Snape woke up from being shaken by the shoulder.

”Potter, please!” Snape groaned. ”We only just went to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, Professor, I know I kept you awake tonight, but it’s seven thirty in the morning, and I realised we’re short of time. I’m sorry, but we have to wake Mrs Steadfast up.”

“What?” Snape’s eye-lids were heavy. He squinted at Harry and scrutinised the young man’s countenance. Harry did not look as anxious as during the night, but there was something determined and almost feverish in his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I tried to make him wait, but he says…” Simmings was standing behind Harry.

”I need to interrogate the prisoners from yesterday before noon, before they’re sent to Azcaban, or being released, in case we’re not charging them,” interrupted Harry.

“What? Why?” asked Snape.

“I need to see if I can identify the father of the cursed child,” said Harry. Snape frowned.

“It might be… Mr Hatch…” he said reluctantly. “We know he was the Secret Keeper.”

“Is Mr Hatch… was the Hades Hatch you knew a personality capable of such magic, of such cruelty?” Harry asked cautiously.

Snape had refused hitherto to speak about Mr Hatch. Now was no exception. Snape pressed his lips together and turned his head away from Harry without answering. Harry sighed a little but went on. He did not want to antagonise Snape, not after all the professor had done for him during the night.

“It might be someone else who lived at the farm,” he said. “Meleonora pronounced a name, but she did not speak clearly, I didn’t quite distinguish the name and it wasn’t any of those Mrs Steadfast recited as far as I can recall, but I need to see the people from the farm to determine if they’re a possible match. I struggled with Meleonora’s thoughts and feelings all night; in a way, her emotions stayed with me for a while even after her death, and I think I might be able to determine who assaulted her. We must go before it’s too late.” Harry looked gravely at Snape.

*

Mrs Steadfast looked surprisingly rested when she joined Harry, Snape and Simmings at the arrest, which was a separate building from the Ministry, in a different part of London. Harry looked pale and worn, but with an intense and concentrated sparkle in his eyes. Under Mrs Steadfast’s authority, they were let inside and passed the cells with prisoners one by one. Everyone had already been interrogated several times over since their capture the previous day, and only the two confirmed Shifting members were going to be transferred to Azcaban because nothing had come forward to charge the family at the farm with, except of having lived there, and of having received members of a terrorist group in their house, which was not enough for keeping them locked up.

Mrs Steadfast called each prisoner to approach the Goblin made bars so that Harry could watch them while she asked if they knew where Mr Hatch was hiding. Two of the sons of the farm only looked vacantly at her, one of the hired help men shook his head defiantly, and the old man of the farm, a Mr Hayfield who looked considerably older than his real age – shook and trembled from abstinence and begged them shamelessly to have something to drink. Although repelled by the pathetic man, Harry realised the severe case of alcoholism was in fact a disease, and felt sorry for him, but Snape turned away in disgust, unable to hide his loathing.

In the next cell sat the farmer’s wife. Mrs Steadfast was going to pass by without stopping, but Harry halted and greeted Mrs Hayfield politely. The woman was coarse and provocative, smiling and moving obscenely in a studied way. Mrs Steadfast waited impatiently for Harry to move on, reluctant, it appeared, to give in to the attention-seeking woman, but Harry hesitated. She reminded him of someone or of something.

“I believe your young colleague might be a tad interested after all,” Mrs Hayfield croaked defiantly while looking Harry straight in the eyes. Suddenly, she made an instant transfiguration of her own appearance – only a flash – but for a fraction of time, Harry saw a naked, cut up body in front of him. Harry gasped and stumbled backwards. The others did not seem to have noticed the chocking picture. Deeply shaken, Harry looked at Snape.

”Did you see? Did you see what she did? She transformed without a wand,” he panted. Snape frowned.

“Are you still having hallucinations?” he asked in a low voice, but Harry shook his head mutely, still staring at the witch.

 “I have seduced great men with that particular trick, young man,” she laughed. “Apparently, you don’t belong to those who are turned on by my skills… I call myself an extreme Metamorphmagus.” Mrs Hayfield tossed her head proudly.

Harry looked nauseous and backed away from her. The others stared incomprehensively at him and Mrs Steadfast said:

“She’s gone on about a lot of things, been quite difficult to interrogate, bragging about this and that – I wouldn’t pay it much deed,” the head of the Aurors said. “Several of my colleagues were disgusted with her. She’s very vulgar.”

The woman leered at Mrs Steadfast.

“You won’t release her quite yet, will you? Because I think I need to speak to her again,” said Harry in a muffled voice, and the woman smiled even broader.

“You might be a tad interested after all, are you?” she mocked.

“Who’s left? Who’s that?” asked Harry, turning his back on the woman and gesturing towards the last cell where a human form stirred slightly under a blanket on a stretcher.

“It’s the youngest son of the family. He’s only eighteen. Some sort of intellectual impairment – feeble-minded, to be straight with you. Don’t say much. Probably a squib, too,” Mrs Steadfast whispered to Harry. In the meantime, as if perceiving they were talking about him, the figure on the stretcher had thrown his blanket aside and risen slowly from his bed. He was fully clothed, in simple, Muggle-looking farming clothes. He took a few steps forward and stared vacantly at them. He was rather set and broad-shouldered for his age, had black hair and a round, rather childish face. Yet, at the sight of him, Harry’s heart started to beat faster.

“What’s your name?” he asked as he advanced toward the bars. He got no reply and the boy only continued to stare at him with an expressionless face.

“He’s called Farrow,” Mrs Steadfast replied. “Farrow Hayfield.” Harry thought he perceived a brief glimmer in the eyes and a quirky twist of the young man’s mouth. It was so quick that he could not be sure.

“Let’s bring him out for a chat,” said Harry calmly, but with excitement and dread rising within.

Both Snape and Mrs Steadfast looked doubtingly at Harry.

“Please,” said Harry in a low voice. “Ask him simple questions about life at the farm, and I’ll cut in with a couple of questions later.”

Mrs Steadfast shook her head, but let Auror Savage unlock the door to the cell and bring Farrow into one of the larger interrogation rooms. There was only a small desk and a couple of chairs in the middle of the otherwise empty space. Mrs Steadfast made the young man sit down in front of her, taking her seat behind the desk. Harry drew a chair almost all the way to the farthest wall and sat down a bit heavily. His legs felt shaky, and he had noticed that he was a bit out of balance. It was the remains of the effect from the overuse of Relievings, he supposed. Snape positioned himself at the other side of the room, leaning against the doorpost while Savage was standing guard on the outside. Harry noticed that somehow Mrs Steadfast, the boy Farrow, Snape and himself had managed to position themselves in a perfectly balanced parallelogram.

Mrs Steadfast started her interrogation, patiently formulating precise questions about Farrow’s life at the farm, about his family and about family friends, fishing subtly for information about Mr Hatch and his daughter who, obviously since they had been hiding on the premises, were acquainted with the family. Farrow only answered in monosyllables and did not always seem to understand what Mrs Steadfast meant, although Harry got the distinct impression that he knew very well who the Hatches were.

Farrow had his eyes turned down and avoided to look at any of his interrogators. He seemed to get quieter and quieter and retreat within himself. Harry observed him intently and suddenly he leant forward and said:

”Meleanora is dead. I tried to save her, but there was nothing I could do.” Farrow started, and lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s.

”How do you know? Only Mr Hatch and I can open the cave,” he said, suspiciously.

”I could, too,” stated Harry calmly. ”I entered the cave and tried to save the hurt people. Why did you hurt them?”

“I didn’t do anything…” said the boy and turned his head away. “I gave them food every day.”

”Meleonora said your name. She said your name in Parseltoungue. She said that you were kind to her – most of the time, she said.”

During Harry’s and Farrow’s short conversation, Snape and Mrs Steadfast had straightened up. The two young men were hissing at each other in Parsel language. The professor and the head of the Aurors started to realise what this might mean, who Farrow might be, and exchanged a troubled glance.

“Meleonora’s not dead!” Farrow turned agitated and rose from his chair.

Harry stood up as well and took a few steps forward, looking into Farrow’s strangely bleak grey eyes. Suddenly Harry felt magic crackling from the young man who they had thought a squib only a short while ago. Subsequently, he felt his mind being invaded with ruthless force. Farrow was a Legilimens, no less. Harry jerked, for a brief time trying to escape, but finding himself sucked in by Farrow’s power. Experiencing extreme discomfort, legs almost buckling and only dimly aware of his surroundings, Harry gestured at Snape and Mrs Steadfast, who had drawn their wands, not to intervene.

Used to the impact of Legilimency from Snape’s attempts to teach him Occlumency, Harry managed to keep his calm, prevent Farrow from rummaging freely in his head, and to direct Farrow’s intrusion to the memories of what had happened in the cave the previous day. To the front of his mind Harry brought the pictures of himself standing over Meleonora trying desperately to Renervate her. The memory was fresh to him, and his failure still hurt but he was sure Farrow could read his panic and his desolation over losing Meleonora, which was what Harry wanted him to do.

Farrow stopped as suddenly as he had begun. He turned away from Harry and slumped heavily back down on his chair, hiding his face in his hands.

”Who hurt Meleonora and her baby?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know,” said the boy in a small voice. “I don’t know what happened. Mr Hatch only laughed. He said I could have her for me, only for me. I wanted to take care of her.” Farrow was breathing hard. ”She was my treasure.”

”Are you the father of her child?” asked Harry

“Maybe,” Farrow answered, insecure and flouting, before he shrieked in an outburst of angst: ”I didn’t do anything, I didn’t hurt her!”

Harry swallowed and turned to Snape and Mrs Steadfast to translate what had just passed between Farrow and himself. His hands trembled a little, but his voice was steady as he spoke, before turning back to Farrow.

“They need to know. It’s Mrs Steadfast who decides whether you have to go to prison or not,” he explained. However powerful a Legilimens Farrow might be, Harry had the impression that the young man did not fully comprehend what kind of situation he had gotten himself into. As if to confirm this, Farrow’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I want to go back to the farm with Mother,” he said aggressively.

“I’m sorry, but you probably can’t,” said Harry. “You’re not allowed to do the kind of things Mr Hatch and the others did to the prisoners in the cave. I can tell that you’re aware that you shouldn’t do such things, and maybe you couldn’t stop them there and then, but you must tell us now. Tell us everything. Start with how you met your dad.” Farrow gasped.

“I don’t want to talk about my dad,” he said. ”My dad was the most powerful wizard in the world. The most skilled and the cleverest of all.” The pride in his voice was tinged with fear as he spoke.

Speaking of his father, it suddenly looked as if Farrow was caught by a thought, or an impulse, and then, over the span of a few seconds only, Farrow changed his appearance - not in a flagrant way, but clearly. The slightly flaccid features suddenly became sharper and his hair darkened just a shade. His limp posture was replaced by something with more verve and alertness to it. With a shiver of discomfort, Harry realised that the young man now reminded him of the young Tom Riddle who had emerged from that diary many years ago, in his second year at Hogwarts, and who had tried to kill Harry. The element of transfiguration should perhaps not have surprised Harry, since Farrow’s mother was a Metamorphmagus. This made a lot of Metamorphmaguses in association with the Shiftings, Harry thought with a frown. Henna Hatch and her two half-brothers to start with, Mrs Hayfield and Farrow to continue… What if? Harry did not have time to fulfil his thought, because Farrow was coming towards him again.

“What happened to Meleonora’s baby?” said the now transformed young man.

“The baby died. An unborn child cannot live without its mother,” answered Harry, guardedly.

His answer seemed to make Farrow furious, and for a fraction of a second, Harry thought that he saw a glimmer of red in Farrow’s eyes. It made shivers run down his spine, but he tried not to shrink.

“You’re lying!” yelled Farrow. “The child was strong. It was supposed to become a great wizard.”

“So small a child needs its mother,” tried Harry again. “It didn’t survive. What had you done to it? Had you tried to give it dark powers?”

Instead of an answer, Harry was assaulted by a new wave of Legilimency, and this time he was in much less control of what he showed Farrow. A cascade of images rushed forth in his head, fast-winding vertiginously: Snape doing the Caesarean, the grotesque child wriggling and battling, the spell casting, the weakened child, the Avada Kedavra and, finally, the dead child on a blanket on the stone in the cave. With a wail and an angry outcry, Farrow withdrew from Harry’s mind. Both young men were panting from the mental ordeal. Farrow, however, did not pause to rest, but turned almost immediately toward Snape.

”You!” he shouted in English. ”You betrayed my father. You killed the baby!”

Before anyone had time to react, Farrow threw himself over Snape, his right gloved hand going to Snape’s throat. To Harry’s horror, he instinctively realized it must be a similarly magicked hand which Voldemort had once given as a reward to his faithful servant, Peter Pettigrew. The strong, merciless, Parsel-magicked hand was now throttling Snape, squeezing relentlessly and unaffected by Snape’s desperate attempts first with his wand, then with both hands to rip it off.

Harry heard the crack when the bones in Snape’s throat were crushed. Farrow looked cold and determined but with a mad glimmer in his eyes. Snape started to turn blue, gasped and rattled while trickles of blood run down the corners of his mouth.

Mrs Steadfast and Savage who had entered the room on hearing the tumult had already fired several curses at Farrow, but even if Farrow started to look dim after a stunning and sunk down to his knees, the hand itself continued with unabated force, dragging Snape down and still squeezing. It was as if it acted on its own. Harry who had been staring with horror at his professor, came to life.

“Stand back,” he said to Mrs Steadfast and Savage who were trying to prang the fingers loose from Snape’s throat with their bare hands. After looking at Harry and finding him determined, they obeyed. “You too, Professor, remove your hands,” said Harry hoarsely.

Only semiconscious, Snape fastened his eyes on Harry and with an effort of willpower, because it must be in conflict with all instincts, he let his arms fall along his sides.

“Sectumsempra!” Harry shouted, adding a small hissing sound at the end of the pronounced spell.

The curse severed Farrow’s hand from his arm. Savage and Mrs Steadfast dragged the boy who yelled out his pain and who had returned to his original unremarkable appearance, away from Snape. The hand was still hanging at his throat, grotesquely, but it had lost its force and was only shivering slightly. Harry sank down in front of Snape and started to work the still curled fingers carefully from Snape’s throat. Other than the severe bruising of his throat, the skin in Snape’s face was prickled with tiny red spots from bursting capillaries, and the professor seemed ready to pass out.

Quickly, Harry gripped his wand again and started to read a healing incantation to seal and to mend the anatomical structures of Snape’s larynx. The blood cleared, the rattling for breath grew fainter until Snape could breathe freely again and Snape’s eyes looked less dim. He cleared his throat.

“Need to tighten the vocal cords,” he rumbled in a deep voice, unlike his own. He took his own wand which had dropped to the floor during the attack, and adjusted his vocals, muttering and humming until he sounded like himself again.

”I’m sorry - he saw you in my memories. He must’ve gotten the impression that it was you who killed the baby.” Harry murmured shakily before he turned to Mrs Steadfast and Savage.

“Will you take Farrow to St Mungo’s, please, and ask them to regrow a hand of his own?”

“Honestly, Harry?” said Savage, incredulous. “He tried to kill Professor Snape. He’ll go to Azcaban regardless.”

“Of course he’ll go to Azcaban,” answered Harry in a stubborn voice. “That’s probably the safest place for him, even if he doesn’t know it. But we must try to be kinder to him than his father, who chopped his hand off in the first place, ever was.” Harry pulled a wry face, and from Farrow Hayfield Riddle a sob was heard.

A slightly disorganised to-do followed before Farrow was led away and Mrs Steadfast managed to obtain the authorisation to keep the other prisoners a little longer. They needed to clarify who in the family knew that Farrow was Voldemort’s son.

In the middle of everything Ron joined them, inquiring with concern over Harry’s health and wondering if Harry should not go back to Grimmauld Place and have some rest. Mrs Steadfast told him abruptly that Harry had uncovered Voldemort’s son among the prisoners and that she needed him for the interrogations. Not even Snape seemed able to phrase an objection to this. Everyone wanted to understand the circumstances of Farrow’s existence. So they brought Mrs Hayfield out of the cell and into the interrogation room.

It proved to be easier said than done to get a straight story out of Mrs Hayfield. She was coarse and foul mouthed and repeatedly provoked Mrs Steadfast into a flying temper. Snape seemed a little subdued after the attack and kept in the background, so little by little, Harry took over the interrogation. Mrs Hayfield seemed flattered by his attention, by his intense and gravely formulated determination of understanding her family. He managed to steel himself against her unpredictable provocations and keep his focus on the questions and keep her more or less in line to extract the information they wanted.

She confirmed what Harry already suspected, namely that she despised and loathed her husband, the drunkard who was sometimes violent, and had been even more so when he was younger, but who had long ago lost all authority at the farm.

“He cares ‘bout nothin’ e’cept for the bottle,” muttered Mrs Hayfield. She was missing a tooth in the front of her mouth and her speech was full of lisping sounds. She confirmed that Mr Hayfield was the father of the four oldest sons.

“But then came Mr Hatch,” Mrs Hayfield said importantly. “He appreciated me art, me skills and he became my lover.” Her flashing eyes defied them to contradict her or to laugh at her. “He’s a wild’un, Hades is, I tell you. During the end of the first war, I helped him out with this and that. Hades was friendly with the Dark Lord, he was. He was charged with settin’ up and keepin’ the Pleasure Temples runnin’. Henna’s my strongest child, and she’s his. She’s the only one I’m really proud over… the others…well…” Mrs Hayfield made a grimace then stared defiantly at Harry. “We’re nothin’ to the wizard community – just scum, too base to be worthy of their notice. And Hades’ father was badly treated by the Ministry, or so he told me. Hades had to flee the country with his family when he was in his teens. He didn’t want to tell me the details but he blames you, without any doubt!” She turned suddenly to Snape. “Cause I know who you are. Been in the newspaper, you have. Hades always gets in a bad mood when he’s reminded of you. As long as he thought you were the protegé of the Dark Lord he didn’t dare do nothin’, but when he realised your treason… Oh, he was furious! Hades won’t let you get away, believe me…” Snape did not retort, only looked at her haughtily.

“You showed me earlier how you turned Voldemort on. Why did you do that? Were you in love with him? It sounds to me you were in love with Mr Hatch,” Harry said carefully. Her face darkened.

“Hades wasn’t there that once… He came and went… He had left me – temporarily - for that fancy French Metamorphmagus witch,” Mrs Hayfield said resentfully. “He was infatuated by her, had two sons with her as well, he did…”

That must be the Burgess Brothers, Marcus - Machivato - and Bellamy Burgess, Harry thought and nodded to himself as he got his explanation as to why there were so many Metamorphmaguses among the Shifting leaders: Hades Hatch’s preferences had made him choose two female Metamorphmaguses as companions and it seemed to penetrate as a strong hereditary trait among his children.

“Meanwhile, those years, The Dark Lord came and went to inspect the cave and the prisoners. Hades had told me the Dark Lord was not interested in takin’ part in the pleasures on his own behalf. The Temple and its inhabitants were there as a gift to the Dark Lord’s guests, and as a means of reward to his Death Eaters. But this once… after Voldemort’s inspection…” Mrs Hayfield started to breathe quicker as if the memory frightened her. Harry listened carefully. “He turned on Henna…” she whispered with wide eyes. “My little girl was only seven years old. I had to try to save her. I don’t know if he raped children, hadn’t heard ‘bout it, but I saw the wicked impulse in his eyes. I tried to turn his attention away so that Henna could run off. He raged at me of course, but I offered myself instead.”

Suddenly she did the same trick as before and transformed into a cut-up corpse. Harry and Snape cried out and stumbled away from her in disgust. Ron and Savage clenched their jaws and turned their eyes away. A resolute Mrs Steadfast threw a blanket of trapping web over Mrs Hayfield and made her keep it on. Since it was impermeable to magic, it would cover her regardless of her transformations.

“Stop molesting my co-workers,” Mrs Steadfast threatened in a low voice. “Have you forgotten where you are?” The coarse and extreme Metamorphmagus laughed, but her voice betrayed a certain level of desperation.

“Oh, I know that it takes all sorts of men and women, at places where you least suspect it. Mr Hatch and the Dark Lord liked it at any rate. You’re no real men, to shun me art like that!” She spoke defiantly, riveting her eyes at Snape in particular. “Mr Hatch usually pretends it’s he himself who cut me up. A bit scary it was when he was young and hot - he hurt me for real a couple of times…”

Snape looked nauseous.

“But I’ll tell you young man - because you look so truly puzzled and pityin’ly at me…” She had turned to Harry. “…that the Dark Lord, he, wanted me to lie completely still. He wanted me dead, do you understand?”

Harry held her gaze and swallowed.

“And he did it with rage, not pleasure. It happened only once. But it’s enough, isn’t it? It was two months before the boy-who-lived made him disappear. Farrow was born in May the following year and has only ever been a troublesome child - weak, silent, insecure and gloomy, but Henna likes him, bless her, she took great care of him - like a mother to him she was, since I couldn’t really care too much for him myself.” The witch turned her head away.

“Who knows he was Voldemort’s son?” Harry insisted. “Did Mr Hatch know?”

“Well, it started all over again, didn’t it, when Voldemort came back?” The witch glared at Harry. “And with Voldemort back, Mr Hatch returned from France as well.” Mrs Hayfield paused. “I… I can’t help myself for givin’ in to Hades,” she muttered. “He’s Henna’s father, after all,” she added. “She’s a clever lass, my Henna is – did her studies in France, at Beauxbatons. Wanted to be near her father when she was a teenager, she did. I think she was disappointed, though. Hades didn’t give her much attention. His fancy French wife probably put a stop to it. Although the years in France gave Henna the opportunity to get to know her half-brothers on Hades’ side. Nothin’ but brothers she’s got, Henna.” Mrs Hayfield fell silent again as if contemplating something. “Yeah…” she said finally. “Henna fled a bunch of ruffians only to end up with a pair of psychopaths. Well, it was her choice.”

Harry could only agree with her: the Burgess Brothers, from what he had seen, were a complicated set of ruthless criminals with unusual taste for violence and with a talent for twisted manipulation and plotting. Harry had killed the eldest of them, Machivato - who had made a career, more or less, in terrorism - in a deathly duel in Paris, and only the younger brother, Bellamy Burgess who had been an Auror trainee and worked as a teacher of Defence against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, was probably still alive, although Mrs Steadfast had intelligence that he was out of the country for the moment being. Mrs Hayfield drew a deep breath.

“Anyway, Henna was the only one who knew about Farrow and his true father at the time when the Dark Lord resurrected. Farrow had only just turned thirteen. Henna persuaded me not to tell Hades at that point of time. She might have idolised her father, but she knew his ambitions and his cruel disposition. Although, when the Dark Lord returned to my house, and all recommenced with the cave, with the guests at night, and the orgies, and Mr Hatch stayin’ at the farm and all, I knew I had to tell him – Voldemort, I had to tell Voldemort about Farrow. I thought maybe he would give his son a prominent position, educate him or somethin’… but … The Dark Lord wouldn’t even believe me at first. Only forced himself upon Farrow to test his blood. Behaved condescendin’ly and strange… Looked disgusted… ‘Just like Morfin… just like that thick-headed, ugly creature…’ that’s what he said. And he kept quiet about the fact that he had a son, so Hades never got to know.” Mrs Hayfield sounded desolate. Telling Voldemort about Farrow had obviously been a mistake even in her own eyes.

Harry realised that Voldemort must have been reminded of his uncle Morfin Gaunt when he saw Farrow. Harry had watched the man himself in a memory that Dumbledore had shown him in the Pensieve when he endeavoured to teach Harry about Voldemort’s family history. It was true that there was a slight resemblance between Farrow and Morfin. The farming setting and the filthy conditions must have added to the parallel in Voldemort’s mind. He would have been deeply disappointed, Harry knew, to be faced with a teenaged son who was not extraordinary and who had no spectacular skills.

Mrs Hayfield carried on unprompted. It was like she could not resist the intent, honest interest from a fellow human being. If there was anything Harry had learnt from Dumbledore it was the importance of understanding people around him. Harry did not have it in himself to treat anyone condescendingly, and he listened with rapt concentration to every word that Farrow’s mother had to say.

“Voldemort started to come to the farm more frequently after he accepted the relationship, and he took Farrow with him to the cave like Farrow was his property. Henna didn’t like it at all, but what could she do… or what could I do for that matter? We hoped Voldemort was teachin’ him something useful. But the only result was that Farrow became more and more frightened and that he started to speak in that language to himself all the time, hissin’ and splutterin’… Luckily for us Voldemort didn’t last so long this time - I know my folk were devastated by Voldemort’s demise, especially Hades… but, personally, I wasn’t… You understand that don’t you?”

Harry nodded. The witch obviously had ambiguous feelings about Voldemort. Everyone surrounding her worshipped him, but she herself had been abused by Voldemort, who moreover - if you had to believe her words, and Harry had no reason to doubt her – had been close to raping her daughter.

“We tried to prevent Farrow from speakin’ Parsel and thereby betrayin’ himself. Henna didn’t want Hades to know, because she cares more about her little brother than about her father. It was not until a few months ago that Henna’s half-brother, Bellamy, suddenly paid a visit to the farm and found out that Farrow was a Parselmouth. He has been lookin for Voldemort’s son for over a year, and after findin’ out that we had kept Farrow’s true identity from him, he had a formidable row with Henna and his father, and went away. Since then, Hades knows about Farrow and Voldemort but he’s kept a reconcilin’ attitude towards us and took unusual interest in Farrow. I guess that Farrow doesn’t live up to their expectations. He’s a difficult child – nearly eighteen now, but still a child.”

They were all a bit shaken by Farrow’s mother’s story, but proceeded all the same with interrogations of the rest of the members of the family until well after lunch-time. They did not gather much more from Farrow’s half-brothers, however, who did not seem to have an opinion about their mother’s affairs with the dark wizards. Two of her sons were definitely squibs and the other two wizards possessed only weak powers and had not been to wizard schools.

Mrs Steadfast was continuously busy with arranging things for Farrow. She was in contact with St Mungo’s in order to learn that they had successively regrown a hand for him. In conjunction with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement she had obtained that Farrow be sent directly to Azcaban. Harry was phrasing his doubts about the arrangement.

”You don’t want to keep him together with other prisoners, do you? He might be dangerous to others. But then you shouldn’t let the Dementors get too close to him, either. Give me free access to him, please, Mrs Steadfast. I’m able to speak to him in Parsel which is the language he prefers, clearly, and which might make him open up to us. We need to try to get to know him as much as possible to make out what kind of wizard he is. His powers seem so uneven…”

Mrs Steadfast agreed to everything that Harry wanted. When she was finished with her arrangements and had learnt that Farrow had safely arrived at Azcaban, she allowed herself to relax a little. Sitting at her desk, she suddenly pulled a wry face, scrutinizing Snape and Harry.

”You look terrible, both of you. You must get some sleep,” she said and went on with a frown. ”Look at Harry, Severus, he has no colour at all in his face. Is he okay, or does he need to go to St Mungo’s? Will he relapse again into that dreadful state he was in last night?”

Snape lifted his head with what looked like a great effort and glanced at Harry, before he said:

”Just give him…” at the same time as Harry said:

”I’m just…”

”… some food,” finished Snape.

”… hungry,” said Harry and smiled faintly at Snape.

Mrs Steadfast raised one eye-brow and quirked her lips.

“You do know Harry extremely well, Severus,” she said. The professor shrugged.

“Oh, I recognize the symptoms. I had the same difficult metabolism when I was younger: thin as a leaf, body consuming the energy as fast as the food lands on your plate. I used to be constantly hungry. It does slow down a bit with the years, Potter – if it’s any consolation.”

It was Harry’s turn to shrug. Snape looked exhausted and spoke with difficulty. They both fell silent and somehow did not seem to decide themselves to leave. Snape was staring mutely at Ron for some reason that Mrs Steadfast was at a loss to understand, and Harry was looking tiredly, yet doggedly, at her, as if he expected something. Mrs Steadfast grew impatient.

“Well, off you go! Get yourselves fed, and get some rest!” she exclaimed.

Ron, for once, seemed to grasp what it was Snape wanted without asking.

“I’ll take care of Harry at Grimmauld Place,” he said. “I’ll feed him and make him sleep in the common room – in that way we can keep an eye on him, Hermione and me.” Snape nodded subtly as a sign of approbation while Harry waved dismissively at Ron.

“It’s okay. I’m fine now. I don’t want to cause more trouble than I already have,” he said, embarrassed.

”Yeah, well, see if you can persuade Hermione to leave you alone. I gave her an account of your condition yesterday when I came home and she was so worried about you, and angry with Professor Snape for not taking you to the hospital. If you manage to resist her attentions… I congratulate you…” retorted Ron.

“What about you, Severus? How’s your throat? Do you need more treatments?” Mrs Steadfast asked.

“No, Harry cured me with excellent precision. It was only a mechanical injury – once mended you’re okay, no lingering curse, no poison or anything else. I’m fine. I admit I could use some sleep, though,” Snape confessed.

“I can see that you could. I’ll accompany Professor Snape back to Hogwarts and personally make sure that there are no Hatches on his way,” Mrs Steadfast said with a glance at Harry who had opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and seemed satisfied.

“I’m sorry, Professor, for everything,” Harry muttered softly over his shoulder on his way out. Snape only shook his head.