-Harry-

For the fourth time, Harry had been called to a meeting with the Headmaster. For the first time, he'd been called on the carpet. Embarrassed by his failure, he ended up promising Professor Dumbledore that he'd try harder to get the memory from Professor Slughorn. He hurried down the hallway now, intent on getting back to his dorm before curfew as Dumbledore had instructed, but thinking, all the while thinking, of one of the last things the Headmaster had said.

"You see, we have never been able to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort."

He'd heard the position was cursed, of course. Everyone had. It was quite the joke among the students; Fred and George had started a little side business taking bets on what would happen so that the current teacher couldn't—or wouldn't—return. He hadn't been following the betting too closely this year but understood from Ron that the twins were giving 15 to 1 that Snape would be sacked by Dumbledore, 20 to 1 that he would quit on his own and take back his Potions position and 40 to 1 that he'd leave Hogwarts to get married. He knew that the better odds were for Snape dying in some gruesome fashion, or leaving Hogwarts to be Voldemort's right-hand man, but Ron tactfully didn't go there with him.

It had all been fun and games until now. Up until now, except when it came to this year and how he now felt about Snape, it was fine to joke about how the current DADA professor would meet his—or her—end. But now all bets were off.

Because now he knew that the so-called-curse had its start with Voldemort.

And that meant…or could mean…that Snape couldn't hold onto the job either.

With Dumbledore likely…gone…next year, what did that mean? Would Slughorn retire, allowing Snape to go back to teaching Potions?

He paused on the stairs as he climbed toward Gryffindor Tower, the stolen moment in Dumbledore's Pensieve his fourth year coming to mind…Karkarov's trial at the Ministry, Karkarov giving up Snape's name in his desperate attempt to buy his way out of Azkaban, Dumbledore's continued defense of the man.

Dumbledore had not acted frail or weak but Harry had seen it. Had seen how he kept his cursed hand nearly motionless on the desk. Had seen the worry in his eyes. Had heard the intensity of his admonishment, the pressing need for Harry to return with Slughorn's memory. His message, just barely under the surface of everything they'd seen and done tonight, was that time was short.

What would happen to Severus when Dumbledore was gone? Was Dumbledore the only thing standing between Severus Snape and Azkaban Prison?

No…he knew Minerva and Severus were friends, or friends of a sort anyway. He knew that Bill Weasley understood and liked Severus, and that the Weasleys approved of this relationship they had forged.

With Dumbledore gone, could Hogwarts still protect Severus?

With Dumbledore gone, could the Ministry protect Hogwarts?

Harry was glad Severus hadn't answered his questions about Dumbledore in this last letter—he had a lot more to ask now.

/

11 March, 1997

Tuesday

Dear Severus:

I've been out of the hospital wing since yesterday morning and I still haven't seen McLaggen. He's either under a disillusionment spell or polyjuiced—though there's always the possibility he's disguised as a girl (I think he could pass for one of your Slytherin seventh years) or just hiding in the dungeons somewhere. From the way the other Gryffindors were acting tonight at dinner, I think they were expecting him to show up to lick my shoes. I made sure to go down to Hagrid's and muck around in the garden where Fang does his business before dinner to get ready for him. What a waste of good dog dirt.

Well—that's behind me now, anyway, right? Ron got out of the infirmary the same time I did so he'll be able to play in our last game. I've got more important things to worry about—like getting that memory from Professor Slughorn. I had another meeting with Professor Dumbledore last night. He really wants me to get that memory from Professor Slughorn. I could see it in his eyes, Severus—that time is running out. I've got to figure this out somehow, but I feel like I've tried everything I know how to try. Now that Hermione and Ron are friends again, I figure we might sit down together and work this one out. There's got to be a way. I feel like I've disappointed him, Severus. The way he looked at me—it made me feel like that dog dirt on my shoe. He really hasn't asked much of me, has he? And the one little thing he needs me to do I can't seem to get right.

The memories he shared with me last night were disturbing. I can see where he's going, now that I know a little bit about horcruxes. He showed me Riddle just after he left Hogwarts—he took a job at Borgin and Burkes when everyone expected him to go on and do great things with his life. Somehow, he was fascinated with objects…especially objects associated with famous people. In the first memory, he visited an old woman who was a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff. She owned a gold cup that was once Hufflepuff's. A few days later she was killed and her house elf confessed to killing her. The cup was never found. I have a funny feeling that that cup is going to show up again—all of this is going somewhere and the Headmaster is trying really hard to get me to see something but he isn't telling me—yet—what it is he wants me to see. Why is it so important that I figure it out on my own? Can't he just tell me what the wants me to do? I mean, it's not like I don't have other stuff to worry about and figure out too…

And he is getting weaker, Severus. I can tell even though he sat behind his desk the whole time—well, the whole time we weren't in the pensieve, anyway. He hardly moves his arm at all and he looks different—like he fills up less space than he used to. Maybe I'm just getting older, or maybe I'm having a growth spurt or something, but it's almost like he's shrinking. Or maybe it's just me seeing him with different eyes. If I didn't know what was going on with him, would I even have noticed these things?

I just never expected him to die, Severus. Not really. Not like this, anyway. In my experience, death doesn't come like this. It doesn't give you time to get your life in order or give last instructions or say goodbye to your loved ones. It sneaks up on you and pulls you through the veil while your back is turned.

I don't know which way I'd rather have it. I rather think I'd like to die like Sirius did, in battle and not expecting it. Or like Cedric did, after winning a trophy, not even knowing he was "the spare."

What will happen when Dumbledore's gone? Who will take his place as Headmaster? I know I already sort of asked these questions in my last letter, but didn't want you to forget to answer them.

Will Hogwarts be safe without Dumbledore? Will you be safe?

What a depressing letter. Sorry I've let all this out, but it's been on my mind for a while and more so since my meeting last night with Dumbledore. I don't know—maybe getting knocked off your broom fifty feet in the air and fracturing your skull makes you think of your own death. Or nearly seeing your best friend die.

And for the record, you can't just let Lockhart loose in Muggle London and call it a day. You have to teach him how to blend in. You're going to have to show him how to use Muggle money and ride the Underground and use Muggle appliances like a toaster and an electric shaver. I'm sure he'll take right to it, Severus. Good choice.

Have fun sleeping with Mad Eye. Do you think he sleeps with his eye in? How about his leg? Does he leave it on his bedside table with his wand? Oh…sorry. I'm sure a guy like Mad Eye Moody sleeps with his wand on him at all times.

And while you're polyjuiced into Aunt Petunia, could you give some handouts to homeless guys on the corner and tell Uncle Vernon you're pregnant?

Your question is a good one and not really all that easy to answer.

Would I rather go through life with Mad Eye's appearance, Gilderoy Lockhart's brain or Mr. McLaggen's personality?

Well, the obvious answer is "none of the above." I have a funny feeling you won't accept that one, and I also assume that I can't change McLaggen's personality if I should adopt it nor can I improve Lockhart's intellect. Now I'm trying to convince myself that appearances don't matter. OK, I'll take Mad Eye's appearance but only if I can keep my own sharp wit, droll sense of humor, keen flying ability and dazzling charisma. How much of his leg is left? Could I even hold on to a broom with a wooden leg? Because if I can't fly, I'm tossing caution to the wind and going with McLaggen's personality. A guy's gotta live.

Except…do you think he can see through girls' clothes with that eye?

And as for my last question, it's OK if you can't tell me. I'm really curious now, though, and hope that one day soon the time will be right. I have to figure out what I'm going to do with my life one of these days after all.

I'll end with two questions for you.

If you never wanted to be a teacher, what did you want to be?

And how old were you when you first saw a thestral?

Regards,

Harry

/

In the middle of the night, after finishing his letter to Severus rather late then going off to bed even after Hermione, Harry woke from a restless, dream-filled sleep. He struggled out of his twisted blankets to sit up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard and drawing his knees up to his chest.

That was no sea-dream, he thought, sorting through the images skirting the surface of his consciousness. It wasn't a vision—no, it didn't feel at all like the dreams he had lived with last year, of mysterious corridors ending in doors he yearned to open. Like most dreams, it was a mishmash of actions and images with no logical sequence or sense of space and time. He remembered arguing with Hermione, a crying Hermione, telling her that he couldn't come back to Hogwarts for his last year, that he was moving to Liverpool to become a bus driver for the Magical Mystery Tour, but he'd have lots of time off and wouldn't it be nice to see the countryside, do a bit of camping, and maybe Uncle Vernon would let them use the car? But after that all he remembered was searching…fruitless searching…peering into dark and dusty windows on deserted streets, paging through books the size of encyclopedias, all three of them—Ron, Hermione, himself—on their hands and knees on the seashore searching through the sand for a lost galleon.

Sifting sand on the seashore, a needle in a haystack, a tiny minnow in an ocean of fish.

Left with the frustrating feeling of fruitlessness, of failure. The world is too big and the goal is too small.

That ridiculous Monty Python sketch about a game of hide and seek with the whole world as a playing field.

He was left with the feeling you get when you have something important to accomplish but can never quite cross it off your list.

He knew the dream was inspired by his meeting with the Headmaster, the pensieve memory of Riddle at Hepzibah Smith's home, and his fears and insecurities about a future without Dumbledore he'd expressed in the letter he'd written right before bed.

As he worked to clear his mind and enter his watery cocoon so he could sleep a few more hours, he resolved to get the memory from Slughorn and finally cross that task at least off the list.

-Severus-

Severus dropped Harry's homework assignment, his letter, back on his desk and shook his head.

Will Hogwarts be safe without Dumbledore? Will you be safe?

What Harry hadn't asked was "Will I be safe?"

Easter Break was only two weeks away, and Severus had agreed that they could spend the holiday together. He would talk to the boy then, begin laying out the framework of a plan to try to cover the spider web of possibilities.

How could he tell the child that in all likelihood, this would be his last year at Hogwarts? Severus wasn't a seer, but even Sybil Trelawney could accurately predict what was about to happen. Dumbledore would die; Voldemort would take over the Ministry; Muggleborns would be persecuted; Hogwarts would become a training ground for junior Death Eaters.

The ever-present knot in his gut twisted. Would it be enough? Would Harry be able to see through the charade and understand, at the end, what he had done?

And why?

Dumbledore was meeting with him frequently now, passing along knowledge of the school, exacting promises from him that he didn't have a chance in hell of keeping. "If you do nothing else, Severus, keep the children safe."

And what of Harry?

"Harry will know what to do, Severus. You must let him do it; you must distract Voldemort's attention from Harry's quest." He'd caught Severus' hand then, across the desk, and pressed it urgently. "He will want to do this alone—he will want to spare his friends. If you can do anything, Severus, make sure he is not alone. His friends must be with him or he will lose all hope."

"Weasley will be the problem, not Granger," said Severus. "His loyalty to Harry has already waivered. He is more impressionable."

"Mr. Weasley will come through," said Dumbledore. "Trust in Harry, Severus. But put the idea in his mind—no, the conviction—that this quest is not his alone."

He smiled at Severus then, and began to hum a tune. It was a long-standing not-quite-joke between them, that Severus was Cevante's Quijote, on a quest to right the wrongs of the world and redeem his Dulcinea, his love of Lily.

"The dream seems even more impossible now," quipped Severus.

"Remember what you vowed, Severus," chastised the Headmaster. He continued to hum and Severus snorted.

"To be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause." He locked eyes with Albus then, and added. "My hell has changed of late."

Albus nodded. "And so, I suspect, has your heavenly cause."**

/

14 March, 1997

Friday

Dear Harry:

You are not alone in your fears and concerns, Harry. I will try to be as honest with you as possible, in the brief space afforded me by this parchment, but what I cannot write here we can talk about later, when we spend time together over mid-term break in a few weeks.

We cannot know precisely what is coming, but the fact is that Albus' time on earth is limited—as is the time of every mortal—but his more so as the curse progresses. He is old, Harry, and the great power he holds within has given him a strength these last years to defy the outward progression of this age. And with age comes wisdom, and acceptance, and he is facing his own mortality and planning as much as he is able for the safety of those he loves.

Sometimes, Harry, it is as difficult to accept that you are loved as to admit that you love. I am fortunate, indeed, to count myself among those that Albus loves, as are you, but we began our association on rocky footing, one of us—that being Albus—having the "upper hand" in the relationship, as he saved me from Azkaban and exacted from me a long-term commitment.

Those were more than five words, of course, to dance around the answer to the question you asked in your previous letter. Up until that time, I had my mind set on being a Potions researcher, spending my days buried in a lab producing not boil cures and bruise salves for children but new varieties of Veritaserum and Polyjuice, a cure for lycanthropy, potions to slow the aging process or reverse deadly curses.

What I can tell you to ease some of your fears is that Albus has a plan. He always has a plan, Harry. He cannot assure our safety, and he cannot assure the safety of Hogwarts, but he has attempted to weave together the possibilities to create a working plan with his goal the elimination of the Dark Lord, a goal shared by all of us.

It will get much worse before it gets better, Harry. There will be darker days ahead, for the Dark Lord has already set much in motion that will be difficult if not impossible to stop. You cannot count on Albus being here for you, or even me, though it pains me to admit this to you. I am a servant to a volatile master.

You can count on your friends, though, and you must share your load with them. Put aside your desire to save them from pain and loss and accept that you are not truly whole without them nor they without you.

And know that as long as I am able, I will do all in my power to help you along the way. I ask only that you never doubt this, no matter what outward appearances may indicate.

This letter has a serious tone, as did yours, but you have asked serious questions and are deserving of answers.

I will be very clear on one point—I cannot guarantee that Hogwarts will be safe for you without Albus here. Therefore you must plan for that eventuality. Confide in your friends when the time is right, Harry. Wait as long as you can, until the term ends if you are able, but before then if you must.

In answer to your second question, I was 11 years old when I saw a thestral for the first time. The horseless carriages at Hogwarts when I arrived for my first term were not horseless to me. I knew what the beasts were from my childhood readings, but had never seen one in the flesh. I had a grandmother when I was very young, my mother's grandmother, actually, and she died when I was six years old. My mother and I were with her when she passed, and it was the most peaceful experience of death I have ever had, a very fitting way for a young person to see death for the first time. She died peacefully, after a long life, at home in her own bed. My mother reached down and closed her eyes and that was that. Her cheek was still warm when I kissed it.

A question for you, then, Harry. When did you first see the thestrals? I wonder if your first experience with death even registered as you were so young at the time.

By the way, your behavior in Defense Class this afternoon was less than stellar. I have appreciated the "sullen" acceptance you have adopted in my class. We can avoid direct confrontations that way, yet still give every appearance of despising each other in a "simmering beneath the surface" type of way. But confronting me directly as you did today should have earned you a detention on top of those house points. My suggestion that we not test the acne curse on your friend Mr. Weasley as the affliction would not be apparent with all those freckles was a simple statement of fact. It should not have inspired your rancor. Is something else going on that you want to speak about?

Yes, I imagine that magical eye of Mad Eye's can see through clothing. Not just girl's clothing, though. Hagrid's too.

Regards,

Severus

/

It was Friday night, just after dinner and Severus had already completed most of his difficult marking for the week. The first, second and third years had all had exams and he would ask two of his seventh year NEWTs students mark them on Sunday during their work group.

He had a backlog of reading to do to stay current on Potions research and advancements, and Minerva had invited him up for cribbage and coffee. He decided to visit her first and then return, nicely sedated, to digest the dry material in Potions Weekly (three unread issues) and Potions Quarterly (thankfully, only one).

Minerva happened to be standing in the Entry Hall when he broke the surface from the dungeons. She had her cloak on.

"Oh, Severus. Good." She held up an oversized thermos and three plastic cups. "I was hoping you'd join me us the pitch for a little while. Gryffindor's about to start practicing and I want to make sure our keeper and our seeker don't overtax themselves."

"Us?" asked Severus, looking around the room and seeing no one else.

"Albus is already down there," she replied. Her eyes looked worried. "Said he was feeling a bit stir-crazy."

Severus fetched his cloak and joined his colleague for the walk through the brisk nearly dark evening. The pitch ahead of them was bright with spell light.

"They begged me for an extra practice session so I finally consented," she explained as they walked. "They felt they lost a lot of momentum with that last game."

Severus and Minerva joined Albus in the stands.

"That child was born to fly," said Albus by way of greeting as they settled down on either side of him. His eyes were on Harry, as they often were. Harry seemed not to have noticed his audience.

"That boy was born to do a great many things," answered Severus. "Would that all of them be as easy…and as pleasant."

Minerva passed each of them a steaming mug of her special coffee and they quietly toasted the Boy Who Lived.

**The Quest

From "Man of La Mancha"

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go

To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far

To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest

And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star