Motto:

"A flask, conjured from thin air, was thrust into his shaking hands by Hermione." (Hermione, who has never before seen how a memory looks like! Has she read all about it as well, I wonder?)

Excerpt taken from J. K. Rowling: "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," GB adult version (2007) – p. 528.

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Harry Potter's and Hermione Granger's hiding place

Early Christmas Day 1997

Hermione was sitting in the old armchair next to Harry's bunk bed, bemusedly staring at the two vials that were lying on her left hand's palm. She knew that one of them contained the rest of their Dittany Extract supply, and reminded herself to obtain a new stock of the remedy as soon as possible – but the silvery mist that circled in the second flask was a mystery that she wasn't able to solve.

Similarly, she couldn't quite tell why her body felt stiff, as if she had been sitting tightly bound for several hours – and then, there was Harry whose state had unexplainably and unexpectedly greatly improved. The puncture marks left after Nagini's bite were closed by now, though the girl didn't understand how; the forearm, however, was scarred and covered in drying blood, witnessing the horror they had been through.

Then Harry moaned in his fever and Hermione worriedly forced her eyes from the second flask. She looked at Harry's pale, sweaty face and felt a sudden stab of guilt for letting him suffer needlessly. Unthinkingly, Hermione dropped the unknown container in her pocket and opened the familiar vial. She sniffed it to be sure about its contents, and tipped the fluid on the miraculously half-healed wound on her friend. As gently as she could, the girl spread the solution over Harry's new scars, suppressing a sob when her friend gave out a painful yelp.

"It's all right, Harry, you will be all right," Hermione tried to reassure the boy and herself equally. It apparently worked in Harry's case, since the boy calmed. Hermione gave a relieved sigh, summoned a damp piece of cloth and cleaned Harry's arm. "Much better," she mumbled to herself, satisfied; then, with a flick of her wand, she disposed of the soiled cloth and sat back in her armchair.

Harry was still feverish but slept restfully for now and Hermione reached for her beaded bag to retrieve the book she had taken from Bathilda's house. She was sure that Skeeter had written lies in it – but felt curious anyway.

As she bended forward to open the bag, the girl saw in front of her a piece of parchment that had apparently felt on the floor. Inquiringly, she reached for it and instantly frowned at seeing her own handwriting and words she didn't recall writing…

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Hogwarts' grounds

Early Christmas Day 1997

A very tired and annoyed Severus Snape Apparated right into a mound of heavy wet snow that had drifted around Hogwarts' gate during the night, and swore. He had never really enjoyed Christmas since he had been a very small child, and then again a wide-eyed first year at Hogwarts, but this Yule was clearly working at becoming his worst ever.

Brushing the snow off his clothes and casting drying charms over the skirt of his usual dark robes, Snape berated himself for the idiocy of the previous night. He couldn't believe that he truly let the Granger girl figure out that he and Lily had once been friends and that it was the reason why he had been looking after the bratty, amazingly reckless friend of hers.

Less comprehensible, even, was the fact that he hadn't simply Obliviated the girl and instead – against his better judgment – agreed with a solution she proposed. Damn! He swore. You are growing careless, Severus, and it will get you killed one day.

Snape angrily kicked in the heap of snow in front of him. Then, with a complicated movement of his wand, the acting Headmaster of Hogwarts opened the heavily guarded gate, earning himself a spray of the wet snowflakes that covered the gate's top and entered the school grounds.

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Harry Potter's and Hermione Granger's hiding place

Early Christmas Day 1997

The hand that held the mysterious letter dropped to the girl's lap, and the young witch stared into space – her eyes unseeing and her brain bewildered. She had read the letter more times than she had cared to count; she had acknowledged that she had written it – but why and on whose orders? She still didn't have a clue and it greatly disturbed her.

"Oh Harry," she whispered. "I don't know what to do…" But even speaking to her friend about what the letter said was banned by the missive, and Hermione thought she understood why. People who stood by them, as well as some of their enemies (if by odd chance Snape had kept silent) knew about Harry's strange mental connection to Voldemort and his inability to close his mind…

The girl let go of the letter and reached in her pocket. The vial with the unknown substance sparkled on her palm once again. Now, she knew what was inside – but did it change anything? She wouldn't open it anyway. Not when she had forbidden it herself – even if she longed to…

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Hogwarts

Headmaster's Office

Early Christmas Day 1997

"Severus!" Dumbledore's portrait exclaimed in his annoying cheerful way when the Slytherin wizard entered the office. "There you are. … How is Harry?"

Not uttering a word of acknowledgement, Snape simply looked at the old man's portrait with open dislike. Unhurriedly, he took off his cloak and laid it over the chair in front of the fireplace so that it could dry. Then he walked towards the window and once there, he let his eyes purposelessly wander across the snow-covered school grounds. For a long time, Dumbledore's question remained without a reply.

"Severus?" Dumbledore admonished when the silence stretched too long.

"The reckless brat is as well as you can expect," Snape said quietly, his voice indifferent and his back remaining turned to his predecessor in the Headmaster's stool.

"Now, Severus, this is not necessary," Dumbledore said with a slight frown. "If you want me to believe that you care for Harry's well-being more than I did, you may as well behave as the best friend of the boy's mother who you claim to have been…"

Snape turned angrily on his heels. His eyes flashing daggers, his voice dripping poison, he said in a dangerous, quiet voice: "Fortunately, my relationship with Lily is no longer any of your business, Dumbledore. I ask you to accept this minor detail if you want me to follow up with your plans."

The man in the portrait looked intently at his one-time employee, and knowing the younger man as he did, Dumbledore gave Snape a reluctant nod.

"Then we are agreed." Snape noted unnecessarily, and walked to the stairs leading to the bedroom adjoining the office.

The portrait coughed and Snape halted. Irritated, the dark wizard asked, not turning: "What else?"

"Harry has to be given the sword, Severus. Detest me as you wish to but promise me that you deliver it to him – no matter what the situation – when Phineas brings us information of Harry's location again."

Snape smirked. I have already planned for that, old man, he thought. Aloud he asked only: "And when will you inform me what the boy needs the Gryffindor artifact for?"

"I hoped that this matter had been resolved," Dumbledore frowned behind Snape's back.

"Was it?" Snape asked quietly and moved towards the stairs.

Dumbledore sighed in slight resignation, but right before the younger man could disappear behind the doorway, he pressed anew: "Severus! This is not a time, nor a place for being difficult… Will you promise it to me?"

Snape stopped, for a while quiet. Then, still turned, the dark man shook his head in angry disbelief. "You know very well that I will do it," he said to the old man in low voice and deserted the room.

"Now, I do," Dumbledore's portrait said quietly. "Sleep well, my boy," he whispered to the empty room then, knowing that Snape wouldn’t believe his wishes genuine even if he had heard them.

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