Harry had managed to break free of both Ron and Hermione and was sequestered in an empty classroom practicing non-verbal spells. Defense class was tomorrow and he was determined to finally produce a non-verbal shield spell. He could produce a Lumos nonverbally now, and a Wingardium Leviosa. He'd managed an Accio in Charms yesterday too. But for some reason, the offensive and defensive spells didn't come to him as easily when he didn't actually speak the words of the spell.

Sighing, he sat down at one of the empty desks and pulled out his Defense homework. Best get started on it—two feet on the fundamental differences between reflecting shields and absorbing shields, when to use each and a critique of the Auror Corp's "Shields as Offensive Weapons" program.

He gave up after getting half-way through, measured to the bottom of his parchment, and began his letter to Severus.

/

7 November, 1996

Thursday

Dear Severus:

You sure gave me a lot to think about! Of course, I will NEVER get the image of Aunt Petunia licking your teeth out of my mind—EVER! You have damaged me deeply and permanently and are going to have to get a second job to fun my psychiatric treatment. That might not even be enough to stop the night terrors. You also now have me thinking that my mum was cruel and heartless and you owe me! So, I'm going to start asking you questions about her in these letters and you have to promise me to answer them fully and truthfully. Here are my first two: What were my mum's parents like? What was she afraid of?

Thanks, too, for putting the idea in my mind of talking with Minerva about sex. What a great plan! I'll just knock on her office door and when she opens it I'll say something like "Hi, Minerva. I was wondering if it's unusual to dream about being in bed with several naked girls at the same time." I'm pretty sure she'd invite me in, offer me tea then launch an in-depth discussion to help me analyze these dreams and understand the symbolism of multiple naked girls in my bed. Hopefully, there will be time to discuss female erogenous zones. And since she's so familiar with the castle, she can tell me some good "secret rendezvous" places that are less obvious than the astronomy tower. I know! I'll ask her where she used to go with her lovers when she was a student here! And yes, I will be telling her that you were the one that suggested that I go to my guardian to get answers to my questions about sex.

You probably have already noticed that Ron and Lavender Brown have a new "relationship." It mainly consists of snogging, and neither one seems to care where they do it—in the common room, out in the hallways, in empty classrooms, in the potions supply cupboard while Professor Slughorn isn't looking. Ron's lips are actually bruised from all the abuse they're getting. I've never ever actually seen them have a conversation—I suppose talking would keep them from snogging so it's considered wasted time. Hermione isn't happy and isn't speaking to him, putting me in the middle. Why can't they just figure out the like each other? This fight is all a big misunderstanding anyway—I DIDN'T put the Felix Felicis in Ron's pumpkin juice before the match but I made him think I did. It totally changed his attitude. Hermione thought I really put it in there and she was all bent out of shape because she thought we cheated. Then she and Ron got into it because Ron thought that Hermione didn't think he could play that well without "help." One thing led to another and suddenly Ron and Lavender were making out in front of everyone. So, I'm kind of walking on eggshells with those two again. One positive (if you can call it that) is that I'm getting a lot more homework done—that's what happens when you spend a lot of time with Hermione.

OK, I'll tell you the truth about the Hog's Head. Hermione scouted out Hogsmeade at the beginning of Fifth Year looking for a place we could all meet that wouldn't have Hogwarts students or professors wandering in and seeing us. She found the Hog's Head and we had a meeting there to plan our Defense Association—the group we nick-named "Dumbledore's Army." I didn't go upstairs or anything—I'm pretty sure I'd think long and hard before taking a room there if the upstairs rooms are anywhere near as dirty as the downstairs. The barman didn't exactly encourage us to come back—gave us dusty bottles of warm butterbeer. Well—he didn't actually give them to us—he SOLD them to us, and at a pretty ridiculous price too.

You think you're pretty funny changing the HSSS signal, don't you? I saw you rub your chin then pull on your earlobe when Blaise Zabini walked by you when you were talking to Crabbengoyle in the hallway before class. I also noticed that Crabbengoyle didn't seem to have any idea what you were on about, so I take it they're not in the club? What, hands the size of mallets and brains the size of peas aren't considered sexy enough for you Slytherins? You know—I never asked if your club is co-ed. I'm going to have to start watching you around the girls too. If Millicent's beard gets any longer, I'm sure you'll be inducting her at your next meeting.

You'll be happy to know that I finally managed a nonverbal spell on Tuesday night in my Animagus study session. We've been doing something fun that doesn't require magic at all—verbal or not. We make lists of people we know and try to determine what animal suits them. It's not as easy as it might sound. I picked the cowardly lion from "The Wizard of Oz" for Neville. Minerva picked a black bear for Hagrid. Then I picked a blackbird for you. You know why, don't you? OK, it's mostly the Beatle's song ("You were only waiting for this moment to arise"). But blackbirds—and I think of ravens for some reason—are smart, and crafty, and long-lived. I look at them as survivors, just like you. "Take these broken wings and learn to fly…." I heard on the news once in London about a raven that flew down to a picnic table where a family was eating and nicked their car keys and flew off with them to its nest. Come to think of it, that was probably you in your Animagus form having some fun, wasn't it? Maybe you don't need a second job after all—you can steal galleons from wizards' nightstands where they empty their pockets and everyone will just think you're a simple bird attracted by shiny objects.

Anyway, while we were doing this exercise, the room was getting kind of dark and Minerva asked me to turn the lights up. I picked up my wand and she gave me this look—you know the one—that reminded me that I had to do it non-verbally. So I tried—I really did and for all my efforts I got the candles on her sideboard to light! I guess I'm not good enough yet for the oil lamps, but at least I didn't set the whole castle on fire like Hermione probably would have done she'd have been so good at it. Minerva seemed pleased enough, at least. Now that I know I can do it it's been easier. I managed a couple spells in Charms yesterday and tomorrow in Defense you won't even recognize me. If all goes as I suspect it will, I'll go in all ready to impress the socks off of you then you'll hurl some insult at me and then I'll non-verbally turn your eyebrows pink. Or maybe vanish them all together. Hmmm…maybe I can learn to do the shaving charm non-verbally. If I used it on someone else, would it necessarily only remove the hair on their face?

Speaking of shaving charms, didn't William Shakespeare have a beard? And speaking of Shakespeare, I am now the proud owner of "The Riverside Shakespeare," a volume approximately the size of the Rosetta Stone. It was a gift from Hermione. She had her mum buy two of them and send them to her via owl. I'm sure the owl used to deliver these books has died, resigned or checked itself into St. Mungo's with a hernia. What's worse—Ron was supposed to go through this torture with me but now that he's with Lavender, Hermione's having nothing to do with him. I get the feeling a lot of people die in Shakespeare's plays—probably young, and tragically—because Hermione seems reluctant to read some of the plays I've suggested that sound more interesting than "The Taming of the Shrew" like "Hamlet" and "MacBeth." I think I'll do an essay for extra credit in Defense. "Voldemort as Tragic Hero: Victim or Villain?"

I have an idea the chess game won't last as long as I thought it would what with Ron in virtual perpetual lip lock with Lavender. I think he's not thinking with the "right" brain anymore…

And thanks for what you did in class the other day. Admitting those things about myself was brilliant. I just let the spell wash over me and the truth came out…yet everyone thought I had thrown off the spell. Your questions were brilliant—of course. I've come to expect brilliance from you.

Regards,

Harry

/

He'd reread the letter quickly and rolled it up just as the classroom door opened and Ron and Lavender spilled into the room, laughing. They hadn't seen him, and he was treated to a full minute of snogging and groping—Ron's hands were definitely not somewhere his mother would approve of—before they saw him and jumped quickly apart.

"Sorry, Harry," said Ron. He didn't sound too sorry, though. He sounded more breathless than anything.

"Get a room," muttered Harry as he made his way out of the room and into the hallway.

He wasn't jealous of Ron. If he wanted someone to snog, he'd just have to look sideways at Romilda Vane. Right?

-Severus-

Severus had managed to get away from the castle on Saturday evening for a quick visit to the Hog's Head and a drink with the barkeep. Abeforth—for the proprietor of the establishment was indeed Albus Dumbledore's younger brother—pushed a pint glass across the bar at him. "Bitters tonight," he said. He never let Severus choose his own drink but then again, he never accepted payment from Severus either so he couldn't complain.

"Yeah, the Potter boy and his entourage did come in here last year. We almost never get Hogwarts students here—it put off my regulars a bit. Seemed like quite a bright boy—but I suppose he lives and breathes for Albus, eh?

Snape downed the dregs of his bitters and shook his head. "No, you're wrong there," he said. "I'm happy to say that he's in Albus' camp instead of Voldemort's, but I'm making sure he knows everything he needs to—and that's a good deal more than Albus has told him."

"Well, keep him away from the Hog's Head, then," said Abeforth. "That should help keep him alive a bit longer."

/

10 November, 1996

Sunday

Dear Harry:

I've just finished a meeting with Minerva. As your guardian, she of course receives your midterm grades and was concerned that your Defense marks were only Acceptable. She noted that in previous years you've consistently scored Outstandings in the subject. I reminded her that in previous years you did not have the excellent instruction you have this year, and were not challenged to the degree you are in my class. She gave me the look—you know the one—and made me promise to cut back the "psychological" abuse so you can "realize your potential." Actually, I had meant to talk with you about your grades, Harry. I do believe they'll begin to improve now that you are beginning to master non-verbal spells, but really, you're going to have to do better than an "Accio" when you are trying to block a jelly legs jinx. I'm not sure what you were TRYING to do—summon your opponent? Summon the spell itself? But when Miss Brown's book satchel flew across the room and hit you in the shoulder, making your subsequent stunning spell go astray and hit Mr. Weasley—well, all I can say is that the laughter was deserved. To your credit, you looked like you actually took it all in stride. Perhaps this is because you managed to knock out your best friend? Miss Granger did not look unduly worried, though Miss Brown's attempt at mouth-to-mouth resuscitation was totally wasted as Mr. Weasley was simply stunned, not dead. I hope you all appreciated the detention I assigned her with Hagrid. She seems just the type for a romp through the Forbidden Forest.

Truthfully, Harry, a bit more attention to your written Defense homework will go far to improving your grades. I know you enjoy our correspondence, but try to finish the homework first and reward yourself afterward with the letter. I can tell by the way you space your sentences that you often skip to the end of the assignment and write the letter before you write the assignment.

I was greatly intrigued by your exercise with Minerva that you described in your letter. I can, indeed, see Hagrid as a bear and yes, I am familiar with "The Wizard of Oz" and think the cowardly lion an apt fit for Mr. Longbottom. Let me assure you first of all that I am NOT an Animagus, never having studied the art. I do not frequent Muggle parks or wizard bedrooms to nick keys and coins or other shiny objects. However, I have been intrigued with crows and ravens for some time, perhaps, like you, due to the song you reference. Many attribute this song as Paul's reaction to the racial tension in the States in the 1960s. The song also speaks of death, and the afterlife. The raven also appears in a famous poem by Edgar Allen Poe, aptly named "The Raven." Since you seemingly enjoyed the Muggle literature you read this summer, I am relatively secure in my belief that you'd do well to expand your mind further. But let's leave it at Shakespeare for the time being. And yes, you are correct. There are a great many tragic heroes in Shakespeare, and Shakespeare enjoys killing them off in a great variety of ways. As he wrote quite a few historical plays, he doesn't always get to choose the manner of death—it would certainly stand out if Julius Caesar died of appendicitis or hurled himself off of a balcony. I look forward to your self-assigned extra credit assignment. Perhaps that is just what is needed to bring up your grade to an Exceeds Expectations.

I took the liberty of copying the paragraph from your letter regarding that frank discussion you plan to have with your guardian so that she could do some advance preparation. I saw her in Madam Pomfrey's office earlier today going through a list of female erogenous zones and consulting a book on the interpretation of erotic dreams. The dreams you mention—the ones with multiple naked girls in your bed—they WERE erotic in nature, were they not? It is quite possible (though admittedly not very probable) that the girls in your dream were engaged in some totally non-erotic activity such as knitting, or studying or perhaps even meditating. However, since you are 16, I would imagine that even these activities could be considered erotic, being as the girls were unclothed.

On to your story about last week's Quidditch match and the Felix Felicis that you did not put into Mr. Weasley's drink. As I understand after piecing together your meandering thoughts, you pretended to dose Mr. Weasley with the potion, making him THINK he was under its influence when in fact, he was not. In short, he experienced the "placebo" effect. Yet Miss Granger believed that you indeed did give him the potion, and attributed his stellar performance to the drug. Mr. Weasley then took it that she questioned his Quidditch skills (small wonder). Ahhh…teen angst. Give them time, Harry. I am confident that Mr. Weasley will tire of a purely physical relationship by the Spring and will look for something more. He may tire of it earlier when his head of house and Madam Pomfrey take him and his female friend aside to give them "the talk." As this is a boarding school, and we cannot expect the students' parents to step in, it is school policy for the Heads of House and Madam Pomfrey to take new "couples" aside to explain the ramifications of an unplanned pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases and having an "ex" who lives in your house and who you cannot avoid. I have had the pleasure of having these conversations many times and Madam Pomfrey brings an interesting series of pamphlets (ahem) and full-color moving graphics. It is enough to turn one off of sex permanently.

I am NOT going to give you any more fodder regarding misdirected shaving charms. Try it on yourself first.

So at last we come to the questions about your mother. I suppose I will change the rules for you and allow two questions per letter. However, I will counter with two of my own. Agreed?

You ask about your grandparents. Your grandmother's name was Amelia and your grandfather's Charles. They owned and operated a local grocery. Both your mother and your aunt worked there throughout their teen years, your mother during the summers, of course. Mrs. Evans—of course, I called her that—was a spirited, lively woman who played the organ at their church and who had an exceedingly open mind. Petunia favors her in appearance more than her father. Mr. Evans was tall and bald but Lily's red hair came from him. He read constantly, enjoyed the classics, and taught me to play chess. Sadly, both were killed in an accident not long before your mother and father married. A drunk driver plowed into a crowd of people leaving church on a Sunday—a number of others were killed in that accident as well. By that time, your mother and I were no longer on good terms, but I attended the funeral services and know that she was devastated. Did your aunt not even speak of her parents to you? Were there no pictures of them in the house on Privet Drive? Your aunt adored her father, especially. I cannot fathom why she would erase them from her life.

Your mother's fears…an interesting question. I wonder why you thought of that one. Interestingly, you have not even a vestige of either of the fears I am about to share with you. She did not like snakes, and she was terrified of heights. The Astronomy tower scared her, as did riding a broom.

Now, my questions:

Why have you stopped mentioning Draco Malfoy in your letters?

Why do you want to be an Auror?

Regards,

Severus

/

Severus placed his quill on the desk and rubbed his forehead. He'd had a long evening already, having once more spent several hours in Albus' quarters, trying to contain the curse that was slowly working its way up the Headmaster's arm. Albus was stoic, as usual, putting up with Snape's ministrations in order to gain time—a few extra weeks, maybe a couple of months—time to work with Harry, to locate more horcruxes. Snape was sure Albus hadn't revealed that particular bomb yet to Harry—Harry would never be able to keep that revelation to himself.

He was beginning to make plans for the Christmas holiday. He normally spent a week at Spinner's End over the holiday, but this year he planned to take Harry to Shell Cottage. Albus wanted him to spend time at the Burrow as well. He would have to contact Molly and Arthur and see what could be arranged.

He looked at the post owl chess game and shook his head. Girlfriend in lip lock or not, it was obvious that Mr. Weasley was thinking with the "right" brain. Snape had been contemplating his next move since he first read the letter on Friday evening. He finally decided and moved his white bishop.

He was looking forward to playing Mr. Weasley a real game of chess some day. Perhaps over the holidays it could be arranged.

-Harry-

He'd done it! He'd finally managed a non-verbal spell more complex than a summoning charm. It was made all the better by having done it in Defense Class, creating a reflecting shield that had bounced Zabini's stinging hex back at him and hitting him just below the belt. Harry did his best not to look smug and because he knew Snape as well as he did, he could, for a change, see through Snape's cruel retort and docking of points to the pride he felt at Harry's success.

He was sitting on his bed now, having just read the first scenes of "The Taming of the Shrew" and then skipping ahead in the compilation volume to read Hamlet's famous soliloquy and then the death scenes in "Romeo and Juliet" and "Julius Caesar." He resolved then and there never to admit this to Hermione. She HATED cheating.

/

13 November, 1996

Wednesday

Dear Severus:

What about class today! I will, for the rest of my life, savor the look on Zabini's face when his stinging hex bounced off my NON-VERBAL shield and hit him in his bits. I'm still a bit smug about it, and am the hero of the 6th year Gryffindors—even the girls.

About my mum's parents—no, Aunt Petunia never talked about them. I remember when Dudley asked about them once—I think he thought they owed him some presents or something. She said "They're dead and never mention them again." If Dudley got that kind of response from her, I'd probably have been thrown in my cupboard for a week. So, needless to say, little Harry never asked. I learned that early.

What's weird is that I knew about that accident—it happened around 1979 or 1980, I think. There was a memorial plaque on the church wall where it happened and I used to read it when I walked by—it wasn't far from my primary school. All the times I saw that and wondered about those people—and I never knew my grandparents had died right there.

Point taken with my Defense homework. I finished it all tonight before I started this letter, and I think I did a decent job on it. I guess you're not going to be satisfied with my feeble excuse that practical magic is where my strength lies and I suck at theory? Didn't think so.

Thanks for opening the door with Minerva for me. I'm going to have to learn to stop joking around in these letters because you are much better at it than I am and I end up in an uncomfortable place where I am having to contemplate "female erogenous" zones and instructional pamphlets from Madam Pomfrey. I think I will remain single and celibate. But that was your intention all along, wasn't it? I do need a guest for Slughorn's Christmas party. I'm thinking of asking Tonks. What do you think? She's older and unlikely to kiss and tell.

By the way, Ron and Lavender had the "talk" yesterday that you told me about in your last letter. He still looks green in the face and he actually had a nightmare last night and woke up screaming something about "genital warts." I NEVER want to have that "talk" if it involves the words "genital" and "warts" in the same sentence.

I've started reading "The Taming of the Shrew" but you've got me interested in those tragic heroes, so I'm reading "Hamlet" too. Well, I'm reading bits of it. The good bits. Don't you think there should be "The Good Bits" versions of all great books?

Guess I should get around to answering those questions you asked.

Haven't I been mentioning Draco? I believe I referred to him directly in the letter where I described your HSSS "secret signal," didn't I? As for why I am not mentioning him as frequently—isn't it obvious? I am taking your advice and worrying about my own problems and not his. I am sure the adults are capable of keeping an eye on the sneaky git and will make sure that he doesn't carry out whatever evil plot he's working on. I can mention him a few times here now, if that will make up for lost time. Let's see, his Animagus would be a ferret. He probably has genital warts. His greatest fear—to wake up and find there were no mirrors in the castle.

Why do I want to be an Auror? That's easy—I can do what I'm best at and help keep our world safe.

Now it's time for my questions. And I'm changing the rules again. Ha! You'll see what I mean…

What are you afraid of? What were your parents like? I mean, I know that your mother taught you to play gobstones and your father tossed you a box of condoms…but I'd hate to form all my opinions from those two facts…

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry was tired. He'd given up trying to transfigure the dozen cat toy mice into real mice—non-verbally. Minerva had set this task for him for their next Animagus studies lesson and so far he'd managed nothing more than getting one to twitch its tail.

He closed his eyes and relaxed on his waterbed. It was much more comfortable since Hermione had helped him with a heating charm to regulate the temperature of his former "block of ice." He started to clear his mind, to meditate, but as he drifted toward sleep he could clearly see the image of the memorial plaque on the church near his school, could read the names of the victims, could clearly see the names Amelia Evans and Charles Evans. He wondered then what else was hidden from him, but right under his eyes all the time.