The following Sunday, Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny were seated at a table in The Three Broomsticks, with glasses of Butterbeer in front of them. They had taken a long walk around the lake, before descending to Hogsmeade.

The water of the lake had been crystal clear - due to the high pressure of the autumn, according to Hermione. At ten fathoms’ depth, Ron had spotted the giant squid that inhabited the lake, moving its members dreamily, and Ginny had waved at some Merpeople. The squid was completely harmless, and the Merpeople extremely shy, but Harry had been startled by a dark, bluish shadow with long sprouts that had whisked away almost immediately, with a whipping movement. Harry had shuddered at the memory of his forth year at Hogwarts, when he had been forced to dive into the lake as part of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament and thought that it was just as well he had not known, at the time, what beasts hid in the deep waters.

“So you’re a Grief Swallower,” said Ron, not for the first time, with a teasing glitter in his eyes. The Three Broomsticks was crowded and noisy, as usual, but they were seated a little bit on the side and were able to make conversation without shouting at each others.

“Told you I didn’t like that name much, Ron. Stop repeating it all the time,” said Harry irritably.

“I think it’s a great gift!” said Hermione. “And if you had seen him do the Relieving Incantation last Friday, you’d have been impressed, Ron. David was so altered afterwards.” 

“Yeah, he definitely looks better,” said Ginny, gazing across the room at a table of Hufflpuffs where David sat, talking fluently.

”It’s amazing, Harry! This time, last year, you didn’t even know how to do a simple wound-healing spell. And now you do Relieving Incantations,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, funny how your priorities change, isn’t it? But maybe it’s no wonder. Last year, we were obsessed with carrying out our mission. We had no choice but to hide one day and fight the next, trying to destroy the horcruxes. There was no room for any of us to concentrate on anything that didn’t have to do with Voldemort. He was always at the centre of important decisions. He played marionettes with us all, whether you resisted him or assisted him. I’m thinking of Malfoy, too, and what he told us at that group session. Not that I defend him or anything…” Harry hurried to clarify at the look of incredulity on Ron’s face. ”What I mean is… When was I to find the time, or the peace of mind for that matter, to examine what I really wanted to do in life?” shuddered Harry.

“Yeah... it’s just that… You’re at a loss, a bit to begin with, what to do, now that we’re free from him. We focused so hard on him last year, that it leaves you all drained of feelings and ideas,” said Ron, serious now.

“That’s not how I feel at all,” said Ginny. “I have plenty of ideas. But what about you, Harry? Do you want to become a healer, now that you discovered that you’re a Grief Swallower? I hate that name too!” she added moodily.

“You don’t become a healer just because you’re a Grief Swallower,” Harry retorted and looked down at the table. “I don’t fulfil the basic requirements to apply to St Mungo’s Med School, since I’ve not done Arithmancy at school, so even if I wanted to go there, it’d be difficult.” Hermione scrutinised him thoughtfully, but decided to pick up the topic from another angle.

“I found a book in the library which gives a historical approach to Grief Swallowers in the old ages. I haven’t read it all, but it’s really interesting,” she said. “I’ll give it to you when I’m finished, Harry. Before they built St Mungo’s, which was in 1764, each region of Great Britain had their own Grief Swallower. They were widely known and respected, although feared, because to call for one always meant that something serious had happened. They were traditionally clad in black from top to toe.”

“Maybe I should let my hair grow and start wearing black, like Snape, to show the world who I really am,” said Harry, annoyed. Ron laughed.

“You won’t be as bad as Snape. He was a Grief Swallower and a Death Eater, remember? Just think about it: He must have been so popular among his fellow students at St Mungo’s!” Ron said with heavy irony.

“A Death Eater and a Grief Swallower - that’s horrible.... and hilarious!” repeated Ginny, wrinkling up her face and they all burst into laughter. Deep down, Harry made the reflection that Ron had put his finger on the exact circumstances that must have prevailed when Snape was a young medical student: he was bound to have evoked both loathing, jealousy and fear.

“We really shouldn’t laugh,” said Hermione, wiping her eyes. She giggled again. The laughter resumed worse than ever. Ginny fell off her chair in hysterics. Ron tried to lift her up but she managed to drag him down, too.

“Hey, remember that punching plant of Snape’s when we go back!” Seamus shouted at them from a nearby table.

“It’s okay!” Harry lifted a hand in a gesture to reassure Seamus. He noted, as he looked around the space of the pub, that they had attracted some attention. Draco Malfoy, who was seated with Mr Burgess and Miss Cork, stared at them with ill-will. Malfoy did not seem to want to associate with his peers any longer. He was only seen with his Auror and the pair of young teachers, who seemed to have taken him under their wings. Harry ignored him. Ginny and Hermione were still giggling, but it was trailing off.

“Ohhh...” Hermione sighed, composing her features. “I feel bad making fun of him.”

“I couldn’t’ve told,” said Ron dryly. 

“Snape actually stood out in an improved light when he talked to David in the Great Hall and explained what happened to Charity Burbage,” said Hermione guiltily. “Haven’t you noticed that people have started to talk about Snape a little differently?”

“At least those who were present last Friday and saw him,” said Ginny. “I heard Patrick Mattey, who has been against Snape from the first day of term, actually argue in his favour with another Ravenclaw student.” 

“I have an idea for Snape’s defence if he still won’t let Harry testify at his trial,” said Hermione smugly.

Harry looked at her inquiringly.

“I will let his Patronus witness in his favour,” she said.

“Clever, but it won’t be enough,” said Harry. “We must come up with something more. I might have an idea, but it requires some experimentation in the dungeons again.”

“More Potion-making - are you kidding?” Ron said sceptically.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about a Veritaserum that allows you not to answer some specific questions,” said Harry.

“Hey, that wouldn’t be a Veritaserum,” objected Ginny.

“Yes, it would - it would compel you to tell the truth. You wouldn’t be able to utter lies under its influence, but it should allow you to pass on a question,” explained Harry.

“I see...” said Hermione. “You’re absolutely right. Snape would refuse to testify under a conventional Veritaserum because it would be possible for the cross-examiners to force him to answer questions about Lily Evans. But if he knew that he could choose which questions not to answer, he might consent to take it. The audience would at least be assured that everything he does say is the truth.”

“There’s no such Veritaserum, unfortunately,” said Harry. “I’ve checked every single book on Potions I found in the library. We’ll have to invent it ourselves.”

“You’re mad!” croaked Ron. “Not a chance. That Acromentula thing has gone to your head!”

“I know it’s far-fetched, but we don’t have many ideas as it is. I’m going to consult with Neville - he might have read about some plant with those properties. And it might pay off to plunge into the magic of centaurs. They have a reputation of never answering a question directly. We’ve noticed so ourselves,” said Harry, not over-confidently.

“I wouldn’t mind looking into the centaur lead. I’ll have a word with Hagrid and see if he knows anything about it,” muttered Ron.

“Excellent! Ask him if he could procure some hairs from the centaurs’ tails and some hoof-powder. We could experiment with that,” said Harry.

It was time to return to the castle. During the walk, Harry was caught up with by Mr Burgess who had deserted Malfoy and Miss Cork. The wizard showed such intense and eager interest in Harry, addressing only him, that Ron, Hermione and Ginny walked ahead to let Harry deal with the young DADA teacher alone.

Harry was peppered with questions which he answered politely, but the intense attention made him dizzy. Why on earth did Mr Burgess want him to describe Privet Drive in such exquisite detail, he wondered. Simmings had joined them and walked on Harry’s other side, but stayed silent. He seemed less happy than when Harry had first met him in the summer. A certain reserve had crept into his behaviour, although he always behaved friendly toward Harry. It was a relief to reach the castle and to make for the Great Hall to have dinner.

***

Things gradually went back to normal after Jacob Duffle’s suicide. The mass grief abated, just as Harry had told Ginny it would do. Healer Schufflert kept a low profile after it finally dawned on her that her group sessions had not become the expedient success she had expected them to be. She had a fully booked consulting every day of the week, however. Ron had appointments with the healer on Thursday afternoons. He did not seem to mind very much and was rather secretive about it. Teachers went back to their efficient selves and lessons were more intense than ever.

Time was up for Hermione to come back to Charms and for Harry to go back to Snape’s classes of DADA. They were doing Dark Arts detection and defence against cursed objects, with endless check-lists of precautions to memorise.

Harry had reluctantly handed in his essay, entitled ”A Comparative Study of Incantations used in Defence Against the Dark Arts, in Healing Medicine and in Ancient Magic”. He had tried to argue with Snape that he needed more time to finish it. He had managed an introduction that he was quite satisfied with, but the comparisons between the different kinds of incantations were shallow, he felt. Within the time limit, what did Snape expect, especially with an Acromentula essay that had taken part of his time? He had worked several hours every night, the week before the essay was due, to produce at least one comparison that did justice to the word, as Harry saw it.

He offered Snape to produce extended works on the three other comparisons if he was given time until after Christmas. Snape stared at him.

“Are you volunteering for more work, Potter?” he sneered. Harry smiled guiltily and leant forward.

“Please don’t tell Ginny Weasley!” he answered in a low voice. Snape let out one of his sudden and unaccustomed laughs which earned them a suspicious look from Malfoy.

“I’ll take this essay and mark it,” said Snape, showing the shorter version of Harry’s essay. “Why, if you get a full mark on that one, there‘ll be no reason for you to do more work, will there?” Harry looked dispiritedly at Snape.

“Oh, no danger of my getting a full mark, Sir,” he said. “I know I don’t live up to your standards of expression. But I don’t care so much about that. It’s the content I’m speaking about. You need at least 200 inches to get to the bottom of those comparisons, each, I assure you!” Snape shook his head.

“As a draft, you may write long texts,” he said. “But then, the art is to lift out the important points in a distinct and illustrative way and condense the text, Potter. Condense it! The longer is not the better, you must learn that! And in order to condense the text, you need to learn some intricate and exact vocabulary. So we are back to language and expression. That is what you must work on.”

Harry looked at Snape, bothered. Snape did not seem to understand. The important things were the discoveries you made, hang the language!

“I’ll read your extended text on the first comparison, Potter,” Snape conceded and waved magnanimously with the other roll “... and give you my opinion. If you want to continue to work and deepen your analysis of examples two, three and four, it’s fine with me. I won’t refuse to read them. But I don’t want to hear that you’re neglecting your other subjects.”    

Snape did not need to worry about Harry’s other subjects. In Charms and in Transfiguration he had suddenly, together with Hermione, become head of the class with nothing but Outstanding marks during the autumn. He could not really explain it, himself. He did work harder in the library, but the main change, since he went to school last time, was his improved concentration. He felt wide awake and sucked in every word the teachers were saying in class without much effort. It was as if his brain had stabilised and, instead of having constant on-and-off periods, he had acquired sustained abilities of reception and processing. It also helped that he was filled with a fervour to prove himself in areas that no longer had to do with Voldemort, or his past. He was determined to put the Boy-who-lived behind him and acquire new merits, proper to himself. 

In Transfiguration, they studied movement in conjunction with transformations. One lesson, in the middle of November, Professor McGonagall gave them a little demonstration where she suddenly rose in the air a few inches and glided to land at the other side of the classroom.

“Now, can anyone tell me what different components I need to combine to achieve that movement?” she asked the class.

Some kind of Locomotor charm, the students agreed upon and a Levitating spell, probably in combination with an incantation to make them last in time.

“Do you see any sign of transfiguration in this magic?” Professor McGonagall went on. Harry and Hermione raised their hands.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“You have to transform the air into some sort of platform or step that will stabilise you and support you as you move. That’s how you glide through the air,” said Hermione.

“Exactly,” confirmed Professor McGonagall. ”And how do you manage not to fall through this air-platform? Potter?”

“You need to transfigure yourself into a lighter form,” answered Harry.

“Right!” said Professor McGonagall. ”So to resume: You make yourself as near weightless as possible and you transfigure the air into an invisible platform. You levitate with the platform and you transport yourself through locomotion. There is one essential element that you need to learn to be able to do this. Can anyone figure out what it is?” No one spoke, no hands in the air, not even Hermione’s.

“Perhaps if I show you what your first exercise will be, you’ll be able to figure it out.” Professor McGonagall rose in the air once more, but this time she lifted her long skirt enough for them to see her take distinct steps in the air. It reminded Harry of the Kangabbits who jumped up in the air before they did their summersaults. Professor McGonagall landed again and Harry raised his hand hesitantly.

“Yes, Mr Potter?”

“Can you do magic with your feet, Professor?” The whole class started to laugh and Harry grinned apologetically. Professor McGonagall silenced them, however, and said:

“An extremely intelligent suggestion, Mr Potter. That is exactly what you need to learn! You’re to do magic with your feet!” There were surprised exclamations. “For practice,” continued Professor McGonagall, ”I want you - tonight before you go to bed - to grasp your wand with your toes and try to perform the easiest spell you know of.” The students started to giggle.

“I’m conscious that this usually causes great merriment,” Professor McGonagall said, unperturbed. “Practice until you can do any spell as easily with your feet as with your hands and make sure to switch foot from time to time. It is an exercise designed to learn to direct your magic to other parts of your body. Ultimately, it is your feet that are to do both the transfiguration of the air and the levitating spell in order to manage the gliding movement.” Harry knew he could do magic with his left hand as easily as with his right wand hand, but he did not know whether he would succeed with his feet.

“How do you direct your magic to different parts of your body?” he asked cautiously.

“It depends, Potter. We are all different in that way. Some of you will find this extremely difficult; others will just do it, without thinking. It depends on where your bodily centre of magic is located. Most wizards and witches are extremely wand-dependant, with their centre of magic far out in their wand hand. It will obviously be more difficult for those to force the magic down to their feet, but it is not impossible. Some have their magic centre in their heads and some have it spread in their whole bodies, naturally. You need to locate it and learn to direct it to other parts of your body with your mind.”

***

Harry felt slightly embarrassed, that night, when he sat on the edge of his bed with his wand stuck between his big toe and his index toe, but he did not double up with laughter as his other roommates did. He had had time to think about Professor McGonagall’s homework during the day and had become more and more convinced that this was a crucial step towards mastering truly advanced magic. He thought of the rare occasions he had had the chance to witness Professor Dumbledore’s abilities at full display.

One example that came to his mind, however painful, was when Dumbledore fought Voldemort at the Ministry of Magic after Sirius died. Dumbledore had made everything happen at the same time. He had transfigured the statues in the centre of the Entrance Hall of the Ministry and made them come to life and perform things for him. He had transformed himself, disappeared and moved about the hall, at the same time as he cast curses and defended himself against Voldemort’s attacks. Harry pictured in his head how the magic must have shone out of Dumbledore’s every limb and pore.

Harry flexed his ankle tentatively. “Lumos!” To his surprise, the wand flickered faintly. Harry tried to locate his centre of magic. It felt like it might be found right in the middle of his chest. He concentrated and repeated the spell. This time, a persistent light lit at the tip of his wand.

“Hey!” he called enthusiastically at the others and jumped up on one leg, still clutching the wand between his toes. His friends doubled up with renewed laughter, but Harry was not bothered. He would not belittle his feet. He was convinced this was the beginning of great achievements. Before they went to bed, Harry had managed to transform Ron’s pyjama to one with pictures of spiders on it. He had cast Seamus a spell so that he got entangled in his sheets and Langlocked Dean for laughing at him - all with his wand between his toes.

Hermione had, of course, done her homework as conscientiously as usual, more perhaps out of loyalty to Professor McGonagall, than out of sheer enthusiasm, but still, she and Harry had a clear advantage at their next lesson where they learnt to do the platform-conjuring spells. They were the only ones who managed to take a few steps up into the air, before the end of the lesson. They needed to work on the lightweight transfiguration a little more, and they would do fine, said Professor McGonagall. She scolded the others.

“Wands between your toes, every night until the next lesson. I mean it!”

Hermione had borrowed a book from the library that dealt with different magical ways of transportation. Harry found it interesting as he discovered all the theoretical background for travelling by Flo-powder, by Portkeys and by Apparition, as well as details on short-distance flying movements. Harry had seen for himself that Voldemort had been able to fly without a broom, or any other magical or technical aid, high up in the air. He had seen Snape fly down from one of the highest windows of the castle, without hurting himself, that night before the battle, when Snape fled from Professor McGonagall. Apparently, some wizards could learn to fly, by magical power only. One passage of the book mentioned the Spiral Case Knight’s Battle Move, which caught Harry’s interest.

***

One evening, a week later, Harry was practising, alone, in Professor McGonagall’s classroom. It was not very late, but already dark outside. Ginny was on the quidditch patch. By now, her team had won their first match against Ravenclaw and they were to play one more match before Christmas, against Slytherin, which naturally Ginny was adamant to win, so they practiced several times a week. She was an excellent captain: determined, distinct, outspoken and enthusiastic at the same time. Somehow, she managed to mobilise all the team members, without complaints, despite the cold and damp season.

Harry had gone straight from dinner to his training session and started where he had left the evening before. That meant that he began by mounting up in the air and tried to move about, with the result, most often, that he fell down on the floor, or if he was unlucky and did not have the time to parry, on the edge of a desk.

He was panting and swearing. He had just banged his left elbow straight into the wall as he was trying to turn in the air. Harry was doing well with his feet now and moved upwards easily. What he was trying to achieve were turning transfers, which contained elements of Apparition. It was supposed to result in a fast and swift turning movement, upwards and downwards in a spiral. He had thought, at first, that it was only a question of practising, but now, on the fourth evening, he was beginning to despair. He had bruises all over his body, a crushed upper lip and he was dripping with sweat. It was so heavy. He thought it might have to do with the light magma in the air. Hogwarts was after all a NAZ, a Non-Apparition Zone, but short transportations, like a few meters, should be possible to achieve. There were simply by far too many elements to control with both hands and feet at the same time. He landed again and checked his book on old battle techniques that lay on a desk, open at the page describing The Knight’s Move in detail. There was one instruction at the beginning which intrigued him.

“Charge up,” it said, without further elaboration. First, Harry had thought that it just meant to mobilise your magical forces before the exercise, or to concentrate or something, but he was beginning to think it meant something more specific. I must find a way to multiply and spread my inner magic, he thought. If I only direct it at one or two limbs at a time, which is the limit of what I can do consciously right now, it won’t work.

He tried to feel his inner magic centre and spread it by mental will, but it only resulted in a tearing sensation. He tried different augmenting spells. Nothing, except that he was about to lengthen himself by ten inches, so he quickly reversed it. What kind of powerful magic did he know?

He got an idea, but it would require a containing incantation. He just prayed he would not explode from within. He constructed an incantation with the crucial spell in the middle and tried it. Not quite. He made some changes and tried again and experienced a warm tingling in his body, but no proper ‘charging’. Maybe he had made it unnecessarily long? Strong and simple was more like it. He tried again and now the effect lit up inside him, like when switching the lights on at a stadium in the dark. He had conjured up a Patronus inside his own body.

Harry made two tours of the classroom in a breakneck velocity. He landed triumphantly in the middle of the classroom, when the door slammed open and Miss Swan and Mr Simmings, Mrs Steadfast’s two Aurors, stormed in followed by Mrs Steadfast herself and Professor Snape. Harry froze in a hunched position with his wand drawn. What was going on?

“Merlin’s beard, Mr Potter, you’ve been fighting! Where’s your attacker?” Mrs Steadfast cried at him. Harry straightened up. Snape frowned, as if he sensed something was not right.

“I’ve just been practising my homework, Mrs Steadfast,” Harry answered cautiously. Snape rolled his eyes, shut the door behind him delicately and positioned himself with arms crossed over his chest and with a sarcastic smile playing on the thin lips.

“Homework?” said Mrs Steadfast, incredulous. “Miss Swan alerted me of heavy thuds and sounds of fighting from a classroom and considering the intrusion and the attack on the school a few months ago, naturally we dreaded the worst. You look a mess, Mr Potter, are you sure you have not been fighting with someone?” She searched the room suspiciously with narrowed eyes.

“Er... why would I try to hide something like that?” said Harry. “We’re doing gliding-through-the-air-movements in Transfiguration, with Professor McGonagall, and I have just been trying to ameliorate my technique.”

“Potter, when you do Locomotor Transfigurations, you’re not supposed to mount more than a few inches to begin with, until you master the magic,” Snape intervened condescendingly. “Judging by your bruises and by the noise you made, you’ve been flying up to the ceiling and about.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” muttered Harry. “I find it easy to mount... harder to stay on, when there are other things to attend to... Clumsy of me... I should have made the door soundproof...”

“You should indeed, because you’ve made us waste valuable time.” Snape continued to put the blame on Harry.

“Everyone knows that Professor McGonagall lets up her classroom to pupils in the evenings for practice,” said Harry, irritated. “Why didn’t you just check with her? I have her permission to work here.” Snape recoiled a little under Harry’s retaliation, but kept his disapproving air. Mrs Steadfast, on the other hand, dropped her hostile attitude at once.

“Then we should apologise for intruding. We should leave you to finish what you were doing,” she said.

“I was done, anyhow. I’m on my way. It’s okay Mrs Steadfast,” Harry hastened to say and headed for the door in order to escape the embarrassing situation.

“Your book, Harry!” Simmings called out after him. The Auror stopped and stared at the open pages. “Blimey, have you been practicing the Spiral Case Knight’s Move? No wonder you’re all beaten up! We don’t do that one until third year at the Auror’s program and we have really big training premises.” Harry felt himself blush - he had preferred not to reveal what he had been doing.

“Now, that’s ambitious,” said Mrs Steadfast and looked at him searchingly.

“A bit advanced for you, apparently,” said Snape snidely. Harry turned angrily toward him.

“I bet I’ll be able to do it perfectly after another night’s training! I just found out how to Charge up, before you lot came bursting in!” he launched defiantly, not able to hide the pride over his new discovery. They all stared dumbfounded at him.

“You learnt how to Charge up…? On your own?” said Mrs Steadfast finally.

“Yes, took me four nights, but I figured it out!” confirmed Harry.

“Wow, it took me six months, even after being told how it worked,” said Miss Swan.

“Six months, at least... for me. I’m still not that good at it,” Simmings filled in, looking with admiration at Harry.

“It was my grand-mother who taught me,” said Mrs Steadfast in a nostalgic tone of voice. “She was head of the Auror’s department thirty years ago. I’ve never heard of a wizard, or a witch, who has found out on their own, have you Professor? Normally you need to be shown. It’s not at all well described in the books. It’s a thing to transmit from one wizard or witch to another.”

“I learnt on my own,” Snape pointed out, still scrutinising Harry thoughtfully, “... but it took me most part of a year to find out how it worked.”

“You were younger... maybe?” Harry caught himself at the last minute. He had promised, after all, to pretend that the conversation he had had with Snape in the Forbidden Forest at the end of the summer, where Snape had told him about fighting a demon after his OWL exams, had never taken place.

“How did you guess, Potter?” said Snape silkily. “I was fifteen, turning sixteen, when I learnt how to Charge up and do the Spiral Case Knight’s Move.”

“A precocious child, were you, Severus Snape?” Mrs Steadfast said teasingly. Snape glared at her.

“Took me some more years to refine the technique,” he clarified. “Strictly speaking, I was not allowed to Apparate at the time.  And that Move is constructed for a grown-up body. Speaking of Apparition, how on earth did you manage to perform the Apparition parts in here? We have increased the amount of light magma in the castle to three times its normal value.”

“That’s why it was so heavy!” exclaimed Harry. “I had to cut passages in the magma with my wand before Apparating. With all the other components of the Move, that’s what overturned me, most of the time. But when charged up, it went just fine.”

“You cut passages in the magma... “ Snape struggled not to look impressed and managed eventually to put on a sour expression. “I recommend you to practice out of doors in the future, Potter,” he went on. “Or more like it: I forbid you to do the Knight’s Move inside the castle anymore. Understood?”

Harry nodded.

“Don’t be so harsh on the boy,” intervened Mrs Steadfast, frowning at Snape. “He has achieved something remarkable. He should be given credit for it.”

“I’m not being harsh,” said Snape irritably. “It’s for his own sake. The magma is less condensed out on the grounds. And landing on a lawn is better than on Professor McGonagall’s desks!”

At this moment the door was flung open again and a red-cheeked Ginny, dressed in her muddy quidditch equipment, stormed in.

“Harry, are you finished? Want to come down and… Oh...” She stopped abruptly when she saw the company Harry had. “What’s going on?” she said suspiciously, addressing Harry. “Why are they here?” She walked up to Harry’s side and flicked her wand at him to clear his lower lip from some dried blood.

“They heard noises and thought someone was fighting in here.” Harry pulled a wry face.

“How stupid! Everybody knows that Professor McGonagall puts her classroom at the pupils’ disposal for practicing in the evenings,” said Ginny with a disapproving look at Snape and Mrs Steadfast. Snape actually blushed, whereas Mrs Steadfast looked at Ginny with liking and said:

“We have apologised to Mr Potter. You would be Miss Weasley, I think. Harry’s girlfriend? Nice to meet you!” She stepped over to shake hands with Ginny.

“Nice to meet you, too!” said Ginny.

“I see that you’re the captain of Gryffindor’s quidditch team,” added Mrs Steadfast, sounding even more delighted. “I used to wear that badge myself, long ago.”

Ginny and Mrs Steadfast fell into talking over quidditch, Mrs Steadfast wanting to know all about the tactics for the upcoming match against Slytherin. Simmings was talking in a low voice to Miss Swan who was laughing teasingly in response. Harry still felt a bit awkward and waited impatiently for Ginny. They had agreed to do some broomstick flying and quidditch practice for fun with Ron, after Ginny’s team practice and it was getting late.

“Do you know how to mend broken ribs?” Snape suddenly asked. Harry automatically lifted his hand to his right side of the chest. Under the armpit and obliquely downwards he had a searing pain at every breath he took.

“How did you know?” he asked Snape with curiosity.

“It’s no wild guess that you have fallen against the edges of the desks in this room. And you breathe slightly asymmetrically, lifting your left side of the chest higher than your right side. That would be because of the activated muscle defence. Its purpose is to restrain the movement of your chest as it would cause you more pain,” explained Snape. Harry looked at him with interest.

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” he objected.

“Oh, this is done automatically. It’s a reflex. The conscious experience of pain is something else. It’s subjective and individual. Basically, your body is in pain, but you’re not. After the lengthy, excruciating experience of pain that you were subjected to this summer, I’m not surprised that you’re quite hardened to pain. Trust me though – broken ribs will hurt more in a few days time. The pain increases as they start to heal,” stated Snape.

“Would you teach me how to mend it then, Professor?” Harry asked cautiously. His instincts were to avoid having Snape do magic on him, even if it were for healing purposes, as little as he wanted him to intrude on his mind or Obliviate his memories. It felt better if Snape were to teach him how to do it on his own.

“Mend them,” Snape corrected him. “There are almost always several fractures. You can count them.”

Snape started to show Harry. It was a fairly easy spell that reminded him of an ordinary fracture-healing spell. It was expanded by a short incantation and a rather delicate modulating part with finger movements, not to engage the lung tissue in the healing process, which would lead to complications, according to Snape. Harry was attentive and managed well by Snape’s instructions to heal himself. He took a deep breath.

“Feels better!” he said. “Thank you, Professor.”

Mrs Steadfast had been engrossed by her conversation with Ginny and only heard Harry’s last words, but looked at Snape with appreciation, without knowing what his good deed consisted in.

“Come on, Harry, we need to get going if we want to do some quidditch. The lights are on at the stadium for another hour. Mme Hooch promised us. Ron is waiting. I brought your thick jumper. It’s freezing cold. I bet there’ll be a white frost over everything in the morning, but there is no wind and the stars are out. A great evening for quidditch!” Ginny’s eyes were sparkling. Harry followed her eagerly to the door.

“Have fun, children!” said Mrs Steadfast after them. Harry and Ginny darted off, hand in hand, followed by half-mocking, half-indulgent gazes, and just a flicker of envy in the eyes of more than one of the adults who were watching.

***

It was the beginning of winter. There were more nights with white frost that covered the grounds of Hogwarts and transformed the Forbidden Forest into a field of glittering diamonds, when watched from upstairs the owlery, in full sunshine in the mornings.

Phil and Phlegm, Hagrid’s Kangabbits and their ten babies that had popped out without notice, only a few weeks ago, had adapted remarkably well to the cold. Their fur had grown thicker and they had declined to move into Hagrid’s cabin, although he assured Ron, Harry and Hermione that he had invited them very politely. The Kangabbits preferred to live in the nests they built in tree forks where they sat on the look-out for people. They had developed an intricate system of reporting to Hagrid who was by now well acquainted with the out-door customs of each and one of Hogwarts’ inhabitants.

“Like you,” said Hagrid to Harry. “I know that you practice on the lawn borderin’ to the forest on the southe’n side of the grounds, several times a week. And you all go for a walk on Sundays, like today, endin’ up for tea at my place, ’cept for Hogsmeade week-ends when we go to The Three Broomsticks together,” continued Hagrid with satisfaction. He enjoyed their habit of coming to visit him. “They give me a warnin’ when you set off from the castle and I’ll know when to expect you,” Hagrid said proudly. The Kangabbits were no longer an object of doubts. They were his dearest children.

“Mr Sawman walks round the castle every mornin’, two rounds, very narrowly. He seems afraid of venturin’ too far away,” Hagrid chatted on. “Mr Burgess is more of a night walker. He always goes up to the northe’n part of the Forbidden Forest and is not afraid of enterin’ the forest in the dark. Only short trips, every evenin’, sometimes in the mornin’ too. He seems to be a restless kind of person. The Kangabbits are ’fraid of the swamp up in the North though, so they don’t go there if they don’t ’ave to.”

“We’ve never been to the northern part, I think,” said Hermione. “Still, I dare say we are the students at Hogwarts who have visited the Forbidden Forest most times.”

“O’course ye are. The northe’n part’s not very nice. I avoid it meself. I’m too big to move about the wetlands,” confirmed Hagrid.

“So you keep track of the teacher’s movements in the area,” said Harry with an amused glint in the eyes. “And you report to Professor Snape?”

“How did you know that?” said Hagrid without thinking. “Maybe you didn’t...?” he fastened his eyes on Harry who tried to compose his face in an innocent expression. “Clever Mr Potter... Easy to fool old ’Agrid, isn’t it? Don’t you think I ‘aven’t ‘eard the rumours that say you’re growin’ into as powerful a wizard as You-know-who?”

“Who says that?” exclaimed Harry, the smile erased from his face. “What a bunch of rubbish! And why do the comparison with Voldemort?”

“I won’t tell who said so,” said Hagrid, still cross with Harry.

“Come on, Hagrid, it isn’t hard to guess that Professor Snape wants to keep track of what’s happening on the grounds. Everyone knows there are threats directed at Hogwarts. And he probably reports to Mrs Steadfast.” Harry tried to appease his offended half-giant friend.

“Yes, well…” muttered Hagrid. ”Twice a week, at dawn, Mrs Steadfast arrives from London - early bird that lady - and charmin’ she is. Never a ’arsh word to old ’Agrid from ’er. Snape and I meet’er at the gate and I tell’em what has been goin’ on outside since last time, as we walk ’er up to the castle, where I leave’em to check inside affairs.” Hagrid had as soon forgiven Harry and rejoiced in showing off the Kangabbit’s excellent spying services.

“What about Professor Snape himself,” asked Ron. “Is he moving about?”

“Twice a week in the evenings, he goes down to the gate and disappears by Apparition on the other side,” said Hagrid. Harry looked intrigued.

“Is he gone long? Do you know where he’s off to?”

“No idea. He’s gone two or three hours,” answered Hagrid, “...and when he comes back, no matter ’ow late it is, he likes to take a stroll ’long the Forbidden Forest back to the castle. It’s a detour. He always ends up at the foot of the astronomy tower, where he stands for a while, before walkin’ back to the entrance.”

“There’s where Dumbledore was crushed to the ground,” whispered Hermione. They all fell silent.

“I wonder what it feels like to murder a friend?” muttered Ron, at last.

“It was at Dumbledore’s request,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, but still...” said Ron.

Harry said nothing as his chest felt painfully constricted.