Harry had to wait a whole week before getting started on his project, because the school was in a turmoil after the attack. Things did not calm down until Professor Snape stood up one morning after breakfast and impatiently declared that hysteria had no place at Hogwarts, and that ”if you cannot focus on work, you might just as well return home”. That managed to snap quite a few people out of their hilly-hallying.

The same evening, however, Snape introduced a black-haired young woman as “Healer Shufflert, from St Mungo’s Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries - Specialist in Mind-Soothing Treatment after Traumatic Events”. Harry thought he distinguished just a touch of irony when Snape pronounced the title. The pupils were encouraged to make an appointment with the healer, if they felt they needed her support. She would be given an office at Hogwarts and be available twice a week.

The security restrictions were lifted successively. Pupils were at last allowed outside to access the grounds of Hogwarts. It suited Harry, as he wanted to pay a visit to Hagrid. When Ron and he approached the cottage, they saw two small creatures with beige fur and big round, turquoise eyes peeking at them from each corner of the house. One of the small animals did a high summersault in the air and tapped on the window, at the short side of the cottage, with one foot, while still hanging upside-down in the air. Hagrid appeared at the door almost at once.

“These kangabbits are the best!” he exclaimed, addressing Ron. “I’ve taught’em to alert me when strangers approach the cottage! Them animals knew someone was sneakin’ by that night before the attack. I wish I’d taken it seriously enough to walk outside and alert some Auror – might’ve prevented the intrusion... This’s Phil and that’s Phlegm by the way.” Hagrid pointed. Harry and Ron greeted and petted the kangabbits who came up to them. After a while, the animals jumped away and started to do series of summersaults in front of them, like air ballet.

Harry was fascinated by their skills and the beauty of their movements. At times, the kangabbits seemed to be suspended in the air. They rose very high, by a series of takeoff points, where only the first one was on the ground. It looked like they stamped on invisible staircase landings in the air, to jump higher and higher, before they launched forward into the twisting and turning of a magical summersault. Harry tore his eyes from the acrobatic creatures to face Hagrid.

“I wanted to ask you what became of all the spiders - Aragog’s family - after the battle? Do you know? Did they all go down the precipice?” he said.

“Yeah, every one of’em,” sighed Hagrid, “... but I was so disappointed they rallied to the support of Voldemort, I can’t say that I miss’em.”

“Would you know... “ Harry hesitated “...whether Professor Slughorn went down to collect the Acromentula venom from the dead bodies?”

“Hmpf... ‘ee didn’t have time for that. All excited ‘ee was, after you had produced that potion from the venom. ‘Ee only thought of goin’ away to do business... I saw it in ‘is eyes – Galleons, they sparkled! And I don’t think ‘ee thought it possible to climb down the precipice,” answered Hagrid.

“That would be dangerous - virtually impossible, no?” asked Ron. Hagrid smiled broadly.

“Not if you know where to go,” he said.

“You did it?” exclaimed Ron. Hagrid nodded.

“When I understood it was the poison from my Acromantulas that would save ‘im - Professor Snape, I mean - I climbed right down to collect as much as I could carry, in case you needed to make ‘im more. I’ve got a large stock,” he explained proudly.

“Brilliant!” cried Harry. “Will you give me some, right now? I need it to put things right with Professor Slughorn...” he added grimly. Hagrid had a barrel full of extracted venom and Harry filled two small bottles that he hid in his cloak before returning to the castle.

When they walked into the Entrance Hall, they spotted Miss Cork coming up from the dungeons, in company of Mr Burgess. They were on their way to dinner in the Great Hall.

“Professor Cork, please!” Harry called out. The young head of Slytherin turned and looked at him suspiciously.

“Hello, Mr Potter,” she said in her dark, velvety voice, without returning his smile.

“I wanted to ask you whether you’d give me permission to use the Potions classroom, in order to do some experiments, this evening?” said Harry. “Nothing dangerous,” he added as she only stared at him, stone-faced, without answering.

“Of course... you can,” she said cautiously at last and Harry noticed just a tiny flicker of her eyes toward Burgess. Harry sighed.

“I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position, Miss Cork. I know you’re new here. It was not my intention. Please excuse me. You’re welcome to tell Professor Snape what I’m doing and tell him that I’ll send him a written report of my experiments. I’m not hiding from him. I just forgot to ask him in class and then I spotted you here and...” He made an apologetic gesture. It was not altogether true. Harry had planned all along to ask Miss Cork because he still avoided contact with Snape as much as possible. Harry thought he saw a streak of disdain on the face of Burgess as he looked at Miss Cork, but when the young DADA teacher turned to Harry, he was his usual friendly, gushing self. They made company into the Great Hall.

When they had eaten, Ron made a mumbling excuse and disappeared to look for Hermione. “Might come down later,” he launched over his shoulder. Harry did not mind. He followed Miss Cork downstairs to the Potions classroom. She gave him entrance to the room and instructed him how to lock up again when he was finished. Harry thanked her.

“No problem. You NEWT students are trusted,” she said. “I asked Professor Snape,” she added.

“Reckoned you would. That’s fine,” Harry said courtly. She turned to go. “Did he want my report?” Harry thought of asking.

“Yes, he said he was looking forward to it,” she answered with a touch of irony.

When Harry started to prepare his experiment, by bringing down a big cauldron and a set of ingredients from the cupboard, he suddenly thought that he heard a noise at the door. He wondered whether it was Ron coming down and waited for the door to open, but it did not. He felt ill at ease and, without really knowing why, he stole up to the door, locked it and secured it for good measure, with both a protection shield and a soundproofing incantation. Then he went back to his business.

Had anyone been able to peek inside the room an hour later, they would have seen Harry with no less than a set of ten cauldrons in front of him, which had been multiplied by magic. He made frenetic notes on a piece of paper and added different ingredients to the different pots.

Two hours later, he stirred one of the cauldrons with a satisfied expression on his face. He checked his notes once more, poured the content into two glass phials, put corks in them and hid them inside a pocket. With a flick of his wand he made the cauldrons disappear. When he had cleaned up the desk, he unlocked the door.

Harry had his wand drawn - he could not say why - but the corridor was empty when he peeked outside. He felt a twinge of bad conscience. Once Harry had engaged in his brewing, he had forgotten all about Ron joining him. If Ron had come down to offer some help, his best friend would have been locked out.

Again, Harry thought that he heard a noise from further down the gallery, leading to the other dungeons. He hesitated before turning to the left to continue deeper down, instead of mounting to the Entrance Hall. He realised, when he came to the end of the gallery, that the small dungeons on each side might be the legendary love nests that Seamus Finnigan had mentioned at the start of term. He peeked into one of them with curiosity. It looked empty and bare, but Harry reckoned that with a few conjuring spells and some transfiguration, you could transform it into a cosy, private place. He suddenly heard voices and, without thinking, he entered one of the small dungeons and shut the opening with a disillusionment charm.

“C’mon, Ron, Harry’s not here... we must have missed him. He’ll be up in the Gryffindor common by now. Let’s go.“ Harry recognised Hermione’s voice and felt stupid. Should he step outside and make himself known? Ron walked right up to the dungeon where he was hiding. Harry recoiled, although he knew Ron could not see him.

“Look Hermione,” whispered Ron, “... a disillusionment charm. There are people in there. Let’s try this one.” Hermione protested weakly, but followed him inside and the entrance to the dungeon opposite Harry’s was blinded. He decided to wait, in case they would come out instantly.

Harry looked around the small cell with curiosity. The brick walls were scarred with carved initials and hearts. There were varying dates. On an impulse, Harry raised his wand and whispered “Revelo magic” at which more sophisticated, magic-made engravings appeared. After scrutinising the walls, Harry particularly noticed a row of inscriptions, shining with a blue light, near the ceiling. It said: James P and JS, James P and AN, James P and... five additional initials with happy little sparks around them. Harry blushed. He knew that his father had liked to play the hero and impress girls with his quidditch talent, but he had not imagined this.

Just as well there was no LE for Lily Evans. Maybe she had been considered too important to end up in that row, Harry thought grimly. If you interpreted it in the kindest way, that was. Then, in the farthest corner of the dungeon, he noticed a weak glow emanating from behind a couple of loose bricks. Harry removed them by magic and inside, on the very stone of the mountain, behind the brick wall, there was an ornate engraving with a warm, golden magical glow. It looked like a crown or a piece of jewellery. Harry stared at it and imagined discerning flourished, entwined letters, but the meaning escaped him. He shuddered, all of a sudden, and felt uneasy.

His wand flung the bricks back in the wall, to hide the golden inscription. He lifted the disillusionment charm abruptly and stepped outside. Ron and Hermione had not come out from their dungeon. When he started to walk away, Harry heard the sound of steps in front of him, but did not care to slow down. On the contrary, he accelerated to a running pace and propelled himself through the corridor. He heard a noise when he passed a siding tunnel and thought that someone might be standing in the nook, but he felt no fear and did not bother to stop and check. He continued straight ahead up to the Entrance Hall, where he took a big gulp of air, as if he had held his breath in a poisonous gas. He looked at the time - he would be able to work in the library for another hour. Better plunge into a book than think about the dungeons. Harry mounted the stairs two steps at a time, with slightly shaking knees.

***

After a few days’ torment, Harry plucked up the courage to write to Snape.

Dear Professor Snape,

I have written a laboratory report in which I account for my experiment in the Potions classroom the other night. I enclose a sample of the potion I made. I have prepared an antidote to snake bites, based on the Acromantula venom from Hagrid’s giant spiders, also known as the “Slughorn Potion”. As I helped Professor Slughorn invent it, I had no difficulties to reproduce the draught. It is my belief that the recipe should be published for common use in hospitals for free and not used by the Professor for his personal profit. If you are of the same opinion, I would be glad if you could help me find a way to publish it.

Yours respectfully, Harry Potter

PS It might need to be tested, although I am convinced it will work.

He put the letter, together with a roll of parchment and a bottle, on Snape’s desk after Potions class, when Snape was talking to another student. He stayed at the doorpost to watch until Snape picked it up, then hastened away. Malfoy had been around and you never knew what he might be up to, although Malfoy looked even more sullen and glum than usual, since the strangling attack. Harry thought that Malfoy must be a candidate for the mind-soothing healer from St Mungo’s, but it was not his business. He got a response from Snape the next day.

Dear Mr Potter,

It is not a crime to make money out of Potions inventions. Ethical objections against the business are simple naivety. Let me make that clear, first and for all.

If it is true, however, that it was your idea originally to use the Acromantula venom for the antidote, then, Mr Potter, it stands to reason that you have been wronged by the former Professor. He should have negotiated and offered you interests in the business. Unless you want to take legal actions against him - in which case you should contact the Wizengamot - I agree with your intention to publish the formula of the potion, as it coincides with my personal interests to thwart Mr Slughorn’s plans of making a fortune. You see, I happen to strongly disagree with Mr Slughorn’s methods of marketing.

Your text is not bad, considered as a school essay, but will of course not suffice for publication. I enclose, as an example, an article published last year in The Journal of New Potions. Pay attention to the structure of the text and please notice the words I have underlined in red. Look them up in a dictionary and learn how to use them in your text. If you need more examples, Mme Pince will help you at the library. You also need to do some research and write an introduction on the already known properties of the Acromantula venom. I am looking forward to reading your next draft.

Yours sincerely, Severus Snape

PS I have tried the potion out and it works.

”Legal action?” said Harry, confused. ”I don’t want anything to do with the Wizengamot, if I can help it!” Harry had been accused of illegal underage sorcery in his fifth year and since then he had little faith in the Wizard High Court’s impartiality. Ron, who was reading over his shoulder, exclaimed:

“More work! And you volunteered for this from the start! Snape should be glad for what you gave him!”

“He wants to teach me how to express myself in an adult way...” said Harry. “But this is completely incomprehensible!” he exclaimed a few minutes later when he had read the first sentences of the article Snape had enclosed. He looked dispirited.

“Don’t want to rub it in or anything, but you’ve only got yourself to blame,” Ron said disapprovingly.

***

Hermione and Harry spent a lot of time in the library the following weeks. Ron mostly hung around the quidditch patch to watch Ginny and her team’s training sessions. He also went down to watch the other teams play quidditch, which was something he had never done before.

Ron was restless and needed to move about. He greedily claimed his girlfriend’s attention and company. Hermione had a constant bad conscience for deserting him when she had to work at the library. Sometimes, Ron latched out at her and Harry overheard rows between them, where Ron accused Hermione of not caring enough for him to give up some stupid homework.

The conversations, when they all met in the Gryffindor common room in the evenings, often dealt with quidditch tactics. The first match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw approached.

If Ginny was not there to talk quidditch, Ron often drifted away in memories. He spoke about Fred and tried to remember every small detail of his brother’s years at Hogwarts. Ron got stuck in his recollections of Harry’s and his fifth year at school, at the time when Professor Umbridge, from the Ministry of Magic, terrorised the school with endless decrees restricting the pupils’ freedom and movements.

“That toad pushed Fred and George to give up on their education! And we contributed to their rebellion when we asked them to break the rules,” Ron repeated again and again. “We, are equally responsible. That’s how it all started. They left school. They took up the resistance movement against the dark side. They created all those joke items that made fun of Voldemort, remember?” Harry sighed. Ron had dwelt on this for weeks now.

“I don’t see what you’re getting at, Ron... Not really...” he added when Ron cast him an agitated look.

“That’s what led to Fred’s death. From that precise moment, they only went on, didn’t they? Last year, they went into hiding. They exposed themselves to terrible danger by producing the clandestine Potterwatch news,” said Ron.

“Ron, they had prepared to leave school for a long time. They wanted to open that joke store. It was a passion of theirs to invent all those funny things,” objected Harry.

“Yeah, you helped them with that investment, didn’t you?” Ron made it sound like an accusation. Hermione looked at Harry warningly and he made a great effort to keep calm.

“Fred and George had not been Fred and George had they not done exactly what they did. They were rebels - they didn’t care about conventions. And we all went into resistance against Voldemort. You exposed yourself to even greater danger than Fred. I don’t see how you fit this up, Ron,” said Harry.

“Fred only wanted to run the joke shop and invent things, but he... he ... was forced into a position where he became reckless. That’s why he died,” said Ron, his voice sounding strange. Ginny, who had joined them and listened in on the conversation, suddenly exploded at her brother.

”Will you stop it, Ron? You cannot figure out why he died. It was a battle! We were all there. It could have been anyone of us. It could’ve been Percy! And no one goaded him into recklessness, did they? We all wanted to fight Voldemort. Fred wanted it - would you really have had him not to? Remus Lupin died, Tonks died. That was not fair, either. Why them? Why that twelve-year-old boy who got in the way of an exploding statue? There’s no answer, Ron! Just stop thinking about it! It was meaningless death - that’s all. Completely meaningless and you won’t find an action or a person to put the blame on. Just get on with your life!”

Ginny’s chest was heaving. It was the first time that Harry heard her speak of what had happened to her brother. Usually, she let the other members of the Weasley family do the talking. Harry took her hand. She slid down on his lap and hid her face against his shoulder. Harry held her tightly, stroking her back soothingly. Ron sat stiff and looked down on his trembling hands. When Hermione tried to put an arm around him, he shook it off.

“Going for a walk,” he muttered and made for the exit of the common room. Hermione hid her face in her hands and started to cry.

***

From time to time, Harry was joined by the boy named David, whose last name he still did not know since they had not finished their introduction properly. He would come and sit down next to Harry in the library, or stop hesitantly, if he found Harry in his favourite window bay up in one of the western towers. He would wait for Harry to invite him to sit down. Harry had tried to enter into conversation, but David only answered in monosyllables. Harry usually made some reflections of his own, which David would nod at. Then Harry would propose to go on reading his book and David would bring out some homework to do and they would sit in silence, punctuated from time to time by small reflections or exclamations from Harry. At one time, when he thought he saw a particularly sad haze in the eyes of his new friend, he asked David whether he had considered making an appointment with healer Shufflert. David shook his head with vehemence.

“I wasn’t well this summer,” Harry confided in him. “But I got some help from... from a healer. I’d like to ask you not to mention that to anyone, though. It’s hard with all that happened, isn’t it? I don’t know what kind of hardships you’ve met with during the war, but I can see that you’re not well and if there’s anything I can do...” The conversation seemed to create some panic in David, for he kept away for several days, before he showed up again and Harry had to confine himself to small talk.

***

Hard as he found the potions article Snape had given him, Harry struggled to understand it. He asked Hermione for help, but she, too, found it difficult to read, even if she could explain more of the vocabulary than Harry was able to do, initially. He was cross with Snape for making it so difficult, but determined not to give in. He sent a draft of an introduction on the Acromantula venom to Snape that he got back, scrawled all over with comments in red ink. He gritted his teeth and rewrote the passage, but not until the third attempt did Snape write back: “Passable. Leave it for now and move on to the rest!” Ron was all unappreciative of his efforts. Harry emphasised his motive to thwart Slughorn’s plans and tried to make Ron see the challenge in it.

Harry also had his essay on comparing incantations to think about. He had read The Core of Incantations and its section on Ancient Magic with special interest. He had lots of ideas, but did not exactly know where to start. He felt it was too complicated to formulate in a letter to Snape and he did not want to speak to him. He left it for the moment being. There was enough homework in Transfiguration and Charms to keep them busy. Even Herbology moved up to a higher theoretical level and Harry started to do his homework together with Neville. As it had been his favourite subject for years, Neville had broader background knowledge of plants than Harry, whereas Harry contributed with logical thinking when it came to deducing applications of plants in potion-making and for medical purposes. Together they did rather well.

Hermione had not particularly high ambitions in Herbology. She knew everything that was written in the books, all the same, but she did not mind Neville and Harry being the favourites with Mme Sprout. In Transfiguration, with Professor McGonagall, it was different. Hermione had been top of the class since her first year at Hogwarts. One stormy and rainy afternoon in the beginning of October, they were handed back an essay on “The complexity of Human Transfiguration combined with Movement” and Professor McGonagall smiled as she gave Harry his scroll back.

“I’m impressed, Mr Potter,” she said. “You’ve managed a thorough exposé of the subject and yet lifted out a few examples that you explore the complexity of in a magnificent way, with intelligent, personal deductions!” Harry blushed at the unexpected praise and cast a sideway look at Hermione at his side. She did not meet his gaze, shuffled her essay away and turned to Ginny who sat at her other side to whisper something. Harry looked down on his essay. It had an Outstanding marked at the top. He showed Ron who was seated on his other side, grinned, shrugged and tried not to look smug.

After class, Hermione hurried away ahead of them and did not show up for dinner. Ron started to worry.

“What if she only got an Acceptable? I dragged her away from the library the other night and last Sunday we had a row that took the greatest part of the day to sort out, and I don’t think she got much work done that day either. She’ll be furious with me. I’m no good, I only stand in her way,” Ron said dejectedly. “Not being a very nice boyfriend either, when at last we get together... Whining and complaining... It’s all my fault. But where has she gone to?” He looked agitated.

“You go and look in the common room. I’ll have a look in the library,” said Harry. “And of course it’s not your fault. I bet she got an Exceeds Expectation, which is the best I’ve ever managed until today, no shame in that.”

“Yeah... I got a Just Acceptable...” mumbled Ron.

Harry found Hermione sitting behind a pile of books at her usual place in the library.

“Hermione,” he whispered, “... are you okay? Can we talk?” Hermione gave him a funny look, before she averted her gaze.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I have loads of work to do.” She gestured aggressively at her books. “If you need help with something, it’ll have to wait until I’ve finished my own work.” She gave him a punctuated look and put her nose demonstratively between the pages of the opened book in front of her. Taken aback, and with a hurt tone, Harry said:

“Okay, see you later, then.”

When he climbed the stairs up to the portrait of the fat lady, who guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor house, he shook his head. Ron and Ginny waited for him in the common room and Harry related the conversation he had had with Hermione. They stared at him. Harry frowned and swallowed.

“That’s what she said,” he added and sat down. “I guess she’s under pressure of NEWT exams and everything. And maybe I’ve asked her to help me once or twice too often...”

“Rubbish!” exclaimed Ginny. “NEWTs are not until June - she can’t start behaving like that already in October. She’s jealous, that’s all. And you haven’t craved her help very much this term, have you? You write all your essays yourself.”

“No...” Harry felt confused. Ginny did not know about Hermione and his special project, but he thought that Hermione supported him whole-heartedly there.

“It’s my fault...” Ron started again. Ginny exploded and scolded him for a while, then they all sat in silence.

An hour later, Harry rose decisively.

“I’m going to talk to her again,” he said. He did not find Hermione in the library, though. He wondered if they might have missed each other, if she had taken a different way back to the Gryffindor tower. On an impulse, he turned and mounted a floor to the Transfiguration classroom. At first, he did not think there was anyone inside, because the lights were off. Then he distinguished a small, dark form on the floor. It was Hermione who was sitting with her back to Professor McGonagall’s desk. Harry walked up to her with caution.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked gently. Hermione shook her head. He glided down on the floor beside her. After a short silence, Hermione gave up a cheerless little laugh.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? Exceeds expectations is not the right label when you expect an Outstanding. I know it’s not bad but... I’m being absolutely ridiculous about it...” she said falteringly.

“It would’ve been okay, wouldn’t it, if no one else had got an Outstanding, especially not me, right?” said Harry in a matter of fact tone. Hermione hid her face in her hands.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I feel so ashamed… I really should not begrudge you that grade and the praise from Professor McGonagall… I should be happy for you.” Hermione paused and took a deep breath. “You wrote that essay on your own. I did not help you in any way. It was completely unfair of me to speak to you as I did in the library. Forgive me.”

“You help me with other things,” said Harry. “Maybe it’s getting too much for you?” Hermione shook her head.

“Everything’s getting too much,” she sighed. “But I really don’t help you that much. You do the greatest part on your own, don’t you? It’s not a problem, Harry. I want to do it.”

“Ron’s blaming himself...” Harry started to say.

“Not that too!” squirmed Hermione. “It isn’t his fault, either. I try to tell him, but it’s hopeless. When I’m not with him, he’s cross and jealous and when I am with him, he has a bad conscience about keeping me away from work and won’t listen to me when I tell him that I actually want to be with him. Of course I get less time to work than I used to, but I can compensate for that, normally.”

“Have you suggested to him...” Harry hesitated.

“That he go and see Healer Shufflert? Yes, I have... and he won’t,” Hermione said bitterly. “That caused another row. I’m worried, you know. And yet, I don’t have the energy to be worried about him, because... because I’m so worried about my parents as well... And I feel so guilty, so very, very guilty… My mother is... she is...” Hermione started to sob. Harry put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned her front against her knees and her long, bushy, brown hair hid her face. After a while, Hermione plunged her hand inside her cloak and took out a letter that she gave to Harry, without looking at him.

“Here. You can read it. I got it a week ago,” she said.

Harry read. It was a letter from Hermione’s father. He expressed his worries about Hermione’s mother, who had deteriorated in her intellectual abilities since coming back from Australia. Her spatial memory, in particular, was poor and she had got lost in the neighbourhood several times. They had been to a Muggle doctor, who suspected that she was affected by a condition called Alzheimer’s disease.

In his letter, Hermione’s father asked his daughter whether she thought this might have anything to do with the magical tampering with her mother’s memories that had occurred during the summer and the year before that, and whether there was anything to be done. The writer was not trying to put any guilt on his daughter, but the letter breathed of dejection and despair. Hermione looked at Harry and when she saw that he had read to the end, she said:

“I got a letter from my mother too. I haven’t kept it. It was horrible. She accused me of destroying her life, and Daddy’s. She said she was so disappointed in me... She called me calculating and cruel and callous… She said she would never forgive me... and that she never wanted to see me again.” Hermione started to cry again, curling up, pressing her thighs to her chest, hugging her knees, as if she was trying to become as small as possible. Harry did not know what to say. He stroked her back gently for a long time while Hermione sobbed heart-brokenly.

“Have you looked this Alzheimer disease up?” he asked at last.

“Yes.” Hermione drew a shaky breath. ”It’s a horrible disease. It can attain magic people as well as Muggles. Memory and intellectual capacities melt away… There seems to be no cure. At best, you might delay the progress with various potions, or Muggle pills… It leads to death over a couple of years...” she answered. Harry was appalled.

“But it might not be the right diagnosis,” he objected. “If it has to do with the Obliviating charms, there might be something to be done to reverse the damage, no?” he said.

“I just don’t know how to investigate that,” said Hermione. “I know they take Muggles in at St Mungo’s, when they’ve been accidentally subjected to a curse or something, but would they accept to treat my parents? How do I contact them? Who do I turn to?”

“We should ask Snape,” said Harry quickly. “He has contacts at St Mungo’s. He used to work there during the summer holidays.” Hemione looked at him in surprise. “Didn’t I tell you that he’s a qualified healer?” Harry asked cautiously. Hermione shook her head numbly. “Well, he is. That’s why he’s so good at reversing curses and healing Dark Arts injuries. It’s his speciality, so to speak.”

“I can’t ask him. He doesn’t like me. Thinks I’m an insupportable know-it-all. What if he dismisses me? I would start crying right in front of him. And you haven’t spoken to him for weeks now. You even refuse to look at him!” objected Hermione.

“I’ll write to him, then. We do quite well by writing. There’s bound to be some politeness in letters and the insults don’t get to you that much when they aren’t accompanied by sneers and nasty looks,” answered Harry.

Agonising over his wording, Harry wrote to Professor Snape that same evening, when they came back to the Gryffindor common room:

Dear Professor Snape,

I have a favour to ask of you. My friend, Hermione Granger, is worried about her mother who might have Alzheimer’s disease. Hermione does not know whether this has anything to do with the Obliviating charms she put on her parents before she left to fight Voldemort with me and Ron Weasley. If you don’t know this story, please ask Professor Flitwick for details. Hermione told him about it in class at the start of term. Would you know whether there’s a connection? Is there any hope of getting help at St Mungo’s Hospital? If there is, would you please let Hermione know how she’s to act in order to help her mother? Sorry to bother you about this, but she’s very upset and it affects her work at school, too.

Respectfully yours, Harry Potter.

PS I don’t know how to begin the essay on Incantations. I have read the book and summarised the important points. The scrap is 900 inches long. I have looked at some Protective and Healing incantations, but I have not started to analyse anything yet. I don’t know where to start.

They got prompt answers the next day. Hermione showed Harry hers:

Dear Miss Granger,

I am sorry about your mother’s health condition. There might be a connection to Obliviating charms, but it might just as well be a coincidence. It must be investigated at St Mungo’s Hospital. I will let you know as soon as I have come in contact with the specialist in charge.

Yours sincerely, Severus Snape.

Harry got an answer as well:

Dear Mr Potter,

Reduce the summary to 100 inches and use it as an introduction. Choose three or four healing incantations and compare them to similar incantations used for protection, in the Defence Against the Dark Arts and, if applicable, in Ancient magic. Point out similarities and differences in structure, phrasing, tone and effects. End it up with a discussion and some personal reflections. Due in four weeks from now.

Yours sincerely, Severus Snape

PS When is the Acromantula paper ready? 

A week went by. Hermione was pale and often on the verge of tears, but struggled on. She did not compromise with her school work and Ron was left more on his own than ever. He had stopped complaining about it and was mostly silent. Instead of waking up an hour before Harry, Ron now often slept in and was late for lessons. He went to bed early and only occasionally dragged himself down to the quidditch pitch, when Ginny particularly asked him to. Harry tried to spend time with him. He found an old set of wizard’s chess and tried to get Ron interested, but Ron was slow and lumbering and the game had to be put off. Harry wondered, in secret, about the frame of mind of his best friend, but did not know how to broach the subject and, although unsatisfied with how things were, he simply seemed to be unable to do anything about it.