaking. I am trained to help—”

Wonderful. Brilliant. He glanced over at Poppy, but she was observing the two of them with an unconcerned look on her face. This is her idea of a competent mindhealer? I’m supposed to be the one with the issues! “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t need any help I apologize for your wasted trip.”

The smile the girl turned on him was more than slightly condescending. “I really don’t think you’re in the best position to judge what effect this experience might have had—”

“I do not need help,” he repeated, voice dropping an octave. “Particularly from a child whose idea of a traumatic injury is probably a stubbed toe!”

She lifted her chin and crossed her arms across her chest. The gesture was probably intended as a sign of confidence, but it only succeeded in making her look even more like a particularly stubborn student. “I assure you that I have some experience in these types of events, and—”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I very much doubt that. Now, if you will both excuse me, I have the sudden need to be…elsewhere.” He shook off Poppy’s hand and stalked out. As if the first two mindhealers weren’t been bad enough—at least they both lived through a war! Maybe not in the same way that I did, granted but that creature…she’d probably run screaming from a bar fight. She can’t have been all that much more than a toddler when the Dark Lord fell. And she was living on the Continent at the time! Merlin knows what ridiculous ideas she has about—

“Severus!”

He ignored Poppy’s shout, hurrying back to his dungeons. Maybe there was still time to track Harry down…he was in a mood to torment someone, and detention was a perfect opportunity. Or he could go out to the gardens; even in this sub-zero weather there were always a few lovesick idiots out there that could stand to be shouted at just on general principle. He was rounding a corner on the second floor when hit something heavy and both he and his victim rocked back slightly. “Watch where you’re going!”

“I’m not the one careening through the halls like a rogue bludger,” Alastor snapped back, releasing brickwork he’d caught to keep himself from falling and resettling his crutch more securely under his arm. “You don’t appear to be rushing off to someone’s rescue, so what in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?”

Severus sneered. “Leave me alone, Alastor. I’m in a dark place, emotionally speaking.”

The ex-Auror eyed a storage closet and then Severus for a moment, obviously sizing it up. “You’re about to be in a dark place, physically speaking, if you don’t watch your mouth.”

Severus’ fingers closed on his wand, and he was very tempted to take Alastor up on that challenge. There didn’t appear to be any students about, and Merlin knew he needed some way to burn of his irritation.

“There you are! Now that was uncalled for!” Poppy came up behind him, ignoring Alastor as she caught Severus’ arm and tugged him back around to face her. “I understand that you are against the idea of speaking to a mindhealer based upon some ridiculous notion that you can deal with the trauma you suffered on your own—despite the obvious evidence to the contrary, might I point out—but however you feel about the matter you have absolutely no right to behaving in that manner in front of—”

“In front of whom? That was a child—she can’t have been out of school for more than a year or two. I teach children, I don’t get ‘counseled’ by them, or whatever other ridiculous notion it is that you’ve come up with!”

“She finished at Beaubaxtons and started an apprenticeship at the French House of Healing five years ago, and we were fortunate that they offered her the opportunity to come here to expand her horizons a bit!” Poppy snapped. “And she isn’t the only one you’ve insulted, unless you’ve forgotten the last two gentlemen I brought in. Now I have tried to be patient, but—”

“You’ve tried to drive me barking mad, and you’ve damn near succeeded! None of those people have the faintest idea about what I’ve dealt with. This one’s idea of a war injury is probably a bloodied nose, that Kerrigan idiot wanted me to sing and dance as though my life was some damn musical, and….” Well, he didn’t know a great deal about the first once since he hadn’t given the man enough time to get a word in edgewise, but no doubt he’d have come up with some equally ridiculous notion given time.

“These are professionals, Severus, not strangers that I’ve picked up off the street! Whether you believe it or not, they have training to deal with traumatic and life-changing events, and I insist that you speak to one of them! Now, if you have actual reasons why none of them are appropriate—for example I agree that Healer Kerrigan probably wouldn’t be appropriate, as it happens—I will attempt to find others, but I will not tolerate any more of these deliberate snubs. These are my colleagues, and I expect you to behave in an appropriate manner.”

He glared at the finger that had been wagging in his face for the second half of that little speech. “I am not a child; I’d appreciate you ceasing to treat me as one.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Severus transferred his glare to her face, but she’d apparently finished speaking. With a sniff and a swirl of her robes, she turned and swept back down the halls in the direction from which she’d come.

“What in Merlin’s name was that about?” Alastor demanded.

Severus swiveled to glare at him. “None of your business.”

“I expect not, but since you’re stamping around like a three year old and nearly drew on me—did you actually think I wouldn’t notice?—you can damn well explain anyway.”

Debating whether or not to push past him gave Severus pause for a moment. He was in no mood to talk just now, and while Alastor might have the weight advantage…well, how hard can it be to knock over someone with a bloody crutch? Unfortunately then his back would be to Alastor when he retaliated and…. Severus hid a wince. That probably wouldn’t end well. “I was rather hoping you would notice, actually.” Alastor raised an eyebrow and he waved a hand and checked the corridor quickly for any sign of students approaching. He obviously wasn’t going to get out of this without some sort of explanation, but the shorter the better as far as he was concerned. “Poppy has come to the conclusion that I need some sort of ‘help’ to get past what the Dark Lord did, and to that end she’s assembled a remarkable collection of idiots to drive me insane.”

“Well, I’d say insanity would be an improvement in your case, but—”

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Severus muttered.

Alastor ignored him, raising an eyebrow with a decidedly skeptical look on his face. “You’re telling me these idiots actually wanted you to dance?”

“And sing,” Severus confirmed with a smirk. “One of them at least; the one who came last time. Tonight’s visitor was a child younger than most of my robes.”

“Well, considering your usual attire, that’s not saying a great deal.”

“I haven’t completely ruled out hexing you as an appropriate tension reliever.”

“There are a fair number of empty classrooms around if you’d care to try. Though flashback or no, if you set another fiendfyre on me I’m bloody well going to thrash you properly and fair play be damned.”

Severus stalked through the halls doing his very best not to limp and glaring daggers at anyone who got in his way. ‘Anyone’ in this case being Mrs. Norris and one of the Hufflepuff ghosts, but it was the principle of the thing. When he’d accepted Alastor’s invitation to duel, he’d fully expected a flock of birds to come flying at his head first thing. It had been…irritating…when Alastor had refrained; he was a grown man and didn’t need anyone making allowances for him. Of course then he’d caught Alastor’s smirk and realized that the bloody lunatic had known damn well what he’d been expecting and was deliberately baiting him. Things had escalated quickly, and by the time Peeves had arrived spitting water, they’d both taken half a dozen hexes and curses through their blocks. Severus wouldn’t have admitted it except under extreme torture, but he had been just about willing to call the damn thing himself at that point if that damn poltergeist hadn’t made it a moot point.

He gritted his teeth as he surveyed the last staircase he had to traverse before reaching his quarters and then began to lower himself step by step. If Alastor’s shoulder isn’t stiff as a board by tomorrow morning I’m bloody well going to put delayed-reaction swelling solution in his breakfast and retaliation be damned. He should be stiff though—Severus had come up with half-a-dozen variations of the freezing curse for use at various Deatheater gatherings, and he’d pushed a version he was particularly pleased with past Alastor’s blocks and into his left shoulder while the other man was distracted by a pair of whip-charms. It was one that the ex-Auror most definitely shouldn’t have seen before, and while it hadn’t actually hurt him, the aftereffects were annoying and would last for at least a day or two.

Hissing slightly as he lowered himself down the last stair, Severus had to admit to that the bone bruise that Alastor’s hammer-hand had left on his thigh was going to be bothering him for at least a day or two as well, unfortunately, no matter what he treated it with. Most of the rest of the spells that had landed had been more-or-less easily cancelled, fortunately…the last thing he’d have wanted to tonight do was pay a visit to Poppy.

Letting himself into his quarters, he debated sitting down on the couch for a moment before deciding that he probably wouldn’t be getting up again if he did so. He limped the rest of the way into the bedroom and sank down on the bed. “Accio bruise salve.”

///////////

Severus sat up in alarm, blinking into the darkness. What in the bloody hell is that noise? Merlin help me, if Harry pulled over another bookshelf— He snapped to full awareness as red flashing from the glass globe that served as the Order’s general alert caught his eye. The same location as that damn shrieking was coming from as well, as it happened. “Bloody hell.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a wince and then shook his head and grabbed his robes. He’d be expected in the Headmaster’s office in only a few minutes, but he wasn’t about to go traipsing through Hogwarts’ halls in his nightshirt.

“Getting a bit slow, aren’t you,” Alastor commented snidely as Severus walked in.

As Severus had been refraining from limping only by great force of will, he wasn’t in the mood to put up with Alastor’s taunts. He smirked. “Could you pass me that bit of glass there, off to your left?”

“Now is not the time you two,” Albus snapped as Alastor was opening his mouth to respond. “I put an observation spell on our floos after Severus discovered our watchers, and someone tripped the wards tonight.”

“Who?” Albus turned to look at him, and Severus cursed. “Damn it, I knew that little idiot should have been warned about the floo!” Or chained to a wall, which would probably have been more effective. “Merlin knows he’s managed to get himself involved in every other bit of trouble that’s come to this school in the last five years, and—” He shook his head sharply. It was his own fault. He’d respected Albus’ wishes not to reveal that their floos were being monitored knowing damn well that Harry…. Place the blame later. “When?”

“I sounded the alarm as soon as the wards were breached.”

“And those two shadows of his were with him?”

“All four of the Weasley children were with him, as well as Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood, and Mr. Longbottom.”

It was Minerva’s turn to curse as she realized just who Severus and Albus were speaking about, and from the look on Alastor’s face he’d figured it out as well. “Where were they going?” Minerva demanded.

Severus gritted his teeth. “The Department of Mysteries, I presume. He’s been going on about getting rid of that damn prophecy.” And borrowed my bloody defense books, and you just know he was looking for something—

“They went to the Ministry, so that’s very likely what they’re attempting,” Albus confirmed, interrupting his train of thought.

“What’s wrong?” Hagrid demanded, having just reached the door of the office.

“Harry-bloody-Potter has once again gone charging off into the middle of a situation he knows nothing about, dragging his brainless band of followers right along with him,” Severus snapped. “Little idiot understands approximately as much about self-preservation as a depressed lemming.”

Hagrid bristled, opening his mouth to defend the brat, but Albus spoke first. “We have to get to the Ministry, and I’m not inclined to take the floos. If Harry and his friends didn’t trip them, I don’t want to be the one to tip our watchers off.”

Unless the Dark Lord has Crabbe and Goyle the elder watching the floos, I wouldn’t place much hope on that.

“Hagrid, can you stay here and direct any other Order members who attempt to contact me? Warn them to avoid the floo as best they can. If we aren’t back by dawn, inform Filius that we were called away and that he has temporary authority until we do return.”

‘Until’ rather than ‘if’ Severus noted…the headmaster always was overly optimistic.

“Can do that,” the half-giant agreed quickly. “You just save Harry and the others.”

“Let’s go; we’ll apparate from the edge of the grounds.”

The trip across the grounds wasn’t something that Severus cared to remember—for one it was freezing cold out and snowing yet again, and for another his leg was aching something fierce. At least from the way Alastor was holding his arm he was in some pain as well. Severus winced. ‘At least’ would apply if we were both going to be at Hogwarts for the next few days; having two of the Order’s most experienced fighters in less than top form on the eve of a very likely battle is not what I would call a good thing. He caught Alastor’s eye and the old Auror nodded slightly. He knows it too. Although I don’t think he’s been in what would be considered ‘top form’ since sometime before I was born, so….

Harry and the children who’d gone with him would have floo’d in to one of the public terminals in the Atrium, but they would have to go through the entrance in Muggle London. The four of them crowded into the phone booth—the door barely shut and the sides creaked alarmingly—and Albus jabbed the appropriate numbers.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,” the voice of that idiot welcome-witch said pleasantly. “Please state your name and business.”

“Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Alastor Moody, and Severus Snape,” Albus snapped. “Here on…Hogwarts business.”

“Thank you.” Three badges popped out, for Minerva, Alastor, and Severus. Presumably Albus didn’t need one because of his position. Former position, officially, although…well, Severus wasn’t going to worry about it. He clipped the one with his name to the front of his robes as the voice continued speaking, “Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.”

“We’ve done that, can we please move on?” Severus snapped. This was taking too long; Merlin knew how far along Harry and the others could have made it just in the time it took them to get to the apparition point, and now they were going to have to wait for this antiquated bit of magicked machinery to lower them eight bloody floors.

“Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.” There was a grinding noise as the floor of the phone box began to lower. Entirely too slowly, but eventually they did reach the Atrium. “The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening,” the voice called as they exited and headed for the desk. Where, ominously, no witch or wizard waited to register their wands.

Albus ignored the empty desk and headed past it towards the lifts, punching floor nine with more force than strictly necessary. “If we’re lucky, we can intercept them before they reach anywhere dangerous.

“In the Department of Mysteries?” Severus muttered under his breath, and heard a snort of agreement from Alastor. They reached the entrance and stepped inside.

“Miss Granger, I presume,” Minerva said with a nod to several doors marked with flaming X’s. The flames were starting to die down, but a flick of her wand refreshed them.

“Didn’t have the sense to mark the one they came in through,” Severus returned, quickly casting a marking spell at the one they’d stepped through before allowing it to swing shut. The doors spun too fast for him to follow; he’d heard about that before hence marking the one they’d come through, but since he’d never been in the Department of Mysteries before he’d never experienced it firsthand. And I think I could quite happily have lived my entire life without having done so. “So which one leads to the Hall of Prophecy?”

There was silence for a moment. “I think we can rule out the ones they’ve marked off,” Albus said firmly. “Minerva, we’ll start over here; Severus and Alastor, start over there. Mark the one you’re currently checking with green and anything you rule out with red.”

“And try and remember that you’re supposed to be on the same side,” Minerva added.

Both Severus and Alastor glared until the door shut behind the two of them. At which point all of the doors spun again, and ‘over here’ and ‘over there’ became moot. Well, at least as long as we all marked where we’ve been, process of elimination will eventually lead them to the suicidal little brats. Not the most efficient method, but….

“All right, Severus, let’s get this over with.”

“I don’t suppose you know what’s behind all of these.”

“I’ll recognize most of the rooms once we’re in them, but not which is which from here. Shame, would save us a quite a bit of trouble. I never did figure out how the people who work here manage to get to the appropriate offices in the morning.”

Severus opened his mouth to respond, and then decided that it really didn’t matter. There was probably some sort of coding somewhere on the doors, but even if he could break it there really wasn’t time. “Well, pick one.”

Alastor shoved open the nearest door and waved Severus through. “Go on. You have another flashback when you meet up with your old colleagues, and I’m not about to be between you and them.”

“Your concern overwhelms me.” The door shut, and he did a quick survey of another circular room, this one with odd spikes coming out of the walls. “So where are we?”

“Sound Research. Hall of Whispers is through that door. Keep your voice down.”

Unless it happened to lead to the Hall of Prophecy Severus doubted very much that Harry would have come this way, but it would be supremely ironic if they ran right past him while they were searching for him.

The room they entered was solid black, lit only by the light from the previous chamber. “What in Mer—” he clamped his hands over his ears as the echoes nearly sent him to his knees.

“I said voice down,” Alastor hissed viciously, although it came out as loud as any shout.

“Well, I don’t think our dear Mr. Potter is in here!” Severus hissed back. What bloody idiot spends his days in a Merlin-be-damned echo chamber? What purpose is that supposed to serve? And the Ministry actually funds this! He backed out carefully and shut the door. “Let me guess, behind door number two is the Hall of Shouts.”

Harry was nowhere in the Sound Research ward—to Severus’ complete lack of surprise—and he and Alastor stepped back into the entrance room. There was no sign of Albus and Minerva, although one door now bore a red AD while a second had a green MM. Suppose that’s a good way to mark where we’ve been, although if there are Deatheaters here we might as well be using a bullhorn. He shrugged after a moment and turned and changed the green X on the room they’d been in into a red SS before allowing it to shut fully. He was opening his mouth to ask if Alastor had any preferences as to their next destination when the door marked as the entrance swung inward.

Both he and Alastor had curses half-invoked when the three shapes resolved into familiar figures. “Wotcher, Mad-eye,” the one with the pink hair greeted, looking entirely too cheerful for whatever hideously early hour of the morning it happened to be. “Professor.”

“Nymphadora,” Alastor returned, apparently not noticing when her grin changed into a glare. “Kingsley. Dung.” He shook his head. “Why did you bring him?”

“That’s what I asked,” Fletcher said indignantly. “Was planning to go home to my nice—”

“I’d just bailed him out of a Ministry holding cell when the alarm went off,” Tonks interrupted. “Figured he might as well do something today besides try and impersonate an Inferius.”

Impersonate an infer…? Severus decided abruptly that he didn’t really want to know why anyone would try something like that and gave a quick nod to the three of them before indicating the marked doors. “The flaming X’s are the ones Potter and the rest of the dunderheads have apparently ruled out; we’re going through the rest one by one until they’re found.” And executed. “Green for current, red for already been searched. Albus and Minerva are in that one now, apparently.”

Shaklebolt dipped his head sharply. “Any sign of Deatheaters?”

“Not yet,” Alastor returned. “But Malfoy has been down here more than I have, and one of the Lestrange brothers—can’t remember which one—went through at least the basic training to become an Unspeakable; if they have a particular destination I doubt they’re having to go through this search rigmarole.”

“Rabastan,” Severus muttered. He’d forgotten about that. They would be able to go directly to wherever they wanted.

“We need an Unspeakable in the Order,” Tonks said, tapping lightly on the nearest door and then leaning close to examine the frame. “Can’t believe that’s never come up before.”

“Had Dorcas, before.” Alastor shrugged. “First time Voldemort fell was all of a month after she was killed, and it hasn’t come up since.”

“Remind me to suggest to Albus that we rectify that little oversight,” Severus said, glaring at the identical doors. “But I suppose we should get on with the search.” He was about to add a second suggestion, that they change partners first—he had no desire to be stuck with Fletcher, but while he hadn’t worked much with Shaklebolt he didn’t have the same urge to bait him as he did with Alastor and he knew Alastor had been Tonks’ mentor not so long ago so they could apparently tolerate each other well enough—but Tonks was already dragging Fletcher through the door she’d been examining with Kingsley right behind them. Oh, well. We haven’t killed each other yet. “Particular preference?” he asked Alastor.

Alastor shook himself slightly and then barged through the nearest. “Planetary Studies,” he muttered as Severus joined him. “Going to be a bloody hassle trying to search this place.”

Severus nodded, wondering if it would be worth the risk to just yell for Harry and hope there weren’t any Deatheaters on hand to hear. We’ve already put our names on the doors…. The room was dark, for one, too dark for him to see how far the walls extended or if there were any more doors, with luminescent…planets?...floating around obscuring his view even more, and several areas were misted over just to make things even more enjoyable. “Lumos.” It didn’t do much to combat the darkness, and he banished it with an unhappy suspicion that the ambient light from the planets was all they were going to have to search by. “I’ll st—”

A girl’s voice screaming a Reductor curse cut him off, and both he and Alastor were turning in that direction when the flash of an exploding planet forced them to drop back and shield their eyes.

“Bloody buggering—Harry!” Severus shouted.

“Professor?” the same voice yelled. “There’s more of them!”

Alastor echoed some of the same curses Severus was muttering as three children appeared out of the darkness. Lovegood had done the shouting—and, presumably, cast the curse—but the Weasley girl was there as well, limping and leaning heavily on Lovegood’s shoulder, and the youngest Weasley boy was trailing behind the two wearing an expression that belonged on the face on someone in St. Mungo’s mental ward.

A Deatheater appeared behind them, but a pinwheel of fire—much nastier than anything that Alastor had aimed at Severus—caught him in the chest and threw him out of view screaming.

Severus shifted to put himself in front of the three children, alert for any more attacks, but apparently the Deatheaters had either been taken by the exploding planet or had seen what Alastor had done to their compatriot and fallen back to regroup. He twisted to glare back at the three children. “What happened? Where are the others?” He really didn’t want to consider the worst-case scenario, that—

The Weasley boy stabbed a finger at him suddenly, poking him firmly in the chest. “Bat.”

Severus stared, Alastor barked a startled laugh, and the Weasley girl broke off her quick gasps of pain long enough to moan quietly and cover her face with her free hand.

“I don’t know what they hit him with, but he’s gone a bit funny,” Lovegood informed them in all seriousness.

Severus shifted his glare. “Yes, I did notice. What happened?”

“We were attacked. Right after Harry picked up the prophecy. It was like they knew we were coming.” She shook her head. “We blew up a bunch of the shelves and ran…I’m not sure what happened to Harry and Hermione and Neville, but the twins were with us until they stopped to try and slow the Deatheaters down.”

“Damn.” Bad enough when they were just searching for the Hall of Prophecy, if Harry and the other four were now playing catch-as-can with who-knew-how-many Deatheaters all over this damn department…. And that assumes they’re all still alive. He pushed that thought firmly away.

“Weasley, how badly are you hurt?” Alastor demanded, jabbing his wand at the girl.

She her head, panting. “It’s…it’s not that bad.”

“I think it’s broken,” Lovegood contradicted. “I heard a snap when one of them grabbed her.”

“She’s Loony…Loony Lovegood…ha—”

“Be quiet,” Severus snapped at the Weasley boy who was currently wandering in disoriented circles.

Alastor brought his wand up sharply and snarled a curse that glowed red into the darkness, and Severus spun back around and shot a full-power Sectumsempra as shadowy figures appeared. One screamed and fell back. Merlin, I hope those are Deatheaters.

“Stupify!”

He grabbed Lovegood by the collar of her robe and yanked her back behind him. It seems I’ve managed to find a Ravenclaw with a Gryffindor’s sense of self-preservation. Merlin help me. The Weasley girl was on the floor now, about as protected as she could get all things considered, and the boy…well, Alastor was going to have to deal with him; he was too far out of Severus’ reach. They needed to get their backs against a wall—or, better yet, back into the entrance room, but the Weasley girl was going to have to be carried—possibly the boy as well depending on how addled his brains were—and with no way to know how many Deatheaters there were…. “Alastor, how many can you see?”

“Two down and three more over there, but I think there must be a connection from another room so….”

Well, obviously there was or they would have seen the children entering. He shook his head.

“Take them and get moving,” Alastor ordered. “I’ll follow.”

“But—” He’d have to take them all the way back to the Atrium to ensure that they reached Hogwarts safely, which meant leaving Alastor with absolutely no backup.

“Now,” he snapped. “I can see better than you in this mess, and I can’t carry one of them if it comes to that.”

Damn. He was right, but then as sore as Severus’ leg was he wasn’t entirely certain that he could carry one of them either. “Miss Lovegood, can you help Miss Weasley?” He’d rather keep his wand in his good hand and stiff leg or not he’d be of more use shielding them then trying to carry a burden himself in a running fight. “Mr. Weasley, we’re going that way.”

The boy turned to look up at Severus. “Vampire. And a bat.” He nodded to himself.

“Alastor, shut up,” Severus growled.

“It’s only my ankle, I can do it myself,” the Weasley girl was protesting, but she’d never have made it to her feet without Lovegood’s support and was leaning far more heavily on the other girl than Severus would have preferred.

“All right, we’re going to do this carefully. Weasley, stay by your sister.” The four of them moved back towards the door—more slowly than he’d have liked but they didn’t really have much of a choice—and he snapped at them to wait when they reached it. “I’ll go first. When I call that it’s clear, then you may come through. Not until then, understood?” Two nods and one bright smile met that, and he decided that that was as good as he was likely to get.

The entrance room was empty, and he whispered quietly for the children to join him. Presumably Alastor was following, but he could take care of himself. Severus had to get the children back to the Atrium as quickly as possible. “This way. We go through the exit the same way we did the last d—”

A side door sprung open, and Severus snarled and brought up his wand.

“Professor!”

“Har—never mind, take her.” He nodded towards the Weasley girl, then realized that behind Harry was Longbottom, blood covering his face and an unconscious Granger in his arms. “Hurry!” Harry wasn’t big, but he was bigger than Lovegood and they didn’t have the time to waste.

“Harry, we saw Uranus up close!” the Weasley boy said with a faint giggle. “Get it, Harry? We saw Uranus—ha ha ha—”

He broke off as a bubble of blood popped at the side of his mouth, and Severus cursed. Six children to get out of here, and only two of them were in what would be called reasonable shape. “This way.” He’d taken one step towards the exit when another door burst open and an entirely too familiar—and decidedly unwelcome—figure burst through it. Bellatrix…. And two others behind her, although he couldn’t tell who they were in their robes.

“There they are!” she shrieked.

Severus grabbed the nearest child—Longbottom—and flung him through the door to his left. Both he and the Granger girl went flying, but Harry and Lovegood had taken the hint and dragged the other two children in after them. Severus couldn’t hold off the three attacking much longer—eventually one of those stunning spells was going to get through his block—and with one last salvo he dove in after the children and kicked the door shut behind him.

“Colloportus,” yelled Harry, and almost immediately there was the sound of three bodies slamming into the door on the other side.

“It doesn’t matter!” said a man’s voice. “There are other ways in. We’ve got them! They’re here!”

Avery, Severus recognized. “Hurry, seal the doors!”

“Luna, Neville, help me!” Harry called.

Lovegood and Longbottom took one side of the room, he and Harry took the other. They had just reached the far wall when Lovegood’s cry of ‘Colloportus’ was cut off with a scream.

Damn it!

The skinny blonde girl slid across a desk and onto the floor, landing in a limp sprawl.

“Get Potter!”

Bellatrix would never be mistaken for anyone else with that shriek, Severus decided, but now there were five Deatheaters pounding towards Harry. For once the brat showed some common sense and sprinted for the front of the room. Severus stunned one of them, and took aim at a second but now that they'd seen him they were all spelling back and he didn't have his choice of shots anymore. Keep running…keep running! Of course he might be running into the arms of another set of Deatheaters, but he would stand a better chance against someone more sane than Bellatrix.

“Hey!” called the Weasley boy, who showed his absolute lack of common sense—not something Severus blamed on whatever spell had hit him—by staggering towards Harry giggling all the way. “Hey Harry, there are brains in here, ha ha ha, isn’t that weird, Harry?”

Much to Severus’ disgust, Harry slowed to a stop and turned back towards his friend. “Ron, get out of the way—get down!”

Weasley had already pointed his wand at the tank, and if Severus had dared shifted his aim from the Deatheaters he’d have stupefied the brat himself.

“Honest, Harry, they’re brains—look—Accio brain!”

Bloody, buggering…. Everyone—Deatheaters included—stared as a brain burst out of the tank and flew towards Weasley.

“Ha ha ha, Harry, look at it! Harry come and touch it; bet it’s weird.”

It’s not the only thing.

“Ron, no!”

Good advice, actually, but the Weasley boy had already grabbed the disgusting thing. The tentacles grabbed back. “Harry, look what’s happen— No! No—I don’t like it—no, stop—stop!”

The brain was starting to wrap around him, and Severus didn’t want to risk a cutting spell from this distance. Of course, if it wraps much tighter a cut might be the least of his problems.

“Diffindo!” Harry called. It wasn’t a bad cast, but the tentacles continued to wrap Weasley even tighter.

“Harry, it’ll suffocate him!” the Weasley girl screamed.

Unfortunately that seemed to break the stillness of the room, and a stunning spell struck her in the face seconds later.

“Stubefy!” Longbottom screamed. “Stubefy! Stubefy!”

But nothing happened. Well, except that one of the Deatheaters tried to stun him—Jugson, Severus thought—but he missed. Unfortunately.

Harry resumed his flight, shooting out of the room holding something over his head, and Severus cursed as the Deatheaters went pounding after him sending furniture flying as they went. He’d forgotten that he couldn’t bloody run with this damn limp. “Stay here!” he snarled at Longbottom. “Bind that one back there, and look after the others—get that thing off Weasley!” Precisely how he was supposed to do any of that Severus didn’t know, but he didn’t think his stunning spell was going to wear off any time soon, and the Deatheaters were clearly after either Harry or what he was carrying—or both—and would presumably leave the other brats alone until that goal was accomplished.

Severus cursed again as he reached the outer room and found that wherever they’d gone the door had been shut behind them. The markings did no good, now…who knew where Harry might have gone.

“Professor!” two voices called in chorus coming racing out another door.

Severus snapped out a spell to keep it from shutting. “You two!” He pulled the door he was holding open the rest of the way. “In there; your brother’s had his brain addled and been attacked by someone else’s brain, Miss Lovegood and your sister are stunned, and I believe your sister has a broken ankle on top to that. Take care of them!” He had more faith in the Weasley twins’ abilities than he did in Longbottom’s, and that would, hopefully, keep them out of the immediate firing line. “Seal the doors after you’ve gone in, and don’t open them until myself or another professor—or an Auror, or someone you trust—tells you to.” And pray they aren’t under Imperius when they do so.

“What are you going to do?”

“Find Harry! Go!”

They jerked back momentarily and then darted through the door. Severus shut it with slightly more force than necessary after checking the marking—a red AD—so he could rule it out when deciding where to search

He frowned for a moment and then froze the door the Weasley boys had come through open. How long the spell would hold he didn’t know, but hopefully as long as it was open the room wouldn’t spin again. “Now where in…?” He almost wished Harry had been bleeding, at least then there might be a trail to follow.

A door fell open, and Tonks fell—quite literally—out, only to be dragged to her feet by Kingsley who was hard on her heels.

“Any luck?” Tonks asked.

“Did you not hear the yelling? All of the brats except Harry are in there—” he waved a hand.

“Well, where’s Harry?”

“I don’t know. He went running out before I could stop him—with four Deatheaters behind him—and the door shut before I could see where they ended up. The other children are still in there; I told them to seal the doors and wait until we came for them.”

“Good thinking.” Kingsley rubbed his forehead and looked around. “Damn it, we’re practically going to have to start all over. All right, that was the Sound Room,” Kingsley put a large slash on it. “That open one?”

“Wherever the twins were; I froze it open so the damn room wouldn’t spin. What happened to Fletcher?”

“Coward ran away at the first sight of Deatheaters,” Tonks said in disgust. “I’m not sure whether he got out or not, though. Wish we’d thought of that trick with the doors earlier.” She looked around quickly. “So do we split up?”

“I don’t like it,” Kingsley returned. “Dividing forces isn’t the best id—”

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

She shook her head and pointed at the door she was closest to. “I hear laughing.”

Severus winced. He couldn’t come up with a single good reason that anyone on their side would be laughing about this situation, which meant…. “On three?”

“Wait. If they’re laughing at something, they might not be watching the door.” Kingsley nodded to Tonks, who eased it open a crack.

“…ten of us and only one of you… or hasn’t Dumbledore ever taught you how to count?” Lucius was saying.

“He’s dot alone! He’s still god be!”

Severus nearly cursed out loud and gave them away when Longbottom made that announcement. Harry was at the bottom of a flight of stone steps that ringed the room, in front of some sort of archway, and Longbottom was scrambling down towards him ignoring the Deatheaters. There was another figure on the floor at Harry’s feet…Fletcher, from the look of things. He wasn’t moving.

“Neville, no! Go back to Ron!” Harry shouted.

“Stubefy!” Longbottom finally seemed to notice the Deatheaters, pointing his wand at one after another. “Stubefy! Stubefy! Stu—”

Augustus grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.

Not that he really needs to, Severus observed, since he hasn’t managed to cast a spell yet tonight that I’ve seen. But so far none of the Deatheaters had noticed himself or the two Aurors, and since both Kingsley and Tonks were edging sideways—one to his left and one to his right—trying to get into better positions, he held his tongue.

“It’s Longbottom, isn’t it?” sneered Lucius Malfoy. “Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause… your death will not come as a great shock.”

Bellatrix’s face lit up—a decidedly unpleasant sight. “Longbottom? Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy.”

“I doe you hab!” Longbottom snarled in return, fighting to get free.

“Someone stun him!” Augustus demanded.

“No, no, no.” Bellatrix looked back and forth between Harry and Longbottom. “No, let’s see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents… unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy.”

Severus tightened his grip on his wand and checked the two Aurors’ positions. He knew full well what she was planning, and that he couldn’t allow that to happen regardless of whether or not they were ready to fight.”

“Don’d gib id do dem!” Longbottom demanded in an unexpected show of bravado, fighting harder as Bellatrix approached with her wand raised. “Don’d gib id do dem, Harry!”

Bellatrix raised her wand. “Cruci—”

“Sectumsempra!”

“Stupify,” two more voices chorused in unison, but Severus’ curse hit first and both of theirs flew over her head.

They might have chosen a slightly less damaging spell, but then neither of them had been forced to spend as much time in her presence as he had, Severus decided. She fell with her back gashed badly open—she might not be stupefied but she wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, either—and the rest of the Deatheaters spun to face the new threat.

“Traitor!” Lucius snarled.

Severus thought he saw Harry dragging Longbottom back up the steps out of the corner of his eye, but since Avery, Macnair, and Lucius were targeting him, he didn’t really have the attention to spare. He barely had the time to cast his own offensive spells; Deatheaters didn’t normally do much in concert but the three of them were managing to time their casting well enough that he couldn’t afford to let his shields drop. Or to let his concentration waver...he could feel his heartbeat beginning to speed up, and flickers of memories were starting to mingle with the scene in front of him. He knew already that anAvis Oppugno would cause a flashback, but if there were other spells that would as well...

Lucius fell to the ground laughing hysterically suddenly, startling everyone involved in the fight. Severus recovered a bit faster than the other two—or at least he spotted two redheads standing in another doorway shooting off spells which answered the question of just who would use a cheering charm in a fight—and put Avery in a body-bind before either of the other two Deatheaters were able to collect themselves.

One-on-one—at least when they were both armed—Macnair was no match for Severus and knew it. He tried to run, but something spun him around and dropped him, and Severus glanced in the other direction to find that Albus and Minerva had arrived to join the fray. To end the fray, really, since Severus didn’t know any Deatheater who’d consider fighting Albus Dumbledore in anything approaching single combat. Alastor had come in at some point as well; he was crouched by Tonks who’d gone down without Severus even noticing.

Harry and Longbottom were no longer in evidence; presumably they’d gone in the door that the Weasley twins were now peering out.

“Is everyone all right?” Albus called when the last of the Deatheaters had fallen.

“Will be,” Tonks said, sitting up slowly and rubbing her forehead. Alastor and Minerva both indicated that they were fine, and Severus nodded as well.

Kingsley took the steps quickly, moving to examine the body that lay crumpled in front of the archway. “Dung didn’t make it,” he announced. “He’s been…eviscerated.”

“Damn,” Severus muttered. He didn’t like the man, but he did occasionally provide useful information. And that particular spell was about as painful as killing spells could get.

“I’ll take care of it,” Kingsley said. “I’ll call in a couple of the other Aurors and get them hauled off to Azkaban too. We’ll call it a break-in or something. Tonks, maybe you should get yourself to St. Mungo’s. Just to be safe.”

“I’ll take her,” Alastor said, heaving her to her feet when she looked inclined to object. The abrupt movement was enough to make her lose any color she’d regained in her face, and she held onto his shoulder as they limped out of the room.

“Let’s get the children and go,” Minerva said with a sigh. “It’s been a long night.”

Severus was the first into the room behind the Weasley twins, and he frowned as he surveyed the teenagers. “Where is Harry?”

“He wend dad way,” Longbottom offered, pointing towards the far end of the room. Some effort had been made to scrub the blood off his face, but somehow the streaky pattern didn’t really make him look any better.

Severus gritted his teeth. This is why children should be kept in cages until they’re twenty-five.

“Why?” Minerva demanded, looking nearly as put out as he felt.

“We saw Bellatrix escape through one of the other doors while you were still fighting,” one twin started. “She hit Tonks with something, and just….”

“Harry said he could cut her off,” the other picked up the tale. “We told him not to go, but we were busy holding the door and couldn’t stop him, and Neville was in the middle of, um….” He glanced to his brother for help.

“De-braining Ron.”

“De-braining Ron, yes, and he wasn’t in a position to do anything either.”

The brain had been pried off and now lay in a mushy heap off to one side, Severus noticed absently, although the Weasley boy didn’t look a great deal better. And all three girls still lay unconscious. He cursed. He’d assumed that laying open Bellatrix’s back would have kept her on the ground, but he’d forgotten that lunatics—true lunatics, not just stubborn, paranoid pains-in-the-arse like Alastor—didn’t necessarily operate by the same rules of reality as everyone else. If she thought the Dark Lord needed her, she’d be there regardless of whether or not it should be physically possible.

“We don’t have time for this.” Albus led the way past the children with a curt order at them to stay where they were. Presumably Kingsley, who was still in the other room, could keep the rest of the Deatheaters down, and if not…well, the Weasley twins had already proved that they were fairly capable, if unconventional, in battle.

“What’s wrong?” Alastor demanded as the three of them burst into the entrance chamber. He was more than half dragging Tonks, which explained why they hadn’t made it any further.

“If Bellatrix doesn’t kill Harry, I’m going to. She escaped, and he’s gone after her.”

“Go,” Tonks said, pulling away. Or leaning away, at least. She looked worse than Severus had realized at first glance. “I’ll wait with the students.”

Assuming she could make it that far, Severus decided, but she was making her way determinedly towards the door. Very slowly. And with the support of the wall. Well, injured or not, she was an Auror and could—one hoped—handle herself. And even if she collapsed here, it was better than trying to haul her through a firefight. Severus shook his head and joined Minerva and Alastor as they hurried after Albus.

He gritted his teeth when their pace picked up as they left the Department of Mysteries. His thigh had been sore before, but walking on it—and fighting on it—really hadn’t helped a great deal.

“All right, lad?” Alastor muttered.

At the rate he was going, Severus suspected that his teeth were going to be bloody well splintered before this evening was over. “Just delightful, and yourself?”

“Enough of that. I wasn’t precisely being gentle earlier, and Malfoy and his cronies looked pretty intent on giving you a beating as well. If you’re hurt you’d best go back—we don’t need to get stuck having to defend you and the boy.”

“I’m fine; I blocked most of what they were aiming at me. Frankly, I’m a little more concerned about what might be awaiting us.” There hadn’t been more than a dozen Deatheaters inside the Department of Mysteries which left plenty more to be lying in wait. And not only was there Bellatrix with a chance to face Harry and do Merlin-knew-what to him, it was entirely possible that the little dunderhead was dashing off into an ambush set by the Dark Lord himself.

Alastor seemed to take him at his word, crowding into the lift with Minerva and Albus, and Severus wedged his way in as well. If they were lucky they would catch Harry and Bellatrix in the Atrium, but if there had been an ambush or they’d floo’d elsewhere….

“—righteous anger won’t hurt me for long,” Bellatrix was saying as they piled back out of the lift. “I’ll show you how it is done, shall I? I’ll give you a lesson—”

Severus didn’t see Harry until her shout of ‘Crucio!’ and then the brat dove behind the fountain. The arm of the centaur statue and the bow it was holding flew off and landed on the floor with a crash.

“Potter, you cannot win against me!”

Harry scrambled around the statue, and Albus and Alastor moved up along the side walls, staying in the shadows but obviously trying for a clear shot at her. Minerva was flanking Albus so Severus slipped in behind Alastor. If they could just disable her and get out of here before someone came looking….

It didn’t even look like the brat had noticed them; he was angling around the statue obviously trying to keep it between him and Bellatrix while still allowing him to use his own arsenal of offensive spells. Such as it was.

“I was and am the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant. I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little boy, can never hope to compete—”

“Stupefy!” yelled Harry.

“Protego!”

Severus winced. Bellatrix had what seemed like almost inhuman reaction times, especially when she was fighting, and it didn’t appear that her back being opened nearly to the bone was bothering her in the slightest. Why couldn’t she just throw herself off a cliff or something equally permanent? Maybe if someone tells her the Dark Lord wants her to….

The jet of red light, his own Stunning Spell, bounced back at Harry, and he scrambled back behind the fountain as the goblin lost an ear.

“Potter, I’m going to give you one chance!” shouted Bellatrix. “Give me the prophecy—roll it out towards me now—and I may spare your life!”

Yes, and if you believe that you fully deserve whatever she does to you.

“Well, you’re going to have to kill me, because it’s gone!” Harry shouted back.

Oh, wonderful, let’s make the madwoman angrier than she already is. Granted that believing her words would have been beyond idiotic, but that had not been the response he’d been hoping for, and Severus almost groaned. Bellatrix was back behind the desks, and so far none of them had been able to get a decent shot at her. Albus was almost up past the fountain, though; he should be able to take her from behind in the next minute or two, so perhaps if Harry and Bellatrix would continue this lovely little conversation rather than continually spelling each other….

“What? What do you mean?” Bellatrix demanded.

“The prophecy smashed when I was trying to get Neville up the steps! What do you think Voldemort’ll say about that, then?”

Harry swiped at his forehead, and Severus realized abruptly that he was probably being attacked on two fronts. “Occlude, idiot!” He’d hissed the order rather than shout it as he’d have liked to, and it didn’t appear that Harry had heard. Of course neither had Bellatrix so he’d achieved that objective, but still.

“Liar!” Bellatrix screamed, and from her tone her grip on reality was becoming even more tenuous than usual. “You’ve got it, Potter, and you will give it to me! Accio prophecy! Accio prophecy!”

“Nothing there!” Harry shouted back, and damn if the brat didn’t sound like he was starting to enjoy this. “Nothing to summon! It smashed and nobody heard what it said; tell your boss that!”

“No!” she screamed. “It isn’t true, you’re lying! Master, I tried, I tried—do not punish me—”

“Don’t waste your breath!” Harry yelled back. “He can’t hear you from here!”

And then three of the floos roared, and Severus bit back a snarl. Just had to go and say that, didn’t you?

“Can’t I, Potter?” asked a high, cold voice that Severus recognized all too well. And it hadn’t come from one of the five figures that had come through the floo, it had come from a skeletal figure in a black robe and hood that had stepped out of the shadows on the far side of the room. “So, you smashed my prophecy?” he continued softly, red eyes glowing as he glared at Potter. Who had apparently been deserted by what little sense of self-preservation that he’d had, because he was standing in the middle of the hall stupidly, making absolutely no attempt to find cover. “No, Bella, he is not lying…I see the truth in his face. Months of preparation, months of effort…and my Deatheaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again…I….”

“Master, I am sorry I knew not!” In one of her more disturbing mood swings, Bellatrix was now sobbing as she flung herself to the floor at the Dark Lord’s feet. “Master, you should know—”

“Be quiet, Bella,” the Dark Lord ordered. “I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your sniveling apologies?”

Severus winced at his tone—he didn’t care for Bellatrix in the slightest, but he’d been ‘dealt with’ a few more times than he cared to remember.

“But Master—he is here. He is below.”

The Dark Lord didn’t seem to hear her, his attention focused on Harry again. “I have nothing more to say to you, Potter.” His voice was disturbingly quiet. “You have irked me too often, for too long. Avada Kedavra!”

An audible curse escaped Severus’ lips at that, but he wasn’t the only one. He’d had expected the Dark Lord to get to this at some point, but not so quickly—there were supposed to be flowery speeches and pointless gestures first. After all, saying the creature was given to the dramatic was putting it mildly.

Harry was standing in the center of the floor, his wand pointed downwards and with absolutely nothing available to intercept the curse. Severus was too far away, Alastor, Albus, and Minerva even further….

The golden statue suddenly leapt into the path of the curse, taking it full in the chest.

“What?!” the Dark Lord cried, staring around furiously. His attention had obviously been on the duel, before—as all of theirs had been—but the shadows didn’t offer much protection against a determined search. “Dumbledore!”

Harry looked around as well, recognizing for the first time that he wasn’t alone.

The Dark Lord raised his wand and another jet of green light streaked at Albus. He was gone in a whirl of his cloak, only to reappear behind the Dark Lord and animate the rest of the fountain statues, and Severus wondered for a moment if the people who ran the Ministry were actually idiotic enough to permit apparition in their atrium. And then he remembered that the Minister of Magic was Cornelius Fudge and had his answer. Wait…if we could apparate, then why in Merlin’s name did we have to take that damn lift?! He was about to voice his question when the group of Deatheaters who’d come through the floo finally decided to attack, and he found himself with other things to worry about.

Alastor ended up dueling two—the Carrows, it appeared—and making mincemeat of them, while Minerva was giving the elder Crabbe and Goyle fairly sound beatings herself. Since the statue of the witch had Bellatrix pinned neatly to the floor and he wasn’t insane enough to get between Albus and the Dark Lord—and the remaining statues—Severus contented himself with a short duel with Yaxley and then joined the headless statue in keeping Harry well away from the action.

“It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom,” Albus was saying. “The Aurors are on their way—”

“By which time I shall be gone, and you will be dead!” spat the Dark Lord. His next curse missed but set the security desk on fire, and Albus responded with about the most powerful concussive-capture spell Severus had seen. “You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?” the Dark Lord called in what was probably supposed to be a taunting tone. The effect was somewhat broken by the fact that he was still hiding behind the silver shield that he’d had to conjure to deflect Albus’ spell. “Above such brutality, are you?”

“We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,” Albus responded in the same calm tone that occasionally made Severus want to knock him through the nearest wall, advancing towards the Dark Lord as though he was just taking a stroll. “Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit—”

“There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!”

Severus twisted slightly at a high pitched scream off to one side, but it was only Alecto falling motionless beside her brother as Alastor turned to scan the room for other targets. Neither of the two combatants in the center of the room even noticed.

“You are quite wrong,” Albus responded, still moving forward. Severus wanted very much to point out that this would be an appropriate time to, say, shield, but as insane as Albus’ plans occasionally were, he wasn’t willing to chance disrupting this one. Albus smiled slightly. “Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness—”

The Dark Lord tried another killing curse, this time intercepted by the centaur statue. It ended the encounter in a pile of rubble.

Albus’ well-over-powered Deripio nearly pinned the Dark Lord, but a transfiguration spell that Severus had never seen and wouldn’t have guessed was possible turned the whip into a serpent. Which, of course, went after Albus as the Dark Lord apparated out. He reappeared above the pool where the fountain had once stood; the snake reared from the floor, ready to strike….

“Look out!” Harry yelled.

But the killing curse had already been cast, at the same moment the serpent’s head shot forward, and— Severus breathed in sharply. It couldn’t end like this.

Fawkes burst into the room in a ball of flame above Albus’ head and dove into the path of the killing curse while Albus dealt with the serpent and encased the Dark Lord in water from the pool, hardening it into who looked like nothing so much as a cocoon of molten glass.

For a few seconds it looked as though the cocoon would hold, but then the Dark Lord disapparated again and the water crashed back into the pool. Severus very much wished that Albus would get over this ‘worse than death’ theory of his and just kill the bastard.

“Master!” screamed Bellatrix.

Harry made as though to run out from behind the statue—where he planned to go, Severus had no idea—and he grabbed the brat around his waist with his good arm and hauled him back, putting his own body between Harry and the rest of the room. “You stay where you are!”

There was silence for a moment…well silence except for a sobbing Bellatrix, still trapped under the witch statue, the baby version of Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor, and either Crabbe or Goyle moaning where Minerva had left them lying on the floor, and then Harry screamed in agony and Severus whirled. The boy’s eyes were red. Oh, Merlin….

“Kill me now, Dumbledore….”

And that was not Harry’s voice, either, for all that it was coming from his mouth.

“If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy.”

Occlude, damn it! Occlude!

The floos roared a second time, and Harry collapsed suddenly. Severus brought up his wand automatically, unsure of which way to turn. He had to protect Harry, obviously, but he couldn’t precisely Occlude the brat’s mind for him, and with another wave of Deatheaters on the way….

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?” Fudge demanded, still in his pyjamas but with a pinstriped cloak pinned haphazardly over his shoulders. And, frighteningly enough, the small entourage following him looked almost even more ridiculous.

Severus had no idea what Albus planned to say, but he was saved from saying anything as the Dark Lord reappeared beside the statute of the witch, blasting it away and hauling Bellatrix to her feet beside him before apparating the two of them away. Harry groaned slightly, trying to push himself up off the floor, and Severus helped him to his feet quickly. And then continued to hold him up because Harry’s legs didn’t seem inclined to support his weight. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he returned after a moment, although if the violent tremors were any indication he was probably overstating things a bit. “Yeah, I’m—where’s Voldemort, where—who are all these—what’s—”

“Perhaps if you asked an entire question I could answer you.”

Harry frowned, shaking his head and staring at the floor.

The roar of the floos overlapped with the popping sounds of multiple apparitions, and suddenly the Atrium was nearly flooded with people…a group of men were putting out the green flames burning along one wall, there was a cluster of Aurors surrounding Alastor and another few taking the Deatheaters into custody…. Severus caught sight of Minerva headed for the lift and realized that she was probably going back for the other children.

Albus approached. “Are you all right, Harry?”

“Yes, sir.”

And if Albus believes that, I’d say at least one of the Dark Lord’s curses got through and addled his mind. Moreso than it usually is.

Two of the surviving statues from the fountain approached a moment later, leading the Minister of Magic in towards Albus. Which, unfortunately, meant towards Severus and Harry as well. Just who I wanted to see. Couldn’t the Dark Lord have taken him away? Tried to hold him for ransom? Letting him keep the idiot would probably be considered a decisive victory for our side.

“He was there!” shouted a man in scarlet robes, intercepting the Minister and gesturing wildly at the remnants of the witch statue. “I saw him, Mr. Fudge; I swear it was You-Know-Who! He grabbed a woman and disapparated!”

“I know, Williamson, I know, I saw him too!” gibbered Fudge in return. His breath was coming in gasps, and Severus had high hopes for a faint in the near future. If he was very lucky, Fudge would strike his head on something heavy on the way down. “Merlin’s beard…here!” Fudge continued. “Here! In the Ministry of Magic! Great heavens above—it doesn’t seem possible—my word—how can this be?”

“If you proceed downstairs into the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius,” said Albus, stepping in front of Severus and Harry and drawing most of the attention in the room to him at his words, “I believe that may offer some explanation.”

Severus had to smirk at the reactions of the crowd as they recognized him. A few of them raised their wands and glanced around wildly, Merlin knew why; others looked amazed—well, it wasn’t every day that the headmaster of the most prestigious school of magic in the area got into a duel in the Ministry so perhaps that was somewhat reasonable; the statues of the elf and goblin applauded; and Fudge jumped so high that his slipper-clad feet left the floor. Because he was an idiot. But he still didn’t faint, damn him.

“You will find several escaped Death Eaters contained in the Death Chamber, bound by an Anti-Disapparation Jinx and awaiting your decision as to what to do with them,” Albus continued.

The Minister looked around wildly, but since he’d just admitted to seeing the Dark Lord he couldn’t precisely deny the existence of Deatheaters despite his…enthusiastic support…of that particular point of view for the past year.

“A few minutes ago you saw proof, with your own eyes, that I have been telling you the truth for a year. Lord Voldemort has returned, and it is time you listened to sense!”

“I don’t—well—” blustered Fudge, looking around as though hoping somebody was going to tell him what to do. When nobody did, he said, “Very well. Dawlish! Williamson! Go down to the Department of Mysteries and see….” What they were supposed to see apparently didn’t matter as he moved on to his next victim, obviously trying to reestablish his sense of control. “Dumbledore, you…you will need to tell me exactly—” he frowned for a moment, doing a double-take and staring at the pool that was all that remained of the fountain. His tone approached a whimper as he continued. “The Fountain of Magical Brethren—what happened?”

Yes, because that is clearly our primary concern at the moment. If he hadn’t been afraid that releasing Harry would cause the boy to end up on the floor, Severus would have quite cheerfully put the idiot out of everyone’s misery.

“We can discuss that after I have sent Harry back to Hogwarts,” said Albus.

Oh, brilliant, bring him into this. Couldn’t we have just snuck out?

“Harry? Harry Potter?” Fudge wheeled around. “He’s here?” Albus stepped sideways slightly and Fudge goggled at Harry, apparently missing Severus altogether. Which was quite a feat considering that Severus was supporting a fair portion of the boy’s weight. “Why? What’s all this about?”

“I shall explain everything,” repeated Albus, “when Harry is back at school.” He waved over the golden head of the wizard statue and pointed his wand. “Portus.”

“Now see here, Dumbledore!” said Fudge, as Albus offered the head-turned-Portkey to Severus, who had to maneuver Harry into a leaning position against him in order to take it. “You haven’t got authorization for that Portkey! You can’t do things like that right in front of the Minister for Magic, you—you—Snape!”

Well, I suppose that could be considered an insult.

“I will give you half an hour of my time tonight,” Albus interrupted before Severus could make a verbal response, “in which I think we shall be more than able to cover the important points of what has happened here. After that, I shall need to return to my school. If you need more help from me you are, of course, more than welcome to contact me at Hogwarts.”

Fudge’s complexion reddened even more, and Severus wondered idly if it was actually possible for a person’s eyes to pop out of his head. “I—you—”

“I shall see you in half an hour,” said Dumbledore quietly to Severus and Harry. “It activates on ‘Hogwarts’. Minerva will bring the other children along shortly.”

“Put your hand on it, Harry,” Severus ordered. Fudge was still muttering objections, but as soon as the boy was touching it he activated it. The Minister was Albus’ problem, not his. Although since Albus had deliberately created an illegal Portkey directly in front of him when there were two other viable means of exit—well, one, really, since Severus had no desire to have to drag Harry across the grounds from the apparition boundary, but still—Albus was probably done catering to the Minister’s delusions of adequacy. Finally.

Harry grunted as they landed in the headmaster’s office. “I hate Portkeys.”

“Yes, well, if you wouldn’t do idiotic things like invade the Ministry of Magic at hideously early hours of the morning you might not have to deal with them.” Severus more than half-hauled the boy over to the desk and dumped him in the headmaster’s chair. “Now, truthfully, how are you feeling?”

“Mostly my head hurts…really bad. And it’s hard to balance.”

A problem that could be quite easily caused by a severe enough headache. “Do you feel nauseous?”

“Yeah. I…at the end….” Harry started to shake his head and then groaned slightly and aborted the gesture. “I tried to keep him out of my mind, Professor, honestly I did—and I was doing all right up until then—but he was right there, and I just couldn’t—”

“He’s been practicing Legilimency for longer than you—or I, for that matter—have been alive,” Severus returned, summoning one of his personal headache potions from his stores. He’d used it a time or two before when the Dark Lord’s heavy-handed Legilimency use had left him lying on the floor next to the toilet unable to do much more than moan and vomit for hours on end. While it was too strong for anything approaching regular use, it was effective. “You’ve only learned Occlumency in the past year. No doubt you did what you could.”

There was no response from the figure in the chair, and Severus took the opportunity to perform a quick diagnostic spell. Bumps and bruises, but nothing life-threatening or even requiring more treatment than rest and bruise ointment.

The bottle he’d summoned flew in a moment later, and Severus shook his head and passed it over. “Drink this. All of it. Yes, it is absolutely vile,” he continued as the brat opened his mouth to argue, “but you’re going to drink it anyway. Now you can either elect to do it yourself, or I’ll simply stupefy you and pour it down your throat.”

Harry seemed to debate the issue internally for a moment, and then he screwed up his face and swallowed the contents in three big gulps. And gagged after the last. “That’s awful, Professor!”

“Certainly. But I daresay your head is clearer, now.”

“I…yeah, it is.” He looked surprised. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now, since you can once again think clearly, what in Merlin’s name were you thinking going to the Ministry tonight?!”

Harry gulped and shrank back in the chair as Severus loomed over him suddenly. “I had to destroy the prophecy so no one else got hurt!”

“So you decided to go haring off with your little army of followers—half of whom ended up injured in case you didn’t noti—”

“They weren’t supposed to come!” Harry objected. “It was just supposed to be me!”

And you think that makes anything better? “Explain.” Quickly.

“After Ron fell in the Chamber of Secrets…well, I didn’t want anyone else getting hurt, but I had to do it. Destroy the prophecy, I mean. Make sure what happened to Mr. Weasley wouldn’t happen to anyone else. So I waited until Hermione went up to the girls’ rooms and Ron and everyone in my room was asleep and then tried to sneak out. But Luna was waiting for me outside the portrait. She said that Tiger told her that the nargles were whispering about their plans to join the Rotfang conspiracy, and….” He frowned for a moment. “Well, I don’t know exactly. But she said she had to come with me.”

Severus knew better than to ask. There were practically little howlers floating about Harry’s head shouting at him not to ask. He could recall references to both nargles and this Rotfang conspiracy in some of Lovegood’s less intelligible homework, but…. “Tiger?”

“The rabbit. The one you were experimenting on? She saw me carrying him back to the tower, and when I said I was trying to figure out what to do with him she said she’d like him. So I gave him to her.”

“She named the rabbit Tiger?” And it speaks to her? Then again, this is Lovegood.

“She’s Luna,” Harry said with a shrug, echoing Severus’ thoughts.

“Of course. Please, continue.” He leaned back against the desktop, shifting as much of his weight as he could off his sore leg without making it obvious.

Harry sighed. “Well, she and I were arguing, and the twins had been in the Common Room talking about—stuff—and…. See, I’d been wearing my invisibility cloak so they didn’t see me when I snuck out, but then they heard Luna and I, and they said they were going to come too whether I liked it or not. Something about honorary brothers and having to face their mother. And I couldn’t take them without Ron, so obviously Hermione had to come….”

Severus didn’t find that at all obvious, but he simply nodded.

“Neville woke up when I went to get Ron and decided that he was coming too, and then I’m not sure if Luna went and got Ginny as well when we sent her up to wake Hermione or if Ginny was still awake and getting Hermione to look over her essays or something, but they all came down together.”

“And so you all decided to sneak off to the Department of Mysteries.”

“We had to, Professor! Or at least I had to, and….”

“You did not ‘have to’,” Severus growled in return. “I’ve believe this has come up a time or two before. You are not an adult. It is not your responsibility to take care of the rest of the Wizarding world.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we did go,” Harry responded. “The Deatheaters were there—they would have taken the prophecy otherwise!”

Severus gritted his teeth. “The Deatheaters were there because they had a tracking spell on the floo you used. Yes, they wanted that prophecy, but I assure you that they would have been quite willing to settle for your dead body! Which reminds me—just why did you go running off after Bellatrix? Do you have any idea what she could have done to you?”

“You didn’t see what she did to him. Dung. I didn’t see at first…after I got out of the brain room I just picked a door…I was running, and I didn’t see the stairs and then I started falling. I landed right beside him, and….” He swallowed hard and his face went a shade paler. “He was still alive, Professor. I mean, I didn’t know him very well, but I did know him a little, and he was lying there moaning and twitching with his whole chest…open…and it was her doing it, and….” He looked away. “She finished killing him right after I got to my feet, but when I saw her getting away after doing that…. I thought Tonks was going to be able to stop her at first, but then Bellatrix got a spell through her blocks. Tonks fell, and I had to do something—”

“And, of course, ‘something’ involved handling—or at least attempting to handle—the entire situation yourself instead of doing the sensible thing and alerting an adult.”

“There wasn’t time, Professor! You were all fighting, and she was getting away!”

“This may have escaped your notice, but she got away,” Severus snapped. “With the assistance of the Dark Lord, and it’s damn near pure luck that they didn’t manage to take you with them! You are not a miracle worker; you are a fifteen year old!”

“But—”

“‘But’ nothing! I have had this conversation with you before, and I find it strikingly hard to believe that Minerva and Albus haven’t attempted it as well. You are not responsible for the entire Wizarding world and wherever you got the ridiculous notion that you were—”

“The prophecy—” Harry began.

“Be silent!” Harry’s mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth, and Severus forced his hands to release their grip on Albus’ desk slightly. Albus was not going to be pleased with the nail marks that had already been bitten out of the smooth wooden surface. “You have managed to disobey not only myself but your head of house, the headmaster, and Merlin knows who else with this little stunt, broken multiple laws—” none of which Severus actually cared about, but this was hardly the time for that—“and very nearly managed to get yourself and your little friends killed. Not to mention that you risked the lives of the rest of the idiots, myself included, who were forced to go haring off in the middle of the night into a situation that—”

Harry’s head jerked upwards, but whatever he planned to say was cut off by the roar of the floo. Severus drew his wand automatically, sheathing it almost immediately at the sight of the new arrivals. One of the Weasley twins was the first out, carrying his sister in his arms. Her complaints about the treatment and insistence that she was perfectly capable of walking were going entirely unheeded. The second Weasley twin came through next, followed by Granger and Lovegood both of whom were still obviously shaking off the effects of their stupification, and then Longbottom whose face was still streaked with blood.

“Where are Minerva and your brother?” Severus demanded when the floo didn’t flare again.

“He was still acting addled, and she decided to take him directly to St. Mungo’s,” the twin not holding his sister replied.

Probably wise. “Fine. All of you, to the infirmary immediately, and you are remain there until myself, your head of house, or the headmaster come to fetch you. Is that understood?” Poppy could deal with them for the rest of the night; she deserved at least that much for the insanity she’d been putting him through with the mindhealers. Besides, at least four of them obviously did need some sort of medical attention.

“Yes, sir,” they all agreed quickly.

“Harry…?” Neville asked as they all trooped towards the stairs.

“Harry will be remaining here. Now go!”

Longbottom nearly fell down the staircase at Severus’ snarl, and Severus turned back to Harry with a glare as the door shut behind the last of them. “Now—”

The floo roared again, and this time Albus stepped out. “Ah, Harry, good. Severus, have the other children…?”

“With the exception of the youngest Weasley boy whom Minerva has seen fit to take to St. Mungo’s, they floo’d back just a moment ago. I sent them all to the infirmary with orders to remain there until you, Minerva, or myself fetches them.”

“Wonderful. If you wouldn’t mind….”

He obviously wanted to speak to the brat alone, and Severus nodded slightly. Not that he particularly wanted to walk away, but it would probably be better if he didn’t continue his tongue-lashing tonight. The mood he was in, he would no doubt end up saying—or doing—something that he shouldn’t. Like shake the brat until he rattles. “I’ll be in my rooms, then, attempting to salvage at least some sleep from this night.”

Severus let Poppy’s words wash over him, mainly because if he actually paid attention to what she was saying he’d probably end up strangling her. Not that he actually objected to the idea of strangling her, but it wasn’t the sort of thing one wanted to do in front of witnesses. The witnesses in this case being the little lunatics who’d been at the Department of Mysteries last night; she’d decided to keep them all for ‘observation’ since they had been in a battle and was currently refusing to release any of them until tomorrow morning. Harry was a part of the group since Albus had apparently sent him down after their little chat, and Minerva had brought the youngest Weasley boy back at some point as well. He still looked a bit confused, but Severus wasn’t inclined to blame that on either the brain or whatever spell he’d been hit with.

At first Severus had been irritated that she’d kept them out of their classes today, his included—first of all he’d had to be there, and second of all it was difficult to shout at someone who wasn’t present—but having them all trapped in one place did make it much more convenient for a group telling-off after dinner. And he could always corner Harry and finish his private tongue-lashing later. Judging by the way the brat had tried to avoid Severus’ eye from the moment he entered the room, Harry knew damn well what he had coming. He bloody well should, anyway.

Unfortunately Poppy had interrupted Severus three words into his tirade, insisting that the children not be subjected to any ‘additional stress’ for the time being. Which, to her way of thinking, meant no shouting, scolding, or anything else directed at them except bright, cheery smiles. He didn’t do bright, cheery smiles even when in a good mood.

He gritted his teeth. And if that wasn’t enough, after forbidding him to yell at the little dunderheads, she’d proceeded to haul him into her office and was now expounding—at great length—upon the virtues of group counseling and ‘sharing one’s pain with those of similar experiences.’

“Poppy, just how many crippled ex-spies do you think there are floating about Wizarding England?” he demanded when she finally paused for breath.

“Now, Severus, I think you’re being far too narrow-minded about this. After all, there have been other wizards who have lost limbs…there are all manner of dangerous occupations, certain diseases…. Magic can’t repair everything, you know.”

“Of course, someone who’s contracted Gazbaken’s Disease—” of which there hasn’t been a case of in England for something like 500 years, if I recall correctly, and frankly I think the Healer who reported the last one had spent a bit too much time dipping into the potions’ stores to be considered entirely credible—“and had his legs suddenly detach will have no difficulty understanding an ex-Deatheater.”

“I think that if you would just consider the—”

“No, thank you!” He must have been a bit louder than he intended, because through the viewing window from her office into the infirmary he saw Harry and the Weasley twins’ heads snap around for a sharp look in his direction. They’d been attempting covert glances all along, of course, but…. “If you will excuse me, most of my classes were brewing today, and I have a great deal of grading to do.” He’d only managed to terrorize two second year Hufflepuffs into spilling their Hair-Raising potions, and without Longbottom in the fifth year Gryffindor-Slytherin class to distract the other students they’d all managed to bottle something that looked vaguely like what they’d been attempting. His third years had managed to get off with merely a lecture, which was probably just as well for both himself and them.

He escaped while she was mustering yet another argument, taking himself back to the dungeons as quickly as one possibly could while trying not to limp. Unfortunately he did have grading to do, but at least he could take out his annoyance at not being able to shout at Harry and his little friends on the rest of the idiots he had to teach. He picked up the vial on the front of the tray and checked the label. Thomas, Dean. Hm. Five points for excessive letter size and a crooked stopper.

He’d finished with the fifth year class’s work, and most of those from his second year’s as well, when he caught himself yawning and decided that he might as well turn in. It was early, but seeing as he’d managed all of about two and a half hours last night….

///////////

Severus awoke with a gasp, heart pounding and unable to control his breathing. This damn petrification curse wouldn’t let him move, and Lucius would be coming for him soon—he knew that bastard was coming—and then he’d be in the Dark Lord’s hands and— The muscles in his arms and legs spasmed, trying to break the Petrificus Totalus, and then suddenly his whole body jerked and he was free.

It wasn’t until his hand closed on his wand—which he always kept on the edge of the bedside table while he was asleep—that Severus was able to remember where he was, and even then he was left trembling and gasping for breath for a solid five minutes after the dream was over. Dream. Nightmare. Whatever that was. He snorted to himself. Bad, that’s what it had been, and there was no way that he was going to be able to go to sleep again with that memory foremost in his mind. Which meant…he glanced at the clock and groaned aloud. Joy, a four hour night. What an improvement. If he couldn’t get at least a little more rest, his classes tomorrow would have to have quizzes in lieu of brewing because he was going to be in no shape for supervising. Or for lecturing for that matter. Not that not brewing is necessarily a bad thing in some of their cases, I’ll grant, and Merlin knows they never listen when I’m talking to them anyway, but still… He slammed his left arm, clamp and all, down on the mattress. I just quizzed the sixth years the other day, damn it.

Muttering a few choice curses, he stood and shrugged on a robe over his nightclothes, pushing his feet into the slippers beside the bed before heading into his sitting room. This wasn’t precisely the first time that something like this had happened, and he already knew that if he remained lying in bed he would spend the next several hours doing nothing but staring up at the ceiling and trying not to shake. If I’m going to give more quizzes tomorrow, I’d best get everything they’ve already turned in graded. At least the sixth years wouldn’t be expecting a quiz—and he did he rather enjoy giving his students unpleasant surprises so if he had to do so it wouldn’t be the end of the world—but it grated on his nerves that there was a very good chance that he was going to be forced into that course of action by his own bloody weakness.

He took the tray of second-year potions into his sitting room and sank down on the couch to finish the grading. Hair-Raising Potion—even badly made Hair-Raising Potion—didn’t have many particularly dangerous properties. Unfortunately he found it very difficult to concentrate, and after the third time the snap of a log in the fire had him halfway to his feet with his wand in his hand, he slammed his current victim back onto the tray and headed for the door, grabbing the worn black cloak that hung on a hook beside the panel on his way out. It was late enough that there shouldn’t be any students sneaking about—especially since Harry and his cohorts were confined to the infirmary—but he needed to walk off some of this ridiculous nervousness.

He swept the corridors outside the entrances to the four houses automatically and then forwent his usual trip up to the Astronomy tower—his leg was still sore, damn Alastor; it had taken more out of him than he cared to admit just to reach the base of Gryffindor tower—in favor of a quick pass through the hospital wing where a pack of brats lay slumbering peacefully. Seventy points from Gryffindor for general irritation. He thought for a moment. And ten from Ravenclaw too. The way things were going, Slytherin’s only major competitor for house cup this year was going to be Hufflepuff.

He took the staircase at the end of the hall down to the Ground Floor and was headed for the final staircase that would take him back to the dungeons when flickering light from under the door of the staff room caught his attention. It was rather cold up on the Astronomy Tower for the students to be using it for their pathetic attempts at romance, granted, but still, the staff room? Well, at least he’d get to shout at someone. He stalked towards it, flinging the heavy door inwards in one smooth motion, and only reflexes honed by years in the service of the Dark Lord got him to the floor before a stunning spell could hit him in the chest. As it was he could feel the wake of it blowing his hair back. “What in—?”

“Severus?” Alastor’s muttered oath was about as pleasant as Severus’ was when he realized just who had attacked him. “Damn it, boy, what in Merlin’s name are you doing haunting the halls at two in the bloody morning?!”

“Oh, and you’re one to talk,” Severus snapped as he pushed himself back to his feet, biting back a groan as the muscles in his thigh twinged. So help me, if f I just pulled something, Alastor is getting itching powder in his bloody cereal. “What, doxies in your rooms again?”

Alastor made a decidedly rude gesture in Severus’ direction before turning and sinking back into a chair by the fire. “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.” He was silent for a few seconds. “On second thought, do; I could use a laugh.”

Severus didn’t particularly want company right now, but he didn’t feel like immediately returning to his rooms either. Wandering about the castle hadn’t really been as calming as he’d hoped. Nor do I plan to encourage this lunatic to keep ordering me about. And since the room was warmer than the corridor…. With another muted curse he stamped in and shut the door firmly before sinking into one of the unoccupied chairs.

Aside from noise of disgust, Alastor didn’t acknowledge his continued presence. At least not verbally…a few minutes later something flew towards Severus, and he caught it reflexively. And then stared at Alastor’s flask. “Alastor, are you drunk?”

There was a snort from the other chair. “Constant vigilance.”

“That’s not actually an answer, you realize.” He’d seen Alastor drink before—all of the Order was known to partake, on occasion, himself included—but seeing the older man actually drunk would be new. And quite possibly very amusing. He considered for a moment. Or very dangerous.

Another snort, and then, “No, lad, I’m not drunk. It’d take a fair bit more than that to do me any harm, and I’m certainly not minded to end up in lousy shape for a fight two nights in a row.” He turned slightly. “So you even try and put anything in there and I’ll hex you bloody.”

Since Severus would have been surprised if Alastor hadn’t made the threat, all things considered, he didn’t bother paying it any attention. Being allowed a chance at the flask at all was a shock in itself. He stared at the shabby container for a long moment and then juggled it enough to pop the stopper out so he could take a swallow. What can it hurt?

The liquid burned down his throat, and then the taste registered suddenly and his eye began to water. It was only by great force of will that he refrained from spitting it right back out. “Bloody hell, Alastor!” he managed as he finally forced it down. “That’s vile!” He stoppered the flask again and tossed it back with a bit more force than necessary. “How can you drink that?”

Alastor caught it easily. “Youngsters today. Can’t handle the good stuff.”

Severus ignored the term ‘youngster’...in comparison to most of his colleagues he was, unfortunately, and considering some of the things Alastor had called him on previous occasions it was almost tolerable. “I suppose if your definition of ‘good stuff’ includes paint thinner…Merlin!” He snapped his fingers and received a glass of butterbeer a moment later. It wasn’t precisely his favorite beverage, but with any luck it would wash out the taste of whatever Alastor was carrying. If that rubbish had any redeeming value it was probably that it was a good ten percent more alcohol by volume than Ogden’s strongest firewhisky, but even if Severus hadn’t known that getting truly drunk tonight would be a very bad idea, he highly doubted that he’d have been able to overlook the taste.

“Did hear once that losing your sense of smell can damage your sense of taste as well,” Alastor said after a moment. He shrugged and re-opened the flask for a quick mouthful. “Never thought much about it though.”

“I’d take it as given if I were you.” Severus swished a bit of butterbeer around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “I’ve had skel-e-grow that tasted better than that.”

“Suppose you’d be the one to know.”

Severus considered the glass of butterbeer for a moment before setting it on the small table beside his chair. “Drinking to anything in particular?”

Alastor was silent long enough that Severus almost stopped expecting an answer—not that he’d been entirely sure that he would get one in the first place—and then, “Friendships that were.”

Severus tensed. “Miss Tonks?” Granted the junior Auror wasn’t precisely his favorite person in the world, but she wasn’t by no means his least favorite either. Certainly not the first Order member he’d prefer to do away with. And the deaths of his students—even his ex-students—were never easy to deal with. Surely Albus would have said something if she hadn’t survived…he would have heard, wouldn’t he?

“Hm?” Alastor gave him a startled look and then shook his head. “No, no, the lass’ll be just fine. Woke up a bit after lunch today and started giving the healers trouble right off. They say she’ll be out and back to work in a day or two.”

Fletcher, then. “I didn’t realize Fletcher was a friend of yours,” Severus said on the heels of the thought. And then wondered just how much alcohol there had been in that mouthful he’d taken, because observations like that were most definitely not supposed to pop out of his mouth without serious consideration by his brain first. It was the logical conclusion to draw, obviously, since he very much doubted that Alastor had ever kept confidences with any of the Deatheaters who’d been there, but….

“It was a good bit before your time.” There was nothing in Alastor’s tone to indicate any surprise that Severus had made the connection. Or any particular annoyance. “Back when we were in school.”

Severus kept his teeth locked together, not planning to let anything else slip out without his express permission.

Alastor was quiet for several moments, and then, “Taking the scenic route to the loo?”

His nightmares were not a subject that Severus wanted to get into, but unfortunately whatever his other faults might be—and Merlin knows they’re practically legion—Alastor wasn’t an idiot and no doubt already had a fairly good idea why Severus was awake at this hour. Personally Severus would just as soon forget it had ever happened so he simply returned a smirk. “No, it’s just always been a life goal of mine to be cursed by an insane insomniac.”

There was a snort. “I’ve heard better than that out of you half-dead from Cruciatus.”

Severus glared. So it hadn’t been his best rejoinder—it was two in the morning for Merlin’s sake!

Another few minutes of silence passed, and then Alastor glanced over again. “Bad one, I take it?”

“Puppies and kittens,” Severus growled. Bloody lunatic just can’t take a hint. Or won’t.

“Puppies and kittens have you stalking through halls at all hours of the night and you’re a bit more twisted than I’d realized. And that’s saying something.”

“That you have a very limited imagination?”

“I find it amazing that no one has slapped a sealing spell over that mouth of yours yet.”

“Yes, well, I find it amazing that a grown man allows himself to be referred to as ‘Mad-Eye’ on a regular basis—and to his face, no less—so I suppose we’ll both just have to live with the incredulity.”

“It beats ‘Vampire’ behind my back, I’d say. Although ‘Vampire’ rather fits you, now that I think about it…you know, I can’t recall ever seeing you out in the sunlight.”

Weasley must die. “Yes, well, I suppose at your age one’s memory isn’t what it used to be.” Insulting and being insulted by Alastor was familiar territory, at least.

Alastor snorted. “As tempting as it is to beat you for that, I daresay it’ll be much more fun to pass it on to Minerva and see what she has to say about it.”

Severus opened his mouth to respond, but considering what Minerva was likely to do to him if she ever heard he’d said anything of that sort—especially if it turned out that she was actually older than Alastor—it was probably better that he just let it go. Discretion being the better part of valor…please. Better part of survival, more like. “Lucius,” he finally admitted after a few more minutes of silence. “Right before it happened. He was the one that hauled me into the meeting.” No need to define what ‘it’ was. At least Alastor wouldn’t offer any “there-there’s” or pointless platitudes even if he was too bloody nosey for his own good. He’d already hauled off and smacked Severus once for pitying himself too much, and Severus very much doubted that he’d hesitate to repeat the action if he thought it was deserved. Knowing him, he’d probably do it regardless if he thought he could get away with it. The Dark Lord hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to Severus back at the Ministry, something for which he was more grateful than he cared to admit, but dealing with Deatheaters for the first time since the incident had been…stressful. Especially now that he’d had time to think back on the events of last night and consider in just how many ways it could have gone wrong. Hence the nightmare, I suppose. Damn it.

“Ah.” Alastor twisted enough to focus his good eye on Severus. “You compose an appropriate opera about it for that mindhealer yet? Or were you planning to work with the little girl?”

Severus looked about for something to throw, but aside from the glass of butterbeer—which probably would get him hexed—there wasn’t anything readily available. He settled for a dismissive flick of his fingers. “No, now Poppy’s moved on to the idea of group therapy.”

“And just where does she plan to find the rest of the group? Merlin forbid there’s any more of you wandering about. Suddenly death seems a bit more appealing.”

“Yes, and multiples of you are a much better option. Think of it; you could station yourself on street corners and shout at people on the hour.” He shrugged. “And your guess is as good as mine. She did say something about dangerous professions, I believe.”

“Great. Couple dragon-workers and you. Have the poor bastards traumatized beyond recovery within a week.”

That was pretty much Severus’ take on the situation as well so he didn’t bother responding. The paint thinner landed in his lap a moment later. “What?”

“Hold your nose—try anyway; I’ll grant there’s a bit much of it to manage with that little clamp you’ve got—and see if it gets any better.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m curious.”

Severus rolled his eye. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an arse?”

“It’s been mentioned a time or two.” He didn’t seem in the least concerned. “Go on, then.”

Severus decided that his nightmare must have addled his mind more than he’d realized because he found himself pouring a bit more of that vile liquid down his throat. Without the clamp on his nose—he wasn’t that addled—but did do his best not to breathe until it was down. It didn’t help. “No, I think we can safely say you simply have no taste whatsoever. Though personally, I can’t really say that that comes as a shock.”

“Which of us lives in a dungeon and bears a striking resemblance to a bat, again?”

Weasley must die painfully. “Better that than a jigsaw puzzle with a few pieces missing.”

“What would you call the gaps where your eye and arm should be, then?”

Severus didn’t actually have a response to that, instead turning his attention to the fire. Watching the flames was a good way to lose oneself, at least for awhile.

There was some rustling from the seat next to him as Alastor shifted the leg he had propped up on the footstool around a bit. “From what the Potter boy said you put up a hell of a fight.”

Severus snorted. “Considering I was disarmed within five minutes of my arrival and spent the majority of the rest of my time that night either petrified or trapped in a spell circle being cursed at, I’m not sure quite what you’re basing that on.”

“For one, you damn near took off Rowle’s head with that cutting curse you like so much; haven’t seen or heard anything about him since so he might well be dead.”

Severus hadn’t heard that…then again, he hadn’t been in any shape to hear much of anything right after it had happened. He turned his head slightly

“Not to mention that Voldemort—for Merlin’s sake don’t flinch, lad, he isn’t even here—wasn’t real pleased with Selwynn for letting you get your hands on his wand in the first place. Potter didn’t see much beyond the first set of Crucios, but he was found dead in his family’s shop a few days later.”

“Are you serious?” For the followers who didn’t displease him the Dark Lord was a…tolerable…master; for those who did…well, torture wasn’t entirely uncommon. As Severus was well aware. But it was rare for him to kill his followers outright. Or even to have them killed. New recruits weren’t necessarily easy to find, after all. There had been Ashcroft, back when he and Harry had been in the Amazon—assuming it had actually been her and she was actually dead; he only had Harry’s word and his own tentative identification after all—and the younger Horace girl, and now….

“Don’t generally joke about dead Deatheaters,” Alastor returned. “Much prefer the real thing. Of course, it would have been better if it was Malfoy or one of the Lestranges that wound up dead, but….” He flicked his fingers. “I suppose it was a tolerable enough effort for one night’s work.”

“My apologies for not taking requests before the torture began.”

“Now you know for next time. Constant vigilance!”

“You’re the sort who goes about breaking mirrors on a regular basis just to make certain that you’re going to be around for another seven years, aren’t you?”

“At least I have a few mirrors about…with no reflection I don’t suppose you’ve a reason to keep them. Though I suppose the lack of a mirror would explain a few things.”

And then I’ll resurrect him and kill him again. The Weasleys have plenty of children; surely they won’t miss one. Severus rolled his eye and held out his good arm. “Give me the paint thinner.”

“Best not to get drunk, lad,” Alastor warned as he put his flask in the outstretched hand. “Bit won’t hurt you, but truth be told, it’s a bad way to handle a sleepless night.”

“Yes, thank you, I do know that.” Whatever Alastor might refer to him as, he wasn’t a child after all. He uncapped it and took another swallow. Still absolutely vile, but at least it wasn’t quite bad enough to spit out any more. Either that or my mouth is simply going numb, anyway. “Rather grows on you. Of course, so does fungus, but….”

Alastor summoned the flask back with a flick of his fingers and a bark that might have been laughter. “Nightmares be damned; only thing wrong with you is that your da didn’t spend half as much time beating manners through your backside as he should have. Ought to hex you just on principle.”

Considering that he hadn’t moved from his reclining position, Severus wasn’t overly worried. “What is than pinwheeling fire curse you keep using, anyway?”

///////////

Severus yawned and sat up slowly, glaring at the alarm. If he shut it off now and skipped breakfast he could get another half-an-hour, maybe forty-five minutes, of sleep. Of course then he’d be hungry all morning and they’d no doubt be serving something he absolutely detested for lunch, but…. He groaned and rolled out of bed. Half-an-hour wouldn’t make that much of a difference anyway. He picked up his wand and aimed it at the fireplace. “Incendia Phasmatis.” A—small—pinwheel of fire lit it up, and he smirked. Alastor wasn’t actually a poor teacher, at least if you didn’t mind being asked how many years it took you to learn to breathe when you weren’t able to reproduce his spell by the second attempt, but then Severus hadn’t been any more polite when he’d traded Sectumsempra in return.

He heard the student chime on the outer door and shrugged into his robes quickly. What anyone would be doing here before breakfast…well, maybe Harry had been let out of the infirmary. Hard to believe he’d come looking for a tongue-lashing, but then Gryffindors aren’t known for their logic. They’d probably consider it noble or something equally ridiculous. He headed into the outer room and called to his visitor to enter.

“Professor?”

“Draco?” The boy looked like he’d slept even less than Severus, and considering that he’d only managed only about an hour more after his conversation with Alastor that was saying something. “Is something—?”

“I have to go.”

“What? Go where?”

Draco thrust a note in Severus’ direction, and he took it and tried to smooth the crumpled parchment. It was from Narcissa…fairly opaque, but obviously an outline of a plan to leave England.

“I…Father is in Azkaban, and Mum says we have to go now.”

Severus dipped his head sharply. ‘Now’ was putting it mildly…it hadn’t occurred to him before—probably because things had only come to a head in the last forty-eight hours—but with Lucius in prison the Dark Lord would be looking to secure his ties to the Malfoy family through either Narcissa or Draco. Narcissa had resisted thus far, making Draco the obvious choice. Doubly obvious since he had the potential to be a potions master and thus replace Severus. “Come along.” Hopefully the boy had whichever of his belongings that he wanted in his pack, because Severus wasn’t going to risk a trip into the Slytherin rooms to get them. Nor did he plan to allow Draco to do so—there were students who were loyal to the Dark Lord there who would know what the creature was likely to be planning, and the way Draco looked right now…well, better not to give them any opportunities.

“Where are we going?”

Well, Severus would prefer the floo in Albus’ office, but since as far as he knew that was still under surveillance…. “You’re to meet your mother at the Perth Floo Terminal, correct?” Narcissa hadn’t given any specific meeting location in her note, but while there were other floos with international connections in Great Britain none of them besides the London Terminal had more than four out-of-country destinations. London was too obvious, and as for the smaller stations…well, Narcissa was too canny to allow them to be tracked so easily. Unfortunately, if he realized that, others would too. I suppose she could be planning to apparate to the Continent first, but I don’t think she could make it, especially with a side-along unless they were in souther—

Draco nodded jerkily, interrupting his train of thought. “That’s where her family used to leave for their vacations from.”

Which apparently meant something to him, although it didn’t to Severus. Still, now wasn’t the time for second-guessing. “All right, come along. Has anyone else seen this note?”

“The owl arrived last night…I don’t think anyone else was awake.”

He doesn’t think…brilliant. Draco was normally much more collected than that, but considering the circumstances…well, Severus hoped that Albus was willing to make one more illicit portkey. In theory he could make one himself, any competent wizard who knew the Portus spell could, but it wasn’t something he had ever done and now was not the time for experimentation. He didn’t really feel like doing a side-along apparition right now; with as little sleep as he’d managed to get, he wasn’t entirely certain that they’d both come out in one piece. Or rather, he was afraid that they would come out in one piece—one single piece, with no idea which part was Severus and which was Draco. What I wouldn’t give for a peaceful day.

He was a bloody idiot. In fact, he was quite possibly the heir to the throne of the kingdom of bloody idiots. Well, no, that position was reserved for one particular fifth year who insisted upon haring off to government offices in the middle of the night, but at this point he was quite certain that he was at least a member of the governing body of said kingdom. At the very least. He narrowed his eyes at a passerby who spent a few too many moments looking at Draco and himself and had the pleasure of seeing the man pale and hurry off as he debated what his next move should be. Albus hadn’t been in his office when Severus had gone looking for him, but Minerva had been there sorting through some paperwork, and after a few muttered comments about the probable ancestries of certain Ministry flunkies that made Severus wonder just what had happened in the political arena that he had missed, she’d calmed enough to hear his request. She’d then made him both a Portkey to get them to the Floo station and a second to get him back to Hogwarts. All in all, perfectly satisfactory. And then he’d gone and Portkeyed himself and Draco directly to the thrice-be-damned Floo station without a second thought. Also without Polyjuice or glamours or disguises of any sort…at this point he’d settle for a giant hat if one was available. Draco was still in his school robes for Merlin’s sake!

He growled. Of course, anything he did now to disguise them would likely only draw more attention from curious onlookers, but…. He turned Draco towards him and muttered a spell to hide the badge on his cloak. It wasn’t perfect—they were still fairly obviously school robes, and there was a decided lack of other platinum blonds bearing an eerie resemblance to Malfoy senior at Hogwarts—but at least it was something. Though there are hardly queues of one-eyed one-armed black-robed potions masters standing around either. Might as well be wearing ruddy nametags.

He needed to find Narcissa and get her and her son headed off wherever they were going, and he needed to do it quickly. He hadn’t seen anyone that he recognized as a Deatheater or Dark Lord supporter yet, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t one lurking somewhere. Or that more weren’t on the way. Since his idiocy meant that even the most superficial of questioning would no doubt yield several witnesses who had seen both himself and Draco here…well, he had no desire to help the two of them escape Perth only to find that they’d been caught and dragged back to the Dark Lord for execution only a few hours hence just because their tracks had been so poorly covered.

Another, more complicated, flick of his wand served to ward Draco’s things against tracking spells. Setting such a spell on a person, at least without a close blood connection or at the very minimum his permission, was notoriously difficult, but cloaks and bags and such were a different story. Something else I should have done earlier. Honestly, I haven’t been out of the spy business that long. This sort of sloppiness is just ridiculous.

“Professor, I don’t see her,” Draco hissed.

“Neither do I,” Severus responded evenly. “And don’t try and whisper; no one can hear you in this babble—myself included—and making the attempt only draws more attention to us.” He continued his scan of the crowd as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He was tall enough to see over most of the heads surrounding them, but there was no telltale flash of white-blonde. Although since presumably Narcissa wasn’t hauled out of her bed and thrown into this scheme less than an hour ago, she has no doubt made some specific preparations. Say, for example, a disguise. “We will most likely have to wait until she contacts us.” Much as he didn’t care for that scenario since it meant that they’d have to stand out in the open where she would be able to see them. She and everyone else, damn it all.

An old woman bumped up against him, and he began to bring up his wand defensively until he caught a flicker of familiar blue eyes. He lowered his wand again, sliding it casually into his clamp, and latched his hand on Draco’s arm lest the boy give them away. “Aunt Helen, how nice to see you again. I hope things are well at home. This is the boy I was telling you about.” It was a horrendous cover story, one that didn’t stand a chance of fooling anyone short of a complete and utter moron—so possibly if the elder Crabbe or Goyle did the questioning it would work—but they needed some reason to stay close to her and it was the best that he could come up with in the seconds that they had. This is what happens when you force sleep-deprived ex-spies into rescue operations. Or smuggling operations. Or whatever sort of operation this is.

Narcissa smiled. “Ah, excellent. Offer your arm, young man, these old bones make it hard to move as quickly as I’d like.”

Draco looked momentarily stunned, but then a flicker of recognition—quickly concealed, much to Severus’ relief—crossed his features and he bowed slightly and did as he’d been ordered.

Severus took charge of the trunk that had been trailing behind Narcissa, trying to look as though he was herding the two of them in the direction that she was leading. “And how was your trip?”

“Oh, you know how it is. Everyone is in such a rush. Pop in, pop out….”

Something brushed against his hand, and he palmed the small note Narcissa passed him. When instead of withdrawing her hand she shifted it slightly to rest on the handle of the trunk, he realized with some surprise that she did plan to apparate. To where he had no idea—a smaller Floo station? Another relative in England? Then again, at this point it was probably just as well that he didn’t know.

“I thought you might be hungry after your trip, so I made reservations at—”

The ‘pop’ of apparition was mostly concealed by the activity around them, although one or two people did give Severus odd looks as he finished his sentence speaking to empty air. Severus gave the most obvious of the lot a glare in return, slipping the bit of parchment into his pocket as he reached for the portkey back to Hogwarts. By his estimate he had now fulfilled his good deed for not only the day, but quite possibly the month and year as well. For putting up with Potter alone I should be nominated for sainthood.

His hand closed on the glass bauble from one of Albus’ shelves that Minerva had chosen for the return portkey. It felt…odd…that one of the most stable personal connections he’d had since he’d left Hogwarts could be severed so quickly. Well, perhaps not severed—there was still Lucius in Azkaban to consider, and with his money and influence Merlin only knew how that was going to turn out even with the evidence from the Department of Mysteries—but in one way or another the Malfoys had been a part of his life for over two decades now.

He fingered the bauble without activating it, unable to tear his mind from the flood of memories. At first there had merely been casual conversations back when he and Narcissa and Lucius were in school—their years hadn’t overlapped by a great deal, and there wasn’t really a great deal that an eleven year old and a fifteen or sixteen year old had in common. It had always surprised Severus in his later years at Hogwarts that Lucius had stayed in contact after he personally had left, occasionally owling Severus about his progress in classes or other various inconsequential details. Later, of course, had come more contact with Lucius at the Deatheater meetings and the discovery that the Dark Lord had been interested in recruiting Severus for his potions abilities from a fairly early age, but when he’d been young and stupid Lucius had been a more-or-less willing ear for other things as well. Granted that Severus’ admiration for the older wizard had long since soured, but it didn’t change the fact that the two of them had known each other for better than two-thirds of Severus’ life.

Not to mention that over the years—particularly the intervening years between the defeat of the Dark Lord and his latest rise—there had always been casual invitations from Narcissa to come to the manor for tea or a meal or a holiday…after Draco had been born he’d even become something of an uncle. An odd experience for a man who didn’t particularly care for children, but he’d found that he hadn’t minded a great deal. And now it was…over. Wherever Narcissa and Draco were going, it was doubtful that they’d ever return to England—that it would even be safe for them to do so—no matter which way the war went. For the foreseeable future it was unlikely in the extreme that they’d even attempt any sort of contact. He suspected that the bit of parchment she’d given him held some sort of instructions for Lucius to find them, but Severus didn’t even know if he’d have a chance to deliver it. Or if he even wanted to; it might be better for both Draco and Narcissa if their location remained entirely secret. What Lucius didn’t know he couldn’t possibly reveal.

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. This was neither the time nor the place for that sort of introspection, and frankly he wasn’t likely to have a chance to deliver the note any time soon anyway. Best get back before those little dunderheads start celebrating their cancelled potions cla—

A commotion off to his left caught his attention, and he twisted in time to see a cloaked figure raising its right arm. Other figures—also wearing cloaks, ones he recognized all too well—were shoving and cursing aside the crowd, and Severus’ hand closed convulsively on the glass object in his pocket as his eye bore into the darkness under the hood of the man facing him. The eyes glaring back at him from within its depths were red.

As soon as he processed that fact, Severus slammed up his strongest Occlumency shields and started to bring up his wand even as he shouted the activating word and the Floo station blurred around him. Then he was falling, with the cries of terror from the crowd at the station still ringing in his ears.

It was hardly the first time that he’d traveled by portkey, and normally he was able to keep himself properly upright and land with at least a reasonable amount of decorum, but the encounter had shocked him enough that by the time it occurred to him that he should probably prepare for a landing he was already sprawled out on the floor. Of the Hospital Wing. Bloody tabby…this is probably her idea of a subtle suggestion that I’m not looking so well. Well, he would have his revenge. I wonder what catnip does to cat animagi. I suppose I could always lace it with something….

“Professor?” Harry asked, scrambling off one of the far beds and coming to crouch by his side. “Are you all right?”

The other children were still there as well, although they appeared far more curious than concerned.

“You’re bleeding!”

Severus was opening his mouth to tell the brat to be quiet before that wretch of a mediwitch heard him when Harry’s shout of ‘Madame Pomfrey!’ made the order moot.

“Mr. Potter, what are you doing out of—Severus!” Poppy exclaimed, looking down at him with a startled expression on her face. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing on the floor?”

“Looking for a cat.” I plan to wring her neck at the earliest possible opportunity.

“He’s bleeding,” Harry pointed out.

Severus gritted his teeth. “It’s nothing.” Damn all Gryffindors. Of course, Poppy already had her wand out and was flicking it over him rapidly so she’d probably have noticed anyway, but there was no need to give her any help.

“Your respiration and heart rate are both greatly accelerated,” she informed him with a glare a few moments later. “Your blood pressure is also elevated, and that hand is badly lacerated. Not to mention that it looks as though you haven’t been getting anywhere near enough sleep. Didn’t I just tell you yesterday—”

“Thank you,” he interrupted before she could begin to harangue him in front of the children. “I’ll be going—”

“Not before I see to that hand. I assume that’s why you came here?” She tapped her foot impatiently. “Though I can’t imagine how you managed to end up on my floor.”

“But of course.” He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that he’d been Portkeying around on errands when she was in this sort of mood, but he didn’t particularly care for the idea of Deatheaters destroying the Perth Floo station either. He got to his feet smoothly, or as smoothly as was possible when his only available hand had several large shards of glass embedded in the palm. “But I need to use your Floo for a moment first.”

She sputtered something, but he was already halfway to her office. He shut the door firmly after entering and activated the Floo with an awkward toss of powder. As far as he knew Floo powder was nonpoisonous, but he had no desire to find out differently after it entered his bloodstream.

He was fairly certain that someone at the station would have called in the Aurors as soon as the Deatheaters had arrived, but, well…. Merlin knows there are far too many idiots in this world to assume reasonable behavior from anyone. His Order alarm was down in his rooms, but hopefully he could reach Albus who could then alert the Ministry. Unfortunately no one was in the Headmaster’s office—Minerva was no doubt in class by now, and it was entirely possible that Albus was still at the Ministry—and with a growl he contacted Auror headquarters. Tonks would be in St. Mungo’s for at least another day or two if he remembered Alastor’s words correctly, but Shacklebolt should be able to come up with some reasonable explanation for taking a group of Aurors to Perth.

The commotion in the background, complete with shouts of directions, when he finally managed to get through to the witch manning the front desk came as something of a relief. Surely there weren’t two Deatheater attacks in progress in Perth.

“Can I help you?” the witch at the entrance desk demanded, less than politely.

“I assume that you already know about the Floo station in Per—”

“Yes, we know!” she snapped. “We are handling it! We would be handling it much more quickly if every witch and wizard in England didn’t feel the need to in—”

Severus closed the connection, cutting her off quite effectively. The Aurors already knew about the situation, and he didn’t have to be involved. That suited him quite well. The fewer people who know just why the Dark Lord was there—and that I was as well—the better. He didn’t actually have any proof that the creature had come because of Draco and Narcissa, after all, though in his opinion it was far too coincidental to have been anything else. However, on the ridiculously remote chance that he didn’t know, I’m certainly not going to be the one to suggest it.

“Severus, what in Merlin’s name is going on?” Poppy demanded as he exited her office.

He hid a sigh. He’d been sorely tempted to use the inter-Hogwarts Floo system to simply return to his own rooms, but that would have just led to more harassment. “Personal business.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she did hold out a hand imperiously. “Let me see your wound.”

His ‘wound’ had been caused when he’d accidentally crushed the bauble being used as a Portkey—hopefully it hadn’t been anything Albus was particularly fond of—and he was perfectly capable of dealing with it himself, but thanks to Minerva’s ‘help’ in bringing him back to the Hospital Wing he doubted that he’d be allowed. He proffered the arm.

“Hm. You’ve managed to do yourself a fair bit of damage, haven’t you?”

She set about extracting the bits of glass with a determined look, and Severus clenched his jaw. Harry and the rest of the little dunderheads were watching him as though this were the most interesting thing that had happened all year, and he wasn’t about to show them any sign of weakness.

After she was finally satisfied with her work, Poppy waved her wand around for a solid five minutes, presumably doing some sort of disinfecting work, before summoning a roll of bandages. “Well, that should do. Mind you don’t use that hand for the rest of the day; I’ll check the bandages tomorrow morning and make sure the wounds are healed enough for proper sealant.”

“And you can’t use sealant now because?” He didn’t particularly want to attempt to teach classes with this large wad of cloth on his only hand, after all. Particularly in a potions laboratory, even if he didn’t plan to do more than lecture.

“There were bits of magic imbued in those glass shards, and it needs to fully disperse before the sealant will function properly. And it shouldn’t be any hardship for you to let that hand be since you’re going to be in your rooms resting, anyway.”

“I have classes to teach—”

“One day is hardly going to make a drastic difference in the students’ work, and it very well could with your health. Now, I’ll call a house-elf to stay with you in case you need anything—”

“Absolutely not,” Severus interrupted. The last thing he wanted was one of those scraping, bowing creatures attempting to dance attendance on him. He’d murder it in the first twenty minutes.

“I can help,” Harry offered.

“I beg your pardon?” Severus demanded, raising his voice to drown out the youngest Weasley boy’s strident query about Harry’s sanity. Though for quite possibly the first time in the little idiot’s existence they were actually thinking along the same lines.

“Well, she was going to send us back to our rooms and tell us we needed to spend the day resting anyway….” He shrugged awkwardly. “I can help you with whatever you need and then read there just as easily.”

“That sounds like an excellent suggestion,” Poppy said, before Severus could form the proper words to express his opinion. “Though I daresay that you could use some sleep as well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry agreed quickly.

Severus opened his mouth to argue, but from the set of her jaw she wasn’t going to let this be. Better to act as though it was a tolerable situation—though it certainly wasn’t—than to lose this sort of argument in front of half a dozen of his students. “Come along, then.”

Harry had to trot to keep up with him through the corridors, but Severus wasn’t in an accommodating mood and didn’t bother to slow his pace until they reached his quarters. “Get in the spare room, and unless you’ve a good reason to come out I don’t expect to see you again today.”

“But Professor—”

It was nice to know that he could still manage an appropriately quelling glare as Harry shut his mouth and hurried into the other room. He wasn’t going to try any brewing with this thing on his hand, but a new journal had arrived a few days ago that he hadn’t had time to take a look at yet.

///////////

A tentative knock at his bedroom door made him start awake, and he took a moment to orient himself before snapping at the intruder to enter. It didn’t require a great deal of intelligence to determine just who it would be, after all.

“Professor? The house-elves brought lunch….”

Severus gestured for him to enter. Poppy wasn’t above checking with the house-elves to make sure trays weren’t returned with too much food on them, though Merlin knew that their definition of ‘too much’ didn’t match that of any reasonable witch or wizard. He’d long suspected that satisfying them required eating twice one’s weight a day. “Have you eaten?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, I expect that you should.” He flicked his wand, levitating the tray the boy was carrying, and nodded to a chair.

Harry stared at it.

“Sit down,” Severus ordered, repeating the gesture. “As I recall, you and I have a discussion to finish.” If he’d been in the mood to admit such a thing, he might have admitted that even just that short nap had improved his temper a fair amount. He wasn’t in the sort of mood that would allow such admissions of course, and even if he had been it still wasn’t enough to convince him to forgive Poppy’s high-handedness, but despite his earlier orders to the brat he wasn’t about to let such a perfect opportunity go by. Harry was now stuck in his rooms for the rest of the day, and he had the remainder of a tongue-lashing to deliver.

For his part, Harry simply nodded and sank gingerly into the seat indicated, picking up half a sandwich as the tray began to float towards Severus.

“I believe we were in the middle of reviewing the general idiocy of your decision to go to the Ministry before Albus arrived, correct?”

Harry flushed and quickly swallowed the bite of sandwich he’d taken. “I know what you said, but I still think I had to go. Nobody was supposed to—”

“To get hurt, yes, I believe you mentioned that,” Severus interrupted. However, once again in case you missed this little tidbit of information, people were hurt.”

“But Professor—”

“I don’t want to hear it! There is a saying…I believe Muggles use it on occasion as well. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Are you familiar with it?”

“I’ve heard it,” Harry admitted grudgingly after a few moments of silence. He obviously wanted very much to add something else but managed to hold his peace. Severus didn’t have any great expectation that that happy state of affairs would last.

“And do you know what it means?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Harry protested. “I had a plan! A good one! I didn’t think—”

“That seems to be the one point upon which we agree. Tell me, Mr. Potter, in that ‘planning’ that you claim to have done, did it ever occur to you that you could very easily have been killed? All this fuss about destroying the prophecy—do you realize that if you had died, it would have made the entire thing moot?”

Harry dropped his eyes. “I didn’t know there would be Deatheaters there… I thought I could just sneak in, destroy it, and get out without anyone noticing.”

Severus made a disgusted sound. “Leaving aside the fact that the Department of Mysteries is hardly a place that anyone can just waltz into and out of with no one the wiser, you knew that’s where Arthur Weasley had been attacked. It didn’t occur to you that there might be other watchers on the door?”

“That was why I went in the middle of the night!”

Merlin save me from teenagers and what constitute their ideas about valid plans. “Yes, because the Dark Lord is very concerned that his followers get a full eight hours of sleep every night and therefore would never consider stationing someone there round the clock.”

“Well, they weren’t there, were they? They were monitoring the Floo.”

“That argument hardly helps your case,” Severus pointed out. “I’m going to assume that you’ve managed to keep your mouth shut about the entirety of the prophecy when speaking to your little friends; though even so I have no idea why one or all of them didn’t simply sit on you when you suggested this ridiculous idea.” Granger, at least, has been known to exhibit sense. On rare occasions.

“I told you, they weren’t even supposed to know.”

“Which, for the record, was almost as idiotic an idea as the rest of your plan—running off in the middle of the night with no one the wiser. As if your midnight escapades here aren’t bad enough, you’ve decided to expand your efforts!”

“But—”

“Then,” Severus continued, overriding whatever excuse the brat was attempting to make, “when you didn’t return in the morning, we could all spend the foreseeable future combing the entire bloody planet for you. As if I haven’t spent enough of my time of late doing just that.” He pushed himself up off the bed and began to pace. “Not to mention the reaction of the rest of the Wizarding world when they found out that you’d disappeared.” Mass panic wouldn’t even begin to describe it, and not for the first time Severus wondered just why they insisted on making a hero out of a fifteen year old idiot. Then again, considering who they elect to government offices, perhaps it shouldn’t come as any great surprise.

Harry started to mutter something under his breath but subsided at a sharp glare as Severus reached the far wall and spun back around.

“Of course, the entire group of you disappearing wouldn’t have gone over well either, but I doubt any of you considered that. And then, to make matters even worse, after dragging yourself and your brainless band of followers off to the Department of Mysteries and discovering that there were Deatheaters there, instead of behaving like a reasonable person and staying where you were told, you went haring off alone after one of the most dangerous of the lot!”

“But she—”

“I know damn well what she did! I was there! I would simply love to know how your thought processes work.” His voice took on a mocking tone. “‘I’ve just seen this decidedly less-than-rational woman eviscerate a man in front of me, survive a curse that opened her back down to the bone, and then manage to defeat a fully trained Auror. Gee, I know, I think I’ll run after her.’ Have you completely lost whatever small bit of intelligence you ever possessed?”

“I couldn’t just let her get away!”

“Why in Merlin’s name not?! Yes, I’ll grant that what she did was certainly horrendous—” though by no means the worst thing that Severus had ever seen her do—“but why didn’t you call for someone else to go after her if it was so important? Professor Dumbledore, Professor Moody, myself…there was hardly a shortage of adults available!” Granted that none of them had really been in a position to go after her—he hadn’t even seen her running out of the chamber—but shouting would have been a better idea than tearing off like an idiot.

“You were fighting Mr. Malfoy and a couple others, and Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were off in the other corner, and…I don’t know! I just saw her getting away and had to go after her! Blame it on my people-saving-thing!”

Harry was on his feet now as well, and Severus made himself take a step back before he did something he might actually regret. In all his years of teaching he’d managed to refrain from damaging—physically, at least—any of his students, and he didn’t plan to start today. Or with this particular child. Although I suppose if I was going to start, I’m not likely to get any more provocation than this. He shook his head and then turned and resumed his pacing. “First of all, there were no ‘people’ to save in this particular instance, and second of all, as far as I can tell, this ‘people-saving’ thing of yours is sheer arrogance more than anything else! It seems to me that you basically decide that you are the only one who can do a given job and disregard anyone who says otherwise. For example, what makes you think that you are more qualified to fight a Deatheater than an Auror, pray tell?”

“I didn’t say I was more qualified, I just…I was the one that saw her. Why can’t you understand that?!”

“Why can’t you understand that you very nearly got yourself killed multiple times in one night for no damned reason?! Did I, or did I not, tell you weeks ago that you were to stay away from the Department of Mysteries?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You are fifteen years old—it is not your duty to play caretaker for the rest of the Wizarding world!”

“I know that! I know I have responsibilities and I should be careful!”

Severus gritted his teeth and made a mental note to strangle Albus. He had no doubt where the little idiot had heard that particular phrase, and knowing Albus he hadn’t bothered to define just what said responsibilities actually entailed at this particular point in time. If he even knew…there were times that the headmaster had so many schemes within schemes going on in his head that he didn’t know where one ended and another began. At least this particular oversight was easily rectifiable. “Yes, and currently those responsibilities include means that you should be going to classes, doing your homework, and staying out of trouble! You’ll note that they do not include attempting clandestine missions to government offices in the middle of the bloody night!”

“They do if—”

“They do not!” He turned and stalked back towards the boy. “I have no idea what we are supposed to do with you now—you were already in enough trouble for going off to the Chamber of Secrets with Mr. Weasley, and instead of doing the reasonable thing and keeping your head down and attempting to behave, you do this! I’d say expel you, but aside from the fact that you’re going to need all the training you can get, it forces you out of Hogwarts and Merlin knows how much trouble you’ll manage to get yourself into then!”

“I wasn’t trying to cause trouble!”

“And yet you have such a knack for it!”

Harry huffed. “Well, Professor McGonagall already said we—all of us, practically the whole Gryffindor team—aren’t allowed to play Quidditch anymore, and I think we’re going to have detention practically until we leave school…what more is there?!”

“Personally I’d like to lock you in one of the dungeons and have the house elves feed you through a slit in the door. I daresay that might keep you out of trouble for the foreseeable future. Not to mention giving you ample opportunity to think about what I’ve just said.” He waved a hand, sinking down on the bed. “Back to the other room; I don’t think there’s anything else to say right now. Do us both a favor and try that thinking thing.”

“But—”

“That wasn’t a request, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus sighed and lay back on the bed as the boy shut the door behind him. Shut it hard enough to be just this side of a slam, but that was the least of Severus’ worries just now. Short of locking him in a dungeon, he really had no idea what to do about the little idiot. He seemed completely incapable of understanding that he wasn’t responsible for being anything but a student. Hopefully Minerva would have some idea beyond a bloody Quidditch ban because he very much doubted that Albus would.

A scratch at the door made him grit his teeth, and he opened it with a sharp gesture. Surely Harry wasn’t that suicidal….

An owl winged in, dropping a piece of parchment into his hand before winging back out, and he groaned as he recognized the address. “Oh, brilliant.”

Severus read through the letter again. It wasn’t that he didn’t want an artificial eye—he very much did—but why the man couldn’t have held off another two days, let things settle down a little…perhaps even let him get more than four hours of sleep just once this week. Because that would make my life easier, obviously. He could, of course, decline to answer the letter immediately, but he knew full well that his own personality wouldn’t let him just leave it sitting on his bedside table for more than a few hours. At least not unless another crisis occurred, and if that happened he was officially resigning and going back to Brazil.

He rubbed his forehead and waved a quill and parchment over. A few hours more or less wouldn’t make a great deal of difference…if nothing else, he could always pick and owl that flew slowly.

He was trying to find a polite way to phrase ‘and exactly how many of my remaining limbs is this going to cost?’—he would, of course, have access to some Order funds, but realistically they weren’t overburdened with wealth and at least a portion of the funding was going to have to come out of his savings as it had with the clamp—when a chime from the outer room indicated that he had a visitor. Specifically a student visitor. “What now?”

There was a knock on his room door as he was getting to his feet, and he waved it open.

“Professor?” Harry asked.

“Yes, what?” He really did not want to deal with the brat at the moment. He didn’t trust either of their tempers.

“Professor Dumbledore sent Luna to find me.” He indicated the blonde, just barely visible over his shoulder. She smiled brightly and waved at Severus. “We’re all supposed to go to his office to hear more about our punishment….I guess he and Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick worked out what chores we’ll be assigned to for the rest of the year.”

“Go on then, I’d certainly hate for you to miss that.”

Harry opened his mouth, presumably to say something else, but then closed it again and disappeared back through the door. Severus heard the outer door shut a moment later and returned his attention to his parchment. No doubt there was a better way to phrase that question, but it wasn’t coming to him at the moment. At least this way his meaning would be clear.

He frowned, considering for a moment. Teaching wasn’t the most well-compensated of professions, and his Gringotts vault was hardly overflowing, but he hadn’t had to contribute as much as he’d feared to replace his arm. There should still be more than enough left for a new eye. And assuming he ever got around to writing up his study on the wyrsa venom antidote…well, a journal publication or two would help offset the costs nicely.

After a minute of consideration, he set the parchment aside and went to check his workroom. He had made rough notes; given a few days of peace and quiet—or a few months, given the way his life normally went—he could have them in reasonable shape for submission. In fact, if he set up the first of the base tests this afternoon…. He didn’t have much of the serum left, but the standard tests didn’t require more than a drop, and some of the more tradition-bound journals insisted upon them. Besides, he was always better at getting articles finished once he’d officially started.

He checked underneath the bandage on his hand and was pleased to discover that the cuts had scabbed over. No doubt Poppy would disagree, but he didn’t think it would hinder him if he started now, and he flicked his want to dispose of the bandage.

The liquid in the cauldron was just coming to a boil when another chime sounded—the one for a professor, this time—and he set the cauldron aside with a sigh and headed into his main room to wave the panel open. It was most likely Minerva or Albus coming to inform him of how Harry and the rest of the idiots’ upcoming punishment would affect his schedule. He was bound to end up overseeing at least a few detentions or something of that sort, that was a given. Although Merlin forbid one of them actually ask me first.

Much to his surprise—and dismay—Poppy came in as soon as the panel opened, a woman somewhere in her mid to late thirties following. “Severus, good, I hope we’re not interrupting.”

“Of course not.” At some point I’m going to put a spy-spell on that door so I can see who it is before I open it. At least she hadn’t immediately launched into a tirade about him not being in bed resting, although he was fairly certain that he was in for a lecture when she noticed the lack of a bandage on his hand. He pulled the sleeve of his robe down a bit to cover it.

She smiled. “Good. We passed Mr. Potter on the stairs….”

Was she completely oblivious to sarcasm? He wouldn’t have believed that that was possible, but he was starting to wonder. “The headmaster summoned him. Can I help the two of you with something?” Either the woman needed a particularly unusual healing potion, or she was Poppy’s next contestant in the who-can-drive-Severus-insane-first competition. He wasn’t holding out much hope for the former.

“This is Healer Belinda McNally, visiting from Edinburgh. She’s one of Scotland’s foremost experts on treating trauma victims and runs a therapy group twice a week from her office. Belinda, Severus Snape.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the woman greeted.

“And you as well,” Severus returned, in a tone that any reasonable person would have understood meant the exact opposite. So help me, if you don’t go with Poppy when she leaves, I’m going to murder you and dump your body in the lake for the squid. Unfortunately, neither of his visitors appeared to be reasonable.

“I called for the house elves to bring you tea,” Poppy said. “I thought the two of you might like to get acquainted.”

Or, possibly, I might feed you both to the squid.

“Minee is bringing tea,” a house elf announced, popping in with a tea set.

Poppy put her hands on her hips when he made no move to act the polite host, and Severus ground his teeth and waved for the woman to take a seat at the table.

“I’ll be going, then,” Poppy said with a smile. “Severus, if you could see her to my office when you’re finished?”

“But of course.” He was, however, making no guarantee that the woman would arrive there in one piece.

* * * * *

Severus flexed his fingers—and his clamp—against the couch cushions and tried to force himself to relax. In deference to the mediwitch, or at least in deference to the fact that he didn’t care for another lecture in the middle of an open corridor with Merlin-knew-who lurking about, he had attempted to cooperate with the trauma specialist. He had. He’d been a bit surprised to learn that she was a Muggle, but then again perhaps Poppy was running short of witches and wizards to whom she could subject him.

Regardless, he’d nodded politely and when the woman had described confrontational therapy—as though he needed to be confronted with what he’d lost—and refrained from crushing his tea cup when she had described the positive effects a support group could have on those recovering from trauma. He even managed to keep from verbally eviscerating her while pointing out that he couldn’t actually belong to the group she ran, seeing as he would have to reveal the Wizarding world and the war going on under their noses to a group of random Muggles. Apparently unstable Muggles at that.

He had, however, become a bit short when she’d moved on to the idea of role playing. How in the bloody hell a child’s game of pretend was supposed to help him deal with his reaction to a near-death experience regarding the Dark Lord, he hadn’t a clue. Not to mention that it wouldn’t precisely be healthy for anyone else involved either. He nodded to an imaginary therapist. Yes, excuse me while I pretend that you are the Dark Lord. Oh, dear, did I just blast apart your entire torso? My mistake. I’ll be sure to send my condolences to your next of kin.

Perhaps such a thing wasn’t an issue with Muggles, but it seemed ridiculous that someone who obviously had at least passing familiarity with the Wizarding world would have overlooked such an obvious danger. He’d already nearly taken down someone that even he acknowledged—although certainly not to his face—was one of the best fighters their side had to offer during a flashback; how she thought that she might survive such an encounter he had no idea.

I wonder, is it a requirement for those going into the profession of mindhealer to be insane themselves, or am I just particularly fortunate? Either way, things had gone downhill rapidly from that point on, and she’d left in a huff insisting that she was perfectly capable of finding her way back to the hospital wing on her own. And that she had absolutely no desire to spend any more time in his company, a feeling which was entirely mutual, although he had summoned a house elf to escort her. If nothing else, forcing her to endure one of the obnoxious creatures was some small revenge. Very small, but….

He was rising to go back into his workroom when the door chimed for a professor a second time. Could Poppy have made her way down here this quickly? He didn’t think so—the woman had left only minutes before and surely she hadn’t run the entire way; even his students didn’t leave their detentions in that much of a hurry—but…. “What?!”

“Severus?” Minerva asked, stepping in with her eyebrows raised. “And good day to you to. I do believe you’re in a worse mood than the young woman I just ran into.”

“You have no idea.” At least by the end of their little session she had been well-convinced that helping him was a lost cause. “What do you want?”

“I’ve only got a few minutes before my next class—enough students have already had a holiday today while Albus and Filius and I were speaking—but I wanted to talk to you about Harry. I know he’s supposed to have an Occlumency lesson with you this evening, but tonight is going to be the first of the children’s mass detentions and I was hoping that you could reschedule.”

Was it an Occlumency day? Severus shook his head. “As you please.” Harry was going to have to continue to work on his Occlumency, especially now that the Dark Lord knew he could possess the boy with enough effort—and, Severus hoped, reasonably close physical proximity—but one day more or less wouldn’t make that much of a difference either way. And Severus wouldn’t object to a few extra hours to himself. In fact, given the last conversation that he and Harry had had, it was just as well that they both had time to calm down a little. He didn’t need a head injury on top of the cut on his hand and a leg that still ached faintly.

“Thank you.”

“What chores were he and the rest of the little lunatics assigned, anyway?”

“For the moment, they’ll be cleaning the attics and occasionally helping Filch organize and recopy files. Filch is going to explain that portion tonight, which is why I wanted Harry to be there as well.”

“Hm.” It was actually a somewhat reasonable way to keep them occupied and out of trouble. Not that he expected it to work, but then, given the students in question, he had doubts that anything would.

Minerva nodded, apparently considering the matter closed, and then gestured towards the tea tray still sitting on the table and gave the sort of smile that always made him slightly nervous. “Can I assume that the woman who was visiting was a…special friend? Here I thought you were a confirmed bachelor.”

“Bite your tongue.” He considered leaving it there, but knowing Minerva she’d probably just continue to make ridiculous suggestions until he gave in and told her who the woman had actually been. Or, worse, disbelieve him and make vague references to his ‘special friend’ for the foreseeable future, no doubt involving some of the rest of the faculty as she went. Obnoxious feline. “She was a Muggle trauma specialist; the latest in Poppy’s attempts to save me from myself.”

“Ah.”

At least Minerva wasn’t one to offer ridiculous platitudes about how talking about what had happened would make him feel better. What was done was done; there was no sense in continually revisiting it. No matter what Poppy seems to think.

“What about Alastor?”

“Excuse me?” Well, he hadn’t thought she was going to say anything particularly ridiculous, but somehow he didn’t think the addition of the lunatic ex-Auror to the conversation was going to improve the tone.

“Why don’t you talk to him? I suspect that would satisfy Poppy.” Apparently he looked as stunned by that suggestion as he felt, because she frowned at him. “Well, why not? You talked to him before.”

His jaw worked for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” So help him, if they’d had a bloody audience last night….

She frowned. “Back when you were first injured, after we spoke about setting up a meeting with the Horace girl. Remember, you asked me if I’d known him before he’d been injured?”

“Oh. Yes.”He still found the memory of that conversation—if you could even call it that—more than a bit humiliating, though, and his glare deepened. “Alastor and I don’t ‘talk.’ In fact, in case you haven’t noticed, the vast majority of the time we avoid each other’s company, and when we do happen to meet, it generally ends in an exchange of insults and threats.” And the occasional hex, when the opportunity arose, although he had no plans to let things go as far as they had during their last duel again. Well, not while we’re at war, anyway.

She shook her head. “I’m not suggesting that the two of you become best friends, but you must admit that he’s…uniquely qualified…to understand the situation that you’ve found yourself in.”

Severus gave a disgusted snort. He didn’t have to admit anything of the sort. Especially since Alastor had acquired his injuries during the course of a respectably long career rather than having them all inflicted upon him in one single night of torture. “As it happens, I’m quite satisfied with the arrangement we have now, and I have no great desire to alter it substantially. I expect that he feels very much the same.”

“Hm.”

Severus didn’t like the look in her eyes at all, but, knowing Minerva, if he tried to press the point it would only make her more determined to convince him. Ruddy Gryffindor.

She nodded politely, apparently deciding that the conversation was at an end. “Well, thank you for letting us steal Harry tonigh—what happened to your hand?”

Her eyes narrowed as Severus lifted his hand and realized that he’d stretched one of the scabs too far and his palm was bleeding again. Blood on the couch, just brilliant.

Her frown deepened. “Did that happen on your…errand…this morning?”

He dabbed the blood against his robes. “A minor incident upon my return; nothing of consequence.” She’d hear about the Dark Lord’s appearance at the Perth Floo Station soon enough, and he’d just as soon give his report about Narcissa and Draco’s flight to the Order as a whole rather than repeating himself multiple times. Good day.”

“Good day,” she returned after a moment and then turned for the door.

For his part, he strongly suspected that the day was probably going to end on a less-than-pleasant note, at least after Poppy found out about the results of the latest therapy session, but…well, no sense worrying about that now.

* * * * *

Severus yawned as he let himself back into his quarters. He’d managed to avoid a lecture from Poppy, but only because he’d been at an Order meeting. Poppy might actually have been more relaxing.

He’d been in the middle of brewing when the alarm had sounded, and after a moment of panic—what else could possibly have gone wrong?—realized that it was only a call for a meeting. After soundly cursing Albus for not bothering to warn him, he’d taken some time to get his cauldrons in a state that he could leave them alone and be reasonably certain that his workroom would be intact when he returned, thus making him the last to arrive at headquarters. Albus had been finishing a summary of the events at the Department of Mysteries—apparently for the edification of those who had been living under a rock for the past two days—when he arrived. He wished he’d been later; then he might have missed Molly Weasley’s hysterics about what the youngest of her brood had been up to. Arthur hadn’t looked much better, in truth.

Shacklebolt had spoken next, listing the Deatheaters caught. Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange were two of the more prominent names. Unfortunately, at least from the standpoint of information gathering, Rudolphus had been one of the ones killed in the fighting, and, as Severus was well aware, Bellatrix had managed to get away. Still, the interrogations of the rest were already in progress…Fudge was, as usual, making a mess of things, but most of the Auror department was quite happy to ignore him.

Alastor had then suggested bringing all of the captured Deatheaters’ families in for questioning, which had led to Severus’ announcement about Narcissa and Draco’s flight from England. And a near-duel with Alastor who hadn’t appreciated how he’d handled the situation. He snickered quietly. It had been more than worth any annoyance he’d felt to see Minerva jabbing the ex-Auror in the chest repeatedly with her wand and calling him a war-mongering would-be child abductor. No one could claim that she took her duty to protect their students lightly, although Severus suspected that Albus’ personal inclinations were more in line with Alastor’s. Particularly with regards to the Malfoy family.

He sank down on the couch and pulled the piece of parchment Narcissa had given him out of his pocket. He’d originally intended to mention it at the Order meeting, but Alastor would probably have insisted that they put it in a jar of Veritiserum or something equally idiotic. He’d report it to Albus privately tomorrow, after he’d examined it himself.

‘Lucius’ was written on the front of the folded parchment in Narcissa’s flowing script, but after a quick check for protective spells, he opened it. She had to have known that he would.

Severus rubbed his forehead and read through the note again. Specifically the note addressed to him, folded inside the one with Lucius’ name on it. And while the addressing might have been in Narcissa’s script, the actual note was in Lucius’ handwriting.

From the discoloration along the creases, it had been written several years ago—or the majority of it had, anyway—but…. Severus set the note down carefully and leaned back. He’d known that the Dark Lord had been dabbling with the idea of Horcrux creation during the first war—frankly, if there had been anyone involved who didn’t know that, he needed to have his head examined—but Severus hadn’t expected anything like what he was reading. Six Horcruxes. Horcruxi? He frowned and shook his head. What rational wizard ever needed to know the plural of Horcrux? Only a madman would create even one!

Oh. Yes. I suppose I should consider the source. He shook his head again. Regardless of the Dark Lord’s decidedly…questionable…mental state, the existence of so many of the damned things begged the question of exactly what was supposed to be done about them all. There wasn’t a lot of literature on them—for good reason—but what little he did know wasn’t good. Harry had destroyed that damn diary with a basilisk fang, but you couldn’t go about stabbing things at random without attracting rather unpleasant attention. He glanced down at the note again. Not to mention that attempting to stab a ring is just absurd. And all of this assumes that we can even find the items that were used. Six Horcruxes….

The note appeared to have been written during the time of the first war; at a guess, probably sometime around Draco’s birth. That would fit with Lucius’ nature. He had always taken his duty to protect his family very seriously, and the fact that the Dark Lord had even been contemplating creating the things would give any sensible wizard pause. Clearly not enough pause to actually get out of the creature’s service, but then again Lucius had always been one to play the odds, and at that point the war hadn’t been going all that well for the side of light.

From the wording of the note, although Lucius had identified a locket and Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, of all the ridiculous items that the Dark Lord could have chosen, and knew of the creature’s plans for more, he hadn’t actually known that the diary he had been given to hold was a Horcrux. Not that that fact will matter in the least to the Weasley horde, given that he’s the one who gave it to the girl, but….

After a few more minutes he turned his attention to the second note, the one that was addressed to Lucius. There wasn’t much to it…Narcissa and Draco were leaving the country for their own protection, they loved him, wished him well, et cetera. Nothing obvious to indicate where they were going, but then again Severus hadn’t expected Narcissa to come right out and list a forwarding address.

He refolded both letters and put them in his robes. Late or not, Albus was going to want to see these. Sleep. Yes, I remember sleep.

The door to Albus’ study swung open as he raised his hand to knock, and he stepped back expecting someone to emerge. Albus, by preference. Unfortunately, he found the headmaster seated at his desk, deep in discussion with Alastor and Minerva…presumably Alastor had seen him approach and alerted the others.

“Severus?” Albus asked, turning to look in his direction.

“In the…commotion…at the meeting,” he directed a brief glare at Alastor and noticed that it was echoed by Minerva “I forgot to pass along a message that Narcissa gave me. A note, rather.” He drew the thicker piece of parchment out of his pocket but carefully pushed the thinner back in. He would show them all Lucius’ information about the Horcruxes—it was entirely possible that Aurors were privy to more information about the things than the average wizard was—but he would prefer to discuss the note for Lucius with Albus privately. Knowing Alastor, he would probably destroy it outright, on the off chance that it’s a transfigured army sent to break Lucius out of Azkaban.

“Set it down,” Alastor ordered, gesturing at Albus’ desk with his wand.

Severus widened his eye theatrically. “But what if it explodes on contact with wood? It’s such a common assassination technique.”

Alastor’s wand shifted targets. “Boy, y—”

“Gentlemen, please,” Albus interrupted, gesturing at the desk. “It’s been a long day.”

That sentiment Severus agreed with wholeheartedly, and after a second glare at Alastor he set the note down. “I have already checked—and read—it myself, you realize.”

Alastor snorted and then subjected the bit of parchment to an absolutely ridiculous number of hex and curse detection spells. Several of which Severus made a mental note to look up when he had some free time. Which at this rate will be well after I retire. He accepted the chair Minerva transfigured with an absent nod of thanks, attention still on the Alastor.

Eventually even the paranoid lunatic was satisfied, and Severus sat back as Albus opened the note and he, Alastor, and Minerva read through it.

“Six!” Alastor exploded, drowning out whatever Minerva hissed.

Albus stayed rather suspiciously silent, and Severus raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I’d feared something of this sort,” he acknowledged after a moment. “Well, perhaps not six, but that there would be more than one. Horace and I were discussing the matter—theoretically, of course—before he left, and there were several murders that seemed to be potential candidates for Horcrux creation.” He was silent for a moment. “I suppose given the meaning behind seven, perhaps even six isn’t such a surprise. Although….”

“Athough what?” Severus asked cautiously, debating whether he really wanted to know and wondering whether he’d ever actually find out. Albus had an annoying tendency to give all of the information that he felt was necessary, and no more. In strategic terms, it was a wise thing to do—particularly with someone who regularly went into the enemy’s territory and could, conceivably, be forced to reveal information—but it was also incredibly annoying. Especially from someone who always had so many plots going that even he probably wasn’t aware of them all anymore. He sighed quietly. I suppose as much as I would greatly enjoy throwing this problem at someone else and pretending that I’d never heard the word ‘Horcrux,’ I should probably pay attention.

Albus stroked his beard. “Malfoy lists three suspected Horcruxes here, we also know of the diary and a ring.”

Severus frowned. He didn’t know of any ring, but neither Alastor nor Minerva seemed at all surprised by the revelation.

“I also have reason to suspect that young Harry is a Horcrux.”

“What?” both Alastor and Severus demanded, and Minerva’s eyes narrowed to slits.