“Cooking and potion-making have a lot in common,” Molly Weasley told Harry. She was stirring a giant cauldron full of a stew that smelled richly of onion, cumin and cloves.  “There are easy enough recipes where you just toss the ingredients together, but once you want to do anything more palatable you need to feel your concoction react to each new ingredient to decide on just the right amount needed.”

Harry watched attentively as she added some turmeric to the curry. He had taken to assist Mrs Weasley in the evenings when she prepared dinner at the Burrow. The pretext for learning to cook was that he considered going to live on his own soon. Even if he was used to a certain amount of starving from growing up with the Dursleys, the months spent in a tent with Ron and Hermione last year as they tried to avoid being caught by Lord Voldemort’s followers had taught him what real destitution meant. Cooking was not to be taken lightly.

Harry’s second motive in joining in Mrs Weasley’s culinary activities was to distract her mind from thoughts of her lost son, Fred, who had died in the final battle against Voldemort at Hogwarts two months ago.  She was devastated, and Harry was aware of the effort it took her to rise every morning and care for the rest of her family. Grief had such a tight grip on her that there were times when Mrs Weasley would not respond to a question until the third or fourth time asked. Her contours and shape were dissolving since her clothes hung loose on her since some weeks and she was so altered in her appearance that Harry sometimes found Mr Weasley staring at his own wife with dread in his eyes.

Harry had been impressed that day in May by Mrs Weasley who had taken part with unexpected panache in the final battle. She had proven to be a witch with much greater power than her stout and homely self betrayed. It was she who ultimately defeated the particularly cruel - and to the Dark Lord unswervingly devoted - Death Eater by the name Bellatrix Lestrange. It had been a victory nearly as important as the one Harry gained over Voldemort.

“Potions don’t even have to taste well,” Mrs Weasley muttered partly to herself, partly at Harry. “They only have to work. But the principles are the same... Time to add the remaining seasoning,” she continued. “Look here Harry, this is for inventing a new recipe... When you have no instructions to go on, you let your wand rest on the side of the cauldron and you will feel a slight trembling in your wand which tells you that you have added a sufficient amount of the ingredient.  There, did you feel it?”

Harry nodded.

“You try adding the coriander now... There you go – very good, you stopped just in time!  You felt the twinge in your wand then?”

Another nod of the head and he smiled slightly at her.

“Now, let’s taste it as well. You don’t do that to potions, usually,” she added warningly.

Harry thought that if he could make Mrs Weasley forget, if only for a short period of time, her grief and get on with everyday business, it was no sacrifice of his to give up his time to cooking, even if he knew Ron would scorn at it. Fortunately, Ron was not at home these days.

Harry had a third reason to engage in the chore of making dinner, which was to keep his own mind busy. Getting rid of Voldemort should have brought the world back to harmony, but there was so much damage done, so many persons killed with so many grieving and paralysed mourners left behind that that nothing was the same. Harry had a hard time to keep painful memories from intruding on him in daytime, and he simply dreaded the nights.

Harry added pinches of cinnamon and ginger to the stew at Mrs Weasley’s directions and was awarded by her praise.

“You have really sensitive hands, Harry. They pick up the tiniest shift. Very good indeed! As long as you stay with Harry, Ginny - and I really hope you will - you might not have to learn cooking after all – he’ll be the expert at your house. Not that you have shown any interest hitherto... I’ve quite given up on you.”  Mrs Weasley addressed her daughter who stood frowning at the doorpost and watched her mother and boyfriend at work.

Harry turned around to meet the irritated gaze of Ginny. What was it now? She often seemed to be frustrated with him – he did not know what to do about it.

“There are more important and enjoyable things to do, mother, than to waste time on cooking,” said Ginny curtly and Mrs Weasley clenched her jaws without retorting. “Harry, I want a word,” Ginny continued in a voice that signalled she would not bear with contradiction and turned on her heel.

Harry left Mrs Weasley to finish the stew and followed Ginny into her room. She lifted her slender arm gracefully and shut the door with a spell. She had turned seventeen last spring and was finally allowed to use magic freely. He looked at her long shining ginger hair and his heart ached with tenderness. He met her beautiful light brown eyes which, however, looked back at him accusingly.

It was still hard for him to understand that they were actually back together. Harry had broken up their short relationship from sixth year when Dumbledore died and left her from fear that Voldemort might harm her. They had not seen much of each other the past year until the death of the dark wizard. In the midst of the sorrow and confused feelings of guilt and emptiness that followed, Ginny was his major reason to live.

In contrast to the other members of the Weasley family, Ginny did not cry, grieve or talk of the events of that devastating day at Hogwarts two months ago. Harry often noticed that she grew irritated with her siblings and with her parents as they dwelt upon the past atrocities. Ginny wanted to ignore what had happened and escape the house as much as possible. Harry tried not to impose his own grief upon her, and to be patient with her shifts of mood. He let her take him on excursions to beaches or to the forest or wherever she fancied, as long as it was quite deserted places. He was not up to big company these days.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” Ginny launched defiantly. Harry lifted an eyebrow. She did not sound very inviting.

“I’ll certainly go to bed with you...” Harry began politely and narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, “...right now if you want to”. His eyes warmed with an amused sparkle at her and she seemed to soften the least little bit. “And tonight,” he added generously, “but…” He hesitated slightly. Her eyes darkened immediately again and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“But you’ll not stay to go to sleep with me,” she filled in, gazing out of the window. Harry remained silent for a few seconds. He wanted to fulfil her wishes so much.

“There’s no point,” he said softly, “I’ll only wake you up. And if I take the sleeping draught I will simply pass out. And it’ll only get worse the next night,” he added in a low voice.

“I thought Mother had stopped giving you the sleeping draught?” asked Ginny. “You’ve already used it long enough. It’s dangerous to continue.”

“She did stop,” he answered. “I don’t like taking it either, but I’ve made some of my own - don’t tell her. I only intend to take it every third or fourth night,“ he countered at her disapproving look. “I get less than three hours sleep a night! I wouldn’t stand up if I didn’t take it now and again,” he whispered pleadingly. “I can’t help it - you don’t know what it’s like.” A streak of desperation crept into his voice.

“I heard you, the first nights,” she reminded him. “You woke up the whole house with your screams - it was horrible! Do you mean it hasn’t improved? It’s been five weeks now.” She looked at him suspiciously.

“Do you think I’m lying?” he answered heatedly. “Do you really think I don’t want to be with you? That I’m making it up as an excuse?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you think I’m too much... that I want too much... You won’t go out dancing with me either...” she said sullenly and went quiet.

“We’ve been to Muggle places to dance, I don’t mind that,” objected Harry. “But I still don’t want to go to any wizard clubs,” he added firmly. “I’m not up to being recognised by everyone and playing the Saviour-of-the-wizard-world part right now. You can understand that, can’t you?” he pleaded with her.

“I just want you to be well. I want everything to go back to normal and to enjoy life a bit,” Ginny explained to him. “I’m seventeen now. Voldemort is gone. We’re supposed to be free and happy... get on with our lives... If your nightmares are not getting better, you need to do something about them. I’m worried about you,” she said and her eyes filled with tears first in anger but her voice softened as she went on and tears finally brimmed over as much from frustration as from concern.

“I am doing something,” answered Harry quietly. “They’re not usual nightmares you know,” he defended himself. “I… I’ve been reading a lot to make out if I could heal myself from them somehow. With Hermione gone, I’ve been left to do the work all by myself... and I haven’t found anything useful yet,” he added dejectedly.

“Does it have to do with your scar then?” Ginny asked uncertainly. “You said that Voldemort is gone from your head. Isn’t he?”

“He is – I’m quite certain,” said Harry. “My scar never prickles and the headaches are gone. I can read for hours and remember things better than before. I don’t even need my glasses any more. My bad eye-sight was an adverse effect from having Voldemort’s soul attached to my brain. So you see - that part really is gone. Days are tolerable... This is something that happens at night. I don’t know what it’s about. Last night I passed out from pain, several times, so it’s getting worse. I wish Dumbledore was still alive...”

Harry’s chest suddenly felt tight and made it difficult to breathe. Ginny stepped forward and hugged him. They stayed silent, clutching at each other for a long while.

“You need to do something,” repeated Ginny as she lifted her head to look him in the eyes. Harry laughed hollowly.

“Yeah, can you see me walk into St Mungo’s Hospital asking for an examination? It would be all over the Daily Prophet in no time. Vanqueur or Vanquished? Harry Potter going Mad after Victory. The Boy who should not have survived fails to adjust to normal life. I really don’t think I could face it - I had rather live as an eremite in a cave somewhere!” Harry said savagely.

“Or shut up at Grimmauld Place – that’s your plan, isn’t it?” Ginny exploded at Harry who turned his head away without answering her. “Have you spoken to Father?” pleaded Ginny.

“I did, when I started to have the nightmares. He asked your mother to make me the sleeping draughts,” said Harry and began to pace back and fro. “He also sent me Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror, who was kind enough to see me... but he had no clue, just thought it was overstraining... said it was not unusual. And Kingsley is the Minister of Magic now. They’re so busy cleaning up after Voldemort, and your father too is burdened by grief - I’m not bothering them another time. I’m sick of drawing attention to myself. Sick of needing special treatment. Sick of having people worry about me!” Harry gestured angrily and turned exasperated towards Ginny. “Not you,” he added hastily in a milder tone when he saw her eyes fire up.

A knock on the door made them turn their heads and Ginny’s older brother, George, opened up just enough for them to see an earless side of a ginger head and one sad eye. “Dinner’s ready,” he said tonelessly and shut the door immediately behind him.

“I wonder whether he’ll ever be himself again?  When Fred went it was like half of him died as well,” muttered Ginny. “And you...” She pointed threateningly at Harry.  “...I give you another week, or I’ll take you to see a healer at St Mungo’s myself!”

Harry smiled faintly and followed her down to the kitchen. His mute reply: “No way!” hang between them as they settled down at the silent table to enjoy an exceptionally tasty curry that nobody really noticed.

After dinner they gathered in the living room. Ginny’s oldest brother Bill and his French wife Fleur talked in low voices to each other in one corner. Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting in silence side by side. Percy, who had been long estranged from the family, but had realised his mistake and returned to fight with them at the very last moment at Hogwarts, sat in an armchair going through memos from the Ministry where he had kept a job. George was by himself at a side table and looked with unseeing eyes at ordering lists from the joke-shop he and his twin brother had been running until Fred’s death. Once in a while he shook his head and started reading from the top of the roll again, but never got to the bottom line.  

Harry sat by the fire that had been lit as it was a rather raw and damp evening of August. It might have been the light from the flames and shadows that played on his face, but he suddenly looked older than his eighteen, and the absence of the glasses he used to wear accentuated his high cheekbones. It was a handsome face albeit a bit hollowed and pale beneath the sunburn. He sat very still, as if frozen, while his inner roared to get up and punch the air of the room that was thick with grief. His arms ached from restraining himself from doing so.

He thought of Ron and Hermione and missed them intensely. With what they had been through together last year, it would have been a comfort to have them close. Just to hear them tease each other would have distracted him from the heavy thoughts.

But if anyone deserved to get away from his strange conditions and endless troubles, he reflected bitterly, it was them. They had risked their lives to go with him last year in quest of Voldemort’s horcruxes. They had been hurt and wounded and terrified. The road towards the fateful fight against Voldemort had been winding and difficult.

At the final desperate hours preceding the battle that led to the killing of Voldemort, Ron and Hermione had at last found each other and acknowledged their love. It had been obvious to Harry for some time but Ron and Hermione themselves had not dared to pronounce their affection face to face, because of pride on each side and fear of rejection. At the end of the battle they were more happy and relieved than anyone else.

With Voldemort gone, however, Hermione wanted to leave for Australia in search for her parents. She had sent them abroad to avoid endangering them when she joined in the hunt for the horcruxes. It had been decided that Ron would go with her on the journey. They had left Harry at the Burrow. He did not want new adventures, but only longed to be with Ginny and slowly get out of the haze of feelings that followed Voldemort’s death.

Harry let his mind wander to that final battle where he had walked deliberately to his death, but survived and then managed to kill Voldemort - just like the Prophesy had once said: “...neither can live while the other survives”. And it was him who survived. The feeling was unreal. He saw masses of wounded and dead bodies before his eyes. They laid spread all over the grounds and on the floor in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Harry was not aware that his breath had quickened and that tears had started to stream down his cheeks, before he heard Ginny’s cold voice beside him.

“I want to go out, are you coming?”

Mrs Weasley, who had noticed Harry’s tears shot Ginny a reproaching look and started to get up from the sofa, obviously in an attempt to scold her daughter.

“It’s all right,” said Harry quickly and stood up. “I want to go, Mrs Weasley. It’s nothing... To Buxton...” he added sternly for Ginny as he dried his eyes unceremoniously with the back of his hand, “ ...not to London.” Buxton was the nearest Muggle town, where he and Ginny had gone dancing before. It was not as busy and as uncomfortable as London, in Harry’s mind. He knew Ginny preferred the big clubs of the capital, but he just didn’t have the strength for it.

“Oh, all right,” she said impatiently and they left.  

***

It was two o’clock at night when Harry rose from Ginny’s bed to dress himself, careful not to disturb her. She must have been on her guard however for she said without stirring:

“You’re going then?”

Harry paused.

“We discussed it before, Ginny, we shouldn’t start again,” he said tiredly. “I’ll soon be able to go to sleep and then I had better be at the shed. I made it soundproof. I disturb no one out there.”

Ginny drew her breath.

“You sleep on a mattress on a concrete floor, in the filth, in the middle of Daddy’s Muggle collection and all kind of rubbish,” she said indignantly.

“Yeah, some place for an All-Time-Wizard-Hero, isn’t it?” said Harry bitterly. His countenance softened when he heard sobs coming from the bed. This was worse than anything: His tough, beautiful, lively, firing Ginny was crying dejectedly.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand. He stroked it gently with his other hand, stroked her arm, wiped the tears in her face gently with the back of his hand and caressed her beautiful neck and collar bones softly with his fingers as she turned towards him. She was silent but breathed quickly.

“How can your hands feel so powerful when their touch is so light?” she whispered and drew him down to her.

The second time he stood up from the bed, she was still awake and watched him silently. He kneeled down by her side. He could just make out her eyes in the dark.

“I have considered writing to him,” Harry said hesitantly. ”It might be the last solution.”

“Write to who?” she asked blankly.

“To the man Dumbledore trusted all serious Dark Art injuries,” Harry said tonelessly. “To the former Death Eater who, beside myself, probably knew Lord Voldemort best. The man who hates me and who I have hated more than anyone, but was mistaken in.” He shook his head slowly and frowned. “The man I thought I saw die after the attack by Voldemort’s snake, but who miraculously survived,” he added.

“Professor Snape!” Ginny whispered and her eyes widened.

A few weeks later, in the afternoon, Harry sat on a pin chair, reading a book with rapt attention. The end of August presented a heat wave, but inside the shed where Harry sat, the stone walls procured a comfortable temperature and a nearly absolute silence.

The room bore all signs of inhabitation: there was a mattress on the floor with a pillow and a quilt on it. A shelf full of books was placed beside it. Some more books were spread on a medium sized table standing along the farther end. Various old objects had been stowed away in two separate heaps in one corner of the room, hidden beneath big pieces of white cloth. Someone had swept the concrete floor from dust and spread out a simple carpet. The room was lit by a single oil lamp hanging from the middle of the high ceiling. At the ridge of the ceiling there was a deserted bird nest.

In the farthest corner a cauldron was boiling slowly. It contained a thick, purple potion. Shelves were full with what looked like ingredients for an extended potions kit. A smaller cauldron was stuffed away at the highest shelf and a mismatching overlarge lock covered it.

Harry sighed and looked up. It was time soon to go inside and help Mrs Weasley prepare dinner as usual. He put the book away and stood up with difficulty. He had been seated too long. He was stiff and swayed slightly. He looked thin, almost emaciated, with dark shadows under his eyes. He wondered whether Ginny would be home for dinner. They had not seen much of each other the last few days. He no longer went out with her on excursions, nor at night. He needed confinement, got all dizzy and faint if he tried to move about too much, especially to unfamiliar places. His head, strangely, was kept clear enough for reading despite the lack of sleep, but his physical strength was diminished.

Ginny came down to the shed from time to time and sat in silence for a while before she left, determined to get out in the real world and escape the sad place the Burrow had become.  Harry had no means of stopping her and why should he, he wondered. Why should she be reduced to be with her as-good-as-dying boy-friend? He did not wish to limit her world or happiness. Harry knew that she still was not happy. His soul ached at the thought that it was he who inflicted the pain upon her.

Harry fled into books and tried to keep busy with helping Mr and Mrs Weasley with various chores. In the evenings he experimented with potion-making, postponing the dread of the night for as long as he could. 

No answer had followed the letter that Harry had composed with great difficulty and reluctantly sent away by owl to Hogwarts, intended for Professor Snape, nearly three weeks ago.  Ron and Hermione, who should have returned last Saturday, had been retained in Australia for a whole week longer than planned. They would be home by Friday, though, and on the following Monday, the new school term was scheduled to start.

Taking into account the chaotic situation for a lot of students last year, when Muggle borns had not been allowed to Hogwarts at all, and other pupils, like Harry and his friends, had been on the run for other reasons, Hogwarts this year offered special arrangements for everyone who wanted to catch up. Harry, Ron and Hermione had signed up for a seventh year, to obtain NEWT levels which would enable them to move on to higher studies or enter whatever careers they could think of.

A couple of days ago, however, Harry had withdrawn his application as he deemed himself unfit for attending school in his present state. Where would he sleep, for a start? He realised he could under no conditions be kept in a dormitory with these increasingly savage nightmares assailing him. They could perhaps keep him in the Shrieking Shack, Harry thought bitterly. The Shrieking Shack was the solitary and deserted house near Hogwarts, once used to help his father’s friend Lupin keep safe when he transformed into a werewolf every month.

It was at the same Shrieking Shack that his former teacher of Potions, Professor Severus Snape, double spy for Voldemort and Dumbledore, had been attacked by the snake Nagini on direct orders from Voldemort. Harry, albeit a long history of distrust not to say hatred between himself and Snape, had stepped forward to the dying man and had received a bunch of Snape’s memories. These had shown Harry for one thing that Snape had remained loyal to Professor Dumbledore all along and only killed Dumbledore at the old headmaster's own request. Dumbledore was already doomed by a terrible curse that had hit him when he destroyed one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.

Moreover, Snape’s memories revealed his reason for joining Dumbledore’s side eighteen years ago, namely the deep remorse at having been the one who caused Lord Voldemort to start hunting down Lily Evans, married Potter, in order to kill her son, Harry. Because of a prophesy that Snape had overheard and reported to his Dark Lord, Voldemort thought that Harry would present a major threat to him in the future. It had resulted in the deaths of Harry’s parents, Lily and James Potter.

Harry had been told during his very first year at Hogwarts that Severus Snape and James Potter had been enemies when they were at school together and Harry had received repeated proof of Snape’s hatred and - as he was to find out later - not entirely unfounded loathing of James. What he had never suspected, however, was that Snape and Lily Evans, Harry’s mother, knew each other very well since they grew up in the same Muggle town. They had been friends, and Snape’s love for her, despite her marrying James, made him betray Voldemort in an attempt to protect her from being killed.

Snape’s effort had proven vain because another friend of James’, Peter Pettigrew, had betrayed the targeted young couple. When Voldemort attacked, Lily had shielded Harry with Ancient Magic. When she died to save her son, her act of love made the killing curse intended for Harry backfire on Voldemort and the evil wizard had for many years been reduced in powers.

Dumbledore, however, had not thought him gone forever and had foreseen his return. He had persuaded Severus Snape to stay at Hogwarts and help the son of the woman he loved.  Snape had consented, grudgingly it seemed, for he had only ever seen James in Harry and therefore treated Harry unfairly at school. Snape had given him endless criticism and countless detentions, but in essence Snape had been consistent in his love for Lily in so much that he protected Harry’s life. It was he who procured Harry with the last clue of what was expected of him in order to conquer Voldemort definitively.

*

Harry stood up to attend to the boiling cauldron in the corner of the shed and started to add ingredients and to stir carefully. He squinted at the instructions scribbled down on an old, partly torn parchment that was pinned to the edge of a shelf at eye level. He went on, apparently with some ease, tapping the cauldron with his wand now and then, sniffing and stirring. The potion turned a deeper and deeper blue and cleared up to an almost liquid consistence.  Harry seemed satisfied, added a lump of dark resin and magicked the big spoon to stir the potion for itself - he apparently expected it to take a while.

*

His mind returned to Hogwarts three months ago. The hours and the days that followed the battle, he had taken part in attending to the wounded. Harry had used the Elder Wand that he had won from Voldemort. It was supposed to be particularly powerful, and under a healer’s guidance, who had turned up from St Mungo’s, he used it to great effect to ease the pain and to cure the injuries of many.

The worst injured had been moved to St Mungo’s as quickly as possible. Snape, however, had been too seriously wounded by Nagini’s snake bites to be transported away at all. No one thought he was going to survive. He was thought dead at first when found by Harry’s instructions inside the Shrieking Shack and brought up to the Hospital Wing, but eventually a shallow breathing had been detected. Repeated incantations with the Elder Wand only marginally improved his condition.

“We need an antidote, but I’m not sure there is any to this particular snake. He shouldn’t have survived in the first place. I’ve heard of no one who has resisted Nagini,” said a dark haired and bearded healer from St Mungo’s to Mme Pomfrey who simply shook her head. Harry who overheard this, felt strangely oppressed. It felt as if he could not bear one single more death, not even Snape’s, or particularly not his, considering the connection he was now aware of between Snape and his mother.

The giant keeper of Hogwarts, Hagrid, had stood by Snape’s bedside and sobbed.

“He never betrayed us then, bless ‘im! He only killed the ‘eadmaster out of mercy to spare ‘im the sufferin’.”

“I always thought that curse in Dumbledore’s hand was not cured and I understood his time was limited, but it was still such a shock when he went so brutally,” said Mme Pomfrey.

“Must’ve been so ‘ard for Snape to do it, so brave of ‘im and we all turned our backs on ‘im,” Hagrid whimpered, big tears dropping on the bed cover.

Harry, who was reminded of something when he saw the tears of his half-giant friend, turned on the spot to go and find Professor Slughorn, the retired teacher and friend of Dumbledore’s who had replaced Snape as the Potions master for the last two years. Harry knew that Slughorn had some Acromantula venom in his possession, secretly stolen from the corpse of Hagrid’s giant pet spider Aragog at its very funeral.

The venom of Acromentulae was the antagonist of basilisk venom. With the help of Snape’s own old schoolbook of Advanced Potion-making, Harry and Slughorn had concocted an antidote based on the Acromantula venom and containing an infinitesimal amount of the snake venom itself. This, ascertained the notes in Snape’s book, was the very essence for the success of an antidote.

Harry had only stayed so long as to see the effect of the first dose on Snape, which had been dramatic, with stronger breathing, a better colouring of his skin and some eye movements under the closed eyelids at the same time as the fleshy wounds started to close.

On the third day after Voldemort’s death, things had finally begun to calm down and except for the early, direct deaths, all the secondary injured seemed to be recuperating and doing well. In the evening, Harry went off with Ron and Hermione to destroy the Elder Wand. It had done a great job there and then, but was at length, Harry felt, more likely to cause evil than good. Harry had left Hogwarts without speaking to Snape who, he heard later, made a remarkable recovery thanks to the Acromantula antidote over the next weeks.

*

In the shed, Harry moved to his cauldron again and stopped his spoon from stirring. The content was now a shining black colour and Harry looked satisfied with it, put a lid on the cauldron and moved towards the door with dawdling footsteps. 

Squinting in the bright sunlight across the garden towards the house, Harry’s eye was caught by something black and bat-like between the apple trees that moved along the gravelled path leading to the green main door of the house. Harry drew his breath and stopped petrified - this was a figure he knew all too well.

Snape was walking fast and purposefully. No one could have guessed by looking at him that he had been covered in snake bites and an inch from death two months ago.  Harry backed a few steps behind a bush, not to draw attention. He wanted time to compose himself before facing the man he had as a last resort asked for help. Wasn’t it too late now, anyway? He had quite given up the idea of getting assistance and had worked out another plan, hadn’t he? Why had Snape waited for so long to come?

Snape was let inside by Charlie, second among the Weasley siblings, who greeted him with a handshake that seemed cordial enough. The Order of the Phoenix had a decimated body of members since last May, but Charlie was one of the remaining ones, as were the other members of the Weasley family. But Lupin was gone, as was Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody and so many others. Snape had belonged to the Order as well, before he killed Dumbledore. They did not have meetings any longer that Harry was aware of. The Aurors were the ones who dealt with the aftermath of Voldemort.

A few members of the Order came by the Burrow now and then and Harry had heard them discuss the case of Snape with animosity and great puzzlement. Some thought they saw an explanation while others shook their heads and said they just could not make him out. Harry usually avoided so say anything on the subject even if he could feel the inquisitive gazes upon himself.

Snape had always been the odd figure, Harry thought: odd as a teenager when James and Sirius had gone after him in that bullying manner, odd as the Head of Slytherin and the most feared and disliked teacher at Hogwarts, and odd among the members of the Order of the Phoenix, featuring his part of double spy. Harry wondered if he had been an outsider among the Death Eaters as well, or if he had melted in better in that gang.

Harry approached the green door in his turn. He let himself in with trembling hands and shut the door quietly. His heart was racing. He heard voices from the living-room. At the same moment he saw Ginny’s head pop out through the chink of the door to her room down the corridor. She had heard the voices as well.

“Who?” she asked as she advanced.

“Snape,” whispered Harry.

“But then you must go inside,” she said eagerly. “You look terrible,” she added.

Harry tried to pull himself together. He had faced Snape before, had he not? His experience in the past of his ex-teacher had taught him that you always needed to be on the alert when being around him, and Harry did not feel very acute for the moment being. But maybe Snape would have a more approving attitude towards Harry, now that his feelings for Lily Evans had been revealed? Harry drew a deep breath and entered. 

“ … So the Ministry’s disorganised at the moment. But Shacklebolt’s a strong leader and he just needs some time to sort it out. I know he wants to give us all the resources requested to bring Hogwarts back to what it has been - and that he makes it a priority!” Percy was standing in the middle of the room, a little red on his cheeks. True to his habit, he defended the Ministry against some remark made by Snape. The others noticed Harry’s entrance as he slipped in with Ginny and shut the door after them, but Snape did not turn his head.

“That is nothing I have noticed,” he snorted. “Stone blocks for the ramparts of the castle were due more than a fortnight ago and have still not turned up. Dormitories and class rooms are repaired and fit for use again, but the Entrance Hall still looks like a combat field.”

“It still does?” whispered Mrs Weasley and looked blankly in front of her as she sank down onto the seat of an armchair. She bent forwards and covered her face with her hands. “It’s nothing,” she gasped as the others approached her in concern, but she was shaking quite uncontrollably, “…just a flash back you know… took me by surprise.” She had difficulties articulating the words. “Not your fault, Professor… happens all the time... it’ll be over in a moment.”  Harry had not seen her this shaken lately, though, and felt a surge of resentment toward Snape for bringing it on so thoughtlessly.

The professor looked down on Mrs Weasley with an impassive expression on his face. He started mumbling an incantation while his left hand made slow movements in the air, palm directed at Mrs Weasley. It reminded Harry of the healing incantations he had been taught to perform by Mme Pomfrey after the battle, but it was not exactly the same.  Mrs Weasley seemed to relax and leaned back in the armchair, eyes closed. Snape’s voice died out, he gripped the back of the armchair with his hand and stood very still.

“Thank you so much, Professor,” said Mrs Weasley in a stronger voice. “That was more effective than anything the healers from St Mungo’s ever managed for me.” She opened her eyes and looked gratefully at Snape. “But of course, you would know.” An appreciating chorus of murmurs rose from the other family members. Mr Weasley cleared his voice and blinked vigorously.

“So, will you stay then as headmaster, Severus?” he asked Snape. “There’ve been various rumours, you know, at the Ministry. First that you didn’t want to stay. Then that you changed your mind, and now they’re speaking of some sort of an inquiry, all the same?”

Playing his part as one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, Snape had been nominated Headmaster at Hogwarts the previous year, supported by the Dark Lord who had gained control over the institutions of the Magical community. Keeping him on the post now after the fall of Voldemort was, naturally, a controversial matter.

“For the moment being, I remain at my post,” replied Snape. “I’ve worked hard since my recovery to make the school fit for reopening. But as your son just stated, the Ministry is chaotic. And I’m mistrusted… which is understandable… Kingsley stands behind me though, which is enough at the moment. We’ll see about the inquiry. Priority now is to see to it that pupils can be accommodated in less than a week’s time and lessons get started. There’s a lot to do.”

“We’re lucky,” reflected Mr Weasley, “to have persons like yourself around, in vacillating times like this, who are able to act forcefully and work for the rebuilding. So many of us still seem to be paralysed.” His voice trailed off before he found courage to continue. “You would think that after a victory like this one over Voldemort, getting rid of the darkest force in all times, you would feel empowered, not confused.“

“Now, don’t be so harsh on yourself, Arthur,” intervened Mrs Weasley. “Grief is working on so many of us, you cannot expect otherwise.” A short silence followed her comment.

”Now please, what brings you here, Professor? What can be important enough for you to leave your work at Hogwarts?” asked Mrs Weasley. Harry held his breath. Snape had not yet met his eyes, nor greeted him in any way.

“There are three things,” said Snape. “First there is a security matter that I want to discuss with you.”

“Security?” echoed Mr Weasley, surprised.

“Security at Hogwarts,” clarified Snape. “There are still a number of Death Eaters at the loose who are after revenge. I am myself a hot target, I believe. There’re also a number of students who are at risk and that we have to plan for.” Eyes gazed at Harry now, but Snape still did not look at him. “So when I received a letter from Mr Harry Potter a few days ago where he resigns his place at Hogwarts, I felt that I had to come and confirm such an important matter, as it will have great repercussions on the security measures at Hogwarts.”

Exclaims were heard from all parts of the room. Percy pointed accusingly at Harry.

“Is it true - are you not going back to Hogwarts? What with Ron and Hermione?”

“Harry, what’s this? We didn’t know,” pleaded Mrs Weasley.

“Please explain to us, Harry,” said Mr Weasley. “I know you haven’t been well this summer, but to resign school now? It’s a unique opportunity to catch up, it won’t come back.  Your whole future is at stake. I thought you wanted to become an Auror?” They were all dumbfounded.

“Yes, please let us hear your explanation, Mr Potter,” Snape said silkily, finally turning to face Harry.

Harry felt his palms and upper lip go clammy. He swallowed. Would he have to answer for his resignation in front of them all? Snape obviously wanted to plague him, relishing the sensation of the news he had sprung on them, having guessed, quite correctly, that Harry had not told the Weasleys about his decision. Maybe it was just as well, Harry thought. He had planned to tell them when Ron and Hermione came home but they had to be told sooner or later anyhow.

“Good day to you, Mr Potter,” said Snape, eying Harry from top to toe. He always spat out Harry’s surname.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” replied Harry.

“You failed to die, I heard,” said Snape coldly.

“So did you, I believe, Professor,” retorted Harry. He thought he saw a flicker of a smile in George’s face, right behind Snape’s shoulder, and it strengthened him. He put his trembling hands in his back pockets. He would not have Snape humiliate him in front of everyone. At least not that. He cleared is voice.

“Yes, I changed my mind, I will not return to Hogwarts. I know this comes as a surprise to you all, but I’ve given it a lot of thought over the summer. And if I can unload Professor Snape of a burden at the bargain that’s all very well,” added Harry and inclined his head slightly towards Snape who curled his lips.

“And you have decided to do what instead?” asked Snape softly. All the heads in the room were turned towards Harry.

“Er... Well, that’s my business actually... I’ll live at Sirius’ old place, he left it to me, you know and … I will travel.  I’d very much like to travel around a bit,” Harry finished lamely.  Ginny snorted.

“You’re not well, Harry,” intervened Mrs Weasley. ”With your nightmares, you’re not getting enough sleep. You’re not fit to travel around. Moreover you heard Professor Snape – there’re Death Eaters around, you’ll need protection.” 

“I’ve heard something about nightmares…” Snape started to say, but Harry interrupted him.

“I think I’ll be perfectly able to take care of myself, thank you! I did after all escape Voldemort for a year and ended up killing him, you know,” he said stiffly. “And nightmares are getting better, thanks, won’t be a problem,” he cut short. Snape drew out a letter from inside his robes.

“Should I disregard what is written in this letter, then?” he asked.

“Yes, you should,” Harry said defiantly, after a slight hesitation.

“Otherwise I was going to offer you my help in exchange for something I believe you have in your possession that is mine,” continued Snape in his silky voice. Harry did not immediately see what that could be, and he was too angry and humiliated to care.

“I don’t want your help, thank you,” he persisted, without lowering his eyes, which were fastened upon Snape. He was rewarded by what he thought was a twinkle of annoyance in Snape’s dark eyes.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Ginny was trembling with anger and her eyes were firing at both Harry and Snape. “You!” she hissed at Harry, “...will tell him everything... and if there is this much...” she held up her thumb and index in front of him measuring a mere millimetre space, “...of a chance that he might help you, you’ll accept his aid. And you, Professor, will not humiliate a person in distress!” Her eyes filled with tears but she kept her head erect and turned her back on them as she walked out of the room. Snape looked slightly disconcerted. At least he did not sneer. Harry swallowed.

“Could I have a word in private, please, Professor?” he said quietly. Snape nodded and followed him out of the room in silence.

Without really thinking of where he was going, Harry preceded Snape over to his shed and let him in. At least this was a soundproof place. In one gaze, Snape took the room in.

“You live here?” he asked brusquely. “Doesn’t Miss Ginny put up with you at the house?” Harry shot him a dark glance.

“I spend my nights here,” he replied shortly.

Snape started to pace the room up and down.

“You’ve got something that is mine,” he stated.

Again, Harry was at a loss. Did Snape want his old book of Advanced Potion-making back? That would be no problem. Harry had a bad conscience for keeping it for so long already. Hermione had told him to get rid of it from the very start, before they even knew it was Snape’s. Harry must have looked perplex, for Snape continued impatiently and with rising tension in his voice:

“I want the extract of my memories back.”

Harry blinked of incredulity as it dawned on him what Snape referred to: the memories that had oozed out of the professor in the form of a silvery substance as he lay dying after the attack of Voldemort’s snake - memories he had asked Harry to take. Harry had collected them with his wand and put them in a bottle. Later, he had watched the memories with the aid of Dumbledore’s Pensieve and they had revealed Snape’s love for Harry’s mother and conveyed Dumbledore’s last instruction to Harry: that Harry must die by the hand of Voldemort, in order for the piece of soul that had once etched itself on Harry’s to be destroyed. Harry gaped at Snape before he closed his mouth, cleared his throat and said:

“You gave the memories to me, Sir, therefore they’re mine. I intend to keep them.” Harry flinched as Snape stepped forward and put his face only inches from Harry’s, the usually so composed features twitching.

“They are mine. I was dying and tried to convey a message to you. They have served their purpose and now I want them back,” Snape hissed hoarsely. Instinctively Harry resisted.

“They’re safe. I haven’t shown them to anyone and I won’t, unless you ask me to. They concern me too...“ Snape drew his breath. Harry could see he was fighting for control but lost it and exploded at Harry, face contorted with anger.

“You have already told Kingsley about them! And you spoke to Voldemort about it… about my… about Lily… in front of all those people! That was MY secret! I DID NOT WANT ANYONE TO KNOW!” roared Snape and turned away. For a moment Harry had been afraid that Snape would hit him.

“I had to tell Voldemort,” Harry persisted quietly but stubbornly, “so that he would start doubting whether the Elder Wand answered to him or not.  And I told Kingsley in order to convince him that you were on our side. He wanted to watch the memories, but I said I thought you’d rather not. I promised him I would keep them in case of a future trial against you.”

“Kingsley spoke to me again yesterday,” said Snape, fury rising again. “There will be a trial, or at least an inquiry, and he wants to use those memories.”

“But they will clear you! They are proof you were on our side all along,” protested Harry, incredulous. “There’s nothing shameful in…” He didn’t dare continue because Snape let out a roar.

“I will not speak a word about her to anyone, do you hear me?” 

Harry remembered the words Dumbledore had said to Snape: “You don’t want me to reveal the best of you.” This still seemed to be true, but why?

Snape turned on him again with a cooler and more calculating expression on his face. As a reflex, Harry brought out his wand.

“Where have you hidden them?” asked Snape and stared without blinking into Harry’s eyes.

“Don’t!” Harry tried to avert his gaze. “Protego!” The spell was weak. Snape merely received a nudge in the chest. Harry knew that Snape was trying to read his thoughts by means of Legilimency and realised that he fought a losing battle. He had never been able to resist Snape’s violations of his mind because he had never learnt to master Occlumency.

“Protego! Protego!” At last Snape was pushed away hard enough to be knocked off balance and lose eye contact with Harry. “Don’t you do that to me!” exclaimed Harry, but Snape approached him again, his wand lifted. Harry backed off until he collided with the wall behind him. “I’ll give them to you willingly,” Harry panted, “...if you’ll help me out in return.” Snape stopped, hesitated and finally lowered his wand.

“Well, that was my initial offer, wasn’t it?” replied Snape in his usual drawling voice, “I’m glad that you changed your mind.” He backed off a few steps. “Your spells are weak,” he continued in a matter-of-fact voice. “You do look ill.”

“I only sleep two or three hours a night since ten weeks,” Harry explained defensively.

“You’re bound to have tried different sleeping draughts of course?” asked Snape businesslike.

“I’ve tried every single sleeping draught I’ve found in the books,” said Harry and gestured towards the shelf in the potion-making corner of the room, which was full of small glass bottles.”

“And they don’t work?” replied Snape. “Well, I don’t know what you expected, Potter, you were always lousy at making potions.” Snape took the bottles down one by one, uncorked them and sniffed.

“Professor Slughorn didn’t think so, and they do work,” objected Harry, “but when I stop taking the draughts, the nightmares come back ten times worse.” Snape continued to poke about among the bottles.

“These would be all right,” he muttered. “You seem to have improved, Potter... Uh-oh, what’s this now? Mind-strengthening Potions? Relaxing Potions? Obliviating Potions? Now that’s a treacherous one, did you really try that one out? You seem to have experimented quite a lot this summer, Potter!” Snape sounded almost appreciative. “Well, I can’t come up with anything offhand - you seem to have tried the lot. I could go through my books, of course, and see if I find anything,” Snape went on dismissively.

“I don’t think it’s a potion I need, Professor. They only provide temporary relief,” replied Harry. “I… I don’t think these are ordinary nightmares. I believe there’s something else behind them.” He looked expectantly at Snape.

“Harry Potter’s above having ordinary nightmares, is he?”  Snape sneered. “You’ve always had a tendency to believe yourself exceptional and expected special treatment. Perhaps you’re not to blame, considering your history.”

Harry shook his head indignantly.

“It’s most likely to be a mental problem, I’d say,” Snape said curtly. “It’s not surprising – you’ve been under a lot of strain for a long time and witnessed many deaths. If I understand it correctly you went out to face Voldemort with the intention to let yourself be killed. That’s a trauma, in short, that would operate on anyone and leave its traces, no shame in that... You would have expected, though,” Snape added thoughtfully, a streak of disdain in his voice, “...that the person who conquered The Dark Lord would be a wizard of some extraordinary class and would not be afflicted by such problems.”

Harry felt himself flush.

“I don’t claim to be an extraordinary wizard,” he said quietly, “and of course it could be a mental thing, but I don’t think it is.”

Snape disregarded Harry’s remark, turning away as he looked out of the window.

“I don’t know much about Mind-soothing treatments,” he said carelessly. “But I know they’re used at St Mungo’s. The mind healers make you relive your trauma in a safe context by gentle Legilimency and wrap you up in a series of incantations, that are quite complicated and slow working, and in my opinion - if you care to know - not very efficient at all. But they have some long-term results of curing. Although, it’s hard to tell what time has done for itself and what is their doing.” Snape turned back to face Harry. “I’m afraid I cannot help you in this matter, Potter. Maybe your best option is St Mungo’s after all.” There was undisguised contempt in his voice.

Harry felt disappointment imbibe his body. Snape had not even asked him to describe the nightmares and yet he already dismissed Harry’s problem as mental. What if it was, then? Harry felt defeated, tired beyond anything and sank down on one of the chairs. What would his life be reduced to?

“Potter! What’s this?” Harry lifted his head at Snape’s outcry. Snape had removed the lid on the cauldron suspended from a tripod over the now extinct fire and examined the newly made enamel black potion inside.

“Oh, just another experiment,” Harry said vaguely.

“This is a Vanishing Potion,” Snape stated slowly. “I’ve never made one myself. It’s nothing you teach. It’s a very unreliable draught - do you know that, Potter? Where did you get the recipe from? You don’t find this in any reference book of Potion-making.” 

“It was in some junk they found among Mundungus’ belongings.” Harry started to feel uncomfortable under Snape’s scrutinising gaze. “Mr Weasley has Mundungus’ things stored in here - he inherited them for what they’re worth.” Harry pointed towards one of the heaps of junk. “It’s not as if it’s Dark Arts or anything,” he added defensively. “It’s just for vanishing, getting away from everything for a while. You do come back again... usually.” His voice trailed off, because he had read, what he suspected Snape already knew, that the Vanishing Potion, being difficult to dose correctly, had been known to cause deaths.

“You’re more desperate than I thought!” said Snape with some apprehension in his voice. “So this is your idea of travelling, is it?” The sarcastic tone was back.

Harry turned his head away.

“This is dangerous,” emphasised Snape.  “It will make you disappear, for various lengths of time and reappear, not reliably on the same spot as where you took the draught. It provides no pleasure, you don’t know in which form of existence you reside in when you’re gone and it weakens you considerably.”

Harry shook his head as if to avoid Snape’s words to sink in. To take that potion really did not seem an appealing option.

“This is a potion used by criminals who fear to be caught and by the most poor and destitute to escape a deplorable existence. Is Harry Potter reduced to this now?” Snape continued relentlessly.

“I haven’t decided whether to try it or not. I made it just for experimenting,” Harry tried to retort but his voice was cracking up. Snape started to pace back and fro in front of him.

“They all believe you the most powerful wizard of our time,” said Snape and gestured towards an imagined wizard community outside the walls of the shed. “Whether you are, or not, you have friends to support you, and there is Miss Ginny, if I’m not mistaken. She showed her concern for you in there just now. It’s perfidy to do this to the Weasleys! Why, Mr Harry Potter - the Chosen One - leading a criminal’s existence! You disgust me, Mr Potter. You’re a coward, just like your father was. Not able to face up to a little suffering? No guts to fight for yourself?”

Harry’s defences broke down as Snape spoke. He pressed his head hard between his hands and tears started to stream down his face.

“I die in pain every night!” he hissed between clenched teeth, beyond himself. “It’s torture! It comes back again and again and again...”

Snape stood still as if not knowing what to do.

“The Vanishing Potion would at least enable me to come back to them… to see them from time to time, whereas….” Harry’s voice broke. 

Snape stared at him with repulsion written on his face. Suddenly, his attention was caught by the small cauldron stowed away at the upper shelf and his eyes widened then narrowed suspiciously. He stepped forward to lift the cauldron down carefully, but the mismatching lid slid off and banged loudly on the concrete floor.

Harry lifted his face which was hidden in his hands. He rose.

“No!” he said, “No!”

Harry and Snape stared at each other, horror etched on both faces. There was only a heeltap of potion left in the cauldron but Harry had no doubts that Snape recognised the Draught of Permanent Peace. Harry fell to his knees in front of Snape.

“Please! Please!” he said, “Please don’t tell Mr and Mrs Weasley! I know it’s so unworthy of their cares for me.” He shrank away from Snape, shying as if he expected a blow.

Snape stayed mute but his dark angry gaze bored through Harry.

Harry let out a wild bawl of anguish and made a forceful sweeping movement with his hands over the rough concrete floor as if to wipe something away. He stared wildly at his now bleeding palms. He wanted to do it again, but Snape kneeled down and got hold of his left wrist.

“Why?” said Snape, sounding suddenly more puzzled than reproaching. “You’re young and famous and have friends. And still you think death is the solution?”

“I don’t want to die,” Harry said automatically, sobered by the stinging pain in his palms and perplexed by the tone of Snape’s voice. “I haven’t really planned to take the draught. It’s just a relief to know I have it at hand. It makes me endure a bit longer.”

Snape continued to stare at him with his black eyes.

“If only I had some hope, but I’ve run out of options. The Weasleys cannot help me. They have enough pain of their own. You saw what Mrs Weasley’s like. Ron and Hermione aren’t even here. If I go to St Mungo’s my condition will be discussed in the papers. I didn’t know what to do. I prepared the Draught of Permanent Peace the same night that I wrote to you.” Harry let up a hollow hacking laugh.

Snape recoiled from him.

”I wrote to you, didn’t I? That really proves I don’t want to die, doesn’t it? Exposing myself to … to your scorn and humiliation…” The laugh trailed off and turned into cramped crying. “Please help me!” he sobbed, his bleeding hands shaking helplessly.

Bewildered, Snape stood up and started to hum the same incantation that he had done for Mrs Weasley. But Harry rose in one swift movement and punched Snape’s hand away.

“That’s not what I need!” he cried furiously, tears still running down his cheeks.

Snape backed off.

“Don’t you understand?” Harry raged at him. “I don’t just want you to take the anxiety away. I want you to help me remove the cause of the pain coming back all the time.”

Snape frowned.

“Maybe it’s a demon attacking me at night, or the spectre of Voldemort or something. What if his piece of soul was not killed off properly?” pleaded Harry.

Snape looked at him, shocked.

“You wrote in your letter that this had nothing to do with Voldemort! And now you say you think the part of him is not gone from your soul?” he said accusingly.

“I wrote to you I didn’t think it had anything to do with my scar,” Harry corrected him, “that's to say, the old curse, the horcrux. I do believe Voldemort is gone, I can’t feel him, but something is getting at me, not from the inside - from the outside. Something wants to drag me to the precipice of death. And it has nearly succeeded!”

Snape narrowed his eyes.

“Why do you think I wrote to you, anyway?” Harry launched at him angrily. ”Do you really think it was to ask you to concoct me a sleeping draught or because you were the most comforting person I could think of to talk to about my traumas! You’re supposed to be the expert after all! You’re supposed to know everything about the Dark Arts. At least that was what Dumbledore thought!”

Snape looked taken aback by this attack.

Harry realised that Snape had been intent not to believe him from the very beginning - why was that? The only thing Snape had been interested in was shielding his memories from the public and to hide the story of his love for Lily. Harry gaped as it dawned on him.

“You thought I wrote to you as a pretext to make you come and speak to me about my mother!” he exclaimed. “You took it for mere manipulation on my side.”

Snape’s features remained impassive except a slightly heightened colour in his face. Harry and Snape stared at each other for a short time, then Snape turned into the efficient figure Harry had seen arrive at the house a couple of hours ago. The professor started to pace back and fro.

“I’ll help you,” said Snape with more determination than before. “I’ll need to consult my library and I need to observe you when you have your nightmares. They occur every night, I understand?”

“Yes, after approximately one and a half hours sleep. It has never failed.”

“Even if you go to bed early?”

“It’ll only repeat itself more times - one night I had seven attacks.”

“And if you exhaust yourself and go to bed late?”

“I’ll still wake up after one and a half hour, but the attacks will be fewer, so that’s the strategy I’ve adopted. I try to keep busy during daytime and I go to bed late.”

Snape looked at Harry.

“And what do you see in your dreams, what are they about?”

“Nothing, I see or hear nothing! I just wake up with horrible pain, all darkness around me and then I die – I mean that I pass out, it feels like I die,” Harry corrected himself.

“Should have asked you about this from the beginning,” Snape muttered to himself. “This does not sound like ordinary nightmares at all! It all comes down to your Muggle vocabulary and lack of subtlety, Potter. You’re worthless at expressing yourself correctly! You’re obviously having some kind of attacks caused by Dark Forces - not nightmares! Why didn’t you write that? I would have come sooner!”

Harry did not know what to make out of this accusation, but at least Snape seemed to be taking charge of things.

“You’ll have to follow me to my place. Can’t leave you alone, can I, the state you’re in? Tidy yourself up a bit, will you, and we’ll go and say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley”.

The Weasleys grew worried when it was made clear to them that Harry had to go away with Snape. It did not help that Harry looked absolutely listless and did not say a word. Ginny gave him a hug that he barely managed to return and when she pulled away he cast her a look of a wounded and subdued animal.

“One or two nights, at most. I’m sure Mr Potter wouldn’t want to push my hospitality beyond that,” Snape said briskly to Mrs Weasley.

When they walked out of the gate with their backs to the Burrow, Harry felt anxiety rise within him like a roaring monster and he had to clench his teeth hard not to cry out of anguish.

“We’re Apparating. Grab my arm and I’ll guide you,” said Snape and, almost in the middle of a step, with a cracking sound, they were gone.

They reappeared in a short and narrow lane cramped between the windowless walls of two dirty grey houses. Harry thought he saw a fair haired little boy dart around the corner.

“Best place to Apparate at. Muggle area, but no one but kids here. They’re afraid of me,” said Snape in a matter-of-fact tone. Harry believed him. They walked the few steps up the lane and turned right at the corner, reaching a street that stretched far ahead with similar small, two-storied terrace houses in an endless row. They stopped already at the second house and climbed up a few steps to a door that had once been white. Harry wondered if this was the place where Snape grew up. It looked poor and desolate. 

“What’s the name of this town?” asked Harry. Snape looked like he would have liked to come up with an excuse not to answer the question, as if there was some kind of pitfall hidden in it.

“This is Spinners End in Destersbridge,” Snape finally grunted. Harry recognised the name. His aunt Petunia had mentioned it, but Harry had never visited the town with the Dursleys. It awoke some curiosity in him and he was somewhat pulled out of his lethargy. This was obviously the town where his mother had lived as a child. He only had time to cast one last look over his shoulder before Snape ushered him inside. He had a glimpse of a monotonous view of a hillside full of tiled roofs with thickets of oblique chimneys before the door closed behind him.

They entered directly into a small room that was a compound of a living-room and a library with shelves crammed with books from floor to ceiling. It was small with an armchair and an old sofa grouped around a low-slung table.

“Drinks maybe?” proposed Snape, knitting his brows as if he disagreed with the proposal at the same time as he spoke. Harry did not answer. “Let’s have a cup of tea,” Snape made up his mind. “Have a seat.”

Snape disappeared through a hidden door that suddenly appeared at the right end of the room that probably led to a kitchen. Harry’s inside was still in uproar. He felt like vomiting one moment, and like running away and hiding the next. He tried to calm down. He would have to trust Snape, as hard as it might be.

Harry stood rooted at the same spot when Snape came back carrying a tray that he put down at the table before he turned slowly to Harry.

“I want you to give me the draught that you’ve been carrying around these past weeks” said Snape. “For your own safety,” he added. Without a word, Harry put his hand inside his shirt and when he stretched his hand towards Snape and opened his fingers, there was a tiny glass phial which Snape took, looked at and then let into a small leather pouch that he conjured up. He thrust it in a coffin that shut and locked itself with a snap.

“Have a seat,” repeated Snape. 

Harry stood as if paralysed and looked at his hand that had held the phial. He lifted his gaze to meet Snape’s.

“Oh, please!” Snape burst out. “Spare me your sentiments of guilt, Mr Potter. You haven’t committed the act of cowardice, have you? Yet.” He remained silent for a short while, then said almost dreamingly: “I know of a boy who carried similar bottles twice in his life. The first time, when he was sixteen, it was the girl he loved who prevented him from taking the potion. The second time, he was eighteen and it was Lord Voldemort who saved him...”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“At least he thought so at the time,” Snape added lightly. “Now, have some tea, please,” he said in a commanding voice and Harry sat down out of sheer surprise. When he had taken a few sips of his tea, he felt a bit better, strangely. He started to observe the room in more detail. Glass jars filled with yellowish liquid and what might be organs or dead creatures stood on those shelves that did not contain books. It reminded Harry of things he had seen in Snape’s office at Hogwarts. They suddenly stood out as pretty innocent topics of conversation, and clearing his throat, Harry asked:

“What are those things in the jars, Professor?”

“They are in fact from the Muggle world,” Snape answered promptly. “Not so long ago it was popular among Muggle doctors to keep organs from autopsied bodies, to study their anatomy, which is the Muggle word for the material structure of bodies and their parts. They do not of course take into account the magical essence of the organs, as they cannot feel it. What’s special for all these organs that I have collected is that they’ve been classified as healthy organs by Muggle pathologists, but if you know how, you can detect traces of Black Magic. In other words, their owners have died by wizard hands, by means of Dark Arts.”

Harry pondered this a moment.  Snape was known, at Hogwarts, to entertain an unhealthy fascination for the Dark Arts which allegedly had been the reason Dumbledore kept him from teaching his favourite subject, Defence Against the Dark Arts, for so long. On the other hand, the post had been cursed by Voldemort, and no teacher had been able to keep the job for longer than a year. It must have been important to Dumbledore to shield his counterspy from curses and have him stay at Hogwarts, Harry thought.

“Why, Sir,” Harry said cautiously, “do you keep them?” Snape looked annoyed.

“People,” he said, “have questioned my interest in things that have to do with the Dark Arts, already when I started this collection in my youth. I always tried to explain to them that if you want to defend yourself against Black Magic you have to learn its essence first, you have to see it and feel it.” Somehow, Harry got an obscure feeling that Snape was talking about Harry’s mother when he referred to 'people'. Harry made an effort to divert his thoughts from the delicate topic.

“Do you have a human brain, Professor?” he asked. Snape rose and brought a big round jar containing a white lump with a shape that Harry recognised as a brain: the convolutions along the surface that penetrated and lost themselves deeper inside the tissue, the division at the middle long axis and the protuberances at each side. Harry put his hands around the glass and tried to detect something.

“So what has happened to this brain, Sir?” he asked “Is it hurt by Dark Arts?”

“Do you feel anything?” asked Snape. Harry removed his left hand from the jar, then approached it slowly again.

“I feel tickles in my palm from here,” he said hesitantly and stopped his hand a few inches from the glass side.

“That’s perceptive,” said Snape, surprised, before he continued: “As I said, most of the organs in my collection are from Muggles. But that particular one is a wizard’s brain. Of course, anatomically we look exactly the same as Muggles, but you can reveal and measure the magical content by a simple spell.” He rose, mumbled some words while sweeping the wand slowly round the object and finally pointed at the brain. “Revelo Magic Quantitas!” he said and the brain started to glow with a golden shimmer that intensified only to die out subsequently. There were patches that did not shine at all, though, and other areas that went out quicker.

“This brain is damaged by a dark curse, which you felt the traces of. The wizard it belonged to was in love with another wizard’s wife and the husband, who was an acknowledged and well respected wizard, believed they were cheating on him.  The husband went to see the other wizard who lived in the next town. He forbade him ever to leave his town again, or he would die. This wizard did not deem his concurrent capable of cursing him with a deadly curse and disregarded the warning. But the next time he stepped out of the boundaries of his own town, he did indeed fall down dead. He was brought to the local hospital where the Muggle doctor performed an autopsy and found a perfectly healthy body and no cause of death. This doctor preserved the organs to make it possible for future diagnosis - which I fulfilled, in a way, when I found this brain in the same Muggle hospital about two hundred years later. I have written about this case in Progress in the Understanding of The Dark Arts. You see, you can deduce from the patches of damaged magical content in the brain that you just saw, exactly which curse he was hit with.” Snape drew his breath. Harry stared at him. He had rarely seen his teacher this enthusiastic in the classroom.

“I guess you must study a lot of brains before you’re able to make that out, Professor?” said Harry. Snape let out a snorting sound that Harry judged actually might be an unaccustomed laugh.

“Yes, well, I did study a lot of brains when I was a medical student at St Mungo’s,” said Snape.

“You’re a doctor, then, Sir?” asked Harry surprised.

“A healer, yes,” Snape corrected him. “I went to St Mungo’s School of Magical Medicine for three years, before Voldemort commanded me to Hogwarts.” Harry stared at him. “When Voldemort disappeared seventeen years ago, Dumbledore persuaded me to stay at Hogwarts but he encouraged me to finish my medical education on the side, and I became a healer. I used to work at St Mungo’s during the summer holidays to keep up my skills,” said Snape. “Not the past two summers, though...”

“I wish someone had told me you were a trained healer,” muttered Harry. “Professor Dumbledore always insisted on you being called in serious situations instead of Mme Pomfrey, but he never told me why.”

“He was a bit secretive and uncommunicative at times, was he not, dear Professor Dumbledore? Or he might have had his own reasons to leave your prejudices against me unchallenged,” Snape said enigmatically. “Now, I’m afraid we must get down to work. You must tell me all the places you have resided in during the past year. We have to look at all probabilities. You might have been influenced by some Dark Force any time, any place. Let’s get started...”

“Couldn’t you sort of examine me and tell whether I’m contaminated by something? Do a diagnostic spell or, I don’t know, feel with your hands over my head or something?” asked Harry.

“No,” said Snape with a frown. “You’re well right now, aren’t you?... except for all the...er… emotions? The Dark Forces are not present now, as I understand it? It only shows itself at night and only during the attacks?”

Harry nodded.

“So I’ll have to wait until you have an attack to examine you. But we should prepare with background information. First of all: you’ve told me that you’re convinced of the piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul having been detached from you, is that correct?”

“I am. I don’t feel his presence like I did before, and my scar never hurts. I don’t have the kind of headaches I used to have frequently and I’m much more able to concentrate now than before. I used to grow tired fast. And I don’t need my glasses, my eyesight has become normal, which is an unmistakable sign, isn’t it?” answered Harry.

“Yes, I noticed you don’t wear your glasses anymore,” said Snape.

Several persons had commented on the fact that Harry no longer wore glasses and the most common reflection used to be that he now looked less alike James, his father. The likeness had been remarked upon so often since Harry entered Hogwarts at the age of eleven, that he had grown tired of hearing it. The same likeness was the ground for the ill-will, not to say hatred, which Snape had transferred from James to Harry and which had made him treat his rival’s son most unfairly at school. Harry wondered whether Snape, too, thought he looked less like James. If Snape did, he kept it to himself.

“I can feel that the part of Voldemort is detached from me,” continued Harry, “but I don’t know if it’s still there somehow, getting at me from the outside, if you know what I mean? It shouldn’t be able to exist on its own, should it? That’s the thing with horcruxes - they need to be attached to an object or to a living being?” 

“That’s correct,” said Snape, “but we had better keep the eventuality in mind. So little is known about horcruxes, especially ones attached to humans. It’s not a common occurrence. Now, tell me, where were you a year ago?”

“Probably at Grimmauld Place, preparing to sneak into the Ministry to find Umbridge who we thought had the locket that was one of Voldemort’s seven horcruxes,“ Harry started off, eager to comply with Snape’s query. He told Snape the whole story about how they had got hold of the locket but been forced to flee from London. How they had slept at different places in the country every night in a tent.

“We had no means of destroying the locket so we took turns to guard it as it affected us adversely. I was not able to produce a Patronus when I wore it, and it made Ron bad tempered and mean. We fought and he left us.” Harry turned his head away - it was painful to recall that moment of discord.

He continued with telling Snape about the long weeks of cold, when Hermione and he did not know how to proceed. How at last they had decided on Christmas Eve to go to Godric’s Hollow which was where Harry’s parents had lived before they were killed by Voldemort and where they lay buried. In a quiet, emotional voice, Harry told Snape about the statue of his parents at the village square and the wrecked house that was still there.

”You don’t need to tell me about it, I’ve been there - I know,” said Snape in a tight voice, looking down so that his long black hair covered his face.

Harry described the visit to the churchyard and how they had met the old woman who they believed was an old friend of Dumbledore’s and how they followed her home. Snape interrupted him and asked for more details about what Bathilda Bagshot’s cottage had looked like, and what objects Harry had seen in the room, but Harry had difficulties recalling such details.

“Anything might have been hidden in there,” Snape said irritably. “You should at least have felt if something of a Dark Force got to you, if a curse hit you. Are you sure you didn’t?”

“I didn’t feel anything except consternation at her strange behaviour and maybe some fear. Wait to hear what happened next,” said Harry and described how he had followed the old lady upstairs to the attic, not realising she was speaking Parseltongue and how she had transformed into a snake - Voldemort’s snake, Nagini - and attacked him.

Snape’s usually so impassive face could not help crumpling up in abhorrence. Harry suspected the professor was reminded of Nagini’s attack on himself. Harry told Snape how narrowly they had escaped and that his wand had broken.

“By the way,” Snape interrupted Harry again, “...what has happened to your ability to speak Parseltongue?”

“I still speak it, but it’s more like a foreign language that I’ve once learnt, if you see what I mean? Before, I didn’t even realise when I heard it or spoke it, like it was a natural language for me.”

“Well, that’s another change that confirms that the piece of Voldemort’s soul has separated from yours,” said Snape.

“A few weeks after Godric’s Hollow would be the point of time you sent us your silver doe Patronus and gave us the sword of Gryffindor,” Harry continued. “Ron returned the same night, which was lucky because I nearly drowned as I dived for that sword. I had forgotten to take the locket off and it dragged me down under the ice. If Ron had not been there… Well, at last we were able to destroy the locket... We were mystified but grateful to the person who had given us the sword,” added Harry, at which Snape smirked briefly.

Harry went on with the description of the eccentric house where Xenophilus Lovegood, the father of Harry’s friend Luna, lived, which was where Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone next. Snape was interested in this place as well and Harry did his best to describe all the strange things it contained. Harry and Snape agreed that Mr Lovegood was not likely to harbour objects of Dark Arts, simply a lot of odd objects in general.

“Something still might have been hidden in there, it’s not to be excluded,” Snape finished. “Unfortunately the man is dead, so we cannot ask him.”

“But why is it important to know where I was hit with this Dark Force?” asked Harry. “Is it not more crucial to find out its nature?”

“Where can give clues as to what,” retorted Snape. “And it’s vital to know where it caught you, as you might have to return to the same spot if you want to reverse a curse or to liberate a Demon. “

Snape wanted to know why they had visited Mr Lovegood. Harry launched into the explanation about the Deathly Hallows, which took quite some time. The incredulity on Snape’s face at first when he realised it had to do with a children’s fairytale was substituted for intense attention as Harry told him about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, their friendship and their subsequent disagreement. Harry spoke about the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone and the Peverell’s invisibility coat. Harry watched the Slytherin traits of calculation, greed and grandeur work on Snape. When he finished his tale of the three Deathly Hallows and told Snape how he destroyed the Elder Wand after the battle, Snape let out a deep sigh and remained silent for a long time.

“Dumbledore was right,” said Snape finally. “You are an extraordinary wizard to have resisted the temptation of keeping that wand. I’d say it was for the best, but all the same…” He shook his head. He looked Harry directly in the eyes. “I’m not sure even your father would have resisted. But neither would I, of course,” he said. “Your mother, on the contrary...”  Snape looked down. Harry felt slightly embarrassed, flattered and annoyed at the same time by Snape’s comment about his father.

“Just a moment.” Snape stood up and disappeared through the door to the kitchen again.

Harry rose to stretch and peer out through one of the small windows. It was getting dark outside and the street lamps were lit. The town stretched ahead on the slope of the hillside on which Snape’s house was located. Harry was only able to distinguish dim lights. He had glimpsed a tall mill chimney as they entered the house but no special features seemed to characterise the Muggle town in this direction. He didn’t even see a church tower.

Snape returned with sandwiches and Harry only then realised how hungry he was. Snape flicked his wand towards the fireplace and flames started to dance. As they sat down, Harry asked cautiously, without looking at Snape:

“Where did she use to live, Sir, when she lived here with her parents and aunt Petunia?” He gestured towards the window.

“You never visited your grandparents then?” asked Snape.

“Not that I remember,” answered Harry. “The Dursleys used to leave me with an old lady down the street in Little Winging when they went away on journeys.”

“I think Lily’s parents died only a few years after…” Snape didn’t continue. “They lived at the opposite hillside, Humfield Street number four. It’s a better area than this,” he added a little bitterly.

“Strange that you two should meet then,” said Harry.

“Not really,” retorted Snape, “I drifted around a lot, went away exploring and one day I caught sight of her and understood that she was like me.” There was a painful tightness in his voice and Harry said no more. They ate their sandwiches in silence. Dishes were disposed of with a sweep of Snape’s wand. They were ready to continue.

Harry told Snape how they were captured by the werewolf Greyhound and his gang and brought to Malfoy Manor to be handed over to Voldemort.

“The news about that misadventure reached me. The Dark Lord was very angry that you managed to escape. And the Malfoys sank even deeper in disgrace,” said Snape. “That house is full of Dark Art objects, of course, but Lucius would have secured them not to hit anyone at random. If something happened it must have been intentional. Tell me in detail what everyone said or did to you.”

Snape listened intently when Harry told him how Hermione had been kept to be tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange while Ron and he had been locked up in the cellar. Harry told Snape about his encounter with Peter Pettigrew, former friend of Harry’s parents and traitor.

In Harry’s third year at Hogwarts he had prevented his godfather, Sirius Black, from killing Peter Pettigrew when they uncovered his disguise as an Animagus rat. When Pettigrew later on helped Voldemort regain his body and powers, Harry had bitterly regretted his softness, although Dumbledore had told him not to underestimate the importance of such an act of mercy.

In the cellar of Malfoy Manor, when Pettigrew was just about to grip Harry by the throat with his strong silver hand, Harry had reminded Pettigrew of the life debt he owed him. Pettigrew had hesitated a split second which caused the silver hand, magicked by Voldemort to obey only a loyal servant, to turn on Pettigrew instead, and strangle him to death.

“He deserved it,” said Snape grimly, “not for betraying Voldemort but for betraying her.” He was agitated. “Of course a hand like that is an advanced piece of Dark Arts, but I cannot believe it could be designed to have other functions or have the capacity to transform into a different entity to plague you now.”

Harry went on describing in what manner they had been rescued by the house-elf Dobby who had been loyal to Harry since Harry helped set him free from the Malfoy family five years previously. He detailed the fight when Ron and he had gone to rescue Hermione out of Bellatrix’ hands and how he had conquered the wand from Malfoy in a less than elegant wrestling match and how they had at last escaped. Bellatrix, however, had managed to throw a silver dagger after them which caught Dobby in the chest just before Dobby Dis-Apparated with Harry and his friends from the Manor.

Ron, Hermione and Harry had stayed at Bill and Fleur’s place at Shell Cottage. Snape and Harry agreed this was an unlikely place to harbour Black Magic, as it was not even an ancient house. When Harry went on to describe how they prepared to break into Bellatrix’ vault in the wizarding bank, Gringotts, Snape shook his head in incredulity.

“Three teenagers, how could Dumbledore set three teenagers on this mission?”

Snape was familiar with the underground galleries kept by the goblins at Gringotts. He had seen the large number of magical objects in Bellatrix’ vault with his own eyes.

“Did you feel anything?” he insisted.

“I expect it would have been hard to distinguish any particular sensation at that moment,” Harry defended himself. “We were frightened. We knew we had been uncovered and were desperate to find that horcrux before they came for us. We didn’t know if we were going to make it. It sort of ended up in one single feeling of desperation.”

“Try,” Snape said acidly.

“It must be the same for you, when you’re too deep in your Occlumency thing - hiding thoughts and emptying yourself of feelings, or whatever it’s about,” retorted Harry. “You’d be observant of your surroundings and vigilant of course, but you would not be able to actually describe any of your own feelings, would you? They would be too far away, secondary.”

Snape frowned.

“Well, it was the opposite in my case,” continued Harry, “feelings were so much in alert, my body couldn’t register any other influence.”

Snape and Harry glared at each other.

“Ron and Hermione were in the exact same situation. Wouldn’t they be affected too if it happened in the vault?” Harry finally asked.

“Not necessarily if you touched an object that they did not. And how do you know that they’re not affected? They’ve been away all summer,” responded Snape silkily. Harry’s eyes widened in horror.

“They’ve been in touch,” he said anxiously. “Nothing in their letters has betrayed they were not well.”

“Some people have a tendency to conceal that kind of information,” Snape said pointedly. Harry flushed and turned his head away in angry humiliation.

“Well, Ron and Hermione will be home soon, I heard?” asked Snape after a short pause.

“Friday,” Harry answered reluctantly.

“I could always ask Kingsley permission to examine the objects in Bellatrix’ vault, if it’s still untouched,” said Snape more to himself than to Harry. “So, you escaped on a dragon, didn’t you? The tale spread all the way to Hogwarts.” Snape made an effort to sound encouraging.

Harry grudgingly continued his narrative. He was growing hoarse from talking so much. From that point on, Voldemort had been aware of the fact that they were after his horcruxes and Harry had felt Voldemort’s roaring anger in his head and used it to see where the last horcrux was hidden: at Hogwarts.

“You could use the connection between you then?” Snape asked thoughtfully. “Maybe it was for the best then, that you never learned Occlumency.”

“I believe it was an impossible task to learn Occlumency!” exclaimed Harry. “I mean towards Voldemort in particular. A part of him was attached to me and the connection only grew stronger in the end. I don’t think I could have endured it much longer...“

Harry continued his story of how they had Apparated to Hogsmeade, been rescued by Dumbledore’s brother Aberforth and then been let into Hogwarts by a secret passage to find and destroy the diadem of Ravenclaw, hidden in the Room of Requirements, while teachers and students were preparing to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

“You left the school as soon as you realised the uprising, didn’t you, Sir?” asked Harry.

“Yes, I was at an exposed position. No one thought me on their side at Hogwarts. My role was to keep a close check on Voldemort’s actions, and in the end my final assignment was to find you and prepare you for your death,” said Snape heavily. They sat in silence. They had reached the end of Harry’s narrative. They both knew what happened after that.

“It’s getting late. Let’s proceed to the practical arrangements.” Snape sounded peremptory and efficient again. “We’ll sleep in this room. It’s small but it’ll have to do.” Harry jumped up as Snape started to move the furniture away from the fire place where he conjured up a bed.

“Just a mattress on the floor for me, please,” muttered Harry. “I sort of toss around during the attacks.” He felt embarrassed. Snape Evanesced the bedstead without comment.

“I’ll take the armchair,” said Snape.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Sir.” Harry felt stupid.

“Not at all,” Snape responded with excessive politeness. “I’m used to that armchair, usually dose off in front of the fire...” His voice trailed off. He too was uncomfortable.

Snape spent some time picking out books from the shelves. He spread them over the table and put a large pile of heavy books at one end of the sofa. Harry saw that it was mostly works on the Dark Arts and some works of Magical History.

The excitements of the day had used up all Harry’s strength. Pictures started to play themselves on the inside of his eyes: crystalline bottles, the sweeping movement of a bat through the garden at the Burrow, bleeding palms and the long lines of street lamps in a dark city. Harry sank down on his mattress and almost before his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

Approximately one hour later, Snape sat in his armchair flicking through one of his books of ancient print. Harry lay on the mattress, back to Snape, dead still in the same position as when he had gone to sleep. Snape glanced furtively at him from time to time and went on reading, until he looked at his watch and put the book down. His eyes were riveted on Harry, waiting.

After a long while, Harry let out a low moan of pain. A violent jerk pierced his body. This repeated itself several times. It looked like someone was shaking him to wake him up. Suddenly Harry rose on all fours and let out a loud howl of pain. He raised his upper body but stayed on his knees. His body swayed and shivered. He was white as a sheet in the face. His front was moist with sweat and his pupils dilated. His arms were wrapped around himself as if to prevent his body from being torn to pieces. Snape approached him.

“Potter...? Harry! Do you hear me? Can you see me?” he asked kneeling right in front of Harry, moving a hand in front of Harry’s eyes.

“Can hear you…” Harry’s voice stuttered between waves of pain. “Only see darkness…”

Again and again he doubled up with pain, now screaming quite uncontrollably at the top of his lungs, saliva drivelling out of his mouth. He had difficulty drawing breaths. His muscles were so tense with pain it locked his chest and his pharynx.  He started to have fits bending his body backwards and turning his head upwards. Eyes still unseeing but wide open and tears running at the temples, his vocals seemed to cramp and the sound that came out was shrieking, like a strangled animal’s. Snape backed off and continued to watch Harry with rising alarm. Finally Harry’s arms were thrown out. He lifted from the floor with a plaintive cry and landed on his back.

When Harry awoke, he dimly saw a tall dark figure raised above him with a drawn wand pointed at him. He reacted instinctively, rolled over on the side and jumped up to his feet. He was still in considerable pain, vacillating. His eye-sight was so blurred he only distinguished a pale oval curtained by black hair. Somehow he had managed to draw his own wand and was pointing it back at Snape.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he croaked.

“I was going to Renervate you,” Snape cried out, still in such shock that he didn’t think of lowering his wand. Pain worked in waves on Harry who doubled up, clutching the arm of the chair where Snape had been seated. Snape hurried up to Harry’s side and helped him sit down.

“I’d take the pain off you, but I had better watch the attack to the end so that I don’t miss anything,” he muttered as much to Harry as to himself. Harry bent forward in the chair and rocked to and fro.

“It’s wearing off,” he said, lifting his head and grimacing. He looked at Snape. “I can see you quite clearly now”.

Snape stared at Harry.

“You died,” he said, incredulous.

“I told you so,” said Harry.

“But you really did,” insisted Snape. “You stopped breathing and your heart stopped beating for at least 30 seconds. I checked - there was no heart activity. I thought…” They pondered this for a moment. At last Harry, who was beginning to feel a bit stronger, said:

”Not a great move for your career to have the dead body of Harry Potter in your house… Well, in some quarters it would be a merit of course…”  Snape let out a noise that sounded like something between a snort and a chuckle.

“I’ve officially left that career, haven’t I?” Snape stood up and started to pace around the room. “What is this?” he muttered to himself. “An invisible force, striking only at night with torturing, blinding pain and that has the power to stop the heart of a human? This must be something that you have had a close relation to. It could only be - Voldemort!” 

“No!” said Harry in dismay.

“Tell me everything, every little detail of what happened when you went to face him,” commanded Snape.

Harry told Snape how he had gone into the Forbidden Forest, how he had stuffed away his wand and invisibility cloak and stepped into the circle of Death Eaters in front of Voldemort. He had done nothing to resist. Voldemort had hit him with an Adava Kedavra, the unblockable killing curse.

Harry went on, hesitantly because he did not know if it was relevant, to tell Snape about how he had woken up at a white shining place that looked like King’s Cross station where everything was serene except for the ugly, whining monster of a baby that lay under a bench. He told Snape how Dumbledore had appeared and told him there was nothing to be done for the shrieking creature.

“You took pity on the monster? You actually took pity on it? Did you approach it?” exclaimed Snape.

“I wasn’t thinking of touching it or anything. I was disgusted by it. I took a few steps forward to look at it, there’s when Dumbledore held me back,” said Harry.

“That would be enough, don’t you see?” said Snape with agitation. “This is it! It’s that thing, the crumpled part of Voldemort, blasted off from your soul that is getting at you now.” Snape drew his breath. “Haven’t you learnt anything, Potter?” he continued angrily. “Every child knows that you don’t make friends with demons, nor take pity on monsters!”

“Well, I was brought up in a Muggle family who loathed magic,” Harry retorted with force, “and neither Quirrell, Lockheart, Lupin, the false Mad-Eye Moody, Umbridge nor yourself found it important enough to teach us this stuff in the lessons of Defence Against the Dark Arts!” Harry had mentioned all his teachers of DADA at Hogwarts throughout the years, most of which had been disastrous.

“Indeed, I should have taught you at sixth year at school what wizard parents teach their children when they’re toddlers,” muttered Snape sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, Muggle-borns are supposed to find out a lot on their own,” answered Harry sulkily.

“It must be Voldemort!” Snape started to think aloud “The part of him had been attached to your soul for nearly seventeen years. When you took pity on it, even if it had been blasted away from your brain, it could reach out its tentacles and grab you. There’s no chance of his coming back through you, of course. The horcrux is destroyed and Voldemort is dead, but like all evil things it doesn’t care about the fact that it can gain nothing by killing you, it only wants to drag you along with him and cause as much chaos and evil as possible.” Snape looked at Harry with frenzy. “Now the question is how do we deal with this? How do we get rid of him? There’s no standard magic to solve this task - we must look for parallel cases in the past. Not any common case of confrontation between wizards and magical creatures - it must be a case of a powerful evil force”.

At this, Snape started to go about his books. Harry could see that he did not take on the problem at random. He knew his books well. He sorted them in piles and started going through the table of contents of each and one of the ancient leatherbacks. A couple of times he looked up a part that might be interesting and read a few pages, each time shaking his head.

“No, not any case of temporary attachment or accidental bewitchment - it’s too weak... What then?” Snape ran his fingers through his hair and looked up into Harry’s green eyes. “Some kind of a love story - that might be it!” he exclaimed. “A strong and long lasting attachment between good and evil that had to be broken up.”

Harry raised his brows but did not comment.

Snape pushed away the sofa that was crammed against the bookshelves and kneeled down beside the lower shelf to bring out a thick and heavy book, almost entirely covered in golden prints. As he carried it reverently to the table, Harry started to feel his insides rumble and the muscles tense. Snape opened the book carefully.

“Professor,” said Harry.

“We might find something here, Potter,” said Snape, eyes fixed on the register. Harry grabbed the back of the armchair with a growl.

“I’m sorry, Professor, here it comes again.”

Harry gasped and gritted his teeth to prevent himself from crying out. He was shaking and his breathing stuttered. Darkness swept before his eyes. Waves of pain travelled through his body when, suddenly, the pain left, as if a fire had been put out, or a suffocating rug been lifted from his face. It was the most wonderful feeling to breathe freely.

Instead, Harry heard a howl at his side and was bewildered by the sight of Snape’s contorted face. Harry realised with dismay that Snape had transferred Harry’s pain to himself. Snape dropped the wand he was holding in his hand, fell down on his knees and let out several stifled cries.

“Professor!” exclaimed Harry. “You shouldn’t have! What about your snake wounds? What if...?” He touched Snape’s shoulder. Snape’s body shook violently but he still struggled to turn away from Harry.

“It’s only physical pain, Potter,” Snape hissed through his teeth. “It’ll pass. Get off me!” Pain regained its grip on Harry again, not as forcefully as before, but enough to make him pant and wriggle. For several minutes they struggled side by side in silence. Pain trailed off from Harry first. Snape still looked weak and nauseated.

“Can I get you something, Professor?” Harry asked quietly.

“If you could pour me just a bottom full of Firewhiskey, please. You’ll find it in the kitchen.” Snape gestured faintly towards the hidden door at the far end of the room. It materialised and opened as Harry approached and he found a rather ordinary kitchen, with the exception of a showcase full of potion bottles and a shelf covered with small textile bags probably containing dried herbs. On the highest shelf, Harry found a bottle of Firewhiskey and returned to Snape.

“Just a bottom full, I told you,” Snape said grumpily as Harry had been a bit too generous. Snape regained a little colour in his face. 

“Now, it’s my turn to offer you a sleeping draught. No need for you to have any more of those attacks tonight. We’ll have to wait until next night to fight the remnants of Voldemort, as it will take me some time to figure out how. When did you last take a draught?”

“Two days ago,” said Harry. “I usually try to wait three or four nights in between.”

“Well, this is the last night you’ll need it,” said Snape firmly.

Harry was grateful towards the professor for sounding so convincing.

“Which potion has had best effect on you then – you’ve tried the whole lot?” asked Snape with curiosity. He staggered slightly as he walked towards the door to the kitchen.

“Oh, save the Draught of Living Peace which, although effective, honestly frightens me a bit, I prefer the modified version of the peeled blueberry potion,” said Harry, “where you substitute the ground moon powder for crystal flakes and add a flamingo feather.“

“Really?” said Snape. “I should remember that one, considering it was I who invented it. Yes, it’s a good one. Shouldn’t you add a tiny amount of bear tallow as well?”

“Yes, but I didn’t have any at the Burrow so I took some hedgehog tallow and it worked perfectly, so I believe it to be the flamingo feather or the crystal flakes which makes it so effective. In addition to the counter-clockwise turning of course,” responded Harry.

“I’m afraid I don’t have that particular draught in stock,” said Snape.

“Anything’ll do, really,” said Harry. “It usually only allows me to sleep until dawn, but I’m, grateful for those few hours of peace.” He kept up the light tone Snape had adopted but he felt tired and sad. The desperation and the anxiety were gone but he longed to disappear into dreamless sleep. Harry sat down on the mattress, made no fuss and didn’t even look at the label on the bottle Snape gave him. He uncorked it and swallowed.

“Thank you,” he said. 

***

Harry woke up as a faint yellowish light started to glow over the dark houses through the window. He did not exactly feel rested, but he felt a bit better compared to the evening before. He turned his head and saw Snape asleep in the armchair beside him. Snape’s head had fallen to the right and exposed the left side of his neck where, beneath the black collar, you could make out the piercing red scars of snake bites. Harry stayed stretched out on the mattress and stared at the ceiling, replaying and contemplating the events of the previous day. There was some hope, he concluded. He actually might not be condemned to suffering and social exclusion, nor to an immediate death.

He glanced over at the books that lay scattered all over the place - on the table, on the floor and on Snape’s lap and rose carefully. The beautiful ancient book where Snape had seemed to find something the night before lay open on the table. An illustration on the right page showed a woman on her knees, pain etched on her face as she stretched out both arms towards something that the artist had pictured like a dark shadow with a gaping empty mouth and long tentacle-like fingers reaching out for her. Harry read what seemed to be a healer’s personal account of a case he had encountered.

It dealt with a young girl who had grown up with a half-brother that was somewhat of a monster, conceived by an act of violation on a young witch by a powerful spirit from the underground. The child was fed with the fear and hatred of the traumatised mother. Part of her wanted to cure her son and the other part wanted to kill him. Therefore she gave him poison and clad him in clothes imbibed with nettles, which only nurtured the boy’s evilness and made him stronger.

The sister was the only one who cared for the freak who soon grew to be the terror of the region where they lived. The author suggested between the lines that the boy bullied and abused his sister but that she still loved him. The half-breed monster committed horrible crimes and one day he was caught stealing a baby away from its mother and he was cornered by three wizards. He thought himself clever and able to get away by escaping into the village church. When the wizards came after him, he meant to escape through the belfry by transforming into spirit smoke but got caught by a cogwheel. This proved to be goblin-made engineering and resistant to all magical powers and the monster was ground to pieces by the turning wheels. The sister heard his cries and hurried to help him, climbing the tower only to get covered by the minced pieces of her brother.

Subsequent to this event the girl went mad. The most pronounced symptoms of her mental illness were particularly painful attacks at night that the healer himself witnessed and described. The healer in question had lived in the village for some time and developed an attachment for the girl. He therefore made considerable efforts to talk to her and show her kindness and affection and managed in this way to gain her love in return. The girl was cured of her madness in daytime but continued to have the strange attacks at night which only grew worse. The healer feared for the young woman’s life. He persuaded her to return to the church at night to fight the dragging tentacles of her evil brother. Not until the fifth night when the girl conjured up the minced pieces of her brother, put them together and fired seven Avada Kedavras at it, was she relieved of her condition.

Harry lifted his eyebrows as he read the astounding story although he saw the parallels to his own predicament.

Snape was still asleep as dawn was turning to daylight outside. Harry peeked at the book that was posed beside Snape. It looked like descriptions of complicated incantations. He saw that Snape had scribbled some notes on a piece of parchment. It started with “7 AK”.  Seven Avada Kedavras – very well, so far Harry understood what he was supposed to do.

Harry walked about the room and stopped to look out through the window. A blue sky failed to make the street look any prettier. The buildings were worn and thrashed and some of the houses seemed to be uninhabited with broken windows and sprayed graffiti over the walls. Three children were playing football in the street. An old man was walking his dog and scowled at one of the boys who aimed a shot at the animal. Harry jumped as Snape gave away a snore and moved in his armchair, but he settled and continued to sleep. Snape would have been up the greater part of the night, Harry guessed. Harry was hungry but dared not go to the kitchen and serve himself. Instead he scanned the bookshelves for some easier literature and found a leather-backed book entitled Healing Incantations in the Context of Dark Arts which he picked up, settled in the sofa and plunged into.

Not until several hours later did Snape startle Harry by beginning to curse loudly.

“Merlin’s beard, it’s ten o’clock. How long have you been awake? I have an appointment at Hogwarts. And we’ve things to go through. Why didn’t you wake me up, Potter? Have you been reading my books?”

“I haven’t damaged them or anything,” Harry said defensively. Snape managed to make him feel like he was twelve years old. Snape threw himself into a febrile activity. He stormed away to change clothes, swept back and threw Harry an apple

“We’ll breakfast or have lunch at Hogwarts. We need to go straight away. I’ll explain to you there.”

“I’m to go with you to Hogwarts, Professor?” asked Harry.

“Of course you are, you have to go back into the Forbidden Forest tonight to fight your demon, have you not worked that out?”

“Yes, well, something like that,” muttered Harry. “I’ll have to practice before, you know.”

Snape looked puzzled.

“I’ll have to conjure up something that is dead and essentially non-material into a visible creature, don’t I?” asked Harry.

“Yes, good, I see you have read some of the stories I found,” said Snape.

“The one about the sister and the half-brother,” said Harry.

“Hmm... rather grotesque, that one. I found two more similar accounts,” Snape declared, “...and I’ll show you how to do the conjuring. You do know how to conjure up simple things, like material things that are present in the immediate surroundings, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Harry said defensively. Snape had a habit of diminishing Harry’s magical capacities. “You’ll have to teach me the Avada Kedavra Curse as well, Sir,” Harry insisted as Snape turned away. Snape swung round and stared at him.

“Are you kidding me, Potter?” he asked incredulous.

“No, Sir,” answered Harry. “Even I can tell you’re not in a receptive mood for a joke at the moment. I’ve never performed an Avada Kedavra and - as you so often point out to me – I’m a mediocre wizard without special gifts or extraordinary powers and as such I have to practice new spells and curses before I’m able to perform them. I’ve managed the Imperius Curse once, but I’ve not done so well at the Cruciatus Curse. Your former colleague, Bellatrix, said to me that you had to mean it for it to work. And I’ve never had a try at the Avada Kedavra Curse yet.” Harry was speaking of the three Unforgivable Curses in the wizard world. Snape looked utterly confused.

“But you must have, at least once, performed a killing spell,” he said. “I just took for granted it must have been an Avada Kedavra. What else could have killed Voldemort?” It was Harry’s turn to wrinkle up his face in incredulity.

“Have you not had the curiosity to find out how Voldemort died - Sir?” he asked quietly. Snape coloured.

“Kingsley told me when I had regained consciousness,” he muttered, “but I was probably too worked up to listen to the end when I realised you had been babbling about me and...” He looked angry.

“You’re incredible!” Harry snapped at him.

“In that case...” Snape looked like he would like to throw Harry out of the house promptly, but he stopped himself in time.

Harry started to chew forcibly on his apple and paced to and fro.

“Dumbledore took pains to get me to know Voldemort,” he said, “...and to understand his driving forces and fears. Unlike Voldemort I have no extraordinary powers. I had no chance to beat him in a straight battle. I had to wind him up, to make him insecure. He was already afraid of me because he put so much faith in that prophesy and because I had already escaped him so many times and because his wand didn’t work against me. He was downright superstitious! He spent months looking for the Elder Wand. He was absolutely convinced that it was necessary to be able to kill me. But he had also understood from the information Mr Ollivander had given him that the conditions in which a wand is won are crucial to whether the wand will answer to the wizard or not. That’s why Voldemort killed you, because he thought you were the rightful owner of the Elder Wand. When I faced him, I talked to him to convince him that he was mistaken. I needed to make him doubt the Elder Wand. So I had to tell him that you had not conquered Dumbledore. You killed Dumbledore out of mercy, in an understanding between you and him. To convince Voldemort of this, I had to reveal your real motive for being on Dumbledore’s side. The mistake Voldemort made, however, was to overlook the fact that it was Draco Malfoy who disarmed Dumbledore before he was killed. When we escaped from the Malfoy manor I took Draco’s wand, and therefore, first Malfoy then I was master of the Elder Wand, not you, nor Voldemort. I don’t know whether this was true or not. What is true, however, is that I shot Voldemort a simple Expelliarmus spell, which you, Sir, taught me in second year at school, whereas he cast an Avada Kedavra at me. I disarmed him, his wand flew up and his spell returned on himself. That’s how he was killed.”

Snape stared at Harry for several seconds before he started to laugh, an uncontrollable but not unpleasant chuckle.

“You wound him up! You wound Voldemort up and he killed himself!” Snape laughed so much tears appeared in his eyes.

Harry started to grow slightly worried about his teacher’s state of mind.

“You killed Voldemort with your insolence! It’s magnificent – don’t you see?” Mirth was mixed with utter incredulity in Snape’s voice. “Was this Dumbledore’s plan all along, I wonder? Did he let you cultivate your insolent side because he knew it would bring Voldemort down in the end? I certainly didn’t see it coming! Although I don’t know how you can speak of Voldemort as disdainfully as you do, considering what I saw you suffer last night,” Snape added, finally completely serious again.

“I know...” Harry said contritely. “Courting disaster, am I? But the Voldemort I fought in May was a mortal being.”

“He was also evil, and it’s that part that you’ll have to fight tonight,” Snape said decisively. “I’ll teach you the Avada Kedavra. Now we must go! ”

Harry and Snape Apparated to Hogsmeade and continued by foot towards the castle. As they approached, Harry spotted a febrile activity along the ramparts that still lay in ruins. Seemingly docile trolls lifted big stone blocks in place, guided by goblins who cemented the upcoming walls with a silvery paste that glowed then tarnished to become the same colour as the stone. An old goblin clad in green met with them to have a word with Snape. Harry understood from their conversation that the stone blocks had at last been delivered the day before, by dragon transport and that Snape was satisfied with the goblins’ efficient repairs.

“It won’t be ready when the pupils arrive, but in another week or so... We’ll see what the Ministry’s head of security has to say about it. She’s waiting for me right now if I’m not mistaken. But you take your time - I want no rush work done. These ramparts are to stand for several centuries,” said Snape. They passed the trolls and entered the grounds of Hogwarts.

To the left, the beautiful hillside sloped gently towards the glittering lake and on the right, near the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest, Harry caught sight of Hagrid’s cottage. Smoke swirled up from the chimney and the vegetable patch looked flourishing and well cared for. Harry’s heart missed a beat as he realised there was a chance of him meeting his good friend, and he looked eagerly but in vain for the half-giant. Instead, he spotted a small group of people gathered in front of the grand portal that led into the castle. He recognised two of them for being Aurors, but did not remember their names. There was also a tall witch dressed in black, and a young man who moved about restlessly. Snape raised his hand in greeting and they were just within speaking range when the portal opened and Professor McGonagall stepped out.

“There you are, Headmaster, we were just beginning to wonder,” she said officiously to Snape before she saw Harry and froze for a fraction of time. “Harry Potter!” she exclaimed and proceeded precipitately towards him. The other four turned their heads with curiosity in their eyes.

“My dear boy!” She took his right hand in hers and looked at him with moist eyes. “It’s so good to see you!”

Harry was affected by her warm greeting. He had always liked the strict professor who had been his head of house for six years. Last time he had seen her was when he and Mme Pomfrey healed a battle wound in her right arm.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall, I’m happy to see you too,” he said in a muffled voice. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, Harry. Quite restored. But you look so thin!” she exclaimed and scrutinised him. “We’ve all had to face the losses and the difficult reminiscing... Have you been having a hard time? Professor Snape told me...”

“Minerva,” Snape called out warningly. Harry was glad Snape stopped her because for one thing the motherly concern of Professor McGonagall made him ready to cry. Secondly he was made uneasy by the covetous gazes of the fidgeting young man, and embarrassed by the puzzled look in the witch’s eyes. Harry tried to compose himself.

”I’m okay, Professor,” he lied.

“I invited Mr Potter to Hogwarts today as there are things I need to go through with him before the term starts,” said Snape in an authoritative voice. “Let me introduce you, Mr Potter,” he continued, “...to the new head of the Auror Office, Mrs Audrey Steadfast.”

The black-clad witch approached calmly. She had a long neck and broad shoulders but was otherwise slender. It gave her a slightly lanky appearance, like an overgrown adolescent. She was clearly in her late thirties or early forties though – same age as Snape, approximately. Her face had regular, pleasant features and her hair was short and curly in a dark brown colour.

“I’m known as “Steady” to my co-workers,” said Mrs Steadfast with a slight bow. “Nice to meet you, Mr Potter.” Harry shook her hand and met the warm brown eyes. The studying gaze she bestowed on him was not far from the scrutinising looks Harry had suffered from Dumbledore at times, and it certainly lived up to her nickname. He tried not to shrink back and held her gaze.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Steadfast,” he said.

“My Aurors - Mr Alan Soundy and Mr Emile Simmings.” Mrs Steadfast turned efficiently to the two men, one of them middle-aged and stout, with an inscrutable countenance, the other in his late twenties with an open face, fair-haired and slim. They shook hands with Harry.

“And Mr Bellamy Burgess,” she added and turned to the eager young man who could only be a couple of years older than Harry. He had fair but not blond hair and a square chin in an otherwise thin face.

“I’m delighted to meet you Mr Potter! I’ve heard so much about you. It’s such an honour!” the young man said effusively. The hand he stretched out trembled slightly when Harry shook it.

“Mr Burgess has done two years at the Auror training program,” Mrs Steadfast proceeded, now addressing Snape. “Unfortunately he suffered an injury in his leg at the end of last term that has not healed as expected and he needs a break from the physically demanding training program this year. He’s the young man I mentioned to you, Professor Snape, for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. A temporary appointment of course, but I had the impression you had difficulties finding applicants.”

“Ah, yes, we’ll have a word then. Nice to meet you,” said Snape as he shook hands with Mr Burgess, who smiled and smirked and was on the verge of saying something to Snape when they were interrupted by a howl.

“’Arry!” Hagrid called enthusiastically coming down from his cottage. Harry cast an apologetic look at the others but could not help his face from breaking up into a broad smile as he darted off to meet his friend. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall started to usher the Aurors and the teacher applicant inside the castle. Mrs Steadfast was posted beside Snape and looked at a distance at the half-giant keeper of Hogwarts who hugged Harry several times and lifted him from the ground. “I carried you in my arms!” they heard him bellow. They saw him blow his nose in an enormous towel-like handkerchief. Harry was padding his eyes as well.

“An emotional young man,” said Mrs Steadfast in a tone that might be either a question or a statement.

“Who? Him?” said Snape looking from Harry to Mr Burgess who just passed the threshold into the castle.

“Oh, Mr Burgess is just a bit nervous,” Mrs Steadfast waved her hand dismissively. “No, I was talking of your young man here.”

“I’d say he’s impulsive and yes, emotional,” said Snape with a streak of disdain in his voice, “...but this may not be a representative time for assessing his characteristics. It’s the first time he returns to the site where it all happened.”

“It’s good of you to prepare him before the term starts,” responded Mrs Steadfast. “I would not have thought you overly considerate of psychological processes, Professor,” she added with a mocking undertone.

Snape glowered at her and called out with some impatience for Harry, subsequent to what they entered the castle followed by Hagrid.

“I need to help Mr Potter get started on ... er... on a certain project. I will ask you, Mrs Steadfast, to go on without me and I’ll join you as soon as I can. Hagrid will guide you. As I’ve pointed out before, I believe it to be a difficult, if not an impossible task to search the entire Forbidden Forest. There are areas that are inaccessible even to our ground keeper,” began Snape.

“It still needs to be done. We cannot pretend to have control over security if we have not at least acquainted ourselves with the neighbouring grounds,” replied Mrs Steadfast.

“Search the Forbidden Forest? What for?” Harry could not prevent himself from asking.

“After the death of Voldemort,” Mrs Steadfast answered forthcoming, “...I’m afraid things have not calmed down as you would have expected. On the contrary, different criminal groups are popping up, who either used to work together with Voldemort or were hiding from him last year, but who see their chance now. There are also a bunch of traditional Death Eaters left on the loose who we believe will want to use the infrastructure left by Voldemort to come in control of these criminal gangs. They all want revenge on those who threw the reign of Voldemort over. We reckon they are highly motivated by the symbolical gain of killing those people. It would, so to speak, demonstrate who’s in charge. And the persons most at risk - I’m sure you realise, Mr Potter - would be the heros of the war, that is to say yourself and the Minister of Magic, Mr Kingsley Shacklebolt together with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Snape, and then a couple of others - persons who are traitors in these people’s eyes. Incidentally, Professor Snape qualifies into both categories.” Harry stared incredulous at her. He had not given security a single thought since he killed Voldemort. He could not bring himself to feel any fear as she spoke.

“And you believe they would set up a camp in the Forbidden Forest?” he said with mild astonishment.

“My assignment, Mr Potter, is to ensure that appropriate security measures are taken at Hogwarts and I don’t have the habit of leaving anything to fate,” Mrs Steadfast replied sternly. Harry acquiesced by an apologetic nod of his head. “Speaking of which, I was going to ask you, and I might as well do it now, whether you have any wishes for personal security?” she proceeded.

“Personal security?” Harry echoed with a frown.

“Yes, to those at the greatest risk of being attacked, we offer an attendant Auror, twenty-four hours a day,” responded Mrs Steadfast. Harry looked appalled.

“No thanks,” he said quickly.

“You’d like to think that over,” insisted Mrs Steadfast. “One of your fellow students will have such protection. And I believe you’re at much greater risk of being targeted than he is. I’m afraid your symbolic status is classified as extremely high.” 

“No thanks,” Harry repeated decisively. “You guard Hogwarts the best you can, I appreciate that, Mrs Steadfast, but on no account do I want any security measures intruding on my personal space.” Given that he would make at all it the coming night and that he was set free of Voldemorts tentacles, the last thing in the world he wanted would be to have another leech for the rest of the year, Harry thought to himself.

“You’re of age, I take it?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“I’m eighteen,” answered Harry.

“He’s a student with a history of flouting rules and a propensity to put himself and his friends in danger,” Snape interposed coldly, but Mrs Steadfast took no notice of him.

“And you have no relatives who will insist on keeping you safe at any price?” she said to Harry.

“I have no one,” he replied.

“So I won’t be getting upset owl mail on your account protesting a decision of not appointing you an attending Auror?”

Harry shook his head.

“Your Headmaster seems to want to have a say in the matter,” said Mrs Steadfast, casting a sideway look at Snape who indeed scowled at her. “However...” She prevented him from talking with the steel in her voice. “...I don’t think I’ll listen to him, considering that he has taken exactly the same stand for his own security, which I have argued heavily against - as I think you are first on their list, Professor Snape!” She looked him directly in the eyes.

“Then let’s not argue the point anymore,” conceded Snape. “I advise you to reconsider your decision, though, Mr Potter,” he continued formally, taking command of things again.

“Minerva, I’ll have to ask you to show Mr Burgess around. Join us at the Three Broomsticks in a couple of hours and I’ll have a word with you there, Mr Burgess. I’d say the job is yours, if Professor McGonagall is reasonably happy with you. We don’t have many applicants for the job and term starts on Monday. You’ll be teaching up to OWL level.”

“Thank you, Headmaster!” Mr Burgess looked relieved and a bit confused.

***

Snape took Harry to the classroom of Defence Against the Dark Arts. He put down the books he had brought on a desk and started to turn the pages.

“I want you to read this thoroughly,” he said. “If you learn the theory behind the spells it should make it easier for me to teach you later.” He looked defiantly at Harry who nevertheless did not protest. “Start with the conjuring part. I’ll show you before I go. Then we’ll do the Avada Kedavra this afternoon when I’ve finished business with Mrs Steadfast. In contrast to what you’ve done before in terms of magical conjuring, tonight you have to produce an exact copy of the creature you saw at Kings Cross Station when you were dead.” Snape made it sound as if it was a sight seeing tour Harry had been to.

“Hitherto you have conjured up objects, maybe animals, which have been identical to the general idea of that object or animal in your head, but without any specific identifiable features, right?”

“I understand,” said Harry.

“Now you should start with objects from your childhood or other objects that have meant something to you. Go on with a specific animal, a pet maybe - you had an owl didn’t you? And lastly I think, try to conjure up that house-elf you told me about who died when he saved you.”

“Dobby?” Harry asked nervously. This did seem difficult.

“Yes, you see, you use your emotions attached to the object in the conjuring process. The stronger the emotion – on condition that you check it - the clearer the product of your spell will be. Now, that’s at the same time the most difficult part, because when you have painful feelings attached to a being - as I believe you do with Dobby and as you undoubtedly will have with the Voldemort creature - there is more psychological resistance involved. Your mind will want to avoid the pain and you’ll have to force it to dwell upon it instead. When the creature you need to call forth by magic is dead, you start with an incantation, which is written here. For objects, you use the shorter one.” He pointed at the corresponding paragraphs in the book.

Snape read the lines in a monotonous voice and drew big strokes in the air with his wand. ”Then you concentrate on the creature and “Resurgo!” Snape made a decisive move with his wand. A black bat in a horizontal position with thin leathery wings stretched out from its sides appeared in front of him. It was still and looked completely solid, floating in the middle of the air. Harry saw a flutter of the eyelids in the impassive face of Snape.

“Evanesco!” Snape made it disappear before Harry had time to say anything. “I’ll leave you to it,” said Snape and swept out of the door.

***

When Snape came back three hours later he found Harry standing in the middle of the room, wand drawn, hairs on end and face streaked with sweat and dust. The room was hot - the big windows let in a radiant sun. In front of Harry, in the air, floated a serene-looking house-elf with a silver knife sticking out of its breast. 

“Good,” said Snape.

“Evanesco!” said Harry. “This is the third time I manage to conjure him up, Professor,” he continued in a stifled voice. He sank down on a chair, exhausted.

“Excellent,” answered Snape. “That’ll do. Save some strength for tonight.”

“I need to eat,” said Harry. Snape looked consternated.

“I’m afraid no one thought of bringing you anything back from the Three Broomsticks. They’ll deliver some food for tonight, though. The house-elves don’t come back until Saturday so the kitchen is closed at Hogwarts for the moment. You’ll just have to go up to Hagrid’s and ask for something there.”

Harry pulled a wry face. He did not think much of Hagrid’s cooking.

“We need to proceed to the Avada Kedavra curse,” Snape said impatiently. “I’ll slip up to my office for a moment while you go and get something to eat and we’ll meet here in half an hour.”

When Snape opened the door again, Harry sat on a chair by a desk. His hair was wet and he looked refreshed. He crammed what looked like clods of loam in his mouth and chewed vigorously.

“Fruit cake,” he said inarticulately “Hagrid didn’t have anything else. It’s like eating concrete. I went for a swim first.” Snape lifted an eyebrow slightly.

“When you want to kill someone with magic,” he started, “you have to mean it.” He started to pace the room up and down. “You don’t have to be angry or upset with the being you are going to kill, but you must have a clear intention to kill. And you must know why you want to do it.” Harry swallowed hard. ”For some wizards this might simply mean the pleasure to exercise power over another being and they need not think much about it. They kill easily. Others will need to formulate more precise and logical motives in their heads to be able to perform the curse. Some think that the former stand is what characterises a murderer while the Death Eaters saw it as a sign of strength. ” Harry shook his head.

“The only legitimate motive to kill is self-defence or to defend someone else in mortal danger,” he said in a low voice, looking up at Snape. “What other motives can there be, Sir?”

“Oh, quite a few, I think, but it’s up to each one to choose which ones to act upon,” said Snape in a light tone. “Strictly speaking, the Avada Kedavra Curse is an Unforgivable Curse and you’ll be charged and sent to Azkaban for using it. But as you were saying - if you can prove a legitimate defence, you won’t be convicted. Furthermore, during certain periods of history the authorities have granted Aurors the right to hunt down and kill known criminals without prior trial. Ministry-bound Aurors were given executive punishing powers and uncritically became the supreme judges of life and death. Thankfully that dangerous practise was ended a few years after Voldemort’s first fall.”

Harry swallowed again with a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he remembered Dumbledore and the Avada Kedavra Snape had killed him with.

“Will they try you for the killing of Dumbledore, Sir?” he asked.

“Yes, I certainly believe they will,” said Snape. “Firstly, there’re a lot of people who are not convinced that I did it out of mercy and secondly: helping someone to a more lenient death is not an officially acceptable excuse to kill someone.”

Harry frowned.

“But that’s not the subject,” Snape pressed on. “Today you need to learn how to perform the curse. We’ll start with killing insects then move on to bigger animals. I gather you have never played with or experimented with that kind of things? Some kids do I’m afraid.”

“No, I’ve not,” answered Harry, wondering whether Snape was talking about himself.

“Now, Potter, I want to hear you formulate the reason why you want to kill this grasshopper.” Snape put a glass jar with a grasshopper trapped inside on the desk in front of Harry. It jumped up on the wall and slid down only to recommence its attempts to escape.

“I don’t really want to kill it...” began Harry at which Snape turned his eyes to the ceiling.

“Then you won’t be able to,” he said. “And I’ll mark you with a fail. Start again.”

“I need to practice this curse,” Harry tried again, “I’d prefer not to hurt the grasshopper...but I’ll try to kill…”

“Failed - it won’t work!” cried Snape “Come on Potter! Focus! You need a clear intent. Start with: I want to kill this grasshopper because...” Harry frowned harder to himself.

“I want to kill this grasshopper because I need to learn the Avada Kedavra Curse to be able to free myself from an evil creature that will kill me if I don’t kill it first.”

“Good! It might work. You may freeze the grasshopper before you kill it, it’ll be easier.”

“But that’s cheating! He won’t stand a chance!“ Harry protested.

“You’re incredible, Potter. You don’t want him to ‘stand a chance’. You need to learn this curse before nightfall. Get on with it! And try to control your over-sized sympathy,” spat Snape.

They worked for hours. The beams of the late afternoon sun now only hit the wall at the fond and its glow was getting more golden than bright. Harry had recurrent difficulties with feeling sorry for the animals and when they got to rabbits he was in real agony and started to feel nauseated after he finally killed a white-furred trembling little one. 

“Why do I have to practice on innocent creatures?” he protested angrily. “Don’t you have some evil pixies or something? It would be much easier.”

“You need to work on your motivation, that’s why. You need to remember the Vanishing Draught and the Draught of Permanent Peace that were your alternatives. Now, conjure up your dead elf friend,” said Snape.

“Why?” said Harry surprised. “You said I should spare my strength.”

“Do it!” commanded Snape.

Harry collected himself, read the incantation slowly and articulately and moved his wand - “Resurgo” - and Dobby appeared before them floating in the air. Harry’s heart ached at the sight.

“Now, kill him,” said Snape. Harry stared at him.

“I won’t kill Dobby, Professor,” he said slowly.

“He’s already dead, Potter,” Snape said impatiently.

“I won’t do it, Sir,” said Harry with determination in his voice.

“You will not really kill him, because he is, like I already said, dead. He won’t feel anything.” Snape spelled the words out as if speaking to someone feeble-minded. “And that’s why you need to practice on him, as this will mimic the situation you’ll be in tonight. You’re to kill an already dead but full-sized creature. Now, do it!”

“Evanesco!” Harry turned upon Snape, furious. “There’s a huge difference between what I’ll do tonight and what you want me to do here,” he shouted, “...and that’s that Dobby was my friend and a truly good and loyal being, whereas the freak I’ll try to kill tonight was something evil that was forced upon me without my knowing it or wanting it, and it plagued me for years. It’s an absolutely appalling creature which is trying to kill me from the other side of the grave. I won’t be deficient in motivation for killing it!”

“That’s good,” said Snape, “but you still need to practice on a full-size creature.”

“I might just as well conjure up Fred Weasley in front of us and kill him!” hissed Harry, his face white with anger. Snape flinched but responded with his waspish voice:

“I’ll not go down to the forest tonight without knowing that you’re capable of performing the curse essential for the success of this operation. You have remarkable difficulties with the killing curse. I don’t want to waste my time on a hopeless case.”

“I won’t practice on Dobby or on any other dead friend,” said Harry still trembling with anger. “I‘ll do it on my own then. I’ve got the general idea. I’ll go down there and fight alone. I was alone last time, wasn’t I?”

Snape looked like he wanted to hit Harry for his stubbornness.

“Last time you only needed to die,” he said warningly. “You won’t be able to do it on your own this time. Haven’t you read the testimonies? There are complicated incantations to be read after each and one of the seven Avadas to release you from the demon. You’ll be affected by the pain the creature inflicts on you on the one hand and by the uproar of your own conscience against killing someone on the other. And that’s exactly the point I’m making here: Are you capable of killing a full-sized creature that you have once taken pity on - at all? Prove it, or I quit this job.” Harry was silent.

“I’ll conjure it up right here then and show you,” Harry said finally. Snape shook his head.

“It’ll cost you a lot of energy,” he said, “but be my guest.”

Snape sat down, arms crossed over his chest. Harry bit his lip. His heart was pounding. He must do it. If he failed tonight he would not be there when Ron and Hermione came back the day after tomorrow. He would never return to Ginny. He had started to hope for a future, he must fight for it. He closed his eyes, picturing in front of him the maimed creature he had to defeat.

He drew his breath and started once again the forth-calling incantation in a calm ringing voice. He let the awe, the repugnance and the fear of the creature blended with the tiny amount of pity he felt for it stream through his body and he said the spell decisively. He kept himself composed in front of the naked, flayed-looking, ugly, child-sized creature that floated in the air. He did not wait long.

I want to kill this monster to survive, he thought. “Avada Kedavra!” he shouted and the green light left his wand to pierce and dissolve the creature. He turned, shocked, to face Snape whose eyes were a bit wide.

“Excellent!” he said. “Excellent! You’re ready!”

Harry shrank away from him, doubled up, staggered towards a dustbin in a corner and threw up. He was sick for several minutes before he sat down on the floor, panting and closing his eyes as waves of nausea still washed through him.

“I made it,” he said weakly. He glanced furtively at Snape, wondering if this had been the plan all along - if Snape had provoked him with Dobby to goad him into doing what he had just done. Snape’s face was inscrutable. “I’ll just have to do it under the influence of unbearable pain as well,” Harry added wryly.

“I’ll help you,” said Snape quickly. Harry frowned at him.

“You mustn’t take the pain away from me like you did last night, Professor,” he said. “You must know that. I’ve read the testimonies. I have to do the seven Avadas on my own, otherwise it might not work. I’ll need you to prod me to do the killing curses and you must be fit to do the Releasing Incantations after each attack. You won’t be fit to help me if you do that pain transfer incantation. Do you agree?”

Snape nodded. Some apprehension could be read on his face.

Harry was still so nauseated he could hardly swallow a bite when they went down to dinner in the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall threw him worried glances but didn’t say anything. Hagrid didn’t seem to notice that Harry was white-faced and silent. He was only too happy to be seated beside his friend, relishing the fact that the Hall would be full of pupils in only a few days time. It was a strange feeling to sit in the huge empty room at a corner of a table, only six of them: Snape, Professor McGonagall, Harry, Hagrid, Mme Pomfrey and Filch. At least they were not sitting on the podium where teachers usually ate, watching over the students, but at a corner of the Slytherin table, which for Harry was an equally odd position. Harry pushed his plate full of food away and looked at Snape who nodded and they stood up.

“You’ll know the way, I presume,” said Snape to Harry as they stepped out of the Great Hall.

“Yes, but I’d like to retrace my steps, if you don’t mind. If we could just start downstairs of Dumbledore’s office.” Snape frowned but did not protest. They walked through a corridor and stopped. Harry looked at the Gargoyle statue that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster’s office. The day of the battle, he had come out of there knowing what was left for him to do, heart pounding but the body chilled with the knowledge that he was walking to his death.

Harry turned and Snape followed. They went out through the door, crossed the inner court, through the valve and were out of the castle. Harry walked like in a trance. Snape saw him stop on his way and gesture as if he addressed someone. In the dusk of the evening, they cast long shadows behind them as they proceeded towards the Forbidden Forest right behind Hagrid’s cottage. Here again Harry stopped and clutched at something invisible around his neck. He formed his hands as if holding an object that he approached to his lips. He fumbled with his fingers and then he turned around as if looking on something or someone. Snape saw Harry talking silently to himself. His face was calm but glowing with intense concentration. Snape did not say a word but followed silently.

They proceeded deeper and deeper into the forest that became increasingly bushy and wild. It was silent as if devoid of life this evening. At last they approached a clearing. This had been the nest of Aragog, Hagrid’s giant pet spider. It was abandoned. All the spiders were gone and some green grass had started to grow on the treaded ground. Harry stopped and made a gesture as if he took off a cloak. He took his wand and stuffed it away under his shirt then drew a deep breath and stepped into the clearing. Snape let him stand there for a long while before he approached him gently.

“Potter... Harry!” Not until the third time Snape said his name did Harry turn his head to look at him.

“Yes, Professor?” he said absentmindedly. Snape cleared his throat.

“Where did Voldemort stand? Over there?” he asked.

“Yes, right there. And there were about fifty Death Eaters standing in a ring around Voldemort and me. There were Fenrir and Yaxley over there and Rowle. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa stood to the left of Voldemort and Bellatrix right beside him.” Harry pointed as he spoke. “There was a fire over there,” he showed Snape.

“We should cast some protective spells around us. Who knows what might come out of the forest at night, even if Hagrid claims that it has been strangely deserted since the battle. And we had better make sure no one hears us either. Death Eaters might be hidden behind every tree, if you listen to Mrs Steadfast,” Snape said sarcastically.

Harry helped out with casting the wards. He knew the protective incantations by heart since camping in the forest with Ron and Hermione. They used to dress protections around their tent every night. Snape listened to Harry as he worked his way systematically in a circle around them.

“That’s a new way of reciting those protections,” Snape said suspiciously and tested the shield that Harry had cast, but seemed satisfied with the result. “What did you do to the incantations - you’ve made shortcuts?” he asked with some interest.

“I don’t know, really. I guess I found it tedious every day to sing the long texts for each and one of them so I sort of interweaved them - they have many parts in common, you know. I just tried it out until it worked.” Harry shrugged. Snape didn’t say anything but lit a fire at the same spot Harry had shown him.

“The first time will be the most difficult,” said Snape, “because you’ll be asleep and will need to wake up before the pain gets too hard a grip on you to do your spells. I’ll do my best to wake you up when I notice it’s coming upon you.”

Harry was panting and gasping and snorting after being sick over and over again. He let out a loud moan and leaned his front against the ground in the cold grass. His whole body was shaking. He was warm and cold in turns as waves of nausea washed through him. He rolled over on his back and took a couple of deep breaths. It was sinking away again. He had managed four Avadas hitherto. It was more draining and torturing than anything he had experienced by way of magical exertion.

Harry crawled back to the fire where Snape sat waiting. Three more to go - he did not know whether he could make it. Snape did his part. He had woken Harry up and almost lifted him from the ground during the first attack which, as he had predicted, was the worst because Harry had been so deep in pain he could hardly move. Avadas number two, three and four had been nearly as difficult to perform, but Harry had been able to start earlier with his incantations. He had been worse and worse afterward instead and retched non-stop for half an hour after this last attack. After every Avada Kedavra, Snape recited long incantations and circled around Harry, drawing with his wand and gesturing with his left hand in deep concentration.

Snape pulled a cloak over Harry’s shoulders and gave him a cup of water that Harry gulped down. He shivered and leaned toward the fire. After a while the flames started to blur before his eyes. His head felt heavy.

“You can’t go to sleep, Harry!” Snape shook his shoulder. Harry looked at him despairingly.

“Talk to me, then,” he asked. “Keep me awake.”

Snape looked back in consternation.

"I don’t know,” said Harry wearily, ”…tell me anything. Tell me about Med school at St Mungo’s, or about ghouls in Albania. Tell me how my mother saved you from the Draught of Permanent Peace. Tell me how you became a Death Eater. You choose.” Harry made a sweeping gesture with his hand. Snape shifted his gaze from Harry to some point deep in the middle of the flames.

“Ghouls in Albania?” he said. “I’ve never been to Albania. Do you confound me with Voldemort?”

“Just an example,” muttered Harry.

“I did fight a particularly foul ghoul once, here at Hogwarts. It was the murderous, flesh-eating kind. It was found to be at large in the Southeast tower of the castle and had been trapped there by the staff. It was terrific. They were waiting for Professor Dumbledore to come up with a way to get rid of it without killing it. But I let it out to fight it.”

“You let the ghoul out? Why? Wasn’t that - excuse me, Professor - a bit arrogant of you to think that you alone could do what the other teacher’s had not been able to do together?” said Harry incredulous.

“I don’t pretend that it was a very rational thing to do,” replied Snape. “My ineptitude as a fifteen-year-old to deal with the feelings of disappointment and grief was the ground for my actions. This was after the OWL exams... And I don’t think that my intentions were very clear even to myself...”

“You were only a pupil... After the OWL exams...” repeated Harry and went quiet. He had assumed Snape was going to recount some exploits from his years as a teacher at Hogwarts.

Harry knew what this was about. He had witnessed the prelude to this event in the memories of Snape. Both of Harry’s parents were involved. James Potter had attacked Snape that day after an OWL exam, together with his friends Sirius and Peter Pettigrew, and under the passive allowances of Lupin. James had used the - at the time so popular - Levicorpus spell on Snape. Ironically, to Harry’s knowledge, it was actually one of the precocious and despised teenager’s own inventions that had been used against him. James had dangled Snape upside down by the heel and taunted him in front of the other pupils. In his humiliation Snape had insulted the fifteen-year-old Lily who had come to Snape’s rescue, by calling her a “filthy Mudblood”. Later that evening, Snape had gone to see her and tried to apologise, but Lily had turned him down coldly and confronted him with his prejudices against Muggle-borns like herself.

“I had had an agonising night and not slept at all,” Snape began his narrative. “At dawn, I climbed the tower and let the ghoul out. We fought each other in the open air at the very crest of the tower. I knew more curses than most of my age and I had just practiced the Spiral Case Knight’s Battle Move, an ancient combat technique where you circle up in the air as you attack your enemy. I managed to hit him a couple of times, which did nothing but provoke him. The ghoul could fly for real and got the advantage of me eventually. The Spiral Case Knight’s Move is energy consuming when you do it without a partner and you cannot keep it up for long. Before he hit me, I had managed to produce some Misty-ropes that wound around him and constrained him. I was fighting to tie him up to an iron loop in the stone wall when he simply cast himself over me and bit me in my left shoulder - the same, strangely, that Nagini attacked to kill me not long ago. This kind of ghoul eats flesh from dead bodies and his bite paralysed me. I fell down hard on the edge of the stone wall that circled the top of the tower. The ghoul was right over me to finish me off, still struggling with the Misty-ropes, when Dumbledore came storming up the tower and fought the ghoul away.”

Harry listened disbelievingly. He saw before his eyes the spindly figure of Snape’s as a fifteen-year-old, rising in the air, fighting in desperation and tumbling down.

“What a reckless thing to do,” said Harry in a disapproving voice. “You could easily have been killed and the murderous ghoul could have gone after other students as well. Did you not think about that? What did Dumbledore do? Wouldn’t you risk being expelled?”

“It so happened that morning that Dumbledore had just received a message saying that my mother had died. I think that they somehow believed that I, too, had been reached by the news, or had had a premonition of some kind, and acted out of grief for her. So Dumbledore and Mme Pomfrey were insupportably kind and caring, whereas I was utterly confused. I don’t think that I spoke a word that morning at the Hospital wing before I was sent home to my father,” said Snape in a quiet voice.

“I’m so sorry about your mother!” exclaimed Harry, taken aback by the serious turn of the story.

“Yes, it was tragic, really,” Snape answered blankly. ”I’m afraid it was probably a suicide, no doubt by a deadly potion, although no one told me so at the time and it was hushed down. She worked as an apothecary and was skilled at potion-making. She taught me from when I was little. She was never happy in her life, though.” Harry felt a surge of pity for Snape. “The following summer was pretty awful.” Snape spoke without emotion. “My Muggle father was drunk most of the time. Under the pretext of being devastated by his wife’s death, naturally. Dumbledore came by my house to check on me, but I wasn’t at home... I was out on the streets most of the time...  I suspect my father turned Dumbledore away rather rudely. He’s a man who holds magic in deep contempt.” Snape sat in silent contemplation.

“What about Lily then?” asked Harry. “I’m sure she would have wanted to make up with you in a situation like that and comfort you. You were friends… even if you had had a row...”

Snape cast him a strange look but did not answer.

“But of course...” said Harry to himself. “She must have returned to Destersbridge for the summer holidays. This must be the summer when she rescued you from taking the Draught of Permanent Peace!” he exclaimed looking at Snape who averted his eyes.

Harry had been so wrapped up in the story that he had not felt the first signs of an attack approaching. Now he was caught by a violent cramp in his chest and stumbled up to his feet. With a shaking wand, but determinedly, he called the creature forth. As it hung in the air before him it seemed to vibrate malignantly.

“I want to kill you,” Harry stuttered to it. “I want to kill you for my mother.  Avada Kedavra!” The creature exploded in a thousand glowing pieces that dissolved into the air. Harry spun round with vertigo. The ground rocked up and down like a ship on a high sea and the trees of the forest swayed from vertical to horizontal. He was out of it for another thirty minutes, digging his fingers into the ground to maintain his balance even on his four. When the vertigo abated, his legs did not bear him and he dragged himself on his hands and knees back to the fire.

“What if I pass out before the seventh Avada Kedavra?” he said in a crackled voice to Snape. “I’m not sure I can take more of this.”

“There’re only two more left,” said Snape. “You don’t have a choice. If you don’t do it tonight you’ll need to recommence another night - or you’ll die, or go mad,” he continued in a matter-of-fact voice. They went silent. Harry started to get hypnotised by the fire again and swayed as if he would fall into it any moment when Snape cleared his voice.

“You wanted to know how I became a Death Eater,” he said. Harry straightened up and looked at him as if surprised that Snape would want to talk to him again at all, since the previous tale had taken a turn to reveal more than Snape had probably intended from the beginning.

“Yes, I would,” Harry said cautiously. Snape drew a slow, controlled breath.

“My mother went to school with Tom Riddle,” he began. ”They were in the same year. Back at home, when I was little, she always spoke with admiration of Lord Voldemort and of his brilliancy. I guess that gave me a warped picture of The Dark Lord from the beginning... “ Snape made a grimace before he continued. “When I started at Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy was one of the Slytherin prefects. Lucius gave me protection in exchange for small services...”

Harry remembered that Sirius had once called Snape “Lucius Malfoy’s lapdog”. Harry could well imagine that Snape, who came from a poor family without important connexions - which was the only thing that counted in the Slytherin sphere - indeed needed protection.

“When Lucius graduated from Hogwarts five years ahead of me, he stayed in contact with a gang of us younger students who admired the Dark Lord. There were Mulciber and Avery and me and some others. I admit that at the time I had become fascinated by the Dark Arts. It gave me a sense of power to master that branch of magic. To have the knowledge how to scare and punish the kids who made fun of me made me feel superior to them and able to endure their stupid taunts. But as opposed to my Slytherin friends - if you could call them that - I was careful to learn about the defences against Dark Magic as well. It was more fascinating for me to know how to undo and heal a bad curse than to cast it. I tried to explain this to… to... well... that’s how it was.”

Explain to my mother, Harry thought but didn’t say anything.

“Lucius became a Death Eater several years ahead of us, and it was he who introduced us to Voldemort. Lucius’ family was influential and had an ancient history of allegiance to Slytherin ideals and to Dark Arts in general. They belonged to Voldemort’s earliest and most fervent supporters.” Snape’s face darkened.

”I signed up as a Death Eater when I was eighteen,” he said between clenched teeth. ”I had left Hogwarts by then and gone to St Mungo’s School of Magical Medicine for half a year. It was in the winter and Lucius had brought me to yet another recruiting meeting. They took place at the Malfoy Manor where young people who hoped to be noticed by Voldemort were brought together. Lucius’ father, who was the head of the manor at the time and an important financial supporter of Voldemort, presided over the events. We stood waiting silently in long rows, in awe of the Dark Lord who advanced slowly before us, stopping from time to time to ask a question or to Legilimency our thoughts, before he proceeded. I had been to several of those meetings, but had been in disgrace with Voldemort because I had had the chance to sign up one and a half years earlier but turned him down.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh... not turned him down right to his face - that would have been impossible - but when Lucius made the suggestion, I declined to come to a meeting, because I was under the influence of... I was under another influence at that time.”

Under the influence of Lily, thought Harry. The time would correspond to the summer between their sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts. Harry knew that his mother and father had become a couple in seventh year.

“You went out with Lily before she started going out with James!” exclaimed Harry.

Snape flinched and looked furiously at him.

“Sorry... sorry … Forget that…” Harry tried to recoup himself. ”Please continue... I won’t say another word…” Harry was all too aware how easily Snape was thrown off balance by the subject of Lily and regretted voicing his realisation.

“I’m trying to explain to you here how I became a Death Eater!” Snape spat angrily and seemed to fight to pull himself together.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to look subdued.

“So I had been in disgrace,” emphasised Snape. “I don’t know if I can say that I was deceived by Voldemort. I knew he was evil. I knew what he did to Muggles... but there was an admiration of his skills, and a belief that an Almighty wizard like him would have a genial plan for the world, and that if you were among the chosen ones, if you were worthy, you would be part of that Greatness. I was to learn later that his only plan was to be in power at all cost and that loyalty to the Dark Lord was no guarantee from punishments or from being used, if only it served his personal purposes... so maybe, I was deceived in him all the same. There was, I think, a naive thought among many of us that he would provide for us, at least if you belonged to the inner circle of the Death Eaters.”

Snape concentrated and spoke slowly as if careful to search his mind for the most sincere expressions. Harry wondered why Snape took such pains to elaborate on his motives for joining Voldemort. Snape could have chosen to speak about anything that would distract Harry. Why was he so intent, if not on justifying himself, at least on explaining himself to Harry?

“That evening at the recruit meeting, I was in a curious mood. I had witnessed something the night before that had made me realise... It’s hard to explain, but I felt like I had lost everything... Even the slightest hope for a chance of personal happiness in life was gone... There wasn’t the slightest hope...not ever...”

Snape looked Harry straight in the eyes and for a second Harry saw a flicker of deepest pain, or was it just the fire that was mirrored in Snape’s dark eyes?

“It felt like nothing mattered. I was exhausted, feverish. I had worked hard at St Mungo’s, got little sleep and performed a series of Relieving Incantations which have some side effects that worked upon me. When Voldemort stopped in front of me, I felt a longing to plunge into the darkness. The prospect of giving up body and soul to an Extraordinary Creature, of obeying someone else and to be free from your inner torments was soothing to my troubled mind. To be near the Greatest and to do what He commanded... I could just as well die for Him as just to die...”

Harry shuddered. He wondered whether Snape really wanted him to hear this, if he would not regret in a moment what he had told Harry. What if he just stood up and walked away before they finished the seventh Avada Kedavra?

“Voldemort picked up my devoted feelings and made me the offer. And I let him burn the Dark Mark in my arm,” Snape finished in a whisper.

At the same moment pain seized Harry by such force that he was thrown backwards. He could barely stand on his legs. He started mumbling the incantation so fast he stumbled over the words and had to start over again. He managed to complete the incantation before he doubled up with pain.

“I can’t see,” he gasped. “Is it there?” 

There was no reply.

“Help me! Where are you? Is it there? I cannot see. You must show me the direction!” Harry panicked.

“It’s right in front of you.” Snape was at Harry’s side. “Keep your concentration or it’ll vanish.” Snape grasped Harry by the wrist and pointed at the foul creature. “Quickly, the Avada,” he said. “With all your force and conviction. Come on!” Snape let go of Harry’s arm just as the green light of the Avada Kedavra left Harry’s wand.

The vertigo never seemed to want to stop. Harry tottered about the clearing and spoke to himself. He seemed to be having hallucinations. Snape heard bribes of words.

“Been in my head... must finish him... Used people... Killed... Evil... He killed you, Mum… You let him... To protect me... Mum! You shouldn’t have… Sometimes I think... You want me to fight, don’t you...? Don’t you…? Ginny... She’s waiting for me... At least I think so... So tired… He stayed… He stayed... He helps me... Why are the trees upside down...? My sight is so bad... Maybe I’ll need my glasses again... It’s holding me all the time now... I can feel its grip on me... I love you, Mum… I promise to finish it... Soon… Seven times... Seven Horcruxes... Or eight.... What if there are more…? What if Dumbledore was wrong…? What if I never get rid of him...? I’ll fight him again and again and again... I want it to stop... I just want it to stop...” The anguish in Harry’s voice increased. When he was about to stumble into the fire, Snape caught him and swirled him round.

“Sit down for a bit, Harry, to gather forces,” he said.

“I thought you went away,” muttered Harry. “It’s nice of you to call me Harry, I prefer that.”

The darkness around them was a tiny bit less compact than before.

“I’m sorry.” Harry staggered away again, muttering to himself. After a while he came stumbling back towards Snape and almost knocked him over. “Isn’t it time yet? When is it time? What if we miss the seventh killing? I dare not sit down. I’m so tired,” he complained.

“Hang on, any time now,” said Snape steadying Harry by the arms. Harry sank down on his knees. Snape knelt down too. “Keep up, Harry!”

Harry’s head rolled until it bumped on Snape’s left shoulder. Snape recoiled a little under the weight and made a grimace of pain. He looked down with puzzlement on the mop of black hair on his chest. Harry became still except for his heaving breath.

“Harry, you mustn’t go to sleep!” Snape shook him by the shoulders.

“Only gathering forces. Just a minute, please,” came from Harry.

A few seconds only were enough, then Harry jerked his head away from Snape’s chest and rose in one movement. He gripped his wand tightly. Determination mixed with pain in his face and for the seventh time that night he conjured up the creature that was torturing him. He straightened his back and lifted his head. The last Avada Kedavra that left Harry’s wand was so powerful it lit up the whole clearing and Snape was blinded for a moment. He was just in time, when the light faded, to catch Harry in his arms as he collapsed. Snape put him down on the ground and checked his pulse, then started to sing the incantations circling Harry. Light of dawn filtered through the trees. Snape checked the still body again. Harry Potter was sound asleep.

***

Minerva McGonagall shivered and pulled her cape closer at her neck when she came out of the castle as the first faint beams of the sun painted the sky at the horizon pink. She hurried across the lawn to Hagrid’s cottage and knocked at the door. She was let in by the keeper who was clad but still dazed with sleep. Flames were dancing happily in the fireplace.

“Good, you’re up!” said Professor McGonagall. “How is he?”

“Still sleepin’ like a baby,” said Hagrid and gestured towards a bed at the far end of the room.

“Amazing! He has been asleep for twenty-four hours,” exclaimed Professor McGonagall. “We’ll have to wake him up then,” she continued a bit nervously. “Go on, Rubeus.”

Hagrid went up to Harry who lay in the enormous bed peacefully, mouth slightly open.

“’Arry, ‘Arry!” Hagrid shook him gently by one shoulder. It took him at least five minutes of pushing and shaking before Harry opened his eyes. He sat up abruptly and looked around, not recognising at first where he was. When he saw Hagrid and Professor McGonagall who stared at him apprehensively, he inclined his head a little to the side.

“Hello!” he said tentatively. The sound of his gentle voice broke their frozen positions.

“Good morning, Mr Potter!” said Professor McGonagall. “How are you feeling?” Harry inclined his head to the other side, frowning. A broad smile spread on his face.

“I feel so rested!” he exclaimed jubilant. He cast the cover aside and sat at the bedside. “We did it! I’m cured! Where’s Professor Snape? He saved my life, I must thank him! And I want to go home to the Burrow,” he added eagerly.

“Of course you shall,” said Professor McGonagall. “We’ll have to go and see Professor Snape first, though. It’s early in the morning, but he has a busy day in front of him today. They’re coming from the Ministry to inspect Hogwarts. That’s why he asked us to wake you up this early. I’m to take you to his house. He said he had some business to clear with you before you went to the Burrow... And he wants to see that you’re well, of course,” she added. 

“It’s early morning,” said Harry slowly. “But that means it’s Friday today. Ron and Hermione are coming home! They must be worried about me at the Burrow! Has anyone sent them an owl to explain why I’ve been gone so long? A couple of nights at most, that’s what Professor Snape told them when we left. I’ve been away three nights now.”

“I sent’em an owl yesterday,” intervened Hagrid. “So don’t you worry. Get dressed instead. I cleaned them clothes for you. Looked a mess you did yesterday mornin’ when Snape came with you on a stretcher. ‘E did not look so good ‘imself, actually. Don’t know what you could’ve been doing in the forest at night like that.” He sounded disapproving.

“It was important. You won’t tell anyone about this, will you?” Harry looked from Hagrid to Professor McGonagall. They shook their heads.

“Hurry up now, please! Severus doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” said Professor McGonagall.

Harry had difficulties to keep up with his head of house as they walked quickly to the ramparts outside of which the Non-Apparition Zone ended.

“Wands drawn, please, Harry,” said Professor McGonagall a bit nervously. “Mrs Steadfast’s orders. They got some kind of warning yesterday and it caused a lot of to-dos. Professor Snape wanted Mrs Steadfast to assign you an Auror, but she was adamant your refusal should be respected. She just asked us to be vigilant. I believe security has been heightened at the Burrow as well.”

“I wasn’t aware there had been any special security in place this summer at the Burrow,” muttered Harry.

“Here we go then, on three.” They Apparated separately and turned up only a step aside in the lane near Snape’s house. The lane was deserted as was the street when they peaked up and down at the intersection. Professor McGonagall knocked on Snape’s door while Harry watched the street with his back to her. He wondered if the security measures were not exaggerated. 

“Come on in,” he heard Snape’s voice behind him. They entered. “No problems? All well, Minerva?” asked Snape.

“All went well,” she confirmed.

“Professor!” exclaimed Harry. “I have slept!”

“For some time too, I’ve heard,” said Snape in a rather reserved tone, but he could not repress a little smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you so much! You saved my life!” Harry stepped forward to take Snape’s hand in his. He could have hugged Snape there and then if a stiffness on Snape’s part had not held him back. 

“I’m glad I could help,” Snape said formally as he shook Harry’s hand.

Harry recoiled a little. What was the matter with Snape? Was it because of the presence of Professor McGonagall?

“I’ll need a moment with Mr Potter, Minerva. Go back to Hogwarts and look over things for me, please. I’ll be with you in a short time.”

“Goodbye, Harry. I’ll see you on Monday then,” said Professor McGonagall kindly to Harry. It seemed to him that she noticed Snape’s reserve and was desolate for it.

“Goodbye,” said Harry. The door closed. Snape was looking down at the floor. “I do have a place at Hogwarts, don’t I?” Harry felt best to ask.

“Of course you do,” Snape said distractedly as he lifted his head and looked Harry straight in the eyes.

“Obliviate!”

It was only thanks to the fact that Harry already had his wand drawn and that he was so used to be on his guard with Snape that he had just the time to take a step backwards and draw up a protecting shield in front of him. It deflected the memory charm Snape tried to impose on him. For a short time they fought fiercely with flashing wands but Harry could fend off Snape’s new attempts. With fury he cast a Protego spell that launched Snape into the room off balance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harry hissed angrily. “How dare you try to Obliviate me?”

“I found the extracts of my memories yesterday...” Snape answered aggressively, “...when I was going through Dumbledore’s Pensieve Library, in a phial labelled “Severus Snape’s memories given to Harry Potter in May 1998.”

“Yes, that’s where I put it the day after I killed Voldemort when I went back to Dumbledore’s… to your office. I thought it was the appropriate place. Those memories are part of a puzzle, part of History. The phial has been under your nose all this time among the other bottles. I wonder you didn’t look there earlier. But I would have told you where it was.”

“I have destroyed them,” said Snape.

“You do as you please, but you can’t take my memories away,” retorted Harry forcibly.

“I don’t want anyone to know about Lily,” said Snape with rising fury in his voice and started to walk towards Harry again. “I told you too much in the forest.” The anguish was clearly written on Snape’s face.

“I know you think you did,” answered Harry backing off, “but you really just told me about a ghoul in the south-east tower at Hogwarts long ago and about a meeting at the Malfoy Manor. I won’t tell anyone!”

“I’ll never again talk to you or to anybody else about Lily. I forbid you to mention her name in front of me,” hissed Snape.

“I won’t. It’s your choice.” Harry tried to keep his voice calm and steady but his hands shook. “I won’t tell anyone what your memories showed and I won’t repeat what you told me in the forest last night.”

“How do I know that you won’t tell?” cried Snape in anguish, brandishing his wand again.

“I owe you my life!” exclaimed Harry in desperation. “Don’t you understand that I’m eternally grateful to you for that? Why can’t you trust me? I’m her son. Do me the courtesy of believing my word!” Harry’s voice crackled. He lowered his wand. So did Snape. They stared at each other. Suddenly Harry went white in his face and staggered backwards.

“What’s the matter? Are you unwell?” said Snape. He grabbed Harry’s left arm to support him.

“I’m just a bit dizzy...  from starving,” Harry said stiffly. He disengaged his arm from Snape’s grip with a jerk.

“I forgot, you haven’t eaten for...” Snape begun to say.

“Several days.” Harry finished the sentence resentfully. He did not look at Snape.

“I can make you some...” Snape gestured toward his kitchen but Harry interrupted him.

“Don’t bother, Sir. I’ll soon be at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley will help me to it. She’ll be more than happy to feed me up.” Harry tried to compose himself. “Thank you again for the help you’ve given me,“ he said formally. The happiness that had been in his voice earlier when he thanked Snape was gone. “You have my word. I won’t speak of your secrets,” he continued.

Snape looked at him blankly.

“Will you promise you won’t try to Obliviate me again?” Harry raised his voice. At last Snape answered:

“You have my word.”

Harry left. Snape offered to accompany him to the Burrow for security reasons but Harry declined firmly but politely, anger and disappointment merely contained. As he walked the few steps into the lane to Disapparate, he thought of Ginny and felt a surge of relief and longing. He would just forget about Snape and go back to his friends. Ron and Hermione were coming back. He was cured and well. He had been liberated from suffering and death. It was all that mattered, he tried to persuade himself.

The volume of sound inside the Three Broomsticks was ear-splitting. The barman had a wild look in his eyes as he struggled to catch the orders that were launched at him from right and left. Mme Rosmerta chuckled as she put down a tray of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey on the table in front of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

“This is worse than when the trolls invaded us last May as they fled the battle,” she said. “Getting through this crowd...” she gestured at the room that was packed with sixth and seventh year students “...is like squeezing through a gnome’s keyhole”. She did not seem at all unhappy about it and they all laughed with her.

For their last year at Hogwarts, Harry and his friends had not arrived by the Hogwarts Express, but Apparated to the nearby village of Hogsmeade. So had the other students of age. Word had got around that the pubs were open again after restorations. Already from four o’clock in the afternoon - several hours before the Hogwarts Express would arrive and they could be let into the castle - the streets had begun to fill with students who greeted each other enthusiastically. Harry looked at the animated faces that surrounded him. People had so much to tell each other. Even if it had been a summer of arduous recuperation and of grieving most students seemed happy to return to something that resembled normal life again.

Ron was telling Dean Thomas, who had joined them at their table, how he and Hermione had gone tracking in the rain forest in Australia to meet up with croc hunters. Harry and Ginny had already heard the story on a number of occasions and listened indolently.

“The natives are almost the only magical people to be found in Australia,” said Ron. “White people who migrated there seem to have been mainly Muggles - we think. Hermione actually didn’t have any time to do research before we left and once we arrived, we had no idea where to find a wizard’s library. Trust me - she was mad about that.”

Ron cast a tender look at Hermione which she returned with an indulgent smile.

“The purpose of the trip was to find Hermione’s parents - which we did eventually. Once we had found them, in a town in the southwest of Australia where they were working as dentists, we had to go easy on them when we were to reverse the Memory Charms that Hermione had cast upon them - so we spent quite some time there, and it was not until the very last few weeks that we could actually do some exploring,” explained Ron.

Harry looked at Hermione but she averted her gaze. He had the impression that she was troubled every time Ron mentioned her parents, but as far as Harry knew, they had been brought home to England safe and sound.

“The forest people were welcoming and generous once they understood that we knew magic.” Hermione launched herself into the conversation. “It’s amazing how open they proved themselves to be, considering how different our branches of magic are. But they were curious and friendly and not suspicious at all. I think they must not have many Black Magic features in their culture.”

“No, because they were croc hunters!” Ron caught in again with enthusiasm. “They had built up a whole bunch of magic reverting to crocodiles. It was amazing!”

They were interrupted now and again by students coming up to their table to shake hands with them. Many wanted to say a few words of thanks to Harry for his exploits last term and express their admiration. Some drew up a chair and got into personal narratives in low voices, bending towards Harry. They told him how the reign of terror of Voldemort had plagued and affected their families and tried to convey in stifled voices their gratitude to Harry for finishing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at last.

Harry listened patiently to the stories, nodding and humming in understanding. Sometimes he was particularly moved by what they told him, and felt his eyes fill with tears. He thanked them, but always finished the interaction by stressing the point that they had all fought and won over Voldemort together. It didn’t leave much time for private conversation with Ron and Hermione, however, and he felt desperate for a pause in the uncalled-for confidences. Therefore, he was delighted when Hagrid buoyantly settled down at their table and concealed Harry from the rest of the room with his large body.

“It’s nice to see you awake and well, ‘Arry,” said Hagrid in a low voice and winked at his young friend. Hagrid’s face was florid and he was slightly unfocused in his movements. Harry wondered whether Hagrid had forgotten that he would have to pick up the younger pupils when they arrived with the Hogwarts express and guide the first years across the lake and up to the castle. He whispered his concern to Hermione who sat next to him.

“I suspect Mme Rosmerta has some dried elderberries in stock that she can distribute”, said Hermione.

“Are they an antidote to drunkenness?” asked Harry. “I think I read something about it.”

“They neutralise the effects of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey,” answered Hermione. “The drawback is that the person who takes them won’t be able to have a drink for another six weeks or so, as they have a long lasting effect. So most people are reluctant to take them.”

“I believe that a few students might benefit from some as well. Do you picture this crowd getting inside the castle to have dinner in the Great Hall with Professor Snape presiding them?” Harry asked ironically.

“Ha, ha... a fine spectacle! Well, Ron and Ginny could use some to start with,” giggled Hermione. Harry wondered whether she was not a candidate herself. Harry usually went easy on drinks. He had learnt to be cautious during the years when he realized that he was connected with Voldemort. He had always dreaded to lose control over his own mind and risk being possessed by the dark wizard.

Ron gesticulated so wildly with his can of Butterbeer that the golden liquid splashed on the table as he told Hagrid about a present they had brought him from Australia.

“They’re outside in a cage. Didn’t want to bring them in here, they would be terrified,” said Ron.

“For once you’ll have some really cute pets at your hands and not the usual beasts that you surround yourself with,” said Hermione sternly.

“But are they magical creatures at all?” Hagrid asked sceptically. “They sound like some kind of ordinary Australian rabbits to me!”

“The forest people were delighted with them and always kept a family of Kangabbits around their settlement. They understand human language and they’re very amenable and helpful if you only take pains to explain things to them. The forest people mostly use them as guards. They’re great acrobats too. They advance by doing flying summersaults. I assure you - it’s magic,” Ron explained eagerly.

“What if they mate and multiply in number like rabbits and take over the whole forest? It’s in a vulnerable state after the battle,” said Hagrid, suspicious. “You need to be careful when you import animals from abroad.”

“Says the person who brought a giant spider into the castle and fed his whole family in the Forbidden Forest. Honestly, Hagrid!” exclaimed Ron. Hagrid only grunted in response.

“The Kangabbits are clever that way too,” intervened Hermione. “They mate and get a number of children who, however, will not reach sexual maturity until their parents die. So they’ll stay in groups of eight or ten and will not multiply exponentially as rabbits do.”

“Speaking of sexual maturity,” Ron blurted out. “Do you think they’ll allow grown up students to visit dormitories?”

“Ron!” squeaked Hermione and flushed red. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Ginny laughed heartily.

“Have you forgotten what dormitories look like, Ron? What will you do of your mates?” Dean asked teasingly.

“We can do magic, no? You dress a tent or something around the bed and you soundproof it.”

“Stop it, Ron! You’ve been living in a tent for too long. It’ll do you good to go back to normal routines and be disciplined,” scolded Hermione.

“There are dungeons under the castle that are legendary for love meetings,” Seamus said dreamingly.

“Doesn’t sound very cosy to me.” Harry wrinkled his nose.

“Oh,” said Ginny, “I believe magic can remedy that. And passion...” she added and looked avidly at Harry. The others laughed.

At that moment the door to the pub opened and Harry watched Draco Malfoy walk in. The buzzing of voices almost died out for a few seconds before it rose to deafening levels as people started to talk animatedly to each other again. A fair-haired man followed Malfoy inside and Harry identified him as one of the Aurors he had been introduced to the week before. Mr Simmings scanned the room with an alert gaze, picked Harry out instantly, nodded and gave him a smile.

So Simmings was to be Malfoy’s attending Auror, Harry thought. He did not envy the man his job. The remaining Death Eaters would, naturally enough, view the Malfoys as traitors and probably persecute them. The Malfoy Manor had been Voldemort’s headquarters during almost his entire reign. The wealthy family had only switched sides in the nick of time. Lucius Malfoy had done his best in the press to exploit the fact that his wife Narcissa had helped Harry Potter to fool Voldemort during the final battle. But since Harry Potter, who was the only trustworthy person present on the occasion to be able to confirm the story, had refused to give any interviews at all to the Daily Prophet during the summer, the news had died out. Therefore, the Malfoys were discredited both by their former allies and by the prevailing establishment. They had not been sent to Azkaban right away, though, but were awaiting a trial. Harry did not think that Kingsley Shacklebolt would be as easily seduced by the Malfoy family’s money as previous ministers of Magic had proven to be. It probably would take some time before the Malfoys would be able to reclaim their position at the top of the magical society again.

Harry watched the barman hesitate before pouring Malfoy the Firewhiskey that he ordered, and noticed that Mme Rosmerta pretended not to see the glass waiting to be served. Malfoy tried to get Simmings fetch it for him. Harry watched the Auror lift his eyebrows and shrug, and Malfoy went to fetch the drink himself on the counter. When he lifted the glass to his lips to have a first sip, Jacob Duffle, a stout sixth year boy from Hufflepuff, knocked his elbow from the side so that Malfoy spilled out the greater part of his drink. Jacob did not apologise but gave Malfoy a cold look. Some students sitting nearby laughed malevolently. Malfoy returned to Simmings without retorting. He made to settle down next to a couple of Slytherin girls, but they called for Jacob to join them so that the only seat became occupied. Nick Smith, a Muggle-born boy from Ravenclaw rose and launched at Malfoy:

“Why are you back? We were not welcome last year. This year it’s your turn to keep away. Your presence is an insult to all Muggle-borns!”

Harry frowned. The atmosphere was getting nasty. He rose to approach Malfoy. He felt everybody’s eyes on him. He inclined his head just a little and Malfoy greeted him in the same way, stiffly.

“Give my regards to your mother, please, and thank her for her help last May,” said Harry in a sufficiently loud voice for those nearby to hear. A murmur went through the room. Malfoy inclined his head again, a pink shade spreading over his cheeks. Harry did not care whether Malfoy was pleased or annoyed by Harry’s initiative. He had not done it to save Malfoy, but to check the nasty commentaries emerging from the crowd.

Harry turned decisively to Simmings, shook his hand and asked him if they had had time to carry out all the security measures planned. Simmings was quick to catch the situation and gestured Harry and Malfoy over to a table a little hidden away at the other side of the bar.

”Mrs Steadfast worked all weekend. At least the ramparts are nearly mended and all the security zones are in place. The castle has been searched several times as well,” said Simmings.

“No one knows all the hidden places of Hogwarts,” said Harry wisely. He noticed a couple sitting at the other end of the table: Mr Burgess and a sullen-looking, slightly plump woman, almost a girl. Mr Burgess gestured for them to join at their table. He rose and greeted Harry with the same effusion as last time, before he introduced his companion.

“This is Melanie Cork - Professor Cork I should say, as she is the new teacher of Potions, but we were just talking about how strange it is for both of us, as inexperienced teachers, to call ourselves professors. Luckily, we won’t be teaching your lot here, we’re only teaching up to OWL level,” said Burgess.

Miss Cork curled her lips sourly as if she did not agree with the demeaning description of herself. She shook hands with Harry and looked only quickly into his eyes before she diverted her gaze.

“Who’ll teach Potions at NEWT level then?” asked Harry, although he had an inkling of what the answer might be.

“Professor Snape himself.” Mr Burgess answered in Miss Cork’s place. “He’ll teach both Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions in the advanced classes.”

“He does like to keep busy,” Harry said dryly.

“A man with many irons in the fire,” Mr Simmings said importantly. “He works with Mrs Steadfast too, on a consultant basis you could say.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry. “What does he do besides what concerns the security at Hogwarts?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to imply it did not concern the security at Hogwarts.” Simmings tried awkwardly to take back what he had said. “Naturally it would be a task for the headmaster. That’s why he’s so involved.” Simmings went quiet. Mr Burgess gave him a weird look.

“Professor Slughorn has retired once again then?” Harry asked Miss Cork. He would like to hear her speak.

“Haven’t you heard? Didn’t you read the newspaper last week?” It was Mr Burgess who intervened eagerly again. “The professor resigned with short notice. The old man has gone into business! There was a long article about it in the Daily Prophet. He’s going to launch a new powerful antidote to snake bites and he’s off to India with a stock of ready-made bottles.”

“He does what?” exclaimed Harry.

“It’s based on an extremely rare ingredient, the Acromentula venom and is, allegedly, very complicated to brew. He has already made some money by selling it to hospitals in Europe, and is hoping to make a fortune in India and the rest of the world,” supplied Burgess.

“That’s nothing but disgusting!” cried Harry. “Slughorn should just give them the formula for free and not try to make money out of it! The antidote’s not very complicated to brew at all. Why do people let themselves be tricked?”

“Well, the selling argument,” said Mr Burgess with an ironical glint in his eye, “...is that the famous “Slughorn-potion”, as he calls it, has saved the Headmaster of Hogwarts school for Witchcraft and Wizardry from the snake bites of the Dark Lord himself! They even had a picture of Professor Snape in the article.”

“Oh, really! Snape must hate to be used for marketing like that!” exclaimed Harry. “Or is he into it somehow, making money too?” he added as an afterthought.

“I think not.” Miss Cork opened her mouth for the first time. She had a mature and rather sensual tone of voice. Malfoy, who had not participated in the conversation but sat with his gaze fixed on a carving on the table, lifted his eyes to look at her. “The headmaster called me in with short notice as you might imagine,” she continued haughtily, “and when he explained the situation to me there was no way of mistaking his irritation, not to say fury, about Professor Slughorn’s way of acting.”

“How come Snape turned to you?” asked Malfoy this time.

“I left Hogwarts five years ago. I was Professor Snape’s student and I was good at potion-making. I’ve been working in an Apothecary since“, she answered. Malfoy and Miss Cork fell into conversation.

“I’ll go for more drinks. Can I get you something?” asked Mr Burgess and Malfoy took the opportunity of having another Firewhiskey. Harry excused himself to his new acquaintances. He had just spotted Neville and Luna at a table even further in under the sloping roof behind the bar counter. Neville tried to stand up as Harry approached but had to bend over not to hit his head. He greeted Harry with a smile and an outstretched hand. Harry grabbed it and pulled Neville into a big hug.

“I’m so glad to see you!” he exclaimed. “You look well!” They sat down.

“Hello Luna,” Harry said fondly to the fair-haired, eerie-looking girl.

“Hello Harry!” she responded dreamingly. “You look wiser without your glasses,” she observed. “Thin... you’re thin. You’ve had a bad summer too, haven’t you? Attacked by Muffle-beings, or what?”

Harry felt himself blush. Luna’s power of perception was frighteningly accurate. Combined with the belief that the world was inhabited by invisible or non-existing bizarre creatures, her strange observations made most people laugh at her, however.

“I had a bad summer too,” said Luna slowly. “My father’s gone, you know... but Neville here saved me.”  Neville laid his right hand over both her small hands on the table between them. “I’m used to grief of course, since my mother died and I’m not afraid of it. I wandered around in father’s house, trying to tidy things up a bit. But there were Nargle-sniffers and Hazy-makers and Tripsy-happers that assailed me from everywhere and even though I’m not afraid of them, I got so tired from trying to make them see reason that I didn’t really know where I was anymore. I was dissolving in light vapours that sailed away in different directions and I felt torn and unreal, if you know what I mean?” She looked inquiringly at Harry. “So I went to Neville’s grandmother’s place and he made me a bit more real again. He has a strong and constant focal point of magic in his being, whereas mine is wandering about too much. I’ve sort of attached myself to Neville to steady myself up. It’s pleasant to be attached to such a friendly and warm person.” Neville blushed when she spoke. Harry didn’t understand much of what Luna said, but he thought it was beautifully put anyhow and he touched her arm and said kindly:

“I’m glad that you’re here, Luna. I like to meet you in the real world from time to time.” 

“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered in a frail voice.

Harry went back to Ron and Hermione. Ginny had moved away to some friends at another table. She waved happily at Harry. She was in her right element. She was having a wonderful time and she certainly deserved it, Harry thought. As he passed the bar, he rounded Hagrid who stood in front of Mme Rosmerta with arms hanging at his sides. He made plucky efforts to convince the unyielding lady that he did not need the elderberries she presented to him.

“Take them, Hagrid,” Harry hissed up to the half-giant’s shoulder as he passed, “or someone at the castle will be discontented.” Hagrid slung him a dark look, grabbed the berries from Mme Rosmerta’s hand and walked out of the pub, chewing demonstratively. Quite a few people laughed at him. The time grew nearer for them all to break up and make way to the castle. The animation grew to a crescendo as students wanted to savour the last moments of thoughtless freedom.

Harry looked out over the crowd. Only a few days ago he had not believed it possible to belong to this gang. The brittle boundaries between the shameful existence he had almost put himself in, and the exuberant happiness of belonging, almost overwhelmed him. As he looked at a bunch of sixth year students who were joking and bickering at each others, his eyes were caught by a brown-haired boy standing in their midst. Harry could see that the boy was quite out of it - he smiled and nodded at people around him but the eyes were without life. Harry could have sworn that the boy did not hear a word of what was said. Suddenly their gazes met and the boy stared for a few seconds at Harry who made an almost imperceptible, sympathising twitch with his head. Someone rose between them and eye contact was lost.

There was a great hubbub as people scraped their chairs, paid their drinks and collected their belongings to set off. Harry left together with Ron and Hermione. He heard Ginny giggling with her girlfriends behind him and he saw Malfoy in the company of Simmings move ahead of them. The crowd streamed like a lemming migration along the winding road. They reached and passed the ramparts through the golden gate that was now in place, but when they approached the entrance to the castle the crowd slowed down and stopped. People further down the line started to shout irritably at the people in front to move on.

“Security,” someone said and the word was passed down the impatient line. They advanced slowly and as they finally approached the entrance, they heard upset voices, screams and the hissing voice of Mr Filch. They soon saw the vicious caretaker in front of what looked like a narrow pergola overgrown with a thick leaved plant.

“Planta sensitiva” - It will punch you if you touch its leaves,” said Neville. They watched how students were let into the tunnel of leaves one by one. A great proportion of them were expelled from the pergola. These students were caught by Filch and forced to take a gulp from a big bottle that Filch handed them.

“Elderberry juice, I reckon. It’s even stronger than the dried berries. It steadies them so that they can go through,” said Hermione. “A bit humiliating but effective, I’d say. Professor Snape is making a statement here, pointing out who’s in charge,” she analysed sententiously. But when it was her turn, she swore loudly as the plant threw her out as well. “It’s hypersensitive!” she complained. Neville and Harry passed the pergola without difficulties, however, even if Filch made Harry come back and do it no less than three times.

“Are you fooling me, Potter?” Filch said suspiciously. Harry shrugged and did not enter into an argument but waited until Filch let him go. Luna, on the other hand, had problems even after she had drunk her potion.

“I’m simply an unsteady person,” she tried to explain to Filch who made her take three gulps in all, before he let Neville stun the plant temporarily as she went through.

The crowd that entered the Great Hall was less happy and much grumpier than the crowd which had left the Three Broomsticks. But at the familiar sight of the beautifully decorated hall, spirits rose somewhat again. The ceiling mirroring the sky was the deepest dark blue. Candles were lit in the air. The younger pupils were already seated, except the first-years who were to come in later for the sorting. The older students sat down at their respective tables. Harry looked up at the podium where the staff table was placed. The chair in the middle was empty.  

Everything was so familiar. What if Dumbledore turned up and sat down at his usual place and looked out over them with his penetrating blue gaze? Harry closed his eyes and lowered his head at the surge of regret that mounted in him. When he looked up again, Professor McGonagall entered the room, followed by the small eleven-year-old pupils for whom it was the first time to enter the Great Hall. Harry could see the awe on their faces. They were unusually numerous. Harry began to wonder how accommodations and class rooms would be managed this year with such a surplus of students who wanted to catch up. To his surprise the first year pupils were followed by no other than Snape in company with Mrs Steadfast.

So Snape had not fallen for the temptation to do a more spectacular entry than that, Harry thought. He had not known what to expect. Snape spoke in a low voice to Mrs Steadfast before he climbed the podium in a few resilient steps. The stern professor was clad in black as usual, and his long cloak billowed behind him. Mrs Steadfast took position discreetly at the side. The humming voices in the hall abated to silence. Snape greeted them all, stressing the point that he especially welcomed “...all those who were prohibited by the dark regime to attend school last year – I’m speaking of course of Muggle-borns and those who resisted Lord Voldemort in other ways.”

“The words are all very well. I just wish he wouldn’t look so blank-faced when he speaks them,” Hermione whispered to Harry.

“At least he didn’t call Voldemort the Dark Lord as he used to do,” Harry pointed out in a murmur.

They proceeded to the sorting. The sorting hat made its introduction to the four houses at Hogwarts and described the qualities that characterised Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. It finished off with a personal reflection:

Once it was my fate to sort

A boy who featured Voldemort.

Slytherins should not feel shame,

He would have turned out just the same.

 It was too late to save him.

He was vanquished at some cost.

Let not the sacrifice be lost.

We have to fight what is vile

And struggle then to reconcile,

Or war might be repeated.

Gryffindors, you brave,

Teach us to behave.

Hufflepuffs, you nice,

Teach us to entice

A gentle clime of conduct.

Ravenclaws, your wit

Teaches how to fit,

Slytherins, you cold,

Show us how to mould,

Into worth and keenness.

Is it seething to comply?

Listen closely to my reply:

To stress the point and make it clear,

I give the most part of this year

To find your understanding.

You cannot rush a complex course -

Guilt is involved and remorse.

Do not retaliate in fear,

But find the guts to house - or clear -

Your distrust and misgivings.

Harry followed the sorting distractedly as he contemplated what the sorting hat had said. He looked at Ron who was unusually silent since taking the elderberry potion. Ron was staring at a small, dark-haired boy who disappeared under the hat to emerge as a Ravenclaw pupil and join his table under applause.

“It’s so long ago and yet not,” said Ron with regret. “How fortunate that we didn’t know then all the things that were going to happen.” He looked dreamingly at Harry. “We just cared about fitting in and about eating deserts and...”

“You’re getting sentimental,” Hermione bickered at him.

“Leave him be sentimental then, there’s no harm,” said Harry in a conciliatory tone.

When the sorting was done, Snape swept forward again, made a gesture with his hand and suddenly the tables filled up with delicate food of all kinds and tastes. “Tuck in!” said Snape. Most of the students had already thrown themselves over the dishes and didn’t hear him. Harry, however, sat still and looked at the new headmaster. He was sure the short command had been a tribute to Dumbledore who used to make a point of not being prolix before dinner. Just as Snape’s gaze turned towards the Gryffindor table, Harry blinked and swallowed, turned his head and started to help himself to some salmon tart and pommes duchesses.

After dessert, Snape rose to make some announcements. He started with the introduction of the new teachers. Save Mr Burgess and Miss Cork, there was a new teacher in Muggle relations. The subject had been suspended - or at least altered beyond recognition - last year as the former teacher, Charity Burbage, had been killed by Voldemort the summer before last. Snape also seemed, at last, to have gotten rid of Professor Trelawney, the Divinations teacher and a timid middle-aged man, a Professor Sawman, was introduced as the new teacher on the post. Miss Cork was sensationally pronounced the new head of Slytherin at which the older Slytherin students sniggered in disbelief.

“As former head of Slytherin, I’ll personally keep an eye on you as well,” Snape added warningly to the Slytherin table. Harry noticed that Malfoy did not once look up at Snape.

“I’m soon going to give the word to Mrs Steadfast who is the head of the Auror’s Office from the Ministry of Magic and in charge of security measures at Hogwarts. Before that, though, I take upon myself to make some elucidations about the regulations at Hogwarts. First of all, let me make it clear that rules apply to everybody without exception. Now, extra rules have been added to help those who repeat a year for various reasons focus on their education. This is particularly important for the fifth and seventh years who will pass their OWL and NEWT exams at the end of next term. As you might have noticed, no prefects have been chosen among students who repeat their year. Nor will those students be allowed to join up for leisure activities...  including Quidditch teams.”

An outcry of upset voices echoed through the Hall.

“You can’t do that!” someone spoke loudly.” Ginny bent forward over the Gryffindor table to seek Harry out with an outraged gaze. No quidditch! Harry felt a surge of anger and regret but it subsided surprisingly quickly. There was a point in concentrating on schoolwork this year. Quidditch training had a tendency to swallow an amazing amount of your time. It’s just that it had been nicer to make that choice on your own and not to be forced into it by regulations. He sighed and cast Snape a dark glance.

“You’re unusually numerous this year.” Snape broke in and silenced the buzzing. “In particular we have many witches and wizards of age and above. A lot of you have already lived a year outside this castle and might have savoured the privileges of adult life. This, however, is a school, and rules apply notwithstanding your age. So let me stress a few points: Social visits to common rooms only. No visits to dormitories. Do I make myself clear?”

A few laughs were heard on top of disapproving mutterings.

“I also happen to know that the older students gathered at Hogsmeade this afternoon. I hope that you had a pleasant time. But...” Snape sharpened his voice. “The partake of pleasures is to be such that it does not have a pernicious influence on the behaviour expected at school. Most of you have become acquainted with Professor Sprout’s “Planta sensitiva” tonight. That’s to show the standard that is expected from you when you step inside this castle.”

A long-faced boy at the Ravenclaw table, Patrick Mattey, rose and addressed Snape directly.

“It was humiliating. You limit our freedom and attack our integrity, that’s what you’re doing. We just got rid of one tyrant. We don’t want to live under another this year!” he shouted.

A shocked buzz was followed by silence. Snape took a step towards the speaker and replied calmly.

“It’s not my intention to tyrannise you. I merely clarify the rules of this school. You’re of age. If you want to live a different kind of life, you’re free to quit,” he said.

People started to talk animatedly again.

"One more thing...” Snape drew a breath.  “During the past year you have lived difficult moments. Some have suffered severe losses. You might have stood on different sides, if not in action, maybe in opinions. I want the older students to set the example to the younger pupils. No fights in the school corridors, no retaliations within these walls or on Hogwarts grounds at all. And I might add that the Ministry decrees that acts of reprisals are punishable offences wherever they take place. People who are charged for committing crimes during the Voldemort regime will face trials and it’s the Ministry’s responsibility to pronounce judgements on them. It’s not up to you!”

The hall started to buzz again. Some heads nodded in agreement but others were shaken in angry disbelief.  A loud voice from the Hufflepuff table cried out.

“You only say that to save your own skin!” And from further down the hall: “How can they let you stay as headmaster?”  Snape’s lips were tightly pressed together. The teachers at the staff table squirmed uneasily. Professor McGonagall made an attempt to rise but when Snape looked at her she sat down. Snape spoke again.

“Last year was difficult. I know that all those of you who attended Hogwarts witnessed and suffered atrocities from the Death Eaters who taught here. But Voldemort reigned. My powers were limited to confine the damage to a minimum.”

Harry heard a nearby Gryffindor girl sneer. “Yeah, you say that. What do we know?” Harry was surprised by the strength of the protests and the depth of the distrust among the pupils toward Snape. It dawned on him again to what extent Snape’s role during the war had been ambiguous, and how confusing it must be for someone who had not witnessed Snape’s memories, like Harry had done, to make out on which side of the line Snape had stood. He looked at Ron, who sat with an open mouth and a confused look in his eyes, and at Hermione who frowned and shook her head.

“You might have to say something, Harry,” she whispered to him. Harry pulled a wry face. It was the last thing he wanted to do. He was sure that Snape would not appreciate if he interfered. Jacob Duffle at the Hufflepuff table rose.

“You restrained it to a minimum, did you? You Crucioed people! Is that what you’re going to do to us if you catch us at it, in one of the dungeons?” Several students gasped at the vulgar allusion and the entire Hall went silent. Snape’s face was white with anger. Harry saw some first years duck in their seats, terrified.

“I defy you to prove that I hurt a single pupil last year.” Snape spoke warningly in his quiet, waspish voice. A tall girl from Slytherin rose, with a calculating look in her eyes.

“You had other persons to do that for you, didn’t you?” she challenged Snape.

Three persons were standing up - one each at the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin tables.

“That’s enough! I’m the headmaster of this school and those of you who have a problem with that will have to turn to the School Board or to the Ministry. If you want to stay as pupils, however, you will behave accordingly and accept me as your headmaster,” insisted Snape in a grim voice, but no one sat down. Heads turned towards the Gryffindor table. Harry had been whispering to Dean Thomas and felt the gazes in his neck as he leaned back. Dean rose and spoke simply.

“We think that what happened last year should be left for the Ministry to inquire into. We believe Professor Snape has done an efficient job at restoring the school and we’re happy for the opportunity to complete our education. We’re here to work and not to cause a riot. And… er…” Dean glanced quickly at Harry. ”Ah, yeah… we believe all should consider what the sorting hat just said,” finished Dean a bit sheepishly.

“Well spoken from the Gryffindor table!” A resolute Mrs Steadfast stepped forward at Snape’s side before anyone in the audience could retort. “As the person in charge, on the Ministry’s behalf, of security at Hogwarts, I’d like to add that any assault on the legitimate school management will be taken down by my Aurors, who are guarding the school from attacks from the outside as well as from within,” said Mrs Steadfast and proceeded firmly to go through security regulations which included a short term restriction to exit the castle without the company of an Auror, or a teacher, until the ramparts were properly repaired, as well as an absolute prohibition to enter the Forbidden Forest, applying for the entire school year. When she finished, Snape made an imperative movement with his hand.

“Now, off you go to your houses. Time tables will be distributed by Professor McGonagall after breakfast tomorrow. Prefects, guide your new wards!” he said. People obeyed him and rose.

”That was a narrow escape,” Hermione murmured as they left the table. ”I’ve never seen such determined distrust directed at an authority.”

”It’s a complex matter,” Harry answered vaguely. He was tired and did not wish to linger on the subject.

”No quidditch for students who repeat a class…” muttered Ginny and shook her head. ”That excludes a lot of people. Now the positions of the team are completely open.”

“It’s actually a relief not to be a Prefect,” muttered Ron as they made their way to Gryffindor’s common room behind the troop of first years, each of the four friends in deep thoughts.

Harry woke at dawn. He had slept soundly without dreams. All the beds in the dormitory, except Ron’s, were still occupied by his sleeping fellow students. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom were all back to study for NEWT exams. Ron was up and about to dress.

“I’m going to send an owl to the Burrow,” whispered Ron. “I forgot last night. I promised Mum that I’d send one as soon as we got here. I’ve been lying awake for hours.”

Ron had received a shock when he returned from his voyage, because of the worn look of his mother. When it was time to depart for Hogwarts, Ron had been reluctant to leave her again so shortly after coming back. Harry thought that Mrs Weasley had made Ron promise to write more for her son’s sake than for her own. He could not bring himself to explain this to Ron, however.

”I’ll come with you,” he said instead.

Ron took two steps at a time down to the Entrance Hall. Harry was close on his heels. The walls and the floor of the hall still bore marks of the curses and spells that had flown through the room three months ago. Cracks and burn marks had been left unembellished. Halfway across the floor, Ron stopped abruptly and stared at a pillar at the opposite side. That spot, Harry recalled with an unpleasant jolt in his chest, was where the Weasley family had gathered around Fred’s dead body. Ron approached slowly, staring at the piece of marble stone where his brother had lain.

“I shouldn’t have gone away,” said Ron in a stifled voice. “How could I be so stupid?”

“Ron, you needed to be happy with Hermione. You needed to go away. There was nothing wrong with that”, said Harry.

“I just put it out of my head“, whispered Ron. “I’ve not had two thoughts about Fred during our stay abroad. It was like everything we had been through just vanished.”

“I guess that’s the way it works when you travel”, said Harry. “I wouldn’t know much about it, of course, but I can imagine that horrible things that you’d rather not think about will disappear in the shade of newer, more pleasant experiences. That’s just the way it is, I suppose. You’re not to blame.” Harry laid a hand on Ron’s tense shoulder and squeezed it gently. 

At the Owlery, Ron explained that he had not yet actually composed the letter to Mrs Weasley and that it would take a while for him to do so. Harry’s stomach screamed for breakfast but he resigned to wait and settled down on an embrasure that gave over the north-west part of the Forbidden Forest. It stretched out far away, as if endless. The long shadows of the castle were cast over the lawn and into the brim of trees.  In the corner of his field of vision, Harry registered a movement of the branches of some red leaved bushes that grew at the entrance of a path that plunged into the forest. An animal, perhaps, thought Harry. He moved to another embrasure facing south-west and watched Hagrid moving about in his garden plot, with Fang and the two Kangabbits at his side.

Harry paced impatiently around the tower where the owls were sitting on their perches, suspended in the air by hundreds, like a living pillar. A beautiful barn owl stared irritably at him. Harry had lost Hedwig a year ago. As he had not really prepared his return to Hogwarts this year at all, he had not considered buying a new one. It would be more for company than for use, though, for who did he have to write to? The Dursleys, Harry grinned to himself, would be terrified to receive owl post. He wanted nothing to do with them anyway.  And in case he wanted to write to the Weasleys, he could just add a note to one of Ron’s letters.

***

Hermione and Ginny waited for them at the breakfast table. Ron and Harry only just had time to shovel down some egg and bacon. As Harry stretched out a hand to grab a toast, it dissolved in his hand and the table was cleared. He swore to himself. He had not had time to finish his tea and he was still hungry, but breakfast was over, and Professor McGonagall started to distribute timetables. Ginny was in the same year as Harry now. Even if she had not completed her sixth year at Hogwarts, an individual inquiry by the teachers had given at hand that she had profited enough by her sixth year to move on. Professor McGonagall cleared her voice.

“Professor Snape has asked me to clarify that when it comes to the rules applying for the classrooms and the corridors, and alo concerning the range of punishments, they are the same as in Professor Dumbledore’s days. Decrees that were issued during the Voldemort regime are, of course, nullified”, said the Transfiguration teacher. An appreciative murmur rose.

“He’s trying to buy his popularity back”, said Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff sourly. Harry who stood by his side muttered:

“But he’s never been popular, has he? Doesn’t stand a chance of building a new reputation either, by the way it looks.”

“You think we should give him a chance?” asked Zacharias, incredulous. Like everyone in Harry’s year he knew perfectly well how unfairly Snape had always treated Harry in class and what hatred had prevailed between teacher and pupil throughout the years. Harry shrugged.

“I’m only here for one year. I intend to focus on my work. I don’t care if he is loathed or lauded”, he said with studied indifference.

“But do you believe he was not a real Death Eater?” interposed a girl from Gryffindor. Several heads turned to Harry as he answered.

“I believe he was on Dumbledore’s side all along, yes”, said Harry.

“You believe that beyond a doubt?” sneered a broad-shouldered, spruce-looking boy from Slytherin.

“Beyond a doubt”, said Harry curtly, irritated by the implied accusation of naivety, and turned away.

Their first class was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. She kept them waiting for nearly half an hour before she turned up, breathless.

“I’m sorry - a lot of questions about the timetables... Too much to do...” she muttered to herself as she let them in. “This lesson is abridged. My apologies!” she said loudly to them as they settled down. “I’ll only have time to introduce you to the subjects we’ll study this year and run through what will be expected of you at your NEWT exam.”

Ron sighed deeply and sought eye contact with Harry who, however, had his eyes fastened on Professor McGonagall.

“The challenge this year will be to combine different modalities of magic with the art of Transfiguration and perform chains and patterns of magic as opposed to one-point instant magic. It requires a high level of concentration, swiftness and...” she stressed the point by looking severely at them “...thorough theoretical knowledge. You’ll not be able to slip through this year on talent only, let me make that clear.” Hermione narrowed her eyes with determination. She was a little red on her cheeks and looked at Professor McGonagall with ardour in her eyes. Meanwhile, Ron played absentmindedly with his quill.

Professor McGonagall released them from her class soon enough and they had an hour’s gap in their timetable, before a double Charms lesson with Professor Flitwick before lunch. No one reckoned they wanted to start to work quite yet, except Hermione who considered going to the library just to check out a few things that Professor McGonagall had said in class, but she was talked out of it and resolutely dragged away by Ron. They settled down under a radiant sun on the lawn at the inner court. It was crowded as no one was let out on the outer grounds. Harry spotted another of Mrs Steadfast’s Aurors - a short, but tough-looking young woman - stationed at the portal.

Ginny lay on the grass with her head in Harry’s lap. Her eyes were closed to the sun. Harry leaned his back against a pillar and stroked the soft, ginger hair from Ginny’s forehead gently. Hermione sat beside him equally relaxed. She smiled happily.

“It feels so good to be back,” she said. “It’ll be so restful just to work and study. Like a vacation, if you know what I mean? I long to go into that library... You can’t imagine...”

“You’re nuts, Hermione,” said Ron in a drawling voice. He was also lying on his back on the grass. “But then you always were when it came to books. I’m not surprised.”

“This year I’m behind”, said Hermione. “I just haven’t had time to read through the school books like I used to do.”

“Stop worrying, Hermione!” protested Ron.

“I feel the same as you, Hermione”, said Harry. “I feel unloaded. Really light, like I could run for miles and miles without becoming the least tired. I long to get started and to work just for the fun of it, just to learn, to get good... And no one’s life depends on my performance, you know? The world won’t collapse if I fail. Compared to last year, it’s a child’s play... I don’t reckon I’ll feel any pressure at all this year... because of the exams, I mean. It’s such a relief. A mark of favour, really.”

“You do want to succeed, though”, objected Hermione. “Your career depends on it. If you want to do something useful in life, you need to get good marks to enter the program you’re interested in or to get a good job.”

“Oh”, intervened Ginny, “don’t exaggerate. Look at Fred and George... or at George, I mean... He’s done really well with only some mediocre OWL exams. With a bit of determination and imagination you’ll succeed whatever you set our mind on.”

Fred and George had opened a joke shop after they left school in sixth year and it had become a success.

“The established paths for traditional careers are not necessarily the most interesting ones”, continued Ginny. “But I want to become an Auror anyhow, just like you Harry. I know I’m good at fighting. I’ll just take after my mother, won’t I? I mean - look what she did to Bellatrix.” Ginny was jeering, but there was no way of mistaking the strike of pride in her voice.

“You’re good... You’re really powerful, Ginny”, said Hermione. “You could choose from a lot of different careers. Ministry doesn’t tempt you, then?”

“No chance!” exclaimed Ginny. “When I see the amount of work my father puts there, for almost nothing in return… And Percy, with all his mementos and memorandums and whatever... It seems so dull! No, I’d like something more exciting.”

“I’m almost determined to go into law”, said Hermione. “There’s so much to do, if not in legislation, but in the implementation of laws. There’s an opportunity now, I believe, in the aftermaths of Voldemort, to push the rights of different minorities forth. I’m speaking of house elves, for example, forest people and magical creatures... and giants,” she added after a slight hesitation.

“You’ll be a great lawyer”, said Harry. He no longer made fun of her devotion to the house elves’ rights.

“It’s important that people accused of being involved with Voldemort are fairly judged. I’m glad that Kingsley Shacklebolt doesn’t rush things. Those found guilty should be sent to Azkaban, but you must take into account the prevailing circumstances. Take the Malfoys, for example. That’s really difficult to say. On the one hand it’s obvious they’re guilty, on the other hand you could tell that Draco was terrified of Voldemort, and his mother did help you out in the end… Oh... Ron’s asleep”, exclaimed Hermione. “I guess he has not quite readjusted to British time yet...”

“He told me that he lay awake part of the night. He wanted to send an owl to Mrs Weasley. That’s why we were late for breakfast this morning”, Harry told her.

“He’s worried”, said Hermione quietly. “It hit him unawares when we came back.” Ginny rose brusquely from Harry.

“I’m going to have a word with the Patil twins”, she said determinedly. Harry watched her scampering away. Hermione looked taken aback.

“Ron’ll be okay eventually, as time goes by... as will Mrs Weasley... and Ginny...” Harry said uncertainly, as if trying to convince himself. Hermione sighed sadly. After a short silence, she returned to their prior discussion.

“What about your career, Harry? You could choose anything, couldn’t you? They would love to have you at the Ministry. You’re a favourite with Kingsley already. But you still want to become an Auror, just like your parents, don’t you?” she said.

“I won’t take any short-cuts”, answered Harry. “I’ll only go where my true merits allow me to go. Listen Hermione, I need you to do me a favour...” Harry started to explain eagerly to her. “And there’s no need for anyone to know before we see how it works out, is there? They would just think it’s crazy”, he finished off.

“You seem really determined, Harry”, said Hermione and looked at him searchingly.

“I want to give it a try, that’s all.” Harry shrugged, averting his gaze.

***

The classroom where Charms with Professor Flitwick was held, was crowded. There were more people taking this subject than Transfiguration and students from all four Houses were united.

“For practical reasons...” Professor Flitwick shouted to make himself heard, and the chatter subsided. “First years are numerous so we had to split up their classes, which means doubled teaching time and we just cannot manage to split you up too. It won’t fit into the teachers’ already tight time tables. So we will focus on the theory in classes. You’ll take turns to practice under my guidance in groups and I’m sorry to say that you’ll have to practice a lot on your own. Oh... Miss Parkinson, you are ill seated. This is a nuisance... Wait...”

It took Professor Flitwick several minutes to enlarge the classroom and conjure up more tables and chairs. They ended up a little more comfortable, but the classroom was more of an assembly hall now, than a room.

“For the first weeks, we’re going to study Obliviating charms”, said Flitwick. Ron, who had until then been dazed by sleep, stretched his back and said in a less than quiet voice:

“Just ask Hermione. She knows everything about Obliviating. After what she did to her parents...” Hermione tried to hush Ron, but Flitwick turned his head in their direction.

“Is it true, Miss Granger, that you have performed Obliviating charms on your own?” asked the teacher.

“Yes, Sir, it is.” Hermione coloured a little.

“Good, I’ll come back to you then, and you’ll tell us”, said Flitwick.

Hermione shot Ron a reproaching glance.

“First of all, I want to hear from you what uses of Obliviating that you know of?” Professor Flitwick looked down the room. “Yes, Mr Smith?”

“The Ministry officers use them on Muggles when they’ve witnessed magic by mistake. And at St Mungo’s hospital they use them as treatment on traumatised wizards and witches to lessen their suffering. My little sister needed an Obliviating treatment after she witnessed the Death Eaters kill my father.” Zacharias’ mouth twisted.

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss”, said Professor Flitwick gently. “Did the treatment do your sister any good?”

“I guess so.” Zacharias spoke hesitantly. “At least my sister calmed down. She was all in hysterics at first. They gave her a sleeping draught to begin with, to see if she would be calmer when she woke up, but she started screaming all over again, so they just did it - they Obliviated her. She’s a bit shut off from reality, if you know what I mean? And sometimes she seems confused. But she’s back from the hospital and she doesn’t have the fits anymore, so I guess it helped.” Harry thought Zacharias did not sound all too convinced.

“It is, I believe, a not altogether uncontroversial treatment. Healers have different opinions whether to use Obliviatings or not. To Obliviate a person is a serious matter”, said Professor Flitwich. “You should not do it lightly. It’s my personal belief that Obliviating charms, together with Legilimency, should be regulated harder by the Ministry. There are laws that forbid the degenerated uses of these practices, of course, but the implementation of those laws is poor. And as long as the Ministry itself uses Obliviatings so liberally, I don’t think its adverse effects carry any weight with them.”

The students looked surprised at his criticism of the Ministry of Magic.

“What I mean to say is that you should be very careful and think twice before you use them. Even in the more innocent contexts where you might use light charms only to modify part of a person’s short-term memory, it’s an ethical issue, because obviously you do it to have some kind of advantage over that person. This is, by the way, your first assignment for the term”, added Professor Flitwick.

Hermione bent forward to take notes.

“You’ll write an essay on the ethical implications of Obliviating Charms. Now, I know that, as a rule, Slytherin students in particular have great difficulties with this sort of subject, so do start working in due time and try to apply yourselves. You don’t need to take stands in your essays, but I want you to identify the different ethical problems and discuss them in your texts.” Groans were heard from the right side of the classroom where most of the Slytherin students were seated.

“I’m not sure they know what ’ethical’ means”, Harry whispered to Ron.

“I’m not sure I do either”, Ron said sulkily, angry at getting homework already.

“Now, Miss Granger. You’ve performed an Obliviating Charm on your own parents - is that correct? Considering the ethical issues I just brought to attention, it’ll be interesting to hear your motives and mode of procedure”, said Professor Flitwick and raised his eyebrows. Hermione looked at him for a short while, before she made up her mind and started to speak in a clear but monotonous voice.

“I proceeded through twenty consecutive steps.  I combined it with transfiguration and vanishing spells on objects in my parents’ vicinity. You see, I had to make my parents forget that they had a daughter...” she said.

A collective gasp echoed in the large classroom which subsequently fell so silent that you could hear hearts beating. Harry lowered his head. Ron looked pleadingly at Hermione. He obviously regretted his intervention at the start of the lesson. Hermione went on:

“Ron and I had decided to help Harry Potter on the mission he had been allotted by Dumbledore, in order to be able to get rid of Lord Voldemort. We had to do it. We wanted to do it.” She looked at Harry. “My parents are Muggles, so they were at an exposed situation at any rate. But I judged the risk of them being used by Voldemort to get to me, to get to Harry, as very high. I wanted them as far away as possible and under another identity. And...there was real danger, you know... if I didn’t make it... if something happened to me during the fight... I wanted them to be able to live on without pain... I wanted to spare them... That’s what I told myself I wanted to do, at any rate...” she said falteringly and looked down on her desk.

“My dear girl!” Professor Flitwick had to clear his throat. “You need not go on. We understand your motive perfectly.”

“No, I want to tell you about it”, continued Hermione, “because of what you said earlier. So that people will learn that Obliviating charms might have undesired effects – it’s not that simple. Here’s what happened to my parents: My charm succeeded. My parents forgot they’d ever had me. I erased every photo, every name in books and removed all items that might remind them of me. They moved to Australia a year ago and started a dentist’s practice. When Ron and I found them this summer - I left to search for them as soon as possible after Voldemort had fallen - when we found them, they were doing just fine. That was the worst part...” Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper.

“It was difficult to reverse the charms. I was too eager with my mother from the beginning. She turned confused and aggressive and I had to Obliviate her back for a while. Then I had to undo the charms one by one and wait several days in between. They got their memory back eventually and we brought them home to England. But I’m not sure if I did the right thing. I mean... I changed their whole life and they didn’t even have a say. Only... if I had talked to them, they wouldn’t have let me go with Ron and Harry.”

As Hermione spoke, Harry looked at his classmates’ faces and realised to what extent her story shocked and moved them. He had never thought that he would see Pansy Parkinson with tears in her eyes, but he did. The Slytherin girl recovered quickly, though.

“Of course you did the right thing. They wouldn’t have understood”, she sneered.

“Maybe I should have taken pains to explain properly. Let them decide on their own. Maybe they would have chosen to go under cover here in England”, said Hermione.

“They’re Muggles!” exclaimed Pansy. “They wouldn’t understand what Voldemort really was.”

“Muggles have minds of their own, you know,” Hermione said heatedly. “I’m afraid I did it all for myself, because I couldn’t stand to worry about them. I did it to spare me the fear and the pain if they were going to be killed. It was all about sparing me the humiliation if I were to betray Harry because of them. And to spare me the trouble of contradicting them and finding myself in disgrace with them, if I had had to disobey them to do what I had to do.”

After this confession, the discussion exploded in the room, with arguments flying in all directions. Ron stood up at Hermione’s side, fending off verbal attacks as though they were curses. He did not even look for suitable arguments but shovelled everything off fiercely to give her time to recover her senses.

***

Late that afternoon, Professor McGonagall sat exhausted in the teacher’s common room when Professor Flitwick came in through the door and threw himself on a leather-clad chair. He let out a groan and rubbed his face with his hands.

“Rough time?” asked Professor Sprout. “I thought Charms was a peaceful subject, as opposed to the treacherous and dangerous work with gardening...” Professor Flitwick smiled faintly at her and muttered:

“Huge classes... Wrought up pupils... Not a lesson without one or two of them ending up in tears... Didn’t catch any lunch as the lesson with the NEWT students degenerated into a verbal battlefield. It was good actually... it illustrated my point exactly... Slytherin students engaged in an ethical discussion! Can you imagine? Excellent! Only, students got a bit carried away... Took me some time to regain control over the class and start to structure their arguments.”

“What was it all about then?” asked Minerva McGonagall with curiosity. Flitwick rubbed his face again and told them Hermione’s story.

“Miss Granger wonders whether she did the right thing”, he finished. There was a shocked silence in the room. Minerva McGonagall’s voice trembled when she finally said:

“They’re so brave, those three. Braver than for their own good, perhaps.”

“It’s not only them,” said Professor Hooch. “All day I’ve heard the most dreadful stories. There are several children who’ve lost a parent or a sibling. It’s horrible.”

“It’s true”, provided Professor Sawman, the new Divinations teacher. “There are sorrows among the students. In the corridor today a little girl broke down in front of one of the Gargoyle statues. She said it saved her life as it shielded her from a curse, whereas her brother died beside her.” The teachers pondered this. They looked exhausted. Minerva McGonagall turned towards a figure sitting at the farther end of the room.

“Severus, you might have to do something about it. Accept the aid from St Mungo’s that the Ministry offered”, she said. Snape stirred slightly in his dark corner.

“One person, part time, with some obscure, mind-soothing healing competence, what could he possibly do? Which students should he treat to start with? Listening to you, half of the students are in need of support. I believe we’re better off focusing on school work and by being as supportive as we can, as we go by”, said the headmaster.

“We might succumb under the burden”, protested Professor Flitwick. “To have someone to refer a pupil in bad mental health to would be helpful.”

“We already have Mme Pomfrey. The symbolic presence of a mind-healer is questionable. It’s in the range of doing something, just for the sake of acting, regardless its uses - and I don’t like it”, snapped Snape, “...but I’ll consider it all the same”, he added as he took in the abated faces of his teachers. 

“At least I have exempted Miss Granger from attending classes for the coming weeks. She obviously knows how to perform Obliviating charms better than myself. She can dispose of her time better”, said Professor Filtwick.

Snape rose.

“Do you have class this late?” asked Mme Sprout.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts, NEWT class”, replied Snape. “I’m going to teach the boy who conquered Voldemort some new defences.” He swept out of the room. Professor Burgess chuckled, but as no one else did, he looked around at the others.

“That was a joke, wasn’t it? Surely he was joking!” said Burgess.

“Might have been,” Professor Sprout said uncertainly. “But I’ve never known Severus to make jokes before.”

“Oh, I believe our headmaster and Defence Against the Dark Arts’ teacher really thinks he has one or two things to teach Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall said dryly.

Harry was seated beside Hermione in the third row of desks in DADA class. With mixed feelings, he watched Professor Snape pace from one side of the classroom to the other in front of them. Harry had never agreed with Snape in a classroom. Interaction between the two of them had more often than not led to telling-offs, deductions of points from Gryffindor and detentions on Harry’s part.

During the few days that had elapsed since their turbulent parting that morning at Snape’s house at Spinner’s End, Harry had pondered upon how to behave toward Snape. He had come to the conclusion that he should try to keep his distance as much as possible, but endeavour to be polite and correct. He drew a deep breath to steel himself.

“We’ll do Incantations the first part of this term,” Snape began the lesson. “They are perhaps not as spectacular as pure curses, nor as effectual as jinxes, but they allow more complexity and the magic is robust and long lasting. Now, I’m sure all of you know how to perform at least one incantation. Can you give me some examples, please?” The class was silent. No one dared to be the first to speak.

“Come on!” Snape exclaimed impatiently. “Mr Weasley, did you perform any incantations lately?” Ron swallowed and sat a bit more upright.

“Er... I used incantations and charms when I wanted to cast protection around the place where we were camping. Muggle-repelling, disillusionment and soundproofing incantations. Those are the ones that I know.” Ron shrunk back.

“Makes a thorough protection together, I'd say, if you want to go undetected,” said Snape in a light tone.

“Well, there were Death Eaters and other Potter-hunters around,” Ron answered defensively.

“And there still are... there still are, Mr Weasley. Don’t let your guard down if you feel the urge to go camping again. Keep up with the incantations. Good. Anyone else?” retorted Snape.

Hermione raised her hand, but a couple of Slytherin students seemed to feel it was opportunely to show some knowledge, and Snape turned to them first.

“Incantations are needed to cure bad curses,” one said.

“Incantations might be used to strengthen a complex curse on an object or a person,” someone else said.

“Protecting, Relieving, Healing and Curing Incantations,” Ginny countered quickly in a clear voice, without raising her hand, which owed her a disapproving glow from Snape, but only a surprisingly mild reprisal.

“Don’t speak before I give you permission, Miss Weasley. The Protective Incantations you mentioned are, however, the ones we will focus on this year, as part of the Defence Against the Dark Arts’ subject. Those of you who took this class last year with Mr Carrow, might have learnt to incorporate incantations in cursing activities. However, I’d like you to forget about that. It’s Dark Magic and we’ll only learn how to counteract such curses, not to cast them,” said Snape. The same Slytherin boy who had inquired about Harry’s opinion of Snape in the morning raised his hand.

“You need to learn about the Dark Arts to be able to defend yourself against it. You, Professor, have more insights than anyone in that field. Why should you withhold that knowledge from us?” he said.

“There’s a difference between having a general knowledge about something and to practice it,” Snape said curtly.

Harry thought of all the books dealing with the Dark Arts that he had seen at Snape’s house. Had Snape really dissociated himself from the subject, or had he merely adjusted to new times? Harry asked himself. Snape frowned when he met Harry’s scrutinising gaze.

“Advanced studies of the Dark Arts is a dangerous and delicate subject that belongs to higher education and will not be taught at Hogwarts,” reinforced Snape. “Professor Dumbledore was particularly strict on that point and I intend to conduct the school in his spirit. Now can anyone tell me the difference between incantations and charms or spells?”

No one raised their hand except Hermione. Harry thought he might know the answer, but was uncertain how to phrase it properly, so he kept his hand down.

“That’s what I thought,” said Snape with a bow toward Hermione. “Don’t let Miss Granger answer the easy questions - her time comes when all the others fail at the difficult ones. Please, Miss Granger.” There was a sarcastic touch to Snape’s tone of voice.

“First of all, charms and spells are unidirectional in space and focus on one or a couple of defined objects at most. Incantations allow the spells to spread in space and in time. They allow modifications of present charms, and fine-tuning. There’s another difference in that incantations might be performed without wands because essentially they’re mediated through your hands and the tone of your voice,” said Hermione.

“Impeccable as always, Miss Granger! You know, I wonder you came back to Hogwarts at all this year. You already seem to know everything.” Snape spoke in his silky tone of voice and yet what he said sounded far from a compliment.

“She needs to get her NEWT grades like the rest of us, doesn’t she?” Ron blurted out irritably.

“Uh-oh...” Snape exclaimed dryly. “I think your boyfriend might be just a little jealous of your wit, Miss Granger. You look out for that. Now, can anyone develop what Miss Granger said? How do you do to expand a spell in space with the help of an incantation, for example?”

Ron looked murderous and Hermione raised her hand defiantly in the air again. Snape sighed demonstratively.

“I must give your fellow students a chance, Miss Granger.” But no one else had their hand up. “Mr Potter, do you have an idea?” asked Snape. Harry cleared his voice.

“The incantations consist of long phrases... And those make the magic sort of swell... And you have to sort of distribute it in space and time... There’s where you use your hands... You sort of paint the incantation around you or smooth it out with magic... And your tone of voice too... it might be monotonous, or singing and it sort of sends the magic off by resonance... and amplifies it - I read that...”  he added a bit embarrassed by the surprised looks he got by everybody, including Snape.

“Not very elegantly put by way of expression, but correct in essence,” Snape granted condescendingly. “Now, in future, Mr Potter, when you know an answer, I expect you to put your hand up.”

“Wouldn’t that apply to Hermione too then, Professor?” Harry asked candidly.

“Of course. What do you mean?” Snape looked puzzled.

“The sarcasm in your voice when you speak to her implies that you would like her not to raise her hand when she knows the answer and that you’d rather she shut up,” Harry said daringly, forgetting, on Hermione’s behalf, his intention not to antagonise his teacher. Snape frowned.

“That isn’t my intention. Miss Granger is to disregard my so-called sarcasm and raise her hand whenever she knows an answer, but I still reserve myself the right to put the question to whichever student I want to test the proficiencies of,” he said coldly. “Now it is time for a little demonstration.”

Snape returned to his podium and opened a box that lay on the table. He lifted it up and tilted it so that they could see what it contained: a golden bracelet placed on a black silky tissue.

“This is a cursed object. When someone touches it, the person becomes imprisoned in dense Dark Magma and is unable to move or to make his or her voice heard. To someone on the outside, it might look as if the person is dead, but they’re not, they are completely conscious and aware of the surroundings but unable to communicate and if they’re not released, they die by suffocation inside the Magma in the slowest and most agonising way possible,” explained Snape. The class held their breaths in apprehension. “Is there anyone who might explain what Magma is?” Hannah Abbott from Ravenclaw raised her hand hesitantly. “Yes?”

“Magma is used when you create Non-Apparition Zones,” she said.

“Good. Magma is a magic substance that increases the density of the air, the lightness of which is a prerequisite to move by Apparition. Now, you can produce different densities of Magma. Dark Magma is a thousandfold denser than Light Magma which is the one used for Non-Apparition Zones, so-called ‘NAZes’, like you said,” said Snape.

Harry began to find the lesson not so bad after all, if you disregarded Snape’s sarcasms directed at Hermione. This was interesting stuff. He started to wonder, however, if Snape was going to call someone forward to take the curse for the demonstration and if he was not in danger of being chosen. He noticed that some of the other students appeared to be pondering upon the same hazard, because many of them were ducking in their seats. They did not need to worry, because suddenly the wobbling head of the Gryffindor house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, materialised like a hunting trophy on the door, peaking into the classroom, his immatierial body still at the other side, in the corridor.

“Exactly on time. Welcome through, Sir Nicholas!” exclaimed Snape. “Nick here has agreed to help me with the demonstration. His weightless body will not suffer from the impact of the Magma and he won’t mind holding his breath for a while.”

“Very funny, Sir, considering I haven’t drawn a breath for nearly five hundred and six years,” answered Sir Nicholas as he floated towards the podium. He seemed delighted by the attention.

“Put the bracelet on, please,” said Snape.

“That’s beautiful, reminds me of something that Lady Greyhound used to wear. It might not stay on my arm, though,” Sir Nicholas rattled on, but the moment his fingers moved through the bracelet, a glow that strengthened to blinding light emerged from the piece of jewellery. Nick spun round several times on the spot. When the light subsided he was floating in the air, motionless. It reminded Harry of the time when Nick had been petrified by the Basilisk in his second year at Hogwarts. Snape stepped forward again.

”Now,” he said, “...if this had been a creature who needed to breathe in order to stay alive, it would be a matter of minutes. Either you know the incantation to counteract this curse and you perform it without delay, or... what do you do? Grab the person and Apparate to St Mungo’s?” asked Snape. Harry raised his hand.

“Will the Magma not make it impossible to touch the person, Sir?” he asked, fascinated by the drama he envisioned if a living person had taken the curse and been paralysed by the dark Magma.

“You’re right, you cannot touch the body, nor move it by magical locomotion,” answered Snape.

“Then the only thing to do is to send a Patronus and call for someone you think would know the counter-curse incantation,” said Harry.

“Indeed, or else you learn to do it yourself, and you won’t put yourself in the agonising position of watching a person suffocate before your eyes,” responded Snape. Harry shuddered. “To make it easier for you to see how the incantation works, I’ll visualise the Magma for you. Revelo Magic!” When Snape uttered these words a box glowing faintly with a greenish, fluorescent light became visible around Nick. “Now watch,” said Snape. He raised his wand in his right hand, turned the palm of his left hand toward the magical Magma and approached the glowing box. He started humming words and revolving around the body of Nick, making circling movements with his left hand. Harry watched the fluorescent substance around Nick become thinner for each round, as if Snape peeled it off him and finally it came off entirely and Nick began to move.

“Ugh... It wasn’t exactly pleasant!” exclaimed Nick. The audience cheered appreciatively, both at Nick and Snape. Snape looked pleased with himself but hushed the class down quickly.

“Now, I gave you this as a taste of what you might be able to perform at the end of this year providing you put in hard work to learn about incantations. Unless someone wants to give it a try right away…? No…? Miss Granger, this is an opportunity for you to be exempted from Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons as well as from Charms...You’ll be free for at least eight weeks... Will you have a try…? No?” said Snape arching an eyebrow at Hermione who shook her head.

“I’ll have a go, if Nick puts up with it once more.” Harry raised his hand. Everyone turned to stare at him. He was a little red on his cheeks and he looked apologetically at Hermione who gaped at him. “I can always have a try. I think I got everything down,” he whispered to her and looked at a piece of paper where he had scribbled some words.

“Of course I’ll do it for you, Harry,” said Nick politely. Snape did not say anything, but gestured for Harry to advance to the podium.

“Have you performed this incantation before, Mr Potter?” he asked curtly when Harry stood in front of him.

“Never, Sir,” answered Harry.

“Yet you believe you could do it?” Snape looked at Harry with incredulity.

“You just showed us, Professor. And I only said I’d have a try,” retorted Harry. Snape pressed his lips together.

“Nick, bracelet!” he snapped. The curse repeated itself with the same force as before.

Harry had only had a short time to grasp the incantation. He glanced at his notes. Even if it had looked like the Magma just melted away from the body of Nick when Snape spoke the incantation, Harry realised instinctively that a powerful substance like that did not just go away into thin air. Parts of the incantation reminded him of the Relieving Incantations that he had performed when lifting pain away from injured and traumatised wizards and witches after the final battle. Healers from St Mungo’s had brought some sort of magical boxes where the pain pulled out from the injured bodies and contained in the wand of the healer, had been thrust and shut up for later annihilation. Harry had learnt that it was almost impossible to extract pain from people and just throw it away in the air, as most of it would rebound on the injured person. The suffering had to be attached to something. He supposed it was the same thing with this Dark Magma. He had to peel it off Nick and contain it in his wand to throw it back at the bracelet in the end. He thought he had seen Snape make an almost imperceptible jerk with his wand at the end of the incantation, where the last words had been “Capto”.

Harry took a deep breath, ready to start. “Revelo Magic,” he said and the Magma started to fluoresce. He raised his arms and with a clear voice he started to sing the words in a monotonous tone. He moved his left hand as if to rub a surface clean delicately. As he started to move around Nick’s body, he concentrated all his forces to extract the Magma at the surface of the box that had been loosened up by his magical singing and contain it in his wand. His arm felt heavy, which was a sign that the magic worked and he started to see the same melting effect that had occurred when Snape had worked the incantation. He did not pause, however, but continued repeating the incantation, over and over again.

His wand felt heavier and heavier and his arm started to shake, but there was not much left, he struggled with the last Magma and - “Capto” - he launched it at the bracelet, sure at aim. Nick was free. It was over. Everybody, including Snape, stared dumbfounded at him. Harry grimaced and stuck his wand away, stretching his numb fingers.

“Blimey, that was heavy! How on earth did you manage to make it look like you were peeling an orange, when in reality it was like dragging a troll away, Sir?” he addressed Snape and held out his arm which was trembling from the effort. Snape recovered from his surprise and smirked faintly at Harry.

“Oh... I think that I’ll keep some secrets for myself... Well done, Mr Potter. Twenty points to Gryffindor!” he said.

Harry stared at him with an open mouth, as did all the other students in the class, including the Slytherins. When had Snape ever distributed a single point to Gryffindor, no matter how well-earned? Harry’s face broke up in a broad smile and at last he received a thunderous applause from his fellow students, more enthusiastically from the left side of the room than from the right. When it subsided and Harry made a move to regain his seat, Snape held him back.

“Please, Mr Potter. I think everyone here is curious to know how you managed to memorise that incantation after only one single demonstration? You had taken some notes, I believe?” Snape took the parcel of paper from Harry’s hand. He glanced at it and waved his wand toward the black board whereupon Harry’s notes became visible for everyone. They were merely a few rows of words.

“Well...” Harry started hesitantly. “Incantations are put together by different passages. There are some standard ones. For instance, incantations almost all start in the same way. Like an introduction: here comes an incantation.” He gestured towards his abbreviations on the black board and recited a couple of lines. “Then there are two or three passages that are plaited together that conveys the general idea of the incantation. In this case, it’s a combination of loosing up and extracting something.” Harry paused and pointed at the black board and recited the second part of the incantation. “This single sentence that is often inserted between the passages in the middle...” Harry pointed again, “...is the hub of the incantation. In this case, it specifies that it’s Dark Magma we want to take away. Then more passages about loosing up, extracting and summoning or drawing the Magma to the wand.” Harry recited again. “These are all parts that you recognise from other incantations, that’s why I could memorise it. The parts are the same - there are about twenty different ones that you need to learn - and then you just have to look out for in which order they come, the number of repetitions, and minor modifications. And the Capto at the end is of course when you throw the Magma back at the bracelet.”

His friends looked at him with wide eyes.

“Why, for the first time in my life I read a school book in advance,” Harry owned a bit annoyed. “Hermione always does that.”

“But Harry,” said Hermione, gently argumentative. “How can you memorise the texts? It’s not even modern English. Those incantations are written in ancient runes. You’ve never studied that.”

“There’re translations in the books, so I know what they mean. And the words are just a pattern, like a rhythm or a song, you know. You can feel how it goes,” responded Harry.

“And how do you make your left hand work the magic simultaneously as you work your wand?” continued Hermione.

Harry looked at her with incredulity.

“It just works, does it not for everybody?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Not without practicing.”

“But that’s the point,” said Harry with relief. “I did practice this summer.” He explained to them about the Relieving Incantations.

“This is a different type of incantation, though. How did you learn the modulations of your voice and your movements?” Snape intervened suspiciously. Harry raised one eyebrow.

“But you just showed us. I copied you!” he said.

“You seem to have an intuitive facility with incantations,” Snape muttered reluctantly, some suspicion remaining in his voice, as if Harry had tricked him somehow. “Now sit down, Mr Potter.”

The remaining part of the lesson was dull to Harry as they started with the basic building of incantations. When the class split up to go directly to the Great Hall for dinner since it was so late, Snape walked up to Harry and said in his quiet, monotonous voice:

“I would like to speak to you, Mr Potter, this evening in my office.”

“Yes, Sir,” answered Harry.

***

“It can’t be a detention. He awarded you points,” said Ron while shoving huge forkfuls of mashed potatoes in his mouth at the Gryffindor table.

“You were awesome!” Ginny said proudly and leaned her head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Maybe he’s going to say you can skip his lessons for some weeks. He actually told us that,” proposed Hermione.

“I think it only concerned you, Hermione. I can’t imagine that it would apply to me. But it made me furious that he was trying to get at you all the time. I just can’t understand why he had to pick on you. It wound me up,” said Harry. ”I had actually decided to lie low and not attract attention. Then I ended up ruining his lesson all the same.” Harry shook his head.

“It wasn’t ruined,” said Ginny. ”It was the best lesson ever with Snape. Except for pestering Hermione, he was actually quite civil and I managed to stay attentive for at least half the time, until we started to read those texts to each others...” Ron looked morosely at his sister.

”Snape was not in the least civil…” he muttered.

“The demonstration was meant to be a spectacular introduction to the subject. He never thought that anyone would actually have a try,” objected Harry. He looked up at the teacher’s table. Snape rose and made a gesture for him to follow. “Here goes. See you later,” said Harry and followed Snape out of the hall.

He caught up with his professor and they walked side by side in silence until they reached the Gargoyle statue that guarded the entrance to the headmaster’s office.

“Thor’s hammer,” murmured Snape and the statue moved to let them in.

“Thor’s hammer?” repeated Harry inquiringly.

“An Aisir - an ancient wizard in Iceland,” said Snape.

They moved up the spiral stairs to reach the round office where Harry had met with Professor Dumbledore so many times. Harry glanced eagerly towards the portrait where the old headmaster sat, sound asleep in a beautiful armchair. Some of the other inhabitants of the portraits that lined the walls were awake, though, and a whisper travelled from frame to frame.

“It’s Potter. Harry Potter‘s here!” Several of the old headmasters started to greet Harry with due respect and Harry answered politely.

“I need to have words with Mr Potter. You’ll express your admiration another time,” Snape snapped and the portraits fell silent. They were bound by loyalty to the sitting headmaster.

“Take a seat, please,” Snape gestured formally toward the chair opposite his own across the desk. “You made an astounding performance in class this afternoon, Mr Potter,” said Snape in a polite tone.

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry answered cautiously.

“I know that I said to Miss Granger that she would be exempted of lessons if she performed that incantation...” began Snape. Harry made a gesture. “Wait...” interrupted Snape. “Miss Granger always has an admirably accurate theoretical base of her knowledge and knows how to express it.“

“Why don’t you say that to her some time, Sir? She’d be happy to know you think so,” said Harry.

“She already knows she has. Why should I express the obvious? Don’t interrupt me, Potter,” Snape spat. Harry clenched his jaws. “With you, however, I felt that I had to check your knowledge a bit more thoroughly before giving you permission to skip classes and that’s why you’re here.” Suddenly Snape summoned a couple of books that flew through the air right past Harry’s left ear. He ducked and they landed on Snape’s desk.

“Here we go then,” said Snape. He interrogated Harry for at least an hour. Snape showed him different texts of incantations and made Harry explain the meaning and the construction of them. He asked him theoretical questions concerning the uses of incantations and made him perform two more incantations in the middle of his office.

“My conclusion…” Snape finally said, “… is that you have a great talent for incantations. You might not have been aware of that before. You have good phrasing, a steady voice that you know how to modulate by small means and you have an excellent left hand. You’ve grasped the construction of incantations and analyse them with absurd ease. I’d almost say that you play with them. You like it, don’t you?”

“Why, yes I do,” said Harry, less embarrassed by the praise since Snape spoke not with admiration in his voice, but only as if relating a matter-of-fact business.

“However...” Here it comes, thought Harry as Snape continued: “You express yourself in an immature way. You understand the essence of the subject, but you lack in language. I’d say this is something you have in common with other subjects that you take, not only Defence. Therefore you are to write me an essay, which you’ll hand in at the close of eight weeks from now, where you compare Healing Incantations to Protective Incantations used in the Defence Against the Dark Arts. Start off with three or four incantations and develop an argumentation where you point out likenesses and differences. Pay attention in particular to the way you express yourself. You will in the mean time be exempt of Defence classes. This is not a punishment, Mr Potter, this is for your own good, to develop your language to something a little bit more passable in the adult world.” Snape looked ready to refute Harry’s protests, but Harry didn’t utter any.

“Which books should I read?” he simply asked.

Snape looked taken aback.

“I’ve read “Building Incantations Part one and Part two” and some tomes on Healing Incantations,” said Harry.

“Something a bit more advanced then...” said Snape. “I believe there’s something right here among the books Dumbledore left.” He scanned the bookshelves. “There it is, just the subject: “The Core of Incantations” by Silvia Tern.” Snape summoned a book with green covers and golden print. Harry received it reverently.

“It’s beautiful! Can I borrow it?”

“You may, I don’t think Professor Dumbledore would have minded,” said Snape. Harry turned the leaves carefully.

“Look, there’s a part on Ancient Magic at the end of the book,” Harry said excitedly. Dumbledore had spoken of Ancient Magic from time to time as of something Voldemort did not understand the value of. Dumbledore had deplored that it was forgotten knowledge and not fully appreciated for its worth in the modern wizard world. Ancient Magic was the magic of love that Harry’s mother had used to protect him against Voldemort when he was a baby. Suddenly, he thought that he detected a movement within the frame of Dumbledore’s portrait. When he looked up, he met a pair of blue eyes for a fraction of a second.

“He’s awake!” exclaimed Harry and rose so abruptly that the book in his hands fell down on the desk with a thud.

“Careful with the book!” scolded Snape, but Harry took no notice. He walked up expectantly to the portrait of Dumbledore who had his eyes closed again.

“Are you awake, Sir? Please, Professor Dumbledore, are you there?”  Harry spoke eagerly.

“He sleeps all the time. They’re not supposed to visit real life for a while after their deaths in order not to influence posterity,” supplied Snape.

“But I saw his eyes. He peeked at me.” Harry gestured agitatedly towards the portrait.

“I know, he does that from time to time.“ Snape tried to calm Harry down. “He made an exception last year and was unusually active. We spoke frequently then. He was still engaged in the fight against Voldemort and counselled me, but since I came back after my recovery I haven’t spoken to him once. Those are the rules. He shouldn’t influence his successors. It might take years before he wakes up again in that portrait.” Harry still stood right beneath the painting and looked longingly at Dumbledore.

“I only want to talk to you for a little while, Professor,” pleaded Harry. “Please!”

“That’s enough, Mr Potter! Harry! Back off from that portrait now!” barked Snape.

Harry lowered his head and took a few steps back.

“I miss him,” he mumbled in a stifled voice. He returned to the desk and grabbed the book with his left hand. Disappointment and regret flooded his body. He covered his eyes with the right hand and fought to compose himself.

When Harry looked up again, Snape lent over the desk to put his wand down in an elegant wand-holder, placed at the farther edge. He glanced at Harry in exactly the same moment as Harry removed his hand. When Snape met Harry’s green eyes so close to his own, he was taken by surprise. He flinched and his wand made a jerk. Snape’s dark eyes widened and sucked in the green ones. Suddenly Harry’s sight was blurred.

He heard the voice of a woman reciting in a singing tone. His mother appeared in front of him. Her face was wrought up in concentration and she had her wand out. She circled around him and Harry lost sight of her as she passed behind his back. His eyes fastened on a big book with gilt-edged pages which lay open on a table in front of him. He tried to touch it and saw chubby baby hands stretch out in front of him. The book was out of reach but his mother came back in his field of vision, still singing and gesturing. Harry heard another voice. Clear, monotonous little cries. But the baby was not in distress, it was trying to imitate his mother. His cries grew louder - he was singing and the voice mixed with his mother’s. At that moment his mother’s face broke up into a warm smile. She laughed. “Harry!” she exclaimed with exasperation. “You mustn’t do that. Mummy’s trying to concentrate.” She approached him and kissed his cheeks playfully. Her hand cupped the back of his head. He was wrapped up in love. “I think I’ve got it,” she whispered to him. Her green eyes were shining.

In Snape’s office, Harry staggered backwards with a roar.

“Why did you do that for?” he shouted at Snape. Tears splashed down his cheeks, in equal parts out of emotion elicited from the memory as out of anger over Snape’s intrusion. “How dare you use Legilimency on me?” Snape had retreated as far from Harry as possible and stood frozen with his back to the wall behind his desk.

“It was unintentional,” Snape managed to articulate. His face was white as a sheet.

“You forbid me even to speak her name and then you violate my mind and bring back memories of her that I didn’t even know I possessed!” Harry continued to rage. Some colour reappeared in Snape’s face.

“It’s your own doing! Getting yourself all emotional over a dead old man,” he spat angrily and gestured towards Dumbledore’s portrait.  “It makes you susceptible! You brought this on!”

“You shall never Legilimency me again,” Harry hissed back furiously, “...nor Obliviate me!” he added. “Leave my mind alone, Professor!”

“Get out of here, Harry Potter!” Snape countered at the top of his voice as Harry walked out of the office with his back straight.

The next morning at dawn, when Harry woke up, Ron was already gone. To the Owlery, Harry thought. Harry went down to have an early breakfast. There were only a few students scattered in the Great Hall and Auror Simmings was seated at one end of the Gryffindor table. He spotted Harry and gestured him over.

“Are you a former Gryffindor student?” asked Harry and sat down at his side.

“Of course,” grinned Simmings.

“And where’s your object of protection? Aren’t you supposed to be by his side twenty-four hours a day?” asked Harry.

Simmings pulled a bothered face.

“I’ve been relayed by Bellamy Burgess for a short while. Approved by Mrs Steadfast. Must be allowed to lower my guard a few times a day. Not that I expect much to happen. Although, yesterday there were a few students who were a bit nasty towards Mr Malfoy. He’s not much liked, and that’s an understatement,” said the Auror who was eating neatly from a bowl of porridge which made him look very much like a good little boy who ate what his mother had placed before him.

“Well, he did go along with Voldemort almost until the very end,” said Harry.

“You defended him in the pub,” Simmings pointed out.

“I didn’t really, I just wanted to calm things down,” retorted Harry. “Although there might be some extenuating circumstances in Malfoy’s case. I don’t think that Voldemort was what Malfoy thought at first when he became involved. And he couldn’t bring himself to kill Dumbledore.”

“Maybe not. I’ll leave that for the judges of the Wizengamot to decide.” Simmings shrugged. “Meanwhile, I’ll do my job. It’s tedious though.” 

“I guess they let you inside the Slytherin house?” asked Harry with curiosity.

Simmings nodded.

“Burgess too? Which house did he belong to?”

“Burgess didn’t go to Hogwarts,” said Simmings. “His parents worked abroad and he went to Beauxbatons.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and Slytherin house is a creepy place. Dungeons. Green light,” said Simmings.

“I know,” said Harry and told Simmings how he had once sneaked into the Slytherin common room together with Ron, transformed by a Polyjuice extract to Slytherin pupils. Simmings laughed heartily. Heads turned to look at them.

“Sorry, I had better get back to duty now,” said Simmings. ”Not exactly my idea of an Auror’s job when I started this career, but it has to be done. Nice to have a chat with you, Mr Potter.”

”Harry,” said Harry. Simmings grinned.

”Thanks, Harry,” he said. ”I’m never going to be on first name terms with Mr Malfoy. He treats me more like some kind of servant. I have to keep within three steps from him - those are orders. He knows it and he still scowls haughtily at me.”

“Do you have to sleep in his bed, too?” joked Harry, but to his surprise Simmings coloured up to his hair roots. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,“ Harry hastened to say, confused.

“Not at all... I... I actually sleep in a bed next to him. Anyone who wants to attack him has to get past me and my alarm charms. It feels weird, though, to be back sleeping in a dormitory, like a pupil. I left school nearly ten years ago...” mumbled Simmings and set off.

Ron showed up with Ginny and Hermione and settled down for breakfast. When Harry had come back from Snape’s office last night, still fuming with anger, he had found Ron sitting by himself in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. He had interrupted his friend’s reverie and confided in him. Ron had been sympathising for what he saw as an unjust assignment with extra work. Harry did not care so much about the essay. He was more upset about the violation of his mind. It had allowed them to call Snape a number of names, however, which calmed Harry down eventually. Ron still did not get the Legilimency part.

“Occlumency was always a scary business and it never worked for you, right? But at least we know now why you’re so good at incantations. You got it from your mother,” he said.

Harry realised that his friends were not up to date when it came to everything that had passed between Snape and himself the last week. They knew that he had had troubles with nightmares and that it had turned out to be the remnants of Voldemort that plagued him and that Snape had helped him get rid of it. But there had been so much more pleasant things to be told about the journey to Australia, so much unpleasant worry about different family members and such haste to prepare everything for the start of term, that there had been no time left for Harry to go into details.

Ginny was the one who had the best idea of the poor state Harry had deteriorated to during the summer, but not even she knew the full extent of his condition. She was overjoyed about having him restored and well again, though, and Harry had debated fiercely with her to prevent her from sending a “Thank you”-note to Snape. “Aren’t you grateful? He saved your life!” she had said. “I am - and I have thanked him duly. But he’s also a git! And you cannot send him a card like that!” Harry pointed indignantly at the butterflies that Ginny had magicked on to the letter that would take off when someone opened it. “It’s beautiful magic, but not to a man like him! He’ll either sneer at it, or he’ll get hallucinations and think it’s from Lily and he’ll have one of his fits of rage like he always seems to do when my mother is mentioned, or hinted at, or simply thought of! Didn’t you listen? Snape has forbidden me to talk about her in front of him.” Harry had at last dissuaded her from the butterflies, but to his vexation, Ginny did send a letter to thank Snape for saving Harry from his horrible nightmare spells.

In the Great Hall, Harry had a second helping of breakfast while he listened to the enthusiastic talks of Ginny on quidditch. She had been appointed captain of the Gryffindor team and speculated wildly on tactics and on possible team members.

“It’s such a pity you cannot play, Harry,” she said for the twentieth time that morning.

“And me... Your brother...” added Ron, also for the twentieth time. He sighed and looked unhappy.

“Time to go to class,” said Hermione.

***

The day passed pleasantly between lessons and small talk in the corridors, interrupted from time to time by some second or third year pupil who would come up to them and stare at them until they were taken notice of. Then they would ask questions about last spring and the fight against Voldemort. It was mostly Harry who was addressed, but he, Ron and Hermione would take turns to answer the questions as politely and as briefly as they possibly could and they would move on.

Harry survived a class of Potions with Snape at the end of the day by sitting in the back row, bending over his cauldron, careful not to meet the eyes of his teacher once. He handed in an impeccable Skele-Gro draught and hastened out of the dungeons. Ron and Hermione lingered behind and Harry thought he would see them later in the common room.

When he emerged from the stairs into the Entrance Hall, the brown-haired, sixth year boy who Harry had noticed in the pub the other day, came out from a corridor to his left. They were about to collide. Harry stopped to let him pass, but the boy stopped as well and stared at Harry.

“Hello, I’m Harry Potter.” Harry stretched out his hand. “Maybe you knew that...” He smiled apologetically. The boy took his hand.

“Hello... David...“ The boy started to introduce himself, but Harry’s attention was suddenly drawn to a sound that came from the corridor behind the boy. Harry lifted his left hand.

“Wait. What’s that?” Unknowingly Harry grasped the boy’s hand a little harder as he listened, then let go of it, to advance slowly into the corridor.

It was an old man’s voice, coarse and strange. It was singing in a weird, hissing tone. Suddenly two figures appeared, tumbling towards Harry in the corridor. It was Simmings, who was dragging Malfoy along. Malfoy’s face was blue, his breathing rattling and his own hands clutched at his throat. The young Slytherin fell to his knees.

“Help…” he whimpered. The boy whose name was David backed off with a terrified expression on his face. Simmings turned to Harry.

“I don’t know what‘s the matter with Mr Malfoy. Why’s he ill? It started when that man began to sing. Where’s Professor Snape? Or Mrs Steadfast? I’ve given the alert on my security watch,” said the Auror in a strained tone.

The singing voice was coming nearer and it was joined by the howling voice of a younger man, coming from the dungeons that Harry had just left. The incantation - for it was one, Harry was sure of it - was the same, but the two reciters were completely out of tune. Malfoy started to jerk. On an impulse, Harry turned to him.

“Muffliato,” he said. The spell would cause a ringing sound in the ears of the person it was directed at and was mostly used to prevent a person from listening in on a private conversation. As soon as the spell hit Malfoy, his breathing eased and he regained normal colour. He did not rise from the floor, but cowered up against the wall, still terrified. Screams and thuds were heard from the dungeons. Harry wondered if Ron and Hermione were involved in what was happening down there.

Behind Simmings, in the corridor, a limping old man with ragged clothes appeared. He reminded Harry somewhat of Mundungus, the Order member who had lived on the streets of London and hung around with criminals. But this man did not have the alert, calculating eyes of Mundungus - he looked eerie and lost and had no wand.

“Go easy on him,” Harry murmured to Simmings who had raised his wand, prepared to strike. “Just tie him up, we’ll see what he does.” Simmings did as Harry said and the wizard sank down on his knees, ropes constraining his upper body. Harry put a Langlock spell on the old man and he went silent.

More people emerged into the Entrance Hall. Pupils were hanging over the banisters and standing on the stairs, curious and apprehensive at the same time. From a third corridor opposite Harry, a gang of students appeared, in the middle of whom Harry spotted Neville and Luna. They too had a prisoner, a shabby-looking lady who muttered in a low voice to herself and seemed completely disoriented. They brought her to the middle of the hall. Neville looked inquiringly at Harry.

“What’s all this about? This lady won’t answer any questions. Who are these people? How did they get in?” wondered Neville.

“Exactly what I would like to know.” The stern voice of Mrs Steadfast resonated behind them. She had appeared in the hall and started to inspect the prisoners. The singing from the dungeons had been quieted, but the stumbling sound of many feet resounded from the stairs and told them a group of people were coming up. Snape emerged first, leading a tall young man with wild eyes and a tied tongue. The young man looked equally worn and poor, just like the old man Harry and Simmings had apprehended. Snape thrust him down on the floor and secured him with ropes. Snape looked furious, searched the crowd for someone, then started to talk in a low voice to Mrs Steadfast. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione and gestured for them to come over. He noticed that Simmings brought Malfoy forth to Snape and Mrs Steadfast.

“What happened down there?” Harry asked his friends in a low voice.

“That guy appeared out of nowhere, right in front of us as we were coming up from Potions,” said Ron.

“The wizard looked confounded at first and we were taken aback. Snape was right behind us,” said Hermione.

“How did Snape react when the guy started the recitation?” asked Harry. 

“We were so engulfed by this guy that we didn’t notice, at first, that something was wrong with Snape.”

“The others had heard the noise and were coming back to check what was going on.” Hermione and Ron were speaking in turns.

“The guy didn’t have a wand or anything so he didn’t look that dangerous. It was a curious incantation. I’m not sure he knew it very well. It sounded strange. Hissing, sort of…”

“Ron and I drew our wands as soon as he appeared,” continued Hermione. “When I looked at Snape to see what he wanted us to do, I noticed… his face! Harry, Snape was suffocating! He managed to Muffliate himself eventually and it helped. Snape got back to normal. I don’t think anyone else noticed.”

“I did the same thing to Malfoy. He was suffocating, too,” explained Harry and turned around because Luna was tugging at his sleeve.

“Harry, what about the black box that the Wary-witch brought with her?” she asked.

“What box?” said Neville.

“Didn’t you see it? She sat on it when we found her. She left it in there.” Luna pointed. Harry grabbed her resolutely by the wrist.

“Mrs Steadfast, please!” He shouted to get the head of the Aurors’ attention. “My friend here says something about a black box in that corridor!”

Both Mrs Steadfast and Snape turned their heads towards them. Harry saw their eyes widen. At the same moment a big explosion came from the corridor they pointed at.

Harry saw a swarm of black balls rushing from the corridor right into the hall. He heard screams and saw two people fall to the ground. Harry was the quickest to react. His protecting shield expanded over the heads of everyone in the hall just in time to deviate the black swarm upwards. He raised his left hand and spread his shield to protect the persons standing on the upper levels of the hall. He managed to curve the shield so that it trapped the dark bowls in a giant sack where they rushed around like mad bees. He put strenuous forces to constrain the sack and force the attacking balls back into the corridor from where they came.

“Excellent, Potter! Hold on!” shouted Mrs Steadfast as she spelled the doors wide open and started to evacuate people into the inner court. She shouted something else over her shoulder that Harry did not catch, as he was fighting hard to maintain the protection. The bowls ripped holes in his shield all the time and he had to create new sheets continuously. Other people started to shout at him as well - what were they saying? Could they not see that he was doing his very best? He was fighting furiously. In the corner of an eye, he saw Snape turn around from  where he was kneeling on the floor next to the body of an injured pupil.

“Transform the shield into Trapping web!” roared Snape. Harry frowned. It did ring a bell. Did it not have to do with cleaning? He felt confused and he supposed it showed on his face, because Snape turned away from him again, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Ron came up at Harry’s side and spoke in his ear.

“You’ve done it once. Do you remember the magical bin bags that we used to collect all the dark stuff in when we cleaned out Sirius’ house at Grimmauld Place? That’s it - Trapping web, the strongest magical material there is,” said Ron. Harry remembered vaguely, but which spell did you have to use?

Hermione stood on his other side and whispered in his ear. He concentrated to transform the incantation he was continuously reciting and insert the new spell she gave him, without dropping the power of the protection. When the grey material of the Trapping web emerged from his wand and superimposed itself upon the protection shield, Harry felt the magic stabilise. The grey, cloth-like material resisted to the attacks of the malignant balls. He was finally able to relax a little bit.

Mrs Steadfast left her post at the door and gestured at one of her Aurors to continue the evacuation of the pupils. She rushed over to Harry.

“By Mercure!”  she said. ”Now that you’ve stopped spelling protection shields like you spit out cherry stones, try to force the buzz balls back to where they came from.” Harry worked his magic with both hands and wand, shrunk the protecting sack and pushed it forward. “Make way! Make way, please!” Mrs Steadfast preceded him through the hall. He forced the protection sack to shrink and made it move back into the corridor, until they spotted a black box on the floor. Ron and Hermione followed behind him.

“That’s the kind of box my brothers use for their Filibuster Fireworks in their joke shop,” exclaimed Ron.

“Someone has hi-jacked the idea for a dark counterpart. Do you know how it closes?” asked Mrs Steadfast. Ron lay down on his knees to approach the box.

“Yes, I think so. If you thrust the balls in, Harry, I’m going to try to shut it and fasten the lid. Then you’d better wrap the whole thing up in the Trapping web sack, just to be sure,” he said.

“Careful, Ron,” said Hermione. They managed to follow out Ron’s suggestion and with still fast beating hearts, they were relieved to see Mrs Steadfast lift up the grey sack and walk out of the castle with it.

“Come on, you lot, we still need to evacuate. The castle needs to be searched,” she launched at them over her shoulder.

***

It started to get dark before they were let inside again. For several hours the pupils had been stuck at the inner court. They sat packed on the lawn. Sandwiches had been brought out for them to eat, by house-elves, and luckily it had been a sunny, warm evening. Cheers for Harry’s quick intervention alternated with taunts about his ignorance of something as basic as Trapping web. Harry tried not to be too embarrassed. Ron made a fuss about insisting on sending an owl to Mrs Weasley.

“Of course she’ll be worried!” he shouted at his friends who tried to point out that Mr Weasley, who worked at the Ministry, would receive all the information needed to reassure Mrs Weasley of their safety and that he should let the Aurors do their job, without unnecessary interruption. The squad of Aurors had been augmented tenfold and there were a lot of come-and-gos. Harry did not get the impression that the Aurors had found any other dangerous artefacts, though. They saw people from the Ministry arrive and just before the pupils were let back in, the Minister of Magic himself entered the castle.

As Harry was about to mount the Gryffindor tower with his friends, he was intercepted by the short Auror he had seen the day before. She introduced herself as Katie Swan and told him that he was expected at Snape’s office at once. Two visits to the headmaster’s office, two evenings in a row, was not a good start of the term, but contrary to the previous evening, at least, Harry supposed that he would not be left alone at Snape’s mercy this time.

He was right. Mrs Steadfast, Kingsley Shacklebolt and his secretary were in the office. Harry inclined his head in the direction of Mrs Steadfast and Snape, who had a general disapproving look on his face, and shook hands with the minister and his secretary.

“I have some questions for you, Mr Potter,” said Kingsley. “But first I’d like to thank you. We owe the fact that we have no casualties after the attack today to your good judgement and quick reaction. Professor Snape was able to heal the pair of pupils who were hit, but imagine the chaos if there had been fifty or hundreds of injured - each of those black balls carried terrible curses. Thanks to your remarkably fast protective reflex we could avoid that.”

“With some help from his friends,” muttered Snape and continued disdainfully: “There is, alas, in counterbalance to the remarkably quick reflexes, a remarkably vast ignorance on Mr Potter’s side on simple matters of magic, such as the uses of Trapping web, for example.” Harry coloured a little. Why did Snape find it necessary to rub in Harry’s shortcomings at this precise moment, in front of the minister? Mrs Steadfast seemed to find it harsh, too.

“Never played ‘Trivial Records in the Magical World?’ when you were a kid, did you, Mr Potter? ‘The strongest magical material is...’?” Mrs Steadfast asked cheerfully.

“Raised in a Muggle family...” Harry muttered in answer.

“In that case, I’m afraid it’s Hogwarts as an institution that will have to take the blame for possible blanks in Mr Potter’s education,” said Kingsley evenly.

Snape snorted.

“Do you know how those people got inside the castle?” asked Harry, determined not to let himself be provoked by Snape. Mrs Steadfast took a small bottle from the desk.

“We found similar phials in the pockets of all three,” she said.

Harry examined the black content of the bottle. Instinctively, he cast a look at Snape before he cleared his voice.

“It’s a Vanishing potion,” said Harry. He remembered what Snape had told him about it. You could take the potion, vanish and reappear unpredictably at another, nearby location. His hand shook slightly as he put the bottle back on the desk. He was grateful that Snape, at least, abstained from making snide allusions to his previous dealings with that particular draught, in front of the others. “They took the potion outside the castle and reappeared within?” asked Harry a bit hoarsely.

“It seems so,” said Mrs Steadfast. “Yesterday night, it was still possible to pass the ramparts. The intruders must have sneaked right up to the walls of the castle, taken the potion during the early morning hours and not reappeared until the next afternoon on the other side of the walls. Hagrid says that some Australian guard-dogs of his alerted him last evening, but that he didn’t see anything.”

The Kangabbits, more likely, Harry thought. They must live up to Ron’s description as watchful creatures. Maybe Hagrid would stop belittling their magical senses after this.

“Do you know who those people are?” Harry continued to ask.

“Junkies from the wizard gutter of London. They were hired for the job,” answered Mrs Steadfast. “Unfortunately they cannot tell us much about their employer, but our guess is someone from the old Death Eaters’ gang. What’s odd is that they claim to have been taken to a cave somewhere and given instructions from a young woman.” 

“What do you reckon about the incantation they sang, Mr Potter?” asked Kingsley.

“Powerful,” Harry responded promptly. “They didn’t even perform the incantation perfectly. They had no wands, they made no magic with their hands, but the imperfectly uttered words were single-handedly enough to work on Mr Malfoy and on Professor Snape.” Mrs Steadfast frowned and approached Snape.

“You omitted to tell me that you were affected by the incantation, did you?” she asked in a dangerously candid voice. Snape shot a furious look at Harry who hurried to his defence, without really knowing why.

“Professor Snape knew how to protect himself, no doubt,” said Harry. “But he must know about this incantation. It’s bound to be an invention of Voldemort’s. A method of controlling his Death Eaters, maybe?” Harry looked inquiringly at Snape.

“I think I’ve heard about it. It’s called the Strangling Incantation and dates from before even my early days as a Death Eater,” Snape answered reluctantly. “Voldemort taught some of his most loyal servants this piece of magic in order to control and be able to punish their fellow Death Eaters in case of escapades from the Dark Lord’s rules and wishes. The incantation spread and was misused, however - to Voldemort’s discontent. There were deaths he had not sanctioned, in short - so he forbade all use of it and at the time I signed up, it was no longer taught and rarely spoken of.”

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully.

”I ask myself who that young woman might be, who taught the intruders the incantation,” continued Snape. ”I’ve been searching my memory, but cannot pick out any likely candidates among the few female Death Eaters I know of. In any case, she’s too young to know about the incantation.”

”She might be the daughter of a Death Eater, or the grand-daughter of one of Voldemort’s older servants,” said Mrs Steadfast. Snape glanced at her, pursing his lips in doubt. ”There’s a new generation emerging, on the dark side, as well as on ours,” continued Mrs Steadfast and gestured with her head at Harry. ”I loathe to tell you, Professor, but you and me, we no longer belong to the bright, young ones. In the long run, we’ll be handing over business to them.”

”Hmpf… I hope the new generation will be more enlightened than it shows signs of being right now,” scoffed Snape with a haughty glance at Harry and changed the subject. ”We need to teach Draco Malfoy how to protect himself against the strangling incantation. It works on everyone who has ever had the Dark Mark burnt into their skin. Mr Malfoy and myself are proof of that. But it’s easy to protect oneself, once you know how,” he added, forestalling Mrs Steadfast who had grown serious and concerned.

It’s easy as long as you have your wand at hand and can cast a Muffliato spell on yourself, Harry thought. Still, what a threat to live under! To be done in by a song!

“But you didn’t react when I ventured to read the incantation,” objected Mrs Steadfast. ”Harry was right, the intruders didn’t know the incantation by heart. They read from these notes.“ She handed a creased piece of a parchment over to Harry.

“I noticed that there were elements of Parseltongue at the end of the phrases,” muttered Harry. “Maybe that’s what makes it so powerful.”

He started to read and added a hissing sound at the end of every sentence. To his surprise and mild satisfaction, Snape started to cough after only a few lines and fumbled with his wand. Harry stopped.

“Parsel-sounds, indeed!” said Kingsley with curiosity. ”Can anyone make them? I thought you needed to be a Parselmouth?”

”I believe it can be taught,” said Harry. Ron had, after all, been able to learn how to open the Chamber of Secrets with a Parsel command.

“You have earned yourself an attending Auror, twenty-four hours a day,” Mrs Steadfast hissed at Snape between clenched teeth.

“I have the right to decline that offer,” Snape retorted stiffly. Kingsley looked thoughtfully at Snape before he turned to Harry.

“I said earlier that I had a question for you, Mr Potter. Let me explain first that the attack on the school today has caused much distress, first of all among the parents of the children attending the school, but also among the members of the School Board. The management of Hogwarts has been a controversial matter ever since the end of the war. I have personally advocated that Professor Snape stay as headmaster. He has the experience of running the school, he’s resourceful and he has the potential to reconcile different parties that have long stood on different sides in the Wizard-Muggle issue. Reconciliation is a prerequisite to move on and to build a functioning and peaceful magical society for the future.”

Harry wondered what Kingsley was getting at. He liked Kingsley, but reconciliation was definitely not what he associated with Snape. Maybe the scepticism showed in his face, because Snape turned his head away and Kingsley made a pause.

“Well, considering what you just showed us, Harry, meaning that, most probably, Professor Snape was one of the targets of the attack, it’s not at all rational what the School Board now does, namely accuse him of facilitating it. They vociferously demand his immediate dismissal or suspension. I’m going to use my influence to refer all complaints to an inquiry later on. But I would like to know that I have at least someone to support my action. So I have one question and a demand of you, Harry. Firstly, would you be ready to testify in favour of Professor Snape? Secondly, will you give me the memories you told me about, which constitute proof of his true loyalty during the war?” finished Kingsley. Harry sighed. It would not be easy to disappoint the minister, but he knew the stand he had to take.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but I no longer have the memories. I’ve returned them to Professor Snape. I’m willing to testify in his favour, but I’m not sure that he wants me to. I won’t do it against his will,” answered Harry.

“What? This man is too stubborn for his own good!” Kingsley gestured irritably at Snape. “By Merlin’s beard, how do you expect me to protect you when you will not cooperate?” Snape looked troubled but determined, walked close up to Kingsley and started to talk to him in a quick, low voice. Harry could hear every word all the same. He felt embarrassed, as if he was listening in on something he should not, and stared at the floor.

“You know that I don’t want to explain my motives for changing sides to Dumbledore’s long ago. I cannot let the boy testify, because he knows,” said Snape.

“My dear man, a lot of people know by now. Don’t be so sensitive about it. There’s no shame...”  Kingsley said impatiently.

“No one knows!” Snape exclaimed loudly. “And Mr Potter divulged the contents of those memories against my will.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest - against Snape’s will? By Merlin, he had been fighting Voldemort! And he thought that Snape was already dead!

”I acknowledge that it was under extreme conditions,” Snape conceded after a glance at Harry’s indignant expression, ”and in people’s minds, that makes allowances for misinterpretations. At best, what Potter divulged will be regarded as incoherent nonsense in the heat of a battle. In a courtroom, however,” Snape hissed in a quieter voice and pointed at Harry, ”what he says will carry another weight. Therefore I refuse to let him testify.”

“Then I might just as well let you down right now! Your defence won’t hold in a trial without that testimony and you know it!” Kingsley lost his temper. Harry backed a few steps. Snape spoke urgently in his quiet voice again, rushing over the words.

“Try to delay the inquiry, Kingsley. Give me the greatest part of the year. I need to tidy up after Voldemort. You know that I’m cooperating fully and working my hardest together with Mrs Steadfast. You know that we need to find the... You know what we must find. As to my position as headmaster, I promised Dumbledore to get the school going. Buy me some more time. I won’t mind stepping aside next year, but there’s still too much to do!” pleaded Snape.

Harry wondered what it was that Snape must find together with Mrs Steadfast. Kingsley turned to Harry again.

“I want you to consider whether you would vouch for Professor Snape at a trial,” he said. Harry looked puzzled.

“The boy probably doesn’t know the difference between vouching and testifying. Don’t push him,” Snape said angrily. ”I wouldn’t want him to do it anyway.”

“You wouldn’t let him vouch for you? It could be done without him revealing anything of the background you’re attempting to conceal. This is not rational! What’s wrong between you two?” Kingsley turned to Harry who did not have the faintest idea how to answer.

“I guess... I guess we’ve never got along very well, Professor Snape and me,” Harry said tentatively. “It was between Professor Snape and my father and ... and I actually don’t have that much to do with it.” He thrust his arms out in an innocent gesture.

“Then you might consider vouching for him anyhow?” insisted Kingsley.

“I...” Harry started to say, but was interrupted again by Snape who repeated:

“You cannot demand that of him. And he doesn’t know...”

Snape in his turn was interrupted by Mrs Steadfast.

“Mr Potter has many ways of finding things out, don’t you, son? You take your time and ponder on whether you would consider vouching for this irrational and hot-tempered headmaster of yours.” Snape made a grimace of incredulity and opened his mouth to protest. “And that will do for now, I think, Mr Potter. Thank you, you may return to your house,” Mrs Steadfast finished off in her voice of steel. Harry gave her a quick, broad smile and hastened out of the door.

***

“She called him what? How does she dare?” said Hermione with admiration in her voice. Ginny giggled. Harry had joined his friends in the Gryffindor common room and told them what just happened in Snape’s office. Harry smiled.

“You should’ve seen his face,” he answered. ”I don’t think her description fits Snape’s own idea of himself as the calculating, detached master of Occlumency. I like Mrs Steadfast. She and Snape work a lot together. I only wish I knew on what, precisely. She’s not afraid of him, at any rate. She’s bold and funny. She sounds all British, but I wonder whether she doesn’t have some American influence in her...”

“He’s in a really bad position, though... That’s how it sounds to me,” said Ron warningly. “Do we really want Snape to stay?” he added in a disbelieving voice. “We’ve spent seven years hating him, and now we want him to stay as headmaster?”

“He saved Harry’s life... twice,” said Ginny.

“Three times if you count when he stopped Quirrel, in first year, from throwing Harry off his broomstick in that quidditch match,” said Hermione.

“Four times if you consider that he alerted the Order when we went to the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius and were ambushed by the Death Eaters...” Ron added thoughtfully.

“He risked his life when he returned to Voldemort as a spy,” said Harry. He sighed. “And still he’s a git,” he concluded.

“Do you think he went out with your mother?” Ginny blurted out. Harry fidgeted and looked around, but the Muffliato they had covered themselves with was still working.

“Yes...” he said slowly. “I think so, but he hasn’t really told me anything. First I thought that they were only childhood friends and that they grew apart, or that she started to dislike him for his anti-Muggle ideas or something. But I sort of deduced, from what he said, that they did see each other - starting in the summer after that row they had after the OWL exams, probably during their sixth year as well, and the following summer too, before she started to go out with my father in their seventh year. You can’t speak about this though - Snape will murder me if you do.”

“Of course they must have gone out together,” said Ron. “You don’t go nuts with grief over a lost love, for seventeen years, if you haven’t at  least at one time, you know, been together in that way...”

“Stop it, Ron...” squirmed Harry. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I can’t help what my mother did or did not do before I was born.” 

“She was free to do whatever she wanted. She had two guys who liked her, so what?” intervened Ginny.

“Yeah... whatever...” Harry wanted to end this part of the conversation. “I still think we must defend his position as headmaster. Dumbledore trusted him and Kingsley believes in him. The problem is that he doesn’t want to be defended... Hermione, what’s the difference between testifying and vouching for a person?” asked Harry.

“When you testify you’re supposed to tell the whole truth and answer all the questions the court might have for you truthfully. You’re able to elaborate on what you know or have witnessed in detail. When you vouch for someone in the magical court, all you do is to assure the court that you know this is a good person. Period. No elaboration. No nuances.”

“A good person…?” gasped Harry. “No less... But what difference will that do? It all comes down to the credibility of the person who vouches.”

“Yes, it does, but I reckon your credibility is extremely high, as was Dumbledore’s at the time he vouched for Snape seventeen years ago, after the first fall of Voldemort,” Hermione pointed out. Harry shook his head.

“I have no illusions,” he said. “Things like that can change. They write something in the Daily Prophet about me and people will start doubting me again - it has happened before.”

“It’s different now!” protested Ron. “You’ve really conquered Voldemort. You killed him.”

“Technically, he killed himself,” retorted Harry. “I would feel more at ease if we could come up with something more substantial to use for Snape’s defence, than my vouching for him. I’m not sure I believe him to be a good man - I mean in some aspects, yes I do, but not… I don’t know what to think about him, really.” Harry shook his head in confusion before he continued. ”Hermione, this is something for you... If you want to go into law, this is an excellent case to practice on.” Ron looked appalled.

“You could look at it that way, I suppose,…” Ron said slowly. “But if Hermione’s to defend Snape, it means additional work, doesn’t it? It will take more of her time from me. She has already started to disappear into the library…” Hermione wriggled.

“Ron...” she said, but Harry interrupted them.

”We’ll all help out then, and see if we can come up with any good ideas. Speaking of which, I have another one...” He started to tell them.

“It’s an interesting idea...” said Hermione after listening, “...but I’m afraid I won’t have time to help you. I’m not as prepared as I used to be at the start of term and if I’m to plunge into a defence case I’d better skip this one. You’ll manage very well on your own anyhow. I noticed that you’ve improved tremendously in that area during the summer.”

“Okay, you’re excused.” Harry smiled at her.

“I’m busy with the quidditch team,” said Ginny quickly. “There are try-outs and tactics to manage... and I think it sounds boring...” she added and laughed at Harry. He was not offended.

“You do quidditch, then,” he smiled back at her. “Ron?”

“All right then, I’ll help you,” Ron said unenthusiastically.

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.

To disturb the headmaster early on a Saturday morning was terrifying in itself, but the fifteen-year-old Hogwarts prefect had no choice. He panted heavily as he stopped in front of the Gargoyle statue that led up to the headmaster’s office and private apartment. The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, before he spoke the password of alert he had been given by his head of house. The young prefect waited in apprehension and sought the words to express the appalling news he had been sent to convey. He was trembling and found it difficult to gather his thoughts. Like everybody else, he was in dread of the headmaster, but in the middle of his turmoil, he realised that in comparison to the horrible scene he had just witnessed, it was irrational to fear facing the ill-tempered school-leader.

It did not take long before the stone wall magically made way and opened to reveal the impressive black figure of Severus Snape with a disgruntled face. The prefect took a step back and opened his mouth, but closed it again and stretched out his hand instead, to offer a small empty bottle. Snape accepted it automatically, glanced at it and, to the fifteen-year-old’s surprise, closed his eyes.

“Where did you find him?” The headmaster spoke quietly and stood perfectly still. The prefect thought that he discerned some kind of emotion in the voice, but it was hard to say which. Snape’s reaction confused him. Did the headmaster already know who emptied that bottle?

“In his bed. Bottle by his side, along with a letter left to his parents,” the boy answered shyly.

“His parents...?” The dark eyes suddenly snapped open and sought the young prefect out, swept over his features, his robes and his prefect’s badge. “Which house? Yours?” barked the headmaster. The prefect nodded mutely. The headmaster was back to his usual self. “Show the way,” ordered Snape.

***

Harry woke early, as usual. They had no lessons and the day off was welcome. Gryffindor would play Ravenclaw in the afternoon and he would be there to support Ginny. The previous day, he had at last plucked up the courage to hand in the Acromantula paper to Snape. He vacillated between pride over his achievement and dejection over what faults Snape might still find with it.

Ron and the others were still sleeping. He would be able to get a moment for himself of quiet reading. Harry stole away to his favourite window bay in the western tower. He half expected to see David, since he knew that his new friend, too, was an early riser. David did not show up, however, and Harry went down to have breakfast in the Great Hall. He sat down with Neville, Dean and Seamus, who had large plates, filled with mountains of egg and bacon, in front of them. Neither Ron, nor Hermione or Ginny were there.

“Ron slept when we left,” said Seamus. They discussed the quidditch match of the day with enthusiasm, when a tumult from the Entrance Hall caught their attention. Harry looked intrigued at the others, drew his wand, rose from the breakfast table and set off to check out the commotion. Simmings was posted by the stairs in the hall. Since the suffocating attack on Malfoy, Simmings had been transferred to ordinary guard duty and another Auror was stalking Malfoy. Harry walked up to his Auror friend.

“What’s happening?” asked Harry. Simmings hesitated.

“They’ve found someone dead,” answered Simmings in a low voice.

“Another attack? Not Malfoy, surely?” A cold shiver ran down Harry’s back.

“No, in another dorm. They found him in his bed and a bottle at his side. Draught of Permanent Peace, if you ask me. That’s the most effective potion if you want to... you know... Almost all who really want to end their lives take it. Those who hesitate choose something more complicated, with a chance of getting rescued. The Draught of Permanent Peace is irrevocable. It’s so fast you’ll not even know you have swallowed,” continued Simmings, but Harry was not listening. He tried feeverishly to remember.

Yesterday in Potions: for the first time in several weeks he had looked Snape in the eyes and handed over his Acromantula scroll personally. Ron had lingered by the cupboard of ingredients at that time. What if there had been a bottle of the Draught of Permanent Peace left in there? Or if Ron had nicked some ingredients? Harry had not seen him later that evening. He had thought that Ron had gone to bed early, but what if he had gone back to prepare the draught? He felt panic rise inside him, gave Simmings a wild look and ran up the stairs, taking two or three steps at a time.

“Harry?” he heard Simmings call after him.

Harry was completely out of breath when he reached the Fat Lady. His vocals seemed to have stopped working. At last, he managed to croak the password and was let in without protests. The Fat Lady appeared solemn, but betrayed nothing. Harry looked around and saw Ginny and Hermione talking to each other by the fire. Just a handful of students were in the room. They turned to look at him when they heard his forced breathing. To Harry, they all seemed to move in slow-motion and he was unable to hear any sounds, as if he had been Muffliated, or as if he was locked inside a dream.

“Ron, I must check on Ron,” Harry called out at them in his strange, croaked voice and made for the entrance to the dormitory. Anxiety had such a tight grip on him that he could not think rationally, but somewhere, in the back of his head, something told him that it did not add up. If they had discovered a dead body in one of the dormitories in the Gryffindor house, the atmosphere in the common room would not be this quiet. Ginny and Hermione would not just stand there and stare at him like that, with noncommittal and slightly wondering faces.

“I’m up, Harry. Over here.” Someone spoke from the farthest window and Harry turned around in the doorpost. The sight of his friend hit him like a stunning spell. Ron, tall and lanky, with a puzzled expression on his face, approached.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. Harry stared numbly at him. At the same moment Dean, Seamus and Neville entered the room.

“Someone has killed himself,” said Neville. Everybody turned their heads to look at him.

“A suicide,” echoed Dean.

“Where?” croaked Harry.

“It’s in the Hufflepuff house,” said Seamus. Hufflepuff! Harry’s eyes widened.

“David!” he blurted out and rushed through the hole behind the portrait again. He dashed back down the stairs. How stupid he had been! It was natural that he would worry about his best friend first, but he scolded himself for not thinking about David. He had seen it from the very first day in the pub. He had recognised the insincere smiles and the unfocused, extinct expression in David’s eyes. David was much more likely to do something like this - David who could not even speak about whatever trauma he had experienced.

Why didn’t I go and look for him when he didn’t turn up this morning? Harry thought with rising panic. I expected him to come, and yet I didn’t search for him. What if I could have stopped him?

Harry had never been to the Hufflepuff house before, but knew that it was located in a corridor close to the kitchens. He ran across the Entrance Hall and into a corridor.

It might not be him, it might not be him. Please, please let him be okay. Harry repeated the mantra over and over again. It dawned on him as he said the words in his head that someone would be dead in that house, notwithstanding. Someone had deliberately ended his life. He still did not want it to be David.

Harry spotted a crowd in a corner under a stone vault, flanked by two marble statues of knights with crossed lances. Harry launched into the crowd and elbowed his way along as he cast wild looks right and left.

“Have you seen David?” he asked some of the pupils he pushed past. He fought to keep his wavering voice level.

“Do you mean David Burbage? No, I haven’t seen him,” someone responded. Harry attempted to make his way to the other side of the crowd.

“David?” he said in a half-loud voice, despair mounting.

“I’m here!” he heard behind him and swung round to find himself face-to-face with the brown-haired sixth year.

“You’re okay!” Harry stared at David while the relief somehow jolted the anxiety to an even higher level within him yet again. He gasped and felt his eyes fill with tears. He held up a trembling hand to shield his face. He felt himself sway and swallowed several times. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you... I was afraid that you...” He could not go on. David stared back at him.

At that moment, one of the gigantic barrels that were stacked in the corner opened and people were coming out of the room hidden behind it. Mrs Steadfast, Mme Sprout and Professor McGonagall preceded a stretcher where the contour of a corpse was discernible under a white sheet. People stared as if hypnotised by the morbid sight. Professor Snape appeared behind it, directing the stretcher with his wand. He was followed by Professor Sawman and Mme Pomfrey who had her arm around a trembling boy. Two other sixth year boys followed her, white in their faces. The silence that had fallen when the door opened was punctuated by gasps and sobs. Harry watched a girl sink down on her knees and cover her face in her hands. Two friends at either side tried to support her. Mme Sprout kneeled to speak to them. Harry shrunk back. He did not want to be noticed by the teachers, who would wonder why he was prying outside the Hufflepuff entrance. Harry watched the small procession disappear down the corridor. They were heading, at an unhurried, dignified pace, towards the Hospital wing. Harry glanced at David.

“Do you know who it was?” he asked.

“Jacob Duffle,” said David. “He’s been… I didn’t know him that well. It’s horrible.” Harry nodded. Suddenly he felt empty and slightly embarrassed.

“I’ll see you around, David. Take care... Not the right moment to talk right now... But come and see me soon... okay?” he said.

David nodded.

Harry walked towards the Entrance Hall again and started, for the second time that morning, to mount the Gryffindor Tower, but although he climbed slowly, one step at a time, he was completely exhausted. There was more than half a staircase left and it felt almost impossible to move. His legs were heavy as lead, and his heart raced even faster than when he had run. He felt dizzy. He grasped the banister with both hands, dragged himself up by his arms and murmured the password in such a low, breathless voice that the Fat Lady seemed to bow out of the painting to catch it, but she let him in, once again, without complaint.

Harry noticed indistinctly, because small, black spots had started to roam his shrinking field of vision, that Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat in one corner of the common room. He staggered over to them. Sounds were buzzing unpleasantly in his ears. He could not meet his friends’ gazes and, instead of sitting down in one of the free armchairs, he let himself slip down on the floor, with his back against the back of the chair so that he was hidden from the rest of the room.

He had used up his last strengths and he let go of the control he had imposed upon himself. His elbows rested on his knees and his trembling arms hid his face.

Closing his eyes did not help shutting out the images that imposed themselves. Behind his eyelids he saw his own hand fill up a glass bottle with a colourless liquid... He saw himself sink down on his knees in front of Snape who was pointing accusingly at him... He saw a stretcher with a covered body... He was painfully aware of the inner pocket of his shirt that had once harboured such a bottle for many weeks... He saw himself hand the phial over to Snape... It had been so close… It could have been him… It could have been Ron... or David...

He became aware of the fact that his friends were trying to talk to him. They held his cold hands and stroked his back, but he was stiff as a poker. He tried to relax.

“He’s in shock, go easy on him,” he heard Hermione say to Ginny, who had started to shake him by the shoulder. He raised his face and forced himself to look at them, but it only seemed to frighten them even more.

“I’m sorry, mate,” said Ron in a stifled voice. “Was it him? Was it that Hufflepuff guy you’ve been seeing?”

“Harry has not been seeing any guy,” said Ginny, annoyed.

“You know what I mean. The guy he has been trying to cheer up... besides me...” added Ron. Harry managed a little smile that looked more like a grimace.

“It wasn’t David. Gave me a fright though... I thought it was you, Ron... at first...” Harry whispered and looked in earnest at his friend.

“I wouldn’t… I would never... You know, I couldn’t do that to Mum and Dad... or to any of you, for that matter...” said Ron and looked at them, a bit dazed.

“You’ve been terribly down, lately,” said Harry, clearing his voice. “And I believe anyone can get there... if you let yourself slide down that slope and don’t do anything about it... In the end you’re so deep down that you cannot get up on your own. You’re led by your despair to believe that death is the only solution.” There was a frown, followed by a flicker of shock in Ginny’s eyes. She shook her head quickly, as if to get rid of a frightening or preposterous idea.

“It’s not that... bad,” answered Ron, embarrassed.

“Would you go and see Healer Shufflert, then? For my sake?” Harry looked him straight in the eyes and withheld his gaze until Ron muttered:

“Okay then, I will, if you insist.” Hermione put her arms around his neck and burst into tears. Ron hugged her back, surprised. “Don’t know if it’ll help, but if you’re all worried, I’ll give it a try,” he said.

“I don’t know, either, what she’s worth, but it would feel better to know someone professional’s got their eyes on you, as well,” muttered Harry. He felt calmer now. It felt good just to sit with his friends really close. He wanted to sit like this for the rest of the day.

Which is more or less what they did. Professor McGonagall came by to inform them of what they already knew. Rumours started to spread, according to which Jacob Duffle - albeit his attack on Snape at the start of term about the use of the Cruciatus curse at Hogwarts last year - had been one of the students who were forced by Albert Carrow - the Death Eater who taught DADA under Voldemort - to perform the very same unforgivable curse on his fellow pupils. According to the rumours, he had performed them a little too often and a little too willingly. Furthermore, they heard that there had been an incident the past summer, in the home town of Jacob Duffle, where he had been incriminated with harassment of a Muggle girl. There should have been a trial in a few weeks time. Apparently, Jacob Duffle’s parents had tried to hush the incident down and no one at Hogwarts had been informed.

Professor McGonagall also declared that the quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in the afternoon was inhibited. Ginny was angry about the annulations, although everybody else felt that it was the natural thing to do.

“Neither of our houses is directly involved in the suicide,” she protested irritably. “It would do us all good to move outside and be forced to think about something else, instead of brooding and rummaging it all over and over again.” She became more and more restless as the day went by and when it was time to go down for dinner, Ginny was in a downright foul mood.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was heavy. The Hufflepuff table, in particular, hosted many pupils with red-cornered eyes and hunched backs. At the Gryffindor table as well, pupils wiped their faces and put arms around each other for comfort.

“They didn’t even know him,” sneered Ginny.

The food had just appeared at the tables, when Hagrid came hurrying up to the teacher’s table to fetch Snape, who rose promptly. Everybody arrested their forks and knives in the air and followed Snape and Hagrid out of the hall with apprehension written on their faces. Snape was going to see the parents of the dead boy, Harry concluded. Snape looked pale, but composed. He would have experience of this, Harry thought. As a healer, you would have to deal with death and its repercussions in the family of the deceased. A lump in his throat nearly strangled Harry and made it impossible for him to eat. He was convinced that at this precise moment no one in the hall envied Snape his job.

Ginny looked at Harry sulkily and put a large forkful of shepherd’s pie in her mouth, demonstratively. She chewed and said defiantly:

“Life needs to go on, no? There’s nothing we can do, now, for Jacob Duffle.” Harry understood her resistance, in a way. A whole day of nerve-stringing suspense was beginning to break up Harry’s defences. The noises in the hall, that resumed when Snape disappeared, sounded far away in his ears and he had a sense of unreal. He wanted to forget about everything that had happened during the day. He heard Hermione object to Ginny:

“It’s not that they all miss him, of course, or grieve over him. They’re reminded of death in general and it’s agonising - especially since we all have the battle against Voldemort so fresh in our minds. They all realise they are going to die one day. You must allow people to react, even if it’s in a selfish manner,” said Hermione.

“Selfish AND stupid!” Ginny burst out. “We are all going to die! It’s a fact three hundred and sixty-five days a year. You don’t need to let it to your skin. You keep that knowledge at a distance and you do the best out of life, while you can,” she continued.

“Well, that’s admirable, but not everyone can do that - particularly not on a day like this. They just don’t have your strength, Ginny,” retorted Hermione. Ginny muttered curses in a low voice. Tables were changed for desert, but Ginny stood up.

“I’m leaving,” she said shortly and walked away. Harry rose and ran after her. He did not catch up with her until in the Entrance Hall. Simmings had temporarily left his post.

“Ginny!” Harry took her hand.

“It’s unbearable! The whole castle is full of sobs and moans. Crybabies! Hypocrites!” Ginny was fuming with rage.

“Forget about it,” said Harry. “It’ll get better in a few days, or at least in a couple of weeks. Come!” He tucked gently at her hand when she was heading up the stairs.

“WHAT?!” She turned aggressively towards him.

”I know a way to forget.”

Harry pushed away the sense of impropriety and ignored the feelings of guilt, as he pulled at her hand again and made her climb down the few steps she had taken. Ginny drew her breath when she understood where he was heading. An approving sparkle lit in her eyes and Ginny followed Harry down to the dungeons.

Sunday followed with the same display of red eyes and anxious whispers among the pupils. What improved things, somewhat, was that the weather cleared up, after midday, and that the sun shone on the brightest colours that autumn could mobilise. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny went for a long walk along the border of the Forbidden Forest. It cleared their heads and Harry felt revitalised. Ron was less negative, Ginny was more contented and Hermione had better colour on her cheeks when they came back to the castle. They only met Professor Burgess on their walk, ambulating on his own, in the outskirts of the northern part of the forest. The young teacher smiled at them, but did not stop to talk.

On Monday morning, Harry spotted Healer Shufflert among the teachers at the podium in the Great Hall. At the close of breakfast, she stepped forward, with Professor McGonagall and Mme Pomfrey at her sides. The mind-healer announced that her time at Hogwarts had been extended to a full time job. She stressed her ambition to talk to them all and indentify those who needed her help. She encouraged anyone who felt affected by what had happened to sign up for an investigating talk with her.

By lunchtime, however, lists were so full that Healer Shufflert stood up again and announced that it would take too long to see them all, one by one, and that she could not be sure, anyway, that those who especially needed her help would be the ones to seek her out. Therefore, she had decided to organise group sessions to have everybody examined at least briefly.

Professor McGonagall made it clear that it was compulsory for all pupils to attend the sessions and that she would have groups and timetables ready for dinner. The reaction to the announcement among the pupils was either appreciative or upset, depending on who you turned to. Harry realised that the healer’s point was not to miss another suicidal pupil, but he questioned the feasibility of group sessions when there were hundreds of pupils to manage. He did not look forward to it, for his own part. He dreaded being scrutinised by Healer Shufflert.

At dinner, Professor McGonagall’s timetables were in place. Three hundred and fifty pupils were divided into five groups. They were to gather in the Great Hall the following evenings of the week to attend Healer Shufflert’s mind-soothing sessions. Ron and Ginny were on the schedule, already the first evening. Harry and Hermione would have to wait until Friday. Harry noted that Professor Snape took no part in the planning or advertising of Healer Shufflert’s group sessions. Harry thought that Snape did in fact have trouble hiding his scepticism as he kept his lips pressed together. Evidently, he had given his permission for the sessions to take place, but reluctantly, it seemed. Maybe he had no choice, with the recent attack on the school and the suicide, Hermione pointed out.

Monday evening, the Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual, with a fifth of its inhabitants absent. They had chosen to mix pupils from all four houses and from all ages for the sessions. Maybe so that no one would imagine that anyone was prioritised at the expense of another, according to Hermione. Harry and she sat together, bent over their books, livened up by small talk, for two hours before they heard the rumble of pupils coming through into the room. Ron and Ginny joined them. Hermione looked at them expectantly.

“How was it?” she asked.

“Quite good,” answered Ron.

“Horrible!” said Ginny at the same time. They laughed.

“It was a bit chaotic,” owned Ron. “But in my group, people got talking pretty well. Everyone had experiences they were prepared to share. We all lived terrible things during the war. It was not so much about Jacob Duffle, but more about last year and Voldemort.”

“Well, those were the instructions she gave us at the start. Healer Shufflert told us to speak of the most frightening thing we had been through last year,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

“She didn’t say that, she told us to describe any memory, not the worst one…” objected Ron.

“Well, I think a lot of people made the same interpretation as I did. Anyhow, you were in the group who got most attention, Ron, so I guess you did just fine,” said Ginny.

They had been divided into ten groups. Ron’s session had been held by Healer Shufflert herself, whereas the teachers had helped out with the other groups.

“Except Snape, of course. He only supervised the whole thing and intervened when it went off the rails,” Ginny pointed out.

“You’re exaggerating!” said Ron.

“I’m not! You were so absorbed by your own talking that you probably didn’t notice, but two pupils in the groups next to mine, fourth years both of them, broke down as they poured out their worst memories. Lot of others started to cry, too, but most were consolable. These two had some kind of panic attacks. Mme Pomfrey tried to give them a tranquillising potion, but they were too agitated to accept it. So Healer Shufflert started to make some incantation, a relieving one, I guess, to take the panic away. She waved her wand ferociously. But she does not seem very good at it...” Ginny pulled a grim face.

“They’re not very effective, the wand-borne ones,” supplied Harry. “You need to have a Swallowscope, like the one they brought from St Mungo’s this summer. There’s where you thrust the sufferance you’ve transferred to your wand. If you just try to throw it away into the air, most of it will only rebound on the victim.”

“Yeah... I heard Healer Shufflert mutter something about a Swallowscope to Mme Pomfrey and that she had not been allowed to bring one, because they’re so expensive and they don’t have enough for the demands at St Mungo’s, as it is,” Ginny filled in. “Anyway, they were about to move the hysteric pupils away, when Snape stepped forward and did that incantation he did to mother - this summer if you remember - which is much more effective, I must say. They stopped whimpering and wriggling at once and just looked at him in surprise.”

“Yeah, that’s a special form of Relieving Incantations - that’s what they call it in the books, when you read about it. It’s quite advanced magic,” said Harry. “You transfer the pain, the anxiety or the grief, or whatever overwhelming feeling is plaguing the patient, to the healer. I don’t know why they call it ‘special form’ though, for it seems to me to be the only really effective Relieving Incantation there is - if you’re in want of a Swallowscope that is - so it should be the Relieving Incantation, shouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps not everyone knows how to do it. Healer Shufflert didn’t, apparently,” said Ron.

“Right, she went all wide-eyed when Snape did his thing, then she looked sour and said that, okay, she didn’t have to worry about the Swallowscope, when they had a living ‘Grief-swallower’ at hand. And she made him come over to the next pupil and repeat his trick,” Ginny said disapprovingly.

“A ‘Grief-Swallower’? That sounds as insulting as a Death-Eater. Is she referring to his past?” muttered Harry. “Did Snape accept that?”

Ginny shrugged. Apparently he had.

“What about you, Ron? What happened in your group?” Hermione asked. Ron bent his head down.

“I told them about Fred,” he said simply, “...not very much, just that he died and that Mum’s crushed with grief. Then I told them about the time I left you, last year, without being able to return for several weeks. That’s what’s eating me the most.” Ron stopped and swallowed. He let Hermione hug him. “It felt good to tell someone about it. I’m so ashamed of what I did, but I need to face it, don’t I? Accept that I’m a coward and a prick.”

A storm of protests gushed out of his friends. “You’re not!”, “You did other things, later!”, “It was the fault of the locket,” they said.

“I didn’t mention the locket. Thought it would be too complicated to explain. And we’ve agreed to keep quiet about the horcruxes. Healer Shufflert asked me what happened after I left you and I told her that I came back eventually and continued the fight. She, too, said that returning made amends for my prior mistake and that to be able to recharge and to make apologies was a sign of maturity.” Ron blushed. “I’m to see her in individual sessions. Professor McGonagall told me so when we came out of the Great Hall. I suppose Healer Shufflert’s assessment was that I needed some of her mind-soothing treatment.”

“Yeah, you qualified, no doubt. That was their tactics. They got us all talking, and then Healer Schufflert sneaked about to listen in and teachers waved her over when they wanted to point out a pupil they were worried about. And they made a list as the session carried on. I think it’s a nasty way of going about it. No respect what-so-ever for people’s integrity,” said Ginny.

“What are they to do, there are so many of us?” said Hermione.

“Well, I think everyone needs to take responsibility for how he or she feels and choose for themselves if they need that treatment or not. Friends can help out, too. Not everyone needs to go into treatment just because you’ve been through hard things,” answered Ginny. ”I’m glad it worked for you, though, Ron,” she added.

“Did she listen in on your group, then?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, she came by as it was my turn to speak. I told her that the worst thing that happened last term was that my brother died – of course!” Ginny scowled at Ron. “And the second worst thing was that my boyfriend broke up with me and that I didn’t see him for a whole year. Healer Schufflert seemed to find that a peculiar thing to say, but tried not to give herself away, although I could see that she thought I was some kind of shallow, stupid girl. So she played candid and asked me whether we got back together again and I answered her that, yes, as soon as Voldemort was gone, you came back to me. All is well that ends well then, she said sarcastically. And I said: it still was a horrible year, at which she almost sneered and made to go, while she retorted that maybe there were worse things that happened than crushed love, last term, and why did my boyfriend break up with me, anyhow, did I suggest it was because of Voldemort?”

Ginny imitated Healer Schufflert by arching her eyebrows at the same time as she lifted her chin haughtily.

“Yes, indeed it was, I told her,” Ginny went on. “My boyfriend was convinced that Voldemort would go after me if he thought I meant something special to him and use me to kill him. She stared at me for several seconds before it dawned on her. So you are...? The girlfriend of Harry Potter, yes, I said. And the worst thing about last year was that I didn’t know whether I would ever see you again... But I didn’t start crying in front of Healer Schufflert, as I’m doing now... I’m sorry…” Ginny wiped her eyes impatiently. ”I just looked her defiantly in the eyes and she said meekly that, why yes, there might, in fact, have been realistic grounds for my fears, and your behaviour towards me might indeed have been justified. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise, she said. All is well that ends well, I said to her without moving a muscle in my face. And I think that Snape actually smiled, in his corner, for he had been watching us and revelled in the confusion I caused her. I think he kind of likes me... or he might be afraid of me, although I wouldn’t know why - it’s just a feeling. He never reprimands me very seriously...”

“You’re one of few then,” Harry said dryly and added: “Are you okay, Ginny?”

“I think so...” she said. “I wasn’t offered private sessions, which I’m glad of. I wouldn’t mind some cuddling up and comforting kisses, though,” she added and bumped down on Harry’s lap. They all laughed at her.

The week went by and they heard other absurd and hair-raising stories from Healer Shufflert’s evening sessions. They seemed to follow the same pattern. Pupils were made to talk, were emotionally affected, but the teachers were too occupied to attend to them all and some pupils panicked. The teachers looked more and more exhausted for every day that passed.

Friday at 7.30 pm, Harry and Hermione entered the Great Hall, side by side, with some apprehension. The heavy tables that were used for meals had been pushed aside along the walls and chairs had been placed in two rows of small half-circles. Professor McGonagall came up to them with a list in her hand. She looked tired and spoke in a slightly strung tone.

“Mr Potter and Miss Granger, you’re most welcome. Come with me, please, your places are over here.” They were ushered to a group in the middle of the room, where they spotted Malfoy already on his seat with his Auror, a middle-aged wizard with blond beard and bald head, standing behind him. Malfoy pulled a face showing distaste, as Harry and Hermione sat down. Harry wondered why on earth they had been grouped together. Did not the teachers know how abysmally they got along since their very first year at Hogwarts?

Harry soon realised that he and Hermione, together with Malfoy, Diane Harding, a girl from Slytherin who had lost both her parents last year and David Burbage, who turned up at the last moment, had been amassed as a high-risk group of older students. There was another group with younger pupils beside them, among whom the younger sister of Diane Harding. It was obvious that Healer Shufflert would keep her eye especially on those two groups. The cunning arrangements made Harry’s flesh creep. He looked around the hall and met Snape’s gaze. The headmaster was standing with his back against the wall, near the front podium, arms crossed over his chest. Harry’s face darkened and he turned his head away. He put his hands on his knees and pulled his shoulders up to his ears. He tried to make a comforting nod at David, but apparently he didn’t succeed all too well, because David looked terrified.

Considering that there were over sixty people in the Hall, the atmosphere was surprisingly quiet and subdued. Healer Shufflert climbed the podium to initiate the session. Malfoy had to turn around in his chair to watch her.

“Welcome to this group session which purpose is to assess the need for mind-soothing treatments among the pupils at Hogwarts,” she said. “You constitute the last group that will complete these assessments. You’ll probably have heard from your peers how these sessions work. The aim tonight is to talk about things that you’ve been through the past year. Try to be as open and as honest about what you say as possible. By doing so, you’ll not only do yourself a favour, but you’ll also help your fellow pupils. We’re here to help each other. Many of you have suffered under the regime of You-know-who. To realise that you are not alone might, in some cases, be enough to find comfort, whereas some of you will receive the offer to come to individual sessions with me later this term. So let’s get started.”

Healer Shufflert descended from the podium and, just like Harry had suspected, came right up to the middle two groups where she first said a few words to the youngest, then let Miss Cork take over. Healer Shufflert sat down on the empty chair between Diane and David so that she was positioned obliquely opposite Harry.

“Let’s have a quick round of presentations, first,” she said. “I want you to say your name and year and whether you attended school or not last year. And I want you to describe briefly something that happened to you last year. Mr Malfoy, will you start, please?” She turned her head towards Malfoy and gave him an encouraging smile.

“Draco Malfoy, seventh year. I attended school last term. Worst thing was to go home during the holidays and not to know whether the Dark Lord would turn up at our house or not,” he said shortly. Healer Shufflert gestured for Hermione to continue.

“Hermione Granger, seventh year. I didn’t attend school last year. The worst thing that happened to me is when I was imprisoned and tortured at the Malfoy Manor by Draco’s aunt and they called for Voldemort to come and kill me and my friends.” Hermione sounded a bit aggressive, Harry thought. She could have chosen between several things, he guessed, whereof the Obliviating of her parents was for the time being what she suffered most from. He guessed Malfoy’s presentation had provoked her. Malfoy looked down on the floor.  It was Harry’s turn. He cleared his throat.

“Harry Potter, seventh year. Me neither, I wasn’t at school last year. But I was here at Hogwarts at the battle at the end of term, when Voldemort held the whole school hostage and threatened to kill as many as possible if I didn’t give myself up.”  He thought he saw Healer Shufflert shudder. A silence ensued.

“Mr Burbage.” Healer Shufflert had to remind David to go on. He spoke in such a low, hurried voice that they could barely hear him.

“David Burbage, sixth year. No school last year. My father’s a Muggle. We were hiding. My mother died.” He stopped abruptly.

“Very good,” Healer Shufflert said encouragingly. “We’ll speak more later on. Miss Harding, please.”

“Diane Harding, sixth year. Attended school last year. My parents came to fetch my sister and me last May when they heard there would be a battle. They got caught in the cross-fire and both died.” She had spoken in one breath, more forcefully than David and not betraying much emotion. David looked aghast at her.

“You’ve all been through horrible things,” said Healer Shufflert. “Please think about what you would like to speak about later. I’ll just have a quick round.”

She went over to Miss Cork, exchanged a few words with her and interviewed a boy in her group briefly. She looked around the hall but no other teacher was waving at her, so she resumed her place beside David. She turned abruptly to Harry.

“Will you start, please, Mr Potter? How did it affect you to be chased by You-know-who?”

Harry sighed. Why did she not call Voldemort by his name? More and more people did after his death. What was he to say? He had not only been pursued by Voldemort, he had been connected to him and involuntarily been invaded by the dark wizard’s perverse feelings in his own body. He had no intention whatsoever to explain that to Healer Schufflert.

“I suffered mostly from the knowledge that I put my friends in terrible danger. Of course I knew that even if I gave myself up to Voldemort and he killed me, he wouldn’t stop slaughtering people. But right here, at the battle, where so many people were killed - people I knew - it was hard not to be short-sighted and only want it to end,” he said.

“And you did give yourself up, as I understand it? And he tried to kill you?” Healer Shufflert spoke with awe in her voice, as if this was something beyond her comprehension. She seemed at the same time curious about the phenomenon and afraid she would not be able to grasp it. Harry hesitated.

“Look, Mrs Shufflert, I’ve already had some help with this from another healer and I feel that maybe your time will be better used if dedicated to others. I’m fine now. I wasn’t this summer, but now I’m okay, so...” he said.

“You’ve spoken to a healer - not from St Mungo’s, surely?” Healer Shufflert said sharply.

“It was a... a friend... of the family where I lived this summer,” Harry said cautiously. It was not precisely a lie, he thought. Snape had been in the Order of Phoenix together with Mr and Mrs Weasley.

“And you told him or her about what you’ve been through? Would that be a specialist in mind-soothing?” asked Healer Schufflert.

“I don’t know. To me a healer is just a healer,” lied Harry. “But yes, I told him everything that happened last year – in great detail,” emphasised Harry and held her gaze. When he looked past her shoulder, he flinched because Snape was standing a few feet behind her within hearing distance. There was an ironic glitter in his eyes and, Harry noticed, a hint of appreciation, as if he approved of Harry’s attempt to slip away from Healer Shufflert’s mind-soothing treatment.

At that moment, they were disturbed by a howling sound from the end of the room and both Healer Shufflert and Professor Snape hurried down to where it came from. A girl had crumpled up on the floor and was convulsed with sobs as Professor Burgess was trying to lift her up. The howls only increased as Healer Shufflert bent down and tried to speak to the pupil. Finally, she stepped away and gestured with ill will at Snape that it was his turn. Snape performed the Relieving Incantation, froze for a short moment, as the girl stopped her cramped crying and raised her head. She was immediately attended to by Mme Pomfrey.

Healer Shufflert came back and without looking at Harry, she turned to Diane Harding.

“Both your parents died at the same time. That’s a terrible loss, dear. How do you cope with it?” she said.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Diane said coldly. “My little sister is worse off, but my grandparents are taking care of her. I’m of age and will leave home to live on my own soon, so I just endure the last year here. I don’t enjoy it very much, but I need my grades, of course.” No one knew what to say, until Hermione asked hesitantly:

“Did your parents fight against the Death Eaters?”

“Oh, no, they just wanted to get us out of there. They had not taken a stand in the issue. It was just bad luck they didn’t make it. Meaningless, really. My sister and I were at Hogsmeade, waiting to be evacuated. My parents Apparated at the exact moment when the trolls ravaged the village and they were trampled to death.” David, Harry and Hermione made horrified grimaces but Diane kept her unconcerned air.

“Would you like to talk more about what happened, dear?” said Healer Shufflert.

“No, thank you, I don’t really see the point. There’s only one thing to do and that’s to adapt to the situation. Positive side of things is that I have my own money now and can decide what I want to do with my life without interference,” said the unperturbed girl.

Harry looked away. He was shocked and embarrassed by her callousness. Healer Shufflert was called away again. Mr Burgess seemed to have trouble taking care of his pupils. Professor Snape had to intervene yet another time. One student wanted to walk out of the session and had an argument with Professor McGonagall. Snape ended up doing a Relieving Incantation on the agitated pupil as well. When at last Healer Shufflert came back to Harry’s and Hermione’s group, she said:

“I think we were done, Miss Harding. I wish you good luck and don’t hesitate to contact me later if you change your mind. We’ll proceed to Mr Malfoy, I think.”

Malfoy started off taciturn and haughty, but Healer Shufflert now proved some of her skills. She spoke softly to Malfoy, giving him her undivided attention and guiding him by her questions to describe the situation at Malfoy manor last year. She made him describe to which degree the Malfoy family had been disgraced by Voldemort, although they let up their property to be used as Voldemort’s headquarters.

“We were despised because I failed to kill Professor Dumbledore,” said Malfoy. “And my father failed his mission. We were treated more like servants than hosts. And the Dark Lord used me to do stuff,” added Malfoy and started to shake.

“Tell us what he made you do,” said Healer Shufflert. “Remember that you are yourself a victim in this. I can tell that you were afraid of him.” Malfoy shook even worse.

“The Dark Lord was so unpredictable,” he stuttered. “You could never make out what to do to please him. What he enjoyed one day, would make him angry the next. Or he would misread your intentions out of spite and make out you were disloyal. You had to prove yourself constantly.”

“And how did you prove yourself to the Dark Lord, Mr Malfoy?” asked Healer Shufflert softly. It all poured out of Malfoy, how he had Crucioed people, how he had guarded prisoners that were to be executed. He related one situation after the other and did not seem able to stop himself.

“He had caught one of our teachers at Hogwarts, the Professor of Muggle Relations. There was to be a meeting with some of the Death Eaters in our Parlour and he had suspended her in the air over the table where we were seated,” said Malfoy. Harry saw in the corner of his eye how David started violently. Something was wrong. It took Harry a few seconds to realise what was going on.

 “Stop it!” he burst out sharply to Malfoy, but the Slytherin was too engrossed by his memories to register Harry’s outcry.

“Voldemort had made me cast the Cruciatus curse on her earlier that day. She recognised me. I felt so bad. I loathed her at school. I mean, what a stupid subject to teach at Hogwarts... but still, to have her in front of me and to torture her...”  he said.

“Shut up, now, Malfoy!” Harry jumped up and spoke loudly enough for the pupils in the nearby groups to turn their heads.

“Mr Potter!” Healer Shufflert said warningly. Malfoy raised his head and looked with hatred at Harry.

“You cannot dictate what I say or don’t say. The saintly Mr Potter, huh? The hero? Well, let me tell you this: it’s not so easy. Sometimes you don’t have a choice,” he spat.

“You always have a choice,” retorted Harry.

“Yeah... what should I have done then?” Malfoy said with heavy sarcasm. ”Should I have rushed up among twenty Death Eaters, in front of Voldemort himself, and liberated her? She was sentenced to death the moment she was captured...”

Malfoy could say no more because Harry had pulled out his wand and Langlocked him. Furiously, Malfoy drew his own wand, but Harry had no problem disarming him. It all happened within a couple of seconds. The protecting Auror behind Malfoy stepped forward to attack Harry, but Harry conjured up a shield between Malfoy, his Auror and himself. It deflected the spells and pushed Malfoy, who was propelling himself physically towards Harry, back. At the same time, Harry heard the roaring voice of Snape behind him.

“Potter! Are you out of your mind? Lower your wand. I warned Healer Shufflert not to put you two together, but I didn’t expect this. By Merlin’s beard, you’re not eleven years old, anymore!” Snape strode up fast between the rows of chairs, his cloak billowing behind him. Harry had to back off a few steps to face him. He held his shield against Malfoy and the Auror with his left hand and with the wand in his right hand he fended off Snape’s attempts to disarm him. His face was white with rage.

“Hear me out, for once, before you judge me, will you?” Harry hissed at Snape.

Everyone in the hall had turned their heads to look at Harry and Malfoy and several pupils had risen to have a better view of what was happening. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick approached, but stopped at a distance when Snape, with a grim look on his face, lowered his wand a few steps from Harry.

“I give you thirty seconds to explain your conduct, Potter. Otherwise you’re expelled from this school with immediate effect!” he spat.

Harry was so upset he had difficulties finding his words.

“He...” Harry pointed at Malfoy “... is so full of self-pity… Whimpering about what Voldemort made him do. Of course he had a choice!” Harry’s breath heaved. “And she...” he pointed at Healer Schufflert “…is so engrossed by her own skills in making poor Malfoy talk about his wretchedness...” He spat out the words. “...that she forgets there are other victims here. She...” Harry pointed at Hermione “...was tortured in Malfoy’s house. And his mother...” Harry pointed at David “…died in that manor. He...” Harry pointed at Malfoy again. His left arm had begun to tremble from the effort of holding the shield against the Slytherin and his Auror. “He crumples up in anguish over his own deeds, but he’s still too selfish to realise who’s listening. It doesn’t matter that it’s unintentional - it’s cruel anyway. Do you really think that David Burbage needs to hear in detail how his mother died? Do you really think he needs those images in his head when he goes to bed tonight? Should I let Malfoy go on and tell him more? Let HIM ease his feelings of guilt at the expense of an innocent person who lost a parent? Who’s the victim here? This whole session thing is MADNESS and YOU should have stopped it from the beginning!” Harry shouted the last sentence full in Snape’s horror-struck face. It took a second for Snape to grasp the meaning of what Harry said, then he turned to Healer Schufflert.

“Did you let Mr Malfoy speak about Charity Burbage in front of her son?” he began, in a dangerously quiet tone, walking towards her. “I warned you of putting perpetrators...” he pointed at Malfoy as he raised his voice “... and victims...” he pointed at David who was sitting with his face hidden in his hands, “...in the same group. Professor Sprout informed you about the conditions of the pupils in her house, now, didn’t she?” Healer Schufflert fretted under Snape’s furious gaze.

”There was so much to take into consideration… We needed to assemble… I didn’t quite…” she began to say.

”It seems to me that you’ve taken on more than you can manage, Healer Schufflert. My only condition for allowing these sessions was that you shouldn’t cause more harm than good!” said Snape.

“We can Obliviate Mr Burbage at once. It’s so fresh, it will go easily...” said Healer Schufflert nonchalantly and waved her hand, as if to push Snape’s criticism away.

“He’s not to be Obliviated!” Snape and Harry roared in unison. They looked with surprise at each other.

“Lower your shield, Mr Potter, I’ll take care of this from now,” said Snape. Harry did as he was told and sat down. “Mr Sachs, please, take your charge down to the Slytherin dungeon. Draco, go with him. Healer Shufflert will come and see you later.” Malfoy, however, fought to get loose from the Auror’s grip. He still could not speak and fury shone out of his eyes. The Auror had difficulties restraining him. Miss Cork walked over to them.

“I’ll come with you, Draco. Let’s go down to the Slytherin common room together,” said the young head of Slytherin. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy relaxed and turned to join her. The Auror followed and they were halfway to the exit when, Miss Cork having lifted the Langlock spell, Malfoy turned around and shouted:

“I wasn’t the only one who witnessed Charity Burbage’s execution. Ask Snape, he was sitting at Voldemort’s right side, and David’s mother pleaded with him to help her, said they were friends... He didn’t move a finger, didn’t say a word to her... Ask him!” he shouted at David who had risen and stared wildly from Malfoy to Snape. Miss Cork Langlocked Malfoy again and, with the help of Mr Sachs, dragged him out of the hall.

It was dead silent. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on Snape who took a step towards David.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, Mr Burbage,” he said.

David backed off.

“Let me explain,” said Snape. “Let’s go to my office, or to the hospital wing. Mme Pomfrey can come with us and we’ll help you to the best of our ability.”

“Don’t come near me!” said David in such a stifled voice it sounded like he was being strangled. “Leave me alone! You let her die!” he whispered. Snape halted. Harry rose, but Snape stopped him with a gesture. David was pointing his wand at Snape with a shaking hand. Snape, who already had his wand drawn, lifted it slowly, but directed it sideways so that it did not point back at David. Snape closed his eyes briefly and suddenly a Patronus, a beautiful doe in full size, emerged from Snape’s wand. David winced and stared at the animal in amazement. The doe went up to David who instinctively stretched out his hand as if to stroke the silvery creature.

“Do you recognise my Patronus, David?” asked Snape.

“She came to warn us.” David spoke like in a trance. “One evening at the beginning of the summer. The doe came right up to our house and delivered a message to Mother. We Portkeyed from the backyard the same moment we heard the Death Eaters come through the front door. It saved my mother, but only for a month.”

A twelve-year-old girl walked up to the doe. “It came to my house, too,” she said. A forth year boy from Ravenclaw had also stepped forward, as if hypnotised by the animal.

“I was a spy,” said Snape softly, looking at David. “It was my mission to use the information I got from the Death Eaters’ quarters to save people on our side as often as I could. I constantly had to balance my acts so that I wouldn’t betray myself. If I did, I would be of no more use, do you understand? That day in July, when your mother was captured, I hadn’t picked up any indications of what was to happen. I wasn’t always let in on secrets. Voldemort didn’t trust me, even if I had managed to reach high rankings. He didn’t trust anyone. I was surprised and shocked to see Charity a prisoner when I entered that room...”

Snape’s voice faltered the least little bit.

“I must not betray myself. Voldemort tried us on purpose. I used my skills of Occlumency and I showed no reaction. I couldn’t have saved her at that moment, I’m sorry.” Snape lowered his head. The Patronus that had circled David suddenly disappeared. Tears ran down David’s cheeks and he shook violently.

“She was kept unconscious, most of the time. She was awake only for short intervals. She did plead with me when she was awake. We were colleagues and friends. Voldemort killed her, himself, with an Avada Kedavra. That means that it was quick... at least.” Snape’s voice trailed off, he did not seem to be able to make up what more to say. David’s breath was rattling. Harry thought that his friend was about to collapse.

“Just a moment, Mr Burbage, I’ll help you,” murmured Snape. He made an attempt to lift his hand, but his arm did not obey him and he stared at the floor.

Instinctively, Harry understood. Either Snape had already done too many Relieving Incantations during the evening, or he was restrained by his own memories of the horrid event. Harry made up his mind in an instant. He walked up to David, lifted his hands and started to mumble the incantation. He was prepared for the transfer and observed, almost with curiosity, how a burning sensation spread through his body - a searing, violent ache that transported itself in waves. He recognised the symptoms of grief and anguish. The grief after a lost mother - he knew that. He got a little misty-eyed, that was all. He stood absolutely still and let the feelings wash through him, until they abated. David was breathing normally and looked gratefully at Harry.

“Thank you!” he said, in a completely different voice, exempt of all tightness.

“She’ll always be with you, you know,” said Harry, meeting his eyes.

“I know,” said David.

Everyone had looked at them in suspense, completely silent, but now the talking and the scrapings from the chairs, as people sat down again, resumed. Harry had heard a stifled exclamation behind his back earlier, as he begun the incantation, and now Healer Shufflert was at his side, together with Snape who stared at Harry with frank curiosity. Mme Pomfrey and Hermione were talking to David and Hermione gestured to Harry that she intended to accompany them to the Hospital wing.

“Look what you’ve done, Professor, by setting them your careless example! This is dangerous stuff and they don’t even realise it. You scatter Relievings around you as if they’re simple cleaning spells and of course someone was bound to take after you. But he’s a student! He’s not allowed to perform such magic!” Healer Shufflert said heatedly to Snape.

“Come on, I only wanted to help out!” exclaimed Harry. “Couldn’t you see that he...” Harry gestured at Snape, but broke off as Snape gave him a warning glance. Apparently the headmaster was not prepared to admit to any weaknesses in front of the healer. “I wanted to help David, that’s all,” continued Harry, not sure why he covered for Snape, yet another time. ”You said so yourself, Mrs Shufflert, at the beginning of the session, didn’t you? We were to help each other.”

“I meant that you should help each other by talking. The rest is up to us adults. You’re a student and, in this context, you’re one of my patients and a traumatised victim,” she said bitingly. Harry shook his head in disbelief.

“That’s ridiculous!” he said. “When it comes to being an adult, I’m eighteen years old. If I had not missed out last year, I could just as well have been a medical student at St Mungo’s by now. I bet they do lots of Relieving Incantations all the time.” Healer Shufflert shook her head, but Harry continued. “And it’s stupid to define us as victims, just because we’re students. Voldemort’s reign of terror affected everyone - it reached throughout the country. Why, I bet even you, Mrs Shufflert, must have some relative or friend who was...”  He broke off again because Healer Shufflert winced and gripped his arm. She stared at him.

“How did you know?” she said hoarsely, blinking fast.

“That’s precisely what I meant,” said Harry. “We’re all affected.”

“You still shouldn’t do dangerous incantations like that,” retorted Healer Shufflert as she tried to compose herself.

“Incantations are not dangerous,” objected Harry with a frown, glancing at Snape. “The only thing that can happen is that they won’t work so well, but they cannot backfire, like curses, or harm anyone - unless it’s an incantation with Dark Magic in it, intended to do damage, of course,” he added.

“I meant that it can be detrimental to the person performing the incantation. The transfer of a Relieving Incantation can make you ill,” Healer Shufflert clarified impatiently.

”It was nothing, really,” Harry answered thoughtfully. “It’s easier to deal with the grief and anguish of somebody else, than it is to manage your own emotions. It passed very quickly, actually.” Healer Shufflert turned to Snape as it dawned on her.

“But the boy’s a Grief Swallower!” she exclaimed. “You’d better take care of him,” she muttered. “Explain to him his duties and restrictions and all that. I must finish this session.” She hurried away to give the teachers directions and soon pupils poured out of the room back to their houses. Harry felt a little tired and would not have objected to joining the others. He glanced at Snape and made a motion as if to slip away.

“Come with me, Mr Potter,” said Snape and turned toward a small door at the other end of the hall. Harry hesitated a second, then followed.

Upstairs, in the headmasters’s office, Snape first made for the desk, but changed his mind, turned and gestured for Harry to sit down in one of two armchairs, placed side by side in front of a fireplace. Snape made flames come to life with a flick of his wand, turned to Harry and drew his breath as if to start scolding him. He seemed at a loss where to begin.

“You were right to silence Malfoy, of course,” he finally said, letting out his breath. Snape frowned to himself and sat down beside Harry, who did not say anything in reply, but stared into the sparkling flames. It reminded him of the fire they had had in the Forbidden Forest when Snape helped him drive out his false nightmare attacks. For some reason that he could not explain, he felt slightly embarrassed. Snape stayed silent. Finally, Harry cleared his throat and spoke.

“Do you think that David Burbage will be okay, Professor?” he asked. Snape sighed.

“The boy has been in a poor state from the beginning of the term, I’m afraid. I have asked his head of house to talk to him and Professor Sprout reported to me that he could hardly speak at all. Maybe this was what he needed to start mourning his mother in a less crumpled and debilitating way. Your Relieving Incantation certainly loosened his system up and, hopefully, he’ll have time to process some of his feelings. This might be one of few positive outcomes of these horrible mind soothing sessions,” said Snape and sighed heavily again. He looked tired.

Harry nodded, but said nothing. Snape suddenly seemed to remember his duties.

“Do you suffer any side effects from the incantation?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m fine. What kind of side effects would you expect?” retorted Harry.

“Weakness or pain in your body?” Snape looked inquiringly at him.

Harry shook his head.

“Dizziness, lingering anguish or underlying feelings of panic?”

Harry lifted an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t think so... No, not at all! I’m just a bit tired, but it has been a long evening, has it not?” he said.

“It has been a long week, Potter!” Snape said with heavy irony. After a pause, he continued in a formal, dry tone of voice: “I have the pleasure to inform you that you're in possession of an unusual magical gift, which in official terms is described as absorbing forces with alleviating effects on fellow beings, particularly with the ability to perform the special form of Relieving Incantations. You’re what’s called a ‘Grief Swallower’ in everyday language.” Harry looked at him uncertainly.

“It’s a gift?” he said. “Don’t all healers learn to do Relieving Incantations?”

“They are trained to be able to do it in emergency situations, at least. But I’d say that only about two-thirds of them are able to complete a successful incantation, and the majority suffer from severe side effects, as I told you,” answered Snape.

“But you can do it easily,” said Harry.

“I’m a Grief Swallower, too,” Snape stated flatly. “What characterise us is that we do Relievings swiftly, without almost any side effects and more efficiently than others. Naturally, there are limitations for us as well.”

Harry still looked doubtful, as if he did not know what to think of it all.

“A hundred years ago, Grief Swallowers were compelled to work in hospitals as healers. You didn’t have a choice,” Snape went on. ”Since the Swallowscopes were introduced at St Mungo’s, Grief Swallowers aren’t indispensable any longer. There are no more than eleven or twelve Grief Swallowers in all, today, at St Mungo’s. Maybe thirty wizards and witches with the ability in the whole country. You’re actually of most use on the field, in emergency situations where there are no Swallowscopes at hand. I’m sure Mrs Steadfast will be delighted to have a Grief Swallower in her troop of Aurors,” added Snape pointedly to Harry.

“It isn’t a merit if you were to apply to Med school then?” asked Harry.

“Of course it is. But they won’t take you just for that. You need to comply with basic requirements,” said Snape.

Harry looked into the fire.

“As a Grief Swallower you have an obligation, in case of emergencies, to be at the Ministry’s disposal. In analogy with Animaguses, they have a list of all ‘wizards and witches with alleviating abilities’. You’ll have to undergo a test at St Mungo’s and then you’ll be officially listed. After seeing you tonight, however, I have no doubts whatsoever that you are indeed a Grief Swallower. Do you have any questions?” Snape still spoke curtly.

It sounded like Snape not only wanted to minimise his efforts to explain, but that he tried to play down the significance of the gift itself as well. Harry wondered if the headmaster was just tired, or if there was something else behind the reluctance. It annoyed him slightly and only made him more determined to go to the bottom of this. He might not be given the opportunity, within a foreseeable future, of speaking face-to-face with another Grief Swallower, if they were as scarce as Snape claimed. Talking to Snape was as unpredictable as entering into conversation with a dragon, so you might as well go through with it, while you were at it.

“Are Grief Swallowers generally liked?” asked Harry.

“Why do you ask that?” exclaimed Snape, taken aback.

“It struck me that Healer Shufflert wasn’t very appreciative of my achievement. All that stuff about it being dangerous. And she seemed reluctant for you to do the Relievings as well,” replied Harry. Snape shrugged impatiently.

“There’s some apprehension in front of Grief Swallowers. The ability may seem strange and frightening to the uninitiated,” he replied.

“But why be snooty and disapproving about it? And Healer Schufflert’s not uninitiated,” objected Harry. Snape looked annoyed and started to explain, articulating over-explicitly:

“I already told you that when the Swallowscopes were introduced at the hospitals around a century ago, it was a revolution in Magical Medicine. Before that, Grief Swallowers were top wizards at the hospitals. The rest of the healers depended upon them. They were so few, that most of them worked too hard, with not very pleasant side effects and the general idea of them were that they were gloomy, sad and haughty individuals that only turned up at desperate situations.”

Harry thought the description fitted Snape perfectly, but he was at a loss at identifying himself with it. Snape went on.

“Grief Swallowers were associated with sorrow and death, and people were afraid of them. Because of the Swallowcopes, suddenly they were no longer needed and, consequently, many of them were turned away from the hospitals. The other healers were keen to manage on their own and they started to despise Grief Swallowers as something old-fashioned. A lot of healers still stick to this malicious idea of Grief Swallowers, even though their abilities are again valued in the hospitals.”

“They are?” asked Harry.

“Yes, because some categories of patients are neither suitable for treatment with potions, nor suitable for Relievings with the Swallowscope. They say that the effect of the Swallowscope is rougher and that it might leave a feeling of emptiness, whereas a Relieving by a Grief Swallower is gentler and leaves a more whole feeling. When it’s just about physical pain, it doesn’t matter so much, but when it comes to grief and anguish and other more complex feelings, the Swallowscope is not the appropriate choice.”

Harry pondered this.

“It’s about sharing, I suppose,” he said.

“What do you mean?” asked Snape and tried to maintain his unconcerned countenance, but an inquisitive sparkle was discernible in his black eyes.

“Well, would you like to share your inner feelings with a box?” said Harry with disapprobation. “The Grief Swallower not only takes the plaguing feelings away, does he? He also understands the feeling. If you don’t understand it, you cannot process it, right? You recognise it and you let it ravage through your body until it fades away. That’s how it works, isn’t it? So you share it with the other person.”

“You’re quite right,” said Snape with awakened interest. “What’s more: the fact that you endure the feeling without succumbing to it, works as a model for the person you’re helping. It shows them that the emotions are endurable and maybe they’ll be better prepared when they encounter those feelings the next time.” He looked expectantly at Harry as if to see whether the young man grasped the nuances of what he was saying.

“Yes, I see what you mean,” Harry nodded slowly. “What does it tell a person if you make out his or her feelings must be hidden in a magic box? It’ll tell them that the emotion is indeed unbearable, right? And they’ll feel empty and lonely, I guess. Abandoned even, perhaps… Yeah... I can easily see the drawbacks of Swallowscopes.”

Snape nodded, but did not elaborate further and fell silent. Harry muttered, more to himself than at Snape.

“It’s nice to have a special gift. I never had one before. Nothing that counted... I only had the scar on my forehead that made me special and I always hated it, because it’s in the same time a reminder of...” He interrupted himself and shook his head. “A pity it’s a gift not whole-heartedly approved of... I think it’s a good thing to be able to help people. I like this gift better than being a Parselmouth... which was not a talent that belonged to me, anyway. But what a ridiculous name for it: Grief Swallower. It’s horrible!” Harry raised his voice disapprovingly. “Don’t you think so, Professor?” he asked Snape in an offended tone.

Snape shrugged, but a smile played at the corner of his lips.

“It gives a completely false idea of what it’s all about, too,” Harry continued in passion. “Like… as if you swallow the feelings, feed on them somehow. What a preposterous idea! They resonate in you. They flood your whole body, right?” Harry was suddenly stricken by doubts. “Or does the transfer feel different for each Grief Swallower? Is it individual?”  he asked Snape who startled and frowned.

“Er...I... I haven’t thought about that. I never asked another Grief Swallower... but the description you make fits with my experience, so I reckon it must be roughly the same for us all,” he said, slightly off balance. 

“Yeah... Anyway, that name sucks... Excuse me, Professor, but it does,” Harry looked at Snape in earnest. “It must’ve been invented by some jealous git healer at St Mungo’s!”

Taken aback, Snape made an attempt to compose his features, but capitulated and gave up a ringing laugh. Harry stared surprised at his teacher. The laughter was quite unlike Snape’s usual sarcastic snorts. It was undisguised and contagious. Harry chuckled and started to laugh, too, turning his head away, embarrassed. As he did, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He sat himself erect in the chair and narrowed his eyes. Snape’s laughter abated and he looked sharply at Harry.

“He peaked at us again,” said Harry, pointing at Dumbledore’s portrait. “He’s prying on us. Silly old man!” Harry laughed softly, but blinked ferociously at the same time. “You’re welcome to join in the conversation any time, you know, Professor!” he launched, mock-defiantly at Dumbledore. Snape frowned at him, without so much as glancing at the portrait. Harry made an attempt to rise.

“Thank you for answering my questions, Sir,” he said politely to Snape, who nodded courtly. “Are we finished?”

“We’re done, Potter,” said Snape. They were both eager to end the meeting.

With his hand on the handle, ready to exit, Harry turned around to ask one last question:

“Why do you become a Grief Swallower? Does it go in families?”

Snape clenched his jaws imperceptibly, but answered slowly, looking Harry straight in the eyes:

“It seems that only persons who have had to deal with difficult events and losses in their childhood and adolescence become Grief Swallowers. You need, so to say, to have met the complex feelings of grief and anguish early on in life and been able to house those feelings, without too vast damage to your own person.”

Harry felt an icing feeling in the pit of his stomach. A shadow of gravity passed over his young face.

“There’re some hereditary components, but it’s common for the gift to skip generations, as the circumstances during childhood determine if the gift erupts or not. In my family, however, both my mother and my grand-mother were Grief Swallowers. Not that my mother made much of it... I never saw her perform a Relieving in my life,” added Snape gloomily and turned his head away. Harry hesitated before he asked:

“Would you know whether my mother was...”

“Lily was not a Grief Swallower,” Snape responded quickly. A dangerous tone had crept into his voice.

“Thank you, Sir, that’s all I wanted to know. Good night!” Harry spoke hurriedly and was out of there, before Snape had time to reply further.

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.

Simmings was usually posted in the Entrance Hall in the mornings and as Harry woke up earlier than his friends, he often found time to chat with Simmings on his way down to breakfast. Simmings told Harry about the Aurors’ training program and Harry kept him updated on his progress on the Spiral Case Knight’s Move which was nearing its perfection.

“I need someone to practice with, to do the Double Move,” said Harry. “Couldn’t you come with me one morning and show me?” Simmings shook his head.

“Not allowed to leave my post. And even if I were free, I don’t think I could do it. I’m not senior enough to teach the Double Move. You must be in absolute control when you do it with a beginner. There have been accidents and I’m simply not good enough, I’m sorry,” said Simmings to a disappointed Harry.

One morning, when Harry was particularly early, Mrs Steadfast and Snape entered the hall while he was speaking to Simmings. Mrs Steadfast turned when she spotted them, walked up to them purposefully and greeted them briskly as usual.

“How’s the Knight’s Move going?” she asked Harry and winked.

“Excellent. I’m doing fine,” answered Harry. Feeling particularly alert and light-hearted, he added: ”But I need a partner to proceed to the Double Move. Madam, you don’t think you would consider...?” Snape winced at Harry’s effrontery and Mrs Steadfast raised an eyebrow in surprise, recovered, smiled, narrowed her eyes and retorted in all earnestness:

“I promise that I’ll do it when you enter the Auror’s program, Harry.” Harry had reeled off the suggestion at random. Startled by his own daring, he thought the pay off was rather better than expected.

“Now that’s a new incentive to succeed your NEWT exams, Mr Potter,” said Snape, his voice dripping of sarcasm, and Harry thought he discerned a heightened colour on Mrs Steadfast’s cheeks. Ignoring Snape’s remark, Harry returned Mrs Steadfast’s kindness with a courtly bow.

“I look forward to it!” he said.

She inclined her graceful neck in a dignified acknowledgement.

“Have you found out anything new about the attacks at the beginning of the term?” Harry boldly took the chance to ask. Mrs Steadfast might still be slightly off guard, because she answered readily.

“Not much, I’m afraid. We did trace the black box to an underground gang of young wizards in London. It had been designed on the specific orders and paid for by a Death Eater called Rowl. We believe he handed it over to Yaxley, another Death Eater, but that’s it... We’ve not been able to arrest or locate either of those wizards, nor the mysterious cave where the crooks who took the Vanishing Draught got their instructions from a still unidentified young woman.” Harry shook his head.

“Yaxley never stood out as a particularly bright Death Eater to me,” he said, casting an inquiring look at Snape. The reformed Death Eater should know this Yaxley best. Snape made a grimace.

“He might have ambitions...” he muttered. “I don’t think...” Snape went on, but Harry interrupted him, turning to Mrs Steadfast again.

“The attack at Hogwarts was kind of strange and original, don’t you think?” he said thoughtfully. “It might look ridiculous to many, with that song and the junkies without their wands, but it nearly succeeded. Professor Snape and Malfoy could have died, together with a lot of students.”

“I agree with you,” said Mrs Steadfast slowly. ”I believe the attack was intelligently designed, but still, it sort of lacked of experience. Too much left to chance. We have to do with a young wizard here, I think, with an original and ruthless mind, ready to kill at random to frighten and to gain power.” Harry and Mrs Steadfast both jumped when Snape spoke with a sharp and angry voice.

“I really don’t think that this pupil...” he underlined the word, “...is supposed to hear about the Auror Office’s most secret analysis.”

“Come on, Headmaster, Mr Potter is part of this,” objected Mrs Steadfast. “After all he’s the one who killed Voldemort.” Snape looked as if he was sick and tired of hearing this argument and Harry corrected her timidly.

“Strictly speaking, Voldemort killed himself.”

“He committed suicide you mean, yeah... sure! I was there, I know what happened,” said Simmings with a sneer. “No need to be modest, Mr Potter. So forth this year, you have lived up to all my expectations.” Simmings reddened as he spoke and so did Harry at the unexpected praise and he was quick to take leave.

***

Christmas drew near and in only a few days Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny would all go back to the Burrow to celebrate the festival. Hermione’s mother was still not well. The visit to St Mungo’s had been postponed. Hermione had learnt from Snape’s contact that her mother needed to go through the entire investigation at the Muggle hospital first, to see what diagnosis they reached. Only then was she welcome for an examination at St Mungo’s. Hermione was satisfied, though, because the healer Snape had put her in contact with had corresponded with her and described thoroughly the reasons why you had to proceed like this and answered all her questions.

“It’s delicate,” she explained to Harry and Ron. “If it is Alzheimer’s disease, we wouldn’t want to interfere with the diagnostic procedure by giving her an anti-Obliviating treatment. On the other hand, if my Obliviating charms are the cause of her symptoms, the diagnosis at the Muggle Hospital may be founded on false grounds. So this is why you need to proceed step by step, even if it takes longer. The good thing is that even if it should prove to be Alzheimer’s disease, the healer says they have ways of lessening the symptoms of it considerably.” She sighed. “The hardest thing is to explain all this to Dad,“ she said dejectedly. The situation was still upset at her parents’ house and Hermione was not going home for Christmas, but was staying with Ron at the Burrow.

It snowed copious amounts on the Saturday before the last week of term. The following Sunday, the sky was clear and the temperature dipped substantially below zero degrees Celsius. Most pupils were enticed to go out into the white, fairy-tale landscape, but quite a lot of people found the cold disagreeable and returned quickly inside. Others played in the snow, having snow-ball fights, or got their warmth up by sledding down the slope to the lake. Before the snow fell, the moist grounds had frozen and beneath the snow, patches of slippery ice were hidden. The pupils, climbing back up the slope would suddenly lose their balance and - to the merriment of everybody - slide involuntarily back down. Instead of playing by the lake, Harry dragged Ron, Ginny and Hermione through the deep snow, to the shielded patch where he usually did his flying exercises after Snape had banned him from Professor McGonagall’s classroom. It was a circular clearing at the border of the forest, enclosed by trees on three quarters of its circumference.

When they first stepped inside, they were awed by the beauty of the spot, as snow-clad branches hung down towards them. Every single, tiny little branch was covered in the light white powder. It was a piece of arts by nature itself - a beautiful crystal palace. The young people soon broke the impressive silence that the white spell had cast over the place as they started to play buoyantly.

Harry tried to teach his friends to do the Spiral Case Knight’s Move - not to great success, but to immense merriment. After having tumbled face down into the snow three times, Ron gave up and sulked with arms crossed over his chest until Hermione started to throw snowballs at him. They began to heave snow at each others, playing tag and wrestling under loud shrieks of laughter.

Ginny was not bad at levitating herself and had no problem with keeping her lightweight all the time, but was not even close to coordinate the Apparition parts needed to perform the spiral element of the Move. Harry grabbed her and tried to guide her along and it looked like they were dancing high up in the air.

Suddenly, Harry heard a noise coming from the forest and saw, in the corner of his eyes, first Hagrid appear between the trees, then Snape, staring at the ground and blowing up a path in the deep snow with his wand at the same time as he was muttering and swearing to himself. Hagrid stopped when he saw Harry, which forced Snape to stop as well. He lifted his gaze in time to see Ginny and Harry turn in the air and do a landing on the snow. Ginny lost her balance as her foot touched the ground and dragged Harry with her in the fall. She laughed and made them roll around a couple of times before Harry could disentangle from her.

He greeted Hagrid and Snape still on his knees, brushing snow from his hair and clothes. Hagrid and Snape were both clad in thick fur coats. Snape had a strange, round hat of grey fur on his head which seemed on the verge of falling off at any moment. Hagrid was delighted to see them all.

“You play ‘round like Kangabbits babies, bless you,” he said. ”Who would ‘ave thought the Kangabbits would beget in this season, huh?” Hagrid had repeated this question a number of times over the last weeks, always as delighted. “What was tha’ thing you were doin’ with Miss Ginny?” he asked Harry.

“I’ve been trying to teach her an old combat technique where you fly in spirals. You’re supposed to go by pairs, but I’ve no one to train with,” said Harry and turned eagerly to Snape. “Please, Professor, could not you teach me to do the Double Move?” he ventured. Hagrid intervened, apprehensive and whispering loudly to Harry.

“Not a good time to ask the ‘eadmaster right now, ‘Arry. We’ve been ‘round the entire forest looking for prints and traces of illicit activity and we’re a bit overwrought. Too much snow, the Professor reckons, and he’s not as young as he used to be... The snake bites you know...”

“Oh...” said Harry with consternation, looking from Hagrid to Snape, having difficulties hiding his amusement at the indignation that crept up Snape’s face as Hagrid spoke. Without a word and with a dark look at Hagrid, Snape took his hat off and suspended it on a stump on a tree and stepped into the clearing. Harry could not believe his luck and hastened up on his feet. He tried not to look smug, but to compose his features in a noncommittal, attentive countenance as he positioned himself opposite Snape.

“Show me how you do it on your own. I need to see that you’re ready for the next step,” grunted Snape.

Funny thing with Snape, Harry thought, was that since the long training session leading up to Harry performing the Avada Kedavra the past summer, Harry was no longer nervous when asked to do magic in front of him. Before the death of Voldemort, the mere presence of his least favourite teacher would have made Harry underachieve. Now it was quite the opposite - he was more self-confident around Snape and so intent to prove his skills that he often surpassed himself.

Harry went through the steps of the Spiral Case mentally in his head, before he Charged up and set off on a vertiginous swirl up and down a perfectly round cylinder. He even shot sparks with his wand two or three times, leaving a black spot of soot on the white snow. He landed and looked expectantly at Snape.

“How many ups, downs and rounds?” asked Snape.

“Fifteen by five, escape east,” answered Harry. Snape nodded approvingly.

“You’ve done your theory, Mr Potter. We need to speak the same language. Essential for moving on.” Apparently Harry had passed the test, for Snape took out his wand.

“Now, to do the Double Move, you need a perfect equilibrium. We’re going to perform the spirals opposite each other and when it works, the joint magic will enhance a strong stability and a centrifugal force that will increase our velocity and reduce the energy losses, leaving more freedom to fire curses and jinxes at the enemy on the ground or in the air. To achieve this, however, you need to learn to adjust to each other’s positions constantly. This is why this exercise cannot be done with who ever - you need to have trained together beforehand, sometimes for months to achieve the right balance. So don’t have too high expectations, Mr Potter. I will only give you an idea of what it’s like. To begin with, we’re going to use some means of assistance. Watch your shoulder now.”

As Snape flicked his wand, Harry received a punch on his left shoulder from an invisible force. It felt like a blunt object that pressed against his chest under the collar bone. At the same time, Snape let out stifled swearing and grimaced of pain. The invisible object disappeared instantly and Snape rubbed his left shoulder. Harry started to wonder whether this was a good idea after all. What if Hagrid was right - Snape might not be fit enough to do this?

“Sorry about that,” muttered Snape. “Here goes again, right shoulder now.”  An invisible pole anew connected their contralateral shoulders. Snape moved from one side to the another. “Do you feel my position?”

Harry nodded.

“We must endeavour to maintain a position precisely opposite each other. Too much to the left...” Snape stepped aside. “Too much to the right...” He stepped to the other side. “Too far away...” Harry was tugged forwards. “Too close...” The pressure on Harry’s shoulder increased and pushed him backwards. “The pole will help us synchronise our movements. Pay attention and readjust constantly. Outside the margin of error, we will fall down. Now, five by five to begin with, quite slowly and we land in the same positions... if you don’t fall before that... Charge up. One, two, three!”

They rose in the air. Harry’s face was screwed up in concentration. One, two, three, four, five rounds and they were at the top of the spiral. As they were to change direction and spiral down again, Harry began to wobble. He fought to regain his balance, but fell face down into the snow. Snape landed elegantly at some distance. Ron who had been watching with the others, let out a laughter of malicious delight as Harry sat up, spitting out snow and extracting cold lumps that had found their way down the inside of his collar. Ginny and Hermione grinned, without any trace of pity. Harry stood up, slightly huffy with his friends for their lack of support.

He took position determinedly again. Snape conjured up the pole between them and they started anew. It went a bit better. Harry managed three ups and downs before he fell. He was beginning to get a hang of how to use the pole in his shoulder for orientation. It was a bit like quidditch, actually, where you had to keep track of the positions of the other flyers. And this was only one player to keep your concentration on. Harry was convinced he could do it. The third time, they managed the whole series of five rounds by five ups and downs. Snape mounted to ten by five.

“A bit quicker,” he said. Harry managed that as well. He hardly felt the pole in his shoulder any longer - feeling the position of Snape rather than relying on the pole. Yet another time and when they landed, Snape arched his eyebrows.

“I removed the pole halfway through the exercise, did you notice?” he said.

Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“This goes better than expected,” said Snape. He removed his fur coat. The others had tired of watching Harry and Snape and started to play with Hagrid who let them climb his back to turn and shake them off in the snow. They were shrieking with laughter.

Harry and Snape stood facing each other again, Snape with detached amusement and Harry with dogged determination etched on his face.

“Ten by five, without pole and as fast as you can do it - I’ll follow your speed. On three,” said Snape. They mounted and began to spin.

Suddenly, a sucking force gripped Harry around his chest and the swirl became lighter and swifter. It went almost by itself. They mounted and descended several rounds. Harry landed with an exultant expression on his face.

“Again!” he said avidly to Snape, whose eyes were glittering.

They tried out a series of combat combinations that Harry had read about, with longer and longer series of rounds. In the end they did ‘Twenty by ten’ mounting high above the trees and with different models of ‘escapes’. Those were ways of ending the series in order to regroup and regain forces. Sometimes you landed opposite each other, sometimes side by side, to be able to exchange words of tactics. You had to keep your orientation constantly. If you did not, you might collide with your partner. There were no incidents between Snape and Harry, however.

“I wonder,” said Snape when they took a pause to catch their breaths, “...if we should try the back-to-back variant. It’s considered to be extremely difficult. We are well-balanced, though. We might be able to make it. It’s the most effective combat position. You’re very well covered.”

Harry nodded eagerly.

“Let’s try it, then. When you go back-to-back, you stay closer together, only a few feet between you.” Snape and Harry positioned themselves on the ground, back-to-back. “You see, the spiral will be very tight in this position, more like a pillar that you swirl along up and down. The back-to-back position allows you an excellent view over the battle terrain and you’re always covered by your partner and shielded from attacks from behind. Now let’s practice to find our positions, first.” They did as Snape said: rose, Apparated and landed back-to-back on the snow.

“A bit too close. My fault, I think. Let’s try it again. Do exactly as you did before, Harry. I’ll readjust,” said Snape, apparently oblivious of the fact that he had stopped using Harry’s surname. This time, they found the exact space. “Of course, with the back-to-back position, you cannot watch your partner, but have to rely on feeling his position. It’s not as difficult as it sounds, because you are so close you can detect the magic of the other person easily, but many wizards and witches rely on their sight mostly and are afraid of this move.”

Harry found that Snape was right - it was almost easier to go back-to-back than front-to-front, because Harry sensed the power of Snape’s magic with scaring accurateness, as if Harry was the moon in the gravitation-field of a planet. Once the swirling power gripped them, they were as steady as if someone had fasten them with a thumbscrew.

Harry and Snape evolved in long series, along a perfectly straight pillar in the air and even managed to shift between front-to-front and back-to-back positions in the same move. They tried out the complicated moving pattern of an Arithmetic Star Formation, which allowed them to change their spirals’ successive positions, in a seemingly random pattern, impossible to predict, except for the performers who had chosen the coordinates from the start. For someone who had never attended a single class of Arithmancy during his school years at Hogwarts, Harry caught on remarkably fast.

They were both soaked with sweat and panting. The breath steam from Snape’s mouth crystallised in his long hair, which had become white with frost. The soaked part on the back of Harry’s robe started to get stiff with ice.

“Time to be going. We’re freezing,” Hermione called out to them. “Thought we might grab something to eat in the pub at Hogsmeade.”

“Just one more,” Harry cried back at her, but when he turned to Snape he could not catch his Professor’s attention.

Ginny had put one foot in Hagrid’s large hands and as he launched her up in the air in a backflip, she spread her arms out and made the snow from the branches come down in a glittering cloud around her. She landed gracefully, her red hair tossing about her head and the small snowflakes swirling and glittering happily around her, as she laughed in delight. For a short while, Snape was staring at her, mouth slightly open. He startled as she turned around, and revolved on the spot to go and get his coat and fur hat. Harry slowly put his jacket back on.

They headed for Hogsmeade, but rather than ploughing through the untouched, knee-deep snow all the way down to the gate, it was easier to follow the already trampled path that they had made in the morning when coming from the castle. Snape abstained from doing his snow-blowing spells and did not say a word as they went along.

Finally, they tumbled out on the shovelled path between the castle and the gate. They were caught unawares by the slipperiness of the ground and one after the other fell over headlong. Hagrid bumped right down on his backside. His mouth formed a surprised “O” and the ground trembled.

Only Snape stayed on his feet. With a quick reflex he caught Hermione, who was next to him, under her arms and supported her as she struggled to stand up. Her feet kept gliding away. Snape lifted her up resolutely, supporting her with his left hand by the waist as he brought out his wand, pointed it towards her feet and muttered a spell.

“Oh...” squeaked Hermione, surprised and embarrassed. “Thank you, Professor.” Her feet were steady now. She lifted one shoe to look underneath. A number of tacks had grown out of the sole.

Ginny, Ron and Harry were laughing hysterically and it did nothing to facilitate their attempts of standing up. They kept crumpling up on the ice, dragging each other down again and again, roaring with laughter together with Hagrid.

“Did you get my spell?” Snape asked Hermione quietly. She nodded. “Teach the others - if they want to be taught,” he added ironically as he watched Ginny cling to Harry when he was trying to lift her up. Harry failed and fell right over her under renewed swearing and giggling. “I’m going back to the castle. Can’t be seen with your lot here,” Snape said with a sneer, but the tone was not harsh. Harry crawled up on all fours in a serious attempt to stand up.

“Thank you, Professor, for showing me the Double Move. It was... It was... you know... great! Better than quidditch!” he said as he swayed on his legs. Snape was already on his way, with his back to them, but lifted a hand as in acknowledgement of having heard what Harry said. Harry stared after him.

“Now, let’s get you sorted!” said Hermione in an officious tone of voice as she brought out her wand.

***

Harry was filled with exultation over his exploits of the Double Knight’s Spiral Case Battle Move with Professor Snape for several days. His friends became weary of hearing him describe the marvellous feeling of spinning off in the air, being in full control, with augmented powers. Harry lavished praise upon Snape.

“I could not believe it, at first, when he stepped into that clearing. It was all thanks to Hagrid. He goaded him unintentionally. Dear, good old Hagrid! Snape was the only one who could do it, you see. You need to be in complete control to teach a beginner, Simmings told me so. Who else could have taught me? He’s a really skilled wizard, you have to grant him that,” repeated Harry for the twentieth time to his friends. Ron rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps he’s skilled and powerful - so what?  Snape is still Snape. You know: grumpy, unpleasant, unfair... mean. Greasy-haired, hook-nosed, black and frightening! You’ll just get disappointed if you start to believe him otherwise.” Ginny and Hermione objected vaguely to what Ron said, without really reaching Harry’s newfound conviction of Snape’s splendid qualities.

“He does take better care of himself since he became headmaster. Knows his obligations, I gather,” said Hermione. Ginny agreed.

“His hair is cleaner. Could do with a haircut though,” she said with a giggle.

“And he’s intelligent and strong,” added Hermione.

“Just because he caught you when you slipped,” Ron said resentfully.

“Not just because of that,” Hermione answered heatedly. “He’s been very helpful with St Mungo’s and my mother, you know that. I think he has improved, you know, with increased responsibilities.”

“Yeah...” Ron was still disbelieving.

“He taught me... how long were we at it? Two and a half hours? Three? He taught me perfectly in that time what might otherwise take months. It was brilliant!” Harry could not check his enthusiasm.

“Has it occurred to you, that it might be you who are particularly powerful and easy to teach?” said Ron dryly. Harry frowned. He did not want a rumour about his exploits to spread around. It bothered him what Hagrid had let slip, that someone was comparing his upcoming skills to Voldemort’s. That smelled of jealousy and spite. He had therefore not spoken to anyone else about the Double Knight’s Move. He had not even related the latest developments to Simmings.

In Potions class with Snape, the very last day before the start of the holidays, Harry lingered on after handing in his potion. He did not dare to speak of the Double Knight’s Move in front of the other students. Instead he came up with a series of questions and remarks on the potion they had brewed during the lesson, speaking with happy frankness and making not unintelligent suggestions. Snape answered him patiently.

Although Snape kept his reserve, Harry’s unusual outspokenness toward the Professor attracted Malfoy’s attention and the young Slytherin watched them suspiciously. Harry was not aware of being scrutinised and chatted on until, at last, Snape said:

“You’re babbling, Potter. You’ll be late for your next lesson. Off you go now.” Harry was not disheartened. Anything less than a top-of-the-lung telling-off was friendliness from Snape’s side. He just gave his teacher an apologetic smile and popped out of the classroom.

***

“Really nice of him to tell you to fuck off,” Ron said with heavy irony as they sat in the common room later that evening. They were leaving for the Burrow the next morning.

“I think it was because of Malfoy. I guess he reports to his dad. Lucius and Snape have been associates since they were at Hogwarts together,” said Harry.

“Shouldn’t Lucius Malfoy distrust Snape, now that it’s made official he worked as a spy? Strictly speaking, Snape betrayed and deceived his friend,” asked Ron.

“Mr Malfoy wants to make out that he, too, changed sides, therefore he might desire to be on good terms with Snape,” said Harry. “He probably thinks Snape is fooling us all, just as he intends to do - that Snape only trims his broom to a new game and is getting away with it. And Mr Malfoy wants to fly with him to save his own skin.”

“And how on earth do we know that Snape doesn’t trim his broom to a new game?” asked Ron, suspicious.

“My mother,” Harry said curtly. “Whether Mr Malfoy suspects Snape of treachery, or admires him as the most skilled opportunist of our times, all comes down to how much he knew about Snape’s feelings for my mother twenty years ago.”

“Humph... I still can’t believe you’re taking a liking to the man,” said Ron. “He was horrible to you for so many years.”

“Snape played a role,” Harry reminded him. “And even though he’s unpleasant at times and sometimes lets his feelings run away with him and do stupid things like try to Obliviate me and Legilimency me and stuff, he has really helped me out. And he knows lots of things. He has taught me really good stuff this term. I’m not only speaking of the Double Battle Move, there are other things...”

“He’s a git, Harry.” Hermione stood beside them with a heaving chest. She had just come back from the library and held a magazine in her hand.

“I know I’ve said so many times, but he’s better than you think at first. You shouldn’t judge him only from...” said Harry.

“He is a git - and a crook!” Hermione said with indignation and handed over the journal with a trembling hand. “I’m really sorry, Harry,” she said and pointed on the spread at an article.

“My Acromentula paper,” said Harry, confused. “But that’s excellent. It’s published! Slughorn has lost.”

“Look at the author’s list,” Hermione said grimly. Harry read aloud:

“Severus Snape, Professor and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Member of the High Academy Potion Society, five times recipient of the European contest of new Potion inventions award, Certified Healer, Master of Healing Potions and Expert at Injuries of Dark Arts.” Harry pulled a long face and went silent. He checked at the end of the text. No acknowledgements to Mr Harry Potter were to be seen anywhere.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” repeated Hermione. “He could not resist the temptation of taking all the credit on himself. He stole your invention and your text and published it as his own.”

Harry lay prone on the floor in the living room at the Burrow. Small, chubby hands were tearing at his hair and Harry laughed.

“Go easy, Teddy. Leave me a few wisps.” The little boy was sitting on the floor beside Harry’s head and grabbed the thick, black hair with great concentration. As he did, Teddy’s own sandy-coloured, smooth baby hair suddenly changed colour and became the same raven black as Harry’s. Teddy was a Metamorphmagus just like his mother had been.

Nymphadora Tonks had also been an Auror, and Teddy’s father, Remus Lupin although struggling with his condition as a werewolf, had used to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix. They had both died little more than six months earlier, in the battle against Voldemort and, the orphaned Teddy was taken care of by his grand-mother, Dromeda Tonks. Harry had only met her once before, under particularly stressful circumstances. She bore a striking resemblance to her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, one of Voldemorts’s most devoted Death Eaters, but unlike Bellatrix and the third sister, Narcissa Malfoy, Dromeda Tonks had never sympathised with the Dark Lord, and she had dissociated herself from her original family when she had married a Muggle-born wizard.

The death of both her husband and her daughter had worn Dromeda Tonks ill, and she looked much older than Harry remembered her. Harry had learnt that Mrs Weasley had taken upon herself to help Mrs Tonks out with Teddy during the autumn as Mrs Tonks had not been well. The grieving widow and her grandson had spent Christmas at the Burrow together with the Weasley family, Harry and his friends.

For the moment being, both ladies were gone to London on a shopping trip and Harry, as Teddy’s appointed godfather, had volunteered for babysitting. Hermione and Ginny had promised to assist, but they had not been aware of the early hour Mrs Weasley and Mrs Tonks planned on leaving the house. All four young people had been out the night before, and it was only Harry who had been able to drag himself up, after only three hours sleep, and take on to play with the boy.

Mr Weasley and Percy Weasley had held Harry and Teddy company for a while when they breakfasted, before going to work at the Ministry. Christmas vacations were over for their part. Mr Weasley had shown Harry how to prepare some porridge with mashed apple for Teddy. The little boy’s face took on a series of expressions, shapes and colours out of impatience when Harry blew on the porridge so that Teddy would not scald his tongue. Harry was delighted with the undivided and gluttonous attention of the child as he ate his porridge and he laughed when the by magic un-knockable bowl danced around the table to avoid Teddy’s clumsy paws. The porridge had soon gone down and Harry gave Teddy a sugar-free biscuit to appease the boy who had started to grow impatient again.

“How are things at Hogwarts?” asked Mr Weasley. “I understand that Ron and Hermione are not happy with Professor Snape, because of something he did to you?”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He had asked his friends not to discuss Snape in front of the others, but had not been able to stop them from having an argument about the Acromentula paper a couple of days earlier. But maybe it would be a good idea to get an adult’s opinion about the whole affair, without heated interference from his, for his sake, indignant friends.

“It’s about that publication in the Potions Journal,” said Harry.

“I heard about it, at the Ministry. Severus has finally got his own back at Horace Slughorn - it was foul play of the old Professor to use Severus’ accident for marketing, without even giving him notice about it,” said Mr Weasely. ”And I have a feeling that although he enjoys his position as Headmaster, Severus is not used to, nor does he like, being the subject of attention in the press.”

“Well, it was my idea to publish the recipe of the Acromentula antidote. I wrote most of that paper, under Professor Snape’s guidance, of course. Ron and Hermione are upset because my name is not mentioned in the article,” explained Harry, watching carefully for Mr Weasley’s reaction. 

“Ah, I see!” Mr Weasley made a grimace. “Not very fair - no. But those journals have a jungle of regulations and some of them – and I would not be surprised if the “Journal of New Potions” is one of them – are extremely rigid when it comes to academic merits and titles. In the academic world, I’m afraid your name won’t have any bearings, Harry - you’re just too young and inexperienced. And the academic world, frankly, is snobbish. I don’t reckon any of those learned wizards and witches lifted a finger during the war. That's why I take my wizard hat off for Severus Snape. Despite all his flaws, he’s one of very few persons I know of, who combine on the one hand a pragmatic mind - you have to give him that he gets things done, and he was a terrific asset during the war - and on the other hand, a sharp intellect. He’s abundantly productive in several of the academic fields. Naturally, he would have no problem getting his article published in that kind of journal.”

Mr Weasley nodded knowingly and Harry looked at him with interest, as he absentmindedly handed Teddy another biscuit.

“I remember once..." Mr Weasly went on. "A colleague at the Department and I had confiscated an interesting Muggle artefact of Dark Arts, as part of the estate of a deceased witch. We looked it up in every book we could find, but it had not been described elsewhere. So we wrote an article - we had figured out its properties, you see - but as neither of us had any previous academic experience, none of the great respected journals would accept it. We had to descend to a pretty light magical magazine in order to be published at all. And we were grown-up employees at the Ministry! Even as a second author, I’m afraid to say, Harry, it’s just possible that they don’t accept to name those who haven’t moved on to higher studies,” explained Mr Weasley.

“I thought there might be something like that,” muttered Harry, “although I’ve seen that you're allowed to direct thanks to persons who have contributed to the work, at the end of the paper. Snape could have done that.”

“Yes, indeed. He could also have used his influence, which - being the Headmaster of Hogwarts - is great, to argue in your favour and have your name on that paper,” agreed Mr Weasley.

Harry pondered on his conversation with Mr Weasley as he lay prone on the floor with Teddy now climbing up and down his back. The child laughed as Harry stretched his arms backwards and pretended to catch the toddler to tickle him. Teddy loved to be tickled. Harry grew tired after a while, put his head down on the floor and let the child play with his hair again. He must have slumbered, for he startled when Hermione cried to him, suddenly, from the door opening.

“Watch out! Teddy’s standing on your back!” As Harry lifted his head, the boy lost his balance and fell backwards. Even if Harry had quick reflexes, he would not have had the time to whirl around and catch the boy before he hit his head. Instead, Harry saw, in the corner of his eyes, the small child transform in mid-air, twist miraculously and land on all fours. He had the time to see some white and grey fur and a pair of pointed ears. He reached out to grab the small animal, but first it bit his index and when he still held on, it yelped, slipped and changed shape in a strange way to escape his grip and disappeared quickly under the sofa. Both Hermione and Ginny had observed the incident from the door and came rushing in.

“What happened?” Ginny did not dare to speak aloud.

“Did he transform into a... you know?” whispered Hermione. Harry looked at the blood dripping from his finger.

“No, I don’t think he transformed into a werewolf. He looked just like a cub to me - an ordinary wolf cub, I mean,” he said.

“That’s right, a werewolf transformation comes in entirely different situations,“ said Hermione, relieved.

“But then Teddy’s a natural Animagus! A Metamorphmagus and an Animagus. I wonder whether his grand-mother knows?” said Ginny.

“Teddy?” Harry crept nearer the sofa and bent down to look at the frightened little cub who lay curled up against the wall. “It’s okay, Teddy... It was scary... Me too, I was afraid that you whould hurt yourself. It was really good that you could land like that. You’ll teach me one day. Come to me, Teddy, I want to give you a hug.” Harry spoke gently and sat waiting until the cub came out from under the sofa and transformed back to Teddy. The child crawled to Harry who lifted him up and the little boy started to cry against Harry’s shoulder.

***

Later that evening, Harry and Hermione were seated in two armchairs in front of a fire in the living room, with books in their hands. Mrs Tonks was putting Teddy to bed in a room upstairs. Judging by the noise the toddler made, he put on a good fight with his grand-mother. Ron had sacrificed himself for his sister’s sake and accompanied her out. Ginny wanted to make the most of the holidays and had decided to go dancing again, for the third evening in a row. They would, she called it, ”make an early night” which, by Ginny’s definition, meant they would be back shortly after midnight. They were to join Seamus and his girl-friend at a club in London. Harry had refused to go with her on account of his being up so early in the morning and because it was Teddy’s last evening at the Burrow. It owed him some sulking and nasty looks from Ginny, but he did not give in. Hermione had likewise declined because she had work to catch up with and Ron had rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Teddy was leaving with Mrs Tonks the next day. Some relatives of her late husband were coming to see them. That was the reason Mrs Weasley and she had left so early the day before, to tidy up her house before going to London. They had returned late in the afternoon to the Burrow. Harry had been the one responsible for dinner. The cooking skills he had acquired during the summer had not dissipated and he had been able to offer a good steak with succulent sauce, some rice and roasted vegetables to everyone’s satisfaction. Mrs Tonks and Mrs Weasley had lavished praise over him. The bustle of preparing Teddy for the night had ensued, as well as the arguments before Ron and Ginny set off to their amusements. At last, things had calmed down.

Mrs Weasley sat by herself in the sofa. She was folding Teddy’s newly washed clothes in neat piles for Mrs Tonks to put in their trunks. She did it by hand and not by magic, so Harry reckoned she just wanted to sit down and occupy herself, even if it was slower. Mrs Weasley looked sad and a bit misty-eyed from time to time. Harry supposed she would miss the little boy very much.

It was a painful fact that Mrs Weasley’s children were simply no longer children. Ron and Ginny were at their last year at Hogwarts. George had returned to live at his and Fred’s house at Diagon Alley which contained their joke shop on the ground floor with a flat above. George had brought a friend for dinner the other night, a young wizard called Hercules, who did not live up to his name by being a rather short and thin person, but with a handsome face and a magnificent beard. He held an apothecary next to George’s shop. With his help, George seemed to have gone back to doing some inventing again, in order to create new products for the shop. George looked less broken and hollow than during the summer. He even smiled from time to time. The incessant jokes that used to fly between his twin brother and him were conspicuous by their absence, though. George had become a rather silent and serious young man. His friend, however, was lively and ready to laugh at anything and Harry could see that he might be good for the forlorn twin. 

Percy lived on his own in London, even if he came to see his parents at least once a week now that they were back on speaking terms. Bill and Fleur had their own house by the sea and, as hard-working employees at Gringott’s and at the Ministry, they were often occupied by various engagements. Harry perceived a slight disappointment in Mrs Weasley because the young couple were so engrossed in their work and did not have time to visit very often. Fleur had just started on a new and improved position at the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic and had given all of them to understand that, as to grand children, Mrs Weasley would have to wait for some time. Bill and Fleur had left for France to celebrate the New Year with Fleur’s parents and younger sister. Charlie was home for the holidays. He would soon go back to his work with dragons in Romania, however. 

“Did you have a nice trip to London, you and Mrs Tonks?” Hermione asked Mrs Weasley. They had not had time to hear much about it at dinner.

“I guess so,” replied Mrs Weasley. “There are good prices now, so I bought some clothes at a real bargain, in Diagon Alley.” Mrs Weasley went silent for a while. Harry looked at her encouragingly. She smiled at him, but hesitated before she spoke again. “I accompanied Mrs Tonks to have tea with her sister, Narcissa,” she finally let out. Harry lifted his eyebrows.

“I thought they did not see each other,” he said. 

“I believe it was the first time after more than twenty years,“ answered Mrs Weasley slowly.

“Whose initiative...?” asked Harry, intrigued.

“Narcissa’s. I think she might have changed since the battle against Voldemort,” said Mrs Weasley. “She was a little haughty, as usual, of course, but not downright condescending. She was truly sympathising when speaking of Nymphadora and she inquired about Teddy. What intrigued me the most was that she offered to come and live with them for a while and help out with the child.”

Harry shook his head disbelievingly.

“I know,” said Mrs Weasley, and for some reason she lowered her voice. “I believe there might be something wrong between her husband and her and that she wants to get away from him. She didn’t mention Lucius at all, but still, that was the impression I got.”

Harry and Hermione looked at her with wide eyes. At that moment, Mrs Tonks came into the room.

“Molly, will you please give it a try” she said irritably. “The child is completely off colour - tired, but still refuses to lie down.“ Mrs Weasley rose.

“Give him his toy dog,” said Harry. “He went to sleep with it earlier today.” The stuffed animal was a Christmas present that Harry had offered Teddy. It was soft and magically warm, made breathing movements, opened and closed its eyes and made little sleepy whimpering sounds, but did not bark. Mrs Weasley and Mrs Tonks both disappeared from the room.

“Hermione?” said Harry after a while.

“Yes, what, Harry?” Hermione said distractedly as she lifted her eyes from her book.

“How was it for you to grow up without any magical persons around you?”

“Same as for you, I gather,” answered Hermione, surprised.

“The Dursleys actively loathed magic from the start and tried to punish it out of me,” said Harry. “Did your parents do that?”

“No - of course not! They were intrigued and a little frightened, at first. There were times when they were stern and disapproving, because I made things fly around and I would occasionally break things. I remember that I used to think it was unfair, because I couldn’t help it from happening and they seemed to think I did it on purpose. Therefore, the magic scared me too, at first. But my parents marvelled at my magic, as well. When I was delighted with something I used to make stars out of things and my mother thought it was beautiful,” Hermione told him.

“I never made anything magical happen out of delight that I can remember,” answered Harry quietly and looked into the fire. “It only came on when I was afraid or angry. They used to lock me up in my cupboard under the stairs without food when it happened, so I guess I tried to reign my magic in, because I knew I would be punished. Imagine the difference, though, growing up here at the Burrow, with wizard parents and siblings who did magic all the time, who might actually encourage you to explore your magic.”

“Yes, some difference...” Hermione agreed and looked around at the room which was unmistakably a room marked by magical hands and thinking. Neither of them had ever seen a house like this in the Muggle world.

“Did you ever experience the feeling of not being initiated, of being behind or... were you always able to compensate by learning from books, from the very start?” Harry asked.

“Oh, of course I felt out of place, at first, at Hogwarts, among the truly magical people. You cannot learn everything from books, you know,” exclaimed Hermione.

“You always seemed so... enlightened. You knew more than Ron sometimes. There were no flaws in your knowledge, like in mine,” Harry went on.

“Well, that was the problem, was it not? I worked so hard in order to make it appear I knew everything. Of course I didn't. And the strategy made me quite insufferable,” continued Hermione. Harry smiled at her.

“A little, in the beginning, before we got to know you,” he conceded. “But after that, Ron and I have only been grateful for your amazing capacity to absorb knowledge... and to come up with it in situations of need,” he added.

“You’re catching up with me now,” said Hermione.

“A bit, perhaps. But the point is: I feel now that I got a late start with my magic. There are many aspects to that, of course. I had a piece of Voldemort attached to me and it influenced some physical activities of my brain, like my sight and my ability to concentrate. But it was also the fact that I was occupied by him in my thoughts, if you know what I mean? Oh... not all the time... not at all. But it was always there, in the back of my head: a past abomination that I would want to retaliate against and a future threat.”

Hermione looked at him searchingly, what was he getting at?

“And with all those serious things to deal with, it sometimes was and sometimes still is, enormously irritating to stumble over my own ignorance of small, but important things, that everyone else considers matter of course. Like Trapping web for instance,” he added.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look.

“And I used to blame myself for it,” Harry continued, “because I didn’t read books. I compared myself to you. But you say you have experienced the same sort of sentiments.”

“Above all,” Hermione filled in, “it gave me a sense of inferiority that I needed to compensate. That, in turn, owned me taunts and jealousy.”

“Well, that is my point, really,” Harry said agitatedly. “We were inferior! Muggle-borns or children brought up by Muggles do not start on an equal level to children brought up in wizard families. And maybe that injustice is inevitable. We might even have some knowledge and views of things that they don’t. But it does not show to our advantage, because once we are accepted at Hogwarts, we mostly live in the magical world. To a point, however, I think it might be corrigible.”

“What do you mean, Harry?” Hermione frowned.

“Listen, I’ve got an idea,” said Harry.

“Your ideas usually mean a lot of work, Harry,” Hermione said suspiciously.

“Not for us, particularly, this time,” answered Harry. “I just need to know if you think it might be a good idea to ask… you know… Mrs Weasley,” he added in earnest.

“Mrs Weasley!” exclaimed Hermione.

“Listen!” Harry bent forward and explained to Hermione what he wanted to do. “…And Mrs Weasley might want to have something to occupy herself with when we’re all gone again,” he ended his argumentation. Hermione looked at him first in doubt, but it changed into exultation.

“That’s brilliant!” she exclaimed. “Here she comes down again. Let’s ask her.” Mrs Weasley looked a little surprised when Harry and Hermione came over to sit on each sides of her in the sofa but she listened attentively as they went along explaining.

***

A couple of days later, Harry was seated at the table in the kitchen at the Burrow. The previous night had been their last night out and the four of them - Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry - had not been back at the Burrow until five o’clock in the morning. They were scheduled to return to Hogwarts the following day. It was past midday, but Harry still wore his pyjamas and was having some sort of brunch. He was the only one up among the young people. Suddenly, Charlie, who sat at the opposite side of the table, chuckled as he turned a page in the Daily Prophet.

“Did you have a spot of trouble, last night at the...” Charlie bent forward to spell it out “Xenophoria Club?”

Harry froze and looked at Charlie suspiciously. How did he know that Ginny had at last persuaded him to go with her to the newly opened wizard club in London? He had resisted the idea to the very last, on grounds that had proven to be well-founded down to every detail.

Charlie turned the paper for him to show a photograph under the headline “Popular Potter” in large letters on top of the page. He saw himself in the middle of a huge group of young girls and fancy-clad boys. The moving photo showed how the screaming young people pressed in on him while he was trying to fend them off. A smaller photograph to the right showed him standing at Ginny’s side where Ginny looked radiant and confident, while Harry appeared to hunch and cling to her. At least, neither photo really showed his face. He was partly hidden by Ginny on one photo and looking down on the other. All you could see was his mop of black, unruly hair and, between the parted strands of his fringe, on his forehead, the barely discernible, famous scar, which, however, proved to the public that it was, indeed, Harry Potter in that club.

The press was out of recent photographs on him and Harry tried to keep it that way. He would prefer to melt into anonymity. For obvious reasons he had stayed hidden during the most part of the previous year, and after the battle, during which no photos had been taken, he had withdrawn into a voluntary exile at the Burrow. Growing taller and with more adult features, especially without his glasses, he was not that easily recognised any longer. But, he thought bitterly, one person had been enough, yesterday, to start spreading the news of his appearance at the club.

It had been just as awful as it looked. He had tried to stick to Ginny and dance with her, but as soon as she withdrew the slightest, he was assaulted from all directions by people. There had been other students from Hogwarts at the club, mostly Slytherins, who had laughed up their sleeves as they saw him struggle. It was a fancy club for rich wizards and that was another reason for Harry to feel uncomfortable. He did not identify himself as rich and famous.

He had endured two hours of constant attention and harassment before he had declared to Ginny that he had had enough and that he was leaving, with or without her. Ron and Hermione had not enjoyed themselves particularly either, feeling out of place just as Harry. Ginny moved with ease, however. She danced beautifully and attracted bunches of admirers, both men and women, around her, but did not seem bothered by this. On the contrary, she seemed to know exactly how to communicate silently with them, tantalising them just enough to keep up their fascination, but with retained respect for her integrity. She was a queen you did not dare to approach without permission, but could revolve around for ages.

Ginny understood Harry’s determination to leave and, having had her fill of glamour, she consented to Apparate with them to the Muggle club in Buxton where they usually were left alone, unrecognised. It had been tricky to leave the club unnoticed, though. Even if Harry had roared at his fans to let go of him, because he was going to Apparate, some had still clung to him. He Apparated only a quarter away to see how many would follow. Two witches had been splinched. This, too, was reported by the Daily Prophet under the heading “Reckless Potter”. Harry had made sure that other people were taking the splinched girls to St Mungo’s before he Apparated along to Buxton, but the paper made out that he had been completely indifferent to their sufferings. He sighed and looked at Charlie who shrugged with a sympathetic smile. 

Harry turned the paper to look at the front page to check if they had put a headline about him there as well, but something completely different met his eye. The black heading said: “They face trial this year” with tight rows of small photos picturing the faces of twenty wizards and witches covering the front page. He recognised Lucius Malfoy with his cold, grey eyes and long, blond hair, Dolohov’s square face, Macnair’s evil eyes, Umbrigde’s smirking smile and, with a jolt in his chest, Snape’s dark, deep-set eyes and high cheek-bones, curtained by black hair.

Ron and Hermione turned up in the kitchen just then and Harry showed them the paper without a word.

“It’ll start now,” said Ron grimly. ”Especially those who were left on probation and are not already in Azkaban - like Snape. The press will pester them.”

“Yeah, I wondered when they would get at it. I thought they would begin sooner. But a new year’s a nice pretext to start, of course. And the Wizengamot must be rounding up their investigations. I must say that I’m impressed by their thoroughness. Let’s see what they say about Snape,“ said Hermione and turned the pages without having sat down.

“Anytime you’re finished, I’ll have my paper back,” said Charlie sourly.

“Just a minute,” Hermione mumbled distractedly. “This is important. I’m preparing a defence case. I need to see what they say about him.”

Charlie pulled an incredulous face and looked inquiringly at Ron.

“We’re defending Snape,” Ron explained curtly to his brother. 

“Oh, dear,” said Hermione. “He won’t like this. Listen: Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is accused of (1) Double spying for Voldemort and deceiving the Order of the Phoenix, (2) Killing the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Albus Dumbeldore and (3) Initiating and encouraging cruel treatment  of the students at Hogwarts school under the directions of Voldemort. His defence consists in having killed Professor Dumbledore as an agreement between the two of them and his motive for changing sides would allegedly have been personal in the romantic range.“

“So long, it’s rather objectively written, although it sounds absurd in such a short version,” said Harry, “and Snape won’t like that they even faintly suggest a romantic motive. I understand him - it’s none of their business...”

“Well, it’s thanks to you, mate, that the rumour is around,” Ron pointed out.

“I know,” squirmed Harry, “I had to, remember? And I thought Snape was dead.”

“We know, Harry... Listen to this. Severus Snape declines to comment on the accusations, but gives to understand, forcibly, to our reporter that he absolutely refuses to elaborate on his motives for working for Dumbledore. And this is just the beginning,” said Hermione with a sigh.

Harry and his friends came back to Hogwarts where they resumed work, but where the tempo in classes quickened, and the teachers were pressing on with a different kind of determination than during the autumn. The professors were constantly going on about the NEWT, and Ginny hated it. To begin with, she had difficulties readapting from the freedom experienced during the holidays back to the obligations at school. Moreover, she loathed the extra pressure they were put under because of the upcoming exams. She snapped at her fellow-students and at the teachers and if Harry had not cajoled her into joining him to go to lessons, she would have started to skip classes simply out of spite for the NEWT hysteria as she called it.

After the headlines in the press, Professor Snape was, as expected, darker than ever, with a vibrating impatience beneath the stern surface. It was as if he expected things to explode in his face at any moment. If people had ever dared to contradict him, now was not the time to start doing it. No question of chatting after classes, or confronting him with the authorship of the Potion paper, or asking whatever of him. Harry tried to keep out of Snape’s way as much as possible, sitting in the back row in classes and not saying a word, unless asked.

The reading of the Daily Prophet became an activity filled with anguish. Harry, who usually had breakfast early in the morning, made a habit of coming down to the Great Hall again for a second cup of tea while his friends ate. The papers were delivered by post owls that invaded the hall about that time.

After the piece of writing relating his own mishap at the Xenophoria and a series of new articles with increasing speculations concerning Professor Snape’s motives and different roles during the Voldemort regime, Harry had decided not to read a word in the paper by himself, to spare himself the constant sense of indignation. He relied on Hermione to read for him and relate only the important points. In that way, he kept up to date and yet prevented the speculations from taxing his mental energy. His experience from many years of unasked for fame, had taught him that the untruths and the half-truths in the texts could hurt deeply.

Harry had indeed been badly treated in the press before, in particular during his fifth year at school, after Cederic Diggory’s death at the close of the Triwizard Tournament. The Daily Prophet had taken the Ministry’s stand not to believe his story about Voldemort’s return and depicted him as a sensation-seeking, unstable boy who told lies. It was easy for him now to mistrust the paper as the intimations concerning Snape grew grosser, and to sympathise with its victim.

Snape did not seem to have the same capacity of distancing himself from the writings. The contents of the Daily Prophet could be read by Snape’s temper as accurately as a good Sneakoscope showed danger. Snape devoured his paper at breakfast, as soon as it arrived, and more than once did the students watch him stand up in anger with the paper withering to ashes in his hands. He would grab one of his teacher’s Prophets instead and walk away, muttering and swearing, and everyone would know to stay out of his way that day.

One day at the end of January, Harry received a letter by owl from the chief editor of the Daily Prophet asking him politely for an interview or, if he could not grant them that, at least a comment on whether he was to testify in favour of Professor Snape or not. Harry replied, equally polite, that he had no comment. The next issue of the paper made out that Harry Potter, captive at Hogwarts, under the close supervision of Headmaster Snape, was afraid of expressing himself freely to the press. There were speculations that he would not testify in Snape’s favour and concerned hints as to his treatment at Hogwarts. Harry fumed with anger when Hermione related the article to him.

“Just don’t fall into the trap and make a statement, Harry. That’s what they want and it will only get worse,” said Hermione.

“Quiet is the tactic,” said Ginny, whose spirits had risen as she observed the exciting drama. She was all on Snape’s side, being a keen advocate of personal integrity. “It’s nobody’s business, his love affairs,” she said. “It’s like when Ron tried to interfere with my boyfriends in fourth and fifth year.”

“That was brotherly concern!” exclaimed Ron.

“It was undue interference caused by jealously,” retorted Ginny and a formidable family row ensued with Harry and Hermione as go-betweens.

***

An outing to Hogsmeade the last Sunday in January was spoilt when Harry was surrounded by reporters and other various inquisitive citizens as soon as he was spotted on the main street of the village. He gave his friends a look of resignation over the shoulders of the reporters and Apparated directly back to the gates of Hogwarts. There would be no pleasure for him in Hogsmeade this particular Sunday.

With repugnance and dismay he noticed a splinched hand fall off his arm on to the frozen ground. He could not help if people clung to him when he was to Apparate, could he? They were just not to touch him at all! Harry felt a twinge of guilt, all the same. He turned to ask the Auror on guard to open the gate for him and to return the hand to its owner, but found himself face-to-face with Mr Burgess on the other side of the bars. The young teacher was staring with fascination at the splinched and bleeding hand.

“They’ll fix that at St Mungo’s, they can glue it back,” Harry said defensively.

Burgess grasped the situation eventually and turned to walk back with Harry to the castle. He claimed that the reporters might assault him too, in his capacity as Snape’s employee and that he did not want to be coaxed into saying something disadvantageous about the headmaster.

“I’m lousy at hiding things,” declared Burgess. “By the way, have you heard about the latest developments in the investigation of the attack at Hogwarts this fall?” he asked Harry who shook his head. “Well, I was speaking to Mr Sachs the other day. I relay him sometimes in his task of guarding Draco,” explained Burgess. “Mr Sachs is in Mr Malfoy’s confidence - Draco’s father that is - and the Auror department is forced to give him updates as to their progress in the investigation, since Draco was a victim in the attack. Mr Malfoy is furious because they have not caught the person behind the deed...”

Harry listened distractedly and wondered how Snape bore with Mr Burgess’ slightly incoherent and lengthy fashion of expressing himself.

“Now...” Burgess lowered his voice mysteriously, “they have recently interrogated a number of Death Eaters and low criminals and the rumour that has begun to spread among them, now, is that...” Burgess made a telling pause as he watched Harry intently, “...it is the son of Lord Voldemort that is behind all this.”

Harry stopped dead and stared at the teacher, incredulous. He did not particularly like, nor did he trust Mr Burgess, and tried therefore to compose his features as soon as he recovered sufficiently. He asked carefully for details, but there did not seem to be any. It was merely a rumour, based on nothing.

“That’s a shocking, but probably completely untrue speculation, then,” said Harry politely. Burgess looked a little disappointed. 

A couple of hours later, when everyone was back in the Gryffindor common room, safely under a Muffliato spell, Harry told Ron, Hermione and Ginny what Burgess had related to him. Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, petrified with horror, whereas Ginny gave up a snort.

“Someone wants us to start fearing again,” she said shortly. “I, at least, won’t walk into that trap. I refuse to believe there is any son of Voldemort’s.”

“I agree with you completely, Ginny,” said Harry and frowned. “Listen,” he said to Ron and Hermione who still seemed apprehensive, “I really think that Dumbledore would have known and told us if there was any evidence of Voldemort having raised a son. Voldemort, I think, was completely incapable of maintaining relationships and...” Harry started to argue, but was interrupted by Ron.

“You’re so naive sometimes, Harry! You don’t need to maintain a relationship to breed a child! During Voldemort’s reign there were terrifying stories of abductions and abuse and he might have done anything to any woman!”

“But, I’m not even sure he was interested,” objected Harry, “He was so full of himself. Anyway, in the case he did… er… abuse someone or something like that, we’re speaking of a person who would have the genes and the blood of Voldemort, but he wouldn’t have been brought up by him, or taught by him or anything. That person would not necessarily become evil, would he?”

“I would not want to meet him,” said Ron shortly.

“Harry’s right, Ron,” said Hermione. “You can’t judge a person by his birth. It would be the same as saying Muggle-borns are useless at magic. But this is absurd, anyway - Ginny’s probably right: they only want people to be scared at the thought of someone like Voldemort coming back again.”

***

The next morning when Harry was having his tea, Hermione suddenly exclaimed:

“Now I see where they’re getting. Oh, no! This is not good!”

“What?” said Harry. He had studied the faces around the room and everyone seemed calm. There had not appeared to be any particularly exciting news this morning. He had smiled at David who had a Daily Prophet spread out in front of him and gotten a smile back. He had kept his eyes on Snape, in secret, to detect any reaction in him, but Snape remained sombre, yet self-constrained. What had Hermione picked up that they had not?

“This is where they’re getting! We can expect some nasty things. Look! Rita Skeeter has written a book about the Battle at Hogwarts and the death of Voldemort. It’s only a small notice in the “Coming next” section. When the book is released in two weeks time the Daily Prophet promises an extract from the chapter on Harry Potter’s victory over the Dark Lord and their conversation - word by word - before the final duel. And there will be an exclusive interview with Rita Skeeter in tomorrow’s paper.” Hermione pointed at a photograph of the witch whom she had once single-handedly caught as an illegal Animagus and blackmailed out of pursuing her nasty writings about Harry. Rita Skeeter had returned last year with a biography over Dumbledore, published merely a few months after his death, with a lot of tasteless details and half-true speculations.

“Tomorrow! Merlin’s pants! We have double Potions with Snape tomorrow. He'll kill me if I show up,” squealed Harry, uncomfortable at the mere prospect of Rita Skeeter writing about him and Snape and Lily, to the point of being rather short-sighted.

“Tomorrow’s just the interview with Rita Skeeter,” Ron rectified him grimly. “Snape will only torture you slowly. Wait until they publish that chapter on your confrontation with Voldemort.” Harry squirmed in his seat. ”But, back to the Daily Prophet. I wonder who has been talking to Rita Skeeter about the Battle? He or she must have given up his or hers memories to the Skeeter lady. How does she manage to convince people of doing that?” asked Ron.

“There were loads of witnesses when Harry killed Voldemort. Could be anyone who wants to earn some gallons. If it wasn’t for Snape himself, it would not necessarily be a bad thing to relate what Harry said. It’s in the line of Snape’s defence,” said Hermione.

“Not the defence he wants,” said Harry with regret. “And you never know what Rita Skeeter makes out of it.” As Harry stood up, he thought he saw Snape’s eyes rise from a letter in his hand to search for him, but Harry darted off to his lesson without looking back. He was particularly ambivalent about Snape these days. On the one hand he resented Snape’s way of appropriating the Acrumentula paper all for himself, on the other hand he sympathized with the Professor for being so exposed in the press.

The same evening, Harry received a note from Professor Snape saying that Harry had been summoned to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for his Grief Swallower test on the Saturday in a fortnight. Snape declared his intention to go with Harry and prompted him to read a chapter in a book about Healing at the prospect of the test, which Harry, however, had already ploughed through from cover to cover, eager to learn as much as possible about his rare gift.

The next morning saw a gigantic spread of the interview with Rita Skeeter in the Daily Prophet and, precisely as Harry had predicted, Snape looked murderous and Harry ducked at the back of his class. Snape yelled at all and one indiscriminately, however, and did not in particular target Harry. In the evening, Harry received a new note saying that the Professor had been engaged elsewhere the Saturday in question and that it had been arranged for Mme Pomfrey to go with him to St Mungo’s instead. Harry was not surprised by Snape’s withdrawal, only slightly disappointed, but also relieved.

***

On the fixed Saturday, Harry stood waiting in the Entrance Hall for Mme Pomfrey. He was too nervous to have eaten any breakfast. He did not know why they had to leave so early. They would be at St Mungo’s almost instantly as they were to Apparate. Mme Pomfrey, too, gave a nervous impression as she descended the stairs. Harry was used to see her in her care-witch’s robes which gave her the authority of a teacher. There, in her private clothes and with a funny hat on her head, she looked frail and odd, but she greeted him briskly.

“Good, Harry. You’re here. I thought you might have trouble getting up so early. I’m afraid we won’t have time for breakfast. Maybe later. Quite a lot of paperwork to get through before your test, you see. Let’s go, then.”

It was still dark outside. The snow was gone, but the ground was frozen and slippery and Mme Pomfrey caught hold of Harry’s arm and walked along with mincing steps. She had a lantern in her other hand. Harry had his wand out for light. A faint glow shone through the windows of Hagrid’s cabin and smoke curled slowly out of the chimney. Harry heard a faint drum-roll and guessed one of the kangabbits had alerted Hagrid someone was moving outside. Sure enough, the door of Hagrid’s cabin opened and he barked suspiciously in their direction.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s just me and Mme Pomfrey, Hagrid. Going to St Mungo’s for that test, you know. Have a nice day! Might catch up with you at the Three Broomsticks tonight. Rest of the gang’s going there,” Harry called out to him.

“Good luck to you, ’Arry! You’ll tell us all ’bout it later, eh?” Hagrid called back.

Miss Swan was on guard by the gates. She looked cold and nodded numbly in Harry’s direction as she closed the gate behind them.

“Have you been to St Mungo’s before?” asked Mme Pomfrey.

“When I was fifteen,” answered Harry. He had accompanied the Weasleys to St Mungo’s in his fifth year. Mr Weasley had been injured during a mission for the Order, by a snake possessed by Voldemort. Harry had had one of those dreams where he entered Voldemort’s mind and had seen it happen and been able to alert Professor Dumbledore so that he could save Mr Weasley.

“You didn’t go by Apparition then,” concluded Mme Pomfrey.

“No, we just walked in from the street,” said Harry.

“I’ll guide you. We’re Apparating right inside. St Mungo’s is the only official magical building which allows direct Apparition inside its premises. Injured and sick people are supposed to be able to get inside quickly, you see. I’ve been there a couple of times, but I was trained in a smaller hospital. Here we go, then - ready?”

Harry recognised the gigantic hall where they Apparated. He gathered it was supposed to be at the same time a reception, a waiting room and an emergency department. People sat on rickety wooden chairs in one part of the room. Many of them were asleep with heads dangling in uncomfortable poses. Further away, there were small booths with stretchers where people were lying down. There was a low-voiced buzzing in the background, pointed by high-pitched shrieks and wails from time to time. Harry inhaled the smells of old house, smoke and chemicals, reminding him of the Potions classroom.

Healers in lime-green robes and care-workers with tired faces were moving among the sick. Harry saw a huge fireplace in the middle of the hall and wondered whether it would not be risky with an unprotected fire around all the disoriented and sick people who were staggering about. Just as he was about to take his eyes off the magnificent mantelpiece, because Mme Pomfrey pulled at his sleeve, he was startled by people coming out through the fire. It was a witch with, presumably, her little daughter who was crying and clutching her stomach. But of course, Harry reminded himself, the hospital must be available for people who could not go by Apparition or street transport. These would have come by flo-powder. 

Harry directed his attention to Mme Pomfrey who wanted to consult the receptionist. They were told, a little sharply - but the receptionist must have worked all night as well, Harry thought - that they had taken the wrong entrance.

“No need to go through Emergency when you’re going to see the Administration,” said the receptionist and gave them directions where to head. Mme Pomfrey and Harry launched themselves into the corridors, but had to ask various green-clad employees several times to find their way, at last, to a much calmer hall with a nearly deserted reception desk, except for the young man behind it.

As Mme Pomfrey explained their errand, Harry looked at the wizards and witches who Apparated into the middle of the hall in a continuous stream of people who continued walking on purposefully.  When they passed under an archway that was built halfway up the high ceiling, they made a slow turn and their private clothes changed into green robes of different tints and they were ready for work. Harry thought these rested healers and care-workers would relay the white-faced, tired ones in the emergency department and elsewhere in the hospital. It was as if the building was invaded by fresh reinforcements.

Mme Pomfrey had difficulties with the young receptionist who, it seemed to Harry, made a point of misunderstanding her deliberately.

“Healer Solomon and Healer Bones will not arrive until nine o’clock in the morning. You’ll have to wait and you should have taken the Emergency entrance to access the wards,” he said haughtily.

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Mme Pomfrey with heightened colour on her cheeks. “We’re supposed to meet Mrs Fountainee first, at the Administration. Will you please just tell us where her office is?”

At last, they were guided far away down the corridors, mounted three stores and ended up in a small waiting room at a turret with a view over a London street. Harry had lost all orientation. It seemed to him that they were now in a much older building than the brick store where the Emergency Department was located. Maybe two or more houses were joined together.

They waited half an hour for Mrs Fountainee to show up and when she did, she only gave them one look before entering her office and shutting the door. Mme Pomfrey knocked twice, but was dismissed both times on account of Mrs Fountainee being occupied with very important matters.

Finally, Harry read the small plate at the side of her door which said: Official registers and Grant applications. He made a grimace. He bet Mrs Fountainee mistook them for people who could not pay their hospital bills and had come to apply for an award. He was convinced this would not have happened if Snape had come with him. Mme Pomfrey looked more like his grandmother than a professional care-witch.

“When am I scheduled to do my test?” he whispered to Mme Pomfrey whose face was wrinkled with worry.

“At nine thirty,” she said. Harry stood up and knocked on the door once more. It opened and the thin and peaky-looking witch started off impatiently:

“I have told you...”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Fountainee,” said Harry politely, “but I have an appointment for a test at nine thirty. We’re from Hogwart’s school and we are to clear some paperwork before I do the test. But if you believe we should come back afterwards instead, we will just leave now to look for Healers Solomon and Bones.”

Mrs Fountainee looked at him aghast.

“Harry Potter? Is that you? I didn’t recognise you from the newspapers. You look different. I expected Healer Snape to be with you. That’s why I didn’t...”

“Unfortunately, Professor Snape had another appointment today and could not come. This is Mme Pomfrey, who’s in charge of the Hospital ward at Hogwarts.” Harry made the introductions and they were at last ushered inside the office.

“Oh, we are short of time,” complained Mrs Fountainee. “I was supposed to give you a tour of the hospital, but it will just have to wait until after the test. The certificate must be ready to sign by the healers - if you pass your test that is, but there is no reason not to believe...” she stopped herself from ranting on.

“Why are there two healers present?” asked Harry.

“Healer Solomon is the Chief Healer at St Mungo’s and Healer Bones is present as inspector on the Grief Swallowers’ behalf. I mean - he is one himself, so he’ll be able to assess your ability as a specialist,” explained Mrs Fountainee, more and more nervously, and began to scribble things down with her quill. At last she showed Harry three parchments.

“This roll will be your certificate when the healers have signed it. And this roll will be sent to and registered at the Ministry of Magic to list you officially. This parchment states your obligations to the Ministry as a Grief Swallower. Now it’s time to go. First of all, you need to change clothes in the Administration Hall. Then we’d better Apparate back to the Emergency Hall. It’s easier to find your way from there. Even when you’ve worked for twenty years, like me, at the hospital, it’s easy to get lost in the corridors when you need to move between houses. Follow me, please.”

The Emergency Hall had filled up with people displaying all kinds of odd complaints. At least the care-workers and the healers on the new shift looked rested enough to deal with them, thought Harry. A huge, undisciplined crowd queued in front of the reception desk, but Mrs Fountainee just looked at the board behind it and strode past the waiting wizards and witches to an elevator at the far end of the room.

“We’re mounting to the Department of Maladies of the Magical Core, she said. Harry and Mme Pomfrey followed without questioning her. At length, they reached a heavy door which constituted the entrance to the ward. A corridor so long that Harry could barely see the end of it stretched out before them. Halfway down, on the left side, there was a round, open area with working stations manned by care-workers in dark-green robes. In the middle, a small group of people had gathered, among them two wizards in lime-green robes. Harry had figured out that the lime-green ones were healers. They also bore a sign at their chest of a wand and a bone forming a cross. Mrs Fountainee hastened down the corridor and, still panting slightly from the brisk exercise, introduced Harry and Mme Pomfrey. Healer Solomon, in his turn, expressed his surprise at not seeing Healer Snape - as they all seemed to call Snape at St Mungo’s - with them, but this time Harry left it to Mme Pomfrey to explain the situation.

Healer Bones was a tall wizard with a square, heavy face; Pieces of flesh hung under his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, making him look torn and jaded. He eyed Harry with scepticism and said nothing. Healer Solomon was a swarthy, well-groomed man with a more friendly approach. He asked Harry whether he had enjoyed his tour around the hospital. Again Harry could not give a satisfactory answer to this and left it to Mrs Fountainee to mutter an explanation. A group of young care-witches gazed at them with curiosity when they heard Harry’s name and two of them started to whisper to one another and giggle. They stopped as soon as a sturdy woman who stood at Healer Solomon’s side turned and scowled at them.

“Care-witch Flourish has a patient for you, Mr Potter,” said Healer Solomon. “Healer Bones has made the assessment that the patient is suitable for a Relieving Treatment. We don’t know that much about her. We’re only here to observe you.”

The stout Mrs Flourish led the way into a nearby room where an elderly lady lay on a bed with long, grey hair spread over the pillow around her face. Her eyes were shut, but the tenseness in her face told Harry that she was awake and in pain. A clutched hand rested on the chest. Several of the fleshy fingers bore gold rings with colourful stones enclosed.

“Mrs Starglobe, one hundred and fifteen-year-old witch, ailed by a spitting pancreas, probably caused by a combination of pomegranate overconsumption and a dissolving magical centre. Incurable. Frail. Could not tolerate the Swallowscope yesterday when we tried it. Her children and grand-children have persistently asked for her to be Relieved of her pain during her last moments of life. Potions all have side effects on her.” Care-witch Flourish resumed her patient’s history.

“So that’s when we’re called for,” Healer Bones said resentfully to Harry. Mrs Flourish was done and drew back a little. A younger care-witch with short, auburn hair bent over the patient and wetted the lips of the old woman with some water. She gently stroked a strand of hair from Mrs Starglobe’s forehead to the side. Catching an imperative gesture from Mrs Flourish, she instantly backed off from the bed.

“Go ahead, Mr Potter and show us what you can do. She’s all yours,” said Healer Bones.

Harry looked uncertainly at them. Mme Pomfrey, Mrs Fountainee, Healer Solomon, Healer Bones, Care-witch Flourish and her younger colleague had formed a ring around the bed. It looked like they expected him to start right off. Harry approached the bed.

“Mrs Starglobe?” he asked. He got no reply. He laid his left hand over the clutched hand on the quilt. “I’m going to do a Relieving Incantation for you. Will you tell me about your pain, please?” Slowly the witch opened her eyes. Harry was surprised by the piercing blue gaze that bore through him. All magic was not gone from this body, he thought. Who was she? Who had she been? Mrs Starglobe lowered her hand to her midriff.

“Here,” she said coarsely, “...feels like snakes biting me from the inside. Burning and twitching pain. I should have left long ago... I fought for many days at home before I came to the hospital...I know it’s time for me to leave this world... But my children...and my grand children... I’m afraid...” she looked pleadingly at Harry.

“It’ll be fine, Mrs Starglobe,” he said. “Ready?”

She nodded. Harry lifted his wand and his left hand. He sung the incantation with a clear and gentle voice. At the moment of the transfer, he stood very still and observed his own body react to his patient’s feelings. Pain clutched in his stomach, spread and atoned in the periphery of his body. Every nerve ending took part in the transfer and vibrated until there was no more suffering.

Mrs Starglobe drew a deep breath. A little colour rose on her cheeks and she sat up.

“It’s gone,” she said.

“That’s good,” answered Harry.

“Not only the pain... The apprehension is gone,” she whispered and looked at him in awe. “The apprehension of death. Have you faced death, Healer – you’re so young?” Harry hesitated, but thought that he owed her the truth.

“I was prepared to die,” he said cautiously, “...but I came back.” He smiled at her. She stretched out a hand for him and he sat down on the side of the bed.

“Does it hurt?” she asked quietly with a scrutinising gaze.

“No, not at all. The dying is easy. It’s the apprehension that’s difficult to bear, and the sorrow to leave people you care for behind,” Harry told her. Mrs Starglobe drew a new deep breath and spoke in a strong, determined voice.

“Care-witch Flourish, will you please summon my children. I want to see them today. And after that... hopefully before midnight... Thank you so much, Healer!” Mrs Starglobe looked at Harry with such intense gratitude that Harry felt tears rise in his eyes, but he blinked them away, thinking that Healer Bones might consider them signs of weakness or intolerance to the Relieving. No one said a word, but Healer Solomon led the way out of the room. Healer Bones stayed behind, apparently to examine Mrs Starglobe. They moved not towards the entrance, but further down the corridor.

“Healer!” It was the young care-witch with auburn hair who called out as she came running after them. She stopped in front of Harry. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said breathlessly. “She has fought for days, in so much pain, but so afraid and anguished before death. Now she is prepared to let go and with dignity, too. She was a powerful witch, you know. Travelled abroad a lot... They can cling on for weeks sometimes, the powerful ones, regardless of excruciating pain. You really did a good deed.” Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Healer Bones had caught up with them.

“So you do Apprehensions of death, as well, Mr Potter,” he said with sarcasm in his voice. “That is not a Grief Swallower’s obligation. To relieve her of the pain had been enough. Well, well - my advice is not to get a post at St Mungo’s. They will use you until you fall into pieces,” he continued aggressively. For some reason he seemed upset by Harry’s performance. The young care-witch recoiled from them, gave Harry a last admiring glance and hurried away. “Now, let’s see how you tolerate this. Here you go,” snorted Healer Bones.

Healer Solomon opened a door and gestured for Harry to enter. It was an empty room except for a stretcher and the curtains were closed over a single window. Harry looked inquiringly at Healer Solomon as the Chief Healer made to close the door and leave Harry alone inside.

“What am I supposed to do?” asked Harry with a frown.

“By Merlin’s beard!” exclaimed Solomon. ”Have not Severus told you anything about the test? After all he has gone through the thing himself. And it’s not often in a life time you have a student who’s a Grief Swallower,” Healer Solomon went on disbelievingly.

“Er... I guess Professor Snape has had a lot on his mind lately,” said Harry vaguely. “He gave me directions to read, but it didn’t say...?” Healer Solomon suddenly pierced him with a hard gaze.

“Is it true, what they write in the newspapers? You’re not on speaking terms? You won’t testify for him?” he blurted out.

Harry did not know what to say. His puzzlement must have shown plainly, for Healer Solomon shook his head and apologised.

“Not my business. Hard to make Severus Snape out, isn’t it? He was such a talented healer, you know, but there were rumours... Yes, there were... dark things… And then, shortly after he recovered from his terrible accident, Severus applied for that teacher’s post at Hogwarts and left us. Not that he has not done his fair share of work here during the summer holidays after that... I don’t know what to think.” Solomon shook his head again. “As far as you’re concerned, Mr Potter, you are to lie down, relax and rest. Healer Bones will come and examine you in an hour. If there are any side effects, they will have appeared by then. You are not to be active, as that might postpone the adverse effects we are keen to detect.”

Harry nodded that he understood and let himself be shut up in the room. He lied down, stared at the ceiling and tried to think of nothing. It reminded him of countless times when he had been shut up in his bedroom at the Dursley’s. What annoyed him the most was that he had usually been deprived of food as punishment at Privet Drive, and he was equally roaringly hungry now.

When Healer Bones came back in, Harry rose expectantly, but looked at the healer with caution. It seemed to be a grubby and easily discontented sort of man. He took Harry’s pulse, waved over him with his wand and asked him about the same symptoms Snape had done after his first Relieving on David Burbage. Harry felt just fine and a little impatient to get out.

“You’re unaffected,” said Healer Bones curtly and they stepped out. Healer Solomon stood in the working stations area and waved with a scroll of parchment in their direction.

“I’ve signed it already - guessed you would pass,” he said with an awarding smile as Healer Bones reluctantly confirmed the fact and grabbed the quill from Healer Solomon to sign in his turn. “Mme Pomfrey and Mrs Fountainee went to the tearoom, but they will be back any moment. Mrs Fountainee will show you the hospital and tell you a bit about it. Ah... Here they come. Well, I need to get to work. Very well done, Mr Potter, and I hope to see you soon.”

Healers Solomon and Bones left and Harry was swept away by Mrs Fountainee who had regained confidence in herself. She also seemed eager to compensate for her negligence toward Harry and Mme Pomfrey earlier. Therefore she guided them from one corridor to the next, from one ward to another and through various receptions for more than one and a half hour. She showed them a big lecture hall located in the basement of the hospital and she stopped at length in front of some of the old portraits that hung on the wall, among modern advertisements for various healing potions, and spoke passionately about long passed healers and chief care-workers at St Mungo’s.

Harry made the reflection that Hermione would probably have been able to listen and take all of this in, but he tired quickly and was distracted by passing patients with weird transformations in faces and limbs that caught the eye. They ended up in the Emergency Hall eventually and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they could have some food or return to Hogwarts in time for lunch?

He spotted Healer Solomon again who appeared to be engaged in an argumentative discussion with a young trainee healer. The young woman seemed to be apologising and made an exasperated gesture at the hall that was crammed with patients and buzzing loudly. The care-workers who had arrived fresh in the morning with serene faces were now showing signs of impatience. Their hair stood on end and at places panic broke out as ailed wizards and witches complained about having to wait for their turn, or about being bypassed by newly arrived sick people.

Harry observed a care-wizard take out his wand and shoot a shower of glittering stars over the heads of a bunch of quarrelling people who first startled, then relaxed and continued their conversation in lower and more polite voices. Appeasing stars, Harry thought with interest. He had learnt about them from Mrs Weasley who had taught her children this way of making up with the aid of magic after arguments, which were not unusual at the Burrow. Harry had been even more interested when she had told him that it was Ancient Magic, but had failed to find anything about Appeasing stars in the books. Ancient Magic was poorly documented in the magical world - there seemed to be few remnants left, transmitted only from wizard to wizard.

Healer Solomon caught sight of Harry along with Mme Pomfrey and Mrs Fountainee and came over to them.

“Finished your tour, Mr Potter?” Without waiting for an answer, Solomon continued: “Listen, I have a full list of patients coming for check-ups this afternoon at the ward. Heart conditions, mostly. My assistant has been called in for work here at the Emergency Ward. Claims she was forced to accept, but I suspect she wants the extra money it brings. So if you’d like to go with me, to learn and help me out with a few things, the place is yours, Mr Potter.” Harry bit his lip in exultation - of course he wanted to! He looked at Mme Pomfrey.

“I don’t have classes in Saturday afternoons and I have no other obligations at Hogwarts,” he said, “...so I’ll be delighted to stay!” Mme Pomfrey hesitated.

”I myself need to return to Hogwarts,” she whispered to Harry, “I need to check on the Wing. I’m not sure, you know, that Professor Snape has the patience to attend to the small ailments that frequently occur to pupils...”

”He stayed at the castle, then?” Harry whispered back. Mme Pomfrey averted her eyes.

”As far as I know…” she replied.

“Hmm… Why don’t you go then, Mme Pomfrey,” said Harry. ”I’ll just Apparate right back when we’re finished. If you could please tell Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger that I’ll join them at the Three Broomsticks this evening.” Mme Pomfrey still looked doubtful. “I’m of age,” Harry pressed on, a little embarrassed in front of Healer Solomon. Mme Pomfrey acquiesced and made to leave as Harry followed Healer Solomon to the elevator.

Late the same evening at Hogwarts, Hermione and Ginny sneaked along the walls of the corridors to avoid Filch, all the way up to the Hospital wing. They found Mme Pomfrey in her little office at the far end of the ward. She wore her usual robes and was rearranging pots of magical salves and flasks with ointments on the shelves. Hermione and Ginny caught her attention by knocking discreetly on the glass door and Mme Pomfrey hastened to open it. She looked from one girl to the other.

“Is he not back yet?” she said, worried.

“We expected him at the Three Broomsticks, but when he didn’t turn up we thought he had gone directly to the castle. We came back fifteen minutes ago, but he’s not here,” said Hermione.

“We’ve checked the kitchens. The library is closed. We didn’t know what to do. Should we tell Professor Snape? Or call for Mrs Steadfast?” said Ginny who looked a little pale.

“Let’s go down to the Entrance Hall. He might show up any moment and everything will be fine,” Mme Pomfrey said nervously. Hermione and Ginny looked doubtingly at one another, but followed the care-witch.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, the entrance door creaked. The three witches gazed at it expectantly as it swung open, but their hopeful faces fell when Mrs Steadfast appeared.

“Miss Ginny, Miss Granger and Mme Pomfrey - just the people I wanted to get hold of,” she said and closed the door. ”Mr Simmings, who’s on watch tonight at the gate, alerted me... And Heaven knows I’m fairly busy this evening, so I hope he’s not mistaken... although it would be better if he were... Anyway, Mr Simmings claims that he has not counted Mr Potter in tonight. Your friend did not join you in Hogsmeade, then?”

Ginny and Hermione shook their heads.

“He left with you early this morning?” Mrs Steadfast asked a little sharply of Mme Pomfrey.

“He had his Grief Swallower test at St Mungo’s, which he passed with flying colors. Afterwards, he wanted to stay at the hospital to do some work for one of the healers. He was absolutely delighted and I couldn’t refuse him,” said Mme Pomfrey, full of remorse.

“He told Mme Pomfrey he would meet us at the Three Broomsticks in the evening, but he didn’t turn up and he wasn’t here when we came back,” explained Hermione.

“What if something has happened to him?” whispered Ginny, wide-eyed.

Suddenly, they heard soft footsteps right behind them and as they turned around, Professor Snape drawled:

“What does this little gathering mean? What are you doing up this late, Miss Granger? Miss Weasley? If we’re to allow outings to Hogsmeade in the weekends, we must insist on you going straight to your houses on coming back to the castle.”

Ginny took a step towards him.

“Harry’s not back from St Mungo’s yet,” she said simply. Snape frowned and riveted his eyes on Mme Pomfrey.

“I was on my way to ask you about the test. I noticed you came back by lunchtime, but didn’t have the occasion to speak to you. I assumed Mr Potter was with you. Do you mean you left him behind at the hospital?” Snape’s voice grew louder as he spoke. Mme Pomfrey recoiled from him and Mrs Steadfast intervened.

“I had the impression that you were going to accompany him for his test, Professor? Why did you not inform me of the change of plans?” she said sharply. “You know very well he’s a target of what remains of the dark side and we’ve agreed to keep our eyes on him.”

“You have abstained from having a personal Auror trail him. It’s your responsibility if you lose him,” Snape spat irritably at her.

“He’s your student!” Mrs Steadfast spat back, with fire in her brown eyes.

“Please! What should we do? Go back and look for him at St Mungo’s?” asked Hermione, struggling to steady her voice and to be rational.

“Who did you leave him with?” asked Mrs Steadfast of Mme Pomfrey.

“Healer Solomon,” the care-witch whispered with a terrified glance at Snape. “He had appointments with patients the entire afternoon. He said he could use some help. Harry was happy to assist him.”

“Well, Healer Solomon is not likely to receive patients at eleven o’clock in the evening,” snorted Snape, knitting his eyebrows harder.

“What has become of Harry then?” whimpered Ginny.

“Is he likely to have gone out, in London... you know, to have a drink, or to a club? Maybe he wanted to enjoy his freedom?” said Mrs Steadfast.

“He hates that,” said Ginny. “Oh, yes, I know he does,” she added with a look at Hermione who seemed to want to protest. “He only goes out because I ask him to,” continued Ginny. “He likes to dance with me, but he hates the attention he gets from everybody else. He wouldn’t do it on his own free will.”

“Maybe if someone he got to know at St Mungo’s asked him to?” said Mrs Steadfast.

“He had an appointment with us.” Hermione shook her head. “And he had promised Mme Pomfrey that he’d Apparate straight back to Hogsmeade. Harry usually keeps his word. Something serious must have happened to delay him.”

Ginny let out a little wail.

“Oh, don’t worry, Miss Weasley,” Snape intervened dryly, “serious things always happen at hospitals. Mr Potter will have joined in any activity that struck him as interesting. Thoughtless of him not to let us know that he was delayed, though.” Ginny looked at her headmaster as if she wanted to clutch to a straw.

“You’re right, Professor,” she exhaled. ”He was so excited to go to St Mungo’s. He really looked forward to it. He’ll have wanted to learn something. He’s just obsessed with learning all those healing things. The books he’s been reading…” She shook her head. ”He likes to save people, you know... Always has... That’s probably it. But I hate it when he puts himself in danger.”

“Well, St Mungo’s is not a very dangerous place for fit people,” continued Snape. “Now, I want Miss Weasley and Miss Granger to return to Gryffindor and wait there. I guess you left Mr Weasley upstairs, in case Mr Potter would come back when you were out, did you?” Ginny and Hermione nodded. “Well, go and check with Mr Weasley, then. I won’t tell you to go to bed, because I reckon you won’t comply. We’ll let you know as soon as we have tracked Mr Potter down.”

Ginny and Hermione withdrew reluctantly and climbed the staircase to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Mrs Steadfast looked as if she wanted to say something, but kept her lips pressed together until she heard the hole behind the portrait shut. Then she riveted her gaze on Snape.

“I hope, by Dumbledore’s hat, that his friends are right insomuch that Mr Potter did not adventure himself out of St Mungo’s tonight,” she said with feeling, “...because tumultuous events ravaged London this evening. Killings in the underworld. Settlements with great casualties. I’ve been working for hours. But surely Mr Potter has no connections...? There was Mundungus in the Order, of course, but he died in the battle...?  I’ve been interrogating people all evening and surely, if Mr Potter had shown up in the area, it would have been brought to my knowledge…?” She shook her head.

“Unlikely,” agreed Snape, but a small crease deepened between his eyebrows.

“They tell me the strangest things, though... I must say, Severus... Oh, here’s something, now.” Mrs Steadfast interrupted herself and pulled out some sort of old watch in a chain around her neck and scrutinised it. “Simmings is alerting me. Potter’s coming in... now that’s a relief!”

Mme Pomfrey let out a little yelp and moved towards the door. Snape, on the contrary, withdrew into the shadows beside the stairs. The cherub responsible for the torches in the western staircase was known to be tired towards the evenings and lights went out already at nine thirty.

When Harry came in through the door, he was met by Mme Pomfrey’s relieved countenance and by Mrs Steadfast’s stern one. He looked tired and cold, with hunched shoulders, but smiled at the two witches and made an apologetic gesture.

“I’m sorry I’ve kept you up, Mme Pomfrey. I reckoned you would start missing me as soon as the others came back from the Three Broomsticks. I did as fast as I could,” he said.

“I’m just glad that you’re back, Harry,” said Mme Pomfrey with a sigh.

“Sorry,” Harry mimed at her. He turned to Mrs Steadfast with an inquisitive expression. “What are you doing here, Mrs Steadfast? You must have other things on your mind... or, do you want to interrogate me about the events this evening? Surely it can wait until the morning? I’m all done in. I have nothing to do with it - I can’t help what others say...” Harry ranted on defensively.

“Interrogate you is a strong word,” Mrs Steadfast interrupted him, somewhat puzzled. “But don’t try to wrestle yourself out of this, Mr Potter.  You have everything to do with it, I‘d say.” Her voice rang with retribution.

“I do?” Harry looked sheepishly at her.

“You were reported missing. That’s serious enough to bring me here to investigate. Tell me what you’ve been doing since Mme Pomfrey left you at St Mungo’s,” commanded Mrs Steadfast. Harry started hesitantly.

“Well, we went back to the ward and started to receive patients.” He suddenly smiled broadly. “It was great! Healer Solomon taught me how to examine hearts. You know - you do a silent incantation and you actually feel the heart pumping in your hand!” Harry moved the fingers of his left hand to illustrate the beatings of a heart.

He went up to Mme Pomfrey and positioned himself behind her left shoulder and pulled his right arm around her from behind. He was a head taller than the care-witch. His wand pointed at her heart and his left hand was stretched out at her left side, palm turned upwards.

“You stand close to the patient and you sort of lift a copy of the heart out into your left hand and you feel your way carefully over the muscle to detect where it contracts less, which means the area is damaged. I got it right from the third patient and Healer Solomon said I did really well.” Harry made a pause in his enthusiastic account and let go of Mme Pomfrey. He gestured vividly with both arms.

“There were other patients as well. We received a rich witch who had wanted to adorn her inner organs with gold. Could you conceive of such an idea! It was a disaster, of course, and she has had so much trouble from both her heart and her kidneys. It was the third time Healer Solomon saw her and he had to talk to her for nearly an hour and we were delayed and...”

“Mr Potter,” interrupted Mrs Steadfast, ”I appreciate you had an instructive afternoon with Healer Solomon, but will you please move on to what happened after you finished with your patients at the ward?”

“Instructive? It was brilliant!” cried Harry, not able to hide his exultation. When he noticed Mrs Steadfast’s stern look upon him, he checked his enthusiasm, however, and continued:

“Well, we were late, as I said, and we were just about to have something to eat. Didn’t have breakfast, nor lunch, you know - I had started to feel dizzy. But then they called Healer Solomon from the Emergency. He was on senior call and he had just told me how unusual it was for him to be disturbed. The work at the Emergency is mostly left to the younger healers, you see. But this was a number one alert, which they had not had since the battle against Voldemort, and we Apparated right back to the Emergency Hall. And there were hords of wounded people there… They all arrived at the same time… There had been a fight, or some kind of mass attack in the underworld... But surely, you must know all about this, being the head of the Aurors? That’s why I was surprised to see you here… There must be much more important things to do, than come looking for me, surely?” 

Mrs Steadfast closed her eyes and lifted a hand to her forehead.

“But of course, Potter! How stupid of me. Naturally, they would all have gone to St Mungo’s! You must have been invaded,” she exclaimed.

“We were! It was absolutely chaotic. At first, I tried to stay out of the way as I thought I could be of no help - not being trained or anything, but Healer Solomon waved me over. There was this thirteen-year-old witch… A poor girl… They think she lived on her own on the street. She had been caught right in the middle of the battle and she had been wounded by a Rasping Curse in her back which looked bad and needed to be attended to. The girl yelled out of pain. They told us that an older witch had been killed right beside her and that the girl had panicked. They could not work with the Swallowscope on her because she would not be still and she wouldn’t swallow any potions. She fought with four care-workers at the same time and spat out whatever they tried to make her ingurgitate - all the while shrieking in pain from the wound in her back. I approached her and was able to catch her attention, and so I did a Relieving for her and after that she calmed down enough to accept the treatment.” Harry caught his breath. He looked intently at Mrs Steadfast.

“There were loads of people with Avada Kedavra wounds. Spells that had failed to kill by being ill aimed, but that had damaged different parts of the victims’ bodies. It’s bound to have been a serious fight. You’d know how many dead, Mrs Steadfast. The attackers must have aimed to kill - I mean, not just to chase people away. I can’t understand why - those were low-rank people, poor people, small criminals maybe, but not dangerous persons. And some of them told me they had recognised their attackers as people from higher up in their own organisation.”

“Did they, now?” said Mrs Steadfast thoughtfully. “You’re right, Potter, there were surprisingly many dead - more than twenty, between you and me - and you’re right about the victims too. They belonged to the same organization - one in collaboration with the Death Eaters, we believe, and at the bottom of it - quite right again. You’ll make an excellent Auror, Mr Potter - if you don’t go into the healing business, that is. You seem quite fascinated by the subject. Now, it could have been an adversary gang, right? That would be your first guess. But taking into account what the witness told you, it sounds almost as if it were a deliberate sort-out ordered by their leaders. That’s so cynical! By Jupiter! You’ve given me something to think about. Tell me more about the wounded you met.” Harry thought for a moment.

”They were terrified,” he said slowly. ”The attack came out of nowhere. The victims spoke of a green-haired wizard monster that launched Avada Kedavras in all directions. They were still jumpy, at St Mungo’s, which did not make it easier to treat them. Anyhow, I helped Healer Solomon examine those with chest injuries. If an aborted Avada Kedavra goes through part of your heart, you only have a few minutes before the damage will start permanenting itself. The longer you wait, the poorer result you’ll get. So we identified seven persons with chest injuries. I examined three of them and two needed the treatment, so I did it in the way I had been taught during the afternoon. Healer Solomon checked them out afterwards, of course, but he said he couldn’t have done it more thoroughly himself.” Harry sounded proud, but his face became sombre as he went on.

“One of the wizards I treated spoke to me quite freely and I don’t know what to make out of it. I learnt from Mr Burgess some weeks ago that rumours had begun to spread, but I really thought it ridiculous at the time...”

“Mr Burgess?” asked Mrs Steadfast with a frown.

“Yes, well he had caught a rumour, he said to me. He didn’t know any details, but he told me the same thing that this wizard stated tonight...” Harry made a pause. “He said that the son of Voldemort would emerge and take his father’s place.” Harry shook his head as if he wanted to get rid of the words he had just uttered.

“And...did this person have any proof?” Mrs Steadfast pressed on.

“He claimed that some note book of Voldemort’s had been found and that it said he would be resurrected by his heir,” Harry muttered reluctantly. Mrs Steadfast scrutinised him. Apparently, it was not the first time this evening that she heard such a statement.

“Preposterous!” A voice came from the shadows beside the stairs. It made Harry jump and clutch his wand. Professor Snape stepped forward into the light. Snape did not look at Harry, but at Mrs Steadfast.

“The Death Eaters would have heard about a son, wouldn’t they? Voldemort would have wanted to give prominence to such a fact,” said Snape.

“Maybe he wanted to keep it a secret,” said Mrs Steadfast. “Or maybe he didn’t know he had a son until recently?”  

“That recreated body of his could not produce a child, surely?” Snape looked disgusted and shook his head. 

“We’re not speaking of a baby here, I think. No, in case there is any truth in this strange rumour, it must be a grown-up son, or nearly grown-up. Everything from a few years younger than Harry, or older - much older, even. Voldemort was in his fifties when he disappeared after the curse on Harry backfired on him and he was gone for thirteen years. Maybe he didn’t have time to learn about a son, or he didn’t know about him, or care about him until at the very end,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“I don’t think he would have wanted a son,” intervened Harry. “He cared only for himself. When he wanted to become immortal he chose other means...” Harry looked uncertainly at Snape because he did not know if Mrs Steadfast had been let in on the secret about the horcruxes, but Snape still ignored him. “And he killed his own father, remember...” Harry went on.

“He still might have begotten a son, without knowing or thinking he did. Such things happen,” said Mrs Steadfast, in a matter-of-fact tone, “But he might have decided to use the fact when it revealed itself to him.”

“Or it might just not be true at all,” Snape said dryly, still disbelieving.

”Do you think that green-haired wizard who launched the Avadas could be…?” Harry asked hesitantly. Mrs Steadfast shook her head, visibly troubled.

”We have no means to tell,” she answered slowly. ”When the Aurors arrived at the scene of the battle, the attackers were already gone.” They all pondered upon this for a short while.

“Harry!” Mme Pomfrey broke the silence. She had seemed terrified while they were talking of Voldemort, flinching every time his name was pronounced. “Have you had anything to eat today?” Harry looked at her in surprise, as did the others. Harry blinked and answered honestly:

“Well, I told you I missed breakfast and lunch. I had some apples in Healer Solomon’s office... three apples - I was hungry - and some old biscuits. That’s all.”

“My dear boy – that’ll not do. Come with me. I’ll get you something to eat from the kitchen. A whole day without proper food... With such exertions... And dangers...” she muttered to herself.

“Mme Pomfrey!” Snape suddenly snapped at her. “I forbid you to give Mr Potter any rewards. He has broken the rules of the school, caused his friends to worry and wasted Mrs Steadfast’s valuable time. He will not have any food before he goes to bed!”

Harry, who had taken a step to follow Mme Pomfrey, stopped. A surge of anger seized him and the old loathing of Snape’s unfairness mounted in him like a blaze of fire. His green eyes flared at Snape as he turned on the spot and made to climb the stairs, without uttering a word. The unhappy protests of Mme Pomfrey did not stop him, but Mrs Steadfast joined in.

“Don’t be silly, Mr Potter. Of course you should have something to eat before you go to bed!” She turned to Snape. ”I believe Mr Potter has proven a legitimate cause for his lateness tonight, Professor,” she tried to persuade him.

“Don’t worry about it, Mrs Steadfast,” Harry said grimly. “Going to bed without food was the favourite punishment of my aunt when I was a child. It happened ever so often. It’s just that I was getting used to being treated like an adult. After all, I’ve been given the title - quite falsely, I’m aware of that, but all the same - of Healer, all day long.”

“You stayed behind without Mrs Steadfast’s or my permission!” Snape scolded him.

“I had my afternoon off, Sir. I’m of age and I can do what I please during my spare time,” Harry answered heatedly, fighting to keep his temper under control.

“You’re to comply with security measures! But you’ve always disregarded the efforts others put in for your safety and thrust yourself into dangers, just like your father, for the fun of it!” Snape spat out the words.

“I have not!” Harry was on the verge of starting to shout back at Snape, but bit back the retort and turned resolutely to Mrs Steadfast. “I’ve declined personal security and I withhold that decision. If there are other measures that I should apply to, I’d appreciate if I was told beforehand. It’s hard to comply with security measures I haven’t been clearly informed of. Am I not allowed to leave Hogwarts?”

Mrs Steadfast looked bewildered, standing in the cross-fire of glaring gazes from Harry and Snape as if they both expected her to give their version priority.

“You’re allowed to leave Hogwarts, Harry, but I’d prefer to be informed of where and with whom.”

“You did know where I was and with whom,” protested Harry.

“I thought Professor Snape was going with you today. Not that Mme Pomfrey has failed her duty in any way...” Mrs Steadfast inclined her head in Mme Pomfrey’s direction, ”but naturally she does not have the authority of Professor Snape.”

“So I’m punished because he changed his mind,” Harry said irritably. “Well, I long to graduate from this place in six months and start being treated like an adult for once.” He glared at Snape who snorted and narrowed his eyes.

“You might graduate,” he said maliciously, ”but you won’t end up at the Healer’s program at St Mungo’s, if that’s where you’re aiming. They require a NEWT in Arithmancy which is a subject you’ve never taken at Hogwarts.”

A silence followed his statement. Harry looked at him subdued and pityingly at the same time.

“I’m aware of that, Professor,” he finally said stiffly. He turned to mount the stairs again. “It still was a good day,” he said. His voice was composed, but sounded small somehow. “I learned things. They might come in useful, anyhow.”

“You did so well today, Harry,” Mme Pomfrey called after him. “They were impressed by you at St Mungo’s, I heard them...”

“Your skills will most assuredly be appreciated, Mr Potter.” Mrs Steadfast tried to comfort him. “As an Auror it’s a great advantage to have healing knowledge. There’s a lot to do on the field before you send them off to the hospital. If you enter the Auror’s program, perhaps we could have you do six months or something at St Mungo’s.”

“That would be really nice, Mrs Steadfast,” Harry said earnestly. He stopped for a second before he disappeared into the darkness of the stairs. “Goodnight,” he said.

As Harry continued to climb the stairs, he heard Mrs Steadfast’s fiercely reproving voice.

“By all white-hot goblin’s sword points, that was cruel, Severus Snape!” she cried.

“I pointed out a mere fact.” Snape sounded defensive. “The boy shouldn’t be left in the delusion that he might enter the healer program when he doesn’t have the qualifications...”

Harry did not care to listen to Snape’s answer. His head was simmering out of tiredness. His legs were heavy and had begun to tremble - from lack of energy, Harry thought and walked slowly. From below, the scolding voices of Mrs Steadfast and Mme Pomfrey grew louder.

Images from St Mungo’s floated before Harry’s eyes: hundreds of faces he had met that day, green-clad figures, the grey hair of Mrs Starglobe spread over a pillow, Healer Solomon stooped over a patient... And  finally, the buzzing of the over-crowded emergency hall, the mixed feeling of dread and excitement, the satisfaction of helping out, the strong sense of purpose as he had treated those injured wizards and witches… Harry smiled to himself. He had enjoyed himself thoroughly. Snape could not take the experiences of the day away from him.

The quarrel below escalated. Snape’s deep voice vibrated furiously and Harry heard Mrs Steadfast yell back at him.

“If it comes to my knowledge that you’ve been seen within three curses distance from that Rita Skeeter woman, I will arrest you! I mean it, Snape!”

It was only then that it occurred to Harry that the Daily Prophet had published the extracts from Rita Skeeter’s book in the day’s print and that Snape must have read the entire account of what he, Harry, had said to Voldemort about Snape and Lily during the final duel. Snape’s most private secret had been laid bare, for everyone to revel in and to speculate about. All things considered, Harry stopped to think, he was lucky to get away from Snape on a day like this, with as little as some verbal abuse and deprivation of food.

He leaned carefully over the banister to look down on the scene in the Entrance Hall. The two witches were facing Snape, both of them hunched up, as if prepared to fight. They scolded him in turns, Mrs Steadfast more vigorously than Mme Pomfrey, waving their wands to his face, making him back off. From time to time, Snape took a few steps aggressively towards them as he retorted, with the result that they rocked back and forth in the hall in a queer dance. It reminded Harry of the agitated and complaining patients in the waiting hall at St Mungo’s. On an impulse, he brought out his wand.

A rain of glittering stars fell over the Entrance Hall. Mrs Steadfast stopped, surprised, in the middle of a sentence. She cast a bewildered look around her and stared foolishly at a star that landed on her sleeve to dissolve slowly. The puzzled faces of Snape and Mme Pomfrey met hers as she lifted her head. She raised her eyes higher and, although she could not discern anyone in the darkness of the stairs, a broad smile spread over her face.

“He’s showering us with Appeasing Stars, Mr Potter is!” she exclaimed. “That’s so sweet of you, Harry!” she cried out. ”You shouldn’t go to bed with hard feelings in your heart, right? My grandmother always said so, but who taught you? Some very wise witch, no doubt. You’re absolutely right, Potter, don’t let him ruin a perfect day. He’s not fit to waste hard feelings on - or any feelings at all, for that matter!”

“Hmph!” Snape snorted, but before he could retort, a new rain of stars landed on them.

“Bless you, child!” cried Mrs Steadfast, “I know you want to be treated like an adult and that indeed you are... but you’re younger than my own children, so just allow me the expression... But some of those stars landed on Professor Snape, Harry. I’m not sure he deserves them...” She cast Snape a gaze filled with loathing.

“Leave them with him, Mrs Steadfast, he might need them, anyhow,” said Harry in a small and tired, but clear voice. Mrs Steadfast suddenly became serious.

”I’m ’Mrs Steady’ to you, Harry, I would be honoured. You’re a beautiful kid, Harry Potter. I forgot to congratulate you on your achievement today. Your mother would have been so proud of you!” she said. There was a silence.

“Thank you, Mrs Steady,” was heard from upstairs, almost in a whisper.

Snape stared at Mrs Steadfast, shoulders suddenly slumping, before bending his head, turning abruptly and disappearing in the corridor leading to his office.

The next day at breakfast Harry listened to Hermione’s résumé of the the Daily Prophet. He had been up early and had his first breakfast with Simmings who watched him shuffle in food with awe and amusement. Harry was now having his second breakfast with Ginny and Ron and was on his fifth toast and third helping of egg and bacon.

Hermione was updating Harry on the print of the previous day, where Rita Skeeter had delivered a pretty faithful transcript of Harry’s conversation with Voldemort during the battle.

“Except she didn’t get that part about the horcruxes, which I believe is a good thing. That‘s something that should not be spread, because some individuals might get ideas to copy-cat their Dark Lord. When relating what you said to him, instead of There are no more horcruxes, she wrote: There are no more trickses. A bit ridiculous, really, and ascribing you bad grammar on top of it. Hopefully, though, that’s what most people thought you said, because if you haven’t come across the word horcrux before, it would be hard to hear the difference. So far, so good,” said Hermione.

“Do you think we should buy her book, Harry? Just to know what she’s on about?” asked Ron.

“Yeah...” Harry hesitated, “We probably should. Know your enemy and all that...”

“Well, the thing is,” said Hermione, “that the Prophet promises another exclusive from her book before it’s released. In a couple of days.”

“They just love to be secretive! And to promise big revelations! I’m sure they’re doing it on purpose to sell more copies,” said Ginny and no one disagreed with her. Hermione continued her summary.

“Today’s paper has an article on mercy killings, how rare they are and the ethics concerning them. It’s a good article, really - that’s what makes it so difficult. The Prophet mixes high and low. The article is combined with a number of short interviews with people who claims to have witnessed Snape’s indifference and callousness in front of suffering persons,” Hermione said irritably.

“His mastery of Occlumency makes him look callous,” reflected Harry. ”Always hiding his emotions - except when he gets mad at me - no restraint there…” Harry grimaced wryly.

”All and one of us can give evidence to his general unpleasantness and downright cruelty at times. The man’s awful!” exclaimed Ron.

“A despicable, but innocent man. Not the easiest task to take on for a not-even-yet-accepted-to-her-Magical-Law-program defence lawyer...” said Hermione dryly with a side-glance at Harry who pulled an apologetic face back at her. “In short, they make it seem unlikely that Snape would have been involved in a mercy killing. They make him seem the type who cannot feel compassion at all.”

“He still might have done it out of loyalty, or duty,” objected Ron.

“This is only one way of undermining his credibility,” said Hermione grimly, “They’ve just started, remember?”

Harry sighed deeply.

***

For the last few weeks, Harry had had trouble in Transfiguration class where they were doing animal transformations. Professor McGonagall was an Animagus herself, which meant that she could become a cat and live as a cat for an unlimited length of time and transform back by willpower. Like Grief Swallowers, Animaguses were rare and officially listed by the Ministry of Magic. One of the purposes of Professor McGonagall’s lessons was to detect if there was any student with an Animagus aptitude. But even if it was unlikely to find an Animagus among them, Professor McGonagall had told them that they should at least be able to transform into an animal for a short, but defined amount of time - not necessarily to be able to move about as the animal in question, but to be able to take on its appearance. Ron was now, after a few weeks of practice, quite good at a rabbit transformation. Hermione did well as a cat.

“But I’ll never be an Animagus,” she said evenly. “It was not to be expected. I won’t despair over it.”

Most students of the class had made approved transformations, except Harry who was able, but only for seconds, to take on appearances of a wide range of animals, but not to withhold them the required amount of time for passing an exam. He had struggled for many hours to transform into an owl. He thought it would be brilliant to become one and ideally to be able to fly. Professor McGonagall had tried to dissuade him from it.

“There has never been a single Animagus in the shape of a bird,” she said. “The flying part is tempting, though, I understand.”

Failing his attempts of becoming an owl, Harry had worked on a deer, thinking that maybe, since his Patronus was a stag, he would succeed better in that form, but last lesson had only showed a blink of a solid deer, with defect antlers, before Harry was back on his fours again.

“You haven’t found your animal yet,” explained Professor McGonagall. “You need to search your mind and figure out what animal you feel akin to. And it might not necessarily be a fancy animal, Potter.” She looked at him pointedly. “Try something smaller for a start. And it doesn’t need to be a warm-blooded animal either. An insect, maybe? No shame in that.”

Harry tried out both butterflies, caterpillars and wasps, but he turned out too clumsy in shape, even if he could sustain them for a longer period of time. They were soon to move on to another subject in class and when Harry failed yet another lesson at the end of the day, despite having practiced, his teacher asked him to stay behind. Some fellow students who had begrudged him his good marks until now, leered at him as they left the classroom.

“Mr Potter,” said Professor McGonagall when they were alone, “This will not do and I don’t understand it at all. You’ve shown remarkable progress this year so far and you’ve always had forceful magical powers. Why are you not able to do a proper animal transformation? This is something that frequently comes up in the practical NEWT exam. It’s essential that you learn it. Now tell me, what’s wrong?”

Harry hung with his head and squirmed uncomfortably.

“Are the writings in the newspapers getting at you? Is Professor Snape giving you a hard time? Because if he is, if he lets his bad temper out over you, I’ll just have to rapport him to the School Board...” Harry’s head of house spoke shrilly.

“No, that’s not it, Professor,” Harry hastened to say, “Professor Snape’s not in a great mood these days and it does show in class, but he’s not targeting me in particular. He mostly ignores me, which is a good thing. No, it’s not that...”

“What is it then? I want you to tell me, right now,” Professor McGonagall said sternly. Harry turned his head away and looked out into the darkness of the closing day outside the window.

“I think that… I would do quite well... as a snake,” he said desolately. He met Professor McGonagall’s gaze and made an unhappy grimace. “I hate it,” he said in a low, thick voice. “I don’t want to.”

“You speak the language...” said Professor McGonagall slowly.

“Not only that,” replied Harry. ”Voldemort often chose to possess snakes. When I was connected to him, I entered his mind and saw through his eyes. I know how it feels when a snake moves.” Harry made a pause. “I don’t want to transform into a snake, please Professor. It’s not my choice. It has been forced upon me. Voldemort has taught me, but it does not belong to me,” he continued.

“Have you tried it?” asked Professor McGonagall.

“I don’t dare to, I don’t want to know,” whispered Harry. “What if I attacked someone?”

“You’re underestimating your self-control, Mr Potter,” said his teacher. “This is a transformation we’re talking about. Not someone possessing you. You become a snake, but you decide which kind of snake, small or big. Give it whatever colour you want and decide whether the snake has poison in its fangs or not. I would like you to try it out now, in front of me.”

Harry looked doubtingly at her.

“I have confidence in you and your magic, Harry. I know you won’t attack me!” said Professor McGonagall firmly with a kind, encouraging look.

Harry still hesitated.

“I’ll transform into my Animagus form and supervise you as a cat,” Professor McGonagall said.

Reluctantly Harry ascquiesced and watched his teacher transform. Harry drew a deep breath. He knew the procedure: you should picture the animal in your mind and focus strongly on one chosen characteristic before you did the spell.

A small snake without poison then, Harry thought. 

Suddenly his view changed and he saw a huge cat stand at a little distance from him. A long tongue moved back and forth in his mouth, tasting the air. He turned around and moved down to the wall where he coiled up. Harry could not stand it anymore so he transformed back and his human shape rose from the floor. He panted slightly and looked back at his teacher who also transformed back. She was composed, except for the eyes which had an exultant glimmer to them.

“Well done, Harry,” she said, “that will be largely enough for you to pass your NEWT exam. Now, I want you to try something a little bit more difficult.”

“I don’t think so, Professor. I don’t think that I can manage.”

“Your transformation was very swift and genuine, Mr Potter. You must explore this further. I’ll conjure up a mouse for us to play with – that will give you an incentive to stay longer in the animal form. Try again please; try to catch the mouse,” she commanded and very reluctantly Harry did as she said and transformed again.

As a snake, he felt a tickle of excitement and launched after the small, grey mouse that she conjured up. It ran under the chairs and the snake chased it along. It hid under the teacher’s desk and the snake serpentined slowly, taking aim and attacked. He felt his fangs sink through the furred skin and tasted blood. He had no poison in his fangs, however, and the mouse wriggled out of the small snake’s bite and tried to run away, blood dripping from its neck.

At that moment the cat jumped on it with a loud miaow, catching it between its paws.

Harry had panicked at the taste of blood in his mouth and transformed back. With rising bewilderment he watched his teacher shuffle the mouse about most cruelly between its paws, playing with it.

“Professor!” Harry exclaimed.

The cat turned its head towards Harry and the mouse escaped, limping and still bleeding from the neck, apparently severely hurt but refusing to die.

Seized by panic, Harry cast an Avada Kedavra on it and it went still at the same time as Professor McGonagall transformed back, with red spots on her cheeks from excitement.

“No need to do a killing curse,” Professor McGonagall said disapprovingly. “You should simply have Evanesced the mouse with magic!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to suffer,” exclaimed Harry. Professor McGonagall made a sympathising grimace. “Where does it go, anyway, when you Evanesce it - how can you be sure it does not continue to suffer?” asked Harry.

Professor McGonagall stared at him.

“That, Mr Potter, is a question wizard children ask their parents when they’re about six years old,” she said.

“Yeah... well, I...” Harry blushed.

“The point is...” Professor McGonagall interrupted him. “That you might be an Animagus, my friend, whether you like it or not.”

“Even if I didn’t kill the mouse?” asked Harry.

“You’re very close to qualify for an Animagus. You need to explore it further. You’ll need to practice.”

“I won’t. I can’t. I’ll never again transform into a snake if I can help it. I’ll do the required animal transformation for my NEWT, but not a second longer than required, I’m sorry, Professor McGonagall.”

“I understand your predicament.” Professor McGonagall hesitated. “But I’m forced to report to the Ministry when I discover an Animagus. I haven’t done so in twenty years, Harry. It’d be an amazing discovery!”

“I can’t,” muttered Harry, miserable. “Not even for you, Professor. And I don’t think I’m an Animagus. I couldn’t kill the mouse.”

She looked at him for a long while before she finally sighed and nodded. Harry prepared to leave, but turned before he reached the door and asked defiantly:

“What’s the answer then, Professor, to the question wizard children ask their parents? Where does the mouse go and does it continue to suffer?”

Professor McGonagall looked at him with a curious expression.

“The answer, Mr Potter, which parents give their children is that no one knows and that you should not bother your pretty little head with questions like that. It’s just magic,” she answered.

“And that answer is not altered as you grow up, is it? It’s not known whether Evanesced things dissolve into nothingness or whether they continue to exist somewhere in a Magical Limbo? You can’t take for granted then that the mouse won’t continue to suffer. In that case it was more merciful to kill it.”

Professor McGonagall looked perplex.

“It’s true that no one knows. There’s an obscure subculture of wizardry which is trying to find out more about magical existence. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a group of wizards and witches working in France, who are obsessed with finding the smallest element of magic. Their reputation is quite blackened, I’m afraid, even if they’re extremely intelligent persons. People simply think that they should leave magic for what it is and not try so hard to explain it. It’ll only take the beauty away, they argue.”

“I can see why some people might be afraid of that,” said Harry. “Although I believe it’s nice to understand the underlying principles of magic. It might even strengthen and focus your magic to know the theoretical details. Professor Snape often emphasises the importance of learning the underlying theory. I don’t think it removes anything of its beauty, actually, do you, Professor McGonagall?”

“I... I haven’t really thought about it, Harry. I’m sorry. Under different circumstances, Severus might have enjoyed to discuss the matter… I realise, however, that you two are not exactly… Never mind… If you want to read something about the Magical Limbo, you need to go to the fine Journals of Magical Existence, which usually require some advanced Arithmancy to be understood,” she said, “I’m not sure, though, whether someone has posed the problem of suffering in this context.”

“I’d better not even try to read them. I’m not that advanced in Arithmancy,” answered Harry. “Thank you for answering anyway, Professor.”

                                                                         ***

After finishing her classes, Professor McGonagall had a cup of tea together with Professor Flitwick in the teacher’s common room. They agreed on the impression that this year’s NEWT students were unusually alert and motivated.

“They have a critical spirit and ways of questioning things that are very stimulating. Those discussions on the ethics of magic that we’re having frequently in class are so interesting. Maybe it’s because some of them have redoubled a year and are older and, having lived through a war, they have life experiences out of the ordinary for so young people,” said Professor Flitwick.

“Probably... Afflictions can subdue and destroy people... or it can lead to understanding and development,” answered Professor McGonagall. She smiled to herself. “They’re so sweet though, so clever and mature one moment and yet, they’re children... Why, only this afternoon, I... Oh, maybe I shouldn’t tell you this...”

Professor Flitwick looked inquiringly at her.

“Oh well, it was funny really. I found myself completely bewildered. It was Harry Potter. You know he’s a favourite of mine, I cannot deny it. With his history and everything that has passed, I really do... He conquered Voldemort after all! But he’s so uneven, have you noticed? He has progressed tremendously this year, but still, at times, his knowledge is on a child’s level... Today...” She laughed a little embarrassed and leant forward to Professor Flitwick. “Today he asked me where all the things Evanesced by magic go.”

Professor Sawman, Mme Sprout, Miss Cork and Mr Burgess who sat nearby and listened to their conversation lifted their heads and chuckled.

“Did he really?” exclaimed Professor Flitwick. “Well, he was brought up in a Muggle family, wasn’t he? The Muggle-raised can at times be a little... But, by Merlin, he’s eighteen!”

“Oh, wait to hear the rest. The context was that we had... well we had conjured up a mouse that had been hurt by mistake, during an exercise. Potter killed it and I reproached him for doing so, arguing it’d had been enough to Evanesce it. Then he asked me how I could be sure that the mouse would not continue to suffer in the Magical Limbo and if it wasn’t more merciful to kill it.” Professor McGonagall made a gesture with her hands, showing amusement and exasperation. “What answer would you have given? You see, one moment I feel like a mother answering the existential questions of a six-year-old, and the next moment I find myself in deep water, discussing the essence and the ethics of magic with an equal or superior wizard. And that’s so typical for Potter. You never know with him.”

The other teachers laughed appreciatively with her and agreed that adolescents were indeed strange creatures.

“What were you doing with injured mice in the classroom anyhow?” asked Mr Burgess with curiosity. “Was this after class?”

“Oh, it was only an exercise,” said Professor McGonagall evasively and coloured a little.

From the dark corner of the room where Professor Snape’s armchair was placed, his deep voice was heard and the teachers jumped.

“You should be careful with what you reveal about our students, Minerva, especially those who are liable to make the front page of the tabloids,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Severus. Of course you’re right. But surely I can trust you all in here not to pass it on?” said Professor McGonagall and her colleagues nodded solemnly.

When Ron asked Harry how the talk with Professor McGonagall had turned out, Harry muttered something inaudible.

“Did you do it, then?” insisted Ron. “Will you be able to make it if it’s required of us at the exam?”

“I did and she said that I passed,” said Harry shortly, without looking at Ron.

“Which animal did you do, finally?”

“Oh, a sort of lizard,” muttered Harry. “I didn’t particularly enjoy it.”

Ron scrutinised him, but did not ask any further questions.

Ron was less impulsive and more thoughtful these days. He still had appointments with Healer Schufflert once a week and the influence of the sessions was appreciable through small comments that he made from time to time, like: I need to ask myself what my true wish is before I engage in this project and take action, or, instead of bickering back at Hermione: This is an occasion to exert self-control and ask oneself where your priority lies: to be proven right or to avoid an argument with someone you love?

Ginny, Hermione and Harry were surprised by these lines more than once, sometimes bursting into laughter, sometimes staring at Ron as if he had said something unbelievably wise. Hermione got cross every now and then, as Ron’s way of avoiding an argument with her was a somewhat superior way of implying that she was the one trying to start it and that Ron was above falling into the trap. It infuriated her all the more since she thought they were only exchanging objective arguments and that Ron just wanted to avoid admitting to having lost.

Every morning the Daily Prophet published new theories about Severus Snape. He appeared to be their favourite object, although they occasionally wrote about the other accused Death Eaters as well.

The journalists and their interviewees looked at the case from every possible angle. Had Severus Snape deceived Dumbledore? In that case, in what ways? If his loyalties had been with Voldemort, how had he succeeded in persuading Harry Potter and Kingsley Shacklebolt that he had only played a part? Where were the credentials? The proofs? And did Harry Potter really stick to the story he had told Voldemort during the battle and that Rita Skeeter had transcribed in her book? That Severus Snape had been Dumbledore’s man? If Harry Potter would not testify, like the rumours said, was that because he had changed his mind about that statement and why was that?

Former students of Hogwarts were interviewed and gave testimony to the dislike always present between the Potions Master and the famous student Harry Potter. The rivalry between James Potter, the former Auror and martyr of the first war against Voldemort, and the young Death Eater Severus Snape was dug out and detailed in the articles. New stories of Snape’s brusqueness, his cruelty and his generally displeasing appearance were given room for in the paper every day.

Snape, meanwhile, grew darker and more menacing for every day that passed. The younger pupils stayed pressed against the walls if they met him in the corridors and Ginny overheard Professor Sprout tell Miss Cork that she was glad Snape did not teach the younger classes anymore. Sixth and seventh year students bore with him to the best of their ability. He ridiculed them and yelled at them in classes and made a habit of throwing about quills and stirring sticks when the potions the students produced did not live up to his high standards. He bullied them with homework, then pulled their work to pieces and flew into a temper at any pretext. His teachers hunched when they met him in the corridor and avoided to enter the teacher’s common room when they knew he was inside.

One morning the Daily Prophet reported - and in this case no one questioned their truthfulness - that Professor Snape had ravaged the Ministry the previous day, trying to exert his powers to prevent Rita Skeeter’s book from being published. Harry made a desolate face when he looked at the photograph in the paper. It was far from flattering to Snape, showing him with bared teeth and a mad expression in the eyes as he seemed to growl at the photographer.

***

A couple of days later - they had reached the beginning of March - Harry entered the Great Hall to check on his friends and to have his news read to him by Hermione. True to his habit, he conjured up a cup as soon as he entered through the door and, walking down between the tables, he made a teapot fly in the air as it poured him his tea. Then he summoned the small milk can, grabbed it with his right hand as he steadied the saucer in the air with his left and added only a few drops to create a faint cloud in the golden liquid.

When Harry lifted his head, he noticed how quiet the room had become and realised that everybody’s eyes were directed at him. He had arrived on a level with his friends at whom he directed an inquiring look. Their faces were aghast. Hermione had the Daily Prophet spread out in front of her and his usually so collected friend seemed at a complete loss what to do.

Harry looked at her grimly and steeled himself - there must be something about him in the paper today. He had no inkling of what it could deal with, but whatever it turned out to be, he refused to let himself be affected. He threw a glance at the teacher’s table where Snape sat with his head in his hands, very still between Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick who looked terrified at Harry. Professor McGonagall made a faint gesture that caused Snape to lift his head just a few inches. Harry could not tell whether the professor looked at him or not, because the long black hair still covered Snape’s face.

To hide his puzzlement, Harry lifted the teacup to his lips and took a sip, in a purposeful gesture to appear casual. He made a sign at Hermione to show him the newspaper. He could read, already from a distance, the big black letters of a heading that ran over two pages.

”BLOOD THEORIES by Rita Skeeter”.

What did it say underneath? Harry squinted. Hermione rose at the other side of the table and made the open newspaper glide towards him in the air. He took another sip of his tea and stared at the spread. There were four photographs surrounded by text. He recognised himself as a fifteen-year-old in the photograph at the bottom of the page. In the middle, there were two big photographs: one of his father, James, and one of Snape, side by side, and on top of the page there was a drawing of a terrifying figure that would represent Voldemort. He stared at the headline, read it several times before it sank in.

Suddenly Harry spurted out the tea he had not yet swallowed. The droplets showered the floor and he started to laugh out loudly. He put his cup down and grabbed the newspaper hanging in the air, in one hand. “The Heirs of Voldemort?” the underline said. He laughed alone in the silence of the room and held up the paper, rustling it.

“But this is ridiculous!” exclaimed Harry. “You cannot mean to take this seriously!” He looked, incredulous, at his dumbfounded fellow pupils. As he met the staring gazes, fury rose inside him. He absolutely refused to be the hunching object of speculations and slander this time. He would bear his head high. He would show them. “The persons who believe this bullshit are not to consider themselves my friends!” he hissed.

Suddenly the paper in his hand transformed into a scarlet phoenix that took off into the air and flew over the Gryffindor table in the direction of the podium. On its way, it nipped away the papers from the other pupils with its beak and as it did, those papers in turn transformed into various flying creatures which spread through the room, nipping other papers from the hands of yet other pupils, and so on. In no time, the hall swarmed with birds and bats, butterflies and small dragons in all shapes and colours. The scarlet phoenix reached the podium, nicking the teachers’ copies of the Daily Prophet. Professor McGonagall’s newspaper transformed into a tawny owl and Snape’s into a black and silvery bat. Harry was beginning to feel slightly dizzy, controlling hundreds of flying creatures with his magic by now. His fury had made him Charge up and his whole body vibrated with the magic he made.

The hall was no longer silent - buzzing talk and several laughs were heard. Several pupils had risen in bewilderment, Mr Burgess was standing up, gaping at the magic and Professor McGonagall was speechless. She if anyone could appreciate the effort of controlling all those transfigurations at once. Cheers and applauses broke out, but stilled quickly when the headmaster rose at the teacher’s table.

Snape’s face seemed to be contorted with fury and pain. He spread his arms in a sudden gesture, wand in one hand.

“ORDER! Disintegrus!” he roared and the creatures in the air all of a sudden withered. Flakes of ashes snowed down over their heads, some of them landing on Snape’s hair and shoulders. Harry slowly lowered his wand with a hand that was shaking from the effort. Harry kept erect and looked straight at Snape.

“That book of Rita Skeeter’s is a Boggart coming out of a filthy wardrobe and it only deserves to be laughed at!” Harry said fiercely before turning around and walking out of the hall that was again dead silent.

In the Entrance Hall, Harry started to tremble violently. He shook his head and fought against the shock. It wasn’t fair! He had killed Voldemort - and now they did this to him!

“Harry?” Simmings was at his side and grabbed hold of his arm. Harry stared at him.

“I need some air,” he said in a muffled voice, tore himself away from Simmings and rushed out through the door. He had only his thin robe on, but it was reviving to meet the cold, damp air outside. He crossed the inner court in a quick pace and was soon out of the castle where a grey landscape stretched out in front of him. There were only patches of snow left on the ground, but the lake was still covered with ice. Almost running, Harry headed for the clearing by the Forbidden Forest where he used to do his spiral exercises.

He launched himself in the air with a recklessness that was liberating and threw himself into the forest - desperate to move - running and gliding in the air alternately. Small branches whipped him in the face, but he did not care. He ravaged the forest until a thick branch split his upper lip and forced him to land, exhausted, to collect his thoughts and wipe the blood away from his mouth. When his breathing calmed down, he realised how quiet the forest was. The only sound seemed to be the beating of his own heart. Although it did not rain, his clothes were soaked from droplets that had fallen from the branches of the trees and from sweat. Doubled up, hands on his knees, Harry stared at his shoes in the soft moss. Even his socks were soaked through. When he lifted his head again, a tiny bird with mottled, brown feathers and a funny, short tail that pointed right up in the sky, scrutinised him with a glittering black eye and its head tilted to one side.

Harry started to shiver. It was difficult to estimate how much time had passed, but he realised that he should be in class. He had probably missed his first lesson of Potions with Snape - and that was just as well, he thought grimly. He would have been torn to pieces and devoured in Snape’s classroom. He wondered whether Snape was up to teaching anyhow, after receiving that punch of a headline for breakfast.

Harry reminded himself angrily of the determination not to let the press plague him this time. He had to calm down and prove his indifference to whatever absurd theories Rita Skeeter had advanced in the day’s paper. He had better get back in time for Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall and try to adopt an unconcerned air in front of the other pupils.

Harry regretted venturing out in such a reckless manner, but he had been ready to burst from anger. He collected himself and swirled up in a Spiral Case Move through the trees to find out where in the forest he had ended up. He realised that his run had taken him all the way around the lake so that he was located opposite the castle. The shortest way back would be across the lake. He made his way down to the ice-clad shore to examine the ice which seemed thick enough, although a bit wet at places.

Harry launched forward, gliding a few feet above the surface, like Professor McGonagall had taught them. He landed to stabilise and make a new launch now and then. When he had covered about half the distance to the other shore, he landed on a spot of ice that looked a darker shade of grey than the rest and to his surprise it suddenly gave way under his feet before he had time to take off again. The ice was soft and decayed and broke apart around him. He got caught with one foot in a crack, then sank down with the whole body into the shockingly cold water. He tried to launch forward to what he thought was a solid edge. The ice gave way once again, however, and he went under the surface completely. He kicked forcefully and re-emerged, gasping for air, but started to feel numb after a few seconds in the water only. He wondered how long he would stand the cold. He could not lift himself through magic - the light-weight spell did not seem to work - although he managed to Accio himself forward to a firmer edge. It was too slippery to climb and he glided back into the water again and again.

At that moment, he tensed as he felt something stroke his leg. There was some sort of creature down there. Would it help him, or would it attack? A thought of sending a Patronus away for help at the castle flickered through his mind, but he hesitated because of the attention it would cause. He did not have much strength left, though, and if he did not get up soon he would be congealed to death. Before he had made up his mind, the creature below sank its teeth into Harry’s leg and he yelled out loud of pain and started to kick in panic. Whatever it was released him, tearing at one leg of his trousers. Suddenly he was dragged down into the water with great force. He had just the time to sink the blunt end of his wand into the ice on the edge and hold back. He was on the point of being dragged down and he had no wand to point at the creature in the water. His panicking mind went to Ginny and his friends who probably sat in Professor McGonagall’s class right now and wondered where he was.

Professor McGonagall, he thought in a flash of revelation. Do magic with your feet. He concentrated, assembled his magic and sent off Stunning spells through his legs at random. After what felt like an impossibly long time, he finally realised that the presumed sea monster had stopped trying to drag him down. He sent some more Stunning spells just to be sure.

The cold had eaten its way in to the bone and he completely numb by now. He heaved his upper body over the ice edge and moved his wand to sink it into the ice again and began to drag himself up, inch by inch. Finally, he was able to roll over the edge and found himself staring up at the cloudy sky. He forced himself to sit up with difficulty, because he was so exhausted that he could easily have stayed on the cold surface for ever, but he knew it would be his death. He directed the wand at himself in an attempt to dry his clothes up with a shaky spell. Then he rose and started to stagger on the ice, avoiding the grey spots which were clearly undermined, rotten ice - perhaps some underwater creature’s breathing holes. After a while he had stabilised enough to start gliding again and he finally made it to the other shore.

When he sneaked into the Entrance Hall the only one he met was Simmings once again. He had feared that Mrs Steadfast or Snape would be waiting for him.

“Could you help me dry me up at the back, please?” muttered Harry embarrassedly to Simmings. The Auror did as he was bid with a swift spell, without asking any questions.

“I’ll do your split lip as well, it looks nasty,” said Simmings and took hold of Harry’s chin gently. Harry stood still as Simmings waved his wand over Harry’s mouth. “Can I do anything else for you, Harry?” the Auror asked quietly.

“No, thank you, I’m going back to class,” Harry said stiffly. Now that he was inside the warmth again, his teeth had started to chatter and he shivered violently.

When he entered the classroom, Professor McGonagall stood by her desk. She must have been interrogating Ron and Hermione, because Ron just sat down and Hermione let out a little yelp of relief when she saw Harry who took a few steps towards his teacher when the door flew up behind him and Snape stormed in. The Professor stopped dead when he spotted Harry.

All gazes were fixed upon him now and Harry summoned all the dignity he could master and stuttered, because his teeth were still chattering:

“I apologise for not attending class and for being late.” He glanced at Professor McGonagall first, then forced himself to meet Snape’s eyes. “I didn’t feel well and needed some air. Won’t be repeated, I’m sorry.” He bowed slightly, in the hope that Professor McGonagall would give him permission to sit down, but she just continued staring at him.

Snape eyed him from top to toe. Harry was still a bit damp in the hair and when he followed Snape’s gaze down to his leg he noticed the torn tissue of his trousers and his blood-stained skin peaking through. He discreetly took his wand out with his back to his fellow students and repaired his trouser so that the wound would not show.

“I fell into the lake,” he muttered in a low voice at his teachers.

Snape snorted angrily, turned around and vanished from the classroom as suddenly as he had appeared. The students, who seemed to have held their breaths, started to whisper to one another.

“Please sit down, Mr Potter,” said Professor McGonagall weakly. Harry limped away obediently to have a seat beside Ginny who gave him a hard and disapproving look, mixed with worry.

After class, that was just a blur to Harry, Ron told him that they had had the weirdest lesson ever with Snape that morning. Snape had looked like one of his cauldrons ready to explode, but had not said a word to them. He had thrown up a recipe of a potion on the board - an easy one according to Ron, probably for forth years or something - and gestured for them to get started. Snape had paced back and forth in the classroom the entire lesson.

“He didn’t care in the least what we were doing,” said Ron. ”He didn’t even check afterwards on our potions, but stormed out of the classroom at the end of the lesson, leaving us behind. I think he waited for you to show up for he kept throwing glances at the door.”

Harry had to make a visit to Mme Pomfrey before lunch and have the wound in his leg looked at. He might have been able to heal it himself, but he wanted to know if she could tell him what it was that had attacked him and if it might have left some poison in the wound as it had started to vibrate inside the leg in a disquieting way.

“It might have been the Kelpie,” she suggested. “But I can’t be sure.” She applied some ointment which, according to her, worked as an antidote to most poisons of underwater creatures and it felt better.

Harry dragged himself around form class to class in a daze and made himself deaf to the chit-chat around him. In the evening, in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, he finally turned to Hermione with a deep sigh.

“Tell me all about Rita Skeeter’s theories, then,” he said.

“The whole thing’s absurd, of course,” started Hermione, “but she presents it in a way that almost makes it plausible. For those who don’t know you...”

“Just tell me what she writes,” said Harry.

“Well, the article in the Daily Prophet is an abstract and a commentary on a specific chapter in Rita Skeeter’s book. In the ingress, the editor gives us the alleged reason why they plunge into this particular part of her book, which is that it has come to their knowledge that the underworld of criminal wizards is buzzing of rumours saying that an uprising heir of Voldemort’s will replace him. The Prophet claims they know that several groups believe in this rumour and are preparing for the heir to surface.”

“Those rumours make an excuse to publish the story and that’s why Rita Skeeter had to rewrite the chapter at the last minute,” said Ron.

“As to Rita Skeeter, she starts off with Snape,” Hermione went on. “She has found out that Snape’s mother, Eileen Prince, attended Hogwarts at the same time as Tom Riddle and that they were both in Slytherin. She has spoken to a witch who was a friend of Miss Prince’s at the time and this lady swears that Eileen was infatuated with Tom Riddle and she believes Eileen saw him after they had left school. There’s a letter written by Eileen Prince to her friend, published in Rita Skeeter’s book which, according to the Daily Prophet, supports the connection with Riddle. The official story, however, is that Eileen Prince had an unhappy marriage with the Muggle Tobias Snape and that she ended her life by her own hand.” Hermione made a pause to draw her breath. “But Rita Skeeter’s theory is that Snape is in fact Tom Riddle’s son.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, disbelievingly.

”There’s no evidence that Riddle, or Voldemort as he had started to call himself by then, cared for Eileen Prince or her child - not until Snape was sixteen years old,” Hermione went on. ”Skeeter has spoken to Death Eaters who confirm that Voldemort offered a sixteen-year-old Snape a place among them. Snape didn’t join until he was eighteen, however.”

Harry nodded. This concorded with what Snape himself had told Harry in the Forbidden forest before the start of term.

“Rita Skeeter’s contact among the Death Eaters stresses that Snape was treated ambiguously by Voldemort in the beginning. Voldemort didn’t lift him forward, at first, but treated him roughly and put him to tests – in the same way he did to others. Snape was even severely punished once, almost to the verge of death, as he had caused Voldemort some discontent. But he was eventually given privileges, according to her source. He was sent to the post as a teacher at Hogwarts to spy on Dumbledore and he rose several degrees in the hierarchy.”

Harry shook his head disbelievingly. He thought he knew what would come next.

“After that, Rita Skeeter brings forward the relationship between Snape and your mother. She has found out that they were brought up in the same city. She emphasises the rivalry between James Potter and Severus Snape. She concludes that Lily did marry James in the end, but not until six months before you were born. She insinuates - which means that she does not actually have proof of it - that Lily continued to see Snape from time to time after their years at Hogwarts. Rita Skeeter moves on to the undeniable fact that you are Lily Evans’ son. She speculates that when the young Death Eater Severus Snape was confronted with the possibility that he had engendered a child with a Muggle-born - which obviously would have caused Voldemort’s wrath - he left Lily and distanced himself from the whole thing.”

Harry shook his head more and more vigorously, but Hermione continued.

“Skeeter forwards the hypothesis that the reason Voldemort wanted to kill you as a baby was that he had learnt you were his grand-son and that he feared his own powers would be reiterated and surpassed in you. She asserts that this is what the Prophesy says. No proof, of course - and you know it’s a lie - the Prophesy said nothing of the kind, from what you’ve told us. But Rita Skeeter stresses, as a conspicuous sign, the prominent position Snape was given when Voldemort came back. Her Death Eater source swears that Snape was Voldemort’s protégé, his right hand. Snape was pronounced Headmaster of Hogwarts and given all the privileges of a presumptive heir.”

“Rubbish,” Harry spat out. “Voldemort counted on having deceived death with his horcruxes. He was not interested in an heir! Her source is some Death Eater who is jealous of Snape!”

“Well, Rita Skeeter claims that Voldemort and Snape were in it together to destroy you, but emphasises the obsession of Voldemort to kill you by his own hands. He wouldn’t let Snape kill you, even if he had numerous occasions to do so. Finally, when Voldemort reached the conclusion that Snape had become the master of the Elder Wand by killing Dumbledore - which was all a misconception and you proved it to him, Harry - however, that discovery made Voldemort furious, according to Rita Skeeter. Voldemort suspected Snape of wanting to surpass him and of deceiving him and therefore decided to kill Snape before he killed you. She also allows for the possibility that Snape allied himself with you in the end to destroy Voldemort. The conclusion is that she cannot make up her mind, at present, whether Snape and you work together and await the right moment to seize power and arise jointly as the new Dark wizards of our time, or if you hate each other and watch each other in order to destroy one another.” Hermione stopped and no one said anything for some time.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Ginny finally asked in a small voice. Harry drew a deep breath and looked at her.

“Yeah... I guess I am, actually. I’ve been through this once before, remember? You recall our second year, when everyone believed I was the heir of Slytherin? They might have made me doubt my own identity then, as an insecure twelve-year-old, but I know who I am now and I’m definitely no heir of Voldemort’s! I’m the son of James and Lily Potter - and that’s it!” He made a pause. “Did it say anything about James in the article? The lay-out of the photographs seemed to imply...”

“Yes, I forgot to tell you. Rita Skeeter didn’t make much of it, but she allowed for the possibility of James being Voldemort’s son as an alternative to Snape. In either case you would be Voldemort’s grand-son and the threatening heir. The newspaper chose to make more of James as an alternative, in order not to point Snape out over-explicitly, I’d say. The editor in chief of the Daily Prophet makes sure not to take sides in the issue and to emphasise that Rita Skeeter is no longer an employee at the newspaper. She’s an independent writer who advances her personal theories, but – hey! They give her two whole spreads in the paper to say pretty much whatever she wants. Rita Skeeter prefers Snape over James Potter, however, as Voldemort’s son. Prefers a living prey, I’d say. She probably wants to be able to influence the impending inquiries. She might even want to be the one who overthrows Snape from Hogwarts.”

“Well, if her source is some old Death Eater pal of Snape’s who wants to destroy him that’s not surprising. Skeeter will have an agreement with that bloke and there will be a mutual interest in undermining Snape’s credentials,” said Ron. He hesitated and continued: “Harry, are you sure that Snape is not susceptible to be... you know, to be a threat to you? Are you still sure he’s on our side?”

“Yes,” Harry said shortly. “Rita Skeeter’s argumentation contains a lot of misconceptions, not to say down-right lies - and I know what I know and what I’ve seen about Snape.”

“The part about Snape’s mother and Tom Riddle is striking, though,” said Ginny slowly.

“Yes, that’s what the whole line of argumentation is based upon,” said Hermione. “So, what do we do?”

“We weather out the storm,” Harry said grimly.

A couple of turbulent weeks followed. Every day new slants of the story were added to the general picture in the Daily Prophet. There was an article based on an interview with an old Professor of Magical History who made parallels to cases in the past where fights within families of Dark Wizards were not uncommon, nor patricide or infanticide.

Different opinions as to the awareness of the existing relationships were given room for in the newspaper. Did Voldemort know that Harry Potter was his grand-son or did he act instinctively when he decided to kill the baby? Was Severus Snape aware of the relation between his mother and Voldemort? Was he sure about the fatherhood of Harry Potter? Did Harry Potter know whose son he was and most important of all, did he know that he was related to Voldemort? Because, argued the reporter, the answer to all those questions determined the attitude and the incitement of each of the principal characters in this drama. Voldemort, the reporter said, must have had some foreboding knowledge, as he was so adamant from the beginning to kill Harry even as a baby.

The correspondence between Eileen Prince and her school friend was published. The meaning of the letter was not very explicit, Hermione told Harry at the breakfast table, but Snape’s mother undoubtedly praised Tom Riddle and it could be interpreted as if she meant to see him again.

“Which is far from saying they were actually having an affair,” concluded Ron dryly.

The malignant atmosphere and the savage feelings prevalent at the start of term towards Snape flared up again and Hogwarts boiled with rumours and opinions. Harry cast Muffliato spells on himself whenever he moved about in the corridors, but he could not escape the looks his fellow pupils cast on him, which showed everything from curiosity to loathing and fear.

One particular journalist at the Daily Prophet took upon himself to go to the bottom with the paternity of James Potter. The article stated that James’ mother, Hydrea Hombard, was one of five sisters upon whom a terrible curse had fallen. All of the sisters had only given birth to male descendants and every single one of the children had died of different incurable diseases - until James was born when his parents were quite old already. James, strangely, lived on. As to James’ father, Stuart Potter, he was the only son of an eccentric American wizard whose ancestors had emigrated from Britain two hundreds years ago to establish a renowned dynasty in the United States which, however, was on its way to extinction and where Stuart Potter had been the last in his generation. Was Hydrea Hombard reliable ever to have met Voldemort, the reporter asked? James’ wealthy parents had travelled widely and broadly the years before James was born and this coincided with the time when Voldemort, too, was gone from Britain. Therefore a meeting between the concerned parties was possible, although not very probable, conceded the reporter. However, the fact that James lived on from infancy seemed to imply that some extraordinary magic had been involved to be able to counteract the strong curse on the sisters of the Hombard family.

Harry listened to Hermione’s tale with some interest, although furious with the implications of James as Voldemort’s son. He wondered whether any of James’ aunts were still alive. If that was the case, wouldn’t they have endeavoured to contact him by now - especially if he was the last in the line of both the Hombards and the Potters? He put the question out of his mind eventually.

Next thing to appear in the newspaper was the official registry of Grief Swallowers in Britain. Rita Skeeter wrote a long article about the amazing fact that both Severus Snape and Harry Potter possessed the same rare skill. She practically implied a proven father and son relationship and only at the very end of the article was it stated that there was no proof of genetic influence when it came to the skills of Grief Swallowers. Hermione snorted.

“Doesn’t help much. How many people read down to the bottom line of an article?”

“You and three others,” Ron said mockingly.

After that, they wrote about the Chamber of Secrets. It had been opened five years ago when Harry was in second year at school. It had also been opened fifty years earlier, when Tom Riddle attended Hogwarts. The timing in itself, argued the reporter, was a noteworthy fact. A former student of Hogwarts, who had been in sixth year when it was opened the last time, was interviewed by a reporter and described the fear that had grasped the school at the time and testified as to the suspicions that had fallen on Harry Potter especially since he had proven to be a Parselmouth. The same historian who had been interviewed about patricides and infanticides throughout the history of Dark Arts now wrote about the Slytherin dynasty and the known Parselmouths through all times.  There was no evidence, Rita Skeeter wrote in the following edition, that Severus Snape was a Parselmouth, although the condition was known to skip generations. Rita Skeeter also questioned the unravelling of the incident of the Chamber of Secrets, which officially asserted the splendid qualities of Harry Potter who had received an award for special services to the school when he vanquished the Basilisk that had lurked deep down in the plumbing of Hogwarts.

Rita Skeeter implied that Dumbledore would have concealed parts of the story. There was a diary involved, she wrote, supposedly with instructions from Voldemort to his heir how to open the Chamber. Who else but Harry Potter, who spoke the language of snakes, could that be? Moreover, Tom Riddle had in his time been awarded for special services to the school as he had denounced the person they at the time accused of promoting the attacks - which, absurd as it seemed now, had been Hagrid, a fourteen-year-old school boy at the time, now the keeper at Hogwarts. It had proven to be false - Hagrid had been Tom Riddle’s scapegoat - and who could say that the story Dumbledore and Harry Potter had presented to the world would not be proven likewise false? Dumbledore, Rita Skeeter reminded her readers, had been fascinated by the murky ideas of the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in his youth - a fact that she had revealed in her last book. Dumbledore might have wanted to promote Harry Potter and Severus Snape for reasons of his own.

Harry grunted irritably when Hermione summarised the articles for him.

“It’s really likely, isn’t it, that Dumbledore, who did nothing but good in the greater part of his life, who banned Dark Arts from Hogwarts and was the sworn enemy of Voldemort, was in reality a supporter of his supposed heirs!” Harry’s voice dripped of irony.

“She does have a kind of answer to that as well,” Hermione said hesitantly. “It’s twisted. Dumbledore allegedly meant that, according to the rules of Ancient Magic, only a descendant of Voldemort could defeat him. Dumbledore wanted to use you to kill Voldemort and influence you at the same time in favour of his own views of things. Moreover, he thought you would die in the process, or so Rita Skeeter says.”

“He wasn’t sure - he thought there was a chance I would survive,” Harry whispered in a shaky voice before he took a grip on himself and changed subjects. “Interesting that she mentioned Tom Riddle’s diary, don’t you think?” he said.

“Why’s that interesting?” asked Ginny sharply. “The whole story revolved around that note book.” The Chamber of secrets was a sensitive subject with Ginny as it was through the same diary that Tom Riddle had possessed her, in her first year at Hogwarts, and used her as a vessel to let the Basilisk out to petrify pupils.

“Of course, but I don’t think that Dumbledore told anyone about it. He kept it a secret,” answered Harry.

If Harry, in his Muffliato bubble, apparently bore with the attention, the spite and the taunts from his surroundings with the serene calm of a stunned sphinx, Snape, on the contrary, seemed incapable of contending with the same treatment without exploding at regular intervals. He had eruptions of fury in classes and repeatedly made half the students in sixth year cry during his lessons. Between his outbreaks, he looked gloomier than ever. There was no resilience left in his steps and he dragged himself around, turning around jerkily as if constantly expecting an ambush. Harry grew good at detecting, at an early point of time, the stiffness that seized his fellow pupils’ features when Snape approached. He literally ducked out of Snape’s way as soon as he perceived his presence. Harry managed to attend classes, though, since Snape ignored him, as if he was air in the back of the classroom.

Draco Malfoy, on the contrary, seemed to thrive and enjoy the writings in the newspaper. He had regained his superciliousness towards Harry. He had not addressed Harry by a single word during the whole autumn, but now he began to sneer at him with malicious delight and launched comments after him.

One day after DADA class, when Snape had disappeared from the room as soon as the class was over and before the students had even started to leave the classroom, a girl from Slytherin looked with curiosity at Harry, who had not yet had time to cast a Muffliato spell on himself, and asked him whether he still was in procession of Voldemort’s diary and what else did it say beside how you opened the Chamber of Secrets? Harry gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the question, but Malfoy answered her in his place.

“It’s wasted on Potter. I’ve been trying to tell them. Even if he was the heir of Voldemort, he’s so above things that he won’t own it to himself even if presented with blood evidence,” said Malfoy.

“That’s right, Malfoy, I’m my own man and I don’t care what you or others are trying to imply,” replied Harry, wondering who ‘they’ were that Malfoy referred to. He assembled his things with studied calm and made to leave with Ginny. Ron and Hermione had already moved on.

“Now, I wonder from which of your two fathers you got your insupportable and almighty goodness?” Malfoy launched after him.

Harry paused and turned around with clenched jaws.

“I wouldn’t vote for Snape in that case, would you?” taunted Malfoy.

“What if I was to tell Professor Snape who Rita Skeeter’s source is?” retorted Harry. Malfoy’s supercilious smile died down and he narrowed his eyes.

“What proof do you have?” he spat. “It could be anyone.” 

“Who knew that Snape was offered a place among the Death Eaters but declined it when he was only sixteen years old?” asked Harry silkily. “And most importantly: Who knew about Tom Riddle’s diary, except the person who planted it on Ginny Weasley before our second year at Hogwarts? The very same person who had received it by Voldemort’s own hands to keep it safe. What if I told Snape that your father, his old buddy, is trying to destroy him behind his back?”

“You’d go tittle-tattling to daddy Snape, would you? Changed your mind quite drastically about him, haven’t you?” spat Malfoy. ”I’ve seen you talk to him, all eager to please, all ingratiating. Disgusting! Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the poor little orphan! Honestly, are you so desperate for a father, that you’d even have Snape as yours?”

Harry was barely aware of what he was doing when he drew his wand. He was blinded by rage. But as the curse left his wand, he felt himself being pushed backwards by a shield that dressed itself between Malfoy and him. He was so intent on hurting Malfoy, however, that he urged his curse on anyhow and to his satisfaction he managed to crack through the shield and part of his curse made Malfoy stagger and give a cry of pain. Harry received a hard invisible punch in his chest, stumbled backwards and his spell broke.

Only then did he become aware of the fact that Snape had appeared out of nowhere and was positioned between Malfoy and Harry with his wand drawn. Snape was as white with anger as Harry was boiling red.

“Back off, both of you,” Snape hissed at them.

Harry fought to regain control, lowering his wand and closing his eyes for a moment. Get a grip, don’t lose it, he told himself.

“No more fighting, or you’ll be expelled from school both of you.” Snape’s voice was so tight that the words came out in a whisper. It was scary. Had the professor heard everything Malfoy and he had said to each other? Harry jerked his head as a sign that he had understood. Malfoy only glared at Snape over the hand that was clutched over his swollen mouth where Harry’s curse had hit him. “Go straight back to your houses and stay there!” hissed Snape.

Harry had recovered enough to answer “Yes, Sir,” in a stifled voice. He turned and hurried out through the door. The girl from Slytherin leered at him in the corridor.

“Yes, Father,” she mimicked him. A new surge of anger seized Harry and he Langlocked the girl with great force, wanting her to shut up forever and wanting it to hurt in her mouth as the tongue glued to her palate. She started to whimper and Harry stopped himself. He looked behind him to see if Snape had noticed what had happened, but the professor was out of sight. Malfoy stooped over the Slytherin girl whereas Ginny tucked Harry away and guided him back to the Gryffindor tower.

It took Harry a long time to calm down. After dinner, during which Snape was conspicuous by his absence, Harry went to the library to distract his thoughts with work, staying until closure. As he made his way back to Gryffindor, passing through the empty Entrance Hall, he heard the door open behind him and was held back by Mrs Steadfast’s voice of steel.

“Stop, Mr Potter, I want a word with you. Come here.” He turned around to face an angry Mrs Steadfast beside an inscrutable Professor Snape. They wore travel coats and Snape looked a bit knocked about as there was a rift in the tissue of his coat, an open wound over his left eyebrow and he walked with a limp. Harry eyed him with surprise, but Mrs Steadfast attacked Harry without beating about the bush.

“Did you reveal that you suspect Lucius Malfoy of being Rita Skeeter’s source earlier today?” she said. Harry was taken aback.

“Yes, I...” he started to say, but Mrs Steadfast interrupted him.

“You should take such allegations straight to me,” she said furiously. “You must see the danger of revealing such a thing to Professor Snape.”

“But I didn’t...” Harry tried to say, but was interrupted again.

“Lucius Malfoy is at St Mungo’s for severe injuries and Professor Snape is saddled with another charge. As if he did not already have enough to deal with,” spat Mrs Steadfast.

Snape made a gesture as if to object.

“Oh yes, you’ll be charged for that attack on Lucius Malfoy, don’t kid yourself.” Mrs Steadfast hissed at him.

“It was a fair duel,” Snape said dismissively. Somehow, he seemed calmer and more content than he had been for a long time.

At that moment, Mme Pomfrey turned up on top of the eastern stairs and looked down on them.

“Mr Potter, I’ve been looking for you.” She sounded as angry as Mrs Steadfast. “Will you please come with me to the hospital wing and sort out that Langlock spell you cast on that poor girl. I’ve been working on it for hours now, trying to lift the curse away and Professor Snape’s not in... oh, there you are, Headmaster. Mr Potter has hurt a student with Dark Magic and...”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Mrs Steadfast riveted her eyes on Harry, lips pressed together. “Do you think, Mr Potter, that it’s the right moment to start using Dark Magic at school, with all that they write about you in the papers?” She spoke in a dangerous tone of voice.

To make things even worse, Professor McGonagall, no doubt alerted by the upset voices, showed up on top of the western stairs. She looked aghast when she heard Mrs Steadfast mention Dark Magic. Aware of the fact that his head of house on top of everything was informed of his involuntary predilection for snakes, Harry blushed.

“I didn’t use Dark Magic,” he protested.

“What did you do, then?” asked Mme Pomfrey. “The Tie-tongue won’t come off. If you put a permanent stick on that spell, it’s sure to be classified as Dark Magic.”

“I just modified the spell… a bit… in the heat of the moment. That girl said... she said some awful things to me… It’s not like I used anything from a Dark Arts book or anything.” Harry tried to defend himself.

“This is not the moment to start experimenting with Dark Arts, Potter!” Professor McGonagall was livid with rage and spoke warningly. The others looked surprised at her, as she was usually more lenient towards Harry.

“You’re as bad the one as the other,” snorted Mrs Steadfast. “Let’s mount to the hospital wing. Professor Snape needs treatment, Mme Pomfrey. Nails in his leg. There you can speak of Dark Magic. Lucius Malfoy knows some stuff, too.” They set off, Mrs Steadfast driving Snape and Harry in front of her.

Soon Harry sat on a chair in front of one whimpering Slytherin girl on a bedside. He had a bad conscience. If she was absolutely still, she seemed to be okay, but since she could not prevent herself from fretting all the time, she was in constant pain. He had tried to reverse the spell in different ways, but failed hitherto. Mme Pomfrey worked on Snape’s leg, extracting nails from his flesh with her wand and muttering to herself. She went off to look for a magical salve to apply to the multiple small but deep wounds. Mrs Steadfast was talking to one of her senior Aurors in a corner of the ward, Soundy, whom Harry had not seen for a long time, as he was not part of the guard team at Hogwarts. Harry sighed deeply, lowered his head and tried to think. How exactly had he modified that spell?

“You probably need to do a time-breaking incantation to start with and put in first a tongue-relaxing spell before the loosening and peeling spells. Then the counter curse and finally a healing incantation,” muttered Snape in a low voice from the edge of the bed where he was seated.

Harry startled. He glanced at Snape who was staring at the floor. When following Snape’s advice, Harry managed to undo the modified Langlock spell to his relief. The girl stood up, cast Harry and Snape a look filled with spite and fear and darted off. Mme Pomfrey and Mrs Steadfast approached again.

“You managed then, thank you, Harry,” said Mme Pomfrey in a milder tone than before. “It’s always easier for the person who cast the spell to reverse it, as they know what they did from the start.”

Harry muttered something inaudible and Mme Pomfrey disappeared into her office after having given Snape his salve.

“Now that we’re alone, will you please tell me what you know about Lucius Malfoy?” Mrs Steadfast asked Harry, still seeming cross, but not in a flying temper any longer.

“Just deductions from what the paper said and what people were supposed to know about things,” muttered Harry, starting to resent the unfair accusations. “Mostly the part about the Chamber of secrets and the diary that was mentioned in the Daily Prophet.” He stopped and hesitated. “Does she know or not?” he asked Snape and continued with raising irritation. “Because I think that people seem to take for granted that I know who I’m allowed to speak to or should definitely not speak to or should imperatively speak to, without having informed me of the matter of things. You don’t tell me anything, but expect me to...”

“Mrs Steadfast knows about the horcruxes,” interrupted Snape.

“Well, good to know. It makes sense you should, being Head of the Auror’s Office and everything, but it may not be of importance any longer since they’re all destroyed, so I didn’t know whether Kingsley had bothered to tell you. Anyway, the diary was a horcrux, the first one Voldemort made, splitting his soul after he killed his father. And that’s why Dumbledore kept it a secret. I’m not even sure he showed it to you?” Harry looked inquiringly at Snape who shook his head. “So that’s how I deduced who Rita Skeeter’s source was. Lucius Malfoy was the one who smuggled the book into Hogwarts.“

“You should have come and told me once you had figured it out,” Mrs Steadfast said sternly.

“I didn’t think speaking to the press was a criminal offence,” Harry retorted a bit aggressively. “Therefore I thought there was nothing to be done about it. Lucius Malfoy’s just a deserter, a sneaker and a terrible coward, that’s all. Not worth going to Azkaban for,” Harry suddenly said with a surge of anger in the direction of Snape.

“I’m not going to Azkaban for a duel,” Snape replied stubbornly.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Mrs Steadfast growled at him. “Fighting with your former Death Eater friends does not improve your already blackened image. Just you read the papers tomorrow. With everything else you’re accused of, it might be the last straw and you’ll be beyond salvage.”

Snape looked down, unperturbed, and started to extract a nail in his leg that Mme Pomfrey had missed. He did not seem to find it in the least painful.

“Can I go now?” Harry muttered to Mrs Steadfast. “Please, Ma'am,” he added. She did not look satisfied and knitted her eyebrows, but nodded her assent.

***

Mrs Steadfast was right. The Daily Prophet did not report the hospitalisation of Lucius Malfoy as the result of a duel, but that of an unprovoked attack by Severus Snape. Hermione commented on the fact that the paper nowadays often failed to use Snape’s title as Professor in their articles. It reduced him to the mad and evil wizard Severus Snape, plain and simple. The paper gave free reign to all those who had ever been ill-treated by Snape or disliked him for some reason or other, and let them pour out their pent-up grudges against him. They described him as dangerous, black, malicious, false and treacherous and every invective you could come up with.

There were a few voices who tried to defend him. Someone at the Auror department - not Mrs Steadfast who probably could not afford, politically, to be involved with the press - was interviewed and tried to point out that Lucius Malfoy, a known Death Eater who would face trial for his collaboration with Voldemort, was equally suspected of the use of Dark Magic in the course of the fight with Severus Snape.

A letter to the editor, signed by a number of healers and care-workers at St Mungo’s was published and testified to the fact that Healer Snape was a respected and much appreciated colleague of theirs in the summers, a skilled and accomplished healer. They also emphasised that Snape had never been known to mistreat or to refuse to treat any kind of persons, especially not Muggle-borns, like some other colleagues had been known to do during both reigns of Lord Voldemort.

“That’s a really good point,” said Hermione. Harry agreed and let her read the letter as a whole for him. It was drowned, however, in the ten times more numerous blackening pieces about Snape.

A small, but enlightening notice appeared in the paper about Lucius Malfoy’s wife, Narcissa Malfoy, who was said to distance herself from her husband. She was reported to have visited the hospital only once, and rumours spread that she had moved out of Malfoy manor.

The only gleam of brightness in the sordid, murky drive of the press was that the rumours about his parents’ imminent separation caused Draco Malfoy to relapse into his former sulkiness and abstain from bothering Harry anymore. Other than that, the whole atmosphere at Hogwarts stayed strung and frustrated.

They reached the end of March and the grounds of Hogwarts started to thaw out, revealing thick furs of moist, greyish vegetation pierced by small green leaves here and there, fighting their way up. This particular day was the spring equinox, but Harry was unaware of the fact when he was looking out of a window in the Gryffindor common room where he had been reading in front of the fire in the early morning. He prepared to go down to join his friends for a cup of tea and have the news read to him. Just as he was about to leave, Hermione stumbled inside through the hole behind the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Harry - good,” she said promptly. “Don’t go down. It’s awful. I’d better tell you up here.” They were alone in the room. Harry frowned.

“What is it now?” he asked resignedly. He did not think it could get worse.

“They’ve passed the line. Really, this is passing the line,” said Hermione in an upset, shrill tone of voice. She drew a deep breath before she held up the paper with shaking hands to read to him. “On the front page, there is a student who was at Hogwarts last year - a girl who claims to have been Crucioed by the Carrow teachers on a number of occasions. That, of course, is true. We know they used the Cruciato curse as a punishment on students. In addition, however, she tells the reporter that she and every other student who were Crucioed last year were immediately brought to Snape’s office on his direct orders, allegedly to finish the punishing himself. The students were let in to his office and…” Hermione swallowed. ”When they came out again they didn’t know what had happened because they had been Obliviated. They had no additional injuries, they did not feel worse, but she describes this sense of confusion and of horrible doubt. Now she has read about Snape in the paper and she says that she has begun to experience mounting feelings of anxiety. She believes that it’s probable that they were all abused by him in some way or other.”

Harry frowned and shook his head.

“They make a big thing out of this in the Prophet - several pages,” insisted Hermione. “There’s a healer from St Mungo’s who speaks of the late effects of abuse and of symptoms that could fit with what this girl experiences. They speculate as to alternative reasons why to use an Oblivate spell, except to hide some atrocious crime and cannot find any. They publish, once more, the testimony of an anonymous former Death Eater who confirms the common use of abductions and abuse used by Voldemort. There were orgies, the source claims, with free access for the guests to abducted and imprisoned witches and Muggles of both sexes. All this to suggest that Snape would not be foreign to the practice of sexual abuse.”

Harry shuddered and pulled a disgusted face.

”On the next spread - and this is where you and your mother come in - I’m really sorry, Harry…” continued Hermione. ”She’s so awful. It’s Rita Skeeter again - she seems obsessed with proving your parentage with Voldemort. She has changed her mind and writes that it is not likely that your mother willingly would have had an affair with Snape once he became a Death Eater, but that there are chances that he would have gone after her, abducted her by force and abused her. That was common behaviour among Death Eaters, and as a Muggle-born there would have been no scruples to use Lily Evans as they pleased. Voldemort and Snape might have done it together, Rita Skeeter continues and corroborates her horrible theory with a statement from that awful Professor of Magical History who wallows in obscene details from the past of fathers who taught their sons how to torture and rape and... It’s disgustging how they go on. Finally, Rita Skeeter concludes that you might as well be the son of Voldemort himself, no middleman needed. She concludes with saying that if Harry Potter doesn’t feel the need to do so himself after these revelations, the Ministry of Magic should force you to have a blood bond test done to prove your birth.”

Harry stared at Hermione. His heart made painful jolts in the chest and he trembled. This is only writings in the paper. It’s only stupid speculations. It’s not true. Others might believe whatever they want, I know it’s not true, he told himself. Anger rose in him, his cheeks flushed and his eyes darkened.

“Rita Skeeter is such a stupid Blast-Ended Skrewt!” he said and breathed hard. “She ravages everything on her way, leaving nothing but poisonous slime behind her. A pity she gave herself in as an Animagus and got away with it, otherwise this would have been the perfect moment to send her to Azkaban! The best way to handle her now, however, would be to keep out of her way and she’ll crawl over a precipice all by herself!”

Hermione looked at Harry with grim sympathy and said:

“You’re strong, Harry. I was afraid you’d break down. Most people would have gone into hiding long ago during a drive like this.”

“I’ve seen it before, remember? And I will hide today - behind a Muffliato spell,” Harry said determinedly, “no need to expose oneself to the stupidities some people can’t help letting out. I’m worried about Snape, though. A headmaster cannot hunch behind a Muffliato, he must stay available. How did he react when the paper arrived?”

“I think he sensed at an early stage that it was a nasty piece of writing because he left with his paper before most of us had read more than a few sentences.”

“Double potions late this afternoon,” said Harry grimly. “We’ll see how he copes by then.”

Harry was to come across Snape much sooner than that, however.

***

For their first lesson of the day, the students were waiting for Professor McGonagall in the corridor outside her classroom. Harry had the ringing sound of his Muffliato spell in his ears, but he noticed suddenly that the crowd divided to let someone through. He saw the expressions of fear and of loathing on his fellow students’ faces and lifted his Muffliato spell away.

It was completely silent as the headmaster strode in between the rows of students pressed against the walls. No one greeted him. He looked paler than usual, a bit hunched and he still walked with a slight limp. Harry broke the silence.

“Good morning, Professor Snape!” he said in his most polite and respectful tone of voice. Several students jumped and stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and incredulity. Ginny, who stood beside him, squeezed his arm with apprehension but mimicked Harry in a slightly trembling voice. “Good morning, Professor!” Hermione and Ron followed. A streak of confusion passed over Snape’s face. He stared at Harry and his mouth twitched. He tore his eyes away, gave a short nod and continued along.

At the same moment, Professor McGonagall turned up. Her gaze lingered after the flapping coat of Snape before letting her students in. They had barely settled down and brought their wands out for practical work, when the door opened and Snape reappeared. He searched the room with a feverish gaze and his wandering eyes found Harry. Snape actually looked a little mad and Professor McGonagall recoiled as he suddenly turned towards her, even if her desk stood between them.

“I need to speak to Mr Potter, Minerva,” he said.

“I don’t know, Severus...” she hesitated, glancing over at Harry.

“It’s okay, Professor,” Harry said quickly as he rose from his seat, “I’ll oblige the headmaster. I can catch up with you when I come back.” Snape gave him a strange look, swirled around and lead the way. Harry had his wand out and had no intention of putting it back because Snape did indeed seem unstable. Professor McGonagall looked alarmed and Harry tried to smile reassuringly at her as he passed her desk.

Snape walked in front of Harry, chose a door at random and ushered Harry inside an empty classroom. As soon as he had secured the door with a silencing spell, Snape turned aggressively towards Harry, but did not say anything at first. He started to pace back and fro in the free space in front of the desks, shot short glances at Harry and seemed to argue with himself as he moved, gesturing in the air. Snape’s face twisted and his wand that he had drawn without being aware of what he was doing, let off sparkles. Harry had taken a few steps into the classroom, but stayed in proximity of the door. He had his own wand prepared and watched Snape with apprehension. Suddenly Snape turned to face him.

“Have you read the paper today?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes... Why, yes, I have. I know what they’re implying.” Harry backed off as Snape’s wand accidentally emitted stinging sparkles towards him. He waved them off with his own wand. “I... I’d try to ignore them if I were you, Professor... You shouldn’t let them get at you and...”

Snape suddenly lunged at him, gripped his robe by the collar and pushed him backwards as he spoke, his face only inches from Harry’s, eyes searching Harry’s intently.

“How. Do. You. Know?”

Snape’s contorted face frightened him, yet Harry made an effort to keep calm and averted his eyes since he knew what those intense black eyes could do to his mind.

“How do I know what?” he panted. Snape let go of him and started to pace again.

“How on earth can you greet me like you did this morning after having read that article? How can you stay calm and unconcerned in a situation like this? Are you naive... or stupid? Or do you know something that I don’t? Are you fooling me, Potter? Advice me to ignore it, do you? How on earth am I supposed to do that?” Snape roared his last question at Harry who held his wand in front of him.

“Stay where you are, Professor, and put your wand away, please, before there’s an accident! You mustn’t let the untruths in the paper get at you. Remember that the press has attacked me several times in the past years. I’m used to it and know I must ignore it. I take care not to read the newspaper and...” Harry babbled on in an attempt to appease Snape.

“You just told me you had read today’s paper!” Snape spat at him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“I did. I meant that I let Hermione… Miss Granger read it and she tells me the essentials. In that way it’s easier to keep it at a distance. If you start doubting your own mind, or start caring what others may think, you’re lost. I don’t listen to the commentaries in the corridors either... the Muffliato spell is...” Harry rushed over the words.

Snape waved his explanation away.

“How do you know that I did not do what they accuse me of?” he said with emphasis on every word. “How are you sure?”

“I don’t know about that girl who was Crucioed and Obliviated,” said Harry, “but I find it highly unlikely that you did anything improper to her or to the other pupils. You had promised Dumbledore to take care of the school and I think you did, to your best ability. I’m not a fan of the Obliviate spell, not at all... but I don’t think that you abused her. I believe there’s another explanation.” What Harry said did not seem to calm Snape down, on the contrary, he paced faster and jerkier as if to take a run.

“I don’t even have all the facts myself…” Snape spoke between clenched teeth. ”There’s no way for me to know what my mother’s thoughts or intensions were before I was born...How could anyone? She always poured praise over Voldemort. That’s partly why I approached the Dark Lord from the start. But I’ve had no reason to doubt...”

“Then don’t start now just because they write those things!” pleaded Harry.

“I don’t believe I’m Voldemort’s offspring!” Snape spat irritably at Harry. “Heaven knows I’ve inherited enough vices from my Muggle father as it is. But to be sure... absolutely sure? The question is, how do you know that I did not, out of jealousy and anger, in my foolishness as a young Death Eater, hurt your mother? How do you know?” Snape pointed accusingly at Harry who backed off, trying to find the words to answer.

“I... I’ve seen you together, remember, in your memories? You were her childhood friend! You loved her! I heard you speak to each other. I saw you look at her. I know you regretted even calling her that name. I find it highly unlikely that you would have done anything to her against her will. Not anything!” exclaimed Harry.

Snape stared at him.

“No, of course I wouldn’t.” Snape turned away. He seemed to calm down for a short while, but soon the anxiety rose in him again and he started to pace and twist with great agitation, hiding his anguished face in his hands, muttering incoherently.

“But as to the other part - how can any of us be sure? What if Voldemort himself did something to her? Because I don’t understand why she left me... I’m not saying... that I believe you’re his son... I don’t... You were a copy of James... although not so much now... I cannot help the doubts from assaulting me... You have changed this year... Developed new skills... I still don’t say that you are... But how to be sure?” Snape stared at Harry who shook his head.

“Don’t let them do this to you, Sir. Please, don’t let them do this!”

“I’ve tried to remember, but…” Snape drew a shuddering breath. He was almost stuttering. ”…but I was wounded at that precise time. I was hospitalised. I don’t remember anything for the duration of a whole month - it’s a complete blank!” Snape’s face twisted out of anguish. “I don’t know what happened to her during the time you were conceived. I used to keep my eyes on her from the other side, during battles between Aurors and Death Eaters, so that she wouldn’t get hurt. She had her fellow Aurors and the members of the Order, of course - Potter, Black and Lupin - they should’ve kept her safe, but what if...? Voldemort could’ve got her…” Snape stared almost pleadingly at Harry. ”Don’t you see? He was furious at me by then... I had disobeyed… What if he wanted to punish me by taking her? He knew part of my interest in her... But in that case he would have let me know later, wouldn’t he, to plague me? But then he was so unpredictable, you could never tell... Maybe he had forgotten about the whole affair by the time I had recovered from my hospitalisation and came back?” Snape turned to look Harry straight into the eyes and his gaze hardened. “How can you stay impassive face to this? How do you know she was not abused by Voldemort? You were not even born!”

Snape approached Harry again and poked him aggressively in the chest. His face was contorted by anguish.

“Get off me, Sir,” stuttered Harry, fighting to compose himself.

“Don’t put yourself above this, Potter!” yelled Snape.

“I’m not putting myself above anything - I’m trying to deal with it rationally!” Harry shouted back.

“Then, how do you know?”

“You let them get at you... You’ve had no reason to doubt until now, then why do you...?”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?” Snape stared at him wildly.

Harry felt something burst inside him.

“Because she was a whole person!” he whispered with a crackled voice. He fought to find the words to explain. “Because being abused by Voldemort would leave a person broken, body and soul, and she would have had to struggle to heal herself back to health and power, if at all possible. But she was not broken! She had me and she cared for me and loved me for over a year. Do you really think she could have done that if...? She defeated Voldemort with Ancient Magic! She was strong and full of magic and love. I’ve lived on that love for eighteen years. That’s how strong it was! Because no one... no one ever loved me or cared for me after she died... don’t kid yourself... not until Ginny and that’s something else. I know she was a whole person. Don’t try to shake my faith in her, because it won’t work!”

Harry spoke with a crackled, stifled voice that grew stronger with anger as he went along. His green eyes, so like his mother’s, flared at Snape who froze under their intensity. A shadow passed over Snape’s face and he turned to flee out of the room, banging the door after him.

Harry returned too soon to Transfiguration class, before he had had time to compose himself. He was afraid that Professor McGonagall would start to worry if he waited longer. He kept his eyes lowered and regained his seat beside Ron, stiff and slightly trembling during the rest of the lesson, not hearing a word of what Professor McGonagall said.

It took him the greatest part of the day to recover. At first he was determined to skip double potion with Snape at the end of the day. He could not tell his friends in detail what had passed between him and Snape, but eventually he managed to unclench his teeth and poured some of his frustration out. Ron backed him up on every invective he could come up with attributed to Snape, mostly in the genre of “mad dragon” and “delirious bat”. Ginny comforted him with hugs and kisses and Hermione with sympathising, although more balanced words than he and Ron spurted out.

“Poor Professor Snape,” she said in a low voice as if to herself. ”To be accused of those horrible things!” Harry heard her and stared at her.

“Yeah, I know...” he said finally. “I just wish he wouldn’t go after me like that.”

When the double potions class grew nearer, Harry had calmed down enough to abstain from playing the truant. He decided to show Snape that he would not let himself be shattered by slander, doubts or threats and he entered the classroom in the dungeons with as noncommittal an expression as he could master on his face.

Snape did not seem susceptible to notice him, or anybody else for that matter. As the class settled down, he turned a livid face to them and started his lesson in his most drawling, automatic voice. A few minutes into the introduction of the day’s topic, as Snape prepared to make a demonstration at his desk, several pupils started to whisper to each other. It was not as quiet as it used to be in Professor Snape’s classes. Harry looked at Hermione who pulled a fearful face, shrunk in her chair and shook her head. It took longer than usual for Snape to notice the buzzing as it grew louder. At last, Snape lifted his head and looked at them as if conscious of their presence for the first time. A slight colour rose in his listless face and a sudden flare of anger reached his eyes.

“Silence! You know I don’t tolerate disturbances in my classes!” he snapped. “If anyone wants to communicate something, raise your hand! Everything else can wait until after the lesson!”

The class went dead silent. The air was dense with fear. No one said anything or raised their hand. Harry looked inquiringly at Hermione again, then at Ron, but they only shook their heads at him. Harry frowned and considered the matter for a short while, then made up his mind. He might as well do it, as no one else dared to. He sighed and raised his hand. Ginny tucked at his arm to draw it back down before Snape noticed, but Snape was too quick for her and Harry too determined. Harry rose as Snape approached him with an inquiring, dangerous look on his face.

“Please, Professor, I just wanted to say that the reason we started to whisper was that we recognised this lesson. You already gave it to us last week, Sir. You told us then that we’d move on to complex solvents. You’ve had a lot on your mind, no doubt - we do understand, Professor. I just wanted to spare you the trouble of...”

Harry tried to be as correct and as polite as possible, but could not avoid provoking his teacher’s anger and confusion. A disbelieving Snape drew nearer Harry menacingly, searching his gaze intently and suddenly Harry felt his mind spin off and images started to blur before his eyes.

Harry was suddenly back in the deserted classroom of the morning. Snape roared at him in his memory and he saw himself answer, saw Snape turn and walk away. A desperate cry of anger left his mouth, he slashed his wand in the air after Snape and scores of pointed daggers were launched at the door that Snape closed behind him. With dull thuds the daggers peppered the door.

The Harry in the dungeon classroom observed dimly that his teacher staggered backward a step when this happened in his memory, which told him that Snape saw the same images that he saw and that he was under the influence of Snape’s Legilimency. He fought to push Snape out of his mind and clenched his teeth not to let out any sounds.

The Harry in the classroom earlier in the morning sank down on his knees, face hidden in his hands and shoulders shaken violently by sobs.

Snape did not need to see to what extent his attack in the morning had perturbed him, the Harry of present time thought. As always, he could not push Snape out of his mind - Occlumency seemed forever to be out of his ability to master - but maybe Harry could steer him into another memory? Give him... give him the lesson of last week for example. With a great effort, Harry changed the track of his memories and for a moment his conscience was all blurred. It felt like he might pass out.

The same dungeons they were in now appeared in his memory, with students just slightly differently positioned and the Snape of a week ago moving about at the front, rigging up his cauldron, presenting a whole moonstone to the class before he put it into the cauldron...

At this moment the real Snape pulled away from Harry’s mind and Harry was back in the dungeons in the present. He let out a small gasp. At his side, Ginny stared at him, appalled. He looked as if he might faint any moment.

“You may sit down, Potter,” he heard Snape say, sounding far away, and Harry slid down on his chair. Snape returned to his desk and lent over it heavily with a confused look on his face. “I apologise,” said Snape stiffly and gestured vaguely at the whole class, but his eyes were directed at Harry who, however, was staring down in front of him. “We should indeed move on to solvents. I did not... prepare for this... We’ll have to improvise... Never mind... Here you go... We’re going to prepare this draught... Please pay attention to get all the steps right...”

A recipe appeared at the blackboard and the students started to move about, picking out ingredients from their personal storages or from the cupboard at the front. Although he still felt a bit nauseous, Harry had recovered sufficiently from the Legilimency to set about the potion-making, as he did not want to draw more attention to himself. It felt good to be doing something, to fasten your thoughts on a task.

Snape let them work without interruption for a long while. He stayed seated behind his desk, staring in the air in front of him. It was a long and complicated recipe of fifty-five steps and the students began to wonder whether they were going to be able to accomplish it before the end of the lesson. Suddenly Snape stirred at the front.

“Aren’t you finished soon?” he asked, frowning at the class. Surprise and confusion must have shown on their faces, because Snape rose and shook his head. “Did I forget to tell you to stop at point twenty-three?” he asked grimly.

A few students nodded apprehensively.

“But, by Merlin’s hat, didn’t you notice that it’s impossible to go on after the twenty-third step? This is a two day recipe. We were supposed to continue tomorrow after today’s discussion on solvents. That was the topic of today, all the same! I did tell you that after my little blunder. Anyone who stopped at point twenty-three?”

Snape moved between the desks, looking into the cauldrons, more and more dissatisfied.

“Miss Granger? No... not even you...”

Snape stopped in front of Harry.

“Mr Potter, what are you doing with five cauldrons on your desk?” he exclaimed.

Harry who had hoped that Snape would have the sense to move past him and leave him be, clenched his teeth.

“Hm, excellent...” Snape muttered as he examined the content of the cauldrons. “Come over here,” he gestured for the other students to gather around Harry and his five pots. “Explain to us, Mr Potter, please,” said Snape. He seemed recovered from his apathy for the moment being, acutely focused on the potion. Harry cleared his throat. He kept his eyes carefully averted from Snape’s as he spoke. 

“When I added the resin at point twenty-three, I could feel that even if it melted down nicely, it did not blend magically with the rest of the potion and I thought that it would probably take some time for it to link to the other ingredients. It would probably have to simmer under fire until tomorrow to react properly. But as it did not say so in the recipe, I felt a bit unsure. So that’s why I split the Potion in five parts to test out different alternatives.”

“Very good,” Snape pressed on. “Pay attention, you others. This is the true spirit of an experimenter. What did you do to the different cauldrons, Potter?” Harry swallowed. He did not like the attention, although he felt slightly flattered by what Snape said.

“Well, with the first one, I just went on as the recipe said. I don’t think the potion will work - it’s spoiled because the atomised eagle feathers will have glued up with the resin and I cannot think of any way to reverse that without damaging the magical balance of the potion.”

Snape Evanesced the potion with a wave of his wand, showing that Harry’s assumption was correct.

“In the second one I added some stalactite salt, as I know it has worked as a solvent before together with resin, but I’m not entirely satisfied - even if it did help a bit. I did not feel a complete reaction and it might be so that the grounded pumpkin seeds bind the salt or the thistle juice, added at point eleven, does. I was going to look that up,” said Harry.

“Thistle juice cherishes stalactite salt. It’s like pouring water on a sponge, it will neutralise amazing amounts,” corroborated Snape.

“Well, I realised it was fruitless and I did not want to use up the entire stock, so I gave up on that one,” said Harry.

Snape made the cauldron disappear.

“In cauldron number three, I added two dried leaves of Planta Reducta which also might serve as a solvent in potion-making. I think it could have worked if you hadn’t put so much octopus ink in the potion at point nineteen... But it’s too late to change that, right?” Harry made a questioning gesture.

 The potion went away.

“Well, the potions in the remaining two cauldrons are stopped at point twenty-three. I put some extra heat under one of the cauldrons to see if I could make the dissolving process go quicker, but I suspect that the atomised eagle feather will lose its power. I was going to check on its heat sustainability,” said Harry.

“Very low,” answered Snape and made the forth cauldron disappear as well.

“Well, the remaining one is just stopped at point twenty-three. I have put on a gentle heating and a clockwise stirring. That one should be okay by tomorrow.”

“It should indeed,” said Snape. “I will Augment it and distribute your potion to everyone and we’ll be able to continue with the second half of the recipe tomorrow. Potter, you have saved this lesson!”

Harry could not tell if Snape’s words constituted praise or irony, so he kept his face impassive. Contrary to his apathy before, Snape looked feverish and agitated.

“I’ll use the remaining time of the lesson to go through the twenty most used methods for facilitating the dissolving of complex potions. You’re already familiar with the simple ones since OWL level. I want you to write me a scroll where you deepen your knowledge of five of these methods; 200 inches should be enough. Potter here has already covered a great part. Maybe he’d better take my place to run this class...”

Some students laughed at Snape’s joke, eager to play along since the professor suddenly seemed to be in a good mood.

“You’ll want to work on a little more elegant phrasing, though, when you write your essays,” continued Snape with rising spirits. “Potter might have the deduction abilities of a great rising star of potion inventions, but he still has some work to do when it comes to coining words. Not apt for entering the journalist program, Potter, you’re not...  I’d dissuade you... But, on the other hand, who’d like to end up in that snakes’ nest?”

More laughter, but Harry looked perplexed at Snape without smiling. He got the impression that Snape actually appreciated his work with the potion, but why on earth could the man never give some straight praise? Why did it have to be mixed with irony? If he wanted to rail at the journalists, fine, it would do Snape good, but why did it need to be at Harry’s expense? Why the constant nagging about how he expressed himself? Harry must have shown his annoyance because Snape suddenly snorted and became serious again. He returned to the front and during the rest of the class he sunk back into the sombre temper he had started in. 

“Did Snape Legilimency you at the beginning of class?” asked Ron on their way from the dungeons to the Great Hall for supper.

“Er...yes,” Harry answered distractedly.

“How rude! Just because you pointed out his mistake. He has really lost his grip on things,” exclaimed Ron. They had reached the Entrance Hall and Harry stopped. He wasn’t hungry.

“I need some air,” he muttered to his friends and turned abruptly to walk out of the hall.

Harry strode slowly along the edge of the precipice and looked out over the desolate landscape. Even if it did not rain, the air was so full of moist that it soaked through the clothes. Harry drew a deep breath. At least it was clean and refreshing. He started to run at a slow speed toward the Forbidden Forest, accelerated when he approached the boarder and brought out his wand. He launched in between the trees, taking turns to run and to glide with breakneck speed and ravaged the forest until he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. He was far away from the castle, in the middle of nowhere. One of the Kangabbit babies, that had grown considerably the last few months to almost full size, showed up at a distance and seemed eager for him to follow it. Harry thought it might show him the way back and pursued it at a more reasonable pace. It took some time, but he reemerged eventually, not far from Hagrid’s cottage.

Harry was so absorbed by his own thoughts that he did not notice the small group of people walking out of the castle in his direction, until they were only fifteen yards away.

“Good evening, Potter,” the hearty voice of Mrs Steadfast called out. Harry startled, lifted his head and realised that the head of the Aurors, together with Professor Snape and Soundy at her sides, were heading toward the gates.

“Good evening, Ma'am,“ Harry muttered and avoided to slow down with the intention of passing them without further interaction, but Mrs Steadfast stopped dead.

“Potter, you look awful!” she said, shifting to her voice of steal.

“Had an awful day,” muttered Harry in response, still averting his eyes and walking on. He suspected his face might be covered in scratches where branches had hit him during his race.

“Do I have to point out to you, Potter, that the Forest is forbidden area for students?” Mrs Steadfast said sternly, arresting him with a gesture of her hand.

“Only moving in the outskirts. Needed some air,” Harry cut shortly, still hoping she would let him off.

The choppier he was, the more anxious she seemed to stick to the conversation, however, and she led her small group a few steps forwards to intercept him. Harry came to a halt in front of them with a sigh and nodded at Soundy, but avoided eye contact with Professor Snape.

“Are you two no longer on greeting terms?” Mrs Steadfast said bluntly with irritation in her voice, looking from Snape to Harry. “Surely you know better than to believe what they write about him in the papers, Mr Potter!” A short silence followed after which Harry spoke.

“I greeted him this morning, but he did not exactly appreciate it... Then he Legilimencied me in class and I, in turn, did not particularly appreciate that... So if you’d just stop preventing me from avoiding him, we’ll be fine, Mrs Steadfast!” Harry cringed inwardly at how rude he sounded, but, really, he only wanted to be left alone. Mr Soundy suppressed a smile, but Mrs Steadfast did not even seem to notice Harry’s impoliteness as she swung to Snape.

“You Legilimencied Potter, how’s that? It’s an extreme measure, belonging to an interrogation booth at the department, or in Azkaban, and not to a classroom. Not that it’s illegal, but it certainly would be considered bad morals, Professor! You need to take care!”

Before Snape could open his mouth to reply, Mrs Steadfast started and took out her necklace watch. Her eyes widened.

“That’s it!” she exclaimed. ”They’ve checked it out. Seems we’ve got the real thing this time! We need to go straight away.”

Harry frowned inquiringly, but no one took notice of him any longer as Mrs Steadfast explained something in a whispering tone to Snape. Harry shrugged with ill humour and started to walk back to the castle.

When he came back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry called Kreacher, the old house-elf from Grimmauld Place, to bring him some sandwiches from the kitchen. He had arranged for Kreacher to inhabit Hogwarts during the school year so that he would not have to be alone at Grimmauld Place, because that would cause the elf’s foul spirit to return. Since the autumn before last Kreacher had grown as fond of Harry and his friends as you could hope for and Harry welcomed his loyalty as he had equally learnt to care for the old house-elf of the Black family.

Harry still had difficulties to settle down. Whereas the others sat in front of the fire, chatting and laughing, he felt restless and heavy at the same time. The confrontation with Snape from the morning played itself in his mind over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the others, “I need to be alone. I’m going to work in the library.”

The library closed at nine, but NEWT students had been granted a collective exemption and were allowed to stay until ten o’clock. Harry worked hard to keep his mind busy and was exhausted when he left. The castle was nearly empty and parts of it were already in darkness. He had to pass by the Entrance Hall on his way back and as he did, the door opened and Snape appeared. Harry was ready to dive into a side corridor to avoid him, but his eyes were caught by the expression on Snape’s face.

If Snape had been unusually pale during the day, he was now ashen grey, and there was an absence of expression to his features that spoke more of eeriness than of unscrutability. His dress bore traces of a fight, but there was no visible injury. Snape walked slowly with shuffling steps across the hall. He did not even notice Harry although he stood in full view. Spontaneously, Harry took a few steps towards him.

“What happened, Professor?” he exclaimed. “Are you wounded?” Snape turned his head slowly to face him. He seemed to have difficulties focusing his gaze.

“Harry Potter...” Snape stated as if for himself. “Decidedly... I’m not wounded,” he said in a slow, weak voice and continued “Been on a mission with Mrs Steadfast... We found them... Too weak to be sent to St Mungo’s without prior treatment... Too many Relieving Incantations...”

Snape vacillated. Harry looked at him with raising alarm. Snape was really ill. Why had he been left on his own?

“Let’s find Mme Pomfrey,” Harry said urgently. But Snape started to walk in the opposite direction with shortened, automatic steps.

“My office,” he growled indistinctly. Harry hesitated. Should he fetch the care-witch or should he go with Snape?

“You need some Firewhiskey, Sir. I’ll accompany you and help you to it.” Harry made up his mind. He remembered last summer, when Snape had transferred the excruciating pain from the nightmare attack from Harry to himself and needed Firewhiskey to recover.

Snape walked slower and slower and was finally at risk of stopping right in the middle of the corridor, so Harry caught hold of his elbow and urged him on.

“So there were a lot of hurt people?” asked Harry in an attempt to keep Snape’s attention up. There was a long silence and Harry began to doubt that he was going to get an answer, when Snape let out:

“Tortured people.”

Harry looked at him in horror.

“Would that be the abducted victims of Voldemort’s that they write about every now and then? The Prophet reported it already during the summer, but it has been quiet about them for a while now. At least Hermione hasn’t told me anything… Have they been imprisoned for this long? How could they survive?” exclaimed Harry.

There was again a long latency before Snape answered enigmatically:

“In a cave... Dark Magic...”

In front of the Gargoyle statue which marked the entrance to the tower where the headmaster’s office was situated, Snape reached out his right hand to support himself against the wall. He stared at the Gargoyle, but said nothing.

“The password, Sir,” Harry goaded him. He had a feeling they were running out of time. Snape needed his medicine.

Snape just stared. By Merlin’s wand, Harry thought bewildered, was the professor too ill to remember the password?  Harry searched his mind fervently. He had been let up to Snape’s office twice in a row at the beginning of last term and there had been passwords referring to the Æsir cult of Iceland on both occasions. He had looked Iceland up in a Dictionary of Magical History at the time. Dumbledore had always had code words which referred to sweets and Harry used to think it was convenient to be able to have a qualified guess at the password. It had saved him on more than one occasion. He had made a list of Icelandic wizards this autumn. Now, he could not remember. He shook Snape’s left arm.

“The password, Professor! Please, we need to get inside your office.”

Snape recoiled weakly from pain in his left shoulder that seemed to be constantly sore, but his eyes were still blank. Harry took out his wand and pointed it toward his own head. Hermione had taught him a spell that helped sorting out memories - not to be used during examinations of course - but as an interesting example of reverse Obliviate spells.

“Thor’s hammer, Power of Odin, Sleipners’ carriage,” he muttered in a hurry. He closed his eyes: “Ragnarok!*” The Gargoyle swung open. He was grateful that Snape had stuck to Old Norse. Harry looked at him again. Snape did not seem aware of Harry’s presence and did not seem able to initiate a movement on his own accord. His breathing was getting shallower and veils of confusion passed over his eyes. How to get him moving? Harry passed between Snape and the wall and pulled Snape’s right arm over his own shoulders. He was only slightly shorter than Snape.

“Let’s go,” he said loudly. Snape took a few staggering steps up on the first platform of the spiral stair case that led up to the office. Harry waved his wand and made it turn and lift them upwards. Snape hung heavier and heavier on his shoulders, getting limper, but making efforts now and then to straighten up while Harry swore over the slow stairs.

At last they reached the top of the tower and stumbled into the office where Snape slumped into an armchair. A chocked buzz went through the room as the old headmasters in the portraits awoke and took in the scene. Harry looked around. Where would Snape be susceptible to keep a bottle of Firewhiskey?

“Accio Firewhiskey,” he tried but nothing happened. “Professor, where...?” he started to say, but Snape did not react. His head hung over the side of the back of the armchair, uncovering his throat. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open. Harry started to panic. “Where does he keep the Firewhiskey?” he shouted at the Portraits, but the chocked Professors only shook their heads.

“Professor Snape does not use alcohol as a rule,” Phineas Nigellus, the old Slytherin headmaster in one of the portraits, finally said.

“Kreacher!” exclaimed Harry and the house-elf appeared instantly.

“Second time Master Harry calls me this evening. Very unusual it is, but I’m of service to Master Harry,” said Kreacher in his creaky old voice.

“Kreacher, fetch me some Firewhiskey for the headmaster, quickly!” Harry shouted at him. Kreacher turned around and his already big eyes widened with fear.

“What has Master Harry done to Headmaster?” he squeaked.

“Get the Firewhiskey now, Kreacher!” ordered Harry. There was no time for explanations. While he waited, Harry stooped over Snape, shaking him to see if he could wake him up, but Snape was unresponsive. Harry punched him deliberately on his bad shoulder to provoke some pain, but still got no reaction from the unconscious wizard. He checked Snape’s pulse and at first he thought there was none, but finally he felt the beats, several seconds apart. Snape’s heart rate was alarmingly slow and the breathing was so shallow that it was barely noticeable.

“Kreacher!” Harry croaked pleadingly. Finally, the house-elf reappeared with a bottle and a cup.

“Give it...” Harry tore the bottle from Kreacher’s little hand. He tried to pour some Firewhiskey into Snape’s mouth, but spilled the liquid all over Snape’s chin and on his collar. Harry was not sure if even a fraction of it got down Snape’s throat. In the middle of his struggle, he suddenly became horribly convinced that Snape’s chest had stopped moving. Harry rose in panic, backed off a few steps and pointed his wand at the unconscious wizard.

“Rennervate!“ he shouted. A faint glow flickered around Snape and extinguished almost at once. Harry tried to pour more Firewhiskey down Snape’s throat, fumbling with his wand and mumbling an incantation to protect Snape’s airways and prevent him from choking on the liquid. He repeated the Rennervation spell twice, pouring Firewhiskey between the attempts.

At last the resuscitation glow grew stronger and Harry saw Snape’s chest heave. He quickly poured some Firewhiskey into the cup. Harry’s heart was still racing, Snape’s eyes were still shut and the tall Professor was still limp, sprawled in the armchair in a half-lying, half-sitting position. When Harry supported Snape’s head and brought the cup to his lips, a faint grimace on Snape’s face showed that he at least registered the strong taste of the Firewhiskey.

Harry lifted his gaze to the portrait of Dumbledore. He was reminded of the occasion when he had found himself obliged to make Dumbledore drink an entire basin full of poison to get to one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. It was nearly two years ago, but Harry’s stomach clenched and his eyes filled with tears at the memory, as if it had happened yesterday.

Harry brought the cup with Firewhiskey to Snape’s lips again and this time Snape swallowed actively. He seemed to regain consciousness, straining weakly to rise and Harry helped him to readjust in the chair a little better.

“I want out,” Snape said suddenly in a surprisingly clear voice. His eyes were still shut. “I want out!” he repeated. Harry hesitated.

“Do you... do you want some fresh air, Professor?” he said uncertainly. He leapt up to open one of the windows. A brisk stream of cold air entered the room. Harry went over to Kreacher. “Go to Gryffindor tower and tell Ron and Hermione that I’m at Snape’s office, that I’m okay and that it might take a while before I’m back. They don’t need to wait for me.” Kreacher disappeared instantly. Harry went back to close the window and swirled around to see how Snape was doing.

Snape had managed to turn in his chair so that he faced Harry. He was clutching the armrest tightly and his dark eyes, streaked with confusion and full of suspicion, were riveted on Harry. Instinctively, Harry moved carefully not to provoke the man.

“You were taken ill, Sir...” he begun cautiously. “I came across you in the Entrance Hall. You said you’d done too many Relieving Incantations on a mission for Mrs Steadfast. You looked unwell so I accompanied you up here. Sir, you did not want to go to the hospital wing.” Snape’s eyes started to clear up, he relaxed a bit and Harry approached him slowly.

“Please have some more Firewhiskey, Professor,” said Harry. Snape’s muscles did not seem to obey him yet for when he aimed at the cup on the table he missed it by several inches and instead he knocked the bottle off the table. Harry was quick to catch it before it spilled out. Without a word he put the cup in Snape’s hand and helped him lift it to his lips to take a sip. Snape’s arm started to tremble and he stopped halfway in the air, unable to put the cup back on the table despite what seemed like an immense effort of concentration. Harry took the cup from him.

“You... you passed out, Professor,” he said. “Your heart rate was really slow... and you stopped breathing. I had to Rennervate you three times before you came back. And I’ve spilled Firewhiskey all over you, I’m sorry...I thought you were going to...” Harry’s voice cracked up. He only just realised how scared he had been. He sank down in the armchair beside Snape’s. To do something, he pointed his wand with a trembling hand at the fireplace and made some flames spring to life.

“I’m sorry I gave you a fright.” Snape spoke slowly, but distinctly. “Unpleasant for you... if you’d been stuck... with my corpse... up here... Would have made the front page, of course...  but since we’re already there on a daily basis... maybe it was just as well...  it did not need... to come to that...”

Harry smiled weakly. Snape readjusted in his chair and tried to stretch and bend his fingers in front of him. He grimaced and moaned silently.

“You might as well take warning from my example, Harry, considering that… you, too, are a Grief Swallower. It never hit me like this before, though... Reaching the limit... What happens is that your nervous system shuts down and... your vital functions crash... It might not come about immediately after the Relievings, which is treacherous because you’ll think you can do another one and another still... The side effects are delayed until things around you calm down, often when you’re left alone, several hours later. The nervous system is over-used and cannot maintain vital functions like blood pressure, heart rate and breathing in balance any longer.” Although weak, Snape spoke matter-of-factly. 

“Were you the only one who could... take care of them... the tortured people, I mean...” asked Harry.

“I’m the only Grief Swallower on Mrs Steadfast’s team, yes...” said Snape distractedly. He did not seem to think what had happened to him was of great importance.

”But you could have called someone from St Mungo’s to help out, no?” asked Harry.

”It was my duty to Relieve those people, otherwise they were unlikely to survive the transport to the hospital,” answered Snape.

”Not so many, so damaged people, all on your own… It must have been horrible. Why didn’t you call for some assistance?” said Harry with a frown.

”I wanted to… help. I have actions in my past to atone for… You don’t understand,” mumbled Snape and made a feeble, dismissive gesture.

Harry opened his mouth to protest.

“Leave it… Harry,” said Snape tiredly, but at the same time managing a slightly sharp edge to his words. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again to meet Harry’s troubled gaze and continued to speak. ”We knew that the place existed, and Mrs Steadfast’s team has been looking for it for a long time. It’s one of Voldemort’s secret Pleasure Temples, recreated after he resurrected four years ago. I had only heard about them. Most Death Eaters took part in Voldemort’s orgies, but even as a young Death Eater I never could.” Snape pulled a wry face. ”I guess a person like me never was intended for parties in general, and not those kind of orgies in particular. I never could attend, not even when Lucius tried to persuade me and taunted me for my squeamishness… During the second reign, thankfully Voldemort did not insist that I should join them, neither did Dumbledore - I suppose both of them reckoned that it went beyond my commission as a spy, so to speak… So I haven’t been able to help out with finding the locations of the Pleasure Temples. They’re protected by Fidelius charms and we don’t know who might be the secret keeper. A core of Death Eaters, my most sadistic former colleagues…” Snape sighed deeply, ”…seem to have continued with the orgies, in the spirit of Voldemort, even after he disappeared.”

Snape shook his head, disgusted and Harry, too, pulled a horrified face.

”What gave us hope,” continued Snape, ”was that some of the Death Eaters have been trying to negotiate with the Ministry of Magic. Prisoners in exchange for safe-conduct or for galleons... Some exchanges have been carried out in secret. Families of the abducted have wanted to pay to have their loved ones back, ready to agree to anything. The Ministry has had to hold back and persuade the families not to let themselves be ripped of their money. Not the easiest task - I certainly don’t envy the negotiators their job, must be worse even than mine… We’ve been made to understand that the prisoners at the Pleasure Temples are a source of disagreement in the Dark world, however. That’s what has put an extra pressure on us to find them, because some of the younger criminals who have associated themselves with the Death Eaters after Voldemort’s fall - the young criminals belonging to the same gang that weeded out their less illustrious members a month ago, the ones you met at St Mungo’s - they seem to think that the abused prisoners should just be liquidated because they have seen too much, been so ill used that they cannot be released without causing more damage to the perpetrators than they can earn them profits. The remaining Death Eaters, on the other hand, are more greedy and calculating and want to wait and see if the victims still cannot be used in some way.”

Snape made a pause. He looked deep into the fire. 

“We’ve failed repeatedly to find the Temples, until this evening when a Death Eater that I thought far down in the hierarchy was arrested and proved to have a pass for one the places as they had a planned meeting tonight. We were lucky - we were able to surprise them and catch some of them. After we had fought them, we could enter the gigantic cave that held the Pleasure Temple... An awful place... Dark Magic everywhere... Chained people... frightened and subdued... tortured in the most gruesome ways... Abused...”

Snape’s voice trailed off. He had spoken for too long, slower and slower. His eyes closed and his breath became irregular. He was relapsing. Harry jumped up and helped him to the Firewhiskey.

“You’ll need some more, Sir,” he said as Snape only had one swallow. Snape took another sip.

“You need to be careful with the Firewhiskey,” muttered Snape when he recovered again. “Treacherous substance. Pity it’s the only antidote to this condition. Better to take small dosages repeatedly than to over-compensate. As long as you do that, the Firewhiskey won’t have its usual intoxicating effects. Many a Grief Swallower has succumbed to the addiction by being too generous with their medicine.”

Harry who would rather have had Snape swallow half the bottle could not object.

“My father was... is... an alcoholic,” continued Snape and went silent.

Neither of them said anything for a while until Snape sighed deeply and put his head in his hands, leaning forward.

“Puts things in a perspective, doesn’t it?” he said softly. ”That stupid slander in the newspapers... The defamation... It’s nothing to what those people have suffered... Imprisoned for more than a year… Under such unimaginable conditions… One really should not waste one’s energy on those vile reporters of the Daily Prophet...There’s still another cave to be found...” He took a sip of Firewhisky.

“There’s nothing to be done about the papers anyway,” Harry replied. “Unless you decide to give an interview or to write your side of the story… But there’s no guarantee they’ll present it as you see it anyhow. You’re right to keep out of that... snake’s nest.”

Harry suddenly noticed that his books, paper rolls and quills were all scattered on the floor. He must have dropped his bag as he stumbled inside, supporting Snape earlier. He waved his wand to summon his things.

“You’ve been working in the library?” asked Snape.

“Yes, I was on my way back to the Gryffindor Tower when I met you,” said Harry.

“Tell me, have you made any progress with the incantation works? Not that you owe me anything... but you seemed interested in pursuing the comparisons with Ancient Magic,” said Snape.

“I am... I did...” said Harry. “I was working on it tonight actually. Whenever I have some spare time from homework...”

“Well, tell me about it! I seem to have neglected your education lately,” Snape said encouragingly.

“Now?” said Harry surprised. “Wouldn’t you... er... want some rest, Professor? You’re still not recovered.”

“I think it would do me good to divert my thoughts from... what I saw tonight. And I need to stay awake for a while to make sure I don’t relapse. So if you don’t mind? Make a small exposé of your work?” said Snape.

“Okay,” muttered Harry and started to unroll his pieces of parchments covered with notes. He hesitated and handed Snape two scrolls. “Examples two and three,” he said. “Almost done... a draft at least... I’m working on the forth example now... it’s really interesting...”

The confidence Harry had felt when he practiced the Double Knight’s Spiral Battle Move with Snape had vanished into thin air. This was different. No physical ability or magical talent was involved here. He was supposed to make another person see what he had seen in the texts, make them understand his analysis and be able to present deductions in a trustworthy way. He had to express himself properly and he had been reminded this very same day of how poor Snape considered his ability in that area to be. He took a deep breath and launched into a presentation, conjuring up quotations in the air to illustrate his ideas.

Harry spoke far too speedily and deviated from his line of argumentation repeatedly to comment on side tracks. After ten minutes he had messed up every argument and Snape looked utterly confused. He did not comment on the disaster, however, and Harry realised that he might not have to be so afraid of retributions this evening as Snape was not alert enough to come up with his usual sharp criticism. Harry took a deep breath.

“Have some more Firewhiskey, please,” he gestured at Snape who obeyed.

Harry started from the beginning, speaking slower and checking that Snape followed him. He tried not to let the fear of expressing himself clumsily impede the presentation of his ideas and he did better. He got Snape interested and he soon forgot to be on his guard, swept away by his own enthusiasm.

Harry genuinely enjoyed this work. It was like a puzzle. Leads were hidden in the constructions of the incantations that he had chosen to analyse and the challenge was to unveil them and compare them to other leads in other incantations. The weakened and convalescent Snape was a more patient listener than when in his prime. He eventually stopped being an audience and took part in the discussion with interest, asking questions, pointing things out. He spoke softly and now and again his speech slowed down, which was one sign that he needed another dose of his medicine. 

Harry was attentive, saw it coming before Snape himself noticed the relapses and reminded his teacher at regular intervals to drink the Firewhiskey. This annoyed Snape, but after ignoring Harry’s hints a couple of times with the result that Snape’s muscle rigidness relapsed and Harry had to help him lift the cup, he started to trust Harry’s judgement.

“It shows in your eyes first, Sir,” explained Harry, embarrassed. They moved on to the forth incantation that Harry had just begun working on and Harry’s rapture blossomed out.

The air in Snape’s office was full of floating lines in different fluorescent colours as Harry tried to sort them out and connect them. He was still struggling with this puzzle, but had made an interesting discovery which he tried to convey to Snape. He got a little carried away at times and Snape had to tell him to slow down. Sometimes Harry got stuck on a term that he wanted to use, but did not remember and Snape would fill it in for him. Snape was soon infected by Harry’s enthusiasm.

“This is new... You’re on to something here... Never heard of this before,” said Snape as he flicked quotations in front of him in the air. “I think you’re right, but you need to check in a couple of reference books just to be sure.”

“There really are not many books on Ancient Magic in the library,” complained Harry.

“We could check Albus’ collection,” said Snape and made an attempt to rise, but fell back in his armchair. He looked piteous and pulled an annoyed face.

Harry went over to the bookshelves to do the searching on Snape’s directions. He came back with two beautiful volumes. There was no room on the low table where Snape had his cup so Harry brought out his wand to enlarge it.

A long silence ensued where Harry and Snape bent over the books, reading, searching. It was punctuated by short comments where one or the other showed interesting parts in his text. Finally, Snape found a significant reference and Harry leant over to read. It was an uncomfortable angle, so he slid down on his knees beside the table instead. Snape pointed at the text.

“This corroborates your theory,” he said. Harry conjured up a piece of parchment, gripped one of his quills and started to take notes. They worked for another hour looking for references, Snape in his armchair and Harry on his knees on the floor beside the low table.

Checking references was usually quite tedious work, but the research went smoothly. Snape grasped Harry’s theory with great accuracy and they elaborated on different ways of proving their point, going back to the original incantations, transposing lines and analysing all over again. At last Harry had hundreds of inches of notes.

“Let me read them to recapitulate,” said Snape and Harry handed the parchment over. He stifled a big yawn that made tears rise in his eyes and tried to focus on a passage in the book in front of him, but the words blurred before his eyes. He supported his head that had started to feel heavy in his hand and widened his eyes to force himself to stay awake. It was like all the exhausting events of the day caught up with him at once and the tiredness hit him unrelentingly.

When Snape looked up just a minute later, he found Harry asleep across the table. He frowned and brought out a watch from his pocket before he slid carefully forward in his chair, took a gulp of Firewhiskey and rose hesitantly, gripping the armrests not to fall. At last he managed to draw himself up. He took a tentative step and stretched his body, grimacing. Finally he bent down over Harry to shake him by his shoulder.

“Harry, wake up...Wake up!”

Harry stirred slightly. “Ginny,” he said. Snape had to shake him for several minutes before he sat up, eyes rolling in their globes, impossible to coordinate, his body feeling heavy as lead.

“It’s past one o’clock at night. I’m sorry I’ve kept you for so long, Harry. You’ve had a trying day. It’s time you regain Gryffindor Tower and go to bed. I’m surprised your friends have not turned the castle upside-down in search for you,” said Snape.

“I sent them a message I would be late.” Harry articulated with difficulty as he rose from the floor. Snape slid back into his armchair.

“Off you go then,” he muttered.

Harry sat down.

Snape looked at him affronted.

“I can’t leave you yet, Professor. You’re still at risk of suffering from relapses,” said Harry.

“I’m fine, Potter. I just stood up and I‘m fully capable of taking care of myself, thank you.” Snape had adopted his dangerous, silky tone of voice.

“You need someone to remind you of taking your medicine. You don’t notice the relapses in time and...”

“Potter, I order you out of my office, now!”

Harry glared at Snape, pressed his lips together, picked up a book and started demonstratively to read. The letters danced before his eyes.

“You dare disobey me?” Snape sounded incredulous and at a loss what to do, bringing out his wand.

“If you hex me, I’ll definitely stay,” Harry pointed out.

“I’ll blast you out of here,” said Snape with gritted teeth.

“In that case I’ll go and fetch Mme Pomfrey…” threatened Harry, “and Professor McGonagall,” he added.

Snape did not find words to retort. He seemed to debate with himself.

“I’ll drink a cup of Firewhiskey before I go to sleep and I’ll stand the night. I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” said Snape finally.

Harry hesitated. He did not dare contradict Snape at length, this might be a good deal.

“Okay,” he said and waited.

“Well...?” Snape arched an eyebrow and gestured for the door.

Harry nodded at the bottle of Firewhiskey at the table. Snape flared up.

“You’ll have me swallow it in front of you?” he asked in a temper, disbelievingly.

Harry stayed stubbornly in his chair and watched Snape fill his cup with Firewhiskey.

“Bottom up, then,” Snape said sarcastically and emptied his glass in small gulps, tears rising in his eyes from the strong liquor.

Harry rose and started to collect the parchments that were scattered all over the table and on the floor in front of them. In the meantime, Snape took the opportunity to scold him with increasing agitation.

“You’re insupportably head-strong, Potter. I’m dumbfounded by what you got away with when you were younger. Dumbledore was too yielding and tolerant for your own good, so maybe it was no wonder that you continued with your dangerous conduct, setting rules at defiance, like your father had done before you... being insubordinate, exactly like you just proved to still be, and… Are you leering at me, Potter?” barked Snape, as Harry was looking at him with an inscrutable gaze and possibly a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Harry sighed.

“I’m not, Sir,” he answered politely. ”Believe me, Professor, no one can be happier tonight to see you restored to your usual self, than me,” he added with such disarming earnestness that Snape stared at him, his expression changing from anger to surprise. He finally let out a chuckle as he turned his head away.

“Humph… Good night, then,” Snape said reluctantly, but in a calmer voice.

“Good night, Professor,” answered Harry and walked out.

After mounting to the Fat Lady and persuading her to let him in, Harry sneaked through the hole leading to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady seemed to hold him in consideration because she made no difficulties despite the late hour. Harry spotted Ron asleep in an armchair in front of an almost extinct fire. He touched Ron’s shoulder and his friend woke up instantly.

“Good to see you back, Harry...” Ron slurred. “Not been boiled and eaten, then, have you? Neither tortured to disown your friends and your own magical blood? Blimey, I got a pretty good idea of how mother feels when she stays up at night to see us back... What was all that about?” Ron rubbed his eyes.

“What took you so long, Harry?” Hermione and Ginny came down the stairs from the girl’s dormitory.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you awake,” said Harry. “Didn’t Kreacher tell you?”

“Well, we were not exactly reassured by knowing you at Snape’s office...” Hermione pointed out.

“He was taken ill. I just happened to be there. Listen, I’m whacked... Let me tell you tomorrow, okay? Let’s go to bed,” pleaded Harry and his friends complied.

Harry slept poorly as he was tormented by strange nightmares that woke him up several times.

In one of them Snape was standing in the middle of a playground, watching Harry, who was only about six years old, on a swing, going higher and higher. Snape goaded him on, but all of a sudden he roared at Harry to jump off and Harry was afraid and clung to the swing...

The scene changed and Harry saw the face of his mother against a light. She was speaking in earnest to him, as if trying to explain something very important, but he could not hear her voice. Her lips moved soundlessly and her face blurred as she floated further and further away in the dream...

The scene changed again to show Snape dragging an enormous coffin up a mountain side. It looked plain - blackened and timeworn - but Harry knew it was full of gold and goblin silver. When he reached the top, after strenuous exercise, Snape started to move the coffin towards the edge of the cliff. He was going to launch it down a precipice. Harry stepped forward and started to argue with Snape not to do it, but Snape did not listen and heaved the coffin over the edge. The coffin bounced on the cliffs and the gold and silver were scattered. Snape and Harry started to fight, Snape held Harry by the collar and Harry was afraid they would go down the precipice together. He wanted to let loose of Snape, but they were too entangled and they both stumbled over the edge. At that very point in the dream, Ginny, Hermione and Ron appeared on a platform below Harry. “We’ll catch you!” they yelled at him and he managed to land in safety at their side, whereas the black, flapping figure of Snape tumbled down the precipice with a great howl...

Harry howled silently in anguish as he woke up. His heart raced and the events of the night came back to him with frightening force.

What if Snape had relapsed and his system had crashed down again? Harry was not sure for how long the relapses could occur, nor how much Firewhiskey was needed to keep them at bay. Snape himself probably did not know. Had he not said that this was the first time it happened like this to him? He really should have had someone by his side until he was completely recovered. And Harry had just left him! He could at least have consulted with Mme Pomfrey, Harry thought remorsefully. He rose and stepped up to the window, biting on a knuckle to prevent himself from moaning. It was early morning, still dark, but with the tiniest presentiment of dawn.

Should he go back to the headmaster’s office and check on Snape? Harry debated with himself. He knew the password, didn’t he? Snape would be furious though - if he was alive, that was... Should he wake Ron up and get some down-to-earth advice from his friend? No, it might take too long to explain...

Harry started to dress even if he had still not decided what to do. When he shot a glance through the window again, a band of yellow light had started to glow over the horizon and he spotted a well-known figure on the path leading from the gates to the castle. No way of mistaking the silhouette of Hagrid. Would that be Mrs Steadfast by his side? Hagrid would be reporting to her what had happened on the grounds. Snape should be with them, however. Why was he not?

Harry darted off to intercept Mrs Steadfast in the Entrance Hall. He tried to convince himself that it did not mean anything that Snape had not gone to meet Mrs Steadfast at the gates. Snape was probably just tired and waited for her in his office. Harry needed to know, though. He jumped the stairs two by two and landed out of breath beside Simmings, back on guard.

“You’re earlier than usual, Harry,” he said. “Something’s the matter?”

“Want a word with Mrs Steadfast, that’s all,” Harry panted and gripped a knob on the banister to steady himself. It represented the head of a Gremlin which bit his finger and he let out a curse, just as Mrs Steadfast entered the hall. Her eyes sought him out at once. He still grimaced and shook his hand in pain.

“Early riser, are you, Potter? And not doing much better than yesterday, it seems.” Mrs Steadfast frowned. “Let’s hope your headmaster is in a more elevating mood. He should be, after the achievements last evening. You’ll read everything in the papers, Potter, so I might as well tell you.”

Evidently, Mrs Steadfast was herself in a great mood, thought Harry.

”We managed to encircle a meeting of Death Eaters. Not many got away, much thanks to Professor Snape. What a fighter that wizard is! A blizzard of curses, all by himself! And he’s not even an Auror! You must deduce that the training of Death Eaters in the late seventies were just as advanced as ours,” she said.

Mrs Steadfast alluded to Snape’s past as a Death Eater in a light tone without any trace of condemnation to Harry’s ears.

”I hope they’ll treat him fairly in the papers and give him some credit for the arrests we’ve made,” she continued. ”I’ll lift his contribution forth. They’ve treated him abominably until now, really. But where is the man? He was supposed to meet me at the gates and come with me to sit in on the interrogations today. Getting lazy, is he?”

Harry stared at the unsuspecting Mrs Steadfast. She had no idea, did she?

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs Steadfast,” said a voice coming from the corridor to the right. Snape, dressed in his travelling coat, leant against the wall with arms crossed over his chest. The surge of relief that mounted in Harry almost hurt. Snape looked casual, but Harry guessed he still might have problems with his muscle tone, since he wanted to support himself. Harry advanced a few steps and scrutinised Snape’s face which was entirely impassive, although Snape avoided to meet Harry’s gaze.

“You didn’t turn up on time, Professor... It’s a first, so I’ll make allowances, because of yesterday. But don’t make a habit of it...” Mrs Steadfast turned to Harry and Simmings. “The Headmaster’s not as brisk and bright as you young people. Looks a bit out of sorts, don’t you think, Mr Potter? A sure sign of aging... not up to punctuality when he’s to meet a lady... now, that’s aggravating...” she said mockingly.

Maybe it was because she had given him so much praise before and suspected he might have overheard most of it, that Mrs Steadfast now felt the need to berate Snape. She often made small bickering comments at Snape in Harry’s presence, to make up for Snape’s dominating position and harsh attitude vis-à-vis his young student, and to make Harry feel that she was on his side. Harry usually appreciated her banter and support, but under the prevailing circumstances, he was not in the least amused.

The anger flared up inside him so quickly that he barely had time to put a Muffliato spell over the two of them before he started to yell at her. The rage that pounded in his veins made him clench his fists. His eyes flashed as he told Mrs Steadfast off. How could she be so unsuspecting, so naive? So negligent of a member of her team? He gestured vehemently at Snape. Of course Snape was “out of sorts”, considering he had collapsed last night! How could she send him home and leave him without supervision knowing how many Relievings he had done on those tortured people? Where had her Aurors been? And how on earth could she allow him to perform all those Relievings? There must be other healers at St Mungo’s that could be called after, and Swallowscopes, too, no? If Snape was indeed a member of her team as they claimed - and Harry thought this too was remarkable since Snape already had a job as Headmaster at Hogwarts... Snape already had enough to deal with, couldn’t she see that? If he was a member at her team, however, it was her duty to check up on Grief Swallowers and learn about the conditions and limits of Relievings as it must be on her orders they were carried out. What did she think Snape was anyhow? Some almighty, invulnerable superpower wizard who could take anything?

“Symptoms can be delayed for hours!” Harry roared reproachfully. “If I hadn’t happened to come across him in the Entrance Hall when he returned from the cave... If he had reached his office alone... Don’t you realise? I had to Rennervate him three times! And look at him now, he’s not recovered yet and still he means to go with you... And he’ll hate me for telling you about what happened... He hates me anyway...  I’m sorry I’ve yelled at you, Ma'am... but I thought you should know... I Rennervated him three times... I already told you that... I thought he was going to die, and he had so many relapses, for many hours... I wasn’t even sure this morning...” The flare of temper subsided as quickly as it had risen and Harry’s voice trailed off. He was shaking.

Snape, Simmings and Mr Burgess who had emerged from the dungeons and witnessed the strange scene but not been able to hear what was said, all gaped at Harry with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. Harry lifted his Muffliato spell and nodded stiffly at Mrs Steadfast who had turned very serious.

“Sorry, Mrs Steadfast,” Harry finished in a stifled voice and escaped through the door into the Great Hall which was empty. Harry stopped right beside the door and leant against the wall while trying to draw deep breaths. Get a grip, get a grip. Don’t lose it now... He heard voices from the Entrance Hall.

“What was that about?” exclaimed Mr Burgess.

“Oh, nothing special, Bellamy. Mr Potter’s got a bit of a temper,” Mrs Steadfast said evasively. “May I have a word with you, back in your office, Severus, please?”

***

Harry was tired and depressed for the rest of the day. He told his friends at breakfast what had happened the previous evening and about his outbreak at Mrs Steadfast in the early morning. His friends were surprised as he muttered something about being worried and not wanting Snape to die. They did not know how to respond to that and left it without comment.

Hermione read about the successful arrests in the Daily Prophet. The part Snape had played was reasonably accounted for, although the reporter used ambiguous epithets like “cunning tracker”, “forceful wizard” and “skilled combatant”. The text also contained a question with implicit critique: why had not Severus Snape conducted the Aurors to this place long ago to rescue the victims? There was no mention of the Relieving Incantations that Snape had carried out with risk for his own health. That kind of magic seemed to be an unappreciated task, performed in the background, unnecessary to inform the public of. The photograph on the front page showed a satisfied Head of the Auror Department, in her office where, the paper said, interrogations would succeed each other during the whole day.

Harry took no active part in the animated discussions among his friends and in the corridors of the school. He had chosen not to look at photographs of the victims, nor to read the detailed accounts of their abductions or the tearful commentaries from their families. Harry felt strangely distant and at the same time on the verge of tears. It was as if he was moving about surrounded by a shield that stopped everything from touching him from the outside, but which at the same time succeeded in trapping a constant trembling generated within his own being.

At the end of the day, they had Potions with Snape and finished their draught from the previous day. Harry did not know how to behave nor what to expect, but avoided Snape’s gaze out of caution. The lesson passed without incidents. Snape seemed pretty much recovered, Harry thought - rather low-voiced and unstrung. As Harry passed Snape’s desk on his way out, he was called back. Harry stopped and looked at Snape with a wary, reserved expression. To his surprise, Snape covered them with a Muffliato spell and he supposed Malfoy must be within hearing distance behind his back.

“I had some spare time today as I was exempt from my duties with Mrs Steadfast,” Snape begun and Harry looked sideways. He expected Snape to scold him for having disclosed Snape’s Grief Swallower’s predicament to Mrs Steadfast. “So I took the time to read your texts in the Comparing of Incantations series of work. I’ve made some notes for you to consider if you like. I also took the liberty of making a fair copy of your notes from our reference listing last night. You left them in my office. I’ve added some comments in green ink, otherwise they’re your notes, word by word.”

Snape handed him three scrolls which Harry accepted out of sheer surprise, staring at his teacher. To his horror, he suddenly felt tears fill his eyes and he averted his gaze quickly. Harry had to clear his throat several times before he managed to say “Thank you, Professor,” in a reasonably steady voice. Snape continued, speaking to some point over Harry’s head as he let Harry recover.

“I withhold that example number four, the one about making dead objects magically detect, contain and answer to human emotions, is very interesting. There are a few more leads to research before it’s ready, but the reference to Ancient Magic that you’ve found is unique. I don’t think anyone has written about it before and my judgement is that you should be able to publish it in a renowned journal. The problem is that many of those don’t accept authors who are not at least in higher education. My proposal for you therefore is that you take your texts on incantations number two and three, which are fine, with slight modifications of language mostly, and publish them in less particular journals. Not as high in ranking of course, but you’re after the practice, aren’t you? And once you’ve published something, it’s easier to publish the next thing. There are two ways to go for incantation number four. Either we use my name to force it into a journal now as soon as you’ve finished the research, or you wait until the autumn where you’ll probably have entered higher education - the Auror’s program most likely, I guess,” said Snape.

“I don’t care so much about publication and stuff,” said Harry, uncomfortable. “It’s the work itself that matters to me. I like to unveil and discover things. Of course it’s a challenge to present it in a readable way so that you can communicate it to others, but...”

“I suspected that much of you,” Snape said dismissively. “No cravings for glory, Potter? No need to prove yourself to others? To take credit for intelligent, real work of thinking?”

“Of course, I do, in a way, I acknowledge... But are they that important, those Journals? It strikes me as really complicated and stupid with all those rules...” Harry answered uncertainly.

“How else do you propose to make your discoveries known? Do you want to distribute pamphlets in the streets or make speeches in the squares?” Snape countered sarcastically. “And of course publications will be of importance for your career. Do you think I became headmaster solely on Voldemort’s orders? Voldemort infiltrated the institutions, yes, but it had to be genuine, qualified people who took the jobs. I had to go through the examination of my credentials at the School Board. And of course all my publications were taken into account. That’s why they cannot sack me now, even if they’d like to. They cannot present a contestant with equal merits, so until I’m convicted, I stay here.” Harry considered what Snape said. It was pretty much what Hermione had tried to tell him all along.

“Moreover,” said Snape, “...if you make an important discovery, you’ll want to make it known. Like the Acromantula antidote. It constitutes an important amelioration, especially in tropical countries where snake bites are not unusual! And your work on the emotion-containing incantations might have impact on things, don’t you see that? Real impact! Think about the construction of Swallowscopes for instance. They might be ameliorated by your discoveries... maybe... or other methods of containing emotions might be developed...”

Harry gaped at him. He had not thought that far.

“Sna… Professor - you’re a genius!” he exclaimed enthusiastically.

Snape smiled, faintly amused.

“Of course!” Harry proceeded. “We need to find out how a Swallowscope works. Do you know? Who make them? They’re expensive, I heard. Maybe we could find a discarded one... or...”

“Easy now, Harry, you don’t need to do everything at once! You’ve started on a theoretical basis. You need to get that step right first. Then you move on to practical applications. The Swallowscope was just as an example,” said Snape.

“A brilliant example it was!” exclaimed Harry, still excited. He collected himself under the stern gaze Snape gave him. “Okay, I won’t rush it,” continued Harry in a more moderate tone. “I’ll do the incantations two and three at first, like you said, to practice. I want to get to the bottom with the emotions-containing incantation, sort it out properly. If it takes me until this autumn, I’ll let it do that. Notwithstanding, you should be co-author of the paper since I work under your guidance, right? Unless, of course, it’d be degrading for you in the academic world to publish with a young student... or with me in particular?” He looked with earnest interrogation at Snape.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter!” Snape spat at him. “Of course it wouldn’t. You’re incredibly naive at times. Tell me, now - how do you know that I won’t just take your ideas and publish them as my own before you’re finished? I’m former head of Slytherin, after all. We do such things.” Harry looked at Snape uncertainly. Was he serious?

“I’m not altogether sure,” he answered with an insecure smile on his lips, accompanied by a frown, “...not after the Acromantula paper. But as I said, it’s not of great importance to me.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to tell you that it should be!” exclaimed Snape, annoyed. He looked thoughtfully at Harry. “You’re used to unfair treatment, aren’t you? And you have quite a high threshold before you snap and retort. You endure a lot. I took that for arrogance, but I begin to wonder... All those weeks of excruciating pain this summer, too... It seems to me that you feel yourself at home in an atmosphere of mistreatment. The Dursleys, perhaps, were not very particular with the justice of things?”

Harry stared at him. What did the Dursleys have to do with publishing papers?

“Not excessively so,” he answered flatly, the smile gone from his face. He frowned again and looked suspiciously at Snape. “The Dursleys never treated me fairly. But from their example I learnt how not to behave towards lesser people or creatures. I learnt what is good and fair and what is wrong and mean. I know the distinction very well.”

“I’m sure you do, Potter, when it comes to your own conduct. It is - to quote our dear friend Draco Malfoy - insupportably and almighty good. But I’m speaking of the kind of treatment you accept towards yourself. Take the Acromantula paper for instance. Why did you not come to me and protest against not having your name on it?” asked Snape.

Harry looked at him with astonishment and answered tentatively after a slight pause:

“Well, first of all it was too late, was it not? The article was already published. Moreover I suspected there might be something about the rules of the Journal that didn’t allow...”

“But you thought yourself badly treated? You had done all the work, after all?” interrupted Snape.

“I had, but without your guidance I wouldn’t have been able to put together an article at all,” retorted Harry.

“You still should have objected.”

“I found out just before Christmas, Sir, and then, after the vacations, they started to write things about you... and about me... and there was no opportunity to raise the question. Moreover we never had an agreement to stick to. I only told you I wanted the thing published, not that I wanted my name on it,” said Harry.

“You should not tolerate such treatment, Potter. You must defend yourself!”

Harry was taken aback by Snape’s angry outburst. He was not sure what all this meant.

“Naturally, I had put you down as an author,” continued Snape, ”but the journal took your name away - as I was very well aware they might do. I had chosen that journal, however, because of its renoun. But with everything that happened at the time – the suicide of Jacob Duffle, remember, and its repercussions on the school – I failed to notice the omission and missed the opportunity to put you down for acknowledgements, which would have been the least to have you mentioned in. I failed you by negligence, which is no excuse. But I expected you to confront me! You must grow tougher, Potter - how else do you pretend to deal with adult life out there? You mustn’t accept such things!”

Snape gesticulated wildly in the now empty dungeon. Neither of the two wizards thought of lifting the Muffliato spell away - they were much too absorbed by their conversation.

“Now, I have contacted the journal to rectify the mistake. It might be important for your future career, so I promise you I’ll not let go until they give in and archive the article under your name. I also give you my word that I won’t publish your ideas about emotion containing incantations until you’re done with your work and we submit the paper jointly. My question to you, however, is: do you trust me?” Snape asked his question in an intent voice.

Harry was confused. It was like being attacked by one of Luna’s invisible Nargle-beings or something. He wasn’t sure if Snape wanted him to say yes or no.

“I do trust your word, Sir,” he answered with a frown.

“No need to be polite, Potter. I told you, I’m Slytherin. We break our word if necessary. The only way to make sure someone adheres to it is to make them take the Unbreakable Vow,” Snape said silkily. Harry shuddered.

“There’s no trust at all between you, then,” he said coldly. Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“No trust, no nobility... is that how you see it? The Gryffindor lion? To distrust a friend, for you, is to affront him, right? So, you’d rather blind yourself to the faults of your friends than... Look what happened to your parents and Peter Pettigrew, for heaven’s sake, Potter! It’s only common sense to be cautious! Don’t repeat the mistakes of your parents!”

Harry’s face crumpled briefly when Snape mentioned Peter Pettigrew.

“Common sense, yes,” he said, still refusing, however, to agree with Snape’s callous view of people, ”but it depends on the person. You learn to know a person and you judge his or her qualities and you decide whether or not to trust that person. Sometimes you’re mistaken, sometimes you’re not. You cannot distrust everyone, all the same.”

“In the Slytherin spirit you assess a person’s liability to fool you and you judge the chances for you to succeed in fooling him or her. So yes, it depends on the person,” Snape’s voice dripped of irony.

“You want me to adopt the Slytherin spirit, do you?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Some of it might do you good! Otherwise I’m pretty sure you’ll be skinned and eaten alive out there, when you leave Hogwarts.” Snape glared fiercely at Harry as if to imprint the warning in him. ”But that was not what I wanted to say,” continued Snape. ”Before you decide to trust me or not with your research discoveries, I wanted to point out to you that I adhere to the Slytherin spirit. So do you trust me or not?” Snape repeated his question.

“Are you saying that I should not, Sir?" asked Harry. "But you’re not enslaved to the Slytherin spirit, are you? You make your own decisions and should take full responsibility for them. It’s too easy to blame your behaviour on old traditions, or on a blasted old wizard who lived centuries ago and didn’t agree with his friends. You’re the headmaster now - from Slytherin, true. You could change people’s ideas about that spirit. You could show them that a Slytherin wizard can be fair and trustworthy,” said Harry with emphasis.

“You sound exactly like Kingsley when he gets going. That’s why he supports me. He thinks I might be able to reconcile the differences between the houses... Ha! All I’ve managed so far for Hogwarts, is to attract an awful lot of writings in the papers. Not very flattering ones, either.” Snape shook his head. 

“Not exactly your fault, Professor...” muttered Harry, wondering where this would lead. He opened his mouth again to speak. “Dumbledore believed that perhaps we sort too soon at Hogwarts, put labels on young wizards that force them to behave in such or such ways. The sorting hat thought I would do well in Slytherin. I did have a piece of Voldemort’s soul in my head at the time, however... And I asked it to be placed in Gryffindor... Dumbledore once gave a hint that you, too, would have done well in Gryffindor, didn’t he?”

Snape flinched.

“I showed you that in my memories, did I?” he said suspiciously. “I would not attach too much importance to that incident, if I were you. I may be brave when it comes to certain things - that’s what Dumbledore meant - but I’m in no sense of the word a good man,” continued Snape slowly. “So back to the question: Do you trust me?”

Harry stared lengthily at Snape. He realised the man probably expected him to answer ”no”, but his instincts made him realise the truth of the matter and he spoke as if surprised by his own words.

“I… do trust you, Sir... Not when it comes to petty affairs, but for everything important, in matters of life and death…” said Harry.

”Don’t be daft, Mr Potter!” exclaimed Snape. “I’m perfectly aware of the way I’ve treated you over the years and I haven’t exactly improved in that area…”

“A bit, all the same,” Harry interposed.

“Which does not say much,” Snape said dryly. “You’re too generous - and naïve,” he added sternly. “With our history, of course you cannot trust me!” Harry sighed inwardly.

”Let’s say I trust you partly then,” he said, conciliatory. ”Mostly, I think, because you were her friend...” he broke off. Snape’s features shifted.

“Because of...? Yes, of course…”  Snape fell silent at last, looking away. Harry made an attempt to leave, but Snape stopped him with a gesture and cleared his throat.

“I forgot to tell you. Mrs Steadfast thought that you were entitled to some information about the events last evening. She’s coming to my office at eight o’clock tonight to tell me about the interrogations. You’re welcome to join us,” he said.

Harry was surprised by the sudden invitation. He had assumed Mrs Steadfast would be angry with him after his behaviour in the morning. He felt a lump in his throat and was again embarrassed by his own reaction. He hastened to thank Snape and said that he would be there. What’s the matter with me anyhow? he asked himself when he hurried away through the dungeons. Not up to face a little friendliness? Get a grip!

A few hours later, Harry stood in front of the Gargoyle statue guarding the western tower and took a deep breath before uttering the password. Snape had not changed it since last night and he was let in. He waited for a long while after he knocked on the door to the office, before Snape finally opened with a frown.

“How did you get into the tower?” he asked without greeting Harry. “I had no notice of you coming.”

“Er... You haven’t changed the password,” said Harry. Snape looked suspiciously at him.

“Did I tell you, yesterday? Did I say it aloud? What a bother, I don’t remember!” Snape was irritated. Harry had no intention to reveal that he had managed to guess his way to the password.

“Er... yes, you were very ill,” he emphasised instead.

“Good evening, Harry,” Mrs Steadfast rose from one of the armchairs in front of the fire-place and came over with an out-stretched hand that Harry accepted.

“I apologise for this morning, Ma'am,” he said.

“Don’t mention it, you were right to scold me. Far too wrapped up in my own success. And not enough enlightened about Grief Swallowers. Haven’t been around so many. I honestly thought the professor here was able to take care of himself. That’s what he always tells me, anyway, when I want to press an attending Auror on him,” she said.

Snape muttered something and Mrs Steadfast changed the subject.

“You know, Harry, when you’ve got an invitation to come here, all you need to say to the Gargoyle downstairs is ’Harry Potter, here to see Professor Snape’ and you’ll be announced up here to warn the headmaster someone is coming,” she explained.

“Oh? Dumbledore always sent me the passwords by notes when I was invited over. Sweets mostly,” said Harry.

“Sweets?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“The passwords, I mean, names of sweets,” clarified Harry.

“Dumbledore was a little too trusting sometimes, as well,” Snape said sourly, referring to their conversation in the dungeon earlier. Harry and Snape simultaneously shot quick glances at the portrait of Dumbledore which did not betray that he was aware of being spoken about, however. The old headmaster’s face was completely closed and serene.

“I’ve meant to ask you, Sir,” said Harry, still looking at Dumbledore, but addressing Snape. “That night of the battle. Did you know I would come back to your office? When I needed to use the Pensieve? Because I was able to let myself in. I just had one guess at the password and it worked. It was incredible.” Snape looked puzzled.

“When I left my office that night, Alceto Carrow had alerted me that she had intercepted you in the castle” he said slowly. ”I had a feeling the end was near. Voldemort’s anger had grown since the break-in at Gringotts which told me that you were at last making progress with the commission Dumbledore had charged you with. I prepared for fight that night, before I walked over to Ravenclaw to check out her alarm. I wanted to find you, desperately, and warn you. You know what happened. I suppose you were there, beside Professor McGonagall, under your invisibility coat?”

Harry nodded.

”I left the castle,” continued Snape. ”Naturally, I had not foreseen that I was going to be attacked by Nagini and that you would need to come back to the office to use the Pensieve. I still thought I would be able to find you and speak to you myself.”

“The password was ‘Dumbledore’,” said Harry.

“No, it wasn’t,” retorted Snape, puzzled. Harry frowned.

“I was let in,” he said. A silence ensued. Mrs Steadfast looked at them with interest.

“The gargoyle must have reacted to the emergency of the situation and let you in anyhow,” she said. “I’ve heard of enchantments like that.”

“A dead object that reads and reacts to the emotions of humans?” said Harry and looked at Snape. “Ancient Magic. Dumbledore himself must have... before he...” The three of them looked with awe at the slumbering old wizard in the portrait, before Mrs Steadfast brought their attention back.

“Harry, I meant to say that I believe we’ve treated you with some negligence. You’re indeed a central part in the aftermaths of Voldemort’s reign and should, I feel, be a little better informed about the work at the Auror Office on the cleaning up after Voldemort,” she said.

“I’d like to help. If Voldemort’s prisoners are still out there somewhere - if there are still other secret places to discover, we all need to contribute...” Harry started to say. Snape shot a warning glance at Mrs Steadfast.

“We were afraid you’d feel that way, Harry,” interrupted Mrs Steadfast, ”but I have to say that it’s out of the question that you should join in the search in a practical way. Next year, if you enter the Auror program, I won’t be able to stop you. But you’re a student this year and your obligations are here at Hogwarts. Moreover you’re their target, you must not expose yourself...”

“So is he,” said Harry, pointing at Snape, feeling the anger rise inside him.

“Now, please don’t fly into a temper like this morning. I’ve never seen the like…” Mrs Steadfast made an almost comical, defensive gesture before she added. ”That’s not true actually... Your outburst reminded me of your mother. You’re so like her.”

Harry lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m afraid I did not know her very well, because she was younger than I and started on the Auror program after I had already graduated. I still met her, a couple of times when I helped train the first years on a number of occasions, before I moved abroad to the US on an assignment. And that’s exactly how I remember her: in a flying temper. We used to laugh at Lily Evans, because she had trouble keeping the boys in order.” Mrs Steadfast pulled a wry face. ”James and Sirius, that was. Those two were always up to things. You would hear her scold them and rage at them with those green eyes of hers flashing. Then, the next minute, she would laugh and all would be forgotten. She was always ready to forgive.”

“You met her...” said Harry staring at Mrs Steadfast. He cast a glance at Snape who had lowered his head so that his long hair hid his face. 

“Just a couple of times, like I said. My grand-mother knew her better. I think Lily confided quite a lot in her. My grand-mother was the head of the Auror Department for nearly forty years, you see. She retired just before I started my education, thank heaven. She was present at the department, though, as some kind of senior consultant. I guess she couldn’t keep away from the office. I think she became a mentor to Lily. The last time I met your mother was at my grand-mother’s house one year after my moving abroad. I had temporarily returned to Britain for some top secret work. Britain was not to be trusted at the time… with Voldemort pulling the strings behind the scenes... My own children were in the US with their father. We were in the middle of a divorce actually and... Never mind...  I stopped by Granny’s place and Lily happened to be there visiting my grand-mother with you, Harry. You were only a few months old and Lily let me hold you. You were adorable as a baby.” Mrs Steadfast smiled at him and Harry stared back. Snape lifted his head and approached them almost involuntarily, with a curious mixture of stiffness and helpless longing on his features.

“I’ll tell you this, with regard to the awful articles in yesterday’s paper, that the woman I met showed no signs of being abused or defeated, believe me. They had just gone into hiding, and of course she didn’t like it. She said that James in particular bore the confinement with ill humour. I believed her because your father always struck me as a slightly impatient kind of man, with great appetite for amusement and action. Lily was resigned to it and did not mind so much because she had you. She took so good care of you, Harry. She was absolutely radiant and happy despite everything. She might have had problems like everybody else to deal with, but she was not a broken person, far from it. Of course she had never been abused by Voldemort in any sort!” Mrs Steadfast said forcefully.

A long silence followed. Snape had shut his eyes as she spoke. He stood completely still with his fingertips touching the desk, his chest heaving deeply. Harry’s eyes were glazed and he played absentmindedly with a quill he had picked up.

“I’m sorry guys,” said Mrs Steadfast softly, “I didn’t quite realise... After so many years… Such an open wound… Listen, whenever you’re ready, come back to me, please.”

The glare Snape gave her when he opened his eyes, was black and furious, but she met it steadily. Harry’s gaze was riveted far away and only came back gradually. Eventually he met Mrs Steadfast’s warm brown eyes and blinked.

“I’m sorry,” said Mrs Steadfast again, “I sometimes talk too much. My big mouth had better stayed in the United States. I sometimes believe I do not fit in at all in my home country. It’s a sensitive subject with you, I understand. If I have offended you, I apologise. I just wanted to...” Harry interrupted her.

“I don’t mind speaking about my mother,” he said in a clear, but somewhat brittle voice. “On the contrary... I knew it wasn’t true what they wrote, but there are ways you start doubting... and it’s nice to hear someone who met her at that time confirm your own sentiment. It was kind of you, Mrs Steadfast, to tell us. Thank you.”

Snape let out a low muttering growl when the Gargoyle suddenly made an announcement and Mrs Steadfast turned her head.

“It’s Kingsley. He wants a report from today’s investigations and he said it suited him to come over to Hogwarts as he had some business with you as well, Severus,” she said.

Snape went over to the door and let the minister in before he had time to knock. Kingsley was accompanied by two Aurors - Soundy and Simmings, to Harrys’ surprise. Simmings saw him frown and sneaked over by his side as the others greeted each other.

“Hello, Harry. Nice to see you. No, I’ve not been upgraded to Personal Auror of the Minister.” Simmings grinned. ”He left his attending Aurors downstairs on guard and swapped for us. Soundy and I have been working with the interrogations today and are to report to you now,” said Simmings.

Kingsley came over to greet Harry in his usual friendly way and Harry was glad to see that he looked the same as last time he had met him which had been in this very office at the start of term. Kingsley seemed to cope well with his work.

“May I have a word with you two, please?” said Kingsley to Harry and Snape who followed him to the side and left Mrs Steadfast talking to her Aurors. She shot an interrogating glance after them. Kingsley sighed as he looked at Snape with an annoyed crease between his brows.

“You are aware of the state of things, Severus,” he started without preamble. “We’re balancing on an edge constantly. Not a day passes by without forceful demands from various directions in order to dismiss you from your position as Headmaster. The School Board, the parents and other relatives with influence put a constant pressure on me. The articles in the press have brought a storm of protests. Up to now, I’ve retorted that the Daily Prophet is not a court and that the public will have to wait until the proper inquiry. Your attack on Lucius Malfoy deteriorated your position, not so much in the press or in the eyes of common people, but in a juridical sense. Another charge - you do realise that?”

Harry felt slightly embarrassed to hear his professor being rebuked by the minister and wondered why he had been asked by Kingsley to listen in on this, while Mrs Steadfast had not.

“I understand the strain they put you under. Don’t think that I underestimate the effects of the speculations in the press. My condition to continue to support you, however, is that you keep your temper under control and do your job until the inquiry takes place – do I make myself clear?” asked Kingsley.

Snape looked at the prime minister with an impassive face.

“Hmm...” continued Kingsley. “At the Ministry we were made uneasy the other day, by the testimony of that former student at Hogwarts as to being Obliviated by you in this office last year.” Snape made an irksome gesture.

“There’s an explanation,” he said shortly.

“Yes, I believe you as a matter of fact, because there’s something else. Someone from your staff owled me, anonymously, to state that the teachers were brought together by you at the start of term and that they were given an account of these Obliviating sessions with the Crucioed students. Is that correct?” insisted Kingsley.

“Yes, it is. I needed to regain my colleagues’ confidence. They had all witnessed the atrocities of the Carrows towards the pupils and I needed to convince them that I really was on their side last year, even if it did not appear so to them at the time,” said Snape.

“I understand. The person who wrote to me states that they were made to promise not to reveal the nature of these Obliviatings, but in view of the revelations in the press, the staff feels differently and the person who wrote asked me to convince you of going public with it. I gather that they dare not on their own,” said Kingsley.

“I’ll give you the explanation, later,” said Snape sternly. He clearly resented Harry’s presence. “I refuse to have anything to do with the newspapers, even to defend myself,” he added.

“Very well, then. We’ll move on to the second point which involves Mr Potter. The same person who owled me about the Obliviatings, was concerned that you were mistreating Mr Potter, giving him a hard time and bullying him because of the speculations in the press. If that’s true, I have to tell you that I won’t accept it, Severus. I know of your difficult relationship with Harry - it was made clear to me last time I was here - but he’s your student and there’s no excuse to use your powers to oppress him,” Kingsley said sternly.

Snape looked a bit disconcerted and Harry hastened to intervene.

“Professor Snape has not…” he said. 

Kingsley turned to him.

“Harry, I want you to tell the truth. If Professor Snape has indeed been mistreating you, it’s unacceptable, you understand. The person who wrote to me seemed quite convinced that something serious had happened between you two. I wanted, in the presence of Professor Snape...” Kingsley shot him a stern look, “...to make clear that my priority is to stand behind you, Harry. You must defend yourself even against an authority. You don’t need to be afraid of him. I will sack him if it’s true he has done something to you.” Harry found himself bewildered.

“I‘m not...” he started in an affronted tone “...afraid of him!” he hissed in a lower voice as Mrs Steadfast turned her head in their direction. This was ridiculous. Harry felt like a child and resented Kingsley’s misdirected protection, but he started to have an idea of who could have written to Kingsley.

“Has he bullied you?” insisted Kingsley.

“He has not bullied me... in particular, I mean...”

Kingsley frowned and Harry tried, annoyed, to untangle himself.

“I mean that he sometimes shows a bit of temper in class... he does have a kind of bullying way with his pupils... but that’s a teacher thing... that’s just how he is... in class... He hasn’t targeted me in particular... not this year...” Harry added truthfully. He could see he had not convinced Kingsley.

“I’m not speaking of his teaching methods, Harry. I’m sure he keeps within the limits, mostly.” Kingsley gave Snape another stern look. Harry shook his head and looked Kingsley straight in the eyes.

“The person who wrote to you misinterpreted the situation, Minister. Professor Snape and I did have a... discussion. It was after that article yesterday morning. I suppose you’ve read it. It concerned my mother... and we were both upset... but it was because of what it said in the article. I’d prefer if you sacked Rita Skeeter and a bunch of the reporters on the Daily Prophet instead of pushing him over the edge... not on my account anyway!” Harry concluded firmly. Kingsley finally looked convinced and relieved.

“Excellent... excellent, Harry! I’m Kingsley to you by the way. We were in the Order together, remember?” he said, suddenly jovial.

“Thank you, but I was never allowed into…” Harry started to say, but Kingsley interrupted him.

“You mean that you stay loyal to Professor Snape despite everything? That’s excellent news, Harry! I wasn’t sure of the state of things between you here at Hogwarts and I was indeed beginning to feel alone in my support for your headmaster.” He turned to Snape. “Now, your work yesterday evening which led to the incarceration of several criminals might have ameliorated your image. At least you show people who you are and where you stand right now. People might say that you do it only to redeem yourself in the eyes of others, but I think your actions must speak for themselves. I’m sorry I don’t have the power to sack some of the reporters…” added Kingsley.

At that time, Soundy let out an exclamation. He had started to go through small pieces of parchments and letters from a wooden box he had brought with him.

“Look!” He showed Mrs Steadfast and Simmings a small parchment. Harry recognised it for having been rolled up and deduced that it was probably a note sent by owl mail. Simmings' face clouded with fear as he glanced at Harry. Mrs Steadfast hesitated before she walked over to Harry with a serious expression in her eyes.

“This was found among the belongings of the young Death Eater that we arrested the day before yesterday and who eventually led us to Voldemort’s Pleasure Temple,” she said.

The note she showed them had been scribbled on in two different handwritings as if sent back and fro between two correspondents. The first line was dated nearly a month back.

“Harry Potter unlikely to be son of Voldemort – conspicuous signs,” said the first line in tight capital letters. A smaller sprawling hand answered. “M and H want to know whether HP can be recruited notwithstanding parentage?” An answer came promptly. “No. Unlikely. Disposition difficult to judge.” A line dated a few weeks later said: “M impatient. Wants to know what to do about HP. Need plan.” The answer had been sent only a few days ago: “Propose to kill. Difficult at castle. No Auror, but vigilance and power equal to other target.”

They stared at the note for a while, then Harry said with a voice dripping of irony:

“Wonderful! This is really good credentials for me! When not even the Death Eaters believe me to be the son of Voldemort, surely the Daily Prophet will stop harassing me about it? Let’s sell this note to the paper!”

Simmings looked appalled and Mrs Steadfast frowned, whereas Snape had a violent fit of coughing and Kingsley raised his eyebrows at Harry.

“That’s how it all started, isn’t it?” Harry went on. ”Rita Skeeter got hold of some stupid rumour from the wizard underworld and decided to make a big thing out of it. Now their source is denying the truth of the same statement.”

“Harry, this is serious! You do realise they’re planning to kill you, don’t you?” said Mrs Steadfast.

Snape stopped coughing. Harry looked at Mrs Steadfast, no trace of fear in his gaze.

“I’ve known that since the start of term, right?” he said.

“Yes, but this is evidence,” replied Mrs Steadfast.

“Maybe, but at the same time they state that I’m probably safe at Hogwarts. That’s good news, is it not? Wise Death Eaters... They think I’m capable of taking care of myself. Flattering really...” Harry added to himself, “...comparing me to... The other target, surely...” His eyes met Snape’s.

“The most disquieting in this,” Snape said slowly, “is that we might have a spy inside Hogwarts... One of the correspondents gives the impression to have you under his or her eyes... ”

A silence ensued. Harry, too, became serious. It was not a nice thought, that someone sneaked upon him, watched him and reported to a gang outside the castle who seemed resolved on killing him.

“Do you know who M is, or H?” asked Kingsley.

“We don’t have any names, but a qualified guess is that they would be the leaders of the gang that calls itself ’The Shifting Successors’ or ’The Shiftings’ in short. It’s the same gang that has approached the Death Eaters for collaboration,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“Why the ’Shifting Successors’?” asked Simmings, “Sounds like a tautology to me.” Mrs Steadfast shook her head.

“Harry...” she started to say.

“It’s still no, Mrs Steadfast,” he replied firmly. He did not want a personal Auror to stalk him. She looked at him sternly.

“You must take care, Harry. This makes me very uneasy on your behalf. There might be a spy inside the castle. Report everything to me. Consult with me before every move out of the ordinary, okay? Will you let me speak to your friends? They need to be vigilant too. Maybe you could decide to move about two by two, at least?” she said. Harry pulled a bothered face, but nodded his approval.

Harry suddenly felt the tiredness that had assailed him all day return and he listened almost distractedly to the reports from the interrogations that Soundy now accounted for.

“The prisoners are pretty unyielding as yet,” said Soundy. “I don’t think it has sunk in that they’ll soon be sent to Azkaban. When it does, some of them will want to negociate, and give us information. But they all start off defying. Our focus, of course, is to locate the remaining cave. We’ve searched the environs, but if it’s under a protective spell, we could pass right in front of it without noticing. It all depends upon whether we’ve caught the Secret Keeper and whether we can uncover and break him or her.” Soundy spoke in a decided tone of voice that told Harry that the experienced Auror would not give up until he had exhausted all his resources.

Simmings continued to describe what the examination of the cave had shown, but he mostly shook his head.

“Dark magic, stuff created by Voldemort himself no doubt. We’ve only managed to undo a third of the curses. One Auror, Swablu, was hit and is at St Mungo’s... Maybe you could have a look, too, Professor? Your area of expertise,” he asked Snape.

“Of course – I’ll go tomorrow,” said Snape.

Simmings went on, giving an account of the state of the victims. He had visited St Mungo’s just before coming to Hogwarts and had spoken to the healers.

“There’ll be some time before they’ll let us interrogate them properly,” said Simmings. “And it’ll have to be done very carefully.” He described the wounds, the state of mind and the general health condition of each of the seven victims. He was visibly affected by what he had seen at the hospital and he spoke quietly with lowered eyes as if taking the shame for what had been done to them on himself. Cold shivers run down Harry’s back and unconsciously he wrinkled up his face in horror and disgust.

Snape, too, looked nauseated by the account and moved away to the window with his back turned on them. Harry wondered if Snape recalled his nerves vibrating with the victims’ suffering from the Relievings he had performed the previous night, or if he was simply appalled by the thought that he had once mixed with the Death Eaters who had tortured those people. Harry wondered if Lucius Malfoy, for one, had been in on those orgies at the Pleasure Temples. As if Mrs Steadfast had read his thoughts, she said to Soundy:

“We’ll need to bring in the Death Eaters who are not yet in Azkaban, the ones who are awaiting trial, and extort confessions out of them. I want a new round of interrogations and find out exactly who have been to those Temples.” She started to give instructions in a low voice to Soundy and Simmings.

Harry too withdrew to a window. He felt the anxiety he had had difficulties to keep away all day mount in him again. He knew that Mrs Steadfast would never let him join in the work to find that other cave and he understood that he could not do anything, that he was compelled to stay at Hogwarts, but it was agonising to realise that people were imprisoned and enduring torture right now and not be able to help. He would almost have preferred not to have known about it at all.

“We’ll find it,” said Snape suddenly to him. He had approached Harry from his window. ”And we’ll catch those people who are planning to kill you.”

Harry nodded and tried to compose his features. Was his anxiety that easily read? He wondered how Snape managed all this. The man had triple jobs: he was the headmaster at Hogwarts, he was a teacher in two main subjects, and he was a consultant Auror at the department.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Professor?” said Harry.

Snape frowned and looked suspicious.

“Not about her, obviously...” muttered Harry with some irritation.

Snape inclined his head an inch and looked inquiringly at Harry who cleared his throat.

“When you woke up after I Rennervated you last night... you said... you were sort of confused still, but you said quite clearly that you wanted out. ’I want out,’ you said... twice. At first I thought you meant you needed some fresh air, but now it seems to me more like…” said Harry.

“I probably meant nothing,” Snape answered evasively, colouring a little. “Maybe I believed in my confusion that I was still a spy… still tied to Voldemort…” Harry glanced hesitantly at him.

“Because... because, I don’t think that you should give up, or leave Hogwarts, or anything like that, Sir,” said Harry in an uncertain tone of voice.

Snape blinked a couple of times, but otherwise he stayed impassive. There was a silence.

“Could I ask a favour of you, Sir?” Harry continued.

Snape narrowed his eyes.

“You know my friend, Hermione Granger…” continued Harry. ”She’s so very grateful to you for helping her to get her mother into care at St Mungo’s, that she has sort of... Well you know how smart she is and... and very good at expressing herself, too...”

Snape looked puzzled and Harry sighed.

“...which I’m not. Sorry Sir, I’ll get to the point. The thing is – she wants to work with wizard law when she leaves Hogwarts, and when she read that you have refused to engage a lawyer to defend you at the coming inquiry, she took upon herself to prepare a defence for you. She knows you won’t let me testify, so she has thought out some other ways... And I’d like to ask you as a favour, Professor... I did defend you against Kingsley ... if you’ll let her represent you at the inquiry? She wants to repay her gratitude to you...” Harry looked at Snape in suspense.

Snape hesitated.

“If it doesn’t matter to you, Sir, you might as well let her do your defence as not have a defence at all,” insisted Harry.

“All right, I might just as well let her have her bit of training, then...but only at the inquiry, not at the real trial when it comes to that,” conceded Snape.

“Excellent!” exclaimed Harry. “We have... I mean she has found out some ways to at least make things look at little better for you. And she told me to say to you that it’s essential that the inquiry is held here at Hogwarts...”

“Here, why? It’s scheduled at the Ministry, I believe” said Snape, surprised. “Kingsley is delaying it for as long as possible.”

“Good, that’s Hermione’s view too, that you should have it as late in the term as remotely possible. But let’s ask Kingsley... Minister, Kingsley, please!” Harry called out before Snape could object and Kingsley walked over to them.

“Professor Snape and I were talking about the inquiry,” said Harry. “We believe it would be best to have it here at Hogwarts in the presence of pupils and parents, people from the School Board and whoever is in charge of the case from the Ministry.”

Kingsley raised his eyebrows.

“I told you, the majority of the parents are against you,” he said to Snape.

“Well, that’s exactly why it’s so important to convince them of Professor Snape’s innocence, face to face,” Harry hastened to say before Snape could answer. “We’ll focus on the accusations of mistreatment of pupils last year and if we’re able to persuade them that those accusations are false and win them over, we’ll have an advantage at the real trial. There might not, in that case, be so much focus on the motive Professor Snape joined Dumbledore from the start - which is what he wants to avoid, right?” Harry said briskly.

“You might be right,” mumbled Kingsley. “I’ll listen to your explanation for those Obliviatings, Severus and if it’s satisfactory, there’s a chance we might convince the parents that you worked with Dumbledore and you’re right that it’s better done face to face than through the media which has obviously taken a stand against you. I’ll see what I can do, but I do get your point, Severus. Good of you to support him, Harry.” To Harry’s relief, Snape did not say anything, but shrugged with a sideway look at Harry.

Harry’s back had gone damp with sweat and cold from the nerve-stringing effort of persuading Snape and Kingsley. The tiredness rumbled over him again. He started to shiver and felt dizzy.

“Harry, are you unwell?” whispered Simmings with concern, not all too quietly. Mrs Steadfast looked up and Snape and Kingsley turned their heads towards him again.

“You’ve probably caught a cold from running about recklessly in the forest like you did yesterday,” Mrs Steadfast said disapprovingly.

“I’m just a bit tired,” Harry defended himself, clenching his jaws not to chatter his teeth. Mrs Steadfast looked demandingly at Snape for a diagnosis.

Snape stepped up to Harry and scrutinised his face. He put a finger on Harry’s wrist feeling for his pulse. For the third time that day, Harry felt tears well up in his eyes, and quickly averted his gaze. Yelling and taunts were apparently easier for him to handle than kindness, he thought, annoyed with himself.

“Probably just tiredness,” Snape confirmed in a mutter.

“Well, we only have some minor things left to discuss. You may leave, Harry. Thank you for joining us this evening. I’ll speak to you and your friends again tomorrow about security. Take care now. Simmings, accompany Harry to the Gryffindor tower, please,” said Mrs Steadfast. Harry pulled an apologetic face at Simmings, but did not protest. Simmings smiled reassuringly and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder to usher him towards the door.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs Steadfast,” said Harry before he left.

After a long night of deep sleep and no bad dreams, Harry woke rested and back to his usual stable self. There was no trace of the depressive or anxious feelings that had plagued his mind the previous day. He told his friends at breakfast that he had managed to persuade Snape to let them deal with his defence at the coming inquiry. Hermione gaped at him and Ginny and Ron looked incredulous.

“He accepted you to do his defence?” said Ron.

“No, no, he accepted Hermione... I told him you were really grateful because of your mother...” said Harry.

“And then you told him that he owed you because you saved his life the other night, right?” Ginny intervened.

“No, I thought that might have the opposite effect with him, so I certainly did not remind him of that… Anyway, I managed to trick him into it... But the important point is, we have... sorry, Hermione has an official mandate to do Snape’s defence. And I’ve asked Kingsley to move the inquiry to Hogwarts, like Hermione and I agreed upon the other day when we discussed this.” They explained the reason to Ron and Ginny.

“What we must do now, is to proceed with the special form of Veritaserum,” continued Harry. ”I’m done with my research. There are three principle bases for Veritaserums, the most efficient of which is the dried flowers of the Rwandan liana.Together with concentrated thistle juice it makes the strongest Veritaserum ever described.”

“Wouldn’t we want something milder?” Ginny objected.

“I think we need to start with a strong draught, as we want to modify it to allow exceptions later. It must still retain its compelling qualities. But we can try different solutions. There is a recipe based on crystal emulsions and moonstones also, but it produces a kind of automatic speech devoid of emotions and I’m not sure we should emphasise that side of Snape. It does something to the credibility of a person to lift away the emotions of speech. Even if you know that the person speaks the truth, you may not experience the depth of it,” explained Harry.

“Do you have all the ingredients?” asked Ginny. 

“Neville has managed to procure me liana flowers from Rwanda, and Hermione has made a list of the other ingredients and made sure that we have everything for the traditional Veritaserum,” said Harry and Hermione nodded.  “The problem is that it’s a potion that needs almost a month to mature. Moreover, I’m not convinced we can modify it afterwards. My belief is that we need to add the crucial ingredient to obtain the evasion quality, right from the beginning. The two seemingly opposing qualities need to marry from start to work properly. I’ve gone through several Herbology tomes and come up with some ideas, but they are far-fetched. I’m still most interested in getting some centaur magic in the draught. How’s that going, Ron?”

“Until recently, not so well. Hagrid resents the fact that the centaurs never took a stand in the battle against Voldemort. He’s not on speaking terms with them any longer, not since Firenze died. Therefore Hagrid was not very interested at first when I asked him and had no idea about how to get hold of tail hairs or hoof-powder. The day before yesterday, though - I have not had time to tell you - I told him a bit more about why we needed something containing the centaur magic of evasion and he thought we should go after their hair. Not from the tails, but from their heads. They have extremely forceful growth of hair it seems, and must have regular haircuts. They use the hair for making up beds, but it’s so abundant that they actually use it for trading with other creatures in the forest,” said Ron.

“For trading?” asked Harry.

“Yes, animals and other creatures want the hair for their nests or for warming their young ones and they swap it for food or claws, or other things the centaurs need. That’s an advantage if we’d like some - we won’t have to persuade them to give it away. We only need to come up with something to trade with. They fancy sweets above anything, Hagrid says, so that shouldn’t be difficult. And it’s more likely the power of evasion is incorporated in their hair than in their hoofs, so Hagrid says,” explained Ron.

“I trust Hagrid to know his magical creatures,” said Harry. “All we need to do is buy some sweets at Honey-Dukes at Hogsmeade and seek the centaurs out in the Forest and...”

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” interrupted Ron.

“Why? We’ve been to the Forest many times before,” said Harry with a frown.

“It’s explicitly forbidden this year with regard to security, isn’t it?” said Ron with a blush.

“It has always been forbidden, Ron. It hasn’t kept us from going there when we really needed to,” Hermione pointed out, also surprised by his reticence.

“Healer Schufflert says that adventures such as the one in our second year where Harry and I were trapped in Aragog’s nest might have inhibited my psychosocial development by its traumatising effects and that I should think twice before I launch into similar enterprises again. Which is exactly what I’m doing now... thinking twice, I mean,” said Ron a bit aggressively. The others gaped at him.

“Have you told Healer Schufflert about all our adventures? Do you tell her about our present plans too?” Ginny asked suspiciously. 

“I only told her about my spider phobia,” Ron said defensively.

“I don’t want to pressure you to go into the forest if you don’t feel like it,” said Harry evenly, disconcerted by Ron’s objections. “But Hagrid says the forest is safer by far right now, because the battle ravaged the forest last year like a natural catastrophe and all the creatures fled. I noticed it myself - the forest has been nearly deserted when I’ve ventured into it.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Ron after a second of deliberation. “I only meant that I had to think about it before I made up my mind, so that I’m really certain that I do it because I want to, and not because someone else wants me to. It’s important, so that you don’t get the impression that others are in charge of your life, because that’ll make you feel dejected and resentful,” said Ron. Harry stared perplex at his friend for a while.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Of course, I understand. Just make sure you don’t do things because Healer Schufflert wants you to.”

 Ron blushed.

“You want to come with me, then? Who else?” asked Harry.

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Ginny, eyes glittering with excitement.

“I’ll pass. I have a lot of work to do. If I’m really going to defend Professor Snape in public, I need to research inquiry procedures and stuff, so that we get the formals right,” said Hermione.

They hurried away from the Great Hall to class and could not resume the conversation until the next break. They agreed that Harry, Ron and Ginny should try to approach the centaurs the coming Sunday, after going to Hogsmeade. Hermione also started to make timetables for the potion inventions.

“If we want the potion to be ready and tried out before the middle of May, we need to start straight away,” she said. “I hope Kingsley will be able to delay the inquiry until then.”

They continued planning their activities during lunch. Harry was concerned where to keep the cauldrons during the potion’s maturation.

“We’ll probably be able to borrow the Potions class room for experimenting in the evenings,” he said. “But I don’t want to leave the cauldrons in there, not even under protective spells. I don’t trust Miss Cork – she’s way too involved with Malfoy. Have you seen them, always together with Mr Burgess? And Malfoy obeys her slightest say. It’s really strange. You’d think he’s in love with her! But surely, she’s not his type?” said Harry incredulous.

“She does have a kind of sexy voice,” Ron pointed out.

“Yes,” agreed Harry. Ginny and Hermione frowned at them. “But she’s so sullen-looking and plump. Nothing of the elegance you’d expect from someone pretending to approach the Malfoy family,” added Harry. “Anyway, I don’t trust her. Moreover there’ll be at least ten cauldrons at the same time. Where shall we keep them?” There was a silence.

“I still have my bag - my enchanted bag,” said Hermione. “It’ll swallow anything.”

Her enchanted handbag had saved them on many occasions during their year of flight from Voldemort. It had contained everything they needed, including a tent, although the bag was only the size of an ordinary handbag.

“We’ll just make sure to put on tight fitting lids when we do the transports up and down from the dormitory. You can have them under your bed, Harry, and look after their maturation,” continued Hermione.

“Good idea,” said Harry as he looked up towards the podium. He realised that Mrs Steadfast was having lunch with the teachers, seated beside Snape. She made a sign for him when she met his gaze.

“Listen,” Harry hastened to say to his friends. “I’ve not had time to tell you, but Mrs Steadfast will want to have a word with us all today.”

His friends looked at him inquiringly.

“It’s about security,” said Harry embarrassed and told them reluctantly about the note found at the Death Eater’s place and its implications.

“And you didn’t think that it was more important to inform us about this threat, than to make plans for a potion we’re not even sure we’ll succeed in making?” said Ginny, irritated. Harry shrugged with an exculpating gesture.

“I‘ve been threatened by Voldemort ever since I started at Hogwarts,” he said. “And I’ve known all along that the Death Eaters might want revenge on me.”

“In a way,” pondered Hermione, “...you’ve been protected by Voldemort.”

They all raised their eyebrows at her.

“He wanted to kill you by his own hand, didn’t he? Therefore no one dared to attack you, for fear of the Dark Lord’s reprisals. Now there’s nothing stopping whoever wants to challenge you,” explained Hermione.

“Before, no one but Voldemort had a reason to kill me,” retorted Harry.

“The motives are different now. You’re famous and people who want power will want to match you and defeat you, not for personal reasons, but for the mere symbolism of it,” said Hermione.

“That’s absurd! I’m not interested in matching any of those lunatics,” muttered Harry.

“I don’t think they take that into account,” said Ron grimly. “Creepy with a spy at Hogwarts, though. Who could it be? Malfoy?”

”Is he hateful enough to want to kill me, do you think? I saved his life last year in the Fiendfyre… And he couldn’t kill Dumbledore that time when Snape…” said Harry.

Mrs Steadfast had stridden down to them as they were talking and interrupted the conversation.

“Do you have time for a word before next lesson?” she asked.

Harry regretted that he had not prepared his friends better. When Mrs Steadfast was finished with them, they were all rather subdued and uneasy.

“The three of you have a wish to become Aurors, I think,” Mrs Steadfast said to Harry, Ron and Ginny who nodded. “Well, a future Auror must not only be able to fight and defend themselves when faced with the Dark Arts, an Auror must also learn the structured and organised ways of preventing crimes by applying vigilance and security measures,” she said.

They looked at her inquiringly.

“You work as a team and you report everything...” Mrs Steadfast paused to look sternly at them “...everything to the Head, which is me.” Her gaze of steel pierced them. “Move two by two and be vigilant. Have your wands on you, easy to sort. When you get suspicious of something, fetch help, don’t search places on your own. Understood?”

After this sermon, it was a matter of a new debate among the friends whether to tell Mrs Steadfast or not that they needed to walk into the Forbidden Forest and trade with the centaurs. Harry still wanted them to go and argued that there would be three of them together. There would be Hermione staying at Hagrid’s until they came back and, if they did not return within the time limit, she would raise the alarm. There was no reason to believe the centaurs would attack them. His friends were hesitant, but they finally reached a compromise where Harry promised to tell Simmings before they parted. ”He’s really understanding and complying for an Auror,” said Harry. ”I don’t think that he’ll prevent us from doing it, not if he’s taken a bit off guard. Leave it to me. We’re friends.”

The walk into the Forest was probably the most uneventful one they had ever experienced. They were guided by Phil, one of the Kangabbits, to the trading place described by Hagrid. There was only one taciturn centaur there who, when he saw the sweets they had brought, did not make any difficulties whatsoever with the trade. They got more hair than they would probably need and returned happily to a trepidating Hermione and to Simmings who was practically a nervous wreck.

The young Auror had regretted his lenience towards Harry the minute they departed and, dreading the worst, had debated with himself for the entire length of the excursion whether he should alert his boss or not. The pale Auror sighed with relief when they entered the Entrance Hall, looked reproachfully at Harry, but forgave him instantly when Harry patted him appreciatively on the back and thanked him for his cooperation. The Forest had seemed just as deserted as the last times Harry had visited it.

They started to brew in the dungeons. This time, Miss Cork did not feel the need to report to Professor Snape, but Harry told her explicitly that they would make an account of their results to him after they were finished. All of them felt that this was Harry’s area of expertise, although Hermione had helped him out with the planning. He was left alone with the concocting and preferred it that way. Two of his friends would accompany him down into the dungeons. He would shut himself up in the room with protective spells and his friends would come back as agreed beforehand to fetch him. On more than one occasion, he felt uneasy in the gloomy dungeon and checked the door repeatedly. After a week of daily works in the evenings, however, he was done and satisfied with the base of the potion. It had to mature over the Easter Holidays, but they would add the last ingredients subsequently and it would be ready for try-outs at the end of April.

***

In charms with Professor Flitwick, they were back to study a variant of Obliviate spells - so-called Mind-modifying spells - which gave rise to lively discussions in the class. Professor Flitwick had never, he said, had a class so ready to discuss the ethics of magic, which gladdened and tired him at the same time.

Mind-modifying spells bordered on Mind-compelling spells, which were classified as Dark Magic with its extreme form called the Imperius curse, which implied taking control over a person’s will completely. Mind-modifying could be used in all kind of situations, from innocent instances in common life to more complicated settings, to improve achievements of people or to manipulate individuals or groups of people. Among other things, they were used in large scale by the Ministry of Magic on Muggles. Here again, the ethical implications were evident.

The thing about Mind-modifying spells was that they would always become obvious to the person who had been subjected to it right afterwards, if it was not done with extreme subtlety on unimportant matters and unless it was used on Muggles, who of course would never understand what had come over them. Therefore, Professor Flitwick said, you always needed to think hard before you performed a Mind-modifying spell on a fellow magical person and consider whether you were prepared to suffer the consequences when the person inevitably debunked you. Only Obliviate spells would go undetected by its victims, although, Professor Flitwick pointed out, there were reports of diffuse symptoms surfacing long after the spell was cast, presenting as an anxious feeling of betrayal.

Professor Snape’s as yet unexplained Obliviatings on Crucioed pupils last year were frequently discussed at Hogwarts. The current opinion about Professor Snape at the moment was that he was guilty as charged and probably a pervert - and why had he not been sacked long ago?

They were supposed only to touch on the subject of Mind-modifying spells and move on, but it became a sport, first with the Slytherin students, to perform them on each other and try for how long you could go undetected. It would be small innocent things, like making a person want to pick up an object that you had dropped, or to make them take off in the opposite direction to where they were originally heading, without knowing why. Harry and his friends were adamantly against using the Mind-modifying spells at first. After being subject a few times to Slytherin jokes and seeing younger pupils abused, without the skills to retaliate for themselves, even Hermione started to repay in kind, however.

The practice spread to all houses and for a few weeks you had to be constantly vigilant. One morning as Harry passed the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, he noticed in the corner of his eye Malfoy leer at Mr Burgess who put a glass of pumpkin juice down on the table.

“Got you! Didn’t you notice? You drank from my glass? I made you.” Malfoy laughed at Mr Burgess who pulled a face of distaste and surprise. Malfoy’s smile faded as Mr Burgess turned furiously upon him.

“That wasn’t funny!” hissed the teacher. Harry was caught by the ferocity of the man’s anger and stopped to look upon the young professor frowningly. Miss Cork turned up to save the situation by asking Mr Burgess to fetch Malfoy’s attending Auror, Mr Sachs - a demand that the insulted teacher complied with promptly, to Harry’s surprise.

The same evening after dinner, Professor Snape stepped forward and asked for their attention, in order to announce the prohibition of the use of Mind-modifying spells at Hogwarts from now on.

“The magic might seem innocent to you at the moment, but sooner or later someone will be tempted to use the spells for more serious purposes and then you’ll approach Dark Magic without really noticing. All Mind-modifying spells are to be reported to the teachers and there’ll be consequences for using them,“ Snape concluded to the general muttering of the pupils.

***

The Daily Prophet had been slightly less peppery towards Snape and Harry the last week and one morning an article appeared that interested Harry a good deal. The same journalist who had written a short biograhy about James Potter, had got hold of one of James’ aunts, over ninety years old by now, who had told the reporter that because of the many diseases and deaths of infants in the family, a genetic investigation had been instigated by the consulted healers and a vast sampling of both traditional magical blood tests and complementary Muggle genetic testing had been carried out. The living child, James, had been extensively examined and of course, as a side effect, the tests had also proven blood relationships. The aunt had taken an active part in the investigations, having lost two live-born children and had two spontaneous abortions. She had witnessed the blood test comparing James’ blood to his father’s and there was no doubt to the match, she said. It had glowed a perfect silver. And the Muggle DNA test did not contradict the finding, she added for the reporter’s benefit. Thus, James was freed from suspicions of being Voldemort’s son.

Rita Skeeter wrote extensively about the Pleasure Temples of Voldemort. But her source among the Death Eaters had gone mute and there was no one to say that Severus Snape had been into the business, although she tried hard to imply that he had. More pupils of Hogwarts had come forth, though, to testify to being Obliviated, and the evilness of Snape was still a hot topic in the Daily Prophet which did not miss an opportunity to hint at the impropriety of having such a controversial wizard on such an important post at Hogwarts. Rita Skeeter wrote a more detailed biography over Eileen Prince and renewed her speculations as to Snape’s birth.

A few days after the article was published, however, an interview appeared in the paper that changed things radically. Harry realised immediately as he stepped into the Great Hall that particular morning that something was going on, because the hall was unusually silent. Everyone with a newspaper in front of them read with intense interest with friends hanging over their shoulders. Harry shot an instinctive glance at the teacher’s podium where Snape just rose from the table, a deep flush on his face and a paper crumpled in his hand. He met Harry’s eyes for a second, then walked quickly out of the hall. Harry hastened up to Hermione, impatient and apprehensive of what he would find out.

“This is excellent!” muttered Hermione to his surprise. “Wait a moment until I’ve read the entire text, Harry – I’ll tell you in a moment.” The photo in the middle of the spread showed the furrowed face of a hook-nosed old man with dark eyes that peered insolently at the readers. Harry got an inkling of what this might be about, but he was not sure. He thought he recognised this man, but...?

“That’s Snape’s father, Tobias Snape,” said Hermione.

“Isn’t he a Muggle?” asked Harry, surprised.

“He is, but as he explains to the reporter, his brother was a Muggle-born wizard, so he got used to magic already as a child. Moreover, he was married to a witch for fifteen years and his son is a wizard, so to keep up with the magical world he has maintained a subscription of the Daily Prophet all these years.”

“So, what does he say? I don’t think Snape likes his father very much,” said Harry.

“No,” Hermione looked surprised at him. “You’re right. Tobias Snape says that he hasn’t seen his son since he left home at seventeen. Blamed me for the death of his mother. As if I could have prevented what happened! I was devastated by her death. I should have given the boy more attention of course, but what can you do when you are yourself submerged in grief? he asks the reporter. Sounds to me he shows a lot of self-pity,” commented Hermione.

“Listen to this - he’s being quite contemptuous: Severus was always tied to his mother’s apron-strings. Always took her party. They had their magic in common, of course. You wizards have a tendency to elevate yourselves above us non-magic people. I never did tolerate that. But your young hero, Harry Potter, has put an end to such foolish pride, I gathered, by killing that Lord Voldemort. Good riddance. I hope you get your priorities sorted now.” Hermione sniggered. ”He’s not afraid of expressing his opinions on the politics of the magical world, Tobias Snape is. I think the reporter was quite amused. There are some hair-raising quotations that are not really related to the subject of the interview.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

”The bottom line of it is that Snape’s father had enough of the speculations about his wife and son and contacted the newspaper on his own accord,” continued Hermione. ”That lady reporter of yours is a tad too hasty in her conclusions, he says, speaking of Rita Skeeter. Tobias Snape’s story is that he met Eileen Prince at the apothecary where she worked nearly forty years ago. Apparently, it was a split shop in London, working with Muggles on one part and with wizards on a concealed basis. Growing up with his wizard brother made Tobias Snape recognise Eileen for what she was, so he was intrigued by her and invited her out a couple of times. He got attached to her, he says, despite her sulky attitude. He confirms that she mentioned Tom Riddle at the time with admiration and that he got the impression that she was indeed in love with him.”

Harry grimaced uneasily.

”It made Mr Snape jealous, it did,” Hermione continued, ”and he stopped seeing her for a while. When he went back to the apothecary, Eileen had stopped working there. He traced her to her parent’s house where she was confined, pregnant. She had tried to drown herself in a river a month earlier, but got rescued by a stranger passing by. Her parents’ intention was to hide her until she had the baby and give it away for adoption. Indignant, Tobias insisted on finding out whether it was his child and he waited stubbornly during the length of the pregnancy. He was received only reluctantly by Eileen Prince’s parents as they loathed Muggles. Eileen’s father had been a teacher at Hogwarts and climbed to a prominent position at the Ministry. Ultimately the baby was born and tests performed according to both magical and Muggle principles with concordant results. He was my son, no doubt about it, says Tobias Snape. It’s funny - I’m a Muggle, but still I was more convinced by that magical silver shining test where they mixed his blood with mine by magic, than by the letter from the Muggle hospital stating I was the father with 99.8% certainty by DNA analysis. Mr Snape asked Eileen Prince to marry him and to his surprise she agreed, for she had hardly spoken a word to him since he had found her pregnant. She probably wanted to get away from her parents, and like this she was to keep the baby. She grew quite fond of the boy, but would panic as soon as he started to wail. She was depressed and grew tired quickly. I would come home sometimes and the baby would lie crying by himself as she had left the house in desperation. What could I do? I had to go to work, no? And I had absolutely forbidden her to use magic on him or to give him any potions of hers. No wonder, perhaps, that he grew so clinging and protective of her when he was older - he always dreaded that she would leave the family. What a terrible story! So sad. And then she killed herself when Snape was fifteen,” said Hermione, wide-eyed.

“Let me read it,” said Harry and contrary to his own principles, he read the entire text. Snape’s father struck him as a forceful character, not devoid of a sense of humour, but self-centred. If you studied his face closely, you could spot the marks of chronic overuse of alcohol on his complexion.

This interview constituted the end of the speculations about Snape and Harry as Voldemort’s heirs. As Hermione pointed out, the ground for the accusation had been the connection between Snape’s mother and Voldemort, and when this was pulverised by the testimony of Snape’s father, the rest of the accusations collapsed as a sandcastle.

Snape kept out of sight for the most part of a week. He even cancelled some of his classes. When he came back, however, he was more inscrutable than ever. His contact with Harry landed on the exchange of a few words every now and then after class, but no lengthy discussions. Harry would mostly ask him questions related to the lesson or, from time to time, show him a few lines with Ancient Magic and ask his opinion about an analysis he’d made. Snape would answer politely, but keep his distance.

The Easter Holidays approached, unusually late in the term. The pause in work would be welcome, because the teachers goaded the NEWT students on and worked them relentlessly in view of the approaching exams. Concerning security, things had been quiet. Mrs Steadfast had not given them any more information. No one had noticed anything strange at Hogwarts and the four friends had begun to relax.

***

On the Tuesday before the holidays, Harry passed a couple of hours in the dungeons, adding the second set of ingredients to the Veritaserum of Exceptions, as he had started to call it. So far, he was satisfied with the progress of the potions and believed there were several good candidates.

Ginny came down to fetch him. She was early, so Harry let her in while he cleaned up and put all the cauldrons carefully in Hermione’s handbag, marvelling at how they could disappear inside the small space and remerge undamaged in his dormitory. There must be a pouch of magical limbo created in there, he thought. He would ask Hermione to explain it to him. Harry cast a last look around him and advanced towards Ginny who was leaning against the doorpost.

“Shall we go then?” he said. Harry had never liked the gloomy Potions classroom and it was especially moist and dusky this time of the year. He did not think about it, as long as he concentrated on his work, but now he had a creepy feeling and wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“I thought maybe we could visit the dungeons further down the gallery before going upstairs,” said Ginny, tilting her head towards her left shoulder, with a smile full of meaning. “I’ll do some transfiguration and we could imagine ourselves being in...” her lips mimed a word at Harry who smiled back at her.

“Get some practice before the real thing, you mean... Good idea...” answered Harry and slid an arm round her waist.

“I almost can’t believe that we’re going on a vacation the day after tomorrow, just you and me,” purred Ginny, wriggling closer to Harry and putting her arms around his back. ”I haven’t been abroad for years, not since we went to Egypt to visit Bill when I was twelve… And it’s so exciting to go away with you!” 

”Shush, we’re not supposed to talk about it, remember, Ginny? Even if there’s no one in sight, you never know,” said Harry with a suspicious glance over her shoulder into the corridor.

”Sorry. Is everything set with Mrs Steadfast for our trip?” murmured Ginny, unaffected by Harry’s paranoia and approaching her lips to Harry’s with half-closed eyes.

“I’ve obtained her permission to go and been through everything concerning security with her this morning,” answered Harry, distracted and dizzy by Ginny’s closeness. “Wait, let’s get away from here first.”

Harry turned around, Ginny still in his arms, and fumbled with his wand to close the door to the classroom. For a second, he thought that he saw a shadow move inside. He started, clutched Ginny closer to himself, banged the door shut and locked it. Discarding his vision for imagination, because he had been alone in that room for hours and there was only one access to the room which had been blocked magically all along, Harry let himself be led away by Ginny. He was careful, however, when they entered their love nest, to draw up protection spells around them.

Spring had been cold so far this year, which had rendered the progress into April almost imperceptible. The sun had nonetheless become an early riser and a pink glow brightened the horizon over the gloomy city of Destersbridge early this Good Friday morning of Easter.

A tall woman wearing an ankle-length coat appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a street bordered by small, grey buildings. She looked at the numbers of the houses and seemed to scold herself before she set off with determination and in long strides in the dim morning light, along the uphill street. She chose to keep close to the houses on the left side and her gaze flickered constantly back and fro while she simultaneously adroitly avoided to step on bottles and junk on the ground. In her left hand she held a stick that she moved subtly in different directions. At last she stopped in front of a house that in all respects was identical to the adjoining houses, with the number 221 in bleak black numbers on the door. She backed up the stairs and knocked, since there was no bell. She jumped when the door opened more readily than she expected.

Snape stood at the door, wand drawn, peering at Mrs Steadfast with heavy eyelids as if he had just been waken up, although he was dressed in his usual black attire. Mrs Steadfast made a gesture to be allowed to enter, but Snape pointed his wand at her and asked:

“Where in the bookcases in my office at Hogwarts did I, on your demand, pick up a tome to show you the particulars on the side effects from overdosing Relieving Incantations?”

“The third... no... the fourth bookcase from the left, second shelf from the floor. Good to see you up to security measures despite the early hour, Severus. I apologise for intruding on you.” Mrs Steadfast was let inside and, in one gaze, took the small room in.

“Do you sleep in an armchair?” she said, raising one eyebrow as she noticed a blanket thrown aside over an armrest and the glowing remains of a fire still in the fireplace.

“At times,” muttered Snape. “What happened? Shall I come with you?” Mrs Steadfast’s tone was light, but Snape had read her face which was grave.

“Yes, please, I think you’d better. I’m sorry I have to claim you at one of your few days off,” said Mrs Steadfast.

Snape made a gesture as if to say that it was of no importance.

“Do I have time to change? Will there be battle?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think there will be. I need you for advice at my office,” retorted Mrs Steadfast.

“I thought you had found the last Pleasure Temple...” Snape frowned at her.

“Unfortunately, no. This is about something else. I’ll tell you later,” said Mrs Steadfast vaguely.

Snape looked puzzled, but hastened upstairs and came back in less crumpled clothes before they went out.

“It’s not a good idea to go to this area on your own. You must let me check the place before you come here in the future. What if they decide to ambush you?” said Mrs Steadfast as they turned around the corner into the nearby lane.

“It’d be a waste of time - theirs and yours alike. I’m at Spinners End very seldom. And I have my own ways of securing a house. No one’ll get me inside,” answered Snape.

Mrs Steadfast shook her head. She stopped Snape with a hand on his arm before they were to Apparate.

“First, we’re going outside Ottery St Catchpole,” she said. “We need to intercept Mr Weasley when he leaves the Burrow for work. I’ve been told he’s coming in to his office, despite of the holiday. I don’t want him to arrive at the Ministry without being informed...”

“Informed of what?” Snape narrowed his eyes with a flicker of apprehension, for the first time since Mrs Steadfast showed up on his doorstep. “Will you tell me what has happened, Audrey? Why are we to intercept Arthur?”

“Let’s go there first so that we won’t miss him. An early riser, Mr Weasely... Guide me, please - you know the place better than I.” Mrs Steadfast laid a light hand on Snape’s arm and they disappeared from the lane.

They Apparated on the gravelled road that led past the Burrow, just outside the gate from where they could see the green entrance door of the Weasleys’ residence, between the apple trees in buds. Birds were chirping around them with happy intensity and the sun that had risen above the horizon had begun to radiate some warmth. Snape was deaf to the bird song, however, as he turned with a determined expression on Mrs Steadfast.

“Will you tell me, or what?” he said threateningly. Mrs Steadfast sighed and looked down.

“We’re not sure yet what has happened,” she said, “but it looks serious.” She hesitated. ”Do you know of anyone who might be in Paris, right now?”

“In Paris?” repeated Snape, incredulous, and stared dumbfounded at her. She held his gaze steadily while Snape seemed to make an effort. “Mr Burgess has a connection to France if I’m not mistaken,” he said with a frown.

“So he does. He went to Magical School at Beauxbatons,” answered Mrs Steadfast. “But this isn’t about him...”

Snape was at a loss and made an impatient gesture.

“So you didn’t know then, that Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter had left for Paris?” Mrs Steadfast asked cautiously.

Snape looked at her in confusion.

“No, I didn’t…Paris? Why? Surely there’s no need for them to... to elope? Their relation is approved of here...” He gestured at the Burrow. “Potter’s already like a son to the Weasleys… And he doesn’t have a family of his own...” He stared at Mrs Steadfast as if it did not make sense to him. Her mouth twitched the least little bit, but otherwise her face was impassive.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Severus,” she said calmly. ”They haven't eloped. They’re in Paris on an ordinary vacation trip.”

Snape gaped at her until it dawned on him.

“Sanctioned... by you?” he said in a dangerous tone. “And why...?”

“Here comes Mr Weasley. Now, don’t upset him by starting to yell at me,” Mrs Steadfast hissed at him.

Mr Weasley stopped dead when he saw them.

“Mrs Steadfast... and Severus... What...?”  The red-haired, slightly balding man looked faint.

“We don’t know much as it is, Mr Weasley, but there has been an incident in Paris. They’re trying to find out more about it at my office right now. I thought it better to come and meet you so that you wouldn’t arrive at the Ministry and start wondering what all the fuss is about and find out that it might... just might have to do with your daughter.” Mrs Steadfast spoke gently.

“An incident, you say... What kind of...? And they haven’t been in touch!?” Mr Weasley pulled a panicked face that Snape found similar to the expressions Ron Weasley showed in class from time to time. “Molly will kill me if something has happened to them and... and I allowed them to go.”

“In concert with me, Mr Weasley. You’ll blame me,” said Mrs Steadfast firmly. “Moreover, I believe that the death threat from Miss Ginny had you not allowed her to go on that trip, would have been just as imminent as the one your wife might bestow on you for doing the same.”

Mr Weasley acquiesced weakly.

“Now, to answer your question - they’ve not been in contact and that’s what worries us,” continued Mrs Steadfast. ”They’re not at their hotel - we’ve checked that out and they don’t answer the security watches I gave to them.”

“Humph… Potter will simply have decided he wants some personal space and put it away,” snorted Snape. ”He has always been disregarding of other people’s concerns for him and flouted security measures. His own comfort and amusements – it’s all that counts.”

“There might be some truth in what Severus says, Mrs Steadfast, although I wouldn’t put it as harshly. They’re young after all... and might forget to...” Mr Weasley made an exculpating gesture. “I know my daughter, and it’s not unusual for her to stay awake all night... and in Paris... they can be anywhere... She’ll have persuaded Harry to join her at the clubs. The poor boy can’t say no to her. Why, even last summer when he was ill, he tried to the last to comply with her cravings for amusements. Never seen a bloke so much in love... but then she’s Molly’s daughter... They might not have noticed your messages if they were in one of those noisy, sparkling and glittering places, or they might just be on a romantic stroll on their way back to their hotel right now and don’t want to be disturbed, like Severus said.”

“Let’s go to my office and find out some more, shall we?” said Mrs Steadfast noncommittally. Snape looked at her. There was obviously more to it than she let on to Mr Weasley at the moment.

They Apparated into the regulated area of the Entrance Hall at the Ministry and hastened through the wand control. They took the elevator down to the second floor where the Auror office was situated. In a large common room, several people had gathered around a big box that showed flickering images.

“A Muggle televention!” exclaimed Mr Weasley and shone up. “You’ve got hold of one of those. Aren’t they amazing? But the chubby ones are outdated, I believe, in the Muggle world. I try to keep up with their assortment of technical inventions.” He stopped to admire it. The screen showed a man and a woman seated on a pale blue sofa, interviewing a dazed artist who had difficulties keeping his eyes open.

“Was there anything on the six o’clock news?” Mrs Steadfast asked her Aurors who shook their heads.

“Exactly the same as earlier,” one of them answered.

“There will be a new broadcast in fifteen minutes, then we’ll learn some more, perhaps,” said Mrs Steadfast. “Ophelia, no word from the French Ministry of Magic yet?” She turned to a middle-aged, rubicund witch who answered:

“We’re trying to contact the Security Office in Paris, but there’re only clerks in the office this early in the morning. I believe we’ve managed to stir them up, but to drag some information out of them in return is a lie... My French is not what it used to be, and they’re full of bureaucracy...” She gesticulated like she might have been French by birth at least.

“What slow skrewts!” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast. “Don’t they supervise the Muggle world at all? That’s how we were alerted. The Muggle television reported a suspect terrorist attack in a Parisian night club tonight.”

Mr Weasley gave a start.

”But maybe the French security squad prefers to work in silence until they’ve sorted things out,” continued Mrs Steadfast. “It’d be easier, though, if they stopped insisting on formality and started to cooperate instead. Such a waste of time!”

“Fleur...” said Mr Weasley suddenly.

“It means flower,” the witch called Ophelia filled in helpfully.

“She’s my daughter-in-law,” explained Mr Weasley. “She works at the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Married to my eldest son, Bill. I’ll ask her to come over, shall I? She’s French and a very convincing young lady. She might get something out of them. A terrorist attack, you say - do you think that Ginny could be…?”

“Call your daughter-in-law by all means,” interrupted Mrs Steadfast. “Ophelia, assist Mr Weasley and give Mrs Fleur Weasley the means to contact the French Security Office when she arrives.”

Mr Weasley followed Mrs Steadfast’s secretary out of the office and Mrs Steadfast turned to Snape who was looking at her with a deep furrow between his eyebrows. At the television the young sleepy artist performed a song with a pained expression on his face.

“Soundy, did you make a replay of the news this morning?”

“On the desk, in your office, Mrs Steady,” he said. Mrs Steadfast gestured for Snape to follow. An empty frame lay on the dark wooded surface of Mrs Steadfast desk. She suspended it in the air and directed her wand at it as she muttered a spell.

A vertical, compressed slice of a Pensieve appeared inside the frame and as if watched through a window flooded with rain, it showed slightly blurred images of a street filled with vehicles with blinking blue lights. The pavement was crowded with people, some of them lying on the ground, some sitting slumped against the wall of a grey stone building, with other people bent over or kneeling beside them. Their faces showed shock and fear.

“Those images were first broadcasted at four o’clock in the morning on the American Muggle channel which covers world news twenty-four hours a day,” explained Mrs Steadfast. “At three thirty something happened inside this Parisian night club which made people panic and rush out of the building. Several persons were squeezed and trampled in the panic. At first, they thought there was a fire, but it couldn’t be confirmed. There was no smoke although some people spoke of flashes of green lightning...” Snape narrowed his eyes. “At the time the Muggle press got there, the firemen had just started to search the building. Now, watch them come out of the house...” Mrs Steadfast gestured towards the frame.

Snape leaned forward to scrutinise the scene. Two men carrying a stretcher went over to one of the French fire brigade’s vehicles stationed in the street. The stretcher was covered with a light-blue blanket so that you could only see the contours of a body with its face hidden. Remarkably enough, the firemen seemed in no hurry.

“A death,” stated Snape.

“Yes,” confirmed Mrs Steadfast. ”Listen to the American translation of what that firefighter has to say to the reporter.” Mrs Steadfast gave a flicker with her wand and the sound was turned on.

“We’ve found five bodies so far.”

“Are they dead? Burnt or trampled to death?”

“They’re dead, but there’re no visible injuries, no wounds. And there’s no fire inside that building. The corpses were found in a room on the top floor in the club. It’s all very strange. People talk about a fight, with explosions and lightning, but nothing can be seen on these bodies. There’s not one drop of blood. They look like they died in their sleep which, of course, is impossible.”

Snape drew his breath.

“They were killed by Avada Kedavras,” he said and moved closer to Mrs Steadfast. “Now tell me the reason why you don’t believe this is a controversy between members of the French underground wizard society and why you believe Miss Weasley and Mr Potter to be involved,” he said in a tight voice. Mrs Steadfast looked at him gravely and sighed as she confessed.

“I had an Auror trail them. Without their knowledge, of course. You don’t want someone to spy on you when you’re on a romantic week-end in Paris... The French Auror, whom I know personally, reported to my security watch tonight that Ginny and Harry left their hotel at midnight for the Trocadero night club to have a late dinner. That’s the last report I had from him. Since the disaster at the club, the Auror hasn’t answered my repeated summons, nor has Harry or Ginny.” As her words sank in, Snape started to pace the room.

“How on earth could you let them go? Leave the country? With the death threat so clearly pronounced against the boy only a few weeks ago!” Snape raised his voice, his eyes flaring dangerously. Mrs Steadfast remained calm, however.

“He’s not a boy any longer, but a young adult, Severus. And he’s had a tough winter... after a tough summer... He and Miss Ginny had earned some vacations. He did just the right thing - he came to me and asked if it could be arranged. My judgement was that France was as safe, if not safer than England at the moment. He’s not recognised by the public abroad to the same extent as in Britain. He would be left alone. And no one knew the destination of their journey except me, them and Mr Weasley... and Roger of course. Not even Miss Ginny’s brother or his girlfriend, nor Mrs Weasley knew. They were only told the same day they left that Harry and Ginny were going away for a few days.”

Snape stopped pacing and pondered for a few seconds.

“And who’s this... Roger? Do you trust him?” Snape asked aggressively.

“Roger and I worked in the US together for several years. We saved each other’s lives on a number of occasions. I trust him without doubts,” answered Mrs Steadfast.

Snape continued to look at her.

“He’s completely trustworthy,” continued Mrs Steadfast a little impatient. “He would do anything for me. He’s a... personal friend...” she said at last to Snape’s mute insistency. Snape turned away and started to pace back and fro again.

“You said Harry didn’t know about the surveillance. What if he debunked your Auror - this Mr Roger - and decided to get away from him, or worse, to attack him? That might be the explanation why they haven’t been in touch. They’re occupied trying to outwit each other? Don’t think that Potter’s not sharp enough to put up a fight with an Auror. He’s developed a lot this past year and he did after all... you know.” Snape made a vague gesture.

“Kill Lord Voldemort - yes. You usually don’t like to speak of it, do you, Severus? And why won’t you owe your good opinion of his capabilities to Mr Potter’s face? Students appreciate a bit of praise now and again,” retorted Mrs Steadfast sharply.

Snape only grunted in answer.

“If that was the case, Miss Weasley, at least, would have had time to alert me if they thought they were threatened, don’t you think? If they have unmasked Roger, they might feel betrayed by me because I forced an Auror upon them, but they still wouldn’t hurt him, I’m sure, and naturally he’s experienced enough never to hurt them. And Roger would have contacted me, even if Ginny and Harry were too cross to do so. What I’m saying is that it’s been more than five hours since the last report - three hours since the attack at the club. Someone should have been in contact if something had happened between just the three of them. As it is, they’re all silent at the same time. And they entered that building just a few hours before the panic broke out. It’s clearly a bad sign,” said Mrs Steadfast with the least little bit of tremor to her voice.

Snape ran the fingers of one hand through his hair and shook his head, as if he still did not want to take in what she was implying.

Someone knocked at the door. It was time for the six thirty news. Fleur had arrived together with Bill Weasley who stood at his father’s side, eyes riveted at the television screen. He did not even look up to greet Snape or Mrs Steadfast. The Muggle anchorman started with a summary of the most recent news, accompanied by the same images as those broadcasted earlier. 

At three thirty am, panic broke out in one of Paris’ largest night clubs, located between the Champs Elysées and the Eiffel tower. More than one hundred visitors were transported to nearby hospitals with injuries. Most of them had been squeezed or trampled while they tried to make their way out of the club.

The origin of the tumult is unknown. The police are secretive. Witnesses speak of flashes, which would indicate the use of a fire arm, but on the direct question from our reporter, a police officer refutes that there are any traces of illicit arms being used at the club. Le Trocadero Club, which prides itself for its security measures, subordinates their guests to X-rays before entering the club and no weapons will pass, says the security manager, Pierre Fourrier, to our reporter this morning.

Nevertheless, five bodies have been recovered from one of the smaller inner rooms of the club. The bodies are without traces of violence according to a fireman who took part in the rescuing action, and the cause of death is unknown.

What passed in the inner room of the club where the bodies were found is an even greater mystery. Several eye-witnesses give astonishing and strange accounts of what happened.

A doctor we have contacted speculates as to a collective hallucinosis, probably caused by some kind of gas in the room. But which is this unknown gas? Did it kill five people? Is this some kind of exceptional terrorist attack? Listen to Doctor Ian Wallace and to the terrorist expert Nigella Wan who will join the studio at eight o’clock. But first listen to one of the very upset and obviously delirious witnesses that our reporter spoke to tonight.

A young girl with long dark hair appeared on the screen. She wore a silvery necklace and glittering earrings to a sleeveless top. She was shivering and cast scared glances right and left. Someone should give her a blanket and put an arm around her, but the reporter only shoved his microphone forth. The translation text was missing on the screen as the girl looked straight into the camera, her eyes widened with fear and spoke quickly in French. The common room of the Auror department was completely silent.

Then Fleur started to sob. She covered her face with her hands.

“Little Ginny,” she exclaimed. As the newscaster apologised for the missed translation and moved on to another topic, gazes were all turned on Fleur who tried to compose herself under the urging questions from her husband and father-in-law. “Aaaa’ll doo a trrrransla-tioun spell for yoo...” she said. “Mai ack-cent deterrrriorrraitts when I’m upset. ’EEear for yourrr self.”

Soundy brought the Pensieve frame forth again and the magical replay of the broadcast jumped back to the point when the face of the young girl appeared on the screen. The translation spell made her speak in Fleur’s voice. The accent and the emotiveness of Fleur matched the terrified young French girl in a way that made it highly realistic.

I was at the club with two friends. We were partying and having fun when suddenly... But before this started I had noticed a couple who had been dancing in the same room for some time. They were not French... The boy had black hair and the girl was a redhead. She danced beautifully, you see, that’s why I noticed her. A lot of people were attracted by her and wanted to dance around her. But she was with the black-haired guy - that was very clear to me. She only danced close to him. They were beautiful together and were obviously in love...

What happened then was… Oh, it happened so quickly I’m not even sure… But all of a sudden, green lights began to flash. I heard the black-haired boy yell something at his girlfriend. He sounded afraid. The man - if he was a human, he looked so strange - the man who shot the green lightning stood at one end of the room where there was a podium so that he looked down on us... He... he had green hair and makeup in his face that made him look more like an animal than a human... and he was terrifying... At first I thought this was some kind of a show, that it was a party event of the club...  But then people started to scream, because at one corner a man had fallen down as if dead...

The doors of the room were all shut and couldn’t be opened. I don’t know how that could have happened, but the fact was that we were trapped. So people began to crouch and to crawl around the walls. There were more lightning and other people fell. I had the impression that the attacker aimed at the black-haired guy.

I saw him with a stick in his hand and he sort of spurted some light back at the attacker that made the attacker freeze for a while but then... and this is so creepy, no one will believe me... the green-haired guy sort of melted away, slowly… I’m not lying... and appeared at another corner of the scene and now his hair was scarlet and I’m quite sure that his eyes were red as well...

I heard the black-haired guy yell something at his girl about the doors - ’door’ in English that is ’porte’, no? - and... and you won’t believe me, but it’s true… the black-haired guy rose in the air...

The attacker continued to aim at him and the black-haired guy sort of rolled about under the ceiling, in the air, without any support... I can’t imagine how he did that. In the meantime his girlfriend managed to open a door to let people out. She, too, had a stick in her hand. She looked so scared for her boyfriend... I think she wanted to join the fight but he would not let her, he wanted her to evacuate us and keep away.

I don’t know what happened after I got out. The stairs were packed with people who wanted to flee. The elevators didn’t work. I think a fire alarm had been set off and I hardly know how I took myself outside without being trampled to death… I don’t know where my friends are, if they’re hurt… I’ve lost them...

In the common room of the Auror’s office people reacted with dismay and horror. Mr Weasley drew several hacked breaths before he hid his face in his hands as he stifled a wail - “Ginny!” Fleur put her arms around him and sobbed against his shoulder as she repeated:

“Ay’m so sorrrry, Arthur, Ay’m so sorry!” Bill was on his knees by his father’s other side and tried to find comforting words in a stifled voice. Mr Weasley raised his head to meet his son’s eyes.

“Molly!” he said “Your mother won’t survive this, if Ginny’s... if she‘s...”

Snape turned slowly to Mrs Steadfast.

“For seven years - seven years! - I fought together with Albus Dumbledore to keep that boy alive... And now you come... you come... and he just might be...” he whispered at her in a hoarse voice. Mrs Steadfast met his eyes without blinking, although her face was a little pale.

“We don’t know yet how the fight ended,” she said in a steady voice. “Don’t think that I have been trying to undo the work of yourself and Albus Dumbledore on purpose.”

“How can you stay impassive and callous in this situation?” Snape hissed at her, fury twisting his features.

"It’s my job to stay calm, Severus, and I advise you to do the same with regard to them...” She gestured with her head at the three distraught Weasleys. “This could just as well have happened in London. The difference between you and me is that you and your late headmaster were guarding an underage boy that you could toss about like you found fit, whereas I have been trying to protect a grown-up young man with respect to his own wishes. Now, we must endeavour to find out some more. Please Ophelia come, and Mrs Fleur Weasley, please, compose yourself. I need your help.”

Two days earlier Harry and Ginny had arrived to Paris in the late afternoon. They checked in at their hotel, situated on one of the two islands surrounded by the river, la Seine, which flows through Paris. They were not too disappointed by the smallness of their hotel room. It was, after all, a real hotel room and not a transfigured dungeon, they said excitedly to each other. It was kind of cosy, and the bed that filled out most of the space was really all they needed. The bathroom was a bit creasy in the corners, but Harry remedied that with a flicker of his wand.

They walked out almost at once, eager to explore the city, and immediately  when stepping outside they caught sight of the backside of the cathedral on the island opposite theirs, which was the Notre Dame de Paris.

“That cathedral is full of magic,” said Harry eagerly. “I can sense it all the way from here. Look at the gargoyles at the side. It’s impressive!”

“Let’s go there tomorrow,” said Ginny, “and explore it properly - it might take some time. For now, I just want to move about in the city. Sit down at a restaurant and have something to eat eventually. Here, let’s have an ice-cream to start with.”

They stopped in front of an ice-cream café, where the counter was simply an open window at the side of the house, and managed to make themselves understood for their flavours. When the lady handed them the cones, Ginny said ’Merci, Madame!’ very gracefully.

“Fleur taught me some French this Christmas,” said Ginny proudly, “...and I revised before leaving.”

“That’s good,” said Harry, looking at her with an impassive face.

“What?” said Ginny, suddenly affronted.

“Nothing,” Harry said noncommittally.

“What?” Ginny insisted threateningly.

“I, too, know that ’merci’ is thank you,” said Harry evenly. Ginny tried to look grim, but started to laugh instead.

“Do you mean to say that I’ll have to prove my proficiency a little better before I boast of it? Yeah... just you wait and see. Oh... I’m so happy to be here, Harry! And this ice-cream is the best I’ve ever had - ever in my life!” Ginny exclaimed happily.

They crossed the river to the right bank of la Seine and started to walk up and down small streets and along the larger Boulevards, moving west, hand in hand.

“Fleur has told me so much about Paris,” said Ginny. “She and Bill visited it last summer. Fleur never lived here, but has made regular trips to Paris with her parents since she was little. It’s a pity I couldn’t ask her more closely about the places they went to, but I couldn’t risk betraying where we were going. I’m not convinced it was strictly necessary, but it was kind of fun to keep it a secret. I don’t think anyone understood that we were actually going abroad. I think mother suspected we might be going to Godric’s Hollow.”

“I’d like to go there with you some time, too. We can just take a week-end, you know,” said Harry.

“Of course we can,” replied Ginny. ”But it’s just a village... You’ll want to visit your parent’s graves, I appreciate that, but otherwise I guess it’s not especially exciting...”

Harry opened his mouth to tell Ginny that Godric’s Hollow was a wizard’s village in a beautiful part of the countryside, with quite a lot of attractions to his eyes, but he abstained, since he thought he stood no chance to convince her at the moment being. She was far too absorbed with taking in Paris.

Harry also fully enjoyed the atmosphere of the streets and the liveliness of the people moving about. The old, grey buildings with their ornate black balcony rails constituted a sombre, but elegant piece of scenery, contrasting with the colours of the small boutiques on the ground floor and with the splendid flower arrangements in the small squares and at the intersections of the streets. They took a detour through the white-pink clouds of a park full of flourishing Japanese cherry trees. Ginny could not resist the temptation to make the petals swirl around them as she ran a few playful, dancing steps with Harry.

They spotted the endless facade of Le Louvre - a former royal castle of France before it became a republic.

“Grandiose Muggle construction,” Harry muttered. “I sense no magic from that building, unfortunately.”

“There are interesting things inside, from the whole world. It’s a museum,” objected Ginny. They turned away from Le Louvre and moved north to the old Opéra Garnier de Paris in the vicinity of which the avenues were lined with jeweller’s and fancy shops. Harry lingered at the display of the treasures. There were elegant necklaces of solid gold, earrings with small, exquisite diamonds and rings of all kinds...

“A bit early to buy me one of those,” said Ginny lightly, “but one day... I probably won’t say no...”

Harry started, as if caught red-handed, blushed and squeezed her hand.

A considerable lapse of time later, they came out of a shop with their hands full of shopping bags. Ginny looked wide-eyed and Harry a little bewildered, but satisfied.

“That cost a fortune!” exclaimed Ginny. “I have no exact idea of the exchange currency between galleons and Muggle money but I could tell this was an expensive place. Harry, are you sure you wanted to...”

“Positive!” Harry interrupted her. “Your father helped me change some of the money in my vault at Gringott’s and I really enjoyed buying you those pieces... You looked dazzling! And I’ve never been able to buy clothes for myself. Always inherited of Dudley’s outlaid things. It feels great to own some good clothes of my own. And I like Muggle clothes better than wizard clothing.”

“Me too... It’s so old and outdated...I feel ashamed of mother and father sometimes...” said Ginny.

“You shouldn’t. It suits them. I only meant for us,” answered Harry. They carefully put all their purchases into Ginny’s handbag that had been magicked in a similar way to Hermione’s to swallow anything.

Harry and Ginny found their way down to La Place de la Concorde where a tall obelisk was raised. Harry scrutinised it.

“Why, those are magic numbers among the Egyptian hieroglyphs,” he exclaimed. “It’s an arithmantic riddle. Do you know if someone has solved it? Surely some wizard must have?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Ginny. “Look, Harry! Look up the Champs Elysées. All the lights! The width of it! I know it’s not, but it looks almost like magic.”

“Yeah... Muggles are good at compensating for lack of magic at times,” conceded Harry.

“And it’s all out in the open - not needed to be hidden or anything. That’s the most beautiful thing about it. You know, Harry, this is freedom - to be able to come here and walk about and look at everything. It’s marvellous!” continued Ginny.

They walked all the way up the fashionable boulevard of les Champs Elysées to l’Arc de Triomphe, at what time they really started to get hungry. They had been out for several hours already and it was getting dark. They did not bother to go down the tunnel leading under the immense roundabout that circled the Arc to get up into the building itself, nor did they care to see the grave of the Unknown Soldier in front of the Arc more closely.

Harry tried to explain about the Unknown Soldier to Ginny, but she did not get it. Why? Did Muggles not keep track of their own people so that they could bury them properly under their own names, she asked, puzzled. And what if this was a weak and cowardly man who had not done anything good or courageous that you now celebrated like a hero? How stupid was that? Honour where honour was due, right?

Harry tried to explain about the Muggle World War I and the amount of people involved. The Muggles were so much more numerous, he argued. There were thousands of Muggles to one wizard or witch; it was impossible for them to keep track and take care of each other as magical people did. And the consequences of war were so much more devastating, he explained, as they turned down an avenue that led away from the busy Champs Elysées to a calmer area.

When he was bored at Privet Drive, Harry had used to read a few pages now and then in uncle Vernon’s books of contemporary history which collected dust in the bookshelves. He noticed to his annoyance that he had not retained much of the history’s particulars, but he had got the general idea with having a grave for an unknown soldier.

“Regardless who he was and what he did, he was there, at the war, like so many others and died in it, like so many others,” he explained. ”They don’t celebrate him specifically. He’s a symbol for all those who died in the same way. It’s a tribute to the small man who sacrificed himself...”

“Yeah... for what?” Ginny interrupted sceptically. “It really seems meaningless.”

“I guess it was meaningless... the war, I mean... but it wasn’t entirely the fault of the Muggles, you know. The dark wizard - Grindelweld who Dumbeldore met in his youth and ultimately defeated - you’ve heard about him - Grindelweld was involved and started things in Slovenia. I don’t know exactly why, because Professor Binns always made me sleepy in class and he didn’t teach us very much about modern history anyway, but Hermione’ll be able to detail you all that when we come back.”

They continued to argue about the Unknown Soldier as they settled down at an open air restaurant where the avenue opened up on a crossroad.

“This must be magic,” mumbled Ginny as they received heat from a metal parasol over their heads.

“It’s not a heating charm - only electricity,” Harry muttered. “It needs flexes. On the ground. Careful not to tread on them.” They ordered and got their food, a steak with fries for Ginny, whereas Harry had ’gigot d’agneau’, leg of lamb.

“I’d be furious if they took my body and put it some place that did not mean a thing to me and where my family wouldn’t be able to come and mourn me. They could of course, but they wouldn’t even know it was me.” Ginny pursued their argumentation.

“The victims were so badly hurt in the World War I that they were unrecognisable!” objected Harry. “And they didn’t have the technique, nor the means to identify them - there were millions of dead bodies! They just had to bury them in heaps - would that have been better, do you think? Now this Unknown Soldier might be anybody’s friend, son or husband. The Tomb at the Arc is a symbolic place for everyone who wants to pay their respects to the victims. A bit bombastic to my taste, but all the same...”

“I still wouldn’t have liked it,” concluded Ginny.

“I wouldn’t mind being anonymous at times...” muttered Harry. “Anonymity is sort of restful. That’s a huge advantage of Paris over London. No one knows who I am - it’s such a relief. I don’t think I’d mind being buried without my name on a stone. I mean, I’d be dead! And I really don’t care about being remembered by anyone, except by the persons I love of course.”

“Exactly! You should think about your family. I would indeed want to have a place to go and visit you if…” Ginny interrupted herself. ”But let’s not talk about this anymore. It’s such a sinister subject of conversation! Do you see the Eiffel Tower sticking up behind that roof? Let’s go there when we’re finished.”

They indulged in having desert - an excellent crème brûlé. As they were to leave, Ginny retraced her steps back the avenue they had come down.

“I think I saw something here, but I was too hungry to check it out, earlier…” she said. “Yes. Look at the plate. ’Club Trocadero’. Discreet, huh...? Fleur told me about this. They stay open all night. It’s a really fancy hotspot of Paris. Let’s go there.”

“Tomorrow night, okay? Tonight, I just want to walk around with you and be only with you,” said Harry.

They made their way through the area of the Trocadero, opposite the Eiffel Tower, down the stairs to la Seine again, crossed the bridge and walked under the richly lit tower on its four knock-kneed legs of iron and further into the gigantic field that stretched out on the southern side. The queues for mounting the tower were too long to join. In the dusk of the poorer lit park, on a bench with the Eiffel Tower glimmering behind them, Harry and Ginny lingered a long time.

“Should we Apparate right back to our hotel?” Ginny murmured with her eyes half-closed.

“Hmmm, tempting...” said Harry. He straightened up a bit. “Ginny, don’t turn your head, but there’s a man under the trees behind you who has not moved on since we sat down. On the contrary, he has come closer. Let’s Apparate just a few quarters and see if we can get rid of him.”

“Maybe he’s just... peeping, you know ,” Ginny whispered uncertainly.

“Okay, don’t move: we Apparate on three...”

They disappeared and reappeared on a narrow street, Eiffel Tower out of sight. Not many windows were lit in the heavy houses along the pavement and there were no stores on the ground floors. They nearly fell over when they landed on their feet, as they were still entangled, and Harry grabbed Ginny by the arm to prevent her from falling.

“Let’s glide around some corners, in case he put a trace on us and comes after us. I sensed magic before. I think it was a wizard who was watching us. I don’t want him to be able to follow us to our hotel. We must return by foot.” Harry took hold of Ginny’s hand and they glided in the air only a few inches over the pavement with great speed, turned right, turned left and then right again. Ginny giggled nervously as they landed anew, while Harry looked suspiciously behind them, but saw no one.

“Where are we?” whispered Ginny. A high fence of black iron bars stretched towards the dark sky behind them.

“A cemetery,” said Harry after peaking between the bars. “Let’s go inside. If there’s someone looking for us they won’t search for us among the graves.”

They transfigured into white smoke, swirled through the bars and rematerialised on the other side of the fence, grateful for Professor McGonagall’s thorough lessons. When they looked out over the eerie landscape, they saw a Paris in miniature - only more chaotic, Harry thought. The graveyard was crowded with huge stones in the same grey as the houses of Paris, of different sizes and different shapes, with broader and narrower paths between them. Here and there, small mortuary houses dressed themselves.

Ginny flinched and grabbed Harry’s arm.

“Over there,” she whispered. “Ghouls! At least four or five of them, on top of that tall grave stone. They’re really close.”

Harry followed the direction of her finger.

“It seems like they’re waiting for something... Look! There’s a newly made grave beneath. They want some dead flesh...” Ginny shuddered.

“They can’t open the tomb. Are they waiting for someone else to lift the stone away?” Harry shook his head. “Come, this way. Let’s sneak along that other path so that we don’t attract their attention.”

As they started to move, an owl swooped silently right in front of them and Ginny stifled a shriek. The owl stretched its feet forward and caught a big rat that had found its way on top of a coffin-like, horizontal tombstone full of inscriptions. The bird swept away with the animal wriggling in its claws. 

Harry and Ginny moved slowly along a gravelled path that led to the centre of the graveyard which was vast. They had their wands out with a faint light shining from the tips. They reached a small shed and sneaked along its side while gazing over at the assembly of ghouls, now at some distance. The creatures seemed patient and only shifted their weight from one foot to another at times.

“What are they waiting for?” Ginny asked, puzzled.

A creaky voice behind them made them jump and swirl around to face a small grey-haired witch with a top hat and a long robe. They stepped back, brandishing their wands at her.

“The ghouls are waiting for Le Maître to free some Inferi that they might attack. I don’t think it’ll happen tonight, though. But tell me, what are two of my countrymen doing at this sinister place and at this particularly fateful hour?”

“Er... we’re on a holiday,” said Ginny meekly. The witch chuckled.

“Nothing more exciting than the Cimetière de Montparnasse in Paris, I agree with you. The paradise of Phantoms. It’s my favourite place in the whole world and, believe me, I’ve been about.”

“Do you live in Paris?” asked Harry with curiosity.

“Since fifty years, my boy! I found myself a French maîtraisse in my sweet twenties – we’ve stayed together during all those years. As soon as the French parliament allows same sex marriages, I will propose to her. At the rate it’s going, I don’t foresee it happening within the nearest decade, though. And the Ministries of Magic, both in France and in Britain, are even more reactionary when it comes to these issues than the Muggles are. We’re happy all the same, except that she caught a cold the other day and couldn’t come tonight. I told her strictly to stay in bed - you shouldn’t compromise with health. She’s a lovely girl, my almost-wife - a true parisienne. I would never leave her – that means I can never leave Paris. So I’m as good as French. Nice to speak the native language for a while though.”

“Who is le Maître?” asked Ginny.

“Not eager to meet the Inferi, are you? Have you come across some, young as you are?” asked the witch.

“I have,” answered Harry “...and those I met were aggressive and nasty, so I’m not anxious to see the like again.”

“Well, these will be tamer. Le Maître is the Dark wizard who amuses himself in this cemetery. It’s his territory so to say. But he’s quite harmless as long as you stay out of here between midnight and dawn when he arranges his Inferi races applauded by the Phantoms. He also provokes the vampires who have lingered too long in their nests. But as I said, tonight and tomorrow, he’ll have to abstain from his pleasures. There is a coven planned, a gathering of witches from all France. Tomorrow’s Maundy Thursday, you know... We’ll take off on our brooms and fly to the moon from here.”

Harry and Ginny looked at her in awe.

“Would you like to join us?” the witch asked Ginny, but seemed to regret her offer almost immediately. “A bit too young maybe…” she retracted, ”…and your boyfriend will not be allowed in.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but I think we have to get going,” said Ginny.

“Stay for a while. The meeting is not until midnight. I was early because I wanted to watch the stone-faced widower. He should appear any moment now...” The witch was eager to offer them something else in place of the coven.

“Who’s the stone-faced...” Harry began to say, but at that time a human shape became visible at the top of the same path Ginny and he had come down. The figure walked with short, slow, although heavy steps.

The man that revealed himself gradually as he came nearer the faint light of a lamp, was clad in a distinguished Muggle coat with a broad belt and large lapels. He wore a hat and gloves. His face was deeply furrowed and it was the saddest face Harry had ever seen. It did not shift or move in its expression, although the man turned and greeted the phantoms who glided in and out of the shadows of the tombstones on either sides of him, with dignified nods of his head, and Harry understood the name the witch had bestowed him with.

The stone-faced widower turned left before he reached the shed behind which they were hidden. They saw him stop in front of a white tomb stone and sink to his knees, as if his forces all of a sudden drained from him. The stiff man with the so dignified bearing prostrated himself on the tomb.

“That man is a Professor, teaching at the Muggle University of Paris, la Sorbonne. His subject is history, in particular the approach to witchcraft in the medieval age. He lost his wife forty years ago. He comes to visit her grave every weekend, every holiday, ever since she passed away.” They saw him rise again and draw a wand that he pointed at the tomb.

“Is he a wizard?” Ginny mumbled. “He looks more like a Muggle to me.”

“What’s he doing?” said Harry and watched intently as the man circled the tomb, emitting low, monotonous singing sounds.

“He was once a powerful wizard from an ancient, pure-blood, renowned French family,” the witch whispered to them. “He married a woman of Muggle birth and was disowned by his original family. They only lived together for a year before she died giving birth to their son. It was a mysterious condition that afflicted her - the healers stood empty-handed. They could not save her for all their magic, nor for all the gold the husband offered them. The widower was so devastated by his grief that he didn’t even want to look at his child and it was given away for adoption. The widower was ill for months and merely survived. He secluded himself in a library and all he did for ten years was to read and to come here.”

The man had stopped his incantation with an imperative twist of his wand, in response to which a glow appeared around the tomb. A yellowish substance arose and started to take form into a woman. Harry gasped.

“He’s conjuring her up. He conjures up his dead wife!” The substance started to solidify and you could make out the shape of a woman. Ginny stared.

“He not only conjures her up. He makes an Inferus of her. She is sprung not to life, but to materia and movement by his magic,” the witch hissed at them, relishing at their symptoms of shock. “It’s Dark Art, of course.”

A young, beautiful woman with bloodless skin and closed eyes materialised in front of the history professor. His expression did not change, but he closed his eyes and grabbed the woman by her waist. Music started to play in the air and they began to dance.

“They say that after ten years, he started to look for his son. He travelled across the whole world to trace him down, but did not succeed. When he came back a year later, he had lived up his entire fortune and he had to start to work as a history teacher. And that is how he has lived ever since. He lives as a Muggle and does not associate with wizards. He performs no magic, except when he comes to the cemetery and dances with his wife every free night of his.”

The ground was too uneven to dance on and the professor elevated himself and his wife in the air, swaying slowly to the music, his cheek touching the cheek of the dead woman. His face stayed like carved in stone, but tears were running along his temples. Harry remembered what he had heard about conjuring up dead people. It was advanced and extremely draining magic. No wonder this wizard could do nothing else. He lived only for this moment of the week, saving his magic only for this.

“What an incredibly sad story,” Ginny mumbled as she watched the couple, captured by the beauty and the madness. The music ended and the man crumpled to the ground as the woman dissolved and sank down into the grave. One single howl was heard from the man prostrated over the tomb. Ginny pressed Harry’s hand so hard it hurt.

***

It was long past midnight before they were back, leaning over the parapet of the bridge leading from the left bank to the island where lay their hotel. Their feet were numb and hurt at the same time. They had walked all the way from the cemetery over the hillside where the Pantheon was situated - another grandiose building for buried heroes – not anonymous but famous. The air was mild and Harry thought the witches of France would have a great broom-ride over Paris and to the moon.

Everything was calm by the bridge, but noise was heard from downstream la Seine where the Place St Michel lay opposite the cathedral of Notre Dame. The black water of the river that ran under the bridge emitted dancing reflexes at them. The air smelled of something indescribable, Harry thought - a sweet, slightly sickly, but soft and mellow odour that must be unique to Paris. The smell emanated from the very earth, from the foundation under the city, Harry realised. He had a vision of two lovers - The Earth and The City. The Earth had surrendered its surface to its lover, and The City embraced it back so fiercely - awarding it with the most extraordinary edifices and sophisticated adornments - that it suffocated The Earth at the same time. The panting Earth breathed its gentle perfume at defined places, like at this particular spot, close to la Seine, and in the parks, as if to remind its lover of its willing sacrifice. Harry shuddered, gripped Ginny’s hand and they moved on to their hotel.

***

They woke up the next day rested and excited to find themselves in Paris. Harry, usually an early riser, though not allowed to walk out on his own - because he had promised Mrs Steadfast - woke Ginny up gently with kisses. They did not linger long in bed, although they considered the option a few times, but went down to have breakfast which consisted of a café au lait and a croissant. They decided to start with the cathedral next doors and approached it from its back yards which were impressive, Harry thought, sensing powerful protections in the constructions of the arcs joining the core of the building. You could not circle the cathedral entirely, but they rounded two-thirds of it before they found themselves before its front facade which was breathtaking. Swarms of creatures hang from every ledge and bow, carved in the facade: frightening gnome-like faces, shrieking creatures and open-mouthed gargoyles. Surrounding and guarding the grand portals were serene faces of devout saints. Both Harry and Ginny were marvelled and awed.

They proceeded through the biggest portal into the cathedral where the air smelled of melted candle-grease and the atmosphere felt strangely homely despite the huge, solemn space. Harry had never felt so strongly protected at any point of his life. The cathedral embraced him entirely and he was convinced nothing dark could reach inside. It reminded him of Hogwarts, but was several times stronger. At first he was bewildered to know what it was - if he, perhaps, was only imagining things. He muttered something to Ginny and started to walk along the walls and realised that the old stone of the building was completely imbued with protective magic. How had it been done? Was it goblin material? He thought not. He felt the stone closely with his left hand and examined it. He sorted his wand discretely so that its tip merely passed his index whereas its base was left in the sleeve of his light jacket. Thus he could reveal carvings and inscriptions that were invisible to the ordinary visitor. He might be able to retrace some of the incantations that guarded this building and which had to consist of Ancient Magic.

Harry conjured up a notebook and a pen and started to take notes fervently. He had to do it by hand, the Muggle way, not to draw attention to himself. He cast an apologetic look at Ginny who waved indulgently at him as she was occupied scrutinising the gigantic rose windows in the south and north ships of the cathedral. Harry worked himself around the walls of the church room, scribbling passionately. Ginny wanted to mount one of the towers. Harry gestured for her to wait and usurped her patience for another half an hour before he joined her up the winding stairs.

From the small balcony on top of the church tower they had the opportunity to watch the terrifying gargoyles close-up. Harry wondered if they were real, but permanently petrified creatures, or if they were only magicked sculptures. Ginny could not make it out either, but she voted for a permanent stone imprisonment. They got a splendid view to the West over Paris, along the meandering river. The weather was clear and mild, and Paris was absolutely dashing in the sunshine. Only the Eiffel Tower looked duller in daylight than it had done when sparkling in the dark the previous night.

They spent hours at the cathedral and when they got out, Ginny was hungry again. The breakfast had not been particularly substantial. They moved back east on the right bank of la Seine, bought some baguettes with Brie and sausage that they savoured on a park bench in a charming square in front of a playful fountain. Then they made their way, strolling slowly along the streets, to the Place de la Bastille with the tiny sculpture of Amor on top of a high pillar in front of a modern opera building. They moved back west looking for a museum that Fleur had told Ginny about which showed pictures of a Muggle artist, that Harry had heard about too, named Picasso.

Uncle Vernon had been spiteful about him, which was enough to recommend him in Harry’s eyes. At first, they did not know what to think of the paintings at display, so different from the portraits and the landscapes on the walls at Hogwarts, but Ginny liked the colours and Harry was struck by the faces. The paintings conveyed strong emotions, yet the abstractly painted faces were not very emotive. How did the artist manage to express the strong feelings despite the fact that they were rather sphinx-like many of them? And no magic present. Amazing. As they went along, Harry started more and more to decipher the portraits. The emotions were coded not in the expression of the faces, but in small things like the posture of the figure, or only the shape of a part of the body, or in a combination of colours. Ginny was caught by a portrait of a crying woman.

“By Merlin’s all regrets, she’s in pieces... literally. I wonder what has happened to her? Someone has treated her badly. Or she just can’t stand life or something. Poor thing.”

The sculptures were still more confusing. Ginny did not get it at all. They consisted of ordinary objects - junk, to put it plainly - assembled to represent something that you needed to work hard to make out. Surely it needed magic to spring to life? Otherwise they were just dead Muggle objects. Or was it otherwise? Harry stared at the sculptures. They were good, somehow. The representations were excellent. The artist knew how to have different objects strengthen each other without prejudice from their original use. Harry’s fingers were itching to give them just a touch of magic.

He shook his head and followed Ginny out of the room, leaving an unfathomable goat behind. They were a little dizzy as they came out of the museum and debated, while they made their way back to their island, whether the artist might have been a squib.

“He was an inventor,” concluded Harry.

“You don’t invent art,” objected Ginny.

“I mean to say that he did not do like everyone else before him had done - he saw things in a new way,” explained Harry, “...there might be a word for it, that I don’t know.”

Ginny wanted to do some more shopping. It was only half-way through the afternoon and there was plenty of time before the pleasures of the evening. Harry supported the idea half-heartedly. Ginny, too, owned that she was quite tired. They bought some ice-cream at the same café as the day before and sat down on a bench facing the opposite island with Notre Dame on the throne of it. Harry looked dreamingly at the beautiful scenery. He had been on his watch today, but had not spotted the wizard he thought he had seen the night before at the park beneath the Eiffel Tower. A vague sense of being observed had stolen upon him at times, but not right now, he realised.

He was taken completely unawares by Ginny’s kiss and gasped as her cold tongue found its way into his mouth. He nearly fell off the bench, but grabbed her instead and kissed her back fiercely. For a while Paris was but a blur of soft noises and gentle scents around them. When the surroundings came back into focus again, they did not have to speak to each other to agree to return to their hotel.

***

It was past two o’clock am as Harry and Ginny rose from a late supé partaken at the Trocadéro club. They wore their new clothes and had received all the discreet attention of the waiter they could wish for. They moved on into the dancing floors - because there were several at the gigantic club - the one more elegantly decorated than the other.

Ginny enjoyed dancing more than Harry. At their excursions to the night club in Buxton they had developed a method that suited them both. The blinking, artificial lights in a discotheque allowed quite extensive amounts of magic to go undetected by the Muggles. Short Apparitions, for example. Harry would let Ginny dance by herself for a while. She usually attracted a little crowd of people around her, both men and women, and Paris was no exception. Harry knew she used some magic in her dancing, making her more glittering and subtle than anybody else. It was not so much to attract others, as for her own pleasure, although Harry could see that she enjoyed the attention she got as well. From time to time, Harry would Apparate right in front of her and dance with her. He would come from nowhere and sometimes people would start, but not question the reality of things. They wanted and expected magic on a disco floor.

It had happened once or twice that Harry had come across agitated men who wanted to intrude on Ginny’s personal space. He had used appeasing stars on those occasions with good effect at the same time he would step forward and politely reclaim Ginny for a dance. They matched each other well when dancing. Harry, too, was fond of using magic, with gliding and swirling movements mostly, making him look nimble and quick as he evolved around Ginny. He sometimes took her hand and swirled her around or pressed her against him and pirouetted with her, although that was not the fashion of modern Muggle dancing at all, but he did it so elegantly that it attired admiring gazes more than despising ones.

They danced for a long while in the greatest hall that was ridiculously luxurious and well-adorned, with the generous space of a gigantic vault above their heads. Ginny and Harry paused at the bar for a while before they moved on to a smaller room at the further end of the floor, which was stuffed with people. Harry started to grow tired of dancing, but knew that Ginny would not be so for a long time. He prepared to Apparate up to her again, when he felt that something had changed in the air. It was dense, like in Hogwarts, or even thicker. Harry was chilled to the bone.

Someone had filled the room with magical magma.

He brought his wand out quickly, cut a slit in the magma and Apparated up to Ginny. At the same time, he perceived a green light and when he turned around, he saw a young Muggle drop down on the floor. Harry looked up from where the light had come from and caught sight of a wizard with green hair, in a dark velvety robe and a brandished silver wand, slightly above the heads of the dancing people. The inhuman face was pale and contorted in an evil smile that seemed etched on the face, while the pupils were like pinpoints. The music was still on. In the corner of his eye, Harry detected a brandished wand and sensed, more than he saw, a curse fly on the green-clad attacker. The same reacted at lightning speed, parried the curse and without hesitation a new Avada Kedavra left the silver wand.

Harry watched the wizard he recognised for the man who had spied on them the other night, spin around and fall. The gimlet eyes of the green-haired wizard found Harry and the wand was immediately brandished and aimed in his direction. Harry Disapparated with Ginny to a corner of the room. A third person fell at the place they had just left and by this point of time people started to scream and crouch. Harry did not pause to think. He cut two slits in the magma, pushed Ginny in one direction and Apparated in the other direction. Two more persons fell at the spot they had left.

There are too many people in here, Harry thought. He noticed that the doors were closed and that the Muggles could not open them. They were trapped.

“Ginny, the doors,” he shouted. “Get them out of here.” As he spoke, he Charged up and rose in the air where he was forced to cut slits in the magma to be able to Apparate just a few meters. Harry started to fight for his life.

The Aurors replayed the narrative of the young French girl once again, listening carefully to her frightful description of the event. There were Avadas they agreed, a lot of Avadas. What was that thing she described happened to the attacker? It seemed like he was stunned, probably by Harry Potter, but that the wizard dissolved and appeared again - what kind of magic was that? Different theories were brought forward. Snape did not take part in the discussions. He put a hand on Mr Weasley’s shoulder and exchanged a look with Bill Weasley that spoke of the seriousness of the situation.

“We don’t know yet,” Snape contented himself to mumble. Mr Weasley tried to clear his throat to say something in return, but in the end, he abstained from talking. At last Fleur and Ophelia came back into the room.

“The French Ministry of Magic has finally acknowledged the incident officially,” said Ophelia. Simultaneously, Mrs Steadfast opened the door to her office where she had shut herself up.

“Message from France - the Security Office. Please read my communication stone, Mrs Fleur. The translation spell has stopped working – it’s an incomprehensible mess of French and English. I guess we haven’t had the occasion to make contact with France for a long time.” Fleur took the stone and started to translate as she read aloud to herself.

“Incident de Magie illegitime au Club Trocadéro le 14 Avril 1999... Incident, oui... you understand zzat... Cinq morts dont un sorcier, nationalité inconnue et un sorcier blessé grave, nationalité francaise... Five deaths, where-off one wizard of unknown nationali-tee and one seriously wounded Frrrench wizard,” she read. Mrs Steadfast stifled an exclamation, whereas Mr Weasley looked eerily from one person to the other, as if he wanted someone to explain to him what it all meant.

“A wounded French wizard and a dead wizard... No mention of a witch - they do make the distinction in French - don’t they, Fleur - between witch and wizard?” Bill spoke.

“Yes... sorcier and sorcière. Zzey say sorcier...” answered Fleur.

“Ginny is probably alive, then,” said Bill in a half-choked voice and pressed his father’s shoulder. “But Harry...” Bill’s voice trailed off.

Snape studied his palms with an empty expression on his face. The Aurors’ Office was silent. There was nothing they could do. Fleur spoke suddenly, burring her “r”s lengthily.

“I will try to establ-ish an Appari-tioun area in your office, Arthur. Ginny will want to come directly to you when she is released from zze interoga-tiouns. Zzey’ll find ‘er, don’t you worry, Arthur. But she’ll be devastated, if ‘Arry is dead. Let’s make our best to bring ‘er ‘ome to Molly as quickly and as considerately as we can. Do I ‘ave your authoriza-tioun, Madame, to speak to our Department and to the French Department of Magical Transporta-tioun in order to alter the composition of magma temporarily in Arthur’s office and make it possible for ‘er to... to Apparate back ‘ere? And to the Security Office to let zzem know of zze arrangement?”

“That’s a good idea, Mrs Fleur,” said Mrs Steadfast after having cleared her throat. “Let’s hope to bring them both back... We do not know yet what has happened to Harry. Don’t assume the worst. By all means, Mrs Fleur, let’s go, I’ll sign the forms later,” she said with a stubborn look on her face and met Snape’s dark gaze briefly.

Mrs Steadfast followed Fleur and Ophelia out of the office to meet the head of International Cooperation and subsequently inform the Minister of Magic. Snape started to pace back and fro in the room as the Aurors flickered between the channels on the Muggle TV and waited for the British wizard news to start at eight o’clock on the wireless.

“Do you think...?” Mr Weasley started to say to Snape, but was cut off.

“Nothing! I think nothing until I have proof of what has happened... Mrs Steadfast is right about that at least... For the rest... Sorry, Arthur, I didn’t mean to snap at you...” Snape made a jerky gesture.

“Don’t worry about it...” Mr Weasley murmured.

“Has Mrs Steadfast asked anyone to look after her communication stone while she is away?” Snape suddenly roared at the other Aurors. Mrs Steadfast’s right hand, Soundy, was not in the room and no one else answered. Snape muttered as he let himself into Mrs Steadfast’s office.

“French...” he sneered, as he came back with the communication stone in his hands. “There is something new here... We need to wait for Mrs Fleur Weasley to come back... Unless... Anyone?” He raised his voice questioningly at the Aurors who watched him apprehensively. A well-known figure stepped forward. 

“Mr Burgess, what are you doing here? Well, you’ll read French, of course,” said Snape.

“I took some days off from Hogwarts during Easter and I was spending them with a friend in London when I was reached by the news that something happened at my former working place and I came here... Technically I’m still on the program, you know Professor... the teaching is only temporary...” Mr Burgess ranted on. Snape stared at the garrulous man.

“Translate this,” he commanded curtly.

“It says that the dead wizard is supposed to be a British subject…” The audience of Aurors gasped and Snape’s fingers clasped the stone so tightly that they turned white. ”It also says that they’ve apprehended a witch… and a wizard - also of British nationality,” continued Mr Burgess. ”Why on earth don’t they give us more particulars, or spell out the names!” Mr Burgess’ outburst was surprisingly strong and devoid of his usual ingratiating manners. “They are bringing the apprehended British subjects in for interrogation at their Security Office.”

“What did you just say?” Mrs Steadfast stepped inside again, followed by Fleur. They repeated the message and Fleur verified the translation. They all agreed that it was unduly bureaucratic to speak of British subjects without mentioning any names.

“They know very well that we are concerned about Mr Harry Potter and Miss Ginny Weasley in particular. They know they were objects of protection from our side,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“What protection? They’ll wonder,” said Snape sarcastically. “It’s not as if you had a squad of Aurors after them.”

“Well, we’ll get confirmation any moment now, since they’re on their way to the French Security Office. We might be able to speak to Miss Ginny...” Mrs Steadfast sank down on a chair. “There’s nothing to do, but to wait...” She started to pull at the fingers of her left hand in a way that made the joints snap. Snape frowned disapprovingly at her.

“It’s all arranged for Ginny to Apparate directly into ‘er father’s office whenever she’s finished,” said Fleur.

“And Harry,” Mrs Steadfast corrected her absentmindedly. “It might take a while though. They’ll want to interrogate them thoroughly - if it is indeed them. They might have been delayed by the Muggle authorities. That’s why they’ve not been able to contact me...”

At this moment, a breathless Ophelia tumbled into the room.

“They’re here!” she panted. Everybody’s heads turned to her. “Please come quickly!” she pleaded. “I think they’re dead!” She was wide-eyed and near tears.

“Who are you talking about, Ophelia?” said Mrs Steadfast severely as she rose.

“I think it’s them! Two young people appeared at Mr Weasley’s office when I was there to check the Apparition zone! Please, please come!”

“It can’t be them! They were just being brought to the French Security Office for interrogation.”

“I don’t know who it is, but somebody has come! Please go, Mrs Steadfast. They don’t move, they don’t breathe!”

“You cannot send dead people by Apparition, Ophelia...” Mrs Steadfast started to object with confusion written on her face, but Snape interrupted her. 

“No time to argue, Audrey, come on!” He was already at the door.

Mrs Steadfast pulled herself together.

“Soundy and Mr Weasley come with me - the rest of you stay here, please. Mr and Mrs Bill Weasley may come as well of course... and you Ophelia!” she commanded.

They ran through the corridor to Mr Weasley’s office that was situated halfway down to the elevators, and rushed to the door that Ophelia had taken care to shut. Mrs Steadfast banged it open and all of them stumbled inside, but froze as if stunned by the sight that met their eyes.

On the floor, side by side, equally slender and hand in hand, lay Harry and Ginny. Their faces were pale, but serene and their eyes were closed. They were simply, but elegantly dressed in Muggle clothes. Ginny wore a sky-blue top with short sleeves and diamond-like items around the décolletage. She had tight, leather-like black trousers and patent leather high-heals. Harry too had black trousers in a softer material and elegant shoes. He wore a startling white shirt. They looked surprisingly unscathed, even unaffected, but as Ophelia had pointed out, their chests were not moving and Harry’s lips were a blue-lilac colour.

While everyone was still staring at the young couple, Harry started to stir. His head moved slightly from side to side and his eyes opened. He coughed as he rolled over on the side facing Ginny. When he saw her, he sat himself up with an effort, gasped and started to shake her by her shoulders.

“Ginny, Ginny!” his voice sounded croaky and weak. He shook harder and lifted his eyes at the assembled people. His face, so serene a moment ago was screwed up with fear. He looked like he had lived a decade in one night and his green eyes were pleading. They searched the persons present and fastened upon Snape. He coughed again and wiped his mouth on his sleeve where a red stain appeared.

“Help her! Please, help her!” he croaked.

Snape was indeed the first to react as he stepped forward to bend over the young, unconscious witch. He drew his wand.

“Rennervate!” he said, pointing at her still body. He repeated the spell twice. Ginny glowed in response, but did not stir. Snape seemed to hesitate, but had to decide quickly on his actions.

“Harry, are you up to blow three breaths into her mouth?” he said urgently. Harry wiped his mouth again and drew a rather rattling breath before he gave Ginny the kiss of life.

Snape did a new Rennervation spell, and suddenly Ginny sat up, gasping violently for air. As she exhaled, blood started to spout out of her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear and she clung to Harry who had caught her in his arms. Blood continued to gush out through Ginny’s mouth and quickly coloured Harry’s white shirt red with blood.

“Wait, Miss Ginny, stay still and I’ll get that to stop,” said Snape as he lowered himself on his knees in front of her. But Ginny was so panic-stricken that she wriggled from one side to another, trying desperately to draw breaths while splattering blood all over the place. Snape tried to hold her chin and do a spell directed at her throat, but she punched his arms away and twisted her whole body. Harry who was coughing quite badly himself, with blood running both from the corners of his mouth and his nostrils, although at a slower rate than Ginny’s cascade of blood, struggled to, but could not hold her still.

“Will someone help Potter restrain her so that I can stop that lung bleeding!” Snape hissed between clenched teeth. “You don’t want me to conjure up ropes and tie her up in front of you, all the same! You can see that she is losing blood, no? Quick, now!”

Mr Weasley hurried forward and sank down behind Ginny.

“Daddy’s here, Ginny,” he said. “I’m going to hold you. We used to do this when you were little and we needed to give you a Potion. Stay still now, child...” He put a gentle hand on her forehead from behind, put his other arm across her chest, grabbing one of her shoulders and pulling her firmly against his own chest. Harry held her hands so that they would not punch Snape.

“Stay still, darling. The healer will do a spell and you’ll be fine,” Mr Weasley murmured soothingly, as if speaking to a very small child. 

Snape run the fingers of his left hand over Ginny’s throat as he read an incantation and waved his wand over her chest. The fountain of blood ceased to run and Ginny could finally draw regular breaths. She relaxed and turned to sob in her father’s arms. Mr Weasley murmured comforting words to her and stroked her back. Snape’s hands were red with blood and his sleeves were drenched all the way up to his elbows. Both his and Harry’s faces had been splashed with droplets of Ginny’s blood during the short, but intense struggle.

When he released Ginny to her father, Harry turned away and sagged to the side. He supported himself with both hands on the floor, but soon turned his anguished face back to Snape as his breaths grew more and more rattling and the blood gushed out of his mouth in a steady stream at every cough he made. Panic shone out of his eyes, but he managed to stay still when Snape performed the spells for the same treatment that Ginny had been given. Snape’s left hand was once again washed with blood.

When Snape was done and Harry could breathe again, he closed his eyes, bent his head down and started to mumble to himself. His fists were clenched as he supported himself on the knuckles on the floor between his knees.

Mrs Steadfast, Soundy, Fleur, Bill and Ophelia were still in shock at what they had just witnessed, whereas Snape started to swear as he rose slowly from the floor, putting his wand away. His mutterings increased into scolding and when he was upright he turned with fury at Harry.

“What were you thinking of, Potter, Apparating all the way from Paris? Disregarding the distance limit of direct Apparition! Did you not pay attention to the theoretical parts of the lessons when you learnt to Apparate? But of course you didn’t!” spat Snape.

Harry jerked his head up, opened his eyes and looked bewildered at Snape.

“I do know...”

“You do know of the limit?” Snape roared at him. “So what happened? You forgot temporarily that you were in another country and that you had to make an intermediary Apparition to return home?”

“Severus, go easy on the boy” Mrs Steadfast tried to intervene, but Snape boiled over with anger and turned on her with equal force.

“What if I hadn’t been here? They could have died!” he shouted at her. ”Every year there are a couple of stupid tourists who Apparate directly home from their holidays. You saw the effects. It’s a matter of minutes to get them to a healer. Every year there are empty-headed wizards who bleed to death because of sheer acts of folly.”

Harry had risen with an effort to face Snape. A little colour started to rise in his otherwise pale face.

“Stop it! You have no idea...” he tried to intervene.

Snape swirled back to face him.

“You think you’re grown-up enough to go abroad on your own, but you don’t check up on the ways of transport and the limits of them? You know that you’re threatened, but have no plan for escaping back home? Did you think of nothing? I’ve no idea how she could let you go... It’s completely irresponsible of both of you!” Snape raged at Harry and Mrs Steadfast.

“Stop yelling at me! You don’t know what we’ve been through!” Harry shouted back.

“Why not start telling us, then?” Snape hissed at him.

But the yelling made the wound in his lung reopen and Harry started to cough blood again. When Snape drew his wand to remedy it, however, Harry brandished his own wand threateningly in the face of Snape.

“Don’t come near me!” Harry gurgled, his eyes flashing with anger. Snape was forced to back off and Harry directed his wand at his own throat and read the same incantation that Snape had done before. He had to repeat it twice, because the blood in his throat made him inarticulate, but it stopped the bleeding eventually.

“Very mature of you, Potter, not to let a trained healer cure you, but rather do it amateurishly yourself!” muttered Snape, troubled and still angry.

“Severus Snape! That’s enough from you!” said Mrs Steadfast firmly, finally endeavouring to take charge of things. “Harry, we’re so glad you’re back, but would indeed like to be given an explanation. They sent a message only fifteen minutes ago that you were on your way to the Security Office at the French Ministry of Magic for interrogation and then here you were!”

“It’s probably my fault...” confessed Fleur with tears in her eyes. “I insisted by the French secretary I spoke to, on making sure they delivered zze message to Ginny zzat she could Apparate directly back to her father’s office - but I didn’t mean it literally like zzat of course. And only after you were finished at the French Ministry…”

“I can’t tell you how grateful we were for that message!” exclaimed Harry, his voice still hoarse. “It was such a relief to realise that someone was working on bringing us home and we saw our chance to get out of there. You don’t understand - we had been interrogated already for hours by the French Muggle Police. They spoke for ages in French without translating for us, then they would fire one short question in English. They were so suspicious of us. Naturally, they didn’t have a clue of what had happened - they thought it had to do with drugs and I guess they were after the guys who introduced them into the club. I had to do at least a hundred Mind-modifiers to keep them from taking my wand away from me. They had already confiscated our security watches. At last a French Auror found us, Obliviated the Muggle policemen thoroughly and brought us to the French Ministry of Magic. I realised that it would be the same thing all over again with the interrogations, except that the French Aurors would see more clearly what had been going on in that club. So when Ginny...”

Harry stopped talking because his mouth had filled with a mixture of blood and mucus and he needed to swallow. Ginny filled in, speaking in a small voice.

“The secretary who met us at the Ministry and brought us to the head of the Security Office transmitted Fleur’s message to me. I guess we sort of figured it was a special Apparition channel directly between the two offices.  We needed to come home... We were so desperate...” Ginny started to cry again.

“And you decided to go on the spot, is that right?” Snape spat angrily at Harry. “Of course it’s not a trifle to be in a country where you don’t understand the language, but you don’t just skip off! You’ve put yourself in this situation - there’s no one else to blame! You should have let yourself be interrogated, out of respect for the foreign country’s officials!” Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but Snape was too upset to let him speak. “They’ll be offended and furious not to have been able to interview you! This might lead to diplomatic complications and political retaliations! But you put yourself above such things, don’t you, Potter?”

Mrs Steadfast put a restraining hand on Snape’s arm to stop him from starting to shout again.

“I judged it the best thing to do.” Harry tried to sound rational, but his voice trembled. “I thought it’d be better if we were interrogated here where we would be able to explain ourselves properly.”

“You panicked and wanted to go home,” Snape said dismissively.

“I needed protection!” exclaimed Harry.

“Protection! What protection? You’ve declined all protection hitherto since Voldemort’s fall and all of a sudden you want to run back to hide in Mrs Steadfast’s skirts?” Snape thundered at him.

Mrs Steadfast raised an eyebrow, but Harry stared at Snape.

“But don’t you understand? Don’t you see?” he said pleadingly. “I killed that wizard... I killed the attacker at the club with an Avada Kedavra!”

Everyone in the room, except Ginny who simply whimpered, stared dumbfounded at Harry who shrank back. He looked nauseous and his voice was small.

“I killed him. I had to, you must believe me... there was no other way - he would’ve killed us both... I couldn’t take the risk of staying in France. I didn’t know if they were going to send me to Azkaban without my having a chance to justify myself... I had to come home... Please help me!” The last was said in a pleading whisper.

Snape was speechless for once, and this time Mrs Steadfast collected her wits first.

“Of course we’ll help you, Harry. Don’t mind Professor Snape, he has just been worried sick about you,” she said.

Snape blinked and raised his eye-brows.

“You were attacked, so much is clear to me. You’ll tell me all about it in my office.” Mrs Steadfast stepped up to him and put a hand on Harry’s arm.

“It was self-defence,” he said feebly.

“You’ll tell me soon. Soundy, please go and prepare my office. And try to find out how the French Security has reacted to the...er... sudden sortie... of Mr Potter and Miss Weasley. With your help, Mrs Bill Weasley, if you please. Tell them that we take over the interrogations and that we’ll provide them with all the information they need,” said Mrs Steadfast.

Soundy and Fleur disappeared. Mr Weasley and Bill were speaking in low voices to Ginny who repeated with increasing desperation that she wanted to go home to the Burrow.

“Will you need to interrogate Ginny as well?” said Bill to Mrs Steadfast who hesitated.

“I want to go home to Mum!” Ginny stifled a wail and tugged at her father’s sleeve.

“Miss Weasley needs to go to St Mungo’s Hospital to receive additional treatment for her lung condition,” intervened Snape. “It’s not nearly healed. I’ve only stopped the bleeding. She needs to inhale some Dewcup potion. After this over-Apparition, the wounds in the lungs will take several days to close. She must be examined and treated properly.”

“Well, that settles it, then,” said Bill. “Dad, you go with Ginny to St Mungo’s and I’ll go back to the Burrow and explain things gently to Mum.”

“Harry, I want Harry to come with me,” said Ginny. Her voice was not clear and she stuttered slightly as she spoke. Her whole body was tense.

“I need to ask Harry a few questions, then he’ll join you at St Mungo’s,” Mrs Steadfast said gently to Ginny. “If that’s okay with you?” she added to Snape.

“It’s okay. He’ll need the treatment as well, eventually, but he was less affected than Miss Weasley. He’ll stand an hour of interrogation,” said Snape. 

Ginny disengaged herself from her father and took a few unsteady steps towards Harry. She sorted her wand.

“I hate to see you covered in blood,” she muttered, “...even if part of it is mine.”

Her hands shook so badly that booth Mrs Steadfast and Snape made a gesture to stop her, for fear she would hurt him, but Harry faced her unafraid and let her perform the cleaning spells that removed the blood from his skin and his clothes. He tried to smile at her.

“Your turn,” said Ginny to Snape who started. “Stand still, Professor. Tergeo!” Ginny spoke through her teeth and removed the blood from Snape as well.

“Thank you, Miss Ginny,” he said, docile.

“Thank you for saving our lives earlier,” said Ginny, dignified.

Snape inclined his head courtly.

“Let’s go, Ginny,” said Mr Weasley taking her arm.

“Bye then, Harry...” She looked him shyly in the eyes and suddenly Ginny flew herself at Harry and kissed him like she was never going to see him again. He kissed her back with the same fierceness and desperation, oblivious of the audience. As their lips parted, Ginny broke down and started to cry against Harry’s chest as she clung to him. He hugged her, stroked her hair and kissed it.

“I can’t leave you. I can’t... I want to stay with you... We’ll go together… later...” whimpered Ginny.

“Listen Ginny...” Harry supported her as her legs buckled, lifting her up. “We’re safe now... both of us... You need that treatment. I’ll join you in no time. Your father’s with you... Listen...“ he cajoled her. “What will your mother say if she sees you in a state like this... huh? You need to be taken care of... Your mother will kill me for making a mess of you like this... Please, pull yourself together for her sake, if not for mine...”

“Mum will kill me for talking you into going to Paris to start with...” Ginny said falteringly. Harry looked at her tenderly, his eyes full of sadness.

“It was an excellent idea, Ginny! Don’t let any green-haired terror make you think differently.” Ginny smiled at him through her tears. She took her father’s arm, ready at last to go, but swirled around to Mrs Steadfast and Snape.

”Keep him safe and bring him back to me!” she said, suddenly aggressive again, with emphasis on every word. Snape and Mrs Steadfast recoiled and nodded.

“Flo-powder... you need to go by Flo-powder,” Snape cried after them. “She must not go by Apparition for a couple of days...”

“I had made that out for myself, Severus, but thank you anyhow,” Mr Weasley answered politely.

Harry looked away and supported himself with a hand on Mr Weasley’s desk when Ginny left the room with her father, followed by Bill. There were only Snape and Mrs Steadfast left with him in the room.

“Why... that tough little lady... Miss Ginny... To see her like this, disheveled… in pieces… almost without control... she must have been terrified...” mumbled Mrs Steadfast to herself. Harry looked up at her with extinct eyes.

“We were trapped in a room with a lunatic who wanted to kill us...” he said tonelessly. ”And she watched me do an Avada Kedavra,” he added falteringly.

Without a word, Mrs Steadfast ushered Harry into the corridor and back the whole way to the Auror’s office while Snape followed on their heels. People stopped to look at them, but Mrs Steadfast waved their questions away. As they entered the office, a welcoming roar and an applause made Harry jump and look like he considered fleeing back the way he had come. Mrs Steadfast made a gesture to subdue the enthusiasm of the present Aurors.

“We got them back - yes, yes, it’s excellent indeed! There’re still things to sort out, though. Take it easy now. Soundy, a word, please!” As she withdrew with her colleague to give him new instructions, the Aurors approached Harry. In the front line stood Mr Burgess who stared at Harry with a strange glow in his eyes.

“You must have killed him then - your opponent... Tell us how you did it? Was this your first real killing - except Voldemort, I mean?” There was an excited quiver in Burgess’ voice. The words ’Potter killed his attacker’ echoed back and forth between the twenty or so young Aurors who stood close by.

“His second killing and he has not even started on the program yet,” someone called out.

“Well, this is Harry Potter we’re talking about!” someone else replied appreciatively.

“You must throw us a party tonight, Potter, when you’re done with the aftermaths of administration,” another Auror said to Harry. ”You defeated your enemy! We’ll celebrate your victory in due form! You’re one of us now! Why, most of us have never...”

“Was it an Avada Kedavra?” Mr Burgess stuck his face so close to Harry’s that Harry could feel the panting breaths on his chin. Harry recoiled.

“Potter! Potter rules!” the others started to scan at him. Harry took a sudden step forward, pushing Mr Burgess to the side with one hand, and opened his mouth. His voice was still hoarse and no more than a whisper.

“I killed another human being and you ask me to... celebrate?” There was incredulity and disgust written on his face. At that moment a strong hand was placed on Harry’s left shoulder from behind and with his arm around Harry’s back, Snape swiftly turned him around and ushered him inside Mrs Steadfast’s office.

Harry shrugged off Snape’s arm and turned to scowl at him, when Mrs Steadfast entered the office and closed the door behind her. Harry directed his attention to her instead with flashing fury in his eyes.

“What’s wrong with them?” Harry pointed at the door. “They’re your Aurors, aren’t they?”

“They’re first-year trainees, most of them. Because of heavy losses during the war, we accepted twice as many new applicants this fall. They’re here to learn.” Harry took no notice of Mrs Steadfast’s answer.

“Do you celebrate when you kill people? Is that a habit of yours?” he asked accusingly.

“Of course not...” Mrs Steadfast looked embarrassed. “It’s not sanctioned by the Office... although in their spare time...I cannot prevent them from doing whatever they want, can I?  I’m aware of the tradition to have a celebratory pub tour in honour of an Auror’s first killing. I’m afraid some - I say some - of the Aurors are keen to keep it up and...”

“That’s a rotten tradition!” roared Harry. “You should kick out every single person who proposes to celebrate a murder! And what’s wrong with Mr Burgess? He seemed absolutely excited by this. That’s sick! What’s the matter with people?!”

Suddenly a chuckle was heard, coming from the leather back of an old-fashioned swivel chair that started to turn around at one corner of Mrs Steadfast’s office. The sound made the blood in Harry’s veins freeze and he and Snape reacted equally fast when they drew their wands before the seated figure had time to rise. A skinny, but not small, very old witch with round glasses and a bun on top of her head, stood up and approached them, completely indifferent to the wands pointed at her. 

“This must be the son of Lily Evans,” she said. “The famous Harry Potter. I’m glad to meet you again. You were but a baby the last time I saw you. I recognise the same moral indignation that your mother once showed, in this very room.” She chuckled again.

“Granny! What are you doing in my office?” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast.

“Oh, I listened to the morning news and gathered that my grand-daughter would at last be put to the test at her new work and I set off to appease my curiosity and see how she coped with the challenge, and last but not least, I thought that I would offer the assistance from my lengthy experience. But you seem to have got him home alive... or he might have done that on his own, did he? A capable young man, the son of Lily Evans - you would expect no less. Impressive too, his fast reaction to my presence. Did you see him draw his wand?”

Mrs Steadfast opened her mouth, but the old witch interrupted her.

”Many an experienced Auror who had just been subjected to an attack on their person would have been so jumpy that they would have peppered me with stunning spells or worse, but this boy just had a protective shield sorting his wand. Now, that shows alertness, combined with a presence of mind. He has not lost his head despite what he has been through tonight. He’s good, Audrey. He’ll make an excellent Auror. He seems determined against those childish traditions of dealing with death, too. Excellent, I tell you.”

“You knew my mother?” Harry lowered his wand.

“Yes, I did. I’m Elisabeth Steadfast, Betty to my colleagues.” She shook hands with Harry and after a slight hesitation also with Snape. She turned back to Harry. “I wasn’t Lily’s boss. I retired a few years before she entered the program, and was succeeded by Rufus Scrimgeour. I stayed as a consultant at the office, for many years, however. I suspect that dear Rufus didn’t appreciate my continued presence in the office very much, although he made sure not to let it show over-explicitly. I had held the post as Head of the Aurors for forty years! I still had a lot to give even after I stepped aside! And those were troubled times! Voldemort was near his prime. The Death Eaters...”

Betty Steadfast cast a look at Snape, showing that she knew perfectly well who he was.

“... were building up. I taught the debutant Aurors combat techniques and magical strategy and so I got to know your mother. I was delighted with her, even if I was never convinced that Lily was suited for the job as an Auror...”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t misunderstand me - she had the qualifications, she had the magic and the power, but I had a feeling that she had been talked into that particular choice of career by her young man and his friend - I mean James Potter and Sirius Black.”

Harry frowned.

“Because of Voldemort’s rising powers, the young ones in training were soon sent to real fights - too soon, in my opinion, but we needed all the Aurors we could use. And Rufus was no weakling. On the contrary, he pushed things to the other end of the line - to my disapprobation, I’d like to point out...” continued Mrs Betty Steadfast.

“Granny, I’m to interrogate Mr Potter. Would you...?”

The old witch took no notice of her grand-daughter, but continued her line of thought, addressing Harry.

“Have you heard about the decree that gave the Aurors the right to kill certain of their opponents?”

“Yes,” answered Harry. “It gave them the right even to hunt down and execute war criminals without prior judgement.”

“Correct, that was after Voldemort had disappeared - by yours and your mother’s doing...” she paused briefly and inclined her head solemnly in recognition of the feat and of the loss. “The period afterwards was terrible. Barty Crouch who was the head of the Magical Law Enforcement gave air to those feelings of revenge. We had lost James Potter and your mother, and we lost the Longbottoms soon thereafter, remember, but that was no excuse for the lawless savagery that developed... The first step toward this foolishness of retaliations, however, was taken a couple of years earlier, before your parents had gone into hiding, and it was to allow Aurors to use Avada Kedavras during battles. And that’s why I was reminded of Lily when I heard your protests right now.”

Harry inclined his head to the side inquiringly at her.

“The very same day the decree passed, there was a battle between Aurors and Death Eaters,” Mrs Betty Steadfast went on, ”and I remember being here as they all returned from the field. James Potter and Sirius Black had done their first killings by Avada Kedavras and were going on who had done his first. I did mine one minute past midday, said James. Well, I did mine one minute before midday, said Sirius. Then, yours was illegal, replied James and they laughed. And your mother was furious...”

“My father was joking about it?” asked Harry in a low, uncertain voice. Snape let out a snorting sound as if nothing else was to be expected of James Potter.

“Yeah... well, joking is a way of dealing with difficult matters, isn’t it? You should not judge them too harshly...” answered Betty Steadfast.

“But... but killing with an Avada goes against your whole system, your body revolts against that kind of magic. It’s impossible to be proud or happy about it!” exclaimed Harry. Betty Steadfast raised her eyebrows.

“Not everybody feels that way. To James and Sirius there was no difference between killing by Avada Kedavra or by having someone by multiple curses as they had already done in many battles before. They were Aurors, remember. You must be prepared to kill as an Auror, at least to defend yourself. An Avada Kedavra is simply more expedient that other curses.”

“But there’s a huge difference between killing with an Avada and by killing in other ways,” Harry objected, looking from Mrs Steadfast to her granny. “With an Avada you kill deliberately, cold-bloodedly. The magic is intentional in a completely different way, don’t you see?”

“The result is the same...” the younger Mrs Steadfast muttered and looked down. As a last resource for support, Harry turned to look at Snape.

“There’s a huge difference,” he conceded reluctantly.

“Interesting coming from a Death Eater. I didn’t think you made those subtle distinctions,” said Betty Steadfast coldly to Snape. “I thought you all killed easily, that it was a criterion for being accepted into the gang.” The old witch’s eyes were full of dislike and her grand-daughter frowned at her.

“Former Death Eater... It has been nearly twenty years since I truly counted myself as one... That criterion seems to have applied for a lot of your Aurors as well,” Snape retorted haughtily.

“Humph... Well, that’s why I said I’m not sure Lily made the right choice when she chose to become an Auror. She was adamantly against using the Avada Kedavra. I don’t think she could have killed a person, not even in battle. She was brave... oh yes, and she fought fiercely, but she did not kill...”

“But my father did...” Harry said dejectedly. He looked nauseous again.

“That day, after realising how lightly James and Sirius spoke of their Avadas, Lily exploded at them. She was in this very room, shouting, tears streaming down her cheeks. I had never seen her in such a state before. We tried to talk some sense to her, but in the end she just rushed out of the office. The gang was preparing to celebrate the victory of the battle - they would not abstain from it on her account... There was a war and the celebrations kept the spirit up… but there was no way she would take part in that... Just as revolted as I heard you a moment ago... I thought she would never forgive them... James and Sirius, I mean...James and her broke up for a while after this event... although she forgave him eventually, since she married him about ten months later. Not very lucky with her boyfriends, was she, Lily Evans - the one as bad as the other...?”

The last sentence was uttered in a pointed tone, accusingly, with an address at Snape, Harry thought. What was she alluding to? This was long after Snape and his mother had gone different ways, was it not? After Hogwarts. After Snape had taken that fatal step of becoming a Death Eater. What did Betty Steadfast refer to? Mrs Steadfast seemed to ask herself the same thing, because she stared with curiosity from her grandmother to Snape who, however, had allowed his long hair to fall forward and hide his face as he looked down on the floor. Mrs Steadfast shook her head.

“Now, Granny, you must let me do my job. Harry somehow manoeuvred himself away from the French authorities and I suspect they’ll want some answers, and I had better be able to deliver them. So, out you go, my dear lady.” She pointed decisively at the door.

“Oh, he did, did he?” Betty Steadfast said appreciatively. “I think I’ll stay and listen to the story,” she continued, unperturbed by Mrs Steadfast’s scowling face. “Don’t mind me, Audrey, I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

All of a sudden the old witch looked tired and frail. She must be at least a hundred years old, Harry thought. Mrs Steadfast’s countenance softened and she led the old lady gently back to the armchair.

“Just as you stay quiet,” she muttered. “Harry, please tell us!” she said as she turned around, in a voice that would not bear contradiction. Harry took a deep breath.

“We were at this club, Le Trocadero. It’s located opposite the Eiffel Tower, on one of the avenues leading to the Champs Elysées,” he began. “But, first... I must ask you... The night before, I had spotted a wizard who spied on us... I wondered... whether it might be one of your Aurors? He... He tried to help out with the attacker when it all started, but I’m afraid he got hit first thing. I’m not sure he made it...” Harry’s voice faltered. Mrs Steadfast cleared her throat.

“You’re right, it was a French Auror, a friend of mine. He’s not dead, but severely hurt... I got the report just before coming in. I’m sorry Harry. I understand you didn’t want to be tailed during your holiday, but I couldn’t possibly let you be altogether unprotected. Not with what it said in that note...”

Harry shrugged as if it was no longer of importance.

“He reported to me on wednesday night,” continued Mrs Steadfast.” He had lost you and praised you for being so vigilant... despite being seemingly... er...  busy with... other things...”

“Of course I was vigilant,” Harry frowned, “...as long as we were out in the open... I had promised you, had I not?”

“Yes, and by spotting him that night at the Eiffel Tower you proved to us that you could keep that promise. I apologise, Harry. I had asked him to be discreet,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“And so he was. I didn’t see him at all during the second day, not until the attack...” Harry took a new deep breath. “Back to tonight then. I sensed all of a sudden a change in the room where we were dancing. Someone had filled the room with magma... heavy magma... several times that at Hogwarts... to make it impossible to escape by Apparition... And the doors had been shut so that we were trapped. I knew immediately that something was wrong and I launched for Ginny... I had just a second of advance... The attacker appeared and shot an Avada Kedavra at me... without forewarning... It hit a Muggle instead...”

“Describe the attacker, please.”

Harry did as he was asked. He went on describing the flashing green lights and the falling Muggles at the places where the attacker had aimed at him.

“So I mounted in the air. The attacker took no notice of the people he hit. He was completely ruthless. He would have killed hundreds of them to get at me, that’s how determined he was. So I rose to let him have clearer shots at me under the ceiling - like that no others were hit...”

At hearing this, Mrs Steadfast shut her eyes briefly, and Snape made a grimace that translated into exasperation and reluctant admiration. Concentrating on his narrative with glazed eyes and unaware of their reactions, Harry went on:

“I cut slits in the magma and Apparated short distances. I rolled about in the air, wriggling out of the way of his curses... In the meantime, Ginny managed to open one of the doors to get the Muggles out. We fought... I managed to hit him several times. An Expelliarmus... but his arm just lengthened itself and gripped the wand again... Stunnings... and he would freeze a second, but he melted away, assumed another form and reappeared on another spot... You see, I believe he was a Metamorphmagus... Because I... I tried a Sectumsempra as well...”

Harry looked quickly at Snape. This was the professor’s invention and dark speciality.

“But the attacker transformed instantly into a bee swarm and the curse was useless... It only cut the air... Likewise when I launched a trapping web at him. He just dissolved and escaped... I... I was beginning to get tired, rolling about under the ceiling... I understood that I wouldn’t hold much longer... Ginny had managed to get most of the people out and she wanted to help me, so she started to fire curses as well. It distracted him and annoyed him so he launched an Avada at her that missed by inches only... And I understood that we’d never get out of there alive if I didn’t... if I didn’t kill him... I had already tried everything... He positioned himself at the entrance of the opened door and forced Ginny back into the room... I managed to stun him once more and he dissolved... He could reappear anywhere and when he did, I was sure he would fire an Avada at me or at Ginny... but I guessed he would think that I was going to change my position to another corner of the room, as that was how we had played it until then... Instead, I Apparated under the ceiling to the middle of the room and he appeared just underneath me... He did not spot me immediately and it gave me the fraction of a second’s advance... so I fired the Avada Kedavra at him from above... It went all the way through him, from head to feet and he fell down dead on the spot...”

Harry’s breath quickened as he spoke, like he was panting under the ceiling once again, and when he reached the point where he fired his killing curse, pearls of sweat appeared on his forehead and his pupils dilated. He spun round so violently that he would have fallen headlong if Snape had not caught him. Harry fell to his knees and started to throw up convulsively in a bucket that Snape had conjured up.

“That was fast of you,” Mrs Steadfast gasped at Snape, taken by surprise by Harry’s sudden reaction. “You saw it coming, did you, Severus? By Merlin, Harry... you brave, brave boy... Oh, he can’t hear me, can he? Will he be okay?” She looked bewildered from Harry who looked like he would pass out, violently affected by vertigo and nausea, to Snape who was looking down on the young wizard with an impassive face.

“The reaction of the innocent and pure at heart...” Betty Steadfast had risen again and spoke softly to her granddaughter. “You can at least be sure that Mr Potter is no accustomed killer and that the Avada was his last resort. His reaction proves it, Audrey. Not that you had any doubts, of course... The attacker, on the other hand, was a professional... Good grief! This is an unusually strong reaction... And I’ve witnessed a few among my Aurors throughout the years… For how long will it go on?”

“Oh, maybe for half an hour...” Snape said evasively. “Were you sick right after, Harry? Is this a relapse or a delayed reaction?” Harry could barely answer between the vomits, and Mrs Steadfast and her granny recoiled a little from him, whereas Snape stayed where he was.

“I was sick right after, at the club. I couldn’t get out of the room without assistance...” stuttered Harry. “Ginny supported me out of there... with the help of one of the rescue men... We were taken to a Muggle hospital... No good, they did... but the nausea calmed down eventually... Then the Muggle Police took us in for questioning... I was sick once again at the station... They wanted to take my wand away all the time... I had to do Mind-modifyers in between to keep them from doing it and... Sorry...” A new wave of nausea made him double up over the bucket.

“Er... will you attend to him, Severus? I shall accompany my grandmother out of here and I’ll need to check with Soundy and Mrs Fleur, and speak to France and the head of International Cooperation again to sort out the diplomatic repercussions of this event. You can stay in my office, I’ll just go and...” Mrs Steadfast sneaked out, ushering her grandmother before her.

Half an hour later, Harry had crept away to the further end of the office so that he could lean against a wall in between the attacks of nausea. He was ghastly pale and kept his eyes shut, as the world would go round if he opened them. Snape moved a chair, sat down at some distance from Harry and leant forward.

“Harry,” he said cautiously, “would you allow me to teach you a spell to lessen the vertigo? You need to break off the vicious circle to stop the nausea from coming back on you.” Harry opened an eye and looked at him.

“Don’t point your wand at me,” he said and doubled up because of the vertigo that started as soon as he opened his eyes.

“I’m just trying to help you,” said Snape with ill-concealed irritation. He drew a deep breath and started anew. “Let me do it just once so that you can open your eyes and learn to do it yourself.” Harry finally nodded, eyes shut. “It’s a weak spell, I’m afraid. You need to repeat it several times for effect. Point your wand at your face like this.”

Snape showed Harry the spell and after three or four goes, Harry managed to relax. He kept his eyes opened, but his gaze was glazed and he mumbled things silently to himself. After a while he directed his eyes at Snape.

“Did you use to celebrate your killings with your Death Eater friends as well?” he asked aggressively. Snape was taken aback by the question and frowned.

“I don’t think I have ever actually celebrated a killing,” he said finally. “Don’t get a false idea of my morals, though...” he hastened to add, “I used to volunteer for executions when I was a young Death Eater.”

Harry stared at him and blinked. He forgot to do the spell, a new wave of nausea caught up with him and he retched again.

“Sorry, you didn’t need to hear that,” said Snape in a low voice. “You see, the first time I used an Avada Kedavra on another human being, I puked my guts out, just like you... The other Death Eaters laughed at me - it was considered a sign of weakness... Lucius was embarrassed on my account... So after that I volunteered for other executions... The people were condemned anyway, so I told myself, and I only obeyed orders... It was no excuse - I realised that long ago...and I have repented... but I did learn to master my bodily reactions and perform Avada Kedavras without showing any symptoms, at least not immediately, in the presence of others...”

Harry stared at him again, as if what Snape said was completely incomprehensible.

“Is that what you think I should do? Learn to master my bodily reactions better? So that I can kill more easily!” he finally said, aggressive again.

“Come on! I’ve never said I wanted you to kill easily!” Snape defended himself, incredulous.

“But you thought I was worthless who couldn’t learn Occlumency, didn’t you? You’re proud over your ability to control your reactions and to hide your emotions. And you despise me for being useless at it...” said Harry.

“I don’t...” Snape looked a bit confused. “You’re pure at heart, like Mrs Betty Steadfast said and that’s just fine with me...  You have that from... from your mother... I don’t despise it! It’s just that if you want to work as an Auror... For your own sake... It’ll be hard on you... That’s all I mean.”

Harry turned his head away and did not answer.

Mrs Steadfast returned with Soundy, and Snape stepped up to them to get an update of the situation. They talked in low voices at her desk. When Snape turned around after a long while to look at Harry, he gave away a curse.

“Potter, what are you doing?” he asked sharply. Harry, who was still sitting on the floor, looked up. He had taken his right shoe and sock off and rolled the leg of his trousers up over the knee. He had his wand in his hand and was examining his lower limb which looked bloodless and grey.

“I must see to my leg. It’s nearly six hours since I was hit and I must do the Reviving spell. I had no occasion to perform it while I was with the Muggle Police in France,” he retorted.

“It’s an Avada wound! You were hit by an Avada in your leg!” exclaimed Snape. Harry snorted.

“It’s not surprising, the amount of curses he launched at me – what’d you expect? But I’ve done many of these Revivings before, after the battle at Hogwarts - it’s not a problem.”

“You should not treat yourself for serious injuries, Potter! Don’t you know that? It’s not nearly as effective as to let someone else treat you. And you report your injuries immediately when you return home to base - that’s basic conduct!” Snape elevated his voice while approaching Harry who rose, balancing on his left leg.

“Don’t come near me!” he said, suddenly furious with Snape again. He pointed his wand to hold him off.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter!” roared Snape. “Let me do the Reviving spell!”

Mrs Steadfast looked up at them, but continued to speak to Soundy.

“Don’t you touch me with your magic!” spat Harry.

“Potter, I warn you...”

“Stop shouting at me!” Harry yelled back at Snape. As he did, he started to cough again. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve that was once again coloured with blood. The cough would not stop and he spat out some more blood in the bucket at his side. He still had his wand pointed at Snape and as Snape made an attempt to approach, Harry brandished it threateningly.

“Don’t be stupid, Potter. You need help.” Snape lowered his voice.

“Not from you, surely!” Harry managed to hiss back as his wand emitted sparkles toward Snape. He tried to rest on his right foot, but almost fell when it gave way. He coughed again and a surge of blood came out of his mouth and nostrils. He looked terrible: pale, nauseous and reeling, still refusing to let Snape near.

“Audrey, please help me talk some sense to him!” said Snape in a pleading, stifled voice, strain showing in his face. Mrs Steadfast dismissed Soundy and approached them.

“My advice, Severus, if you want someone to cooperate and trust you, is not to shout at them,” she said calmly. “Harry is neither a trained healer, nor a trained Auror and you cannot blame him for not mentioning his wound before. He has had enough on his mind. You’re just upset because you didn’t think of asking him about injuries yourself.”

“He refuses to let me treat him!” Snape cried indignantly. “He needs to go to St Mungo’s immediately. He needs Dewcup potion for his lungs and Myoviving potion for his leg. Look at it, the flesh is dying, the muscles are already weak. He might lose that limb if we wait another fifteen minutes.”

“Mr Burgess is a fraud,” Harry stated suddenly in a muffled voice. Mrs Steadfast and Snape stared at him in surprise and he went on. “I’ve heard him complain about the wound in his leg that has prevented him from moving on in the Auror’s program. I’ve heard him say how it hurts and plagues him and I’ve heard him tell Malfoy that it was an Avada curse. But this doesn’t hurt - it’s only numb and weak... He’s faking those symptoms... What if he’s the spy at Hogwarts?”

“Harry, Mr Burgess’ credentials were checked by my predecessor as he was admitted to the Auror’s program. And we know that the problem is not his leg. He was in a battle last year and accidentally killed one of his Auror colleagues. He disappeared for twenty-four hours after the event and when he came back he was confused and his leg had a minor injury. You’re right: It’s more of a mental problem. He hasn’t overcome the horror of killing one on his own team, so he puts the mental pain in his leg instead. We just don’t want to embarrass him by showing him we’ve penetrated his pretence.”

“Dense of him to think that you don’t recognise the symptoms of Avada wounds, or not to look it up himself if he wants to pretend to have one. Either he’s stupid or he wants you to think he’s thick and mentally frail, whereas, perhaps, he’s not,” said Harry. Mrs Steadfast looked disbelievingly at him.

Harry had started to breathe short, shallow breaths not to provoke the cough. Blood was continually filling his mouth and he swallowed it or wiped it away distractedly from the corners of his mouth.

“We need to leave for St Mungo’s now,” Snape said commandingly to Mrs Steadfast.

“One more thing.” Mrs Steadfast retained Harry despite the fact that Snape was fuming with impatience. “First you must tell me how you managed to get away from the French Security Office. They seem embarrassed and furious at the same time, which is never a good combination. They’re determined to scrutinise your motives for going to France, for being at that club, for being a target - you being the vainqueur of Voldemort only making them more suspicious… They want to make out that it was you who hunted this guy down to kill him, instead of the other way around. We’ll have to prove the opposite. Now, how did you trick them into letting you go?”

Harry, who was beginning to feel dizzy, had some problem focusing his eyes on her, but tried to reply truthfully.

“The secretary who guided us to their Security headquarters told us that the British Ministry had been in touch and that Apparition was possible from the French Security Office to Mr Weasley’s office. When I heard that, I thought that it was our only chance and that we must grab it. So I pretended to be sick again. I didn’t really have to pretend... The secretary let Ginny help me to the toilets and I told Ginny to make a joint Memory-modifying spell on the head of the department. So when we entered the room and the head of the French Security greeted us, we were prepared. At the same time as we replied Godmorning Sir, we did the wordless spell that made him say the next moment You may return to your country for further interrogation. We answered Thank you, Sir, whereupon we turned around and Disapparated. Unfortunately we forgot the intermediary…”

“Impressive,” said Mrs Steadfast. “I can see why they’re so embarrassed. A simple modifying... Strengthened by joining your magical foci. And the mistake of opening up the Apparition window before the interrogation had even started, and informing you of it too. Clumsy of them. Even if it’s understandable because of the circumstances, the way you acted was still not very wise. There will be consequences, Harry.” Mrs Steadfast spoke sternly and seemed impassive to Harry’s condition.

”I really messed up, didn’t I? Will they arrest me?” Harry’s voice was thick and gargling because of the blood that was now gushing out of his mouth, and he was forced to swallow between the sentences. He vacillated.

“Audrey, we have to go. Now! Don’t you see how ill he is? You’re worthless at assessing your co-workers’ health, woman! Flo-powder, quick! The nearest fire-place!” Snape roared at Mrs Steadfast. Harry nearly fell as he tried to take a step and his right leg gave way. He was caught by Snape but still struggled weakly to disengage from him.

“Harry, don’t fight Professor Snape. He wants to help you!” said Mrs Steadfast.

“He treats me like a feeble-minded good-for-nothing!”

“If you want him to treat you with respect, stop reacting childishly to his provocations! He’s only worried about you. Now go with him!”

His head was turning and he could barely keep his balance, so Harry let Snape support him out of the room. He only saw the other Aurors in a blur when they crossed the common room to the fire-place and Snape gave him his Flo-powder.

“St Mungo’s hospital” gurgled Harry.

As he crept out of the gigantic mantle piece in the middle of the Emergency Hall at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Harry became aware of people gathering around him. He distinguished several care-workers who bent over him with concern written on their faces.

“There’s blood on his chest. Is he hit by a bayoneting curse?”

“No, it comes out of his mouth. A toungue-cutting spell?”

“Look at his leg! That's an Avada wound, I’d recognise it among anything!”

“Have you been attacked, young man? What’s your name?”

”There is a slight resemblance to Harry Potter. Do you think it could be…?”

“No, I recognise him. It’s the young healer apprentice that helped us out some months ago when that mass attack took place. He’s a Grief Swallower.”

“Oh, Healer Snape! Is this your patient?” The staff backed off respectfully as Snape came stooping out of the fire place, shaking his head and brushing ashes from the front of his robe.

“This young man needs to be attended to quickly. He might want to choose his own healer, though. Be our guest, Mr Po… er… Mr Evans!” Snape realised at the last moment that it would be preferable to conceal Harry’s identity for as long as possible. Nevertheless, he gestured with irony at the assembled healers as if Harry was allowed to pick and choose among them. Harry, who gulped down blood that was surging up from his airways and mixed with ashes from the flo, looked up at the unfamiliar faces, made a resigned grimace and looked back at Snape.

“Will you allow me to assist you, Healer Snape?” said a fair-haired care-witch in a brisk voice.

“Yes, please, get me the Myoviving Potion first of all. We’re running out of time for the Avada wound,” said Snape. Harry had risen on his healthy leg with great difficulty and was swaying. Snape was handed a crutch by someone and manouvered it smoothly into Harry’s armpit. He put a hand on Harry’s back and gestured for him to jump over to a more secluded place where Harry could sit down on a wooden pin chair.

Snape knelt down, bent over Harry’s leg and murmured the Reviving spell at the same time as the care-witch came up to their side and made Harry drink from a cup.

“Five drops?” she asked Snape. She made a competent impression.

“To start with, yes, Care-witch McFare, thank you,” said Snape without lifting his head. It was obvious that they had worked together before.

“Will you need the Dewcup Potion too?” she asked.

“Well spotted, McFare,” said Snape, “or have you taken care of the other patient with Apparition lung bleeding?”

“I have,” said the care-witch with a blush. “I’ll fetch the potion for you.”

Harry sat with his eyes closed, indifferent to what Snape did to his leg. He pointed his wand at himself and repeated the anti-nausea spell fervently.

“Don’t throw up on me, Potter,” Snape warned him.

“It would help if I didn’t have to swallow all this blood,” said Harry with difficulty.

“Don’t swallow the blood for heavens sake! It only makes you more nauseous. Spit it out!”

“What, on the floor?” said Harry in confusion.

“You’re capable of conjuring up a basin on your own, are you not? I’m busy saving your leg. Don’t make me interrupt the treatment.”

Harry felt stupid and did as Snape said. It only took a second to conjure up the basin, but it was enough for the anti-nausea spell to lose its effect, resulting in Harry’s body being assailed by convulsive vomiting, and the basin filled with copious amounts of blackened blood. He sat on his chair with a turning head, panting and spitting blood until Snape finished with the leg and could direct his attention to Harry’s lungs. Snape repeated the healing incantation from the morning and the blood cleared away, although a searing feeling in the throat lingered more prominently than before and every breath hurt.

“Here, you need to take the Myoviving Potion again. You lost most of it when you threw up.” Snape poured him another dosage.

“Thank you,” muttered Harry. “Will my leg be okay?”

“We’ll assess the effect in another hour when I will repeat the treatment,” answered Snape. “Where is McFare? The lung wound is getting sore, I suspect. It’s liable to reopen at the least provocation. You need to inhale.” He looked around and spotted the fair-haired care-witch who approached them with a flushed face.

“I’m sorry, this is all we’ve got. I didn’t realise before that the potion was so old. And the other patient has used up most of it.”

“The other patient? That must be Ginny. Is she okay? Where is she? I want to go to her.” Harry rose and looked around eagerly.

“Sit down, Po… Harry. You’ll see her after you’ve received your treatment. But what’s this?” Snape glared at care-witch McFare. ”This potion is nearly useless! What is this rubbish?” Snape scrutinised the opalescent potion that had been poured out on a golden, saucer-like object in metal with low edges. “The potion doesn’t hold a fraction of its original effect. Why don’t you get rid of such old batches?”

“I knew you would object,” said the care-witch unhappily. “I’m sorry - the other healer didn’t protest when we gave it to the girl. But then we needed greater amounts than usual.”

“You’ve used it on Miss Weasley already? This is irresponsible!  By Merlin, it’s an Emergency Draught. Such potions should be kept in stock, ready for use, fresh and potent! Otherwise you’ll just get the side effects without obtaining results on the disease!”

“I know, Healer Snape. But these Apparition bleedings are more common in the summer, during the vacation period. I guess we’ve not had a case for long now.”

“That’s no excuse not to look over your Emergency Draughts on a weekly, if not on a daily basis!” snapped Snape.

“I agree with you, Healer Snape, but there’s no one to guide us. The management seems to believe that the Emergency will function on its own. The healers only care about their own wards in the house. They come down - ever so reluctantly some of them, I’d like to point out - to the Emergency to do their shifts and they don’t care about the overall structure. And you yourself were not here the last two summers. Before, when you used to work in the summer months, you at least forced us to go through the potions stock once a year. To the complaints of some people, I know - but I think they’re beginning to realise the value of that work now, because things have been worse than ever this year. You always made sure things were in good order before you started to work.”

“Why, of course I did - this is an Emergency ward. We’re supposed to be able to help people quickly! Not leave in the middle of an assessment to prepare potions as the patients come along. You lose copious amounts of time that way!” Snape made an irritated gesture. “I’ll give you some of this, Harry, but then I’ll have to prepare some more to give to you and Ginny both - a fresh potion that is. Only lucky it’s one that doesn’t need to mature. Please go and collect the ingredients for me then, McFare, and I’m sorry I raised my voice. It’s not your fault, clearly.”

Harry did not listen very carefully to what they said because he thought he heard Ginny’s voice. She was crying. His heart beat quicker and he stood up again.

“She’s upset. I must go to her,” he said urgently.

“No, Harry, wait. Just inhale a few breaths,” said Snape and held the saucer in front of Harry as he swirled the potion up like vapour in the air with his wand and directed the steam at Harry’s mouth. But Harry was wild to locate Ginny and did not pay attention. He looked to the left and to the right at the small booths along the wall. Which one did the wails that were increasing in strength come from?

“Po… Harry! Sit down!” Snape roared at him.

Suddenly two strong hands landed on Harry’s shoulders and forced him down on the chair. Harry already had his wand drawn and he reacted instinctively as he sent the big-boned care-wizard that had pressed him down away with a spell. His eyes were flashing. All at once, four care-workers approached him from different directions with wands drawn. He spread out a shield to hold them back at the same time as Snape roared:

“Lower your shield, Harry - your magic is needed to help you heal, don’t spend it. Back off all of you! I don’t need help, I can handle him. I don’t want you to use force on him. I’ll take care of it. Leave him. Back off!” The care-workers looked sceptically at Snape but lowered their wands and did as he said.

“Three breaths, and I’ll show you where she is,” said Snape in a low voice to Harry. Burning with impatience, Harry inhaled the vapour. “Deeper!” said Snape and Harry repeated it twice. “Second booth from the right,” said Snape and let Harry limp away.

Thin curtains covered the entrance to the booth from where he heard the shrill voice of Ginny, sometimes wretched and afraid, sometimes angry and threatening. The sight which met him when he drew the curtains to the side was pitiful. Mr Weasley sat on a chair in a dejected position with his head in his hands. Ginny was standing up and her face was streaked with tears. Ron and Hermione were at her side trying to talk to her and trying to restrain her. Ron actually had a fresh scratch on his cheek and they both looked exhausted. When they caught sight of Harry, they let go of Ginny.

“Goodness, Harry!” said Hermione while Ron looked immensely relieved. Ginny let out a cry and threw herself at Harry so that he was nearly knocked over as he only had one functioning leg to keep his balance on. Ron got hold of his right hand and prevented him from falling. Hermione threw one arm around Ginny and the other around Harry and hugged them fiercely, whereas Ron patted Harry’s shoulder with his free hand, blinking ferociously and saying nothing.

Ginny started to speak incoherently to Harry, explaining how they had prevented her from going to look for him and how scared she was and that she thought she had heard the green-haired wizard outside the booth and how afraid she had been. In the middle of her harangue, she also mentioned Fred and the battle against Voldemort. Anguish was shining out of her eyes.

“Harry,” she pleaded, “I’m not well. I cannot deal with this. I’m so scared. I’m afraid someone will attack us again. And I keep having these flash-backs, not only from tonight but from last year. Why is that coming now? It’s impossible to relax. I believe I hear things. I thought you wouldn’t come back.” She started to cry.

Harry sat down with her on a slim stretcher placed inside the booth, hugged her, spoke to her soothingly and she calmed down a bit.

“Healer Schufflert was here earlier,” said Ron, “She’s on duty. She gave Ginny a tranquillising potion, but Ginny’s anxiety only got worse. The healer’s supposed to come back and check on her.”

Ginny cried against Harry’s shoulder, trembling in her whole body. Mr Weasley had risen and patted her gently on the head.

“Molly agreed to stay at home and wait for us. I’m glad for it. I hope Ginny’ll be able to calm down before we return,” he said.

“It’ll be okay. It might take some time. It was awful what we went through,” said Harry. Ginny started to hyperventilate.

“Don’t tell them. Please, don’t tell them...”she pleaded, “I can’t stand to hear about it right now.”

“I won’t, Ginny, I promise,” said Harry.

The curtain was drawn aside again, which made Harry start and Ginny shriek and fling her arms up over her head.

“There, there, it was only Healer Schufflert,” said Harry. “I’m sorry I frightened you, Ginny. I agree with you that these booths are not comfortable. You have no idea of who’s approaching, or what’s happening outside.”

Healer Schufflert cast one look on Ginny and shook her head. She greeted Harry briefly and turned immediately to Mr Weasley.

“I propose we give her an Obliviating treatment,” she said. Both Harry and Hermione let out exclamations of dismay. Ginny lifted her head to look pleadingly at them.

“I don’t want to be here,” she panted. “Let me go home to Mum now. Let’s go Harry! If only we get back at the Burrow, everything’ll be fine.”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Weasley,” said Healer Schufflert. “The trauma that you’ve experienced has sensitised your nerves so that the anxiety is excited very easily and it’s hard work to dampen the reaction. Wherever you are, you’ll feel the same. You cannot escape physically from anxiety.”

“Do you mean I’ll be like this forever?” Ginny’s eyes widened. “That I cannot get away from it?”

“Not unless you do an Obliviating treatment, then the anxiety will dissolve,” said the healer.

“Why do you say that?” asked Hermione. “You’re pushing her.”

“Of course she’ll feel better when she goes home to her mother,” said Harry forcefully. “Mrs Weasley is a very comforting and safe kind of person. She loves Ginny. So do I. Ginny has got friends who’ll support her. She has every chance of getting well again.” Healer Schufflert looked sceptically back at him.

“Harry, I cannot live like this,” wailed Ginny. ”What if it never goes away? Please, please, I don’t know where to go, what to do with myself. Please, I’m dissolving to pieces right now. I cannot breathe! I’m dying! Help me!” She was panting and beginning to thrash about aimlessly.

“She’s panicking. We must do it right now!” said Healer Schufflert and brandished her wand at Ginny.

“No!” exclaimed Harry and Hermione in unison. Mr Weasley and Ron just stared terror-stricken at Ginny’s shattered person.

“You mustn’t... I can do... a Relieving...” It suddenly struck Harry what he must do. Somewhere something told him that he was not in an optimal condition to perform a Relieving incantation on another person, but this was Ginny and he would do anything for her. He collected his focus, gathered all his forces, directed them at Ginny and read the incantation with calm and determined ardour.

It was a shock to receive the roaring anxiety and the agony of death when he had himself faced it only a few hours ago. Harry fell to his knees and gripped the edge of the stretcher with both hands, but did not let out a sound. There was fear and anxiety and apprehension that roared through his body. He could take it; he could bear it; his nerves could attenuate it. Ron and Hermione rushed to his side and helped him up. He looked at Ginny who took deep breaths.

“Finally free,” she murmured. “Thank you, Harry.” She sat down beside him, took his hand in one of hers and stroked his cheek. “My bravest darling! My strongest, gentlest and kindest...”

At this moment the curtain was drawn aside again and Snape appeared with a potions bottle in his hand. He looked from Healer Schufflert to Harry who looked back at him with a feverish gaze, surrounded and patted by his friends. Snape swore aloud and turned to Healer Schufflert.

“Have you allowed him to do a Relieving? Surely you could see that he’s not fit to perform such magic? He’s sick, wounded and magically weakened. Harry, what were you thinking of?”

Snape looked like he wanted to continue to scold Harry, but managed to hold himself back. Muttering to himself he stepped up to put his fingers on Harry’s wrist, feel his pulse, look into his eyes and touch his forehead with such a truly concerned countenance that it surprised Mr Weasley and Harry’s friends. Snape shook his head.

“You’re strong, Harry. But a Quidditch player can only take so much that still allows him to fly on. Do you understand? There’s a limit!” Snape penetrated Harry with a stern gaze.

“I know. I’m okay. Healer Schufflert was going to Obliviate Ginny if I hadn’t done it,” said Harry in a muffled voice. Ginny laid her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder and carding her fingers through his hair.

“How do you feel, Miss Ginny?” asked Snape, surprisingly gently.

“Relieved. I can breathe. I thought I would explode, be crushed, dissolve in panic... but Harry took it all away.”

“It’ll come back,” said Healer Schufflert. Snape frowned.

“Be quiet please, Mrs Schufflert” he snapped at her.

“I didn’t ask him to perform a Relieving, if that’s what you think,” Healer Schufflert said sharply. “I advocated a swift Obliviating treatment and was trying to convince Miss Weasley...”

“You pressured her, you scared her… Don’t you realise that?” said Hermione.

“You, young lady, are very opinionated which might intimidate your friends – have you thought about that?” the elegant healer retorted sharply.

Hermione was taken aback by her verbal assault and looked bewildered at Ron who coloured slightly. Mr Weasley cleared his voice.

“At least we can discuss matters in a quieter way and make a decision after careful consideration, thanks to Harry’s intervention,” he said.

“Mr Weasley, you’re not seriously thinking of allowing the healers to do an Obliviating spell on your daughter, are you?” said Hermione, incredulous.

“Hermione, you’re prejudiced against it because of what happened to your mother,” objected Ginny.

“What if I am? There are loads of risks.”

They embarked on an animated debate. Snape kept out of the argumentation, busy preparing the Dewcup potion in silence. He let Ginny and Harry inhale it in turns. Harry was too weak to let himself be heard in the discussion very much at first.

“It’s ridiculous! If Healer Schufflert makes you forget what happened in Paris, everybody else will know except you, who were actually there. It’s absurd! You’ll read about it in the newspapers for one thing,” cried Hermione.

“I don’t expect you to understand the intricate essence of this complicated treatment, Miss Granger, but I can explain the general idea to you. Which does not imply to hide the facts of what happened to Miss Weasley. The purpose of the treatment is to take away the emotional memories - her own memories - connected with fear and anxiety. You’ll be allowed to relate the events as soon as the treatment is finished. In that way, she’ll know what happened, but she’ll not feel it or see the images, nor hear the sounds of it happening...”

Ginny shuddered and cast a furtive glance at Harry.

At last Mrs Schufflert and Hermione seemed to have emptied their arguments, for it was mostly them who debated. Mr Weasley only asked neutral questions and Ron did not dare to say much between his girlfriend and his therapist. When they finally fell silent, Ginny turned to Harry.

“I want to do it,” she said. She raised a hand to silence Hermione who had opened her mouth once again. “Harry, I can already feel the anxiety coming back, and I’m so afraid it’ll be the same thing all over again. You cannot Relieve me all the time. You shouldn’t even have done it this once. And I don’t want to depend on your help.”

“Ginny, I want to help you. We can handle it together. The memories will grow weaker eventually. You’ll feel safe again.”

Ginny shook her head.

“It might take months, maybe years. I’m not prepared to feel bad for that long, to be afraid, to be dependant… tied up to you, to Mother...”

Harry frowned.

“We would support you, not tie you up!”

“I know, but I want to be strong and healthy and be able to do things - now.”

“You are strong, Ginny. We defended ourselves tonight. We got out of there, don’t you see?”

“Only thanks to you killing...”

“Don’t talk about it, please, Ginny...”

“See, you too are affected.”

“Of course, I am! But I can handle it. And so can you.”

“I don’t want to feel that terrible again, Harry, please!”

“You’re afraid of the anxiety itself. Don’t you hear how absurd that sounds? The anxiety’s not dangerous. Just let it pass, it cannot kill you – it disappears eventually.”

“That’s why you’re a Grief Swallower, Harry. I’m not. I cannot stand it.”

“But Ginny, the Obliviating treatment might have side effects, like Hermione said. What about that girl in the newspaper...” Harry looked quickly at Snape. “She got Obliviated last year at Hogwarts and she experiences agony because there’s a blank in her life. She’s scared and anxious, not knowing what happened to her.”

“You heard Mrs Schufflert. You’ll tell me what happened. It’s not like that girl who doesn’t know and who fantasises about all kind of terrible things.”

Snape kept his head bent down.

“You won’t really know what happened. There’ll be a gap in your memory. You won’t have images, you won’t know for yourself.”

“I don’t want those images!” Ginny exclaimed impatiently.

“Please, Ginny, reconsider. This is madness, we’re all prepared to support you.”

Ron and Hermione nodded solemnly and Mr Weasley attempted a small reassuring smile at his daughter.

Ginny remained silent, but shook her head.

“What’s your opinion about the Obliviating treatment, Professor Snape?” asked Harry.

The question seemed to startle Snape. He looked up to meet Ginny’s and Harry’s gazes fastened upon him and frowned slightly.

“I’m principally against Obliviating treatments,” he said slowly. “I believe them to have detrimental effects at long term, although they might provide relief in the short term. Once you’ve done it, you cannot undo it. There are reverse spells, of course, but they won’t restore your memory to exactly the same and my opinion is that you should be in possession of as much of your senses as you can, at all times. Ultimately though, I believe that it’s the choice of the person concerned.” He bowed courtly toward Ginny.

“Do you hear that - he thinks that I should decide for myself,” Ginny said flatly to Harry.

“Of course it’s you who decide! I’m only trying to persuade you not to go through with it. You heard him – detrimental long term effects! You just cannot do it, Ginny, please!”

Ginny was silent for a while. When she raised her eyes at Harry again, there were tears in them.

“I cannot stand to be weak,” she whispered.

“We’ll fight our way back,” Harry answered softly, persuasively.

“It‘ll take too long... I’m sorry Harry, I’m not prepared to wait. I want to live my life, not hide somewhere and feel bad. Like you behaved this summer when you were ill… All those weeks…  Or like my family when they mourned Fred… I know it’s normal to grieve, but it’s so debilitating! Why, Mother’s only starting to get over it… It has taken her almost a year. I’ve had enough of misery! There’s the Quidditch Tournament Trial in only three weeks time…”

Harry looked confused at Ginny.

“Do you want to do an Obliviating treatment to be able to attend a Quidditch trial?” he said incredulous.

“Harry,” said Ron warningly, but Ginny had already flared up.

“You never took that seriously when I told you, did you, Harry? You’ve left the Quidditch pitch, I can tell. Qidditch’s only a trivial piece of exercise to you nowadays. Well, not to me, and if you had listened to me you would know that! I want to play in the league next year and all the teams are coming to watch the tournament at Hogwarts to look for recruits. I’m determined to join one of the teams and play in London this autumn!”

Harry tried to repress the irritation he felt and to be rational.

“And so you might very well be able to do – without that treatment, Ginny. Why don’t you believe that of yourself? You have amazing powers and strength!”

“I won’t be able to do it if I’m afraid of going outside my house or if I start to shake every time I see a green light, will I? I’m not prepared to take the risk, Harry!”

It was Harry’s turn to have tears of frustration in his eyes. He rose from the stretcher.

“What about me?” he said with some heat. “We were in this together. We lived this. You want to leave me alone with those horrible memories. You abandon me.”

Ginny looked stubbornly back at him.

“I wouldn’t be of any use to you, if I crumpled up in agony every day, if I depended on your Relievings. I couldn’t support you or love you.”

“I would wait for you to recover. I love you even when you’re not strong, Ginny,” Harry whispered pleadingly.

Ron and Hermione looked from Ginny to Harry with gaping mouths. Mr Weasley stirred uneasily whereas Snape was completely still. Mrs Schufflert looked upon them with a stern face and one eyebrow raised.

“I’ll take the treatment,” said Ginny defiantly.

Harry clenched his fists. His eyes showed disbelief and disappointment as he turned around and limped out of the booth.

Hermione rushed after Harry in bewilderment and Snape rose to follow her.

“Don’t take the treatment until we’re back,” Snape turned hurriedly to say to Ginny. “Promise me that, Miss Ginny!”

Ginny nodded. She had tears in her eyes again.

At first Snape could not locate Harry, but he spotted Hermione and went up to her. She pointed at a secluded area behind a pillar. Harry was limping back and fro the few meters between the wall and the pillar. A hibiscus tree planted in a pot shielded him from the major part of the waiting hall which, as always, was crowded with people. Harry’s cheeks were wet with tears and he wiped his eyes incessantly with the back of his hands, one of which still clutched his wand. Every now and then his right leg would suddenly give way and he would stumble and nearly fall. In the midst of everything he seemed to have created an invisible strap in the air with magic, like the ones on old Muggle buses. He grabbed it each time he stumbled and pulled himself up. Hermione smiled weakly.

“He has become so inventive...”

Snape grunted softly.

“I’ve never heard them quarrel like this before,” continued Hermione in a low voice. “Don’t misunderstand me, Professor, they disagree sometimes and naturally they have arguments, and Ginny gets mad at him, but they always make up and in most matters it’s usually Harry who yields. But he doesn’t mind. Nothing’s very important to him, compared to... compared to what he has lived, I suppose... so he lets Ginny have her way, and that’s that, but now... I’ve never seen him upset with her for real.”

Snape seemed troubled.

“I’m going to talk to him,“ said Hermione.

“Tell him to stop kicking at that pillar. He doesn’t feel any pain because of the Avada wound, so he can break his toes if he goes on...” Snape said urgently to her, because Harry had stopped to lean his forehead against the stone pillar and was kicking at it. Hermione let out an exclamation and hurried up to Harry.

Snape watched Hermione try to speak to her friend who, however, turned his head away. She lay a hand on his shoulder that he shook off. She pleaded with him and eventually got him to sit down on a chair. He stared at the floor, elbows at his knees, head bent, as Hermione seemed to argue in earnest with him at the same time as she drew her wand and made a healing spell at his foot. Harry shook his head vehemently as she spoke and avoided to look at her. At last he answered her. She let him go and he returned to his pillar and reverted to mumbling to himself with closed eyes. He abstained from kicking, though.

“He’s beside himself,” said Hermione as she returned to Snape. Her mouth was twitching and her voice was thick. “He’s so disappointed with her. He didn’t say that, but I reckon that’s what it’s about. And he’s worried about what it’ll do to her. How can she even consider it? It’s madness! Had I ever known, I would never have done what I did to my parents. I would’ve thought of another way... Obliviating is not safe! And to allow it to be done on you, willingly... What madness! But Ginny will no doubt go through with it. When she has made up her mind, nothing can change it.”

Snape only listened to her with half an ear. He seemed to be debating silently with himself. After a short silence he said:

“I’ll try to speak to him. Stay here, Miss Granger.”

Hermione watched him approach Harry with caution, stop at a safe distance and bring out his wand to draw a Muffliato spell around the two of them. He must be keen not to be overheard, Hermione thought. Snape spoke hesitantly at first and Harry seemed as unreachable as Hermione had found him. He turned away and shook his head several times. Snape was perseverant, though. It looked as if he pleaded with Harry while taking several steps forward and gripping Harry’s arm to make him turn around. Harry shot him a gaze over his shoulder and was caught by something in Snape’s expression that Hermione could not see as Snape had his back to her. Reluctantly, Harry seemed to begin to listen. Snape gestured emphatically as he spoke. Harry asked Snape something back with surprise written on his face and started to listen eagerly to what Snape had to say. Snape grew agitated, seemed to argue and explain something. Harry’s countenance shifted from wretchedness to reserve, through wrapped attention and, finally, changed into resignation.

From Harry’s point of view, he barely took notice at first of his professor approaching, until Snape addressed him:

“Harry, I must speak to you.”

“Leave me alone, Professor.”

“You have to return to Miss Ginny before she takes her treatment. It’s essential!”

Harry only shook his head.

“Listen, if she’s Obliviated before you have sorted things out between you and her, there’s a risk of you two gliding apart, and I don’t think that you want that to happen, do you?”

“But she... she’s prepared to...” Harry was too upset to speak and turned away from Snape, with new tears running down his cheeks.

“She’s afraid - scared out of her wits, and that pushes people to make bad decisions sometimes,” said Snape.

“But you seem to imply that I should go along with it. To let her do it.”

“If you love her, yes you must.”

“I don’t think it’s good for her!”

“That’s only up to her to judge, you must respect her decision.”

“But she lets me down... she leaves me alone... She betrays me! Don’t you see?”

“That might be so, but still... You must forgive her, or you jeopardise your whole future.”

“Why do you say that? Why must I give in?” Harry let out a shriek of exasperation. “She’s the one being irrational, why don’t you try to persuade her? You don’t even believe in Obliviating treatments!”

“I think she has made up her mind and that the decision therefore rests with you - only you - whether you can forgive her or not, and support her. Please Harry, don’t make the mistake of letting your hurt feelings stand in the way of your future happiness.” Snape grabbed Harry’s arm.

Harry was about to tear away from him when he caught the expression of pain in Snape’s face.

“When someone’s gone…” the older wizard whispered hoarsely, ”gone for ever... you look for every tiny little thing that you could have done differently... You revolve on every single meeting, every word... You learn to loath all your petty feelings of wounded vanity... and you regret all your selfish decisions... Because when the person’s gone, it’s too late to make up, too late to smoother things, to reunite... You’d do anything - believe me - anything, to change...” Snape’s voice faltered.

Without realising it, Harry clutched Snape’s arm back. The frustration in Harry’s face was replaced with sorrow and sympathy.

“Were you parted from Lily because of such circumstances?” he asked in a low, muffled voice. Snape shook his head and let go of Harry’s arm.

“Because of petty, petty circumstances...” he said bitterly. “The situation I was thinking of in particular was when Lily decided not to go to St Mungo’s School of Magical Medicine.” Harry frowned.

“My mother wanted to become a healer?” he asked.

“We talked about it the summer before our last year at Hogwarts, her and me,” replied Snape. ”We planned to enter the program together. Your mother was very interested in healing procedures. In my opinion, she was cut out for the profession: her character, her gentleness and her powers. But somehow she had got stuck on this thing about being a Grief Swallower. I had told her that I probably was one, because of my inheritance, and she thought it was a wonderful quality. I suppose I encouraged her to think so and emphasised the good parts of it – as a kind of counterbalance to my... incontestably darker sides.”

Snape looked down and a shadow of uncertainty passed on Harry’s face.

”She loathed and feared that side,” Snape forced himself to continue, ”represented mostly by my studies of the Dark Arts. She tried to persuade me to throw my books of Dark Arts away and I tried to explain to her that they were an integral part of becoming a healer in order to be able to deal with Dark Arts injuries... At any rate, she came to believe herself a Grief Swallower. We had practiced healing incantations and I had taught her to do a Relieving the summer before seventh year. We tried it out on small animals back in Destersbridge, healing injured birds mostly.”

Harry smiled faintly. He could picture Lily passionate about something like that, and Snape helping out grudgingly.

”So we applied to take the test at St Mungo’s the following winter, like you did, and she performed the incantation beautifully. She really wanted to be able to help people that way,” explained Snape. ”She put all her heart into it. But then she suffered a substantial amount of side effects and it was established that she was not a Grief Swallower, whereas I passed. This happened a few months after we had split up and she had already got together with James. I was vexed and jealous, but I still wanted to go to Med school with her and I suppose I had hopes of her coming back to me eventually. Potter usually consumed his girlfriends rather quickly you see... He and Black had a reputation of... But that wasn’t what I was going to say... You wouldn’t want to hear that… Lily was very disappointed at failing her test, and Potter and Black talked her into entering the Aurors program instead.”

Harry made a grimace.

”I was angry and frustrated with her for making such a choice. She was so suited for healing. It was what she really wanted, I’m sure of it. You heard Mrs Betty Steadfast this morning. Lily was not at her place among the Aurors. I tried to persuade her, pleaded with her, tried to reason with her... and got mad at her when she stubbornly refused to listen. She saw the failed test as a sign, somehow, that she shouldn’t become a healer.”

“She gave up her dream just because she wasn’t a Grief Swallower?” said Harry incredulous. “But less than one percent of the healers are Grief Swallowers!”

“I know, I tried to tell her that... Moreover, I suspect that she had started to listen to the rumours about the ambiguous reputation of Grief Swallowers. Maybe it suddenly didn’t appear as appealing as it once did when I explained the concept to her,” said Snape. ”We’re supposed to be desolate figures after all…”

”She listened to that kind of slander?” Harry exclaimed indignantly. Snape shook his head slowly.

”In some strange way,” he said thoughtfully, ”I felt more betrayed by this irrational decision of hers, than when we had split up earlier. I just wish now that I had borne it more calmly, that I had understood her feelings of humiliation and disappointment, and that I had supported her instead of getting mad at her. I could at least have remained her friend. There was so much time wasted on hurt feelings. And we didn’t have that time, because she wasn’t going to live... She wasn’t...” Snape passed a trembling hand over his forehead, shielding his eyes.

Harry stared at him. He only just realised what it cost Snape to tell him all this, and felt the regrets of Snape like a stab in the chest. He saw before his eyes how the disguised wizard in the Parisian night-club had raised his silver wand and directed it at Ginny instead of at him. There had been nothing he could do, and for one icing moment he had thought that the Avada was going to hit Ginny.

“I... I’ll talk to Ginny,” he said, subdued.

“Good, go ahead,” urged Snape without looking up, visibly making efforts to collect himself. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Harry went up to Hermione who looked at him inquiringly, but Harry did not say anything, only glanced at her with a contrite countenance. Hermione shook her head, but gripped Harry’s arm without a word and supported him when he limped over to the booth. Ginny sat on the stretcher with red-rimmed eyes. Ron had been speaking eagerly to her whereas Mr Weasley was talking to Healer Schufflert in a corner of the booth. Ginny raised her head and looked defiantly at Harry. He sat down by her side and took her hand in his.

“I love you, Ginny,” he said quietly. Relief and a streak of triumph passed over Ginny’s face as she turned to Healer Schufflert. 

“I want to do it now,” she said decisively.

When Snape joined them in the booth, the Obliviating had already taken place. Harry seemed composed, but looked exhausted and feverish, and he was pale. Ginny looked anaemic as well, but otherwise she seemed calm, with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. Mr Weasley was telling her what had happened the past night.

“...so it was your choice to do the Obliviating treatment, Ginny. You might feel a bit confused for some hours, but then it should be okay. There’re speculations as to long term effects, but nothing negative has been proven to occur according to Healer Schufflert.”

“I remember wanting to do the treatment,” said Ginny.

“What is the last thing you remember before that?” asked Healer Schufflert. Ginny searched her memory and blushed.

“Er... being in the hotel room with Harry before going out...” she said and gave away an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry...”

Harry did not have the strength to smile at her.

“I don’t remember the Trocadero club at all... ” continued Ginny, ”…which is a nuisance... Fleur has told me so much about it, and now I’ve been there, and I don’t even remember it! Was it classy, Harry, beautiful?”

He stared at her and frowned slightly. “Huh... yes,” he answered shortly.

“Well, the Obliviate spell seems to have covered the crucial period of time successfully,” said Healer Schufflert in a brisk tone of voice. “I’ll leave you for now. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions, Miss Weasley. I’ve already told your father that I’ll see you at Hogwarts for follow-up.”

“Once - you can see me once, Healer Schufflert... Because I won’t really have time to go to any mind-soothing sessions like Ron does... I don’t need it, either, I’m perfectly well, thank you... You see, I have Quidditch to think about - trials for the London teams coming up soon and so forth... Sorry,” Ginny finished quickly.

Healer Schufflert pressed her lips together, said goodbye and left. So did Mr Weasley, to look for some food since Ginny declared that she was hungry. Snape administered the Dewcup inhalation treatment again. He worked in silence and kept his reserve towards Harry.

“Why do I need that?” asked Ginny, eyeing the swirling vapour suspiciously.

Snape explained to her.

“We Apparated all the way from Paris? But that’s far too long, what were you thinking of, Harry?” Ginny said reproachfully.

“My mistake, in the heat of everything,” mumbled Harry.

“Harry?” said Hermione. ”I’m sorry Harry, I need to leave. I have to mount to the ward of spell damage to see my mother. She was admitted to St Mungo’s before Easter. There’s a scheduled meeting with her healer today and I need to be there.”

“But of course, Hermione! That’s really important!” exclaimed Harry. “How is she? Have you seen her yet?”

“Only once, the same day you left for Paris, but that’s an improvement in itself. As you know, she didn’t want me to visit at all this autumn, nor at Christmas. So her temper is better, but her memory... well, they don’t know yet, but they’ll try a treatment.” Hermione did not look very hopeful as she spoke. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you back at the Burrow,” Ginny cried cheerfully after Hermione. “It’ll be so nice to return home to Mum,” she rattled on when Hermione had left. “How was it while we were gone, Ron?”

“You’ve only been away two days, Ginny. You came home first, before you left for Paris, remember?”

Ginny pulled a wry face, giggling at the same time. “Sorry.”

“It’s pretty much the same. You noticed that Mum’s obsessed with some project of hers, didn’t you? She locks herself in and spends hours and hours at writing on the task. She collects piles of parchment rolls in the broom cupboard. You can’t open it for everything falling out. Dad says it’s been like that since Christmas. The Burrow is untidier than ever and we have to remind her to cook - and sometimes she even tells us to do it ourselves,” elaborated Ron.

Ginny giggled again.

“Mum’s definitely not herself, but at the same time she’s certainly less sad and depressed, so Dad says we shouldn’t interfere. But she’ll be forced to tear away from her work now, because Mrs Tonks is coming over with Teddy today. And now you two will be home again. Maybe you can do the cooking, Harry, because Mum doesn’t seem to bother anymore... You did well this Christmas - I don’t understand how you learnt to cook so well,” said Ron.

“Your mother taught me this summer... Cooking is the same as potion-making, really...” Harry answered vaguely.

“Harry is good at whatever he does!” Ginny gave him an appreciative slap on the chest with the back of her hand, which made Harry grimace with discomfort. “Oh, here come the sandwiches!” exclaimed Ginny without noticing Harry’s reaction.

Everyone, including Snape, devoured the sandwiches that Mr Weasley had brought back. It was well passed midday and they had all been up early. Harry only took one bite on his sandwich then leant back against the thin wall that delimited the booth to the adjoining one. Ginny was talkative and rattled on about Paris, about the Burrow and about Quidditch, repeating herself frequently and giggling. The others listened quietly and looked at her with consternation.

“Why don’t you eat, Harry?” she asked at one point, heedless of Harry’s miserable countenance.

“I’m still a bit nauseous. It’s a reaction to the Avada Kedavra,” he murmured. Ginny frowned.

“The Avada Kedavra? Which one - the same that killed Fred?” she said, looking confused.

”No, of course not,” replied Ron. ”You get things mixed up, Ginny. Fred was killed during the battle. That’s a year ago!”

”I know that!” said Ginny slightly aggressive. ”What happened then? Were you hurt, Harry?”

Harry looked up at her. Mr Weasley had told her in broad outline what had happened in Paris, but she didn’t seem to have taken much of it in yet.

“Ginny, I killed the wizard who attacked us with an Avada Kedavra,” he said. Her eyes widened and she blinked owlishly a few times before she shook her head.

“You did? Awesome… That must’ve been so dramatic! You’ll tell me about it - not now, though, I want to go home as soon as possible.”

Harry grimaced with exasperation. He grabbed his wand harder and sank back, starting to do anti-nausea spells on himself.

“Is Ginny done with her lung treatment?” Mr Weasley asked Snape.

“One more inhalation and she’s finished for today. We’ll probably have to repeat it tomorrow, though. Did someone give her a potion of some kind?” asked Snape, a bit irritated.

“Yes, Healer Schufflert tried a tranquillising potion against her anxiety when we first arrived – why do you ask?” said Mr Weasley.

“It’s a bit over-effective now that the anxiety is gone,” Snape said bitingly. “I’ve tried to convince the mind-healers that potions of that kind are useless in situations like this. They’re simply too weak and might even worsen the condition. And it merely causes tipsiness when the anxiety fades away.”

“Yeah, I do feel a bit tipsy. Sorry. It’s not unpleasant, though.” Ginny giggled.

Mr Weasley smiled weakly.

“They’re so stubborn at the Department of Mental Conditions. They refuse to make use of Grief Swallowers, even if they know it’s effective. They’re lousy at potions, but still insist on using them, rightly or wrongly,” Snape said vehemently.

“You don’t trust Healer Schufflert’s judgement then?” Mr Weasley asked uncertainly.

“It’s not my place to meddle with a colleague’s assessment. But I think she’s good at talking to people and she probably knows how to do Obliviate spells correctly...” Snape answered dryly.

“We only talk in our sessions,” Ron hastened to say.

“I’m sure Hermione will be glad to hear that...Sorry,” said Ginny and giggled. Ron blushed and frowned at his sister.

“Harry, what has happened to your leg? It looks dead,” Ginny continued thoughtlessly. “And why do you do that spell to yourself. Do you feel sick?”

“Ginny!” exclaimed Ron, “Harry just told you!” Harry leant forward and looked Ginny in the eyes.

“I think this is a part that you particularly do not want to remember, but it’s necessary that you know that I killed a man tonight.” Harry had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing a flicker of fear in Ginny’s eyes. “In self-defence,” he added.

“I’ll try to remember, Harry, I really am sorry,” said Ginny, subdued.

Vertigo hit Harry forcefully. He gasped and closed his eyes. He fought back the nausea for a long time. Meanwhile, Ginny inhaled her last dose of Dewcup potion. Harry groaned and opened one eye. He looked exasperated at Snape.

“When will the sickness go away?”

“It’ll disappear, eventually, when you’re able to relax, maybe after having some sleep. You didn’t make things easier for yourself by going about doing a Relieving,” Snape dryly pointed out.

“It was worth a try,” mumbled Harry and closed his eyes again.

“Of course it was! It was the right thing to do. But you could have called me instead,” muttered Snape. Ginny stifled a yawn.

“I’m tired. We’ve been up... we must’ve been up more than twenty-four hours... or did we get some sleep before we went out to the club, Harry?”

“A short nap,” answered Harry.

“I think we should be going,” said Mr Weasley. “I need to go back to my office and sort things out. Ron, you can take the Flo and return to the Burrow with Ginny, and I’m sure Hermione will stay with you until you’re done with your treatments, Harry. Where is she? She’s been gone some time now.”

Ron explained to Mr Weasely that Hermione was not expected back so soon and Mr Weasley looked distressed.

”I’ll try to contact Bill and have him come over to keep you company, Harry, or Ron will just hurry back to you once he’s left Ginny with Molly.”

“I’m okay, Mr Weasley, I can manage by myself.” Harry sat up more straight to corroborate his statement. “Mrs Weasley will need someone to explain to her about Ginny’s treatment and all that happened and there’s no point in you coming back after that, Ron, as I might be gone. I suppose Mrs Steadfast wants to question me some more before I’m allowed to return. Unless they arrest me or something...”

“I’ll just go to the office for an hour and then I’ll be back and check on you, Harry,” said Mr Weasley.

“I’ll stay with him,” Snape reminded them.

“Great, that’s great of you, Severus. Of course, you’ll give him his treatments, I forgot. Too emotional a day for an old man like me, this... Well then, take your sister safely back home now, Ron, and tell your mother... tell her that I’m sorry for everything and that she can scold at me as much as she wants when I come back in a few hours with Harry.”

Ron pulled a wry face at Mr Weasley who shrugged apologetically and Apparated to his office.

Harry accompanied Ron and Ginny to the big mantle piece in the midst of the Emergency Hall where they were to leave by the Flo. Ginny had difficulties separating from Harry. It was as if her body remembered something that her head did not, and she clung to him for some time before she stepped away from him. Harry was gentle and patient with her and promised to come soon and waved good-bye to her as she walked into the flames and disappeared.

“I hope they sort it out, everything, mate,” Ron said awkwardly to him. “G’bye, see you. Sure you’re okay, Harry?”

“Yeah, take care of Ginny now, and Mrs Weasley,” said Harry. His chest was beginning to feel tight, but his gaze followed Ron steadily into the fire and then Ron was gone too.

Harry stared at the flames for a few seconds before he gasped and doubled up as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He hid his face in his hands and staggered away blindly. Quite a few faces turned towards the anguished young man. A care-worker tried to steer him to the side, but Harry jerked away from him and crumpled up on the floor beside the hibiscus tree pot where he had hidden before. His chest felt so tight and sore that he could not draw regular breaths and he felt the taste of blood in his mouth again. He wriggled and gasped. How was it possible to feel so miserably alone, so abandoned? He tried to calm down and forced himself to keep still, clutching the leg of a pin chair and pressing his forehead against the wooden seat. It felt cold and hard in a soothing way, and he started to mumble things to himself.

He did not know for how long he sat frozen in that position. He had not fallen asleep, but was more like in a trance when a male caretaker kneeled down beside him. He was about the same age as Simmings, Mrs Steadfast’s Auror, and had a sympathetic face.

“Hello, I’m Care-wizard Hugo. Er... Healer Snape wanted me to ask you if you’d like him to do a Relieving on you? He said you know all about them and that I didn’t have to explain.” The care-wizard gestured at a black figure leaning against a pillar at some distance, with his arms crossed over his chest.

Harry shook his head.

“You don’t want him to do it? He thought you’d say no. Can we do anything else for you?”

Harry shook his head again.

“It’ll pass. I’m used to it,” he stuttered. Care-wizard Hugo raised an eyebrow.

“Used to that amount of anxiety? I certainly hope not. Healer Snape told me to give you this Myoviving Potion.” Harry accepted the vial with a shaking hand and drank. He started to cough and spat out some blood in a handkerchief that Care-wizard Hugo conjured up promptly. “It reopened, huh?” said the care-wizard. ”Are you fit to inhale?”

Harry shook his head.

“You need the healing spell first? Can I send Healer Snape over then? He wasn’t sure you’d want him near you. He needs to work on your leg as well. It doesn’t look so good. You won’t object to having him come over?”

Harry shook his head again.

Care-wizard Hugo gestured for Snape to approach. They wanted Harry to sit up on the chair, but he swayed so much that he almost fell off.

“You’ll have to lie down on a stretcher,” said Snape, frowning.

Harry shook his head vehemently which made him cough again. He needed to hold on to something, so to keep himself steady, he turned to the side and clutched the wooden back of the chair against his chest like it was a lifebuoy. He kept his eyes closed, lost himself in mumbling again, and did not bother about Snape who revolved around him with incantations and spells. 

“Does your leg hurt very much?” a bright voice asked after a while, coming from the floor beneath Harry. He opened his eyes and saw a little boy, about five years old, on his knees looking up at him. There was a frank curiosity in the boy’s eyes, but genuine compassion as well. “I think you might be in more pain than me. My hand hurts terribly at times. That’s why we’re here.” The boy lifted his left hand and stuck it right under Harry’s nose. Harry cleared his throat.

“My leg doesn’t hurt, only my chest,” he said hoarsely.

“Your chest? Maybe you hurt your heart. The heart is in the chest. I hope you won’t die,” the boy said, looking at Harry with interest.

“Don’t disturb the wounded wizard, Henry,” a woman’s voice said behind the boy. Harry raised his head a little. “I beg your pardon,” said the woman who was clearly the boy’s mother. They had the same high cheekbones and the same kind of round chin. She addressed both Harry and Snape who was done with Harry’s treatments and had installed himself on a chair beside his student.

“It’s okay,” said Harry and straightened up a bit.

“Do you want to look at my hand?” said the boy. “No one believes me when I say it hurts. Except Mummy.”

Harry took hold of the little hand that was offered to him and studied it a bit dazed. The mother sighed.

“It’s the third time in less than a week that we come to St Mungo’s. Henry doesn’t want to use his hand - he says it hurts, but you cannot see any marks on it. The first time we visited the hospital, they suspected a fracture in the bones of the hand and examined the skeleton, but found nothing wrong. We came back yesterday because he still refused to make use of it and he developed a fever which, however, disappeared before the healer had time to do the examination, and so when they couldn’t find anything, they simply concluded that he’s pretending to get away with things. But Henry’s never been fussy or complained like this before. Today he really made an effort to dress himself, but I could see from his expression that he was in pain and shortly thereafter he developed a fever again. Now it’s gone, just like last time, and you see, as long as he doesn’t use his hand, he’s okay. I doubt they’ll take his symptoms more seriously this time than last. I’m considering returning home again.”

Harry stroked the skin over the back of the boys hand with his index very lightly and the boy shuddered and wanted to withdraw his hand.

“Wait,” said Harry. He held the boy’s wrist gently with his right hand and moved his left hand in the air closely over the surface that hurt. “There’s something in the skin,” he said to Snape, let go of the boy’s hand and bent over the back of the chair as he felt faint again.

Snape leant forward towards the boy with an impassive face to examine the hand. The boy hesitated to give it to him.

“He’s a healer. He’s not dangerous. He can help you,” Harry said encouragingly, peaking at them with one eye closed. Snape did some quick examining spells to the small hand then turned to Care-wizard Hugo who was attending another patient nearby.

“Will you fetch me an examination glove, please?” said Snape. “Everything that is remotely valuable in this place is unconjurable and must be fetched by hand, otherwise it’s stolen,” Snape muttered to the mother. “Does your son frequently play outdoors? Do you live in the countryside?”

“Yes, we do and we’ve got a nice garden next to a deciduous forest. It’s starting to get green this time of the year.”

“Bushwood?”

“Yes, yes, Henry has built a little house between the bushes, he crawls around on the ground. Have you found something?”

“We’ll see if I’m right,” said Snape as Care-wizard Hugo came back and gave him a large black glove. “This, young man, is an examination glove. Pay attention you too, Harry. It’s made of different vegetable fibres and bee wax. It’s dense to material objects and impermeable to liquids, yet permeable to magic. Now I’ll do an Extraction spell. Watch closely.”

Harry opened both eyes. Snape slipped the glove on and held it closely over the boy’s hand, muttering a spell. The boy stirred a bit uneasily, but did not withdraw his hand.

“Look!” said Snape and turned the glove. Harry, Henry and his mother moved their heads closer together to look on the dark tissue where a pattern of tiny white thorns had deposited themselves, drawn out of the boy’s skin by Snape’s spell.

“Thorns from a Silky Cloud Bush, if I’m not mistaken,” said Snape. “The leaves are smooth, but the small branches are covered with these treacherous thorns. They are so small they can barely be seen with the naked eye. They’re slightly poisonous so that’s why he developed a fever every time he used his hand and the poison was released from the thorns. He’ll need some magic salve to counteract the poison that is left in his skin and he’ll be fine after that.”

Care-wizard Hugo took the boy and the mother away to confirm the Silky Cloud Bush diagnosis by comparing the extracted thorns to pictures in a book and to give Henry the salve treatment, and Harry and Snape were left on their own. Harry looked as if he was going to deteriorate again, blanching and grasping the back of the chair harder.

“Did I ever tell you about a patient I once treated, with a thorn behind his ear that took us three days to discover?” Snape suddenly asked briskly. Harry peaked at him.

“N-no?” he answered.

Snape started to tell him the astounding story of a middle-aged wizard who had been brought to the hospital by his wife that complained over her husband’s weird behaviour since a few days. The wizard had indeed behaved strangely at the Emergency ward. He had been suspicious of everything, especially towards his wife, and said very little. He was usually a jovial and talkative man, according to the concerned wife. The healer who assessed the man at the Emergency ward suspected that he had been hit by a Confounding curse and admitted him to the Spell damage ward. The next day, the wizard developed a paralysis of his legs and appeared even more confused. The healer in charge suspected that the wizard’s nervous system had been contaminated by some rare bacterium or virus, but they were unsuccessful in discovering the cause of his condition, regardless numerous blood exams and Revealing spells. Early in the morning the third day, the man was suddenly caught by seizures and Snape, who was on duty that night, was called to the patient’s side.

“He was seriously affected. Blue in his face. Several organs failing him. I managed to stop the seizures temporarily with an incantation. Then I started anew to examine him from feet to head.” Snape paused to reinforce his words. ”Now, this is important, Harry: if something’s unclear, if the symptoms don’t add up, you must not build your diagnosis on the assessments made by other healers before you - you must start anew and make your own examination. In this case, my renewed efforts resulted in my finding a thorn behind his right ear. It was the size of a hazelnut, but no one had discovered it because it was covered by the wizard’s long hair. I removed it, analysed the poison in it, concocted the antidote, gave it to him and he recovered. He told us afterwards that he had had a row with his owl and that it had flown out in the forest, had come back several hours later, dived at him and picked him right behind the ear with its beak. Apparently the owl had stuck the thorn in his skin. He said it was a particularly base owl.”

Harry raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. He had loosened his grip on the chair and listened intently to Snape’s story. Snape bent closer towards him.

“You don’t believe it? Well, to be truthful, neither did I. I thought the husband lied to us. When I discharged him, I sensed the wife’s fear as they were to return home. I think that he realised that his illness had started with her Confounding him. You see, I happened to know the healer who made the initial examination and she swore there was no thorn behind the ear when the patient first came to the hospital and I believed her. No one else did, though. They thought she had missed it and wanted to get away with the mistake. I think that the wife deliberately put the poisoned thorn behind his ear after he was admitted to the hospital, to cause the new symptoms and to confuse us. You see, she was a Care-witch herself and knew how seldom you perform a thorough examination from scratch once you are admitted to a ward. The poison would’ve killed him if I hadn’t found and removed that thorn. However, I couldn’t prove my theory, as the wizard himself accused his owl instead of his wife. Now…” Snape lowered his voice and Harry bent forward to listen to Snape’s whisper. “... someone told me that the wife died two months later. She fell down a precipice. Chased by a werewolf, allegedly, dropped her wand and tripped over the edge.... That was the story...”

Harry’s eyes widened.

Snape went on to tell him other stories, the one more hair-raising and dramatic than the other, about other patients. Harry listened disbelievingly, fascinated. He started to ask questions about healing procedures and made guesses at the diagnosis. His body relaxed and he forgot about his nausea as he listened to and entered into the cases described by Snape.

After a while, the mother and the boy came back with Care-wizard Hugo. They wanted to thank Snape for curing the boy. In the meantime Care-wizard Hugo gave Harry a new dose of the Dewcup Potion.

“Amazing stories, huh?” he said and smiled. “Would you like to become a healer?”

Harry gave away a non-committal sound.

“Healer Snape’s the best,” Hugo declared in a low voice. “I’ve worked with him several summers. You always feel safe when he’s around. Knows his things, if you understand what I mean? No vacillating, acts promptly and efficiently. Some people think he’s grumpy and stiff and unpleasant, but, hey, the most important thing is that he’s good at what he does, no? And he’s always correct with the patients. Haven’t seen him as talkative with anyone as with you before, though... He’s a Grief Swallower, you know...”

“Just because you’re a Grief Swallower you don’t have to be unpleasant,” answered Harry a bit affronted.

“No, no, of course not, I just meant that Healer Snape usually doesn’t bother to behave, if you know what I mean? He doesn’t care what other people may think about him and he doesn’t take pains to be... to be nice. But with you he actually makes an effort... You’re his patient, of course, and his student - and a special student too, I appreciate that, because I recognise you, Mr Potter - and so that’s why he exerts himself, no doubt...”

Harry screwed up his face in puzzlement, not knowing what to think about Care-wizard Hugo’s revelations about Snape. At the same time the mother of the little boy turned to him.

“Thank you very much, young man. Have you considered becoming a healer? You felt that something was wrong with Henry’s hand. No one of the previous healers we met was as sensitive. I think you’d be successful.” Harry coloured a little. “Well, I wish you a quick recovery. Thank you and good-bye.” Little Henry waved at Harry with a small bandaged hand and departed with his mother.

Snape dedicated himself to Harry’s leg again, all while starting on a new story - this time about a wizard who had thrown a party celebrating his fiftieth birthday. It had been memorable and sumptuous with live music and fireworks, dancing fairies and much to eat and drink. When the guests were gone late at night, the wizard was so tired that he fell asleep across a table, forgetting to put the candles that were floating in the air just under the ceiling out, and so a fire had started. He was so fast asleep - probably by the effect of too many fancy drinks, Snape added - that he did not wake up until the entire room was lit and he could not get out. It was, unfortunately, one of those wizards who had never learnt to Apparate. Moreover, he had been careless enough to leave his wand in another room and had no means of extinguishing the fire. From the outside, the neighbours were working to put the fire out. In the meantime, to protect himself, the wizard had found a bin bag made of trapping web that he had swept around his body. Eventually they got him out of the room, but he was severely burnt. That was how he arrived at St Mungo’s where Snape was on duty at the Emergency ward.

“The trapping web is a very strong and resistant magical material, as you now know,” said Snape to Harry. “It had held the fire back from the wizard’s body, but the heat had nonetheless shrunk and melted the tissue into his skin and transformed it into a stiff armour around his chest. It was so tightly swapped around his torso, that it prevented him from taking deep breaths. In combination with the lung damage caused by the smoke, it was fatal and he was suffocating. What was worse was that the trapping web prevented us from healing his lungs. The spells were reflected back by the armour. We were really in a tight corner. He couldn’t expand his chest to inhale and we couldn’t reach his lungs to cure them. Moreover, the heated smoke he had inhaled made the blood in his coronaries clot and on top of everything he suffered from an ongoing heart attack.”

Harry looked at Snape in suspense.

“Trapping web is the strongest material there is. Only goblin metal can work on it. So I got the idea - and this is terrifying, I know – several of the care-workers present couldn’t watch me when I did it - but I cut slits in the trapping web-transformed skin with a goblin-made silver knife, parallel to the ribs.”

Harry wrinkled up his face and put a hand over his mouth.

“Was the wizard still conscious?” he asked.

“The patient howled in pain, and I tell you, I was wise enough not to do a Relieving on him in that situation. Three trainee healers worked on him to lift the pain away to the Swallowscope. The slits, trickling with blood, allowed him to expand his chest and breathe, at the cost of excruciating pain.”

Snape bent forward to Harry again and looked him steadily in the eyes. 

“Now, to cure his heart I had to cut through his breast bone and bend the two halves of the thorax aside to reach his heart and sweep the coronaries clean from clots by hand.” Snape made a pause for effect. “But he survived and kept the trapping web tattooed into his skin. No one dared try to remove it. He looked like a tiger without fur.”

Harry stared at Snape for a long time.

“Naah...” he said finally. “You didn’t open his chest. Once you had made the slits through the trapping web along the ribs, you could point your wand at his heart and remove the clots by magic!”

Snape smiled smugly.

“Took you at least half a minute to figure that out,” he said. “And I’ll tell you: Muggle doctors do open the chest precisely like I described it when they need to repair the coronaries by hand. I’ve seen it when I assisted a Muggle surgeon once when I practiced at a Muggle hospital. They use gigantic metallic instruments to hold the chest open as they work inside. It’s a miracle the patients survive their treatment!”

“Gross!” exclaimed Harry.

Care-wizard Hugo chuckled as he listened to them while attending to a patient nearby. Harry turned to him.

“Has Snape been pulling my leg all this time?” he asked indignantly. “Were the other stories not true either?”

Care-wizard Hugo shrugged and exchanged a glance with Snape, smiling.

“Healer Snape’s been fiddling with your leg, all right, but it does look a lot better now, and so do you, if you don’t mind my saying - so - whatever he did, it worked!” The care-wizard nodded at Harry’s wounded leg that had a better colour than before. Harry opened his mouth to retort when a voice greeted him from behind and he swirled around.

“Hello, Harry!” said Healer Solomon. “How are you? I heard on the news this morning that you were involved in a death fight in Paris, or so they say. Oh, my, you don’t look well at all. Had an ordeal this night, I guess?”

“I’m much better, thank you!” answered Harry almost cheerfully. Healer Solomon raised his eyebrows.

“Much better? Must’ve been pretty bad from the start then... “ He scrutinised Harry’s face. “He’s developing a fever, Severus, had you noticed? He’s your patient, I take it?”

“He is and yes, I noticed. It’s a Magic-Versus-Self Reaction, I’m afraid, but...” said Snape.

“Are you sure? It may be fatal!” exclaimed Healer Solomon, worried.

“I hope not. It was inevitable after what he’s been through, and with his disposition, I suppose. He needs to get some rest soon and in time I think he’ll be okay, trust me,” said Snape calmly.

“I do, Severus, I do trust you. No one so capable, mark my words, Harry... Your headmaster belongs here, not at Hogwarts, but I haven’t been able to persuade him for fifteen years to join us full-time, so I guess I won’t be able to do it today either. I’m glad to find you on good terms with one another, though. I wasn’t sure what to think when you didn’t come with him for his Grief Swallower test, Severus.” Solomon looked sternly at Snape. “Now, have you spoken to your headmaster about what you told me in February, Harry?”

Harry shook his head a bit embarrassed.

“No... er... I... I’ve not had the occasion, but I will... and I have worked on it,” he answered.

“That’s good. Don’t wait too long, though.”

“No, I won’t, I’ll ask him as soon as...”

Healer Solomon exclaimed something as he waved at another healer at the other end of the hall, excused himself, bid a hurried farewell and disappeared again.

“What’s a Magic-Versus-Self Reaction?” asked Harry.

“It’s a complex condition that arises if magic that you perform or witness is in deep conflict with your inner magical essence. Its main features are fever and weakness, sometimes confusion and circulatory collapse. That’s what it’s about briefly, but it’s too complicated to explain more in detail - you’ll have to look it up in the books when you’re back at Hogwarts. What did Healer Solomon mean? Did you want to tell me something?”

Harry looked embarrassed.

“I’ve meant to ask you something but... but, you know, with all that has been going on this winter I’ve not really had the occasion...”

“Now is as good an opportunity as any... Go ahead and ask...”

“Okay,” Harry straightened up and looked eager. “Well, I don’t want you to think that it’s because I’m a Grief Swallower. It started way before that... and my asking you now doesn’t have anything to do with what happened tonight either, despite what was said in Mrs Steadfast’s office... nor with the stories you’ve been telling me, although I appreciate your efforts to divert my thoughts... But I express myself badly,” Harry looked unhappily at Snape who spread his hands, palms turned upwards.

“I’m being patient, am I not?” he said. ”I’m not yelling at you. Take your time.”

Harry smiled a little.

“No, you’re not yelling, for once… Sir...” He found new courage. “It started this summer. I’ve already told you how I performed magic with the Elder Wand on the wounded at Hogwarts after the Battle against Voldemort. A healer called Sheno taught me the incantations that I performed at the side of Mme Pomfrey. I’ve not seen him here at St Mungo’s since...”

“I know him. He’s a skilled healer. I think he left to work in another country for a period of time,” intervened Snape.

“I found it... resting…” continued Harry, ”to be doing something like that after the battle... I had been so extremely focused on my mission since Dumbledore died and when Voldemort finally fell... All I experienced was emptiness... and relief of course, but it was difficult to be happy, if you know what I mean? It was extremely satisfying to heal the wounds and to take people’s pain away and to help them... Very gratifying it was and... I know that I had Professor Dumbledore’s wand at that time, which undoubtedly made it easier, and I’m not sure to perform as well again, but… Back at the Burrow, still with this feeling of numbness, and the nightmares beginning to assail me, I... I started to think about becoming a healer...”

 Harry looked down on the floor.

“I was aware already at the time that I didn’t have the Arithmancy required to enter the program, but out of curiosity I started to read books about healing that I found on the Weasleys' bookshelves and I ordered books from London, too. I found it fascinating. So then I started to learn Arithmancy. I borrowed Percy Weasley’s old schoolbooks and started from the beginning. At the end of the summer, I had reached OWL level. I had this newfound ability to concentrate when I studied and it was pretty simple at the beginning so I made quick progress. I mean, it’s not as if Arithmancy is difficult or anything? It doesn’t really crave magical skills to understand.”

Harry looked up at Snape who gazed back with an impassive face.

“So when the term started I asked Hermione to guide me, because I wasn’t sure I went about it in the right way, but she said that I was. Naturally, sixth year’s Arithmancy was more difficult and with everything else to study my catch-up was slower. But I finished sixth year by Christmas and have started on seventh year. It goes a bit slower still now... but, there are ten weeks left and I think I can make it to NEWT level if I exert myself. Hermione says that I’m way beyond OWL level at any rate and that I might just be able to do it...”

Harry paused and looked expectantly and a bit apprehensively at Snape.

“S-so, I wanted to ask you if you’d give me permission to take the NEWT exam in Arithmancy in June. I only need to manage an “Acceptable” grade and I should be able to apply to St Mungo’s School of Magical Medicine.” Harry held his breath.

Snape stayed silent for a short while. If he was surprised by Harry’s demand, he did not show it.

“What about the Auror program?” asked Snape. “I got the impression that you’re still keen on that too?” Harry looked unhappy again.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he mumbled. “But if I don’t have my NEWT exam in Arithmancy, I’ll never be able to enter medicine and I want to have the possibility to do so. And after tonight... After tonight... I’m not sure I want to become an Auror... Maybe I don’t fit in... I do think it’s important to stop the Dark forces - it’s not that. I’ve had a very strong feeling about that since Voldemort... ever since I was told at the age of eleven what Voldemort did to my parents...”

Snape looked down.

“And being an Auror is a very important job, too. Like finding that cave with the imprisoned people and saving them, for example. And I do like the physical side of the profession, I own that - the fighting, as long as I don’t have to kill. The Double Knight’s Spiral Case Move for example was awesome to do... I just haven’t made up my mind yet, but I feel very strongly about healing. What would you advice me to do, Professor?” asked Harry.

Snape looked taken aback by the question.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “that you must decide for yourself. But you’re right in so much that to have the possibility at all to enter Med school, you need to have a grade in Arithmancy. The problem is that it’s not entirely up to me. Professor Vector, the teacher of Arithmancy at Hogwarts will need to give you her permission and she’s... a bit...”

“Conceited - yes Hermione told me!” exclaimed Harry. “She won’t believe it possible for someone to have mastered her subject without being taught by a proper teacher and she’ll take offence and not give me permission. We thought so, but then we thought that if I asked you to speak to her and maybe she got the impression that you had been tutoring me, then she would probably give me the permission to take the exam. She won’t disagree with you, Professor.” Harry spoke rapidly and fastened his slightly feverish gaze pleadingly upon Snape. Snape’s face turned impassive again as he leant forward.

“Do you suggest that I lie to my own teacher, Potter?” he said in a silky voice. Harry recoiled in his seat.

“No, not to lie... I meant that she’d get the impression of that being the case, without you actually saying so... but... no, of course not, Sir, no, I understand you couldn’t...” Harry yielded under the severe gaze of Snape.

“Good,” said Snape, “...because for one moment I thought I had the average scheming Slytherin student in front of me.”

Harry blinked.

”Sometimes though,” continued Snape silkily, ”I happen to go along with the Slytherins, providing they have an interesting proposal that only needs a... little push in the right direction.” He smiled cunningly.

Harry looked confused first, slightly annoyed at being compared with a Slytherin, but then he smiled back broadly.

“You’ll help me then?” he said in a low, eager voice. Snape gave him a quick smirk before he became serious again.

“I can promise you for the OWL exam, Harry, but I have to think about the NEWT. Let me look at the possibility to have you take it at the end of summer instead. It’d give you more time to prepare. I don’t want the catch-up in Arithmancy to influence your other subjects and I don’t want you to overstrain yourself. You’ll have to recover from this, too, first.”

“And I need to avoid being sent to Azkaban,” said Harry.

”That’s nothing to joke about, Mr Potter!” Mrs Steadfast’s voice sounded grim. She had come up to them behind Harry’s back. Soundy was with her. “We’re not at Azkaban quite yet, but not far from it. The French Ministry has asked for an extradition of you in order to question you properly. The British Ministry’s judge wants to interrogate your before the formal decision is made whether to send you back or not. Initially, the French demanded that both you and Ginny returned to France, and we’ve negotiated ferociously to make them drop the claim on Ginny. Given that you admit to killing the wizard they agreed at last to wait with Ginny, but they want you - now! - in France. They’re furious with you for escaping their custody - which was not formally a custody as they hadn’t even formulated an accusation against you when you fled. They still interpret your escape as a sign of premeditation.”

“But surely, you won’t allow them to send him back to France, Audrey?” said Snape in a shocked tone.

“It’s not up to me to decide, I’m sorry. I’ve used all my influence and exerted myself to argue against it, believe me, but it’s entirely up to the judge. The hearing is scheduled in half an hour, that’s why I’ve come to fetch you. Are you not done yet? You’ve been here for hours?” Mrs Steadfast said impatiently.

“We’ve been delayed by various matters,” replied Snape. ”The lung bleeding reopened twice. There’s only one treatment left for the leg and then we might leave. Miss Ginny’s back at the Burrow.”

“I know, I met Arthur at the Ministry who told me quickly. She was seriously affected, he said.”

“Oh, she’ll be okay,” answered Snape, ”I’m more worried about Harry now. He needs some rest and sleep, or the Magic-Versus-Self Reaction that he has developed might deteriorate dangerously. He’s not fit for questioning, Audrey.”

“Oh, they’ll not take that into consideration, Severus.” Mrs Steadfast arched an eyebrow. ”You’ll be asked to give him whatever potions needed to keep him on his feet and go through with the hearing. Period.”

Harry stared at the floor. His hands had begun to shake and his lips were moving as if he was speaking silently to himself. The temporary respite and the improvement of his condition over the past hours seemed to crumple to nothing in the space of a few seconds. Snape looked with clear distaste at Mrs Steadfast who made an exasperated gesture with her hands.

Back at the Ministry, Snape and Harry sat down on a bench outside Mrs Steadfast’s office waiting for the judge to arrive for the questioning. Mrs Steadfast moved in and out of her office, consulting with Soundy who was as attentive and inscrutable as he had been in the early morning hours, and speaking to Fleur who looked exhausted after a hard day’s work arguing with her countrymen. Mr Weasley had come by to check on Harry and disappeared again. Harry was hot and flustered, with feverish red spots on his cheeks, breathing fast and shallow while staring at the floor in front of him.

“You can’t live in a cathedral all the same,” he muttered suddenly.

Snape frowned at him. Was he becoming delirious?

“Have you been to Paris, Professor?” asked Harry.

“No, I never had the occasion,” said Snape, still frowning.

“There’s a cathedral there. It’s called the Notre Dame de Paris, built in the Middle Ages. It’s amazing, full of magic.”

“I’ve heard about it,” said Snape.

“It’s the safest place I’ve ever been at. It’s even more protected than Hogwarts,” said Harry. “But I couldn’t hide there all my life, could I? Nor could I live at Hogwarts the rest of my days. You’d rather I had not gone to Paris, I know, but I had to. I cannot shut myself up.”

“I understand that, Harry,” murmured Snape.

“The cathedral was so beautiful,” continued Harry in a faint voice. “The walls oozed of Ancient Magic with strong protective elements. Absolutely fascinating. I deciphered some of the magic and took notes... for my work on comparing incantations, you know... I’ll show you... It was intricate and brilliant... Unless they send me to Azkaban...” he added with a shudder.

“I might join you in a couple of months. We could write the paper from there...” said Snape lightly.

Harry laughed softly at the same time as tears rose in his eyes. Snape let out a low chuckle which caused Mrs Steadfast to look reproachfully at them. Harry’s face turned sombre again.

“Are the Dementors back in Azkaban?” he asked with apprehension.

“I believe they are. The Ministry reckons they do less damage as prison guards than as outlaws in the country. Their rights have been greatly severed, though, since their collaboration with Voldemort. Those creatures are as much prisoners on that island as the criminals within the cells.”

Harry shook his head as he looked at Snape with sinking courage.

“I won’t survive at Azkaban,” he whispered. “I will die. They take your wand away. I know you used to say in DADA class that one can protect oneself from the Dementors by Occlumency, but I cannot. The only way I know to defend myself against Dementors is with a Patronus. If I don’t have my wand and cannot make a Patronus, I will succumb. When a Dementor comes near me, I hear...”

“I know what you hear, Harry,” Snape hastened to reply rather hoarsely.

Harry had first met a Dementor in his third year at Hogwarts and he had just been about to tell Snape that whenever a Dementor came near him he heard the pleas and the screams of his mother before she was killed by Voldemort and that it affected him so strongly that he had lost consciousness on several occasions.

Snape put a hand on Harry’s arm and looked him in the eyes.

“You won’t be sent to Azkaban, Harry, I can promise you that!” he said in a grim voice.

Harry nodded without being able to speak. He stared in front of him, but raised his head when a thought hit him.

“How did you know what I hear when the Dementors come near me?” he asked with a frown. “Did Lupin tell you?”

“You’d better take this potion to lower your temperature, Harry. Keep the bottle. You can use it every four hours if you need to. Now here comes the judge. It’s Tempatino,” said Snape in a hurried whisper.

The judge who was old and skinny preceded them into Mrs Steadfast’s office, peering at them almost absentmindedly over his round glasses. He did not shake hands or greet any of them, just gestured for Harry to sit down on the other side of the desk behind which the small, hunchbacked judge almost disappeared. Snape and Mrs Steadfast positioned themselves a few steps away from the short side of the desk and Soundy was by the door. The judge’s secretary sat down and conjured up a small table by the window at the further end of the room.

“We are to decide whether to comply with the demand of the French Ministry of Magic and extradite Mr Harry Potter to the Security Office in Paris for questioning on the murder of a hitherto unidentified wizard at the club Trocadero in Paris the 14th of April at 3:30 am.” Judge Tempatino spoke to the secretary more than to Harry in a rather bored voice. Then he looked directly at Harry. “You confess to the killing, but claim self defence, is that correct?”

Harry nodded.

“Yes,” he added in a low voice when the judge’s frown told him that a spoken answer was expected from him.

“You killed Voldemort. That doesn’t give you the right to kill other people.” The judge stated sternly. Harry startled and looked back in surprise.

“No, of course not!” he said in a louder voice. “But I was attacked.”

“The French aren’t so sure about that. It’s what we’re to establish by this inquiry. Now, full names of all present, please, for the protocol.”

When it was Snape’s turn to introduce himself, he approached the judge and added:

“Your Honour, I’d like to point out that Mr Potter is in ill health. I have tended to him at St Mungo’s hospital, but he still suffers severe reactions from what has passed and he hasn’t been able to eat or sleep for a long time. My assessment as a healer is that he only has the strength to attend this hearing for at most half an hour and that he’s in no circumstances fit to be extradited to a foreign country.”

The judge raised an eyebrow.

“And you speak as his healer? Do you represent Mr Potter in any other way? Which is your role in this?”

“I’m his headmaster and his teacher,” answered Snape.

“And you speak for his interests, do you? I think we should note Mr Snape down as ’in loco parentis’ since I noticed that Mr Potter has no relatives and no legal assistance present,” the judge spoke to the secretary. Snape frowned.

“Mr Potter is of age. I only speak for him because I judge that he’s too weak to defend himself right now,” he said.

“That’s exactly why he should have someone on his side. He’s a student and you are his teacher. That’s what is commonly called ’in loco parentis’ in juridical terms so that’s what we will write down,” the judge spoke, slightly irritated by Snape’s objections.

“Whatever you decide, Your Honour...” said Snape resentfully. He backed off and fell silent.

“I’d like to point out that I will take all the time I need to clear this out. The law should not be rushed. It might not take long, though. There is a witness as I understand it?” said Judge Tempatino.

At this moment someone knocked on the door and when Soundy opened, Mr Weasley and Fleur appeared together with Mr Kingsley Shacklebolt who declared a personal interest in attending the hearing. The judge bowed to the Minister of Magic and with a slight frown he gestured for him to have a seat in one of Mrs Steadfast’s armchairs. Mr Weasley presented himself as the father of Harry’s girl-friend and added that he wanted to stay as support for Harry.

“You stay as the representative of your daughter. It’s risky to represent several parties in a complicated matter like this. And Mr Potter already has a spokesperson.” Judge Tempatino gestured at Snape. Mr Weasley looked surprised but acquiesced.

“Now, your daughter is the witness we were talking about. Save a lot of Muggles, there was only one French wizard at the spot, but as far as the French authorities have let us know, he’s not in a condition to be able to answer any questions due to his injuries from the attack. Therefore our British witness is extremely important. I only have a short, unsigned statement here from Miss Weasley, Mrs Steadfast?”

“I’m sorry, Your Honour. She had to leave straight away to St Mungo’s Hospital for care and her state of mind demanded that she was reunited with her mother after that. She has confirmed Mr Potter’s story about them being attacked, however.”

“Naturally, as your girl-friend, her statement will have lower credibility, but if she testifies under Veritaserum, for example, or even better, provides us with an extract of her memories that corroborates your story, Mr Potter, it will speak strongly in your favour,” said the judge.

Harry looked at the judge with a resigned expression without saying anything. Mr Weasley and Snape exchanged glances, subsequent to which Snape started to colour.

“I’m sorry, Your Honour,” Mr Weasley said uncertainly. “My daughter’s condition demanded that she receive an Obliviating treatment. I’m afraid she’ll no longer be able to testify.”

The judge stared at him then turned to Mrs Steadfast who looked just as disbelieving and who in her turn looked at Snape.

“Did you do an Obliviating treatment on Miss Weasley?” she hissed threateningly.

“One of the healers at St Mungo’s did - Mrs Schufflert to be precise. I expressed my objections - from a medical point of view that is... I confess that I didn’t consider the juridical implications...” said Snape, embarrassed and defensive.

“You should have prevented it!” Mrs Steadfast exploded at him. “Don’t you realise the consequences for Harry?” Snape looked down on the floor, disturbed.

“I couldn’t question the judgement of another healer. Moreover, Miss Ginny was determined to accept the treatment. I couldn’t overrule her wishes or her decision,” he muttered.

“Do I understand you correctly when I say that there’s no reliable witness anymore?” the judge asked.

Mrs Steadfast shook her head furiously.

“Who was the attending Auror in place at St Mungo’s?” asked the judge.

“Professor Snape was with them. He’s perfectly capable of defending...” Mrs Steadfast started to say. The judge raised his eyebrows.

“Let me get this clear,” he said in a silky voice to Snape. “You were present at St Mungo’s both in your capacity as the headmaster of these young people, as a healer and as being an Auror as well?”

“I’m not an Auror, strictly speaking, but I work on Mrs Steadfast’s team,” said Snape meekly.

“My dear Mrs Steadfast, it’s clear to me that you should have placed one of your own Aurors at St Mungo’s to be in charge of security matters and to supervice the legal aspects of this affair. No wonder Mr Snape has got things mixed up. He has clearly fallen between several stools. He has acted as a healer and not as an Auror and he has given priority to the health of Miss Weasley over the legal rights of Mr Potter. You should’ve foreseen the risk of that happening, however,” the judge said sourly.

Mrs Steadfast inclined her head subdued.

“Because of this oversight, I have no other choice than to rely on my own judgement and I will need to question Mr Potter more closely,” continued the judge. ”Now, I want you to tell me everything that happened since you left Miss Weasley’s home at the place called the Burrow until you fired the unforgivable curse.”

Harry complied, speaking in a quiet, slightly breathless voice as his fever had not yet abated. He described how Ginny and he had gone to France by Muggle transport, and he accounted for their schedule in Paris. He told the judge about the spying wizard at the Eiffel Tower and Mrs Steadfast interrupted his tale to explain about the French Auror. Harry told the judge about the churchyard they had visited the same night. For some reason, he felt embarrassed when relating the story of the stone-faced widower, avoiding in particular to look at Snape when doing so, and he quickly moved on to describe the events of the second day in Paris, with the visit to the cathedral and the Picasso museum.

 The judge frowned.

“Let me get this clear,” he said. “You went back to your hotel at five o’clock in the afternoon and you went to sleep and did not wake up until just before midnight, is that correct?”

Harry looked wearily at him. “Yes, we were very tired,” he answered shortly.

“It’s a considerable space of time,” insisted the judge. Fleur stifled a chuckle. Harry looked incredulous at him. He did not find the judge’s lack of imagination remotely amusing.

“We had a shower and went to bed,” he repeated curtly.

“And when you woke up you were hungry?” the judge asked sceptically. “In the middle of the night?” Fleur let out a coughing sound again and Mrs Steadfast looked at her, one corner of her mouth twitching the least little bit, whereas Snape stayed impassive.

“Yes, we had only had some baguettes during the day.”

“Some what?”

“French sandwiches,” clarified Harry.

The judge shook his head suspiciously.

“Now back to what happened at the Trocadero club,” he said.

Harry spoke slower and gripped the edge of the desk as his head was beginning to turn. When he came to the first Avada Kedavra fired by the attacker against him, he fell silent. He directed a mute, pleading gaze at Snape.

“Please, Your Honour, the boy must have some rest. You do have a detailed statement about the fight written down by Mrs Steadfast, please don’t make Mr Potter repeat it. He’s seriously affected, physically, every time he’s reminded of the killing - which in itself is medical evidence of his lack of premeditation - and in his present precarious condition it might be detrimental to his health to have to recount it once more,” Snape pleaded with the judge.

“You have given me no alternative but to hear for myself,” Judge Tempatino answered sternly.

“But surely, you cannot jeopardise a young wizard’s health?” Snape raised his voice. Kingsley stirred uneasily in his chair.

“I need to reach a decision within the closest future what to do with this young man and I want it to be built on my own precise and fair assessment. The law is not to be bypassed, Mr Snape,” the judge enforced haughtily.

“Of course not, but the interrogation cannot be pressed on at any prize, can it?”

“Mr Potter will have to stand some discomfort, I’m afraid.”

“It’s inadmissible that you torture him with lengthy questioning when he needs to rest! His system might collapse completely,” roared Snape. “I won’t allow it!”

The judge narrowed his eyes and rose slowly behind the desk.

“Severus Snape... I recognise you, because - believe it or not - I have your act on my desk in my office. And as a subscriber of the Daily Prophet, your person has not escaped my notice this winter. You were the right hand of Voldemort and regardless of your present position you face serious offences. Your inquiry will not be delayed yet another time. The Minister of Magic has - with reason - a limited influence on the magical juridical system and yet Mr Shacklebolt has been more than tolerably interfering in your case. I recommend that you check your temper, Mr Snape.” The judge spoke threateningly. “The deliberate killing of another human being is a serious act of violence. It’s an extreme measure, the most serious criminal offence you can be charged with and regardless of the circumstances it should be thoroughly penetrated.” The judge turned to Mrs Steadfast. “And I must say that I’m surprised that you collaborate so closely with this man, Mrs Steadfast, and allow him such authority. By Merlin’s beard, he’s a Death Eater!”

The room fell silent.

“Professor Snape hasn’t been a Death Eater for nineteen years...” Harry intervened in a weak, but stubborn tone of voice. Everyone looked at him in surprise.

“It doesn’t matter, Harry...” Snape hastened to say. “It doesn’t matter. Save your forces.”

The judge grunted. “Continue!” he commanded Harry. Harry took a deep breath, gripped the desk harder with trembling fingers, raised his feverish gaze and looked straight into the judge’s eyes as he went on. He stuttered as he described the course of the fight and the curses fired. The judge started to be alarmed by Harry’s deathly pale face and shaking arms and shot Snape a quick glance.

“Hem...” he interrupted. “Do we have an examination parchment of Mr Potter’s wand? It might corroborate what you say. Relax a moment, Mr Potter.”

The judge directed his gaze at Mrs Steadfast as Harry closed his eyes and sank back in his chair. Mrs Steadfast fidgeted.

“They spent an inordinate amount of time at the hospital, Your Honour, and I’ve been busy with holding off the press and sorting out the complications in contact with the French Security Office and... I haven’t...”

“It seems to me, Mrs Steadfast, that you have laid too much focus on the diplomatic implications of this case and omitted your Auror’s duties. Now, had you sent an Auror with Mr Potter to the hospital, he or she could very well have performed the wand examination while Mr Potter received the care he needed. It doesn’t crave the cooperation of the owner and is easily performed. Well, no damage done. I’ll perform it myself...” he muttered with irritation.

Mrs Steadfast blushed.

“Your wand please, Mr Potter. And Mrs Steadfast, do try to get hold of the corresponding list of the other wizard’s spells for me, from France.”

Soundy left the room to attend to the judge’s demand. Fleur followed him out of the office. The judge pointed his own wand at the tip of Harry’s wand and murmured “Prior Incantato” which made spell after spell come out of Harry’s wand in the form of miniature symbols and spell words in translucent smoke. They soon filled the major part of the room in neat rows. The judge started to sort them by flicking at them with his wand.

“A lot of healing spells, have you been trying to cure yourself?”

“Anti-nausea spells - not very effective ones, you need to repeat them constantly,” replied Harry.

“I can see that.” The judge threw the spells away and continued. “A strong Mind-modifyer - I guess that’s when you escaped from the head of the Security Office in France and Apparated back to Britain. I’ve heard about it. Astute of you, yet a tactical error, of course. More Mind-modifyers - what are those?”

“The Muggles wanted to take my wand away from me all the time.”

“Won’t be a problem then, anyone would understand - a valid reason for every wizard.  Now here is the Avada Kedavra. Strong and clear. No hesitation.” The judge placed the miniature spell that was gleaming with a poisonous green light close at hand to his right.

“Why, once you have decided, there’s no point in hesitating - it won’t work otherwise,” said Harry, breathing faster, closing his eyes harder.

“Stunnings, and a Sectumsempra – what’s that? Oh, I’ve heard of it, I think. Not a very nice spell, no. Dark Art involved there.” The judge put it beside the Avada Kedavra spell.

“I had tried almost everything by then,” Harry answered weakly.

“Yes, I can see that: more Stunnings, Petrifyings, Expelliarmus, Protego spells. Short Apparitions. No transfigurations. Did you not try to escape, to hide?”

“No, there were no means of getting out of the room as it was filled with magma. I tried to keep in sight because if I had disappeared he would have aimed at my girl-friend or searched me among the Muggles at the risk of killing others. Like this he focused on me.” Judge Tempatino narrowed his eyes and scrutinised Harry’s face.

“This record corroborates your story of a fierce fight. And only one Avada that comes at the very end. Seems straight-forward to me. Did you get them all? Do you have the entire list?” the judge asked his secretary who nodded. Harry was given his wand back.

Soundy entered the room again with a communication stone in his hand that he showed Judge Tempatino. The judge waved his wand over it, peered at it, widened his eyes and stared at Harry. At last he spoke.

“The examination of the dead wizard’s wand shows that he fired thirty three Avada Kedavras at you. Nothing but Avada Kedavras… In a closed room… I’m surprised to see you alive in front of me, young man,” he said. Mr Weasley and the secretary gasped, whereas Snape and Mrs Steadfast exchanged a glance.

“Well...” the judge started to say, when suddenly someone knocked at the door once again and Fleur appeared with another communication stone in her hands. She hesitated whether to give it to Mrs Steadfast when the judge reached out and intercepted it.

“Identifica-tioun of zze unknown wizard,” said Fleur. “Zzey seem to sink...” she looked excited, but did not dare continue. Judge Tempatino let out an exclamation and handed the stone over to Mrs Steadfast who read it with Soundy and Snape looking over her shoulders. A broad smile and an expression of relief spread over Mrs Steadfast’s face.

Suddenly everybody were talking at the same time and patting each other’s shoulders. Harry rose from his chair on swaying legs, strain and exhaustion written on his face, an inquiring crease between his eyebrows. The judge went up to him and shook his hand. Harry looked blankly at him.

“Congratulations, Mr Potter, you won’t be extradited and you probably won’t even face a trial in France for your offence. The wizard who attacked you has been identified as Machivato, a well-known Dark Wizard of British origin, but active in the south of France and Italy. He has performed a number of terror attacks and is the suspect of several murders around the Mediterranean. Machivato was spoken of as Voldemort’s apprentice in southern Europe. He had not been heard of since the death of Voldemort. He has been known as an extremely skilled and ruthless wizard, the most powerful Metamorphmagus known of, impossible hitherto to catch because of his changing appearance. I believe the French are grateful to you for what you have done.”

Harry looked puzzled at him.

“Do you... Do you mean he wasn’t human?” he asked uncertainly.

Judge Tempatino was taken aback by the question.

“Of course he was human, why do you...”

“Because you said earlier that killing another human being is the worst criminal offence, regardless of the circumstances, and you seemed prepared to let me suffer quite a lot to get your answers. But now you all want to congratulate me and seem to mean we should... celebrate or something...”

Harry looked at them all with reserve and with undertones of anger and disgust in his voice.

“I still killed another human being tonight...” he muttered and looked down. The room had fallen completely silent. “I’d like to know if he had a family. If you find out, I’d be grateful if you told me,” said Harry in a slightly trembling voice, addressing Mrs Steadfast who looked at him with a mixture of pity and guilt, and Soundy who inclined his head with respect. “Am I free to go?” Harry asked the judge who nodded back curtly. “I’ll wait for you in your office, if that’s okay, Mr Weasley. I’d like to be alone for a while,” Harry said wearily as he walked with uncertain steps to the door without looking at anyone.

Conversations started anew when Harry left the room and a lot of to-dos followed. Eventually they all split up, hurrying away on different errands.

***

Snape walked slowly alone down the corridor from the Auror’s office when he heard dawdling footsteps coming towards him and raised his head. He drew his wand quicker than a gnome spits and directed it at Lucius Malfoy who stopped dead only fifty feet away. They stared at each other for a while, Snape looking grim with bared teeth. Finally Lucius said with a lofty, but not altogether secure air:

“I don’t think the Ministry would trivialise the event, were you to attack me again, Severus... not within their own premises.”

Snape lowered his wand and straightened his back.

“You seem to have recovered, Lucius, from the little lesson I gave you,” he said.

“I deplore, Severus, that it had to come to that. We were always such great friends.”

“What did you expect? You sold me out to the press. Set the bait at me. Let them hunt me with their ridiculous stories.”

“I told them it was an absurd slant, but that was the way they wanted to play it. I know people who really believed it might be true that you were Voldemort’s son. I told them it was ridiculous - that Severus Snape was no one but a poor Muggle’s son. The journalists misunderstood me, Severus. I never meant to harm you.”

“No? Tell me then, what was the purpose, what was your motivation to speak to the Daily Prophet under the cover of anonymous Death Eater? Who made you do it? And what was in it for you?” Snape had taken a threatening step towards Lucius Malfoy.

“I cannot tell you, Severus. But you know as well as I do that there are a lot of comrades from the old gang out there who wonders who you really are.”

“I’m the same as I have always been.” Snape’s countenance changed form aggressive to cautious.

“The same? I doubt it. My former friend would never have attacked me treacherously like that.”

“It was a fair duel, Lucius. You just lost.”

“I bet the reason you’re at the Ministry right now is to look after that boy.” Lucius changed the subject. ”I heard about the attack on the news. Harry Potter seems to have survived once again. His main and single merit, right?”

“Oh, he might have one of two more strings to his bow,” muttered Snape.  “Harry Potter’s not a boy any longer, Lucius. He has grown up and is not to be underestimated. Convey that message to your allies.”

“Draco tells me how you have managed to turn his opinion about you to your favour, chit-chatting with him after classes, being friendly, right? I wonder how you do that. It does impress me, Severus. You used to hate him,” said Lucius.

“As I told you, Harry Potter is a wizard with rising powers to take into account,” Snape replied stiffly. ”I just check my former dislike for him. I’m not foolish enough to let personal feelings stand in the way of my career.”

“You’ve come out of this war much better than I have so far. But is the boy really so naive that he trusts you just because you pined after his mother when you were a teenager? When our Dark Lord inquired about that affair, I answered him that your so-called passion for a Mudblood had more to do with your rivalry with James Potter than real feelings for Lily Evans... But I guess you know how to play your cards, Severus.”

“Yes, I play well,” Snape said coolly. “And so I am Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“So you are, my dear friend, so you are. For how long, though, that’s the question? Your inquiry is coming up soon, right? Why don’t you let Potter testify for you, if you have managed to get into his good opinions?”

“How do you know I won’t have him testify?”

“Hm, you are, are you?” Lucius raised an eyebrow. ”The question is: what are your long-term aims? You don’t fit in a regular society, Severus. Kingsley’s ideas of reconciliation and peaceful mixing of wizards of different origins are nauseating. And do you really want to live the rest of your life indebted to Harry Potter, your rival’s son?”

Snape narrowed his eyes and stepped close up to Lucius.

“You know perfectly well that I’ll never forgive what James Potter did to me,” he spat out with hatred in his voice. Lucius looked satisfied as he continued.

“There are people who admire you out there, Severus. There are others who are wary of you, with reason, but there’s undoubtedly a role for you on the pure side. Start to negotiate your way back. There might be reticence to start with but, being your friend, I can make sure that you’re welcomed back eventually.”

“Have you negotiated your way back? Is that what you have done, Lucius?”

“We are needed. There are youngsters coming up, you know, and we have to balance their inexperienced fervour. Why, the missed attack tonight is proof of their...”

Snape gripped Lucius arm.

“What do you know about it?” he asked, slightly too eagerly and Lucius recoiled.

“That’s what your new lady friend is undoubtedly going to ask me at the Auror’s office,” he said coolly. “I’ve been called in for questioning. They insist on molesting us former Death Eaters at the least pretext. As soon as something happens, wham, we take the blame for it, however farfetched.” The aristocrat was visibly annoyed, but still spoke with his usual measured irony. “I bet that she checked you out, too, though, the Steady Lady, didn’t she?” Lucius rose his eyebrows.

There was only a flicker of uncertainty in Snape’s eyes, but it was sufficient for Lucius Malfoy to smile gleefully.

”Of course she did. Draco tells me that she comes to Hogwarts at all odd times of the day. She’s keeping her eyes on you, Severus. You weren’t imagining that anyone from the established magical world would start trusting you, were you? She’s probably doing it on Kingsley’s orders, too. You are and will forever be a Death Eater, my dear friend, because we’ll never become anything but Voldemort’s lackeys in some people’s eyes. You’ll never be free in the world of this regime. I told you, Severus - you don’t belong here.”

Snape stayed mute in response to this, his hand still loosely on his former friends arm.

”Now, about the attack on the precious hero of the wizard world - of course I had nothing to do with it,” continued Lucius dryly. ”I’d better be off - I must not be late for the Steady Lady.” Lucius disengaged from Snape and turned his back to walk away.

“My compliments to Narcissa,” Snape muttered automatically after him and was surprised to see Lucius Malfoy swirl round - for the first time during their conversation truly thrown off balance - and hiss at him menacingly:

“Have you seen her?”

The perplexed look on Snape’s face was enough for an answer and Lucius swirled back with a murderous scowl and continued down the corridor.

At the same moment he disappeared, hurried footsteps were heard from the other end of the corridor and Mr Weasley turned up.

“That took longer than expected,” he panted. “I had to accompany Fleur back to her office and have a word with her boss. Have you been checking on Harry?”

Snape looked puzzled.

“He’s still in my office, I suppose.” Mr Weasely gestured towards a door that stood ajar. Snape blemished, but shook his head.

“I didn’t…” he said, but interrupted himself. “I’ll come by the Burrow tomorrow and check on them both,” he continued. “My compliments to Molly, Arthur.”

“If she breathes long enough between her telling-offs to allow me to convey the message, I’ll give them to her... Thank you for your help, Severus. It has been one of the most dreadful days in my life.” Mr Weasley walked into his office and from the corridor Snape heard him say: “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Harry. Let’s get you home right now and put you to bed. Here’s your flo-powder.” After a soft roar of flames, the office went silent.

“Something wrong, Severus?” Mrs Steadfast was on her way back to her office and stopped in front of Snape who was still parked outside Mr Weasley’s office. “Are they gone? Did you speak to him again before he went?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t realise he was still in the room… I think he might have overheard...” Snape knitted his eyebrows as if thinking intensely.

“Mr Weasley was delayed at the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” said Mrs Steadfast with a frown. “What did Harry overhear?”

Snape shook his head.

“Nothing of importance. Maybe it’s for the best...” He looked slightly disheartened.

“What was the matter with Harry anyway?” asked Mrs Steadfast who did not seem at peace with herself. “Accusing us of... seeming to accuse us all of... of being morally indecent or something... He seemed disappointed in us, somehow... I hate that...”

“Oh, I think that maybe he felt let down once or twice too often today...” Snape replied vaguely.

“Let down!?” Mrs Steadfast exploded at him. “I have roughed it all day for his sake! Been up since 4:30. Quarrelled with people, threatened people to save him from being sent back to France. Feels let down, does he? And what would you know about how he feels anyway? You two only yell at each other!” Mrs Steadfast finished moodily.

Snape stayed silent and looked down on the floor.

“I hate that teenager’s righteousness thing!” continued Mrs Steadfast. “Think themselves morally superior to ordinary adults. As if they’re capable of fully appreciating the extent of the complications and the nuances of things... Makes you feel lousy compared to them! Why my own children used to... Oh, by all the calamities of Capricorn! I guess you’re right - I made a complete fool of myself! And I failed him. The judge put his finger on it. I should simply have left the diplomacy to others and proceeded with my real job. But it seemed so important to save him from being sent back to France that all my priorities were directed at that task.”

“I failed him, too... We’ll just have to start anew, Audrey,” said Snape quietly. “Try to find out who ordered the attack.”

“You do care for him more than you like to acknowledge, don’t you, Severus?” asked Mrs Steadfast gently. Snape frowned.

“I don’t care about him,” he answered grumpily. “I just don’t want him to die... nor be in bad health...” Mrs Steadfast raised her eyebrows.

“And why do you care for his health?” she said.

Snape turned away with a stubborn look on his face.

“I’ll visit the Burrow tomorrow to check on Miss Ginny and Harry,” he said after a pause. “They’ll need some more treatments to recover fully. Shall we meet there? I suppose you’re going to interrogate them again? Or do you want to follow the judge’s advice and have me out of your investigation?”

Mrs Steadfast sighed.

“No, Severus, no. I trust you. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow sceptically.

”I do,” insisted Mrs Steadfast.

”You checked me out this morning,” Snape stated calmly. ”You wanted to observe my reaction when you mentioned Paris.” Mrs Steadfast coloured a little.

”There are others who don’t trust you, within my own group of Aurors. I was only doing my job, you must see that, in order to be able to defend you against those who are more suspicious of you than I am. Personally, I find myself strangely convinced of your loyalty.” Mrs Steadfast shook her head at herself.

Snape looked slightly hurt and contrite at the same time.

”I’ll not have you sit in when I interrogate your old friends, though,” said Mrs Steadfast. ”Lucius Malfoy is first. This day is not over yet.”

“I’d better not,” agreed Snape. ”I met him just before you came.”

“He’s still in one piece, I hope?” Mrs Steadfast looked sternly at Snape who gave her a quick, tired smile before he turned his back on her to walk away.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, raising one hand in the air for good-bye.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting side by side in silence on a bench in their garden. They had found shelter from the wind, and the April morning was sunny. Mrs Weasley had loosened her muffler and turned her head to receive the sunbeams in her face. Her hands were closed on a mug of tea. They had no table, but had suspended a tray with the teapot in the air between them. Mr Weasley laughed softly.

“Look, Molly – a wagtail! It’s the first one, this year. Where’ve you been, mate?”

“I’m glad you could take a day off, Arthur,” said Mrs Weasley without opening her eyes. “Do you think we should ask Narcissa Malfoy to stay for Easter Dinner?” she added after a pause.

“Why not? She looked a bit cut down to size when she turned up this morning. Making excuses for intruding and everything. She had difficulties getting through the wards, too. It was lucky she had that communication stone of hers and could give notice to her sister. It would be nice to have one of those... or two. Quicker than owl post, they are.”

“I guess she’s used to the security measures. It must be the same at Malfoy manor. I wonder what has happened to make her leave her family in this precipitated manner? Oh, well, I suppose she’ll tell her sister, and Dromeda’ll tell me eventually. Narcissa will probably find our house too simple, but that’s her problem,” said Molly Weasley. ”Those communication stones are far too expensive, Arthur,” she added.

“I guess so, but all the same... They would spare us quite a lot of worrying,” said Mr Weasley.

“I feel a little uncomfortable around Narcissa. I did kill their sister, after all. With Dromeda that’s not a problem, but Bellatrix and Narcissa were closer,” sighed Mrs Weasley.

“Just because they were on the same side in the war doesn’t mean that they were close. You forget that Bellatrix stayed in Azkaban for fourteen years and that her sole loyalty lay with her Master. Moreover, you killed her in fair combat,” replied Mr Weasley.

“I know and I don’t regret it, but when I see Harry’s reaction to the killing in Paris, I wonder if I, too, have not been adversely affected by what I did - mixed with the grief over Fred of course. But I’m stepping out of the fog, Arthur. By Merlin, I just hope nothing will happen to the other children. It was a close shave, I understand, in Paris?”

“You don’t want to know just how close,” said Mr Weasley grimly.

Mrs Weasley opened her eyes. With her acute sense of hearing she had perceived a faint rattle from the gravelled path.

“Someone’s coming. They’ve already crossed the protective wards.”

Mr and Mrs Weasley both turned and stretched their necks to spot two tall, black-clad figures approach. They recognised Snape and Mrs Steadfast who headed towards the entrance door, before Mrs Steadfast spotted the couple and turned towards them.

“What a marvellous place, Mrs and Mr Weasley! So peaceful,” she called out to them.

“The garden’s a mess,” Mrs Weasley stated soberly. “But it is a fine morning.”

“Aren’t all gardens a mess this time of the year? But there are croci and daffodils in numbers!” Mrs Steadfast was delighted. Mrs Weasley smiled at her as she rose. She put her tea mug on the tray and directed it with her wand.

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” she said. ”Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Steadfast? Severus?”

“We’d better do our duties first, but I wouldn’t say no to a cup later and I’d love to sit in your garden. Probably won’t have the time to stay long enough for that, though… How are the young folks?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“Ginny’s not up yet. On returning, yesterday, she slept all afternoon and woke up in the evening. She couldn’t go to bed again until late and she kept Ron and Hermione up too. She seems fine, though. Harry was so hot and weak when he returned that I was quite afraid for him. But he took some potion you had given him, Severus, and went to bed. I checked on him a couple of hours later and the fever had subsided to some extent. He’s sitting in the living-room. He hasn’t eaten anything yet, though. Do you want me to wake Ginny up?”

“I think it’s just as well, Mrs Weasley. Miss Granger and your son too, please. We’ll go and see Harry first while you do so.”

Snape let Mrs Steadfast precede him into the house and into the living-room. She stopped and blocked the door as she gave away a small exclamation. She took a few more steps inside to let Snape pass. Harry was half-sitting, half-lying in the sofa with a sleeping toddler on his chest. He had put a pillow behind his own head and was leaning back comfortably with his arms surrounding the child in a protective embrace. They were both fast asleep. Harry looked very pale, except for some red spots on his cheeks.

“Adorable!” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast in a hushed voice, “Who’s the baby?”

“He’s my grandson.” A tall, dark woman with heavy-lidded eyes had entered the room from the other end.” Snape winced slightly as she appeared. She looked very much like her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. She went up to them and greeted them politely. “Harry is a great favourite with Teddy. He’s the child’s godfather. Very serious about his commitment, the young man is. I guess he feels especially for Teddy being an orphan, just like himself.”

“I’m sorry about your daughter and son-in-law, Mrs Tonks. And your husband too,” said Mrs Steadfast. Snape inclined his head in silent respect.

Mrs Tonks looked away.

“Things have been rough...” she said in a muffled tone, “...but are getting better. I must struggle on for Teddy’s sake. The Weasleys have been so supportive and hospitable. I don’t know what I would’ve done without them. And my sister’s being very helpful, too.” She gestured at the door opening where a slender and fair woman had appeared, very unlike herself.  “I’m sorry, I need to speak to Mrs Weasley. Narcissa, would you take the boy up to his bed, please? I suppose they’ll want a word with Harry undisturbed. Teddy should sleep for another half an hour or so.”

Narcissa Malfoy nodded and stepped into the room. She and Snape stared at each other while Mrs Steadfast withdrew a little. Finally Narcissa advanced toward Snape and took his hand.

“Severus,” she said and her voice was stifled with emotion. “I haven’t seen you since... since those horrible days when we were the servants of the Dark Lord.” She shuddered.

“I must own my surprise to meet you at the Burrow, Narcissa,” said Snape.

“Oh... so much has happened during the last months... I cannot believe it myself... I‘ve found reason to... reconsider my... my opinions of things. Once he was gone, it became obvious to me what a terrible grip the Dark Lord held us in and what a relief it was to… to be rid of him. My contribution to his demise, at the very end of the battle when I helped Harry pretend he was dead, placed me among the victors. It was rather disconcerting... I hadn’t planned my actions... But afterwards... afterwards, I’ve forced myself to examine my own prejudices. There was such madness in the Dark Lord’s reign. I assure you, Severus, my change of opinion isn’t only an adjustment to present times.”

Snape hummed noncommittally as she spoke, still letting Narcissa clutch at his hand.

“It has been so turbulent at Malfoy Manor since the Dark Lord disappeared, you cannot imagine...... At first Lucius went in for adaptation - forcefully. You know him. He tried to claim that he had been hoodwinked once again, that he had repented, just like last time. He visited people with influence and tried to let his purse speak. I don’t think he realised that people were weary of political games, though. Right after the battle, people nursed their consciences more than their bank accounts, and felt nothing but loathing for an allegedly reformed Death Eater who wanted to buy his way out of taking responsibility for his deeds. He also tried to let my actions reflect over the whole family and take credit for them. Naturally, I didn’t protest. I didn’t want Lucius to go back to Azkaban. He wrote to Harry Potter several times in the summer, but got no reply. I tried to tell him that the boy probably had enough to deal with, but Lucius was vexed and angry because of the dismissive attitude from several parties. He started to grow bitter.”

Narcissa let go of Snape’s hand and gesticulated in the restrained and slightly haughty manner of hers that was so characteristic. Only a slight trembling in her hands betrayed her upset nerves.

“On top of bearing with Lucius’ temper, I’ve been excessively worried about Draco. My son was traumatised by the atrocities he witnessed last year, and from the way our family was tortured by Voldemort. I think it just didn’t add up in his mind. He hasn’t been well at all. I thought I discerned some beneficial effects, at first, from the treatment he received by Healer Schufflert at Hogwarts. You and I corresponded about it by owl during the autumn. You were very supportive, Severus.”

Snape nodded slowly, whereas Mrs Steadfast withdrew even further into the room.

“But now, I feel that I don’t know them any longer…” continued Narcissa. ”Draco’s so reserved. I’m no longer in his confidence, although I hear in his voice when he speaks to his father that he’s just as bitter as Lucius. After a while I, too, wrote to Harry Potter…” She gestured at the sleeping young man on the sofa. ”I wrote to him when it was decided that I would indeed face trial for my actions during Voldemort’s reign. Potter replied promptly that he would gladly testify in my favour. When Lucius saw the letter...” Narcissa broke off and shook her head in disbelief as tears rose in her eyes and she looked at Snape, miserable.

“He couldn’t even be happy for my sake...” she whispered. “The boy didn’t say so in his letter, but he didn’t mention Lucius, and I think that Lucius realised that there was nothing in it for him. Harry Potter would never testify in his favour. What could he say, anyhow? I don’t understand what Lucius hoped for. The boy can only testify as to what really happened, right? And they don’t do joint trials - we’re facing separate ones. Lucius’ bitterness, in particular toward Harry Potter, increased and he poured out all his venom in front of me, ending up with the demand - can you believe it, Severus? – the demand that I refuse Potter’s help out of loyalty to my husband. He exacted it of me, Severus! This was during Christmas.” Narcissa drew a deep breath.

“I fled the manor in the middle of the holidays. I contacted my sister who I had not seen for twenty years. I had heard about my niece’s terrible fate and the little orphaned baby. I felt that I no longer cared that my sister had been married to a wizard of... Muggle descent.” Narcissa stumbled only the least little bit over the words. ”I wanted to see her again, get to know her, help her if I could... At the same time it gave me an excuse not to stay at the manor. Lucius was mad, of course, and threatened me with... with a lot of things... I had not made up my mind yet... not yet.”

Narcissa paused to take another deep breath. She looked at Snape with determination.

“I’m leaving him, Severus. I’ve applied for a divorce. I’ve had the forms filled in for some time now, and this morning I signed them and sent them by owl to the Ministry before coming here.” 

Snape’s eyes widened a little.

“You’ve known each other since you were fourteen and he seventeen, Narcissa! You’ve always been loyal to Lucius,” he said, disbelief resounding in his voice.

“I know, that’s why it took me so long to decide. When you wounded him in that duel – I’m sorry I’ve not penetrated what it was all about - those things they wrote about you, no doubt? He had sold you out, had he not?”

Snape made a grim face.

“It doesn’t surprise me that he did, but I was home so little at the time that I didn’t realise what he was up to. Anyhow, he ended up at the hospital and it made me realise that all I felt was relief that he would be out of my way for some time. I didn’t have to be afraid that he would turn up and hurt me. So I went to see him at St Mungo’s and told him I wanted a divorce. It was cruel, I guess, considering that he was wounded and weak. Believe it or not, but he broke down and pleaded with me not to leave him. He made Draco write to me and I yielded to their pleas not to split up the family. Like you said, we’ve been husband and wife for twenty-five years. So I tried again for some weeks... And I guess he tried as well in his own way, but he’s as incapable of adjusting emotionally to another human being as a troll is incapable of following simple instructions. He still refuses to meet Dromeda for example. And he cannot handle his bitterness. I think he has entered in contact with the out-lawed Death Eaters and that he’s helping them - at least financially. I’m afraid he’ll drag Draco into that unhealthy business, as well. This year my son is still at Hogwarts and is protected in a way, but what will happen next year? I tried to bear with it during the Easter holidays because Draco was coming home. But I cannot, I cannot submit to his ways… not any longer… I’m suffocating. And I’m afraid... They still expect me to desist Mr Potter’s help... Our trials are coming up within the next few weeks.”

Narcissa shook her head while Mrs Steadfast looked at her with overt, and Snape with guarded, interest.

“Yesterday morning, when the news of the attack in Paris reached us, including Mr Potter’s involvement... They were not surprised - at least not Lucius, I’m sure.” Narcissa Malfoy might have been oblivious of the fact that Mrs Steadfast was in the room until then, but subsequent to this confession, she gave the head of the Aurors a quick, shrewd glance. “I don’t want to be involved anymore. I don’t want him to drag me back into that dark world. I’m repulsed by him, Severus. There’s no going back now. I fled the manor and stayed at a friend’s before arriving at the Burrow this morning to see my sister.” Narcissa made a pause.

Just as Mrs Steadfast made an attempt to say something, Narcissa approached Snape and took his hand in hers again.

“Enough of me... What about you, Severus? I’ve been so intrigued by your fate, by your actions. I couldn’t believe at first that you had fooled us all for so long. You duped our Lord! You dared! I’ve seen you at his side so many times. You were calmer, more composed than any of us. Servile of course, like we all were, but patient, inscrutable and unmistakably loyal. I know Bellatrix doubted you, but that sprung from jealousy and he... the Dark Lord... never did!”

“Oh, he never really trusted me, either. It wasn’t in his nature to trust anyone,” muttered Snape.

“I’ve meant to ask you, Severus.” Narcissa’s voice faltered a little. “When you made the unbreakable vow and promised me to help Draco, did you do it for my sake, or was it because you had already promised Dumbledore to kill him before he was too weak?”

“A bit of both, I acknowledge, Narcissa,” Snape said courtly. “I’ve always held you in great esteem and was touched by your concerns for your son.”

Narcissa Malfoy pondered this for a while. As Mrs Steadfast opened her mouth to speak, the elegant lady forestalled her once again:

“You, too, have changed.” Narcissa looked closely at Snape, grasping his hand harder. “Your eyes used to be... to look... dead. I used to wonder what ailed you, but Lucius always only made fun of you... Lucius treated you unfairly, you know, despite your loyalty to him. Why, in retrospect I might as well tell you that he was always condescending and poked fun of you when you weren’t there. But I always liked you, Severus. You were such a dejected figure, though. I’m speaking in particular of the period after the Dark Lord’s first disappearance and before he came back, those thirteen years of false security. I asked Lucius why you were so inconceivably sad. I’m not even sure he saw what I meant. He only laughed and answered that you liked to plague yourself with longing for other men’s women.”

Snape frowned at her and shot a quick glance, first at Mrs Steadfast, then at Harry in the sofa who still had his eyes closed.

“I wondered whether Lily Evans had been that significant in your eyes and objected that she had been gone for so long, and was it really possible that you grieved her after so many years? But he dismissed the idea, laughed and said that there were other men’s women to languish for, and he made it sound like... or was it my vanity that made me believe that...” Narcissa’s voice dropped huskily with false modesty.

Snape drew his breath sharply and tore his hand away from hers.

“I’m clearly not interested in hearing what wild speculations you and your husband might have made about my person at your private moments, Narcissa,” he spat at her. She recoiled with a flicker of dread in her eyes, but instantly picked up the thread, soothingly and ingratiatingly.

“I’m sorry, Severus! I didn’t intend to... I only meant to point out what an unfaithful friend my husband was to you. Don’t you see that we’ve been equally used, you and me? But look at you now! You’re the headmaster at Hogwarts - and Lucius is nothing. Things have definitely changed. You’re in a position of power - and it certainly suits you. Where you used to be stiff and out of place, you now move with ease. Moreover you show temper like you never did before. In the past you could at most turn waspish and unpleasant, but not display shear anger like you just did. It becomes you, I must say, and makes you more alive than I’ve ever seen you... Why, you’re so different from your former self that I almost...”

 At this moment, Mrs Steadfast could not keep quiet any longer. She sneered loudly.

“He probably Occlumencied you as swiftly and as effectively as a thundercloud hide the moon and then he took his pent-up frustration out on little children in his classroom! Nothing admirable in that if you ask me! Don’t pretend to be flabbergasted, Mrs Malfoy. You know his reputation as a teacher, I dare say. It was for a good cause, I admit that, Severus, and you had to play your part, but you’ll excuse me for not finding you as marvellous as your not-so-good-friend’s wife does. I should not’ve wanted to meet you at the time when you wore your mask of Occlumency. And that’d be the only thing that we agree upon, Mrs Malfoy and I, namely that we prefer your present self… on those rare occasions when you’re not insufferable. Now, could we please finally get down to business?”

Snape fidgeted from frustration and embarrassment and was at a loss of words. He did indeed look like a thundercloud.

Mrs Malfoy who dared not contradict Mrs Steadfast approached Harry obediently and stooped over him to lift Teddy away. At that exact moment, Harry opened his eyes wide. He instinctively drew the little boy closer to him in a protective gesture, without letting out a sound. Narcissa stopped briefly in her movement.

“Dromeda asked me to take Teddy upstairs to let him finish his nap in his own bed. Professor Snape and the head of the Auror office are here to speak to you,” she said softly.

Harry sat up a little more straight and glanced at Snape and Mrs Steadfast, still without saying anything. Reluctantly and gently he handed Teddy over.

“He might wake up if you put him down on a cold bed,” he muttered.

“I’ll sit with him a while, then,” said Narcissa and carried the child away.

Snape looked closely at Harry with his eyebrows knitted, but Harry did not meet his gaze. At that moment, Mrs Weasley entered the room along with Ginny who was dressed, but looked sleepy. She muttered some greetings at the address of Snape and Mrs Steadfast, sat down beside Harry, curled up against his shoulder and shut her eyes. Ron and Hermione appeared as well. Ron was yawning.

“Can we speak while you give Harry and Ginny their treatments?” Mrs Steadfast said to Snape who nodded. She gestured for Ron and Hermione to sit down on a pair of grouped armchairs. Mrs Weasley took place on the other side of Ginny on the sofa and Mr Weasley settled in his favourite armchair in front of the fire place, turning it a little so that he would face the others.

As Snape unloaded a range of bottles from the inside of his cloak, Mrs Steadfast started to ask questions to find out whether anyone had known or suspected the destination of Ginny’s and Harry’s holiday trip, whether they had seen anything suspicious around the Burrow that made them think Harry and Ginny had been tailed from there, or whether they had any other idea of how their whereabouts had been exposed. Mr Weasley asked about the French Auror’s credibility. Mrs Steadfast defended her friend and finished by saying that if Roger had been involved in the attack, he would not have been targeted and ended up with serious wounds as a consequence.

“How is he?” Harry wanted to know. Mrs Steadfast sighed and lowered her eyes as she told them. The Avada Kedavra that had hit him had passed through less than fifty percent of his body volume which was the only reason he had survived at all. But it had gone through a large part of his chest with the consequence that his heart was considerably weakened. He had been taken to a Muggle hospital at first which had delayed the treatment and worsened the prognosis. Part of his face was lame, so was his left arm.

“Are you going to visit him?” Harry wondered.

“Not quite yet... Maybe this summer...” muttered Mrs Steadfast. When Harry looked puzzled, she added a bit defensively. “He’s got a wife who... is very dedicated to him and... who doesn’t like me very much...”

Harry tried to look non-committal, but Mrs Weasley wrinkled her nose at the implications of Mrs Steadfast’s revelation, because they had all got the impression that Roger was a very particular personal friend of Mrs Steadfast’s. Snape’s face was hidden behind his long black hair as he bent over Harry’s leg, and Mr Weasley started to talk about something else.

“Kick at my hands,” Snape suddenly said to Harry without looking at him. As Harry hesitated, Snape repeated. “Kick gently then press against my palms as hard as you can. I want to test your muscle strength.”

“Okay,” Harry muttered. “I can walk without limping at any rate.” He did as Snape had asked him to do.

“He’s still weaker in his right leg, but it isn’t so bad. I think it’ll be completely restored.” Snape spoke to Mrs Steadfast who glanced at Harry, a little disconcerted that Snape did not address his patient directly.

Ginny and Harry inhaled a final dose of Dewcup potion and Harry received a blood replenishing draught as he was ghastly pale and because Snape had forgotten to give it to him the previous day. Harry and Snape only exchanged monosyllables and avoided to look at each other. Ginny woke up little by little, but contrary to the previous day, there was nothing giggly about her. She was as serious as the others, a bit pale maybe, but otherwise she looked healthy.

“No nightmares?” Snape asked her.

“I’ve slept well. Except for you waking me up,” Ginny answered sulkily.

“You?” Snape asked Harry.

“Ordinary nightmare,” muttered Harry and looked away. “It woke me up, that’s all, but I was able to get back to sleep.”

“I found him in the morning, sleeping in this very armchair in front of the fire,” said Mr Weasley. Mrs Steadfast scrutinised Harry’s face.

“I find it kind of comforting with a fire,” Harry said stubbornly. “I slept well in that chair.”

“You don’t look that well... Still that Magic-Versus-Self Reaction going on?” Mrs Steadfast asked Snape.

“I’m afraid so, but the temperature is lower, although he looks weak. It’ll take some time for him to recover.”

Harry looked away again and leant forward to pick up a book on the sofa table. Snape glanced at the tome on Ancient Magic and Protective Incantations and lifted an eyebrow inquisitively, but Harry ignored the silent question.

“Let’s have tea in the kitchen while the young persons breakfast,” proposed Mrs Weasley. “Harry, you ate nothing when you came back yesterday, and you’ve had nothing yet this morning. You must be starved.”

Harry looked nauseated, and Snape pursed his lips.

Seated more closely together by the kitchen table, Snape drew up a Muffliato spell around them.

“You’ve got visitors,” he said shortly as way of explanation when Mrs Weasley frowned at him.

“We trust our guests,” she retorted indignantly.

“Mrs Tonks, perhaps, but you’ve not known Mrs Malfoy for very long. I have, however, and just because she states for the moment being that she’ll leave Lucius, it doesn’t mean that’s how it will end.” Snape spoke emphatically. Mrs Steadfast seemed eager to agree with him and Mrs Weasley dropped the subject.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny helped themselves to some toasts and Mrs Weasley made the teapot go the round with her wand. Snape filled another cup with a draught that he gave Harry who accepted it without questioning. Once he had taken a gulp, however, he rose with an expression of panic and distaste on his face, looking wildly around until going up to the sink to spit it out.

“That was worse than anything you’ve given me! Are you trying to poison me?!” he exclaimed.

Ginny and Mrs Weasley riveted their eyes on Snape.

“I assure you that I would proceed with slightly more subtlety if I wanted to poison Mr Potter,” Snape said with irritation. Mr Weasley gave up a short laugh. “It’s a nurturing potion. He doesn’t eat,” Snape stated flatly. Harry made a wry face and looked at Mrs Weasley.

“I’ll have anything rather than swallow that,” he said and picked up an apple that he started to nibble. Mrs Weasley watched him with concern.

“Chocolate maybe?” she said. “It’s Easter, after all.” And she conjured up a big basket full of chocolate eggs on the table. “Please, help yourselves. Have one, Harry.”

Mrs Steadfast looked enviously at Harry who obediently placed an egg beside his apple. Mrs Weasley levitated one over to Mrs Steadfast who beamed back at her.

“No children at my home this year. I didn’t think I’d get any chocolate. Lucky me to have passed by the Burrow! Now, tell me, have you been bothered by the journalists yet?” she asked.

“No, not at all, the protections work perfectly. They cannot reach the house or even penetrate into the garden,” said Mr Weasley.

“Excellent, they gave us hard work yesterday. I’m glad I managed to keep them out of St Mungo’s Hospital,” said Mrs Steadfast. Harry looked up at her.

“How did you do that?” he asked with relief and gratitude in his voice. “I had not even thought about it.”

“I pretended to have you at hand at the Ministry all the time and promised them news every hour or so. Like that they stuck to me.”

“They’ve been unusually objective in their reports,” said Mr Weasley and Hermione nodded in agreement. “The ambush in Paris is an amazing story in itself, so there’s no need for them to exaggerate. All winter, they’ve gone about you in such a negative way, accusing you of being the heir of Voldemort and I know not what absurdities. But there’s no mention of such things now. You’re pictured as the exceptional wizard you were elevated to after Voldemort’s death, Harry.” They smiled at him, whereas he pulled a disgusted face in response.

“I don’t know which is worse,” he muttered.

“Now to the question of security,” said Mrs Steadfast. Everybody straightened their backs and turned their heads expectantly towards her. “Security has been increased at Hogwarts,” she explained. ”There are more Aurors patrolling the grounds. And I’m afraid we have to cancel the school ball scheduled in May.”

Ginny sighed deeply and looked incensed, but did not say anything.

“There’s too much people. It’s uncontrollable. Not as the situation is right now,” apologised Mrs Steadfast. She hesitated slightly, took a deep breath and turned to Harry. “I’ve spoken to Simmings,” she said gently. “I know you have nothing against him, that you’ve even become friends, and he has agreed to be your assisting Auror during the rest of the term.” Harry met her eyes calmly.

“Tell Simmings that if I had wanted an assisting Auror, he would definitely have been my choice,” he said. Exclamations of surprise and shock were heard all around the table.

“I told you he’d be as stubborn as ever,” Snape said indignantly to Mrs Steadfast. “You’ll have to make him see reason! Tell him that if he doesn’t want to be expelled, he’ll just have to accept his Auror!”

New exclamations and heated words were exchanged across the table.

“Listen to me!” Harry’s voice, however weak, had a sharpness that made the others shut up and turn their heads towards him. “This is my decision and mine only to make. No... let me speak. Yesterday, you let Ginny have her Obliviating treatment. That was her way of dealing with what happened. Now, you must let me deal with it my way – and that is not to be locked up and smothered by others. I cannot hide, and I need a certain amount of freedom.”

Snape sighed with a mixture of regret and reluctant recognition in his face.

“Moreover,” Harry continued stubbornly in his weakened voice, “I don’t think they’ll try so soon again. Think for yourselves... I’ve conquered Voldemort and now I’ve killed this Machivato guy. He was the best they had, as I understand things. If I were them, I’d be afraid of me... You’ll acknowledge that not so many will want to meet me in a wand-to-wand fight.”

Mrs Steadfast scrutinised him with a frown and opened her mouth.

“I’m not saying that I’m invincible - I know I’m not,” Harry interrupted her. ”But Death Eaters and the like have often stricken me as irrational kind of people. Voldemort himself was clearly superstitious, or he’d never had paid attention to a prophesy about a baby. What I mean is that it’s a good thing if they’re afraid of me. All I need to do now is to return to Hogwarts - where the spy for Voldemort’s residual supporters is supposed to reside - and look unaffected. Brag a bit maybe,” Harry looked nauseous, “...or maybe I won’t have to do that... others will do it for me and I’ll only have to nod and agree.” His voice trailed off.

“I’m not so sure you could put that show on in your present state of health,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“It’ll take a long time for him to recover,” confirmed Snape.

“I have two more days before I go back to Hogwarts – I’ll be okay,” retorted Harry shortly.

“I agree with Harry,” Mr Weasley said suddenly. “The Dark forces have been defeated once again, at some cost, but that’s still the truth, although it’s easy to forget in the midst of all the fear and anguish. They – whoever they are, do we know? – will need to regroup, and it’s more likely next time - if there is a next time - that they’ll attempt an organised joint attack or an ambush carried out by several persons than an attack from a single wizard or witch. Group attacks should be easier to unveil by scouting activities from your Office than to keep track of single persons.” He spoke to Mrs Steadfast.

“You’re probably right. We’re still on to this group called ’The Shiftings’. You remember the note we found at Death Eater Wentworth’s home, referring to ’M’? With all probability that was Machivato. But we got nothing out of the former Death Eaters we interrogated yesterday evening. I’m not allowed to use Veritaserum on them yet. The evidence is too weak, alas.” Mrs Steadfast sighed. “If we only had someone on the inside...”

Her gaze rested absent-mindedly on Snape for a moment. Suddenly, she inclined her head to the side and looked sharply at him.

“You didn’t like that idea at all, did you, Severus? But I didn’t even ask you... You were appalled at the thought of going into secret service again. I saw it in your face. Is it possible that the master of Occlumency is tired of using his proficiencies?” She spoke teasingly while scrutinising Snape closely, but he maintained an impassive face.

“I’ll do what is demanded of me, if it can be of any use,” he said.

“You were not in the least tempted. You’d rather leave for the moon, I saw it in your eyes,” she answered. Snape leant forward and replied in a steady voice:

“When I met Lucius Malfoy yesterday he actually suggested that I try to negotiate my way back among the Death Eaters. There are a lot of people who believe I’m only duping all of you right now. I might have a chance to ingratiate myself with the Death Eaters again.”

Harry looked sharply at him. Snape did not move a muscle in his face. Mrs Steadfast examined him closely and shook her head.

“You’re still too good at it. I thought I had you for a moment,” she said.

“It sounds risky to attempt such a come-back,” intervened Mrs Weasley.

“It might be a trap,” said Ginny.

“Surely your credibility must be exhausted with them?” said Mr Weasley.

“I don’t think he should do it!” Harry said sharply to Mrs Steadfast who suddenly flared up.

“Are you two not on speaking terms again?” she said, looking from Harry to Snape. “Or why do you keep talking through me? You’ve barely looked at each other today and hardly spoken a word to one another. I thought you became friends as the day went along yesterday? You stood up for each other in front of judge Tempatino. What’s the matter now, tell me?”

“Nothing... nothing’s the matter,” said Harry after an awkward pause and looked down. “I’m not cross with him or anything, it’s just... I’m grateful for what he did for me yesterday and all... He helped me...”

“He’s sitting over there. You can tell him to his face. Don’t speak to me,” Mrs Steadfast hissed at Harry and pointed at Snape. Harry turned stiffly towards his teacher and headmaster.

“I’m grateful, Professor...”

“Don’t thank me, by all white hot goblin swords!” Snape spat out and banged his palm on the table so that he made the tea-cups clatter and everybody, including Harry, jump. “You have no reason to... on top of everything...” He turned with irritation to Mrs Steadfast. “Don’t interfere, Audrey, and make him say things to me. We’re not angry at one another - you must be content with that. Just leave it! Maybe we simply want to leave each other in peace.”

“I’ll never make you two out. I simply don’t understand what’s going on between you...” Mrs Steadfast muttered “...but as long as you cease talking through me when you want to communicate with each other... And as long as you don’t go about murdering each other behind my back...”

“Of course not! How ridiculous! We’re on the same side, if you haven’t noticed. Is there anyone else in here who doubts my intentions toward Potter? Maybe you all believe that I might be the spy at Hogwarts?” roared Snape.

The others stared at him. Ron squirmed on his chair with an expression of incredulity on his face. Mr and Mrs Weasley started to mumble diplomatic words. Finally Mrs Steadfast interrupted them.

“We trust you, Severus, I’ve already told you that I do. And I’ve never considered the option of sending you back to the Death Eaters as a spy. You’ll tell me more about what Lucius said to you, however.”

“Later,” answered Snape darkly. Mrs Steadfast sighed.

“Later,” she repeated.

There was a silence. Harry looked feverish and his gaze was far away while he swept his hand distractedly over the table surface.

“The wizard... Machivato... reminded me of someone... or something... I haven’t seen him before - that’s not what I mean - but there was something familiar about him... I saw him only for a second... when he was dead, I mean. He had transformed into a monster as he fought... When he died, he assumed his proper shape and showed his own face... I only got a glimpse before I turned away and was sick. I saw him again in my dream tonight... There was something about his face, I cannot say what. An ordinary face, square chin... extinguished eyes...” Harry winced and gripped the edge of the table top and went silent.

“Tell me if you remember what it is he reminds you of,” said Mrs Steadfast gently. “We have some photos of him. We’re going to show people in Hogsmeade and at Hogwarts to investigate whether anyone has seen him around prior to the attack. The efforts will probably be abortive; he might have been transfigured all the time. A metamorphmagus is virtually impossible to trace.”

“I don’t think he followed me from here. I think he waited for me in Paris,” Harry said in a low voice. “Someone sent him a message I was going there. I don’t know how they found out. Someone at Hogwarts, most probably… Perhaps Mr Burgess...”

“We’ve no reason to suspect Mr Burgess,” interrupted Mrs Steadfast. “I told you, it’s a poor guy, not very strong.” Harry looked at her without saying anything for a while before he asked:

“Have you found out anything about Machivato? What do you know about him?”

“Machivato is a taken name. We only know that he is of British descent, but we don’t know his real name nor whether he has a family. He has been known to be rife in France and southern Europe: Italy, Serbia, Albania, Spain, Portugal, for at least three years. He appeared at about the same time as Voldemort came back. He has done terrible things, brutal robberies mostly, but the last year of Voldemort’s reign, the actions became more politically marked, directed against Muggles and Muggle-borns. He’s not known to have any followers so he must’ve enjoyed working on his own. Although it’s clear that he must’ve collaborated with someone in Britain.” They pondered upon this piece of information.

“I never knew of Voldemort’s collaboration with Machivato. Never heard the name before. Voldemort kept his different followers separated and his plans secret. He must have had an idea about gaining powers in Europe and why not the whole world...That’s where a wizard like Machivato came in,” said Snape.

“How much are the Muggle families told? Do we tell them anything? I mean most of the victims in Paris were young people like us, their families must be devastated,” asked Harry. Mrs Weasley put her hand on his sleeve and shook her head.

“We cannot tell them, Harry. They won’t believe us.”

“Mrs Weasley’s right, it would only upset them and cause resentment toward the wizard world,” said Mrs Steadfast with a concerned look at Harry.

“They’ll not even know why their children died. They’ll have so many questions. They’ll be told it was a drug, a gas, whatever, but there’s no evidence, right? And they died because of me...” whispered Harry looking down on his hands.

“Don’t plague yourself, Harry,” Hermione whispered back with tears in her eyes. Ron cleared his throat.

“It’s not as if you asked to be attacked, mate. You cannot take this upon you.” Harry looked gratefully at them through a haze of tears as he rose from the table. He did not seem to know what to do with himself. The apple and the chocolate egg lay almost untouched in front of him.

“Teddy’s been crying for a while,” he muttered. “Can I have a break and go and see him?”

“I think we’re finished,” said Mrs Steadfast. “One more thing only, Harry, please.” She spoke gently. “When I see you like this, ill and weak, I have difficulties imagining you coming back to Hogwarts in full vigour. Someone, if there is a spy at Hogwarts, might take advantage of your weakened state and try to attack you again. Will you please reconsider accepting an attending Auror? You do realise, don’t you, that you not only increase risks for yourself, but you put an increased pressure upon your friends, too. More responsibility will lie on them to accompany you and watch over you.”

“I don’t ask them to...” Harry begun to say when he was interrupted by his friends.

“Don’t pressure him, Mrs Steadfast. He has a right to decide for himself,” said Ginny.

“We respect Harry’s wish, Mrs Steadfast, and we don’t feel that he puts us under risks. I mean it’s clearly not his fault that people go after him,” repeated Ron.

“Harry has been under threats ever since he started at Hogwarts nearly eight years ago. We chose to be his friends then and we still want to be his friends today, regardless of the threats other persons subject him to,” added Hermione. ”I’ve a feeling we let you down yesterday, Harry. Everything was so chaotic. Let us make it up to you. We’ll stand by you.”

Mr and Mrs Weasley, Mrs Steadfast and Snape looked at them with exasperation, mixed with admiration and a streak of envy.

“You’ve got loyal friends,” said Mrs Steadfast in a low voice.

“Yes, the very best,” Harry answered with more strength in his voice. “And I’ll be okay by Tuesday, you’ll see... I need your help later, Hermione,” he continued. “Book thing...” he added to Ron and Ginny who wrinkled their noses. 

Harry and Ginny were fit to Apparate back to Hogsmeade on Whit Monday evening with Ron and Hermione. Simmings met them in the wizard village and walked them to the castle where they sneaked up to the Gryffindor Tower to avoid attention. They had deliberately chosen to arrive late and not join dinner in the Great Hall. So it was not until Tuesday morning that Harry met his fellow students. As he breakfasted early, he did not see many of them until it was time for the final trimester’s first lesson.

He attracted slightly more curious gazes than usual, and people whispered when they spotted him, but that was something he was used to. Some younger pupils seemed afraid of him and kept a distance. More intimate friends, Gryffindor students like Neville, Dean and Seamus for example, exchanged a few words with him and patted his back appreciatively in a rather undramatic way. At lunch, Harry noticed that Snape gazed intently at him and seemed to interrogate some of the teachers he had met during the morning. He saw them shake their heads at Snape and cast quick glances back at him.

After lunch, it was time for DADA class and Harry knew he was going to be scrutinised more closely by Snape, but yet he seemed calm and composed. There was no trace of fever or apparent weakness about him as he stood waiting in the corridor outside the DADA classroom. Draco Malfoy had shot him several resentful glances in the Great Hall and at last the Slytherin could not resist stepping up to Harry and hiss at him:

“Did it feel good, Potter, to kill a wizard? I thought it might be against your high principles to do so. You didn’t even use the killing curse against Voldemort.”

“I’m allowed to defend myself like everybody else, Malfoy,” Harry answered noncommittally.

“And the moment the green light sorted your wand, what did you feel?” Malfoy asked silkily, “...and when it hit him and when he fell, what...”

“That’s enough from you, Mr Malfoy!” Snape’s face was impassive, but his voice vibrated menacingly. He passed between the two young men and scrutinised Harry with his back to Malfoy.

“I’m fine,” said Harry in such a low voice that Snape could barely perceive it. But he bore Snape’s gaze steadily and showed no signs of nausea or of being unwell in any other way. As Snape proceeded into the classroom with a slightly puzzled expression on his face, Harry exchanged a few words with Ron who laughed and Harry grinned back, which caused Malfoy to glare at him with even stronger ill will.

Snape was continually intrigued by Harry’s seemingly remarkable recovery from the Magic-versus-self-reaction. But as he kept his reserve toward Harry and did not approach him to talk, he was not able to provide an explanation when Mrs Steadfast asked about Harry’s health when she came to Hogwarts on Tuesday evening. She joined the teachers for dinner in the Great Hall and noticed for herself that Harry seemed to be back to his usual stable self. She was surprised, but contented herself with stating that: ’Our young hero seems to have landed in magical balance after all’, to what Snape grunted something inaudible.

A couple of days later, however, Snape got an explanation in the form of a letter and a scroll that Harry gave him after DADA class and that he accepted without comment. It read:

Dear Professor,

When I heard about the Magic-versus-self-reaction, and you told me it had to do with your inner magical balance, it reminded me of something I had read in a book about Ancient Magic. As usual in Ancient Magic, it is all about preventing evil actions, enforcing already existing powers or relations, and promoting the good things of Magic.

The passage I found described how to achieve magical balance between different wizards and witches who wanted to perform particularly difficult and delicate magic together. The incantation holds the qualities of conciliation, consolidation and enforcement.

Departing from this original piece of Ancient Magic, I had a go at creating a healing incantation. Hermione helped me out and performed the new incantation on me with a positive effect from the start. We repeated the Incantation in total three times with twelve hours apart and now I feel completely in balance and recovered.

Hermione and I have written an article - a case report similar to those I have read in the Journal of Magical Medicine. I have used my own example to illustrate the use of the healing incantation. I kept it as anonymous as possible, but maybe people will guess it’s about me, anyhow, because of the news-papers’ accounts, but it does not matter so much anymore, as long as it serves to help others. You probably should test it on some other individuals suffering from the Magic-versus-self reaction to be sure that it works in other contexts, too. Maybe you could suggest the idea to some of your contacts at St Mungo’s?

A key point to the success of the healing process is to formulate rational arguments to stifle the ambiguous feelings about the controversial magic you’ve done or witnessed and because of which the magical self has been knocked off balance.

In my case, to justify a homicide, I pleaded defending the life of a loved person and the right of self preservation. Secondly, to accept the doubtful Obliviating performed on Ginny, I argued the right of self-determination and the necessity of compromises for the higher goal of unity. Hermione helped me formulate those arguments and I repeated them to myself as she read the healing incantation.

Will you please read the text and tell us if you think it worth-while publishing? I think Hermione is very excited about having her name on an article.

Respectfully Yours, Harry Potter.

 PS Have you spoken to Professor Vector, Sir? I would very much like to have a try at the Arithmancy NEWT exam. I am well enough now to exert myself.

The answer was not long in coming in the form of a letter on Harry’s desk in Potions the next day.

Mr Potter and Miss Granger,

Well done! I was intrigued by your remarkable recovery, Mr Potter. The difference in your health is so pronounced that the new incantation must be effective indeed. Naturally, I have no means to try it out on my own, but the construction looks correct to me. I agree with you that it should be further tested at St Mungo’s and with your authorisation I will see to it that it will be done. It does not prevent you from publishing the case report which is well written, probably thanks to your exact and perfected quill, Miss Granger. I have only made a few short comments, and a suggestion to further increase anonymity, which is something I advice you not to compromise with, Mr Potter.

As for the Arithmancy project, I have spoken to Professor Vector and obtained her permission to let Mr Potter write the OWL and NEWT exams. She insisted on you taking both. I hope that you have taught your pupil well, Miss Granger, because as predicted Professor Vector assumed a greater involvement on my side than I can take credit for, and my doubtful reputation as an Arithmancy teacher is now at stake.

Finally, Mr Potter, just out of curiosity, has the Healing Incantation of Magical Imbalance removed your nightmares as well?

Yours sincerely, Severus Snape.

Harry had written the paper almost entirely on his own, without Herminone’s help and smiled to himself when he read Snape’s unexpected praise of her quill, but thought that there was no point in disillusioning his teacher. He felt it was practicable to write instead of risk speaking to Snape and answered shortly:

Professor,

Thank you very much for arranging things with Professor Vector.

The restoration of my magical balance has reduced the number of nightmares, but not removed them altogether. I guess it is not like an Obliviating treatment; you have to face what you have done and witnessed at any rate.

With respect, Harry Potter

***

“Explain again why you don’t speak to him,” said Ron with a puzzled expression on his face as he, Hermione and Harry were sitting in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, working on their Charms essays.

“I guess we could speak to each other, but it’s just better this way...” Harry said evasively.

”But you trust him?” asked Ron.

”Yes, I do. More so now than before Paris.”

“You know he was a Death Eater.” Ron met Harry’s reproving look and added exasperated: “At one point in his life he was, okay? Just face it, Harry.”

“He made a mistake, but should he be punished for it the rest of his life? I don’t think so. Moreover, I don’t think that real Death Eaters puke when they kill or have Magic-versus-self reactions out of qualms of consciousness,” Harry answered heatedly.

“You think that Snape...?” began Hermione, wide-eyed.

“I don’t know. He obviously knew what he was talking about. I don’t know whether it’s his own experiences or because he’s a healer,” said Harry and turned his head away. He was at a loss to explain why it upset him so much to have to defend Snape to his friends.

“But you heard him discuss not fitting in regular society and going back to the Death Eaters, with Lucius Malfoy?” insisted Ron, still sceptical.

“That was Lucius Malfoy’s suggestion. You heard Snape, he even told Mrs Steadfast about it,” retorted Harry.

”Well, Snape might have realised that you overheard him and that there was no point then in concealing what he said to Lucius. By telling Mrs Steadfast in front of you, maybe he counted on regaining your trust. I simply think that you should be more cautious around Snape, Harry,” said Ron.

”How can I be more cautious around him when I don’t even speak to him?” Harry replied, annoyed. ”I can’t imagine that Snape is really considering returning to the Death Eaters. He did imply though, when he was provoked by Lucius, that he’ll never be able to forgive James Potter. It made me realise... I’ve known it all along, of course... that he’ll never be able to... to like me or anything.” Harry looked down and frowned to himself before he continued in a matter-of-fact voice. “Most of all, he doesn’t under any circumstances want to be put under obligation to his rival’s son, so that’s another reason why he doesn’t want me to testify in his favour.”

“But you told us he made out to Lucius that he might let you testify after all. That it was only a show to manipulate you,” Ron said suspiciously.

“I haven’t heard him make the suggestion yet, have I? He only pretended before Lucius, I’m sure. He’d positively hate to owe me anything. That’s why we have to proceed very carefully when helping him with the inquiry and make it look like it’s mainly you, Hermione, who wants to repay your gratitude to him,” said Harry eagerly.

“I know,” she said. “And I do. Mother’s getting better, although not restored. It might be Alzheimer’s disease after all. She’ll be discharged soon. Dad is satisfied with the help they’ve got. I want to assist Professor Snape, but I’m starting to grow nervous. I’ll have to speak in front of an awful lot of people at the inquiry.”

“You like to talk, Hermione, you’ll do well as usual.” Ron beamed proudly at her.

“I should speak to him about those Obliviate spells he cast on the students last year. But frankly, he’s not easy to approach,” complained Hermione.

“I know who you can speak to instead, who has been told all about them,” said Harry.

Hermione looked intrigued.

“Professor McGonagall knows, I'm sure. I believe it was she who wrote to Kingsley to bring it up, because she worried about how he treated me back in February when those horrible accusations started to circulate in the papers. I think she’ll want to help,” explained Harry.

“Amazing, really, considering that she chased Snape out of Hogwarts before the battle only a year ago...” said Hermione.

“She must’ve been as dumbfounded as I was when finding out that he had stayed faithful to Dumbledore all along. He played his part too well. You really had to twist and turn your thoughts one hundred and eighty degrees to understand his motives and to accept his double spy story,” said Harry.

“Yeah, the sadness behind it too… His friendship with your mother, I mean…” Hermione added while Ron still looked sceptical.

“Snape’s a very... competent wizard...” said Harry slowly. “I respect him... I’d like to earn his respect in return... That’s why I need to do this. Plus it would be wrong to let him go to Azkaban for something he did not do.”

Hermione nodded in agreement and Ron acquiesced reluctantly.

“We need to proceed to testing the Veritaserums,” continued Harry. “They’ve matured and I’ll add the last ingredients tonight. If you could keep the others away from the dormitory for a while, Ron, I can do it in there and avoid going down to the dungeons. It gives me the creeps to be alone down there. But when and how, and on whom should we do the tests?”

Ron and Hermione both grimaced.

“Yeah, I know. But Fred and George always tested on themselves first. We should do likewise and then convince others to do it,” argued Harry.

“Where’s Ginny?” asked Hermione.

“Quidditch. She concentrates on practicing for the tournament. I think she’ll help us out with the testing though,” answered Harry.

***

The trials against the former Death Eaters and other collaborators of Voldemort had started little by little since March. They were coming to the more renowned persons and the newspapers covered the trials closely. Those of Mr and Mrs Malfoy took place one after another on the same day shortly after Easter. Draco Malfoy had been removed from the cause list and avoided trial as his preliminary inquiry had made out that he had stayed at Hogwarts on the day of the battle, instead of joining Voldemort, and the Wizengamot had taken this as justification for his changing sides at the last minute, in analogy with his mother. Harry, Ron and Hermione had debated whether to denounce Malfoy or not. They knew for a fact that his motive for staying inside the castle had not been to fight on their side, but to try to appropriate the horcrux - the diadem of Ravenclaw - and to give it to Voldemort. Considering that Crabbe and Goyle were dead and considering the pitiful state of Malfoy, they had finally decided to abstain from denouncing him.  

Harry had half a day off to do his part in testifying for Narcissa Malfoy. Simmings accompanied him to the Ministry. Harry’s contribution was sententious, but to the point, and he answered the court’s questions calmly. Narcissa looked relieved. She had seen Harry ill and weak at the Burrow - maybe she had been worried that he would not stand the strain.

Harry spotted a pale Draco Malfoy in the crowded audience with his assisting Auror at his side.  A huge amount of journalists were covering the event. Harry knew that he could not avoid being caught on picture this time. Guessing that he would adorn the next issue of the Daily Prophet, with an ironical touch, he wore his old glasses to make him look more like the hero Harry Potter the public already knew.

The cases of Mr and Mrs Malfoy proved to be the most spectacular trials since the first war, almost twenty years ago, and the wealthy couple covered the front page and several spreads in The Daily Prophet. Mr Malfoy made a ferocious attempt to defend himself. He called every friend of influence in the wizard society to give evidence of his implacable character and he swore that he had been forced under life threats to let Malfoy manor become Voldemort’s headquarters. He also claimed to have supported Narcissa in her daring actions during the final battle. Harry had declined to testify in Lucius Malfoy’s trial, neither in favour nor against Mr Malfoy. A cunning member of the jury on Narcissa’s trial took care, however, to question Harry closely about Narcissa’s motives.

Did Mr Potter have the impression that Narcissa Malfoy had premeditated to help him?

No, because first of all the Death Eaters had not been convinced that he would show up at all and surrender himself to Voldemort. Secondly, after Voldemort had cast his Avada Kedavra on Harry, Narcissa did not know that she would be singled out to check on whether he was still alive or dead. She had had to decide on the spur of the moment when she had felt his pounding heart whether to denounce him or not.

Why had she protected him?

Harry had shaken his head and answered that he could only guess, but that he thought it had to do with saving her son who she knew was still inside the castle. Maybe her instincts told her that he, Harry, would win over Voldemort in the end. At any rate she took a great risk.

Lucius’ trial took place directly after Narcissa’s and the jury used the evidence from the first trial to tear Mr Malfoy’s assertions that he had encouraged Narcissa to help Harry, to pieces.

The evening edition of the Daily Prophet wallowed in Lucius Malfoy’s shortcomings. Why did he even try, they argued, to represent himself as a reformed Death Eater and a repentant ally of the Ministry’s? He did not have Harry Potter’s evidence. Why, he did not even have his wife’s support in his favour!

At Hogwarts, it was Draco Malfoy’s turn to become the object of staring, of whispers and of taunts. He swung from being drowsy and listless - which made Harry wonder if he had been given some calming draught or other by Miss Cork, who watched over him closely - to having furious outbreaks where he suddenly launched after fellow pupils and had to be restrained by his Auror, Mr Sachs. Mr Burgess kept nearby and was often seen talking to Draco in a low, persuading voice.

The verdicts were pronounced, stating that Narcissa was acquitted, whereas Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to imprisonment in Azkaban. It was the first life time sentence hitherto in the series of trials against Voldemort’s followers.

A few days later, the Daily Prophet and its readers got their answer as to why Lucius Malfoy had acted the way he did during the trial: When he was removed from the Ministry to Azkaban, the convoy was attacked and Lucius escaped together with what was assumed to be outlawed Death Eaters and their associates.

Members of the jury came forward in the press and testified of Lucius’ attempts to bribe and threaten his way out of conviction. He had offered great sums of money to those who would vote for his release. To remain a respected part of society had clearly been his priority. He had put his whole fortune at stake. But secretly, he had a back-up in his criminal allies.

When the Ministry entered the convicted wizard’s estate, it became apparent that Malfoy Manor had been sold, without the wife’s knowledge, and the profit, together with all Lucius’ savings, had been removed from the Gringott’s bank of Wizardry. His immense fortune had first been offered to the administration of justice and when denied by them - it was only one or two persons who had let themselves be bribed, according to the paper, which was a high mark of the Ministry’s trustworthiness under Kingsley Shacklebolt’s leadership, the Daily Prophet concluded - it was lifted over to the criminal side and offered as an award for the rescue operation. Lucius Malfoy was from now on a lawless, hunted man. There were articles about his destitute wife who had not even been able to carry through the divorce before her husband vanished.

Mrs Steadfast made many visits to Hogwarts to have long interrogations with Draco Malfoy who grew increasingly desperate. Ginny told Harry, Ron and Hermione that she had come across Narcissa Malfoy fleeing through the Entrance Hall, her face wet with tears. Her son stood on top of the stairs leading down to the dungeons, beyond himself with fury, and restrained only by Mr Burgess. He shouted at his mother and called her a traitor. He said he never wanted to see her again and why did she not head for the Gryffindor Tower and say hello to her dear Harry Potter instead?

“Ow... If he didn’t hate me enough to want to kill me before, he definitely does now,” grimaced Harry.

“The splitting up of their family is tragic,” concluded Hermione.

The Malfoy trials made them realise that the Wizengamot meant to be thorough and just in the condemning of Voldemort’s allies. It meant that it would not be an easy task to get Snape cleared of charges. The date for his inquiry was fixed for the first Saturday in May. Snape made no attempts to speak to Hermione who worked frantically at his defence on the side of revising for her NEWT exams.

***

The new Veritaserum was nearly finished. The problem was to find the right balance between the compelling truth-telling effect of the liana extract and the evasive power of the centaur’s hair.

Ron tested a potion that made him speak completely incomprehensibly for hours - it was too strong on the centaur side.

Harry tested a variant that made it possible for him when interrogated by Hermione to tell lies without stumbling over his words. It was obviously too weak.

Hermione received a potion that was too strong on both sides. It made her feel compelled to tell the truth constantly and uncalled for, at the same time as she expressed herself in the curious and evasive manner that centaurs do. It made her friends double up with laughter because it was so unlike Hermione. They did the testing in the evenings so that most of the effect would have time to wear off until morning, but Hermione’s draught was so strong it lasted over night.

When in class with Professor McGonagall the next morning, she was still under its influence and raised her hand nonstop despite Harry’s urgencies that she should not, but gave so weird answers that Professor McGonagall was quite bewildered. Harry was obliged to tell his teacher that he would explain later and would she please not let Hermione have the word? The effect wore off successively during the day, but more than one teacher raised an eyebrow at Hermione’s comments. Afterwards, she was immensely embarrassed whereas Ron, who had found it all extremely amusing, teased her relentlessly the following days.

Neville who had been involved in the research on the truth extorting properties of the Rawandian liana flower, volunteered for trying out a potion as well. He experienced so strong truth compelling effects and no attenuating ones that when Hermione asked him his name he started to account for his entire genealogical table. Hermione was so astounded that she quickly said that he did not need to go that far back, and why did he not just tell them about his immediate family? It was a mistake, as Neville’s parents had met a particularly cruel fate when they had gone insane after a torturing session by a group of fanatic young Death Eaters after Voldemort’s first fall. They had been shut up at St Mungo’s hospital ever since Neville was a small child.

Harry and Hermione looked aghast at each other as Neville started to describe each and one of his visits to the hospital with his Granny in chronological order since he was a child. He had never before wanted to talk about it. Neville had tears in his eyes and was clearly plagued.

“We’re so sorry, Neville. Please, you don’t need to go on. Can’t you stop yourself?” said Hermione.

Neville shook his head.

“Okay, one of us will stay with you until the effect wears off. No need for all of us to hear your truths. Who do you want to stay with you?” said Hermione.

“Harry,” stuttered Neville. “Because he has lost his parents, too. He knows what it’s like. But I like all of you. You’re my best friends.” Hermione smiled tenderly at him.

Harry sat by Neville’s side under a Muffliato spell until midnight when the effect finally wore off enough for the torrent of words to quiet down and allow them to go to bed. By then Harry had heard the entire story of Neville’s childhood, about his shortcomings, how he had longed for his parents, how much he dreaded the death of his grandmother, and about his relief and sense of revenge when he had helped Harry in the battle against Voldemort. Neville also told Harry about Luna, about the fumbling efforts for love, the uncertainty and then the resignation. She only wanted to be friends. He suspected she had met someone else when she visited a relative in London this Christmas. Harry felt ashamed that he had not noticed Neville’s agony. He realised he must have been both inattentive and self-absorbed to miss something like that.

“I don’t resent it, Harry. You’ve mostly moved under Muffliato spells this winter and had enough to deal with yourself,” said Neville and Harry assumed that he was truthful because he was still under the influence of the Veritaserum. Harry’s head was studded with Neville’s confession and he went to bed exhausted.

Ginny, on her side, tested a potion that they did not think had worked at all, at first, because Ginny was exactly as she used to be, answering frankly and outspokenly. When Hermione started to ask her delicate questions about her former boy-friends, however, in the presence of Harry, her tongue seemed to lock and she started to stutter on some occasions, but she managed eventually to pronounce:

“I want to pass on that question, please.” They looked at her.

“You’re unable to lie then?” asked Harry.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“It does not show so much. You’re an honest sort of person as you are, Ginny,” said Hermione.

“It’s the potion where I added a small amount of owl teardrops, which are used in potions to increase lucidity. It clearly counteracts the confused centaur word phrasing to a more normal one, but keeps the ability to decline to answer. Perfect!” exclaimed Harry.

They took turns to test the potion again. They had to be careful - even if the balanced draught of the Veritaserum of Exceptions allowed you to decline to answer a question, it was easy to blurt out small, but sometimes hurtful, truths about someone’s appearance or habits. Ron and Hermione got seriously cross with each other when they tried their potions and they needed all the diplomacy of Harry and the most resolute “cut it off!” from Ginny to stop them from breaking up there and then.

When Ginny tested the Veritaserum a second time after the modifications, Ron thought it fun to question her on a series of events from their childhood. But Ginny parried the questions, either by retorting truthfully and bitingly, or by declining haughtily to answer. Ron somehow wanted to nail her and his frustration grew until he blurted out the question:

”What’s the most terrible thing that ever happened to you, Ginny?” His sister looked hurt and confused for a second, then answered in a low, desolate voice.

”Why, that was when Harry killed Fred, you know.”

There was a horrified pause among the friends.

”But… what?! Harry didn’t kill Fred!” Ron stuttered with eyes round as saucers and a terrified glance at his friend who had paled considerably.

”Ginny…” Harry whispered. ”Ginny, do you honestly think that I killed your brother? If you do, how can you even speak to me? How…?”

Ginny looked bewildered from her brother to her boy-friend, before she answered, a little high-pitched.

”No, no that was wrong. I know that father told me you killed Machivato in Paris, Harry. I don’t remember it, though, due to the treatment. Ignore what I said - it was only a stupid lapsus. It was nothing.”

”Yes, that was stupid indeed!” exclaimed Ron. ”How absurd! You know perfectly well that Fred was killed by an Avada Kadavra coming from Death Eater Yaxley’s wand.”

”Yes, I remember Mum telling me so,” said Ginny.

”But, do you really believe it, Ginny? You’re under Veritaserum and yet you said…” Harry’s voice was thick with emotion.

”I don’t think that you should draw any conclusions from what Ginny said, Harry,” Hermione was quick to intervene. ”Who says you can’t make innocent slips of mind under Veritaserum? Those are not deliberate lies - and not truths either. It must be the Obliviating treatment interacting weirdly with the Veritaserum and she told you that it was wrong…”

”Yeah, don’t get upset, Harry. Of course she knows that you didn’t kill Fred,” said Ron, eager to make peace between his sister and his friend.

”She’s dosed with Veritaserum! Don’t you see? You can’t just ignore it. The important thing is what she feels, what she believes to be the truth!” Harry cried.

”I’m sorry, Harry! I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Ginny cried back. ”It’s just… It’s just that I’m a bit confused. The Obliviating treatment seems not only to have taken away the memories of the attack in Paris, but some memories from the battle last year as well. There is a blank around Fred’s death and…”

”Why haven’t you said anything, Ginny? That’s disturbing, it’s not supposed to do that, or is it? Have you asked Healer Schufflert?” said Ron, worry written on his face.

”It’s not a big deal. Maybe I do have some memories… They’ve just faded a bit… It’s natural for them to do so, isn’t it? It’s not like I want to dwell on them or anything. I’ve moved on. I don’t mind. I’m fine,” said Ginny.

”You’re fine with thinking that I’m your brother’s murderer?” Harry elevated his voice.

”Harry, calm down,” said Hermione.

”I told you it was a mistake,” said Ginny.

”What was a mistake - believing it, or saying it?” Harry asked harshly.

”Don’t push her, Harry, it’s not her fault. Of course she doesn’t believe you’re Fred’s murderer,” said Ron.

”No? Tell me then, Ginny, while you’re still under the influence of Veritaserum. Tell me that you’re convinced that I did not kill Fred, that you know I didn’t. Say it.” Harry had his eyes riveted on Ginny who squirmed and fretted before lifting her chin defiantly.

”You’re so suspicious of me. I’m your girl-friend. You should trust me!” she said angrily.

”That’s not the issue. We’re speaking of some sort of weird side-effect to the Obliviating treatment that you refuse to acknowledge. You cannot keep going around believing deep down that I actually killed your brother! How can we possibly stay together? Don’t you see?” Harry pleaded.

”Merlin! You don’t have any confidence in me at all, do you? I love you - is not that enough? Or do you doubt that as well?” hissed Ginny.

”That’s not the issue!” repeated Harry.

”Well, I think it’s hideous of you to doubt me. I’m not sure you love me any longer, or you would not cross-question me like thit. Tell you what – I’ll not put up with being pushed around, just because you get paranoid about something ridiculous. You cannot dictate what I say or not. Am I supposed to watch my tongue now every time I speak to you, so that I do not accidentally let something slip that you don’t agree with? What kind of relationship is that? Tell you, I won’t speak to you until you show me some respect again!” shouted Ginny and ran off with tears in her eyes. Hermione looked reproachfully at Harry and ran after her. Harry inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly, trying to control the fury he felt rushing through his veins. His hands were shaking. Ron watched him apprehensively.

”Harry, of course Ginny doesn’t…” he said, but was interrupted by a brusque, impatient gesture from Harry who looked like he was ready to explode, but instead he turned his back on Ron and fled from the room.

Ron did not see Harry again until the next morning in the Great Hall, because Harry did not come back to the dormitory until Ron had already fallen asleep. At breakfast, Harry seemed to have calmed down, but he had dark circles around his eyes, showing that the night had not brought him much rest. Ron observed that he shot short, tentative glances in Ginny’s direction, but his sister looked coldly back at Harry and walked away to class without waiting for them. Hermione was about to rush after her, but stopped at Harry’s side and whispered to him:

”I’m trying to convince her to go and see a healer - preferably someone else than Healer Schufflert, because I’m not sure she’s a suitable alternative. But we need to be gentle with Ginny and give her time. We mustn’t push her. This is obviously another case of an Oblivate spell gone wrong. But I’ll not repeat the mistake I made with my mum and lose my head in an attempt to rectify everything at once. We need to be patient.”

Harry shook his head.

”Ginny’ll never consent to seeing a healer,” he said with a streak of desperation in his voice. ”She doesn’t want anything to be wrong - and therefore she concludes that nothing is wrong.”

”Try to make up with her by lunch. I know that she wants to, even if she doesn’t let it show,” Hermione said hurriedly and ran after Ginny.

”Yeah, that’s my sister - she always lets you stew before she deigns to forgive you,” said Ron.

”What, exactly, is there to forgive?” asked Harry, anger contained in his voice.

Harry stood the pressure of Ginny’s coldness all day until the late hours of the evening when he started to feel as if he had indeed stewed in one of Snape’s thickest cauldrons for twenty-four hours since the row erupted the previous night. His brain had turned to mush and it felt as if his heart was burning and withering to ashes, simultaneously, in the most painful way. After rummaging Ginny’s words from the previous day over and over again, Harry was at his wits’ end. Maybe Ron and Hermione were right when they said that it meant nothing? Ginny claimed that she loved him, didn’t she? What else mattered, really? He missed her, for heaven’s sake! He was not sure that he could live without her. What if he gave in? Maybe he had misinterpreted the whole situation? But then - no! He had not! He knew something was wrong. The internal struggle threatened to throttle him with frustration and made him feel worse than during the Magic-versus-self reaction. He finally convinced himself that he could not live without Ginny and left the owlery where he had been hiding since classes ended and hurried towards the Gryffindor tower.

In the corridor, only a few steps away from the portrait of the fat lady, Harry stopped because coming from the other end, from the stairs, was his beautiful, sparkling Ginny. Only, she did not look happy, nor did she look cold. There was this brittle streak of surprised hurt in her face that made her appear so vulnerable all of a sudden that Harry’s heart ached for her, and for himself, and he felt tears mount in his eyes. He made a slight gesture and suddenly Ginny was in his arms. Harry held her tightly, choking on the sobs that found their way up his throat. After a long while he calmed down, but continued to hold her and breathed deeply from the scent of her hair with closed eyes. Oh, Ginny! Why did it have to be so complicated? Why did she have to…? Snape’s words from St Mungo’s came back to him - don’t let hurt pride stand in the way of your future happiness. Harry swallowed. He would be patient. He and Ginny would sort it out, eventually.

Ron and Hermione were immensely relieved that Harry appeared to have made up with Ginny at last. After making a few attempts at bringing the subject up again, Harry resigned to the fact that his friends seemed as intent as Ginny on ignoring the origin of their fight. Even Hermione did not have the courage to pursue her intreaties to take Ginny to a healer for an evaluation. Harry supposed that Ginny’s slip of the tongue was too absurd and too complicated to approach. Feeling guilty over burdening his friends with yet another dilemma, Harry finally opted for postponing the entire problem until… well, maybe until the summer, when he and Ginny would be left more on their own and things would be quieter and he could speak to her, calmly. As it were, there was now only one week left until Snape’s inquiry. They all had important things to do, and somehow they plunged into the task with all the more determination as they wanted to forget about what was left unresolved between Harry and Ginny.

Hermione and Harry sought out Professor McGonagall who already knew most of their plans and had already told Hermione all about Professor Snape’s Obliviating sessions last year. She agreed to help them recruit some of the teachers to test the Veritaserum of Exceptions. They needed to test the draught on older subjects, with different experiences and magical powers. The majority of the teachers consented to participate, Mr Burgess and Miss Cork excepted because they were busy consoling Malfoy, and Mr Sawman because he was allergic to one of the ingredients. The Professors all seemed to react to the draught in a similar way to the adolescents.

On the Wednesday prior to Snape’s inquiry, Professor McGonagall accompanied Hermione to the headmaster’s office where Hermione presented the Veritaserum of Exceptions to Snape. She handed him a scroll that Harry had made her copy in her own handwriting, of his description of the draught. He had written it as an article similar to the Accromantula paper, ready to be submitted to a journal. Snape ran it through suspiciously.

“You invented this?” he said to Hermione.

“Neville Longbottom and I mostly,” lied Hermione, as convened between Harry and her. “We have consulted with Harry Potter to some extent too.”

“Hm...” grunted Snape.

“I’ll take it in front of you, Severus, and you’ll be persuaded of how excellent it is,” said Professor McGonagall and drained the cup that Hermione handed her. Hermione started the questioning, but Snape soon overtook the work.

“What did you think of me, Minerva, that night when you chased me away from the school, before the battle started?”

Professor McGonagall blemished and let out some guttural sounds before she said: “I’d like to pass on that question.”

“And I’d like you to speak the truth, please, Minerva,” said Snape.

"I want to pass on the question, please,” Professor McGonagall insisted calmly.

“If you answer the question, I’ll take the draught on Saturday at the inquiry, which is what you have come to ask me to do, isn’t it?” said Snape.

Professor McGonagall hesitated before she locked eyes with him and said slowly, but clearly:

“When I chased you out of the castle that night, I felt the desperation and the satisfaction of a mother who finally decides to punish her child for all the mischief and evilness he has accumulated before her eyes. Right at that moment I loathed you and I hoped you would be punished enough to regret your actions!” Her voice cracked, and a shadow of surprise and tenderness passed on Snape’s face.

“Thank you, Minerva. I wanted to hear it in your own words. You’re such a polite and stern witch on most occasions.”

“I’ve changed my mind quite drastically about you, Severus.” Professor McGonagall tried to tone down her words.

“I do my best to live up to his demands...” Snape glanced at the portrait of Dumbledore. “I have stood nearly a whole year... That’s longer than I expected... Maybe the time has come…” Snape seemed lost in thoughts.

“Hem... Professor, do you want to know more about how I’m going to defend you?” asked Hermione.

“No, you go ahead, Miss Granger.” Snape changed to a light tone. “I’ll follow you, except in the areas you know I will not... It’s an interesting draught you’ve made. Tell all your friends who contributed to make it that I’m impressed. The judges might be suspicious as it’s not published in a journal yet and not officially approved by the Ministry, though.”

Hermione sounded a bit dejected when she told her friends about Snape’s comment.

“He’s right. Our potion isn’t approved by the Ministry. Therefore, we must essentially rely on their readiness to trust its effects and let us use it on Snape anyhow. I wish we had something more. I don’t understand how Snape can take this so lightly. They have so much on him that discredits him.” She was slumped in an armchair in a corner of the Gryffindor common room.

“You do have his Patronus,” said Ginny.

“And the explanation of his Obliviating sessions with the cruciated pupils. That’s good,” said Ron.

“We need something more substantial and objective.” Hermione shook her head discontented.

“You can do what they did to Harry when they wanted to extradite him to Paris. You can let Snape’s wand testify,” proposed Ron.

”Would they not already have performed a Priori Incantati on his wand, do you think?” asked Ginny.

”Not necessarily, because he already confessed to the murder of Dumbledore, so there was no reason for them to check the evidence,” answered Harry.

Hermione stared at Ron.

“Of course!” she exclaimed. ”Why haven’t I thought about that? Great thinking, Ron! But I need to see his wand beforehand. We need to go back almost three years. That’s an awful lot of spells to sort out. You must help me, Harry.”

“It must not show that I’m involved too much. He doesn’t like that,” said Harry.

“He already suspects it. I think that as long as you don’t testify or vouch for him, it’s okay with him,” said Hermione.

“It still must be done discretely. Let’s give it a try the three of us tomorrow. Ginny needs to do Quidditch. Sunday’s the big day for her,” answered Harry.

It proved virtually impossible to get near Snape the next day. He seemed to avoid all of them, and in the evening he departed on his mysterious weakly mission and did not return until late at night. Not until Friday afternoon did they catch him when Hermione knocked at the door to the teacher’s common room. He did not let her in, but stepped outside into the corridor to speak to her. He seemed quite patient, but uninterested. When Hermione asked him to borrow his wand for a while he only raised his eyebrows in disbelief and said that he could not possibly part with it. He did not even give Hermione time to explain the reason she wanted it, before he returned to his staff. Hermione looked exasperated at Harry who popped up behind a pillar where he had been hiding during the conversation.

“I have an idea for tonight,” he said. “It’s time to call on Mrs Steady for some help.”

Harry was right in his assumption that Mrs Steadfast would join Hogwarts for supper. A lot of people from the outside would be let into the castle the next day as parents and the entire School Board were expected to attend the inquiry. Mrs Steadfast had to go through the last security measures. Harry managed to catch her attention after supper and whispered something in her ear.

“How long?” she asked.

“One hour should be enough before Professor Snape will have it back. But we’ll need to work in the hall for at least a couple of hours, three, maybe four...” answered Harry.

“I’ll put Simmings and Swan on guard outside the Great Hall so that you might work undisturbed. Wait here, I’ll be right back,” said Mrs Steadfast. Hermione looked impressed when the chief Auror came back one minute later and handed Snape’s wand over to them. “I’ll keep him busy,” she said and winked at them.

***

Harry and Hermione did not go to bed until long after midnight. First they worked in the Great Hall together with Ron for several hours before Mrs Steadfast came to tell them she had to leave the castle and they needed to return to their house. After that, Hermione and Harry rehearsed the procedure and the arguments for the morrow in front of the big fire place until the glow had died down, been revived and died down again several times.

Once Saturday lunch was over and done with, the Great Hall was cleared of all tables and transformed into a giant court room. Rows of benches filled the hall, from the podium at one end, down to the Entrance Hall at the other end, with only a narrow gangway in the centre. All places but a few were taken, and yet the Entrance Hall was crowded with people who wanted to come in. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall consulted with each other in order to enchant the benches to fit more spectators in, because the Great Hall in itself could not be changed in its proportions, nor enlarged by magic. On the podium to the left, the table where the teachers had their meals and supervised the pupils had been replaced by a long bench bestowed with a high, wooden back. The seats were intended for the members of the School Board. Opposite the unwieldy piece of furniture, on the right side, a long desk had been placed behind which the judge Tempatino was already seated with two secretaries from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at his sides. Hermione was standing on the far side of the desk. She looked small and pale.

***

Hermione had been so nervous that she barely uttered one word at breakfast. Ginny had managed to squeeze in a training session of quidditch during the morning, so Ron and Harry dragged Hermione out to look at the game in order to distract her. Harry did not think that rehearsing more than they had already done would do her any good. She was pale, bad tempered and snappish in the way she usually behaved before exams. Finally, she moaned loudly and leant her forehead against a banister at the quidditch stadium.

“Remind me, Harry, why am I doing this?” she whined.

“Your mother...” began Harry.

“Actually...” Hermione interrupted him bitingly. “Actually, I think I could do fine with being just grateful, you know, for the help Snape has given me... I could be just grateful without feeling the need to pay him back or anything... Because that’s more of a thing between you and Snape, really. Am I doing this for you? Because I’m so used to do whatever you say? I’m beginning to think that Ron’s mind-soothing healer has got a point...” Hermione said hoarsely.

“Listen, Hermione, this is part of cleaning up after Voldemort. As much as we want the guilty Death Eaters punished, we cannot let an innocent man go to prison. And you’re right - I owe Snape, because he has saved my life, repeatedly. But you do it for yourself, too. You want to become a lawyer. You wanted to take the opportunity to test your talent and to show yourself to the Ministry’s representatives of Magical Law.”

“How could I be so stupid, so presumptuous? I’m completely inexperienced and this is a huge inquiry. Why on earth has Snape not employed a regular lawyer? Why does he let me do it? Why...?”

“Hermione, this is not the time to start questioning your own or anybody else’s motives. You’ll do just fine. I’m behind you, remember? Just do as we’ve planned.” Harry tried to encourage her.

“I’ll be there for you, whether you succeed or fail, Hermione,” said Ron quietly. She hugged him, cast Harry a dark look and turned to watch Ginny make a spectacular catch of the Quaffle and head for a hoop to score.

***

The crowd finally settled down in the Great Hall. The huge oak door opened once again and Kingsley Shacklebolt weaved his way between the benches, his colourful robe brushing the shoulders of the audience sitting next to the gangway. He settled down at the front row, with Aurors on either side. Harry was seated with Ron and Ginny right behind him on the second row. Kingsley made a sign of recognition at Judge Tempatino and at Headmaster Snape who had entered the hall through the small door at the other end of the hall, together with Mrs Steadfast and placed himself in the middle of the podium, where he used to stand when he addressed the pupils. His face was impassive as he gazed out over the crowd. Mrs Steadfast stayed in the background, guarding the small exit at the rear of the hall.

The formal introduction took some time, but served to give Hermione time to enter into her role and gave her the opportunity to show that she was familiar with the procedures. The judge raised his eyebrows when she presented herself as Professor Snape’s representative.

“A student - indeed! I’m aware this is only an inquiry prior to the real trial, but do you really take this so lightly, Professor? It seems to me you are underestimating the importance of today’s hearing.”

“On the contrary, Your Honour. I have great faith in Miss Granger’s capability,” said Snape calmly, and it was hard to make out whether he was being sarcastic or not.

Hermione behaved without fault, however, and the judge seemed satisfied. He read the charges, adding that the School Board had recently filed a petition to have Snape removed as headmaster of Hogwarts as soon as possible, with reference to possible mistreatment of pupils.

“We will show that the accusations that were brought forward in the press concerning the Obliviate sessions with certain pupils last year are misleading,” Hermione said calmly. The Chairman of the School Board, a witch by name Esma Spingelfitz, rose and spoke.

“If there’s only the remotest doubt as to the actions of Professor Snape toward the pupils last year, we demand his immediate dismissal.” Snape opened his mouth, but Hermione forestalled him.

“I believe that we will prove without the least doubt that those accusations are false,” she repeated in a steady voice.

“Then the defence might start, please,” said Judge Tempatino with an indulgent gesture. Hermione took a deep breath and cast a quick glance at Harry.

“The defence will mainly be based on Professor Snape’s own testimony,” she started and a buzz of general dissatisfaction travelled through the hall. “It will be corroborated with supportive witnesses,” Hermione hurried to clarify. Snape raised an eyebrow. “To begin with, in order to strengthen the credibility of Professor Snape, he has consented to take a Veritaserum in front of you before speaking.” The outraged buzz subsided to surprised mutterings.

“Silence,” said Judge Tempatino. “This is an interesting development. I have understood that Professor Snape has declined the use of Veritaserums hitherto when heard about his operations under Voldemort. His refusal has undermined his credibility for quite some time.”

“That’s correct, Your Honour. He has declined the use of conventional Veritaserums to clear himself, because he doesn’t wish to have to account for some personal motives involved in his actions. His position in that area still stands, and I might as well warn you that if there are questions about Professor Snape’s ulterior motives for joining Albus Dumbledore’s resistance movement against Voldemort twenty years ago, they’ll be dismissed.”

Judge Tempatino pursed his lips, but did not object and Hermione continued.

”The Veritaserum used today is a new invention, based on the strongest truth compelling compound there is: the Ruwandian liana flower. A modifying agent has been added that will allow the cross-examined person to decline to answer certain questions. It will not allow him to lie, so everything that is uttered will be the truth. That’s the advantage of the draught.” The buzz started anew among the audience. Hermione spoke louder to be heard. “The potion has been tested on a large number of pupils and teachers here at Hogwarts and we are confident of its safety. The formula is currently being submitted to the Journal of New Potions.”

“That means that it’s not approved of by the Ministry of Magic,” the judge said slowly.

“Not yet, Your Honour. I have no doubt that it will be in the future, however. My suggestion is that you choose one of your members to try it out in front of us to test its effects and reliability before we give it to Professor Snape.” The members of the School Board squirmed in their seats.

“Your Honour, Professor Snape is an accomplished Occlumens which is precisely what allowed him to play the part as a double spy against Voldemort so successfully. Without the use of a Veritaserum, there’ll always remain a doubt as to whether he still plays a role and fools us all. It’s essential that you all believe he’s telling the truth.”

Judge Tempatino seemed to hesitate. Harry held his breath. This was a crucial part of the strategy. Would the judge allow the Veritaserum of Exceptions to be used, or not?

“Do we have a volunteer?” said the judge to the members of the Board.

“I’ll be pleased to do it,” said Mrs Spingelfitz with dignity. ”I have nothing to hide,” she added pompously.

Hermione hastened to pick out a small bottle from inside her robe and conjured up a cup. With slightly shaking hands, that betrayed more of her nervousness than her voice did, she added seven droplets of the liquid from the bottle and gave the cup to the witch who smelled it suspiciously before drinking. Hermione cleared her voice.

“Will you please tell us where you work, Mrs Spingelfitz?” she asked.

“I work at the Department of Magical Games and Sports,” the witch answered readily.

“Did you go to work this morning?” asked Hermione.

“Yes.”

“Please tell us how your working day started. Who did you greet when you arrived and what did you say to them?”

Mrs Spingelfitz looked puzzled but answered without hesitation.

“I arrived by Apparition as usual. I hoped I’d be slightly ahead of the worst morning crowd, but got stuck in the middle of it. The elevators were stuffed. I nodded to several people. Small-talked with my good friend Ophelia Windleby at the Auror’s Office, said ’Good to see you’ to Mr Plow at the Department of Magical Transportation…”

“And, excuse me, did you think it was good to see Mr Plow?” Hermione asked innocently.

Mrs Spingelfitz stared at Hermione and started to say something, but her tongue locked and she only made undistinguishable sounds. Her eyes widened. She cleared her voice.

“It was actually not so good to see him. I’m cross with him for voting down a proposal that we had submitted to facilitate the exchange program of quidditch players across different countries.”

“Very well. Who else did you meet when you entered your department?”

“I said hello to my secretary, Miss Fendle. Popped my head into my older colleague’s office, almost ran into Mr Flowerbed on the way, made my apologies and continued to my own office.”

“Who’s Mr Flowerbed?” asked Hermione.

“He’s a young employee at the department in charge of the Sport results Archive,” Mrs Spingelfitz said cautiously.

“What’s your oppinion about Mr Flowerbed?” Hermione asked sweetly. Mrs Spingelfitz made a pause and looked like she thought hard.

“I’d like to pass on that question, please,” she said in a dignified tone. She cast a look behind her then turned her head to Hermione again. “How long will this draught last? There’s no doubt that it’s effective.” She addressed her fellow members of the School Board. “I vote for giving Professor Snape this potion before he testifies.”

Her colleagues who had looked amused during her short questioning, turned serious and nodded their approval. Hermione looked at the judge who shrugged indifferently while one of the secretaries gave him a disapproving glance.

“I’ll give Professor Snape twice the dose I gave to you, Mrs Spingelfitz. It’ll last about four hours. Just watch out for those small automatic comments we all tend to make. They’re treacherous. I’ve tried it myself...” Hermione turned to Snape. Before she handed him the cup she said in a solemn voice:

“Professor Snape, are you aware that this Veritaserum will make it impossible for you to utter any kind of lies or untruths, but that it will allow you to abstain from answering certain questions?”

“I’m aware of the nature of the potion you’re offering me, Miss Granger. I’ve intended to speak the truth all along. It’s merely a question of whether I’m believed or not,” Snape answered curtly and emptied the cup.

The Great Hall was in suspense. The judge shifted a paper and cleared his throat.

“To begin with, we’ll address the charge of killing Albus Dumbledore. There are numerous witnesses of this event, although most of them are other Death Eaters that we have interrogated. However, Mr Snape doesn’t deny the deed - he merely claims that his motive was not what everyone thinks it was, namely to serve Voldemort, but something entirely different. Will you tell us in your own words, please Professor Snape?”

Snape told them about Dumbledore’s accident with the ring - without mentioning the horcrux attached to it - and told them about the curse that he had contained in Dumbledore’s hand and the death sentence that it implied. He explained about the promise he had made to Dumbledore and he told them about Draco Malfoy’s assignment and the Unbreakable Vow made to Narcissa Malfoy.

A few weeks ago, at St Mungo’s Hospital, Harry had come to realise that Snape was a good narrator. It had to do with the contrast between his restrained personality and the rich vocabulary he used to convey the vivid images of what he recounted. Also, his deep voice was slightly hypnotising and the audience listened in fascination. When Snape was finished, judge Tempatino turned to Hermione.

“Do you have further evidence to corroborate this?” he asked.

“I have two witnesses Your Honour,” she said and Snape looked at her in utter surprise.

“Call them forth,” said the judge.

“The first witness is Professor Snape’s wand,” said Hermione. “We made a Priori Incantati yesterday in this room and examined all the spells performed three years back from now with this wand. I have the entire result with dates, numbers and types of spells and curses in this scroll. There are over three thousands of them, not counting the minor, everyday spells which are never registered in the wand for longer than a week.” She handed the scroll over to judge Tempatino. “To make this easier to grasp we have saved a well-sorted sample of the most relevant spells.”

Hermione waved her hand, muttered a few words and suddenly the space over the audience’s heads and all the way up to the ceiling was full of misty-like images and words - the ghosts of the performed spells. They had been sorted in groups and coded in different colours with titles and dates written in golden letters above them. A murmur went through the room as heads turned upwards and Snape gaped at the sight of his own wand history, casting Harry a side-way glance.

“A thorough work indeed,” the judge muttered. “Nice presentation. Must have taken you hours to sort out.”

“Here...” Hermione pointed at a bright green light “...is the Avada Kedavra that killed Professor Dumbledore. Please note that there is no other Avada Kedavra performed by this wand during these three years.” A new buzz from the audience.

“Here,” Hermione pointed in another direction, “are the incantations and healing spells that Professor Snape performed on Professor Dumbledore after the accident with the cursed ring. The date corresponds exactly to what Professor Snape has reported. The incantation used is a complex piece of defence against the dark arts with withdrawing, containing and quenching properties.” Hermione read from a note in her hand. “It was probably combined with a potion that you gave him for reviving, is that correct, Professor Snape?”

“That’s correct. It was a terrible curse. Extremely powerful and all I could do was to contain it in one hand. It was bound to spread eventually,” answered Snape.

“Shouldn’t you have brought him to St Mungo’s to see a specialist?” one of the Board members asked suspiciously.

“I am the most qualified specialist at healing of Dark Arts injuries at St Mungo’s,” Snape replied shrewdly. Several people among the audience raised their brows.

“There are a couple of witnesses as to the nature of the injury,” said Hermione “...and of Professor Dumbledore’s wish to keep it a secret. I call Healer Frankiss from St Mungo’s Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries.”

A grey-haired, dignified man stepped forward. Hermione asked him whether he recognised the incantation Snape had done to try to save Dumbledore. He said he did not specifically, but that he agreed as to her description of it and he confirmed that Healer Snape who occasionally worked at St Mungo’s Hospital had a reputation of being the most accomplished healer when it came to injuries of Dark Arts.

“You are here to tell us that you met Albus Dumbledore a few months before he was killed,” Hermione said to him. “What was your observation?”

“It was a social meeting. I observed his hand and made a spontaneous exclamation as I realised it contained an incurable curse. I must’ve failed to hide my shock, because he smiled at me and said calmly that yes, it was soon his turn to set off, but he would appreciate if I did not tell anyone. He preferred to keep it a secret for as long as possible to prevent Voldemort from taking advantage of the situation, and he wanted to turn it to his own profit, he said. I did not at the moment see what he meant. I observed that the curse would probably spread and cause considerable pain in the end and asked him how he intended to handle that. He told me that he would not be surprised if death forestalled the curse in another form. In any case, he said he had arranged things, and when I looked worried, he said that a friend had promised to help him. A healer like yourself, he said. When I expressed my doubts that a healer would perform a mercy killing, he answered that this was a faithful and courageous friend of his who had promised to intervene at the right moment to prevent him from suffering. He said I shouldn’t be surprised if his death came in a sudden and violent form. Again he asked for my discretion. I think he knew me well enough to see that I’d keep my word; otherwise he might have considered Obliviating me. Instead, he asked me to remember this conversation until times changed. That’s what he said: that there might come a time when his loyal friend would need someone to step forward and relate this kind of conversation.”

“And who do you believe his friend was?”

“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” replied Healer Frankiss. ”It was Healer Snape, of course. The person who gave Death a helping hand and prevented Professor Dumbledore from suffering. And the old wizard foresaw a situation like this when Healer Snape’s actions would be questioned.”

Snape had lowered his head during Healer Frankiss’ speech and let his long hair obscure his face. There was a long silence at the end of which a wizard from the School Board rose and spoke.

“You have indeed showed us that it’s likely that Professor Dumbledore did have a death sentence pronounced when he was hit with that curse. It seems likely that Professor Snape helped him contain the curse and prolonged his life initially. It’s also likely that he was asked to help Dumbledore end his life prematurely to prevent suffering. But how do we know this did not just coincide with the very wishes of Voldemort and how to make out which motive was his real one?”

Snape raised his head.

“Remember that Professor Snape speaks under the influence of Veritaserum,” intervened Hermione.

“The motive was indeed double,” said Snape and frowned. “But that had been discussed between Professor Dumbledore and me. I was to gain credibility with Voldemort by killing Dumbledore and thus be likely to succeed him as headmaster at Hogwarts when Voldemort took over. We knew it was only a matter of time. Dumbledore preferred to have me at the post to any of the Death Eaters. I promised him to protect the students at Hogwarts. There was no ulterior motive beyond that.”

“Do you mean you had no personal interest in becoming headmaster?” the same member of the School Board asked sceptically. Snape opened his mouth to retort, grunted, shut it again and reconsidered before he started anew.

“I’m a wizard marked by the Slytherin ideals and methods. I’m ambitious. For a teacher, in particular a teacher from Slytherin, becoming headmaster is to be crowned with success. That prospect did, I’m afraid, regardless of the circumstances, flatter my arrogance. But I assure you that could I have chosen, I would rather have had Professor Dumbledore still alive and the headmaster of Hogwarts than having reached this position myself.” A murmur filled the hall subsequent to Snape’s clearly and forcefully spoken words. Another member of the School Board rose as the first sat down.

“You said you were asked to protect the pupils at Hogwarts. But what did you do? Students were Crucioed by your teachers, you punished them and Obliviated them in your office. You followed Voldemort’s orders right through. There were no signs of resistance! You adhered entirely to Voldemort’s view on how things should be conducted in this school.” The wizard was upset.

“I couldn’t show any marks of disloyalty or resistance! I was a spy. Playing along was the very foundation of my success. I had to choose my moves of resistance with extreme care. As for Obliviating the students...”

“We’re coming to that now.” Hermione filled in. “If you please look over here...” She pointed at a huge group of spells arranged in seven rows from one end of the room to the other. “All these correspond to last year’s school terms, from September 1997 to May 1998. These spells are performed frequently, sometimes several times a day. They’re coupled together, as you can see: always a Relieving Incantation followed by an Obliviate spell. Will you please explain to us, Professor Snape?”

“I’ll be glad to. It has plagued me to read in the newspaper about the late onset symptoms those Obliviating sessions have caused in some individuals. I hope that those who are here today will be satisfied by my explanation and find solace by it.” For the first time since the inquiry started, Snape seemed less distant and eager to communicate. “I’ve already spoken to St Mungo’s Hospital about ways to either reverse those Obliviatings or to alleviate the symptoms in other ways, and the healers at the hospital are ready to receive every student who might suffer from the consequences of the treatment.”

“Why was it done to start with? What madness caused you to jeopardise young people’s health like that?” launched Mrs Spingelfitz.

“It was done out of the best intentions, I assure you,” Snape said haughtily. “Unfortunately I had two teachers placed at Hogwarts by Voldemort himself - Alecta and Amycus Carrow - who were prone to using the Cruciatus curse on pupils. I tried to stifle this destructive practice by arguing by Voldemort that we didn’t want to punish half- or pure bloods who were the only pupils allowed last year. I thought that kind of argument would have an effect on him. I argued that there was evidence of late effects of using the Cruciatus curse on growing individuals, which is true - there are. The bones of young people are more susceptible to damage. Soft bones that easily break and chronic bone aches are late side effects of the Cruciatus curse in teenagers. Voldemort thought it was rubbish and that I showed signs of weakness not to allow the cruel treatment. No one had ever suffered from a Cruciatus curse in any other way than to be more subdued - and that was the only effect we wanted, he said. So I didn’t insist. You never did with Voldemort. Instead I did the reverse and pretended to want to punish the pupils myself. I ordered the teachers to bring all the trouble-makers to me as soon as possible. If they did not, I pretended to be insulted. Amycus and Alecta still had respect for my position with Voldemort and I believe that this proceeding limited the time they played with their victims. I had to pretend I enjoyed and relished in the punishing and wanted it for myself. I know that it sounds preposterous, but it was the only language they understood. They could torture people for hours if they were let alone.”

“Please tell us what the Relieving Incantations were about,” said Hermione.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Snape sneered. He looked at the faces surrounding him and realised that more than one looked puzzled. “Everyone who has been subjected to the Cruciatus curse will know that it is pain beyond anything. The acute pain is removed as soon as the curse is lifted from the person, but he or she is left in a state of high-strung anguish as you don’t know if and when the torture will start again. Most people will agree to anything after a certain number of Cruciatus curses. There are cases of insanity brought on by too long series of the Cruciatus curse.” Neville Longbottom sat in the audience with his grandmother and a few heads were turned in their direction. “The victims also have a lingering dull, deep pain in their bodies for several days after being Crucioed which, as I said before, might lead to complications of the bone structure in growing children and adolescents.”

“Please note that we haven’t found any Cruciatus curse performed by Professor Snape’s wand, neither any other unforgivable curses except the Avada Kedavra that killed Professor Dumbledore – not one during these three years,” intervened Hermione.

“Of course not! What I did was that I Relieved the Crucioed pupils of their anguish and took away the pain. Then I had to Obliviate them, because Amycus and Alecta still had to believe that I had punished them, didn’t they? There was no way around it.” Snape made an impatient gesture with his hands.

“How do we know he didn’t use another wand and abused the children before he did the Relieving and the Obliviating spells?” the same wizard on the School Board asked, not even looking at Snape, but at the judge. Hermione was quick to retort.

“Professor Snape speaks under the effect of the Veritaserum. He’s unable to tell lies. Do you have a spare wand, Professor?”

“No, I never part with my wand, I’ve never lost it.”

“Did you use any other wand during these three years at any time to perform magic with?”

“No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable with it. I didn’t do it,” said Snape very clearly without stuttering the least.

“I’d like to go back to those Relieving Incantations, please,” said Hermione. “I want to call Healer Schufflert as a witness.”

Snape’s eyebrows hit the ceiling as the beautiful, but slightly haughty looking black-haired witch stepped up on the podium. She turned toward Hermione who clenched her jaws and seemed to concentrate hard to speak to her politely.

“Would you please explain to the audience what kind of Relievings Professor Snape is talking about, Healer Schufflert? I’m not sure everybody is familiar with these healing spells. Is it an ordinary Relieving?”

“No,” snorted Mrs Schufflert. “You can see it from here...” She pointed at the miniatures of the spells in the air. “They are all Relievings of the special form which means that the healer performing the Relieving Incantation move the suffering and the pain from the patient to his or her own body.”

“That sounds like a risky way of performing a Relieving. Have you done one yourself?”

“Yes, I have, at St Mungo’s, and it was on a Crucioed person, too. I was ill for hours after I had performed the healing. We mostly use Swallowscopes nowadays to do Relievings at St Mungo’s, although I confess that the special Relievings performed by a live witch or wizard are more powerful.”

“You’d expect that Professor Snape would have experienced serious discomfort when performing so many Relievings on the pupils?” asked Hermione. Mrs Schufflert snorted again.

“Oh, not him, because he’s a Grief Swallower, which essentially means he can stand the side effects with only minor discomfort. They’re overbearing, the Grief Swallowers are, though, in my opinion. Evidently, there are limits for them, too, but most of them are too conceited to realise that! And the statistics are not encouraging: Grief Swallowers have a life expectancy of fifteen years less than the average wizard. A telling fact, isn’t it?”

Snape had opened his mouth to speak several times, but Hermione made gestures for him to wait. Now she spoke quickly to advance him.

“Professor Snape performed four hundred and twenty of these Relievings over a period of ten months. What do you think of that, Healer Schufflert? It’s more than twice a day in average.”

“More than four hundred in less than a year...” Mrs Schufflert looked shocked.

“The number of Relievings a Grief Swallower can perform is individual,” intervened Snape, but neither Mrs Schufflert nor Hermione took notice of him.

“For the safety of professional healers, at St Mungo’s, we have initiated limitations for the use of Relievings. The number of incantations allowed in the space of a year is limited to twelve for an ordinary healer and to two hundred and fifty for a Grief Swallower!” explained Healer Schufflert.

“Nonsense, the amount of suffering lifted in retrospect from a Crucioed person is trifling compared to other situations. They were easy to perform for me!” Snape raised his voice.

“But the great number, put together! Beside the acute symptoms of performing Relievings there are long term effects - chronic pains, muscle weakness, disturbed sleep patterns...” Mrs Schufflert frowned at him.

“What do you say, Professor Snape? Didn’t you risk your health by performing those Relievings on the pupils?” asked Hermione.

“This is ridiculous, Miss Granger!” Snape snapped back at her. “Why do you let Healer Schufflert go on about this? You’re overzealous in your efforts... I don’t want that kind of defence. Are you trying to turn the tables? Do you think you can make these people feel sorry for me?” He gestured at the audience with incredulity written in his face. ”Good luck!” Snape’s voice dripped of sarcasm, but a vein in his temple pulsated, betraying that he was seriously annoyed by the turn of the inquiry.

“I’m trying to prove that you cared for the pupils of Hogwarts with risk for your own health. Have you experienced any of the side effects Healer Schufflert mentioned?” Hermione insisted stubbornly.

“I’m not going to answer that question!” Snape roared back at her, finally losing his temper. “My health is completely irrelevant to this. We were at war, for Heaven’s sake! We had to defeat Voldemort! I had promised Dumbledore to protect the pupils. To lessen their suffering was the least I could do. It was frustrating to have such a limited scope of actions as it was! Had I been aware of any preposterous regulations at St Mungo’s I would have disregarded them and performed the Relievings notwithstanding! Now, leave it, Miss Granger!”

Hermione let his words die out before she made a little bow in his direction.

“The regulations of St Mungo’s on Relieving Incantations may be irrelevant, but your answer to my question is not,” she said and turned to speak to the audience. “These words, spoken in affect by Professor Snape, under the influence of Veritaserum - mark that – tell us for one thing that he considered himself at war against Voldemort and secondly, corroborates his deeply felt commitment towards the school and its pupils.”

The members of the School Board sat silent staring at Snape who had calmed down and looked rather sheepish after his outburst. The gazes of Hermione and Harry met briefly and Harry leant over to say something to Ron who nodded.

“You have addressed the charges of the killing of Dumbledore and the mistreatment of pupils at Hogwarts,” Judge Tempatino resumed. “There still is the charge of deceiving the Order of the Phoenix and double spying for Voldemort.” Hermione cleared her throat.

“These charges are weaved together,” she said. “If you believe that Professor Snape protected the pupils at Hogwarts and that he killed Professor Dumbledore only to spare him a painful death and in order to be able to continue to spy on Voldemort, the charge of deceiving the Order of the Phoenix will be invalid, won’t it? Unfortunately, Professor Dumbledore is not here to testify. His portrait is bound by loyalty to the present headmaster and cannot give evidence either. This charge is hard to argue for or against. It’s almost impossible to prove. Professor Snape had to seem to act on both sides – it’s in the nature of being a double spy. The examination of Professor Snape’s wand tells us, however, that he has not used the unforgivable curses...”

“Explain to us how that is possible, please. You had to act as a Death Eater, didn’t you?” Mrs Spingelfitz interrupted, but without animosity. She simply looked puzzled. Snape cleared his throat.

“Voldemort used us in the way that would best fit his purposes. My talents lay in the intellectual domain. I collected information for him. He had others to do the dirty work of torturing his victims. I also procured him with potions according to his demands.”

“But did you give him information on the Order of the Phoenix?”

“Yes! I had to play my part convincingly,” said Snape. “I always discussed the information I gave Voldemort with Professor Dumbledore beforehand. Together we weighed the pros and cons and decided how to act. Even after his death, his portrait in the headmaster’s office guided me. He has gone silent now, but... I carried out his plan for him, until the very end, when Harry Potter conquered Voldemort...” 

One of the wizards on the School Board shook his head in perplexity.

“How can we tell apart if your good actions outweighed the contra productive ones?” he said.

“I can only give you an example of what Professor Snape did for our side,” said Hermione. ”Professor Snape used his information to save a lot of people from being abducted by the Death Eaters. I want to call my last witness: Professor Snape’s Patronus. Please Professor,” Hermione spoke with a determined voice. Snape hesitated a little then lifted his wand and out came the silvery doe, trampling nervously around the podium.

“I’d like to ask all those present who recognise this Patronus for having warned you of an attack from the Death Eaters or helped you in any other substantial way, to step up on this podium, please,” said Hermione.

People started to move among the audience, hesitantly at first, but as soon as the first pupils with their parents had stepped forward - David Burbage and his father were among the first - others untangled themselves and strode up to the podium where a considerable group of people surrounded the doe. The younger children wanted to touch it while it stood still and patient, shying only occasionally and angling its ears to different sides. One of the members of the School Board who had previously questioned Snape’s credibility joined the group. The wizard had tears in his eyes while glancing, incredulous, at Snape.

Finally, Harry rose and walked up to join the witnesses, in clear view of the audience. An audible murmur of approval travelled through the hall. Harry was so near he could almost touch the animal. He longed to stretch out his hand towards the magical creature, but abstained from doing so, and avoided cautiously to meet Snape’s eyes.

“Thank you,” said Hermione. She interviewed a couple of persons who gave their evidence wide-eyed and transfixed by the presence of the Patronus doe. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to listen to all your stories right now, but please give your names to the judge’s secretary in order to be able to write down your testimonies later,” said Hermione and one by one the witnesses stepped down from the podium. The judge inclined his head as he watched the doe.

“How come a stern wizard like you has a gentle creature like her for a Patronus?” he asked, unsuspecting. Snape’s face darkened and Hermione grimaced in panic and waved frantically at him.

“I do NOT want to answer that question,” Snape said so forcefully that the small judge started and lifted an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to retort, when a little girl who had stayed by the doe interrupted him, turning to Snape and speaking in all innocence.

“She’s the good side of you, isn’t she? If you didn’t have her, it’d be very hard for you.”

Snape seemed unsettled by the candid question. He stared into the little girl’s blue eyes. She must be a younger sibling of one of the pupils at Hogwarts, seven or eight years old maybe.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “I’d be no good without her.”

“It must have been awful for you to kill your friend” the girl proceeded. ”How could you?”

Snape looked at Hermione who made a noncommittal gesture. This was not part of her plan, she had not arranged for this to happen. It was up to Snape if he wanted to answer. The girl stared with curiosity at Snape who knitted his eyebrows.

“I... I forced myself to do it,” he said. “At the very moment, I felt repugnance for my own action.” The girl continued to watch him. “I hated myself for what I did,” he explained drily and she nodded slowly. “The worst thing, afterwards, was that I had to pretend to be happy for what I had done,” added Snape.

“Could you do that?” said the little girl.

“I’m good at something called Occlumency where you conceal your feelings,” Snape explained slowly to her. “But that particular evening it was very hard to practice it. I had done magic that my conscience didn’t approve of. That made me ill.”

“Was there someone to take care of you then?”

“No, I had to hide and be sick, then pretend for a while and then hide again. But I’m a healer so I could give myself potions to keep up.”

“That’s good, that you’re a healer so you could help yourself. But everybody needs a friend,” said the little girl.

“My friends thought that I had done something terrible so I couldn’t go back to them,” answered Snape.

“So you were all alone,” whispered the girl.

“I was on my own,” stated Snape.

The father of the little girl was finished with giving his name to the secretary. He took the girl’s hand and they stepped down from the podium. The silver doe dissolved into smoke. The eyes of the members of the School Board had been riveted on Snape as he spoke to the girl and they were now talking in low voices on the side. Hermione, who realised that she was almost through with the inquiry, looked exhausted. Finally Mrs Spingelfitz rose and crossed the podium to bend down and whisper in the ear of the judge. Judge Tempatino looked out over the audience and cleared his throat.

“The School Board of Hogwarts just informed me about their decision to withdraw the petition for removal of Professor Snape from the post as Headmaster. They asked me to declare that he has their undivided confidence and that they want him to stay at his post. I find that Professor Snape is cleared of the suspicions of mistreatment of pupils as far as the School Board is concerned. As a representative of the Ministry’s Magical Law Enforcement, I thank you for the much enlightening input during this inquiry. It’s not my part to pronounce a judgement today. It’s for the Wizengamot to do so in June at the real trial.” The judge rose and bowed to the members of the School Board, bowed to the audience and to Professor Snape who returned the gesture. The headmaster looked pleased and turned his head toward Hermione, when a thunderous applause made him jump high.

The thunderclap echoed between the walls of the Great Hall. Snape stared incredulous and almost frightened at the audience who rose from their seats as they continued to clap. Kingsley himself stood up and took a step forward with a contented expression on his face, urging the applause on. Finally Snape unfroze, put his right hand on his chest and bowed to the audience so deeply that his long black hair hung in front of his face. When he stood up again he had composed his features and he raised his hand as a sign of gratitude and at the same time as a signal for the applause to stop. He had to repeat the gesture twice before the audience complied with his wish, however.

A loud buzzing of voices replaced the applause as people started to move about. At the podium, Snape was soon surrounded by people who wanted to shake hands and speak to him. Harry and Ron skirted around the podium and climbed it from behind to reach Hermione. Grinning broadly they hugged her. She seemed shocked and did not say a word at first. Then she started to talk so fast it was hard to follow what she was saying. Mrs Steadfast approached from behind and put her arms around Harry’s and Hermione’s shoulders.

“Spinning Saturnus! Of all well-planned schemes I’ve taken part in, this was among the most impressive I’ve witnessed,” she said. “When he produced that doe, I only saw mist - and I’m not a touchy person. I bet the floor in the hall will look like someone has knocked a scouring bucket over. And when you provoked him with Healer Schufflert – it was so artfully done, my highest respect – and he burst with indignation, I could’ve kissed him – and you too Miss Granger– right there!” she exclaimed. Harry grinned broadly at her.

“You look satisfied with yourself, young man.” The judge’s voice was addressing Harry as he strode over the podium with Kingsley and Snape at his side.

“Not at all,” Harry answered quickly, wiping the smile from his face with a worried glance at Snape. The judge raised his eyebrows.

“Looking much better than last I saw you, Mr Potter. I apologise for being a bit rough on you then. What do you mean ’Not at all’?”

“I am, of course, glad that Professor Snape is cleared from the School Board’s accusations,” Harry tried to repent and inclined his head politely toward Snape. “And most of all I’m happy for my friend who did so well in her defence. I just meant that I had nothing to do with it.” He gestured at Hermione.

“Yes, I came to congratulate you, Miss Granger, and apologise for my scepticism at the start of the inquiry. It was a well prepared defence and well orchestrated.”

Hermione blushed.

“You didn’t have many cards on your hand, but you played them extremely well.” The judge turned to Harry again. “You shouldn’t underestimate your influence, Mr Potter. You stepping up to that Patronus persuaded the last doubters of your headmaster’s innocence.” The judge turned his head towards Snape. “You should let this young man testify in your favour at your trial. You might have convinced me today of your innocence, but I won’t be in charge of your trial. You’ll have to face the entire Wizengamot. Albus Dumbledore was the Wizengamot. They all knew him and held him in high esteem. They resent his demise, therefore they will resent you. Judge Forceps will be in charge and she follows proceedings from top to bottom and doesn’t deviate a millimetre from the regulations. She’ll not allow the use of the new Veritaserum, for once. Even if it’s published by then, it won’t be officially approved by the Ministry in June. The wand history is good, but they can always argue that there was a spare wand somewhere to do your dirty work or that you ordered others to do it for you. The testimony of Healer Frankiss is a jewel, though. How did you find him?”

Snape looked with interest at Hermione who answered.

“A coincidence, really. He’s my mother’s healer and when he learnt I was at Hogwarts he started to ask me questions and eventually told me his story.”

Tempatino nodded approvingly.

“He might even provide you with extracts of his memory to show the court. However, it seemed to me that Professor Dumbledore never pronounced your name when he spoke of his friend, so there’s a great amount of doubt everywhere. The testimony of Mr Potter on the other hand would...”

Harry looked down, abashed and Hermione’s countenance turned desolate. Tempatino went about it in completely the wrong way. Kingsley watched Snape with apprehension, but for once Snape did not explode at the suggestion. He contented himself with stating composedly:

“Mr Potter cannot testify because there are issues, of which he is informed, that I don’t want to enter into and that the court might force him to speak about.” The judge opened his mouth to say something, but Harry poked Hermione’s side and she advanced him.

“Will you let me do your defence at the real trial as well, Professor?”

Tempatino and Kingsley made exclamations of protests.

“My dear girl, you’ve performed extremely well today, but Professor Snape will still need a professional lawyer at his trial. It’ll be completely different. Today, at the castle, with children and parents present, you could play on the feelings of recognition, of admiration, of awe and of sympathy. It was an emotional show today, but at the trial only plain facts will count.”

“That will be a challenge worthy of Miss Granger’s talents then,” Snape said defiantly. “You’re on for the trial, Miss Granger.”

Tempatino and Kingsley stared at him. Kingsley was so angry that he turned around without a word and walked away. Tempatino inclined his head on the side with a puzzled look on his face as he scrutinised Snape. “Hmm...” he said, shot Harry a quick look and turned away, too.

At the same moment, an elegantly clad Mrs Malfoy came up to Snape, grabbed him under the arm and started to talk to him animatedly. Mrs Steadfast made a grimace of distaste. Narcissa Malfoy did not at all look as miserable as the newspaper depicted her, even if her son was nowhere to be seen. Draco Malfoy was one of the few exceptions, however, because Snape was soon surrounded again by an admiring crowd who wanted to felicitate him for doing so well.

They had barely time to catch their breaths after Snape’s nerve-wracking inquiry before they had to recharge for Ginny’s quidditch matches on the Sunday. It was a full day tournament, where the teams played each others in turns. Four teams, one for each house, meant six matches in one day, whereof Gryffindor played three.

Harry, Ron and Hermione shouted themselves hoarse in support for Gryffindor from early morning till late afternoon at the quidditch stadium. Ginny had been nervous, but filled with a dogged determination to do well. As soon as she rose in the air and started to play chaser, all tenseness left her and she was all natural talent: flying speedily, positioning herself cleverly, making daring dives, insolent tackles and bold catches. As the captain of the team, she had trimmed her fellow players well and they had all a perfect understanding of one another.

Gryffindor had a down in the middle of the match against Ravenclaw, but caught up and won. The match against Slytherin was next to perfectly played where Ginny scored more than half of the goals. The tournament was as good as settled when they played Hufflepuff, but Ginny took no chances, her team kept their concentration and, albeit a few minor injuries, they carried the match through impeccably. Gryffindor won with a large margin to Ravenclaw which came second. Slytherin had a weak team this year and ended up last.

The entire school were on the stand. The headmaster and the teachers had seats on the western short side, among whom Harry noticed Mrs Steadfast, cheering wildly by Professor McGonagall’s side. The agents from the different National Leagues were positioned on the southern long side, at the highest level.

The Gryffindors celebrated their victory until far into the night. Ginny was exhausted and so sore in her muscles that Harry was barely allowed to touch her, but she was happy. The agents from the League had not beaten about the bush. Right after the sweaty players had cleaned up and changed, the agents had sought them out to make their proposals. Ginny had received offers from two different London teams. She was exhilarated. Suddenly she turned to Harry and the others with a serious expression on her face.

“This means I won’t apply for the Auror program. And that’s just as well. I’m so tired of school work. Moreover, with what happened in Paris – I don’t remember anything, but I’ve deduced from what you’ve told me that I was quite affected – I might not even be suited for the job as an Auror.”

“It was an extreme situation, Ginny. You’re good at fighting and would become a good Auror,” mumbled Harry.

“Well, you just might not become one yourself, will you? Not if you choose the Healing program instead?”

“Maybe not,” Harry conceded and looked down.

“But what will you do for a living, Ginny? You cannot just play Quidditch - it’s not particularly well paid during your first professional year,” objected Hermione.

“I’ve spoken to my brother and figured it out. I’ll work in George’s shop half-time to earn some money on the side, and the rest of my time will consist of Quidditch and pleasure!” Ginny said greedily. They had to laugh at her; she was irresistible in her appetite for life. Ron, however, choked on his laughter and looked bewildered at his friends.

“What about me, then? I thought we were going to the Auror program together, the three of us. Now it’s just me left!”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Harry pointed out. “But I think you should follow your mind healer’s advice and do what feels best for you, Ron, not let others decide.” Harry spoke sincerely, but Ron blushed and looked crestfallen.

With the events of the inquiry and of the Quidditch tournament, they had lost a whole week of revising which, especially for Hermione, was agonising. Therefore, on the Monday, there was no time to linger by the sweets of victory, and they launched into work. Every morning, Harry rose early to have a couple of hours of Arithmancy. He revised the other subjects at the library in the evenings.

***

Mrs Steadfast had looked happy enough when she had been cheering on Gryffindor to win the quidditch tournament, but during the remainder of the week her temper deteriorated. Harry only saw glimpses of her in the Entrance Hall from time to time as she hurried by, but Simmings told him in confidence that his boss was annoyed by all the attention Snape had drawn to himself subsequent to the inquiry. After being shunned like a dark artefact during two trimesters, Snape had suddenly become a popular object of social visits with people who wanted to discuss the future of the school, or the well-fare of their children.

Mrs Steadfast had been kept waiting on several occasions when she came to discuss important matters of security. She was used to have free access to Snape and it made her furious to have to step aside. Kingsley who saw his chance at last to pull off the prize for his difficult support of Snape since the end of the war, had made clear to Snape that he expected the headmaster to make the most of the good-will he had gained at the inquiry and treat all visitors with courtesy and respect. Snape had argued that such a campaign was quite meaningless until his fate had been determined by the real trial, because his improved status could be brought to nothing in the end. Kingsley had insisted, however, and Snape, for some reason, indulged to the best of his ability.

What upset Mrs Steadfast above everything, according to Simmings, was that Kingsley wanted Snape to meet the School Board’s wish to carry through with the school ball that had been cancelled only a few weeks earlier. Snape and Mrs Steadfast had quarrelled, Simmings said, or more truthfully, Mrs Steadfast had scolded Snape while he had stood mute, weary of defending himself.

Snape had finally cut Mrs Steadfast short and told her that he had already argued the sake of security with a ball to the School Board, but had not met with understanding since they praised the smooth arrangements at the inquiry, and expressed their conviction that the head of the Auror Office would have no problem repeating the excellent security measures for the occasion of a ball. Why, it would be the same thing, they had objected naively. Mrs Steadfast, apparently, had been fuming with anger and indignation at their ignorance and interference.

“If we can have a school ball where I’m allowed to Petrify everyone on a bench for the entire evening, that would be fine,” she had spat at Snape.

“Why don’t you go ahead and argue security by Kingsley or by the School Board yourself, Audrey? As it is right now, I’m tied up by my obligation to Kingsley. You’re the head of the Auror Office, not I,” Snape had retorted.

Mrs Steadfast had muttered resentfully and left the headmaster’s office in a bad temper. Despite her bold manners and outspoken language she had a cautious approach to authority, Simmings explained to Harry.

“She’s great - the best boss we’ve had since I started at the Auror program nearly ten years ago, but she’s insecure deep down when it comes to the practice at the Ministry. She’s been out of the country for nearly two decades and she doesn’t have the social network to manoeuvre with ease among those with influence. I guess she wanted Snape to stop the ball on his own authority.”

Apparently, Mrs Steadfast was not successful in persuading Kingsley of the risks with a ball, for shortly after the inquiry, the announcements were made that the school ball would take place in only two weeks’ time. The OWL students, the sixth years and the NEWT students were allowed to attend, and there would be a number of guests from the Ministry and, naturally, the members of the School Board. Kingsley wanted to make the most, politically, of the new-found confidence in the headmaster and prove to the wizard community that Hogwarts was once again a well-functioning institution and that things were getting back to normal after Voldemort.

Harry observed Kingsley speaking to Snape at one time at the inner court. He could not hear what they were saying, but the body language of Kingsley was forceful and persuading, whereas Snape’s was polite and reserved. Snape did not believe in this, Harry thought. He did not count on being acquitted at the trial and he was probably right to be pessimistic, if you had to believe what the judge Tempatino had cautioned them of. Nothing seemed to quench Kingsley’s optimism, though.

“The Prime Minister lets his political ambitions precede the security of the students,” complained Mrs Steadfast, who had stepped up beside Harry. “Even Kingsley has been touched by the sweets of power. And he doesn’t realise that Severus Snape is more than ever a target of the dark forces. If there is a spy at Hogwarts who witnessed the inquiry, they’ll be sure by now that he’s not one of them and he’s more at risk than ever of reprisal actions from his former gang.” Harry looked at her, troubled.

“There’ll be a lot of Aurors at the ball, I suppose?” he asked her. She snorted.

“The entire troop. They’re looking forward to it, too, the fools.” 

***

One week before the scheduled ball, Harry and his friends were in Hogsmeade for a small outing. Revising did no longer allow an entire afternoon spent in the Three Broomsticks, but as Ron pointed out to Hermione, they needed to stretch their legs from time to time and a walk to Hogsmeade and back was just what they needed to clear their heads before more reading. She agreed, and they set off together with Hagrid who had a few errands to the shops in the village.

It was a grey and damp day, although quite warm, with a lush verdure enveloping them as they approached the soft landscape surrounding the village. They split up, because Ginny and Hermione wanted to enter Petal, a shop for charmed beauty products, so Harry and Ron continued along the street with no specific aim. They walked with drawn wands as a precaution against attacks, although Harry knew that Mrs Steadfast had secured the village in the morning and that several Aurors were posted there.

Suddenly, Harry caught sight of Luna Lovegood walking in the opposite direction, along with a girl that he did not recognise from school. He whispered to Ron who could not place her either. They stared with curiosity at the witch with dark blond hair who looked slightly older than Luna. She might be a former student of Hogwarts, Harry thought, for she looked familiar somehow. He noticed that Luna hesitated a little when she saw that they were looking at her, before she decided to walk up to them.

“Hello Harry! Hello Ron! This is Josepha Starmed, a friend of mine.” The older witch blushed, but stretched out her hand to shake Harry’s. A sudden trick of the light as the sun shone through the clouds made the white jacket in a silky material that she was wearing shift to a green shade, and Harry suddenly remembered where he had seen her before.

“You work at St Mungo’s!” he exclaimed. “I took your place to assist Healer Solomon when you had to do duty at the Emergency Ward this winter.”

“You’ve met then!” Luna exclaimed, delighted, and coloured.

“We were never introduced,” said Harry. “Are you a medical student?” he asked with curiosity.

“I’ve finished my studies and done two years as a trainee healer, so I’ll graduate as a professional healer this summer,” said Josepha in a pleasant voice. Harry was impressed. She still looked very young.

“That’s three years of studies and two years as a trainee healer before you become an independent healer, is it?”

“Yes, it is, and additionally two years if you want to learn Muggle medicine as well. If you aspire to earn some Muggle money, or intend to influence the Muggle society, it’s an option. I’m not doing it, though - not many are tempted to, because according to what I’ve heard, it’s so frustrating to abstain from doing magic and let Muggle medicine have its course. To specialise into a specific branch of Magical Medicine is a more attractive alternative, so that’s what most of us do. I want to work in the Department of Care of New-born Wizards and Witches.” She smiled at Harry and glanced side-ways at Luna who coloured again.

Luna rattled on about how great it was that Harry and Josepha had come across and told them that she had met Josepha at a relative’s house at a Christmas party last year.

“So we haven’t known each other that long, but it feels like ages,” said Luna, a little breathless.

“Are you going to the school ball with Luna next Saturday?” Harry asked Josepha. They all froze to stare at him. Ron looked embarrassed, Josepha confused and Luna blushed to the hair roots. She suddenly threw her arms around Harry and hugged him.

“I love you, Harry Potter,” she said in a muffled voice. Harry laughed at her.

“I think you love her,” he said and gestured at Josepha. “It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”

“Most people pretend like nothing, even if they understand what’s going on. As for Luna and I, we’re not courageous enough, yet, to spell it out explicitly the first thing we do when we meet people. It’s still kind of taboo in the Wizard world - it’s even worse than among the Muggles. The magical community is so old-fashioned.  Admit, Harry, you cannot have come across a lot of same sex couples?”

“No... no, when I think of it, you’re probably the first couple of my acquaintance that I know of. Except the old British lady who Ginny and I met at a churchyard in Paris. She lived with her French maitresse whom she met fifty years ago, and still longed to be able to marry her.” Josepha quirked her lips appreciatively and looked amused at Harry.

“You accept it so easily!” exclaimed Luna. ”That’s what I mean, Harry. You’re a natural, love-embracing person.”

“I’m not, Luna. I have flaws like everybody else. I admit that I was kind of cross with you when I heard from Neville that you had probably met somebody else. I felt sorry for him. But when I see you with Josepha there’s no doubt that I want you to be happy, and you do look so well... less... less up in the clouds... if you know what I mean,” Harry said apologetically. Luna narrowed her eyes.

“Less loony, you mean?” she said. Josepha laughed.

“I love it when Luna sails away in her amazing world. I don’t want you to stop, darling!” she said. Ron muttered something and looked down on the ground. “As for the School Ball, I’m not coming. We wouldn’t feel comfortable,” stated Josepha.

“But won’t it bother you, Luna? Everybody else will go in couples and dance with the person they love?” asked Harry.

“It’ll be a bit boring, but it won’t kill me. It’s still delicate to show up at official occasions like that. Even if we didn’t dance with each other, people might take offence.”

Harry looked at her incredulous.

“We’re not ready to fight for it, at risk of provoking people’s sense of decency,” Luna added defensively.

“So you choose to stand back… Make yourselves invisible… And hide your love…” Harry said with a frown. Luna shrugged while Josepha opened her mouth.

“For the moment being, we choose to be careful. It’s still so new.” Josepha looked at Harry with an unwavering gaze. “We’ll have to rise and fight for our right to exist, also in official contexts, sooner or later. Let’s just say we’re indulging ourselves... Taking a small honeymoon before we expose ourselves to the contempt of the world.”

“Hopefully more people than you expect will be willing to accept your love,” said Harry. Ron still had not opened his mouth.

They left Luna and Josepha to end up eventually at the Three Broomsticks to have a quick Butterbeer. Ginny and Hermione joined them while Hagrid settled down beside Professor Sawman and Professor Vector, who still had not commented with one word that she would allow Harry to write the Arithmancy NEWT exam. Hermione reckoned Snape must have twisted her arm more or less openly to have her consent, and that she took the resentment out on Harry.

Harry told Ginny and Hermione about Luna and Josepha, while Ron stayed silent with both hands around his pint and eyes fastened deep inside the golden beverage. It turned out that Ginny had been let into Luna’s confidence several months ago, a fact that surprised them.

“I’m good at keeping secrets, you know,” said Ginny. ”Moreover, I suspected Luna of having a crush on me last year, before she was taken from school because of the war. She admitted as much and laughed at it now. Also, I felt that something did not add up in her relationship with Neville. I observed at once that there was a change in her behaviour after the Christmas holidays. She was so alert and shining, and when I asked her about it, she was only too happy to tell. And, if you’ve noticed, a lot of her oddities are gone. She’s found her element and she’s simply radiant. I would’ve liked to meet her girl, though.”

Ron suddenly looked up from his glass with a serious expression on his face.

“Mum wrote to me a couple of weeks ago - shortly after Easter in fact. I’ve not known what to make out of it,” he said hesitantly.

“Oh, that... I think I know what you’re referring to... I didn’t realise she had written to you, too, otherwise I’d have spoken to you about it,” said Ginny, suddenly slightly embarrassed. Ron stopped himself.

“You already knew?” he said, annoyed at first. “Do you think I shouldn’t tell them?” he continued seriously, and Harry thought that it was the first time he heard his friend ask advice from his little sister without ulterior motive.

“Not at all. I think we should tell them. I cannot really say why I abstained from doing so until now. It’s probably Mum’s ambiguous feelings about it, I suppose. It shows in the letters,” said Ginny.

“You’ve corresponded with her about it, then?” said Ron. “I didn’t know what to answer.”

“Do you mind telling us what it’s about?” Hermione asked cautiously. Ginny gestured for Ron to go ahead.  He did not look at anyone.

”Well, you know George,” he said and made a pause.

“It’s your brother...” Hermione helped out, but he shot her an irritated look.

“You know the friend he brought to the Burrow after Christmas, Hercules...” Ron seemed to struggle to formulate himself. “Well... Mum writes that they... sort of ... go out together. George moving in at Hercules’ place sort of made it obvious and they told her a month ago.” Ron blushed.

“That’s nice. I’m happy for George’s sake. I thought they were suited for each other when I saw them at Christmas... as friends I thought at the time, of course, but I really think it does him good to have someone. Great,” said Harry and looked a bit worried at Ron.

“Why don’t I find it as easy to accept as you do, Harry?” he muttered darkly. “It’s none of my business, I know, but I still find it a bit... It’s confusing. I don’t begrudge George to be happy, I don’t. He has been miserable since Fred died. It’s just that I’ve never thought about him as… gay… I suppose it’s a good thing that he has moved on, though.”

“Well Mum’s mixed up, too,” said Ginny. “Going on about that it might only be a phase - you know, a reaction to Fred’s disappearance. It doesn’t matter - we should support George whole-heartedly whatever it is. It’s not like he has had any serious girl-friend before, has he? Even if Fred and he would go out sometimes - and speak of girls. Maybe he’s bisexual - that’s not uncommon, I think.”

“What’re you talking about?” Simmings looked interested as he settled down at the table next to theirs.

“Ron and Ginny’s brother’s gay,” answered Hermione. “They just found out.”

“And another friend of ours has found herself a girlfriend,” added Harry. “They seem happy together. Have you written to George, Ron?” His friend gave him a terrified look.

“No! I wouldn’t know what to say. Also, he hasn’t told me himself. He only told Mum. I’m not even sure Father knows.”

“Of course Dad knows. Mum would never be able to keep a secret like that from him,” snorted Ginny. “I wrote to George as soon as I learnt about his moving in with Hercules and congratulated him.”

“Hercules!” exclaimed Simmings. “I know a gay wizard in London called Hercules, is that him?”

“Might be,” said Ron with cautiousness, facing Simmings.

“It’s a great guy. He’s fun. And devoted,” said Simmings. “Haven’t seen him for some time, though. Does he still live at Diagon Alley?”

They started to speak of London, of George’s joke shop and Ginny going to work there and Ron looked relieved by the undramatic turn of the conversation.

The following Saturday, the castle received a caravan of carriages pulled by Thestrals right up to the Grand Portal. Dusk was setting in after a warm, radiant day that had left a prickling feeling of sun-burn on the pupils’ skins, who had spent their day on the lawns around Hogwarts, but who had now changed into their finest dress robes. The number of people who poured into Hogwarts, consisting of selected employees at the Ministry and members of the School Board, were almost as great as the number of expectant students waiting in the Entrance Hall. 

As a special treat from Kingsley, the former members of the Order of the Phoenix had been invited. This meant that Mr and Mrs Weasley were coming, along with Bill and Fleur while Charlie had had to decline the invitation. Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance and Hestia Jones rode together in one of the first carriages to arrive. They shyly greeted Headmaster Snape and Professor McGonagall who were standing by the portal receiving the guests, before stepping right up to Harry Potter, surrounding him with timid exclamations and questions.

Harry had not seen them for a considerable amount of time, but he still felt an almost painful tenderness towards them. They were part of that half of the Order of the Phoenix who had little battle experience, but who had still risked their lives on many occasions and played important roles in the fight against Voldemort. To Harry’s knowledge, several of them had been personal friends of Dumbledore’s. He took upon himself to show them around as the Entrance Hall continued to fill up with people. He brought them upstairs to show them a painting in the corridor outside the teachers’ offices where Dumbledore was portrayed among several other wizards, slumbering just like in the portrait in the headmaster’s office. They lingered in front of the old wizard with longing gazes.

“He’s mostly asleep... He’s not supposed to influence...” They knew.

They came back to the Entrance Hall at the opposite end through another passage. Harry encountered Mr and Mrs Weasley and greeted them with warmth. He left the members of the Order with the couple, only to join Ginny and Hermione who stood a little bit on the side in beautiful dress robes. Just as he was about to offer each of them an arm to walk them over to the staircase and meet up with Ron who was coming down, a flash from the side made him recoil.

“Harry Potter! Look this way Harry Potter!” Another flash. In an instant, Harry had drawn his wand and Disapparated on the spot, reappearing by Mrs Steadfast’s side, who was positioned near the portal. He gave her a fright and nearly received a curse right in his stomach when he turned up so close to her that he touched her shoulder. He did not want to be seen and hid behind her.

“Merlin’s beard, Harry! How do you do those Apparitions, despite the high amount of magical magma? It’s rude of you to come so close up. I could’ve stunned you so badly you wouldn’t be able to take a dancing step all evening. What’s the matter?” Harry drew a Muffliato spell around them before he started to speak to her furiously.

“There are journalists in here! Photographers!”

“Why, yes, Harry. This is part of Kingsley’s campaign for Severus Snape coming into favour again. There’s no stopping him,” said Mrs Steadfast drily.

They stood right behind Snape who had noticed that something was going on, and turned around. When he spotted Harry red in the face and gesticulating wildly, he approached them.  Snape glared with exhortation at Harry who reluctantly included him in the Muffliato zone and drew up a disillusionment shield around them as well.

“What’s that for? I must stay visible,” said Snape with irritation.

“Journalists! How can you allow reporters inside Hogwarts?” barked Harry. “They throw themselves at me, flashing their stupid cameras to catch me... With everything the Daily Prophet has written about you and me, how can you?” Snape lifted a hand to his forehead and turned with a dark look at Mrs Steadfast.

“You haven’t prepared Potter for this? You’ve been at me for hours to make sure that I won’t murder the creepy scum, but you haven’t warned off the journalists’ alternate favourite target?”

Mrs Steadfast looked confused.

“But Harry... you seemed to bear everything so calmly this winter. You were reasonable. I didn’t think this would be a problem. You’re used to it,” she said.

“Not having them close up my nose, I’m not! Not here, inside Hogwarts! This is my home, for Heaven’s sake! I hate them! I still don’t understand. How could you go along with this? After what they’ve done to you? If you tell me that Rita Skeeter is coming, I will... I will...” Harry was so upset he could barely find his words. “...I’ll Apparate... not to Paris... but far enough...” he stuttered with fury.

Snape made a grimace and a reluctant sympathising gesture.

“Rita Skeeter isn’t coming. I’ve spoken to her personally,” Mrs Steadfast replied. “There was no way Professor Snape would have allowed it. I’m so sorry, Harry. I should have prepared you. It’s all according to Kingsley’s wishes. This is supposed to be a great social event and show the unison of different parts, picture the reconciliation of....of... whatever he said to convince me...”

“This,” said Harry grimly, “is supposed to be a School Ball for the students who leave Hogwarts after seven years, and who want to have happy memories from their time here.” Snape and Mrs Steadfast exchanged a look.

“I agree with you, Harry. Kingsley has crossed a line, he’s overdoing it. He’s blinded by his higher aims and has forgotten the individuals. But still, it’s for a good cause. You, too, want Professor Snape to be cleared at the trial, don’t you?”

“He won’t fail his trial because the Daily Prophet doesn’t have twenty pictures of him dancing, will he?” spat Harry. “You’re incredible, both of you. Why don’t you stop Kingsley when he goes too far? Why don’t you tell him this is madness? This is a private party and not an official reception. The people from the Ministry may be official persons used to having the media around, but the students are not. You must stand up to Kingsley. You’re in positions to do that.”

“He is the Minister of Magic, Mr Potter,” Snape objected haughtily.

“Have you never stood up to an authority face to face, either of you? Have you never had the guts to protest against anyone in higher rank?” Harry hissed at them. Snape and Mrs Steadfast stared at him speechless. “You’re too used to it, going along and pretending...” Harry turned accusingly to Snape. “There is a time for being clever, calculating and dissembling... Or Occluding to people... But sometimes you just have to tell people to their faces! Ministries of Magic might be wrong, you know. We’ve had some before who have been! Dumbledore stood up to them! You must do what is right even if it means contradicting someone important. You tried to oppose judge Tempatino when he was going too far interrogating me. At least you tried,” Harry finished a bit milder than he had begun.

Snape collected his wits to retort, slowly.

“I’m tied up. I owe Kingsley too much. If he hadn’t supported me, I would’ve spent the entire year in Azkaban. To question him at the moment would...”

Harry interrupted him.

“All right, I’ll help you,” he said impatiently. “You tell Kingsley that that wilful, insolent boy Harry Potter is making difficulties about the journalists. That’s your opinion about me anyway so it won’t be so difficult to say, will it?”

Snape started to flare up, but Harry went on.

“You tell him that if he wants the Boy-who-lived to make an appearance at the ball – which I’m sure he’s keen I do - because I kind of count as an inventory here at Hogwarts  - and it almost being the anniversary of my killing Voldemort and everything – so, if he wants me to stay, Kingsley must tell the journalists that they have fifteen minutes left to take their shots. When the doors to the Great Hall open, they’re no longer welcome. They can go back to Hogsmeade and interview people when the ball is over. They’ll probably have a better time at the Three Broomsticks than we will have with all these ministry people... If Kingsley complies with that, I’ll agree to stick around and allow one single photographing session. Otherwise... otherwise, I’ll just disappear from here and not participate at all.” Harry held Snape’s gaze steadily.

Snape’s eyes shifted to Mrs Steadfast who nodded at him. Without a word and without another glance at Harry, Snape strode out of the disillusionment charm and appeared at Kingsley’s side next to Professor McGonagall. He bent over to whisper in the minister’s ear. Meanwhile, Harry turned to Mrs Steadfast.

“I take it that you have searched every witch and wizard for beetles?”

“What?” said Mrs Steadfast. “Why?”

“You do know, don’t you, that Rita Skeeter is an Animagus and has used the illicit tactics before to hide as a beetle in people’s hair or pockets to gather information and listen in on private conversations?” Harry looked at Mrs Steadfast with narrowed eyes.

“Harry, how do you know this?” she said faintly.

“She’s officially listed as an Animagus since this autumn. She wasn’t registered four years ago when the Triwizard Tournament took place and she wrote a lot of skrewt-slime articles about me. Don’t you check that list of Animaguses from time to time? She turned herself in and got away with it because everyone was so busy cleaning up after Voldemort that they didn’t have time to care about an illicit Animagus.”

“I’ve warned her of coming here,” stated Mrs Steadfast. She was thinking hard. “Good of you not to mention it in front of Severus at any rate. Now, what’s that in Kingsley’s hair?” Mrs Steadfast peered intensely.

“You have a look. I must go and fetch something before I surrender myself to the photographers,” said Harry. “I bet Rita Skeeter is here, somewhere. Ask Hermione if you have trouble finding her - she has caught her once before. And if you catch her, promise me to keep her in a very small box for the rest of her life!” Harry cut a slit in the magma and Apparated on the landing to the Gryffindor tower.

When he came back down the stairs, Harry was wearing his invisibility cloak, in order to avoid getting assaulted by the photographers. Kingsley had gathered the journalists around himself and announced the restrictions, all according to Harry’s conditions. A loud, discontented buzz followed, but Kingsley stifled the protests effectively. He had to be given credit for being so quick to grasp the situation, because he spoke very artfully, arguing the privacy of the students, which he only a short moment ago had disregarded completely.

Harry watched Kingsley perform the volte-face with serene calm and self-possession as he steeled himself against what was to come. He weaved his way, invisible, through the crowd, startling a few people on the way. He ended up behind Kingsley where he took off his coat and put on his glasses, before stepping up at Kingsley’s side.

“Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to round up your interviews and take your last pictures before we part with each other.” Kingsley turned to the now clearly visible hero of the wizard world. ”There you are, my dear Mr Potter, I haven’t had the opportunity to greet you, yet.”

“Welcome to Hogwarts, Minister.”

Kingsley and Harry shook hands under a squall of flashes. After a short time, Kingsley backed away and Harry found himself shoved together with Snape. Apparently, this was what the photographers wanted, because the clicking and flashing doubled in intensity.

“Professor Snape, Mr Potter, will you look at each other, will you shake hands, please?”

Snape and Harry answered, in unison, a short: “No!”

 The reporters laughed at the well-synchronised retort. Harry smiled within: at least you could count on some of Snape’s boundaries.

“This is what you’ll get,” added Snape calmly to the journalists. “Please, help yourselves.”

Snape and Harry faced their former tormentors with inscrutable countenances, taking turns to answer or repel the questions. Had they rehearsed the entire day, they could not have put up a smoother performance. At last, the journalists were escorted out of the hall by a couple of Mrs Steadfast’s Aurors. Snape and Harry turned their backs to each other and joined different companies. Harry removed his glasses and the doors to the Great Hall opened.

***

Harry was standing at Ron’s side, looking out over the dancing crowd. He had danced several times with Ginny and once with Luna, and was having a rest to catch his breath. It was so crowded that he had been doing gliding and floating spells when he lead Ginny out, in order to be able to dance in a tolerably enjoyable way without getting trampled upon. Prior to the dancing, they had endured an eternal dinner - palatable, but interrupted by incessant speeches, the one more boring than the other.

Every single employee of importance at the Ministry seemed to believe they had the obligation to give their view on the Voldemort era and to comment on the battle that had taken place on the very ground where the banquet was now held. After three hours, most students were jumping on their chairs of impatience to get the dancing started. They did after all have dinner in the Great Hall every evening of the term and did not enjoy the prolonged session as much as the adults who savoured the beauty of the hall more seldom seemed to do.

At last Snape had risen to reply to all the speeches which had addressed the headmaster in a more or less direct fashion, since he was the host of the evening. Snape’s speech had been brief and to the point and, to everybody’s relief, it had ended with the command to let the dance begin. The students had been more than willing to help out with clearing the hall of the banquet, and once the longed-for dancing begun it was with so much more enthusiasm, even if it was old-fashioned dancing and not club dancing.

Snape was a much sought-after dancing-partner among the guests. Harry remembered the Yule Ball in fourth year at Hogwarts on which occasion he could not recall having seen Snape dance a single step, but then Snape had only been a simple, bad-tempered teacher who begrudged everybody else a little merriment. Now, on the contrary, the headmaster had no rest.

Although Snape carried himself a bit stiffly, it seemed to Harry that the wizard appeared to know how to dance. Snape was clad in black as usual, but the dress robe was elegant and had elements of velvet that softened his sharp features somewhat. He bestowed his partners all his polite attention and was rather skilful at guiding them free from pushes and shocks, but he never seemed to laugh and rarely smiled. Snape had opened the ball dancing with Kingsley’s wife, a beautiful, slender-limbed and gracious witch. Mrs Spingelfitz and a succession of female heads of the departments and offices at the Ministry followed, except Mrs Steadfast who was working, guarding the doors to the Entrance Hall.

Mrs Streadfast had caught Harry’s attention during the banquet and shaken a box in the air over her head with a content smile on her face. Harry deduced that she must have managed to catch Rita Skeeter in her Animagus form. Now, as the ball approached its climax, Mrs Steadfast seemed on the contrary to become gloomier. Snape danced for the second time with a tall, fair witch with eccentric appearance and alluring movements. They seemed to know each other from before. Mr Weasely, who stopped by Ron and Harry, made a comment about the couple.

“That’s Mme Womberry at the Obliviator Headquarters. She and Severus might have been the same year at Hogwarts, but she’s Ravenclaw if I’m not mistaken. An intelligent and capable woman, although eccentric. Unmarried, you know, despite her beauty. Whatever that stands for... She’s got a reputation of taking what she wants and is not used to meet with resistance. Spiteful tongues say that... But it’s probably just jealousy. Her reputation of having rows of young men courting her is undoubtedly exaggerated…” Arthur Weasley’s face flushed.

Harry looked at the dancing couple with curiosity, but was approached by and invited to dance with Mrs Spingelfitz whom he led out, slightly nervous. He was a nimble and flexible dancer, though, not afraid to use a little magic to smooth things up and he did not need to worry. Mrs Spingelfitz gave him high praise and engaged him in conversation. In passing, he noticed that Ginny was dancing with Dean Thomas and that Narcissa Malfoy had laid hands on Snape with a triumphant expression on her face and a loathing gaze at Mme Womberry.

Harry realised, as he let go of Mrs Spingelfitz, that he was nearly as coveted as Snape among the mature ladies and that they did not hesitate to proclaim him for a dance. He was passed from one important lady to the other for several rounds and started to feel desperate to find someone his own age to dance with for a change when he decided that if he was going to get some rest he would have to take things in hands and do something drastic to escape the attention. He rose discreetly in the air, cut a slit in the magma and disappeared right under the nose of Mme Womberry who had set her eyes on him. He landed near Mrs Steadfast who frowned ill-natured at him.

“Stop making those Apparating dodges, Mr Potter. I told you, it’s rude to Apparate indoors and it shouldn’t be possible anyway – this is after all a NAZ. I hope no one else mimics you, or it’ll be impossible to keep track of people.”

“Things are going well, aren’t they?” said Harry in a light tone.

Mrs Steadfast muttered something in reply as she watched Healer Schufflert dance with Snape. The elegant black-haired witch matched Snape well. The floor was slightly less crowded and Snape seemed to enjoy swinging around more vigorously. When they stopped, Mrs Schufflert was flushed and a little breathless as she thanked Snape who bowed to her, impassive as usual.

“Did you really catch Rita Skeeter?” Harry asked Mrs Steadfast who reluctantly told him that she had had one of her Aurors discretely search the pockets of all the reporters who left the castle and that it had resulted in the capture of a beetle.

“So she had an accomplice,” said Harry. “What will happen to her?”

“I’ll interrogate her tomorrow. I’ll have a word with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to see if we can charge her with something. But she needed to go to St Mungo’s first, because her hind legs seemed squashed. Her accomplice had forgotten she was in his pocket and accidentally crushed her. You could say that we saved her...” But not even the successful capture of the journalist seemed to cheer Mrs Steadfast up.

“Oh, there’s Hermione,” Harry muttered partly to himself and left the sullen Mrs Steadfast. Hermione had been dancing with David Burbage and they were waiting for Ron to come back with drinks. Harry wondered where Ginny had disappeared to, but his friends did not know so he asked Hermione to dance with him instead.

“If you don’t mind, Ron? It’d be nice to have a partner who’s not going to ask me what I’m going to do when I grow up, if you know what I mean.”

Ron grinned and gestured magnanimously for them to go ahead, and Harry and Hermione set out on the floor.

“What are you going to do in the future, my young friend?” Hermione teased Harry. He smiled tenderly at her and led her around in large circles, flying through the hall. As the piece of music stopped and they halted their dance, Harry turned to make his excuses to the person he had just brushed against and found that it was Professor McGonagall who had been dancing with Snape.

“Oh, Harry, you must allow me a dance with you,” said Professor McGonagall, a little flushed on her cheeks.

“With pleasure, Professor!” Harry turned to her.

“I’ll take the opportunity to dance with my lawyer then, if she consents,” said Snape and offered Hermione his arm. She blushed deeply, glanced at Harry and acquiesced. They set out as the music started anew.

“What a pleasant evening!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed animatedly. “You do lead well, Harry. Subtle but firm, just like Professor Snape. He surprised me with his dancing qualities. For eighteen years he’s been working here, and I’ve never seen him dance until tonight! And yet he behaves like he’s never done anything but. What do you say about that? Now, you do gliding elements as well! Very pleasant, Mr Potter, very elegant!”

Harry and Hermione reunited by Ron and David when the dance ended.

“Ginny’s upstairs in the Transfiguration classroom,” said Ron. ”Neville just told us. They’re transforming it into a club. Seamus Finnigan has managed a really good sound transmission spell and Ginny has done the decorations, so they’re dancing there instead, which is why it’s thinning out in the hall. Students only. We’ll just leave the ball-room to the grown-ups. Let’s have some fun!” They set off.

“So you were swept away by Snape?” Ron asked Hermione.

“He behaved very chivalrous,” Hermione replied shortly.

“Must give you the creeps to have his large nose hovering over you close up like that,” Ron continued disapprovingly. “And I’m surprised he didn’t trip over and land on his back, because he’s as stiff as a log.” Hermione sighed.

“He’s not, Ron. He might be a little stiff in the way he carries his head, which is not surprising considering how Nagini massacred his neck, but he’s quite a nimble dancer you know...”

“Oh, he’s very strong, no doubt, powerful and all that...” Ron sneered at her.

“Well he is. He’s got very steady, guiding hands, a bit like Harry’s. It was rather pleasant to dance with him, if you care to know.”

“So you think that Harry’s a better dancer than me? You’d rather dance with him, no doubt?” Ron hissed angrily.

“I’d rather dance with you, Ron, as long as you’re not being stupid and jealous and you know it. Harry’s the better dancer, why deny it? But it’s only technique, Ron, and you needn’t be jealous! Stop being a fool!” They continued quarrelling with each other until they reached Professor McGonagall’s classroom.

Simmings was posted in the corridor and smiled when they approached. Not a sound was heard through the door - the students had soundproofed it thoroughly. When they opened it, however, the music welled forth like a physical wave that hit their chests. The beating was fast, the lights flashing, bodies moving and people sweating. Harry spotted Ginny straight away in the middle of the room, dancing with supple voluptuousness. Dean Thomas was still dancing close to her.

Harry frowned the least little bit and made his way up to her. As soon as she spotted him, Ginny flung her arms around him and included him in her sensual moves. Several people whistled at them. They broke apart, smiled at each other in secret understanding and continued to dance face to face.

After a while, Harry felt his chest tighten increasingly, but he tried to disregard the sensation. He danced with Ginny for as long as he could endure, but when he started to get the impression that the walls and the ceiling were narrowing in on him, he Apparated to the wall to support himself. What was the matter with him? He felt unnaturally breathless and had started to see blinking stars in front of his eyes. Finally he could not stand it anymore and fled into the corridor. He leaned against the wall, panted with eyes shut and let his heart calm down.

“Harry?” asked Simmings, cautiously putting a hand on his back. Harry shook his head.

“Too small in there. Reminds me of Paris. Kind of panicked,” he said in a muffled tone.

Simmings eyed him pityingly whereas Harry sighed and looked at the closed door.

“I’m okay. I cannot go back inside, though. I need some air. Or a large glass of Firewhiskey... but Mrs Steadfast wants me to keep my head tonight and she doesn’t want me to move on my own. I promised her to behave. Will you come with me downstairs?”

Simmings nodded.

“I’d better let them know I’m going, though. Could you...?” Harry gestured towards the door. He didn’t have the courage to step inside even for a short while.

Simmings nodded again.

“Just tell any of them, they’ll pass the message on.”

Simmings went inside and came back with Hermione who approached Harry with concern. Harry felt embarrassed and glanced reproachfully at Simmings.

“She wanted to speak to you,” the Auror said.

“I’m okay, Hermione - really I am. It’s just that I cannot stay inside. You go back to Ron, otherwise he’ll get another of those fits of jealousy. Funny, I thought he had realised that...“

“He knows I love him, he’s just being...  an idiot,” said Hermione. “Sure, you’ll be fine?”

“Look at me, I’ve recovered. I’m going down with Simmings, have a stroll around the inner court or something. Join the old and sensible folk,” said Harry.

“Okay, see you later then. We’ll join you in a while. No one can stand it for very long in there. But I must acknowledge I’m enjoying myself. The feeling of just letting go of all inhibitions, moving around until you’re completely exhausted…“ She smiled and darted back inside. Simmings had called a co-worker, and another Auror stationed himself by the door.

Mrs Steadfast met them at the bottom of the stairs. She looked darker than ever and only glanced crossly at Harry.

“I’m okay,” he hastened to say. He noticed that Snape once again danced with Mme Womberry. Mrs Steadfast went back to pacing back and fro in front of the door leading to the Entrance Hall. She had her wand drawn and amused herself with hitting a tiny pearl that someone had dropped on the floor and made it race over the large flat stones. Simmings stopped to watch her in puzzlement, but Harry tucked at his sleeve.

“Come on. She’s in a terrible mood.”

Simmings and Harry let themselves out through the doors to the inner court. Despite the warmth of the preceding day the night air was fresh.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with Mrs Steadfast. She’s been grumpy all evening. Despite the fact that everything’s going smoothly,” said Harry. “Perhaps she resents not being able to join the festivities.”

“Maybe,” said Simmings. “Although she confessed to me that she’s a terrible dancer, so she wasn’t going to miss anything as she had not wanted to dance even if she had been allowed to. We actually considered having dressed up Aurors mixing with the guests, but decided against it at the last minute.” Harry stepped out on the lawn and looked up on the stars.

“Listen, Simmings, why not try and do the Double Knight’s move? Someone taught me, so I know how to do it. What do you think?”

Simmings hesitated.

“Your task is to guard me. No better way than to do combat movements together, don’t you think? We’ll be more than prepared if we were attacked,” said Harry convincingly. “And it’s a bit like dancing, anyway.”

Simmings gave in to Harry’s winsome smile and they started off carefully with an invisible pole between them, but soon grew more daring. Simmings asserted Harry that he was an ideal partner to train with. Harry found it easy to adjust to Simmings’ movements, but he did not quite achieve the right speed. The spinning force only gripped them for short periods of time. Harry suspected that it had to do with Simmings being too careful and restrained. He was scared to fall - it was as simple as that. But as he gained confidence in Harry’s capacity to maintain the equilibrium, they managed to do more complicated movements even if they did not reach the speed Harry longed for.

He suddenly spotted Mrs Steadfast coming from the entrance of the castle. She was blasting away some ill-placed plants that nearly made her stumble. Harry glided over to her in the air, panting slightly from the previous exercise.

“Good evening, Mrs Steadfast,” he said, landing on the ground and walking backwards in front of her on the gravelled path.  “Would you grant me this dance?” The music from the Great Hall could be heard through a couple of open windows. Mrs Steadfast stopped dead and stared at Harry.

“Not as long as Neptune has fourteen moons,” she said shortly and turned.

“Hmm...” said Harry and went after her. “I believe Neptune might have fifteen moons, actually, so you would be free to dance with me right now, if it’s only that.” Mrs Steadfast stopped and turned to him with irritation.

“I know my astronomy, Mr Potter. Neptune does only have fourteen moons, don’t contradict me, Harry, I’m not in the mood.”

“I noticed, Mrs Steadfast. But still, my inner eye tells me there is a fifteenth moon they’ve not yet discovered and therefore your refusal cannot be entirely fixed. I could teach you a flying waltz that Ginny enjoys very much. You only need to conjure up some air support and do a light-weight spell and I’ll guide you to some air-dancing.”

“I’m working, Potter,” she spat at him, but he thought he saw her features soften the least little bit.

“Well, one of your tasks is to guard me and I’d consider it an honour if you’d be my personal Auror for a short while,” he insisted. Mrs Steadfast turned exasperated to Simmings.

“What impudence! He’s bold, admit it Simmings! Cheeky and shameless... Why, I’m starting to think that Severus is right about you, Potter. It’s your father’s side of you, I guess. James could be very persuading with the ladies...”

It was the third or the fourth time that someone alluded to Harry’s father’s ways with women, and in combination with the engravings he had found in the love nest dungeons, Harry did not like it at all. What had James Potter been up to? At first Harry had chosen to ignore the hints that his father had been a ruthless Casanova, but now he started to get seriously annoyed about the amassing proof, and for a second he considered leaving Mrs Steadfast and just walking back into the castle. Mrs Steadfast looked mildly pleased to have thrown him off his balance.

“I’ll guard the entrance if you’re with Harry for a while, Mrs Steadfast. He has quite finished me off. We’ve been doing the Double Knight’s Move,” said Simmings.

“Yes, I watched you. I’ve never seen you perform it so well before, Simmings. But it depends on your motivation and your partner, no doubt,” Mrs Steadfast said teasingly.

It was too dark so see if Simmings blushed, but he seemed to grin at her.

“Oh, let’s have a try then. It cannot be more boring than it already is,” Mrs Steadfast said with ill humour and stepped out on the lawn. Harry followed after a slight hesitation. “Wait, I’d better put on my exercise dress. None of those stupid dress robes - I always look dreadful in those.” She directed her wand at herself and transformed her long robe into a kind of combat dress in black leather with a broad belt around her waist. Harry was slightly taken aback, but endeavoured to keep an impassive face. Mrs Steadfast looked well-trained and youthful in her outfit. Simmings whistled from the side.

“Oh, quiet, you!” Mrs Steadfast hissed threateningly. She positioned herself with ill-will opposite Harry.

“Light-weight and air-support, what then?”

Mrs Steadfast showed so much resistance that Harry thought she was intent on proving it impossible for him to dance with her.

“A few warm up exercises first,” he said candidly, taking her hand and putting his other hand on her waist. They were up in the air, swaying only a few inches above the ground. He did a sudden swirl around. She kept her balance and gazed steadily at him. He must get her to loosen up a bit, if they were not to perform a military march in the air instead of a dance, so he let go of her again.

“Okay, let’s race to that rose bush and back, see if you can follow me,” he said. She raised her eye-brows in incredulity. “Only warm-up,” Harry added.

“If I can follow you?” she snorted. They raced in the air and it was a dead heat. Harry pointed to another rose bush and he was slightly ahead. Mrs Steadfast’s mouth started to twitch. Another race and Harry let her win over him.

“Ha, got you,” she exclaimed, contented.

Harry narrowed his eyes, grabbed her and did a sudden series of pirouettes up and down very quickly. When they came down, Mrs Steadfast burst out laughing.

“Are we done with the warm-up soon?” she asked in a mocking tone that was more like herself, and Harry smiled at her in response. A new piece of music started to play in the Great Hall, he rose higher in the air and started to dance. She was a little stiff to start with, but Harry enticed her to let go and follow his nimble and rhythmic swirling in the air. Mrs Steadfast seemed more relaxed and satisfied with herself as they landed. She immediately made to go back to Simmings, however, but Harry did not let go of her hand.

“This is a little faster. Are you up to more acrobatic dancing?” She hesitated. “You’re good at air gliding, Mrs Steadfast, and steady, like your name, even in the air. You won’t lose your balance. Here we go.”

They lifted from the ground and Harry moved skilfully in the air, spinning and rotating in a furious tempo, letting go of her and catching her, revolving around her and gripping her again to change direction and accelerate. It was obvious that he enjoyed using his air gliding talent to his utmost. As they landed in the middle of a pirouette, she burst out in a clear, rippling laugh and staggered away from him.

“My head’s in a whirl. You’re crazy, Potter! By all flapping flying bats, I’m too old for air-dancing. You reserve this treatment for Miss Ginny in the future.” She stopped dead as she had nearly bumped into a couple who was walking along the path towards the rose garden. It was Snape and Mme Womberry.

Mrs Steadfast straightened up and grew sombre in her face, but could not entirely wipe off the smile on her lips. Her hair was a bit untidy and her eyes glittered. She looked rather girlish despite her tough outfit.

“Good evening Severus... Helen,” she said in an attempt to collect herself. “I’ve been dancing with Mr Potter,” she continued as they stared at her. “I’m his guarding Auror tonight.” She cleared her throat and repressed another smile. Snape managed to stay inscrutable.

“He escaped me, that one,” said Helen Womberry and looked over at Harry. Harry remained at a distance, but inclined his head respectfully in her direction. “Good to see you keeping in form, Audrey.” Mme Wombery contemplated Mrs Steadfast from top to toe, making Mrs Steadfast blush. “Severus is going to show me the Fountainmaids in the rose garden. They used to be my best friends when I was at Hogwarts. Good night to you.” They continued along the path. Harry stepped up beside Mrs Steadfast who stared foolishly after the couple.

“The worst thing is that I believe her. She’s on to all sorts of oddities, Helen is. Best friend with Fountainmaids... I don’t dislike her at all... really,” she said and frowned at herself.

“Mrs Steadfast?” Harry tried to tear her away from her thoughts. ”Mr Simmings and I did the Double Knight’s Move before. You don’t think that...”

“I think this is enough for tonight, Mr Potter.”

“Let’s have a try. Please! It’s the perfect place. And what if I go to St Mungo’s instead of joining the Aurors, then you’ll never have the opportunity to...”

“Who taught you?”

“I can’t say. Someone good.”

“Not Simmings. Not that he’s not good at some things, but not particularly at this. Who then? Mr Sachs? But surely he’s been busy with Mr Malfoy all the time. Mr Burgess is not well and he’s not advanced enough, anyhow. Another Auror, or one of the teachers? It can't be Severus at any rate, the relationsship between you two is far too volatile and explosive - you'd never remain on friendly terms long enough for you to learn the Knight's Move,.”

“Try me out and we’ll see if you can guess,” Harry tried to lure her into the game. “Help me tease Professor Snape. He was so condescending at first when I started to learn the Move. We’ll show them on their way back. If we have mastered it by then.”

“Okay, Mr Potter, let’s have a go. We’re already warmed up, so by all swirling ghosts, why not?”

Harry gave her a radiant smile. At the same time, Ginny, Ron and Hermione showed up.

“Wait, I’m just doing the Double Knight with Mrs Steadfast,” Harry called out to them.

They started slowly, but could proceed rather quickly to the more advanced stages of the Move. Harry’s eyes shone. Finally he had a worthy partner, since Mrs Steadfast was daring and much quicker than the cautious Simmings. Still not quite the same as with Snape, though. Harry noticed that the spinning force was not nearly as tight and stable as it had been when he learnt to do the Double Knight’s Move the first time. Harry also noticed that it was he who adjusted to Mrs Steadfast more than the other way around. When he had performed the battle move with Snape that winter day in the clearing, he supposed Snape had done the adjustment to him and led him, because Harry had not been aware of it at all towards the end. Harry got the impression that he had the initiative with Mrs Steadfast, even if they reached equilibrium between their powers.

More people had come out on the inner court and a small audience assembled to watch them. They did more advanced and faster moves. Harry noticed that Snape and Mme Womberry, too, had stopped to watch on their way back to the castle. When Harry and Mrs Steadfast landed they received applauses from the students.

“Great, Potter, I can’t remember when I did this Move so swiftly and fast. You’re a natural. Isn’t it magnificent?” Harry nodded enthusiastically, but must still have looked slightly self-conscious because Mrs Steadfast approached him. “You don’t think so? You’ve done better than this? Really? Who did you do it with before, then?”

“Oh, maybe the experience is a bit different when you’re a beginner,” Harry said negligently, because Snape was within earshot, and he did not want to boost the wizard’s self-conceit. “Let’s do a last move. I love it!” They mounted in the air again. An even larger crowd had gathered below.

Suddenly, as they were in a descent spin, a green light flashed in the periphery of Harry’s visual field and without thinking, without hesitating, he fired an Expelliarmus in the direction from where the light came from.

“Down,” roared Mrs Steadfast who started to sprint with her wand brandished in front of her as soon as she set one foot on the ground. She ran towards a dark corner of the court where several cases were piled on each other.

Harry landed with confusion and anger written on his face. He was quite sure it had not been an Avada Kedavra that had been fired, but the light had been very similar and he had acted on instinct.

In the shadows by the wall, Mrs Steadfast pointed her wand at someone who was cursing and struggling to get up from a bunch of broken boards. The perpetrator must have been sent off a good fifty yards when he was hit by Harry’s spell.

“That was not a particularly wise curse to use these days, Mr Malfoy, and I think you know it, so the question is why did you try to provoke Mr Potter?” Mrs Steadfast said sternly. Snape had taken a few steps forward, but stayed behind when he realised who Mrs Steadfast had in front of her. “What was the point of that little demonstration? Didn’t you realise the risks after what Potter went through in Paris? Are you suicidal, or what?”

“Potter’s a dangerous lunatic!” hissed Malfoy and pointed at Harry with a trembling finger as he stood up with difficulty, grimacing of pain. “I was only playing with my wand.”

“That green light was directed at us, Mr Malfoy. I want you to explain your intentions. Where’s you Auror?”

“Draco!” a woman’s voice exclaimed from the stairs leading down into the inner court. Narcissa Malfoy advanced towards them in long strides. “What happened to you? Were you attacked? Why did you run away from me? You’re not supposed to be on your own.”

But before she reached her son, one of the broken cases behind Malfoy exploded and sent him headlong forwards. More explosions were heard and bright fireworks started to whiz in all directions. Mrs Steadfast had kept on her feet and raised an arm to protect her face. She drew up a shield to hold the fireworks off as she stepped forward to grab Malfoy and drag him away from the uncontrollable chain reaction of fireworks. Snape assisted her by pushing the cases further away by magic and Ron rushed forth to help him.

“There’s no way of stopping the fireworks once they’ve got started,” Ron said to Mrs Steadfast. “The broken case must have set them off. They’re all connected to one another by magic – it’ll fire along until the last piece.” Ron had been charged to set up a show of the latest Filibuster fireworks, donated to the school by George Weasley. It was supposed to finish the School Ball with grandeur.

“Well, as it’s two o’clock at night, the guests might as well get a hint that it’s time to start thinking about returning home,” said Mrs Steadfast drily.

People were pouring out of the castle to watch the fireworks that had now organised beautifully according to Ron’s programming. Ron and Harry lifted the block of cases even further away, on top of the wall where it had been planned to take place originally. Fortunately, not many guests realised what had preceded the onset of the fireworks. There was no panic, only heads turned upwards and cries of delight and admiration.

Mrs Steadfast ran about speaking to her Aurors, organising the surveillance of the termination of the ball and the retreat of the guests to Hogsmeade, predicted as soon as the fireworks were to end. Harry stood with one arm around Ginny to keep her warm and with Hermione on the other side of him, whereas Ron was busy checking on the progress of the fireworks. Harry noticed that Mrs Steadfast had been hit by a projectile and was bleeding from a wound on her cheek. She seemed completely unaware of the fact, as she gave orders to her Aurors with authority. Harry further observed Draco Malfoy tear away from his mother with fury and walk inside the castle with Miss Cork hurrying after him.

The guests were seen off successfully without further incidents and most of the students returned inside the castle as they started to freeze. Mr and Mrs Weasley lingered on by Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione as they wanted to know about the mishap with the fireworks and the venture of Draco Malfoy. Close by, Snape caught up with Mrs Steadfast.

“I had better heal that wound for you, Audrey,” he said.

“What? Oh, it’s nothing, don’t bother. I’ll put on a healing plaster.”

“Don’t touch it!”

“Miss Swan, go inside and check the Great Hall and report back to me, will you?” Mrs Steadfast turned her head and sharp eyes in every direction, continuously in a state of alert. Snape put his left hand on the upper part of her arm to turn her towards him and Mrs Steadfast suddenly clamped her jaws and stilled as if she did not dare to move. She watched his hand on her arm with a puzzled look.

“The wound is quite deep. It’s a pity to let it distort a handsome face, as it will if you let it heal with a scar. Now, stay still.” Snape was too occupied by performing his healing incantation to take notice of the gaze Mrs Steadfast riveted on him. It held a curious mixture of ardour and resignation, thought Harry, before his eye was caught by something in the air.

“What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape as he finished the healing incantation and let go of Mrs Steadfast. Harry was indeed busy with his wand directed at something over the head of Snape.

“I figured it best to keep that owl away from you until you were finished with Mrs Steadfast. The bird looks rather aggressive and it wants you.”

“Right, well, release it now,” said Snape without raising his head, frowning at Harry.

“Are you sure? It seems...”

“Let it go!”

Harry lowered his wand, arching an eye-brow defiantly, and a large eagle owl dived right at Snape, aiming its claws at his eyes. Snape ducked and raised an elbow to protect his face, at the same time as he directed a stunning spell blindly with his wand hand at the bird. He hit it close up and the owl sank to the ground. Snape turned furiously to Harry.

“That owl was not aggressive, it was murderous!” he exclaimed.

“I tried to tell you...”

“Using Muggle vocabulary as usual! Haven’t you learnt the five categories of charms you can put on an owl, depending on the message you want to convey to the receiver? Amicable, Insisting, Indifferent, Aggressive and Murderous? Those are very well-defined entities. Murderous means exactly what it says. There is Dark Art involved and you really put your owl up to murder the receiver. Not that it happens very often that the owl succeeds, but it can cause considerable damage when it aims for the eyes.”

Mrs Weasley put a hand on Harry’s arm because he flared up and was ready to fire a sharp retort, advancing him.

“Please, Professor. Harry has had no family to teach him those things and my husband and I have had no reason to tell him about the murderous charm. In the middle of everyday life, you don’t give the children sort of theoretical lessons, you teach them by and by and it’s easy to miss out on things that way. I’ve given it much thought recently and I...”

“Severus, it’s a black letter!” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast as she untied the parchment rolled up at one of the owl’s legs. Harry peered inquiringly at Mrs Weasley. Another appellation he did not know of.

“A letter meant to threaten or to warn a person off. It might contain words or sounds like a howler, a ghost image, or even an odour save the text itself,” Mrs Weasley whispered to Harry as Snape opened the letter. Terrible screams were heard, as from a person who was in terrible pain and everyone drew their breaths.

“What’s that?” exclaimed Ron.

“Someone being Crucioed,” Harry stated grimly. “Who is it?”

Snape and Mrs Steadfast who had read the short text had horror and disgust written on their faces.

“Please, will you tell us - is it someone we know?” Harry pleaded with Mrs Steadfast, a wave of angst gripping him. The head Auror cleared her throat.

“They have abducted Healer Frankiss,” she said. “They threaten to kill him if we use his testimony at Professor Snape’s trial.”

Hermione let out a strangled cry and Harry glanced at Snape, discerning a flicker of anger and despair in his teacher’s black eyes.

The Daily Prophet had two pictures on the front page the next day. The biggest one showed Harry and Snape side by side in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. Harry looked so much like a young James Potter with his glasses on, posing with ease at Snape’s side, that it was almost comical. He reckoned Snape might not think so, however, and that to be pictured with a copy of his former rival at his side might not raise the headmaster’s spirits.

The other, smaller, picture was one of Jonathan Frankiss, healer at St Mungo’s Hospital, abducted the previous night by an organisation called the Shifting Successors, supported by the Death Eaters of Voldemort. The organisation had sent the same kind of black letter that Snape had received to the editorial office of the Daily Prophet.

The paper had previously reported from Snape’s inquiry with moderation and made a guarded interpretation of the event, as if cautious to prematurely pronounce the innocence of Snape. Now they presented two alternatives. Either Snape was the victim, targeted by the Shifting Successors, or he was their secret ally. Perhaps Mr Frankiss had changed his mind, or realised that what Dumbledore had said did not at all mean what he had thought it meant at first. If that was the case, and if Snape had learnt about his doubts, then Snape himself might be behind the abduction of Mr Frankiss.

The paper criticised Kingsley Shacklebolt for being so quick to support Snape, before the trial was over. They made it appear almost indecent that Kingsley and Snape would have held a ball at Hogwarts while a man was kidnapped, as if it had been a deliberate diversion to fool the Aurors. At this point in the article, the gullibility of Mrs Steadfast was also questioned, as was her collaboration with Snape.

Harry and Hermione shook their heads as they read the articles. The press was decidedly against Snape, even without the influence of Rita Skeeter, who was hospitalised at St Mungo’s with an inability to transform her lower body back from her damaged Animagus self. She had no legs and the healers did not think they were going to be able to Regrow them, according to Mrs Steadfast.

Why was the press still so hard on Snape? Things clearly looked bad for him. Harry and Hermione did not have much time to ponder upon this, however, as they needed to move on with revising for their exams. They had no choice but to plunge into work. Before the week was over, something happened that forced them to make a definite stand where Snape’s trial was concerned, however.

One morning, Hermione received a letter by owl from an anonymous source. It was not a black letter, but the content was as unpleasant as if it had been one, because she was threatened and exhorted to leave her position as Snape’s defender. Otherwise she might meet the same fate as Mr Frankiss, the letter said.

Ron was shocked and hit the roof with agitation. He thought that his girlfriend should step aside straight away, while Hermione’s instinct was to resist. You should not allow threats and violence to triumph over reason and truth, was her position. They argued so forcibly that neither Ginny, nor Harry was let into the discussion initially. Their first lesson was Potions with Snape and the argument continued under a Muffliato spell at the back of the classroom. Ginny stepped in sometimes on Ron’s side, sometimes on Hermione’s side. Harry did not say much and was the first to observe that they had drawn the attention of Professor Snape who had stolen upon them.

Snape simply lifted the Muffliato spell away, which Harry had until then thought impossible to do if you were not part of the Muffliated group. Harry was not surprised, however - because if someone should know how to break the magic, it would be Snape, since he was the inventor of the spell. Snape asked silkily whether they debated the properties of the granite pebbles or those of the quartz crystals. The Griffindors obviously did not debate anything at all any longer as they had all gone mute at his interruption. Ron looked like he longed to say something, but kept his lips pressed together.

“We wonder if we could have a word with you and Mrs Steadfast later today?” Harry finally asked and Snape frowned, slightly surprised.

“It can be arranged. I’ll let you know,” he said curtly and left them. After the lesson, Ron was furious with Harry, even if telling Snape and Mrs Steadfast had been his idea from the start.

“We don’t need to discuss the issue with them,” he said. “We only need to let them know that Hermione no longer can play the part of Snape’s defender. Why did you have to involve them in our considerations? We’ve always managed on our own and made our own decisions.”

“It doesn’t hurt to discuss things. Moreover, we’re not kids any longer. We need to start trusting some instances, collaborating with them. Mrs Steadfast might become your boss next year if you enter the Auror program, you know,” retorted Harry. Ron snorted, but calmed down.

After lunch, they were called into Professor McGongall’s office where they were joined by Snape and Mrs Steadfast.

“Did you receive an owl this morning, Miss Granger?” the head of the Aurors asked. Professor McGonagall flinched and Hermione gaped at Mrs Steadfast.

“How did you know?” she said.

“Several people contacted the Auror’s Office this morning. Persons who were on the list to testify about being rescued by Professor Snape’s Patronus. They’ve all received threats. Will you please show me your letter, Miss Granger.”

Hermione pulled a parchment out of her bag and handed it over.

“Hmm, yes, very similar to the others. Have you decided what to do?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“We were discussing it this morning,” answered Hermione. ”We do not agree on how to act. I believe you should not yield to threats like this, but...”

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry was quicker.

“You cannot do it, Hermione. You must withdraw,” he said.

“But Harry, it’s you who...”

“They might go after your parents, have you thought about that? You went to great lengths to protect them when we fled Voldemort last year, you cannot risk them being harmed now.”

Hermione looked aghast at him.

“Do you actually think they would...?”

“They’ve learnt from Voldemort,” reinforced Harry. ”And they did not hesitate to abduct Healer Frankiss. All in all, they seem determined to bring about Professor Snape’s conviction, at whatever cost. I’m afraid there’s not more we can do, however. I’m sorry, Professor, we really wanted to help.” Harry spoke without looking at Snape.

“I believe it’s the safest thing to do,” Mrs Steadfast said cautiously. Snape cleared his voice.

“You’ve been extremely helpful, Miss Granger. I wouldn’t have allowed you to continue as my lawyer under the prevailing circumstances. I’ll do my own defence, speak for myself.”

“But Professor, you...”

“The evidence from the inquiry will be taken into account. There’s still the wand examination, which you arranged, Miss Granger. You’ve done quite enough, more than I could have asked for. I agree with Mr Potter that there is not more you can do.” Snape spoke courteously, almost lightly, while there was concern written on Mrs Steadfast’s face.

“We’ll find out where they’re keeping Mr Frankiss,” she muttered. “My whole squad is at the task, Severus.”

“People will be scared to testify, you’ll be quite on your own, Professor. And you’ll probably not even be allowed to use the Veritaserum.” Ron who initially had been adamant for Hermione to desert Snape, voiced his sudden realisation and looked at his headmaster with apprehension.

“Well, I’m kind of used to act on my own, Mr Weasley,” answered Snape a little dismissively.

“I... I have looked it up, Professor. No one can prevent you from using the Veritaserum, you know. There’s no law or regulation that will keep you from taking it. It’s just that it’ll be noted that it’s not approved by the Ministry. If you take it, it might at least allow you, if you are convicted, to appeal to the court, once it’s registered, to review your case later on.”

“He’ll not be convicted, Hermione,” said Harry sharply. “The court will know of the threats. They’re in themselves proof of his innocence so they’ll be sensible. Professor Snape will convince them.” Harry lifted his chin stubbornly.

“Exactly so,” Snape caught on in a light tone. “Mr Potter is absolutely right. I’ll do fine. I don’t want you to give it another thought. You need to concentrate on your exams – that’s more important now.”

“Severus, maybe I could testify. I’m old, they have nothing to threaten me with. I’m not afraid of...” Professor McGongall spoke.

“No!” said Snape with steel in his voice and continued in a milder tone: “You don’t really have any evidence to give, Minerva, except your faith in me, for which I am honoured.”

“Albus would not have wanted this... he would’ve been outraged. He would have found a way...” answered Professor McGonagall in a slightly shriller tone than her usual composed voice.

***

The four weeks leading up to the exams were unusually warm and sunny. Students could not resist going outside, although revising was less effective than in the library. The sun beams made them want to shut their eyes, lie down and listen to the singing of the wind in the trees. The loud chirrups of birds and insects distracted them from reading. The greenery invited to long walks. No one visited the dungeons any more. There were more inviting places for building love nests in the surroundings.

Harry and his friends frequently made excursions to the other side of the lake. For some reason, Harry had started to avoid the clearing in the Forbidden Forest where he had used to do his training sessions and he had not entered the forest since they had purchased the centaur hair before Easter. At the other side of the lake, he felt safe.

Harry did not know what to make out of his relationship with Ginny. On a superficial plane, they continued almost as if the events at Easter had never happened. There was a troubling tentativeness and an inevitable void between them, however, caused by the necessity to steer clear of sensitive subjects. They avoided to mention Fred, and they never spoke about Paris. Ginny ignored the fact that Harry woke up from nightmares, remnant of the horrid night, every now and again. Neither had she made any comments on his attack of claustrophobia during the school ball. Harry did not force the information upon her, but still could not help feeling a sting of betrayal because of her blatant choice to ignore everything complicated or disturbing. He told himself that Ginny, too, was a victim of the circumstances and realised that she was more affected than she was ready to acknowledge - a denial which, of course, was part of the problem.

Most importantly, her affliction showed when they made love. As Ginny was Harry’s first and only true girl-friend, he had nothing to compare with, but Ginny had had a couple of boy-friends earlier and was more experienced. Harry had been exceedingly embarrassed and only grudgingly flattered when they started school and he realised that Ginny secretly boasted about him in front of her closest friends. He had no idea how others were going about love-making but personally, he enjoyed giving - it was as simple as that, and Ginny repeatedly praised him, with that mischievous sparkle in her brown eyes, for being such a patient lover. Well, he enjoyed it, and it was the only way he knew, he thought defensively.

Since Paris, however, there was a high-strung quality and wild desperation to their embraces. It was intense to an almost insupportable degree. They made love as if it was for the last time before the end of the world, every single time. It was Ginny who pushed and rushed, driven by some primordial force of angst, while Harry endeavoured to slow her down, to soothe her. Ginny ended up a complete mess, exhausted and disconcerted, whereas Harry was in more control of the strange compound of pleasure and anxiety. Ginny refused to talk about the issue, however, and simply turned a deaf ear to Harry’s gently voiced worries. She ignored the problem in the same way she had handled her slip of tongue about Fred’s death.

Harry was not prepared to share his deepening concerns for Ginny with his friends - it was too private, so he simply added it to the list of matters he needed to sort out with Ginny during the summer. Because, honestly, thought Harry, he did not really have time to ponder upon it at the moment. There was the uncertain situation of Snape’s trial, there was the underlying current of threats from the Shifting Successors and the remaining Death Eaters and there were the upcoming exams.

Harry struggled with the last chapters of Arithmancy at the same time as he revised his other subjects. He had developed a personal method for revising, where he surrounded himself with quotes and formulas, magically suspended in the air that he would sort, move about, repeat and memorise. His friends and teachers watched him with surprise as he would at unexpected moments conjure up his three-dimensional memory charts and start revising, at breakfast, or in the corridor.

“It helps me remember things, to visualise them floating in the air and to colour code them,” he explained to Hermione who stuck to ordinary revising from books as she was good at memorising words and phrases. The teachers did their best to support the NEWT students and urged them on.

Snape made a practice of peppering the NEWT students for the first ten minutes of each lesson, both in DADA and in Potions, with all kind of questions which he claimed could all make subjects of the exams. Even if he still made his usual sarcastic comments, they did not feel that his object was to plague them, but that he had a sincere wish to have them succeed their tests.

Harry was not sure, but he got the impression that Snape targeted him in particular during these intense interrogations, to look for gaps in his education, which he had to acknowledge, had been least to say uneven during the past years. On more than one occasion, Snape pin-pointed something that made Harry go to the library to deepen his shallow knowledge of the same subject.

The interaction between Snape and Harry was limited to that in the class-room. They did not avoid each other entirely and exchanged a couple of words now and then, politely, but with much reserve on both sides. Snape did on a whole appear distant. His mood was even, but although there were no signs of defeat in his countenance, a certain resignation was discernible. There were times when Harry would catch Snape watching him with an inscrutable expression. Sometimes the dialogue between Snape and Lucius Malfoy that Harry had overheard at the Ministry would play in Harry’s mind and with the harsh words about James Potter echoing in his ears, Harry would grimace and shake his head.

The date for Snape’s trial had been set to the very last day of the school term. Hermione thought that Kingsley had once again intervened in Snape’s favour and delayed matters. Like this Snape would be able to supervise the course of the exams.

One evening when Harry and Ginny were on their way back from the library to the Gryffindor tower, they came across Snape and Mrs Steadfast in the Entrance Hall. Harry had not failed to notice that the head of the Aurors Office had become an even more frequent visitor of lately. She and Snape consulted each other with serious faces. Harry stopped on an impulse. He had something he needed to say to Snape and it was better done now than at the end of a lesson with other people around.

“Can I have a word, Sir?” he asked and Snape nodded. “Go on, Ginny, it’ll only take ten minutes, I’ll join you in the common room.”

“Okay Harry, see you.” But as she was about to climb the stairs, Ginny suddenly revolved with an anguished expression on her face, retraced her steps to kiss Harry ferociously on the mouth, only to back off from him again with a disturbed expression on her face.

“Ginny, I’ll be with you in no time,” said Harry, embarrassed in front of Snape and Mrs Steadfast and sounding mildly reproaching.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” she said with tears rising in her eyes and fled up the stairs.

“Nerve-racking, the upcoming exams, I guess,” said Mrs Steadfast. Harry still followed Ginny with his eyes.

“No, she doesn’t give a gnome’s toenail about the exams,” he replied. “She’s been like that since Paris. Like there’s a catastrophe lurking any moment, any place. As if I’m to die from her tomorrow.”

“Well, you did suffer that attack. She’s not imagining there’s a threat against you. Not so easy to live with,” retorted Mrs Steadfast.

“She says she’s not afraid, but it’s kind of physical... Like a subconscious bodily reaction... Despite her Obliviating treatment... or because of it. I wonder if she doesn’t suffer some side effects...” Harry shook his head.

Snape looked concerned, but said nothing.

“But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.” Harry steeled himself and drew his breath as he looked from Snape to Mrs Steadfast. “Not found Healer Frankiss yet, I guess,” he said to Mrs Steadfast as he exhaled. He knew they had not, and did not really listen to her negative answer. He bit his lower lip and felt his heart beginning to race. This was not as easy as he had thought it would be.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Steadfast, just a quick word in private,” he suddenly muttered and drew up a Muffliato spell around Snape and himself that shut Mrs Steadfast out and left her surprised and vexed. Snape stared at him. Harry started to speak very fast looking down on Snape’s shoes.

“I just have a couple of things that I need to say to you, please, Sir. Er... First of all I want to say that I really hope that you’ll be acquitted at the trial - that they’ll be just and sensible and listen to you. And I think there’s a fair chance after all. It might just be enough to... Anyway… In the case of your being convicted – you do have to prepare for that eventuality all the same, don’t you?”

Harry cast Snape a desperate look and tried to collect himself.

“You’ll excuse me, I’m just speculating, but... I don’t know if you’ve already had an offer from Lucius Malfoy to rescue you on the way to Azkaban in a similar way he arranged for himself…? Or if you expect to receive such an offer…? Yes? No? Anyhow, I regard it as not improbable that he would like to lay his hands on you and that you, quite understandably, will seriously consider such an offer, because going to Azkaban is not an alternative, not really...”

Harry paused and swallowed.

“If he were to help you with an escape, it will be a manoeuver in order to try to convince you to join the Death Eaters again, or because they want to revenge themselves on you... And I want to say that I think that you should on no account trust your old friends. Even if Lucius Malfoy might still want to include you in the gang, the younger fellows of the Shifting Successors won’t be duped. You have no chance of convincing them you’re one of them, I think. The spy at Hogwarts – who might be Mr Burgess - or someone else – will have attended the inquiry and no one who did can believe you to be a true follower of Voldemort. So to the next thing.”

Harry drew his breath.

“Anyone who sees you can deduce that Mrs Steadfast and you are planning something… Of course it might be anything… But, knowing you both… and after our discussion at Easter… I want to say that if Mrs Steadfast and you are planning that she shall facilitate a rescue action by the Death Eaters on your transport to Azkaban, and that you shall let yourself be captured by them, in order to infiltrate the organisation and become a spy once more - on Mrs Steadfast’s behalf this time - in order to try to find Healer Frankiss and find the remaining Pleasure Temple, I really think it’s an abortive enterprise... clearly abortive... You stand no chance...”

Snape who had been taken by surprise by Harry’s torrent of words opened his mouth to say something, but Harry lifted a hand to stop him.

“No, just listen, please, Sir. I might be completely mistaken in my assumptions. If that’s the case, just forget everything I’ve said. However... I do understand that an experienced wizard like yourself is bound to have thought out different alternatives and plans, but I just wanted to say that in case it doesn’t work out the way you want... if you need a place to hide... because I do insist that you shouldn’t accompany the Death Eaters to whatever headquarters they might offer... in case of an emergency, in short, I wanted to say that you’re welcome to go to Grimmauld Place, the old Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. You know the place. It’s still safe, hidden from Muggles and all, and protected by a Fidelius Charm. I considered going to live there on my own... so I updated the charm this summer. I’m myself the Secret Keeper and this is how you’ll get inside.”

Harry gave a small piece of paper to Snape who accepted it out of shear surprise and stared at it. Then he closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head.

“I’ve told you, Harry, not to be so trusting! For Heaven’s sake, that’s your safe place! You cannot just reveal it to me. What if I’m captured by the Death Eaters and I pass on the information? Then you’ll be in danger!” Snape was clearly upset and gritted his teeth in frustration at Harry’s naivety. “Admit I’m condemned to go to Azkaban and admit I manage to escape. You cannot protect a criminal.”

“Of course I can protect an innocent man! I helped Sirius when he fled the Dementors. I’m prepared to help you.” Snape stared at him with an outraged expression that turned into puzzlement.

“Why are you doing this?” he said in an almost faint voice. “Are you imagining you owe me something? You don’t - on the contrary, I... Why are you doing this?” Snape repeated more firmly. Harry squirmed.

“You would have done the same for me,” he said.

“What?” Snape looked the very picture of bewilderment.

“You said so yourself, when we were at the Ministry,” Harry reminded him. “You promised me that I wouldn’t have to go to Azkaban for the killing of Machivato. I don’t really know what you had in mind, nor if it was a realistic undertaking considering the state I was in after Paris, but you did seem to mean it. I guess you could’ve blasted a hole in the roof of the Ministry and taken off with me on a broomstick or something if they had decided to send me back to France.” Harry laughed softly, turning his head embarrassedly.

Snape let out a sudden chuckle as he lifted a slightly trembling hand to his forehead and shook his head once again.

“I meant what I said,” added Harry in a low, embarrassed voice. “I haven’t spoken to my friends about this, so it’s only you and me who know. And don’t tell her...” He gestured with his head towards Mrs Steadfast. “...because if you manage to escape on your way to Azkaban, she’ll have a hard time as it is to keep her job. She’s the head of the Aurors, you know - she shouldn’t be involved in this sort of things,” said Harry with reproach in his voice. “Of course, I hope it won’t need to come to this. Grimmauld Place is just a back-up, a last resort where you can hide. I sincerely wish you good luck with your trial, Professor.” Harry inclined his head politely. ”Oh... and I’m doing this because I truly believe that my mother would have wanted me to help her childhood friend.”

Harry spoke the last words quietly, but with a stubborn honesty, without looking at Snape, and he lifted the Muffliato spell as suddenly as he had drawn it and left precipitately up the stairs.

In the Entrance Hall, Snape literally staggered as Harry’s words sank in, and Mrs Steadfast let out an exclamation and grabbed his arm, clueless as to how the remarkably gentle and candid young wizard repeatedly managed to discompose the hardened and imperturbable former Death Eater.

***

They had revised so intensely, ruminating the same things over and over again, that the exams were almost welcome when at last the time came. The hour before stepping inside the hall and picking up the quill for the first exam was agonising, though. All of a sudden, Harry did not feel in the least prepared. His head only recalled things that he had not revised at all, and he nearly panicked. Hermione tried to remind him of his serene attitude towards the exams at the beginning of the school year when he had said that nothing could really affect him after what he had gone through with Voldemort and that to focus on school work and exams would be a privilege. Harry only groaned in response - it was clearly derisive to be reminded of that now.

Once the test started, though, Harry felt as if transported to the school library working on an unusually interesting piece of homework and he had no problem to let go of his nervousness. Every now and then he would raise his head and look about him in the air, visualising in his head the space maps he had been using for revision. The next exams did not provoke as much agony as the first and the whole week passed in an atmosphere of intense concentration and suspense, alternated by strong relief.

Every evening, Harry and Ron, Ginny and Hermione would sit on the balcony of the Gryffindor tower and watch the sun set over the forbidden forest. It would dive under the horizon just before the chain of blue mountains that was like a backcloth north of the Forbidden Forest. The peaked mountains were beautiful, but still gave a hostile impression and Harry thought of Hagrid who had stayed hidden there for months in a cave, together with his half-brother Gwarp, until the battle had brought him out of his hiding-place, only a year ago.

On the sheltered space of the balcony, they would speak about their feelings at the thought of leaving Hogwarts so soon. These were the last days as inhabitants of the castle and they could not even savour them properly because they needed to focus on the exams. Harry did not say much on the subject. He felt his chest tighten at the thought of leaving Hogwarts. More important to him than to the others, because this had been his home. He shook off the feeling of being about to lose his foothold and being launched into nothingness. He knew that it was not true. He had survived outside Hogwarts a whole year already and next year would probably offer better conditions than what last year had comprised. Maybe he would be studying at St Mungo’s. Maybe they would all be living at Grimmauld Place in London. The future was luring and frightening at the same time.

He had done well on his OWL exam of Arithmancy. The NEWT exam took place at the very end of the exam period, the day before the last day at school. Harry was again plunged into the same agony he had felt before the first exam. When it was over, he stood in the Entrance Hall, with red spots on his cheeks from the effort and a slightly feverish gaze, eagerly comparing answers with Hermione, shifting through the questions with slightly trembling hands.

“At least I did two of the tasks almost without fault,” he said uncertainly. “But I failed to do that circular sum you said you had to do on the fourth question and I missed...”

“It should only bring about minor deductions,” answered Hermione. They lifted their heads from the parchment as they suddenly became aware of a black clad presence in front of them. It was Snape who looked inquiringly at Harry.

“Fairly okay, I think,” Harry said hesitatingly in answer to the mute question. “I... I haven’t failed completely at any rate.”

“I think he has made it, Professor,” clarified Hermione. Snape nodded at her.

“Good. In case I won’t see you again, I wish you good luck with Medical School at St Mungo’s Hospital, Mr Potter,” said Snape and penetrated Harry with an intense gaze. Harry felt troubled, but before he could reply, Snape revolved and walked away from them.

“Snape doesn’t believe that he stands a chance,” said Harry to Hermione later that evening. “I think he’s resigned to fail at the trial.”

“If you believe the papers, there won’t be a single witness in his favour. All the Patronus witnesses have withdrawn or been told not to show up, out of precaution. I know that David and his father wanted to brave the threats and testify, but Snape wouldn’t let them do it.”

“Let’s just hope for the best.” Harry and Hermione looked gravely at each other. ”We’ve done everything we possibly could do.”

Mrs Steadfast had explained to Snape prior to the trial that politically this spring, Kingsley Shacklebolt met with his first downswing since stepping into power. One year after Voldemort’s demise, several ambitious opponents had gathered enough effrontery to challenge the Prime Minister on his way of ruling the wizard community and the Ministry was buzzing with intrigues. And somehow, Snape’s fate had become intimately connected with Kingsley’s future as a Prime Minister.

Mrs Steadfast was concerned that the Wizengamot might not judge Snape on his own merits, turning the trial into a vote of no confidence on Kingsley. Snape himself had no illusions, because other than the fact that intelligent people of inquiring minds like the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot were not exempt of prejudices about Death Eaters, they would certainly not be satisfied with only half the story. Snape’s refusal to speak about the first war would most probably be his undoing.

                                                                         ***                        

Sitting on the chair of the accused in the courtroom at the Ministry, with a sense of déjà vu, Snape met nothing but grave faces on the morning of the trial as the members of the Wizengamot stared down at him. The majority of the dignitaries’ faces bore sour or suspicious expressions, only a few showed more frank curiosity than open hostility.

On both sides of the dungeon, the sections open for the public were full of people with non-committal gazes. Mrs Steadfast was seated alongside Kingsley Shacklebolt on the first row reserved for special guests, on Snape’s right side. Behind and above him was a rather large stand crowded with journalists who had been boisterous until Judge Forceps raised her hand in sign for the trial to begin. Formalities were cleared and the judge stated that Professor Snape would conduct his own defence.

Unlike at the inquiry there was a rather lengthy presentation of the accusations with witnesses and expert statements. Snape retorted sententiously at some of the most irrelevant, or downright false assertions, commenting sarcastically on one occasion that the Daily Prophet was not a reliable source when you looked for facts. This brought about laughs with some people and disapprobation with others. When it was Snape’s turn to present his defence, he brought out a bottle from inside his cloak.

“Your Honour, I’m aware that this Veritaserum is not yet approved of by the Ministry. It is the same potion that was used at my inquiry and I would like to volunteer to dose myself with it again today. I know that you have no obligation to take this into consideration. My belief is that this draught will be widely used in the future, so my point in taking it is to be able to prove, at least retrospectively, that I have spoken the truth in front of you today. Is anyone willing to take it along with me to be able to testify to its effects?” No one stirred. The colour on Snape’s cheeks heightened slightly. “In that case, I’ll ask you to keep the bottle in your archives in order to be able to prove later, should there be an appeal, the nature of the potion. I don’t want you to think that I’m fooling you.” There was a general murmur, a compound of doubt and appreciation.

At this moment, Judge Tempatino rose from one of the benches among the members of the Wizengamot.

“I’ll be happy to drink your health, Mr Snape, and taste that well-balanced draught invented at Hogwarts by some students of yours. It was recently published in the Journal of New Potions, you know.” He beamed at his colleagues. “Among the authors you noted a certain Harry Potter…”

A new buzz travelled through the room as Judge Tempatino made his way down to the balustrade that separated Snape from the Wizengamot. Judge Forceps looked disapprovingly at her elderly colleague.

“This means you’ve taken a stand, Amos, and you’ll consequently be detached from the trial.”

“I thought you might say so, Marilyn,” he answered and peered at her over his round glasses. “My deputy will step in for me.” He bent over and whispered to Snape. “She’s very loyal, she’ll vote exactly as I’d have done, so you won’t lose by the change. You probably don’t stand a chance today, given that your evidence is weaker than at the inquiry, but it would be a shame if you didn’t put on a good fight. You never know what will happen,” mused the tiny old judge and Snape raised his eyebrows.

“I thought I would repay my spiteful treatment of you at our first meeting after the Paris incident,” the judge went on. “My prejudices got the better of me. Mr Potter made me realise I had some ingrained ways of thinking. Fascinating when the young ones are able to teach us things at this advanced age, isn’t it? That young man intrigues me.”

Snape grunted in response.

“Now, I really thought that Mr Potter should be mentioned today. Having him on your side is your strongest asset, you know. It’s outrageous you won’t use it. I still think that you should have let him testify. I’m sure you could’ve counted on him to mind his P’s and Q’s. It’s not as if he would have been given a conventional Veritaserum by the court. And he seems loyal to you. Do you really trust him that little?”

Snape frowned more to himself than at the judge.

“I used to... have no faith in him... at all,” he said slowly.

“Very well, you’ll stick to your assessment. They all say that Death Eaters are stubborn to the verge of stupidity.” The judge winked again at Snape who seemed slightly thrown off balance. ”I thought I’d help you go down with due honours, though. I’d like to cast a doubt in my colleagues’ prejudiced minds. Might get you a shorter sentence. Let’s toast with those vultures over there so they can show our picture in the paper tomorrow.

“It might provoke my enemies to retaliate,” said Snape quickly. “I wouldn’t want you to be exposed to...”

“Sometimes you need to trust people to be able to decide about such matters themselves. Albus Dumbledore was a dear friend of mine and I do this because I think he would have wanted me to.” There was a tone of finality in Judge Tempatino’s voice that made it clear there was no room for objection. Snape handed him a cup and took one himself. They turned to face the stand behind them and the cameras started to click. Snape dosed the potion and they emptied their cups in one draught. 

Snape told his story clearly and simply, in a fluent, steady, although at times tone-less voice. The only thing that made him lose his thread for a while was when Mrs Steadfast suddenly rose and sneaked out of the room. Snape frowned and followed her black figure out of the court, but regained control of his narration and spoke in detail of his actions during the second Voldemort era. Additionally, he displayed a copy of the visualisation of his wand history that Harry and Hermione had set up in the Great Hall at Hogwarts for the inquiry.

Snape was questioned at length by different members of the Wizengamot and in spite of the word ’Death Eater’ echoing in their questions, the former spy endeavoured to explain things to his very best. At times, bouts of weariness seemed to come over him, however, and Snape’s customary sarcasm would shine through in his answers, as if he wondered what all this was good for, wavering in his self-control the least little bit, nearly abandoning his self-imposed politeness towards the hostile Wizengamot.

Mrs Steadfast returned to her seat eventually, causing Snape once again to falter and stare at her for a second, as if he was hoping she had some news - that she maybe miraculously would produce Healer Frankiss all of a sudden to testify.

Finally, Judge Forceps resumed the official tread of the trial and declared it ready to proceed. Mrs Steadfast fidgeted in her seat and cast glances at the door leading to the corridor. Snape looked inquiringly at her, she returned his gaze, shook her head and waved her hand in an incomprehensible way. Snape frowned. Judge Forceps was about to propose that the Wizengamot withdrew for deliberation talks and Mrs Steadfast had half risen in her seat and opened her mouth to speak, when a Ministry employee, someone from the Magical Law Enforcement Department, stepped through the door, went up to the Wizengamot and bent down to Judge Forceps to hand her several parchment rolls. The judge raised her eyebrows and exchanged a few quiet words with the employee, finally nodded and he disappeared again.

“Someone has stepped forward on the side of the defence, a person who wishes to vouch for Mr Snape,” she said. Snape looked confused and rose cautiously from his chair.

“Who...?”

“We’ve checked on the formalities concerning vouching procedures and there’s nothing that hinders this person from going through with it. You must not, Mr Snape, address this wizard in any way, in order not to influence him at the last moment, and the strength of his conviction will be measured in the Mirror of Faith.” She gestured toward a monstrous, heavy thing in the farther corner of the room that looked like an ugly rusty sculpture with a lot of iron flues.

Snape consulted Mrs Steadfast with suspicious eyes, but she made gestures for him to stay calm. Judge Forceps nodded at the Auror who was guarding the door to open it and let the person waiting outside in. Everyone present drew their breath and the dungeon was completely silent as the lanky figure entered the dungeon, crossed the room and turned a composed face toward Judge Forceps.

 “Harry Potter, welcome to the trial of Severus Snape where you have declared your intention to vouch for the accused.”

“Thank you, Your Honour.” Harry did not look at Snape who had frozen, staring at Harry in utter stupefaction, before he sprung to life again, schooled his features and approached with barely contained agitation.

“You’re not allowed to speak to Mr Potter, Mr Snape, or we’ll have to recommence the entire trial,” Judge Forceps repeated warningly.

“But the threats...” Snape whispered hoarsely, “...the danger connected with...”

“The court is aware of the fact that there have been threats and that many witnesses have withdrawn. I assume that Mr Potter is well-informed of the situation. Are you afraid of retaliations, Mr Potter?” 

“I’ve been a target of the Death Eaters and their associates since I killed Voldemort,” Harry said calmly. “They attacked me this Easter but I defended myself. There is a constant price on my head, so I’d say that vouching for Professor Snape makes no difference when it comes to the risks of my being attacked.” He had spoken without looking at Snape who was clearly affected by his presence and struggled continuously to compose his features.

“It’s remarkable of you to step forward with such short notice, Mr Potter. Did you have difficulties making up your mind?” asked Judge Forceps.

Harry frowned at her.

“Not really,” he said shortly. “I want to point out, though, that I do this not to repay anything to Professor Snape, nor in order to claim anything back from him later. There is no obligation attached to it, in either way. It’s a question of principle. I don’t think that an innocent man should be sent to Azkaban. That’s all. No debts,” he emphasised and almost turned his head to Snape.

“You might act on principle, but it’s your personal faith in this man that will be assessed. I hope you’ve thought this through seriously. You’re aware, are you not, that the strength of your conviction as you vouch will be measured in the Mirror of Faith? It will on one hand produce a live reflection of your conviction and on the other hand, through advanced Arithmancy, transform it into a number.”

“Yes, I‘ve read about it. There is Ancient Magic involved,” said Harry with interest, looking at the great lumping thing that had been brought forward. “There was even a question at the NEWT exam referring to...”

“Ah, yes, no one really knows exactly how it works. It was constructed a millenary ago,” the judge interrupted dismissively. ”But then you probably also know that we use the chart of magical numbers and that the position in the pyramid of the number your vouching produces will determine the importance we attach to your contribution when deciding upon Mr Snape’s fate.”

Harry was a little pale, but he nodded composedly. The judge flicked her wand and in the middle of the room, behind the chair of the accused, a golden pyramid appeared with numbers written on each block.

“If your number appears on the two bottom rows, I’m afraid we cannot take your vouching into account, it’ll be too weak. The nearer the top stone, the stronger your conviction, the more importance we will allow it in our deliberations for the final verdict.”

Harry nodded in understanding.

Snape had resigned to sit down in his chair again. He was shaking his head and arching his eyebrows disbelievingly. The judge narrowed her eyes as she viewed him, but did not say anything. Instead, she went on explaining the procedure to Harry. Snape leaned back in his chair and tried to assume his usual countenance of superciliousness, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing Harry with ironic bemusement as if he studied the preposterous ventures of a troublesome pupil. Small twitches around his lips and a recurrent need to rub his left shoulder betrayed his agitation, however.

An employee of the court stepped down to circle the Mirror of Faith while reading an incantation, and all of a sudden the ancient creation started to vibrate. Its crackled metal parts mended themselves as a silvery varnish spread along the flues. In the middle of the strange contraption, the blank surface of a mirror appeared while two smaller mirrors appeared on its sides. The whole thing glowed slightly.

Harry put himself in front of the enormous piece of furniture, and held up his hands close to the side mirrors while he stared at his own reflection in the main glass. Snape uncrossed his arms and gripped the armrests of his chair so hard that his knuckles whitened. Judge Forceps gave Harry a signal to begin.

“I vouch for Severus Snape being a good man,” said Harry in a determined, but not loud voice. He held his hands steadily against the mirrors and the glow from the magical engine intensified and included Harry in its mist of light. Suddenly, something emerged out of one of the flues. It was a splendid phoenix with green, black and silvery feathers. An awed murmur went through the room.

The bird flew around the dungeon before it landed on Snape’s right arm. He stared at it transfixed and started to stroke the bird’s neck with his left index finger beatifically. The mirror glowed for a short while after the bird had emerged, then it emitted a noise and a parchment scroll flew out in the air and was caught by the employee and handed over to Judge Forceps.

The Mirror of Faith emitted a last sigh before its lights went out and it assumed its original ugly appearance. Harry backed off a few staggering steps and lowered his hands. He stared intensely at the judge. Snape still stroked the phoenix with automatic gestures, eyes equally riveted on the judge who finally read the number aloud.

“Twenty one.” It was a low number, but Harry knew that the magical chart was not arranged in an ascending hierarchical scale. He had recently revised this. It seemed to him that... He scrutinised the pyramid. Part of the audience who knew their chart by heart had drawn their breaths. Snape stared bewildered out in the air. The phoenix took off from his arm, circled the pyramid before it touched the number twenty one with its beak and disappeared in flames. One of the four stones immediately below the top stone which bore the number seven, started to glow and the audience gasped.

Snape bent forward in a convulsive movement and hid his face behind hands that clenched into fists. The tissue of his robe stretched over his back and revealed his heaving breath. Mrs Steadfast and Kingsley looked shocked at Harry. If not their official positions had prevented it, they would both gladly have vouched for Snape, but they were at the same time conscious that Snape’s cautious, withdrawn, and sometimes downright hostile disposition did nothing to invite his surroundings to confidence and trust. They were both only a couple of years older than Snape. They remembered him vaguely from the younger classes when they went to Hogwarts as an odd young Slytherin destined to join the Dark side sooner or later. Both Mrs Steadfast and Kingsley Shacklebolt had been reminded of the extreme enmity that had prevailed between Severus Snape and James Potter, and therefore it was all the more shocking to witness the son of the former Death Eater’s rival mobilise such a solid case of vouching, scoring infinitely higher on the pyramid of faith than they knew they would ever manage. They were rightly awed and so was Judge Forceps who swallowed and spoke.

“That was convincing indeed, Mr Potter. We will...”

At this moment, the piercing voice of Rita Skeeter travelled from the back stand. Propped up in a floating chair, that disabled wizards and witches used to move about, she had been let through the crowd to the banister. She looked very strange, only her upper body visible and, probably because she could not keep her balance even seated, without her lower limbs, she had her trunk tied with a sticking charm to the back of the chair in order not to fall forward and therefore made a strangely erect, almost arched, impression. There was nothing wrong with her voice, though.

“The question of parentage must be cleared! I’ve claimed this again and again in my articles, but no one takes me seriously. A person who is connected by blood to the accused is not allowed to vouch for him. And such a high score, too! They’re bound to be related in some way...”

Judge Forceps rose an angry face and before either Harry or Snape had time to react to what Rita Skeeter said, Judge Forceps replied crushingly.

“I know what you have written about, Mrs Skeeter. And that nonsense about a blood tie to Voldemort proved ridiculously wrong. As if there would be a son no one knew about - preposterous! The press will do best to stay out of the court’s work. Checking the lawfulness of vouching procedures is not your business. But for the record, I want it to be noted – and this is my own testimony – that Harry Potter is the son of James Potter and Lily Evans. I was a childhood friend of James Potter’s mother, Hydrea Lombard, and visited the family frequently when he was a child. I also paid my respect to Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts some years ago and watched Harry Potter with my own eyes. He was a copy of his father at the same age. I commented on the amazing similarity, and Dumbledore agreed with me. There’s no doubt about Harry Potter’s descent, every other speculation is preposterous. Note that down to the protocol!” She snapped the last direction to the Court scribe. “Mr Potter, I’ll ask you to leave us. The Wizengamot will withdraw to reach a verdict.”

Harry put his glasses back on, that he had pulled out from his pocket before he walked back through the cross-fire of flashlights.

***

Harry waited for Mrs Steadfast at the Auror’s Headquarters as convened between them. The common room was quite deserted. The odd Auror passed by and looked inquiringly at Harry who mumbled a greeting. Finally Mrs Steadfast entered, scanning the room for Harry who rose with an interrogating gaze.

“Acquitted!” she said in a stifled voice.

Harry smiled broadly and fidgeted awkwardly. He did not really know what to do with himself, but Mrs Steadfast stepped up to him and hugged him vigorously.

“By all moonstones in the universe!” she said and cleared her voice as she was still hoarse from emotion. “You did it!”

“How did he take it? Do you think he’s furious with me?”

Mrs Steadfast shook her head.

“You’ve prevented his going to Azkaban. You’ve cleared him for good. How can he resent it? He looked shattered... deeply shaken... at first... but then he put on his mask of Occlumency and he managed to look quite unperturbed. So he is dealing with all the attention, the congratulations, the photographing right now. I thought he’d break down at first, but dissembling is his thing, I guess. That wizard possesses a great mental strength. A bit scary, though, with the Occlumency, if you ask me. He sort of looks wax-like, if you know what I mean.”

Harry pulled a face. He knew all too well.

“I’ll return to Hogwarts,” he said. ”Will you arrange for someone to come and fetch me at the gates? Hagrid or Hermione and Ron, if I’m to choose myself...” Mrs Steadfast smiled and pulled out her necklace watch to whisper orders to it.

“Come this way, Harry. The Aurors have a secret passage to an Apparition zone in the Ministry. Top secret. I’ll show you.”

***

One hour later, Mrs Steadfast walked fast along the corridor leading to the courtroom. She had waited for Snape to turn up at her office, but when he did not show up, she left to go looking for him. The dungeon was deserted, save a clerk who told her Snape had left with Kingsley some time ago. Mrs Steadfast frowned. Instead of mounting to Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office, she pulled out her security watch and spoke to it. She hurried to the elevator and stepped out when they reached the Atrium of the Ministry which held the official Apparition zone.

A grey-haired security wizard stood by the gigantic fountain in the middle of the hall, red in the face as he tried to retain his calm in front of a haughty black figure who rebuffed him with snide remarks and a threatening countenance.

“I have urgent business to attend to at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; I believe you are exceeding your authority by detaining me - Sir!” thundered Snape.

“The head of the Aurors Office wants a word with you, Professor Snape. If you’ll please just wait a moment, she will... Oh, Mrs Steadfast, there you are. It was in the nick of time you called me, because he was just about to take off.” Mrs Steadfast had positioned herself at a little distance and looked at Snape with arms crossed and lips pressed tightly as he turned around.

“My office,” she cut short and revolved instantly and started to walk towards the elevator again without turning around to see if Snape complied with her command. After a slight hesitation, he followed her.

A short while later, Snape stood erect and still in the middle of Mrs Steadfast’s office. His face was completely impassive. Mrs Steadfast circled him with brown eyes riveted on him.

“What’s the matter with you, Severus? Just because you’re acquitted you think that we have nothing to discuss, you and me, is that it?”

Snape was silent.

“Why are you trying to avoid me?”

A supercilious smile just played at the corner of Snape’s lips and it made Mrs Steadfast furious.

“Don’t leer at me, Severus. I’ve been so worried for your sake! I’ve gone through agonies when contemplating the unsafe plan we had made up in case you had been convicted. It did not hold water, you know that! I’m so relieved we don’t have to play that game.”

Snape scrutinised her without batting an eyelid.

“Talk to me, Severus. Don’t stare at me with those eyes. You don’t need to use Occlumency on me, surely? By Merlin’s beard, why are you still...? You look awful! Stop it! Speak to me!” she shouted, losing control of her temper, her brown eyes blazing.

“I had better get back to Hogwarts,” said Snape in a drawling, indifferent voice. Mrs Steadfast stared at him, outraged. Snape started to move towards the door.

“Wait! Do you think I had planned things with Potter?” Mrs Steadfast put a hand on his arm and pulled on it rather roughly for him to stop. “Is that why you behave like this? Do you think I’ve gone behind your back? I have not! Potter did what he did of his own accord. He knew the Auror at the gate at Hogwarts would alert me as soon as he left the grounds this morning. He asked her to send me a message to meet him in the Atrium. That’s why I left the trial. Potter and Granger had prepared all the paperwork necessary to convince the court without delay to accept his demand to vouch for you. When he appeared at the Atrium he merely asked me to take him to the most efficient employee at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that I knew of. He needed to work quickly to make them accept his request before the trial had advanced too far. I helped him and left him to arrange things with the clerk. That’s the only part I played, a small one, you must admit. He knew he must do it in the very last moment to surprise you, even if you had not expressively forbidden him to vouch for you. You had not, had you? He was asked to vouch for you by Kingsley at the beginning of the school year, if you remember? Everyone thought he had reached a decision not to carry through with it, including yourself, I gather. We thought it was too much asked. He never once mentioned it to me, I assure you. And Kingsley didn’t know of it either.”

Snape who had stopped in his movement for a short while to listen, continued towards the door. Mrs Steadfast ran after him.

“Severus, please listen to me,” she pleaded with him. “I appreciate that you were deeply shaken by the turn the trial took. We all thought his faith in you was astounding. But you’re declared an innocent man. Rejoice in your freedom! Accept what Harry did for you as a rare gift. He told you there was no obligation due. Please, Severus, please, stay and talk to me,” she begged, clinging to his arm, but he disengaged from her stiffly and opened the door to the common room where a couple of Mrs Steadfast’s Aurors lifted their heads to look at them in surprise.

“I must return to Hogwarts,” repeated Snape automatically, and set off for the elevator. Mrs Steadfast ran after him. “Leave me alone, Audrey!” growled Snape in a low voice that finally betrayed some emotion.

“Promise to let me know at once if they contact you. Promise me that, Severus! The Shifting Successors… Healer Frankiss... We don’t know yet what will happen. Be careful... please!”

Snape only grunted an indistinct answer and fled from her with his cloak flapping after him.

Mrs Steadfast stopped following him, panting defeatedly as if she had run up a high mountain when she had in fact only taken a few steps in the corridor.

When he returned to Hogwarts, Harry had lunch in the Great Hall. He told his friends about the outcome of the trial, but they kept quiet in front of the rest of the students. It seemed important to Harry that he should not stand out as Snape’s saviour and he wanted at any prize to avoid the attention. It was better therefore that the news of Snape’s acquittal were announced through official channels. As a consequence, Professor McGonagall, who was pale and apprehensive of her headmaster’s and colleague’s fate, was left to agonise unnecessarily long, but at last, when lunch was almost over, an owl arrived and she could announce to the students in a slightly shrill voice that their headmaster would come back to Hogwarts. Applauses and whistles broke out. Since the inquiry, only a small minority at Hogwarts still doubted Professor Snape.

“Tonight is the last evening that our NEWT students spend at the castle,” proceeded Professor McGonagall. ”And tomorrow is the official start of the summer holidays. I suppose you’re planning House parties... I’m not unaware of the fact that Gyffindor does...” Cheers and whistles were heard. “I will arrange for a splendid dinner this evening to celebrate our headmaster and in order to see the NEWT students off with due honours!” Professor McGonagall promised happily and new applauses followed.

***

During the afternoon, everyone except the NEWT students were busy being given their summer assignments. Harry watched Snape from a window of the Gryffindor common room as Snape returned from the Ministry, coming by foot from the gate. He looked more burdened than relieved and walked with heavy steps. An owl dived at him when he was halfway up the path. It was not a murderous one this time, but its message could not be pleasant as Harry observed Snape stare at it for a long time before he continued his way, as if a bit dazed.

Harry sneaked out from the Gryffindor house and kneeled behind the balustrade to peak down into the Entrance Hall, feeling like a first year. Professor McGonagall seemed to have kept a lookout for Snape, too. She appeared in the hall as soon as the headmaster entered and greeted him with open arms.

“Congratulations Severus! I’m so relieved, so happy for your sake!” she burst out. ”I was full of apprehension this morning, and I must own that I was afraid you wouldn’t come back so soon... When you asked me to take care of your things last night, I... The whole situation appeared desperate. It seemed so unfair, after all you’ve struggled to achieve this year and... and you did speak to me in a fateful sort of way... You cannot have been sure yourself... By Merlin, how did you manage to convince the Wizengamot with so little proof?”

Snape looked at her cautiously, with a streak of suspicion and frowned.

“The details haven’t reached you...?” he asked slowly.

“You’ll tell me everything tonight. I’ve promised the students a magnificent farewell feast. I’d better go and prepare the kitchen,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Minerva, I have some... personal business to attend to. I’d like to leave you in charge of things for yet a few hours if you please,” said Snape.

Professor McGonagall looked surprised, but acquiesced.

“You must be exhausted. Naturally, you were prepared for the worst... I understand. What do you want me to do with the trunks you entrusted me with?”

“Just... keep them for the moment being, will you? I must figure out how to... I need to be alone. Don’t let anyone into my office. Have you seen Draco Malfoy?” Snape spoke curtly.

“Mr Malfoy, no.” Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “I believe he was in the Great Hall at lunch, but not since then, no, I haven’t seen him. I don’t think he has gone out... That boy is so pale, he seldom enjoys the grounds, but shuts himself up. He’s not been well at all these last few months. Do you want to send for him?”

“No, I’ll go and look for him later,” said Snape absentmindedly and started to move toward his office.

Harry went back to his dormitory where he was packing his things as they would leave for the Burrow the next day. He did not fully pay attention to the jokes that flew in the air between Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and Ron, however, and he looked thoughtful. When Ron wanted to send a message by owl to his mother, Harry decided to accompany him to the owlery and without really knowing why, he took his invisibility cloak that lay folded on his bed and stuffed it in a pocket. The tissue was so thin it almost took no place at all. It struck him that he had not used the mantle since the battle one year ago.

Like so often when they arrived at the owl tower, Ron had not actually composed his letter yet and had to sit down for a while. Harry inhaled the slightly queasy odour of feathers and droppings and bent down to peak through the small window out over the Forbidden Forest. The majestic trees bore the mature deep green foliage of summer. Behind the inviting facade, there were more difficult terrains, Harry knew. In the southern part, the forest became dense and bushy in places and to the North, a gigantic swamp area stretched out westwards in a crescent that reached all the way to the blue mountains.

As Harry peered out through the window that was no more than a deep slit in the thick wall, he caught sight of Malfoy. The blond head with slack hair was not to be mistaken. He and Miss Cork walked on either side of Mr Sachs, Malfoy’s Auror, towards the path leading into the northern part of the Forbidden Forest. Harry frowned. What were they doing taking a walk into the forest? Draco Malfoy had never been excessively fond of the wild to Harry’s knowledge.

He turned to call for Ron to show him the scene, but the group of people disappeared from the narrow field of vision before his friend got there. Ron agreed that it seemed strange that Malfoy volunteered into the forest, and Harry felt agitated.

“I’m going to tell Snape,” he said to Ron, “He was looking for Malfoy earlier.”

Ron just muttered something.

“See you in the Gryffindor common room later.”

Ron nodded.

Harry hastened down the endless stairs of the owlery. His heart started to race in anticipation of an awkward meeting, but he did not hesitate as he set off for the headmaster’s office. He wanted to speak to Snape anyway - this might be an excuse as good as any to approach him. He must mention the vouching and emphasise that Snape was not indebted to him. He was afraid that Snape’s aversion toward himself might grow even stronger if he did not explain properly. Suddenly it felt like his life depended on it.

What, exactly, he was going to say was not obvious to Harry, but it was imperative that he should speak to Snape. He felt no qualms of conscience therefore when he started to enumerate different ancient Nordic names from the magical history of Iceland that he had learnt Snape was fond of, until the Gargoyle gave way and opened up. He climbed the spiral stairs two steps at a time and was out of breath when he reached the door at the top. He waited a while to calm down and after a slight hesitation he knocked. There was no answer so Harry repeated his knocking twice before carefully creaking the door open. Finally resolving to step inside, he stopped dumbfounded on the threshold, staring at the scene.

Snape’s office was bare and empty to the point of being unrecognisable. All personal items had been stuffed away. The gigantic desk was shining without as much as a quill upon it. The bookshelves gaped empty like holes in the walls, except a few exceptions that had been left untouched. Those were Dumbledore’s books, Harry gathered. Dumbledore’s Pensieve library also seemed intact, but otherwise the office looked impersonal and deserted. Snape had moved out.

“Good afternoon, Harry!” It was the portrait of Dumbledore which addressed Harry who had still not recovered from the shock of finding the office deserted and was still looking around for clues as to where Snape could be or where he was going.

“Hello, Professor Dumbledore!” Harry said absentmindedly as he kneeled down beside a thoroughly bottled up, gigantic trunk on the floor in search of an address label. “I’m looking for Professor Snape, have you seen him?”

“He was here only fifteen minutes ago.”

”Is he leaving Hogwarts? Do you know where he’s going?” Harry circumvented the trunk.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t, my boy. I’m glad you came, however, because I’m worried about Severus. He packed all his things yesterday. I knew he had his trial today, but he wouldn’t confide in me, nor share his plans. To be truthful, he was very unsympathetic and acidulous with me.”

“Well, you haven’t talked to him during the whole year, have you?” said Harry. ”What did you expect, Professor Dumbledore? You simply decided to sleep through it all… Just because Voldemort was dead, it didn’t mean that everything resolved into… into happiness or something like that. Things have not been easy this year, you know…” Harry said reproachfully. ”And then you open your eyes in the nick of time and expect him to...”

“Oh, you do hurry to his defence, Harry... Very unlike how you used to talk about Professor Snape in my time...”

“Hmm... well I was mistaken, wasn’t I? Mislead even, perhaps. But where’s he going? And why? He was acquitted! He’s free to stay at Hogwarts. Did he say anything to you, Professor? Didn’t he make any attempt to unpack his things when he came back?”

“Strangely, no. All he’s done this past hour is to pace back and fro like a panther in a cage, muttering to himself about Lucius Malfoy and Jonathan Frankiss. He completely ignored my calls for attention. I was truly afraid Severus’d go down at the trial and be sent to Azkaban. Yesterday evening, I tried to argue that he should let you testify, tried my most cunning ways of persuading... but he didn’t listen. He’s so stubborn, Severus is, and frankly obsessed with concealing everything that has to do with Lily Evans. And I’m not sure that he has ever truly reconciled with his self-perceived image of darkness…”

Harry glanced sharply at Dumbledore.

“You must find him, Harry,” continued the old Professor. ”I’m afraid he might do something rash and ill-considered. He struck me as unbalanced when he came back. I wonder what could have happened at the trial...?”

“I vouched for him,” said Harry and headed for the door.

“Oh, I see. You did, did you...?” Dumbledore who had risen from his chair was nearly leaning out of the portrait and peering at Harry with his intense, blue, penetrating gaze. “Why, that explains things! It must have been hard on him. Very disturbing to a dichotomous mind like his, indeed. Well done, my dear boy! You never stop amazing me, Harry. I thought it’d take longer than that for you to start trusting him. I’m not even sure myself that he’s to be trusted entirely... I chose to do so anyhow, of course, but… He has lived on the edge for so long, moved in and out of the shadows of evilness with too much ease - as a spy, naturally, but still, that kind of life-style - whether of your own choice or forced upon you - leaves its imprints, unavoidably. But maybe, if someone will succeed in talking to him, it would be you, Harry. You should look for him in the dungeons. He has got some of his things left in the Potions class room.”

Harry had his hand on the door handle. He looked back at Professor Dumbledore as if seeing him properly for the first time during their conversation.

“I’d love to speak to you, Professor Dumbledore, but it’ll have to wait because I really need to go find Professor Snape,” he said. 

“That’s fine, Harry. Off you go. Don’t worry. It’s all as it ought to be. I’ll see you on another occasion.”

“Goodbye.” Harry had difficulties tearing his eyes off Dumbledore.

“Go, Harry.”

Harry took a deep breath, turned and dived down the stairs.

***

Harry approached the Potions dungeon with caution, listening for signs of activity. The door stood ajar, but silence reigned in the room. He heard voices from another corridor, leading to the Slytherin House.

“No, Professor, I haven’t seen Malfoy lately, but Pansy Parkinson saw him leave with Miss Cork and his Auror half an hour ago. Looked like they were going out,” someone said.

“Thank you, Miss Harding,” Snape’s voice answered. The seventh year Slytherin disappeared up the stairs to the Entrance Hall whereas Snape approached where Harry stood, pressed against the wall. He had put on his invisibility cloak as soon as he stepped down into the dungeons.

The draught from Snape’s flapping coat as he passed made Harry’s mantle sway. Harry kept still as he observed Snape slowly push the door to the dungeons wide open and scan the room suspiciously, but there seemed to be no one inside.

Luckily, Snape did not close the door and Harry positioned himself at the doorpost in order to supervise his teacher’s doings. Snape went over to the cupboards at the farther end of the room, behind the teacher’s desk and started to retrieve various objects. Harry watched him and argued with himself whether he should step inside and make his presence known. During his deliberation, his eyes were caught by a pupil’s chair that was oddly positioned along the opposite wall. He stared intently at it - there had been a movement, had there not? Now that he came to think of it, there had often stood a chair in that position when he used to work in the evenings with Potion-making, but he was quite sure there was no chair at the same place during lessons. He continued to stare at it.

Something happened to the chair, but so slowly it was hard to notice. It swelled, assumed more round shapes, darkened in its colours and there was something protruding out of the flat piece of wood that constituted the back of the chair. Harry stared fascinated - a nose, a pair of lips appeared. Harry glanced at Snape who had his back turned on the chair. Snape checked the door from time to time, but had no idea of what was happening along the other wall. Harry had his wand prepared to intervene if the wizard coming out of the chair transformation would attack Snape - for it was a man who slowly, very slowly, emerged out of the object. It must be extremely uncomfortable to transfigure in such a way, Harry thought, and why was he so slow?

There was almost no trace of the shape of a chair by now. The transforming wizard had lengthened and almost the entire face had emerged from the wood. Harry’s breath caught. He might have made a noice because Snape frowned and glanced towards the door again. The transfiguring wizard’s eyes were closed. It was a young face with a square chin. Harry had been reminded of the dead face of Machivato on the floor at the club Trocadero and for a dizzy moment he imagined with horror it would be him who emerged out of the transformation. It was not. It was Mr Burgess.

When Mr Burgess was free to move, he approached Snape slowly from behind until something made Snape sense his presence and swirl around with his wand drawn.

“Oh, Mr Burgess, it’s you,” he said dismissively and lowered his wand. “You should let your presence known and not sneak upon people like that.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you, Professor, although I wanted a word with you,” said Burgess oilily. 

Snape looked at him impassively. 

“It’s Mr Malfoy, Professor, Draco Malfoy, I saw him leave the castle together with Miss Cork. I had the impression that Malfoy’s Auror, Mr Sachs, made them go into the Forbidden Forest. He had his wand drawn and… I think we should go after them, see that nothing’s wrong.”

Harry frowned to himself and tried to remember the scene he had observed from the owl tower. It seemed to him it had been the other way around. Mr Sachs had walked in the middle and Malfoy and Miss Cork had been right behind him. He was just about to tear his invisibility cloak away and contradict Mr Burgess when Snape answered.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mr Burgess. If you’re the one who will take me to Lucius Malfoy and the Shifting’s camp, don’t worry. You don’t have to lure me away, I’ll come willingly. Lucius sent me a word earlier and told me to be prepared together with Draco. You don’t coordinate your orders in the group very well, do you?”

Mr Burgess’ countenance darkened.

“Oh, I believe Mr Malfoy senior has not quite grasped, yet, who’s in command of our gang,” Mr Burgess suddenly said bitingly and exempt of his usual ingratiation. ”He’s of the opinion that recruiting you is a personal business and he seems to have no doubts that you wish to join us, whereas I, although I’ve worked with you for a whole year, must say that I haven’t made you out yet. I’m not so sure…” Mr Burgess was full of suspicion, with a streak of resentment.

“Of course Lucius is right. He knows me since my first year at Hogwarts,” Snape interrupted impatiently. ”It was never a question of if I’m to join you, only when and under what conditions. Let’s go then and discuss the matter together with Lucius and your leader – I suppose he or she will be there tonight?”

“You’ll meet him, don’t worry,” said Burgess. ”I agree with you, Professor, let’s go.” He gestured at the door. “After you, but turn to the left when you come out, we’re taking a secret passage out of the castle not to awaken Mrs Steadfast’s Aurors’ attention.”

Harry let them walk past him, then followed them through a myriad of tunnels that ended up at a small cellar door. This would be an exit that Mrs Steadfast knew not of, Harry thought. They came out on the northern side of the castle and crossed the lawn with quick steps and before Harry had time to figure out if he should stay to go and find an Auror or not, they entered the Forbidden Forest.

I can’t let them get ahead, otherwise I won’t know where they’re going. I’ll always be able to send a Patronus later to give the alert, Harry thought and followed them at a safe distance. Mr Burgess still walked behind Snape giving him directions where to turn. They moved at the very outskirts of the northern part of the forest, but were heading west, walking alongside the swamp on their right side. They were able to walk fast as the ground was firm on their side of the swamp and after an hour’s walk they arrived at a clearing where Draco Malfoy and Miss Cork waited for them.

Mr Sachs lay on the ground, hands and feet tied up with ropes. He looked as if he had been stunned and not yet recovered.

“Well done, Melanie,” said Mr Burgess. He spoke in his usual smarmy way. “And you too, Draco. You didn’t need any persuading, did you? I was sure you’d join us when the time came. The question is, do you do it for your father or do you do it for your new friends?” Mr Burgess’ smile did not conceal the undercurrent challenge in the question.

“I do it for you and Miss Cork,” Malfoy answered readily. “I’m sick and tired of both my parents. Still, I guess Father has done the right thing since he finally decided to join you for real.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll see if he still thinks he has made the right choice,” Mr Burgess said lightly. “Lucius seems to mostly abide by his old buddies. But we have another guest. Our headmaster, no less.”

All of a sudden the three young people pointed their wands at Snape.

“Will you be so nice as to give us your wand, Professor Snape? Just as a precaution until we have sorted a few things out,” said Mr Burgess.

“I’ve already told you that I’m coming willingly. I don’t intend to fight you,” said Snape with slight irritation. “You don’t disarm your allies. Show me some respect and let me keep it.”

“You’ll fight us, or surrender your wand,” Mr Burgess spoke pleasantly, but his wand made a threatening jerk. Malfoy stared with hatred at Snape.

“I don’t believe you’re on our side,” he said.

“We were good friends once, Draco,” said Snape. “The actions of Voldemort separated us, although we served him both. There’s no reason now we shouldn’t go back to what...”

“I’ll never trust you again,” spat Draco.

“Your father does. That’s why I’m here. He won’t approve of...”

“I don’t care what he approves of or not. I’m my own man now. I choose my own friends. And you’re not one of them!”

Snape stared into the three determined faces before him and hesitated. Harry was again close to throwing off his mantle and stepping in, when he saw Snape give his wand to Burgess. Harry whined inside. How could Snape be so stupid? Now the former spy was reduced to using persuasion and hoodwinking only if he wanted to escape.

As they continued to walk, Harry had the impression they were making a tremendous roundabout, although he had no idea of their final destination. He had first thought that they would exit the forest and get out of the NAZ to transport to some other place. He had even prepared himself for the eventuality by refreshing in his mind the tracing spell that you could cast on a person not to lose them if they were to Apparate away from you. But it did not seem that they were going to leave the forest. They had had several chances to reach its borders and disappear.

Had Mrs Steadfast been right all along? Did the Death Eaters have a camp in the forest? Confused thoughts rumbled in Harry’s head while he followed doggedly the five figures ahead of him. Several hours passed and the sun sank lower. At Hogwarts it would soon be time for dinner, at which point, at the latest, Snape and Harry and the others would be missed. Mrs Steadfast would be alerted. But would they know where to look for them? They would have nothing to go on, would they?

Harry considered staying behind to send a Patronus back to Hogwarts, but he was afraid it would betray him, or that he would lose Snape and the three traitors, so he kept his track. They deviated slightly to the South now. They had reached the farther end of the forest and passed around the edge of the swamp. Harry was hot and hungry. So was Malfoy, because Harry heard his increasing complaints. They made a short pause, but continued and when Malfoy started moaning again he was Langlocked unceremoniously by Mr Burgess.

It was getting sombre underneath the tall trees, but when they reached a clearing Harry saw that the sun was still up. At Hogwarts this time of the year, as they were near the summer solstice, the sun would not set until near midnight.

The path they were following started to slope upwards and it grew uneven and stony. Mr Sachs fell on his knees several times. He still had his hands tied up behind his back which made it difficult for him to keep his balance and he was clearly exhausted. Mr Burgess urged the company on, walking at the head of the group. Snape grabbed Mr Sachs by the arm to stabilise him. Melanie Cork and Draco Malfoy followed behind them.

It was harder for Harry to walk undetected, because the gravel rattled and stones that he did not see properly and stumbled over were set in motion. Several times Miss Cork turned her head and watched behind her. Finally Mr Burgess stopped as it was now almost completely dark.

“We’ll rest for a couple of hours and set off again as soon as the sun rises,” he said.

“We should have gone on broomsticks or something,” muttered Malfoy.

“It’s difficult to guard prisoners on broomsticks, Draco,” Mr Burgess said condescendingly. “I’m afraid this was the only alternative. Now, protections. There are trolls and giants around, Graphorns and vampire bats, as well as underground gnomes that only walk out at night. They’re bigger and blood thirstier than ordinary garden gnomes, those are. Just to mention some of the beautiful creatures that live in the mountains. Malfoy, Melanie over here, let me cast the shield spells over you. Professor Snape and Mr Sachs will protect each other, your backs to that stone, faces toward me, if you please.”

Snape and Mr Sachs were jointly treated as prisoners. Snape did not protest, but sat down on the ground. He seemed to deem futile to persuade Draco Malfoy and Mr Burgess of his loyalties and went along with their arbitrary manners only in hope to soon join Lucius Malfoy and the Shiftings’ leader. Harry, in turn, was at a loss of figuring out Snape’s intentions and deemed futile to try to make himself known to Snape for the moment being. Harry skirted around Mr Burgess and climbed as silently as possible the hillside so that he reached the back of the big stone block where the prisoners were seated. He lifted his wand and pronounced protecting incantations silently so that they covered Snape, Mr Sachs and himself.

Harry had been sweating and now when he stayed still he started to shiver from cold. He gave himself a warming charm and curled up. He was only a few feet away from Snape, but he did not dare try to speak to him as he did not know how Snape would react. He had better stay hidden and have some rest.

It felt as if he had only slumbered a moment, but three or four hours must have passed for when Harry woke up the beams of the rising sun licked the stone blocks and made them shine and glitter on one side, casting long black shadows on the other side. Snape and Mr Sachs had the sun full in their faces and were awake. Harry stretched and lifted the protections off them. Snape might have sensed something, because he frowned and looked around.

Malfoy who had been on guard woke up his companions. They distributed some bread that Miss Cork had in her bag and set off again, almost without exchanging a word. Harry’s stomach rumbled over the lack of food and he stayed behind to conjure up a mug of water that he gulped down. They were at the foot of the biggest among several mountains. If Harry was not mistaken, this was where Hagrid had hidden last year together with his giant brother. There should be a cave somewhere. That must be where the Shiftings were hiding.

He let the others get the start of him and considered once again sending a Patronus off, but the surroundings were too bare. If someone turned around they would spot it straight away and he would have betrayed himself. Dissatisfied, he set off after them. It was slow work mounting the difficult path. After a few hours of only staring at his own moving feet, when Harry looked up he was dazed by the splendid view that met him.

They were at the opposite end of the Forbidden Forest from Hogwarts. Except for the grey and yellow colours of the swamp right beneath him, a sea of greenery spread out when he lifted his gaze and, far away against the bright light, the castle piled up, impressive and imperturbable. He wondered what Ron, Hermione and Ginny were doing and what kind of research Mrs Steadfast had put in place.

They had set off early, but when they finally reached the cave near the top of the mountain, even the late morning hours had passed and it was nearer noon. They had mounted several hundred meters. The cave and the ledge in front of the entrance were facing north east and were cast in shadow. Harry slowed down as he approached.

He watched Lucius Malfoy try to clasp his son in his arms, but Draco wriggled out of his embrace and threw himself down on the ground desperate for some rest. Lucius turned to Snape and greeted him cordially. Snape looked impassive as usual, but made efforts to return Lucius’ amiability. Harry sneaked up to the edge of the platform and crouched to rest his legs. Mr Sachs lay on the ground right in front of him.

Snape’s eyes were moving around, taking in the cave and the thirty or so persons standing around them. He greeted three or four other Death Eaters who watched him suspiciously. Yaxley was there, Harry noticed, but he did not recognise so many of the others and the majority were young people who greeted Mr Burgess - they were probably members of the Shiftings.

Inside the cave, he perceived a human shape on the ground. It was hard to make out the features from where he sat, but he imagined he saw some grey hair. Could it be Healer Frankiss? Snape had discovered the prisoner as well and moved casually towards him. He exchanged a few words with Lucius Malfoy in a low voice as he looked down with an indifferent expression and prodded the still body with his foot almost distractedly. The prisoner gave away a low groan.

Miss Cork stood whispering in Mr Burgess’ ear. A malicious grin spread on his face.

“Friends!” the young teacher called upon attention. “As you can see I have brought you another Malfoy - Draco, Lucius’ son. I also brought my dear colleague, Melanie Cork, Potions teacher at Hogwarts and last but not least the person we have debated so much this winter - Severus Snape. We thought we would have to fetch him on his way to Hell, but it didn’t turn out necessary and he has followed us quite willingly, pretending to want to join us.”

“Why would he want to do that, when he was acquitted at the trial?” an aggressive young man called out.

“He might be of even greater use to us as Headmaster at Hogwarts and part of the institutions. That’s how Voldemort worked and how he used Severus’ skills. As a teacher and playing the role of Headmaster, he might recruit young people for us,” intervened Lucius Malfoy. The Shiftings stared suspiciously at Snape. Some of them were bound to be former pupils of Hogwarts, probably from Snape’s own house, many of them. “He’s in Kingsley’s confidence, he’ll be able to spy for us at the Ministry, tell us what’s going on and when the right moment comes, he might help overthrow Kingsley. He might do what he did to Dumbledore,” reinforced Lucius.

Harry felt himself clench his jaws.

“The credibility of Professor Snape will be assessed later. We must wait for M. He’s coming today after his long absence. You’ll have the honour to meet our leader later, Professor Snape, and you’ll stand another trial today – our trial. You were acquitted by the Ministry yesterday. The question is: can you at the same time be found trustworthy by us?”

The group had gone silent. A young woman with pink hair approached Mr Burgess with a troubled look on her face.

“M is dead, Bellamy. Potter killed him in Paris. H is our leader now. Is she coming? You’ve alerted her, haven’t you? M is gone - he’d have been in touch with me if he wasn’t.”

Mr Burgess grinned maliciously again.

“I’m not so sure about that. I’ve heard from him, you see. He will resurrect today, believe me.”

A murmur spread among the young Shiftings who looked at Burgess dubiously.

“A great Dark wizard like M insured himself against death in precisely the same way as Voldemort did,” persisted Burgess. ”And we’ll find a way to revive our Dark Lord, won’t we? He was gone once before and he returned. He’ll do it again, with the help of his son!”

Cheers and acclamations were heard. Harry shuddered under his invisibility cloak at the mad speech and watched Burgess closely. Did he really believe in what he was saying?

“But first, I want to introduce you to yet another guest.”

Suddenly Burgess and Miss Cork turned around and fired two stunning spells in Harry’s direction. He had just the time to draw up a protection shield and leap to his feet. He was uncovered. Harry fired a strong Protego spell that sent the five closest wizards backward. Harry got hold of Mr Sachs in front of him and helped him to his feet at the same time as he defended himself against the attacks of Mr Burgess and Miss Cork and several of the other wizards who had recovered from the surprise.

“You have no chance to escape us, Potter. Surrender yourself!” Burgess roared. But Harry backed off with Mr Sachs behind a rock a bit down the path and freed the Auror of his ropes.

“Harry Potter?” Mr Sachs asked hoarsely.

“Under my invisibility cloak. I don’t know if we’re going to make it. I can try to fend them off if you’ll run for help. Are you fit to do it? Or do you think we should wait for a better opportunity?” panted Harry.

“Never wait for a better opportunity, take those that present themselves – that’s what Mrs Steadfast says to us.” Mr Sachs looked more alert than before.

“On three then,” said Harry and counted. He stuck out his arm and fired the strongest Expelliarmus he could master blindly. From the shouts that followed he deduced that he must have hit several persons with the spell. He jumped out behind the stone. His cloak flapped on his back and he was fully visible. He made a repelling incantation with his left hand at the same time as he was firing stunning spells. Mr Burgess was no longer at the head of the group. He shouted things from behind and sounded angry.

Harry heard Mr Sachs slip and slide on the loose pebbles as he set off down the hill. Harry needed to give the Auror as great a lead as possible.

“You cannot hold this for long, Potter! Surrender!” Lucius Malfoy shouted from behind. Harry continued fighting and pushed the group of wizards along the narrow path back towards the cave.

Harry was so good at incorporating incantations in his spells that it allowed him to spread repelling and protective shields over the whole area covering the path between him and his attackers and it allowed him to fight them all at the same time. Suddenly someone fired an Avada Kedavra at him, though. He jumped out of the way, swiftly drew his mantle around him and climbed up behind a rock.

“Are you mad? We need him alive!” shouted Mr Burgess. “Come here Draco, bring Mr Frankiss over. Do you hear me Potter? If you don’t surrender, I’ll execute Mr Frankiss on the spot before your eyes.”

Harry hesitated and grimaced. He leaned out behind his rock and saw Burgess standing on the ledge with Healer Frankiss kneeling in front of him. Harry had no choice. He stepped forward slowly, taking off his cloak. Harry walked all the way up to Mr Burgess and gave him his wand reluctantly. He was still panting heavily from the fierce battle. Several of the Shiftings looked shaken and stared wondrous at him. Harry followed his wand with the eyes as it was confided to Miss Cork and saw her put it in the pocket of her cloak.

“Will someone set off after that Auror?”

A young man started to sprint down the slope, chasing Mr Sachs.

“Give me your invisibility cloak, Mr Potter,” said Mr Burgess in a light tone. Harry hesitated, but when Burgess pointed his wand towards Healer Frankiss again, he handed it to the young DA teacher. Close up, Healer Frankiss looked weak and ill.

“So this is the tool you used to fool Voldemort?” Burgess said coldly.

“Among other things,” replied Harry.

“You couldn’t have killed him without it. I’ve read Rita Skeeter’s book on the Battle in detail. I so regret I wasn’t there. Voldemort had ordered me away to France at the time. What a battlefield it must have been, what a carnage! It makes my mouth water.” Mr Burgess looked excited.

Harry pulled a face of distaste.

“Don’t be contemptuous, Potter!” Mr Burgess hissed at him. “Because you’ll soon no longer be in possession of you cloak, not ever again.” There was a fire with an iron stand from which a kettle hung down. Without ceremony Burgess threw the cloak at the fire. Harry winced, but was quite confident his cloak would resist the flames. It was a powerful magical object that he had inherited from his father - one of the three Deathly Hallows if you were to believe the old tale.

He was right, the cloak merely glowed peacefully in the middle of the flames. Mr Burgess grunted discontented and summoned it with his wand again. He looked defiantly at Harry.

“Get out of the way,” he said to a couple of wizards and witches who stood between him and the brim of the ledge.  So, with a grand gesture, he launched the cloak in the air and uttered the curse for Fiendfyre, the Dark Arts fire that could annihilate anything.

The roaring flame in the shape of a dragon rose and in a few unfathomable seconds Harry’s cloak was gone. He gasped and staggered. Mr Burgess laughed a high-pitched laugh that seared through his body. Suddenly Harry was at Mr Burgess’ throat, driven by fury.

“It was my father’s, it was the only thing I had from him,” Harry hissed at Burgess who was caught off his guard and stumbled backwards. Harry grabbed Burgess’ hand and steered the wizard’s wand away from himself, wrestling to tear it away from his fingers. They were near the edge of the platform and when Harry looked down, the sight of a precipice, several hundred meters deep met him. A sucking, giddy feeling assailed him. He gasped, recoiled and someone from behind got a clear shot at him and stunned him to the ground.

When Harry regained consciousness he felt his hands tied up behind his back and he heard Mr Burgess’ voice addressing Snape right above him.

“You didn’t feel the need to rush to your protégé’s support, did you, Professor Snape?” Burgess said lightly.

“He didn’t move a finger,” said Lucius.

“Well, he didn’t have a wand, did he? There was nothing he could do. It doesn’t prove anything,” sneered Burgess.

“Potter is no protégé of mine,” intervened Snape in a disgusted tone. “Now when is your leader coming? The resurrected Mr M, if he exists? Or the mysterious Mme H?” Mr Burgess looked at him thoughtfully.

“M will be here in due time. We’ll have to wait,” he said. “Now, Harry Potter vouched for you. That’s interesting.”

Harry sat up with difficulty, but kept his gaze on the ground.

“I told you I would manage to manipulate him into doing it,” Snape said drawlingly, looking at Lucius.

“Why then the charade of us coming to rescue you on the transport to Azkaban?” snapped Burgess.

“That was Lucius’ idea. I wasn’t altogether sure my manipulation had worked until yesterday at the trial. I had to have a spare plan,” explained Snape.

“How did you do it?” asked Lucius with reluctant admiration in his voice.

“He hasn’t manipulated me into doing anything.” Harry could not hold his tongue any longer.

“Have I not, now?” Snape said silkily and looked down at him, unaffected and cold. “You’re so predictable Potter. Put yourself in a desperate situation and he’ll come and rescue you. That’s the thing about Potter - he likes to save people. Makes him feel good and in control of things. ”

“If that’s what you think, fine,” said Harry. “I know why I did it. And as I said at the trial I don’t expect anything in return. There’s no debt, no obligations. I acted out of principle.”

“Oh, but I’m eternally grateful,” sneered Snape and Lucius laughed. “It really facilitated things. And I get the chance to be a spy for the dark side once again.”

“You waste your time if you think you’ll be able to convince this lot,” said Harry and gestured with his head at the members of the Shiftings. Some of them growled at him while others made funny faces. “It was stupid of you to follow Mr Burgess from the start.”

“I tend to agree with Mr Potter,” said Burgess. “I was there at the inquiry. You spoke under a Veritaserum. How do you explain away that?”

Snape looked first at Harry then at Burgess with his cold black eyes and answered in a monotonous voice.

“A Veritaserum which I had been shown the recipe of beforehand. I’m the Master of Potions at Hogwarts - with all respect to Miss Cork’s excellent work this year, of course. Do you really think it was difficult for me to invent an antidote? It only took me a couple of hours. I could take it before the inquiry started and the Veritaserum would have no effect on me. I repeated the same trick at the trial. No one thought of it. And Judge Tempatino took the Draught along with me to help me prove its authenticity – what a fool!” Snape snorted. 

Harry stared intensely at Snape. Was it possible after all? He looked into Snape’s lustreless black eyes and shuddered. What was it that Mrs Steadfast had said? That Snape had plunged deep into Occlumency? It was impossible to tell what the man thought or felt.

“There you are Potter, I guess you misjudged Severus after all?” Lucius Malfoy taunted Harry.

“I don’t believe a word of what he says,” Harry said shortly and looked away. “But if he wants to try to dupe you, I won’t stand in the way.”

“What has he done or said to you to make you trust him, I wonder?” said Burgess and looked so intensely at Harry that he was afraid he would start Legilimency him.

“He saved my life,” he hastened to confess. Burgess looked at Snape.

“It’s true,” said Snape slowly and shrugged. “It was at the end of the summer. The first time you were introduced to us, Mr Burgess, if you remember? Mr Potter was ill and I cured him. A sort of exhortation. I thought it might be an advantage to have him indebted to me. It proved even better. That’s another thing with Potter. He has grown up in a family who didn’t love him and treated him scornfully so he’s extremely sensitive to the least little bit of kindness. Pretend to accord him some and he’ll attach himself to you as a teasel. Why, he has latched on to me all the way here, hasn’t he? He’s done it before, formed unhealthy attachments - I’m thinking of Sirius Black, if you remember? And the meaner you behave to him, the more plaguing you get, the better he’ll like you. Then finally, play hard to get, pretend not to want his help and it’s in the bag. He’ll do whatever you want. That’s how I manipulated him into vouching for me yesterday.” The Shiftings and the Death Eaters listened attentively and laughed at the end of his speech.

“Cunning,” Mr Burgess commented appreciatively.

Tears of humiliation rose in Harry’s eyes as Snape spoke. He turned his head defiantly towards him.

“If it makes you feel better to believe that you tricked me into it, be my guest, I don’t care,” he whispered. He had the impression that Snape flinched the least little bit before he lifted his eyes and stared out in the air as if he had not heard.

“Hmm, we’ll have to wait for M,” said Mr Burgess. “Settle down, Professor Snape, be our guest... No, Lucius, I won’t give him his wand just yet. Not before M brings his case to a conclusion once and for all. But first we need to eat - we’ve travelled a long way to get here.”

Lucius who had just opened his mouth, shut it with resentment. He muttered to himself as he grabbed Harry’s arm to drag him to the side. Suddenly Snape grabbed the other arm and steered Harry toward the cave and thrust him down beside Healer Frankiss. Harry observed that Burgess, after having accepted a bowl of soup that the pink-haired witch distributed among her fellow Shiftings, retired by penetrating deep inside the cave and sat down with his back to them. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy and Melanie Cork crouched side by side at the entrance to the cave and seemed to be arguing. Lucius and Snape left Harry and walked out to join the others for food. Harry tried to make out the features of Healer Frankiss in the dark.

“Are you conscious, Healer Frankiss?” he whispered.

The wizard groaned silently. Harry started to struggle with his ropes.

“What are your injuries?” he whispered.

“A broken leg, the left femur,” Healer Frankiss whispered back in a weak voice. “I tried to heal it myself, but did it badly, I was too weak and I had no wand. I’m in pain. They have Crucioed me, tortured me every day since my capture.”

It upset Harry to listen to the frail voice and imagine the suffering inflicted on the elderly wizard, but he tried to calm down. He needed to concentrate if he was to wriggle out of his ropes. They were of a strong material which he would not be able to break by magic, but he felt the knot above his left hand. He might be able to modulate it and undo the knot if he concentrated. It was as difficult as tying your shoelaces with magic. Harry had done that spell at least a hundred times, however, even if it was a slightly useless one in his opinion, when he had practiced doing magic with his feet last autumn. Now, he had to work wandlessly with his hands. It took him several minutes to get free, but eventually he managed.

“I’ll see what I can do for you. I’m not a healer, but I know some incantations and I can always do a Relieving,” Harry whispered as he started to examine Healer Frankiss’ body with hands and magic. Harry was only able to improve him marginally – the healer needed help at a hospital. The torture had broken his magical core down to a critical level. Harry mended what little he could, finished with a Relieving incantation and noticed that the transfer consisted of pain mostly, not so much anguish.

“You’re not afraid of what they’ll do to us?” Harry asked Healer Frankiss.

“What will happen, will happen,” Frankiss answered slowly in a stronger voice than before. “Thank you for taking the pain away, Mr Potter. Whatever comes next, you’ve given me some breathing-space for which I’m extremely thankful.”

Harry noticed that Mr Burgess had disappeared from the place in the cave where he had been sitting in deep concentration. Harry was sure that the traitor had not passed before them to exit the cave. He peered into the darkness - could you go deeper? Was there another exit?

Suddenly Harry heard a tumult outside the cave and turned his head, but the contrast was too strong and he could not see properly against the light. Someone shrieked out there and the talking subsided to silence. There was a figure in the middle of the crowd with thick hair on end who carried himself with self-importance. Draco Malfoy was sent in to fetch Harry who followed him out and looked at the newly arrived wizard with screwed-up eyes. He winced a little at the sight, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the light he stared steadily at the contorted face surrounded by green hair before him.

“You disappoint me, Mr Potter. I thought the shock of seeing me would affect you more. I gave you a fright in Paris after all, didn’t I? I’m your fate, mate. This time you’ll not get away from me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Mr Burgess. You’re not Machivato,” said Harry calmly.

A dismayed murmur spread among the Shiftings members. The expression on the transfigured and masked face was frozen in a malicious smile, but the green-haired wizard narrowed his eyes and took a step forward menacingly, trying to stare Harry down mutely.

“I saw you transform earlier in the Potions classroom and recognised the similarity of your face and the face of Machivato after I had killed him. You understand, I saw his real face, when he was dead. Who was he - your brother?” Harry tried to speak calmly.

“My brother, yes,” Mr Burgess answered with a defiant look at his supporters who seemed not to know what to think. “We founded this organisation together after Voldemort’s death, although I assumed a more humble and unobtrusive part whereas he was the natural leader. Of course he was the natural leader... He always was! My big brother. It has changed now, however, thanks to you, Mr Potter! It is my time to step into the limelight. Together with little ’H’, of course.”

“Are you glad I killed your brother?” Harry asked incredulously because Mr Burgess had spoken with exhilaration in his voice. Mr Burgess let up a mad laugh.

“I was so excited, Potter, when you came back from Paris and I realised you must have killed him that I could have wet my pants! You actually vanquished him! I would’ve loved to do it myself and I would have done it eventually, but as Professor Snape said before, you facilitated things for me.”

Harry looked disgusted at him. Mr Burgess lowered his voice and hissed at Harry as if he confided something very important in him.

“He was my older brother by two years... always ahead of me... physically stronger... hitting me... plaguing me...” The eyes of Mr Burgess glittered as his gaze bore through Harry. “You know what it’s like, don’t you Mr Potter, to have someone near you bully you all the time?”

“Yeah, well, I’d never come up with the idea of killing my cousin Dudley because of what he did to me when we were little, even if the urge to do so might have arisen once or twice at the spur of the moment,” retorted Harry.

“I didn’t kill him - you did,” Burgess said almost absentmindedly. “Our parents - or our French mother I should say, because our British father was almost never at home - our mother did not help me out. She did not separate us, although she could see that M tortured me. She adored him. I existed only as M’s sibling, that’s how she saw it... She let him use me as punching bag.” Mr Burgess’ eyes were glazed. “When we grew older, I became his ally instead of his victim – most of the time. I’d be the one looking for suitable preys to torture: animals, other children... And I’d make sure we did it discreetly not to awaken the attention of the adults. I had more brains than my brother, you see. I planned our actions.”

Burgess laughed his mad laugh again.

“Voldemort saw my abilities,” he hissed proudly at Harry who recoiled. “My brother and I left France for England as soon as I graduated from Beauxbatons, three years ago. We wanted to join the Dark Lord. M had already been in contact with him. We wanted to make use of our proficiencies. Voldemort separated us, however. He saw our potentials individually. M was already a fully-fledged terrorist. He only needed the guidance where to strike and how. Voldemort showed him. I was placed among the Auror apprentices. Voldemort wanted a spy from within, he said. He taught me things...”

“It was no accident then, that you killed that Auror last year?” asked Harry.

“It was my first killing of a human!” Burgess exclaimed jubilantly. “M had not allowed me to do it before. It was wonderful! Had I known the feeling of complete power it generated I would’ve done it sooner. I was so excited afterwards that Voldemort had to keep me isolated for twenty-four hours before I could return to the Aurors. He feared that since I had acquired the taste for killing I would have a hard time dissimulating during battles together with the Aurors. I failed him by showing my true face. He punished me.” Mr Burgess went silent for a while. Harry cleared his throat.

“And you think I’m the one making unwholesome attachments...” he said sarcastically at the address of Snape.

“Voldemort took care of me!” Mr Burgess retorted with his eyes flaring at Harry. “He showed me how to play it with my superiors. I’m good at acting. He came up with the idea that I should stop my career as an Auror to try to infiltrate Hogwarts. He didn’t trust you, Mr Snape. He didn’t trust any of his Death Eaters.” Burgess gestured disdainfully at Lucius Malfoy and Yaxley. “He needed a new generation of followers. But you made him disappear too soon!”

Mr Burgess suddenly raged at Harry.

“He was like a father to us, my brother and I. The day they told me he had disappeared... “ His voice crackled. “We were his successors! Your interference made it all come to a halt. But we’ll bring him back to life again. He had insured himself against death - I just know it!”

Harry shook his head disbelievingly.

“Is this the lunatic you mean to place yourself under, Professor?” he said to Snape who stirred uneasily on the side. Before Snape could reply Burgess had stepped close up to Harry.

“Don’t be condescending with me, Mr Potter,” he roared at him and Harry turned his face away in disgust as he received showers of saliva in his face. “Just because you killed my brother... you’ll not escape me!”

Harry forced himself not to recoil.

“But you’re not nearly as accomplished as your brother, Mr Burgess. You’re an extremely slow transformer, it took you half an hour to assume this shape. When I fought Machiavato he transfigured instantly - that’s what made him so special and so difficult to fight. Are you only a Metamorphmagus at all, I wonder?”

Burgess continued to shout in Harry’s face.

“I am! I am! He was my elder brother and I saw him do it all the time so easily. And I struggled! I struggled to do the same and I learnt... I can assume every shape I want. So what if it takes time? It’s still useful. I spied on you in the dungeons you know. You had no idea.” Burgess walked away jerkily from Harry, speaking with triumph in his voice.

“Yeah, very brave of you to pose like a chair in a classroom, very clever of you to tip your brother off I was going to Paris. Sending him to do the dirty work. Pretending it was too dangerous to attack me at Hogwarts. You had every chance to attack me in the dungeons. You just didn’t have the guts to do it!”

Harry did not know why he wanted to provoke Mr Burgess. Maybe to show Snape the extent of the madness that lay behind that surface. Harry crouched prepared for an attack. Had he courted disaster, he wondered.  Burgess lifted his wand in fury.

“Avada Ke...” he lowered it again. Everyone had drawn their breaths. “No, Mr Potter, no... I still have some use for you and you’ll not spoil the pleasure of killing you by provoking me to do it hastily. I’m going to savour the moment better than that, just you wait and see.”

The to M transformed Burgess turned around and set his eyes on Snape. At the same time, without a glance to the side, he flicked his wand towards Harry. A lashing pain seared in Harry’s face and he stumbled backwards. Automatically he lifted his hands to his face and when he removed them there was blood on them. At least there was nothing wrong with his sight, so his eyes could not have been hurt by the invisible whip. Once again Burgess flicked his wand. This time Harry had time to raise his arms in front of his face. The back of his forearms smarted and some of his fingers went numb. He grimaced of pain and shrank back.

“Did you want to say something, Mr Potter? No?”

Harry kept quiet. Mr Burgess frowned.

“Who untied his ropes? Never mind. He cannot do anything. Now, Professor Snape. What an enigmatic man you are. I still haven’t made you out. Voldemort praised you. He lifted you forward as an example when he spoke about the art of deceiving, of spying, of using the gullibility of others... Did my treatment of Potter shock you by the way? You looked a little tense...”

“The arrogance of Potter is exasperating at times. I have experienced it myself. You were right to punish him,” Snape said coldly. The members of the Shiftings hummed approvingly. They did not seem appalled by the violence Burgess had just displayed. Icing shivers ran down Harry’s back as he realised that he was at the mercy of heartlessness and brutality. He looked wonderingly at Snape. Was he prepared to play this game? Surely he was only pretending to go along?

“I’ve tried to approach you this year, Professor Snape. I thought I had much to learn from you. But you’ve been inaccessible, distant, condescending almost...”

“I’m sorry I have given you that impression, Mr Burgess. I’ve had a lot on my mind this term. I was particularly furious over those rumours that Mr Malfoy spread to the papers. It disquieted me. I don’t like the attention. I’m better off in the background, just like you. If you had only let yourself known, told me who you were, that you were one of his servants... We have a lot in common, Mr Burgess.” Harry listened with disgust to Snape’s ingratiating speech.

“I’m sure that we do, Professor Snape. I have longed to find a worthy representative of the Death Eaters. I realise we need to collaborate, and you could be just the link we need to make it smoother. We must work to bring the Dark Lord back to us. And in order to do so we must find his son.”

Snape managed to remain stone-faced when the stupendous statement was thrown challengingly at him.

“I’m sorry about the fuss in the tabloids this winter,” Burgess continued more calmly after having scrutinised Snape for an adverse reaction, but detected none, “...but we had to provoke you. We needed to know whether you or Potter was related to Voldemort. I had high hopes... there was some evidence... Mrs Skeeter... but... alas... she proved wrong... The business seems closed now and we must move on with our search. But firstly we must determine if you are to be trusted, Professor.”

“I sacrificed my life for Voldemort,” said Snape slowly. “I was prepared to die for him. He made a mistake, I’m afraid, at the very end. My last words to him were to beg him let me go and fetch the boy and bring him back to have an end to it, but he judged more important at the moment to attain control over Dumbledore’s wand that he thought I was the master of. He made a mistake and I know he would acknowledge it if he was here, because he was a just and humble, an extraordinary wizard. I let him attack me without resistance, though. I sacrificed myself without protests. And I would have brought him Harry Potter if he had just let me do it.” Snape stared into Mr Burgess’ eyes as he spoke and Burgess stared intently back. Harry realised Burgess was reading Snape by Legilimency and that Snape let him do it.

“He speaks the truth! He’s one of us!” exclaimed Mr Burgess and both Death Eaters and Shifting members cheered loudly. Lucius patted Snape on the back. One of the Shiftings brought Mr Frankiss out in the light. He could walk on his leg now but pulled a wry face and sank down on the ground between Burgess and Snape. Lucius was about to give Snape his wand when Burgess stopped him with a gesture, took it from Lucius and caressed it in a consummate way.

“Only one Avada Kedavra in three years. Now that’s amazing. A pity to sully that clean record. Here, take mine and show us. Kill the hostage - he’s been doomed since he came here anyhow.” Burgess handed his wand over to Snape with a magnificent gesture and Snape accepted it stupefied.

Harry felt his heart accelerate. He didn’t dare say anything but he stared intensely at Snape. Don’t do it, it’s not worth it. Don’t do it, it’s not worth it, he repeated in his head. Like in a dream, he saw Snape position himself in front of Healer Frankiss, just like he must have done so many times when he was a young Death Eater, preparing to give the final curse.

Harry hyperventilated, the sight started to blur before his eyes and he closed them. He leant forward supporting himself on his fists, rocking slightly to and fro and rotating his wrists so that the hard rock beneath his skin grazed his knuckles. He muttered to himself. But he did not hear the sound of an Avada Kedavra. He heard someone let out his breath as if he had held it for hours and he heard a surprised buzz of voices.

When Harry raised his head he saw Snape handing the wand back to Burgess with a resigned expression on his face. Healer Frankiss had crumpled up on the rock, but stirred slightly.

“Severus, what are you...? For Heavens sake, you just had to do it! It was all set up for you. Frankiss is going to be killed anyway. I don’t understand?” Lucius pleaded bewildered with Snape. The muscles around Snape’s mouth twitched. He suddenly looked exhausted.

“Oh, you know me, Lucius. I always had difficulties with the Avadas,” he muttered. “And unlike what you might think,” he added in an uncertain voice that he tried to make firm, “I do have a life besides the Death Eaters. My staff at Hogwarts... and the pupils... St Mungo’s is an appreciated working place of mine as well… Healer Frankiss is a colleague… and after thorough deliberation… I decided that I could not...”

“That you could not kill a colleague? After due consideration? When the alternative is to die yourself? What kind of Death Eater are you? Don’t you realise, Severus? I have vouched for you in front of these people, you only had to prove to them...” shrieked Lucius.

Snape retorted in a stronger voice and anger mixed with the confusion in his face.

“I haven’t asked anyone to vouch for me. Not anyone. Not here, nor at the Ministry. Leave me alone, will you!”

Mr Burgess did not smile as he tied Snape’s hands up with ropes behind his back and made him kneel down beside Healer Frankiss.

“You almost had me convinced, Professor,” he said disdainfully. “How ridiculous to let it fall with an Avada. And you let your dear friend down, too. Lucius put great hopes in you, Professor. He came here with all his money and threw it at us, thinking he would make himself indispensable. The thing is... the thing is, you see, that my brother and I inherited quite a lot of money when our mother died two years ago. She divorced my father and her entire fortune went to us. Ancient French family. Loads of money. So I really don’t know what to do with Lucius.” He shrugged and started to pace back and fro.

“That’s that, then. Let’s move on. Mr Potter, you’re going to help us. Lucinda, fetch The Book.” The pink-haired witch who had questioned M’s return earlier went inside the cave and came back with a black notebook that looked quite ordinary to Harry at first sight. When Burgess held it up in front of them, Harry saw an engraving of the Dark Mark on the cover, however.

Mr Burgess conjured up a small pillar, about one meter high, with great difficulty it seemed to Harry, upon which he placed the book reverently. Harry looked at Burgess with mixed feelings. Burgess might have the brains and the cruelty to organise attacks and abductions and the insanity and insensitivity to torture people, but his transformations were so tardy, it came out of him so reluctantly that Harry almost saw it as a disease and Burgess must indeed depend on others to execute his plans, or he would not go far.

Harry started to feel the Dark Magic from the black book. Its vibrations filled the air all the way down to Harry who stared at it with apprehension. He cast a look at Snape whose gaze was absent and whose countenance was defeated. Harry frowned.

“The letter,” commanded Mr Burgess. “The note that was attached to The Book. Please, Lucinda, read the words of the Dark Lord,” he said solemnly. Lucinda stepped into the ring that had formed around the prisoners and the book on the pillar with Mr Burgess at its side. She brought out a small rolled parchment and read.

 “I am the Dark Lord of the World. My powers will rule the magical societies in every country. I will fight my enemies until they are all defeated and I will always prevail because I have seven lives. In case I would disappear again, He who speaks the fanged language and is of my own blood will be able to open this book. Find him and I will resurrect.”

“A Parselmouth of his own blood. Do you wonder, Potter, that I hoped you would prove to be the one? I knew you speak the language, I only had to prove the parentage. There still is a chance, you know.”

“I’m not the son of Voldemort,” Harry said very slowly and steadily, looking into Burgess’ eyes.

Deep inside he was shaken, though, because Burgess did not know how right he was. Harry did speak Parseltoungue and even if he was not related to Voldemort, he had, by Voldemort’s strange proceeding when he regained his new body, shared the same blood with him for a couple of years. This same fact was the only reason that Harry had survived the Avada Kedavra that blew away the horcrux attached to Harry’s soul. Harry shuddered.

“Can I see it?” he asked and glanced at the book. Burgess hesitated but took it finally, reverently, and gave it to him. Harry felt the works of Dark Arts even stronger in his hands. It was almost insupportable. What did the letter mean? Was there a son of Voldemort’s? What was this book? Could it be yet another Horcrux? Would the shape of Voldemort emerge if you opened it, just like the memory of Tom Riddle, the young man who became Voldemort, had emerged from the diary that Lucius Malfoy had given to Ginny in Harry’s second year at Hogwarts and who nearly managed to kill both of them.

“You’re going to help me open it,” said Burgess. “It’ll open with a command in Parseltoungue, I know it.”

Harry clenched his teeth. He did not want to open this book. He riveted his eyes on Snape whose listless gaze came around as he met Harry’s reproachful eyes. Snape frowned and Harry made an impatient jerk of his head towards the book.

What to think about this? Was it dangerous? Could you risk opening it? Would Snape at least try to help out? But Snape seemed unable to bring himself together. His hands were tied behind his back and he could not touch the book. He merely shrugged imperceptibly and shook his head. Harry took it as he would prefer if they did not open it. Not very satisfied, Harry gave the book back to Burgess who placed it again on the pillar.

Suddenly Harry felt himself stand up and move a step forward and open his mouth. He frowned and forced himself to take two steps backwards. He looked inquiringly at Burgess.

“Are you trying to Imperius me?” he said with slight disdain. Mr Burgess fought some more time to make Harry do what he wanted, but now that Harry was prepared he had no difficulties to resist the curse. Interestingly, Burgess mastered dark spells with much more ease than simple transfigurations.

“Ah...” Burgess finally gave up. “You need to sneak it upon strong wizards like yourself when you’re not aware of it. I managed to put my brother under the Imperius curse a couple of times, so I’m rather good at it. He was so furious when he found out though...” Burgess shivered at the memory.

“Open the book, please, Mr Potter. Give it a command in Parsel tongue!”

Harry stood impassive. He dreaded that book and what might come out of it.

“Do it!” Burgess took a step towards him menacingly and whipped with his wand in the air.

Harry looked silently at him.

“Don’t make it difficult, Potter! I have a feeling it might take some time to torture you into doing it and I don’t want Mrs Steadfast to have the time to find us while we’re at it. Now, here’s what we’ll do instead. Death Eaters cover your ears!” commanded Burgess.

Lucius, Yaxley, Draco Malfoy and the other three Death Eaters directed Muffliato spells at themselves. Harry looked bewildered at Burgess who leeringly begun to recite the Strangling Incantation used by the intruders at Hogwarts in September. Snape started to cough and struggle to draw his breath.

Harry’s eyes widened while Snape rapidly grew bluer in his face. In panic, Harry turned to Burgess and opened his mouth, but in the corner of the eye he caught Snape shaking his head at him. The man wanted him to resist. But what should he do? He could not let Burgess strangle Snape to death in front of him, all the same. It seemed to Harry that Snape’s eyes had started to protrude from their orbits. It was terribly agonising to watch. Those powerful Parsel noises made Snape choke. Parsel - Harry knew Parsel, did he not? He was the expert in this area actually. More so than Burgess, in any case.

Instinctively Harry began to time in counter commands to the Parseltongue noises of the incantation. Almost immediately, Harry was relieved to see that it did seem to work somewhat.

Snape did not become bluer in his face, although he still rattled rather badly. He met Harry’s eyes and they seemed to tell him to go on resisting. They continued for a while, Burgess reciting and Harry muttering silently while he monitored Snape closely so that he would not deteriorate. Burgess grew more and more impatient. Finally he realised what Harry was doing, stopped his incantation and lashed at him angrily again. He directed his wand at Snape with fury.

“I’ll kill him right now if you don’t open that book,” hissed Burgess. Harry deliberated a second. Would Burgess do it? Probably...

“Avada Ke...”

“Stop, I’ll do it,” Harry cried stepping forward in panic. Burgess lowered his wand.

“Not ready to sacrifice this guy either? Good to know. Not that I doubted, you did vouch for him after all.” He made a gesture with his hand for Harry to step up to the book.

Harry looked at it with mounting apprehension and his breath quickened. He did not even have a wand if something... if Voldemort was to emerge from there. He looked desperately at Snape who had his head bent down with hair covering his face. Burgess brandished his wand towards Snape again. Harry drew his breath and opened his mouth.

“Open,” he hissed in Parsel tongue. Nothing happened. His heart raced. “It doesn’t work,” he said to Burgess.

“Don’t try to fool me, Potter. You make it open, or I’ll kill Professor Snape. He’s doomed anyway so I might as well kill him right now. It doesn’t matter if you fail from lack of trying or if you fail because you can’t. I’ll kill him regardless. If you want to buy him some time, try again. Try harder.” Harry turned to the book and told it to open in a number of different ways without effect. He thought desperately. The note had clearly indicated that the book was intended for a Parselmouth of the same blood, a son.

“I shared the same blood with you, Voldemort,” said Harry with difficulty, “Speak to me.” It grew darker as if a thick cloud had suddenly passed before the sun and a swirling wind made the book open and the pages flap. The voice of Voldemort, unpleasantly familiar to Harry who felt cold shivers run down his back, spoke in a strange echoing way in Parsel tongue.

Harry crouched a little and could not help his face from grimacing out of discomfort and fear. Some of the Shiftings and the Death Eaters seemed to be in raptures over what they heard and the transformed Mr Burgess sank to his knees and lifted his head as if he expected Voldemort to appear somewhere above them. Several others followed his example and prostrated themselves in sign of veneration. Snape’s face was grim and filled with hatred.

“An echo. He won’t appear.” Snape made himself heard above the rumbling hissing sounds of Voldemort’s. Harry felt comforted by the dry statement, straightened up and forced himself to listen to the words. Voldemort had started off with an introduction of his own greatness which was quite uninformative. His voice changed and became more personal although more threatening at the same time. Harry no longer had the intuition of the language but had to listen carefully and translate to himself as the speech went on. He moved his lips silently and everybody had their eyes riveted upon him now.

“You are my son. I did not believe the wretched woman who told me at first and you were not able to prove yourself to me before I spoke to you in the fanged language and you answered me. Although you resisted me foolishly at first, I forced you to test our blood and magic, and the relationship was proven. You saw it too. I did not want you, but now that you exist I have decided to use you. You are sluggish and lazy. Your powers are uneven. I can see some things in you, but you are still young and you have had no education. Your mother has raised you poorly. By the time you listen to this, I will however have taught you to obey my orders. To rule the world I must conquer Harry Potter. In case fate will thwart me on my way to victory again, I give you this mission. I do not intend to wait for thirteen years before I come back this time. I have made myself immortal. If you have been given this book it means that I have disappeared. I command you to bring me back. You will not be able to escape me, even if I am not near you. I have preconditioned you and while you listen to my words right now, a curse is placed upon you. If you don’t resurrect me within a year from now on you will die a plaguing death. Here’s how you’ll proceed...”

Harry listened in bewilderment. Voldemort continued to explain to his son about the Horcruxes and enumerated them one after the other with detailed instructions how to find them and retrieve them without damage. He mentioned the diary that was no more, he spoke about the Gaunt’s ring that Dumbledore had destroyed and that had hit him with the curse leading to his death. Voldemort mentioned the locket, the goblet, the diadem and spoke about his snake, Nagini. And that was it. Harry lifted his head triumphantly but his eyes widened when he heard Voldemort go on and teach his son how to bring life back from a Horcrux. There was so much Dark Arts involved, so much sacrifice of good, so many appalling actions to perform that Harry could not endure to listen any more.

On an impulse, he commanded the book to shut. It was easier than to make it open. He looked at it in shock. It contained absolutely abhorring magic. Without really knowing how he did it, acting on magical instinct, he managed to send the book flying into the fire. Mr Burgess leapt up, shouting, and suddenly several persons tried to summon the book out of the fire from different directions with the effect that it stayed in the fire until Mr Burgess roared at them to stop and pulled it out himself. It was at most a little scorched at the edges but had resisted well. Harry took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t know why... That book is useless anyhow. It won’t bring Voldemort back.”

“You’re lying!” hissed Burgess. “If we give it to his son, when we find him, he will use it to make him come back. I had hoped he would say something in English... But you’ll tell us what he said or I’ll kill Mr Snape and Mr Frankiss.”

“I’d leave the son of Voldemort alone if I were you. If he had wanted to join you, he would have come forward by now,” said Harry.

“He’ll want to bring his father back! And we will help him!” Burgess stared affronted at Harry.

“I’m not so sure he’d want his father back. Voldemort was very condescending towards him. Apparently they did not know of each other for very long. And Voldemort was prepared to curse him with a mortal curse if he did not do as he said. Some way to treat his offspring, don’t you think?” asked Harry.

“Sometimes fathers need to be firm with their sons, punish them even,” said Burgess.

“Insulting them and commanding them? Threaten them to death? I would not want such a father,” Harry cut short.

“We don’t care what you want or not,” Burgess shouted at Harry. “Tell us what he said. What is he supposed to do to resurrect him?”

“If you give that book to Voldemort’s son it will kill him,” said Harry calmly and told them about the curse.

“So, what,” Burgess replied daringly. “It will force him to find the Horcrux. It’s a Horcrux isn’t it, that will make him come back? How exciting! I’ve read about it. What an amazing wizard, Voldemort is. He will come back to us!”

“He will not come back,” Harry could not hide the jubilation in his voice. “There are no Horcruxes left! We’ve destroyed them! We’ve destroyed them all! They were all gone before he was killed. He didn’t have any others. He enumerated them in this echo, one after the other, and we got them all. Dumbledore was right!” Harry looked daringly at Burgess who had begun to tremble from top to toe.

“You’re lying!”he shouted. “Liar!”

Harry regretted that he had spoken so triumphantly, because the next moment excruciating pain convulsed his body. He lost track of time and space, and found himself lying prone on the rock when the pain was finally lifted away. He was only allowed to breathe a couple of breaths before Burgess launched another Crucio at him, and another, and another.

The next time he was released, Burgess stood over him craving a word by word translation of what Voldemort had said. Harry did his best to comply, while trying to crawl backwards from Burgess. He noticed that Snape lay prone on the rock as well. It looked as if he had been stunned. Had he tried to intervene in Harry’s favour?

Harry endeavoured to speak as slowly and in as much detail as possible to give himself time to think. He had adopted a monotonous voice without emotion to avoid provoking Burgess. The unstable, green-haired wizard managed to work himself up on his own, however. If he had not been so brutal, he would have been ridiculous, copying his brother’s monstrous disguise, which had been terrifying and effective in the dusk of a night club, but which was only bizarre in the clear daylight.

Snape came around as Harry spoke. Harry met his eyes. They looked pained and confused. Harry frowned at him, tried to infuse some resistance, but Snape only stared listlessly back. They must fight - did not Snape see that? They must find a way to get out of here. He needed Snape’s help. Couldn’t he come up with something? They needed their wands, Harry had time to think before he was assailed by convulsions and pain again. Harry’s concentration on Burgess had failed a few seconds and it was enough for the crazy wizard to lose his temper and attack.

Last year I managed to play dead while Bellatrix Crucioed me, Harry thought when he was released. He started to be desperate. He was quite resistant to physical pain but he would not stand this curse forever.

“I’ll torture you to insanity, Potter, that’s what I’ll do. You’ll end up at St Mungo’s - not as a healer but as a patient alongside Neville Longbottom’s parents! Then you’ll talk no more nonsense. Voldemort will come back. He’ll be back. Say it!” New waves of pain.  Harry tried to be limp and stay silent during the curse. It was much harder than he remembered.

I must have been extremely motivated to pull through the pretence, Harry thought. The pain was so great now that it did not really leave him between the attacks. His gaze directed at Snape was pleading, but Snape had shut his eyes.

“Ahh...” Harry’s bawl pierced the very marrows of the wizards and witches present at the next attack. Burgess started to laugh loudly.

“Of course there’s a Horcrux left. You didn’t listen to the end, did you? And there’s Voldemort’s son. He will help us.”

I must escape, I must get away from this, Harry thought. What sort of magic can I do without a wand?

The next time Harry was prisoner under Burgess’ wand with excruciating pain piercing his body, jerking seemingly uncontrollably in the air, he suddenly disappeared. The audience drew their breaths and Burgess stopped his curse momentarily. Most of them saw nothing, but a few persons, among them Snape, observed that a small snake wriggled for a second in the air and landed on the ground with a faint thud. It winded away rapidly toward the cave and disappeared. A shocked buzz mounted among the audience. Burgess was enraged.

“Where did he go? Did he transform? A snake you say? I saw no snake? A snake – are you sure? Then he is the son of Voldemort, he must be, he’s fooling us! Find him!” The next moment Burgess was disarmed and they all saw Harry Potter step out of the cave with his wand in his hand.

***

Harry transformed back to human shape lying prone on the floor of the cave with his hand in Miss Cork’s bag where she had stuffed her cloak and gripped his wand with relief. At least he would be able to put on a fight now. He freed Healer Frankiss in the cave from his ropes, hissed “Hide or flee” to him then turned to launch an Expelliarmus at Burgess.

Harry Charged up. He needed to do several things at the same time. He drew up a protection shield to the left, where Mr Burgess, Miss Cork and Draco Malfoy and the older Death Eaters stood. He pushed the heap of Shifting members on the right backwards with a strong Protego spell. Then he made the gravel and the small rocks on a slope above the cave move and roll down over their heads and they became busy protecting themselves.

He had taken them by surprise. All this was done within seconds. Some of them would soon recover and start fighting. Harry removed Snape’s ropes and sent Snape’s wand over to him with a swift reverse Accio spell. Snape had risen and gripped his wand but only stared at Harry.

“Fight! We must fight our way out of here!” shouted Harry. His protective shield on his left was subject to attacks. It would not hold longer. He used it a last time to knock them all off balance, removed it and disarmed at least two of them, Yaxley and Draco Malfoy he gathered, but was not sure. All happened at once. He stunned a Shifting on the right who was aiming at Snape. Several persons were now aiming at him and Harry Apparated from the entrance of the cave right to the brim of the opposite ledge. Several curses exploded where he had just stood.

“Fight! Come on!” Harry punched Snape with an invisible pole on his left shoulder and Snape doubled up in pain and looked up furiously at Harry. Suddenly Snape’s face changed expression and his eyes widened with fear. He lifted his wand to defend Harry but it was too late. Someone had launched at Harry obliquely from behind. Harry did not see him until he was close upon him.

It was Draco Malfoy, without a wand and with his face contorted by hatred. He pushed Harry hard in his right backside, Harry lost his balance and flew out over the edge. Harry’s left hand fumbled in the air for something to grab but he was too far out. Malfoy vacillated on the edge over him, waving his arms not to lurch forward. Someone grasped his robes from behind and pulled him back. Harry’s right hand clasped his wand tightly. Hold it, don’t lose it! he had time to think before he started to fall.

Harry fell. The noise from the uproar above him disappeared and all was silent except the swooshing sound of himself falling. Air support, he thought. He started wriggling about. I can’t fly this high up in the air, he thought with a gush of fear. Desperately, he conjured up air support under his feet but his speed was too high, his knees gave way, the support broke and he slid off. He tried to throw himself across it but his arms glided over it. It did attenuate his speed somewhat, though, and he started anew.

He tried to make himself go into spiral motion to mimic the Spiral Case Knight’s Move, but he still fell too fast. He fought desperately to conjure up an air support that he could control. Suddenly he became aware of a black figure in the air beside him. It was Snape who was flying, in good balance, although he let himself fall as fast as Harry to stay beside him. Snape evolved around him in big circles. He must have launched himself over the edge right after Harry had been pushed.

“You’re doing the right thing, Harry. Keep on,” Snape called out to him. “Try to slant your air support downwards so that it doesn’t break by the speed and try to get into a spiral opposite me. If we manage to get hold of each other, we’ll make it.” Snape narrowed his circles to stay opposite Harry. It was a risky procedure, as Harry was not yet in control. They still fell sharply and the ground was meeting up fast.

“Feel my position. Spin faster,” shouted Snape. Harry managed to keep his air support under his feet for a while. Suddenly, everything fell in place and it was just like when they had practiced the Move on the ground. The sucking force gripped Harry around the chest and stabilised him.

When Harry’s magic finally docked with Snape’s, Harry felt like a ship passing breakwater into harbour after nearly perishing on a stormy sea. Harry’s relief was proportional to his previous desperation. He felt incredibly safe. It did not matter that they were still several thousand feet above the ground.

“Twenty downs, four ups,” shouted Snape and they started to approach the ground in a controlled way. Harry looked upwards. There were four figures on broomsticks approaching from above.

“They’re coming after us!” he shouted to Snape.

“Let’s change to back-to-back position. We’ll try to take them out before we must land. Wait until they’re close enough.” Snape shouted back. Harry spotted Yaxley, another Death Eater and Lucinda, the pink-haired witch, together with a young Shifting who seemed to be a good flyer. The four opponents were diving at them.

“One, two, three.” They went back to back and mounted.

“Attack, now!” roared Snape and Harry started to fire curses and jinxes at the four pursuers. He hit Yaxley’s arm right off so that Yaxley had to shift his wand to his other hand, which left him no hand to support himself with on the broom. He tried to turn and come back on them again but was so unsteady on his broom that he left his companions and returned to the ledge and the cave.

Snape stunned the other Death Eater who crashed heavily into the rocky foot of the mountain and glided fifty feet downward before he stopped, lifeless. The pink-haired witch and the young wizard were good at parrying Snape’s and Harry’s attacks, but could on the other hand not fire any curses themselves. Eventually, Harry managed to squeeze through one of his forceful Expelliarmus spells that disarmed them both and they had no choice but to return upwards.

It was high time for Snape and Harry to land and gather forces. Harry could feel his internal Patronus fading away. They disengaged the air support and returned to the front-to-front position. As they approached the ground, Harry observed that they would have to land in the middle of the swamp. The surface was hard to assess. It looked like coarse grassy hillocks scattered on a slightly moist yellowish bed of vegetation.

Harry landed on a hillock and nearly lost his balance on the soft and wobbling protuberance, whereas Snape landed on the smoother vegetation bed which, however, started to sway up and down as if waves of water passed under his feet. Which was exactly what was happening. Snape let out an exclamation as one of his feet disappeared through the mattress of woven vegetation. Water started to leak up through the hole. Snape managed to levitate himself over to a hillock opposite Harry where he doubled up, panting and swearing.

“Quagmire! I landed on quagmire,” Snape said breathlessly. Before Harry had time to answer, more water emerged from the hole left by Snape’s foot, and large bubbles of air bloated up from beneath. The piece of quagmire started to move up and down turbulently and the ground trembled like an earthquake. Harry stared apprehensively at the larger surface of water which opened up. Before he had time to think or say anything to Snape, an enormous creature emerged from beneath the turbid water and shot up in the air.

Harry had the time to observe a gelatinous body, or was it a head? There seemed to be three gigantic eye globes on the side. Harry yelled and fled by a gliding movement in between the bushes and the low trees further on in the swamp away from the mountain. He had the impression something stretched out after him and he launched himself forward heedlessly.

Harry lost sight of Snape. After a minute he slowed down and listened but everything was quiet until suddenly the quagmire ground under him opened again and several thick snakes with a pallid red skin emerged and stretched out for his legs. He mounted a few feet in the air, tried to command the snakes in Parseltongue to retreat but they launched after him nonetheless and he had to sting them with his wand and flee precipitately again. The same thing happened several times and Harry became exhausted as he could not land to recover his forces without being attacked.

There was very little firm ground to land on. The trunks of the trees shot up from the water itself and where there was no open water there was quagmire and the odd hillock. Harry did not see the snakes coming because they emerged right under his feet and tried to pull him down. He could not think of a more horrid way to die than to be dragged down under the roots of the trees and to drown in the murky water, and so he fought desperately.

After a particularly fierce battle against the snakes, Harry rattled on in high speed and came to a larger open water surface and slowed down to deliberate which direction he should go when he was tucked down again at the same time as he spotted Snape to his left standing on a clump of reeds. He used his last forces to blast the snakes away – he had given up speaking to them – and rumbled over to Snape to land beside him as it was about the only firm ground he could spot. The clump of reed tottered under Harry’s weight and was about to tip over. When it seesawed back he almost fell backwards. Snape grabbed Harry by the shirt and pulled him towards himself in balance.

“Sorry, Sir,” panted Harry. They were so close up that Snape must feel the fast throbbing of Harry’s heart against the back of his hand. The last traces of Occlumency had left Snape’s face and his black eyes were inscrutable but no longer cold.

“I... I don’t understand why those snakes don’t obey me when I speak to them,” Harry continued in a low, breathless voice.

“Because they’re not snakes. They’re parts of the same creature we saw emerge at the foot of the mountain. Hagrid has told me about it – it’s a giant swamp squid. It’s the foul-tempered spouse of the giant squid at the lake. There’s a huge cave under the mountain filled with water - an underground lake connected with the lake at Hogwarts - where she lives. The water system reaches out under the swamp.”

Snape in his turn was about to lose his balance and Harry pulled him back by the arm.

“It chased me. Its arms reached up at me and tried to drag me down. I’m sure it’s in the water nearby. Let’s mount again and try to move above the trees to avoid it,” said Harry in a high strung voice, watching the water surface apprehensively and ready to take off any second.

“We cannot move that high or we’ll betray our position. Mr Burgess’ gang will come after us and kill us. Listen, they move above us right now.” Harry heard a dull whir above them that mounted to a weird whistling sound as it swooshed by.

“They’re moving as black smoke. It works even inside a NAZ. Just as long as you can hold your breath but it will take them ahead of us. They’ll try to intercept us,” explained Snape. A thought struck Harry.

“You could do that. Go by black smoke back to the castle and alert Mrs Steadfast and the Aurors,” said Harry. Snape turned his head away.

“I don’t want to transform into black smoke,” he said. “It’s Dark Magic. There’s a price. I’m done with that.” Harry did not protest.

“We should try to keep together then,” he said. “It’s difficult to defend yourself against the squid when it attacks from right beneath you.”

“We should move side by side at some distance and watch each other’s feet,” said Snape and explained. “It’s easier to get clear shots from some distance. Don’t look down at your own feet. Trust me to clear the way for you and you do the same for me.”

Harry nodded and they took off. It was an unaccustomed feeling to make practice out of the faith in Snape that Harry had proclaimed the day before and trust him with removing the threat from underneath. For some reason the squid had decided that Harry was its primary target and was after him constantly all the way across the swamp. Only once or twice did it reach out a tentacle for Snape’s feet that Harry strung away. They crossed the swamp from west to east where its width was smallest and it did not take them long to reach firmer ground.

They continued by walking on in silence, wands drawn, keeping their course east and aiming at the castle. The high thin clouds that had put a veil over the sun on the major part of the day had cleared away and the afternoon was hot and liberated the sweet aromas from moss and herbs in the forest. Harry and Snape had Evanesced their coats, tucked up their sleeves and loosened their collars.

A black and a white clad figure advancing side by side, equally tall and slender, but Snape the stronger looking one; Harry being thin, almost emaciated without however giving a weak impression. The Dark Mark burnt by Voldemort into Snape’s left forearm appeared when the sunbeams hit his skin and disappeared when he passed through the shadows of the trees.

Harry could not resist when he spotted some wood strawberries in a clearing, to summon a handful of the small red berries and cram them in his mouth. He was famished and his stomach felt like an empty hole. Without stopping, he picked eatable herbs here and there and fed himself. Snape stole a furtive glance at Harry and saw him chew on a piece of bark. Harry knew by experience from last year how to survive in the forest without food supplies and knew that you needed to eat constantly if you were not to start starving.

Snape pulled a face and gestured for Harry to stop. They sat down on a fallen trunk and Snape brought out a small piece of bread that he had kept from the morning. He enlarged the slice, broke it in two and gave Harry one piece. Harry wolfed up the bread, washing it down with water that he conjured up. He looked apologetically at Snape and cleared his throat.

“Shouldn’t we send a Patronus ahead to alert Mrs Steadfast?” he asked. Snape hesitated.

“I’d like to get a little closer,” he said. “If the Shiftings or the Death Eaters discover our Patronus they can deduce our trajectory and they’ll just dissolve it and head right for us.”

“I think the dense bushy part of the wood will force us up north near the swamp again, if we don’t choose to go round it by the south which is quite a detour,” said Harry. “Right ahead of us we have a rather narrow channel of accessible forest before it opens up on a clearing north of Aragog’s nest - the hollow where Voldemort killed me, you know.” Snape grunted in answer.

“You know your forest well...” he said sarcastically.

“Endless detentions with Hagrid…” Harry smiled nostalgically. “And a few imperatively called for excursions of my own and with my friends have roughly taught me the topography. I had never been near the swamps before though. I don’t know a third of what’s in the forest.” Snape arched his eyebrows, then sighed.

“We don’t know for how long our enemies have camped in that cave. If they’ve gained knowledge about the forest, they’ll probably see the advantage of waiting for us at the exit of this land bridge. On the other hand, we won’t be far away from the castle once we’re there, right? I say that we go ahead and try to sneak upon them as close as we can before we send our Patronuses away,” said Snape. Harry acquiesced.

“We’ll have to fight them at one point or other, I guess” he said. “It would just be nice to know that reinforcements are coming before we do.”

They walked on for another hour. Compared to the enormous detour they had been forced to take the day before, they gained on the castle quickly. Finally, Harry sank down behind a bush and pointed ahead of them. Snape hid himself as well and watched two wizards on guard. It was hard to approach them without being spotted. Snape sneaked up beside Harry.

“If you approached them as a snake and Langlocked them by surprise, we could take them on easily without alerting any others,” he said.

Harry’s face darkened.

“I’d rather not,” he muttered. “I only transform in desperate situations. I had sworn not to use it at all, actually.”

“So, you’re not a registered Animagus, but Minerva suspects that you are,” said Snape grimly.

“I just couldn’t bring myself to find out if I am an Animagus. Imagine what they’d have written about me, if I had got officially listed as a snake Animagus,” objected Harry. “It was right in the middle of their speculations about my connection with Voldemort. They’d have taken it for confirmation of a kinship. You yourself had doubts as to...  And Mrs McGonagall wasn’t sure: I couldn’t kill and eat the mouse.”

“Hm...” said Snape, leaving the subject, “How to deal with them then?”

“We can just avoid them by going into the dense forest, to come out a little more to the south,” suggested Harry. “It should be possible to blast a tunnel through the bushes, no? For a short distance? We’ll be covered in there too, impossible to discover if we don’t make too much noise.” He looked to his left where thorny bushes dressed themselves like a dense wall.

“Okay, I think it’ll work. A Reducto spell interweaved with pulverising elements and we’ll bushwhack ourselves a passage. The branches are so intertwined that the roof won’t fall in upon us. Watch my back for a while before you come after me, and conceal our entrance by Regrowing some bushes,” said Snape and lifted both hands to set off the incantation.

It was actually possible to walk if you doubled over in the tunnel that Snape silently created as they went along. Their tunnel turned out to be an even better idea than they had thought to start with as it took them straight to the southwest brim of the clearing where their enemies had gathered. On the opposite side they recognised the forest as they knew it closer to Hagrid’s cabin. They must be only half an hour away from the immediate grounds of the castle.

Leaving a few feet of branches in front of them, sufficiently to shield them from view but thin enough to peek through and observe what was going on, Snape created a tunnel that went along half the clearing. They observed that there were guards placed on the south side as well, and concluded that they would not have gained in walking around the dense part.

They squatted down side by side to observe the scene in front of them.

Mr Burgess had transformed back to his ordinary appearance. He was talking to a slim and small witch with long blond hair whom Harry had not seen at the cave. The strength had augmented to at least fifty wizards and witches.

“They’ve got reinforcements,” Snape whispered to Harry. “That blond witch over there might be the one they call H. I wonder whether she’s not the real leader. Look how she talks and gestures at the others. They respect her.” Harry agreed. Snape muttered: “I don’t recognise her. Can’t have attended Hogwarts”.

Ten older Death Eaters stood by themselves and conferred with each others. Draco Malfoy and the young wizard who had followed them on a broomstick when they fell down the precipice amused themselves with playing with one of the kangabbits. They shot stinging spells at it and laughed when it avoided to be hit by making spectacular summersaults in the air.

The little animal looked frightened but did well in avoiding the shots. Finally the young wizard tired of the game and fired an Avada Kedavra at the kangabbit who however sprung several leaps up in the air and suspended itself upside down in an amazing backflip as the green light of the Avada Kedavra curse passed beneath. It wriggled sideways, landed on its four feet and ran fast as a lightening into the forest. Malfoy laughed.

“It escaped you,” he said tauntingly to the young wizard who grunted discontented.

Harry smiled gleefully in his tunnel.

“Okay, it’s time to send for the Aurors. We’d better send several Patronuses in case some are intercepted. I’ll send one to Mrs Steadfast and one to Professor McGonagall,” said Snape.

“I’ll send one to Hagrid and one to Ron then,” said Harry. “The kangabbits will show them the way to us.”

“We’ll have to try to overtake those guards on the south side to be able to get the Patronuses through,” said Snape. “The risk of us being detected is quite substantial, in which case we’ll just have to flee or stay and fight. What do you think of those options?” Harry hesitated.

“I might be mad,” he said, “but I’d rather stay and fight for a while. If Mrs Steadfast is quick to react they should be here in less than twenty minutes. And if we join in the Double Knight’s Move I think we might stand a while.” Snape’s eyes glittered.

“Just what I thought. Keen to measure your strength, are you, Mr Potter? Even if they’re fifty to two?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Only if we’re discovered, otherwise we wait for Mrs Steadfast to attack,” Harry defended himself.

“I tend to agree with you actually. If we flee there’s a great risk of us being separated and I think we’re more vulnerable on our own. The enemy will split up to find us too, so they’ll be more difficult to take down for Mrs Steadfast if they’re scattered throughout the forest. No, let’s try and keep them all here.”

It is questionable if either Snape or Harry really wanted to go undetected as they went for the two guards on the south side. The wizard Snape took on managed to stumble away a few steps before Snape Petrified him and it alerted the wizard Harry targeted who had time to cry out before Harry Langlocked him. A third guard further away that they had not noticed was alerted and ran towards the clearing. Snape and Harry hesitated before they decided to send their Patronuses away instead of overtaking him. At least the Patronuses were granted a safe-conduct towards the castle.

One doe with a stag along its side set off straight east and the other couple set off more to the south to their surprise. In the clearing their opponents were on their feet, moving toward the fringe of the southern wood where Harry and Snape had been detected.

Snape and Harry looked at each other and Charged up. In one swift Locomotor movement they flew over the heads of their enemies and landed on the north side of the clearing. Then they started to spin around and to battle for real with the Spiral Case Knight’s move.

***

The first to arrive to Snape’s and Harry’s aid was actually Ron, together with Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and a couple of other students. They came in from the northeast and started to battle on the ground with some Shifting members. Mrs Steadfast, Mr Soundy and two other Aurors arrived shortly afterwards from the southeast on broomsticks. They circled the clearing and stared dumbfounded at the scene beneath them.

Harry and Snape were swirling unflaggingly in the air, so fast they were barely recognisable. Curses and jinxes flew in all directions. Along the brims of the clearing at least half a dozen wizards lay knocked out, panting with exhaustion or wriggling from pain. The opponents fought doggedly, but with confusion in their eyes as they had difficulties aiming their curses and assessing the whereabouts of their enemies. Not infrequently they hit one of their own instead. A small blond witch ran about giving orders with a grim look on her face, but did not partake in the fight herself. She seemed to be the only one who could heal the wounded and it took all her time. Two Death Eaters tried to do a Double Knight’s Move of their own but were miserably unstable. Soundy gaped at the damage on the ground and at the whirling couple in the air and Mrs Steadfast invoked several of the planets of the solar system in her exclamations.

“Of all whizzing wizards those two are amazing! Here we come on a rescue mission, convinced we’ll find them half dead and instead... By Mercury, you’d say they’re evolving on a playground... Soundy, go down to those students and help them secure the already fallen people. Don’t spread, shield them. The ground forces will take some more time to arrive. We’ll help take some more out in the meantime. Focus on securing them with ropes to stop them re-entering the battle. And stop anyone who tries to flee.”

Snape and Harry kept up the Double Move for another ten minutes before they landed to fight on the ground alongside Soundy, Ron and the group of students. They were both soaked with sweat. Harry had just time to grin at Ron before he continued to battle, feet on the ground this time. He could not see Mr Burgess nor the blond witch who supposedly was “H”. They were outnumbered on the ground and under much pressure although the three broomstick-born Aurors facilitated things for them by diving daringly over the attacking Shifting crowd and cursing them.

They were joined by Ginny and four of her Quidditch members of the Gryffindor team on their brooms. They imitated Mrs Steadfast and went to attack. On their fourth go, one of them was hit and crashed with his broom on the other side of the enemy. Harry cast a look at Snape who was busy, however, fighting Lucius Malfoy and Yaxley at the same time. Instead, Harry gestured for Ron and Dean to follow him and they skirted around the fighting people, protecting themselves with shields. They arrived in the neck of time to stun two Shiftings who pointed their wands at the fallen Quidditch player ready to finish him off.

Mrs Steadfast landed by their side and they fought back the Shiftings from the wounded student. Harry bent over him and started to heal the worst injuries and pull him up on his legs to back him off the scene. Ginny landed by his side and helped him. Harry left them at the brim of the forest asking Ginny to take her Quidditch player back to the castle for further treatment. She agreed only reluctantly, having been part of the fight for so short a time.

When Harry turned to go back into the clearing, he glimpsed a flash of light in the corner of his eye and was just in time to throw himself to the side, roll over and jump up. It was the blond small witch who had sneaked upon him. They stood somewhat apart from the others and started to duel. She was skilled, Harry realised - and determined. Her slender-limbed constitution and her smallness made her look childlike and it was easy to believe her younger than she really was and therefore to underestimate her powers. She must be at least a couple of years older than Bellamy Burgess. She looked at Harry with hatred and calculation.

“You killed my brother,” she said as she circled him and prevented Harry from regaining his friends.

”I’m sorry, but he attacked me very viciously in Paris,” said Harry cautiously, disillusioned by Mr Burgess’ earlier jubilation over his own brother’s death.

”You’re sorry?” sneered the witch.

Harry’s heart took a leap of guilt at the accusatory tone of voice, but his instincts told him that she was more angered than grieved by the loss and he took a steadying breath.

“You’re another Burgess sibling then,” he said. She snorted.

"Burgess is no name of consequence. I bear the name of our father. Hatch - Henna Hatch. Ask your Master if he recognises that name.”

“My Master?” said Harry, incredulous. “Do you mean Professor Snape? He’s my Headmaster, no Master in any other way.”

“Doesn’t look like that to me. You vouched for him at the Ministry’s trial and it was no half-hearted vouching either. I was in the audience, you see. And you followed him to the cave. You play extremely well together on the battle ground. He has trained you. There’s no doubt about it. You’re in this together, don’t try to fool me. You’re going to pay for what you did to my half-brother in Paris and your Master is going to pay for what he did to my father  – both of you are going to pay!”

Her eyes suddenly glimmered red and she changed her appearance – as well as her gender, Harry realised. A magnificent androgynous figure dressed himself before Harry who drew his breath. Another Metamorphmagus - an accomplished one this time, equal to the skilled “M”. Suddenly and totally unpredictably from the expression on their face Henna fired an Avada Kedavra at Harry and he thrust himself to the side and stunned them. They returned to their female self.

Having fought her brother made Harry ready for the transformations she pulled to escape the stunning and he had an arm-binding curse ready for her which she of course wriggled out of by melting away and reappearing, but it bought him time. He Apparated to the shadowy part of the clearing. It was late afternoon and the sun was sinking towards the tops of the trees which cast long shadows over half of the clearing.

Henna Hatch came after him as did Bellamy Burgess who had been hiding in the northern margin of the forest. Harry fought with both of them fiercely. As they were so prone to use the Avada Kedavra curse, it was meaningless to use protective spells or shields against them. Every time Henna Hatch produced the killing curse she would change her gender. Harry could only get out of the way of their curses by mounting, dodging or Apparating and he could only prevent them from shooting curses at him by keeping them busy parrying his. He managed to sting Burgess severely in his bad leg a couple of times.

Suddenly Harry saw Aurors streaming into the clearing from the south. Reinforcements at last! Hagrid was with them, too. Harry could not relax, however, but continued to fight, struggling to make his limbs, numb from the strenuous exercise before and the lengthy Crucio session earlier, obey him. Very soon thereafter, however, both Mrs Steadfast and Snape were at his side.

When “H” became aware of the changed situation in the clearing, she shouted to Bellamy Burgess to transform to black smoke. She covered fiercely for him, because it took him some time, and Mrs Steadfast redoubled her forces to try to get him. Eventually he managed to transform and suddenly “H” too was gone.

The fight continued on a more equal basis, wizard to wizard or witch, but a couple of the Shiftings were seen to take off toward the cave in the blue mountain as did some Death Eaters, among them Lucius Malfoy. Yaxley had been overpowered by Snape long ago and lay enrolled in trapping web like a gigantic pupa. Harry felt a powerful curse swoosh by the left side of his face and a searing pain in his forehead and cheekbone made him stagger. A rasping curse had scraped the skin off the bony parts of his temple. He doubled over which probably saved him from being hit by a stunning. Panting, almost on his knees, he shot a stunning back at the young wizard who was flying at him and managed to hit him right in the chest.

As he rose on wobbling legs to tie the enemy up, he saw in the corner of his eyes Snape hurrying towards them with a concerned look on his face. A figure appeared suddenly from the forest in the north east corner, running towards Snape with a mad expression on his face – it was Burgess. Harry opened his mouth to call out a warning, but it was too late, the Avada Kedavra had already been fired and Snape had not seen it. A Protego curse to push him out of the way would not have time to reach him. Harry gaped horrified and looked Snape right in the eyes. In the background he saw one of the kangabbits jumping away between the trees. Suddenly Snape was dangling upside down and the killing curse flew right underneath. Harry ran towards him.

“I’m sorry, Sir!” he cried out and he stunned Mr Burgess without even looking at him. Mrs Steadfast was there to disarm him and wrap him up in trapping web. Snape had lost his wand and was hanging by his heel in the typical position for one being hit by a Levicorpus spell.

Harry knew perfectly well that James Potter had taunted Snape with this spell, Snape’s very own invention, when they were teenagers at school. He had seen it in one of Snape’s memories. Harry promptly Accioed Snape’s wand to him and let him down.

“I beg your pardon, Professor, there was no other way...”

Snape rose from the ground and advanced towards Harry with barred teeth and a brandished wand. When he saw Harry’s desolate countenance he stopped, made an exasperated gesture with both arms and turned on his heels. Harry heard him mutter.

“I’m out of this! I’m off...” Heedless of the still ongoing fight, Snape walked right through the flying curses towards the East. Harry followed, pleading with him.

“He was going to kill you, Sir. I had no choice...”

“You had no business using that spell on me! I do not take it… not from you! Not from you, Potter, do you hear?” Snape hissed at him over his shoulder.

“But, Professor, the Avada had already been fired at you... It was going to hit you.  I can’t help what James did to you all those years ago...”

“I’m leaving, Potter and don’t try to follow me, do you hear?” Snape strode on without looking either right or left, and he fired stinging hexes backwards at Harry who had to jump not to be hit.

“Please Professor Snape... It happened twenty years ago, how long are you going to resent it? Why must I pay for what my father did to you? Ow...” He got stung in his left foot.

“It happened only a minute ago, if I must remind you! Don’t pretend to be desolate! Just leave me alone. I’m done with this! I’m out of this place, right now! And I’m done with you, Potter, whether you vouched for me or not, I don’t care!” Harry had almost caught up with Snape but now he stopped dead.

“You were teenagers! The guy wasn’t even allowed to live after he was twenty-one! Isn’t that punishment enough?” he shouted exasperated after Snape who finally turned around.

Suddenly Snape’s eyes widened. He was looking at someone closing up behind Harry. Harry felt it more than he could see it and he didn’t have time to turn before he found himself hanging upside down in his turn. He saw the green light of an Avada Kedavra pass beneath him and he saw the curse hit Snape instead right in the chest.

“No!”

Snape turned and fell backwards to the ground in his full length.

“No!” Harry shouted at the top of his lungs.

Harry glimpsed the contorted face of a transformed Henna Hatch filled with hatred and triumph. He had kept his wand in his hand and, without thinking, he let himself down, landing on his neck and crumpling up on the ground. It probably saved his life a second time. Another Avada Kedavra flew over him but he did not care. He rose and ran toward Snape. Behind him four Aurors closed up on “H” and forced her to retreat.

“No, no, no...NO!”

Harry ran, stumbled, fell and rose again before he cast himself on his knees on the ground beside the still body of Snape.

“It hit you... It hit you…” Harry did not recognise his own strangled voice. ”Please, don’t be... You can’t be… Please…” He bent over the still body and his hands were stretched out, helpless and trembling in the air above Snape. He felt the warmth from the body of Snape mounting to his palms and against his thigh. Harry started to tug desperately at the robe over Snape’s chest.

“No, no... please... please!... Where did it hit you? Please let it...”

Suddenly, Snape stirred and turned his head with dazed eyes toward Harry.

"Stop whimpering, Potter! Clearly even you can make out that I’m still alive?” Snape hissed at him in a faint but irritated voice and tried feebly to push Harry away with his right hand. His left arm lay lifeless at his side.

The surge of relief over the fact that Snape was alive did not dissipate Harry’s anxiety, however.

“The Avada hit you!” he shrieked. ”It went right through your chest, I saw it. Your heart might be hurt. We must check out your heart.” Harry was still panicking over what he had just witnessed. Snape turned on his right side and sat up with difficulty. Harry gripped Snape’s collar and tried to unbutton the black shirt over the chest and uncover Snape’s left shoulder.

“You might still die of its effects. I must check the demarcation zone on your chest,” he spluttered.

Snape swayed on his knees and fought to push Harry’s hands away. He bent over to reach his wand on the ground, almost lost his balance but managed to pull back and brandished it at Harry.

“Keep away from me, Potter! Don’t touch me.”

“But I can do it! I know the incantation to revive heart muscle tissue. It’s a matter of minutes before the damage permanents itself. I’m the only one here who can do it! It’ll take you too long to go to St Mungo’s. The heart will lose its pumping capacity. You might die! It’s a new treatment that Healer Solomon taught me this winter! It’s really effective, it’ll save you. Listen!” begged Harry.

But Snape only growled at him and pointed his wand at Harry’s face. Harry lifted his arms in an exasperated gesture.

“What’s the matter with you?” he shouted angrily. “You suddenly give up after all this fighting? You’d rather die than to let me heal you?”

Snape did not yield but kept Harry at a distance.

“Why are you doing this? You’ve behaved completely irrational ever since the trial!” shouted Harry beyond himself. “So I vouched for you, so what? Why did you still want to leave Hogwarts when you came back, although you’d been freed? Why did you throw yourself in the arms of Mr Burgess and Lucius Malfoy, pretending to... trying to... impersonate some evil... caricature of yourself? How can you let all the struggle and fighting this year come to NOTHING by allowing yourself to be reduced to a HEART INVALID rather than let me treat you – AND ALL THIS JUST BECAUSE OF MY SURNAME!”

Harry gripped Snape’s wand with his left hand and steered it away and roared the last words furiously right to Snape’s face. Mrs Steadfast came up behind them and grabbed Harry by his shoulders and pulled him back from Snape.

“Go easy on your Professor, Harry. Back off!” Harry lost his balance and sunk back on his heels. Conciliatory, Mrs Steadfast bent down between Snape and Harry.

“You must understand, Harry. This has not been easy for Professor Snape. I believe he’s been prepared to leave Hogwarts at the end of term for quite some time now. He never thought he’d make it at the trial, having taken the stand he’d done,” she said.

“But he was acquitted... He can do what he wants now...” Harry spoke heatedly.

“He was confused by what you did, Harry. And it’s not so easy to reconsider matters in a rational way and to realise that you have other options than what you’ve set your mind on for a long time.”

Snape bent his head down as she spoke and let his black hair cover his face.

“He gave up at the cave. There was no resistance left in him. I had to punch him to make him start fighting.”

Snape looked up sharply at Harry.

“I was shocked. I had just seen you transform...”

Harry frowned angrily at him and Snape stopped himself in time. Harry pleaded with Mrs Steadfast.

“He’s been hit by an Avada in his chest. His heart might be damaged. He might end up just like your French friend if he’s not treated immediately. And he doesn’t even let me look at the demarcation zone.” Harry was on the verge of tears.

Mrs Steadfast’s eyes widened and she took Snape’s wand delicately but firmly from his hand, then she cut the cloth covering his left shoulder with her own wand.

“Now, you let Harry take a look at that curse mark, Severus!” she said in a tight voice. Snape looked to the side but did not push Harry away. His left shoulder which Harry had seen covered in motley bright red and pink scars from the snake bites was now an ugly grey-lilac colour, slightly swollen and pallid all the way out to the fingers. It was a muscular, strong arm but it looked dead. On the chest, from where the collar bone meet the breastbone and obliquely down to the eighth or ninth rib on his left flank, the dead-looking flesh above stood out sharply against the healthy looking skin beneath that line. Snape flinched when he saw the mark on his own chest. Harry pulled himself together and observed the demarcation zone carefully.

“It has gone through part of the thorax, there’s no doubt.  You must have managed to swirl around at the same time as it went through you - that’s why you made it at all... I’m going to examine the heart,” muttered Harry and positioned himself on Snape’s left side. He pointed his wand with his right hand over the shoulder at the heart at the same time as he held his left hand in front of Snape’s chest.

“Stay still,” he said and started to read an incantation. After a while a clearly visible copy of Snape’s heart lay in his hand, contracting and relaxing. Snape grimaced uneasily.

“Stay still,” repeated Harry, concentrating on the heart. “The anterior and lateral parts are not contracting properly. Let me feel it.” Harry felt his way delicately with the fingers over the surface of Snape’s heart. “A third, if not half of the muscle has been hit. I’m going to revive it. Stay still, or you’ll never be able to make a five by five round on the Knight’s Move without being out of breath before you even take off,” Harry said threateningly.

Snape pulled a wry face.

Harry muttered a long incantation and swayed his wand slowly from side to side, carefully aiming the tip of the wand at different parts of Snape’s heart. At the same time he made small modulating movements with the fingers on his left hand. Finally he closed the incantation, the image of the heart disappeared and he removed his hand. Instead he started doing the Reviving spell counteracting the Avada effect on the shoulder and on the arm. He worked his way conscientiously all the way down to the fingertips before he sank down on his heels, exhausted.

They remained silent for a while. The fight around them was abating. The Aurors were gathering the prisoners with Hagrid’s help. Only a few persons still fought. Several black balls were seen over the forest and a squad of Aurors had gone after them on broomsticks to the cave. Harry started to pull himself up, muttering to Mrs Steadfast.

“You must take him to St Mungo’s to see Healer Solomon and finish the treatment. It must be repeated at regular intervals, but at least I’ve bought him some time.” Harry did not look at Snape and was about to leave when Mrs Steadfast held him back.

“Please stay, Harry. I’m so sorry it’s so difficult between you. I sincerely regret the way he treats you. He was shocked that you vouched for him yesterday, that’s all I can say to his defence,” she said.

“He hates me, I’d better leave,” Harry muttered in a thick voice.

“Wait. He’s pretty awful to have to do with at times but I know that you care about him and...” Mrs Steadfast prevented Harry from going.

“I don’t care about him,” retorted Harry angrily in a muffled tone. “I just don’t want him to die, nor become a heart invalid, that’s all.” Mrs Steadfast sighed.

“This reminds me of what someone else said in a similar situation...” she said and riveted her gaze upon Snape who looked back defiantly at her without answering. “And why do you care if he becomes a heart invalid or not, Harry?” Mrs Steadfast asked evenly.

Harry frowned. On the one hand he just wanted to leave. He had a lump in his throat and he did not want to show Snape how affected he was by almost having seen him die. On the other hand he felt an undefined wish to sort out the answer to Mrs Steadfast’s question, for his own sake. He drew a deep breath.

“I just want him to stay around,” he said to Mrs Steadfast. “He has taught me things. He knows things others don’t. He doesn’t back off in front of bad things that others shun... and stuff like that...” his voice trailed off.

“And...?” Mrs Steadfast softly urged him on.

“And... and... well, he’s the only one left, isn’t he?” Harry said brusquely to her. She frowned. “Everyone else is dead,” continued Harry in a slightly aggressive tone. “My parents are dead and their friends, Sirius and Lupin are dead too. And Dumbledore’s dead.”

Snape suddenly looked perplexed and Harry drew a new breath.

“My aunt and uncle were happy to get rid of me when I turned of age. Mr and Mrs Weasley have been very kind and helpful, of course. They know me since I was twelve. But... but… It’s kind of... nice... to have someone that knows of your past - other than the official tale that is... He... he knows stuff about me that others don’t... and he knew my parents. He was a friend of my mother’s - and yes... I know they were more than friends - and yes... That is kind of embarrassing for me, too, to think about,” said Harry with some emphasis, indirectly addressing Snape. “I don’t intend to pry into that part. It’s between him and my mother. But it’s not as if… as if I mind or anything… It was their business... I’m not James, you know...”

“No, of course you’re not James. You have a very different kind of disposition than your father. You’re Lily’s son and your very own person.”

“Well, thank you, Mrs Steadfast, yes I am.” Harry struggled not to let his voice crack up. “And he doesn’t have to like me or even speak to me if he doesn’t want to, I don’t care. I know he hates me. But I still want him to stay around...” Harry finished off. He was embarrassed for having said so much.

“I don’t hate you,” Snape muttered down at his own hands. Mrs Steadfast waited for more and looked exasperated at him.

“And that’s all we’re going to get from Severus Snape, is it? Lavishing expressions and explanations to the point? I‘ll give you credit for at least being able to express yourself, Harry. This Headmaster of yours is clearly destitute of language. Or perhaps the Avada hit his tongue as well? This is outrageous, Severus! Here Harry comes, pouring his heart out and putting words, finally, to his feelings on this difficult matter and you’re mute, reluctant, repelling, resistant...” Mrs Steadfast was working herself up in indignation. “You’re his superior on every single point, Harry...”

Harry, still on the verge of tears from humiliation and embarrassment over the confession he’d made, started to laugh softly in the middle of all his misery. Mrs Steadfast halted her agitated scolding of Snape and looked irritated at Harry.

“You’re laughing?” she said incredulous. Harry could not help himself.

“It’s just that... he’s been on to me all this year about how out-and-out hopeless I am at expressing myself and now you’re telling him off... Did you hear her, Professor? I’m your superior in ways of expressing myself!”

Harry was convulsed with laughter and suddenly Snape joined in. He thrust his head back and let out his ringing, contagious laughter. Harry doubled up. Mrs Steadfast looked affronted at them and their laughter redoubled at the sight of her indignation. They could not stop themselves but roared and wriggled. There were tears in the eyes of both of them. Harry clasped his stomach and Snape laid a hand on the chest and pulled a face in the middle of all merriment.

Mrs Steadfast shook her head as she stood up with a countenance of incredulity and puzzlement, looking down on them exasperated. Finally she started to smile faintly. The salt of the running tears made the scraped skin on Harry’s cheekbone sting.

“Ow...” he said and tried to dab the tears and the blood away with his rolled up sleeve. His arm ached and felt heavy as lead. He let it fall to his side with a grimace of pain. Their laughter faded away gradually.

“You need some medical attendance as well.” Snape scrutinised Harry. “He was tortured up in the cave. Crucioed for a substantial amount of time,” Snape added to Mrs Steadfast. She looked at Harry.

“Do you want to go with Professor Snape to St Mungo’s, Harry?”

“No... no thanks, I’d better let him have a rest from me. I’ve been at him like a... like a teasel for more than twenty four hours now,” said Harry.

Snape pulled a face again.

“I didn’t mean all the things I said up there...” he muttered.

“It’s true nonetheless.” Harry stole a quick glance at Snape to show him he wasn’t cross. “I’d rather go back to Hogwarts and see Mme Pomfrey. I’m starved and they don’t have any proper food at St Mungo’s at any rate... only yucky sandwiches.” Harry made a grimace of distaste. He did not have particularly nice memories from his visit to St Mungo’s as a patient. Snape smiled slightly and arched one eyebrow.

“Let’s see then,” Mrs Steadfast said efficiently. She waved her nearest Auror over which happened to be Simmings. “Emile, you’ll be so nice as to take Professor Snape to St Mungo’s hospital. He has received an Avada curse through his heart that he needs to nurse. I’ll join you as soon as I have sorted things out here. I want to hear the whole story of what happened in that cave.” Snape rose with some difficulty. Harry conjured up a stretcher.

“Make sure Healer Solomon attends to him, Simmings. He’s the expert on heart conditions at St Mungo’s,” said Harry.

“I can speak for myself, if you don’t mind, Potter. I have worked at the place, remember?” said Snape irritably. “And I won’t go on a stretcher. There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

“There is half an hour’s march to reach the gate at Hogwarts and you must not exert your heart...”

Snape and Harry started to argue heatedly again. Mrs Steadfast tried to intervene on Harry’s side. Jointly they made Snape sit on the edge of the stretcher but he refused to lie down. Snape scolded increasingly at Harry. Mrs Steadfast sighed.

“Severus... Severus! Look at me!” she said.

Reluctantly Snape looked away from Harry and glanced at Mrs Steadfast. She met his eyes and made a quick movement with her left hand in front of his face and Snape closed his eyes and went limp. Mrs Steadfast was prepared and caught him gently around the neck and lowered him on the stretcher at the same time as her wand lifted his legs up on the other end of the stretcher. Harry stared dumbfounded at her.

“What did you do to him? Did you make him go to sleep? How did you do that?” Mrs Steadfast smiled cunningly at him at the same time as she put Snape’s arms neatly along his sides.

“Oh, I know some stuff, too...  Join me at the Auror program and I’ll teach you. But I’d never have managed to pull that sleeping spell through on him had he retained his usual mental strength. It just shows how wrought out he is, poor thing.”

Harry squinted at her, incredulous. To him Snape was everything but “a poor thing” but he guessed that Mrs Steadfast had some other perspective which he found hard to enter into. He watched Simmings lead Snape away on the stretcher and he went to look for Ron to make company back to the castle.

That same evening the Three Broomsticks was filled with students to the limit of its capacity.

Because of Snape’s and Harry’s disappearance the previous evening, the parties at the different houses, intended to celebrate the summer holidays and the departure from Hogwarts had been cancelled. Instead, Ron and Hermione told Harry, the dinner party that Professor McGonagall had prepared transformed into a vigil. Once it became clear that they were missing, the mounting concern had risen to alarm and Mrs Steadfast had been called for. Students had been allowed to stay in the Great Hall all evening. Mrs Steadfast ran back and fro, interrogating people and looking grim. They all waited anxiously for news and became more and more destitute as the night came.

“They actually cleared away the tables and allowed us to conjure up mattresses to camp in the Great Hall. We had the doors to the Entrance Hall open to be alerted at once in case you would suddenly come back. Mrs Steadfast’s Aurors were out searching for you despite the darkness of the night, but they must have gone in completely the wrong direction - I wonder why? I told them you had seen Malfoy go into the northern part of the forest,” said Ron. “I felt so guilty for having let you go on your own. I begged Mrs Steadfast to be part of the search team, but she wouldn’t let me.”

The Hogwarts express had left in the afternoon during the thick of the battle in the Forbidden Forest. The train had taken the younger pupils away from Hogwarts to their parents and their summer holidays. The older students had stayed behind and agreed to meet at the Three Broomsticks in the evening. They wanted to celebrate their graduating from Hogwarts in due form.

When Harry came back to Hogwarts, he found his dormitory cleared out and his things packed. He had missed his last night at Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione took him up to the Hospital wing to Mme Pomfrey who attended to Harry’s injuries. Hermione had not taken part in the fight but stayed by Professor McGonagall’s side to sort things out at Hogwarts.

“We didn’t know when your Patronuses arrived, one for Ron and one for Professor McGonagall, that you had not been forced to send them,” she explained to Harry. ”We thought it might be a trap. Mrs Steadfast was away so we couldn’t consult her. Therefore we decided to see the pupils off on the train as planned. It was a bit like last year, actually, like an evacuation, and there was apprehension in the air. One did not know what to expect. If we were going to be attacked or... Professor McGonagall was so worried, so affected. I thought she was going to be ill... For the first time, I thought she looked old and frail, you know. She really needed my help to sort things out.”

Harry was exhausted when he arrived at the Hospital wing and spent his last forces fending off Ginny’s mixture of preoccupied concerns and angry accusations. She had difficulties forgiving him for exposing himself to all the danger. In the middle of her scolding, Professor McGonagall came in, eyes brimming with tears. She hugged Harry like a lost son and started to speak to him lengthily and nostalgically about all the times she had worried about him during his years at Hogwarts, concluding with a tight voice that she would miss him so much next year and may all the happiness in the world be with him. With all these attentions, Harry forgot to eat before he lay down on an anonymous bed behind a piece of drapery and went to sleep. He had the time to reflect on the irony of his last hours as an inhabitant at Hogwarts being spent in the Hospital Wing.

Later in the evening he woke up, restored and fit. It was dark outside and he had missed dinner. He and his friends walked over to Hogsmeade and joined the others at the pub. Harry was received by loud cheers. In want of food, waiting for Mme Rosmerta to bring him some fish and chips, Harry emptied his glass of Butterbeer in big gulps. It might have been spiked with Firewhiskey, and it is probable that the light headedness that followed made Harry more persuadable when the assembled crowd craved an account of the adventure that the last twenty-four hours had offered. Someone, perhaps Ron or Seamus Finnigan, gave him another Butterbeer and placed him standing upon a chair. Harry grinned self-consciously at his scanning and clapping fellow-students but launched ahead and put his heart and soul into reliving and recounting the terrifying events of the last day. He dramatised with a personal will and had the presence of mind to make short-cuts when necessary.

Harry was so wrapped up in his story that he did not notice that several gazes were directed at the door behind him through which new guests stepped inside. One of them advanced and put a finger to her lips in sign for the students not to interrupt Harry’s tale. The audience listened attentively, especially when Harry described the scene at the cave and Snape’s attempts to make himself reaccepted as a Death Eater. Harry left out some of the nastier lines of Snape, though. When he described, with great feeling, the scene where Healer Frankiss was brought forward and Snape positioned himself to kill the old and wounded wizard, the crowd held their breaths collectively.

“So do you think he did it?” Harry asked his fellow students, his eyes wide from the horror the recent memory aroused in him. “It was the only thing left. It was nothing to them - only an execution to be carried out. Healer Frankiss was condemned anyhow. Snape had convinced them thanks to his Occlumency. I don’t know how he did it. I believe he let himself be read by Legilimency by Mr Burgess and exposed selected memories that agreed with the lies he told them. If Snape killed Mr Frankiss they were going to give him his wand back and accept him. He could have become a spy again...”

Harry made a pause for effect.

“...But he didn’t!” he continued triumphantly. “Snape returned Mr Burgess’ wand and revealed himself.”

 The crowd let out a collective sigh, clapped their hands and Harry went on. He skipped the part with the book of Voldemort, passed quickly over the Crucio session he had been subjected to and did not elaborate in detail on how he managed to get hold of his wand, but passed on to the amazing part where Snape and he launched out and fell down the precipice.

“I was pushed over the edge by Draco Malfoy.”

A shocked buzz travelled through the crowd.

“I would not have made it if Snape had not gone after me and picked me up in a Spiral Move that made us land quite safely. We landed on quagmire, however, and guess what lived under the murky waters of that swamp?”

Harry held his audience in suspense for another fifteen minutes as he vividly described their fight with the giant swamp squid, their walk through the Forbidden Forest and the battle against the Shiftings and the Death Eaters in the clearing. He finished with relating how Snape ingeniously saved his life by doing a Levicorpus on him, taking the Avada Kedavra Curse in his own chest in Harry’s place, but he omitted to say that he had saved Snape right beforehand in the same manner.

“So Sirius fell... I mean Snape fell...“

Ginny and Hermione exchanged a significant glance at Harry’s lapse. In fifth year Harry had watched his godfather, Sirius Black, fall through the veil of death and disappear for good at the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. It had been one of the most traumatising events of his adolescence.

“I thought he was dead and I... He wasn’t, but the Avada had gone through part of his heart, so Snape’s at St Mungo’s now, but he’ll be okay.” Harry’s voice wavered the least little bit.

The secret spectators behind Harry could not see the expressions on his face, but the horror and the relief of the event was mirrored and multiplied in the fifty or so young faces in front of Harry. It was impressive to watch. In the end, the assembled students were gaping in awe when their eyes were drawn to one of the secret guests behind Harry’s back who first bowed his head in embarrassment, then looked up, shook his head and lifted his eyebrows as he grimaced disbelievingly.

“Wait, Harry, what you’re saying here is that you mean Professor Snape is some kind of a hero?” Dean Thomas collected himself and spoke with an ironical glint in his eye.

“No... No, that’s not what I mean, exactly,” said Harry with a frown. “Although he did save my life, you know.”

“A powerful wizard!”

“A great man, saving your life at least three times, Harry...” Others caught on the taunts.

“Amazing skills, fantastic powers Professor Snape’s are!”

“A true hero, in short!”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. That’s not what I said. Come on, don’t be bantering, it’s a good story no? And my point with Snape is that he could have chosen to kill Healer Frankiss. He could have reasoned that it was the one opportunity to have his wand back and that it would have enabled him to save himself later - and me for that matter. Now, in the end, Healer Frankiss did get away from the Shiftings and the Death Eaters - Mr Sachs told me. He hid in the cave and Mr Sachs who returned with his colleague Aurors found him only a few hours ago. He too is at St Mungo’s Hospital right now.” Harry nodded over at a table where Mr Sachs, Soundy and five or six of the more experienced Aurors sat, enjoying Harry’s story.

“So he survived thanks to Snape’s decision,” continued Harry. ”But it was not the obvious choice to make from Snape’s perspective, don’t you see, when he was so close to convince them? He could have chosen to sacrifice Frankiss for the perspective of gaining more in the other end, if you understand what I mean? Doing one evil thing to be able to do many good things later. But it’s never worth it... never! That’s my point of view, anyway, and I’m just glad that Snape realised that in the end.”

“A moral hero, no less, is that what you’re implying, Potter?”

“No, stop using that word, Dean. Snape would abhor it and he would think I’ve set you up to taunt him or something and he’ll get mad at me as usual... What are you laughing at? A hero, that’s Muggle vocabulary. You know I have nothing against Muggles, but the words are sometimes not exactly to the point when describing the conditions in the magical world. And that word lacks subtlety. It’s not a relevant epithet to Snape. I’m sure the professor would say so himself if he was here,” said Harry.

The crowd roared with laughter.

“Come on,” pleaded Harry. “Be serious! The point I’m making here... The point, I say... It’s important, listen to me... You’re not being serious!”

“And you’re just drunk, Potter, speaking a lot of nonsense!”A Slytherin boy spoke dismissively from a corner of the room. But Harry continued stubbornly, gesticulating wildly with his hands and punctuating the words as he spoke.

“The point is that Snape abstained from an act that would’ve benefited him both in the immediate and in the long perspective. There really was much at stake. The Auror Office wanted a spy among the Shiftings. It might have been really helpful, and saved even more lives. From a Slytherin point of view doing what he did might even seem irrational. From my point of view it was exceedingly brave of Snape to act this way, all the more so since he has been so used to playing that role. The double spy role, I mean. Mixing good and bad, calculating and compromising... It’s always easier to do what you’re used to do, much more difficult to start thinking differently. But he did, somehow... because he found that it was not worth it to kill another human being... And that, my friends, makes Snape...”

“A hero...” Ginny teased him now. Harry frowned at her.

“That makes him... don’t you see? That makes him... Gryffindor! Yeah, that’s the word I’m looking for. Snape’s Gryffindor, that’s it... You may laugh as much as you want, but it’s exactly what I mean...”

Harry halted at the convulsion of laughter that seized his audience.

“Oh, well, I realise he’s not Gryffindor Gryffindor but he’s kind of Slytherinish Gryffindor, if you see what I mean...” Harry waved wildly at the crowd in a desperate attempt to persuade them.

The audience was seething with excitement. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were convulsed and shot Harry alternating amused and pitying looks. Luna who sat by Josepha looked at Harry with tears in her eyes and said in a muffled tone, ready to burst into laughter any moment:

“Harry, do you know that Professor Snape has more than four hundred publications in magical Journals on his record?”

Harry lifted his eyebrows impressed. “More than four hundred?”

“Yes,” replied Luna, “so, I’m sorry, Harry, but I believe you’re wrong. Being that intelligent and productive and with the wit Professor Snape possesses he’s clearly Ravenclaw, you know, not Gryffindor. He’s absolutely Ravenclaw.” Her merriment knew no boundaries. The hilarity in the room doubled. Harry looked bewildered at them. David Burbage turned to Luna.

“I believe you’re wrong, Miss Lovegood,” he said tauntingly. “Did you see Professor Snape dance at the School Ball? A swift dancer like him can only be a Hufflepuff. Not a Hufflepuff Hufflepuff surely, but kind of Slytherinish Hufflepuff. That’s my opinion, anyhow.”

Renewed laughter and Harry just stared at them, his arms slack at his sides. Something was amiss. What was the matter with them? Then he heard the rippling laugh of Mrs Steadfast behind him and swirled around.

Harry almost lost his balance on his chair as he met her brown eyes sparkling with amusement. At her side was Kingsley Shacklebolt looking more composed, but entertained, and right behind them an impassive, but slightly coloured face curtained by black hair. Harry reddened up to the hair roots, covered his face with his hands and sank down in a crouched position, still upon his chair. His embarrassment was so deeply felt that several persons let out pitying sounds. The taunting laughs predominated though, and Harry flung himself down on a chair beside Ron and hid his face against Ron’s shoulder.

The next moment he pretended to strangle Ron.

“You’re supposed to be my friend. Why didn’t you say anything?” More laughter. Ron looked confused.

“Mrs Steadfast gestured for us not to betray them. She might be my boss next year, Harry. So you see I couldn’t...” he tried to explain.

Harry raged at him.

“Ron, you’re just too yielding towards those ladies. Your mother, Hermione, Mrs Schufflert and now Mrs Steadfast. I thought you were supposed to have learnt to think for yourself?” hissed Harry. Now Ron looked affronted for real but the situation was saved by Mrs Steadfast stepping forward and pecking Harry on the cheek as she bent down and put an arm around him.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” she whispered to him. “I, more than anyone, do get your point about Professor Snape, you cannot imagine...”

Kingsley raised a hand, and the laughter died away. Mrs Steadfast stood up. Everyone wanted to know what the Minister had to say.

“I apologise for not making ourselves known and for embarrassing you, Harry. I’m persuaded, though, that Professor Snape realises that, coming from you, being Gryffindor is about the most flattering compliment you could ever give him.”

Harry blushed again.

“Moreover, I believe that you others who spoke from the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff houses might not have been so wrong, joke set apart, in you descriptions of Professor Snape’s qualities fitting your own houses. I believe that what characterises a good headmaster at Hogwarts, where the tradition of dividing pupils into the four categories is so deeply rooted, is that he or she houses in his or her own person all those qualities at the same time. Now, that’s something that comes with age and experience. It takes a complex and mature personality to rule Hogwarts in a way that reconciles all the differences and paradoxes that exist in the magical world. Your headmaster is young, maybe not in your eyes, but in mine he is. This has been a difficult year for Professor Snape, with the perspective of the trial hanging over him. I have believed in him from the start and I’m happy that his innocence has been pronounced at last. I believe he is the versatile and talented personality I was talking about, fit for taking on the challenge of managing and developing Hogwarts. I have the pleasure to announce to you that I’ve contracted Professor Snape on the post of headmaster for the next ten years. After that I hope to contract him for another ten years and after that my young friends, after the age of sixty, the contract is a life-long one. Dumbledore was headmaster at Hogwarts for over forty years. Let us remember him and let us toast to Professor Snape and wish him a likewise illustrious and long career!” Kingsley lifted the glass of Firewhiskey that Mme Rosmerta had provided him and Snape with.

Enthusiastic cheers and applause broke out after Kingsley’s speech, which increased in volume when Snape took a step forward. Harry peaked at him under his fringe. Snape looked okay, a bit tired but not ill or unhealthy. He moved his left arm with ease. The room went silent as it appeared he was about to say something. He looked awkward.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said and made a pause. “To be frank with you, I’m not used to such lavishing praise as the Minister so kindly just bestowed me with, nor am I used to find myself the principal part of such a glossed over tale that Mr Potter just told you, deviating on more than one point from the truth, I must add... I’m not good at this but I would nonetheless like to take the opportunity to thank these two persons, Mr Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mr Harry Potter...” Snape gestured at them both but he and Harry avoided looking each other in the eyes. The room was silent. “Without really understanding why they have done what they have done, I want to thank them for their faith in me.” He bowed slightly in their directions to rapturous applause from the students.

“Equally important, however,” Snape continued briskly, “I want to congratulate you all for graduating from Hogwarts. It has been an interesting year in many aspects. You have worked well. The results from the NEWT exams will take some time to arrive, but preliminary impressions from both teachers and examiners I have spoken to are generally favourable. It seems to us that you are an unusually talented and sympathetic batch of students. I hope that you’ll go out in life to find occupations and challenges that suit each one of you and I hope that whatever you choose to do, wherever in the world you choose to live, you’ll honour the spirit of Hogwarts and remember it as a good place to have lived and learned at.”

The applause was if possible even louder than before with whistles and acclaims.

Eventually everyone settled down and the buzz in the room became more checked. Kingsley who had been an Auror before becoming Minister of Magic joined his former colleagues at Soundy’s table and seemed to have laid politics aside for a while.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to join you at St Mungo’s, Severus. There was so much to do, I couldn’t leave the office until late and then the Minister had already laid his hands on you,” Mrs Steadfast said to Snape. They were sitting at a table aside. “How are you?” Snape stared down into his glass of Firewhiskey.

“I’m fine, just fine, Audrey. Finished all my treatments for tonight. I have an appointment with Healer Solomon for a last check of my heart tomorrow at noon,” answered Snape.

“No permanent sequelae then?” she asked him cautiously. Snape sighed.

“Quite substantial damage according to Solomon but the early intervention made by Harry probably saved me and the pumping capacity will be completely restored...” Snape went silent and shook his head.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Mrs Steadfast, “but Harry doesn’t see it like you owe him. You heard him. He emphasises the things you’ve done to save him more than anything else. Whether you like it or not, that boy has developed some kind of attachment to you, Severus.” Snape pulled a face and made a gesture to dismiss her words.

“Harry’s narrative of what happened in that cave was a largely edited account of the truth. I’m not particularly proud of myself,” he said.

“Will you tell me in more detail, then, please, what really happened?”

Snape did and when he finished, Mrs Steadfast looked grim.

“Voldemort did have a son, then. Are you sure?”

“Well, that note attached to the book seemed to imply as much and Harry seemed convinced of the fact after having listened to Voldemort’s echo. We’ll need to check with him, however. Harry’s the only one who knows what Voldemort actually said. He gave an account of it to Mr Burgess, as I told you. I think he spoke the truth but he still might have omitted things and he shut the book up before it had come to an end,” said Snape.

“It was wise of Harry to censure this part when he told his story earlier and not to blazon the news of Voldemort having a son on everyone. Are you up to speaking to Harry without starting a quarrel, Severus? You’ve had a rest from him for a couple of hours now,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“As to having a rest from Potter...” snorted Snape. “Good that you brought it up, because I was going to warn you of that Auror of yours who accompanied me to St Mungos’s - Simmings. He looks harmless enough but he might be just as dangerous as Burgess. He seems frankly obsessed with Potter. What a chatterbox! And it was all about the splendid qualities of Harry, about his bravery and his skills and general pleasantness. There was no end to the praise. Now, an admiration like that might just as well turn into the opposite and...” Mrs Steadfast was laughing.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry about that,” she said. “He didn’t let you breathe, did he? No, Severus, I don’t think we need to worry that Simmings should present a threat to Harry. He simply has a crush on him. He’s got a reputation of falling head over heels in love with the most impossible objects. We tease him about it at the office. He’s sustained this one for longer than usual, though. Of course, he doesn’t stand a chance against that lovely lady Harry has got hold of...”

They cast a glance over at the table where Harry sat with Ginny’s ginger head close to his and her arm around his neck picking chips teasingly from his plate as he shovelled the food he had finally been served into his mouth.

“Oh, I see...” said Snape, slightly disconcerted. “It makes sense I guess. Poor man, he doesn’t stand a chance. One thing less to worry about, however.”

“You don’t worry about love, then, Severus?” Mrs Steadfast asked teasingly. Snape blushed.

“Oh, it might have its complications,” he muttered, “but generally speaking I believe it brings more good than anything else.”

“You’re a romantic, Severus Snape, I could’ve told as much! Why, when you thought that Harry and Ginny had eloped to Paris, I could hardly believe my ears. It was so sweet!” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast.

Snape looked up and studied the ceiling for a while as he tried to keep his impassive countenance. Finally he pulled a wry face and looked at Mrs Steadfast.

“You’ll keep that one for yourself, will you?” he asked more pleadingly than threateningly. Mrs Steadfast looked at him without batting an eyelid.

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” she said at last and leaned towards him, smiling. “You should just know how good I am.”

Mrs Steadfast caught the attention of Hermione who told Harry that they wanted him to come over to their table. He had finished his meal and felt great. It was with a slight hesitation that he rose to join Snape and Mrs Steadfast. He would not have objected to be allowed to forget everything serious for a while and - to quote Ginny - just have the time of his life with his friends. He understood that there were things to sort out, though. He pulled a third chair over to the table and settled down as Mrs Steadfast covered them with a Muffliato spell.

“You okay?” Harry asked right off with a glance at Snape, challenging his own embarrassment and defying Snape’s reserve. Snape answered him politely, possibly with a streak of irony in his voice.

“Yes, thank you for asking. Healer Solomon sends his compliments. He was pleased with your work, couldn’t have done it better himself, that’s what he said to me.”

Harry nodded, satisfied. A silence ensued. Harry cleared his throat.

“How come it took you so long to find us, Mrs Steadfast?” he said. She looked at him affronted.

“It took us long, you say? Well, we didn’t have much to go on, did we? It’s not as if you tried to communicate with me or anything.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Ron indicated that Malfoy and his company disappeared towards the north. I had a squad looking that way but not as far off as the mountains. I was hoodwinked... I’ve learnt after the battle that Mr Burgess had managed to put the Imperius curse on both Professor Sawman and, believe it or not, Professor Flitwick.”

Snape lifted his eyebrows.

“At the time, they struck me as trustworthy witnesses and they said they had seen Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy walk to the other side of the lake, to the south with their wands drawn. I didn’t know what to think, but my search of the Forbidden Forest was directed to the southern part. And I had no idea if you had reached the NAZ somewhere and disappeared. In fact you could have been anywhere in the country. I alerted all my watch-outs. Oh, what a horrible night it was!” Mrs Steadfast shuddered. “Why, by Jupiter, did you not contact me earlier?”

Snape and Harry looked at each other.

“Well,” said Harry, “I was afraid to uncover myself or to lose track of them if I let them move ahead of me. And I wasn’t sure about Professor Snape’s intentions. I followed and watched.”

“I had to surrender my wand at an early stage, unfortunately,” said Snape. “I counted on having it back when I had convinced them of my wanting to join them. They had Healer Frankiss and I knew I had to have a try at rescuing him. Moreover, matters between me and Lucius had not been closed. I wasn’t altogether clear over my own intentions, I may add. I had not had time to think the new situation after the trial over.”

Mrs Steadfast looked thoughtfully at him.

“Lucius Malfoy has been sent to Azkaban,” she said. “I didn’t even bother to interrogate him. I’ll go down one of these days and speak to him in his cell, but I doubt I’ll get more out of him. I’ve higher hopes to get something out of our younger prisoners. By Mars, I hope that we’ve caught the secret keeper of that last Pleasure Temple this time.”

“What about Bellamy Burgess? Have you interrogated him?” asked Snape.

“Didn’t you notice? He got away! The witch they called “H”...”

“H for Henna,” interposed Harry and Mrs Steadfast lifted her eyebrows at him.

“H came back and freed him. Very daring and quick that little witch is. What do you know about her, Harry?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply.

”Wait, what a nuisance, Kingsley waves me over. Can’t he see we’re in the middle of an interrogation here? I have to walk over and hear what he wants. Can’t ignore the Minister of Magic, even if he probably only is interested in how many feet of misty ropes we have used up this evening. Stay, Harry, I’ll be right back.” She darted off. Snape snorted.

 “I’d like to hear her definition of the difference between an interrogation and a conversation,” he said disapprovingly. There was an awkward silence between Snape and Harry.

“So, did I manage to make you start doubting me up in the cave?” Snape finally said a bit aggressively.

Harry looked at him defiantly and shook his head.

“When I said you had made a mistake to show me the recipe of the Veritaserum beforehand and that I had concocted an antidote?” tried Snape. Harry smiled slightly.

“That was a mistake, undoubtedly. I’m happy no one form the Wizengamot thought of that, but then they didn’t mean to take that draught into consideration anyhow, did they? I was aware, however, that there is no known antidote to the Rwandan liana flower and having some experience of Potion invention myself by now, I was pretty sure not even you could have come up with anything, certainly not in the time lapse of a couple of hours like you said you had.” Snape nodded and smiled slightly as a sign of defeat. His face became serious.

“Did you really think I was going to kill Healer Frankiss?” he asked.

Harry did not answer. A glint of anguish shone out of his eyes.

“How on Earth could you vouch for me being a good man when you believe me capable of murder?” Snape pressed on hoarsely.

“I already knew you’re capable of murder,” said Harry, meeting his eyes. “I just don’t know you well enough to figure out under exactly what circumstances and for just what motives you’d do it. But I didn’t really think... It was just an awful situation...” Harry’s voice trailed off and he averted his eyes.

Snape looked incensed at him.

“Me too, I’m capable of murder,” said Harry and his voice was so brittle that Snape’s countenance relaxed again.

“Under the most extreme circumstances...” Snape acknowledged softly. 

Harry exhaled slowly.

“I’m glad we got Healer Frankiss out of there,” continued Snape in a murmur. “He was abducted only because of me and my trial. It was close on a number of occasions today that he be executed – and you too.” Snape’s mouth contorted and he looked down on the table. “Why, Burgess, or that character “M” that he was trying to impersonate was so unpredictable, so terribly unbalanced that he almost outdid Voldemort without possessing a fraction of his magical skills,” he continued.

“They’re all siblings, did you know?” said Harry.

Snape looked inquiringly at him.

“Machivato and Bellamy Burgess were brothers and bore the surname of their mother whereas “H”, or Henna, is their half sister on the father’s side.”

Snape looked interested.

“She introduced herself to me when we duelled - Henna Hatch. Do you know a Mr Hatch, Professor? Because she said...” Harry stopped himself abruptly when he saw the reaction the mention of the name produced.

Snape was unable to disguise a flinch and an expression of incredulity and fear mixed with - was it disgust? He seemed almost panic-stricken. Snape quickly bent forward to take a large gulp of Firewhiskey with the result that his face was hidden by his black hair.

Harry leant forward with an interrogating and sympathising gesture. Then, before the very eyes of Harry, the transformation took place and it scared Harry more than anything to see it happen. The muscles in Snape’s face were forced to relax and all expression vanished from the face. Wrinkles in the skin were wiped out and the skin assumed a sallow, lifeless appearance at the same time as a veil passed before his dark eyes that now looked coldly at Harry.

“No, I don’t know any Mr Hatch,” Snape said in an automatic voice, slightly too loud.

Harry started back violently from him.

At this very moment, Mrs Steadfast came back to them. When she saw their countenances she stopped dead in front of them and started to scold them.

“I can’t leave you for two minutes and you manage to put each others in a state of... I know not what... What have you done or said to one another? What is it now? You tell me right off!”

Harry felt the reticence emanating from the Occluding Snape as waves of magma flowing towards him. With a racing heart, because he understood it was essential to do so, he fought against the forbidding signals. The loathing he used to feel for his former teacher before Snape revealed himself last summer surged up in him with a force that surprised him. He positively hated those dead eyes of Snape’s. He did not find it difficult at all in the end to defy his Occluding teacher. He riveted his eyes challengingly on Snape as he told Mrs Steadfast in exact words what Henna Hatch had said to him during their duel.

“Let me get this clear,” said Mrs Steadfast. “Save the fact that you defeated their Dark Lord which they resent and want vengeance for, they also have personal incentives for going after you. Mr Hatch has a grudge against Professor Snape and Henna Hatch feels deeply for the fact that you killed her brother. Moreover they think that you work jointly as a kind of trained team. This is not good. Who is this Mr Hatch, Severus?”

Snape had had time to reconsider his position and answered Mrs Steadfast with more subtlety than what he had done to Harry.

“I’m not sure I know of any Mr Hatch,” he said slowly. “There was a boy two years ahead of me at Hogwarts, in Slytherin, with that name, though. I don’t remember much about him – why, it’s nearly thirty years ago - that’s why I didn’t recall him when you first said that name, Potter. He didn’t graduate with us. I think his family moved away and that he changed schools after only two or three years at Hogwarts. You must check the annuals, I don’t remember. It’s far from certain it’s the same Mr Hatch we’re talking about here, but it’s the only one I can think of. At any rate, I’m not aware of being at enmity with any person by that name.” He took a new sip of his Firewhiskey. Harry stared at him. Snape sounded calm and convincing and Mrs Steadfast only muttered, slightly disconcerted:

“At least we have a name to go on. You two had better watch out wherever you go.” Harry looked suspiciously at Snape and opened his mouth to protest but Snape advanced him.

“I’ll watch my back for hatchets, then,” he said briskly. “But there are other important things to discuss. What do you think we should do with this?” Snape pulled out something from inside his coat and showed them discreetly Voldemort’s black notebook before he hid it again in his cloth. Harry drew his breath.

“You got hold of it. That’s great! How did you do it?” he exclaimed, forgetting his suspicious approach to Snape.

“I managed a wandless summon while Burgess tortured you,” Snape answered readily. “No one noticed. They were all looking at you. Once I had got hold of it, I attempted to attack Burgess, to give you a break from the Crucio. They’re going to search for it desperately.” He looked smug.

“That’s some presence of mind,” muttered Mrs Steadfast. “And an important victory. But you must tell us, Harry, what does it contain precisely and what should we do with it?”

“You should take it, Mrs Steadfast and hide it as far away and as securely as possible. I, for one, must not know where it’s hidden, because I speak the language. But it must not be given to Voldemort’s son or to any other wizard who is a Parselmouth. It’s really dangerous. Professor Snape must not know where you hide it either, because they’re liable to go after him and try to torture its whereabouts out of him. They’re convinced that they must give it to the son of Voldemort and that it’ll help him make his father come back, but it won’t. It will only kill the son, there’s a curse in that book that hits “he who speaks the language and is of the same blood” to quote Voldemort. But...”

Harry leant forward and whispered to them, despite the Muffliato spell protecting them.

“It contains instructions how to resuscitate a dead person from a horcrux. I started to listen and it was horrible... Just as much evilness and Dark Magic that is required to create a horcrux, seems to be needed to release the piece of soul it contains. Dreadful things... I could not even listen to the end. It must under no circumstances be spread. Even if Voldemort cannot come back, because all his horcruxes are destroyed, someone might be tempted to use it out of greed for his own purposes. It must be safely hidden.”

Harry was eventually released from Mrs Steadfast’s interrogation and joined his friends again. They were sitting at a large table with Luna, Josepha, Neville, David Burbage, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and their girlfriends and a couple of other students. At the farther end of the table more Aurors had joined them, Simmings and Miss Swan among others. For the moment Harry heard them discuss whether Draco Malfoy had been under the Imperius curse, or not.

“He always hated Harry, but all the same, Harry saved his life last year as we brought him out of the flames of Fiendfyre that his friend Crabbe had cursed us with. And Harry testified in favour of his mother,” said Hermione incredulous.

“I don’t believe he was under the Imperius curse,” said Harry. “But Miss Cork was, Burgess said so himself, although I believe he had other holds on her, or that she might simply be in love with him or something.”

“There was something weird going on between the three of them,” said Simmings and turned to Mr Sachs. “Don’t you think so? Burgess and Miss Cork worked on Malfoy the whole year. I think they intended to recruit him all along.”

“I agree, but I could never work it out,” answered Mr Sachs.

“I have an idea,” said Ron suddenly and they all turned to him. “It always struck me as strange that Malfoy should obey the slightest wish of Miss Cork, which is what he did, if you remember. She only had to open her mouth and he did whatever she said.”

“Are you saying that Miss Cork in her turn had him under the Imperius curse?” said Ginny.

“No,” said Ron, “but listen to this: I think she gave him some kind of love potion that made him obey her voice. She had a very special voice, a deep sensual one if you recall, that did not altogether match her plain looks. I think that she gave Malfoy a draught that enforced that effect and kind of made him in love with her.”

“Of course,” said Ginny. “I found it so funny, really, that Draco Malfoy who has always been terribly condescending towards plain and poor people should fall for a girl like Miss Melanie Cork. I saw him try to kiss her once in the dungeons but she steered away from him. I felt rather sorry for him.”

“I think Ron is right,” intervened Harry. “At one occasion Draco Malfoy made a Mind Modifier on Burgess that made him drink from Malfoy’s glass of pumpkin juice at breakfast. I noticed that Burgess got disproportionately angry at him and after that we were forbidden to do Mind Modifyers at school. That juice must have contained the potion.” The idea of Draco Malfoy having been under a Love Potion all year caused some merriment.

At Harry’s table a pleasant spirited languor installed itself. The Aurors were telling stories that the students listened to eagerly. Jokes flew over the table as the Aurors included the students in their comradeship. Ron and Dean who were both given praise for their intervention at the battle were nearly treated as members of the team. Mrs Steadfast was still seated at the table aside with Snape but her Aurors called out to her now and then and she replied in her usual quick and bantering manner.

Kingsley said thank you and good bye under cheers and acclamations and patted Harry’s shoulder appreciatively before he exited the pub. The older Aurors joined their younger colleagues at Harry’s table. Soundy drew up a chair and sat down at Harry’s side. Harry had not spoken so much to him before. Soundy was one of the toughest and most experienced Aurors, Mrs Steadfast’s right hand, and he was not usually talkative.

“It’s as good as settled that Mr Weasley and Mr Thomas join us after the summer at the office and go into training. You’re not coming with them, Mr Potter?” said Soundy. Harry looked back at him tentatively.

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll see if I manage to enter St Mungo’s first. That’s my priority,” he answered.

“We’re keen to have you with us, you know, especially since what we saw this afternoon of your fighting capacities. Mrs Steadfast has been convinced for a long time whereas I... I admit to being suspicious of your fame... However, I wanted to tell you that I’m certain now that you would fit in and be an asset to the team, very much so.”

“Thank you, Mr Soundy, it’s kind of you to say so. It’ll be a difficult choice for me, no doubt. I think you’re a great team and that you’re doing a great job.”

“Things might be arranged so that you can have some medical training on our program as well. We could make a deal with St Mungo’s...”

Harry shook his head.

“I don’t want any special treatment just because of who I am,” he said shortly. Soundy looked at him with an impassive face.

“Not because of who you are, Mr Potter, but because of what you do. We are eager to have you because of your skills, your exceptional skills.”

Harry felt himself blush.

“The Double Case Knight’s Move is all thanks to Professor Snape...” he said quickly. Soundy frowned.

“You’re being too modest, Mr Potter. Let me tell you this. The reason Professor Snape and you perform that Move with such extraordinary success is that your powers are extremely well balanced between the two of you. Of course he has the greater experience but I doubt he could find a better partner to do the Move with than yourself. It’s not only the strength of your powers that match, but the composition, the balance of magical constituents that is similar. It’s very rare to find a partner like that.”

Harry stared at Soundy.

“I just mean that the merit is not solely on his side, not at all. Moreover, I saw you fight on the ground on your own, so don’t wriggle out of this.”

Harry laughed a little and looked embarrassed.

“Did Mrs Steadfast put you up to recruiting me?” he asked smilingly.

“I happen to agree with her. Give it a thorough thought, Mr Potter.”

“Of course I will,” promised Harry as Soundy rose and joined the gang at the other end of the table.

The students lingered on although it was getting late, and they switched to talking about the summer holidays and what they were going to do. Seamus Finnigan was going to the US with his family to visit relatives. Mrs Steadfast interrogated him with interest where he was heading.

“I’ll have to wait until August before I go,” she sighed. “But I do hope my children will come to visit me in London at the beginning of summer. I haven’t seen them since Christmas - can you imagine! Never do that to your parents, children. We don’t stop loving you just because you grow up, you know. I appreciate your cravings of freedom, but all the same, it’s hard on us...” She was bantering lightly as usual but Harry thought he could detect a hurt tone in her voice. He smiled sympathisingly at her and she returned it. Her eyelids flickered and she turned her head away.

“Now, where should we send your headmaster on a holiday? He’s earned one. Suggestions anyone? He refuses to tell me where he’s going,” Mrs Steadfast launched the question teasingly and answers showered back at her and at Snape who sat with an impassive face, only frowning at the most hair-raising suggestions.

“Where would you like to send him, Harry?” shouted Simmings across the table.

“Why, to Iceland!” Harry answered promptly. The table booed at him.

“That’s not very nice of you, Harry,” Hermione said reprovingly. “You’ve told us yourself tonight that Professor Snape has made proof of exceptional humanity today and you want to send him away to some sterile, cold place up North.” There was a general murmur of disapproval toward Harry.

“But you misunderstand me,” he said indignantly and glanced at Snape. “I believe he wants to go to Iceland. Really - ask him! And I think it’s a truly interesting country. Great magical history, the cradle of Ancient Magic... It’s not only made out of ice and snow, you know... ”

“I’ll be cursed if Potter’s not right on this one as well...” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast as she scrutinised Snape who, however, did not move a muscle in his face. “Of course, Iceland is spouting hot geysers and erupting volcanoes... I’m with you there, Potter, it agrees perfectly with Professor Snape’s personality.” The room laughed and Snape coloured the least little bit.

“Well, Harry and I are going to France,” said Ginny.

“We are?” said Harry with such earnest surprise that the others were convulsed with laughter.

“Did I not tell you? My parents are going to visit Fleur’s family and we’re coming with them. They have a big summer residence by the French Riviera, the wizard town called Le Grand Eclat. There’s sun and party down there.”

Harry pulled a face.

“You’ll love it, my darling,” said Ginny and kissed him.

“As long as I’m with you.” Harry shrugged and smiled at her.

It was getting very late. The NEWT students had agreed to move on to a night club in London and continue their celebration. It had been decided several days ago and Harry had cleared it with Mrs Steadfast who had secured the place, although neither Mrs Steadfast nor anyone else believed that the Shiftings would attempt anything else tonight after their defeat and heavy losses. Harry had made sure that the night club had a balcony where he could go out and hide if he had any flash-backs from Paris.

He steeled himself before the ordeal, but realised that he would not be able to escape from this occasion. Everyone was going. Graduating from school was a once in a lifetime experience and had to be celebrated thoroughly, regardless of the circumstances. Some had already left and Ginny was starting to get impatient for them to move on, whereas Harry still lingered, listening to the Aurors and chit-chatting with Luna and Josepha who would not join them, but go straight back to Josepha’s flat in London. Now that she had finished school, Luna was moving in with her girlfriend.

Harry rose reluctantly and prepared to leave when Mrs Steadfast tugged at his arm and started to whisper in his ear.

“You’ve got to help me, Harry. I think I’ve done something stupid.” The head of the Aurors looked flushed and a little repentant.

Harry inclined his head politely towards her and lifted his eyebrows.

“Er... It’s Severus...”

Harry looked over at Snape who had risen and stood quite still with a hand on the table and a deep furrow between his eyebrows.

“I... I only wanted to... er... to help him relax a bit after everything, you know... He went back into Occlumency for a while and I thought that... Well, I did a Refilling charm on his glass of Firewhiskey... only twice... He drinks really slowly and he seemed all right as long as he was seated. Not very talkative, quiet and sombre as usual... but all the same, he seems to have had more than he can stand... He’s a bit unsteady on his legs and he doesn’t seem to dare let go of that table... He must be furious with me. I can’t approach him and at the same time it would be dreadful to have him make a fool of himself because of me...”

Harry looked reprovingly at her.

“Professor Snape’s not accustomed to liquor, Mrs Steadfast. He only uses it for medical purposes and when it’s required socially. His father’s an alcoholic and he’s extremely careful with spirits. Now, that was an unkind thing to do to him,” said Harry.

“How do you know these things about him, Harry?” asked Mrs Steadfast in a faint voice. “When has he told you? You only pick fights with one another and yet you seem to... I don’t know…”

“Oh... He must have mentioned it sometime...” Harry said vaguely. “Okay, I’ll see if I can help you.”

Harry stood still, thinking for a while before he stepped up resolutely to Snape.

“May I have a word, Professor, on the way out?” he said and met Snape’s gaze that was slightly unfocused. Before Snape had time to react or answer, Harry grabbed him under the arm and steered him away from the table. “I wanted to talk to you about my shortcomings,” said Harry in a serious tone of voice.

Snape looked at him confused at the same time as he clutched Harry’s arm to steady himself. He said nothing. Harry rattled on as he summoned their coats and made way to the entrance door.

“You remember when I wrote to you last summer and used the term ‘nightmare’ incorrectly, don’t you...? And you remember how furious you were that I had never learnt about not to take pity on monsters or demons... And you do remember the Trapping Web, of course... or my ignorance of it, more precisely... and the murderous owl... although that came much later.... after I had gotten this idea... You see I got an idea this Christmas, a really brilliant idea that involves Mrs Weasley... I’m going to tell you all about it... I must only say a few words to my friends.”

They were out in the fresh summer night air. Harry turned to Ginny who stood waiting for him, fuming with impatience.

“You go ahead, Ginny, with Ron and Hermione and the others. I need to speak to Professor Snape about something. I’ll be right with you. No... not now, please. You ask Mrs Steadfast if it’s about security. She knows I must speak to Professor Snape before I go. I’ll be a minute, I say... See you later.” He waved at his friends who looked suspiciously after him and he waved at Mrs Steadfast who had stepped out right behind them.

“I’ll accompany you on your way back to the castle, Professor, if you’ll allow me to tell you about my project with Mrs Weasley.” Harry had not let go of Professor Snape who was just a little reeling on his legs, but who seemed quite terrified by this fact and therefore held on to Harry’s arm tightly. Harry pretended not to notice and chatted on.

“Mrs Weasley is such a wonderful person, you know. She has brought up five sons and a daughter, with scarce resources, except for her own sound judgement. I mean they’ve never been well off, the Weasley family, and they have done everything themselves. At the same time they’re truly genuine magic folk. They actually have no Muggle influence in their families as long back as you can follow and yet Mr Weasley is so interested in Muggles and Muggle life style and they’re really open and unprejudiced people - the most sympathetic wizard and witch that I’ve ever met, actually. So, I thought there’s no one as capable as Mrs Weasley to tell what’s important when you bring young wizards and witches up, right?”

Snape and Harry moved away from the pub and walked along the main street of Hogsmeade under a starry sky.

“The thing is that I’ve felt embarrassed on a number of occasions because of my ignorance of quite common, everyday things in the wizard world. At the same time, I’ve found it deeply unfair when people like yourself sneer at me and despise me because of these shortcomings. No one taught me those things! And I spoke to Hermione this Christmas and discovered that we have a lot in common, being brought up in Muggle families, although Hermione has been able to compensate better by reading books from an early age. My idea, however, consisted in summing up, in a book, all those everyday things that wizard families teach their children before they start School of Magic. This book should go through all the important points in a systematic way to allow Muggle parents to get an idea of the Magical world and to offer the young witch or wizard brought up in a Muggle family an easily accessible way of learning what their comrades brought up in magical families already know. It would be an attempt to counterbalance the state of inequality that necessarily is the point of departure for pupils at Hogwarts with different backgrounds. I thought that if you could offer the first years a book before they enter Hogwarts, easy to read, in a sympathetic tone and that plays down the oddities of the wizard world at the same time as it conveys life-saving knowledge to Muggle-borns, it would be a really good thing.”

Harry looked at Snape to see if he followed but Snape only stared fixedly at the ground. Harry didn’t let it bother him and continued.

“And now Mrs Weasley has written such a book. She’s been engrossed by the task since Christmas and she told me this Easter that it has helped her move on in her sorrow after Fred, too. It helped her to have something to plunge into heart and soul. I’m afraid the book is far too long, though. She has written thousands and thousands of inches of scrolls...She’s wasteful with her words, she doesn’t condense at all. Worse than me. But then this is not an article in a Journal...  I’ve read some chapters and she has an entertaining, although respectful and matter-of-fact style, if you understand what I mean - just the right tone of address, in short. She has shown the book to an editor and they approve of the idea. They’ll help her to shorten the text a bit. They want her to find someone to proofread the book and do cross-references, and I’m afraid I suggested they ask you, Sir. They were delighted, because it would mean a lot, of course, for the publishing of the book, if the Headmaster of Hogwarts was to recommend it on the Set books list.” Harry drew his breath. “What do you think about that, Sir?”

“I think that you’re babbling, Potter,” Snape said slightly indistinctly yet not thickly. The fresh air had made him sharper and he looked at Harry with a frown. “Mrs Weasley has written a book about raising children and you want me to review it, I’ve got it,” he said grumpily and disengaged himself from Harry. “I can walk on my own, thank you very much... That damned cheeky, wild woman... having me lie down on stretchers... giving me too much to drink on the quiet... But I’m all right now.” Snape took long resilient steps to prove his point.

“Yeah...” said Harry, “You’ll be okay. You might even make it through Mme Sprout’s Planta Sensitiva - if you’re lucky.”

Snape stopped dead with a bewildered expression on his face and started to swear to himself and search his pockets.

“By all Goblin swords, do you have any elderberries on you, Potter?”

Harry started to laugh and Snape looked at him affronted.

“What’s so funny?” he spat.

“You forget, Sir, that you’re the headmaster. Why, you can just stun the blasted plant and step through! I don’t think Filch would dare object to you, would he? Moreover, there are no pupils left at Hogwarts. The term has ended. There’s no one to set a good example to. Strictly speaking, I guess you’re on a holiday and free to do whatever pleases you. You don’t need those elderberries, Sir.”

Snape started to laugh softly and the laughter increased to hilarity. As he started to walk again he made a false step and Harry caught his arm amicably. Snape did not disengage himself. The laughter abated and they walked on arm in arm.

“When I come to think of it,” said Snape after a while, “I think that the Avada Kedavra today did me good.”

Harry chuckled and looked at him surprised.

“No, seriously.” Snape continued, ”I’ve never been less pained by my left shoulder than tonight. I’ve had problems with that shoulder ever since I was fifteen and that flesh-eating demon in the western tower bit me. After Nagini’s bites, it has been really sore all the time but now... gone!” Snape made a vivid gesture with his free right arm. “An Avada is what I needed to treat that poisoned piece of meat.”

“It’s your arm we’re talking about, Sir,” Harry said a little reprovingly.

“My shoulder, yes... You hung me upside down by my heel, Potter. Saved my life in the process, too...”

“Well, you returned the compliment, Sir, and took a killing curse in your chest into the bargain. Does that make us even, or what?”

“I don’t know, Harry. We saved each other’s lives so many times today, it’s too complicated. I’m a bit too tipsy to make it out, really.”

“Then, let’s just leave it,” Harry replied evenly. Snape started to chuckle again.

“Mrs Steadfast actually considers teaching the Levicorpus spell as a means of defence against the unblockable curse, at the Auror’s program. No, seriously, she does. She thought it was so good.” They laughed heartily.

“Well it is good, isn’t it?” said Harry. “Because it’s immediate. A Protego spell or some kind of Accio spell would have to travel from the person wanting to intervene to the person to be saved, thus competing with the Avada curse. In that case it’s all a matter of which one comes first and if you’re too late, or too far away, you have no chance to intervene favourably, whereas the Levicorpus spell only has to be thought, speechlessly, and there you have the person hanging upside down in front of you. Brilliant.”

Snape looked slyly at Harry.

“Do you want me to tell you what makes the Levicorpus spell so ingenious, or have you guessed? No you can’t have, it’s too difficult, too well hidden. That spell is so condensed. One of my best inventions. Only one word, but it contains a lot. Do you want me to reveal the secret to you?”

Harry nodded.

“Under condition you won’t try to Obliviate me tomorrow,” he hastened to add. “In that case you might just as well not tell me.”

Snape laughed.

“No, I don’t care, but maybe... It’s not to be spread, okay? Just between you and me... I trust you with it. You see, the Levicorpus spell is so brilliant because... because... but there’s a tiny bit of Dark Arts involved, you’ve made that out, haven’t you?”

Harry nodded. “Tell me now,” he said and looked intently at Snape.

“It’s because it’s a Mind Modifyer - or a Mind Compelling curse – it depends on how you choose to look at it. But the central part is that it isn’t you who flip the person upside down, you make the person want to flip himself upside down, without realising it, of course. And that’s why it’s immediate in its effect. As soon as you have thought the curse, you have influenced the mind and manipulated the magic of your object and the effect is carried out.” Harry stared at him.

“Brilliant!” he exclaimed.

“I told you it was... and simple really... although it has caused me so much pain to see that spell misused by the Death Eaters and it has caused me so much humiliation on a personal plane...”

Harry glanced at Snape, carefully choosing his words.

“I’m sorry for the way James treated you,” he said. “When I saw those memories of yours, showing him taunt you like that, I was appalled. I was really troubled for a long time afterwards, because I had always thought that he was a good and fair kind of man. I don’t have any real memories of him of my own, of course, and I suppose that... Well, the Dursleys didn’t speak to me about my parents at all, and if they did, only in condescending words, telling lies like that they died in a car crash and such things. I suppose that when I came to Hogwarts and learnt who my parents had really been and what had happened to them, having wondered and longed for some knowledge all my life, I sort of idealised them from the little facts I was given. Everyone told me James was a wonderful person, although that’s what you always say about dead people, isn’t it? But I was a child and I wanted him to be wonderful, naturally. I wanted him to be powerful, skilled and good. And I certainly didn’t want you to be right about him, but when I saw him do the Levicorpus on you like that, just for fun, in front of everyone, I was confused, really confused...”

Snape sighed.

“It was twenty-five years ago, as you pointed out to me earlier today... And the worst thing about that episode was not the acts of harassment, but what it made me say to Lily. I called her a Mudblood and it took her a long time to forgive me that transgression. And I have regretted it ever since...” They went silent for a while.

“Well, I’m glad if Mrs Steadfast wants to make some good use of that troublesome spell and teach it to save people,” said Snape.

“Mrs Steadfast does have her flashes of genius at times,” said Harry. Snape grunted reluctantly. “She made a very generous assessment of my abilities to express myself today, too.” Harry chuckled to himself.

Snape smiled but became serious quickly again. He seemed to ponder upon something.

“Was Mrs Steadfast right in assuming that you had planned to leave Hogwarts all along?” asked Harry.

Snape made a grimace.

“Why?” insisted Harry.

Snape sighed deeply. He was completely serious now.

“When I regained consciousness after the attack of Nagini, I found out that the battle, that I never really took part in, had ended and that Voldemort was indeed dead. And I realised that the mission I had worked on for eighteen years was completed... So when I woke up in the Hospital wing, I couldn’t for all my magic understand why on earth I had to live on… Why I hadn’t just perished along with the other evil…”

Harry shuddered and glanced at Snape who had his eyes riveted on the gravelled path.

“Life, for me, felt completely meaningless, and all I wanted was to go back into the blackness of the coma. But then Kingsley came and told me what had happened. First I got angry with you for being involved in my resurrection with the Acromentula antidote and forcing me to live, then I got even angrier when I understood that you had spoken to Voldemort in front of everyone about me and Lily... You already know all that... The anger, however, empowered me to want to show the world something else... to play some part other than the ridiculous one of the rejected and bereaved lover who sacrificed himself... That one doesn’t suit me at all... People eying me with pity and contempt...” Snape shook his head vehemently.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Snape got ahead of him.

“I gave myself a year... to try to accomplish something... to help out with the clearing up after Voldemort.” Snape took a deep breath. “When... when Lily died... I didn’t want to live on, either, but Professor Dumbledore forced me to... He made me understand that I had not the right to quit, that it was cowardice. He was so severe with me on that point. You can always put yourself in the service of trying to do good for other people, or for the world as a whole, he said. The work of repenting and redeeming yourself is to be taken very seriously, that was his view of things – it had to do with Ancient Magic, but at the time I wasn’t interested in penetrating that part. I guess Albus had given it a lot of thought after his sister died, and found a way to deal with his own guilt.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“It was never in my nature to endeavour to please people... To suck up to people, just to have them like me, is superfluous in my opinion... If it’s in order to gain something substantial on the other hand, I can do it... However, I guess I did the redeeming thing in my own way and I proceeded in secret under Professor Dumbledore’s guidance. I came to appreciate and respect that man a lot...”

A shadow of sadness passed over Snape’s face and Harry felt his own throat constrict.

“Moreover, as I recovered last summer I found myself in a position of power. I was still addressed as Headmaster. Surprisingly, Kingsley decided to keep me at the post... And being Slytherin Slytherin...” He cast a glance at Harry who twisted his mouth in a smile. “...I enjoy having power. I like... being in charge... making things happen... So once I had given myself the respite of a year, I actually began to enjoy the new state of the wizard world. With Voldemort gone, I didn’t have to live in Occlumency... I had more room for moving about... and there was a sense of... freedom... that I actually appreciated.”

Harry’s eyes were riveted at Snape.

“Well, you know all that transpired this year... I was put to the test on more than one occasion... Can’t even tell myself whether I’ve done well or failed...” Snape sighed. “Anyway, I was determined to hush your story about Lily and me down, and I knew all along that it would imply failing my trial... So, yes, back to your question, I was resolved on leaving Hogwarts at the latest at the end of term... Going abroad... going to Azkaban or... just going... I hadn’t decided...” Snape spoke matter-of-factly, almost distractedly, without any trace of sentimentality. Harry shuddered at the implications of the words. His sensitive features reflected a range of emotions. He cleared his throat.

“I... I’d like to...” He had to start anew. “As I said to Mrs Steadfast earlier... I was sincere... I’d like you to stay around... It would mean a lot to me just to... to...”

Snape let go of Harry’s arm and stopped in the middle of the road. They had reached a little more than half way up to the gate of Hogwarts. The sky was clear, but patches of fog had formed in the hollows of the broken ground. The night had become chilly, but now and again balmy breezes of the lingering warmth from the day would pass by. A complex blend of scents, remains from the hot summer day, floated in the air and mixed with the freshness of the night. The Forbidden Forest stood out as a gulf of dark shadows against a beautiful starry vault of blue night-sky.

“I... I have something that I must tell you, Harry.” Snape spoke in a somewhat small voice. “I might as well do it right now, when I have the heart to do it, because there might not come another occasion. You must not think... You must not be left under the impression that... Oh!...” Snape moaned as he had difficulties finding his words. He shook his head. “It’s so silly, really, because I thought you already knew and then, when you vouched at my trial, I realised that you could not know or you wouldn’t have scored as you did in front of the Mirror of Faith. And I felt lousy for leading you on, making out unintentionally that I was better than I really am. I never meant to deceive you, I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s so difficult for me to speak about it.”

Harry looked intrigued at him.

“I thought you knew, and that as a consequence you had reached the decision not to vouch for me and that was why you exerted yourself to help out with the inquiry instead.”

“Hermione...”

“I know it was you who invented the Veritaserum of Exceptions, Harry. You and Miss Granger were in it together, you being the driving force behind it all, I suspect.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Harry objected and looked away. “I reached my decision of vouching for you on my own and nothing can change that.”

“I’m afraid you’ll feel very differently after what I’m about to tell you,” sighed Snape. “But I must reveal it to you in the end. I cannot live with hiding the fact any longer. You might learn it from someone else and that would only be worse… I’m afraid you’ll hate me… again.”

Harry took a step towards Snape and looked at him apprehensively. How many secrets did Snape have hidden in his past?

“It’s so ridiculous...” Snape passed a hand over his face and drew his breath. “I was convinced that I had shown you everything in my memories. Surely, I must have shown you when I returned to Dumbledore and asked him...? But then I thought that you had only watched the memories once and moreover they contained your death sentence, in a way, and you might have been too shocked in the end to remember the details and maybe it was not very clearly spoken... The most ridiculous thing is that I destroyed the memories before checking what precisely they contained. I was dying when I gave them to you. I only have a general idea of what I wanted to convey to you. And I was so ridiculously upset when I found the memories, so angry with you for having spoken about what they contained, that I destroyed them. So I don’t even know what you know, which is even more agonising... solely my own fault, I do realise that. Oh... this is difficult...”

Snape rubbed his face with both hands, lifted his head and looked straight into Harry’s eyes to make his confession.

“Harry, I’m not a good man. When I turned to Dumbledore all those years ago it was not only to protect Lily from Voldemort but it was the guilt at being the cause of turning her into a target. Harry, I am the person who listened in on that Prophesy and reported it to Voldemort. If it had not been for me, Voldemort would never have gone after you and your parents. Were it no for me, Lily and James would be alive by now.”

Harry stared at him, frowning slowly. Snape held his gaze but his shoulders sagged.

“But, I know about that. I’ve known for a long time now,” Harry said slowly.

“It’s impossible... impossible that you should know! You must hate me for what I did... You cannot...” Snape looked bewildered. Harry shook his head in disbelief.

”This is why you’ve been so unreasonably unapproachable the whole year?” he said with mild accusation in his voice. ”You’ve indeed kept me at a distance. But why did you not just tell me, with the war over and everything, when we met at the end of last summer, and have it done with?”

”Because you were Lily’s son… And I’m a coward… in certain aspects…” Snape mumbled barely audibly. ”You knew…?” he whispered.

“I learnt the fact two years ago, on the same evening that you killed Dumbledore,” Harry answered slowly, retreating in his memory. ”I ran into Professor Trelawney on my way to his office and she started to complain about this and that, and told me in passing. I was furious when I arrived at Dumbledore’s office and confronted him about you, but he didn’t say much, only told me that you had regretted the fact and turned to our side shortly thereafter. I was so upset, but we didn’t have time to sort it out. We were leaving for that cave to search for one of the horcruxes. Dumbledore asked me to trust his faith in you, as usual. That was never easy for me.”

Harry swallowed and looked down.

“Everything that happened that night was dreadful. I had to make Dumbledore drink an entire basin of poison to retrieve the locket. He suffered so much. It weakened him and when, at last, we came back to Hogsmeade the Dark Mark had been set over the castle. And then... then... I saw you kill him. He had petrified me, I couldn’t do anything until his death lifted the spell and I ran... I ran after you...”

Harry lifted a pained gaze on Snape.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I hated you – I hated you more than any person on earth at that particular moment...” Harry’s voice crackled up and he was speaking with great feeling. “When I ran after you that night, or early morning... it was as much out of rage for what you had done to my parents as disbelief and fury over what I had just seen you do to Dumbledore. I was beyond myself with hatred. It paralysed me. Not a single curse reached you. I wanted to hurt you, destroy you, punish you, but I was incapable of the merest... I asked you to kill me instead, I called you a coward and you whipped me in my fa...”

“Please, don’t,” Snape whispered and shut his eyes as if to avoid the horrible memory.

Harry drew his breath and wiped some tears that had run down his cheeks, without him realising it.

“I see now that you must have gone through just as big an ordeal as I did, and that being called a coward by me at that precise moment was not in the least fitting to what you had really done...”

Snape only shook his head, he could not speak. Harry went on.

“I hated you for more than a year, perhaps even more than I hated Voldemort himself. Voldemort was an almost abstract, terrible pain to live with. The hatred for you was personal in a different way. I was convinced you were such an evil man. I wanted to face you, to fight you, to crush you. It was lucky we did not meet, because it would probably have diverted my efforts of vanquishing Voldemort. But then... I saw you die... and I watched those memories... and it changed everything, you must see that. It was shocking to have been mistaken to such a degree and... It changed everything,” repeated Harry.

The tall, dark-clad, usually so composed man in front of Harry looked shattered.

“It doesn’t change the fact that she’d be alive if it wasn’t for me,” Snape whispered hoarsely.

“That’s not certain. Voldemort might have found out in other ways. And you didn’t know how he was to interpret the Prophesy. You didn’t know he would go after her and you tried to protect her by turning to Dumbledore. You deceived Voldemort. It was dangerous, you risked your life. The love for Lily made you do the right thing.”

Snape looked down, abashed.

“Even if I didn’t know he would turn against Lily and go after her, telling Voldmort about that Prophesy in the way that I did, put some child – whoever it was – in danger. I didn’t realise, I didn’t care about that, did I? I only wanted to prove myself to the Dark Lord. After she married James, I lost myself completely in darkness for a period, plunged deeper and deeper into evilness. I was prepared to sacrifice a child – any child - you - just to serve him.”

“Yes, that’s terrible,” Harry answered slowly and looked at Snape with pity. “I understand that it must plague you to have done that, but you have repented. You have made amends. You helped Dumbledore protect me, for her sake only I appreciate that – you still hated me because of James - but all the same. When you went back to serve and spy on Voldemort you risked your own life. I’m sure he punished you. I’m sure it was horrible to you to be near the man who murdered the woman you loved, and pretend to worship him.”

Snape let out something between a gasp and a stifled cry.

“How can you reconcile to the fact that I caused your mother’s death when I cannot even myself find any redeeming circumstances to what I have done? I just have to live with it... forever. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she realised what I had done... The terror... The righteous wrath...She was formidable...” Snape closed his eyes. Harry deduced with surprise that Snape must have sought his mother out to warn her face to face about the prophesy, before going to Dumbledore. A thought struck Harry.

“Did you speak to Lily after you changed sides? Did she know that you repented? Did she forgive you?” he asked. A new cry of anguish escaped Snape.

“That’s it, I don’t know... I don’t know if she forgave me before she died. Dumbledore kept us apart. He didn’t trust me - of course he didn’t trust me - and I knew I had to wait, but then they were betrayed and suddenly... suddenly she was no more...” Snape drew a rattling breath and tried to collect himself.

“Dumbledore said afterwards to me that he had told her what I had done and that she had been happy to know I had changed sides and that she had wanted to see me, that she had been eager – Dumbledore said so - to speak to me. But I don’t know if it was true. He might have said so to lessen my pain when she was gone. He might have pretended... only to comfort me... I don’t know, I simply don’t know if she forgave me.” Snape turned around and started to walk towards the gate. He made a gesture with his hand for Harry not to follow him.

“I’m sure she forgave you,” said Harry to his back. “I have forgiven you at any rate – if that counts for something,” he added in a lower voice, but Snape heard him and turned around.

“I’m sorry, Harry, of course it does. I don’t understand it, but it does. For the rest, I’m condemned to live under the yoke of my own evil actions. Nothing will ever take that away. Never let yourself go down that slope, Harry, there’s a life-time sentence attached to it. Good-bye now. Have a good night in London. Don’t let Miss Ginny take the life out of you entirely.”

“Good-bye, Professor Snape,” Harry called back and watched the dark silhouette of Snape disappear further along the path. “Professor!” Harry shouted after him and took a few steps forward. Snape turned again.

“I’m sorry, but... I need to ask...” It was Harry’s turn to sound small and vulnerable. “Will I see you around, then? I’m leaving Hogwarts tonight and I probably won’t come back. We might not have the occasion to meet again?” Harry could not see Snape’s face in the dark but he could hear the slightly ironic tone in his voice when he answered.

“You want to see me around, do you Potter? Decidedly... Well, don’t you worry. Maybe you don’t know that I teach at St Mungo’s, twice a week in the evenings? And tonight, Mrs Steadfast, with great art, talked me into doing some teaching at the Auror training program next term, as well. In short, whichever career you choose, I’ll be around. And I’ll be delighted to read whatever papers you send to me and give my opinion, especially on those works on incantations and Ancient Magic. You keep up with them. I believe your mother would have been delighted.”

“I will,” answered Harry. “Thank you, Sir. Good-night!”

Snape had moved on, but lifted his left hand without turning around as a sign of greeting. Harry stood still and watched him reach the gate and be let in by the Auror still stationed at the entrance.

Harry turned around to walk back to Hogsmeade. Mrs Steadfast probably waited for him there. He would say a few words to her and Apparate to London. He would launch himself into the dancing crowd at the club to find Ginny and he would be with his friends and celebrate their graduation. Tomorrow they would wake up at the Burrow on the first day of the summer holidays.

It was dark, still and perfectly quiet. A sudden urge to look at the castle caught Harry. It was partly hidden behind a small hill and he stepped outside the path tentatively to go round it and have a clearer view. He stumbled on the irregular ground and it was giddying to walk into the nothingness of the velvety darkness. The castle was lit by moonlight and looked impressive and inviting at the same time. A few windows only were lit. Harry looked at the windows of his dormitory which were dark and empty.

“Thank you,” whispered Harry and felt a bit foolish. He smiled to himself. Suddenly he mounted in the air in a Spiral Case Knight’s Move and span around high up in the air. The castle looked even more splendid and Harry let his wand draw whirls of golden sparkles in a salute to the home he was now leaving.