… and Sirius fell …

Harry gasped his way out of the familiar nightmare – again – waking in an unfamiliar room instead of his familiar cell at the Dursleys' house. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was actually in Ron's room at the Burrow, and that the repetitive drone drowning out the night insects was actually Ron's snoring.

Willing his heart to slow its pounding, Harry tossed aside the covers and stood up. His limbs were still shaking from the nightmare, and he grasped the bedpost at the foot of the bed, trying to steady himself as he gulped fresh air. In his mind's eye, he could still see Sirius' face…

Desperate to escape the vicinity of his bed, for it was somehow easier to blame the bed for the nightmare, however illogical it might seem, Harry crept barefoot across Ron's floor, trying not to trip over the jumble of clothes, shoes, and other sundry items which typically littered the floor of a room occupied by teenage males. He made it to the door and slipped into the upper level of the twisting stairway.

Although he'd thought only so far as getting to the bathroom to splash water on his face, Harry ended up feeling his way down, down, down the steps, easing around irregular corners in near-total darkness. Normally, once he'd gone to sleep at the Weasleys' comfortable home, he'd sleep like a log until morning and had never appreciated until now how very dark it was on a moonless night in the country. In contrast, Privet Drive had streetlamps to alleviate the nocturnal obscurity, turning the interior of Number 4 into a reasonably navigable gloom. But this…

Harry was almost to the ground floor before he realized he'd left his wand on the small table between his bed and Ron's. The Ministry of Magic did permit the use of a Lumos outside of school for students of all ages. Sighing, he made his careful way down the final flight of steps and padded toward the kitchen. Feeling his way through the darkness, he located the sink and dashed a couple of handfuls of water against his face. The water continued to gurgle and groan through the pipes after he'd turned off the spigot. Finally, he fumbled Mrs. Weasley's dishtowel from its hook and blotted his face.

Sirius…

Harry pulled one of the mismatched chairs from the kitchen table and sank down into it. He couldn't stop having the nightmare. He kept reliving the scene in the Department of Mysteries all day long, day after day, and he kept waking in a cold sweat night after night. He kept seeing Sirius' face … and superimposed over his godfather, Snape's sneering visage.

Snape.

Harry's fists clenched. No matter how he looked at it, no matter what the angle, no matter what Dumbledore said, it always came back to Snape. Sirius didn't have to die – shouldn't have died – but Snape had made sure of it.

Snape had hated Sirius and Harry knew why. And when the opportunity had come his way to rid himself of his schooldays nemesis, Snape had taken full advantage. Oh, sure, he'd alerted the Order as to where Harry and his friends had gone … EVENTUALLY. But how long had he actually DELAYED? That's what kept eating at Harry. Sirius needn't have died, if only Snape hadn't delayed. Harry had given Snape the information. He was sure Snape had understood. But had Snape ever tried to stop the members of the D.A. from taking action, knowing full well that they would inevitably try?

No.

After five years at Hogwarts, five years of Snape popping out of the woodwork in the most unlikely of places, five years of his perpetually spying on Harry, Ron, and Hermione – well... it just proved that Snape COULD have acted in time. If he'd CHOSEN to.

Which he hadn't.

Harry shrugged in the dark of Molly Weasley's kitchen. One tiny part of his conscience argued that he shouldn't have headed off to the Ministry, leading his friends into danger. Another tiny part of his conscience nagged that Sirius should have stayed at Grimmauld Place, where he was safe. But the main part of Harry's mind burned with anger, knowing that if Severus Snape had acted as quickly as Dumbledore CLAIMED he had, the entire disaster could have been prevented. When Harry thought back to Third Year and Snape throwing a screaming fit, desperate for Sirius to be Kissed by a Dementor - no, there was NO WAY that Snape had acted as quickly as Dumbledore said he did. Snape WANTED Sirius to die. To be rid of him once and for all. As for the role played by Harry's faulty Occlumency … hell, it had been Snape's decision to end those lessons with Harry. Snape was the teacher – "authority" – and Harry was just a student. Absolutely – no matter how you sliced it, in the end, every piece of blame had Snape's name boldly emblazoned upon it.

The wooden chair scraped loudly across the floor as he stood up and headed for the sink again. This time, his fingers scrabbled through a couple of overhead cupboards until he found a tall glass, which he filled to overflowing with cold water. The pipes groaned and clanked again as he gulped down the water, but the cold liquid did nothing to quench the burning desire in his heart.

Harry wanted REVENGE.

He BURNED for revenge.

Revenge for Sirius.

And wouldn't Sirius himself have wanted revenge against Snape?

Harry clattered the empty glass into the sink, frowning. Deciding he was tired of sitting on the straight-backed chair at the table, he wandered toward the living room, banging his elbow painfully on a corner of the unseen china cabinet. Maybe he should have lit a candle after all, he grumbled, massaging his elbow. Then, leaning over, he patted the darkened air before him until he felt the arm of the sofa. Sighing in relief, he plopped down, allowing himself to be swallowed by the soft upholstery.

Revenge…

Nearly-Headless-Nick had said that Sirius wouldn't hang around as a ghost, Harry recalled sadly. It would've been … hmm … not "nice", necessarily, but … comforting? reassuring? … to still have Sirius available to him in SOME form, Harry mused. Even if Sirius were only a ghost. Although, he conceded, it was hard to imagine Sirius being "only" a ghost.

Imagine if Sirius were a POLTERGEIST!

Even Peeves would run for cover!

Harry chuckled in spite of himself.

And imagine – if Sirius were hanging about Hogwarts as a ghost or poltergeist, he could avenge himself against Snape! Sirius could HAUNT Snape! He could make Snape's life a greasy-gitty MISERY!

Harry closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the softness of the comfy sofa. He grinned in the darkness, allowing himself to envision the Potions Master's unrelenting demeanor cracking beneath the onslaught of an endlessly-vengeful Gryffindor ghost. Or poltergeist. Harry smiled. Cradled by the warm cushions, the youth fell into the first truly restful sleep he'd had in more than two months.

-:- -:- -:-

Snape's desperate dash through the greenhouses culminated in a confused scene involving a vat of bubotuber pus which smelled improbably of frying sausages and eggs…

Harry jerked awake, still hearing Sirius' wild cackle echoing off the steamy glass of the greenhouse windows.

"Sleep well, mate?"

Harry sensed Ron grinning at him through his freckles, but everything looked unaccountably blurry.

"I brought down your glasses and your wand," Ron announced, pushing something cold and wiry against Harry's fingers.

Automatically, Harry slid his glasses over his nose before grasping his familiar holly wand. "Thanks."

"So, why were you down here in the middle of the night without your glasses or your wand?" Ron wanted to know.

Harry sniffed the comforting scent of Mrs. Weasley's breakfast-making expertise drifting in from the kitchen. "Couldn't sleep," he admitted. He stretched several different ways before standing up. "But once I got downstairs, it seemed … easier."

"Hmm," was Ron's only comment. "Well, Mum should have breakfast on the table soon."

"Great!"

Both boys laughed as Harry's stomach rumbled loudly.

"I'll just dash to the bathroom first," Harry said, heading for the stairs.

"See you at the table," Ron called after him. "And don't forget – Hermione's coming over later."

-:- -:- -:-

The three Gryffindor soon-to-be-Sixth-Years clustered in a shady corner of the Burrow's back porch.

"Can you BELIEVE this?" Ron groaned. "It's not enough to just send our O.W.L. results. Oh, no – they have to send…" He threw up his hands in disgust. "It just ruined the rest of my summer!"

Even Hermione had looked taken aback to begin with, but she now pored over page after page after page of the additional enclosures which had come with the O.W.L. scores.

"We're N.E.W.T. students now, Ronald. It only makes sense that we'd be given a heads-up before school begins this year. I think it's wonderful that the teachers all sent syllabi for our prospective Sixth Year classes. Now we can see what we're facing before we choose our classes."

Ron groused something under his breath.

"What?" asked Hermione, regarding the redhead suspiciously.

"I said, you know you'll sign up for every class anyway, and besides, I haven't even finished my summer homework."

Hermione sniffed, tossing her bushy ponytail to emphasize her retort. "I'll bet you haven't even started it."

"Harry?" Ron looked to his friend for support. "Have you done your summer homework yet?"

The dark-haired boy nodded absently. "Most of it. For once, the Dursleys didn't lock up my trunk, so I did as much as I could before they could change their minds." He turned another page of the Charms syllabus. "I held off on doing anything for Potions until my O.W.L. scores came. Looks like I don't have to write the essay after all, since Snape will never let me in his class with just Exceeds Expectations."

"You should write it anyway, Harry," Hermione asserted from deep within her Arithmancy syllabus. "Just think of it as the end of Fifth Year work instead of the beginning of Sixth Year."

The boys shared a snort and an eyeroll.

"So, what do you think you'll take?" asked Ron morosely, poking unenthusiastically at his own pile of syllabi.

Harry pointed at Flitwick's requirements. "Did you see this? We have to INVENT a Charm this year."

"Really?" Hermione's head bent over Harry's syllabus, her eyes darting back and forth across the elegantly-printed lines. "Well, we can't just up and invent something out of the blue, you know. Professor Flitwick requires a prospectus and a conference, and he'll probably be supervising our efforts throughout the term."

Ron was staring at his own copy of the Charms syllabus. "What kinds of Charms haven't already been invented yet?"

Hermione took a sip of her lemonade, her forehead crinkled with thought.

"What about a Haunting Charm?" pondered Harry aloud.

Hermione spewed lemonade everywhere.

"HAUNTING Charm?" Ron's jaw had dropped practically to his chest. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Hermione's brown eyes were about as wide as Harry had ever seen them.

"Forget it," he muttered. "Dumb idea."

Harry saw his friends exchange a Look, and somehow, he knew they weren't going to forget about the Haunting Charm. And neither was he.

If Sirius couldn't haunt Severus Snape the way the greasy dungeon git deserved, then Harry would just have to figure out a way to manage it himself.

-:- -:- -:-

By the end of the first week of Sixth Year, Harry was spending every spare minute in the Hogwarts library. Amazingly, he'd managed to enroll in N.E.W.T. Potions after all, thanks to the advent of a new Potions Master, Horace Slughorn. And thanks to the loan of a dilapidated but incredibly-annotated textbook, Harry's progress in N.E.W.T. Potions had delighted Slughorn and disgusted Hermione. And further thanks to the fact that Harry wasn't constantly blowing up cauldrons, he had far fewer detentions and far more time to spend on his Charms research. If ONLY he could manage to keep his mouth shut in Snape's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes…

"Potter!"

Speak of the devil.

"Hello, Professor," Harry said as politely as he could, given that he'd involuntarily jumped a mile when Snape spat out his name in the Restricted Section of the library. From somewhere beyond the stacks, he heard a distant "SHHH!" in Madam Pince's distinctive admonitory hiss. Keep calm, Harry told himself. Stay out of detention. Don't give him an excuse. Don't make eye contact.

"What you YOU doing in the Restricted Section, Potter?" demanded Snape, looming over the Gryffindor's table intimidatingly.

"Research, sir," Harry replied, continuing to copy notes from an oversized book. "For Professor Flitwick's class."

A black-clad arm reached out, and the Defense teacher snatched up Harry's sheet of inky parchment. "Chronological Delimitation," the odious man read aloud in a sneering tone.

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on the massive leather-bound tome. 'Yes, sir. Professor Flitwick assigned us an essay on how to effectively limit the duration of a Charm."

Snape slapped the parchment down on the oak table before Harry. "As it stands, Potter, your so-called ESSAY consists of sheer plagiarism. You haven't even attempted to include a fragment of originality. Plagiarism is grounds for expulsion, Potter, in case you haven't bothered to review your student handbook since First Year."

Beneath the table, Harry's fists clenched into painful balls of throbbing flesh. But he fought to keep his voice politely even as he replied yet again. "With all respect, Professor, this is not my essay. These are merely my initial research notes."

The tall man leaned down from behind Harry, planting a pale hand on the table on either side of the boy. "Is. That. So." he hissed against the back of Harry's neck, his hot breath causing the hapless Gryffindor to shudder despite his determination not to react.

"Yes, sir," Harry said stonily, wishing simultaneously that he could slug Snape with his aching fists and that Snape would go away so Harry wouldn't actually have to resort to physical violence.

The hovering man straightened abruptly. "I shall advise Professor Flitwick to be alert for any signs of plagiarism." Snape swept away from the table so quickly that the breeze from his robes caused Harry's notes to scatter across the table top.

"Git," the boy muttered under his breath when the insufferable man had truly gone. Harry's emerald eyes flashed angrily. "If I can just make this work, you'll get what's coming to you!"

-:- -:- -:-

By the third week of fall term, Harry had compiled the basic components necessary to create his Haunting Charm, but he still needed to pin down the various theories involved and figure out how to combine them in order to achieve the desired results. Flitwick's prospectus was due by the end of September.

It was Hermione who brought things into the open.

"Childrearing Charms for New Parents?" she read aloud, peering down into Harry's bag where the title was visible on the spine of the slender volume. "What on earth…?"

Harry glanced around quickly to make sure nobody was close enough to listen in as he, Ron, and Hermione sat near the shore of the Black Lake on a warm Saturday, golden afternoon sunlight glinting off the surface of the cobalt waters.

"But it's perfect," he said, pulling out the book. "See here? The Guilt Charm? It's in the category of Compulsion Charms. In addition to using specific Charms to get kids to eat all their food, or clean their rooms, or practice good hygiene, and so on, there's also a special Charm that parents can use to cause a child to experience a mild sense of guilt as a result of having done something wrong, or if they have failed to do something that was required of them."

Hermione frowned. "I can't say I approve of a – Compulsion Charm? – of any sort, especially when used against children."

Harry shrugged. "The Guilt Charm is actually a subcategory of Compulsion Charms. I guess it's up to individual parents, but I wouldn't use one on a child unless I had completely run out of other options."

Hermione smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear that, Harry."

"So, what ARE you going to use it for?" asked Ron, peering over Hermione's shoulder as she studied the page. "Who do you want to feel guilty and for what?"

Harry hesitated, then plunged ahead. "It's for Flitwick's class. Where we have to invent a Charm? It's one component of my 'Haunting Charm'. If I can get it to work out, that is."

Hermione frowned. "But Harry – we have to demonstrate that our Charms actually WORK. How can you prove that a 'Haunting Charm' works?"

Harry grinned widely. "I'll just have to cast it upon someone."

"Moaning Myrtle!" Ron guffawed. "It'd serve her right!"

Hermione smacked Ron's knee with the back of her hand. "Don't be mean, Ronald! It's tragic enough that she died. She was just our age, you know. Besides, you can't cast a Charm upon a ghost. Wizarding magic doesn't work like that."

"What about Lupin and Peeves? Remember that? Huh? How'd he do that, Hermione?" Ron demanded.

"I … um … you'd have to ask Professor Lupin," Hermione said quickly. "I can't explain it. It shouldn't be possible."

"Meaning you don't know everything after all," snickered the redhead.

Hermione's cheeks turned pink. "Go on, Harry," she tried to change the topic. "Tell us who your intended victim is. Malfoy?"

"He'd deserve it, mate." Ron's face brightened at the prospect.

But Harry was shaking his head. Once again he peered carefully around their vicinity for eavesdroppers before replying. "Snape."

Shaking her own head emphatically, Hermione declared, "No way. Professor Flitwick would never agree, Harry."

"The way I'll present it, I think he will," Harry argued.

Ron patted his best friend's shoulder commiseratingly. "It was nice knowing you, Harry."

-:- -:- -:-

Potter and his little friends were definitely up to something.

Severus Snape glowered at the Golden Trio as they sat down in the back of the Defense classroom. That in itself he found annoying. Even more annoying than their sitting as far away from him as they could get was the fact that all three of the Sixth Years had stopped making eye contact with him.

Oh, they responded politely enough when called upon – and were annoyingly well-versed in defensive spells when he required them to participate in class demonstrations. And, yes, they even volunteered answers – ALL of the Gryffindor half of the Defense class did, not just Granger. Yet, those three refused to look him in the eye.

Undoubtedly, Potter had warned them about Legilimency. But what, SPECIFICALLY, did they NOT want him to see?

"Potter!"

"Yes, sir?"

"On your feet." Snape beckoned Potter to the front of the classroom.

The boy squared off against the man silently, looking at Snape's wand hand, not looking him in the eye.

"Look at me, Potter," Snape ordered.

The boy raised his gaze slightly, and Snape could tell that his eyes were focused roughly at chin level on Snape.

Definitely … Up. To. Something.

Snape flicked his wand in disgust and frustration. A small boulder … well, a large rock, anyway … hurtled toward Potter.

"Reducto!"

The rock shattered and Snape flung a Shield Charm to protect the students in the front of the class from the flying fragments.

"Pathetic, Potter," Snape sneered triumphantly. "This is the final week of September, and you are as incompetent as ever in your non-verbal skills."

The boy glared at the front of Snape's many-buttoned coat.

Disgusting little cretin.

"Detention, Potter. Seven-thirty tonight. This classroom."

Potter glanced at him in surprise upon hearing the location, then remembered to quickly avert his eyes.

Snape smirked.

-:- -:- -:-

"Only if Professor Flitwick agrees, Harry. Only if he approves your Charms project. Personally, I think you have an ulterior motive in trying to create a Haunting Charm to use on Professor Snape, so I'll only agree to help you if your prospectus gets approved. I doubt that Professor Flitwick will actually approve it, but if – IF – he does, I'll try to help you. With the theory, at least."

"Thanks, Hermione."

-:- -:- -:-

"Again, Potter!"

Harry tried to stifle a sigh of resignation as he pushed himself to his feet for the umpteenth time.

Almost immediately, he was knocked to the floor, his silent "Protego" useless against Snape. At least the git wasn't hurling stones at him tonight. But the repeated Disarming Charms had left him bruised, sore, and angry. He'd glared at Snape a couple of times early on, only to yank his eyes aside when he realized it was Snape's INTENT to force a direct glare so that the man could Legilimize Harry. As a result, Harry had spent the past two and a half hours glaring at the floor, the walls the desks, the windows, the framed paintings – at everything BUT the Defense teacher himself. If only they'd been in Snape's dungeon office, Harry could have glared at each and every polished jar of disgusting Potions ingredients.

"Utterly pathetic, Potter."

"Sorry, sir. I'll try to improve."

"Practice, then. And to impress upon you the necessity of using non-verbal spells, I will see you in detention for one hour every weeknight, beginning at seven o'clock, until you manage to successfully cast a non-verbal spell. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." The intolerable man stood blocking Harry's route to the corridor door.

Harry was forced to walk around the Defense teacher's stony figure, the black robes seeming to vibrate with disapproval as the student departed the classroom.

But Harry's secret was safe. At least, for the time being.

-:- -:- -:-

"Professor SNAPE?" Filius Flitwick's voice squeaked his astonishment. "You propose to cast a – HAUNTING Charm – on Professor SNAPE?" Flitwick stared at Harry rather dubiously. "Mr. Potter, I'm afraid – "

"But don't you see, Professor?" Harry cut in with an apologetic gesture for interrupting. "Professor Snape would be the most perfect subject for this Charm. He's highly intelligent, not the least superstitious, extremely level-headed and self-possessed, and not at all given to undue paranoia – See, Professor, I would NEVER consider using this Haunting Charm against another student, especially when it's still in an experimental stage, but Professor Snape is virtually immune to external manipulation. If the Charm succeeds in 'haunting' him, even the slightest bit, his natural resistance will help prove the Charm's very effectiveness. See, sir?" Harry fixed his earnest emerald gaze upon the diminutive Charms professor.

Flitwick steepled his fingers consideringly, his lips pursed as he stared down at Harry's neatly-quilled "Prospectus for the Creation of a Haunting Charm".

"So, your basis for the 'Haunting Charm' is a Guilt Charm, a subcategory of a Juvenile Compulsion Charm?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. It's said to be quite mild in its effects."

"And your intent is to compound the guilt factor by combining the Guilt Charm with an Incremental Accentuation Spell, hypothetically inducing paranoia?" Flitwick's eyebrows were practically dancing a tango as he tried to envision the result of this particular combination of magical spells.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied enthusiastically, his head bobbing in eagerness. He just HAD to sell Flitwick on this prospectus… "My idea is that the Guilt Charm is designed to affect the subject psychologically when there already exists something concrete for him to feel guilty about. Like when a child forgets to take the kitchen scraps out to the rubbish bin after supper. Or if a person does something wrong, such as lying, cheating, stealing, and so on. But to go beyond the concrete, I want to use an Accentuation Spell. If it works, the subject would experience a more abstract paranoia – feelings of guilt and fear without any discernible basis."

Harry's stomach tightened as he watched Flitwick's face. The tiny professor wore a peculiar expression, sort of a combination of cautious intrigue and disapproval, slowly nodding even as he frowned deeply.

"And the Incremental component of the Accentuation Spell?"

Harry bit his lip. "Well, I was thinking about the Accentuation increasing every six hours, to induce a constantly-growing sense of paranoia throughout the duration of the haunting experience. The Haunting Charm as a whole would be chronologically delimited to seventy-two hours."

"Three days," Flitwick mused, tapping his fingertip lightly upon the parchment before him, considering.

"Yes, sir." Harry grinned engagingly. "I was hoping to cast it upon Professor Snape on the evening of October 28. With the Delimitation set for seventy-two hours, the Haunting Charm should break of its own accord during the Halloween Feast."

"Ah," said Flitwick, his face clearing at last. "I take it that your project will act as a bit of a Halloween prank, eh, Mr. Potter? Drive Severus a bit batty, as it were, leading up to Halloween?"

Harry nodded brightly. "That's it exactly, Professor. IF I can get it to work properly. It combines three different elements, which answers the requirements of your Multi-Element Charm assignment. The Guilt/Compulsion Charm, the Incremental Accentuation Spell, and the Chronological Delimitation factor. I just hope I can manage to combine them successfully. If I do, and it works as planned, the perpetually-increasing baseless paranoia should produce a sense of feeling 'haunted' in the subject. In Professor Snape, that is."

Flitwick poised his quill over Harry's prospectus, peering intently at Harry from under his eyebrows. "And the Haunting Charm will terminate automatically during the Halloween Feast?" he verified.

"That's exactly what I'm planning, Professor. You'll be able to ask Professor Snape yourself if he'd experienced anything – unusual – during the past three days."

The Charms Professor's mouth quirked. "This is a highly ambitious project, Potter. My one concern is whether you can get it all to work in just one month's time before Halloween. You would still have the option of 'haunting' Professor Snape just before the term ends at Christmas, if you find that you require additional time to perfect your Haunting Charm."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, smiling gratefully at Flitwick. "I appreciate your offer. But I'm still going to try for Halloween. Somehow, it seems more appropriate to haunt someone at Halloween than at Christmas!"

"I quite agree," chuckled Flitwick, dipping the quill into his inkpot and writing "APPROVED" on Harry's detailed prospectus. After drying the ink, the professor waved his wand to duplicate the prospectus, then handed the copy to Harry. "I'm always available to answer questions, Potter. If you need to experiment, please alert me in advance so I can be present in case something was to go awry."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Harry beamed as he rolled up his copy of the prospectus and hurried away to Gryffindor Tower.

-:- -:- -:-

-:- -:- -:-

"NO WAY!"

Ron's eyes bugged to the max, reminding Harry of Aragog and his family. "Flitwick gave you permission to – "

"Shhh!" Harry clapped his hand over Ron's big mouth. "This has to be our secret," he murmured. "NOBODY can know."

Ron nodded in comprehension, and Harry released him, turning then to Hermione, who was staring at him in trepidation.

"You did promise to help me, 'Mione. I have to get a full grasp of the theories and then figure how to produce each charm or spell, then learn how to combine them. Flitwick said I could ask him questions, but I'd still like to keep his involvement to a minimum."

Hermione sighed, then shrugged. "Okay, Harry. Just keep my name completely out of it."

"D'you realize what this means, mate?" asked Ron, pointing to Harry's approved prospectus with a grin. "You will be able to prank Snape without fear of getting expelled! Fred and George would've given … well, EVERYTHING they owned for that chance!"

Harry gave a dry laugh. "Right. But I have to hurry, because the Charm needs to break during the Halloween Feast."

"So, what's first?" Ron flung himself into one of the Common Room's squashy chairs. Hermione had been sitting curled into a corner of the matching sofa before the low fire.

"First, I need to practice casting the Guilt Charm."

-:- -:- -:-

By the end of the week, all three of the Gryffindors had become proficient at casting the Guilt Charm, although it was difficult to keep finding good test subjects for their practice. Ron usually suffered the brunt of Harry's casts in their dorm, resulting in Ron suddenly transforming into a neat freak – his bed HAD to be made every day, to Aunt Petunia's exacting standards, no less – he HAD to pick up his socks and discarded robes, he HAD to arrange his books just so … or else he couldn't LIVE with the mess. And in the Great Hall, thanks to Hermione's under-the-table wandwork, Ron found himself putting second servings of potatoes and fourth servings of sausages back onto the serving platters.

"We have to get her back, Harry," Ron moaned outside the Fat Lady's portrait late one night. "I've never been so hungry in my life! This isn't FAIR!" But after a moment's serious thought, he added, "There's just one problem – I don't think Hermione has ANYTHING to feel guilty about."

Harry sagged against the stone wall as the Fat Lady rolled her eyes. "There MUST be something…" he said, concentrating hard on all he'd ever known about his bushy-haired friend. Then, suddenly, "I've GOT it! C'mon, Ron!"

The sixteen-year-olds tore through the Common Room like a couple of First Years, pounding up the steps to the Sixth Year boys' dorm. Harry flung open his trunk's lid and began to rummage. And rummage. And finally –

"Ah HA! Remember this?" He held up a crumpled printed page, smoothing it out.

Ron studied it for a second or two, then grinned. "Oh, YES! Let's DO her!"

Silently, the boys crept back down the stairs until they could see the back of Hermione's head visible over the sofa as she studied before the fire. Harry winked at Ron, and Ron grinned in eager anticipation. Harry looked down at the printed page, where one word stood out in Hermione's Second Year handwriting: "pipes". Concentrating hard on the torn-out page, he cast the Guilt Charm across the width of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Hermione's head came up with a gasp so loud that it caused the other late-night students to stare at her curiously.

Harry and Ron quickly drew back around the corner of the stairwell so they couldn't be seen, thumping each other in silent congratulation. "It WORKED! It REALLY worked!" chortled Ron. "She totally DESERVED that!" And Harry took his time laughing silently, then added in an imitation of Madam Pince's voice, "One hundred points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for defacing school property." He waved the vandalized page, shaking his head. "Given the way that Hermione absolutely WORSHIPS books… Shocking!"

By the time the boys reentered the Common Room, however, Hermione was nowhere in sight, though her books lay abandoned on and around the crimson sofa.

"Where'd she go?" Ron wondered aloud. A Seventh Year pointed toward the reverse side of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Oh, no! The library!" Harry grabbed Ron's arm. "We've got to stop her!"

Ron balked. "But it's HOURS after curfew. Filch will be out there. And maybe Snape…" His voice trailed off as the portrait opened and they saw Hermione unceremoniously shoved into the Common Room, her eyes downcast and her face flaming with embarrassment.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for violating curfew. And detention Saturday morning in my office." Snape's black eyes passed over the remainder of the students scattered throughout the Common Room. Harry and Ron quickly stared down at the faded design on the worn carpeting. "You, Potter – another fifty points for failing to keep your little cohort in Gryffindor Tower."

Harry shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, where they clenched into fists, but he replied deliberately blandly, "Sorry, Professor."

Even through her embarrassment, Hermione appeared outraged at Snape's having blamed Harry for her own wrongdoing – and puzzled at Harry's calm acceptance of points unfairly lost.

Snape, on the other hand, seemed absolutely flummoxed, but only for the briefest of moments. Black eyes narrowing dangerously, Snape strode toward Harry, stopping within arm's reach of the Gryffindor. "Is that ALL you have to say, Potter? 'Sorry, Professor'? Are you quite certain that you wish to add no further comment?"

Harry stared steadfastly at the next-to-bottom button on Snape's coat. "Quite certain, Professor." He wished he could add something along the lines of: I'm sorry I failed to control Hermione's actions, Professor – she does tend to have a mind of her own, you know, and it's rather difficult to control her when I'm not even in the same room… But such a cheeky retort would only cause the loss of additional points and probably land him in detention. Again.

Following several seconds of a silent standoff, Snape's eyes rose from Harry's lowered head and swept darkly around the frozen tableau of the Common Room. "You Gryffindors should have been in bed at least two hours ago. I shall inform your Head of House to assert a closer watch in future. On ALL of you," he added with a sneer, glowering specifically at Hermione this time, before he and his robes departed. No one dared to speak until the portrait had bumped woodenly shut and Hermione had warded the Common Room against external eavesdropping.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she blurted over the low hum of rising conversation from the students around them. "That was totally unfair of him."

To her surprise, Harry chuckled. "Not necessarily, but don't ever tell Snape I said so." He wiggled the crumpled page before her uncomprehending eyes, waiting for the comprehension to kick in. When it did…

'YOU! YOU!" She snatched the page from him. "It WAS your fault!"

"I was just practicing, okay?" Harry saw his own grin reflected in Ron's face.

Hermione looked torn between slugging him and hugging him. In the end, she did neither, but settled for tucking the torn-out page into her school bag. "At least now I can repair the book next time I get to the library."

"Yeah," said Ron, "but why did you go rushing off to the library way after curfew, 'Mione? That's not like you, even under the effects of the Guilt Charm."

She shrugged, settling down once more upon the sofa. "I really don't know," she sighed, retrieving her Ancient Runes textbook. "I guess I just felt compelled to FIND the book again. For some reason, after I was de-petrified in Second Year, I never even THOUGHT about the damage to the library book. And then tonight, it just HIT me…"

Ron smirked. "But Hermione – you TORE out a page! You WROTE on that page! How COULD you?" He laughed aloud. Hermione's return glare could have rivaled one of Snape's.

"All right, all right," Harry tried to break up the coming argument. "She'll fix the book and that will be the end of it. The good news is, we know that the Guilt Charm is workable. Now, I just have to master the Incremental Accentuation Spell and Chronological Delimitation."

Hermione sighed again. "Not to mention Multiple Element Binding Principles."

"Yeah. October is going to be a busy month," Harry agreed with determination.

-:- -:- -:-

Harry set to work, trying to master theory and practice on all of the elements involved in the Haunting Charm. Surprisingly, the Chronological Delimitation proved to be far easier than he had anticipated, and he practiced casting charms and spells that terminated at specific times. Rather early on, once he'd gotten the hang of it, Harry began focusing exclusively on casting seventy-two-hour charms, with rather hilarious results at times.

His most memorable triumph took place during Defense, when Snape was actively browbeating him from a nose-length away, sneering at his perpetual inability to cast non-verbally. Amidst the Gryffindors' glares and the Slytherins' grins, Pansy Parkinson suddenly screamed, causing Snape to whirl toward her, wand at the ready. Standing next to her dueling partner, Pansy was frantically pointing toward the front corner of the classroom, where Ron had been fruitlessly casting various non-verbal Jinxes against Draco Malfoy's impenetrable silent Shield Charm. The rest of the students stopped their own dueling practice to stare at Ron, whose hair had suddenly begun to grow at an alarming rate, flowing past his shoulders, down to his waist, his hips, heading for his ankles.

"I didn't do it, Professor!" shouted Malfoy, sounding indignant when Snape's black glower settled upon the blond teen. "Weasley's a freak! I had nothing to do with … THAT!"

By now, Ron's hair had begun to form a soft ginger puddle on the gray stones. The Gryffindor grinned at Harry and Hermione, knowing that three days earlier, Harry had cast the C.D. (as they'd begun to call it) to delimit a seventy-two-hour time period for a stasis spell, which had followed immediately after the Hair-Growing Charm. Now that the C.D. had ended, the stasis also ended, and Ron's hair had increased to nearly ten feet in length and was still growing.

Something in Ron's grin must have given Snape a clue, for he whipped around, shouting, "Potter!"

"But Professor," said Hermione rather desperately, "You were busy talking to Harry when Pansy screamed. Harry wasn't even facing in Ron's direction when his hair started to grow."

In the brief moment when Harry chanced a glance at Snape, who was glaring narrowly at Hermione, Harry could see the truth of Hermione's logic cross Snape's expression. The man turned his head quickly toward Harry, and Harry averted his eyes. Snape continued to stare at the dark-haired boy suspiciously for several long moments, then turned his attention to Ron.

"Weasley! Explain yourself!"

Ron just giggled helplessly. It really didn't help matters that Lavender Brown had playfully scooped up the trailing ends of Ron's flaming tresses and stretched the hair across the front of the classroom to its current length of nearly eighteen feet. Parvati Patil stood about midway between Ron and Lavender, supporting the middle section of Ron's hair, holding it above her head to keep the thick ginger strands well off the floor.

Ron continued to giggle, taking a step forward every few seconds to accommodate new growth.

"Miss Brown! Miss Patil! Cease playing with Weasley's hair this instant!"

The girls grinned and dropped the long hank of hair, which made an audible soft plop when it hit the floor. Even the Slytherins had to laugh at the sound.

Snape watched Ron as he slowly circled from the front of the room around a corner and down one side, more than thirty feet of hair trailing after him now.

"DETENTION! Potter and Weasley both."

"But Professor – "

"Silence, Miss Granger, unless you wish to join them."

Turning again to Harry, Snape leaned down to hiss into his ear, "Yes, Potter, I KNOW you are responsible for this … IDIOCY. I don't know how, but you WILL answer for it, never fear."

-:- -:- -:-

The detention in question had involved five unpleasant hours of dissecting, gutting, skinning, or otherwise mutilating some of the most disgusting Potions ingredients Harry had ever encountered. But when that detention had ended, he went right back to practicing for the Haunting Charm. He still had nightly detentions with Snape, due to his persistent inability to cast non-verbally in class, but Harry didn't mind, since he had secretly succeeded with his non-verbal casting, thanks to much help from Hermione. Harry figured to keep Snape in the dark about his success until after Halloween, so that he could closely monitor the effects of the Haunting Charm during those remaining evening detentions, when he went one-to-one with the Defense teacher.

With a small amount of assistance throughout the month of October from Professor Flitwick, and much more from Hermione, Harry finally deemed himself ready to cast the Haunting Charm on Snape, and he quickly devised the timetable for his project.

"We'll need a distraction," he said thoughtfully. "The Halloween Feast runs from 6:30 until 8:00pm. Normally, I have detention with Snape from 7:00 to 8:00pm. I'll want the Haunting Charm to break at 7:45pm during the Feast, so I'll need to cast it at 7:45pm three days earlier, while I'm still in detention. Somehow, you two will need to distract Snape while we're in the Defense classroom, so I can hit him with the Charm from behind." He sighed. "I haven't been able to decrease the sensation of all of that combined magic, and I'm sure Snape will feel it wash over him UNLESS there's some screaming emergency for him to focus on instead. The whole point is for him NOT to realize that he's been hit with the Haunting Charm, or else he'll just Finite it altogether."

Ron nodded solemnly. "You can count on us, mate."

"Right, Harry," agreed Hermione. "I've got the perfect plan…"

-:- -:- -:-

Crabbe and Goyle played right into Hermione's hands, and at 7:45pm on October 28, Harry could hear an intensely-heated argument in the corridor outside the Defense classroom. Snape glared at the closed door for a moment, then stalked the full length of the classroom to fling it open. Before he reached it, however, hideous screams broke out in the corridor. Snape rushed forward, and Harry aimed his wand at the back of the billowing black robes.

He had to admit that he felt rather like Dumbledore, as he brandished his faithful holly wand in an intricate pattern of much-practiced loops and swirls, arcs and slashes, ending with a final thrust to send forth the burst of magic comprising the Haunting Charm.

The Charm hit Snape a split second after he'd yanked open the Defense classroom's heavy door, and the man didn't appear to have experienced any untoward sensation as he tried to make sense of the tangle of meaty arms and legs that used to be Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, but now seemed to be fused into a single weighty screaming being.

"What the bloody hell!"

Snape advanced upon Hermione, who was gawping, wide-eyed, at the quasi-human mass tumbling about upon the cold stones, and he wrenched her around to face him, her wand dangling nervelessly from her hand. "What did you DO, you foolish girl?" he demanded.

"I – I …"

"SPEAK UP!" Snape roared as several other students began to congregate in the corridor to investigate the commotion.

"I – I …"

"They got in the way, Professor!" Ron blurted, his own eyes unable to look away from Hermione's handiwork. "They tried to steal her plants just as she cast – "

"Cast WHAT, exactly?" Snape shook Hermione's shoulder.

"A Conjoining Charm, Professor," she said in a rather small voice, barely audible through the continuing screams. "The plants were for my Herbology project."

Snape glared black fire at the horrified girl. "WHY would you be using a Conjoining Charm on PLANTS in the first place?"

Hermione shuddered a bit. "Well, you know how Muggles graft fruit trees? I thought I could try something similar with magic, and I thought the Conjoining Charm might work, and I was just getting ready to demonstrate to Ron when they grabbed my pots and the Charm hit the Slytherins instead, and the pots broke and they crushed my little apple seedlings…"

Looking where she was shakily pointing, Snape saw fragments of shattered terra cotta, a goodly amount of rich earth, and the crushed remains of two spindly young trees – all appearing and disappearing repeatedly as the Slytherin mass rolled back and forth over top of the organic tragedy. His head ready to split from the sheer volume of the screams, Snape cast a Silencing Charm on the struggling monstrosity and addressed Ron. "Weasley, get Madam Pomfrey. Tell her to alert St. Mungo's. MOVE!"

As Ron dashed off, Snape inhaled deeply before speaking to Hermione with exaggerated patience. "And I suppose you just HAPPENED to choose the Defense corridor for your Herbology experiment, Miss Granger? You could not have confined your GRAFTING to a greenhouse?"

"We were waiting for Harry to get out of detention so we could all walk to the library together."

Snape waited a beat. "To the library. With two potted trees."

Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

The man whirled toward Harry, who'd been hovering in the classroom doorway all this time. "Is that true, Potter?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Well, yes, we did plan to go to the library straightaway after I left detention at eight o'clock, Professor. I wasn't aware that Hermione had already decided upon her Herbology project and would be bringing trees with her. I'm sure Madam Pince would have kept them at her desk while we studied. She's helpful like that sometimes." He shrugged, nodding at the fleshy conglomeration tussling with itself on the floor. "It sounds like that was just an unfortunate accident, sir."

Snape appeared ready to offer a sneering reply, but he spotted Madam Pomfrey in the distance, her plum skirts flying as she ran, two Healers following hard upon her heels.

"You will report to my office before breakfast, Miss Granger, and I will assign your detention at that time." The man turned to Harry. "As for you, Potter… Report to this classroom fifteen minutes early tomorrow night, to make up for the time you missed tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Hermione waited in the corridor while Harry retrieved his school bag, then the two of them joined Ron in beating a hasty retreat to the library while the Healers attempted to ready Crabbe-Goyle for his/its/their trip to St. Mungo's. Just before the Gryffindors turned the nearest corner, Harry looked back to see Snape's pointing arm imperiously dispersing the crowd of students.

"Let the games begin," he said with a tight smile that contained no hint of humor.

-:- -:- -:-

Hermione was quite late to breakfast the next morning, having gone to Snape's office beforehand. Spots of angry color dotted her cheeks as she plunked herself down halfway along the Gryffindor table from where Harry and Ron were sitting. After exchanging glances, the boys relocated so that they were both sitting across from her.

"So what happened?" Ron asked as Hermione nearly scalded herself pouring a cup of coffee.

"Does he seem to be getting paranoid?" Harry whispered hopefully.

Hermione viciously buttered a cold slice of toast and slapped some jam on top for good measure before replying. "Five THOUSAND lines!" she growled before biting the corner of her toast. "AND he threatened my status as a prefect. All because of two detentions in the same term. Said my conduct was unbefitting a prefect, as I was to be setting an example to the other students." Hermione blew quickly across the coffee to cool the surface before she took a sip. "All I can say, Harry, is that I HOPE your Haunting Charm really works. He DESERVES it."

Harry looked quickly back and forth along the nearly-deserted table to make sure nobody had overheard. "Well, at least Crabbe and Goyle will be okay. Eventually. It'll take a week or so to separate them completely, but Madam Pomfrey said that St. Mungo's Floo-called her this morning to give her an update. You really did a job on them, Hermione."

Hermione hmpphed.

"But what about Snape?" Harry pressed. "Did he – "

"You'll see for yourself in class," Hermione interrupted, draining her coffee and rising. "I will say that I was talking to him at exactly 7:45am when he suddenly got distracted and began looking around, like he'd heard a strange noise." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. "Hurry, now, or we'll be late for Potions."

Ron laughed. "Slughorn is cool. He won't care if we're a couple of minutes late."

"You said 7:45? That's exactly twelve hours after I cast it. The second Accentuation must have gone into effect just then," said Harry, sounding pleased.

"Hurry!" urged Hermione, trotting ahead of them down the dungeon stairs.

-:- -:- -:-

By early afternoon, they had Defense, and Harry kept an eagle eye on Snape. Several times, the man paused to glance around in a highly uncharacteristic manner, almost as if he sensed that someone – or something – hidden was spying on him.

At exactly 1:45pm, eighteen hours after Harry had cast the Haunting Charm, the third increment of Accentuation went into effect, and Harry's eyes narrowed in satisfaction when Snape abruptly stopped in mid-sentence and whirled around, his wand at the ready. The class full of Gryffindors and Slytherins stared at him, puzzled, and only Draco Malfoy dared to inquire, "Is everything quite all right, Professor?"

Snape took his time before replying, peering carefully into every corner of the gloomy classroom. The Golden Trio had to bite the insides of their cheeks to keep from snickering when Snape used his wand to throw open the window shutters to allow bright sunlight to stream into the room. After examining the corners once more, Snape responded, "Indeed, Mr. Malfoy." Nevertheless, the man's dark eyes kept darting hither and thither throughout the remainder of the class, almost as if he expected something might suddenly spring out at him.

"Did you SEE him?" whispered Ron as they crossed the entrance hall on their way to the greenhouses for Double Herbology. "It's WORKING, Harry! It's REALLY working! I could tell!"

Even Hermione gave Harry an admiring look. "I can't believe you really came up with this Charm, Harry. It has to be the most complex magic you've ever performed."

"I couldn't have done it without your help, Hermione. You and Ron, both."

Ron grinned. "You'll let us know what happens in detention, right, mate? That's when the fourth Accentuation takes effect. Wish I could be there!"

-:- -:- -:-

Ron didn't make Snape's detention, but Hermione was there as previously ordered, writing the first of her five thousand lines.

"Again, Potter. CONCENTRATE." Although the words remained frustratingly the same, Snape's voice seemed tinged with fatigue and something else that was hard to identify.

Harry pretended to cast non-verbally … and he hit the unyielding floor again, courtesy of Snape's Expelliarmus.

"I'm losing patience, Potter."

Wearily, Harry climbed to his feet. He would be SO glad when this could finally end. Just two more days until the Feast, and then he'd be able to show Snape that he COULD cast non-verbally. He waved his wand in the correct manner for a Jelly-Legs Jinx, but he didn't even think of casting it, bracing himself for … THUD. He was beginning to develop a relationship with a particular stone on the classroom floor.

Snape stared down at the Gryffindor imbecile in disgust. Even that abominable Wormtail weakling could have managed better. Was it possible that James Potter could have passed on some recessive Pureblood feebleness through his genes?

The thought of Potter Senior inevitably caused Snape to think of the Golden Gryffindor's vindictive sidekick, Black. Snape could almost hear that accursed mongrel's mocking laughter…

And there it was again – the unshakable feeling that someone was watching him from the shadows. Snape's black eyes peered warily past Potter and ignored the Granger girl who was busily writing lines about halfway back in the classroom. Someone … something … was HERE. He could FEEL it… Just out of sight… Something that slipped away too fast for him to see… But HERE. Definitely HERE.

The unnerving feeling had begun sometime last night, several hours after the grotesque incident involving Granger and Crabbe and Goyle. WHY in Merlin's name Granger would even think to use a Conjoining Charm – normally used only on inanimate objects, especially by wizards whose Transfiguration skills were seriously lacking – on seedling trees… And the resultant effect on his Slytherins – heaven help the Muggle world if the Dark Lord decided to adopt Granger's mistake. And he still wasn't convinced it was entirely the accident that Granger claimed. From Weasley, yes. Possibly. Quite probably. But Granger had far too much knowledge, ability, and control. What the hell had happened there? And why…? On top of all that, just a couple of hours after the disgusting spectacle of Crabbe and Goyle had been hauled away to St. Mungo's, these odd feelings had begun creeping along his spine…

"Sir?"

Snape's attention snapped to Potter, standing before him.

"Sir, are you all right? You seemed to kind of … zone out for a moment."

Snape straightened his already-straight shoulders, causing the ebony folds of his robes to whisper quietly. "Of course, Potter." He raised his wand. "Again!"

Potter obediently attempted to cast non-verbally, only to be disarmed once again.

"Pathetic, Potter." He needed to come up with a new denigrating adjective. This was becoming too repetitive.

"Sorry, Professor."

Snape glared at the boy's rote apology, but the Gryffindor, as usual, kept avoiding eye contact. The same went for Granger and Weasley. Even last night during the fracas in the corridor. The three little busybodies were Up To Something. Without a doubt.

Potter had climbed to his feet several more times in succession before Snape just HAD to check the shadows yet again. This feeling … It kept getting stronger, and as much as he hated to admit it, his own fear of the inexplicable unknown kept feeding into it. This feeling of … creeping horror … was unlike anything he had ever experienced, even while in the Dark Lord's service, and that was saying something. Slowly, he circled the perimeter of the classroom, wand pointing into every shadowed corner and niche, under desks, and toward the gloomy high ceiling. As it was nighttime, he could not pull sunlight into the room as he had earlier in the day. That act alone had seemed to alleviate his uneasiness for a time.

Suddenly, he realized that both Granger and Potter were staring at him, although they each averted their gazes when he looked at them in turn. Granger dipped her quill into the inkpot on her desk and resumed writing lines. Five thousand of them. Five thousand LINES for FUSING two human beings together? He should have assigned her detention the night before, when he'd still been thinking clearly. But after a restless night, waking abruptly just before two in the morning, feeling with a thrill of horror that he was not alone in his bedchamber… His morning appointment with Granger had not gone so well.

"Shall we continue, Professor?" Potter asked in a too-polite tone, as if merely feigning being helpful.

Snape glanced at the slowly-ticking wall clock … and sighed. The main problem with assigning detention to a student lay in the fact that the teacher was forced to serve that same detention time as well. Normally, he would be able to make constructive use of the time, usually marking papers, or sometimes brewing. But these frustrating detentions with Potter… They'd been at this AGAIN for forty minutes already tonight, and – as usual – Potter STILL showed no progress. The boy MUST learn to cast non-verbally; his success in the war, in defeating the Dark Lord, might depend on it. If non-verbal casting turned out to be the deciding factor…

Potter cast again to no effect, was disarmed again … and REPEAT ad infinitum.

Suddenly –

"Bloody HELL!" Snape burst out, swinging around violently, his wand rising in a forceful reflex. "LUMOS MAXIMA!"

Blinding light blasted forth from his wand, revealing the ancient contours of the Defense classroom in all their drab detail.

Granger shielded her eyes with her quill hand, spattering large drops of black ink everywhere, including on her parchment, clothing, and face. Potter was squinting against the Lumos, but Snape's peripheral vision caught the white flash of the boy's teeth, which looked more like a wild grin rather than a pained grit against the powerful illumination. Snape didn't take time to analyze WHY Potter should be grinning like an idiot as he stared again into all of the brightly-lit corners and alcoves of the elongated classroom. Eventually, the shadows slowly returned as the Lumos faded away silently. Snape continued to stare warily around the room, his wand still poised for action.

"Sir?"

Potter's fingertip tapping the back of Snape's robed shoulder nearly caused the tightly-strung teacher to shoot upwards toward the vaulted ceiling.

"WHAT, Potter? What do you WANT?"

Harry watched the black eyes darting every which way and said quietly, "It's nearly eight o'clock, Professor. I just wondered if we were finished?"

For a moment, it looked as if Snape might deny it and force Harry to finish out the full detention, but then –

"Yes, yes. We're finished, Potter. Get out. You, too, Granger. Miss Granger," he amended. "Just … get out."

Hurriedly, the Gryffindors packed their school bags and scurried off to rendezvous with Ron in the library.

Severus Snape stormed off in the opposite direction. He had just made an appointment with a bottle of Firewhiskey in the dungeons.

-:- -:- -:-

"But you SAW him, Harry. With your own eyes. Did you really expect the Charm to affect him this strongly?" Hermione's concerned eyes probed Harry's unconcerned green ones. "Especially on the very first day?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. It's really an experiment, just to see if I could create a working charm for Flitwick's assignment."

Hermione pressed her lips together, doing a creditable imitation of Minerva McGonagall in a disapproving mood. "Maybe so, but I had my doubts about WHY you were doing this project from the very beginning. This is really about Sirius, isn't it? TRUTH, Harry," she ordered when he looked disinclined to reply.

"Okay, fine. Yes, it did start out with Sirius as the catalyst. I'll admit it. But it's not like Snape has to live with feeling haunted for the rest of his life. The Charm will break at 7:45pm, during the Halloween Feast, and then it'll be over. For Snape. I'll have to live without Sirius for the rest of my life."

Hermione never got to voice her opinion about Harry's self-centered statement because Ron suddenly cut in.

"You said 7:45pm? On Halloween? I just now thought - But won't you still be in detention instead of at the Halloween Feast?" When Ron saw the sudden realization flash across Harry's face, he added, "It's not like Snape to let anyone off detention just to enjoy a celebration, you know. Neither of you will be in the Great Hall, if you ask me. Your detention and the Feast both end at eight o'clock, so you can't even catch the end of Halloween. And weren't you planning to have Flitwick talk to Snape about the Haunting Charm at the end of Feast, after the Charm had broken? Your detention will screw up your entire Charms project."

Harry frowned. "I don't want to ask Flitwick to intercede and try to get Snape to make an exception for me… Hmm… I suppose the best thing is for me to demonstrate that I've mastered non-verbal casting for real in class on Halloween, just so Snape finally knows I can do it. Then I won't have detention that night and can make it to the Feast. I know the Heads of House are all required to attend the Feast, so Snape should be there for Flitwick to interview when the Charm breaks."

Ron nodded, but Hermione wasn't finished with Harry.

"Did you ever consider that this Haunting Charm won't necessarily affect Snape just because of Sirius?" She lowered her quiet voice to a barely-audible whisper. "He was a Death Eater, Harry. He's bound to have done some pretty horrible things in the past. Even if he really did come over to the side of Light in the end, he'd have to be inhuman not to feel a lot of guilt about his past … doings. Maybe that's why the Charm seems to be acting upon him so much stronger than a mere Juvenile Compulsion Charm would, even allowing for the Accentuation."

After a moment's consideration, Harry nodded slowly. "You may be right, Hermione, but like I said, it's only for two more days. Even Snape can put up with it for that long."

Hermione glared at him wordlessly and began shoving her books into her bag.

"Wait – you're not going to tell Snape, are you?" Harry demanded. "Or Flitwick? I still need to get marks on my project."

"No," she said huffily, swinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "I won't tell either of them. But YOU should tell Professor Flitwick, at the very least. He'd be able to keep a professional eye on Snape. I'd trust a teacher's opinion more than I do yours, Harry."

"Whatever."

Hermione flounced away, with Ron admiring the swing of her skirt's hem. "You going to tell Flitwick about what she said, mate?"

Harry snorted. "Not a chance. The greasy git deserves to be haunted, whatever the cause."

"Right."

-:- -:- -:-

Severus Snape sprawled on the teal green suede cushions of the sofa in his private quarters, staring moodily at the nearly-full bottle of Firewhiskey. As much as he wished to drink himself into oblivion, he refused to relinquish control of his life to a bottle. He'd taken a few sips as a pacifier of sorts, then set down his glass, trying to focus his thoughts. Tilting his head down to stare at the cushion beside him, he watched his fingertip as it stroked random patterns in the velvety suede surface.

He loved the soft hand of suede, compared to the stiffer surface in other leathers. Not to mention, suede didn't feel as cold to the touch as full grain leathers, and in the perpetual year-round chill of the dungeons, every bit of warmth – or even the lack of cold – counted for quite a bit.

Snape could counteract the cold, if need be, but he could not counteract his confusion about what he'd been experiencing for the past twenty-four hours. He refused to believe in superstition of any sort, believing instead that there must be a rational explanation for everything. He also prided himself on being more intelligent than most of the people whom he interacted with, aside from certain of his esteemed colleagues. Never prone to blind panic, he cringed with shame at how he had LOST IT – there was no better way to describe his behavior – in detention in front of Potter and Granger.

What was HAPPENING to him?

One part of him begged to go to Dumbledore – just lay it all on the carpet before the old man and HOPE that the twinkling optimist could FIX whatever was wrong with him.

But the more cautious side of Severus' psyche objected. It would be far preferable to sort this situation on his own. Keep quiet, keep a stranglehold on his self-control, and reason out what the situation meant. At the very least, the latter course of action might keep him from being committed to the Closed Ward at St. Mungo's. Granted, he couldn't help FEELING rather unhinged, but better to feel so than to actually be diagnosed as such.

A quick thought flashed across his mind that, somehow, Potter must be responsible, but he dismissed the notion almost instantly. Potter had been standing motionless before him in detention when the horrid feeling had hit Snape like a Muggle punch to the gut. Lumos Maxima? He groaned aloud. What must Potter think? And Granger – with her analytical mind… He'd be fortunate indeed if Granger didn't decide to report his untoward behavior to either Pomfrey or Dumbledore. One thing Severus Snape could be absolutely certain of: the Boy-Who-Lived had NOT been in his bedchamber in the wee hours of the morning.

Something else was afoot. And he WOULD solve this mystery, whatever it took.

-:- -:- -:-

Snape did not appear at breakfast on the day before Halloween, but that was hardly unusual. The three Gryffindors assumed that Snape, like many of the teaching staff, took breakfast in his private quarters. However, when they passed the Defense teacher on their way to Transfiguration, they felt somewhat shocked at the man's appearance.

"He looks like he slept in his clothes," whispered Ron. "His robes are all wrinkled."

Hermione bit her lip. "It really looks like he didn't sleep at all. Did you see the dark circles under his eyes. They weren't there last night in detention." She turned to Harry. "Have you spoken to Professor Flitwick, Harry?"

"Not yet," he hedged. "I need to write up my observations for him anyway, so I thought I'd sit in on the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Fourth Year Defense class and see how Snape handles the afternoon Accentuation. He's already undergone two others since detention last night, and that one seemed pretty powerful. I'll observe the class and write it up, along with everything I've seen so far. Then I'll be prepared to talk to Flitwick."

Hermione frowned at him, and he hoped she wouldn't badger him about the difference between his being prepared to talk and actually talking.

Ron asked the obvious. "How are you going to get Snape to let you observe the Fourth Years?"

Harry grinned. "Well, there's this old cloak that used to belong to my dad…"

"You're not skipping a class to do this – "

But Harry interrupted Hermione. "Ron and I have a free period while you're in History of Magic, remember?"

"Oh. Right. But you WILL speak to Professor Flitwick, Harry. You MUST."

"Sure," he said casually. When he got around to it.

-:- -:- -:-

The Fourth Year Defense class proved to be an eye-opener in more ways than one. Harry was amazed at the difference in Snape's teaching approach, compared to the usual Sixth Year Slyth-Gryff class. The man actually came across as human, answering the Ravenclaws' questions without sarcasm and encouraging the young Hufflepuffs in practicing defensive spells.

As Hermione had pointed out, Snape's eyes looked exhausted, with dark bags beneath the bloodshot scleras. He probably hadn't slept a wink, or at least not after the 1:45am Accentuation, if the 7:45pm one was anything to go by. And now the clock's hands were approaching 1:45pm. Harry held his breath…

In the middle of demonstrating a correction of a Ravenclaw boy's wand movement, Snape suddenly sucked in his breath. He closed his eyes, and seemed to be gritting his teeth. Fighting for control, Harry realized. He watched the man take deep, regular breaths – IN, OUT, IN, OUT, IN, OUT… Probably trying NOT to shout "Lumos Maxima", Harry chuckled to himself. If only Sirius could see this! He'd probably bark out a laugh and slap Harry on the back, shouting, "Good one, James!"

Under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry's face suddenly fell. He'd wanted to avenge Sirius by "haunting" Snape, since Sirius wasn't here to do it himself, but he suddenly realized that his own father would have taken pleasure in seeing Snape … suffering. Yes, suffering.

At the front of the class, Snape opened his eyes, and upon seeing that the students had all withdrawn from his immediate vicinity to a safer distance, he ordered the Fourth Years to keep practicing. Then he sat down at his own desk. "Collapsed" might be a more accurate description of how he actually landed in his chair.

Quietly, Harry moved forward until he stood about six feet away from the Defense teacher. This close, he could clearly see the man's hands shaking. The black eyes whose burning gaze normally never missed a thing darted relentlessly into every corner of the room desperately probing to find the unseen menace that he KNEW was there … somewhere. The window shutters had been wide open from the beginning of the class today, so there was no need for a Lumos, but the URGE to cast one was undeniably there. Harry could clearly see it in the burning depths of the haggard man's eyes. If anything, Severus Snape LOOKED haunted. Haunted by something he could neither see nor comprehend.

Taking care not to make any sound that would give himself away, Harry retreated to the back of the classroom to wait for the end of class. He bit his lip as his mental world tilted askew. He tried to think back to the beginning of his idea for the Haunting Charm. Sirius falling. The nightmares. Revenge. Imagining Sirius haunting Snape. Deciding to come up with a way to haunt Snape on Sirius' behalf. Nearly-Headless Nick's confident assertion that Sirius would NOT hang around as a ghost.

Harry tried to pin that idea down – you'd think Sirius would have LOVED to come back as a ghost. Right? He'd always been up for an adventure, and he'd loved Hogwarts, after all. He could be away from Grimmauld Place at last; he would be with Harry. He could watch over Harry in lieu of James and Lily Potter. Harry could go to him with questions, and Sirius' ghost would have all the time in the world to answer. As for Snape, Sirius could have gotten his own revenge, haunting Snape relentlessly. Driving the dark man mad. Even driving him from the castle, if he wanted to.

So … why HADN'T he?

Harry stared at Snape, who had stood up again and resumed actively working with the Fourth Years.

Once more, Harry asked himself, WHY hadn't Sirius come back as a ghost? Why had he left Harry all alone? And why hadn't he even attempted to wreak his own revenge upon Snape? He COULD have done it – Harry was convinced of it. Look at all of the other ghosts in the castle. Look at Peeves! For the first time ever, Harry truly wondered what had happened to Peeves during his life that made him so determined to strike out at the students who inhabited Hogwarts today. None of the poltergeist's pranks were deadly, but they often weren't funny, either. Surely, Sirius must have felt enough anger over his untimely death to seek revenge. He'd never hesitated to attack Snape during life, so why would he just let Snape get by with playing an instrumental role leading up to Sirius' death?

Unless … Sirius didn't know?

Harry considered. Perhaps … perhaps Sirius HADN'T known. Not BEFORE he'd died, that is, but wouldn't he have learned afterwards? Weren't all of life's questions finally answered in that moment after death? Maybe, even as he was falling through the Veil? Why, then, wouldn't Sirius have come back? Didn't he realize how MUCH Harry would still need him? And even if he hadn't known how long Snape had delayed in alerting the Order, Harry could have told Sirius' ghost, and THEN Sirius would have gone all out to get his revenge.

Wouldn't he?

… good one, james …

The memory of Sirius' voice was fading to a mere whisper.

Harry looked at Snape again. Wondering…

Obviously, something must have compelled Sirius to go on. If given a choice between being there for Harry or haunting Snape, Harry was certain that Sirius would have chosen him over Snape. In the end, however, Sirius had done neither. He could have been there for Harry, but he'd CHOSEN not to. He could have come back to haunt Snape, but he'd CHOSEN not to.

Sirius had gone on.

And Harry had taken it upon himself to haunt Snape.

… good … one …

Had Harry really done what his father would have done? But James Potter had chosen to go on, too. Just like Lily. Harry's own parents – neither of them had chosen to remain with him. All these years… Why, they could have haunted the Dursleys! But they'd gone on. Even his own mum…

Thinking of Lily, Harry wondered just what his mother would have thought about the Haunting Charm, about its true purpose – not the B.S. he'd foisted upon Flitwick to get his prospectus approved. He shifted uneasily beneath the Invisibility Cloak. Somehow, he didn't think his mum would approve. He imagined her disappointment, her own emerald eyes clouding as she regarded her son, her only child. That scene by the lake – WHY had she attempted to help Snape, of all people? Was she just that … GOOD? In a humanitarian sense, that is. Or had there been something more? Involving Lily Evans and Severus Snape? More unanswered questions…

A commotion caught Harry's attention as the students headed back for their seats, and he realized the Defense class had nearly ended. Even from the back of the classroom, Harry could see how exhausted Snape looked, as if it had taken every ounce of his strength to make it through the entire class period.

Yes, Severus Snape was suffering. Harry had caused him to suffer. Thinking back, he realized that he'd only wanted to spook Snape. Scare him, even. Make him feel guilty, even if he never figured out WHY he was experiencing guilt. But Harry had never truly envisioned Snape suffering. Not physically, at least. He couldn't have imagined such a thing was even possible. But then, nobody had ever been hit with this Haunting Charm before. The Incremental Accentuations may have increased the effects more than Harry had anticipated. Add in Snape's Death Eater past… Hermione was right – Harry NEEDED to speak to Flitwick.

In order to avoid being bumped, and therefore discovered, by other students, Harry waited until the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had filed past his position and left the classroom. He managed to exit the room himself just ahead of Snape, only to come face to face with Ron, who had obviously been waiting to hear Harry's update.

"Hi, Professor!" Ron addressed Snape cheerfully, bringing the man's black eyes down upon him suspiciously.

Harry mentally groaned and lightly punched Ron in the chest. Concealed as he was beneath the cloak, he knew that Ron would immediately know it was him.

"You wished to ask me something, Mr. Weasley?" Snape hovered just out of Harry's reach, staring coldly at Ron's grinning face.

"Not really, Professor. I'm just excited about Halloween. The Feast is tomorrow, you know."

"I am aware of that fact," returned Snape, his tone sounding bored despite the strain written across his features. He moved to step swiftly around Ron. "If you will excuse me."

"Great time of year, though," Ron persisted. "Ghosties and black cats and hauntings galore."

Good GRIEF, Ron! thought Harry. What are you DOING?

"Quite the same number as during the rest of the year," Snape declared with finality, sweeping past the Gryffindor. If he'd looked back over his shoulder, he would have seen Weasley suddenly yanked sideways by an invisible force. However, Snape did not look back, and it was only after he'd taken firm refuge in the comforting familiarity of his office that he began to ponder the concept of hauntings.

-:- -:- -:-

-:- -:- -:-

"What do you mean, Hermione is probably right?" Ron demanded. "You're not really going to Flitwick. Not when the charm is just getting good!"

Harry frowned, conflict clearly stamped across his features. "I just think she's right about getting a … a professional opinion," he said at last. "This might have gotten … a bit out of control."

"What d'you mean?"

The boys were making their way toward the Potions dungeon.

Sighing, Harry tried to explain. "I just wanted to make Sn – HIM nervous. Freak him out a bit. Like, make him feel like someone was always watching him. Something he couldn't get away from. I wasn't sure that the Juvenile Compulsion Guilt Charm would be powerful enough – this is HIM, after all. He might just shrug it off. So I added the Incremental Accentuation, and now I'm wondering if that might be too much. You didn't see him close up, Ron. Not in that class. This is way beyond constantly feeling nervous and guilty and paranoid. He's looking … devastated. Or something close. That's why I want to speak to Flitwick."

Ron made sure he wouldn't be overheard, then said, "But this is SNAPE. The Greasy Git of the Dungeons. He deserves whatever you can throw at him, mate. Think of everything he's ever done to you. Don't go soft now!"

Harry shook his head. "It's not a matter of going soft, Ron. I just don't want to think I'm turning out as bad as – " He cut himself off, remembering just in time that Ron could never know what Harry had seen in Snape's Pensieve in Fifth Year. But that image of James Potter had never wandered far from the forefront of Harry's mind. "I just want Flitwick's opinion. That's all."

Clearly, Ron didn't understand. But the redhead just shrugged. "It's your project, Harry. So I guess it's your decision."

Nodding, Harry led the way into Slughorn's class. "I'll talk to him before supper."

-:- -:- -:-

From the Gryffindor table, Harry noticed Filius Flitwick keeping a discreet eye on Snape throughout the evening meal. Several times, the Charms professor's bushy eyebrows jerked as he watched the seemingly involuntary spasms that caused Snape to quiver or flinch whenever a particularly loud or sharp noise erupted amidst the dinner hubbub in the Great Hall. Quite out of character for the tall man, as Flitwick well knew. But given what Harry had witnessed in last night's detention and today's class, Snape seemed to be exerting an extreme control over his reactions as a whole.

The Defense teacher didn't wait until the end of supper before he whisked his ebony robes out a side door near the Head Table. A few moments later, Flitwick nodded for Harry to follow along as he led the way to a secluded alcove in the opposite direction from Snape's exit. The tiny professor wasted no time in delivering his assessment.

"Mr. Potter, I can tell that Severus is not quite himself, jumping at noises and such. But I see nothing extreme in his outward behavior. Therefore, I see no reason why your Haunting Charm would need to be Finited at this time. I'd say to let the Charm run its course as planned, and I will request a detailed accounting of the … symptoms … and any other side effects which Severus may have experienced while under its influence. From what I've seen – not just now at supper, but ever since you cast the Charm – I'd have to surmise that your Charm seems to be enjoying a certain success." Flitwick patted Harry on the elbow, which was about as high as he could comfortably reach, and hurried away, leaving Harry staring after him.

-:- -:- -:-

"'Enjoying a certain success'?" Hermione frowned at him. "That's ALL he said?"

Harry shrugged. "I told him everything before supper, Hermione. I even brought up the Death Eater angle," he said in a very low voice, "but he didn't seem overly concerned. The way I'd described the incidents I'd witnessed, I know he was expecting Snape to be on the verge of a screaming fit or something, but all Snape did during supper was flinch at loud noises. I don't get it. Do you think the Charm is beginning to wear off early?"

Ron cut in. "I don't know about the Charm, but you two had better get to detention. It's almost seven o'clock."

"Right," agreed Harry. "Meet you in the library after, Ron."

He and Hermione grabbed their bags and sped off toward the Defense classroom.

-:- -:- -:-

Snape idly rolled his teak wand between his fingers as he waited for the Gryffindor pair to put in an appearance. The classroom lay quiet around him, although his thoughts remained in a turmoil

It had happened again. At approximately the same time as yesterday during his Sixth Year class. Today, however, the burst of terror had nearly overwhelmed him during his Fourth Year Raven-Puff class, as he'd long ago scathingly dubbed that combination of students. And today's attack had been the longest, strongest yet. At least Potter hadn't been there to gloat over his sudden loss of composure. Although, Weasley's unexpected appearance in the corridor afterward had seemed undeniably odd. Not to mention, the redhead's ramblings about the Halloween Feast, ghosts, black cats, and hauntings.

For the remaining hours sandwiched between that bizarre encounter and suppertime in the Great Hall, Snape had considered the strangest idea. Haunting. He didn't really believe in it, not in the superstitious way mindless Muggles did. Ghosts were a reality to him. But this oppressive, never-ending, ever-increasing sensation of paranoia which seemed to feed off his growing personal fear of the unknown – somehow, this phenomenon had caused him to reflect on many of the things in his past. Things that he'd long ago accepted that he could never change. Mistakes, poor judgment, actual crimes, and especially Lily Evans. Potter.

He'd brought Death to Lily's door, killing the only true friend he'd known during his youth. He'd left her son orphaned, to be raised in an abusive home, the knowledge of which would have torn Lily's gentle heart asunder.

And that brought him to thoughts of Harry Potter himself. WHY had the Gryffindor and his little friends kept staring up at him as he tried to eat at the Head Table? He'd had to leave before dessert had been served, just to escape their incessant scrutiny. And then there was Filius Flitwick, who had also kept staring over at him, almost as if Snape had spinach stuck in his teeth, but hesitated to say so.

Snape shook his head. Spinach? He tried to regain his focus. He needed to think about why he suddenly seemed suffused with guilt… Well over a decade ago, Severus Snape had learned to squelch his guilt through Occluding, but the unprecedented experiences of the past two days had proved Occlumency useless against these new waves of guilt and fear. No matter how hard he Occluded, he could not halt the tide of culpability resulting from his past actions as it washed inexorably and repeatedly against the shores of his psyche. WAS he finally cracking up? If his Occlumency failed completely, he would be useless as a spy against the Dark Lord, but he could not yet tell whether this surfeit of uncontrollable emotion was a new, permanent state, or if it might be only a temporary aberration.

He'd actually had to down a Calming Draught following this afternoon's incident, and its effects had nearly worn off by the time he'd struggled to make it through the evening meal. Hearing footsteps tapping along the corridor, accompanied by Granger's bossy voice, he quickly whipped out a new vial of Calming Draught and gulped it down. Ordinarily, he'd never consider such a foolish action before dueling practice, but Potter's inability to cast non-verbally virtually nullified any risk to Snape.

The soothing sensation oozed over him just as Potter and Granger entered the room, and for a moment Snape felt almost mellow enough to return their tentative greetings pleasantly. He forced himself to growl "Lines" to Granger and "Here" as he beckoned to Potter. Before Granger could even uncap her inkpot, Potter had suffered his first disarming of the night.

"Again, Potter." And Potter cast silently, only to end up on the floor.

Perhaps it was due to the Calming Draught, but Snape's mind tracked separately for his thoughts and his body, considering the concept of haunting even as his wand routinely flicked one Expelliarmus after another. Blast Weasley anyway, for planting the idea in his mind. Haunting, as he knew it, was highly improbable. But the more Snape thought about it, the more he began to wonder if a person could genuinely be "haunted" by an unseen entity, as Muggles believed. If given a choice between being haunted and cracking up, he'd almost prefer to be haunted, he decided rhetorically, especially if cracking up meant that he'd end up in St. Mungo's with Gilderoy Lockhart as a wardmate.

"Professor?"

"Hmm?" Snape heard himself murmuring the bland response and mentally kicked himself for indulging in that dose of Calming Draught. "WHAT, Potter?" He threw in a glare for good measure. Or tried to. He could feel his lips twitching as he fought down an absurd chuckle.

"Sir, do you need to sit down?" Potter asked, with what appeared to be genuine concern.

Knowing Potter, it probably WAS genuine, in spite of all the abuse Snape had heaped upon him for more than five years. Potter was like that, he knew, very like his mother, who could forgive anything. No. Almost anything. Some things were unforgivable. Snape clenched his teeth, holding back the urge to … to CRY. MERLIN! He WAS cracking up. Becoming unhinged. His thoughts had become more and more disjointed since he'd left the Great Hall, losing focus, drifting from topic to topic… And he suddenly realized that Potter was still standing there, awaiting an answer, while Granger looked on from behind the latest installment of her five thousand lines.

Glancing at the wall clock, Snape felt a shock jolt through him. Detention had begun at seven o'clock, as usual, and it was now nearly a quarter of eight. How LONG had he been … "zoned out" … as Potter had described it yesterday? He couldn't remember much beyond the first few minutes of this detention.

"Professor?" Potter again. Looking back at him through Lily's eyes.

Snape had opened his mouth to snarl at Potter's concern when a wave of relentless horror and guilt swallowed him whole. He gasped, struggling to catch his breath under its suffocating weight. Not even aware that he'd sagged to his knees, he tried to make sense of the fact that the stone floor seemed so close at hand. Was this what Flitwick saw as he traipsed along the stone corridors of the castle? From far away, he heard shouts of "Professor Snape!" and "Sir! Sir!", and he could only presume that he must have finally lost all control in front of those insufferable Gryffindors. Bloody HELL, what was WRONG with him? And WHY did it keep happening during detention? Potter's detentions, no less. If not for the fact that the attacks had also occurred well outside of Potter's presence, Snape WOULD have blamed him…

Realizing at last that he was on his hands and knees on the classroom floor, Snape lashed out, batting away intrusive hands that obviously belonged to Potter and Granger. "OUT!" he roared. "GET OUT! GO! NOW!"

Abandoning their school bags, Harry and Hermione ran for the door to the corridor, and in the second after the heavy oak slammed behind them, they heard a howl of anguish filter through the thick barrier. Hearts pounding, they stared at each other for a few sickening seconds before Hermione grabbed Harry's clammy hand. "Come on, Harry!" she urged. "We have to find Professor Flitwick! This is – this is – "

They ran for Ravenclaw Tower.

-:- -:- -:-

"Luna told us Flitwick had gone into Hogsmeade for the evening," Harry explained to Ron, "so we ended up telling Dumbledore everything. I told him he HAD to Finite the Haunting Charm. It'd gone too far. He said he'd check on Snape, but all we know is that our bags were returned to our dorms without any further news."

"So we have no idea what's happening now," Hermione sighed.

"Wicked!"

"Ronald!"

"I just meant – "

"Shut up, Ron."

"Right. Sorry." Despite the terse apology, Ron still looked as though someone had just burst his balloon.

Harry looked at both of them. "I CAN tell you something about tonight's detention," he said as they leaned in to listen to his whisper. "I smelled Calming Draught on Snape's breath. Seriously."

"Oh, Harry, are you sure?" Hermione whispered back, looking floored.

He nodded. "That time he leaned over to yank me up – I could really smell it. No question. It was definitely Calming Draught."

"The old Haunting Charm must really be getting to him, eh!"

"Ronald!"

Harry sighed. "Dumbledore probably decided to Finite the Charm, but maybe Flitwick will give me partial credit, even it if turned out to be far too potent. At least I demonstrated that I could create a working Charm, which is more than I'd expected for a first attempt."

His friends eyed him curiously.

"You mean you thought it would FAIL?" Ron asked at last.

Harry nodded glumly. "Yeah. Because – well, I'm me, and Snape is Snape." He knew they'd understand what he meant.

Hermione smiled gently and put her hand on his arm. "But I had every confidence in you, Harry. You did the research, you learned the theory behind each element, and you practiced like crazy before you ever tried casting it on Snape." She squeezed his arm. "This is truly the most impressive effort I've ever seen you put forth on any assignment. So, even if it went a bit overboard – well done."

Harry couldn't help cracking a smile. "Thanks, 'Mione. That means a lot, coming from you."

"Cheer up, mate. Tomorrow is Halloween!"

-:- -:- -:-

Although he believed that Dumbledore must have Finited the Haunting Charm, Harry's concern for Snape led him to conceal himself under the Invisibility Cloak and head for the dungeons at first light on Halloween morning. He knew that Snape taught a Second Year Slyth-Gryff class right after breakfast. Harry had planned to hang out in the dungeon corridor near Snape's office, hoping to spot the man on his way to class. Instead, he saw the Defense teacher entering the main doors of the castle, as if he'd gone for an early morning walk in the fresh air.

Snape looked ghastly. Absolutely ghastly. Pale face deeply lined with fatigue, dark eyes bleary and bloodshot, hands literally quaking like aspen leaves as he pushed the tall door closed – the man appeared ready to collapse. Harry squelched his initial instinct to go to Snape and offer him assistance, since curfew wouldn't officially lift for another half hour. But he trailed after him as Snape made an unsteady descent to the dungeons and disappeared into his private quarters.

To Harry's shock, however, Snape appeared perfectly normal in appearance and demeanor when he stalked into Sixth Year Double Defense directly after lunch. In fact, the man looked more physically normal than he had yesterday. "Glamours," he whispered to Ron and Hermione. "He's got to be wearing glamours. There's no way he could have improved his appearance that drastically that fast. Not naturally."

"He probably took something like Pepper-Up Potion, or maybe Strengthening Solution, too," Hermione murmured. She bit her lip. "Do you really think Dumbledore…"

"Only one way to tell," Harry whispered back. "We'll know at 1:45."

"But surely…" Hermione sounded painfully conflicted between her confidence and doubt in Dumbledore. "Wouldn't Dumbledore have told us that he had? IF he did, that is?"

Harry could only shrug as Snape called the class to order.

-:- -:- -:-

Silently, Snape prayed to make it through the entire double class without an incident. His two morning single classes had gone well, but he had felt so weakened by the attack in his quarters before breakfast that he could barely take solace in that fact. Besides, if it happened this afternoon with the Sixth Years, it would confirm a pattern in the attacks. At least he'd have a second opinion on the matter. If it happened. He looked at the clock on the wall of the Defense classroom.

-:- -:- -:-

"He's been watching the clock," Harry scribbled on a scrap of parchment, sliding it over to Ron, who passed it on to Hermione.

"He knows something is up," Ron muttered out of the side of his mouth.

The parchment fluttered at Ron and he pinched it between two fingers before Snape could spot Hermione extending it. She'd scribbled back, "If it happens, are you going to Finite him?"

Harry nodded. I HAVE to, he mouthed. He jotted a few more lecture notes – Defense was actually going well this year, in spite of Snape's personality, or had anyway, before the Haunting Charm – and suddenly a new scrap slid over from Ron. Hermione had scribbled, "But wait a minute – would this be the FINAL Accentuation, or would another one come immediately before the Charm breaks tonight? If this IS the final Accentuation, maybe you could just let the Charm run out? Finite would've been more beneficial last night, wouldn't it?"

Harry considered. WOULD there be a final – the WORST – Accentuation at 7:45pm during the Feast, followed by the Charm breaking? In front of the entire population of Hogwarts? Or would the Haunting Charm just end without any additional drama? Provided, of course, that Dumbledore hadn't already Finited Snape. Which Harry hoped he HAD, but if he hadn't… He shrugged at Hermione. His guess was as good as hers. She shrugged back. One thing was certain – if Snape got hit again, he'd Finite him, regardless, just to cut short his torment.

"Two more minutes," whispered Ron.

Harry could tell that Ron was hoping against hope that Dumbledore HADN'T Finited Snape. He'd even said he'd wished he'd had detention with them so he wouldn't have missed out. Harry glared at Ron.

"What?" Ron mouthed, affronted.

-:- -:- -:-

After the zoning-out experience during detention the night before, Snape hadn't dared to think about ingesting a single drop of Calming Draught before classes today. But now he longed for it, his nerves screaming with tension as he anticipated the worst. He glanced again at the clock. If there really was a six-hour pattern to this nightmare…

All of these students would see. Too many to Obliviate. He'd have to leave handling them up to Dumbledore. Besides, rumors were already circulating about previous classroom "incidents", although – quite unexpectedly – he'd not heard any rumors regarding those which had taken place during the Gryffindors' detentions. Who would have imagined that Potter and his cohorts could be that circumspect? Snape's eyes jumped to the back of the classroom and saw Potter, Granger, and Weasley staring solemnly back at him. It occurred to him that this was the first time all term that they hadn't averted their gaze when he looked in their direction. They appeared to be waiting…

It HIT him like the Hogwarts Express making top speed –

Thundered over top of him –

Bowled him over in a hideous blur of horror and pain –

Before his vision tunneled, he could see Potter rising up … pointing his wand … directly at HIM…

It WAS Potter, after all, he thought viciously, hearing himself scream. That little FIEND!

-:- -:- -:-

Before Harry could shout "Finite Incantatum!", his wand suddenly shot out of his grasp, almost as if it had been YANKED away. "What – "

"Harry!" Dumbledore's urgent whisper floated nearby. "Leave him be. We shall attend to him."

"We – who?"

But Dumbledore and Flitwick had materialized, even as they rushed toward the front of the room. Disillusioned, Harry thought dazedly, staring after them. They must have been here the whole time.

"Class is over for the day," Dumbledore addressed the students. "You are dismissed."

"But Headmaster," Draco's voice rose above the hubbub. "Is Professor Snape going to be all right?" He pointed at the man rolling tortuously about within his own robes.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, indeed, Mr. Malfoy. Your Head of House should be right as rain by this evening." He waved a gnarled hand toward the exit. "Now if ALL of the students would please vacate the classroom." And Dumbledore looked meaningfully over his half-moon spectacles at Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

Dawdling just enough not to be called on it, the three Gryffindors packed their books and papers into their bags. At Dumbledore's stern look, they filed slowly out of the room, and at a final gesture from the Headmaster, closed the heavy door behind them.

Several other students, mostly Slytherins, were still milling around outside the door, but when nobody emerged after several minutes, they slowly began to disperse.

"We should go, too," Hermione pointed out. "Dumbledore will let us know what happens. We just have to be patient."

Silently, Harry and Ron trailed after Hermione, not knowing where she was leading them, but not surprised that they ended up in the library.

-:- -:- -:-

Neither Dumbledore nor Snape was present at the Halloween Feast, Harry noticed. And Flitwick himself had left early.

Just before 7:30, a scroll had suddenly popped into being directly above Harry's abandoned plate. He snatched the scroll quickly before it could land in the remains of the sweets that he'd been unable to eat. It could only be from Dumbledore… "They want me to meet them in the Hospital Wing." Harry's emerald eyes grew very round behind his glasses. "I've put Snape in the Hospital Wing," he moaned. "He'll never forgive me for that."

Hermione squeezed his arm gently. "Could I suggest something for you to think about, Harry? On your way to the Hospital Wing?"

"Like what?"

"Would you consider forgiving Snape for whatever wrong you believe he's committed against you?"

Ron snorted. "Like he hasn't done loads to Harry every year since we started school. You remember that first Potions class?"

"I haven't forgotten anything, Ronald," she said tartly. "But there was something specific that inspired Harry to create the Haunting Charm. Wasn't there?" She looked at Harry. "Just think about it, okay?"

"I've got to go," he said, standing up and heading for the doors to the entrance hall.

But Hermione had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. Although Harry mainly feared Snape's wrath at this point, rather than wanting the man's forgiveness, he had to wonder how he could expect the man to forgive him enough not to seek reciprocal revenge if Harry himself refused to offer his own forgiveness.

Sirius had not chosen to haunt Snape – the Haunting Charm placed one hundred percent of the blame squarely in Harry's lap. Whether or not Sirius forgave Snape, in this life or in the next, was a matter which should not have concerned Harry, but he had made it his concern. He had sought revenge, and what had resulted? He shuddered a bit as he climbed the last flight of stairs to the third floor. Nothing that made him feel happy or satisfied, that was certain.

Instead, Harry felt … guilty. His lips twisted at the undeniable irony.

He stopped in the open doorway of the Hospital Wing. Contrary to his expectation of seeing a bedridden, comatose, or even mindlessly-babbling Snape, the black robes standing silently by a tall window belied the man's infirmity.

"Come in, Harry," invited Dumbledore pleasantly. "And please close the doors."

Harry obeyed, then moved hesitantly into the large room, slowly approaching the Headmaster's beckoning hand.

"Mr. Potter, I have been explaining your Charms project to Professor Snape," said Filius Flitwick quite cheerfully. "I assured him that I gave your prospectus careful consideration before approving it, and that I had been monitoring its effects ever since you informed me that you had, in fact, cast it three days ago."

Harry looked questioningly at his Charms teacher. "You also mentioned yesterday that you'd been monitoring him, and I kind of wondered why," he admitted.

Snape snorted loudly, as if the answer should be self-evident, but Flitwick gestured to his colleague to silence before he could voice his opinion on the matter.

"You see, Mr. Potter, this Haunting Charm of yours was highly experimental, and since its effects were entirely unknown, I wanted to keep a close eye on Severus for those seventy-two hours. Granted, I could not easily observe what happened inside his private quarters, but I have been on hand for all of the other Accentuations, as well as observing his general demeanor."

"So you were Disillusioned? In detentions and classes?"

Flitwick nodded, then laid a fingertip thoughtfully against the corner of his mouth. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, how would you evaluate the success of your Charm?"

Harry glanced uneasily at Snape, who stared at him with expressionless eyes. "Mm… Well, without knowing the full extent of Professor Snape's experience – just basing my evaluation on what I cold personally observe – I'd say that the Accentuations produced too strong an effect. Way too powerful." He hung his head for a moment, flicking his fingers nervously against his robes. Then he looked up, meeting Snape's eyes. "My original intention was to spook you, sir. To make you uneasy. Nervous. I thought the Juvenile Compulsion Guilt Charm wouldn't be strong enough to accomplish that on its own, so I combined it with Incremental Accentuation to enhance and periodically increase the effects. I had intended to produce mild to moderate paranoia, sir, not – well, not whatever you've been suffering. And not physical distress, either. I'm sorry about that, sir." The apology came easily, naturally, before Harry could feel any angst over it. "You've looked like hell for the past couple of days, so I KNEW something wasn't right. When I discovered Professor Flitwick was gone to Hogsmeade last night, I begged Professor Dumbledore to Finite the Charm after you threw us out of detention."

Flitwick interrupted. "Actually, Potter, I was IN your detention last night."

Harry and Snape both turned accusing looks on the small wizard, who added, "I put about the Hogsmeade story to cover my absence while I went to the Defense classroom."

"Then you saw everything!" burst out Harry. "So why didn't either of you Finite it afterwards?" His gaze flicked back and forth between Flitwick and Dumbledore. "Why did you let Professor Snape continue to suffer?"

"I would like to know the answer to that myself," added Snape in his trademark voice that sounded both silky-smooth and dangerous. "You also continued to allow me to HUMILIATE," he spat the word, "myself in front of students – "

"In one moment, Severus," said Dumbledore, holding up a hand. "But 7:45 is nigh, and I wish to observe the breaking of the Charm."

The three other wizards stared closely at Snape, who stared in turn at Madam Pomfrey's ornate wall clock, counting down the seconds. As the second hand neared the twelve, Snape began to breathe deeply as a familiar, crushing sensation constricted his chest. And then – he suddenly felt as light and free as a feather on the breeze. He blew out his last breath in relief. "It is finished," he announced.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "And now to answer your question, Severus. Filius had initially expressed doubt about whether such a charm would work at all, and if it did, how well it would work. Not to mention, being cast by someone who was not well versed in such complex magic."

Snape sneered at Harry, who felt his cheeks warm.

"However, once Filius determined that the Haunting Charm was, in fact, working rather well, I decided that the Charm should run its full course in order to observe its ultimate effects. And unlike Filius, I myself COULD monitor you within your private quarters, and I freely admit to having done so."

Snape muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Why am I not surprised."

"The reason, quite obviously, was to consider whether such a Haunting Charm might prove useful in the War, as either a tool or a weapon."

Snape favored Dumbledore with a hard black stare.

"Thank you very much for acting as Harry's guinea pig, Severus," said the twinkling Headmaster as he graciously inclined his head. "You have performed a great service to the side of Light."

Flitwick caught Harry's attention. "I'll need your final observations written up, Potter. And observations from you, too, Severus." He looked at Harry. "Any final questions, Potter?"

"Er – yes, sir. Why are we here in the Hospital Wing? Instead of at the Feast, I mean."

Flitwick sighed. "I thought it wiser to witness the breaking of the Charm in private, given its previous, rather overblown manifestations. I had no idea of what to expect at the end, and I preferred not to subject Severus to the public scrutiny of four hundred students."

"I see. Thank you, sir. Ron and Hermione and I had already wondered if the Charm might produce one final Accentuation before it broke, so I'm glad you made that decision."

"Good, good." Flitwick happily rubbed his palms together. "That winds everything up, eh?"

Dumbledore nodded, but Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry.

"A private word with Potter, if you please."

Harry held back a sigh. He had it coming, he supposed. He watched as Dumbledore and Flitwick departed, closing the doors behind them. Snape warded it.

"Your motives?" he demanded, not mincing words, his wand not quite pointing at Harry.

Harry met his black eyes squarely. "My motives were both personal and inappropriate, sir. I'll admit that much, but I'd rather not explain in detail."

Snape's expression had segued from startled to puzzled. He stared at Harry, and Harry looked back at him unflinchingly.

Harry couldn't feel any Legilimency going on, but Snape had finessed information out of his mind on numerous occasions in the past, so Harry concentrated strongly on a single image – Sirius falling backwards through the Veil … over … and over … and over…

At long last, Snape said quietly, "You blame me."

So he HAD been performing Legilimency.

"I did," Harry nodded.

"And now?"

Harry took a breath "Regardless of what happened in the Department of Mysteries, I … I realized that I turned it into something that should not have been my … my personal concern." After a moment, he added, "I'm sorry, Professor. I should have left it up to Sirius to haunt you, if he wanted to."

Snape – did his eyes glimmer? Was that a hint of a chuckle?

"I daresay I got off easier with your Haunting Charm, Potter." Snape turned on his heel and left Harry standing alone in the Hospital Wing.

Harry grinned. He could almost hear Sirius laughing … somewhere.