A sinking feeling overwhelmed Harry as he watched Bodmin glide towards him, a letter tied to her leg and an owl with the newspaper closely behind. Yet when she swooped down to the table and he opened the letter, it was friendly enough.

Harry,

I know the Easter Holidays are coming, and I wanted to invite you to spend them with us. I’m holding Teddy’s first birthday two weeks early so that you can come.

Yours,

Andromeda Tonks

He dashed off a reply and passed the note to Ron and Hermione with a smile, but it was with some trepidation that he unfolded the newspaper. When he saw the front page, his fork clattered to his plate as he dropped it and balled his hand into a fist. For all that McGonagall had tried to contain the knowledge of Snape’s identity, threatening everything up to expulsion to any student divulging it to outsiders, Luna had been right. Nothing that was supposed to be secret stayed secret for long. Worse, when the story did break in the Daily Prophet, it had Rita Skeeter’s name under the headline.

Notorious Killer of Albus Dumbledore Teaching Again

Severus Snape, the Death Eater who murdered the famed headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been teaching in secret at the very magical institution where he committed his heinous crime, report several students. He has taken on the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, although few would be able to think of a less appropriate candidate for that particular post.

Even more shocking is that he has been passed off for the past several months as a distant cousin of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and hero of both wars against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Students tell us this was to explain a powerful family resemblance.

According to sources within the school, just before the end of the war, Harry Potter sojourned to early 1959 where he had a relationship with the then unmarried Eileen Prince, soon to be Snape. Severus Snape, who was the product of the union, was passed off as the son of an unwitting Muggle, whom Prince then tricked into marrying her.

Although the time travel was allegedly accidental, several experts and people close to Potter have expressed their doubts as to the possibility of it truly being unintentional.

“I don’t believe for a moment it was accidental” One of Harry Potter’s fellow students told our correspondent in confidence, “this I the sort of thing Potter always does.” Stories about the Boy-Who-Lived’s high-handedness and recklessness have been circulating throughout the Wizarding world for years.

“You don’t just accidentally travel to a different time. It takes a lot of specialized preparation,” a contact within the Department of Mysteries said.

The greater fear among many in the Wizarding World is that Potter will use his influence to protect his wayward son. Accusations that he has already done so to avoid the consequences of Death Eater activities have sprung up already. “It would certainly explain why he isn’t in Azkaban for Dumbledore’s murder at least,” one concerned parent told our correspondent.

“Nepotism always seems to be what brings down the great heroes,” one student told our reporter sagely. “I don’t mind him sewing his wild oats, but he shouldn’t prevent his sprog from reaping the consequences of his actions.

Neither Severus Snape nor Harry Potter could be reached for an interview at this time.

Malfoy smirked at him from the Slytherin table, making a great show out of shaking out the newspaper that he had hastily borrowed from Pansy Parkinson. Harry gritted his teeth.

“I can’t believe it,” Hermione muttered. “Not a single named source, what were they thinking?”

“Who cares?” Ron grunted, peering over her shoulder, “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s still shoddy publishing,” she responded “besides, don’t you want to know who snitched?”

“I think I know,” Harry said sourly as Malfoy swaggered between the tables, a deeply annoying sneer plastered onto his face. “Well well, Potter, trickery, corruption, an affair, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Harry imagined that the piece of bacon he stabbed his fork into was Malfoy’s face, and he broke it in half for good measure.

“You already knew about it, snarled Ron, his wand pointed at Malfoy’s chest from next to Harry.

Harry shot to his feet. “I didn’t know you had it in you to try to get yourself expelled.”

Malfoy’s smirk widened. ‘Whatever are you talking about?”

“You spoke to Rita skeeter, you slimy little-” Ron trailed off.

Harry pointed to the comment about nepotism. “You mixed your metaphors, Malfoy.”

“No, Potter, I just extended it.” As he gloated, he slipped his wand into his hand.

“You’re one to talk about nepotism, seeing as it’s the only way you’re ever going to get anywhere.”

Malfoy’s back was to McGonagall as she marched determinedly across the great hall from the head table, but Harry saw her. Malfoy’s face flushed to a soft pink and then paled, even his lips turning white with fury. His wand arced forward, “Pulvereus Cruento!”

“Protego!” Harry shouted as Malfoy cast his curse, not waiting to see what it was.

“Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall exclaimed, running the last few steps over to them. “Fifty points from Slytherin, Detention. “You’re lucky I’m not expelling you, for the dark curse alone.”

“But Potter-”

McGonagall cut him off. “Cast a shield charm. I didn’t see any offensive magic, did you?” Malfoy clenched his fist and swallowed, at last shaking his head. McGonagall dragged him back to the Slytherin table by the back of his robe.

“I’m amazed you even knew what the word meant, Potter,” Malfoy called over his shoulder jeeringly.

Harry sat back down, ignoring him, but he didn’t have any appetite left. “They must be running out of places to put everyone who has solitary detention,” Hermione remarked. Harry contemplated the idea of Malfoy in detention with Snape, and for once Snape’s ire turned against someone from his own house, but then he remembered that Malfoy couldn’t have detention with Snape because Ginny did instead.

~*~

Harry spent his Saturday revising for his N.E.W.T.s, which Hermione kindly reminded him, were only a few months away. He flipped listlessly through his scribbled Transfiguration notes trying to figure out what he had actually meant when he had written them, when an owl tapped on the window. He dropped his notes and shuffled over to it, and it dropped a letter into his hand. He slipped a finger under the flap and tore it open.

Mr. Potter,

I am astonished and ashamed that you would use your influence to help a murderer walk free and teach children. Boil your head in bog water, if you have any decency at all.

The letter was unsigned. Harry tossed it into the fireplace and set fire to it without a comment. Perhaps he should have handed it to Ginny. She might have agreed.

A few minutes after Harry had sat back down to his notes, not one but four owls clamored at the window, and Harry let them into the common room. The first three he consigned to the fireplace as soon as he saw the unfamiliar handwriting on the outside of the envelopes, but the fourth was a Howler.

Hermione looked at it from over her book. “Would you mind opening that outside Harry?” she said loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I’d like to prepare for my exams without listening to a letter screaming at you.” A soft chuckle spread throughout the common room, and Harry smiled halfheartedly as he pushed the portrait open.

Mr. Potter, a very prim voice began.

I SUPPOSE YOU THINK YOUR SOJOURNS INTO THE PAST ARE NOBODY’S BUSINESS, AND THAT YOU CAN CAUSE AS MUCH TROUBLE AS YOU WANT BECAUSE YOU’RE THE SAVIOR OF THE WIZARDING WORLD. HOW DARE YOU! YOU COULD HAVE DESTROYED EVERYONE WITH YOUR MEDDLING, AND THEN YOU COME BACK AND HAVE THE GALL TO PROTECT YOUR SON, THE PRODUCT OF YOUR- The letter cleared its throat- ADVENTURES WITH TIME, FROM HIS RIGHTFUL PUNISHMENT. YOU ARE WALKING DOWN A ROAD I DO NOT LIKE. YOU HAD BETTER MAKE AMENDS QUICKLY!

As the letter burst into flames and scattered ashes onto the carpet, Harry flushed. After all of the lies and half truths the Prophet had spouted, even just the ones about Harry, couldn’t the Wizarding World realize that nothing the paper said could be trusted? He kicked the ashes in disgust and whispered the password to the Fat Lady, who glowered down at him, fingers in her ears.

Throughout the day, more owls streamed through the windows to deliver letters, Howlers, and a few highly illegal curses. Harry wondered what a Howler would do if he threw it into the fireplace unopened, but he didn’t want to blow up the common room fireplace. “What happens if you don’t open a Howler?” he asked Ron.

“They explode, and then they scream even louder.”

“Oh, that’s alright then.”

He dropped his three most recent out the tower window where they fluttered in the light breeze, steaming and smoking. “You’ll set fire to the lawn!” Hermione fussed, but when the letters exploded, they did so in midair. As they began to scream all at once, Harry shut the window on their incomprehensible cries.

“That sounded like your egg back in fourth year,” Ron observed.

“Yeah, I wonder what would happen if I opened them underwater.”

~*~

Scorch marks covered Severus’ floor and new desk and the smell of burned paper and melted glue hung in the air. He missed his windowless dungeon office with its heavy rock walls, where the owls couldn’t get to him, and even if they could, no one else could hear the Howlers. The Howlers smoked and sputtered, waiting until they could explode and spew their particular viciousness into the air around him. A pile of more mundane letters tore themselves to shreads at a flick of his wand. He swept one of the floating pieces of owl down out of his face. Over the noise of the shrieking insults and death threats, he heard a determined knock on his office door. Muttering obscenities, about traitorous students and students who didn’t know when not to disturb their professors, he pushed the door open. Potter stood outside, his hand raised to continue knocking.

For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to say. He thought about asking how Snape was coping with the barrage of letters, but he thought that would only convince Snape to shout at him again.

“Say what you came to or go away, Potter!”

“I…”

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say…”

“What?” he demanded.

Harry glowered at him and wanted to ask if he would stop interrupting and let him finish. “I just wanted to tell you that if you open them all at once, you don’t have to hear what they’re saying,” he yelled.

The door closed with a resounding bang.

~*~

When Andromeda’s owl swooped down on Harry at breakfast the next morning, the letter it carried almost found itself in the fireplace with the rest of the mail he had received that morning. At the last minute though, Harry recognized the handwriting and snatched it back. The note was short, just a few lines.

Harry,

I’ll pick you up at Platform 9 3/4 then.

Yours,

Andromeda Tonks

P.S. We have excellent owl wards.

That was the best news, Harry thought, that he had heard in days.

Hermione peered over his shoulder. “At least you’ll have some peace and quiet while you’re there,” except for what mayhem Teddy caused.

“It feels like fourth year, when Witch Weekly said you were feeding me love potions.”

“Next to that, this article looks like well balanced journalism,” Hermione told him wryly. “They actually managed to get most of the facts right; it’s just the insinuations…”

“Yeah, well the insinuations are complete-” Harry snapped quickly.

Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh. “I know, Harry.”

“The last time the Prophet tried to discredit me, everyone found out they were wrong,” Harry burst out, only barely not shouting with frustration. “Why didn’t anything change?”

Hermione looked at him oddly. “Something did, Harry, this time the Prophet’s doing this on its own. The Ministry isn’t behind it.”

“Well it’s not enough, is it!”

“To keep the Daily Prophet from printing rubbish? Apparently not.”

Harry sighed.

“We could always tell the authorities about our favorite beetle, but someone else is likely waiting to take her place.”

“We could always threaten her again.”

Hermione snorted. “Yes, I’m sure that would endear you to her.”

Harry scowled at his plate. “I don’t care about endearing myself to her; I just want her to shut up.”

“You could always send her a statement. They would publish it, probably on the front page.”

Harry’s jaw set into a stubborn line. “I wouldn’t give the Prophet anything.”

“Then give it to Luna.”

Harry grunted. “Not there either.”

~*~

“I don’t understand why you even think Muggles are worth studying.” Draco drawled.

Blenheim Stalk recognized a deliberate provocation when he heard one and so answered blandly, “What do you mean, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Well it’s like studying flobberworms isn’t it. There isn’t much they can do and a lot more that they can’t.”

“There are a lot of things we can’t do either,” he responded reasonably.

“But it’s not the same!” Draco burst out. “They’re like lumps!”

Professor Stalk smiled. “What do witches and wizards do when they can’t solve something with magic?”

“Well then it can’t be done,” Draco said, furrowing his brow, trying to figure out what the man was on about. “We ignore it.”

“Whereas Muggles, who have no magic, don’t ignore it.”

Draco stared at him blankly. “So they just keep at it?” Muggles were obviously more brainless than he thought.

The professor’s smile widened, “Exactly. They just keep at it, until they find a way to do it. They have figured out how to do things wizards and witches don’t even dream about trying.”

He folded his arms across his chest, incredulous. “Like what?

“They can make people who are insane sane again. They can speak to anyone anywhere in the world instantaneously without having to crouch in the fireplace. They can make themselves seen and heard to millions of people all over the planet at once, like a radio with pictures. Actually, they invented the radio and we stole it. They can look at someone’s bones and brain without cutting them open. They can see billions and billions of miles into space to see planets that don’t orbit the sun, or see tiny the tiny microscopic organisms that make people sick.

Draco swept it aside, unimpressed, “So they can make interesting toys for themselves.”

“We learned germ theory from them, and it has saved countless lives.” Looking away, Draco decided his head of house was deluded. Muggles couldn’t have come up with anything of any real worth. “Muggles are constantly coming up with new things, new ideas, and new ways of doing things while the Wizarding World does its best not to change at all.”

“We don’t need to change. The way we do things is fine.”

“The way Muggles do things is fine too, but they don’t settle for fine. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, where in the Wizarding World has any innovation been welcomed since the fall of Grindelwald?”

“Potions…”

Stalk looked down sadly. “Yes, there are a few new potions every year, minor things all of them. Did you know that a disproportionately high number of potions inventors are Muggleborn or half-bloods?” Draco shook his head. “Muggles come up with a thousand new chemicals and combinations of chemicals every day. We have a handful a year. When was the last time wizards and witches made their own spells?”

“It’s too dangerous, experimenting that way kills people! The Ministry’s right to put a stop to it.”

“It kills people in the Muggle world too, but they still do it. All of the spells we have were once dangerous experiments too. There are a few mavericks who invent new spells.”

“And die in their experiments.”

Stalk nodded. “Some, yes, but not all. Of course, they don’t dare tell anyone about their successful spells afterwards.” A wistful look spread over his round features. “We wizards have let that part of ourselves atrophy. Innovation, creativity, we’re all happy to see it die.”

Draco glowered balefully at Professor Stalk, who just waved pleasantly towards the bookcase. “I’ve let my book collection get out of order, and I’d like you to put it right.”

Draco looked at the books, and though he didn’t know or want to know anything about Muggles, he could tell that the books were in perfectly good alphabetical order by author. He gave the professor a poisonous look, but the man kept smiling at him benignly. “How exactly do you want me to put them in order?”

“Oh, by topic, of course.” Draco wanted very badly to throw the books at Stalk’s heavily padded abdomen and put them on the shelf in the order they landed.

“How am I supposed to put them in order by topic; I don’t know anything about these books!”

Professor Stalk looked out at him from under his drooping eyebrows. “You’re going to be here for several weeks. It might be best if you tried actually reading the books.”

He had to restrain himself from asking the obvious question, “You want me to read books about Muggles?” but then found he didn’t know what to say. “Even if I were in detention with you until the end of the year, I wouldn’t be able to read all of these,” he sniffed, waving a hand at them imperiously.

“I thought you could perhaps take them with you and read them in your spare time.”

“And read them in my dormitory?” he shrieked. Stalk just nodded, and Draco’s mouth gaped. There had to be some sort of logic that would appeal to the professor. “I have N.E.W.T.s in a few months. I don’t have any spare time.”

The cheerful smile disappeared as Stalk grimaced and then favored his charge with a long look. “I remember seventh year quite well from my own time here, Mr. Malfoy, I believe you can find the time.”

Draco’s lip jutted out in what might have been a pout and might have been a sneer. “What about those?” he hissed, pointing at the bookcase against the opposite wall.

“I think I’ll sort the fiction books myself. You wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Fiction? What is fiction?” he sneered, suspiciously.

“Fiction is stories, Mr. Malfoy, that aren’t true.”

“Like lies?” he demanded. “Muggles publish lies?”

“More like tales, like the ones we tell for children. Actually, many Muggles see a higher truth in those than in plain facts.” Draco decided that along with being magically challenged and therefore not worth one book, much less two bookcases full, Muggles were all as dotty as that Lovegood girl.

“So you have a collection of Muggle children’s books,” he said slowly.

“Not at all. Most of them were written for adults.”

Draco stared at him bemusedly. “Are you telling me that Muggles write silly little stories for themselves? Are they all children?” Maybe that’s what the moralizers in the Ministry and teaching staff meant when they said wizards shouldn’t harm them. It wasn’t right to harm children.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Malfoy; most of the books on that book case are each one long story, and very few of them are very childlike at all. Muggles consider such writing to be an art form, like a fine painting or symphony.”

Draco scoffed. “So this is what they do to make up for the fact that they don’t have magic? They tell stories?”

Blenheim Stalk thought it probably wasn’t the best time to tell his student about fantasy. “A few wizards and witches have written novels, those are the long stories, and then published them in the Muggle world.”

“Oh.” His jaw clicked shut. “But why?”

“Muggles use them to say things that can’t or shouldn’t be said any other way, and some wizards and witches want to say the same things. Really, Mr. Malfoy, if you’re that interested, you can borrow one.”

Draco’s face twisted. “No thank you.”

“It is your choice,” Stalk reassured him with an indulgent smile. “You may as well take one of the books you’re supposed to be organizing then.”

“Is it?” he asked sulkily and picked one of the books off the shelf at random. He flipped it over and read the cover. Under the Death’s Head: Hitler’s SS it said, only the esses looked like a pair of lightening bolts.

“It might be best if you left that book for another time,” Stalk began, moving from behind the desk to snatch it back.

Something in Draco snapped, and he backed up, pulling the book out of the professor’s reach. “No,” he snarled. “You drag me in here and try to convince me that some filthy Muggle is as good as I am, and make me read about them when I don’t deserve any of it. At least I can read the book I choose.”

Professor Stalk’s expression turned cold. “No, you don’t deserve any of it. You deserve to be expelled, possibly to go to Azkaban, but you have a second chance, and the people who are giving it to you are the very people you scorn, the Muggle lovers and the blood-traitors, the victors in the war against your Dark Lord.”

Draco reached down and rubbed his left arm self-consciously. “And this time?” he cried. “I didn’t do anything this time that was worth a month’s detention.”

“You slandered a professor and a fellow student in the press.”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he insisted fiercely.

“You accused a rival of perjury and illegal time travel, and a professor of getting away with murder. You endangered a student and a professor for a childish grudge and violated their privacy unspeakably. That deserves expulsion, so you are on your third chance.”

Draco gaped in indignation. “The school can’t expel me for telling the Wizarding world the truth. The parents, my parents, had a right to know.”

“You told a great deal more than the truth.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “The sheer selfishness and shortsightedness of your actions didn’t surprise me, but I had heard that you were supposed to like Professor Snape. Did his true allegiances or his blood impurity change your mind?”

Draco could only stand there and huff irately, out of things to say.

“Yes, perhaps you should take that book after all, Mr. Malfoy.” Professor Stalk’s eyebrows rose as he pursed his lips. “It would do you good to learn that Muggles have Dark Lords too.”