Seamus was in really poor form at breakfast on Boxing Day. Harry didn't have much sympathy for him, but at least Harry wasn't the one causing as much noise as possible to bother Seamus. Neville wasn't either, though he did laugh a little when Dean started drumming on the table with his hands.

"I hate you all," Seamus groaned, draining a glass of pumpkin juice.

"You're the one that made the gummies," Dean reminded him.

"You're not taking the piss out of Harry for coming back at fuck me o'clock in the morning," Seamus argued, his voice rather weak. "Oi, Potter! Where were you all night?"

"Trying to figure out the clue for the next task," Harry easily lied. "Christmas miracle, and all."

"Tosser," Seamus muttered, resting his head on the table. It shot up a moment later, after Dean resumed his drumming.

"How'd things go with Hermione last night?" Harry asked, keeping his voice quiet as he nabbed another rasher of bacon.

Ron paused with his mug up to his face.

"She's still angry," Ron answered. Hermione wasn't down yet, but Ginny was and Harry knew that Ron was afraid his sister would report anything he said.

"Well yeah," Harry said. "But how angry?"

Ron took a long drink of pumpkin juice, before pulling a face.

"She said I could have another chance," Ron said, swirling his finger in the juice cup. "Ugh, there's a hair in my juice."

Harry, who'd been drinking his own juice, spat it out across the table.

"Oh, gross," Seamus complained, pushing his mostly empty plate away from himself with a scowl. "Were you raised by animals?"

"Yes," Harry distractedly answered, wiping his own face with his serviette. "Ron, remember what I said last night? About what shouldn't be mixed with..."

A rhythmic banging interrupted Harry's thoughts, and he quickly recognised the clunk of Professor Moody's cane on the stone floor.

"Potter!" Moody barked, coming to stand behind Ron's chair. "Wanted to speak to you about the tournament. Let's go up to my office."

Harry looked up at Moody, at the creepy rotating eye that was flying every which way, as if to assess any threat it could.

"Uh, sure, sir," Harry muttered, unable to think of a way to avoid the meeting that wouldn't make Moody suspicious.

"Right, gather your things, then," Moody said, clearly planning to wait and walk with Harry.

Because it was Boxing Day, Harry didn't actually have much with him, other than his little summer notebook from when he'd first arrived at Snape's house. Harry picked that up, and as casually as he could, rubbed his thumb against the tattooed mole on the inside of his finger. Stepping up off the bench, Harry glanced for a second up at the teacher's table, and saw that Snape's gaze was hard and precisely focused on him. The drumbeat started in the tattoo, and Harry felt only slightly reassured as he followed Moody out of the Hall.

"Figured out the clue yet, Potter?" Moody asked, as he hobbled toward the stairs.

"Yeah, I think so," Harry said, paying very close attention as they walked. It was morning and sunlight was beaming through the windows, illuminating the portraits in the hall and the few straggling students making their way to breakfast. No one thought it was odd to see Harry walking with Professor Moody.

"And how are you going to win?" Moody asked, leading them down the hall toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Haven't figured that part out yet, sir," Harry answered. He wished he had his map with him, so he could check and see if Snape was far behind and also see exactly who was pretending to be Professor Moody.

"Well, I can tell you a snorkel ain't going to cut it," Moody said, opening the classroom and letting Harry in. He took a swig of whatever was in his flask as Harry passed, and Harry could feel the drum beat in his tattoo getting stronger.

"I know how to swim," Harry said, pretending to look around the classroom. He didn't know why Moody had called him up, but he knew that nothing he'd said should have given away his suspicions. So what did Moody want? Was it really to talk about the tournament? Or was it to see what Harry knew?

"Sure," Moody replied. "But how long can you hold your breath?"

His one eye was focused directly on Harry, and while the other occasionally glanced about the classroom, it was mostly focused on Harry as well. Harry suddenly remembered Snape warning him about legilimens, and how eye contact was needed, and he felt his palms get clammy as he struggled to hide his thoughts with occlumency.

He still wasn't very good at it, but Harry was determined to keep his suspicions to himself, until he could talk to Snape.

"A...a few minutes, sir," Harry replied, images of dwarves and food and chanting in his head.  Blunt the knives and bend the forks! Harry forcefully thought. "Not long enough, but I'll go to the library and figure something out."

"See that you do," Moody said, peering at Harry.  "Have you been running around in the dungeons as of late?"

"No," Harry said, puzzled and uncomfortable with Moody's stares. "Down where the Slytherins are? I'm not mad."

Moody gave him a sly smirk, which scrunched up his face horribly and made Harry suspicious. Harry didn't feel any sort of mental intrusion, but then again, Snape had told him that it was sometimes hard to notice. Harry stood stock still, letting the Hobbit hole take over his mind. Chip the glasses and crack the plates!

"There's more than merpeople down there in the lake, and you'll be wanting to finish the task as fast as you can," Moody finished, giving a final nod as he finished his sentence.

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates! Harry mentally chanted, both trying to listen to Moody and obscure his thoughts. It was a lot harder to do when it wasn't Snape testing him.

"Are you making fun of me, boy?" Moody suddenly asked, leaning against his desk.

"What?" Harry asked, and he winced as the image of Bag End and the dwarves slipped from his mind. Interestingly, he could now feel the drumming in his finger tattoo a bit better, and it was just as steady as before. Snape must be close, Harry knew.

"Screwin' up your face all funny. Don't think I don't know what I look like," Moody warned.

"No! No, no," Harry denied, thinking up a quick lie. "No, I wasn't. We...at the dance last night we had fire whiskey gummy bears. My stomach's still a bit off."

After a tense few seconds Moody's face split into a grin and he laughed loudly, the sound echoing around the Defence classroom walls. Harry noticed in the office doorway, beyond Moody's shoulder, was a shrouded mirror with moving shadows and Snape's face in it.

"Good lad," Moody said. "None of that before the next task, mind."

"Of course not," Harry agreed. Before he could think of anything else to say that would allow him to leave, the sharp clicking footprints of someone sounded off in the hallway, and then the doorway.

"Mister Potter," Snape said, his voice sibilant and dangerous. "I do believe you are to be in detention at the moment, for your little stunt at the dance last night."

Harry winced. Of course Snape had overheard.

"It's Boxing Day," Moody gruffed, and all trace of friendliness was gone. "Hardly time for detentions, Professor."

The look on Snape's face was absolutely withering.

"I hardly think a first year stand in can decide what sort of punishment a Head of House may or may not give out," Snape growled.

"Funny, I missed the noticed that you'd become Gryffindor's Head of House," Moody said, quirking his head and giving a nasty smile.

Snape moved into the room, pointing his finger at Moody. His long jacket covered enough of his arm that the only thing that stood out from the black cloth was his bone white finger, looking like some sort of weapon.

"If I remember correctly your cavalier attitude nearly got you murdered in the last war. I'd be very interested to see if it happens again," Snape hissed. Harry shrunk back a little from the doorway. He'd specifically called Snape in for help, but sometimes forgot how scary the man could be.

Moody wasn't that cowered, however.

"And I'd be interested to see which side of the line you stay on this time," Moody answered, with a malicious twist to his face.

"I'm certain you would be," Snape quietly answered. "Potter! My office, now!"

The order was very nearly barked out, and Harry jumped at the sound. He fled quickly for the door, realising that he had to keep up the image of Snape-hating-Harry Potter getting into trouble, though it wasn't that difficult to look a little afraid as Snape seemed to be legitimately mad.

By the time they'd reached the dungeons Harry saw that Snape was still ticked off, and that he was partially because of Harry. What Harry didn't know was why.

"Sit!" Snape said, pointing toward his desk chair. Harry walked over to the desk, glancing at the map with the great circle lines on it.

"You're angry with me, aren't you?" Harry asked, sitting in the chair and staring up at Snape.

"Oh very good, Potter," Snape sarcastically responded, running his fingers raggedly through his hair.

"No," Harry said, and shook his head when Snape gave him a nasty look. "I'm John. John Snape."

Snape released a heavy breath, and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"Yes you are. And what did you do today, John Snape, that could have possibly angered your...father?"

"I don't know," Harry quietly said, staring wide eyed at Snape. "I used the tattoo when I went to Professor Moody's office."

"Which you haven't explained," Snape said, his voice nearly toneless.

"I don't think that's Professor Moody," Harry said, shifting in the chair. "I think it's someone using polyjuice, and that's what I meant to tell you last night."

"And what? You just forgot?" Snape asked, still glaring at Harry. "Someone dangerous and potentially a Death Eater is in the school and you just forgot to tell me?"

"I got distracted," Harry hurriedly answered, his face heating at the accusations. He'd been trying hard in the training sessions to prove to Snape that he could do this, that he could fight this war, and now he was in trouble for forgetting such a stupid little thing. "I got distracted with the prophecy and I meant to tell you but it slipped my mind. I wrote it down...somewhere, but I didn't see my note this morning."

Snape started pacing in front of Harry and he was breathing heavily through his nose, causing it to flare.

"You cannot allow a stupid distraction like Christmas to obscure such an important fact!" Snape hissed.

"I didn't mean to! I meant to tell you as soon as I woke up!"

"But you didn't! And you might have been killed, because you focused on shiny Christmas toys instead." Snape snapped.

"No I didn't!" Harry interrupted, absolutely confused as to why his eyes were watering and trying to stop them. "I was thinking about the prophecy and what I'd heard Trelawney say, to show you in the pensieve."

Snape huffed out a large breath but Harry could tell he was still very irritated.

"You must learn to store the information in a very important spot in your mind. Somewhere you won't forget," Snape warned, shaking his finger at Harry.

"I know," Harry said, his hands gripping the material at the sides of his trousers. "I've never done this spying thing before. I'm sorry."

"You're not doing it now," Snape sternly corrected. "You are not a spy. You may help me, in your lessons here, or when we are relaxing at home. But you are not to go out and problem solve on your own, and you are certainly not to go running headfirst into danger," Snape snapped, clearly still mad. He threw his arms down in frustration and then summoned a kitchen chair. Sitting directly in front of Harry, Snape leaned forward and put his hands on Harry's knees, ready to lecture Harry further.

"But you do that," Harry said, interrupting whatever Snape was going to say next. "That's what Trelawney meant, 'he of the greatest story never told.' She means you. You're going to rush into this too," Harry continued, glancing sideways for just a sliver of a second to the package on the kitchen table labelled for Evan Rosier.

"And what makes you so certain that that is my plan?" Snape asked, only slightly calmer than he had been moments earlier.

"Because that's what you did in the first war," Harry exhaled, hoping Snape wouldn't snap at him like he had in the summer. "You tried to save my Mum, and it didn't work. And now you're keeping me safe."

"I did not rush into that," Snape said, sitting back as if to distance himself from Harry. His eyes were darting from side to side, and he looked quite uncomfortable. "I took the coward's way out and asked for someone else's help, instead of going to her myself."

"You can't be a coward," Harry said, sure of himself. "Not if you're telling me that I need to ask for help too."

"I will define myself as I see fit," Snape sternly told him, without room for negotiation. "And you will be punished for going along with someone you suspect to be dangerous."

Snape exhaled and hooked his hair behind his ears.

"Though it seems from the conversation he had with you, that Professor Moody believes no one suspects him of being someone else."

"Yeah," Harry answered, his mind racing over the conversation. He was more relaxed into the chair, now that he knew Snape's anger had mostly run its course. "Hang on. If you didn't know about him, why did you follow me?"

"Because you activated your tattoo. Which was your idea, as a way to signal you were in danger," Snape said, speaking to Harry as if he was a stupid child.

"Right," Harry said. "I...well. Thanks for that."

Snape huffed and rose from the chair he was in. "Guardian, John. Must I order you to write the definition out a hundred times?"

"No," Harry quickly answered. Snape seemed focused on something else though, now that he'd gotten his ‘you did something stupid' point across.

"I knew as well that someone was brewing polyjuice, as the ingredients have been stolen from my cupboards, and if it was you, the wards would not have reported it as a theft."

"I haven't stolen anything from you," Harry said, getting up from the desk chair and moving to the couch, which he considered his spot now.

"...lately," Snape concluded, searching through the papers on his desk for something.

Harry wasn't nearly stupid enough to comment any further on the topic of stolen ingredients.

"What should I do if Moody wants to talk to me again? I can't just avoid a professor," Harry said, glancing over toward the doorway. He saw movement in the picture that was hanging on the wall - the same house portrait that they had up in Lower Tarrow.

"Use your little map to avoid him, and be on your guard, as you always should be. Use the tattoo, if you must, but only if things have progressed to real danger. Between yourself and the company of your friends, I don't expect you will have trouble," Snape answered, his fingers flipping through the pages of a book. "Not yet."

Harry watched as a figure left the front door of the house and stepped down onto the pavement. The figure seemed to look about for a moment, before returning back inside.

"Not yet?" Harry repeated.

"It's still winter," Snape said, baffling Harry. "Now, you may remain here and practice disarming spells, or return to your dormitory."

Harry remembered the bruises from his last training session, and the fact that it was Boxing Day.

"Dorms," he answered, popping up off the couch. "I promise I'll practise my aim though, throwing snowballs at Ron."

Harry grinned cheekily and headed out, feeling victorious that Snape hadn't remembered to set a punishment.

....

"Master...Master the time is coming soon..." Pettigrew's scratchy voice echoed in the sitting room, while the fire in the fireplace crackled behind him.

"Yesss it issss," another voice said, slithering the s at the end of each word. The voice was coming from a large chair to the left of the fire, shrouded by a blanket. A large snake lay coiled at the feet of the chair.

"Isss the potion ready?"

"Not just yet. It requires another shipment of lethifold leather," Pettigrew replied, his hands rubbing themselves, much like a rat's would, with his nervousness.

"And the new brewer?" Voldemort asked, his tone sceptical. "You trust that he will not lead me astray?"

"It's Rosier, my lord," Pettigrew stuttered. "He was loyal to the end in the last war, and only just managed to escape Auror Moody."

"If you are certain," Voldemort replied, and there was a very strongly implied warning that if Pettigrew were wrong, he would not live long to regret it.  "The potion must work, and it must use the boy's blood to regenerate me. Do you understand why, Wormtail, my frightened little servant?"

"No, master," Pettigrew said, and he shook his head fiercely. "And I am not afraid."

Voldemort's cruel laugh filled the room for a moment, and when he continued, his voice was almost sickly sweet.

"Oh but you are. And you still continue to serve. The boy's blood must be used, Wormtail, because if I am made of the same, his mother's protection will no longer save him."

The snake at the base of the chair sleepily lifted its head, flicking its tongue out to taste the air, before setting back down.

"Harry Potter, unprotected and all alone," Voldemort finished.

"Ah!" Harry gasped, shooting upward in bed. The back of his neck was damp and his skin was clammy as he pinched himself to make sure that he was all right, back at Hogwarts, and it had been just a dream. But even Harry didn't believe that, not after he'd had the first vision in the summer.

Reaching over to his bedside cabinet, Harry opened the drawer and pulled out the Marauder's Map. It was half two in the morning, but entirely possible that Snape was out on patrol. Harry skimmed the map, finding nothing, but down in Snape's office Harry spotted an out of place name on the map. Barty Crouch.

Jumping out of bed, Harry slipped on the closest shoes that he could find, and only just remembered to bring his invisibility cloak as he pulled a jumper over his head and slipped out of the room.

Harry passed the fireplace in the Gryffindor tower, nearly tripping on a stack of books as he remembered that he couldn't just walk down to the dungeons, as the way to get into where Snape lived was through the very office Barty Crouch was inspecting.

"Think," Harry muttered, tapping the side of his head. "Think, think, think...Dobby!"

Dobby snapped into the room with a great beaming smile.

"What can Dobby do for Harry Potter sir?"

"I need some Floo powder, Dobby," Harry asked, figuring a direct approach would get him the powder quickest.

"Yes sirs, Harry Potter sirs!" Dobby nodded, disappearing with a pop. He came back a second later, carrying a large jar.

"Is Harry Potter needing anything else?" Dobby asked, grabbing the hem of his Hogwarts uniform and doing a little bow.

"No, that's great, thanks!" Harry quickly said, gabbing a handful of powder and tossing it into the fireplace. The fireplace flared green and Harry hoped to hell that 'Snape's flat' was the right thing to call as he jumped in.

Harry stumbled out at the other end, tripping on the grate and smacking his head against the coffee table.

"Oooh," Harry groaned, hand flying to his forehead. He rubbed it tenderly, feeling the bump already forming.

"What the hell are you doing?" Snape grumbled a moment later, rubbing his eyes as he walked out from behind the wall where his bedroom was.

"I smacked my head," Harry complained, keeping his hand on his forehead.

Snape suddenly stood up straight and drew out his wand.

"There's someone in my office," Snape said, reaching out for Harry and pulled him away from the fireplace, and behind him.

"It's Mr Crouch," Harry explained, allowing himself to be pulled. "I saw it on the map, and was coming to tell you."

"Stay here," Snape warned, advancing toward the door.

"What?" Harry dumbly asked. "No, I can help!"

"Help with what?" Snape hissed, twirling to look at Harry. "Students are not to be anywhere near here, and I am still uncertain to who he actually is. And what did I say about running into danger?"

Chastised, Harry scowled and watched as Snape left the flat. He left the door to the hallway open though, and Harry snuck along that to see if he could hear what was being said in Snape's office.

"And have you found what you're looking for?" Snape's bored voice intoned. Harry seemed to have missed the start of the conversation, but it sounded like Moody was still there. Remembering that he could see through doors, Harry kept himself away from the door, in the shadows of the stone walls.

"Not as such," Moody craftily answered. "But the year is only half over."

"So it is. And it will be a rather tense half year, now that you have been caught breaking into my private office," Snape answered, his voice rough and dangerous sounding.

"This is school properly," Moody scoffed. "And I am an Auror."

"You were an Auror," Snape snapped. "You are here as a stand in professor, and I assure you, the Headmaster will not stand for such a breach of privacy."

"He hired me to protect the students, first and foremost," Moody snapped, banging his cane on the floor to emphasize his point.

"From the ingredients and volumes contained in my office?" Snape dryly asked.

There was a moment of silence, and Harry wished he could see for just a second what was happening. He knew he couldn't risk it though, as Moody's eye would see him before he glanced out the door, and Snape would hear him moving in the hall.

"How bad is the burning, Snape?" Moody suddenly asked, and Harry narrowed his eyes as he tried to work out the question.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape evenly inquired.

"The burning, in your arm," Moody responded, and he sounded almost happy, like he was consumed with a twisted feeling of eagerness. "From the devil's mark, that's getting stronger."

"The devil?" Snape repeated, not rising to Moody's bait. "Hardly. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was to convince the world he didn't exist, and I assure you, the Dark Lord is very real."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that, Severus Snape," Moody replied. "Well aware."

Harry heard the clunking of the cane on the floor again, sounding further away, as Moody headed for the office door.

"Seems your old chum Karkaroff is aware as well," Moody added. "Mighty panicked about it, too."

The door slammed shut behind him, and Harry yanked the Marauder's Map out of his jumper pocket. It was still active, and it didn't take Harry long to find the nametag leaving Snape's office.

"Dad, look," Harry said, holding up the map in the hallway as Snape stepped back in. "Barty Crouch."

Snape nodded, pushing Harry into his flat.

"So it is," Snape said, slightly distracted.

"Why is Mr Crouch here?" Harry asked, watching the nametag on the map ascend the stairs. "Is it because of what happened in the summer, at the Quidditch World Cup?"

"That may play a small part," Snape confirmed. He was stuck deep in thought, and Harry knew he'd get some answers from Snape, but not many. "Bartemius Crouch Senior very harshly oversaw the trials of Death Eaters in the first war, including Sirius Black's."

Snape was standing by the fireplace, holding a small bag that had been sitting on the mantel. His retelling of history was laced with bitterness, and Harry got the idea that Barty Crouch was not a very well liked man.

"Why would he be here though?" Harry asked, leaning against the front door. "Pretending to be an Auror?"

"Revenge, perhaps," Snape replied, with a wry smirk on his face. He pulled up the sleeve of his house robe, and scratched idly at the Dark Mark tattoo. "Despite the overwhelming evidence on my person, he was never able to convict me."

Harry's eyes zeroed in on the ugly, but very well detailed, tattoo on Snape's arm.

"So Moody's here to get you, not me," Harry summarized.

Snape rolled his eyes and held out the small bag to Harry, the Floo powder inside glinting in the dull candle light of the room.

"Someone is always out to get you," Snape said. "In any event, I will report it to the Headmaster in the morning and you will be..."

"Always on guard," Harry intoned, grabbing a handful of powder. "Wait, I had another dream tonight."

Harry felt a bit sorry for the man, as once Harry's dream had been fully described, the tired look on Snape's face grew both wary and determined. Harry wondered if Snape had known what he was going to get when he'd agreed to be Harry's guardian, but the forms had been signed long ago and Harry certainly wasn't going to mention it, not if it would make Snape reconsider his guardianship.

Something must have shown on his face though, as Snape gave him a very awkward one-armed hug.

"Go back to the tower, you blasted boy. You're spilling Floo powder all over my hearth," Snape said.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, smiling into the fire as he stepped in.

.....

Harry sat in the window ledge of the common room three weeks into January, staring at the genealogy books in front of him. He hadn't known there were so many Riddles in England, and he had no idea how Snape was going to narrow down the list.

"Hey Harry," Neville said, flopping down into the leather chair beside Harry. "Homework?"

"Yes," Harry automatically replied. "No. Yes? Well, sort of."

Neville gave him a funny look, and laughed. "Very clear answer."

"Yeah," Harry grinned. "Hey, do you know if there's a sort of wizarding atlas?"

"What do you mean?" Neville asked, carefully prying open a chocolate frog box.

"Maybe more like a phone book," Harry corrected, staring down at his list. Over a hundred Riddles just in Manchester alone, never mind London and other cities. "I'm looking for a family that lived near or in a Muggle town."

"Oh," Neville said, catching the frog swiftly as it tried to leap away. "Bit of a lost cause, that. Most wizards who live near Muggles don't like to advertise themselves. We live just outside Great Hangleton, and I don't think Gran's ever been to the local shops."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Of course not."

"Who are you looking for?" Neville asked, peering at Harry's paper as he munched on the chocolate frog. Harry didn't get the chance to hide the paper, as a barrage of noise echoed from the portrait door and Hermione stormed in, closely followed by Ron. Ron was holding the Daily Prophet, which Harry knew had a completely false romantic article in it about Hermione and himself.

"But Hermione!" Ron huffed, "I didn't mean it. I know the article is fake! You told me you prefer ginger idiots; why would you go out with Harry?"

"Ron Weasley, don't you make me laugh," Hermione ordered, spinning around and catching everyone's attention. "I've got a good mad on and I don't want to lose it!"

She looked both frustrated and amused, and Ron had a hopeful grin on his face.

"I'm right though, aren't I? Ginger idiots over short scrawny blokes?"

"Oi!" Harry yelled, from his corner.

Hermione gave a frustrated huff that was definitely hiding a laugh, and stomped up the stairs. Ron eagerly followed, his grin even wider.

"Should we warn him about the steps to the girls' dorm?" Neville asked, taking Harry's list out of his hand.

"No," Harry answered, watching Ron pass over the bridge that led to the girls' dorm. "Let the ginger idiot figure it out."

Neville smiled and waited for the inevitable yelp. It came not a moment later, followed by shouting, as the stairs turned into a slide and punted Ron away from the girls' dormitory rooms.

"You know, there's a Riddle family near our town," Neville said, giving the paper back. "Bit of a puzzle too."

"Really?" Harry asked, picking up his pen. "Your Gran lives in Great Hangleton?"

"Yeah," Neville answered. "But the Riddles live in Little Hangleton. Real posh family too, old money. Anyway, they all died mysteriously one day when Gran was much younger, and no one could make heads or tails of it."

"That's odd," Harry said, writing down the information.

"Could just be bad luck," Neville supplied. "Why are you looking them all up?"

"Oh, just curious. My Aunt mentioned the name at some point, and I just wanted to see if..."

Harry looked up at Neville and saw the look on his friend's face, the same look that had been there when he'd tried to stop Harry, Ron, and Hermione from leaving the dorm after curfew in first year.

"No, that's not it," Harry said, quietly. He glanced around the room, but most of the Gryffindors were still out at dinner. "I'm sorry, I just...don't want people to know. Voldemort's real name was Tom Riddle, and I just thought, if I found his family, maybe I could find out something that would help in case he comes back."

Neville's posture relaxed slightly and he nodded.

"Like a know your enemy, kind of thing?" Neville asked.

"Sort of, yeah," Harry answered, circling the words 'Little Hangleton.'

"Harry, if you suggest I start doing extra potions lessons with Snape so I can get to know him better, I will seriously bet against you in the next task."

Harry started to smirk, and then when Ron came down the stairs seconds later, his face bright red and his smile wide, Harry broke into a laugh.

....

Snape's Christmas gift was in his pocket, and Harry's legs trembled as he waited on the platform in the great lake. Students were cheering around him and there was a low buzzing noise in his ear from the people talking on the platform around him. Snape had reassured him the night before that he wouldn't be taken, wouldn't be Harry's precious thing, but Harry couldn't be too sure. If Dumbledore were choosing the things to be stolen, it definitely wouldn't be Snape.

Hopefully not.

His fingers were shaking as he opened the jar of gillyweed, and his face scrunched up something horrible as he ate it. Harry shook his limbs to get the taste out of his mouth, hoping the Daily Prophet reporters hadn't taken a photo. And if this worked, as Snape said it would, Harry would buy as much of it as he could and show that stuffy Richard Brook this summer that Harry could kick his arse at swimming.

He gave one final look to the crowd as Ludo Bagman counted down, and he caught a quick glance of his dad's black robes on the shore as Harry went into the water. Snape was safe then, and monitoring things above ground.

Two hours later, as Harry sat in the Gryffindor Tower, grasping a mug of very hot tea, he swore off swimming for the rest of the year. And as the drumbeat of his tattoo steadily faded into a lighter sound, Harry relaxed back into the couch and mentally check marked a box in his mind, labelled ‘second task'. Only one left, not until late June, and then the tournament was done. Harry couldn't remember what his scores were, as he didn't much care if he won, but he started to feel a bit of hope that he would survive this tournament after all.

...

Harry's next lesson focused on apparition again, and required leaving Hogwarts grounds. They flooed first to Diagon Alley, and Harry waved to Tom at the bar before Snape pushed him through to the alley wall. Harry was disguised as John, with his short brown hair and eyes corrected with a temporary sight spell. Snape looked like his summer public self as well, and was able to walk through the alley without a single glance of recognition.

The alley wasn't nearly as crowded as it was in the summer, and no one paid either of them any mind as Snape walked quickly to the apothecary and bought some ingredients.

He led Harry to a tiny side alley, where Snape spread a giant map out against the wall. It had several red lines drawn on it, which Harry recognised as great circle lines. There were lots of little X marks along the lines, as if Snape had been to those towns already and crossed them off the list.

"Pick a route," Snape said, tracing his finger along the lines.

"Is there one with a Hangleton?" Harry asked, stepping up closer to look at the tiny names on the map. It was easy to skim his finger diagonally up from the North Sea, though the town was so small that he almost missed it. Friskney, Nettleham, Rawmarsh, Wombwell, Huddersfield, Todmorden, Little Hangleton. Not quite as small as Lower Tarrow then, as Little Hangleton at least was named on the map.

"Why that one?" Snape asked, his eyes following Harry's tracing finger. Little Hangleton was directly on a great circle route to Albania.

"Neville mentioned it a while ago," Harry explained. "His family lives in Great Hangleton, and he said that there's some sort of mystery around the Riddles of Little. I couldn't find much about it though."

"What mystery?" Snape asked, with slight derision as he folded away the map.

"One day, they all simply died," Harry answered with a shrug.

Snape narrowed his eyes, before holding out his arm.

"Reason enough," Snape grudgingly admitted, before he apparated them both into thin air.

The landing was slightly rougher than Harry had expected, having grown used to Snape's usually superb apparition skills. The weather in the north of England was much less pleasant than London's overcast, and Harry tugged the collar of his jacket up against the drizzle.

Snape led him away from the park they'd apparated to, and followed the main road of the village. It was not unlike Lower Tarrow, but this village had an actual grocer's, and a pub as well. Snape bypassed both, and turned down a small lane that led up a slight hill.

"Why this one?" Harry asked, careful to avoid the puddles on the unevenly paved road.

"Instinct," Snape replied. They rounded the corner of the hill and came upon what once must have been a spectacular manor. It was a gothic-looking building, full of peaky roofs and grand dark windows, and the garden at the front had grown rather wild. It reminded Harry of The Addams Family film he'd seen last summer on the telly at the Dursleys'.

"Okay, Dad, you've found the creepiest house in England. Can we go?" Harry asked, standing beside Snape.

"Not quite yet," Snape said, tapping his left arm almost absentmindedly. "Stand here."

Harry shuffled over to stand beside Snape, and jumped slightly as Snape grabbed his hand and held it up.

"Concentrate," Snape softly ordered.

Harry flexed his fingers, feeling nothing but the cold rain on his hand, until he bent them forward and they thrummed. Much like the time when he was younger and accidentally touched the metal plug prong as he was plugging in a lamp, his fingers pulsed.

"What is that?" Harry whispered, staring intently at his fingers as he moved them.

"Wards," Snape replied, dropping Harry's hand. "That thrumming can only be felt right at the precise edge of them, and most people walk by too fast to register it."

"So, if I'm careful enough, I can feel if a place has wards around it?" Harry asked, slowly moving his hand toward the invisible edge again.

"Yes," Snape answered, watching him with a blank expression.

"What sets the boundaries?" Harry next asked. Hermione had often talked about the wards of Hogwarts and what they didn't permit, but Harry had never given much though to how the wards were formed. It was probably written in Hogwarts, A History, but the bet with Ron was up to twenty galleons now, and Harry refused to lose.

"Anchors," Snape answered. "Markers in the ground, on trees, or within the bricks of walls. Imagine that the wards over a house, or manor, or castle even, are like a giant invisible tent. The anchors are the pegs that keep it secured."

"Where are the anchors for our house?" Harry asked, looking around to see if he could spot one of those anchors on the ground.

"Hidden," Snape replied. "If an anchor is found and destroyed, the wards become weakened. Which means..."

"That if I want to get in somewhere, I need to learn how to find them and destroy them," Harry finished, nodding.

"Manipulate," Snape corrected. "Anyone can destroy one, and set off alarms."

Snape continued to walk around the very edge of the wards, tapping his feet on the damp ground and ignoring the light rain that was falling. Harry wasn't sure if he was looking for an anchor or not, so he kept quiet. Snape usually had some sort of plan for these lessons to follow, but Harry could never figure it out before hand.

Instead, he looked back at the gloomy looking house. Some of the lower windows looked to be broken, probably by vandals, and two giant plant stands that were on either side of the front steps had been knocked over. None of the windows had any light in them, though the day was dark enough to require it indoors, and most windows didn't have curtains.

It didn't look like a house Harry had ever seen before, but there was something sort of familiar about it and the feeling made Harry unsettled.

"We're not going in, are we?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape immediately answered. "We'll follow around the edge of the wards, so as not to not alert whatever is inside."

"But..." Harry said, staring at the front door again. He could tell by the porch and weeds overgrown on the front step that no one had used that entrance in a very long time. "You think there's someone in there?"

"It appears abandoned, but there will always be signs," Snape said, holding his wand out and using it to track the edge of the wards.

Harry turned to stare at him, images of Dracula or Frankenstein in his head. "Signs of what, exactly?"

Snape didn't reply though, and Harry had to walk fast to keep up with him as he rounded the edge of the walk way, not going up to the front of the house, but following the garden path to the back.

"Signs of occupation, John," Snape quietly said, his feet making no noise as he carefully stepped on the dirty garden stones. Most were covered with overgrown weeds and brush, but Snape still kept to the path. "Wizards are somewhat talented at occupying abandoned Muggle dwellings, but they will always leave a sign."

The back garden was even more impressive as the front, and the wild landscaping had nearly grown tall enough to obscure the outbuilding in the far corner of the garden. What was once an old fountain in the middle had a few black crows lazily hopping about in the stagnant water, not bothered at all by the drizzle. Harry hugged himself to fight off a chill that wasn't quite solely to blame on the weather, and his eyes got caught on a part of the garden that had been gated off with decrepit wrought iron fencing.

"Look to the grass," Snape quietly told him, pointing around their feet and out toward the general area in front of the back garden doors of the house. "There's patterns in the grass, it's been pressed down repeatedly by something long and heavy. Not human."

"Dad," Harry said, not having heard a word of what Snape had just said. He reached forward and tugged on Snape's jacket sleeve, not taking his eyes off the gated area of the garden. "Dad, you're right, and I want to go home."

"What?" Snape asked, his expression baffled and a little impatient. "Of course I'm right. What are you on about now?"

"No, you're really right," Harry said, fear edging his voice as he looked around them and stepped instinctively closer to Snape. "Someone is here. That's the cemetery I saw in my dream, in the summer."

The effect was almost instantaneous. Snape's entire body stiffened, and he stepped away from the invisible ward line.

"Leave the way we came. Talk loudly, and mention football or some other dreadfully Muggle thing," Snape whispered, pointing Harry toward the road they'd come in on.

The walk back to the road was the longest Harry had taken since he'd been in the tunnel of the Shrieking Shack last year, walking with Snape and Sirius and Lupin back to Hogwarts. Harry had no idea what he talked about, but Snape added to the conversation with hums and one-word answers, so Harry supposed that he hadn't blown their cover.

Once they reached the main road, Snape's posture relaxed ever so slightly and Harry realised they were out of range for being detected.

"Right," Harry said, running his fingers through his very short hair and shaking out the rain droplets. "So now we know where he is."

A small wave of panic slipped through him, because knowing where Voldemort was meant that they could go on the attack, instead of waiting for something bad to happen, but it also meant that Harry would have to face Voldemort himself, quite soon.

"Take a breath," Snape ordered, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezing it. "You are John Snape and you have been training for this. You will also not be fighting alone."

Harry did, taking in a lung-full of wet air as they stood by the side of the road. He was not going to fight alone, that was right. And if they won, he'd never have to fight again.

"Now, we are going to go into the village and you will eat chocolate," Snape said. "Your skin is paler than mine, which is an admirable feat."

Harry rolled his eyes at the sarcasm, but it helped with the calming down.

"And then what?"

Snape started walking, casting a warming spell over both himself and Harry. It dried Harry's clothes, and the conjured umbrellas that followed kept him dry for most of the walk to the village pub.

"We meet with the headmaster, and plan our attack."

Harry grinned as he opened the pub's door.

"You mean we plan something, and then go running head first into danger," Harry said, clearly remembering the lecture he'd gotten on Boxing Day.

Snape scowled as he sat down at a small table, and picked up the menu.

"Stride with purpose," Snape said, muttering. "Leave the running for the Gryffindors."